#a quick doodle for midnight here - happy new year!!!!!!!!!

[calmparticles]

Happy new year 1997! 🎉🍾

I'm meaning. 2023.9999999999999999999!!!!!!! 🎉🍾

[practically-an-x-man]

holiday prompts! 13 or 15 with Jasper? :)

Oooh thank you! I wrote something for 15 already, so I'll go with 13 for this one :)

"What's... this?" Jasper asked, turning the card over in their hands. Kyle's handwriting was clean and even, and he'd even doodled a few candy canes and wreaths in the margins. Part of them was a little impressed - how long had he spent on this? The other part of them was a little confused at the words on the page.

YOUR CHOICE OF...

One vinyl record from the Neighborhood Jukebox

One Paramore t-shirt from their new merch

One pair of fancy aviators from that website you like

"Well, I, uh..." Kyle started, running a hand over the back of his neck, "I didn't know what gift to get you, so... I figured you could pick which one you wanted."

"Tough choices, Mr. Spencer," Jasper teased, poring over the options a second time. Kyle nodded.

"Yeah, if we weren't so tight on money right now I'd get you all three," he said, "But I think Columbia would protest if she didn't get her dinner."

The cat in question was curled up at the opposite end of the couch, and lifted her coppery head at the sound of her name. Jasper reached out and stroked the cat's fur, smiling at Columbia's low purr of contentment.

"Yeah... and maybe with the extra cash, we could have a real Christmas dinner this year." they added, then held up the card, "I'll go with the vinyl. I think the Jukebox has that new Muse album."

"A very respectable choice, Mx. Wilson," Kyle agreed, "I'll go pick it up as soon as the stores are open."

He paused just for a moment, glancing down at them with those familiar midnight eyes. His fingers worried with the scar around his opposite wrist, a nervous habit of his. Jasper reached out and took his hand, forcing his fingers to fall still.

"You're not upset you don't have a real present to open?" Kyle asked, frowning a little at the card. Jasper shook their head.

"No? Of course not. I think the card is sweet. I like it."

"You're sure?"

"Positive." Jasper agreed, then stretched behind the couch to grab their own wrapped present. They deposited it in Kyle's lap, so suddenly it made him jump with surprise, "Here, open yours."

He spared them a quick glance, then tore off the wrapping paper in one fell swoop. Underneath was a plain cardboard box secured with a piece of Scotch tape, and Kyle popped the tape with his fingernail before flipping it open. Inside he found a set of fleece pajamas, warm blue and decorated with images of dogs wearing scarves. It was a little goofy, sure... but Jasper had learned that "goofy" was exactly Kyle Spencer's style.

He ran his hands over the fabric, and Jasper felt a spark of something dart through their chest. Not quite pure comfort, not quite full happiness, but a flicker of it. It was almost the same sensation they felt when he ran his fingers through Columbia's fur - the reaction to a pleasant texture.

"I know they weren't on your list, but they looked really soft." Jasper explained, "I thought you'd like them."

"This feels a little self-motivated," Kyle teased, shooting them a lopsided smile.

"How could it possibly be self-motivated?" Jasper replied with a lighthearted roll of their eyes. They could feel Kyle's amusement bubbling up from within, fizzling carbonation between their ribs, but behind that was something lower, more settled. Jasper loved that feeling. They loved knowing Kyle felt safe here.

"You're telling me you don't want me to go put these on so we can snuggle on the couch and watch Elf?" Kyle said, holding up the pajamas with that same tilted smile.

"Well, if you're offering..."

Kyle laughed and stood up from the couch, taking the gift with him.

"Guess I'd better get to it, then." he said as he moved to the doorway, "Want to start the movie?"

"On it, boss." Jasper agreed with a grin, sliding to the other end of the couch to snag the TV remote. As they moved, they were hit with something a little stronger from Kyle: hearth-fire, warm and red, just like the early days. He'd never lost that affection, even so many years in, but it was rare that it bloomed so brightly, so out of the blue like it used to.

"Hey, I love you, Jazz." he said, "I'm really glad I can spend Christmas with you."

"I love you too." Jasper replied, tilting their head at this surprise display of affection. Then the moment passed, and they shooed him off towards the bedroom.

"Go get comfy. I'll make popcorn."

[predvestnik]

   kaeya thinks that he could finish and start the new year as the luckiest man ever.

   ajax is back home to him, miraculously freed from work. there's not much they'd rather do but be with eachother, he thinks... and then, while browsing the handmade recipe book, something catches his eye.

   it starts with a puzzled question: ' these are pierogis? ', asked in awe, finger tapping at the doodle ajax made of what looks to kaeya like stuffed pastry-

  -and it keeps going when flour, water and yeast, along with filling ingredients ( that kaeya suspects were never in his fridge at all, ) magically appear to his command, like some kind of kitchen wizard. mesmerized, kaeya grabs a spare apron to tie around his front and reaches for him-

    all in all, today they both discover that he can be a valid helper! his hands mince the vegetables and cut the meat precisely and efficiently, his eye wide in wonder that there's something be can do without burning the entire plate while eager to help- which just makes him more eager.

   more flour, more water and yeast with sugar in, and some sunsettias, wildberries and apples are also curiously taken out to experiment with a sweeter version of them.

   and kaeya thinks that love is waiting to have their stomach filled on the fruits of their labor, that love is the way ajax laughs when kaeya marks his nose with a flour-stained fingertip, in how his capable hands move to smooth down the dough with a rolling pin and the air of one who has done so many more times, in how he indulges in a slice of apple to feed kaeya, making sure that he's approving of the taste.

   midnight is approaching, and just like that it surprises the rising dough for another batch of pierogis, the ingredients already prepared and waiting for the yeast to act on its magic. the captain is very surprised himself, having lost track of time as he helped and filled and cut their love in bite-sized snacks.

   hurriedly, kaeya goes to fetch a bottle of sparkling wine for them, entrusting ajax to find some flutes- or even some glasses to pour the good stuff in while he browses through cabinets of liquour. he comes back with a childish cheer when he gets it, hopping back into the living room.

   he pops the cork at midnight, just as mondstadt whole seems to have gained sentience and erupts in a roar of happiness to welcome the new year in.

   foam and all, kaeya makes quick work of filling a glass, then the other just as quickly. 

   and when he kisses ajax, to kiss them at the start of the new year, his lips are sweet for the sugary fruits they fed eachother- and kaeya thinks that he'd never want to kiss anyone, anything else more than he wants to kiss this man, spending hours simply enjoying a baking session with him.

   when the goodies have cooled down, when there's a mess left on the kitchen counter of flour dust and little bits of dough- this is where kaeya feels loved.

   love is feeding ajax half of a sweet, and watching his face light up before he steals another kiss that tastes of sugar and pastry. love is being fed the other half, having his eye light up at the deliciousness of it- the laughter of his other half makes before kissing him in turn, the sparkling wine pairing well with the taste.

   this is love, the domesticity of it. 

   kaeya would never trade it with anything else.

Replied here. <3

[taeescript]

29+1 (Part One)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother. 

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (taehyung x reader if you squint real hard) 

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin (diva!seokjin)

𝔴𝔠: 3.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: heavy use of alcohol as a coping mechanism, a plethora of sarcasm (please don’t be offended) and a sprinkle of softness (is that a warning?). 

𝔞/𝔫: this sat in my unwritten folder since 2017 no lie. I wrote the premise and a singular paragraph at that time, then just gave up. I opened it a few days ago, got inspired again and this word vomit came out (heavily influenced by a midnight Zoom call with my friends). Ngl this was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. This will probably be in three parts.  𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: I did not know that DailyHive is an actual online news source when writing. This work is purely fictional and has absolutely nothing to do with the real DailyHive. 

part two

Your friends have a saying: After 29, nobody shares their age until they’ve accomplished something. 

In the past, you didn’t understand it. What’s so bad about saying you’re 30 or you’re 32? That’s still a young age! Sure, you’re not exactly in your prime anymore but you’re not old, right?

So, you continue in your own wondrous world of naïveté until that fateful day at your class reunion. You had simply been walking around, minding your own business when you had been stopped by an old colleague.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” she waves you down. 

You smile kindly, not even bothering to try and remember her name (you sucked at names, what could you say). 

“Hey…you!” you chuckle lightly, “How have you been doing?” 

An everyday question leading to catastrophic effects. 

“Oh you know,” she says and rolls her eyes as if you truly did know, “I’ve just been out and about. Did I tell you though? I got married last year!” She holds out her hand in which a giant diamond adorns her finger. “Wow!” you gasp, feigning interest. It’s not that you aren’t happy for her, but you are reminded of just how single you are currently. When was the last time you felt another human’s touch? Does kissing come back as easily as riding a bicycle? “Hey!” she says suddenly, “I’m actually meeting with a couple of friends from our class. You should come join! I’m sure they’d be happy to see you again!” You want to wave her off, but against your better judgment, you find yourself following in her footsteps and listening to her speak about wedding venues and honeymoon destinations.

“Oh my god!” another female voice filters in.

The “couple of friends” this old classmate had mentioned is in fact a fairly impressive size of twenty. This is also the third time the wedding announcement has been made. 

“Last year?” the female continues, “Weren’t you young?”

Yes, you want to respond. Yes she was young. A full 365 days younger than she is now.

Your classmate, Sooyoung (or Kiko as she insists going by now) titters in front of you. “I mean, you can sort of say I’m a late bloomer. I got married when I was 31.”

Her words unintentionally cut into you. Here you are at 29 without a beau in sight. You take a fast swig of your beer and end up hitting the empty glass with a clink to your teeth. Nobody notices.

“Enough about me, however, how about you?”

“I started my own business actually. It’s been doing really well and it’s been a crazy mind. Imagine me, my own boss at only 33!”

You nervously join them when they suddenly laugh together.  

“Hi, can I get another pint please? Actually add a tequila shot to that,” you whisper the last part to the waitress you had just stopped.

And that was how the rest of the night went. People asking one another what they had accomplished. Any moment in time after 30 would not be mentioned until somebody travelled to Uganda to build houses at 31 or another gave birth at the same age. Below 30, anything would be attributed to luck or in your case…

“What are you doing currently?” somebody asks you, “The little baby of our class.”

Swallowing your third tequila shot of the night, you wonder for the umpteenth time how you had become a part of this giant sharing circle. You wonder if it’s a blessing or a curse that you had graduated a little early and thus was younger than most of your peers.

“Well,” you start, “I’m currently working at DailyHive.”

“Ohh!” a man gushes. You recognize him as the once-upon-a-time science partner you used to cheat notes off of. “I use DailyHive nearly as much as Instagram these days. You guys cover everything from news to sports to fashion.”

You shrug. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s a pretty big company!”

“What are you doing there?”

Kiko-ex-Sooyoung hits the man teasingly on the shoulder. “Y/N is probably the Director of Marketing or something. Remember how she used to spend all class doodling in her notebook?”

“Or sleeping!” someone quips.

You don’t join in when they all laugh.

“I’m…an intern,” you say with as much pride as you can in a group of established professionals ranging from dermatologists to that one guy who had flown around the world as a TedTalk guest speaker.

A hushed silence befalls everyone.

“That’s…cool!” the same man encourages you, “Interns are totally rad! Everyone wants an intern spot these days.”

His girlfriend pats your arm, almost empathetically. “Yeah. I know a bunch of people who first start off as interns and then they shoot up the ladder quick enough. As long as you’re no longer an intern at 30, you’re golden!”

Once again, the entire group laughs as if she has said the most hilarious of jokes.

She composes herself and says to you, “Because after that, you should have accomplished something.”

Her words still ring in your ears as you sit at your desk this morning.

Yeah…something. All you need to do is accomplish something in the next three months before you are officially, 29 + 1.

Your fingers tap against your thighs silently while you observe the current debate that is occurring in the conference room. You barely have time to sweep the falling hair back behind your ear as your fingers ferociously fly across the keyboard to keep in track with the meeting.

Fei is arguing that the implement of a new search word system would boost users while Daniel says that it is a waste of resources. Instead, everything should be put into updating the entire system as a whole. You have long since lost track of their words as neither pertain to what you do as an intern.

“Enough,” the CEO of DailyHive holds up a hand. His one word causes the entire room to hush over – truly, the words of a god.

And that might as well be what he is. With his hair swept back and a lone tendril curling perfectly above his brow, Kim Seokjin is legitimately a walking god. Off his broad shoulders hang an expensive white linen suit bought with his pocket change and your yearly salary. A pair of sunglasses hangs in the V of the collared shirt dipping low enough to blur the lines between being fashionably professional and just downright sexy.

The snap of his fingers brings you back to the present.

He dramatically rolls his eyes and accepts that you are an incompetent minute-taker.  

“I have to remember that the world just doesn’t move as fast as I do.”  

                                                            - Quote: Rolling Stones 2019 Kim Seokjin.

Now if only he’d remember he had once said that.

He points at each of them with one finger, then swipes to the left. “Both of you, solve this outside. I don’t want to hear your voices any longer. You two from the marketing team, Ungroomed Stache and Acne Chin, create me a report if we are to implement Ms. Song’s idea. The two of you from…” he takes a pause here clearly having forgotten who his employees are, “The two of you do the same thing but for Mr. Hwang.”

The pair from accounting open their mouth to protest that they are in charge of only numbers, but they are ignored.

“All of you out now. Except you,” he points his finger directly at you, “Stay.”

Nobody utters a single word until they have all left and you are left alone with him. Standing before him with your hands folded nicely in front of you, you blink and wait.

He stares right back at you, picks up his coffee mug and drops it. The clatter of ceramic smashing against the ground causes a pause in the loud buzz outside the room. You know everybody’s focus has been shifted into the room.

“Do you want to kill me?” he drawls.

You take a long inhale. “No,” you say.

“No?” he repeats the word, “Well I think you do. Did you check this coffee before you brought it to me? I tasted cinnamon in it. You know how I’m allergic to cinnamon. Get me a new cup. And this mess, get somebody to clean it. I don’t want the smell of coffee in this room when I have my next meeting here in twenty. I’m taking a smoke a break.”

He stands up and brushes past you without saying anything else.

Nobody can be allergic to cinnamon. Besides if he had actually tasted cinnamon and was that sensitive, he would be dead. And good riddance to that.

Of course, you say none of this and wordlessly begin to pick up the broken ceramic pieces of the dead mug. The bustling outside the meeting room has returned back to its normal state of chaos. Seeing the ugly stain of coffee on the once pristine carpet causes you to swear beneath your breath.

“Who the fuck is allergic to cinnamon?” a new voice says, sliding up beside you.  

The second god in DailyHive; the much nicer and evidently preferred Kim; Taehyung takes the mug pieces from you and drops it into the garbage bin.

Blessed with not only intelligence but devilishly model-like features, he is your desk buddy in the small space allotted for interns and your sole friend in the company.

“Tae,” you sigh with exasperation upon seeing your lifesaver, “What am I going to do about this stain? He’s going to return in fifteen and there’s no way I can get a coffee stain out of this expensive-ass carpet.”

Taehyung taps a long finger to his lips, leaves the room briefly, and returns with a roll of Bounty sheets and a can of Febreze. He promptly blots as much of the coffee off from the carpet then proceeds to pull the meeting table.

“C’mon, Y/N, don’t just stand there. Help me! Time is of the essence!”

You laugh and join him in moving the table so that one of the legs cover the stain 80% of the way. Once he is satisfied, he takes the Febreze and sprays until the whole room smells like “Hawaiian Aloha”.

“You’re welcome.” He gives an extravagant bow, the motion popping open the top button of his shirt to expose a surprisingly chiseled chest.

Fei returns back into the room holding a phone to her ear and a clipboard in her left hand. “What the hell? It smells like a Bath & Body Works in here. Intern, aren’t you supposed to be filing or something? Stop standing around and be useful.” She grips Taehyung’s arm and drags him out of the room. “Button up. This is a professional workplace.”

You give him a tiny wave as Taehyung is steered away by his girlfriend and back to the cubicles.

Taehyung may be your saviour at work, but outside, it cannot be denied that your brother is the true Fountain of Life.

A week has passed since the coffee incident (you suspect a cleaning personnel had found the stain and cleaned up after your improv as aforementioned stain can no longer be found), but Jimin still brings it up.

“I still can’t believe that he said he was allergic to cinnamon. I’ve never heard of such bullshit before,” your brother says over the phone. You can practically hear his eyeroll from across the world.

As a renowned ophthalmologist, you have not seen Jimin for close to a year as he has been initiating his new clinic, a flying eye hospital.

“You should hear his Starbucks order. I always feel like I’m ready to launch my next EP whenever I’m at the counter,” you say.

Jimin laughs. There is the muffled sounds of voices as his never-ending flow of patients have arrived for the day.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” you say upon hearing that, “You’re probably really busy.”

“No,” he says, “I’ve got a few minutes if you’ve got a few. I miss talking to my baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Jiminie,” you say using the nickname he hated.

“Oh that’s right. Your birthday’s in a little under three months, right? My baby sister is turning the big three-oh.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

“Want me to come visit you?”

You contemplate the idea once, having not seen Jimin in quite a while.

“Only if you have time. But I feel like Mom and Dad would probably want to see you more. Speaking of which, um… How are Mom and Dad?”

“They’re good. I hear Dad is finally going to retire this year. He’s giving his practice to Kibum, you remember him? Mom will probably start pestering us about what to do for his retirement party.”

There is a pause.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to say hi to them once in a while.”

You sigh. “And say what? Hey, it’s me. The child that ran away from home at 18? Yeah, I’m not a doctor like everybody else in the family but a 29 year old intern at a popular app company. Whassuuup?”

“Y/N, that’s not what I – ”

“It’s okay, Jimin. I’ve come to accept that not everybody is cut out to be a doctor. I just wish Mom and Dad could realize that.”

Jimin sighs on your behalf. There is the sound of a crying child coming through the earphone. “Well, your contract expires a few weeks after your birthday, right? Who knows, you might be the next Mark Zuckerberg.”

He has never explicitly inquired about your life plan and you know this is as much as he is willing to push without asking, “What’s next after this intern hiccup?” At least he had the decency to compare you to a controversial Internet entrepreneur.

The child is crying much louder now.

“Again with my birthday. But I’ll let you know,” is the only reply you can come up with at the moment. “Okay, brother, go forth and heal the blind. I bless thee in the name of the Holy Spirit, Son and Ghost.”

There is true laughter that rings from Jimin as he ends the call. “It’s Father, Son and Holy Ghost you dweeb. I love you sis.”

“You too.” You hang up first before he can add anything else.

With that, you enter into the 7am Starbucks queue and prepare yourself in running the first single of your long overdue EP.

Seokjin leans back in his chair, watching you from inside his office. Today he has chosen a black turtleneck and a brazen maroon-nearly purple suit jacket to complete the outfit. For once, there is an empty mug of coffee beside him and his morning headache has been appeased.

He knew he had given you an impossible task.

“Compile all the troubleshooting errors we have received since the launch of DailyHive. Organize it in a manner that allows me to identify the most prominent problem. Run it through whomever you please before giving it to me. I don’t need to waste my time correcting your mistakes.”

There is an amused smile that bubbles beneath his otherwise stoic features. He cannot deny that there is, might he dare say, a cute quality about you as you manually scan through the received concerns on your laptop dating back to the initial beta tests – the ones that were lost in a data crash and only backed up with unintelligible scribblings of previous interns.

The moment you had been introduced as the new intern, you had caught his eye. You are exquisitely mundane, and perhaps the reason you had even caught him the first time was due to solely to the fact that you were older than most interns – himself even. Nevertheless, you continue to present him small surprises in your tenacity and capability to tackle challenges.

“Mr. Kim.”

His intercom comes alive with the voice of his secretary.

Seokjin’s eyes do not leave you as he answers.

“Mr. Hwang is on line two. Would you like me to defer him to a later time if you are currently busy?”

Seokjin cannot help but sigh. Hwang Junho, his co-founder, while a genius in international business is also a notorious chatterbox and gossip. There is seldom a reason for Junho to call him except to relay the cover titles of E!Magazine.

“Did he mention a reason for calling?” Seokjin inquires.

His secretary seems to be reading from a note. “He says it’s to do with the company. Something he read from Cosmopolitan this morning.”

So not E! but another sister celebrity gossip blog. He checks his watch and duly notes that he certainly has no meetings scheduled until later in the afternoon where your report would be needed to run a preliminary analysis.

“Sir?”

“Yes, put him through. But tell him I’ve got only five minutes, so he’s better give me the Cliffnotes version,” Seokjin sighs again.

Before he can be connected, Seokjin quickly says, “What’s the name of that intern again?”

“Who?” his secretary asks, “We’ve hired four since the beginning of the year.”

“The one who keeps wanting to poison me.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?” she sounds concerned.

“The one who keeps forgetting that I despise cinnamon.”

There is no response.

“The older one. Spilled coffee a while ago but still has enough coordination to pull together a decent report.”

“Ah,” she says.

He waits patiently as she searches through the database, eventually giving him your name. He gives a slight pause and then says, “Good. Now patch me with Junho.”

There is a momentary buzz as the call becomes connected in which Seokjin turns over the syllables of your name wordlessly.

“Mr. Kim. The man of the hour. How are you, my brother?” Junho’s baritone fills the office in a manner of seconds.

Despite the little annoying quirks, Seokjin cannot help but smile when hearing the voice of his best friend.

“You’ve got three minutes, Junho.”

Junho grumbles. “That’s not my fault. You were the one still on the line with your secretary. Is it still Yerin? ‘Cuz I won’t blame you if that’s the case. Did I catch you doing some naughty phone sex during office hours?”

“Two.”

“Holy hell. Fine. It’s always business with you. That’s why the tabloids are always writing you as an uptight asshole.”

This shifts Seokjin’s attention to the phone. His name is seldomly mentioned except for the features in business columns. He prefers to stay out of the limelight.

“What?”

“Put your name on Google.”

Seokjin does as he is told.

There are millions of results, but the first few pages share the same headline. He clicks on the first one with a grimace.

“Kim Seokjin. Mr. Worldwide Handsome as noted by his fans, has recently sparked Internet outrage.”

A quick skim of the otherwise trashy article brought to the surface a summary: his last dating scandal had ended badly and the repercussions of blowing off a famous celebrity’s daughter had finally caught up with him. The Internet was calling him arrogant, narrow-minded, and even greedy. “The young Chief Executive Officer of booming social media app DailyHive has been accused of using his relationship with actress XYZ to further his own business. Once he gained recognition from aforementioned relationship, he has cold-heartedly cast her away to pursue his next.” “You’re calling me for this bullshit?” Seokjin scoffs. Junho tuts his tongue loudly. “This is not bullshit. It’s affecting the image of your company. Do you think people want to download and support an app that is run by somebody who is being called cruel and dishonest? You’ve got to address this soon before it gets out of control. You’re lucky I have alerts set for these type of things. I caught it for you just in the nick of time.” Seokjin inhales deeply. “You’re also lucky that I’ve got the perfect solution in mind.” “That is?” “The Silver Gala,” Junho references the prestigious event. The Silver Gala is hosted annually and attended by the largest celebrities as well as other wealthy investors and guests. Those in the social circle shared between Seokjin and Junho often yearned for tickets to attend events such as this, as they serve as excellent networking opportunities. Besides the above, such events are circled by reporters and writers of gossip columns to get the exclusive scoop on any eyebrow-raising rumours. “The solution lies in such an event,” Junho continues, “You know how many people will be there. All you’ve got to do is show up with your average girl-next-door type and it’ll show how you’re actually really humble and down to earth. Kim Seokjin is perfectly capable of dating like any regular human being. He doesn’t use “love” or whatever to further his business. Love is the connection between two souls; two individuals who – ” “Beep. Your time has run out Junho. I’ve got another meeting scheduled right this moment,” Seokjin interrupts. “Dude, seriously. Think about it. You could bring Yerin. Everbody loves a good CEO and his secretary affair. And if that’s too juicy for you, I can introduce you to some girls. Or maybe we could go back to our university days and hit a bar, y’know?” Junho tries his best to persuade. “Fuck!” you swear beneath your breath right as you walk into Kim Seokjin’s office. His door had been open and, in your excitement to show your completed report, you had dropped all the loose papers on the ground. Four hours of organization gone, just like that. You hope that at least Seokjin hasn’t heard or noticed you as he had been engrossed in his phone call. Seokjin had in fact noticed you. He can’t help himself but follow the curvature of your bare shoulder as your bangs escape the hold of your scrunchie and sweep across your skin. “Don’t worry, Junho, I’ve just thought about it,” he says with a smile.

[guileheroine]

by your hand is the only end i foresee

1.2k of catradora angst written for the pine4pine exchange 💔 / ao3

Aside from her old cadet uniform and a few ration bars she kept tucked away for midnight cravings—items she was very happy to leave behind—Adora’s personal possessions in the Fright Zone were few, enough to fit in a tied-up old pillowcase.

Precious few: her first official commendation (back when those things mattered), a bracelet she had woven from the leather of her old training shoes, and a few folded up pieces of paper, held together with a blackened elastic that would snap any moment. She wanted to leave these behind, too, but it was easier said than done. Much easier, considering Adora had gone out of her way to grab the little pile from the secret place under beneath her bunk, and cram it, running, into her jacket, before she and her new friends stole away from the Horde forever, again.

She knew she shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t even have been thinking about it. It could have cost them dearly, actually. Yet she couldn’t help it then, with their old quarters just a dash down the corridor—and she couldn’t help it now, as she unfolded the creased old notes and read. She pored over each word, like she was five years old again and barely learning how, just to make them last. Crayons from The Horde came in four colours: black, grey, red, and brown. Catra always made the most of them, scrawling like a machine, her hand skidding out of the borders of the paper sometimes. In an instant, Adora could almost smell them again, a memory she could never have imagined relishing. Could never have imagined feeling so complicated.

AdoRA

DO NOT try to steal my bars again EVER .

just ask. i got them for us!

Then there was a crude heart, before Catra signed her name the way she always did, with a claw-groove underscoring the letters. There were a handful like that, short—and sweet, in hindsight, whether they were meant that way or not. And now, more than a little bitter. Adora traced the groove on each one with her fingertip, her brow threatening to crinkle, hating how tender her own touch was, how quickly her stupid eyes welled.

Adora— remember we need a bigger bunk. It’s gonna come quicker if you ask. If you kick me in the face again you won’t sleep for a week.

Adora, Thanks for standing up for me after training today. Let’s be on the same team next week?

Adora. This is gonna be your face after I kick your ass tomorrow. (Accompanied by a pretty scary drawing of Adora frowning furiously and crying puddles, with Catra cackling in the background, flexing biceps she had never had in her life.)

Adora missed her crazy doodles. She regretted that there weren't more of them here.

The messages were actually fewer than she remembered, too; and as she flicked through them she knew that most of them were missing. She had probably just tossed them behind her shoulder without a second thought, because what had it mattered when they had each other right there, forever? She wondered if Catra had kept any of her notes and figured she had probably torn them to shreds the first chance she got.

Why couldn’t Adora do the same?

Maybe it was just that clinging to them felt like a way of holding on to their friendship, even though all signs told Adora that it was beyond hope of repair now. After all, the scribbles they shared had felt like something so private, so special to them. There weren't exactly gifts to give in the Fright Zone, so they sufficed as tokens of friendship in a way little else could, like evidence. They fell into the habit of writing the kind of things that got said aloud much less often—how they would look out for each other, how they worried sometimes about the future. Adora, and only Adora, knew that Catra often found it easier to express those feelings in writing, in a kind of private that could never be overheard or interrupted. So yeah, it was special. It was the last shred of love Adora had from a friendship that seemed to have slipped through her fingers before she knew it was gone, and she treated these notes carefully. Evidence.

Sniffling, she wondered if she could take a page out of Catra’s book. If writing something down might make her feel better. It hurt horribly to feel so far away from Catra, but if Adora focused hard enough on the page and imagined she was talking to her maybe that pain would recede. Adora fetched the journal Glimmer had presented her with when she moved in and found a fresh page, bending the spine over in that way that always seemed to make Bow wince.

Dear Catra,

Then she held the pen frozen to the page for so long that the ink seeped all the way through. She blew on it to make sure it wouldn't smudge easy, and wrote.

You are my enemy now and you always will be.

She read it over like a drill. It was important to get this into her head. And only then did she write out the rest of her feelings, the words—and tears—finally flowing freely.

...I will always miss you.

When she got to that part, it felt like an exhale, even if the admission was guilty. Because it was the other irreversible truth, the other side of the coin to the animosity she was still struggling to understand. She let the pen clatter momentarily before picking it up again, resuming speed as if she had never stopped. By the time she came to the end of the page she found that her head was clearing even if her tears weren’t, because she was being honest with Catra—

I’m sorry things ended up like this, I really am.

—And herself.

But even if we could go back in time, I wouldn’t do things any other way.

Love,

Adora

Adora didn’t read it over when she was done. She just stretched her wrist and folded the page over. Then she wrote a quick note beside it, because she didn’t quite trust Glimmer and Bow not to snoop. No, it wasn’t her intention to give this letter to Catra. What good would it do? Even if she sent it, Catra probably wouldn’t understand. She couldn't trust her to understand: that was still such a strange and new feeling. Adora felt the distance between them like a throb, like a chasm wider than space. She wondered if they would ever be connected again. Forever without her seemed like such a hard bargain, such a slog…

The same forever that she had once been able to promise Catra without blinking twice.

Adora rubbed her eyes and left her head resting in her hands when she was done. Maybe there were other forevers, other universes. In a desperate moment, she wondered if she could send Catra a sign that would survive the end of the world as they knew it, that could bridge the gap between them just by biding time and space for as long as necessary… It felt as impossible as the distance. She rubbed her temples as if to literally ease the pain. She could only hope that it would let up with time.

[basicallywhiterice]

moonlight (xu minghao)

Genre: Fluff, one scene with angst, college!au, graduation!au, established relationship, moving in together

Summary: Your relationship with Minghao, told through phone calls

Word count: 2k

Warnings: One cuss word I think

a/n: This is lowkey the foil to sunny but the plots are completely unrelated. Happy Minghao day y’all

D-17.

You wake up to a phone call from Minghao.

“Good morning!” he chirps. You respond with a noncommittal grunt. “Aw, baby. Rise and shine!”

“Five more minutes,” you yawn, turning over in your bed.

“C’mon, chop-chop. Get your exams over with! Get that bread, get that head, then leave.”

You still want to go back to sleep, but Minghao’s ridiculousness makes you open your eyes. “You want me to get that head? When you’re a hundred miles away?” Static. “That’s what I thought,” you grin, closing your eyes as another yawn escapes your mouth.

“Hey hey hey, don’t fall asleep on me again. You got this. Turn your camera on!”

“Why?”

“So I can see your beautiful face,” he sing-songs. A grin spreads across your face almost involuntarily—after three years of dating Minghao, simple statements like these never fail to make you happy. It’s because of how genuine he is, you think. He means it from the bottom of his heart. “Plus, you’ll have a harder time falling asleep again.”

“If you insist.” You sit up, turn your camera on, and prop your phone up on your blankets. Minghao pops up on screen a few moments later. “Hey.”

The call freezes for a second, displaying a pixelated jumble of his smiling face, before it resumes to show him blowing a kiss at you. “Hey.”

You blow one back, feeling the sleepiness leave your body. “Mm. Last day of exams. Can’t wait to get this shit over with.”

“That’s the spirit!” His grin is contagious, and you can’t help but break into a smile yourself.

“Thank you for cheering me up, Minghao. You just helped me start my day right.” Minghao’s the more laid-back person in your relationship, but he has no problem being your personal hypeman. He’s good at it, too—he never fails to brighten your day.

“Thank you for overcoming your sleepiness for me, baby.”

“Mhm, just for you. I think I’m gonna take a quick shower before I finish my exams.”

“Can I join?”

“Minghao!” You burst out laughing. Minghao grins.

“Hey, at least you’re fully awake now, right?”

“Oh my god, you dork. Anyways, what are you doing today?”

He explains some of his new designs and marvels at the amount of creative freedom his upcoming project has. Before you know it, it’s 8:28 and Minghao has to leave to catch the metro. You say your goodbyes like normal.

“I love you, Minghao.”

“I love you, y/n.”

You pause before you hit the ‘end call’ button. “I’ll see you soon.”

D-13.

Sometimes, you wonder if suffering through two years of graduate school was worth it.

Then, you remember the job offer you landed a few months ago, and the long hours seem like a small price to pay. Getting a job in New York City is no small task, and your learning through your graduate program certainly helped.

Plus, listening to Minghao get excited about how you’re finally moving in makes the process sound more than worth it, no matter how long it took.

“—so I asked my boss for the afternoon off to pick you up, and she said yes! And I was super happy, and she was super happy that I was happy, you know? She also suggested getting flowers—do you want flowers? I told her you don’t like flowers because they’re impractical, but I can get you a bouquet if you want, if you’ve changed your mind. Or I could get a flowerpot for our apartment. Or do you want a succulent for our apartment? They’re cute—”

“Minghao, calm down. Take a deep breath.” You wait until you hear his exaggerated huffing and puffing, and you smile. Minghao talks a mile a minute when he gets excited, but you love it. “Great. I’d love to get a plant for our apartment. I’m bringing my cactus with me, so we could draw cute faces on the flowerpots and have them be friends.”

“Didn’t you already draw something on your cactus’ pot, though?”

“Yeah, but there’s plenty of space to add on. Wait, let me show you.” You stand, padding toward your window and throwing open the curtains. Outside, the faint streaks of sunset paint the sky, illuminated by the fading glow of daylight. You grab your cactus from the window sill and walk back to your desk, holding it up to your phone.

“Oh, I like all the doodles,” Minghao remarks as you turn your plant this way and that. When you show him the back, where you’ve painted a crescent moon, his eyes soften. “You painted a moon on there.”

When Minghao graduated and left for New York, he promised that he’d always be there for you in spirit. After all, he had said, when you could look up to the same moon he saw, it was almost like he was there with you. “Whenever it’s cloudy at night or when there’s a new moon and I can’t see the moon, I just look at this instead,” you admit, running your finger over the paint.

“God, I’m so in love with you.”

“I know,” you smile softly, looking back up at your phone screen. “That’s exactly how I feel about you.”

“I know.”

Minghao stays on the phone with you for ten more minutes before he hangs up to go grocery shopping.

“I’ll see you soon, Minghao,” you say before you end the call.

Outside, the moon hasn’t risen yet, the sky an inky black. Tonight, though, you don’t need to watch the moon to deal with missing Minghao. Tonight, you sit back, content with waiting thirteen more days to see him.

D-10.

“I’m always so worried that this might be the last time I see my friends,” you whisper into the silence. It’s nearing midnight, but your mind is racing. You just got back from a long dinner with your friends and classmates, which was a fun affair, but now existential dread is creeping up on you.

“I felt the same way when I first graduated,” Minghao admits. You’re Facetiming him again, but your phone lays flat on your bed as you shuffle around, trying to drink in all the details of your room before you have to leave. “I still worry that I’ll never see some of them again. But they’re always one text away, and I make time to see everyone important to me.”

“Yeah. True.” You sigh. “Still, though. I’m gonna miss everyone. I miss you too, you know, even though I’ll be in New York soon.”

“I know. I miss you every day.”

You fall back onto your bed, grabbing your phone and holding it above your face. “I don’t… I don’t want to suffer through missing my friends while knowing that we probably won’t live in the same city again, you know? Missing you is slightly more bearable because I know we’ll end up in the same place, but there’s no guarantee for everyone else.”

“Yeah, and it sucks. But you’ll still be in touch with them, and you’ll make new friends.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

In the middle of the night, after you hang up and you’re all alone, you gaze up at the moon for strength.

D-5.

After walking across the stage and throwing your graduation cap in the air, you’re finally free from school. You don’t have much time to talk to Minghao—your day is packed with ceremonies and parties—but he’s just as excited as you are.

“Two years and I’m done!” you half-shout over the chattering in the background.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. Show me your graduation cap!”

You pluck it off your head and hold it in front of you with one hand, rotating it this way and that like a steering wheel. “It’s about the same as the undergraduate cap. I did get this hood, though. It almost feels like a cape.”

“You could be a superhero that has caffeine for blood, or something, and your kryptonite could be history tests.”

“God, don’t remind me of those. I’m free now, remember?”

You talk for a few more minutes before your friends remind you of the graduation party at 4 pm, and you have to hang up to get ready. Before you hang up, Minghao bombards you with reminders of how proud he is, before you finally have to go.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says.

D-1.

“Really? You’re still doing last-minute packing?” Minghao asks as you throw some shoes into your suitcase.

“Shh, I blame you for distracting me with late-night calls.”

“You find me to be distracting?”

You roll your eyes, ducking down to grab your folded towels and plop them on your bed. “Mhm, always have. Don’t get cocky, though.”

He’s smirking when you look back to the phone screen.

“Minghao! I just said not to get cocky.”

“C’mon, let me have this moment.”

You sigh dramatically, glancing around your nearly-empty room and making a mental checklist of things to pack in the morning. “You’ll get to the airport at 2 tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. Terminal C, right?”

“Right. Can’t wait to C you then.” He groans, and you can’t help but prolong the joke. “Get it? C you?”

“I feel so bad for your roommates. I bet you tortured them with constant bad puns during exam season.”

“No comment.”

At 8:21, your roommate Jieqiong starts the last movie night you’ll share together, and you bid Minghao goodbye. Still, you find comfort in the fact that this is the last goodnight you’ll send over Facetime for a long time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Minghao,” you say, blowing him a kiss.

“See you tomorrow.”

D-Day.

“I just got done picking up my suitcases,” you say, slipping an earbud into your right ear as you drop your phone in your pocket. As you grab the handles of your luggage, you scan the baggage claim area for an exit and start walking toward the sliding doors at the end of the row of conveyors.

“Awesome, I just saw some people walk out,” Minghao says. “I’m here waiting.”

Suddenly, you feel very small as the gravity of the situation weighs on you. Minghao is behind those doors, waiting. You’re about to start a new life together, staying in the same city for the first time in two years. “What if I can’t find you?” you all but whisper, halting your footsteps.

“Then we’ll just keep looking for each other. Take your time, baby.”

“I—yeah, okay.” You will your legs to move again. “Will you stay on the call with me?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.” A comfortable silence falls as you pass the exit checkpoint, stepping out of the sliding doors to the pickup area. “Okay, I just walked outside and—”

And then your gaze falls on a certain young man wearing a top in your favorite shade of light blue. What catches your attention is the poster he’s holding, with ‘my moon’ written on it in loopy handwriting and a cartoon moon doodled next to it.

Your face nearly splits open from how wide your smile is.

“I see you.”

Day 1.

You wake up with your face pressed into Minghao’s chest.

“Good morning,” you whisper. “Are you awake?”

Minghao groans. “Five more minutes,” he mutters. “What time is it?”

You glance around the room until you find his clock on his bedside table. “9:45. We have lots of time before we have to meet my parents for lunch.”

“Mm. Good.” He wraps an arm around your waist. “I’m glad you’re here, sleepyhead.”

You scoot closer. “You’re the one asking for more sleep, mister.”

“You’re the one who’s warm and soft and cuddly. I love you, y/n.”

Closing your eyes, you nuzzle your head into his chest and relax into his embrace. “I love you, Minghao.”

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Liminal Grief [3/3]

Rating: T Fandom: Stardew Valley Pairing: Shane/Female Farmer Tags: Pre-Relationship, Developing Friendship, Grief, Alcoholism, Depression Word Count: 10,613 (total) Summary: The new farmer has a level of equal-opportunity-friendliness that reminds Shane of an old friend, but when the mask comes off, it’s more like looking in a mirror. Also on AO3. Notes: Very much based in the game, but littered with my own headcanons, both for this particular farmer and for Shane. Like other stories in this series, this could be considered standalone, but follows the same farmer (named Lydia) and the same Shane, and shares continuity with those other works. Disclaimer: I don’t know anything about building fences or treehouse ladders, and neither does Lydia. :)

Part 1 here, Part 2 here.

"And this is the pond. Archimedes thinks it's his pool, as you can tell. It's pretty deep, so don't try and swim in it. The bottom is composed of Sticky Mud, which is very dangerous."

"Sticky Mud?" Jas repeated, hanging on Lydia's every word.

"Eh, that's what Granddad always said. Personally I don't think this mud is stickier than any other mud, but he was trying to keep me safe."

Jas nodded solemnly. "I won't swim in the pond."

"Perfect." Lydia flashed a smile at Shane. "Let's go get the treehouse fixed up then, huh?"

Jas clapped her hands in glee. "Yes!"

She ran out ahead of them, hair fluffing out behind her in the summer breeze. Archimedes barked, shook the water off his coat, and rushed after her. They'd already passed by the treehouse once today, and it was clear that Jas remembered the way; she didn't wait for the two adults to take the lead, merely kept up her pace about fifty feet ahead, chattering away to Archimedes.

One bad habit already picked up from the farm girl. Great.

"She's a sweet kid," Lydia said, watching Jas trot ahead of them. "Curious as hell, huh?"

He tried to remember why he'd agreed to this. Lydia had helped him find that sweet kid last weekend. Stuck her neck out when she didn't have to. She'd been so damn nice about it.

But she talked so, so much. That was part of the nice shtick. He wasn't hungover—not this time—but he somehow felt worse for it. Felt...dry. Like those three beers at the saloon last night, so carefully rationed, had left him worse off than six, or nine. He sure hadn't slept any better for cutting back.

"Yeah," he said, with a monumental effort. "Once she comes out of her shell."

"Family resemblance, maybe?" she said, with a sly smile.

He didn't bother to correct her; he just looked away, focusing on Jas. That much, at least, he could enjoy. Jas skipping through the meadow grasses, back and forth across the path, Archimedes jumping along with her as she sang some song he only caught snatches of. It sounded like a distortion of one of those clapping games kids were always playing. He knew a few of them.

"I can take care of the treehouse," he said, trying to sound casual about it. "You probably have a dozen other things to deal with."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of her shoulders lift in a shrug. "Nah. I got all the watering done this morning. This is my budgeted project for the day. Part of it, at least. Shouldn't take too long."

Well, he'd tried.

"Though I have to say," she said, coming to a stop beneath the treehouse, right beside the pile of lumber, "I think this is a little much for some hand holds."

Some of it was for her fences, but he wasn't about to tell her that outright. "Figured a full ladder would be sturdier. She's not exactly going to get smaller, and if I ever have to go up after her again, I don't want to fear for my life."

Lydia chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Fair enough." She set her backpack down against the tree trunk. "You have a plan, then?"

It went easier after that. When she was focused on something, she wasn't so chatty; she said only what was needed to work out each new problem they ran into, only enough to make sure that neither of them were in the way when one of them was cutting a piece of lumber, assembling the ladder. Jas clambered up and down the nearby boulder for a while, teasing Archimedes when he couldn't follow her up, before eventually settling in a patch of grass with a book. The dog lolled beside her, apparently perfectly content.

"Okay," Lydia said, eyeing the handholds, "let's get it sort of in the right place, and then I can get up there and nail it down." She hooked a hammer and bag of nails to her belt.

They got the ladder upright, braced against the tree trunk, and then, quick as a flash, Lydia scrambled up the old handholds. Once she was safely seated above, Shane eased the ladder into place.

Lydia glanced around before she started hammering. "I can't believe all my old doodles are still up here. Wow, I...was not great at coloring inside the lines."

"I wasn't going to say it, but yeah. You're not exactly an artist."

She snorted. Seemed like everything he meant as an insult, or a judgment, she took as a joke. Or maybe she just didn't read into every word other people sent her direction, the way he did. Must be nice.

"I'm not," she agreed, unfazed. She double-checked the position of the ladder—Shane kept it braced against the ground—and then fished out a nail and began to hammer it in. "Forgot Granddad carved his initials up here, too. Can't believe he managed to climb this old thing."

"B.I.V.," he recalled.

"Bernard Isaiah Vesela." Her mouth tugged down. She moved on to the next nail. "He did the junimo carvings, too. I just tried to fill them in."

"Junimo," Shane repeated.

"Yeah. Forest spirits." She sighed. "Probably a lot like Sticky Mud, I guess."

He didn't really know what to say to that. Nothing nice, probably. Nothing reassuring. That wasn't his thing. He kept his mouth shut, and she didn't speak again, continuing to fix the ladder in place.

"All right," she said finally. "Moment of truth."

She hooked the hammer back to her belt and started the climb down. The ladder didn't so much as wobble, firmly braced between ground and tree.

"Perfect," she declared, though she'd clearly lost some of her earlier sunniness.

"Is it done?" Jas called, jumping to her feet.

Shane saw the way Lydia tried to hitch up her smile. It felt like watching some private, painful struggle. It felt like every moment he'd tried to do exactly the same thing, usually for Jas, like someone was holding up a mirror to his own face. He looked away.

"All done," Lydia confirmed. "Come test it out, will you?"

Jas squealed with delight and ran over. Archimedes followed at a more sedate pace, clearly worn out from his earlier exertions. As easily as Lydia had scaled the handholds, Jas climbed the ladder, miniature backpack bouncing on her shoulders. There was a happy sigh from above them as she settled in.

"This is a perfect place to read," she declared, and stuck her head out the window to wave down at them. "Thanks, Miss Lydia! Thanks, Shane!"

Shane scuffed a foot through the dirt. It'd been a long time since she'd seemed so happy. "Sure, kid."

Lydia's smile looked a little steadier when Jas vanished back inside. "She's sure got a handle on life's simple pleasures." She nudged the remaining lumber with her foot. "Lots left over here. I'll help you cart it back when she's ready to go home."

No putting it off any longer. "It's for your fences," he said. "They're pretty rough in places."

She looked up at him, head tipped a bit to the side, frowning now. "What?"

"You spent a lot of time helping me look for her last weekend, and...this." He gestured vaguely at the treehouse. "I owe you."

She huffed out a breath, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "That's...nice, but it's not necess—"

"I don't want Jas to climb one of those things and then it breaks beneath her, okay?" He picked up a bundle of the lumber. "Kids getting stabbed with broken old fences is bad."

He didn't like the look in her eyes. It was too soft by far, and she was fighting a smile at this point, rather than trying to prop it up. She was going to get the wrong idea from this, clearly.

"Okay," she said, nodding. "Let's fix some fences, then. Archimedes, stay with your new best friend, traitor."

The dog barked once and settled at the base of the ladder. Lydia picked up a bundle of lumber, too. Coming this way, he saw that the thin path trod through the grass by feet actually led to a gate, one that came out on the hard-packed dirt framed by fencing.

Taking a look around at the fences, she let out a long, tired sigh. "Jeez. You're right. I cut back a lot of the weeds, but...it's still a mess."

It was too similar to that instant just moments ago, when the mask on her face had slipped. He saw too much he recognized there. Someone who was overwhelmed. Someone who was underwater.

"No offense," he said, "but it seems like you've really got your hands full."

She huffed, leaned down to put the lumber on the ground,  and straightened up, knuckling her back. "That obvious, huh?"

"All this was overgrown a few months ago. No one had so much as set foot on the property in years. It was all just weeds and woods."

She folded her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him. "That so?"

"That's what Marnie said, anyway," Shane clarified. He was not about to admit to his midnight wanderings.

"Yeah, well, I'm working on it." She sounded a little defensive, for once. She certainly looked it. "It's just going to take more than a season."

He considered letting it drop, starting in on the fences, but he was...curious. Morbidly, maybe. All this time, all these weeks, she'd been unrelenting in her attempts to ingratiate herself with the town. Even with him, even though he'd kept trying to send her scurrying. He'd had one perception of her, of a relentlessly friendly person, but this was slowly revealing another, different one. One that he liked better, actually. That look that had crossed her face as she sat in the old treehouse, the way her mood had dimmed afterward…

Maybe they were right, and misery really did love company. Maybe he just wanted to know that someone else had figured out how to fake it. Maybe he wanted lessons.

"How'd it end up getting dumped on you, anyway?" he pressed.

Her voice hardened. "Granddad died. Obviously."

"Right," he said, pushing onward despite the warning in her face, "but why you?"

"Fuck, is it that obvious I have no idea what I'm doing? You think I don't deserve the land or something? Was Marnie hoping to buy it?"

So she could get upset about something. Angry, even.

"Not that I know of," he said.

She glared, hazel eyes fierce, shoulders up around her ears.

"Just seems like it would've gone to one of your parents," he said, shrugging. "That's all."

She laughed—not like before. It was a cutting sound, furious. "Dad's the one who left it this way. He doesn't deserve it."

He waited, listening. Interested, despite the way she was looking at him, which indicated a clear desire to stab him to death.

She let out a low breath, visibly tried to compose herself. "Did I do something to piss you off? There a reason you're picking a fight with me?"

"I asked a question," he corrected. "I wasn't picking a fight."

"Forgive me for interpreting it that way, but it seems like your default state of being, frankly."

"Just curious. That's all."

He felt her eyes on him as he moved over to one of the busted sections of fence, assessing what needed to be done. After a moment, she followed.

"Needs to be rebuilt entirely here," he said.

She nodded. "I cleared some fallen debris off this section. Probably what caused it."

They went to work in a new, strained silence, cutting and framing. After the second section had been repaired, and Lydia was holding a few boards in place for him to hammer, she spoke again, like she couldn't take the tension any longer.

"Dad hated this place. Hated growing up here, hated living in the middle of nowhere, hated the work. So Granddad willed it to me. Only problem was, I was nine."

Shane considered. "So your dad was supposed to upkeep it until you could take over."

"Yeah. He just...couldn't be fucked, I guess."

He snorted despite himself; it'd been hard, half an hour ago, to imagine her using that kind of language, but his pushiness had exposed some other side of her.

"If I'd realized he wasn't looking after it, I'd have come sooner." She trailed off, took another hopeless glance around. "But I didn't," she added under her breath, almost like she'd forgotten he was there, like she was talking to herself. "So all I can do now is fix it." Visibly, she straightened: shoulders squaring, chin lifting.

She'd alluded to magic, to spirits, but to him, this seemed like magic. A weird round alien that lived in the woods wasn't capable of this.

It was clear how much she missed her grandfather. Family that'd been gone most of her life, now, but in these last few moments she'd worn the grief like it was fresh. And maybe, in other ways, it was. Maybe her dad's actions had reopened the wounds. But she was persevering.

"You could rent it out," he pointed out, lining up another nail. "Sell it, even."

She pulled a face, nose wrinkling. "Never." And then, hesitating, "Well. Not yet, anyway. If I do everything I can and still can't turn a profit, then...I guess I'll have to be realistic. Hand it off to someone who knows what they're doing. I don't know if I could bear it." She took a deep breath. "He gave me this place. I was sick of my job—it was making me sick, honestly—but more than that…" She cleared her throat. "You ever lose someone like that, and just want to be close to them again? This is where I feel closest to him."

He nodded, a little unwillingly. "Yeah. I get that."

She looked a question at him over the fence. He didn't have to answer; he knew by now that she didn't push, not like that—not like him. She pushed for a hello, maybe, or an acknowledgment, or a few minutes of small talk, but not for this.

Still. She'd revealed something that hurt her, and he hadn't made it easy. Turnabout was fair play.

"Jas's parents," he said. He meant to make that a sentence, meant to add a verb at the end. It stuck in his throat, though, unpracticed as it was. "Guess I'm lucky. She's still small enough to cart around with me wherever, mostly."

She sat back on her heels. "Shit. Your brother? Sister?"

"Nah. Just...friends." That didn't seem sufficient to describe them. It never had. He'd made his peace with it, as much as he'd made peace with anything. "She's my goddaughter. Unfortunately for her."

She didn't argue with that, and he appreciated it. Everyone had rushed to reassure him at the beginning, told him Jas was lucky to have him, but what did they know? They hadn't seen what he would become. How low he would sink. How much better Patrick and Charlotte had made him; how much worse he was, a shell, now that they were gone.

She looked back toward the treehouse, back toward where they'd left Jas.

"Recent?" she said.

"About a year ago." He wasn't about to tell her the exact date. He doubted the resulting pitying look would be good for his health.

He braced himself for what came next, regardless. He'd always hated the condolences. They were awkward. They didn't help. Any religious platitudes only made him angry; any promises that things would get better eventually seemed empty. Things would never get better, because they would never be the way they were.

"Poor Jas," she murmured. "No wonder."

"Yeah, I'd act up too if my parents died and left me with someone like me."

She looked back to him, eyes softening. "It's not you, though. You could be the perfect person...the perfect substitute parent...and she'd still want them, at least sometimes."

They'd been crouched over this pile of lumber, no longer building a fence, for several minutes now. He sat down in the dirt, giving his knees a break.

"That what happened to you?"

She smiled, but it had a grim edge. "Dad wasn't any substitute, if that's what you're asking. And yeah, I bet I was a brat for a few years." She sat back, too, looped her arms around her knees and hugged them to her chest. "And obviously we've had our disagreements, but I still love him. He did what he could. We all have a limit." She rubbed a hand over her eyes, smearing a little dirt over her face. "He lost his dad, same time I lost Granddad. Everybody has their own grief."

That was true, sometimes. Sometimes, he had his grief. And other times he had his resentment, or his anger, or—worst of all, maybe—nothing at all. Just a little girl to raise and no idea how to do it. No idea how to live to do it.

But at least she didn't tell him she was sorry. At least she didn't tell him it would be okay, someday. She just sat with him in the quiet, both embroiled in their own thoughts, and for once, it was sort of nice to have company.

Off in the distance, there came a strange, hollow, piping call. Lydia lifted her head from her knees, turned her face toward it, smile creeping over his face.

"That's the sound," she said. "The one I was telling you about. It's probably just some weird bird, but Granddad always said it was the junimos." She laughed a little. "I'd convinced myself I imagined it, or maybe he ran off at night and made it to entertain me. But then, the first night here...I heard it."

She glanced at him, questioning, a trace of worry on her face. Like she thought she was still imagining it.

He wasn't about to agree to forest spirits, but she wasn't totally crazy, either. He could give her that much.

"You're right," he agreed. "That definitely sounds like a noise a weird bird would make."

She laughed, loud and relieved, and knocked the dust from her hands. "Okay," she said, businesslike and focused again. "Under threat of attack by weird birds, we should probably get this show on the road."

Wordlessly, he raised the hammer. She held the boards in place. Occasionally, they heard Jas laugh or shout down to Archimedes from the treehouse; occasionally, as the sun sank lower, that far-off call repeated.

Weird bird or not, he sort of liked it.

[catathyst]

Happy New Year Eve!!!

imma talk about my plans for here, First of all, imma have a baby sibling soon, gender reveals party tonight, I’ll post a quick doodle at midnight est once the gender is revealed since I got a lot of drawings planned. speaking of which, first of all, I plan on posting one drawing a day on twitter for birthdays, tho I decided to post it here too so I can have content here, I was gonna do speed paints on my youtube but I rather save my channel for other plans. next is my 2 AU's I’m currently working on, “Split In Time” an Aphmau au, and “Partners In Crime” a steven universe au, after I get a few drawings of my art haul thing done in advance, I’ll post some ref sheets for both these AU's then there are my original/gacha/semi originals stories, which include, Mystical 101 Meteorites A Murder-Suicide The Necklace The Mirror Equality Alternate Possibilities Youtuber Hunger Games A Reverse Clichue/Lilly’s Story Different Views, Same Story Poor To Rich Whodunnit Lilly’s Story, Whodunnit, Poor To Rich, A Murder-Suicide and Different Views are all the current gacha stories I have, the reason their gacha is cause there not as big and shorter and will either be 10 episodes or less, or 1 mini-movie long, Whodunnit is the one I’m working on first. Youtuber Hunger Games was originally a scrapped idea, tho I’m considering bringing it back. The Necklace and The Mirror, those are probably both gonna be a comic series here. As for Mystical, 101 Meteorites, Equality, and Alternate Possibilities, these stories are actually really big and long, too long to be a comic, too complex for gacha, and I wanna animate these ones, Mystical being 4 seasons long “Seasons 0-3″, while the others will be about a normal movie length, so about 90 mins. so, that’s all the stories I have planned as of right now. there also Camp Magic, Worlds Collide, and Alternates, tho these are currently scrapped until further notice.

[lockwoodandcofanfic]

Lockwood and Co: The Delirious Diver

Word count: 1532

Lockwood scrambled to the door to open it, tidying himself as he did. As he opened the door I heard a squeak and a gasp. From Holly and Jamie respectively. Standing in the doorway was the imposing figure of one of the richest men in the city, Lord Gabriel Egrets. Lockwood, after seaming stunned for a second, quickly regained composure and flashed his million dollar smile.

"Lord Egrets. Welcome to our operation."

"Ahh, Lockwood, call me Gabriel. I see you got my message. I'm sorry this was on such short notice, but I'm having some problems. Supernatural problems." Lockwood nodded and responded.

"Of course, our specialty. Lets sit down and I'll have our new assistant get you some tea and biscuits. How would you like your tea?"

"Hmm. I'll take a splash of cream in mine, if it's not to much trouble."  Jamie left to the kitchen flipping through a notebook, probably looking to remember how we like our tea. The rest of us sat down in the parlor to discuss business.

"So Gabriel, what problems are you having? Please, leave nothing out that could possibly help us".

"It all started about three month ago, the house would drop several degrees in temperature for no reason. Then stuff started moving. A dish could vanish for a few days and then reappear on the opposite side of the house. But it was only this month that the maids started hearing voices. They all described the voices as being young children, usually female, and some of the younger members seeing a small child, with bloody eyes at the end of a corridor. But a few days ago one of our maids was found dead. She had been severely ghost touched. The other maid who found her right before she died said that she was rambling about Abilene, who according to the maid who found her was her younger sister who died a few years ago by being hit by a car." Lord Egrets sighed and stopped to breath, which gave Jamie the opportunity to set down the tea and biscuits on the coffee table.

"Ah, the tea," Lockwood interjected, "Thanks Jamie. Did you get all that?" The tea had finished a while ago and Jamie had been standing there taking notes on a clipboard with case papers on it. She nodded and took a seat. "Sorry for the interruption, is that all?"

"I wish it was" Lord Egrets said with a sigh, "After that happened, I told all the staff to leave and take a paid vacation, and filed a DEPRAC report. They sent a team of Night Watch children. But they quit, even before midnight, fleeing the house. They also reported the same noises and a child with bleeding eyes, along with what they assumed was a poltergeist that threw any object at them." He stopped and looked down,"This house has been in my family for centuries and I can't think of leaving it or rebuilding it." He looked up again with tears forming in his eyes and a look of desperation so intense it surprised me. "You have to help me, please. It's all I have after my parents died. I don't care how you finish the job as long as you don't burn down the house."

This time Holly spoke up. "Of course we will help, Jamie, can you tell us what you think of this case? And drink some tea, it will help your nerves." He started to drink as Jamie gave her two cents on the matter.

"It seems like we will be dealing with two ghosts, possibly three. A poltergeist and one other, From the description, most likely a phantasm, and possibly a fetch. All of them seem to be Type Two ghosts. I'd say our best bet is to thoroughly research the house and location, and see if it says anything in the archives. After that, check the house in the daytime, followed by a stay overnight in a chain circle, that has been at least twice reinforced. After that we should base our plan of action after what we have researched and experienced." Lockwood looked pensive, and nodded.

"I agree. Unfortunately we are booked until next week. The next day we will be free for a night check will be next Sunday"

The Lord looked up. "Any time works for me. The quicker the better."

"Of course. Especially with such an esteemed client such as yourself." Lockwood gave a quick smile to Lord Egrets, as well as Jamie for her analysis. I have to say it was impressive how well she was able to analyze the situation. "Is that all? I don't mean to imply anything, but have there been any..." Lockwood paused, trying to find a word, or phrase, "tragic deaths that could be linked to your house? A party gone wrong, a passionate lover, you've heard stories of the like. Again I do not mean any offense towards you or your family. " The lord sat there pensively for a moment before speaking again.

"No offense taken. There was the death of my wife a few years ago, but to my knowledge there was nothing left unfinished that I haven't taken care of. And all her belongings have been incinerated, except for a few items, like her wedding ring that I have in a sliver lined box. Not to mention her coffin was laced with silver and lavender. That was always her favorite scent..." He trailed off, reminiscing about his late wife.

"Other than that I know of no tragic accidents relating to my home. But of course, there may be one I am not aware of. I honestly don't care about what happened in my house." His despair and nerves were getting the better of him again. "It's all I have left and I have to save it. Please. I'll do anything. Pay any price."

Using my most soothing voice (albeit I'm not very soothing, Holly is much better at that) I try to calm him down a bit. Lord Egr- Gabriel, have some tea. And please. Take a cookie. If it will help soothe your mind, George can get to the archives and start researching for information. There is a good couple of hours before we have to go out tonight." Gorge looks a little taken aback. But Holly shut down his retort. Gorge's face contorts into a resentful scowl.

"Would you do that for me? Oh, I knew it was he right choice to come here. Thank you! Oh thank you!" He stands up, shaking with excitement, having not noticed George's sour face. He sits back down again, slightly more serious. "And for all this help, what do you want? I'll pay double, not triple the normal price."

Lockwood rattles off our normal prices from memory. I can see Jamie taking note of the prices. Lockwood then gives the approximation of what it would cost.

"Of course, we don't know exactly, but that would cover our equipment, transportation, and the like. Most likely it will be paid in increments because of the large project. Small payments for daytime visits and overnight observations. The largest charge is going towards fighting the ghost and finding the source."

"That's no problem Lockwood. As soon as you show up I'll wire the money strait to your account. As for the final night, whenever that may be, I'll pay half up front. As soon as you confirm that the source or sources are gone, the money will be sent." He looks confident that we won't be fail.

"Ah. Standard practice for large hauntings. Of course. Is that all?"

"Yes. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart." He stands up, puts his hat and coat back on, and leaves. Lockwood leaves it assist him out the door.

As soon as Lockwood comes back George explodes. "LUCY! You know I've been looking forward to sitting down and reading all week. Why did you-" Lockwood cut him off.

"George. I'm sure Lucy just said that to make him feel more comfortable. However it might be good to get a head start on that. You might as well take Ms. Lynn with you for help." George huffed and stood up.

"Fine Lockwood. I'll go. Jamie, leave the notes with Lucy, and come help me at the Archives. You said you worked as the assistants to the head of the research department right? You know how to research correctly?"

"It's been a few years since I've worked that position, but yes. I know how to  navigate the archive." Their voices fade off. Holly leaves, probably to go clean something, leaving me and Lockwood alone with the tea. The air is tense, but neither of us do anything about it. We've been like this since the Fitties Incident. Eventually Lockwood speaks up.

"So Luce, what's on Ms. Lynn's notes there." That breaks the tension and we start talking about the case. Discussing strategies, cases that have come up in the news, doodles on the Thinking Cloth, general banter. Later Quips drops by, and we break the news about the new agent. It's like always, just another happy day at Portland Row.

[tjb1619]

Here is the next chapter! Enjoy! ~Chapter 4~ "Hey, Matt, I am going over to Dan and Maria's again! I will be back later!" Before he can respond, I have already grabbed my bag with Ayethusa nestled inside and left the house. It has been a month since my uncle and I recieved our new companions, but we are already used to having them around; as though we have had them our entire lives. Of course, no one yet knows about them because, if that happened too soon, my uncle and would get locked up for who knows how long, away from our companions. 'I am so glad no one has taken me away from you, Amberle,' Ayethusa remarks. 'I feel the same way,' I agreed. 'I keep forgetting that you can hear everything that I think about. Hey, how do think Maria's doing?' 'I think she is doing better and better every day,' Ayethusa responds, 'especially since we have been helping out every day once she had Bonnie.' 'Yeah, I am sure she has enjoyed every minute of it.' 'Count on it!' Ayethusa agreed. After another ten minutes, we come to the house that Dan and Maria reside in. I knock on the door. "Hello?" I call. "Dan? Maria?" "Door's open, Amberle!" Maria calls back. I open the door and walk inside to find Maria breastfeeding Bonnie. "Hey, Maria," I say, closing the door behind me. "How are you doing?" "Better than yesterday," she answers. "I don't feel as exhausted today as I have been." "That's good." I take my bag off and set it down on the floor. "Do you need anything? Water? A pillow?" "I am okay right now," she says. "I will need to go into town to pick up a few things, though, when Bonnie gets finished." "I can watch her in the meantime." I say, in reassurance. "Thank you, Amberle." she replies, in grattitude. "You have no idea how much this helps Dan and me." "Anything for a friend." Once Bonnie has finished nursing, Maria hands her to me. I burp her for a while before lying her down for a nap. After a few hours of doodling mixed with changing a diaper and a side of singing and rocking an infant back to sleep, Maria walks back into the room. "How is she?" she asks, talking in an almost whisper. "Good," I answer, also talking quietly, "she just fell asleep a few minutes ago." I set my pencil down. "Oh, good." She heads towards the fireplace. "Would you like some tea? Coffee?" "No, thank you, Maria." I start cleaning up my things. "I think it was about time I head home for now." "You sure?" she asks, crossing her arms. "I was going to get supper going. You sure you don't want to stay just a while longer?" "I just don't think my uncle wants me away from home for too long." I answer, putting my bag over my shoulder. She is quiet for a minute. "All right." she huffs. "You just be careful, okay?" We embrace in a hug. "I will." I promise, pulling away. I start to leave, but get stopped before I reach the door. "Amberle?" Maria asks. I turn around to see confusion mixed with horror plastered across her face. "Maria? What is it?" I rush to her, putting my hands on her arms. "There is something moving in your bag." she whispers. 'Uh-oh!' I feel my face getting warm. 'What?' Ayethusa asks. 'I think....you have been spotted.' I answer. "Amberle? Did you hear me?" Maria is now starting to sound panicked. "Yes, Maria," I tell her, saying each word slowly, "I heard you and there is something I need to explain, but I really don't know how you will react." "React to what?" she asks, getting even more frustrated. "That you have a pet spider or something?" Her voice is slowly starting to get louder. "Or...something." I grab her by the arms and force her to sit in a chair. "Look," I say, sitting down in front of her, "firstly, I need you to take a couple of slow deep breaths." She does. "Okay, I want you to close your eyes, and do that again, but a little slower." She narrows her eyes at me for a second before complying. "Better?" I ask. She nods. "Okay. Second, if I tell you what's in my bag, do you swear not to freak out too much? I know it is going to be quite a lot to digest, I mean, it was for me. Do you swear?" "Y-yes." she says. I can hear the hestitation in her voice, letting me know she was curious and a bit cautious. "Okay," I say, waatching her staring at my bag, "but first, do you know of the dragon legend?" She looks up. "Of course," she answers, becoming even more curious, "everyone who has heard it, knows it. Why?" "So, could you tell me what you know about the legend?" I inquire. "Why are you asking me about the legend? And what does the legend have to do with what is moving in your bag?" she fires, crossing her arms. "Amuse me." I answer. "Amuse me and you will find out what is in my bag. She stares at me for a minute. "All right." She sighs. "According to legend, there was once a time that dragons roamed the earth. Seeing a dragon was just as common as seeing other people. In fact, just about every person you saw had a dragon as a companion. However, supposedly, there was maybe one person in every generation that wasn't gifted with a companion. Those that did not get a companion did not get to experience the abilities that each dragon gave their companion. Some of the most common abilities were the power to heal, telepathy, and telekinesis and they were given to more than person. "However, one day, there was a king who had a dragon as black as midnight. This king loved his kingdom and his kingdom loved him in return. At least, they loved him until he started to change. He became selfish, greedy, and careless. One day, this king gave his soldiers the order to hunt down and kill every dragon that was not his own. His soldiers reluctantly obeyed. Five years went by before the king's order was fulfilled: his dragon was the last remaining. He was happy; for a time. Soon, he started to miss seeing the dragons all across his kingdom. He became depressed; locked himself away in his room and never came out. He spent the rest of his days in his room. "Now, supposedly, there is a hidden cave, full of dragon eggs, each awaiting their lifelong companion. No one knows if this cave even exists because some don't believe it does. No one has ever found it." she says, finishing. "Do you believe there is any truth to the legend?" I ask, curious to know what her answer will be. "Yes," she answers, "I do." "Do you believe the dragons once did exist?" "Yes, and I think they will again, someday." I stare at her, in disbelief. "What?" she asks. "Are you okay?" "I have someone I want you to meet." I start to pull my bag off my shoulder. "Please, promise you won't scream? Partly for my sake, and, also, partly for Bonnie's." "Yes, I promise." I can tell she very curious, probably because I have been drawing this out. "Maria," I say, holding my bag in my lap, "I would like to introduce my companion: Ayethusa." "Companion?" she asks, glancing at me with wide eyes. 'Come on out, Ayethusa.' She starts to stick her head out of my bag. As soon as Maria sees her, she gasps, making my companion duck back out of sight. "Is that," Maria starts, "a dragon? An ACTUAL dragon?" I laugh. "Yes," I answer. "And she is amazing! It's okay, Ayethusa, Maria is just shocked and amazed. You can come out." Ayethusa starts to come out of my bag again. "Wow," Maria says, staring into the beauty that was my dragon. "Beautiful. And completely white." Ayethusa spins in a circle on the floor, showing off. 'Show off.' I grin. Ayethusa dances across the floor, causing Maria to laugh. "So," Maria says, turning to me, "where did you find her?" I almost laugh. "Actually," I answer, "that is a funny story." I pull out my sketchbook and show her my drawing of the cave. "That is the legendary hidden cave." She looks up, eyes wide. "How?" she asks, in disbelief. "I thought no one has been able to find it?" "No one was able to find it," I explain, "because no one with natural-born magic was able to see past the glamor wall that was put up." "Glamor wall?" she asks, a little confused. "What do you mean?" "Glamor wall being a magic barrier." I tell her, further explaining. "Oh," she says, "I get it now. So, since you have a dragon, that means the cave was found?" "You catch on quick." I note. "Then, who?" she asks, getting curious. "Who found the cave? Someone with magic had to have found it, as you said." "You would be right." I say, lowering my gaze for a second before looking back up at her. "Someone with magic. That person is.....me." "You?" she demands, in disbelief. "You have magic? How?" "I-I don't know." I say, confused. "I didn't know I had magic until the dragon Mother guarding the eggs used her magic to find out I had it." "How did she figure it out?" she asks, almost whispering. "She used her magic to look deep inside me: deep inside my soul, inside my very being." I answer. "I am not sure how she did it, but I will say this: it was not pleasant. I could feel all of my power all at once. I could feel everything I could potentially do to everything and everyone around me. And, to be honest, it's scary. It brought me to my knees." "The unknown usually is." she says. "How do you think I felt when I first found out I was pregnant with Bonnie?" I look up at her. "At first, I was thrilled, overjoyed. Then, I started to worry: worry that I wasn't going to be a good mother; worry that something would happen and I would lose Bonnie." "But, you didn't." I say, pointing out the obvious. "Exactly." she agrees. "The same goes for your magic. I am pretty sure I don't have it, but, if I did, I would be scared, too. But, it's all in how that magic is used. Do you want to use your magic to do someone harm?" "Of course not!" I cover my mouth, realizing I raised my voice a little high. "Are you crazy?" I whisper. "Then don't." she says. "Do everything you can to avoid that, and you will be fine. 'I agree,' Ayethusa says, sitting on the floor. I sigh. "The problem, though," I say, scratching the back of my head, "is that, over the course of the past month, I have been having a hard time doing a single thing. No spell, no incantation, nothing." "I am sure it just takes time." she says, trying to reassure me. "Yeah," I say, a little defeated, "I am sure you are right. Anyway, no one else knows about this, and, for now, I think it is best to stay that way." "I agree. But what about Matt? Does your uncle know?" "He also has a dragon. Named Bartholomew." "Oh," she says, surprised, "okay. Then, I won't tell a soul." I give her a hug. "Thank you." I whisper, before standing up. "Well, I had better get going. Come on, Ayethusa." I hold my bag open and she jumps inside and quickly settles. "Be safe on your journey home," she says, walking me to the door. "And tell your unlce that Dan is still waiting for his drink." "I will." I promise. I leave and head for home. I am walking through town on my way home and I see something that disgusts me quite a bit. Three members of the Royal Guard are coming out of the tavern, all three looking like they each have had too much to drink. As soon as I see them, I instantly recognize them as being Captain Roger Davis, First Lieutenant Anthony Williams, and Second Lieutenant Carl McCleanne. I also notice that both of the lieutenants are harrassing one of the barmaids, with her trying-and failing-to push them away. Of course, the captain is just standing off to the side, watching with a smirk on his face; obviously not even trying to stop his men. I click my tongue. 'Such scumbags!' I thought, feeling sorry for the poor girl. 'There's nothing you can do, Amberle.' Ayethusa says. 'I know. I hate it.' I responded. 'My uncle is definitely hearing about this, though, that's for sure.'

[benbarnesescape]

You Do Something To Me

Billy Russo x Curvy Reader 

A Billy Russo AU

Summary: You own a bakery in Brooklyn. He’s a private investigator that comes in to enjoy your baked goods. What happens when the stars shift and your paths intertwine? Will love be enough to handle the dangerous world that Billy’s life is?

Warnings: M for Mature (Language, Sexual Themes)

This story is created in celebration of Ben’s Birthday 

Chapter 1 – Mad About the Boy

Private Investigator Russo was the kind of trouble your mother warned you about. He was all parts that 50’s black and white films stirred in you – dark and brooding and mysterious. Enigmatically charismatic but always kept that part of his personality hidden for the rest of the world, glimmers of it rising to the surface when he was around close friends and colleagues that he trusted. The sort of man that knew what he wanted and knew how to get it, that suppressed his intelligence under quick wit humor and was the kind of handsome that made you believe you were in a 1950’s Noir film. Perhaps that was the biggest tragedy of all of this.

He was so wretchedly handsome that he should be illegal. Hickory eyes that felt predatory always twinkled with intellect and amusement. A shadowed beard that he always kept maintained, his stylish haircut that would look like a hipster on anyone else made him distinguished, his thick dark mane and buzz cut sides balancing his look in all the right ways. He had the kind of lips that you just wanted a taste – just a small one – and a lean muscular frame that you knew when he moved revealed his sculpted muscles, the strength contained by the seams of the button ups he wore. He reminded you of a panther.  A dangerous, dark panther that you wanted to be hunted by.

But that was the fantasy. Because desire or not, that wasn’t your luck.

So you lied to yourself. It was a lot simpler to tell yourself that you didn’t care about Billy then to say it out loud. And it seemed to work. Your natural pride winning over the fact of your heart; that when Billy entered a room you felt like your tongue went twisted and your legs turned into melted butter. But better that then admitting out loud to yourself that you were so love struck after a man and not just any man, the handsome popular detective that most women this side of the island lusted after. Forget about it.

“I don’t know Y/N,” your best friend and co-owner of the restaurant you owned Valerie would say anytime the topic arose. “I think he might have a crush on you.” Oh the fanciful thoughts that spread through your mind after she would tell you that.

A Forbidden Taste was the name of the restaurant you both owned. In the mornings, it was a busy bakery, attracting a clientele of different New Yorkers that were either already living or willing to venture to Brooklyn for, and you were quoting a review from a magazine ‘The best chocolate croissants and coffee this side of the Hudson’. That was how you killed time between the hours of 6 a.m. to 1 p.m. Then it closed for five hours, before it was opened at 6 for dinner and any late night caps to amuse the people. Where they could sip wine and enjoy tapas or the pleasure of a full meal. When you and Valerie had saved up for the restaurant fresh out of college, promising each other that you would make it happen, you had thought it would become a lofty dream. That you would be lucky enough to work in a prominent restaurant anywhere in America that would make you happy.

But now you were thirty and though you slept less hours than you did even in college, had flour constantly in your hair and spent more time worrying over paying the mortgage versus your own rent, you had somehow done it. You owned a restaurant that fused both good evening dining with delicious breakfast tapestries and all it cost you was…your personal life. Sacrifice worth it.  

Which was why the deep crush you had on one Billy Russo had taken you off guard.

It wasn’t that you didn’t date. You had, plenty of times throughout the years especially through the luxury of apps making it even simpler. It was nothing ever too serious – the men in your life didn’t like that you were so involved with your business, that you earned more than them and was more ambitious and, did they never forget to mention, how somehow a middle class thirty year old was able to own their company. It was fine, you could take affection where you could. Except Billy made you think more on the possibility.

It had been eight months ago. Frank Castle, his partner, had heard of your place through Curtis. Curtis, who had sold you insurance for your property and become one of your favorite people, had been the best marketing team you and Valerie could have ever wanted, and all it cost was an occasional box of his favorite peanut butter cookies or croissant or dinner on the house. Curtis was the kind of man this country had been founded on – a vet who knew the sacrifice of being a good man. He had told his best friend Frank, had been mentioning it to him for months and it had resulted in Castle and Russo coming in on a cool, autumn morning.

Valerie had noticed them easily, too handsome gentleman who walked with confidence and grace. They wore suits, the kind of suits that you saw on shows like Madmen and fedora hats to match, their hands stuffed in their pockets as they surveyed the menu. They had settled on something savory, you remembered because you had come out of the kitchen with a fresh batch of whatever it was and had looked into his eyes.

Deep, dark hickory pools that barreled into your soul and made you trip, barely dropping the fresh batch of whatever as you caught your breath as you mumbled your apologies to Valerie who had thrown you a side eye.

That had been the beginning.

At first, they would drop by every other day for coffee and the same sort of savory pastry – Monday through Friday. You spent most of your time in the kitchen, in the back supervising and baking so Valerie always had the delight of seeing them.

And then they changed their schedule.

For the days they wouldn’t come in the morning they would come in at night, typically around 9:30 or 10 and always for tapas and drinks. American Whiskey straight and the variety sampler of tapas. Sometimes Curtis would come with them. Other times Frank’s wife, Maria.

Billy always came alone.

You knew because in the evenings you were at the register, helping to wait tables and manage the front end and bartend, if needed. You always, somehow, ended up making small talk with Billy. Typically while refilling the tables glass with water or when he would check out or was too impatient to wait for a waitress to replenish his glass of whiskey.

The talks were always brief, insightful and made you pant for more.

This is what you’re thinking about Saturday night, the late night rush slowly dwindling down as you sit in a corner, a glass of chardonnay beside you as you looked over the menu for the upcoming week. Really you were glossing over the paper, sketching small designs delicately on the side of the ivory paper, your mind a million miles away.

The balcony was open and diners were enjoying the late evening breeze, how the humid wind mingled with the air conditioned restaurant as they spoke lowly, whispering to each other that it almost felt like secrets once the words hit your ears. You’re too focused on your writing, too enraptured by the couple you were sketching out that you almost don’t hear the clearing of his throat. It nearly makes you jump out of your skin as you move your hand from resting on your chin, startled eyes snapping up to meet the dark lobes that was watching you with mild interest.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” his voice is like the expensive whiskey he always orders, smooth and husky as he clears his throat. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted company?”

He’s not wearing his normal attire, at least not completely. He still has on the suit pants, midnight black today, that is kept up with suspenders that stand out against his startling white shirt though the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. . He’s holding his jacket, thrown over his shoulder that reveals his gun holster though currently it’s empty. His hair is still smoothed back in that stylish coif that makes you want to run your hands through it but somehow he looks less business like, more casual. There’s a glass of what you know to be whiskey in his other hand and his eyes look hopeful as they look down at you.

You find your breath and nod, motioning to the seat on the other side of your booth and he scoots in with finesse as he lays his jacket on the cool leather beside him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not working. You’re always moving around when I come in.” his voice is amused and curious as he takes a sip and you chuckle as you fall back into your seat, hands still doodling at your drawing.

“I should be working,” you give a sigh and shrug. “But it’s been a long week. Valerie was out for most of the week, back to see her family so I’ve been working unforgiving doubles. Which had been fine but I guess it’s just caught up with me.”

He gives a small grin and nods before gesturing to the menu,

“You re-designing the menu? Didn’t knew you drew.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that. Just doodling. I’m not good or anything – it’s a hobby. But it’s fun to doodle, to spark my creativity in way that’s not intuitive for me.”

You motion toward his suit, grabbing your wine and asking,

“I’ve never seen you here on a weekend. What has been so important that you’re still working on a Saturday evening?”

He laughs, relaxing into his seat before shrugging.

“Observant are we,” he take a sip of his drink, “I was working a case and got what I needed a lot quicker than I thought. I was so close and….never really had the courage to drop by on a weekend I figured why not. A night cap would be refreshing.”

You nod as you take another sip, looking over him cautiously over the rim of your glass. You want to ask him more, want to ask why he never had the courage and what new case could he reveal some details to, like Valerie was always trying to pull out of him but that insecure part of you that always closed down the conversation stops you. It’s not the insecurity that you’re not good enough – you know that you’re beautiful and intelligent and smart. It’s that small piece of you that always stops you when you like someone more than you are willing to let on and you instead give him a small smile as you flicker your eyes beyond him.  

You both fall into an easy silence, drinking in the sounds of the late evening before he clears his throat again, causing you to look back over at him.

“Soooo,” he asks, trying to break the silence. “Do you like music?”

You lift a curious eye brow. Of course you did. He knew that. One of your first conversations had been around the kind of music you liked, what you would play in the restaurant even if Valerie wasn’t a fan of it.

“Yea. Doesn’t everybody?” he chuckles again, nervously as he lifts a hand, rubbing it behind his neck.

“Ah yes, I guess they do. The thing is, I got these tickets to a ummm…..Herbie Hancock at the Concert Hall for next Saturday. And I know how much you like jazz and Herbie in particular so I figured if you wanted….I know you work a lot, you work hard but I figured I’d ask if you wanted to go. With me?”

It takes you a minute to comprehend what he’s asking, to fight the urge to look behind you and not ask, “Who – do you mean me?” You play it cool instead, opting to instead taking another long sip, slightly tilting your head to the side as you drink him in. You’d never seen Billy so nervous – he was the kind of man that flirted with any women who gave him a second look or didn’t, the kind of man that spoke with confidence and surety. Now, he looked at you like any other man who was asking someone new out on a date and wasn’t sure what they were going to say. You knew the look – saw it every day in New York.

And he was being this vulnerable for you.

“You asking me out on a date Russo?”

His face heats up, tomato red and your stomach lunges as he smiles wider, his eyes avoiding you, his right hand rubbing the back of his neck even more furiously.

“Ahhhhh I guess I am. I mean, I am. I…would you want to? I’d treat you to dinner and everything.”

He has that New York accent that just drips with a confident SWAG, the kind of voice that always makes your heart lunge. His eyes flicker back to you cautiously and you smile as you get up, gathering your paper and throwing back your chardonnay. You walk a few meters before you stop, bending down and whispering,  

“I’d love to. I’ll leave my cell with Kelly at the register. Shoot me a text and we can work out details, I need to start prepping for closure.”

And then you walk as quickly and coolly as you can back to your office because you’d be damned if you don’t text Valerie what just happened.

Tag List: @binbonsadoration @la-fille-en-aiguilles @delos-mio @just-nikkii, @ladyblablabla, @drinix, @youveseen–thebutcher, @marauderskeeper, @thesandbeneathmytoes, @cutie-bug, @banditthewriter @presstocontinue @benbxrnes @hxbbit @padfootagain @fortisfiliae @benbarnesfanforever @lafemmedemon @giggleberts @barnes-ben @iheartbinbons @goblackhatwithme @geminimoonbeamx @that-bwitch

[jasonsbarmitzvah]

one for each night, they shed a sweet light (4/8)

we’ll give you a treat (Whizzer) Night 4: Whizzer has a realization.

(previous parts here, here, and here, or read on AO3 here) Sorry this is so short, and a day late!!

Whizzer had honestly forgotten it was Hanukkah until one of his clients called asking if they could move up their photo session by an hour so that they could be sure to get home before sundown to light the candles. 

“I tried to tell the kids it wasn’t a big deal if we light the candles a little later, but they insisted, it had to be at sunset, you know how it is?”

“Right, sure,” Whizzer replied, absently doodling in the corner of his calendar.

“So we’ll see you at 3:30 then? That will give you plenty of time to get home and celebrate with your family as well I hope.”

“Uh-huh, see you then.”

Whizzer hung up the phone and stared at his new calendar, now with an giant blank from 4:30 on.  If Whizzer had known he would have scheduled another appointment for the day or something, because, unlike Mr. Rosen assumed, Whizzer had no reason to rush home for the holiday.

And Whizzer was fine with that, he was.  It wasn’t like he would want to celebrate with Marvin, that’s for sure.  Marvin with his quick temper and snark, Marvin with the steady income and warm bed.  There was no reason for Whizzer to wish his life any different than it was now, where he was free of the constraints of relationships and responsibilities.

After Whizzer had finished up his photo session with the Rosens he headed back towards his small apartment where he’d eat the pasta dish he’d been eating all week and hope that the landlord hadn't flipped the heat off again.  For a moment Whizzer considered going to one of the bars on the other side of town for something to do, to maybe find somewhere nice to spend the night, but the thought of spending the holidays in a stranger’s bed made Whizzer uneasy in a way he couldn’t quite describe so he kept heading towards home.

Whizzer stopped his commute though when he noticed a short kid with brown hair watching a TV through the corner store window.   He hesitantly walked up to the kid by pretending to be interested in what was on the screen before discreetly looking over to find a boy who was definitely not Jason.  Whizzer couldn’t believe how quickly his heart dropped, and realized with a pang how much he missed the kid who had been a part of his life for the past few years. Even though Jason should’ve hated Whizzer by all accounts, and Whizzer should’ve been annoyed by Jason, they had found an odd friendship, and Whizzer was struck with how much he wanted to see Jason and hear about his life — even if it meant tolerating Marvin (a feeling he was sure Trina was often struck with).

With this realization in mind, Whizzer immediately decided what he wanted to do to celebrate Hanukkah. He quickly counted up his cash and ran to the nearest store, getting there just before it closed to buy the perfect gift.  He knew this meant another two weeks of just rice for dinner, but Whizzer also knew it was worth it for Jason.  

It was then that Whizzer realized he had no way to actually get the gift to Jason. He knew that Marvin had moved out of their apartment (and also had a feeling that Marvin might throw out anything with Whizzer’s handwriting on it), and he had never gone to Trina and Mendel’s new place. Except…Whizzer suddenly remembered something one of the other photographers who used the studio said and raced back to go through his records.  Although he knew he would be in major trouble if he was caught, Whizzer didn’t care as he searched until he got to the W section, where the records for Trina and Mendel Weisenbachfeld’s wedding photographer were, with the happy couple’s address written prominently on top. Whizzer grabbed some paper and wrote out a note for Jason, wrapped the gift in some newspaper and a box he found in the recycling, put the address on top, and went to deliver it by hand, to be sure it got to Jason in time.  

By the time he got to Mendel and Trina’s house across town it was close to midnight, and Whizzer didn’t think their reception of him would be warm enough to risk ringing the bell, so he set the gift on the front door and left.  

[baekzhang]

paperweight | pcy

park chanyeol. reader-insert. 5,2k words. fluff/angst. au

—it couldn’t hold onto those letters forever. Neither could he hold onto her.

this one is for Liv

⚜️

“Dear Chanyeol, 

I’m not quite sure whether to classify you as dumb or cute. Seriously, Park Chanyeol? You sent a ring along with a letter with the words “will you marry me?”and a doodle of yourself kneeling, I can’t believe you!

Oh, and PS: Yes, I will.

Love, ____.”

                                              -------------------------

Dear Chanyeol,

I’ll be moving abroad next week. Dad just told me he would be stationed somewhere in Europe. I’m sorry. We wanted to celebrate your 19th birthday together, but I guess I have to break that promise. However, I will write you as much as I can! We will stay friends. Forever, for always. You won’t get rid of me.

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol,

Okay, I just arrived at the new house. It’s not as nice as our old one, although it’s bigger. But I speak zero Spanish, I mean, except for ¡Hola señor!, but that is the biggest of my capacity. How is life? How is it without the best of the best a.k.a me? It must be boring as hell. Drink some soju for me because they only have some cerveza here. Okay, maybe I know some more than hola. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️

Dear Chanyeol, 

Can you believe it? I ate bubble gum ice cream again! You and I used to share a scoop because YOU (and I, but mostly YOU) always spent your money on these stupid trading cards and so we were broke and had to count every damn won for one damn ice cream. I felt alive. Thinking of you. Please, come to Spain someday. I still don’t know Spanish. It’s been a month. Save me, Yeol. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

I just read your letter and I won’t answer your goo texts on kakao. Pen pal is better than texting and drunk calling. At least you have to invest some money into communication here. I heard you got a job as a composer. Remember when you wrote this song for that girl from your class and she flat out rejected you? She was a dumb bitch, that song was so damn good. I hope you let some A+ singer sing it someday, it will be the biggest hit for sure. Count me in as a buyer, although it takes like two weeks for the shipping, but some killing anticipation is satanic, yet pleasing. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

Ah yeah, it wasn’t really finished yet! You mentioned that. But hey that one verse alone had me! It’s been three years since then, but I still remember it very well. Why did you never write a song for me? I feel stabbed. Just kidding, would be cool if you wrote one for me, too, someday. You know, some credit for these eighteen years I stuck with your ass. And I would have done even longer if I wasn’t stuck in Europe. But if you close your eyes, drink three beer and look at some moderate looking girl walking by, it’s basically like I am still there. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

¡Hola mi amigo! Puedo hablar un poco español por la presente… But seriously, I hate that I have to learn a new language. And they talk faster than you when you tried to rap like Zico. Imagine what their hiphop sounds like? Probably like 2x sped up triple time Eminem rap. Anyway, Dad said that I might [sic!] be able to visit you during the summer! Isn’t that great? Because I think it is. I know you have a job, I have, too, although I really suck at communicating, but I am somehow managing. Let’s meet soon. You still owe me the 3000 won for when I chugged down that warm beer and almost died. I want barbecue, and you and your freshly filled wallet cannot stop me. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Buzz Lightyeol, 

You are always so busy. You take eternities and beyond to reply. It’s been three weeks since I sent that letter. Answer me. Also, I booked the flight. It’s only for a week because my boss didn’t think I am worth of more days off, but it’s better than nothing, I guess. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

It’s okay, you were busy and your handwriting is ugly, so you take weeks to write a sentence. I forgive you. Three weeks till my flight. Fuel your wallet because I will eat a lot! Also! Jongdae became a singer!? I just went through Naver and his face popped up! Tell him that no matter what clothes he’ll wear, he’ll still remain the three-year-old boy who pissed his pants when my Dad played Santa back then. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

Honestly, fuck that I am in Seoul and my hotel is five minutes away from your apartment. This letter writing game is fun and I’ll sneakily put this in your jacket when you don’t look because I am just that level of ninja. It was a great first day out of seven. I can’t believe you got a balloon with my name on it and brought it to the airport. You are crazy, but I like that about you so much, though. Just stay crazy. Don’t be lame like Kyungsoo. I cannot believe that after eight months all he had to offer to me was a hand shake. Like? What about a hug? Money? Food? Is he broke on feelings and wallet or what? But at least you love me enough to get me a balloon. You’re the best. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

Okay but I really didn’t expect you to actually pay for the entire beef I ordered. Did you rob a bank? It’s okay, you can share your secrets and money with me. It’s so good to see your stupid face again after so long. It’s amazing how we aren’t so awkward and that I can still knock on your door at midnight with soju and watch Grey’s Anatomy. Why are you always crying, though? You watched the first five seasons at least twenty times omg. Also, I’m laughing. You still haven’t seen the first letter I hid in your pocket. You’re so oblivious, it’s actually cute. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

I apologize for being so clingy today, although you didn’t seem to mind too much. You are just very tall and even though you have the tendency to look like a child when you grin, puberty really did justice to you and not having seen you for so long made me get hit with that fact as if with a brick. You’re handsome. There. Smile, smirk, grin, I don’t care. I like you. You are cute. You are funny. You bought me food. You are my best buddy. Date me: 

 ↳ Yes [x]    No [ ]    Maybe [ ] 

I answered on behalf of you already. No stepping out. This is a contract for eternity. 

Love, your new found girlfriend. 

⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

Good that your taste doesn’t suck as much as it did back then with your old crush. What was her name again? I forgot. I can’t believe I had to literally shove the letters into your hands because you didn’t find them. It’s sad that this is already day 4/7. Like seriously, maybe I should just quit my job and life in Spain. Dad said I am old enough to move out and live my own life. I kinda want that…but I don’t want to leave my old life behind like that. It’s so hard that I have to decide between (eloping with) my boyfriend or my family. I want to have you kiss me everyday, but I can only have this for the next three days. Don’t waste your lips on beer bottles too much. You have some perfectly fine lips to kiss right in front of you. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

You’ve been my boyfriend for only two days now, but I am damn sure you are the best. Seriously, I never even mentioned going to the sea and what are you doing? You take me to the sea. What can I do? Burn toast and have you almost choke on it. And you dare to say it tasted delicious. Lying is not good, Park Chanyeol (but thank you for caring about me so much, though. You’re a jem with e and a). 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

Baekhyun is third wheeling so hard and he enjoys it. He’s very precious, you found a good substitute for the best friend position. But don’t you tall bitch dare take him for the girlfriend/boyfriend position once I depart tomorrow. I will return and chop your thumbs. Also thank you for having stayed the night. Not in that way, but for just being there. It was nice to wake up to your snoring self and atop your really comfy sweater. It’s very soft and suits you way too well for my own good. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

You looked so sad when you realized it’s our last day. I’m writing this whilst you are getting me my drink, just in case you’re wondering. Also this handwriting will be hella quick and you might not be able to read everything, but I try to be fast here. Don’t worry, I’ll come back, or you come to me. We will continue to write letters. Maybe I will FaceTime with you, too…if you’re lucky, which you are because I like you very much. Help, I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with you and watch some stupid 2 a.m tv shows and fall asleep in your arms again. There is so much I want to do, but there’s no time for now, which sucks. 

Love, ______. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

Ha! I wonder when you’ll find this letter because this is my secret letter that I didn’t place in front of your self. I stole your sweater :) and I don’t intend to return it. So you have to come to Europe to get it back! 

Love, ______. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

Okay, I’m back to Europe. Dad asked why I was smiling so much and told him that he’s at fault that I am separated from my future husband and he laughed so much, but he was happy. So don’t worry, he won’t murder you when you introduce yourself to be my boyfriend to him. I mean, it would be crazy if he blew a fuss. He basically was present at your first poop, so… 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

You haven’t answered my last letter yet, it’s only been a few days, so it’s still on the way—consider yourself lucky. Even though I really love sending letters, why am I only now hearing that you are Jongdae’s producer? He has the voice of a god! He better not mess up your masterpieces. But hey, now you have that AAA singer for that song. Oh my, I keep nagging you with it. I’m sorry. 

Love, ______. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol, 

Dad saw the letter that just came and he ran upstairs like the biggest moron and kept teasing me. What is he? Twelve? Baekhyun? He was mentioning a surprise, but who knows. My old man has been acting anything close to old currently and behaves like a child, so I can probably only expect some spoiled chocolate cake from him. How is work going? I’m sorry I didn’t take your call yesterday (although when you read this a week has probably already passed). Can mailmen be faster, please? But yeah, I was at work and I already have a strike for having been late twice. I miss you, Yeol. Your sweater began smelling more like me than you, I’m going insane. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

 Dear Chanyeol, 

I saw Jongdae on tv today! And I could have sworn you were that undeniably handsome and tall man in the back. It might already be around a month since my visit to Seoul, but you’ve been having that sassy posture since you were five years old! I see you, Park Chanyeol. Also, Jesus, don’t send food here. It will spoil on the way unless it’s chocolate or something…that lasts longer. But I’m sure your first gimbap tasted amazing when it was still edible. You can cook for me when I visit again! 

Love, _____. 

⚜️ 

Dear Chanyeol,

Mom found old pictures from kindergarten. We looked so cute in them, even Jongdae. Back then he didn’t have that shit eating grin like he has now. But you were so cute, cutest baby cheeks alive. It’s so sad that we live like miles and miles apart. I miss you so much! You should come and visit me. I could show you around a little bit.

Love, _____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol, 

You could have just told me that you would be in a music video, you know. Especially when you are looking like the biggest fuckboi in it and make out with some girl instead of having me find it on YouTube. I don’t know if I should be mad at the fact that you didn’t tell me or because you are doing stuff with that girl you never did with me. But then I tell myself that you probably didn’t choose the theme of the song or the music video. It still hurts. And I don’t know if I’m lying to myself that we work out when we’re so far away from each other. I don’t know. Maybe I just shouldn’t send this letter at all. Congratulations. The public seems to acknowledge you for your looks, acting and your musical talent. You made it. That’s the sunny side to this story, I guess.

Love, _____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

It’s alright, I’m not mad anymore. I was talking to Jongdae and he said you weren’t comfortable with the situation in the music video, and—even though he is the biggest jokester next to Byun Baekyhun—I trust him on that. You don’t have to apologize. I was just too jealous, I shouldn’t have been. It’s your job, it’s not like you grew feelings for that woman. She was probably not really comfortable either… Let’s just not dwell onto such topic, alright? I passed all my college exams for this term, I’m beat. I was studying so much that I pretty much forget that I was mad at all. You’re so lucky to be a music genius and already have a stable career and a well paid job.

Love, ____.  

⚜️ 

—–

Dear Chanyeol, 

I forgot to sent you a letter on your birthday. I’m horrible and I feel miserable. I don’t know how I can even apologize for not congratulating you and not even reacting to your texts and calls. You seemed so worried, but I couldn’t talk to anyone that day. I felt like shit, I just now I feel a little less like shit after I emptied the one or other beer. Chanyeol, it’s my mom. She cheated on my dad and they want a divorce. I’m supposed to be an adult and handle this, but they are my parents. I grew up with the idea of them being the perfect couple, that nothing could get in between them, and I thought we’d be the same. But now? It feels like everything my mom said was a lie. When she said she loved Dad and that we are the most important people for her. It hurts, Chanyeol. And I know you can’t do anything, but I also know that you will try. I don’t know when I will deal with everything better, I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea of me. I like you a lot, Park Chanyeol. It’s just hard for me to take a pen in my hand and write this all down. If you don’t hear from me anytime soon, don’t worry too much alright? I’ll be better.

Love, _____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol, 

No, just no. You don’t know what it feels like. Your parents are still together, they are not fighting and cheating on each other. They are not feeding you with lies of being together forever and loving each other, okay!? You don’t know what it feels like, and I hope you’ll never have to experience it either because it sucks. It just sucks.

Love, _____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

I realized after I sent the letter that I was overreacting. I hope this one will make it you on the same day as the one before. I’m sorry, you tried to comfort me. I shouldn’t have unleashed my frustration on you. It’s Mom’s fault and not yours. You’re never at fault, you’re the only one who hasn’t lied to me. You’re one of those people who immediately say what’s up and not hold it in forever till I find out. I value you a lot, Park Chanyeol. I want us to be together forever, unlike what happened to my parents. I want us to do better than them. And I feel like we do even though we are continents apart. 

Love, _____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

I feel even worse about what I said in that bitchy letter. How dare you just show up at my doorstep like this. How do you even have Dad’s number, and how dare he tell you the address. Just kidding, I’m glad he did. Also, why the hell am I writing you a letter when you sit right next to me. This letter game is really out of hand. Let me guess, you want the sweater I stole back, right? But you have to comfort me and go on a date with me first, else I’ll hide it forever. For how long are you staying? Just for the weekend! That’s too short. Okay, I stop this now. This is getting awkward to write.

Love, _____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol, 

You’re sleeping right now and you look super soft, but you snore so loud that I can’t sleep. Thank you for today. It was nice, everything was. From the date, to well, now. It was my first, but you probably know that, since I was the forever virgin back then. You, too, though! Sehun kept teasing us about it just because he had a girlfriend before you. What a loser. Hey, Chanyeol, I love you. You always do thing for me that no sane person would ever do. Like how back then when I was late for an exam you ate Baekhyun’s horrible cooking just to really look like you were sick…and well, from what I heard of Jongdae, you also puked on Mr. Park’s new shoes. 

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

It was good to see you again, and Jongdae called me just now saying where the fuck you are. Did you seriously book a flight without telling your boss, just because I was a devastated mess? Proves again that you’re insane! I don’t know how I even deserve you.

Also thank you for letting me keep the sweater. You were wearing it before you left. It smells like you again. Gosh that sounded cheesy. You’re infecting me with your flowery language, Park Chanyeol! Not that I mind.

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol, 

Why did I decide to study Psychology again? My head is spinning from all the revising I have to do! I just read through all the letters you sent me, I really needed a break. How is it going by the way? I was looking through Naver and I saw that Jongdae is preparing for a comeback? And apparently you are going to produce that album! Write him good songs, his voice is great. Maybe you can sneak yourself into a feature haha. I don’t know much about music, but I know that your voice sounds just perfect and you and Jongdae could really pull off a duet. Maybe get Baekhyun for it, too! He can sing well, although he was always pissing off Mrs. Choi in choir class. But she overlooked everything because he had the best voice and even when he was sick he hit all the notes. Speaking of Baekhyun, he keeps sending me wedding dress pictures and edits our heads on some Google Image wedding pictures. He’s crazy, give him a hug from me.

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

I’m not quite sure whether to classify you as dumb or cute. Seriously, Park Chanyeol? You sent a ring along with a letter with the words “will you marry me?”and a doodle of yourself kneeling, I can’t believe you!

Oh, and PS: Yes, I will.

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol, 

Honestly, it feels so weird wearing the ring and having to explain that it came by the mail. Seriosuly, Park Chanyeol, you could have just done that when you were here to visit me. Maybe it wasn’t really the best of moments, but Jesus, it would be a lie if I’d have said no then, no matter how grumpy and period cramps fueled I might have been. Also, stop Jongdae from sending me memes from We Got Married with our faces on. First Baekhyun and now Jongdae, doesn’t he have something to do? Like, singing for example? And you still haven’t told me anything about Jongdae’s comeback, and neither has he because I refuse to answer to his texts since they are all about “your boy Chanyeol wanna smooch you” and “name one child after me”. He’s ridiculous, but…if we ever have kids and one is a really big idiot with the loudest voice, sure, let’s name him Jongdae.

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

Mom called me today and I at first only wanted to hang up, but in the end I heard her out and met her with her new boyfriend…or more like the affair. I don’t like him, although he was nice to me and she seemed happy, I just can’t befriend with the idea of being all chill with the homewrecker. Is that childish of me, Yeol?

And what am I seeing there? Jongdae spammed me with his teaser pictures instead of memes, can you believe! He said that his comeback is going to take a while though, and that these teaser pictures will probably not be out till a few months. Work some faster haha. I want to listen to the masterpieces you’ve been hiding from me, your fiancee. We shouldn’t have secrets from each other, and with secrets I mean: send me your music. Nah, just kidding, you’re a perfectionist. I’ll patiently wait till Jongdae will send me all the music files the comeback.

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

Sorry for not replying so long! And don’t be confused because of the address, too! Dad is now stationed in the U.K. I finally was able to Spanish and then we’re moving again. I forgot half of the English we had in school, Chanyeol! But just saying, if Jongdae ever plans a world tour, he should come to Europe and the U.K. My personal recommendation is to go to chippie and get yourself saveloy. The best stuff you can get. I sent you a selfie of me at one of these iconic British phone boxes. Even though Spain grew to me, I like it here, too. You should definitely come and visit me.

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

Dad asked if you’d like to come over soon! He actually transformed his old hobby room into…a room just for you. He likes you a lot and he was probably even happier about that cringe proposal via mail than I was. So yeah, you have a room here now, and I’m going to be really honest here: why the heck does your room look better than mine? And it’s bigger than mine! The injustice, I’m his blood and he chooses your sorry ass over me. 

But still, Dad has always been like…dangerous when it came to boys. And here he is, waiting till the wedding we have not even planned out yet. We’re still so young and being engaged is great, too. But we’ll marry, right? I mean…you didn’t propose for nothing.

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

Dad got me into soccer, like not the playing one, but just watching. He started liking soccer already in Spain when he supported Atlético like his life depended on it. I wasn’t too interested in it back then, but hey, so many people here are into soccer and after having watched some matches with Dad, it’s actually interesting. I can finally understand Lu Han, I guess. Though not too much on the Real Madrid part? 

Tell him he should switch teams. Who needs Real when you have Hotspur or Dortmund? Who needs Ronaldo when you have Son Heung-min and Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang?

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

I just went for the mail and seriously? You bought me a Borussia Dortmund jersey and put your name on it. “I’m the true keeper and not Bürki”, cheesy much? But yeah, you are, Park Chanyeol. You are the one and only keeper, although you’d be the first to hide from the ball when you were the goal keeper. 

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Keeper, 

No, I did not ditch you for Roman Bürki haha. I’m sorry for replying so late, on phone and by letter. Dad and I went for a little vacation in the middle of nowhere—camping and father-daughter bonding, don’t ask—and there was no post office and I had zero internet, so…I’m sorry.

Also, if I won’t reply quickly, I’m currently very caught up with exams. I had to retake some because I moved and it’s all so stressful. I want to do good, so don’t worry too much.

How is everything going with Jongdae? It’s been a while since his last spam, he must be busy, too.

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

Guess who is in England and into whom I ran today? Minseok! He’s actually an exchange student, but just for a couple of weeks. His English is better than mine, I feel offended, but Minseok was always good at everything. I remember how we were all such good friends and Minseok always saved our ass when we caused trouble. Oh God, do you remember when I had such a big crush on him and I confessed to him by letter and I accidentally placed the letter in Baekhyun’s jacket? He kept annoying the shit out of me and I had to pay him way too much snacks to have him shut his big mouth. 

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

Oh my, there is no need to be jealous! I only like you, my keeper! Besides, Minseok will be off to Seoul when this letter reaches you, so it’s all good. It was just nice to talk to someone, who I actually know. It was lonely for the first weeks because I didn’t know how to interact with people. How do you get along with people so well, Yeol? Share your secrets! 

But I miss you so much! I’m wearing your sweater right now and sit in “your” room. Really, Dad put so much effort into this, you should at least sleep here like once…please?

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

I can’t believe I missed you! My aunt recently moved to Scotland, so I went to visit her there. You should have told me in advance, I’d have met up with her some other day. Dad told me immediately when I cam back. You were literally only there to sleep there once. You could have stayed longer, you know?

But it’s alright, I messed it up. Next time I’ll be there no matter what!

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

Again, sorry for replying so late. I had half of the letter written, but never sent it. So now I’m writing it again. Jongdae was texting me just now and I saw all the messages you sent me. My phone was on silent, ah, I feel so bad. Anyway, Jongdae sent me a mp3 file, some teaser for the title track! I was kind of hoping it would be that song from years ago to be honest. But this one is good, too. Very catchy, I’m proud of you, Park Chanyeol. Your birthday comes up so soon, too! I try to visit you, oh wait, that was actually meant to be a surprise. Though, let’s all be real here, Baekhyun already told you that, right?

Love, ____.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol, 

Promise me to never be mad at me! I may have lied to you. But it wasn’t because I wanted to, it’s just. Nevermind.

Love, a liar.

⚜️

Dear Chanyeol,

It sucks that your birthday always brings more pain to you than happiness ever since I moved away, twice. Surprise, I’ve been trying hard to fight. But I can’t anymore. Back then I didn’t write you for weeks because I was in hospital doing chemo. Also, my aunt never moved to Scotland, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lie, but I wanted even less for you to worry. It was stupid. I thought everything would be fine. I really did. They told me I was doing well, I was a real fighter. But the tumor was fighting, too. When this letter arrives at yours, at your birthday, I’ll be already…gone…again. And this time I can’t write you anymore. My hand keeps shaking, so my Dad is writing this for me. I’m in hospital again. It’s so white and monotone and everything smells like Kyungsoo’s fabric conditioner basically. Yesterday, I was reading through all the letters you sent me, I even read those stupid messages you sent to my phone. Promise me not to cry. I love you. Just remember that I really do love you…so much. You’re the best person I ever shared bubble gum ice cream with, you are the best composer, best friend, best boyfriend and fiance. Thank you for everything you did for me. Thank you for saving my ass. Thank you for carrying my drunk ass around when I was far away from taking a proper step. Also sorry for having puked on your favorite converse back then. Thank you for loving such a lame person like me. Thank you for being you. Also thank you for having spent money on stamps and perfecting your handwriting to impress me. You didn’t with it, though. But the content did. You are amazing. I wish I could listen to that song you never finished again. I hope you do finish it one day and sing it yourself. Your voice is beautiful. I wish I could have you whisper “I love you” into my ear again. Park Chanyeol, thank you. 

Love, _____. 

 ⚜️ 

Dear _____, 

Guess what! I actually lied to you. I’m sorry, babe, haha. The songs I was writing weren’t for Jongdae to sing, I was just working on one of his songs. I am working on his album now, the work I did during all those months was my own album. It will be out on my birthday, when this letter will arrive along with my album. The song I once sang that you liked so much…I finished it. It’s about you, how much I love you. I hope it will be your new favorite song because this is just for you, my love, my stupid little _____. 

Love, Chanyeol.

[dripthestory-blog]

I’ve been at my desk for 23 of the last 24 hours. That’s nothing to boast about; I’m clearly overdoing it. The fact that I know I’m overdoing it does absolutely nothing to change the fact that my mind won’t let me sleep, won’t let me quit. Tonight I learned what it means to bleed for my art. I literally worked my fingers bloody. I just couldn’t stop. I don’t know why; I’m so compelled to draw, it’s like this feeling inside my chest, this clawing thing, and when I stop I can’t think of anything else.

This is what bleeding for art feels like.

My wife came home from a friend’s dinner party around midnight. She’d had a few drinks throughout the evening, her mood was good. She was happy to see me.

“Come to bed,” she said. “I’ll feed you.”

Could she have known I hadn’t eaten all day? Did J tell her? Do wives gain some sort of sensibility about these things over time?

I don’t think I raised any flags today at work, but just in case—a reminder:

Dear Self,

Eat lunch today. Try to seem happy for J. If he starts raising concerns to the wife, all shall be lost. She’ll endeavor to make us sleep, and we can’t work if we’re sleeping. We dream best when we’re awake.

Love,

R.

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I’ve become very skilled at laying awake until I know she’s sleeping soundly next to me. When I hear her breathing change, I get up slowly—careful not to wake the dogs—and slip out of our bedroom. Tiptoe up the stairs, until my office door clicks shut behind me, and I’m free to work again.

That sounds a lot worse than it is. I love my wife very much. She is the entire reason for everything I do; my inspiration, my muse. I want to spend time with her. But these days, something else drives me. It’s become something of an obsession.

15 days

I started drawing on May 28th. Maybe that sounds unbelievable. I have photographic evidence if you’d like to see it. I’ll sign an affidavit.

The last time I really drew anything was in the 9th grade. I shared the 1st period of the day with a girl named R, a senior and fellow musician. I’d known her for some time and was quite fond of her. It was just the two of us in the class; an independent study. We helped our choir teacher grade papers or sort old sheet music. Meanwhile, I developed a steady crush on R.

We had this comic we would draw every day. We called it The Adventures of R & R. It was terrible. We laughed and doodled away the mornings the entire first semester of high school. In hindsight, those were some of my fondest memories of high school.

Later that year, R graduated and left for college. I found her at the ceremony and gave her the comic, which I’d bound with glue and staples and covered with a plain white folder, aptly labeled “The Adventures of R & R” in big letters across the cover.

Years later, R found me in a bookstore on campus. She was teaching music, and she asked if I’d like to meet for coffee. I was delighted. I agreed to meet her later that evening. We met on campus and walked to the coffee shop together. It wasn’t until we sat down that she told me about the surprise.

“I have something for you,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

Her smile made me nervous. Did she know about my crush? Was she going to kiss me? Would she tell me she’d had a crush on me all along, that she’d been waiting these last four years so I could join her and we could live happily ever after?

It’s only fair to point out here that I had a serious girlfriend at the time of our meeting, a high school sweetheart, and I was in direct violation of the established boundaries of that arrangement; however, being eighteen and horny and alight with the possibility of fulfilling a years-long fantasy, I forewent the bonds of my relationship and decided that whatever happened, happened. In retrospect, part of me feels like a scumbag, and part of me, the romantic part of me, gives a cheesy thumbs up at the camera before tossing back a tall glass of sangria.

“Close your eyes! Okay, keep them closed. No peeking.”

“What is it?”

“Hush. Open your hands. Okay, you ready?”

“Ah, shit.”

“Open your eyes.”

It was better than a kiss.

“The Adventures of R & R.” My first (and last) daily comic, and my only attempt to ever draw regularly, albeit only for fun.

Fast-forward. Scrub almost fifteen years ahead. Stop. Roll footage.

That horny teenager in the coffee shop with a makeshift comic book in his sweaty hands seems to have lived and died a hundred lifetimes ago. Yet here we are, doodling away the mornings…

Only, this time things are different. The girl has changed. This new girl is so much more. A high school crush could never hold a candle.

These days I write poetry and stories and occasionally pen an essay for an online publication or two. I run my own business and have no time for doodling beyond the necessitated dry erase sketch, something quick; at the moment, that’s all I really have a need for. The spontaneous sketch is perfect for dredging up some creative sparks or even perhaps rousing my sleepy partner out of a fog.

Certainly nothing of the serious variety, these doodles.

And then, May 28th happens.

There’s nothing in particular worth mentioning about that day, except that like most days, I was up late writing, working on the DRIP narrative. For some reason, I felt a stronger-than-usual urge to draw, so I pulled out a sheet of printer paper and a fountain pen.

  I created my first stippling illustrations that day. I didn’t even know the word for “Stippling.” My business partner saw the piece when he came into the office later that morning. He’s an art school graduate and was happy to show off some cool resources where I could see more examples of this style of art.

In the last fifteen days, I have created more than two dozen original illustrations. Some of them are more intricate than others; a few of them are fairly elaborate, like yesterday’s piece:

“Sabbat de Luna”

With zero arrogance whatsoever, I want to say that I’m very proud of the work—and the progress—I’ve made in the last fifteen days. Truth be told, I’ve dreamed of being able to draw my whole life. Growing up with comics and graphic novels was torture. I wanted so badly to be the guy drawing badass Batman comics in the margins of his notebooks during class; instead, my skills were largely limited to stick figures and basic shapes. I couldn’t even draw a straight line. I still feel I have trouble with perspective.

Yesterday, I read “Perspective Made Easy” by Ernest R. Norling. It’s a marvelous guide to the line of sight, the horizon, and perspective by way of breaking complex shapes and structures down into more basic forms. If you’re interested in learning how to draw, pick it up on Amazon.

After reading the book in the early hours of the morning (it’s a quick read, and a page-turner. I went through the entire book, even with some of the exercises, in about two hours) I decided to play with perspective, shading, and horizon.

I’d had this scene in my head:

Night. A silver-lit field. Empty sky, save the moon, which shines full and bright above. Four hooded figures dance around a short flame. A drum beats softly in the darkness. The figures are humming as they dance. From the shadows emerges a ram carrying on its back a host of temptations and decadence. The figures worship the Ram. They succumb to its offering, and eventually, themselves become an offering.

I didn’t want to do the scene with a basic drawing of a field and hooded or robed figures. That’s too on-the-nose (as J would say) and it’s been done countless times.

I decided to start a stipple. Rather than start from the corner or the edge of the page, I broke another personal comfort zone guideline and began dotting near the center of the page, just off to the right. I turned the sketchbook every direction as I traced until I had about an inch covered in dots. Then I dropped to a much smaller pen and started filling in the spaces.

I’ve used this same technique to create all the new illustrations I’ve made since May 28th.

I have no idea how I’m doing it.

If you know, or if you can explain it; if you’d like to wager a guess; if you’d like to call me a liar, please. Step right up. Drop me a line in the comments.

I’ve had dozens of friends reach out over Snapchat and Instagram and Text message in the last two weeks.

“How are you doing this?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I didn’t know you could draw!”

Well, funny you should mention it…

I can’t.

Or, at least, I couldn’t.

Until May 28th.

A secret fear:

What happens if I wake up on June 28th and it's gone? Easy come, easy go? Will I fight? Will there be consequences?

Something inside me needs this. I can’t explain it, so I’ll stop trying.

It’s 5:03am here in the US (eastern time), and a thunderstorm has taken to beating on my window. I think I’ll open up and let it in.

I need to clear my head and mildew the carpet a bit.

Until next time, love.

  .R

Bleeding for art. Letter to Myself. A Secret Skill. 15 Days. The Ritual. Thunderstorms. I've been at my desk for 23 of the last 24 hours. That's nothing to boast about; I'm clearly overdoing it.