#and if your RA recommends against you taking a class at least take it into consideration

[piedoesnotequalpi]

Fake Fic Title:

From The Ladder’s Last Rung

Hello! I am fairly sure (after some googling) that your title is a reference to a Noah Kahan song!

Anyway, to me "last rung" can mean either the highest or the lowest point on a ladder, depending on your perspective, and that is the premise of this fic concept!

Race goes through elementary/middle/high school with a reputation of being both the class clown and one of the smartest people in his grade. What most people don't know, though, is that he uses the class clown part of his personality to deflect from the fact that he is not doing as well, grades-wise, as people might think--sure, he takes AP history when it's available, but he never gets higher than a B- on his report card for it. So when senior year rolls around, the combination of good grades in most other subjects and extracurriculars that make him seem interesting means he is able to get into one of his reach schools.

Anyway, Race goes off to school and he's very excited about the whole thing. He can finally put history, which is his least favorite subject, in the metaphorical rearview mirror; he's going to major in math and minor in dance; he's going to join all the clubs that weren't available to him in high school. During course registration, he ignores the suggestion from his RA that he should perhaps consider only taking one math class his first semester and registers for honors calculus (yes, this is a thing at some colleges) and an upper-level math class that only has a prerequisite of calc 1 and 2.

The problem with college, especially the first semester, is that it is often a big adjustment from high school no matter what your high school was like. Classes that really should not be taught lecture-style are taught that way, you're (sometimes) in a new city/town and even if you aren't you probably don't know a ton of people, and suddenly you have a much higher degree of independence. So Race is dealing with the general first semester freshman woes of making new friends and having a roommate and balancing time and navigating dining halls, but he's also dealing with the fact that for the first time in his life, he's struggling in his math classes. And that makes everything worse for him, because if he can't even do the one thing he's supposed to be really really good at, then how can he get through the rest of college? Does he even deserve to be there? Clearly his college made a mistake when they accepted him despite his less-than-perfect history grades. (those are his thoughts, not mine; he does deserve to be there)

As I mentioned earlier, he's used to using his class clown-esque personality to deflect from what's actually going on in his life, so almost no one knows how stressed he is. He still talks to his high school friends a lot, but so many of them are at their colleges having (as far as he's aware) a much easier time adjusting, so he doesn't want to talk about it with most of them. He goes to office hours sometimes, but he is very careful about which problems he gets help with to keep up the illusion that he knows what's going on. This would be less of a problem if he met up with his classmates to do homework, but he's worried he won't be useful enough to them. And obviously he would rather die than tell his new college acquaintances how overwhelmed he's feeling. The semester goes by in a blur of homework stress and club meetings and conversations where he just barely manages to convince everyone that he's doing okay (it's a lot harder than it used to be), all overlaid by the feeling that he's not good enough.

Being a college student gets easier, but not easy enough that he's able to turn everything around by the end of the semester. He withdraws from one of his math classes, and doesn't do great in the other, and he does...okay in his other classes. It's not the end of the world, but it does mean he has to drop out of the honors calculus sequence and possibly retake the class he withdrew from. But that doesn't stop Race from feeling like a failure, even though the only people who see his grades are him and his parent(s) (I haven't decided what his parent situation is in this), and they're understanding. It'll be easy to make up the credits he lost from the course withdrawal by taking some lower credit electives in later semesters, and he has seven more semesters to raise his GPA and figure things out.

And then we come back to the title and my (mis)interpretation of it (I wasn't just rambling pointlessly this whole time): To Race's parent(s), he's fallen off the bottom rung of the metaphorical ladder, so it's pretty manageable to get back up and keep going. But to Race, he's fallen off the top rung, because he can't stop thinking that he peaked in high school.

Things do get better for him, and later on he'll probably experience stuff that's way worse and wish it were just a rough first semester of undergrad, but in the moment, it really sucks!

[jamespotterthefirst]

Prelude (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 1 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.5 K Premise: Three moments leading up to their fateful meeting.

Author’s Note: In which I try to explain why MC didn’t know what Ethan, her medical hero, looked like. Also, my (late) fic for the book 1 replay. Thank you @aestheticartsx​ for pre-reading!

Three.

Harper frowns down at the file in her hand, her sharp gaze burning into the collated papers as though coercing them to solve their dilemma once and for all. From the end of the table, Cyrus lets out an inpatient sigh.

“It's very simple, Harper,” he drones. Ethan's fists clench reflexively at his sides, urging to remind Cyrus that Harper is the chief now and warrants more respect than his insufferable tone is offering. “The last spot should go to the candidate from Harvard. We are the best hospital on the east coast, after all. It only makes sense.”

Harper looks unconvinced and still, her pensive expression remains fixed in the file.

“An ivy league degree does not a good doctor make,” Naveen adds sagely into the ensuing silence. His smile is placid enough but Ethan knows the older doctor well enough to hear the warning edge in his voice. Evidently, even Naveen disapproves of Cyrus's lack of respect for their new chief.

Cyrus scoffs.

“And if you need further proof of that, Doctor Cyrus,” Ethan begins dryly, eyes boring into him. “Then look no further than your side of the conference table.”

A few attendings—at least the ones who have become increasingly tired of Cyrus's boastful proclamations about his alma mater—laugh quietly at the jab. Cyrus splutters, his face an unpleasant shade of red as he glares daggers at Ethan.

“This candidate,” Harper says at last, unaware or uncaring of what she had just interrupted. Her two lone words are enough to command the room's attention at once, but her hazel eyes are on Ethan. “You're convinced she's the best fit for Edenbrook?”

Ethan meets her eye and pauses.

It's the first time they look at each other directly since he ended their relationship two weeks prior. Despite the brief time apart and an unshakeable resolve to be professional, his stomach sinks heavy, like a stone.

Harper looks as graceful and dignified as ever, keeping every emotion in check. Yet, as she holds his gaze, Ethan can see a small flicker or sadness and his stomach twists with guilt.

“I'm positive, Chief Emery,” Ethan responds. “This candidate exhibits the type of potential we look for at Edenbrook.”

The use of her new title seems to snap Harper out of a reverie.

“She graduated top of her class and ranked in the top percent among our chosen cohort of interns,” Ethan continues. “I've also looked into her research and it's among the most promising I've seen. I recommend her without reservations.”

With a single nod and a sense of finality, Harper closes the file.

“Then it's settled. We have our last intern.”

“You're joking, Harper,” Cyrus blurts out, incensed. “We're giving a coveted spot to the candidate from UCLA?”

He says the name of the school with so much derision, Ethan feels his ears flare up.

“That Doctor Ayala?” Cyrus continues.

“Doctor Allende,” Ethan corrects, jaw clenched.

“Don't we have enough charity cases in the cohort already? This is token—”

But the vitriol is quickly interrupted by several things happening at once: Ethan darting forward, fists ready; a startled, collective gasp from the other attendings; Naveen, quietly intercepting Ethan and halting his steps with a steady hand, a feat that is impressive for a man much older and shorter; and Harper, also on her feet, directing a disgusted look at Cyrus she doesn’t bother to disguise behind professionalism.

“I would think very carefully about finishing that sentence if I were you, Doctor Cyrus,” she says, her voice low but with the impact of a clashing gavel. “And I ask that you address me as Chief Emery moving forward.”

Two.

“If you end up marrying someone with a Boston accent,” Laurel is saying with a devilish grin. “I will never be able to keep a straight face when they talk. Pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd.”

Her older sister peers at Lilac over the flaps of an open cardboard box, the glint in her eye growing wickeder still. “Imagine what they’d sound like in bed. You're so fucking gawgeous, dawctaw—”

Before her sister can escalate that impression into disturbing territory, Lilac silences her with a well-aimed pillow. It succeeds in hitting Laurel straight in the face but also in turning her laughter into a cackle.

“Are you going to help me pack or not?” Lilac says sternly, though the effect is entirely ruined by the smile that manages to break through.

Laurel raises her hands in defeat and returns to packing Lilac's books neatly. They work in companionable silence for a few minutes with nothing but their favorite music blaring from the speakers of Lilac's phone.

“Is this the book?” her sister asks suddenly, turning a worn textbook in her hands and studying it closely. “The one written by your medical crush?”

For some inexplicable reason, Lilac feels her face flare with heat. “He's not my crush.”

“You just worship the ground he walks on,” her sister returns, flipping through Diagnostic Principles. “Though, you're right. In order to have a crush you'd need to know what he looks like.”

Laurel reaches the back cover, frowning. “Why wouldn't he add an author picture?”

Lilac says nothing, biting the inside of her cheek. She can't blame her sister for being curious and a bit disappointed at the lack of visual representation. After all, Lilac had felt crestfallen when all she found in the author's information section was the green and blue Edenbrook logo.

“Maybe he's a private man and doesn't like his picture out in the world? Maybe he wants aspiring doctors to focus on his research and not his looks?”

“So he's either really hot or really ugly,” Laurel returns, unmoved by Lilac's impassioned speech. “Have you ever tried looking him up online?”

Lilac had been tempted many times, but she was fiercely adamant about keeping her medical hero a mystery outside of his work. It already felt invasive enough to track down his undergrad research and every other minor paper he'd ever written. When it came to Ethan Ramsey, Lilac had searched every corner of scholarly journals and databases, absorbing every piece of his work with an adoration that was already embarrassing enough.

Plus, she would never admit it out loud, but she was also afraid that knowing what the brilliant doctor looked like would somehow ruin him for her. Or at least, alter the image of him she had constructed in her head for so many years. It felt right to continue seeing Dr. Ramsey as the brilliant force that pushed her into her dream career and not as a definitive set of features.

“It doesn't matter what he looks like. He's the best and I'm going there to learn from him, not to judge his appearance.”

“I'm Googling him,” Laurel announces, already typing furiously into her phone. After a few seconds, her phone returns results and her eyebrows shoot up, staying suspended for longer than normal.

“What?” Lilac asks despite herself.

“Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“Just… wow.” Laurel stares down at the screen with such awestruck amazement that Lilac feels a powerful wave of curiosity. “He’s shirtless in some of these.”

“What?” Lilac yelps, feeling her face flare up at once. 

“Yeah, apparently you’re not his only fan. Tons of people have taken his picture.” Her sister seems to blink out of a trance, turning the screen toward Lilac. “Here, see for your—”

But Lilac turns her gaze away almost out of reflex.

“No!” 

The word comes out far more impassioned than Lilac intended. Still, she resolutely turns her head. “That feels...invasive, somehow?”

“Come on—”

“I'm serious, Lau. I don't want to see. I'm already nervous enough about this whole thing without having to worry about this wow-worthy revelation. And besides, taking someone’s shirtless picture without their consent and posting it online is already bad enough. It feels wrong supporting that.”

Laurel rolls her eyes.

“I'm going to see him in less than a week anyway. With clothes. In a professional setting. As I should. If I waited all these years, I can wait that long.”

A knowing, devious sort of smile pulls at her sister's face. She mumbles something over the music and Lilac can swear it sounds oddly like: “...worth the wait.”

One.

Ethan should have taken the broken and sputtering coffee machine in his apartment as an omen. His morning definitely declined from then on, starting with gridlock traffic and ending with an infuriatingly long line at his favorite coffee place.

The ultimate lack of coffee is probably his fault because Ethan had spent too much time deliberating whether or not he wanted to go with store bought coffee on what promised to be a grueling day. When he had finally made up his mind, however, the line was already out the door.

Irritated and caffeine deprived, he drives back to Edenbrook.

“You're earlier than we agreed,” Naveen says as soon as Ethan accepts his incoming call. “What was the point of rearranging the whole schedule if you were going to come in when you pleased anyway?”

“I'm not even through the gates yet. What are you spying on me?”

“No need. You forget how predictable you are.”

Naveen chuckles as he says this which eases some of Ethan's irritation. The older doctor had purposely scheduled him later in the day to give him some peace on the first day of the new intern cohort.

Naturally, Ethan arrived several hours early, as per his custom.

“Or maybe you know me too well by now.”

Naveen's benevolent laughter turns into a dry but lingering cough on the other end of the line. Instantly, Ethan's insides freeze over, his stomach sinking unpleasantly.

He opens his mouth to question his mentor about this persisting symptom, when sheer reflex prompts him to stomp on the breaks so suddenly, his body jerks forward then slams against his seat.

“Shit.”

Something—or rather someone— had crossed the parking lot road right in front of his car, standing mere inches away from his front bumper.

“Ethan?” Naveen asks through the speaker.

When Ethan recovers and regains movement of his arms and legs, he feels the spike of adrenaline give way to pure annoyance.

The offending pedestrian is a young brunette clad in blue scrubs, a medical intern by the looks of it. She stands there in the middle of the road, her mouth hanging open in a way that would have been comical to Ethan if he wasn't so irritated.

They stare at one another, though Ethan is convinced she can't see much through the tinted glass.

Then, right before his eyes, she seems to recover from the shock. Drawing herself to her full height, she glares at Ethan. At least, he thinks she's glaring through the dark lenses of her sunglasses.

Ethan almost scoffs.

She has the audacity to be angry when she was the one who made the rookie mistake of aimlessly crossing in front of him?

Who the hell does she think she is?

“Asshole,” she mutters, the word quite audible through his windows.

Before a stunned Ethan can respond, she turns on her heel and rushes toward the hospital, a curtain of dark hair dancing behind her.

“What was that?” Naveen asks, still on the call.

“I hate interns,” Ethan responds much to the older doctor's amusement.

Bonus:

Author’s Note: In other words, my MC was late to her orientation because of Ethan and that’s how she met him in the waiting room lol. Thank you so much for reading! 

*Tagging Separately 

[ardentprose]

College Boyfriend: Jungkook

Warnings: language, suggestive/sexual themes, boyfriend jungkook

Dating college-aged Jungkook...

Would be annoying as hell

he’s the type to piss you off whenever he’s bored

which happens alot because this boy. does. NOT. study.

which is stressful for you because at exactly 1 am every night he comes to you with his dumb shit-eating grin and his mint textbook because he never uses it

and begs you with not even a morsel of regret because he knows you’ll help him

otherwise how will you two graduate on time to move to the city together?? that rent will not be paid on one income

“baaaabe. what’s on the exam tomorrow?”

“Wow, i’m shocked you even knew there was an exam this time.”

“TaeTae just quit our game so he could go study and now i’m bored”

if you simply rolled your eyes and kept typing away at your paper he would drop his textbook loudly on the edge of your desk or if you’re in bed on your legs without hesitation

earning your death glare that does not phase him

he snakes his rock-hard arms around your tummy and nuzzles his face into your neck, his hair tickling your cheek and blinding you in your right eye

“pleasssseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” 

“ALRIGHT BUT THIS IS THE LAST TIME!”

alas

it was not the last time

bored jungkook would show up at your dormitory on the daily and you’d know because either

all the girls get real giggly out of nowhere

or he’s brought his entire squad and even the RAs are swooning over the seven boys clearly breaking the rules by being present in a girls’ dorm

he would never knock but just shout until you heard him through the door and your headphones

but of course your neighbors didn’t care

sometimes they’d even answer their doors first and by the time you let jungkook in he was already waist-deep in ranting about a battle gone wrong on league of legends and the regret in the girl’s eyes caused you to take pity rather than get jealous

he was Never allowed to bring all the boys in your pathetically small room so they would either scatter and explore this sacred paradise or line up obediently in the hallway, winking at the girls as they passed

bored jungkook lays his stinky feet on your thighs after working in the gym

he shakes the sweat from his hair onto you and will offer you his shirt and as soon as you turn your head, sometimes accepting the shirt blindly, he’s cackling as you hurtle the dead-cat smelling shirt across your room

bored jungkook will make up names inspired by his twitter feed and call you each one until you laugh or smack his closest body part

“babe. baby girl. bae. my boo. main chick. girl with the good hair who’s not becky because i only love you. mamacita. miss thicc. my skinny legend. sweetheart. brat (that’s YOU, jungkook). my ult bia AND my bias wrecker. my all-kill. yummy yumm- (NO!)

but sometimes bored jungkook was really sweet

there were times he was exhausted of his testosterone flooded environment and texted you in the most polite millennial format you had ever seen

“can we netflix and chill but like really just chill?”

baby boi jungkook is activated as soon as you reply ‘yes’

he shows up with a blanket and a hoodie he’s wearing but its for you because he would rather be shirtless and snuggling you under the blanket’s heat

and of course he brings exclusive “Y/N and Me snacks” from his many shelves of Jungkook Snacks

no lie he punched jin in the face because jin ate your favorite oreos and jungkook had saved up to buy those

okay so he accidentally hit jin while wrestling them out of his grip

you greet him with a kiss on each cheek and his eyes become adoring stars as he literally follows you around your room. he stands at the bathroom entrance and watches you get ready for bed. he waits patiently by the bed as you clear it of your study materials

you set everything up he strips his hoodie off and hands it to you

his arms again around your waist and this time he keeps his hair in a bun so it doesn’t tickle your nose and make you sneeze even tho your sneezes make him giggle

he kisses your lips at least four times while you surf netflix not offering suggestions because he only wants to watch anime or whatever you wanna watch

his love for romantic korean dramas started with you which is funny seeing as he’s had an entire lifetime to watch these with taehyung repeatedly recommending them 

tae is not happy that it took a girl to convince jk to sit down and watch Boys Over Flowers

or even Strong Woman Do Bong Soon which was made for jungkook like c’mon-

and if a couple breaks up on screen, fighting and screaming he instinctively grips you tighter and presses his lips against the pulse in your neck for comfort and assurance

his wide doe eyes are glassy as they fight but they absolutely flood when the couple makes up

jk will whip his head into the hood behind your head and hide his tears while you stroke his forearm and interlace your fingers with his

most nights jungkook falls asleep on your shoulder before the first episode ends

some nights the first ten minutes have barely passed before you realize soft boi jungkook was a ruse and his hands are up his sweatshirt on your torso, cupping your boobs and mouthing at your neck and

dang nabbit you’ve been bamboozled AGAIN

but fuck is it hot the way his teeth pull the skin on your neck, going back in to suck on it and repeat the process until red blooms like an abstract necklace

and if you’re too lost in the feeling of his fingers circling your skin leaving traces of fire he’ll remove one hand and cup your cheek turning your jaw to interlock with his

thus a makeout session ensues

at some point you’re pulling the hair tie from his head and weaving your fingers through the wavy thick strands, moaning at that sensation alone

but your roommate usually comes in before you get very far

or annoying jungkook returns and he pulls away breathless but a smirk flashing on his lips as he glances over your shoulder 

“its curfew...gotta go”

jungkook is actually very smart and very talented

like the best in his film production class AND his art studies class AND best athlete on the football team

he would be best dancer but hoseok claimed that title and jungkook has made it his personal mission to surpass the dancing legend before either of them graduate

he always holds your hand while walking to class

runs up and snatches your hand, kissing your cheek in greeting

uses your interlocked hands to pull your arm around his shoulder, cup your waist and kiss you for good luck before your test

always leaves his friends to come say hi

uses his extra college-given bucks to buy you a coffee or a meal in the cafeteria if you forgot your money 

lets you use him as a chair if all the seats in the library are taken or even if they’re not and plays with your hair with one hand, phone in the other while you study for the both of you

everyone on campus knows jungkook is top of the line but everyone on campus thinks you’re top tier for wooing the man

that annoying student who guesses the answer and gets it right

if namjoon can hate another human being it’s jungkook in philosophy spouting off A-class bullshit and getting praise from the teacher

then having the audacity to ask for namjoon’s notes

college boyfriend jungkook may be your typical jock in physique but his heart is kind and protective and he knows how to balance time with his friends and time with you

well no thats a lie

he spends 99% of his time loving you

[trrriple-rrr]

Of dreams coming true...or ...Pinter 5 and Anthony and Cleopatra.

Sometimes it really feels as if something in the universe is lining up to make your dreams come true all at once. That’s definitely how I felt when I read the news about Ralph being on stage from September to January in Anthony and Cleopatra and Rupert being on stage from December to January in Pinter 5. After seeing Richard “alive and breathing and acting his heart out” in The Crucible I just knew that whenever I’d get the chance to see Rupert and Ralph on stage I’d grab it with both hands. And after waiting over four years it happened! It definitely was one of these “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”- moments for me....

And then I knew it actually was real life as yes, Rupert and Ralph would be on stage around the same time and I’d get a chance to see them both without having to get time off work twice and without having to book two trips to London, but they were set to star in plays written by the two authors who really gave me some traumatic experiences in English class during my highschool days. If I had to name two of my least favourite authors you can bet that Shakespeare and Pinter would be on that list.

But I didn’t want to let this chance slip by and hey, even if the plays sucked, I’d still get to see Rupert Graves and Ralph Fiennes in person, doing “their thing” and that was good enough for me!

So I booked the flight to London and got the theatre tickets.

What follows now is my recap of the plays and seeing my beloved RRs. There probably will be some spoilers about them so if you don’t want to read them, maybe stop here.

Pinter at the Pinter - Pinter 5

On Thursday I went to see the matinee of Rupert’s play. I almost walked past the theatre as it seems a bit hidden. But it is quite lovely from the inside and there were many people there to see the play. It was nearly sold out and I was sitting in the very last row on the balcony. It was a nice view from up there and there were some free seats up there so I changed my seat before the play began.

I felt as if my heart was about to jump out of my throat as it was about to begin and it felt as if there wasn’t any time to get ready. You just get pushed right into the first of three Pinter plays shown.

Up first was “The Room”. Like the name suggests it’s set in a one room apartment, revolving around a married couple. Rupert plays the husband who does not say a single word in the first half of the play. (Which immediately brought me back to English class and Pinter’s “A Slight Ache” in which he uses the same rhethorical device. I can still hear my teacher’s words: “If you want to really get to know someone just be quiet with them. People can’t stand the silence and will just talk and talk and give away more about their life and character then they ever wanted.” Exeperiences certainly have proofed him right.) Rupert being all silent on stage was fantastic and disappointing at the same time for me. It was great because you could see just how much he’s able to portray with a simple glance or gesture and it just gave me time to study his face (I love the stubble so much) and his movements. When he gets up and walks I had a mayor “Oh wow. It’s really him!” moment. But I was also diappointed as everything in me just longed to hear his voice. When he did speak I just wanted to close my eyes and listen but I also didn’t want to miss anything in the play. A very fantastic moment of the first half of the play was also when Rupert’s character lies down on the bed, his back to the audience and he’s wearing trousers that really nicely show off his bottom. So if you plan on going to see it, I can highly recommend sitting on the left side of the theatre. When Rupert did speak his voice sounded a bit hoarse and lower than I thought it would. But it only gave him an even rougher and sexier quality which I loved. You could tell that he’s been on stage for a few weeks already.

Despite my reservations against Pinter, I got sucked into the story which left me with more questions than answers though - but that’s just Pinter’s thing, I think. The ending is really surprising. There was a little boy sitting in my row, about 8 years old maybe, and he was so shocked and scared that he started crying and his mother left with him, which distracted me but what I saw of Rupert was just... crazy good acting that left a lot of people speechless.

Then came the intermission and the chance to stretch my legs as there really wasn’t any leg room on the balcony.

The second play and third play they showed were much more to my liking. Rupert has got a part in all three plays but all actors involved are amazing. Jane Horrocks especially.

The second play was “Victoria Station”. There was only Rupert as a cab driver (again sitting on the left side of the stage) and Colin McFarlane as a dispatcher on screen. There isn’t a lot of movement and the story is mostly portrayed through the actor’s faces and voices. The story was short but it had everything in it. So many feelings you could connect to. Love, fear, anger, loneliness, longing and an underlying sense of suspence and the threat of something sinister going on. It was also hilarious. It made me think of Criminal Minds (which I love) and I kept thinking that the play would be a fantastic set up for an episode. The kind of CM episode that never really leaves you, that you dream about and still think about years later for some reason and it stirred your darker side or your fears and it’s just there just waiting to pop up every now and again. I just feel that this play will do this to me in years to come.

The third play was “Family Voices”. Rupert has got a smaller part in this with Jane Horrocks and Luke Thallon being the two main characters. Again it’s a play that leaves you with more questions than answers and leaves a lot to the imagination of the viewer. It was acted brilliantly and made fantastic use of the minimalistic stage setting. This one really left me with a feeling of heart break and loneliness and the urge to just call my mother and hear her voice. It just totally won me over to the “Hey, I think I misjudged Pinter”- side and it’s all thanks to the actors’ portrayal of the plays. The applause was so very well deserved and I think everyone who saw the plays will think about them for a long time.

After the plays I braved Stage Door. There was a small barrier put up which made me wonder what has happened as I asked @gravesdiggers about it before and she said there wouldn’t be one. On the other hand I was kind of glad there was one as it just felt....safer?! I don’t know. There were about ten to twelve people waiting. I was eighth in line or so and where I was standing there wasn’t any barrier. So I queued up and waited patiently (nervously and excitedly mostly though). Jane Horrocks is just a very nice woman and took her time to chat with people and sign their posters and stuff, she’s also quite beautiful. Rupert came out last, wearing comfy clothes, his wooly hat, trainers. A bonbon in his mouth (probably against the sore throat). He was really nice and took his time to take pictures. Hearing his voice up close was just even more amazing. I wasn’t nervous at all anymore when he was standing in front of me suddenly. Maybe because someone in line before me made him smile and laugh (which made me realise he didn’t do that during the plays so I even more happy to see it now) and to just hear his surprised, loud “Ha!” laugh I heard him do often before in interviews or on tv just really made my heart beat faster and gave me the “Oh my God. It’s Rupert Graves!” feeling that made my knees feel a bit weak.

I just asked him to sign my ticket which he did glady after calling my pen weird and then taking it back when he saw it had “Peter Rabbit” on it (Come on, Rupert, Peter Rabbit is cute!). I didn’t ask for a photo as I suck at taking selfies and there were some people left in line after me. It was just nice to see him up close and to breathe him in (he smelled of a sharp and spicy bodyspray (after-shave?!) and I just felt like floating when I left to just explore the city. Stopping every once in a while to squeal inwardly and still thinking about the plays a lot.

Anthony and Cleopatra

Friday came around and with it the excitement of seeing Ralph in Anthony and Cleopatra at the National Theatre in the evening. I distracted myself with some sight-seeing throughout the day but the later it got the more nervous I was getting.

There were even more people at the NT and I was sitting very close to the stage. Not in first row which was sold out when I got the ticket but still close enough to hear Ralph’s knee creak when he knelt down on stage and to hear the crack of the blood capsule at the end. And after seeing a lot of spit flying around and seeing how low the first row was I am glad I didn’t sit there, to be honest. XD

And then it was time to deal with Shakespeare. My other English class nemesis. I don’t know what it’s about Shakespearian English that makes it turn to white noise in my head whenever I hear it. Reading is okay but just hearing it is really difficult. I didn’t have time to read the play beforehand so I was fearing the worst really.

But I had read @herbaminor‘s review of the play before and they wrote that even though it is a really long play (3 h 10 min) they didn’t look at their watch once so I was feeling hopeful I wouldn’t either.

And I didn’t! Not once! I was sucked into the story immediately which starts by showing the ending of the play and then rewinding time to show how it all played out to reach that point. I guess it’s not a spoiler to say that Cleopatra and Anthony commit suicide/die at the ending, right?!

The stage design is very minimalistic again which was just perfect for the actors to fill the stage with their characters and personalities. Every single one of them was amazing and all pulled their weight to make it a spectacular play. Knowing that Ralph and Sophie won the Evening Standard Theatre Award for their performances really gave me hope it would be a great play and more.

I didn’t understand every word they said (especially Agrippa - who is genderswapped in this production. I didn’t get what her part/plan was at all) but I understood enough to follow the story and to really enjoy the play. It was quite funny for a tragedy and I just got the feeling I’m getting the full Ralph Fiennes’ package. He’s the lover, the politician, the action-hero, the singer and dancer, tragedy personified. He’s really giving it his all in this play.

He first came on stage tumbling around with an open shirt, a tattoo on his chest (which they moved from his stomach (as seen on the promp pic) to rest above his heart), bare feet and painted toenails (black!). I instantly felt all hort and bothered especially since he was standing right in front of me A LOT and I just stared at his chest hair and belly button and fought the urge to sit on my hands to keep myself from reaching out. It’s just.... a lot of food for the imagination when you see him like this in front of you, or caressing Cleopatra’s thighs.

Sophie Okenodo is just stunning. From her costumes, to her hair to her acting. She’s all in and you just have to look at her. Even when she’s snotty from crying. She’s amazing and I totally fell in love with her. Put her together with Ralph and they are just mind-blowing.

I wasn’t bored for one second during the play. After it had gone for maybe 15 minutes or so a phone went off near me, getting a text alert, Ralph heard it on stage as there was some glaring in my general direction and I can only hope my attempt at sending a thelepathic “Wasn’t me! Not me!” - message worked!

I just loved the music and the lighting and it all worked together to make it a fantastic play that kind of made me forget that it’s Shakespeare I’m listening to right now. They combined modern costumes with a modern setting (showing their enemies as a presentation on screens/from an usb stick). But it didn’t seem to clash at all for some reason.

Ralph sings in this play and he does so amazingly well. You could tell when he was talking that he has been on stage for a while too. His voice was hoarse too and sounded differently than it usually does. Only when he spoke in his low tones you could hear the velvety quality in it which really sends shivers down your spine. He dances too and you really get immediate “A Bigger Splash” flashbacks and it’s just fun to watch and he just seems to be in it and not embarrassed at all to just go for it.

I think my favourite “I’m about to melt into a puddle” moment was, when Anthony gets dresses himself to get ready for a political meeting and he’s putting on his uniform (there is another scene in which he gets dressed in uniform to go to war which also is.... sjdhgjsla) and he is standing there with this determined experession on his face and then he put on these brown leather glove all the while standing right in front of me that really made me forget to breathe for about five minutes, I think.

And then there is the scene right before the intermission. Cleopatra is standing on the moving part of the stage and Anthony is standing on the non-moving part, closer to the audience and she moves past him, reaching out for him with her hand and he does the same and then just grabs her and pulls her to him and kisses her...that was the moment I knew I had to get a cold drink during intermission!

I loved how much care they took on the details like Anthony wearing a wedding ring after getting married to Ceasar’s sister Octavia which he sneakily takes off and puts onto the nightstand before he travels back to Egypt. And the story they tell with the character’s shoes. Anthony going from bare-foot (and painted toe nails!) to wearing loafers without socks, loafers with socks and combat boots to Cleopatra’s Women wearing fashionable open-toed high heels to flats to bare feet. It just seemed to support the story and all the action going on.

And I just cared for so many characters. My heart ached for Anthony and Cleopatra but it really broke at Eros’ ending and the shocked/sad gasp of the audience told me I’m not the only one feeling that way.

It was also amazing when Cleopatra pulls a real live snake out of the fig basket to commit suice with an asps bite. I loved it but the woman sitting next to me nearly had a melt-down at the sight of the snake. Even though it was a small-ish not poisonous kingsnake.

After the play I hurried to get out of the theatre to go to the stage door but I really shouldn’t have bothered. It took a long time till Ralph came out. Again there were about ten people waiting for him and there was no queue, no barrier nothing. I was really super nervous and a bit intimidated in that moment. Ralph took his time coming out, even after you could already see him. It made me laugh as I’d probably do the same if I were him. But he did came out and he wasn’t intimidating to talk to at all. He was very nice and signed people’s books and tickets and leaflets (even if you could tell they hadn’t been to see the play).

After my Rupert situation the day before I gave him the second pen I had in my jacket to sign my ticket. Sadly it didn’t write very well which Ralph mentioned as well and tried to make his signature as legible as possible. I just told him I’m sorry about the pen and thanked him for the autograph before I went back to the hotel feeling happy and on Cloud 9.

It was an amazing two days in London and seeing Rupert and Ralph on stage really was a dream come true. They are such great actors and meeting them in person afterwards was just the most delicious cherry on top.

And with that I will end this long post before I remember to add all the things I forgot to write about. :)

[tkmedia]

Why scrapping the Giteau Law would be 'horrendous' for Super Rugby

1:23am, 24 August 2021 Former All Blacks star Sir John Kirwan has issued a warning that the removal of the Giteau Law could be detrimental to the future of Super Rugby.ADVERTISEMENTRugby Australia is considering an overhaul of the Giteau Law to allow Wallabies head coach Dave Rennie to select more overseas-based players in his squad.Under the Giteau Law, which was introduced ahead of the 2015 World Cup, Rennie is only able to pick overseas-based players who have at least 60 test caps for the Wallabies and have played a minimum of seven seasons of professional rugby in Australia.

What sacrifice means to the Black Ferns | Healthspan EliteFurther amendments to the rule have been added to enable Rennie to pick two extra players who don’t meet that criteria.There are three overseas-based players in the current Wallabies squad, two of whom – Samu Kerevi of Tokyo Sungoliath and Duncan Paia’aua of Toulon – don’t meet the Giteau Law criteria.The third foreign-based player, Quade Cooper of the Hanazono Kintetsu Liners, has 70 test caps and played professionally in Australia between 2006 and 2019.Calls for a review of the Giteau Law came after the Wallabies failed to win the Bledisloe Cup for a 19th straight year earlier this month as they were defeated in back-to-back tests by the All Blacks at Eden Park.ADVERTISEMENTSince RA chief executive Andy Marinos confirmed last week that the national union was contemplating a relaxation of its eligibility laws, numerous former Wallabies have been left divided over whether such a move would be beneficial for Australian rugby.Ex-All Blacks midfielder Sonny Bill Williams has also chimed in on the matter as he called for RA to scrap the ruling and reinvest the money it spends on its top players into schoolboy rugby across Australia.Now Kirwan, another former New Zealand international, has voiced his opinion on the debate, but his views are of stark contrast to those held by Williams.Speaking on The Breakdown on Monday, the 56-year-old said scrapping the Giteau Law all together would negatively impact the future of Super Rugby.ADVERTISEMENTThe southern hemisphere’s premier club competition is undergoing a significant upheaval after the advent of Covid-19 forced the relocation of the South African franchises – the Bulls, Lions, Sharks and Stormers – to Europe.“I just think there’s only so much you can do. If you spread yourself too thin, you’re not going to be able to nail it.”https://t.co/rQDoC7bF59— RugbyPass (@RugbyPass) August 24, 2021The pandemic also resulted in the axing of the Jaguares and Sunwolves, leaving Super Rugby to become a Pacific-focused competition rather than a hemisphere-wide tournament.Many have viewed the revamp of the competition as a golden opportunity to revive the floundering league, which has suffered from various problems over the past decade.Those included, but weren’t limited to, administrative mismanagement, lop-sided results, ongoing and complex format restructures, matches played across multiple different timezones, player welfare issues and a sharp decline in fan interest.Therefore, the chance to hit the re-set button and welcome two Pacific Island teams – Moana Pasifika and the Fijian Drua – to join the 10 teams from New Zealand and Australia has been lauded as a positive step towards rejuvenating Super Rugby.According to Kirwan, though, any optimism surrounding the future of the competition could be quickly swept away if the Giteau Law is revoked to allow Rennie to pick players from anywhere in the world.The former 63-test wing questioned whether doing so would “weaken the Australian sides” while drawing comparisons between the Giteau Law and New Zealand Rugby’s stance on player sabbaticals.“I am really, really concerned about Super Rugby as a by-product of letting players play overseas,” Kirwan told The Breakdown.“You need to understand what the Giteau Law is. For example, we’ve got players going overseas and I think we’re now breaking into what does that mean for us?“I call them financial sabbaticals. Whitelock, Retallick, Barrett went on one, and yet TJ Perenara was a little bit different because .“Patrick Tuipulotu is going on one. You sign with NZR and, because we’re trying to compete with European money, you go on a financial sabbatical, which gives New Zealand Rugby your services for a few more years.Queensland will host Rugby Championship games in a series of double-headers played in Brisbane, Townsville and the Gold Coast. #RugbyChampionship https://t.co/PnONfDYXWk— RugbyPass (@RugbyPass) August 24, 2021“I think this Giteau Law is a little bit different where you play, like the South Africans do, completely overseas, and I think that would be horrendous for us as a nation, but also horrible for Super Rugby.“I’m really concerned that Super Rugby is going to end up like our or our club rugby because people want to see the superstars. They want to see Beauden Barrett playing Patrick Tuipulotu, so that’s dangerous, I believe.”Kirwan added he would like to see Super Rugby tap into lucrative markets such as Japan and the United States, as well as the Pacific, to help prevent New Zealand and Australia from competing with the riches on offer in Europe.“I think our challenge is we’ve got to stop following the market and start leading it,” the 1987 World Cup winner said.“I believe we need to bring the Japanese into Super Rugby, we need to bring in the of the America into Super Rugby, we need to bring Pasifika into Super Rugby.“The LA side has just won their competition over there. There will be money going in there. We know there’s a lot of money in Japan, so I believe if they can stay in our basin, you should be allowed to pick them.“Then you don’t sacrifice Super Rugby for the sake of us losing everyone … Why are we following the market? We’ve go to lead the market and try and help these guys.“I understand that they need to make as much money as they can, but let’s create an amazing Asian base. Let’s invest and put a franchise in Beijing or something.“Be a bit proactive and players can go over there, make more money, but also we can pick New Zealanders from that competition.“If you are playing for the Sunwolves and you come down to New Zealand and you’re competitive with Canterbury or the Blues or whatever, and you can show enough form to get picked, let’s do that.Ian Foster has convinced the powers that be that he’s the man to put the All Blacks back on top of the world. #AllBlackshttps://t.co/eFz2rtosdQ— RugbyPass (@RugbyPass) August 24, 2021“We’re continuing to follow where the game is taking us instead of trying to lead it.”Kirwan’s comments come after the Australian Super Rugby teams endured a horror showing in Super Rugby Trans-Tasman earlier this year as they picked up just two wins from 25 matches against their New Zealand counterparts.The makeshift campaign highlighted the gulf in class between the two nations, and ex-All Blacks utility back Mils Muliaina said further depletion of Australia’s Super Rugby sides would make it even more difficult for them to level the playing field.“I think their situation now, in terms of getting to the top of world rugby and winning a Rugby World Cup, I think they’ve obviously had a really good think about it and these guys will make a significant difference,” the former 100-test international told The Breakdown.“I think what JK’s talking about is they’re already struggling with some of the depth that’s there.“If all that depth’s going overseas to Europe and chasing a lot bigger money, which understandably there is, then they’re going to lose their depth in their squads even more so.“Depending on how that looks now, the New Zealand sides will be beating them 50-plus all the time if they’re going to lose all their players.”However, Muliaina added that, while it could drastically impact Super Rugby, the relaxation of the Giteau Law would help improve the Wallabies at test level.“Will they be competitive? I think they will,” the 2011 World Cup winner said.“I honestly think the way club rugby is over there , in terms of the Premiership, I think the guys that are coming back are in a lot better nick and they’re adjusting a lot faster than they used to back in my day.Dave Rennie has suggested there’s one key way to beat the All Blacks – and the numbers back it up. #Wallabies #AllBlacks #AUSvNZL?? Gregor Paulhttps://t.co/hOlKn9A6TY— The XV Rugby (@TheXV) August 23, 2021“Super Rugby will take a massive hit, but you’d have to say the Wallabies are doing it to make sure that it’s a roll on effect.“They start performing, they start winning and bringing in more sponsorship, it grows their game, then they can put that money towards funding in terms of recruitment and keeping their players here.“So, I totally understand where they’re going with there in Australia.”Listen to the latest episode of the Aotearoa Rugby Pod below:

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[fictionerd]

GOOD. TO. SEE. YOU. FRIENDS!!!

Here we are! The first post of Summer Season 2018 and we’ll be covering Planet With. This series is released on Sundays and can be watched on Crunchyroll. 

Okay, so let’s cover what we learn from the first two episodes of Planet With.

In episode one we’re introduced to Souya, a young amnesiac who dreams of horrifying giant draconic creature attacking a city and some one flying off to confront it. See it’s shit like this that causes dragons to have a bad reputation. Seriously I can’t believe these assholes who go around burning whatever the hell they want just because they can breath fire. If it weren’t for them dimensional travel wouldn’t be such a daunting prospect for me. I never know when some one is going to have a traumatic flashback and attack me all because some scaley clown got it into their head to “burninate” something.

Sorry, I’m digressing again. After waking up from his ptsdream Souya prepares to have a normal breakfast with his perfectly normal housemates of a large cat-person and green-haired maid. 

Oh wait... My bad. See I’m used to hanging out with a Teddy-Bear whisperer with the ability to access the life’s memory of a version of herself in any given universe, an elf who ONLY exists in the metaverse of the Akashic Record, and most recently a shadow-monster who spent three months pretending to be Swole-Bear. There was also that time I tried to hang out with a copy of a video game character, but we’re not considering that canon anymore. At least not entirely for legal reasons. Oh! There’s also the British man who tears holes in dimensions to fight against “unfair fates” who I’m apparently hosting a podcast with now? My point being that to me the above image is perfectly normal. To most anyone else this is probably at least a three on the Sir Memery WTF chart.

After finishing his veggie breakfast Souya sets off for school complaining about wanting to eat some meat where he bumps into his class rep whose name he has forgotten. You’d think this is just an excuse to set up Tsundere vibes with her, but no it’s far FAR worse than that. See her name is: Kagaratamaha? [wrong buzzer] Hakatamagara? [wrong buzzer] Ta-ka-ma-ga-ha-ra? [Correct Tone] 

So Nickname Pending is worried about Souya and how he doesn’t make friends at his new school. This is because she knows what it’s like to be the new kid, and has apparently never watched an anime in her life so she doesn’t quite grasp the concept of “Leave the mysterious blue-haired transfer alone”.

Side Note: This character’s introduction marks the first time I’ve ever gotten a Japanese pun without some one explaining it to me. So allow me to ruin it for you all by explaining it. She offers Souya some of her Hamburger Steak to which he replies with tears of join “Megane-sama” which she mishears as “Megami-sama” and sheepishly replies that she doesn’t think she’s a goddess before immediately realizing what he’d actually said. This leads into the reveal of her actual name which I refuse to ever use the entirety of again because I honestly don’t think the joke is that funny.

Later that day Souya’s shounen receptors begin to tingle as he picks up on the impending conflict of the story. A UFO is sighted offshore headed towards the city. When the air-force is deployed to deal with the object (Picture in header) they find themselves the victim of some strange joyous delusion and leave the object alone. it’s only when seven strange people, apparently psychics of some kind, utilize their powers to confront it is it stopped. We see one of these people enter the object through a “Weak Point” and have his own delusion.

See, his mother was killed in a fire when he was a little boy causing him to become a firefighter. The UFO hits his brain with a delusion of child him being held back from the blaze by a firefighter only for that firefighter to turn out to be adult him. Adult Firefighter Psychic dude runs into the fire, saves his mom, and the two of them walk through the cherry blossoms as he sorts through all the pent up regrets he has about not being able to save her when he was a kid. Only after we’ve conveniently gotten to know this character’s defining trauma does his squad get through to him and break the delusion, then he uses his Psychic Golem Powers to wreck the hell out of the UFO causing it and copies of it that had appeared around the world to disappear all at once. The same can be said for the Psychics who all blast off to separate places to avoid the fate of E.T. one presumes

While all this was going on Souya got a call from Ginko (That’s green-haired maid lady for those not following the series who also don’t care about spoilers). She tells Souya that he has to defeat “it”, but contrary to what everyone in the audience thinks it turns out that “it” refers to one of the Psychics and not the UFO thing. After Ex-Firefighter current world-saver exits the bushes onto a highway he encounters Souya the cat-man and Ginko. Souya is sporting a mask and being basically lead by the nose at the behest of Catman and Ginko. Now hold onto your seats because this is where shit gets REALLY weird. 

Catman swallows Souya turning into a mech in the process that Souya is now piloting. They get into a fight with Firefighter dude who summons up his psychic golem thing. After fumbling around at Ginko’s direction Souya manages to pilot the Catmech to victory over Psychic Fireman and retrieves a vial of star-shaped dust that is the “source of his power”. At which point I’m lead to believe that Souya recovered his memories because he shouts at Firefighter to tell his friends that Souya is going to kick their collective asses. This is presumably because he believes them to be behind his ptsdream.

After the credits roll we see a scene where a guy I can only describe a scruffy Alder from Pokemon Gen 5 says ominously that Firefighter dude had been taken out.

So, before even watching episode two I can already hands-down predict that this guy is the Draconic asshole from Souya’s ptsdream. Not sure how everything fits together but my working theory is that Souya’s from another planet that Earth governments or some shadowy organization somehow invaded and stole something from. Souya is a sleeper agent and the “Peas” balloon things are meant to lure out those in possession of the Stolen Macguffin or whatever.

There we have Episode One. Please excuse me now while I go watch Episode Two. Well... I mean you can just keep reading by the time this goes up but... BRB!

[Approximately 30min later]

Well my theory from about two paragraphs ago is up in smoke as soon as the opening scenes of this episode roll in and further dashed upon the rocks by Ginko later in the episode. All things in their proper order.

So Torai (That’s firefighter-guy’s name btw) makes his report to dragon-man about his encounter with Soya and company. The other six Psychic warriors all make jabs at him as though he died even when he’s sitting right there in an example of a gag that is legit funny unlike Tara’s name from last episode. While we’re talking about the exposition meeting may I just say that I feel BETRAYED!

See Dragon CEO guy is as nerdy as I AM! He’s the one who found out that the enemy force is called Nebula. He called the giant abominations “Nebula Weapons” gives Soya and Company the name Nebula Soldiers, and what does he call the Psychic Golems his crew uses to fight? Psychokinetic Mega-God Photon Armor. If I didn’t know better I’d think my pops made him from the same mold as me no less. Oh, and their little world-saving club? It’s the Citizens' Safety Center Special Defense Section: "Grand Paladin". I’m in tears, people, this is a Draconid after my own heart.

So, the “Grand Paladin” peeps implement the buddy system in case they run into Soya again. Meanwhile Soya’s having a sulk because apparently Ginko and “Sensei” dragged him to Earth to be their soldier. He goes out on a walk in Iron Clogs (I’m guessing this is a joke I’m not getting). On the run he meets up with Torai who just happens to have purchased a bunch of meat buns from a convenience store. They have a conversation because Torai is a nice guy (that’s a legit nice guy not the version that’s been turned into a derogatory term by certain groups online). See Torai, while out looking for his attacker couldn’t help noticing what he thought was a middle-schooler sitting on a random bench crying and came over to see if there was anything he could do to help.

He gives Soya a bun they chat for a bit with Soya desperately trying both not to give away who he really is as well as to eat the bun because dammit he just wants some MEAT for once! All of a sudden the evacuation alarm is sounded because this wonderful abomination has appeared off shore.

Nebula really needs to consult a different artist about their designs. I personally recommend @dashfox1artwork. 

Robin: Shamelessly plugging your internet friends are we dragon-boy? 

Fic: If you’re not going to show up and fight keep your mouth shut Shadow-bear. I’m just doing my part to show that not all Dragons are assholes. Robin: Whatever you say.

So, the six remaining Psycho-God pilots attack the Ugly Bacon Idol and the pink-haired girl of the team, Miu, is the one to enter the core. The hallucination she sees is of her beating her friend Harumi (Pilot of the Bear-armor) at apparently a Judo competition. We find out that Miu has always just wanted to be strong, and we also learn that she IS strong being able to break through the illusion of the Nebula Weapon with relative ease and destroy the thing. It’s at this point that I should mention that a message has flashed before each of the characters who take one of these things out. In Miu’s case the message was “It’s okay to be weak”. For Torai in episode one the message was “I forgive you” presumably preying on his regrets about his mom.

After Piggy McHideous is dispatched the group separates into its pairs and as we expected Soya and Co target the pair with a member who just fought a battle, but let’s back up for a second because there’s some exposition from Ginko during the fight with the Baconator that needs addressing.

She reveals to Soya that Nebula is indeed the name of the group they work for, but there are multiple faction. Ginko and “Sensei” are with the “Pacifist Faction” whereas the Monuments to terrible design sense that have been popping up in the harbor belong to the “Sealing Faction”. Basically think of this as political parties. One wants to prevent humanity from rising up against them one day by brutally suppressing their ability to advance and keep them in a state of complacency, while the other just wants to take away any dangerous toys that humanity might come up with and hope that they can “guide” humanity onto the path of “Love” rather than “Power”.

Hmmm one group bent on maintaining their personal status quo at the cost of anyone else and another that wants to control precisely what power the general populace has access to in order to “guide” them on the “right path”? I wonder where I’ve heard that one before?

Sorry about that. The Writer is coming through me a little strongly there. Point is that Ginko is using Soya to enact social and ideological control... I MEAN to take away the magical stardust that allows the Psycho-God Pilots to do their thing... yeah. Back to the proper progress of the episode: Soya once again pilots his cat-mecha-sensei to fight against Miu and Harumi. It is a pretty fun fight, but all things must go as has been foretold. So after being on the ropes for most of the conflict Soya turns everything around at the last second with a miracle uppercut against the Bunny-god armor. As Miu is falling back to Earth Ginko appears and grabs the stardust vial away from her. Apparently Ginko can just Mary Poppins herself to wherever she pleases? They all land and Ginko’s like “That’s all for today”, but Soya’s having none of it. He’s ready to take the fight to Bear-mech too when all the other Psycho-Pilots show up including CEO Dragonface to say “Checkmate”, and that’s where our story concludes for now.

Y’know I’m coming more and more around to the opinion that we should be routing for “Grand Paladin” here rather than the lady influencing Soya or the massive, faceless organization that wants to turn us all into Proles from 1984. I mean, yeah, they do have the snake-eyed dude. They meet in what appears to be some sort of board room, and the writing seems to indicate that they’re the “Antagonists” if not the villains, but so far they don’t seem to be anything but a collection of well-intentioned if somewhat zany people. Even the big CEO-type with the intimidating presence, as was discussed earlier, is a lovable and hammy goofball. 

I love any series that makes its antagonists human. Granted cartoonish villainy and even edgelordiness has its place in stories, but when you can make your antagonists and especially your villains feel human and relatable it just rings home that nobody is the villain in their own story. Everyone has reasons for what they do. They may not have excuses or justifications, but they all have reasons.

For instance, I have a reason for breaking my own rules here by reading my political views into the story.

[pauses for dramatic effect]

Yes, yes I’m sure you’re all very shocked at this revelation. I mean I was so subtle about it (/s). My reason is that when I went back and really thought about what the “Sealing” and “Pacifist” factions of Nebula stood for I (and this is really the nerd behind The Nerd speaking) couldn’t help but see parallels to some of the more distasteful extremes of Conservative and Liberal politics at work. Both sides seek to impose their morality upon others. While one does so by attempting to keep people complacent with the status quo, the other does it by appealing to the rebellious nature inherent in people and channeling it into “causes”.They use guilt and peer pressure to convince people that their way of thinking is correct and I absolutely cannot stand seeing it happen. Especially when they prey upon others using causes that need legitimate champions! 

The goals of the “Pacifist” faction are arguably “good”. They are part of a group that has watched humanity evolve and they only want the best for us. They “keep their involvement to a minimum”, but at the end of the day they’re doing the same thing that the “Sealing” faction is doing. They’re enforcing their own will on humanity by taking away humanity’s means to fight against them, or anyone for that matter.

In the anime this is likely because the “Pacifist” faction is short-sighted and hasn’t stopped to consider what will happen to humanity when they take away the only weapon they have against the “Sealing” faction, but in reality? In reality groups like the “Pacifist” Faction either are themselves or contain an element that wants the people they’re disarming to become reliant upon them for what they need. They take away that person’s own weapons and replace them with their own. They dictate the rules of battle and push you to come to them for aid and defense. They accrue personal power and influence at the cost of their followers’ freedom of thought.

These are important things to think about and be on the lookout for, and it’s an issue that is very prevalent in my own life and dealings online. So those are my reasons for why I read political allegory into the factions of Planet With. Now am I justified for doing this when I so often decry others for “reading shit that isn’t there into stories”? No, of course I’m not. Or rather I’m not justified using that argument against people who dropped a show as a result of what they read into it. 

I’m not going to lie. I’m inexperienced with expressing views on creative work online, and am overly sensitive to certain things. I’m just as flawed as anybody else. It’s hard for me to understand when people see “bullshit” in something that I didn’t see. It’s hard for me to accept some one calling a show (particularly one I like) “Garbage” when really it’s just not clicking with them. I know that I’ve been guilty of calling a show “Garbage” in my time, but it’s a term I hope to avoid moving forward. I want to live up to my professed belief that there is good to be found in all fiction, even the “bad” fiction. Part of that is accepting the responsibility I tell others they need to accept. To practice what I preach.

If I’m determined that the Audience has just as important a role in creating art as the Authors then I need to learn to accept the interpretations of my fellow audience members, and to feel free to express my own interpretations of things.

[stops to take a break and slide back into character]

Wow... That ended up being a lot heavier than I imagined. What a way to kick off the summer season! There’s more to come but for now I need a break, and the writer could probably use a nap.

Until next post keep talking fiction, friends! I’ll see you soon

[dovechim]

tsundere (m)

⇢ resident advisor! yoongi x reader, college au

⇢ word count: 11.2k

⇢ summary: according to the rumours, min yoongi is a bad apple- doesn’t take grades seriously, drinks as if he has two livers, a certified bad boy™. when you get paired up with him for a project, you’d never expect that someone like him would have a thing or two to teach you about life itself- and how it should be lived. 

⇢ warnings: angst, smut

🎵 song recommendation: something just like this by coldplay x the chainsmokers

a/n: finally something that isn’t pwp????? :”) 

Panic races through your veins and fills up your airway, causing your breathing to double itself, chest heaving in an attempt to calm yourself down. No, this can’t be happening, you chant to yourself over and over. The clock on your laptop is glaringly bright in the near darkness of your room, and the numbers burn themselves into the back of your eyelids. When you close your eyes, the uncomfortable stinging of your contact lenses makes your eyes water and at this point they might as well be tears of desperation.

It’s not like you’ve never had writer’s block before, you reason with yourself. You just have to start writing and edit along the way. Your own voice of reason is drowned out by the anxiety that echoes all the possible consequences of not acing this paper. It’s nearly 4 am and the essay you have so far in front of you is not enough to get an A, you know it in your bones but you can’t come up with anything better either. You could just submit this as it is, but anything less than an A on this paper would pull you down from the cusp of that ever elusive first class honours. And you can’t afford to graduate with anything less than that. The very thought of it sends a fresh chill of panic that creeps down your spine and jolts your fingers into a typing frenzy, spilling thoughts and ideas onto your screen till you reach the end of the page.

But when you read over what you’ve written, it doesn’t make sense at all, just incoherent rambling sentences strung together into a never ending paragraph. In frustration you shove your laptop away from you and push back your chair, reaching for your keys and phone. Sneaking a peek at your roommate’s still form across the room, you let yourself out of the room silently, feeling your tensed shoulders relax immediately as the cool night air embraces you with open arms.

It’s a little chilly to be out in just a long shirt and sleep shorts, but since there’s no one awake to catch you dressed like this, it’s the least of your concerns for now. The balcony that is attached to your room affords a little privacy, and it’s one of the perks of occupying the corner room on this floor. The tranquillity of the cold, autumn night directly contrasts with the millions of theories and concepts running through your mind, and any attempts at clearing your mind are failing pathetically. The residential halls are eerily silent at this time of the night, and as you glance down over the protective railings, you consider how easy it would be to just climb over, just one leg over and then-

“Late night?” You whirl around at the interruption of a raspy, gruff voice sounding from behind you. Your eyes are met with a figure clothed in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans, but it’s only when you squint in the darkness to survey his face that you realise who he is.

It’s Min Yoongi, resident advisor of your block. You’ve never personally met him before, but you’ve heard rumours of his never ending escapades with girls, and the tales of his rough, indifferent personality has contributed to a pretty bad impression of him in your mind. You let yourself take in his appearance slowly, drinking in the paleness of his alabaster skin that matches the blonde of his hair parted in the middle of his forehead. His skin is luminous in the dead of the night, and his lips are parted in a slight smirk. An awkward silence passes before you realise that you’ve been gawking at him for an inordinate amount of time, and you’re just about to apologize when you make eye contact with him, and realise that he’s been checking you out too.

“Or should I say, morning after?” He teases in a slow drawl that makes your heart skip a beat, even as his eyes linger inappropriately on your bare legs.

“Th-this is a girls only floor!” You sputter at his insinuation, but he isn’t fazed.

“For all I know, maybe you bat for the other team,” he casts a glance at the door of your room, that infuriating smirk once again back on his lips, before his eyes land on you again. Suddenly, you feel very exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, and it’s not the chill of the night that makes you wrap your arms across your waist protectively.

“I’m straight, thanks.” 

“Good to know, dollface.” His nickname for you sets you on edge immediately. The idea of being reduced to one of the many girls he thinks of as playthings rubs you the wrong way, and your defences come up immediately. Min Yoongi is known for being nothing but manipulative and would stop at nothing to get what he wants. And having been caught out of bed after lights out like this, you wouldn’t put it past him to try something as low as blackmail. You glance at your door apprehensively, wondering if it would be childish to make a break for it and lock the door behind you.

Yoongi takes a step closer, and you immediately take one back.

“I was just out for some fresh air, I live here, I swear, these are my keys-” you hold out your hand as proof to show him, but he only raises an eyebrow.

“I know.”

“What? Then why did you-”

“What kind of RA would I be if I didn’t know the faces of all my residents?” He chuckles, and the sound sends butterflies to your stomach. You have no idea why his presence is so unnerving, and the thought of him recognising your face, even committing it to memory, makes you so uncomfortable that you shift on your feet restlessly.  “Do I make you nervous, dollface?”

“No,” you clench your jaw adamantly.

He eyes your body language in amusement, and you know you’ve been caught in your lie.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just be going back to bed now-” You make a move to cross the space between your door and the balcony, making sure to skirt around his figure that stands in the way with plenty of room to spare. But he stops you with an outstretched hand, and even though he doesn’t even come close to touching you, you can feel the imprints of his fingers on your skin, and it sends shivers down your spine.

“You look like you need this.” Glancing down at his outstretched palm, you heart leaps into your throat.

It’s a cigarette.

“Smoking is prohibited in the halls of residence!”

“You sound more like an RA than I do, dollface,” he glances at the shocked expression on your face with amusement. “Don’t worry, I won’t report you. It’ll be our dirty little secret.” 

His double entendre, along with the way his molten, intense gaze pins you in place, makes you feel as if you’ve actually done something with him already.  The thrill of the forbidden blooms in your chest, especially as you study the way his soft lips look when he does that signature smirk of his up close like this. His features are so delicate and soft, unbefitting of his gruff, devil may care personality, and you almost want to laugh at the misfit. He’s close enough for you to feel his breaths stirring your hair, and you’re sure that he can feel your own breaths against his neck as well. 

“No thanks, I don’t smoke,” you smile sweetly at him, turning your key in the lock and letting yourself in in one smooth motion that you congratulate yourself for after you’ve locked the door securely behind you.

You climb into bed and draw the covers up to your chin, eyes still fixed on that sliver of space beneath the door through which you can see his feet still. It seems like an eternity that you watch that space, but his feet remain stationed outside your door until your heavy eyelids finally give in.

But in the morning, when you wake, they’re gone.

*

Pulling yet another all-nighter is beginning to take its toll on you, especially when you almost nod off in your philosophy elective class, and you have to resort to pinching yourself to keep awake, something you’ve never had to do before.

The professor has already switched to his last slide that contains details about your final assignment- a pair work essay. There’s only one question on the slide: ‘What is courage?’ and it’s to be answered in two thousand words or less. You let out a sigh and steel yourself, pasting on a smile and gathering the energy to seek out a partner from the rows of sleepy students around you, but before you can get the attention of the girl in front of you, someone slides into the empty seat beside you. 

Already rolling your eyes at this latecomer- obviously only here because the final project requires a partner- you turn to shoot him an irritated glance, but stop short when you realise it’s Min Yoongi himself. His platinum blonde hair is tucked under a black beanie, but it’s obvious that he was in a rush this morning because his hair sticks out from under it, adorably, you may add. Black, framed glasses perch on the bridge of his nose, and the studious look really suits him, because he looks like a completely different person from the one who’d offered you a cigarette in the middle of the night.

“I didn’t know you were in this class,” you say by way of greeting.

“I didn’t know either, until I got a warning email about attendance,” he says flippantly.

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words, astonished at how someone could take their studies so lightly like this. You stare at his side profile for a moment, noting the way his sharp jawline rests just above his cream turtleneck sweater that looks incredibly soft and compliments his porcelain skin so well. He catches you staring at him- again. 

“Want to pair up, dollface?”

You start to turn to that girl in front of you once again, because you’d rather die than commit to a project with a slacker like Min Yoongi, but unfortunately she’s already chatting with the guy next to her. Cursing his stupid turtleneck and the cute, reddened tips of his ears from the cold air outside, you reluctantly write your number on a scrap piece of paper and shove it in his direction.

“Woah, I didn’t peg you for the type to make the first move,” he tucks the paper between two fingers, giving you a salute and a teasing smile.

“Shut up, it’s for the project.” Your eyes catch onto his hands, the delicate networks of veins that lead to the slender, long fingers of his, currently fiddling with the paper that has your number on it. Why does every single part of him have to be so damn aesthetic?

“You need to learn how to take a joke,” he watches as you gather your things, and having his eyes on your every movement makes a stack of papers slip out of your hands, and you curse internally.

Yoongi reaches and gathers the papers with his slim fingers, seeking to return them back to you, but not before casting a brief glance over it. “You’re an English major?”

In his grip are the pages you were working on yesterday; printed out and ready for a consultation with your academic mentor this afternoon. His eyes are skimming over the content quickly, and suddenly, the thought of him reading your work seems incredibly intimate for some strange reason, and you snatch the papers back from him.

“It’s not really done yet…” You feel the need to make an excuse for the shitty content you know is on there, wishing he could have read one of your many other A+ papers instead of this one.

“Really? Looks pretty done to me,” Yoongi’s gaze follows you as you stand from your seat.

“Are you free to discuss the project tonight?” Your attempt at changing the subject works, thankfully.

“Sure, I’ll text you the deets.”

*

9.07pm [Unknown]: You free now? I’m omw to ur room.

You should have known better than to give him your number without asking for his in return, and having to spend the entire evening waiting for his text was nerve wracking, to say the least. When you realise that Min Yoongi is on his way over to your room at this instant, you immediately rush over to the mirror in your closet, trying to arrange the hair atop your head in a presentable manner.

A knock on the door sounds as you’re in the middle of debating whether you should change out of your sweatpants and oversized jersey shirt, but ultimately decide against it. It’s just a project discussion, and at this time he’d probably be casually dressed as well.

Answering the door, your voice dies in your throat along with any hopes of not gawking at him when you find him dressed in the tightest pair of leather pants you’ve ever seen on a man. His legs are slim yet muscular, and the close fit of the pants, together with its clingy material, enhances the definition of his muscles. He’s wearing a black cashmere sweater that should clash with the risqué leather pants he has on, but somehow he pulls it off. His blonde fringe falls upon his forehead in wisps, and right then and there, you decide that he’s the very definition of sin.

“W-why are you so overdressed?” You barely gather your wits to ask him.

“Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“What?” You squeak in surprise. “What about the project? According to my timeline, we have to at least get a draft done today, we need to agree on a general direction of the essay at least-” 

“I said, get dressed. We’re going on a research field trip.”

 Floored by his response, and definitely not at the sight of Min Yoongi leaning against your doorframe, you’re caught tongue tied for a moment. “Yoongi, it’s a school night, I have an 8am lecture tomorrow.”

He rolls his eyes heavenwards to express his frustration. “C’mon dollface, I’m sure skipping just once wouldn’t knock your goody two shoes off. Live a little.”

You cross your arms at him. “I’m not a goody two shoes. I just like to be well rested for my lessons.” Yoongi almost doubles over in laughter, having to support himself by placing a hand on the doorframe as a series of chuckles consume him. “What are you, 80 years old? Wait don’t tell me, you’re an old lady trapped in a smoking hot 21 year old college girl’s body.”

Your cheeks instantly start to heat up at his backhanded compliment, and for a moment you’re caught between feeling flattered and insulted at once. You have no idea how to get out of this situation without proving him right, and with a hefty sigh, you give in reluctantly.

“Alright, get out while I get dressed.”

“That’s it dollface, and wear something sexy.” You close the door in his face in reply, and run through possible wardrobe options in your mind.

Finally, you settle for your go to LBD, and even though you have no idea where Yoongi’s taking you, you have a feeling that your typical jeans and blouse combo would not make the cut at all, judging from Yoongi’s own outfit. The dress is almost skin tight, but still preserves your modesty by cutting off at the knee. Increasingly aware of the sound of his footsteps outside your door, you rush through your makeup routine, cheering internally when you nail your cateye on the first try. Deciding that your hair is beyond rescuing, you wind it up into a messy bun to keep it contained, and slide your feet into a pair platform sandals. Sweeping your essentials for the night into a small clutch, you open the door again, only to be greeted with the sight of his ass in those stupid leather pants as he leans over the balcony.

At the sound of your door opening, he turns around a little sooner than you’d like, and his eyes take you in from head to toe, lingering sinfully at the gentle curve of your hips. 

“Damn, you clean up well, dollface.”

“I have a name, you know,” you turn around and lock your door, fully aware of the view you’re giving him as his eyes skim down your back. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll know when we get there,” Yoongi offers you his outstretched hand again, just like the night before, only now it’s empty. You slide your hand into his, and it’s unexpectedly warm and comforting, the complete opposite of your cold, aloof impression of him.

Yoongi has a cab waiting at the base of your residential hall, and he even opens the door for you, gesturing for you to get in. Even seated in the cab, he doesn’t let go of your hand until you have to make an excuse about sweaty palms to get him to relinquish his grip, to which he only casts an amused glance at you before obliging. Focusing your gaze on the passing streets and alleys outside instead, you try and figure out where he’s taking you based on your surroundings, but the reality is that you have no idea at all. In your past two years of university, you’d spent your life buried in mounds of readings and essays, barely leaving campus apart from summer breaks, so your knowledge of the surrounding area is close to zero.

The taxi rolls to a stop outside a nightclub finally, and you start to feel apprehension in every limb as Yoongi hands some cash to the driver before opening the door. You have no choice but to follow him, and soon you’re standing in front of one of the most popular nightclubs in the city, with a line of people waiting to get in. From outside you can already hear the music as the bass reverberates in your chest. Yoongi grabs your hand again, tugging you toward the where entrance of the club is guarded by two hefty looking bouncers. He gives a nod to them and they part easily, letting him through without a word, and he leads you into the club that is illuminated with strobe lights and flashing laser beams.

Yoongi must have felt your apprehension and anxiety through the grip of your palm, as he turns back to face you, drawing your body closer to his as the two of you are surrounded by dancing bodies. The hand holding yours is pressed to his chest, while his other hand finds its way around your waist, forming a barrier between you and the strangers on the dance floor.

“Relax, dollface, we’re just here to research a form of courage for our project, yeah? A form that I’m particularly fond of,” he has to whisper directly in your ear because of how loud the music is, and the sensation of his lips on the shell of your ear simultaneously calms your fears and sends electricity rushing through every single nerve. 

When you nod in response, he proceeds to weave through the crowd with a practiced ease, navigating his way to the bar and helping you situate yourself on an empty barstool before taking the one next to you.

“Pick your poison, dollface,” he gestures to the bartender who steps up to serve the both of you.

“Uhm, just a water, thanks,” you give the bartender a small smile, but Yoongi interrupts him before he can get your drink.  

“Cute,” he smirks at you. “But no. We’ll have two whiskey on the rocks instead please.”

“Yoongi- I don’t really drink, can’t I just-” 

“Not today doll face, we’re here on a mission, remember?” He gives a nod of thanks to the bartender as your drinks are served, and he raises his glass towards you. “This, dollface, is called liquid courage. Ever heard of it?”

You snort in response, grabbing the other glass, watching the liquid slosh against the sides of the glass. “Of course, how naïve do you think I am?” 

“Naïve enough.”

“Just because I don’t drink and party and sleep around, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to live. I’ve been living perfectly on my own for the last 21 years, thanks.” Yoongi only raises his eyebrows at your defensiveness, but otherwise his expression betrays nothing.

“Really? Cooped up in that room of yours writing essays, not seeing the sun for a week straight, spending 16 hour long study days at the library cramming for finals like there’s no tomorrow? Is that what you call living?”

“Wanting good grades is not a crime.”

Yoongi laughs and raises his glass in defeat. “Touché. Bottoms up, dollface.”

You clink your glass to his before raising it to your lips, wincing at the bitter taste and the burn that it leaves while going down your throat. But it’s not as bad as you expected, and when you set your glass down, you find Yoongi staring at you intently.

“Alright, dollface? Ready for another? Or is that enough for you to ‘live’, as you call it?”

You clench your jaw in defiance at his patronising tone. “Bring it on.”

You gulp down the next drink in record time, finishing even before Yoongi does this time, and a sense of pride wells up in you. The burn isn’t that noticeable this time, and the effects of the alcohol don’t seem to be too bad. You’re still fairly sober, and you’re determined to prove to Yoongi that you’re not as much of a prude as he thinks you are. 

“Let’s do shots,” you declare, and maybe it’s the alcohol talking, giving you that burst of foolish bravado, but once again Yoongi’s expression remains stoic, if not for the arch of his eyebrows that betray his astonishment.

“If you say so,” he gestures toward the bar for some tequila shots, and a tray of six shots are served up immediately.

You reach for one and bring it to your lips, but before you can tip your head back, Yoongi stops you with his slim fingers around your wrist, and you stare, transfixed at his slim digits and for a fleeting moment, a thought so filthy crosses your mind that you physically shudder.

“This is gonna burn, dollface. Have you ever taken a shot before?” He looks a tad bit concerned, but it could be the way your vision is starting to blur just a little, you can’t be sure.

“Of course I have,” you shoot back at him, but it’s a bald-faced lie, and if you’re a bad liar while sober, you’re horrible when drunk. But how hard can it be? It’s just shot glass to lips, tilt head back, and-

The burn is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and the searing of your chest makes you sputter, and tears spring to your eyes as you gasp for air. You have to rest your head on the surface of the bar from how hard you’re coughing. Yoongi is watching with arms crossed and he looks like he’s about to burst out laughing, which is most definitely not appreciated, considering you’re in a life or death situation here. Just when you consider leaping across the bar to find some ice to quench to roaring fire in your throat, Yoongi slides a hand along the back of your neck, urging you to look up.

“Suck on this, dollface.”

You’re just about to tear into him for such an inappropriate innuendo at a time like this, but when you turn to him, he’s not gesturing to where you thought, but he’s holding a lime wedge between two fingers. Instead of grabbing the lime wedge with your own fingers, you lean forward and encase the citrus fruit between your lips, just shy of brushing his fingertips, and your eyes meet his.

His gaze is like molten lava, smoldering with something you can’t quite name, the liquid quality of them sucking you in and you can’t look away. Have his eyes always been this dark? Something about Yoongi is clearly affecting you somehow, you’re aware of this even in your intoxicated state. Be it the way he stared at your bare legs on the balcony last night, or the meticulous surveyance of your every move in lecture today, and even the way he’s staring at you now like he wants to devour you whole. Every time he looks at you it makes you want to forget everything you’ve ever worked for in your life up to this point, to throw it all away; it screams danger.

Yoongi breaks the spell first by pulling his hand back. He turns his attention to the shot glasses on the table, grabbing one and bringing it to his lips. The tip of his tongue flicks out to collect some of the salt on the rim of the shot glass before tipping its contents into his mouth, and you’re transfixed by the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

Min Yoongi is intoxicating, and he makes you want to take all the risks in the world. 

“Another?” He says with a lime wedge partially in his mouth. “Or too much?” 

“I’m okay,” you’re trying hard not to slur your words, and you reach for another shot the same time as him.

 “Bottoms up.”

 *

 “I want moreeeeeee.”

“No more, princess, you’re wasted as hell,” Yoongi catches you just before you slide off the barstool, and you slump against him in protest. “Fuck, I underestimated how small you are.” 

“I can do it, jussst watch me,” you reach for the nearest glass only to find it already empty, and you whine in disappointment. “I’m a big girl, Yoongiiiiiiii, I’ve got my big girl pantsss on.”

“I’m sure you do,” he chuckles in your ear. “C’mon dollface, we need to get you out of here.”

He slides an arm around your waist and supports most of your weight while simultaneously using his body to pave a way through the crowd of dancing bodies. 

“Yoonggggiii, we didn’t get to dance, we c-can’t leave yet,” you head is buried in his neck, eyes half closed even as you try to move to the music that’s pounding in your ears.

“Next time,” Yoongi’s preoccupied with trying not to notice the way your breasts are pressed against his chest, and instead concentrating on manoeuvring the two of you safely to the exit. Your body feels so soft against his own, and he breathes a sigh of harsh relief when he finally reaches the bouncers, and exits the club into the cool night air. 

But now there’s another challenge that awaits him- trying to get a damn taxi. Maybe the night is still young- the club doesn’t close for a few hours yet and normally he’d still be going strong at this hour. The drivers in this area know well not to expect any passengers till early dawn, which only leaves him one choice.

 “We’re walking home, dollface. Hold tight, I really don’t want to carry you back.” He hoists you up against his side, bearing most of your weight as he takes a few steps down the sidewalk. To your credit, you don’t make much noise and put one foot in front of the other obediently until you reach the entrance of campus when his grip slips and your feet suddenly give out on you, and you tumble onto the soft grass beneath.

 “Fuck, are you okay?” Panic surges in his chest, dropping to his knees beside you to check you over for any injuries. “______?”

 It’s the first time he’s actually called you by your real name, not some nickname or petname, but you’re too drunk to notice.

 “The Victorian era is characterised by an increased interest in science and technology, as people were beginning to doubt the reliability of religion and faith in explaining the human existence…”

 Yoongi collapses back onto his heels, running his hands through his hair as his eyes rest upon your mumbling figure. “______, you need to get up, we can’t get caught here. So near yet so far.”

“D-don’t mark me as absssent, prof, I’ll do extra c-credit, or I’ll do r-resssssearch, anything,” you mumble with eyes half open, reaching to brush his hands away from your waist when he attempts to manhandle you into standing up.

Yoongi swears under his breath. Desperate to get and retain your attention, he grabs your face between his hands, tapping your cheek as he calls your name.

“T-the assignment isn’t due yet… I still h-have one more week… Ow!”

Okay, he may have used a little bit too much force with that last slap, but it seems to have worked, because your eyes fly open and center on his.

“Oh, it’s just you,” your eyes start to close again, and Yoongi can’t have that. He taps your cheek again, and you open your eyes. “It’s just the hot, playboy resssident-t advisorr.”

Yoongi sighs; a deep, regretful sound.

The only reason he knows you’re drunk off your ass is from the carefree quality of your words, how you seem to be saying everything that comes to your mind without filter.

“Y-you think I’m some kind of loser right? Just a loser-“ you manage to fold your knees under you as you look up at him standing in front of you. “Just a loser who can’t do anything but study, and who has no friends.” 

Yoongi kneels down in front of you and for the first time since you’ve met him, you have the nerve to stare him right in the eye without flinching or shying away.  

“Let’s play a game. W-what’s the most illegal thing you’ve ever done? L-loser has to take a shot.” Yoongi opens his mouth to answer, to at least try and appease you, but you cut him off. “Mine is… I shower naked!!!”

You burst out laughing, till you’re out of breath and winded, bending over in half on the ground.

Despite himself, Yoongi can’t help but chuckle a little, but this isn’t getting anywhere, so he reaches and slips his arms under your knees, pulling you in close towards his chest with his other arm around your shoulders.

“I went drinking with the badboy RA in my block on a school night! W-where’s my prize?” Your drunken shouts are crystal clear in the silent, tranquil campus, and Yoongi winces as he tries to speed up his steps towards your block.

“Alright dollface, I’ll give you extra credit if you stay quiet for the next 10 minutes okay?” He whispers furtively as he nears your door. At the mention of extra credit, you quieten down immediately, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

Yoongi reaches into his pocket for the all access key card- RA privileges- and swipes it, nudging your door open with a knee. His eyes immediately scan the room, relieved to find it empty. He sets you down on your bed- your side of the room is easily identifiable with the mess of notes, books and papers scattered everywhere- and considers undressing you, but figures that would be crossing the line. Instead he settles for unbuckling the straps on your platforms, sliding them off your feet and tucking them under the blanket securely. Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, he sets it on your bedside table before leaving, closing the door gently behind him and locking it with his key card.

*

The morning sun is brutal even through your tightly shut eyelids, and pain shoots through your temples the moment you try to sit up. Rubbing your eyes blearily, you try and get a sense of your surroundings, only to realise that you’re back in your room, and you have no recollection of how you got back here after last night.

Last night. Tequila shots. Min Yoongi. Ugh.

Reality rushes back in, and your heart skips a beat when you check the time on your phone. It’s way past noon, and you’ve missed your morning lecture by hours. You’ve never missed a lecture before, and ruining your perfect attendance might drag your grade in this class down, and-

Panic swells up in your throat in the form of nausea, and you have to lie down before you black out. Fingers shaking, you barely manage to type out an email to your professor citing a reason why you were absent that morning, and offering to make up for it. As you close your eyes and try to fight off your pounding headache, you remember that this is exactly why you don’t drink. 

The culprit of this whole mess is curiously nowhere to be seen, and you hear nothing but radio silence on his end for the next couple of days. Which is completely fine with you, because you’re busy running around like a headless chicken trying to keep up with your schedule and make up for that missed lecture. In fact, it wouldn’t even bother you at all if you never heard from Min Yoongi for the rest of your life, but you still have this project to complete.

5.00pm [You]: Are you free now? We need to discuss the essay. 5.10pm [Min Yoongi]: i’m in the music building. 4th floor, last studio. 5.11pm [Min Yoongi]: it’s next to the dance building, in case u don’t know. 5.12pm [You]: omw. 

The surroundings of the music building are unfamiliar to you, having only been in the Humanities building for your whole university life. You pass by people carrying musical instruments, from violin cases to guitars, and there are even a few students hefting around cellos. These people must be music majors, and Yoongi must be one too. You’ve never really taken the time to wonder about his major before, since the rumours concerning him that circulate around only detail his drunken escapades at parties and his latest conquests. There are a few stories labelling him as an architecture major, and even a few that alleging that he’s undeclared.

You reach the 4th floor, stepping out of the elevator into a narrow hallway. Upon closer inspection, it seems like this floor only houses studios, and each room looks small enough to be a private studio. You wander hesitantly to the end of the hallway, and raise your hand to knock on the last door.

“Come in.” His voice sounds tired and rough, and you poke your head around the door gingerly.

You’re greeted by the sight of Yoongi at his work desk, surrounded by equipment that looks as complicated as it does expensive, and for a second you fear setting foot into the studio lest you destroy anything. His desk bears a large computer screen, and the rest of it is covered with notebooks, scrap paper with illegible handwriting, empty cup noodles and bottles of water. Yoongi glances up when you remain by the door, raising his eyebrows both as a manner of greeting as well as a silent question.

You venture into the small studio, and under the harsh light of the small room, you can see the eye bags under his eyes, and the reddened whites of his eyes behind his black framed glasses perched on his nose bridge. He stretches his legs beneath the desk, and his chair pushes back from it as he rotates to face you, simultaneously stretching his arms above his head in a motion that has you fighting not to glance at the pale strip of skin that’s revealed.

“Sorry. Long night,” he grunts as his joints crack, and he reaches for the back of his neck to massage it.

“Um, it’s okay.” You clutch your laptop to your chest tightly, unsure of what else to say. “You’re um- a- a music major?”

“Composing,” he corrects as he runs his fingers through his messy blonde hair, pushing it back off his forehead to reveal more of his milky skin, and the way he glances at you through those black glasses of his makes the room shrink in size, and you have to avert your gaze.

Something about his messy desk reminds you of your own back in your dorm, and it’s a strange concept, to think that the infamous Min Yoongi is actually passionate about something other than getting drunk and partying. This side of him you’re not used to seeing- the vulnerable, weary look in the bags beneath his eyes, his messy workspace that oddly gives off a sense of intimacy. His work that lies all around him- remnants of late night musings or early morning inspirations, completely unfiltered, absolutely raw, and all him. It reminds you of the essays and poetry you hide away in the depths of an untitled folder on your laptop, safe from prying eyes and the outside world. It feels like his private sanctuary.

“It’s okay to sit down you know. I won’t bite.” He pushes a chair towards you, and you belatedly grab it.

“Th-thanks.” You settle your laptop on your lap. But a burning question settles on the tip of your tongue, and you can’t help your curiosity. “So you write like… songs?” 

“Pretty much. Melodies too, and also some rap.”

You’re staring at a piece of paper nearest to you on his desk, if you squint you can just about make out his handwriting on it. It looks like a verse of a song, and just as you’re trying to decipher his handwriting, he interrupts you by clearing his throat. You jerk your head towards him with widened eyes, an apology at the tip of your tongue for invading his privacy like this, but there’s no scowl on his lips, only a teasing smile.

“If you wanted to hear something, you could have just asked.”

“N-no- I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude or anything.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Songs are made to be heard, lyrics written to be read. What good is writing them if I just leave them in this dusty studio?”

“But it’s… personal. And we’re not on that level yet, are we?”

He doesn’t deny your first statement, but his knowing gaze pins you in place, searching your features for something. “Aren’t we? I don’t let just anybody in here you know.”

“I guess, if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind,” you say grudgingly, not wanting to seem too eager. Reading someone else’s work always seemed too personal, let alone reading someone else’s work in front of them, but Yoongi seems to have no issue with it as he clicks a few times and types something into his computer, then beckons you closer with an outstretched hand.

“It’s better if you use the headphones,” he explains.

You drag your chair closer to the desk, placing your laptop in front of you before sliding on the headphones. As Yoongi presses a button, a light melody trickles from one side, gradually increasing in volume until you’re immersed in the flowing rhythm. The lyrics paired with the melody are soothing, and it takes you a while to realise that he’s actually singing, and that his voice sounds so different from his usual, gruff, indifference.

 My friends and even my family are getting further away As time goes by I’m becoming more impatient The feeling of being on my own, I am on my own right now I want everything to disappear I want it to disappear like a mirage, want it to disappear, I want my damn self to disappear Like this, the world throws me away In that moment I’m getting farther away from the sky I’m falling

 As the song goes on you forget that he’s even in the room with you until silence jolts you back to awareness with the end of the song. Reluctantly you slip the headphones off and place them back on the table, taking your time to gather your composure and reorganise your emotions.

When you look at him again, it’s as if you’re seeing him through new eyes, and he’s not the Min Yoongi who likes to drink and sleep around, he’s so much more than that. It’s obvious that he’s drowning in his passion for music and composing, and it’s so different from what you initially thought of him; but more than anything else, he is incredibly lonely.

“That good?” His confidence and jokes are just a façade that conceal his loneliness, but you can’t bring yourself to roll your eyes this time. When you don’t respond with your usual barbed comments, he shifts slightly in his seat- a small movement- but it’s enough to reveal his vulnerability and it makes you catch your breath.

And it makes you do something you never thought you would in a million years.

You reach for the collar of his sweatshirt and pull him in towards you, lips crashing onto his in a clash of tongues and teeth. Yoongi goes still for a moment in surprise, but soon his lips move along in tandem with yours, and he reaches for your waist to pull you into his lap. You can barely react in time, drunk with the taste of him, the intoxicating pull of heady desire, and exhilarating rush of recklessness, as your thighs part to straddle him in his chair. He tastes like late nights and early mornings spent slaving away, of the inspiration and desperation that are all too familiar to you, passion and risk all wrapped up into one.

Pulling away with a lick to his bottom lip, you gasp for air.

“Finally. I’ve been wanting to do that since that first night I saw you outside your room.” 

His gruff voice sends reality crashing back in, and you open your eyes to see him staring at you, his glasses askew on his face, probably because of you. All traces of his earlier vulnerability is now gone, and he’s unabashedly studying your every feature. There’s no trademark smirk on his lips, and for the first time you see him with his defences down; you see the Min Yoongi without his wry comments and sarcasm. 

The warmth that blooms in your chest at him opening up like this makes you want to lean in for more, but you stop short just inches away from his lips; at the thought that he might expect you to do the same and open up to him too, let him see you in your most vulnerable light.

That thought sends your heart racing into overdrive, and you brace your hands on his chest, scrambling to get off him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” Your cheeks are ablaze with embarrassment, but it’s the anxiety of letting someone see you like that- the way you just saw him- that makes your hands tremble and your palms sweaty.

“I’m not sorry.” He’s as cool and confident as ever, but he doesn’t make a move to stop you as you gather your things hastily and head for the door, slamming it behind you without sparing a single backward glance.

*

No matter how hard you try not to think about his lyrics, it’s impossible to forget his loneliness etched into his verses, his plea for help disguised in his carefree, soulful melody.

And it’s even harder not to think about how his lips felt against yours, or the way his hands gripped your waist as if they belonged there.

For the sake of your own sanity, you minimise any contact with him, resorting to professional, succinct texts and emails to send him your part of the project so that you can at least work on your own essay in relative peace.

None of your emails or texts even garner any sort of response from him, and at first you chalk it down to him being busy in his studio again. But when the third consecutive day passes without any reply, and a fleeting comment from your roommate that she saw him at the club last night, you decide that you can’t avoid him any longer.

So you knock on his door impatiently, and a part of you is grateful for his reputation that makes it so easy for you to find out where he lives. There’s a shuffle behind the door before it opens, and for a second you fear that you’ve interrupted one of his many one night stands, but then you’re face to face with Min Yoongi himself.

His effortless good looks takes your breath away, even though he looks like he just woke up, in all his bed head glory. He rubs his eyes sleepily with a sweater paw when he registers your presence, and beckons lazily. You’re about to tell him that it’s okay, you can say everything you have to say out here, but then he turns his back and you have no choice but to follow him into his room.

“You’d better have a good reason for being here this early in the morning.” His voice is gruff as always, laced with lethargy.

You gape at him. “It’s 3 in the afternoon.”

“Your point is?”

“I’m um, here about our project.” He glances up at you from his position on the bed, and you try not to glance at the way his sweatpants moulds around his spread thighs, forcing your eyes away from his crotch, which, if you squint, you can make out the shape of his- 

“Oh, what about it dollface?”

“In case you didn’t notice, it’s due in two days. I’ve already done my half of it and sent it to you last week, but I didn’t get a reply so I had to come over here myself.” You fold your arms in what you hope is an intimidating way, staring him down from your height. “My point is; I need your draft by today.” 

Yoongi stares at you without response, and your self-righteousness from a few seconds ago completely vanishes. It feels a little foolish to storm into his room like this and demand a draft from him when he’s staring at you like this, but his lack of a response makes you question if he’s fallen asleep with his eyes open.

“I got it babe, don’t worry.” If this is his attempt at reassuring you, his indifference only adds more worry and anxiety to the crease between your brows.

“I’m almost done with my draft, I’ll combine ours into one document and upload it okay?” You detect a tinge of irritation in his voice as he brushes his hair back from his forehead, and he fully opens his eyes to look at you for the first time since you’ve entered this room.

The look on his face is as if to say: what are you still doing here? and you can almost hear his the snarky sarcasm in his voice through a single glance of his. You fumble around for something else to say, not fully convinced, but in the end all you can do is accept his offer with a nod. As soon as you acquiescence, Yoongi lets his eyes fall shut again as he flashes you a gummy smile.

“Sweet, close the door on your way out will you?”

 *

10.24pm [You]: Are you done with the essay yet? 10.30pm [You]: Send it to me so I can proof read and edit. 10.35pm [You]: hello???? 10.40pm [You]: Min. Yoongi. 11.00pm [You]: Min Yoongi, this isn’t funny. 11.20pm [You]: it’s due in literally 40 minutes 11.30pm [You]: pick up ur damn phone

Your nerves are shot to pieces as your glare at your phone screen, considering tearing down his door to confront this irresponsible bastard. You should have known never to pair up with him, even if it means you have to do the project on your own. It’s better than being stuck like this with nothing to submit just half an hour before the deadline, and you’re toying with the idea of just completing the rest of the essay yourself and deleting his name.

11.50pm [Min Yoongi]: relax, dollface. 11.52pm [Min Yoongi]: i said i’d take care of it right? 11.53pm [Min Yoongi]: i always keep my promises ;) 11.54pm [You]: shut up, we don’t have time for this 11.54pm [You]: email me the draft. i need to read it before it’s submitted 11.56pm [Min Yoongi]: you know, u really need to learn how to relax 11.56pm [Min Yoongi]: just live on the edge for once 11.57pm [You]: we can live on the edge another time. 11.57pm [You]: send. the. draft. now.

There’s no reply, and even though you sit and refresh your email inbox multiple times, there’s no new mail. Anxiety is rising up in your chest, and you can feel it in every single nerve ending as the clock ticks closer and closer to 12 midnight, and the online portal’s instructions are clear: the deadline is 2359.

11.59pm [Yoongi]: it’s submitted. 11.59pm [You]: what???? i literally told u to send me the draft befre u submit 11.59pm [You]: lik a million times 12.01am [Yoongi]: oh sorry dollface 12.02am [Yoongi]: I forgot 12.02am [Yoongi]: check ur email babe

You’re trembling in an equal mix of trepidation and false hope when you open his email and click on his attachment, and you actually have to click on the little icon a few times because your hands are shaking so much that you misclick a few times. It takes forever for the document to open, and when it finally does, what you see on the page makes your breath freeze in your lungs.

Q: What is courage?

This.

Fucking Min Yoongi. It’s rage that fuels your steps all the way to his room, and every single pound on his door with your fists betrays your indignation and fury, imagining that his wooden door is his stupid, smirking face instead. The noise that you’re making outside his room attracts the stares from the other residents on the floor, but you can hardly bring yourself to care. Just wait till he opens that damn door, you’re going to tear into him like he’s never had it before; good looks and sex appeal be damned-

The second he opens the door and his blonde head comes into view, you strike him across the cheek so hard that it leaves an imprint in his porcelain skin. 

“What the fuck?” 

You reach to slap him with your other hand, but he’s prepared for it this time and stops you with fingers wound tightly around your wrist. He digs in with a pressure that borders on painful, but you school your features into submission.

“That should be my line, I believe.” Your eyes are ablaze with your anger, jaw clenched and teeth gritted. “Why would you do this? Why would you delete my work and submit that without even telling me?”

You can feel the desperation of the situation setting in, and the thought of your grades dropping because of this is so awfully terrifying, having to watch everything you’ve worked for go down the drain because of him, that it sets off a panic attack, and your voice is filled with hysteria.

“Do you know how much this essay is worth? There are no finals for this elective so this is practically worth our entire grade!! I know grades don’t matter to you but they sure as hell do to me, I can’t mess this up or else I won’t graduate with first class honours and-” 

“And what?” Yoongi cuts off your tirade, looking you directly in the eye, and you stop to catch your breath, tears brimming and threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. “So what if you don’t graduate with first class honours?” 

“I- I just…”

“Why are you even in college? Why do you want that first class honours so much? For the prestige? Boasting rights? The right to look down your pretty little nose at everyone else at your convocation ceremony?” His stance is challenging, provoking you.  

“No,” you’re a little taken aback at his accusatory tone, and it prompts you to defend yourself. “I really love what I’m studying, it’s the first time I’ve felt so alive, it’s the only damn thing I’m good at. I love how the same poem can mean two different things to two different people, and how a piece of work comes to represent someone else’s blood, sweat and tears, but you have to work for it, analyse it and extract its meaning.”

“Then why are you doing this? Why are you starving yourself, sacrificing your mental health over something that should be making you happy? If you love literature so much, why are you letting it destroy you like this?” Yoongi takes a step closer so that you can see the flecks of brown in his eyes, alight with a fire that matches the one in your own. “Why can’t you just live in the moment for second and just enjoy doing something you love?”

You give a short bark of a laugh at how naïve he is. “Believe me, I’d love to live exactly like you, not giving a fuck about grades, but that’s not how our society works-”

You’re cut off when Yoongi grabs your wrist and pulls you into him, slamming the door shut behind you, and before you can blink, his lips are on yours.

“Shut up. For God’s sake, for once in your life, just shut up and feel.”

“Fuck you,” you growl, biting down on his lip harshly. His sinful lips quirk up briefly before trailing down your neck, biting and sucking. “I’m not- ahh- going to let someone who spends all-nighters in th-that tiny little studio give me a lecture on how to let go.” 

His stupid tongue on the ridge of your collarbone makes your voice less steely and determined than you’d like it to be, but he only chuckles. “What did I say, dollface? I said shut up.” 

“Make me,” you lean forward to enclose his earlobe and bite down on it, causing him to grunt in pain.

“Oh, I will, dollface.” His hands are sliding up under the hem of your shirt, and emboldened by his attention to your neck and collarbones, you raise your hands above your head for him to slide your shirt over your head to expose your bare chest. “No bra?”

His warm mouth encloses your nipple, causing it to pebble beneath his ministrations as you arch your back into him. The swirls of his tongue sends shockwaves down to your core, and you mutter a curse at how talented his tongue is. Yoongi switches his attention to your other nipple as he spins you around, pushing you back onto his bed and you land in his heap of blankets and pillows, surrounded by his scent as he continues mouthing at your chest.

“Fuck, you look so gorgeous in my bed right now,” he trails kisses down the valley of your cleavage and to the waistband of your shorts. “These shorts are so tiny they barely even cover anything.”

He pauses with fingertips at your waistband. “Can I?”

You can only nod in response, and in one single motion he pulls off your bottoms until they’re at your ankles. The scent of your arousal immediately makes his smirk- that stupid, overconfident jerk. “This wet already? Someone’s desperate.” 

“Shut up and put your mouth where your money is.” His eyes darken immediately, and he grips a thigh, sliding it over his shoulder as he brings his mouth close to your core.

The cool air that hits your soaked slit tells you that you’re practically dripping for him, and the moan that escapes you when his rough tongue attacks your clit is music to his ears. Yoongi plays with your clit in all sorts of ways- teasing strokes with the tip of his tongue, rewarding licks with the broad flat surface area and rough sucks with his entire mouth that have your back arching off his bed. He gives you a break for just a second, and you glance down to catch a glimpse of his cheeks, nose and chin covered in your arousal, and the sight makes your core clench for more.

“Fingers,” you gasp, immediately biting your lip in regret when his gleaming eyes settle on your writhing form. 

“What’s that?”

“Fucking finger me Yoongi,” you grit your teeth in desperation, and he rewards you by stroking your slit gently at first, then sliding a finger till the second knuckle.

His fingers are just as magical as his tongue, as he soon adds another inside you. You clench around him immediately, and the stretch of his fingers alone makes your mind wander to how his cock might feel as it stretches your pussy out, judging from the bulge in his sweatpants earlier. The combination of his fingers and his tongue on your clit has you hurtling towards release embarrassingly quick, but just as your breaths begin to shorten and your hips buck towards his hand, he slides his fingers out of you, spreading them to admire your slick that covers them before he sucks every bit off. 

“Cumming already?” His cool, unaffected tone directly contradicts the noticeable bulge in his sweatpants, and you only smirk in return as you palm him.

He feels firm and warm in your hand, and as you lower your head towards his crotch, you catch a glimpse of desire in his eyes. Maintaining eye contact, you pull down his sweats, letting his length spring free, the head engorged and red with precum. Before he can make some stupid remark about his size, you cover his tip in an open mouthed kiss, lapping up his salty precum before licking a strip on the underside, and he’s rendered speechless. 

His solid length twitches in your grasp, and a sense of power floods you as you enclose your lips around his dick and he throws his head back, exposing his creamy throat in rapture. You smirk in victory as he’s reduced to a mess of moans and grunts above you, and you don’t even mind when your mouth goes down a tad too far and your eyes start to water. Min Yoongi looks as if he’s the kind that prides himself on his self-control during sex, and hearing his deliciously sinful moans is like music to your ears.

You wrap a hand around his base and jerk the part of him that you can’t take into your mouth, continuing to suckle at his tip and running your tongue all over his shaft. He threads his fingers through your hair, tugging lightly at your scalp as he bucks his hips lightly.

“Fuck, you suck dick so well, you look like such a good girl on the outside, who knew you’d be choking on my cock like this huh?”

You relax your throat and let him slide in deeper, fighting off the urge to gag, and he can only groan as he tries to resist bucking his hips into your warm, enticing heat. 

“I think I like you better with your mouth full of my cock, instead of talking back to me.” Yoongi reaches for the back of your head, placing slight pressure there for a few seconds before lifting you off his dick with an audible pop. “AH fuck, your mouth is too good, but I don’t want to come till I’m balls deep in that pretty little pussy of yours.”

Yoongi watches as you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, taking a few deep, testing breaths. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you’re appreciative of his small shows of concern like this, but right now you’re dripping all over your thighs, and longing to be filled up. “How do you want me?” 

“I’ve always wondered how you’d look naked and panting under me, and filled up with my cock,” Yoongi reaches for your legs and pulls you toward him. “That night after the club you got me so fucking horny, dollface. I had to jerk one off in my fucking bathroom because of your stupid black dress that I wanted to stain with my cum.”

“Ah- Yooongii.” He starts teasing the head of his cock between your puffy lips, catching your clit on every stroke, and you can’t help but lose yourself in the electric sensations. He coats his entire length with your arousal, taking pleasure in seeing how your lips part just to accommodate his length so willingly.

The emptiness of your core makes you angle your hips, hoping to catch him and make him slip inside, but to your disappointment his hips move just out of reach, and you sink back down to the bed with a frustrated moan.

“What’s wrong babe? Use your words, you were so good at it earlier,” Yoongi grabs the base of his cock and taps on your clit lightly- enough to send warmth blooming through your core, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

At this point all your reservations and dignity are out the window- you’re craving the feel of his cock ramming your cunt so hard, filling up every single inch of your pussy. “Yoongiii- I need you.”

“You have me already babe, you need to be more specific.” 

“I need- I need your cock Yoongi please, I want to come so bad, I need it please,” your sobs are almost incoherent as you buck your hips towards him. Just when you think he’s going to prolong this torture, he slides himself in to the hilt, and you’re rewarded with the burning, pleasurable stretch.

“So g-good, oh my god,” you dig your nails into his biceps as your muscles automatically clench around him when he starts to pull out agonizingly slowly.

“Your pussy is fucking drenched… shit, how are you so goddamn tight?” Yoongi can’t bear to leave your warmth for more than a few seconds, so he thrusts himself back into your enveloping heat once more. You’re so wet that every thrust he makes gives out an obscene, squelching sound, and it’s so entirely filthy but you love it, and it makes you squeeze your walls around him.

His hands find their way to the backs of your thighs as he pushes them up, spreading your legs apart so that he can see every inch of his cock sliding into your pussy. Yoongi’s done with letting you adjust, so he leans in to your ear and whispers, “Hold on tight dollface, I’m about to pound this pretty little pussy of yours so damn hard.”

Then with a single, harsh thrust, you travel halfway up the bed, and then his hips are smashing into you repeatedly. The force of his thrusts are making you move so much that he shifts position to kneel over you so that your frame is folded over in half, the backs of your thighs over his shoulders as he sets a punishing pace. 

Every thrust of his results in the head of his cock brushing against that spot, and if not for your trapped position under him, you’d be writhing out of control by now. Your folded in half position makes your cunt even tighter, and his cock feels massive inside of you as he continues to fuck you so hard that you start to see stars beneath your closed lids.

“Ah, Yoongi,” you reach towards his hips, but he stops you with a growl and a nip to your neck. 

“Take it, fucking take my cock like a good girl, I know you can,” Yoongi soothes the bite with a laving tongue, and you whine in response.

But his punishing thrusts let up just a bit, and even though you feel powerless and vulnerable under him like this, you know that Yoongi knows when to stop, you trust him with your whole being, enough to just surrender under him and let him use you as he pleases.

“Yoongi, I’m gonna- I think,” your words leave your mouth in gasps.

“That’s it baby, come for me,” his voice sounds tender, and it’s the most gentle you’ve ever heard him. Yoongi sits up so that he has better access to your clit, and his thumb slides over your nub covered with your juices as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

It only takes a few deep thrusts to unleash the white hot pleasure that makes you sob his name in desperation, and your walls close in around him in the throes of your orgasm. He continues to thrust and help you ride out your high, until he can’t resist the pulsing of your walls anymore.

“______, where can I come?” His voice is gritty and out of breath. Coming down from your high, it doesn’t slip past your notice that he’s calling you by your name, not dollface or any other pet name.

“All over me, cum all over me Yoongi.”

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he pulls out and strokes himself to completion, and your eyes are rooted to the head of his cock as streams of hot white cum spurt out to land in streaks on your belly and trickle down to your pussy, soaking his sheets completely. He collapses next to you in a panting heap, and you stay like that for a while.

Before long the stickiness on your belly starts to feel unpleasant, but as you’re contemplating the least awkward way to get out of this situation, Yoongi pushes himself off the bed, heading for his attached bathroom and returning with a damp cloth.

As he reaches to clean you up, you stop him with a hand on the cloth, attempting to take it from him. Now that you’re in your right mind, not clouded with lust, it feels a little too intimate to let him clean you up like this, but he bats your hand away. The cloth feels warm and soft against your skin, and you try to fight back the feeling of insecurity and self-consciousness as he parts your legs and wipes at your folds delicately. When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and you close your legs tightly.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, dollface.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“For what? The essay or for being right in general?” He reaches for the covers with one hand and slides the other around your waist sneakily.

“Both- wait, who said you were were right about me?”

“You’re letting all the cold air in, hurry come under the covers.”

He looks so soft and cuddly with the covers up to his chin, so you grudgingly tuck your legs back in, and he snuggles his head onto your soft chest.

“Who would’ve thought? The great Min Yoongi likes to cuddle.” You smile in spite of yourself and thread your fingers through his silky blonde hair.

“Not just anyone though. I can’t believe we hate fucked over an essay.”

When he puts it like that, you can’t help but burst into giggles, burying your nose into his hair. 

“And all this while I thought you were a robot who wasn’t good at anything but studying,” he murmurs into your chest.

“I do love literature, really, it’s just… somewhere along the way I got caught up in this vicious cycle of obsessing over grades. And it’s hard to get out of it, in fact, I’m not sure if it’s possible even. And with that it sucked all the joy and passion right out of something I used to love with all my heart.”

Yoongi is silent, the only movement of his being the strokes of his thumbs along your skin, and you almost think that he’s fallen asleep, and start to drift off yourself too.

“You will get out of it.”

*

Your neck cracks particularly loudly, drawing a few stares from those around you in the quiet atmosphere of the library.

It’s the last few hours before your submission is due, and even though your paper is already completed, you’ve been scrolling through it for the past few days trying to improve it and obsessively scanning for any mistakes. You blink your eyes wearily when you realise that you’ve been reading the same sentence over and over, and you’re glad for the distraction when your phone vibrates on the table, earning you a few dirty glares.

You grab it quickly and unlock it.

[12.20pm] Yoongi: come over babe [12.20pm] You: Yoongi I cant, I’m trying to finish my paper [12.21pm] Yoongi: I just picked up our philo paper

You shut your laptop immediately and start to pack up your things, immediately feeling your heartbeat in your throat. When you reach Yoongi’s floor, the door to his room is left open, and you peek inside to see him at his desk.

“Isn’t it sad that I have to mention a paper just to see your face?” 

You roll your eyes in return, but there’s no barb behind your actions. “Touché. Who’s the one who locked me out of his studio last week when I tried to visit you?”

“I didn’t lock you out, I just didn’t hear you knock on the door,” he grumbles half-heartedly, and it’s kind of cute. He picks up a piece of paper on his desk, and holds it up, face side down so you can’t see anything. When you reach for it, he holds it just out of your reach, and you raise your eyebrows.

“What do you want now?”

“A bet, sweetheart.”

“What kind of bet?”

“If we get an A+ on this paper, you’ll have to be my girlfriend.”

“And if we fail miserably?”

“Umm… I’ll be your boyfriend?”

You snort. “Nice one Yoongi.”

Yoongi scratches his head and pretends to think for a moment. “I’ll ask for extra credit and do it all myself?” 

“Good boy, you know me so well already,” you grin at him and reach for the piece of paper held between his two fingers, snatching it out of his grip. 

“Ow, you gave me a paper cut there babe-”

A+ with extra credit. Most unique and daring answer I’ve seen so far. You’ve clearly understood the question requirements fully, and utilised the utmost creativity in answering. Excellent work!

For a moment you’re left staring at the piece of paper in shock, reading over the words written in red ink over and over again to make sure that they’re actually there. The red letter A+ stands out, and you can’t believe your eyes.

“So, where should we have our first date? Usually I like to date my girls for a while before fucking them, I’m not that kind of guy, but oh well-” Yoongi oh-so-casually starts to examine his fingernails. 

“You saw the grade first, didn’t you?”

A sly grin spreads over his face, but he only shrugs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about babe.” 

“Min Yoongi-” You stop short, watching as he grins unabashedly at you. “I guess today’s our first day then.”

[nightlight-daylight]

c o l l e g e  a d v i c e

Original Poster - Bengali Princess

Dorm life, class things, social life nonsense, and mental health stuff 

dorm life

don’t like insist on being best friends with your roommate(s). like you might end up friends and that’s great for you, but don’t try to force a friendship because if it doesn’t work out then it’ll be like impossible to recover from that. you can live together and be nice to each other without becoming besties

establish ground rules early about having people in your room (what time, how many people, sex, stuff like that)

respect the quiet hours. respect the fucking quiet hours. down the hall someone is trying to study or skype their long-distance significant other or cry over homesickness. respect that.

don’t date anyone on your floor because if you break up you’re still going to have to pass them in the hall when you need to pee at three in the morning

do your laundry in the morning on a weekday. everyone in the entire universe tries to do laundry on sunday night and then there are no machines left available.

do your best to make friends with people who don’t live in your building or who commute to campus or whatever else because then your like whole entire life isn’t restricted to just that building

your RAs are students before they’re your RAs. don’t like be malicious in your attempts to prank them, because they also have finals during finals week, and midterms in the middle of the term, and shit like that.

for the love of god, hide your alcohol

don’t be the asshole with the guitar in the lounge. everyone hates that asshole. everyone.

class things

don’t sign up for a class that starts before 9am. i don’t care if you took a zero period in high school. you will not want to show up for an early class especially because in college classes do not meet every day.

figure out a note-taking process that works for you early on, and be consistent about it. me, for example: i don’t like writing in books, so i take notes in a spiral-bound as i read, and then i continue taking notes in the spiral bound during class. but i had friends who read while highlighting and annotating the text and then took notes on their computers during class, and that worked for them. cool. awesome. you do you – just make sure that you always do it.

you’re going to have a lot of awkward pockets of free time in the middle of the day. make sure you always have some reading or something school-related to do with you – this will decrease the number of all-nighters (and like seriously try to get at least six hours of sleep a night. more coffee is not actually the same as enough sleep, oddly enough)

sit in either the first or second row. in fact, what usually worked best for me was sitting in the front but off to the extreme side.

go to office hours!!! go to office hours with prepared questions for your professor or TA, because a) this can sometimes earn you participation points, and b) you’re going to need recommendations at some point – for jobs or graduate school or leadership positions. make sure your professors know who you are, and like you as a person as opposed to just a student.

everybody blows at least one class freshman year. it’s okay, i promise. your gpa will have time to recover.

buy nine or ten blue books or scantrons early in the term and keep them with you at all times. the number of times that i’d forgotten to buy a blue book and i had to run out of the classroom and buy one and run back to the exam late is kind of ridiculous.

absolutely go to your advisor for help planning your courses – not just for the immediate future, but for all four years. requirements change sometimes, and you could get screwed if you try to go it alone.

yes, take that elective. don’t get pigeon-holed into only taking major-related classes. you’ll get bored and burned out, and through taking electives you might find another thing that you’re really passionate about that can shape what you want to be when you grow up (that’s how i accidentally turned into a triple major)

try not to buy your books from the bookstore. they’re overpriced. buy your books online.

carry around a mini stapler. this is a good way to make friends.

social life nonsense

the thing about freshman year is that early on (especially during orientation) you’ll make friends with like a ton of different people. you’ll find yourself part of at least two massive friend groups. that won’t last. when you throw a bunch of young people into a new place we all just try really hard to form connections with each other, and then gradually through freshman year those groups break off into like smaller, closer friend groups as you figure out who you actually like and who you have stuff in common with. that’s okay. it happens.

don’t walk across campus in large groups. don’t walk to parties in large groups. don’t walk to the dining hall in large groups. that’s how everyone knows you’re a freshman. related: don’t wear your lanyard with your dorm key around your neck. don’t do it.

drink at least a cup of water between every alcoholic beverage. do not go to parties alone – use the buddy system, and keep track of your damn buddy. at all times.

yes, join that club. join a lot of clubs at first and then figure out what’s actually important to you and then get really invested in like one or two student organizations. but at first, yes, join that club.

i would advise against dating at all freshman year, just because everybody is feeling new and unsettled, and it’s unlikely that you’ll have a good dating experience in that environment.

find off-campus study spots – coffee shops, bookstores, parks, whatever. go study with friends because it’ll feel more like hanging out, and it gets you off campus. it’s easy to fold yourself into the campus life bubble at college, and college is supposed to be about experiencing the world.

on that note, definitely take a couple of days every term and wander around the city you now live in. go with friends or go alone, but like get on a random bus line and go to a part of the city that’s not within walking distance of campus.

prioritize schoolwork over socializing. yes, i’m serious. i know that friends are really really important in college, but you’re in a lot of debt for this education, and it would be nice to pay for passing grades.

don’t be the asshole with the guitar in the quad. everyone hates that asshole. everyone.

mental health stuff

get enough sleep. oh my god i cannot stress this one enough. make sure you are sleeping enough. less sleep weakens your immune system, and it makes it harder for you to keep up in class, and it leaves you with less energy for your friends. sleep. i’m serious. again, you cannot replace sleep with coffee. coffee is a diarrhetic and it will dehydrate you more if you drink too much of it (i know these things)

i would advise against getting a job for at least your first quarter/semester if possible. i know that’s not a thing everyone can do in school (i worked almost full time for pretty much my entire run through college), but give yourself a least that first term to get used to the environment before you go job-hunting

if you find yourself dealing with a serious mental health issue (depression, an eating disorder, anxiety, etc), get help early. your school probably has some sort of counseling and psychological service center; go to them. but be aware of the fact that those offices are understaffed relative to the size of the population they serve and are designed for short-term, emergency care. that said, they’re really good about referring you to an off-campus therapist or clinician, so make sure you know the ins and outs of your health insurance policy.

talk to your family and friends from high school on the regular. you’re building a new community with your college friends and that’s great, but sometimes you need to talk to people who know the person you used to be.

friends are amazing, and it often can be helpful to talk to them if you’re struggling, but they’re not licensed mental health professionals. it’ll be better for both you and them if you seek support from a therapist or psychologist. i have been on both ends of that mistake and it’s not fun.

take one night a week, every week, as your self-care night. this is the night you don’t hang out with people, you don’t have study group, you don’t pressure yourself to be in contact or company. just take a night to decompress.

i had a pretty good time my last two years of college, because i’d figured most of this stuff out by then. trust yourself to know your limits, and trust yourself to know when you need other people. it’s totally normal to be nervous. everybody is nervous and nobody has any damn clue what they’re doing. you’ll be fine.

<3

[matthewshaley1996]

How To Do A Reiki 2 Attunement Dumbfounding Cool Tips

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What To Do After A Reiki Session

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How You Feel After Reiki

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