#and maybe I would agree in today's world where almost everyone has the internet in their pocket

[buckets-of-dirt]

I love my little dog so much but man in retrospect there's so much I wish my family had known about dog care 14 years ago. I know some of his health problems are just parts of getting old and would've happened regardless, but there are things we could've easily incorporated into our routine from puppyhood to prevent certain problems (or at least reduce their severity). And I know we were doing our best with the resources at our disposal, especially since as my dog he was kind of my project (a bit of a big task for a 10 year old whose research capabilities were basically just the school library but 🤷‍♂️), but watching him deteriorate before my eyes and knowing it's partially because of something I didn't do makes it all the more painful.

And I feel like a lot of the information we didn't have, some of it essential to long-term health (like brushing their teeth daily), is stuff that your average dog owner doesn't seem to know either. It's almost like there's this popular Image of how to care for a dog that's reinforced by our society at large, and then there's the things that only the Heavily Invested™️ (aka the people who get mocked for being "dog parents") do. And a lot of times there are things everyone really should be doing for their dogs, but they never know because they work off that popular image and add anything their vet specifically tells them to do as they go along. Except, at least in Milo's case, the vet really only gives advice once there's an Obvious Problem.

Anyway the point I was trying to make somewhere in all that waffle is that if you have a young dog start toothbrush training RIGHT NOW. You do not want them to get gingivitis someday, and nobody told us how to prevent it until it was already too late.

[raainy-daze]

Gotta Get Creative

halloween special !

rottmnt raph x gn!reader

summary: as it turns out, halloween costumes are a whole lot more difficult when you’re trying to match with a mutant turtle.

word count: 1,142

a/n: taking a break from requests to get some halloween oneshots out! i’m counting this as gender neutral, but reader does wear a dress for their halloween costume. happy halloween, everybody!

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Ah, October, the month of spooks and scares. There’s a chill in the air, and celebrations have begun.

The moment you got out of school, you grabbed your things and practically ran the route to the nearest manhole. It was a path you knew well by now, having walked it so many times.

You arrived at the lair in roughly ten minutes (new record!). You went through your routine, greeting everyone - Splinter on his armchair, Mikey and Leo having some sort of competition, Donnie in his lab. Finally, Raph in his room.

“Hello, wonderful boyfriend of mine! It is October 1st, which means I am now about to become a menace to society. Got any costume ideas?”

You dropped yourself onto the bed next to Raph, who, prior to your entrance, had been knitting. He had set his needles down now though, and you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before grabbing a notebook out of your bag along with a pen.

“Right to the point, huh?”

“This is business, Raph. Halloween costumes are no matter to be taken lightly.”

Several months ago already, you and Raph had agreed to go in matching costumes this year. Now that October had come, the challenge was to decide what costumes.

Of course, there were a few ground rules. Mainly, whatever it was had to something that would cover Raph’s mutation at least to the point where he could go unnoticed topside. Unless the Hidden City celebrated Halloween the way humans do, which you sorely doubted.

This couldn’t be too hard, right?

•°. *࿐

“My brain has failed me. The Internet has failed me. The world has failed me, Raph.”

As it turns out, your imagination wasn’t being very cooperative today, and neither was Google. In front of you sat your phone opened to a list of couples costume ideas (more than a few of which were more than a little unsettling), and all around you were scattered crumpled up pages of your poor notebook.

“Come on, (y/n), it’s only been thirty minutes.” Raph was patting your back in consolation.

“It’s been almost two hours.”

“What?” Raph blinked at you. “That can’t be right.”

You pointed at the corner of your screen, which indicated that roughly two hours had, in fact, passed.

“Oh. Well-” Raph picked up your notebook, reading through the most recent page. “Okay, so not much. That’s fine. It’s only day one.”

“Only day one! We waited until October to decide, and now we’re going to suffer for it! One of the most important parts of a good Halloween is a good costume - or at least an above mediocre one!” You threw your arms up in frustration (and maybe just a bit for the sake of drama), just narrowly missing Raph’s face.

Speaking of which, you couldn’t help noticing something strange in his expression. Like he was holding back a smile, and…

“Are you laughing?”

“No.” His voice cracked as he spoke, and he immediately burst into a fit of laughter.

“You think this is a laughing matter?” You couldn’t help smiling, despite your words.

“I’m sorry! I just- Wait, wait, no!” He grabbed the pillow you were reaching for before you could, and you both dissolved into giggling messes.

Your head was resting on Raph’s shoulder now, and for a moment, you just took a moment to smile.

There were a few minutes of silence, both of you lying back on the bed, before Raph chuckled. “Imagine if we just… ditched the disguise.”

“What do you mean?” You turned to look at him.

“Like, we just go up top wearing a generic couple’s costume, and when anyone asks we just go ‘oh yeah, we’re Jack and Rose from the Titanic, but if Jack was secretly a turtle monster’.”

It was a joke. It was just meant to be a joke. But… “Raph?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re a genius.”

•°. *࿐

Over the next month, you spent your time gathering the supplies for your costume. It wasn’t that difficult, really, the Titanic outfits weren’t that hard to recreate.

When the day rolled around, everyone met down in the lair to get into costume. April was in a circus ringmaster’s uniform, with Mayhem meant to be her circus animal. Donnie, to no one’s surprise, had dressed up as Frankenstein for the third year in a row, and had convinced Mikey to go as the monster.

“Leo, where’s your costume?” You raised an eyebrow, and he responded with a grin.

“What do you mean, where’s my costume? It’s right here. I’m a mutant turtle who lives in the sewers.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Says who?”

At this point, you decided to ignore him. You instead turned your attention to your boyfriend, who was sitting next to you on the couch. Raph’s previous joke had, in fact, become reality - here he was, Jack from the Titanic, but as a turtle creature.

“So, if Jack is a turtle now, does that mean he survives after all?” April asked.

“I don’t think snapping turtles live in the ocean,” was Donnie’s response.

“Shh - let it be happy. We need more happy endings in this world.”

“Glad you could find a happy ending in our cover up for a Halloween costume, April.”

“Hey, every costume deserves a little world building. Like magical circus animals…” April gestured towards Mayhem. Or rather, the spot where Mayhem had been moments ago. “Oh, for the love of- MAYHEM!”

You leaned back against the couch, smoothing out your dress. You’d bought a dress initially, but wound up altering it to your liking. You put a lot more effort into it than you’d really care to admit.

“Alright fellas, what’s our route? Got any intel on where the best candy’s at?” Leo took charge of the planning, or at least tried to before Donnie pulled out a rather extensive map of the best trick or treating spots in New York City.

“Well, I’d say these turned out pretty well. The costumes, that is.” Raph smiled at you.

“So would I!” You returned the grin, and put an arm around his shoulders. Well, you tried to. He was a bit too much bigger than you for it to work very well. “April’s right though. A costume like this needs a story behind it. How did Jack become a turtle creature, I wonder?”

“Maybe he’s a ninja, too. One that lives in the sewers.”

“Hey, guys!” You looked back at the others. Donnie was still holding that ridiculously large map - you had to bite your tongue to keep from laughing.

“I’ve got Mayhem, let’s go!” April called from the sewer entrance.

Everyone got up from their spots around the room; Donnie rolled up his map and Mikey rushed the last few finishing touches on his makeup. You grabbed Raph’s hand as you stood up.

“Let’s go get some free candy, people!”

[hot-take-tournament]

HOT TAKE TOURNAMENT!

PRELIMINARY #242

Submission 51

Balloon Boy is a good character and does not deserve hate.

I would like to be very vulnerable despite my anonymity and put forward a letter of sorts I wrote to the FNAF community when I was around 13-14 years old and even less medicated than I am now. I never posted this letter anywhere and it has sat in an old kids' PDF book creator app on my iPad for almost ten years. It's cringe. It's dumb. I was frustrated with a community I was hardly a part of. But even today I still don't think Balloon Boy is as terrible as the fandom made (and still makes) him out to be. Maybe I'm just more resistant to repetitive sounds, I dunno. He was a major comfort character for me, for whatever reason, so I must confess my continued bias. The following is that weird manifesto I wrote in a "fit of annoyance."

And I quote,

"A message to all Balloon Boy haters: We're the ones that know true sympathy. Of course, there ARE the ones who are truly evil, but then there are the ones that did not realize their wrong until it was too late. You, my fellow FNAF lovers, still have much to learn... Sure, you can say that you are not fond of a certain object, place or person, a noun, but that does not mean that you must tell the world in great detail. Saying it once or twice, okay, now the ones you've told know you don't like who, what or where. But if you keep bringing it up, that can lead to loneliness. Abandonment even. We all have our differences. This is true, and I respect all of that. But just because there's a divide doesn't necessarily make us different. We all have opinions. But just because it's your opinion doesn't make it a universal fact. Respect the other peoples opinions. 'WHAT???!! How can you like that??!!!' Try not to ask questions like that with so much intensity. A simple 'Why?' can suffice. Don't go into detail. Once you learn the reasons of the opinion, then maybe you can understand our sympathy.

It's not just because he's 'cute' or whatever. Think of if he had feelings. Sure, you can say 'But he's just a fictional character! Stop sympathizing!' but that would rule out your opinion too. By saying we cannot sympathize because he is not a real person, you basically have to cancel out any emotion directed toward him except neutrality BECAUSE YOU JUST SAID HE IS FICTIONAL. If he is truly fictional, then we cannot have any type of feelings whatsoever towards him, whether love or hate. Everyone has their faults. Just because someone is annoying does not mean they are evil and the devil. Being annoying isn't really evil. Think if he was the actual one to kill you. Sure, they could be intentionally annoying just to irritate someone, and do it a lot, but that doesn't necessarily mean they are evil. I respect everyone's opinion, and I am not aiming to convert everyone to respecting BB, but at least give him some credit. He does his job, doesn't he? If you hate him, alright, that's fine, but it's not very courteous or friendly to make a big deal of it and shun us BB lovers. Your opinions are opinions, not facts. I will admit, BB can be annoying, but at least feel sympathy a little and respect everyone's different opinion. Also, just because I view stuff where BB is considered 'part of the illuminati' or 'the enragement child' doesn't mean I'm a BB hater myself. I take those remarks as JOKES. Even if I'm wrong, I make it seem to myself that those people aren't hating Balloon Boy, they just found aspects of him to fit into certain jokes that would be considered humorous.

Thank you."

Obviously I was incredibly dramatic. I was waxing poetic to hundreds of thousands of people who would never read my words. I don't think it would have changed anything in the fandom and I probably would have been kys'd off the internet, so it's probably good I didn't post it anywhere. I didn't even have any proper social media past Google+ at the time anyway. Do I still agree with my younger self? For the most part, yeah! Their wording left something to be desired, obviously. I don't think "We're the ones that know true sympathy," is all that impactful even if it sounds fancy. It's just fandom drama, younger me. I wasn't wrong, though! The hate towards Balloon Boy due to his game mechanic and annoying laugh was incredibly blown out of proportion. In FNAF fandom culture at the time he was almost only ever characterized as The Worst Child Ever(tm) and bullied to all hell even though his characterization was next to none...just like every other animatronic, really. Maybe that's just a general fandom problem, but I digress. He could have still been the annoying kid without becoming the antichrist or whatever.

Balloon Boy is a cute little kid who happens to be a troublemaker, basically. That's all he is. Maybe calm down and lessen up on animating Freddy smashing this poor kid's head into the wall in SFM, I dunno.

Sorry it took so long for me to post this. I know it takes guts to be vulnerable on the internet, even anonymously <3

Propaganda is always encouraged!

And remember to reblog your favourite polls for exposure!

[issaxcharlie]

You’ll always be the answer

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem Reader

Requested: YES💚

Summary: For the first time Charlie and Y/N have to do an interview together and things get pretty interesting and chaotic as always with the couple.

*In the wired autocomplete section the part of the question that was covered will be in bold*

Pretty much based in the we say we’re friends world, (yes, again😤 I love their dynamic I’m sorry) you only need to know that Y/N is a musician by profession, wrote the JATP soundtrack, a childhood friend of Charlie and now his current girlfriend.

The couple is completely excited because today they have their first interviews after the confirmation of the second season of Julie and The Phantoms, and usually they are not on the same interview team so this is new. Charlie always does them with the band and the singer usually does them with director Kenny Ortega representing the people behind the scenes.

“Hello everyone, I’m Charlie Gillespie and I play Luke in Julie And The Phantoms.”

“And I’m Y/N Y/L and I play Daniela in Stardust.”

“Baby, you are here today as the songwriter of the album.”

“I know?” She thinks for a few seconds until she realizes what she said. “Oh. Well, this is embarrasing. Make my selfpromo accident worthwhile and watch Stardust after watching JATP!”

“Nice safe, beautiful. Pretty natural.” Her boyfriend teases as she smiles proudly.

“I like to believe I could be an actress.” Charlie begins to laugh at the seriousness with which she answered and looks at her, full of happiness. He loves that they can enjoy moments like this where their careers can go exactly on the same track.

They know that it will not always be this way so they should make the most of the experience.

“I’m excited to have you back, Y/N. And a pleasure to meet you Charlie. You both sure are full of amazing energy, I love it. Let’s start with the questions. Charlie, this is your first leading and in a fairly complete role, you acted, sang, danced and even wrote one of the songs, how was the experience?”

“Pure magic. They are all incredibly talented and so supportive of us, they worked so hard to unleash our full potential in an accelerated manner. They had a lot of patience with me in the dance part, they taught me to use my voice properly, they supported me in the change to electric guitar, it was simply a dream to work with every single person in the project.”

“Sounds amazing. Next question is for you, Y/N. Much has been said about the unreal chemistry between Julie and Luke. How was it for you as his girlfriend to have to witness it live? As I understand you were present throughout the recording."

"Oh man, it was awesome!" Charlie laughs at her pure response and the interviewer looks at her in disbelief.

"I'm Team Juke all the way. I know I may sound like a liar or something since I'm the girlfriend, but here's the thing.

I can't see my Char in Luke. Charlie is so good at bringing him to life that I can't believe that cool rockstar is my adorable goofball. It’s like Clark and Superman with the glasses thing. Beanie and electric guitar? Oh, hi Luke. You are so hot, wait... don’t tell Charlie I said that! Bandana and acoustic guitar? Hey baby, give me a kiss in the forehead and sing me to sleep.

What I was saying again? Oh, yeah. So... I see Juke and I’m soft, they are perfect for each other.”

“So you think Luke is hot, huh.” he pretends to be jealous and folds his arms.

“What can I say, I have a thing for rockstars, my legs melted during now or never."

He snorted a laugh. “Good to know.”

The interviewer cannot contain a laugh of her own.

"It's always a pleasure to have you here, Y/N. You are such a character and I always enjoy listening to you, and I love that even though the years go by and you are no longer so new in the industry you continue to have that fresh and iconic personality."

“Thank you so much Maria, If I can be myself here it is thanks to the beautiful atmosphere that your interviews always have.”

“My pleasure, ‘golden star’. Let’s continue. Y/N, We know you already knew Charlie, but who did you get along with better from the rest of the cast?”

“Oh my, definitely Owen. He was Charlie's roommate throughout the project so we hang out together a lot in our free time taking turns as third wheel. I'm pretty sure he's going to apply the same card to me this second season now that I'm gonna be the roommate.

But it’s okay, I totally deserve it. May the best third wheel win, Joyner!” Charlie grins and does a fistbump with his girlfriend who looks really hyped about going back to Canada with the band.

“I’m rooting for you, girl! Let’s go back to Charlie a little bit. The album that Y/N wrote is a resounding success and a very important piece for the series to be as brilliant as they are. I imagine that the four of you have a special affection for the album, but how do you feel that your girlfriend was the one who wrote a soundtrack of that level for such a special project in your career?”

Charlie looks so proud. He looks at her in a way that makes the young woman blush.

“I’m just so blessed that the things happened they way they did. She’s the love of my life, you know? I couldn't be more proud to sing her songs. She has always been insanely talented and nothing gives me more happiness that knowing she gets to do what she loves and is able to share it with the world.”

The singer's eyes water and she puts her head on the actor's shoulder, who kisses her hair sweetly.

“You two are so pure and so cute to watch, I have a new favorite celebrity couple.”

They continue the interview for a few more minutes and then they have to move on to the second section, in which they are handed some boards with the most searched questions on the internet regarding them.

“Okay guys, introduce yourselves again. I’m not going to be in the segment this time so you’ll have to help each other.”

Both agree without confessing that they have seen videos of this segment until 5 in the morning when they have nothing to do the next day and have sleepovers.

“Hi, we are Charlie Gillespie and Y/N Y/L and will be doing the wired-autocomplete interview today!”

“Okay handsome, let’s start with yours.” Charlie smiles and takes the sign in his hands, while his girlfriend removes the first tape and reveals the first question.

“Does Charlie Gillespie have a girlfriend?” Charlie smiles proudly and kisses his girls nose.

“I do, and she’s so adorable.” He touches gently her cheek and she closes her eyes at his touch.

He gives her a light kiss in the forehead and then uncovers the next question.

“What is Charlie Gillespie like in real life.”

“I’ll answer this one, Char’s a total goofball. He is cheerful, funny, always full of energy, talented, caring, and really, really hot. All done, next question!”

He laughs while blushing and reveals the next one. “Is Charlie Gillespie married?”

“Well I tried but someone ate the ring.”

“I would do it again, it was really good. Answering the question, he is not yet, but he is taking too long, maybe one of these days I will declare myself.”

He opens his eyes wide, he knows very well that his girlfriend is capable of doing it, and honestly he wants to be who does it, so he makes a mental note to prepare everything soon. Thank god he is working on the rings already.

“It’s Y/N still dating...”

“If the question says Ross Lynch I’m goin’ to lose it. No shade though, man.”

She laughs, after the James Larkin show, a lot of people showed anger as they felt that she was a much better match with the blonde, and Charlie couldn't help but feel a bit offended.

“...Charlie Gillespie! Yes, baby!” Both high five, Charlie looks almost relieved, is adorable.

“The answer is always yes folks, get use to it.”

“Who is Y/N’s best friend?”

“Well, this one is easy.” She turns to see Charlie and gives him a flirtatious little smile. He blushes and reaches out to kiss her, but she answers the question just before their lips touch.

“Ross Lynch.” She leans over and presses her lips against his for a few seconds as Charlie reacts to her response and then gapes in disbelief.

“You did nOT.” He laughs and and wrinkles his nose feigning annoyance.

“Yes I dID. But to be honest, has to be this man right here. Not a lot people know this but we’ve been best friends all our lives, so yeah. You baby, of course.” He blushes and kisses her hand, clearly happy with the answer.

“Is Y/N going to be in Julie And The Phantoms S2?”

“Will you?” He asks, genuinely curious. She never tells him what Kenny secretly confesses her about the project so as not to be unfair to the other members of the band.

“I will, but probably still back the scenes, guys. I'm really enjoying this part and learning from the best of the best so I am very happy not to be in front of the camera for now.”

“And you are doing an amazing work, love.” She grins and kisses his cheek.

“Thank you for watching us being ridiculously corny for 30 minutes, don't forget to watch Julie and the Phantoms Season 2 only on Netflix! I feel sorry for that poor people that will have to see how cheesy we are.”

“We were still recording Y/N, but never mind. The editing team has a lot of work ahead.”

“Well, damn. I’m sorry guys!” Charlie laughs for the thousandth time today. There is nothing better in life than sharing your days with your best friend. He can't wait to formalize that ‘forever’.

Thank you for reading✨

NEXT PART HERE

Taglist: @writerinlearning , @ghostofmgg, @strangerthanfanfiction713, @thebloodthirstyvampress, @kinda-really-lost, @kcd15, @magnet-girl, @aliandthephantoms, @stxrkspidey, @pinkrockstar19, @s0uz4s, @shycupcakealissa, @cookiebuba, @fangirlangioma, @sageellsworth05, @twist3dtinkerbell, @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve, @caitsymichelle13, @ifilwtmfc, @luckylouiebug, @bibliophilewednesday, @totomoshi, @siennanoelle01, @lunashadow6955, @bookfrog247, @morganayennefertyrell, @kiss-themoongoodbye, @rachelle3musicals, @imsydneywalker, @really-dont-forget-it

[furikakyo]

a return to roots | 3

pairing: kita shinsuke x f!reader

summary: y/n is a rising star in the music industry, having almost everything you could have ever hoped for as a small-town country girl. now after releasing two triple platinum albums in consecutive years, you face the dreaded artist’s burnout… in order to recover, your manager suggests, you should return to your hometown in hyōgo for a long-deserved break. 

genre: socmed/smau, slice of life 

warnings/tags: timeskip!, mutual pining, slow burn? more like rekindling, slight canon divergence

masterpost 

You finished sending your texts to Osamu and sat back in your bed, tossing your phone aside and then pulling the covers over your head. As you tugged and curled into your blankets, your phone fell to the wooden floor of your bedroom with a heavy thunk. Cursing, you drew back the covers and reached over the edge of the bed, trying to find balance. All of the blood rushed to your face as you huffed, still attempting to rescue your phone without actually laying foot on the ground.

Once you finally recovered it, you sat back onto your bed with a heave, any sleepiness you had now gone. You stared at the ceiling, wondering what you should do that day. A hand fisted itself into the thick blankets as you tossed and turned, trying to find some comfort in your plush bed. You hadn't been able to sleep well the past couple of days, for whatever reason. Your neck hurt, your back was sore, hell, your entire body ached for some reason, restless and yet so tense at the same time.

You sat up suddenly. What was it Kuroo had said to you? You weren't sure.

"Ugh..." You buried your face into your hands, memories of last night's conversation rushing back to you; remembering how you'd started talking about Kita when you were nodding off. It had been over two years since everything between you went down. Why couldn't you stop thinking about it? You could feel the burn of embarrassment and shame behind your eyes, your throat beginning to close up. Sniffling, you opened your phone and scrolled through your contacts. Who wouldn't be busy? Your hand stilled, and your face brightened, if only for a moment. Kenma. He had a calm and comforting presence, which never failed to mellow you out. Plus, he didn’t really talk about emotions or feelings so he wouldn’t ask you about anything related to Kita, nor would you be tempted to talk about him.

You texted your bodyguard and driver, Ichiro, who agreed to pick you up from your apartment and then drive you to Kenma’s. Thanking him for coming on such a short notice and then reminding him to not text and drive, you got dressed for the day, choosing to wear your comfiest hoodie.

A few minutes later, your phone lit up again with Ichiro’s standard “here” text, and you were out the door, not forgetting to bring a hat and sunglasses with you, though. After locking the door and slipping your accessories on, you rushed into the elevator and then made your way down to the car.

The car ride itself was silent, as Ichiro seemed to have picked up on the mood you were in and decided not to comment. Although he was usually stoic, he always maintained a conversation if you initiated it, his responses albeit short. By now you knew that the brevity in which he spoke was not because of anything against you, however, but because he was naturally a quiet person. You wouldn’t have had anyone else for the job, though.

The car softly jolted you as it pulled to a stop, and you unbuckled quickly after realizing you were already at Kenma’s apartment. “Thanks!” you called out, opening the door yourself and then shutting it. You smiled and waved before Ichiro merged back into traffic, watching the car eventually disappear in the long stream of vehicles.

Feeling somewhat better, you entered the complex after buzzing in. and then made your way to Kenma’s apartment, knocking on the door and patiently waiting. There was a long pause and some shuffling behind the door before it opened a crack. Two large yellow eyes peered out into the hall, and then landed on you. The door shut and then opened without the door chain to stop it this time, and you stepped in.

“I brought my Switch,” you proudly announced, looking to the side of the corridor where Kenma was standing, a little hunched over and slouching. You held up your video game console, which was covered in skins and cute accessories you'd purchased. Some of them you'd gotten for free from Kenma though, who got sent free stuff all the time.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said, a soft smile on his face. He pulled half of his hair back with a hair tie and followed you back to where he streamed his games, settling into the chair that all of his fans could recognize by now. “We can play Minecraft, if you want. I haven't gone on our world for a while, so we could both go on.” Kenma swiveled to look at you inquisitively, waiting for an answer.

You lazily waved a hand at him. “No! Today you’re supposed to stream, right? I just crashed your place so I don’t really have a say. You should record and then if you have time after we can play,” you insisted, sitting on the bean bag behind his gamer chair. “I’ll watch or maybe work on my own world.”

Kenma thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded, setting up his microphone and monitors. “Last chance,” he mumbled, then put his headset over his ears, blocking out everything else. You watched in the background with mild interest as he went through his usual monotonous introduction, one that his fans seemed to adore despite its lack of flair. Perhaps it was exactly that what made him so endearing to the internet. Smiling, you glanced back down to your Switch, and opened up Minecraft.

Setting your phone down for a second after replying to Atsumu, you called out lazily: "Oiiii, Kenma.” After a beat of silence and no response, you called again, "Kenmaaaa."

He had been just finished streaming, and pulled off his headphones. "Hm?"

You sat up excitedly, startling Kenma. "When I move, you should visit! Once I get settled in, at least."

He blinked, looking up at the ceiling as if calculating the pros and cons. "Too many bugs," he finally responded with a small grimace. "And it's gross and hot outside."

At that, you broke out into a laugh, the heartiest and most meaningful you’d had in a while. His particular comment wasn't even that funny, it was just- it was just so him. Was your sense of humor breaking? “Maybe I'll be able to change your mind," you mused. "We can even stream a video collab with the both of us- we should try Animal Crossing!" You clapped excitedly, beaming. "Kenma, let's do Animal Crossing once it comes out!”

He squinted his eyes, scooting away from you and your blinding enthusiasm. "Fine," he muttered, hunched over his phone now. He scrolled for a few minutes before speaking again. "Did you see that we're trending? On Twitter and YouTube." Kenma handed you his phone, stifling a small laugh into the collar of his sweatshirt as he sat back.

"I did," you snickered, laying his phone on the table and lying back on his bean bag chair. "My favorite response is the one about the Kodzuken simps," you said, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively at Kenma and then cackling when he turned completely the other way from you. "Kenma, they're devastated!" You gasped dramatically and then draped an arm over your forehead, fainting.

He rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head. "Shut up, Y/N."

After your giggles died out, you saw him offering a controller to you. "Game night!" you cheered, accepting it and sitting up straighter. "We should get takeout!"

Kenma lifted a brow, as if to say why are you even telling me this? "Already on its way.”

The two of you chatted as you played Minecraft, Kenma being a little more open when his mind was preoccupied with gaming. He was, of course, much better than you, eyes glued to the TV screen which had been hooked up to the game console. "Has Kuroo told you who's going to the Olympics?"

You shook your head, then remembered that Kenma wasn't looking your way. "No," you replied slowly, focused on getting out of the water so you could escape the mobs that were chasing you. "But a few of the boys from Inarizaki are. As for Kuroo, I think he was going to say something, but I fell asleep last night. He said something about you and an advertisement, though?"

Kenma smiled, finally breaking his gaze with the screen and looking at you. "Hinata Shōyō from MSBY is collabing with me, to promote the 2020 Olympic games."

Your eyes lit up in recognition. "That's right! Atsumu is teammates with him. I haven't talked to him one-on-one, though. He seems sweet!"

Kenma turned his attention back to the TV, where he was almost done building a house. "He played volleyball in high school too. They beat Inarizaki his first year at Nationals."

You stopped to think, your hands stilling on the controller. Your breathing slowed. In your third year, Inarizaki hadn't progressed further into Nationals, like everyone predicted. Despite being assistant manager, you hadn't thought it would be a big deal to miss their first match in the competition; assistant managers weren’t even allowed on the actual court anyways. You had all thought you were going to get further. You had thought you would get to see your boys play one last time. You had thought you would get to see Kita lead his team to Nationals, as team captain.

You had missed out on that opportunity for signing a record deal.

Beside you, Kenma noticed how quiet you'd gotten but didn't comment, instead going to the door when the buzzer notified him of their takeout delivery. You picked at a loose string on your hoodie, remembering why you didn't often go to Kenma when in distress. While you knew he cared about you and your wellbeing, you also knew that heart-to-heart conversations weren't his strong suit. When he returned a few moments later with your favorite foods, you pushed down the eruption of guilt and self-loathing with a bright smile. "Sorry, what were we saying? Something about Kuroo..." You strained to keep your eyes crinkled and happy.

Kenma's brow furrowed. "Kuroo-"

You interrupted him, and he let you. "Oh yeah! Kuroo and I are gonna hang out on Thursday! Wanna come? I'm leaving Saturday morning, so unless I see you before then, this will be the last time you see me before I leave for Hyōgo."

You watched his face run through a couple of emotions before settling on contemplation. Kenma blew a wisp of stray hair from his eyes and then begrudgingly: "Sure..."

This time, you gave him a true smile and clapped excitedly. "Yay! Should we try to get some of the others to join us? Lev? I want to be able to say goodbye to all of you in person, if possible." Then, swiping the plastic bag from Kenma, you opened the bag hurriedly and began pulling out things. "Here are the plates... and the chopsticks..." You set everything out and then let him load his plate with food first. Soon after, the two of you were back to playing Minecraft, squabbling over who got to use what equipment. After Kenma finally relented and let you have first pick, the both of you set out to fight the swarms of mobs gathered near your shared house.

"Hey, Y/N."

You had looked away for only a couple seconds, but you were blown up by a Creeper. "BITCH," you screeched, "I just fucking died?!"

Kenma snickered, running past your character and stealing everything you'd left behind. You gasped even louder. "BITCH-"

a/n: i said there weren’t going to be as many words as the last part but 🤡 also currently the fic is moving slowly and going day by day but it’ll pick up the pace soonish

taglist (pm me to ask to be added!): @papiibuprofen​ (i didn’t know if i should just respond to your ask publicly sksksk but i added you) 

some ~fun facts~

- y/n’s bodyguard/driver is named after ichiro, one of my fav baseball players

- his name in y/n’s contacts is “bonecrusher 👹” lmao 

- he is stoic but actually a softie; he’s about 30 and has a wife and one kid, both of whom he loves very much 

- i had kenma and y/n playing animal crossing instead of minecraft at first, then realized that it wouldn’t have been released yet, since this takes place in 2020... DAMN YOU TIMELINE

- do i have a map of hyōgo so i can write this fic? yes 💀

[princessofprocrastination]

She’s Creepy (Dream)

MASTERLIST

(PART 1)

pairing : dream / clay x reader

summary :  apparently being a huge fan of a big youtuber is considered being a creep, according to minecraft gamer, dream. and ever since he called you mean things, your world turned upside down. (ANGST) (TRIGGER WARNING)

GEORGE’S POV 

looking back, there was so many things we could’ve done before she saw us.

walked out before she did? 

not stared at her like she was the only source of food in a stranded island?

but then again, we were still in shock. but we were left in more shock after she did what she did. 

-

she settled the bill and was proceeding to walk out the restaurant alone, since her family went off first. 

since she wasn’t really paying attention to her surroundings before, we didn’t think she would this time. 

but we were proven wrong in the next second. 

she looked up from her wallet, coincidentally, looking up to us. 

her eyes moved from me to nick to clay. she looked confused for a second. 

and then, a smile. 

wait? a smile?

you smiled at us, bringing up your wallet-less, right hand to wave to the three of us. 

i looked to see what the other two boys reactions would be. 

as expected, shock clearly written all over their faces. 

-

YOUR POV

three years can make someone change. a lot, in fact. 

they say to forgive and forget. but logically, how does one forget something that change your whole life? 

but you forgave them. you were not heartless. you weren’t going to bring this to your grave. that seems so childish of you. 

at the end of the day, what happened years ago changed your life, for the better. 

you were making better money than you did when you still made videos. 

sure, now you couldn’t really enjoy life by posting on the internet you doing things you love or posting the people you cherish. but that didn’t matter anymore. 

you had a good career, a good life. 

and you still looked up to the three boys. 

sure, they hurt you a little. but you were sure they must’ve did something to stop people from ruining your life after you left social media. right? 

so you smiled at them. 

you would be lying if you said you weren’t shocked and confused. you were almost speechless. what do you say to the three people that made you the woman you are now?

how did you not notice them sitting on the table just opposite you? and why were the three of them together? as you knew before, they don’t even live in the same country. 

maybe they have met since then and they’re just enjoying a good dinner. as you just were. 

“hi, haven’t heard of you guys for a little bit.” you walked closer to their table. 

your family left, anyways. they said they would catch up with you another day, seeing that most of them have jobs, just like you. 

“uh. we- we haven’t heard from you either.” sapnap, nick. 

nothing changed. they still looked the way they did three years ago. 

besides dream, of course. up till today, you had no clue what he looked like. but damn, he is one hot dude. 

“please, sit down. that is, if you don’t have to go.” george. even after three years he is still so adorable and awkward. 

you pulled out the empty chair beside sapnap, sitting down. 

“since i haven’t formally introduced myself, i’m y/n.” you said, shaking sapnap’s hand. 

the polite texan brought your hand to his lips and kissed it instead. how sweet. 

you smiled at him as he told you his real name. 

they took turns introducing themselves. 

air still tense, you tried to make it less awkward. 

“stop thinking about the past.” you broke the awkward silence. 

“how? you were forced to leave the country.” dream, or clay said. 

“that was years ago. now i’m back and clearly fine. my fault for not getting a place with better security, anyways.” 

“no. it was clearly my fault for sayin-” 

“let’s just put this behind us now. it doesn’t matter now, anyways.” you cut off clay’s words. 

clay looked like he was thinking about it for a while before he nodded and let it past him. 

“still, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean all i said.” clay looked into my eyes, sincerely apologizing. 

“i forgave you years ago. don’t worry about it.” you smiled at him.

“god you’re too nice.” you laughed at what clay muttered under his breath, thinking you wouldn’t hear him. 

“soooo, frozen yogurt?” nick asked all of you. 

everyone agreed. maybe then, you’ll know each other more. 

not as content creators, but as normal people. 

“let’s go to my house.” you told them. you lived alone in a big house, constantly lonely. and you didn’t want the night to end yet. 

although they were hesitant, they agreed. 

it was obvious they didn’t want to accidentally push any boundaries with you. they acted like you are still fragile. they were scared that the wrong thing you make you blow up. 

you told them that you would never do that. that you were comfortable with any kind of questions, to not act like you were a piece of glass. 

you drove to your house, clay’s car trailing behind, nick sitting on the passenger seat of his car. 

george asked you politely if he could follow you instead of clay. 

obviously, you told him he could. he was to adorable to say no, anyways. 

although he is the oldest, it felt like he was the opposite. he was just so shy and quiet. 

in the car, he told you everything. what clay thought of you, the times he cried in his home watching your old videos and looking at your old photos. he told you the times clay wished he spoke to you instead of acting arrogant. 

you almost teared up at that. so this is why george wanted to drive with you instead. got it. 

george told you clay basically fell in love with you through social media, that he felt the need to lash out on your in the eyes of the public due to his jealousness. 

apparently he felt like he didn’t stand a chance with you. 

“has he seen himself in the mirror lately? that man is beautiful.” you laughed at your own comment. 

“well, technically, you didn’t know what he looked like. but yeah, he is pretty hot, huh?” george laughed along. 

“i didn’t know what he looked like, which made it so much better. i simped for a green smiley face, can you believe that?” you laughed even harder. 

“his voice is pretty attractive, too.” george agreed and laughed with you. 

you stopped at the security post which was unusual for you since the security guard knew your car and you could always just drive in without stopping. 

“the car behind mine is with me.” you told the guy. 

“yes ma’am.” he told you, and cleared clay’s car. 

“so this is what being rich is like.” george said. 

“you’re an idiot. you’re rich too.” you told him. 

“you live rich, i don’t” he replied. 

“touche.” you told him. 

you parked your car in your garage, leaving space for clay car beside yours. 

you and george walked to your front door, you using your fingerprint to open the door. 

“hey, y/n?” nick called you as you opened the door to your house, them stunned at the classiness of the layout of your house. 

“yeah?” you acknowledged him. 

“are you single?” you almost chocked on your spit, but laughed it off. 

“yes, nick. why?” you turned to him, confused on why he asked you that question. you were surprised to see how close he was to you. 

“hey mamas, let’s go on a date someday.” nick invited you, clearly joking. 

“nick! you can’t just say that.” clay. someone’s jealous. 

“you paying?” you jokingly asked nick, staring into his eyes, acting serious. 

“you bet.” 

“where are we going?” you asked him, leading the boys to the living room to watch some television. 

“in n out.” nick laughed but still managed to let out the answer. 

“text me the date, i’m down.” you answered him. nick laughed, going up to you to kiss your cheek. you shook your head at his stupid antics. 

“it’s that easy.” nick told the other boys, more specifically, clay. guess he was trying to get clay to do something. it’s too obvious. 

“wait. is this real? you guys are serious?” clay asked, almost sweating, it seemed. he asked it like it was an urgent question. 

“you’re an idiot, clay.” nick told him. nick put his arm over your shoulder as he sat next to you on the couch, stealing the remote to pick a movie. 

“no clay, not real. he’s just messing with us.” george finally said something.

you heard clay sighing. you assumed he sighed in relief. you laughed to yourself. nick realized what you were laughing at, laughing along with you. 

“you know, don’t you?” nick whispered in your ear. you nodded, smiling to him. 

“know what?” shit. clay heard that? you shook your head, telling him to forget about it. 

and he did forget about it. or so you thought. 

while the four of you watched hamilton, he was the most silent. but you didn’t think much about it. you talked at some point of the show and continued watching. 

“wait a second.” clay realized something. 

“FUCK. YOU KNOW.” clay basically screamed. 

george almost snorted. “duh. you couldn’t have been more obvious, loverboy.”

“shit. how did you know?” he asked, looking at you straight in the eyes. 

you pointed to george. 

-

and that, is how you find yourself a boyfriend after years. 

you weren’t even sure how it progressed after that night. 

the boys stayed at your place and you order a shit ton of clothes their size so they could keep staying here without buying anything. 

you were glad they willingly stayed. you were lonely in that house anyway. 

you were making breakfast for three starving boys and yourself when you felt hands on your waist. “you’re too kind.” he whispers in your ear. 

“you’ve told me once or twice.” you chuckled. 

“get a room.” george yelled, nick agreeing. 

“i will kick you out.” you threatened. 

“kidding. we love you.” the two boys tried to take their words back. you and clay laughed at how stupid they were acting. 

-

TAGLIST

@sarah-limelight  @your-typical-giggle  

[spasmsofthought]

milk + instagram live (t.h.)

I traveled to London (and Oxford), England in March of 2019 for my spring break my sophomore year of university, so some things mentioned here are entirely from personal experience, so please don’t hate me if you’ve experienced something different! I stayed at a hotel in between West Kensington and West Brompton (a few blocks away from West Brompton Station) and one day some family members and I decided to attend a local showing at a cinema nearby and it was SO. DIFFERENT. than the theaters I had been to in the States. IDK, maybe it was just me. The entire experience was like culture shock again in the few days I had been there, so I had to bring that up in this little piece. Also the thing about milk is something I have genuinely wondered about, cause I’ve heard it’s different in England than it is in the USA, but I may be wrong. Let me know! Anyways, I have big love for London (and supreme love for Oxford, sorry) and I’m looking forward to going back someday soon! 

The reader is non-celebrity and American, so I’m sorry if that feels exclusionary to any of you, honestly! I thought this might be just a little fun jaunt because I don’t really write real person fiction. Just a bit of fluff. 

Sorry for this long intro. Enjoy and let me know what you think! xo  

Word Count: ~1.5k 

+ + + 

It’s some sort of exclusive interview for a magazine or something of the sort, you’ve been told; a collection of questions they want you to answer to publish somewhere, to print as something special for one of Tom’s things. That’s all you know. It’s just something you agreed to do after his publicist had asked a few weeks ago. It wasn’t like you did this for a living, so there was an attitude of nonchalance about it all because if they ended up not liking it one bit, they could scrap it all and no harm, no foul. 

“Now,” the interviewer begins, a man in his 40′s with balding hair and a slightly crooked nose, sitting in the chair across from you, “I know you just announced that you got married, so congratulations, firstly--” 

“Oh, thank you,” hands folded on your lap, smiling sweetly. You know people want their well-wishes to be heard and recorded, but sometimes it’s easy to imagine a completely private life, fame free, in which this isn’t the biggest news in the world (or just the biggest news for a day in the entertainment industry in the United States and England); a life where this is just a normal thing that normal people decide on, there’s a celebration, and that’s really it. It’s not splashed on newspapers and trending on Twitter, even though that can be a fun thing. 

“I’ve been really happy these last few months since we got married and was excited to tell all of Tom’s Instagram followers,” there’s a break for a small laugh from you, “There’s been such an abundance of well wishes from everyone and I’ve felt so incredibly lucky because I know not every woman who has been in my position has recieved such a reception.” 

The interviewer gives a move of his head in recognition of your words, but his eyes are already flying down the paper he holds in front of him, “There have been quite a few changes that have happened, I’ve been informed, and the first is that you decided to move to London!” 

“Ha, yes,” you begin, nodding, “Not only did I just completely intertwine my life with another person’s, but I moved to an entirely new country. There’s definitely a lot of culture shock that has happened these past few months.” 

The interviewer kind of chortles along with you, but the awkwardness has already settled in and you can feel it because you are the literal worst at small talk. And that’s all this interview is. 

“Any cons you’ve listed already about residing here amongst us?” 

“Oh no,” you groan dramatically, trying to lighten up the mood, a hand coming to cover your eyes for a moment, “you have to promise not to tell my husband, because I do have a few things actually.” 

“I make no promises, as this interview will be completely up for grabs,” The man holds up his hands and you’re a little disappointed that he doesn’t seem to want to play along with the joke. 

You brush it off, though, because he’s either nervous or he’s here for a few questions to be answered and then he wants to be out of here. You get it; you have a job, too, that sometimes squeezes the patience out of you. 

“Well for one, the local cinemas are just set up so different than the ones I went to all the time in the States. I still have to prepare myself for the experience every time,” there’s a little bit of an awkward pause. 

“We have different cinemas?” He asks, like he’s suspecting something more; something deeper. Maybe he wants something more scandalous? You nod along, though, smiling softly at his confusion. It has always felt funny trying to explain this. 

“And I miss people smiling at me in public, on the tube or in the more crowded public spaces where I don’t really know anyone. People are literally so lovely when they invite me into their homes to eat with them and stuff like that, but I’ve only got one reaction from someone for smiling at them. Most of them just stare for a second or ignore me entirely! I don’t know, maybe it’s just me.” 

He shrugs, not quite sure what to say to that, because he’s not at fault for it. It seems most people know what you’re talking about when you say this and you’ve garnered that it’s a cultural thing for the most part. You don’t fault anyone for it. 

“Also,” your hand comes to scratch at a place above your left eyebrow, “I know this is weird, and I don’t even know if it’s entirely true, but I haven’t drank milk in the months since I’ve moved here because I heard in America that milk is made differently here or something like that. I haven’t been able to gather up the courage to find out if it’s true or not, and I mostly drink water or juice or whatever else so my husband hasn’t bat an eye yet. I just don’t want to ruin my previous experience with milk,” You shrug your shoulders and laugh. Your hands come unclasped and you hold them out in a surrender-like gesture. 

Your final answer seems to startle the interviewer, because his laugh is surprised and maybe a bit shocked and leaves just as quickly as it came. The rest of the short conversation, lasting only a few more minutes, continues smoothly. After sitting around in the office for a little while longer, you are free from the place and from (hopefully) ever having to do this again without Tom. Your schedule is blissfully empty for the rest of the day, a Saturday, so you eventually make your way home. 

- - 

“What’s this I hear about your fear of English milk?” The door opens first and then the voice follows. 

Of course, that would be the first thing he says to you after a whole day of not seeing each other. 

“Good evening, darling, how was your day?” You quip from the couch, what’s left of your cup of tea gone cold on the coffee table parallel to it. “Oh my day was fine, Tom. I’m glad you’re the one who does the regular rounds with the press, not me, because I was so awkward today. How was yours?” 

You hear his keys clink against something, probably the kitchen counter, and then the rustle of a bag. It takes a second but then you see his hands grip to top of the sofa as he leans down towards you. There’s a quick kiss that comes before he rights himself. The marital bliss has not faded away yet given that adoring look in his eyes. It is the same look he gave you standing right across from you the day of your wedding, the same one you saw four months ago on your honeymoon, and the one he gave you last night while getting ready for bed as he brushed his teeth. 

“I got something from the shop on my way home,” He wiggles his eyebrows and you know some part of you saw this coming from a mile away. 

You know now that the shop means the grocery store because a few months ago you had asked him what the term meant (“it’s so vague, though,” “darling, I’m not going to waste my breath calling it the ‘grocery store.’”). (There are still many British terms you have yet to learn.) You allow yourself to sit up and then turn around to meet him as your knees come to dig into the cushions. Now you both are almost at the same height. 

“God, I hate you,” You chuckle, leaning towards him. 

“The ring on your finger says otherwise, love,” You roll your eyes but then press an elongated kiss to his lips. There’s a few moments where he gets some in down your neck and behind your ear before he pulls away. 

“C’mon,” He says, pulling your arms and almost vaulting you over the couch and onto the cold, hard floor, “to the kitchen we go! You need to drink some milk.” It takes a few more minutes for you both to actually get there, but then he grabs the carton from the bag and a glass from a kitchen cupboard. 

He pours a little at the bottom of the glass, not even filling it up a quarter of the way. Part of you wants to shudder, part of you is feeling adventurous enough to be excited. But then he pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans and asks if he can go live on Instagram. For a moment you consider saying no, simply because you’re not sure if you want to open yourself up to the world of Tom’s Instagram followers watching you try your first taste of non-American milk, but then you decide “why not?” It can’t do any real harm, right? 

Tom hands the glass to you and you place it on the counter in front of you as you sit down at a stool. You can see the moment on his face the live video starts and a second later he quickly explains the situation. 

It does not take you much longer to become a viral internet meme.  

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - when you’re feeling sensitive

This work, 敏感时刻, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it

The original work is split into two parts but angst isn’t good for digestion so I merged them (¯▿¯)

[ VICTOR ]

It isn’t the first time you’ve seen such things.

Ever since your relationship with Victor was disclosed to the public, negative comments on the Internet became a staple to your daily life.

They were all in unison, stating that you weren’t good enough for Victor. 

Victor - the young and promising CEO of Loveland Financial Group, the ideal man for innumerable women.

But he chose to be with a girl like you.

You - a producer from a small, unknown company. 

Because of you, the dreams of countless women were shattered.

Although Victor has already been doing what he can, such as dedicating a small team to control the harsh comments levelled against you, it’s natural that you’d feel stung by such comments. 

Am I really not suitable for Victor?

Why is Victor even with a girl like you?

“I’m back.”

Victor’s voice disrupts your train of thought.

You shake the lingering thoughts out of your head, then plaster a smile on your face to greet him.

“Welcome home.”

However, the moment your eyes flit to Victor’s shirt, your smile freezes in place.

There’s an obvious lipstick mark on it.

It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t upset.

Victor notices the slight change in your expression, immediately taking a step closer to you.

“What’s wrong?”

You push Victor’s outstretched hand away, then brush past him. 

“Nothing. I’m going over to Kiki’s house for a couple of days.”

Perhaps what they said wasn’t wrong, and you were not worthy to be with him.

Perhaps you never should have fallen for him.

-

It’s rare for you to look this dispirited. Immediately sensing that you’re out of sorts, he chases after you, embracing you in his arms.

“What’s wrong? Did things not go smoothly at work?”

He pauses before adding, “If it’s because of comments on the Internet, the legal team in LFG will handle them.

You shake your head, wriggling out of his grip weakly. “Those things are fine.”

Victor loosens his grip, but maintains his posture of hugging you, not letting you go completely.

“You didn’t get the limited-edition lipstick you wanted?”

The moment he brings up the word ‘lipstick’, the floodgates open.

“Let go of me! Since I’m not the only one who leaves lipstick marks on you, go look for other women!”

Victor knits his brows in response to the sudden accusation. “What are you talking about?”

You bite your lip, pointing at the mark on his shirt.

He lowers his head, eyes following your finger. When he releases a sigh, your heart grows several degrees colder. “So it’s because of this?”

Victor retrieves his phone from his pocket, then taps on a video in his photo gallery, showing it to you:

“Dummy, your lipstick got onto my shirt.”

“I did it on purpose! Victor, I want to tell the entire world that you’re my man, so you’re not allowed to wash it off!”

It’s a video of the last time you got drunk. The HD camera captured the scene clearly - the exact same shirt, the exact same location, the exact same lip mark.

He pokes your cheek.

“A certain someone forgot that she got her lipstick on me. And now she’s accusing me of being unfaithful?”

“I was wrong,” you mutter softly.

He sighs, taking you into his arms again. “Are you still leaving?”

You sniff, burying your head into his chest.

“I’m not leaving. Victor, I’m not leaving in this lifetime.”

[ GAVIN ]

It isn’t the first time you’ve seen the “belle of the police station”.

You always seem to bump into her whenever you’re on dates with Gavin.

Every single time she sees the two of you, she’d wear a surprised expression, as though it’s the first time such a “coincidence” has happened.

You never really suspected that there was anything going on between the both of them. 

But Gavin has been gone for far too long on this mission. You haven’t seen him in a month, and haven’t received any calls from him.

Gripping your phone, you’re filled with worry, anxiety, and fear. You have a bad feeling about this whole situation, but decide to try calling him one more time.

Unexpectedly, Gavin picks up.

“Gavin! How are you doing?”

 “I’m now...”

“Gav! I’m here!”

A woman’s shrill voice can be distinctly heard at the other end of the line, and you find yourself no longer registering what Gavin is saying.

It’s the belle of the police station.

And everything clicks. 

You understand why Gavin hasn’t contacted you even after such a long time.

“Gav~ Come over and play!”

“It’s all right, Gavin. You’re busy.” 

You hang up.

A wave of disappointment overwhelms you, and you huddle into a ball before letting the floodgates open.

It’s really upsetting. It’s really, really upsetting.

You never expected Gavin to do such a thing.

You never expected that he would ever leave you.

You thought loving a person meant loving them for an entire lifetime.

But you forgot that life consists of countless variables.

Perhaps you and Gavin were never meant to walk down the same path.

Perhaps the both of you were simply meant to meet for a moment, love for an instant, then continue down separate paths.

-

Gavin stands in the STF command room, his brows furrowed as he stares at the phone, the officer in front of him silent.

Eli looks at the belle of the police station sternly. “Xiao Liu, what’s the meaning of this? Didn’t you know the Commander was in a call with his wife?”

Xiao Lu shrugs. “Sis-in-law isn’t so petty, right? If it were me, I would definitely not keep Gavin on such a tight leash.”

"Shut up.”

It’s rare for Gavin to exude the dignified air of a Commander in front of his subordinates.

“Intern officer Xiao Liu. Given your ranking, it’s inappropriate to address me by name.” While speaking, he rifles through a stack of papers on the table, retrieving a particular report.

Without a moment of hesitation, he writes a “fail” on her assessment results. Gavin slams the completed report on the table, glowering at her.

“Disrespecting your superior, slow-moving, not heeding orders - I can come to a conclusion right now. You’re not suited to be a part of STF. Return to where you came from.”

With tears in her eyes, Xiao Lu strides out of STF.

When Gavin returns home, his girl behaves the same way as always whenever she feels hurt - cocooning herself in blankets, as though she doesn’t have a sense of security at all. Seeing you like this, Gavin feels a tightening in his chest.

He gently peels open your protective cover.

“Hey, I’m back.”

As expected, your eyes are red and swollen.

You shove him away violently, reminiscent of an injured animal - weak, yet stubborn.

Gavin draws you into his arms unyieldingly, not giving you a chance to escape. Distressed, he plants feather-like kisses on your swollen eyes.

“I did not.”

These three words are simple and plain, but sufficient to convince.

You understand what he means, but you can’t help being unreasonable. “She’s always around. This isn’t the first time.”

“I’ve never cared about her whereabouts. If she didn’t participate in this mission as an intern, I wouldn’t even remember what she looks like.”

Gavin is honest, and he states undebatable truths.

You let out a “hmph.”

“She even called you ‘Gav’!”

“I told her to return to where she came from.” Gavin holds you even more tightly, lowering his head to the crook of your neck so he can drink in his favourite scent.

"You’re being so fierce towards me even though we’ve been apart for so long. Should I do something to make up for it?”

[ LUCIEN ]

You wonder if you should just run away right now.

Standing at the door of Lucien’s office, you watch as a girl leans incredibly close to him.

From this angle, there’s virtually no difference from them kissing.

Words spill from the girl’s parted lips.

“Lulu, you like me too, don’t you?” 

So the pet name wasn’t exclusively used by you.

When did Lucien start losing interest in you?

It makes sense though. You can’t match up to anyone in Lucien’s Research Centre. Everyone here is a scientist who has high intellect and stellar academic qualifications. 

And you? You’re just a producer from a small company.

It’s an almost laughable notion that Lucien would like you.

“Lulu, be with me, okay?”

That girl’s voice carries with it the shyness of one who is confessing her love for the first time. You watch as Lucien stands up from his chair, preparing to respond.

“You’re a good woman.”

“Lulu, I just knew you’d agree!”

You can’t bear to listen for even a second longer.

And you start regretting picking up the phone call.

Maybe if you weren’t so curious, you wouldn’t have to witness this, and you could pretend that nothing happened today,

But you came, and you saw what happened.

You can’t tell yourself that nothing did.

Perhaps you aren’t the best partner for Lucien.

Perhaps you aren’t his only butterfly.

-

Eyes wet with tears, you can barely make out the figures of Lucien or the girl through your blurry vision.

You don’t dare to stay behind and listen to Lucien’s answer, afraid to hear an agreement from his lips. But your legs seem to be filled with lead, forcing you to fully appreciate the scene as it unfolds before you.

Lucien takes a step back to put some distance between himself and the girl. His voice is even more firm than usual.

“You’re a very good woman, but it doesn’t mean that I’ve agreed, nor does it mean that I like you.”

You stop breathing.

“First, I need to correct the way you address me. Given your position, you should be calling me ‘Professor Lucien’.” His clear voice carries with it irrefutable authority.

“Also, I already have a family, and I love my wife very much.” Lucien pauses, a look of longing surfacing on his face. “Just like how the painter only has eyes for the butterfly, she is the only colour in my eyes.

He vaguely notices that the girl before him is tearing up. “To me, you’re no different from the other students. Now, please leave my office.”

He walks to the door and pulls it open. Unable to hide in time, he spots you. Although he’s mildly stunned, he quickly recovers, voice gentle.

“Why are you here?”

“I received a call.”

Considering the tacit understanding between the both of you, Lucien guesses what happened. He directs a stern gaze towards the student in the room, and speaks mercilessly. “Maybe I should have a discussion with the Dean regarding whether a particular student should be allowed to stay.”

He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. Leading you into the office, he lets you sit on his chair, then faces the student.

“Get out of my sight immediately.”

[ KIRO ]

How did things become like this? 

You’re lost in thought, staring at the screen which displays a picture of Kiro at a celebrity dance party.

The funny thing is, the comments left are unanimously supportive.

“A talented man and a beautiful woman - they’re just so compatible!”

What about you? What can you do as Kiro’s girlfriend?

Returning to your own social media page, you’re met with unanimous scathing, humiliating remarks.

Some assert that you snagged Kiro simply because of luck.

Some commented that your subpar looks don’t make you a good match for Kiro.

A small group of fans support your relationship with him.

To be honest, these things didn’t bother you. What you cared about was Kiro.

As long as he loves you, nothing else matters.

But now, it seems like things are going the way you expected them to.

Kiro told you that he was out of the country to film for a movie. Yet, he has been photographed at a celebrity dance party, sparking rumours as a result.

Marketing immediately used this chance to pair the two celebrities together, completely disregarding the existence of you, Kiro’s girlfriend. 

It makes sense though. As a normal citizen, what kind of hot news can you stir?

Why should you be a party to this mismatched love?

Perhaps he’s suited for someone better.

Perhaps being with him is simply an incredibly beautiful dream.

There will inevitably come a day when one has to wake up from a dream.

It’s time for you to wake up.

-

The television is off, and your electronic devices are placed as far away from you as possible. The door to the house is locked, and it’s even bolted with an anti-theft chain that you’ve never used before. All the photo frames featuring the two of you are placed face-down.

You don’t want to hear about anything related to Kiro. All you want is to live in a tiny, empty world belonging only to you.

After calling you for the eighth time only to be notified that your phone has been turned off, Kiro has a bad feeling in his gut.

Savin thrusts a laptop into Kiro’s lap. “Look at what’s trending on the Internet.”

Puzzled, Kiro stares at the screen. The more he scrolls through the pages, the more his eyes darken, and his golden hair faintly turns a shade paler.

“Savin, arrange for a press conference immediately!” Right now!” Kiro whips out his phone, calling you once more. “Miss Chips, please pick up.”

“I’m sorry, the person you are calling is currently unavailable...” The cold, mechanical female voice drones on.

Kiro takes out his notebook laptop, checking the surveillance feed of the house. He sees that you’re seated on the bed, staring out the windows in a trance. Fingers flying across the keyboard, he hacks into the control system, connecting his webcam to the television.

In an instant, his frantic face appears on the television screen.

The sudden lighting up of the television gives you a fright. Seeing Kiro’s face, you feel the burning sensation in your eyes returning.

Miss Chips, don’t believe the fake information on the Internet. I...”

“Kiro, the press conference is ready!”

Savin’s work efficiency is as stellar as always.

“I’ll have to trouble you to hold this laptop.” He turns towards the screen again. “Miss Chips, watch this. Don’t leave, and don’t be upset. I’ll be back soon”

-

“Aside from collaboration for work purposes, I have absolutely no personal relations with her. As for the false rumours on the Internet, my legal team will officially take action, and will also protect my fiancé’s reputation.”

Fiancé? He hasn’t even proposed.

“Also, in front of everyone on the Internet, I wish to propose to my Miss Chips.” Kiro walks in front of the press conference table, taking out a ring he has prepared since a long time ago.

He kneels down on one knee in front of the laptop Savin is holding.

“Miss Chips, will you marry me?”

-

[Cheri’s intrusive thought: I’m imagining how everyone at the press conference would be seeing this LOL]

[ SHAW ]

Unsurprisingly, Shaw’s in Live House.

He hasn’t contacted you for a whole week.

So you’ve been camping in Live House for a week.

It’s been an interesting few days, and you’ve noticed the same girl appearing at his side.

She’s very beautiful, and exudes a certain maturity. As compared to her, you’re clearly inferior.

So why did Shaw pick you instead of her?

Or rather - were you simply a second choice, and will soon be replaced since the true owner of his heart has returned?

The thoughts in your heart spiral into increasingly dangerous waters. 

But the more you think about it, the more you find it plausible.

Shaw seems different when he’s interacting with her. He’s more careful with his tongue, and tends to have a serious expression on his face.

Perhaps he doesn’t show that side of him to just anyone - not even you.

Could this be a sign that he doesn’t love you as much as you think he does?

You’ve gone through a heartbreaking love before, but didn’t expect to experience it again.

Perhaps a sweet romance is unattainable for you.

Perhaps some people have never belonged to you.

-

With a heavy heart, you plan to leave Live House, not wanting to face a break up. Doing it over the phone would be better - he wouldn’t know whether or not you’re crying.

You definitely have to be the one to initiate the breakup. Even if it upsets you, you have to retain your final shred of dignity.

Head lowered as you walk through the entranceway, you bump into Adam, who is just about to enter. Losing your balance, you support yourself on the door frame.

“Eh? Sister? Are you looking for Shaw?” Shock is written all over Adam’s face. “Shaw’s been busy lately.”

You cast a glance inside, but you can no longer see the Shaw nor the woman.

“Mm, I know.”

They probably went into the room. The rehearsal room that you rarely visit...

Completely oblivious to how strange your behaviour is, Adam leads you over to the rehearsal room enthusiastically.

You pause in your steps, keeping your voice calm. “Is it really appropriate for me to enter? Won’t I be disturbing them?

Adam laughs. “No way. Sister, you can just sit at the side and watch without saying anything. They don’t get disturbed easily.”

“I’d better not. I should go.” You decide to retreat, not wanting to hear their sweet nothings, afraid to see how meticulous Shaw is with that woman.

Just as you turn, the door opens.

Shaw stands at the entranceway. “What are you doing here?”

That’s right - you shouldn’t have come.

“I’m off.”

You direct this at Adam, not even giving Shaw a glance.

The woman seems impatient, rushing him to return. “Shaw, why aren’t you back yet?”

“Forget it, you should continue with what you were doing.”

Despite what you just said, Shaw pulls you into the rehearsal room.

Initially expecting that you’d be catching them in a romantic rendezvous, you’re instead met by a table filled with messy clumps of clay.

You stare at the somewhat cylindrical shaped object on the table.

“...this is?”

Before Shaw speaks, the woman pipes up. “Are you Shaw’s girlfriend? I’m the teacher in charge of Ceramic Art Design in Loveland University, and also the wife of his teacher.”

The female teacher turns to Shaw. “He promised that if I were to teach him pottery, he’d not be late for school, or leave early.”

The truth is out.

Your cheeks redden, and you hastily greet her. Then, you sneak a peek at Shaw.

“Why did you bring her here!? I worked so hard to hide for a week, and now it’s all ruined!” He balls his hands into fists and looks like he’s about to beat Adam into a pulp.

“Calm down. Isn’t it good enough for Sister to know that you’re preparing a gift for her?” Adam chuckles.

Shaw’s eyes flit to yours, then he averts them. “Tch, it’s none of your business!?”

A laugh escapes you. 

He really isn’t cute at all.

--

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

[artificialqueens]

Level Up, Chapter Thirteen (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

“You know who this is?”

The boxer on Detox’s screen is pretty. Real pretty. Also one that Vanessa knows well, after watching videos upon videos of professional boxers that Brooke would send her for homework when she had first started training.

“Olivia Lux.”

Detox gives her an approving smile. “Ding ding ding. You know who else she is?”

“Who?”

“Your next opponent.”

Hold up.

“Wait, what?”

A/N: Hi, I'm still alive! Slowly but surely still working on this fic. If you're still here and reading and reviewing, I appreciate you tons. Hope you enjoy this chapter, things are starting to pick up. Thank you writ for betaing <3

Vanessa’s not sure what to expect when Brooke asks her to come to morning practice half an hour earlier than usual, but Detox in a bright yellow suit with her Louboutins dangling off the side of Brooke’s desk is the last on her list.

“Look who it is. The prodigal athlete herself,” Detox smiles as she flips her ponytail over her shoulder, and Vanessa can’t help but be impressed by her full face of makeup at six in the morning.

Brooke is an adorable contrast sitting next to Detox, the rumpled sweats and top knot pairing perfectly with the way she hides a yawn behind her hand. “I tried to get Detox to come by in the afternoon, I really did.”

“Please. I have a flight in two hours and a meeting in L.A. at two today with Serena,” Detox takes a sip of her coffee, her lipstick staining the edge of the paper cup. “This won’t take too much time, don’t worry.”

“Who’s Serena?” Vanessa can’t help the curiosity that brews in her chest with every word out of  Detox’s mouth.

“Williams, obviously. Who else?”

Vanessa whistles, shooting a look over to Brooke. “Damn.”

Detox has Serena Williams as a client? Serena Williams, one of the greatest female athletes of all time? How on earth did she agree to work with Vanessa, of all people?

Because of Brooke. Brooke, who’s currently resting her cheek on her palm as her eyes are fluttering while trying to stay awake.

“Anyway, it’s been a few months. We’re milking that meme of yours, it’s still going strong for now,” Detox hops off of the table, her heels clacking against the floor as she sidles up to Vanessa. “But it won't last forever.”

“Cool?” Vanessa’s not quite sure what Detox wants as an answer, really, though she doesn’t look too satisfied.

“Not cool. You need to keep the momentum going. Catch the low swinging vines while they’re still in reach,” Detox pulls out her phone, her eyes darting over the screen and Vanessa almost wants to climb on her tiptoes to take a peek, but then Detox turns her screen to face her. “You know who this is?”

The boxer on Detox’s screen is pretty. Real pretty. Also one that Vanessa knows well, after watching videos upon videos of professional boxers that Brooke would send her for homework when she had first started training.

“Olivia Lux.”

Detox gives her an approving smile. “Ding ding ding. You know who else she is?”

“Who?”

“Your next opponent.”

Hold up.

“Wait, what?”

Vanessa can’t help the panicked lilt in her voice as she takes a step back, her shoulder hitting the side of the doorframe. Brooke doesn’t look as freaked out as Vanessa feels, which makes no sense because Olivia Lux isn’t another run of the mill boxer. She’s a pro. One of the big ones. She’s at the same caliber that Brooke used to fight at. She has sponsorships and fans of her own, and a damn good left hook to boot. Good enough that she doesn’t even need a last name for everyone on the boxing scene to know who she is. The damn Beyonce of boxing.

How’s Vanessa supposed to fight her?

“This is how you’re going to keep yourself a household name. You’re entering the big leagues, kid."

“But...but…” Vanessa trails off, and maybe she’s fidgeting a little bit but she doesn’t exactly know what else to do, not when Brooke is looking perfectly calm about all of this.

“I’ll get in contact with Olivia’s agent and we’ll drum up some publicity, set up some interviews, get the internet buzzing. Should cause a spike in interest in you, no problem,” Detox types furiously on her phone as she stands up, twirling to face Vanessa. “What are you looking so terrified for?”

Vanessa can’t help but look at Detox as if she has two heads, because really, isn’t it obvious? “She’s gonna beat my ass up, that’s why! You want me to die on national tv for a second time?”

Vanessa’s already gone and humiliated herself enough. Facing someone like Olivia Lux right now sounds like an insane idea, it really does, when Olivia has a penchant for flashing her opponents a grin before absolutely pulverizing them.

“So dramatic,” Detox snorts, waving a hand airily. “I’ve seen your training videos and boxing matches. You’ll be just fine.”

“Fine?” Vanessa’s ready to launch into an explanation of how she’s not going to be fine, thank you very much, not with her level of skill but then there’s a hand over hers, and Brooke’s eyes looking at her all warm and comforting.

“It’s going to be your choice, whether or not you want to do this. Always your choice.” Brooke’s thumb rubs against Vanessa’s hand in small little circles and it slows her heart rate down just a bit, enough to keep it from taking flight. “But if my opinion matters, you definitely have the skills and drive to hold your own against Olivia. You’re better at this than you think you are.”

Vanessa lets out a shaky sigh. “Dunno about that.”

Sure, she can hold her own in the ring at an amateur level, in the easier tournaments where her competitors have a similar level of experience as she does. Someone like Olivia on the other hand, who’s trained for more than a decade and won enough belts to cement herself as a legend on the pro scene...Vanessa wants to cover herself in bubble wrap for protection at the mere thought of going up against her.

She really should have picked a sport like golf. Maybe bowling. Something a little less combat-filled if she has to go up against a pro.

“How about this,” Detox starts, standing up and pulling her trench coat over her shoulders, “give it a week. Think about it, decide, whatever. I’ll put some feelers out, and if you want to do it, we can get the ball rolling. If not, well, you’ll have to break into the professional scene some time or another, doll. Might as well do it at the peak of fame, no?”

“We’ll let her think about it,” Brooke cuts in before Vanessa even has to say anything at all, and she lets out a sigh of relief at the interlude.

Detox blows air kisses in their direction as she heads for the door, a perfect Hollywood caricature leaving in a cloud of perfume that makes Vanessa wrinkle her nose. Detox’s mere presence is an event in itself, one that Vanessa feels like she needs to catch her breath to recover from.

Brooke’s looking at her almost warily, her fingers tapping against the desk with a nervous energy. Quite bold for someone who’d probably do just fine against Olivia.

“D’you really think I’d be able to hold my own against her?” Vanessa finally gets out, because now that Detox isn’t here, Brooke will be honest with her, right? Not reassuring her just to look confident in front of Detox?

“Obviously,” Brooke says with an eyebrow-raise. “Like I said, you’re better than you think.”

“But that last match-”

“You think a pro boxer has never lost a match before?” Brooke asks, before letting out a sigh. “Boxing isn’t about how hard you can hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.”

Vanessa scoffs. “You did not just quote Rocky Balboa to me.”

“Sure did. And it’s true. You’ve lost a match. Cool. Fifty fifty chance of that happening. So how are you going to come back from it in the ring? Are you going to let it keep you from boxing again?”

“No, not that, I just…” Vanessa trails off, trying to search for the right words, “how am I supposed to fight against someone like Olivia? Or try and stage a comeback against a pro?”

Brooke’s lips curl up at the edges, a smile on her face that Vanessa doesn’t quite understand. “Y’know, you’re technically a pro.”

“What? No I’m not. Gassing me up like that ain’t gonna work,” Vanessa scoffs, crossing her arms, but Brooke looks unfazed.

“The definition of a ‘pro’ encompasses someone who has sponsors, who accepts prize money. You’re there, aren’t you? Or did I imagine the billboard of you outside my subway station this morning?”

“Another one?” Vanessa squeaks out, because Jesus Christ. Detox never rests.

“You’re already a pro. And your skill level is rising to catch up with you, too. I really think we can get you to be a solid threat to her, Ness, I really do.”

The sincerity in Brooke’s eyes is almost jarring in a way, because Vanessa knows she’s not joking. Not that she’d joke about something like this, but...still. Brooke believes her own words.

“And you’re really not just saying that?” Vanessa mumbles, because it doesn’t hurt to check one more time just in case she’s going to change her answer.

“I’m really not. Like I said, you’re better than you think you are.” Brooke, to her credit, isn’t looking exasperated with her, despite earning the right to be, and instead, she smiles. “And if you really want to increase your chances of winning, I can always push you a tad harder in the gym, make your conditioning and strength workouts even more intense. Is this your way of asking for it?”

“Now hold on just a second,” Vanessa squeaks, holding both of her hands up in front of herself. “I’m a little too young to experience a heart attack. Still got a baby face and all.”

“You know, I bet Olivia’s pushing herself in the gym right this second,” Brooke says lightly, her smile growing when Vanessa huffs and crosses her arms.

“Well, when you say it like that-”

“Atta girl. Now come on,” Brooke says, sliding herself off of her desk and holding out her hands to Vanessa. “Time to sweat.”

“Lord, have mercy.”

Time is malleable in the professional sports world.

The seconds in between a knockout and the referee making the call can feel like hours, meanwhile months of training can feel like a whirlwind in preparation for a match that creeps up all too soon. Brooke is not sure how two months have passed since Vanessa’s signed on for the fight with Olivia Lux, how their training plan is reaching the peak in anticipation of the match that’s now only a few days away. Vanessa’s everywhere, across from her in the gym and on the advertisements lining the subway cars on her ride home. She’s there when Brooke closes her eyes to sleep and pictures drills in her head that she’ll try out the next morning in practice, and she’s also floating in Brooke’s consciousness when she’s yanked from her dream at 4:30 am by the alarm she’s set to get to the airport on time.

Their flight to L.A is this morning. The match against Olivia is tomorrow. Brooke’s certain that Vanessa’s more ready than she’ll ever be, if her grit at yesterday’s practice is anything to go by.

So why does Brooke’s chest feel full of knots?

The knots loosen a tad when she sees Vanessa stumble out of her apartment building in a losing battle with her suitcase handle, as the sun casts pinks and oranges along the sidewalk. Brooke hops out of the Uber that they’re sharing to the airport to help Vanessa haul the suitcase into the trunk beside her own, and the smile that Vanessa shoots her warms her up on the inside, despite the chilly morning bite in the air.

“Now tell me why we couldn’t book a respectable flight in the afternoon? Why the hell are we leaving at the ass crack of dawn?” Vanessa asks behind a yawn as the car starts to move, and Brooke lets out one of her own.

“Because we need time to drop things off at the hotel, and fit in a training session before weigh-in and media this afternoon, and not to mention heading to bed on time to get a good night’s sleep before the match tomorrow-”

“Oh, I’ll get a good night’s sleep after waking up this damn early, I’ll tell you that,” Vanessa grumbles as she rubs her eyes, and Brooke has to hold back a laugh when she tugs her hoodie over her head.

“Aren’t you used to waking up early for practice, anyway? This is only a couple of hours more.”

“I need every minute of beauty sleep I can get, with all those interviews Detox lined up for today,” Vanessa mutters. “You’d think this was the royal wedding or some shit. Two boxers, united in holy ass kicking, on this beautiful autumnal afternoon-”

“That’s the spirit,” Brooke snorts, leaning back in her seat.

There’s something about Vanessa’s presence that always soothes the nerves tingling along her spine, slowing down the thoughts in her brain that run too fast while on autopilot. Just a smile and a wisecrack from under Vanessa’s breath is enough to let Brooke exhale and relax her previously tensed posture. Even when Vanessa doesn’t believe it herself, she has the tendency to reassure Brooke that everything is going to work out. Or at least, as much that can be worked out when partaking in a pro fight for the first time.

Despite the unspoken pressure of what’s to come Vanessa’s still grinning, quips rolling off of her tongue that make Brooke crack up and cause the other passengers in the terminal’s waiting area to shoot them dirty looks. It doesn’t stop as they board the flight either, if Vanessa’s woop of excitement as they reach their seats is anything to go by.

“You mean to tell me Detox booked us in first class? Bitch, I ain’t ever even sat in Economy Plus before. Shit.”

“Perks of becoming a meme, huh?” Brooke asks, storing her carry-on in the overhead compartment.

“I feel bougie as hell now,” Vanessa whistles, though lets out a huff when the shelf is too high for her to slide her own carry-on bag into place.

Brooke grins, plucking the bag from her grip and pushing it in for her. “You didn’t feel bougie when Prada sent you a PR package last week?”

“Nah, but this is different, y’know? One of those things you always hope to eventually do, even when it feels far fetched. This makes it more real.”

Brooke gets it. She remembers first experiencing the perks of her dad’s success - the sponsorships, the connections, their move from their tiny apartment to a penthouse suite. It was the little things at the time that had made it feel real - like the fact that her dad had stopped buying the value brand juice boxes for Brooke’s lunches, and instead went for the kool-aid jammers that everyone else in her class was bringing in. The smaller, minute differences felt more significant, in a way, with the larger changes in their lives at the time more of a fever dream.

“What’re you gonna watch?” Vanessa asks, thumbing through the entertainment display on the seat in front of her. “I’m thinking Toddlers and Tiaras.”

“Seriously?” Brooke asks, raising an eyebrow on the overly hairsprayed child displayed on Vanessa’s screen. “That show freaks me out.”

Vanessa shrugs, crossing her legs on her seat. “That’s the beauty of it. Can’t tear your eyes from the car wreck.”

“I’m gonna stick with Nashville, I’m already in the middle of a rewatch, so may as well keep going,” Brooke shrugs.

“Ain’t that the show on country music? Lord Jesus, you are so white,” Vanessa shakes her head, tutting under her breath.

Brooke scoffs, crossing her arms. “It’s a good show! You can’t talk, not when you’re watching toddlers with spray tans.”

For as much as Vanessa defends her choice of show, she doesn’t watch much of it, not when Brooke notices her eyes slipping closed and her head starting to lean forward before jerking backwards every so often. The déjà vu that flares in Brooke’s chest when Vanessa’s head settles onto her shoulder is inevitable, when the movement mirrors their trip to that fateful tournament where Vanessa’s boxing journey completely changed trajectories. In a way, some things still haven’t changed - the way Vanessa’s eyelids flutter as she sleeps, the soft rise and fall of her chest. Vanessa snuggles in even more against her shoulder as she mumbles under her breath, and the wave of affection that goes over Brooke is the same as what it would have been on the way to that tournament.

She has to ignore Yvie’s knowing words that worm their way into her brain, the ones that have become more and more prevalent over the last few months - you’re into her, she’s into you, why don’t you just tell her how you feel? It’s that easy, and you won’t have to mope anymore. The words that she always scoffs out whenever Brooke has a faraway look on her face, or after Vanessa leaves their apartment after another movie night. Yvie’s perceptive, a little bit too perceptive for her own good, because she’s seeing things that shouldn’t even be there.

Brooke isn’t into Vanessa, because she can’t be. What kind of predatory coach falls for their student?

The way her heart flutters when Vanessa smiles at her is irrelevant, as is the way that she always puts on Beyoncé for their morning warm up just to make Vanessa happy. It doesn’t matter.

Because any coach would do everything in their power to make their athlete happy. It doesn’t mean anything more.

Besides, Vanessa doesn’t feel the same way. Not when her smile lights up her face with everyone she meets, not when her banter and jokes are the same with Brooke as they are with her other friends. She’s friendly and considerate and perfect because that’s just who she is, not because she has feelings.

Yvie’s often wrong, anyway.

Though it doesn’t stop Brooke from imagining what things would be like if she could press a kiss to Vanessa’s temple as she sleeps, or maybe rub small circles onto her palm with her thumb. Provide that reassurance for the fight ahead even while she’s asleep, keeping an eye out for her the way she deserves. Wrapping her arms around her at night because they can share a bed rather than have separate rooms and hey, Brooke would definitely sleep better if Vanessa was in her arms because she felt the same way and-

No.

She can’t.

Thoughts like that aren’t helpful, not when they have no realistic way of happening. Besides, Vanessa’s type is probably more towards the male athletes at the gym. She’s never indicated anything to the contrary, no matter what Yvie says.

Brooke really needs to stop her brain from running full steam ahead with unlikely scenarios that’ll stay fictional forever. Besides, there’s a fight to focus on. One that’ll be the biggest of Vanessa’s life so far. It would be selfish of Brooke to derail it because her heart flutters a little more than it should when Vanessa smiles at her, or speaks in that soft voice that she only uses when she’s feeling pensive, or-

Christ.

The pilot overhead announcing the impending descent and landing is almost a blessing, because it causes Vanessa to stir against her shoulder and Brooke can push away the idiotic thoughts threatening to take over her consciousness, and instead focus on how cute Vanessa looks when she’s blinking away sleep.

“We here already? That flight was five minutes long, max.”

“That’s what happens when you sleep the entire journey,” Brooke murmurs, resisting the urge to tuck a loose lock of hair behind Vanessa’s ear.

Vanessa yawns. “You make a good pillow. I swear, I slept like a baby. You take reservations for that shoulder, at all?”

“What, you want to rent it out to sleep on? That’ll cost you way extra,” Brooke replies, ignoring the longing in her chest that would gladly let Vanessa rest on her any time she wanted.

“I got venmo and cash app. Your choice,” Vanessa giggles, leaning back against her seat. “It’s part of coaching duties and all, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Coaching duties,” Brooke mumbles.

That’s all it is. It can’t be anything more, not when the chance of it ever happening is close to zero.

Brooke really needs to go back to thinking like a coach.

“Why don’t we live in L.A? We could go to the beach after practice every day if we wanted to,” Vanessa huffs out between breaths, before taking a swig from her water bottle.

The view of the parking lot from the hotel’s fitness room is a far cry from the ocean, but Vanessa remembers seeing a sign during their Uber ride earlier today indicating that they were near a beach. A girl can fantasize.

Brooke drops her hands, her boxing pads swinging slightly. “Two words: L.A. traffic. You’d also miss your mom and sister way too much.”

“I’ll give you that,” Vanessa concedes. “My sister? Nah. My mom, though? Neither of us would cope without each other fifteen minutes away.”

“I think that’s sweet, though,” Brooke smiles, before lifting her pads back up, an unspoken signal for Vanessa to go for another round. “It’s nice that you two are so close.”

“Yeah, until she’s poking around my apartment and folding the clothes piled on the chair in my room, and going on about ‘ay, Vanessa, you’ve folded your socks all wrong and did you call your Tia Luisa for her birthday yet? And don’t forget about dinner next Friday, you better bring the tostones because there’s no way I’m cooking absolutely everything, okay?’”  Vanessa tops off her impression with a snap of her fingers. “Nah, I love it, though.”

She really does. It’s nice, the way her and Alexis and her mom have remained such a close family unit, through everything. As much as Vanessa huffs and puffs when her mom begins a lecture two minutes after entering her apartment, she truly doesn’t mind.

“It means she cares,” Brooke grins. “C’mon, one more round and we’re done for the day.”

“Are you sure? Ain’t it not enough?” Vanessa asks, and she doesn’t mean to let her voice waver the way it does, but Brooke gives her that knowing look and grabs her shoulders in a way that tells Vanessa that she’s definitely noticed.

“What have we been doing for the past few months, hm?” Brooke raises an eyebrow, and Vanessa has to resist the urge to huff.

“Training.”

“And how many hours a day have we been training?”

“A fuck ton.”

“That’s what I thought,” Brooke shrugs, before her eyes soften just a tad. “You’re ready, okay? Even past the physical part of it. Do you think I’d make you write an analysis on Olivia’s fighting techniques just for fun?”

“I still can’t believe you made me do that,” Vanessa replies, wrinkling her nose. “I wasn’t my English teacher’s favourite in high school, lemme tell you that.”

At least Brooke hadn’t minded when Vanessa started her so-called paper with ‘let me tell you something,' or when she threw in some barbs about the weaknesses in Olivia’s fighting techniques.

“It did help though, I can’t lie,” Vanessa concedes. “Watching so many of her fights and breaking everything down.”

“You know how often I go on about boxing being as mental as it is physical,” Brooke shrugs. “No point in going into a fight without a plan. We’ve planned for months. You’ve worked on this plan for months. Do you really think you aren’t ready?”

Vanessa sighs. “It’s not that, I just…” she trails off, slumping slightly as the words she’s been trying to shove out of her brain fight their way to the forefront. “What if I lose?”

She’d lost her most recent match and became a meme as a result. What if her so-called career as a pro will be nothing more than getting her ass kicked and getting made fun of? Vanessa’s a sucker for punishment, sure, but she’s also not a clown.

Brooke shrugs. “Then we prepare for your next match. But what makes you so sure that will happen?”

“I mean, I got thoroughly whooped in my last match, and I haven’t fought since then-”

“Then what do you call our daily sparring where I really don’t hold back against you anymore, at all?”

Brooke’s revelation makes Vanessa pause. “Wait, really? You don’t go easy on me?”

Vanessa’s always thought that Brooke fought at an unattainable level as a pro - someone unstoppable, someone that Vanessa should aspire to be like. But if Brooke isn’t holding back against her anymore, then…

“As you’ve improved, I’ve pushed you harder and harder. You don’t think you’re still at the level you were at when you walked into my gym with press-ons, do you?”

The disbelief in Brooke’s expression is mixed in with pride and a twinkle in her eye - a look that Vanessa always strives to get out of her during training, one that makes her stomach flip in excitement.

“So what you’re saying is, I can whoop your ass,” Vanessa grins, and Brooke’s eye roll is immediate.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far. Olivia, though? More than capable of whooping hers. You’re ready, Ness. You really are.”

With the way Brooke is looking at her, part of Vanessa may be finally starting to believe it, too.

[worldwidemochiguy]

expectation ≠ reality (18+)

When you first met Jungkook, he was so kind, with wide eyes and a sweet smile, but soon enough he dragged you into a tumultuous marriage where you were barely allowed to draw breath on your own. But, when you meet Taehyung, the cute delivery boy with blond hair and a penchant for flirting, you start to wonder if you’ve found your second chance.

Masterlist

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, slight dub-con, graphic penetrative sex, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE A MINOR pls im not tryna get arrested or anything

Word Count: 4K 

a/n: thanks to @gucieguciekook​ for requesting !! hope u enjoy lol <3

Expectation ≠ Reality

You have had enough.

From the moment you agreed to marry him, Jungkook had been getting steadily worse and worse. He had always been possessive to a fault, but you mistakenly saw it as a sign he truly cared and treasured you. You cooed over his obsession with littering hickeys all over your neck, blushed when he called you ‘Mine. Only mine.’ When he asked you to move in way too quickly, you thought it was a sign he was committed to your relationship.

How wrong you were.

Not that he isn’t committed, of course. God, if there was ever a word to describe Jeon Jungkook, it was committed. He is obsessed with you. He slowly started cutting you off from the outside world, persuading you to stay in when your friends invited you out, and convincing you they were terrible people when they inevitably stopped interacting with you. You had cut out everyone else in your life because of him. 

Your parents:

babe, they don’t approve of our relationship because they don’t want you to be happy with your own life, they want to control you and treat you like a kid. you don’t need them anyway, you have me. 

Your coworkers:

i called in sick for you today, babe. you don’t need to go there anymore, i have more than enough money for the both of us. 

Even your pet:

your cat? oh, i’m sorry baby, she got hit by a car. no, don’t cry, baby, now you can give all of your attention to me instead of that rancid furball. 

Jungkook had isolated you and exhausted you to the point where you agreed to marry him, convinced it could not make your life any worse. 

Again, you were wrong. 

With his ring on now your finger, Jungkook is even more assured of his ownership of you. You are no longer allowed to cook or go into the garden, both deemed as dangerous activities where you could somehow be harmed by a vegetable peeler, or maybe grass cuttings. You have no access to the internet, and the only books you are permitted to read are simple, dull books with no plot or dusty old historical text books, obviously the only things Jungkook is certain wouldn’t give you ‘silly ideas to confuse your pretty little head.’ 

~~~~

“Jungkook,” You murmur, voice muffled as he presses your face into the pillow.

“Yeah, baby, say my name just like that.” He grunts, attempting to tug off your skirt with one hand while the other is fisted in your hair. You roll your eyes and shift your weight so he can take it off properly. After he had separately ripped all your pants at some point in his haste to take them off you, you had realised it was simply easier to wear something less finicky.

As soon your lower half is bared for him, he starts running his large palms greedily over your skin, for his own benefit rather than yours.

“Fuck, look at you.” He mutters, before digging a thumb into a bruise he had left on your ass. You yelp and he chuckles lowly behind you. Just as you expect, he presses firmly on the bruise and you clench your teeth, burying your nails in your palms and refusing to make a noise. He waits for a second, but you remain stubbornly silent. 

“Huh,” he says, “I guess baby’s pain threshold has risen a bit, yeah?” He strokes a possessive hand between your shoulder blades and you repress a shiver, before he loops his arm around you and lifts you onto your hands and knees.

“I guess I’ll just have to fuck you harder then.” He resolves, before shoving himself into you roughly.

Jungkook is not small, putting it lightly, though you hate to afford any kind of praise to that bastard. He is long, and thick, and you really hadn’t been very turned on at all, just letting him do what he wanted so that he’d leave you alone, so you don’t blame yourself too much when a scream bursts out of your lips. You can barely hear his smug laugh behind you over the burning sensation in your core. He doesn’t give you any time at all to adjust, roughly pumping himself in and out as you try to hold in your whimpers.

“So fucking tight, baby.” He grunts in your ear, punctuating his words with harsh slaps against your thigh, “You sure you can handle my cock?” This is his offer: Admit that I’m hurting you, admit that you’re weak and at my mercy, and I’ll stop. That’s all you have to do.

You clench your teeth and press your face into the pillow again.

He sighs behind you, though you can tell he’s quietly pleased, before pulling out of you and walking away. Him yanking out and leaving you roughly stretched and exposed to the cold air is almost as painful as when he shoved into you in the first place, and when he returns you resent yourself for feeling the slightest hint of relief. 

He is carrying a bottle of lube, normally used for when he decides he wants to fuck your ass instead. You tense up, preparing to swallow your pride and beg him not to — it’s been a while and you’re not sure you can take the pain — but he senses your fear and smirks.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m just gonna make it a bit easier for you.” As he speaks, he’s slicking up his cock and soon enough he’s getting back up on his knees and taking ahold of your hips, pushing himself in slightly gentler this time. 

The coolness of the gel soothes — but doesn’t eradicate — the burn and Jungkook has started to move in long, rolling strokes inside you that are almost pleasant. 

“See, baby?” Jungkook coos as his hands move around to stroke your stomach, “I don’t want to hurt you, you have to know that. I hate hurting you, but you never tell me to stop. You have to know your limits, baby girl. You’re just not strong enough.”

His words — though patronising, and awful, and the kind of thing that make you want to whack him in the neck with one of those massive historical tomes he provides you — are spoken in that soft, Jungkook tone that he used to make you fall in love with him. It reminds you of those days when he was just Kookie, your cute study partner with a bunny smile and a pretty singing voice and broad muscly shoulders that flushed along with the rest of his body when you complimented him.

The Jungkook that you know him as now — the one swiftly bringing you to a reluctant and resentful orgasm — is the opposite of soft. He is rough and impulsive and controlling and you honestly fear what would happen if you tried to ask him for a divorce. He wouldn’t let you go, probably. He’d just laugh at you, and then shove you down and fuck you to make you remember who you really belonged to, like he is doing now.

You try to contain your pants as Jungkook starts a series of staccato thrusts. You are sure Jungkook would hear you, even over the obscene sound of his hips slapping into the back of your thighs, and would be obnoxiously proud about it for the next month. He would already be smug enough having made you come, which you have given up trying to stave off because Jungkook — damn him — is really good at fucking you until you can’t remember your own name. 

He reaches around to pinch your clit harshly and you decide that now is as good a time as any to give up your last remaining vestiges of pride. You come with a piercing whine, clenching around him rhythmically until his hips stutter and you feel the unpleasant sensation of warmth spilling into you. He doesn’t stop, pumping every last drop into you and then dropping on top of you, pinning your body to the mattress. 

After a while he rearranges himself so that he is spooning you, arms wrapped stiflingly tight around your waist, and his now-flaccid cock still tucked inside you. You grimace. Jungkook had always fallen fast asleep after sex, but now you are wide awake, hyperaware as he snores behind you. You don’t know what you’ve become. You hate him. But sometimes he says things that make you wish he wasn’t a monster, that make you wish he was the boy with soft smiles and expressive eyes that you had fallen in love with. You live for the resurgences of that humanity, because it is the only thing you have to look forward to, apart from the eventual day when Jungkook finally snaps and kills you.

~~~~

“Jungkook,” you say over breakfast, and he looks up with his cheeks full of pancake.

“Yes, my angel?” He asks, eyes twinkling — he loves when you say his name — and your breath catches, and for a second everything is perfect and you are having breakfast across from a boy who loves you more than anything. And then you see the annoyed glint in his eye — you hadn’t immediately answered his question — and you come crashing back to bitter reality. 

“I-” You start, then stop, unsure of how to phrase the question into a compliment, that way Jungkook is more likely to give you what you want.

“Say what you want to say, baby. You know how I hate to be kept waiting…” He gives you a shark’s smile. 

“I… I really loved all the books you gave me.” You tell him, making sure your voice is exactly the correct tone of gushing admiration.

“Really?” He replies, a pleased expression on his face as he strokes your hair back gently.

“Yes, and I- I was wondering if maybe… I could have some more?” 

His hand drifts down to rest at the hollow of your throat. It curls slightly.

“N-not that I’m not grateful-” You stammer, “B-But… I liked them all so much I read them too quickly, and now I have nothing else to do with you’re gone.” You end the statement with a playful pout, and you feel your self-loathing level up a notch. 

“Baby, you have to remember to take your time with things like that.” Jungkook grinned, standing up and getting his briefcase. You move to the door where you are supposed to administer a farewell kiss before he goes to work, just like always. 

He smiles, satisfied, before looking sideways slightly so you can get up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He reaches around to squeeze your ass quickly, smirking when you squeak in shock.

“Don’t be greedy baby, take what you’re given.” He tosses a ‘Love you!’ over his shoulder as he goes, and when you call it back the words taste sour on your tongue. You wonder if you had ever uttered those words sincerely. 

~~~~

You had been thinking Jungkook had forgotten about your request for books, so when the doorbell rings at six o clock and you answer it to see a cute delivery boy with a bundle of books tucked under his arm, you are surprised to say the least. 

“D-Delivery for Jeon Jungkook?” He stutters, and you had been expecting him to have a slightly high, nervous voice so the deep, thick drawl shocks you in more ways than one. You can feel yourself melt just looking at him. His eyes are so… innocent, just like Jungkook’s when you first saw him. His nose cutely scrunches as his blond hair — longer than Jungkook’s — falls in soft clumps over his eyes. He huffs a lopsided breath and the light strands flutter about momentarily, before settling back just where they were. You think you’ve fallen in love.

You realise you’ve been staring at him this entire time, but to be fair, he has been staring right back, and you feel yourself become flustered.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me. That’s my package.”

“Sorry ma’am,” He starts in his honey voice, before grinning. He seems to gain confidence due to your flustered state. “-but this package is addressed to a Mr Jeon Jungkook, and you certainly don’t look like a ‘Mr’.” He mutters as his eyes drag up and down your form. You are only in your nightie — Jungkook always likes it when you wear pretty, flimsy things — and this stranger’s gaze is making you blush in a way you know Jungkook wouldn’t be happy about.

“Yeah, that’s… uh, that’s my husband. Jeon Jungkook.”

“Your husband, huh?” The delivery boy does not seem put off by the mention of a husband, in fact, he seems almost spurred on by it. “And where is Mr Jeon Jungkook right now?”

“He’s working late. He would normally be back by now but he called and said he’s spending the night at the office.”

“Working late, huh?” The delivery boy repeats in that cocky drawl, and oddly enough, it reminds you of Jungkook. “You know, if I had a wife like you waiting for me to come home, I don’t know if I’d even make it out of bed long enough to go to work in the morning, let alone stay there overnight.” 

Your eyes widen as your cheeks darken, and his open, bright laughter is the nicest thing you’ve heard in months.

“What happened to the nervous delivery boy?” You spluttered indignantly, and his laughing slowed down, though his eyes were still twinkling. Just like Jungkook’s used to do.

“He relaxed when he realised you were just as affected by him as he was by you.”

“Who says I’m affected by you?” You ask boldly, and then immediately retreat a step when he moves towards you. 

“You’re giving yourself away, sweetheart.” He smirks, before advancing another step into your home. “You know… empty house… husband at work… it seems a waste not to use this opportunity.” He waggles his eyebrows at you, and you scoff, forcing him back with both hands until he is outside the door again. He lets you push him with a brow raised lazily.

“That sounded like a line from a bad porno, and I’m pretty sure Jungkook would literally kill me if he found out.” You fake a laugh, covering up your very real and valid fear that Jungkook would actually kill you.

“Jungkook’s the possessive type, huh?” 

Yes, you scream internally.

“Well, I’m pretty sure no husband would like delivery boys sleeping with their wives.”

“What about delivery boys visiting their wives during the day?”

You pause, hands floating in midair, about to take the parcel out of the delivery boy’s hands.

“Huh?”

“I could come around in the day while your husband’s at work-” He sped up when you raised your brows, “-not to do anything, or at least, anything that you’re uncomfortable with, but just to talk. I can tell you’re lonely.” You scoff and roll your eyes, ignoring the fact that he’s absolutely correct. You turn back to him, ready to decline his offer, when you see his puppy eyes. Your resolve crumbles.

“I don’t know,” You had no way of telling what punishments Jungkook would submit you to if he found out. He didn’t even let you talk to your parents, so you could hardly imagine he’d be pleased with you chatting to young, attractive men while alone at your house.

“Come on!” The delivery boy wheedled. “He’d never know. He’s practically asking for it, he leaves you alone day after day, all you have for company are these stupid books!” A dismissive gesture to the collection of Austen, Dickens and Shakespeare you are carrying. “Aren’t you bored? Don’t you want a little excitement?”

You tiredly fumble around for an excuse.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“My name’s Taehyung.” He introduces himself promptly. “I’d like to visit you tomorrow at lunch time, if that’s alright.”

“You sure you don’t have a delivery then?” You ask hopefully.

“I don’t.”

You release a weary sigh.

“You’re going to come no matter what I say, aren’t you?” He responds with a blinding grin.

“I love that we’re learning things about each other! You can already anticipate my actions,” He starts listing off ‘facts’ on his fingers, “you know my name, I know you’re trapped in an unsatisfying marriage-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow Taehyung.” You shut the door firmly, cutting him off.

You hear a muffled ‘can’t wait!’ from the other side of the door and if you happen to blush and giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl it doesn’t matter because no one else is there and therefore it cannot be proved.

~~~~

Taehyung starts paying you regular visits. He keeps up his job obligations even when he’s off the clock, bringing you food that Jungkook wouldn’t let you eat, newspapers since Jungkook doesn’t let you know what was going on in the outside world, and even snapshots of his day. 

Taehyung is an aspiring photographer. He has a small apartment outside of the city and an obsession with strawberries and a dog called Yeontan. He has a life, a life that you are desperately beginning to yearn for. Taehyung tells you once that he wishes he could take a photo of you outside, because he knows this perfect spot — a field full of wildflowers and sunshine that would compliment your beauty perfectly — and you burst into tears. 

You tell him, as he rocks you gently in his arms, that you are trapped by Jungkook. That you hate your husband more than anything. That you can’t remember the last time you felt the sun on your skin. And so, quietly, carefully, the two of you begin to plot.

It is not as simple as calling the police. Jungkook has enough money that there is no crime he cannot buy his way out of, no officer he cannot bribe into submission. No, you have to disappear completely. You begin passing along your possessions to Taehyung so he can take them back to his place, gradually, so that Jungkook doesn’t notice you are withdrawing from his life one pair of shoes at a time. 

You daren’t risk taking any money of Jungkook, but Taehyung tells you it isn’t a problem, which is slightly strange since you know Taehyung must have quit his delivery boy job so that he could see you every day, and surely he could do with some extra cash. You tell yourself it’s sweet that he doesn’t care about material things, he just cares about you.

“What are these?” Jungkook asks one morning, when he is greeted not with eggs sunny side up and a kiss, but a stack of papers.

“A divorce contract.” You tell him, trying to ignore the waver in your voice. He only raises an eyebrow at you, and you blanch.

You had been expecting yelling, threats, maybe even violence. Taehyung had begged you to just leave without a trace, and abandon Jungkook to his own horrid life of loneliness, but you just can’t do that, even if it is the safer option. There is still a small, pathetic part of you that clings to the idea of Kookie, the boy with wire-rimmed glasses and carefree smiles who always accepted your help with questions he couldn’t answer. Even though you know that side of him is now long-dead, if it ever even existed in the first place.

However, Jungkook is currently subverting all of your expectations. He sits there calmly, leafing through the papers.

“These don’t make any sense.” He remarks. You attempt to snatch them back, but he holds them out of your reach.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t really expecting you to read them.” You reply, embarrassed. The fake contract had been your idea, a way of telling Jungkook you wanted a divorce without actually saying the words. Of course, you had expected him to fling them into the fire, or something equally as dramatic, not read through them carefully and snort at all the typos. 

“I understand.” He declares eventually. “You want my attention, so you’re pretending that you want to leave me. Very funny, baby.”

“That’s not true!” You burst out, cheeks burning. “I am leaving you, divorce contract or not.” 

“Hush, baby, you know I don’t like it when you lie.” Jungkook purrs, his eyes burning dangerously.

“I don’t care what you like anymore, Jungkook.” You respond, suddenly furious, “I’ve spent so many years as your wife, being terrified by you, being controlled and miserable. Now I’ve got Taehyung, and I’m finally happy! I love him, Jungkook, not you. I’m leaving.” 

You turn away and storm to the door, but hesitate when you hear Jungkook chuckle.

“If you think you are liberating yourself by going to Kim Taehyung… you are wrong, baby.” 

“H-How do you know his family name?” You ask, fear starting to invade your mind.

“I know a lot of things about Mr Kim,” Jungkook spits, and his anger starts to bleed through. “He is not who you think he is, baby. Are you sure you want to go?” His patronising tone is the last straw for you. 

“I’d rather die than stay here with you.”

“Who knows, baby, Mr Kim might just fulfil your wish.” You blanch again, hesitating with your hand on the lock, a breath away from freedom.

“Y-You’re just trying to scare me.” You stutter, and you hear him sigh behind you.

“No, baby, I’m trying to warn you, but you insist on being so, so dumb. I don’t like to see you hurt, remember? But, if this will teach you a lesson about how lucky you are to have me, I guess I’ll have to let you go. Just remember, baby, when you’re with him and it’s not all you expect it to be, I will be coming for you.” As he speaks, he rises from his seat and moves across the room until he is right behind you, his breath ghosting on the back of your neck as you stubbornly refuse to turn, hand still poised on the latch.

“I’m not coming back.” You whisper, and you feel a huff of laughter against your neck.

“No, baby, I’ll rescue you, and take you back. I promise, you’ll be counting the days until you’re in my arms again.”

~~~~

Jungkook watches from the window as your harried form disappears into the distance. Cursing softly to himself, he turns on his phone and pulls up a number he is loathe to possess. 

“So, she left you, huh?” A cocky voice drawls across the line.

“Shut it, Kim.” Jungkook snaps, “She’s still my wife, she still belongs to me.”

“Oh? You didn’t sign the divorce papers?”

“Yes, very funny by the way, Kim. ‘I hereby announce that Kim Taehyung has been our mother’s favourite from the moment of his conception.’ You should’ve become a comic instead of a criminal.” Jungkook reads a line from the fake files. 

“Well, I could say the same to you, baby brother, allowing your wife to leave you like this. It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in years.”

“Half-brother.” Jungkook growls. “And she hasn’t left me.”

“The tracker I planted on her begs to differ.”

“She’s just…” Jungkook huffs, “Confused.”

“No, she’s just got good taste, obviously.”

“You really are pathetic, stealing your little brother’s toys like this, hyung.” Jungkook taunts. “Soon, very soon, I’m going to come and get her back. I better not find her too broken when I get there.” 

Jungkook hangs up, mutters a curse under his breath, and then starts planning the inevitable gang war he’s going to have to embroil himself in because his wife can’t keep her damn legs closed.

[thepigeonsopinion]

So, "Hack San" was released...

The episode "Hack San" has finally been released and here I am now, about to go on and on about the episode :) But first let's do a small summary or synopsis of the episode!

Warning: Spoilers to the episode "Hack San"

Summary:

The episode starts off with Marinette trying to make up excuses to stay in Paris/home, instead of going to London to visit her Aunt. So far, all of her attempts have been failures. Marinette then has no choice but to leave Paris with her family. Meanwhile, Gabriel or Shadowmoth creates a new sentimonster with the name of Hack San, which is a virus that allows for Markov to be vulnerable to an akuma. Then, Marinette contacts Alya to meet her at the train station before she is to leave. Marinette gives Alya the Ladybug miraculous trusting her to protect Paris while she is gone. Alya has a chat with the kwami's, Tikki and Trixx, in which they tell her the ups and downs of being the holder of the Ladybug miraculous and the guardian of the miracle box. Alya returns to the park that she was hanging out at before Marinette contacted her. At the park, Alya starts to fuss over everyone's emotions, mainly if they are feeling any negative emotions. Meanwhile, Markov is effected by the virus and is akumatized by Shadowmoth and becomes Robustus. Robustus then (through the internet) takes control of people and orders them to give him their most prized possessions. While on the train, Marinette's parents are affected by Robustus, which leads to Marinette being captured by Robustus. It is then Alya's responsibility to protect Paris. Alya transforms into her version of Ladybug, and while she is trying to find her new super hero name she is met with Chat Noir. Chat Noir does not immediately trusts the new super heroine and suspects they are the villain. However, this distrust is cut short because of the akuma Robustus still being at large. Robustus orders everyone to capture Ladybug and Chat Noir. The super heroes hear a person crying for help and while Chat Noir is at first suspicious, Alya heads straight to where the civilian's voice was heard. This turns out to be a trap and the super heroes are forced to run into a building where they are also trapped by Robustus. Alya summons her Lucky Charm to aid her in this situation. Alya or Scarabella receives a frying pan. This leads her to think of a plan to manipulate Robustus to release the people's possessions in exchange for both her and Chat Noir. Robustus agrees to this and releases all of the objects and among those objects is Marinette who catches on quickly to the plan and uses the frying pan to release the akuma. The super heroes are released as well and Alya uses her Miraculous Ladybug. And as always, Paris is saved once again. A few days later, Marinette and her family are back from her trip and Alya suggest Marinette/Ladybug go talk to Chat Noir, and she does. Ladybug and Chat Noir have a talk about how someone knows about Ladybug's secret identity and Chat's new found fear that Ladybug might not be there anymore, in which Ladybug gives him the reassurance that she won't be going anywhere. And, the episode ends.

Yay! Another very detailed and unnecessary summary of the episode! Welp! It's too late now. :|

Anyway! Now onto my opinion or thoughts on the episode!

(Also I'm re-watching the episode as I do this so this might have some unnecessary details. Anyway, carry on!)

First things first the, I know that Marinette is trying to get out of going to London and staying in Paris, but I swear her excuses are getting weaker. I swear she had better excuses in the earlier seasons or is it just me? Not to mention, since Marinette is so desperate to stay in Paris she purposefully trips down the stairs. Damn the dedication and I mean, I know that Marinette needs to stay in Paris just in case, but she has left Paris like three times now, you would think that she would have a backup plan if anything happened in Paris when she wasn't there (and I'll talk about one of her solutions later on *cough cough Scarabella cough cough*). Also, Tom's desperation and persistence for Marinette to come on the trip is kinda amusing. And the not so subtle jabs at the aunt :0

Moving on! Ummm Nooroo and Dusuu you know that Gabriel is RIGHT there right? I mean he could probably hear what your saying. Also, Gabriel are you just deaf or did you not just hear what they said? Because their right behind you. When Shadowmoth made Hack San, was the weird "Haah" sound really necessary? Also, why does the virus, USB thingy low key look like Nino's shirt logo. Are they somehow connected? Or did they just run out of ideas for the design? (Not me being salty over a sentimonsters design) Why the fuck is this robot doing like three things at the same time? I know that he's a robot, but come on.

Hmmmm. No other option you say? What about bringing the Horse miraculous with you like in Startrain? Or use the cosmic suits that can legit let you fly around the world? Come on, let's be honest here giving Alya the Ladybug miraclulous wasn't the ONLY option. Claps to Alya for doing a fake doubting act, but in reality just trying to think of a new superhero name. You almost got me there Astruc, you almost made me thought that Alya had her doubts about taking over for Marinette, but in reality is just super excited to take over. Props to you my dude, props! Also, I'm not going to lie Alya all of your name ideas are kinda weak, I mean the fandom has better name ideas than you do, but then again that is to be expected. Props to the kwamis for putting all the pressure that Marinette has on her back and transferring it to Alya. Thank you for making Alya aware of all the pressure Marinette's under. Even if Alya's probably not going to bring it up and probably will just brush it off. Yes, Alya just keep telling your self that this weekend is going to be totally chill. Not to mention, Tikki being more supportive to Alya than to Marinette, whaaaaaaaaaaa- :0. Alya you just told yourself that this weekend was going to be chill why the heck are you making your life harder for yourself. To be honest, if your acting like this already you deserve whatever is coming for you. Marinette, honey, why the fuck do you need to right down 675 tips for Alya? I mean I get 33 tips even 40, but 675, really? Not to mention, the tip about laughing at Chat Noir's jokes even if they aren't funny just to make him happy, why the fuck do you need to keep him happy he could be mad, upset, or sad and I wouldn't give a fuck :p.

I will say this again, how the fuck does a multi-intelligent robot that is connected the world wide web, that is also doing at least 4 things at the same time get tempted and corrupted by a virus by clicking on a cute kitty cat ad. HOW!?! EXPLAIN THAT TO ME!?!

Okay, so remember when we thought we were actually going to get a canon Marcenial moment. Hahaha welp Astruc you've done it again you have crushed our shipping dreams again. I hope your proud of yourself. Also, the most precious possession to Marc is his and Nathaniel's manga/comic, really?

Damn the amount of times this girl makes us and Trixx second guess that she's doubting herself, like she's done it three times now. Not to mention, why is her ladybug suit more detailed than Marinette's hmmm? I mean, don't get me wrong I like the design, but why can't Marinette have a detailed suit like this? Also why is Alya acting like The Owl? *Hoot Hoot!* I also just realised that the kwamis are a bit territorial, well not Tikki, but Plagg and Trixx have proven themselves to be a bit territorial of their holders.

I love Chat Noir's distrust to Alya as Ladybug because this shows a different side of Chat Noir that Paris doesn't see, but does Alya see this and realize how much of a ass he is? Nope. Also, not going to lie, his distrust kinda amuses me. Carrying on! Chat Noir, I can hear the toxic jealousy from here my dude, you might want to tone it down a bit, you've got a audience here you know. You know, I was expecting him to say his most prized possession was Ladybug, or even his kwami, Plagg, but I wasn't expecting him to say croquettes. OMG! GUYS! IT'S HAPPENING! CHAT IS FINALLY BEING CAUTIOUS FOR ONCE INSTEAD OF IMMEDIATELY JUMPING INTO TROUBLE!!! Also, Chat Noir being responsible whaaaaaaa- :0. Ummm, why the fuck did they just run into a building, when they legit could've jumped out of that mess, like seriously why isn't anyone using their head today?

Moving on! Why the heck is most of this episode just Alya trying to think of a super hero name like seriously, I know it's supposed to be some kinda of gag, but it's starting to get a bit annoying. Chat Noir being supportive to Alya: *slow clap*. When Alya's whole plan is to just to leave everything up to Marinette, Me: Wow! I TOtAlLy didn't see that coming! Hehehe Chat Noir with a pot over his head. You know, I thought upset Chat Noir was enough for this episode, but now we get sad Chat Noir and Ladybug reassuring him, just wow, you have out done yourself Astruc.

AND! That's that end of the episode! So all in all, this episode wasn't that bad? But it wasn't my favorite (maybe one of my least favorite tbh :0) Mainly, because of the appearance of Scarabella and ladybug catering to Chat Noir needs. This is probably mainly because I'm a bit biased, but in my opinion and I will repeat in MY OPINION I don't think Alya really deserves to get the miraculous. I mean yeah, Marinette has given her trust to her and has told her that she is Ladybug, but has she really done anything to show that she deserves that trust. If I'm being honest she has shown more reasons for Marinette not to trust her. One of the reasons being that Alya doesn't fully trust Marinette herself, and the other being that she disobeyed Marinette by telling Nino that she is still Rena Rouge and not telling her that she did so.

Anyway! Those are most of my thought's on this episode. This has been a loooong week for me with the addition of school now. So expect me to be posting more on the weekends than on weekdays.

Anywho! I hope everyone has a great rest of their day. And always remember...

But that's just my opinion (・ε・)

(This week has been soooo tiring and with the edition of this episode and a sneak peek of a new episode coming up, I know it's only beginning. *smiles through the pain :)*)

[keevansixx]

Tumblr+ is a bad idea, but i understand why they are pushing for it?

Ok, how many of us have lived through the purges, watched as they nuked from low orbit all the artistic smexiness in a bout of puritanical fervor, while leaving the bots and blatant unfettered to rampage across this lovely hellsite free range and unchecked? Doing nothing while the shitiness of humanity is allowed to harass and threaten people for posting their hot takes (regardless of whether they are right or wrong)?

yeah, some of us have watched all that has transpired.

This is nothing new....

When you view past the staff statements, all the carefully crafted wording and corporate speak, all that remains is greed, pure and simple....

for some of us, this is a safe haven, a refuge from the rest of the clusterfeck that is known as social media. where individuals can post their innermost thoughts, creative ideas, and feelings to the ether. If the stars are aligned in their favor, while the word gods shine favorably upon thee, and the image deities smile in dank approval, we find other like minded souls piloting their own ships within this digital night that meet briefly to share a like, comment. or reblog before moving on to other horizons. In it’s simplicity, tumblr is almost the last bastion of creative thought left in the entirety of the world wide web. 

for others, tumblr is just yet another extension of their social media psyche, dragging all their real world baggage into it’s pages, hoping that someone out there may offer a solution to their own personal problems (or at least stroke their egos or biases to orgasmic bit) . Activists abound, and are shouting from the digital rooftops “look at me! See! See the violence inherit in the system, help help, i’m being oppressed!”” While the darkest ugliness in certain parts of humanity responds with vile poison and vitriol to ideas that do not agree or align with their own...committing the oldest of digital sins, in the newest of ways. Sad....but i digress.

Tumblr, to it’s corporate and wall-street taskmasters, is not greatly profitable in it’s current form. Sure, they get a little bit of money here and there from all the boring unremovable ads sprinkled throughout everyone’s feeds...but that’s just it. ad money keeps the lights on and the hamster wheels turning in the server rooms, and maybe a pot of coffee or box of stale doughnuts in the break room to keep the hamsters happy, but in the end it’s just enough to keep the site barely alive, while ensuring the devils get their deep pockets full of due.

The question everyone is asking themselves, but don’t know it yet, is...

To just Whom does tumblr+ benefit the most? 

It’s certainly not for the fan-fic artists who create art based on someone else’s works. certainly not for the shit-posters who reblog all the weirdly wonderfully funny and bizarre things the world web has to offer. certainly not for the fanfic writers, who craft the continuing stories of their favorite properties they do not own. definitely not for average joe or jane blogger who basically repost everything that crosses their feeds because they enjoy that stuff immensely, and want to share it all with everyone who follows them. Certainly not for I, who basically just comes here to post fictional stories from pregenerated prompts, whatever pops into my head, and a few reblogs from things that catch my fancy.

So who does that leave? In the Immortal words of Sherlock Holmes, written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, ”When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

For a few original tumblr artists, this may be a boon (but i doubt it). why would you settle for a middleman to get paid for your original art, when you could sell to a direct market off site for prints/merch straight to the customer and making bank? Seems counterintuitive to me to allow a site to step in to earn money off your hard work and creativity. Plus a paywall cuts you off from potential customers who may be interested in your works, but will not pay tumblr just to view your works....kinda shooting yourself in the foot going plus.

Tumblr+ is being built for all the clout chasers that think they will benefit from a blue plus mark (just like on twitter and instagram, go figure) banking on human vanity and obsessive compulsive disorder to bring in the money. (that’s right! buy that blue + mark ya little cash monkeys...spend, spend for that social credit! muahahahaha!)

The other reason is Porn. (don’t laugh...the internet you enjoy today was built on the metaphorical backs of the porn industry. every internet innovation enjoyed in the past 35 years was created, tested, and tried first somewhere to deliver, watch, and enjoy porn. sure it got started on university campuses, but the porn industry made it take off like a rocket to push product) Tumblr can’t beat it...they have consistently shown they are incapable of removing all the raunchy naughty bits from this site. If you can’t beat them, join them. Put all the adult content behind a paywall, set the price, and watch the money roll in as humans just can’t resist watching a good fluff n’ tickle. Set the booby algorithm phasers to “paywall”!  Wanna see that statue of Venus de Milo, or the statue of David? gonna have to pay that monthly fee to see. “Oh, but you’re just an artist drawing artistic nudes as a hobby? too bad! behind the paywall you go too. We want our cut of the share regardless how you may feel about it.” 

basically Tumblr is trying to change the clientele....facts. They hope to draw in the same demographics that make sites like reddit, twitter, instagram, and others profitable to the corporation, at the expense of the long term users that made this site the unique thing it is today. 

but hey, what do i know, i’m just a messed up monkey with an opinion, take it all with a huge grain of salt and live your best life possible....but the cards are not in tumblr+’s favor. 

Everyone has got an opinion on this, that’s all well and good. If you agree/disagree that’s fine too....just remember to be kind in all things, show the wisdom and grace of the best of humanity, take a deep breath before responding, and reply with the best of yourself as you can muster...after all, you’re only human....Ook ook. 

[absolutepx]

So I've been playing Death Stranding lately. Wait, that's not what this post is about. Well, it kind of is. Hang on. What is Death Stranding about?

A: Norman Reedus getting bare ass naked B. Sneaking around ghosts with the help of your sidekick, an actual baby C: Carrying 50 Amazon packages up a hill while trying to not topple over D: Waking up in the morning and drinking 5 Monster Energy™ for breakfast

For those following along at home, the answer is actually none of the above. Despite the set dressing being bizarre to the point of near absurdity, what the game is actually about, like thematically, is actually really simple.

See, the development of Death Stranding was actually quite a trip. Hideo Kojima is the video game world's equivalent of an auteur director. He has a very recognizable personal style. It's thoroughly horny – he caught a bunch of shit for the design of Quiet in MGSV, but like, a lot of Kojima characters are just -like that-, including the dudes. Also, this is going to possibly be important later.

Anyway, so Kojima was going to do a rebootmakequel of Silent Hill, and the demo actually made it to the PS store and I could actually write a whole side essay about why P.T. (it was called P.T. for some reason btw) was brilliant game design for how it used the same hallway over and over and it was somehow beneficial to the overall feeling of horror. So Konami it turns out kinda sucks nowadays and they like, fired Kojima (they were huge dicks about it behind closed doors, too) and scrapped the project and kicked him out on the street and kept the Metal Gear series which was his baby (literally the baby in the sink in P.T., he snuck a bunch of messaging about the Konami situation into the demo like a breakup album) and Kojima would go on to form his own studio and poach some of the people who worked with him to boot. So the thing about Kojima is this: he's got a reputation for already putting some wild shit in his games, like a ladder that takes like 10 real time minutes to climb in MGS3 for dramatic effect, and a boss in MGS3 that summons the ghosts of all the people you were too lazy to stealth past and killed, or a sniper battle with a really old guy that he wanted to have last two weeks or some shit until he died of old age but he was "told that "this was impossible and not recommended." That is a real quote I just looked up. So he's coming off the heels of making this hugely successful game with MGSV and the hype of the P.T. Demo and he fucking, he like took all the people that were going to be working on P.T. Along like Guillermo Del Toro was going to co-write it and Norman Reedus was going to star in it, and he's like, I'm going to make this game called Death Stranding. And the first trailer comes out for it and it's completely nuts. Norman Reedus wakes up naked on a beach crying with a baby and there are floating people in the sky? So we're all like hooooooly shit, there's no one to tell him "this is impossible and not recommended" anymore. What's he going to make now!?

So the whole time the game is in development I keep seeing these tweets where it'll be like, Kojima and one of his homies smiling with some saccharine message about being spiritual warriors and changing the world. And not just Del Toro and Reedus, there was Mads Mikkelsen (another guy Kojima puts in the game just because he apparently loves him), and the band Chvches, and also like, Keanu Reeves at one point? You know how everyone has just kind of accepted that Keanu is a being of light? Here he was endorsing Kojima. The hype was pretty confused and frantic.

The game eventually comes out. A lot of game journos hate it because I think there was this expectation it was going to be, you know, less weird and have more of the conventional structure of a video game. That's not to say the average gamer wasn't also dismissive of it, but I think on the ground level there was more of an understanding that like, yeah, Kojima just be like that sometimes.

Because the game was a timed console exclusive and your homie don't play like that, I spent the first year or so cautiously viewing Death Stranding from a distance. I wasn't sure I was going to like it – except for being really impressed with P.T., I wasn't actually a big fan of Kojima's games as games – but I -was- sure that I was going to buy it, because of the way Konami fucked him over, just out of support. And the shit I was hearing was really out there. The primary mode of gameplay is just delivery packages. You collect Norman Reedus' bathwater and pee and use it as grenades. You get a motorcycle that looks like the one from AMC's The Ride with Norman Reedus, and when you sit on it, his character in the game says "Wow, this thing is like the one from AMC's The Ride with Norman Reedus!"

But I didn't really want to know that much about it. Something has that much fucking crazy person energy, you want to go in mostly blind, right? So maybe people just weren't talking about this, or maybe I wasn't seeing it, but then I watched Girlfriend Reviews' video about it and they came right out and said it (link provided if you want to hear Shelby say it more articulately than me):

Death Stranding is basically about the exact opposite of Twitter. It's about remembering how to be kind to each other, how to reconnect in a world where people are so often hostile to each other by default. Prophetically, it's about a world where people are afraid to go outside or touch other people and how damaging that is. It's not a game about carrying packages, it's a game about helping people by being brave enough to walk through a wasteland carrying their burdens because they can't. It's about rebuilding the lost connections between people, about restoring roads and giving people hope. I bet, for Kojima and the people close to him, it's about how to answer hostility with compassion. You can't kill people in Death Stranding. You can and are absolutely encouraged to fucking throw hands with people sometimes, but all the tools and weapons are nonlethal. So I think Kojima took all the Twitter heat he got over the Quiet nontroversy, and all the feelings of isolation he had from Konami separating him from his team during the end of the development of MGSV, and all the support and encouragement he got from his bros Del Toro and Mads and the rest, and decided to channel that into making a game that was a statement about all of it. And sure, it's a little heavy handed, and sure, it's a little saccharine, and sure, the gameplay sometimes borders on miserable in service of creating emotional payoffs. For me, especially in 2020, this message is a huge success. Social media should be an opportunity for all of us to feel more connected to each other, yet primarily it feels like one of the main forces driving people apart. Why is that? Why is the internet of today such a hostile place? I'm old enough to remember web 1.0: I can haz cheezburger memes; YTMND; the early wild west days of Youtube... What happened to us? I've thrown the blame at Twitter in the past, and I think the architecture of the user experience on Twitter is absolutely a big piece of the puzzle, because it fosters negative interactions. But in terms of the behavior, people have observed that 2018 Twitter was actually almost exactly like 2014 Tumblr. (For the record, Tumblr is now one of the chillest places left on the internet, because so few fucks are left to give.)

I think part of it is the anonymity. The dehumanizing disconnection of the separation of screens and miles. Louis CK, before he was cancelled, had a great point about cyberbullying, and why it's so much more savage than kids are IRL. When you pick on someone in person and you are confronted with seeing the pain you caused them, for most sane people it causes negative feedback and you become disgusted with your actions and eventually learn to stop being a shithead. Online, at best you can "break the wrist, walk away".

At worst, you can become addicted to "clout chasing" and the psychological thrill of being cheered on by your social ingroup. It's even worse if you feel like it's not bullying and your actions are justified because whoever you've targeted is a bad person so you don't have to feel bad about what you do to them. This is where reductive, unhelpful catchphrases like "punch a nazi" come in. For every argument, one or both sides have convinced themselves that the other side is subhuman because their beliefs are so disgusting. And sometimes it's even true! A lot of times, especially these days, people really are acting like animals or worse online. Entire disinformation engines are roaring day and night, churning out garbage and cluttering the social consciousness. (Kojima talked about this bit, too, way back in MGS2. As if I wasn't already in danger of losing my thread through this.)

The human brain was not built to live like this. You can't wake up every morning, roll over and open your phone, and be immediately faced with a tidal wave of anger and indignity. It wasn't built to be aware of fully how horrible the world is at any moment ALL AT ONCE, ALL THE TIME. And you will be. Because of another way that our brain works – the way we are more likely to share negative opinions. And because of the cottage industry built on farming outrage clicks, and because of constant performative activism.

It's not that I don't agree that being informed is important.

It's not that I don't agree that the causes people get riled up about are important.

They are. They absolutely are.

But we can't keep living like this. The constant, unending flood of tragedy, arguments, and hot takes. How much of the negativity we associate with online culture is the product of this feedback loop? What if the rise of doomer culture has been, if not entirely created by, has been nourished and exacerbated by our hostile attitudes toward each other?  Incels and TERFs, white supremacists, radfems, tankies and Trumpers – it seems like on every side of every issue, there are people simultaneously getting it wrong in multiple directions at once and there are more being radicalized every day. They are the toxic waste left behind by the state of discourse. And any hill is a hill worth dying on.

So what am I actually advocating? I don't know. There are a lot of fights going on right now that are important and we can't just climb into bunkers and ignore our problems hoping that Norman Reedus and his fine ass are going to leave the shit we need on our doorsteps. We need to find the strength to carry those hypothetical packages for ourselves sometimes - and hopefully, for others as well. Humans are social creatures. We need interaction and enrichment.

We need love.

So just try to remember the connections between humanity. Try to put more good stuff into the world when you can. Share more shitposts and memes. Tell your friends and family that you love them. Share good news when you hear it. Go on a weird fucking tangent about Death Stranding. Find a way to "be excellent to each other, and party on, dudes."

[jamaiskookie]

How To Ask Your Crush Out: A Guide For Dummies [knj x reader]

⚖ warnings: intense amount of crack and very very trashy writing 

⚖ word count: 3.3k (very smol boi today, just wanted to get this little drabble out)

⚖ genre: crackity fluff; my specialty :-)

⚖ A/N: been preparing for halloween so forgive me for the short fic, i’ve been pUMPING out content for you guys recently. 

masterlist asks 

⚖ synopsis: Prof. Kim Namjoon is pleased and delighted to present his new class: How To Ask Your Crush Out For Dummies; A comprehensive, follow-along six step guide for the introverted and shy. 

A triumphant Kim Namjoon jumps into frame in front of the huge chalkboard in a huge lecture hall, holding a piece of white chalk in one hand and a pointer in the other, with a slightly maniacal grin stretched on his face. His black thick rimmed glasses are crooked and skewed, sitting on the bridge of his nose, completely lopsided. He’s been awake for- oh he doesn’t keep count. Possibly 28 hours by now. 

“Good afternoon, everyone!”  (It’s 6 in the morning, and nobody is in the audience.) He stretches out the long, metal chalkboard pointer, who he has named Bertha, and smacks it against the chalkboard. It echoes through the empty hall. He secretly loves the sound the long pointer makes. It’s so satisfying, and the fact that he got it on Amazon Prime for only like 2 dollars makes the sound so much better. 

“Welcome to today’s class!” He’s still talking to an empty room. It might be the desperation in him, or just his good ole’ friend sleep deprivation fueling his somewhat insane behaviour. “Today I am completely focused on solving the greatest mystery I have ever encountered in my lifetime. Arguably, this is the most scrutinised cold case ever seen in the world. Today we’ll be tackling: How To Ask Your Crush Out. Would anybody like to start off by introducing themselves, their crush, and how long you’ve been infatuated? Hm?” Crickets. 

“Ah, there’s nobody here!” Namjoon exclaims cheerfully, as if he only just realised. He swings back, turning to the chalkboard and continues teaching. “My name is Kim Namjoon, or Professor Kim to you,” Again, completely empty room. “And I have had a crush on Y/N L/N for almost two years now.” His smile falters when he realises it really has been two whole years. Clearing his throat, he smacks an A3 sized picture of a pretty girl onto the chalkboard. 

You are wearing a long cardigan sweater in the photo, candidly reading with headphones wrapped around your neck. Namjoon has written a barely visible small ‘Y/N, October 4th’ on the top corner of the picture. He’s always had a bit of a photography hobby, but his pictures always seem to turn out better when you are the subject. 

It’s a bit odd how you look so much better when you don’t know he’s taking a photo. All the selfies and old pictures from university he has of you are just as beautiful, but there’s something ethereal about you in your natural state. Sitting down and reading a book in a library. That photo is miles better than any of the stupidly extensive photo-ops you plan out for your Instagram pictures. He stares at the photo before turning back to the (imaginary) class. 

“Let me introduce the- as the kids say- lomél. I believe this is an abbreviation for Love Of My Life. L-O-M-L, if anybody wants to write the spelling down.” He swerves Bertha around to point at your picture. “This,” He says, seriously. “Is Y/N L/N, my… my friend since freshman year of university. I have never confessed my feelings to her, despite trying many, many times. Today, we’re going to trouble-shoot and hopefully solve this problem, while examining a shy person’s abilities to socialise and freely have a love life.”  Namjoon ignores the small voice in his head that mentions how a successful Philosophy professor who speaks in front of hundreds of students every day such as himself should be able to say ‘I like you’ to the girl he’s had a painfully obvious crush on for the past two years. 

“Step ONE:” Namjoon yells, writing a big ‘1’ on the chalkboard. “Do not start off a confession by mentioning a Confucius quote if your crush is not in the philosophy or ethics community! They will not understand no matter how obvious it is!” On the chalkboard, he draws an old man with droopy eyebrows and huge beard- Confucius. Then he draws a huge circle around it and crosses it out with a line using so much force he almost breaks the piece of chalk in his hand. 

“In fact, just don’t mention anything about philosophers! And don’t try to confess to them through a math problem, they will not understand!” Namjoon winces. He learned that one the hard way. (He asked you to isolate ‘1’ in ⅓ < 3, which is a seventh-grade level inequality. You had pushed him away and yelled at him for making you do math. The answer to the inequality equation would have been 1 < 3u.) ((1 < 3u = I <3 you. He thought it was pretty obvious.)) 

He draws a subtraction and addition sign and draws another circle, crossing through it. 

“Step TWO!” Namjoon shouts, cringing at the horrible scratchy noise the chalk makes against the board. “If you do get the chance to confess to them and manage to get through without substantially embarrassing yourself, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT laugh and agree if they ask if you are joking! They will! Laugh along with you! While you try! To hide your pain!” 

“I cannot emphasise this enough!” Namjoon is basically screaming by now. He hopes nobody from campus comes in to complain. The picture of you on the board with the symbols that he’s drawn along with the big ‘FLIRTING AND DATING 101’ written on the top of the board could lead to some severe misunderstandings. “Do not laugh if that ever happens again- I mean, if it ever happens to you! It’s more likely than you would think if you are in love with a dumbass! It will happen! Misinterpretations and concerns will happen! Learn from them!” Namjoon writes a huge ‘laughing to hide the pain = bad ❌’ onto the board. 

“Does anybody have any questions?” More crickets. 

“Okay then, moving on!” Namjoon writes a ‘3’ below the notes for step 2. “Step THREE: Confessing via call, facetime, or handwritten letter would be optimal for the average introvert. I suggest a handwritten letter would be best for this kind of confession. Still not ideal, but it gets the job done. Can someone tell me why a handwritten letter would be better than a call, facetime, or anything on the internet?” Without waiting for his non-existent introvert class to respond, he snaps his fingers, a satisfied look on his face. “That’s right! Facetiming or hearing your crush’s voice would be too nerve wracking and inevitably, you’ll mess up and say something like ‘Did you know that Barbie’s real name is Barbara Millicent Roberts’ instead of ‘I’ve liked you for two years’...  I do not speak from experience.” 

Awkwardly, he clears his throat again, averting his eyes from literally nobody. “Texting would not be good! Texting is considered insensitive and is not a good way to confess your feelings. If the idea of a face to face confession is too intimidating or not ideal in your introverted situation, the aforementioned options would be your best choices. I strongly advise you to stick to those three. In order of a likelihood for a successful confession, it goes: Letter, facetime, then call.” He writes ‘letter > facetime > call > speaking in real life (?)’ on the board.

“hoWEVER,” He says, pointing at the large ‘3’ he wrote with Bertha. “If you do end up choosing to write a handwritten letter- write this down, this is an important note- do NOT forget to sign your name! Your crush will end up throwing it away thinking it’s a random admirer or a prank. MAKE SURE TO WRITE THIS DOWN!” On the board, he writes down ‘My name → Kim Namjoon.’ He nods thoughtfully. “Yes,” He says. “It’s important to write your name.” He mutters it over and over, staring glazed at the words written on the board. 

Close to bursting into tears, he grabs a hold of his hair and cradles his head in his hands. “Why didn’t you write your fucking name, Namjoon?” He frustratingly mutters to himself. Sighing, he puts his hands on his waist, marvelling at what he’d written so far. The peaceful silence doesn’t last for very long. 

“STEP NUMBER FOUR!” It’s not like him to be so loud. It’s probably a good, balanced combination of his lack of sleep and being alone with his inner thoughts. He’s pretty sure he has an alternate personality who thinks he’s Freud. Freud occasionally throws in some pretty deep psychoanalysis prompts for him to consider when he can’t sleep. 

“If… And only if you build up the courage to ask her out in person-! Well, firstly, congratulations, we’re all very proud of you. Secondly, do it in public! You might be thinking, Professor Kim, why on earth would I want to do it in public? Getting rejected in public is so much more horrible!? Well, BELIEVE ME, UNBELIEVERS- Getting rejected in public is sO much better than getting rejected in private! Due to our tendency to not draw attention to ourselves and the way we like to shrink in public, it’s much more likely that we won’t break down in tears if we get rejected in public! Well, once you get back home, you might start breaking down, so maybe this is just a temporary solution, but it’s still better than sobbing in front of your crush when you devastatingly get rejected!” 

Knitting his brows together, Namjoon corrects himself. “Not when you get devastatingly rejected, sorry. If. If. Yes, if. If you get devastatingly rejected. Come to think of it, in a purely logical way, you have a 50/50 chance of succeeding in your confession. ‘I like you, do you like me?’ That’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? A confession is exactly the same as flipping a coin! You have a 50% chance of getting heads, 50% chance of getting tails. Either way, you get on with your life despite getting heads or tails. So… the odds are kinda in your favour!” 

“Except when you flip a coin, you wouldn’t get nervous to the point where you accidentally push the coin into a mud filled pond where the coin’s favourite shirt got ruined so then the coin proceeded to ignore you for the next two weeks, making it the most miserable two weeks of your entire life… But that probably won’t happen again.” Namjoon mutters underneath his breath.  “Coins don’t wear shirts anyways.” Somehow, that seemed to comfort him. He writes down ‘coins can’t wear shirts’ on the chalkboard. 

“Step number FIVE!” Namjoon shakes his head, taking a sip of the espresso that’s been sitting on his desk for hours. “What was step number five agai- oh right. Step number five: look your best!” Namjoon catches sight of his reflection and winces. “Okay, maybe I don’t have a great example right now.” He reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, almost puking when he feels the amount of grease and gunk buried in his scalp. He should probably shower. And get some sleep. His eye bags do not look very attractive right now. Maybe he should get a haircut too, it’s kinda getting wild up there. In his own defence, he’s been standing in this exact pair of sweatpants and glasses for the past couple hours, so he smells a tiny bit. Don’t girls like it when guys wear grey sweatpants? Frowning, Namjoon makes a mental note to do some research later on. 

“Shower, change, put in contacts, cologne, flowers…” Namjoon starts writing a to-do list onto his small notebook. “Would she like flowers, actually? Is it misogynistic of a guy to bring flowers or is it just a cute, nice gesture? Am I overthinking this?” His phone vibrates in the middle of his feminism breakdown, and he pats his back pockets before realising his phone was across the table. He grunts as he leans over to pick it up, and thoughtlessly, he accepts the call and brings it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Your voice is both a comfort and a shock to hear so early in the morning. He can already see you sighing aloud and scrunching up your nose cutely, a habit you picked up from him himself. He does it when he’s embarrassed, but you do it when you’re angry. It doesn’t really work because now whenever you get mad he just swoons and gushes over your cute nose and chubby cheeks. 

“aH- Um… What time is it?” Namjoon fumbles around, jumping up. 

“It’s like 7 in the morning? Hello, you promised to come workout with me today? Come open your door, I’ve been ringing your doorbell for forever, but I think it’s broken. I’ll call the repair guy for you later.” Namjoon lets out a nervous laugh, guiltily looking at his shoes even though he knows you can’t even see what he’s doing right now. 

“It’s already seven? Wow, time flies really fast. I’m- ” He yawns, bringing the phone away from his ear for a moment. “- really tired.” A beat passes by. How is it possible that he can hear you get angry at him from here?

“Namjoon.” Another awkward laugh rings through the lecture hall. 

“Ahahha. - Yes?” 

“Are you at work right now?” You ask, voice suddenly turning stone cold. 

“Um, well, that’s a debatable question. See, is it really, honestly my work if I love doing it? Sure, it makes me a living, but of course I don’t consider it to be my workplace, you know? Like, I get to come in and do what I love every single day, educating the next generation. It’s actually a really bad mindset because once you refer to your job as ‘work’ you don’t-”

“Namjoon.”

“Okay yes, I’m at work.” He relents, pushing his glasses up and sighing. 

“Joon, it’s seven! Like, seven in the morning! Have you been in there since you clocked in yesterday morning?” You ask worriedly. 

“Uhh, I think so?” To be honest, he’s been here for two nights already, crashing out on a beanbag and brushing his teeth in the staff bathroom when he needs to. 

“Namjoon!” He mumbles out an apology. “What the hell could you have been doing in there? You don’t even have that many classes this week!” Namjoon lets his eyes trail over to the chalkboard, then back down to his notebook. 

“Uh… it’s kinda complicated?”  

“Okay, okay, I’ll come home now, don’t worry!” He says, even before you can demand he take care of himself. Sometimes, you’re just a teensy bit overbearing. It’s a messed up miracle he managed to fall in love with you in the first place. 

“Be careful, okay? It’s flu season, too, so you really can’t be this reckless! You’re literally going to drive me into an early grave, for fuck’s sakes. You’re always fussing over how overworked I am, so how could you not take care of yourself? That’s so hippo- hypo- ugh, what’s the word?” 

“Hypocritical.” Namjoon says into the phone while packing up his things. 

“Hypocritical, yes. You better be here in ten minutes or less, Kim. Come home, take a shower and then sleep. I’m guessing you have done neither of those things since yesterday.” Namjoon doesn’t have the decency or humility to give you an honest answer, so he just stays silent. His eyes are still fixed on the chalkboard. Where was he at when your phone call interrupted? Ah, yes. Step number six: ‘I love you.’ Step number six was a piece of advice he had gotten from Min Yoongi, a music theory professor who taught just a couple minutes away from Namjoon’s office. He’s been dating Jung Hoseok, another mutual friend of Namjoon’s, for a few years now. 

“What do you mean?” Yoongi just blinked when Namjoon asked him, stared blankly at him, lips threatening to pull up into a smirk. 

“What do you mean, ‘What do you mean’?” Namjoon said, huffing. “How did you confess to Hobi?” 

“Bro,” Yoongi said, now freely laughing at Namjoon. “If you can’t confess to her, just wait until you get around to thinking about proposing. Never been more nervous in my life, swear to god.” Namjoon had never been a violent type. Up until he met Yoongi. 

“Just- tell me how you did it, would you?” Yoongi gave a rare, small smile and beckoned him closer. He leaned in, about to tell Namjoon a big secret. 

“Just say it.” He whispered into Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon rolled his eyes, pulled away and rested his head on the sofa. 

“That’s the most useless thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“No it’s not!” Yoongi also leaned back into his seat. “Just say it. ‘I love you.’ It’s nothing difficult. Just say it!” Namjoon scoffed and left, but Yoongi called something out while he was walking away. “Hey, you’re going to lose her if you don’t do anything.” Namjoon froze, but continued to walk. Yoongi watched, two seconds later, amused as Namjoon came rushing back in, sat himself down on the sofa and demanded Yoongi tell him everything he needed to know. 

Thus, his six steps were born. 

If Min Yoongi, a person who is possibly even more shy and even more introverted than Namjoon, (Which is a big feat) can ‘just say it’, he should be able to do it easily. Namjoon nods to himself, rolling his head back and cracking a neck bone. 

Taking a deep breath, he speaks into the phone. 

“Hey, I have something to tell you.” 

“It can wait,” You say. It’s so like you to ruin a love confession, Namjoon thinks, laughing. “Come home, go sleep for a couple hours, then we can talk. It’s not important, is it?” He stares at the chalkboard, letting out a satisfied exhale. 

“Nope.” He says. “Not that important. I’ll tell you later.” 

“Okay,” He hears you grunt from the other side of the phone, shuffling around. “Hey, I’m gonna hang up first, I’ll wait for you to get here. Where’s your spare key again?” 

“Underneath the compartment in the hanging plant. Yeah- the one above the front door.” He hears the familiar jingle of his keys and your adorable ‘a-ha!’ from the phone, and his smile stretches wider. 

“Ohh, okay, got it. Thanks! You don’t mind if I go in first, right?” 

“Nah.” 

“Okay, bye!” Before he says it back, you hang up, and he’s left with an annoying beeping sound that repeats in his ear. He misses you, Namjoon muses to himself. He hasn’t seen you for much too long. Happily, he skips to the back of the lecture hall. (which he then immediately regrets when he finds out his legs don’t work properly after staying in the exact same position for hours without end.) He doesn’t even mind that you’ll see him in this horrendous state if he gets to see you fuss over him again. Your soft side coming out is like spotting a rare bonsai tree on sale in a run-down store- extremely special and only happens once in a while. 

Okay, that analogy was really bad, he just really wanted to mention his bonsai trees.

He spares one last glance to the filled chalkboard. With good luck, nobody will walk in and see that mess all over the board. He’d probably get fired. 

“I love you.” He says to himself. Maybe Yoongi was right. It does sound pretty easy. Namjoon walks out of the lecture hall, switching off the lights and running off to see you. 

Kim Namjoon’s Six Steps Towards Confessing Your Love: Introvert Edition

Do not refer to anything academic or clever in your confession. 

Do not laugh when they ask if you are joking once you confess. 

Letter > facetime > call

Confess in public. 

Look your best!

Just say it. 

⚖  wanna talk to professor!joon? or add yourself to the taglist?

[new-sandrafilter]

Timothée Chalamet and Eileen Atkins Interview - British Vogue May 2020

“Maybe your knuckles weren’t bleeding, but there was ice,” Timothée Chalamet tells Dame Eileen Atkins. He is recounting, with no small amount of awe, how he first came to hear of the legendary 85-year-old actor with whom he is about to appear at The Old Vic. It transpires that Oscar Isaac, Chalamet’s co-star in the upcoming blockbuster Dune, was at the receiving end of Atkins’ fist in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood (all in the name of acting, of course). Chalamet was duly impressed.

“I gave him the worst time of his life,” says Atkins, bristling at the memory, before merrily launching into several candid, very dame-like stories from her time on set – “That was a nightmare movie. A nightmare.”

It is a Saturday afternoon in late February, and the two actors – one a titan of British theatre with an eight-decade career; the other, Hollywood’s most in-demand young leading man, with an insatiable Instagram following – have just finished being photographed together for Vogue. Chalamet, 24, in louche, low-slung denim and a white T-shirt, has folded his Bambi limbs into a chair next to Atkins, whose hawkish frame, in a navy jumper and jeans, belies her 85 years.

“Do you like being called Tim or Timothée or what?” Atkins asks in her warm but brisk RP, all trace of her Tottenham upbringing erased.

“Whatever works,” he replies in a bright American accent, that shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes. “Anything.”

“So you won’t object to ‘darling’? I call everyone darling. I’m told I mustn’t say it these days.” He assures her he is fine with it: “It’s a rite of passage, being called darling by Dame Eileen Atkins.”

“You always, always, have to put the dame in, otherwise you can’t address me,” she jokes.

It’s good the two are getting all this sorted now. A couple of days after our interview they will begin rehearsals for a seven-week run of Amy Herzog’s play 4000 Miles, in which they star as a grandmother and grandson, each quietly dealing with their own grief. Chalamet takes on the role of Leo Joseph-Connell, a somewhat lost 21-year-old who experiences a tragedy while on a 4,000-mile-long cycle ride with his best friend. Atkins plays Vera Joseph, his widowed 91-year-old grandmother, upon whose Manhattan doorstep Leo unexpectedly arrives in the middle of the night, unsure of where else to go. What follows is a wonderful, and wonderfully witty, study in human relationships, a portrait of two generations with decades between them trying to make sense of the world.

Its stars, who’ve met twice previously, in New York last year, are still very much getting to know each other – and are confident in the appeal. “There are things like this play – hoping I don’t butcher it – where you can just sit back and go, ‘Oh, this is a delicious meal,’” says Chalamet. Atkins agrees. “I have a phrase in mind that I shouldn’t really say because it’s going to sound terrible in print.” Which is? “I find it a dear little play, a really dear little play. I think it should be very moving. But who knows? We might f**k it up.”

It’s unlikely. Atkins has been a regular on The Old Vic’s stage since the 1960s, going toe-to-toe with greats from Laurence Olivier to Alec Guinness, and fellow dames (and close friends) Maggie Smith and Judi Dench. Chalamet, meanwhile, is a relative novice, with only two professional plays under his belt. But since his turn as Elio in 2017’s Call Me by Your Name (for which he was Oscar-nominated), his celluloid rise has been meteoric. Roles in Lady Bird, Little Women, The King and Wes Anderson’s upcoming The French Dispatch have not only earned him the slightly fraught badge of “heart-throb”, but proved him to be among the most captivating actors of his generation.

He says he couldn’t resist the opportunity to come to the capital. “There was something exciting about doing a play that feels very New York in London,” Chalamet explains of taking on the part. He’s a diehard theatre fan, too, revealing he saw the six-and-a-half-hour epic The Inheritance – twice. “There are films like The Dark Knight or Punch-Drunk Love or Parasite that can give you a special feeling. But nothing will be like seeing Death of a Salesman on Broadway with Philip Seymour Hoffman or A Raisin in the Sun with Denzel Washington.”

Herzog’s writing particularly spoke to him. “Leo’s in a stasis that was very appealing to me,” he continues. “We find our crisis in moments of stasis, but there’s an irony to it when you’re young, because the law of the land would have you think that to be young is to be having fun, to be coming into your own. But as everyone at this age who’s going through it knows, it’s often a shitshow.”

It’s safe to say that, in casting terms, director Matthew Warchus, also artistic director of The Old Vic, has hit the jackpot. He first took the play to Atkins three years ago, but it was only towards the end of 2019 that Chalamet came on board. When it was announced, in December, that Hollywood’s heir apparent to Leonardo DiCaprio would be making his London stage debut, the news was met with a level of hysteria not usually associated with the 202-year-old theatre’s crowd.

“Oh, my friends have told me who the audience is,” Atkins chimes in when I ask who they think will be coming to see the show. “It’s 40 per cent girls who want to go to bed with Timothée, it’s 40 per cent men who want to go to bed with Timothée, and it’s 20 per cent my old faithfuls.” Is Chalamet prepared for the onslaught? “I think it will be 100 per cent Eileen’s faithfuls,” he demurs.

On the surface, they can seem quite the odd couple. Chalamet, raised in Manhattan by an American dancer-turned-realtor mother and French father, an in-house editor at the United Nations, may be living a breathless, nomadic movie-star life but there’s an iron core of Gen Z earnestness there. He arrives on set with minimal fuss, even deciding to wear the clothes he came in for one shot, before knocking out some push-ups, politely ordering an omelette and generally being divinely well-mannered.

He turns on the star power for the camera, though, and I can confirm it’s as dazzling up close as it is on the red carpet, where he has, famously, casually redrawn the rules for male dressing. From that Louis Vuitton sparkly bib at the 2018 Golden Globes, to a dove-grey satin Haider Ackermann tux at Venice last year, he’s a true fashion darling. Then, of course, there’s his dating life – from Lourdes Ciccone Leon to Lily-Rose Depp – that remains an endless source of fascination to millions worldwide. (All this, it must be said, is of significantly less interest to Dame Eileen.)

Atkins started dance lessons aged three, shortly before the start of the Second World War. By 12, she was performing professionally in pantomime, not far from where she grew up in north London, the youngest daughter in a working-class family. A fast-established theatre star, wider fame didn’t find her until late in life. Despite memorable turns in Upstairs, Downstairs and Gosford Park, it was the 2000 television hits Cranford and Doc Martin, when she was in her early seventies, that finally made her a household name. Today, she lives alone in west London, since her second husband, the TV and film producer Bill Shepherd, died in 2016. She has often spoken of being happily childless, and has zero time for razzmatazz.

And yet, despite their differences, the pair appear perfectly matched. They already have their grandmother-grandson dynamic down pat. Atkins does a fine line in mischievous eyebrow-raising, and at one point recites a limerick that is, honestly, so rude it almost makes her co-star blush. Chalamet, meanwhile, is politeness personified, still trying to work out his thoughts on various subjects, less inclined to give so much of himself away. There is a physical likeness, too, in their delicate features and fine bone structure. They share a naturally melancholic look, one that melts away when they laugh.

Their upcoming play, which premiered to rapturous reviews Off-Broadway in 2011, “about a block” from Chalamet’s high school, LaGuardia, could have been written for them. “Other than not being American, I’m very like the old woman,” says Atkins of the Pulitzer-shortlisted play. “I can’t be bothered to learn the internet.” If there’s one thing she won’t tolerate in rehearsals, it’s people on their phones. That’s the only thing that will “piss me off ”, she says, brusquely.

Ah, phones. Are they really the symbol of generational disconnect? “It’s easy to point to these things,” Chalamet says, tapping his phone on the table, “as the cause or the symptom, but I think my generation is a guinea pig generation of sorts. We’re figuring out the pros and cons and limits of technology.”

Equally, Atkins is keen to distance herself from some of the criticism levelled at her age group. “There’s a saying isn’t there: if you’re not very left wing when you’re young, you’re heartless. And if you’re not very right wing when you’re old, you’re foolish. I’m not political, but I’m not with this government I can assure you – and I’m not with Brexit. I wanted to wear a sweater saying ‘I did not vote Brexit’, because it was all old people who did. Not me, not me,” she snaps. “I went on the march.”

Both are in agreement that intergenerational friendships are too rare these days. “So. Important,” Chalamet says, hitting the table between each word. “There is so much to learn from people who have walked the path of life. That’s why I’m so looking forward to these next couple of months.”

Atkins is thoughtful on the matter. “I don’t miss the fact I don’t have children, but I do envy my friends who have grandchildren,” she says. “About five or six years ago I met a couple of young people – they are just about 30 this year – and, do you know, we go out together. And people immediately say to me, ‘Are these your grandchildren?’ And I say, ‘No.’ And they say, ‘Your godchildren?’ And I say, ‘No, they’re just friends.’ Everybody thinks there is something weird about all three of us. They just don’t get it. But the boy makes me laugh more than anybody and the girl is enchanting. I have more fun with them than I do with almost anybody else.”

I remind Atkins about her description of today’s youth as being overly serious. “I do call them the New Puritans, yes,” she says, before motioning to her young co-star. “He probably drinks like a fish.”

Chalamet, currently single, is remaining tight-lipped about plans for his new London life, and how many late-night manoeuvres in Soho or Peckham it may involve. “I’ve got friends here, which is nice. But I’m here for this – to be terrified at The Old Vic.”

Before we leave, there is a final thing to clear up – Atkins’ aforementioned limerick. “Do you know about the Colin Farrell situation?” Eileen asks Timothée. No, comes his reply. “Better get it over with now because someone will tell you,” she says, proceeding to explain how, when she was “69, about to be 70” and filming Ask the Dust with a 27-year-old Farrell, “he made a pass at me. He came to my hotel room. He was enchanting. I let him chat for two hours, thoroughly enjoying it, but no not that. He was very cross I didn’t.”

But then, she explains guiltily, she later told the story during “some stupid TV show” (Loose Women), where despite her best efforts at keeping Farrell’s identity secret, the internet did its thing and news got out. An apology to Farrell was required. “So I left a limerick on Colin’s phone…” she says. She clears her throat: “There once was a **** of a dame…” she begins, in her imitable theatrical timbre, before reeling off one of the filthiest rhymes I’ve ever heard.

There is a moment of stunned laughter. “Wow, that’s sincerely amazing,” comes Chalamet’s response, as Atkins finishes the verse. He gives her a solemn oath: “I promise I won’t hit on you.”

4000 Miles is at The Old Vic, SE1, from 6 April

[princessofprocrastination]

Just A Bet (GeorgeNotFound)

MASTERLIST

pairing : georgenotfound / george x reader - dreamwastaken/dream / clay x reader

summary : you’re just a bet to him. that is, until he realizes that you’re someone with a title. he scrambles to pick up your broken pieces, but he doesn’t realise that he’s too late. (angst) (trigger warning) (happy ending)

a/n : here’s sorta a little AU for you guys, don’t take any of this seriously, some things in this are clearly made up. side note ; holy shit i have more than a 100 followers right now. thank you so so much. 

everyone has probably dreamt of being a princess, a real one. for example, when the movie ‘the princess diaries’ came out, people wanted to be mia thermopolis and rule genovia. 

sounds like a dream, that is, to be going to high school and have plenty of paparazzi’s chasing you, or to be able to be recognized everywhere. 

in reality, it is the complete opposite of living the dream. you could barely walk out without being recognized if you didn’t cover up your face in some way. you were restricted to do many things, even to just hang out with your friends to grab lunch. 

to other people, they might just tell you to suck it up, that in the end of the day, you’re royalty, and that these are only tiny problems. 

you agreed, sure. but you did want to smell the fresh flowers outside. you wanted to be able to get food from wherever, with whoever without people’s prying eyes. 

you just wanted freedom. 

to whom might be reading this might be confused. you’re a princess. just like the movie, yes. princess of saudi arabia, you are. 

you are fairly young, still in your twenties. most people your age are out having fun going on a girls night, or still studying for their degrees, or even working right now. 

but you were prohibited to leave the castle. you were told to leave on the queen’s orders, only during meal times.

some days, you really liked it, being a princess. if you weren’t being egoistical, you would say that your face really did suit the royal title. 

you didn’t have to leave your room to make stacks of money. but the problem with that was, what would you do with the money if you couldn’t leave the house?

so you went on the internet. you settled on the internet. with the queen’s permission, of course. 

sure, she can be strict like all the time, but she tried her best to give you your freedom. so she let you have social media accounts. you being you, the public immediately found your accounts. 

you couldn’t find new friends, they were too scared to come across you. so you just entertained yourself. 

this isn’t bragging, but a lot of people knew who you were, but that doesn’t mean everyone does.

since you barely had a childhood, with being born and raised royal, you entertained yourself watching minecraft youtubers. for some reason, it calmed you. 

dream team, as you called the group, caught your eye. you watched all of their videos, caught up with every single live streams of theirs, even followed their instagrams and twitters. 

one morning, when you woke up, you found your instagram notifications fuller than other days. you were fairly confused. that is, until you realised that the whole of dream team had followed you back. 

they definitely know who you are and what you do now, right? they have a large fanbase, surely, they would’ve told the boys. 

your followers, since seeing the boys follow you, have told you to start playing games. you didn’t disappoint them. you asked your parents if you could and they granted you permission to do whatever you wanted. 

they told you “this would entertain the public and love you even more.” and smiled at you. you thought maybe they hit themselves in the head today with the leniency they gave you. but you pushed that thought. maybe they thought you have grown old enough. 

valkyrae, a streamer on twitch had reached out to you after knowing about your gaming desires. she asked if you wanted to join her and her group to play among us together. 

you almost immediately agreed and the rest of her friends welcomed you in with opened arms. 

your mum gave you one condition, that you had to follow in order to film yourself playing games. that is, if you kept yourself poised and respectable. you agreed to her shenanigans and started to play with rae. 

playing with her meant that you met countless different content creators, such as corpse husband and pokimane. they all were super nice to you, even when you had told them that they didn’t have to be nice to you because of your title. 

soon you had found yourself in an amazing group of friends and you felt great about yourself. 

you and rae had sustained such amazing friendship that she had came over to your house multiple times for meals. 

you’d text her “come over to my house, let’s eat lunch.” 

and she’d reply with “your castle you mean?” she jokes around. 

your friendship was loved by many people out there. 

one thing you didn’t say was that not everyone was obligated to know who you are, which then happens to be funny to see when they did end up finding out who you are. 

just the fact that they show such shock to their faces, and the tone in their voice changes. 

“holy fuck, she’s royal.” toast says as he came back from googling your name to know more about how you came about in a game of among us. 

“i’m so sorry for the past rounds.” he apologizes for the time he accuses you for no reason.

“please treat me the same way you used to, i’m just y/n when i’m playing games, definitely not a princess.” you told him. 

you didn’t have a big ego, although your parents did. “they need to know that you’re important.” they told you, but it never stuck to you. you wanted to be respected as a person, for your personalities, not because of a stupid title you were born in. 

sykkuno, rae and you had decided to make an smp, where you three would start building things for fun and stream it. 

you three had enough fun until it got boring, for you to start asking your other friends to join. the first person you offered to tour your little world was corpse since you and him had clicked so well. 

because you started playing minecraft and streaming it, it got the attention of minecraft youtubers. and for some reason, the seventeen year old, tommyinnit had found you interesting enough to talk to you. 

with tommy being that close to you, you attracted tubbo and wilbur soot, as well.

“i am in a vc with a princess.” tommy had said on stream when you two decided to play minecraft along with tubbo and wilbur. 

sure, the teenage boy got a little annoying at times, but you found it entertaining and funny. of course, tommy being tommy, he’d ask slightly personal questions about how royalty works in saudi arabia. 

not that he knew how royalty works in general, anyways. 

“the queen is still my favourite woman, but you come in close second.” he told you once. you laughed at that. 

no big title could stop you from fangirling the moment the man, dream itself had sent you a donation, and then later sending you a direct message. 

“let’s play minecraft together soon, seen me your discord.” he dmed you one day. of course you complied. 

for some reason, you never had the chance to play with george, and you played minecraft with sapnap and dream separately, never together. not that you were complaining. 

you decided on a more chill and laid back stream on that specific day, not really feeling like going on a minecraft server or play among us with your bestfriends when you got a text from an unknown number. 

hey. they sent

who’s this? you sent a text back.

my bad, this is george. they sent a text back to you.

holy shit. why would george text you. sure, you have played minecraft and among us with him sometimes but he isn’t one to give out his number so this was weird to you. 

although you consider to be close to the entirety to the dream team, you often tried to avoid texting them, especially outside of streaming. you didn’t want it to be awkward or tense. 

surprisingly, as your conversation with george lengthened, it became less and less awkward. the more you two texted, the more you felt like you and him had been friends for the longest time. 

being the princess, raised in a castle meant that you didn’t really have a social life. other than being put together with some prince of another country in hopes you’ll fall in love with them or marry them, you haven’t really had a legitimate boyfriend. not even a crush. 

to you, the princes in the world can be arrogant, snobby. they act like they are the most important thing in the world, that if they walk in a restaurant, everyone was to drop all their work for other people to entertain them. 

sure, this could just be the way that they were raised, but you didn’t want that in a man, a husband. it wouldn’t kill to be a little humble. 

princes are also a bore. they live practically the same lifestyle as you. conversations were never interesting, always the usual. 

to summarise this, since you and george have been talking and texting, you had fallen for him. hard. and it seems like he’s feeling the same way, just that the both of you hadn’t really said anything. 

-

DREAM’S POV

being really close friends with someone, more than one person, bestfriends, that is, meant that we had a group chat together. 

nothing constructive was ever said, only boys being boys. 

nick was the one to bring it up. and since he is the youngest, he sure does say some stupid things. 

dude, you should try to get in y/n’s pants. nick asked george in the groupchat.

there was a running joke between the nick and i. george lives under a rock, basically. when everyone was walking on eggshells around you, trying not to offend a princess, he never really cared. 

and that was when nick and i found out that george had no clue you held such a title on your pretty little head. 

you are a beautiful girl, no doubting that. i was sure that many people, even before you started streaming had a major crush on you. george definitely fits right in. he was practically vomiting hearts when he first saw you. 

it was meant to be funny. it was never meant to go this far. nick didn’t mean for his little bet to break a heart, let alone a princess. 

but he did. well, technically george did. he was so brutal with it. he toyed with your feelings, like he had no care in this world. 

no one would’ve guessed that the little cute, short george would do something as bad as he did. 

and now, no one can find you. no one. 

you were there, smiling in front of your camera one day and you were gone the other. just gone. no one knew where you went. 

granted, you are royal. it must not be hard to get people to hide you. but at the same time, you had major reporters trying to find you. and they couldn’t. what does that leave us? 

where did you go? 

come back. 

and although i know you want to hear this from george instead of his friends, you won’t. because he probably doesn’t.

we miss you. 

please just text us, we need to know you’re safe. 

-

YOUR POV

you left. you had to. it had been extremely humiliating. 

you didn’t think someone as sweet as george would do that, it all happened so quick. 

you had flown to england to meet him. he encouraged you to. it felt amazing to leave your hometown, you’ve lived there all your life. you definitely needed to fresh air. 

it took a lot of convincing your parents to let you fly to england. without a doubt, you knew that the only way you’ll get to leave is if you had a guard with you. 

this isn’t that kind of cliche story, your guard could literally be your dad, get your head out of the gutter, you are utterly in love with george, and you were sure george knew that and that’s why he encouraged you to fly to him. 

the first couple of days were fun. he brought you to all over brighton for you to experience what it’s like in england. he told you he wanted you to get your first real experience as a tourist, and that was what he did. 

winding down for the night, you brought him to relax in your hotel suite. frankly, george was surprised that you could afford such a place. but he didn’t want to ask where you got the money from, he didn’t really care. 

all he wanted to do was to complete his dare. his ego was too big to lose this time. 

that night was when you decided to tell him about your feelings about him. you were pretty confident that it was going to go smooth sailing. just the way he treated you showed so much about his feelings. 

so you did, you told him. while you told him that you love him, more than friends love each other, he looked you in the eyes. you weren’t sure what that meant. 

but he smiled. or smirked, you weren’t sure. 

and he kissed you. and the night didn’t end with you just kissing. 

so you thought the night was amazing, that it couldn’t get any better than that. 

that was, until you woke up the next morning. 

-

you woke up, sun shining straight into your suite, curtains wide open. 

although you didn’t really feel the presence of another person in the room with you, you brushed it off. you felt like something was off, that something was missing. 

you rolled over in your hotel bed, to see if the british man was laying next to you. 

he wasn’t. in fact, he was not in the hotel room at all. you checked the bathroom, the small little living room in your suite. he was found nowhere. 

you tried to see if he had left traces of himself in your hotel room, a sign that he was indeed there and that you hadn’t been dreaming it all. 

but the pain between your legs caused by the brit told you that it was all not a dream. 

so you did what a logical person would, text him. maybe he left to get food. 

but you knew that wasn’t the case the moment you had unlocked your phone. 

texts flood in, your social media notifications seemed to not be stopping anytime soon. 

you opened your texts messages. a couple from your parents, a lot from rae, multiple from some minecraft youtubers who you called friends. 

besides your parents, they were asking if you were okay. they were telling you to stay safe and to lay off social media for a while. 

your parents were practically screaming at you through texts. they called you a disgrace, not an honour to the family. you didn’t understand where this was coming from. 

you opened twitter, knowing that it was going to be the easiest way for you to find out what had happened, and why were you involved in it. 

you were trending. number one worldwide. you clicked on your name. your phone left your hand, falling hard to your hotel floor with a loud thud as you covered your mouth with both your hands, crying. 

two pictures. two photos that said it all. 

first photo was of you in bed, obviously naked under the hotel duvet. you were still sleeping. there was light coming from the windows, that showed that it had barely been sunrise when it was taken. 

second photo was what hit you the hardest. you wanted the earth to swallow you from below. it was a photo of your back, very naked back. it was clear that it was a photo that had been taken during sex. 

and it was obvious who you had it with, because he was the one who posted it all over twitter. 

george. 

that was why he left, with no traces of him ever being in the hotel room. 

you weren’t sure what was his motive. but you sure did know that he had completely broke you. 

crying, you picked up your phone from the floor, calling rae. 

“oh my god, tell me you’re okay.” she was panicking on the phone.

“i need to leave.” you told her. you knew that she would immediately understand the severity of the four words you told her. 

since then, you never came back. to the eyes of public, it was as if you never even existed. you were gone. 

-

you moved with rae. 

she had to leave her roommates to settle in with you. her roommates weren’t mad at her for leaving them. they completely understood, you needed the help.

although her roommates wanted to help you, they couldn’t. you needed to have the least amount of people to be with you. 

it didn’t help that they were all content creators, too. 

rae told people that she moved because she wanted her own space, so that she can make better videos. when she announced she was moving, not one person speculated that you had been the reason of her move. 

you paid for the house, you needed to. you owed her. no matter the amount of times she told you that you owed her nothing, that she was just doing it because she loves you, you couldn’t let her pay for a single thing. 

you needed to up your security, too. so you two had decided to get a house that was pretty big, somewhere in the mountains, with top security, away from other people. 

your parents soon calmed down after that day. they told you to come back, the begged you to come back. but you told them that you needed the time alone at that moment, and assured them that you would be okay. 

so they did what parents would. they made sure you were well taken care of. they sent you massive amounts of money, sent your their trusted guards to stay around the house. 

they did this all for you without the knowledge of the public. 

your parents told reporters that you were well safe, and would not be in the public eye, not until you were ready. 

you helped rae film certain videos. well, not like there was anything good to do in the massive mansion, anyways. 

all your social media pages were still up, just not updated. you left everything. you had created a more private one, for your close and trusted friends to follow. 

and you thought that nothing could really top that eventful day in england. 

but it did. 

you’re sat on toilet in on of the bathrooms, rae rubbing your back.

pregnant. it was clearly written on the test.

no fucking way. 

-

in no ways were you ready to be a mother. 

as a little kid, you had dreamt of being a mum, alongside a successful man who took responsibility. 

you never would have seen yourself to be a mother alone, with the help of your bestfriend. 

you never thought that you would be a mother, whose dad is someone who clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you. 

rae stayed with you all the time. even through the gross vomit sessions in the morning, or all the time, in your case. 

but you were in no way shape or form ready for a child. you had to raise a child on your own. even the thought of that had emotionally drained you. 

weeks after you found out you were pregnant, you were significantly getting more moody, and rae knew that. 

she made sure you ate well, slept well and kept up with eating vitamins each day. that was until, you couldn’t take it all anymore. 

maybe it was the stress. well, it was the stress. 

you blamed it all on the emotional toll the pregnancy took on you. your body was practically screaming for help. help that you need, but you weren’t in the right head space to offer the help to yourself. 

it was a typically normal day for rae and you. besides rae screaming in her gaming room while streaming, it had been pretty quiet. 

you felt queasy, but you pushed it off. it was normal for you nowadays. everything almost made you throw up. the look of something, the smell. 

but on that day, it was a different type of feeling in your stomach.

one second, you were walking into the kitchen, trying to get some water, and the other, you were on the floor, in pain. 

you screamed. this was the worst type of pain you’ve felt in your life. you screamed for anyone who could hear you. you were sure that even rae’s stream could hear you, but you didn’t care. 

soon you heard multiple footsteps. one of your guards came to your aid before rae did. he supported your head on his lap, him sitting on the floor. 

he told the other guard who came soon after he did to call the ambulance. 

that was when you finally found out what was happening. 

“holy shit, she’s bleeding.” rae repeated to herself. 

you were bleeding? that wasn’t good, right? that meant bad things, doesn’t it?

you felt like you were floating, like your limbs were as light as a feather. that was because you were losing consciousness. 

you lost it. you lost it and found out it was a boy. 

now the two boys you love more than your life aren’t here with you, forever. 

you cried for weeks, rae next to you, making sure you were still alive and eating. she was the only one that stayed by your side in real life. sure, your online friends did care about you, but they just couldn’t be there with you. 

clay and nick had always been texting you, sometimes calling to try their luck, clay mostly. you knew they cared about you, and they wanted to make sure that you’re okay. but you felt embarrassed. you didn’t want to face anyone, even if people kept saying that you did nothing wrong. 

apparently rae’s stream heard your scream, and that was how rae found out that you were in danger. she couldn’t hear through her headphones, but her chat kept spamming her about it, and that raised alarms. 

they kept asking about the ‘mysterious girl screaming’ in rae’s stream. it was short lived, though. rae told them that she had a friend over and that they were injured, and that rested the chaos for a little. 

you were sure that some people knew you were living with her. most of them were almost like detectives, after all. 

you didn’t blame the stans. it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that you would live with her, anyways. 

since the awful day at the hospital, you have texted clay and nick. you wanted to tell them that you were okay, that you aren’t hurt, at least not physically anymore. 

it didn’t take you long to start calling clay daily again. other than rae, you didn’t really have anyone. so you told clay. 

it felt weird talking about a baby that used to be in you to someone whose bestfriend was the dad of. but he completely understood you. sure, he couldn’t say for experience, seeing as he clearly can’t get pregnant, but he supported you, made sure you let it all out to him. 

you and clay grew close, almost bestfriends. although you and nick were close, he’s still in college, and that meant that he usually didn’t have time to talk to you as much as clay did, and you didn’t blame him. school can be a pain in the ass.

but you still made sure to never keep nick in the dark. as much as clay is one of your bestfriends, so is nick. 

clay made sure never to talk about george to you, which deemed to be difficult since they had been friends for years. he had accidentally slipped his name out to you a couple times, but you were sure he didn’t meant to do that. 

other than the usual “george has been sleeping like a log” and “he slept through the smp war.” you hadn’t heard anything else about him, but it seemed like he was doing well. 

clay had told you about the bet. 

“nick brought it up, but we didn’t think he was actually going to go through with it.” the floridian said. 

you aren’t the type to hold grudges, not even if they did you really dirty, so you told clay that you were on the path of being fully healthy and that he didn’t need to apologise for his friend’s behaviour. 

“are you ever going to come back?” he asks you in a facetime call. you knew exactly what he was talking about. he wanted to know if you’d ever come back on the internet. 

you didn’t even know the answer yourself. you weren’t sure. so you told him that. 

“maybe, maybe not. who knows.” and that was months ago. 

you had plenty of time to heal, to get back on track. but nothing could top your pain of losing your child, that you never got to hold, to kiss, to spoil. 

telling your mother about the loss of your baby was the hardest. she is a traditional woman, always telling you to get married before bearing children, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love the baby you were carrying in you. 

she cried on the phone, sobbing, hiccupping. you wanted to hug her so bad, she even asked you when you’d come back, but you told her you needed time, but you’d be there soon. 

for some reason, although you got maximum hours of sleep each day, you still felt exhausted. you consulted a doctor, but he told you that it was normal since your body is still fragile, but the exhaustion never really went away as months go by. 

being bored at home, and hearing rae having fun made you feel lonely, it made you feel like you were left out. so you made the decision to come back. not to stream, but to appear in rae’s videos.

rae and the rest of the group welcomed you with open arms. they were caring and made sure you felt comfortable again, not stepping any boundaries. not that you cared, the public was bound to know everything soon enough. 

so you did that. 

you were playing proximity chat among us, with the usual people. at that point, you and the other nine people were still in the lobby, chatting, until corpse sounded out. 

“what have you been doing nowadays?” harmless question, in your opinion. 

you didn’t want to hide anything anymore, and rae knew what was about to happen.

“been having a lot of rest. doctor said that i’m still fragile.” you told corpse. 

“are you sick?” toast asks. some people would’ve been offended at that question, or take it the wrong way, but you didn’t. 

“actually, i suffered a miscarriage recently.” you told them honestly. 

there was no awkward silence. immediately, everyone started apologising, saying “sorry for your loss.” 

you brushed them off, telling them that it’s okay, that they didn’t offend you at all for asking that question. 

“feels good to get it out my chest.” you told them, laughing at the end of that sentence. 

“she hasn’t slept well at all, she really wanted to tell you guys.” rae told her

one by one, they all spoke to you, asked you if it was even okay that you all talked about it on streams. you told them that it had been your choice to tell people this way, and they had nothing to worry about. 

on the other hand, it was tough for george. not at first, though. he thought it was going to be easy, having sex with a pretty, virgin girl and ditch her alone in a country she she hasn’t personally been to.

but that changed the moment she disappeared. the guilt never really hit george until people started bashing him on the internet. 

at first, people were too focused on the girl. people discriminated you, called you a slut. they didn’t think that george was wrong at all, although he was the one who took the explicit photos and posted it. 

but then, people, mostly woman had started to realise indeed how messed up it was. 

george really couldn’t care that you “left.” but then people kept on commenting on his posts. specifically, they often left a comment saying “really bold of you to do that to a princess.”

at the start, he thought the comments meant that they couldn’t believe he did such terrible things to their princess, someone wholesome they cherished. he didn’t realise that his comments literally meant that you are a princess. 

so he googled it. he wanted to know why people kept calling you ‘princess’ or ‘next on the throne’. he was curious, and he wasn’t expecting it all to be real. 

when he googled your name, a huge google tab came out. 

princess of saudi arabia. 

this must be a typo, right? he couldn’t deny that you are indeed a pretty girl, he just couldn’t believe that he had done such things to someone so royal. 

he never even thought that one day, he would score to talk to celebrities, let alone be able to be in bed with an actual princess. 

so he doubted it. 

but then he kept looking. 

he looked at images of you. photos of you with a small tiara, next to what seemed to be the queen of saudi arabia, wearing a long, modest emerald gown. the photo was taken when the king had a birthday. 

picture after picture, he started to doubt his thoughts even more. 

he couldn’t lie, your face really fit the title. if he really thought about it, your existence screamed royalty. the way you spoke, your poise, the way you strut in a hallway and was able to wow a crowd without trying. 

george always assumed that people only stared at you in public because of how beautiful you are. he never really realised it all until now. 

usually, guys can be insecure when they hear rude comments about how a lanky man is able to get a beautiful, confident woman. but to george, he felt even more egoistical. he used you, truly like a trophy wife. 

that was until he really realised. 

now, he thinks that everything he did was just a plain asshole move, not saying it isn’t if he did it to any other normal girl.

“i fucking messed up” he thought to himself, reading press conferences about your princess title.

if he thought he messed up then, wait till he found out you were pregnant, and then later losing it. 

he felt like he was in a fever dream. it felt like a written book, not real life. 

he kept slapping himself, pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. it all felt unreal. so many things were happening. 

now, he’s more concerned than guilty. he wanted to know if you’re okay. even he felt like he can’t cope with the information he was given, how would you feel?

furthermore, he kept reading theories that the scream in the background of valkyrae’s stream was yours. had you lost the baby there? had you lost his baby there?

-

he called clay and nick. he wanted to double check. it was all a lot to handle, knowing you’re a princess and a mother in the same week. 

nick screamed at him on discord for hours, literally. george knew clay was just as mad, just as disappointed. he just didn’t have the energy to say it all, even though all he wanted to do was fly to england and beat george up. 

although it took george a while to realise everything he did was messed up, he came to. and he really did want to contact you. but really, anyone in your position wouldn’t even glance at his name twice after what he did. 

he was happy that you were looking healthy on rae’s stream. although you weren’t really ready to stream on your own again and many people understood that, and never pushed you. 

but whenever he saw you sometimes on rae’s facecam, he could see that pain, deeply hidden in your eyes. you were trying to cover up the fact that you were still trying to heal. 

-

CLAY’S POV

it was infuriating to see george not really giving a shit at first, and then changing to a new man. it took you to tell the world about your lost child for him to own up to his mistakes.

nick and i had been friends with him for years, it takes a lot to just dump a friend, a close one at that. so we did what we could, help him wake up from this “dream” he’s in. 

that didn’t mean we weren’t mad at him still. 

if he didn’t want to own up, i will. 

-

the subsequent years came by and went really quickly. people were starting to forget the drama that you and george were in. people soon became uninterested about it, but still stayed with you, encouraging you to heal slowly and take your time. 

that was what you liked about the internet. granted, some people can be mean, but the people who supported you were the ones that helped you keep going, helped you find a reason to wake up in the morning. 

no, you’d never forget that you lost a child, and you were reminded by the people on the internet who made it a pact to make sure george never forgot that too. 

george did end up talking to you a couple years ago. you accepted his apology, but not him. you were sure he only wanted to apologise after knowing that you were the next in the throne. 

speaking of throne, you were back in the castle. not permanently, but you visited often. you still lived with rae, and you had actually started streaming on your own again a few months before george reached out to you. 

clay and nick had been supportive of you since the start, still clearly apologetic even though you told him that you had forgotten about it and that it hadn’t even been their fault in the first place. 

but they were persistent, clay more than nick since nick was still very busy with college. you loved the two of them and considered them to be one of your best friends, aside from rae. 

-

GEORGE’S POV 

it was difficult. i felt like i had no shame to just text her one day after being gone for so long. but i actually felt bad. i know it was a rocky start. 

i had been so focused on winning the bet and not wanting to be called a pussy from my friends that i disregarded you, your feelings.

i knew from the start that you had been a great girl. you were just so sweet to everyone you meet, even strangers. it warmed my heart, it made me feel safe to be around you all the time. 

not that i can say that right now anyways, i didn’t have the right at all, after what i did to you. 

i don’t know what love is, given the fact that multiple girls had left me before this. i asked myself often if what i felt for my exes were actually love, or had i just been desperate. 

but i felt like when i was with you, it had been love, or close enough. 

but i couldn’t just burst it out one day that i love you, we weren’t really even dating. 

given that you had been pure, prior to me, it was shocking to see you so open, so welcoming to me. it was like you had known me forever, that you trusted me. 

and i took advantage of that, and later i got the consequences. 

i suffered the consequences. i see him with you. and i see that you’re happier with him. if it was any other guy, i think it would hurt less. 

but it was my own best friend. it was clay. 

all the instagram photos you post, his face blurred or covered, or when he posts a photo of you, it all hurt. 

i started the fall for you, for your genuine heart, and when i finally decide to do something about it, someone else had done it before me. 

deep down, i knew that clay would’ve been the better choice for you anyway. but it still hurt me. hearing his voice coming from behind you when you stream without your facecam. 

everyone was so supportive of you and clay, they’re obviously happy that you found someone who treats you better, even i knew that.

i wished i hadn’t taken you for granted, i wish i hadn’t listened to the stupid voice in my head reminding that you were all just a bet, that i wouldn’t love you like you think i would. 

i felt left out. 

a while ago, you were in florida with nick and your boyfriend, clay. it stung to see nick and you streaming so happily, not remembering me. 

but i deserved it. and i knew you deserve to be happy, after everything i did to you.

but that didn’t compare to the pain i felt now, a year later, seeing photos of clay and you, his face turned from the camera, facing you. he was down on one knee, proposing. 

and although you were crying and your hands covered the bottom half of your face, i could see how happy you are, i could see the amount of love you held for clay. 

how i wish i had done things a little more differently.