#he like a nice reprieve from the craziness of the other routes

[otometrashqueen]

The thing I’m most excited about during daddy yanagi’s route is MC finding out Saeki is Zero

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Love Story | Trent Frederic

wc. 5.2k

It's a love story, baby just say yes

Your eyes flit around the stuffy ballroom, the heat causing your body temperature to flare and you can feel the prickle of sweat lining your features. Your hand is forced to be a makeshift fan, lifting to try and gather some air against your face. Finding no reprieve, you lean close to your brother, tugging at his suit jacket until he’s leaning down close to hear you. 

“I’m going to step outside for a moment,” you tell him and when his eyes find yours he nods quietly. 

“Be safe,” he responds and now it’s your turn to nod. 

Your shuffle through the crowded room, smiling at some of the faces you recognize and nodding at the others you don’t. You finally make it to the balcony and step out into the cool summer air. The wind is a treat, blowing your hair lightly around your head and giving a much needed temperature change to your heated state. 

You lean against the balcony, hands splayed on the cool metal as you look across the vast city. You can’t help but wonder how in the world you would ever get to know this unfamiliar place. How would you memorize the subway routes or the layout? 

You turn away from your current dilemma, casting your eyes back towards the party in the ballroom to try and find your brother. When you do, he’s grinning wildly as he talks to another unknown person. The person turns and you’re met with a soft brown gaze that has your body temperature flaring up all over again. 

You avert your gaze, unable to hold its intensity and look around at all the beautiful ball gowns floating by, the lights reflecting on the glitz and glam of the whole event. You find the courage to look back towards the set of brown eyes and watch nervously as he makes his way through the crowd. 

You turn quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice your staring and try your best to act casual when he approaches. 

“Hello,” you hear his soft soothing voice greet and you turn with a small smile. 

“Hi.” 

“I’m Trent,” he says, offering his hand in such a formal way that it makes your heart jump at the action. “Trent Frederic.”  

“(y/n) Mcavoy,” you respond, slipping your hand into his and reveling in the feeling of how his skin feels against yours. 

Recognition flashes across his face at your last name but he doesn’t show it otherwise. You’re quietly grateful he doesn’t say anything about Charlie. 

“Beautiful huh?” he says instead, stepping further out towards the edge of the balcony. 

“Sure is,” you murmur, turning back towards the view that captivated you moments ago. 

“Have you lived here long?” 

You two trade the basic information back and forth between you like a tennis match. Where you were from, how old you were, what you do for a living, what position he played in hockey, and so on. 

“Uh, favorite Shakespeare play?” you ask, running out of basic questions. 

“Shakespeare?” Trent asks, his shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“I’m an English major! Gimme a break,” you joke back, bumping his shoulder with yours. 

“Okay uhm,” he pauses and you admire him as he genuinely thinks about his answer to the question. “Romeo and Juliet?” 

“Oh boo,” you yell back at him, cupping your hands around your mouth for emphasis and Trent nearly doubles over in laughter. 

“Okay Miss English major, what’s yours?” 

“Easy. Hamlet or Much Ado About Nothing,” you state with a shrug like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

“Isn’t Hamlet the one where they all go crazy and die?” 

“Yes, and?” you ask and Trent stares at you with a blank look before you’re both cracking up all over again. You’re both straightening up and calming down from your laughing fit when Charlie appears at your side once more with a soft smile and a curious glance towards his teammate. 

“Ready to head out?” he asks and you nod. 

“Nice to meet you Romeo,” you say to Trent and he grins at the nickname. 

“See you around.” 

“And what was that about?” Charlie asks when you’re out of earshot and you can’t help the eyeroll that is produced from your brother's question. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

The second time you run into Trent is ironically at your own apartment. You were standing in front of your door, keys in hand as you shuffled to find the right one. Just as you do, your door swings open before you and a loud shriek leaves your mouth in surprise. 

“Romeo?” you question when Trent’s guilty brown eyes finally land on yours. 

“Come on man let’s go before,” you hear your brother's voice from behind Trent and lean around the hockey player to stare at Charlie. 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” 

“I thought I left my airpods here,” he states, shrugging his shoulders and pushing past Trent who is still stuck in the doorway. 

“So, instead of texting or calling me, you break into my apartment with your partner in crime?” 

“It’s technically not breaking in if he has a key,” Trent chimes in and you turn towards him with a look that says who asked you? 

“Correct,” Charlie says, pointing at Trent in agreement  before throwing him a thumbs up. “I gotta go pick up Kiley.” 

Before you can hurl anymore questions or remarks back at your brother, he’s flying down the stairs and out of your apartment building. For one final time, you turn back to Trent who has a nervous look on his features, unsure of what to do. 

“Gonna let me in Romeo? Or is there a secret password?” you joke and he flushes at your words, stepping aside and letting you into your own apartment. 

“Come on in,” you call back towards him when you realize he’s still standing awkwardly in the doorway. His body half in and half out not sure which way to go. “You’ve already seen the place.” 

“I’m really sorry about that,” he says, finally shutting the door and walking back into your place. 

“Don’t worry,” you say, leaning back against the kitchen bar. “I know what it’s like getting caught up in one of Chucky’s schemes.” 

“Was he worse as a kid?”

“You got six hours?” you ask jokingly and Trent grins. 

Finally, you take a moment to pull off your jacket and shoes, put your bag away and pour a glass of water. You instantly pour one for Trent as well, holding it out to him and he thanks you quietly. 

“Have you tried that new pizza place down the road?” he asks, breaking the silence. 

“Not yet. I’ve been researching a bunch of places that I want to try out and it’s been on my list forever.” 

Trent nods at your answer and you search his brown eyes for an explanation. He smiles sheepishly over his glass at you and the sight sends a slight shockwave through your heart. 

“I haven't either,” he begins and you nod. “Have you eaten? Would you maybe wanna…I don’t know I don’t want to seem too forward we could order in or go there or not go at all I just,” 

“Slow down there Romeo,” you joke and Trent is grateful for your interruption of his nonsense ramblings. “Show me the menu.” 

Trent pulls up the menu on his phone and you start to scroll through it. Trent leans across the kitchen bar to look as well and you realize how close you are. You focus on glancing through the menu quickly when a loud sound erupts from your front door and quick footsteps echo through your apartment. 

“Trent!” you hear your brother's voice and you both jerk your heads up so fast you end up knocking into each other. 

“Fuck,” you curse out, dropping Trent’s phone onto the table and clutching at your head. 

“What are you still doing here?” Charlie asks, accusatory eyes flicking between you and his teammate. 

“Well we were thinking about getting dinner,” you mutter bitterly, still holding your head. 

“Yeah, no,” Charlie says. He marches over to Trent, places both hands on his shoulders and starts to lead him out of your apartment. 

“I’ll see you later?” you call out to Trent and get Charlie’s furious glance in return. 

“No you won’t!” 

You can’t help the small chuckle that releases from you at Charlie’s stubborn words and you roll your eyes. You loved Charlie but he was always going to be way too protective over you. Lord knows he’ll keep you away from Trent at all costs if he finds out you might be starting to develop a crush on the young player. 

It’s been about three months since Charlie and Trent had been to your apartment and you were starting to miss Romeo’s big brown eyes. Trent had successfully been scared off from you by Charlie but that didn’t keep you from crossing his mind almost every day. 

“Freddy you good?” 

Trent is broken from his thoughts by Jeremy skating over to him, nudging the young player to gain his attention. Trent had been off all practice and while he was still fairly new to the NHL, it didn’t excuse how distracted he was today. 

“Yeah man just thinking,” he says shrugging Jeremy off. 

“About?” 

“A girl,” he admits shyly and Jeremy grins. 

“Well whoever she is, you better go get her soon. We don’t need you to be this distracted for the upcoming games.” 

Trent thinks about Jeremy’s words for the rest of practice and ultimately till the moment he gets in his car he realizes he has to see you again. Seeing it’s only about 6 pm, he heads back to your apartment, having no other way to contact you. 

You’re sitting relaxing in your living room, a hockey game playing on your TV in the background as you attempt to finish up some homework. Through the sounds of skates starting and stopping and the passing of the puck, you hear a sharp knock on your door. 

You place your homework down on the coffee table in front of you and wonder if you placed an order for food and somehow forgot. However, when you open the door, your Romeo stands there before you. 

“Hi,” Trent greets, awkwardly waving at you and you smile at his nervous actions. 

“Hi?” you say, giggling a little at the weirdness of the situation. “What are you doing here?” 

“I was wondering if you wanted to finally try that pizza place with me?” 

Your heart flutters at the invitation and you smile widely at Trent. 

“Give me a few minutes to change?” 

You end up at an old school pizza place about 20 minutes later, Trent being kind enough to drive the two of you and you’re admiring the atmosphere as you wait for your food. 

“Why do you wear number 11?” you ask Trent and he smiles at the continuation of your conversation from a few months ago. 

“Well, I wanted the number 7,” he begins to explain, leaning forward as he answers your question and the closeness has you losing your breath. “But it was retired so I kinda liked the idea of 7 and 11 rhyming.” 

You smile and nod, enjoying the explanation for his number. Growing up and watching Charlie play, you knew there was a certain special reason for the numbers players chose even though so many of them want to play it off as a random choice that meant nothing. 

“What number would you pick if you played?” 

Conversation flows like a lazy river between you and Trent and you’re shocked at how easy it all is. It felt like you had known him all your life and not like this was the third time the two of you have interacted. By the end of the night, your stomach hurts from laughter and you find yourself not wanting the dinner to end. 

“How much do I owe you?” you ask when Trent grabs the check and scans his eyes over the total. 

“Suddenly I’m blind,” he responds and you roll your eyes. 

“How much do I owe you!” you insist, not wanting to come off as rude and not pay the boy back. 

“We pay up front, right?” he asks, standing and gesturing for you to follow him. 

“Trent,” you whine out, following him up to the register. He hands the check over and when the cashier announces the total you grin mischievously. 

You dig around in your purse before pulling out your wallet and fishing out a 20. As Trent leans on the counter to sign the check, you sneakily pop the 20 dollars into the pocket of his sweatshirt. His eyes flick down to see what you’re doing and he tries to nudge you away with his arm. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, giggling as he stands back up straight. “Get out of my sweatshirt.” 

He nudges you away too late, the 20 dollars successfully slipping into his pocket and staying there. He turns to you and you offer your most innocent and heart stopping smile that has Trent shaking his head with a smile just as wide. 

The two of you head back to your apartment, the conversation never ceasing until you get to the front door of your place. You turn around, instinctively leaning against the door and fighting the urge to invite him in. 

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you say, smiling up at Trent and he grins down at you. 

“So did I. Would you wanna do this again sometime?” he asks, his nerves spiking as the words slip from his mouth. 

“Same time, new place?” you respond and Trent grins. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“See ya later, Romeo.” 

Trent watches as you slip into your apartment, his heart beating wildly in his chest no doubt trying to fight its way into your place and attempt to stay next you forever. He sighs, a ridiculous and happy sigh, before turning away and thinking over every detail of tonight. 

For the rest of the season you and Trent become completely attached at the hip. You went to dinner together every week at a new place, tried coffee shops in the mornings, new movies at either your place or his. Charlie could tell there was something going on between you two, but he never really could figure out exactly what. 

The Bruins make it to the playoffs and you’re at every game you possibly can make up until their final one. You watched the boys fight hard and you knew both Charlie and Trent would be kicking themselves and feeling like they didn’t do enough for their teams. 

You head down to the locker room, waiting in an eerie silence with the other wives and girlfriends. Kiley and you talk quietly but stop instantly when the boys start to trickle out. Charlie is one of the first and you offer a squeeze to Kiley’s hand before she makes her way over to him. You watch your big brother basically melt into his fiancee's embrace and you’re even more grateful for Kiley than ever before. 

Your attention shifts when Trent comes out. His hair is a mess, his cheeks are flushed and his stare conveys every emotion he is feeling in that moment. His eyes slowly find yours and you see a sigh physically release from him. Without a second thought or a word exchanged, you’re making your way to Trent and pulling him into your arms. 

“You played great, Romeo,” you tell him quietly and his smile is hard against your skin. When you pull back, you spot Charlie’s curious gaze and you break off from Trent and make your way over to your older brother. 

“It’s okay if this loss takes longer than 5 minutes,” you tell Charlie, pulling him into a hug and he chuckles against you at the inside joke. 

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” he responds and you smile. “I’m gonna head back to Kiley’s. Go cheer up Trent.” 

You give your brother an accusatory glare and he chuckles before shoving you in the direction of Trent. 

“Ready to go?” you ask Trent and he offers a sad smile and a nod. He takes a chance, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and you’re quick to reciprocate, the two of you heading out of the arena. 

Trent spends the days following the loss at your apartment, claiming he needed to be around company or else he would think about the loss far more than he wanted to. You were happy to oblige, your heart picking up in pace whenever Trent was near sent you into a bliss that seemed endless until your beautiful bubble burst. 

“Do you have everything you need?” you ask Trent, your arms folded securely across your body trying to keep yourself steady. 

“Think so,” he says nodding to his heavy suitcase and your eyes pull to the straps of his backpack that is no doubt weighing him down. 

You were mad at yourself and therefore mad at Trent for being so upset at his leaving to go back home for the summer. You knew he had these plans since way before he met you, but it still hurt nonetheless. You wanted him to stay, wanted to explore the city with him more, wanted to hope those simmering feelings for the boy might finally come to fruition. 

“Three months and I’ll be back in no time,” he reminds you, nudging your saddened state. 

Your eyes gloss over at his words, the reminder that you wouldn’t be able to physically be in his presence hurting so much more than you thought it would. You nod quietly in response to him, not able to trust your voice in the moment. 

“Come here,” he murmurs quietly and you find yourself falling into his strong embrace, the warmth of his body circling yours to form a bubble around the two of you. 

“Don’t go?” you ask pitifully, a tear or two finally making its way down your cheek. 

“Three months. The second I get back, I’m yours.” 

You hold onto those words from Trent all three months. The three months of summer where you slowly lose contact but only manage to think about the young hockey player even more. Three months where you bury yourself into work and family and so on to ignore the reminders and thoughts of Trent that never seemed to cease. Three months and you had started to question what happened to your Romeo. 

The summer without Trent was like a year without rain. Dry, deserted, and uneventful. Waiting for the drought to end felt like it lasted for years. 

When Charlie’s wedding had started to approach and you were in the midst of chaos leading up to it, your brain couldn’t help but think about how the hockey season would start shortly after as well. The idea of hockey and Trent made you feel like you were coming back to life. The drought has ended, the rain has come and you can see a rainbow forming on the horizon. 

You impatiently waited for your Romeo to come back to you and in a weird twist of fate, he did. 

Charlie’s wedding was a beautiful success. Kiley looked stunning, the library was decorated beautifully, Charlie was clearly over the moon happy, and you could finally relax knowing your brother was happily married to the girl of his dreams. 

The speeches had come and gone, you were able to get lots of laughter and even a few tears out of your big brother and after dinner it was officially time to dance. You drank and partied and enjoyed the beautiful atmosphere. Your favorite song had just ended and you took a minute to walk away, get some air and relax for a moment. 

“There’s my Juliet.” 

Your whole body comes to life at the words from the boy behind you. You try to tamper down the ever growing smile on your lips but it escapes anyway. Trent’s eyes trail over your figure before you’re graced with those big brown eyes that have you weak in the knees. 

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever gonna come back around Romeo,” you tell him and he smiles, looking down and shaking his head shyly before stepping towards you. 

“Of course I came back,” he says and your heart picks up at the words. “Besides, I needed to properly ask you out at some point.” 

You’re slightly shocked, especially at the fact that you and Trent had somewhat fallen out of contact over the summer. However, your heart was pounding wondering if Trent had been as head over heels as you were. If he thought about you all summer like you had. 

“Can’t wait to catch up, Romeo.” 

“It’s a date.” 

The speed in which you and Trent became inseparable again was alarming to some, but comforting to you. Your weekly dinners, morning breakfasts and coffee shop stops all became dates that had your heart thrashing like a hurricane in your chest. 

The one downfall in your honeymoon phase? Charlie, along with the rest of the world, still didn’t know about your relationship. You both were nervous to let anyone in on your relationship. The fear of the media is strong on Trent’s end and the fear of your brother's reaction on yours. 

You were laying down on your couch, Trent was coming over soon and you were scrolling on your phone to pass the time. You spot a picture of Jeremy and his girlfriend, the instagram caption something adorable and you smile lightly at the happy couple. You like the photo, leaving a quick comment, and pause when you swipe back over to the photo. 

You can’t help but wish you or Trent could post something like that. You wanted your friends to openly hype up your relationship, wanted the fans to call you guys cute, you even wanted the guys to chirp the two of you for being so deep in puppy love. Your thoughts keep you so distracted you don’t even realize Trent has made it to your apartment until he’s standing over you with a worried expression on his face. 

“Princess?” he whispers, and your eyes move from your phone to his face, smiling sadly at your Romeo. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You sit up, Trent instantly coming around to sit next to you and pulls you into his arms. You rest your head against his chest, his hands come up to twist in your hair and you sigh quietly. Trent gives you a minute, wanting to give you the space to talk about it if you want to or move past it. 

“I want to run away,” you murmur, turning to press your cheek against his chest. 

“Where do you want to go?” 

“Anywhere but here,” you admit and Trent worries about your words but plays along. 

“Bahamas are beautiful this time of year,” he says and you laugh lightly. 

“Running away from everyone, no job, relaxing on the beach, no media and no older brother? I think it’s an excellent plan.” 

You finally sit all the way up, turning to fully face Trent and he gazes at you with so much intensity that you have to look away again. Trent leans in, presses a kiss to your cheek and when you turn to look at him he pecks your lips before cupping your face in his hands. 

It's been a few days since that conversation with Trent when your relationship is exposed. 

You had skipped the Bruins game today, deciding to stay home and get some work done with the stream playing in the background. You barely even register when the game ends, the stream switching to another game playing and you’re far too engrossed by your book to notice. The only thing that pulls you out of your strength is the sharp knock on your front door. 

Your head tilts at the sound, the book in your hands dropping slightly. You wait for a moment and the knock becomes more prominent. You finally drop the book from your hands and make your way over to the front door. You expect your boyfriend on the other side, a guilty smile on his lips followed by an apology about forgetting his key, but you’re shocked when you meet your brother’s angry glare and a guilty look from Trent for a whole different reason. 

“When the fuck did you two start dating?” Charlie demands. 

Before you can respond, Charlie pushes past you and further into your apartment. Trent follows behind him but stops at your side, leaning down to brush his lips just over the top of your head before leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“Media found out.” 

“Wha-” 

“(y/n)!” your brother shouts and you flinch slightly. “Get in here and explain please.” 

You and Trent slink guiltily into the living room, a million questions running through your mind as you face a half angry and half disappointed Charlie. You sit back down on your couch, running through the timeline of yours and Trents relationship and by the end of it, Charlie has settled on a look of disappointment. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“To be fair, I didn’t tell anyone,” you murmur in response and when Charlie glares at you, Trent nudges your side. 

“I was worried about your reaction and I didn’t want the rest of the media to find out and have this whole fit about it and I didn’t want you to think I came here just to start dating some guy-”

“Hey!” Trent responds and you smile, leaning over and kissing his cheek. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Firstly, gross,” Charlie says, pointing between the two of you. “Secondly, I’m pissed you didn’t tell me but I understand. Just be careful around the media now okay?” 

You jump up, running over and hugging your brother tightly and he can’t help smiling at his little sister’s happiness. 

The navigation around the media is hard at first, but you’re happy that you get to flaunt your man around now. It was killing you seeing all the fan pages and the girls who looked like models fawn all over your Romeo. The comments were of course pretty brutal at first and weren't looking too much better even after months had passed. 

It had been a particularly long week, Trent was gone on a roadie, and you had back to back bad shifts and too much homework to do. You found yourself laying on the couch, ignoring all of your responsibilities and counting down the minutes until your Romeo came back home. You start to drift in and out of sleep, the weeks work finally weighing down on your body. 

When you wake up for the last time, you find Trent next to you, running his fingers softly through your hair, You lean into his embrace, a sleepy smile resting on your lips and Trent can’t help but think about how infatuated he was with his Juliet. 

“How are you doing baby?” he asks, his words barely above a murmur next to your ear. 

“Still down to run away?” you ask in response, still desperate to escape from the world with your Romeo. 

“I have a long weekend coming up,” Trent says and you watch as he twists a piece of your hair around his finger. “Clear your schedule next weekend and I’m all yours.” 

Your eyes gaze over Trent, wondering if he’s genuinely serious about this. With him being away and the season winding down, your insecurities were running wild wondering if he actually wanted to be with you. If he actually wanted this to last, to work. If he didn’t, you didn’t think you would make it through a heartbreak that difficult. 

Trent was your Romeo. You didn’t want to suffer the same fate Juliet did but you were okay with at least trying. 

Trent was hoping his love story didn’t suffer the same fate as the age old drama. He wanted this to last for the rest of his life. That’s why he had already asked Charlie’s permission to marry you.

Over the recent roadie, he had pulled Charlie aside and explained everything. He knew how hard everything with the media had been with you and how your insecurities were running rampant and he didn’t know a better way to reassure you. He could be engaged for a few years, but he wanted to give you that fiancee title if you let him. He wanted to give you that constant reassurance through a ring on your finger and a commitment he would never break. 

Charlie was hesitant at first. The two of you are young and having just gotten married himself, he knew how big of a step this was. But when he saw the determination in the young players' eyes and remembered the smile on your lips whenever someone even mentioned Trent, well how could he say no? 

“This place is beautiful,” you say, eyes wandering around the small cottage that Trent had rented for your weekend away. It was quaint, with all the feelings of an older home and the lived in feeling you loved. It had character, as your mom would say. 

You and Trent get settled, touring around the small property, taking a quick nap together before getting up and cooking dinner. Your conversation ranges from topic to topic and Trent is practically shaking with nerves the whole time. He’s been waiting and waiting for the perfect moment and didn’t want a single thing to go wrong. 

Your mind was still fluttering with the idea that maybe Trent took you here as a last hooray before you weren’t together anymore. You had been trying to ignore those feelings for the whole drive up from Boston but they still plagued you. 

“Wanna go look at the stars?” Trent asks and you nod, heading into the rapidly chilling night air with him. 

The back porch is raised up, vines and plants covering the area with fairy lights strung around to create a romantic atmosphere. You can’t help but lean into Trent’s embrace as you stand outside and look at the stars. The ones you had both shared for so long, ones that were around before you and would be there after you and would comfort you till your final days.

“Princess?” Trent whispers, turning to fully face you and you smile up at him. 

“I love you. I care about you so incredibly much,” his words are soft in the night air and your eyes are already brimming with tears from the words spoken. 

“And I was wondering,” he continues. 

You watch with wide eyes as he kneels down on the ground and pulls out the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. You blink a couple of times, wondering if this was all in your head but you’re quickly brought back to the moment when Trent takes your hands. 

“Marry me, Juliet,” he begs more than asks and you chuckle quietly at the nickname. “You’ll never have to be alone. I love you and our date nights, our early mornings, the way you’ve always called me your Romeo and that’s the only thing I really know so please, just say yes.” 

And just like that, the worries disappear. You get your Romeo, forever. 

“Yes.”

[preetsposting]

Byleth and Dimitri, both a little stir-crazy, think up a way to solve a demonic beast problem.

Rout some bandits, defeat some beasts, fend off pirates - as they did most months, the Kingdom’s army got a handful of requests for aid from various regions.

Dimitri thumbed through the letters that had come in the last two mornings - they had already sent several battalions off into the land, but the requests came in faster than they were able to get the forces in and out. “If the troops we sent to the Throat get back tonight, and that is an if, we should be able to give them a day or so of reprieve before we send them out to the Goneril lands. Holst should be able to still lead a slightly battered group of reinforcements fine.”

“Sure. But what about the reports of Demonic Beasts out in the plains? The only groups we have that can take on that mess won’t be back for another couple days, and by then, who knows how much damage will have been done?” Byleth bit at the end of a broken quill, one of the hundreds of snapped writing utensils that Dimitri had destroyed over the last couple weeks.

Dimitri sighed deeply. “At this point, I think we should just go deal with it. It’ll be easy work.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying for weeks. But you know everyone will have our heads.” Byleth dropped the quill-end to the ground, watching it sway back and forth slowly as it floated. “We can’t risk something happening to you to if we can prevent it, they’d say. And we’d say that we can take care of it, easily, and it’s a good way to keep us from getting rusty in battle. And they’d say that’s what the training grounds are for,, and we’d say but we can’t fight demonic beasts in the training grounds, then Sylvain will quip that Felix is close enough, then they’d start bickering and then…” She trailed off. “I’m going to say it, though. We could take on a horde of beasts, just the two of us. Easy.”

“Romantic dates to take your lady-love on.” Dimitri chuckled. “Beast slaying. I love it. How uniquely us. Felix and Ingrid would have our heads for not taking them with us, though. I’d bet Sylvain’s finest whiskey on it.”

“If we take some Pegasi and leave within the hour, we could be back by tomorrow evening, with no one more or less the wiser.” Byleth mused. “We can find an inn, tonight. It won’t be too strange if we’re not seen till dinner tomorrow. We have been known to not be seen for a day or two, sometimes. And it’s just past sunset. It’s unlikely many others will be about if we make our way to the stables. ”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Dimitri looked at her, head tilted, smile playing across his lips. “You’ve gone a little mad, Byleth. I think I like it.”

She leaned over and planted a kiss on his nose. “What else is a woman supposed to do between battle, besides go mad? Besides. It sounds nice to fight side-by-side, just the two of us.”

Dimitri took a sip of the steaming mug of tea in front of him. “Alright.”

Byleth’s expression was incredulous. “You’re serious?”

“I thought you were, too.” He raised an eyebrow. “We can’t let these beasts continue to roam. We’ll get scolded, sure, but…there aren’t any real repercussions, are there?” He shrugged. “I’m the king, you’re my adviser.”

Byleth considered his words. “I can’t believe we’re going to do this.”

Dimitri laughed and pulled her up to her feet. She was smiling, a bit of a silly smirk on her face. Her eyes shone, his favorite thing - sun on the sea. “Don't worry, Byleth. I can.” He grinned with a crazy boy-ish excitement.

[aestheticsandwriting]

One-Shot a Day, Day 1: “Hold Me.” RvB

Link to read it on ao3. 

Summary: (RvB Season 12 spoilers.)  After Tucker is released from the hospital post season 12 (after being stabbed by Felix) he's feeling a little vulnerable and wants his boyfriend to hold him.

Tucker makes his way through the halls slowly, trying to avoid the more traveled routes in favor of the back ways and using storage rooms as shortcuts. It’s not that he didn’t want people knowing he was out of the hospital or that he didn’t secretly -or not so secretly- enjoy the attention, he just had a very specific place that he wanted to be. And he needed to be there fast, he only had a limited time.

When Dr. Grey told him he could leave, assuring her that he would come back every morning for bandage changes and wound check, he was ecstatic. As ecstatic as a person could be while semi-high on not-quite-narcotic painkillers, but ecstatic none the less. As soon as she had walked out to get his discharge papers -merely a formality that she insisted remain despite the fact that this hospital had stopped functioning like a normal hospital years previously and become a war recovery zone- Tucker had immediately grabbed his datapad on the side table and typed out a quick message, asking Wash if he could slip away from whatever he was doing and meet him in his -their- room.

He had just been walking out of the hospital when his boyfriend’s reply came through, telling him that he had managed to snag a two-hour reprieve from Kimball before having to go back to work, likely having a late-night before getting back to their bunk anyway, and asking if he wanted him to come walk with him back. The teal soldier had to remind himself not to jump for joy when he read the message, tapping out quick response telling him to just meet him there, armor off and in his civvies.

He finally makes his way into the barracks building, thankful he doesn’t have to be as cautious of other people now. Almost everybody in the building at this time are the men and women on night shifts and they’re asleep, he makes his way slowly to his and Wash’s room, a strong ache in his abdomen by the time he reaches the door. He pauses, taking a deep breath before opening it, stepping through to see Wash just pulling on one of his favorite t-shirts -an old one from his early days in freelancer that’s grown slightly thin and soft with wear- and that simple sight makes his eyes water slightly before he realizes what’s caused it.

“Hey, T, sorry I didn’t come up at breakfast this morning, Kimball had plans that she needed me to go over ASAP for a mission that left earlier.” The blond turns, taking in the sight of his boyfriend from his feet up. Clad in an old pair of shoes, some sweats, and a t-shirt that somehow perfectly matches his armor color that Wash had taken to him for whenever he was released, his armor having already been brought back to Tucker’s officially assigned room.

“Tha-” Tucker coughs, clearing his throat and wincing at the pain in his gut. “That’s fine, don’t worry.” His voice is still rough, and he silently curses himself as a single tear slips down his right cheek.

“Tucker, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“No. I mean, yes, I have pain, but it’s minimal. I just… will you hold me, David?” Wash has to strain to hear the end of his sentence, it coming out muted and directed towards the floor, Tucker not looking him in the eye.

“I don’t want to-”

“You’re not going to hurt me. I promise, if something hurts or I’m uncomfortable, I’ll tell you. I just need to be held right now.”

“Come ‘ere.” Wash jerks his head, motioning to the two beds they had pushed together to form a bed big enough for the both of them before crawling in, moving to the far side so Tucker has room to settle in without too much movement, hopefully lessening his chances of hurting himself. The younger man sits gently, turning to curl into the taller man’s open and waiting arms, face buried in the blond’s shoulder, sniffling slightly.

“Thank you.”

There’s a silence that stretches between the two of them, interrupted occasionally by a sniffle from Tucker, becoming more frequent as the time goes on. “Hey.” A kiss to the top of his head. “You’re not in pain, are you? Incision’s okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I… Wash, I thought I was never going to get to do this again.” Another sniffle. “I thought I was going to bleed out before the guys could get to me. And I thought, ‘I am never going to hold him or be held by him again. I’m never going to kiss him again. I’m never going to get to tell him I love him again.’ And,” a sharp exhale, “fuck, it scared me. It scared me that I might never be able to do those things again, and it scared me that I thought I was going to die alone, with nobody there.”

“Shhh. It’s okay, I’m here.” The older man feels droplets of moisture on his arm that’s snaked under his neck and drops another kiss to his head. “I love you too, T. You’re not alone in working through this. It was a traumatic experience and it’ll take a while to get through it, but I’m with you the whole way, yeah?” A small nod from the smaller man, and a squeeze from the larger’s arms, careful not to tighten too much. “Good. I love you so much. I was so scared I was going to lose you. Not sure what I would’ve done if they hadn’t gotten to you. Thank fuck for Lina having the healing unit.”

It goes quiet, but Wash knows Tucker isn’t breathing deep and smooth enough to be sleeping, so he makes himself content with holding his boyfriend and allowing him time with his thoughts and emotions, confident he’ll talk if he wants to.

After some amount of time, Wash really isn’t sure how long, Tucker’s breathing does even out, and the blond hopes it’s a nice sleep he’s fallen into, not worrying about looking at the clock, knowing his alarm he set will go off when he needs to get up, armor up again, and head back to the war room for more assault tactic lookovers to finalize and confirm before upcoming missions, and he finds himself dozing on and off during the time.

“Mmm, Tucker?”

“Hm?”

“Gotta get up; my two hours is almost up; I have to be in armor and back in the war room in twenty minutes.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to either; this is one time I’d be perfectly content to lay here with you until tomorrow morning, but I gotta go.”

“No, Wash, that’s not what I meant. I don’t know if I can handle being alone right now.”

“Go hang out with some of the other guys, there’s bound to be one of them that isn’t busy, or is just running drills and you can sit there with them.”

“I’m sure Carolina’s going to be in the war room with you, which means Church will be there, too, I can’t Caboose wrangle right now or I’ll open my incision and hurt myself worse. Simmons will bore me to death, Sarge will try to kill me, and Grif is disgusting. And I can’t take being around anybody else right now, it’s just…”

“Too much?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell you what, if you let me up right now, I’ll let you come to the war room with me and we’ll see about convincing Kimball and Doyle to let you sit in there, yeah?”

“That sounds fine.” Tucker starts to shift, wincing slightly as he does. “Ah, shit, I gotta take my pain meds too before we go up there. You start working on your armor, I’ll do that, and hopefully we can get there before they make me crazy tired like they did last night.”

“Hopefully.”

Tucker grabs his datapad that he had laid on the side table as the two head out the door, knowing he’s going to be bored at some point, slipping his other hand into Wash’s as they walk through the halls of the barracks, releasing it as they near the door. The two had officially been in a relationship since right after they were reunited but had yet to tell anybody except Carolina. Wash suspected a few other people had ideas about their relationship, but nobody had had the guts to come out and ask, and they were perfectly content with leaving it under the radar for as long as possible.

Wash reaches up, knocking on the door to the war room and waiting for the following ‘enter’ to open the door, Tucker closing it behind him. “Captain Tucker,” ‘that’s Kimball’s voice’ his subconscious reminds him through the slight haze of his medication starting to kick in, “good to see you out of the hospital, but what are you doing here?”

“Didn’t want to be alone.” He supplies before Wash can interject and say it in a more tactful way.

“I see. Please pull up a chair and feel free to spend as much time here as you want.”

“Thanks, ‘Nessa. I mean, uh, Kimball.”

“Sorry, Kimball, he took his pain meds right before we came, I think they’re taking effect.”

“I see,” an amused tone. “Now, back to the business at hand. Doyle, Carolina, and I were just discussing some plans for our assault on the small northern outpost.” A paper is slid across the table to the gray-and-yellow-clad soldier. “Here’s what information we have so far.”

Ten minutes later Tucker is snoring lightly, head lolled back and propped on the wall, and Wash rolls his eyes at his boyfriend before turning his attention back to the papers in front of him.

Nearly seven hours later the group is finished, helmets and gloves discarded around the room as they grew tired and started rubbing at their eyes. Tucker having gone back and forth between napping, playing around on his datapad, and picking at the small food supply that Kimball had brought to them around dinner time. Doyle grabs his armor pieces and leaves the room almost immediately, Kimball, Carolina, and Wash staying behind to talk a few minutes longer, both asking the freckle-faced man about Tucker’s wellbeing.

“He’s okay. I’m glad Carolina had the healing unit when she got to him, Dr. Grey doesn’t think he would’ve survived without it.” He glances over his shoulder, insuring that the dark-haired male is still asleep. “He’s at the point now that I’m sure he’ll be okay physically given time, but it messed him up a bit psychologically. That’s why I needed to leave for a while when he was released and why he came with me. He’ll be okay, I think, it’ll just take a while.”

“This… might be a sensitive question, but… Will he be okay at night? We don’t need him landing himself back in the hospital because he’s ripped his incision open during a nightmare.”

“It’s taken care of.”

“Okay…” Wash can see the question in her eyes, but is glad she doesn’t ask anything. And then Tucker ruins it.

“Babe? Why aren’t we in bed?” The slightly slurred question leaves Tucker’s mouth as he blinks back the light from the still harshly lit war room, trying to regain his bearings as to where he is.

“We’re in the war room, remember? Don’t worry, we’re about to go.”

“Okay.” Tucker struggles to stay awake through Wash’s explanation, snuggling back into the wall. Wash looks back over his shoulder, Carolina smirking at him, Kimball with a dark eyebrow raised.

“Agent Washington, I’m assuming that’s what you meant when you said ‘it’s taken care of’?”

“Yes, it is. Is there a problem with that, general Kimball?” The blond man is immediately on edge, posture straightening and stiffening, fight or flight response readying.

“Stand down, Wash, there’s no problem, I actually thought there might’ve been something,” there’s a softness to her dark eyes as an ever so slight smile graces her lips. “I’m happy for you both, I really am. I take it you already knew, Carolina?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Officially? Since right after we reunited. Though you could argue that we were basically in a relationship before the ship crashed.” Wash relaxes as the most genuine smile he’s seen from her graces Kimball’s dark tan skin, and he thinks briefly that he wishes for her sake she lived in a time or place where that smile could be used more often and her features not be hidden under a helmet, though he guesses one could say the same about all of them.

“I am happy for you both. Now, please, everybody get some rest tonight.” The three lean down, all picking up their discarded armor pieces. “And Wash? Tucker is welcome in here with us any time while he’s recovering.”

“Thank you, Kimball.”

By the time the pair get back to their room, Tucker is a little more cohesive than he had been, and Wash bumps his shoulder lightly. “Kimball knows.”

“Knows what?”

“About us.”

“What? How?”

“You half woke up in the war room and called me babe. She already suspected, though, and it’s not a problem.”

“Ooops, I’m sorry, I know we were trying to keep this under the radar.”

“It’s okay, Tucker. I’m actually kind of glad she knows. Doyle doesn’t yet, though, he had left already.” The two step through their door, Wash already pulling off more of his armor pieces, Tucker slowly pulling his clothes off, stripping down to his boxers like always.

“Wash? Will you hold me again tonight while we fall asleep?” Wash sees the unspoken ‘I need that reassurance’ in his eyes and smiles a gentle smile -one reserved strictly for Tucker and extremely rare times that Carolina sees it- and nods.

“Of course. It was very comfortable earlier.”

“Thank you.”

The couple crawls into the bed after Tucker takes another dose of his painkillers per Dr. Grey’s orders, finding a position that’s both comfortable for Tucker, but also close enough for him to feel the safety he needs and they drift off to sleep, each man having a peaceful night’s sleep being held by the other.

[thelifeoftuan]

Journalism Hell

There’s a little known fact about me. Or a fact that is usually forgotten. Either way. In college, apart from my Biochemistry major and pursuit of a career in medicine, I was also a Journalism major.

We’ll backtrack a little bit. Spring 2010 of my sophomore year of college, following a meeting with my advisor within the College of Arts and Sciences for my Biochemistry degree towards the end of that semester, I sort of spun out of control into this existential crisis. Hahaha! Why, you might ask? Well, it was at that meeting that my advisor was reviewing all of my credits and told me that I was on track to graduate the following Spring. And I was like, “What?” He looked over all of my requirements and said that with some good planning, I am set to graduate the following year. And in my head, I, for some reason, started to panic. Hahaha! I was like, “Um, excuse me dude, I’m only a sophomore. I haven’t even taken the MCAT yet, let alone apply for medical school. I’m not ready to graduate.” I remember asking him what my options were, and he was like, either book it and take the MCAT two months ago and apply to medical school yesterday then saunter on over to the commencement department and get ready to apply for graduation... or, do something else. I went home and stewed. ...like stewed to the point where the stew burned. And I was like, “what the shit! I didn’t plan for this!” Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, why am I complaining, right? The prospect of graduating a year early from college isn’t something to be butt-hurt about. But at that time, I was definitely not ready, mentally or emotionally. Not to mention I was nowhere near ready to really plunge into the horrid process of applying for medical school. That would have required me to get together letters of recommendation, transcripts, take the MCAT (and do somewhat well), apply for our pre-medicine committee interview (a stupid and unnecessary process, honestly, in retrospect), decide where I wanted to try to go to medical school and get those applications together... within a matter of weeks, because if memory serves me right, the application cycles started in the summer. So after I (rather unnecessarily, I will admit) agonized about this, I was like, “nah bro, we’re staying the full four years.” And it was at that time that I then embarked on my existential crisis. What the crap was I gonna do that will effectively prolong my stay in college to the appropriate four years? And it took a couple of days. I didn’t want to squander my time (or money, to be honest) doing something that wasn’t worthwhile. But I also didn’t want to over-tax myself. At first, I was like, well? I’ve always seen myself as a writer, maybe I should delve down that route. I initially thought about picking up an English major or minor. I spent hours and hours pouring over the coursework and projecting my class schedules and how that would pan out or if it would even work. And I discovered that it would if I picked up an English minor. And this department was within the College of Arts and Sciences, and so I wouldn’t have to really branch out too far from “home base.” But then I delved further into the required classes and read up on the syllabi (syllabuses? ...silly buses?) and looked up the instructors on the university online database, and review after review for course after course... they were all mostly bad with, at best, a B- average for grades, and I was like, “...I actually don’t think this is for me.” Being a literature buff was not my thing, and I think the English minor/major at my university trains students for that... which, in my opinion, was not worth my time or energy. I barely knew how to read, let alone critically analyze literature. I definitely was not going to risk something that would take shots at my already teetering GPA if I could help it, especially if it was something additional I was taking on. At that point, I would’ve rather graduated a year early and figure it out from there. So I scrapped that idea. And then it was back to the drawing board. Another several days of searching and seeking counsel... and then one day, a random thought came into my head. There was this nice building at the southern corner of the campus that was one of the newer colleges of our university, the College of Journalism. I would always walk by this building but never ventured in. One nice summer day that Spring semester of 2010, I did. And immediately, I felt sort of the same “at home” vibe I had felt all those years ago when I decided I wanted to become a pediatrician. Another little known fact. I actually started writing (for lack of a better term, honestly) before I even decided medicine was my calling. I remember in kindergarten, I had started writing and I remember my teacher reading some of my stories to my classmates. It wasn’t talent. It was a whim. Some sort of strange whim that has carried me forward throughout the years, just like how my aspiration for a career in medicine did. Within the College of Journalism was a major known as Professional Writing. I went home immediately after that day and did all the research I could on this. There was, unfortunately, no minor offered for any of the journalism majors. But the more I read about the Professional Writing track, the more and more I was sold. This major would train me and give me the skills I needed to become a more proficient writer and actually give me an avenue and motivation to continue writing as a potential career. None of that literary crap that made me despise high school English class, but stories that I would actually enjoy writing. I meticulously planned out my current coursework remaining for my Biochemistry major and overlay the required coursework for a Journalism-Professional Writing major... and it was like over-packing for a trip (another one of my wondrous qualities), borderline impractical and insane, but doable if done correctly. I asked myself, “how invested are you in this, Tuan?” I remember taking an afternoon to think about this, seeking opinions from some of my friends. And then, by the end of the day, I decided to go for it. I scheduled a meeting with an advisor at the college who, honestly and I think appropriately, questioned my sanity. I concretely remember him, one, looking at me with his eyebrows raised when I told him my background and experience (or lack thereof), and two, asking me repeatedly, “Are you sure about this?” But when I expressed my extreme interest and drive, he complied and laid out the requirements for me. I would have to take an entrance competency exam (basically a reading and writing exam). Thank goodness the foreign language requirements were the same among colleges, because I was not about to go down that route again (Spanish 3 is a story for another time...). That summer of 2010 would end up being my busiest summer. Because I picked this new major, I would have to get the required prerequisites out of the way before I could even think about starting any Journalism classes. So this required me to take two journalism classes over the summer. And I had also enrolled in a Biochemistry course that summer. So, three classes during that fateful summer of 2010. Hahaha! Not my smartest decision. But it felt like this new endeavor into the world of Journalism breathed new meaning in my life, and I felt rejuvenated and excited. Well, that feeling did not last too long. Hahaha! Mind you, yes, the entire way until I graduated college, I loved my Journalism major and classes, and it was definitely a reprieve away from my science classes and the stress of applying for medical school. But the very first class I had to take, and I will always remember the course ID to this day, was JMC 2033: Writing for Mass Media (JMC stood for Journalism and Mass Communication and was the ID used for all Journalism classes at my university). This was the introductory “weed-out” class for Journalism majors... which shocked me when my teacher, an impassioned writer and, in my opinion, rather poorly directed masters student who took pride in making this class the hardest it could ever possibly be, said to us on our first day, “If you are taking this class in the summer thinking that it was going to be easier, think again.” In my head, I was like, “oh shit.” No biochemistry professor of mine ever said that in any of my classes on the first day, and here I am, at a place I thought was the greener side of things, and there’s this crazy 20-something-year-old lady with an ego the size of the screen projected at the front of the classroom ready to skewer each and every one of us for the next 8 weeks. ...and skewer us she did. She definitely found some sick joy torturing us students in that class that summer. And I was so out of my element. I knew that I had a disadvantage and that this wasn’t something I had a true strength in. Other people in my class seemed to have read all the time and knew how to pick apart articles, had an eye for ads and design, understood the basic workings of PR and broadcasting. Me? I was the lowly writer who really only had the skills of an unpolished kindergartener. ...but I will be damned if I let my first step into the Journalism world be a misstep. So that summer, even more than my Biochemistry class, I worked my ass off more than ever before. Because it was a summer class, we crammed 16 weeks of work into 8... which was not the healthiest thing, honestly, because that required working and studying every single night, because this lady would present us with quizzes almost every single day of class. And this class was Monday through Thursday. Not to mention you had to make a C average or above in this class to be accepted into the College of Journalism (which, yes, is a given for anything, really), but as you will see from the quiz averages of this particular class, that was kinda touch and go, and I feared for my life and the life of my classmates at several points. And thus arrives the main topic of this post. Hahaha! (That took a while, right?) These quizzes we were subjected to tested absolutely everything (but truthfully, essentially nothing) about the supposed skills a journalist should have. Looking back... honestly, it was mostly hogwash, as you’ll come to see. Hahaha! This class was so bad and so hard that I ended up making daily Facebook status posts about it and then compiling them all together in a singular post titled “Lessons in Journalism Hell” posted on my Blogspot exactly 9 years ago today. I think the funniest (and frankly most appalling) thing this teacher did for this class was each morning, she would post the quiz averages of the day before on the large projector in front of the class, which I always wrote down so that I could relay how horrid this class was, and she also put the highest score and the lowest score on the projector and always, without fail, revealed to the class who made the highest score. ...if she had revealed who made the lowest score, she probably would’ve been murdered, honestly, because no one in the class liked her. And if someone made a perfect score, she would put the student’s name up there for all to see. ...it was kinda insane what this lady did. I look back on this course with such comical contempt, because I was like, “if all of my Journalism classes are going to be like this, I have made a grave mistake.” Thankfully, this was not the case. JMC 2033 is, notoriously, and especially when taught by this one particular crazy lady, is the hardest class in the college. I think what made it hard was it was an introductory course that attempted to teach all Journalism majors the basic concepts of journalism and mass communication, which included advertising, broadcasting, PR, and professional writing, and incorporated the necessities of media literacy and competence. I will say that I learned a few things from this class. But was any of it particularly useful? I mean, a good majority of our assignments and preparation for quizzes was to read or watch or listen to something that was published within a specific time window the day/night before and remember every single goddamn detail we possibly could and hope that we even read, watched, or listened to the right thing so that we could answer quiz questions the following morning. ...perhaps that only useful thing I did pick up from this class was a stronger resilience and work ethic than what I had previously. Haha! And so, without further ado, I would like to repost my Lessons in Journalism Hell on my tumblr today, to commemorate a rather miserable yet pretty laughable time in my life 9 years ago when I decided to pursue a Journalism major the summer before my Junior year of college. Each lesson is numbered and dated with a short sentence or two I devised to describe what the quiz was about, followed by the class average (and often my own personal commentary on such average). I don’t remember my own grades from these quizzes, as I didn’t write them down. It felt like it was poor form. Also, the teacher took back our quizzes after we had five seconds to review them (for some dumbass reason I will never understand), so I don’t have them in any archives of mine. But anyway, I present to you, Lessons in Journalism Hell, June 9 - July 29, 2010. June 9 | Journalism Hell Lesson #1: Copy-editing marks. A journalist MUST learn how to copy-edit using the CORRECT symbols and marks. Class avg: 57.7/100 ...HOLY CRAP! June 10 | Journalism Hell Lesson #2: Making distinctions. A journalist MUST learn how and when to use who vs. whom. Class avg: 79.6/100 June 14 | Journalism Hell Lesson #3: AP Style. A journalist MUST learn how to use AP (Associated Press) style of writing. Class avg: 63/100... and teacher said she expected great things from this quiz -.- June 15 | Journalism Hell Lesson #4: Newspapers. A journalist MUST learn how to read a newspaper--and figure out what content the teacher will quiz over. Class avg: horrendously low... T_T June 16 | Journalism Hell Lesson #5: Language Lapses. A journalist MUST learn that you feel bad NOT badly, that mobs are always angry and beatings are usually brutal, and finally, that you are usually nauseated, NOT nauseous...unless you make OTHER people want to vomit. Class avg: 97.3/100 :] June 17 | Journalism Hell Lesson #6: Newspapers Round 2. A journalist MUST learn how to read the newspaper (again), analyze it, memorize important facts, and rely on sheer gut about what the heck the teacher will ask on the quiz. Class avg: 68.2/100 ...my Buddha. -.- June 21 | Journalism Hell Lesson #7: Diversity. A journalist MUST know the difference between an oreo and a twinkie. Enough said. Class avg: 75.7/100 June 22 | Journalism Hell Lesson #8: Diversity Part 2. A journalist MUST learn how to read online news sources about blacks, Native Americans, and gays. Class avg: 43.7/100 ...OH MY SNAPS! We're getting killed by these quizzes! June 23 | Journalism Hell Lesson #9: It's anyone's guess. A journalist MUST know that if he/she WERE smarter, he/she would have made a better grade on this quiz. Class avg: 77/100 June 24 | Journalism Hell Lesson #10: Huffingtonpost.com. A journalist MUST... oh, what the hell. This quiz was completely insane and taught me nothing besides how terribly vague and untimely the quiz content was. All I learned was that huffingtonpost.com updates multiple times and the time frame we journalism students were given was within a 10-hour time span. Class avg: 58.8/100 -- I'm starting to get worried... June 29 | Journalism Hell Lesson #11: AP style round 2. A journalist MUST continue to learn how to use AP (Associated Press) style of writing. Class avg: 70/100 June 30 | Journalism Hell Lesson #12: The Week (online magazine). A journalist MUST not give up. As we are all getting tired of this, refer back to lessons 4, 6, and 10. Class avg: 71.9/100 July 1 | Journalism Hell Lesson #JUST KIDDING: There was no quiz today. WHOOPEE! July 6 | Journalism Hell Lesson #13: Us Weekly. A journalist MUST not let his/her brain melt while reading this tabloid-esque trash. Class avg: 78.1/100 July 7 | Journalism Hell Lesson #14: AP style round 3. A journalist MUST continue to learn how to use AP style of writing. Class avg: 93.2/100 ...WOOHOO! July 8 | Journalism Hell Lesson #15: Pluralizing. It's bitches and hoes! Class avg: 85.9/100 July 12 | Journalism Hell Lesson #16: AP style round 4. Class avg: 85.9/100 July 13 | Journalism Hell Lesson #17: AP style round 5. Class avg. 82.1/100 July 15 | Journalism Hell Lesson #18: NPR. A journalist MUST listen to 20 stories of Morning Edition on NPR (National Public Radio) and remember all the details. Class avg. 76.4/100 July 19 | Journalism Hell Lesson #19: NBC Nightly News @ 5:30 p.m. A journalist MUST watch the 5:30 p.m. programming of NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams. Class avg. 89.3/100 July 20 | Journalism Hell Lesson #20: AP style round 6. Class avg. 85.7/100 July 21 | Journalism Hell Lesson #21: Advertising Age (AdAge.com). A journalist MUST be familiar with AdAge.com. Class avg. 70.9/100 ...and we were doing so well. -.- July 22 | Journalism Hell Lesson #22: PR Newswire (prnewswire.com). A journalist MUST be familiar with a PR tool website. Class avg. 72.9/100 July 26 | Journalism Hell Lesson #23: ESPN.com. A journalist MUST ...seriously?! This is by far the stupidest thing I've studied. Class avg. 75.4/100 July 27 | Journalism Hell Lesson #24: The First Amendment. A journalist MUST memorize the First Amendment... word for word. Class avg. 81.5/100. Awesomeness! July 28 | Journalism Hell Lesson #25: TMZ.com. A journalist MUST read more trash. Ugh. Class avg. 68.6/100. ...GEEZ! July 29 | Journalism Hell Lesson #26: Gawker.com. And so, the last lesson in Journalism Hell before the shit hits the fan. A journalist MUST read even MORE trash. -.- Class avg. 71.2/100 Hahaha! There you have it. Needless to say, I got through this class with an A (thank Buddha. I honestly would have been a little upset if the decision to pick up a second major in college brought down my GPA and further hurt my chances of getting into medical school). My teacher called out my name a number of times because I had made the highest grade on a quiz, and I think my name showed up on the board twice because I had made a perfect score on two quizzes. Each time, I just sunk into my seat and avoided eye contact. I definitely did not take these instances as accolades, because it made me feel really bad because the class averages were so low, and my classmates honestly were not having it with this lady, so I definitely did not appreciate her putting me on the spot. But regardless, I persevered and left JMC 2033 in the rear-view mirror as I started my actual Professional Writing classes the following fall semester. It gave me a giggle to go through this post again. Some comical memories of a pretty grueling summer, for sure, but productive and successful nonetheless. In the end, I definitely enjoyed my classes at the Journalism college, and it was definitely a decision that I did not regret. Anyway, just thought I’d trek through memory lane for a bit on this late night. Till next time. :]

[avoutput]

Saturday Morning Symbiosis || Venom

I was having a bad day the first time I tried to go see Venom. I had to drop off my girlfriend on the way to the theater, and we left late, so I was in a rush. I had 10 minutes to get to the theater from her drop off point, but along the way, a series of bumbling mistakes and unfortunate coincidences happened along the way. First, the road I would have normally used was backed up due to the slowest railway crossing in all of Texas, so I took an unknown back route. I was making good time, until I got to the stoplight right in front of the theater, which was now some kind of modern intersection where for some reason you can only turn left instead of pass through. Now I have to drive further away from the theater only to turn back around. Only 4 minutes until the start and I haven’t even parked, but I have faith in myself. I get on my phone and bought my tickets while I was waiting for the light to change. But I accidentally chose the wrong card and charged it to an account I’d rather not use, but it’s fine, I have the ticket. Luck goes my way, I find a parking spot on the ground floor of the garage. I hoof it to the theater, even take a second to validate my parking. I have one minute to spare. I check the ticket, theater 3, row 2, seat 7. I rush up the stairs and whip open the theater door, elated, but only for the briefest of moments. To my surprise, Crazy Rich Asians is playing. I look back down at my ticket, and at the top in big bold print is the name of a completely different theater on the other side of town. Same start time, same company, different theater. I had to walk out defeated. A week passes and I sit down for Venom, in the right theater, without issue. Tom Hardy grunts, stomps, and oafishly crashes around on screen and I can’t help but think back to how hard I had to work to get here. Oddly, the whole experience helped pull me deeper into the film. I was just a good guy trying to get from A to B. I gotta tell ya, that is exactly what Venom feels like.

Much like a trip from A to B, it should feel uneventful. A to Z has a lot of stops, but not A to B. Ruben Fleischer crafts Venom in the same way he has other fan favorites in his catalog, namely 30 Minutes or Less and Zombieland. He has a talent for filming a journey, and watching Eddie Brock’s turned out to be a fun, action-packed treat. Fleischer doesn’t draw the best out his actors, but somehow draws the eccentricities and puts them on display, like a caricature artist on the pier. Eddie Brock, in my memory, has always been characterized as a guy who wants to be great and isn’t afraid to cheat to get there, and that’s kind of how he is laid out here, only we are on his side instead of Peter Parker’s. It was a nice reprieve. It was also nice to be out from underneath the weight of 10 years of Marvel Cinematic Universe films. And you might think without Spider-Man acting as natural predator, would Venom fare well in a universe where he is the apex? It’s rare that the audience is left to come up with a villian for a villian in a comic book movie. Turns out, Venom’s only enemy is other… venoms. Surprisingly, all this works for this standalone comic film.

The major critique here is going to sound more like advice. Don’t ask too many questions. This film is much more of a saturday morning cartoon. It doesn’t have the same depth of emotion you will have experienced in Captain America or The Dark Knight. It doesn’t have a particular hard theme to grasp or discern. It isn’t a puzzle. Its sugar cereal. Count Chocula. Or better yet, its that limited-time run of a cereal based on a movie or one of those Batman Returns cups from McDonalds you get for an extra buck, now found for the same price on the shelves of Goodwill. Everything is on the surface in this movie. Eddie Brock and Venom get along because the movie says they have to. They have a villain because they need one. The major plus in the film comes from Anne (Michelle Williams) who isn’t just some love interest for Eddie. She is a living, breathing person who takes Eddie head on, but is also his love interest. She’s his love interest second. Also, Riz Ahmed puts in time as a great antagonist in the shoes of save-the-world-my-way, scientist/capitalist Carlton Drake. Lastly, in her least funny, but still enjoyable roll, Jenny Slate made a pretty great scientist. Girl looks good in a lab coat.

I can’t say for certain that this is a must see film for anyone, but if like Zombieland and don’t mind it knocked down to PG-13, you are in for a good time. The story and the characters in it are cartoony, especially Tom Hardy’s Brock, who seems to have a problem not lumbering everywhere he goes. Its like he never stopped playing Mad Max. Also, stick around for two post-credits sequences. I won’t ruin it, but, you won’t leave disappointed if you stay. Somehow, the stars really aligned for this one. If the suits at Sony or Big Hollywood had a major hand in this, and it kind of feels like they did, even they get something right sometimes. Give them and the talent behind this film a big hand.

~* 7.5/10 *~

[ramvanfam]

Ohio by way of Niagara Falls and the Rustbelt

My grandma was turning 85. There would be a surprise party...in Westerville, OH. It’s not often everyone on my dad’s side of the family all get together anymore. We are multiplying (in fact there would be my cousin’s new baby to meet) and live all around the country. In the spirit of avoiding the weddings or funerals mindset, I knew I wanted to make this trip happen.

We decided to drive, in part because we love road trip adventures, and in part because there is no easy way to fly to Ohio from Rhode Island. Also, according to virtually everyone we mentioned this trip to, because we are crazy. We had only four days and 1600ish round trip miles to cover. 

Thank god Cody is a morning person, because these types of trips only make sense when you leave well before sunrise. By the time the sky was turning red, we had already made it to our first pit stop. We were treated to this rainbow sky behind the iconic golden arches in an almost empty parking lot, save for a few over the road truckers.

I had been daydreaming about taking the kids to see Niagara Falls for a while. I was there just once in college, while visiting friends at RIT; this would be Cody’s first time. After looking at the map, I decided it would be a great way to break up the drive. We had learned there are bike paths all around Niagara Falls, so decided this would be the perfect opportunity to try out our bike rack on its first long trip.

Our drive took us right along the Erie Canal. Coincidentally, Willa’s 3rd grade chorus was in the process of learning Low Bridge, so we all had that song stuck in our head for days. We got off the highway in Canastota, NY and got to see a painted low bridge up close. 

Cody is an expert at the backroads, and this is one of my favorite things he brings to our adventures. Miles of highway can get so monotonous - from the interstate, everything looks the same - but one reprieve into a small rustbelt town is enough to light a fire of interest and curiosity in all of us. 

There’s a toe path that runs along parts of the Erie Canal and through this town - you can see it just beyond that arch in the picture. We didn’t have time to get our bikes out, but we walked along it for a little and saw some beavers working on their dam. 

Small towns like this make me feel at home, and it was relaxing to walk around and just see life happening on a sleepy Thursday morning. I like how the murals gave us a small glimpse into what the town might have been like back in the canal’s hay day. 

“A House Held Up By Trees” - Other perks of taking back roads - seeing a house held up by trees that looks just like the pictures in the book we have by the same name.

After playing a friendly competition of Eye Spy (a farm animal - 5 points, a silo - 7 points, an Amish person - 10 points), we got back on the highway to log some more miles. We took this opportunity to listen to every podcast we could find about people going over the falls in a barrel. Next stop - the Canadian border!! 

We crossed the border at the Lewiston-Queenston Bridge and just followed signs for Niagara Falls. We weren’t sure what to expect. The last time I came here, we walked across the border from the US side during a time when you didn’t need passports. This route took us along the Niagara Parkway and we saw that right beside us was a bike path along the Niagara River. 

We parked the ramvan right near the Butterfly Conservatory and unloaded the bikes, resisting the urge (mostly mine) to first go look at the butterflies. It was about 2:00 in the afternoon, and we were all ready to be out of the van and stretch our legs.

We had no idea how far we were from Niagara Falls, and purposely didn’t look at a map to find out; we figured we must be pretty close.

It felt great to have reached out first destination and be out in the fresh air in one of the first warm days of the spring. The mood was slightly less jubilant as we kept riding for 7 more miles before we finally reached the falls. Oops! Didn’t think it would be quite that far, but there were a few picturesque places to stop along the way.

Someday I would love/be slightly terrified to ride one of these gondolas across the Niagara River. By the time we got to this junction, we could start to hear the roar of the falls (good thing because the kids were beginning to lose patience). 

It was so worth it to have the anticipation build and get to slowly approach this view by bike. I was trying to put myself in the shoes of someone who had no idea what to expect, but it was also just as awe inspiring the second time around.

It was a beautiful sunny day, but it had been a long cold winter and the falls were still pretty pretty frozen, so the Maid of the Mist tour boats weren’t running. While I would have liked the experience of getting so close to the falls, it was kind of nice to not have to feel like we were missing out on something if we decided to view the falls just from above. 

It got more and more crowded as we got closer to the horseshoe falls. The temperature dropped a solid 15 degrees as we walked through the mist coming off the falls. 

We were now closer to the main streets of town, and could see our hotel in the distance. We were staying at the Marriott on the Falls and it was just down a little farther and one street above us. We had come so far - we decided to just keep walking/riding to get to our hotel and then send Cody back to get the van once we checked in. There was an incline car to get up to the main street from the falls, but there was one problem - no bikes allowed. We were so close, yet so far away. We ended up on a trek through a big parking lot that we were sure would lead to a road to the hotel. Instead, we found a dead end. We saw a dirt path through the woods above that said no trespassing, but it seemed like our only option. After convincing the kids that it is okay to sometimes break rules at times like this (MY HEART VOICE SAYS TAKE THE PATH!!), we made it up to the main road, and finally to our hotel.

There were no falls view rooms left, but we could walk right around the corner from our room to the elevator alcove for this amazing view. The hotel stored our bikes for us while Cody rode his to get the van. The parking lot in the above picture is the one we rode through. 

We contemplated walking down to the busier part of town for a restaurant dinner, but it was getting late and the kids wanted to swim (always get the hotel with the pool!). Cody took them down to the pool while I unpacked and laid out this dinner spread. I had packed a ton of food for this trip and we ended up not eating out at all. After dinner, we turned on a movie for the kids, and Cody and I took our wine and went around the corner to sit by the hallway window and look at falls. People coming off of the elevator probably thought we were nuts, but we just wanted to soak in that view. And it’s a good thing we did - when we woke up the next morning, it was so foggy that you couldn’t even tell the falls were there. We took that as our cue to leave - but not before a morning swim. Onward to Ohio!

We took a slight detour to drive through the town of Erie. It was a part of PA I had never been to. The city center still had kind of a 1960′s vibe and it was easy to imagine what life might have been like back then. Cody led us down to Presque Isle State Park, which is a peninsula that juts out into Lake Erie. It was still pretty foggy, so we couldn’t see much. We stopped for a picnic lunch and planned our next move.

There are 21 miles of bike paths throughout the park. It had started raining a little, but we decided we couldn’t pass them up. 

We rode for a few miles and found an End of the Rhode type of beach with dunes perfect for jumping.

It was nice to have some time to explore and stretch our legs, because after this stop, it was hammer down to Ohio; we were expected by dinner. 

After hundreds of miles of driving, coming from two completely different places, and not talking all day about our travel plans, the Wolfe’s pulled into the parking lot of my grandma’s apartment at the exact same time we did. Twin powers unite! We only had about 36 hours in Ohio, so we were going to make the most of them. After a pizza dinner with everyone trickling in as they arrived, we went back and slept at my aunt and uncles’ house. On Saturday, there would be a Bunny Hop 5K run, an Easter egg hunt, lunch and a tour of my grandma’s new apartment building, and the surprise party.

It was a busy day, but so worth it to get to spend it with these people!

Sunday was Easter. We had originally planned to get up and leave pretty early, but we decided to enjoy a more leisurely morning. We had a nice breakfast at my aunt and uncles’, then headed over to my grandma’s where the kids rode their bikes on the bike paths that surround her apartment while the adults “visited” (as my mom calls it). We took some final photo ops and were on our way around noon.

At our first gas station stop, the kids were excited to discover that the Easter bunny had left their baskets and some eggs hidden in the ramvan! Each time we stopped, there would be a couple more eggs hidden, filled with lego people they could put together and play with in the car. That Easter bunny sure is a tricky guy.

We weren’t sure if we would try to drive the whole way in one shot, or if we would have to stop overnight somewhere. The kids fell asleep in the car around 9:00, and by the time we got to NYC around 11:30 hardly anyone else was on the road. We knew at this point it would take us twice as long to drive the remaining 200 miles in morning traffic, so we just went for it. And by “we” I mostly mean Cody. I just did my best to stay awake and pick good podcasts. 

4 days, 1700 miles, and a whole lot of fun. And we even all made it to school and work the next day!

[joonsoulmap-archived]

COSANTÓIRÍ {TWO}

What: Mafia!BTS AU Genre: Angst Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (+surprise later) Words: 3k+

Acknowledgement:

huge shoutout to my forever fic and life beta, @littleemptyspaces. God knows how many stupid things you’ve saved my ass from in the last 6.5 years}

(Previous Chapter)

“I bet you can’t outrun me!!” “Nuh-uh, I bet I could! You’re a girl, you can’t run as fast as me!!” “Girls can do whatever boys can!! Try and beat me!” the voices you heard were distinct although at a distance. Y/N found herself in the midst of a meadow, your ears filled with the sounds of a gushing stream nearby and the excited shrieks of two children who were playing at its banks. How did you manage to get here? A smile crept on your face, something about this scene was so familiar, so comforting that all your pain had instantly numbed.

Chuckling to yourself a little, you watched the young boy push the girl playfully and run away laughing. His amusement turned to guilt when he saw her bending over and sobbing and he ran to her to make sure all was ok. This was just what she needed as she used the distraction to beat the boy in their competition. You let out a loud laugh, which was something you hadn't done for a long time. You hoped the children wouldn't be scared off by the crazy laughing lady who was spying on them, but they didn't seem to notice.

You basked in the beautiful weather and peaceful surroundings, enjoying this reprieve when, in an instant, the weather took a drastic turn and thundering clouds covered every bit of the wonderful sunshine. You frantically tried to make your way to the children, strange feeling in the pit of your stomach. You must protect the children, that feeling wouldn't leave you. As you ran towards them, a hand appeared from the sky and snatched the little girl from the ground. She began to wail immediately and the little boy tried to save her from this monstrosity but he wasn't strong enough to prevent the hand from taking the girl away. You should do something, anything, but you were entranced by the ring you saw on the hand. It was Papa’s ring.

You awoke with a start, cold sweats soaking your pillow. It was a nightmare, only a nightmare. Papa wasn't here, he couldn't hurt you. You were alive. You were breathing. After a few moments of calming down, you turned to look at the clock, it was 9:30 am. How long were you out? Actually where were you? You couldn't recognize the place and tried to rack your brain for an answer. In an instant, the events of last night came swimming into your view. The restaurant, the fight, the gunshots, the stricken look in his eyes, the bullet he took for you. The bullet? Namjoon. This was his house you mused as your memory became clearer and clearer. The well dressed man brought me here yesterday, he doesn't look like the usual type of man you saw around the crews. Who were these people? Why did they bring you here? The questions didn't cease but your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Hello, uh miss, it's Seokjin from last night. Can I come in?” you heard the cheery cadence from outside the other side of the heavy oak door. You weren’t a captive, not quite a guest, so it was best to be polite. “Hello, sorry, please come in.” you said as you hurried of the bed to meet the Seokjin halfway. He carried a beautifully plated tray of breakfast items, as he saw you eyeing the tray ravenously he chuckled and said, “Well, I won’t stand between you and the food, I think it would be dangerous for me. I hope you enjoy it, spent a good part of the morning preparing it. It’s not often we have guests.” You looked at the warm man incredulously, how did he exist? His character was such an anomaly in the strange setting you were all in.

The sound of his retreating steps shook you out of your reverie, “Thank you Mr. Kim. I appreciate this -- all of it --” you said hesitantly, hoping he could gauge the relief and gratitude in your voice, “That’s no problem Miss L/Y/N, you should thank Namjoon actually… speaking of him, I think it would be better if you avoided the common areas of the estate for the time being. I doubt that Taehyung and Jeongguk are pleased with your presence. They’re good boys, they mean no harm but they are young and might get carried away. They’re….quite attached to Namjoon.” he finished solemnly. “I-I understand, you will barely know I’m here. As soon as I have sorted out my situation, I will be out of your hair.” you said earnestly to the man. The curvature of his lips indicated that he was smiling but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “Well I will leave you to enjoy your breakfast in peace, let one of the staff know if you need anything at all. We’re not used to having ladies like yourself in the house.” with these final words, Kim Seok-jin sauntered out of your room leaving you to your thoughts.

“How do I get myself out of here, should I go back to…? No, he probably doesn’t want anything to do with me now.” you heart felt a sharp pang as you thought of him, what had become of him? You shook your head to rid yourself of these traitorous thoughts. Not again, you couldn’t go down that route again, too much water under the bridge. One step at a time, that’s how you were going to play this. Your stomach grumbled and you figured that you might as well make the breakfast in front of you, your first step.

You lay in your bed in a comatose albeit happy state, all thanks to the wonderful meal that Seok-jin had prepared for you. You must really do something to show your gratitude to that man one these days, he had been nothing but utterly kind to you. With a push, you got yourself off the bed to explore the room you were in. It was definitely a man’s room you noticed, once you actually took in all of your surroundings. The leather armchair near the fireplace which looked like it was put to use often, a portable bar set up carved into the east wall. The item that took you the most by surprise was the large bookcase that replaced an entire wall, lined with books as far as your eyes could see. Curiousity overtook your other senses, so you began exploring the book housed in the bookcase. The variety of books was another surprise to you, everything from Gabriel Garcia Marquez to textbooks on Finance, from a Rudyard Kipling anthology to a Zadie Smith collection, you could even spot several editions of the same Murakami. Whoever owned this room, was certainly a man of varied, yet wonderful taste. You could spend hours lost in this wall of books, you had discovered your step two.

You could have sworn that it had only been minutes since you had sunk into the delightfully comfortable leather armchair with the book of your choice in hand, but the hands on the clock showing 1 pm said otherwise. With a groan you got up from the armchair, your body already protesting the activity, you needed to get a start on the day, a shower was in order, but you didn’t bring a change of clothes. The crushing reality sneaked into your vision again as you realised that you hadn’t thought this whole situation through, what would do you now? Your mind raced for answers and thankfully you remembered Seokjin’s parting words, “ask the staff if you need anything...:” right, the staff. Now how was one supposed to get in touch with said staff? You peeked about the room as if the inanimate objects would give you answers, thankfully you stopped a button labelled, Intercom on one of the walls. With a prayer up to heaven, you pressed on the button for a bit, expecting nothing but static on the other end, when to your pleasant surprise a cheery woman’s  booming voice spoke, “Hello miss! You rang?  What can I do for you?” you managed to turn your startled gasp into a tiny cough and replied in a timid voice, “Hello, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I just needed some things to….freshen up. I was wondering….” the booming voice cut you off with, “Say no more miss, I’ll be right there.” “Oh ok, thank you...:” you began to offer more gratitude but the line was disconnected.

In no less than five minutes, a rosy cheeked robust woman barreled into your room with a two large baskets in her hand, “Oh miss, I’m apologise I didn’t bring these out to you sooner. You probably want to take a nice long bath, and oh my look at you! All bones, we need to get some food into you!” you smiled at the radiant warmth emitting from the woman, it felt like your soul being cleansed with every syllable that fell out of her mouth. “Oh look at me, always rambling away! I’m Oh Na-ri, the gentlemen’s housekeeper. You can call me Miss Oh if you’d like.” said the angelic woman finally introducing herself. “Thank you for all your kindness Miss Oh, I’m Y/L/N Y/F/N.” you said while smiling back at the woman. She looked at you with an intense gaze for a second, as if trying to surmise your intentions but with a flash her soft eye smile was back and she chattered on, “Here are some supplies, for the bath, I’ve brought you everything you might need, if there is something specific you need, don’t feel shy to ring.” the woman finished her speech and slipped out of the room noiselessly. You felt comforted by her presence.

“A hot shower, that’s exactly what I need.” you murmured to yourself as you stripped bare and stepped on to the cool tiled floor or the bathroom. Everything about this room and estate itself screamed good taste, so you weren’t surprised at the ornate bathroom set up. With your hands on the shower taps, you turned on the hot water right upto the point where you could just bear it. You need the heat to rid yourself of all the grime and tears and exhaustion of yesterday.

You spent what seemed like hours under the wonderfully scalding water. Content with the rough beating the temperature was giving your skin. With a final scrub and a sigh you didn’t know you were holding, you turned off the water and stepped back out into the bathroom space. You avoided looking at the mirror, as you had done since you were 16, and quickly wrapped yourself up in the soft towels provided to by Miss Oh. You absentmindedly made your way back into the bedroom when a figure bent over the desk made you jump and scream, “Oh I’m so sorry to startle you miss! I thought you would need some clothes to change into, I know you didn’t bring a bag. Here try some of these on, young master picked them out himself!” Miss Oh exclaimed, pride clearly etched on her face. “Miss Oh! It’s you, sorry I thought I was alone in here...thank you again for the clothes.” you gushed to her as you caught sight of the beautiful array in front of you.

The variety was dazzling, every dress and outfit seemed to have been ripped off either a high fashion catalogue or the runways of Milan. You sneaked a peek at the labels and your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the names of various couture houses on them. “This is too much…. I possibly can’t accept this. The clothes are lovely but I don’t think I would be suited to them.” you said in a small voice, after so many years of living the life you did, you definitely knew where you belonged and where you didn’t. “Oh nonsense, dearie, you would breathe life into these outfits, and I’m sure young master would be quite disappointed if you didn’t wear one of them.” Miss Oh said with a sweet but firm voice. She was right, you couldn’t be ungrateful, if Mr. Seokjin had spent so much time to pick these out for you, the least you could do was wear one of the outfits. “Thank you, Miss Oh, I will get changed and be right out.” you said shyly. “That’s the spirit, dearie. Now don’t be too long. I think Mr. Jin is waiting for you downstairs.” Miss Oh said airily as she closed the door behind you to leave you in solitude. “Hmm, it was rather nice of Mr. Jin to get me these beautiful clothes, I hope I don’t ruin them.” you muttered to yourself while thumbing through the various choices. Your hand stopped on an outfit and and you smiled to yourself, “Aah this is perfect!”.

1 hour later: ILSAN INC. ESTATE

“There you are Miss Y/N, we’ve all been waiting…...my don’t you look lovely in these new threads.” Kim Seokjin said in a booming voice which made both Taehyung and Jeongguk’s heads turn towards you. Your cheeks flamed and turned a delightful shade of crimson as you made your way down the staircase to the main foyer area where the three men were. “I’m sorry to keep everyone waiting, Miss Oh said you wanted to see me Mr. Kim?” you said in the bravest voice you could muster, aware of the Jeongguk’s cold and Taehyung’s curious stare. “Yeah, why does she have to come with us hyung? Hasn’t she done enough damage?”Jeongguk spat, the events of the previous day still fresh in his mind. “Guk” said Seokjin sternly, “Namjoon asked for her, so we must oblige.” turning to you he continued in a softer tone, “Y/N, Namjoon would like to see you, I think he wants to have a conversation with you in person, are you willing to accompany us to the hospital?” “Willing? What a joke, hyung. She should be on bended knee in front of Namjoon hyung, thanking him for saving her miserable life.” said Taehyung in an icy tone. “That’s enough Tae…” Seokjin looked to continue but you cut in, “No Mr. Kim, he’s right, I owe my life to Mr. Namjoon and I really should have gone to see him as soon as he was out of surgery.” you said with your head bowed. It’s the least you could do for the man who you now owed your life to. “Well then it’s settled, the car will be here soon, Tae, Guk, you two can go together. Y/N and I will be right behind you.” Seokjin said with authority.

30 mins later: SEOUL METROPOLITAN HOSPICE

You waited for your turn outside his hospital room, while the three men finished up their conversation with him. Fidgeting in your seat, you were undoubtedly nervous, finally you were going to have a conversation with the man who, in literal terms, took a bullet for you. How does one go about thanking one's saviour? Should you listen to what Taehyung said? Should you just fall to your knees? No, you may not have much but you had your pride. You would show him your gratitude but in a way that didn’t compromise your self-respect.

The loud bang of a door brought you back to earth as you looked up to see Jeongguk storming away from the room down the hallways with Taehyung close behind him, trying to assuage him. Seokjin exited the room sighing, looked at boys walking down the hallway and finally at you, “You’re up. Good luck.” he whispered before breaking into a run to probably follow the two younger men. You soon realized that nothing could prepare you for this meeting, so you said a quick prayer and entered the room, closing the door behind you.

Whatever you had expected, this was not it. You had expected bloody bandages and sullen man waiting to rip a hole into your existence. What you found was a sunlit room, with a bespectacled man sitting upright in his bed with a book in his hand. You blinked twice to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. In the sunlight streaming from the window, Kim Namjoon aka Monster, looked almost angelic, his handsome features brought sharply into your focus by the light. His chiseled jaw moved as he unconsciously grinded his teeth, his brows were furrowed, clearly engrossed into whatever material he was reading. Your eyes automatically fell to his plump lips and you felt your cheeks burn when his tongue flicked across them in a hungry motion. “Are you going to keep staring or….?” he finally spoke in his deep husky voice, his tone light and teasing. “No...I-I’m, I mean.” you stammered away incoherently, this was not going as you had planned.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he beckoned you towards him, “Come here Miss Y/N, I think we have a lot to discuss. Firstly, I must say you look lovely. I’m glad you enjoyed my choice in apparel.” Namjoon  said in a victorious voice. “His choice? Young master? It wasn’t Seokjin…..” these thoughts ran amuck in your head as you tried to make sense of the new information. “They’re lovely, thank you. Actually thank you isn’t enough. I don’t know how I can ever repay you…..you-you saved my life. I…” your voice broke as you realised how close you came to dying and how the man in front of you was hurt because of you. “Don’t blame yourself, I know you’re doing that, you didn’t shoot that bullet, you didn’t make me stand in front of you. You are not at fault here.” Namjoon said reassuringly. It’s as if his words lifted a world of burden off your shoulders. You should be the one comforting him, yet here he was in his wounded state, trying to make sure that you were alright. Who exactly was he? How did he become this hardened man?

“You have been so kind to me, really everyone has been nothing but wonderfully, I don’t know how I will ever repay this kindness you have shown me.” you said in the weakest of voices.

“Well, I don’t think I want repayment, I just want an answer to a simple question, if you don’t mind.” Namjoon quizzed with a dark look on his face

“Anything.” you said with conviction

“Why did you shoot Dong-il sunbae?”