#i wrote a poem for a class in college (if anyone wants to see it send me an ask & i'll answer privately. i don't want anyone

[khufiya-khaufnak-antariksh]

Maybe I should dabble a little more in poetry

[fictional-love-is-my-life]

Hi... I am so happy to see my request finally come true...

So here I am with another request and I have some particular theme in mind

Human optimus prime x reader. Optimus is an English teacher where the reader studies.

One day the reader finds a letter stuck in her book which she borrowed from the Library to find a beautiful poem (which optimus left accidentally). She decided to compliment that so she wrote something of her own...and returned it

And then she and that writer (optimus) started to talk anonymously through this type of letters eventually to find out about each and and confess falling for each in 2 line poem like

"roses are red,

voilet is blue

My heart beats so fast

When I think about u"

Fill the gap as u like...u can change it a bit as well

Thank you in advance if you are doing it

If not...it's fine also no biggie

Have a great day or night ❤️🩵💙

Hello hello! Thank you for this request and thank you for being so patient with me. I have finally finished it!

Human Optimus Prime English teacher x Female student Reader

This is set in a college, reader is at least 20+

~~~~~~

English has always been one of your favorite lessons. Something about it intrigued you, especially the poetry lessons. It may have helped that it was taught by your favorite teacher.

Mr. Prime stood at the front of the class, a poetry book in his hand. All eyes were on him as he spoke, talking about many of the techniques used by the author of said book.

The bell rang, indicating the end of class. Most of the class was happy and eager to leave. But the sound made you sad, you could have listened to Mr. Prime for another couple of hours. Yet you obeyed the bell since you had a few other classes to attend that day.

“Now, if anyone is interested in reading this, I do highly recommend it. You can find a copy in our own library here on campus.” Mr. Prime stated, then began saying his farewells to the students. You smiled at your favorite teacher, feeling a small burst of energy as he smiled back at you.

~

After finishing all your classes for the day, you headed to the library. It was late in the afternoon, making you doubt that the poetry book Mr. Prime suggested would still be there. But you thought you would check, just in case. To your surprise, it was still available. You reached out, grabbing the book. It was a little aged, the spine was worn and some of the pages were bent at the corner. That just meant it had been well-used and well-loved.

You checked out the book, tucking it away into your bag. You were going to look at it back in your dorm room, as you were starting to get hungry.

You grabbed food from the small café on campus, then headed to your dorm room. You were happy to have one of the rooms on the college grounds, it meant you never had to walk too far for anything whether it was classes or a quick meal.

Entering the small room, you tossed your bag and food onto the bed. You were done for the day, so you decided to change into more comfortable loungewear before climbing onto your bed. You pulled out your food, eating while you went through your bag.

You tugged the poetry book out, placing it in your lap and using one hand to open it. The moment the pages came loose, something fell out. It was a single piece of paper with writing on it. The handwriting was beautiful, neat, and well-written. It was a poem. You hummed in amusement, of course, it was a poem stuck inside a poetry book. It must have been left behind by the last person who checked the book out.

Curiosity got the best of you, so you began to read it.

You re-read the poem over and over at least 5 times. It was beautiful, soul-capturing, enlightening. The words stuck in your head on a constant loop. You knew it was just a random person's work, but the way the words were written, it felt as if it was a letter made just for you.

It was so inspiring that it made you want to write your own poem, in response to them.

You worked for hours, writing then scratching out the words and starting again. After going through at least ten pages of your notebook, you finally had something you felt was good enough. It wasn’t as good as the poem you just read, but it was still good.

~

A few days later you had finished the poetry book you took from the library. It was about time to return it. You picked it up, then spotted the poem that fell out of it sitting on your desk. Your own poem sat next to it. You wished you could find the author and tell them how much you loved their work, but you knew you’d never find out who wrote it.

Part of you wanted to keep the poem, but at the same time, you didn’t. It was so beautiful, that you felt it needed to be shared with the world. You grabbed a post-it, writing on it “This was beautiful”. Sticking the post-it on the mystery person's poem and put it back into the book. Your own poem caught your attention.

Before, you hadn’t been confident sharing your poems with other people. But the idea of sharing it with others anonymously didn’t seem so bad. You also thought it might be quite funny, giving the next person to check out the book two poems to read. You hoped someone would appreciate your work. You took another Post-it writing “Mine is not as good” and stuck it to your poem. You then placed it into the book behind the first.

You took the book back to the library, checked it back in, and placed it nicely onto the shelf. You felt happy and a little excited, you wondered who would get the book next and what they would think of it.

~

Once it was out of sight, you forgot about the poetry book. It only returned to your memory when you were in the library a couple of days later. Curious you made your way to the literary section; you dragged your finger across the books searching for it.

There it was, in the middle of the shelf. Its worn-out spine made your stomach flip in excitement. You wondered if there would be another addition to the poems, who it would be by, and what it would say. However, there was also the possibility that the poems would have been taken.

You picked up the book and opened its pages. The pages instantly opened themselves, revealing a single piece of paper. It was the same beautiful hand writing from the first poem, obviously from the same writer. Yet it was different. It was new!

You instantly started to read it, still standing in the middle of the library’s aisle. It started by quoting a line from your poem, then continued on its own, saying how much they loved your poem and how beautiful they thought it was. They wrote how they felt alone in their own poetic dreams, and that your words were like a song to their heart.

Your stomach fluttered as you read the poem, in complete disbelief that they liked your work. It made you ecstatic, your creative energy bursting. You had to respond and thank them for their words.

You rushed over to an empty table in the back of the library, pulling out your notebook. Scribbling away, you tried to put your emotions into words. You had to express how much their words meant to you. You finished the poem with a few lines about how much you enjoy poetry and how the act of writing poems gives you joy, like a fresh flower on a warm summer’s day. Once you were happy with your poem you tore out the page and stuck it into the poetry book.

This time you kept the mystery person's poem. Their words meant so much to you, so this time you were going to keep it to yourself. You gently put the poetry book back on the shelf and rushed out of the library. You thought about sticking around, waiting to see who would come to pick it up. But you also thought that might be quite creepy, so you just decided to leave.

That night you lay awake; your stomach filled with butterflies. You lay on your side, staring at your desk where the mystery person's poem sat. It’s words circling in your mind. You imagined who the author was, what they looked like, what they sounded like. You could hear their voice in your head as you read their words, and you wondered if they sounded the same in real life. You pondered if they were thinking about you as well.

~

The next morning you got up early. Even though you had barely slept you felt energized and excited. You rushed over to the library, getting to it before it even opened the doors. Tapping your foot impatiently you waited for the library staff to arrive. Eventually, they came, your heart pounding as they slowly unlocked the door, allowing you inside.

You rushed inside, beelining for the poetry section. You scanned over the shelves, then looked again. The book was gone. You felt a sting of disappointment, replaced a few seconds later by excitement. If it’s gone, it could mean the mystery person has it. Could they have already read your poem? Were they currently writing their own response? You couldn’t wait to find out.

Since the book was not there, you left the library and made your way to the food hall for breakfast.

Classes dragged by slowly, though it didn’t matter as you weren’t paying attention anyway. Your mind was on the mystery person, wondering what their next poem would say.

That same afternoon, you skipped over to the library, once more looking for the book. Yet again it was still gone. Obviously, they must be taking their time to return it. Either that or someone else took it.

You felt sadness and worry at the thought of someone else taking the book. It was your only way to communicate with the mysterious person and you couldn’t picture anyone else getting their hands or eyes on their poems. You sighed and left the library once more. You would just have to check the next day.

~

The following day, you had an early class, so you were unable to go straight to the library. You made your way after the second class, moving at a brisk pace.

You didn’t know if it was fate or just pure luck. But the book was there, waiting, calling your name. You grabbed it, instantly opening it to find a single page.

Your heart skipped. Giddy you took the book and checked it out. This had become something fun and special, so you were going to take the poem back to your room to read it. And once you had, you would take your time to create the most perfect reply.

~

You and the mystery author traded poetic letters for two weeks. Allowing each other at least a day to take the book home and write a response. They were constantly on your mind, their words and the possibilities of who they were. You were desperate to meet them, but you didn’t know how to initiate it or when, terrified you might scare them away by asking to meet.

Every other day you rushed to the library. Your face had become well known, and it became a little joke between the staff that you always took out the same book. You never minded though, any other time you would have thought it was also strange someone took out the same book every day. But you were too preoccupied with enjoying the situation. It was fun, exciting, and exhilarating to get secret poems from a mystery person.

You made your way to the library once more, waving to the library staff.

“Back again! No need to ask what for. You might as well just take it; we know you’ll bring it back.” An older lady laughed. You chuckled; she wasn’t wrong.

The book was there in the middle of the shelf. The paper on the spine was almost completely gone, showing how often it had been taken and handled over the past few weeks. You felt a bit bad for the poor old book. It had brought you so much happiness, so you decided to try being more delicate.

You gently took the book off the shelf and opened it.

Instead of the usual single page, there were two. One was the poem, and the other was a post it. You read the poem first.

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue

My heart beats fast

When I think about you"

Your stomach flipped. Heat spread across your face as a blush formed. They put into words exactly how you felt about them. You didn’t even know this person, but they had enraptured your heart entirely. You could feel the crush coming with each poem, but this just secured it. And by their poem, perhaps they had a crush on you as well.

Your mind swam with ideas of them, and their words that you almost forgot to read the post it. You finally remembered and looked at the small yellow paper.

“You are constantly on my mind, I must meet you if you would like to. I understand if you may not be ready. On Friday, at 5pm I will sit at the bench outside the library.”

Your heart pounds so hard in your chest that you thought it might explode. They wanted to meet you. You were excited, but also incredibly nervous. Were you ready? What if you went and they were disappointed? Or what if you were disappointed?

You shook the negative thoughts from your head. You had been thinking about meeting them for a while, now was your chance and you were not going to mess it up. You take the poem from the book, sticking it into your bag. From your own notebook, you tore out one page and wrote “I’ll be there”.

You stuck the torn page into the poem book and placed it back onto the shelf.

~

Friday came quicker than you were ready for. You sat in your English class, staring at the clock. Usually, your attention would have been solely on Mr. Prime. But today, you thought about 5pm and meeting the mystery poem author. Your heart raced with every second. You began to plan out your outfit in your head, mentally prepping what you would wear and how you would style your hair.

You were knocked out of your thoughts by your classmate and friend nudging you. You turned to her a little annoyed that she disturbed your train of thought.

“Does Mr. Prime seem different to you?” She asked.

For the first time in that period, you looked at your teacher. He had a huge smile on as he talked, his suit was neatly pressed and he had a flower in his pocket. He looked cute.

“I don’t know, he’s just happy.” You shrugged.

“Yeah but, different happy. Happier than we’ve ever seen him.”

“Is that a bad thing?” You asked.

“No.” Your friend muttered. “I was just saying…never mind.”

You immediately began daydreaming again, picturing how the meetup would go. You practiced what you would say and how you would act.

Soon the bell rang and you were able to rush out of the classroom. English had been your final lesson of the day, so you rushed back to your dorm room to try on all your clothes. You had to find the perfect attire for the meet and you only had a few hours to do so.

After going through half your closet, you finally found the perfect outfit. A cute and flowy dress, you styled your hair and accessories to match. Once you were fully dressed you checked the time on your phone. 4.15. Your heart skipped, a small pit of anxiousness sitting in your stomach.

You breathed in and out slowly, calming yourself. It was a big day, and you hoped nothing went wrong. You really hoped they showed.

You decided to leave, thinking there was no harm in getting there a little early. They may have thought the same thing and could have already been there. You made your way to the library, your heart beating hard as you came around the corner. Your eyes instantly locked onto the bench outside.

It was empty. Your heart dropped, and you quickly looked at the time. 4.40. You still had 20 minutes, so there was no reason to get too panicked. Just because you were early didn’t mean they were not going to show.

You sat down and waited patiently, scanning over all the people who walked past, wondering if they were the ones coming to meet you. Nervously you kept checking your phone, the anxious pit getting heavier as it got closer to 5pm.

Eventually your phone read 5.01pm.

Yet you continued to sit alone. You reassured yourself that sometimes people were late.

5.05

Maybe they were caught up with something.

5.10

Maybe they forgot and they were just now on their way.

5.15

Maybe they said a different day? You pulled the post-it out from your bag, reading it and re-reading it. It definitely said Friday at 5. Your heart felt heavy, your bottom lip wobbling as you tried hard not to cry.

5.30

How long were you supposed to wait? You felt awful. You didn’t want to leave in case they arrived, but you also didn’t want to stay for too long. The idea that they weren’t coming was too painful, and you were about to just go home and cry.

You checked your phone one last time. 5.36. You rubbed your eyes, trying to stop tears before they even formed.

The sound of running caught your attention, making you look up. Mr. Prime was running over to you, his dress shoes clacking against the pavement, his tie flying in the wind as he ran. He stopped just before you. He smiled and said your name.

“Hello, Mr. Prime.” You said, wondering why he was running to you. Have you forgotten something? Maybe you hadn’t given him any homework, though you didn’t think so.

For a few seconds, you just stared at each other. He looked down and saw the yellow post-it in your hand, then took a seat beside you.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” He said, his voice sounding a little ashamed. You were about to ask what he was late for when he continued talking. “One of the students was asking for help on their project and I could not get away. By the time I finally told them I had to go, it was already 5, and then I had to run over here from my office. I do apologize for keeping you waiting.”

He then pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. It was your poem. Your mind finally clicked the pieces together. Your mind swirling with the realization that your English teacher was the mystery poet you had been talking to for the past few weeks. You tried to keep your excitement from bursting out. You had no idea what to say, all your preplanned conversations were gone. He sat there, smiling at you. His smile completely took your breath away. You had always thought he was cute, but sitting there now, finally revealed as your mystery poet, he was incredible.

“It’s ok.” Was all you could mutter.

“I’m so glad I got to read your work. It always brought a smile to my face and brightened my day. You’re a very talented poet.” Mr. Prime complimented.

“Me? You are much more talented. Your poems are so beautiful, Mr. Prime.” You replied.

“Please, call me Optimus.”

You nodded, repeating his name over in your head. He wasn’t who you expected. Never in a million years would you expect your professor to be your mystery crush. But you weren’t complaining, and you definitely weren’t disappointed. He was brilliant, and you were happy he was the mystery poet.

“I asked to meet here because I wasn’t sure where to take you or what you may like. As you were my mystery poet and I only knew so much from our exchanges.” He chuckled. Your heart fluttered when he called you ‘his’ mystery poet. “I’d like to take you to dinner if you’d like?”

“I would like that.” You grinned; your face hot from a fresh blush. Optimus suggested a nearby restaurant, one you were quite fond of. He then stood and offered you, his hand. You took it, linking your arm with his as you walked away from the library together.

The dinner was perfect, and conversation flowed easily between the two of you. You had so many similar interests, and your differences only complimented the other. After dinner Optimus took your arm once more and walked you back to your dorm, wanting to get you there safely. He paused halfway there, standing in a quiet part of the park.

“I wish to confess something, and you can tell me if I make you uncomfortable.” Optimus started. You guessed where he might be leading with the conversation, and you were very excited if you were right. “I have thoroughly enjoyed sharing poems with you. The experience was a joy, and I wished it could last forever. But the more we exchanged, the more my heart would flutter when I thought of you. I didn’t know who you were, yet your words made me feel like I did. I knew I had to meet the real you, so I could put a face to the beautiful words. And what I see now, is the words were just a reflection of their gorgeous author.”

Heat pulsed through your body from an extreme blush. He had such a way with words, written or spoken. You didn’t know how to respond, though you didn’t need to as he continued speaking.

“This may sound silly, as I only knew you through your words. But I had grown a little crush on you. And now, after meeting you in person, and enjoying the perfect night with you it has grown. I have fallen quite suddenly for you.” He confessed. His own blush was prominent on his face, even in the dim street light.

“I feel the same.” You burst out, not wanting him to be the only one to confess. You wanted to make sure it was known, so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable being the only one to pour his heart out. “I feel the same and have for a while. I have loved sharing our poems, but I knew I had to meet you. I was scared to suggest it, worried I might scare you away. You asking to meet was one of the happiest days of my life.” You grinned happily, doing a little happy bounce as you talked.

Optimus giggled, his own smile lighting up his face.

“I am so glad.” He cheered. Optimus gently took your hands in his. They were warm and gave your hands a soft squeeze. “I would like to continue this, and start having more official dates.”

You felt as though you were going to explode from happiness. You wanted to dance and sing from joy, but you kept yourself calm and just squeezed his hands back.

“Yes, I would very much like that as well.”

For a few seconds, you stared at each other, still holding hands. Optimus looked as though he wanted to say something, but was a little nervous to do so. You had never seen him act nervous before, but you found it adorable.

“May I kiss you?” He finally asked.

“Yes.” You replied immediately.

Optimus leaned down. You raised yourself a little to meet him halfway, not wanting him to bend too far and hurt himself. The gap closed, and your lips met his. His lips were soft and warm and fit against yours perfectly as if they were made specifically just to kiss you.

You kissed for what felt like an eternity, though it was most likely just a minute. You didn’t want it to end, the feeling was so magical and soothing. Optimus was the first to pull away, a happy smile across his face.

“Accidently leaving my poem in that book, was the best thing I have ever done.” He commented. You giggled.

“Well, me taking your suggestion and picking the book up was the best thing I ever did.” You smiled.

“Oh, then suggesting the book was also the second-best thing I have done.” Optimus added. You laughed, Optimus chuckling along with you. “I shall get you back to your dorm now, as it is getting late. But I look forward to progressing our relationship.”

“As do I.”

Optimus leaned down to place one final kiss upon your lips, before walking you the rest of the way home.

[purplesimmer455]

Iseul and Megan meet up at the UBrite commons after their respective classes. They’re some of the few people there since it’s early, and Iseul plonks down on a chair next to Megan, smiling at her. “What poem should I read?” She asks quietly as the first performer begins to get her things ready. “You want to present too? Okay, choose any you like, or a random one.” Megan says. “What about the poem you wrote for me when you got drunk that one time in college.” Iseul teases. “If I remember it went, ‘Oh Issy, you send my heart into a tizzy, you make me feel so dizzy, I see you and I get all fizzy, you’re my Issy.’” Megan blushes. “Hey, I wrote that while I was drunk, so of course it was cheesy, but at least it rhymes and is somewhat coherent.” She says, grinning. “Plus, you’re Grace’s Issy now, and I don’t want to overstep that.” Megan adds, and Iseul nods, her face getting somewhat serious. “I know.” She says, as other students start to trickle in, mostly Megan’s but there’s two students from Iseul’s class who wave to her and she waves back.

Arden, one of Megan’s previous students, performs a poem about family, and then a few students go, and Iseul is up. She picks up a book of poems they have in case anyone gets lost or changes their mind and quickly rifles through it. She sees an Emily Dickinson poem called 1383 about friendship and the way it can last throughout so many things*, and reads it, trying to keep her voice clear and even.

“Long Years apart – can make no Breach a second cannot fill – The absence of the Witch does not Invalidate the spell –

The embers of a Thousand Years Uncovered by the Hand That fondled them when they were Fire Will stir and understand –”

Megan smiles and claps for Iseul along with everyone else as she finishes. Megan reads an Emily Dickinson poem too, There is no frigate like a book, which she’s loved since she was a kid** but she has to admit she really likes how sweet Iseul’s chosen poem was. A few more students and professors perform, and then everyone breaks for tea sold by the food station. “Good job, Issy. The poem was nice and you performed it well.” Megan says. “Thanks Megs, I saw it and thought of you, of our friendship.” Iseul says smiling. “Not the witch part.” She adds, making Megan laugh. “I know Is, and thanks.” She says. “Plus I liked your poem too, it suits your bookworm-ness.” Iseul adds, grinning at Megan. “Right? It gives me this weirdly cozy magical feeling.” Megan says, and Iseul smiles. They hug and Iseul looks at Megan. “So, best friend.” Megan says, “Care to join me for a spot of tea?” She adds in a fancy accent. “Yeah, I’d love you-to. I’d love to. Shit, sorry Megs. all those love and friendship poems addled my brain.” Iseul says, smiling sheepishly. “It’s all good, Is.” Megan says, smiling too. “I know in your older age it’s pretty common.” She teases. “Shut up, I’m only four months older than you***.” Iseul teases back, but she grins.

[elenajohansenreads]

Books I Read in 2023

#10 - Beyond This Dark House, by Guy Gavriel Kay

Rating: 4/5 stars

I've always struggled to write reviews of poetry collections, much the same way I do about short story volumes. Inevitably, I like some poems/stories and don't like others, and sometimes the difference between quality and likeability from best to worst (or favorite to least favorite) is so vast that rating the work as a whole seems meaningless.

When I was a teenager, my mother was going through some of her old notebooks and found one where she had copied out her favorite poems from a wide variety of poets, back in college. Before that I knew my mom was a voracious reader (I got that from her) but I hadn't known she had ever been interested in poetry, so that's when I got into it, too. I read it, I wrote it (usually poorly), I bought a blank book from a bookstore and copied out my own favorites, and ended up taking a few college courses on it despite my science-based major.

I tell this story to say, I'm not sure if I still had that book that any of these poems would get copied. (I don't have it, and I think it was full anyway.) But I did enjoy many of them, and as a collection divided into parts with clear thematic links, this might be the most successful grouping of poetry I've had the pleasure of reading.

Some of the themes didn't speak to me: there's a vibrant sense of place, as many of the poems noted the location where they were written, and while I have traveled a fair bit in my life, it's not a strong drive I have. (I generally travel to visit people, and incidentally get to a be a tourist where they live.) There's also a great deal about broken passion and what sound like long-distance relationships, which might lead me to assume some things about Kay's life that I haven't made and wouldn't make any attempt to verify; the tone of many poems is clearly autobiographical and I'll leave it at that, but little of it reflects anything in my life.

But what I did find here was something I'd been missing from modern free-verse poetry: a sense of the poet caring how the words sounded together, rather than just spilling feelings onto a page without meter or form to contain them. I didn't read any of these out loud, but I spoke them in my head, because that's how I've always read poetry, and they generally sounded good, while still having the clarity and sincerity of the feelings-spilling poets. A handful of poems were less clear, more deliberately obscure in their meanings, and those tended to be the ones I liked less, but even those didn't feel like I'd peeked into some angsty teen's diary (like my own, before anyone thinks I'm throwing stones, I wrote very bad poetry in those years.)

What I also found was inspiration. In the last week, I've roughed out two poems about aspects of myself in a similar style to Kay's, which are the first two poems I've written in probably fifteen years. I thought about my poetry professor from college and wondered if she'd be pleased or horrified to find out I've written romance novels in the years since her classes. I dredged up memories I hadn't visited in quite some time to see how I feel about them as an adult looking back. I thought a lot about what an autobiography in poetry form would say about me, and how that might differ from the person I want to be going forward. And I still want to write more poetry about that, though as I continue I hope to develop my own style again, possibly even ditching free-verse for structured forms as I revise. I did use to love the challenge of fitting meaning into those forms with careful word choice, it was like a puzzle I created for myself, and I love puzzles.

I can't give this work five stars because I don't love it the way that rating implies, but any poetry that served me as both entertainment and an invitation to reflect on myself is good poetry.

[teableeds]

Before I went to law school (circa fall 2019) I wrote a short story in which my choices for career were represented by lovers. Last night I felt compelled to write a poem as a sequel.

Soon, I'll Marry Soon (Fall 2019)

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had no difficulty making up my mind. If I wanted to do something, I’d do it, no second thoughts. So when I fell in love, I threw myself into it, starry-eyed and open-hearted.

I met him in college, but he’d been around a lot longer. I dated a couple of guys casually, not really serious about any of them, always thinking “perhaps, but let’s wait”. I’d seen him around campus before, and he looked familiar. My parents later told me that we knew each other as children, but I was so young that I’d forgotten. They said we used to play together, and said that we’d get married someday. But he left, moved away, and I being such a child, his face left my memory.

I met him in a class that I had taken on a whim, on the vague suggestion of a friend who knew me better than I did. We didn’t get along at first. We didn’t understand each other. But then we were paired for one of those dreaded group projects, and I was forced to think of him outside of class. We spent long nights together in the library; I began to see something that I had never expected to. He kept surprising me. He always seemed so dull and logical, so academic and lifeless, stuck among dusty books and research articles. But when it was quiet, he would say something that struck me off guard. He’d make me laugh. He’d grab my interest with a story, and I’d be helpless until I knew the conclusion. I’d hardly noticed when the morning sun crept in through the upper story windows, the assignment lay forgotten on the table, myself captivated by concepts that had never piqued my interest before.

My professor would never say that I was her favorite, but everyone knew. So when I went to talk with her about my grades one afternoon, she surprised me with a question: “Do you love him?” I had never thought of it before. I stammered out a reply. “Perhaps.” The word was so practiced, so natural, I thought it would be sufficient. But she leaned across the desk and stared at me, studying me in a way that made me shiver to my core. “Give it some thought.” That’s all she said on the matter, then told me how to get some extra credit. She told me to work with him on another assignment.

By the end of the semester, we were official. He loudly proclaimed to anyone who cared to listen that he loved me – I would always laugh and agree. We were perfect. My parents loved him. My friends didn’t get it; they thought he was as boring as dust, but they saw how happy he made me. So when he proposed at the end of my junior year, I accepted without hesitation and began making plans.

But that’s only half of the story. Because while I was busy falling in love, I went places that my fiancé wouldn’t follow. Not bad places, mind you, just places he didn’t like. I got introduced to someone, quite by accident. He was a ridiculous man. I met him at a theater night.

Dragged by the hand of a mutual friend, I was thrown into the middle of a chaotic scene, buzzing with false identities and fictitious emotions. He was on stage, caught in a confession of murder, his mind working to find his alibi. His head turned, and I caught his attention. He caught my hand, pulling me up on stage. I was thrown into a world I had never experienced firsthand. I had to quickly learn how to play the part of a prop, the woman he loved so much that he killed my former lover, another actor who lay on the carpet, slain by an invisible sword. My confusion lasted only moments, as the scene ended and they all left the stage. I was intrigued more than anything, unsure how to react, unsure whether I’d ever return to such a place. But I did return, every week, eagerly awaiting the next performance, wondering when I might next be pulled into the act. Then I learned that I could initiate it myself, and suddenly it was me dragging this poor boy from his place in the audience. Each scene was more ridiculous than the last; we got drunk on laughter and applause. It wasn’t my fiancé’s thing.

The day of the wedding kept approaching, and I heard voices on every side making suggestions. They all wanted me to move to this city, to book this venue, to buy these flowers. Eventually, the noise became grey, and I answered them all with a laugh and a smile and an “I’ll keep it in mind!” My fiancé asked me if I had bought my dress. I lied.

The venue remained un-booked. The flowers un-arranged. The plans un-made. His calls un-answered.

He was understanding. Everyone was. “It’s a big decision!” They said, like parrots chattering in a rainforest. “Take your time! Take your time!” And then, inevitably: “But really, what ARE you going to do?”

What I did was I ran. I stopped answering phone calls. I cried. A lot. I lived alone. Sometimes I’d see my fiancé, and I’d be reminded of how much I loved him, and I’d tell him and anyone who would listen “Yes, yes, we will marry! Not yet, my love, but soon! I’m making plans!” I couldn’t make myself dinner. My stomach was always sour.

Sometimes I’d see that ridiculous man from the theater. He wasn’t as predictable as my fiancé. He was the type to call you. But when he did call, it was always to go on some fantastical adventure! He didn’t come around often. When he did, I would have to rearrange my entire schedule, sometimes for weeks at a time, to accommodate his schemes. I didn’t mind. I never did. I didn’t need liquor when he was around. He was my best friend.

I admitted once to my mother, after one too many glasses of wine, that I’d considered marrying the actor. She wasn’t thrilled. “How will you support yourself?” She had a good point. “Can’t you just stay friends and have your adventures, but settle down with more reasonable expectations?” She was right. She usually was.

My fiancé called me, and I answered. His voice was firm. “I won’t be a second choice.” You shouldn’t be, I told him. And I knew it. If I married my fiancé, I might lose my best friend. Perhaps not forever, but suddenly I’d have to ask a husband to rearrange his life to suit an actor’s fancy. I repeated the phrase that I had rehearsed so often. “I love you! We will marry! Soon, soon, I swear it!”

It’s not unusual to cry on the kitchen floor. Who am I? What was I doing? What did I want? How was I going to get it? A gasping breath and an unanswered phone call.

A Long Engagement (June 13, 2023)

It's been a long engagement. Isn't the ring lovely? People gawk and gasp and declare that it's lovely. It's been a long engagement.

He's handsome - they tell me I picked wisely. So much better than the deadbeat who had no prospects. I still look at his portrait in secret. And I smile. Beyond my grasp, he was never a real choice. But, oh, was he handsome. My fiance is handsome, too. They tell me that he's handsome.

He speaks softly to me. And loudly to everyone else. He's intimidating and austere. Respectable. He speaks softly. He tells me I'm not good enough. He says it so softly.

I told my family what he said to me. I told them how it hurt. They assured me I was good enough. That he didn't mean it. I wasn't hurt that he said it. It hurt that it was true. And he was the first to tell me. I told my family that he told the truth.

I don't know where I stand with him. Locked in, vows prepared. Are we married yet? No, not yet. Another step. Another hurdle. Not real until. Until. Until. Standing on shifting sands. I don't know how long I can stand.

He'll take care of you. That's what they told me. A string of ex-lovers in poverty. And I'll be taken care of? Have some scraps. Care is for the pretty ones. Not you. He won't take care of me.

I think of the singer's gentle voice. I remember the actor's touch. I mourn for the lover I never had. Sometimes I hold this man and pretend. His voice is also gentle.

It's been a long engagement. Let's have a summer wedding. An autumn wedding. Winter wedding. Spring. It's a never-ending engagement.

[fanwork-ethnography]

writing, in the company of others

As I thought about how to start writing this final reflection essay, I recalled something that I used to rely on all the time when I wrote fanfiction: writing with other people. So I logged onto mywriteclub.com for the first time in years, and I started a new "sprint." The idea is simple: a basic text box with a column on the right where you and anyone you invite into your sprint can see each other's real-time word counts. An automatic timer starts every half hour for each 25-minute writing sprint, followed by a 5-minute break. I came across this website when one of my friends, a fanfiction writer, posted a link on Twitter inviting people to join her sprint. That summer, I logged over 50k words on myWriteClub. Nearly all of those words were written in the digital company of others. When I look back on my writing career, which has included fanworks but also poems, short fiction, spoken word, essays, and more, I see now that everything I’ve ever written was written in the company of others. Participating in fanwork communities showed me that nothing is created alone. Contrary to the myth of the lonely genius crafting from thin air, fanfiction is forthcoming about creation that unfolds in the space of the after. We indulge in the knowledge that there are always other stories and other people, and when we write, we do not write alone.

//

In Multisituated: Ethnography as Diasporic Praxis, Kaushik Sunder Rajan writes of trajectories, genealogies, and lineages. “The question of situation,” he writes, “is one of time, place, and inheritance. It is a question, respectively, of conjuncture; of locale, event, and the mise-en-scène of the ethnographic encounter; and of autobiography and intellectual genealogy” (7). Instead of stating his positionality in a list of identity markers that resemble a census form, the introduction of his book serves as a map of his intellectual and personal trajectories, which include but are not limited to family history, disciplinary inheritances from anthropology, accountabilities to communities dispersed across multiple sites, feminist and Marxist theory, political investments, and a personal photography practice. Throughout this year I’ve been adding writers and ideas from this class as well as my other classes to my own intellectual lineage. I want to especially hold the following up as those who have come up again and again as I worked on my portfolio, and those who come up now as I think about what trajectories brought me here: Donna Haraway’s provocation, “with whose blood were my eyes constructed,” which I wrote on the inside cover of my notebook as a reminder; Saidiya Hartman’s “Venus in Two Acts,” which guides me in my encounters with absences and silences; Michel-Rolph Trouillot’s Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History, which gave me a framework within which to think about power and the production of culture, of literature, and of the story more broadly. I think of our class conversation about thinking mutuality and relations with others beyond “consent,” and how that discussion reanimated two other ideas that I had picked up in organizing and poetry spaces. One, adrienne maree brown’s reminder that “moving at the speed of trust” is how we move at all. Two, something a poet once said in a workshop about Black and Asian feminist solidarities: great love requires great risk. I think of Professor AAQ reminding us to attend to what is embodied, to lean into ambivalence, and always return to the question: why do I care?

Rajan’s book “inhabits that awkward diasporic space that shuttles back and forth between different locales and commitments” (21). When I think of shuttling back and forth in space, I am reminded of how I stayed up late one summer night in a dorm at Sweet Briar College, where I was attending the University of Virginia’s Young Writers Workshop, to finish writing a fanfic. When my roommate stirred awake to the click-clacking of my keyboard, I told her I was revising a piece for tomorrow’s workshop. I am reminded of the afternoon I spent crying in the basement of my competitive high school because I was tired to the bone and hadn’t eaten anything all day, because in a moment I would have to get on the train home and do it all again, and most of all because someone had just left a comment on my fanfic that stopped me in my tracks.

[ ao3 comment, Tue 13 Feb 2018 08:22 PM ] hey uhm idk i dont rly usually leave comments cause im Shy tm but . this fic. rly got to me. ig the sentimentality of it all, growing up and learning about new ppl and new things kinda hit me cause sometimes i feel so out of place where i am? where i stand socially ethnicity wise all that stuff idk where im going w this but ., thank u so so much for making me cry on a freezing tuesday afternoon ,, i rly needed it. 

I am reminded of how I started writing in elementary school as a way to remember where I came from. I spent middle school writing memoirs about Singapore and Shanghai and Hubei, trying to figure out what it meant to have roots across oceans. In high school, I passed my time on the E train reading and writing fanfiction. I wrote academic papers so long they made me want to tear out my hair. I wrote poetry and studied craft in the weekly open mics and youth workshops held at the old Urban Word office in midtown. I performed in my first poetry slam. I went to school. I went home, an hour and a half away. I translated documents for my parents. I did my homework. In between, I checked AO3 for new updates. In those years, I switched between different modes of writing and communicating so frequently it’s a miracle I came away with any coherent idea of myself at all. The uncertain situation of diaspora, emergent in the moments of awkward shuffle between different locales and commitments, is the mode of writing I practice in this paper.

[ ao3 comment, Thu 05 May 2022 07:28 AM ] rarely has anything forced me to put it down so much mid-reading because emotions were welling up and overwhelming me. i started crying about halfway through and didn’t stop once. maybe because life is a bit much right now and i can emphasise so much with how your [character] is feeling and coping. maybe because it’s such a special kind of good to hear someone put into words what is racing through your head at 200mph and it makes you feel less crazy and alone.

//

I came to anthropology because I wanted space for contradiction, particularities, and nuance. I wanted to learn how to sit with a partial truth. I wanted to practice a new way of thinking, relating, and moving about the world. I believed that “an attention to care, community, nuance, invitation, perceptual particularities, and embodied conditions can resist the profoundly extractive context in which life is lived and art is made,” and I felt like studying ethnography, among other things, would be helpful in developing a scholarly and artistic practice built around those values for myself. My ethnographic journal slowly became a collage of quotes and ideas and questions that I pulled from class readings, discussions, and other materials we encountered, like podcast “Zora’s Daughters.” I now have a much better idea of who I am—and who I want to be—as a writer than I did before, but it, like everything else, remains a work in progress.

Throughout the semester, I often found the portfolio assignments and classwork difficult because it felt like flexing a neglected muscle. I had to become comfortable with not knowing what I was doing, or else I wouldn’t have been able to do anything at all. Even more, it is an unusual feeling to bring what we care most about into an academic setting and center it. It often felt risky to bring something so personal into the classroom. When I talked about this with a classmate who also uses AO3, they said that it was “brave” to a portfolio on this topic. I laughed because I would’ve said the same thing. Then I realized that it didn’t feel that way. It was so easy to distance myself, to make sure that the truly embarrassing, vulnerable, personal investments I held did not risk being revealed in my research, that I hadn’t even noticed I was doing it.

After that realization, I tried to take more risks in each of my portfolio assignments. For example, I picked communities that I myself was a member of for participation observation. In a normal situation, I would probably go out of my way to avoid telling people that I’d signed up for a Kagehina Big Bang. Yet here I was, sharing eight pages of evidence, screenshots and all, of my involved participation to our class Slack channel. The following week I interviewed my old friend Jay, knowing that personal things about myself would inevitably come up in our conversation, which I had to record and share with the class. Interviewing a friend made it impossible for me to distance myself and my personal investments in the way I was doing before; just the fact of our friendship and the ease with which we discussed certain things revealed so much about me. Interestingly, it went both ways—I also had to share parts of myself with my friend that normally would not have come up, since she was now also my interlocutor. She had so many questions about anthropology and ethnography and what I studied and why I was interested in this or that, that we ended up scheduling another time to call and catch up. My research brought me closer to what I cared about. That, to me, felt like a sign that I was doing something right.

For the final portfolio assignment, the multimodal entry, I created a Tumblr blog. Tumblr was the platform where I first learned about fandom. Though I personally never wrote or read fanfic on the site, I knew others who did, and I definitely combed through my fair share of “fic rec” lists on Tumblr whenever I was looking for new content to read. Tumblr is still relatively active as a social media platform, supports lengthy text posts, and has many more customization options compared to something like Twitter. For those reasons and others, I thought it made the most sense for my project to take the multimodal form of a Tumblr blog. I actually considered making a Discord server for fanfic writers, similar to the group chat where I had met Jay, and inviting others to join it through my blog. My main goal was to share my research with other fanwork creators and invite them to collaborate on it. Throughout the process of working on this portfolio, I often found myself thinking about how much easier and richer participant observation would be if I was still as active in the community as I was in the past, for example in that group chat with Jay. I think the Discord server would be a good idea for a longer-term project where I have the capacity to immerse myself in such an environment for an extended period of time. For the parameters of this portfolio, however, I felt it would be better to focus on creating a blog that would last, since I didn’t know if I would be able to sustain something like a Discord server beyond this semester. I only hope I succeeded in creating a blog that can serve as a jumping off point for someone else to take on these questions.

//

[ “serena’s ethnographic journal,” #ao3, sep 25th 3:42pm ] in 2018 i posted on ao3 for the first time and quickly found myself in a tight knit community of fan writers / we communicated through a group chat on twitter but most of us met by reading/commenting on one another’s work / we were really close for about a year (during which i wrote a lot compared to the prev 8 years) …we were genuine fans of one another’s writing and often talked about craft and workshopped drafts together / it was probably one of the most meaningful writing communities i’ve been in, despite the fact that it was definitely also the least “serious” or “real (ie. workshops, programs, and classes run by literary organizations, universities, magazines, and other institutions)

It is perhaps obvious to any casual observer of fandom spaces that reading and writing fanfiction can transform people. I knew that. It is however much harder to see, even for fans, the ways in which the fanwork cultures that we build, sustain, and protect, might transform the way we think and move about the world in general. To consider this second possibility is to take fanfiction seriously. That was the first challenge I had to take on in crafting my portfolio.

//

Looking back on my portfolio as a whole, I find that fanfiction writers think about their work in two contrasting ways: the first being defined by capitalistic measures of productivity, merit, and achievement, the second centered around collective, self-determinative practices positioned as a separate realm or alternative from capitalism. These two ways of thinking about transformative fanworks are not clearly bounded or mutually exclusive; it is how and when they exist together, in tension and/or collaboration, that I am most interested in. I suggest thinking of fanwork practices as transformative in order to illuminate the ways in which they create and sustain alternative spaces of cultural production, where normative notions of creativity, labor, love, and cultural value are both transformed and take on transformative power.

The questions that remain most persistent throughout my portfolio are: how do spaces like Archive of Our Own make and hold space for a different kind of creative production and relation? What might taking the cultural production of fanworks seriously mean for the contested line between what constitutes “real” literary contribution and what doesn’t? What consequences does it have for hegemonic narratives about intelligence, cultural value, knowledge production and regulation? If fanfiction is a “labor of love,” what can fanworks tell us about labor? About love?

//

[ portfolio assignment #2 ] I consider reading and writing fanfic to have been a big part of my writer-ly “training,” so to speak. There are certain aspects of fanfiction as a genre/ convention/tradition that I would literally consider part of my creative lineage 

//

I've chosen to write this reflection essay in an amalgamation of styles, alternating between personal vignettes, ethnographic writing, and more formal academic language. I've chosen to distinguish the breaks between these sections with "//", a move I learned from fanfiction writers. At one point, I would have hesitated to use something like "//" in my non-fanfiction writing, for fear that it might be recognized as a marker of frivolous taste. It did not occur to me how these line breaks, sometimes as complicated as -----=====-----+++++ -----=====-----~~~~~--- --=====-----+++++-----=====----- , might represent the stylistic innovations of people adapting their writing from the physical book page to the infinite-scroll web page. As fanfiction migrated from colorful DIY zines featuring fanart side-by-side with fanfic to blog-style platforms like LiveJournal and Dreamwidth, writers figured out how to use the basic symbols of a keyboard to create distinctive page breaks. My research, if nothing else, has shown me just how innovative the transformative fanwork community has always been. This is a significant claim considering that fan practices have long been seen as reiterative, unoriginal, walking the line of plagiarism. I suggest that we think of fanworks as "transformative" beyond the way they "transform" an original work or media object, and pay attention to the ways in which fanwork culture may transform our relationships with one another, with our labor, and with the prevailing politics of cultural production.

[tryst-art-archive]

Context: 2011

It's taken me a minute to reconstruct in my mind what transpired in 2011. Most of the rest of college I don't really see in years so much as an amorphous block of time defined by a smattering of events that I know the order of but have only the loosest sense of when they occurred exactly.

Healing

Following the departure of Boyfriend 2, I had an odd, lonely period that I can't fully account for. The way I remember it is that I was totally isolated, but that doesn't actually make sense because logically I would've still been seeing my bestie and our wider friend group. What would have been true, however, was that I would've been back to a state of real isolation within my own college (my friends being almost entirely of my bestie's college), so maybe that's what I'm remembering.

Regardless, I somehow came into contact with a group of odd, nerdy boys who lived on a different floor within my dorm building. I don't remember how we met exactly, but I suspect it was an event being hosted in one of the common rooms. Whatever the case, after meeting them, I spent about a month hanging out with them very regularly.

It was a time period in which I did things I wouldn't normally do. For example, they'd often go into Chinatown late at night to get authentic Chinese food, and so I'd find myself following them into the darkness despite barely knowing them, trusting to the group to keep me safe without having the certitude that I was safe with them. I went anyway, maybe because I wanted some of the life-other-than-the-one-I've-lived that I got to have while seeing Boyfriend 2.

I remember only a couple other girls of their acquaintance; for the most part, when I spent time with them, it was just with the boys. I also remember that one of them in particular I seemed to be able to communicate tacitly with; we were both very sharp, observant people with analytical minds, I think, so we'd mutually pick up on cues others might miss. I also remember some exchanges with him that could have been flirting or could have been a ribald sense of humor.

This period was short-lived, measured in weeks rather than months, and when I departed from their group, it was in my usual method of simply disappearing like a ghost. I remember being able to tell that the sharp boy picked up on what I was doing, that he was quietly mad about it. In disappearing without an explanation, I burned a bridge.

Which begs the question, of course, why did I bail on that little group of friends? Honestly, I was just becoming uncomfortable with them, not because anyone had done anything, but because I had a growing sense of not belonging, that these weren't My People and the nascent friendship we were engaging in was inherently temporary in nature. That wasn't something I felt I could communicate, so I simply didn't.

The Big One

In the poetry class I took in the second semester of my sophomore year of college, I met a boy I would, in time, fall in concerningly deep and unrequited love with. He caught my attention because of his snakeskin cowboy boots, and we became acquainted after he wrote a poem about being bi--a topic no one in the class besides me was willing to broach for fear of being presumptuous (whereas I saw it as so obviously the intent that not raising it would render the workshop critique meaningless).

We hooked up rather quickly, but our arrangement had a long run regardless. However, it also suffered from a core disagreement about its intent--one we were both aware of and tacitly agreed to leave unacknowledged: I was looking for a romantic relationship, whereas he wanted to keep things strictly friends-with-benefits. This would come back to haunt us.

In the meantime, though, we got along extremely well both interpersonally and intimately, and we genuinely cared about each other (even if the precise nature of the affection differed). He soon became a best friend, meaning that I now had two.

That was fortuitous because my bestie and his then-girlfriend broke up around the same time that me and my new fwb got together, and in fairly short order my bestie began seeing a fellow who would prove out to be his future husband, though that development was several years away.

During the honeymoon phase of their initial relationship, my bestie was absent from both me and our wider friendgroup much more often than before, which left me feeling abandoned. I, on the one hand, knew that it was a temporary state of affairs--just the honeymoon phase--but the feeling existed regardless of its logic. Having someone else to lean on during that time was clutch.

Additionally, one of the side effects of seeing FWB was going to a lot more parties with a wider range of people. As a rule, he spent time with people he felt were interesting, regardless of whether or not he personally liked them, and his core friend group got up to a lot more in the way of traditional college partying than mine ever had.

I, by and large, ate this stuff up. I was solidly outside my comfort zone, but the experiences were enriching. These were the first times I was out in public drunk, marveling at how the lights of Cambridge warped in response to my dulled senses. They were the times I went to breakfast with a squadron of hungover comrades closer to afternoon than morning. They were the times I found myself half-naked at clubs in big grind piles of friends, wearing a short-short skirt and the laciest bustier I owned.

These are the times I think of when I think about college. The ones I wish I'd been a boy for.

Change in Living Arrangements

Meanwhile, I moved into the 7-person apartment my bestie had been living in due to my first ex and his girlfriend moving out. I took over the bedroom my bestie had occupied, while he moved into the room previously occupied by the much-disliked couple. My new bedroom had at one time been a porch, and it was directly next to the unit's furnace and AC units so it was perpetually either too hot or too cold, which meant I often left the windows open in the winter to regulate it.

There's definitely something to be said for overcrowding and having that many people jammed in together, but I was by and large happy there. We had a really good space for what we could collectively afford at the time--it was always a great party apartment--and my core group of friends all lived there, so it was nice. We called the apartment CatHaus.

[willemdafazbear]

aita but Tumblrified

normally this is something I should post on reddit but I don't actually want people to see this I just want to rant. so basically my friend group (in school) consists of 3 people (I'll call them: O [female], G [male], and L [female]) plus me (white female). We all have pretty much the same classes and I've known all of them since at least middle school. Out of those 3, two of them are biracial (half black half white), and O is white. One day, either G thought it would be really funny to start telling people I said the n-word. Honestly, it was pretty funny for about a week of him telling our close friends that because they obviously knew it was a joke. L caught on and began telling people about it too. soon, they began telling not just our close friends, but classmates I haven't known for that long and random people they were friends with that I wasn't. I've never said the n word and I never will (not like that's some big accomplishment, its basic human decency). soon, the joke went much further than just "she said the n word." it became a whole joke between not just L and G, but also O that I am racist. like I said before, the joke was pretty funny at first. it escalated quickly, from them telling that to students in our classes that I have never met and haven't gotten a chance to make a first impression on yet, to telling teachers. L and G write the n word and other racial slurs for black people all over my papers and chemistry notes and act like I wrote them. sometimes when we do group projects, they sign my name as "[my name] the Racist." I've been cool with all of this for a while because obviously, L and G are black and they can say whatever slurs for black people they want. they have a right to reclaim that. it got out of hand once they wrote a poem about me though. it was called "[my name] Is Racist." basically the whole poem was about how much I supposedly hate black people. once again, had no issue with it! I didn't like it once they read it to our English teacher though. or when they told our yearbook teacher that im racist or played games of hangman on the whiteboard in front of the class where the answer was "[my name] IS RACIST." or when they told our chemistry teacher that im racist. or when they told our statistics teacher (who is the principal's wife) that im racist. and she did NOT find it funny at all. another thing they do is draw swatiskas on my paper. none of them are jewish. I've told them multiple times that that is NOT OKAY and they need to stop but they just keep doing it. they also tell people that I love hitler and that I hate jewish people. They think its hilarious and now everyone in my classes has heard the joke at some point. racist is basically my last name at this point. I don't know how to ask them to stop because its genuinely affecting my relationships with people and school. this has been going on for about 2 1/2 months now so I can't even imagine what will happen if it goes on through the whole year. tomorrow I am going to tell my statistics teacher in private that im not racist and im sorry for what they said, because that statistics class is a college credit that we take at the local community college and I don't want that to potentially ruin my chances od graduating with an associates degree.

I want to talk to my friends about it but I feel like they won't take it well because im supposed to be the friend that gets picked on all the time. you know how every friend group has the one they bully? im that friend and its okay honestly. another fun saying they came up with is "everything is [my name]'s fault" or "blame everything on [my name]." which hurts my feelings a little bit but whatever! its okay ill deal with it. it just makes me sad to see how nice they treat other people and how mean they can be to me. obviously they make fun of other people too but I've known these guys for so long and I would consider them to be the people I can trust more than anyone in this world except for my best friend (J, female). she doesn't do the same program we do so I only get to see her once a day. I tell her about all of this and she agrees that its gotten out of hand and its impacting my life in a negative way. I love her so much and she makes fun of me a little too, but mostly just about how she thinks the people I have crushes on are ugly or that she doesnt like some of my music. but she would never, EVER say things about me like this. J has a disability (she's deaf but I don't want to get into that), and she's made a joke calling me an ableist once or twice, and it was funny, but she would never tell random people or teachers/professors that I was ableist because she knows that could truly impact my life. I feel like im rambling. let me get back to the story sorry lol

anyways, I want to add one more thing. O doesnt know this, but im queer. G and L know. I haven't told O yet not because I think she's homophobic, but because she's not very good at keeping secrets and im afraid she might spill the beans. I am NOT publicly out. very few people that are in my life even know this about me (im sure everyone can probably tell lmao but I've never confirmed it). G and L are both straight. like very. they're very supporting of gay rights, which is why I felt like I could share this part of my life with them (I told them about a year ago or so). however, they went from last year being super supportive and encouraging me to go for girls I liked, to this year making a bunch of homophobic jokes about me. in front of others. they make jokes about how im going to hell, or that god hates me, or that I need to "repent" and "cleanse" myself from my "sins." I didn't care at first that much, it hurt a little but I knew it was all in good fun. but then they started making jokes about it around others and pretty much outing me, and I have to laugh it off and tell people theyre just kidding. but it hurts so bad that I want to cry because I hate lying to people and I'm a bad liar so im pretty sure they can tell that im queer. im afraid people will think im a lesbian which there isn't anything wrong with that at all, its just that im NOT a lesbian and im afraid no boy will ever approach me bc he will think im uninterested. which isn't true, I like men and women. theyre hurting my chances of ever getting a boyfriend and theyre risking me losing relationships with people or worse, getting hurt. which I don't think would happen at my school but I've heard how some people talk about the LGBT+ students in our grade and it scares me for what they might say about me. they also make jokes about my mom verbally abusing me or sending me to conversion camp or saying my mom hates me. I had a very difficult experience with my mom in middle school where I was outed and things haven't been the same since. my mom hates gay people, specifically gay women. she constantly belittles them and it makes me feel like shit. I told them this in confidentiality and I was hoping they would understand and let me confide in them bc ya know. we're friends. last year they were so understanding and let me talk about it but this year they've turned it all into one big joke and it makes me feel so awful like I genuinely feel so ill when they talk about it because getting outed was the worst experience of my life. I hate when they make jokes about me being a sinner or my mom because I love God so much and I want to be a good Christian but its a lot harder when you're LGBT+. I have a very tough time with religion and they make is so much harder on me even though I know theyre joking. but it reminds me how my mom actually would feel about me if she knew that me being queer wasn't just a phase and that I never "grew out of it" and that im still queer.

one more thing. this is kinda irrelevant but it still hurts my feelings. L and O tell everyone I have a UTI. which isn't even true! I've never had one ever but last year L came up with that joke. but it was just a joke between me and her. but this year she told O about the joke and now they tell everyone. they've actually stopped doing that for about two weeks now which im super happy about! but they told the guy I really liked and im not sure if he knew they were joking. I really liked him and I feel like that turned him away from me idk. they would tell strangers that I had a UTI too like they would tell random kids in our class whose names we didn't even know that I had a UTI and it hurt my feelings a lot. I feel like people think im dirty idk. I know a UTI doesnt mean youre dirty but I feel like many people believe in that.

basically what im trying to get at is, am the the asshole for wanting them to chill out? or should I just let them be? because I know its all in good fun and theyre just joking, but it hurts my feelings. should I ask them to stop, or should I just grow a backbone and joke along (im very sensitive so maybe im just making a big deal out of friendly behaviors. they don't know im very sensitive though because I make sure to not cry in front of people or let them know the jokes upset me.) if anyone actually takes any time to read all this and respond that would be dope! have a lovely day :D

love, willemdafazbear

(ps I didn't proofread this I just typed as I went along so sorry for any grammatical or spelling mistakes)

[pillow-anime-talk]

his talented baby. {pt.1}

synopsis: You as a person with a huge (and hidden) talent, and also a girl who really surprises your boyfriend.

# tags: scenarios; current relationships; romance; fluff; some PDA; sfw

includes: female reader ft. ken kaneki & nishiki nishio {tokyo ghoul} + yuuma isogai & itona horibe {assclass}

— KEN (ft. singing)

Your closest friends invited you to a popular karaoke bar on one Friday night to celebrate a successfully passed semester in college. Of course, you couldn’t forget about your lovely boyfriend, who was at the same university, but in a different field (i.e. Japanese literature) and always supported you with all his might, knowing how much you want to do your dream job in the future.

So you went to the meeting together, and on the way to the designated place you talked all the time about what the next year of study would bring you. As soon as you reached the room where your three closest besties and one male friend were waiting for you, you both greeted them warmly, immediately taking off your thick coats and taking your seats on a soft, leather couch next to a table filled with tasty-looking snacks and colorful drinks.

Long minutes of conversations between the six of you resulted in drunk plenty of alcohol and blushes on the faces. After drinking, you always got more talkative and more self-confident, so you suggested using the TV and the karaoke machine. Of course, you first offered your friends and Ken to sing something, but they all declined, saying that you should start as an initiator. One of the girls, blonde-haired Minami, smiled at you with a sparkle in her pretty golden eyes, adding that you are the best in this and you should show how to do it correctly. You chuckled in response, waving your hand at her to dismiss compliment.

Kaneki, on the other hand, frowned as he looked at the boy who was sitting on his right.

“... Oh, you don’t know? Y/N-san hasn’t yet praised herself to you that she has a wonderful voice? Huh, huh.” The black-haired boy shook his head, reaching for the glass filled with blue something again. “Hmmm, well. Normally Y/N’s very shy, but she always sings at trips when she’s drunk.” He chuckled while you picked one of your favorite songs in the meantime. So everyone looked at your standing figure, then heard the characteristic sounds from one of Selena Gomez’s songs coming from the gray speakers.

“My dear, I dedicate it to you~!” You looked with joy on your face towards the eighteen-year-old, giving him a quick wink, and then you started your little performance with ‘Love you like a love song’ from the above-mentioned artist.

Your friends didn’t seem surprised and instead started clapping to the beat of the music... but Ken’s eyes widened and he spat out his high-percentage drink, not knowing how to react to the fact that for nine, long months of your relationship, you concealed the fact that you could sing so well and so beautifully. Your voice was perfect for the song that was playing now, and you seemed to be having a great time – there was a huge smile on your lips, your eyelids were slightly closed and your hand was over your heart. If it weren’t for the fact that you were at a karaoke bar, everyone would definitely think you are playing a concert on the biggest stage in Tokyo city.

After the song was over, another girl got up to present a completely different choice, and you handed her the dark microphone, bowing in the process.

Kaneki still seemed speechless and as soon as you sat down next to him, he immediately kissed you on the warm forehead, asking you to sing more to him, especially when you two are going to be alone, because he probably fell in love with you once again and just wanted to experience that love every day thereafter.

— NISHIKI (ft. ballet)

Nishiki, as a pharmacy student, didn’t have much time for extra-curricular activities or unnecessary meetings; in addition, the fact that he was a bloodthirsty ghoul and had to watch over himself made it difficult for him to function normally in the life of Kamii University. However, the brown-haired man always found time for you, for his beloved girlfriend.

You had been dating for over three, long years, and the man definitely couldn’t imagine his own life without you by his side. You knew each other better than anyone else in this world, but sometimes some tiny things of your ordinary day eluded Nishio; of course you understood it perfectly and you weren’t angry or disappointed with him. After all, he had to protect himself, you, take care of his specific menu, be vigilant at every step, and additionally he had to pretend to be the perfect student, senpai (or kouhai) and friend of other people.

So you weren’t surprised when one day you handed him a silverish ticket for probably the most important show of your life and he just looked at you in wonderment. At the beginning, the twenty-year-old asked if it was a performance related to singing or playing an instrument due to the fact that the colorful paper didn’t tell him too much, but you just smirked as you tweaked the unruly, soft hair on his head.

“Hmm. If you don’t remember what I do in my free time, it’s even better, I guess. Come and see it for yourself, honey. I think that thanks to this you will even calm down a little and rest due to the recent weeks.” You announced in a light tone of voice, and the young man sighed under his breath.

“So... I’ll find out in three days, am I right?” He made sure by correcting his glasses and you nodded, then grabbing his rough hand and kissing his cool cheek. A short while later you suggested going to your apartment and catching up on a few episodes of your favorite series that you started quite recently.

The anticipation of your important day passed very quickly and on Saturday, at 6 p.m., when everyone took their seats (with your boyfriend sitting on one of the balconies with the best view of the stage), delicate music was played in the theater, which made everyone shiver on the whole body. Until then, the brown-eyed boy somewhere in the back of his head had the impression that it was a theater performance or an opera, but when he saw your person appear on stage in a beautifully tailored dress and ballet shoes, all the questions that flickered in his mind disappeared in literally one second.

‘Well, yeah. I remember now. She always told me about ballet classes and new shoes.’ A huge, proud smirk came on his pale face and you glanced out of the corner of your eye towards his VIP seat.

Though your expression was cold and composed, you felt an enormous heat in your small heart as the man waved at you, showing two thumbs up. His lips moved even slightly, and although Nishiki tried to hide it, you knew perfectly well that the pink blush and mute ‘I love you’ was sincere and even better than being able to play Odetta, the White Swan, in a ballet spectacle.

— YUUMA (ft. songwriting and guitar playing)

Christmas at school was never what you enjoyed; maybe due to the fact that before, your classmates on main campus were quite specific and you definitely didn’t fit with their strange ‘ideals’. It was only in the class E that you felt that you could find real friends or people who would share your ideas.

But, hmm. Still, you seemed to stand out from the rest of the girls in the class who had more... down-to-earth hobbies or characters than you; Okuda liked chemistry and was really excellent at it, Kirara loved reading, Rio was the best at English and had a great sense of fashion, and Toka was pretty good at cooking. Contrary to them, you preferred to... do more ‘intimate’ things. Writing short poems filled your heart with peace and prevented you from being as critical of yourself as usual. And when you wrote the lyrics of the songs, made notes or melodies to them and sang quietly, you could feel like a real artist that everyone wanted to admire and imitate.

Therefore, when your first and last class holidays with the rest of the 3-E students were fast approaching, Koro-sensei was the one who asked you for a short talk. You weren’t sure what this was about, but moments later your uncertainties were dispelled.

“Y/N-san, I think you mistook your notebooks today and instead of giving me your homework, you gave to me... this.” He said in his as always happy voice, and seeing the black notebook in which you always wrote songs and notes, you blushed all over your face, apologizing profusely for the mistake. “Huh? But this is no mistake, my dear. If it weren’t for this, I would never even think that we have such a talented soul in Class 3-E. So would you like to perform in front of the rest of the students and teachers during the holidays?” The easy question made you widen your eyes and sighed.

“I-I’ve never played in front of anyone, so...” You admitted shyly, and the tall, yellow octopus just chuckled.

“I’m pretty sure they will love it. We can practice together.”

Well, you couldn’t refuse (especially when Koro-sensei offered to bring your favorite, foreign snacks...) and on class Christmas day you showed up with your acoustic guitar and a notebook full of chords and songs. Everyone was surprised and curious at how well you play guitar. After all, you’ve never even mentioned that you can play any instrument before. On the other hand, the class representative, and your boyfriend at the same time, immediately came up to you, asking if you were really okay; better than anyone else, Isogai knew that you didn’t like too much attention and big crowds. But you reassured him it was okay and promised your teacher you would do it, so you smiled at him and then took your seat under the blackboard with a wooden guitar on your lap.

The song you chose for the day was a song you wrote quite recently. It had a little bit of magic, and at the same moment it seemed very romantic and delicate. Even Karma seemed delighted with your beautiful play and soft voice that echoed from time to time between the walls of huge classroom.

At the end of the song, you decided to raise your gaze and simultaneously look at your all friends, three teachers and other half; everyone was really happy and positively speechless. So you gave Yuuma a slight wink, making him blush sweetly.

The young teenager definitely hoped you would show him more of your songs someday, not necessarily the happy Christmas carols Kaede and Ritsu asked for.

— ITONA (ft. dancing)

“... You never mentioned that you can dance.” He admitted softly, and you squeezed his smooth hand tighter.

“So... I mention it right now. It’s not a big deal, baby. I just ... like it and enjoy it a lot.” You giggled as you correcting the black sports bag over your shoulder, then opened the heavy door to the training room, immediately jumping up at the sound of loud squeals and greetings from your closest friends. “Guys, this is Itona Horibe, my boyfriend that I told to you before! Love, it’s Aki-chan, Yui-chan, Kazuya-kun, Saburo-kun, and our cameraman and editor Ryuu senpai. Most often, the five of us cooperate with each other when it comes to dance in groups of five people. And... today we are going to cover a song so I hope you’ll like it. I’ll go change and you all, please, don’t scare my boyfriend and give him something to drink!”

As a group leader, you often came up with choreographies and warm-ups for yourself and others. So, it couldn’t be otherwise this time. For the last week and a half you have been practicing the choreo you came up with and today you were supposed to record material for the video on your quite popular YouTube account. You were extremely excited, not only with the new content, but most of all with the fact that your beloved one would be able to watch it live and evaluate your skills that have been refined over the years. So as soon as you got back to the teens waiting for you, you kissed the light-blue-haired quickly on the right cheek and told him that he could sit against the wall, close to the table full of snacks and the contact for charging the phone.

Then you talked with everyone for a while, doing a short warm-up and reminding the cameraman about how to move the cam. A few short minutes later, you lined up in the middle of a huge white room with Ryuu in front of you. You knelt down in the center, of course, gently moving your shoulders to calm your rapidly pounding heart and heavy breathing, and when a song by Ariana Grande started playing all over the bright room, you all looked at the already activated camera, shaking your heads and then you got up from the wooden floor.

Itona... was speechless. He has never seen people dancing before, he has never even been interested in others, only you and what you like. Today he got to know your little passion, which turned out to be a breathtaking talent, and the boy wondered if you could do anything else; are you good at one specific dance genre or are you able to move your body in a completely different rhythm than he currently saw?

From Koro-sensei’s history lessons, when you two were in junior high, the eighteen-year-old remembered perfectly well that there is also classical dance, tango and breakdance. So could you also do that? He had to ask you about it later.

But now his curious gaze was focused on you and your huge, radiant smile, and the sound of feet hitting the ground. He also looked at your legs, tiny hands, stomach, and hair, while he wondered if he might learn to dance too, to be even closer to you and your hobby. After all, you looked so beautiful and so joyful... He wanted to share these emotions.

[haikyuuhoo]

Broken Promises

Pairing: Akaashi x Reader

Summary: In which your heart keeps pulling you back to a place you wish you could just forget.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: ANGST. That’s it. Enjoy :)

A/N: This is kinda like a college!AU? Akaashi and Bokuto are roommates lol. Anyway, here’s me jumping on the bandwagon and writing a fic while listening to Driver’s License. I haven’t stopped playing it all day.

Find Part 2 here!

You know how sometimes you're driving, and you end up not remembering what you did for the last few minutes, then you suddenly come to and you're at a place you don't remember driving to? That must have been how you ended up in front of Akaashi's house, blinking up at it like you were waking from a dream. As soon as you realized where you were you peeled out of the neighborhood, shaking your head and gripping the steering wheel tight.

That can never happen again.

But it did, and it happened nearly every night.

There were times you noticed before you turned onto his street, and you quickly drove past, trying not to sneak a glance down the road to his home. Other nights you didn’t realize until you had been sitting outside for a few minutes. You tried to make it stop, but it was so hard when you lived so far from campus, your evening classes just rendering you so tired. Your mind wandered as you drove, and you knew you should probably make a habit of getting a coffee or something so you wouldn’t be driving in this state, but you avoided it because you wanted to be able to fall right into bed when you got home. You skipped dinner most nights because of how exhausted you were, and you could hear Akaashi’s voice in your head each time.

Akaashi stroked his fingers over your hair, a soft frown forming on his face as he took in the way you pressed your face into the pillows. “You really need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

You knew he was scolding you, but his voice was so soft that it nearly made you melt. “’M tired, ‘Kaashi,” you whined, burrowing yourself further into the blankets.

“I know you are, angel, but you need to eat. I know you barely have any time for lunch. I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

You huffed, turning to press your cheek against the pillow and look up at him with sleepy eyes. “Will you stay with me?”

He smiled, knuckles grazing across your cheek as he brushed your hair out of your face. “Of course I will. I’ll even fall asleep with you if it’ll make you feel better.”

Nodding, you sat up and managed a tired smile. You always slept so much better with him next to you, especially with how busy you’d been lately. When you were with him you could just relax, forget about everything that was making you stressed. He made you feel safe.

But nowadays you could never bring yourself to pull your body out of your bed after throwing yourself on it once you arrived home, limbs already sinking comfortably into the mattress. You fell asleep, probably missing one too many dinners and crying far too many tears.

And so you always ended up back there, back where your subconscious took you every day. Where your heart pulled you. You knew the turns without even thinking, and you wished you didn’t. You wished you’d never come here at all, not even before you and Aakaashi split. It would make this so much easier.

You were grateful for the days when your friends joined you on your drives. Talking to them kept you conscious enough of your driving that you didn’t even think about going to Akaashi’s. But, well, you didn’t think about that any other day either and you ended up there anyway… They just kept you in the moment, and it prevented your subconscious from taking over and driving you to his house.

This time, when you came to, you were in tears. You were still driving, and you had to pull over due to the tears blurring your vision. You covered your face with your hands and sobbed, a horrible, gut-wrenching sound forcing its way out of you. If anyone had been observant enough to notice your drives, they might think you were stalking him. But you were doing the opposite. All you wanted to do was forget about him, but your mind wouldn’t let you. Your heart wouldn’t let you.

You’d never felt the way you felt about him for anyone else. You’d never loved anyone the way you loved him.

He just didn’t feel that way about you.

You spared a glance over at the driveway, and it only made you cry more. Akaashi’s car was there, but in place of where Bokuto’s car usually sat was a car you didn’t recognize. You knew it wasn’t Kuroo’s—you’d sat in the back seat of it plenty of times on the way to parties—and if he were there then Bokuto would have been anyway. Truth be told, it could have belonged to any of his friends, but you couldn’t help the way your mind drifted and wondered who it was. Was it a new girl? Was she better than you? Was she sitting with him on his couch? Was she eating dinner with him? Was she warming his bed? Was she laying her cheek on the same pillow you used when you stayed at Akaashi’s house?

The thought made you want to throw up, and you rolled down the window to get some fresh air.

Once you’d calmed down a bit, the chill of the night settling inside your car, you pulled down the sun visor in front of you. You surely had mascara under your eyes, and you flipped open the cover to the mirror so you could wipe it away. Your breath caught in your throat as a folded piece of paper fluttered into your lap, its crinkled and worn surface illuminated by the glow of the streetlamp you sat beneath. You picked it up with a shaky hand. You knew what it was. You had half a mind to tear it to shreds, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. So instead you opened it, and you read.

Akaashi had brought you out for a beautiful picnic to celebrate your one-year anniversary. Sakura trees blossomed all around you, petals falling like snow when the gentle spring breeze blew through the park. You were laying on the blanket he’d brought, eyes closed, belly full, and smiling in content as you let the sun warm your face. Akaashi was laying beside you, but he propped himself up on one elbow, smiling as he looked down at you. Gently, he began picking up the small fallen flowers and placing them in your hair. After a few moments you lifted a hand up to shield your vision from the sun, peeking one eye open.

“What are you doing?” you giggled, and you couldn’t help the way your heart leapt at his reaction.

He blushed, freezing and looking down at you like a flustered schoolboy. “Nothing,” he said softly.

You smiled at him. “You’d better be making me look pretty.”

The corner of his mouth tugged upward, and he placed another flower in your hair. “You already look pretty.”

Closing your eyes again, you let out an amused hum and dropped your hand to rest on your stomach.

Akaashi hesitated, moving his arm that was supporting him downward so he could slip his hand into his pocket. He thumbed the corner of a folded piece of paper and bit his lip nervously. Clearing his throat, he sat up fully and looked down at you as he retrieved the paper from his pocket.

You raised your eyebrow and opened your eyes again when you noticed he was now shading you from the sun, and you sat up when you saw him looking at you. He thrust the paper toward you before you could even ask what was wrong.

“I wrote this for you.”

You took it from him, unfolding it and looking at the page. It was a poem. You glanced at him, and he gave you a small nod that encouraged you to begin reading. Your gaze trailed over the page carefully, and tears began forming in your eyes before you knew what was happening. You blinked them away as best you could, a few flowers fluttering back to the ground when you brought a hand up to wipe your eyes. “It’s so beautiful,” you whispered, reading it over and over again before you finally looked up at him. “I-I love it. Thank you, Keiji.”

He gave you a relieved smile, tears of his own brimming in his eyes. “I meant every word of it,” he breathed, leaning close to you and cupping your cheek.

“I love it,” you said again, and when you closed the gap to kiss him you could taste the tears on his lips.

You tasted salt on your tongue and realized you were crying again, both from heartbreak and at the beauty of his words. He’d always been a beautiful writer; you even enjoyed reading his essays over his shoulder when the two of you studied together.

But he couldn’t have meant any of those words. Not when he left you like this. All of his promises of forever, wrapped up in a little piece of paper, they’d all been broken the second he left you on your own. Maybe he did mean what he’d written at some point, but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that. Not when you were here, heart still aching over the person you’d loved more than anything in the world. No, if he truly meant it he wouldn’t have left you here like this, broken and with no one to put you back together.

Besides, it was easier to accept that he’d never loved you at all than it was to believe he’d simply fallen out of love with you. It hurt less, especially when you still loved him more than your heart could take.

You panicked for a moment when you noticed your tears had fallen on the page, smudging the ink and blurring his beautiful handwriting. The words were barely legible anymore.

But you didn’t need to see them. You knew what it said. You’d read it over and over since the day he gave it to you until it was burned into your memory.

Now it was just another thing you wished you could forget.

You cursed under your breath and reached up to wipe your eyes again when you heard a noise drift in through your open window. A noise that sounded far too much like your name. Your head snapped over to Akaashi’s house, and you saw him. He stood outside of his front door, figure shadowed by the light coming from behind him.

Heart racing, you wiped your cheeks one last time and scrambled to shift your car into drive. But you didn’t move fast enough, and when you looked up Akaashi was standing right in front of your car, hands planted on the hood. Your headlights brightened him, a glow shining up the front of his body and accentuating every curve of his face as he stared at you through the windshield.

“Don’t,” was all he said, and the word had you putting your car back in park.

He moved around to your window and you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your head tipped back so you could look at him, and the way he was looking down at you made the shattered pieces of your heart feel like they were crunching under his boot.

You couldn’t see any love in his eyes, no tenderness, simply the same deadpan expression he gave almost everyone.

Everyone except the people he cared about.

He was the one to finally break the silence.

“You can’t keep coming around here.”

And the heel of his boot dug in, grinding the remainder of your heart to dust.

“I know,” you whispered, eyes wide and watery as you looked up at him.

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

You swallowed, shaking your head and wishing you could look away from him. But you couldn’t, his gaze froze you in place. “I don’t know.”

The corners of his lips turned down, barely changing his expression, but it made a pang shoot through your chest.

“I’m sorry. You have to go.”

You nodded, finally able to turn your head away and grip the steering wheel.

He dropped his gaze, and it landed on the paper that sat in your lap. His eyes widened.

“Y/N, I—”

“Bye, Akaashi,” you whispered, and you rolled up the window before he could say anything else. You put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb, leaving behind Akaashi and the crumbled pieces of your heart, taking with you only a shell of yourself and the blurred words of his broken promises of forever.

[agathasangel]

leave everything behind but me- part 4 (diane sherman x reader) (NSFW moment)

warnings: same as before, stalking (like full on irl stalking as well as online), drugging, some talk of emotional/physical abuse in this one, death mention. this whole fic is just kinda dark... sorry. Also brief nsfw moment.

summary: this part is from Diane’s perspective. as she looks for her neurotoxin ingredients in a panic, she reflects on how she came into contact with you in the first place, and all the highs and lows of your relationship up to this point.

where the hell are they? thought Diane, looking for the last, most important ingredient in her neurotoxin.

She couldn’t believe it had come to this again. Just like with Chloe.

Diane wondered where Chloe was, what she was doing. About five years ago, with an excellent defense lawyer, she managed to get out of jail for what she had done. She looked far and wide for her stolen daughter, who seemed to be nowhere to be found. She still worried about what became of Chloe, but knew she was probably doing alright. And one day, Diane found a new obsession by the name of (y/n).

It was nearly two years ago now. Diane was beginning to give up on finding Chloe, after three full years of searching anywhere and everywhere with no luck. But she did find something else. 

She was staying at a hotel in California, near the hospital where she gave birth to Chloe, in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, Chloe would be around.

Diane didn’t find Chloe, but she found something else from her past. Her college reunion was being held in the exact hotel she was staying at. She didn’t plan on attending, but then she came face-to-face with her college rival. This woman was the only person who did better in her classes than Diane. Not only that, but she had multitudes of friends, boyfriends, you name it, while Diane had no one. The woman never let Diane forget how much better she was either. It wasn’t the worst thing Diane had ever been through, not by a long shot, but it was a disappointment for sure. College was supposed to be the place where Diane could finally feel like she belonged, and she always resented this rival of hers. 

“Diane! We didn’t think you were coming! Oh here, have a seat!” said the woman.

“I’m so sorry about Roger. It was such a shock to hear about.”, she continued, reminding Diane of her dead husband

“Yeah, I still can’t say I’m over it, all these years later.”

“Yeah when the love of your life just drops dead like that, you never get over it, do you?”, she said, far louder than Diane would have liked.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Of course, I’m so sorry, Diane, I know it must be so hard for you!”

“Yeah. Um... what’s your family like?”

“Well we have one daughter. Her name is (y/n), and she’s a senior in High School,” said the woman. She then leaned into Diane and said, “But can I be honest? I never exactly wanted kids. Never liked them. I thought it would change when I had her but it didn’t. She’s so... difficult.”

Diane’s blood absolutely boiled hearing this, but she managed to keep a polite face, “But that’s your child. Don’t you love her?”

“There are some good things about her, I guess. I do love her in my own way, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. She’s just not what I thought she’d be. I’m sorry, I thought you may understand. I never get to vent my frustrations about her.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t understand. But, do you, um, by any chance have a picture of her?”

“On my phone, somewhere. Let me look.”

After a while, she found a picture of (y/n). It was fairly recent photo of you at a restaurant, at what looked like a dinner with the whole family. You looked sad and lost, but Diane thought you looked sweet.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” said the woman, almost stifling a laugh, as if there was no way Diane could have meant that.

“I’m sorry, I need to go to the bathroom.” said Diane, as she was starting to turn red in anger and the woman.

“I’ll join you, I need to freshen up a bit.”

“Fine.”

So Diane walked straight into a stall while the other woman followed. Diane started to cry, so angry at this awful woman. She had a child, a beautiful, sweet, girl who was alive, for God’s sake. Diane would kill for what she has, in fact she had killed for it before. But this woman didn’t care about her child, she didn’t appreciate you one bit.

She didn’t deserve you. 

Then she heard the woman get into the stall next to her and she decided to leave. But the woman left her purse on the sink. Diane looked into her purse and found everything. All her information was in her wallet, and she took pictures of her address, phone number, and credit card numbers, as well as a couple of photos of you and your father. Diane quickly threw the last photo back into her purse as she heard her enemy get up, and she ran away, all the way back up to her room. 

Diane looked at the photos, and started to look for your social media. You didn’t seem to post very often, or have many friends. Most of your photos were of you by yourself, or pretty things you took pictures of, and even a couple of sad poems you wrote. Poetry written by teenagers was usually laughably bad, but hers made Diane cry. She saw herself in you.

Poor little thing, Diane thought. She needs some love. But I can do that for her.

Diane spent about a month following you and your parents around, without any of you even noticing her presence. One day she snuck into their house and bugged it, so that there were feeds of different rooms streaming to her computer at all times.

Diane noticed you spent most of your time alone. You wrote in a journal a lot, and cried fairly often, hugging a teddy bear you had. You just seemed so burnt out from stress from school, stress from your job, pressure from your parents. You fought with both of her parents often. Well... fight wasn’t the right word. Usually, one parent would yell at you and insult you, and you would choose to either take it or not take it.

There was one particular instance where you snapped at your father, telling him how he abandoned you so many times. He didn’t take this well, screaming all kinds of insults. How Diane wished she could hold you, rock you, comfort you and tell you that aren’t any of the terrible things your father told you, and that she’s sorry that you never felt good enough.

Diane snuck into (y/n)’s graduation, too. She knew she couldn’t contact you yet, but she got so much happiness out of just seeing this milestone of your life. All you did was walk across the stage and take your diploma, but Diane beamed with pride for you as you did it.

After graduation, your parents were constantly threatening to kick you out, and the fights got worse, they crying got worse. Diane wished she was there, comforting you, holding you and giving you all the love that your parents didn’t. Diane looked for a window of opportunity into this girl’s life until she found the perfect one. You had put out an ad on facebook for anyone on the east coast looking for a roommate, and Diane put her plan into action. She made a fake account on facebook pretending to be a college girl named “Anna Johnson” and responded to the ad, starting to talk to and getting friendly with you. “Anna” suggested that you take a bus trip and offered to pay the fare, but you refused because you wanted to earn the money yourself. Diane’s heart warmed at your sweet messages, even though they were to “Anna” and not her. “I’ve never had as good a friend as you before”, “Who needs a mom when I have you giving me such great advice?”, “You’re the best!”, every little message that you sent to Diane made her fall more and more in love. Diane bought a little house on the East Coast with the money she got from selling her old house, and hoped everything will fall into place in her new life with (y/n). 

Now during the bus trip, Diane needed to follow you closely in her silver minivan, and make sure not to lose track of you during layovers either. Her detour into the coffee shop scared her at first, but once Diane found you, it was the perfect opportunity to finally, after all these months of dreaming, meet you face-to-face. Her new little baby girl, finally. Diane slipped a powdered sleeping pill into her already tired girl’s coffee to make you even more sleepy and suggestible, getting you to come with her to her hotel room.

Back in the present, Diane found the rest of the powdered sleeping pills as she was searching through her medicine cabinet and closet. She got so distracted thinking about you, and all the horribly wrong things she had done to you. 

It’s for her own good, all of it. She needs to be protected, she’s too pure for this world, to good, too sweet...

Diane searched through the drugs she had given you, thinking of all the best times the two of you have had.

The first day Diane had been with you in the little house was heaven on earth. Finally Diane had everything she’s been working for for almost a year now right there, in her arms. Diane wanted to give you everything you didn’t believe you deserved. The only catch was that you belonged to Diane, and Diane alone.

She got a job teaching Chemistry at the local High School fairly easily, as she had extensive knowledge (even more extensive than she may have let on in her interview), of the subject, and the school district was completely desperate for competent science teachers. Diane found faking the background check easy, she used her maiden name and an incorrect date of birth and they didn’t ask her about her arrest at all. And now she had her new life set up. A house that she owned, a job to put food on the table, and you.

The next best day for Diane was the day you finally kissed her. Diane was starting to fall in love with you in a more romantic, even a more sexual way, but didn’t know if you felt the same way about her. Then, during one of your movie nights, you kissed Diane, and she felt overjoyed. She kissed you back and finally led you to the bed and fucked you, like she had been thinking about doing every night at this point but was too scared to actually initiate until now. She was in love with the feeling she got from kissing you, from pleasing you. It had been so long since Diane had been this intimate with anyone, and she was your first. And it was a real awakening for the both of you.

It felt so good, you felt so good. This relationship you had was so incredibly wrong in so many ways, but it just felt so right.

Why did it have to change?

Of course, there were still some hard moments. Even Diane admitted that there were times when she could be irrationally possessive of you, getting angry when someone even looks at you the wrong way. She knew that her possessive, obsessive attitude could scare you, and you would even blame yourself for it, but she didn’t know how to stop. She knew that you were getting scared she would become more difficult to please, like all the other people that have been in your life.

Or the times that you would cry, and it happened so often. You would get sad and Diane would hold you and tell you:

“It’s ok baby, you’re here now, you’re with me. I love you more than life itself. You’re gonna be okay, my little angel.”

One night Diane woke up to you crying into your pillow, and immediately grabbed you.

“What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”

“I- I was afraid that you might- that- one day- you might not want me anymore... what would happen if you d-don’t want me....”

“Listen, I will never not want you. You are all I have, remember? And you’re all I need. Come here, that’s right. You’re my baby, all mine.. shhh....”

Or, there was the time you asked about the scars on Diane’s back. She was mortified, but finally told you about her terrible childhood. The horrible abuse from her mother until her death, the foster home, everything. Her desperation to become the mother she never had. You hugged her tight.

“I’m so sorry, Diane, I had no idea... and to think I complained about-”

“Baby, don’t compare your life to mine. All that matters now is that it’s you and me, and I need to take care of you.”

“Sometimes I think I should be the one taking care of you, Diane.”

“Trust me baby, you do so much more for me than you think.”

Then Diane found it. The rest of the paint thinner. And she was ready to take away all your sadness once and for all, and make you hers forever.

[jincherie]

fox rain | five

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 9.9k+ • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: stop two on the angst train express!!! not as blatant, more reading between the lines here...... have fun! • ☽ — notes: bros... it’s only downhill from here. cowa-fucking-BUNGA amirite cowboys???????!?!?

— posted; 18.09.2020

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterpost | prev. | five | next • —

You lay in a sort of placid, bewildered shock, the kind that is sourced from confusion as opposed to an unpleasant surprise. After waking to blearily turn off your alarm before it blasted through the entirety of Dancing Lasha Tumbai, you’d unlocked your phone to find this curious set of messages from a number you haven’t saved. You’ve been lying in place for several minutes as your tired, wired brain slowly kicks into gear and attempts to debunk the mystery. After another unsuccessful few minutes of staring blankly at the screen, you’re saved from impending cranial combustion when your phone lets out a delightful little tinkle and another message hastily joins the others.  

Ah, that makes so much sense now! Except it doesn’t. Actually, it kind of adds to your bewilderment. Taehyung… is texting you? You don’t think you’ve ever in your life had any correspondence with him that didn’t either take place in the presence of Jimin or under the influence of alcohol… also in the presence of Jimin, now that you think of it. You haven’t really interacted with Taehyung outside of Jimin. So it is particularly odd to wake up to a series of messages that are from him, and pertaining to such an odd topic. You’re still so tired you can’t even fathom what would warrant a text from him. Maybe you dropped something at one of your tutoring sessions and Jimin asked him to give it back to you? It would make sense, since after the rollercoaster of a ride the last week has been for him (in particular, the questionable events that took place at the hands of one Kim Seokjin but somehow ended up with Jimin and Hoseok making up? You don’t really understand it but you’re not even going to bother to try to at this point) he has ended up a little preoccupied.

Tapping the screen when your inactivity leads it to go dark, you take a moment to scrounge a response from the empty barrel bottom that is your brain. Once satisfied, you drop your phone onto your bed and flop yourself back to the position you’d been in before your own alarm woke you so rudely. Technically, you don’t have to be up and about for another hour…

With faith that your additional hour of sleep will revive your ability to think, you allow yourself to slip somewhat self-indulgently back into sleep and pass the fuck out like a woman who has spent the night trying to forget.

(Which you are, and did do, except with maybe a little less alcohol than what that sentence implied.)

X     X     X     X

 It has been almost a week since the unfortunate end to that tutoring session on Monday, and while you’ve managed to stay off social media enough that you haven’t triggered yourself by accident in the entirety of that duration, every time you come on campus it’s like for however many steps forward you took, you take double the amount backwards. University students are such gossips! Well, the jobless ones are, anyway. The students that work and study are too busy dragging themselves around campus in a stunning rendition of the undead from various media to be bothered with the latest plot twist in the resident school drama. Which is to say, there has been no twist. The population is still shamelessly up Sera’s ass in the belief that she is the author of the poem, and as has become the norm you find yourself resisting the urge to hunt the bitch down and go in for round two on her face. Surely, your self-control has earnt you the title of a saint by now.

You’re blasting some angsty shit on the way to your music history class and pretending you’re in a music video for some indie band (it’s cathartic, and you will argue that fact to your grave), when you make it a few steps past the entrance to the food court and have the absolute living daylights scared out of you. Thudding footsteps reach you through your earphones and two hands clamp on your shoulders to halt you in place and spin you around like Barbie Ballerina.

“You’re a disgrace!” It’s Seokjin who has halted you in the middle of the hallway, every bit as dramatic as you’d come to expect. “You skipped drama class? And you call yourself an acting major, PSH!”

Yanking your earphones out, you nail the tall, pink-haired idiot with a glare. Very bold of him to be approaching you after you nearly chopped off Lil’ Jinnie barely a few days ago for his bastardous antics. Perhaps he’s getting a bit big for his glittery pink rainboots.

“First of all, will you please listen to me when I tell you I’m not an acting major?” Unfortunately, when you speak your voice comes out more exasperated and less threatening than you intended. “Second of all—very bold of you to be approaching me right now. You’re lucky you escaped with your life, you meddling bastard. You want me to bite the rest of your dick off?”

“You should know by now that I take that as a compliment,” Seokjin sniffs, haughtily, ignoring the latter part of your threat. “And do you know how boring it is for me to crash your class when you’re not even there? No one threatens me like you! It’s getting harder and harder to get it up these days, you know. I need a hit of the good stuff.”

For a moment you’re simply stunned into silence, staring at him and wondering just how and why he seems to have been sent here with the sole mission of making you want to kill him and then yourself. Nothing you could think to say really is enough, so you settle on simply turning and walking away.

Of course, you forgot that no one turns their back on Kim Seokjin and gets away with it.

“YAH!”

You wince—you think he actually just broke a sound barrier, or maybe your eardrums— or both. Seokjin quickly scrambles to place himself in front of you, arms out. His eyes are wide in something you suspect he thinks is a puppy-eyed look, but actually comes across more like he’s trying not to shit himself.

“Promise me you won’t skip drama again!” Seokjin says, pointing a finger at you in borderline accusation. When he doesn’t see your expression budge, he quickly changes tactics. “If not for me, the most charming prince in the story of your life, then at least for Jungkook, that poor virgin—”

You blink, distracted for a moment by what he said. “Wait, Jungkook is in my drama class?”

“’Wait, Jungkook is in my drama class?’” Seokjin repeats in a voice a few octaves higher than your own. “Listen to you, not even knowing who is in your own class. For shame! But have no fear, since you clearly skip so much I will happily extend my generosity and take you under my wing. Tutelage fee starts at $55 with an extra $5 for every question you ask that I don’t know—”

“Do you ever actually hear yourself talk?” you ask, feeling your will to live draining out your ears. “Like, the shit that comes out of your mouth? Do you hear it? Because—wait, are you saying you would charge me for questions that you don’t know the answer to?!”

Seokjin shrugs, “It’s a little unorthodox, I know. But—”

“I would literally be bankrupt! Thousands—no, millions of dollars in debt!” You exclaim, grabbing him by his stupid big shoulders and shaking him about. “Do I look crazy to you?!”

“Oh, what, you think you can do better?!” Seokjin demands, voice wobbling from your shaking. “What’s 2x2?”

“Fucking four!” you wail, releasing him in your despair. You can’t do this, your day only just started and you are not exhausted enough to micronap while he talks like usual. “I’m leaving, don’t follow me. DELETE MY NUMBER.”

“Haha jokes on you!” you hear Seokjin holler from behind you, voice rapidly growing quieter from the speed that you’re powerwalking away. “You never gave me your number!”

You make it to class barely on time due to Seokjin acting as one of the biggest inconveniences in your life, and while you manage to push him from your brain for the duration of it, you wish you could say that is the last time you see him,

It’s probably the fact that you busted his ass being a weirdo with Jimin and Hoseok last week that has him so…. attached this week, you suspect. You’re at your third Seokjin encounter for the day and you’re honestly considering whether you should trip to the campus pharmacy and look for some pepper spray, or maybe an umbrella. Pepper spray would be more effective, but the umbrella…. You can’t argue against the satisfaction it would provide.

You’re trying to sneak your way into a library on the Arts side of campus, one you don’t usually go to, so you can study without worrying about going absolutely batshit insane in the presence of Seokjin. It was hard, but you think that you’ve finally managed to shake him. What on earth had him so determined to tail you today? Was it seriously because you skipped your own class? Nutcase.

You peek your head around the corner looking not only for Seokjin, but for another thing you had happened to notice every time you were ambushed. You have yet to determine whether the glimpse of phenomenally bright floral print right before Seokjin pounces you is causation or correlation, and it makes you a bit nervous. Cautiously, like timid forest animal, you creep around the corner and begin to make your way into the building, eyes flicking from the library door right at the end to the rest of your surroundings. The café coming up on your right tempts you greatly, but you know it is too great of a risk. Out in the open, you’d definitely be seen.

This area is almost like a courtyard, an undercover area between three separate buildings. With a looming cement and glass ceiling, though, it feels like a building of its own. The library sits nestled in the corner of the largest building, and although it isn’t very wide, it spans several floors. You plan on going to the highest one and hiding in a corner near a window.

You’re close, so close to reaching the library in fact that you’ve fallen into a false sense of security. By the time you register the sound of pounding footsteps approaching behind you, for the second time today, it’s too late.

“Ah, y/n! Wait!”

Instinctively you prepare to burst into a sprint to get away, but at the last second stop yourself. That doesn’t sound like Seokjin… that sounds like—

“Taehyung?” you ask, turning in surprise as the boy comes to a screeching halt in front of you, bending with his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath.

“I’ve… been trying….” he huffs, “To talk to you…. all day….. hah…Why are you so….. good at running away?”

He looks absolutely wiped out, cheeks red and sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. You’re just beginning to feel guilty when you notice his shirt, the bright floral print that you literally don’t know anyone else bold enough to wear, and you realise he’s really not lying. Poor Taehyung, just like you he has fallen victim to—

“That Seokjin bastard,” you say, completing a quick scan of the area to make sure the mention of his name didn’t somehow summon him. “He’s been harassing me all day. I’ve had to really up my game. By the way… are you okay? Please breathe… also what did you want to talk to me about?”

Taehyung straightens, eyes closed as he attempts to control his breathing. One of his hands comes to sweep the ashy hair from his face, the ends slightly damp with sweat.

“I’m fine,” he says, sounding slightly like he’s about to pass out. You prepare to take a step forward and catch him if he does, but he opens his eyes in the next second and shoots you a dopey smile. “I’m fine! Apparently just… whoo… really out of shape.”

“Your sacrifice is not in vain,” you say, smiling when he lets out a sudden laugh. Another shaky breath rakes past his lips before he straightens, eyes blinking a little wider. “Ah, right. I was looking for you because, um… you didn’t respond to my text… and I needed to ask you something that’s a little time-sensitive…”

“Your text…” you wrack your brain, sure that you remembered responding to it this morning in bed. Your mouth shifts into a wince, though, when you can recall writing a response, but not actually sending it. “Oh. I am so sorry, I’m an idiot. I was kind of half asleep when you texted, and I swear to god I typed a response but I think I fell asleep again before sending it…”

There is not a shred of accusation on Taehyung’s pleasant features, lips instead slightly curled in a smile. “That’s fine,” he chirps, rocking on the balls of his feet for a moment. “I do it all the time too. I’m just glad I caught you.”

You return his smile, before a thought that had been nagging you earlier returned and you acted on the urge to voice it. “By the way…. How did you get my number?”

Your question seems to be unexpected and, for some reason, flusters him slightly. He reaches to scratch the back of his neck, averting his gaze for a moment. “Uh, Jimin gave it to me. It was for something stupid a while ago but I never needed to use it.”

You raise your brows at what he said, but get the feeling he’s not going to elaborate. Instead, you remain quiet and wait for him to continue his thought from earlier. He shuffles on his feet, returning his gaze to your own. “Anyway, the reason I was trying to catch you all day was because I wanted to ask you something…”

“I know it’s not really any of my business, but I kind of noticed, and Jimin mentioned lightly that things haven’t been, uh…. great for you lately.” He doesn’t even give you time for that statement to sink in amongst your shock, continuing without pause despite the way his cheeks begin to flush, “And, uh, my exhibition is this Friday, and I was gonna go with Jimin but he double-booked himself with Hobi, so now I have no plus-one and I was wondering… if you wanted to go?”

When you simply stand there, dumbfounded, he clears his throat awkwardly, fiddling with the cuffs of his button-down. “To um, you know, take your mind off things… maybe… you don’t have to, of course, but I just thought I would—”

Snapping out of your stupor before he can take back the invitation, you hastily step forward and outstretch your hands. “Oh, no I would love to go! This is really—” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the light sting of your eyes “—sweet of you. I’d like to go, if it’s ok. You’re sure Jimin doesn’t mind…?”

Taehyung seems shocked, and you suspect he might have thought you would turn down the invitation from the way his eyes seem to light up. Have you really been walking around campus looking like that much of a gloomy bitch? You need to check your facial expressions when you get home this afternoon.

“He won’t mind,” he says, waving his hand excitedly. “Great, perfect—um, here is the little info sheet. I’d stay to tell you more but my class actually started a few minutes ago, so…”

“Oh!” you exclaim, taking the sheet from his hand before waving him away. “Go! Go to class! I’m sorry I made you late! Thank you for this, by the way!”

He seems slightly dazed at your enthusiastic thanks and farewell, but he shakes himself out of it and before he goes he sends you a smile that you can’t think of any other way to describe except dazzling. “It’s no problem, y/n. See you then.”

And then he’s off and you’re left standing alone in the pseudo-courtyard, clutching the exhibition pamphlet in your grip. Your eyes sting ever so slightly, and you can’t help but think how kind of sad it is that one person goes out of their way to think of you in the midst of everything you’re dealing with and you’re so touched you’re nearly driven to tears.

Hormones suck and you want a refund.

 X     X     X     X

 Taehyung was right when he said that what he had to ask you was time-sensitive. 

You hadn’t realised it at the time, but Friday was only a few days away— and in the midst of classes, schoolwork, and everything else, those days went fast.  Before you know it, it’s Friday morning and a panicked glance at the pamphlet Taehyung had given you reveals that the exhibition opens officially around 4:30PM. That works out surprisingly well for you, considering your last class ends at three o’clock and you can easily reschedule your session with Hoseok and Jimin. 

There’s a lot about the invitation you haven’t gotten to really dwell on, and that continues to be the case as the day flies before your very eyes. By the time your music theory class comes to an end and you finish scribbling down the last few lines of note from your teacher, the event is even closer than you anticipated. From your recent examination of the pamphlet, you’d found earlier that Taehyung’s exhibition is being held at a small university-sponsored gallery downtown. It shouldn’t take you too long to get there from your house, and on the way home after packing your things, you plot out the route you’re going to take. It’s about a twenty minute trip, as you discover, since there is by some stroke of luck a bus that goes straight there from a street just around the corner from your own. Taking that into account, you should have around forty minutes or so to get ready. 

Considering you’re one of many poor university students populating the area, it’s not often you actually put the effort in to get dressed up. Around these parts, there is a distinct culture of sweat pants and comfortable tops and more often than not a socks-and-slides combo, something you take part in more often than you’d like to admit. Still, you feel that considering the nature of the event you’ve been invited to and what you know of Taehyung’s works, you should probably be putting in much more effort than usual. 

While you might act like a slob sometimes, this isn’t actually a problem— even goblins like you can have a stash of decent clothes somewhere in their cave. Yours happen to be pushed to the back of your closet on hangers that haven’t seen the light of day in months. What can you say? University takes its toll in mysterious ways. 

Standing before your closet, eyes boring into the portion that’s been held in its depths for longer than you can remember, you wonder which way you should go with your outfit. Exhibitions are fancy right? Should you dress it up? Logic says you should, but on the other hand what if you are the only one dressed up? That would be humiliating. You pause for a moment to think about the type of garb you usually see Taehyung in— you have a feeling that he will probably dress the same way tonight. Recalling his bold, avante-garde taste in fashion is about as helpful as one might imagine, but it does comfort you to know that no matter what you choose, most eyes will likely be on him anyway. 

Comforted by that fact, you make up your mind and pull out a set that isn’t too over the top, and won’t make you look like a rat. Once you’ve slipped into those, you freshen up and wash your face, trying to make yourself seem a little bit more alive afterwards and not like you had an 8AM class today. You’re successful, to a degree, but you’re a little tight on time so you can’t really dwell on it. Feeling your stomach rumble as you grab your bag and key, you can only hope that this exhibition has free food.

x — x — x

“Ah, y/n! You’re here! You… you look nice.”

You were so busy staring at the large, shiny building before you that when Taehyung’s voice rings out in greeting, it startles the hell out of you. You don’t even register what he says before you’re pointing with eyes and mouth wide open, “Your exhibition is in there?!”

His expression of surprise melts into one of amusement, a laugh tumbling from deep in his throat. You don’t even notice the way his cheeks are flushed ever so slightly as he meets your gaze.

“Fancy, right?” he says, wagging his brows. “Some loaded alumnus who actually enjoyed his university experience practically donated it to them. So now they use it for, uh… for most exhibitions.”

“For the best ones, you mean,” you say, your grin widening when he scratches the back of his neck, bashful and blushing. “But yeah, damn. I was expecting it to be nice but I wasn’t expecting it to be this nice.”

Taehyung laughed again, clearing his throat. As he takes a moment to collect himself, you let your eyes scan over his form. The second you do so, you feel a foreign flutter in your stomach, heat flushing to your face. There is truly no other way to describe his choice of outfit for today except for painfully boyfriend. Perhaps on anyone else it would look a little less than presentable, but on Taehyung’s model-esque form the loose chestnut pants and an oversized leather jacket over a boldly patterned shirt work wonders. How does he look so effortless yet so…?

If you’d attempted to wear something like that you’d end up looking like the local court jester. Perhaps you should just make peace with the fact that God has favourites and Kim Taehyung is clearly one of them. 

“It, um. It started a few minutes ago, shall we head in?”

Taehyung offers you his arm, a gentlemanly move that completely contrasts the boyish grin on his face. Ignoring the sudden sensations in your abdomen, you make a show of curtsey-ing before you take it, eliciting a laugh from your company as the two of you head to the entrance and the full exhibition experience begins. 

As soon as you enter there is someone by the door, who seems to be at the very least taking note of how many people enter, a table with flyers and booklets beside him. Taehyung parts from you only to move over and grab a few, brandishing them as he returns with a bright grin.

“Here is all the information about the event, madame,” he says, with an extremely exaggerated air of grandeur, presenting one of the flyers with a flourish. You take it, unable to help your soft snort.

“I would have thought I had something better, what with the very artist behind the event accompanying me,” you say, grinning when you see his cheeks turn an endearing pink as he flashes a bright, boxy smile. 

“True,” he returns, folding the other flyer and slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. “You can’t ask a flyer questions in real time. Anything that crosses your mind, you can ask straight to the source.”

“Oh? Then, may I enquire as to what the theme of this exhibition is?” You’re enjoying the playful air that drifts between you now, unable to rid your face of the smile currently displayed on it even if you wanted to.

Taehyung’s eyes flick to you, a lopsided smile tugging his lips to accompany the sly accent to his gaze. “Ah, a tough one right off the bat. I think telling you straight-up would be too easy. Let’s see if you can try to guess it as we walk through.”

You turn to him with an affronted look, having expected him to easily supply you with the answer. Taehyung is a little cheekier than you remember. You snap your mouth shut, cheeks heating when you notice he has offered his arm to you once more. Taking note of the other people in the room walking around in a similar manner, you slip your arm through his and try to ignore the way you feel your ears light on fire.

“Okay, you’re on,” you respond, if a few moments too late. He doesn’t comment on the delay, simply sending you a smile that you can’t quite decipher the emotion behind. You don’t get to dwell before the two of you are off, beginning on your journey through the building and starting on your tour of the exhibition. 

You’d kind of always known that Taehyung was talented, considering he managed to make such a name for himself on campus in such little time with such ease. Hell, he’s well-known enough to have made it onto the list of suspects for the muse of your poem. Still, this knowledge is only compounded the further into the building you go and the more of the exhibition you see. Taehyung is truly talented, the images blown up and displayed on the wall each capturing a certain emotion that you don’t have a name for, yet is so familiar that each time you see a new one it gives you pause. Viewing his works, seeing into this part of him and witnessing this bit of his soul he has bared, you can’t help but feel a slight sense of kinship. 

It’s something that rests in the space between your lungs and diaphragm, something that tickles but also something that aches. You do know this feeling, so familiar yet so out of touch and far from the tip of your mind’s tongue. You do try to guess the theme of the exhibition as you go, throwing out the occasional dumb guess to elicit a laugh— he always laughs, and it always makes you smile— but you don’t quite manage to pin it. 

“The five senses,” you shoot into the dark, standing before an image that has made you stop and stare for a good five minutes now. It’s not quite black and white, and it’s not a particularly unique image— but something about the composition, something about the movement in the two hands that are so close yet so far from actually touching, speaks to that hidden part of you. The way one of the hands simply hangs, unbothered and neutral, but the other, the one slightly closer to the foreground, has fingers ever so slightly outstretched, reaching but never quite committing to the movement and the unspoken consequence of the hinted action. 

Of course, you know the answer even before Taehyung says it. He laughs, hands in his pockets, “Nope, ddaeng.”

“This is hard,” you whine, without much heart behind it. The smile stays on Taehyung’s face.

“Whatever. You’re smart, I know you can guess it. It should be easy, for you.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and you have to turn away so that he doesn’t see your cheeks warm. The two of you had parted when you caught sight of the snacks table; you’d been prepared to abandon him and make a beeline over, but Taehyung had surprised you by marching over himself and coming back with a loaded plate. He’d confessed with a sheepish smile that he hadn’t had lunch, and really you were in no place to judge since you hadn’t either. By this point in your journey, though, the plate is almost empty. There’s only two tiny cupcakes left and you’re letting the rest of the things you scarfed down settle before you go in for more. 

Perhaps it was a little dangerous, coming here with Taehyung. He looks so fine, even while shoving sweets in his mouth, that you spend about the same amount of time looking at him as you do at his artworks. It takes all of your willpower to tear your eyes away every time you catch yourself looking at him and admiring the truly boyfriend fit he has donned for this occasion. Every so often he will simply stand before one of his works, scrutinising it with a fresh perspective and ever-criticising eyes, and the sight of it will make something nameless and foreign well within you. You don’t quite know what to do with it, so you ignore it. Or at least, you try to. 

It feels a little too similar to what you know of yearning. It leaves you confused.

You stop not long after in front of another piece, this time a combination of three images that act as separate snapshots of smaller parts of a larger image. You admire the way he has set it out, revealing not too much but just enough that the viewer gets a sense, a feeling, but isn’t confronted with the message. It allows everyone to take their own sensation from it. You like that a lot about his works— he doesn’t tell people what to feel as they view his images, but merely hints, prompts and nudges. He sets the stage and allows people to take what they need, see whichever bits draw their eye most and spell meaning from elements of their choosing. He’s talented, you find yourself marveling again, so incredibly talented.

But still, you can’t put a finger on what the theme is.

By the time you make your way completely though the exhibition, having doubled back at a few points to look again at a select few of the pictures, you’re still no closer to guessing. It has you deep in your thoughts as you stand outside, waiting for Taehyung to return from thanking one of the guests who had recognised him for coming. 

“Guessed it, yet?”

You turn, pinning him with a look that you hoped didn’t look as dumb as it felt. “Leave it with me,” you say. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

At your words, Taehyung laughs— it’s one of the full-bodied ones you’ve come to enjoy, where he throws his head back a little and shakes his hair back into place after. You have to snap yourself out of it before he catches you staring. 

“I’m sure,” he says, unable to keep the cheeky grin off his face. It does slip ever so slightly though, just for a moment, as you watch a thought cross his features. “By the way…”

You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue. You feel an odd combination of at-peace, and unsettled. Holistically, this is the most at-peace and relaxed you’ve been in weeks. However, when you take a moment to tune into the inner machinations that make up your being… something in this exhibition has reached into your insides and fiddled around, moving things where they shouldn’t be and touching things that aren’t meant to be touched. It’s odd, and you acknowledge that it gives you quite a bit of cognitive dissonance. Even so, you’re calm enough that you have no trouble being patient while you wait for Taehyung to continue and say what he seems so nervous to say. 

“Um, I know I initially only asked you about coming here, to the exhibition…” he begins, reaching to rub the back of his neck in what you recognise to be one of his nervous ticks. “But, I actually have these vouchers I won in a competition a while ago for a paint-and-sip session that are about to expire, and I was wondering… would you like to go? Now, I mean. Since they actually kind of expire tomorrow. Unless you’re busy, because if you are that’s—”

You decide to put him out of his flustered misery, reaching to nudge his arm. “Of course, that sounds fun! Plus, you were right the other day; I could really do with the chance to relax. Thank you, for all this. I really appreciate it.”

It takes a second for your words to register, but when they do the most blindingly bright smile spreads across his face; he’s practically beaming at you. 

“Of course,” he says, with barely a moment’s hesitation. “I’m really happy you agreed to come— I’m glad you said yes to the paint-and-sip, too, because it’s one of my favourite places. Come on, let’s get going. If we get there at just the right time, we can get a really good seat, hopefully by the window.”

The journey continues, Taehyung leading you through the city while chatting easily all the while, a stunning twilight cityscape backdrop and the gentle glimmering surface of the river meandering through buildings providing the perfect scenery. If you had a little more faith in your artistic ability, you might try and paint the image you see now; Taehyung in the colours of dusk, soft and natural against the bright lights and harsh lines of the metropolitan landscape. But alas, you aren’t as talented as the man besides you, and you don’t even want to think of how it would turn out if you attempted to paint such a thing. You quickly throw the thought from your mind before it can linger and get up to more trouble than it’s worth. 

“Here we are!” Taehyung’s cheer breaks you out of your stupor, bright smile directed your way once more as he stops in front of a large establishment with long strips of window and a colourfully sewn awning. 

‘Brush & Bar’, the cursive, neon sign reads above the door, flickering between soft pink and peach orange. It’s an interesting aesthetic the place has going on, but when you look over and catch sight of Taehyung once more it suddenly makes sense why he likes it so much. The style of this place is very similar to some of the more outlandish things he tends to model around campus. Before your reverie lets you remain abandoned outside, you hurry to follow after the ashy-haired boy, grabbing the back of his jacket when you almost trip over the door frame. He spares a look over his shoulder to make sure you’re okay before he continues, moving towards the counter and smiling with more charm than you can personally handle at the staff member there. 

It’s a woman, who you suspect is in her mid-thirties, and she is pretty enough that it takes you by surprise when she rolls her eyes heavily at Taehyung’s approach. 

“You again, boy?” she asks, though it sounds more rhetorical than anything and you catch the slightest tinge of humour accenting her words and it soothes your hackles. “Don’t you ever get sick of hanging around here?”

“Nope!” 

She cracks a smile, lines appearing at the edges of her eyes. “Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. We’d miss you an awful lot if you ever stopped showing up here.” Her eyes flick ever so slyly to you, and then back. “Say, is today the day you’re finally gonna make good on those vouchers you won? I know you said you were waiting for the right chance to ask that g—”

“Yes!” Taehyung cuts in loudly, eyes wide and cheeks flushing darkly. “Yes, yep! I brought the vouchers! They do expire tomorrow after all!”

The woman, Bora as you now see from her nametag, simply smiles, something sly about the action intriguing you. Taehyung clears his throat, reaching to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly. “So, um… I will use them now. Is the window seat free…?”

Bora nods, a fond curve to her lips now as she rummages around behind the counter and takes the offered vouchers from Taehyung to punch holes in them. “Your favourite spot? Of course. I had a feeling you were coming, too, so I’ve already gone and set it up with some canvases and acrylics.”

She hands the vouchers back, and Taehyung slips them into the pocket of his jacket.  “Paintbrushes and jars are in their usual place, and I know you don’t normally drink while you’re here but if you’d like some tonight just take your order up to Kyungsoo. Oh! And tonight’s special for snacks is tea cakes, so definitely make the most of that. There are some good ones in the display.”

At the mention of food and alcohol, your gaze had already started to wander on its own— you catch sight of the display of cakes and other sweets and feel your mouth water. Ridiculous, since you were kind of full before, but what can you say, you’re a complicated woman. Lots of layers, not unlike an onion. The thought almost makes you snort.

With a gentle nudge to your arm, Taehyung is bringing you back to the present moment and leading you over to the window, where a medium-sized table has been set up with two square canvases and a basket of paint bottles, palettes leaning to the side. Taehyung instructs you to take a seat, informing you with a smile that he’ll grab some paintbrushes and water for the two of you to use. At his suggestion, while he is gone you open up your phone and search for something to paint. Something that’s not too hard and not too easy. Because your skills are… well, they’re not nonexistent but you’re not about to go around tooting your horn in front of someone with actual art skills and talent. Apparently there is usually an image supplied for each night, but Taehyung says it’s not strict and that tonight is one of the nights where all the patrons just have free reign. 

You sort of get distracted part way through the activity, eyes subconsciously seeking Taehyung’s leather jacket amongst the decently filled establishment. It’s really quite nice inside, actually; the walls and general decor are soft and neutral, with pops of colour everywhere that bring each corner and table to life. A lot of the furniture is wooden, natural and polished underneath specks of paint that decorate in layers that tell of time spent well. The lighting is soft with the exception of the bulbs stationed above each table, which are brighter and angled towards where the canvas would be. On one of the walls, the one near the bar, it is completely covered by greenery— vines that, as far as you can tell, aren’t actually fake. A soft, almost jazzy tune filters lightly through the room, complemented by the low hum of chatter and paintbrushes hitting glass. You’re incredibly impressed and, admittedly, you like this place a lot. It has the kind of vibe that just… makes you content. 

“Here we go!” 

You startle at the sound of Taehyung’s low register, looking over to see him placing a bundle of paintbrushes in between the two of you and a jar beside each of your canvases. He takes his seat across from you, smiling brightly. “Did you decide what you want to paint?”

You hum, turning your gaze out the window for a moment to see if it grants you any inspiration— it’s a gorgeous sight, the twilight sky broken by the outline of buildings with glimmering insides, but it doesn’t help much. You don’t know what you want to paint. Of course, there is this big, expanding feeling inside you, the urge to express it somehow filling you to your fingertips, but what do you do with it? You don’t even know its name.

“No,” you answer, reaching for one of the palettes propped up to the side. “But I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll just see where the vibe takes me.”

The smile Taehyung gives you at that is softer than most, and he eagerly follows suit in grabbing a palette and beginning to set it up; he squirts a big dollop of white, blinking at it for a moment as though he hadn’t intended to put that much. “There are some pencils and erasers to the side there, too. I prefer the moldable one.”

You thank him for his advice, before realising as he puts his own pencil ever so lightly to canvas that he hadn’t told you the subject of his painting. “What are you going to paint?”

“A secret,” he says, leaning around the canvas to grin at you. “Since I don’t know what you’re painting. Let’s swap paintings after, though. I do want to see eventually.”

That makes you laugh, but you don’t bother pushing further. A surprise is nice every now and then, you know. So long as it’s not the kind that ruins your life as you know it indefinitely.

But you’re here to have fun and relax, so you’re not going to get into that. You’re not even going to think about it. 

Taehyung clears his throat, catching your attention immediately. “Right, before we start we should probably order. Did you—”

“No need, my boy!”

Two new figures appear at the side of the table, one a youthful man on the shorter side, the other older and plumper with grey beginning to speckle through his hair. The shorter one places two drinks onto the table, colourful cocktails in a generous glass, and the older laughs before placing down two plates, each with a different kind of cake slice situated neatly in the middle.

“On the house,” the man continues, chuckling at the shocked and somewhat flustered look on Taehyung’s face. “You’ve given us a lot of business so don’t even worry about it. Plus, we heard you were finally making the most of those vouchers so… here’s a little something to start the night off well!”

“...Thanks, Mr Kang,” Taehyung finally manages, shooting them a smile that could honestly give Hoseok’s own a run for its money. “You too, Kyungsoo. Do…. do I wanna know what’s in this?”

He’s gesturing to the drinks, a somewhat fearful look on his face. The shorter man shakes his head, thick brows curved in mirth as his lips twitch into a lopsided smile. “Nope. Tastes good though, so you got nothing to worry about.”

You can’t tell whether Taehyung is relieved or concerned, and so step in to save him a moment of reprieve. “Thank you so much— this all looks amazing!”

Happily, the two men soak in your praise. “I assure you,” Mr Kang says, patting his chest proudly. “It tastes as good as it looks.”

Kyungsoo snorts, but doesn’t disagree. He gives the two of you a small smile. “Right, we should be on our way. You two enjoy yourselves, and if you want refills just come let me know.”

Taehyung nods, thanking them again, and then it’s just the two of you once more.

“Well,” he says, licking his lips and reminding you of a puppy as he stares intently at the slice of strawberry crepe cake, decorated with a generous drizzle of syrup and two fresh, sliced strawberries in a dollop of cream beside it. The other one, a coffee-caramel blend you presume from the heavenly aroma reaching your nose, looks just as good but is nowhere near as successful at capturing his attention. “I guess… let’s begin!”

Whether he meant painting or devouring the food, you end up doing a bit of both. Each mouthful of cake that enters your mouth is announced with an explosion of flavour so rich it lingers long after you’ve swallowed the mouthful down. The drinks, too, are delicious. Fruity but not too syrupy or sugary, you suspect Kyungsoo had used spirits and tempered the fruity flavour with a bit of lemon or lime.

You still aren’t really sold on what to paint, but in the meantime you end up sketching out the flowers that sit on the windowsill a little behind Taehyung. They don’t seem too complicated, and if they end up looking terrible you can just smear the canvas with paint and call it abstract. Of course, part of Taehyung’s shoulder cuts the vase off from view so he’s probably going to end up making an unwitting appearance in whatever mess turns up on your canvas. 

Even though neither of you have any idea what Kyungsoo put into those drinks, you’re sure its something strong. Before long the two of you are already giggly, conversation flowing easily as you put paint to canvas and attempt to make something decent. It’s around the time the two of you are almost finishing your drinks that the conversation takes a delightful turn, which consists of Taehyung telling you about his little fluffball, Yeontan.

“Oh my god,” you say, fingers gripping the paintbrush tight as you try to pet the urge to pet a dog that isn’t even here. “He’s so cute! Look at his grumpy little eyebrows!”

Taehyung laughs, having taken a break from painting to show you his dog like a proud parent. He takes his phone back and slips it into his pocket, paint-flecked hand returning to the brush he’d abandoned. “He’s such a smart dog, but he’s also super dumb. Runs into shit all the time. And there was one time that a friend came over and brought a new camera that he hadn’t seen before—”

Taehyung has to pause recounting the story, he starts giggling so hard. It makes you erupt into laughter as well simply because of how contagious the sound is. “He got so mad, he ran in front of me with his little legs and started barking at it like he was trying to protect me. I love that little dog.”

“I love him too and I haven’t even met him,” you giggle, using your pinky (the only finger you’re sure you haven’t gotten paint on yet) to wipe under your eyes. You don’t think you let a tear slip but you’ve been laughing so much you can’t be sure. 

Taehyung beams at you from around his canvas, brush held midair.  “That’s exactly what Jiminie says.”

That gives you pause. “Wait— Jimin hasn’t seen your dog? But you’ve been friends for ages!”

You catch the photographer smiling as he delivers a few soft strokes to his painting, affection hidden in his tone as he responds, “Yeah, a few years. Since… the last? Second last year of high school? Maybe? It was a wild start to the friendship.”

“Wild?” you echo, intrigued. 

“Yeah. What really kick-started our friendship was this one time I came over while Jimin was really upset about something. I can’t remember exactly how it happened but we ended up at some wack university event nearby. It was boring as hell, and somehow we figured the best way to be entertained would be to commit a mild crime and get away with it.”

Once more, the ashy-haired male has to pause his story to get the giggles out of his system, taking the opportunity to sip a little more of his cocktail. You do the same, not one to pass up much of any drink these days. 

“Long story short, he ended up streaking across the field and earning himself a title at the university as ‘mooncheeks’ or something equally dumb and funny, earnt himself a bit of a nude legacy.”

You pause, the alcohol beginning to slow your mind just enough that it takes a little longer for you to connect the dot between his story and something you’d shoved so deep in the back of your mind years ago that you’d almost forgotten it.

“Wait—” you smack your paintbrush down, eyes wide as an accusing finger is thrown his way. “That was— he ran into me on the way back! Oh my god I almost forgot, that was you two?!”

Taehyung erupts into laughter that is an octave or two shy of being too loud, having to place a hand over his chest to brace himself. He’s nodding wordlessly, eyes pinched shut, and it’s probably the alcohol making your eyes blur but for a moment you could almost swear he’s glowing.

“Yeah,” he finally manages to articulate, wiping a stray tear or two from his eyes, sniffling. “It cheered him up, though, so I think it’s worth the potential trauma.”

That makes you laugh, another sip of your drink going down. A lot of the spirits must have settled at the bottom, because this one had a little warmth as it went down. 

The night goes so easily it’s like a dream, the atmosphere and alcohol in combination with Taehyung’s company making you feel much like you did before this whole shitshow, back when it wasn’t so hard to release the tension in your shoulders or to muster a genuine smile. Taehyung happily gets you a few refills, refusing to let you pull out your card— which is probably for the best because you’re not sure where your wallet is and you’re not coordinated enough to look right now.

You’re on the further side of tipsy, teetering on the edge of pleasantly drunk where nothing makes sense but you’re still somewhat coherent, and everything is funny. Taehyung has almost dipped his paintbrushes in his drink instead of the jar a few times, resulting in a long round of laughter and sore stomachs each time. Eventually, you’d moved his drink to the other side of the canvas and he’d offered you a sheepish smile. 

Surprisingly, your painting doesn’t look too bad, either. Currently it has a bit of a blurry, undefined quality to it, but in your current opinion it kind of works for it. Taehyung’s shoulder did end up making a feature and as the two of you talk you find yourself distractedly painting patterns in the ‘leather’, swirls and hearts and hell, even a few triangles. Eventually, you reach the point where you think that you really can’t do anything more to make the painting better in the time you have, so with a contented sigh you place your brush down and instead turn your attention to Taehyung.

Even as he talks to you and wobbles a little in place, he’s still so incredibly focused in his work, in every detail that meets canvas at the direction of his nimple finngertips, that you don’t think you even see his hand shaking while he paints. Which, your hand was— a lot. It’s the main factor responsible for this one squiggly flower stem in particular you can see in your painting.

As you sit there, happily listening and laughing at each anecdote Taehyung offers you about his life, you find your mind wandering a little bit. Back to the exhibition, and the works and even the way you caught him regarding them. You recognise the critical lens that he viewed them through, because it’s one you adopt yourself for your own creations. Something wells in you, an urge to reassure him in case he ever had any doubts about his own talent; you’re far too many drinks in to be in a place where you can stop yourself.

“Taehyung,” you begin softly but seriously, with minimal slur. He doesn’t stop his motions, but you see him pause for the briefest moment before humming in acknowledgement. “Taehyung, I have to tell you…”

You’re figuring out how to best word your impression of his works and his talent, but you must take longer than you thought because Taehyung lets out a soft huff, giving you a smile that you can’t quite decipher.

“Don’t worry,” he says, flicking the paintbrush back to rest the wooden stem on his knuckles. “I already know I’m not the muse. You don’t have to worry about convincing me.”

For a second, all you’re able to do is blink. Taehyung simply goes back to his painting, expression neutral and his soft hum brushing your ears beneath the soft melody floating from the speakers. You realise quickly that you don’t know what to say to that, and that the full implications of his words haven’t really sunk in yet. He must have noticed that you’d been trying to go around and convince all the suspected subjects that they aren’t the muse of the poem… you feel oddly ashamed, for some reason. Your cheeks feel hot, and not just from the alcohol flush.

“Done!”

Taehyung’s voice breaks you from your reverie, his cheery smile greeting you once more. “All finished?”

You nod, offering a smile of your own and taking the opportunity to say what you wanted to earlier. “Yep. I’m excited to see yours, you’re so incredibly talented, Tae.”

His smile turns shy at that, a bashful laugh tumbling from his lips as he does his best to clean up his area. You do the same, standing up for the first time in a while and having to reach out and stabilise yourself on the table so you don’t fall. The drinks hit you a little harder than you first thought!

“Thank you,” he finally mumbles a few moments later, collecting the brushes. “I’m excited to see yours, too.”

You let out a short laugh at that, knowing that whatever you threw onto that canvas isn’t going to be able to hold a candle to what he made.

Quicker than you can keep track of, the two of you finish tidying and then before you know it you’re saying your goodbyes to the staff and stepping outside. You shiver at the unexpected breeze that greets you, people along the other side of the street huddling together. It’s a windy night and the breeze carries a bit of a bite.

“Oh, right,” Taehyung starts in place, offering his canvas to you. “Careful, it might still be a bit wet…”

Somewhat mindlessly, you swap paintings with him, smiling brightly before your gaze is drawn to the side. By nothing but absolute chance, it passes over the line in front of a bar popular with students at your university, and you almost blink and move on before your eyes halt in familiarity. At the hands of nothing but stupid luck, there is someone you recognise over there. Yoongi stands, face indicating a loud complaint before it even leaves his mouth, and there are a few others around him that he seems to be with who are laughing as they wait in line.

Your head feels so messy, like the wind has managed to get inside your skull and fling everything about like leaves on the autumn breeze. You’re so distracted in the moment that you don’t see it as Taehyung follows the direction of your gaze, and his expression drops. When you jerk out of your reverie, it’s just in time to see his eyes flicking from your painting, to his, and then back to you.

You’re about to peek at his painting and fill the silence with a compliment, but he beats you to it. Something is different about his expression, and not just because he’s no longer under the warm light of the paint bar. The glow you’d noticed so easily earlier seems to have dimmed a bit.

“Did you figure out the theme of the exhibition?”

At his question you startle, gaze flicking to the side as you try and figure it out on instinct on the spot. You’d completely forgotten to think about it, and considering you spent about as much time looking at him as you did his works while at the exhibition, you can safely determine you’re still nowhere closer to the answer. “Ah… no.”

As though drawn like a magnet, your gaze ends up over in the direction of Yoongi for the briefest second. You struggle to tear it away.

“It’s anaxiphilia.”

Even through the inebriation slowing your thoughts, his words reach you immediately. It’s as though your heart has turned to stone and dropped straight through your chest. That unspeakable, unknown emotion wells and bubbles within you, swelling to twice, thrice its size and blocking words before they can even reach your throat. Your eyes are on Taehyung again, but his are still centred where yours had been— had he also noticed Yoongi? You didn’t know they knew each other...

“Oh,” you finally manage, swallowing down that nameless sensation. Taehyung’s gaze slowly slides back to you, dark eyes full of so much… something, you think it would take you years to unpack and familiarise yourself with it all. 

For a second, the two of you stand with your gazes locked, both of you too deep in your own thoughts to do anything about it. Taehyung is the one that breaks the spell. 

“Well, it’s getting late, I shouldn’t keep you out any longer… There is a bus stop here, and tons of ubers in the area…” His eyes flick away as he talks but return as he murmurs this last bit, “Thank you for coming today. I hope you had fun.”

“Of course I did,” you rush, finally finding your voice amongst the shambles in your head. “Thank you for inviting me, Tae. I really… I really needed this. Thank you.”

He nods, smiling at you, but you notice it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Please get home safe,” he says, and you nod immediately, making his gaze soften. “See you later.”

“Bye! Thank you again!” you wave, Taehyung turning quick and already a decent way down the street after his farewell. He offers a wave over his shoulder and you catch it just in time before you turn back, gaze unconsciously seeking out the familiar figure across the road. Distantly, you observe that Yoongi is no longer in line for the bar and has switched to the bubble tea place a few stores down.

Taehyung’s exhibition and it’s theme swim through your mind, a sudden impulse welling within you in response that spurs your legs into a motion. You’re about to go across the road in a sudden spurt of something like bravery, but for some indecipherable reason, you stop before you can get more than a few feet. You turn your head, gaze thrown over your shoulder, eyes seeking without an explicit goal in mind.

You catch sight of him just before he rounds the corner and disappears from view— even from the back Taehyung presents a handsome figure, but in the split-second you manage to view him, the most notable things about his retreating form is the slumped curve of his shoulders and the lowered angle of his head. He’s gone before you can blink leaving you for good this time with nothing but your messy head and the one thought that swims to the surface that says after seeing him glow in happiness for the better part of the evening, sadness doesn’t suit him much at all. 

Clutching the painting, your turn back to the front and try and focus on the present for just a minute or two, like whether you’re going to catch a bus or uber it home, but each time you start a new thought it always brings you back to the odd mix of guilt swirling deep in your gut. There’s something else there, the familiar hollow pit of yearning, but for once… you can’t quite tell who it’s for. 

a/n: thank u so much for reading! i really hope it was worth the wait and that you look forward the future parts as fox rain begins to slowly draw to a close!! pls let us know u liked it w a like and rb and screaming in our inboxes is always ALWAYS welcome!! thank u !! love u !! <3

[ukulelecal]

Bloom - Part One

The story of flowers.

Pairing: Poet!Luke Hemmings x Female!OC

Warnings: angst!!!! implied smut. perhaps a swear or two. mostly angst

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: can yall believe that this video sent me so feral that i wrote this whole lil mini series in like five days?? i'm not surprised tbh. ANYWAY omg i really am excited for y'all to read this!!! i hope you love it!!! i would love your feedback, and please please remember that reblogs mean the absolute world to creators!

series masterlist

masterlist // posted on ao3

Devon would never forget the first poem Luke wrote for her.

He was a blushing mess as he handed her the folded piece of paper, insisting she read it later because he didn’t want to see her reaction. He had a lip ring then, blond hair spiked up and a wardrobe full of band t-shirts and black skinny jeans. He certainly didn’t look like how anyone would imagine a poet, but one look at his work would tell anyone that he had the mind for the craft.

Luke’s way with words was unmatched. Devon always called it a superpower; the way he was able to capture readers with words strung together so beautifully and paint a picture in the brain. He made people feel something. He had a gift, no doubt.

All of his poems were breathtaking, and he wrote many for her. The first would always be her favorite.

It was called The Orchids. The poem compared a woman to a field of orchids, delicate and lush. It was simple but sweet. Devon vividly remembered the rush of giddiness she felt as she read it, knowing it was written just for her. She remembered calling Luke after reading it over and over again, gushing about how much she loved it. He explained to her later that he chose orchids because the color of the shirt she was wearing the day they met reminded him of them.

They were only freshmen in college then. First time away from home, getting their first taste of real independence. Of adulthood. They met in a seminar class that every first year student had to take. One that everyone else hated but Luke and Devon loved, just because they got to see each other. A couple of coffee dates lead to The Orchids, which lead to a loving relationship and many, many more poems.

College was just about to come to an end now. Graduation was coming up fast, and that brought the simultaneously exciting and dreadful question: what next?

The future was something that used to delight Luke and Devon. Countless nights, they talked about marriage, a house, a dog, children. Luke would be a renowned poet, Devon a respected social worker. They had it all planned out. Even if their white picket fence dreams fell through, they would be happy so long as they had each other.

With graduation creeping closer and closer, Devon wasn’t so sure about their plans.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want it anymore. She still loved Luke with all of her heart. She wanted everything they had talked about, a future with him. Some deeper thinking into her career led her heart elsewhere.

It came out at dinner one evening, sat at the table of Devon and Luke’s shared apartment that they had moved into junior year.

“I’ve been thinking about going to grad school,” she blurted out. She twisted her spaghetti on her fork to distract herself. His face lit up, but Devon didn’t quite share his excitement. She knew this was something she wanted, but she was about to make a huge sacrifice that she had been trying to convince herself that she was ready for.

“Yeah? That’s great, Dev!” Luke cheered. “Here?”

The proud smile on his face quickly dropped when he saw the look of dread on hers. Graduate school was certainly a good thing, but if she wasn’t thrilled, Luke knew there must be a catch.

“Not here?” Devon shook her head. “Then where?”

The name of the school that she mumbled under her breath made Luke’s heart sink. It was far away. Very far.

“Oh.”

Luke wanted to kick himself for being disappointed. It was selfish, so selfish. He should have been proud that Devon wanted to further her education, and he was. He couldn’t fathom trying to take that away from her, but the thought of his girl being so far away was gut wrenching.

He wiped the frown off his face as quickly as it came. He reminded himself that he needed to be supportive, even if it hurt.

“That’s awesome, baby. I’m really proud of you.”

Devon knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was proud of her, but she could tell he wasn’t as excited as he was trying to seem.

“You don’t have to act happy about this, Lu,” she murmured, still pushing her pasta around. “I know what you’re thinking.”

He sighed and dropped his fork on his plate. Of course she saw through him. She always did. After four years of being together, Devon knew Luke better than anyone.

“I really am proud of you for doing this, honey. Don’t think that I’m not. It’s just…” he trailed off, unable to think of a way to put what he wanted to say without sounding selfish. “It’s so far away.”

Devon swallowed the lump in her throat. She was headstrong, and she knew that she needed to put her career and her own desires first. That didn’t mean it hurt any less to move so far away from the love of her life.

“I know, bubs,” she whispered. “But this is something I really want for myself. For my future.”

“Oh, honey, I know,” Luke sighed, not wanting her to feel bad. “I want you to do this. But the distance...I know it’s selfish of me-”

“It’s not selfish, Luke,” she interrupted, shaking her head softly. “It’s not easy for me either. But this school has the best graduate program for social work. Besides, I haven’t finished my application yet and I’m applying to some other places too. I might not even get in.”

Perhaps the most selfish thing of all was that a tiny part of him hoped she wouldn’t get in. It would break her heart if she didn’t, but maybe she wouldn’t be so far. Luke hated himself for the thought even crossing his mind for a split second.

Devon could see how this was affecting him. She understood; she knew he was planning on proposing shortly after graduation, though they were in no hurry to actually get married until they both had secure jobs. Moving hundreds of miles away for two years undoubtedly threw a wrench in the plans.

She had gone back and forth for a while as she searched for grad schools. As much as she wanted to stay close, her future career was something that she valued greatly. Devon was a first generation college student, and she wanted nothing more than to make her family proud. However, Luke was important too. The distance wouldn’t be easy, but she tried to be optimistic. She could only hope that he would want to try too.

“Don’t think like that, Dev,” Luke mumbled. He let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. His desire for Devon to succeed and his desire to keep her close were battling each other, and it only frustrated him.

He thought about his words for a few moments, but couldn’t find the right thing to say.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Devon gave a silent nod. She needed to let him feel this out, and honestly, she needed to do the same. Thinking about it was one thing, but actually telling Luke was another. She had been stressing over it for a while, and now that it was finally out, her and Luke had to actually deal with it together.

The couple finished their dinner in silence, the only sounds to be heard being the slight scraping of forks against plates and the occasional sighs.

Devon couldn’t help but feel guilty. Over the years, she had conditioned herself to put her own aspirations first. She had sacrificed a lot for others in her lifetime, but many people had made sacrifices for her as well. She felt she had found a balance between taking care of herself and taking care of the people around her. She knew that moving away for a while for her own benefit would have an effect on her relationship, but she didn’t feel as if she had to choose one or the other. If Luke was willing to try to make things work, then so was she.

Luke took his last bite of spaghetti and stood up from the table. He silently made his way to the sink to wash his plate before turning back to Devon.

“I’m going to write for a bit, okay?” He mumbled, slowly making his way towards the spare bedroom that doubled as his workspace. No doubt a poem was going to come out of everything he was feeling at the moment. Devon nodded and her brown eyes watched as Luke turned on his heel to walk away.

“Luke?” She called out before he got too far. He turned around with a hum of acknowledgement. “I love you.”

Despite the anxiety and dread he was feeling, he smiled.

He walked back over to where Devon still sat at the table. With her face cradled lovingly in his hands, he bent down to press a soft yet meaningful kiss to her lips. The kiss said that even if things were uncertain, this wasn’t over.

“I love you too.”

…

Devon’s breath caught in her throat when an email from her top choice grad school came through.

She had poured over her personal statement and fretted over her interview. No matter how much everyone assured her, she couldn’t help the anxiety that ate her away.

With a deep breath, she opened the email.

Accepted with a scholarship.

“Luke! Bubs, I got in! I got in!”

She ran into the spare bedroom where Luke was hunched over one of his many poetry notebooks. His head whipped up at his girlfriend’s yells, his brain taking a moment to process her words after being in the writing zone.

For a moment, neither of them were thinking about the distance. All that mattered was Devon’s amazing achievement.

Luke stood up to meet her. Devon practically tackled him in a hug and he easily held her close.

“Congratulations, honey,” he mumbled into her hair. “Fuck, I’m so proud of you.”

He held her for a few minutes, neither of them able to wipe the smiles off their faces. This meant a lot to Devon, and Luke knew it. He knew from the moment he met her that she was going to do great things in life. She was motivated, intelligent, passionate. Anyone could see it. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

Luke pulled away in favor of cupping her cheeks in his hands. Devon flushed under his adoring gaze, eyes falling downwards.

“You’re incredible, Devon Murphy.”

She kissed him as a form of thanks, melting into each other’s touch. Their eyes met when they pulled away, bright blue and warm brown. Devon wasn’t the wordsmith that Luke was, but she didn’t have to be. Her eyes and her actions told him and everyone else everything that they needed to know. Devon was in love with him, and Luke, her.

Even with Luke’s way with words, Devon could read his eyes too. They were just as expressive as his poetry. As they gazed at each other, she could see the flash of sorrow as his mind travelled elsewhere. She didn’t need to ask to know what he was thinking about.

“Luke…” she whispered with a softened gaze. The guilt was returning, although she knew she had nothing to feel guilty about. She had always struggled with her determination to put herself first. It wasn’t Luke’s fault either, however; his feelings about her leaving were completely valid.

“No. None of that right now,” he stated, shaking his head. “This is a huge accomplishment, Dev. We’re not going to be sad tonight.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Devon’s lips as Luke pulled away, grabbing his phone from the desk and sticking it in his pocket. He placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to the door of the bedroom.

“I think you deserve a celebratory dinner, honey, yeah?” He offered, handing trailing to the side to hold her waist. She chuckled and leaned into him.

“You could throw in a frozen pizza and I’d be happy, bubs.”

“Hell no,” he scoffed as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. “You just got into grad school! I’m taking you out for dinner. If you want pizza, we can get pizza, but not a frozen one.”

Devon couldn’t help but throw her arms around him again, burying her face into his chest. He tilted his head down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She knew this wasn’t easy, and she was beyond grateful that he was being supportive.

“Thank you, bubs. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. So are we getting pizza, or do you want to go somewhere else? It’s up to you.”

“Pizza sounds good. Can we go to the place with the good garlic knots?”

Luke laughed as he slipped on his shoes.

“Of course we can.”

Devon slipped on her own shoes and grabbed her denim jacket from the hook by the door before the couple made their way downstairs. Luke’s beat up Prius came into view as they stepped into the parking lot. Devon had named the car Bertha; she was old and a little rusty, but she got the job done.

Luke drove to the small pizzeria not far from their apartment complex. Once inside, they were seated quickly and ordered garlic knots and a pizza to share.

“We haven’t talked much about your writing lately,” Devon said once the waitress walked away. “What have you been working on?”

Luke shrugged and sipped his water.

“Not much. I haven’t really gotten anything good out.”

Truthfully, he had written a lot of poems about Devon leaving. He wasn’t going to tell her that at their celebratory dinner, though.

“In a slump?” She queried sincerely.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Maybe next weekend we can go out, go to the park. You always get inspired there.”

Luke grinned and reached across the table for her hand.

“I’d love that, Dev.”

The rest of dinner flew by, conversation getting lost in buttery garlic knots and savory pizza. Luke offered dessert, but Devon was too full to even think about it. A sly joke about having her for dessert at home had the giggling couple paying the check and driving home at record speed where Luke certainly made good on his promise.

Devon and Luke laid in bed that night where whispered I love you’s and gentle kisses put them to sleep. Not a negative thought in either of their minds. They were content, but the future still loomed menacingly ahead.

…

The apartment was once a place of solace. It was a place where Luke and Devon could get away from the stress of college life and simply be together. It was safe and comforting. A place they knew they were always welcome.

As time went on, the apartment slowly shifted from a place of joy to a place of dread.

Graduation day was coming up, and both Devon and Luke knew what that meant.

They busied themselves with assignments and exams, Devon simultaneously preparing herself for grad school. She didn’t say much about it to Luke; whenever it came up, the tension between them only got stronger. It led to them bickering about other things to avoid the conversation.

Before they knew it, graduation had come and passed. Devon and Luke officially had their bachelor’s degrees, Luke in creative writing and Devon in social work. The days leading up to it were a good distraction, celebrations with friends and family taking their minds off the move. But it was over. Devon needed to get to her new city soon to set up her new apartment and get her bearings before school started. It was time to face the music.

“Luke?” Devon mumbled as he came out of the spare bedroom. She had been waiting for him to finish so they could talk.

He sighed and sat down next to her on the couch, knowing exactly what this was about. They both had been dreading the conversation, but he knew just as well as her that they needed to discuss it before it was too late.

“Are you ready for this?” She whispered, glancing at him with sad eyes. He didn’t return her gaze.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to be away from you for this long, honey.”

Luke could feel his guard coming down. He wanted this for Devon, but he was struggling to keep his want for her to stay close suppressed.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not considering you in this,” she began, reaching for his hand in his lap. “Leaving won’t be easy for me either.”

“I know.”

He was too scared to say much else.

The couple was silent for a moment. They racked their brains for something to say that would make the situation easier on either of them.

“Maybe you could come with.”

Devon regretted it as soon as it came out of her mouth.

Luke huffed and sent her a look.

“You know I can’t do that.”

She did know. If he could do that, he would have jumped on the opportunity immediately. Luke couldn’t afford to move. He was working on fulfilling his lifelong dream of releasing a poetry book. He was getting so close. Publishers were starting to take interest in him, and he nearly had enough money saved to cover the costs. It was difficult to save money when his part time job at a local bookstore didn’t pay much in the first place and he still needed to pay for school as well as his share of the rent and groceries, among other necessary things. Devon was a little luckier. Neither of their families had much to contribute, and she needed to pay for the same things as him, but her part time job paid better than his and she had money saved from when she managed to land a paid internship first semester. It was covering the costs of her move and grad school.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She watched him for another moment, trying to fight back the tears that were welling in her eyes.

“Please say something, Luke,” she whimpered. All she wanted was for him to affirm what she so desperately wanted; for them to be okay.

He finally looked at her, both sets of eyes red rimmed. Devon squeezed his hand.

“Do you really have to go, Dev?”

The break in his voice sent the first tear gliding down Devon’s cheek.

“You know how much this means to me, Lu. I really think we can make this work.”

“Can we? Can we really?” Luke’s tone turned frustrated. Devon’s mouth dropped open slightly. Did he not believe they could last?

“What are you saying?” She whispered, voice shaking.

He sighed and roughly stood up, dropping Devon’s hand in the process.

“We’ll never talk. We’ll both be so busy. You’ll have school, I’ll be working. And you know neither of us have the money to be visiting each other often. There will hardly be anything,” he rambled, pacing around the living room. Maybe his selfish side was coming out, but he felt he was just being realistic.

Luke always aimed for realism, particularly in his poetry. He wrote largely about real life experiences and channeled his emotions into beautiful, flowing rhymes. His best work came from personal connection.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but write about what he wished he had.

His idealistic poems were never about Devon; his relationship with her was practically perfect. But this was something that no idealistic poem could fix. No words could change what was happening to them.

“I’ll make time for you, Luke. Won’t you do the same?” She questioned, growing frustrated as well. She had wanted him to share her optimism, but clearly he didn’t. A part of her knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to back down.

“Of course I’ll make time. But will it be enough? No matter how much we try, will it be enough to keep what we have going? Look at what it’s doing to us now! You haven’t even left yet and we can barely keep it together.”

“Do you really have that little faith in us, Luke?” Her voice was calm, despite how she felt on the inside. She narrowed her eyes at him. “No one said it would be easy. But we’ve been together for four years. I believe in us.”

Luke took another breath, trying his best to keep his emotions and tears at bay.

“I want to believe in us, Devon. I really do.” He turned to look at her. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and it only made his heart ache more. “I still want a future with you. I want the house and the dog and the kids we’ve always talked about. But I have a bad feeling. We’ve never been away from each other for more than a few weeks. I just...the distance is going to break us.”

Luke’s own words cut him like a knife. As much as he wanted to believe they could last, his own insecurities caused him doubt. He wasn’t sure if he truly believed that or if he just wanted to save himself the heartbreak of being away from Devon for so long.  

Devon let his words sink in. Even if it did break them before she finished her degree, she was willing to try until they couldn’t anymore. Maybe he was right. Maybe the distance would break them eventually. But it hurt her that he didn’t have any faith at all. Still, she understood where he was coming from.

There was no winner in this situation.

She thought for a moment, and finally came to the conclusion that they were both thinking about.

“Fine.” She slowly stood up from the couch and looked him in the eye. They were both shattered. Hearts were breaking into a million pieces simultaneously. Devon put on the most stoic face she could muster with tears still leaking from her eyes. “We obviously want different things right now. I have school, you have your book, and clearly we can’t handle both at the same time. Maybe there shouldn’t be an us.”

Although he had essentially been the one to suggest it, her words felt like a punch in the gut.

This wasn’t what either of them wanted. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But the truth was becoming more and more apparent. They couldn’t do this. Not now.

However, Luke mimicked Devon’s actions and put on a blank face.

“Maybe there shouldn’t.”

They stared at each other for another few moments. Reality was setting in. This was the end of Luke and Devon. All of the coffee dates, the love poems, living off Ramen and questionable dining hall food together, walks in the park, kisses, I love you’s, the late night talks of the future, everything gone down the drain.

Devon shut herself in the bedroom before Luke could see her break.

…

The next month before Devon moved was painful. Her and Luke hardly said a word to each other. They ate their meals separately, not bothering to cook together like they used to or order food to share. They both spent time with friends before everyone went off to their new adult lives. When they weren’t out, Devon locked herself in the bedroom while Luke did the same in the spare. They hadn’t slept in the same bed since before their fight.

Devon spent a lot of free time packing. She went through all of her belongings, creating piles of things to keep, things to donate, and things to throw away.

She soon came across something that made all of her emotions about the breakup resurface.

It was the shoebox that she kept all of the poems Luke had written for her in. She kept every single one.

With a quivering lip, she opened the box and gazed at its contents. Piles of folded papers were neatly tucked inside, his declarations of love all written out in one place. They were her most prized possessions. She went back and reread them often, and the feeling of having someone love her like Luke did was the best feeling in the world.

Devon choked out a sob, burying her face into her hands in hopes that he wouldn’t hear her through the thin walls. The fact that he was right next door hurt her even more. The caring, gentle boy that made her swoon with his charming smile and romantic poetry. He made her fall in love with him all over again every day. He was everything, and she lost him.

She slowly read through each poem. Instead of joy and adoration, all she felt was anguish and heartache. She never thought she would feel this way about Luke.

When she got to the bottom, she pulled out the last poem, and her heart completely broke in her chest.

The Orchids.

Devon couldn’t keep her sobs at bay. She clutched the paper to her chest, every bit of pain coming out in tears.  

Luke could hear her through the wall.

His heart told him to run in and comfort her. His brain told him it would only make things worse for both of them.

He plugged his ears, trying to block out the dreadful sound. He was in just as much pain as her, but the sound of the love of his life’s sorrow only made his own worse.

Glancing down at the open notebook in front of him, he reread the poem he was writing, and soon he found himself joining Devon in tears.

It was called Wilted. Their relationship that had once been a beautiful flower, an orchid, lost its sunlight and its water, and now it had wilted. Dead, grey, dried up.

Luke dropped his pen and folded his arms on the desk, burying his head into them. He cried.

The broken couple, only separated by a thin wall, might as well have already been miles apart. They cried together, but there was no sense of unity between them. Their pain was past what any poem could portray.

[dreamescapeswriting]

The Professor ~ JHS [M] [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 4.2K

↬↬↬Genre: College Au!, Tutor!Hoseok, Student!Reader, smut,

↬↬↬Warnings: praise kink, smut, swearing, Cunnilingus, blow job, unprotected sex.

↬↬↬A/N: I lost the anon that requested this but it was asking for Hoseok and a praise kink. I wanted to make it different from the cliche ‘’You’re so quiet so I noticed you’’ aspect so I tried something a little different. Hope this is okay for you and yes Hosoek is a literacy tutor for this…don’t question me

Your unusually bright hair was what made you stand out in a crowd and in class, you were the girl that was well known and liked because you told people how it was and you didn't care if it made them hate you. If it was the truth it had to be told, it was how you were raised and how you were going to continue living. Besides from being the confident, loud and loving one of your friendship group - if you could call it a group, everyone on your side of college campus seemed to love and know who you were - you were also the smartest. Always passing your classes with flying colours and the one class you did your very best in was Literacy with Professor Hoseok. You had no idea why you always did so well in his class but there was never a change in grade in that one, A's throughout your first and second year, even now in your final year you were getting A's across the board.

"Lewis Carroll was a novelist and a poet! I want you all to take some time getting to know this author over your weekend!" Hoseok said as he knew the final bell was coming, it was a Friday afternoon and his Friday afternoon classes were nice and relaxing, he'd give you all an assignment to work on but nothing major to stress you all out over since it was the weekend.

"I know a lot of you will choose Alice's Adventures in Wonderland but I want you to think more outside of the box and branch into his other works." You began packing up everything into your bag, you had to collect some results from other classes before your weekend could begin. You'd planned a whole weekend away with two of your roommates, going to a spa to relax after the mock exams you'd taken.

"Y/n! Are you ready to get your pamper on?" Hoseok looked up as he heard Jihoo talking to you from her seat, he looked over at you. You were sitting there with your bright coloured hair thrown up into a messy ponytail, black jeans with a band shirt on. He noticed every student in his class but he noticed you the most, the way you stood out of the crowd but not in a disrespectful way. You stood out because you were smart - always answering questions that Hoseok had asked, doing your 100% best on the assignments he would set though he wasn't supposed to have favourites you were his.

"I'm so ready, I'll meet you back at the apartment. I have to get my grades from Professor Bang and Professor Sana," Your friends all left the classroom and you got up from the desk, flicking through your folder as you walked to the front of the classroom.

"Professor Hoseok?" Hoseok looked away from his laptop screen, he was grading last week's papers that were long overdue and he was going to be far behind for the weekend.

"Yes Miss Y/l/n?" You smiled softly at him, the way your name rolled off his tongue like that sent shivers down your spine but you would never act on it. There was no rule against dating a college professor on your campus but sleeping with someone who graded your papers wasn't the best way to live the college life.

"I just wanted to hand this in, it was due Yesterday but Kyle was in the hospital." Kyle was another one of your classmates who'd been involved in a skateboard accident breaking one of his legs and his arm.

"You went to see him to get this to me?" You nodded and put the folder into your side bag,

"He was texting the group chat about how hard he'd worked on it and so I figured I could just hand it in." Hoseok thanked you and you left the room. He watched as you walked away from him, just by looking at you no one would expect you to be this kind and considerate towards others but Hoseok had looked into your school record. Not only did you excel in all of your classes your extracurriculars were just as impressive from volunteering at hospitals, nursing homes and tutoring others he wondered how you ever made time for yourself and it made him more interested in knowing you.

The weekend came and went for Hoseok, he'd spent his time closed up in his office hunched over papers trying to read through desperate attempts to pass his class. Your weekend, however, was spent hunched over your desk in your dorm instead of the relaxing it was supposed to be.

"Where's Y/n?" Josh asked as he walked into Hoseok's classroom, no one had seen you all day. Hoseok's ear picked up when he heard people mumbling your name, he could have sworn he'd seen you in the library earlier in the day when he went for a lunch break. He noticed the big glasses on your face as well as you bright hair before he noticed anything else, you were reading something so he didn't go to talk to you only now he wished he had.  

"She didn't come on the spa trip, I called her and she said something came up." Jihoo sighed looking at Josh and laying her head on his shoulder, any excuse to flirt with someone but you were there. You were juts hunched up in the back of the class, hoodie pulled up over your head to hide your hair which was normally your favourite feature but right now it was the one thing that would give you away.

"Is she okay? She never misses classes." Hoseok scanned the classroom and he noticed you, your head was in a book, glasses pushed up against your face and head downcast trying to go unnoticed but you didn't go unnoticed by him. He could tell you didn't want to talk to anyone though so he started his class,

"I trust you all had a great weekend and are ready to learn." There were low mumbles about how excited they were and so he started lecturing them more on Lewis Carroll, giving them facts about his lifestyle and his upbringing.

"Aren't all his books and poems just children's play?" Josh screamed out making the whole class erupt into laughter, this was usually where you would step in to correct him but Hoseok was going to have to do that for you today.

"Not necessarily Mr Quarbeck, there are many meanings behind the things he wrote." He picked up his favourite copy of a Lewis Carol poem and showed everyone,

"The Walrus and the Carpenter, can anyone tell me what it's about?" He looked at you, you were dying to answer him since it was what your assignment was about. You'd chosen it because it happened to be one of your favourites.  

"It's the one where the man goes under the sea and lures the oysters away. I watched a Disney movie." Jihoo said proudly, flicking her hair over her shoulder and smirking.

"I suppose so yes but there's a deeper meaning to the story than that. Have I taught you nothing over my years of teaching, you guys?" They all stared at him blankly and he could tell that this was a lost cause.

"Go. Take the class off, I want you all to go and reread your assignments and then come back when you find the deeper meaning." He clapped his hands together and the whole class began to rush around trying to beat everyone out of the class, you stayed behind to slowly pack up.

"Miss Y/l/n?" You glanced over at Hoseok who was leaning against his desk and gesturing for you to go over to him.

"Yes Professor Hoseok?" He smiled at you and then saw that you had bloodshot eyes and looked like you'd been crying,

"Sit down." He pointed at the seat beside his desk in the hall and then went to get you some tissues he kept on the desk.

"Everything okay?" It was a simple question that should have just had one answer 'yes' and then you should have left but as soon as he asked it was like the flood gates opened once again and you started crying and sobbing about something he couldn't quite understand. He didn't know how to comfort you about it since he didn't know what you were actually saying,

"What's the Walrus and the Carpenter about?" He asked and it was as if a switch went off in your head, the tears stopped and you spoke out facts to him.

"It has themes of death and betrayal within, it talks about tricking young oysters and eating them after a long walk together." He smiled as you started to calm down, he handed you the tissue and sat down.

"We won't have long until another professor comes to use this room. Do you want to come to my office and talk about it?" You nodded, it would be nice to talk to someone about what got you so upset. No one else would understand it except for him.

"Sit, do you want a hot drink?" He questioned, the inside of his office was huge. It had a wooden desk at the back wall and in front of it sat a brown fabric sofa covered with pillows and a throw. He caught you staring at the sofa before sitting down on it,

"I sometimes sleep here on the weekends when I'm behind, it's a lot easier than travelling home in the mornings." You nodded in understanding and he offered you a hot chocolate, he had a small kettle in his office along with a set of coffee, tea and hot chocolate sitting upon a mini-fridge.

"You practically live here Professor Hoseok," Your voice cracked as you tried to speak, you felt open with him and it was nice to have that feeling around someone.

"What's bothering you?" He asked sitting down on the sofa but leaving a gap between you.

"It seems so stupid looking back on it but I erm, I failed both Professor Bang and Sana's classes and I have to resit the whole exam again." He stared at you as he walked over to finish the drinks he was making. He placed them down on his desk instead of handing it to you, it was far too hot to drink right away.

"Are you struggling a lot in their classes?" You nodded your head,

"I don't understand it. It's just everyone's classes except yours I seem to be failing this year." You hid your face in your hands as you thought about it, maybe this was a huge mistake. Complaining to another professor that you were failing,

"You're always such a good girl, I doubt it won't take you long to pass them. How about I help you study? I took music production in college and Sana's class isn't that far away from my own. I can help." Your eyes shot up to stare at him as you heard him mention it,

"You'd do that?" Your voice was shaky and he could tell that you needed the help,

"Sure. How about we meet here on Friday?" You nodded eager to get to work with him,

"Thank you so much, Professor, I'll pay you back in any way I can. I'll tutor the other students more, or I can help you grade." He chuckled and shook his head at you,

"No need, just pass your glass and that's the only thanks I need." You smiled at him and nodded getting up from the sofa and leaving. He stared out of the small window that looked out into the hall at you and smiled to himself. The look on your face when he told you he'd help you was enough to make his week and he wanted to see it again.

Weeks had passed and you were doing better than ever in both of your classes thanks to Hoseok who had started insisting you called him Hobi when you were alone together. He didn't want everything to be formal since you were both spending so much time together and it was a lot of time. Once you'd even fallen asleep on the sofa and he'd tucked you in and left you there with a note about where his key was if you needed to get out and the door was locked. You'd gotten your grades back from both tutors this morning and you were excited to show the results to Hobi you practically sprinted to his office after your classes had finished that Friday.

"Ahh Y/n, how did it go?" He asked watching as you shut the door and turned the papers around to reveal a C on the front of each of them. It wasn't an A but it was a move up from the F you'd gotten before and that was all you cared about.

"A 'C'!? That's brilliant!" He called out coming out from his desk and taking the paper into your hand, you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him without thinking but the second you realised you pulled away and cleared your throat.

"Sorry Professor, I just got a little excited." He shook his head and handed you the papers back,

"You should be excited. I'm so proud of you." He placed his hand on your shoulder and you felt a spark run through your body. Over the weeks with meeting up with him, you'd grown quite close and you'd started to notice an attraction towards him. He was handsome, he was incredibly smart and nice to you but he was also your tutor.

"I still don't know why I was struggling so much but thank your Professor,"

"I told you to call me Hobi," He sat down on the sofa and you sat down beside him, no gap between you. Your thigh against his thigh and he stared at you nervously thinking of how to approach the subject,

"I know why you do better with me." You hummed at him to continue and he sighed loosening his tie before taking it off and throwing it onto the desk. Images of the tie being wrapped around your hands filled your head but you ignored them trying to remain professional.

"In class whenever you answered something for me I would respond by praising you." You nodded to let him know you understood what he was saying,

"When you're in their class I'm assuming they don't do the same." You shook your head and it only proved to Hoseok what he thought in the first place.

"I think you have something that-" He stopped himself, it wasn't exactly teacher-student appropriate talk,

"This is me talking strictly as someone who knows you, not as Professor Hoseok. It came to my attention that you have a praise kink." You felt your cheeks begin to get hot and your ears start to burn as he brought it up. It was true but you thought it only applied in the bedroom not outside of it where you could benefit from it educationally.

"I'm assuming I'm right by the way you've gone silent and are staring at the floor." You nodded but it didn't feel uncomfortable to admit this to him it felt natural.

"I do have that but I never knew it would affect me out of the bedroom." He chuckled at you and nodded,

"I assumed that why you did so well," You smiled and thanked him for helping you again. He shook his head and you stared up into his eyes feeling your heart begin to flutter as he stared down at you. Ever since he'd mentioned the praise kink you'd gotten needy and he'd be lying to himself if he wasn't turned on by the thought of taking you in his office. Without either of you thinking about it you began leaning in until your lips touched and it was a spark to a fire. Everything became heated quickly, his hands were on your waist and you were moving to sit on his lap rather than next to him. His other hand ran up and cupped your face as you made out on the sofa, his tongue running along your bottom lip. You parted your lips allowing him access and he smirked sucking on your tongue a little and hearing you moan.

"Professor Hoseok," You whined as you felt him growing beneath you, you needed him and you needed the praise from making him feel good. You ground your hips down to create some friction and he groaned out holding onto your hip tightly as you continued to swirl your hips.

"You really are a good girl." He chuckled looking at you as you smiled at him, your eyes were filled with lust for him. You wanted to hear him moan out your name and call you a good girl all night. He tapped your ass gently,

"Lock the door, I don't want anyone walking in." He chuckled as you rushed over to lock the door, he walked to the small window and drew the curtains closed looking at you as he returned to the sofa. He'd expected you to get back onto his lap but you surprised him by dropping to your knees in front of him and reaching up to palm him through the jeans he was wearing.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked as he stared down at you, growing harder underneath your touch as you continued to palm him through the rough fabric.

"Yes Professor," He shook his head at you and you started to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans.

"Call me Hobi or Hoseok," You hummed and sprung him free from his boxers. He was covered in precum and it made your mouth water at the thought of taking him into your mouth,

"E-Easy... That's it, good girl." He praised as you slowly licked stripes along the tip of his cock before licking from the base to the tip and taking him all the way into your mouth, he grunted as he hit the back of your throat. You swirled your tongue around his head whenever you'd come back up his length letting him moan out your name loudly before placing his hand in your hair.

"F-fuck." He grunted loving the feeling of being inside of your mouth he was weak for you, he'd imagined this a thousand times but nothing he could imagine would come close to how you were making him feel right now. He held your face as he bucked his hips into your mouth breathing heavily as he felt himself getting closer to his release,

"You're such a good fucking girl taking my cock like this," You hummed around him and he whimpered softly as he felt the vibrations rush through his body.

"I-I can't...I'm g-gonna cum. Stop," You pulled off him a little disappointed that you didn't get to taste him and as if he could read your mind he ran his thumb along your bottom lip.

"You can taste me another time baby girl, right now I want to taste you," He pulled you up from the floor, kicking off his trousers before stripping you of your own clothes, he kissed your lips and you whined out as you felt his fingers trace your body. You were now fully naked and under his beck and call,

"Sit down on the sofa like a good girl." You did as you were told and he pulled you towards the edge of the sofa spreading your legs and smirking as he looked at your dripping pussy,

"All this for me?"  He questioned running one finger between the wetness of your folds and chuckling as you let out another breathy whimper.

"All for you Hobi," He chuckled and kissed your lips before dropping to his knees in front of you,

"Good girl." You seemed to grow wetter and he noticed, kissing up your thighs until he reached your core. You tensed up a little, you'd only ever been eaten out once and you'd never done it again,

"Relax baby. Let me take care of you for being such a good girl." Your legs relaxed and he chuckled before kissing your sensitive clit replacing his lips with his thumb rubbing in small circles while he slipped in tongue into you sucking and licking.

"A-Ah fuck!" You cried out your back arching off the sofa as he continued to suck on your womanhood, making unholy sounds as you moaned out above him. He switched - his mouth returning to your clit and pumping two fingers inside of you. Your head was spinning as you felt every hair on your body stand up. You'd never felt like this with anyone and he chuckled feeling you clench around his fingers.

"Are you going to be a good girl and ask to cum?" Your legs lifted from the floor and wrapped around his shoulders unconsciously holding him closer to your cunt as you felt your orgasm approaching. He hummed and you moaned out his name nodding desperately,

"Y-Yes! Fuck! Please can I cum Professor Hobi?!" He chuckled once again hearing the same fall from your lips as you came undone above him.

"You've been so good, go on princess. Cum." His fingers began to pick up the pace and everything around you started to go white as he continued to eat you out like this.

"Hoseok!" You screamed out hands clinging onto the sofa as you tried to steady your bucking hips, your orgasm hitting you like a truck and making you moan out his name loudly.

"Good girl, look at that." He chuckled as you tiredly watched him take your arousal and cover his cock in it. It only made you needier for him and he got up from the floor and lined himself up at your entrance.

"Ready?" You nodded and he slowly eased himself inside of you not wanting to go too rough, you whined at his size and he held himself in place giving you time to adjust to him. He kissed your lips lovingly,

"Good girl, you okay?" You smiled drunkenly at him as he called you a good girl again.

"You can move." He slowly began to thrust in and out of you while you adjusted to him being there.

"You're so fucking tight and warm around me." You smiled again as you heard his praise and then you moaned finally getting pleasure now you were adjusted to him.

"H-harder." You begged him and he chuckled lifting one of your legs over his shoulder to angle himself deeper into you and you were already a mess crying out his name as he began to pound into you the sound of skin slapping together filled the air along with heavy panting.

"R-Right there!" You cried out loudly as he hit your sweet spot with ease, he began slamming into you as he felt you clenching around him. He grunted as he felt himself getting closer to his release once again, your mouth and cunt had made him needier than he'd ever been before.

"Fuck, you're so fucking good aren't you?" You nodded and he continued to fuck into you holding you in place with one hand as he pace got quicker and stronger each time he pulled out. It was intoxicating to be with you and you felt the same with him. He began kissing you as he felt himself getting closer,

"Feels so good professor," You whimpered moving your hips to meet with his every time he slammed into you making your head spin.

His pace got quicker and quicker and he began to moan out as you shook around him from the pleasure he was giving you. His hand reached down between you and began to rub your clit, it was like your body was on fire.

"Fuck! Fuck! Hobi I'm- I'm cumming!" You cried out as your orgasm ripped through your body sending waves through you.

"Me too baby," He continued to fuck you through both of your highs only pulling out of you when you both came down from your highs.

You were both panting heavily as he sat down beside you on the sofa, he turned to look at you with a lazy smile and you smiled back at him.

"I hope you know I don't plan on that being a one-time thing."  You smiled back at him and nodded moving over to him and giving him a kiss.

"Good, I don't think I'll ever get enough of you." You whispered to him. Both of you far too tired to leave the office but knowing you had to soon.

"I'll take you home tonight,"

"My dorm is under construction, I need a ride to the train station. I'm staying out of town for the weekend." He looked at you,

"Are you staying with anyone?" You shook your head explaining that you were going to a small motel since it was the only place you could afford.

"You can stay at mine, take the bedroom and I'll have the sofa." You smirked at him,

"Why don't we both take the bedroom." He smirked back at you and nodded.

"I wanted to at least act like a gentleman first." You giggled at him and kissed him once again on the lips. 

tagline: 

@writingdreamsnottragedies​ @snowy-meowl​ @lynnthevirgo​ @jooniesdarlingdimples​ @fan-ati--c​ @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @callingmyangel​ @rjsmochii​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​ 

[bonesandthebees]

SD ANON BUT I AM 20 NOW! what the fuck ! what the fuck ! i still feel 18! but i am going to the tide pools for my birthday with two friends who are in town! tragic thing about being in college is that your spring break either doesn’t align w high school friends’ or your college friends go to their homes BUT some of my hs friends came back early so i am excited and also like. existentially terrified a bit about my early 20s.

ANYWAYS a ton of things have happened since last time i responded!! i kept meaning to and then another Thing would happen so. car crash poem went over very well my established poet prof was like. i thought you were an english major. and also said she would waive any prereqs for me if i wanted to take her advanced poetry class which !! requires a manuscript acceptance usually!!

soba stir fry was excellent i put in a little too much chili sesame oil but once i got used to the spicy it was fantastic

well see my roommate is 19 and he is now 24. but whatever! she is an adult. the big news is that my other roommates have broken up in a Big Thing that was like. not just a dating thing also a roommate boundary thing. and it is not my roommate’s fault at all. it’s such a long story but basically the other one literally won’t acknowledge she did smth wrong/apologize to my roommate/apologize to me/have a conversation instead of running away every weekend

so. she is finding a way to get out of her lease. good riddance imo she was Something.

also yes!! dishes + stream or dishes + chuckle sandwich is my go to. now that my college doesn’t do gym reservations anymore gym is also where i catch up on vods and videos! have to hide phone screen when people walk past but i am unlearning that

arc 2 arc 2 arc 2 i love your writing and i’m always excited to see where it goes!

lyft. painful. uber is cheaper sometimes but like, i went to two concerts in feb and for one i had to ask someone to drive bc the lyft was a whole 70$ for 20 minutes

also yes! the dead kelp smell i miss it i can’t wait to be near the ocean again like it’s still cold n stuff outside but!! ocean!! i wish i could get an ocean scented candle but like a Real One

agnes hit me so hard every time and it’s so so so good man i just love glass animals ! i have heard heat waves everywhere at this point and it hasn’t gotten old but sometimes you are standing in a sally’s beauty supply thinking about how you know far too many things about why this song is playing.

i missed these conversations! work somehow just has a habit of sneaking up and drowning you!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SD ANON!!! hope you have fun at the tide pools, they're so cool! and yeah spring break never aligns istg, I don't have spring break till next week (and I have finals rn I'm suffering)

YOOO that's so cool your prof will let you into the advanced poetry class! so awesome that she liked your poem!

oh god every time i use chili oil i end up putting too much and then i suffer but god soba stir fry with chili oil sounds so good rn im so hungry

that's a lot of roommate drama goddamn. at least the one roommate is looking to move out so you guys aren't all stuck in a very awkward situation! roommate fights are terrible especially when the other person refuses to try and work it out

lmao i still hide my phone when i'm watching streams at my favorite coffee shop. like no thanks don't need anyone to know i'm using my free time to watch a 17 year old british kid play minecraft

SEVENTY??? JESUS CHRIST tbf I guess gas is like. insane rn. but holy shit that's so much

god same i love heat waves as a song because it's a bop but it always makes me think of That and i'm like why...

and ty i'm excited for arc 2 too!! we're finally a bit into it and i'm just like yesss the entire reason i wrote this fic aaaa

i've missed our conversations too but i totally get the busy thing, I gotta go study for finals now OOPS

[oceansgratitude]

Me and the Megamind Fandom

Hey, since I’m recently getting more interaction with the Megamind fandom than I have in a long time, and I’m already overwhelmed by the new discord, I thought I’d share a little of what my experience has been with this fandom, cause I don’t really talk about myself very much.

I first saw the movie in theaters with my family when I was, like, thirteen. I wanted to watch Tangled instead, but Megamind had the majority vote. After words, I had a new favorite movie ever.

I ravenously read fanfictions that came out on fanfiction.net. I know all the old good stuff (as long as I haven’t forgotten a bunch of it... which I’m sure I have.) I was vaguely aware of art being posted on social media, but I wasn’t really on it.(I’m still not, really.) 

During that two-year-ish period, I was being homeschooled because our local Middle School was just awful (Bullies, mean teachers, bad experiences, etc.). I had no friends, my four siblings were always on their computers, and I never got out of the house. During that time I ran myself through self-improvement programs, exercised, and wrote a lot because I didn’t want that time of lame-ness to define me. I fancied myself a future writer. I have a lot of pieces in my Google Drive from that time, and I’ve lost some of it that I’ll never get back.

I learned about the livejournal website for the Megamind fandom from a link in an author’s note, so I’m on there just enough to get emails about new posts, which happens once in a blue moon. Then, either from there or another author’s note,  I learned that a bunch of us are on Tumblr, so I went and made myself a Tumblr account.

At some point in there, my family moved to Texas, and I started high school. I got dang good at writing, as far as I knew. My journalism teacher let me turn in poems instead of the actual assignments and sometimes asked me to read them in front of the class.

I also developed a strong affinity for fish? I’m not sure if they’re may favorite because of Minion, or if Minion is my favorite because of them. My mom and I kept a goldfish pond in the backyard, and I studied their biology. Whenever someone doesn’t know what to get me for a present, anything with a goldfish on it is a safe bet. And I once took a little goldfish in a giant jar to all my classes, and it got loads of attention. Apparently lots of people are afraid of fish? I was thinking about Minion the whole time.

One time in color guard we were doing a dance warm-up, and our instructor was like “yo, let’s switch this up” and we switched songs to Micheal Jackson’s “I’m Bad.” And right after words, one of my best friends said, “At least I can listen to that song without thinking about Megamind.” At the time I hid my face in my hands to hide my blush, but in hindsight, I should have said, “Well, apparently, you CAN’T!”

I thought I’d integrate myself into the Megamind community through sheer power of writing and art skills. But back then, I didn’t really know how human relationships worked. And I wasn’t good at the whole self-discipline thing either (it’s still something I struggle with.)

I got all kinds of mixed feelings about Tumblr. I enjoyed learning about people, finding cool content, and getting feedback for my own content. But there’s also a lot of extremism on here. It makes me nervous about sharing too much of myself because “open-mindedness” on tumblr seems different from its normal definition. I feel like I have to be careful not to step on toes or accidently label myself as an enemy.

Not that I’ve been involved in drama! That’s just an anxiety I had. I was the type to drop into a discord like “hey, here’s this thing I wrote, please read it and tell me what you think, okay, bye!” and the disappear for months and feel bad about the irrational idea that no one liked me.

I found a fandom friend through tumblr, joined a discord, and just chilled there for a few years. I was barely on it. I didn’t know anyone particularly well, but it was cool to get ideas, see the differences in our lives, and get feedback for my fan projects, which were few and far-in-between, but which meant a lot to me.

I graduated high school and moved out to Idaho for college, studying Communication. I like writing and art and music, and I couldn’t pick one so I took a major that would help me use all of those things to make $$$. I really only checked on the fandom once in a while. 

There I learned about some drama that happened in the Megamind fandom a while ago? Well, not learn ABOUT exactly.  I just learned that it existed and it was too terrible to bring up again. Which, okay, cool? I’ll try not to be a meanie, I guess? Can we all just be friends?

I got married in May 2020 (a video news crew showed up so all the world could know that there were only eight people sitting in the spaced-out chairs. Only my family was able to make it) and we finished the whole Ceremony in December up in Idaho with just my hubby’s parents. I graduated and got my degree in December, too. And now I’m living in an apartment with my husband (which is freaking awesome) and filing taxes as an independent, and I have a full-time job while my dude’s still finishing school, and things have changed a lot really fast.

SO IN SHORT: I’ve been here the whole time (this dang 10-year-old movie has been part of my life for the whole second half of my childhood); I’m just not super social online. I’m actually an extravert with a crazy life. Also, please leave comments on my fanfictions and art! That makes me really happy, and that’s most of the social contact I have with ya’ll. That’s about it I guess. Thanks for reading through this whole thing. That’s pretty nice of you.