#last week's was fun but realised in hindsight it was kind of hard to do with the way this world is;;

[lairmadness]

munday again? No problem

Drop the name of a legendary or mythical Pokemon in our askbox for some trivia about their associated Lair and (if applicable) Reincarnate/s!

[mihidecet]

Sbi&co: D&D AU: The Hunt

Hello everyone! I’m a tad bit late but I do hope the extra wait was worth it ahahha

And I hope you’ll enjoy it! Let me know if you do, and as always thank you for reading! <3

"Alright boys, can everyone hear me?" 

Tubbo's voice sounds crystal clear through the arcane earrings they have been given, but Quackity's nose still scrunches up: it's so weird to see his mouth moving in front of him and hear his voice come from a completely different direction. 

Thankfully - or maybe not - they won't be seeing each other much during this game. Another good thing is how he won't have to do much running either, if everything goes well; he still feels very much sore after last week's obstacle course, so he absolutely does not mind staying back and coordinating everyone. That and, if anyone was in need of help, he could swoop in and save the day - always a win in his book.

Quackity gives a sharp nod with his head towards Tubbo, who smiles enthusiastically before turning back towards Fundy to resume talking about how they'll manage to replicate the enchantment for themselves. A part of him wants to get in on the fun, fantasize about how quests will be so much easier with the ability to communicate remotely. He can already imagine a grand infiltration mission that that would require elegant gowns and fancy clothes, concealed weapons and arcane tricks hidden up their sleeves, all with the objective of recovering an artifact of vital importance- 

But he stops and shakes his head, as if it could get rid of those silly dreams. For once, it's not like he can really … stay; and also, he has much more important things to do.

Niki is in the process of stretching when a young looking wizard skips towards them with a blinding smile to let them know that they'll be opening the gates in less than five minutes. He figures that maybe he should have been warming up too, but his favourite pastime has always been people watching - which is extremely nostalgic for him and probably slightly weird from an outside perspective. Before he can lose himself again in his own mind - nerves will do that to him, he’s been noticing - a hand appears in front of his face and he grabs onto it on instinct. The fact that he’s hoisted upright quickly and efficiently clues him onto who it was, and he smiles gratefully at Niki. 

She looks up at him, reciprocating the smile except for the slight furrow in her brows - a silent question, her wondering of why he’s been spacing out, but it’s not that bad after all, he can definitely handle it; he waves off her worries, gesturing with his head towards the bright gallery that will lead them towards the arena as he chuckles to himself. 

“Is it time? I must have spaced out for more than I expected!” He half-jokes, willing to share his worry only partially, and realises he’s probably said too much when the crease in Niki’s forehead only deepens.

“Are you feeling well, Quackity? Is your shoulder still hurting?” The bard is - painfully - reminded that he is talking with a literal angel as her hand reaches forwards, palm already glowing slightly golden with what he’s come to learn is the sign of her healing divine magic, and he takes a step back, hands raised to stop her.

“I’m all good, no problem at all! I just got- distracted for a moment. Needed to clear my mind and all that ... It won’t happen during the hunt!” He adds hurriedly, suddenly realising that spacing out isn’t a really good sign when you’re supposed to be in charge of coordinating the whole team, but still, he knows what he has to do and he’s not going to lose himself in his own mind while they’re working - he wouldn’t still be alive in his line of work if that was the case! 

But there’s a hand placed on his shoulder and Niki is smiling at him again, which has, for better or for worse, always been able to calm his nerves down. It’s not even like he’s know these people for a long time, and yet he knows that if he could, he’d stick around for the rest of his days, probably. If they wanted him to. 

“It’s alright, I understand. I know we’re in good hands, we’ve been training for this.” Niki comments, sounding so sure of her words that he feels like he agrees with that too, to hell with his own self doubt. 

“Of course! We know we’re in safe hands, big guy!” Tubbo adds, startling as he once again appears to reside inside his head, and Quackity is suddenly hoping that he didn’t accidentally broadcast their conversation to the rest of their team. 

Before he can add anything else - or ask very subtly if either heard them talking - an arm is suddenly slung over his shoulders, the smell of ink and sulfur worming its way into his nose as Fundy leans on him and starts leading him towards the tunnel. 

“Come on, enough with the training and the moping, we have amulets and gold to collect!” The conman exclaims, receiving a raised eyebrow from Quackity himself as the bard resigns to becoming a temporary armrest - he’s learnt that that is simply what Fundy does, be it in his fox form or his human form, he’s always on his or somebody else’s shoulders. It’d be sweet if it wasn’t for the indirect reminder of his height, or lack thereof. 

“Oh, and you would know all about collecting gold, uh?” Quackity quips back as Niki and Tubbo both fall into step with them, Tubbo’s mechanical bee buzzing right behind. 

“It was one time!” The shifter laments, prompting the rest of the group to burst out laughing, Niki’s voice raising over the others’ to protest:

“It wasn’t just one!” 

Then, the roar of the crowd fills their ears, and they step into the arena.

It doesn’t take Fundy much to reach the first portal.

The arena has been suited for the occasion, since what used to be a huge but empty field of sand is now a thick, jungle-like forest, with vines that droop from a ceiling of leaves and brightly coloured plants that snap their petals at him when he runs by. 

It didn’t take him long to get used to digging his way through the foliage, his shifter blood surely aiding him in the process, but he still tries not to move too fast - he will need to get back to the main clearing multiple times, to bring back the amulets that will give them more time to explore. 

One of his hands lightly grazes a leaf, leaving behind a smear of orange - he has Quackity to thank for procuring them the thick paints they coated their hands with before starting, so that their paths will be marked; easy to follow for both them and the bard himself, if any of them would ever need assistance. 

He’s been running for only a handful of seconds when the light blue glow of a portal catches his eye: he smacks his hands to the side of the tree that marks his change in direction, leaving behind a much thicker mark, and jumps into the portal.

“Light blue portal, I’m in … catacombs, I think.” He says, focusing on his newly acquired magical earring in order to broadcast the information to the rest of his team. A series of loud whoops answer him, bringing a satisfied grin to his face, and he slows down for a moment, trying to listen for anything happening further down the chambers he’s found himself in, eyes scanning the ground for any hidden traps. 

The coast seems to be clear - there’s a faint whispering coming from the portal behind him, the familiar gentle hum of conjuration magic, but he’s fairly certain that he’s the only living thing in there. 

Which in hindsight was exactly the point, he realises a moment later as he enters a dimly lit room, when an arrow sails just a couple of inches past his face - he flinches away from the blow purely by instincts, letting out a high pitched yelp while his hands raise upwards, brain suddenly put on alert and already thinking about what to do. 

The situation isn’t hard to comprehend: there are half a dozen skeletons, armed, slowly inching their way towards him; a handful are standing right in front of the only other existing exit, as if guarding it - probably commanded to do so, since from his own personal experience skeletons are rarely smart enough to “stand guard”. 

He is almost certain that there are no other paths he could have taken, so his only way is forward, hopefully towards something valuable. Of course that is, if he manages to get through. 

The first thing Fundy realises is that there are a bit too many enemies to comfortably take on. For a moment he truly considers simply dropping a fireball straight into the middle of the room - quick, easy, efficient - but a part of him knows that it would be a bit of a waste of energies for so little enemies, and he does expect to meet plenty more enemies very soon. Despite the fact that time is of the essence, he can’t help but remember how bets in favour of Wilbur’s team had skyrocketed after their stellar performance in the arena a handful of weeks prior. And well, a conman has to know how to put on a show, doesn’t he?

“Hello gentlemen! Would you be so kind to form an orderly cue in front of me?” He’s quick to step to the side, away from another incoming arrow from one of the two skeletons posted in front of his objective, but thankfully the rest of the skeletons are quick to follow his request as they stumble forward, moving towards him and brandishing their swords. 

One of them, apparently more eager than the others, launches themselves at him, their shortsword raised high and coming down in a swift swoop that crashes against a - hastily created - light purple magical barrier. Fundy tsks at the skeleton, shaking his head disapprovingly behind the hand he had to raise to form the arcane shield. With a quick look he assures himself of the optimal placement of his enemies, then he brings his hands together in front of him, rubbing his palms together quickly as if smearing something on them; an instant later he snaps the thumb and index finger of his right hand together, close to the wrist of his left hand: flames burst from his hands, catching fire as if he’d clicked together a flint and steel over warm coal, and he brings his wrists together, directing the stream of arcane fire towards the four skeletons still stumbling towards him.

With a flash of warm light and a chilling screech, the skeletons catch fire and burn, the necromantic binds keeping them whole snapping and breaking, charred bones falling to the ground in sad heaps.

The two skeletons still standing by the exit door let out a pitiful whine, arms clanking together as they nock their arrows - one falls to the ground a couple of feet ahead of him, the skeleton that shot it starting to look as frantic as an expressionless undead can, while the other manages to catch him off-guard and pierces his left shoulder, tearing a pained yelp and a curse from him. 

And well, with most of his enemies gone, he can now get his hands a bit dirtier, metaphorically speaking, as he unsheathes the rapier Niki had gifted to him more than five years before, keeping his unoccupied and still somewhat smouldering hand close to the blade. As his thumb runs over the cold metal, it catches fire, green flames licking at the hilt as he runs forward, impaling one of the two skeletons: flames burst from the blade, almost completely enveloping his enemy, the old and dry bones quickly catching fire as if they were matches. When he flicks his wrist, turning the blade on itself, there’s another burst of flames coming from the hilt itself as a bolt of emerald green fire flies towards the other skeleton, hitting their side. 

The only remaining skeleton raises their bow, trying to aim at him, but Fundy simply steps forward, into their personal space, hearing the arrow being let loose behind him and flying into a stone wall. 

He grins, knowing his fangs poking their way over his lips make him look more menacing, and sheaths his sword into the skeleton’s chest, cutting away the arcane ties keeping them from dying, fire burning around them both - he releases the excess arcane energy with another bolt of green fire that burns a circular charred mark into the wall to his left.

For a moment, it’s all silent around him as he takes a small relieved breath, ever so thankful of Niki’s insistence of getting him to train with his sword. 

Then, Tubbo’s voice rings in his hears, calling out a new portal he’d just found - a locked one, tinted red. 

Fundy gives a vocal confirmation of having received the message, then puts away his sword - flames dissipating on their own - and quickly makes his way towards the still closed door.

Plenty of things to do, enemies to kill, amulets to find. 

He can take a break when their time in the labyrinth runs out. 

[cle1024]

i could be the one for you | cs

member: choi san 

genre: angst, fluff  bad boy!au, fake dating!au, high school!au, enemies to lovers!au 

summary: all your parents wanted from you was perfection, overwhelmingly so. as the pressure consumes you, you decide to give them one big ‘fuck you’ in the form of claiming choi san, the snarky rebel from your school, is your boyfriend. 

warnings: homelessness (kicked out), verbal abuse, violence (nothing extreme), swearing 

a/n: a lovely anon requested an angst to fluff scenario with san and it perfectly fit a prompt i saw. i hope you enjoy, i’m sorry it took so long! 

In life, there would always be people you didn’t see eye-to-eye with. Whether it be the result of differing lifestyles, beliefs or values, it would always be a part of life. In a way, such dysfunction was fundamental to society. You typically forgot people you clashed against, such memories weren’t very valuable as you slowly progressed toward adulthood. Though, for many years, there was always a specific cocky smirk, raised eyebrow and sassy tone that always remained fresh in your memory. It was probably because he was still present in your life, every week day to be exact, and infuriated you immensely at every opportunity. At this point, you were sure he was doing it on purpose. You knew your lifestyles were different—he was the stereotypical bad boy. Disrupting class, sporting slicked blonde hair and refusing to adhere to the school uniform requirements. You were the supposed ‘golden student’, a hard worker with high grades and no detentions under your belt. The ‘golden student’, what a crock of shit. If only people knew how much pressure was placed on you to get those grades, the amount of screaming in your household when you got less than ninety-five percent. All you wanted in life was to give them one last ‘fuck you’, a reason to really be disappointed in you. 

Everyday at school seemed to drag on slowly, information filled your brain to the brim, yet would inevitably be forgotten after a few hours of sleep under the moonlight. The shrill bell rang, urging you to walk to your math classroom before your teacher could become snappy. That old bat was always kind until two minutes had ticked by since she strutted into the room. You knew you’d hear her seething tone scolding the slower classmates, but you preferred not to have it directed at you. Quite frankly, you wanted to avoid her accidentally spitting on your face in the midst of her rant. You only seemed to make it to the classroom a minute before she could, her frustrated and impatient voice rising for those who nervously hobbled in after she had. Most people had learnt by now that they didn’t want to be on the receiving end of her stern lecture about punctuality, though some were yet to learn that lesson—or yet to care, you supposed. Fifteen minutes of silence, excluding her enthusiastic teaching of trigonometry, had ticked by before the classroom door busted open with the entrance of another student. Evidently, he didn’t care about her punctuality lectures, he’d heard them a hundred times already. 

“Mr Choi, nice of you to join us,” the teacher spoke dryly. In return she received a cocky, almost proud, smirk and silence, the boy making his way to the empty spot at the very back of the classroom. How typical, you rolled your eyes. As he sauntered his way through rows of desks, his eyes wandered around the blushing or anxious faces of his classmates—he always had that effect on people, being charming yet intimidating. Most people, at least. His dark orbs scanned your face as he passed your row, stoic as always. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about teasing you was highly entertaining. Of course he'd never take it far enough to genuinely hurt you, he wasn’t that kind of person, and you always had a snarky retort of your own—perhaps that’s what made it fun, he could always expect a new jeer and another eye roll. It was kind of cute, sometimes, because the second he offhandedly dropped a ‘pet name’ a light blush would tint your cheeks. He never commented on it, nor did you, but you both knew it was there. You found it humiliating, he found it rather charming. 

At last, the day had come to an end, students rushing from the gates of the school to start the adventure home and, presumably, participate in some after school study or activities. Unfortunately, you found yourself lumped in with the group of after school studies, being obligated to attend daily tutoring sessions that, truthfully, you didn’t need but your parents insisted on you having. It was tiring and pointless to say the least. A hand came in contact with your head, ruffling the strands of your hair in an, in the perspective of an outsider, act of affection. Though, you knew better. That was a feeling you’d had to deal with whenever Choi San caught up with you on your walk to or from school. He knew it infuriated you, that’s why he never stopped doing it. You could vividly remember the fury you felt when he messed up your hair—the hair your mother spent far too long ‘perfecting’—right before school pictures, going home to cry at the end of the day. You’d never fully forgive him for that, especially because of the amount of anger your perfectionist parents emitted once they got their hands on your disheveled school picture. ‘Overdramatic’ was an understatement, in hindsight. 

“Hey, Y/N,” San greeted, dragging out the words in a manner that can only be described as an attempt to seduce you—of course that wasn’t his intention, he just liked pissing you off, “going home to waste away studying?” 

San never knew about the difficulty your parents gave you, the pressure they put on you to study non-stop. His comment almost made you want to laugh, he spoke as if you hadn’t wasted away already. 

“You know your business, San? Why don’t you mind it?” You retorted pointedly, speeding up your steps to indicate the conversation was over. His cocky chuckle sounded from behind you, a smirk on his lips as he strolled at a slower pace than you. 

Exhaustion rippled your features, dark circles shadowing your eyes as you finished another night of study. It would’ve been around ten o'clock, a time that usually wouldn’t see you this tired, but the endless pressure and workload was dragging you down dramatically. At this point, sleep was almost for nothing. Your mind wandered to the fast-approaching exams and subsequent school reports, how likely was it your parents would be disappointed? Unless you got between ninety-five and one-hundred percent for each subject, there would be a flurry of furious disappointment from them—and avoiding it seemed unlikely considering trigonometry was melting your brain. Then they’d call into question your priorities, what could be distracting you. Perhaps they’d go with the classic “are you dating someone?”, typically in reference to someone of the opposite sex, or “you’re spending too much time on that phone.” A huff passed your lips as you dragged yourself towards your bed, too tired to brush your teeth or change into a comfortable set of pyjamas, the exhaustion swiftly consuming you as your head rested against the pillow. 

The paper shook slightly in your trembling hands. The exam schedule stared up at you, taunting you as it inflicted waves of anxiety upon you. There was so much riding on these exams — your school report and the reaction of your parents especially — that the mere possibility of ‘failing’ would keep you up at night, studying until your head ached from a migraine. Your first one was tomorrow, nine o’clock, the rest spread out across the remainder of the week and early next week. Gosh, you wish time could just speed up and get you through the torturous days leading up to your school report. Then you’d listen to your parents’ yells of disappointment, something you’d learnt to drown out by now, continue to work hard on the remaining days of school and suffer through a break from school that would, inevitably, be filled with studies and extracurricular activities. Wasn’t much of a break after all. A huff passed your lip at the realisation you’d spend the afternoon, evening, and likely next morning, studying for that stupid first exam. Unknowingly, you started to count the hours left until you’d be obligated to open the freshly printed exam paper. 

The hours until the exam officially started quickly ticked away to seconds, your eyes scanning the clock anxiously as it ticked towards nine-thirty. One final tick, it had officially begun. Judging by the contents of the page, the questions that didn’t seem to flow in a coherent manner, you’d be sweating your way through the rest of your exams with shaky hands and barely legible handwriting, only to be thoroughly disappointed by the reaction of your parents, regardless of whether you achieved a grade deemed ‘good enough’. The time ticked away quickly, the announcement of thirty minutes left ringing in your ears as you forced yourself to answer every question, even if you weren’t entirely sure. An answer was better than no answer, right? Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a throbbing pain in your head as you shifted your eyes away from the test paper, scanning the other students surrounding you. Some were writing quickly, some were chewing pens anxiously, others were reading over their answers with boredom—of course San was one of them, you doubted he even read the questions before answering. A soundless sigh released from your lips as you turned your focus back to the questions, prepared to put all your effort in and still disappoint your parents. 

Time seemed to pass faster since your exams ended, soon enough you were handing over your school report to your expectant parents. You weren’t sure why or how it happened, but your parents had built the tradition of reviewing your report privately before ‘calmly’ discussing it over dinner, which always progressed into a screaming match where you so desperately wanted to beg them to be proud of you, just once. You were highly doubtful that tonight would be any different. Although some of the exams, namely those of the subjects you were most confident in, seemed to pass like a breeze without convoluted questions or vague answers, the others seemed to harbour every possible way to fault or confuse you. When the time came to walk out of the exam, you’d always left with a mix of disappointment and befuddlement on your features. You tried not to let it get to you so much, but you couldn’t help it, especially not with your parents breathing down your neck. Gosh, you’d give anything to escape that, even just for a day. Now, you sat around a rectangular table with your parents situated across from you. There was a second seat beside you, empty as per usual, making you their sole focus and unable to escape their iron gazes. 

“So,” your mother started as you mentally prepared to be scolded, “you’ve been slacking off with studying lately, haven’t you?” No, you hadn’t. 

The voice of your father chimed in, “we’re paying top dollar for extra tutoring and you’re still barely getting ninety-fives!” Ninety-five was above average for your classes, “we’ve told you how important this is for you, for your future, have you not listened to us?” 

“Your father’s right, Y/N, you’re not taking this seriously enough! Something’s distracting you from reaching your full potential,” the conversation made you want to shove your fists into your nostrils in frustration; after all this time they still failed to realise that you’d either already reached your full potential or would peak when they stopped setting standards for you that seemed unattainable. 

“Mum, there’s nothing distracting me, I’m just tire-” 

“We should stop letting them use that phone so often, that’s for sure,” your father cut you off, conversing with your mother as if you weren’t sat across from them. The urge to roll your eyes was almost impossible to suppress, here we go, “seriously, dad? I hardly ever use it!” 

“Don’t use that tone with your father!” Your mother’s eyes sharpened as she scolded you firmly, “what is it then? Are you in a relationship?” 

“Don’t be a fool, they couldn’t hide that from anyone.” 

The patronising words of your father set you off, you’d finally snapped. You had a life of your own, you were so tired of them living vicariously through you, trying to make up for any mistakes they made in their youth. 

“Actually,” both adults snapped their attention towards you at the contradicting word, “yes, I am.” 

A pregnant silence fell over the three of you, your parents evidently taken aback at your brazen and unexpected statement. You were almost certain they were questioning why they didn’t try harder to keep you locked away from any potential love interest, why they didn’t completely suck all the potential out of you. With a clear of her throat, an effort to regain her usually unshaken composure, your mother spoke curtly. 

“Well, if that;s the case,” it wasn’t, “then they’ll need our approval. We can’t have some… lowlife derailing you, now, can we?” 

A sickly sweet smile stretched across your lips at the statement, voicing a calm reassurance, “don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll get it.” 

A plan had already begun to formulate in your head, and there didn’t seem to be any potential back up plan. If he didn’t agree to this, everything would come crashing down, even more so than it would if he did. 

There was determination on your face, in your strides, fueling your whole being as you made your way to the bus stop down the street from school. It was past the time school ended and he always ditched last period for cheap ramen on Wednesdays, you knew he’d be the only one sat at the bus stop in that moment. A sliver of you worried he wasn’t, considered the possibility of having to awkwardly walk right past the bus stop and find your way home. The dirty blonde strands of hair came into view, sharp features turned downward to focus on the screen of his phone, unkempt and incorrect uniform crinkled; he was alone. Your footsteps came to a halt in front of the male, shading the sunlight that previously glared on the back of his phone and skin. The sudden darkness and presence caused him to look up, unable to speak a word before you blurted out the words “date me.” There was definitely a better way to say that. 

His eyebrows quirked in confusion, the cocky demeanor momentarily dropped as he responded, “excuse me?” 

You huffed in embarrassment, glancing away awkwardly, “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend…” you trailed off. 

“Why should I help you?” Of course it wouldn’t be that easy with Choi San, it never was. 

“Because it’s the only way to get my parents off my ass for good.” 

Confusion glazed his features once more. He was incapable of understanding the situation, “by pretending to date me?” Though, you couldn’t exactly blame him considering the lack of context and opening statement of ‘date me’. 

“Yes, you’re the exact opposite of what my parents want me to be,” San stared at you thoughtfully as you waited for a reply. You spoke gently, almost with solemn desperation, “please, San.” 

Something in him shifted. He didn’t know the full context of your situation, but judging by the fact you just said the word ‘please’ when asking something of him meant it wasn’t something you wanted to deal with any longer. Turning his head to the side momentarily, he gave in, “fine, but you owe me, Y/N.” 

“Obviously, just come to my house at six o’clock tomorrow- no, actually, don’t. Don’t be on time. Just… be yourself.” 

“Myself?” 

“Yeah, you know, cocky, arrogant, smartass, irri-” 

“Alright, I get it. I’ll be there, late, and be an asshole—which I am not, by the way.” 

You rolled your eyes, “whatever, greaser. Just pretend my parents are the math teacher or something,” the male smirked at the thought, nodding with satisfaction as you turned to walk away. 

“Will do, princess,” San teased, watching you with a soft smile as you gently shook your head. 

The clock had ticked well past six o’clock and your parents were getting antsy, as were you, butterflies swirling in your stomach as you scrunched the layers of your perfectly ironed clothes. You knew you told him to show up late, past six o’clock, but what if he’d decided to not show up at all? Just leave you to be consumed in the web of lies you’d spun and attempted to drag him into. At six thirty-four, the doorbell rang, and your anxiety was momentarily put to ease, “I’ll get it,” you quickly voiced as you pushed your chair out noisily. Pulling open the front door, you were met with the sight of San in a leather jacket, ripped jeans and white t-shirt. Your lips turned upwards slightly and spoke quietly, “you look perfect.” 

San scoffed with a smirk, “don’t go catching feelings for me now,” your eyebrows furrowed at his words. 

“What? No, I wasn’t- I didn’t mean-” San raised his eyebrow teasingly, you groaned in frustration, “just come in and piss my parents off.” The male chuckled to himself, eyeing you as you closed the door and turned in the direction of, at least he assumed, the dining room. 

“You, too, look perfect,” he voiced from behind you. You pretended not to hear him, brushed off his teasing and obviously dishonest comment, though the apples of your cheeks reddened slightly at the softness of his voice. You’d never heard him speak like that before—but then again, he was usually quite boisterous. It was nothing more than teasing. 

“Mum, Dad, this is my... boyfriend,” it felt weird to give him such a title, “San.” The colour seemed to drain from your mother’s face, a crease almost settling between your father’s eyebrows as he fought off an expression of disappointment and dissatisfaction. The blonde smiled smugly at the adults, eyes squinting slightly as his face tightened, making it quite obvious he was faking the friendly greeting—you were glad, you wanted your parents to know he ‘hated them’. Your parents smiled politely, fakely, and gestured for the two of you to sit across from them, the two of you obliging to do so. As far as you were concerned, San would be interrogated during this dinner and your parents would get a mouthful in return, while you sat quietly and prayed everything went well. 

“So, San,” your mother initiated the interrogation, as you expected, “how long have you been dating Y/N? They only mentioned you a few days ago!” She chuckled lightly after the comment, but you were almost certain it was meant to be a dig at your relationship. 

He pondered slightly, “hm, few months, not very long. Definitely long enough to know there’s too much pressure on them,” the boy only smiled politely at your parents’ stunned silence, shoveling a piece of meat into his mouth. Of course they said nothing, always wanting to appear as the ideal, respectful parents. Gosh, could you even consider them parents? Your mother cleared her throat awkwardly, a habit she seemed to have picked up when she was losing control of a conversation. 

“Yes, well, Y/N’s always been a perfectionist,” another fake laugh was spat, the statement earning a snort from San. You repressed the smile playing on your lips, he was good at playing the part of a boyfriend concerned for your well-being, disapproving of the way your parents treated you. It almost made you wish he wasn’t pretending. Almost. 

“What do you do outside of school?” Your father shifted the conversation, maintaining a facade of politeness and genuine interest, saving your mother from more criticism in doing so. 

“Work, mostly. I live with a couple of friends so we have to do what we can to get by,” you didn’t know that. 

“Oh, what about your parents?” 

The boy shrugged nonchalantly as he poked at another piece of meat, “don’t like ‘em. They were always pushing me to be something I’m not,” he shot a knowing look at your parents, one that had your mother flinch slightly at the sudden icy stare, “too uptight and pressuring. You know how it is,” he smiled once more before chowing down on the piece of meat. Your parents shared a look, as if they were communicating telepathically about his indirect criticism of their parenting, you were suppressing a smirk. 

Everything you wanted from him, every nightmare of your parents, was embodied in San for the rest of the night. His almost-kind smile and sarcastic tone, dressed in his typical bad boy attire with strands of hair tickling his eyelashes from where it had fallen out of its slicked back style. An occasional smirk, or half-smirk, would stretch his pink lips after a particularly passive-aggressive remark. You couldn’t even feel bad about the shock it must’ve given your parents, it was far less than they truly deserved. Soon enough, your parents couldn’t take the brazen words of San any longer, insisting that it was getting late and they wouldn’t want you to be too tired in the morning. San opened his mouth to interject, fully intending to enlighten them as to the real reason you were always tired, but the sound of your chair scraping against the floorboards didn’t give him the chance, “I’ll see him out,” the words passed your lips with a polite smile. The male stared at your parents silently for a moment before obnoxiously scraping his chair against the ground and following your lead back to the door. You could already here the not-so-discrete mumbling of your parents, but you didn’t have it in you to care, not anymore at least. As San stepped onto the porch, he turned to stare you in the eye momentarily. 

“You owe me, Y/N,” his reminder was quiet, as to not alert your parents, but still with an edge of sterness. 

“I know. Thank you, again,” there was a moment of hesitance, “y-you don’t know how much it means to me.” 

San only nodded his head slightly in response while you offered a small smile before closing the door, watching him stroll down your front yard through the glass panel of the door. The moment you appeared in your parents’ vision, you were the target of disapproving yells. As San took the beginning strides on his journey back home, he heard the disappointed shrieks of your parents float from your open bedroom window. Silence in response, the slam of a door, and then your face in the window. Sullen, but contorting to false pride when you met his gaze. It was obvious you didn’t him, of all people, to see you in a weakened state, but San already knew too much just by being there. 

It was quite obvious that you owed San a heartfelt thank you, something more than a swiftly spoken exchange as you saw him out of your house. There was a twisting feeling in your gut, something that warned you to walk straight past the male and not stick to your initial plan. You didn’t listen. Pacing towards him, surrounded by friends and crushing students whom you didn’t know the name of, you went over what you’d say in your head. He mustn't have seen you coming, otherwise he’d stand up and meet you halfway so you didn’t make his friends and ‘admirers’ realise he actually harboured an ounce of compassion for people; he wasn’t always a stone cold prick. By the time he’d noticed you, it was too late. You stood in front of him, you knew asking him to talk in private would look even more suspicious, or he’d say something stupid like “whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of them,” referring to his few real friends and the others surrounding him. Your fingers picked at the loose skin around your nails in nervousness, just spit it out, Y/N. 

“Uh, I just wanted to thank you for… you know. And, just, let me know how I can make it up to you, I guess.” 

Truthfully, San didn’t want anything from you. He didn’t want to make it seem like he was holding something over your head unless you repaid him. In fact, all he wanted was for the two of you to move on and, hopefully, have you less pressured from your parents. But in that moment, San was a coward. San was too fixated on his image, too focused on ignoring the fluttering feelings blooming in his chest, to give you a genuine answer. He didn’t tell you that all he wanted out of the deal — whether that was an appropriate word or not, he wasn’t sure — was for you to be okay. No, instead, he maintained that stupid ice prince facade he’d hidden behind for years. With a mocking half-smirk half-smile, he speaks as if he’s talking to a child, “you can make it up to me by not bothering me.” 

There weren’t words that could pass your lips in that moment. All you could hear was the sound of other students laughing at his words, your own breathing becoming muted in the humiliation. You couldn’t see the disingenuous tint in San’s brown eyes, or the guilty crease of his eyebrows, and you didn’t care to stay to notice it. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked as far from that group, from that fucking prick, as possible. The fact you even thought he’d respond differently disgusted you, how naive could you get? One night of faking it didn’t mean he’d be nice forever. You were a fool to think so, and you were a fool to start catching feelings for him based on such a blind assumption. Gosh, you were such a fucking fool; one night of acting and suddenly you’re unaware of his true nature. Everything was a game to that boy, you were just another level to beat. 

You didn’t see San around school much after that day, and you certainly couldn’t complain. Sometimes you’d hear the teacher scold him for being late to class, but you never dared to meet his eyes. You refused to let him see how much he’d hurt you. In doing so, it made you unaware of how desperately he tried to meet your eyes, how he’d stare at you all through class waiting for you to turn around and see the concern lacing his features, the guilt. It would be his unspoken apology. San would shake his head at such a thought, that wouldn’t be enough. You deserved more than some puppy dog eyes and upturned eyebrows. Almost everyday, you regretted walking up to San and thanking him that day. Sometimes you were thankful it happened, because it brought you crashing down to reality again, saved you from led on and heartbroken when it would hurt the most. San couldn’t say the same. There wasn’t a single day where he wasn’t regretful of his words, he always beat himself up for being such a coward, caring more about a stupid image instead of your feelings. How he’d fucked up so royally was beyond him, what was wrong with him? It left him lying awake in bed at night, punching his own reflection until his hands were on the verge of breaking. All he could hope was that you didn’t hate him. A scoff passed his lips at the thought, who was he kidding? You had every right to hate him, he hated him too. 

Saying your parents were appalled by the thought of San being your boyfriend was an understatement. They refused to talk to you unless it was in the form of screaming criticism and insults that left you crying yourself to sleep. Sometimes, when their day had been especially shit, they wouldn’t bother to make you dinner and leave you to munch on a piece of burnt toast instead. It seemed to reach a boiling point, though. They were sick of you coming home, dragging your feet as you made your way up to your room to study—they were sick of you feeling anything other than motivated. It was a Tuesday when it happened. You’d only just placed your school bag on your bed and collapsed against the springy mattress when your mother swung the door open, almost with enough force to take the door off the hinges. Initially, you couldn’t even make out the words she was saying. She was yelling, that was certain, but it was almost so loud that you couldn’t process it—that and the fact you were exhausted. Then she started opening your wardrobe, dumping clothes on the floor. That’s when you started to understand her. 

“What?” It was the only word you could utter in that moment. You had no clue how to respond, the shock coursing through your body seemed to eliminate all of your vocabulary aside from questioning words. 

“You heard me!” You weren’t sure if you had, “I’m sick of you putting no work in—we’re both sick of it. Now you’re running off with this… this hooligan, so you can throw your life away?” The distant sound of your father making his way to your room didn’t even register in your brain, “we gave you everything, and this is how you repay us?” Your mother was screaming, flushed and furious. You were blank, numb with ringing ears. This couldn’t be happening. It was a joke, right? The trance was broken when your father slammed a duffle bag on the floor in front of you. 

“If you want to throw your life away, then don’t let us stop you!” He was always terrifying when he yelled, they both were, “you better be gone by tonight. We don’t want to see you here again, not after what you’ve done to us,” they left with a slam of the door. You wanted to scream, cry, kick the wall, anything. You had nowhere to go, no family or friends to turn to. At this point, you might as well die; it would certainly be easier, but the thought was frightening. With glossy eyes and jagged breaths, you stuffed some belongings into the duffle bag. Clothing, sanitary and hygiene products, spare cash, whatever would help you survive out there. Any school supplies went into your school bag; you didn’t stop to think about how you’d manage it all, you didn’t want to. It wasn’t safe for you to be on the streets, you knew that, but what else were you to do? You’d forged a routine in the three days you’d been kicked out; you couldn’t come to terms with your situation, refusing to acknowledge you were homeless. The word harboured too much finality, fragility, fear, it would only make you more panicked than you already were. Sleeping in the park, locking your belongings in the last stall in the bathroom at said park, occasionally taking the bus to the beach so you could take a proper shower, then juggling school on top of that. It was awful, but you didn’t know what else to do. 

“Turn the radio down and lay you down too, I could be the one for you,” San tapped his thumbs against the black steering wheel as he murmured the lyrics — it reminded him of the missed opportunity to present your parents with a dozen dead roses, and he didn’t really like thinking about that night. Truthfully, he didn’t really know where he was going. Hopefully somewhere quiet, somewhere he could clear his mind from all the current thoughts swarming around. Part of him regret taking you up on your offer of fake-dating—even if it was just one night—because how was he supposed to act now? He couldn’t look at you without seeing the proud smile you tried to conceal when he was passive-aggressive, or the glum expression you wore when you peeked out the window, or how he wished he was actually dating you so he could make sure you were never unhappy again. He shook his head sharply, eyebrows furrowed in an effort to jar the thoughts from his head. There was no reason for him to be thinking that way. You were the golden child, intelligent and passionate, hardworking, respectful. Who was he? Some no-good delinquent who did you a favour and then made a fool out of you, dismissed you so carelessly. Of course San knew you weren’t actually that person, but in that moment he managed to re-convince himself you were. 

The noise shut off as San turned off the ignition, the silence deafening as he stared out the windshield. Glancing briefly at his surroundings, he recognised the environment as the neighbourhood park—or rather, the surrounding greenery and field nearby. The grass was dewy and littered with raindrops; he couldn’t remember it raining but droplets were scattered across the windshield. Odd, he supposed he was so deep in thought to notice the poor weather conditions. With a slight sigh, he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door, allowing the chilled air to brush against his hoodie-clad abdomen. A beep sounded from the vehicle as he locked it with disinterest. He’d reached a point of absent-mindedness, carelessness even, that he no longer really cared if someone carjacked him; all he could think about was where he currently stood with you and where he wanted to stand. How did it reach that point so fast? One dinner with your parents and suddenly he’s whipped. Though, he supposed it was more than that. There was no denying that the two of you hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye, but even back then San couldn’t deny you were unfairly attractive. He saw the way your eyes gleamed when you laughed at something your, now former, friend said, the smile that seemed to brighten the whole room when you beamed with glee, the way you were genuinely relieved and thankful when he fake-dated you. Gosh, he’d been whipped for so long, hadn’t he? The moment he laid eyes on you in his preteen years, perhaps. Shoes scuffed against the concrete as he wandered the area, a scoff exiting his mouth as his melancholy thoughts progressed—they only filled him with disappointment. Because he finally realised the very moment he had a chance to make you his, he fucked it up. 

“Y/N?” 

The voice vaguely called out to you, stirring your consciousness as you wondered whether it was part of your dream or reality. Eyebrows furrowed as you searched for more sleep, approaching footsteps along the dewy grass. 

“Y/N.” 

It wasn’t a question anymore, the voice knew it was you. There was familiarity to it, but you didn’t know a voice that soft. It was a male voice, soft and laced with genuine concern. That was something you hadn’t encountered in a while. Opening your eyes groggily, you squinted at your surroundings. The uncomfortable park bench, the midnight blue-black sky and moon beaming upon you, casting a glow around the boy bent in front of you. The very, very familiar boy crouched down to your level. You shot up, waking up as recognition hit you—recognition and humiliation to be exact. He would use this against you, wouldn’t he? He’d let everyone at school laugh at you in the hallways for being kicked out by your parents. He’d let you drown in a sea of mortification while everyone cheered your demise on. 

“Hey, careful there,” his hands flew out to support you as you nearly slipped off the bench you haphazardly sat on, “what are you doing out here?” 

Eyes downcast towards your cold hands as you fiddled with the soft, yet thin, blue material of your blanket, you pondered your words momentarily. 

“Y-you told me to stop bothering you,” as much as you wanted to sound strong and unbothered, you couldn’t hide the croakiness of your voice or the tsunami of misery seconds from drowning you. You wanted him to leave, stop pretending that he cared and left you to take care of yourself, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. It was easy for San to see your pain. 

“Did they kick you out?” He ignored your reminder, his voice had somehow grown even softer as he spoke that phrase. Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to acknowledge him again. Acknowledging him meant breaking down your walls, letting him see how tired you truly were. You were beyond fucking exhausted. 

“Talk to me, Y/N!” The voice loudened, almost shouting and causing you to flinch as his hands held your wrists. He soothed his thumbs over your skin, whispering out a desperate “please.” 

In that moment, everything seemed to fall into place. You could tell him, you could trust him. He showed you his vulnerability, his concern and anguish, he trusted you enough to break the cool facade he maintained through school hours—and confrontational dinners with your parents—there was no reason not to trust him. No, Choi San was the only person you could trust. 

Words couldn’t pass your lips, you knew they’d fall out as choked sobs and pathetic whimpers. So you simply nodded, eyes squeezing shut as salty tears slithered down your cheeks. Yet, your simple nod seemed to be enough confirmation for San, releasing your wrists and moving to side beside you on the bench. His arms wrapped around you, voice murmuring a soft “come here” as he left you sob into his chest, even if it left dark splotches on his hoodie. For all your life, you’d never been very certain about anything. Yet, somehow, as San lay his head on yours and spoke comforting words into the dark night, you were absolutely certain he was the one for you. 

It took a little bit to adjust to your new situation—living with San, that is. There were moments where your trust in him faltered, or where you felt guilty for becoming such a heavy burden in his life, and his friend’s life. His friend, Wooyoung, was nice. You didn’t talk to him often — mainly because you wanted to stay out of the way and, in the rare occasion you didn’t, you weren’t entirely sure of what to say — but you could tell he was trying his best to make sure you were comfortable. You appreciated it, more than you could express, but it also made you feel an immense guilt. The kind that you carried around until your back physically hurt from the unseen weight, until you broke down one night and blurted everything to San. He was always so willing to listen to you, comforting and soothing as he reassured you your worries were valid, that everything would be okay. From that night on, things were a little easier. You helped around the house so the boys could focus more on working, there was less crushing guilt as you came to terms with your situation and began to realise that San didn’t invite you to stay with him because he was forced to. Rather, it was because he wanted you to. 

There were rare moments where San couldn’t hold it anymore, and crumbled under the weight of his own worries and frustrations. You’d heard the distant sniffling at night, sounding from the closed bathroom. You’d knocked once, quietly asking if everything was okay—at that point you were unaware it was San, not until you opened the door at least. He was hunched over the counter, head in his hands and knuckles bloodied, cracks and droplets of blood dented in the mirror from the impact of his fist. The crimson colour decorated the white counter too, in small droplets that filled you with panic. You rushed to his side, asked him if he was okay, asked him what happened. You’d gently taken his hands, aiming to inspect the torn skin on his busted knuckles. The boy didn’t stand there like you expected him to, instead, he fell into you, resting his head on your shoulder as he sobbed. You’d put your hand on top of his head, stroking the locks of blonde hair as you whispered that everything was okay, it was going to be okay. San didn’t make eye contact while he was telling you his troubles, how much he hated himself for choosing some ‘bad boy’ facade over your feelings, how he hated the assumptions people made about him, how he hated the fact that it was his fault people made such assumptions. You listened, quietly, until he shook his head and told you it was stupid, to forget about it. He went to get up, but you refused, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your head on his shoulder. 

“You’re not a bad person, San. You’re forcing yourself to be someone you’re not.” 

It wasn’t a revelation he was unfamiliar with, just one he couldn’t accept until you reminded him. Maybe it became ingrained in his memory because that was when he finally broke down and told someone, maybe it was because that was the night you stayed beside him until the sun rose, or maybe it’s because that was the night he realised you felt the same way. 

Choi San was an outspoken, cocky, rebellious, hooligan—people would tell you that for as long as you lived. But, Choi San was also generous and kind. He was adventurous and comforting. He’d take you for drives when the moon shone brightly and watch the stars with you on the hood of his car, show you the beautiful places hiding within the city. He was so much more than a boy in a leather jacket. 

Choi San was everything your parents hated, he was the one they wanted you to stay away from. 

He was blunt, brazen, bold, protective, obstinate, hard-working. He was your saviour, your roommate, your friend, your classmate, the one to take you places you’d never seen before, the one to calm you down when you were overwhelmed or stressed. 

He was the boy who kissed your lips with pure delicacy, sincerity, unadulterated love—the kind of love you’d never felt before. He was the boy who treated your heart as if it were his own. 

Choi San was everything you wanted, he was the only one for you.

[heathered-beinn]

BangtanTV Youtube Vids 4

130217 SUGA (feat.RAP MONSTER) - YouTube Suga’s Log 17/02/13 (UK date)

So this is Suga’s first log! I love that fluffy black hat he’s wearing!! Obviously the heating is still not great in the studio since he’s also bundled up in a thick jacket ☹ I don’t have much else to muse about for this this video as it’s pretty short and not much happens or is talked about. It’s mostly Suga trying to make a log but laughing and complaining at Rapmonster constantly distracting him in the background. They obviously get on well both as colleagues and friends and it’s nice to see the two of them messing around having fun. So far they have tended to be the quieter, more serious, members of the band so I love seeing them act in a silly manner. I also look forward to hearing more from Suga in the future when RM isn’t distracting him!

흔한 연습생의 Harlem shake.avi - YouTube흔한 연습생의 Harlem shake.avi - YouTube

WTF did I just watch lol?????

The first time we see so many of them together on their official YT channel and it’s 20 seconds of chaotic WTF are you doing ridiculousness. Six of them – not sure who is who except RM and probably Jimin doing the headstand on the couch and maybe Jungkook in red – doing random things to the beat of Harlem Shake. Okkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkay Moving on ROFL

 130206 RAP MONSTER FREESTYLE - YouTube Rap Monster Freestyling

No picture just RM rapping. Thanks to Megan R (credit Genius) in the Youtube comments for the translation.

Reading through the translation it seems RM is back on the path of feeling lost “a deserted island among my friends” - only it seems worse this time. He talks about being an adult now but all of his music peers have found success but he hasn’t yet. He doesn’t feel like there is a path for him, that he is stuck, and there’s no fuel to move him forward. His friends are suggesting he goes to college instead but RM doesn’t want to give up on his dream. My heart goes out to him. It really does. What he wants seems to be insurmountably far away to him (although it actually isn’t really – hindsight really) and I want to say I am so proud and very impressed that he got through that hard time to become the star he is today.

 방탄소년들의 졸업 - Making Film - YouTube Behind the scenes of J-Hope, Jimin and Jungkook’s Music Video

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww <3 <3 <3

This was so cute. A short compilation of clips of them messing around, dancing, laughing, and running about, having fun together behind the scenes of their little music video (This was in the last lot of BTV videos I watched). Can I just say wow at Jimin’s running cartwheel!! Lol, at least Jungkook tried. However, Jungkook’s basketball shot was also pretty impressive too!

The three of them seemed to get on well. There is definitely a tight little friendship developing between them – particularly between Jimin and Jungkook. I noticed in the scene where they are in the café and crowded around the laptop that Jungkook was comfortable getting so close to Jimin he was millimetres from resting his chin on his shoulder. It was cute and only of note because he seemed such a shy boy in other series and appeared a bit uncomfortable with being overly touchy-feely (like a typical teenager). It makes me wonder if his discomfort was more rooted in doing those softer kinds of things in front of the camera rather than doing them fullstop. This is another reason I am so keen to watch these videos – we are more likely to see who they really are and what they are like in real life when there is less editing and scripting involved. Even these more candid videos will never be true reflections either unless it’s a moment where they genuinely don’t realise they are getting filmed. I do wonder how Jimin and Jungkook’s friendship pans out over the years though. There wasn’t much in Carpool Karaoke to make a judgement but I remember it was Jimin, J-Hope, and Jungkook in the middle seats which suggests to me they remain fairly close.

My finale musing on this video is, yet again, another moment of marvelling how this little cutie grew into this beautiful man.

 130228 RAP MONSTER - YouTube Rap Monster 28/02/13 (UK date)

There is no translation for this video but I think, I think, he is just rapping along to a famous rap song? Either way, it’s cute lol and he seems to be enjoying himself.

Can I take a moment to point out that we have not seen one glimpse of V in these videos so far!! ☹

 130227 J HOPE & 정국 - YouTube J Hope and Jungkook 27/02/13 (UK date)

Cuties!! <3

As soon as I saw these two I was ridiculously excited. I feel like this, so far to me, is an odd pairing and I can’t wait to see what they are like together :D Thanks to Hopeful Mang in the Youtube comments for the translation.

Okay, now that I’ve seen the video and read a vague translation I can’t help but laugh on rewatching. There doesn’t seem to be anything of note in what they say, however their antics were hilarious and silly and I’m still not entirely sure I understand what they were on about lol. What I most noticed was just how confident and talkative and generally at ease Jungkook was with J-Hope, like just J-Hope’s presence was enough to push back Jungkook’s shyness. It was so lovely to see! It’s clear the two of them get on well and spend quite a bit of time together. There was definitely a big brother / little brother vibe going on and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn if J-Hope was one of the ones who looked out for Jungkook the most back then – and brought him out of his shell. I mean, J-Hope is just a ball of sunshine – who wouldn’t be buoyed up in his presence?!

130304 J HOPE & RAP MONSTER - YouTube J-Hope and RM

Another pairing I’m so excited to see together! Thanks to Hopeful Mang in the Youtube comments for the translation.

J-Hope starts off by commenting the colour scheme is black and white. RM says this is coincidental but emphasises that the band is one that works well together without having to say a word. J-Hope agrees they are an awesome team. So… this is the first time in these BTV vids that I’ve seen RM talking about the band being a team and talking to another member as a teammate, which is an interesting and positive change to behold. Only a month ago (4 videos up) RM was talking as though he had no path and was somewhat lost in what he was doing with his life. This ‘team talk’ is a significant change in direction. How deep RM is in this change remains to be seen but it’s good to see him interacting with the others in a band-like way. I’m wondering if there has been significant movement in forming the band behind the scenes since the start of February. There were barely any logs between this one and RM’s one where he was describing himself as a deserted island so it’s possible their time has been spent working on the band – which, if the case, brilliant!

Lol, RM asked J-Hope what he had done that day. J-Hope said he’d been relaxing and watching a movie and could not be more vague about said movie – he really gave it a stellar review lol. RM said he had been around Seoul looking for music inspiration but ended up resting instead and being distracted by pretty girls. J-Hope says this is pretty typical of RM, suggesting he knows him and his habits fairly well by now.

Then it gets super interesting as they say their schedule for the week ahead is packed because BTS debut day is approaching. I wonder if that’s what’s got RM suddenly talking about teamwork? Perhaps now that things are gearing up for a debut he’s feeling like he finally has a focus – a path. The question is, does he still, deep down. think about himself as a soloist or is he now becoming accustomed to the idea that his future lies in a band? Does he truly think the band will work out? It’ll certainly be very interesting to see how this plays out over the following weeks.

Final musings on this video: RM and J-Hope seem comfortable with each other but not super-comfortable with each other. There’s not the same silliness between them as there was between RM and Suga or J-Hope and Jungkook, which suggests to me that at this point they have a friendly colleague-type relationship but are not yet super-close.

 130304 SUGA - YouTube Suga’s Log 04/03/13 (UK date)

Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuga!!!!!!!!!! <3 Thanks to Nana Na in the Youtube comments for the translation.

ROFL!!! Suga starts by saying that because RM isn’t there the log is going to be easy. Funny enough, both RM and J-Hope did a log on the same day in the same studio?! It’s probably much later in the day. Suga tells us that the song playing the background is “Fly” by Epic High, which he says guided him into the world of hip hop. He says this song made RM and himself choose to rap and further explains that in 2006, while in elementary school, it was this song that made him decide he wanted to rap. This small titbit gives us such a little insight into how Suga got into rapping and just how long he’s wanted to be a rap star for. The fact that he knew so early on what he wanted to be and is still working hard to make that dream come true shows just how dedicated he is and just how well he knows himself. He finishes his log by saying when he’s tired and exhausted, like he is today in the video, he listens to this song “Fly” and it inspires him to make good music.

 130309 SUGA - YouTube Suga’s Log 09/03/13 (UK date)

Takes place 4 – 5 days after his last log – same hat! Thanks to Hopeful Mang in the Youtube comments for the translation.

It’s Suga’s birthday!!! <3 He says he used to anticipate his birthday when he was younger but not anymore now that he is older.

Then J-Hope, Jimin and RM come into the studio singing happy birthday and carrying a cake. Suga says it’s too cliché but seems pretty pleased by the gesture. He blows out the candles, J-Hope punches his arm a few times, which Jimin then wants to do but can’t because he’s holding the cake. Suga tells J-Hope to quit with the punching. RM says to turn up the music and Suga ends the log.

It’s sweet to see them celebrating each other’s birthdays. I hope as the years go on we get to see them do this for every member! I wonder if they buy each other presents – with 7 in the band that could get complicated and expensive lol.

Anyway, Happy Birthday Suga, sweetheart <3 Sorry for being belated by 8 years!!!

 130306 정국 - YouTube Jungkook’s Log 06/03/13 (UK date)

This seems to be a few days out of sync with the video for Suga’s birthday but it’s no big issue. Thanks to nana na in the Youtube comments for the translation.

Jungkook is almost painfully cute at this age. He starts by saying he still feels shy shooting a log alone and is not sure what to talk about <3 He says the background music is what he has recently been learning choreography to and finds the dance moves funny and exciting. He also says he is really tired and sleepy but he still has things to do and will go to bed after finishing them because he promised. This concerns me a little. There’s nothing to indicate the time but it does look like it might be pretty late in the day. He’s still young, still at school (presumably a school night since 06/03/13 UK date was a Wednesday) and he’s also working on band things. The fact that he said he promised to go to bed to someone means that someone else – much closer to him than the fans - thinks he has been working too much and not getting enough rest ☹

 130308 J HOPE - YouTube J-Hope’s Log 08/03/13 (UK Date)

Thanks to Hopeful Many in the Youtube comments for the translation.

J-Hope says he walked in as Suga was going to record a log (he calls him by his real name Yoongi, and I forgot that even back then they were probably pretty new to their stage names and probably don’t call each other by their stage names behind the scenes). Suga is quietly sitting up the back. J-Hope says he wasn’t planning on playing any background music but he liked the MR so he let it play – it reminds him of cherry blossoms and first love. He says he thinks he should work on a song like that. However, he is extremely busy as reality is approaching. [I guess he means the band’s debut]. He admits he has been sleeping less and working hard and hopes the results will reflect how much work he is putting in right now. He finishes the log by saying they should all go to the cherry blossom festival, in which Suga agrees. I find it simply beautiful that BTS have grown up in a culture where their masculinity is not questioned because they want to see some pretty flowers.

Not much more for me to muse on other than I like J-Hope’s top <3

[captainkippen]

prompt tiiiimeeee shovel talk shovel talk shovel talk i need the ghc+jonah talking to tj abt being nice to cy and rOLE REVERSAL the basketball boys telling cyrus what a softie tj actually is and to be nice to him 🥺

Four Times TJ Got Given The Shovel Talk + The One Time Cyrus Did Instead

Buffy and Jonah

In hindsight, TJ probably should have seen it coming the first time. It had been three weeks since he summoned up the courage to tell Cyrus how he felt at Andi’s party (the most terrifying moment of his life) and all their friends had been suspiciously quiet about it. At first he’d assumed maybe Cyrus hadn’t gotten around to telling them yet, even though that seemed unlikely in the face of his love for gossip, and when it became apparent that they did know he just assumed they didn’t care enough to bother him about it.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Jonah and Buffy cornered him in the music store one afternoon, waiting until Cyrus was sufficiently distracted picking up the box of guitar picks he’d sent clattering to the ground by accident just a few moments before.

“He really likes you, you know that right?” Buffy asked, pretending to peruse a box of records. “Cyrus, I mean.”

Jonah loomed behind her looking like he didn’t quite know what he was doing there, just shrugging in response when TJ shot him a bemused look. 

“Yeah. I got that,” Said TJ. “I like him too.”

“Good.”

After a moment of silence, TJ assumed it was safe to turn back to the Back In Black vinyl he’d been looking at. He’d only just flipped it over when Buffy cleared her throat again, and forced himself to hold back a sigh. 

“If you hurt him, nobody will ever find your body once I’m through with you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’m serious.”

“She is,” Jonah agreed firmly.

“Yeah, I got that too,” TJ said. “Look, I’m not going to hurt him. I like him, like I said. I don’t know why he’s with me - you and I both know he could do better, but he is with me. And I’m not gonna risk screwing that up for anything.”

Buffy rocked back on her heels, evaluating him carefully in a way that left him feeling like he’d just been x-rayed with her eyes. It was unsettling. Finally, she gave a satisfied nod and looked back to the boxes. 

“Do you think my mom would like any of these?”

TJ grinned and began listing recommendations. 

Andi

The second time, he felt totally justified in being blindsided. He was new to this dating thing, but TJ was pretty sure the shovel talk was meant to be a one time thing. Apparently Cyrus’ friends hadn’t got the memo.

“Cyrus is a really good person,” Andi said, making TJ jump as he closed the refrigerator door to find her lurking behind it. 

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He replied, trying to calm his rocketing pulse. 

She was sneaky -- too sneaky. He hadn’t even heard her coming. It was a Saturday, one that they should have been spending out having a frisbee game in the park, but the rain had come in heavy the night before and washed that idea away fast. Instead they had settled for a ping-pong tournament at Cyrus’ house. The whole group was there, which TJ already found intimidating enough. He wanted them all to like him. Thankfully, they all seemed to be just as competitive at the game as he was and he’d felt himself slipping into place alongside them all just before he’d slipped out to grab a soda. It was nice, that feeling of camaraderie. Nice to have friends whose competition was more teasing and fun than built on impressing others like Reed and Kira’s always had been.

Andi looked unimpressed. “I could do worse than give you a heart attack, but I won’t. As long as you don’t hurt him. If you make him cry I will destroy you.”

His eyes widened involuntarily. Andi wasn’t particularly big or threatening and she’d never had the same feistiness that Buffy had, but her tone meant business. He believed she could destroy him if she wanted to. Her parents would probably help -- they loved Cyrus almost as much as they loved their daughter.

“Okay,” he said, unsure of what else to do.

It was a little frightening how quickly her face went from deadly serious to sunshine and rainbows.

“Cool, can you grab me a Dr Pepper? It’s way too hot downstairs.”

Amber

The third time was unexpected because TJ hadn’t even realised that Cyrus knew Amber, let alone was friends with her.

Amber and TJ had floated in and out of one another’s peripheries for most of their school careers - friendship circles overlapping and all that jazz. He didn’t know her well, but they’d talked a few times. She seemed cool, if a bit intense. He’d never thought of her as scary before. Well, not until now.

“So you’re dating Cyrus,” she said, sitting down across from him as he waited for Cyrus at The Spoon. They had a full day of stuff planned starting with Baby Taters and ending with the movies. He’d been looking forward to it all week.

“Uh…” Was all he could say in response, but that didn’t seem to matter. 

“I don’t really get why,” Amber continued on like a steamroller. “‘Cause he’s a giant dork and everyone knows you’re like… kind of a dick. Completely opposite ends of the spectrum, but even though he’s a dork, he’s really cool. And he was nice to me even though I was kind of a dick too, and he had no reason to be. So if you’re mean to him I will kick you in the balls so hard you have to get surgery. Okay?”

TJ just nodded, still trying to process what was happening.

“Awesome,” Amber said brightly, standing up with a smile as if she hadn’t just threatened him with physical violence. “So can I get you anything to eat?”

“...Baby Taters?”

She tapped her notepad. “Coming right up.”

How many times was this going to happen? Surely there weren’t any friends left to threaten him, he thought to himself. But then the little bell over the door tinkled and Cyrus walked in, and TJ forgot about everything other than his smile.

Marty

It was going to happen at least four times, apparently. TJ was getting sort of tired of the shovel talk now. It had been funny at first, but it was getting old. 

“Look, I get it, okay?” He huffed despairingly at Marty. “I’m not good enough for him, you’ll beat me up if I hurt him, yadda yadda yadda.”

They were in the middle of a pickup game of basketball in the park -- he’d been pleasantly surprised when Marty invited him along. They hadn’t spoken often, and usually when they did it was in a group of other people, but when they’d been at the movies last week Marty had brought up that they needed another player and asked TJ to join without even missing a beat. It had given him a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest (not that he’d admit that to anybody out loud), and Cyrus had smiled so brightly about it that TJ was sure he hadn’t known Marty was going to ask either.

“No dude, that’s not what I was gonna say,” Marty laughed as he stole the ball back from TJ. “I don’t think you’re not good enough for him. Jonah told us how you apologised to him and stuff, and you guys are always together. You obviously really like each other. He talks about you like all the time.”

Oh. Well, that was sort of nice he guessed. At least someone didn’t think he was a terrible choice of boyfriend for Cyrus. 

“I was just gonna say be nice to him, okay? ‘Cause I think Buffy might break your face if you don’t, and it would suck to be down a player again.”

TJ snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

Marty grinned. “Sick. Hey, you wanna get milkshakes after this?”

And if that was the conversation that kicked off a life-long friendship between the two of them? Well, that was nobody’s business but their own. 

The Basketball Team

The terrifying thing about jocks, Cyrus thought, was that they travelled in packs. It didn’t seem to matter where you went in the world, if there was one athlete lurking about, then ten more were sure to follow. It was intimidating. Especially when they decided to focus their full scrutiny on you. They had a habit of surrounding you when you least expected it.

This is what happened about a month into the new school year. It had been going alright so far. Better, at least, than Cyrus had thought the first few weeks of freshman year was going to go. It was nerve racking; it didn’t matter that he was one of them now, high schoolers would always be terrifying. Considering this, he felt justified in saying it was only natural that he’d drop his books and let out a little shriek after turning around from his locker to find half of the basketball team around him. 

“I don’t have any money!” He said, shielding his face. It was all very cliche.

One of the boys laughed, but it was not a cruel laugh.

“Relax bro, we’re not trying to mug you. We just wanted a chat.”

Slowly, Cyrus lowered his arms. The guy seemed genuine, in fact Cyrus even recognised him. He wasn’t sure of his name, but he’d seen him hanging around the hallways with TJ some mornings before class. He might’ve even said hi to him at some point, who knew?

“Um, okay?”

“TJ says you guys are together.”

Oh God.

“Yes?”

“Cool. We just wanted to say we’ve got your back, just so you know. If anybody gives you any trouble you should let us know and we’ll handle it.”

The boys nodded collectively. Cyrus wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“That said,” The boy continued, leaning in dangerously. “If you hurt TJ we will fuck you up. Got it?”

“Got it,” Cyrus said weakly. 

The boy leaned back again and beamed, then bent down and picked up Cyrus’ textbook for him and handed it back with a jolly pat to his shoulder. “Cool. We’re gonna go get some food at The Spoon after class. You wanna come?”

Together

When Cyrus told TJ about it later, TJ laughed so hard he got a stitch. When he’d finally recovered and sat up, he tangled their fingers together and leaned in to give Cyrus a soft kiss on the forehead. 

“I’m really happy when I’m with you,” he said.

Cyrus leaned his head back on his shoulder and smiled a blissful smile. “Me too.”

And just like that, they knew they would never hurt one another.

[softambrollins]

used to this (dean/seth) - christmas fic - fluff, reunions, presents, getting together, love confessions, mutual pining, domestic fluff (ao3 link)

MERRY CHRISTMAS, GUYS!! 🎄🎁 ❤️

After Seth texts him on his birthday, they stay in touch. Seth's been kind of careful about it before, he thought maybe Dean needed his space, to do his own thing, and he needed to focus on his own career, his own goals. Maybe they both needed to move on, put the past behind them for now. Or maybe they just needed some time apart to realise that that's not really what they want at all. At least now Seth thinks it's not what he wants. Or maybe he knew that all along and he's only now willing to admit it to himself.

After RAW on Christmas week, he finally calls his number for the first time since he left.

"Hey, how's it going, man?" he asks, tone deliberately light and casual, when he picks up.

"Oh, hey." Dean sounds a bit surprised, and he can't exactly blame him. Seth's been keeping his distance intentionally for months, but maybe just reestablishing the slightest bit of contact, their random, sporadic messages over the last couple weeks, was enough to open the floodgates again.

"I'm good, man," he says after a moment. "What about you? You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Everything's fine," he says, probably too quickly. "I just —" He cuts himself off now to take a breath, bites his lip, trying to steel himself before he can actually voice the question he called him to ask.

"I know this probably sounds crazy, but I was thinking, and — Would you mind if I maybe come spend a couple days with you?" he says all in a rush before he just chickens out and hangs up again and forgets this ever happened at all.

Seth squeezes his eyes shut for a second after the words come out, in almost a wince, waiting for Dean to tell him he's completely nuts and he definitely does not want to see him. The last time Seth stayed at Dean's house was for New Year's two years ago while he was out with his injury, but that feels like a long time ago now and a lot has happened between them since. It's almost like they're totally different people than they were back then.

"Oh," is all Dean says, and Seth can't really discern what his feelings are about it yet. Maybe he's not entirely sure how to feel about it himself.

"I mean, it's fine if you have plans or something — of course you probably do — Or if you just don't want to —" he says, instantly starting to backtrack, sure he just made the dumbest mistake ever.

"No," Dean interrupts, his voice clear and firm now. "It's okay. I was just gonna use the holidays to chill, rest up, recuperate — be by myself, you know? It's been a busy year, you know, and the next one's probably gonna be just as rough. Could use all the time I can get."

Seth definitely understands that, probably too well.

"So…you're sure I'm not gonna be imposing or anything?" he asks hesitantly.

"No, it's all good, man," Dean reassures him, sounding like he really means it, sounding the same way he did before they parted in April. Like nothing's changed at all. "I'm just gonna be lying on the couch, drinking and watching bad movies. Maybe I could use the company."

Seth lets out a fond, almost relieved laugh.

"Okay," he says. "I'll see you soon then."

*

Seth shows up at Dean's place a day later with pretty much every unhealthy indulgence on the planet that they're definitely not supposed to consume in tow. But fuck it, it's Christmas, and he hasn't seen Dean in months and maybe they both need a break from reality and all its restrictions.

Dean opens the door to find him struggling with his luggage plus his abundance of purchases.

He looks like he's about to burst out laughing at him for half a moment before Seth just pouts at him and lets out a desperate, "Help."

Dean grabs the bags from his arms to relieve him and he lets out a heavy sigh before following him inside and setting down his suitcase just inside the door.

He turns his gaze back to Dean and he's dropped all the bags on the floor of the entranceway, which in hindsight he should've expected, and then before he realises it, he's right in his space, crowding his body against Seth's, and slowly putting his arms around him in a tight but gentle embrace.

He's hit with a sudden onslaught of sensations and emotions. Dean still feels and smells the same way he always has, and it's like being surrounded by a haze of nostalgia, he's taken back to so many other moments from months and years ago. Dean's arms around him, Dean's hands in his hair, his fingertips grazing against his own, his mouth pressed to the crown of his head.

His hoodie's soft against his cheek, his hands are warm and solid where they're resting on the small of his back. Seth tucks his face closer into his neck, taking in his earthy scent, the way he always smells like the outdoors, like something wild and free that can't be tamed, feeling the brush of his thick beard against his bare skin. Dean's body is soft and firm and comforting against his own and he knows Seth as well as Seth knows him, fitting together seamlessly and naturally like they always do. It's easy to get lost in this moment, like a million other moments before. It's hard to even tell where those ended and this one begins.

Somehow it feels like he's been holding his breath since April and now he can finally breathe again. Seth's been dancing on the edge for a long time with nothing to tether him and now he has Dean's sure, familiar grip to pull him back to safety.

He lets out a long exhale and then wraps his arms around Dean tighter, pillowing his cheek on his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, eyes falling shut. And they just stay there for a while, not moving or saying anything at all. Like maybe this is what they've both been needing this whole time.

*

They haul about a dozen shopping bags into the kitchen and set them down on the counters.

"I brought wine. And eggnog. And cookies. And lots of chocolate. Like, so much chocolate. And more wine."

"God, Rollins, is that what you came here to do? Fatten me up so I can't wrestle anymore and I'm not competition?" Dean teases.

"Shut up," Seth says, rolling his eyes, but he's smiling at him too. "If anything, I'm also sabotaging myself. But whatever, man, I think we deserve it."

"Thanks," Dean says offhandedly.

"It's nothing. I'm probably gonna suck down most of it anyway, fair warning —"

"No, I don't mean that," Dean says, voice low, shaking his head. "I meant, for coming here. I think maybe this is just what I need."

Dean just meets his eyes, his gaze steady and intent, and Seth feels something unexpectedly bright and warm flood through his entire body, from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes. It feels like all the air has suddenly left his lungs.

He has to physically tear his gaze away from Dean, blinking a few times to shake the feeling off, before turning to open a bottle.

"Want a drink?" he asks, knowing his voice still sounds weak.

"Yeah, sure," Dean says, and he's totally imagining the tinge of disappointment, almost, in Dean's voice. He has to be.

*

Dean insists that he makes them dinner, all by himself, and outrightly refuses Seth's help when he offers it. He can be a stubborn bastard when he wants to be.

Seth just sits there amused, with a drink in his hand, trying to keep his commentary to himself as much as possible. He watches him as he works, fascinated by the movements of his fingers, the way the muscles in his hands tense and release, the calluses on his palms; his idiosyncrasies coming out as he concentrates and seems to forget he's being watched, forehead creased, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, all the microexpressions flitting across his face when he's trying to figure something out. Seth likes seeing him like this. Dean's usually completely laid back and relaxed, but when he gets intense and focused on something, it's like he becomes another creature altogether. Someone it's impossible to look away from. Seth's been the subject of that intensity before and it was almost too overwhelming to handle. He thinks maybe he won't mind it so much anymore now.

Dean finally gets dinner on the table — some complicated chicken thing, stuffed with bacon and cheese and fries on the side because it's Dean — and it's actually edible and honestly pretty good, even if he'd never actually admit that until his dying day.

Seth doesn't stop making fun of him though.

"Shut up," Dean says dismissively. "I'm a master chef extraordinaire and you know it."

"More like a master show-off extraordinaire," Seth says, deadpan.

"Please," Dean says scornfully. "Admit it. You love it."

Seth just makes a vague, noncommittal sound in response.

Dean just gently nudges his foot under the table with his own and smiles a stupidly endearing smile at him and Seth can't help smiling back until his plate is clean.

When they're done, Dean gets up and goes to grab his plate, but he reaches up to stop him, his fingers encircling his wrist. Seth slowly gets to his feet without releasing his hand, and looks at him, eye-to-eye, close enough to hear his breathing. He can feel his heartbeat speed up a little from where his thumb's resting on his pulse point.

"You okay?" Dean asks quietly, eyes narrowed at him.

Seth nods at him, the barest hint of a smile on his lips as he seems to suddenly, all at once, realise something. "Yeah, I'm good," he tells him honestly. "It's all good now."

And then he kisses him. It's soft and chaste and only for a second but it feels like everything he's needed for a long time. A moment of perfect stillness and clarity. Contentment. Belonging. It's just an acknowledgment. It's like a Thank you or I missed you or This is all I've ever wanted.

Dean blinks at him a few times when he pulls away but doesn't let him get too far, wrapping one arm firmly around his waist, the other tangling in his hair to pull him back into another deep, breathless kiss.

*

"We're so stupid," Dean says when they're curled up together in front of the TV but not really watching it, Seth's body pressed up against his side, his head resting on his shoulder, Dean's arm loosely slung around him.

Seth frowns up at him. "I mean, I'm not denying that, but —"

"We could've had this a long time ago. Why did it take us so long?" he asks, almost sounding frustrated now. At himself more than anything.

"Because we're dumb," Seth says bluntly. "And stubborn. And we don't know what we want."

It feels like they've both walked away from each other a million times but it never lasts. They always end up right back here. Maybe they should've figured out where this was headed a long time ago.

"Why'd you text me?" Dean asks a few seconds later, voice small and unsure now.

"Because it was your birthday. And I actually remembered this year. Needed to make up for that last time," he says, only half-joking. They both know that's not the only reason.

"No, really," Dean prompts him.

Seth lets out a heavy exhale. "I don't know. I think I was just tired of it feeling like there was this...strain or whatever between us. Even if there wasn't. It just felt like you were so far away. And I hated that."

"Yeah," Dean says soberly. "Me too."

"I thought I'd be okay without you, you know. I tried for a long time. But it just felt wrong. Like, I was wrong. Like I didn't know how to be me without you." He didn't know how to explain it before, this feeling that something just wasn't right for the last eight months, but it's only now with Dean here that he can put it into words.

Seth swallows hard, takes in a deep breath. He reaches out and laces his fingers together with Dean's in his lap like he needs his touch to find the courage to go on.

"I didn't think I deserved this for so long. And then you were right there and I'd look at you and I'd think...Maybe. Maybe I could have this. Maybe I could be that person that was worthy of your trust. And now these last few months, I've been feeling like maybe I'm turning back into that person from before again. With no one to pull me back from the fire."

Dean just gently squeezes Seth's hand in his own in response.

"I thought everything would be good now, that I'd be happy, finally," Dean confesses, like he's been holding this in for a long time too. "And maybe I am, but there's — something missing too. I got so used to being alone that I thought I forgot what it was like to be lonely, you know. But I feel it now sometimes. Like an ache that doesn't go away. Like there's a hole somewhere deep down inside of me that I can't fill on my own. No matter what I do. No matter how many fights or drinks or how far away I go. It's still there."

Seth tucks his face against Dean's collarbone, presses a kiss to the side of his neck. "I'm right here," he tells him, hushed. "You're not alone anymore. Neither of us are."

"I missed you so fucking much," Dean tells him, like the words are being wrenched out of him, pulling Seth's body closer to him. "It's like I couldn't fucking breathe when I thought about you. So I tried not to for so long. But it never worked."

"I know," Seth says soothingly, giving him a rueful smile. "Guess we're both just hopeless, pathetic suckers."

Dean laughs softly at that. He wraps both arms around Seth's shoulders, strokes his fingers over his hair, then leans down and brushes a kiss over his forehead.

Seth looks up at him, right into his eyes, before he says the next words. "I love you," he tells him, finally, completely sure and content that this is exactly where he should be for the first time in years. Maybe in his entire life.

Dean kisses him then, slow and easy, and Seth sighs against his mouth, his chest feeling so light and full that he thinks he could float away on this feeling.

"I think I could get used to this," Seth tells him when they pull apart, but just barely, foreheads still grazing against each other. He feels like a heady, dreamlike trance has suddenly fallen over him, like there's nothing else but this, him and Dean, this moment.

"Yeah?" Dean asks, voice raspy.

"Yeah," Seth says before Dean kisses him again, his fingers splayed warm and tender on his cheek.

*

Dean eventually takes him upstairs and they slowly take each other's clothes off in the dark and learn each other's bodies even better, every crease and nook and scar and pleasure point. Seth tasting every inch of his skin, Dean's hands all over him, taking him apart bit by bit, finding places he didn't know existed and making him feel things he once thought impossible.

There's no forgetting any of this and he never wants to, he's going to remember this until the day he dies.

*

Seth wakes up to Dean sleeping next to him, and he just lies there for a while, feeling his body solid and warm inches away from him, eyes slowly tracing over his soft features, listening to his steady breathing, and it's the most at peace he can remember ever being.

They go for a walk on Christmas morning. Dean knows all the best trails and it's quiet and deserted and it feels like they're all alone, everyone in their houses still fast asleep or opening presents or starting their baking early. Seth would almost miss the cold and the snow back home if Dean wasn't right here with him. A white Christmas isn't really worth much if you don't have someone to spend it with.

Seth reaches out and takes his hand as they start walking back to the house.

"Remember the last Christmas I was here?" Seth says, interrupting the comfortable silence.

It was the Christmas before Seth broke The Shield, and they've never really talked about it before.

Dean nods now, slightly stiffly. "Yeah, we spent all night bar-hopping and got fucking hammered and I can't really remember anything else about it."

"I don't know why I came," he admits. "I think I was just lonely and fucked-up and looking for something. An excuse. A reason to stay."

"And I didn't give you one?" Dean asks, his voice sounding taut and tense.

"No, no, that wasn't it," Seth tells him, squeezing his hand for a second, looking across at him reassuringly. "I wanted to. I wanted to so bad. But I wouldn't let myself have it."

He wonders if Dean remembers the exact moment. In a dark, empty parking lot. Dean's body pressed up heavy and boneless against him, whispering incoherent nothings in his ear. His breath hot and smelling of whiskey right on his skin. His hand curling around his own, their fingertips barely touching. All that longing and desperation and heat that had built up between them for years finally reaching its boiling point — and Seth pulling away at the very last second before they did something they couldn't go back from. Not being able to look at Dean's face after that, so afraid of the hurt and betrayal he might find there. Then getting on a plane the next morning like it never happened at all. Seth has a lifetime of regrets, of almosts and maybes, but that one still stings when he lets himself think about it. Like an open wound. Maybe that was the moment, the moment that could've changed everything. He didn't think he'd ever have another chance. But here he is now, Dean's hand real and warm in his own, his tender gaze lingering on the side of his face, and he's never letting go of this again. Not for anything.

*

Seth makes breakfast to make up for the night before. Dean doesn't protest this time, just sits down and sneaks a few cookies when he thinks Seth isn't watching which just makes him shake his head in amusement.

When they're almost finished, he suddenly remembers something.

"Oh, I got you something. For your birthday. But now it can be a Christmas gift, I guess."

Dean's too busy mopping up leftover syrup off his plate with his last forkful of pancakes to react to that.

Seth goes upstairs and retrieves it from the pocket of his carry-on.

He comes back down and brandishes the gift bag at him. "Here."

Dean carefully opens the bag and pulls out what's inside, before holding it up by the edges in front of him so it can come unfurled.

It's a sweater, light blue to match his eyes, with a smiling pitbull on it.

"It reminded me of you," Seth explains, a small smile on his face. "Rough around the edges but a total softie underneath."

"You're such a sentimental sap, Rollins," Dean tells him, but the fond look in his eyes says something else.

He folds the sweater back up, rests it on the table.

"I got you something too," Dean tells him out of nowhere, and that genuinely surprises him.

"Really?" he says, eyes narrowed skeptically.

Dean disappears for a minute and comes back into the kitchen with both hands holding something behind his back.

Seth just stares at him, expectant and a little scared, as he reveals the gift and shoves it into Seth's hands.

"What the hell is this?" he says, eyes wide, as he looks down at the stuffed toy — it's a strange, brown, ugly, hairy creature with huge feet.

"A baby Sasquatch," Dean says like that makes all the sense in the world. "Keep it with you. It'll be like I'm still there. Even though I had to return to the wild." He looks off dramatically into the distance with a long sigh.

Seth just shakes his head in disbelief over somehow ending up here. And not wanting to change any part of it for anything in the world. "You're such an idiot," he tells him seriously.

"You love me," Dean says with a smirk and he can't exactly deny that.

*

Dean has dinner delivered so they won't have to do any work, it's from a fancy hotel or something because apparently that's a Vegas thing or maybe it's one of those incomprehensible Dean Ambrose things. Seth's not gonna complain either way though. And when they're too stuffed to move, they settle down in front of the TV.

"I can't believe the year's almost over," Seth muses, already feeling like he wants to pass out. Maybe he's just getting old or maybe it's the exhaustion from this entire year, physical and emotional, finally taking a toll on him.

"Yeah, it's been a wild fucking ride, huh?" Dean says, almost appreciatively.

"No thanks to you," Seth points out.

Dean just laughs and shrugs. He's always been the purveyor of chaos and unpredictability. No one can tie him down or tell him what to do. It honestly shouldn't even be a surprise that he keeps shaking up the entire wrestling world with whatever he does. It's just what he does. He's been turning Seth's world upside down constantly since the day they met. He hopes that never changes.

"I'm glad you're happy, though," Seth tells him earnestly. "I hope you keep being happy. Whatever you do."

Dean nods. "And I hope you learn to let yourself be happy," he tells him significantly. "You deserve it. Even when you don't think you do."

Seth sighs. It's been hard, especially without Dean, to find the good things in life and keep them. To just let himself be satisfied and fulfilled. It was never enough, there was always something else to do, he could always be better. But he knows where that road leads. To misery and loneliness and desolation. And he doesn't want anything to do with it again. He just wants this — this feeling, having Dean near, knowing that he can have this now, that this belongs to him. It's enough for him. He's enough.

"I'll try," Seth promises. "Even when it's hard. I'll just think about you. That's all I need."

"I'm happy you came," Dean tells him, sounding almost wistful now. "I wish it could always be like this."

"It's been a crazy year. For both of us," Seth acknowledges. "But I'm glad I could spend the end of it with you."

"And if the next one's just as crazy?" Dean asks, looking across at him.

"Then we'll deal with it. Like we always do. Together," Seth says simply.

*

Seth nods off on the couch in the middle of Die Hard and Dean gently wakes him up when the movie's over and leads him by the hand upstairs.

They get into bed and Dean pulls the blankets into a cocoon around them. Seth keeps his arms tightly locked around Dean's waist, face buried in his chest, clinging to him like if he lets go he might break the gravitational pull and fall into nothingness again. Absorbing the feel and smell and warmth of him like he's filling up his reserves for when he's not there next to him anymore. Like he already knows they're going to be separated again soon and Dean's the only thing he has to hold on to. For as long as he can.

Dean cradles his body against him, presses his lips to his hair.

"Merry Christmas, babe," he tells him before Seth falls asleep in his arms.

*

They have breakfast together the next morning before Seth has to leave to catch his flight. Dean's wearing the sweater he got for him but even that's not enough to fix his gloomy mood.

"I wish you didn't have to leave," Dean says, finally breaking the long stretch of silence, voicing both of their thoughts.

"Me too," Seth says, looking down at his scarcely-touched bacon and eggs, trying not to sound as wretched as he feels inside. "But I have to get back to the school, the coffee shop. Real life."

"Sucks that I can't be a part of your real life anymore," Dean says, almost bitterly.

Seth's gaze snaps back up to Dean's face. "Hey, come on. You know you are. You're the most important part of my life. I'm sorry it took so long to realise that."

Dean just reaches across the table and takes his hand.

"I'm sorry too," Dean says quietly, regretfully. "I should've called you a long time ago. I kept wanting to and then wimping out."

"Really?" Seth asks, mouth parted slightly in surprise, in wonder, almost.

"Yeah, I almost called you before my surgery but I thought maybe you wouldn't want to hear from me." He sounds so sad and helpless that it makes Seth's heart twist in his chest. God, they've both been such tragically stubborn idiots.

"What did you want to say?" he asks gently, before he actually starts crying like the completely sentimental sap Dean already knows he is.

Dean looks him straight in the eyes as he tells him the words he's somehow always been dying to hear but never, ever imagined he would. Not like this. Not in any of his wildest fantasies. "That I miss you. That I love you. That no matter what, you're always gonna be it for me."

Seth just stares at him for a moment, absorbing that, struggling to find the right words to respond. Wondering, for the millionth time, if maybe all of this has just been some elaborate dream.

"So, you didn't just forget about me?" is what eventually comes out, one corner of his lips quirking into a faint smile despite himself. It's probably stupid after everything that's happened, but thinking about Dean leaving him behind and moving on for good was the most devastating part of the last year. And now all that lingering anguish and fear that has been tearing him up inside has just been lifted all at once, finally.

"Shut up. I could never forget about you. Ever," Dean tells him firmly.

"That a promise?" Seth says, because as sure as all of this has felt these past few days being here with Dean, after everything they've been through, all the unnecessary heartache they've inflicted on themselves and each other, he needs to hear the words. Needs something to keep with him, close to his heart, when Dean's not there to hold him and tell him that he loves him. And not just the silly Sasquatch toy that he'd tucked into a pocket of his carry-on with all his other valuables and has to admit now is actually kind of cute.

"I promise. It doesn't matter where we are, what we're doing. We're always going to come back to each other. Because this — you— this is my home. It's always been. And it always will be." He says it like it's just a fact. Like it's always been true. Even when they didn't know it. Even when they tried so hard to find a way to live without each other.

"So, it's official then?" Seth says with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, totally fucking official," Dean says with a huge grin. "The most official shit you've ever seen in your life."

Seth laughs brightly. "I'm happy," he says, and he can't remember the last time he said that and meant it so completely.

"Yeah?" Dean says, holding his gaze.

"So happy," Seth reaffirms. "More happy than I've ever been, probably."

"Good," Dean tells him, squeezing his hand for a second then leaning across the table to kiss him, sweet and familiar and oddly domestic, like they've been doing this for years. "Me too."

*

Dean hugs him goodbye at the airport and he's as soft and warm as ever. Seth closes his eyes and breathes him in deeply, hands clutching at his sweater, their cheeks pressed together, Dean's fingers resting gently at the nape of his neck.

"Come back to me soon," he says right against his ear before he pulls away.

"I will," Seth says, taking one more long look at him, before turning and walking away. Feeling like he can finally be himself again. He can face anything that comes his way, in the coming year or the next or the next. As long as he has this waiting right here for him.

[catsafarithewriter]

“Not to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m ninety percent sure you grabbed the wrong person." 

A/N: I immediately thought of this post with this concept a la haunted house attraction, ironically before we started discussing Disney’s Haunted Mansion on Discord. Anyway, human AU (for reasons that will be clear), enjoy!

x

This was the last time Haru would let Hiromi talk her into something. 

“It’d be fun,” she’d said.

“Different,” she’d promised.

“Exciting,” she’d wheedled. 

So far, the only point Hiromi had been right on was different. If she had included dark and cold, she would have had three for three. 

In her designated nook of the haunted house attraction, Haru lurked. She was rather good at lurking, she reckoned, and would be capable of lurking for a good few hours longer. Which was just as well, since that was what this summer job was paying her to do. 

She resisted the urge to scratch her nose. The face paint itched something awful and hadn’t lessened, despite what her supervisor had assured. A monochromatic design of black and white had sunk her face into skeleton outline; simplistic but effective in the gloom of the corridors. At least she hadn’t had to apply the fake sores and open wounds that Hiromi - albeit rather gleefully - had needed to administer.

The shuffling of feet and shushed voices announced the arrival of her next victims. She hunkered down into her shadow an watched as the guests - a young couple with the guy making a show of going first - rounded the corner, waiting until they were just passing before giving a pointed cough. 

The lights flickered, momentarily illuminating her face and its otherworldly makeup, and there was a scream as the guests fled onto the next corridor, dissolving into giggles as they vanished. 

Haru couldn’t help herself she grinned as she returned to lurking. Okay, maybe Hiromi hadn’t been entirely wrong. It had its fun moments. 

x

This was the last time Baron would let Louise talk him into something. 

In hindsight, admittedly, the haunted house attraction would probably have been a little more enjoyable if he hadn’t taken it upon himself to stand between Muta and Toto in their group lineup. If anything, it had forced the two to shout louder at each other. 

“And I’m telling yer we’re going the wrong way!” Muta snapped. 

“It’s a haunted house. There is no wrong way,” Toto retorted. 

“If we keep going this way, we’ll jus’ end up at the beginning.”

“Do you have fluff for brains? Obviously the entrance is that way.”

“Children, children,” Persephone chided from the front. “Right now the scariest thing is how loud you two can bicker. Shut up and let the ghosts do their job.”

Louise tilted her head back to shoot them a glare. “Also we’re leading and we’re going this way.” 

Baron decided against mentioning that he had already seen one designated scarer, but they’d raised an eyebrow at the raised voices and had evidently agreed with Persephone’s assessment. 

They turned a corner and the corridor dropped into deeper darkness. Their pace slowed, senses heightening in the absence of sight. Suddenly he was aware of his hands curled around Muta and Toto’s, the shallow breaths of his companions, the shuffle of feet, the tap on his shoulder–

He froze. Muta walked into him. Toto was pulled to a halt. 

“What’s the holdup?” Muta hissed. 

“Something tapped my shoulder,” Baron whispered. 

The lights flickered into momentary blaze, but all he could see were his friends and the crossroads in the house ahead. His sister gave a tug and issued them slowly along. 

“At least it was polite ghost,” Toto offered. “It could be worse; it could have actually tried to scare us–”

The lights flickered again and everything happened at once. A shape leapt from the darkness, a blur of movement, the face of death, the roar of something animalistic and feral, and Baron lost both hands of his companions. In the passing light, he saw the others scatter down the split corridors like something out of a Scooby Doo skit and he grabbed Muta’s hand and hauled the tailend of their team after the vanishing shadow of Toto. 

He slammed into a dead end. Okay, maybe it hadn’t been Toto. He leant against the wall, still holding Muta’s hand on instinct, breathing hard and feeling a little foolish, when he realised a few discrepancies about the hand he held. 

For starters, it was significantly smaller, palm fitting comfortable in his instead of dwarfing it, the fingers slimmer and less comparable to sausages than usual. 

It was also wearing a skeleton glove. 

He looked at the hand. And then slowly up to its owner. A skull stared back. It grinned, because skulls are always grinning, but he was fairly certain, even in the dim light, that he could see the corner of the scarer’s real mouth twist into a smile. There was the shadow of a dimple along their left cheek. 

It occurred to him that if he could see the dimple of their smile, he was probably too close for comfort. He tried to step back and immediately hit his head on a low beam. “Uh,” he managed eloquently. “Hello.”

“Hello,” the skeleton replied, the voice higher than expected and now he could definitely hear the smile. “Not to be the bearer of bad news,” she said, “but I’m ninety percent sure you grabbed the wrong person.” 

x

Haru felt a little bit bad for her overreaction. 

Not a lot. But a little. 

She had been planning to only tap a few shoulders, cough a few times, maybe lurk in the light - but at the dismissive ‘actually trying to scare us’ comment, she’d - without any real conscious thought - decided to up it a notch. Or several. She hadn’t imagined it would go down so well. 

Or that, in the confusion, one of the guests would grab her hand instead of their friend’s. She stared at him in the confines of the dead end, feeling rather confidence with the mask of her face paint. 

“Not to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m ninety percent sure you grabbed the wrong person.”

He grinned nervously. “Only ninety? What about the other ten?”

“I don’t know. You might have a thing for cute skeletons.”

“I might, but I don’t.” 

A beat passed. They were still standing intimately close. 

“So,” he said, “what do we do now? Is there a precept for this sort of thing?”

“Well first,” she answered, “you let go of my hand.”

“Ah.” He released his hold, running his freed hand sheepishly through his hair. “Sorry. I… don’t suppose you could get me back to my group, could you?”

“Do ghosts go boo?” She cringed almost immediately after saying that. “Sorry, I’ve been here too long. Yeah, uh, please hold.” She stepped back, hitching a walkie talkie from the depths of her costume. “Machida? Machida, you there?” She held it away from her ear as a cacophony of laughter crackled through the speaker. “Machida, stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry,” her coworker replied. “I’m so sorry, but you should have seen your faces!”

“Trust that to have been caught on camera,” she muttered. Louder, she added, “Machida, I’m looking for this guy’s group. Can you tell me where they are?”

“Sure, give me a moment.” There was the clack of keys as he cycled through the cameras. “Two guys, two ladies, the guys have been bickering for the past ten minutes?”

“That’s them,” Baron said with a sigh.

“Got them. Okay, they’re in Room F, the zombie cage.”

“Fantastic. Have Hiromi keep them occupied, I’ll drop him off there.” She flicked the speaker back into her pocket and turned to her accidental companion. “We could go the long way, but I have a shortcut. How do you feel about tight spaces?”

“Depends on the context.”

“In a totally non-murdery-way.”

“Oh. I’m good then.”

“Great.” She grabbed his hand before she could think twice, and pulled the hidden staff door open. “Follow me.”

x

Sickly green safety lights lay low along the staff back corridors, bathing the narrow walkways in a glow that made Baron think of preserved museum specimens. The scarer wove her way though with practised ease, as if she wasn’t surrounded by a Frankenstein-background reject, hand still curled surely around his. 

“You can’t scare easily if you work here,” he said, searching for something to break the silence and detract from the creepy environment. 

She gave a snort. “I’m not actually a huge fan of horror movies. I didn’t sleep for a week after watching The Signalman.”

He watched her outline silhouetted by the safety strips. Like that, it was easier to see the curve of her face and bypass the skeleton decal. “They why do this?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “It pays. It’s different. And my friend kind of talked me into this.” She glanced back. He focused on her eyes and not the skull design. He wondered what she looked like without it. “How about you? Are you a fan?”

He chuckled. “It’s not my preferred genre. My sister dragged us all along, but I’m fairly certain she just wanted an excuse to hold her girlfriend.”

The scarer laughed. “Does she need an excuse?”

“No, but she’s an opportunist. She’ll take any opening.”

“And so she dragged the rest of you along.”

“She has a penchant for that.”

“Apparently it’s a family trait,” she said, and Baron reddened at the reminder of what had got him into this mess to begin with. 

“Miss, I am sorry for–”

She waved it away. “Honestly, no worries. It’s the funniest thing to happen to me all day. And it’s Miss Skeleton to you. Ah, here we are.” She clicked to a halt by what appeared to be another section of wall until she slid it back to reveal a haunted house room beyond. “Your group should be just round that corner.”

His feet didn’t move. They should have, but they didn’t. “Miss Skeleton,” he said with a small smile at the amendment, “regardless of your good humour, I still feel somewhat responsible for this situation.” He considered. “Ninety percent responsible.”

He saw the grin now for sure, even hidden beneath the layer of makeup. “And the other ten?”

“Well,” he said, “you are the one still holding my hand this time.”

She released him with a sheepish aura. “Just making sure you get back safely. Didn’t want you accidentally befriending another monster while you’re here.”

The open door waited for him, but he still didn’t move. “May I know the name of the monster I’ve already befriended?”

“Was Miss Skeleton not good enough for you?” she teased, and she gave him a gentle push out into the room. But before the door slid shut, she hesitated. “But my friends call me Haru.”

“Humbert,” he replied. “But my friends call me Baron.”

She grinned. “I’ll see you around, Baron.”

[malina-wolf]

I read this passage last weekend at the Round Table Salon of the Starz, and wanted to share it here. This is the opening from a new project that I’m working on, and I’m really excited about it:

Dublin - June

I almost did a remarkably stupid thing the other night.

Life-ruiningly stupid. Catastrophic.

I was supposed to be drying out. We had already been out the night before, celebrating a major professional award in a north side pub called the Gin Palace. It was so nice to have something good to drink about for a change.

I woke up in the morning with a raging hangover. Applied water, tea, painkillers, and sausage roll, in that order. Vowed to stay sober until I got home. Or at least until Paris. But Michelle wanted to get dinner, just the two of us. Like old times.

In my defence, the rosé was phenomenal; an adorable restaurant, tucked under the train tracks in the shadow of the Aviva stadium. And then we had to go to Michelle’s favourite pub. She hadn’t been in a couple years, not since she stopped traveling and then took over as General Manager. It used to be our spot in Dublin, one of the only things in the world she loves unironically, and it’s my job to support her in seeking out the things she loves. If this year has been hard on me, she’s been Orpheus, returned to the overworld without Eurydice. She deserves things that ease the pain.

We turn to Dionysus for help.

We were out, a couple of drinks in, feeling loose and happy.

And then I met a guy.

It’s been years since anyone from that end of the gender spectrum has disrupted things. Not that they’re nice to look at, or think about in an abstract, home-alone-on- Saturday-afternoon-and-I-have-nowhere-to-be-for-a-couple-of-hours kind of way. But that’s pretty much where the appeal ends. For all intents and purposes, I’ve opted out of men as a genre and never looked back. I was entirely unprepared for a real, live human male to interrupt my carefully scheduled life.

A linguist, fresh off a flight from Sicily for a family birthday party. He was very pretty, very young.

Chaos in Converse.

“D’you know you have a lisp?” His opening salvo. It was unexpected. Most people don’t listen that well, or maybe they’re just polite enough not to remark on it.

“Wow! In thirty-five years, I’d never notithed.”

“No, it’s really endearing!” He rushed to assure me. He didn’t seem like an asshole. It was enough to make my guard drop, if only slightly. 

“You know what’s funny though, is that I don’t have it when I’m speaking another language or singing. Only in English.”

“What, really? What languages do you speak? ”

Michelle chimed in, claiming that I speak “all the languages.” A blatant falsehood.

“I only speak French and Portuguese reliably enough to count them. Some Nuyorican Spanglish, and when I get drunk enough, un pochissimo d’italiano.” I tick-tocked my empty glass from side to side.

“Alors, dites-moi quelque chose en français,” he encouraged me. “I want to hear this magical disappearing lisp.”

“Ah, que vous le parlez aussi! Mais pourquoi alors?”

“Oh, that’s fascinating! Your lisp isn’t the same in French, it’s that kind of charming, natural affectation that fluent speakers have.” His voice is smooth, lilting, the alcohol rounding the edges of his words. “Your accent is perfect, but your smile gives you away, entirely American,” he grinned. It went right to my head, along with the beer.

We wove between languages, as a couple of nerds are wont to do. He asked why and where I learned to speak them; I’m sure I gave answers. I was already very drunk, delighted at finding a kindred spirit, eager to keep the party going. The hours slipped by. Upon learning that his new favourite singer was Maria Rita, we slung our arms around each other, launched into the chorus from Cara Valente. The neighbours upstairs must have been thrilled.

It bears mentioning that I am, at times, an idiot. I don’t walk into a situation expecting to be flirted with, so when those rare occasions happen, someone usually points it out to me after the fact. Usually, that someone is Belle, and she delivers the news with a smug, “my wife’s still got it!” amusement at my cluelessness. Yes, her name is Belle. Yes, I’m married to a Disney princess.

Besides, he was there with his family! I was there with my boss! He was just “new friend!” As far as I knew, it was a fabulously fun evening talking to someone who had no right walking into that bar and assaulting me with knowledge of my favourite artists, no right to match me, album for album, song for song.

Cam didn’t give a shit about my job. He wanted to hear about me. The singer, the thinker, the human in the world, not the sender of emails and parser of international data. If I had been single, the fact that he hung on my every word as I told him how Elis Regina died might have been enough, but then he wanted to hear my impromptu lecture on the Brazilian military dictatorship and Gilberto Gil and Caetano Veloso’s exile in London on top of that.

Elis died in 1982, by the way. OD on a combination of cocaine and alcohol.

More hours. More beer. There was dancing?

Eventually, it was time to leave. He hugged me close, leaned his head against mine. His beard scratched my face. He was warm, solid, the smell of his body sweet and tangy with alcohol and cigarettes, his breath tickling my ear. “I really want to kiss you, but you’re married. I respect that. I respect you.” I think he said it twice.

He wanted me to be the one to make the decision; to cast the first sin so that he would simply be along for the ride. I don’t know how I kept my head on. This is the kind of thing that breathless romance novels are made of: a beautiful, drunken stranger who wants to hear you ramble on about something you’re passionate about, who asks to kiss you late at night in a foreign city? Who smiles with regret when you decline?

I realise in hindsight that it was likely the move of someone who was already on the pull and was very good at this kind of thing. We just happened to have a lot to talk about while the alcohol did its work.

I wondered if I could kiss him. I’ve never kissed anyone with a beard before - could I do it just to find out how it feels? Would I be able to stop myself? He was still so close, our bodies nearly touching from shoulder to hip, that I’m fairly certain an alternate universe sprang into being right then. An alternate universe in which I gave in to my baser instincts, pressed him up against the brick wall, brought him back to my Airbnb a few breathless minutes later.

Somehow, through the grace of whatever gods might have been watching over me, I managed to stay in this reality, managed to remember that I have a wife who I love more than my own life. I would never forgive myself if I did anything to hurt her. I’m still nursing the mingled guilt-relief hangover, weeks later.

He said something about wanting to talk more about the Brazilian artists I had mentioned, though if it was awkward now, he understood. But if I didn’t mind, he would be around tomorrow. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to talk about music; his question hit the ache I didn’t even realise still existed. Saved his number in my phone. We made plans to meet the next day. There would be more drinks, more people. We hugged. Clung, really. He lifted me into the air, spinning me around. Somehow, I landed on my feet. I touched his face as we said goodbye.

I woke in the morning, full of the Fear. Deleted his messages without responding.

[thoughtcock]

Post breakup reflection

1. What was my role in the demise of this relationship?

Many times, he has expressed to me that I am not fulfilling his needs enough and that he’s way more giving than I am in the relationship. 

For example, he expects sex at least 3-4 times a week, and uses sex as a way to destress himself. For me, working full time with irregular schedules makes it pretty difficult for that to commit to this much sexy time. Plus, when I’m stressed, sex is the last thing I would think of. As such, I felt guilty and pressured whenever I can’t seem to satisfy him physically. It’s like I’m expected to still give a blowjob and whatever after a long, hectic and possibly even traumatising day at work. During the whole period of dating I felt like I partially lost interest in sex. Not just because of work stress, but I’m sure he played a role in making me feel like this as well. As a result, sometimes our times in bed can feel "boring” or I just seem to feel pain/discomfort from sex. To him, being unable to satisfy him made him feel upset, and he would be meaner to me as a result. Honestly, 1-2 times a week is more than enough for me, but sometimes he made me feel like I never tried, and that hurts but I guess that disinterest has caused the downfall. He said so much hurtful things to me in retrospect, and I can’t believe I just took in everything he said and thought we could work this out again.

He thinks I’m too passive and quiet, always being unable to speak my mind and engage in deep conversations with him. But again, I always felt like I am trying my best, its just I’’m so tired from work and I physically just dont have the energy to keep having deep philosophical conversations over and over again. Sometimes I would just like my downtime to be chill, making dumb jokes and just doing mindless stuff together. I would admit that it can be difficult for me to speak my mind at times, but I really really really did try my best to open up as best as I can. I am not sure how else I can be open already to be honest. And the more he demands that from me, the more emotionally tiring it is for me. Because I really am not sure where I have gone wrong in that regard, but I just know what I’m not doing enough to him has caused the downfaill of our relationship.

The nature of my job has also caused a lot of friction between us as well. There were times where I would unreasonably make him translate a lot of sound bites for me, lots of last minute OT days that left him waiting for me, lots of anxiety on my end that he can’t seem to help me with. In all honesty, he has never been that respectful to my job, and questioned my skills as a reporter. But for me, I just wished he couldnt understand why I felt like this and just be there for me (without making fun of me) when things got tough. It is my fault to an extent because I sometimes cannot control my emotional outbursts during work and that work always seems to throw me a curveball and that I am constantly seeking help from him. 

It fucking sucks but I guess its really our needs clashing against each other, and it feels so fucked up to admit that I let myself be treated like that and I question myself if I will ever be enough. 

2. What can I do differently in my next relationship?

Writing this out made me realise that all these demises are really out of my control. But I know there’s some aspects of myself that i can change. I agree that I’m a passive and less giving person, in which I swore to myself that I would change when we patched back again. I guess it was too late because you broke my heart really soon after that. 

I would do so much differently. I would never ever let myself feel small, belittled or get fucked over by a man again. I would find someone who can compliment my lifestyle and needs, and vice versa. I would find someone who makes me believe that I am enough, that I don’t have to fight so hard just to maintain the relationship. I would be more guarded, as I now realise that even the most unexpecting of people can do horrible things like cheating, but not too guarded that I lose my ability to be vulnerable and have trust issues with the guy (I should never feel like i have trust issues if I’m with someone who truly loves me). I would never settle for men who are not willing to commit, or second guess their commitments halfway through the relationship. I will never be with someone who has cheated, or are still in contact with their toxic exes. I would not be with someone overly religious. I would never be with someone who pressures me for more sex.

As for myself, I want to be more giving to the person who is deserving of it. I want us to plan for our goals and future together. I want to be more communicative even when the times are tough. I want to shower him with more loving words, little handmade gifts, acts of service to show that I’m thinking of him more. I want to be more appreciative of their presence and love, never to take them for granted. I want to spend more quality time with him, while doing my best to balance my work well and not unload shit on him too much. 

3. Have I been realistic in my expectations?

I realised that by being attached to someone, I tend to let my expectations go down without even realising, as I think my needs are not as important for now. For example, I would prefer to rent a house together and have a chat on how we can align our life goals together, our financial goals. If marriage is on the line, sure I am open to it. I would prefer to have pets over children anyday as well. I am also willing to move out to anywhere, like a bonnie and clyde do or die moment together. Our lives didn’t have to be stable exactly, I just needed a stable person that can do life with me even with all the crazy unexpected adventures ahead.

In hindsight, my ex was suddenly unwilling to do all of that with me. He gave me excuses like him still finding a job and not thinking of the future, and later just outrightly admitted that he didn’t want a lifestyle like that. And here I was, being naive enough to accept his words, thinking that we can talk about this again in the future, when his career is more stable bla bla bla. And in the end, that caused us to break up.

I would say at my age, my expectations are pretty reasonable, its everything a long-term couple would have to face eventually. It just too bad I’ve been dating people who seem to have commitment issues or “cannot give me what I want”. But what I want is pretty ordinary in any healthy relationship,.........

4. Would I date me?

I would say yes, I think knowing myself, I am a more fun person who can live a life free of guilty conscience. I am not exactly a morally bad person I think? I think I am a mentally strong person despite all of life shits thrown at me, and I am a committed person once I think I am the person for me. Just look at me in my previous relationships, trying to stick by the people I thought who loved me until they told me they couldn’t. Also, my looks ain’t that bad if I take care of myself well

Of course, there’s some aspects of me that may not be dateable. For example, I’m messy, disorganised, overly emotional at times. I may be passive at times as well. I am not exactly the kindest person as well, I take more than I give. Oh well, no one is perfect right?

5. Who was he really?

Wow... a miserable, narcissistic, cynical and all round horrible person. I might be biased because he cheated of me and broke my heart, but I really never expected him to be this heartless. To be asking me “Why are you so upset since its not your fault”?/?? Like hello are you dense or stupid or just fucking ruthless? I am upset and heartbroken because I LOVED YOU. Yes, you warned me this is the kind of person you were, but yet I am so dumb to love you and accepted your flaws. I thought my love was enough for you. Oh well, at least when the next person tells me that, I would gladly fuck off next time, because who knows when they will use that against me. Thank you for showing your true colors again and again. I think I was just blinded because I accepted the fucked up person as you are. Fuck you, you miserable shithead and for telling me all these lies at the start of our relationship. fuck you for rushing into this, and pressuring me to date and have sex with you even though I had my reservations and I would have taken things slow. Fuck, typing this out just made me realise how much I gave in to you. And that makes me sad because I comprimised so many of my beliefs just to get together with you. You really did make me feel like a fool in the end, fuck you. 

6. What is my limiting belief?

Living in this city can be such a lonely thing. When I was single, I let myself do situationships and FWBs and hook-ups, but all these just served to make me feel empty in the end. I thought I could be happy on my own, but thinking about it now, I had the help of many passing men in my life to distract things. Now that I’m not about that lifestyle anymore, it really does make me feel small and empty and lonely here. I guess my limiting belief would be that no matter how hard I try to want to be okay with being alone, I am still scared that I would actually end up alone, even though being alone may not be such a bad thing.

My limiting belief is also that I think I might never be able to find someone who 100% compliments me. Idk why that scares me so much and its such a sad thought, which is why I tend to settle and comprimise for people who may not be so good to me. Will I be able to find someone that aligns with my life goals, while being able to understand and connect to me? Whoever you are, I hope I can find you someday. 

7. What are my plans for me?

It does seem tempting to jump back to dating apps in hopes to find someone again, but I know that is not going to help in the long run. I guess i have to use the next couple of months to really re-evaluate my life and what I want next. Perhaps it is to focus on my career while learning how to manage the hectic-ness that comes ahead, and to form healthy habits like exercise and regular therapy to improve on my well-being. I also want to take the time to connect with my friends and meet new ones again, they have been so helpful to me, being there for me at my worst when I felt like this pain was just too much to bear. I realise now I do have a very good group of friends, and I want to be there for them even if I get into another relationship.

It kinda sucks having to go through this process of breakup again, not going to lie, but I want to take the time to have a clean slate of mind before jumping back to the dating game. and this time, I am not playing any games or taking shit from people who don’t matter. I want to learn how to respect myself enough to walk away from shitty people and situations, I want to learn how to protect my heart better, I want to be a better person for me. I want to love myself more so I can eventually love someone else just as much as I love me. And if that someone never comes? I want to learn to truly accept being on my own. I thought I had that nailed down previously but I guess some lessons need to be re-learnt again. 

If time goes well, I should be able to date again in a few months. I dont really think I have to take many months again to see if Im ok with a relationship again. Because I know its something I want to pursue at this point, and this process may take a long time anyway. So in the meantime, I will just learn how to take everything with a pinch of salt while I put myself out there again.

I am proud of myself for trying to take the healthy way out and trying to heal healthily from this, even though this path feels so lonely at times. But I have to do it for me...

[sunnflowerhobi]

Golden Fuckboy || FINAL

✨ pairing: jungkook | reader.

✨ genre: fluff, slight angst.

✨ word count: 5k. 

✨ previous parts: part 1 💫 part 2 💫 part 3 💫 part 4 💫 part 5 💫 part 6 💫 part 7 💫 part 8 💫 part 9 💫  part 10

❣️ masterlist ❣️

Jeon Jungkook is a truck.

A 160 ft long, 1000 pounds 18-wheeler coming straight at you at full speed. And you’re clueless about him, standing alone in the middle of the road, just as if you were patiently waiting for it to hit you. Everyone but you can see it getting closer, everyone’s able to hear it’s horn rumbling in warning and, even if they try to alert you and shout at the top of their lungs for you to move away, you are unable to realise the presence of the vehicle until there is no more time to get off of the way and the impact is imminent. But the truth is; if you had had the time to, you still wouldn’t have moved away.

Jeon Jungkook is a storm.

One of the kinds that starts as a light, innocent drizzle. The one that makes you think that you’re not even getting wet at all, until suddenly, there’s a full blown storm happening with loud thunders and scary lightning, and it looks like the sky could fall off at any given second. And you’re out, in the middle of an unknown street, far away from home and there wouldn’t be enough umbrellas in this world to keep you dry at this point. But the truth is; if you had had an umbrella with you, you still wouldn’t have opened it.

There are many metaphors to describe the way Jungkook had crept upon your heart and took possession of it, but none of them could fully describe the way he could make you feel. Not even you have realised how you feel, or rather, you haven’t understood what that sensation you get when you’re with him means... yet. The truck still hasn’t hit you. The storm is still just a mizzle. But the clouds are getting darker by the second and the truck is just a few miles away.

And yet, you remain oblivious of your situation.

It is not your fault. You couldn’t have expected things to happen the way they did. Jungkook took over you silently and slowly, taking up more space in your heart and head bit by bit every day before you even had the chance to notice it. With every coffee you drank together. With every inside joke you two shared. With every problem you helped each other with. And all this time, you have been mistakenly taking your feelings for him as just friendly affection. Because it’s normal to cuddle with your best friend, right? Because all good friends feel warm and giggly and at home when spending time with each other, right? Because the only reason you wanted to spend all day by his side was that you had so much fun together, right?

Because you were happy that he had finally gotten on a date with the girl he liked...

Right?

You know him better than he knows himself, probably. You have learnt to love and treasure every one of his quirks and flaws that make him who he is. No matter how weird they are. And at some point in all the time you two have been friends, you have come to find how to complement them with your own and vice versa. It is noticeable, for instance, in the way you give him the tomatoes on your salad pretending you don’t like them that much because you know he loves them. In the way he lies and says he’s not hungry anymore so you can eat the last slice of pizza without feeling guilty about it. In the way you always remind him the importance of studying when he feels like giving up and just going out and have fun. In the way he helps you to stop, breathe and take a break when you are overwhelmed by all the homework and deadlines. In the way you never fail to tell him when he is being an overconfident, annoying prick. In the way he not even once hesitates to inform you about it whenever you’re being an insufferable know-it-all. In the way that, when he’s drunk and loud at parties, you’re always silently taking care of him by his side. In the way that, when you’re being too shy and quiet, he’s consistently pushing you out of your comfort zone so you can have more fun. You are opposites, yes, but you have found balance; you know how to perfectly complement each other, like two sides of a coin.

It seems almost crazy for you to remember how reluctant you were to let him in at first. How you tried your best to keep up the walls you had built to protect yourself from this seemingly rude asshole who found his amusement in banging every girl he saw on campus... But you remember too how hard he tried to prove you wrong. How he accepted his actions and didn’t pretend to be ashamed of them, but was willing to try and change because he understood that it was not the best way to act. How he was mature enough to not be afraid of asking for help. How once you accepted to see him regularly, he was early for every one of your little coffee meetings and how he never complained about you being always late. How his head would excitedly pop up every time he heard the café’s door open and flash that stunning bunny smile at you, instantly lighting up the whole room. How he’d hear every word you said as if you were telling him the most important secret of the universe. How it took him much less than a week to learn your favourite coffee order and the only type of muffin you liked. How he started to wait for you with them on the table, never expecting you to pay for it even if you insisted. How much attention and innocent compliments he constantly showered you in. How honest and sincere he seemed when doing all of it: like he was doing it all out of will, not as an obligation; like he was enjoying it. And specially, how you could appreciate the way his eyes lit up as he talked about this girl he was so interested in. As much as you were ashamed to admit it, it was surprisingly easy for him to win over your heart after a couple of days. He was charming and cheerful, always making you laugh and helping you to be a little less stressed. So when the day came that they had to kick you out of the café because it was already time to close but you had been having such a great time that you hadn’t even realised how quickly time had gone by... that was the exact moment in which you decided that hey, maybe he wasn’t as bad as you had initially thought. 

Only when you enter the restaurant Jungkook has picked for the date and you see him flashing that dazzling smile he’s shown to you a million times at a pretty girl sitting across from him on the table, only then the truck hits you and, at the sound of the first thunder, rain starts to pour over your head.

That’s the moment you finally realise that you’re hopelessly in love with Jeon Jungkook. And a lot of things begin to make sense; like that peculiar sting you feel every time he starts to talk about Emily and how much he likes her. The incessant fantasizing about how it would feel it he was talking about you instead. The way you can’t help the ton of cute nicknames that roll out of your mouth every time you talk to him. How you can’t seem to keep your hands off of him whenever he’s close. And you blame yourself for not realising earlier because, well, in hindsight, it was pretty fucking obvious.

You suddenly feel like a lost puppy; like a fish out of water; like a kid without its mother at a store. You struggle to breathe normally and to keep your composure. You desperately want to run out of that place and never see Jungkook’s face or hear from him ever again. The main reason you even had got so close in the first place is because you were helping him to get the girl, how could you have been so stupid to still fall for him being aware of that? You were just a mean to an end, not the end itself. You probably should have kept that in mind earlier though, you think as you walk up to the table.

But as his eyes meet yours and he smiles at you and you feel that familiar warm sensation go through your whole body that you can recognise now as another sign of your undeniable love for him, you know you can’t escape. Not that you would have really tried to, anyway. And with the heels you have trapped yourself in, it’s not like you could have, either. You remind yourself that you are there to support you best friend on his special date and that is what you are going to do, even if that means bearing with his unceasing flirting towards Emily and probably them getting out of there early so they can go have sex somewhere.

To be fair, he has said he would take it slow, but old habits die hard and it wouldn’t be too difficult for him to get her in his bed if he wanted to, judging by the eyes she was looking at him with. And in all honesty, who wouldn’t want to go with him? At first you always wondered why he had it so easy with all the girls, but now, any mystery surrounding that question had vanished. Your last hope for the evening was Jungkook’s friend not being a total prick. You sigh, mentally steeling yourself; you sure were in for a long night.

But much to your astound, the evening has started okay. You’re coping well so far, which is also a surprise. Your initial impulse of running away has almost disappeared, but a feeling that something’s not right has also arisen. It’s like a tingling sensation on your gut that tells you that something’s just out of place. But what exactly is it? It’s not the place; Jungkook really tried it’s best to find something that wasn’t too fancy but not the simple Starbucks you two visited every day. It is really perfect for a first date. And it’s not Namjoon. Your accompanier is absolutely charming and, on a side note, handsome as hell. And it’s not Jungkook either; he looks dazzling, almost beaming. You could tell how happy he was to be there from miles away. And besides feeling like a complete fool for not noticing all the signals of your giant crush on your best friend before; it isn’t you either. So everything points straight at Emily. You can sense something is wrong about her, but you can’t point your finger at it. It’s not simply jealousy. Excepting the sharp pain in your chest, you’re happy that he’s finally on this date he has been preparing over a year for. You really are. You just wish the best for him, even if it destroys your heart and leaves it shattered in a million pieces. And she’s nice, extremely beautiful; she seems perfect at first sight.

So the question remains; what is it?

After a while, you start losing your mind. You really don’t want to stare too much at her; you can swear to all the gods above that you are trying your best. But by the time the main dish arrives, you are surprised she still hasn’t called you out, because it’s as you have your eyes glued to her, unable to look anywhere else. Too focused on deciphering what is it that’s bugging you so much about her to actually pay attention to the conversation going on between the three other people at the table.

Of course there was the occasional “mhm” and a head nod whenever you remembered you were supposed to be listening, but besides from that, you haven’t been what you could say talkative. Surprisingly enough, when you snap out of your thoughts and theories to try and talk to your date as if you really wanted to be there in the first place, you notice why Namjoon hadn’t made any comment on your quietness.

He is currently having a heated conversation with Emily in which Jungkook doesn’t seem to take any part in. He’s silently staring at his plate, which remains untouched. You suddenly feel a rush of blood go straight to your cheeks as you feel something that can only be describes as wrath creeping upon you. You don’t really care about Namjoon not being interested in you; you hadn’t planned on continuing to see him after this date anyway. Nothing personal; you just wouldn’t have been able to focus properly on anyone but Jungkook until you had completely gotten over him. And you had thought that he didn’t deserve to act as a tool to get over him quicker. But if someone doesn’t deserve something; it’s Jungkook having his friend and his date doing him so dirty.

The whole situation would have seemed almost funny to you if it was you in his place. Or if you couldn’t notice the way Jungkook is so quiet you’d think he was voiceless if you didn’t know him. Or the way his eyes wander around the whole restaurant, avoiding at all costs landing on Emily and Namjoon, who are too focused on their little private conversation to realise they are the only ones actually talking. Or how he is nervously playing with his hands instead of eating. Or how his lips are just a thin line, his eyebrows furrowed so much it gives the impression of being painful.

You want to grab Emily shoulders and shake her, tell her all about the boy she was missing on. The boy who had spent over a year talking non-stop about her as if she was the eighth wonder of the World. But most importantly; the boy who wouldn’t hesitate about jumping in front of a train for her if it was necessary. The boy who pretended to be though but couldn’t say no if you wanted to cuddle. The boy who would simulate to know what he was doing whenever you asked him to braid your hair because he wouldn’t want to say no to you. The boy who would listen to you talking about your problems and hold you so tight in his arms you would almost think he was trying to put back together all your broken pieces. The boy who would come running to your house at four o'clock in the morning if you called him, crying over your favourite show’s season finale. The boy who would also buy ice cream on his way and wipe your tears and listen to you talk about the characters as if they were real and play with your hair until you were fast asleep. The boy who made sure you were always healthy and happy and would be willing to carry you on his back to the hospital if you even mentioned you were feeling the slightest bit sick. The boy who was a total sweetheart and only needed someone to take the time to understand and accept him as he was; a giant, brawny cuddly bear, so caring and full of love you’d think his chest was so big just because his heart took up all the space.

And yet there she was, flirting with his friend instead.

You comprehend that it takes its time to get to know the cuddle-bear side of Jungkook; if someone knows about it that was most definitely you. You were also certain about the fact that feelings cannot be controlled at will and that if she felt more attracted to Namjoon that was not something you could blame her for; but in all honesty, all you want to do is protect Jungkook from getting hurt in any way. After all, it was you the one who had been there at half past three in the morning when he wouldn’t stop talking about her like a giggly teenager, eyes sparkling and a smile glued to his lips. You had been the one to reassure him on asking her out on a date and encouraged him in the first place so in some way, you feel responsible for his pain.

And although you want to shout at the top of your lungs to the entire universe how unfair it is being on Jungkook, little Jungkookie who had gotten so far from the boy you had met one year ago, who had worked so hard towards becoming a better person and who absolutely didn’t deserve any bad things happening to him, all you can do is give him a reassuring smile when his eyes finally connect to yours and follow him when he announces he’s going outside to get some fresh air.

“You didn’t have to come” he whispers, lowering his head and propping his elbows on a balustrade. He hides his face in his hands, letting out a loud sigh. 

“Yeah right, because I was having such a great conversation with my date!”

“I’m sorry about all this" 

When he talks, he sounds almost ashamed, and your heart is on the verge of breaking. You awkwardly surround him with an arm, leaning your head against his shoulder. The atmosphere is tense, which is not usual between you.

"Me too" 

He finally uncovers his face and stares at you without any definable expression.

"What for? I was the one who dragged you to this date in the first place”

You disgruntledly smile, tugging one lock of hair behind his ear so you can see his face better. You force him to turn to you and cup his face with both hands, smiling endearingly.

“I’m sorry that she couldn’t see or didn’t want to take the time to know what an amazing boy you are. And you are, okay? Don’t look at me like that! You’re a wonderful person, Jeon Jungkook, and if she can’t come to realise that, she’s the one losing anyway!" 

He smiles at you, but it’s not his usual, sweet, bunny-like smile. It’s slightly obscure, as if you had just mocked him.

"Yeah right but, please correct me if I’m wrong, you have rejected me before too, so-”

“That’s bullshit. That was a long time ago, and you were a stupid fuckboy so don’t try to compare-”

“So what you’re saying is” he unhurriedly removes your hands from his face and grabs you by the small of your back, bringing his face dangerously closer to yours “that now you would accept to go out with me?” he enunciates every word really slow, and you swallow hard, trying to process them.

“That’s not important right now, you’re only doing this because you’re hurt and I’m not going to be your rebound girl-" 

"Is that a yes?”

You try to get his hands out of your back, but he only tightens his grip.

“Answer me” his voice is demanding; his eyes locked to yours as if he was trying to read your mind.

“I... yes” you let out in a strangled whisper. 

“Sorry? I couldn’t hear you” he teasingly smiles, coming even closer to your face. 

Your lips are mere inches away and your breaths melt into one, your noses almost touching. With one small movement the distance could completely disappear, but as one revealing thought comes to your mind, you shove him away and this time, he doesn’t put up any resistance.

You finally discover what had been wrong the whole evening.

“Why have you been lying to me?”

“Pardon me?” his jaw drops slightly, his lips forming an almost perfect “o” shape.

“That… that girl who’s inside talking to Namjoon… she’s... she’s not Emily. Her name is Charlotte Douthit. She was in my Economic Sciences class last semester. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise, don’t you dare lie to me again, what the fuck is happening here Jungkook?”

“I can explain–” he tries to grab your arm but you hiss at his touch and quickly take it away. “Look, do you have any idea of how hard it was for me, liking you all this time and knowing you were far out of my league? And I–”

“Do you like–”

“I couldn’t just ask you out. You had already said no to me before, multiple times in fact. You had let it very clear that you didn’t like me at all, so honestly, what would have been different? I was terrified. I still am. And the worst part is that now we were friends, so I couldn’t take a chance and ruin it all, I couldn’t risk losing you”

“So you decided that lying was best than–”

He gives you an almost exasperated glance before running a hand through his hair and interrupting you once again. 

“Just let me speak! I thought… I thought that if I got rejected in front of you, you would feel sorry for me and maybe… maybe come to realise that you liked me a bit?”

“You’re not answering my question though. What does that girl have to do with all that? What about Emily? What about everything that you told me about her? All those sleepless nights you would spend talking about the wonderful, amazing, dazzling Emily who you liked so much and was so fucking perfect to you, what was that?”

He looks at you, completely irritated now, like he was saying the most obvious thing in the world in the simplest words and you still wouldn’t catch it. He grabs your shoulders, and tough his grip is a bit harsher than strictly necessary, you secretly thank him because you truly felt like you were about to faint.

“It’s you!” he cries out before lowering his voice and his head, his shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly. “It… it always has been you. There’s no Emily, just… just you. I was talking about you all this time”

“And why is... I mean, Charlotte, who... what… what is she doing here?” words come messily stumbling out of your mouth, and you’re conscious that you’re stammering, but as things slowly begin to fall into place, you can’t help but feel dizzy.

“She’s a close... friend of Namjoon who’s majoring in drama, actually, so we convinced her to impersonate Emily tonight. And I was supposed to act sad and affected by the fact she overlooked me for Namjoon so you would feel extra bad for me. Which I think I managed pretty well–“ He suddenly cuts himself, because of course, Jeon fucking Jungkook, owner of the biggest pride this world has ever seen, just had to clear out what an excellent job he had done; it couldn’t be any other way. “But you weren’t supposed to– I mean, we didn’t think you two had already met. She didn’t... she didn’t told us anything about that, and–”

He lowers his head and starts nervously playing with his hands, struggling to come up with the appropriate words. The whole scene reminds you of a little kid who has been caught doing something bad. 

“Why the hell did you think that this would be a good idea?!” now that everything’s beginning to make sense, the initial bewilderment starts to fade, giving a step to anger to make its appearance. “Why couldn’t you just ask me out?! What the fuck is up with all this complex plan? What is wrong with you?!!”

“I already told you! I couldn’t risk losing you!” he finally pops up his head again while his hands wave all over the air surrounding his body in irritation, looking, although with difficulty, straight into your eyes. They looked watery but... but that could be you imagining things. “I had to check what your reaction would be and... and I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know what I was thinking. It looked like a good plan before we actually got here. I wasn’t expecting you to find out”

“Why couldn’t you be a normal person and ask me out?! I hate you so much, Jeon!” 

He lets out a loud gasp, and you can see the pain in his eyes.

“You… you don’t... you don’t mean that” he manages to squeal, his voice cracking mid-sentence. 

He tries to get closer to you, but with every step forward he takes, you move backwards. Until your back’s against the balustrade and there’s no escape for you.

Finally, although with hesitation, almost distressingly slow, his lips press against yours. It’s a messy kiss, full of fear; fear of losing you, fear of it not being reciprocated, fear of you actually hating him; fear of him not really meaning his words, fear of him regretting doing all this for you, fear of things not working out. His lips feel silky and soft on yours, moving with delicacy, as if you were so fragile that he could break you if he made any more pressure.

Some seconds pass before you come back to your senses and push him away, but without actually getting too far from him, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist and one of your hands still tangled on his messy hair while the other steadily grabbed the black tie he was wearing around his neck.

“No!” you whisper, slightly panting; your chest irregularly and quickly moving up and down, your forehead resting on his, your eyes still closed.

“No?” the hurt is almost tainteable on his weak voice, and you force yourself to open your eyes.

“Look, I love you, but I’m still mad at you. We can discuss it in the morning when I’ve had the time to think about this whole thing, though–”

His face instantly enlightens.

“We can spend the night discussing it if you want. We can discuss it an entire month, a year, fuck; we can discuss it until we’re ninety years old. And you can be mad at me all you wish as long as we get through this together. I know I was a childish fool, but that’s what I am when it comes to you, and I’m sorry, but this is all new to me! I’m willing to learn, because you deserve someone better. And I want to be that; you make me want to be a better version of myself every day, and I love you with every cell of my body”

The firmness of his words makes it hard for you –and you can swear you were trying your best– to hold back the giant grin that’s threatening to spread on your lips.

“Stop being so cute, I’m trying to be mad at you right now!”

“Well I’m not stopping you”

His smile is as bright as a thousand stars, and you can’t help but melt your lips with his in another long kiss, and as Jungkook lifts you up from your feet and spins you around in ecstasy, laughing and looking at you so warmly that you could come undone under his stare; you’re struck with the sudden certainty that maybe he was an intricate, complicated, peculiar freak who couldn’t ask you on a date like a normal guy; but you wouldn’t have it any other way. And as he puts you back on the ground, fondly kisses your forehead and hugs you so tightly that it seems like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear at any given second; and as a familiar, warm, tingling sensation goes through every atom of your being and makes you feel at ease, like all the problems you ever had didn’t matter anymore; you know there’s no way you could ever let go of him for as long as you lived. 

Because yes, Jeon Jungkook was a truck; but he is also the saving hand who pulls you out of the way a second before anything happens and holds you in his embrace until you stop shaking, until you finally get that you’re no longer in danger in his arms. He was a storm; but he is also the one willing to walk and dance under the rain with you, to put up with all the lightning, the thunder, and the downsides of getting soaked, and to make you a coffee and a hot bath as soon as you get back inside.

Because despite representing an ever ending list of things to you, what Jeon Jungkook mostly resembles, what you always feel when you look into his eyes, is the comforting sentiment of being at home.

thank you for reading!! and for sticking with me through this!! hope you enjoy the last part 💖

[goddamnitlady]

OOC // super long post of me talking at myself, trying to make sense of my behaviour.

I need to put this chaos of thoughts down on the page. Or else they might claw my skull open from the inside out. This text is so super personal it would fit better in my diary. This is me talking at me.

So no obligation to you to read this!!!

I realise I’m so shaken, that in the below text, I will be (re-)constructing my own narrative about myself. I’ll do that right here. 

I will use this narrative to review what I learnt about my behaviour, re-interpret my past and then frame my current social reality. If I use kinder language, perhaps I'll think kinder of myself? Gotta try that. This is my unstructured train of thought, me talking at me. If you want to read about me talking at you, scroll down.

Enjoy some nude TMI. It’s long.

INTRO - BEHAVIOUR 

Yesterday I went to A.DHD Central to get tested and maybe a diagno.sis and surprise, I have it! I saw it coming and I'm okay with this. It explains why... 

why I'm always so easily distracted

why it's almost painful to be bored

why it's almost to do difficult tasks 

why I've got social periods that can last days or month and then suddenly get asocial periods

why I forget something 3 seconds after you said it

why I can't remember more than 3 instructions

why I don't have one train of thought, but 3 or 4. And I need to jump from train to train to keep up with them.

Okay so that's that.

The OTHER thing that I cannot stop thinking about now is just as important. The old man said it very casually, like: "oh btw on such an intense diagnosis day our team of trained specialist always finds other mental difficulties people developed too. AD.HD comes with friends. We see you have (traits of) avoi.dant personality disor.der okay continuing on, your computer test showed..."

And today I'm at home. I picked up my me.ds this morning and I've started dosing. I started thinking, wait what did they say yesterday about that other thing? So I read through Wikipedia.

ME TALKING @ ME. ^That new info about my behaviour changes my interpretation of my past.   

Yesterday a professional told me that 50% of the kids with ADH.D leave primary school feeling like an outcast so it's not weird I was bullied too.

On primary school I was dia.gnosed with dyslexia and dyscalculia. It means that letters and numbers magic to me. They tremble and swap places or vanish. The classes Maths and Languages were awful to me. Biology and History were better and more fun but they also make use of numbers (dates/calculations). Art class (with my hands or brain) was the one thing I could actually do. I could do presentations and discussions as well.

But I felt different from my peers because they could learn things so EASILY compared to me. I wasn't dumb, I understood, but then the explanation was gone and I'd forgotten it again(AD.HD). So I needed lots of repetition to learn. And then once I understood it the letters/numbers kept moving without my consent! (dyslexia/dyscalucia) Stupid letters/numbers.

I moved houses and thus switched schools. On the new school became bullied by being socially exluded, ignored, and critisized.

That bullying made me feel like I could be 'attacked' in class all the time. In hindsight I was sensitive to stimuli. Everyone has a filter on their mind that ignores certain things (like the fact you are breathing. congratulations, you are now aware that you are breathing) and lets other things through (such as the honk of a car when you're jaywalking). Child!me must have been working super hard to 

pay attention to class 

filter stimuli 

categorise high-speed which stimuli are hostile 

muffle intense emotional reactions 

consider which version of reply would create least conflict/emotion 

A lack of sleep (from reading books until late) make me sleepy during the day thus less sensitive to (negative) stimuli. 

So I became from age 10 onward very much an outcast/ anxious/ nervous/ shy/ avoidant-of-confrontations-where-I-could-be-rejected. 

I was bullied on secondary school too. Jackpot.

I worked harder than average but my grades were lower than average. I felt inadequate. Inferior. My self reflection went into overdrive. I started to think things like... if I can't do maths or language and don't like people, what sort of career could I do? What value did I have to humanity?  Was I not just taking up resources? I felt guilt and shame that my parents had to waste(!) money on me. No economic equation could justify having me around. I was a useless human being. My only good trait is that I'm kind to people, showing kindness always -- even if they don't deserve it. Because I know what it’s like to be hurt and I don’t want to do that to anyone. 

(I feel so fucking lucky that I grew up in a loving family because holy shit teenage!me sounded like the textbook perfect victim for types of abuse.)

I worked hard in all my classes and it paid off. I went to the above-medium level of education for secondary school. Finally away from my bullies at age 15,5! I think that ended my de.pression too. I switched schools to above-medium, it was a normal period on that secondary school.  Two more years after that went fine. Made my long-term school friends and cosplay friends in that time and since. Yay!

After that, I studied graphic design on adult education medium level, then for Teacher of English As A Foreign Language on above-medium level, now I'm this(!) close to finishing Literature Studies on university (highest) level. Take that, insecurity. I'm not stupid. My specialities (creativity) just lay elsewhere than the standard measurement.

I read somewhere that AD.HD people don't have normal emotions but that one emotion TIMES TEN. So a small mention of rejecton from another person causes a feeling of REJECTION TIMES TEN in me. I can easily say that I have joy times TEN, fear times TEN, and enthusiasm times TEN too, which can make me a very charming person?

I initially thought this strong emotional fear of rejection was the AD.HD-only symptom called RSD, rejection-sensitive dys.phoria. What makes it into a personality diso.rder?

Answer: Persistent malfunctioning in society. 

ME TALKING @ ME. Re-framing my social reality and examining my behaviours.

I malfunction as follows: I experience extreme shyness in certain moments, feel anxious before or during new social situations, don't want to go to the kitchen if my housemates are there, have a fear of emailing/calling people, or approaching groups. Fear of asking money back (I feel like "I'm not worth even a euro"). I have a GIANT fear of being rejected by others. Giant fear of being ridiculed. Cast out.

This leads to a behavior pattern where I avoid conflict. I'm just too scared to do them. Critique freaks me out (because me emotions will skyrocket times ten). And it's the worst when I'm doing a project with people (such as preparing a presentation with a group/making cosplay costume with a friend/travelling home by train and someone needs to pick me up). People are the worst. I feel I always let them down.

So then anticipate on being inadequate, take longer to do it perfect, get ill from thinking up a thousand stressful could-be's, then fiiiiiinally reach out, and hear "you should have done X" or "why didn't you call me earlier?! Now I have to deal with this escalated mess!"

HOW I RESPOND TO ONLINE STIMULI

When friends send me a message online, I get scared. I ALWAYS have fear of opening them. I always think "what did I do wrong this time?" I always anticipate an attack. This is why it's good I have both friends AND other people on whatsapp. Sometimes this emotional anticipation or reaction is so strong that it can dominate my mood for hours.

Sometimes (when I'm most afraid) I open the message to get rid of the notification and don't actually read it. 

Sometimes (when I'm fearful brave) I take a deep breath and read it and take an hour to deal with the stressful emotional reaction. I want to reply but 1)I need to think of the perfect reply to type up so the negative situation will be quelled or/or followed by 2) my AD.HD forgets it.

Sometimes (when I'm happy) I can respond immediately. I'm functional!!!

Sometimes (when I'm happy) I respond immediately and them too and it's fun! And I have a blast! Wow, talking to friends is so much fun!!! I'm charming. I'm fast. I'm celebrating.

Nowadays I have a lot of friends. At least twenty five! They're divided into four groups: hometown, student life, online, cosplay. These are "friends without obligation" MEANING that my presence is a addition and not a requirement. They will never guilt me for cancelling on them. We can only hang out once a year and have a blast without talking at all during the rest of the year, and we will still conciser each other friends.           I consider them friends if I can message/call them up at 2 a.m. and cry about a boyfriend or needing a place to sleep. Which is a huge deal to me, me-who-feels-guilty-for-taking-up-resources.)          It don’t always function. I can hide for weeks, avoiding social contact. Then I can be super functional for weeks. Ups and downs.          I function best around friends without obligations. 

ME @ TUMBLR FRIENDS.

I suppose I want my tumblr friends to know that...

I 'squish' on a person. I use the word here in the meaning of 'plantonic crushing' and 'wanting to have an emotional bond with them as friend'. I sometimes stalk/bombard a person with messages/like every post/am super invested in everything they do. Usual reason: because I think they are a fantastic content creator. This makes me feel like they are inspiring and amazing and sometimes 'socially higher ranked' than me.          To battle my inferiority, I want them to acknowledge me. I want to 'have' them. I hate to admit it, but the words "notice me senpai" sum it up badly. A better way of describing it is “proving my inferiority complex as wrong and my internalised social hierarchy as false as fast as I can”.         The resolution is often hanging out in chat and writing a thread together. It will make me realise that we're both humans. Often, once the person gives me attention, I very quickly normalise them and am able to stop bad thoughts.        I really dislike the senpai/kohai dynamic and want to get rid of it asap. Giving me attention helps! I've experienced this squishing in class/ social/ work/ online/ cosplay environments. If I am 'squishing' on you, just pat my head, okay? 

I feel compelled to admit have had squishes on but then normalised as equal Sky.e, Ni.kki, Ju.lia, E.su, Ham.my, J, Cel.este, Va.na, and various others who I don’t need to mention because I never became friends with them. My squishes on these people were on the creative person as future friend, not(!!!) on the muses. I still have a ton of respect for these people.

People I'm in the process of normalising are Surfi and Jana. I'm doing well. I’m not that bad. When Hammy appears I still want a pat on the head though.

One person I'm squishing on quite much right now is Nami. I want all their attention. Nami, if you're reading this, I hope it doesn't drive you crazy (not as mad as it drives me). So I'm sorry that I post a reply 0.3 seconds after you post and seem to be online 24/7. 

And if anyone else is reading this, sorry I’m paying less attention to you.

I hate it when partners drop threads unannounced because I'll be waiting by the front door like a labrador waiting for a dead owner to come home.

Its fine if you tell me you want to drop a thread, no problem, no feeling of rejection here.

It's fine if you take 2 years to reply to a thread. Literally.

I forget thread posts. Feel free to poke me when I take longer than a month.

Me not replying to your roleplay request is because I'm imagining that my rejection of your request will hurt you as much as it would hurt me. I'm imagining your pain and emphasize with my fantasy to the point that I leave your request in my inbox for months. And then it hurts that I didn't reply.

Me not posting your submission/ask message is because I'm always feeling inferior. I don't feel worthy of your attention. I don't feel worthy of your text/art/time, so when I get it I feel THRILLED. Like, "WOW they like me!! Take that inferiority complex!!" I feel thrilled. I have to give you the perfect reply that will show you exactly how thrilled I am. Or give you a perfect drabble as reply.

Me not replying to your chat messages is not me intentionally disrespecting you. You are important. Goddamnit I want to keep you as a friend. It's me being EMOTIONAL AS FUCK AND I'M PREPARING A REPLY or I FORGOT ABOUT IT.

I only give myself permission to delete those after 6 months of struggling.

Me roleplaying super intensely with you and then suddenly not at all, is because the following happened: 

I  squished on you back then,

we wrote and for a while my days centerend around your online hours, 

I normalised you and I found tranquillity (good ending) OR 

I was called away because I had ignored real life and it became on fire. (bad ending, very much at risk of uncontrolled squishing on you again!!!)  

(I want to continue to enjoy being friends with you Super Duper Much, I respect your distaste for my silences, I’m sorry, and I feel bad TIMES TEN that I put you in this mood.) (I then feel worthless. Then inferior and wow hello devil on my shoulder that tells me bad things. Hey devil if you’re here do you pay rent?  And I begin to avoid you which makes you even unhappier. Then I avoid you and - etc. etc. Goddamn I just want to be friends and write rp WHY am I like this! Why am I so fearful? It doesn’t make any sense!)  

The thought of writing with you makes me excited times ten. I respect you. And because we didn't RP and you're worried and I feel I let you down... I want to "make it up to you by being perfect and worthy".        It catapults me right back into the mindset/habits from where I used to squish on you, and my day will center around you again. I know I don't /want/ that mindset to ambush me. It'll control me.         So I either postpone engagement with you, OR I ask/agree a day where we can write together. Then my intense emotions and refresh-the-page obsession and "OH MY GOD THIS RP IS SO GOOD U R SUCH AN AWESOME CONTENT CREATOR WE HAVE SO MUCH FUN" thoughts can be limited to that day.         During the next days (I usually need days), I can cool down from the hype and try to continue with my life and productively avoid the bad squish. This may come across as cold. But I assure you, my mind is constantly on you. And when I’m settled, I’ll be easier to approach for casual RP again. 

I find it extremely hard to deal with users who see me as their senpai. When I feel that you idolise me as senpai, want my attention and affection, want to be my friend, I get really uncomfortable. I usually search for ways to calm you down and make you realize I'm human. But if I do not feel equal, (because of IM chat/because writing styles clash) I can’t hang out with you. That’s not you, that’s me. Feeling inferior is something I’m trained in now and know how to go to ‘equals’ level fast, I’m not trained at all to feel superior. I screw up wayyy to much to accept that role. I will fear hurting you. I wouldn’t know how to try to become equals. So then I dash away. I’m sorry.

I'm not good at IM messaging in chat on tumblr or other social media online because I'll 1)get scared of the messages or 2) really really want to write with you. So I generally don't want to chat at all, except to plot roleplays. I find it difficult to send friends regular 'hi how are you' messages because I want a "friendship-without-obligations" that I described earlier.

Wow this list must scare you. I'm sorry.

It scares me. Wow, what a manual. I'm so complicated.

I'm worried now about whether I should post this. I sound like such a... a crazy online person that has a ton of things wrong in the head and should be avoided at all cost. ......... No, let me rephrase that. I’m a self-reflective person. I am a critical analyst of my mind and it's unique I can put it into words. 

DEAR TUMBLR FRIENDS...

- You don't want my squishing + I don't want my squishing. Let's work together so this bad mindset doesn't thrive, OK?

- You don't want to be ignored + I don't want my ‘conflict avoiding anxiety’ that makes me ignore you. Let's continue to communicate!! Please sandwich your critique in kindness. Kind-critical-kind. Then I'll reply faster!

- I am worth as much as every one of you. I am NOT your kohai and if you start seeing me as such I'll feel offended. I'm worth as much as any of you. (My mind cannot be trusted.)

- You cannot control what emotions I feel, nor the intensity. Anything(!) could spark me to go into a different mindset.

ROLEPLAY I suppose I have a 'type' of muse. 

I like writing confident-arrogant muses who never hesitate about being better than others. They used their unique traits that set them apart to excel (not fall), and are so fearless of social rejections that they boldly abandoned social-mediocority to craft a setting they thrive in.       Its because their growth/conquer mindsets appeal to me. I want to continue training myself to think like that. It helps battle my fears.       I identify with them.       Reasons: I worked hard and rose from being bullied at primary school and medium education level to upper-middle level. Now I'm at highest level of education (university) despite my flaws. I channelled my traits of creativity + kindness + hard work and made a ton of friends. I am now struggling with my university bachelor thesis. I have to finish it asap, but damn, I'm amazing, I never thought I'd get this far?? I'm in my world of my own making. My loving supporting surrounding friends/family/teachers help me function.  

IN CONCLUSION....

So in conclusion, I can only ask for your friendship, your kindness to forgive me when I mess up, and to please occasionally pet my head.

In return, I will generously offer friendship for however long you want me, will bravely engage in struggles to reply to your messages in time, and I offer you lots of FEELS from my muses.

I'm going to make sure that the time we hang out and write together, will be the MOST AMAZING EXPERIENCE.

Excerpt from my thoughts to show you how it goes: Small bad thought in my head: "don't abandon me, please accept this RP service I offer, because you won't hang out with me for my personality due to my bad attention/communication skills. I can see why you like my Orochimaru/muses but can hardly see why you could like me." Louder good thought in my head: "Shut up you're a feeling from the AD.HD or conflict-avoident-personality-type part of my brain and you can't be trusted. LA LA LA I'M NOT LISTENING. I'M GREAT." Small thought: "...Keep telling yourself that." Louder thought: "Ouch. I mean. LA LA LA. POSITIVE SELF-DECEPTION  AGAINST BAD THOUGHTS UNTIL IT'S AN INTERNALISED TRUTH IS AN EMPOWERING METHOD THAT WORKS. LA LA LA." So that’s how it works. Sometimes I cannot differ which of the thoughts is bad and which one is the good one. 

EPILOGUE, I’m done.

Okay. I think I have figured myself out. I’ve re-evaluated my past. 

The urgent mess of thoughts in my brain has calmed down. I no longer feel like my head will explode. 

I’ve said all the things I wanted to say to myself, and I’ve said the things I want to say to tumblr friends. 

I’m going to pretend nooooo oneeee took the time to read this big post... so no one will be angry (something which I fear for no logical reason) ... and I’ll be able to sleep right now. 

[imwastingmylifeinhere]

Magnus Chase and the Obligatory Hogwarts AU Ch6

On ao3

This chapter would have been uploaded on Sunday, buuut it’s April seventh today, my birthday, so I thought I’d celebrate! Anywho, please enjoy the gang’s first chapter in sixth year!

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

He was late for the Hogwarts Express again. Again.

Sure, last year he had been late too, but last summer had been especially difficult. He had been living in the streets, so even simply getting to King’s Cross had been hard. He had started walking to the train station days in advance in order to make sure he wouldn’t miss the train and yet still somehow manage to almost miss it.

But this year had been different. This year he hadn’t been sleeping under bridges and on benches. Professor Blitzen and Hearthstone run a care home for Hogwarts students who couldn’t go home for the summer called “Perthro” and they had taken Magnus and Alex in.

In fact, that had been one of the best parts of summer. Sure, Magnus might have spent a few days in summer with his friends here and then, but he had never spent an entire summer with one of them. Alex had been great company and they had found out a lot of things they had in common. They both liked hiking and camping, they both liked the outdoors and spending time there. Alex didn't know a lot about pop culture, being a pureblood, but Magnus had shown her famous movies and books and they had bonded over their shared love for fantastical worlds (which was kind of weird considering they were wizards, but meh).

That is not to say this summer didn’t have its bad parts. Magnus had been struggling- and still was struggling- with his mother’s death and the pain his memories of her brought him. He didn’t think he’d ever be over it, not a hundred percent, but he had come to terms with the fact he didn’t need to. And maybe didn’t want to. Those memories were painful, yes, but… they were still his memories of his mother. They were a part of him and they were too precious to forget, even if they hurt him.

The worst instance of that had been on the anniversary of the day of the fire. He had been having a perfectly fine summer up until the point he realised that it was a year ago, at about this time of year, that his mother died. And from the moment he had thought of that, he couldn't get it out of his head. When the actual day came, Magnus was, in hindsight, a total jerk to other people. He had been way too snappy at Alex and all the other kids in Perthro, even when they treated him nicely. He didn't tell anyone what was wrong, rationalising that he'd be back to normal once the day was over, so there was no reason to trouble anyone else.

But Alex knew how much of a stupid bottler he was and didn't take any of his rude behaviour to heart. When Magnus locked himself in the cleaning cabinet to cry, Alex had been there to lend him her shoulder even if Magnus had tried to push her away.

"Oh, please, I'm not going anywhere,” Alex had said after Magnus had told her to leave. “You’re a mess and I’m not leaving you like this alone.”

And yet somehow, as awesome a friend as Alex was, she had forgotten to do one simple thing.

"I told you to keep track of time!" Magnus dinner Alex as they run down the station towards platform 9¾.

“I did!” Alex protested. “I just… didn’t after a point.”

Blitzen and Hearthstone – the two teachers insisted kids at Perthro didn’t need to call the ‘Professor’ during the summer – had brought everyone at King's Cross that morning. You'd think that when they were at the train station earlier than almost anyone else they couldn't possibly miss the train.

But they had gotten so bored during the first few minutes of just waiting at the platform that they decided to put their luggage on the train and go look around. Alex had been the one wearing a watch so Magnus ad asked her to look at the time so they would go back to Platform 9¾ on time. Sure, they could have done a spell to see the time, but technically, they weren’t allowed to do magic yet.

They were having so much fun just wandering around and making comments about the people and things they saw that they had both forgotten the time and by the time Magnus had asked Alex what time it was, they were already late. They rushed of the small café they had walked into and started running for their train.

Thankfully, they didn’t have to drag their trunks behind them, which made running as fast as you can a lot easier. Still, Alex was holding onto a ham sandwich she bought at the café because she had slept in and didn’t manage to get any breakfast that morning and she looked ridiculous trying to weave through the crowds of people while also holding onto it and occasionally eating it. There were times when she even held it in her mouth, like one of those ridiculous anime girls that run to school with a piece of bread in their mouth while being all like “I’m late! I’m late! I’m late!” The only thing that was missing was running head first into your love interest.

“Ow!”

Magnus spoke too soon.

Alex had run straight into someone. That someone was a boy their age with brown hair and so many freckles and moles on their skin Magnus was pretty sure you could find constellations on his skin.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you!" The boy was quick to apologise, rushing to his feet and offering Alex a hand to get up. Alex took it and got to her feet, looking sadly at her sandwich that was lying dead on the ground.

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine,” Alex reassured him and dusted off her pants.

"Hey, um, are you Alex Fierro?" The boy asked. Alex looked at him surprised, not expecting to have been recognised by someone she thought had been just a random Muggle.

“Yeah. Do you go to Hogwarts too?”

“Yeah, and I’m running late. I’m Conall Nithercott, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Alex shook the hand the boy- Conall- was offering her.

“Uh, guys?” Magnus interrupted. “I think we should be going. The train might be about to leave.”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry!” Conall said, picking up his trunk from the ground. He started running along with Magnus and Alex to Platform 9¾.

The atmosphere at the Platform was just like any other first day of school; crowded, loud and buzzing with energy. There were people everywhere and, luckily, Magnus could still spot some kids with their trunks so they weren’t too late. Still, that didn’t mean they didn’t run to the train like their life depended on it and basically jumped on it.

They took a moment to get their breathing back to normal once they were on the train. They might not have run a big distance, but they had run fast and that, coupled with constantly having to dodge people, had tired them.

“Say, what house are you in?” Alex asked Conall once she caught her breath.

“Ravenclaw,” the boy answered. “You’re Slytherin, right?”

Alex smirked. “The green hair gave it away?”

“Kind of,” Conall giggled- yes, giggled.

Alex smiled before waving him off. “Well, we got to go find our friends. See you later!”

Conall waved them goodbye and after a second turned around to go look for his own friends. Magnus and Alex soon found their friends all sitting together in a compartment, talking amongst themselves.

“There you are!” Mallory said when they opened the door and walked in. “We thought you’d lose the train.”

“Sorry, sorry, we lost track of time," Alex apologised.

“Well, Alex did,” Magnus added with a smirk. Alex elbowed him in the ribs.

“Did anything happen while you were coming here?” T.J asked as Magnus and Alex sat down in the two empty seats their friends had saved for them.

“Not much.”Alex shrugged. “We did run into some boy called Conall Nithercott and…”

~~~~~~

A few weeks passed and the table 19 group was well into their fifth year, sixth in Halfborn’s case. All of the, with the exception of Halfborn again, were struggling to get used to the increased homework since this was their O.W.L year. Halfborn was simply having a good time laughing at their misery.

“Payback time!” He’d say triumphantly whenever he saw them die over their homework. Magnus was seriously regretting teasing him about how long he studied.

They were sitting at their beloved table 19 during breakfast when Alex saw that boy from the platform again. “Oh, hey!” She called out to him. “Good morning!”

They boy stopped in his tracks suddenly and looked at Alex, momentarily surprised before he wove back at her. “Good morning!”

“Is that the boy from the station?” Mallory asked in between mouthfuls of marmalade toast.

“Mm, yeah.”

"He reminds me of someone, but I can't remember who," Halfborn muttered. He stared at the boy for a moment before going back to slaughtering his bacon and sausages.

“You can’t remember what you ate for lunch yesterday,” Mallory teased him.

“I can. We had spaghetti yesterday.”

“Bad example,” grumbled Mallory. “The only thing you remember is food.”

“And how to annoy you,” Halfborn added.

The playful back and forth went on for a bit longer, but Magnus didn't pay much attention to what was piling. Lately, Halfborn and Mallory’s arguing (read: flirting) had been much more intense. Apparently, Alex agreed, because she leaned out of Mallory's field of vision to make a fake a gag at Magnus. Magnus nodded and repeated the action, only even more overdramatic.

God, those two needed to get together.

“O, anything new?” T.J asked as he spun his fork in his fingers. Magnus would be worried about it being dangerous if he hadn’t seen T.J do the same thing every year at breakfast since first year. The kid was a natural at spinning objects between his fingers.

As for ‘anything new?’, that was T.J’s lame excuse of a conversation started for whenever their conversation came to a dead end. It was always met with the same response:

“What new? We basically live together, we don’t have something new to talk about you don’t already know,” Mallory said. It was true that they didn’t have anything new to say, especially at the start of the day, but T.J’s stupid question had succeeded in getting the two love birds to stop flirting.

“Oh, um,” Sam said suddenly, making everyone at their table to turn and look at her. Whatever sudden thought she wanted to share with them had come to her, it seemed to embarrass her because she looked down at her plate and fiddled with her hijab.

“Yeah, what is it?” Magnus said, very interested all of a sudden. There was only one thing- or one person-  that could make Sam this flustered.

“Yeah, sis, what is it?” Alex asked, wearing a shit-eating grin that matched Magnus’.

“Do tell,” Mallory added. Halfborn wiggled his eyebrows for extra effect.

“Well, um,” she trailed off. “Amir….”

“What was that, we didn’t hear you well?” T.J said.

“Amir and his family are coming over for dinner,” she said quickly and then immediately used her hijab to cover her blushing face.

As if on cue, the whole table broke into a unanimous ‘awwww’.

“Really?” Mallory asked excitedly. “What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing much, really,” Sam mumbled. “They had invited us over to dinner during the summer so we invited them back to be polite. And they’re good people, so it’s nice to spend time with them.”

“So when is the dinner?” Alex asked. “Will you have to leave school to go? Do I get to meet my future brother in law?”

“It’s this weekend, yes I will, I talked things over with Professor Sif and no, I don’t think you’ll get to meet him,” Sam answered.

“Tch, too bad. Can I at least get a photo? I need to know who will be marrying my baby sister.”

“I’m older than you!” Sam protested.

“By, like, a month,” Alex said. “Besides, you’re way too nice and pure. That makes you the younger one.”

“How-?” Sam started saying, confused by Alex's reasoning but gave up midway. "You know what, forget it."

“Aww, come on, I’m just teasing you!” Alex draped an arm over Sam’s shoulders and playfully rubbed her cheek on her sister’s shoulder.

“We want all the details when you get back, by the way,” Mallory added with a wink, for no other reason than to embarrass Sam. It worked.

~~~~~~~~~

Slytherin and Ravenclaw had Potions together this year, so Mallory, Sam, Alex and T.J were walking to class together. Or they would be if T.J hadn’t caught the flu and was stuck in the infirmary with Nurse Eir talking to him about her cats. As it were, the three girls had gone to class on their own.

Their only problem was that, normally, Sam and Mallory worked together and Alex worked with T.J. Without the boy there, Alex was left without a partner to work with.

“Now, children,” the Professor said, “find a partner and get your ingredients ready as I write the instructions on the board.”

Alex dropped her head on her hand and promptly sighed as Mallory and Sam moved to get their ingredients. “Ugh, great. Who am I going to work with now?” she grumbled under her breath.

“Um, excuse me?” someone said. Alex looked up to Conall standing next to her desk awkwardly.

“Ah, hi,” he waved nervously. “Do you have a partner?”

“No, he’s sick today.”

“Do you mind if we work together, then?” he asked. Alex gave him a good look up and down before mentally shrugging.

“Sure, sit down.”

The lesson went by fairly uneventfully. Conall was a good potions partner; he followed the instructions on the board and he didn’t blow up anything in their faces. They found a rhythm together after a bit and they worked together well. They even joked around under their breaths together so the teacher wouldn’t scold them.

"How come you're not working with any of your friends?" Alex asked as she was stirring around the contents of their pot, whatever that was. It had a weird, muddy brown colour and it smelled like a mix between mowed grass and meatloaf.

"We had a bit of an argument with my dose potions partner," Conall said. He didn't look up from the ingredient he was chopping. "He said he didn't want to work together anymore so I came to ask you since you were sitting on your own."

"What did you argue about?" Alex asked, before realising that maybe he didn't want to tell her.

Conall kept cutting up their what-were-they-called roots. “It’s nothing important.”

Alex simply nodded and went back to work.

It was when they had to stir their potion that things became boring. They alternated between motions, Alex doing the clockwise stirs and Conall doing the counter-clockwise stirs. The monotonous motion became boring and Alex could feel herself falling asleep in her chair. That was when Conall suddenly talked.

“What’s green and then red?” he asked.

“What?” Alex asked, going along with the joke.

“A frog in a blender.”

There was a moment of silence as Alex took it in and contemplated if Conall was kidding her or if the actual joke was that bad. When Conall did nothing to show that, yes, he had been joking, here is the real punch line, Alex snorted and smiled.

“Why do vampires believe everything you tell them?” Alex asked.

“Why?”

“Because they’re real suckers.”

Conall chuckled quietly and took the spoon from Alex in order to do his own stirs.

“What did one snowman say to the other?” he asked.

“What?”

“It smells like carrots out here.”

Alex snorted again and smirked. If this boy wanted a bad jokes show off, he was in for a wild ride. She had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“What do you call a cow with no legs? Ground beef.”

“What did one bean ask the other bean? How you bean?”

“What’s the best thing about Switzerland? I don’t know, but their flag is a huge plus.”

“How do crazy people go through their forest? They take the psycho-path.”

“Why should you not write with a dull pencil? Because it’s pointless.”

“What’s brown and sounds like a bell? DUUUUUNG.”

“Why do ghosts love elevators? Because they lift their spirits.”

“What is invisible and smells like carrots? Rabbit farts.”

“What do you call someone with no body and only a nose? Nobody knows.”

“What did one hand say to the other? You stay here, I’ll go on a head!”

“What did-“

“Miss Fierro, Mister Nithercott, I would appreciate it if you stopped joking,” the professor cut them off. Alex and Conall shut their mouths as the rest of the class snickered at them being scolded.

They finished their potion soon and, while it didn't look or smell exactly like it was supposed to, it wasn't that bad. Some other students mixed in the wrong dose of ingredients and their potion exploded, so at least Alex hadn't taken a shown in a potion that smelled like grass and meatloaf. Snicker at that, jerks.

“Do you accept I’m the undefeated champion at bad jokes?” Alex asked as they walked out of class.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the best,” Conall chuckled. “Teach me your ways, oh great one.”

Alex giggled. “I will consider that, young warrior.”

"I appreciate that, master," Conall said with a bow and a straight face that really didn't match with the ridiculous things he was saying. "I would be honoured to become your apprentice."

“As you should be,” Alex said, giving her voice the most posh and snobbish tone she could manage. She held her elegant pose, he hands held together behind her back and her chin high, for a few moment before she broke character and started laughing. Conall joined her.

“So, are we friends?" Conall asked when he finally stopped laughing. His eyes were shining with the tears he had almost shed while doubled over and his cheeks were slightly red from laughing.

“Of course,” Alex said cheerily. “Anyone who can put up with my bad jokes is my friend.”

~~~~~~~~

“…so I threw the ball at Morrison, because, you know, I expected him to catch it, but-”

Malloy's story of how she had thrown another Slytherin player off his broom at yesterday's practice was cut short when Sam came and sat down at their table. The young girl had left school that weekend for her family's dinner with Amir's family and her friends knew she would come back sometime today. What they didn't expect was that she would come back with a black cloud hanging over her head. (Not literary, of course, but you get that.)

Sam didn't say anything, didn't greet them and didn't even look at them. She simply started piling food on her plate and eating it, pretty much stabbing the food with her fork. The rest of the group gave each other cautious looks, silently asking who would be the brave one to ask Sam what was wrong.

Sam…wasn’t the best person to be around when she was in a bad mood.

Halfborn shook his head viciously and made a big ‘X’ with his hands. Nah-ah, I’m not doing it. Mallory wasn’t much better off, shaking her head and crossing her arms firmly; she wasn’t going to do it either. T.J quickly pretended to abruptly fall asleep on the table, even throwing some fake snores in there too for extra effect, despite it being clear that he was faking it. Magnus raised his hands in the air, like a bandit surrendering to the town’s serif, and shook his head with a scared expression. He was the one to get the snake out of the hole the last time Sam was in a bad mood and he was in no way doing it again so soon, especially with no medical insurance.

Alex, seeing all her friends’ antics, groaned in exasperation. “Ugh, fine,” she mouthed at them.

“Sooo, Sam," she started, terribly awkward too. "How did the dinner go?"

“Fine!” Sam said curtly, picking up (read: stabbing) another piece of fruit from her plate. Magnus could swear he heard a cracking noise.

No one dared to speak. They exchanged questioning looks but no one was prepared to endanger their physical well being and say something.

“Um, you don’t seem fine?” Alex said hesitantly, so much so it came out as a question.

Sam groaned. “Ugh! It was going fine. The dinner was fine, but then I was washing the dishes in the kitchen and Amir offered to help me because they were so many and- ugh!”

Sam groaned again and let her head fall in her hands. “We were talking while cleaning and we were just joking around but then he started asking me about school. I can’t tell him I’m going to a Wizarding school, so I changed the subject, but…”

Sam sighed again, a sigh so loud the whole Hall of the Slain must have heard it. "He thinks I'm hiding something from him because I always changed the subject at dinner too whenever school came up."

“Where have you told him you’re going to school?” T.J asked.

“Just some boarding school I got a scholarship for. But he thinks it’s weird how he’s never heard about anything that happens at school or about my friends. We’ve always been close, since we were children, and we’ve always told each other everything. He’s worried that I don’t talk to him about Hogwarts.”

Magnus wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but he spoke anyway. “Why don’t you tell him then?”

“What am I supposed to say?” Sam snapped. “That on top of abandoning us, my father was also a wizard? That I go to a magic school with ghosts and that I have a wand and study how to make magic potions? He won’t believe me! He’ll think I’m crazy!”

Alex, T.J, Mallory and Magnus sent each other worried looks. Alex reached out tentatively and laid her hand on Sam’s arm. The other girl had pushed her plate aside and was lying face first on the table.

“Still… you’ll have to explain things to him somehow. You can’t just ignore this.”

“I know,” Sam said. She sounded defeated, like she was thinking about an assignment she had due and dreaded doing. “But I don’t know what to tell him. How am I going to do this?”

It felt… odd to see Sam so lost. Normally she was the mother of their group; if you were in trouble and didn’t know what to do, Sam was the one you went to for help. Now she was the one who needed it and Magnus felt like the universe had gaping upside down.

“You could-“ Mallory started saying before Sam cut her off.

“I’ll – I’ll figure it out somehow, but… can we please change the subject for now? I was away for two days, did I miss something?”

Halfborn started telling Sam about what had happened that weekend. They all wanted to help Sam solve thing between her and Amir (they all shipped it) but Sam didn’t want to talk about it anymore and they couldn’t force her to.

It was after the bell rang and they split up to go to their respective classes that Alex pulled Mallory and Sam to the side. If they weren’t going to talk about Sam’s love problems, they could still talk about Mallory’s. Alex has been meaning to talk to Mallory about this for long and now that Sam is back, the time is ideal. It will probably help her sister to forget her own problems too.

“Spill, girl,” Alex said when they were standing at a side of the hall as the other students walked by.

Mallory looked utterly confused. “Spill what?”

“Oh, come on! You were staring at Halfborn when the Gryffindors were training like you had never seen a man on a broom!”

It would never cease to amaze Alex how fast Mallory could turn as red as her hair. “I-I wasn’t!”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Mallory was quick to bow. “Your Majesty,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Alex rolled her eyes once more and sighed in exasperation. She was about to talk but Sam spoke first.

“Now, why haven’t I been informed about our little Mallory flirting with Halfborn?”

“Well, you just came back. I didn’t have time,” Alex said as Mallory said “I wasn’t flirting!” with a blushing face.

"Okay, technically, she was just gaping at him like a fish, but it was close enough," Alex corrected herself once she heard what Mallory had said.

“I wasn’t- ugh!” the redhead groaned.

“You were checking him out,” Alex said matter of factly.

“No, I wasn’t!”

“So you weren’t staring at him?”

“Yes!”

“You’re sure you weren’t flirting with him?”

“Yes!

“So you do have a crush on him?”

“Yes!”

There was a moment of silence as what Mallory said sank in. The definition of a shit-eating grin spread across Alex's face and her sister was quick to follow. Mallory's cheeks went redder and redder as she realised what she had just admitted.

"I-I didn't mean that!" She said frantically. She was staring at the floor instead of at her two roommates, who were looking at her like children who had caught their sibling doing something bad and were about to blackmail them with it.

“Too late now!” Alex said triumphantly. “You can’t take back what you said!”

“I wasn’t thinking about it!” Mallory protested.

"Exactly," Sam said calmly, even though she was wearing the same mischievous grin as her sister. Seemed like Alex’s plan had worked on getting her to forget about Amir.  “You weren’t thinking about what you were saying so you didn’t think of lying.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious you like him,” Alex added. “And you might as well admit it already because I don’t think you want me to start singing ‘I won’t say I’m in love’ with Magnus and T.J.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Mallory said. The image itself was silly enough to bring a smile to her lips despite how embarrassing it would actually be. That smile was quick to fall away when Alex didn’t laugh and say she was simply joking, instead looking at Mallory with deadly seriousness. Mallory paled in fear.

“You would?”

Alex shrugged. "We've been practising for some time now."

Mallory runs a hand over her face in exasperation. "I swear to any god out there, I'm going to embarrass you so much whenever you get a crush."

"So you admit to having a crush on Halfborn?" Alex grinned.

“N-no! God, you’re unbelievable!” Mallory turned on her heel and walked away, marching to class without once turning around to look at her friends. Alex would later say that she had been blushing, but she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t.

Sam and Alex stayed at the side of the hall for a moment, watching their friend go.

“We’re not going to leave it at that, are we?” Sam asked after a second of silence.

“Oh, of course we’re not,” Alex said, a devilish smirk spreading across her face. “Time to put my matchmaking talents to work.”

Look, I know most people are wary of OCs in fanfiction, but trust me, I know what I'm doing (I hope I do)

[nocturnalimpression]

This is gonna be a long post so sorry in advance, but it's 2am and dysphoria is hitting me hard, so I figure it's the perfect time for a story. This story will contain BRIEF and non detailed mentions of suicide, but I find it to be a happy story over all.

Alright so, I am currently 20 years old. I came out at 17, but looking back, I've always kind of known that I was trans. I remember being really young, I'm talking maybe 5-7 years old, hanging out with boys in my neighbourhood and feeling out of place. The only time I really felt comfortable and truly happy was when I was with my best friend.

She and I grew up together. Literally. We were born a few months apart, but our mothers had been friends since high school. They were both mothers to us, and we saw eachother as siblings. We were friends since the day we were able to create memories.

I remember being around 6 years old. My friend, who will be refered to as A, and I were playing in the dirt in her backyard. I don't remember exactly what we were doing, but there was a lull in thw action of whatever game we were playing. A was standing beside me pretending to cook or something, and I was just kind of standing there silently thinking, something I did often and still do. I vividly recall looking up at A and thinking "she's so fun and I'm always happy with her. Why don't I feel like that with boys?"

(Obviously my thoughts weren't that clear at that age, but that's the basic gist of what was going through my head)

Fast forward a year or two. I'm with my male friend in his backyard. He lived across the street from me, ans had a massive fort/treehouse type thing. We were walking from his back door toward the fort, and this feeling came over me. I started to wonder if he ever felt the same way I did about relating more to girls than boys. My young, dumb, anxiety filled brain wanted to ask him, but didn't know quite how to go about it without sounding stupid. Somehow I settled on "Hey _____? Do you ever wonder what it's like to be a girl?"

Tgis os the point where, when I look back on these early years, I wonder if what he said paved the way for my internalized fear of my own feelings.

He reaponded with a simple, but powerful, "No. Why would I want to be a girl? Girls are stupid! Why, do you want to be a girl?"

Not wanting to embaress myself, I said something to the tune of "Haha no I was just messing with you."

In hindsight, that was probably the moment I disconnected from reality, because from that day on, I started to become something that I'm not sure I can ever quite recover from. I started doubting myself constantly, and hating myself for every thought I had that didn't match up with what the other boys were like.

In elementary school, I had this constant feeling that I was outside myself. Like I was watching a puppet version of me living out my life. I felt like I had zero control over everything and anything that happened. I would get bullied for dumb stuff, like being German or having a higher voice than the other boys. I never really felt hurt by anything, because no matter how brutal the other kids could be, it didn't feel like they were saying/doing anything to ME. They were attacking this version of me that wasn't actually me. I started to develop a talent for lying and acting.

I still saw A fairly often, but nowhere near as often as I wanted. When I was around her, I felt like she would grab the real me and pull me back into my body. I wish I'd shown her how much I appreciated and needed her, because come high school, we stopped hanging out all together.

Suddenly, my only anchor to reality was gone, and I was permanently dissociated. My lying got worse, or better in a way. My parents would tell me constantly that I should enroll in the drama classes and become an actor because of my "natural talent". I wanted too, and I probably could've done something great had I listened to them. Instead, I listened to my guy friends, who told me drama and acting was girly and gay. Clearly I wanted to avoid those titles, as the last time I expressed my interest in femininity, it didn't exactly go too well.

So, my link to reality is gone, I'm in a permanent state of dissociation, I secretly hate myself, and I can make people believe just about anything I tell them. A recipe for disaster if I ever saw one.

I know, I know, not a very happy story. Just sit tight a little longer. This story gets a lot worse before it starts to get better, but it DOES get better.

I'm now around 14 years old. All my friends think I'm on drugs at all times, and I've begun to develop a serious case of depression, while my anxiety has grown exponentially worse. My high school bullies love to practice their insults on me, since my only response was laughter, hiding the pain I really felt from everyone. I took up smoking cigarettes, and regularly put my body through any kind of abuse I could. I would run full speed into brick walls, get people to hit me with the biggest sticks they could find, set my clothes on fire during lunch hour. You name it. Why? Partially for the laughter and attention it got me, bust mostly, secretly, to punish myself anytime I had thoughts that I deemed wrong.

Then, a small miracle. One of the bullies I mentioned previously, came out to everyone as bisexual. My school was incredibly intollerent, violent, and hateful. Especially towards lgbt peeps. But all of a sudden, one of the most popular boys in the school, not just our grade, admits that he is bisexual, and everyone is completely fine with it.

Before, I felt like I was drowning in the sea, caught in a raging storm, but suddenly there was a raft. Tge storm was still raging, maybe even growing, but at least I had something to grab onto.

And boy did I grab tight. About a month after the boy came out, I went camping with my (new) best friend. He was a brother to me, and had seen me on the rare occasion that I came back to reality from the dissociation and lies. I came out to him on that trip. Not as trans, I didn't even know that transgender was a thing yet. No, I came out as bisexual. I will truly never forget that conversation.

We were walking along a river in the forest, looking for lizards and snakes and the like. There was a brief moment of silence between us, something that rarely happened, and without thinking, I heard myself say "I have to tell you something."

Immediately I started panicking, thinking of anything I could say aside from what I knew was about to fall out of my mouth. Foetunately, I wasn't quick enough, and as soon as he turned around, I basically vomitted the words "I'm bisexual."

Now, technically that was true, but I didn't know that yet. I was freaking out, as we had both made some honestly horrible jokes at the expense of the gay community. He was quiet for a few seconds, which felt like days, but eventually he looked my dead in the eyes and said, "Well, I guess I'm not homophobic anymore."

His words, combined with the genuine care in his smile made me want to fucking cry. And I did, later that night. I hugged him, and just to put him at ease, made a joke that I will not repeat, because it was disgusting and horrible, but it was exactly what we both needed in the moment.

A few months later, I came out as full out gay to our entire friend group. This clearly was not the case, and I knew it was a lie. By then I had realized that I am in fact bisexual, but remember, I am still in the midst of that raging storm of lies and hate. My basic thinking was:

I feel most comfortable around girls.

Girls like boys.

If I like boys, girls will want to hang out with me.

I do like boys, but also girls.

I can pretend to only like boys very easily.

And so I did. Admittedly I went way overboard in the first few weeks. I had never actually met a gay guy, so all I had to go off of was the stereotype we all made fun of back then. After the first 2 or 3 weeks of trial and error, I had everyone, including family and teachers, fully believing I was gay as fuck. And my plan, kind of worked perfectly. My best friend, the one from the camping trip, got a girlfriend, and she ended up spending more time with me than him. She introduced me to her friends, which opened a world that had previously been unknown to me or any of the boys I knew.

High school boys were immature, rude, competitive, and aggressive. High school girls, however, were so incredibly diverse. Every girl I met was different in nearly every way, but had a sense of familiarity with eachother. My depression vanished in a matter of days. My raging storm calmed to a light breeze. These girls would paint my nails and convinced me to give up the buzz cut in favour of the long hair I had always wanted. They introduced me to makeup and music other than rap. The artists showed me the beauty of drawing, and the drama girls taught me how to truly hone my lying into acting. I felt at home with them.

Unfortunately, but predictably, my plan backfired, and crumbled like a brick house in the path of a tornado. After about a year, the "light breeze" began to pick up speed again. I started hating myself more than ever. I was so damn close to what I'd always wanted, but I realised the closer I got that rather than my path to happiness being clear, there was a glass wall in my way. I was allowed to embrace the femininity that I once had to hide, but I was sti'll just another boy to those girls. I wasn't truly one of them as I wanted so desperatly to be. Worst of all, I had started catching feelings for a girl, but couldn't possibly act on them or express them at all without ruining not only the illusion, but all the friendships I had just finally found.

I'll save you the details, but in short, all this came to a point and I ended up attempting suicide. I was sent to a psychiatric ward, and my friendships, both male and female, began to erode.

Instead of watching everything I lied so hard to achieve turn to dust, I decide to use my new acting abilities (sharpened in drama classes that the girls talked me into) to fool the doctors, nurses, and psychiatrists into letting me out before a single one of my issues had been addressed.

Don't ask me how I managed it, because I still don't have a clue, but I did it. I somehow managed to convince everyone I was perfectly fine, and was released after only a week and a half. This was the first in a line of horrible mistakes made by yours truly.

So, I return to school. I expect I'll have to tell everyone why i missed a week and a half of school, and showed up with a mostly true story. I never got to use my story, however, because my school counselor had already managed to inform the entire school that I was "suicidal and extremely depressed". While that was true, that is the furthest from how I wanted everyone to find out.

To save time, I'll skip over the events that took place in those few weeks, to my second admittance to the ward. This time, I was filled with rage and wanted not only my own death, but the death of anyone who got on my nerves. This is when my anger issues started to take root.

My raging storm had developed into a devastating hurricane, and my raft was torn to splinters. Only this time, I wasn't at the mercy of the storm, I was the storm. At one point, the ward staff had to call 3 security gaurds in to get me to return to my room without anyone being injured. I was so lost in my rage and hatred that I milked the shit out of it, and got off the idea that 3 buff ass dudes were needed to return my 90 lbs butt to my room out of fear that I was actually going to make an attempt on someones life. Not my proudest moment to be sure. This is when my friendships were nearly all dying, if not already dead. I ended up making some friends in the ward, who helped me get to place mentally where the staff felt I was safe to be released.

A month later, I was in a new ward. An adult ward this time. With no one my age to talk to, and having very recently become anti social (the real definition, not asocial or shy, though I am very introverted), I turned to the bookshelf as my only companion. I found a book about lgbt definitions and information, and decided to read it for no real reason. I was skimming through pages rather quickly, not really reading or retaining anything, just sort of looking at the ink on the paper. Eventually a saw a word I had never heard before; Transgender.

My curiosity got the best of me, and I started to read the paragraphs. Almost immediately, I realized that I connected with what I was reading. I read the entire book that night.

The next day, my mom came in for a visit. It was my 17 birthday. The first thing I said to her when she walked into my "room", was "mom? I think I'm transgender."

Without a hint of hesitation, she simply looked at me and said, "okay."

After 17 years of hating myself, doubting myself, and punishing myself for something I didn't understand, my mother was able to accept it immediately. I'm not exaggerating. We spend the day discussing it, and she had absolutely no problem with it at all. She supported me not just from day one, but from minute one. It took her a few months to get used to she/her pronouns, and she did get frustrated at my changing my name every few weeks, but she never stopped supporting me. It's been 3 years since I came out. I have exactly one friend whom I didn't meet until I dropped out of highshool, and I have my mom. And you know what? I'm happy.

I struggle still, obviously, with anger, depression, anxiety, antisocial personality, and now gender dysphoria, but thanks to the two amazing women in my life, I'm working through it all. I'm getting better. And my transition has finally begun.

As a side note:

This story ended up being WAY longer than I originally intended. I started with the intent to only talk about the time I asked my friend if he ever wondered what it was like to be a girl when I was like 7 or something, but it kinda spiraled into my life story. So I want to give a little detail to my friend A from early in the story. We've grown apart and haven't seen eachother in years, but we do still consider eachother friends, and as crazy as it may sound, she came out as a HE around the same time I came out as a SHE. We literally swapped. Neither of us knew the other was trans until well after we came out, so we had a good laugh about it. Life is crazy hunh?