#might as well embrace being That Person who talks and writes like a fucking nerd regardless of context in TWO languages.

[essektheylyss]

New fun language learning activities: read Wikipedia pages for philosophical and political theories in your target language, just for kicks.

[herinsectreflection]

The hilarious part about Faith and how incredibly gay she comes across is that it's all a natural side-effect of her intended narrative role. According to Whedon she wasn't intentionally written to be a queer or even queer-coded character, but the way she is written and her metaphorical function necessarily meant she came across as queer-coded. I'll explain what I mean:

1) As Buffy's shadow, Faith is meant to be symbolic of Buffy's repressed desires, and specifically her frustrated sexuality. Buffy is dealing with imposed chastity throughout S3, first with her trauma over Angel getting in the way of a relationship with Scott, and then the curse preventing her from being physical with Angel. It's the centre point of Enemies, its touched on in Amends, and is one of the reasons they break up. There's a reason the season climaxes with Angel and Buffy in a passionate embrace, making orgasm faces as he 'penetrates' her. It's a whole season of sexual frustration for Buffy.

Faith needs to be constantly reminding Buffy of the thing she can't have - sex. She needs to talk about sex to Buffy - and she does, extensively. Faith is written as a very sexual person in general, but it's specifically and disproportionately aimed towards Buffy, because that's her narrative role. So you end up with this character who is constantly going around like "hey Buffy do you like sex? you should think about sex now. sex. when I'm on screen the main thing on your mind should be sex and having it". Which begs the question - why does Faith want Buffy to have sex? Symbolically, it's because she represents part of Buffy, and Buffy wants to have sex. But on a pure character level... what is the explanation? What is motivating Faith to constantly talk about sex to Buffy? A few instances you can write off as her making Buffy uncomfortable for jokes, but not all of them. How it comes across is that Faith has some sexual interest in Buffy, and is probing for her feelings.

2) Faith is a Seductress. That's not a comment about her character, that's her function in the story. She is the version of Buffy who goes down a darker path, and is trying to seduce her into doing the same thing. Part of Buffy's arc in S3 is resisting this temptation, and the symbol of what she is resisting is Faith. So Faith must be an enticing, seductive figure. To quote Passion of the Nerd's review, if Faith is there to to tempt Buffy into a moral dark side, it only makes sense that she is, well, tempting. The seduction is happening on many levels.

Faith is more or less filling the Femme Fatale archetype: the seductive, sexual figure who leads the Hero off their path. It's a trope you see all the time in male-led stories, going back to goddamn The Odyssey. Buffy as a character was invented as a simple gender-swap of an old horror trope, and part of the appeal of the show is that she gets to fill the role of The Hero as a woman. So what happens when you gender-swap The Hero and don't gender-swap the Femme Fatale? You get a gay story, that's what.

3) The Faith arc of S3 is a recreation of the Angel arc of S2. It is structured in the exact same way, with the two having a push-and-pull in the early parts of the season, a setback in their relationship in episode 7, getting closest again mid-season before a night of passion that ends in sudden tragedy. Angel/Faith then turn to the dark side, become the Big Bad, and show that they are beyond saving in episode 17. The season ends with Buffy having to fight and the kill them in order to save others. This is all an intentional recycling, as part of the show building up the Trolley Problem and the idea of Buffy being a killer, repeatedly escalating it to get us to The Gift. What this means is that Faith steps into the role that Buffy's love interest played in the previous season. This is the story that we have just had told to us as a tragic love story. We see it again, and guess what? It's still a tragic love story. Only now Faith is in the role of the love interest.

4) Part of the conflict surrounding Buffy and Faith is Buffy's fear of being "Single White Female'd". She fears Faith might steal her loved ones, and Faith does threaten that. She gets along with her mother, her friends... but most of all, her love interests. Buffy's fear of being replaced manifests as Faith trying to literally seduce away anyone romantically linked to Buffy. Angel, Scott Hope, Xander, later Riley, Spike, Robin Wood... Faith is comprehensively and exclusively attracted to men that Buffy dated. I'm honestly surprised she didn't find Owen and Parker from somewhere for a night in the sack. Again, this makes perfect heterosexual sense from a symbolic point it view - she threatens to take Buffy's place in the narrative, so she takes her place in relationships - but on a character level it becomes ambiguous. Is she actively trying to replace Buffy? Or is she trying to stop Buffy dating anyone for another reason? The simple fact is, there is exactly one common denominator with all of Faith's romantic entanglements: Buffy.

It's a canonical aspect of Faith's character that she is jealous of Buffy. We see that made explicit in Enemies - she's jealous of everything Buffy has: her family, her comfortable home life, her friends, her narrative standing, and of course her loving partners. So of course Faith displays jealousy whenever Buffy is involved with a guy. It's a necessary part of building Faith as this figure of Want and Envy. But how it plays out on screen isn't that Faith is jealous of Buffy because she wants these other guys - of course not, because we see her look jealously through the window at Buffy and Riley in This Year's Girl and Riley obviously means nothing to her. Rather, it very much appears that she is jealous of these other guys, because she wants Buffy.

There's also the added bonuses that come from the show playing with so many metaphors, that sometimes they cross in interesting ways. One of Faith's main purposes is to celebrate being a Slayer, and to encourage the same in Buffy. She wants Buffy to accept and embrace being a Slayer. Here, Slayerhood is standing in for independence and hedonism and making your own rules, all the things that Faith is encouraging. But one of the many other metaphors used is the 'coming out' metaphor. "Have your tried not being a slayer?" "It's because you didn't have a strong father figure isn't it." "I've tried to march in the Slayer Pride parade." It's a note that's hit really hard specifically around the time in the show that Faith is introduced. So if you carry this metaphor on, then Faith becomes an out-and-proud lesbianSlayer, trying to convince Buffy to accept and embrace her sexuality.

And it has a recursive effect too. All this stuff contributes towards Faith feeling like a very queer character. And Faith, of course, is Buffy's shadow self, meant to represent her unconscious desires. So when the symbol of your unconscious desires is so lesbian-coded, then the implication becomes that one of your unconscious desires is lesbian desire. Faith's existence as a part of Buffy implies the existence of Buffy's bisexuality. Which contributes to the relationship feeling ever more queer, which makes Faith even gayer.

I find this absolutely hilarious, because the queer subtext was never intended. Joss Whedon apparently was annoyed that people read this into their relationship, and the commentary from the other writers that does address it tends to point to Dushku's performance. And yeah, she is definitely leaning into that in her portrayal. But the main reasons that so many people have this reading all come from the writing. It's all stuff that is integral to the point of her character. Every metaphor and function in the narrative, every symbolic purpose she has, none of it was meant to be gay and yet it all leads directly to Faith appearing to be totally and completely gay. The queerness is accidental and unavoidable. And I just find that really fucking funny.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Oh (Sidney Crosby Imagine)

Alright, I didn’t end up proofreading this one because I spent several hours cheering myself up via vines, so... enjoy whatever the hell came out of me the other night!

Rating: T

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Reader

Words: 1625

Warnings: none

Requested: yes/no

Summary:  “You found the ring I lost at this bar last week and, oh, okay, you’re cute, I swear it’s not a wedding ring”--- with Crosby

Only after about a half hour searching the bar is your ring found. Not by you, of course, but found nonetheless. You’d searched all the tables, under the booths, around the jukebox, along the bar. No luck. Until the small group in the corner makes a bit of a commotion, enough to get you to look over, to see one of them holding up a silver ring. Your ring. It’s two flowers, entwined, with opal and amethyst in the centers, still shiny silver glinting in the low light of the bar. You move without necessarily meaning to, just desperate to get your ring back. You don’t notice who’s holding it, or the group surrounding them, or anything, really. You’re just relieved down to your bones to have found it at all.

By the time you reach the table, the guy who found it has stood up and started scooching by the others to get out of the booth. Hopefully he’s the kind of guy who’s inclined to return it, because you’re not in the mood to fight anyone, let alone someone as thick and strong-looking as him.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, taking the hand holding your ring into both of yours, “Thank god you found it.” Only then do you look at the man for real, taking in his big brown eyes, strong jaw, slightly crooked nose… He’s cute. Like really cute. You’re kind of staring at his mouth- his mouth that’s so dark pink it’s almost red, a little wet from a single flick of his tongue- when you realize it’s moving, because he’s talking to you as you stand there and stare silently like a creep.

“Thank you so much,” you blurt out, almost cringing at how high your voice comes out. You clear your throat and take a deep breath, trying to remember how to act like a normal fucking person in the face of the most beautiful guy you’ve ever seen.

“Thank you,” you repeat, “I, like, freaked out when I realized I didn’t have it.” You don’t mention that the reason you lost it in the first place is because you’d taken it off to scarf down wings with your friends and forgot to put it back on. Not exactly the image you want to project to someone attractive. Someone attractive whose hand you’re still holding in your own, holy shit. You rip your hands away like he’s a hot stove, wiping your suddenly sweaty palms against the rough material of your jeans.

“Sorry,” you say, still not quite sure what he’d said when you weren’t paying attention, but wondering nonetheless. Probably something about how unbearably awkward you’re being right now.

“It’s okay,” he replies, chuckling a bit. He has a nice laugh. You still want your ring back, first and foremost, but you keep getting distracted from that goal by his… everything.

“I’m sure whoever the lucky person is will be happy that you found it,” he continues, tilting his head just the slightest bit to the right. You must look confused, because he shifts the ring up between his thumb and forefinger. Oh. Oh.

“Oh no!” your left hand flies up to press against your breastbone, “It’s not an engagement ring!” Why are you defending this to him? Oh, right, probably because he’s gorgeous and you’re already weak for him. And if you want to go home with his number, you’ll need a miracle, even without him thinking you have a fiance.

“No?” he asks, an inscrutable expression overtaking his face.

“No,” you confirm, adding “It’s from my mom”, because you’re a dork nerd idiot who tells cute guys that they wear a ring from their mom. It’s both of your birth stones, with “Never Alone” engraved on the inside, given to you last holiday season. It’s sweet, and sentimental, and probably kind of sappy to wear constantly, but you do.

“Oh,” is all he says, a sly smile growing on his face. You’re not entirely sure you like the look of that grin, except for the part where it’s gorgeous and makes a smile start on your own face without your express permission. He looks vaguely familiar, but you’re too focused on the way he smells like slaf water and the taffy named after it (despite being nowhere near a seaport) to figure out how you know him.

One of his friends from his table comes up behind him and slaps a hand down on his shoulder, making you both jump. Now him you recognize. Kind of hard not to recognize a superstar Penguins player in Pittsburgh, especially when he’s 6’4 and so distinctive-looking as Evgeni Malkin. Which is what you’re going to use as an excuse for not immediately recognizing that the guy you’ve been acting a fool in front of is Sidney Crosby-- no hockey player should be that good looking.

“Sid, why you make pretty girl stand?” Geno asks, and you’re thrown enough by Geno Malkin calling you pretty that you miss most of whatever they bicker about for the next thirty seconds. It’s kind of funny to watch two world famous athlete squabble like an old married couple, though. You’re not sure how to deal with this entire ridiculous situation, so you’ve just decided to embrace it at this point. Besides, you don't have to meet your friend for another hour anyway, so might as well get as much of a story to tell as you can. They’re still going back and forth, something about you, and you can’t help but giggle at the sheer absurdity of everything. The sound of your laughter finally shuts them up, and they both stare at you for an impossibly long moment before they start laughing as well.

The commotion gets the attention of the rest of their table, who all start calling out different things at once, while they beckon the three of your toward the table. Geno wastes no time taking your elbow and guiding you over, huge hand gentle and warm against your skin. You go willingly, kind of excited to meet everyone, thought nervous that you won’t live up to their clearly high expectations. Then again, they’ll probably forget all about you the second you leave, so does it really matter? It’s only when you’re ushered into the booth that you realize you’d never actually gotten your ring back, despite how long this interaction has gone on for.

“Hi, I’m Zach,” one of the group introduces himself, sticking out a hand for you to shake, which you do. Then you’re introduced to Patric, Bryan, Brian, and Matt, in turn. You don’t quite pretend you don’t know them, but you try not to act too invested in them or their careers, or the fact that you’re sitting at a table with multi-time Stanley Cup champions. Just keep breathing and keep it cool. Which you’ve been excelling at since you got here, obviously.

Sid is squeezed into the booth next to you, barely an inch of table space before him, but he doesn’t seem to care. His left thigh is pressed against your right, hip to knee. You’re trying not to think about it, but it’s not exactly easy to ignore. The guys are asking you questions; how old are you, where do you work, do you come to this bar often? You answer to the best of your ability, asking your own questions in return. It’s a weird dance where they know you know them, but none of you are acknowledging that fact. They all seem to be pretty cool guys, though, so it’s not as difficult to fall into the conversation as you’d thought it would be. The guys mostly talk about their families; wives and children spoken of with reverent adoration, and it’s nice. It’s not much different than talking with your own friends, honestly.

Eventually you’re startled out of the back-and-forth by the blaring of your phone alarm, letting you know it’s time to leave to meet your friend. You’re amazed by how quickly the time has passed, an hour seeming fleeting. You apologize and excuse yourself, Sid standing to let you out of the booth. You say your goodbyes, getting handshakes and hugs from varying members of the group. Geno gives you a tight squeeze before you leave, warm and impossibly huge around you.

You’re almost at the door when you hear the shout from behind you, turning to find Sid jogging toward you. Your heart is a butterfly in your chest, watching him come closer, captivated by the way he moves. He stops just in front of you, reaching into his pocket and pulling out your ring. Oh.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the ring and slipping it onto your left hand. You’re about to bid him adieu and leave when he takes your hand in his own, digging in his pocket. You can only imagine how confused you must look, because he giggles when he sees your face. He’s taken a pen out of his pocket and uses it to gesture to your hand held captive. You nod, still not sure any of this is real. He writes a series of ten numbers on your skin, giving you a crooked smile before he lets go.

“See you around, eh?” he says, before pulling back and returning to the table, throwing glances over his shoulder as if he’s not sure you’re receptive to the idea. The idea that he just gave you his number, his private, restricted number, so you can presumably text or call him, or in some way communicate with him in the future, like that’s not an earth-shattering development. You wave before heading out the door, having one hell of a story to tell your friend.

[abloomingperiod]

baekhyun as a bf

it wasn’t supposed to be this big tbh

you can tell by the fucker’s face, he is annoying af

k seriously tho

even though byun is all smiles and pranks he definitely seems like a serious person on the personal side

constantly asking himself if it’s the right thing to do putting u in such a historically brutal position such as dating an idol

you having to reassure him way too often that it was your decision to make, not his

“sweetie i’m here because i want to stop going off” “cool but like are you su-” “dude i swEAR TO GOD”

it’s not something he likes thinking it just happens okay he’s worried b patient to the babee

since his last relationship didn’t end up very well, he would probably take mONTHS to actually claim you as his girlfriend

seriously tho i fume just thinking about that time

it happened on a friday night when he was playing on the pc, chanyeol was calling and babyboi was like “srry cant talk rn exchanging breaths with my girl”

you were scrunching your nose for a sec but them you realized what he said and were like !!!!

him enjoying the fact his words got you so flustered and playing it cool like chill out dude as if you didn’t know we were dating by now

????????? in fact ou were so surprised bcs u didn’t even know the boys knew abt ur existence

“like... they KNOW??????”

“of cOURSE they know junmyeon would kick my ass if i didn’t explain to him why i missed our dinner last night”

you guys are so comfortable with the fact your relationship ain’t official you decided at the same night thisbis how you prefered to stay like

he’s not okay with going public after what happened in the past and you agree and support his desire to keep it private

i could write a whole essay dissing saesangs

that doesn’t mean he won’t hang out with you

after all, you’ve been friends for ages now

and the boys know abt u

chanyeol keeps biting byun’s butt but you’re okay with that

was there any other option? ofc not

talking about ass

he’s one

honestly such a tease

always finding a way to make u flustered

“babe look at me” “what” “i love you” “god i love you too” “and your ass looks amazing today” “leave me alone”

always slaps your butt

doesn’t matter the context

sexual or not

he loves him some butt

lol dates

like literally you sit there and spend the night playing and eating together

every lol date is a different dish ordered

since you gotta keep it low profile

might as well do it right

he’s an observer

constantly stops what he’s doing to admire you

sometimes you’re like watching a movie or idk brushing ur teeth

he stands there in the door frame all dumbfounded burning loveholes into your skull

you’re like ...stop it

he’s like . no

he’s so emotional i’m not even exaggerating

keeps joking around when he’s around people and everybody seems to think he’s a dork who just can’t stop talking nonsense

(which he is)

but when you guys are alone

oh boy

he’s so sensible

literally writes on post-its and places it around your apartment before he leaves for practice on mornings

not all of them are cute tho

once your friend was like “hey y/n idcwho’s dicking you down but i think the person got the feels”

you completely forgot to take off the “your taste already left my mouth. dinner tonight at 8 and i’ll be eating twice” post-it

like

he literally put it in your refrigerator’s door

you legit wanted to die

but then on other days it’s like

“i promised, throughout my whole life, this heart belongs to you.”

honestly so intense

when you guys argue it’s like a conquest to see who can act more like a spoiled kid

but basically go off with your frustrations and then one of u ends up cooling off in the shower

later either you or him get in there too asking if the other is feeling better

tbh not that often do u guys fight

most of the times is like

“okay,,, this is unnecessary” “yeah screw it”

but sometimes it gets really heated

and you’re both frustrated

straightforward speaking, you guys have sex

very

rough

sex

he’s a switch k let’s be real

loves making you beg

loves begging for you

not the type to degrade or hurt you or anything

like he’s a light dom

and by that i mean he will pound in you rough and slow until you’re begging him to let you cum but keeps kissing your flushed cheeks and tightly intertwining your hands as he lovingly whispers “you fucking love those type of fights don’t you”

loves LOVES being blindfolded

lowkey a freak but moderately

absolutely loves it when he ties you up and makes you say exactly what you want

will always stuck two or three fingers in so you have a hard time speaking

as i was saying, the absolute worst

“baekhyun... please-“ “fucking say it” “please... baby... fuck me” “hard nut”

is shamelessly vocal

groans

whimpers

desperate moans

aftercare baekhyun is a look

his hair all disheveled, dazed eyes and flushed lips

yk that look from the city lights photoshoot with his glossy skin and damp hair

yeah

he loves you so much and seeing you all blissed out after sex makes him, curiously, very very soft

everything you guys said during the argument is quickly forgotten as you exchange a few sorry’s and deep kisses in between

loves feeling your skin against his as he embraces your shoulders hugging you to his chest

you leave pecks on the scratchings your nails did on his skin and he just lays there all fucked out and smiles like 💕💞💓💘💘💖💗💞💓💗💕💝💘💖💕💞💓💗💗💞💖💘💞💘💖

and he’s horny again

it’s not like he’s a teenager he just absolutely loves being this intimate to you

and then you have a bath together bcs sticky

loves making coffee like at 6am to you so he can wake you up and have breakfast together

the type to wake you in this worst way possible

he rips the sheets off of you

regardless of how cold it is at that hour

and jumps over

“wake up egg”

as you guys head to the kitchen he sits you on his lap and feeds you :(

his arms around your waist and keeps leaving tiny pecks on your cheeks as he rests his cheek on your back and heavily sighs

“ya your breath stinks”

“you stink dummy”

sings ballads out of the blue

you’re like reading or smth

and he’s like

appado gWAENCHANHA

“shut it or i’ll rip off your chords with my bare hands”

“i dare you”

you actually made out after you chased him around the couch

so annoyingly dense

like you were taking your clothes off

his lips on your neck

and then he’s like

“btw my mother wants to meet you”

you literally froze

bra slipping off your shoulders

“????? you mother kNOWS?????”

“ofc she knows she’s my mother wtf”

“!!!!!!!!!BAEKHYUN”

doesn’t understand the concept of Time And Place

once you were on the bathtub massaging his feet after hours of practice and he was like yo ever thought about kids

i ran out of reactions so basically you cursed at him for five minutes

he was like 🥺🥺 just saying srry

it took you more five to explain to him it wasn’t that you hated kids you just thought it was something to talk about on another time

like

five years another time

maybe ten

he was like k we can have a dog

and now you have a dog together along with mongryong

a cutie called jinx

don’t ask

fucking nerd

you were like

she’s new so treat her as kindly as mongryong

baekhyun is a pain in the ass but in a matter of hours he was like

i bought the same clothes for them

you rolled your eyes but silently got the heart eyes bcs cute

loves watching you dressing yourself

especially for your low profile dates

“hm no too hard to take off”

“...a monochromatic two piece with a zipper in the skirt?”

“my point exactly”

tbh he Is kinda horny

but that’s bcs he’s mad for you

loves it when you style his hair

“baekhyun can’t you stand still for like two minutes” “oh sorry”

you’re standing there, focused on the task

30 secs on it and his hands are already caressing your tummy

you’re like stop i’m bUSY

he’s like no one’s stopping you

but keeps tickling you

idk he really treasures those tiny little details in the moments you spend together

everything is important to him

doesn’t mean he’s like insanely needy of your attention

no you’re two individuals who have their own lives and schedules

he keeps it cool but yeah he’s bananas for you

sorry his words

everything is so domestic with him

and so good

he’s been through a lot throughout the years and this relationship is the calmness he needed

and he’s the fun and lightness you needed after spending so much time trying and acting like a “grownup”

baekhyun brings back the teenager in you

but in a good way

you complete each other so well sigh

cuz you’re like all responsible and shit

he loves the juxtaposition

so do you

idk it feels right

you love like teenagers but live like adults

also his words

[sotheywrotestories]

The Niece

Request: Can you write something for John Watson? Maybe he meets Mrs. Hudson’s niece who’s staying for the summer and tries to win her heart?

Anonymous 

Pairings: John Watson x Reader

Summary: John really likes Mrs. Hudson’s niece. 

Word Count: 760

Warnings: None

                                                             ***

John had grown accustomed to living in 221 B. Between Sherlock, the creaky floorboards, and the poor insulation, it might not have been ideal, but he made it home. 

One of his favorite things to do was to just sit with Mrs. Hudson in the afternoon to have a nice cuppa and catch up with whatever was going on in their lives. (Most of the conversation revolved around Sherlock, selfish). 

It was a normal Thursday afternoon, John had gathered the bags of tea to brew with Mrs. Hudson. Just a simple earl grey, instead of trying a new flavor (floral teas were not the best they’d tried...also not the worst). What surprised John the most was the laughter already pouring out of Mrs. Hudson’s apartment. It wasn’t her normal laugh, the deep, throaty laugh, rather a soft, melodic laugh that greeted him in the hallway. 

He opened the door slowly, barely peeking his head into the room. He was greeted by a (H/C) woman sitting in his spot, talking with Mrs. Hudson. 

“John!” Mrs. Hudson caught his eye. “Come in! Come in! I have company today I’d like you to meet.”

“Hi!” the younger woman stood up and stuck out her hand. “I’m (Y/N), I’m Mrs. Hudson’s niece.”

“Oh,” John balanced the box of tea on one arm and stuck the two teacups he brought down into one hand. “John. Watson”

(Y/N) moved to shake his hand, but as she did, the teacups precariously tipped and fell. John watched in slow motion as the porcelain made it’s way down, down, down to the round, surely to crack onto the floor. At the last moment, (Y/N) scooped down and grab the cups, the sides of them clinking together. 

“Watch it,” (Y/N) laughed. “Aunty isn’t fond of cleaning up messes if she can avoid them.”

John truly and heartily laughed at that, knowing full well (Y/N) was teasing. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I join you, today. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. If I knew Aunty was planning on having company, I wouldn’t’ve come by.”

Mrs. Hudson playfully hit (Y/N) on her arm. “How terrible, only coming by to see your dear old aunt if it’s convenient for you.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and winked at John. “Earl Grey, then? My favorite.”

(Y/N) took the cups and the bags of tea into the kitchen and left Mrs. Hudson alone with John.

“She’s rather pretty, then,” John commented, sitting across from where he normally sat. “I didn’t know you had a niece.”

“Bah,” Mrs. Hudson waved her hand, retaking her seat. “She lived in America up until a few months ago, she’s quite the eccentric person, she is.”

“Aunty,” (Y/N)’s voice called from the kitchen. “How do you get your kettle on?”

John stood up quickly. “I’ll go help her.”

Mrs. Hudson latched onto John’s wrist. “Go after her, if you will, John Watson. But you keep her out of Sherlock’s business and you don’t break her heart, you understand?”

John nodded solemnly. 

“Now, go get the tea ready.”

                                                              ***

During tea, John made the judgment that (Y/N) is the nicest person he has ever met. She was funny, but overwhelmingly smart, as well. She continued to tease Mrs. Hudson but was also very ready to take it the same amount of teasing from the other side. He also learned that he and (Y/N) had a lot in common. They had many similar interests and he could hold a very quick conversation with her without feeling like he was in over his head. 

Normally, the tea hour sessions lasted about an hour, but Sherlock came to get John after five hours of him being downstairs.

“Oh, hello,” (Y/N) smiled sweetly at him. “Do you also live upstairs?”

“I’m here for John. John, let’s go.” Sherlock blatantly ignored (Y/N). 

“I’m busy!” John complained. “So no, I will not be going anywhere.”

Mrs. Hudson could barely contain her giggled behind him. 

“(Y/N),” John turned back towards her. “Would you like to accompany me to dinner?”

“I’d love to, let me grab my coat,” (Y/N) smiled. 

Sherlock’s face scrunched up. “You’re leaving me alone to go on a date?”

“Yes, he is,” Mrs. Hudson. “No go, Sherlock, they’re waiting for you.”

Sherlock scowled once more in John’s direction. “Selfish.”

“Maybe so,” John turned his nose up.

Sherlock turned and strut out in his true fashion just as (Y/N) returned from the coat closet. 

“Where to, John Watson?” (Y/N) giggled, sliding her arms through their sleeves. 

“Anywhere you'd like to go.”

Tag list: @thatcluelessone @ima-fucking-nerd​​  @embrace-themagic @fireboltrose5737@whatdafricklefrackle@peeterparkr @sherlokiantheatrenerd @legit-fandom-trash​ @abitchformarvel​​​ @dark-night-sky-99​​ @dreams-of-feysand

[returnn-of-the-mac]

Oki I got a spook request b4 halloween. Synth Shawn slowly melting in front of SS &Co. after like 2 years of paternal bonding an there's no way to help cause the nerds went boom an he was a prototype.

This one was interesting! Most (most) of the companions are very sweet & helpful. I didn’t include X6 because assuming the Institute was destroyed, he would be either dead or hostile. So. No X6 here (which is a shame because I love writing him lol). Please enjoy!🎃

FO4 Companions React: Synth Shaun Melting

...

“[Mom/Dad],” Shaun whimpered, holding his head, “I don’t feel so good...”

A concerned Sole and their companion approached the little boy, crouching down to his level. Before they could even ask what was wrong, Shaun let out a blood-curdling scream as half his face began to spontaneously melt. Sole panicked and grasped their son’s hand as their eyes welled with tears. They shot a look of desperation at their companion as their world melted before their eyes:

MacCready: MacCready scrambled over to Shaun, his fatherly instincts immediately kicking in. He knelt next to the young synth and gently rubbed his back, “Shh, shhh. It’s gonna be okay, buddy,” he cooed, “We’ll get you all fixed up.” MacCready looked around frantically, and then remembered the soldier in his pocket. “Here, why don’t you play with this in the meantime,” he suggested, handing Shaun the toy. As Shaun distracted himself with the doll, MacCready shot Sole a look of desperation, as neither of them knew how to help the young synth. “The only person I can think of who would actually be able to help...” MacCready thought for a moment, “...Is probably Doctor Amari. We have to get to Goodneighbor right now.” With that, MacCready picked Shaun up off the ground, holding him securely as the group left for Goodneighbor.

Ada: “[Sir/Ma’am]? Shaun’s condition is critical,” the robot noted, concerned. “Unfortunately, I am not as advanced as a Mr. Handy or Ms. Nanny, so I do not have mechanical or medical information stored in my hard-drive.” Ada thought for a moment, “You did mention you had a Mr. Handy, correct? He may have some knowledge about medicine and repairing machinery. If by some chance he is unable to help, I’m sure the Mechanist would be able to provide assistance.”

Gage: A worried Gage clenched his teeth, “Shit, boss! What the fuck are we gonna do?” Sole shot Gage a look and the Raider grew agitated, “What, boss? The kid is fucking dying. Do you think I give a shit about my goddamn language right now?” Gage thought for a moment. “I dunno. I ain’t got a damn clue about who we’re gonna see or what we’re gonna do.” Gage crossed his arms, “Our best bet is tryin out a settlement or usin your connections. I know ya got em.”

Curie: Curie rushed over to Shaun, wrapping a supportive arm around his waist. She pulled out a medical kit, “Don’t fret, [Madam/Monsieur], I know how to effectively repair a synth in this condition.” Curie went to work as Sole watched in amazement. Slowly but surely, Shaun’s face stopped melting. Curie beamed, “Very good, Shaun! I wish I had a teddy to give, but unfortunately, I do not.” She turned to Sole, “While we were in the Institute years ago, I swiped a book titled Emergancy Medical Treatment For Synths. It was an interesting read, and I learned a lot from it,” she looked at Shaun, “Gen 3 synths can heal faster and more efficiently than human beings. His face should be back to it’s original state within the week.”

Nick: Nick rushed over to Shaun, who was wailing uncontrollably. “Easy now, son,” Nick comforted, “Everything is going to be okay.” The detective gave Sole a sharp look, “We’ve got to get him to someone with medical or mechanical know-how immediately,” he began, “I’d suggest either Doctor Amari over in Goodneighbor, or your pal Strurges. Our friend Curie might even be a good option.”

Cait: Cait watched from a slight distance as Sole mourned over their dying son. She awkwardly rubbed her arm. “I...I don’t know how ta help ye darlin,” she began, “Dontcha know a few people who can help ye out? Like a mechanic or somethin?”

Codsworth: “Oh my word, oh my word,” the robot nervously chanted, “Alright, Codsworth. Calm. Calm.” The robot took a deep breath and cleared his throat, “I think I can help, [sir/mum]. I have a plethora of medical information stored in my hard drive. I‘m sure I have some information on synth repair stored in here somewhere...”

Preston: “It’s okay Shaun. It’s alright,” Preston comforted. He grabbed Shaun’s other hand. “Remember your friend Sturges? The one who helped you build that awesome Wazer Wifle? We’re going to go visit him and he’s going to make you feel better. And then when you’re healthy again, you can build more stuff with him. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Preston beamed, his voice wavering slightly. Shaun nodded and Preston stood up, guiding him. “Alright then. Here we go!”

Hancock: “Jesus,” the ghoul breathed, putting a firm hand on Shaun’s shoulder, “Don’t worry little guy. We won’t let anything bad happen to ya.” Hancock shot Sole a stern look. “We’ve gotta get him to Amari. But until then we’ve gotta slow the melting...” He shook his head, “You’re gonna assassinate me for even suggesting this, but we should give him some Jet.” Sole glared daggers at Hancock, and the ghoul raised his hands defensively. “It’s your call, and I don’t blame ya. The shit’s addicting. But considering this is a medical emergency and it’s likely the best solution until we get to Goodneighbor, it wouldn’t hurt to at least consider the option.”

Strong: “What wrong with mini human,” Strong asked, concerned, “Why face melting?” A terrified Shaun began to screech, and Sole tried console him. Strong scratched his head, “Maybe human can take kid to doctor. Strong no know no doctors. Sorry, humans.”

Piper: “Hey, hey, hey, come here Shaun,” Piper cooed, embracing the young synth and gently rubbing his back. She looked over Shaun’s shoulder at Sole, a concerned expression on her face. “Hey Shaun, remember auntie Curie? I think we’re going to go pay her a visit. Right, Blue?” Sole nodded. “And if she’s not home, we’re gonna go see uncle Sturges! Maybe you can build another cool gadget with him,” Piper beamed, trying to ease the gravity of the situation. “Up we go?” Piper asked. Shaun agreed and the reporter lifted him off the ground.

Longfellow: “This is...hm. This is pretty bad,” Longfellow commented, standing at a distance, “We could give him some whiskey to dull the pain.” Sole scowled and Longfellow shrugged. “Sorry. This kinda thing is out of my element.” He thought for a moment, “I’d suggest getting him checked out by a professional. The Mariner might have something up her sleeve. I’d give her a try.”

Danse: Danse crouched down and put a supportive arm around Shaun as the child wailed in pain. “He needs medical assistance. Now,” Danse began, looking sternly at Sole, “We can’t take him anywhere near the Prydwen, so Cade is out of the question.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe Sturges? He seems like he’d be capable of aiding your son.” Sole nodded, and Danse returned the gesture. “Then it’s settled,” he stated, scooping Shaun into his arms, “Move out.”

Deacon: “Buddy, buddy, it’s okay,” Deacon comforted, “It’s just a little scuff, it’s not even that bad. Right, [name]?” Sole paled as Shaun’s ear slid off his face. Deacon clenched his teeth. “Psh, ears. Overrated if you ask me,” Deacon nervously chuckled, “Hey, why don’t we pay a visit to Uncle Tom? He misses you a lot, Shaun. You guys can talk about all that awesome stuff that you usually do like...toasters and...desk fans and...alarm clocks.”

[tiaragqueen]

Odium

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Jackson Wang x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,4k

✂ Trigger Warning: Mentions of sex, blackmail, possessive and stalking behaviors, stupor, slight degradation, depression, yandere theme.

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don’t believe any of these members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day! [Edited]

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Beware, beware. Be skeptical of their smiles of plated gold. Deceit so natural, but a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning.” - Wolf In Sheep's Clothing [Set It Off]

          “Oh, so this is the girl you’ve been talking about!”

            The sun illuminated Mrs. Wang's bright features as she stood in the threshold of Wang house. Her eyes glittered like little jewels with a smile that showed the excitement of finally meeting a person so anticipated. Her arms were spread wide, like a mother waiting for her child to embrace her after being separated for a long time.

            It was hard to digest that she was the mother of the lunatic beside you. This woman who displayed an open and welcoming body language to you, a stranger. This woman who hugged you without hesitation. This woman who caressed your face as if you were her long-lost daughter.

            This woman who gazed at you with such a warm look that almost made you break down right here and there had Jackson wasn't present to observe everything.

            It wouldn't be a good thing if you behaved badly, would it?

            You forced a smile, resisting the tears that welled in your eyes. God, how long had it been since the last time you've ever felt the affection of a mother? Three months? Half a year?

            Every day, every second felt like an eternity in that apartment and you yearned for the freedom so you could be reunited with your family again.

            Just for once, that's all you asked for.

            You wanted to apologize to your mother for dismissing her warning of the dangers that lurked in parties. You wanted to apologize for being so fucking naïve. You wanted to apologize for ignoring her attempts in saving you. From yourself, and from this doom.

            So many regrets, so many tears have spent, and so little time to fix them all.

            But what could you, a helpless young woman, do against your possessive boyfriend?

            “Hello, Mrs. Wang.” you murmured, bowing respectfully. Even though you hated her son with every fiber of your being, even though you wanted to break his heart into million pieces the same way he'd broken yours in the past, she was still an elder and - in this case - innocent bystander.

            She wasn't the one at fault here. It was him, and would always be him. And you prayed that she could be your one-way ticket to freedom.

            Yet, how could you report his crimes to her without badmouthing him in the process? How could you convince her that he had degenerated into an obsessive and possessive man? What was the polite way to expose the truth?

            Why did freedom seem so close yet so far to reach?

            “Oh, how polite!” Mrs. Wang squealed, clapping her hands once. Your eyes softened at the sight that reminded you of a happy Jackson every time he saw something endearing.

            The past Jackson.

            The fake Jackson.

            You discreetly clenched your fists, repressing the fond memory. Although you wanted to express these feelings - the emotional baggage that you've carried and hidden in fear of provoking his anger - you knew that there would be a terrible consequence.

            Mrs. Wang stepped forward and pinched your cheeks, unaware of the depressed self that was concealed behind a demure facade. “And cute too! Where did you find her?”

            This wasn't what you were born with.

            This wasn't what you used to be.

            Your old self was much more extroverted; your old self was the kind of girl who bounced up to people and enthusiastically introduced herself. Your old self was the kind of girl who liked to make small talks because she couldn't stand awkward silence. Your old self adorned a beaming face to the world instead of a glum one.

            Your old self was happier than this new self.

            Your old self was fussier than this new self.

            Your old self had twinkles in her eyes instead of dark holes that sucked out every joy from the little things in life. The little things that you often reminisced during your free time. The little things that you used to be grateful for because they made you alive.

            Not happy, but alive nonetheless.

            Jackson blushed, rubbing his nape sheepishly. “I... kinda bumped into her during my first day of college.”

            It had been a cliché encounter; the guy accidentally crashed into the girl when she's carrying a huge stack of books. But the difference was, you weren’t the shy nerd.

            No, you were far from that. The only reason why you'd brought them was that you couldn't afford to repeat a semester just because you'd failed a lot of assignments in the first place.

            If only you rejected his offer to teach you.

            If only you avoided him.

            If only you were a bit sharper to notice that he had been watching you, both from parties and on the campus. That the accident was no accident at all. That he had been waiting around the corner where he knew you’d be passing by soon.

            Like a clueless red riding hood, you’d fallen into a leaf-covered hole the sheep had cleverly set up. And when you looked up to scream - because you’d lost your dignity on that bed after you liquored up your mind and was in an absolute lost - you saw the sheep peeking from the lip of the hole. You didn’t know that he was the culprit yet, and had been relieved to see him.

            Long claws reached for the zipper and slowly pulled it down, revealing a nasty wolf with his sickening grin and gleaming eyes. He spouted on some nonsense about how you belonged to him now - the throbbing pain deep inside you and the purplish markings confirmed it - and it would be useless to run away.

            You had vehemently denied this, even though you couldn’t doubt the validity of that fact. But when he showed you another poof; a heated kiss that instigated his ownership of you, you knew.

            That your world was absolutely ruined.

            That your freedom had been robbed from you.

            That you had given yourself to be manipulated like a fucking puppet in a simple act of blackmail.

            And it was all thanks to your lack of self-control.

            “I must say, Jackson, she’s definitely a keeper!” Mrs. Wang gushed after you demurely answered a barrage of questions from her. From basic things such as your hobbies and the like, to how long you’d been dating him. “You guys are so compatible with each other, I almost feel jealous.”

            Although you were happy with her apparent fondness, you also knew that she had implicitly given him her approval. You might be oblivious in some aspects, but you weren’t entirely stupid either. If there was one lesson during your ‘detainment’, was that you’d learned to be aware of his moods. And the wide, joyous smile displayed his happiness.

            Jackson chuckled and wrapped an arm around you to show her just how much of an affectionate boyfriend he was. You tensed slightly, regardless of how many times he’d done this before. The act didn’t go unnoticed by him too.

            “Thanks, I’m lucky to meet her too.” He rubbed your arm in hope of easing the tension, but it only succeeded in skyrocketing your nerves.

            Did he think that a pure gesture like that could magically solve everything? How fucking naive of him.

            “Aw, you guys are so cute! Wait here while I call your brother first.”

            Your fingers twitched in your lap as you watched Mrs. Wang stood up from the couch, tempting you to grab the hem of her shirt and followed you to God knows where. Anywhere, as long as you didn’t have to be alone with him again. You wouldn’t mind it if she tasked you with other household chores. In fact, that was what you needed right now.

            A distraction.

            “I see that you’ve been very good in acting,” he murmured, destroying any chance of you to approach her and beg her to call the police. Or escape through the backdoor, if they had one. “Very obedient. I like it.”

            His backhanded compliment did nothing to diminish the odium in which he casually sat beside you without any repercussions for his sins.

            “Keep that up, and I might consider giving you a reward.” Jackson tilted your chin up with his other hand and smiled the very same smile that had you fooled in the first place. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

[jimlingss]

Brass & Strings [14]

Episode 13 - Episode 14 - Episode 15 Words: 10k Genre: Fluff, Humour (?), Slice of Life, Music!Au, College!Au Summary: Have you ever wondered what happens to the mean girl after high school? Where do they go, where do they end up? More importantly, what happens when they get mixed up with the classic nerd that is always too nervous to answer no? Things become a lot more complicated when Kim Namjoon encounters you. They dub you as bat-shit insane and you are not ashamed.

Cr.

You’re sipping on your iced vanilla latte, nibbling on the green straw with your teeth and indifferent to the way your red lipstick leaves a stain as if you had kissed the plastic. The man across from you continues to audibly sigh and you know it’s some sort of signal but you can’t be bothered. You’re internally rolling your eyes. Though, after the fiftieth exhale, you’ll do anything to get him to stop.

Shut up! “What’s wrong, honey?” You put your hand over the man’s, cocking your head to one side. He lifts your fingers, thumb running over your knuckles and his eyes trail to your face, smiling warmly at how cute you look.

If only he could read your ugly thoughts.

“It’s just….my wife hasn’t returned yet, Y/N.” The man lets go and rubs his temples. “I miss her terribly. Every night, I wake up and find the empty side of the bed and I become so sad. She took the private jet to our summer house but she won’t let me in! She won’t say a single word to me!”

The man continues to rave and ramble on. You’re nodding but in a mechanical motion, no longer registering what he’s actually saying. “No one understands and it’s not like I can talk about this to my employees or the shareholders. I have no one….except, you. What should I do, Y/N? How do I get my wife back?”

You can’t. Why would she want to come crawling back to a bastard like you?

“Flowers.” You giggle out, “everyone loves flowers.”

The man grabs his phone and orders a thousand dollar bouquet to be delivered on his wife’s doorstep. He thanks you for your lovely advice, promises to see you soon and you mutually bid each other goodbye.

You slide on your Gucci sunglasses, tug your favourite cream fur coat closer around your shoulders and whip your hair back. People’s vision automatically dart onto your figure as your overpriced heels click against the cobblestone path, strutting past them and leaving them awestruck. But the cool facade is broken when a clumsy boy emerges from the shadows, joining alongside you. Your tiny smirk is replaced with a wide grin.

“You know, you don’t have to act as my bodyguard. Don’t you have better things to do than to follow me around on each date?”

Namjoon pulls on the strings of his hoodie, pouty lips that are obviously dissatisfied with you. “We need to take strong measures to make sure you’re safe. What happens if you get followed again? Or something worse like kidnapped or sold?”

“I can take care of myself.” You lightly taunt him. “I was fine before I knew you.”

“But now, I’m here. So, use me.” He smiles when you’re steps slow and you wonder if he knows what he’s saying. It’s unfair how much he can affect you when he utters such a simple statement. “I trust you.”

After each and every one of your outings, Namjoon has been waiting for you. He makes sure you make it to your next destination safe and soundly without a scratch. And when he, himself, can’t make it, he would somehow time it and Taehyung or Jimin would be in the vicinity. It should be infuriating that you’re being treated like a baby, passed around from babysitter to babysitter, but the gesture in actuality keeps you calm. Since the incident a few weeks ago, though you’d never admit it, you were still shaken.

You can’t begin to imagine what it would’ve been like if Namjoon wasn’t there. If he wasn’t with you now and you were alone. But you’re not alone anymore.

“I got to finish some work too!” The harpist’s dimples mark each side of his cheek and he indicates to the backpack swung over his shoulders. He clears his throat and you raise a brow. “Actually…” He hesitates, “for one of your classes, there was a massive project worth fifty percent of your grade. I’ve been working on it for three weeks now and I..I-I uh...just finished.”

The boy flushes and the tips of his ears turn into a shade of scarlet. He reaches up, pushing his glasses closer to the bridge of his nose. You stop in your tracks and he halts with you. “You did?” You’ve done this many times yourself and by the bashful expression written across his features, you know what he wants from you.

Namjoon wants your praise.

“That’s amazing. You’re amazing.” Unlike before when your words were dripping of insincerity and sarcasm, now you’ve allowed yourself to be honest. “I might not tell you this enough, but you know you’re very intelligent, right? You’re an incredible person, Namjoon.” Your arm lifts and you brush a few strands of his hair away from his eyes, all while staring at him.

Namjoon’s smile grows and it occurs to you that up until now, you’ve never really shown your appreciation through words. You’ve insulted him, yelled and screamed. But as the boy melts underneath your touch, you realize that he wants one thing...to be praised and appreciated.

“Thanks, Y/N- oof.” He stumbles back a few steps and a tinkling laugh streams from his chest. “What are you doing?”

Your voice is muffled through his clothes and your arms lock tighter against his waist. “I’m trying to show you that I appreciate you.” You don’t care that you look like an absolute fool, that your costly sunglasses are being smudged or that your lavish coat is being pressed. It might look like a funny sight - for such a dolled up girl to be embracing someone else who looks like they picked up their clothes from the garbage can. Yet, you couldn’t give a damn.

He laughs again, his cheeks numb from smiling when you finally let go. “I’ve decided that I want to be more honest from here on out.”

“Honest?”

“Yes.” You both continue to walk down the block of lavish stores. “I think I’ve been lying to myself for too long. It’s time to be more straightforward and truthful.”

Namjoon lifts his eyebrow, repressing more laughter. “Aren’t you blunt enough already?”

“To other people.” You quip, “but not to myself. And I want to start by asking you this. Kim Namjoon,” you shout out his name and he widens his eyes, “I have never seen you without your glasses.”

“What?”

“You can do whatever you want - your fashion style is a fucking catastrophe but it’s yours nonetheless. I simply want to be honest and say that I’ve been dying of curiosity as to what you look like without your glasses.” You nod and he blinks in bewilderment. “Second honest thought, I think we should go celebrate! If you’ve been slaving away, then it’s time to let loose!”

“O-okay.”

It must mean something when you don’t give a second glance to the palatial restaurant that welcome you with its open doors, serving fine dining dishes and tiny portions. Instead, you huddle with Namjoon in a food stall tent, asking the lady for bottles of alcohol and picking at the food on the grill. It’s simple. It’s not expensive or luxurious. It feels enough.

//

The next time you see Namjoon, you can’t help but study him.

“Hmmmm…..”

“Will you stop staring like that?” He covers up his face but you tug on his arms. “Y/N..”

He’s not wearing his glasses today. Namjoon told you that they were in for repairs, hence, he used his contact lens instead. “I don’t think I can get used to this. You look normal, don’t get me wrong….”

“C’mon. We’re going to be late.” The boy grabs your hand, dragging you away with him. You laugh, following along and letting him take you inside the dreaded science lecture hall.

For the next few days, Namjoon assists you through more presentations, reading the script out into your ear piece for you to mimic. If any of the professors notice that you’ve never once sat in their class, then they also know your last name and who you are. They never say anything.

It’s one of the few benefits of belonging to the family that you do.

“You know what?” You gaze at him one afternoon while walking in the corridor. “I think I like you better with your glasses.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat and brushes his hair. “I see.”

Lo and behold, the next day the harpist is wearing his spectacles again.

Aside from the presentations, Namjoon also writes exams in your place and by the end of the semester, he’s gotten B’s and C’s across the board. You study with him, of course, but while he’s doing biology and mathematics, you’re working on composition and music theory. Every so often, you ask him a spontaneous question or you tutor him in what he’s missed but the brilliant kid is never incorrect. His head is a encyclopedia and it’s frankly incredible.

“L/N Y/N and Kim Namjoon. If I could have a quick minute.” Your conductor calls you at the end of one of the last classes and you exchange glances with your friend. You approach in hesitation to the front podium and the unusual man’s smile only puts you more on edge.

“Is there something the matter, sir?”

You brace yourself for any criticism but he merely shakes his head. “No. On the contrary, I am quite impressed with both your performances this year. Y/N, you’ve always been one of the best students, despite your conflicts with your classmates. Namjoon, I have also been astounded at your massive improvements. You’ve become one of the best harpists that this university has ever seen. The two of you play very well and I want to reward you for that.”

“Oh. Uh…”

Your breath has hitched, unaware that such kind words could come from the harsh man’s mouth. He’s thrown his baton at multiple players before and if it wasn’t rage that he was feeling, then he was completely eccentric. You remember cursing the man as nuts on several occasions.

“Th-thank you.” Namjoon bows his head. “It’s an honour to hear that.”

You mime his movements and your conductor lets out a hearty laugh. “I was wondering if the pair of you would be interested in performing together.” Your head shoots up. “Now, I know that the harp and tuba isn’t a conventional duo but music isn't about being conventional. We should constantly be searching for better, for greater, even if it’s strange. And I believe if you two harness your powers and skills together, it could be a spectacular duet. What do you think?”

You’re a fish out of open water, mouth opening and closing several times. Namjoon’s eyes double and he steals a glimpse of you. “I-we….that would be incredible!”

“You’d be performing at the RPO as one of the last performances in a month-”

“Wait.” You hold out your hand with a shaky laugh. “Pardon?”

Your conductor gives you a strange look. “You’d be performing at the RPO-”

“T-The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra?” You choke and wheeze. Namjoon pats your back as you hack your lungs to death. He scrambles for his bottle of water and you down half of it. The conductor wears an amused expression. “Are you serious?”

“Very.”

The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra is one of the most famous ensembles where you live. Musicians like you and those who have graduated can only dream of entering. Not only do they tour around the world but they play in the most gorgeous venues; picking up awards from competitions like it’s nobody's business, performing for the head of state, recognized as one of the top. Wealthy folks fork out thousands merely to get a seat at one of their venues. And you’ve only heard rumours about how breathtaking the experience is. It’s the most stable of careers, a more than steady income. Performing with the RPO is the highest status you could receive. You’d be able to meet like minded people, have a potential path of fame and riches…..

You could become a world renowned musician.

“What do you think?”

Your knees almost buckle into the ground. “Y-Yes!”

//

Namjoon’s grinning and chuckling at how energetic you are, nearly bouncing off the walls. He’s only seen you like this when you were drunk off your ass, running around in circles until he had to forcibly haul you over his shoulder and walk away before a police officer could come by and hand a ticket for public drunkenness. But in your current state, you’re sober...or perhaps you’re actually intoxicated from excitement. Nonetheless, he’s having quite an enjoyable time watching you.

“Do you know what this could mean for us?” You throw your hands up into the air, out of breath from screaming into the couch cushion the boy gave you. “We could have careers! We could be actual musicians!”

“We’re already musicians.” Namjoon tips his head to the side. “But should we celebrate?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

You thought Namjoon’s place has always been similar to that of a dump. It’s not like he’s a very organized individual and you’ve witnessed dirty dishes laying around more times than you can count. But you’re pleasantly surprised when he pulls out a fresh bottle of wine from the fridge. Namjoon pops the cork and pours both of you a glass. You sit on his sofa and you clink your glasses together to a success.

“Jimin…” He grins in a sheepish manner, timidly waving his hand over. Jimin allows the front door to close and he drops his bag before slipping off his shoes. “Cam hab a drink with usss!”

The harpist’s roommate looks over to you, holding the bottle without realizing that it’s empty. Namjoon’s slurring on his words while you’re swaying from side to side, humming a song he doesn’t recognize. Jimin tries his best to hide his smirk at how the two of you are huddled closely together. “Nah, I think I’m good. I had a long day so, I’mma call it a night...make sure to keep it down…”

Jimin smirks and Namjoon narrows his eyes. “Wha’s tha..t supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He strides off into his bedroom and is gone within the next second.

Your friend turns back to you when you begin giggling again. A smile stretches across his face and he pokes your shoulder. “Wha? Wha’ is it?”

“Can you imagine?” You snort out while your stomach squeezes in hysterics. Your alcohol tolerance is higher than Namjoon’s and you’ve mastered how to speak without garbling the words up but that doesn’t mean you’re clear-headed at the moment. “The look on Rose’s face when I tell her!” Another snort and more chuckles fall from your plush lips.

Namjoon’s own laughter dies out as he becomes preoccupied in gazing at how soft they look, what it would be like if he reached out and touched them...if he kissed you.

His thoughts are immediately diminished or rather merely transferred when you bend over in snickers, putting your hand on his upper thigh. The muscle tenses underneath your fingertips and that’s when you look up to realize he’s not making a single sound. Rather, Kim Namjoon is gazing right into your eyes, leaning closer and closer. Your breath hitches, lashes fluttering as you stare at his own mouth that you can’t help but hunger after.

Your eyes shut. You brace yourself. But unfortunately, the moment never comes.

“I think….” Namjoon’s reached over to the table, grasping the neck of the emptied wine bottle. He clears his throat in an attempt to clarify his mind. “-we’ve had..enoug’.”

“O-okay.”

The two of you go to bed in silence, lying as far away as possible without facing each other. The strain in the air never really dies out until morning comes and the memories are pushed aside.

//

With the help of the conductor, the piece that’s chosen is relatively new, Giancarlo Aquilanti’s Tango. At first you’re apprehensive, preferring something classical and more technically complicated but your conductor insists that with an unorhodized duo, like the harp and tuba, it was best that the music itself be original as well. You can’t complain about his logic and after you analyzed the score and tried to play, you found that it had a peculiar charm.

For one of the first times, Namjoon gets to witness your Spartan discipline.

A year ago, he assumed like most others that you were a spoiled brat that loved money and attention; a person that clung onto others and manipulated them. He’s not wrong but the moment music becomes the subject, you lose the playful quips and teasings. You’re serious and demanding, striving for absolute fucking perfection. And the harpist is dying at your wrath.

“Again.” It’s the only word you’ve said since the beginning of practice and he expects it after each time you run through the score. “Again.”

When you first received the sheet music, you dragged him to the library to analyze it from top to bottom. Namjoon foolishly thought after two hours, he was finished but he looked over to find your scribbles and writing filling every single empty space. That day, you sat for six hours in total to find the meaning behind the piece, the style of it and break down.

It took less than an hour to play in tempo with each other, a surprisingly short amount of time but you supposed you and Namjoon are just more in sync than with the others you’ve ever participated with. It takes another full day for the pair of you to figure out your proper rhythm, dynamics and accents. You have to admit it’s a well written score - you two interchange the melody and rhythm at different parts, allowing both of your instruments to have its moments.

Throughout the piece, Namjoon has multiple arpeggios and glissandos that shine through while you set the beat. Namjoon was chosen for a reason. You can’t find much to complain about his technique but-

“Fuck.” You slam down your pencil on the music stand, holding your head in your hands. Namjoon observes you in silence and you let out an exasperated exhale. “I don’t know what’s wrong. There’s just something...missing!”

“Maybe we should take a break.”

“No.” You shake your head. “We can’t afford time for breaks. We need to keep practicing.”

Your team work with him isn’t bad at all. If anything, he’s the best person you’ve worked with thus far. Namjoon is as serious as you are and never once whines about how much you make him play. You only call quits on practice when your throat has shriveled up and you notice him stretching out the aches in his fingers.

In the next two weeks, you devote yourself to rehearsing. Namjoon goes off and finishes your science exams and you complete your other music courses as well before you seal yourself into the practice room. The conductor comes by frequently to monitor and give you his guidance, what to fix and how to play. He doesn’t dip his fingers in too much but makes a few comments here and there. You know he’s trying to get you to do it yourself, a teaching experience perhaps.

It’s infuriating.

“I don’t know. We’ve fixed every single flaw. We even wrote down where to breathe so it can be in sync.”

Yoongi glances at the score over your shoulder and hums. “The technical parts are all correct. You play flawlessly but I agree. There’s something missing. It feels empty.”

Your cousin’s criticism only drives you crazier. Now, you definitely know you weren’t imagining it.

“I think your unity definitely pulls through. The sound is crisp and I really enjoyed the last few bars. You did well on closing it up.” Jennie comforts Namjoon with her smile. “I, personally, think it’s exceptionally played.”

Yoongi steals your pencil and circles a few notes and areas. “Try adding accents and staccatos here. Maybe that’s what it needs. Try changing this into a flat.”

But sometimes even your genius cousin can’t save what was never there.

As the days draw closer, you go to your last resort. You’re at wits end. Once in a blue moon, an untrained musical ear might just be what you need; a person who can simply listen without considering the technical details and terminologies, truly the most unbiased.

“Well?” Namjoon lifts his foot off the pedal and stares into his roommate’s face. “What did you think?”

Jimin thinks for a long second and you wait for him. The boy runs a hand through his blonde locks, then shrugs. “Sounds pretty good.”

You facepalm. Namjoon sighs.

//

The office door crashes against the wall, mimicking that of thunder. You’re staggering in, hair a rat’s nest that appears infested with lice and the hoodie you stole from Namjoon hangs off of your shoulders in a way that makes you look like a beggar. The conductor in a slow manner, raises his head from his binder and smiles in amusement. Namjoon limps behind you in delay, cringing at your rude entrance but not saying anything.

“Why isn’t it you two.” He raises his cup of tea to his lips, taking an extended sip. The walls of your conductor’s office are full of ancient portraits of deceased musicians. An oak bookcase fills the space behind him. It’s cozy and carries an artistic aesthetic, though at this moment, you can’t appreciate any of it. “Is there something the matter?”

“Obviously.” You cut the air with a sharp tongue, unrestrained and completely gone wild. “You know what’s wrong. I know you know. I can’t take it anymore. We’ve been practicing for three weeks now and we’re running out of time. I can’t figure it out. Tell me.” The words come out as a demand and you add as afterthought, “please.”

“Alright.” He sets down his quill pen that’s too dramatic in your opinion. “Tell me, what is the tempo of the piece?”

“Rubato.” Namjoon answers and he nods. Your professor asks for the mood and the harpist answers without missing a single beat, having drilled it inside his skull. “Con fuoco, in a fiery manner.”

“These two things are supposed to help you discover what you’re missing the most. There’s a reason why it feels empty, dare I say...boring. You’ve got everything else down except for one key piece that makes or breaks it.” He leans back in his seat with a smirk and your annoyance is only building. The middle-aged man clearly is trying to take his time and test your patience. Namjoon puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder to calm you down before you can curse and after another second, he opens his mouth, “musical expression.”

He continues, “there’s not enough passion. The tango requires intense emotions. It’s senual, sexy, full of sexual tension, exuding sex, want and desire.” You never thought you’d hear any of your professors talk about sexual intercorse and in such a vigirous manner, waving his arms in grand gestures. “Have you both ever desired something with so much desperation before?!”

“Uh…”

“That’s what you miss. The raw need. The sensuality. It doesn’t need to be played flawlessly or perfectly but with emotion.” He hyperventilates, catching his breath and sits back again. “That’s the missing piece. It’s the key that will make you stand out amongst the others.”

There’s a tense silence in the room. Namjoon clears his throat in discomfort. “H-how are we supposed to do that?”

You question the same thing but the conductor merely shrugs. “Dunno. I can’t make you feel something. That’s on you. Good luck.”

What kind of shit advice is that?!

You’re on the brink to absolute insanity when you’re unable to probe for more answers. Instead, your professor takes the plump and red apple from his basket, giving it a good throw in the air, catching it in his hand and bidding you goodnight. He gathers his belongings, forces you out of the room, locks up the door and disappears down the hall while you scream.

//

“What an interesting predicament that you’re in.” Taehyung runs his fingers over his chin like it’s an invisible beard. Namjoon’s sitting across him at the dining hall, watching the saxophonist munch on a cheese sandwich (yes, bread and just cheese - don’t ask). “You know, don’t tell Y/N this because I think you’ll find my body in the gutter or ditch tomorrow….but, Y/N’s playing is impeccable. I told you once about the rumours that she’s a genius, remember? I rhinck one op da-”

Taehyung swallows his mouthful and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think one of the few reasons she isn’t a national sensation yet is because, other than her bizarre instrument of choice, her playing has always been lackluster.”

Namjoon frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Her playing is too perfect.” Taehyung focuses on his food, doe eyes enlarging at the yellow cheese sticking out. “Her sound doesn’t have feelings. It doesn’t allow room for mistakes. It’s rigid. And it can make others feel intimidated or uncomfortable.”

“Y/N has always been an intimidating person.” He further comments, “and that must suck ass. She can’t really change the way she is. So, her own personality is inhibiting her dreams.”

Namjoon’s gaping at his friend. Namjoon wonders if Taehyung is the real genius. The kid could easily become a music critic.

“Though, recently, I’ve noticed her sound has eased up a lot.” The saxophonist looks up innocently, chewing the food packed in his cheek. “That might be thanks to you.”

“What?”

Taehyung must not hear since he moves on to a different subject. “Anyways, if you’re looking to create a more sensual mood, I don’t know. Why don’t you try to think about your...sexy times?”

He moves his eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner. Namjoon sighs, “look dude. I hate to break this to you but I don’t ‘get any’. I’ve been so busy lately that-”

“Oh c’mon. Everyone has time for a little sexy time.” Taehyung grins. “All you need is a warm bubble bath, some alcohol, like wine or hard liquor, either-or. Wind down in your robe, scatter some rose petals on your bed and you use…” Namjoon’s face twists up and the other giggles. “Your hand.”

Taehyung laughs. “You think I get any either?! It’s my hand! Your hand is better anyways. It’s all you ever need! It’s a part of you and you bring it with you everywhere you go! A bathroom stall, underneath the table during a lecture, it’s your portable device! All you gotta do is pull down your pants and wrap your hand-”

“Alright, alright! Dude.” Namjoon shuts him up the moment others start to turn around in their seats to stare. “I-I know how, okay?” The harpist’s face is reddened and flushed. He mumbles, “I don’t need to be taught like some teenager.”

Namjoon hates how easily embarrassed he can get. A single comment can cause him to blush for the next ten minutes and it was an incentive to those bullies back in elementary and middle school - the period before puberty hit Namjoon and his body built into that of a hitman’s. But prior to that then, he was incessantly ridiculed and harassed. Kids took advantage of his timid nature and made him do their homework, stole his lunch money and took his shoes. The only teasing he accepts now is if it’s from his friends since he knows their true intentions and you, of course.

You just seem to be an exception to everything.

“Y/N?” He gently pushes the door open, slipping inside the dark practice room. You’re grasping onto the tuba, staring at your sheet music perched on the black stand. The curtains to the window are drawn closed and the lights are off. “Why is it so dark in here?”

“It was too bright.” You mutter, “it hurts my eyes.”

Namjoon takes a step and accidentally kicks over an empty coffee cup. His pupils flicker down and over to the corner full of the empty cups, as if you had collected them from the Starbucks trash can. “How many did you drink today?”

“Don’t know. Five?” You scribble something on the paper. “Namjoon, can you please turn off that fucking metronome? It’s making my headache worse.”

He keeps his eyes trained onto your figure and carefully treads to the chair where your metronome tuner is laid. He swipes the small device and then looks down. “Y/N. It’s already off.”

“No, it isn’t.” You grit out. “Then, what’s this buzzing in my ear?”

Namjoon puts your prized tool down before he strides over and kneels beside you. “Y/N.” You hum in response, savouring his soft and sweet tone that lulls you. “When was the last time you’ve eaten or slept?”

“Why does it matter?” You’re certain that you’re on the verge of a mental breakdown but maybe, maybe if you try hard enough and focus more, you can ignore it. “Look, w-we don’t have any more time. Now’s not time to relax. We need to practice. I-”

“No. We don’t need to practice. What you need is rest and to eat.” He shuffles your belongings and you’re about to tell him off, to curse at him to leave and stop bothering you but Namjoon looks up. “I think we’ve been over-practicing.”

“What? How? There’s no such thing as ‘over-practicing’.”

“Do you trust me?” Namjoon halts his hands and gazes back into your eyes. In your bleary mind, all you want is to follow his words of seduction, the ones that drip of honey and sounds like heaven’s angels. There would be nothing better than laying down for a bit of shut-eye.

“Please, Y/N. We’re a duo, right? I need you to believe in me as much as I believe in you.”

You can’t resist his temptation. “F-Fine.”

//

It feels absolutely glorious to step away from music, despite every cell and particle in your body screaming otherwise. Time is ticking, precious seconds slipping from your fingertips that could be used to figure out what you need to fix. But even though it might be completely idiotic of you, your confidence in Namjoon sedates your anxiousness. You don’t resist when he forces you down for a nap with him. Hours later, you wake up with your head no longer throbbing and your eyes no longer burning. You oddly feel rejuvenated and refreshed.

“Where are we going?” You half-expect to be taken back to the practice room for another round but instead, you end up- “I don’t cook, Nams.”

“It’s okay.” He hums while studying the squash like it’s artwork. “I do….kind of.”

You’re pushing the shopping cart after him, following as Namjoon bounces around the grocery store. You can’t recall the last time you’ve been to such a place. The maid was always assigned to pick up food and your parents never once set foot inside. After you moved out, you’ve only eaten at the dining hall or whenever your dates took you out to lavish fine dining restaurants.

To be at such a...commoner’s place, it’s unfamiliar. A year ago, you probably would’ve screeched and dashed out. Now, the chills nipping at your skin in the refrigerator section is slightly bearable and only because it’s the way in which the harpist examines ice-cream cartons.

His dimples appear ever so slightly when his cheeks move in contemplation.

“You know…” You pipe up and he looks over. “I actually like you better without glasses.”

His eyes perk up. “Really?”

“Yep.” Strangely enough, as you accompany him in the next aisle, his spectacles have disappeared from his face. “Where did your glasses go?” You have to hold in a giggle. “Can you even see?”

“I-I can.” He coughs. “They were bothering me so I took them off.”

“Alright then, tough guy.” You find it endearing how obvious he is and if the butterflies storming into your stomach wasn’t enough, then it’s the way he grabs onto the handle of the shopping cart with you, having to be led around. You’re pretty sure he’s as blind as a bat without proper eyewear but he insists that he’s fine.

“You know, there’s something I’ve been curious about. Ever since we went on that volunteering thing and we told old stories, I realized...I don’t really know much about your past, Nams.”

He lifts his head, nose grazed against the cereal box as he tried to read the label. He blinks in curiosity and minimal astonishment. “You want to know more about me?”

You look away with a nonchalant shrug. “Sure, why not? So...when did you start learning harp?”

“I started in high school, about fifteen years old? It’s late, huh?”

“No.” Your head shakes. “There’s no age limit to learning an instrument. I’m just surprised you’re this good when you’ve only been playing for five years.”

You push the cart and he continues down the next aisle beside you. “My father actually taught music on the side to find some extra money. He always loved it as a hobby but I wasn’t interested in it very much. He tried to show me instruments when I was a kid…...It wasn't until high school when I joined band that I got into it as well. I thought it would be a good way to get closer to him and share something in common.”

It’s heartwarming and you appreciate parents that love music. “They support you in it?”

“They do.” He nods with a soft smile. “I chose to play the harp in high school but I joined university as a chemistry major. It wasn’t until the end of first year that I realized I didn’t like it and I was taking a few classes in music at the time as an option when I decided to make it my major.”

“What about you?” It occurs to Namjoon that he’s been curious since he’s met you. It’s a question that everyone around has asked themselves but never directly to the only person who would know. “Why the tuba?”

“I started off playing the piano.” It’s a distant memory, one that you can barely conjure into your mind. “I was six or something. My parents threw me into a bunch of extra-curricular stuff, as parents do. Guess they wanted me to have an extra set of skills under my belt.”

“Oh.” He’s pleasantly surprised. “Can you play now?”

“Not really. Yoongi’s the better pianist. I only learnt for three years until I switched over to tuba when I was nine.” You throw a bag of chips into the cart before gazing into his brown irises. “And as to why…”

It’s a memoir you’ve held in your hands. A reaccuring dream that grounds you to the planet, reminds you of your roots. It begins with darkness.

You were born into a black void. With nowhere to go, a path became ignited by your parents’ guidance. Each step you took was measured by their eyes and persuaded through their soothing coos. You walked the road that they wanted you to walk, continuing on the route that they had laid out for you with their sweat and tears. But it wasn’t until you stopped one day, feet halting on the concrete and your eyes wandering into the endless oblivion.

Your eyes narrowed and your breath hitched. You walked into the darkness, despite the screams urging you it was a mistake, and you stepped off the course of your parents.

Another path became illuminated.

[Eleven Years Ago]

“Your daughter is a musical prodigy.” Your pianist teacher raves on and on in both excitement and distress. “In all my years of teaching, never have I encountered such a marvelous student. If trained correctly, she could become a world famous pianist in less than ten years.”

You grip your level six piano book, rocking from the tips of your toes to your heels. Adult talk bores you.

“No.”

Your father clears his throat and steps in front of your mother. They’ve had the same talk for months now but it always ends the same way. “We already have plans for her and she won’t be pursuing music.”

“Mr. and Mrs. L/N, it would be a waste of her talents and skills if she did not continue with music.” He’s desperate, nearly going down on his knees and grovelling. “Y/N has a gift!”

Your mother scoffs and huffs out, “then she can use that talent elsewhere. Somewhere more useful.”

Now, you’re bored out of your mind. You had picked at the spine of your yellow book and stared down at the ugly shoes that your mother insisted were pretty and expensive, but they cinched your toes too much for your liking. It had been more than ten minutes since they started to argue.....

Your ears perk at that moment, a sound emitting through the cracks of the door….a room over?

You slip down the hallway without anyone noticing and you peek into the tiny window of the practice room. You can’t see very well, only someone’s backside and they’re holding a golden instrument. You recognize it...the brass family...tuba?

It’s ugly. But as you turn away, one note pulls you back. The music tugs on your limbs, stealing the air within your lungs, an invisible strand tying itself from you to the instrument.

It’s an earthquake. A powerful and cavernous tone that rumbles and shakes your inner core. You whip your body back as the round and robust sound continues to resonate, majestic and sonorous in all its wonder. The sound is deep and low, a timbre that vibrates the floors and your ears.

It’s different. It isn’t like the common piano which bores you to death. It isn’t the violin that makes you sleepy and frustrated. What you’re listening to, has struck a chord in your soul, lit a match with a flame that cannot be snuffed out.

You tug on your mother’s dress. She doesn’t turn until you’ve done it thrice. “What is it?”

What you would then utter would not only mortify your parents and cause your piano teacher to begin hysterically crying...it would change the entire course of your life and make you walk a path that was never planned for you. It’s a path you have forged yourself.

“I want to play the tuba.”

The cashier’s eavesdropping. You can tell as you pack the food and produce onto the conveyor belt. But you don’t really care. Namjoon’s response and reaction is more important to you anyways.

“So, I basically cried and screamed and threw a tantrum until I got what I wanted.”

He smiles fondly. “Of course, you did. But I’m glad.”

You lift a brow, waiting with him where the groceries are being packed into bags. “And why is that?”

“Because if you didn’t fight for what you wanted and you kept on following along with your parents, we wouldn’t have ever met.”

“Hmm….” You tilt your head to the side. “You’re right. That would’ve been a real shame if we never met. I wouldn’t be able to ever insult you and follow you around and threaten you.”

“For the record, you’re not as bad as you think you are.” He smiles and nudges your side. “You don’t scare me anymore.”

You’re speechless, solely letting out a scoff and a ‘hmph’ as you cross your arms. Namjoon laughs at your pout and he’s about to press on but there’s a call of his name that startles the both of you. “Joon?”

“Oh no.”

He already knows before he’s whirled around. He’s grown up with this voice, heard it yell and nag him, lull him to sleep as a child. Namjoon groans, wanting to pull you away but aware that it’s too late. “Joon! Is that you?! Where are your glasses?!”

“Uhh….” You lean your entire body to one side, poking your head out from his large stature covering you, eyes travelling from his to the woman’s. “Nams?”

The harpist braces himself and spins one hundred eighty degrees. “Mom!”

“Mom?!”

“Son!” The short woman in rounded glasses opens her arms and engulfs your friend. He lets out an ‘oof’ and returns the hug. You watch in astonishment and elation at the mini family reunion.

Namjoon’s mother exudes a warm and maternal aura. She’s much shorter than her son and a bit smaller than you but the similarities between them are fascinating. The woman has chubby cheeks and dimples on each side, spectacles that slide down her nose and she adorns a soft smile. For a moment, you’re envious of their obvious close bond. If only…

“And who is this?” She pulls away and stares at you.

What a day to come dressed in shabby clothing. The one time that comes in every blue moon when you’re not in high heels or your fur coat, you’re meeting your friend’s family. You curse yourself at how underdressed you are, hair unwashed and Namjoon’s sweatshirt drooping off of your frame. If any of your parent’s friends saw you, they’d laugh and snicker at your face - you’d be punished at home.

“H-hi.”

You shut your eyes, not knowing why but on instinct. In the back of your mind, you’re fearful of being screamed or hit, the way your mother would react if you were caught dirty. “You’re very cute!”

“Mom!”

Your eyelashes flutter as you peel your lids back. What? She doesn’t mind that you’re a mess?

“Joon, is this your girlfriend?” His mother’s eyes are blazing and the two of you feel a flush wash down your entire face.

“N-no! We’re only friends.” Namjoon laughs awkwardly, pulling you closer. “She plays tuba. We’re uh, music classmates. N-nothing else!”

“I see.” She comments and looks over to the plastic bags on the counter. Her son follows her gaze and quickly takes it, thanking the cashier that was staring at their nails in boredom. “Why don’t you both come back for dinner then?”

“We were going to-”

“I already made stew at home and RM misses you.” Namjoon’s mother flashes her orbs to you. “Dear, come join us! I’d love to get to know you. It’s not everyday that my boy has made a new friend.”

The harpist opens his mouth to complain that he’s not in elementary anymore and that he’s perfectly capable of socializing but it dies in his mouth when you blink up at him. Your eyes are rounded, as if asking for his permission or if it’s okay to accept the invitation.

“Okay.” He internalizes the sigh, “let’s go.”

//

It takes a little bit over an hour to get to his parent’s home. Namjoon’s mother drives the entire way, merely listening in to the conversation and Namjoon admits that he doesn’t have a license...for humanity's sake. You can understand him without needing a solid explanation.

He tells you that he moved into the apartment with Jimin to have closer access to school. It makes sense since commuting daily for hours would be an absolute disaster - you know what it feels like, especially with your own studio apartment situated in the downtown area. But that aside, he also fills you in on some other details in his family. RM is his family’s dog of four years, named after Robert Morton.

“The composer?” You lift your eyebrow and he nods. The harpist ducks when you grin and lightly punch him in the shoulder. “You’re such a nerd, Nams. Have you always been like this?”

“For the record, my dad likes the name too!”

Halfway through the trip, his mother pipes up and inquires a few questions about you; what your exact major is, if you have any plans over the summer and your favourite foods.

It isn’t long until you arrive at the quaint home with the clean cut lawn and you meet Namjoon’s father. His parents...are positively, definitely, incredibly, fucking adorable. Aside from being extremely kind to you and opening their arms up immediately, his dad was waiting on the porch in his rocking chair for his wife to return. He’s shocked at your presence and welcomes you. Even the dog doesn’t go to Namjoon first but to you (which makes the harpist complain incessantly).

“By the way…” You frown, silencing his whines.

“Is there something on my face?” His brows furrow, watching as you study his features. Namjoon takes a step back. “What is it, Y/N?”

“I think you look better with glasses.”

“Oh.” The kid slides them on the next time you turn around to look at him. “I-uh..found them..?”

The house is tiny. In comparison to your parent’s mansion, it might be a shed out back or the quarters where the servants sleep. But it’s cozier than high roofs and dangling chandeliers, golden sewn rugs and sparkling furniture.

“Here! Eat more!” Namjoon’s mother scoops more for you. “It’s not everyday that we have such a lovely guest.”

“O-oh, thank you.”

RM’s perching his head in your lap, both for affection and to win your heart over and give him some food. You only occasionally reach down to scratch behind the dog’s ear. “So, I hear that you’re a musician? What do you play?” His father asks in interest, brown irises that gleam and remind you of the harpist.

“I play tuba.”

“Wow!” He exclaims, putting down his utensils. “That’s an incredible instrument, not very common unfortunately. I’ve always loved the ones in the brass family.”

Throughout the entire dinner, you and Namjoon’s father discuss musicality and the dying classical genre. You get so heated up that the dog whimpers and Namjoon has to remind you to keep eating. His father expresses that it’s been a long time since he’s had such a discussion and he feels invigorated and refreshed. “I’m so happy to hear that the future generation realizes the importance of preserving the histories of music. All the songs nowadays...”

“They lack everything from lyrics to the composition. It’s trash.” You finish off, managing to go without cursing. The boy across from you has to hold in his laughter but you’re dead serious.

By the time the delicious home-cooked meal has been consumed and you feel stuffed as a turkey, everyone’s cleaning up. You try to pitch in and help but Namjoon insists that he can do the dishes. The Kim family gathers into the kitchen and you decide to give them some space, wandering the small hallway and living room instead.

You find photographs of Namjoon, his toothy smile, standing next to his bicycle to squatting in front of a weird looking statue. There are even trophies of him winning math and science competitions stacked on the shelves by the television. He was exceptionally cute as a kid, dimples that shone through, hair that was even more ruffled than he is now. Back then, his glasses, clothes and shoes looked too big for his body, as if they were purchased for him to grow into.

“He’s been clumsy since the day I’ve had him.”

His mother’s abrupt but gentle voice nonetheless causes you to jump. She smiles and indicates a photo hanging on the wall. “This was taken of him when he was running at the park. Poor child tripped on his shoelaces and fell flat on his face in the mud.”

True to her words, he’s on the ground with big fat tears on his cheeks, perhaps only three or four years old.

Namjoon’s mother watches your enamoured smile and matches it. “Take care of him if you can. Sometimes I worry he’ll break his leg...again….or that he’ll find himself in bigger trouble. The boy wears his heart on his sleeve and it’s easy for him to get hurt.”

“I understand.” You know all too well what she’s talking about. “I’ll try my best.”

“Thank you.” His mother puts her arm around your shoulders and you jolt a little, not used to any form of physical affection. Still, her touch stays firm and warm. It’s a motherly hand, a comforting one at that. Your own parents never really did anything like this and you feel slightly envious, though thankful that Namjoon grew up in such a loving household. He deserves it.

“I-I’m not dating him.” You feel a wave of guilt overcome your senses. You’re a nobody in Namjoon’s life. You’re barely friends with him - you’ve threatened him, manipulated him in the past, lied and pained him in the way his mother just told you to protect him from.

You don’t deserve this hospitality. You don’t deserve this love.

Her lips tug in the same way her son’s do. It’s familiar and reassuring. Dimples mark each side of her cheek, a sheepish and timid gesture that soothes the turmoil entrenched in your chest. You feel tears fill your eyes. Namjoon’s mother is truthful, genuine and she murmurs to you, “it’s okay.”

It’s okay to feel this way. It’s okay to receive kindness. It’s okay to accept love.

You turn around, embracing the woman and she laughs heartily, patting your back in a constant beat. The woman treats you like you’re her own, is pure and virtuous as her son. She smells of vanilla and cookies. You wonder if this is what a mother’s supposed to be like. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, dear.”

//

If the transportation system had one bus driver, he’d probably be sick of seeing you and Namjoon around. Thankfully, there’s not only one. But the seat you both plop down in is the exact same, in the back, with you at the window seat and him near the aisle.

“Your parents are so nice.”

“Yeah, well...sorry. They probably kept on asking you if we were dating.” He exhales in exhaustion, leaning on your shoulder to regain strength. “They get really excited by that sort of stuff.”

“Why?” You give him a playful yet incredulous expression. “You never brought girls home?”

Namjoon chuckles, “believe it or not, I have never been popular. People either hated me or became scared of me.”

You snort out, “I know how that feels.”

It’ll take at least another half-an-hour to go back to the city. For a second, you regret not taking the offer of staying at his parent’s home but you didn’t want to intrude too much. Plus, you feel slightly embarrassed for embracing his mother for absolutely no reason.

At the very least, Namjoon agreed to stay at your place tonight since it was closer than making the trip all the way to his apartment. “You know...I kind of like you without glasses…”

He grunts in a murmur. “Why do you keep changing your mind?”

You let out a giggle, leaning your head on top of his. You shut your eyes, letting them rest from the long day. “I’m joking. I’ve been teasing you for the past month…”

“...What?”

“I like you if you’re wearing glasses or if you’re not wearing them. In any shape, way or form-” Your open palm that’s rested on your thigh is suddenly interlaced with his fingers. You don’t flinch from the movement but savour his warm touch. “-anything’s fine.”

“You’re mean.” Namjoon sulks and you smile.

“I know.” There’s a long silence as the bus rides through the empty streets, the darkness of the outside causing you to be drowsy and nearly drifting into a deep slumber. But you feel oddly content at this moment with Namjoon resting on your shoulder and your own head leaning on his. And there’s been a question, probing in the back of your mind and not leaving you to rest.

“Would you ever date someone like me?”

He stays quiet and you’ve wondered if he’s asleep. But he answers.

“....yes. I would.”

“Even though I’m so overbearing and my personality is horrible?”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Y/N.”

“You don’t either, Namjoon.” You whisper gently underneath your breath and Namjoon’s hand tightens around yours. “You’re kind and sweet. You could do a lot better than me.”

“But I don’t want anyone other than you.”

“See? There you go again being sweet.” Even with your eyes shut tight, you can feel the heat sweep up your cheeks. Your heartbeat is thundering against your ribcage, like a march to its demise, your rhythmic instrument to the melodic strings. “You give me a hard time, you know?”

“Why?”

You promised yourself that you would be honest. No more lies. Not to yourself.

“Because I like you.”

“Oh…..”

The two of you don’t open your eyes. You’re too scared to face the consequences of what you’ve uttered. Namjoon’s too petrified that he misheard. Instead, you rest upon each other for the remainder of the ride. But neither of you can sleep when your pulse is skyrocketing.

______

There’s no time to discuss feelings or dwell on that night when the performance has approached.

You might throw up.

It’s arrived quicker than you expected, in a blink of an eye, and the past few weeks have felt like a blur. Due to your anxiousness, you came five hours prior, listening and meeting the other musicians. You have a few business cards in your bag and you’ve mustered up smiles but you can’t remember any of their names or the conversations you’ve had. It’s been a ‘good luck’ here and a ‘I’m looking forward to it’ there.

“I-I think I might be sick, Namjoon.” You grab onto his arm, repressing the urge for vomit to spew up your throat. Your grip is probably wrinkling his nice suit and it most likely doesn’t look graceful the way you’re crouching over in your black, sparkling dress….which at any minute now could turn into a putrid green.

“Listen to me, Y/N.” He places his hands on your waist, making you stand up to look him straight in his warm eyes. Namjoon looks particularly good today. He can clean himself up well when he abandons his oversized clothing for something fitted and gels his hair into a neat style. “We’re going to be fine. It’s going to be okay.”

“N-no.” You can hear the applause from the crowd, the violin sounds dying out in the auditorium. “W-we didn’t practice enough. We didn’t rehearse at all for five days! What was I thinking?! How are we ever going to fix the piece?! Oh god. Oh god!”

Before you can lose it, Namjoon pulls you in for a tight embrace, arms wrapped around your body. “Breathe for me. Just breathe.” You adhere to his commands, taking a shaky inhale for a steadier exhale. “Good. Now pay attention to what I’m about to say...I don’t care.”

“Wha-”

“It doesn’t matter to me if we go out there and beast it or royally screw up. To me, having this chance to play with you is enough. Can you believe this is our first time that we’re going to play a duet together?” He asks you in an excited voice, pulling away to stare into your irises. Namjoon chuckles and you smile. “Remember when you told me that someday we could play together? Well guess what? That someday is here.”

“You know you’re being ridiculously cheesy right now?”

“I don’t care.” He repeats and shrugs. “I’m just happy that I can stand here at this place, ready to play my instrument and be with you. No matter what, it’s going to be something worth remembering.”

The claps fade away and the conductor of the symphony turns around to begin the preface before you enter. You feel calmer than before, less tense and stiff. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“At the end of this performance..” There’s more applause from the audience members. “I’d like to take you out on a date.”

You’re stunned. Namjoon smirks. Your mouth drops. He faces forward.

“Please welcome, L/N Y/N and Kim Namjoon, here to perform Giancarlo Aquilanti’s Tango!”

The curtains draw open, hundreds of people greeting you with claps and you’re forced to move forward. Your instrument is taken from your case on the way to the front and the harp is situated a few feet away. You sit yourself down, not having enough time to scan the spectators. But you’re certain that your professor, Namjoon’s family and your friends are here to root you on, somewhere in the crowd.

Your hand shakes as you place it on the valves and you shut your eyes to regain composure. Everyone is watching you, the esteemed musicians from behind to the people in the audience. There’s so many things that can go wrong. You can envision each and every one of the thousands in a flicker, like flipping through the pages of a book. Though the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach is gone.

“Ready, Y/N?”

And when you open your eyes, the dimpled boy is sitting beside you. It’s okay.

“Ready.”

You inhale a breath, lips attaching to the mouthpiece and at the same time, Namjoon plucks a string. Your brass instrument cuts through the air in a crisp sound. It trembles and shakes against the tall ceilings, a cavernous and robust vibration that sings out with its deep timbre. It’s the sturdy tone of Earth, the luscious noise of land and soil that weighs those from drifting away.

As the score moves onto a more playful section, you transfer over to the rhythm while Namjoon interchanges to the melody.

The graze of his fingertips and tugs cause multiple chords to float like clouds drifting on a summer’s day. His gentle sound blurs when he steps on the pedal, the glissandos following the arpeggios. It’s gentle and mellow. He plays the angel’s instrument, twining his music together with yours. His genuine and direct emotions softens your harsher sounds, melting it’s sharp edges.

You sneak a glance at Namjoon, only for your eyes to lock with his. It takes everything within you not to crack a smile when he grins in such a silly manner.

If you are the ground, Namjoon is the sky.

Rather than incorporating raw need and desire, the sensuality is light and sweet. Your instruments are dancing with each other in a courtship full of giggles and smiles, gradualing building up instead of a burst of passion and tension.

The audience and musicians fade into the back and you focus solely on the music, the sounds and Namjoon. For a long moment, it feels like you’re back with him in the cozy confines of the practice room. It’s only when the deafening applause breaks your trance do you realize it’s over and you’re strung back into reality.

“We did it!”

“We did it.”

The people are in a standing ovation and the both of you barely manage to get up and bow as the performance sinks in. You can’t feel your face or your fingers. At least, not until Namjoon threads his hand through yours. “Hey...Nams?”

“I-I’d love to go out on that date.” The adrenaline doesn’t pause. You’re out of breath, stepping backstage. The curtains fall behind you. He smiles and you can’t stop yourself from spitting out the most desperate of words. “I-Is it okay if I kiss you right now?”

He doesn’t answer. The harpist simply takes one stride forward and opens his palm to graze against your cheek. You inhale and he presses his soft lips against yours, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. You let out a yelp when he lifts you off the ground to get closer. You smile against his lips and Namjoon even begins to laugh.

You break apart with a red swollen mouth, batting at his chest. “W-what kind of kiss was that?”

Namjoon is still giggling. “Sorry. I was just waiting too long to do that-”

You reach in for another. This time, you can’t help but laugh as well.

“Me too.”

[tayegi]

New Rules Ch. 4

Word Count: 9,665

"What?! This is totally unfair!" You exclaim at the weekly school newspaper meeting.

Yoongi, the editor, rubs his temples in exasperation, "I thought I explained this to you, ___. This isn't permanent. I just need you and Somin to switch positions for the rest of the semester."

"You should be thanking me," Somin pipes up from where she sits across the room from you, "Your politics section is way more difficult to write for than mine!"

"Yeah, but yours is dull as hell," you shoot back, "At least I won an award for my piece on sexual violence last semester! What competition could I even hope to enter writing about goddamn sports?"

"For god's sake, woman, it's only for six weeks," Yoongi growls, frustrated with the length of the meeting, "Just make the switch already."

"I don't know why Somin can't still write for her segment! All of the stadiums are wheelchair accessible on campus!"

"But what about the away games?" She exclaims, "Do you really expect me to ride a long-distance bus with a broken leg?!"

She's got you there. You feel a twinge of guilt about being so insensitive when your colleague is in pain, but you're still hesitant about giving up your beloved politics section for something as mundane as sports. "You're right, Somin," you say in a soothing tone, "You've been in a lot of pain with that leg, and you should really just stay home and rest… The politics section might be a bit too stressful for you. Why don't you switch with Taehyung instead?"

A handsome boy with sandy blonde hair looks up from his phone at the sound of his voice, "Huh?"

"No way! How dare you suggest that I do the fashion column?!" Somin exclaims in outrage, "You're just trying to get rid of me!" She accuses, lifting one of her crutches to point at you from across the room.

"Hey, what's wrong with fashion?" Taehyung pipes up, indignant.

"That's right! What's wrong with fashion, Somin?" You exclaim.

"Really, ___?" she says with a haughty wrinkle of her nose, "I am the first woman to write for the sports section in our university's history! Do you really expect me to write for the fashion column after this? How humiliating!"

"There's absolutely nothing humiliating about writing about fashion!" You jump to your feet to yell at her.

"That's right!" Taehyung echoes, rising as well to stand next to you, "Fashion is cool!"

"And your logic is so misogynistic!" You add, feeling yourself getting fired up.

"Oh no…" Yoongi mumbles under his breath, but it's too late.

"Kudos to you for breaking a gender stereotype and writing for a traditionally male section. But how fucking dare you look down on a traditionally female pastime?!"

"Wh-what?" Somin splutters, "That's not what I—"

"That's the problem with modern day feminism," you rage on, "It's all great and dandy to have women break into stereotypically male roles. I love that we're encouraging young girls to embrace leadership positions and enter STEM fields. But the issue with this is that we're now depreciating traditionally female roles! A woman scientist is so fierce and strong. But now a woman who is more interested in fashion or beauty is scorned and considered weak?! That is bullshit! We're not teaching women to be equals to men. We're teaching women to be men. And that's so fucked up!"

Somin's face flushes red as she realizes her mistake, "This isn't just a gender thing," she feebly defends herself, "You have to admit, regardless of traditional gender roles, fashion is a bit…"

"A bit what?" you snap, "What makes sports so much better than fashion? Both are unsubstantial pastimes! Is watching men throw balls at each other really that much better than dressing nicely?"

"Yeah!" Taehyung enthusiastically defends you, "You're all just jealous because I look cuter than you!"

"He does!" you angrily agree, "And besides, don't be so haughty, Somin. Taehyung is also breaking gender roles!"

"I'm the first male fashion columnist in our newspaper's history!" The golden-haired boy crows in delight, "You ain't special!"

"And there's so much stigma for him as well," you add, "The fashion column is seen as so girly and irrelevant. Taetae has received so much flack for taking on the column. And I am so proud of him for not allowing society to tell him that engaging in traditionally female roles is shameful!"

"Exactly!" Taehyung jumps to his feet to sling an arm around your shoulder, "We're socially woke! Take that, you jerk!"

"Taehyung, sit the fuck down," Yoongi growls as he pulls his blood pressure medication from his backpack, "Don't pretend to be a raging feminist when we all know that you wanted the fashion column because you thought it was pretty."

Deflated, the younger boy awkwardly plops back down in his seat, "So what?" he mumbles, "That's a good reason…"

You sympathetically pat his head, "Don't worry, Tae. You did well."

Yoongi pops two pills in his mouth and dry swallows them before responding, "___, come outside. We need to talk."

"___, you really need to stop getting everyone riled up like that during our meetings," Yoongi says as soon as he pulls you out into the hallway.

"Sorry, but it's seriously unfair, Yoongi. You know how hard I worked to get the politics section. This feels like I'm being demoted."

"It's just temporary," he assures you, "And besides, those in leadership positions should set an example by making sacrifices."

"Leadership…?" you repeat with wide eyes.

"Yeah, didn't I tell you that you were the top candidate to take over my position as editor when I graduate next year? Don't ruin your chances, dumb ass."

Your heart soars in your chest at the reminder and you have to fight to keep a smile off your face, "Taehyung is just easily influenced… but I promise I'll try not to lead him astray."

"Good. And play nice with Somin as well! She's actually really good at her job and we need her."

Your face falls at the reminder, "She needs to play nice first," you childishly mumble, "I know she has no interest in politics, but she wants my section just to spite me."

"Well, even if that's the case, just ignore it. As editor, you've always got to be the bigger person."

"Fine," you sigh deeply, "I'll do it… But please don't fire me if I do a terrible job… I don't know shit about sports."

"Eh, I'm sure you'll do fine," the silver-haired man waves you off, "Besides, you have connections that Somin doesn't have. If you use them right, I bet you could even outdo her."

"Connections?" you repeat in confusion, "What do you mean?"

Yoongi gives you a pointed look, "Don't pretend to be so sly, ___. The men's soccer team is the talk of the whole school. If they continue their winning streak, they'll be the first team to advance to the championship game in twenty years."

"That's really great, but what does that have to do with me?" you ask, wracking your brain for any connection to the soccer team. But no one you know plays a sport… except Namjoon, who keeps trying to claim that chess is a real sport. That nerd.

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow at you, "I didn't think you were the type to play coy, ___. It really doesn't suit you."

"Honestly, Yoongi, I have no frickin idea what you're talking about."

"Do I really have to spell it out to you? Jeon Jungkook. I don't know what's going on between the two of you, but every journalist knows to use their personal connections to make a story. An interview would be amazing."

"Why would I interview that stupid fuckboy?" You ask, still not catching on, "He's not even good at talking… Though not as bad as Taehyung."

"Are you a good actor or seriously oblivious?" Yoongi asks in astonishment, "Because he's the star striker of the soccer team, of course!"

"Wait, really?"

"Aren't you sleeping with this guy? How could you not know?"

"I mean I heard someone mention it before, but I thought they meant it as a metaphor… Wait a minute! How did you know I was sleeping with him?!"

"Isn't it obvious?" Yoongi says with a snort, "The amount of PDA between the two of you at the barbeque was sickening."

Your face flushes, "What? It wasn't PDA! He was just being a handsy pervert!"

"Yeah yeah whatever. Just get the interview with him, will ya?"

"Alright… But I'm kinda disappointed that he's an athlete… no wonder his ego's so huge."

"I think you're the first girl to ever say something like that," Yoongi wryly informs you, "But whatever. Just get this done, ok? And please calm Tae down and go apologize to Somin together."

"Fine," you say with an exaggerated sigh, "Being editor isn't easy, huh?"

"Yup. You better watch yourself or I'm giving the position to Taehyung."

Your eyes pop open with shock, "You wouldn't dare!"

"Hey so you like kick around a ball or whatever?" you ask over the phone after your meeting for the school newspaper.

"Huh?" Jungkook says when he picks up on the other end, "Is that a euphemism for something?"

"What the hell are you talking about? How could that be a euphemism for anything?!"

"Balls?" he says pointedly.

"Stop it, you nasty. I just need to know whether you do sports things or not!"

"Ah, so this isn't a booty call?" Jungkook says, clearly disappointed.

"What?! It's Wednesday! How could this possibly be a booty call?!"

"Do people not fuck on Wednesdays?" He asks in amusement, "Besides, I haven't seen you for over a week," he whines, "I thought we were going to make this a regular thing!"

"You could see me more often if you actually went to class," you coolly inform him.

"Yeah, but we can't fuck in class, so what's the point?"

"The first part of our presentation is due next week!" You exclaim, "Please tell me you remembered that?"

"Yeah, of course," he says, but he sounds uncertain, "We should definitely get together and work on that…"

"And I need an interview from you for the school paper! Why didn't you tell me you were on the soccer team?!"

"Wait, what? You didn't know?!"

"No! I thought you were just jacked up on steroids or whatever shit. But I guess it makes sense that you're putting that muscle into use. But anyways, give me an interview with the team!"

"You're on the school newspaper?" Jungkook asks in surprise, "Wasn't there that Somin girl or whatever?"

"She broke her leg," you explain, "So unfortunately, it will be me for the next month or so until she recovers."

"Oh really? ___, did you know that she was supposed to travel with us for all of our away games?"

"What? No way! Why?"

"Our team is playing the best it has for over twenty years. We're blowing up in the press, and it'd be good publicity for the school newspaper to follow us and be the first ones to report. And since Somin is gone… I guess you'll have to be the one to travel with us."

You frown at the giddy quality of his tone. You can't see him, but you know for sure that he's smirking at you on the other end, "Fine. Whatever. That's not a big deal."

"A lot of our games are so far that we have to stay overnight though… and sleep at a hotel…"

You're slowly catching on to the implications of his words, but play dumb, "So what?" you defensively ask.

"Well, hotel rooms can be expensive… and if the newspaper ever wants to save on your travel costs, then you can just—"

"Ah stop right there, pervert!" you shriek at him before he can continue any further.

"Why?" he asks in disappointment, "It makes economic sense for us to share a room!"

You pull a face and shake your head before remembering that he can't see you, "Should you even be having sex before a game?!"

"It's just an urban myth that sex before a game decreases your stamina," he informs you, "And besides, what about after the game?"

"I guess I can hold you and feed you cheetos when you lose," you wryly shoot back.

"Lose?!" Jungkook repeats in outrage, "I'll let you know that we have a ten-game winning streak!"

"Against who? High schoolers?"

"You're talking major shit for someone who's never seen us play. I seriously can't believe that you didn't know I was on the team!"

"If I had known, I would've never slept with you," you mildly retort, "I hate athletes. Especially soccer players."

"Why? Because we're better than you at something?"

"No, because you're all so stupid and arrogant."

"What? Where did you even get this ridiculous—"

"You're getting off topic," you irritably interrupt, "When can we meet up?"

"Tonight," Jungkook says at once.

"What? I can interview the team tonight?"

"Oh, that's what you meant… Ah I have to ask the team first, so probably sometime next week?" He says in a dejected voice.

"Ok. And when can we work on the project?"

"Maybe this weekend? Hey, are you coming to our Halloween party on Saturday? We can work together the next morning."

"Why are you working so hard to get me in your bed, Jungkook? I already said I'm down to make this a regular thing!"

"Yeah, but it's been so long," he complains, "Come over and let me eat you out."

You hold the phone away from your ear with a wince, "Gross."

"How is that gross?!"

"Whatever. I'll see you on Sunday."

"Wait, aren't you going to our party?"

"I thought I told you that frat parties aren't my thing. I'd much rather get drunk in the comfort of my own bed, thank you very much."

"You are so weird," Jungkook sighs in disappointment, "Fine… See you on Sunday then."

"Ok, but don't drink too much," you warn him, "I can't have you hungover when we meet."

"Same with you," is his disheartened response.

"What? I'm a tank. It'll be no problem for me, so just watch yourself," you snort.

"Mijoo, are you ready?" You happily call out three days later.

"Yep, just one sec," Mijoo says from the bathroom stall right next to yours. You hear the fumbling of clothing for a few seconds before she says, "Ok, ready!"

"Great. On the count of three, let's both come out and reveal our outfits, ok?"

"Okay!" Mijoo cheerfully agrees.

"One, two, three!"

As soon as you count down to three, the two of you burst from your stalls at the same time. Then you simultaneously freeze in your tracks.

"What the fuck?"

"What the hell are you wearing?!" The two of you exclaim at the same time.

"Mijoo!" You half-scream at your roommate, "I thought we agreed on a matching couple's costume!"

"We did," she says in bewilderment, "So what the hell are you wearing?"

"I'm the hotdog!" You exclaim, twirling around to reveal your enormous, inflated body suit, "How are you the ketchup?" You demand, angrily pointing at her tight, red mini-dress.

"It's right here!" She defends herself, pointing to a tiny logo on the hem of her dress.

You squint your eyes and barely make out the "Heinz" logo for the first time. "That's so unfair!" You explode, "You look hot and I look like a fucking weirdo!"

"I didn't know we were going this far!" She says in bewilderment, "I thought you were just going to wear a t-shirt with a weiner dog on it something—you know, like normal college kids?!"

"Oh god, this is such a disaster," you groan as you bury your face in your hands.

Mijoo awkwardly shifts from foot to foot as she watches you suffer through your despair, "Do you still want to go get drunk?"

"Of course!"

"Alright… So should I give you a few minutes to get changed?"

"No!" You yell with so much passion that your oversized hotdog costume wobbles, "I paid good money for this costume and I intend on getting my money's worth out of it!"

"Okay… but don't be too mad if I document this whole thing on my snapchat…"

The bar you end up in an hour later is crowded with college kids going out on a Saturday night. A few of them are dressed up for Halloween, with pretty animal ears or graphic t-shirts, but the vast majority are in street clothes. As a result, the moment you and Mijoo walk into the bar, all eyes are on you.

"Um…" Mijoo says when you spend nearly five minutes shoving your oversized plush hotdog costume into your seat, "Would you be more comfortable sitting in a booth?"

"No!" you exclaim, causing a man to walk straight into a door in his attempt to rubberneck after you. "Don't be embarrassed, Mijoo! There's nothing to see here."

"I'm not embarrassed," she mutters, "I just thought it would be nicer to sit in a booth…"

"Nonsense!" You boom, "Let these children stare! They're the ones missing out by not dressing up for this glorious holiday!"

"Next time we should share our outfit ideas with each other in advance," Mijoo tells you in a hushed whisper, "But anyways… I think we're going to need a lot of alcohol… Excuse me, waiter!"

An hour and three bottles of soju later, both of you are hunched over on the tables, Mijoo resting her head on her hands, and you bunching your hotdog costume up as a pillow.

"One more bottle!" You exclaim, waving animatedly at the waiter.

"Ugh, I don't know if I can have anymore," Mijoo complains, "I just want to take a nap…"

"Don't sleep!" You reprimand her, reaching across the table to slap her arm, "We're having so much fun right now!"

"Are we?" Mijoo groans as she peeks up at you through a curtain of long, dark hair, "I want to sleep!"

"Just one more bottle," you beg her, "It's only Halloween once a year and we need to celebrate! Oh wait, Jungkook invited me to a party at the BTS house. Do you want to go to that instead?"

"No!" She nearly yells at you. Then, she pauses and blushes, "I mean, I don't think that would be a good idea…" she mutters.

"Why not?" you ask, eyebrow quirked. You have a good idea why she'd be uncomfortable going to the party, but you want to squeeze it out of her.

"I just don't think it'll be fun," she awkwardly lies, "Let's just get another bottle of soju, ok? That's way more fun!"

"Aren't you sleepy?"

"No way," She hastily denies, "This is the best! Waiter, another bottle please!"

Another hour later, and five bottles of soju litter the table around you while you incoherently ramble on about your love for dogs.

"I just… I love them so much!" You tearfully exclaim, "I wish I could go and hug every dog in the world, but I can't because that's crazy… It's crazy right? I can't hug every dog… But I want to… I want to. It's impossible! But I just… I love dogs!" And with that, you burst into tears, startling the customers seated around you.

"That… that's so beautiful," Mijoo says, equally as emotionally affected as you, "I love dogs… And I love you!"

Your heart feels like it might burst at her confession, "You love me? No, I love you!"

"No, ___, I seriously love you."

"I love you more!" You dramatically cry out, catching the attention of every person in the bar, "No one else was there for me in Freshman year after that incident, except you. You were the only one who stood by my side."

"That's because you're an amazing person!" Mijoo exclaims, tearing up, "Those other people were all unloyal assholes! But I'll always be here for you."

"What have I done in a former life to deserve you?" you lament as you reach across the table to squeeze her hand.

Mijoo offers you a watery smile in response, quiet as the two of you share an emotional, albeit drunken, moment. Then a brilliant grin flashes across her face, "Want to go to a party?"

You frown in response, "You didn't want to go to the BTS party!"

"Yeah, but I was also invited to an epsilon chi omicron party," she says with a grin, "Wanna go dance and meet cute new boys?"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Whoo, this is so much fun!" You yell in excitement as you grab Mijoo by the hand and beeline for the dancefloor.

"Ah, ___, hold on! Not so fast," she says, then turns to apologize to all the annoyed people on the dancefloor who you nearly plow over in your quest for the center, "I'm so sorry," she whispers, over and over.

"This is the best!" you yell to be heard over the pounding music, even as your oversized hotdog costume whips around to knock a guy onto his knees, "Party, party, party!"

"Um… Do you want to take that costume off first before we dance?" Mijoo asks, wincing when you accidentally bodyslam another partier.

"No way!" You exclaim, excitedly pumping both hands in the air, "This is the most fun I've ever had! Let's go!" You whoop in joy, turning in a wide circle.

Mijoo sighs as your dramatic spin knocks off a half dozen people on the dance floor, "What did I get myself into…?"

"Please come help me," Mijoo begs over the phone not even an hour later.

"Mijoo?" The voice on the other end says in confusion, "What's wrong?"

"It's ___," she explains, "And it's pretty serious… How soon can you come?"

"Um… maybe fifteen minutes?"

"Alright," Mijoo says with a nod, "Please hurry, Yerin."

"I'm on my way!"

"Thank you so much."

But as soon as Mijoo hangs up the phone, she looks up in shock to find you crawling up a table, "___! Get your ass down right now!"

True to her word, Yerin shows up at the epsilon chi omicron party less than fifteen minutes later. She takes one step onto the dance floor before spotting you sloppily trying to climb up the pole on the table before she hurriedly intervenes.

"Oh shit, Mijoo," she gasps as she rushes on top of the table to join the two of you, "This is worse than I thought."

"Tell me about it," she cries as she tries to physically pull you off the pole, "I haven't seen her this drunk in years!"

"Ah, we really should get her home," Yerin says with a frown, "Everyone's watching!"

"Ok. You grab her arms and I'll pull her off the pole!"

"Got it!" The younger woman chirps in agreement as she jogs into place. But as soon as she tugs at your arms wrapped tightly around the pole, the whole dancefloor begins to boo.

"You're no fun!" Someone yells out.

"Boo! Damn party poopers!"

"Let the hotdog dance!" A third voice bellows so loudly that it cuts through the loud pop music. This sparks interest from the crowd, and within seconds, the entire dance floor is chanting "Let the hotdog dance. Let the hotdog dance. Let the hotdog dance!"

Mijoo winces and redoubles her efforts at pulling you off the stripper pole, but as soon as Yerin loosens your arms, you wrap your legs tightly around the pole.

"Staph it!" you blubber, "Dey lurvvv me! Muh people!"

"Oh god, why is she so strong? What do we do?" Yerin asks in a panic.

Mijoo's face crumples, but before she can respond, a familiar voice calls out your name, "___?"

The two sober women turn around, and Mijoo nearly weeps in relief when she sees a confused-looking silver-haired man standing in the crowd, "Oh my god, Yoongi. Thank god you're here!"

"What's wrong with her?" He asks as he makes his way through the mosh pit to stand at the foot of the table.

Yerin's eyes pop in surprise at the sight of the older man, "O-oh, hello."

Yoongi briefly regards the pretty blonde girl with a nod of his head before he turns back to Mijoo, "Is she on drugs?"

"No!" Mijoo cries out in frustration, "I don't know why she's acting this way!"

"Let the hotdog dance! Let the hotdog dance!"

Yoongi cringes at the loud chants from the drunken crowd, "Aish, so noisy. Ok. That's enough fun for one day, ___." And with that, your editor grabs you by the waist and pulls you away from the stripper pole.

"Nuuuuu!" you cry out dramatically, "Muh peorple –hic- want meh!"

"Sure they do, babe," Yoongi wryly says as he pulls hard. You desperately cling to the pole for another second, but you're no match for his strength and in a second, he yanks you off the table with a surprising show of strength from the slender man.

The crowd immediately starts booing, "Give us the hotdog back!"

"You guys suck!"

But Yoongi ignores them all as he makes a break for the exit, "Hurry and help me!"

Mijoo and Yerin quickly rush forward to each grab a limb and together, the three of them manage to drag your body out of the party.

"LERME GO!" you yell, wildly squirming from where you're slung over Yoongi's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

He falters under your thrashing, "Aish, woman, why are you always like this? Why can't you participate for once in your goddamn life?"

"MUH PEOPLER -hic- NEED MEH!"

All three of them wince from the volume of your voice. "Geez," Mijoo mutters, "By the way she's yelling, it seems like we're kidnapping her or something."

"This is for your own good, ___," Yerin says as she sympathetically squeezes your hand.

"Oh god," Yoongi grunts when a sudden spasm of flinging limbs nearly makes the both of you fall over, "I think I'm going to need some backup for this… You there, what's your name again?"

"Yerin!" she pipes up in surprise, flustered by his direct question.

"Oh, ok. Yerin. Can you grab my phone from my pocket?"

"Yes!" She says, stumbling forward at once, but then pauses with a blush as she realizes that his phone is in his back pocket. She demurely plucks it from his pocket, careful not to touch him, then hands it to him, "Here you go."

"Ah, my hands are full," he says, gesturing to where you squirm on his back, "Can you scroll through my contacts to call her boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" Yerin and Mijoo exclaim in unison. "What boyfriend?"

"You know, that bratty soccer player kid," Yoongi says with an irritated shrug of his shoulder, "Jeon Jungkook. Now can you please call him so he can go collect this hot mess?"

"Are they dating now?" Yerin hisses at Mijoo as she scrolls through Yoongi's contacts.

"I have no idea!" Mijoo says in genuine bewilderment.

Confused, the younger girl nevertheless dials the number. The phone rings ominously for a few seconds before Jungkook picks up, "Hello? Yoongi, what's up?"

His voice is slightly muffled on the other end and it's clear that he's at a party from the pounding music in the background, "Oh, Jungkook, this is Yerin from your creative writing class. I'm sorry to bother you, but we need your help."

"Huh? Where's Yoongi?" he asks in suspicion.

"Right here!" the older man yells into the phone, "Just get your ass over here!"

"What? Where are you? What's wrong?" He asked, slightly worried now.

"We're outside the epsilon chi omicron house," Yoongi explains, "Come here and collect your girlfriend, goddamn it!"

"Who are you talking about?" Jungkook asks in confusion, "I don't have a—ah you mean ___?"

"Yeah, obviously," Yoongi says with an annoyed roll of his eyes, "Hurry and come here."

"Wait, what's wrong with ___?"

"Just listen to this," Yoongi says, then juggles your weight with one arm so that he can grab the phone to hold next to your face.

"YOONGERS," you screech at him, "AH WANNA PARTAYYYY!"

"Oh shit," Jungkook curses on the other end, "Ok, I'm on my way."

It takes only a few minutes for Jungkook to show up on the scene, since the BTS house is located on the same street as EXO. By the time Jungkook arrives, Yoongi has given up on all hopes of carrying you home and simply sits on the ground as he watches you squirm around in the grass, along with your frantic two best friends.

All three of them look up in relief at the sight of Jungkook. "Oh thank god," Mijoo sighs as she wearily pulls herself upright, "Jungkook, you are—" but she stops, mid-sentence when it becomes apparent that there is someone walking right behind him.

"Hi Mijoo," Jimin nervously greets her when he steps out of Jungkook's shadow.

"Oh… H-hi," she stutters before immediately dropping her gaze to the ground.

Jungkook walks past the awkward couple to squat next to you on the lawn, "Oh god, ___. Why did you drink so much?"

"MIND YER OWN BUISHNESH, BETCH!"

He laughs and reaches into your hotdog costume to affectionately pat your head, "You're the same as always, even when drunk it seems."

"ERM NOT DRUNKING!"

"God, what are you even wearing?" he chuckles as he pulls you off the grass so that he can take in the entirety of your outfit for the first time, "What a cutie."

"Junglebook," you whisper to him in a serious tone, nearly going cross-eyed as you stare up at him with strange reverence.

He raises an eyebrow, as he tries to stifle a laugh, "Yes, babygirl?"

"Wah're you sho purty?" you say, trying to reach for his face with sheer awe on your face.

"Wait did you just call me pretty?" Jungkook asks in surprise.

You eagerly nod, "Purty!" you exclaim, "Mah purty purty -hic- Jengahook."

"Ah, so you do think I'm good-looking," Jungkook says in excitement, "I knew it!"

"Yah!" Yoongi yells over at the two of you, interrupting your conversation, "Stop your flirting, Jeon, and carry your damn girlfriend home so I can go to bed!"

"Yes sir!" And with that, he loops an arm around your shoulders and under your knees, picking you up bridal style with ease.

"Oh no, careful not to throw out your back, Jungkook," Yerin warns him as she looks over at you in concern.

"Yah, what about me then?!" Yoongi hotly demands, "I'm gonna need to see a chiropractor after this!"

"Thank you so much for your help, Yoongi," Yerin sweetly says, "That was really nice of you, and I hope you let me show you just how grateful I am for your help."

"Oh," the silver-haired man rubs the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed, "No need for that, Yerin."

"No, I insist," she says with a brilliant smile that makes him hesitate.

Normally, you'd be the first person to interject and angrily rip your precious friend away from the older, senior man. Or you'd send Mijoo to intervene. But unfortunately, both of you are too distracted to notice. And as a result, you are helpless as Yoongi awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and agrees.

"Um… okay, sure."

"Ah, I seriously can't make it any further," Jungkook pants a few minutes later when your strange gang of six arrives near the beta tau sigma frat house, "She can just sleep over with me tonight."

"Maybe we should get an uber?" Mijoo says in concern.

"There's no way an uber driver would let such a belligerent drunk in his car," Yoongi says as he looks over to where you're wildly yelling out and kicking in Jungkook's arms.

"Yeah, they'd probably call the police," Yerin adds with a frown.

"Let's just switch spots for the night," Jungkook wisely suggests, "Jimin, go crash over in ___'s bed and ___ can sleep in yours."

"Hold on, wait a minute—"

"Wait, no that's not—"

Both Mijoo and Jimin protest at the same time, thoroughly embarrassed, but Yoongi stops them in their tracks with a single glare.

"Can you guys just tough it out for one night?" The senior growls, "Just let the kid sleep with his girlfriend so we can all go home. It's nearly three in the fucking morning for god's sake!"

Thoroughly chastened, Mijoo and Jimin fall silent.

"Oh wait, what about Yerin?" Jungkook asks, half-way through the motion of crossing the lawn into the frat house.

"Can't she go back to the sorority with Mijoo?" Yoongi asks with a raised brow.

"I'm a Freshman," Yerin informs him with a blush, "I'm still rushing the sorority and I don't live there yet…"

"Ah, fine. I'll walk you back to the dorms," Yoongi gruffly tells her, "Let's just wrap this whole mess up."

"Oh no, it's fine!" She says, embarrassed, "I can get back by myself, don't worry."

"Yeah right. You think it's safe out there at this time of night?"

"I can call an uber! It's really not a big deal."

"Pssht, I wouldn't trust a pretty girl like you to be left alone with those shady ass drivers. Come on, Yerin. I'm taking you home."

Flustered by his unexpected compliment, she can't help but agree, "Oh… okay. Thank you." And then she has to duck her head to hide the smile that spreads across her face.

Yoongi simply rolls his eyes and reaches forward to grab her by the wrist, "Come on, kid. Let's just get you in bed." And with that, he marches off, not sparing another glance towards Mijoo and Jimin, who have been left standing on the sidewalk in front of the frat house.

"Um… So is it okay if I crash at your place tonight?" Jimin asks as he awkwardly scratches his ear.

"Yes of course!" Mijoo says, a bit too quickly, "Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"Ah, that's not what I meant… I just…"

His voice trails off after a few seconds, and he can't find the words to salvage the situation with as he stares at her in the frosty darkness of the night. Mijoo rubs her hands over her bare arms, self-conscious under his scrutiny. She can't meet the intensity of his gaze and drops her eyes down to her heels.

"I’ve missed you."

Her eyes shoot up in surprise at that unexpected confession, but he's already crossing the distance between them. She stiffens when he comes within a foot of her, but instead of kissing her like she half expected, he wraps something heavy around her shoulders.

Mijoo peeks through her eyelashes to find that he's covered her with his jacket, still warm from his body heat. "Jimin…"

He simply smiles at her as he begins to walk down the deserted street, entirely disregarding his previous confession as though he never said anything, "Come on, Mijoo. Let's sleep."

Although he can't see her, she nods and quietly follows after him. His blonde hair turns silvery in the moonlight, like a halo of light paving her path back home. Mijoo shivers and pulls his jacket closer to her body, heart sinking in her chest when his poignant scent overwhelms her senses.

"Wait, Jimin!" She calls after him before she can stop herself.

He pauses, mid-step, to peer over his shoulder in curiosity. Mijoo jogs a few steps to catch up with him, her breath icy in the frigid air. She stops within a step of him, then offers him a shy smile.

"Let's go together."

Meanwhile, in the frat house, Jungkook is having a much more difficult time trying to settle you down.

"Where'sh mah baby???" you gasp as though suddenly remembering something when Jungkook carries you up the stairs and into his bedroom.

He grunts as you suddenly begin to thrash in his embrace, and quickly dumps you on his bed to get rid of you, "Which one?"

"Meerjooo," you whine, "An' Urchin! Muh babers!"

"They're fine," Jungkook assures you as he rubs the kinks from his neck then begins to struggle with your oversized costume. But he barely manages to pull your face free from the hotdog top when you suddenly grab him by the collar.

"Junkcock," you address him in a serious voice, "Ah lurv you." And then you close your eyes and pucker your lips.

He laughs and skillfully dodges you before you can kiss him, "Sure you do, sweetheart."

"Ah do!" you whine in protest, kicking out your legs like a child, "Come kish me, ya binch."

"Alright, fine," he laughs, "Let's make a deal: if you still love me in the morning, I'll kiss you all you want, okay?"

You pause for a moment to try to think it through, but your thoughts whirl around incoherently in your mind, making it hard to focus. "S'kay," you reluctantly agree.

Jungkook chuckles and gives your hair one more ruffle before he gets up to turn to his dresser, "Alright, let's find you something to wear other than that stuffy costume of yours, and we can make out to your heart's content in the morning."

You say nothing in response, and he takes your silence as agreement as he happily shifts through his clothing. After a minute, he finds a t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts that seem about your size. "Ah, ___," he says as he triumphantly holds up the garments, "These should fit—oh," he says, stopping mid-sentence when he turns around and takes in the sight of you fast asleep on his bed.

"Wow that was quick," he chuckles as he sets back down his clothing, "Oh well, I guess you'll stay a hotdog for a bit longer… Cute... Now where'd I put my camera?"

The next morning, you feel like you're suffocating in heat. Your mouth is dry and your head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. Confused, you thrash around in bed for a few moments, kicking the covers off of you before realizing that you're still burning with heat. You struggle with the plush blanket still surrounding you before you realize that it's attached to your body.

"What the fuck?" You mutter, then wince when even this simple action causes your head to throb. You take a moment to gather up all of your courage. Then you open your eyes.

The sunlight streaming through the blinds hits you like a train. You scowl and cover your eyes with a hand before looking down at yourself. You blink at the hotdog costume covering your body in confusion before the memories of the last twelve hours come pounding back.

"Oh… oh fuck."

A chuckle from the side catches your attention. You whip your head around to find Jungkook sitting in a rolling chair, laughing at you, "So you're finally awake."

"Fuck my life," you croak out, "I'm never drinking again."

"Why not?" Jungkook teases, "Drunk ___ was so cute. Do you remember confessing your feelings for me?"

"I did… I did what?"

"You told me you loved me," he snickers, "Many, many times."

"Oh god..." you whisper as your memory finally returns.

"Are you finally ready to make out now?" He continues to tease as he suddenly gets out of his seat to approach you.

You cower back when his face comes close to yours, "Shut up, you know I was just drunk and didn't mean it… Wait you didn't kiss me last night, did you?" You ask in suspicion.

"And have you puke in my mouth?" he laughs, "No way."

"I'll puke on you right now if you don't back up," you threaten as you push him away by the forehead.

He good-naturedly acquiesces as he walks over to the dresser, "What happened to being a tank, huh?"

"Even a tank has a breaking point," you wisely inform him.

"Really? But Mijoo seemed fine last night."

Your jaw drops in indignation. Jungkook laughs at your expression and tosses you a handful of clothing before you can respond, "Come on. Go change into these."

"Ugh, I stink though," you grumble, more than aware of the old sweat caked underneath your plush hotdog costume.

"Wanna shower first?" Jungkook asks, "I also have mouthwash in the basket."

"Oh, ok," you say, surprised by his consideration as you pick up his shower caddy, "I'll be right back."

He simply hums in response, "I'll just be playing my game," he says, already slipping back on his headphones.

It's a bit embarrassing to shower in a communal frat bathroom the morning after a grand party. You know you probably look like some one-night stand who has overstayed her welcome, but luckily, you don't run into anyone as you shower at top-speed. You hastily towel yourself off, and not caring that you're still damp, and pull on Jungkook's clothes.

You don't have to look in the mirror to know that you look silly in his oversized outfit, but it's better than that musky hotdog costume. You finish up by splashing cold water on your face and chugging the mouthwash for an infinitely long period of time until the taste of soju is out of your mouth, then you head back to Jungkook's room.

He's fully engrossed in his game when you return, and you briefly consider interrupting him so that you can start on your project, but shrug it off instead. It's really not a big deal and you're not the type to nag. Instead, you plop yourself down back on his bed and turn on your side to watch him play.

You feel so refreshed from the shower and there's something soothing about watching him engrossed in his game that within minutes, you find your eyelids growing heavy again. You sleepily reach for the glass of water Jungkook has conveniently placed on the nightstand for you and gulp down half of it before your eyelids grow too heavy to keep open anymore. You place down the glass and you're asleep before your head hits the pillow.

You wake up to the sound of voices. Confused, you rub your eyes for a moment before your vision clears and you recognize Mijoo and Jimin standing in the doorway, talking to Jungkook.

"Wait, don't come in yet," Jungkook says, physically blocking their entrance with his body, "She's still resting."

"How do I know what you've done with her?!" Mijoo exclaims, panic evident in her tone, "I was drunker than I thought last night, letting her go home with you. I should've never left!"

"Calm down, Mijoo," Jimin says as he rests a hand on her shoulder, "You know Jungkook wouldn't do anything."

"How do I know?" She growls as she throws off his hand. "___ is my best friend, Jimin. My best friend. I don't care if you trust this pervy little fuckboy roommate of yours, but if I find out that he's touched a single hair on her precious head, I'm gonna—"

"Wow, Mijoo. You sounded exactly like me for a moment," you interject, quickly jumping from the bed to approach them in the doorway, "I was shocked."

Mijoo's expression, relieved at first from the sight of you unscathed, quickly flips to distress when she realizes what you're wearing, "___, are you okay?" She asks in a hushed whisper, "What did this little fucker do to you?"

You know exactly what you look like, dressed in Jungkook's clothes with your hair mussed from sleep. You pause for a moment as you consider your options. The most logical course of action is to laugh off her concerns then soothe her worries by going home with her. It's the obvious thing to do… But Mijoo is upset right now. She's lost her temper with Jimin. Things might be awkward between them for a while if she views him as complacent in some imaginary nefarious plot to harm you… And you can't let that happen.

So instead of laughing it off, you slip under Jungkook's arm, "He didn't do anything. Mijoo, you know that I trust him." And with that, you carefully wrap both arms around his waist and hug him.

Startled by the gesture, Jungkook instantly squeezes you back, but it all feels a bit awkward. Surprisingly, after all you've done together, this is one of the first times you've hugged him.

If Jungkook is surprised, then Mijoo and Jimin are shocked out of their minds, "What the hell happened between you two?!"

"Are you seriously dating?"

Your first instinct is to vehemently deny it. But that would only make matters worse. Mijoo's budding relationship with Jimin is still so fragile, plagued by her heavy guilt over her actions a whole year ago, and you refuse to nip it in the bud before it can actually start. So you tighten your hold on Jungkook and bury your face in his neck, "It's complicated."

Sharp to catch onto your act, Jungkook slides a hand down to the small of your back, holding you against him, "Don't worry about us," he tells them, "Just worry about yourselves."

Still, Mijoo looks uncomfortable, "Alright, whatever. We can talk about this later. Let's go, ___."

But to her surprise, you shake your head, "Jungkook and I need to work on our creative writing project… I'll see you later at the house." Mijoo's face shows her surprise, so you quickly reach over to grab her hand, "Seriously, don't worry about me, Mijoo. I'm okay."

Her face softens from your reassurance and she hesitantly nods, "Alright… I'll see you later then?"

You smile, "Yes, see you later."

You and Jungkook continue to awkwardly hold each other in the doorway and wave at your two roommates as they reluctantly trickle out down the hall. As soon as they disappear down the staircase, you break out of the stiff embrace with a deep sigh of relief.

"How much longer must we do this for?" Jungkook complains as he shuts the door and slumps back down in his chair.

"Just a bit longer," you assure him, "I can see her defenses crumbling already. She's no match for Jimin's sweetness!"

"I don't think I can even support this," he grumbles in annoyance, "She's still kind of an asshole."

"Call her that again and I'll shove my fist up your asshole," you threaten in a low voice.

"Ooh, are you feeling kinky, babe?" he asks, eyebrows raised, "I thought you needed some time to recover from your hangover first?"

"God, I hate you," you groan as you slump back down on his bed.

"Ah, finally the ___ I know returns," he teases, "It was a bit scary to have you love me so intensely, to be honest. I like the normal you so much better."

You snort at his response, "Whatever. Just be nicer to Mijoo, okay?"

"I don't know why you're so defensive over her," he says as he spins around in his chair to face you, "What she did to you was messed up. I don't care if you don't like Jimin or whatever. Still doesn't make it okay."

You simply shrug in response, "I know what she did wasn't right. But she apologized and tried to make things right and I forgave her. Besides, it would be so petty of me to hold onto this one incident when she's been nothing but supportive and loving on hundreds of other occasions… Hiding a note? That's nothing compared to what she's done for me."

"What exactly happened between you two to make you feel this way?" Jungkook asks in bewilderment.

"She was there at my lowest point," you explain in a quiet voice, "She helped me even when no one else would… I don't expect you to understand, Jungkook. You just need to know that if you hurt her, you hurt me too."

"Alright, whatever you say," He reluctantly says, "I still think you're wrong, but that level of loyalty is impressive."

You acknowledge the compliment with a small smile before continuing, "Anyways, we're getting off track, Jungkook… Should we start the project?"

"Wait… really?" he says, eyes widening with horror, "Do you really want to? I mean… It's still early."

"You're right," you play along, still fatigued by your hangover, "I mean it's not due for another couple of days…"

"Yeah… And you're still probably exhausted."

"I am… so should we…?"

"Order pizza and play games together?"

"It's like you read my mind."

The next day, Mijoo and Jimin officially begin dating.

It hurts. You're only human and of course it feels like your heart is being trampled on when Mijoo sits you down in the morning and tells you how she is accepting Jimin. You hate the way your heart drops to your stomach and bile crawls up your throat as you force a smile that quivers more than it should. You hate the way that for a split second, you genuinely dislike your best friend.

But then it all clears. Your throat loosens and you smile more easily as you reach for her hand and encourage her to go after him. It's nowhere near easy and it hurts like a bitch, but the pain is slowly dissipating, day by day. And soon, you hope that it will leave you entirely. And then you'll be able to smile at the person who means the most to you in your life without this ugly jealousy swallowing your heart.

But for the meantime, it lingers like a sour weight in the pit of your stomach as you gather your things after class and head down to the soccer field. You would like nothing more than to go straight to bed so you can curl up under the covers with a pint of ice cream, but unfortunately, today is the only day the coach of the soccer team will allow you to crash a team practice. So after leaving your grueling three hour stats lecture, you grab Taehyung, the best photographer in the newspaper with the nicest camera, and drag him over to the soccer field.

Practice is already in full gear by the time the two of you arrive. At once, you guys are bombarded by the sound of loud male voices yelling out numbers as they complete their laps around the track along with the shrill blow of the coach's whistle. Even as you and Taehyung set down your things by the bleachers on the other side of the field, you can smell the rubber of soles burning on the track and fresh sweat that makes their uniforms stick to their muscular backs.

"You might want to take a few pictures here," you tell Taehyung as you collect your voice recorder and a notebook from your backpack, "The lighting's pretty good at this time of day."

The blonde boy nods, "It might be nice to get some candid photos."

"Yeah, I agree. Do you need your tripod?"

"Hmm. Probably not for now, but I'll set it up on the track just in case we need a team photo."

"Got it. Now can you remind me what Yoongi—"

But before you can finish your sentence, a loud call of your name catches your attention.

"___!"

You look up to find a blur of gray rushing towards you. Startled, you defensively hold up your arms in front of your face, but it's too late and Jungkook nearly plows you over.

"Ah, Jungkook!" you shriek when the two of you go tumbling down onto the grass.

"Oops, sorry," he laughs, rolling over to keep from crushing you with his weight, "I think I went a little too full-power."

"Ew, you're so sweaty," you say, shooting him a look of disgust when you realize that he's dampened your shirt in his fumbling.

"Sorry," he says as he bounces to his feet and pulls you upright, "I'm just excited that you're here! And ah, you brought Taehyung too?"

Startled by the mention of his name, Taehyung helplessly blinks three times in rapid succession before stuttering, "Y-yep."

"Yah!" A voice booms out from behind you, "Jeon Jungkook, what the hell are you doing?"

The three of you turn around to find a stocky middle-aged man marching towards you, clearly displeased by his star striker's sudden disappearance from practice. This clearly must be the famous coach, Bang Sihyuk, who is bringing the team to victory for the first time in over twenty years.

"Hi, Mr. Bang," you say, quickly intercepting before Jungkook can be scolded, "My name is ___, and I'm temporarily taking over for Somin at the newspaper. We spoke over the phone, remember?"

"Oh… Oh yeah, that's right," he says, scratching his head in confusion, "You're doing the interview today?"

You nod with a wide smile, "Yes. Is this a good time?"

"Well…" he hesitantly begins, "As you probably know, we have our a big game this weekend with the top ranked school in the district… and it's important for the boys to get in as much practice as possible."

"I know, this is incredibly monumental," you sweetly say, trying to get into his good graces, "The team is doing amazing, clearly under your expert guidance, and it would mean so much to the school to be able to hear about it from the members themselves."

Still, the older man looks conflicted, "I don't know… They really need to focus right now."

"I only need one member. And it shouldn't take longer than half an hour," you say with an award-winning smile, "Please, Mr. Bang?"

Jungkook and Taehyung's jaws drop in shock at the way your voice suddenly turns sugar-sweet and your eyelashes flutter girlishly against your cheeks. "What the f—?" But Jungkook luckily nudges the blonde before he can finish his sentence.

"Fine," Coach Bang reluctantly agrees, "You can interview one member this time, okay? But next time, find the kids during your own time, not during practice."

"Got it, Mr. Bang," you say in excitement, "We're just here this time because Taehyung needed to take pictures, but we promise we'll never interrupt practice again!"

Coach Bang simply grumbles in response, a bit flustered by your earnestness, "No longer than half an hour, got it?"

"Of course. That's plenty of time!"

"Great, now where should we go?" Jungkook asks, "Coach, should I show her the locker rooms?"

"Why the hell would you do that?" Coach Bang barks with a little smack to the back of the boy's head, "Besides, who said you were the one being interviewed?"

"Wait, what?" All three of you look up in genuine confusion.

"Coach, I was the one who invited them here," Jungkook explains, "Can't I do the interview?"

"No," he bluntly says, "You've been slacking off, kid. I need you to a dozen drills by the end of the day. I'm really worried about your performance on Saturday."

"But, coach—"

"No but's," he sternly interrupts, "Besides, isn't an interview from the team captain better? Hoseok can do it instead."

"What? That's so unf—"

"Keep whining and that'll be two dozen drills," Coach Bang threatens.

Thoroughly frightened, Jungkook obediently bows, "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." And with that, he hastily jogs away before Coach Bang can change his mind.

"Who the hell is Hoseok?" you hiss at Taehyung as soon as Jungkook leaves.

"Beats me," he whispers back, "I didn't even know we had a soccer team until this week!"

"Hey, Jung!" Coach Bang bellows out, catching the attention of the entire team diligently running through their drills, "Come here for a second."

A lean man with dark red hair looks up at the sound of his name, "Yes, sir!" He leaves the drill and jogs over to join the three of you on the track. "What can I do for you?" He's still a bit out of breath from the practice, and his chest heaves up and down from the exertion.

"Hoseok, these are reporters from the school newspaper," Coach Bang introduces you, "This is ___ and she'll be interviewing you for an article."

"Oh really?" he asks, his handsome face suddenly splitting into a stunning smile, "That's really great."

The brightness of his smile hits you like a direct glance into the burning mid-afternoon sun. For a moment, you can't speak, your mind completely filled with shooting stars and rosy lights. And when Hoseok runs his hands through his sweaty hair, brushing it off his forehead, you feel like a volcano has erupted in your core.

"A-ah, yes," you stammer, self-consciously wiping your mouth for any drool, "I… yes…"

"Awesome," he beams, "Let me towel off real quickly and grab a water bottle, and I'll be right back."

"I… um… oh…" you splutter, but he's already rushed off.

Both you and Taehyung fall into stunned silence as you simultaneously admire the way the lean muscles of his calves flex with every step… and that toned little ass… damn.

"Are you guys okay?" Coach Bang asks, interrupting the moment.

"Oh, yes, sorry," you say, quickly snapping back into it. "We'll be quick with the interview. Thank you for being so accommodating."

He simply grunts in response, "Just hurry it up, kids." And with that, he saunters off to yell at the players.

You and Taehyung stand there for a few seconds, still reeling from Hoseok's potent presence as you watch the gorgeous team captain bend to grab his water bottle from his duffel bag. As of one mind, both of you turn your heads at the same time for the best angle of his ass as he squats on the grass.

"Damn," Taehyung murmurs, "I thought Jungkook was hot but this guy is…" he whistles lowly as words fail to adequately express his appreciation. 

You laugh at his reaction and playfully throw an elbow into his ribs, "I didn't know you were so gay, Tae."

"Fuck, I didn't know either... but damn."

A/N: Sorry for the crack-y nonsense! And I know I’m always a holiday late with my updates, but Happy Thanksgiving and Happy belated Halloween lol. As always, please don’t ask me about updates :) 

[shitmygaywifesays]

your wife is a writer!! do you think she'd have any writing tips for a young aspiring author who's only recently started planning for an original book?

This is the Gay Wifeanswering herself!

 Some disclaimers:

1.This turned into amonster, I am so sorry. I apparently had a lot to say on the matter.

2. I assume you readthe blog and don’t have a huge problem with cuss words. I normally wouldn’t dothis to a stranger online, so…

3. I am so fuckingpretentious. Lord. I added a bunch of links to things that have caused me topause and think about writing, and some of them are just??? I am so sorry,please don’t judge me too harshly.

Thank you so much for this ask! I was surprised,admittingly, that you’d ask for my writing tips despite the fact that I haven’tpublished anything online for you to read. But I am glad you did! My wife (theblog owner) is so very kind and supportive of me. Maybe a bit too much? Shetalked me up quite a lot in her answer to that ask. Because I don’t think I amall that special. Nor do I think myself and the spaceman living and my head area wellspring of great ideas, BUT HERE GOES. [Note from the blog owner: I neverexaggerate baby’s talents 😉]

I have hadthoughts on writing advice blogs/posts in the past, as in, they aren’talways useful.  K J Charles, an author Ireally like, recentlymade a post about writing advice that is really worth a read if you wouldlike to seek out advice in the future.

That’s not to say I am not totally willing and excited toanswer you! This might just be a weird tip list, that’s all, because all ‘tiplists’ are biased to one writer’s processes. My ideas on writing might not workfor you, may be disastrous, or may be where you set your flagstones. I’ll trymy best to communicate what I think will help. But with that, take it with agrain of salt.

Writing a story, byits nature alone, is a product of desperate translation of something that isintangible; emotions, moments,places one has never been, experiences one’s never had. A story becomesgood when the translation of ideas switches from the surreal to the profoundlyrelatable. That might be something to keep in mind as you write; that youaren’t telling a story, you’re translatingthis idea in your mind and heart into words – into language, into a story,into a pathway to follow, into this brand new experience that will sit with areader for long time after they finish the story.

The writing process is labyrinthine and elaborate andintricate. I’m going to list a couple of things that have helped me, specifically what I did when I wasfeeling uninspired or frustrated with what I was writing. Again, these workedfor me, so if they don’t for you, don’t use them. Try something else! Explore!Innovate! Grow! And allow yourself mistakes!

I constantly think about classic writers and how theydiffer. I’m kind of a nerd for quotes and delight in spending hours pouringmyself over them. And writersso vastlydiffer fromeach otherwhen it comesto how they approachedtheir craft (I think about that last one a lot because it directlycontradicts every ‘writingadvice’ blog post I’ve ever seen). You’ll have to do that, too, or riskbeing drowned out by the static of how you think you should be writing. You should neverlet your unique way of writing be chained down by all that bullshit out there.

 Plotting/Outlining/and the dirty work—

I try to do NanoWriMoevery year and fucking hate it to shards and jagged pieces. If there was oneoverwhelming thing I have learned, it is that I need an outline to function. Thiscame as quite the surprise to me personally because I am such a messy bitch. Butdear merciful Lord in heaven, if I don’t have an outline I can’t move forward.So I embraced that and outlined my scenes like a motherfucker on a lone motorcycle, reaching for that burning redsunset, running from my sordid past, man!Here is just three notebooks from the last year’s NaNo:

Now that is three notebooks, not including the forth one Ialso filled up. One of them is initial notes; themes I had in mind, characteroutlines, a summary of the plot – basic stuff. I also wrote out some rules.This was a supernatural/horror/comedy, all three of those genres I have nopractice in. So I wrote out tropes that I wanted to avoid, points that I wantedto greatly impress, character traits I had etched in stone (for instance,“Edwidge will stay a kind person.”)

Then I dive into outlining by chapter with a rough first go,then another notebook where I re-wrote that outline, then a forth with fleshed-outdialogue exchanges, character movements (both in detail, such as the hands, theeyes) and within the constructed space (sits on a desk, leans against a wall,observes the pictures on the wall), and with random details I decided whileoutlining. In that same vain, the nightmarish scribbles off to the side of thenotebook pages are products of an idea striking me and the muses directing myhand. Muses have horrible handwriting.

Now I know there are people out there in the great greenworld who can write with vague outlines, or no outlines at all (I’m looking atyou, @onedamnminuteadmiral, you wicked ho). And those people are witches andheathens that must meet with the pyre. I’ll bring the gasoline if you bring thematches. [Note from the blog owner: Heeeyyyyyyyy!]

I probably shouldn’t admit to it, but I would often getreally frustrated with outlining and resort to stick figure storyboards. Yes,like I’m a writer for derivative cartoon about a wacky suburban family. My stick figure storyboard was surprisinglyeffective (???I guess???). I got a sense of space, of movement, I made notesabout the way the eyes moved. This, coupled with the far more wordy outline,added a lot of hot sauce to that beef.

I also saw this methodof storyboarding today and I am thinking I might take it up. It looksfantastic!

So, yes, either outline or don’t. I really worked for me,but it might come more natural for you to fly by the seat of your pants. Ifthere is one thing I would do, it would be to make notes on how the charactersmove within the space. Specifically, placement of hands, how their eyes move,the lighting, anything that gives the characters a solid weight in their world.

SPEAKING OF

A slice of characters—

Human nature, by the definitions divined by humankinditself, is fucking absurd. A personleft unobserved will always devolve into subtle rule-breaking based purely andthe common, everydayswerves their free will dictates (ie. I never wear lipstick, but thismorning I was feeling kicky by no outside influences what-so-ever, so, fireengine red?). There is more glorious spark and untold, unfolding of brilliancein a real person sitting quietly in a chair for a half and hour than there willever be in a fully-realized, well-rounded, fictional character. That might be aharsh statement, but it is something I constantly have buzzing in my bonnetwhen I write characters. It causes me to strive for something more from my characters.

I bring up that (jfc am I pretentious) philosophy videoabout fate/free will because in writing characters, you’ll constantly have tothink if your characters are acting as youbelieve they will, or how they would more naturally behave.

People are series of moments with great contradictions.Characters who are well developed, compounded and complex, and interesting toread, should also be weighed at the center in how they contradict themselves. I find this to be a really important standard in writing characters. This is so damnhard to explain, so let me give some silly examples.

Characters tend to have traits/characteristics/personalityrules cemented by the author. I see it constantly in books, and it reallysteams my vegetables. For example:

 Valen was raised in a polite society—he is a politeand considerate man – he will act politely as a matter of keeping thecharacter consistent.

Valen was raised to be strong — he would be calm in thissituation— he would not be afraid at the climax of the book.

It’s… not a wrong way of writing character. Constancy iscertainly important. Its just flat? ‘Uninteresting’ may be a bit too much.Writing a character as a series of set rules can be this transitive, it justfeels manufactured, distant from reality.

For example, consider at how I act:

Gay wife spent her formative years in the South —she was trained to be a polite person, professionally— she calls hercustomers Mr. Meyers and Ms. Linda and her boss solely as Ms. Jeanne—she workshard to be a polite person – she always uses ‘pardon me’ and ‘excuse me’. Thatis honestly who I am.

BUT ALSO

Gay Wife had a weird home life growing up—she had a rocky,religious upbringing— this manifests in reallyvulgar humor at home— shecalls her wife whore-tits and expressesreligious terror to her cats. This is also honestly who I am.

Am I vulgar person? Am I cautious and polite? Thosecontradict each other, and they are both true about me! I try to be as politeas possible, but at home where I am comfortable and unobserved (other than bymy wife, who is now stuck with me so whatever), I turn into a total asshole.

When I read a love story, for example, I get concerned whena character stays exactly the same as when they started out. I’m notspecifically talking about character growth, per say, but in the way the carrythemselves, in the way they behave. I read one fantastic book where a characterspoke differently with the other servants than he did to the lord of the house,even after they started a relationship together. As you proceed to write yourcharacters, I would recommend thinking about how differently people behavedepending on their current situation, and contradict the rules you have set forthe character. Everyone act different around their grandma than they do aroundtheir high school friends. Both those situations, the person is stillthemselves, just affected by compulsions lent to them by the situation.

So consider writing a character that is both compassionateand open-minded, but is also bigoted towards someone/something. It tells thereader where that compassion ends, the lines that character draws. Or acharacter that is brave, but only because he is a coward (that is one of myfavorites.) A character that is a brilliant genius, but a fuckin’ idiot. I’vepersonally known plenty of real people I would describe as genius fuckin’idiots.

Please consider how funny, upbeat people are so fucking sad inside. Or rather, theytend to be. Within two weeks of knowing the funniest person I’ve ever met, Iwas asking him if he was okay. And he was fuckin’ not, and I knew to askbecause despite this blog making people laugh (of which I am proud), I’ve haddepression since I was a child and have struggled with it to the extreme(aside: if anyone needs to talk, feel free to message me @thewaltzrio). I’veborrowed that so many times when writing. [Triggerwarning on this link, but it is worthreading.]

You play your cards right, you’ll also be subverting tropesleft and right.

Compound contradictions, add in swerves of free will, mix ina pinch of chaos caused by fate (that you have set for them), and you’ve got ainteresting, more real and weighty character on your hands. People will relateto that. The best compliment I’ve ever received was, “Hadrian [one of mycharacters] has really stuck with me.” That meant a lot to me, more thananything I’ve heard about the story or the setting or the world building I’vedone for the story.

The second best thing I’ve heard is when I let someone readwhat I have written, and the first question I ask is “which was your favoritecharacter?”. I’ve done it dozens of times with the same work and I’ve gotten adifferent answer every single time.If you do the same, you will know you’ve got a good cast of characters on yourhands.

It is only my personal opinion that characters are worthmore than the story itself. You connect with characters, you believe in them,you root for them, you love them with an unhealthy dependency. Look aroundevery fandom — it is characters that draw people into a show, make them stickwith it, make them care about the 2nd season getting greenlighted.The plot is a series of situations done tothe characters. It happens to them.The interest in the story is cultivated from the perspective of a character andhow they react.

Which brings me to thedetails. Fuck yeah DETAILS.

Write details when it comes to character creation beyondhair color, zodiac signs, or height and weight. Now, you’re on tumblr andwithout a doubt a smart and well informed person, so I don’t need to go intothe importance of a diverse cast of characters. So here are some of my favoriteways of meshing the character into the world, and making them seem more like people.

I like mentioning the condition of their fingernails. Youmight find something else that works for you, but I like fingernails. I mademention that my main character has “acres of real-estate under his fingernails.”Now that is a handful of words that tells the reader that: He works hard, hedoesn’t have time to clean them, he isn’t vain, he doesn’t consider clean nailssomething worth his time worrying about. Everyone in his community probablycarries the same kind of dirt and grime around with them.

I adore using verbal ticks as markers of a character’spersonality. I probably go overboard with this; I go out of my way to add atick to each character. My character Hadrian ended up saying ‘in any matter’ toswitch topics. He is the only one who says that, and it’s a nice verbal tick. Mycharacter Raif is trying to be seen as a poor tradesmen, so he uses impropergrammar when speaking on the daily, and (in exposing his true background) uses expressly proper grammar when in a stressfulsituation. If a reader picked up on that tick, then they would feel so damnclever when Raif is exposed as the lost prince! That is satisfying payoff!

My favorite one I’ve written so far is Seymour, a 15-year-oldwho was raised mostly in isolation, without a real home or community to callhis own. So he parrots other people, he borrows from his friends and those headmires. It tells a reader than he lacks a sense of self, of place, of how tointeract with people. I never actuallysay he does this, but he constantly repeats phrases he hears from hisfriend Raif. And, by the end of the book, he is also saying ‘in any matter’ toswitch topics. It is a satisfying way of showing how Seymour interacts withother characters.

Mentioning the condition of a character’s clothing is sobaseline it might as well be chapter one, line one, in the guidebook of how towrite characters. But you can really have fun with this one. For example, Imade of point of introducing my main characters in very particular ways. WhenDouglas meets Hadrian, they are at a costume party. Douglas is in his Fleet cadetuniform (which tells the reader he is the type of person who didn’t feel theneed to change his out of his everyday uniform for the sake of a costume — Ishe too proud of it? Is he too shy to dress in something bizarre? Is it alreadya costume to him?) and he sees Hadrian across the way. Hadrian is wearing thedraping robes and ivy and burning candle crown of a pagan god of mischief(which tells the reader damn neareverything they are in for with him. That he pays attention to ancientpagan god history in a religious society, that he isn’t concerned with lookingridiculous in public, that he is a huge fuck-head.) [note from the blog owner:I love him.]

That is different! That isn’t going into details aboutfineries/tatters/tailored clothing vs. hand-me-downs.

Clever segue to thenext section!!

A student of curiosity—

So you may notice that I am not going to mention a very hugepart about writing in this bullshit thing I’m claiming as writing advice, andthat is how you construct your plot. Who gives a shit? Sorry that was harsh.But we’ve all seen that chart in school about rising action and climax andfalling action and UGH.Because seriously, who gives a shit? You write what you want, there are no rules.

But! I can add a few words about how to help your story getswol. Or at least, what worked best with what I do. Like I said earlier, humansare fucking absurd. And human history is so broad and sweeping and fantasticthat you can find endless sources for inspiration to draw upon. It is importantto stay curious and make a habit of studying the bizarre. I utilize my love ofhistory to find inspiration. History pulls from and contains so many other topicsto learn about and utilize; superstitions, unsolved mysteries, trends, deadreligions, all sorts of niches that have wedged their way into the buildingblocks of history.

If you find history dry, that’s fine! Loads of people do.The point is, if something really grabs you, take the time to think about whyit did. Those wiki binges that last until 3am? What is it about those subjectsthat drew you in that you could borrow for your story? (I once based an entireromance novel on a wiki binge about the quartering of soldiers in the colonial UnitedStates.) Podcasts are fantastic for this! I’d recommend Lore if you haven’t already checked itout. Even though Aaron Mahnke drives me fucking crazy with that “well, yousee, maybe human beings were the monsters the whole time” bullshit, I stilllove this podcast.

But remain curious as you write. Think about moments inbooks and movies that have stuck with you and you don’t know why. Some cleverlittle thing that made you pause. Like, for me, the kitchen scene in JurassicPark. I’d never seen kids under such threat before, just pure terror, and thatis my very first thought upon thinking about that movie. I know that I writenotes (usually when I’m at work) on what about a thing made me sit up and payattention. Then I break it down and mold it into something new. Who knows,maybe it will help add a great twist into the plot that you didn’t think of.

 The literal scene, a quick note—

I’m also a huge nerd for movies and the way movies are shot.I know this is coming out of the blue, and may seem odd to add in a monsterpost about writing, but stickwith me on this. Movies and writing have some overlap if you’re willing tospend time thinking about constructing a scene in your book the same way adirector frames a shot. I swear, it works if you let it.

When I get frustrated with how a scene is playing out whileI am writing, I try approaching it based on how it would be framedcinematically. Every reader has (what my wife calls) the theater of the mind,and you can use that to your advantage as you write. Think about how acharacter would view a room upon entering it for the first time. What draws theireye, what piques their interest, what is central to them. Film directors to thesame thing when they frame a shot. They carefully plan how the light falls overa character’s face. They deconstruct and reconstruct the layout of a room. Theyblock the actors. They pan over book titles to show a character’s interest.They  they keep important things out offrame to remind the viewer that it will come back into play in a few moments.  You can do that all, too, when you write!

I recommended once that my wife and I watch a very well shottv show when we were both frustrated with writing. We got sketchbooks and drewwhat caught our eyes. I remember I latched on to the way a character’s earringsmoved every time she did; it was subtle, but vibrant, kinetic, and a detail Idon’t think I would have thought to add if I was writing that same scene. Iliked how the bloodshot eyes of a character didn’t come into view until thescene grew tense and they filmed a closeup of the actor. I thought that wouldtranslate well in writing; add tension when my character got too close and sawthat the other character was influenced by something yet unseen. I detailed theway shadows fell over a staircase, and how the beam of light was on only themost enlightened of the characters in an ensemble cast.

This is something you can do on days when your brain is afried pancake and yet you still want to work on advancing your story. Take a TVshow or a movie that left an impression on you and take notes on the environment,or the actors’ expressions, etc. As strange as this sounds, it works well withanimation. Every single thing in awork of animation was purposely chosen to be there. Every single thing wascreated – like your writing will be. I’d say look at Satoshi Kon’sanimation process. Not only is his work a fantastic exploration of writingand storytelling, he is very purposeful in what is seen, shown, understood, andthen subverted. Think about how you’d write that, how you’d describe it. How a “quickcut” can translate into writing the impressions and feelings in a character.(ie. The smoke clouds, into a clear sky, how a character looking at one can getthe impression of another).

I’d recommend looking at Every Frame aPainting YouTube page. I know I got a swell of inspiration on how to paceout and detail a scene based on the importance of subtle details in this video.Or, if you want to think about how to construct a plot, Lindsey Ellis on YouTubeand her video essays are fantastic, too. For example, if you want to think ofhow your characters address and interact with your narrative, consider what shehas to sayabout RENT. The last minute of this video is gut-wrenchingly powerful and saysmore about the dissonance between characters and their narrative/the event thatnarrative was based on in that ONE MINUTE than months of research could tellyou. (Note, don’t watch this if you love RENT. If you love RENT, that’s okay,my wife reeaaallly does.) [note from the blog owner: I do love RENT, but thisis a really great video and I don’t disagree with anything she had to say. Stilllove RENT, but boy it’s got its problems, haha]

Aaaaand that’s all I think I have to say about that! Thank youso much for sticking with me this far! I hope something in this mess helps you.Thank you again!

In final—

Your voice moving forward with your manuscript is unique,and your voice is powerful. There will never be one like it again and there hasnever been one like it before you. There has never been a day of your life that wasn’t aproduct of chaos and mayhem from unseen struggles of the universe, and yet youmade it through some boring Tuesday! Good luck, and I’ll be rooting for you!

 Sincerely, The Gay Wife

[primrose-path-of-dalliance]

Lotor?

ngl, i squealed when i saw this. i get to talk about My Boy!!!

thank you for the ask

(send me characters and i’ll give thoughts on them!)

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life

sorry, anti-lotor half of the vld fandom, but i love this guy to pieces and nothing y’all say can change that because 1. y’all’s attempts at critically saying he’s Bad are poorly done imo lmao, 2. i’m not so preoccupied with morality and purity culture that i stick my thumbs in my ears and try to shove plugs into other ppl’s ears, and 3. opinions are subjective.

like personally, i love complex characters set up as parallels and foils to major protagonists that are inherently anti-imperialist, archaeologists, and conservationists; are representative of a not-so-palatable reality of abuse survivorship; have issues of trauma, paranoia, and interpersonal defeatism; and are clearly being set up for a future arc that will be closely intertwined with said major protagonists—as well as driven by a deep, internal conviction and strength that has persisted against absolutely ridiculous odds—

but idk. your loss, i guess.

hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would bang

aesthetically: gorgeous. but i am very ace.

hogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuff

don’t harangue me for not calling lotor a slytherin in case you support that side lol, but i read a really good meta on this a while ago that i agreed with here.

(gonna put the rest of this under a readmore since this gets to be A Lot.)

essentially, one of lotor’s core traits is the search for knowledge and scientific advancement for its own sake. there’s no way he doesn’t love learning—he spent centuries studying a culture that was extinct, a culture that by any imperialistic measures was worthless and weak because it opposed the empire and it was destroyed. one could hardly believe he began searching for the last remnants of altea for power or ambition. he studied them because he wanted to, for the sake of it, to connect to something that’s part of him.

in a lot of ways, he does exemplify slytherin traits—he can be exceptionally ruthless when he believes he or things/people he cares about are threatened, he is unusually preoccupied with a need for power and control, and his goals could be considered lofty and ambitious. however, much of these traits and desires can easily be linked to his trauma. one might make an argument that he’s still similar enough to honerva to qualify as a slytherin, but personally i think the story sets him up as opposing haggar without hypocrisy in too many ways to be persuaded.

(honerva wanted to continue her research despite the risks, endangering an entire planet and potentially the universe, because she saw the research as empowering. she saw her research—her own ambitions—as more important than anything else, and abandoned ethics like some burdensome shackle. but lotor is seen multiple times as unwilling to endanger people and planets for his goals without either being reasonably assured of their survival (such as voltron) or their consent. he despises cruelty and the taking away of others’ agency.)

in an ideal world, i think lotor would be an obvious ravenclaw. but his trauma has encouraged him to act like a slytherin.

best quality:

superficially: HIS NERDINESS. as soon as lotor started talking about ancient ruins, learning other cultures’ customs, and rattled off an entire poem he memorized off some old-ass cave wall he probably saw like 3 centuries before, i was absolutely done for. i had been trying to maintain my skepticism of him for skepticism’s sake, but god. you can’t just throw a goddamn archaeologist in my face and expect me to not fall deeply in love.

more seriously: i love lotor’s conviction. lotor has a strong sense of self, morality, and personal drive, especially for someone with his experiences.

he accepts and embraces both sides of his heritage as defining parts of who he is. in an empire that despises altean blood, he wields an altean broadsword, spends centuries studying what’s left of the culture, and openly admires the peace, people, and traditions of altea past. and in a castle of paladins and alteans, he demands to be judged “by [his] actions, rather than [the] preconceptions of [his] race,” knowing full well that team voltron perceives him as galra, and failing to inform them of his altean blood despite the clear benefits that would’ve come from doing so.

he has a code of conduct that’s repeatedly shown in sharp contrast to the ideals of the empire—even from his very introduction, when he stands in front of an entire arena of galran soldiers and refuses to compromise his own morals for a more rhetorically effective argument. lotor’s small, four-person team of generals (compared to the typical galran fleet) seizes an entire planet while killing no one and causing virtually no destruction.

he is also incredibly self-motivated. lotor has lived for centuries relying almost completely on himself, and he will ruthlessly protect himself and his own.

his inner strength is ridiculously admirable, and i love his self-assurance.

worst quality:

idk? usually ppl say flaws or some such here, but the problem is that flaws are more complicated than just “they do dumb things because of this adjective.”

also i love flaws. they’re born of the essence that makes a character who they are. hating their flaws is ridiculous.

with that said……..

fucking hate lotor’s hair. seriously, wtf? he can tuck all of it into his helmet and have it all fall back out nice and neatly. HOW. it’s the biggest lie of the entire show alongside allura’s bun. it’s just not possible and i hate that lotor defying reality just to look beautiful is Canon.

his butt cape. like akjhdkhgkghjgk,,, a genuine BUTT CAPE. for what purpose?? preference??? drama???????? i’ve seen comparisons to honerva’s own butt cape back when she was a normal empress-consort scientist on daibazaal, which makes sense since lotor loves making Fashion Statements, but god. a butt cape.

what on god’s heavenly green earth is up with his swordsmanship? the acrobatics and the flourishing are positively ridiculous. who the fuck actually tries killing a powerful emperor and their abuser by smashing them from above with a purple final fantasy sword like they’re the hammer and zarkon is a nail. lotor is unrealistic.

ship them with:

:)

recovery and happiness.

brotp them with:

his generals. DUH. it’s clear that they’ve had a strong history together, and it’s impossible to have their relationship end here without any sort of resolution or confrontation about narti’s death. let them reunite under conciliatory terms. let them be friends again. (and let sincline return.)

allura for sure!!! their relationship development has been beautiful so far and i want to see that continue.

coran. they’re both Nerds. plus, one of them got to experience a full and long life on altea. let them talk.

the paladins in general. it might be difficult, slow-going, and hesitant/full of suspicion on both sides, but god—just imagine if they were friendly. (plus it would do worlds of good for lotor. he’s a lonely man, and it would even more clearly distance him from comparisons to zarkon.)

the blade of marmora (and keith). the show has said nothing so far, but i refuse to believe that in the past centuries, lotor and the blade have never interacted or crossed paths before. i can imagine why they would’ve been uninterested in alliance with each other, but i can also imagine what would make each appeal greatly to the other. let them interact. (as for keith, he and lotor have a lot of similarities. it’s real funny how similar allura, keith, and lotor all are to each other, really. hm.)

needs to stay away from:

haggar. she’s fake as hell and evil to boot. some ppl think that she’s reawakened some kind of dormant love in her for lotor after regaining more memories in s5, but that’s far from the case. someone who’s become and lived as she has for 10,000 years doesn’t suddenly care well about someone she’s abused horribly because she realizes she gave birth to them, and doesn’t suddenly become sympathetic in the good way because she’s “motherly” now. (not if the writing’s supposed to be decent, anyway.) she realizes lotor’s about to die and does absolutely nothing else except turn on the magic shiro television in her lab. she only finds out after the black bayard exchange has already happened, and she’s haggar. if she really wanted to stop what was happening, she could’ve done a lot more than just watch through shiro’s eyes. she’s a horrible person, folks, and lotor would do best to never see her again. (unfortunately, it’s much more likely that she will fuck his shit up some more next season. rip.)

zarkon. hopefully he actually stays dead this time, but i’ve seen some good points on how sketchy his ability to stay dead is. nevertheless, all memory of him deserves to be banished to the nether realms. lotor should never have to deal with that asshole’s legacy again.

misc. thoughts:

anyone who talks about lotor getting/not getting/deserving/not deserving a redemption arc makes me lose my shit because he hasn’t even done anything to warrant a redemption arc in the first place like tbfh. evil deeds whomst?? trying to kill voltron when?? where are these receipts of malice??? he’s never done an evil damn thing but y’all humoring the concept anyway. smh.

anyway, lotor needs a therapist, healing, and some good fucking friends. @dreamworks give lotor a recovery arc 2k18.

[drosophilase]

fic: Yoda, Yuletide, and You

Title: Yoda, Yuletide, and You

Author: @drosophilase

Gifted to: @djchika as part of the @crisscolfergiftexchange 2017

Original prompt: “We made the mutual decision to go to this party separately and when I arrived there was this asshole flirting with you and I’m trying not to make it obvious that I’m seething with jealousy but it’s really difficult”

Ratings/Warning: Teen; allusions to sex (non-explicit), boss/employee relationship

Read on AO3!

Sorry this is two days late, thank you for the gracious extension and Merry Christmas Deej!  Thank you so much for all you did to arrange this exchange <3

--

It had started, as most great love stories do, with a Yoda figurine on the corner of Chris's desk. "That green figurine, I like," croaked a terrible Yoda impersonation from the twenty-fifth (ok, just fifth) person Chris had interviewed that day. Darren Criss, his application said.

Chris raised an eyebrow. Giving interviews for a job at a nerd pop culture online news source, Chris thought he had heard it all. This guy is the first to be bold enough to do such a confident and terrible impersonation. Chris touches Yoda's pointy ear. "From my sister. She's determined to get me the entire Star Wars Funko Pop set over the next 20 Christmases and birthdays." He doesn't comment aloud on the terrible Yoda voice, but he does write a little Y in the corner of Darren's resume.

"That's so cool, man, it's awesome that your family knows what you love. I have a ton of Pops but I can't ever seem to finish a set. There's just too many other things I like. I just put my Chewie next to my Harley Quinn and go with it." There's a sort of sparkle in his eye, glowing gold in the sunlight filtering through Chris's office blinds.

Chris sets the resume aside (he'd already noted this one for the qualifications - degree in Theatre from Michigan University, four years on the Michigan Daily staff with one as senior editor. Proficiency in Final Cut and a few credits in web series and local theatre productions. Currently working in local news media and writing a blog on the Star Wars Extended Universe on the side. Even before he walked in looking like a dream, Chris was hooked). "Suicide Squad Harley or Batman: The Animated Series Harley?"

Darren scoffs, the black curls over his forehead bouncing. "Animated Series, dude. Hands fucking down. I try to forget that Suicide Squad ever existed. It's hard to be a DC boy these days."

Chris cracks a smile. "That's why the girls - well, Patty Jenkins, really - are going to save us all. Haven't you seen Wonder Woman?"

"If I've learned one thing in my time in this industry, no one ever listens to women when they should. You're right though, if they let Patty work she's going to do the whole damn thing."

"If only Ben Affleck could do his civic duty and disappear from the earth, I'd feel better about it."

Darren laughs with his whole body, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Dude, yes. Just go softly into that dark night."

Chris cocks his head. "You didn't just make that pun, oh my god."

Darren smiles. "You didn't notice 'witty wordplay' under my skills? It's like in my top 3 best attributes."

Chris wishes he had the power to cancel the rest of his day's appointments and just end the day with Darren's interview. Instead, he takes the scant three minutes he has until the next interview to smile absently back at Yoda and make another note on the resume.

1. Wordplay

2. Smile

3. -Ass- Experience

The great thing about PopNow's building is the super cool collaborative open floor plan with lots of coworking tables, glass doors, and zero fucking privacy. Chris had always cringed sitting at the long tables, having to work face-to-face with someone else's computers and get distracted every time they got up to go to the bathroom. Honestly, half his drive to move up to staff editor was to get one of the more private (loosely) offices around the edges of the room with a single desk and a wall to stare at instead of a strange coworker.

Being promoted to division head of PopNow Nerd was Chris's ultimate dream (private office, final say on all published material, sitting in on meetings with creative directors and sometimes, investors. The control freak inside of Chris was fucking delighted). That is, until 3 months later when PopNow shifted their entire focus and all their resources to video reporting. Luckily, they weren't completely cutting out the website or articles that Chris joined the company to write. And, Chris was getting a lot more flexibility to hire new talent and explore new realms of reporting. And thank fucking god, Chris never had to be in front of the camera.

He knew he had to change with the times quick, though. He had writers - he just needed producers. And, after a quick poll of the office didn't yield many nerds willing to get in front of a camera (who would’ve thought), some on-air personalities.

Enter: Darren Criss.

The first day Darren’s new hosted series “Heroes and Zeroes” went live with an episode rating Disney villains on some complicated ranking system based on hotness, degree of evil, and personal style, the PopNow Nerd Facebook page gained like 5,000 followers.  Darren’s video instantly became their most watched.

And the comments, well—Chris’s cheeks reddened just thinking about them. A bashful Darren appeared at Chris’s door two hours after the video went live, one hand buried in the shorter hair at the base of his neck. “So… I think people like it?”

Chris raised his eyebrows, looking over his glasses where he had the comments section open on his own computer. Girls and guys alike were tagging their friends just to point out how hot Darren is. With him there draped casually in his door frame, Chris would have to agree. “I would say yes, they do.”

Darren laughs an embarrassed sort of huff, looks down at his feet. Chris can tell that though he might be humbled by the success of the video, Darren is definitely feeling proud of himself.

“Actually,” Chris continued, “maybe you should reply to a few of them. Start building some rapport with the fans.  Couldn’t hurt, and the higher-ups really want to see viewer engagement.”

The next day the Facebook page following had grown again by the thousands.  Suspicious, Chris scrolled to Darren’s video again. The views just kept going up.  And Darren himself was in the comments section, cheekily replying to a few of them.

Brittany Smith Oh my god, @Ashley did you watch this? I don’t even know what he said, I just keep staring at his hands for some reason

Darren Criss Next time pay attention to my face, we pay the makeup department a lot to cover up my lizard skin! ;)

Chris had one hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.  Darren was fucking funny. As if Chris didn’t have enough problems drooling over him already in production meetings, writing pitches, and the million times a day he stops by Chris’s office with just “one quick question.”

Chris glanced out his glass office doors to Darren’s desk (the one he has a perfect view of if he just pretends to work at his computer but instead looks right past his monitor out to the main office, no Chris didn’t put him there on purpose the desk was just open). And Darren’s comically large hot pink headphones, and Darren’s brow furrowed as he works hard at something on his computer, and Darren himself chewing on his lip and tugging on a curl and oh, god—

Chris has got it so bad.

“Fuck,” Chris says quietly, taking off his glasses to rub his tired eyes. He should have known better.

--

The crush stays mostly on lock down for almost two weeks.  Chris is like, acutely aware every time Darren walks near his office door (inconvenient, since he has to walk that way for the bathroom, the breakroom, and pretty much everything else) and he gets flustered during staff meetings when Darren starts smiling at him.

And then, of fucking course, there’s Lea.

“Who is this Darren again? You’ve said his name like ten times in the last five minutes.”

Chris swallows hard and tries to keep his tone casual. “Just one of the on-air personalities we hired.  He’s a good writer too, when we can keep him focused.  The best idea man we have, after me of course.  He’s been working here for like three months.  I swear I told you about him. Curly black hair, stupidly big brown eyes?”

Lea gasps. “Christopher Fucking Colfer. Do you have a crush?”

Chris instantly feels his face burning.  “You know Karyn Colfer would never give me such an unsightly middle name.  Jesus, Lea, I don’t know… He’s just a great guy. We get along well.  He’s my employee, for fuck’s sake.”

Lea scoffs. “That’s the highest praise I’ve heard you give another human in the entire time I’ve known you. You definitely like him.”

She’s always so infuriatingly good at pointing out the one thing Chris is trying to pretend doesn’t exist. “Yeah I… guess I do.”

She hums, sympathetic.  “It’s been a long time since you’ve embraced another human being, Christopher.  Maybe try leaning in this time instead of running away. It might do you some good.”

Eager to not hear yet another long-spun tail about her and her fiancé’s meet-cute, recent cohabitation, or extensive wedding planning, Chris says quickly, “Okay, yeah. Lean in. I’ll try that.”

“Just talk to him! You’re very charming, in your own way. He willingly works at PopNow Nerd, for Christ’s sake, just talk about your elaborate Halloween costume for next week, he’ll love that.”

Chris can’t argue with that.

--

“Lean in,” Chris murmurs to himself as he sees Darren get up for his second coffee and first trip to Chris’s desk right around the usual time, 9:20.

“Hey Chris,” Darren says, rapping on the open glass door twice.  Chris looks up from pretending he’s engrossed in end-of-year reports and not sweating into his hoodie.  “Quick question, to settle a debate: Richard Harris or Michael Gambon as Dumbledore? Must cite sources.”

Chris smiles. “Michael Gambon, without a doubt.  I loved the look of Richard Harris, don’t get me wrong, but Order of the Phoenix Dumbledore, tracking down horcruxes Dumbledore, was not frail. Richard Harris could have never pulled off standing up to the Ministry and escaping with Fawkes, no way.”

Darren cocked his head.  “So not what I would have thought you would say.  And honestly, you’ve almost sold me on Gambon.  I’m one of those who can’t overlook the didjupuyurnameinthegobletofire debacle but you have excellent points. Always surprising me, Chris.”

Was that… flirting? It was so hard to tell because Darren was so easily entrancing like this just all the time, but something about the way he said Chris’s name made him think it was different.

Darren had already half-turned to go but Chris calls him back, saying his name.  Darren turns around, eyebrows quirked.  This was deviating from their normal routine, Chris knew.  He tries to calm his pounding heart.  Lean in.

“You know, the real casting tragedy in the Potter series was how old James and Lilly were. Like, alright yes, the ‘mother’s eyes’ thing was absolutely shot to hell. But how are they going to tell us James and Lilly died at literally 21 years old and cast middle-aged actors?”

Darren smiles.  “Dude, yes. They fucked up the ages of everyone in the Order of the Phoenix except for like, Tonks. And maybe they got away with Lupin since he would be more weathered. But casting mid-50s actors for characters barely pushing 35? It totally takes away the resonance of these young people fighting for the future of the world.”

He sits in one of the chairs Chris has arranged along the side of the wall (PopNow has a thing about the formality of sitting with a desk between them) and Chris should move to go sit next to him but it feels like this new thing is a bubble that he might burst at any second if he moved the wrong way.

Darren leaves twenty minutes later to go back to his desk, his empty coffee-stained Vader mug forgotten on the floor.

Chris smiles as he catches Darren eye through the glass.  He’ll be back in an hour or two.

--

By the time mid-November rolls around, it seems that Chris and Darren’s quick coffee run questions have turned into thrice-daily chats have turned into… something.  It’s started to become a running joke at staff meetings, that Chris and Darren are usually more ChrisandDarren these days.  Chris ran into Darren once at his favorite lunch Chinese spot, and then he suggested another lunch spot for tacos and Darren suggested they go together, and now lunch is just always assumed to be theirs.  Even when Chris had to work three days straight through lunch to meet the deadline on proposals for the next quarter, Darren showed up every day with cashew chicken, disappearing when Chris was stressed or offering alien conspiracy theories when Chris needed a break.

That was the thing about Darren, he was always just there. As soon as Chris opened the figurative door by starting a conversation, Darren blew the whole fucking thing open and made himself at home.  It was hard to remember work before Darren.

It doesn’t dawn on Chris that they really haven’t seen each other outside of work until he overhears a few other producers and writers making plans to get drinks after work the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  Chris doesn’t think anything of it—he never wanted to get drinks with anyone in the office before, and he figured no one wanted to drink with their boss anyway.

So he’s pretty floored when he clearly hears Darren (speaking in his still-loud “low voice”) ask Denise if Chris is invited.

Chris doesn’t even try to hear the answer (it’s no, Chris knows) as he reels.  He can see Darren outside of work.  Darren maybe wants to see Chris outside of work.  Chris would have a reason to go somewhere other than home to his cat.  He had never thought of it before but now Chris really, really wanted to be invited out to drinks. By Darren, that is.

Darren stops by his office (fifth time that day) with his coat over his arm and bag slung over his shoulder on his way out.  “Happy Thanksgiving, Chris.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, he automatically replies.  “Headed down to Republic with Denise and Lars and everyone?”  Chris says it just to see how Darren will react.

Darren winces and looks sheepish.  “You heard about that, huh? Yeah it seems like it’s just a writers’ thing, sorry about that, I didn’t decide that it would be exclusive.”

“No, yeah, it’s totally okay,” Chris says, waving his hand.  “I wouldn’t want to like, intrude on the group anyways.  Frankly, there’s few people in this office I’d want to see outside of these stupid glass walls.”

Darren pouts, put-upon. “I hope I made your short list.”

Chris knows his ears are red-tipped but he swallows and forces himself to say, “Duh. You’re like, the whole list.”

Something comes over Darren’s face.  He’s more beautiful than Chris has ever seen.  “Yeah? You’re at the top of mine. Maybe after the holiday we can compare lists.  Have a good Thanksgiving, Chris.”

“Y-yeah, you too,” Chris manages to say, half-strangled, awkwardly waving as Darren turns and leaves.

Holy shit, Darren may have just asked him on a date.

--

There are three things Chris learns on the Friday a week after Thanksgiving weekend.

It is most definitely a date, Darren’s preferred drink is a whiskey sour, and he is the best kisser Chris has ever known.

“I thought maybe you only wanted to hear more on my nuanced analysis of Star Trek captains,” Chris teases after they break apart just inside his front door.

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I love your analysis,” Darren says breathily from where he’s kissing Chris’s jaw.  “It’s just that I also love the way your arms look in your tee shirts and your butt looks in your jeans and that your lips are so damn kissable.”

Chris thrills as Darren stretches up to kiss him again, basically on his tiptoes.  How is someone who appreciates all those things even real?  Chris runs his hands along Darren’s shoulders, grips his elbows, squeezes his waist.  Darren slips his tongue into Chris’s mouth and Chris reflexively grabs Darren’s perfect ass.  Oh, he’s real all right.

“That’s awfully fresh, Mr. Colfer,” Darren says breathily even as he pulls Chris in, walking backwards.  “Don’t you think that’s better suited for the bedroom?”

Later, Chris’s best shirt is maybe ruined and Darren is sleepy and soft and come-dumb, draped across Chris’s chest (he’s a cuddler, as Chris should have guessed).

“Give me five minutes and I’ll get up I promise,” Darren mostly mumbles as he rubs his face into Chris’s belly.

“Mmhmm,” Chris replies skeptically, sinking a hand into Darren’s curls and tracing his thumb over the sweat gathered at his temples.  “I really don’t mind.”

Darren groans, low and long.  “I have like, a thing about my hair being played with, dude. Once you start I’m always going to beg you to keep going.”

Chris smiles wickedly, pulling his fingers slowly through the soft strands and listening to Darren’s responses.  “I could be okay with that.”

--

Chris thinks they’re totally rocking the first day back at work giving off very “we definitely didn’t have sex last night, no way, thanks for asking” vibes. Until a very concerned Eileen stops by his office after their afternoon meeting.

“This is definitely not my business Chris, but you know I care deeply about the balance of the workplace ecosystem, so I’m going to meddle just this once.  Are you and Darren—”

Chris immediately opens his mouth, panicked, “Oh uh, no, I—”

“—Mad at each other?”

Chris stops mid-sentence.  “Wait, what?”

Eileen is unfazed, as usual. “You definitely snubbed him during that planning meeting and he’s only stopped by your office once today instead of the usual six.  I count on you two to keep meetings fun and productive. He makes you less cranky. I don’t know what you did, but fix it.”

She leaves before Chris can put words together.  Well, that wasn’t what he expected.

Eileen apparently thinks we’re fighting.

Maybe we went too hard in the other direction.

O M G. She’s so nosy. Our coworkers are way too perceptive.

There’s only one way I want you hard. This ain’t it

Fuck. Why are my office walls made of glass?

That’s hot, Colfer. Feed your cat and come by my place tonight.

…Was that a euphemism?

--

Pre-Darren, holiday parties at the office were to be endured and survived.  Chris would show up for the shortest time he could, drink two vodka sodas, talk to ten people, and get the fuck out. Now in the Age of Darren, Chris is actually brushing his hair and putting thought into his outfit and humming Christmas carols on the train.

Almost one month into their relationship feels way too new to tell all of PopNow, let alone just their department. (Chris had gone to HR with the intent to file their relationship but his hypothetical questions were met with vehemence that superiors could not date subordinates. So Chris had slunk out of there and didn’t mention it to Darren in case ignoring it meant it wouldn’t exist.) They’re arriving to the company holiday party separately and meeting oh-so-casually by the Christmas tree, avoiding all mistletoe and any game that might lead to awkward kissing with anyone.  They are totally (almost) masters of acting totally normal at work, they can handle this.

What Chris can’t handle is the blonde with godawful dark roots and nose ring practically pushing her breasts into Darren’s face.  At 20 freaking degrees outside there’s no need to wear a sweater that low-cut.  Darren, Chris begrudgingly credits, is looking unwaveringly at her face.  But this girl is hardcore flirting, hip cocked and chewing on the stirrer in her pink drink.

Chris knows he’s being ridiculous but at the same time, he can’t stop. She touches his shoulder for a second and Chris downs a shot.  She laughs way too loudly and Chris crushes a cookie into crumbs.  He tunes out the droning anecdote from some guy in accounting and instead vividly daydreams, replaying in his mind the past weekend spending a full 48 hours locked in Chris’s apartment.

Chris was so wrong to think that he could keep it together for this entire party. Darren is just so damn charming and every single person who works at PopNow is gravitating towards him. Chris understands the feeling, but the possessive jealous lizard brain just wants to take.

He spots an opening as Darren is trying to physically move away from a man who is whispering in Darren’s ear every other sentence.  Hell no.

Chris steps between them deftly, delighting at the way Darren’s face absolutely lights up. “Chris, hi. Thank god.”

“So sorry to steal him away, but Darren there’s someone I want you to meet,” Chris apologizes to the guy in a rush, grabbing Darren by the elbow and leading him away.

“Thank god,” Darren says again from behind him as Chris weaves through the crowds. “That guy was like a level 5 creeper. I’ve been looking for you for half an hour and just couldn’t disentangle myself from these people who all want to talk about my videos.  Which is flattering, I guess? But they’re like, strangers. I’m just trying to get buzzed and play that piano in the corner and start a Christmas carol sing-along.  Wait, this is the bathroom…”

“Yes, it is,” Chris says, leading Darren into the single room family bathroom and following quickly, locking the door.

He presses Darren against the door and kisses him hard, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.  “That was torture,” Chris whispers, tugging on Darren’s earlobe with his teeth.

“Colfer, were you j-jealous?” Darren chokes out, head lolling back as Chris moves down to kiss his neck.  He wants to leave a visible mark. He settles for one right below Darren’s collar, right in the hollow of his shoulder. Darren moans, cradling Chris’s head. “Fuck.”

“Maybe I was,” Chris admits, pulling back and pushing stray hairs off his forehead.  “That one girl was just so blatant, it was awful. And I couldn’t do or say anything! Maybe I should ask for a department transfer. Or find another job, I…”

Darren is wide-eyed. “Are you trying to abandon me?”

Chris shakes his head. “God, no, it’s just some ban on superiors dating their employees, I didn’t want to tell you before….”

“What about superiors dating their equals?  Would that be okay?” Darren asks, a mischievous smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“Uh yeah, I think so,” Chris says, confused.  “I don’t see why not?”

“Good,” Darren says, full-out grinning now.  “Because Rebecca called me into her office today. Honestly I thought I had to be getting reprimanded or something, but she promoted me. Well it’s not totally official yet, but next week they’re creating new Video Editor-in-Chief positions in some departments. Equal with the department head. A new team-leading thing to further focus on video content.  And the job in Nerd is mine.  She said she heard I work great with my department head and I had to agree.”

Chris reels.  “Holy shit. I knew Rebecca had asked me about you, but I didn’t know why. Holy shit!  Darren, that is amazing.  You are amazing.  I am so proud of you.”

Darren’s eyes practically disappear, he’s smiling so hard.  “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.  I guess we don’t have to hide in this bathroom anymore…?” Even as he says it, Darren rubs a hand right over Chris’s crotch. Chris sucks in a loud breath.

“We don’t have to, but maybe we should for this part.”

--

Three whiskey sours in and with no prodding, Darren hops behind the piano and leads a rousing chorus of the promised Christmas carols, Broadway songs, and Disney hits.  Four vodka sodas in and Chris is pulled into a clumsy duet of Baby It’s Cold Outside after he makes everyone in the area hold both hands up so he knows no one is recording.  There’s no way this won’t end up in the Monday morning email thread, but tipsy, warm and fuzzy Chris is okay with that.

It’s the best company holiday party he’s ever been to. Which on the surface makes no sense—it’s in the same venue, with the same cheesy decorations, the same too-strong drinks and the same terrible ornament exchange.  But this year, the Christmas tree seems taller and fuller and more beautiful than ever. And this year, the bartender is wearing a Santa hat and smiling and singing along.  And even though an ornament exchange game with no stealing or trading allowed is a totally lame game, Chris somehow gets a Yoda ornament. He gasps, looking up at Darren, who is just across from him.  Darren has that shit-eating grin, toasting his glass to Chris as he takes another sip. He remembered.

And then Chris realizes that it wasn’t the party that had changed, it was him. And it was Darren. Because of Darren.  Even the most dreaded event of the year has Chris laughing, smiling, relaxing, even feeling the joy of the Christmas spirit.

He blames Darren and his magic that when someone comes up to them shrieking mistletoe! and dangling a bunch over their heads, Chris doesn’t laugh it off.  He looks at Darren, closer than the careful distance they’ve been keeping all night, and is hit with the full force of his sparkling brown eyes. You’re beautiful, Chris thinks, and grabs Darren’s lapel before he can think too hard.

Darren is dazed when they pull apart, the mistletoe bearer long-gone.  “Merry Christmas,” Chris says so fondly, brushing his thumb over the spot hidden under Darren’s shirt.

“Merry Christmas,” Darren says, taking Chris’s hand and holding it tight, laced with his.

[agentkatie]

A Study in Blue

The lovely @laelior brought my attention to this ridiculously beautiful art of Cullen in Alliance dress uniform, and… well, I got a little bit carried away, so this is for you! Full disclosure, I don’t know what the Hell this is. Maybe it’s another AU where Cullen ends up in Shepard’s universe? Maybe it’s to come later on in my current AU? Who cares; I just like writing these nerds. Happy holidays my dear!

1992 words, established relationship fluff that turns NSFW-ish, because the only correct response to seeing Cullen in dress blues is to try and jump him.

Cullen straightened his jacket one final time as he observed himself in the mirror, brushing an almost-imperceptible fleck of dust from his epaulette. It was strange, but the Alliance dress uniform sat far more comfortably on his shoulders than his Templar armour ever did. Even ceremonial Templar armour was designed for strength and protection, with little consideration for how its rivets and joints might bite into the skin; Alliance dress blues, on the other hand, were all about comfort, its soft fabric carefully tailored for relief on prolonged parades. The first time he’d worn it he’d felt exposed and vulnerable, its ornate decoration providing no security in this strange world of guns and biotics - but now, whilst they were at peace and happy, it felt right.

Besides; there was no greater protection than having Shepard next to him.

“Looking sharp, Commander.” A drawling voice interrupted his thoughts; he turned to find Shepard, in her own uniform, leaning against the bathroom doorway and regarding him with an appreciative grin. “I’m sorry - Admiral.”

He smirked at the teasing lilt of her voice on his new title, surprised that she didn’t accompany it with a mocking salute. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Commander?”

“Maybe a little,” she acknowledged as she closed the distance between them. “But you deserve it.”

“It is an honorary title,” he reminded her. “It means nothing; technically I’m not even in the Alliance. It should be yours.”

“Yes, it should,” she agreed, her lips quirking upwards into a playful smile as her arms circled his neck; his own hands came to settle on her hips, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of her trousers. “They made you an Admiral just for hanging out with me for a bit; I saved the universe and I’m still stuck at Lieutenant-Commander.”

“I provided invaluable support to the Alliance’s relief efforts,” he pointed out. “You bequeathed their best ship to a Krogan.”

“Grunt is our son. Be nicer to him.”

He chuckled, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss; he felt her smile into his mouth as she kissed him back, one hand leaving his neck to cup his face. “I am very proud of you,” she murmured against his lips, her thumb brushing back and forth over one stubbled cheek. “Even if it means I have to make small-talk with pointless dignitaries all night.”

“The evening is as much for you as it is for me. They’re presenting you with the Star of Terra.”

Shepard made a disgruntled in the back of her throat, as if the Alliance’s commendations’ were miles beneath her. “I’ll put it next to my Silver Dagger and Nova Cluster; I’ll have so many shiny things to polish after they’ve removed me from active duty.”

“Shepard—”

“Hackett confirmed it today,” she cut him off with a hand against his chest. “I’m getting promoted to a nice desk job here on the Citadel.”

Cullen sighed, one hand leaving her hip to rub the back of his neck. It wasn’t a surprise for either of them; Shepard - or rather, the Shepard the universe knew - was a woman of war, her singular strength of both body and character forged in blood and pain. But now the war was over; now those very characteristics, which had led the Alliance to burden her alone with saving them, had become… inconvenient. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “But… maybe being removed from active duty is not the worst thing in the world. We could fill our time with other things.”

“Such as?”

He hesitated, breaking from her embrace as he lost his nerve; he turned instead to face the mirror once more, giving himself a final scolding look as he forced from himself the words that had been on his tongue for far too long. “This apartment is rather large for two people.”

“Yeah, but Anderson gave it to me; I’d rather not downgrade if it’s not necessary.” He shook his head as she failed to grasp his meaning, watching her expression closely in the mirror as she slowly transitioned to understanding. “Oh. You want…”

“Only if you do.”

He turned back to her once more, observing her as her mind visibly scouted his suggestion, her face contorted into a look of extreme concentration. “Actual, non-Grunt children,” she said eventually, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. “I don’t know. Doesn’t it worry you?”

“Of course it does,” he admitted. “But we could do it. Together.”

For many years, children had been the very last thing on his mind; between the Templars and the Inquisition and his own personal demons his life had always seemed far too chaotic to bring a child into it. But the idea had crept up on him, laying roots in the back of his mind which had grown into a yearning as he’d watched Shepard interact with their friends’ children; as she’d wrestled with Wrex’s tiny Krogan horde, and told stories of the Normandy to Garrus and Tali’s daughter. And maybe he didn’t deserve to want it; maybe he was too broken to be a father, too damaged by his past to provide the foundations for a child’s future. But with Shepard as his partner, anything seemed possible.

“Being a parent…” she began, then trailed off, her eyes falling to the floor. “I’m just not sure. Is it that important to you?”

“It… would be nice. But all I need is you.”

She smiled at that, her fingers hesitantly reaching for him once more; he took her hands in his, placing a brief kiss to them as they lay encased in his grasp. “It’s not a definite no. Maybe… maybe we could travel for a bit first. Get our own ship. I’ve still not been to Palaven, and I want to show you Terra Nova. But one day… I don’t know.”

“Commanding our own ship does sound appealing,” he said, his fingers reaching for her waist once more - and then, because he couldn’t resist goading her even now, added, “naturally, as an Admiral I would be in charge.”

“Wha— go fuck yourself, Rutherford,” she flared up - completely predictably - at his attempt to pull rank. “I’ll just take Garrus if—”

He cut off her argument by pressing his lips against hers, and she made a weak noise of protest before yielding to him. He’d only intended it to be a brief kiss, but she clearly had other ideas; with a swipe of her tongue across his bottom lip she deepened the kiss, one hand winding into his hair and tugging gently in a way which never failed to send shivers down his spine. Yes, she knew him far too well, and each little action - the scrape of her nails on his scalp, the press of her body against his, the delightful little noises she made into his mouth - was a tactical ploy with only one purpose in mind. And, Void take her, they worked every time.

He had just enough sense left in him to break the kiss, though it did little to deter her; she moved instead to pepper little kisses along the line of his jaw, and he bit back a groan as she playfully nipped at his neck with her teeth. “Shepard…” he warned.

“What?”

“You know what,” he growled, meeting her expression of feigned innocence with a glare he hoped would dissuade her.

“I can’t help it,” she shrugged, absent-mindedly fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. “You’re very handsome in dress blues - especially with that brooding scowl of yours.” A huff of laughter involuntarily escaped his lips, and she grinned, both of them knowing in that instant that she’d won. As if there had ever been any hope for him. “Of course, anything’s better than that faux-fur monstrosity you insist on keeping.”

“You know full well it’s bearskin.”

“Yeah, well - it looks better on the floor of my cabin.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Do you really think that line will work on me?”

She smiled, playfully swatting his shoulder with the back of her hand. “I meant as a bearskin rug. But now you mention it, we really should compare it with this,” she said, plucking at his buttons once more and pushing the fabric from his shoulders; he shook his head as his jacket fell to the floor, making one final half-hearted protest even as his grip on her tightened.

“Shepard, we’ll be late—”

“Not if we’re quick.”

“And the others are downstairs—”

“Then we’ll just have to be quiet too.”

“Maker preserve me. You are absolutely terrible.”

And with that he kissed her again, revelling in her surprised squeal as his hands moved to grasp her buttocks and hoist her from the ground. Her legs locked around his waist as he backed her into the wall, crushing the hard and perfect lines of her strong body against his, and this time it was his turn to toy with her; he planted open-mouthed kisses along her neck, the sweet smell of her perfume permeating his senses and leaving him love-drunk and heady, and when he reached her ear he took the lobe between his teeth and tugged. She hummed appreciatively, rocking her hips up against his, and it took every ounce of his remaining reserve not to rip down the fabric between them and thrust into her; instead he ground against her, with enough pressure only to stoke the aching need building in them both, and she let out a growl of frustration, her calves tightening around him in an effort to press their bodies closer together.

“Rutherford,” she murmured, a barely-controlled waver in her voice. “Stop teasing and fuck me already.”

“Is that an order, Commander? If I recall correctly, I outrank you now.”

“You are just—”

“Are you two al—spirits!” The unmistakable flanging of Garrus’s voice interrupted them, so unexpectedly that Cullen almost dropped Shepard; he caught her just in time, lowering her awkwardly to the ground before rubbing the back of his neck, and though he still found Turians difficult to read he was almost positive Garrus was smirking. “What’s that human expression? Keep it in your pants?”

“The human expression is fuck off, Garrus,” Shepard grumbled, straightening her jacket as Cullen picked up his own.

“Seems awfully specific. Our taxis are here - but we can go on ahead if you two aren’t finished.”

Cullen felt himself go red at the suggestive emphasis the Turian placed on his final word - which in a way was a blessing, for at least it diverted blood away from other areas. “No, we’ll come— uh, join - you,” he mumbled, quickly buttoning up his jacket and brushing it free of any fluff it might have accrued during its time on the floor.

“Suit yourself; you’ve got forty-five seconds,” Garrus shrugged before leaving them alone once more. “Vega - you were right!” they heard him yell as he stepped out onto the landing, and Cullen winced at the raucous laughter from downstairs at the exclamation. Shepard bit her lip, her eyes twinkling with laughter, and he turned away from her to inspect himself in the mirror once more; thankfully he wasn’t as dishevelled as he’d expected, his uniform largely free of creases and stray flecks.

“You’re fine,” Shepard reassured him, stepping forward to dust off the back of his jacket as he hastily smoothed down the few curls she’d teased out of place. “Very Admiral-y. Let’s get going.”

He nodded at his reflection one final time before turning to her. “After you,” he said, one hand extended towards the open door, but she shook her head and extended her own hand with an exaggerated bow.

“Oh, no - you first, Admiral. You’re in charge now, after all.”

He smirked, taking her hand in his as they left the room together. “My love; we both know I’ll never be in charge with you.”

(You can read more of Shepard and Cullen kicking ass and taking names over at AO3. Comments and reblogs sustain my life force!)

[sotheywrotestories]

The Spy and the One Who Wasn’t |bucky barnes| Chapter Three: The Problem With Fear

Warnings: A bit more violence. Yelling. Fear

Summary: Wherein Wanda finds out

Read Chapter Two Point One Here

Bucky felt as though (Y/N) had been lying to them all, just for the attention.

The more he got to know her, the more he drifted back to the idea that she wasn’t special at all. That she didn’t have some mind-blowing power and that she was just like Natasha, raised in the Red Room and sent out to assassinate who knows.

But Tony swore up and down that she had something special about her. That she most definitely belonged on the team. It wasn’t until Steve walked out of her mission de-brief, eyes wide and face pale that Bucky had someone to believe.

“So what was it,” Bucky pestered Steve. “What does she do?”

Both soldiers had taken residency to the kitchen, one with the newspaper in front him, the other sticking magnet on his arm to see how many he could have while still having full mobility of his arm.

“I can’t say, Bucky, it’s confidential, and you know that,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Besides, even if I could tell you, it wouldn’t be my place to. That’s her decision to make, not mine.”

“Well I think we can all damn well see that she won’t be making that decision anytime soon-“ Bucky started to growl.

“And, do you have a problem?” (Y/N) bit back, having just walked into the kitchen to make a smoothie.

“A little bit,” Bucky admits. “I just want to know who you really are, doll.”

“I’m (Y/N) (L/N).” She moved to the fridge. “For the past three months, I’ve lived with the Avengers. I have thus far gone on one solo mission, which was successful, might add. I came from Hydra, from a group that S.H.I.E.L.D. has deemed so classified that I am not allowed to even write down my own feelings on my past from Hydra. What else do you want to know, James?”

“What can you do? What makes you so special to this team?” Bucky snapped back.

“What makes you so special?” (Y/N) blurted.

“Guys,” Steve stood up, his voice stern and commanding. “Don’t fight about this.”

Bucky and (Y/N) continued to glare at each other until she tossed her plastic mixer into the sink and stormed off.

“Bucky,” Steve sighed disappointedly as he folded his paper and placed his yogurt bowl into the sink. “You know how you don’t want to tell someone you don’t know anything about your past? Maybe she doesn’t, either.”

***

Bucky did feel bad about how he had treated (Y/N) earlier that day. But he had trust issues. And at some point, if she really wanted to be his friend, she would have let him in.

But when could he stop using his trust issues as a crutch?

And he wanted to apologize to her because she didn’t deserve what he said to her. He knew she was useful, she managed to drag home three agents by herself. Bucky might have even had an issue with that, especially since they both came from Hydra.

And he was going to apologize. That was legitimately why he was walking back into the commons area. Not that he didn’t want to see her right away, but he wanted to talk to Steve first, to be sure he wasn’t going to mess something up.

But this was what lead him to discover (Y/N) anyway, cowering on the couch as Wanda yelled accusations at her.

Wanda wasn’t typically a very confrontational person, only when she needed to be. Which lead Bucky to believe (Y/N) had done something awful.

“You’re a spy,” Wanda spat with finality.

“I’m not,” (Y/N) shook her head, then continued to whisper that under her breath over and over, to herself.

“Then why is what I see-“ Wanda began.

“You looked into my head?” (Y/N) screamed, her hands flying into her hair and her knees drawing up to her chest as tight as possible.

“Not on purpose,” Wanda backpedaled a moment. “I didn’t mean to! But…I am happy I did. Because now I know I need to report you to Fury.”

“He won’t say anything,” (Y/N) jumped up. “Wanda you have to understand those thoughts aren’t mine-“

“So you’re being controlled?” Wanda yelled.

By this time, Steve, Tony, and Sam had all run into the room, geared for a fight but not expecting what they found.

“Wanda, back off,” Tony warned.

“What are you hiding for her,” Wanda narrowed her eyes at Tony, now stepping closer to him.

“Wanda-“ Bucky began, knowing all too well the look of fear in (y/N)’s eyes.

“She wants to kill us!” Wanda screamed.

“(Y/N)?” Natasha asked, moving from behind Steve. Where Bucky assumed, she had been waiting. “(Y/N) wants to kill us?”

“Yes!”

“No!”

Both girls yelled.

“I don’t want to-“

“-you haven’t seen-“

“I swear that it’s not-

“-don’t lie again-“


“That’s what they want from me!”

(Y/N) had tears running down her cheeks, now, and her hands were firmly planted on her chest.

“They’re not…,” (Y/N) heaved. “They’re not. Me.”

“Kid,” Tony put his hand out. “You don’t have to prove yourself.”

“I do,” (Y/N) stood straight. “It’s clear I have no place here until you know what I’ve done and I am sick and tired of all of you treating me like I’m some sort of danger!”

Bucky caught her eye and immediately felt guilty. He didn’t mean to make her feel unwanted, he just wanted her to open up a little bit.

“I um…yeah-“

“(Y/N), don’t,” Steve warned. “It’s not worth it.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “I’m either going to be seen as a killer or as a spy, so I might as well clear my name.”

Bucky held his breath, his hands shaking. Tony had a deep frown on his face, clearly, he didn’t like the idea of (Y/N) sharing her life story, but Wanda and Natasha looked slightly intrigued.

“I’m a Hydra product,” (Y/N) whispered. “I’m a Hydra product and to this date, I have killed 42 people.” She winced. “44, sorry. And It’s terrifying, what I do. Because it’s not quick, and it’s certainly not painless. But I get the job done, and it’s not messy. And Hydra loved it. Because I clean up.

“I take your deepest, darkest fear, and I bring it to light. I make you live through every regret, ever pain, every last nightmare you have, until you can’t take it anymore.”

The more (Y/N) spoke, the more he realized why she didn’t want anyone to know what she did. It was terrifying. And he will admit, he is a bit scared of her, now.

“But I don’t have to see them.” (Y/N) bit her lip, avoiding eye contact with everyone. “I can just…do it. And then…I started to do it on accident when I was still at Hydra. My guards would keel over and die at random times.

“Hydra sent me away and Fury picked me up. And for two years I lived on the raft. Learning how to control myself.”

Natasha had a look of pure horror on her face, silently dropping into the nearest armchair as she understood how dangerous (Y/N) was.

“The downfall to this-“

“Is the amount of pain you’ve inflicted? The guilt you carry?” Sam interrupted, his voice gruff.

Bucky couldn’t tell if he was unhappy or not.

“No,” (Y/N) winced. “I mean yes. Of course…that…kills. But…the more I suppress reaching into everyone’s mind and learning about your deepest fears, is that I absorb them, instead. And I don’t mean to. But that’s why people find it calming around me…because I’m slowly taking away your fears.

“After I take them, they become my own. And each one of my fears gets amplified a little more.

“That’s what you saw,” (Y/N) turned to Wanda, her voice quiet. “Me, killing you all. That’s the fear that’s been slowly building the more and more I’m around and one day I’m going to snap.”

Steve and Tony had looked away, already knowing what the girl’s fate was, should they not find her a way to channel the fear somewhere else, somewhere other than her own head.

Bucky felt horrible. He wasn’t afraid of her. She wouldn’t hurt them, he could see it in her eyes. She didn’t have the guts to do it.

“Doll,” Bucky rasped.

“Don’t,” (Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows. “Now you know. Go ahead. Tell everyone what you know. I’ll be in my room.”

***

Bucky didn’t fear (Y/N). It appeared that neither did Tony or Steve. Natasha did.

Or, maybe it wasn’t fear. Maybe she was more worried about what (Y/N) WOULD do now that Natasha knew what she COULD do.  It didn’t help that (Y/N) had locked herself in her room, avoiding all questions and not even trying to defend herself against what Natasha had to say.

There wasn’t much Bucky could do to defend her, either. As much as he wanted to, he knew nothing about her. I mean…he knew, now, why she was so terrified to share her past, but how could he defend her against that? What could he do?

What terrified him, was when some man showed up at the tower. He was tall, dark skinned, with dark, curly hair. He didn't introduce himself, just walked through the compound, waved at Tony, then disappeared into (Y/N)'s room. Bucky knew it was more jealousy than fear that he felt in his bones, but he still didn't appreciate this new guy.

"His name is Al," Steve said, watching Bucky glare at (Y/N)'s door. "He's here to help."

But when Bucky laid at night, listening to her screams, he wasn't so sure.

Tags;

@thatcluelessone @ima-fucking-nerd​​  @embrace-themagic @fireboltrose5737@whatdafricklefrackle@peeterparkr @sherlokiantheatrenerd @legit-fandom-trash​ @abitchformarvel​​​ @dark-night-sky-99​​ @dreams-of-feysand

[bts-is-my-life-as-always]

Like you do.

Pairing: jimin X reader

Genre:fluff and a tiny dose of angst.

Soooo this is the jimin part of hug me and only me, again I don’t title these until I finish writing the whole story, so we’ll see what I come up with, anyways happy reading ^~^

You remembered back to when jimin first transferred into your school, he was exceptionally shy, and didn’t like opening up to anyone, now a full year later, he was the loudest and the most confident person you knew, well you didn’t really have any other friends but jimin, sometimes you felt like such a burden to him, sometimes it was like you were taking everyone and every opportunity away from him, he was offered a place in sm entertainment for a new boy group, but he refused, it felt like he did that to stay with you, to be with you so you weren’t lonely, although he tried to reassure you each and every time you questioned why he didn’t go, saying how he didn’t really want to go to sm because of the way the other idols would be treated,

(I’m just going to say, idols under SM entertainment, seem to not be treated too well, this is solely my opinion and if your going to take offence don’t read the bracketed part, like most of the times the idols are worked till they faint, and all you can see is them wanting to take some rest, like they seem so fragile and some are literally forced into dieting, as far as I know none of the bts members are forced into dieting, they do it because they want to, I really don’t understand why some company’s are like that, they work their idols like pigs and solely for money, many ex idols have expressed how hard it was and how much they will never return, and that’s not what kpop should be about, it should be about growing dreams and giving people hope, kpop for me, was and will always be a reason to keep going, bts have given me hope, they are the reason that many souls like my own are still alive, and they bring people to find their own dreams, although I’m still looking for mine, anyways enough of me ranting, I love you all, and I’ll let you continue reading this scenario now, sorry to take up so much time and space)

He didn’t want that, he just wanted to grow his beautiful dream, so you tried your best to stop blaming yourself for your refusals.

You realised a few months ago that you might be crushing on jimin, you continued to tell yourself that you can’t do that, that jimin wouldn’t like you back, who would?

You were always some what gloomy, you didn’t have many friends, you were a “nerd” and you were just known as that girl who sits in the corner of the room.

There was a new guy that transferred, he reminded you of jimin, he was timid and quiet, and he couldn’t stop fiddling with his nails, while looking around, your teacher knew how good you were with new students, she knew that they needed your kindness and warmth in a new place, so it wasn’t surprising when she asked jimin to move to the seat next to him, for the new student to sit next to you, jimin didn’t really like the idea of another guy sitting next to you, but he couldn’t refuse.

After an hour of being with the new kid, you found out his name was Joonho, he was 3 months older than you, he loved music and well music was really the only thing you could relate to him, he was really smart, tall, well built and again, had many girls swooning over him, girls in your class practically hated you, because “you got the attention of all the good boys” you hated every girl in your school, they were extremely fake, the reason why you never made friends with them, you could feel all eyes on you and joonho, including jimin, his eyes were practically on fire, you smiled towards him to reassure him that everything would be fine, you didn’t know why he looked so angry but he did, jimin stood up and looked at the two of you and turned around and left the classroom, you sat there listening to joonho talk, your mind was just filled with jimin, nothing would enter your brain, your third period ended and you were wondering where jimin was, you exited the room with joonho to get lunch, you looked around to see if you could find jimin, you came to a classroom, it was dark but you could tell that it was jimin, and a girl, your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach, they were embracing each other, you closed your eyes, not wanting to cry in front of joonho, you walked away, and into the dining hall.

Jimin was just sitting in the empty room, when he heard the door open thinking it was you he instantly got up and his eyes lit up, but as soon as he saw who it was his body slumped a little, what he didn’t expect was for the girl to hug him, he was standing there in complete shock for what seemed like 10 minuets, while she let her feelings flood over to him, he could sense you behind him, he turned around a second too late, all he saw was a strand of your hair, and joonho being dragged to somewhere else, he knew it was you, he ripped himself away from the girl and ran towards the direction that you went, upon entering the dining hall, he went and grabbed a tray, he sat next to you facing joonho,

“So, hows your first day of school? Y/n being a good guide?”

Your new found friend just nodded,

“He’s still quite shy, hey weren’t you like this? You were really shy too, I guess people do change”

You looked at him and then continued to eat, the whole lunch was awkward, you decided to break the awkwardness and take joonho towards the food disposal area, you placed the trays down, and walked towards the garden, you told joonho a little more about you, while jimin tagged along behind you, lunch ended just like that, and thou headed for the class as the two boys went to the bathroom, as you entered your class you walked in where a girl, your ex friend to be exact was crying hysterically, she looked like someone just punched her, as you went and sat down at your desk, she stormed over towards you, you didn’t really care, until she slapped you across the face, you looked at her confused,

“Why the fuck did you just slap me?!” You questioned angry towards why she slapped you, all you did was let her go as a friend because of the amount of trash she was,

“I told you I liked jimin, now look what you’ve done, just disappear” she cried, you sighed,

“So it’s my fault when someone doesn’t like you the way you like them, you know maybe no guy should like you, your just a bitch and I’m really glad that I left you behind”

She was infuriated, she threw your table across the room and started to strangle you, you were chocking, people holding her back, you fell to the ground, and tried to catch your breath, just then jimin barged into the room, he ran towards you instantly, as he came over and tried to lift you up, you pushed him away, joonho came over to your side,

“Are you okay? Let’s get you to the nurse” joonho lifted you up and took you, he laid you down on the bed and waited with you for the nurse to come back, as you waited joonho started to talk about his girlfriend their happy relationship was a contrast to the relationship that you had with jimin, you stayed in the nurses office, just laying there the rest of the day, as the last bell rang to dismiss everyone back home, you picked up your backpack and walked out, jimin was waiting for you, you lived next door, it made sense, but also didn’t since you didn’t feel like talking to him today, not now at least, jimin walked home with you right beside him, he didn’t say much only slightly trying to question what happened, but he got the hint that it had something to do with him if you weren’t talking to him, he spun you around by your waist, and held you close, the sudden contact making you blush like crazy, the cold breeze helping cool you down before you fainted, you struggled in his embrace for a bit, until he held your head still,

“Y/n? I have a serious question, will you answer it for me?”

You didn’t say anything, just stood there,

“Well, will you be mine? Will you be mine, and only mine? I realised how mad I could get when I saw the new kid walk out with you, I wanted to help you, see if you were okay, I was so worried, you have no idea” his words melting you, your body not listening to your mind as you automatically nodded and snuggled up to his embrace, holding him,

“Jimin I was so scared, I thought she was going to kill me, I don’t know why, but I pushed you away, you didn’t even do anything to me, I’m sorry” he pulled you slightly apart,

“You don’t need to apologise for something that you had no control over, I would’ve done the same thing, I’m sorry”

The two of you hugged for what seemed like ages.

The next day, it was like a whole new world had opened up, jimin always usually texted you good morning, but today it was sent specially for you,

“Good morning my baby, Is my beautiful ready to go to school?”

You smiled and walked out your door, you smiled wider when jimin took your hand and walked towards school, your ex friend still fuming at the sight of jimins hands in yours, as jimin saw a flicker of fear course through you, he held you closer to him, resting his hand in your waist, he sat you down and sat down right next to you, while joonho instantly realised what was happening and threw you a thumbs up and sat in jimins seat.

“Princess, why are you looking at him, I’m right here, don’t get me jealous here” you lightly tapped his nose, as a way of telling him to shush,

“He’s got a girlfriend dummy, and I’ve got an amazing boyfriend, don’t be jealous, they can look but they’ll never ever have me like you do”

Omfg, this is, way too fluff, for my liking, ANYWYAS hope you enjoyed, and apparently Monday is filled with jimin, and remember once you jimin you can’t jimout, love you all, happy reading.

^~^

[lethesomething]

BnHA Profile: Aizawa Shouta

Aizawa is one of the cleverest, most underrated characters in BnHA, and I'm not just saying that because he's voiced by Suwabe and therefore immediately on Lethey's Love List. This is a guy that sort of drags himself through life, doing good deeds without seemingly getting a lot of satisfaction from it. He's almost an anti-hero even though he's more pure than several of the other characters in the series. So let's break him down.

Out of the Limelight

Aizawa is an 'underground' hero. He avoids the media, he stays out of all the flashy stuff and really, the only reason people like Izuku know his name is because, well, Izuku is a massive nerd. As a hero, but also personality-wise, Aizawa is a clear foil for All Might. One is always smiling, embracing fame to become a symbol of peace that stops villains everywhere from even wanting to start shit. He's super flashy, cares deeply about appearance and also he's just… huge and muscular. Eraserhead, meanwhile, has a resting bitch face, looks like he hasn't showered in days, wears basic black pyjamas wherever he goes and he shrinks back from attention like a vampire seeing the first rays of the sun. This contrast extends to their fighting style. All Might is all about power and speed. He's an all-rounder that overwhelms his opponents with a super-quirk. Meanwhile, Aizawa is an incredibly specialised hero that needs a clear strategy and an extensive knowledge of martial arts to even stand a chance. In many ways All Might is to Aizawa what Izuku is to Shinsou, someone blessed with overwhelming power and therefore hard to deal with. It's not really that difficult to see why they don't get along very well.

 (spoilers from the manga under the cut) (also this stuff is just really long ok) (I have many feels)(and many opinions)

Fundamentally, though, Aizawa looks the way he does because he gives absolutely zero fucks about how he comes across. You see this when he decides to (or was forced to) make an effort after the forest camp. He's totally capable of looking less villainous. Put him in a suit and he may not look like a full blown superhero, but he's at least passable as a Japanese salaryman.

When given free reign, however, he cares not. He's basically introduced to us as the apathetic, possibly even cruel teacher who cares little for his students. Superhero Snape. He's grumpy, he makes them go through gruelling tests and he threatens to expel them at a moment's notice. This turns out, of course, to be a logical ruse (he also has a really awful sense of humor).

 The workaholic

What's interesting about him as a character, is that as you start reading BnHA, it becomes clear that this initial idea is almost completely wrong. For one: he carries a sleeping bag around and catches a nap at any opportunity given to him. Not because he's lazy. But because he's extremely sleep deprived. Because this idiot never stops working. Aizawa appears to have very little life outside his work. We know that his room is bare, he teaches during the day and he does most of his hero-ing at night. He doesn't appear to have much of an off switch.

That scene is a rather nice one from the later chapters. Everyone's being called up  and it's the middle of the friggin night. Nedjire is half asleep, at the same time we see the others in their jammies. What is Aizawa doing at this ungodly hour? Working. Multitasking, even. On two devices. Probably planning shit. This is the reason that man teaches from a sleeping bag. He's trying to fit too many hours of work into a single day, and tries to somehow fit the necessary sleep in by multitasking. How very Japanese of him. But also. Can we please talk about this?

Why the hell is a fully bandaged up, injured man, at work? Dude got nearly killed on school premises. By any insurance policy in the modernized world, he should be on sick leave, watching the whole thing on tv, with a nice cup of tea and maybe some grapes or something by his side. You can't tell me UA has that bad of a health policy, the damn school probably has the most expensive insurance in the world. But nope, he sitting in a booth commentating. Because Yamada asked him. Please note that several of the teachers are just up in the crowd, watching the games. They could have gotten Blood Baron or Nedzu to do it. But no, get the workaholic who can't even lie in bed for a day when all his bones are broken.

 The teacher

When I first started reading BnHA, I heartily wondered why the hell they'd put someone like that in front of a class. But again, once you get to know him, it turns out this man is a really good teacher. I certainly never had anyone pay that much attention to me and my well-being when I was in school. He understands a bunch of his kids better than they do. See exhibit A: Bakugou.

 Aizawa's teaching style is very much a 'hands off' kind of thing. He doles out advice, he makes them run themselves ragged, but in a very specific sense, he also Trusts them. Even the explodey one. He has implicit faith in them, because he's observed them. 

He can almost predict them. See exhibit B: Izuku.  

He knows Izuku enough to know, for instance, that he *cannot* stop himself from being a hero. He can't. He waded into the sludge monster to save Kacchan. He chose saving Uraraka over getting a shot at the entry exam. The forest, the kidnapping, all of it. He will choose the saving option every time. That's why this is such a lovely scene. It really shows how well Aizawa knows his pupils. He knows he can’t stop Izuku so he’s just kinda... going along with it. He knows there's no point in telling Izuku not to go. So he decides to let him, if only so he can keep an eye on him.

I mean.. Especially when it comes to these two, Aizawa is a bit of a softy? I'm sure he'd prefer the term 'realist' but come one. Softie. 

 The Reluctant Dad

Speaking of softies. BnHA has a surprisingly large amount of father figures. Maybe it's because Izuku's dad is absent, but the theme sort of runs through the whole thing. The dads in this series range from the loving, supportive examples like All Might, or Bakugou's and Jirou's perfectly normal dads, to more tough loving guys like Gran Torino. They go all the way into the utter shit and abusive section, with Todoroki Sr. The Big Bad is, in a rather premeditated way, a father figure to Shigaraki.  Even All Might and Shigaraki himself have a rather messed up bond that mirrors some father-son elements. But out of all of these, the most grumpy dad is doubtlessly Aizawa. This is a guy who's been given twenty highly rambunctious kids and who Cares Deeply about them, despite his vocal assurances that he would rather be sleeping. He then goes and adopts another one in the form of Shinsou (sort of, that might just be my wishful thinking).

It's interesting to note that Aizawa is very much a dad of the 'papa wolf' variety. He will protect the shit out of these kids. This is a guy who, as mentioned, has a very specialised fighting style that works best against small groups, for small periods of time. So obviously he jumps in the middle of a veritable army of villains to give his students a chance to escape , papa wolf style. That bit up there where he saves Tsuyu? Despite being very nearly dead? Yeah. He will also protect their Honour, like when he calls out the crowd on their (wrongful) estimation of Bakugou in the Uraraka fight. He will even, in a way, protect them from themselves.

I'm personally really in love with the fact that he's aware of his role, as a teacher, an adult, a substitute father figure, but that he doesn't particularly want it? Like he knows he's a teacher, and teachers/adults behave in a certain way. You see it a little here, when he brings Kouta back to relative safety. A big part of Aizawa, you see, admires the hell out of Izuku. This is the kid that surprised him. The kid that wants to be a hero so badly that he's willing to break himself over and over again, to save people. He gets that. But at the same time he knows that he has to try and keep Izuku in line.

And keeping Izuku in line is one hell of a job. Definitely the part of the job that he doesn’t particularly enjoy. Even when he's legitimately angry. Even when he has to play the strict one to All Might's entirely too soft heart.

 The repentant

Diving straight into headcanons now. Be warned.

I've already talked about how Aizawa understands Shinsou in a way that Yamada, or All Might, or people like Todoroki or Bakugou could never understand. He knows what it's like to, in a way, be weak. To be specialised. In order for him to be a hero, he has to not only be strong, he has to be smart. I think part of the reason he appreciates Bakugou like that, is because he's Both.

But back to the headcanons. We know nothing of Aizawa's past (as of now, chapter 143, when I write this) but doesn't it sort of seem like there's some big dark secret in there? He certainly acts like he has some kind of regret.

He had to go through a particularly gruelling time to become the hero he is today. And he doesn't even get to be the good kind of hero. He does not get shampoo commercials and adoring crowds. He gets long nights of sneaking around and being beat up, and a day job as a teacher.

What the hell for?

Thing is, he did expel a whole class. And while we're first assuming he did it because he's a jerk, in a way he does it to save them from what he believes is cruelty. It turns out he cares, you see, he cares an awful lot about his students.

Doesn't that suggest some kind of deep seated issue?

We know little of Aizawa's past, other than that he went to UA with Yamada, but his actions and his words suggest that he definitely has seen some pain. Maybe one of his hero friends died. Maybe he saw classmates fail to fulfil their dreams. Maybe one of his ex-students got hurt and he saw it as a personal fault of his. Personally, I think his motivations might lie closer to Tenya's, with some sibling he looked up to, who failed and became his main motivation to succeed. But that's just a theory. Either way, he's seen failure. Maybe he's lived it. He's seen what it can do to a person, especially in a high stakes environment like the hero business and he appears to have made it his personal mission to stop this from happening by being the most nurturing, supportive person a grump like him could be.

I’m starting to rack up a lot of BNHA theories lately.