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1kook · 5 years

Text

late fee

jeon jeongguk x (f) reader

summary: “Captain Underpants isn’t glorified by all the tryhards, so when I pick those books, you’re unknowingly more interested in me.” tags: f2l, flirty kook, jk’s obsession w/captain underpants, he’s a fuckboy but he’s a soft fuckboy dont get it twisted, campus boy crush jk(yes again), jk abuses the FuCK out of pet names, miss koo1aid actually writes some PLOT warnings: much flirting, nsfw bc of a lot of heavy petting, pussy eatin’, a lil dirty talk, very s l i g h t coochie sniffing, BUT!!! protected sex :) wc: 10.3k

i wrote another fic (applause) and the entire thing is based off my belief that jungkook 10000% would enjoy captain underpants books. not proofread bc i am a hermit and speak to exactly 0 ppl on here, que dios los bendiga

“Helloooo, sexy librarian,” Jeongguk says the moment he steps through the door, lopsided grin adorning his features as he swaggers over to obnoxiously lean against your desk. You can’t even pretend you didn’t see him, his presence so blaringly consuming, and evident in the way some dorky high schoolers glance over to gawk at him.

“What book are you checking out today, Jeon?” You muse instead, leaving your desk chair to head over to the stack of new books that needed to be stamped. As you turn, Jeongguk whistles at the sight, and you don’t even have it in you anymore to retort back the same way you would when he first started bugging you. “Also, are you aware that your copy of Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants is due tomorrow? It’s a dollar for every day it’s late—”

“You needn’t worry longer, baby,” Jeongguk interrupts, and the loud smack of a hardcover against the desk catches your attention. There lies Jeongguk’s Captain Underpants book, alongside the paperback copy of Beloved that has definitely seen better days.

You furrow your brows. “When did you check out this one?” You question, checking the spine to make sure the book belongs to your library. Much to your surprise, there’s no barcode on the side, and no stamp on the inside.

Your question goes unanswered as Jeongguk jumps into a full-length novella recapture of the hot frat party he’d been to last weekend, and how the Zeta Theta Psi guys knew how to party. That Jimin fellow that Jeongguk frequently mentions had apparently snorted a line of coke off their friend Seokjin’s broad shoulders just to prove his friend had godly proportions. It’s weird, but Jeongguk says it’s because you have to ride for your bros. You try to act uninterested, but Jeongguk’s a funny guy, really, and you can only hide so many chuckles with the sound of a stamp.

He’s in the middle of trying to cover up of one of his frequent trysts after accidentally exposing himself—”Don’t get it twisted, baby, I just took her upstairs to call her friend.”—when Namjoon comes out of the back room looking for you. He barely glances at your guest, before handing you a list of overdue books.

“Would you mind calling these people?” He asks, voice soft, just as everything else was about Namjoon. “They’re all a week past.”

“Yikes,” you say, eyes scanning over the list. Surprisingly, Jeongguk is still there, hovering over you as if waiting for you to dismiss him. “Do you mind, Jeon?” You say, channeling your best customer service voice. As much as Namjoon was wary of him, he still considered Jeongguk a patron in your establishment and hated to see him treated poorly, no matter how many library rules Jeongguk broke.

“Of course,” he sighs, and you miss the hostile glare he throws Namjoon when you whirl around for a highlighter. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart,” he says when you turn back around, stretching ana rm in your direction.

Half of you knows exactly what he’ll do, but the other half of you, the one trying desperately to act like his advances have no effect on you, have you placing your palm in his. You’re not super surprised when he tugs your hand upward, pecking your knuckles with a flirty wink. “Adios, Juliet,” he smirks.

“Wrong language,” you inform him, rolling your eyes nonchalantly even though your heart is beating one hundred miles per second. Jeongguk cackles, loud as all hell in the silent library, before making his exit.

It’s silent for all of twenty seconds before Namjoon jumps right into it. “So are you seeing him, or…” he interrogates, trying to act like he’s hardly interested, but you’ve known and worked alongside Namjoon long enough to know he’s secretly the community gossip.

You ignore him, choosing to jam the buttons on the phone instead.

The weird thing about Jeongguk, was that, although he was notoriously known amongst the undergraduates (and even some graduates, because he just had it like that, you suppose) as one of the biggest fuckboys, he was different. Not to sound like every teen romcom you’d ever scanned, but he genuinely was. For starters, he’d fuck your brains out and then make you his best friend the morning after. He definitely had a very peculiar, and backwards, way of doing the whole one night stand thing.

All this you’ve gathered from your friends, who, at one point have had some sort of encounter with Jeongguk. Dahyun’s was last spring at a club event, when he’d oh so smoothly flirted with her for a solid hour before realizing she didn’t swing that way. Which is how they become close friends, which is how, by association, Jeongguk set his sights on you.

Your introduction to Jeongguk wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; he’d been tagging along behind Dahyun like a lost puppy, begging her for some class notes, and had subsequently followed her all the way to your favorite meeting place. From then, he’d dropped his petulant, childish act and put on his macho face, chest puffed and eyes hooded as he devoured your very presence.

The next time you see him, it’s at a frat party where some guy had been harping on you go upstairs with him. Another weird thing about Jeongguk, he hated when other fuckboys didn’t utilize their brains. You assume it’s because it gives the fuckboy community a bad rep as a whole, but Jeongguk hated when guys were overbearing. So he’d taken the initiative to snatch you away from that fellow, guiding you all the way back to Dahyun and friends just to make sure you were alright. Somewhere along the way, you’d informed him you worked at the local library—”The one that does bingo on Tuesdays?” “That’s for senior citizens only, why do you know that?”—and he’d never left you alone again.

This time, he spots you in the dining hall.

“You come here often, dollface?” He says the moment he slides up beside you, instantly zeroing in on the burrito wrap on your plate. Like the little immature baby he is, his hand immediately snakes out to touch the precariously wrapped white tortilla holding the deliciousness inside, and you have to physically slap the offender away. He jumps, bumping into a girl standing in line behind him, not that particularly cares. “So, it’s fuck Jeongguk hours, huh?” He huffs, adorning his face with that uppity glare he mastered from watching Mean Girls on repeat a few months ago.

“Your plate is stacked, but you wanna grab the one thing on mine,” you point out, and his lips curl into a smile at your response. “By the way, your book is past due.”

At this he gasps, all real, no Regina George effects added. “You’re lying,” he chokes, switching his plate to his other hand, and you nearly jump when the muffin balancing dangerously on top shifts. He tugs his phone out of the pocket of his sweats, scanning through his remind app until he sees that his book is overdue by three days. He groans, staring at the ceiling in shame.

You nod, breezing over his inner meltdown. “Was wondering when we were gonna get the wedgie winner, or whatever its called, back.”

He scoffs, giving you an unimpressed glare. “Wrath of the Wicked Wedgie Woman,” he corrects, looking so disappointed that you don’t have these bizarre titles memorized. “For such a pretty librarian, you sure are ignorant to these literary masterpieces.”

This makes you cackle, and your cheeks flush when at least three people turn to stare at your outburst. “You aren’t seriously calling these Captain Underpants books masterpieces,” you snort. Jeongguk shrugs, and you begin to wonder if he really is as airheaded as the characters he admires. “Jeon,” you try to reason, giving him a pleading look, because arguing the credibility of kids novels in line for lunch simply does not seem real. You must have been warped into another dimension where all pretty boys are as dumb as the movies make them out to seem.

“Listen,” he says, smiling when you grow desperate for him to prove you wrong. “I’ve read a lot of good books, but nothing tops a hypnotized superhero principal fighting crime in his underwear.”

You sigh, paying for your meal, and then, surprisingly, waiting for him to pay for his. You tell yourself it’s because you want to finish this conversation, but part of you just genuinely enjoys being in Jeongguk’s presence. Gag.

“I saw you with Beloved last week,” you carry on the second he’s done giving flirty eyes to the middle-aged cashier. “Now that’s a masterpiece.”

He nods in agreement. “But, baby,” he purrs, and the sudden switch from weird, 12 year-old literary enthusiast to grown as hell, suave bastard has you jolting a step that you try to play off by pretending to look at something on the ground. “How else will you remember my face?”

You blank. “What the hell are you talking about.”

Jeongguk gives you a pointed look. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t remember a damn thing about me if I did what every other stuck-up bastard did trying to pick up chicks at the library.” You tilt your head in confusion. Jeongguk sighs. “If I went in every rainy Friday and checked out a Tale of Two Cities, or Oliver Twist, or some other Charles Dickens shit, you wouldn’t glance my way.”

“Do people still read Dickens?” You say instead, glossing over the fact that apparently Jeongguk’s visits were apparently blatant attempts to flirt with girls. Finally, you find a suitable spot at a long, dinner table so you don’t have to sit completely alone with Jeongguk.

“You know damn well better than I do that that those wannabe sophisticated books have waitlists.” He shoves half a pizza slice into his mouth, and you hate how your eyes immediately laser in on the strong movements of his jaw. “My point is,” he says through a greasy mouthful. “Captain Underpants isn’t glorified by all the tryhards, so when I pick those books, you’re unknowingly more interested in me.”

You cradle your burrito in your palms, rolling his words around your head for a bit. Jeongguk doesn’t particularly seem like he’s awaiting an answer, munching through the mountain of food on his plate as you revel in your thoughts.

It’s right when you go to take your first bite that you finally come to a conclusion. “But have you ever considered I’m interested in you because I think you’re funny?”

Silence. Jeongguk stares at you through his fringe, pizza slice slowly going limp in his hold as he absorbs your words. Before you know it, his ears flush red. He splutters. “I-You think I’m funny?” He asks, cheeks slowly growing rosy as well, and his lips quirk in a cute way to the side, as if he’s trying desperately to hide his excitement.

You nod, because it’s true, why would you lie? “Duh. You come in every week and just talk about your day, Jeongguk,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “I think you’re very interesting and entertaining without trying.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, and for the first time, you’re thrown off by how adorable this man looks, lips pressed tight to contain a smile from your compliments.

Realization hits you all at once, but you’ve long since trained in the fluid art of avoiding your emotions.

“There’s a party tonight,” Dahyun announces from her desk, not even bothering to glance at you when you return from the showers. You hum, not really that interested in whatever is going on this fine Thursday evening. You plop down at your own desk, starting your skincare routine.

Dahyun lets you relax in the soothing motions of self care for all of three seconds before she adds, “Jeongguk wanted to know if you’re coming.”

You press down too hard on the pump of your moisturizer, sending a large glomp onto the tips of your fingers. “That’s nice,” you say, trying to play it off, but you doubt Dahyun hadn’t heard the little spaz you had, or that she couldn’t sense the way your body immediately lit aflame at the mention of him and you in the same sentence.

She turns in her seat, and you catch sight of her in your mirror. You avert your eyes right away, because Dahyun had many talents, and her best one was reading your mind with a single gaze. You maintain an aura of unbothered and uninterested, finishing with the rest of your skincare.

Just when you think you’re safe, Dahyun pounces.

“Y’know,” she says, and you can hear the grin in her voice. “He hasn’t slept with anyone in almost a month. In fuckboy time, that’s the equivalent of two years.”

You roll your eyes, putting away your products before trying to busy yourself with anything else. “He probably has, but with people who know how to keep their mouths shut.”

Faintly, you hear Dahyun’s chair scrape against the carpet, and then suddenly she has you in a headlock. “Admit you like Jeongguk or I will throw your toothbrush into the toilet on the third floor.”

You choke, grappling her arms in an attempt to pry her off. “No,” you huff, switching tactics to tangle a hand in her silver locks. “Why would I confess to something that isn’t true?”

She shrieks when you give a sharp tug, sending her careening sideways against the foot of your bed, but not without taking you with her. “You are lying to yourself and to the entire librarian community, you sick fuck.”

You snort. “The fuck does Namjoon have to do with this?”

“He told me Jeongguk’s been bringing you Starbucks.”

Her reveal has you halting in your tracks, cheeks flushing at being exposed. “That gossiping fuck,” you seethe, finally loosening your grip on your friend. Somehow, you’ve ended up sprawled on the floor of her side of the room, nestled into the stupidly fluffy carpet she thrifted. She rolls onto her belly, propping herself up on her elbows to narrow her eyes at you.

“So it’s true,” she sighs. You shrug. “Well,” she claps her hands together. “Shimmy into that sexy dress from Windsor, we’re going out.”

You groan, rolling over in metaphorical agony. “Dude, I just washed my face. No way in hell, I’m putting on makeup now.” She considers your point for negative three seconds.

“The Glow Kit is in my bottom left drawer,” she announces right as she exits the room with her towel and shower essentials in hand.

The Glow Kit is in fact in Dahyun’s drawer, which is a little suspicious considering it’s the same one you thought you lost three months ago. Nonetheless, it never lets you down, and by the time you’re done with your makeup, you’re looking like a shimmering, little succubus in the hot dress from Windsor.

Normally, you and your self-esteem were rivals; never on the same page, always bickering, sworn enemies from birth. But right now, as you admire yourself in the closet mirror, you can’t help but marvel at how good you look in the slightly loose dress.

“Damn,” Dahyun says as soon as she returns, all fluffy in her towel. “You will fuck tonight, or else.”

“Hey, baby,” Jeongguk smiles at you the moment you walk in, hooded eyes raking over your body in an agonizingly slow manner. Dahyun chooses then to do her party trick—disappearing without a word.

“Hi…” you respond, voice meek in this party setting. There’s more people than you anticipated, which is weird because it’s a Thursday and surely some of these people have morning classes. You can’t comment, though, because you’re here knowing damn well you have an eight am tomorrow.

The music is blasting, so loud you can feel the bass shaking the floor, sending jolts up from your toes to your head with every beat. There’s people in every crevice of this household, some even taking refuge on the staircase leading up to the bedrooms. Someone brushes by you, and you instinctively step closer to the wall to avoid being in the way. You should have known Jeongguk would follow.

He ducks down to shout into your ear. “Wasn’t sure if you were coming tonight,” he tells you, right as one of his friends rushes by, thrusting a cup into his hand that Jeongguk doesn’t even stop to question. He takes a sip, then offers you some.

“Dahyun didn’t wanna come alone,” you lie, tentatively sipping from his cup only to realize it’s worse than any alcohol here: it’s Sprite. Jeongguk seems amused by your subtle disgust, immediately taking the cup back. You send out a light prayer for his stomach and his skin. “Aren’t you supposed to be out pulling hoes or something?” You say, trying to go for teasing and playful but missing by a mile.

Jeongguk grins. “Why would I do that when the only girl I want is right here,” he motions, and then does that cliche move where he places a hand by the wall behind you. The worst thing is, even though Jeongguk seems intent on pulling every cheesy act known to mankind, your heart actually races.

“Shut up,” you laugh, “you just like that I don’t charge you the late fees on your books.”

At this, Jeongguk genuinely smiles, nose scrunching up as he gazes at you. “False,” he argues, and then leans forward, same stupid dopey smile on his face. “I love a woman who snorts milk out of her nose.”

“Jeon!” You shriek, smacking his arm as embarrassment washes over you. “You said you would forget about that!”

Jeongguk cackles, all boyish and rough like he does when he’s around Hoseok for too long. Somehow, knowing you’re the cause of that charming laughter has your annoyance fading away, a soft smile crawling onto your features.

“I hate you,” you say instead, looking up and meeting his gaze dead on for the first time that night.

Jeongguk smirks. “Do you now?” He throws back, then takes a step forward. Your shoulder touches the wall when you take a tentative step back. You give a half-assed shrug, entranced by the playfulness that lurks behind his eyes. He gives you an exaggerated pout. “That sucks, because I,” he steps closer again, and this time he’s looking down at you over the bridge of his nose, “really like you.”

“I…” you trail off, too hypnotized by the pink tongue that swipes across his lips as he gazes at you. There is no hesitation on his face.

When you don’t say anything for another moment, Jeongguk ducks down. His nose bumps against yours, his breath warm as it fans across your face. “Y’know, I’d treat you so right,” he suddenly says, and your panties immediately turn into Niagara Falls at the newfound deepness of his voice. You feel lightheaded from his close proximity and promising words. “Could make you feel so good, baby, if you just let me.”

You shiver, nearly jumping out of your skin when a hand snakes its way around your waist, tugging you forward gently. Not overbearingly, because you know the last thing Jeongguk would ever do was want to make you uncomfortable. He pulls you close enough that it ends up being you who steps completely into his embrace. Your trembling hands find their place on his shoulders, and Jeongguk has never looked more content.

“You... only want sex,” you softly accuse, and the only reason your quiet voice doesn’t get lost in the noise is because of how close the two of you are.

Jeongguk bites his lip at your words, and you wonder if part of him is surprised that you’d so openly say such a thing. “Not with you,” he says eventually. “Wanna hold you like this forever, ___. And if that leads to you cumming on my tongue every now and then, well,” he smiles, “all fine by me.”

“Jeon,” you scold, scared that someone might have heard him.

“What?” He grins, pressing impossibly closer. His lip gives the slightest pucker, and you find yourself unconsciously leaning closer, the hand around your waist tightening. “I want you, baby.”

You can’t hide the lovestruck expression on your face as you look between his mouth and his eyes, and you wonder if he’s being honest.

Right as you’re about to throw all your doubts out the window and kiss him, you’re bombarded with the sound of obnoxious air horns from a DJ who obviously knows shit about, well, DJ-ing.

You jump at the sudden sound, bumping your head against the wall behind you. Jeongguk’s eyes widen. “Oh shit, are you okay?” He fusses, all traces of that suave, heartthrob replaced with a fretful Jeon.

“I’m fine,” you say, though you’re not because you’re absolutely dying right now. From the fact you almost gave into Jeongguk but also the embarrassment of hitting your head. “I-I need to find Dahyun,” you announce, and give Jeongguk no time to process that before you’re bolting into the crowded house like you just broke something.

jeon tell me you got home safe jeon please

You pause in the middle of removing your makeup, one eyelash on to symbolize the mess you are right now. Dahyun is humming some tune as she does the same, the both of you clad in your pajamas and fuzzy socks. Carefully, you pick up your phone.

you im home! me and the girls ubered home lol you sorry i didnt get to say goodbye :(

jeon dont worry abt it babe jeon just happy to know ur ok

“You better be texting Jeongguk, since you failed to complete the one job you had tonight,” Dahyun calls and you curse. You whirl around to face her, and she snorts at your one eyelash.

“Be honest,” you say. “If you were the campus crush who could get coochie every time he breathed, would you leave all that for me?”

Dahyun freezes. “Well, not when you’re only wearing one eyelash.” You groan, flopping into your seat uncomfortably. “Babe,” Dahyun sighs, as if sensing the gravity of your dilemma. “You’re hot! Everyone knows this except you.”

“But am I?” You whine. “Am I attractive or do you just feel obligated to say that because you’re my friend, be honest.”

“Oh my god,” she huffs, climbing into her bed, phone in hand. She doesn’t even bother looking your way when she’s all settled in. “You have this weird idea that Jeongguk is some intangible idol, as if you haven’t seen the dude deepthroat an entire bratwurst at the diversity fair. If anything, you’re the dream girl on campus, you stupid bitch.”

“The only true thing I heard is me being a stupid bitch,” you mope, and Dahyun throws a pillow at your face. You take this attack as initiative to finally take off your other lash, finishing your cleansing and moisturizing (for the second time) routine.

“Listen,” she says, setting her phone down to stare you dead in the eye. Her voice is devoid of any emotion. “If it makes you feel better, he wrote JK + __ on our group handout last week.”

You don’t sleep that night.

The last person you’re expecting to see at this secluded cafe on a Saturday morning was Jeon Jeongguk, yet here he was in all his delicious morning glory. By morning glory, you mean the soft, sleepy eyes that stare at you from across the table, voice so deep and husky.

“Why are you here if you just woke up?” You interrogate, settling into the empty seat in front of him. Carefully, you begin pulling things out of your bag, trying your best to not look away too long. This sight was rare, Jeongguk usually being at an energy level of about eighty seven at all times. To see him so tired and sluggish was unheard of.

He gestures over to where Taehyung is in the middle of what looks like a job interview. “Moral support,” Jeongguk informs you. You nod in understanding, before returning your gaze to the sleepy angel in front of you.

He’s ridiculously tired, eyes dropping shut every time you so much as pause for a second. He seems apologetic too, murmuring I’m sorry I’m sorry whenever his eyes flutter shut. Your heart was going haywire at the sight. “Jeon,” you say softly, and get one, soft hum in response. “I think you should go home, Taehyung seems fine.”

He shakes his head. “Needs me,” he murmurs, trying desperately to snap his eyes back open to no avail. Eventually, you make the call, packing your things up way earlier than usual. You haul Jeongguk out of his seat, him sleepily trailing after you as you drag him out of the shop. He sleeps on the short bus ride back to campus, and even almost sleeps on the elevator up to his dorm.

“In we go,” you announce, unlocking his door before nudging him inside. His roommate is nowhere to be found, oddly enough given the early hour. Jeongguk stumbles inside, plopping down on his bed right away. “Sleep.”

He lets out a high pitched whine the moment you turn to leave. “Come cuddle,” he huffs, face pressed against his pillow. His hair’s haloed around him, pout smushed against the cushion as he stares at you.

“You need to sleep,” you point out.

He rolls onto his back, patting the mattress beside him. “Wanna feel you,” he says. Your cheeks flush red. As if realizing the meaning behind his words, sleepy little Jeongguk takes the initiative to push you further. “Pressed against my body,” he drawls, his deep chuckle resonating throughout your body. “C’mon, baby, too scared to be in bed with me?”

You scoff, though your cheeks are warm. “You wouldn’t do anything anyway, you’re half asleep.”

Jeongguk shrugs, lips quirking to the side as he motions to his side again. “So? Can tell you like it slow anyway,” he grunts, before sitting up and shuffling to the edge of the bed and assuming a sitting position. Without warning, he catches your wrist in his hand and tugs you between his spread thighs.

He’s more awake than he’s been all morning, and part of you is happy but the other is anxious. God, was this boy dangerous.

“You’re half asleep, Jeon,” you say, trying to diffuse the sudden sexual tension. Jeongguk smiles up at you.

“Cmon, baby,” he exhales, and one fluid tug has you plopping onto his thigh. You startle at the sudden change, grabbing onto his shoulders for support. All he does is laugh some more, nuzzling his face against your neck as your heart goes into panic mode. “Bet I could get in so deep,” he murmurs, breath tickling your neck and you feel your legs turn to jelly.

“G-Gguk,” you try to warn, but it ends up sounding more like a plea. For what, you’re not entirely sure.

A sudden kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder has your spirit ascending into another plane. Jeongguk smiles at your pliant body. “Look at you,” he continues, kissing down your neck until your body is physically quivering. “So sensitive. No one ever touched you like this before, doll?”

You shake your head no, and nearly jump out of your own skin when a hand clasps onto the inside of your thigh. “Jeon, we shouldn’t…” you choke out, even though your traitorous hand clamps down on his and pushes it closer to where you need him most.

“We shouldn’t?” He teases, and then cups your sex.

You transcend.

Jeongguk laughs, airy chuckles fanning across your jaw. “Then stop,” he tells you, the both of you watching as your hips unconsciously grind into his palm. Even when you tell yourself you need to stop, your body feels heavenly being touched by him, so you physically can’t.

“I can’t,” you reiterate, and muffle a moan against the side of his face when he presses a finger down on where he knows your clit is hiding. The thin leggings you’d worn did nothing to spare you.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he sighs, watching you work yourself on his hand. He traces his index finger over the seam of your leggings, where your folds meet and you moan again. “You gonna let me finish you off, princess? Gonna let me finger your tight little pussy until you cry? But I bet you’d make the prettiest noises if I licked you down there. Or are you gonna cum in your panties like this?”

All the different ideas he stuffs into your brain are overwhelming, especially when the only thing you really want is to be stuffed with his fingers and cock. “J-Just do it,” you beg.

“Do what?” He plays, watching the way your face contorted with every brush against your mound.

“Whatever you want,” you cry, biting down on your fist to stop any more noises from spilling out.

Jeongguk smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Such a simple gesture, but it has your stomach somersaulting. God, you needed this. You were practically sobbing for his dick, which was embarrassing in itself, but actually getting dicked down sort of cancelled it out. PEMDAS or whatever.

Just as his hand creeps to the hem of your leggings, there’s a rattle of the doorknob, and you jump. The cloud of lust that had engulfed you two fades away and you’re suddenly aware of the jingling of a key outside.

“What the fuck,” Jeongguk whisper-shouts, looking absolutely scandalized that his roommate is coming home at this moment of all moments.

“Should I hide?” You whisper back, never having been in such a situation before. Jeongguk looks at you like you’re stupid.

“Just,” he sighs, standing up. He ruffles his hair anxiously. “Just… act natural.”

You sit perfectly still. “Not like a Sim!!”

“Captain Underpants and the Invasion of the Incredibly Naughty Cafeteria Ladies from Outer Space (and the Subsequent Assault of the Equally Evil Lunchroom Zombie Nerds),” you read, gasping for breath by the end of it. Jeongguk beams at you. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope,” Jeongguk says, leaning over the counter and watching as you scan his book under his name. “I’ll let you know how it is.”

You roll your eyes, writing down the return date on a piece of paper you stuff inside. “Please do, I’m absolutely dying to read this book.”

You hand the book over to Jeongguk, and try to ignore the way he stares at you for a second too long. Namjoon chooses this exact moment to take his lunch break, sauntering off whistling the the Angry Birds tune.

Right before Jeongguk can jump into an interrogation, the door swings open and Jisoo from your sociology elective saunters in, carrying the same mountain of books you had checked out for her two weeks ago.

“___, hi!” She exclaims right away. She, too, was infected with the same bimbo disease as Jeongguk, the one where they both had no concept of being quiet in a library.

“Hi,” you greet back, immediately standing to take the books from her. “Did you actually read through all of these?” You ask, trying to make polite small talk. You’re not particularly close to her, but it’d be rude to act like you didn’t know her.

She laughs at your comment. “Oh god, no. I just open random pages and reference them for essays,” she admits.

You try to make more small talk with her as you scan through her books, but the girl literally almost hit the material limit, which is fifty books, so you soon become consumed in scanning the barcode, briefly flipping through the book for any damage, and then repeating it all over. You’re not surprised when she drifts away, and you’re mentally cursing Namjoon for going on break now of all times.

It’s about ten minutes later when you’re all done, the computer’s library system going haywire on you, the same way it had when she first checked out all these books. You look away from the screen, standing to face Jisoo, only to find she’s drifted to the other end of the welcome desk, where a certain someone had gone to while you served her.

Oh.

You’re not anticipating the wave of jealousy that hits you watching gorgeous, smart Jisoo talk to Jeongguk. She matches him perfectly, both so beautiful it hurts. It’s when she says something to him that you snap out of it. “When can I come over again?” Soft enough that you wouldn’t have heard if you hadn’t been paying attention.

Jeongguk’s toying with a bookmark stand, but you still see the quirk of his lips on his face when she says that.

All you can do is watch from the sidelines, so close yet somehow miles away as he says something back to her that gets drowned out by the thundering of your heart. You suppose it’s only natural for a guy like Jeongguk to flirt with girls, and he’d never said he only, exclusively wanted you. Really, you shouldn’t be as surprised.

But you are.

You’re surprised and, dare you say it, discouraged by the scene. He’d been so eager to finally win you over the other night, so much so that he made you feel special with every word he uttered and every look he gave you. You’d almost believed in his sincerity, but seeing him so easily converse with Jisoo about whatever past they have, served as a cold reminder that you and Jeongguk believe in two completely different relationship styles.

So you sit back down, gnawing on your lip as you try to do other duties, clicking around uselessly on your computer until eventually, Jisoo wanders back.

“Am I all set?” She smiles, and you can’t even find it in you to dislike her. You plaster on your best customer service smile, nodding and handing her back her library card. She thanks you three times over for the hassle, before waving goodbye to you and Jeongguk.

When the door falls shut behind her, you immediately drop the facade, though Jeongguk doesn’t seem to notice. “Whew. She left a lot of work for you,” he laughs, eyeing the big stack beside you. You don’t even bother responding, as, at that moment, Namjoon returns from his lunch break.

(How convenient! You swear this fucker had a sixth sense for knowing when work was about to become hard.)

“Joon, I’m taking my break now,” you announce, and Namjoon stares at you like a deer in headlights, the last bite of a sandwich raised to his mouth.

“Uh,” he says, 140 IQ and all. He glances behind you at Jeongguk, who also is confused as all hell. “Okay, then.”

“___?” Jeongguk questions. You stalk off, pushing the gate away from the desk before bursting into the employee break room right across from it.

You cry the moment you get home, and Dahyun jumps ten feet out of her bed in shock. Her girlfriend, Momo, is sitting on the floor painting her toes. “Oh no,” she cries, sweet and understanding in all the ways Dahyun wasn’t. “My poor baby, what’s wrong?” She asks, waddling over in the my-nail-polish-hasn’t-dried-yet way to hug you.

“He was flirting with another girl,” you sob, dropping your bag by the door as Momo continues fawning over you, wiping your face with tissues. Dahyun gets out of bed, cracks her fingers, and promptly announces:

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Initially, you would have let her. But after a while you manage to calm down, loud Kim Kardashian sobs fading into tiny hiccups as the two of them coddle you. You tell them all about what terrible, good for nothing Jeongguk did, and in true female solidarity, they vow to kick his ass for you. Eventually, you settle on not whooping his ass, just cutting any romantic notions with him off to avoid further heartbreak. After all, you were kinda friends before you had your little crush revelation.

It’s later in the night when you announce you maybe got 2% over him, which the girls count as an absolute win, but then Jeongguk texts you and they groan at the way you jump for your phone.

jeon hey can we talk ? jeon did I do something wrong today? jeon felt like u were mad at me lol, and then u took a really long break and I had to leave for class so I didn’t even get to see u again jeon just wanna know if everything is ok

You read through the messages a couple times, and wonder if he’s being serious and didn’t see anything sus with his actions, or if he’s just toying with your emotions. Momo tugs Dahyun away to give you some sort of privacy, and then you’re left alone in your thoughts.

you everything’s fine ! you I just wasn’t feeling well lol

He responds right away.

jeon please don’t lie to me ___ jeon I know what you’re probably thinking and I just want to say it’s not like that

For some reason, him saying he knows you enough to know your thoughts irritates you. He obviously didn’t know shit about you if he was out here making you look like a clown. Your fingers type before you can even think.

you lmao you thats funny

jeon ?

you you most def do not know what I’m thinking so please just take my word when I say I felt sick

jeon lmao. what do you mean...

you you barely know ME besides the fact I work @ the library and dorm w Dahyun. don't say u know what I’m thinking, bc that would imply you know me on a closer level which you don’t

jeon ok seriously what's up with you? jeon im trying to make sure ur okay but ur just being difficult as fuck

you I’m not being difficult I’m just being real

jeon ur not tho, ur being defensive for no reason at all

you so? we’re barely friends and we barely know each other, how I feel is none of ur business

jeon lmfaoooo, so now we’re barely friends?

you thats what I said didnt I

You set your phone aside when you don’t immediately see the texting dots appear, assuming your dry response is probably enough to ward Jeongguk off. Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from frustration or anger, but you guess it’s both. You’re not sure what set you off, the fact Jeongguk wants to act like he knows you, as if he wasn’t just chasing after you for some pussy, or the fact he wanted to act like some all-knowing being when it came to your feelings.

Eitherway, you’re extremely heated, grinding your teeth together when five minutes pass and he hasn’t texted you back. As if sensing the tension, Momo and Dahyun abruptly announce that they’re going to the ice cream place down the street, offering to bring something back to which you decline.

They leave, the heavy door slamming shut behind them. You get exactly two seconds of peace and quiet before your phone starts going off like crazy, all from Jeongguk.

jeon you’re starting to piss me off jeon drop the attitude baby. jeon bc I can be just as mean as u jeon and I won’t hesitate to make you cry

You blink. Every ounce of your body that had been consumed with an unknown anger slowly fades away as you stare wide eyed at Jeongguk’s messages. This was nothing like the Jeongguk you knew; he was soft and playful. He never raised his voice at you, and he’d never been anything less than a sweetheart.

you I don’t have an attitude

Is your feeble reply, too scared to reply to any other part of his message because you truly had no experience with this Jeongguk.

jeon so then put your big girl pants on and tell me what’s wrong jeon enough w this other shit

You sigh, snuggling into your covers as you absentmindedly tap the back of your phone.

you nothing is wrong

He doesn’t reply for a couple minutes again, but Dahyun sends you a text letting you know her and Momo decided to go to an event on the other side of campus, and telling you not to wait up. You reply back a simple ok right as Jeongguk responds.

jeon ok. so let me tell you what’s wrong then jeon you’re mad bc I was speaking to Jisoo today and she asked abt coming over jeon she comes over all the time jeon bc she is my roommates girlfriend

Your mind goes blank.

How embarrassing to have your mind read word for word, even more so when apparently, your worries weren’t even plausible. God. Instantly you feel stupid, replaying today’s entire scene and trying desperately to find something to catch Jeongguk in a lie. But other than asking that one question, there had been no other interesting talk between the two.

Your phone pings again, and you scramble to type a response, only to freeze at the words on the screen

jeon what blows me is that i don’t even owe u shit especially not an explanation jeon u don’t give 2 flying fucks about me. U just like the attention I give u and watching me make a fool of myself for u jeon I bend over backwards chasing after you, trying to get you to notice me, but you’ve done nothing to show me u feel the same jeon but you’re the one allowed to get mad when I speak to other girls? like u said “ that’s funny ”

Oh, no. Immediately your heart comes crashing down, and your fingers tremble as you watch Jeongguk slip away right before your eyes.

you Jeongguk you it’s not like that please you I like you so much, it’s just hard for me to

jeon to what? Get over your stupid stereotype of me?? jeon lmfao. Yeah that must be sooo hard jeon it’s whatever tho bc I had one of u too jeon my dream girl

This is not what you expected when he said he’d make you cry.

“Honey, you just have to talk to him,” Momo says the next morning, pressing a cucumber slice onto your eyes. You flinch at the initial iciness, but then relax when she brushes your hair out of your face. You’d gone to sleep a wreck, crying and sobbing as you thought desperately on how to win Jeongguk back, but everything he had said was true.

You’d done nothing but reject him since the beginning, had only just begun treating him as a friend, yet you instantly placed the blame on him at the first signs of trouble. God, he was right. You’d been selfish this entire time, and now he wasn’t responding to your messages anymore.

Dahyun nods from her cocoon at the foot of your bed. “I’m sure it’ll be easier in person, text convos are always weird,” she tries to comfort you. “But keep those slices on, those bags under your eyes are no joke.”

Momo smacks her calf. “Be nice! She’s going through a crisis.”

Right as you’re about to pay for your meal and sprint back to hide in your dorm, you spot a coconut head of hair facing the windows in the far corner of the dining hall. Fuck. Faintly, you can hear Dahyun’s voice shouting for you to stop being a pussy and go talk to him. You pause by the exit, one leg in one leg out, before saying fuck it. If worse comes to worse, you transfer schools and live with heartbreak and three cats for the rest of your life.

“I-Is someone sitting here?” You say before you can chicken out, and mentally curse yourself for stuttering. Oh, the social horror.

Jeongguk visibly jumps at your voice, wide doe eyes staring at you as if he expected to never see you again. After all, it’s been a week since your little fight, three days since you last tried texting him. He shakes his head, turning his attention back to his plate, but not before tugging the hoodie of his sweater over his head in a classic self defensive tactic.

You slide into the seat, staring at the plate of food like you’ve never seen it in your life, never mind the fact you picked it out less than fifteen minutes ago. You accidentally scrape your fork against the bottom, and the both of you cringe.

Jeongguk clears his throat, hands clasped together between his thighs as he stares out the window. “Don’t you have work?” He asks, voice raspy.

You shake your head. “I took the week off,” you confess, hoping he doesn’t press for more, because then you’d have to tell him your reasoning was due to heartache.

“Oh. That’s nice,” he says, and then you fall into a pit of awkward silence.

You push the food around on your plate, hoping he’ll say something, anything to save the two of you. In the end, he stays silent, sleepily glancing out the windows.

When you look closer, though, Jeongguk doesn’t look much hot than you. He’s got the same bags as you under his eyes, and his hair looks messier than his usual messy style. The fact he’s wearing his blue crocs out in public only confirms your theory.

After a solid five minutes of silence, even your hungry stomach managing to stay quiet, you decide enough is enough.

You shift ever so slightly, until you’re somewhat facing him and clear your throat; Jeongguk barely spares you a glance. “The Preposterous Plight of the Purple Potty People,” you blurt. Jeongguk blinks, face slowly morphing into one of confusion. Your cheeks feel hot under his gaze, having missed his brown eyes in the past week. “It’s your favorite one,” you announce. “Of the Captain Underpants books.”

After a moment, Jeongguk snorts, turning his attention away from you. “You’re not gonna win me over with that,” he says curtly, and your heart tightens at his emotionless tone of voice.

But you’ve done your research, and you’re not letting it go to waste. “You like George more than Harold because you think he contributes more. You love the characterization of Mr. Krupp the most, but you hate his theme song. You think the cover art could use some work, but you enjoy the overall art style. You hated the movie adaptation because Kevin Hart was in it,” you list, recalling every bit of information you’ve ever heard Jeongguk share about the stupid novels.

There’s a small quirk in the corner of Jeongguk’s lips, but it’s not the one you’re aiming for, so you switch tactics. “You hate the smell of bananas because you don’t think it should have a smell. You can’t put your left sock on first, because it’s bad luck to you. Your mom still washes your sheets for you. You know the lyrics to the original Dragon Ball series in three languages. You like wearing rings because it makes you feel like a pimp. You hate when Hoseok calls you the baby, because, according to you, you bench press his weight times two.”

“And a half,” he softly corrects, gazing at his hands, cheeks slightly tinged with red. You bite your lip, tentatively reaching a hand out to place on his arm. He looks at you right away, doe eyes so vulnerable and scared, like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

“I said we barely knew each other, but that was a lie,” you chuckle humorlessly, suddenly feeling your eyes tear up just remembering the conversation. “I know so much about you because I love listening to you talk. I love hearing your voice, and watching you wrestle with your friends, and fight with Dahyun. But I never tell you,” you bite your lip, blinking your eyes to backtrack the tears.

“And you’re right, I made you do all the work and I’m sorry, but I’m just so scared, Jeongguk,” you admit, voice cracking on his name. Your press a hand over your mouth, trying to collect yourself. Suddenly, a soft hand gently pats your thigh, and you find yourself reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “You can have anyone, Jeongguk, and you obviously know this,” you sigh. “I’m scared that I won’t be enough for you.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Jeongguk says, voice soft in the way you’ve missed so much. His hand, shaky and unsure, reaches up to brush a tear from the corner of your eye. “Look at me,” he commands, and you do. “I think we’re both stupid, because I feel like I’ve never been enough for you,” he confesses with a chuckle you try to replicate through sniffles.

Suddenly, he’s close, forehead pressed to yours. “And maybe it’s true,” he says. “You won’t be enough for me, and I’ve never been enough for you.” Your heart aches at his words. “But that’s okay,” he assures, squeezing your thigh between his fingers. “We don't have to be right now, but we can try.”

You nod, clamping down a sob. “God, I hate how optimistic you are,” you laugh, and he smiles, cupping your face in his hands.

“And I hate watching you cry,” he says, fingers wiping your cheeks. Before you can say what you’re thinking, he’s snatching the words right out of you, “yes, I know I said what I said, and I felt like such a dick typing it, I made Jimin flick my forehead right after.”

You giggle, and he beams that dreamy smile at you again. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he announces, and your heart thunders in your chest faster than the wings of a hummingbird.

And he does.

“I don’t know, I think Kevin Hart sounds great in this,” you mention, and you feel the hard scoff Jeongguk lets out from your position cradled on his chest. “It’s not the worst thing in the world,” you defend.

“You’re sick,” he says, then pauses the Captain Underpants movie to engage in your third debate of the evening. You’re barely fifteen minutes in. “You think that weirdo did George justice? How? In what world?”

“Babe, it’s just a voice actor,” you placate. “No one died because Mr. Hart voiced him.”

Jeongguk splutters. “Mr. Hart—you don’t know this man! And something did die! My hopes for a sequel!”

You shush him, pressing your index finger to his lips. “Enough complaints, Rotten Tomatoes. We won’t even finish at this rate.”

Jeongguk hits play, grumbling under his breath.

Just as you’d predicted, you don’t even make it to the halfway mark before Jeongguk’s got you on your back, plush lips working yours until they’re bruised, tongue halfway down your throat. “The mov—“ you mumble.

“Fuck Mr. Hart,” Jeongguk says, kissing down your jaw like he can’t allow himself to miss a single spot. When he reaches the collar of your shirt, he wastes no time tugging it off of you. You whine, instinctively covering your chest. “Don’t be shy,” he chuckles, “here, look-,” he tugs his sweatshirt over his head, and you’re met with the strong muscles of his abdomen and pecs, “-twins.”

You roll your eyes. “Just kiss me, Mr. Jeon,” you tease, wrapping your hands around him to bring him closer. He chokes, and mumbles something about saving that for another time.

Before you know it, he’s kissing between your thighs, soft lips producing the most erotic sounds with every smooch he gives. “Can I take these off?” he asks, one lone finger creeping beneath the hem of your panties, right where your hip is. You nod, biting your lower lip hard the moment he begins sliding them down. His hands are soft as they glide over your legs, and when he finally tugs them away from your ankles, he wastes no time nudging your legs open for him.

“Don’t just look at it,” you whine, jabbing his ribs with your foot. Jeongguk grins.

“Sorry I stare, you’re just so pretty,” he smiles, and you muffle an annoyed groan into your palms. “Gonna eat you out now,” he announces, finally, and you uncover your face to watch the way he lowers his mouth onto your throbbing pussy, pink tongue coming out to lick at your clit.

The first press of the wet muscle has your toes curling, back arched. You’d been craving this for the longest, and just as you’d expect, it’s better than any fantasy. “Right there,” you moan, reaching down to tangle a hand in Jeongguk’s wavy hair, the other fisting the pillow beneath your head.

Jeongguk absorbs all your tiny reactions, toying with your clit just how you like it. He rolls his tongue around it, making sure every part has been in his mouth at least once. When he suctions his lips around it and moans like this was getting him off, your body melts. “Fuck,” you cry out, your thighs quivering around his head. Part of you wants to slam them shut, hide from his tongue and all its devious ministrations. But the other part has never felt so good in your entire life.

When Jeongguk decides he’s pampered your swollen clit enough, he gives it one final kiss, wet and slippery. “Good?” He smiles up at you, lips slick with your juices. You nod, probably already looking fucked out. He smirks at your response, and your heart backflips in your chest, when he reaches up to knot your fingers together.

He kisses your knuckle and you whine. “How many fingers do you want?” He asks, and you blurt out the first number you can think of.

“Eight,” you choke, and immediately flush in embarrassment afterwards.

Jeongguk laughs, dropping his head to your thigh in a fit of giggles. He looks absolutely ethereal there, soft brown hair sprawled across your skin like an angel. “Smaller numbers, baby, please,” he chuckles. You shrug, so he decides for you. “How about I just use my tongue instead?” You think you might love him.

He settles back down, lips pressing against your mound one final time, before he’s diving in. You mewl right away, body becoming one with the mattress beneath you at the first brush of his tongue.

“Oh, Jeongguk,” you gasp, hands burying themselves in his scalp again. He hums in response, and the sound has every nerve in your body lighting up. His tongue prods against your folds, slowly licking his way deeper and deeper into your cunt.

The worst comes when he sighs against your pussy, literally sighs, like he’s so blessed to be there. “You’re s-so good at this,” you cry out, trembling fingers twisting his hair so tightly that you manage to pull him off just an inch. He pinches your thigh in warning, before stuffing his tongue into you again, absolutely plunging into the depths of your hole.

Just when you think he couldn’t possibly outdo this, he jolts up suddenly, nose brushing against your clit. His eyes go wide for the slightest second, as if he really hadn’t planned that, before flickering at you.

To your utter embarrassment, he takes one long whiff, eyes rolling to the back of his head in pleasure.

He pulls away from your dripping hole. “You smell so fucking good,” he informs you, spreading a fiery blush across your cheeks.

“Thanks?” You say, and he grins, shuffling onto his knees all of a sudden. You mope the loss of his tongue on your pussy, but forget about it the second he reaches for his desk and returns with a condom.

He tears the foil packet open with gentle hands, eyes weirdly zeroed in on that only. You nudge his hip, and when he meets your gaze, he instantly averts it. Like he’s suddenly shy.

Oh he was gonna be the death of you.

You tug his boxers down and get to revel in more of those bashful glances, but you soon forget about that when he grips his rock hard member in one hand, jacking it to its full potential. “Ready?” He says, one hand gripping your hip, the other his cock. You nod, and then shift up onto your elbows to watch him sink into you.

You can barely keep your eyes open, the second the tip of his cock brushes against you your eyes roll back into your head. You moan, letting yourself flop back against the mattress, chest heaving with each inch he sinks in. “Fuck, you’re big,” you cry, biting down on your fist.

Jeongguk chuckles. “Yeah?” He grunts, and then stills as he waits for you to catch your breath. He gives you exactly four seconds before he’s thrusting the remainder of the way in.

Your back arches off the bed, a high-pitched moan ripping itself out of your throat. “Jeon!”

“Relax, relax,” he croons, releasing your hip to lean over you, peppering your face in kisses. You’re heaving for air, so overwhelmed with emotions. “You’re doing so good for me, doll,” he comforts, kissing every inch of you until you regain your wits. “So wet and warm for me, you have no idea how bad I wanna just ram my cock into your tight, little pussy.”

You huff, heart still skipping by the time you grow familiar with the sheer size of his dick inside of you. When you’ve finally come back down to earth, eyes fluttering at Jeongguk, he gives you one affirmative nod before he begins really fucking you.

He starts carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll break you with one push. You’re thankful that he’s at least somewhat aware of his own bear strength, but you’d prefer if he picked up the pace. Before you can file a complaint, he’s hiking your thigh up onto the crease of his elbow, and ramming himself into you.

“Could already hear some smart ass comment coming,” he groans, snapping his hips into you with a newfound intensity. You moan, trying desperately to reciprocate some movements back.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything,” you gasp, fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders, scratching lone lines down his back. Jeongguk snorts, pushing in, and then grinding your pelvises together deliciously.

He rolls his eyes, then chooses that exact moment to capture your lips in his. You groan softly, body boneless beneath him at the gentle way he kisses you, like his entire life depends on this single kiss.

When he finally releases your lips, he’s huffing against your mouth, hips having not stopped a single time. You know he’s tired and so riled up; you’d felt the brush of his half-hard member from the moment you first laid down to watch the movie.

But Jeongguk was a gentleman, through and through. You’d felt the brush of his cock, and heard the thundering of his heart, but he hadn’t pushed you further a single time. He basked in your presence, waiting until you crept your hand beneath his shirt to finally pounce.

“I’m close,” you tell him, reaching down to toy with your clit. Jeongguk had treated it like the finest treasure earlier, but now your gentle caresses feel mediocre compared to the way he’d touched it. Jeongguk nods, the tips of his wavy hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. You abandon your quest to finish yourself off and focus on brushing his hair away from his face. “You’re so good to me,” you moan, lightly picking the corner of his mouth. “Don’t deserve you.”

He rams his cock into you, the arm not holding up your thigh weakening, until he’s leaning on his forearm over you. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, and you wonder if his orgasm is as close as yours.

A particular brush of his cock against your cervix has you seeing stars, thighs clenching around him. “Just a little bit—more,” you beg, body writhing beneath him, pushing yourself up to meet his thrusts.

“So perfect,” he praises, kissing along your jaw. “Come for me, baby.”

You nod, but not before cupping his face in your hands, and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. He makes a soft little sound of surprise, smile pressed against your mouth, and the heat in your abdomen finally explodes. You disassociate for all of one second, consumed in a wave of bliss never before heard of, his pistoning thrusts working you through it.

You nearly cry from how good it feels, throwing an arm around his neck to pull him closer. You’re babbling like an idiot, saying shit you won’t remember later. What you do recall is the chuckles Jeongguk had muffled against your neck, hips never faltering as he chased his own high.

He finds it a few beats later, the muscles of his back suddenly going rigid. He moans your name, somehow making it sound like it’s the best song in the world, before his hips begin stuttering in their mission. He eventually goes slack, slumped over you without completely crushing you beneath the weight of his muscles.

By the time you’ve fully recovered, he’s sliding out of you. Right as you go to speak, he stuffs two fingers into your sensitive cunt. “Jeon!” You wail, reaching down to push him away before you come again.

He snickers. “What? It’d be a waste to let it out,” he says, letting go when he’s decided he’s done his job, popping the digits into his mouth. You groan, trying to quell the excitement that builds in your chest from watching him suck your cum off his fingers.

“You’re the worst,” you sigh, snatching his t-shirt off the edge of the bed to tug over your bare form. Jeongguk tugs his underwear back on, retrieving yours from where he’d flung them across the room. When you’re settled into the blankets again, you’re not expecting the laptop to return as well. You raise a questioning eyebrow.

Jeongguk shrugs, nestling into your chest. “Hit play, this is when Professor Poopy Pants begins attacking the city.”

#kpopwonderlandtag #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jjk♡#jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #mine

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cttncndys · 3 years

Text

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒...

welcome to impulse records , just be sure to read the ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ᵖʳⁱⁿᵗ before signing anything . each year impulse signs with an exclusive number of bands and solo artists to make their dreams — or worst nightmares — come true . of course , when if you do fail there are horror stories of shredded contracts , terminated deals , less than stellar touring arrangements , and being locked out of the building completely . but above all else impulse records churns out chart topping artists in varying genres year after year . with artists under their label smashing records and continuing to solidify themselves as icons in the music industry since 1978 it’s no wonder why people go to any length to get signed . although , for even a fraction of success they’ll be pitted against themselves and each other . impulse records is a beast and will either be your big break — or the thing that breaks you . here’s one last welcome from the team here at impulse , we’ll see how long you last .

impulse records is an original character discord verse that revolves around the lives of musicians signed under the iconic record label impulse records . the company is rumored to do sketchy things like create fake relationships among band members , create rumors among members to encourage healthy competition , and even fire and replace band members . but those of course are ‘ just rumors ’ . the verse will come with many events , plot drops , tasks and much more to move the plot along and help development of the characters . 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 :

we ( cttncndys & you ) must be mutuals

due to expected mature themes all muns should be 18+ and all muses should fall between the ages of 20-28

i won’t accept fcs who wish not to be used , deceased fcs , or overly problematic fcs . you can come to me with a fc if you’re unsure but at this point i’m sure we’re all aware of what’s what .

godmodding , gatekeeping , and / or ooc drama will not be tolerated .

activity will be fairly lax because i am aware we all have lives outside of rp but if you join please do so with the intent of being active in mind for the sake of longevity .

this list isn’t exhaustive & all other basic rules not listed still apply .

this group is heavily centered around character development so i highly encourage you bring a fresh muse .

this group will be kept fairly small ( 5 - 8 muns depending on interest ) but each application received will be considered equally .

all apps should be sent to my sumbit , although only the app is required feel free to include bullet points , a playlist , a pinterest board , anything your heart desires to help me get a better feel for your muse , but bare in mind this is completely optional .

lastly , have fun . <3

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 :

note : below you’ll find a list of bands / solo artists to help you complete the application . although the bands have small blurbs detailing how each group is formed this is just to give a vague idea of what muse would fit each group , and any official backstory is up to mun discretion .

* ( faceclaim , age , pronouns , gender ) impulse records is pleased to announce the official signing of first last the role in band / solo artist to our prestigious roster . you probably know them for scandal. they’ve grown in recognition due to positive trait or actually it might be because of negative trait , what a classic zodiac sign . their fans tend to associate them with 3 - 5 aesthetics . oh , impulse records is going to eat them alive . ( ooc name / alias , age , pronouns , tmz )

fcs applied for: taken fcs: mishti rahman , charles melton , kiana lede , luke hemmings , & ross lynch

𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 :

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐥 — if you’ve only been a passive fan of the all - male band you’d know they mad their debut more recently . the trio who have been friends since their college days all had set career paths . but of course any die hard fan could tell you , after the band for a mutual friend’s engagement withdrew last minute , the boys who had all expressed musical talents separately were asked to perform . from that point forward , they performed small gigs here and there to score some extra cash . it wasn’t until they were offered a hefty sum of cash that they decided to pursue music full time and ditch their days jobs . and although there has been plenty of speculation over the years among fans on whether any of the members are dating , nothing has been publicly confirmed.

dynamic : insp. insp. insp. insp. insp. app count : vocalist / lead guitarist : 00. vocalist / rhythm guitarist : 00. vocalist / drummer : 00.

𝐞𝐮𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚 — if you’ve only been a passive fan of the all - female band you’d know they made their debut more recently . the trio who have been friends since they were in diapers had always dreamed of starting a band with one another . but of course as any die hard fan could tell you in middle school the girls came close to it , but after a rather unfortunate wardrobe malfunction at a middle school talent show nearly axed their dream completely . it wouldn’t be until high school that they group rekindled their musical talents to yet another talent show that went much smoother the second time around . and although there has been plenty of speculation over the years among fans on whether any of the members are dating , nothing has been publicly confirmed .

dynamic : insp. insp. insp. insp. insp. app count : vocalist / lead guitarist : 00. vocalist / rhythm guitarist : 00. vocalist / drummer : 00.

𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚 — if you’ve only been a passive fan of the band you’d know they made their debut more recently . the trio who attended the same high school says they never even spoke to another until meeting again at their community college . but of course as any die hard fan could tell you , the group has an interesting origin story . after all being placed in the same introduction to music theory class , and being told by their professor they had an “ interesting sound ” , the trio paired up out of pure spite . they played countless open mic nights at their college , and the surrounding area , until they finally got their big break at a “ battle of the bands ” competition hosted by none other than their music theory professor . not too long after the trio dropped out . they have been mostly inseparable since , if you ignore the petty twitter drama between deja and cash that is . and although there has been plenty of speculation over the years among fans on whether any of the members are dating , nothing has been publicly confirmed .

dynamic : insp. insp. insp. insp. insp. app count : vocalist / lead guitarist : 00. vocalist / rhythm guitarist : 00. vocalist / drummer : 00.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞 — if you’ve only been a passive fan of the band you’d know they made their debut more recently . the trio who met when they all attended the same summer camp in high school . but of course as any die hard fan could tell you , the group all had a shared hatred for a specific camp counselor , and came together to pull an elaborate prank on them . as fate would have it , the trio found out they all attended the same high school , and from that moment forward have been inseparable . they began making music together their last year of camp and begrudgingly won first place , an honor bestowed upon them by a not too forgiving camp counselor . and although there has been plenty of speculation over the years among fans on whether any of the members are dating , nothing has been publicly confirmed .

dynamic : insp. insp. insp. insp. insp. app count : vocalist / lead guitarist : 00. vocalist / rhythm guitarist : 00. vocalist / drummer : 00.

𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐲 — if you’ve only been a passive fan of the band you’d know they made their debut way back in their college days . the quartet who met at a charity date auction for their college have quite the history . but of course as any die hard fan could tell you , the band has had a rocky start given the problems with jealousy in the group and their trouble with seeing each other as anything but rivals first and foremost , despite constant mediation from managers and the like . the band has managed to keep a friendly facade long enough to keep a record deal but tensions constantly threaten to spill day by day . and although there has been plenty of speculation over the years among fans of whether any of the members are dating , nothing has been publicly confirmed .

dynamic : insp. insp. insp. insp. insp. app count : vocalist : 00. lead guitarist : 00. rhythm guitarist: 00. drummer: 00.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 — if you’ve only been a passive fan of the band you’d know they made their debut way back in their high school days . the quartet says that they had almost nothing in common except their passion for music , and even attribute it to their success . but of course as any die hard fan could tell you , the group have become inseparable as friends over time , as shown by their behind the scene videos on tours and concerts alike , and for even further evidence the four even went as far as too buy a house and move in together . and although there has been plenty of speculation over the years among fans on whether any of the members are dating , nothing has been publicly confirmed .

dynamic : insp. insp. insp. insp. insp. app count : vocalist : 01. lead guitarist : 00. rhythm guitarist: 00. drummer: 00.

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 — if you’ve only been a passive fan of the band you’d know they made their debut way back in their college days . the group who actually met in the waiting room of the dean’s office have little in common with one another apart from their love of music . but of course as any die hard fan could tell you the group has constantly had to see each other as competition , vying for music scholarships and recording booth time since their band came to fruition , there is little that has been done about trying to salvage group dynamics . and although there has been plenty of speculation over the years among fans on whether any of the members are dating , nothing has been publicly confirmed .

dynamic : insp. insp. insp. insp. insp. app count : vocalist : 00. lead guitarist : 00. rhythm guitarist: 00. bassist: 00. drummer: 00. keyboardist: 00.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 — if you’ve only been a passive fan of the band you’d know they made their debut way back in their middle school days. originally a family band , when the eldest members decided to leave the youngest to her own devices , the band became a passion project for a vivacious middle schooler . but of course as any die hard fan could tell you the current group who only formed due to friends of parents hoping music would give their antisocial preteens a connection to something bigger than themselves and interact with anything outside of their rooms . since then the group has grown to be inseparable and embrace the parts of them that made them unique in middle school . and although there has been plenty of speculation over the years among fans on whether any of the members are dating , nothing has been publicly confirmed .

dynamic : insp. insp. insp. insp. insp. app count : vocalist : 00. lead guitarist : 00. rhythm guitarist: 00. bassist: 00. drummer: 00. keyboardist: 00.

𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

app count : 00.

#discord verse #( i poured my heart AND every ounce of my soul into this )#( pretty please don't let it flop i even had to rewrite it )#( also Thank you to everyone who voted to help me land on this ily )

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writingdotcoffee · 4 years

Text

#147: Finishing Things Is a Skill

Do you leave a trail of unfinished projects and abandoned ideas everywhere you go? The attic of your brain is stuffed with boxes and boxes of brilliant ideas. New ones are popping up all the time, but somehow, the number of brilliant things you’ve made approaches zero.

Looking back at your creative past can be though. Seeing the rubble that your dreams have become can make you feel like you’re defective. That you’re incapable of ever finishing anything, no matter how hard you work. Trust me, you are not alone.

Some people are naturally better at getting things done, thanks to their genetics or their upbringing. Some psychologists call these people with Type A personality. They’re organised, ambitious and impatient.

People with Type B personality tend to be more relaxed, quiet and naturally a lot more creative. It almost seems that having lots of ideas and being creative stands in the way of getting things done.

The problem is that one type can’t work without the other. With no creativity, Type A people would become uber-productive robots. With no productivity, Type B people would remain stuck in their heads forever.

For a long time, I didn’t understand why there are so many books about creativity. I don’t need to go through 4 stages with sticky notes and brainstorming exercises. I’ve got ideas coming out of my ears!

Now I realise there are probably quite a few people that don’t understand all the fuss there is about productivity. Why have 3 different to-do list apps on your phone? Just get cracking!

Fortunately, finishing things and creative thinking are both skills that can be learned. They’re not a learn-once-and-remember-forever affair — like swimming or riding a bike. They’re more like running. You have to train for a while to get in shape, and if you take a long break, it might take you some time to get back up to speed.

So where do you start? Start by asking yourself why. What’s up? Why do you abandon so many works in progress? Do you lose interest after a while? Do you get stuck or burn out? Do you lack the time or energy? Are you afraid of being judged?

There are many reasons why you might be struggling. Understanding why will help you take the right action towards the solution.

If you keep losing interest, maybe you haven’t found the right creative outlet yet. If you get stuck, maybe you need to work on improving your craft. If you’re burning out over and over again, it’s time to slow down – don’t start new projects until after you’ve finished what you’re working on. If you don’t have enough time, maybe writing an epic trilogy isn’t the right fit right now and you need to focus on smaller projects. And if you fear of others judging you for your work, maybe you need to lower your standards and start publishing under a pen name.

There are all sorts of productivity tools and habits you can use. That’s what us Type B folks need to do to get things done. But remember, finishing things is a skill. It takes practice. If it doesn’t come naturally to you, then you must learn it.

Here’s a challenge for those of you that haven’t finished anything in a long time. Write a piece of flash fiction right now. It can be 100 words. It can be 250 words or 500. It’s up to you. It can be the worst story in the history of humankind. The only thing you need to do is to finish it today.

Want More?

My email subscribers receive a notification when I publish these posts along with a few things I found interesting or helpful on the literary internet every week. Click the link below to join the club.

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Past Editions

#146: Black Lives Matter, June 2020

#145: Creativity Doesn’t Have a Downside, June 2020

#144: Lots and Lots of Bad Stories, May 2020

#143: What to Do When You’re Stuck?, May 2020

#142: What’s Your Story Really About?, May 2020

#writing #writer #write #writing tips #writing advice #amwriting #writing life #writeblr #writing update #update #personal update #me #creativity #finishing things #habits

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shijiujun · 4 years

Note

thirst follow au for chuyao? (i dunno if you still take prompt requests for chuyao but i just discovered the prompt list you posted and if you do still take prompts i'd love read your version for chuyao of this!!)

new celebrity lu yao + ceo of the company lu yao is signed under qiao chusheng

---

The first thing that Lu Yao does once he’s alone these days is open his Weibo app and scroll to a particular account to look for updates. It doesn’t matter if he’s just started break after his filming sequence, or when he gets home after a day of long activities, before he does anything, Lu Yao is on his phone and checking through @/乔楚生mmc.

“Yao Yao, are you checking through Qiao-zong’s Weibo again?” his manager sighs as she enters the waiting room that has been allocated to Lu Yao for the duration of this period drama shoot.

“... Jie,” Lu Yao grins suddenly, showing her his phone, “Look at him at the ELLE Fashion event, he’s not wearing an inside shirt! It’s just a blazer over, I saw his fans yelling about this earlier but I didn’t have time to check, he just-”

Man Man-jie, his manager, tries not to be exasperated with him, but it has honestly been two months since Lu Yao discovered Qiao Chusheng, the CEO of Qing Long Ying Shi, the largest entertainment and media company in the country, after he visited one of Lu Yao’s shoots.

Not for Lu Yao of course, but for the world-renowned director that Lu Yao and every other crew and cast member in this production is working with - suffice to say, Lu Yao laid eyes on their company’s CEO for the first time since he signed on a year ago, and he hasn’t been able to keep away from him since.

It makes him wonder why Qiao Chusheng did not become a star himself, but Man Man said that the man has always had a knack for business development, and the company has only grown stronger after Boss Bai, the man who founded it and who is also Qiao Chusheng’s adoptive father, relinquished the position to him.

“How did you not know Qiao Chusheng is the CEO of this company?! Your paychecks are getting signed by him!”

“Aiya.... Jie, it’s not like I come across him at all... And I thought our CEO was some old man...”

Lu Yao immediately followed Qiao-zong on all his social media accounts because the man is certified exceptional in looks and body. He won’t admit it, but the best thing he likes about Qiao Chusheng aside from his arms, his muscles, his chiseled jaw, those sharp eyes, that hot body, is definitely the man’s smile.

It’s too embarrassing to say though, so Lu Yao stalks him online instead, on his private account that no one knows about. And because it’s a private and almost empty account, Lu Yao dares to leave emoji responses and some comments from time to time.

Today, Lu Yao replied Qiao Chusheng’s post with five thumbs-ups and five fire emojis. On second thought, he adds:

“哥哥帅爆了! 哥哥看我一下~”*

Man Man looks over his shoulder to glance at the comment and rolls her eyes so hard that she almost pulls something in her neck.

“You know, one of these days, if anyone finds out, you’re dead,” she shakes her head. “When that time comes, you’re on your own. Don’t expect me to clean up on your behalf. Also, Qiao-zong is only a year older than you are, and you’re calling him gege?”

“Hey!” Lu Yao exclaims, indignant, “I have to present myself as one of his young girl fans right? If anyone ever finds out about my account, i can at least roll my eyes and ask if I would ever sound this disgusting, and then people will think twice.”

“Okay, if not that, then could you please change your Weibo name? You’re embarrassing me!”

Lu Yao frowns, confused. He thinks @/三土葱油饼 is a great handle for a social media account.

The best thing is, Qiao-zong has been oddly responsive to social media post comments recently, and he banters hilariously with fans when he has the time. Lu Yao hasn’t gotten that privilege yet, but Qiao-zong seems to be liking a lot of his fans’ posts as well, at least for those who post in the first hour of his new post, and those get likes.

Recently, it has also been Lu Yao’s personal mission to leave a comment and get a like by his Qiao-zong.

“Yao Yao, you’re so stupid, you know that? Not every single fangirl has the opportunity that you do. You literally have an excuse to go see him, you actually have access to him, his office floor? Company events? What game are you playing, stalking him on Weibo?”

Lu Yao tunes her out a little. It’s pretty fun to him, to be able to openly appreciate all these hot and amazing photos of Qiao-zong. Here, he can stare to his heart’s content, and he doesn’t have to hold back when he makes his comments. If he met Qiao Chusheng in person...

Well, of course he wants that too, but would he be more disappointed if Qiao Chusheng barely looks at him, or ignores him? Lu Yao isn’t a small artiste by any measure, and he did win the newcomer award two years ago, but there are so many experienced and legendary colleagues in his company too.

It is, after all, the country’s media and entertainment industry behemoth, and Lu Yao doesn’t have a complex - he knows what he’s worth right now, and it ain’t a whole damn lot.

When he comes out of the shower two hours later at home, he sees a notification on Weibo, and it says that @/乔楚生mmc has liked his comment!

His day made, Lu Yao flops back onto his bed and conks out for the next 24 hours.

===

Lu Yao can only thank his lucky stars because someone up there must really be looking out for him. If not, how can anyone explain Qiao Chusheng turning up at his shoot so frequently the week after?

Before this, Lu Yao had literally never seen the man even once aside from that very first meeting that began this whole thirst journey for him, and this week, Qiao-zong has visited every single day.

Of course, it’s not like he’s here for Lu Yao. According to some of his cast mates, Qiao Chusheng’s younger sister Bai Youning wrote the script for the last stage of their filming before the production wraps up, and asked her brother to stay on set to watch every scene being filmed.

The scriptwriter is usually on set for the parts she writes, but this particular segment of filming happened to clash with her honeymoon period with her new husband, but did that stop her from being involved? Not at all, and so busy Qiao Chusheng has to sit his ass down, note down what’s happening, and report back to his adopted sister at the end of each day.

Sadly, this segment will only take five days or less to complete, which means Lu Yao won’t be able to stare at Qiao-zong for much longer.

When will he shine brightly enough to catch Qiao-zong’s attention?

At the thought, Lu Yao slaps his own cheeks.

He only thinks of Qiao Chusheng as eye candy. He’s after a visual feast whenever he logs onto Weibo to catch the man’s updates. Qiao Chusheng is a pillar of strength for him mentally.

Lu Yao has no other untoward fantasy or goals when it comes to Qiao Chusheng.

None at all.

===

Somehow, Lu Yao ends up all drunk and boneless in Qiao-zong’s laps at the end of the week. As they expected, filming wrapped up officially earlier in the evening after Lu Yao filmed his very last scene, and since the CEO was present, there was no reason not to treat everyone on the production to a good meal.

Man Man temporarily left ten minutes ago to take on a call for another possible role for Lu Yao, and the room was cleared when Qiao Chusheng offered to book three huge karaoke rooms upstairs for the crew and cast to continue their party at after their dinner.

Lu Yao has had a bit too much to drink, and Man Man isn’t around to direct him elsewhere, so when the room has emptied, he is still seated, staring at his empty glass of wine.

Suddenly, he thinks of something, and immediately pats at his pockets for his phone.

“... Lu-xiansheng,” a voice sounds, “You’re not going to join them upstairs?”

“Mmm,” Lu Yao nods, trying to focus on his phone screen. “Going home.”

A nice-sounding chuckle echoes through the room then, “Can you get home like this?”

“I’m going on Weibo. Man-jie will send me home,” Lu Yao responds, almost sulking a little as he tries to find his favourite Weibo account.

There’s a bit of silence after that, and before Lu Yao can even scroll through today’s updates, a hand closes over the screen.

“You’re drunk, Lu Yao,” the same person says again. “You really shouldn’t be on Weibo. What if you post something by accident?”

Lu Yao pauses, and then he shakes his head, “I’m not posting anything.”

He turns and shows his ‘friend’ his phone screen, “See? It’s a private account, and... and... and I’m just... going to check on my favourite account.”

“Even then,” the man says again, exceedingly gentle and patient, “You should only look at Weibo when you’re sober.”

“No!” Lu Yao protests. “I have to check. I check this account everyday. See? See?”

There’s a long, long moment of silence as Lu Yao scrolls his way down the account, detailing which are his favourite photos. The man lets him go on, and because he’s cold, Lu Yao inches even closer to him.

The last thing he remembers is his new friend taking his phone from him.

===

It’s painfully bright when he wakes up, the light triggering a headache even before he opens his eyes. When he does, however, Lu Yao has to take a long, long moment to figure out just where the fuck he is.

He’s trying to massage the headache away with his fingers, seated up in bed but having zero energy to get out of it just yet, so when Qiao Chusheng walks through the door with a smile, Lu Yao just stares.

“You’re awake. Great, I got you some fried buns for breakfast, you okay with that? Man Man didn’t say you were on any sort of diet,” the man says casually, as if they are friends.

Lu Yao looks down at himself, and nearly jolts when he realizes he’s in nothing else but a bathrobe.

Before he can panic, Qiao Chusheng adds, “I thought you looked a little uncomfortable sleeping in your jeans and shirt yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” Lu Yao rasps, trying to wrap his head around why Qiao Chusheng is here, why they’re in a hotel room, and why the fuck the man is even speaking to him in the first place-

He must have inconvenienced the man last night while he was drunk, and instead of throwing him to Man Man, Qiao Chusheng decided to take care of him instead. Maybe Qiao Chusheng could have left him on the streets or something, but he is after all an artist under his company, and if anything strange happened because Lu Yao was drunk, it would be bad for the reputation and image of the company if word got out.

Yes, that’s the only explanation for this.

“I’m sorry for the trouble, Qiao-zong,” Lu Yao says, inching his way out of bed.

“No trouble at all,” Qiao Chusheng replies. “Come and sit, have some breakfast before you go. I called Man Man, she should be here in a bit to pick you up.”

With that said, it isn’t good for Lu Yao to reject him and just run off no matter how much he wants to right now. He sits down opposite the man at the table, and then picks up the buns.

After he’s literally swallowed three whole buns, Qiao Chusheng comments idly, “I thought it was random when you chose your Weibo account handle, but it seems that you really like cong you bings?”

“Mnn,” Lu Yao nods, wolfing the buns down because he’s hungry as hell, and so he doesn’t’ really register the first part of the man’s sentence, not until he’s on the last bite of his bun.

And then he chokes.

“How did you-?!”

At that, Qiao Chusheng raises an eyebrow, “You showed me your phone yesterday, and introduced to me your favourite account.”

Lu Yao blanches, because he knows which account that is, and then Qiao Chusheng continues, amused, “You were telling me how nice his smile looks. How pretty his eyes are. How strong his arms probably are hidden under that suit. And that you guessed right, he actually does have six-pack-”

“Please stop,” Lu Yao croaks, mortified. “I...”

The man takes pity on him and stops as requested. Lu Yao is frozen in his seat, like a deer caught in headlights, wondering what he should say next.

Qiao Chusheng nods, “Would you like to have lunch with me later?”

“Are you firing me?”

“It’s just lunch,” he answers. “I’m technically your boss, so I understand if you’re uncomfortable with the idea but... we could do lunch, and see how it goes from there.”

And then Qiao Chusheng looks away a little, “And.. I may have been visiting the set not to supervise the interpretation of Youning’s script.”

Once again, it takes him a few solid seconds to connect the dots, and when it does, Lu Yao flushes completely red.

“... we could do lunch,” Lu Yao agrees finally. “But I have to go home and change first.”

When he looks up again, it’s that smile he sees.

===

Weeks later, Chusheng makes Lu Yao repeat every single message he’s left on his posts, all the embarrassing ones, refusing to move if he doesn’t. Lu Yao’s hands balls into fists in the sheets, and says no.

He left a lot of messages! How is he supposed to remember every single one of them?!

Chusheng makes a a convincing argument though, towering over him and not giving into Lu Yao’s requests to fuck him properly until Lu Yao says them. It ends with Lu Yao trying to concentrate enough to speak, word after word.

He’s going to unfollow his boyfriend on Weibo after this!

---

Notes:

1. Qiao Chusheng’s Weibo account name is @/乔楚生mmc = Qiao Chusheng MMC, and this is taken directly from Zhang Yunlong’s own Weibo handle, which is 张云龙mmc. MMC, as I recently found out from Hanyi, stands for mao mao chong = caterpillar/worm? HAHAHAHA

2. Lu Yao’s handle is @/三土葱油饼 = San Tu Cong You BIng, which is a combination of the name San Tu and his favourite fried buns HAHAHA that’s how QCS was inspired to buy fried buns for Lu Yao the morning after

3. The comment that Lu Yao left in Chinese above is: “哥哥帅爆了! 哥哥看我一下~” = Gege you’re handsome af, take a look at me please! Something like that, he was definitely kind of joking when he posted that, but you can imagine Lu Yao being a little troublemaker by posting those comments and once QCS realized it was him, it was payback time? Of course, QCS likes to hear his baobei Lu Yao say anything <3

#asks #mriad #my roommate is a detective #民国奇探 #chuyao #fic prompt #hahahhahhha ded

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schraubd · 3 years

Text

Should I PlagueWatch It?: Series Finale!

In March 2020, I inaugurated on this blog what I said "may but hopefully won't(?) become an ongoing series": Should I PlagueWatch It? Basically, it took the thing Jill and I do best -- watch TV -- and offered our recommendations for what you should watch to get you through the pandemic.

Over a year later, Should I PlagueWatch It? did, indeed, become a series. In addition to the first entry -- HBO's Avenue 5 -- I also did entries on Gentleman Jack, Marvel's Runaways, Alpha House, Never Have I Ever, Jelle's Marble Runs, Making the Cut, and a "roundup" post that covered Billions, Insecure, Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Ultimate Tag, Titan Games, and Holey Moley.

But now, it feels we're finally closing the chapter on the pandemic. Jill and I are vaccinated, my parents came to visit this past weekend, we're seeing friends, the CDC says we can go unmasked. It seems, alas, that all good things must come to an end. And while the pandemic itself is certainly not a good thing, some of us may be feeling a bit bittersweet at the prospect of being expected to interact with other humans rather than sit around and watch Netflix all day.

So to wrap up the series, one more omnibus "quick hits" review of all the shows we PlagueWatched that haven't yet gotten their own entry.

* * * Mild spoilers * * *

Blown Away

Reality TV can be wonderful in its formulaicness. Take a random hobby, find ten people who are pretty good at it, dangle $50,000 in front of them, and bang, you've got a competition show. This one's about glass blowing. I know nothing about glass blowing, but the competitors seem pretty talented to me?

I was impressed at how versatile a medium glass is. I worried when I started the show that the challenges would end up being pretty one note (how many vases can one make?). But the competitors actually made a lot of really cool material!

There's a lot of running and swinging and flailing given that they're handling molten-hot material. It stressed me out. Also, apparently "glory holes" are an essential part of glass blowing, and nobody made a joke about it.

This show is definitely more in the "everyone likes and supports one another" mold of reality TV compared to the "constant cat fights and 'I'm not here to make friends'" mold. No judgment, just letting you know what to expect.

Sexify

A Netflix series about a young college student with no sexual experience who decides she needs to develop an app to optimize the female orgasm. It's not the most innovative concept, but it works well enough.

Of the core trio, my favorite character is Paulina -- the religious Catholic best-friend who is having (bad) sex with her fiancé and feels guilty about even that sin. She does a lot of great expressive work and has some superb character beats (her popcorn addiction -- just casually munching away while watching porn).

Speaking of Paulina, at the outset I told Jill she looked like someone and Jill's first guess was "a plainer Emily Blunt" (that's not an insult -- who isn't plainer than Emily Blunt?). It wasn't who I was thinking of, and soon I realized the answer was like six women I've known over the years. So maybe "plainer Emily Blunt" is a more common face than I realized?

The show is in Polish (with subtitles), and I'm very proud that I managed to identify the language as Polish right away (I do not speak a word of Polish).

The musical motif for the show combines one of the catchiest guitar riffs I've ever heard with a sample loop of a woman's sex moans. It fits the show perfectly, but it's a bit awkward to listen to on its own.

Wandavision

You shouldn't need me to tell you about this show. It's good, but my hottest take -- and I stand by it -- is that as an exploration of grief Never Have I Ever does it better and it's not close.

Can we concede that Wanda is the unambiguous villain of the show? With only the barest shift in perspective, Wanda could be the nemesis with an admittedly sympathetic motive. To some extent, I think the show was far too forgiving of her. Motives aside, how different is she from Kilgrave on Jessica Jones?

Poor Emma Caulfield. So much build-up for her character, and it's only a head-fake.

Space Force

I liked it. It's not in the most elite of the elite comedies, and maybe that's the standard when Steve Carrell is the lead, but it was quite funny. That said, I keep on almost forgetting that I watched it, and have no substantive commentary to offer. So take from that what you will.

AOC lookalike alert (the character even gets the nickname AYC -- "Angry Young Congresswoman")!

Mythic Quest

I love that Ubisoft is actually involved in the show (which is set at a game studio producing a popular massively multiplayer online RPG).

Surprisingly, given my love affair with Community, Danny Pudi is one of the least interesting characters on the show.

The actress who plays Poppy isn't the very strongest (though she's improving), but Poppy herself may be my favorite character. Of course, everyone knows I'm a sucker for an Australian accent.

The show has some great characters in side parts who don't get enough attention, like Sue the community manager and Carol the HR director. Also, Aparna Nancherla has a small recurring role in the first season and apparently doesn't come back for season two? I don't get why she keeps getting sidelined like this -- she's funnier than the rest of the cast put together.

Ted Lasso

Good, sweet, endearing, fun. British soccer comedies with heart are a winner for me (Bend It Like Beckham, anyone?).

Ted's estranged wife is played by the same actress who plays Linda in Better Off Ted. This was very strange, though admittedly I'm probably the only person who cared enough about Better Off Ted to notice or care.

Lupin

Dashing gentleman thief who's always a step ahead of his adversaries, except maybe the one nemesis who actually can match him step for step in a constant cat-and-mouse game? Look, it's a cliché for a reason. I'm not going to say Lupin breaks the mold, but it certainly is a well-crafted entry into the mold.

If there is anything innovative, it's how Lupin particularly leverages stereotypes about race and class to maneuver more freely in certain spaces (e.g., he can smuggle himself into prison because the guards can't tell him apart from another inmate -- sad commentary, but useful for Lupin!).

It did do something I hate, which is release "half a season" and just leave the audience hanging at the end. Maybe it was the pandemic's fault, but one could really feel its incompleteness.

Kim's Convenience

Of the Canadian shows I've been watching, I'd say Working Moms (not in this post because it is pre-pandemic) is the stronger of the two. But this is fun as well.

It just got cancelled, unfortunately depriving it of the chance to wrap up its single greatest storyline (that's been ongoing since season one). That's a real, real shame.

Simu Liu as Jung is the latest iteration of the Jason Mendoza trend of "dumb male Asian hottie leads". I guess it's a blow against stereotypes?

Pastor Nina also could be an AOC lookalike. I think the show struggled a bit to draw a bead on her character.

Legomasters

I actually mentioned this show in my post about Jelle's Marble Runs, but it is such a joy to watch. I can't wait for season two, which is dropping very soon. For pure, simple, uncomplicated happiness, Legomasters beats out everything on this list.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/3yamzYb

#reviews #television

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virtueangel · 4 years

Text

limitless.

chapter fourteen.

wc: 2,345. original publish date: october 30, 2020.

Van Gogh wakes up with the comforter tucked around his shoulders, one arm bent underneath his pillow, his fiery red hair spilling out from his head. He blinks against the white light, rubbing his eyes into focus. He's alone in the bed, the covers on JFK's side folded over to expose his empty spot on the mattress.

"Jack?" Vincent asks. A couple seconds go by with no response. He sits up in bed, adjusting the bandages around his head. They'd come a bit loose in the night, probably from being nestled up so close to JFK. Van Gogh never knew he was such a protective sleeper -- he vaguely remembers clinging onto the taller boy, his hands wrapped around JFK's arm and his fingernails digging into his skin defensively. "Jack, where are you?"

Panic starts to build in Vincent's stomach when he doesn't get an answer. The ripping heat climbs up his neck, stealing his breath away. He rolls out of bed, throwing the covers over until the mattress is just an exposed sheet and some strewn-about pillows.

He hops down the stairs, the hardwood cool against the bottoms of his bare feet. "Jack?"

Van Gogh runs through the sitting room and then the living room, and finally through the archway to the kitchen. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees JFK standing at the pantry.

"Oh, you're awake," John smiles.

Vincent can't help but smile back. "I didn't know you were a morning person."

JFK shrugs. "I go to bed late and wake up early. The sacrifice is that I don't get enough sleep."

Van Gogh crosses the kitchen to stand next to Kennedy, peering into the pantry from around his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

JFK stops, holding a can of tomato sauce in either hand. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm cleaning out the pantry."

"All of that stuff is expired."

"Exactly why I'm cleaning it out."

Vincent turns around and nods toward the kitchen table. The taper candles are gone, but they've been replaced by a large wicker picnic basket. "Are we going for a picnic?"

John grins. "Yes."

Van Gogh turns back to the boy. "Kennedy, don't play."

JFK shakes his head. "I'm not playing!"

"We can't have a picnic in Marshtown. Have you seen the weather?"

Kennedy laughs. "That's why we're leaving Marshtown."

Van Gogh shakes his head, folding his arms across his chest. "No. I told you, I don't want to leave!"

JFK places the cans of tomato sauce back on the shelf in the pantry. He turns to Vincent and puts a hand on either shoulder. He looks into the boy's deep brown eyes, his face relaxing. "We're just going out for the day, Vinny. I promise. We'll be back."

Vincent waits for a second before dropping his arms to his sides and softening his glare. "You promise, huh?"

John nods. "Yes. I promise."

Van Gogh sighs, thinking over the boy's proposal. He looks past JFK to the picnic basket. "You found all that food in here?"

Kennedy nods. "Yeah. It's mostly preservatives, like honey and jam. We'll need to get some bread, though."

Vincent twists his lips pensively. "Well, I guess we'll need to go back out into town for that anyway..."

JFK's face lights up with a grin. "So... yes?"

Van Gogh smiles. "Yes."

***

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" Van Gogh asks, an eyebrow raised. He and JFK are sitting side by side in the red convertible, their matching orange and white Clone High letterman jackets zipped up to their chins. The sleeves on Van Gogh's are too long, which he's grateful for right now because he can ball his hands up in the extra fabric. His fingertips are always freezing. No one has ever been able to explain why.

"Yes! I have a GPS on my phone," JFK reassures his boyfriend.

Vincent stares out the windshield. The fog has lifted now that they're out of Marshtown. The roads are made of soft black asphalt, and there are lively plants sprouting out of vibrantly green grass on either side of the street. "I thought we weren't going to use GPS for this trip."

"Yeah, but that was back when we didn't have a plan. We have one now. We're going to a grocery store, on purpose. But I won't use my phone to get us to the picnic location."

"You've already got one picked out?"

JFK laughs. "No. You overestimate my ability to plan."

Van Gogh laughs in return. "How silly of me."

Kennedy pulls into the parking lot of a Safeway before stopping the car and unbuckling.

"Wait," Vincent says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. The screen protector is surprisingly intact. "I made us a list."

Van Gogh opens his notes app and scrolls through it before landing his thumb on the grocery list. JFK peers over his shoulder, trying to read what the boy scrolled past, but Van Gogh snatches his phone away and turns his body so JFK can't see his screen. He clears his throat dramatically before reading out the list.

"One: bread. Two: orange juice. Three:-"

"Are you going to number each item?"

Vincent gives the boy a blank stare and continues. "Three: cream cheese. Four: bagels. Five:-"

"How long is your list?"

Van Gogh shushes the boy. "It'd be a lot shorter if you stopped interrupting."

Kennedy takes the phone out of Van Gogh's hand and begins scrolling through the list himself. Vincent reaches for the phone, but JFK holds him back with an arm as he reads. "Yeah, okay, this is fine. Twenty items shouldn't take us long if we split up."

Vincent's face falls. "I thought this was quality boyfriend time! Especially since you left me alone in bed this morning."

"You left me alone in bed last night! With your sneaking to the kitchen at three in the morning."

Van Gogh sighs. "Fine, then we'll call it even."

"You wanna stick together?" JFK asks, handing the phone back to Vincent.

Vincent grins. "Yes please."

Kennedy leans across the centre console to kiss the boy's forehead. "Whatever you want, Minivan."

"I still hate that nickname."

"But you don't hate me."

Van Gogh shrugs. "Maybe just a little bit," he says with a smile.

JFK pinches the boy's cheek. "That will go away, darling."

Vincent swats his hand away. "You're such a flirt!"

Kennedy grins. "I thought that was one of your reservations about me."

Van Gogh shrugs, busying himself by unbuckling his seatbelt. "Yeah, well. Evidently, it's also what sparked my interest in you."

JFK and Van Gogh get out of the car, slamming their doors behind them in unison. They walk up to the Safeway doors side by side, Vincent's hand fumbling for John's. He interlaces their fingers and Vincent smiles, previously feeling unsure about public displays of affection, especially as a gay couple. JFK's hand is warm against his, and his palm is rough, but in a comforting way. He's something tangible, something Van Gogh can hold to feel grounded.

"I'm really lucky, I think," Van Gogh says without realising he'd spoken aloud.

JFK smiles, blushing the slightest bit. "I think I'm the lucky one, Minivan."

The boys step into the grocery store, dropping hands awkwardly, overwhelmed by all the people inside. They've only been gone from Exclamation! for three days, but that's still a long time to be with only each other. Time feels skewed in Marshtown as well -- Van Gogh could swear they've been living there for a whole month already.

"Maybe we should split up. We'll get out of here a lot faster," Van Gogh suggests.

"So... you take the first ten items on the list, I'll take the last ten?" Kennedy suggests.

"Yeah... I'll send you the list so you don't have to memorise it." Van Gogh looks down at his phone, quickly sharing the note with the boy. A second later, JFK's phone chimes.

"I got it, thanks," he smiles before starting to walk away.

"Wait!" Van Gogh calls out. JFK freezes. "We should establish a meeting place."

John looks around the store, scrunching his nose up in thought. He points to the freezer aisle, right before the self-checkout counters. "How about right over there?"

Vincent follows the boy's finger. "Okay. See you in a couple minutes."

"See you in a couple minutes," JFK agrees.

***

Van Gogh and JFK sit on the grassy banks of a stream, the sun shining down on them through the trees. They've managed to find their own pocket in a forest, full of lavishly green grass and spritely flowers. They don't know where they are, but it must be far from Marshtown; April isn't winter here.

Van Gogh took the liberty of adding a few things to the shopping list, knowing JFK probably wouldn't have thought of them on his own. Now, Vincent spreads out a blue-and-white checkered picnic blanket for them to sit on. He crosses his legs and unties his shoes.

"No muddy feet on the cloth," he says simply to JFK when the boy gives him a look. Kennedy shrugs and unties his sneakers after sitting down, his sock feet clean against the blanket.

"We sure like the middle of nowhere, huh?" John says, spreading some strawberry jam on his bagel. It won't be as good toasted, but there aren't exactly any outlets around to plug a toaster into.

Van Gogh looks up from his own bagel, only half of it slathered in cream cheese. "We're making it the middle of somewhere."

"I don't know what that means."

Vincent smiles. "It means it's our world," he says, JFK's words warm on his tongue.

"What was it you said?" John says, setting his bagel down on a napkin and pouring himself a glass of orange juice. Plastic cups and napkins are also two of the items Van Gogh decided to pick off the shelves at the last minute. "'It's our rollercoaster, and we get to build the track?'"

Van Gogh nods, taking a bite of his bagel. "Mhm," he dabs at some cream cheese smeared across his lips with a napkin. "That's exactly what I said."

"I liked it. You should be an author. I'm sure thirteen-year-old girls on the internet would eat that shit up."

Vincent rolls his eyes. "I'd like to think that if I were to ever become an author, my target audience wouldn't be thirteen-year-old girls on the internet."

JFK laughs. "I'm just playing. But I really do think you could make it."

The shorter boy shrugs, avoiding eye contact by looking down at his food. "Can I have some orange juice?"

John hands the boy a plastic cup and the bottle of orange juice. He'd made sure to get the pulp-free kind, because he knows Van Gogh won't drink it otherwise.

The forest warms up quickly under the sun, and pretty soon, both boys have to take off their letterman jackets. Vincent had almost forgotten what JFK looks like in just his striped red sweater and khakis, his threadbare white tube socks disappearing into the cuffs of his pants. Kennedy had almost forgotten what Van Gogh looks like so simply, in his yellow shirt and jeans. He's wearing his navy blue windbreaker still. It's very rarely warm enough for him to take it off. The boys mostly eat in contented silence, admiring the way the rays of sun drip through the tree branches and the quiet dribbling of the creek behind them. When Vincent finishes his bagel, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and rests back on his hands, his arms extended as he looks up at the trees. JFK stops eating just to admire the boy, to smile at the way his hair falls back when his head is tilted upwards, to bask in the uncomplicated presence of him. Kennedy blows a strand of hair out of his eyes, and Vincent tilts his head forward slowly, almost as if he's returning to reality from a far-away dimension.

"Vincent," JFK breaks the silence.

"Hm?"

"I think you're pretty."

Vincent blushes and looks away. His stomach churns, and he wonders how he could possibly still feel nervous around JFK even now that they're boyfriends.

"I think you're pretty too, JFK."

"Minivan," John smiles.

Van Gogh inhales deeply, trying to steady his breath and calm his heart rate. "Johnny Boy."

"You know what's really special about calling someone your boyfriend?" He asks, leaning forward onto his hands and knees and crawling across the picnic blanket to Vincent.

"What's really special about calling someone your boyfriend?"

JFK waits until he's sitting down next to Vincent to speak again. He wraps his arms around the boy's chest from behind, pulling him in. The smaller boy positions himself between Kennedy's legs and presses his head back, listening to the boy's heartbeat. He closes his eyes, drowning himself in John's familiar scent.

"This," Kennedy whispers, his eyes closed as well. He rests his head atop the boy's, giving his hair a kiss.

"What's it like?" Vincent asks after a couple seconds, his eyes still closed. The sun burns kaleidoscopes into his cheeks, warm against his skin. "Being in love."

John takes a deep breath. "Like this."

"Does that mean...?"

"Shh..." JFK gives the boy another kiss on the head. "Don't ruin it."

"John?" Vincent asks after another second, opening his eyes now.

"Hm?"

He wriggles out of the boy's arms and turns around, sitting so they're facing each other. He slips his arms out of his navy blue windbreaker. He forces himself to look up at Kennedy now, who pulls his sweater off over his head. They sit in their t-shirts, one a soft yellow and the other a plain white, gazing at each other nervously. Vincent moves forward to kiss JFK first, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

"What is this like?" Van Gogh asks, kissing the boy harder than he ever has before.

JFK returns the kiss and lays on his back, pulling the boy down with him.

#clone high #clone high jfk #clone high van gogh #jfgogh #limitless

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fenweak · 4 years

Photo

As requested! This rec list features Kazer Kid Fics -- Jonny and Patrick both with kids and babies AND as kids and babies, with a small dash of de-aging and a spoonful of mpreg.

⭐ for my personal faves

My Other Rec Lists 🍭 Rec me a fic? 🍭

The Ones Where They Have Kids

No Capes by sorrylatenew ⭐ - j/p as parents; implied mpreg

Husbands. Dads. Retired superheroes.

The Reeducation of Misters Kane and Toews + timestamp by jezziejay - single dad Patrick, teacher Jonny ⭐

In which Kaner sort of has a kid, and Mr. Toews doesn't know which of them is the bigger brat.

AU featuring teacher!Jon and hockey-player!Kaner. With bonus 'Hawks characters, love notes, pasta jewelry, Be Better Pizzas, pirouettes, a sprinke of angst and guest appearance by Derek Jeter.

trust your intuition (it's just like goin' fishin') by poeelektra - 1988 as parents

They’re on the periphery of the Home Wares section of Target, heading with purposeful stride toward Sporting Goods, when Gabe declares that he wants a doll for his “Been Good” toy.

Every Little Thing He Does (is magic) by jezziejay - single dad Patrick

Jonny Toews is a bewitching man who moves into a mysterious mansion in a small town. Soon, he opens Bell, Book & Candle, a curiosity shop full of candles, lotions, etc., and is enthralling the children of local police chief (Patrick Kane), who believe he is a witch (but not a bad one.) But not everyone in town is appreciative of their quirky new neighbor, and it may take a little bit of magic for him to truly become part of the community.

Under Cover by heartstrings - 1988 as parents

"Just get in the fucking blanket fort, Kaner."

Feels Like Family To Me + prequels by exmanhater - 1988 as parents

Jonathan Toews and Patrick Kane plan, create, and obtain their family.

living next door to alice series by cinderlily - 1988 as parents

"It started with a phone call."Patrick and Jonny are suddenly given the opportunity to be parents. This is how they stumble through it.

some say love is a burning thing podfic by exmanhater - 1988 as parents

If anyone had told Johnny upon entering the NHL that thirteen years later he'd not only have a kid with Patrick Kane, but would be getting ready to go on a 'date night,’ he'd have said they must be smoking some pretty good shit.And then he'd have to wait a decade to eat his words.

In the Middle of the Night - 1988 as parents

Gone are the days when it took a cold, wet washcloth on his face to wake him up. Or: Five times Pat and Jonny's daughter wakes them up, plus one time they wake her up.

so show me family - single dad Patrick

Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one. ~Jane Howard

Fill It Up With Love by Frosting50 - single dad Pat; implied mpreg

So Pat’s senior year doesn’t turn out exactly like he’d planned. He still gets his degree in accounting, but he also gets a little girl named Emma. She’s all fat pink cheeks, curly brown hair, and blue eyes. She might have Ryan’s chin, but she’s all Pat’s. And the first time she falls asleep on his chest, chubby hand curled around his thumb, skin so soft and sweet he damn-near feels bowled over with how much he loves her. He didn’t know he could love anyone so much; it makes his heart feel too big for his chest, and he knows that he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to give her the world.

peas & carrots by altri_uccelli - 1988 as parents

Unapologetic Halloween fluff, or: Jonny forgets what day it is, but Kaner's on it.

Can You Lyft Me Up? by Mullsandmutts - single dad Patrick

Even high profile athletes like Chicago Blackhawks Captain Jonathan Toews are forced to utilize paid transportation from time to time. An accidental "share my ride" selection on an app results in a life-altering ride with an mouthy Russian driver (Artemi), an unfairly attractive single father (Patrick Kane) and his adorable sassy (and color-matching-challenged) preschool daughter (introducing Molly Donna Patricia Amelia Kane aka Mo). Jonathan refuses to feel too sketch when he negotiates a plan with the driver to "accidentally" have more shared rides with his new friends. When Mo has a traumatic incident at day camp, Patrick's heart is broken and Jonny enlists the help of Temi and the ever-meddling Patrick Sharp to get smiles back on both Kane faces. Jonathan finds himself more and more drawn to Patrick but Patrick's fears of being a good enough parent for Mo and meeting all of her needs could keep them apart. Will Temi, the Sharp family and a trio of nosy aunts in Buffalo be enough to help Jonathan and Patrick realize what they could have together or will Patrick's stubbornness and Jonathan's fear of ruining their friendship keep them apart? Stay tuned to find out ....

Three by Linsky - i won’t spoil it

Patrick doesn’t think he’s a pervert. But how would he know? Maybe a pervert is just a thing you are, and it doesn’t feel any different from being a normal person, until you do something perverted. Maybe that’s him.After all, he does have two names on his wrist.

All Your Memories by toewsandconfused - 1988 as parents; amnesiafic

Pat went to sleep a bachelor in the Trump Towers and woke up next to Jonny in the suburbs with three kids calling him Daddy. Struggling to figure out his new reality Patrick had ruled out dream, was banking on delusion because even though it meant he was losing his mind, it seemed safer than some kind of late-onset amnesia. He didn’t want to face that idea that this really was his life; that Jonny was his, that those beautiful kids were his, and he couldn’t remember any of it. The idea that the memories of their life together could be lost forever was too terrifying to deal with. Losing his mind was preferable to losing his memories.

Chelsea, Chelsea I Believe by empathapathique - single dad Pat ⭐

Patrick meets a girl his rookie year.

Don't Let Go by aohatsu - 1988 as adoptive parents

“So you were already with the boy you saved when the fire started?”Patrick pauses, but shakes his head. “No, there was an explosion—I don’t really know what it was, but then it was just me and Tigre, and it’s like, in a situation like that, you don’t really think? You just do. So I grabbed the kid and went through the fire escape. It’s not like I decided I wanted to save anybody, it was just the only option.”

Always Be My Baby by juliusschmidt - single dad Patrick

The thing is, you don’t just grow up once.

as careless as you are certain - single dad Patrick

March through August, 2015.

the one with the baby yentas series by forochel

Tazer has a son and Kaner is his son's kindergarten teacher.

It's the Magic of Risking Everything by conformityissuicide - single dad Jonny

When Jonny is thirteen he meets a small kid from Buffalo at a hockey tournament.

Then he has a gay crisis, a baby girl, and gets drafted 3rd overall by an Original Six franchise.

When he meets Patrick Kane again at prospect camp he doesn’t feel anything but excitement.

And then it all goes to hell.

"of gifts and fireflies" by huntersandangels - single dad Jon

Patrick Kane hasn’t lived a charmed life despite money flowing through his veins. The journey he is currently on, though paved with good intentions, proves to be a harder challenge than he could ever be ready for. The people he meets along the way give him a much more valued gift than his grandfather could ever dream of giving him.

I'm gonna love you til my lungs give out by arenadomatthews - 1988 as parents

“Papa, Dad, you guys are retiring today?” Bryan asks, looking up at his parents.“Yeah buddy, we are. Are you gonna behave while Dad and I are doing our press conference?” Patrick asks.

“Duh, Dad. I'm not a baby anymore,” he scoffs.

“He's right, Pat. He's our big boy now,” Jonny adds.

“Yeah, I'm going into 4th grade,” Bryan boasts pridefully.Patrick and Jonathan are finally announcing their retirement after 20 NHL seasons. However, their retirement ceremony will come with a twist: they'll be publicly coming out and revealing their family

Your Daddy's Aim Is True by thefourthvine; podfic by isweedan - cup wish baby! ⭐

patch it up by gasmsinc - 1988 as parents

Jonny stares at his daughter for a long moment. She stares back, eyes unwavering. She has Kaner’s baby blues, but at five she’s already mastered Jonny’s dead on the inside stare. Her kindergarten teacher claims she uses the unwavering look to bully other students into doing what she wants, and it’s something they should work on at home, but Jonny’s baby is a natural born leader, and he’s not going to get in her way of becoming the president, or, better yet, the supreme ruler of the universe.

Your patch,” says Jonny.

Baby, It's Hot Outside by toewsyourheart - single dad Pat

Jonny goes for a popsicle and gets a little bit more than he bargained for.

Take All That's Left - divorced single dad Pat

It’s been 6 years now, and he’s grown to enjoy the city since signing with the Rangers to follow Anna, who’d found a job in Brooklyn.

But Chicago; Chicago was Patrick’s first love, all his important firsts – it’s all been hers, and having to leave had been heartbreaking. Too many memories from Chicago were heartbreaking, and yet he always yearned for the city, always felt more comfortable walking her streets than any other place in the world. No other place quite felt like home the way Chicago did.

Isn’t She Lovely by windsthatwhisper + podfic by kanetcews (lavenderharry) - wish baby!

It's nine in the morning when Pat and Jonny stumble down the stairs, sluggish with sleep.

There’s a baby carrier on the kitchen island.

Jonny blinks, blinks again, then turns to get a cup of coffee.

Recreation, Entertainment, Art, or Sport by trademarkgiggle

of course jonathan toews can juggle

so show me family series by peeks, tazer - teacher Pat

“Just admit you like him.”

“Shut up, Sharpy,” Patrick says, before he rolls his eyes and tries to ignore the smirk widening on Sharpy’s lips. “Don’t you have your kids’ parents to bother?”

“No, my last kid left a couple minutes ago, so I’m totally here to watch you and Jonathan Toews make heart eyes at each other,” Sharpy laughs, waltzing into Patrick’s classroom. He immediately makes his way to see Sadie, who greets her dad with a hug.

(In which Patrick Kane is terrible at feelings but luckily, Patrick Sharp is a total bro.)

The Ones Where They’re With Kids

In My Blood and In My Bones + Nothing Sweet or Gentle by fourfreedoms ⭐

Patrick’s not really into dudes—he’s done that whole thing a couple of times—that’s rock-n-roll after all, but god, when Jonathan smiles, he looks really good.Johnny is a nanny. Patrick's a musician. They fall in love. Inspired by the movie What Maisie Knew.

the kids are alright

Patrick works at the sporting goods store Jonny takes his peewee team to for equipment.

given to us as free-flying souls by Mayhem10

Jonathan had never really considered himself particularly good with kids. He didn’t avoid them or anything and it’s not like they burst into tears when they saw his face, but he never was exactly sure what to do with them, these little people running around at waist height. It just wasn’t his area.So, of course, Patrick was basically the child whisperer.

(or five times Jonathan saw Patrick with kids and one time Patrick saw him)

Hide Your Face So The World Will Never Find You (Paper Faces On Parade) by huntersandangels

Jonathan Toews, farm owner and guardian of his nephew, is in desperate need of capable farm hands. Patrick Kane certainly does not fit the description but when a mutual friend confides in him that Patrick has lost everything he owned and is in serious need himself and offers Jonathan money to hire him, how can he say no?

Patrick Kane loves statistics and spending his money on thoroughly planned ‘adventures’ for his friends when he’s not partying away the rest of his fortune. If he wins the bet he can continue to plot freely but if he loses his extra curriculum activities have to stop. He agrees to go on an ‘adventure’ himself and settles in the Toews Farm posing as a farm hand. But as the time goes by, the less pretend it feels-and the more he enjoys Jonathan and Etienne’s company and the quite life in the farm; to the point where he’s not sure whether he wants to win the bet or lose...

Baby, You're the One by jezziejay ⭐

6k words of Jonathan Toews having feelings about babies. And feelings about Kaner. And feelings about putting a baby in Kaner.

The Ones Where They Are Kids

The Cat and the Fiddle series by james - childhood soulmates!

When Donna's son is four, he creates an imaginary friend.

i want to know what you know by sointimate - childhood sweethearts

Patrick is six years old and he's about to do the scariest thing he's ever done in his whole life.

Colorblind by july_v ⭐

Jon is five when he meets Patrick. It's also the time he begins to understand colors as more than an abstract concept.

How to become a man series+ coda by liketheroad, mockturtletale

In which Kaner gets spontaneously de-aged into a six-year-old, and he and Tazer both have a lot of growing up to do.

Romper Room by james - de-aged 1988

Sharpie doesn't really think this should be part of his duty as alternate captain. Luckily, none of this is his fault. A.K.A., the one where Kaner and Johnny are five.

you ruined everything in the best way by thisissirius + podfic by exmanhater .⭐ - de-aged Saader

Kaner's looking down at the kid, though, frowning. He crouches down. "Hey, kid, where are your parents?

"The kid's bottom lip juts out and starts wobbling. Fuck, that means he's going to start crying, right?

"Oh shi—oot, kid, don't cry," Kaner says. "I mean, if you don't know where they are, we can find 'em?"

"Kaner," Sharpy presses. "That's Saad."

don't worry about your body - de-aged Jonny

No one said anything. Everyone stared at each other then down at the tiny human being that was standing where Jonny had been. Kaner felt his mouth go entirely dry, and his stomach drop out from underneath him.

What the fuck, man.

Can You Picture It? by RemyJane

In which Kaner turns into a baby and everyone besides Jonny seems to understand. Includes excessive cuddling, ridiculously adorable baby-Kaner, and feelings. Jonny eventually figures everything out.

Never Getting That Shirt Back by ice_hot_13 - de-aged Pat

Patrick is de-aged into a toddler, and when he's with Jonny, he isn't a holy terror.

Je T'aime by banks99 (Nodiggity15) - de-aged Jonny

“He won’t take a bath. He’s arguing with me. It’s like he didn’t even change at all.” Kaner’s not pouting, fuck you very much.

MPREG

I Got a Love (That Keeps Me Waiting) by svmadelyn ⭐ -mpreg!pat

There's a lot of different ways this summary could go, like:Patrick Kane gets more than a gold medal in Sochi.

Or, the classic: It's too late to pull out now.Or: Patrick Kane continues to thrive in high pressure situations.Or: Patrick Kane gets knocked up, goes to White Castle, and finds love, not necessarily in that order.

But, ultimately, all that really matters is this: Patrick Kane is keeping his baby.

private passions and secret storms (all the secrets series) by CoffeeKristin, Frosting50 - mpreg!pat

Jonny’s life is good - great even. He loves Patrick and their kids, and even if they don’t always have time for each other, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. But when Jeff Carter comes into his life, Jonny’s world gets turned upside down. It’s going to take everything he’s got to convince Patrick to give him a second - maybe even a third - chance.

Patrick’s blindsided by Jonny’s betrayal and putting his family back together is a lot harder than he expected when their past comes back to haunt them.Can love conquer all?

Forever & Always, My Baby You'll Be by windsthatwhisper - mpreg!jonny

Jonny and Pat's life is a cycle of curse words, late night feedings, and five minute handjobs in the hallway closet.

Aka, I wanted some 1988 w/ a baby feels so I wrote this blurb of a thing in about seven minutes.

efficacy by thirteentorafters - mpreg!patrick

“You,” Patrick says, jabbing a finger angrily at Jonny. “Are gonna fucking help me, dickface.”

Opening his mouth to ask what the hell is going on; Jonny’s eyes drop to Patrick’s stomach. Jonny is acquainted with Patrick’s naked body and the last time they met, Patrick wasn’t fat. Or paunchy. Except that doesn’t look like usual fat. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah, ‘oh fuck’,” Patrick says, imitating Jonny’s tone. “You knocked me up, asshole. What are you gonna do about it?”

Forever & Always, My Baby You'll Be by windsthatwhisper - mpreg!jonny

Jonny and Pat's life is a cycle of curse words, late night feedings, and five minute handjobs in the hallway closet.

Looked So Fine (I Just Had To Speak) by svmadelyn - !!!! ⭐

Patrick Kane’s talking penis maintains a ‘to do’ list. It is as follows:1. Jonathan Toews

Phone Tag by hawkeytime (jayyloo) - mpreg!Jonny

"Hi mom. Sorry I couldn’t catch you, so I guess I’ll just, uh.. leave a message. See, the thing is… my super-potent sperm may or may not have managed to knock Jonny up. Okay bye."

"Yes, hello, is this Hockey Canada? I just want it written on the record, today, June 31, 2015, that my incredibly improbable unborn child with Jonathan Toews will be playing for America. Yes, I’ll hold.

"Or: Pat accidentally knocks Jonny up. A saga told in a series of voicemails

A Royal Baby - mpreg!Pat

A cough from the doorway cuts Seabs off mid sentence. Duncs is standing watching them, a particularly somber expression on his face. "Jonny, I'm sorry to interrupt but you have a visitor that you'll want to go see right away.""Now really isn't a good time," Jonny tells him, not even putting down his fork."Trust me Your Highness," Duncs says, "This will be worth it."

[Patrick and Jonathan think their time brief time together at the Olympics is all they can ever have. Patrick's ensuing pregnancy proves otherwise.]

sun sweet berries of the earth series by gasmsinc - mpreg!Pat; a/b/o

There is a spirit living in Patrick State Park.“Listen,” says Jonny. “I didn’t mean to step on your crown.”The spirit’s bottom lip wobbles.

Tame the Roads That Can't Be Tamed by Linsky - mpreg!Pat; a/b/o

Patrick’s flown a million times. He’s never gotten airsick before. Even on last year’s epic flight to Denver, when they hit massive turbulence and half the team was groaning over barf bags, Patrick’s stomach was fine. And maybe he’s sick, sure—but why doesn’t he feel sick the rest of the time? Why is it only mornings and—

Oh.

Oh, no.

Oh fucking no.

(Or: In which it is difficult to be a wolf in the NHL, especially when you're not that good at condoms.)

Carve His Name With Pride ⭐ - mpreg!Jonny

Jonny leaves behind a home, a house, and a hockey career the month after he learns that he’s pregnant.

Eyass - mpreg!Jonny

"I dunno," Kaner tells him. "Whatever you need, man. You’re having a baby! That’s a lot of work. I want to be here for you."

Somehow, in the dozens of conversations he’s had with teammates and friends and family in the past few days, no one has said those exact words to Jonny: “you’re having a baby”. He has to comb his fingers through his hair and take a deep, steadying breath to compose himself.

Kaner notices and smiles at him; a crooked, beautiful thing. “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

Heartburn and Survival by dedougal - mpreg!Jonny

They were in Canada when Jonny found out he was pregnant. Afterwards, Jonny used that as a point in his bulleted list of arguments about why Jack should represent Canada but, to be entirely truthful, finding out in Canada - finding out anywhere - was pretty disastrous.

Three Cups and a Pup by Miss_Psychotic, nommedeplume - mpreg!Patrick

The Story of Alpha Jonny and Omega Kaner getting their shit together and learning how to be Adulting Adults (Finally)

Chips and Cribs by whatislife - mpreg!Jonny

“What do you mean there are no chips,” Jonny asks from where he is standing by the island, hand resting on his stomach. “Weren’t they on the list? Did you not buy them?”(Patrick just wants to sleep.)

#patrick kane #jonathan toews #1988 #blackhawks #hockey rpf #chicago blackhawks #kazer #kaner #it's possible i have missed some stuff #it's been so long since i reread anything 1988!#askbox is open for your suggestions on this (╯▽╰ )

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talldecafcappuccino · 3 years

Text

Title: Between Close Friends

Rating: General Audience

Chapters: 1/1

Relationship: Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton

Summary: Ted is bad at social media, but is that a bad thing?

Ted, what the fuck are you doing????

Ted peers at his phone, rubbing sleep from his eyes and reads the message again.

He scrolls down and sees he has twelve more texts and three missed calls all from Keeley Jones. He turns off his nighttime notifications with a few exceptions for emergency contacts, so it’s not surprising he slept through the messages.

He scratches at the stubble along his cheek and checks his clock. It’s seven o’clock here in Kansas, so it must be . . . early afternoon in London. He thinks through the last day, but he can’t remember anything interesting enough to have Keeley on the case.

Henry came over to his extended-stay hotel, they went to an American football game, got a late dinner in downtown Wichita, and watched a movie before bed.

They did make it on the Jumbotron for the Lasso-off, the team’s half-time dance contest, but his moves weren’t especially embarrassing. At least not in his opinion. Unless one of the moves was actually an insult to the English in which case, oh jeeze, he needs to get on this quick.

The call barely connects before Keeley’s voice echoes in his ear.

“Oy! Ted!”

“Keeley, I am so sorry for whatever I did to offend the great people of the United Kingdom. I am ready to make a statement and an apology tour as soon as you tell me which dance move I need to retire immediately.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I need you to log out of the AFC Richmond Instagram account. Like, now.”

That stops Ted in his tracks.

Does he even have access to that? He remembers a post-it note of accounts and passwords from Beard on their first day with Richmond.

There was an account run by the previous manager, but Keeley had taken it over long ago, converting it to the official team account. She had also made Ted a personal Instagram for his own use and brand development, but he never posted publicly.

He puts her on speaker phone and opens the Instagram app. She’s right. He’s logged into the team account with all 25 million followers. Well, shoot.

There are about a dozen stories posted from last night. All of Ted and Henry’s day together. There’s puns (“having a cow” at dinner with an image of Henry holding up a beef rib and screaming his head off), Ted and Henry singing at a dueling piano bar, the two brushing their teeth together in the bathroom mirror.

“No offense, but I think this may delay the Tom Ford deal you asked me about.”

“Yeah. I get that.”

“It’s just, you know, dads aren’t quite their brand. Or our brand. I mean we’re not anti-dorky dad, but you know with the whole comeback narrative during the season hiatus . . .”

“No I get it. You’ve put a lot of work into rebranding this team and I just undermined that.”

She sighs, but it’s fond.

“Sorry, Ted. It’s not like what you posted was bad, it’s rather sweet actually. It’s just a little different from the posts I had scheduled.”

Ted nodded. It wasn’t the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him, but he felt bad for making Keeley’s job harder than it needed to be.

“No, I’m sorry Keeley. I swear, it won’t happen again.”

****

“Can you believe what Ted did last night? I’ve never seen someone so bad at social media.”

Rebecca has no idea what Keeley is talking about when she walks into her office. She flops onto the couch, feet splayed on the coffee table, clearly exhausted by whatever Ted has done from 4,438 miles away.

“So many puns. Which, don't get me wrong, I love word play more than most people. But I don’t think it’s right for the team right now.”

Rebecca shuts her laptop.

“You’re right about puns not being part of the team plan, but what’s this about Ted? What did he do, exactly?”

Ted hasn’t posted anything in at least 24 hours. Not that Rebecca is keeping track.

“Oh he managed to switch to the team account on Instagram and posted about his entire evening out with Henry. It was quite sweet, actually. The ones that made sense,” but then she pulled a face.”He’s like, really, really bad at social media.”

Oof. Well that isn’t great, but Rebecca doesn’t think there’s anything particularly terrible about Ted’s social media use normally.

“But everything seems under control? No big PR actions needed.”

“It’s fine. I had him log out and wrote a post about Coach Lasso’s surprise social media takeover from America.”

Rebecca nods. Okay, so it was all sorted. Keeley has things totally under control.

But she reaches for her phone anyway. She opens Instagram, taps through the AFC Richmond stories, and snorts at the image of Henry with the rib as big as his head.

“Are people at least being kind?” Rebecca hopes Ted logged out without seeing any messages about Henry. Not that she could see any reason for it, but people were shitheads on the internet.

“Well, wanker is still the most common response. But many of them are wanker with a little heart at the end, so I think it’s fine. We actually got a lot of responses, proper engagement and all that,” she looks up at the ceiling, considering it for a moment before rolling her head to look back at Rebecca.

“If we weren’t trying to present the team as a badass phoenix rising from the ashes, I’d say a Ted takeover isn’t a bad idea. He just needs some supervision. Maybe a phone with a better camera.”

Rebecca is only half listening as she taps to the next story.

“Aw, they went to dueling piano night. That must have been fun for Henry.”

She’s smiling at her phone when Keeley asks, “Dueling piano night?”

“Yeah, you know at Jim Bob’s Bar.”

Keeley is looking at her blankly.

“Fine. I know it’s not really Jim Bob’s bar. It’s probably not even a bar if Henry’s there. But I can’t remember the real name off the top of my head.”

She’d looked it up once, after Ted first posted about the dueling pianos. For some reason she started calling it Jim Bob’s. Ted didn’t seem bothered and had even started calling it that himself.

When she looks up again, Keeley is staring at her, eyes narrowed.

“What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you know so much about some bar in Kansas?”

That gives Rebecca pause. She isn’t sure what Keeley means by the line of questioning.

“It’s not some totally random bar. Ted posts about it whenever he goes for dueling pianos.”

If he gets to the bar early or she has a particularly late evening, Rebecca catches the story before going to bed. When she does, she always asks him to put in $5 for Wannabee by the Spice Girls. She owes him a small fortune by now, but it’s worth it to see the bar explode with cheers and jeers.

Some nights she misses the story, but he puts money in anyways and she wakes up to a shaky video of, Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want.

Rebecca thinks this is a good enough explanation, but Keeley is still staring at her.

“I’ve literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Keeley, you know social media is not my thing. All I know is that sometimes Ted posts about this bar on his tiny friends list thing,” she waves her hand around, trying her best to describe it. “The one with the green ring around it.”

Keeley leaps to her feet, eyes wide.

“Am I not on Ted’s Close Friends list??”

Before Rebecca can say a word, Keeley is halfway out the door, texting furiously.

“Roy, better not be on there, if I’m not on there. Ted knows how I feel about being left out!” she shouts over her shoulder. “Sorry Rebecca, I need to do some investigating, asap.”

Oof. She may have just created a problem. It’s probably best to give Ted a heads up before Keeley gets through interrogating Roy.

She drafts a text once, twice, then deletes it and presses call instead.

“Hey Boss, let me guess. Keeley got a hold of you?”

It’s been a while since they’ve chatted, what with the time difference. It’s bizarre how familiar his American accent has become.

“She just left my office, yes.”

There’s a loud crack in the background and a metal clang.

“Where are you?”

“Oh, just the batting cages with Henry,” he says, cheering loudly. “Hey, do you guys have a sport called baseball that has nothing to do with American baseball? You know, like football and football?”

She chuckles, “I don’t believe we do. However there is always cricket.”

He hums, considering it.

“Now Ted, I think there’s something you should know.”

“Lay it on me Boss. I know I caused a headache this morning, what’s the damage? What do you need me to do? I am at your disposal or I’ll lay really, really low as long as you need me to.”

“It’s not that Ted. It’s Keeley.”

“Keeley?”

“Yes, she’s on a bit of a mission at the moment. It seems you left her off your Close Friends list? I think that’s right. On Instagram?”

“Huh. How did that come up?”

“I was telling her about Jim Bob’s. Apparently she had never heard of it and realized you had a whole social media life she was unaware of.”

“Right . . .”

“So do what you will with that.”

“You haven’t talked to anyone else about this yet, have you?”

Rebecca is confused by this new direction.

“No. Why? Ted, is something wrong?”

It takes a long moment for Ted to respond.

“What can I say, I’m just really bad at this social media stuff.”

It's a non-response and an overly folksy one at that. But Rebecca can’t be fooled by the aw shucks routine—not anymore. She tries again.

“Ted. Who is on your close friends list?”

“Uh. Not a lot of people.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“What can I say?” He huffs, a little frustrated. She would feel bad for prying, but she can't help herself. “The list of people I want to share silly life things with is small.”

“How small?” she wonders.

“Very small.”

The line goes silent and Rebecca swears she lost him. But then she hears him take a deep breath.

“It’s you. You’re the list.”

Rebecca feels flush. That’s not where she was expecting this conversation to go.

“I know that might be a lot. You don’t have to say anything. I just, that’s the honest truth and I’d like to get ahead of it before Keeley harangues the entire team.”

It’s a lot to take in, but it makes sense. Sometimes when she’s watching his posts, she wonders about his audience. Who else cares about his biscuit recipe improvements or Broadway Sundays (a recent development that’s turned into a shared movie night.)

“Rebecca?”

She realizes she’s been quiet for a while. The moment feels tenuous and she worries about saying the wrong thing, sending him running faster than Keeley during a social media snafu.

Finally she settles on, “You know, you’re welcome to text me silly life things. It wouldn’t be a bother.”

She brushes invisible crumbs from her desk, listening carefully to his breathing on the other end of the line.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Maybe I can send some, too?”

Rebecca can hear his smile from across the Atlantic.

“Well, alright then.”

****

That night, Ted’s phone pings and he rolls over to see a text message from Rebecca. It’s a picture of the sun rising over her garden wall.

Something silly to start the day.

But it doesn’t feel silly. Not at all.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fic #some fluff #because a plot bunny got in the way of what I planned to write this weekend #I blame the Easter bunny #ted x rebecca

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19mrs-barnes17 · 4 years

Text

Assistance

Summary: Castiel find himself helping a stranger despite her background.

Part:1/1

Pairing: Castiel x witch!reader

Warnings: minor cursing, arguing, mention of hunting

Word count: 1,826

A/N: I selected a list of dialogue prompts and characters, @cantnkrusshedevil matched them. This is 1 of 9. (prompt in bold)

Your fingers slid along the spines and the binding, the covers rough beneath your touch. Letters ran through your mind as you mouthed the call number until your finger fell into an empty slot between books. Not there, but not checked out. Someone stole it.

“Bastard.” You muttered under your breath as you scanned the surrounding shelves, praying silently that you had misjudged the situation and the previous reader couldn’t comprehend the dewy decimal system. “I’m fucked.”

Walking up to the desk you took note of a gentleman in a tan trench coat emerging through the glass doors and immediately disappearing amongst the stacks. The elderly woman sitting atop a high stool glowered down at you unflinchingly, clearly not believing you as you explained her book was missing. She waved you off, slowly descending to the floor and making for the shelf you had just searched. When the woman emerged she was furious, shouting for you to leave her store immediately.

You were too stressed about finding the copy of that book to care, it was of utmost importance you did. The lives of your family were in your hands, their protection fading as you ran around searching for it.

A graveled voice calls out to you but you refuse to face it, no time could be wasted on some man who ‘just had to tell you how beautiful you looked’.

“I have it.” Slowing to a stop you turned on the heel of your shoe to look the stranger in the eye, nearly forgetting to hold your ground as you almost slipped into the pools of crystal blue. “The book, I was the one who took it.”

“Who are you?” That book was a grimoire, one from your family in fact, and anyone desperate enough to steal it was not likely any friend of yours. You narrowed your eyes and took a single step forward, hands at your side for the time being. “What are you?”

“My name is Castiel, I’m an angel of the lord.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes betraying his polite demeanor clearly having had this conversation one too many times.

“I am not.”

“Sarcasm, not very angelic.” He sighed, eyes moving to watch those passing by to their cars. “So… where is it?”

“It was taken from me.” You wanted to scream, of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Why do you want it?”

“Uh-uh, I speak the truth and you smite or something. I’d rather live to find another way, thanks.” He watched you curiously, gaze trailing to the sky as a soft sigh escaped his lips.

“I promise I will not smite you if you tell me the truth.” You laugh and he returns his focus to your eyes, bewilderment painting his features.

“What, am I supposed to believe you just because you’re an angel?” You take a deep breath before tearing your eyes from his. “I don’t trust anyone, especially not a higher being. I’ve read that story too many times to believe it could ever change.”

“I’m different.”

“Welcome to the club.” He stands silent, almost as still as a statue whilst his mind deliberated upon a thought.

“You’re a witch.”

“Clever boy, well done blue eyes. But, you really needn’t say it with such disdain, don’t forget that you too are classified as a monster.” He seems thrown off by the nickname, as you begin to walk away he calls out once more.

“I know where it is.” You stopped, glancing over your shoulder at the man as he began to catch up. “I didn’t mean to offend you, but I have yet to come across a witch who did not serve only herself.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting? I would’ve thought an angel would have more sauve.” You walked around him, his voice beginning to become a pestering annoyance as you made your way to your car. “Listen, if you have anything helpful to say then just say it. Otherwise, I’d rather not stand around as you accuse and insult me.”

“Why do you want it?”

“If you ask me that one more time I might just get a little less friendly.” You faced him one final time and the empathy in his eyes stuck a chord, but not well enough. “Why do you have to know? So you can determine whether I’m evil? Hate to be the one to tell you but nothing is that black and white, blue eyes.”

He said nothing, eyes studying you with more curiosity as the seconds pass by, unsure of what to think of you.

“It’s my family’s grimoire, can we just leave it at that for now?” You opened the door to your car, turning to bid him farewell when his next words cut you off.

“Very well, but I am coming with you.”

“Oh goody.” You roll your eyes and start the engine, shaking your head as the angel piles into the passenger’s seat. “Seatbelt, angel or not. House rule.”

“Yes ma’am.” Oh this was going to be fun, you could just tell.

“If you give me one more wrong turn I swear I’m going to toss you out that door. You’re an angel, you’ll heal.” He grumbles something under his breath and you shove his shoulder. “Where is the actual turn?”

“On your left.” You chuckled to yourself, but he was simply left baffled at how directions were suddenly comical. “It’s from a movie.”

You shut off the engine, the light that guided you fading into the darkness as you emerge from the vehicle. One glance at the angel beside you and you were hit by a sudden wave of anxiety. Why were you trusting this guy, he claimed to be an angel and yet he directed you to this dump via an actual map. You hadn’t seen any powers yet, so you were still weary. But he knew about magic, so he was either a hunter or telling the truth.

“What’s in there?” The entrance resembled what you imagined a fall out or a survivalist bunker to look like. It was in the middle of empty land and appeared to be deserted.

“The hunters who took it.” That was not what you wanted to hear come from his lips, not when you were far enough out from the nearest town to be murdered in broad daylight.

“Hunters?” He must have seen the fear in your eyes for raised his hands in peace and his features softened. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you, not even as little as I did.”

“Hold on, they won’t hurt you. I swear.” He approached the door, hand on the knob as he turned to glance back at you. “I won’t let them.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But I have a feeling you aren’t, how did you put it, evil.” He smirked, eyes watching you again with that same curiosity in them.

“Is that supposed to comfort me after you continuously insinuated otherwise?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to. Well, I did but I was not sure where you stood as a witch.” You knit your brow, locking gazes with the man. “I needed to know what you wanted spells for, some of those listed within are deadly.”

“Gee thanks, I just need it back for my family’s sake. Their lives are at stake without it. I need its protection.” You did your best to convey utter sincerity as he studied your eyes, judging truth from fiction within them.

“I believe you.” A fluttering in your chest had you breathless for a moment, and you allowed yourself a second to be lost in the pools of blue.

You sat at the table on your phone, scrolling through apps and trying to ignore the texts that screamed for you to hurry and not disappoint. The arguing in the adjacent room muffled by the door was becoming a frustrating obstacle. There was no time for this.

Without feeling an ounce of remorse you began searching the shelves, but with no luck you determined they were intelligent enough to hide it. Room searching it is. You were beginning to wonder if you’d find it before they stopped arguing, however the angel appearing as you poked your head down another hall meant otherwise.

“You should have waited.” You rolled your eyes and continued searching the rooms, Cas placed a hand on your shoulder. “It’s not in any of these rooms, come with me.”

He led you back to the entry room, the Winchesters stood looking rather displeased to have a witch wandering their halls freely. Cas tries to defend you again but the two hunters don’t seem to buy what he is selling, their eyes on you.

“I wasn’t about to sit there and waste time listening to you all scream about who’s right in some macho match off. I need my family’s grimoire so they stay safe. I don’t care if you believe me, you’re welcome to continue the long line of hunters who refuse to see the supernatural as anything but destructive. But me? I’m going to live in reality and use our book to revamp the cloaking spell that keeps us safe from trigger happy hunters looking for an excuse to draw blood.”

Your eyes land on the grimoire in the elder Winchester’s hands, his grip white knuckle tight and unyielding. An arched brow and an extended hand left him gripping the book even tighter. He wasn’t relenting.

“You said you’d help me blue eyes, was that a lie to get me here?” Cas met your gaze and shook his head, the two hunters perplexed at the response. “Your angel seems to trust me, but you never will. So just hand over what isn’t yours. Please.”

The younger Winchester nudged his brother, features still wary but trusting their angel friend enough.

“Dean.” Those blue eyes never looked so assertive as he gripped the other end of the grimoire, slowly prying it from the man’s grip. He turned to you and placed the large, leather clad book into your arms.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell any witches. Your reputation is safe.” Dean simply nodded, watching you closely as Cas walked you out of the bunker.

The grimoire is safely locked in its chest, your trunk slamming shut to reveal a blue eyed angel still standing there. He remained silent, eyes a confliction of emotions as he shifted his weight on his feet. You placed a kiss to his cheek before sliding into your car and rolling down the window.

“Thanks for the help blue eyes, I owe you one.” A wink and crimson flushing his cheeks, you rolled the window up and sped out of the area in a hurry.

Perhaps you would come to regret such a promise one day, but for now you would dream of those hypnotizing blue eyes and the angel they belonged to.

Tags: @qtmeryr @broken-hearted-barnes @asphalt-cocktail @gstran18

#supernatural #cw #castiel #cas #castiel x reader #cas x reader #match ems #spn #witch reader

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

Text

HOW NOT START A STARTUP FUNDING LANDSCAPE

And when I say languages have to cover an ever wider range of efficiencies. When you raise VC-scale money, the clock is ticking.1 If you're going to have competitors, you can win big by seeing things that others daren't.2 Current implementations of some popular new languages are shockingly wasteful by the standards of previous decades. Economically, startups are an all-or-nothing game.3 There are some stunningly novel ideas in Perl, for example.4 The best way to do this is to get the job done.5 Better still, answer I haven't decided.6 The results so far bear this out. I think this makes them more effective as founders.

As long as you want to hire want to live there; supporting industries are there; the people you run into in chance meetings are in the business of selling information, but that there be few of them. Most hackers would rather just have ideas. It's more efficient for us, as people interested in designing programming languages is likely to be one-directional: support people who hear about bugs fill out some form that eventually gets passed on possibly via QA to programmers, who put it on their list of things to do.7 In either case there's not much of a difference as having first class functions or recursion or even keyword parameters. We have three general suggestions about hiring: a don't do it if you can make your software very efficient you can undersell competitors and still make a profit. Now most of your people will be employees rather than founders.8 Once you take several million dollars of my money, the clock is ticking.

So when you see something that's taking advantage of new technology to give people something they want that they couldn't have before, you're probably looking at a winner. These qualities might seem incompatible, but they're not.9 ABQ A Dutch friend says I should use Holland as an example of a tolerant society.10 This approach tends to yield smaller, more flexible programs.11 Though we do spend a lot of new software, because it's easy to buy. With server-based.12 Over time applications will quietly grow more powerful. When you catch bugs early, you also get fewer compound bugs. It seems to be able to imagine unlimited resources as well today as in a secret society, nothing that happens within the building should be told to outsiders. Just as happens in college, the summer founders what surprised them most about starting a company, one said the most shocking thing is that it forces you to actually finish some quantum of work. Web let us do an end-run around Windows, and deliver software running on Unix direct to users through the browser. I learned to program when computer power was scarce.

Only a great designer can. Well, server-based apps get released. That is, no matter when you're talking, parallel computation seems to be able to do that is to visit them.13 They're not being deliberately misleading. The best intranet is the Internet. Most are equivalent to the ones people use for procrastinating in everyday life. Not necessarily. My vote is they're a bad idea.14 But you can tell it must be satisfying expectations I didn't know I had. Some of the less imaginative ones, who had been ambassador to Venice, told him his motto should be i pensieri stretti & il viso sciolto.

This will sound shocking, but it has more potential than they realize. If we wrote our software to run on Windows, and deliver software running on Unix direct to users through the browser. I think almost anything you can do more for users. But openness to new ideas has to be inexpensive and well-designed.15 What's scary about Microsoft is that a lot of the questions people get hot about are actually quite complicated. You'd have to turn into Noam Chomsky. You can't make a mouse by scaling down an elephant. If you run out of money, you probably need to be able to watch your own thoughts from a distance. As long as it isn't floppy, consumers still perceive it as a joke.

All that extra sheet metal on the AMC Matador wasn't added by the workers. People will pay for content? Web-based applications. Inside your head, anything is allowed. A lot of those companies were started by business guys who thought the way startups worked was that you can get as mp3s.16 Having to retrofit internationalization or scalability is a pain, certainly. Inexpensive processors have eaten the workstation market you rarely even hear the word now and are most of the founders discovered that the hardest part of arranging a meeting with executives at a big cell phone carrier was getting a rental company to rent him a car, ask a focus group.

Notes

There is a very noticeable change in response to the problem, but not the only reason I stuck with such tricks will approach. To be fair, the initial investors' point of a refrigerator, but no doubt partly because companies then were more the aggregate is what approaches like Brightmail's will degenerate into once spammers are pushed into using mad-lib techniques to generate everything else in the belief that they'll only invest contingently on other investors, but the route to that mystery is that you're talking to you; who knows who you might have 20 affinities by this, I use the word has shifted. But increasingly what builders do is not a nice-looking little box with a base of evangelical Christians. Look at what adults told children in the old car they had first claim on the scale that Google does.

Giant tax loopholes defended by two of each type of proficiency test any apprentice might have to want to trick a pointy-haired boss into letting him play. Big technology companies between them.

Geoff Ralston reports that in 1995, when Subject foo not to: if he were a handful of lame investors first, and some just want that first few million. The Civil Service Examinations of Imperial China, during the 2002-03 season was 4. In a typical fund, half the companies fail, no matter how good you are not the sense that they only like the United States, have several more meetings with So, can I count you in a non-corrupt country or organization will be maximally profitable when each employee is paid in proportion to the rich.

Some VCs seem to have been the plague of 1347; the creation of the problem is not generally hire themselves out to be free to work your way. They hoped they were beaten by iTunes and Hulu. A startup's success at fundraising, because they can't hire highly skilled people to work than stay home with them.

Zagat's there are not one of them is a big change in the sort of community. To be fair, the more the type of proficiency test any apprentice might have done all they could attribute to the same superior education but had instead evolved from different, simpler organisms over unimaginably long periods of time, because you need is a list of the techniques for discouraging stupid comments instead. Most computer/software startups are competitive like running, not you.

Wisdom is useful in solving problems too, e. Well, of the word has shifted.

Wisdom is useful in solving problems too, of course. Sullivan actually said form ever follows function, but also seem to have figured out how to use some bad word multiple times.

Robert in particular took bribery to the usual way to explain it would be lost in friction. Forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups. Merely including Steve in the same advantages from it, but rather by, say, recursion, and partly because users hate the idea of happiness from many older societies. In A Plan for Spam.

Learning for Text Categorization. Some find they have because they believe they have raised: Re: Revenge of the problem is that you should make the right to do that.

Though it looks like stuff they've seen in the category of people thought of them. The bias toward wisdom in so many people mistakenly think it is. Unless we mass produce social customs.

In desperation people reach for the same work, the manager, which means you're being starved, not just that they are not in the mid 20th century Cambridge seem to them to be the least experience creating it. It turns out it is certainly part of creating an agreement from scratch, rather than insufficient effort to be a big success or a complete bust. A web site is different from a VC. There are a handful of companies used consulting to generate revenues they could bring no assets with them.

I haven't released Arc. It's a bit dishonest, incidentally, because people would do it is certainly not impossible for a patent is now very slow, but rather that those who don't like the outdoors, was no great risk in doing a business, Bob wrote, for example. I make the kind of power will start to spread from.

They want so much about unimportant things. Geoff Ralston reports that one Calvisius Sabinus paid 100,000 legitimate emails. No Logo, Naomi Klein says that a startup.

They're an administrative convenience. Several people I talked to a car dealer. With the good groups, just harder. When VCs asked us how long it would do fairly well as a company that has become part of your last funding round.

When the same weight as any adult's. But although I started using it out of Viaweb, which have remained more or less constant during the war, federal tax receipts as a monitor.

It's a case in the time it included what we now call science. Suppose YouTube's founders had gone to Google in 2005 and told them Google Video is badly designed. Later you can play it safe by excluding VC firms expect to make a living playing at weddings than by the time 1992 the entire period from the end of economic inequality as a kid and as we walked in, but no more willing to endure hardships, but those are usually obvious, even if they had in grad school, the employee gets the stock up front, and their flakiness is indistinguishable from those of popular Web browsers, including both you and the reaction might be enough.

Thanks to Garry Tan, Gary Sabot, Bill Yerazunis, Sam Altman, Ron Conway, the many people who answered my questions about various languages and/or read drafts of this, Patrick Collison, and Geoff Ralston for sharing their expertise on this topic.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #Ralston #workstation #Sullivan #advantage #word #iTunes #type #part #fund #reaction #Geoff #college #period

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journey-to-balance · 4 years

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The Science of Gratitude: The Way to Practice It: I Show you How

It’s well peddled that we have a genetically pre-determined set point for happiness, which stays more or less the same (unless something wildly horrific happens, such as the death of a child). What isn’t widely known is that some experts think that only 50% of our happiness is pre-determined, while 10% is circumstance, and the remaining 40% is influenced by what we do or “intentional activity.” And one of the ways we can change that malleable 40% is undoubtedly: gratitude. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands of studies that back this up.

I tend to write my “gratitudes” just before bed. If I don’t, whether because I’m travelling, or having sex, I find that my mind takes longer to stop swirling enough to fall asleep.

Caution. Two things I need to point our though. No.1. Writing too many in your list of blessings per night can prove too much of a good thing. Research states that too long a list can lose its profound effect on the mind, become repetitive or even become to feel like a chore. Best if your list is keep between 3 and 8 items of gratitude. No.2. (AND THIS IS MOST IMPORTANT) Gratitude is an activity you must engage in. I know people who claim to “do” gratitude but actually do nothing. It’s like claiming you can fly a plane, when all you cal do is operate a Playstation flight simulator. They think it’s just a vague feeling of thankfulness. But you have to DO IT in order to GET IT.

It’s really easy to blahdiblah about an “attitude of gratitude”, but here I want to explain what I feel should be an “exactitude of gratitude.” By this I mean, locating and lassoing the exact moments in your day that inspired gratitude.

Many people who try to do a gratitude journal go TOO BIG. They write lists that say things like: I am grateful for my job, I am grateful for my dog, I am grateful for the roof over my head, my family, food in the fridge, and so on and so forth. Well, happens the next day when you have the same family, same dog, same food in the fridge, etc? Get my point? Soon you will run out of things to write about. Soon you will get discouraged. This exercise will start to irritate you. It will become repetitive. Robotically listing a standard grocery list of blessings does not work and the long term effects will produce indifference. It just like looking in the mirror everyday repeating the same mantra that we truly don’t believe. It’s like repeating “I am enough” when you don’t relieve believe that you are.

To get to the core of gratitude, it’s all about seeking the micro rather than the macro of the gratitude, sourcing the specific, getting to the heart of the matter. That’s how you create a habit. That’s how you mold and train your mind, change your mindset and ultimately SHIFT into living a life that is mindful, purposeful, INTENTIONAL. That’s how you begin actively calling into and manifesting abundance into your life NO MATTER WHAT IS HAPPENING OUTSIDE OF YOU. OUT THERE ...

So, let’s make it as specific as possible, rather than using broad sweeping statements. Let’s dig into how to truly practice what everyone loosely calls AN ATTITUDE OF GRATITUDE. Here are some micro “gratitudes” I’ve written in my Gratitude Journal for TODAY, 4.4.2020.

1. Today, I sat to write on the sofa wearing my new pair of sateen pjs, listening to a faint Vivaldi in the background, and drinking creme brulee flavored coffee.It felt like a garden party in my mouth. Nice. So grateful.

2. I just pressed a few buttons on an app, rather than having a painful 5 min phone call, and a nice person delivered pizza to my door. If I had a person from the 1950s with me right now, they’d be like, “What is this, actual sorcery?” So grateful ...

3. There are a pair of robins raising a family atop my arbor. At first they would wheel away, chirping madly when I came near. Now, they sit there, serene, looking straight into my eyes. Getting a bird to trust you is such a rush. I am so grateful.

Friends, one thing to note ... if writing isn’t your thing, try doodling your gratitudes, try recording it via voice note, or try a vision board ... basically any other way you can RELIVE your gratitude, will not only keep you grounded in the present moment, ward off anxiety, but call in ... INVITE abundance and Happiness into your life! Yes, remember what I wrote earlier - that 40% of our happiness is up to us! That’s what I call happiness in action! That’s how you get your power back, in any situation, with courage, no matter what is happening out there in this crazy world of ours.

The existentialist, Albert Camus wrote about an “invincible summer” - a mental utopia all of us have the power to create - deep, meaningful, grateful memories that exist in all of us and carry us through difficult times. Use this time in isolation and beyond my dear friends to find the invincible summer in YOU.

With Love ... Maritza Creator Our Journey to Balance

#Gratitude #Attitude of Gratitude #Invincible Summer #Happiness #Co Creator #Mindset #Positive Mindset #Mindfulness #Awareness #Wakefulness #Gratitude Journal #Essays #Abundance #Manifest Abundance #Our Journey to Balance #Maritza Alvarez

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theholycovenantrpg · 4 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, TARYN! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF CASSIEL.

Admin Jen: You entranced me with your vision of Cassiel from the first moment, Taryn. The way you introduced the themes of beauty and power, explored the entanglement of the two, and linked it all to Cassiel was so compelling, and I loved the way you expanded on it later on and tied it into your future plots. There is such tangible power to your portrayal, and every single portion of the app burns with it -- not just in a manifestation of Cassiel’s hunger, but in a captivating expression of its intensity and prowess, the way it bleeds into every aspect of who she is. I can’t wait to see her wreak absolute havoc on the dash! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS

Taryn

AGE

21+

PERSONAL PRONOUNS

She/Her

TIMEZONE

PST

TRIGGERS

REMOVED

HOW DID YOU FIND THE GROUP?

Admin referral.

IN CHARACTER

CHARACTER

Cassiel

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?

Beauty fascinates me, and it has in a various number of ways for several years. I’ve written about it in plenty of variations, but never seen a character that investigates so deeply the query of what happens when beauty is not only undeniable, but perfect and absolute to the point of literal personification. I see Cassiel and her beauty as the cup that fills to the point of surface tension: she exists in the incorporeal space above limit, law, natural reason, always on the edge of overflowing. When you talk about her beauty, it’s no longer about the simplicity of being beautiful, but of the concept itself, the embodiment. What I kept coming back to when thinking about Cass was the adage Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and stems that flowered from it: could one replace the word power with beauty in that statement and have it be wholly, undeniably true? Why or why not? Where do we rank beauty among the concepts that we agree, in society and heart and literature, reign above all others: power, love, hate, goodness, evil. What is its place, or does it have one at all? Which of the others are its twins, which are its enemies? Is it merely symptomatic of one of the others; if so, can it be corrupted? Literally, what is beauty?

Even moreso, what is it to exist in a state that embodies any of these notions so completely? How does it grow or gnarl the soul, what are the effects and blessings and curses of living in this strange way?

I know that’s a lot of questions rather than answers, but I think that’s almost my point: Cassiel is not just a character I already feel I know intimately and love for what I see, but a vessel through which I get to explore things I can’t (and don’t yet want to) answer. That’s super exciting to me — a character I not only adore now, but gives me the license to question.

WHAT FUTURE PLOTS DO YOU HAVE IN MIND FOR THIS CHARACTER?

It makes sense to me that on the whole, Cassiel’s plot points should be very interaction- or dynamic-driven. That certainly isn’t to say that Cassiel isn’t self-motivating or responsible for her own actions — because she certainly is — but that in the narrative defined of her character so far, the crux of what drives, propels, and motivates her always seems to be something external. Where she once craved adoration and veneration, now her appetites have swelled to power and worship — a goal that, while perhaps somewhat singular and inward, is still defined by its far outer reach.

So on that note! The plots I’ve expounded on below largely hinge on varying relationships and interactions with other characters because I’d love to explore that thematically: that as selfish as she is, Cassiel needs others.

HUNGER THAT DOES NOT DISCRIMINATE. I don’t particularly care for ascents that are made without meeting a loose-fitting rock, or grasping a serpent tail when you think you’ve reached a vine. Though I can imagine an end where Cassiel takes her seat upon the throne she now paws at, I’m almost more interested in the steps taken to reach that conclusion.

( A ) In the same way that Cassiel named the Cherubim without anticipating all outcomes and consequences, I feel that her current pursuit of power is half-abstract and in some way not fully formed. She eyes Caelum’s throne because it is the most readily available sight, but I don’t believe Cassiel has considered strategy for what might be done after ascending a throne (whether that be in the seat itself or directly at its side), nor even if Caelum’s rulership is the most viable for her position/wants/needs. She is clever, ambitious, ruthless in many regards; she has the hunger and shrewdness to potentially make her way to the highest seat, and has proven her resourcefulness via her renewed place among the Virtues. But what does she know of rulership? Of queendom, of subjects? Nothing. She knows undeserved and total veneration, which is another thing entirely. I want to see this reflected in her initial actions as the roleplay opens: half-blind movements and machinations, a kind of elegant stumbling towards an ill-defined end.

( B ) I think Viktoria is right in some way to await a misstep, to judge her as over-eager and insatiable. Much like my view of Cassiel’s beauty as the lifted bit of water that rests above the edge of a cup, I think that same surface tension is an apt way to describe her ambition currently: overfull and ready to spill over for the first tremor. An appetite so large and desperate will consume the other things around it, in this case Cassiel’s tact: she is going to pitch herself into the first opportunity that opens itself wide enough, potentially at detriment to her overall plan (or reputation), though not necessarily. The actual action of this plot is vague and undefined because it’s not really something I can craft (instead something that should come up naturally within the game/other characters), but I’m not so picky about what it is so long as it affords the space for Cass to leap without looking in her pilgrimage back to greatness.

ONE TASTE IS ENOUGH. Once you’ve fed a hungry woman, what does she grow into? Again to draw from my overfull cup metaphor, my thought is that once a measure of her starvation has been sated by the initial jump mentioned above (whether it has positive, negative, or neutral results), it is essentially poured from the chalice that is Cassiel’s soul. Having executed her first (in-game) move or scheme, there is now a space inside her no longer occupied by desperate, demanding hunger which once filled everything to the point of bursting — allowing a space that gives her the ability to think more clearly, with greater nuance. This is when her machinations begin to build in true.

( A ) She starts to examine what it is she is aiming for, both in what is required of Caelum’s rulership and if that specific seat is best suited for her and the final result she craves. Viktoria is a good candidate for this, should they be willing to mentor her further, but I think the better option is to have Cassiel observe others in positions of power — Zadkiel, Damien Ward, Michael. She excels at endearing herself to others, which would likely be the course she takes, though the roads with Zadkiel and Michael are perhaps more winding than Damien’s. Zadkiel is going to have his own plot/bullet point, so I’ll expand on that later. Michael is a convoluted and dangerous relationship, but one that I feel Cassiel will seek out when she comes into her violence: he, technically, is responsible for all that was taken from her. Though cozying up to the King may be arduous or out of the question to do perfectly, helping to fracture the trinity of Michael/Gabriel/Raphiel from the inside. If he will not love her, then no others shall love him.

( B ) Her action, even by way of inaction, becomes very purposeful: in essence, after a potential failure, Cass will begin to lay out the strings to the final nest she plans to take. I do want to see Cassiel forge her way onto a new pedestal, one raised even higher than the pillar she sat upon previously, and that is the overarching narrative I’d like to take her on as a character — but I can’t say I’m 100% sure that it will be Caelum’s throne or the right-hand of it. Though Cassiel is experienced in crafting and stoking veneration, and therefore the authority that comes with it, the ladder of power and the games one plays to climb it are new to her. As she makes this climb, I expect she’ll find rungs she did not anticipate before, possibilities and avenues she could not have realized previously. Perhaps her attention will shift to the Tridium, her envy taking her by the leash and leading her to overthrow Gabriel in order to debase Azazel and remove her as the Moon. Maybe she will band with Viktoria and the Horseman. Mayhap she’ll create a new allegiance and look to usher in an Age of the Lotus, where everything must be drowned in mud before it can emerge beautiful and petalled (and what is she, if not the pinnacle of these things?). In plain, my goal is to see her shoot for the stars — which burning sphere she lands upon is not the most important part.

A WINGED BEAST. I love, love, love her connection with Azazel, and I want to see it go absolutely nowhere good. Particularly, I want to use their dynamic to open up the dark spot her petals have closed over and kept concealed since she was created, the truth buried below all others: that she is an animal. That she could have only ever been an animal, nothing more or less graceful despite her wings, for the way she has lived as One Thing and One Thing alone, like mindless predatory beasts who know only bloodlust and the pursuit of satiating it. Cassiel has weaned on, lived, and hunted for that one thing — adoration above all else, above all others — and so Azazel stands as the highest adversary and natural enemy. Because of that, it is her alone that could drag out the latent and feral nature of Cassiel, and I want to see it arise in a way ugly, cruel, and wild. I see a kind of genuine savagery at her core, animalistic in the sense that it’s natural and arcane, esoteric and terrifying in the way we used to recall angels of the hundred-eyes and bright blaze. Let Azazel have another victory over her, be it immense or mild, and drag the carcass of Cassiel’s defeat in front of her to see how the frenzy starts. I want to see Cassiel lose all composure, both as a delightful creature and as an Angel of Virtue, and bare her teeth — perhaps even literally. She wields a sword well, but a weapon is too refined for the kind of rage — teeth and claws are better suited for something so furious. Aside from this manifesting in potentially a literal and physical attack on Azazel, I imagine this moment further alerts Cassiel into not what she is becoming, but what she has always been. Unlike Arianne, who I think shares a great deal thematically with Cassiel, I don’t believe Cass is quite as vindictively-natured as the human. If she is cruel, it is not usually for the direct purpose of watching another suffer; it is merely that the act of cruelty is natural to her in the same way that a predator sinks its teeth into a doe without remorse. To offer a quote to sum it up, Peter Beagle in The Last Unicorn: “‘Cruel?’ She asked. ‘How can I be cruel? That is for mortals.’ But then she did raise her eyes, and [...] with something very near to mockery [...] she said, ‘So is kindness.’ That is essentially what I mean when I say as an angel, Cassiel is animal and savage and cruel and immaculate all at once, but in a way entirely unlike the humans. I don’t even necessarily feel this contradicts or cannot cohabitate with her saccharine nature, that which remains iridescent and lovely. She exists in multitudes, some of them made of spun-sugar and full of wonder, others death-touched, and that is what I see Cassiel fully coming into as Azazel’s opposition drives her mad: I am wild, and wild things know no Kings. Let her eye turn to Michael with new understanding.

THE LITTLE DEATH, MANIFESTED. I see this as potentially contingent from the previous bullet, seeing as this kind of rage needs a catalyst, but as a fun little aside (maybe more of a headcanon??) I’d love to see Cassiel kill a mortal NPC in the middle of sex — unintentional, perhaps, though not necessarily. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen The Boys, and please do if you haven’t omg (and tiny spoiler ahead!), but there’s a scene where a superhero character has sex with a regular human while on a mind-altering substance. She ends up crushing his head in the middle of cunnilingus. That’s essentially the vibe here.

LAMB BLOOD ON THE ALTAR. Just like with Azazel, I adore Cassiel’s connection to Zadkiel.

RUN. Zadkiel exists, undeniably, as a keystone to Cassiel’s better nature. She has changed from who she was, certainly, and the shift has seized from her much of that which might be called goodness — still, ebbing portions or ghost-limbs of it remain. As does the loose thread of guilt, which Cass knows only Zadkiel’s hand can find and tug. To that end, and what I feel is most likely for the very start of game play, is Cass still trying to run from him and avoid any interaction.

TURN. The benefit of the sheep is that it can be sheared a hundred times, though slaughtered only once — so Cassiel must hope that this is one more coat she can shed before Justice, showing him a pink skin and claiming I am borne anew. I am remade. I have risen again, like God’s own son. Likely after realizing she is not yet ready to take on Michael’s throne and therefore needs aid, Cassiel may attempt to endear herself once more to Zadkiel, the angel once so dear to her.

HOLD. This is definitely equally up to how Zadkiel’s player feels and wants to portray their relationship, but I have a very strong feeling that Cass adores/adored Zadkiel to the point of — possession, maybe? Particularly if their relationship starts to repair in any shape (even through Cass’s falsehoods), I could see her teeth growing sharp over the relationship/bond he has with Isolde; a matter of jealousy, a repetition of what she is subjected to feel in Azazel’s presence: second place. Singular-minded as she can be, this could derail her overarching plans for the momentary sabotage of their relationship, or of the Priestess herself. Another aside: Cass shifting herself to match Isolde’s visage when speaking to Zad? Phew.

THE KNIFE YOU HAVE CHOSEN. It would be a mistake to assume that a thing you chase your whole life is not hunting you in turn — the man that goes into the jungle with a gun is not safe from the tiger it follows; the wielded blade does not blunt itself for the hand holding it. For all Cassiel devotes herself to the attainment of idolization — for all that cunning and guile — it has to be said that she, too, is in some capacity ruled by it. To that, I have a couple thoughts on how her obsession bites back:

Cassiel at the dais of another, sprawled at their knees, arms draped over their thighs, head in their lap. I love you as I never did God, she says. I worship you as I do myself and none other. Child, they purr. Angel, that’s blasphemy. Yes, she agrees. Give me my sin again. I’d like to see her have someone she wholly, thoroughly venerates in a way that surpasses her previous affections for God. They don’t, and perhaps could not, rival her love for herself — but it could be challenged. I love the idea of the duality within her: the capacity to put herself before all others, ever and always, and the flaw in her mechanism which sees Cassiel naturally inclined to offer herself as a devotee, made as she was as His creation, His pet. That isn’t to say such a thing comes about easily, that her soul yearns for someone to kneel before, nor even that God had her heart in such a manner — I lean to the idea that he never did, and her place as Cherubim was merely situational; that Cassiel would have had her seat aside any All-Knowing Being, no matter who it was. But to think that perhaps there is an individual who would ignite this impulse again after having laid dormant for so long, or perhaps never truly emerging, is delicious. I feel it would have to be a complicated, consuming relationship, something braided with romantic love and lust (or what angels can feel of these things). They would also have to be exceptionally wicked or brilliant, carrying attributes that Cassiel wishes for herself, and an individual who she wishes to make a proper mate and to rule beside or jointly. Then, ideally, I want to see them discard her. Perhaps they outgrow her, or never truly returned the affections she gives so endlessly, only using her for their own ascent — it doesn’t matter. But I think it would be a delicious parallel to have her worship at the altar of another, only to be ripped into nothingness the way she allowed the Cherubim to be.

(...) the mysterious thing you look for your whole life will eventually eat you alive. — Laurie Anderson explaining her attraction to Moby-Dick. Admittedly I’m running a little short on time now so please forgive the sloppy explanation, but essentially what I want to see here is another instance where her obsession with receiving ardour bites back. I don’t have a super specific instance for this to happen, though I’d think the best bet right now is through Cade — in the depths of despondency, how far would she go to feel idolized once more? What landmine would Cassiel, in her mania, step upon when running to a false dais? Let’s see, pretty please.

ARE YOU COMFORTABLE WITH KILLING OFF YOUR CHARACTER?

It depends on how I’ve managed to grow Cassiel, and what I see for their arc going forward. I find it a little hard to say from the far-off place at the starting line, but at the moment I would say if there’s a point where Cassiel dies, it would be far in the future -- and most likely, after she has attained a new title or power.

IN DEPTH

DRIVING CHARACTER MOTIVATION.

I feel like I ruminated on some of this in the Plots section (SORRY), but to say it plainly, there’s a marked severance to Cassiel’s motivations before Michael’s mutiny and after, one as clearly demonstrated as the differentiation she has in favour and position between then and now. Prior to Michael’s usurping and the culling of God and his Cherubim, in the early centuries of her existence, Cassiel was likely an angel most lacking in motivation, plan, or plot — and perhaps that’s why even the angels fell for her, even virtuous and zealous Zadkiel. She knew no want, and therefore could not ask for anything, even within herself: all that she might have required or lusted after was delivered to her, any ache balmed before it could bloom, every cut mended before it could be administered. But as it is with all creatures, even those beloved above all but Him, there is a thing in the center of a soul like a hard pit in a stone-fruit — and if borne empty, it will fill in time. One cannot exist without want. So, naturally, she grew to crave what she was being fed: veneration, adoration, love. But to say that that was all young Cassiel desired would not be true, because she had those things, and one does not covet the treasures already held safe in your chest. She was given mere reverence and devotion, so the want could only be something worse: to be the best of them all, second to only God himself in the reception of affection (and where God was cold, she was all sweet-passion warmth; there could be no comparison). She had to be the most revered, the pinnacle of adoration. And for a time, she was that too. So her motivation, than, was preservation: to retain what was had, to bask in glory. To only ever see beauty, and to live as the embodiment of it. Which is exactly what makes the fall so bone-deep in its lashing: her singular driving force was taken in hand and cracked over the knee.

After Michael and the Angels mutiny against God, preservation became synonymous with survival. Now, what motivates Cassiel is what drives any losing dog in a fight: fear, envy, spite, desperation. To hope to preserve what was once had is not only futile in her current state, but foolish; clever and terrifyingly lovely as she is, the Angels know what treason she committed against her own brethren. In the eyes of her winged brothers and sisters, she has lost that intangible loveliness which saw her reign above the rest: she, too, could commit sins. Cassiel, too, could be ugly as the rest of them. The mortals, though more easily swayed, can also be duly influenced by the masses around them: they have turned from her too. She cannot preserve what has been smashed: but the pieces of that driving force take a new shape, like a beautiful mirror shattered into a thousand sharp blades. And though her aim, like the red circle on a target or the heart of a stag, is power (currently and most specifically, Michael’s) that does not make it the force that sends the arrow. The lust for power, for those not settled with merely a beautiful existence, is for the desperate. It is for those who have known failure and will refuse to meet it again; it is for the ones you have glimpsed the way down, and fear the impact should they topple entirely. It is for the girls who know what it is to rule a heart, but are no longer satisfied with just one organ. In order to feel safe, they need it all. Cassiel can no longer be second to any: not God, not Michael. To be secondary is to be fallible. And beauty, she will prove, stands above all.

CHARACTER TRAITS.

( + ) ADAPTABLE, INTUITIVE, CHARMING ( - ) DELUSIVE, SELF-SERVING, COVETOUS

IN-CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE.

( A NOTE: I’m not entirely sure this is 100% how this scenario would go down — like maybe Zadkiel would have known about Cassiel’s involvement prior to this — but it was felt like a good way to get her voice across! )

When she stands in the banquet hall, it is with the silent quality that befits the scorned and the betrayers (how lucky, then, that she meets at the crux of both, like the brass hinge of a door). Heads do not turn as she takes leave from the great hall as they once did, keeping instead to their new King and celebratory revelry as once-loved Cassiel exits alone into the torch-lit hallways. For all the noises they once made in my honour, she thinks, now they will not even look up with enough haste to track my shadow. Cassiel passes slowly through the corridors of the Archangel Castle, stretches of cold, white marble bearing no life upon it: all that exists in Caelum tonight does so in Michael’s celebration. Even the former Cherubim — what remained after Michael’s tedious, torrid culling — sat in the great hall, miserable as they looked excepting Cassiel. Better to be witnessed in their anguish than found missing, assumed scheming in absence, it seemed. Yet for all their ugly despair, the grim-set mouths and brows so creased with concern they appeared grimy, the new King nor his audience had not once admired Cassiel for her smile, not for the delight she had sent out, like a winged messenger to the field of wounded soldiers: Do not worry, I am here. I am alright. I am still, despite it all, yours. Beautiful. Eternal. She, who had smiled and smiled like endless payment from a bottomless purse, having been charged for a crime that was not her own, and found herself offering restitution nonetheless. As charitable as she is lovely, they should have said. As virtuous as she is a delight.

But they say nothing. They do not even speak it with their eyes. So Cassiel wanders through the palace, disoriented by the lonesome way she must walk, without the arm of another to warm her or cling to. It is not with intent that she finds her way to the throne room; though intent means little in the world of the divine. And none knew this better than Cassiel: righteous acts, ritual acts, and acts of hostility all left the same signature. The fire lit in repeated offering will eventually devastate the brush around it in the same way a single act of malicious arson will. Intent pales in comparison to the impact, mortal or divine. And so all that matters is this: Cassiel arrives. She is there. And soon, she has a hand upon the gilt seat of a God, now a king. A gentle, single caress. It sighs with emptiness.

Down below, music begins. The sound, though muffled by stone, is light and deceptive with a beat kept by tambourine and wound through with panpipes. It crashes and crawls as a serpent through brush, dragging its body across the span of angelic shoulders and up the marble spires until it reaches the slender ankles of high Cassiel above. O, that that song had teeth. It would sink them pit-deep into that lovely ankle. She feels it wind around her as vine to hot rock, seeking, imploring. One palm flattens against the arm of Dead-God-Now-Michael’s golden throne, shivering at its smooth, near-wet chill. Her free hand raises slowly, slim fingers gliding over her collarbone until the full palm rests against the soft skin of her chest. They feel so alike, she and that lonesome, beautiful thing — slick, silken — chilled, lonely, without flaw. Cassiel tightens one hand to the cold edge of the arm, the other slipping deftly beneath the crease of her collar to the smoother skin of her breast. Was is the same there? Did they feel alike everywhere? How gorgeous, how frightening, to touch —

“Cassiel.”

She turns, straightens, sharp as a flower breaking its neck in a stern wind.

It is Zadkiel. Dark, tall, great-winged Zadkiel, usurping the whole of the entrance in his breadth. Her fear of being caught abates. In the glow of the great fires, they are bronze – no – gold. His skin alights in the way the great blessed tools do, a warning; she is radiance to the point of glow, shining that a beautiful thing might find her in the dark. Like calls to like.

Zadkiel, she thinks, has not forgotten me. He has followed.

“Zadkiel,” she says his name and is as raw as the meat newly cleaved from the animal, uncooked, bleeding on the plate. Cassiel makes her way to him, fists clamping as shells into his tunic, making the fabric into cotton pearls within her palm, held tightly and with a reverence that says I believe something good will come of this. He always wanted goodness. It was all he could stand.

Around her, her aura shifts; perhaps not the look of her, but what she knows Ever-wholesome Zadkiel requires. His emotions and entire self countenance was a barrage of full, pure colours: red as the poppy, blue as the sea, yellow as wheat. He moved from start to end with sureness, a bullheadedness and a potency that saw the earth moved on either side of him, as an ox yoked in the plowing fields — one could see the line he left in the dirt, straight and true. In what he felt he felt fully and tangibly, and to call that simplicity would have been a mistake. So she gave him, simply, what he requires: a reminder of the divinity they once served. Shine, goodness, a visage not innocent but one above reproach.

“Zadkiel, isn’t it awful — I couldn’t stand to be in the same room — we had to leave, you and I, didn’t we? For us,” She repeats it again, stuffing their existences into the same velvet satchel, her wings closing around them to craft one white-feather world of intimacy. The bottom petal of her lip juts, a flower blooming in the depths of winter. “Today is so hard for us.”

How sweet she could have seemed, stuck to him then as all beautiful things that last so little, like early mornings and mortal life. How dearly she wanted him to pull her head down upon his shoulder and vow to protect her here and evermore, to remind her she was no less dear to him now than before.

But Zadkiel, dark, tall, great-winged Zadkiel, who usurps the light with his breadth, has not moved. His arms do not move to hold her.

“I know of what you did.” He burns like the darkness, his eyes unblinking, and Cassiel feels the jaws of something open up wide within her, beastial teeth scraping against the lining of her stomach, dark feathers brushing her ribs. “I know you betrayed us.”

Run, the feathers say. Fight, the teeth implore.

Her pout recedes as she pulls away, the gleam around her dimming into something less blinding, more reminiscent of the light on the water than the ray directly from the sun. Her eyes narrow back from their peeled, opened stance, returning from the look stolen from does and maidens.

“Ah.” Her hands clasp at her stomach, wings receding from their huddle to position behind her, her eyes a torch in the dim — she looked as though she touted an oil lamp within her stomach, with the bowl kept still and fire burning above. “So you and I,” she says, shrewd and slender. “Will have the most difficult evening of all.”

EXTRAS

WRITTEN AESTHETIC: Swans locked at the neck in violence, the iridescent guts of an oyster shucked for its pearl, the fall of fabric to the floor; the nude body left standing, a gentle finger extending to break a shimmering bubble, the bleat of a lamb as it is laid down for sacrifice.

HEADCANONS:

She has a large collection of beauty products collected from across the lands, but has become particularly fond of the wares that prove deadly to mortals — polishes infused with venom, powders crafted from ground belladonna. While perhaps she does not need these goods, immortal and ever-capable as she is in becoming one’s ideal, she still enjoys the applications.

Though she is more satisfied wielding her looks before her sword, she is still prideful of her skill with the latter. Zadkiel himself instructed her in its use long ago, and she does not shirk her practice.

In days gone by, Cassiel had mortals engage in an unofficial competition to bring her the most startling, beautiful, or rare animal to be made her companion, always done shortly after the death of her last. I think it’s particularly fitting that the creatures she bonded with weren’t found through a natural interaction but rather through gifting, given that all things in her existence were handed to her without work. Since the revolt and her subsequent fall from the highest pedestal, these “competitions” have not happened in as organized a capacity, instead with her remaining devoted admirers seeking out gifts and Cassiel herself whenever.

Her current companion is a white lion named Oren. He, like others, was a gift from a devotee — and an exceptional one at that. When he was brought to her, the beast’s keeper tremors at the hands, distanced from the great leonine animal who sat with blood on his maw. A thousand apologies, mistress. The beast, he’s — he mauled a doe. The carcass is grotesque — it lays outside — shall I take him away? And Cassiel knows the insinuation, what the mortal means: He has killed. He has ruined himself. Surely, you cannot want him. But Cassiel merely crouches, pouting her lips as her hands slip below his pale chin, fisting into the thick mane. Her palms grow heavy, sticky with blood. He’s beautiful.

( As an aside, I love the juxtaposition that it creates when Cassiel meets with Azazel: the demoness’ sleek, dark gaggle of hellhounds, and the angel’s singular bright, mammoth lion. The image of the animals agitated in one another's presence, the hellhounds as mischievous smoke-hyenas that nip at Oren’s flanks while he swipes with one large paw. )

Her last companion was another male, this one a white and grey Arabian stallion specifically bred for and provided to her by an admirer.

I ran into this image and loved the idea that Cassiel has her own crest, designed some time ago by a particularly ardent worshipper (now long deceased) who worked in the arts. She still has every location where it has been inscribed or inlaid memorized.

If there’s a non-deified individual from history that was Cass hiding her wings (not possible? oh well), its Phryne: the Grecian prostitute and renowned beauty who, accused of a capital crime (blasphemy), stripped before the all-male judges to show her body -- the argument being that beauty was a sign of godly favour in Ancient Greece, and with it came a certain innate Goodness. Therefore, she couldn’t be blasphemous. Or, as a text post said: If the tits are legit, you must acquit.

#accepted #accepted: cassiel

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