#only to make a fool out of her once she submits bc all of it was an illusion

[akashis-waifu]

Seriously, why am I seeing so little improper usage of Kyoka Suigetsu in fanfics? Y'all can literally conjure all kinds of crazy scenarios but still settle for normal smut LIKE WHY???

[sherlokiness]

Hello! It has been awhile. I recently started reading Mad Queen theories and most people I have seen said what Dany did was pure show invention and she won't kill innocent people. Like at all. But I have also seen some good points that she is going down the villain route mainly because

She is obsessed with prophecies given to her by people she doesn't really know and doesn't doubt the truth in them.

All her enemies so far have been mustache twirling villains and that won't be the case in Westeros where even the evil Lannisters are beloved.

She's delusional about the "blood of the dragon" and how she's immune to diseases.

She once said Viserys was a fool about his welcome in Westeros yet she's also the same now and when people try to lecture her, she shuts them down.

Given all these points, I think there is a high chance that GRRM is going down this route as well. It's a slippery slope.

Hi, anon! Thanks for the ask!

D&D made sure Dany had no excuse for what she did to KL because if they gave those Dany stans an inch, they'll take a mile and run a marathon with it. Let's let them cope. Do they really think D&D will do that to their cash cow if they had no choice? As for not killing innocents, she had 13 year olds and above killed for being part of slave society totally oblivious that not long ago she was part of it too. WHy Didn'T theY DenOUNce SlavEry??? Dany didn't denounce slavery until she was 15? in Astapor yet before that she owned slaves, used slaves and was married to a slave owner too. It's not like those 13 yr olds had a choice where they were born. Dany also ordered the torture of the wineseller's daughters when one of her favorite slaves servants died. Imagine what she will do in her grief when her most beloved servant Missandei dies along with her child dragon?

Let's discuss all points below.

She's gonna abandon Meereen and she''ll justify it by being the savior of Westeros once she meets the Red Priests. Then her dragon will get stolen by Aegon and with the other two she'll learn dragons don't do well in the North. There will also be powerful skinchangers that can compete and even kill dragons? She's not that special after all.

Yep. They're all comic villains and her armies are either gotten by deceit(Unsullied) and betrayal(Second Sons bc of Daario). She's gonna have a wake up call when she gets to Westeros with its war hardened generals.

3. Her delusion about her specialness will only get worse what with her getting saved again from death and will get the Khalasars of the other Khals.

4, I think her final test as a "hero" is her reaction to Aegon or Jon. If Aegon is real(I doubt he is) and Jon is legitimate(no doubts) then she's not the "rightful heir" to the Iron Throne. Let's remember that her chasing of the IT has always been justified as being the last scion of her House and her right. Is she gonna submit to Jon/Aegon or will she go " I have dragons so I win" which makes her a hypocrite and a usurper. Her hatred for Robert all these years would have been unfounded. As we've seen in the show, she did not give up the throne to Jon. Jon who is her lover and rightful King so she did not give up the crown for duty nor love despite earlier musings that she totally will. Words are wind.

Villain Dany's only saving grace would be PolJon and Jonsa imo. Because with those two points, she becomes somewhat of a victim. Poor Dany who was used for her dragons and armies(even tho they had no choice but to pacify her) and even killed by her lover/nephew who turns out has been in love with another the whole time. Dany coincidentally happens to be the woman in the way of their marriage. Now why would Jon kill her? Jon's motivations will be tainted in the eyes of the readers.

[pieroulette]

Allo! I would like to say that your work is absolutely phenomenal, the creativity and storyline is so addicting. Really my #1 favorite yandere Heeseung fics I’ve read on the entire web I truly mean it.

I’m kinda assuming route 1 is not going to have a happy ending for (Name) at least. But I was more curious about Heeseung’s route 1 character as a yandere. Only because I’ve become so fascinated by the storyline. I had three questions if you have any time to answer just to satisfy my curiosity bc I truly am about to read the whole series again as I wait for the final chapter. I’m sorry if this is so long I just had to write after becoming such a huge fan of the works.

Hee He seems like he’s naturally a shitty person ( like being rude to other ppl, making the tape, and ofc being tormenting to (name)) but even though he was acting trying to get close to (name) while dating her sister, was there any point in time where the gentleness and kindness to (name) was sincere?

did he always wanted to ruin (name) in his sick loving twisted way or was he only triggered to do what he did (like the game and killing EJ even tho she still had time) when he found out about her proposed betrayal or was he planning on doing that regardless that she was dating him before the concert?

hs seems like the very twisted type of yandere, (trying not to inquire too much bc I know we have the final chapter still in works so I don’t want to spoil) but I know hr loves her in his own way but he seems to find a lot of pleasure when she’s in emotional pain and suffering, would he never care to try to go out of his way to make her smile or actually be happy?

Wow .. just wow omg. Thank you sm for this, I couldn't thank u enough but rlly this paragraph truly makes me happy haha <3 please never apologise for writing lengthy paragraphs like this cuz they truly r precious and I would love to receive them anytime. And I would answer your questions below:

1) HS actually became a shitty human being or turn into a monster when he founds out the truth about MC, and thus it leads to him doing all those stuffs as sort of revenge. It was never natural, it just turn him into one. He's rlly a twisted and sadistic type of yandere, so while he does it most of the time. Yes, he would do everything to make MC happy only if she submit to him and be obedient to him. He showed love in a way that's both twisted yet so caring. Yes, there was those times that he was rlly sincere to her.

2) and the next one, he had always wanted to ruin MC yk, but HS is not the type to go far when it's not necessary or needed in his plans. So when MC pretended of getting fooled by him, it was at that point that he would actually stop. Like that's the end, period. He got her, he ruin her family, and her friendship with EJ, that's it. For him, it's happily ever after!

3) So when he got fooled once again, well yea you know. So in conclusion, he's evil asf if you give him shit or try to ruin his plans. But most of the time he's sincere and kind, only to MC tho. He would anything he could to make her happy, and I actually wrote that in the final EP of ROUTE 1. It just so happens that he's consumed by a little insanity so his way of showing love morphs into frightening one. So yea that's it!

But anon, apparently there's one thing you've gotten wrong along these paragraph and it's a huge spoiler lol. I wouldn't say which one, but I think you could see which one? Anyways, thank you for asking me this, it truly made my day 💗

[mraprilgf]

theatre production au

chimney is a deputy stage manager. he was interim stage manager once for like 3 days and everyone complains about it but really everything ran smoothly in the end, they all know it's only a matter of time before he becomes stage manager for real (when the current one, eli, moves across the country at the end of next season). used to be an electrical technician, got into theatre production by chance, slowly worked his way up. kevin died bc of a safety hazard, which makes chim triple check everything every time

hen is the playwright and director. she used to be a nurse and the job wore her down completely. found solace in writing, a hobby she took up since a playwright had come to speak to her class one day in middle school. her then partner eva secretly submits one of her works to a writing contest and when she wins it and hears how it moved the judges or something she decides to pursue it for real.

bobby: musical director. was a child prodigy musician, used to play at a virtuoso level. being in that world since little led him into a spiral of drugs. he retired from the scene after a horrible accident where all of his family died. he got sober but was scared to play again for a long time, fearing it was the music that made him an addict. eventually he finds his way back to it and to the peace it brought him, though in the public scene only as a composer and director and only in the theater/cinema scene, preferring to play only in private. has an ongoing playful flirt with the lead actress

athena: lead actress!!!!!! used to study law, switched to theatre halfway through the first year. she had to fight her way through a lot but is now an accomplished and respected actress. she is little known on tv, where she only played small roles, bc her true love is the theater since she was little and her father took her to the local social theater. her favorite director/playwright is hen, they have done 3 plays together so far. she keeps her life very private but she has recently divorced her husband of 20 years with whom she's had 2 kids. the couple seems to have remained in friendly terms. can't help but flirt with musical director

buck: actor. came to it later in life, even though his parents got his older sister and (dead) brother into commercials and tv roles before he was born. no one in his family know about it. he has slept his way through half the female members of the crew causing daily spats and fights, then bobby took him with him to a springsteen concert and he apparently found his way back to the lord as he stopped fooling around. he was also given a very serious ultimatum regarding his employment and had started a very intense long distance relationship with a woman called abby he met on reddit. he has been the understudy of one of the main characters for the entire last season and now that the main actor has moved to another project he feels ready to step up to the challenge and take his place. enter:

eddie: new guy in town. he's been acting for less than 2 years but he's got a real genuine talent for it. is also drop dead gorgeous. used to be a professional boxer, spent all the time traveling bc of tournaments and shit i don't know how boxer works but i wanted him to have a different og job. quit bc of a serious arm injury, became a single dad when shannon left out of the blue and dropped out the radar. christopher is the one who pushed him to try some auditions while he worked as a waiter or something. gets buck's role as main actor, finds himself in the middle of a one sided feud with his understudy

maddie: one of the biggest film/tv actresses around, has only worked in theatre when she was young. married to fellow actor doug, whom she met as a teen on the set of a popular soap opera: fictional love becomes real love, been together for what? 20 years?, #dreamcouple (think brangelina), though recently famously split up (omg love is dead) then got back together then split again then got back together. the details have not been made public, rumor is she cheated on him (truth is: domestic abuse). met athena once for a movie and they got along pretty well, was invited to appear on the show as a sort of cameo, also as a way to boost it, and she accepted happily. she plays a minor role due to her busy schedule, as eddie's character's love interest

ravi: budding actor, understudy of the understudy of eddie's character. buck has taken it as his supreme duty to show him the ropes, to ravi's despair. starts to hang out a lot with chimney to escape buck but is slowly realizing that what chimney does is so cool? like maybe he got it all wrong and maybe what he really loves about theatre isn't being center stage, but backstage?? where the magic happens <3 !! i'm still gonna give him a cancer childhood bc yeah. rn i can't think of anything else

albert, easy peasy, appears on chim's doorsteps one day, is taken in and given a job as a handyman at the theater. decides it's not for him though and is currently looking for what he truly wants to do, changing jobs every few months. lately he's been following nail art classes online just to spite his father, who in an angry call asked him if he wanted to become a nail beautician. he practices on himself and on chimney, who pretends to complain but walks around with jeweled claws beaming with pride

[checkmatein3moves]

Do you know That One reddit post thats about the guy crying bc his spouse washed his hair so gently and he felt so loved he just cried?? There was no sexuality or agenda or anything behind it, just pure "I care about you, so let me do this for you"??? How would the ROs react to that, deep in the relationship, where the heir is in the shower with them and wants to just carefully and sweetly and aimlessly wash their RO's hair??

hebe especially likes having her hair touched and played with, so this becomes a kind of ritual for showers. it's one of the rare moments she relaxes and lets go and indulges in being taken care of. the MC is the only person who gets to see her this vulnerable; sleepy, naked and near-purring like a cat. gets soap in her mouth trying to continually tell them how good it feels

sailor takes some convincing to just submit to pampering without fussing, but once they’re warm and MC has their hands running through their hair they give in. they’re home, the only home they’ll ever want or need, with the only person they’ve ever loved, and it’s something they’re allowed to enjoy forever. eventually start requesting shoulder massages

jelly has the longest, most product-filled hair so the first half of this experience is painstaking trying not to hurt them as it all washes out. they take this in their stride though at least, a lot of whining but an equal amount of laughter. only makes the actual intimacy sweeter though; if they’re in the bath they end up drowsing against MC’s chest

twenty at the point deep in the relationship is just like, “oh. of course. that’s the kind of thing we’re meant to do for each other.” it’s hard to describe but it just feels...right. like loving the MC is the easiest choice he makes every day. once they’re far past his trust barrier, he leans into their touches automatically. he gets cuddly after. wants to hold their hand and trace all over their skin

noir doesn’t want it to end. leans back for kisses constantly and takes their hands to hold them against his heart. requests to return the favour afterwards. even though by that point he knows that they love him for him, he still likes to work for it. probably really likes the aftermath too, getting his hair towel dried and tied up in a tiny ponytail when it starts getting longer

honey escalates it to something more playful. not at first, though. at first she accepts it and goes completely boneless under their touch. she likes the chance to be dependent and open herself up to the most simple joys of being in love. that being said, spraying your lover with the showerhead when they’re off guard is also one of the most simple joys of being in love. MC shouldn’t underestimate how grateful she is to feel comfortable being a fool with

jareth is...conflicted. when did steady hands in his hair become something he wanted? when did it become something he cared about having? he trusts MC, he wants to be with them, but the gentle intimate moments are a work in progress. it reminds him of his childhood. he cries a little. it doesn’t matter whether or not he deserves this for once

windo is a divine bathing partner and MC will get no complaints. he needs some convincing to put his damn online textbooks away for a night but when he does it’s a treat for them both. his ideal for this situation is for them to wash each other, hair and body, and then share a bottle of champagne (or something non alcoholic for MCs that don’t drink) in the bath. very stimulated by touch, so somehow he feels more energised after. is also ticklish

ludo is incredibly unaccustomed to even good water pressure that the idea of bathing luxuriously is strange to him. be taken care of??? he doesn’t need that?? he’s been taking care of himself for years?? goes into it skeptical, mostly as an act of service to make the MC happy and a show of trust. he trusts them not to get shampoo in his eyes more than he would anybody else. it would end up becoming a part of the routine after he realises he likes it. would also blindside the MC with splashes though

monty has a strict haircare routine, but late in the relationship she would be comfortable letting the MC massage the shampoo into her hair as they both bathe together. she appreciates it if they run a bath for her (with relaxing salts and sweet scents) while she hydrates her hair and then get in with her to pamper her. enjoys being read to in the bath as well. always wants to twist back and kiss their neck. 

[harrypotterximagines]

Hey! I wanted to ask if you do Oliver Wood! If you do, could you please do an angst fix when female! Reader gets bullied a lot by the quidditch team in her house (She's not Gryffindor) bc of Oliver, and she remains silent about it... And even though it's more than obvious that she's having a bad time, Oliver doesn't notice bc he's so focused on quidditch, that until one of her friends snaps at him! Fluffy ending pls!

A/N: I love this request so much!! Thanks for submitting! Please check out my Etsy shop for a personalized Harry Potter painting! CLICK HERE TO VIEW MY ETSY

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“You’re going to choke on that pumpkin juice,” You said, looking down at Oliver.

Oliver covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow, big brown wide eyes staring up at you. He took a second to gulp before swooshing his arm down to his side, smiling up at you.

“Come to wish me luck on our match in a couple days?” He teased.

You jokingly rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just the opposite, actually. You already know us Ravenclaws are going to whoop Gryffindor’s butt on the field.”

A petite girl with strawberry blonde hair that stopped at her neck giggled. You looked over at cheery laugh, your smile widening. 

“You know us Gryffindors are undefeated,” Samantha spoke up. 

You pouted your bottom lip at the girl, wishing that you were playing on the same time as her. Samantha has been one of your best friends since you arrived at Hogwarts. 

“That is true,” You pointed out. “But not a fact.”

Oliver scrunched his nose up at you, his contorting to confusion. “Wait, what does that mean?”

Samantha scoffed, instructing Oliver to return his focus back on his breakfast to fuel up for practice later today. 

You waved goodbye at your friends, your mood dropping as you exited the Great Hall. The overwhelming feeling of joy and happiness that electrified your body was quickly evacuating. Your body forced its way to the Quidditch pitch, cold air bitterly nipping at your nose. You wanted nothing more than to curl up in your room and sleep the day away. Although you adore Quidditch and could possibly see yourself becoming pro. 

The dull gray sky and the dried patches of grass made the Ravenclaw team sweaters look blander than usual. Your team was lightly joking around, small chatter over-talking the whistling of the wind until you arrived.

“You’re going to get the ball into the hoop this time?” Your team captain, Randolph spoke up. 

You sucked in a breath and took the broom your teammate extended out for you, the group quickly flying off into the sky.

The one Hogwarts house stereotype that you believed to be accurate was that all Ravenclaws were competitive. You watched as your teammates aggressively chucked quaffles, dodged bludger bats, and squinted through the mist to see that sparkling golden ball. 

You forced yourself to get into the rowdiness, desperate to prove to your teammates that you belonged on the team. You understand that they expected a lot out of you, but sometimes it felt like you needed to sacrifice a limb to get their approval. You would leave Quidditch practices with bloody lips or bruised arms, overexerting your body to get the smallest of smiles from your captain.

You’ve only been on the team for about two years now, but even though you’re considered the “newbie” your skills in the sport were anything but. However, even though you never missed a single shot and tactfully watched out for any obstacles that may come your way, your captain kept barking at you.

You were ready to give up mid-practice. Either you were going to jump off your broom, purposefully crash into the ground, or bark at your captain back. All options seemed desirable and you were debating which one you were going to take up. The fantasy of ditching your team and going back to your friends in the Great Hall dampened your mood even more. The realization that most of your friends, who were Gryffindors, were going to be rolling onto the pitch soon. 

Just when you were going to bring your focus back onto the match, an obnoxiously loud clapping noise echoed into your ears. Staring right at you was Randolph, looking extremely pissed. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. His face was blazing, rosy red cheeks a physical symbol for his anger. 

“Where the hell is your head at!?” He snapped, eyes wild. 

“I swear, for these past previous practices all you’ve been doing is looking like a fool floating in mid-air! Do you just take all your energy and impress me for the first half of the match to only self-destruct and spiral!? Do you not understand that I need your focus to be on the team from the moment you step onto the pitch till you reach those locker rooms at the end?”

You stared at your captain, jaw unhinged. If you all weren’t so high up, flies would be nesting into your gaped mouth. You licked your dry lips, unsure of what to say. Your captain stared at you for a minute longer, expecting an explanation, and when not a peep left your lips he shook his head, flying away.

You silently cursed at yourself, biting back tears. There was no point in crying. Your team would make it harder on you anyways. For the rest of the match, you tried your best to keep up with everyone else. However, it seemed that the team sensed your frustration, tension thickening the skies. 

When the familiar whistle was called to end practice, you were first to fly straight towards the ground. Once you dismounted your broom, a familiar shout called your name.

Oliver and Samantha waved at you, coming up and tackling you with a big hug. You stiffened, the unexpected love and appreciation wanting to make you breakdown on the spot. 

Samantha quickly noticed your mood, examine your face whereas Oliver chirped on about how well you did up in the air. You clenched your jaw, softly thanking Oliver for his kind words.

“Are you okay?” Samantha whispered, taking a step back. 

A few other Gryffindor team members came to your side, congratulating you on a successful practice from their point of view. Oliver began to preach his daily sermon about the importance of stability and control in the air, claiming that you were one of the few people who knew how to incorporate the gravitational pull versus the body’s balance when flying. He seemed so lost in his own mind space that when Randolph came over to yell at you once more, he didn’t notice.

“You need to do better. Or else we’re going to have no choice but kick you off the team,” Your captain spoke up. 

Samantha stared shockingly at your team captain, surprised by the words he was spilling out. Her fists balled, ready to fight in your name when you held her back.

“Seriously. Get your head in the damn game,” Randolph scoffed, leaving you speechless as he walked off.

“Are you serious?” Samantha spoke up once he was out of earshot. “Is he always like this or just to you?”

You blinked a couple times, trying to dry your eyes. You shook your head, not wanting to get into it. You gave Samantha a very obvious fake smile, exclaiming that you were okay and needed to hit the showers.

“No, this isn’t okay!” Samantha bursted out, eyes wide and upset.

Oliver stopped chatting, looking over at Samantha confused. 

“What do you mean? I thought we had our game plan down pact since last week-”

“Shut up, Oliver!” Samantha hissed, rage filling her body.

“I’m talking about the way how Randolph is treating our friend!”

A look of defeat washed your features and it seemed that Oliver noticed. He took a step closer to you, lifting your sunken chin with his finger, bringing your eyes to his own.

“What is he doing to you and I will speak to him,” He said in a low yet demanding voice. His cheery attitude was gone and pure concentration and tension stiffened his features.

“Oliver-”

“No, tell me.” He said, cutting you off. “Please.”

You licked your lips and began to explain the past couple of weeks. You could see in both Samantha and Oliver’s faces that they knew the way you were being treated wasn’t right. Once you were done speaking without any interruption, Oliver instructed Samantha to start practice without him and that he’ll be back soon. Samantha nodded and gathered the team, taking off. You looked up at Oliver like he was nuts, not understanding why he wasn’t up in the air with the rest of his crew.

“We’re going to bring this to Madam Hooch, okay?”

“Oliver, I can’t do that. I can’t let my team think I’m being a tattle-tale.”

Oliver scoffed, bringing your body close to his. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You deserve to have your voice heard. I’m not going to stand here and allow you to take the abuse. You’re a brilliant player and it’s time that you stop forcing yourself in the shadows.”

You released a shaky sigh at Oliver’s words of encouragement, hugging him tightly back. Once he unglued himself to you, he firmly held your arms, kissing your forehead.

“We’re in this together.”

[themilky-way]

like water {din djarin}

gif credit: no-droids

pairing: the mandalorian/din djarin x fem!reader

summary: when the one person he cares about is threatened, he lets himself indulge in the aftermath of defending them. 

warnings: some violence in the beginning, choking (not in the fun way), depictions of scratches, punches, and minor abrasions; the reader is hurt basically. oh and mando’s gun bc yeah❤️umm that’s it i think? nothing too horrible tho but if this thing triggers you, please don’t read !!

author’s note: not to be conceited or anything (is that even the right word for it lol?) but im super proud of how this turned out! requests are open btw for anyone who wishes to submit anything (if unsure, just ask which fandoms)!

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cyar’ika-> darling, sweetheart

nothing in that exact moment had made much sense. one minute the most precious thing to ever exist to him was snatched away, and the next his hands were gripping the treasure beneath his holster. his knuckles were lily-white at this point, holding the gun as hard as his body would allow him to without crushing underneath him, and the urge to cock it made him visibly shake. he’d been given a command, and out of all the merciless men in the filthy galaxy, he needed to follow it, so his weapon of preference stayed where it needed to. 

the meager specks of emotion that still lived within him betrayed his prominent composure, the view in front of him blocked by the sudden glaze of his eyes. the small drops of saltwater puddled together in his now hazy orbs, holding on until it was nearly impossible to stay put and then rivered down his cheeks. the cause? well, you.

you were filling up the mandalorian’s line of vision, his eyes darting between you and the bounty that had gone wrong. an alienated hand was wrapped around your innocent throat, your feeble hands wrapped around its wrist in a dumb attempt to break free. the ground you were roaming on before appeared to be never ending, and in the same way, the darkened sky absorbed you whole. vertigo was now in full effect; any quick movement caused you to shut your eyes tightly and hope to the maker you’d get through it. it took a few seconds for you to regain your balance, a sharp pain pinging around your neck forcing you to find it. you half expected to be back on the mud again, to have the man you had spent the past year flying around with pulling you to safety. instead, you found din frozen in place, an instinctive action rooted in the steel handle of his pistol. he wasn’t moving, too scared to blink as if you’d disappear if he did. 

perhaps you were; someone like you seemed too good to be true. in all actuality, it may be that you were a fever dream, a celestial that had come down from the sanctity of your home to finally rescue him from his burdens. amidst his frantic glances, he reminisced every second he’d spent with you since your unforeseen arrival, and that somehow worked for him. the gears in his brain started to turn again, and with every ounce of his strength, he pounced on the quarry and did what he should’ve done the instant you were taken from him. anger took over his worry, the effects illustrating themselves in a collage of mitted fists and blood. the pistol residing on din’s waist was useless compared to his hits; the softened position of his jawbone was locked firmly as a result of his gritted teeth and he was going to need more than your delicate hand on his shoulders to ground his senses. 

the mandalorian never expected to succumb to anyone, nor to feel remotely joyful upon hearing someone’s laugh. the idea of kindling a relationship was ludicrous, utterly impossible if only he weren’t bound to the chains of his creed. oftentimes, he wondered if someone would one day traverse his path and make him question every moral he’d been taught. din had dismissed the thought, as any other member of his intricate society would have, but the wondrous insight depicting a different lifestyle always lingered faintly in his mind. 

today, the very same visions behind his recurrent insomnia framed themselves in a frail art piece. din’s focus laid directly ahead, the fingers navigating the center controls as tight as they’d been on his gun. his eyes deserved to rest, perhaps take in the splashes of color nature was offering him, but he landed them on the same lovely sculpture adorning his cockpit. 

you were seated in the chair adjacent from the pilot’s, with your knees closely tucked to your chest. one large scrape designed itself on your leg-a dull reminder of the ordeal you were involved in hours earlier-with flakes of arid blood protecting the wound. bouncing off the skin of your throat were shades of red and purple, now properly mixing into a deeper complexion that’d require you to hide it for some time. besides the scattered nicks living on your face, and the other couple dozen on your arms and legs, the outcome wasn’t as terrible as the one your attacker received. it was a rule of thumb to not mess with a mandalorian, much less with the pretty little lady clutching his arm as if it were second nature. the foolest of fools wouldn’t even have done such a foul thing, and this particular creature came to know the punishment for harming what wasn’t rightfully his. 

it truly amazed him; the way you seemed to be so unphased by a traumatic circumstance. the woman beside him-the same one who couldn’t sleep unless a window was open-had endured pain, and the marks on her skin proved themselves in jagged indications of it. through the darkened screen of his visor, din could make out your hands neatly intertwined around your folded knees, your chin simultaneously resting on top. you’d been as observant as you always were, hardly missing his actions as he navigated his newfound family to a safe stop. sure, you were unaware of the loving term he considered of you and the baby, but it didn’t hurt to keep it a secret, right?

“hey.” it came out more hoarse than he intended it to, but the emotion behind it flowed out nonetheless. “you okay?”

not really. i don’t feel good. it was easy to say exactly that, to speak the truth, but it was even easier to lie. for the sake of his own worry, at most. your eyes were still glued to his armor, taking in the rough outline of where you imagined his skin would be underneath, or moreso the abstract idea of feeling it with your hands. reflections of your yearning came and went like the mandalorian’s missions, almost impulsively at times, and the curious, teasing tilts his helmet would bid you only encouraged that craving. much like now; the black “T” of his expressionless face leaned to the side, asking you to earnestly respond. “mm, yeah. ‘m kinda tired, though,” you mumbled.

you threw him a lie and he caught it. “don’t lie to me.” din swiveled his chair to accordingly match the peripheral of yours, his elbows coming to rest on top of his beskar-clad legs. “can you look at me?” he inquired softly. then, his intent fell on the slow shift of your head and how it turned to face him, your cheek settling on your unscathed knee. a breath fell from his lips at the doting admiration swimming in your stare. “there she is,” he confirmed with an upward curl of his lips. “is there anything i can do?” it was sincere; a genuine concern to accompany his question. you hummed in response, fearful to accidentally voice the confessions you hid from him. you blinked once, twice, until his question became a plea. “please, cyar’ika.”

reasonably, you were too busy exploring the shape of his helmet, permitting your creative imagination to paint images of the man next to you; so when your ears perceived his sudden name of endearment, there was nothing amongst the stars that you could’ve possibly denied him from. “you’ve never called me that before,” you smiled, all big and brilliant. 

“i’ve wanted to,” the man replied. what resembled ages of pent up stress released with a few curated words. his muscles relaxed, something he never believed to be attainable given his vigorous profession. “god, i’ve wanted to.” 

he followed it with a humble laugh. a sound so familiar and warm, so genuine that it empowered your grin to spread higher. “by all means, keep saying it.” now it was your turn to nervously giggle, and him who embraced the noise with everything he could. a mutual infatuation, so wonderfully obvious, yet it was refused acknowledgment. “i think there is something you can do, though.” silence advised you to continue, “can i sleep with you tonight?” 

the misguided pieces of your minds’, maybe even your souls’, reattached themselves that very same night. as the both of you slept, hands, calloused and smooth, intimately merged against the cushions of the warrior’s bed. tender kisses planted to your forehead left electricity in their wake, and the dark ambiance of his dwelling favored the entanglement of your tired bodies. 

“i wish i could see you, din,” you sighed. the manner in which it was expressed, full of sleep and everything akin, urged him to lift your weightless wrist to his lips. 

“you’ll get to one day, cyar’ika. for now just let me hold you, yeah?”

[vancilocs]

Oops, neja and yecal and uuu docs?

it’s raining outside

where they first met and how

Neja hired Yecal to help her do crime (without having the money for it but she figured she was cute enough to do get away with it)

At work, introduce oncologist to ER doc

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved

Honestly Neja was flirting almost straight off, flirting and fooling around for a while, not seeing each other for a time, then kinda wonder if there’s feewings when seeing him again

Quite a while I think, going back and forth before Juno had to do something

who fell for who first (if applicable)

Mayyybe Neja

Damn I don’t know I was thinking and idk

where their first date was and what it was like

I mean Neja considers their first crime their first date, very fun

I guess at Juno’s place when she invited him for dinner

who asks who out and how (with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’?)

Neja left her number for him and let him do with that what he willed

Juno just asked if Enrique would like to come over some weekend and have dinner

who proposes first

Yecal in his underwear if the Sims is to believed

It was a mutual decision but idk if Enrique asked if Juno would like to be married and she was like yeah sure babe xx

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away where the proposal happens and how (kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park?)

Neja didn’t mean to not tell her family but then it kinda happened that they only found out she’s dating when they got invited to her wedding. She met Yecal’s family only because she happened to be traveling that way anyway

Juno texted Iain to let him know they’re going ring shopping and let her family know after the rings had been got

if they adopt any pets together

They don’t have room or resources unfortunately

Juno has Bob and he’s the alpha male of the house

who’s more dominant

They switch flawlessly

They can switch but more often Juno wants to submit

where their first kiss was and what it was like

At a dingy ol’ motel after a night of crime

At Juno’s apartment

if they have any matching couples stuff (mugs? sweaters? pillowcases?)

Neja isn’t above getting some pillowcases or a matching underwear set

Not really. If anything just mugs that say how many PhD’s they got

how into pda they are

A little at least, hold hands, give some kisses, Neja fits nicely under Yecal’s arm

A bit, holding hands/linking arms is okay, kisses goodbye, feed each other cake at the cafe

who holds the umbrella when it rains

Yecal, though Neja just uses him as a shelter

Enrique, tall

where their usual ‘date spot’ is (if applicable)

There’s probably a local bar they’re regulars at

Ditto, just on the Citadel side... or then a cafe

who’s more protective

Yecal stresses out every time Neja is out being a reckless bitch by herself. At least now she has a home, though.

Enrique knows Juno can hold her own, but her just being small is a bit of a threat. She on the other hand is protective of him regarding his illness, don’t you overexert yourself, remember to take your meds

how long it is before they sleep together (can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’)

Bang at the end of the first date, the next time they saw each other and Neja stayed overnight at Yecal’s probably just sleep

Let out frustrations at the end of the dinner date

if they argue about anything

Not really. Neja makes sure she’s not alone outside at night or in sketchy parts of town anymore so Yecal won’t worry.

I guess pain could make Enrique a bit short-tempered (and Juno is just short-tempered by nature) but I don’t know if they argue, more like she leaves him be (after making sure she’s done everything she can for him)

who leaves more marks (lipstick, hickeys, scratchmarks etc.)

I can imagine Yecal being more careful because he has bigger teeth but also Neja bruises very easily bc of her pale skin so it’s a no-win situation. Don’t scratch. She bites him everywhere she can reach but not that hard... sometimes fun to leave marks where nobody can see tho

Enrique definitely has shirts with some lipstick stains on the collar. Otherwise keep marks in hidden places

who steals whose clothes and how often

Every shirt Yecal has also belongs to Neja and she will go limp if he tries to get them back

Juno sometimes steals Enrique’s shirts, cozy n warm

how they cuddle (spooning? facing each other?)

Spooning (either way around) or Neja crawls halfway on top of Yecal

Spooning or Juno makes herself a weighted blanket for Enrique. Or the other way around if she’s particularly stressed

what their favourite nonsexual activity is

Video gaem, cuddling, making food and eating

Playing with cat, watching TV and snacking, cooking, snuggling

how long they stay mad at each other

Neja caps out at like 45 seconds

Not long, after both have said sorry Juno has forgiven and forgotten

what their usual coffee / tea orders are

Neja goes all out with her orders, it’s hardly coffee anymore it’s almost all creamer and syrup

Juno has her coffee simple with milk and sugar, with tea she likes to try out more out-there stuff like rooibos

if they ever have any children together

No, they’re not compatible biologically nor do they want any in general

No, after a proper scare Enrique got snipped

if they have any special pet names for each other

Neja just gets cheesy

If Juno wants to be sweet she calls him Quique and if she wants to be a little shit she calls him Ricky

if they ever split up and / or get back together

No, they’re really fond of each other

Nah

what their shared living space is like (messy? clean? what kind of decor?)

They try to keep it clean but it’s a little messy, try to make use of all the space they got, some tools and spare parts here and there, some clothes hanging around

It’s pretty clean, Juno likes it neat. Use coasters with your mugs. Some cat toys, throw pillows, a blanket, everything breakable away from Bob’s reach

what their first christmas / hanukkah / etc as a couple was like

They probably have wildly different holiday traditions, I guess the other would just do some traditions and introduce the other to them

Don’t people in S. America get Christmas presents on the 6th of January? Those kinds of differences. But I guess he’d open his gift on the 25th if that’s what Juno does

what their names are in each other’s phones

Hooby 💞😍😘💖🥰🖤

Enrique de Cruz, Ph.D ICE

if they have any ‘couple traditions’ (buying a new mug for their collection every year? baking every friday evening?)

Have a movie or a date night once a week/two weeks/month, just dedicate some time to each other

Like once a month make a big proper dinner and eat it together with some wine, Juno has gotten so much better at cooking since their first date

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first

It varies wildly, they can come and go at any hour. Usually if Yecal falls asleep Neja is either already asleep or follows soon

Enrique has varied work schedules, Juno pretty much goes to bed and wakes up at the same time every day. I guess she gets up first either way

who’s the big spoon / little spoon

Usually Neja is the small one but sometimes a man wants to be held

Juno prefers being small spoon

who hogs the bathroom

Neither really, it’s small and not very useful, if anything Neja will take some time drying her hair

If Juno does her makeup all proper she will take some time but not hog

who kills the spiders / takes them outside

Neja lets Yecal kill them

Juno throws Bob at them

[cherryxsimz]

delphi holiday for @simvicii‘s Alex Goth BC!

Neat / Perfectionist / Creative

26 years old / 175cm / Heterosexual / Libra

full bio under the cut

Backstory

Well, where to begin? You could say Delphi grew up in a pretty privileged home. Her Mother, Pearl, a successful jewellery brand owner and manufacturer, and Father, Michael, a (now) retired stockbroker, Delphi has pretty big shoes to fill. She grew up living the upper-class city teenage “dream”. Though her childhood was easy, not ever needing to do things for herself and always having someone do it for her, Delphi’s life wasn’t perfect. She is an only child, and her relationship with her parents was distant and almost cold at times as she often felt like priority number #847. Her Father’s continual unfaithfulness to her Mother made arguments a regular show under their big, beautiful, expensive roof. When Pearl wasn’t working or looking at herself in the mirror, she would be screaming at Michael about some woman she found out he took to dinner the night before and then took out on his expensive boat to drink champagne and forget about his family with. Pearl would often result to self medication with wine. Despite their bad relationship, Pearl & Michael wouldn’t separate until Delphi finished high school. 

Delphi tried hard in school, usually to escape feelings of being unwanted and “a pest”, and no matter how good her grades were, she never seemed to impress her parents the way she’d hoped. Though this didn’t stop her from always trying her hardest. She always loved writing, drawing and fashion from a young age, keeping countless diaries and raiding her Mother’s jewellery box and dresser. She also loved sketching outfit ideas with jewellery on models in her dairies.

Delphi also had a tough time making friends in school. She did have some friends, but no one she felt she really “clicked” with, usually falling out of touch with every friend she made. She always put school work first and rarely went out on the weekends, never having much of a love-life either (she didn’t have a great male model for men). She blamed her parents for her social habits and feared for a long time it may be due to her inheriting their heartless tendencies and perhaps she was destined for the same mundane future. It was when Delphi graduated high school she decided she would never let herself fall into the same toxic life her parents lived. The day she turned 18 she walked out of her family home and didn’t look back. She was dux of her year achieving exceptional grades, meaning she was able to get into just about anything, but she decided her passion laid in journalism.

After graduating at college with a Bachelor of Journalism, Delphi got a job and still works as a magazine editor at The Plumbob Times in the style & fashion sector. She lives in a small and stylish apartment in San Myshuno with her cat Jekyll. Now 26 with her career in full swing and still going strong, Delphi realised she missed a whole chunk of her life that could of resulted in a partner and a family because she devoted all her time to study and work. She is now very nervous but determined to get back into the dating scene, hoping to find the love of her life.

Facts

Delphi is very “set in her ways”, she loves her routine of getting up early, going for a run, getting a coffee (black, 2 shots), going to work, coming home, feeding Jekyll, writing a bit, making dinner, pouring a wine & watching a drama tv show or reading a book/magazine

Don’t be fooled with her neat trait being “good”, if she sees any kind of mess anywhere in the house, she wiLL NOT HESITATE IN THROWING HANDS

While fairly stubborn, Delph is always open to reasoning in arguments and likes understanding every perspective

Grew up in Newcrest, now lives in San Myshuno (big city girl)

She is very self-critical, and will only submit work she is 100% happy with

She’s a big cat person!

She is very inexperienced with men and hasn’t ever had a proper boyfriend, although she has had very occasional flings. Her view on dating is rather tainted, as the only role models she had were her parents, but she is optimistic she can find a good-hearted person.

Loves everything about pearls

Has 1 make it or break it rule: be honest & truthful

She’ll try anything once

Fave colour is black hehe

Don’t ask her to do any kind of physical sport or task because she WILL fail miserably, she is extremely unco

Doesn’t speak to her parents anymore (maybe once/twice a year on special occasions)

[cinnaminsvga]

fox rain | three

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

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. namjoon) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid namjoon is (oh and like... ant gambling rings??) → words: 15.7K → a/n: this is late by a month and my whole life is a joke. i hope this makes you laugh bc i made namjoon extra dumb for y’all (for no extra charge. suck it, chipotle.) also: check bio for other chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

“This can’t be my fucking life. Can it?” you say to your own reflection, curtains of despair dripping from every inch of your visage. Your reflection stares back, the same dead eyes twitching imperceptibly from the lack of caffeine in your system. At this point, you wouldn’t be sane enough to be surprised if your parallel self would reply, perhaps with some scathing remark about how you were slowly losing your grip on your life. Not that it would be unwarranted, anyway.

After Hoseok’s explosion the other day, your weekend doesn’t exactly feel as exciting as it usually is. Of course, your mood is still a vast improvement from last week when you were out of commission for most it after your mental breakdown. Although, it doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still knee deep in shit and that you have no idea how you’re going to face Hoseok and Jimin the following Monday.

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

The day seems to be in much better spirits than you, and it would be a waste not to let the universe’s good mood try to make you feel better as well. There is a coffee shop just a block away, and maybe you could take a walk in the sunshine afterwards to help relax the dread consistently knocking at the back of your mind. It’s a little bit optimistic, but it’ll have to do.

Shrugging on a thin cardigan over some other semi-decent clothes, you step out of your stuffy apartment with a spring in your step. You didn’t bother with any of your usual morning ritual, seeing as how you don’t plan on meeting with anyone you know from university anyway. So what if your landlady Mrs. Park sees the bird’s nest on top of your head? Who is she going to tell? Her gang of old auntie friends all hate you already for wearing a “TRANS RIGHTS” shirt in front of them, so it’s not like you’re vying for their acceptance.

Other than your less than friendly neighborhood aunties, there are better old people to hang around anyway. Nearby the coffee shop, there is a senior home where you used to volunteer during your spare time until your other commitments forced you to give up your spot to some other benevolent soul. Since you have been meaning to visit the grandmas and grandpas there when you got some free time, you suppose it would be nice to talk to kind ol’ Ms. Kim today and listen to her recount her many youthful adventures (which is, more often than not, a euphemism for her various sexcapades in the 70s.)

The senior home is closer to your home than the coffee shop, so you choose to stop and gaze at the plain-looking white building with its neatly trimmed bushes and white picket fence. It looks out of place in the neighborhood, with its very suburban and Americana design, but you know it is only because the owner of the establishment had gotten her inspiration from Forrest Gump. She has a crush on young Tom Hanks, and you honestly can’t blame her for it; that man… he is a Man, with a capital M.

You’re in the middle of debating whether you should buy your coffee first before visiting the seniors when you hear a distant shout coming from within the house. Alarmed, you take a step back, almost falling on your ass and onto the sidewalk. You pause, tilting your head to try and peak over the fence and through the large windows that showed the reception area within. You recognize Hana, the receptionist, sitting by her desk in her usual green scrubs, her head bowed over a book as if the sound had not fazed her in the slightest.

“Am I crazy? Am I starting to hear things?” You wonder aloud, still staring at the innocent-looking home. Has the universe had enough with your lacklustre existence that it has caused you to hear nonsense? Is this only the beginning of your slow descent into madness?

You don’t have to fret over your sanity for too long because moments later, the shout repeats itself. Like the previous one, this one sounds just as pained and anguished, though you aren’t sure if it was a male or female who had screamed. For all you knew, the person might have either stubbed their toe or gotten a knife stabbed through their chest; it’s not like you spend time distinguishing the subtle nuances of tormented screams. However, you are more certain now that it had come from within the home, even though Hana has yet to react to the chilling noise. She flips to the next page, tired eyes squinting at the small text.

You are stuck at an impasse: do you go inside the home despite the possible danger of entering a secret cannabilist society of which your acquaintance has been initiated to, or do you turn around and go home where it is 100% more likely for you to survive the next 24 hours?

The choice becomes apparent to you, however, when a tall, lanky boy bursts out of one of the doors behind the receptionist, with his arms piled to the ceiling with dinner plates on the cusp of making their way to the floor. Even through the window and behind a fence, you can tell that he is in dire need of help, which Hana does not seem likely to extend. The mess of legs makes a beautiful display of himself, his lower limbs flapping about aimlessly as his body contorts to try and keep himself and the plates balanced.

Finally, after what feels like hours of torture watching the poor volunteer make a fool of himself, he manages to steady himself, his legs crossed together like he’s trying to hold in his piss. Carefully, he squats down, placing the plates on the floor in front of the receptionist desk. For a moment, you feel as though you should be applauding, for whatever reason.

Now without dishes obscuring his face, you can make out the identity of the flailing giraffe man. He turns, fingers combing through his distinctly colored hair––

Oh god. It’s him. You gotta get out of there, fast, before he recognizes you. Maybe if you run quickly enough, then maybe he won’t notice you when he looks out the window around.

“Ha,” the universe laughs, clapping their asscheeks to the rhythm of Ludacris’ Move Bitch Get Out Da Way™️ with a smirk. “Cute of you to think your life isn’t basically a 20-year long trainwreck in motion.”

Inevitably he turns around, his eyes immediately locking on your face despite being half-concealed by the fence. He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he lights up, recognition flooding his features. Even though you cannot hear him clearly, you just know that he said something stupid, judging by the way Hana has finally looked up from her book to stare at him weirdly.

Please don’t come out and greet me. Please just let me wave at you awkwardly and for you to stay where you are. Please don’t go out and talk to me––

Your prayers go unanswered once more as he sidesteps the wall of plates, his hip just barely grazing it and almost causing it to tumble down. The pile sways precariously from left to right, miraculously staying put as he rushes out to greet you. You can only imagine the mess he’d have to clean up if it did, shards of cheap porcelain left behind in his awkward, fumbling wake.

Luckily (or unluckily for you), he makes it out of the senior home in one piece. He crosses the short path to the fence in two inhumanly long strides, slamming the fence door open with a wide swing. It smacks loudly against the railing, the hinges making a pained groan as it looks to be at the inch of its life––literally. You vaguely remember replacing the screws on it just before you left over six months ago… Surely you hadn’t done such a shoddy job? Although, you know that simply can’t be true. After all, you’re dealing with none other than destruction incarnate himself, Kim––

“Y/N!” Namjoon greets happily, his dimples deeper than you remember. You swallow heavily, trying your best not to sweat under his overly enthusiastic gaze. God, you should’ve gone straight to the coffee shop when you had the chance.

Nothing like facing disaster head-on, as they say. “Hey,” you reply half-heartedly, though the walking inflatable tube man doesn’t seem to mind your lacklustre mood. He grasps your hands for a shake, swinging your entire body up and down with the care of a man who does not know his own strength. You, his unfortunate victim, are left to suffer through his artery-bursting grip.

“Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Not that I’m not normally happy to see you at university, but––” He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the specific contents of his sentences, so you can only hope that your unenthused nods will be enough to placate the bumbling buffoon. You resign yourself to a fate similar to the bobbleheads on the dashboards of those white suburban soccer moms.

“Wait, hold on.” What on earth..? You are full on gaping at the piece of work on top of his head, not even pretending to be polite as you try to process what is in front of you. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

You know from old Facebook photos that Namjoon has natural black locks, though you can’t say that his wacky hairstyles were also inborn. Ever since you have known him, he has always dyed his hair a sandy brown color, complimenting his tan skin. Now, however…

“You mean the weird blue streaks?” Namjoon says, rubbing a few strands thoughtfully. His hair is a walking disaster, and this is coming from someone who has seen what Kim Seokjin has done to his clients. (There’s a reason his Yelp reviews are terrible… He deserves negative stars, if you’re being honest.)

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

“Uh… Kind of?” He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I had meant to change my hair color to something more exciting, so I asked the kids at the daycare and they suggested blue. Problem is, the seniors said they preferred my brown hair but I already promised the kids so… Here we fucking are,” he says in one breath, appearing as though what he said was obvious.

“So your solution was to compromise… by coloring half your hair blue, like some botched version of Death the Kid?”

“Exactly!” He beams, glad that you understand him perfectly.

Oh my god… He’s… No words are coming to you right now, but you get the picture.

The thing about Kim Namjoon is… he’s not… bad. Or dumb, for that matter.

Okay, not the best compliment out there, but it’s true. You’ve known for as long as you’ve been a university student, and your first meeting is certainly one for the books. You wouldn’t exactly consider him a “friend,” and an acquaintance is a bit of a stretch on most days, but he’s a nice guy. He’s eccentric in the most positive way, and not at all in the same chaotic and evil way that Seokjin is (for which you are thankful for.) It has always been a bit tricky to get close with him, as his head is always so far up in his work that it almost feels like he’s being reclusive on purpose.

If you ignore the fact that he has that odd propensity to volunteer himself in any job on the face of the earth (with him being unqualified 9 times out of 10), it is easy to see why people think so highly of him.

He is a scholarship student with a 4.0 GPA, is the youngest candidate to ever receive the university president’s yearly public commendation, and has already released two reputable mixtapes with high praise from critics nationwide. He’s nothing if not a prodigy, and he’s amassed a hefty following for his accomplishments. As a music major yourself, it’s hard not to be a little starstruck with him if you’re being honest.

Most of all, you remember the first song that you had ever heard from him: Moonchild. You still can’t quite believe he let you hear one of his many masterpieces when the two of you had just been total strangers. The lyrics had been so heartfelt, so intimate, that you felt as if you were intruding on his personal space or something. But he had let you listen, let you take a peek at what goes on inside that nebulous brain of his. When he does things like that, it makes it easy to understand why people might think your love poem might be about him. He’s just so… easy to admire.

The poem isn’t about him, but. It could have been, in some other life. (Or maybe it is.)

(Was.)

(Will?)

Regardless, you still have to convince him otherwise. You just simply aren’t ready for that type of development, much less with him. Despite all his good sides.

Thus, Kim Namjoon leaves you at a standstill. Why do you feel so fucking weird about harboring this idol crush on him? How can he be so dumb and so smart at the same time? He has blue fucking hair for crying out loud! He’s causing you cognitive dissonance just by existing, and it’s giving your meagre amount of brain cells a workout.

Oh shit, have you been ignoring him? You were totally zoning out this entire time, haven’t you?

Somewhere around the time you were having your mini mental breakdown, Namjoon’s mouth had stopped moving, giving you an expectant look. Oh shit. He probably asked you something. Embarrassed and unwilling to give away that you had not processed even a single word out of his mouth, you nod and give him an approximation of what you assume is a friendly smile.

For a second, you think that you might have gotten away with it when Namjoon’s face breaks out into an enormous grin. He grabs you by the shoulder and envelops you in an chokehold-like embrace. You let out a wheeze, clawing at his biceps with your remaining strength to try and prevent your untimely death due to asphyxiation. “Namjoon..?”

He lets out a shriek at a higher octave than you thought a man of his size was capable of. Somewhere out there, a dog probably perks up at the supersonic sound. “Y/N, I knew I could count on you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the elders for Zombie Tea Time!”

Now that caught your attention. You pause in your squirming to fix him with a confused expression. “I’m… I’m sorry? What did you say?”

His smile never falters. He presses his cheek against yours, rubbing it happily with a hum. In any other scenario, you might have fainted from how adorable he was being, but seeing as how all your blood is still trapped in your upper extremities from his vice hug, it is difficult enough trying to remember how to stay alive.

“Every Saturday, the senior home hosts this event called Zombie Tea Time where the old people all get to have their faces painted with fake blood and all the volunteers have to pretend to be innocent civilians trying to get away from them!”

The more Namjoon speaks, the more you feel your sanity dripping out of your ass like diarrhea. “Ex. Excuse me? Say that again?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing the volunteers are trying out this month,” Namjoon says, finally (finally) releasing you from his hug. You don’t know if your flushed cheeks are from embarrassment or a stroke. “Like I said, we’re a bit shorthanded today, so I’ve had to wash the plates from breakfast AND pretend to get eaten by senile zombies. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You grimace, patting him on the shoulder empathetically. You freeze. “Wait. So that’s why you were screaming a while ago?”

“Huh?” Namjoon pauses, before his face does something funny where it looks like he’s either going to sneeze or take a shit. Thankfully he does neither, but instead reaches his hand around his back like he has an itch he needs to scratch. He makes a pained yelp, plucking something out from his asscheeks and pulling out what appears to be––

You stare at the object in his palm. “Are those… dentures?”

“Hmm…” Namjoon stares at it, too tired to be disgusted. He just nods his head sagely. “Must’ve been when I was too slow to dodge Mister Lee’s lunge. I was beginning to wonder why my ass felt like it was being eaten out.”

“Please, never say that sentence to me ever again.”

“Yea,” he agrees, sighing faintly. He pockets the teeth much to your horror, patting it gently like he hadn’t just placed a pair of dentures in his fucking scrubs. He dusts off his hands, his lips pursed so that his dimples stand prominently on display. You barely contain yourself from sinking your finger right into their hypnotizing abysses.

He looks at you hopefully. “So… Uh. You said you’ll help me?”

Oh right. You fucking said you’d help him fend off a hoard of virulent old people in face paint.

You look to the right, where the coffee shop is just within sight. Sweet, sweet caffeine, tantalizing you with its saccharine presence, dangling its wretchedly addictive power over your head. If you breathe deeply enough, you think you can smell the coffee beans from here.

You turn back to Namjoon, and you can physically feel the weight of his hopeful gaze on your shoulders. Your defenses have never crumbled so quickly in your life. Fuck him and his stupidly handsome ass.

You sigh, resigning your fate to eternally being whipped for a pair of pretty long legs and size B man titties. “Let’s fucking do this, I guess.” Easier said than done, but you already have one foot in elephant shit, so might as well submerge your whole body as well.

You follow Namjoon closely, having to take two extra steps for every one step that he takes. He crosses the reception area quickly, sending energetic finger guns at Hana which unsurprisingly goes unrequited. You take the more inconspicuous route and wave shyly at her, intimidated by her even after you have long since stopped working here. She levels you with one of her infamous hundred yard stares, lips turned downwards as she appraises you.

“You’ve decided to come back?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with a huff.

Namjoon is in the midst of trying to once again carry all the plates in his Play-Doh arms, so you’re a bit distracted when you shake your head in response. “Uh. N-no, Namjoon just asked me to help with the dishes, that’s all.”

“That’s a shame,” Hana says, no trace of disappointment in her voice whatsoever. She returns to her book, buzzing open the double doors to let the two of you pass. She flicks her hand lazily at the commotion happening behind her. “Better hurry back in there. The seniors are getting antsy.”

The doors open automatically, and you almost topple over when you are immediately bombarded with the terrifying symphony of old people hollering obscenities at frantic volunteers trying desperately to get away from their gnarled clutches. The hoard hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, and you fear to wonder what type of horrors that you will have to face once you step through those doors. You absolutely refuse to die on this hill, not when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet.

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Namjoon says, as if he can read your mind. You look at him skeptically.

“You think?”

He clears his throat. “I can’t promise we’ll come out of this unscathed, though.”

He takes a tentative step forward, the pile of dishes wobbling dangerously on their perch. You are quick to steady the leaning tower of Disa(ster), managing to transfer half of it into your own arms. You grunt, adjusting your stance so that you do not accidentally lose your grip. “Dude. How the hell did you get all those plates out here in the first place?”

Namjoon stands up straighter, the weight significantly easier for him to manage now. He smiles cherubically back at you, eyes crinkling cutely. “Oh, I was literally on survival mode and trying to stop lil Mrs. Sun from gnawing my leg off. The elders can smell fear you see, so they were definitely going to climb on top of me like World War Z and probably kill me.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Although, I think I dropped a plate or two while I was escaping, so watch your step!”

He says all of that with the same eagerness as man who is about to do something crazy, like jump out of a plane or walk a tightrope over a 100 ft canyon. Though, you have to admit that this entire scenario feels like it is on the same calibre.

“Is it me, or are the old people here 10 times crazier than I remember when I volunteered here?”

“You used to work here?” Namjoon says, amazed. “Oh, I didn’t know that! I only started a week ago when some other person resigned due to mental health issues or something.”

“You sure that this place isn’t the cause of their mental decline?” You say it like a joke, though you mean it seriously. Maybe the universe had been looking out for you when decided to get out of this place.

“Hmm… Maybe. Although, we only received this shipment of old people fairly recently.”

Pause. Rewind. “S-shipment?” you repeat, staring at him wildly.

Like the lovable airhead that he is, Namjoon fails to notice your astonishment and instead takes the first brave step forward through the double doors. He tilts his head towards the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. The plates rattle dangerously from his movements. “C’mon, we gotta get these plates cleaned before the lunch crew comes to take over their shifts!”

Walking to the kitchen is easier than you thought, especially after you take into account the fact that all the old people completely ignored you and chose to only attack Namjoon, for whatever reason. You like to think that it is because the seniors still remember you back when you were still volunteering here and that they hold some semblance of endearment for you, but Namjoon begs to differ. In fact, he screams out his hypothesis as to why you have been left unharmed, all while two older women climb his back like demented crabs.

“Y/N! I think they can’t attack you because you’re in civilian clothes! They only attack scrubs!” Namjoon says, swatting away one of the women off his back with a surprisingly coordinated headbutt. She shrieks as she falls, landing on all four legs like a cat would do. She hisses lowly at you, before scuttling off to somewhere unseen.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” you wince, watching Namjoon unsuccessfully trying to spin quick enough to dislodge the remaining senior.

Namjoon perks up when he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s face, giggling and appearing as if he isn’t currently being assailed by a senior citizen. “Oh, Ms. Kim! I didn’t see you there. I love the zombie make-up you got going. Who helped you?” He looks at you, as if imploring you to compliment her as well.

“Uh. Yes. You’re looking very… yellow.”

Ms. Kim snarls, baring her teeth. “It’s the jaundice,” she says.

Not wanting to stand in that hallway any longer, you carefully place the plates back on the floor before you gently unclamp the old lady’s talons from Namjoon’s poor biceps. You wince, feeling the length of her nails and knowing that Namjoon is going to have some nasty scars.

You tell him so, but he only shakes his head. “Nah? I think they’d be pretty neat! Battle scars are cool right?”

You grimace at him. “If that’s… what you think, then sure.”

After grabbing your plates and hurrying after him before the elders make note of Namjoon’s survival, the two of you share a sigh of relief as you both slowly start piling them into the dishwasher. The task is menial and repetitive, and despite what Namjoon’s earlier chattiness might have suggested, he is quiet while he works. The silence is not as awkward as you feared, and honestly the peace is a welcome respite after all the chaos that you had to endure in such a short period of time. Although, silence has never been a good friend to your overworked mind, as it allowed you to stew inside your own head for much too long––and you have found in your 20 years of existence that it is probably for the best that you are not left without external stimulation for too long.

But here you are, forced to do exactly that. You would have engaged in some conversation with Namjoon to stop yourself from getting in over your head, but you are afraid of what sort of embarrassing topics might spew out of your mouth if you do. Heaven forbid that you start geeking out on him about your unhealthy obsession of collecting miniature glass horse figurines––that is a secret best kept between yourself and the tentacle monster under your bed.

You begin reflecting on the events from the past two weeks, replaying them second by agonizing second and ruminating on the state that your pitiful young adult life has become. The more you allow these memories to simmer, the more you slowly realize the weight of the accumulated stress that has long since made you hunch over like a goblin.

Hoseok and Jimin’s argument comes to the forefront of your mind, the unexpected heat coming from both of them confusing you to no end. You still don’t know the source of their ire towards one another, but what baffles you the most is how you could have missed it in the first place. Sure, you had thought they were at least more than acquaintances; one does not simply challenge a near stranger to a dance off in the middle of a library three times a week, for more than two months and counting. Friends might have been a stretch, though you can’t say you’re familiar with how their schedules look like outside your tutoring sessions together.

The question is though… should you interfere? Normally, you would have stayed far away from anyone else’s drama––you just aren’t the type of person to stick their noses in other people’s business. Yet somehow, you feel as if your poem was the catalyst to this violent chain reaction, that you have inadvertently caused the foundation of a precarious building to explode and bring the whole thing crashing down. To think that your silly love poem for a boy who hardly knows that you exist has become the center of so many people’s lives… the entire thing is giving you a headache.

Speaking of headaches… you should probably confront Namjoon about the poem as well. It is probably best that you plan your approach better this time, seeing as how your two previous attempts have been anything but stellar. Namjoon can’t be that difficult to convince, right? And even if he does see right through you, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would laugh cruelly at you in the event that he figures out that you are the author. Not like Seokjin, at least. Luckily no one is like Seokjin, the fucking rat bastard that he is.

(In the distance, Seokjin has the sudden animalistic urge to slip anthrax in your milk tea the next time he sees you.)

You glance at Namjoon from the corner of your eye, definitely not ogling the way his arms flex as he loads the final couple of plates. The breath catches in your throat when you realize that some time while you were busy swimming in your junkyard of a brain, he had rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying his god-like veins for the eyes of the deplorable (you) to feast upon.

Your mouth feels dry, even though other parts of you feel more moist than you remember. Oh god, now is not the time to remember how hot this fucking nerd is.

Despite the fact that your biological clock is screaming “HORNY HOUR” at your monkey brain, Namjoon continues to be thankfully unaware of your internal panic. He closes the dishwasher door shut, clicking it on with a relieved sigh. He gives you a megawatt smile and makes your heart leap into a somersault, probably knocking around some vital organs along the way.

“Thanks so much for the help, Y/N! Couldn’t have done it without you!” he cheers, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You wheeze under the impact, waving away his concern despite feeling like your lungs have probably slipped out of your asshole.

“It’s no problem, Namjoon…” you sigh, gazing sadly as Namjoon begins to do a final sweep of the kitchen before inevitably going to sign off for the day. You know your window of opportunity has already closed, and if you had not spent so much time staring at his beautiful man tiddies, you are sure you could have been a little more productive with him. Curse him and his damn chest.

But now, at least you’ll have more time to think of how to approach him and bring up the poem when you aren’t, like, seriously decaffeinated and on the cusp of a heart attack. You are about to bid him farewell with your tail between your legs when his hands cup your cheeks, catching you off guard.

You splutter incomprehensibly, arms flapping about like a fish out of water. “Wha––?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! After my hours here at the senior home, I have the afternoon shift at the daycare center near our university and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

If Namjoon’s cool, large hands holding your face like a delicate flower had caught you off guard, then his sudden invitation only exacerbated the furious blush blooming across your neck like a rash.

So what do you say?

“Meep,” is what you say, like the verbose poet that you are. Y/N, renowned campus poet, has the vocabulary of a five year old.

“Is that a yes?” Namjoon smiles, letting go off you in favor of looping his gangly arms around your waist. Another unflattering noise escapes your throat at his proximity and his firmness. “That’s so great! The kids love seeing new faces, and I bet they’d love to have a pretty girl around instead of plain ol’ me all the time!”

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

“Yea, sure!” Namjoon says, his stupid grin still on his stupidly handsome face. He does not appear to be embarrassed at all by his brazenness, which is starting to make you think he is either a well-seasoned flirt or just plain oblivious to the implications of his own words. Knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him that the latter might be the reason.

Compliments and unintentional flirting aside, you really did not feel up to another harrowing experience with Namjoon at one of his other volunteering stunts. You are but a woman in clown shoes, and even the most seasoned clowns must have their rest.

“Listen, Namjoon… I don’t think I can go with you. I have to go, uh,” you pause, your hamster brain working a mile a minute. “Water… my dog? No, I mean… feed my plant.” You cringe, mentally slapping yourself.

Namjoon, the sneaky bastard, hits you with his strongest and most potent puppy dog eyes in his arsenal. It was super effective! “Please, Y/N? I won’t take too much of your time! Just play with the kids for two hours and I promise to leave you alone!”

C’mon, Y/N. Focus. Are you the type of woman to break down her defenses for the wilful fancies of any man? You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Surely you can look him in the eye and tell him straight to his face that you would prefer to go home and rest on this beautiful Saturday than go frolicking with a bunch of snot-nosed children––

“Oh, sure. Why the hell not?” you say, like the dumb fucking idiot that you are.

Namjoon’s dimples deepen even further. You glare menacingly at them, knowing full well that they were entirely the cause of your weakness.

“Thank you so much, Y/N! The kids will really appreciate your presence! C’mon, we haven’t got time to lose!”

Namjoon does not even give you the time to fully comprehend your own pitiful existence before he nearly tugs your arm out of its socket as he maneuvers you to the local daycare just a few minutes away from the senior home. You don’t get to say your farewells to any of the seniors or your old work colleagues, but it might be for the best… You will need all the sanity left in your body to survive the rest of the day with Namjoon.

On the bright side, that means you’ll have the chance to talk to him about the poem, though you’re still hesitant to do so with how badly your previous stunts had ended up. But then again, when else would you get another good opportunity to talk to your crush acquaintance about this? You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see what happens next, and hope for the best.

You have been at the daycare for almost three hours now, and there are still no signs of you ever bringing up the poem. You might as well sign your last will and testament with the macaroni art supplies currently decorating your body, making you look like a morbid pasta dish monster from hell. You hope to god that the sticky stuff all over your skin is just cheese… White, rubbery scented cheese…

“Ain’t this fun?” Namjoon calls out from somewhere, presumably under the mass of ten or so toddlers all climbing him like a tree. You are caught in a state of déjà vu as the children start feasting upon any exposed areas of skin that their kid-sized incisors can find.

You just wanted to talk about the fucking poem for fuck’s sake! Instead, you have to deal with thirty 2-foot children and one 6-foot manchild during one of your only free days in a week.

A miniature demon tugs your sleeve, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s slow demise. You bend down to the little gremlin’s height, mouth twitching upwards in what you hope is a somewhat decent smile. Judging by the kid’s unimpressed face, you doubt it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Y/N? Can you tell your boyfriend that Jake peed in the ballpit again? Aera slipped on the puddle and now she’s crying and disturbing the younger kids.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Out of all the things the kid had said, you are sure that his implication that you were Namjoon’s girlfriend should not have been on the top of your list of priorities, and yet here you are, your cheeks as flushed as a baboon’s ass.

“He’s not––We’re not––” you stammer, waving your hands as you try to explain to this unenthused six year old that what she said was entirely impossible. “Namjoon is just a friend!”

You turn to look for the man in question, desperate for him to back you up when you realize he is no longer there. Confused, you leave the huffing child in search for him. You leave the main playroom and search the nearby nurseries, the kitchen, the bathroom… all of them with no Namjoon in sight. Just so you can cover all your bases, you decide to check one of the supply closets too, not really expecting to find anything except––

“Namjoon? What the fu––fudge?” You quickly correct yourself, noticing that not only is Kim Namjoon inside the cramped broom closet, but he is also surrounded by five other children huddled around what appears to be a series of tupperwares connected together by plastic straws.

Namjoon hastens a glance at you, before refocusing his attention back onto what he deems to be more important. He nudges his shoulder against the smallest of the bunch, stage whispering into her ear. “Jihyo, did you bet the three lollipops on Ant #3?”

Jihyo shakes her head, looking mildly offended. “Oppa, do you think I’m dumb? I bet all of my chocolate bars on Ant #6.”

Namjoon whistles lowly, impressed. “All-in? You’re one smart lady.”

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon has the audacity to hold a finger up to silence you. “Give me a sec… Okay, Seungcheol. You said ten hard candies for Ant #2?”

“Namjoon. Are you seriously running a gambling ring in a daycare?”

He peers up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh… Teaching them about capitalism.” He deposits the candy bets into his pocket before starting the timer on his phone. The children begin to cheer raucously, little fists pumping up as they watch their bets race towards a slice of cake.

“I can’t believe this,” you groan, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow you whole.

Eventually, Namjoon exits the closet, gently closing the door. The shouts of the children become muted immediately. When you gaze inquisitively at him, all he does is shrug his shoulders. “What? Secret clubs allow people to explore their interests.”

At this point, you don’t really want to argue anymore. And so, the hectic day goes by, full of running after the children and occasionally having to reel Namjoon in when he does something bordering on negligence. The parents slowly start filtering in by five in the afternoon, most of whom pat Namjoon affectionately on the back and thanking him for his stellar daycare service.

“Oh, Namjoon! My little Jihyo absolutely adores you! She hardly wants to leave whenever I come to pick her up.” Jihyo’s mother smiles, slipping a small tip into Namjoon’s waiting palm. The little shit pockets it, bowing graciously at her.

“All in a day’s work, madame. I just love children, you know?” he says, sighing dramatically.

From behind her mother, Jihyo gorges herself on her prize winnings, shoving a whole packet of M&M’s into her mouth. She swallows them quickly when her mother turns to bring her home.

“I hate this,” you say to yourself, smiling through the pain.

“Oh, before I forget!” Jihyo’s mother dashes back inside, startling you. She approaches you, grasping your hands in hers and shaking it wildly until you can hear your joints pop out of their sockets. “Your name is Y/N right? Thank you for taking care of Namjoon, too. It’s so nice to see that he’s finally snagged a girl as pretty as you.”

It is a testament to how dead inside you truly are by how nonplussed you are by their unfounded accusation. At this point, they could congratulate you on your recent engagement to Namjoon and you probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Thanks.” All in a day’s work of being a madman’s little bitch for the day.

After the last child is taken away, your Saturday finally ends. There had been no poem discussion and no progress made; only your respect from one of your long-time crushes being whittled away like the soaps on those ASMR channels until you are left with useless cubes of Irish Spring scented granules.

On your way home, you pass by Seokjin sitting languidly on the bench outside the coffee shop that you had originally intended to go to this morning. The closed sign greets you impetuously, and your wounds are salted further by the sheer presence of the most annoying man on the planet.

Seokjin sips on his venti iced Americano, Gucci sunglasses tipped downward on his nose. An odd, high pitched windshield wiper sound escapes his lips, and you belatedly realize that he must be his version of laughter. “Y/N. So nice to see you. I’m guessing that you just came out of a… fishy affair?”

You grind your teeth, flexing forward with the intent of hitting the rat bastard. Fish crackers fall out of your hair in clumps from your movement. “I’ll eat your toes if you say another word about this.”

You say that, but you know that there will be photos of you out on Facebook by the time your head meets your pillow for the night, as you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter go off as you limp sadly back home.

The following Monday, you resolve to talk to Namjoon during your History of Music class together.

Now normally, you would never subject yourself to sitting near Namjoon in class. No, it is not because of your debilitating crush, nor his eccentric personality, nor something unexpected like insanely toxic body odor (which he does not have, by the way. He always smells alarmingly like cotton candy.) In fact, nobody likes to sit near Namjoon, made apparent by the two row radius of empty chairs around him. As much as everyone adores and idolizes him for his talent, no one can stand his propensity to overachieve like the infuriating know-it-all that he is. His hand is perpetually up in the air, begging to be picked for recitation, always with something profound to say.

“Sir, I don’t think your notes are correct. From my research, that type of music would not have existed until the 1600s––”

“Namjoon,” your professor seethes, Powerpoint clicker clutched tightly in his fists. His left eyebrow twitches concerningly as he tries to calm his breathing. “I would prefer it greatly if you do not question the actual expert in this area, is that okay with you?”

Yeah. He is definitely not someone you’d want to sit beside.

Though, he really makes it hard not to want to be around him. Despite all the imperfect parts of his personality, Namjoon always looks like the cover model of what a perfect college boyfriend should dress like. Terrible dyejob aside, his hair is slicked back in a fashionable way, revealing his beautiful forehead for all of humanity to behold. He is wearing a fitted graphic tee under a denim jacket, with loose brown slacks that look good on his endlessly long legs. To top it off, his signature wire-frame glasses sit daintily on his nose, making him appear as smart as he is.

You are suddenly reminded of the true scale of your crush on him as sweat begins to build on your neck and down your backside. How the hell are you going to approach him now that you are perfectly aware of how good he looks? It is people like Kim Namjoon that remind you of this universal truth: attractive people only exist to cause the less fortunate to forget how to use their basic motor skills.

Focus. Remember how much of a crackhead he was last Saturday? Okay, retain that information. Remember how fucking stupid he is, and this will be much easier on your heart and your loins.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to where he is seated, right at the front of the class. It is a long way down the auditorium to where he is, and you can feel the stares of a few of your classmates as you make the treacherous journey right into the proverbial lion’s maw. You do your best to ignore them, quietly sliding up next to him and waiting for him to notice your presence.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he is jotting something frantically on a notebook, a mess of words in more languages than you can speak decorating every available space on the smooth white pages. At the top of the paper, you can see what might be a tentative title for a song, perhaps? You can’t be too entirely sure, as Namjoon is part of so many clubs and organizations that he might as well be writing next week’s lunch menu for the cafeteria.

(Highly doubtful as Namjoon has a reputation for allowing inflammable things to catch on fire, but you wouldn’t put it past him to at least try and apply for a culinary position.)

It seems that Namjoon is too immersed in his writing to greet you himself, so you have to be the one to steel yourself and strike a conversation with him instead.

“Uh. Hey… Namjoon?” Smooth like butter. Seokjin would be proud.

Namjoon doesn’t reply. He keeps scribbling along, humming something indistinct under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

No response. Again, “Hello?” You wave a hand in front of his face. His blinking slows for a second, but he continues to ignore you.

Starting to get pissed off, you huff quietly to yourself before bringing your palm backwards and slapping him upside the head. “HEY PANINI HEAD! YOU FUCKING IN THERE OR WHAT?”

That manages to bring him out of his headspace, thankfully. “Huzzat?” Namjoon jumps, cradling the back of his neck gingerly as he stares at you, confused. Recognition filters through his eyes as he realizes belatedly what had just happened. He blushes slightly. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. Were you really going to ignore me for the rest of the class if I hadn’t slapped you?”

Namjoon shrugs, grinning in that cute goofy way that he does. “Sorry. ‘M not used to people sitting beside me, is all. Glad to have a friend in this class though! Have you always been in this class?”

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

Namjoon nods, turning back to his notebook. “Sorry for ignoring you. I really didn’t mean it. When I’m in the middle of writing, it’s kind of hard to get me out of my own brain. Plus, this draft is due in two weeks and I’ve scrapped three pages worth of lyrics already… I’m kind of in a panic right now.”

You peek over his arm, trying your best to decipher some of his words. Your interest is piqued, always having wanted to see his draft notebook ever since that first time he showed you Moonchild almost a year ago. “Lungs have capsized… I am drowning in my own body… Wow, those are some dark stuff.”

“You think so?” Namjoon squints at his own messy handwriting. “I got inspired by the fish in the aquarium I volunteer in. I’m actually excited to go back there, because I want to play it for the fish and see if they like it.”

“Isn’t it better to play it at the daycare of senior home so you can actually get… human feedback?”

Namjoon gasps, hand to his heart, offended. “How dare you assume that fish can’t give quality feedback!”

“Right,” you cough, raising your hands in defeat. How dare you, indeed. “Sorry.”

Namjoon sniffs, closing his notebook just as the professor walks in to start the class. “You better be. The fishies get really offended when people say stuff like that.”

The professor begins the moment he sets down his things, so you know you won’t have time to bring up the poem, not when Namjoon is already starting to fall into his overachieving know-it-all student persona. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Hey, I have to ask you something later after class. Will you stay behind for a few moments?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies cheerily, flipping on his laptop to start taking down notes. He stops in his tracks before gazing warily at you. “Hold on. If this is about the fishies again…”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, so you sigh instead. “No, Namjoon. This isn’t about the fishies.”

Appeased, Namjoon returns to listening attentively to the professor drone on about dead musicians and their impact on musical culture. You hardly take any notes, still nervous about talking to Namjoon about the poem. What would be the best way to approach the subject, you wonder? Your previous attempts with Seokjin and Hoseok had featured a lot of yelling and arguing, and you would prefer not to leave a bad impression on Namjoon of all people. Additionally, you don’t want to know what arguing with Namjoon would entail, because you have a strong feeling that any debate with him will only leave you second guessing your entire existence with how good he is at flipping the subject. Or, you could always kick him in the knees, but that would be like overpowering a baby––you’d be a monster for taking advantage of him.

The short one hour lecture flies by quicker than you would like. To your surprise, Namjoon only interrupts the professor twice, so you suppose that’s a win for everyone else.

“Alright class. Please remember that the research paper regarding 17th century music is due on the Friday before your break,” your professor says. He points a stern look at all of you, and maybe you’re imagining it, but somehow you feel like he pauses just a second longer when he passes his gaze over you. “And please, try not to send your paper to the entire student body to air your secret little crushes like a bunch of lovestruck idiots.”

Your ears turn an unflattering shade of red as most of the students chuckle at his little joke, all of them probably not knowing that the lovestruck idiot was just a few seats away.

“C’mon, Namjoon.” You sigh, shrugging on your backpack as you wait for him to finish packing up. Namjoon watches you curiously, brows furrowed.

“You seem dejected. Are you having trouble with class? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“N-not… not really,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we talk about this outside? People for the next class are starting to come in.”

Namjoon follows you dutifully from behind, and you can hear him bid his farewells to a few giggling freshmen as the two of you exit the lecture hall. They coo openly in his presence, with one of them bold enough to compliment his fairly generous bosom, her fingers twitching as if she is only one push away from grabbing them by the fistful.

You walk towards the small cafe near the entrance of the building, grabbing one of the empty chairs and gesturing for Namjoon to sit across from you. He does as you say, confusion still gracing his handsome features.

“So, will you tell me why you’ve called me out here now?” Namjoon asks. Before you can respond, however, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a half squished sandwich. He offers you the less crushed half, like the gentleman that he is, but you find it hard to accept when you feel like your stomach is turning inside out with nerves.

“Umm… How do I say this…” You groan, leg bouncing so incessantly that the poor table begins to shake. Namjoon doesn’t even try to stop his other sandwich half from sliding over, instead giving you a concerned glance.

Fuck it. Better to rip the band-aid off in one swoop, right?

“Y/N––?”

“Namjoon, are you aware that people think someone wrote a stupid love poem about you?”

His previously open mouth clamps shut, then. He stares at you in confusion, a dollop of mayonnaise hanging off his jutting chin. “What?”

Panicking slightly, you’re quick to continue your train of thought, probably to your own detriment. “NOT that the poem is about you, by the way. Well, it could be? No? I DIDN’T WRITE IT!” Pause for heavy breathing. “A-anyway, that’s not the point… I just wanted to ask if you were… umm… aware of it. Yeah. That’s it.”

Ohhhh my god. You stupid idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck you fucking stupid piece of shit ass tit fuck what other swear words are there oh yeah FUCK!!!

In the midst of your personal mental beatdown, you fail to see Namjoon’s genuine look of confusion, his head tilted to the side as he watches your face turn red. He chews on his sandwich thoughtfully. “Uh? No? I’m not aware? I really have no idea what you are talking about, Y/N.”

You finally stop swearing at yourself. “Wait, really?”

Namjoon nods his head. “Really. What poem are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t really like being teased; I get enough of that from Seokjin.”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon raises his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t joke about something that is clearly giving you distress.”

“It’s not causing me distress!” You screech back, voice cracking from your tone going up a pitch. You clear your throat. “Um. Wait. So that means you haven’t heard about the huge rumor going around about a love poem being about you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, lips pursed. “Not a clue. Am I supposed to?”

Huh. You stare at the imbecile before you, his previously handsome looks starting to look less appealing by the minute. Is this shithead for real? Did you really spend hours worrying over how you would approach him about the poem, only to find out that he has no clue what you’re talking about? Like, how is it even possible for him not to know? You can’t even spend a minute doing anything without someone bringing up that stupid mistake of a poem. How the hell did you ever have a crush on him?

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

“Oh shit,” you curse, slapping a palm to your mouth. Did you fucking say that out loud?  

“Sorry,” Namjoon swallows thickly, a large bite of his sandwich visibly going down his gullet. “I was chewing too loudly so I didn’t hear you properly.”

You heave a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe being an idiot has its benefits.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” you say, already arranging your things to get up and leave. If Namjoon is oblivious to all the poem shenanigans that have been circling campus, then who are you to inform him? All you can hope now is that he remains ignorant of the poem at all, and chalk it up as a success in your book. It’s not like he’s going to be curious to find out more anyway––

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ve piqued my interest now. I wanna know what you were talking about,” Namjoon pipes up, leaning his lanky body sidewards so as to block you from leaving. You halt in your movements, surprised by his sudden inquiry.

Sweat starts to form in the middle of your back at his earnest curiosity. “I––it’s nothing, Namjoon. I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” You laugh nervously.

“I don’t think you were?” Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have been so adamant to call me out here just to be joking.”

“Listen, I really have to go. I have another class soon and I wanna grab lunch before I––”

“You said something about a poem.” He remains undeterred, pulling out his phone. “And it’s about me? Well, not about me, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“Hold up!” You snatch his phone out of his hands, holding it behind you to keep it from his reach. Even though you know his inquisitiveness is not his fault, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to punch him square in his cute little nose. Hell, you don’t recall wanting to fight anyone as much as you do right now.

(Seokjin sneezes somewhere in the distance, feeling offended for whatever reason. “Y/N should only be punching me,” he thinks to himself as he dumps way too much purple dye on this poor lady’s head.)

“Why are you being so weird right now? Give me back my phone!” He pouts at you, not at all knowing that your resolve is already quickly crumbling before him.

“I…” You gulp, foot tapping restlessly as you try to think of what to do. “Okay. Fine, I’ll show you the poem. Just… don’t read too deeply into it, okay? It’s just a stupid thing that got too many people excited over nothing.”

“Sure,” Namjoon nods his head, acquiescing quickly. “I don’t really like paying attention to much of the rumors and trends that happen on campus. I just want to see what this poem is all about.”

“Just… don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, returning his phone to him. You direct him to the university confessions group page, watching as his fingers fumbled with his keyboard. Eventually, he gets to the post (pinned to the top, forever mocking you for your stupidity) and reads the short piece in record time.

There is a pause where neither of you speak. You know he has finished reading it from the way he has started to scroll down to the comments, though he quickly jumps back to the top when you glare at him to stop. He leans back into his chair, closing his phone and stares at you expressionlessly.

You click your nails across the coffee shop table as you observe him suspiciously, his lack of response making you more nervous. “Well?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up––but not in a way that might suggest glee or satisfaction––and he stays frozen like that for a bit. You have the sudden urge to wave your hand in front of him to check if he’s fine, and being the type of person to submit to your urges, you do as you please.

Thankfully, he snaps out of it, blinking quickly as if he’s forgotten that you were there. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. The poem, uh… How do I put it…”

“What?” What on earth could he have a problem with? Does he genuinely think the poem might be about him? “If you’re starting to think that the poem may be about you––”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Namjoon opens his phone again, peering at the poem questioningly. “I was just going to say that this poem is a lot less impressive than you were hyping it up to be.”

Excuse me??????? He did not fucking just say that.

“You did not just fucking say that,” you verbalize, glowering at him. You can feel the fumes start to steam out of your ears, but Namjoon remains oblivious (as per usual) to your emotions. He just hums, shrugging his shoulders with his nose upturned in the air, as if he had just smelled something horrible.

“It’s just… the meter is all messed up… Like, I’m all about free verse or whatever, but I can tell the author is trying waaaay too hard to keep whatever rhythm they had going on in the first verse.” He scrolls through the poem some more, before stopping somewhere in the middle. He shows you one of your favorite verses with a look of something akin to disdain. “And what’s up with all the moon references? That theme is so overused.”

“YOUR MIXTAPE LITERALLY HAS A SONG CALLED MOONCHILD! THAT’S WHY PEOPLE THINK THE POEM IS ABOUT YOU!” You explode, spittle flying everywhere from the force of your shout. A group of freshmen sitting nearby jump up in surprise, though most of the older, more dead-eyed college students do not even bat an eye at your spectacle. This university is full of cuckoos, is what they are probably thinking.

The biggest cuckoo of them all looks at you defensively, frowning somewhat irritably. Namjoon continues, “Yeah, but I used the moon in my song in a classy way! I would be offended if someone would write this poem for me after being inspired by my song.”

Is it possible for blood to boil inside your veins? Because you’re really starting to feel heat trail up your back up to your neck, causing you to see nothing but red and the tantalizing vision of your hands around his neck. Easy, Y/N. You can’t afford anger management therapy; you have a tuition to pay.

In all seriousness though, you cannot take this any longer. You have suffered long enough while having to follow Namjoon around like a bitch for two days, and if karma still wants to use the strap on you, then she’s going to have to do it some other day because you cannot physically stand being around Namjoon for another ten seconds if you can help it. And this is coming from someone who is around Kim Seokjin at least twice a week, so it is obvious that your patience and sanity is truly at its limit.

“I’m done.” You are barely able to keep yourself from slamming your head against the table. Instead, you stand up hastily, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shoulder your bag quickly, waving at him without even turning to face him. The sooner you get away from him, the better. “You can think what you want. Just live your life, man. I’m done.”

“Okay? Well, have a nice day, Y/N!” Namjoon calls out a cheery goodbye, though his tone obviously still sounds confused even as you walk further and further away from him, a trainwreck of a human being. You resolve to yourself to call Hana the next morning to ask her to slip some opened sweets into his jean pocket so the ants at the daycare might climb out of their shelter to bite him in the balls.

How did you ever have a crush on that bastard? I guess that mystery will have to remain… unsolved.

Unluckily, your mood does not improve after lunch, nor do you calm down after your next class either. In fact, you are still steaming when you arrive to your tutoring session with Hoseok, so much so that you have completely forgotten to be worried about him after the events of last Friday.

(Record scratch, freeze frame. Pause. What the hell happened last Friday again? Your overworked brain cells can only handle one stressful event at a time, so you suppose that problem with Hoseok and Jimin will have to be solved another day.)

Hoseok, the caring boy that he is, also forgets to retain his moodiness from Friday’s argument when he spots you looking like you were about to pop a blood vessel at any moment.

Hoseok sits hesitantly in front of you, even placing his textbooks gently onto the table as if any sudden sounds might cause you to self-combust and splatter your guts all over the library floor. The only thing really keeping you from doing exactly that is because you wouldn’t want poor Jungkook the library assistant to have to clean up your mess.

“Umm… Hey, Y/N. You okay? You look kind of… red.” Hoseok says carefully, smile twitching on his face.

The suddenness at which you slam your hands on the table causes not only Hoseok, but also Jungkook who is three whole bookshelves away, to jump up in surprise. The former makes a terrified scream to accompany his leap into the air, staring at your frantically with his fists held up in defense.

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

“SHUT UP!” You point a finger menacingly at him, making him shriek once more. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding audibly. “YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT, HOSEOK? I’LL WRITE THE NICEST POEM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR YOU, OKAY? YOU DESERVE IT! FUCK WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS! I’M A GOOD WRITER AND NOTHING KIM NAMJOON SAYS WILL CHANGE THAT!”

Hoseok’s mouth opens, agape. He doesn’t know how to respond, not quite understanding what you were saying in the first place. A lot of angry words spilled from your lips in such a short amount of time, and Hoseok was more impressed with your flow than anything. Were you a rapper, by any chance?

Unaware of Hoseok’s musings, you huff loudly to yourself, slamming open your lecture notes and shoving them aggressively towards him. “ALSO, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WRITING A REVIEWER FOR YOUR MIDTERM! PLEASE READ THROUGH THEM IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!”

“Umm… Thanks?” Hoseok says, not really sure which part of your loud declarations he is specifically thanking you for. He sneaks a glance at the front desk, thankful that it is only meek little Jungkook in charge today and not the cranky older librarian who already has a personal vendetta against you and your tutoring group for being public nuisances (not that she was unjustly pointing fingers, of course).

Your mental collapse aside, the rest of his tutoring session goes smoothly, with Hoseok still walking on eggshells around you just in case you might feel like exploding again. You know, for fun or something. Although, he does end up asking if he can leave a few minutes early, saying something about a paper due at the end of the week. The excuse doesn’t make you bat an eye until Jimin arrives for his own session, his grin faltering when he sees his hyung not there to greet him with their usual dance battle in the library.

“Ah… Guess Hoseok-hyung really is still mad over what happened…” Jimin sighs, slumping into his chair. He thumbs his textbook thoughtfully, tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon,” you say hopefully, though your heart isn’t quite in it either. Coughing awkwardly, you pluck his textbook out of his hands, desperate to talk about something else other than your crumbling interpersonal relationships. You pause at the page, however, before staring incredulously back at Jimin.

“Jimin.”

“Hmm?” Jimin is still listless, head pillowed by his arms on the table. “What?”

“This is a book on differential calculus. I’m supposed to teach you about writing academic essays.”

“Oh yeah,” Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. “I stole that book from some freshman on the way here. The English textbook I usually bring is with Taehyung right now.”

You pause. Actually, now that you think about it… “Jimin, do you actually even go to this university? What the hell is your major, even?”

“Wha-?” Jimin yawns, fanning his mouth with his hand. He blinks sleepily at you with a big, doofy grin. “Sorry, I played MapleStory for hours last night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. Can I just sleep during this session? I’ll still pay you or whatever…” he trails off, stretching like a cat under a patch of sunlight. Before you know it, the soft sound of Jimin’s snoring fills the silence.

Thankfully, Monday ends without much more commotion. You may have come out of this experience a little bit more broken inside, but hey! That’s what character development is all about, babey. You are just glad that Tuesdays are usually your quietest days, as you only have two classes to worry about. It is also one of the days when you have Creative Writing with Sera, who usually manages to rope you in to get greasy fast food after class. Despite the traumatic experience that particular class has indirectly inflicted upon you, your usual zeal and excitement does not diminish in the slightest. After all, writing will always be your first love, so there isn’t any way some silly poem mishap will make you detest it.

Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, because you aren’t so sure your sanity can take much more of a pounding.

(Fwip. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of karma putting on her strap.)

“Alright class, see you guys on Thursday. Don’t forget that we have a quiz at the beginning of class on Thursday, so please don’t be late.” Professor Puth says, his eyelids blinking out of sync. You hate to be someone who assumes what other people do during their off days as it is none of your business, though the perpetual cloud of marijuana that clings around him can only do so much to mask what his recreational activities might be.

“Dude, I think Prof Puth is finding Nirvana soon,” Sera says loudly, earning the giggles of a few classmates nearby.

“I’d be surprised if he could even find the exit of this building,” you snort, just as the man in question trips over air and nearly faceplants on the ground. Like the model students that you are, you both pretend to be busy doing something else, leaving some other poor soul to help your professor.

Two girls that you vaguely remember from somewhere approach Professor Puth. They are quick to help him straighten up, if his groaning and gasping are anything to go by. He thanks them gruffly and waves them off, but the girls seem adamant to stay put.

“Professor, I have a question…” One of the girls asks, nervously tugging on her ponytail. Her friend giggles surreptitiously beside her, urging her to continue. Their odd demeanor causes signals to go off in your brain, telling you to stop and listen. You tug on Sera’s hand, halting her from leaving.

“Wait. I wanna hear what they’re gonna ask,” you mutter, ignoring Sera’s complaints about being hungry. She can wait for her McNuggets for another five minutes, no matter how much she pretends that she’s starving. You had seen her eat two whole burritos before coming into class today.

Professor Puth raises his brow. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We were just wondering if you could… tell us anything about the identity of the author from that poem?” The girl manages to get all of it out in a rush, cheeks flushed as her friend nods fervently beside her.

“Yea, Prof! We’ve been dying to know! The suspense is killing us, knowing that the mystery author is in one of your classes!” The other girl continues, glittery excitement practically exuding out of her in waves.

Professor Puth sighs, leaning heavily on his desk. He appears about as done as you feel. “Listen… You can badger me all you want, but there’s no way I can tell you. Privacy laws prevent us from sharing information like that without prior consent, even though that student in question might have accidentally sent her assignment to the entire school.” You might be imagining it, but you think Professor Puth points you with a knowing look. You gulp, hastily bowing your head and pretending to fiddle with your phone.

“Aww, Prof! It’s been days and the university hasn’t shut up about it! Surely one of the theories on who the author and muse are must be true, right? You can tell us that, at least.”

You can’t bear to keep listening any longer, though Sera has started to become more interested in the conversation as it progressed. “Wait, wait… I wanna hear the Prof’s opinion,” she says, grinning despite your nails digging crescents into her arm as you try to pull her away.

“No can do! Remember, I have your freshman Halloween pictures saved on a harddrive, and you wouldn’t want me to accidentally send that to the entire student body as well, would you?”

That manages to snap her out of it. Quickly, the two of you leave the lecture hall and away from possible discovery by your poem-frenzied classmates. You are also relieved to be able to breathe in fresh air once more, after being stuck in that class surrounded by liberal art students for two hours. You always do feel a little bit more relaxed after class with Puth, although that might just be from all the secondhand drug use.

Perhaps the fumes really did dull your reflexes, as it takes a while before you realize that Sera has been nudging your shoulder.

When you finally glanced at her, there is a sneaky grin on her face: never a good sign. “So,” she begins, a singsong quality in her voice

After having been her friend for long enough, you have become adept at telling what Sera is going to say next. Call it intuition or whatever, but you like to think of it is a self-defense mechanism. As much as she is your friend, she does love digging into your personal life like it is the cover story of some shitty tabloid. You have to prepare yourself to be interrogated.

“You’re going to ask about the poem, aren’t you?”

Sera rolls her eyes, like you shouldn’t have even asked. “Duh, of course I am. What else would I want to talk about?”

You shrug your shoulders, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have asked ‘Hey, Y/N! How’s your mom been? Have you been eating and drinking well?’ You know, like a normal person.”

“Well, firstable, your mom is literally my friend on Facebook and I saw her go out to that bougie high tea place with Jennie’s mom the other day, so I know she’s fine,” Sera says as the two of you round a corner, heading closer to the parking lot where her car is. “And secondable, you don’t fucking drink water, because you like pretending to be a dehydrated piece of jerky.”

“I just like drinking apple juice, okay? Water is weird,” you say defensively, kicking a pebble as you walk.

“Nah, you’re weird,” Sera counters, ever the creative debater. She remains undeterred, however. “So. Any updates on the poem situation or am I going to have tickle the details out of you?”

You groan, pushing her away from your sensitive sides. “Please don’t… I have no upper body strength and I won’t be able to push you off!”

“That’s the point.” Sera laughs, pinching your cheek. She snatches her hand away, only narrowly escapes getting bitten by you. “Why don’t we skip my torture methods then and go straight to the juicy bits? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“What if nothing has happened since I last saw you?” You grumble, miffed that she really isn’t letting it go. You just want to have one relaxing day, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is. Relaxation is a rare commodity these days. Sera snorts, patting you condescendingly on the back. “Nonsense. You’ve got that post-mental breakdown glow around you. You look absolutely radiant with stress!”

The conversations pauses for a bit when you make it to the parking lot. You don’t have to walk too far, as her car is parked relatively close to the exit, which is just another display of how lucky Sera often is in comparison to you. While your unfortunate plebeian ass is busy drowning in shit, Sera is off somewhere aboard a yacht, getting a massage from some Instagram thot.

She hops into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to put your seatbelt on before backing out with one hand on the wheel. “McDonalds?” she asks, though it is pretty much a given that is where you are going. The last time you both tried diverging from your usual hang out spot, you got intense food poisoning from eating at Chipotle. Sera came out completely fine though, that lucky bitch.

She continues her questions on the drive there, and you relent by telling her most of what has happened to you over the past few days. You gloss over the argument between Hoseok and Jimin, not really wanting their spat to suddenly go viral on Facebook as well. Everything else, however––

“Wait, so you talked to Kim Namjoon? The Kim Namjoon? The Namjoon that you had an embarrassing crush on during our first year?” Sera laughs maniacally, almost driving off into the wrong lane. Luckily, you are quick to latch onto the wheel, saving the two of you from becoming roadkill.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“No, but Y/N! That’s literally so fucking funny!” Sera’s laughter has simmered to a giggle, despite the fact that she is still trying (and failing) to furtively glance your way when you hit a stoplight. “Is he like how you remember? God, do you remember how you were after you first met him? All starstruck because your senpai showed you a draft of his single? ‘Oh, Sera! He has the most amaaaazing flow! I’m going to suck his di––’”

“Shut up!” You whine, slapping her in embarrassment. “Believe me, that crush has died, along with any respect I may have had for him. Men are scum, and I’m going to only date girls from now on.”

“Fine by me! More dick to suck for me, I guess.” Sera teases, whistling innocently. Bold of her to assume that there is any innocent or pure bone in her body; you’ve seen her thirst tweets and no amount of holy water can cure the disease that your vision must have sustained.

“I just want the rumors to die down… It would make my life way more bearable.” You murmur to yourself, sliding down your seat.

Sera is silent for a while. The McDonalds is just within sight, so Sera waits until she has finished parking before she turns to face you fully, uncanny sincerity in her expression. It unnerves you how serious she is, not when you know that this is the same girl who would snort sugar packets if you bet her $5. She places her hands on your shoulder, fixing you with a meaningful look.

“Listen, Y/N. I know all of this is tough right now, but I’m sure it’s going to be alright, okay? The rumor is going to die down soon enough, and everything will be back to normal. Stay strong for now.” Her voice is soothing, sympathy dripping from every word. As mortifying as it is to admit, the tears flow down your cheek effortlessly; perhaps it is the consequence of having to bear this burden on your own for so long without anyone actually telling you that it’s going to be alright.

“Thanks… I think I needed that,” you say after a while, sniffling just a bit. Sera grins fondly at you, wiping your tears.

“No need to thank me. I may be a chaotic shithead, but I’m also your friend.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, gesturing for you to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll even share my nuggets with you.”

Despite her best efforts at comfort, you still feel a little bummed. You allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, as McDonalds is a prime location to feel shitty about your life choices anyway. The heart attack inducing food, the barely hygienic facilities, the minimum wage high school employees… Nothing else screamed “I’d rather be dead but it could also be worse” quite like Mickey D’s often did.

You wait by one of the booths while Sera goes off to order for the both of you, leaving you with her phone and other belongings. She promises to let you eat four out of the twenty nugget pieces, which is asking a lot considering who you are dealing with. Sera could probably eat sixty nuggets if she so desired, but only stops herself so she can be physically well enough to continue being a thot. Chasing men all day requires physical fitness, or so she says.

When you go to place her things on the other side of the booth, you notice that Sera had accidentally left her phone unlocked. You can see that she had been previously looking at one of those popular forum sites for your university, where most of her repertoire of gossip is usually sourced from. You aren’t usually the type to frequent those types of pages, with good reason too. That exact forum is the reason of your current stress, where your most private thoughts and feelings were revealed for all to see. Any sort of positive opinion you might have had for that site was immediately dashed the moment that cursed poem was released into the wild.

It kind of pisses you off that Sera still uses that forum despite knowing how much anxiety it has caused you, but then again, there is only so much you can expect from her. Her appetite for drama and chaos is her way of life, her only other hobby aside from writing. You also vaguely recall her saying that she gathers inspiration for her short stories from some of the more outrageous posts made by your fellow schoolmates.

In the end, curiosity gets the best of you as you stare at the open webpage, tantalizing despite the murkiness that lies within. Oh, lighten up. It’s just a confessions page… Besides, you also kind of want to see what people are saying about your poem, and whether the commotion might have died even slightly over time. (Unlikely, but you remain hopeful.)

“Let’s see,” you murmur to yourself, sneaking glances at the counter to see if Sera is close to ordering. She appears to still be next in line to order, so that might give you enough time to read a few of the comments on the post. It doesn’t take you long to find the original post either, since Sera seems to have been perusing the same thing just beforehand.

“Typical Sera...  Sympathetic in the streets, a nosey bitch in the sheets.” You snort, scrolling quickly through the comment section. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for a few overenthusiastic responses from a couple of people who have bombarded the forum so much that it takes you a few moments to navigate past their thread. You catch a few words here and there, mostly the names of the seven possible muses and not so much the names of any of the possible authors. Honestly, you are more than happy with these turn of events, perfectly content as long as your identity never sees the day where it becomes associated with that disaster piece.

You sort the comments by popularity, wanting to know what everyone’s biggest guesses are. You want to remain hopeful, but as the results start to load, the wave of nausea that suddenly hits you may have been the first warning signal that you should probably stop before you read something that you will regret.

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

[+103, -4] i’m really hoping that kim seokjin is the muse of the poem!! has anyone seen the ads for the new play he’s staring in? he totally looks like the lead actor in a romantic comedy ^^

➾ [+54, -69] psh. that idiot, the muse? PLEASE anyone who has ever worked for kim seokjin KNOWS that it’s physically impossible to form a human connection with that man

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

[+88, -3] WAIT why am i not seeing kim namjoon’s name more often T_T he deserves more love!! stream moonchild or else i’ll bite your ankles

➾ [+1, -6] lol i miss when namjoon used to do actual hiphop… fucking hippie dippie go fuck a tree and some crabs while you’re at it

You sneak a look over your shoulder. Sera is at the front of the line, reciting her orders while the harried employee has to quickly punch in the inordinate amount of food items. Okay… While no one’s looking, time to downvote a couple of these and maybe report some of these assholes… No way in hell are you letting anyone think Moonlight Sonata is about either of those Kim idiots. You would honestly rather out yourself than let anyone think they are worthy of such public displays of love and humiliation.

You are just about to close Sera’s phone and vow never to set foot on social media ever again when the next post catches your eye––the first one where you actually see your name. In fact, your name is generously sprinkled a number of times in this one specific thread.

“Wait a second…” You squint at the top of the thread, reading out the username of the original poster. Is that… Is that your name?!

“User Y/NKook… Oh my god!” You shriek loudly, almost dropping the phone from your sweaty palms. It must be the same person who had organized that merchandise booth in the cafeteria the other week! The number of upvotes on the post isn’t making you feel any better.

posted by u/Y/NKook [3h ago]:

[+98, -5] idk why you noobs are even trying… intellectuals KNOW that y/nkook is real and i won’t take no for an answer… give me my childhood friends to lovers fic RIGHT NOW because this slowburn has been going on for years now and i can’t stand it!!!

➾ [+11, -0] omg op do you know them personally?? how’d you know that they were childhood friends?? i go to the same drama class as y/n and jungkook but they never sit together… are you sure it’s them??

➾ [+20, -1] of course!! they’re even neighbors… besides, haven’t you heard what his nickname is? his friends call him moon eyes for a reason! they say that y/n is the one who gave him that name ^^

You feel your eye twitch, disbelief flooding your senses. Why is this weirdo shipping you with Jungkook? You guys haven’t even spoken properly since elementary school… How does this dude know who you are? Are you being stalked? You whirl your head around, scanning the restaurant for any suspicious people who may or may not be following you. Is this what celebrities feel like when they get shipped with their friends? You feel a sudden surge of respect for them, unable to grasp the situation that you are in. God, you really hope Jungkook hasn’t read any of these.

You go to switch Sera’s phone off, feeling less accomplished than ever before. Maybe it is best to save yourself the anxiety of seeing your world fall apart and try to delude yourself into thinking that the past two weeks have never happened at all. However, there is a certain appeal to reading things that you know you should not, like watching a car crash and unable to look away. The urge to keep scrolling and gaze upon your own personal hell is hard to stop when you have already gained momentum.

“One last post, then I’m done…” You are hard set on that promise, not wanting your apprehension to destroy your peaceful afternoon completely. The next post on the forum greets you with a high upvote number, sending a lick of fear to run down your spine at what you might find. Please don’t be about Y/NKook, you pray helplessly. Little did you know, there are worse things to worry about other than being shipped with your friends.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

[+154, -5] hey guys i’m back again with another update! so i’ve managed to shorten the list a bit since last time i posted, and i’m 100% certain that kim seokjin is not the muse! sorry, gamers… our prince is in another castle it seems. worry not, though! that only helps our search better and shortens the list. on the other hand, the authors list has also been edited! turns out that neither jodi nor melody is the author, as they both submitted poems about something else. if you are interested to see the updated lists for both muse and author, please head to my profile and look for the original post titled “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse” :-)

You have never clicked on a profile as quickly as you did in that moment. Not even a notification from UberEats could make you move that fast.

Lo and behold, the post that started it all is right at the top of the user’s profile, with the significantly shorter list that they had promised. Sweat begins to build on your temples when you realize that the authors list has decreased to seven names, with your name still obstinately sitting at the end of the lines. When will your suffering end?

There is still something that doesn’t sit right with you, however. As you peruse this user’s profile some more, you feel as if there is something weird about it that you can’t quite place. You never did like using this forum, so maybe you are just not used to the layout of the website? What is it about this user’s profile that is making your stomach coil with nerves?

Wait a second… Why is there an edit button beside their profile picture?

“Y/N! I’m back! Sorry for taking so long; I think I ordered too much again. You’re fine with BBQ sauce on your nuggs, right? That’s all I asked for––” Sera had been happily chirping away, sliding into the bench across from you before finally noticing your stoney face. She pats her face, rubbing her cheeks in confusion. “What? Do I have something on me?”

“How fucking dare you!” You hiss, slamming her phone on the table. Unfortunately, you had accidentally locked the phone in your anger, showing only a black screen.

Sera flinches backwards, bewildered. Her eyes flick to the screen and then to you. “Huh? I thought you liked BBQ sauce on your nuggs? I mean, I can ask for sweet and sour sauce if you want…”

“Unlock your phone right now and explain to me why you have triceratops’ profile logged in.”

Your words begin to click in Sera’s mind. Her face grows pale, her body unconsciously sliding further into the booth to hide from your glare. “U-uh… Haha, what on earth are you talking about..?”

“Don’t even try to lie, Sera. I saw everything, and I honestly don’t know if I’m madder that you betrayed me or that I was stupid enough to believe that you were my friend.”

Sera splutters incomprehensibly at first, waving her arms in panic as she tries to save her ass. “I––! You––! It wasn’t like I––”

You lean forward, peering at her coldly. “Oh yeah? What wasn’t it like? It wasn’t like we were friends?”

“No, of course not! I mean,” she backtracks, tongue-tied. “We are friends! It’s just… I made that post before I knew you were the author and I originally sent the poem to just a couple of people because I was so impressed, and I just wanted to––”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, holding up a finger. She squeaks, staring at you fearfully as you slowly get up to your feet. You cry out, “You were also the one who released my fucking poem to the world?!”

“Anna ou––” Sera whimpers, slapping her palm to her mouth. She lowers it, whispering ruefully. “I… didn’t mean to say that…”

“Oh, so you were meaning to lie to me even more?” You seethe, ready to burst into flames.

The poor McDonalds employee who had come to deliver your order to your table seems too frightened to approach the two of you, her arms shaking both with fear and the weight of five orders of 20 piece chicken nuggets. “Uh, is this a bad time?” The girl asks, eyes darting away from your heated glare.

Instead of answering, you grab the tray from her hands and dump the contents on the table. Sera squawks pitifully when a few of the nuggets fall to the ground, though she absolutely yells when you start chucking them at her head like tiny oily cannonballs.

“What the fuck––Dude stop!” Sera has her arms up in defense, shielding her face from your fiery attack. The sound of you ripping open a BBQ sauce packet has her straightening up, however. “No, not the BBQ sauce! Anything but that!”

“Give me one reason why I should show you mercy.” Your hand is poised to pour the sticky sauce all over her white Valentino bag, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Please, Y/N! I’m really sorry!” Sera jumps out of the booth, and goes on her knees. She clasps her hands together, shaking them frantically. “I really didn’t know it was you at first!”

“Well then, why didn’t you fucking take the post down the moment you did know it was me? I thought you were my friend!” You clench your fist around the BBQ sauce packet, causing some of it to spill onto her bag. She makes a desperate noise.

“I just… I like the attention?” She knows this is the wrong answer, judging by your unimpressed expression. She sighs heavily, head bowed in shame. “Look, I’ll fix this, alright? I genuinely didn’t do this wanting to hurt you… I just got so caught up in the clout that I didn’t really think about what would happen if you found out!”

“‘If’ I found out, huh…” You echo, more disappointed than angry now. You slump back into your chair, taking care to grab the napkins and cleaning the sticky mess on your skin as best as you can. “You really were going to continue doing this for as long as it took, huh?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Her voice is soft, repentant. It doesn’t do much for your sympathy, however.

“Fuck you, honestly. If you really are sorry, you’ll fix this mess as soon as possible.”

You reach for your bag, your movements jostling a few more nuggets to tumble to the floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, not wanting to see if Sera is doing her Crying Face Emoji impression to try and soften you up. Not this time. This time… you don’t think your feelings can recover after this.

You have read enough stories about heartbreak and longing, but you don’t think any of them top the experience of losing a friend you realize you never even had.

The next morning, there is a new post on the forum from user triceratops.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

[+0, -0] Hello, friends. I think I’ve found the author.

It’s Lee Sera.

[devinsfm]

joe keery. cis male. he/him.  ／  jack devin just pulled up blasting video killed the radio star by the buggles — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty - four year old radio show host, i’ve heard they’re really impulsive, but that they make up for it by being so captivating. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say obscure vintage horror comics, blurry photographs of mysterious figures in the woods, and vivid descriptions of spine - chilling tales  . here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! ( sam, 23, est, she/her )

hey there, demons ! *ba tum tss* i’m sam and i never do this, but i really felt like it was time for a change, so i drew lots of inspiration from some of my favorite ocs and i love what i’ve come up with ! character info is under the cut and please feel free to message me if you would like to plot !

i. stats

𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢: jackson willard devin

𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰: jack, spooky guy, the night watchman 

𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫: salem, massachusetts

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥: ocotber 31st, 1995

𝔷𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔞𝔠: scorpio

𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: demisexual

𝔬𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: host of the graveyard shift, a radio program airing every weeknight from 12am to 5am

𝔭𝔬𝔰. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: captivating, witty, resolute. 

𝔫𝔢𝔤. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: impulsive, gauche, naive.

ii. history

jackson willard “jack” devin was born on halloween day ( yes, really ) in salem massachusetts ( yes, really ). his mother stayed home with him as he was growing up while his father is a boston cop turned sheriff of the county and he’s an only child.

outside of the popular tourist spots, his hometown has a very close - knit, stuck in the 80s vibe. it’s the sort of place where everyone knows everyone for their entire lives because no one ever leaves and no one new ever moves in. phone and internet signals are nearly impossible to come by, so the local arcade and the video store still have quite a booming business in the year 2020. jack grew up in a not - so - typical small town suburban gothic environment, his dad’s income being just enough for them to get by every month.

he was an energetic kid who cycled through all sorts of interests, trying out everything from little league ( disaster ) to music lessons ( not as much of a disaster, but he wound up getting bored of it ). nothing seemed to really stick until he got his first horror comic : a vintage issue of tales from the crypt with tattered, yellowing pages. he was five years old and paid five cents for it at an elderly neighbor’s yard sale and from that moment on he was hooked. it started with the comics, but he quickly expanded his horizons to movies, books, and television in the genre of horror.

he got intro drawing and that was the only thing besides his newfound interest in horror that he could sit still for. at first he would just try to re - draw the panels in his comic books, but soon he was drawing anything and everything that caught his interest and he was getting good. he was being homeschooled by his mother at the time, but once friends and family and, well, everyone took notice of his skill, they were encouraging his parents to nurture his talent.

his parents fought about it. his dad didn’t see the value in his skill and wanted him to instead focus on academics, aspiring towards his son one day becoming a lawyer or a businessman or even following in his footsteps. jack never wanted that for himself. he was homeschooled by his mom up until then and she believed in him. it was with her blessing that he would go to a real school for the first time at the age of fourteen, starting off his freshman year at a high school that was a thirty minute train ride away in boston and catered exclusively to youth who demonstrated an exceptional talent in some area of the fine arts.

jack did well in school, but his grades probably would have been a lot better still if he didn’t start purposely acting out as his relationship with his dad got worse and worse. he started skipping classes, getting caught trespassing in cemeteries at 2am, and smoking a lot of weed. 

when it came time for college, jack planned to attend art school. he swears he did. he looked a few schools on the west coast to get away from his dad for a few years yikes and planned to apply, but on the deadline date he got so high that he forgot to submit his portfolios. yes, really.

he loaded up his van ( a turquiose monstrosity he painted to look like the mystery machine ) and headed out to california anyway after telling his parents that he would be attending UCLA. of course, they quickly found it that it was a lie and his dad was furious. the two got into a huge fight over the phone and things were said. the result is that jack and his father haven’t spoken to each other ever since. 

he did lots of odd jobs while he was on the road and basically lived in his van, which didn’t change right away when he decided to settle in LA, but he eventually got a job fetching coffee for the late night employees at a local radio station.

it was the typical, cliché story : the regular late night host called out of work at the last minute, there was no one else around and they were going to be on air in ten seconds. jack was thrown in front of the microphone and told to think fast !

he did, and the listeners loved him for it. whether it was his ramblings about horror movies or his thick boston accent or his reckless use of swear words on live radio, he turned out to be a massive hit. the successful night earned him a gig as an occasional substitute deejay, and with each broadcast he grew more and more popular, and about two years ago he was finally given his own program.

the graveyard shift is a radio program that airs every weeknight from 12am - 5am in the los angeles area and on apps such as iheartradio. jack hosts the show as his ( thinly veiled ) alter ego the night watchmen and discusses topics such as the paranormal, conspiracy theories, and all things horror. it’s one of the most popular programs of the time slot in the country.

it’s something that he never expected or picturing himself doing, but now he can’t imagine doing anything else. he’s become really passionate about revitalizing the field and bringing radio into the 21st century. he signed a HUGE contract with the studio when his show first started and now he’s a quite well known radio personality in the area and across the country.

iii. extras

huge stoner. high as fuck 90% of the time, and the other 10% of the time he’s probably still high, just not as fuck. 

well known for his on air antics. he’ll light a joint in the middle of his radio show, he’ll prank call a friend and broadcast it to the entire city, he’ll curse in every single sentence and skate by on the after hours excuse when he’s reprimanded for it. he’s so outlandish and bizarre and like nothing that’s ever been heard on the radio before, and it just draws people in.

he often seems shy in person, but it’s more like he’s just a little socially awkward, something which also shines through in occasional non - malicious but blunt remarks and general lack of regard for what people think of him. he really just...doesn’t care.

genuinely seems to believe it’s either halloween day and / or the year 1986 at any given moment as that’s about as recent as his pop culture references get. he’s never heard of the k*rdashians, he doesn’t know what the mcu is, and the phrase yeet means absolutely nothing to him. mention any of it to him and he’ll just stare blankly bc he honestly doesn’t have a clue.

HOWEVER, he did start the area 51 meme from last summer.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

still draws. especially if he has to still for a stretch of time, then he’ll take out his latest sketchbook ( he goes through a lot of them ) and start doodling. he’s still quite good, mostly in his favored comic - esque style.

BIG CHAOTIC ENERGY and ZERO IMPULSE CONTROL

a chatterbox with friends but don’t be fooled...he’s been giving his own dad the silent treatment for almost seven ( 7 ) years now. it’s his preferred method of expressing anger towards someone because he isn’t really a fan of confrontation, but he’s maybe a liiiittle bit stubborn.

most of the time he’s a really easygoing person, a good friend and very loyal to the people he cares about. well - meaning, not the best at advice but he’s more likely to try and cheer a person up anyway. 

he has a pet pied ball python named the crypt keeper ( tkc for short ) who he sometimes just carries with him because he likes to just chill wrapped around jack’s hand and arm. 

iv. wanted connections

maternal or paternal cousins ( their grandparents probably live in boston or new england but otherwise anything goes for this )

close friends

friends

guests on his radio show 

fans / haters of his radio show

people who don’t like him / find him annoying

exes ( 1 - 2, can be on good or bad terms )

“casually dating” but it might get real complicated soon - allie james

( these are just ideas and i’m trash at coming up with stuff, so please don’t feel limited by what’s listed here. )

[devinfm]

joe keery. cis male. he/him.  ／  jack devin just pulled up blasting video killed the radio star by the buggles — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty - four year old radio show host, i’ve heard they’re really impulsive, but that they make up for it by being so captivating. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say obscure vintage horror comics, blurry photographs of mysterious figures in the woods, and vivid descriptions of spine - chilling tales  . here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! ( sam, 23, est, she/her )

hey there, demons! *ba tum tss* i’m sam and i also write parker ( @prkrfm​​ ) which is the best place to contact me for plotting!

i. stats

𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢: jackson willard devin

𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰: jack, spooky guy, the night watchman

𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫: salem, massachusetts

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥: ocotber 31st, 1995

𝔷𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔞𝔠: scorpio

𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: demisexual

𝔬𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: host of the graveyard shift, a radio program airing every weeknight from 12am to 5am

𝔭𝔬𝔰. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: captivating, witty, resolute.

𝔫𝔢𝔤. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: impulsive, gauche, naive.

ii. history

jackson willard “jack” devin was born on halloween day ( yes, really ) in salem massachusetts ( yes, really ). his mother stayed home with him as he was growing up while his father is a boston cop turned sheriff of the county and he has one sibling, a younger sister.

outside of the popular tourist spots, his hometown has a very close - knit, stuck in the 80s vibe. it’s the sort of place where everyone knows everyone for their entire lives because no one ever leaves and no one new ever moves in. phone and internet signals are nearly impossible to come by, so the local arcade and the video store still have quite a booming business in the year 2020. jack grew up in a not - so - typical small town suburban gothic environment, his dad’s income being just enough for them to get by every month.

he was an energetic kid who cycled through all sorts of interests, trying out everything from little league ( disaster ) to music lessons ( not as much of a disaster, but he wound up getting bored of it ). nothing seemed to really stick until he got his first horror comic : a vintage issue of tales from the crypt with tattered, yellowing pages. he was five years old and paid five cents for it at an elderly neighbor’s yard sale and from that moment on he was hooked. it started with the comics, but he quickly expanded his horizons to movies, books, and television in the genre of horror.

he got intro drawing and that was the only thing besides his newfound interest in horror that he could sit still for. at first he would just try to re - draw the panels in his comic books, but soon he was drawing anything and everything that caught his interest and he was getting good. he was being homeschooled by his mother at the time, but once friends and family and, well, everyone took notice of his skill, they were encouraging his parents to nurture his talent.

his parents fought about it. his dad didn’t see the value in his skill and wanted him to instead focus on academics, aspiring towards his son one day becoming a lawyer or a businessman or even following in his footsteps. jack never wanted that for himself. he was homeschooled by his mom up until then and she believed in him. it was with her blessing that he would go to a real school for the first time at the age of fourteen, starting off his freshman year at a high school that was a thirty minute train ride away in boston and catered exclusively to youth who demonstrated an exceptional talent in some area of the fine arts.

jack did well in school, but his grades probably would have been a lot better still if he didn’t start purposely acting out as his relationship with his dad got worse and worse. he started skipping classes, getting caught trespassing in cemeteries at 2am, and smoking a lot of weed.

when it came time for college, jack planned to attend art school. he swears he did. he looked a few schools on the west coast to get away from his dad for a few years yikes and planned to apply, but on the deadline date he got so high that he forgot to submit his portfolios. yes, really.

he loaded up his van ( a turquiose monstrosity he painted to look like the mystery machine ) and headed out to california anyway after telling his parents that he would be attending UCLA. of course, they quickly found it that it was a lie and his dad was furious. the two got into a huge fight over the phone and things were said. the result is that jack and his father haven’t spoken to each other ever since.

he did lots of odd jobs while he was on the road and basically lived in his van, which didn’t change right away when he decided to settle in LA, but he eventually got a job fetching coffee for the late night employees at a local radio station.

it was the typical, cliché story : the regular late night host called out of work at the last minute, there was no one else around and they were going to be on air in ten seconds. jack was thrown in front of the microphone and told to think fast !

he did, and the listeners loved him for it. whether it was his ramblings about horror movies or his thick boston accent or his reckless use of swear words on live radio, he turned out to be a massive hit. the successful night earned him a gig as an occasional substitute deejay, and with each broadcast he grew more and more popular, and about two years ago he was finally given his own program.

the graveyard shift is a radio program that airs every weeknight from 12am - 5am in the los angeles area and on apps such as iheartradio. jack hosts the show as his ( thinly veiled ) alter ego the night watchman and discusses topics such as the paranormal, conspiracy theories, and all things horror. it’s one of the most popular programs of the time slot in the country.

it’s something that he never expected or picturing himself doing, but now he can’t imagine doing anything else. he’s become really passionate about revitalizing the field and bringing radio into the 21st century. he signed a HUGE contract with the studio when his show first started and now he’s a quite well known radio personality in the area and across the country.

iii. extras

huge stoner. high as fuck 90% of the time, and the other 10% of the time he’s probably still high, just not as fuck.

well known for his on air antics. he’ll light a joint in the middle of his radio show, he’ll prank call a friend and broadcast it to the entire city, he’ll curse in every single sentence and skate by on the after hours excuse when he’s reprimanded for it. he’s so outlandish and bizarre and like nothing that’s ever been heard on the radio before, and it just draws people in.

he often seems shy in person, but it’s more like he’s just a little socially awkward, something which also shines through in occasional non - malicious but blunt remarks and general lack of regard for what people think of him. he really just…doesn’t care.

genuinely seems to believe it’s either halloween day and / or the year 1986 at any given moment as that’s about as recent as his pop culture references get. he’s never heard of the k*rdashians, he doesn’t know what the mcu is, and the phrase yeet means absolutely nothing to him. mention any of it to him and he’ll just stare blankly bc he honestly doesn’t have a clue.

HOWEVER, he did start the area 51 meme from last summer.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

still draws. especially if he has to still for a stretch of time, then he’ll take out his latest sketchbook ( he goes through a lot of them ) and start doodling. he’s still quite good, mostly in his favored comic - esque style.

BIG CHAOTIC ENERGY and ZERO IMPULSE CONTROL

a chatterbox with friends but don’t be fooled…he’s been giving his own dad the silent treatment for almost seven ( 7 ) years now. it’s his preferred method of expressing anger towards someone because he isn’t really a fan of confrontation, but he’s maybe a liiiittle bit stubborn.

most of the time he’s a really easygoing person, a good friend and very loyal to the people he cares about. well - meaning, not the best at advice but he’s more likely to try and cheer a person up anyway.

he has a pet pied ball python named the crypt keeper ( tkc for short ) who he sometimes just carries with him because he likes to just chill wrapped around jack’s hand and arm.

iv. wanted connections

maternal or paternal cousins ( their grandparents probably live in boston or new england but otherwise anything goes for this )

close friends

friends

guests on his radio show

fans / haters of his radio show

people who don’t like him / find him annoying

exes ( 1 - 2, can be on good or bad terms )

“casually dating” but it might get real complicated soon - allie james

( these are just ideas and i’m trash at coming up with stuff, so please don’t feel limited by what’s listed here. )

[purecamp]

Now I Just Made It; I Found You At Last

not submitting this to AQ bc it’s not like.... relevant but anyway have this

Justin stared blankly at the screen in front of him, willing the little clock on the right hand corner to tick by just a little faster. The week had been long, gruelling - a new project was in the planning stages and as the most qualified architect for the job, Justin was under pressure to deliver above and beyond his usual high standard. Of course, it was enjoyable work, and it paid well, but he was finding himself feeling… well, stagnant. He needed a change of scenery, a breath of fresh air.

New York wasn’t a source of fresh air, per se. It was the world of business, the world he had thrown himself into with reckless abandon and found himself all the better for it. At the age of thirty eight, he found himself in a spacious apartment, not quite a penthouse but near enough, and enough spare expenses to dote on himself any luxuries he desired.

It was a busy, bustling, comfortable life. Affordable luxuries, a good job, a nice home.

Admittedly it wasn’t the life Justin had expected to find himself in. He had been sure, when he was young, that at this point in his life he would be married, perhaps with a few children. Luxuries meant little to him - he preferred simplicity and experiences over the expensive pressed suits and cufflinks that mattered so much to the people around him. In a way, he felt like a marionette playing a part made for someone else. He had tailored his life this way, and was finally starting to feel like he had outgrown the role.

A change was needed, but the clock wasn’t ticking fast enough.

“Mr Honard? Sir? Your coffee.”

The timid intern nudged the door open with her foot, smiling shyly as she placed the cup onto the desk. A few moments passed, and she didn’t leave.

“Miss Michaels, is there something I can do for you?” Justin asked her, as politely as he could manage. The girl couldn’t have been any older than eighteen, and he still remembered the days of feeling like a useless asset to a company much bigger than him. Nowadays he was the big fish, but still held as much respect as possible for the new small fry.

“Is it true that this next deal could be multi-million dollars? The girls were talking and I…” She paused. “I’d love to be that good some day.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Miss Michaels. It is true, yes. I guess this weekend won’t be a weekend for me, so I can try and get all this planning done in time for the meeting on Monday.” Justin sighed, steeling himself for the remaining five minutes of his day. “Still, work is work.”

Miss Michaels - Kameron, Justin believed her name was - excused herself, leaving him to shut down his laptop and sink into the leather chair, his eyes closing against his will. A multi-million dollar deal lay in front of him, and would only take a weekend of precise work to consolidate. Why, then, did he feel so stale? Where was the passion? Why did he feel like he was just running in circles, getting nowhere?

His yellow cab was already waiting after his swift exit from the office, still unsure as to whether he wanted to take up the generous offer that resided in his emails, waiting to be picked up. He would be a fool not to do it, and he knew it well. But that didn’t stop the nagging feeling that something in his life needed replacing, or uprooting. He was stuck.

It was, unsurprisingly enough, a slight deviation from his usual habits that led to the chain events that would end that stagnant, stuck-in-the-mud emptiness from Justin’s life once and for all.

His first action upon hearing the telltale ‘ding!’ of the lift to his apartment was to check his mailbox. Normally, he’d wait and open everything on Monday; nothing of any urgency arrived through the mail, and it was usually work-related documents that he would prefer to handle at work, or useless promotions and menus from establishments he would never eat from.

But the day had left him feeling sullen and somewhat bored, and he subconsciously begged for something that would let him escape for a while. Maybe a brochure for a slightly discounted holiday would be stuffed within the bank statements and tax filings, and he could use that as an excuse for some sort of holiday. Croatia had been nice, as had Egypt.

He pulled the various envelopes out and unlocked the apartment, throwing himself onto the sofa to sift through them all.

Bank statement, bank statement, last month’s tax returns, a notice from the last build, an automated thank you letter from two months ago… and a blue envelope.

Hmm. A small stamp decorated the corner of the envelope, depicting a classically beautiful Aphrodite, rising in her nude glory from the depths of the ocean. In the middle, in black ink, unfamiliar handwriting had scrawled Justin Honard.

Curious but not yet hopeful enough to pin any excitement onto the contents of the envelope, he pulled out the paper inside. It was neatly folded in half, concealing the contents, although judging by its size, it seemed unlikely that it was a letter. Perhaps an invitation to a party of some kind, or a charity gala.

It is with sheer delight that this happy couple announces their engagement!

A date was printed underneath, and the name of a hotel that Justin didn’t recognise. Glancing up, he didn’t recognise the names of the bride or groom either - only first names were provided, under the assumption that whoever was receiving the invitation clearly knew the couple well enough to be certain of whose wedding they were going to be attending.

Briefly, he wondered if the invitation had come to him by mistake. Yet clear as day, his name was written on the envelope, and…

Justin’s heart skipped a beat. Beneath the unfamiliar hotel, a much more familiar location was listed, somewhere he knew he would never be able to return to in good conscience.

The island.

He held his breath. There was no way he could return, not a chance in Hell. God, he hadn’t thought about her in so long…

Well, that was a lie. She crossed his mind at the most inane of times, not always, but often enough that her presence remained always in the back of his mind, reminding him of the things he’d done. Her laughter still echoed in his ears, her tears still haunted his dreams. But he hadn’t properly relived that one awful, fateful day in decades. How could he go back there - her home - knowing how much he had hurt her?

Then his eyes darted down to the very bottom of the invitation, and he stopped breathing altogether.

Please come. -Sharon

She… She…

It made no sense.

Sharon hated him. She had made that clear.

It had been twenty years…

But no. He knew that girl - that woman. Their love affair may have been brief, but Justin knew more about her than he knew about the world around him, the career he had chosen, the life he had perfected. He knew that she smelt like vanilla and sea-salt and makeup. He knew that she liked short skirts and tight pleather and simple cotton sheets against her skin. He knew that her heart and soul were comprised of hellish fire, and for better or for worse, she felt every emotion that struck her with the intensity of a thousand lovers.

Sharon wasn’t a fool, he knew that. She would never carelessly forgive him for ruining her.

It made no sense. This was some cruel joke, a trick played by a god to punish him for daring to try and break free from his own life’s restraints. And yet… why had he sprung to his feet? Why were the rest of letters discarded on the floor, with only this invitation clutched between his trembling fingers? Why was he already heading towards the bedroom to pack his things?

Damn it all. Sharon hadn’t been part of his life for two long decades and yet she was still able to undo him at his very core and unravel everything he had built without her. What did any of it mean, anyway? His illustrious career and expensive apartment in a city he didn’t truly love - why did any of that matter? He had been searching desperately for any kind of whim that would allow him to escape once and for all.

Love him or hate him, Sharon’s name was signed at the bottom of the invite, and it took Justin mere minutes to fill his suitcase with clothing. Simple clothing - the kind one would wear to fall in love on a magical Greek island, rather than seal business deals in the industrial side of New York City. Anything else could be found on the way. Time, all of a sudden, seemed to be of the essence. Twenty years melted into nothing.

He dashed out of the door in disarray, his suitcase packed, his top-three shirt buttons undone and his hair mussed from raking his hands through it. A last-minute flight was booked to Athens and Justin knew that from array of taxicabs he could see from his window that making his way to the airport would be no trouble at all.

And somehow, just like that, Sharon Needles turned his whole life upside down once again, a whole twenty years after she’d done it the first time.

-

“Are you fucking kidding! Is this a joke? Is this some cosmic fucking joke?”

The man a few feet away from Justin uttered his inner sentiments perfectly as he gazed after the small red dot on the horizon.

“Hello? Fucking ferry? Come back!”

He sighed. “I need to get to that fucking island. This is fucked.”

Justin nodded in agreement. “Yeah. And the next ferry-”

“Tuesday. Bad tide or some shit like that. I can’t wait that long!” The other man complained. “I have a wedding!”

Justin’s ears pricked. “Trixie and Brian?”

“You know them?”

“No.” Justin answered truthfully. “I have an invite… I know someone on the island.”

That was as much detail as he felt comfortable providing to this total stranger. After all, how would he even begin to explain his predicament? Hi, stranger. I emailed the multi-million dollar deal company with a short email explaining that I am unavailable, turned down the biggest job of my career for a chance that I might see a girl whose heart I broke twenty years ago, and ten hours later I’m stood on a dock at the edge of mainland Greece next to you, having missed the only ferry that will take me to her, and somehow a wedding is involved in this entire convoluted mess of a story.

The other man shrugged. “Same. I’m Willam.”

“Justin.”

Willam’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he recognised the name, but he shrugged a second time and held out his hand to shake it. Two heads were better than one, and somehow they needed to find a way across a large expanse of ocean to one of the most remote islands he had ever been to.

God, he’d missed that little pocket of paradise.

“Okay, maybe we can…” Willam trailed off. “Nope, I got nothing. Like, I have a boat, but it’s on the island and that’s not fucking useful right now. I need it here.”

“A boat? I have a boat!” A third voice chimed in. The owner of said voice smiled rakishly, gesturing to what looked like a barely seaworthy vessel bobbing in the waves a few feet away from them. Both Justin and Willam grimaced at it. “Uh-”

“Kidding!” He grinned, and pointed to a much larger boat, named The Carey. “She’s served me well, this one has. Anyway, you two gentlemen look like you need a ride and I’m nothing if not a generous Samaritan.”

Call him superstitious, it felt like a sign. The man introduced himself as Jaremi, and soon enough they were loading their things onto his boat, preparing to sail across to the island he’d missed so much. It had to be fate, for everything to align so perfectly. Someone up there was making sure, one way or another, that he would make it to this island. He was sure, tucked in his pocket, the little Aphrodite stamp was winking at him. This was her doing.

“So you’re Jaremi Carey? That guy who writes about weird places?” Willam interrogated him, the wind whipping his blonde hair into his face. Justin had taken a liking to Willam in the hour that he’d known him, and was warming to Jaremi too. He spoke little as the other two chatted away, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon for any evidence that the island he had been dreaming of hadn’t been purely fictitious.

It seemed like one of those serendipitous moments in life where a common purpose united three total strangers. Jaremi, too, had an invitation to the wedding, and was equally as cagey about his association with the bride or groom. A more rational Justin would think on it, trying to conjure reasons for such a strange link between them, but he couldn’t.

Not once had he been able to think clearly when Sharon was around. She was all-consuming, her love encompassing him in ways he never knew love could. She had been self-professed innocent when he met her, but it was truly him who had been naive to what love could do to a man. In a matter of weeks he was completely changed, enthralled with this laughing goddess and her deep blue eyes. Her picture was as fresh in his mind as it had been twenty years ago.

Perhaps stupidly, he had dug out those photos of her and packed them into his suitcase, just to remind himself, selfishly, that she had loved him once. He didn’t deserve an ounce of her heart, not anymore, but it was a comfort to him knowing that, for a short time, she had loved him with everything she had. She didn’t need to know that his love for her had never died down, anyway. Justin was sure she was now perfectly happy with the man of her dreams.

But maybe…?

No. Justin stopped the fluttering hope in his chest as soon as it blossomed. She had asked him to come to the wedding, but that didn’t mean she had spent twenty years pining for his return. He was being ridiculous; a woman like Sharon would never allow herself to sink so low. She was strong, smart, resilient - and somebody as intoxicating as her would definitely have been treated right by now.

Whatever the situation, Justin told himself he didn’t care. He would get to see her again, and that was reward enough.

-

Oh my god, it was Sharon.

It wasn’t Sharon, but it might well have been. She was every bit Sharon, from head-to-toe she was his ex-lover, radiant and beautiful at no more than twenty years old. Standing before them, she regarded them with sparkling eyes and a nervous smile.

“Perhaps this young lady will be able to help us… Hello there! We three strangers have been invited to a wedding by Sharon, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about what’s going on, would you? I’m Jaremi.” He offered his hand for the young girl to shake, which she accepted.

When she spoke, her voice was breathless and yet - still so similar to hers. Sweeter, and higher, Justin noted. Sharon’s had more of a rasp to it, a husk that he had never been able to forget. Twenty years on, and the exact tone of her voice hadn’t escaped the depths of his memory.

“Yes, yes… Yes, we’re expecting you. You two must be Justin and Willam.”

Willam nodded and introduced himself, letting Justin go last. As each of them spoke, the young girl eyed them with a peculiar look. It seemed innocent and curious enough, but it was almost as if she was searching for something. After a few moments, she seemed to shake out of her trance and tucked a lock of her hair - golden blonde, like Sharon’s - behind her ear.

“Come with me, we have rooms for you. Well… one room. We’re a little tied up for space at the moment, with this wedding that’s happening.”

She led them, but she needn’t have bothered. Justin still remembered every step of the way, every winding path that would eventually lead to the taverna, every secret cave and cove perfect for a romantic evening or - as he tried not to dwell on for too long - a passionate embrace. It was only when they reached what used to be a rocky hill and an old wooden shack that things were new to him. The aforementioned hotel stood before them, shining white in the Greek sunshine.

She did it, Justin thought to himself, knowing he had no right to be proud and yet filled with pride all the same. She achieved her dream.

“We’ll, uh, have to go round the back of everything.” The girl told them, smiling sweetly as she took them into the lower courtyard. Her eyes seemed to be darting back and forth. “Everything’s a little hectic, so it’s easier that way.”

“Seems fair. Is Sharon around?” Justin spoke up.

God. Even saying her name was like a breath of fresh air away from his old life. It was as if at once, the stress and mundanity of his regular life dissipated. Her name on his lips had more power than he knew what to do with.

“Not at the moment, but I’m sure she will be.” She replied after a moment’s hesitation, steering them through alleys and shortcuts and clambering over boxes of hay and bottles and fresh produce. It seemed like a strange way to get to a hotel room, granted, but the three had decided unanimously not to argue with the girl. Clearly, she knew the hotel better than they did.

Maybe five or so minutes later, they arrived. All three began to settle their bags onto one of the three beds, as the girl dusted herself off to look a little more presentable for their official introduction. It had been a little bit of an arduous journey, given the morning heat, and she looked a little flustered as she smiled apologetically at them.

“Sorry if this seemed a little rushed… I’m Trixie.”

Ah. So this was the girl from the invite.

“You’re the girl getting married?”

Trixie’s face split into a beam, and she lifted her hand to reveal the silver ring on her finger. Justin’s vision tunnelled - that smile was one he had never been able to forget, practically pasted onto someone else’s face. He had known from the moment he saw her, but that smile seemed to confirm everything for him. Unknown feelings - not pleasant, but not unpleasant - bubbled in his stomach. She was talking, but Justin couldn’t understand a word of it. She… She…

“You’re Sharon’s daughter.”

Sharon had a daughter. Sharon, the love of his life, immortalised in his memory at the tender age of seventeen, had a daughter. This was undoubtedly her, stood before him. Proof that Sharon had managed to move on with her life after they had fallen apart. She had something truly marvellous to show for it.

Seemingly caught unawares, Trixie just nodded helplessly.

“I knew you looked familiar.” Justin found himself unable to stop, his mind now flooded with thoughts of her. “God, I bet she hasn’t aged a day.”

Seeing Trixie was jarring. He knew Sharon would be different now, especially given how much he had changed in their years apart, but meeting her daughter who was nothing if not the exact image of Sharon in her youth had fucked with his head. He somehow knew that Sharon would be even more beautiful than she had been before, a feat he had long thought impossible.

“I know she’s busy, but can I see her? I want to thank her for this invite-”

“No!” Trixie rushed out, her expression filling with fear. It was yet another look that Justin knew all too well; he had seen it on her mom, way back when her biggest worry was her own mother’s wrath. “I… shit. Mom didn’t send the invitations to you, I did. She doesn’t know you’re here.”

And just like that, Justin’s euphoria shattered.

“Listen.” She whispered, drawing closer. “She’s been so stressed constantly about my wedding, so I felt bad and invited you guys to cheer her up. She talks about her friends from the past all the time, I thought she’d like it.”

Friends. Friends didn’t even begin to cover what they had. Nor indeed what they had left behind. Justin was definitely something of an enemy, the way he’d broken her heart. He shouldn’t have come at all.

Trixie took a deep breath and continued. “Just… if she sees you, don’t tell her you’re here for my wedding. Make something up, a happy coincidence that you’re here. Please. She’ll freak out at having unexpected guests, I just know it, but once she gets past the stress she’ll be so happy.”

Justin sighed heavily. “I shouldn’t be here, I should go. Trixie, your mom hates me.”

Hate, too, felt like a massive understatement. He had been told in no uncertain terms exactly what she thought of his scumbag, lying self, and he had deserved every second of it. The pain it caused him bore no weight against everything that he had done to her, and he wondered if Trixie actually knew the truth about him. Surely, she wouldn’t be so kind if she knew how he had treated her mom.

“Maybe she did, twenty years ago.” Trixie countered, with that obstinate look he knew so well. “No one can hold a grudge, or any kind of feeling, for that long. You can’t just go! I want you at my wedding, all of you!”

Willam and Jaremi, slowly, began to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Though his heart felt heavy, Justin cracked a smile as Trixie’s intent dawned on him. Whatever she was planning remained a mystery, but it was clear she had gleaned her persuasive skills from her mom.

Jaremi took his hat off and grinned. “You’re a firecracker, like your mom. He’ll stay, won’t you Justin?”

He sighed. “I suppose I have to. Seems like your mom’s taught you all her old tricks. There’s no way of getting out of this, is there?”

Trixie beamed, clearly relieved. “Nope! Remember what I said - lie, lie, and lie again. She can’t know I invited you, or that you’re here for the wedding. She’ll go insane.”

She paused. “And, uh, trust me when I say insane. She’s a little crazy right now, handling all this on her own.”

God, what a fucking superstar. She’s achieved so many great things.

“I need to get going…” Trixie murmured, her expression regretful. “Thank you so much for accepting those invites.”

Justin snorted, but there was no malice in it. It felt more like resignation - one way or another, he was going to have to stay here, all because Sharon’s daughter had convinced him. “It was always impossible to say no to your mother. Twenty years, and nothing’s changed.”