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jebazzled · 4 years

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Level Up! Beginner/Intermediate/Advanced RP and You

Hello there! Coming to you again with tips & tricks for a top-notch roleplay experience! Today we're going to talk about writing levels and what they mean for your roleplay experience. We'll cover what these levels mean, how to gauge where you're at, and how you can improve your roleplay writing specifically!

WRITING LEVELS

"Writing levels" are often a descriptor sites will use in their advertising and site buzzes. They might be "semi-literate," "intermediate," "literate," "advanced," or any other sort of buzzword. The key here is that these descriptors are used by site staff both to advertise what type of writing is most common on their site and what type of writing they want to see on their site.

What writing levels are not is a value indicator. There's nothing wrong with being an intermediate writer or a beginner writer; advanced sites are not inherently better than intermediate ones, beginner sites are nothing to be ashamed of! Think of writing levels as an umbrella within the rp community. The same way a forum rp-er might narrow their search to jcink sites, a writer might narrow their search to sites which cater to their style of writing.

That said, it is good to define what each of these levels look like so you can figure out where your writing might fit.

BEGINNER Beginner writing is often very short and direct, without much in the way of literary flourish. Characters might be fairly undeveloped (or developed around one trait, for example, "goth" or "prep") and there's usually more discussion of their appearance than you see in advanced writing.

Examples:

Susie was short and very skinny, with big eyes and long mermaid-wavy hair dyed blue at the ends. She was sitting outside Firefly High in blue skinny jeans, silver Converse, and a black t-shirt. "I hope someone can give me a ride home," she said.

Raven sneered at Susie. She didn't like blue because she liked black, because she was a goth. "Are you listening to popular music? What a phony."

Bramblepaw sat down in the clearing. "Hello" he meowed.

Some guides will also give an example like

patty threw a pom pom at susie! "take that u nerd!"

But I am choosing to believe that you're past that if you're deep enough in this hobby to be seeking out resources - I certainly never had that self-awareness until I was more in intermediate territory!

Beginner-level writing gets the job done, and can certainly move a story along. But if you've been writing a while, you might be ready to build more multifaceted characters, and to invest more effort in your writing.

INTERMEDIATE/SEMI-LITERATE WRITING Intermediate writing tends to be longer than beginner writing, with more variety in sentence structure and with more advanced word choices. There are likely more "beats" per post, by which I mean that instead of just answering a question or getting on the bus or etc, a character will likely do more actions in each turn writing. Characters are less likely to be a stereotype (see: Raven the goth who only wears black, Patty the popular cheerleader who is blonde and brainless, etc) but applications likely reveal one-dimensional characters. Common application styles I see from intermediate writers are "interviews" and "journals," as well as listicles (10 Things Raven Likes, 9 People Raven Hates, etc); this likely means a character is told rather than shown.

(Wondering what's so intermediate about interviews and journals? See my guides to interviews and journals!)

Examples:

Susie was born on March 20, 2003 in Farmville, Iowa. She didn't like how similar her classmates all were - they all listened to the same music, read the same books (none!) and had the most fun when drinking on a tractor. Susie was more deep, and liked to write poetry and sketch the animals that lived on her family's farm. Today she was sitting outside Firefly High, twirling the ends of her blue-dyed hair and waiting for a ride home.

Raven wasn't like most girls. She didn't like horses or rabbits, but only liked goats, because they represented the devil. Raven also wasn't like most girls, at least in Farmville, because she worshipped the devil. She wore a lot of black to represent this, and when she saw Susie, she sneered. Blue! Susie must be a normie. "Are you listening to popular music?" She asked. "What a phony."

Bramblepaw had spent all morning hunting and was feeling lonely. All he wanted was to share a squirrel with a friend, and maybe have someone groom the tricky spot behind his ears. He padded from the apprentice den to the warriors', to the elders and no one was home. He sat forlorn in the middle of the clearing. "Hello?" He meowed.

Another common trait of both beginner and intermediate writing is that posts might not leave much for a partner to reply to. The whole point of this weird hobby is to collaborate with a partner - if you're finding that it is hard to keep writing partners, you might take a look at my guide for writing posts that beg a response.

Intermediate writing is stronger than beginner writing, but still sometimes falls flat when it comes to collaboration with a partner, and is almost never beautiful to read. Intermediate writing is when advanced writing is just over the next hill - and that hill comes with a fair amount of work.

ADVANCED/LITERATE WRITING Advanced writing can be long or short, but the writing in either case packs a punch. Advanced writers use a variety of sentence structures, words, and literary devices. They might have specific imagery they use for specific characters, specific literary constructions for different characters, and there is a strong character voice in each post. Advanced writers write multifaceted characters with genuine flaws and fears, and advanced writers produce writing that is enjoyable to read, elegant and emotive. Applications will usually be anecdotal - will demonstrate key moments in a character's life, allowing the writer to show them in action rather than tell the reader what they are like. (A guide to anecdotal freestyle applications is available here.

Examples:

Everything felt the same in Farmville: identical rows of corn stretching endlessly over the horizon, pockmarked by the occasional farmhouse, white clapboard and falling shutters. Every person felt the same - Susie and Mary and Sarah and Joseph, strong peasant names living strong peasant lives, and never straying more than twenty miles from the town in which they were born.

Even Susie knew she had her place in the sameness: the once-every-generation girl who fancies herself to be more, as though her sketches of the sheep and pigs are any better than her grandmother's before her. As though dying her hair blue were enough to make her different when she knew she belonged here as sure as the hogs in the barn.

The only difference between Susie and her classmates was that she didn't have a car to get her to her evening job at the Road Ranger gas station, and her bike had disassembled itself after she'd pedaled it into a gopher hole, so here she was, sitting pathetically outside Firefly High, waiting for a ride. She'd almost rather be fired than beg for one.

It’s the principle of the thing, Raven had told her mother that morning. Yes, it was 90 degrees and 90 percent humidity; yes, there was not a cloud in the sky and the fields absorbed heat like a winter sweater; yes, she was aware that her white makeup and Wet n' Wild eyeliner was falling off her face like The Scream. But it was the principle of the thing, wearing the long-sleeved black shirt with the hand-cut thumbholes, a long dark skirt; her only concession to the heat, a pair of thin gray flip-flops instead of her beloved Docs. She listens to Death Wish; she doesn't have one.

But nothing makes a Satantic rebel feel more a phony than feeling it drip off of them in the rural Iowa heat, and Raven wanted to take it out on someone. Fair? No, but life isn't fair; she's got that on a sticker on the electric guitar she saved up her Hy-Vee salary for and never learned to play. Maybe pretending to be an asshole has turned Raven into one.

She has no real problem with Susie - Susie Q., from math, or Susie C., from human geo; who knows, they're all the same - but she scoffs at her anyway, loud enough to catch Susie's attention. "What top-40 garbage are you listening to?"

Hunting is something they do together, or they're supposed to. But in the whole time he'd been out in the woods, Bramblepaw hadn't seen a single other cat - not playing at the stream, not waiting in a tree for the finches to return, not sitting along the RiverClan border to taunt their neighbors. If he'd been a Loner, just passing through, he would have thought the entire territory abandoned.

It was unsettling, and when he returned to the Camp, it was more of the same: everyone gone, without a trace; had he imagined them being here at all? Was it all in his head?

His mew sounded small and pitiful to even him, the mewl of a lost kitten. "Hello?"

Advanced writing makes more time for descriptions, scene-setting, and other narration. It doesn't feel "cringey," by which I mean if you read it 10 years from now you're probably not going to want to drown yourself. Please do not ask me about the 2005 Proboards forum I adminned and referenced for this tutorial.

So now that we can recognize what writing our level might be at - how do we shop for a site?

FINDING YOUR FIT

Now that you have a sense of where your writing sits, it's time to use that data point in searching for a new site to call home. Some sites make it easy for you by self-identifying as beginner, intermediate, or advanced; some sites may use "semi-literate" and "literate," but I know I stray from those labels because it feels like a value judgment, and as I said before:

there is nothing wrong with being part of a beginner or intermediate community, if that is what makes the most sense for your writing and for what you aim to get out of your roleplay experience!

Before applying to a new site, you should do a little bit of digging around to see if it's a good fit for you:

Look at accepted character applications. How do these compare to your own writing?

Skim some threads from top posters. How does this community write and structure their threads? Could you see yourself regularly keeping up with their speed, length, literary quality?

To the above point - does it seem like the community has a tendency towards your personal writing pet peeves? (For example, I personally cannot stand purple prose, and if the site community is prone to it, I am OUT.)

This is in addition to all standard due-diligence site-hunting routines, e.g. not diving into the world of Southern Gothic supernatural if you're looking for, say, urban fantasy.

It's also worth thinking about how the community behaves on the server, if you join it:

Is there a thread shoutout/compliments/etc channel? What passages are members calling out in there as exceptional writing?

Do the members strike you as open-minded and friendly or as more of a closed group? If you choose to shoot for a level above your standard writing as a growth exercise, this will be easier to achieve with an open-minded and friendly group than with a group of snobs.

Do you enjoy the vibe? Something frequently overlooked, I think. If you don't like the energy of the community, just don't join the site - that is going to be much more productive for everyone than you joining and then trying to get the staff to fully re-engineer their community.

Be honest with yourself! Regardless of how much you like a site's plot, lore, and community, joining a site that sits above your writing proficiency is challenging. You might find your characters routinely pended for lacking the development of other characters onsite. Other members may not be enthusiastic to write with you - not necessarily out of snobbishness or elitism, but because it's not fun to feel like you're not getting equal effort or quality from a writing partner. And you might find yourself feeling insecure about how your writing stacks up to others (I've been writing on advanced sites for 10 years and I feel insecure about my own writing sometimes!) which might sap your muse.

If you are looking for a minimal-effort, minimal-stress rp experience, stick to sites that are at or below your writing level. Writing with people of similar skillset will help take the edge off any insecurity, and because writing will be lower-pressure and lower-effort, you will be better positioned to juggle multiple characters and more big plots. "Lower effort" doesn't mean "lazy" - it just means that you free up headspace that otherwise you might spend on the mechanics of writing versus the excitement of plotting.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to write on an advanced site, you need to take a much more deliberate approach.

One thing I see often is intermediate writers applying multiple characters to an advanced site at once. This is a losing proposition. While staff might be willing to pend an app and work with you on revisions, if they see you submitting multiple applications that require major revisions and overhauls, they see a pattern. While staff might be willing to help you develop one character to their site's standard, if they anticipate you needing that level of coaching on every character, they will question your ability to keep up with their members in threads. Staff cannot be expected to assist members on writing each thread post - at that point, it becomes easier to decline all of the intermediate writer's applications.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to write on an advanced site, you need to treat this as a "quality, not quantity" project.

When I was 13 I was writing very much at a beginner and intermediate level, just little Neopets rps with my friends. Then I joined a horse rp - an advanced rp - with a 1000 word minimum per post. While I am beyond thankful ridiculous word count minimums aren't common anymore, I can credit this rp with much of my growth as a writer.

I wrote one (1) character. And I only plotted her with a couple of others. I was very active in the OOC community, and was eventually made a mod - but when it came to IC activity, I focused all my energy on one character and just a couple of plots, because I spent hours on each post, making sure that I was matching my writing partners as best I could. It was much more work than the beginner & intermediate forums I was on with my friends, and much more work for much less action. But stretching like that is what made advanced writing get easier and easier - until I could balance two characters on an advanced site, then four, until now, when I write 12 characters on multiple advanced sites with relative ease. The real challenge is in keeping up with threads - not in matching quality anymore.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to improve your writing, joining an advanced site is a great option for growth, but you need to adjust your expectations.

Here are my best tips for intermediate writers looking to make the jump to advanced - or, for that matter, for beginners to make the jump to intermediate:

Focus, focus, focus. Choose one (1) character to write - no matter how tempted you are by want ads, no matter how many other ideas you get, no matter what your muse is throwing at you. Use all those on sites at your current level. For your reach site, pick one character.

Be receptive. Your one (1) character might take a revision or two to get out of a pend. Remember that staff don't pend apps to be assholes - they do it because they believe in you and think you have it in you to do the necessary revisions! If they thought you were a lost cause they wouldn't have wasted their own time with a pend. Be open to the idea that they know what works and is expected in their community. After all, if your character and your writing aren't appealing to the site community... you're not going to have anyone to write with!

Focus, focus, focus, part 2. You should not choose this character based on the volume of plots they can attract. Choose a character who has one or two very close plots for you to focus on. You might consider identifying a particularly kind member of the community and filling one of their want ads, so that this close plot is ready-made for you, and so this person can be a friendly face on your writing journey.

Be realistic. You might think: well, if I focus on one character for a few weeks, then I'll be ready to take on another, right? You might be or you might not. Don't rush it. This entire journey is about deliberation and intentionality. Don't take on a second character on an advanced site until writing the first to the same standard is noticeably easier.

Be kind to yourself. This is a lot of work! If you have the time for it, you might consider also staying active on a site that is at your writing level, so you have a place for easy writing, indulging your plot bunnies, etc.

I hope this tutorial has been a helpful resource to you, both in identifying how to find the right rp for you and in figuring out how to improve your writing, if you so choose. Happy writing!

#rp guides #resources #writing resources #rp writing

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yandere-society · 5 years

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Yandere!CEO!Taehyung who is either obsessed with his assistant who is going to work for another Yandere!Ceo (Like Jungkook) or a coffee store owner where he gets his coffee from but the store is moving to a new town

I got lost in the sauce bc I recently watched The Devil Wears Prada and I saw ‘assistant’ and ‘ceo’ and I went off. Hope you don’t mind :)

Admin/Writer- Chinkbihh

Words- 6.7k

Trigger Warnings- Sadism, verbal abuse, yandere Taehyung

Actually, The Devil Wears Gucci

You had always thought that ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ was an over exaggeration of what a boss/assistant relationship could be.

Until you met Mr. Kim.

Meryl Streep as a boss would’ve been an angel compared to the monster who signed your paychecks now.

You had moved to the city with the assumption that jobs would be readily available for your plucking, however not even Mcdonalds was willing to call back for an interview. After living three weeks in the city without a job, you told yourself that you would apply to anything and everything you came across before resorting to less admirable means of getting money. So when you came across a job position for being an assistant to some company, you had half-heartedly sent an application- no expectations for getting any response.

Apparently, this place was more desperate than you for it took exactly two hours before some nice lady was calling you and begging for an interview. This should have been the first red flag, for what kind of office job was more eager than a fast food chain? However the pay was nice and you weren’t in any position to shrug off potential employers, thus you agreed to come in.

The following day you arrived at the company and sat down with the woman from over the phone, answering her questions with as much integrity as you could muster. You were answering the stream of questions with ease until one odd one came up.

“Are you fast?” She asked not once looking up from her little clipboard. The question threw you off guard.

“I-I’m sorry, what are you referencing?” Your confident mask faltered for a second due to your inability to understand what the fuck she meant.

“You’re going to be asked to make runs to the most random places throughout the city under harsh time crunches, do you think you could do that?” She seemed sympathetic as she said this, as if she really didn’t want to put you through that.

This should have been another red flag, but all that popped into your head was coffee runs.

You just nodded, sure you could do some running around to get some wealthy people a couple cappuccinos for their ‘productive’ meetings.

“Are you sensitive?”

Your eyebrow rose on its’ own accord and before your mouth could open to ask for more context, the interviewer interjected by saying;

“Our CEO is a very…um, blunt man. Some people don’t like that personality type so we rather avoid employing someone who will crumble under that pressure.” This was yet another red flag.

One that you didn’t bother looking at as you just smiled and told her, “I promise to keep my emotions out of the professional scene here.”

–

‘Blunt’ turned out to be a really watered down version for what the CEO actually was; a heartless bastard with no concept of empathy. You later felt backstabbed by the interviewer (Irene was her name) for downplaying such a demon. But you could understand her incentive to not scare you off, how else would they get any employees if everyone knew about the CEO’s true behavior?

After your brief interview, Irene declared you more than adequate enough for the position. She decided to show you around before your first day the following week.

The office was modern and chic with everyone seated at different sections depending on their department. You got the sense that it was an elaborate operation given the high-rise location of the office floor and the expensive furniture. Even the fucking coffee maker at the cafeteria was more costly than your rent. Despite the modern and voguish environment, all the employees Irene introduced you to seemed amicable and kind enough. You did however notice the slight eye widen whenever Irene told them that you were going to be “Mr. Kim’s new assistant.”

There was something that no one was telling you, but everyone knew.

You didn’t discover what it was until Irene walked you over to a door and told you that it was time to meet the man you’d be working for.

“It’s very important that you knock everytime. Walking in without warning will make him furious.” Irene gently told you as she raised her hand to knock on the mahogany door.

However before her small fist could make contact with it, the door was ripped open from the other side and a girl rushed out in such speed you could barely catch her face.

The one thing you did catch though was the blotched mess it was with tear streaks running down it. You heard her sobs sound behind you and get further and further away as she ran out of the office. You thought you heard a muttered; “insensitive jerk” as she passed by.

Irene side-glanced you and gave you an awkward smile. It was obvious that she didn’t even know what to do. “Um…sorry about that. R-Rose has always been a bit of a crybaby.”

She was a bad liar.

Irene leaned forward in the now open doorway and called out,

“Mr. Kim? Is it alright if I come in?” A grunt was heard but this was all the confirmation she needed before taking your hand and leading you inside.

The office was large with the outer wall being all glass, revealing the sky-line of the other tall skyscraper buildings in the city. The walls were white but every piece of furniture was black, from the tiny lounge sofa pushed to the side to the very frames the abstract paintings were held in. In the center of such room was a large grey granite desk that held a golden name plate that clearly read; Kim Taehyung (CEO).

Behind the desk stood your new boss as he ruffled his hair in frustration.

His messy strands were icy blue that contrasted the copper shade of his complexion, the sun having seemingly adored his skin but the top of his head favoring the cold. (Or hair dye, but that’s none of your business.) He was tall with a broad torso, yet he was slender. His olympian body was clad in a suit that you dared not ponder the price of, knowing it could only end with you in tears. His intense and dark brows were pinched forward in annoyance, below them were his egyptian-like eyes that held raven colored orbs ignited with a fire you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. His face was slender but his features were anything but. His nose being fleshy but straight and his lips being plushy and berry-red. Spotted on his face were tiny beauty marks that were spaced enough to form a miniature constellation.

He looked up at Irene and scowled, “I told her to get Park Jimin for a meeting and the dumbass calls Park Chanyeol on accident. Now I have to deal with this dumbo eared giant in the lobby who can’t take a fucking hint that I’m not selling any of his shitty products on my line.” He grumbled with a surprisingly gravely voice that was so deep it sounded like the devil.

You connected the dots with the poor girl who ran out of the room only seconds prior, assuming he fired her or at least yelled at her very brutally. He huffed once more and sat down in his velvet chair by the desk and finally bothered to give you a glance, just now noticing the person next to Irene.

“Whose this? Don’t tell me it’s another brainless bimbo.”

He spoke of you like you weren’t in the room, which caused your brow to tick in annoyance.

Irene nervously cleared her throat and said, “This is Y/n, she is your new personal assistant.”

His face was unreadable and stony as he gave you a scrutinizing gaze, looking up and down your form to drink you in.

You wanted to shift nervously under his piercing eyes, but you didn’t want to be another ‘Rose’ for him to berate so you kept your calm. Something just told you that he fed off fear.

Then he spoke, “Go to Starbucks and get me a caramel macchiato.”

He didn’t look away from you, clearly addressing you.

Irene bristled beside you, “S-sir, she doesn’t start until-”

You cut her off with a grin as you stared right back Mr. Kim, “I’ll get right on that. Hot or iced and what size?” -

Kim Taehyung was a monster.

His source of nutrition?

The souls, hope and energy of those mere mortals around him.

In a way it was awe inducing how brilliant that man was. As much hatred people may have for him, one could not deny Taehyung his respect. It took a lot of hard work to get to where he had gotten at the young age of 23. But that did not shake the asshole regime his employees had to suffer through.

He wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it and exactly how he wanted it. And if you couldn’t deliver upon such demands? Then off with your head and pray you never cross Kim Taehyung ever again.

Taehyung was not a boss who would pull one aside and quietly break the news that your services aren’t needed anymore. No. He’ll scream it infront of everyone in the middle of a conference meeting and throw in a list of reasons why you should reevaluate your life for good measure.

People bent so easily to him, submitted without question. What was once a quiet and calm scene of friendly employees will swiftly change into a frenzied mess at a drop of a hat whenever Mr. Kim walked by.

Panic would cause people to make copies of copies in fear that they’ll forget the important documents they needed to give him. People would leave elevators once Mr. Kim entered, always granting him his own ride to the top floor no matter how late they were running. People only spoke when spoken to during meetings and when a deadline wasn’t met, they simply didn’t show up to work anymore due to the fear of facing the CEO.

However there was a special infereno for the role of his personal assistant, one that you suffered everyday.

You caught on quick that he enjoyed giving you nearly impossible tasks, and he cared not about how stressful or absurd the demands were.

“Coffee and bagel on my desk in 10 minutes or you’re fired.”

“Go downtown and get me those dumplings I like, be back in fifteen.”

“Go pick up my dry-cleaning and set up an appointment for a message at that one sauna in the west side.”

“Get me the new Gucci robe or don’t bother coming in to work tomorrow.”

“I got an urge to have a dog, go get one for me by 4’oclock.”

“The dog you got me threw up in my living room, here’s the spare key so you can clean it up. Clean the rest of the place while you’re at it too.”

“I want a private jet…figure that out.”

“The tire popped off on my car on the way here. Go pop it back on, it’s two blocks down.”

“Call Jung Hoseok and cancel our dinner plans, tell him he’s an asshole and his mother is a whore.”

The last request was something he asked often of you, he particularly liked you sending over really vulgar messages to people.

One time he caught you trying to sugar coat something over the phone and called you into his office to have a ‘talk.’

“Y/n, I believe I told you to to tell Mr. Lee that he could call back when he’s done with his head being up his ass.”

He menacingly glared at you as you tried your best to keep a straight face. “What did you say instead?”

“I-I told Mr. Lee that you would further communicate with him once you deem him more aware and intelligent.”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Funny, that sounds a lot different that ‘get your head out of your ass’.”

It was silent for a moment and you really wondered if you were going to lose your job just because you didn’t tell someone to shove it up where the sun don’t shine.

Mr. Kim sat back in his seat and barked out, “When I tell you to curse at someone, you do it. I don’t care who it is. It can be the fucking queen of England and you’ll call her a cunt if I order you to. Now get out of my office and make yourself useful by fetching me a coffee.”

Now you didn’t flinch when you called other wealthy business people with cursing insults in hand.

–

A month had passed and you had slowly become the longest working personal assistant for Kim Taehyung.

Other employees informed you that the longest run before you was three weeks and two days and the girl ended with a mental breakdown in the bathroom.

When they asked you how you managed to tolerate all of Mr. Kim’s demands whilst not getting landed on your ass with him firing you, you tried your best to explain your strategy.

You weren’t getting paid to give your opinions.

So whenever he ordered you to get him something under nearly impossible time limits, you just kept your mouth shut and ran off to compete that insane task.

It was hard given he never gave you establishment names of the places he wanted stuff from, it was always given in terms of “that out place in the east side.” “That one restaurant I like.” “That one gallery I visited last time with Jin.”

And you always only had a short time frame to figure out where he is talking about, go there and get what he wanted, and return back before his timer went off. Sprinting down the busy sidewalks of the city had become a daily thing that was required of you.

You would go out on these runs 3-4 times a day and do ridiculous calls about 5-6 times a day. Sometimes Mr. Kim would have this look on his face as he told you of your newest assignment, as if he anticipated your objection because even he knew how absurd his demands were.

But you never gave him that satisfaction, knowing that he will get the upper hand and possibly fire you if you interjected in any way.

So you would just always smile and tell him that you were right on it.

–

Kim Taehyung rather enjoyed studying you.

When he first caught sight of you, he couldn’t help but think you were very attractive. Yet this didn’t cause his heart to grow fond of you at all. In fact it was almost a negative given all the pretty assistants he had in the past turned out to be dumbest.

Yet in a matter of a few weeks, you managed to prove him wrong and exceed previously set expectations.

He knew he was an ass. And he wanted his assistants to know that when they first met him, never would he want to give a first impression of being a lax or laid back boss. So maybe he went out of his way to make things a tad more…stressful for you.

Taehyung couldn’t deny the slight surprise every time you simply responded with that cute grin of yours and pulled off every task that he even doubted was possible.

After a few weeks of this, Taehyung was forced to acknowledge the fact that you were here to stay as you have proven yourself more than capable.

But that didn’t mean he stopped fucking with you.

No, if anything he did it even more.

He found it so adorable to view that expression of yours when you were faced with yet another idiotic obstacle he set up for you. The slight incoming blush as your face reddened with a frustration that you dared not utter. The pursing of your lips as if you were forcing yourself not to object. The delightful eye widen when he told you to make vulgar calls. That funny little eyebrow twitch you did when he gave you an especially difficult command. And your pathetic little attempt to mask your displeasure by plastering on an innocent smile and chirping, “Sure, I’ll get right on that.”

It was better than any comedy Taehyung could’ve paid to watch.

Taehyung was well aware of his own sadistic tendencies, therefore it made sense that he would have an odd sense of satisfaction from pestering you.

However the endgame most sadists had never came true in this case; you never broke. He witnessed many assistants crumble under him; whether it be by crying, screaming at him or just plain storming out.

He always won in the end, his trophy being their crack in sanity and composure. But you were stubborn.

You refused to let him get to you. Maybe that’s why he found himself slightly dumbfounded by you. You swallowed your pride and did his bidding with a dog-like obedience that you obviously faked. Yet you never cracked and humored him with a spontaneous rebellion to his dictatorship, you followed along but masked yourself just enough to have him thirsty to hear your actual thoughts and feelings.

He didn’t realize just how far his fascination went until he found himself at a club on a Saturday night, sat in the VIP lounge with Kim Namjoon to his left and Kim Seokjin to his right.

They were sat at a U-shaped booth that was dimly lit and above the chaotic dancefloor that sounded below, their elevated position giving them a glamorous view of the most famous club in the city.

“Let me get this straight, your plan is to blackmail your cousin into signing off on this deal?” Namjoon clarified while pouring the trio drinks.

Taehyung shrugged and raised the glass that was handed to him up to his mouth, sniffing the over-priced alcohol before taking a chug of it. “Why not? Business isn’t meant to be all clean and squeaky.”

“Still, you’re out of your mind if you think your uncle isn’t going to get you after this.” Jin retorted from Taehyung’s other side.

“Jin, don’t think that I don’t know how you avoided giving your tax statements to the IRS.” Taehyung bit back, not liking the hypocritical behavior of his comrades.

All the men at that particular booth were wealthy ceos who ran as kings in this particular city. Taehyung wasn’t sure if he liked the term ‘friends’ but at the very least he considered Namjoon and Seokjin as allies in the cruel world of business. He tolerated the two more than he did most.

The discussion went on for another hour of so, drinks fading Taehyung’s mind as the man’s speech became increasingly more and more slurred with every topic they covered. These topics ranging from the current market to interesting endeavors they have faced lately in their line of work. The drinks continued to pour, the bottles were bottomless for such rich men. His inhibitions were lowered as well as his morals (what little there was left for him).

He didn’t quite know how or when she ended up in his lap, but he did nothing to push her off.

All the molasses covered words she purred into his ear seemed all too appealing.

Her hold on him was instantaneous, something about her screamed a comfortable sense of familiarity that he couldn’t deny for the life of him.

The rest of the night was blurry, but a clear conclusion formed when Taehyung woke up the next morning with a stranger in his bed.

–

She looked like you.

Alot.

The resemblance was striking and uncanny.

From her (color) hair, to her docile little features, to the figure shape and even the height.

If you had a twin sister, Taehyung was positive that he just fucked her into oblivion.

Taehyung had awoken the next morning with a feeling of arms around his waist and another body sharing his satin sheets. This was not necessarily a new sensation given he had his own fair share of one night stands. But he was not prepared for what he saw when he rolled around to see which nameless woman it was this time.

For a moment, his groggy mind couldn’t comprehend that it was not you, for his brain simply matched up the looks very easily and deduced it as such.

However after a moment of closer inspection, he noticed that it was a doppelganger but not the real you. The alikeness only took up his mind for a brief moment before he was forced to spot something else while studying the intruder.

She had bruises.

Hand marks around her neck, blotchiness of getting spanked on her ass, love bites that were borderline black littered her body and those ruby stained lips were swollen and cracked from assault of the mouth.

Taehyung was taken aback by the sight of such brutal violence that marked her otherwise smooth and unbothered skin.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed that this girl was the victim of abuse. Yet the fact that she was in his bed had lead to the conclusion that he himself must’ve been responsible for such injuries.

He always knew that he was rough in bed, but he never went as far as he clearly did last night with this woman.

It was jaw dropping and a twinge of guilt even glimmered in his otherwise dead heart.

He must’ve put this girl through hell itself last night just to satisfy his sick primal needs. And later when he made his way to his kitchen (after telling his maid to wake the girl up and kick her out) an alarming thought bestowed upon him that was too spot-on and shameless for it not to be true.

It was no coincidence that the one girl he slept whom held so much resemblance to you lead to the wildest night that unleashed his true sadism like it never had been before.

His intoxicated self had connected the dots for him to face when he sobered up.

He wanted to leave those marks and bruises on you…not her.

–

Your body was failing you.

The moment you woke up that morning, a sense of doom was in the air as you discovered your nose was stuffed, throat sore and stomach uneasy. You were sick.

If God had granted you a nicer boss who understood the human body and the occasional decline in health, perhaps you would’ve called in for a sick day. But asking Kim Taehyung for a sick day was like asking the Devil to read a bible….you might as well have just asked for a gruesome death. Taehyung didn’t believe in sick days and you were not in the mood to begin another fruitless job search, so you decided to take some aspirin and soldier on to the office.

“Coffee, bagel…you know the drill.” Was the first words Mr. Kim greeted you with when you entered his office for the morning rundown. He seemed oddly quiet this morning and he refused to look up at you from his desk. Which was somewhat concerning given he always glared up at you whenever he barked out his demands. You simply nodded and attempted to shrug off this break in character before going off to make your first run of the day.

When you returned with the usual coffee and bagel in hand, you discovered that Taehyung was not in his office at all. You stepped out in search of him and Irene seemed to notice your struggle before telling you; “Oh, he didn’t tell you? He’s in a meeting right now with Mr. Jeon. Check the conference room.”

You quickly thanked her and made your way over to said room.

You swung the door open to see two men (one being Mr. Kim and the other being yet another handsome but youthful man in a suit) talking with hushed tones that held a underlying vibe of anger.

“Taehyung don’t fucking try me I swear to-”

“I’m not trying anything, Jungkook. I think you got a little comfortable with your position without keeping in mind how you got there.”

“Excuse me? Was this your plan all along-”The other man (who must’ve been Mr. Jeon) suddenly stopped talking as he noticed your form standing by the now ajar doorway.

This caused your boss to turn and face what took the other’s attention from the conversation at hand. Taehyung looked at you with a scowl plastered on his aristocratic face, eyes ruthless as they bored right through you.

You froze in place as your blood ran cold.

You realised too late that you had made a mistake.

You were in trouble.

“What the fuck did I say about knocking?! You worthless bitch, does your stupidity know of no bounds?” Taehyung snarled, causing your stomach to drop.

“I-I just wanted to give you the coffee and-”

He cut you off, “Details of your incompetence do not interest me.”

Maybe it was because you were sick that your emotions were a tad more sensitive than usual, but for the first time you felt your eyes sting with the incoming tears that welled up in your vision. Your body already felt beat but now your self-esteem took a plummet as well. Taehyung continued to glare at you but you tried to blink the tears away before they could fall.

“I-I’m sorry.” You stuttered before rushing to plop his food onto the table before him and scurry out of the room.

–

Your brain was pounding as if a hammer was rutting against it with a vengeance. Your stomach was twisted in knots as your throat screamed for some type of soother for the scratchy ache it was suffering. You sniffed once more and attempted to focus on the task at hand, answering calls left for the office, but your lids kept dropping due to your drowsy state. You still were licking your wounds after what had happened earlier that morning, for the first time on this job- you fucked up.

You weren’t baffled at Mr. Kim’s reaction, in fact it was to be expected for him to lash out like that. The only cause of disappointment was in yourself. You messed up when you shouldn’t have and unknowingly let the fucker get to you. You hated the fact that he saw you near tears, you hated letting him see you in a vulnerable state. You hated that you almost cowered in fear and let him smell the fear off of you. You were no better than the girls before you. You were proud to think that he would never get under your skin and that you would continue to pull everything off.

But of course there was such thing as the ‘straw that broke the camel’s back’.

You didn’t want to face him, but after the morning progressed into the early afternoon; you were called into Mr. Kim’s office.

“I need a copy of the sales reports on my desk within the next hour. There will be a board meeting at one so I’m going to need you to sit in on that and take notes. I will be going out for lunch via the reservations you made yesterday so if you can call beforehand to double-check that would be great. Also call Kim Namjoon and raincheck drinks at Oliver’s, tell him that I’m free tomorrow night but not tonight. As for now, my brother recently had a baby so I need to send flowers, go out and get some ordered and delivered to the local hospital.” He said all of this without looking up at you once during the dialogue, eyes scanning a paper before him as his deep and cold voice filled the room.

You sniffed out of instinct that can’t be helped when one is ill, to this he looked up at you in neck-breaking speed.

You thought that perhaps he was going to comment on your obvious impaired state now that he was viewing you, but instead he quirked a brow and asked harshly, “Any questions?”

You shook your head no as you ran the mental list once more in your head.

“Then get out of my office.”

–

You waited for the elevator to ‘ding’ with it’s familiar arrival.

You needed to leave the office and get those flowers your boss had asked of you, but also you needed to be back in time for that meeting. So once again, you found yourself in yet another rush. Unfortunately, the fact that Mr. Kim’s office floor was the very top one meant that you had to factor in an elevator ride to and from the top whilst going on these errand runs.

You sighed in impatience as a few more seconds passed, time eating away more than you would have liked it to.

Finally you heard a small sound that signalled an incoming elevator, you entered it when it’s silver doors opened for you.

You leaned against the wall and awaited it’s closure, but right when it was about to shut, a pale and veiny hand stuck out to stop it.

He stepped in, his face being familiar but not enough for you to correctly place your finger on it. He looked at the buttons but he didn’t click any when he saw that you both were heading to the main floor.

The doors closed and you both quietly felt the elevator descend downwards, the two of you facing the doors.

Once again, your sickness caused your nose to sniffle and this brought the attention of the man in the closed space with you.

He turned to face you. His doe eyes studied you for a moment, before a look of realization sparked in his inky orbs.

“Are you Taehyung’s assistant?” You meekly nodded, just now noticing that this was the ‘Mr. Jeon’ that was in the meeting you had interrupted earlier that morning.

You felt his gaze run down your face (which you knew was most likely pale and sick looking with a reddened nose to top it off).

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier…my cousin has always been a jackass.” He told you gently with that high-pitched voice of his that held a light musical tone. You felt your eyes widened in slight surprise at the ‘cousin’ part, but nonetheless you kept your mouth shut. You wanted to ask how the hell this guy was related to the spawn of satan himself, Mr. Jeon having a friendly and amicable tone while Mr. Kim had stick shoved up his ass 24/7. “How long have you been working for him?”

You didn’t know why he seemed so interested in that, but given he was your superior you answered; “A little over a month now, sir.”

He snorted at the ‘sir’ part but looked at you pitifully as even he must’ve known how hellish that month must have been for you. It was silent for a moment and you both felt the elevator slow down, telling you that you were about to arrive at the lobby floor.

“This might be a little unorthodox, but my company has a paid internship program if you’re interested. It only lasts six months but if your work ethic is good, we can hire you as a full-time employee after those months are up.” He dug into his suit and pulled out a business card before handing it to you.

The doors opened and he stepped out, calling out from over his shoulder; “It’s not much, but it’s better than working for that asshole.”

–

Taehyung was…sinisterly pleased.

When you had walked in that morning without knocking, he was thrilled to finally be able to reprimand you. Sure, it was a small and silly mistake. But it was the first slip-up you had in a month, and of course he was going to pounce on that.

The image of your glassy eyes blinking furiously away at stubborn tears was too good for it to not be burned into his memory. The embarrassment that burned your face with a gorgeous crimson glow was a mouth-watering sight to behold. When your lip wobbled and voice broke as you for once showed him a side of you that he never saw before (a broken and weak one) he couldn’t deny the bliss that overtook him in that moment.

He broke you.

He won.

He wanted to see it over and over again, your watery eyes and pained face that was laced in humiliation. The experience triggering a taboo sense of arousal that had Taehyung taking care of himself under his desk minutes after the meeting finished.

How badly he wanted to be the master of any further emotions of degradation, sadness or pity.

How badly he wanted that expression to be saved for his eyes only.

How badly he wanted to push you to your limits….

It took a lot of Taehyung to not tease you when he had given you your chore list of the day. He limited eye contact and pretended to be engrossed in a stupid HR letter to maintain an image of aloofness. But, it was important that you saw him as cold and unforgiving. A sadist needed to be feared.

He awaited your return eagerly for the meeting that was to be held later that day. He wanted to see if he would have a chance to yell at you and potentially embarrass you further in front of a board of directors. But when he finally walked into that meeting with expectations set of you being there; Irene was in your spot with a notepad in hand.

“Where’s Y/n?” Taehyung whispered in the middle of the presentation to one of his most loyal employees.

In response, she nudged over a paper, still frantically jotting down information that Taehyung lost interest in long ago.

Taehyung’s hands shook in fury as he read the lines over and over again.

It was a letter of resignation.

–

(Two Months Later)

You sat in front of this old and serious man as he looked over your resume once more through his thick prescription glasses.

Your internship with Jungkook’s company did not last long. Not due to a falling out or lack of good work ethic on your part, but due to a mysterious tanking of his company as insider trading and supposed tax evasion caused the business to fail.

Although, this was the story that was released to the press. Loyal workers of the Jeon Corporation will tell you that Kim Taehyung had framed him in a effort to get rid of competition. Somehow, this story was more believable to you than the one the news reported on.

Either way, you were out of a job and desperately needed to find a way to make a living. So here you were, interviewing for some shitty saleswoman position in effort to pay your rent.

“I must say…you have a lot of nerve being here today.” The old man grumbled after looking over his notes once more. You spluttered in confusion at this rude comment. The interview had been going well…what happened?

“Excuse me?”

“We called your former employers for a reference but since your most recent employer is facing jail time, we had to call the one prior to that. CEO Kim Taehyung sent us a fax that said as a worker you have ‘problems listening to specific instructions, lazy and incompetent, and the worst mistake my company will make by hiring you for you cannot handle a shred of responsibility.’”

Your mouth went dry as you pictured the boss from hell laughing evilly as he sent this fax, most likely trying to ruin your life as some sort of sick entertainment.

“I-I can explain plea-” you attempted to speak, only to be cut off with just a look.

The old man looked at you with critical beady eyes as he pointed to the door and said, “I think you should leave.”

–

You stormed into the familiar office with a rage you had never felt before.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and your very livelihood was just fucked with. How were you supposed to pay your bills or even afford to sustain your basic needs when you had someone like Kim Taehyung telling all future employers that you were ‘the worst mistake a company could commit’?

He called you lazy and incompetent! Not once did you fail him in any regard bigger than forgetting to knock on a door one time. You waited on that man hand and foot while allowing yourself to be degraded in the process.

“Where is he?!” You growled to Irene from her usual spot at the front desk.

“Y-Y/n, calm down, okay? I know what he did bu-”

“Where!” You exploded, sick and tired of her always defending him despite all the evidence of him being a devil and ruining innocent people’s lives.

She looked in your eyes and knew that she wasn’t going to convince you to leave. Irene sighed in defeat and muttered, “In his office.”

You ran to his office and visously ripped the door open to enter his little lion’s den that so many careers have met their end in.

He was seated in his lounge area, a glass of Scotch in his large golden hand as he looked up at you in a bored yet amused stare.

You approached him and he just grinned, a whimsical delight spreading across the elegant canvas that was his face.

“Y/n, I was expecting you! Can you get me a refill babe? Ever since you’ve left I’ve had to get my own and frankly, I’m kinda tired of it.” He casually called out, shaking the glass in your direction.

Your brow ticked in annoyance and you noted that it only made him smirk even wider.

So your suspicions were true; he did take pleasure in the pain of others.

“What the fuck?! What was with that reference you gave to that company?! You know damn well that I was the best assistant that you’ve ever had, and this is how you repay me?! Why? Why do you hurt me so much?” You hoarsely yelled as your voice gave out in the end, sadness beginning to overrule anger as you realized just how little your life meant to someone as big as him.

Taehyung was quiet for a moment as a somber look shadowed his face.

Then a chuckle.

That chuckle bled into a thunderous and roaring laughter as he clutched at his stomach. After a solid minute of him laughing like a crazed person, he wiped his tears away and seriously stated;

“Because I like hurting you. And you will learn to like it too. Did you think you could leave that easily? Don’t be stupid sweetie, it’s not a good look and I know you’re better than that. You might as well come work for me given that no other employers in a hundred mile radius will hire you.”

He got up and slowly stalked towards you.

“You should know better than to try to leave someone like me. But don’t worry, I’ll clear matters up in that dumb little head of yours. You’re not just an assistant and I’m not just your boss. Your my pet and I’m your master. I don’t care if you like it or not, because you only have two options. Accept it, or never get a job and starve out in the streets. You will only ever work for and serve me. Sorry I didn’t run that past you when you were working here earlier. I wanted to slowly progress our way there but you left before I could have the chance. Now I have no choice but to push this all on you.”

He was only an inch away from your face now, beaming at your shell-shocked state before he plopped his drink into your hands.

“Now….I believe I asked for a refill.”

(oooof this was kinda trash so srry but that. It ran for longer than I wanted it to so im sorry if it’s long winded. Also spacing might be weird bc my computer is on crack cocaine so that’s fun. Anyway, for inspiration I used @mint-yooxgi‘s Baekhyun yandere CEO story but obvi hers is much better so like check that out. Lemme know what you think and this is chinkbihh signing off.)

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post-grammatic-stress · 4 years

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One teacher’s take on reopening

[image description: Tweet from Trump that says in all caps SCHOOLS MUST OPEN IN THE FALL!!!]

[image description: Tweet from Trump that says, In Germany, Denmark, Norway, Sweden and many other countries, SCHOOLS ARE OPEN WITH NO PROBLEMS. The Dems think it would be bad for them politically if U.S. schools open before the November Election, but is important for the children & families. May cut off funding if not open!]

TLDR for below the cut: Most American schools do not have the funding, resources, or staff to open safely this fall. We will open anyway and do our best given the circumstances. There will be a body count.

Long version:

So this asshole cares about schools now, huh? THIS GUY? who alleged cheated on the SATs and who definitely said that he “loves the poorly educated”?

I want to reopen schools as bad as anyone else. Probably more so. I love teaching. I miss my kids. I miss my classroom. I don’t enjoy teaching online, and I don’t think it’s good for the majority of kids’ educations to be 100% online. I want to be back in school - I just want it to be safe for all involved. I want it to be sustainable. Rushing back the way we are just means we are going to get shutdown again within weeks.

In order to open safely, this is what the CDC recommends for schools :

[image description: an infographic from the CDC that says, “the more people a student or staff member interacts with, and the longer that interaction, the higher the risk of COVID-19 spread”. An arrow goes fro the left to the right side, starting with green labeled “lower risk” and ending with red labeled “higher risk”. Beneath the arrow are three graphics describing the situations for each risk. On the left under “lower risk” is a person doing work on a laptop labeled “virtual classes, activities, and events. In the middle, the image is of a regular classroom with three children in it sitting in desk spaced apart. It is labeled “small, in-person classes, activities, and events with virtual options when possible”. The image furthest to the right under “higher risk” is of four children sitting in desks touching each other and is labeled “normal sized, in-person classes, activities, and events”.

The high school I teach at doesn’t have any of that currently in place except what is highest risk; we lack funding to get what we need to put anything safer in place. We don’t have the staff needed to put lower risks procedures in place; we lack the funding to hire more. In fact, my district, like many others, has a $31 mil budget shortfall this year. And we’re in a rich county - in the top 20 richest in the country, in fact. This is what a rich county is facing.

Due to the $31 MILLION budget shortfall, the district is no longer paying as much for my health insurance, passing that cost on to me, and have included furlough days in teacher contracts, which reduces our salary.

My school opens in exactly one month. I report back Aug 3. According to the presentation given by the district administration to our school board at the last meeting (if you’re getting my implication that nothing has been directly communicated to teachers or families, good catch! Nothing has!), in addition to my normal work of, you know, teaching and grading, my duties for this year have increased. Here are the requirements the district admin has and the questions I have in return that do not yet have answers:

sanitizing all hard surfaces in my room between each class. We are not reducing class sizes and are doing a regular 5 day schedule. So if we’re just looking at student desks (not any other surfaces or the Chromebooks, which I’m sure we’ll have to use - can they turn in assignments on paper anymore?), I will have to sanitize 33 desks (and their seats) 8 times each day. If each wipe down takes 10 seconds (that’s a very low estimate, yes), that’s 5.5 minutes per cleaning. Our passing periods are 5 minutes. Where are the kids while I’m doing this cleaning? Are they standing in the hallway with the 33 kids who are trying to get into the classroom next to mine? Where are the cleaning supplies coming from? Your guesses are as good as mine because the district didn’t tell us how to do this. Just that we have to.

keeping all students six feet from each other at all times. do they have a plan for what happens during passing periods? not that i’m aware of. they suggested staggering start times, but have no plan for what that looks like. are they going to reduce my class sizes? no. is it physically possible to get the 33 desks needed for my classes spaced so that each kid is six feet from all other kids? no. do they have a solution for that? no. also have they met teenagers?

eating lunch in my room with an assigned cohort of students who are also eating their lunches. Hopefully an allergy sensitive group due to my own severe allergies that often lead to me eating on my own. My contract used to guarantee a duty-free lunch time. My contract now includes a clause that states they can reduce my salary at any time during the school year without notice.

simulcasting all lessons for students learning from home (parents are allowed to enroll kids in online school this year without them having to change schools). When asked about what we were supposed to use to record these lessons - cameras, mics, etc - we were told they don’t have those yet, but that they have removed all the desktops from our classrooms because they were “outdated”. Which means the laptop I use to give presentations will be stuck at the back of my classroom where the cords for the projector are, at all times - not very useful for also filming my lessons. How will we get tech needed for this, given the severe budget shortage? They don’t know. How are they assigning elearning students to teachers? am I getting them in addition to the kids i have physically in the classroom? are all teachers teaching in person and online? only some? how do we decide? they have no answers for any of those questions

following all ieps and other learning plans as written, of course, but without guidance for how the other requirements might interfere. what do i do if i have a student who is deaf or hard of hearing who needs to be able to see my mouth as i’m speaking? do i take off my mask? what about ELL students who also benefit from seeing mouth movements associated with speech? the schools are not providing face masks, though they are required, but said that we might need clear face shields for those scenarios. where is the money coming from for those?

monitoring all students’ physical and mental health. Each of our 2,400 students must have their temperatures taken at the beginning of the day. Am I responsible for doing that for my first hour kids? How do I know they got in only through the doors with temperature monitors? i’ve been yelling for years about the unsecured entrance near my room through which kids let each other into the building in order to bypass security and because it’s closer to the senior parking lot than the secured door - is anyone going to monitor that door? who? how are we paying them? where are we getting the money for thermometers? what software are we using to track their health info that also safeguards their private information? they have no answers for these questions.

all lessons, after being simulcast and taught in person, will also be uploaded to the online learning platform in their entirety. How are they going to make sure everyone, even the teachers that they can’t even get to put their grades in on time or email home regularly, does that? They don’t know. Are they upgrading our internet, which regularly experiences outages, to handle all this streaming?

So until Trump and DeVos have any kind of plans or money to go along with their “pressure” to reopen schools, they can fuck right off.

#education #teaching #school #high school #covid19

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chwrpg · 4 years

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Suck my fat one, you cheap dime store hood. -- Greg Lachance

A NOTE FROM ADMIN B: Of all the times for you to actually pay attention to me nagging you.................. Cam's packing his bags as we speak 💀

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE: Ally/She/Her/25

DESIRED CHARACTER: Greg Lachance HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE? 7/10 sounds about right

SECONDARY CHOICE: Bryson Lahey

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

Greg is about as average as they come. Average grades, average hobbies, maybe a little below average when it comes to a social life but he’s totally fine with that. His life has never felt like it was missing something just because he wasn’t the person people gawked at or swooned over. He’s fine with not sticking out in a crowd, though he does wish sometimes people saw him instead of seeming to look right through him but that’s something he resigned himself to years before. Honestly, he’s never felt the need to have a huge circle with how tight knit his circle of friends are. But lately he hasn’t been able to shake the sense that something is wrong with him. It’s something he hasn’t managed to put a name on, and his parents are still as clueless as ever so his only hope is pushing through whatever issue he’s having until he’s over it. The only person who would’ve pushed him to get any sort of help is currently 6 feet under. But the longer things go on the worse things seem to get. The nightmares, the panic attacks, it’s all bringing him closer and closer to his breaking point.

SAMPLE WRITING:

The night they found the body Greg was sure he was on the cusp of finally turning things around. PTSD didn’t disappear overnight but spending time with his friends made him feel more like himself than he had since Danny died. He felt alive again. Things wouldn’t be perfect when he got back home but he actually felt like he’d made a step in the right direction. The direction that involved him coming back from the shell of a person that he’d felt like over the past few months as he slowly slipped more and more away from his friends and the land of the living into the ghost version of himself. The version that most people seemed to look through instead of actually at, not that he could blame them. Danny had the athlete thing going for him making the boy a standout among the crowd but the most athletic thing Greg had done was managing not to puke on the small cross country run he’d tried to complete with Dev a few summers back. As he was, he was average. He couldn’t be annoyed with the fact that he was easily overlooked, especially considering he often seemed to watch things happen around him instead of actively taking part in things lately. He was there physically, but mentally he was miles away. But those days in the woods pulled him back from the dangerous edge he’d been looming closer and closer to and at the time that felt like enough. It had been enough until he’d seen the body.

The others were clearly shaken on the journey back into town but Greg could hear the underlying excitement in their tones. They’d found it. They got exactly what they wanted, even if Ace and his friends had managed to screw up the ending a bit, but even that earned him a few pats on the back and an awestruck look from one of the guys. Not just anyone stood up to Ace Claymore, and the reenactment Trevor pulled off should have been enough to make him smile, but as it was Greg had to shove his hands inside the pockets of his jacket to stop them from visibly shaking. The body- the guy had been a person. Maybe he’d been someone’s brother. Maybe he died pushing someone else out of the way of the speeding train and died a hero.

Maybe he was just like Danny.

The thought was enough to silence him the entire trek home, despite Trevor and Dev keeping up a steady stream of rapid conversation. Honestly, Greg couldn’t keep up. Their words hardly even sounded like words anymore, coming off as more of a buzz in the back of his mind than any pattern of speech he could recognize. At the moment it was hard enough focusing on just breathing evenly. Whatever hole he’d managed to dig himself out over the past few days was slowly sucking him back in. The only thing holding him in place at the moment was the feel of the newly warmed metal against his skin as he ran his thumb along the barrel of the gun that was still in his hand.

It was still there in case Ace came back and raised the knife to Cam’s throat again. Or if one of the other boys tried following through on their threats to beat the brakes off Dev. He’d lost enough with Danny. He wouldn’t lose Trevor or Dev or Cam. He couldn’t.

The feel of someone’s hand covering his own would’ve been enough to cause him to jump if he wasn’t frozen in place. His panic attack had rendered him a walking chunk of ice that only time could thaw out. Whether it took minutes or a half hour was up in the air. It wasn’t something he could control anymore than he could control his parents blind eye, or the weather. But the warmth of the hand, the steadiness and familiarity of it as it gently pried his fingers loose to take the weapon eased some of the chill from his bones. It made it easier to let go, even if his empty hands shook as a result. Greg’s eyes slowly shifted up until they landed on Cam.

Of course it was Cam. No matter how hard he tried to keep it together in front of his friends, Cam always managed to see through the cracks. He could see into him in a way no one else ever had because he was the first person who actually paid attention. The voices drifting back from the front seat made it clear Dev and Trevor hadn’t witnessed his momentary slip. They were still engrossed in conversation, though the subject had shifted to what the hell Ace had planned for the body and whether or not the train had actually been an accident as Greg inhaled again, filling his burning lungs with the air he’d deprived them of for the past few minutes.

“Thanks, man.” His voice was soft, the corner of his mouth curving up in what he could only hope came off as a reassuring smile instead of the shaky one it felt like. Everything about his life at the moment felt shaky and unstable.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” He instinctively shook his head. Talking was supposed to feel better. Maybe it would make him feel better if he actually had someone to listen instead of writing it all down, and there was no doubt in his mind that Cam would be that person for him. He would listen until Greg poured out every last emotion he had, and wouldn’t make him feel any less for it. But after the night they’d had he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The thought of him being wrong and Cam looking at him like he was damaged goods wasn’t something he could risk at the moment. “Not yet. But maybe some other time.”

“Oh does that mean you’re not gonna go ghost on us again? Count us all relieved.” Trevor teased, earning a swift smack from Cam. Even Greg, despite his guilt at pushing his friends away, found himself smiling once more. A genuine smile.

“Nah, I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. I figure it’s not responsible for me to leave you assholes on your own.”

ANYTHING ELSE? 1985 (if yall ever change the password it’s on sight)

#accepted #submission

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welovekpopscenarios · 7 years

Text

Friction Pt. 2 (Fallout!AU Woozi x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

Checking in everyday with Woozi about your broken weapon is nightmare inducing, but is it really as bad as it seems? You never thought the phrase ‘More than meets the eye’ would ever describe someone as perfect as it did for Woozi.

Fandom: SEVENTEEN

Genre: Fluff, angst

Pairing: Woozi x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word count: 4689

A/N: I hope everyone enjoys this, I have so much fun writing these AU’s omg. Part 3 will hopefully be out soon enough too, if life doesn’t get in the way. Happy reading as always, everyone! I love you all!! PS that gif actually fucking kills me jihoon pls stop and exit my life you magnificent being

- PART 1 -

“Hey, thanks for letting me stay here, I really appreciate it,” you said, placing your rucksack down on the wooden floors next to the metal framing of the bed, eyes skimming over the dirty and worn-down mattress and wanting nothing more than to sink into the springs and sleep for eternity despite the condition it was in. It’s better than most of the mattresses you’ve seen, anyway.

Jeonghan sent a warm smile in your direction from his position in the doorway; arms crossed and leaning against the frame while Scoups stood behind him with a large grin set in place and his hands propped proudly on his hips. “It’s no problem, we’re glad you came while you did,” Jeonghan explained, eyes roaming around the small space of the dimly lit room with a frown of slight disappointment – a single dull light hanging precariously from the ceiling and a few odd candles burning on the table. “We needed someone else to man the bar since Boo quit, couldn’t handle the punks that would wander in and cause trouble. Not that I blame him,” he muttered.

“Well, I’ve dealt with scumbags like that all my life. I should be fine,” you reassured, nodding to yourself and brushing the palms of your hands on your pants. That was fine. You could handle a few assholes coming in and demanding free booze and whatnot. You’ve handled worse, a few idiots would be nothing to you. And hey, if it means you get some caps for your weapons repair and a free room to sleep in, who are you to complain?

“Good to hear,” Jeonghan chimed, lips splitting into a perfect smile. “You can get started in the morning. Use the evening to rest up. Showers are in the back, be quick if you want hot water. See you in the morning,” and with that, your new boss turned around and exited the room, brushing past Scoups who grabbed his hand to give a quick squeeze before letting go. He returned his attention to you once more and grinned from ear to ear.

“I’m happy you found somewhere to work! Jeonghan has been looking to fill that position for a while now, but people are too scared to do it.”

You laughed lightly, plonking down onto the mattress and sighing loudly. “Yeah, I’m glad he was offering. I need to have at least 500 caps for Woozi by the end of the week for my rifle.”

“Ah,” Scoups hummed sympathetically, head bobbing in understanding. “Yeah, Woozi can be expensive, but if he says he’ll have that gun fixed, then you can bet by the end of the week it’ll be working better than before.”

You scoffed, eyebrows rising to your hairline as you reclined on the bed. “Sure,” you said dismissively. “I just wish he wasn’t a dick.”

Scoups laughed loudly, a loud rumble emanating from his chest that had you smiling yourself.

“Yeah, Woozi can be a bit…”

“Rude? Annoying? Basically an asshole?” you supplied, making Scoups laugh again.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he giggled. “But he’s actually a really nice guy. You just have to give it time. He’s only defensive to people he doesn’t know, not the kind to handle bullshit for long, you know? He’d rather get into his work as peacefully as possible. Just give him a chance.”

A heavy breath escaped your nose.

“Seeing is believing, Scoups,” he laughed once more, moving to flick your forehead playfully while you grumbled in response. “People like him and I just don’t get along. And the sooner this is over with, the better, so I don’t have to talk to him anymore.”

“Alright, your call,” he smirked, walking backwards to the doorway while his eyes glinted mischievously with the candle light. “But something tells me that you’ll feel differently about him when you get your rifle back. I have to get back to Shownu, he’s been on security on his own for a while now. Night, Y/N.”

The door was closed before you could say anything, swinging shut and leaving you in the solitude of your tiny room, deep within your thoughts and exhaustion. What the hell did he mean by that? Woozi was insufferable, the only way you could feel differently about him would be the happiness you feel at him fixing your rifle and being done with him. What Scoups said just didn’t make sense.

No matter, you’ll be too deep in work the next few days to even think about that dickhead anyway.

But as your eyes fluttered shut and blissful rest finally caught up to you, the last thing you remembered thinking about was the pretty curve of his dark eyes as he stared at you with the lightest of reds dusting his oil splattered cheeks.

The beginnings of the day sounded in your ears as sunlight streamed in through the streaky windows onto your sleeping face, groaning at the intrusion upon your peaceful sleep and turning over in your position to cover your face. It felt like you had only gotten five minutes of sleep, and every muscle in your body was screaming in agony at the slightest of movements, your body well worn out after your trek to Diamond City and finally catching up to you in the most painful of ways.

You allowed yourself a few moments to rest while you thought over your tasks for the day: take a shower, have Jackson show you how to work the bar and around the Dugout Inn, and visit Woozi for updates on your rifle. The last one made you scream briefly into your lumpy pillow, already feeling agitation spike through you at having to interact in any way with Woozi once more.

Oh, how he made your blood boil yesterday. Even Scoups seemed hesitant to talk to you once he saw you in the Dugout Inn for fear of you biting his head off, never seeing anyone so fired up after talking to Woozi. The fact that you have to see him nearly every day for information on your gun was enough to make you fit to punch someone – preferably him and his smirk. A smirk that made heat rise to your face in ways you couldn’t explain, and it only further added to your torment that was Woozi.

Best not to dwell on it, you thought, as you heaved your body off of the mattress and towards the showers. If you did, you were positive you’d go as crazy as the stragglers living deep in the wasteland, and losing your mind was not something you needed.

Definitely not over someone like him.

Looking up at the still bright sun, you reasoned you still have a good portion of the evening left to enjoy after spending the day with Jackson at the bar. He was a…flamboyant character, to say the least, but he was nothing but kind, and made you laugh harder than you had in a long time, something that was greatly appreciated. But now that you were finished, it was time to complete the one task you were dreading – facing Woozi. You could already feel angry fire flooding your veins at the prospect.

Eying the metal sign in the distance, you began to walk through the masses, dodging and weaving through people and stalls alike until in what felt like the shortest time ever you were standing in front of his booth, watching as the man himself searched through a large box of tools, bent over and completely oblivious to your presence.

You watched him for a moment, not in any way admiring the way his cargos hugged his behind as he was bent over – no way in hell – and waited for him to turn around and notice you, but he never did. He just continued to rummage noisily through the box of tools, off in his own world. Interesting.

“Hey,” you greeted, a tad louder than someone normally would, and smirked with sadistic glee as he gave a yelp and shot up straight, banging his head on the shelf above him in the process. He turned around quickly, eyes wide and zipping throughout the space of the booth before landing on you, promptly narrowing into slits as anger washed over his visage.

“What the hell?!” he bellowed, throwing a pair of pliers heavily on top of his workbench with a loud thunk. His chest was heaving with supressed rage, trying not to show that you scared him more than he’d like to admit, fists and jaw clenched tightly. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Saying hello,” was your nonchalant reply, sending a shrug and a lazy smirk his way as your eyes roamed his stall.

“Who the fuck says hello like that?” he retorted, taking a seat at his workbench and distracting himself with whatever tools he had sitting on top of the counter.

“Normal people,” you droned. “Not my fault you got as spooked as a cat facing a Radscorpion.”

He scoffed in response, seemingly opting to ignore your presence now that his pride was wounded. Boo hoo.

You stood in silence, eyes following his slim fingers as they toyed with the pliers, taking great amusement in the way his eyes would dart to you every so often only to move back to what was in front of him. Eventually, he cracked.

“Is there a reason why you’re taking up space in my workshop?”

“Yeah. My gun,” you said simply.

He made a tutting noise. “It isn’t done. So leave.”

“I wanted an update on it,” you requested, and his head turned to give you a fake, tight lipped smile.

“Ok sure! Here’s the update – it isn’t done. So, you can leave now!” Sarcasm dripped from his wicked tongue like raindrops on a window pane, and immediately every single one of your sense became alight with fury – red hot fire prickling at your skin and leaving you itching to move.

“You’re hilarious. A real comedian. I’m surprised you aren’t doing shows on the radio or at the Dugout Inn. You’d really liven up the place with your sunny personality, you know?” Your voice couldn’t have had less emotion in it, the tone similar to that of a Protectrons – equally as lifeless and dull.

“I know, I’ve been told. But I can’t be the only capable person in this city. Too much weight on my shoulders, you get me? That’s why I leave the jokes to DK and Bambam. They have the time for it,” he boasted sarcastically, a wry smile set on his face. A sharp exhale left your nose in disbelief, eyes rolling upwards.

“Interesting, really. You should tell me all about some other time. But right now I just want to hear about my rifle.”

Woozi grimaced, scowling at you before inclining his head towards a spare stool in the corner of his shop.

You rose a brow, not expecting Woozi to invite you to sit with him, but another impatient glare from him had you moving to grab the stool, positioning it at one end of his workbench and trying to maintain a reasonable distance away from him. A distance that wouldn’t allow him easy access to shoving his pliers through your eye or where you could choke him out without mercy.

“I took another look at it this morning. The trigger was the easiest thing to fix, took me no time to get it done. The barrel is going to be trickier. If it was just smashed or bent at the head, it would be pretty easy to reshape,” he explained, only looking up from the desk to shoot you a dirty look. “But your dumb ass had to completely smash it from where it’s connected to the base of the gun. Makes shit of the rest of the gun.”

“But, you can fix it, right? I mean, you said you were good, and I heard you were from plenty of others. I trust you with this,” you admitted quietly, picking at your nails instead of gazing at him, missing how his eyes grow just that bit wider and brightest of pink blooms on his cheeks, just visible under the grime coating his skin.

“Yeah, yeah,” he went for an air of indifference, shrugging his shoulders momentarily until they dropped back down. “I can fix it. It’ll be a bitch, but it’ll be done. Don’t worry.”

You chewed on your lip, biting at the dry and cracked skin as you were deep in thought, brows furrowed, silent except for the tapping of your foot on the ground. Woozi watched you from the corner of his eye, a near invisible smile playing at his lips as he watched you scowl into space.

“Stop thinking so hard or you’ll hurt yourself,” he joked. “I can practically hear it.”

You tsked, quick to flash that scowl at him, but then in softened out into a much more serene and thoughtful expression, and he hates the weird twist his tummy makes when he sees it.

“I…thank you, Woozi,” you finish, and it’s sincere. He knows it. And that twist in his tummy gets worse with how light and youthful your voice sounded just then. He scratches at his cheek, disregarding the awful heat he feels beneath the pads of his fingers and shrugs once more.

“I’m getting paid to do this, Princess. It really is no problem to me at the end of the day when I’m relaxing with a pocket full of caps,” the glare returns to your face once more and he thanks the gods for the reprieve on his poor stomach. “I heard you’re working at the Inn. Better get back to it, Jeonghan and Jackson will need help with the bar once the rowdier customers come in.”

You give a huff of annoyance, standing up quickly and adjusting your shirt, mumbling a half-hearted ‘whatever, see you tomorrow’, and then you were leaving Woozi alone again in the workshop.

A giggle escapes his lips, one of disbelief and weird amusement. You were a strange one, but one who could give back as much as he gave. It certainly was interesting, to say the least, and he’d be lying if he didn’t enjoy the banter occurring between the two of you.

He’d also be lying if he said he didn’t prefer how much softer your face looked when it wasn’t scowling.

The next time you visited Woozi, you were surprised to not see the bitter little man sitting alone, hunched over whatever creation he had and cooing ‘my precious’ over the metals of the weapons and shaking like a wet rat. Instead, he was chatting to a rather…lively man.

“Hoshi, go away. I’m busy,” he mumbled, but seemed unbothered by the grinning man sat at his side and talking animatedly about some woman who tried to fight him in his clothing stall. Despite Woozi’s words, he seemed to be nodding along occasionally to the man’s story, clearly listening to everything he was saying while he tinkered away as usual.

“It was so funny! She raised her fists to me and tried to punch me out while Jimin tried to hold her back. Nearly took an elbow to the eye for it, too! She was screaming about us not having the latest fashion, or something like that,” he laughed, a whimsical giggle echoing throughout Woozi’s workshop. Woozi himself smirked and gave a light laugh of astonishment.

“Latest fashion? As if they’re making anything new? You don’t get the latest fashion anymore. Girly must’ve been off her rockers.”

“Oh, for sure! She nearly clawed at my face until Minghao threw her out, the guards took care of the rest then. Ah, I wish you could have seen it, Ji,” he mused, a strange fond smile gracing his lips. “You would’ve had a good laugh with the things she was spewing- oh, hello!”

You gave a start when you realised the man sitting with Woozi saw you and addressed you, eyes nearly invisible with how they smiled at you. You returned the grin, albeit uncertainly, aware of Woozi’s heavy gaze on you paired with the man’s questioning one. “Hello,” you greeted, hands tucked into the pocket of your slacks.

“Oh, so you can actually greet people normally? Wow, crazy,” Woozi commented, crossing his arms and leaning against the workbench. Your neutral visage morphed into a scowl, as if automatically, and you rolled your eyes when Woozi’s smirk got wider.

“I greeted you normally yesterday,” you replied haughtily. “You just got scared and crapped your pants. As I said, not my fault. How’s the head after you nearly blew a hole through the shelf from the fright?”

The man with the unique eyes laughed loudly, a full set of teeth on display as he grinned so widely you were certain his face would crack in half. He shoved playfully at Woozi’s side, paying no heed in the venomous glare burning holes into the side of his face.

“You scared Woozi? That’s amazing! You gotta tell me how to do it sometime, I never catch him. I’m Soonyoung, but you can call me Hoshi!” He held out a hand for you to shake, your arm nearly being ripped out of its socket once you took it from the overzealous force of his handshake, jostling your poor body around in good fun.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you, Hoshi,” you smiled, wondering in the back of your mind how someone as sweet and sugary as Hoshi could ever talk to someone as bitter and annoying as Woozi.

“Likewise! So, getting something repaired? Ah, you’ve come to the best place! Woozi’s the best in the Commonwealth!” he bragged, slinging an arm around Woozi’s shoulders and pulling his reluctant body in close for a side hug. Woozi’s face contorted into a face of displeasure, grumbling as he tried to remove Hoshi’s vicelike grip from around his neck. You chuckled at the sight, a lopsided grin making its way onto your face at the unusual sight.

“I’ll believe when I see it. I’m sorry if I was interrupting something…” you trailed off, shifting your gaze between the two men.

“No, you weren’t! Come sit!” Hoshi he exclaimed, grabbing the nearest box and pulling it over so you could sit on the other side of Hoshi. “Are you new here?”

“I am. I just came to get my rifle repaired,” you looked to Woozi who quickly avoided your gaze. “I’m staying and working at the Dugout Inn for now.”

“Ah, so Jeonghannie finally found someone to fill up that spot? Good luck! I heard it’s a tough job.”

“If her bite is anything like her bark, then she should be ok,” Woozi commented, his fingers stalling from where they fidgeted atop the counter momentarily as he seemed to register what he just said. Your eyebrows crawled their way up your forehead to your hairline, a strange heat bursting through your body that had you fighting a weird grin at the backwards compliment.

Hoshi’s head whipped between the both of you, a dazed look upon his face as his brain attempted to keep up with the conversation, when suddenly, something clicked in his happy little noggin, and his lips that were once hanging open in confusion now smoothed into a devious smirk, his eyes shining brighter with mischief and evil glee than any blaze produced by a nuke. You saw Woozi still, body staying as stiff as a board, glaring so darkly at Hoshi that you were sure the boy was bound to wilt and crumble underneath the weight of his gaze, but Hoshi was undeterred, simply turning to face you and giving you a smile too sweet to be true.

“Do you have to go back to the Dugout right now?” he asked, manoeuvring around in his seat away from the pair of pliers Woozi was subtly digging into his back. You shook your head no.

“I don’t have to start my shift until a few hours.”

That saccharine smile of his got even wider, eyes smiling along with it as he looked absolutely tickled pink.

“Perfect,” he giggled, raising his eyebrows playfully at a dour looking Woozi who refused to acknowledge either of the other occupants currently in his workshop. “We can use this as an excuse to get to know you better. So, tell me about yourself!”

“Wait,” Hoshi breathed, hunched over in his seat as he tried to get a rein on his poorly contained giggles, face red and sore from grinning so hard. “The guy let you go, because you told him the fairies needed help with planting mutfruit? And he believed you?”

You chuckled amiably, your own face as bright as Hoshi’s. “Yeah! He said that he can’t get in the way of the fairies, so he put his gun away and pushed me away, told me to hurry. He was completely insane!”

“Wow! What an idiot!” Hoshi yelled, and the two of you roared with laughter. Woozi looked on with a small fond smile on his face, his own quiet giggles slipping past his lips, and looking happier and livelier than you think you’ve ever seen since you met him. And that didn’t help anything. At all. Because he looked so incredibly nice when he was smiling and laughing and joking with Hoshi and even yourself a few times, the dickish exterior of his slowly chipping away piece by piece and gradually revealing what a perfect human being he was capable of being when he wasn’t snarking at you. And you hated how he made those twists in your stomach turn into complete hurricanes, your heart being knocked around in your chest with the turbulence in your tummy.

Laughter dying down, you glanced up at the sky and your lips tugged downwards in a frown. Evening had fallen upon the city. You’d need to start work now. Sighing in dismay, you heaved your body off the box and shook your legs to relieve yourself of the numb and stiffness that had gathered.

“I should get going. Jeonghan’ll be looking for me, and I don’t wanna leave Jackson handling the bar on his own for too long,” you explained, fingers pulling your jacket tighter around your form against the cold evening chill. Hoshi opened his mouth to say something, but Woozi surprisingly beat him to it.

“Will you be back again tomorrow?” he questioned, his dark eyes flitting around you but never on you for too long. You paused in your movements, having not expected the question, and your brain rushed to come up with some sort of intelligent answer, when really it was simple. You would. Definitely.

“Y-Yeah,” you mumbled, scratching embarrassingly at the back of your neck and shuffling on your feet. “I will. Be back. Tomorrow.” Woozi bit at the corner of his lip, trying his hardest not to punch the teasing smile on Hoshi’s face.

“Uh, alright. I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he replied awkwardly, and Hoshi had to keep from smashing his head against the wall to escape the awkwardness. “Back to annoy me some more,” he teased, but it was weak and you knew it, and that damned tornado was nearly ripping through your abdomen at this point.

“Yeah, sure. Uhm, later,” you turned and walked away from the booth, sending a quick wave over your shoulder at the two of them in the booth, and then you were disappearing in the crowd.

Woozi stared until you were out of sight, and then his eyes were focused on Hoshi’s stupid smug face. He huffed, crossing his arms on the worktop and staring straight ahead at the dull wall.

“Shut up.”

“I never said anything,” Hoshi sang, leaning irritatingly close to Woozi and invading his personal space unbearably. “But, if I were to say something, it’d be why didn’t you tell your best friend you were in love sooner?”

Woozi stuttered, disbelief etched in his features as he shoved Hoshi away roughly, said boy losing his balance and nearly face planting into the floor.

“In love?!” he exclaimed, scoffing one too many times to be considered normal, and his facing growing increasingly redder like a Nuka-Cola cap. He shook his head furiously, throwing his tools messily back into their places in the box and looking anywhere but Hoshi. No. He was not in love. Definitely not. He wasn’t…anything. He thinks.

“Ah, so you’re not in love, you’re in lust,” Hoshi supplies.

Maybe. “No, I’m really not, Soonyoung.” Lies. You like the outside and want to crack her open to see what’s on the inside. Even deeper than lust, you moron. Funny, he could almost hear you when that invasive thought appeared in his mind.

“But you want something, don’t you?”

“Hoshi, I will punch you if you don’t shut up right now,” Woozi threatened, his glare strong enough to burn, and even Hoshi seemed to think over whatever taunts he was about to spew on Woozi.

“But you clearly feel something about her if you’re acting this weird! I’ve never seen you laugh at anyone as much as you did with her! It’s clearly love, why are you denying this?!”

“I’m not in love, Hoshi. And even if I did, hypothetically, feel something for her – which, I don’t, by the way – nothing would ever happen. She hates me, I hate her” Woozi chose to ignore the scoff Hoshi made at that, “and we’re at each other’s throats whenever we’re together. So, even if I did, hypothetically, try something, what am I supposed to do to make her like me…hypothetically?”

Woozi felt pathetic, because try as he might, he really cannot brush aside the erratic and annoying beating of his heart, sounding like a war drum in his chest whenever your eyes made contact with his, or how your voice sounded just that little bit easier on the ears than others, or even how your fiery spirit set ablaze his own, his need to impress coming out stronger than ever but not for contemptuous reasons.

“Just be yourself,” Hoshi advised, and Woozi gave a pitiful grimace, taking a seat and staring somewhat wistfully at his boots.

“’Myself’ is not exactly the most appealing thing, Hoshi,” he mumbled, distractedly picking at loose skin hanging around his calloused fingers. He started when Hoshi placed a hand on his shoulder, the touch soft and warm like a calm summer’s day, and looked up to see Hoshi’s friendly smile and kind eyes.

“Yes, you are. You are amazing, Jihoon. You are talented, funny, kind, amazing, everything in the book. And we all love you. Look at all your friends! We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t see past that hard shell of yours to see the wonderful person hiding underneath. So, stop moping, give a smile every once in a while, and ask them out. I know you can do it!” he beamed, and Woozi relaxed infinitely, Hoshi’s kind words giving him that boost he hadn’t known he needed.

Nodding his head slightly, he mulled over Hoshi’s words. “Thank you, Soonyoung. Really,” he rubbed the back of his neck out of awkwardness, but Hoshi simply chuckled sweetly.

“Never a problem. But seriously, ask them on a date. Or at least talk to them. Something tells me lady luck may be on your side. Just try!”

Woozi snorted in amusement. Ok, he figures he could smile a bit more. And snap a bit less. Maybe a lot less. Because after today’s conversation, he saw you really weren’t that bad. You were…nice. But a different kind of nice. Not a Jaebum kind of nice, where they have a conversation here and there whenever they pass each other and just talk about whatever’s going on. You were nice in a way he couldn’t comprehend, but he needed more of it like it was a drug you were supplying. And he knows if you want something done right, you better do it yourself. Feeling better, albeit a little nervous, he sat up straighter and grinned slightly at Hoshi.

“Ok, maybe I will.”

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