#this school is a fucking train wreck and if I have to find a THIRD fucking nursing school because this one fucks me over

[kittyhazelnut]

guess who just lost another 5% of their professionalism grade for not handing in the papers that I was told we weren't supposed to hand in because they were for our benefit and not for the clinical instructors'? :D

[twilightknight17]

"Guys, holy fuck" - Part 1

Yesterday on P5T, we reached the end of the third kingdom. And man, I really wish I’d gotten to this point while I was still over at Po’s house, because it would have been nice to have someone to scream along with me while I frantically hit the button on my phone camera at lightspeed.

Atlus, what R U doing?

Well, first of all, we’ve got two more keys to get, and more of Toshiro and Eri’s story to uncover. The last two keys are a letter of challenge, and a recorder.

So what happened, is that Eri sent vice-principal Nakabachi the letter of challenge. They confronted him about what he was doing, and he basically laughed them off. Said that there was nothing they could do without any proof, and there was no way that they’d be able to get the other students to come forward because they were too scared of the blackmail he had on them.

So Toshiro came up with a plan.

They talk to the other students, and call the vice-principal to the roof. He thinks they’re going to grovel, but they confront him again. This time, with the other students backing them up. All of them, standing together!

The vice-principal laughs. He says that it’s still their word against his, and he will ruin their futures if they dare try to do anything else or tell anyone.

And Toshiro says, wow, didn’t think it would be that easy. And holds up the recorder. A full confession, spoken by the man himself. It’s exactly what they need.

In the present, Toshiro tells the Thieves that Nakabachi was fired. The revolution worked. And now they have all four keys, and its time to go to the locked music room and take out the ruler of this place! So they head up, unlock the door, and confront Nakabachi.

He turns into some big round robot that looks like a head, and the “rules” are not to use any skills. Somehow I teleported Erina over onto his platform earlier than planned, and ended up being able to hammer on him like that, so it actually wasn’t that bad of a fight. I’ve gotten some good personas by now, too. So, the ruler goes down! All is well! ...except he’s not down, because he’s not Nakabachi at all. He’s someone else. And he’s kidnapped Erina, and has another memory to reveal to Toshiro.

When they made their accusations against Nakabachi public, everyone jumped on board. Even the students who had never actually been victims. Students who were punished for things they actually did, students who had just gotten a “bad vibe” from him, people were making things up, even, just to be part of the pack. They were even harassing the man at his house after he was dismissed from the school. And he snapped under the strain of the constant harassment. He found Toshiro and Eri waiting for the train one evening, out of his mind, and pushed Eri in front of a train.

Toshiro tried to catch her, but couldn’t in time.

And he feels so guilty. He thinks it was all his fault. If he hadn’t stirred up this rebellion, if they hadn’t confronted the vice-principal, Eri wouldn’t have gotten hurt. She survived, but was in the hospital for a long time. No wonder he was burying all of this.

The students who harassed Nakabachi got in trouble, and most of the student body ended up blaming Toshiro. Because clearly they wouldn’t have gotten in trouble if Toshiro and Eri hadn’t led them to rebel in the first place. Which is complete bullshit, but, y’know, people trying to find a scapegoat.

And now that Toshiro remembers all of this, the rebels of the Kingdom turn on him and become Legionnaires, and are finally able to call him by name.

(And I gotta laugh at the letters that were visible right before they speak the whole thing. XD)

After a “survive X turns” battle (where I just barely scraped by without anyone getting KO’d), Toshiro is a wreck. To the point that he asks the Thieves to leave him behind, because if he keeps fighting, it’s just going to end with them getting hurt this time. And he doesn’t want that. He says that he might as well stay behind, and just--

And Futaba slaps the shit out of him before he can finish that thought. Because Futaba knows what it’s like to feel so terrible about a situation that you just want to die. And she’s not letting someone else fall in that pit. So everyone makes it back to the hideout in one piece.

We recover, we mentally fortify ourselves, we talk Toshiro down from the edge of a full-blown mental breakdown. Lavenza summons us to tell us that something is getting stronger. And it’s very malevolent. But she doesn’t know what it is. Vagueness is coming! Please stop taking after your great-grandfather, Lavenza. If you must, take after him from when he was actually helpful.

So anyway, with no clues about the malevolent vagueness, we head for the student council room, where Shadow Toshiro is waiting with Erina.

Gotta admit, I’m a little annoyed that the eyes of his sprite aren’t gold. Like, come on. COME ON. Atlus. Please. First your weird stepchild Velvet attendant and now this? But man oh man has he got stage presence. And he wants Erina dead. Toshiro is horrified by this, but the whole school crumbles to reveal like, a dramatic clocktower and stuff, and the shadow strings up Erina and tells Toshiro that as soon as they kill the stain that Eri left on him, everything will be better.

The Thieves sprint in to try to help, but he’s rigged a trap. He’s got these bandage things that he can control, and the Thieves get tied up and are left unable to reach them. Akira drops his dagger and manages to kick it to Toshiro (with a voiced line of dialogue!), but Toshiro can’t move.

Right up until the shadow gets ready to blast Erina. Then he is up, he is grabbing the dagger, he is throwing it right through the shadow’s hand. We love this man’s character development. God damn. The bandage things drop Erina over the side of the clock tower, and Toshiro lunges to catch her. He saves her, the way he didn’t manage to save Eri.

And now Erina knows who she is.

His persona. Somehow.

Even though his shadow is right there.

So we’re going to stop for a second while the Thieves have a dramatic fight against Shadow Toshiro (who uses an annoying shield). Because what is this place, really? It’s like an extremely complex Dungeon more than anything, I suppose, since it’s about all of this trauma that he’s been keeping buried. But multiple aspects existing simultaneously leans closer to my version of a heart world, and the only other person who’s canonically had a cognitive world with multiple aspects of themselves running around is Maki, who was a Wild Card.

Toshiro’s awakening is also a strange combo of a P4 and P5 awakening. He confronts his shadow and accepts the flaws in himself that he needs to overcome, but he also gets the mask and blood. Which is fine, except that the mask immediately disappears after he pulls it off, he doesn’t get a metaverse outfit, nothing. So… they could have skipped the mask. His awakening wasn’t really a “rebellion” awakening. Just go with P4-style if he wasn’t going to get the full-blown outfit change.

Yes I KNOW I am probably thinking too hard but Blowtorch is metaphorically sitting on my shoulder and we are wondering why the lore isn’t clicking!! XD

(Also the persona’s name is Ernesto, and I’m not really sure I vibe with the inspiration there? Like I get it, but there’s probably better ways to have done this whole thing. Love the design, tho.)

I've hit the image limit, so please hold for part 2. X'D Also, check out Yusuke's fancy new water gun.

[percontaion-points]

Court chapters 112-115

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 112

“While you were making a fool of yourself in that training circle, trying to impress the general, I was watching and learning how this gift of yours works.”

How the hell could Izzy “learn how Grace’s gift works” when this is literally the third time that Grace has EVER done this?

Editor? Anybody seen an editor?

“I wondered if you’d figure it out,” Isadora sneers. “It definitely took you long enough.”

Chapter 112 summary: When Izzy comes into the dungeon, Grace ambushes her. However, they end up back in one of Grace’s memories, the day that her parents died. Izzy taunts her with the knowledge that she knows more than Grace… despite the fact that Izzy has literally only ever seen Grace doing this once before. MAKE IT MAKE SENSE. 

Chapter 113

I’d originally assumed they didn’t know about my gargoyle, but clearly they did. What if that’s why they were fighting the day they wrecked?

Did Grace completely miss the part where her parents went to the bloodletter and asked her for help in bringing back the gargoyles? The part where the bloodletter literally looked Grace in the eye and told her “Your mother was my many-times great-granddaughter. All I did was to unlock the curse I’d put on my line.”

“And I’m going to keep doing it until you do the one thing that will make it stop.”

Chapter 113 summary: Izzy taunts Grace with the knowledge that she can control the memory, not Grace. 

So we sit and watch as Grace’s parents have an argument. But not simply any argument, but the knowledge that they not only know what Grace is, but were trying to tell her (in their own way) what she was. Apparently, Rowena had been giving them some power-suppressing tea. Which Grace thinks Rowena got from the crone. But since Rowena “disappeared”, their tea was running out. They were going to send her to Alaska. But telling a junior that she’s going to have to spend her senior year at a boarding school in Alaska is the wrong approach. 

The memory shifts to Grace standing in the morgue. She watches as her past self identifies the body of her mother. Then her dead parents sit up on the exam tables and go “You did this to us. You did this!” Even knowing that Lia murdered them. 

Chapter 114

 It wasn’t fair of me not to hear them out about Katmere, but it wasn’t fair of them not to tell me about anything else— including the fact that they begged the Bloodletter to help create me and then ended up hiding me from everyone, including myself, my entire life. 

Literally no mention whatsoever about how Lia looked Grace in the eye and told her “I murdered your parents.”

And if it hasn’t, well, I’ll find a way to deal with the very pissed-off Izzy there, in the real world where I’m certain I can get the hell out of her way. So I unfreeze us.

Chapter 114 summary: Izzy basically traps Grace in a hell-loop, where she’s forced to relive the last day of her parent's lives over and over and… Izzy tells Grace that it’s time to get over it. 

But the worst part is that Grace actually does. She pulls herself together, realises that she’s not actually at fault for their deaths, and she’s like “Okay. I mean, yeah. Them dying really fucking sucks. But they loved me. And I still love them.” 

She then figures that enough time has passed, so she unfreezes them. 

Chapter 115

Still, I’m on borrowed time and I don’t have any to waste. Which is why I take a deep breath, knock, and then pray for the best…or at least, not the worst.

Chapter 115 summary: When Grace unfreezes time, Izzy starts throwing punches. Hudson, Remy, Calder, and Eden. Finally, Grace grabs Izzy and goes flying up in the air with her really high. She knows that she doesn’t have a lot of time, so she tells Izzy to give her five minutes. 

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 146: Guitar

After the war and the trials, Harry Potter had some sort of mental breakdown and he disappeared.

And while Draco would like to be able to claim that he never thought about the other man, that would be a lie.

It wasn't like he thought about him all of the time, though, wondering where Potter had ended up was just a sort of passing thought. One of the thoughts he'd have as he was about to fall asleep, or when he got just a little too tipsy, or when life got to be a little too stressful and he just needed something else to think about for a while.

Draco had left not long after, not because he was trying to find Potter, but because he couldn't take the pressure and the preconceived notions that everyone seemed to have. Logically, he'd imagined that Potter had probably returned to the Wizarding world.

Still, there was always that strange part of him that knew their paths would cross eventually. Call it divination, call it intuition, call it fate, call it whatever you like; deep down Draco was certain that he'd see Potter again.

One damp, chilly autumn evening after an exceptionally long shift, Draco wandered into the bar down the street from his flat. He ordered his usual, a rum and coke, from Mike at the bar, wincing as he heard the sound of a guitar being plugged into the amp. "I forgot you had live music on Thursdays," he groaned as Mike prepared his drink.

"He's pretty good," Mike said with a sympathetic little smile. "Plays acoustic, just his voice and a guitar," he shrugged, "Not bad on the eyes either."

At that, Draco turned his head to look over his shoulder at the man who was making himself at home on stage. And it shouldn't have come as a surprise that it was Potter making himself comfortable on a stool but it did.

He looked good. His hair was pulled up into a bun at the top of his head, dark stubble covered his jaw, and an eyebrow ring glinted in the stage lights. At some point in the past five years, Potter had learned how to dress himself; gone were the baggy, ill-fitting clothes that he used to wear. He sat on stage in a simple white button-up shirt that he left unbuttoned half way down his chest, revealing strong, defined musculature; and dark wash jeans that clung to his thighs.

As Potter got his guitar situated, Draco caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the inside of his forearm and his mouth went dry, imagining the other tattoos he might be hiding.

"No fucking way," Draco said.

(Read more below the cut)

"What?" Mike asked as he slid Draco's drink across the bar to him.

He looked back at Mike, "I know him," he said. "We..." he trailed off because he didn't really know what to say.

Mike glanced at the stage, then back at Draco, "Did you sleep together?"

"No," Draco spluttered, "No. We went to school together." He looked back up at Potter who was adjusting the microphone.

"Gonna stick around then?"

"Depends on if he's any good," Draco lied. Potter could be an absolute train wreck and Draco knew that he would be glued to his chair. "I didn't know he could sing," he added.

"Enjoy," Mike called as he headed toward the other end of the bar to help someone else.

Draco sipped his drink and waited for a voice he hadn't heard since his trial.

"Uhh, hey, everyone," Potter said once he seemed to be situated. "My name is Harry," he said, "Thanks for having me."

And without further ado, he started performing.

Draco couldn't have left if he'd wanted to. He was mesmerized by the way Potter's fingers drifted over the strings, coaxing out the right chords. And his voice. It was a siren's song; a rich, smooth, smoky baritone that wrapped its way around your very soul and drew you in.

Draco was a goner.

He wasn't quite sure how long he'd sat there listening to Potter sing but it was long enough that he was on his third drink, when Potter looked up and seemed to notice him.

Their eyes caught and held, and he had to play an extra measure before he came in. After that song Potter said, "I'm taking a quick five minute break, hope you're enjoying the music." He gave the crowd a little smile and Draco could hear the women in the front row of tables swooning over him.

Potter made his way over to the bar, thanking people on his way through. He sidled up right next to Draco and asked Mike for a glass of water. Then he turned and Draco felt a muffliato fall over them.

"Wandless and wordless, color me impressed, Potter," he drawled as he took a sip of his drink.

The other man rolled his eyes, "I always knew you'd find me."

"It was quite by accident, I assure you," he replied, keeping his tone light and posture open.

"What brings you here, then?"

"I live like five blocks from here," Draco said. "It's on my way home from work."

"You live in Muggle London?" Potter asked incredulously.

"I do," he confirmed. "I work at a muggle clinic just down the road."

Potter stared at him, "Seriously?"

He nodded, "Yeah. Want me to show you?"

"Your clinic? No," he replied. And then he gave Draco a slow once over, the kind that left Draco's skin tingling. "Your flat? Maybe."

He raised an eyebrow, "Don't you have a show to finish?"

"I do," he affirmed as Mike returned with his glass of water. "Stick around, yeah?" he said as he turned and headed back to the stage.

As if Draco had ever had a choice.

------------

He thought about heading up toward the stage when Potter was packing up but bravery hadn't ever been his strong suit, so he leaned against the bar and watched the other man's sure, practiced movements as he put his guitar away. Potter's emerald eyes flicked up and met his as he snapped the case closed and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin.

And Draco couldn't breathe properly.

A heartbeat later Potter was making his way toward him, politely declining whatever the women and men surrounding him were obviously offering. "So," he said when he reached him, "Are you going to show me your flat?" Potter's tongue slipped out and traced along his bottom lip and Draco couldn't help but track the movement.

"Depends," he replied.

"On?"

"Are you planning going to show me the rest of this tattoo?" he asked, trailing his fingers along the tattoo on his forearm that looked suspiciously like a dragon's tail up close.

"I'll show you a lot more than that, if you're interested," he replied.

"Damn, Potter," he grumbled as he turned and started toward the door, "When did you grow up?"

He huffed a laugh and held the door for Draco, "Probably right around the same time you did," he replied.

"But you didn't just grow up," Draco insisted as he set off down the sidewalk toward his flat, "You had a full blown glow-up. I mean, look at you."

"Yes, well we couldn't all just be naturally beautiful like you are," he replied without missing a beat.

Draco's jaw dropped and he stared at him.

"What?" Potter asked with a smirk in his direction.

He shook his head, "You're lucky I don't just pin you to the wall and snog you senseless. Ego stroking is always too effective on vain men like me."

"Ego stroking, huh?" he deadpanned, "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

And he just couldn't help himself after that, he grabbed the other man by the shirt and pressed him back into the alleyway up against the wall and he kissed him.

Potter cupped his face with one hand and slid the other around Draco's back and up under his shirt, the heat of his palm like a brand on Draco's sacrum. He was a surprisingly good kisser and Draco lost himself in the heady pleasure of the give and take that came with a good kiss.

A couple of teenagers who came stumbling and laughing past the alley drew him up short, "Fuck, Potter," he gasped as he pulled back.

"Call me Harry," he said, green eyes bright with arousal.

"We are like three blocks from my flat. Do you think you can manage to not distract me long enough that we can get there?"

He mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key before bending down to pick up his guitar case.

"It's going to take a lot more than you not talking to keep me from getting distracted," he grumbled as he started walking again.

"Just remind yourself of how much better it will feel to kiss on your bed," he said. "I bet you've got nice sheets," he murmured. "I bet they're silky soft and smell like you."

"Stop talking," he groaned, covering his ears and trying to block out the mental image of Harry's naked, sweaty body sprawled out across his sheets.

Harry slipped his hand under the hem of Draco's shirt while they walked, his fingers slipping just below Draco's waistband.

"You're a menace," Draco said even as he leaned into the touch, their bodies brushing against each other as they walked.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," he replied, perhaps a touch to quickly if the palpable smugness radiating off of the other man was anything to go by.

Fortunately his building was in sight now and Draco walked even quicker, moving up the front steps and through the lobby to the elevator faster than he ever had in his life. "Hi Danny, good night, Danny!" he called to the front desk worker as he pushed the button and the doors miraculously opened.

As soon as the doors closed he was on Harry again, pushing him back against the wall and scraping his teeth over the stubble on Harry's jaw before returning to his surprisingly soft, supple lips.

He didn't break the kiss when the elevator opened, he just steered Harry back and angled him toward his door, wandlessly unlocking it when they reached it and pushing Harry backward into his apartment.

"Fuck," Harry hissed as Draco went after his neck, sucking at a sensitive spot behind Harry's ear. "You're wearing too many clothes," he complained and an instant later they were both naked.

"Those had better not be gone forever," he growled as he pushed him back to the bed in the corner of the studio flat.

"They're in the corner," Harry said as he stumbled backward toward the bed.

He followed him, "Watch the cat," Draco said a heartbeat too late because Harry was already falling onto the bed.

Artemis let out a displeased brreow as she jumped off the bed.

"Sorry kitten," Harry said, completely distracted from Draco's attentions as he started to move toward her.

"You can apologize to her later," Draco said, pressing on Harry's chest and pushing him back into bed as he climbed on and straddled his hips.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, already reaching for Draco and pulling him down. "You're right."

"You're a natural," Draco teased as he leaned down and captured Harry's mouth.

Harry let out a soft groan at the praise and pressed up into Draco, and Draco put that observation and his knowledge of the human body to good use.

-------------

Later, when they were lying in a sweaty, sated heap and Harry was trailing his fingers along Draco's spine in a way that made him feel like he'd lost all of his bones, Harry said, "So what did you say that you do?"

"I'm a nurse," he replied, propping his chin up on Harry's chest.

"Seriously?"

He nodded, "Yup."

"That's fantastic," Harry replied, "you must have had to do a ton of training."

"You have no idea," he groaned.

Harry yawned, "You enjoy it, though?"

"I do," he said. "What about you? Do you enjoy the musician life? I couldn't have ever imagined you doing that."

He laughed, "Yeah. It's fun honestly," he shrugged. "I picked up the guitar when I was in therapy and haven't put it down."

"Therapy was a bitch," he said, rolling off of Harry and reaching for his mobile. "I'm glad I went but it sucked."

"Yes," Harry agreed, rolling onto his side so he could look at Draco. "Kicking me out already?"

He glanced over at him, "I was just going to order us some takeaway. I'm starved."

The smile he received in return made his heart turn sideways in his chest.

"Thai or Indian?"

"Indian," Harry replied.

Draco clicked on the Indian restaurant nearest to his flat and handed the phone over to Harry so he could order.

Once their order was in Harry said, "Your flat isn't what I was expecting."

"No?" he asked sardonically.

"It's nice, though," he added quickly. "It suits you. All warm and cozy."

He huffed and tugged Harry closer so he could play with his curls, "I resent the implication that I am warm and fuzzy."

Harry laughed and pressed a kiss to the center of Draco's chest, "I won't tell anyone."

"I won't either," he said seriously. "About you, I mean. Not that I really talk to anyone in the wizarding world, but-"

"Thanks," Harry said softly, disrupting the flow of words from Draco's mouth. "Draco?"

"Mmh?"

"Can we do this again sometime?" he asked, almost shyly.

He hummed, "Well I was hoping for round two after we eat."

"No," Harry said, "I mean, could we see each other more often?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Never mind," Harry said before he could speak up. "Don't worry, it was silly. I'll-"

"Hey," Draco interrupted. "I would like that very much, I was just surprised."

"Okay," Harry said, his body relaxing as he brushed his thumb over Draco's rib cage.

They laid together and enjoyed the feeling of being close to someone before Harry perked up. "Oh," he said, sitting up and climbing out of bed.

Draco watched as Harry made his way over to Artemis and scooped her up out of the cat bed.

"Hello you pretty thing," he murmured, stroking her long black fur. "Aren't you lovely? I'm sorry that I almost squashed you. Someone," he said, looking up and mock glaring at Draco, "didn't even tell me you existed."

He laughed, "I was a bit preoccupied."

Harry stuck out his tongue and brought Artemis back to bed with him.

And as he watched Harry pet her and talk to her, he couldn't help but think that he could get used to this.

------------

Day 145: You’ve Unlocked Something In Me | Day 147: Poem

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Six

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: writing this chapter was so much fun but reading it was a train wreck so you’ll just have to find out yourself whether it’s actually good or not. hurt/comfort ahead

***

Most of Nesta’s days lately are spent holed up in her basement apartment, either studying for her finals or preparing for her move—which means that whenever Cassian wants to see her, she has to haul ass all the way to the cabin to make time for him.

Like now, on the morning of her birthday, as she stands in her pajamas and slippers in the middle of Cassian’s home gym. Staring at the reason behind his urgent phone call telling her to come over.

“It’s a pole,” she says dumbly.

“Happy birthday,” he says, looking proud of himself. “Consider it an incentive to move in faster, okay?”

“It’s a pole,” she repeats. Tall and gleaming, it stands in front of the wall of mirrors away from most of the workout equipment. “You installed a pole?”

The gift itself isn’t that surprising—Cassian could afford an entire pole dancing studio if he wanted to. What surprises her is that it’s installed here, in Cassian’s personal space. The gym is to Cassian what the reading nook is to Nesta, if not even more sacred. Nesta rarely enters it, but now… he’s extending a blatant invitation into his space.

“I know you already take classes with Gwyn and Emerie,” Cassian is saying, “but you haven’t gotten to go in a while because of school and work, so I thought it would be easier for you if I brought the dance studio over here.” He scratches his head, and Nesta’s eyes drift to the silver watch on his wrist. “You never told me you used to dance. I found out from Feyre, and she sent me videos of your old ballet recitals.”

“Did she?”

Cassian nods along. “You were good. You’re still good now, which is why you should wipe that look off your face and thank me for your gift.”

Nesta is sure she looks stupefied, but she doesn’t do anything to rein it in. She has so many thoughts, and she can only think of saying, “I don’t want to practice in front of you.”

“You don’t have to,” Cassian promises. “Other than early mornings, maybe evenings, the gym will be empty for you.”

Okay. “You—” Nesta starts, “You’re really okay with this?”

Cassian’s face drops in confusion. “Okay with what?” He looks at the pole and back at Nesta. “Do you not like it?”

“Are you okay with giving me part of the gym? Where are you going to go if you want to be alone?” She chews on her lip.

Cassian laughs. “Why would I want to be alone?”

Nesta shrugs. “I need it at least once a week. I figured everyone else was the same way.” Her alone spot in the cabin is her former bedroom from the first time she lived here. Cassian knows not to enter that room, and on days when she spends time in there he simply waits until she comes out. Nesta assumed the gym was close to being something like that for Cassian.

Realization crosses Cassian’s face. “Oh, you mean like your ‘special room’?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Nesta snipes. “I told you I don’t use it for masturbating.”

He comes over and swings a heavy arm around her shoulder. “Babe, if I wanted to be alone I wouldn’t stay in the house. I’d run the trails in the woods behind the cabin.”

“Really?” Her brows furrow. She didn’t know that.

“Look, am I gonna have to return the pole or not?” Cassian says, exasperated.

Nesta stares at him closely, and upon finding no other catch to his gift, she flings her arms around his torso. “I love it,” she declares into his chest. “I love it so much.”

His body tenses in surprise at her uncharacteristic outburst, but then she feels his strong arms wrapping around her too. “In that case, have I earned myself a private show?” he teases.

“I’ll give you so many private shows,” Nesta promises. At least, once she completes her 2L and has the time to learn how to use the pole. “Emerie and Gwyn are going to be so jealous,” she hums pridefully.

Cassian chuckles deeply, and the sound rumbles through his chest where Nesta’s head rests.

They stay holding each other in silence like that for a while, mostly because it’s too early for unnecessary conversing. When Nesta finally speaks up, it’s to say, “Did you really have to call me over at eight a.m. for this, though?”

“It’s your birthday.” Cassian strokes the hair away from her neck. “Don’t even think about sleeping,” he warns. “We’re spending the whole day together. Your sisters mailed gifts, and Gwyn and Emerie are coming over at noon.”

That works for her.

***

The week after her birthday, Nesta drops her resignation letter onto Rhysand’s desk with a heavy smack.

He looks up from the envelope to her. “What’s this?”

“I’m quitting,” she announces without flourish. “Thank you for the experience. Let’s never do it again.”

“But—you got paid more than anyone else in an assistant position ever would. And you weren’t too bad at your job for a student. What went wrong?” He picks up the letter as if he can’t believe his eyes.

Nesta’s stare is a deadpan one. “Let me guess: you thought I would take your free paychecks, use my connections to move up your nepotism ladder, and end up working at Night Court comfortably for the rest of my life?”

Rhysand sits back in his chair and raises a brow at Nesta. “This is a family business,” he says smoothly. “I thought you wanted to be part of the family?”

How funny of him. “I’m good,” she answers simply.

“You came all the way here to tell me this?” Here being Velaris, which gleams through the wall of windows behind Rhysand’s desk.

“I’m not here to see you,” Nesta says, the implication being left in the air. “I’m just stopping by.” Giving a short nod, she turns on her heel to leave.

“If you ever go looking for another job,” Rhysand calls after her, “tell me if you need a recommendation. I can get you into any position at any business.”

She pauses at the door and looks over her shoulder at Rhysand. “I already have recommendations. And a job.” Her summer clerkship at the local family law firm won’t pay a third of what she made here at Night Court, but it’s good enough for now. Combined with what she’s saved up so far, she’ll get through her final year of law school without issue.

At Rhysand’s surprised face, she takes her cue to leave.

Nesta didn’t intend on going all the way to personally meet the CEO to quit, but since Cassian has been in Velaris the whole weekend for work, she thought it would be nice to surprise Cassian with a visit and cut her ties with Night Court Inc. at the same time.

Night Court’s headquarters are huge, with the skyscraper easily being one of the tallest buildings in the city. Nesta nearly gets lost trying to find her way out of Rhysand’s offices.

When she finally spots the steel doors of the elevator, they’re about to slide shut on her. “Hold the door!” she calls out, kicking into a jog. An arm pushes out at the last second to stop the doors from closing, and Nesta slides into the elevator with a sigh of relief. The doors close after her, and she turns to thank the only other person in the elevator.

The man is already looking at her in surprise—surprise which slowly turns into a shark-like smile. “Nesta?”

Nesta’s blood goes cold. He can’t be.

“Remember me?” He points at himself, still grinning. “Keith? Keith O’Connell?”

She tries to swallow but her mouth is dry. “Yeah, I remember,” she gets out.

She remembers everyone she knew from college. She especially remembers Tomas’s closest friends.

Nesta realizes Keith is saying something to her. “What floor?” he asks.

“Uh…” Where was she going again? She can’t remember. She spits out a random number and lets Keith press the button.

Nesta turns her gaze to the flashing numbers above the doors, watching them go down and down. Why are there so many damn floors?

“Didn’t think I’d see you around here,” he goes on, trying to get her to meet his eyes. “Let me guess, you’re an intern?”

Nesta keeps her eyes glued to the floor numbers. “No.”

“Ah,” he hums. “Don’t tell me you’re still chasing that lawyer dream?”

When Nesta doesn’t respond, she finds five fingers on her jaw turning her face toward Keith’s.

She jerks out of his grip, indignant rage bubbling to the surface—rage that is almost immediately suppressed by dread and fear. She’s so small right now; she can’t remember how to be big and loud.

Keith grins, taking a step closer. “What’s wrong? I just asked a question.”

Her back bumps into the wall. She barely feels it. She might as well be back in the living room of her college apartment, sitting on the arm of the couch while Tomas makes snide remarks about her to Keith O’Connell and his other friends. She’s not allowed to leave, because then she’ll be the one who can’t take a joke.

Keith frowns disappointedly at the ground, as if he found a shiny toy just to discover that it doesn’t do any tricks. Now he’s bored. “Damn,” he says. “When you’re not busy being Tom’s bitch, I guess you’re just a bitch.”

Nesta wishes she could be a bitch right now. She wishes she could fight back. “What are you doing, Keith?”

He tilts his head at her. “I’m catching up with you. You got a boyfriend?” His beady eyes slide down her form, leaving a slimy feeling in their wake.

When her lips stay pressed in a firm line, he grabs her arm and laughs. “Come on, why’re you being so weird?” He shakes her by the elbow. “I won’t tell anyone if you do have a boyfriend, promise.”

Nesta hears a ding, and the elevator doors slide open. She doesn’t know whether it’s her floor or Keith’s floor, but she doesn’t care—she’s the first to pull away from him and make an exit. “See you,” she blurts before speedwalking out of the elevator.

Why the fuck did she say “see you”? She doesn’t want to see him ever again. He doesn’t deserve to see her ever again.

Behind her, she hears Keith chuckle again. “I’ll tell Tomas you said hi,” he calls after her.

***

Cassian finds Nesta huddled under a desk.

He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he spotted her hurrying out of the elevator on the eighteenth floor of Night Court’s headquarters, but soon enough he realized that yes, that was Nesta’s coat and Nesta’s hair. She was supposed to be back home studying for her first two finals, but instead she was here looking like she was going to be sick.

He was about to follow her when his eyes slid to the man that had gotten off the elevator after her. He didn’t like how O’Connell was staring after Nesta.

“We’re old college friends,” O’Connell shrugged dismissively when Cassian approached him. “I was just saying hi.”

Nesta doesn’t have any friends from college.

Which leads Cassian to a dim, abandoned meeting room, one that would seem fully empty if it wasn't for the sound of strained breathing coming from under the only desk.

He approaches the desk slowly, his worn sneakers coming into Nesta’s line of sight. Pushing the rolling chair away, he crouches down to get a better look at her.

Tinny music comes out of her earbuds, loud enough to drown out any other sounds. She stares past Cassian like she can’t even see him, and the hollowed out look in her eyes terrifies him for a moment. When she blinks, tears spill over onto her cheeks.

“Nes?” Carefully, Cassian reaches out to touch one of her earbuds. After a second of hesitation, he pulls it out and lets it fall.

Nesta sniffles once, then finally turns her teary gaze to Cassian. Her eyes widen a little bit as she croaks, “How did you find me?”

“I followed you. What are you doing here, baby?”

“Um—” Her voice cracks, and she swipes away her tears with the sleeve of her coat. She clears her throat and says, “I came to surprise you.”

“And how’d you end up under here?” Cassian pulls Nesta’s hand away from her face before the scratchy wool can redden her face further. Makeup is smudged around her eyes, and he tries to soothe the sensitive skin there with his thumbs.

Nesta’s other earbud drops out of her ear while he fusses, leaving her with nothing to listen to.

Cassian is quietly, studiously tucking stray hairs back into Nesta’s bun when she confesses, “I was weak.”

“How?” Concern pinches Cassian’s brow. “By crying in front of me?”

“I was completely helpless,” she goes on, her voice numb. “And I didn’t know how not to be that way. I hated it, it’s so stupid.” She tears up again. “I’m not supposed to be that stupid.”

“Tell me what happened,” Cassian demands. He can’t pretend to be patient anymore.

Nesta presses her lips together and stares down at her shoes. Nothing Cassian can think of can prepare him for when she says, “I ran into a friend of my ex.”

So that’s who he is. A frightening calmness settles over Cassian. “O’Connell?” he asks, though he already knows.

Nesta looks up. “You know him?”

He tightens his jaw but nods. “Move over.” Ducking his head, Cassian crawls under the desk to join Nesta. He has to hunch over in half to fit, but Nesta doesn’t seem to mind.

He has to give it to her—it’s not a bad hiding spot.

“What did he say to you?” He tries to sound steady, undisturbed.

“He didn’t need to say anything,” Nesta answers. “I lost my spine with one look from him. He had me under his thumb.”

“I see.” Cassian has made peace with the fact that Tomas Mandray has long since moved away, that he’ll never be able to track the shithead down and make him suffer. What he didn’t know, however, is that Mandray left his friends behind.

“Were you hurt?” is his next question. “Did he touch you?” Cassian doesn’t know what he’ll do if Nesta says yes, but he has to ask anyway.

“I’m not hurt,” she assures him. But her hands rub over her upper arms like she can feel the ghost of a touch there.

“I see,” he repeats. He watches her for a bit longer before stating, “You’re not stupid.”

Nesta’s huff is amused. “Thank you.”

“And don’t spend too much time thinking about O’Connell,” he mutters, nudging her knee with his. “I’ll get rid of him for good.” That is a promise that Cassian is happy to keep.

Nesta looks alarmed. “Like…murder him?”

Cassian laughs. “No, not like that. But you’ll never see him again, so I hope you’ve said what you needed to say to him.”

Nesta thinks for a moment, then nods. “That sounds good. I don’t have anything to say to him.” She inhales a deep breath. “I think I feel better now.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Cassian holds out a hand to her. “You wanna get out of here?”

She takes his hand and he helps her out from under the desk.

Nesta apparently booked a hotel room in Velaris to surprise Cassian with, but they both agree on the way to the parking lot that they’ve had enough of the city. Cassian chooses to leave his truck behind for Rhys to take care of, and he offers to drive Nesta’s car while she rests.

The ride home is long and quiet.

Nesta sits in silence with her earbuds in, her head leaning against the car window and one of her hands in Cassian’s. He drives with his free hand, sneaking glances over at her every so often just to make sure she really is okay.

It enrages him that someone from Nesta’s past found their way into her place of work. What if he and O’Connell weren’t working in Velaris this weekend, and Nesta bumped into O’Connell in the middle of town instead? It could have tainted any sense of safety she has with the small city she calls home.

Cassian has no plans on telling her that O’Connell is the team leader for the Milan project, or that he rents a small place on the outskirts of their town. Because soon enough neither of those things will be true, and there’s no use in unnecessarily worrying her.

He absentmindedly rubs his thumb over the back of Nesta’s hand.

When they finally pull up to the cabin, Nesta picks her head up from the window to look around. Spotting the other black car parked in the driveway, she makes a sound of disappointment. “Az is home.”

“We can stay in the car if you like,” Cassian offers. He’s in no rush to go inside and face other people, either.

Nesta pulls her heels off, bending over to rub her stockinged feet. “Maybe just for a little while.”

Cassian unbuckles his seatbelt, gesturing for Nesta to put her feet in his lap.

She obliges, looking too tired to refuse him. Cassian runs his hands up her legs and under her skirt, finding the waistband of her sheer black tights and tugging.

“What are you doing?” She jerks under his hands, eyes wide. “The car’s too small for this.”

He narrows his gaze at her. “Chill, horndog. I’m just making you comfortable.” He pulls the tights the rest of the way down her legs and off, freeing her skin.

Nesta gives a little sigh of relief at the feeling of air on her bare skin. She rubs her hands over her thighs in wonder, drawing Cassian’s gaze.

He meets her eyes, and she slowly curls her legs off his lap, tucking them underneath herself instead.

Elated to have Nesta’s undivided attention after two hours of silence, he leans over and slips his hand around her jaw, pulling her in for a kiss.

Her inhale is soft, surprised, before she relaxes against his mouth. Cassian kisses her once, twice, hoping it’ll remind her that she’s safe at his side. That nothing can make her weak.

He’s slow to pull away, and he opens his eyes to find that Nesta’s are still closed, her lips still parted. He stifles a smile and whispers, “I think we should head inside.”

“Mm-hm,” she nods eagerly.

They exit the car, Cassian carrying Nesta’s shoes and tights in one hand and Nesta running over to him barefoot.

He leaves little pecks along her jaw and neck as they enter the cabin, taking extra time to find any moles or beauty marks. She’s about to turn in his arms to face him when they both take notice of Azriel sitting in the living room. Cardboard boxes surround him, and he’s filling them up with books.

Cassian drops Nesta’s heels and tights onto the floor, bringing Az’s attention to him.

“Hey, bro,” Cassian says warily. “What are you doing?”

“Moving out,” Az answers.

Nesta chokes on a laugh. When no one laughs with her, her face drops. “You’re serious?”

Cassian thinks the same thing.

“I’m going back to Velaris,” Az shrugs, dropping some trinkets into a box. “I’m ready to face Elain. I’m taking accountability.” He says it like it’s the simplest decision ever, like he’s talking about bringing an umbrella to a picnic.

“Are you sure about this?” Cassian asks. Just a while ago his brother was terrified at the idea of entering a ten mile radius of Velaris.

“I’m packing, aren’t I?” Az says dryly.

“You’re packing our things,” Cassian points out.

Nesta gasps when she notices. “Hey, those are my books!” She hurries over to snatch one out of Azriel’s hand.

Azriel snatches it back with a dark look. “What goes in the box, stays in the box.”

Cassian sputters in disbelief, looking around at the scene before him. “I mean—can we ask what brought this on?”

“Maybe I did some self-reflection. Or maybe I finally got sick of you and Nesta hooking up while I’m in the same room, like you were about to do now.” Az shrugs, pulling out a roll of packing tape and tearing off a strip with his teeth. “Don’t act like you’re going to miss me,” he continues as he tapes one of the boxes shut. “You two have been waiting for this day for months, and I’m finally granting your wishes.”

Cassian and Nesta share a look, and Cassian says hesitantly, “This isn’t… a breakdown or something, right?”

Azriel narrows his hazel eyes at Cassian.

“Okay, okay.” Cassian holds his hands up in defense. He pulls his hoodie over his head and off in one swift movement and goes over to the couch to help his brother pack. He still doesn’t know what brought on this sudden change of heart, but he knows Az won’t tell unless he wants to.

Nesta remains standing where she is, confounded, before dropping down next to an open box and rifling through it. “I want compensation for anything of mine you’re taking,” she demands, pulling out various paperbacks one by one.

“So like a dime for every three trash porns,” Cassian tells Az.

“I’m upcharging,” Nesta says. Her hand stops rummaging through the box, and she pulls out a framed photo instead of a book. She turns her steely eyes to Azriel. “You can’t have this one.”

It’s a candid picture of Cassian, Nesta, and Azriel on the ski lodge trip. Cassian remembers the moment it was taken with vividness, because it was one of the rare moments on that vacation where all three of them were smiling at the same time.

“Emerie took this,” Nesta continues, “and she’s my friend, so by extent it’s mine.”

Az smiles politely at her. “You’re right, you should keep it,” he says. “You’re too ugly in that photo for me to take it.”

Nesta sneers back, but gets up to reset the photo on the fireplace mantle.

A day or two later, Cassian notices that the ski lodge picture is gone, frame and all. He sighs to himself and hopes Nesta won’t notice.

***

a/n: it’s official less than five parts left!! cassian’s revenge scene is gonna be hotter than every smut scene combined

tagging: @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook a favor: @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99

[aerinthefish]

I was gonna make this into a fic but I’m too busy so here’s a buncha jumbled thoughts abt modern au high school Ralbert

So Ralbert

But Race likes to lie a lot and make sarcastic jokes with a deadpan face

And Albert is the only one who can tell when he’s being serious (his smirk is, like, slightly different but Al can’t explain it)

So Jack will regularly go to him if his brother is lying

And the group will all just turn to Al when Race lies to make sure he’s joking about breaking into the zoo cause, shit, we have class tomorrow Race!

And like Race will fake flirt w everyone

But also w Albert

But Albert can tell he’s not lying when he compliments his dimples

But Albert doesn’t want to call him out on it so like??? He just doesn’t?? Until they’re having a Friday Movie Night

And Race isn’t even paying attention to Mean Girls (the nerve)

So Albert does have to call him out

“Stop lookin’ at me, Race”

“I like lookin at ya”

“Your lies used to be more believable”

“‘M not lyin’, Al”

Oh. “Yeah I know”

“Oh, cool”

“Cool”

And one day after track practice, Race is like looking over at Al who is waiting for him for their weekly Friday Movie Night

And Jack is like oh shit

So he calls Albert up the next day and is like

“Dude, Race is so in love with you”

And Albert’s like “yeah ik”

“What do you mean you know?”

Albert shrugs “I can tell. He knows I know too. We just don’t really talk abt it that much”

Jack is just. Dumbfounded

“My little brother, the one you’ve been in love with since third grade—“

“Now wait a minute—“

“Don’t interrupt me. My brother that you’ve been in love with for years loves you back and you haven’t fucking done anythin??”

“I haven’t been in love with him since third grade, first of all. And second of all, we’re literally dating so like. I can’t marry him or anything. What else do you want me to do??”

And Jack is so shocked he just hangs up

Cause shit he didn’t know they were dating

And he starts to realize things like

Their movie nights? Dates

When Albert “left” his letterman jacket at their house and Race “happened” to forget his coat that day

When Albert brings two of everything in his lunch because Race hates school lunch but won’t pack his own

Their conversations in a few gestures and expressions, their jokes, the fact that they literally always touch some part of each other, whether it’s a hand, a hip, a shoulder

And, most obvious of all, all the times he’s gone into Race’s room after a quick knock to find a blushing Albert and a smirking Race on opposite sides of the bed

God, Jack is stupid

Davey agrees but he didn’t know they were dating either so ha! suck it Dave

So when Race turns nineteen and moves in with Albert, Jack isn’t surprised

He’s not surprised when they impulsively go to Italy for three months

And he’s certainly not surprised when Race proposes to Albert at the ripe old age of 22 and they elope the next week

He refuses to be surprised by his train wreck of a little brother and his new brother in law

[princessfbi]

soft teenager!buddie moments in the bookstore au? for your sleepover asks? :))

Ok Nonnie! I'm so sorry this is late!

Buck used to bring out coffee for Eddie even before they started dating because Eddie wouldn't take any money for gas even though he was driving Buck to school every day.

On Buck's birthday, Taylor and Eddie work together to plot a whole day of funs things to do. Rock wall climbing, going to the pier, hiking, anything. It gives Maddie a chance to decorate/cook Buck's favorite dinner but it also distracts Buck from the fact that his parents didn't call.

On Eddie's birthday every year Buck surprises him with a jumbo cupcake. Chocolate devil's food with hazelnut buttercream frosting and a caramel drizzle. And Eddie may be all scowls and eye rolls but the small smile that creeps onto his face when he sees that cupcake stays for the rest of the day.

They don't go to homecoming because Buck and Eddie spend the day at the beach instead.

Buck and Eddie definitely go trick or treating before Buck goes to watch scary movies with Maddie.

Maddie, Buck, Chimney, Eddie, and Abuela all spent Christmas together. Chimney got Buck and Eddie LAFD hoodies with their names on them.

Eddie buys Buck a carnation when the choir sells them for Valentine's Day that gets delivered to him in front of every one during his fifth period AP Physics class and Buck blushed so hard his teacher thought he was going to pass out.

Buck and Eddie have been training hard for the fire academy on top of school so Maddie's definitely walked in on them napping on the couch. Problem is they're both over six feet and they're too young to wreck their backs. They're allowed to just pass out in Buck's bed but the door has to stay open.

Whenever Buck knows that Eddie's parents called, he kind of glues himself to his side because he knows Eddie's parents make him feel like no one else is. Which isn't true and Buck wants to make sure he remembers that. Eventually Eddie gets out of his own head but he clings to Buck a little too.

Their hall PDA is the dream of every teen romcom. Eddie doesn't mind throwing an arm around Buck's shoulders and pulling him to his side. Buck kisses Eddie outside of his third period. Hands are held. Hoodies are shared. (Taylor has stolen a hoodie from each other them as payment for their insufferable cuteness).

Eddie asks Buck to prom when he finds out that Buck kind of wanted to go and Buck didn't stop grinning about it for days.

Buck got in trouble because he punched the asshole in the face who asked Taylor to prom as a joke in front of the school. He knows, Buck was surprised of himself too but I guess that's what happens when you almost die because your sister's psycho ex shows up to murder you at Thanksgiving. He only got one punch in before his friends tried to lay into him but that's when Eddie stepped in.

They were suspended for a week and grounded by both Maddie and Abuela.

It was Eddie's idea that they turn their duo into a trio and when Taylor told him she didn't need a pity date he told her too bad and get a dress. And if she didn't, he and Buck would do the biggest, most extravagant promposal the world had ever seen. He was dead serious. There would be glitter.

Taylor wore a baby blue dress that Buck and Eddie matched with their suits. Their pictures were fucking spectacular.

Chimney convinced Bobby to take the kids to prom in the fire truck. Buck was not nearly as cool about it as he thought he was.

[gukyi]

four weeks | kth

summary: four weeks. that’s how long you’re trapped on campus after missing your flight home because of a grossly overtime final. and as you’re walking around your empty campus, thinking that you could sink no lower, you find yourself alone in the art building with a certain freshman-year-dorm-neighbor from hell, and he’s got an offer that you don’t think you can refuse: he’s staying on campus this winter break as well, and he’s happy to let you live with him.

or, four weeks is all it takes to fall in love.

{enemies to lovers!au, roommates!au, college!au}

pairing: art and chemistry double major kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, comedy, the whole nine!! word count: 20k warnings: alcohol consumption (be safe!), unwanted sexual advances (not between main characters and not at all explicit), and a ton of college tomfoolery. a/n: i’m finally finished with my very first semester of college! it was a lot, but finishing this fic was a treat after my damn finals, which were very stressful. this is part of the stranded for christmas collab, and i’m so honored to be doing this with such amazing, talented writers! please give them and their fics lots of love, and enjoy this super fun train wreck of a fic!

Admittedly, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century has never treated you particularly well. 

Your lecturer is about as interesting as grass growing, the readings are low quality scans of book pages with the tiniest font and absolutely no line spacing, and any friends you had in that class in the beginning of the semester dropped out of it by the time mid-September rolled around, leaving you trapped due to societal pressures and a History and Politics general education requirement you still have yet to finish. 

But, of all the things you could imagine Global Politics in the Twentieth Century doing to you, like charging you an exorbitant $200 dollars for a textbook you would never open anyway, burning your house down, or even straight up just murdering you, this is by far the worst. 

It’s bad enough that your final for Global Politics in the Twentieth Century is on the last possible day for finals at the latest possible time, but when the clock strikes 8:00PM and you have just about fucking had it with this semester, you realize that no one else is standing up. 

This panic intensifies as you begin thinking of all of the terrible things that could be the reasoning behind this: you’re just the dumbass who finished their final first and got all of the questions wrong, the clocks have yet to adjust to daylight savings and you think that it’s 8:00PM when really it’s 7:00PM, or, worst of all, your final is running overtime. 

You have only ever heard of horror stories about overtime finals. Things like having to cram the next three-hour final into one hour, or having to reschedule the final to some other time that is equally as conflicting. Stuff that is, to a normal human being, a minor to moderate inconvenience at best (and to an overdramatic college student—pure, unadulterated hell), but when this is the last final on the last day at the latest time, there are no other finals to be had. No other school-related scheduling conflicts barreling into you. 

It’s just your luck, really, that on the last day of the semester, at the latest time you are allowed to be here, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century would come back to bite you in the ass one last time. As if all the times you dozed off in class (or just plain skipped), forgot to turn in your reading analyses, and showed up late to your recitation are finally catching up to you. Like the very worst kind of karma that could ever befall you. 

Well, to be fair, it’s not as if the rest of the day has treated you any better. The entire time you’ve been awake on this fine December day has been an absolute trash can of a day. 

This is how the beginning of your very last day of the semester played out:

Your alarm went off at 8:00AM sharp, purposefully set that early so you could wake up and have a productive day studying before your final at 6:00PM.

You hit snooze and ended up waking up around 11:33AM.

You scrambled out of bed very inelegantly and attempted to get your life together before noon so you could at least have six hours worth of a productive study day before your final. 

You remembered that you hadn’t packed yet, so you spent the next hour frantically stuffing your belongings into the singular carry-on sized suitcase meant to last you through your month-long winter break. 

You also realized that you hadn’t done your laundry for the week (well, week and 6 days…), and you obviously want to bring clean clothes back home so you spend the next two hours doing your laundry and finishing up your packing.

By the time you finally managed to get the time to study, the panic had fully nestled itself into your bones, so you could not focus and spent the next three hours staring at your study guide and praying that osmosis would kick in so you could actually retain information. 

You left to go to your final five minutes later than you should have and then ran across campus (with absolutely no dignity left) in order to get there on time. 

You arrived at your final just in time, only for there to be technical difficulties with printing the exam because your professor is a procrastinator, just like you are.

The next thirty minutes were then spent contacting the IT department, attempting to fix the printer, having to go print in another building, and then coming back with the final exam to a room of aggravated students who thought that they would be thirty-minutes into the exam by now. 

You are taking the final exam. It’s stupid difficult and you’re absolutely going to tank it. 

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about half an hour.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour. 

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour and a half.

And on your very last day of the fall semester, your final runs overtime by two whole hours because of some mystic force determined to ruin your life, and your flight heading back home took off fifteen minutes ago. 

You know, it could be worse. You could have failed all of your classes. Instead, you paid an exorbitant $500 to miss your flight, fail your Global Politics in the Twentieth Century final, and end up trapped on campus for all of winter break because you don’t have the money to buy another plane ticket at such late notice (or at all). 

So, it could be worse. 

You trudge out of your final exam and try not to burst into tears on your way back to your dormitory. Barely anybody is left on campus now that finals are officially over, but you still want to save that last shred of dignity. As you’re walking down the pathway, you begin to feel wet splotches on your face. For a moment, you think that they are fat tears rolling down your face, but you look at the cobblestone beneath your feet and realize that instead, it’s raining. 

The perfect weather to match your mood, if you’re being honest. 

Not wanting to get caught in a downpour, you end up taking refuge in the coffee shop connected to the art building on campus. It’s a genius business design, if you say so yourself, because there is no one more dependent on caffeine than sleep-deprived, eyebag-laden art students. Surprisingly enough, there are still people behind the counter bustling around, so you use the last of your university dollars to order a peppermint hot chocolate to warm your insides (but not your cold, dead soul). 

From there, you take a quick detour to explore the art building, a building you have, admittedly, never really taken much of a look at. It must be empty now, with everyone off campus—except you, of course—which gives you the perfect opportunity to wallow in peace while admiring art. 

Walking inside, you stare at your reflection in the enormous glass walls. Look at your tired eyes, slouched shoulders, lips pressed thin, and hands warmed only by the heat of your cardboard coffee cup. Count each acne mark and hair out of place. It’s almost like you’re watching yourself as you look in the mirror, a third person standing in the background. The audience. Like the person who’s looking back at you isn’t you at all. 

It's quite artistic, actually. Ironically enough.

But no matter how picturesque, how cinematic this particular moment of your life is, nothing can really soothe you after missing your flight, failing your final, and pretty much having the worst day of your entire life.

Just then, you hear footsteps echoing down the halls.

You assume that it must just be a professor leaving their office, or even maybe one of the hardworking security guards, but as you watch the glass walls to catch a glimpse of who's passing by, you realize that it's not a professor, or a security guard, or even a very large mouse scurrying across the floor.

"I thought I would be the last one in here," Kim Taehyung says when he spots you, stopping in his tracks with a canvas about half the size of him underneath his arm.

"So did I," you muse in response, not really wanting to turn around to save yourself the trouble of talking to him.

Still, Kim Taehyung has always been one hell of an observant guy, so by the time he's stopped behind you, he's already peering into the reflection of the glass windows to look at who he's talking to.

"Y/N?" He asks, walking up to you with his eyebrow raised. He comes over, standing next to you as you look at each other's reflections in the glass. "Never thought I'd see you in here."

"Me neither, to be honest," you say. Seeing as you aren't a visual studies major, you never really considered the art building to be a location of top priority. Until now, that is.

The last time you spoke to Kim Taehyung was the last day of your freshman year, when everybody was getting ready to move out, packing up their belongings and removing the fifteen thousand Command hooks stuck to their walls. You and him made eye contact as you placed the last of your boxes for the semester into those enormous Residential Services carts, glaring at each other from your adjacent rooms. 

“First year flew by, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks, smirk lacing his features. 

“Thank God it’s over,” you tell him. 

“Not gonna miss me, huh?” Taehyung winks, and it makes you want to take this cardboard box filled with all of the notebooks and lined paper and folders you used throughout the year and chuck it at his head. 

“Miss you?” You ask with a scoff. With the final box finally out of your room, you can officially lock the door behind you, closing the chapter on your very first year at university. “Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

“Why are you still here?” Taehyung asks, tapping his fingers on the side of the canvas underneath his arm. “Thought you’d be off campus by now.”

“I had a late final,” you say, pretending that your life and every aspect of it is fine when it is, in fact, not fine at all. The best case scenario is that Taehyung accepts your bullshit answer for what it is and heads off to do whatever it is that he does, leaving you alone so you can wallow in pity and ponder the meaning of life. The worst case scenario is that Taehyung stays. 

And Taehyung has always been very good at picking the latter. 

“Ah, sucks, for what class?” Taehyung asks. You can’t tell if he’s genuinely curious or just wants to interrupt your personal self-wallow time for as long as possible. 

“Global Politics in the Twentieth Century,” you tell him with a sigh. You don’t want to have to hear, say, read, or write that name ever again. 

“Oh, really? I took that class last semester,” Taehyung says with an eyebrow raised, surprised. “I thought it was super interesting.”

As if you needed any more proof that you and Kim Taehyung are exact opposites in every way. You are hardly surprised that Kim Taehyung enjoyed Global Politics in the Twentieth Century—not when the two of them have so much in common, like inconveniencing you, being annoying, and sort of always having it out for you. It’s like they were meant to be together. 

“I can’t say I thought the same,” you say pointedly, lips pursed into a tight line. 

“Ah, well, I never did peg you for a history buff,” Taehyung says with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“Why are you still on campus? I thought art students had to turn in their final projects on the first day of exams,” you ask, turning the focus onto him. It’s obvious that he has no intention of leaving you alone, so your next best option is to interrogate him until the tension between the two of you is so suffocating, so thick and heavy, that he wants to leave. 

“I had a couple of chem finals after I finished up my art classes,” Taehyung says. Right. You forgot he was doing a double major. “And, my parents are actually travelling this winter break, so I was planning on staying on campus. Didn’t really want to go back to an empty house, you know?”

After the day you’ve had, you can think of nothing better than opening the door to your home, knowing that you have the entire place to yourself and can spend the night in your bedroom, watching Netflix. 

“You’re staying on campus?” You ask. Great. The only two people who will be on campus this winter recess are you and Kim Taehyung. Fantastic. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, clearly unaffected. He seems particularly unbothered by the fact that he can’t go home, almost like he’s been looking forward to having the entire university to himself. “You’re about to head home, then, aren’t you? Just taking a quick break in the art building?”

Well, almost to himself. 

The chances of running into Taehyung this winter break, despite being probably the only two people on campus, is still slim. It’s a big campus, and there are people who are not part of the university that walk on campus all the time. 

And still, you don’t know what you’ll do if you lie to Taehyung and tell him you’re about to fly home, and then bump into him at the local coffee shop. You might just perish. That might be what happens. 

So, for once in your life, you suck it up and tell the truth. For once. 

“Actually, I missed my flight because of my final running overtime, so I’m sort of stuck here,” you tell him, and as the words leave your lips it feels like your whole body gets weighed down, like you’re cemented to the floor.

It’s only then that Taehyung actually turns to face you, so you aren’t standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at the rain pattering on the pavement outside. You look at him, meeting his eyes and to your surprise, they aren’t filled with mirth. He hasn’t got this pleased grin on his face. He’s not milking this situation for what it could be milked for at all. He could be standing here, bathing in the satisfaction of your timely demise, and he’s not. 

He actually looks quite sad. 

“Really?” He asks, genuine. 

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s then that you accept your fate, resign yourself to the fact that you’re trapped on campus with no way (and no money) to get home, and try to look for the silver lining. “So, I’ve actually got to get going, grab my stuff and everything.”

“Oh, do you live off campus?” Taehyung asks. “We should get together sometime this break. Who else are we gonna talk to, right?” 

Spending time with Taehyung on your lonely-ass winter break sounds like the absolute worst thing in the entire world. It’s been two years since the last time you were forced to be within fifty feet of each other, so even having this conversation is taking you by surprise.

“No, I’m still staying on campus. But my dorm is closing for the winter break, so I need to go and find an Airbnb or something to stay somewhere,” you say, feeling your heart break at the notion of spending even more money this winter break after having watched your $500 dollar airplane ticket get flushed down the toilet. 

Taehyung stays silent, eyes gazing at the lines between the linoleum tiles on the floor. He’s stopped tapping on the side of his canvas, a painting which you still haven’t fully gotten a glimpse of. In the quiet of the art building, the dust settles, and you wait for Taehyung to say something. Anything. 

After a few more seconds, you decide that the two of you have been standing in awkward silence for long enough. 

“Well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” you say nervously, letting out an unnatural and forced laugh as you turn on your feet and begin to head towards the exit. You have no idea where you’re going to go or what you’re going to do, but what you do know is that you have to be out of your building by noon tomorrow, so you’ve got less than a day to figure it out. 

And then, Taehyung says the worst thing he could possibly say at this given moment:

“Do you wanna stay with me?”

You stop dead in your tracks. 

“What?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Taehyung immediately clarifies, as if that makes the offer any less sudden. “But I live in an off-campus apartment year round, so you could always stay with me if you’d like. You wouldn’t have to book an Airbnb or anything. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, feeling your chest rise and sink as you inhale and exhale. You can’t believe you’re actually considering his offer. You can’t believe that Taehyung would willingly offer up his personal abode, his private apartment to you, the freshman year next-door neighbor who knocked on his door every six hours to tell him to shut the fuck up. You cannot believe that you are on the verge of accepting. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, both eyebrows raised. Yes, the idea of free lodging and no-hassle appeals greatly to you, but you’re not so certain that Taehyung or you actually want this. After all, you spent all of freshman year hating on each other’s living habits as personal hobbies of yours. “You don’t have to offer just because I don’t have a place to stay. Seriously.”

“No,” Taehyung says, taking a step towards you. It’s barely a foot, but it feels like he’s a thousand miles closer to you than he was before. “I mean it. If you want to stay with me, you’re welcome to. I have a futon in my living room that you can sleep on. I’m being serious.”

You cannot believe that he’s asking this. 

You cannot believe you’re considering this. 

You cannot believe you’re about to say yes to this. 

“You really mean it?” You ask one more time, just so you can be certain. You’d hardly be surprised if this whole thing was just a mindfuck. 

“I do,” Taehyung says. “No matter what, I don’t think anybody should be alone for the holidays.”

“Then yes,” you say, letting Taehyung catch up to you as you begin to walk towards the exit, step by step. “I’d really appreciate it.” You turn to look at him, your eyes meeting his own chocolate brown ones, nearly ink black in the dark. You can’t offer much, certainly not anything to top this gracious proposal, but you smile, and he smiles back, and you think that’s enough. 

Your first order of business is trekking back to your dormitory and grabbing your fully-packed suitcase. At least spending an hour shoving as many of your belongings as possible into a tiny carry-on has its benefits despite you not setting foot in the airport. 

“Been a long time since we’ve done this,” Taehyung comments mindlessly as you walk through campus, following the cobblestone path as a shortcut to his apartment. 

“Done what?” You ask snarkily. “Hung out with each other?” You scoff. You and Taehyung spent all of freshman year skirting around each other, desperately trying to avoid contact while also banging on each other’s doors every ten minutes. It was essentially two semesters worth of shouting at each other through walls and sneering when you actually locked eyes. 

“Talked,” Taehyung simplifies, because he’s right. 

“Isn’t that what we were aiming for?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, turning to look at him as your suitcase wheel skips on a stone out of place. “I thought we had reached that consensus already.” It’s been a year and a half since you last spoke to each other. You were almost confident that, without any overlapping classes, you would be able to keep that streak going long after graduation. 

As it turns out, things change. 

“I don’t know if we ever actually agreed on that,” Taehyung says, thinking back. “Almost like it went…” he pauses, and you can’t be sure if it’s for dramatic effect or because he actually doesn’t know what to say. “Unspoken.”

The irony is not lost on you. In fact, it hits you smack dab in the forehead as you watch Taehyung’s curious expression morph into the sleazy frat boy one he wore so much back then. He looks very pleased with his pun. It makes you want to sock him in the face. 

And as it turns out, some things never change. 

You resist the urge to punch him in the shoulder because he offered you a place to stay for this break and you sort of (actually, really) owe him big time right now. But that doesn’t mean you can’t send a disapproving frown, which seems to do the trick. 

“I distinctly remember how you were so excited to never have to live next to me again when we moved out,” Taehyung says like he’s remembering a fun trip to the zoo. Almost like he looks upon the last time you ever interacted with each other fondly. 

You mentally sigh. If only freshman year you knew what was going to happen in the middle of your junior year. If only your final hadn’t run overtime by two hours. If only you had booked a later flight. 

If only. 

“I don’t remember that at all,” you lie like a liar, saying the words as the picture of you snarkily spitting them at Taehyung at the end of your freshman year plays in your brain on repeat. 

“You sure about that, Y/N?” Taehyung says, turning to look you up and down. He’s always been such a people reader, and you’ve always felt so helplessly transparent in front of him. Even back then. Even now. “Because I don’t really think that your memory is that bad.”

“Nope, no, I don’t,” you say quickly, trying to get Taehyung to stop eyeing you like you’re a question on an exam that he thinks is suspiciously easy. 

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter then, does it?” Taehyung muses as you round the street corner and his apartment complex comes into view. “Since we’ll be living together, anyway.”

“Miss you? Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

Before you can wheel your cart down the hallway and kiss your freshman year goodbye, Taehyung opens his mouth and says one more thing. You almost don’t hear him, too busy reminding yourself that you’ll never have to see him again, but then he says, “One day, Y/N, you’re going to realize that we’re closer than you think.”

When you walk into Taehyung’s apartment, your eyes zero in on these three things: the navy blue futon pushed up against the wall by his television and the fact that it doesn’t look like the kind of used furniture from off of the street that most college kids typically resort to, the little wooden kitchen table that looks straight out of a family-owned Italian restaurant (looks like the two of you will be eating dinner together), and the paintings on the walls. 

“Did you paint these?” Is the first thing you ask once you’re inside, putting your suitcase up against the wall as Taehyung takes off his coat. 

“Those? Yeah, I did them early last year. My walls looked so damn plain without anything on them.”

In freshman year, Taehyung seemed like the kind of artsy hipster who shopped at Urban Outfitters and put vinyl records on his wall with Command Strips but never actually listened to them. 

But the pieces on his walls aren’t vinyls of bands like Arctic Monkeys and Modern Baseball. They’re paintings, oil and acrylics and even a bit of charcoal. Still life and portraits and shadows. 

You had never seen one of his paintings before. You never imagined you’d ever want to, or even get the chance to. And now, you’re standing in the middle of his apartment, and you’re surrounded by them. 

“They’re…” You trail off, eyes bouncing from wall to wall as you take all of them in. There’s at least ten, one, if not two on each wall in sight. His bedroom is probably filled with them. His apartment’s not enormous, rather small since it’s only got one bedroom, but the paintings make the whole place bigger. Make it feel full of life. 

“They’re alright,” Taehyung finishes. He’s already grabbing extra blankets from the storage closet in the side of the wall. “They were assignments we had during the semester so I figured that they’d be put to good use on my wall.”

“It’s very impressive,” you admit. “Kind of a flex, but an impressive flex.” There is something so perfectly Taehyung about the fact that he’s got art all over his walls, but they’re his very own pieces that he has framed and hanging, on display for the entire world to see if they’d like. 

“They’d collect dust otherwise,” he says with a shrug. He tosses two blankets and a pillow your way, letting them plop onto the futon. “Are those enough blankets? It can get fucking cold in here, so I don’t want you to freeze to death or anything.”

And for a moment, you think that Taehyung has actually outgrown his asshole-y freshman days, maturing into someone with an actual moral backbone.

“How considerate,” you say sarcastically, “but I think I’ll be alright. I’m a big, strong girl.”

“Just don’t come crawling into my bed if you want a taste of that weighted-blanket life,” Taehyung says, pretending to flip his hair. “Though, I wouldn’t blame you if you did want to sleep with me.”

With a pillow right at your disposal, you waste no time grabbing it and chucking it straight at Taehyung’s face. He easily dodges, having spotted the move from a mile away, and chuckles. 

“Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that,” he says disapprovingly, shaking his head as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Your arm was much stronger back in freshman year.”

Scowling, you watch as he puts on the kettle to boil, letting the water begin to bubble as he goes about his business like he doesn’t have a guest in his living room that absolutely can’t stand him. 

And you realize that maybe Taehyung’s a couple of years older, a couple of years wiser, but that doesn’t make him a couple of years any less unbearable.

If you were a sleep-deprived engineering student three cans of Monster deep who, in their 4AM haze, invented a time machine to go back to freshman year, and you told your eighteen-year-old self that you would be living under the same damn roof as Kim Taehyung in two years time, freshman year you would probably sock you in the face. And ask you if you changed majors. Which, you did.

It’s not a far reach to wonder why. By the time October rolled around, the two of you had already established yourselves as archenemies until the end of time. 

It was a natural progression, really. Two tiny dorm rooms right next to each other, two beds pressed up against opposite sides of the same paper-thin wall, and two disgruntled freshmen trying their hardest not to die of alcohol poisoning. 

Now, you don’t have a track record for going to sleep at a reasonable hour. In fact, you don’t think you’ve gone to bed before 11PM since middle school. But is it really that irrational of you to want to get some well-deserved shuteye at two in the morning after a long day of procrastination and a long night of doing the studying you should have done during the day? Your roommate is fast asleep across from you, having gone to sleep at midnight like a regular college student who has her life together, which means that she’s immune to the fact that right next door, you can hear nothing but pounding drums making the very linoleum floor of your dormitory shake. 

Scowling, you scramble out of bed, sliding on your shoes to go give a certain Kim Taehyung a bit of a reprimanding. 

Why the fuck does he listen to heavy drums at two in the morning? What the fuck is he doing? Does he not own headphones, or anything that might restrict the sound to his own two ears and nothing else? Does he not have any respect for the people next door to him that might also have to listen to the sound of a thumping bass while they’re trying to go to sleep?

Some of you have 9AM’s tomorrow morning. And by some of you, you mean you. 

You quietly shut the door behind you so as not to wake your roommate, dead-bolting it so you don’t get locked out and have to trudge down to the Help Desk looking like a tired piece of non-recyclable garbage, and immediately bang on Kim Taehyung’s door. He hasn’t got a roommate, and you know he’s awake, which means that if he doesn’t respond, you’ll know why. 

Surprisingly enough, he does, opening the door and immediately grinning once he sees who’s on the other side, like he can’t get enough of the fact that his mere existence bothers you. 

“It’s 2AM,” you tell him, in lieu of a greeting. 

He checks his watch. “That it is.”

“Would you mind turning down the music? I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“This late, Y/N?” Taehyung asks, an eyebrow raised. “No wonder you’re always so cranky.”

“Maybe it’s because my next-door neighbor plays loud fucking music when I’m trying to go to sleep!” You say, already beginning to raise your voice like a loser who can’t control her emotions.

Which is exactly what you are, actually. So this is very on brand for you. 

“Hmm, never thought about it that way,” Taehyung says innocently. He’s got a gleam in his eye that says otherwise. 

“I’m being very nice to you right now, Kim Taehyung. Please turn your music down. Because it’s loud and you’re probably bothering other people as well,” you say, restraining yourself. If you were any more sleep-deprived you’d storm into his room and pound in his face like it was the fucking drums he’s listening to. 

“But you’re my only neighbor,” Taehyung says, a bitter reminder that you were unlucky enough to be the second-to-last room in the corridor, and he, the very last one. 

You inhale, trying to not lose your cool despite having probably already lost it. Kim Taehyung makes you want to tear your eyeballs out. Or buy heavy-duty earplugs off of Amazon Prime. The thing is, one of those options costs you money, and one is entirely free. So, it’s not difficult to see which one you’re leaning towards. 

“Taehyung, please turn your music down, or so help me God. I’m asking nicely,” you can feel the carbon dioxide paths coming from your nose as you breathe, in and out and in and out. 

“Just for you, Y/N,” Taehyung says with a grin. God. You could just straight sock him in the face right now. “It helps me focus, but so does getting to see you.”

“Perish immediately,” you tell him sharply before pulling the door shut, marching back off to your room. 

True to his word, Kim Taehyung does turn off his music. Or puts in headphones. At least he’s conceded.

That is, until you wake up to a crash of glass later that morning at 7AM, coming from only one direction. 

The fact of the matter is, everything you and Taehyung did that year bothered the other so immensely that hatred, pure, unadulterated dislike, was really the only thing that could have come out of it. 

“You still listening to loud ass drums in the middle of the night?” You ask, eyeing the speakers by Taehyung’s television as you sit on his couch (as far apart from each other as possible) and eat some leftover spaghetti. 

“I invested in some AirPods as a treat to myself last year, so yes, but don’t worry,” Taehyung says. He’s mindlessly flicking through the available Hulu options on his TV, severely unimpressed by every one of them. 

“Wow, AirPods, sounds like you’re moving up in the world,” you say callously. “At least I don’t have to listen to it with you anymore.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it helped me focus,” Taehyung says, all matter-of-fact about it. “It was from a Spotify playlist of modern orchestral music. You should give it a listen, it really gets you into the zone.”

“My relationship with classical music has, unfortunately, been tainted by a certain someone,” you remind him, taking the time to shoot him a glare just in case he doesn’t already know who exactly is at fault. 

“What a shame, you might actually like it,” Taehyung says sadly, shaking his head. 

“So what are the speakers for, then? If not for your fuckin’ drums,” you ask, motioning to them again as you slurp up the last of your spaghetti. It’s not as if you’ve got some sort of sacred reputation to protect in front of him. He’s seen you at your best (the first day of freshman year, when there was still light in your eyes), and at your worst (2AM, coming out of a drunken stupor, and bedhead-ridden). Like an ex-boyfriend, or something. 

“My friends really like singing karaoke,” Taehyung says. He points to the bluetooth microphones underneath the television as extra proof. 

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse to yourself. Taehyung always struck you as someone that needs people not to calm him down, but to elevate his already boisterous personality. Friends who are equally as unabashed as he is. 

“Since you’re here for a whole month, we should try it some time,” Taehyung suggests, taking the empty bowl from your hands and heading back to the sink to wash up. 

“You need help with that?” You ask, immediately getting up because even if Taehyung has a tendency to drive you up the wall, you’re still going to be a good guest.

“No, don’t sweat it,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “You know, I have karaoke for All I Want For Christmas Is You. Super seasonal, right?” 

You dust off your hands from where you’re standing, loitering in that weird halfway point between his kitchen and his living room. Checking the clock underneath his television, you realize that it’s already past ten. And while you haven’t gone to sleep this early in a while, being in Taehyung’s apartment makes you feel all sorts of strange. Subdued and exhausted, too grateful to be your normal aggressive and witty self. And after such a long goddamn day, passing out on his navy blue futon seems like absolute heaven. 

“Not right now,” you say, shaking your head. Karaoke is something that friends do with other friends. And despite currently living under the same roof, you and Kim Taehyung are not friends. 

(But perhaps you will be. And that’s the scary part.)

You sigh, absolutely tanked. It’s been a stupidly long day. “Maybe later.”

Living with Taehyung is a sort of strange limbo you never, in a million years, pictured yourself in. You aren’t close enough to be friends but you’ve matured out of being the true enemies you had both envisioned the yourselves as in freshman year. The both of you walk around his apartment like you’re afraid to talk to the other, waiting patiently for the bathroom when the other person’s inside, trying to keep yourself busy with nonexistent work (it is winter break, after all) and the apps on your phones. 

This is the sort of thing you dreamed of when you were a freshman. A Kim Taehyung that you could co-exist with peacefully. Someone who didn’t spend every waking moment of his life making every waking moment of yours unbearable. You used to find excuses to sleep overnight in the library (it was open 24/7, after all) just so you wouldn’t have to go back to your dorm and see his stupid face. Now, the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch minding your own goddamn business and doing two totally unrelated activities. In silence. The only noises being his refrigerator/freezer combo when it starts making ice and the sounds of your fingers hitting the keyboards on your laptops. Maybe he’s playing a video game on the Playstation 4 he keeps out in the living room, but he has headphones on and isn’t saying a word. 

It’s a very strange sort of limbo indeed, because no opportunities arise for you to become friends nor do any arise for you to become enemies. At this rate, you’ll live together for the month-long winter break and when it ends, you’ll go back to never speaking to each other again. 

And that, strangely enough, makes you sad. Makes you want to reach out to him, try and build up a relationship that last ended in absolute chaos so that when you leave this place, it won’t have been for naught. You will have gained something from it, no matter how small. 

But just like usual, Taehyung beats you to it. 

“Hey,” he says one day, walking into the living room and already pulling on his overcoat. “You free right now?”

“Yeah, why?” You ask, shutting your laptop as you turn to him. He’s all dressed up and you’ve been wearing the same hoodie for the past forty-eight hours. 

“Let’s get hotpot. I’m freezing and I want some hot soup and meat.”

So, you go and get hotpot. 

Like any normal university with more than approximately three East Asians enrolled, there’s a hotpot place right off campus that many a college student frequent. You have, admittedly, not been since freshman year, but this winter break you seem to be reaching back into all of those memories anyway, like a can of worms. Memory worms. 

“I’m starving,” Taehyung says as the two of you sit down. He’s already opening the menu, eyeing all of the different ingredients he can order for a simple All-You-Can-Eat fare. “Plus, I’ve been craving hotpot for weeks now.”

As if on cue, his stomach grumbles and you can hear it from across the booth.

“Even my tummy knows,” Taehyung says, placing a palm to his belly to soothe it. “Have you gotten hotpot before?”

“Yeah, but it was a while ago. I just never had the time to go for a whole two hours and pig out on food,” you say with a sigh. It’s been so long that you barely remember what it tastes like. 

“Then we’ll spend every minute that we’re allowed to here, eating as much food as we want and gaining a few pounds while we’re at it,” Taehyung says, determined. The waiter comes by to pour you both some water and he already begins to order, pointing to about fifteen different things on the menu before the waiter whizzes off. 

“I don’t think I heard a single word you told that guy,” you say candidly. Taehyung listed everything off so quickly that it went right over your head. 

“I just ordered a lot of food, so be prepared,” Taehyung says like it’s a promise. He’s got this glint in his eye, one that tells you that you should be glad you came on a fairly-empty stomach because it’s about to be filled to the brim. 

And prepared you are. Within five minutes of Taehyung ordering, there are plates and dishes and boards of food in front of you and a steaming pot of broth in the middle. There’s so much on the table that you can hardly see the marble table top underneath. 

Taehyung dives right in, clearly an experienced hotpot eater. He grabs two bowls filled with various sauces and pops a couple of the vegetables into his mouth as he waits for the broth to boil. And when it begins to bubble, he immediately begins dumping everything in sight into it, from meat to noodles to vegetables. It all looks ridiculously appetizing. 

When the first round of hotpot is over and done with, you already feel yourself starting to get sleepy just from the consumption overload. Taehyung, on the other hand, has apparently no limit and is already ordering more, pointing to another fifteen things on the menu. 

“Never thought we’d be doing this, did you?” Taehyung asks, and you can hear the knowing tone in his voice. Like he already knows how you’re going to answer him. 

“I have to admit that I never did,” you say. It must the food that’s softened you up. No wonder Taehyung invited you to a place where you can literally eat as much as you want in a two-hour timeframe. 

“This is nice, though, isn’t it?” He asks. 

And for once in your life, you agree. It is nice. Not just the food (though the food is very nice) but being with someone on a winter break that would otherwise be overwhelmingly lonely. Eating out with someone, even if it’s someone with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong, isn’t that sturdy. It’s nice. Because it means that, somewhere along the way, you both wanted something to change for the better. 

“It is.” You nod. “Way better than all the times we fought during freshman year.”

“Remind me why we never went to our RA to resolve things like we should have?” Taehyung says, but he doesn’t make it sound like you both made a mistake. He asks because he’s curious, and because the past is the past. 

“I think we were both too fucking prideful for our own good,” you say, shaking your head. You now would disapprove of you in freshman year so strongly. “We thought that we could either resolve it ourselves or spend the rest of our lives hating each other.”

“Isn’t that crazy?” Taehyung asks, holding up his water like it’s a glass of vintage red wine from the 1800’s. “That we thought that we could just spend the rest of our lives hating each other?”

“I was prepared to do it,” you say, taking another piece of meat from the hotpot in front of you, letting the steam waft from it like a tiny campfire. “With how big this school is, I was convinced that you and I would never have to see each other again. Never have the opportunity to change how we felt about each other.”

“But that’s not how life works, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you, looking into your eyes like he’s trying to reach into your soul, pick apart the memories of freshman year and watch as your relationship deteriorated as each day went by. “It doesn’t matter if we see each other every day for the rest of our lives or if, after this, we never say another word to each other. You will always have the opportunity to change how you feel about someone, even if you aren’t with them. Even if you aren’t seeing them at all.” He takes a deep breath, and reaches over the steaming pot of soup to nudge your shoulder with his finger, ever so slightly. It makes you look up at him, meet his dark brown eyes with your own, foggy from the steam. “That’s what makes us human, Y/N. We’re human because we can change.”

Your heart, still and silent, begins to thump. 

“Do you wanna go to New York?”

“Today?”

It’s early in the morning on Christmas Eve, and the two of you are wide awake after Taehyung’s neighbors a floor below him called the fire department as an early wake-up call for the entire complex. You’ve always been a light sleeper—Taehyung made sure of that in freshman year—but even he woke up as the fire trucks pulled up to the fire lane next to the apartment building. He came stumbling out of his room in nothing but a t-shirt two sizes too big and sweatpants hanging low on his hips, locks of his hair sticking every which way, face illuminated by the blue, red, and orange lights of the emergency vehicles beneath the window. 

And he stayed like that, even as the noise died down and the sun rose. He marched around looking like he had just rolled out of bed, barely sparing himself a second glance in the reflection of his refrigerator. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung responds like it’s obvious. “If we hopped on a bus now we could make it there by nine and spend the day there. How about it?”

“You mean, right now?” You ask, just as clarification. College and its many features have forced you to grow used to spontaneity, but it usually came in the form of “I’m hungry, so I am going to eat an entire bag of Hot Cheetos at this exact moment” or “Yes, my bank account is crying but these pants are very cute,” and not, “Do you wanna go to New York?”

“In a bit. Buses leave from here every hour to go to New York, especially since it’s the holiday season. Tickets are ten dollars. We could do it, if you’d like,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s suggesting that the two of you go grocery shopping or something else equally mundane. 

“Just for the day?” You ask, a girl of both many questions and a shocked expression. 

“Sure,” Taehyung says with a shrug, biting into a tomato as if it were a goddamn apple. “We can go to a museum or two, eat a nice lunch or dinner, and go ice skating at Rockefeller. See the tree, too. It’ll get us in the holiday spirit, don’t you think?”

And normally an outing to New York would have you planning weeks in advance, organizing reservations and buying tickets for entry into exhibits, but it’s winter break and you’ve got more free time than you know what to do with. 

And maybe you’d hate to admit it, but you need someone like Taehyung to get you off of your ass and out of the house, do something fun and spontaneous like college students do in the movies. 

Taehyung is practically a movie portrayal of a college student in real life. He’s spontaneous, secretive, sage. He’s artsy and worldly, paints but is also extremely smart and well-educated. He lives in a quaint off-campus apartment by himself and spends his days making friends and keeping busy. He loves to tease you, and has that sort of lopsided smirk that all casanovas do. And he is, as much as you’d hate to admit it, always been something of a looker. He’s got the same sort of handsome, classic look that young European men in paintings from the eighteenth century have, a portrait of them in the prime of their lives. One wink and he’d send every preteen girl in the audience to their knees.

And you? Well, you suppose you’re the tragically unlucky female lead who has to live with him until classes resume. 

Taehyung’s standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter island as he scrolls for bus tickets on his phone. “There’s a bus leaving from the station in thirty minutes. Think we can make it?”

It might be the fact that you’ve been holed up in Taehyung’s apartment for the past forty-eight hours that makes you say yes. Or it’s the desperation to do something, anything, literally anything, to keep yourself busy this break. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that little voice in the back of your chest, one buried in the depths of your heart, that makes you go. Because there is something so wonderfully exhilarating about being spontaneous.  And there is something even more exciting about it being with someone you know. 

You grin. “Let’s do it.”

Two hours later, the two of you are standing outside Penn Station in New York City, staring at the road signs to try and orient yourself. It’s chilly and a little windy, but the sun beats down regardless, shadows of skyscrapers cast along the streets. 

You pull out your phone to pull up the Maps app, looking up directions, but Taehyung just begins to walk down 7th Avenue, not a care in the world. 

“Where are you going?” You say quickly, scrambling to catch up to him. This early in the morning, your breath still turns to fog as you jog towards him to meet his abnormally long strides.

“Do you want to go to the Met, MOMA, or Guggenheim?” Taehyung asks simply, like he’s trying to decide which type of Doritos to get in the chips aisle. 

“Uh…” you are, admittedly, not that particular to the art that you’ll see. Art does not have as much of an immediate relevance to you as other things in your life, like your bank account, or your final semester grades. “Why don’t you pick the museum, and I’ll pick the restaurant we go to?”

“Deal,” Taehyung says, that same devilish gleam in his eyes, a trick (or two) up his sleeves. Only this time, you aren’t afraid of what he’s got in store. 

You find that you are very much looking forward to it. 

Twenty minutes later sees the both of you standing outside the gigantic glass doors of the MOMA, surrounded by a pitch black exterior about as edgy and contemporary as the pieces of art inside. 

“You never struck me as a modern art kind of guy,” you tell Taehyung as the both of you walk inside, glass windows and ceilings on every side of you and a bustling crowd right in front of you. Modern art seems rather stuffy. And perhaps, two years ago, you would have equated Taehyung to such, but now, stuffiness couldn’t be the furthest adjective to describe him. He may be a little obnoxious and overwhelmingly charismatic, but he is certainly not stuffy. 

“I prefer Impressionism and the subsequent periods,” Taehyung tells you, another fact you never knew but happily stow away. “But I am, admittedly, a bitch for modern art, no matter how goddamn stupid it is.”

“Good to know we’re spending our money on a museum that will definitely be worth our while,” you say dryly, taking the two tickets from the woman behind the desk. You pick up a map while you’re at it, almost certain to get lost in this maze of a museum, but Taehyung is already zooming off, forcing you to scurry through the herds of people just to keep up his pace. 

“Do you know where we’re going?” You ask, entirely serious. You fumble to open up the map and suddenly you’ve got a piece of shiny paper larger than your backpack in your hands, overwhelmed. 

Taehyung stops, the two of you standing right by the middle of a doorway, blocking everybody’s path. And he places his hands on top of yours, lowering the map as you gaze up at him, wondering why the heck you haven’t moved to the side so you aren’t inconveniencing the thousands of people roaming the museum. His brows are soft, a little furrowed, like someone began to knit them together but then forgot halfway through. Like he’s thinking. Like he wants to tell you something. 

“No,” Taehyung says softly, large hands enveloping yours as he begins to fold the map back up, “I don’t know where we’re going.”

You open your mouth, about to prove your point, but Taehyung continues. 

“But I don’t need to. Because we’re supposed to get lost,” he tells you, honest, candid, and true. “That’s the whole point. It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.”

You scoff, heart a little warm on the inside but wit still sharp. “You sound like an infomercial for a cruise.”

Taehyung laughs, tilting his head back in the way that says that he means it. “I’m serious, Y/N. Please. We don’t need a map. We can guide each other. All we need is faith, trust…” He pauses, leaning in and waiting for you to finish his sentence. 

Begrudgingly, you give in, mostly because he’s too naturally charming not to. “And pixie dust.”

Taehyung grins, satisfied, before he catches you by surprise, takes your hand in his, and pulls you into the elevator. 

Much like the corrupt businesses whose main offices are only a few minutes walk away, you go from the top down. Taehyung says that it is like a very, very long slide. You say that it’s an extremely slow walk. 

He’s an art student. You don’t really know what else you were expecting. He stares at each piece until it bores into his eyes, fills up another cup in his soul, overflowing with color, with light and meaning and everything in between. Every now and then, he and you stop at the same one, inspecting each and every detail, and Taehyung will lean to the side and whisper in your ear. 

He will tell you what he thinks of the medium, what he thinks of this piece and what he thinks of the positioning of that specific object. He tells you not how he interprets it in the eyes of the artist, but what it means to him, and how he perceives it. And, as the hours pass, you realize that, while you have been in museums before, you had never felt like you were truly there. And here you are, standing in front of priceless pieces of art with a boy in love with art beside you, and he holds your hand as he takes you through what brings him more joy than anything else. 

(Well, besides perhaps, chemistry.)

When you reach the first painting and sculpture floor, Taehyung lets out an audible gasp. 

You round the corner and before you know it, you’re standing in front of what could very well be the most famous painting of the nineteenth century. 

“I forgot it was here,” Taehyung says distantly, like he’s forgotten who he’s talking to. In the ink black of his pupils, you can see the oil painting reflected, the thick blue and yellow brushstrokes, each and every line on the canvas. 

“Now, this piece I’m familiar with,” you say, standing next to him and staring up at The Starry Night, an artistic feat, worth more than probably a hundred times your tuition, and a legacy. The legacy that The Starry Night left behind is one that you see still reflected today. You see it in all of the other people in this little room, clambering over one another just so they can get a glimpse. You see it in the little children who draw self-portraits in art class, Sharpies and markers and crayons littering the page. 

And you see it in the boy next to you, who loved something so much he knew that he would be doing it for the rest of his life. He would be following a legacy, forever, until he forged one of his own. You look not at the art but as Kim Taehyung gazes at it, memorizing each and every stroke and imprinting it onto his brain. And you finally realize what art means: passion. It means that it fills you up, flows through your blood and into your heart, consumes you. And it means that the only thing you can do to prevent it from eating you alive is to spread it, and let others get a taste of the madness. 

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it,” you muse. You don’t know much about art but when there is something so mesmerizing, so stunning, in front of you, it’s difficult not to notice. 

You feel Taehyung turn his head, letting the gaze of his piercing brown eyes rest upon your figure for a split second before he turns back. “It is,” he says. 

The way that the two of you go through art museums, by the time you emerge, it’s already dark and the streets are beginning to empty as tourists and cityfolk alike find places to eat, walking into every bar, restaurant, cafe, and house on the hunt for a good meal, whether homemade or curated. You had spent nearly an hour in the gift shop alone, laughing at the overpriced t-shirts and kitschy pillows. 

“Where to next, m’lady?” Taehyung asks as you push open the glass doors and let the biting cold hit your noses. 

“You know, we were so busy in there that I didn’t even have time to find a nice place to eat tonight,” you admit sheepishly. 

“That’s alright,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I like surprises. Spontaneity is my thing.”

“You don’t say,” you comment sagely, making Taehyung roll his eyes. 

Knowing that it’s nearly impossible to get a reservation now, you and Taehyung make your way south, following the flow of traffic heading towards Times Square and keeping an eye open for any places that look relatively nice and busy, but not too busy, the perfect sign of both a delicious and available restaurant. 

After walking for a few blogs, cuddling together (in a totally platonic way) to preserve as much body heat as possible in the now freezing weather, air no longer warmed by the sun’s rays, you stumble upon a tiny hole in the wall Mediterranean place. You can’t really see anything inside due to the fog on the window, forming from the combination of cold air and hot, but Taehyung does a quick google search and says that it’s a modern Mediterranean restaurant that specializes in pizza. Google says it has two dollar signs. You hear the word pizza, and everything pretty much goes out of the window. 

“Hi,” Taehyung says as you squeeze through the little hallway to get to the host, voice warm and silky. “Table for two?”

“Your last name, sir?” The man asks. 

“Oh, we don’t have a reservation,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. You two are college students. It’s not like you plan ahead anyway. 

“That’s okay, we still ask for every customer’s name for a more personalized experience,” the host says. He leans forward, eyes wide, waiting for Taehyung to respond. 

“Kim,” Taehyung says simply as the host gathers two menus and a wine list. 

“Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” the host says, and you open your mouth to correct him (Because you are not married. You’re not. You’re not even dating. This is not a date. It’s not a date, right?), but Taehyung puts a finger to his lips and tells you to zip it. It’s almost like he’s enjoying this. 

For the rest of the evening, the wait staff all address you and Taehyung as Mr. and Mrs. Kim, which is absolutely outrageous for multiple reasons: you are college students, you both look like college students, you’re not dating, you don’t act like you’re dating (other than the hand-holding and cuddling which was purely out of survival and nothing else), and most importantly, you’re not interested in each other like that. That part is obvious. Isn’t it?

When you order a glass of champagne each they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When Taehyung has a question about one of the ingredients on one of the pizzas they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When you order your food they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they come by to clarify Taehyung’s request of no anchovies they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they bring these massive pizzas and place them down on your table, wishing you a pleasant meal they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. 

Mr. and Mrs. Kim, they call you. 

“Everything alright, Mr. and Mrs. Kim?” Your waiter asks as you’re plowing through your individual pizzas very inelegantly. 

“Yes,” Taehyung grins cheesily. “Thank you very much.”

He’s positively beaming. 

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” You ask, a single eyebrow raised. 

“This pizza is really good,” Taehyung tells you. 

“Not that,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You know that Taehyung knows exactly what you’re referring to, he’s just being annoying about it, as per usual. “The whole ‘we’re married’ thing. You like it, don’t you?”

“The “Mr. and Mrs. Kim’ thing?” Taehyung says with a smile. He’s relishing in the feeling, especially when it’s obvious that you’re not as keen on the collective nickname. “I fucking love it. You don’t?”

“We’re college students,” you remind him. 

“So? That means that they think that we look old enough to not be college students. I consider that a win, especially because Jimin always says I look twelve,” Taehyung says with a shrug. 

“We’re not married,” you add. It’s the truth. 

“You’re right, we’re not, but Mr. and Mrs. Kim has such a nice ring to it, don’t you think? I love the way that it sounds,” Taehyung says. He basks in it. 

“We’re not even dating, Taehyung,” you say with a sigh, exasperated. Doesn’t he get it? It’s weird, being Mr. and Mrs. Kim, because you never have been. There never was a Mr. and Mrs. Kim. And quite frankly, there never will be. “We’re not even interested in it.”

“Who says?” Taehyung asks, and the path he’s directing this conversation down is not one you’d like to take. It’s rocky and bumpy and unclear, hazy with fog. You don’t do fog. You like when things are clear cut and visible. 

“I do,” you say with a frown. “Are you interested in dating me, Taehyung? Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to date you right now. Or, like, at all.”

Taehyung pauses. His brows are furrowed again, but all the way this time. He stares down at his pizza, and he contemplates. You sit there and watch him, feeling the weight of every second as it passes by. Were you too harsh? Maybe you were. But it was the truth, and he deserves something honest, even if it’s brutal. 

“Oh,” Taehyung says, like he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of your mouth. What you said has been lingering between you like smoke, refusing to dissipate. “Well, I—I guess that makes two of us.” It’s obvious that there’s something else there, just underneath the water, but you don’t press further. It sounds like he’d rather keep it hidden. 

When you leave, the waitstaff bid you goodbye exactly as you had predicted. 

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” they say cordially as you and Taehyung pull on your coats and hats and gloves and head out the door. 

“You too,” Taehyung says softly after a few seconds, like he was waiting for the words to fade away before speaking. “Thank you.”

Your bus leaves from Penn Station at 9:30 that night, and it’s barely seven. Plenty of time for you to continue exploring, see Times Square all lit up like it’s New Year’s Eve, go up to the top of the Empire State Building, or even take a peek into Central Park at nighttime, when the moon is high and the lanterns are lit. 

“How about we go ice skating?” Taehyung suggests as the two of you walk along the pavement, side by side. Your hands are buried deep into the pockets of your coat. 

“At Rockefeller?”

“Sure, why not?” Taehyung says. That sentence pretty much sums up your trip to New York thus far. “I’ve always wanted to go skating and see the tree during Christmastime. When else will we get the chance?”

Five minutes later you’ve paid for rental skates, a locker for your shoes, and a ticket to the rink. Visible right next to you is the enormous tree, the lights twinkling and cameras flashing as everyone scrambles to get their Instagram picture to prove that they actually went to the tree at Rockefeller Center in New York City. 

When the zamboni is finished and the employees have skated over the ice enough to increase the level of friction, Taehyung and you balance on your skates as you walk towards the entrance. Slowly, everybody begins to glide on, wobbling at first before eventually getting the hang of it. There are a couple of small children holding onto those little penguin skate assistants, laughing as their older brothers and sisters guide them along the ice. 

“I’ve never skated before,” you admit nervously, about two seconds before you’re about to enter the rink. 

Taehyung’s mouth drops open. “Never?”

“No,” you reiterate, even more nervous than before. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I just said yes because like you said we’re in New York and it’s nearly Christmas and we should just seize every opportunity that we have and—”

“Y/N,” Taehyung says, calming you down as he ushers you away from the entrance so you aren’t blocking other people’s paths. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry,” he tells you, holding onto your wrists to make you look up at him. “I can show you how to. It’s easier than it looks, I swear. I won’t let you fall. You just have to trust me, alright?” He shakes your wrists to catch your attention, make sure that you heard him. “Alright?”

Deep breath. Inhale, exhale. 

“Alright.”

Everything is, in fact, not alright. No matter what Taehyung says, ice skating is way more fucking difficult than it looks. Taehyung steps onto the ice and it turns into second nature for him, gliding around a small circle to get warmed up as you cling onto the side railing like an idiot. You have no idea how to move, you have no idea where to go, you just shuffle along the railing with the rest of the children who are far younger than you, also trying to skate for the first time. 

This is embarrassing. 

“You’re a liar,” you tell Taehyung pointedly as he circles around, coming up to rest next to you. You’d point at his chest for emphasis, but you’re afraid you’ll fall without both hands on the railing at all times. “This is—” you pause, remembering that there are children present, “—very difficult.”

Taehyung just chuckles. “You have to be brave, Y/N, come on,” Taehyung implores. He holds out his hand, motioning for you to let go of the wall and take a leap of faith. 

“No, I will not be brave. Please let me be weak,” you beg, scared for your life. One wrong move and you’d go splat in the middle of the rink and embarrass yourself in front of all of New York City. 

“Come on, Y/N,” Taehyung says, holding his hand closer. “You said you trusted me. I told you, I won’t let you fall. Come on. Be brave.” And then he adds, leaning in to meet your eyes, “for me?”

He’s always been too charming for your own good. 

Tentatively, second by second by painstaking second, you remove your hands from the railing, first the left and then the right, as Taehyung pulls you right next to him, holding on tight. 

“See?” He asks as you begin to move on your own, Taehyung’s short glides pulling you along the ice. “Look, it’s not that bad.”

“I am scared for my life right now.” You blink. 

“Focus on me, okay,” Taehyung says, making you meet his eyes once more. “Eyes on me, alright. You’re doing fine. You’re skating, isn’t this fun?”

“I am terrified that I am going to perish on this very rink,” you repeat for emphasis. 

“Look, Y/N, look! You’re skating!” Taehyung tells you, and finally you glance down at your feet and realize that they’re beginning to move on the ice, all on their own. 

“Oh my God! I’m skating! What the—heck!” You say, eyes widening in excitement. 

“I knew you could do it,” Taehyung says, hands gripping on tight. You can feel the warmth from his palms seep into your own, feel the back of your hand burning from the touch. “You just had to trust me.”

“This is so cool,” you say, immediately very pleased with yourself. “I’m such a pro, I can do anything. Who said skating was scary?”

Taehyung opens his mouth to respond, but you shoot him a warning glare and he zips his lips. 

“Watch this, I can even do it on my own. You’re gonna be very impressed, Kim Taehyung, just watch me!”

Within the next moment, you’re letting go of his hand and pushing yourself away from him, gliding along the ice ever-so-slightly as you begin to balance on your own. 

But power is short-lived, and much like every leading male in Greek tragedies, your hubris gets the best of you, and you face the ultimate demise. 

The moment you attempt to pick up your left foot, your right toe pick gets caught in a dip of the ice and you go toppling over, collapsing onto the ice in a cold, bruised ball. 

Luckily, your coat takes most of the hit, its length preventing your knees from hurting into the next century, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. Ashamed of yourself and even more mortified to have to face Taehyung after boasting about how amazing you are, you slowly push yourself off of the ice, wobbling like a baby deer. 

“What was that, Y/N?” Taehyung says with a raised eyebrow as he skates over. He’s clearly just recovered from a laughing fit. 

“Fuck off,” you mutter, and you don’t even care if children hear you. “I got excited.”

“Clearly,” Taehyung notes, eyes wide and knowing. He holds out a hand, and before you even have time to think of a snarky retort your palm is reaching out for it, letting him pull you up off of the rink. “Here. Come on.”

One hour and two fairly bruised knees later, you and Taehyung are taking off your skates and relishing in the feeling of your feet, flat on the ground like feet should be. 

“You alright?” Taehyung asks. You didn’t have any massive falls following the first spectacle, but you admittedly, still cannot ice skate very well. You’ll have to figure out a way to learn. 

You round out the night by going to look at the Christmas Tree. Now that it’s fairly late, the massive families with young children have all gone home, leaving only the young adults left to bask in the glory of the peak of Christmas decorations. 

“It seemed bigger in photos, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks as the both of you crane your necks to look at the tree in all of its glory. “Like it was the size of a small tower.”

“Yeah,” you agree. It looks somewhat disappointingly small, now that you’re here in front of it. “Today was a lot of fun, Taehyung. Your spontaneity paid off.”

“When does it not?” Taehyung asks, proud of himself. He even has enough of an ego to do a little hair flip, making you shake your head disapprovingly. “But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I certainly did.”

“What was your favorite part?” You ask. 

“Definitely when you were in your prime for one moment and a puddle on the ice the next,” Taehyung says, and for that, he earns a punch to the shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But I did really enjoy ice skating.”

“Yeah, because you can actually do it,” you remind him. 

“What about you?”

You think. This day has been so long, from getting woken up by Taehyung’s irresponsible neighbors and the entire city’s fire department outside your window, to hopping on a bus to New York, to museums and restaurants and ice skating and the city, you feel like you’ve lived three days in one. 

“The museum,” you finally decide. “I’m not really an art person, but I thought it was lovely. Nice and heated, too.”

“Yes, the best part about the Museum of Modern Art was its modern, state-of-the-art central heating,” Taehyung repeats, making you laugh. “I’m glad you liked the museum. I was worried you’d think it was too stuffy.”

You had thought that too. And then you watched someone fall in love with each and every piece, right in front of you, and you realized that there’s more to art than putting a price tag on it and critiquing it. It’s passion, materialized. It’s real.  

It’s Taehyung. 

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “I thought it was beautiful.”

On Christmas Eve, it snows. 

Correction: On Christmas Eve, it snows a lot. 

Correction for the correction: On Christmas Eve, it blizzards. 

When you listened to “White Christmas” last night, this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, if you were being honest. Maybe an inch or two. Maybe even just a flurry. But certainly not nearly two feet worth of snow, effectively trapping you inside of Taehyung’s apartment complex until the next day because not even the snow plows are allowed to go out on the roads. Not until the snow stops. 

“Good thing we don’t live on the first floor, right?” Taehyung asks with a laugh that late afternoon, taking a peek out of the window to stare down at the white expanse below you. “I’d hate to be those guys.”

“It must be so cold,” you say sadly. You’ve spent the better part of today huddled up in as many blankets as Taehyung owns in his apartment and you have no intention of shedding even one of them. Not even as you sweat right through your pajama shirt from high school. 

“We can just make dinner here, tonight,” Taehyung says, fishing around in his kitchen to see what the options are. It’s already beginning to get dark even though it’s not even five o’clock. God, you hate winter. 

“What are we making?”

Taehyung fumbles through the cabinets and his fridge, hunting for anything that might make a good meal. Eventually, he pulls out two cartons of Trader Joe’s vegetable broth and every vegetable in his fridge. 

“Wanna make soup?”

Soup is very easy to make. You set the broth to simmer, chop up vegetables, and dump them in the pot. 

But the idea of you and Taehyung sharing his tiny kitchen space, both with knives in your hands is, well, a recipe for disaster.

Luckily no knife mishaps occur, but, like the children at heart that you are, you eventually end with pelting uncooked lima beans at each other in the most adult version of a food fight you have ever had in your life. No fuss, no mess, no tomatoes or key lime pies or spaghetti doused in sauce getting chucked across the kitchen floor, the dinner table. 

No, your little food fight ends with you and Taehyung kneeling down on the tile as you pick up each little lima bean, gathering them in your palms. 

You make to toss it out but Taehyung stops you. 

“Wait,” Taehyung says, a hand on top of yours as it hovers over the trash can, “don’t toss them out.”

“Huh?” You ask. 

“I’ll feed them to the birds,” he says, taking the pile from your hands and placing all of the lima beans, along with his own, in a Ziploc bag. 

“You have a porch out here?” You ask, looking around. You’ve never seen it. 

“No.” Taehyung shakes his head. “They land on my bedroom window sill so I feed them.”

When you were in freshman year, you remember how Taehyung always left his window open. You know this because even though yours was always closed, anytime a police car, fire truck, ambulance, or particularly loud motorist drove by, the sound was always loudest on the wall of your room that bordered Taehyung’s. You hated how he always left his windows open, even in the winter. Wasn’t he goddamn cold?

And now, even though it’s Christmas Eve and there’s a blanket of snow outside nearly two feet deep, Taehyung will go and open his bedroom window again and feed the birds lima beans like a fucking Disney prince, and it makes your heart flutter, ever so slightly. 

You end the night sitting on Taehyung’s couch, only a foot or so of space in between your bodies as he multitasks, channel surfing and gulping down your homemade soup. 

“I haven’t made soup in a while, but damn, this is good,” Taehyung says, drinking the rest of it before getting up to help himself to seconds. He sticks a hand out to take your bowl as well, and wordlessly you hand it to him. 

“It’s my magic touch,” you tease. It was not. Taehyung did most of the work. You don’t have much of an affinity for cooking.

“It’s my chemistry brain,” Taehyung corrects. “Chem is basically like making soup.”

“But it can kill you,” you tack on.

“But it can kill you,” he agrees, returning to the couch. This time, when he sits down, he plops right down next to you, your sides touching as you sit in front of his television, slurping up homemade vegetable soup. “How’s your major? What is it, again?”

“English with a minor in Psych,” you say over a mouthful of carrot. 

“Sounds like too much reading for me,” Taehyung comments. “I’d only like picture books.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” you tell him sarcastically. “But it’s going well. I’m thinking of maybe adding Consumer Psych as another minor since there’s a lot of overlap, but I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds busy,” Taehyung comments. 

“Almost as busy as visual studies and chem,” you remind him. “Seriously, do you ever sleep?”

“Inspiration is a fickle mistress and the will to do my chem problem sets, even more fickle,” Taehyung muses like the two subjects aren’t the absolute bane of his existence. “But yeah, I mean, I made it this far.”

“Our majors are so different,” you comment. They are. Encompassing all sides of the college major spectrum, from STEM to art to humanities. The only thing you’re missing is a business minor. But only snakes would ever be interested in something like that. 

“It’s nice,” Taehyung decides. “Because this is forcing us to talk with someone with whom we don’t already share all of the same classes with.”

“I couldn’t imagine taking the same class as you,” you say, not because you’d hate having to be in the same room as Kim Taehyung or dread the potential to be paired up for group work, but because your tastes are so different. They’ve always been different. Art, English, chemistry, psychology. Headphones or speakers. Closed windows or open. It’s always been opposites with the two of you. 

“Maybe I’ll take a psych class so that way we can,” Taehyung says. 

“Maybe I’ll take an art history course,” you retort.

“You’d really take an art history course? They’re awfully boring, and I’m an art major,” Taehyung says, in disbelief. 

You ponder it for a moment, but then nod. Yes, you would. Even if it sent you to sleep. Because it looks genuinely interesting. “After today, I wouldn’t mind it. You showed me a lot about art, Kim Taehyung. More than I thought I would ever learn in my lifetime.”

Taehyung sighs, shutting the television off. You guys weren’t watching it anyway. You hardly realized it was on. He looks down at his empty soup bowl, and then at you. He always does that—always looks somewhere else before looking at you, like he has to muster up the courage by first staring at an inanimate object. And then he says, “You’ll never stop learning about art. Neither will I. It’s a constant cycle, learning and relearning and changing your mind and revisiting old pieces. Because art is all around us.”

He looks at you, like he’s trying to say something else but doesn’t have the words. “You just have to look for it.”

New Year’s Eve is often a time of reflecting on the year that’s passed, making a list of goals to achieve once the clock strikes twelve. Thanking your friends and family, your loved ones, for being there for you this year, and promising to be there for them as well next year. 

To you and Taehyung, it’s literally your last chance to get piss drunk this year without repercussions. You’ve never stayed here, at your university in the city, for New Year’s Eve (obviously). You’d be interested in getting all dressed up to go out. Taehyung would also be interested. 

And so, after a day of slouching around and making half-assed resolutions you know you won’t keep (like managing your time better. As a college student? Impossible.), you and Taehyung decide to get dressed up and go out, pulling out the winter jackets you don’t care if you lose, or if they get trashed, or if they stain with vodka. All you want is to lose your goddamn mind in a tiny club with a bunch of other wasted young adults who don’t want to stay at home on the last night of the year. 

You are, unsurprisingly, a self-proclaimed not-a-going-out person, but tonight is something of an exception. It’s your last night to do this this year, and honestly, you can’t really think of a better way to end the year. There’s been plenty of ups (that A+ on your paper on the ethics of Beowulf, yay!) and plenty of downs (Global Politics in the Twentieth Century, yikes), and no better way to say goodbye to them all than with alcohol in your system. But even if, during the regular college season, you’re something of a stick in the mud, you remembered to pack a nice party dress just in case, so you tug on a little black velvet mini-dress that sparkles rainbow in the light, covered with tiny glitters that get stuck in your hair and never come out. 

As you’re fishing around for some tights that you don’t care about so your legs don’t freeze off in the cold, the door to Taehyung’s bedroom opens. 

Out he walks in all of his New Year’s Eve glory, a full black ensemble complete with structured belt and a leather jacket. You turn around to look at him and he stops dead in his tracks, eyes blinking like he doesn’t know where to look. It gives you a clear view of him and his simple yet extremely flattering outfit. He looks like Danny Zuko. He looks like a boy you would avoid in high school. 

Funnily enough, seeing him now draws you closer to him.

“Wow, hot stuff, you clean up nicely,” You comment, tugging on some black tights with a hole in the back that no one’s going to notice. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” he adds on, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t even know you had this.”

“I packed it just in case,” you say with a shrug. 

“Came in handy, didn’t it?” He asks. He comes up to stand by you, holding his arm out for you to wrap yours around, two people on a mission to not remember most things about this night. “You ready to go?” 

Stuffing your phone and wallet into your purse, you quickly link arms with him as you walk to the door, your black boots clopping on the floor like the obnoxious high-heel owner you are. 

“Yeah, you ready?” You ask, doing a quick double check. You’ve got everything. 

“Let’s fuck some shit up.”

And fuck some shit up you do. By the time you reach the club that Taehyung had found online, you can already hear the bass pounding through the walls, feel the ground shake from the speakers alone. Go big or go home, you suppose. 

As you expected, the club is already packed with bodies. Every young adult within a twenty-mile radius is out tonight, eager to spend the last night of the year doing what young adults in the primes of their lives do best: drink. And you and Taehyung are no exception. 

Like everybody else entering the club at the same time as you, you make a beeline for the bar, already itching to get something into your system. You don’t love being drunk, and you like the taste of alcohol even less, so you just order a simple cocktail that should keep you occupied for a while. 

Taehyung, on the other hand, well. He seems to harbor the go big or go home mentality quite firmly. It’s obvious that he’s here to do one thing and one thing only, which is not remember what he did when he wakes up tomorrow. You watch, a little impressed and a lot nervous about what exactly he’s trying to achieve, as he downs several shots in a row, pays the bartender, and immediately pulls you into the crowd of people dancing in the center of the room. 

“The more I move, the faster my body can process the alcohol,” Taehyung tells you as your cocktail sloshes around in the glass in your hand. It’s an alright cocktail. A little too sweet for you, but you suppose that that’s your fault. 

“Wow, when you said you wanted to fuck shit up, you meant it,” you comment as Taehyung dances, jumping and swaying to the beat of whatever Top 40 pop song is blaring from the speakers. You can barely hear the music over the volume of the rest of the club, people shouting to speak to each other, the sound of feet hitting the floor. 

Within approximately fifteen minutes, Taehyung is already fairly tipsy and eager to keep going, bubbling over with excitement. 

You convince him to dance a little longer before he goes back to get more, trying to make sure at least a bit of the alcohol he had at the beginning of the night goes through his body. The song changes to something much sultrier, like honey dripping from the speakers themselves, and suddenly, the entire club’s atmosphere changes. 

“I love this song,” Taehyung says, and it must be the lack of control that causes him to place a hand on your waist and pull you in close to him, making you gasp. 

“Wow, okay,” you comment, blinking. Taehyung rests his chin on your shoulder, leaning down as he holds you tight, your bodies swaying in tandem. 

“You don’t mind this?” Taehyung asks. 

“Not if you don’t,” you respond. He’s practically drunk, and you’re even a little buzzed. There are worse things you could be doing. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?” He inquires aloud. It’s a good thing that you can’t see his face, can’t watch the haze in his eyes, otherwise you might lose your footing and collapse. 

“What is?”

“This,” Taehyung repeats unhelpfully. 

The next three minutes are some of the most confusing ones of your life as Taehyung rests a hand on your waist, palm rubbing up and down as the two of you dance together like it means something to the both of you. 

But it doesn’t, does it? You chalk it up to both of your minds not being as sharp with some alcohol in your systems. That must be it.

When the song ends, the mood disappears as well, and Taehyung’s back to his bouncy, tipsy self. He’s practically stumbling over himself once he determines that it’s time for more shots, and you’ve never seen Taehyung drunk before but you can tell that he’s nearly there. You’ll probably put a hard stop on the drinks after this round, since Taehyung is the one most familiar with the way back to his apartment and you wouldn’t mind going home and sleeping after this.

“Come with?” Taehyung asks as he eyes the bartender like he’s the love of his life. 

“No, it’s alright, Tae,” you say.

“You never call me Tae,” Taehyung comments mindlessly. Even when he’s nearly drunk, he still picks up on the little things. 

“I guess the alcohol is making me soft,” you admit. “You go. I’m gonna find the bathroom and hope that nobody’s having sex in it.”

“Okay,” Taehyung singsongs as you pull away from him, looking for a dingy hallway to go down. “Be safe.”

“You too, I’ll be back soon,” you promise him, and that’s when you go rushing down the hallway.

Things are certainly weird down here. It must be the feeling of the new year looming over your heads. Like this is the last night to do everything wrong without regretting it in the morning. The bathroom is, luckily enough, empty, so you rush in and splash your face with some water, not caring about if your makeup runs. You’d sweat it off, regardless. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and this feels so stupidly like a goddamn romantic comedy that it makes you want to laugh at the irony. 

Beautiful male art student lead gets drunk, confuses hardheaded and impenetrable female lead who doesn’t believe in love and supposedly hates beautiful male art student’s guts. Tension ensues. 

Your life may as well already have a shitty Rotten Tomatoes rating stamped on top of it. 

After collecting your thoughts and praying that that white stain on the wall isn’t what you think it is, you leave the bathroom and scurry down the hallway, eager to find Taehyung and make sure he isn’t bouncing off the walls after a second round of shots. 

He’s not. 

Instead, he’s still standing by the bar as a beautiful young woman speaks to him, long dark hair resting against her shoulders and a model-esque smile on her face. She’s leaning in with a suggestive look in her eyes, a hand coming up to rub at the side of his arm. 

You furrow your brows as you watch them from afar, a little hurt by the fact that beautiful male art student lead is confusing hardheaded and impenetrable female lead even more, but then you notice Taehyung’s hesitance. The way he backs up a little when she gets closer. How he stiffens when she touches him. 

And, well, fuck that. 

 “Tae,” you say, rushing up to him faster than you’d like to admit. “There you are, I was looking for you.” 

The girl next to him frowns at the sight of you, and it’s clear she feels no shame to hide the immediately dislike. Sure, you don’t have model proportions or a smile whiter than snow, but you have morals. 

“Who’s this?” You ask, trying to be nice. 

“Nobody,” Taehyung tells you, and his hand immediately interlocks with yours. Standing next to him, you can feel as the tension fades from his body, his whole demeanor relaxing now that you’re by his side. “She just wanted to talk.”

“Are you a friend?” She asks, because she knows. 

“I’m a special type of friend,” you say. There’s no way she’ll leave Taehyung alone otherwise. And this is definitely on the cocktail you drank (and nothing else, you swear!), but you even reach up to plop a kiss on his cheek for proof. Taehyung’s eyes widen as you do, but he plays it off as catching him off guard and grins, wrapping an arm around you to pull you even closer. “Can we help you?”

The girl is absolutely pissed, which means that you did your job. 

“No, it’s alright,” she hisses through gritted teeth before turning her sights on someone else. Someone without a friend to protect them. 

“Thanks,” Taehyung whispers once she’s gone. Even though she’s probably not coming back, Taehyung keeps you close, a hand on you at all times like you’ll fly away if he doesn’t hold on tight. 

“Of course,” you tell him. “You’d do the same for me.”

“She scared me,” Taehyung says, and if his red face is anything to go by, it’s clear that he’s pretty much reached his alcohol intake limit. “I’m glad you came.”

“I could tell you didn’t want to talk to her,” you say. 

“Because I wanted to talk to you,” Taehyung says, and it’s definitely the alcohol that’s erased his filter. “I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom and she just came up to me and started flirting with me. I think she wanted to get in my pants. I didn’t want her to get into my pants.”

“I know.”

“I’d much rather be with you than with her. Than with anybody else. I would always want to be with you, instead.” He tells you, keeping your hands firmly intertwined as you lean against the bartender counter. 

And well, huh. That’s different. Taehyung’s aforementioned lack of a filter means that any thoughts that run through his mind immediately turn into spoken words, but you weren’t expecting those words. You never thought you;d hear them, not in a million goddamn years.

“Okay, Tae,” you say, patting him assuringly. He’s just drunk. That’s all. 

“I’m serious, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you firmly, pushing your comforting hand off of his shoulder and turning to face you directly. “I mean it.”

“I know, Tae.” you reassure him. It’s easier than trying to fight him, especially when he’s this hammered. You check the time on your phone. Maybe it’s time to leave. If you go now, you’ll be able to make it back by midnight. “Let’s go home, okay? I’m ready to go home.”

Wordlessly, Taehyung nods, and the two of you leave the club before people are even thinking about ringing in the New Year. 

When you reach Taehyung’s apartment, he takes off his leather jacket to hang on the coat rack and turns the television on. Only three minutes to midnight. 

“I had fun,” you say, trying to lighten the conversation. The way back was silent, the only noises the sounds of New Year’s Eve parties on every block you turned onto. Taehyung kept his face forward and his eyes ahead, even as you tried to huddle close to him to conserve the warmth. 

“It was sort of fun,” Taehyung halfheartedly agrees. 

“Did you drink too much?” You ask. His face is still beet red. 

“I don’t think I drank enough.”

Two minutes to midnight. 

You frown, brows furrowing. Why on Earth would Taehyung want to drink more? What would change if he had another shot, a can of beer or a little cocktail?

Slowly, you begin to peel off your own layers, resting your coat on the back of the couch and slipping off your boots. The both of you stand in his living room as the TV begins to buzz with excitement, the broadcast of Times Square lighting up the otherwise silent, tense atmosphere. He’s only a couple of feet away but it feels like he couldn’t be farther from you. 

One minute to midnight. Everybody begins to count down, and you feel yourself holding your breath. 

“Will you be alright going to sleep?” You ask. Even if Taehyung’s still drunk, he’s far less bouncy than he was at the club. 

“I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, beginning to walk past. 

Three. 

“Okay.”

Two.

“Okay.”

One. 

Something overtakes Taehyung, something quick and brief. He stops right next to you and flinches, like he wants to lean in and do something, anything, goddamnit, but stops himself before he goes through with it. Everyone on television is cheering, but this apartment couldn’t be less festive even if you tried. 

Taehyung sends you a small smile as the world rings in the new year, dashing off to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. 

And you stand there, in the middle of his living room like the goddamn fool you are. Turning to the television, you watch over and over as every couple in Times Square kisses, clip after clip after clip, and like a goddamn idiot, you wish that Taehyung had done the same. 

The end of winter break approaches faster than you’d like it, just like it does every year. Before you know it, there’s less than a week left before classes resume and you go back to the daily college life. Less than a week left before you can go back to your dorm and pretend like this year’s winter break mishap never happened. 

Less than a week before you and Taehyung go back to never seeing each other. 

You’re sitting at his kitchen table, clearing out your backpack and recycling every paper, every syllabus and assignment and study guide from last semester, doing a deep cleanse of your life (because holy shit, you need it), when you come across the purchase you had made at the MOMA. 

“Taehyung,” you call out before you can stop yourself. 

“Yeah?” He asks from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a James Joyce book. You love that novel. It was one of the very few you read for fun last year. 

You take the small paper bag in your hands, walking over to the couch. “I almost forgot about this, but since winter break’s starting to wind down, I just wanted to give you this as a thanks. For everything.”

“You got me a belated Christmas gift, Y/N?” Taehyung asks as you hold out the gift, clearly something thin like a posterboard or an art print.

“If it means I don’t have to buy you two things, then sure, consider this a belated Christmas gift,” you say with a laugh, sitting down a foot away from him as he slowly opens up the packet. “It’s sort of cheesy and very basic, but I just wanted to get you something nice as a thank you.”

Out Taehyung pulls is a print of van Gogh’s The Starry Night, big enough to fill up the empty spaces on his walls, so every inch of his apartment, of his life and his home, is filled with art. 

“Oh my God,” Taehyung says, mouth agape. “This is…”

“It’s basic, I know. But I know how much you loved seeing it in person, so I thought that a memory of that would be nice,” you say, trying to ease the nervousness that has bubbled up inside of you. 

“It’s wonderful,” Taehyung says, and you swear you’ve never seen him so happy, other than perhaps when you saw the real thing. “This is so fucking thoughtful of you.”

“I just—you told me a lot about the art we saw that day, but when we reached this painting, you were speechless. And I sort of knew, then, that it was your favorite piece. Because you didn’t have to explain it with words,” you tell him. “I could just tell. It was like your whole body warmed up the moment it came into view.”

“I’m touched, Y/N.” Taehyung beams. “This is all an art student could ever want, really. To be able to know that their love for art meant something to someone else.”

“I just wanted to say thank you for everything. Taking me in, cooking me food, being really nice me despite me entrenching on your living situation.” You smile. 

“I was happy to do all that stuff,” Taehyung tells you honestly. “I’ve had a lot of fun this winter break, even if we’re still trapped on campus.”

You loved getting to go home for winter break your freshman and sophomore years. You loved being able to escape from the college mindset and just relax, no deadlines, no assignments, no worries. 

But looking back on it, you think that you’ve had the most fun this winter break, stuck at school, a five-hundred-dollar plane ticket short, with your dorm neighbor-slash-nemesis from freshman year. Never have you done so much in so little time. 

“Yeah, me too,” you say, thinking back fondly. It feels like this winter break has lasted for years, but also as though it went by in the blink of an eye, 

“I have something for you as well,” Taehyung says, scrambling up to dash into his room. “Consider it just a Christmas gift, because I don’t really have to thank you for letting you stay at my apartment for free for a month.”

“Roast me, why don’t you,” you muse jokingly, rolling your eyes as Taehyung fumbles around in his bedroom before he emerges with an equally flat, similarly-sized gift wrapped up in some spare tissue paper. 

“I don’t recall you buying anything at the MOMA,” you tease as Taehyung hands you the gift, settling back down on the couch to watch as you open it. 

Slowly, you peel back the tissue paper, and when you reveal what he’s wrapped up for you, it drops to your lap. 

It’s a portrait of you, done entirely in pencil. It’s you smiling, with your eyes closed, lashes fluttering. He’s memorized your entire face, drawn it neatly onto this piece of sketch paper, like he was just passing the time and suddenly he had a picture of you on his hands. He’s even remembered where your freckles go. 

“What’s this, Tae?” You ask, like you don’t already know. 

“Uh, it’s you,” Taehyung says sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on drawing you, I didn’t have a gift in mind, but I was practicing sketches the other day and an hour later I looked down and I had drawn you. And I felt bad for not telling you, because that’s weird, so I thought that you could see it.”

“You drew a portrait of me? Just randomly, from memory?” You ask, looking down at the sketch in your hands like it’s just ruined your life. 

“Yeah, so?” Taehyung asks. He looks terribly nervous. 

“So, that’s—people don’t just do that, Taehyung. You don’t just draw a picture of someone purely from memory while you’re practicing sketching,” You say, reeling back as he tries to lean in, attempts to explain himself. 

“What do you mean? I did that. I thought of you and I drew you, what’s so bad about that?”

“I don’t know if you missed the memo, Taehyung. I told you in New York. We’re not dating, Taehyung,” you tell him, so firm and certain in your conviction that you hardly pay attention to the way his shoulders sink. “We’re barely even friends. I’m not interested in you like that. Please don’t think otherwise.”

“Don’t tell me what to think,” Taehyung snaps, and he’s mad. Really mad, not like the fake anger from freshman year when you tried to get back at him by being an equally-annoying neighbor. “Don’t tell me how to feel. I drew you, Y/N. Not because I’m obsessed with the idea of us getting married, or because you’re my muse or some bullshit like that. I drew you because I thought of you, and I draw what I think of. Don’t tell me what to fucking think.”

“Do you like me, Taehyung?” You ask, on the verge of shouting.

Taehyung’s furious. “So what if I do? Huh? What difference does it make? You’ve told me over and over that you don’t like me back, so why does it matter? It’s not like I’d ever have a chance.”

“I told you because I didn’t want to confuse you,” you hiss, standing up and beginning to grab your belongings. It’s clear that this conversation is turning sour. 

“Confuse me? You didn’t want to confuse me?” Taehyung shouts. “You did a damn good job at that. Telling me in New York that you hated being called Mr. and Mrs. Kim, but holding my hand as we walked around the city and looked at art together. Kissing my cheek in the fucking bar but then patting me like on the back like I’m just a sadass friend of yours. Can you blame me if I was confused, Y/N?”

“I told you,” you say again. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung bites. “I’m sorry that I fucking fell in love with you, even though half of the time you acted like it was alright. My mistake.”

“It was your mistake. I never said I wanted to date you,” you tell him firmly. You refuse to take the blame for something you had made so explicitly clear. 

“Can you fucking blame me for being hopeful?” Taehyung asks. He’s standing up, about to head back into his bedroom, absolutely furious. “You held my hand and kissed me on the cheek and I thought that meant that you felt it, too.”

“Taehyung—”

“Keep the portrait, Y/N,” Taehyung spits. “I don’t ever want to see it again.”

He slams his bedroom door. 

It’s a good thing you made friends with some upperclassmen when you were a freshman. 

After packing your belongings into your little suitcase and standing in the lobby of Taehyung’s apartment complex, you remember that one of your old friends who had graduated last year still lived in an off-campus apartment since he would be beginning graduate school at the same university. 

“Yoongi?” You ask when you hear him pick up your call. 

“Y/N? What’s up?”

“Long story,” you say with a sigh. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you until school started?”

“Holy shit, you’re on campus? What the fuck, yeah, sure, you know where I live. I’ll be here whenever you stop by,” he says without question.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing outside his door, double checking to make sure you’d got the right apartment. 

You barely get the first knock in before the door swings open to reveal Min Yoongi himself, clad in all black and looking very tired. 

“Are you okay?” You ask. He looks exhausted. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, ushering you inside. 

“Have you been up all night?” You ask, resting your suitcase against the wall. 

“I took a brief nap between two and three, but yes, I have been,” he says like it’s natural. 

“You’ve always been a chaotic sleeper,” you say with a shake of your head. 

“The grad school grind stops for no one,” Yoongi says with a sigh. “What’s up? Why are you on campus?”

“It… it’s a long goddamn story. Do you have time?”

“I have a piece due for a small indie band tomorrow at noon that’s barely finished,” Yoongi says.

“Oh,” you say. You suppose the story can wait. Yoongi offered up his abode to you until classes resumed if you needed it, and there’s no way in hell you’ll be going back to Taehyung’s. 

“What do you mean, ‘Oh’? I got loads of time,” Yoongi says. He plops down on his couch and motions for you to sit next to him. “Tell me everything.”

Yoongi has always been a particularly good listener. Not just to other people’s words, but to music, to the sounds of the chords and the notes of the piano. He has an ear for things that most others would never notice. 

It’s the same thing for when he’s doling out advice. 

“To clarify,” Yoongi says when you’re finished telling your story, thirty minutes later. You had warned him that it would be a long one. “You had once hated his guts, but no longer hate his guts?”

“I stopped hating him after freshman year,” you admit, more to yourself than to Yoongi. It’s true. The moment the two of you stopped seeing each other, everything dissipated. 

“And now you like him.”

“We’re friends,” you say, tentatively. Maybe less than friends after the disaster that just went down in his living room. 

“But he drew you a portrait of yourself,” Yoongi mentions. 

“I said that it was complicated,” you say with a frown. 

“It doesn’t sound that complicated,” Yoongi says. And maybe he is a graduate student with more life experience under his belt than you, but you think that it’s pretty complicated. 

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like he likes you, and you like him. I wasn’t really interpreting it in any other way,” Yoongi says casually. 

You reject the notion immediately. “I do not like him.”

Yoongi frowns. “Would you really be here, in my apartment having a relationship breakdown, if you weren’t confused about your feelings for him? Really?”

“I just needed to get out of his damn apartment, that’s all,” you say, avoiding eye contact. Yoongi has this very annoying habit of being extremely reasonable all of the time, and it bothers you immensely. 

“Sure, okay. Y/N, I’m not gonna dictate how you feel and try to change your mind, or anything. But if you can look me in the eye before the end of your break and tell me, one-hundred percent honestly, that you don’t like him, then I’ll believe you,” Yoongi tells you simply. “How about that?”

It sounds like a very doable deal. Maybe it’s not doable right now, but it certainly seems possible in the future. In the future, specifically. 

“Fine. But you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” you tell him matter-of-factly. Why does he care? It’s not like you’re worried about it. 

As it turns out, you’re worried about it. 

You’re worried about it because even though you’re not in the same room, not in the same building, not even on the same goddamn street as him, you’re thinking about him. Thinking about how much fun the two of you could be having right now as you relish in the last couple days of your winter break before the cold reality of school hits. 

Think about the things you could be doing. Exploring, going out to restaurants, finding new little gold mines in this city that you call home. And instead, you’re moping around your friend’s living room wishing that the two of you hadn’t ruined the whole thing. 

Maybe you had been too harsh. Taehyung has a right to be mad at you for lashing out at him. How was he supposed to feel? You held his hand and kissed his cheek and pretended that it was still freshman year, that the two of you were still just two people stuck together by unfortunate circumstances. Acted like nothing had really changed despite the years going by. Going through with all of these adventures with him knowing, in the back of your mind, that once classes started back up, you’d probably never make an effort to see him again. 

Drawing a portrait of you says one thing, but dancing around him says another. Every time you fucking see Yoongi in his own goddamn home you try to muster up the bravery to tell him that you don’t like Taehyung the way that he thinks you do, and you can’t. 

He sets up his pullout couch in his living room for you when you go to sleep that night, you dream of Taehyung. Envision him wandering the halls of a nameless museum, priceless pieces of art hung along every wall, from van Gogh to Monet to Picasso. He turns back around so you get a view of his face, dream up his curly black hair and soft eyes, sparkling with wanderlust as he roams the corridors, stopping to spare a quick glance at every painting he passes. 

And then at the end of the hall, he pauses in his tracks, looks up at the painting on the wall. You watch as the camera zooms in on what he’s looking at, what made him stop in his tracks the moment he laid eyes on it. 

It’s your portrait. A simple piece of paper out of a sketchbook, graphite on the coarse canvas. It’s barely more than a line drawing, your eyes here, your nose there, the little freckles that decorate your skin. It’s only in one color and still, even now, it leaves you speechless. Taehyung made that. He drew that, line by line. He made that for you. 

You wake up in a cold sweat at seven in the morning. Yoongi’s fast asleep in his bedroom, and you know he won’t be waking up until the hour on the clock reads double digits. Frantic, you scramble through your backpack until you pull out the sketch paper a little bit larger, a little bit thicker than the rest, still wrapped up in tissue paper. 

Pulling the paper away to reveal the canvas, you stare down at it in the hazy light of the sunrise, small rays beginning to stream through Yoongi’s window. Your fingers trace along each line, picturing Taehyung as his pencil scratched along the paper, over and over until it looked perfect. Taehyung made this. He sat down, thought of you, and drew this. 

A picture may be worth a thousand words but this one doesn’t say a thousand words. Instead, it only says three. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you flip the sketch over to see if there’s anything else he’s drawn. There isn’t, but you find a little note in the bottom right corner. 

Y/N,

I hadn’t realized that I had drawn you until I was nearly finished with this. My bad, but it was too late to stop. I don’t know if I’ll ever give this to you, or if I’ll just have a guilty conscience for the rest of my life, but just in case I do, I want you to know this: art inspires me, and you are no exception. 

Tae ♡

When Min Yoongi wakes up that day and trudges out of his bedroom, he finds you sitting on his pullout couch, staring down at a sketch in your hands. When you turn to look up at him, he sees your red eyes and wonders how long you’ve been out here, crying. 

“I can’t do it, Yoongi,” you tell him. 

“Do what?” Yoongi asks, even though he already knows the answer. Why else would you be letting your tears drip onto your portrait?

“Tell you that I don’t like him. Because I do. And I can’t lie to him like that.”

Yoongi grins. He knew you’d come around, like you always do. You may have quite the stubborn streak, but you’ve got a big heart, and it always gets the best of you. 

He sits down next to you, glancing down at the portrait. It’s gorgeous. Taehyung did a wonderful job. He looks at you as you cry over a sketch of yourself, and he thinks that, even if he doesn’t really know this Taehyung character, the two of you will make a perfect pair. 

“You should tell him that,” he tells you with a nudge. You look up at him, scared for your life. “I think he deserves to know.”

The night before winter break ends, you ask Taehyung if tenants of his apartment complex are allowed on his rooftop. He says no, but also says that his landlord is out of town for the holidays. 

In the biting cold of a mid-January evening, you climb up the stairs of his apartment complex and push open the heavy metal door to the rooftop, a gust of wind nearly blowing you right over. Looking around, you spot Taehyung in nothing but a sweater and a scarf, sitting on the edge of the rooftop and looking out over the city. 

“Aren’t you cold?”

He turns around to find you standing next to him, wrapped up in a long coat, gloves, a beanie, and a scarf. 

“I’ve got a warm body,” Taehyung tells you, looking back out into the sea of lights. 

“This is scary, isn’t it?” You ask, sitting down next to him. Your feet dangle off the ledge, and normally you’d be insistent on sitting in the middle of the rooftop where no danger can befall you, but this feels a lot more personal. 

“Why did you want to meet me up here?” Taehyung asks, all business. 

“I just wanted to talk,” you tell him. “You know, since it’s the last day of winter break and all.”

“It went by fast, didn’t it?” Taehyung muses. 

“I remember failing my final and missing my flight like it was yesterday,” you remember fondly, laughing. It seemed like the end of the world at the time, but there’s always a silver lining. You just didn’t know what it was, back then. 

You think you have a pretty clear idea of it now. 

Taehyung chuckles, letting the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you gaze out at the rest of the city. Taehyung’s apartment building isn’t particularly tall, but it’s got enough height to it that it feels like you’re looking out over a place you hardly recognize. There are so many things you don’t know about this city, despite having lived here for over two years. So many things you are aching to find out, and only one person you’d really like to do it with. 

“What’s your New Year’s Resolution?” You ask randomly, interrupting the quiet that had befallen the both of you. 

Taehyung jumps at the sound of your voice piercing through the atmosphere, caught off guard. You lean in, expecting him to answer. 

“Oh, um, I guess to draw and paint for fun more. A lot of the stuff I’ve been making in school I’ve been doing because I had to,” Taehyung says quickly. It’s sort of obvious that he made up the resolution on the spot. “Uh, what’s yours?”

You press your lips into a thin line, smiling to yourself. “To be honest.”

Taehyung scoffs at that. “Believe me, Y/N, you are more than honest. Brutally so.”

“To others, yes,” you reason. You always were a tell-it-like-it-is sort of person. “But I’m not very good at being honest with myself.” You swing your legs slightly as they dangle over the ground below, kicking into each other. Taehyung turns to look at you, waiting for you to continue. “Yoongi says I’m a very stubborn person. I always have been. Once I determine something is the way it is, it’s very difficult to change my mind.”

Taehyung chuckles to himself. He’s probably quite familiar with that aspect of your personality. 

“But I realized recently that sometimes, things change without you even realizing it, and that instead of being afraid of those changes, you should embrace them. So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to be more honest with myself, because I think I’ll make everybody around me, including myself, happier.” You continue. 

“Good for you,” Taehyung tells you mindlessly, turning back to face out towards the city. 

“Kim Taehyung, I’m not finished talking, yet,” you demand, forcing him to look back at you. “I hated you in freshman year. You were the worst thing to happen to me that year, annoying and full of yourself. And I didn’t know you in sophomore year. We stopped talking and decided that it was better if we never did again.”

He lets out a little huff of breath, visible in the cold night air. 

“But I do know you now. You offered me a place to stay when I missed my flight after what might have been the worst final I have ever taken in my entire life. You took me to New York, and we made vegetable soup together. You let me hold your hand and kiss you on the cheek, and you drew me a portrait,” you say firmly. He looks up at you and finally, finally, his eyes aren’t foggy. There’s no haze, no mist. You look into his eyes and you can see yourself reflected in the ink black of his irises. He’s beautiful. He’s sitting on the ledge of the roof of his apartment building in the middle of January with nothing but a sweater and a scarf on, and he’s beautiful. “You are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Before you can even take another breath, Kim Taehyung places a cold palm on your scarf-covered cheek and pulls you into a bruising kiss, his other hand wrapping around your waist as you shuffle along the ledge, closer and closer. And even if his hands are cold and his lips are chapped, his mouth is warm and soft, wanton and desperate. You beam at the feeling of his lips on yours, wrapping your arms around his neck as you ring in the New Year for real. This is how it was supposed to be. This is what you had been waiting for. 

When you part, Taehyung’s lips are a cherry red to match the tip of his nose. His brown eyes are twinkling, and not from the light pollution of the city. 

“Can I be honest, too?” Taehyung asks. He’s got the biggest goddamn grin on his face. “I think I’m in love with you.”

The words are music to your ears. “My honesty is rubbing off on you,” you tease. “Because I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Smiling, grinning, positively fucking beaming, Taehyung wraps his hands around you and kisses you again. It warms your heart from the inside out, blossoms like a tulip in spring. When you started this winter break, you thought you had reached your lowest point, but you’re finishing it on a high that you hope never fades. He loves you, he loves you, and most importantly, you love him back. And as it turns out, the movie where beautiful male art student lead and hardheaded and impenetrable female lead are stuck with each other for four weeks has a happy ending, after all. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[cycwrites]

WIP Things aka Unofficial Fic Tease

In order to remind myself that I’ve left all of you hanging for the rest of my trilogy rewrite, I thought I would post my unbeta’d, unedited, good with the bad chapter 1 for the second movie. I also have hope that it will make me feel guilty for taking so damn long and get back to it. Especially since I’ve basically closed myself off from writing (and the muses) and I’m trying to pry the doors back open because I really do miss sharing my stories with you guys.

I wrote this well over a year ago, along with a 2nd chapter that deals with the Dean’s office, and really just hope you like it. 

--------

About Damn Time 

Chapter One: So That Happened

Word Count: 2600 -------- ~B~

At the end of Beca’s junior year, two things of note happened.

First: Chloe, once again, made the decision to stay with Beca and the Bellas and failed Russian Lit for the third time.  Beca had tried to talk her out of it, torn between wanting Chloe to move forward in her life beyond Barden and guilt that she was relieved they wouldn’t have to figure out how to work a long distance relationship. She wasn’t ready to try that and couldn’t imagine leading the group without her.  But Chloe had insisted this was where she’d wanted to be and she didn’t feel like she was missing out on anything.

Second: The Bellas were asked to perform at President Obama’s 50th birthday celebration at the Kennedy Center on August 8th.

Beca had laughed when the call had come through the never used landline at the Bella house.

“Good afternoon, this is Mack Johnson and I’m calling on behalf of the White House…”

“Yeah right. Nice try, Jesse.” She hung up and pulled out her cell phone as she walked into the kitchen. Pausing by the counter she typed out a quick message to him.

Beca: I’ve gotta give you points for originality though. You almost sounded like an actual adult.

She poured herself a glass of lemonade before he answered.

Jesse: I’m going to take that as a compliment and ignore the wound to my manly pride, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Beca: Whatever you say, ‘Mack.’ If you’d said you were calling from anywhere but the White House I might’ve let you keep talking.

Instead of answering via text, Jesse called her.

“Are you day drinking, Mitchell?” Jesse clucked his tongue. “Without your lesbro? I’m hurt, Becaw.”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Beca lifted her glass and took a sip. “What inspired your call today?”

“Uh, your cryptic and confusing texts to me, of course.” Jesse chuckled. “Want to clue me in?”

Beca sighed. “Man you’re committed to this.”

“To what?”

Beca set her glass on the counter. “Fine – you just called me and –” She jumped as the phone in the living room rang for only the second time in her years at Barden. “Pretended… to be… from the White House.”

“I thought you said you weren’t drinking?” Jesse laughed but it sounded distant as Beca watched Chloe answer the phone.

Her girlfriend’s blue eyes went wide and locked on Beca’s as she said, “I’m sorry, did you say you’re calling from the White House?”

“Jesse?” Beca said absently.

“Yes, Beca?” His voice took on an echo as all the blood drained from her face.

“I gotta go pass out now.” She swallowed dryly. “I’ll call you later.”

“Beca wa-”

Beca had remained frozen in the kitchen while Chloe became more and more animated, frantically scribbling down notes on the notepad sitting beside the phone, though her voice was carefully calm and collected. Then she’d run into the kitchen, screaming and jumping in excitement and talking faster than Beca’s shocked mind could process. Drawn by the commotion like a frat boy to a kegger, the rest of the girls soon joined the chaos while Beca still stood frozen by the counter as they swirled around her.

The school had allowed them to stay on campus through the summer so they could discuss songs and choreography. The time had been a whirlwind of security checks and practice and everything they planned needed to be vetted by the performance organizers. Of course, since they’d come to the Bellas after their third ICCA win in a row, there weren’t any real problems.

Until the night of the performance when one set of tangled silks and a desire for no panty lines wrecked everything.

No pun intended.

~B~ Sunday, August 24th, 2014

Beca lay on their bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to Chloe pace beside her.

“I’ve ruined everything.” Pace to the head of the bed. “Destroyed our reputation.” Pace back to the foot. “Made the Bellas a joke.”

Beca sighed and pushed herself up on her elbows. “Chloe. It’s a capella. It’s already a jo-” She stopped as Chloe spun to face her, outraged. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” Beca tried a smile. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.” She let it slip when Chloe just stared at her and Beca dropped back down to gaze at the ceiling. “Won’t make that mistake again.”

“I’m the one who gave Amy the green-light to do ‘Wrecking Ball.’” Chloe resumed pacing.

“Because, despite most of her claims, she actually had done some training on the silks before coming to the states.” Beca countered, as she had for the past three weeks. “She was good on them and never once in our rehearsals did she get tangled up.”

“But-”

“No.” Beca cut her off and sat up, pulling her legs up to sit cross legged and face her. “We all agreed to let her do it. It was a group vote.” She softened her voice and held out her hand. “This isn’t all on you, Chlo.”

With a sigh, Chloe took her hand and let herself be tugged onto the bed. Beca stretched back out and Chloe settled against her side. “It feels like it.”

“That’s because you’re the one who looks out for us.” Beca gently rubbed her back. “No one could’ve predicted this, love.”

“No…” Chloe said grudgingly. “But…”

Beca cut her off again. “There’s no buts.”

“Except Amy’s.” Chloe huffed, tension that had begun to fade making her stiffen up again in Beca’s arms. “All over the news.” She groaned. “Why didn’t I just use the cloth I was freaking holding to cover her up?”

“Same reason I didn’t,” Beca said reasonably, having heard a version of this several times before. “My mind went blank and I couldn’t move. I just… kept waiting to wake up.”

“Same.” Chloe pressed her nose to Beca’s shoulder. “I still am. This is such a nightmare.”

“She feels bad.” Beca offered. “It was her idea to do that press conference.” She winced as Chloe snorted.

“Yeah, where she then tried to show her ‘silk burn’ to the entire world.” Chloe sat up and pushed herself off the bed. “Again.” She resumed pacing and Beca’s mind hunted around for anything she could say to defuse things.

“At least we saved Aubrey’s college legacy from Pukegate?” Even as the words were out of her mouth Beca knew they were stupid and wrong.

“And ruined ours with Muffgate.” Chloe snarled.

“I wish I could find the asshole that came up with that. Bet it was those podcast people and of course everyone else jumped on it.” Beca made a face. “It was an accident and eventually there will be another crisis for them to focus on.” She slid over to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over. “It won’t be forever, Chlo.”

Pace, turn. “But tomorrow we go see the Dean.” Pace, turn. “With those podcast people who are apparently actually part of the Collegiate A Cappella Association.”

“They’re still weird and he’s an ass.” Beca stood up and stretched as she heard the door open at the bottom of the stairs. “Think you’ll be able to enjoy yourself at dinner tonight?”

Chloe stopped by the small table they inherited from Aubrey and took a deep breath. “Of course. It’s Amy’s birthday. I’m not going to ruin it for her.” She flashed Beca a small grin, the first in an hour. “Why do you think I’m up here instead of downstairs?”

“Speaking of,” a new voice said from the stairs. “There’s maybe… A situation.” Jessica smiled apologetically when they both looked at her as she reached the top.

Beca sighed. “Of course there is.”

“Do I even want to know?” Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Probably not, but Stacie sent me to get you.”

“Coward,” Beca muttered. “She knows I can’t hit you because you’re too nice.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, quick like ripping off a band-aid.”

“Amy’s sitting on the couch. With a towel on her lap.” Jessica hesitated.

“That’s… Why is that a big deal?” Chloe asked, confused.

“She’s… commando. Because of her silk burn.” The blonde’s shoulders bounced once but she didn’t say anything else.

“I swear to fucking god I’m going to glue underwear on her,” Chloe muttered under her breath.

Beca was struck by a horrible thought. “Is she sitting on another towel?”

“We were afraid she’d show us if we asked.” Jessica looked at Beca. “That’s when Stacie sent me to get you.”

“Why do I have to do it?” Beca knew she was whining but couldn’t help it.

“Because you’re the captain.” Jessica shrugged again. “You can threaten her with cardio if she tries to flash us again.”

“Yeah but Amy doesn’t always listen to me and I don’t want to have flashbacks.” Beca reluctantly headed for the stairs as Jessica started back down.

“Birthday or not…” Chloe muttered as she followed.

“I’m sure Lilly has a hot glue gun you can use,” Beca mused, not surprised to find Ashley hanging out in the hallway when they left the attic.

“Don’t tempt me.” Chloe didn’t say anything else the entire trip down the stairs.

Beca rounded the corner, passing Jessica and Ashley who had stopped in the entry and came to a halt herself, Chloe running into her back.

All she could see was the back of Amy’s head but she appeared to be looking straight at Lilly who sat cross-legged on the ottoman and staring back.

“Do I even want to know?” Beca turned her head toward Jessica but didn’t take her eyes off the scene.

“I didn’t ask that either,” came the whispered reply.

Beca took a bracing breath then walked into the living room. Despite the reassurance that the covering towel existed, Beca didn’t relax until she saw it for herself. It was nothing personal against Amy, but Beca just didn’t want to see any of the Bellas naked, Chloe being the obvious exception. You never knew when the visual would pop back in your head and Amy had already shown up enough in the past few weeks to last a lifetime.

“Amy.” Beca looked up at a sound from the kitchen and saw Stacie leaning in the doorway with Cynthia Rose and Flo sitting at the center island.

“Captain.” Amy didn’t turn her head or avert her gaze.

“Are you guys in a staring contest?” Beca frowned, looking between the two women. “And if so why?”

“I don’t know,” Amy lifted one shoulder. “All I know is she hasn’t blinked since she sat down and why take the risk of losing.”

Beca felt her eyes twitch at the thought. “Jesus, please cut it out before my eyes start watering.” She stepped between them and Amy closed her eyes in relief.

“Thanks, Shawshank. That was starting to burn.” She started to lift one corner of the towel to wipe her eyes and Beca threw out her hand.

“Nope. That stays there.” Chloe said it before Beca could.

“Please tell me you’re sitting on another towel.” Beca sighed and ran her hand through her hair.

“Of course I am!” Amy actually looked indignant. “I’m not a heathen, Beca.” She rolled her eyes. “The pants I want to wear to dinner are tight, so I’m giving my bits time to breathe first.”

“Now that’s in my head.” Cynthia Rose muttered from the kitchen.

“That’s in all our heads,” Ashley said from the doorway behind them.

“You could always wear that blue skirt,” Chloe offered diplomatically. “That way you’re not uncomfortable for your birthday dinner.”

“I do look hot in that.” Amy thought about it while the rest of them made sounds of agreement. “Alright, you’ve swayed me. And as it’s almost that time, guess I’ll go upstairs and change.” She started to stand as Beca moved back then paused. “If you’d all turn around and give me some privacy while I wrap?”

Beca rolled her eyes as she turned to face the front window that, thankfully, had the curtains drawn. “That’s what you get for being half naked in the public areas of the house.”

“I got bored in my room.” Beca heard Amy stand up and the rustle of fabric. “Alright, I’m decent.”

“Hey!”

Beca jumped at the unexpected shout and looked over her shoulder. Stacie had come out of the kitchen and was pointing at the couch.

“That’s my favorite towel!” Outage filled her face. “I was looking for that for over a week!”

“It’s also the softest towel in the house.” Amy said as she picked it up, tucking the other firmly around her waist. “It’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt when I’m sitting.”

A choked sound from behind her brought Beca’s eyes back around to Chloe, who was biting the inside of her cheek and trying not to giggle. “I’m sure she’ll wash it before she gives it back.”

Beca tried to choke back her laugh and ended up sounding like a pug with a cold as she snickered into her hand.

“I think…” Stacie sighed. “Happy Birthday, Amy. It’s all yours.”

“You sure, Stretch?” Amy threw the towel in question over her shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll need it for much longer.”

“Yup.” Stacie nodded emphatically. “I’ll go get another one this weekend.”

“Thanks, Stacie.” Amy smiled at her before her lips twisted slightly. “Sorry I didn’t ask first.”

“’S okay.” Stacie shrugged. “Now go get changed so we can celebrate your day.”

“Are you allowed to give me orders on my birthday?” Amy mused as she headed for the stairs.

“Probably not,” Beca said. “But I’ll probably do it anyway.”

“Bossy.” Chloe whispered behind her and Beca flashed her a grin.

“Alright.” Beca clapped her hands once. “Show’s over, let’s go get our party outfits on and get some grub. We’ve got a Bella to celebrate.”

Stacie walked past her, shaking her head. “Bossy.”

Beca let her head fall back as she stared at the ceiling. “I can’t with you two.”

“What?” Stacie paused in the door to the entry. “Did we do the thing again?”

“Yup.” Chloe pushed Beca toward the stairs. “I called her that thirty seconds ago.” She high fived Stacie over Beca’s shoulder when the tall woman grinned and held out her hand.

“Score one for us.” Stacie laughed and started up the stairs.

“I hate you guys.” Beca said weakly as she followed.

“Liar,” Chloe laughed and ran her hand down Beca’s back.

“Maybe.” Beca let Chloe go before her.

“Definitely.”

“Yeah yeah,” Beca waved her up the stairs, unable to help admiring the way Chloe’s muscles flexed as she moved. “But seriously, my stomach just woke up and if I don’t feed it soon it’s going to take over the world.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Stacie saluted as she stepped into her room.

“Smartass,” Beca threw back.

“And you love it.” Stacie closed the door with a laugh.

“Stop flirting with Stacie and let’s go change before you get hangry.” Chloe took her hand and tugged on it.

“She wishes,” Beca muttered but followed Chloe up to their room, ignoring the ‘Often’ that came from Stacie’s room behind them.

‘She’s got bat hearing, I swear.’ Beca thought to herself as she went to the closet to get her outfit for the night.

Tomorrow was still looming over them, but Beca pushed it all away, determined to think about Amy and the Bellas for the rest of the night.

It was one mistake and they’d just won three years in a row. Surely they weren’t in that much trouble.

Right?

[haikyuuwaifu]

Miss Independent

Genre: Crack, Humor, Drama, NSFW Content, Mild Angst

Warning: Mild Angst

Kenma x Osamu x Suna x Reader Poly

Masterlist

Daichi & Y/N| K& S| O & Y| S & Y

‘Great One-Jessie Reyez’

DAICHI & Y/N

“Y/N!” a loud boisterous voiced called out, as she slammed her locker shut. Shaking her head slightly, she smiled softly at the literal ray of sunshine headed her way. “Y/N! How come Dadchi wasn’t at practice this morning?” Shoyo asked his “mom” as they walked towards the first year hall. “He’s out sick today Shoyo, so it’s gonna be up to you guys to be on your best behavior.” the boy scoffed next to her. “I am ALWAYS on my best behavior! It’s Bakageyama and Saltybitchma that are always fighting.” he screeched waving his hands. Rubbing her temples Y/N sighed as she stopped in front of his homeroom door. “Look, if you boys can get through one practice without fighting, I’ll take you out for dinner tonight; that ramen shop you like.” she stated patting his head affectionately. “I’ll see you after school Shoyo!” she murmured waving behind her as she walked on towards the stairs. Maybe after practice she’d take Daichi some broth and cuddle.

Y/N slid her phone back into her jacket pocket clapping as she watched Tsukki block Hinata’s spike. “Great job Kei-chan!” she yelled cupping her hands over her mouth to make herself louder. Tsukishima turned to scoff softly, “Don’t do that! It’s embarrassing Y/N!” he snarked, cheeks pinking slightly. Behind him Tanaka and Noya snickerd softly. Glaring Y/N spoke, “since you both find it hilarious you’ll be cleaning the gym up with the rest of the second years.” a mix of groans and cheers were heard as coach Ukai blew the whistle signaling the end of practice. “ You brats coming to the shop tonight?” he grunted out, hands on his hips watching the second years tear down the net. Y/N shook her head as she handed him her clipboard. “Nope, the third years and I are treating the first years to Ramen at that new place near Shiratorizawa.” she answered. “Well, be careful brat; and call me if you need anything.” he grumbled. “Thank you gramps!” she cooed giggling at the way his shoulders hunched at the mild insult. “Alright brats, let’s go! I know you have homework tonight and I don’t want to be out too late.” she grumbled herding everyone out of the gym.

The group of students made their way to the train, the first year boys grumbling about upcoming exams and how hungry they were. Yachi hung back, discussing weekend plans with Kiyoko and Y/N. Everything was as it should be. Sitting on the train Y/N pulled out her phone to see a slew of messages from her idiot best friend. As they rode the train, she, Yachi, and Kiyoko cackled at the recollection of Kuroo getting his kneecaps swiped by Yaku yet again. Everything was right with the world. Stepping off the train, the three girls locked arms as they kept an eye on the rowdy boys ahead of them. Suga hooked his arm in Y/N’s free arm as Asahi brought up the rear. “How do you think Daichi is doing?” Suga asked, keeping his eyes on the boys ahead. “I texted him, during practice; he said he was resting; I think I’m going to bring him some broth on my way home.” Y/N murmured looking at the sky ahead. 

Making their way to the Ramen Shop the third years and Yachi enjoyed the silence, as the boys ahead spent most the time quietly discussing their upcoming practice matches. The restaurant was a good ten minute walk from the station. Y/N had pulled her phone out of her pocket, receiving a notification from Kuroo, when she stumbled into a frozen body in front of her. Looking up, she saw that the person she had run into was Tsukishima. “Tsukki why’d you stop in the middle of th-” she started to ask, when she noticed his narrowed into slits. Turning her head, she looked in the direction he was facing only to see her boyfriend of four years Daichi Sawamura lip locked with the volleyball captain of the girls team Yui Michimiya. Before she could stop anyone, Hinata had already clambered inside Kageyama behind him. Tsukki gripped Y/N’s arm tightly, mostly to prevent himself from clocking his captain. Suga, Asahi and Kiyoko followed the two boys inside to see Daichi and Yui eyes wide eyeing the feral boys standing in front of them.

Arms crossed Suga sneered at the couple. “I thought you were sick Daichi? Because this doesn’t look like sick.” “I thought you were going to get meat buns.” he stammered out, scratching the back of his head. He still had no idea Y/N was with them, as she was still outside trying to calm down a raging Tsukishima. “No, we didn’t get meat buns today; because Y/N, you know...your girlfriend, she decided to take the boys out for ramen since they were so cooperative at practice today.” Suga uttered harshly. Next to this train wreck, Kageyama had his phone to his ear; “Oikawa, it’s me...we’re at the ramen place by Shiratorizawa...Sawamura just got caught cheating on Y/N...I doubt he’s goign anywhere anytime soon...got it.” 

Outside, Tsukishima was still shaking with rage, as Y/N tried to calm him down. Yamaguchi stood next to him, trying to assist but nothing was working. “I’m going to go inside, and see what’s going on. Yams you stay here with Tsukki, I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding.” Y/N said not even believing the words coming out of her mouth. As she made her way inside, Tsukki pulled his phone out... “Hey shit head its me...Sawamura just got caught cheating on Y/N...I think Kageyama already called Oikawa...he won’t be going anywhere any time soon just get here as soon as you can.” hanging up Tsukki made his way inside the cafe.

Walking towards the crowd, Y/N could hear the barely audible excuses tumbling out of her boyfriends mouth. Stepping through everyone she made her way to the front. Sugawara was shaking, fists clenched to his sides as he listened to all the stupid shit Daichi was spewing. Looking behind him Y/N saw Michimiya visibly shaking in fear. Fear of guilt or fear of retaliation she couldn’t tell you; and right now she didn’t really care. When Daichi saw Y/N approach a part of him sighed in relief, but that relief was soon replaced by guilt and by fear. “sweetie, I-” she held her hand out to halt whatever he was about to say. “I don’t want to hear your excuses Daichi, I want to know why...I want to know why you would throw four years of our lives together away Daichi?” she mumbled, hands folded in front of her. “I didn’t...I don’t really know how it h-” he started, trying to find the words. Behind him Michimiya spoke. “We didn’t mean to fall in love with eac-” before she could finish Yachi had her fist cocked back and launched before anyone could stop her. With a cry Michimiya pressed her hands to her nose, tears streaming as blood gushed out. “No one fucking asked you to speak, this is partially your fucking fault.” Yachi screamed shaking the numbness out of her fingers.

“Y/N I’m so sorry. Honestly, I don’t know how it happened, and I didn’t mean for it to happen. It was a mi-” she shook her head, tears pooling at the ends of her eyelashes. “A mistake is a one time thing Daichi...this wasn’t a one time thing...I hope you’re happy with the choices you made, because I don’t ever want anything to do with you again.” she murmured, turning towards the exit. “I’m goign to head to the station, if you could grab food to go; we can go to my house and eat there.” she murmured making her way outside. As she stepped out of the shop she heard someone yell behind her. Turning towards the sound she saw a familiar head of crazy hair and broke into sobbed as she ran towards him barreling him over; her fast in his chest. “It’s alright Kitten, I’m here now.” Kuroo murmered. Behind him the Seijoh boys came running. Oikawa and Makki pulled Y/N with them, as Issei, Iwa and Kuroo made their way to the ramen shop. The boys had business to take care of.

-Y/N and Kuroo have been best friends for most their lives. When his parents died he had to move to Tokyo to live with is grandparents; but they never lost touch and visit every weekend. (For the sake of the story both places aren’t super far).

-Daichi and Y/N met in middle school and started dating the beginning of their second year. Their third year of high school would have been 5 years together. 

-Y/N has always loved taking photos. She takes photos of the players and at training camps. She’s friendly and outgoing so everyone in the volleyball circles know her. The Seijoh boys look out for Y/N since she sometimes takes photos of their practice and regular matches.

-It is in fact confirmed that Daichi got his ass beat, by Kuroo, Iwa, and Issei. Oikawa, Makki, the rest of the third years and the first year babies took Y/N home and spent the rest of the night trying to cheer her up. Kuroo took Y/N to Tokyo for the weekend to get her away from Daichi.

-That following Monday, when Ukai found out, Daichi was demoted and benched. Y/N was like a daughter to him, and you really shouldn’t underestimate the power she holds over literally anyone who meets her ;)

In conclusion: Daichi is trash LMAO.

@dabilove27​ @amberisnotcrazy​ @elianetsantana​ @cloudyxlay 

[just-lythecreator]

I dont’ know, this is more of a reminder to myself of what I want to do after the finals, aka the 19th of this month.

First and foremost, driving school. Believe it or not, I don’t know how to drive yet, 20 yo going on 21 and I still haven’t got a driving permit. Well I do go for the law part of the driving school and supposed to drive by now but thanks to lock down of that year, it got fucking postpone to now.

I definitely want to finish my commission that I been postponed thanks to school and my curse “injury” on my right hand, it might not be as effective but I think it will get my job done as I healing it too. After finish those commission is to find more commission to do, if it even possible to find one after I kinda just disappear for a bit.

Next is “homework stream”, well not a homework anymore since it would be my winter break till the 23rd of next year. I want to make stuff for my portfolio to enter the university in the end of this year. I hope so at least. Plus I miss stream a lot, especially “talk and draw stream”. My homework stream might be a mix of no mic and talk stream depending on how my work place go gosh I still have to find new work place since I don’t think stuck with mom rn is a good idea.

I know not much people gonna join the stream much especially if I start to stream out of nowhere, but hey it do help me focus.

I honestly kinda worry of how the future going from now on, I’m not even sure if I can find a job and school the same time after the 23rd. I know I been pretty much work and study with my mom restaurant but I honestly want different kind of job that is not restaurant related, just look how my right hand turn up thanks to it now. So it will be a big ass change, if I even got or know what job I going to do. I honestly been limited to restaurants job since I was 13 that I have no idea is there anyone out there that need me or a job that going to pay at least my college (going University) fee.

And of course this turn into a frickin rant instead, good job, Ly.

But hey at least me got my right hand injured I manage try to change myself and it been a month that I did it. Honestly the longest goal I even keep and I’m quite proud of myself for once. Which are me train myself to write and draw with my left hand, been practicing it everyday, since if my right hand is so unbelievably wreck for the third time at this point in 4 years I might as well train my another hand to do the job preparing what can happen in the future and it been great so far.

Just look at them!!

Notice how the good one is frickin Tommyinnit-

Not just that, for two weeks I been try stretching myself, from stretch my arm, wrist, neck, and especially back, to get my posture back to normal since I learn that how I sit can cause the pain on my arm. And try to fix, retain myself to draw with my shoulder to avoid future wrist pain. I try to save and improve myself physically to avoid more pain, even tho it not a full exercise but it’s a starter, especially what I notice today that my back feel weird but notice that I wasn’t hunch my back at all today without thinking, something actually working and damn I’m impressed. I can actually can do something more than 2 weeks with no plan and became a habit let alone have no way to stop from feeling procrastinating or just forgetting unlike all the shit I try to do using planner. I did something somewhat good for myself, even how much I scare of the future right now but I hope can do as well as this even I only do for one month and it mean I can do longer than this. I have some hope.

This honestly is just a reminder to myself, it not supposed to be all rant and sentimental shit.

Well, overall to reminder myself for what I need to do after the final at 19th

Go to driving school and fucking finish it

Finish my commission for fucking finally now I know that I can draw with my left (if even possible, find more commission to do. It not up to me tho)

“Homework” stream and “talk & draw” stream in weekend

CRAFTING MY ART PORTFOLIO FOR UNIVERSITY

Continue improving myself physically

Find new job that hopefully not restaurants job for once to save my wrist

(If possible, add new stuff for Redbubble design if there’s good people out there who interested in my design)

Honestly, that’s it. This post just a reminder for myself. You have a goal now, Ly. You can fucking do it.

[mimiri22-6]

I JUST FOUND OUT BEE AND PUPPYCAT HAD A SECOND SEASON! GUESS WHAT I JUST FINISHED WATCHING!

Oh my fucking god holy shit, my guys! This show. This fucking show. Where do I even start! First off

SPOILERS!!!!!!

YOU DO NOT WANT TO WALK INTO THIS SEASON, THIS SHOW, WITH SPOILERS! DO NOT FUCKING LOOK, THIS IS 1000% SPOILER TERRITORY!!!

So I will be taking the extra step of taking my laptop out, and continuing this on there(and after I wake up because it's 4am and I regret absolutely NONE of this whatsoever because, guys, I love this show with everything I have left to my being, I swear, I will die for a third season)

Warning: This is a long one.

OKOKOKOK! I know I know! It’s been uh...A Month since I first posted this! BUT I am Here Now and Ready!!! I am less than 10 seconds into the first episode of season 2 and I am already So Ready to relive this!!(Dream SMP has Nothing on this show, God I Love This Show Far Too Much!!!!!!)

...First ten minutes...I have So Much I want to say...Just-just a lot of love...

okokokokokokokokokok!!!!!! I think I know how I’m going to do this now! One bullet for each episode! Let’s see if I stick with it.

Gentle Touch

In the first episode we already get a big game changer for Bee and her development. Bee becoming more responsible as a favor for Deckard. He asks her to take care of his family while he’s at cooking school and we already see her doing this. Going out to the ocean with Weasley, going out of her comfort zone for people she’s practically family to, which is why we got the beginning flashback, once again going out of her comfort zone to stop Puppycat from punching kittens, And Finally, coming out from her nap cupboard to face Howl and help pay for bills by eating ugly food.

Little Fingers

Ooh, this one has foreshadowing dream sequence. I would say more about it if it had more significance, but it’s really just what happens to Bee in the last ep. This episode brings more of Bee being responsible, trying to take her phone away from Puppycat so he stops making bad purchases. This episode made me realize what Puppycat’s role is this season, the child. Or something among those lines. He’s the same as he was last season, but it seems/is a bit more exaggerated because Bee isn’t doing the same things anymore. She’s started to care about consequences. And speaking about consequences, Toast announces she’s pregnant while confirming that she’s been staying...in Cass’s room(?)...weird, but ok, and by Tim pointing and Merlin’s reaction, it’s Merlin’s...but also everyone else seemed like they thought they were the culprit and I don’t want to think about the implications of that....MOVING ON-OH WAIT, And Cardamon’s mom is spouting magic tears that messes with the plants, so there’s that.

Snow and Violets

I’m going to be honest, I’m not 100% sure what to put here and I’m loosing steam. (I’ve been awake since 3 am...) But I think I can put something. The situation with Mr. Cup is the definition of being haunted by your past. The guilt and regret of cheating in the past has made him lose his motivation to give it his all in racing because, what’s the point? Motivation and not caring was his norm, so he just stuck with it. Until Bee, and now he can be a rainbow and sleep with less guilt and regret on his conscience. The thing with the island rapidly changing could be one of three things. Something to do with the ship that  Is the island, a metaphor for change, or something really cool the creators just wanted.

Day off Work

Not Too much to note for this ep overall. Puppycat totally did do the ‘wrecking the house in search for the owner’ thing dogs do. Finally, a dog trait! Every time I see Cardamon now I just get sad cause he’s 7, and should Not be doing landlord stuff. Bee showing worry about how Cardamon’s mom is still asleep and being worried about Cardamon himself, I’m just glad someone’s noticing. I keep forgetting that some people haven’t watched the pilot so they don’t know about Puppycat being a Space Outlaw, so when he found all his stuff under the apartment I was less surprised and more excited. The two last things I want to say is I think it’s interesting/cool/intriguing how the Wizard family just takes every weird thing either in stride, unquestioningly, or ignorance. Just trying to pretend it didn’t happen so they don’t have to deal with it(other than Crispin, but he’s coming up). And the last thing I just want to bring to light is CARDAMON BEING SO CUTE IN THE LAST SCENE! JUST BEING A CHILD! AND LAUGHING WITH HIS DOG! ON A FUNNY CHAIR! I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOR AND I WILL PROTECT THAT SMILE WITH MY WHOLE BEING!!!

My Favorite

Note, Pretty Patrick is also The Mayor. Alright. It’s definitely been a few months and you can see the relationship between Howl and Bee has gotten better, not that it was too bad to begin with, just a bit less peeved on Howl’s end. The theme of Bee being responsible is brought into play again with the train station scene. Telling Puppycat to not hit and the way Puppycat was acting around Patrick. All little kid stuff. Which also kind of clashes with what I thought was Puppycat being older than Bee by a lot, I’m honestly slowly getting more and more confused exactly how I should perceive Puppycat. THE FIRST REAL LOOK AT THE HAND GUYS! I’m still not sure what their deals are, but they have a corpse on their hands and that is already the biggest red flag. I have a guess as to what/who they are in relation to Puppycat and, by acquaintance, Bee, but I could be wrong, but I also can’t think of any other people they may be. I’ll bring it back up either the next time we see them or at the end.

Did You Remember

Grampa Puppycat cares about his granddaughter a whole lot. Don’t @ me, their dynamic is more confusing than a moving maze...Now this episode, ooh boy, it feels like a lot, but in a minimal way? First off, Cardamon finally breaks down about the stress of being a 7 year old landlord and Bee takes care of him for the day. Big Sis Bee For The Win! DON’T @ ME I MAKE UP MY OWN FAMILY DYNAMICS!!! Kind of continuing from the first sentence, Puppycat and Bee love each other(I Stand By Platonically For Them) so much already, for them it’s been a little over a year considering Puppycat fell into Bee’s life before her last birthday and now they’re celebrating another one. And I must admit, I can not for the life of me figure out wtf the deal is with the tears. They have little shapes of recent events in them and they make plants weird/straight up just make life! Like, What Even Is That?! Also, Cardamon finally gets a good sleep.

Bird Friend

Ok, so we got more ship pieces, a most likely reason as to why Puppycat was Like That in the last few episodes of season 1 and has been goopy every now and again in this season. Apparently eating things he shouldn’t eat make him Extremely off model and goopy. More hands! But not the rest of them this time around. I wonder if Sticky’s hunt for all the birds has any significance other than showing us another piece. Puppycat breaking down and spilling a few secrets after stress eating off the floor and Bee immediately saying no to someone else telling her what’s wrong with Puppycat and letting him come to her first instead of forcing him is always such a good lesson to have. Also, Cass is into weirdly shaped shiny things.

Two Clown Noses

Ah, it’s this one. The one that Really throws a wrench into the Bee/Deckard ship. THEY’RE BOTH SO CUTE! I CAN’T CHOOSE!!! This entire episode is just Crispin and Bee hanging out with the added angst of the beginning ‘story’. This world is full of such amazingly crazy characters and Crispin’s backstory is one of those crazier ones. Bee and him Lived Together and Know Each Other, he knows she’s a robot! My only question is, what happened that they broke up? WAIT- DID THEY EVEN BREAK UP?! It would be weird if they weren’t because they were living together and then they decide to live separate again would make no sense. I think I just jumped to the weirdest conclusion...Anyway! How would Puppycat get sick? I feel like that was just another thing they added to create different dynamics. The beginning birthday thing and the conclusion felt so real even though the cause was something so out there that I feel like only animated shows like this could pass, but also I feel like someone out there has done something similar, so what do I know. Yeah, not much else about this episode, it was mostly just Bee/Crispin stuff and character stuff. Gosh they’re so cute...but so is Bee/Deckard. Being a multishipper is hard...

Funny Lying

RIGHT! THEY’RE CALLED THE WARLOCKS! THAT’S THE TITLE I WAS FORGETTING! Tim knows everyone’s secrets, comes with the perk of having a lot of time and not talking much, you observe everyone else while they think you’re doing something else. I know from experience. Eavesdropping is a specialty of mine. SHIT THIS IS THE ONE WHERE CASS GETS THE MESSAGE DISSING HER FOR FALLING FOR TOAST FROM A COWORKER! I caught those vibes during the first season, but then the first half of this season came along and I was forced to drop those vibes in favor of cannon because TOAST WAS PREGOS WITH ONE OF CASS’S BROTHER’S KIDS! I’m good at catching gay vibes in fictional worlds, but I’m shit in the real world, just like everything else. And the thing is, we don’t get Any kind of explanation/closure for the entire rest of the season! We see Toast totally shocked reaction, probably moments before she was going to sneak attack Cass, but froze upon seeing that text. AND WE GET NOTHING ABOUT THAT FOR THE REST OF THE SEASON! Anyway, that was only like 2 minutes into the ep, this is taking forever. We got more Bee being responsible for Cardamon and getting rid of the tears, but the biggest part of this episode is undoubtedly Puppycat’s scenes. We got him sinking to the bottom of the ocean and getting cradled by flowers created by the tears next to the ship. We find out he was bullied and ridiculed in school as a kid and his best friend(idk what else they would be counted as), Violet, convinced him to leave their planet after they accidently summon their ship, leaving Puppycat’s mother behind. seeing how he cried about leaving her she seems to have been a great caretaker and he loved her immensely. We get the scene of Bee’s dad as a baby/Very young child on a mission, giving a presentation, and finding the candy to be a source of energy by cracking it open. Making me think, ‘Is that Bee’s fuel source? If it is, how would not taking full doses for two years effect her?’ because in the first season she splits the candy in half to share with Puppycat and in this season she didn’t eat the candy at all. Makes me even more worried for the future knowing what state she’s in when this season ends. With the last flower fever dream/memory it seems that the princess that he fell in love with was the one to make the final move to turning him into a ‘monster.’ Don’t worry tho, Bee saved him from the bottom of the ocean 

Golden Eyes

(I’m getting more and more tired as this goes one. I started doing this at around 12 this morning and now it’s nearing 6 pm. I’m loosing it!) We got another birthday and it’s Howl’s this time, though it’s not really his episode. The fish are attracted to the wish crystals for some reason and one eats a bit of it to be ‘human’ for a day. I love how the fish hated being a human and Weasley didn’t even notice it was a date. I don’t know if it was or not, but ending on that was funny. We got the return of the major douche from the season 1 finally and a mention of Moully. 

Why Don’t You Help Me?

(I took a break between episodes, aka I went tf to sleep, because I was falling asleep at the table and not really processing everything enough for what I’m trying to do) Ok, so this is a day in the life of Cardamon episode with supposed parelles to the Warlocks. We start with the red one stuck and the others unwilling to help...and then they start drawing Puppycat’s face on the 5th one’s corpse and these guys just do not care that it’s a dead body that they supposedly killed themselves. In short, they have all my fear because they are uncaring about body counts. Cardamon still goes to school on top of being a self proclaimed landlord and gets made fun of for being responsible and tattling at every chance he gets. Something I just noticed too is, at first I just assumed he was finally getting tired after being an adult in a child’s body for who knows how long, but now I’m thinking if he’s supposed to be asleep with Violet, his mom, then the reason for him being so tired is being awake too long. It could most likely be both, too. Just like Cardamon, I have no idea what all the tears mean. In the most recent one was see Moully as the charm in the center. What’s the pattern with these? Again we see Bee being responsible and taking care of Cardamon, making sure he gets home safe, tucking him in, and pulling an all night favor so he can sleep and get to school in the morning. Speaking of that, I can’t say I like Cardamon’s teachers all that much. I could rant about them, but this is already long and they’re not worth it. My only real question is, why the hell are their clothes so ragged and dirty? Do they not know how to bathe? Just, WTF? (either that or they’re Really not trying to hide their *ahem* activities from the kids, which just makes me want to punch sense into them or something)

Now I’m Really Alone

MOULLY!!!! Sorry, I just love him a lot. From what I can put together, he’s some kind of gift giving being. Giving wishes, exchanging good deeds and quick favors for other good deeds and favors. Just being Really nice and wanting to help everyone he comes across. This episode makes me see so much in common between Bee and Moully. They both want to help even when they don’t know how. Making messes and finding ways clean up those messes out of guilt and the feeling of obligation. They both have lost things they need to pick up and the knowledge that they have all the time in the world because they’ve both been alive for so long. It keeps getting hinted, but now kind of confirmed, that the Wizard’s know Bee is Weird because they haven’t seen her age. Hell, seeing how she interacts with Cardamon she could have even baby sat them. So all the Wizard’s know she’s Weird and, supposedly, only Crispin knew she was a robot. That was until Deckard found out in the season 1 finally. Once again bringing up the point of people in the Wizard family finding something out and ignoring it and hiding it. In the season 1 finally, Tim asked Cass if Deckard wasn’t depressed anymore, practically saying that Deckard has some form of depression. Depression being a mental illness that runs in families, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that some other members of the family have similar problems. One of the things I remember depression doing is the person will see a problem and ignore it. Something that many people in this show do with the weirdness around them and the emotional states/situations of the other people in the show. This season is about finally seeing the thing you’ve been ignoring and doing something about it. And that’s what Bee’s been doing this season, taking charge and finally getting her junk out of the ocean and getting REALLY far out of her comfort zone. She HATES water and the ocean, but she’s diving in to take back what’s hers and cleaning up a mess. There’s A Lot to analyze with this episode, the similarities of Moully’s and Bee’s situations and personalities, Puppycat being the responsible one again for the long run of things, the tears and how the wish crystals work, and the state of multiple character’s minds. Ignorance is bliss until it isn’t.

I Won’t Leave You Alone

Ok, SO MANY NOTES! Which makes sense seeing how it’s the last episode. First off, THOSE WARLOCK BASTDARDS VIOLATED MOULLY AND IF THEY WERE REAL I WOULD THROTLE THEM TILL THEIR HEADS POPPED OFF!!! I am a very protective person when it comes to things I care about. And I’m going to say it here and now incase something comes up of it, Cooking Prince gives be Colorful Vibes, if you know what I mean. You don’t follow someone home and bother them when they don’t want to be bothered unless you’re Into into them. That’s all I’m saying and if nothing comes of it, I will drop it. I’m barely hanging onto it to begin with. So, last episode we watched one of three hands punching the other hands to let Moully go, and in this episode it’s confirmed that the day Moully was pulled through the void, the 5th warlock died. My theory with that is, the 5th one was against getting Puppycat in some way and retaliated by fighting them off of Moully and then the others retaliated by killing them in some way. And the tears in this episode didn’t give life to the corpse, but grew new life over top of it, the tears can’t bring the dead back. The ship gets put back together and we see Puppycat being pretty selfish again, bringing the ship online while Bee gets scooped trying to help Moully. He indirectly helped, but only after he got what he wanted. Cooking Prince, an outsider, brings up how everything going on on the island is Weird and Cass celebrates someone acknowledging it. Once again, bringing back the ‘ignorance is bliss until it’s not’ thing going on around here. Cardamon does more childish things this episode, making a wish and crying in his mother’s arms. He got to finally let go of his responsibilities and let it out until he passed out, and now he gets to sleep again. Moully and Bee are out of commission and the Wizard’s+Cooking Prince stay one the island/ship to be with Bee even though they are mostly confused about EVERYTHING going on rn. Bee has multiple Bees now while she’s out, and so, they go looking for Bee’s dad. I have a feeling he has at least some white hairs by now.

I remember watching this season for the first time. I remember I definitely cried at multiple points, but I can’t exactly remember what points now. I didn’t cry this time, I was too busy taking everything in and trying to put what little pieces I could find together. The first season was to get us used to this world and get comfortable for a chill ride, but then it smacks you in the face with something much bigger at the very end. This season was to make you pay more attention and to question your surroundings. It was also about the first steps to taking charge of your life. If Bee didn’t do all the responsible things she did this season, the warlocks would have probably gotten Puppycat while the island went to shambles. Actions have consequences and that’s what this was about. I believe next season is why ‘Lazy in Space’ was the title. The characters are going to be in space, looking for Bee’s dad, and will acknowledge all the weird things going on while developing, excuse the pun, in out of this world ways. 

I can’t wait for season 3.

[tododorks]

synopsis: they loved you, they thought you loved them, so how could you just leave?

parings: bakugou katsuki / reader / midoriya izuku

warnings: cursing, angst, bakugou being one explosive boy

word count: 3.1k (i went overboard, whoops)

original request

.・。.・゜✭・.・✭・゜・。.

You’d known them both since you were all eight. You had just moved from New Zealand to Japan for your mother’s job and you didn’t know a lick of Japanese. When you first met them the only thing Bakugou would talk about was his quirk and how amazing he was, ignoring the fact that you couldn’t understand anything he was saying. Midoriya was behind him, smiling at you shyly and giving you a small wave.

When lunchtime came Midoriya invited you to hang out with him, and by him he meant Bakugou and his friends. It took a while to get you to understand him, but eventually he got the teacher to translate and you got the message. Bakugou continued to talk to you before his friend had to interrupt and tell him you couldn’t understand him.

He couldn’t believe he had actually talked to you the whole day without realizing you couldn’t understand him. He couldn’t believe you spent the entire day pretending to understand him. Before the teacher dismissed class at the end, Midoriya offered to teach you Japanese (though he wasn’t perfect at it). Although you were already being taught by your parents and another teacher, how could you say no?

When you were ten you stood up to Bakugou for the first time. He was being an asshole to Midoriya as usual and you’d usually just ignore it, but enough was enough.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You yelled, slamming your hands down on the table.

Midoriya tried to quiet you down, but it was pointless. It was the first time either of them had heard you raise your voice. They didn’t know whether to be frightened or impressed.

When you were eleven, you began to distance yourself from Bakugou and Midoriya followed suit. 

When you were eleven Bakugou realized just how much you meant to him, how much you both meant to him.

When you were twelve Midoriya realized how much he liked you. He realized he really liked you, that he wanted more than just friendship. And no matter how much he tried to deny it, he couldn’t help but feel the same towards Bakugou.

When you were thirteen the three of you were paired up for an end of the year project. It was awkward at first, the three of you hadn’t been together in a while, but soon it was back to how it was before. Except now whenever Bakugou would call either of you an idiot, it sounded almost...loving.

When you were fifteen, Bakugou was attacked by a villain and Midoriya attempted to help him while you stood to the side, screaming at him.

You were fifteen years old when you realized that you couldn’t bear to lose them. When you were asked them out later that week they were ecstatic, but confused. Both? Sure they were aware of their feelings for each other thanks to an awkward game of truth or dare, but they never thought it’d go further.

There were downs to your relationship as expected, especially when Midoriya developed a quirk out of nowhere. He said he was just a late bloomer, but you two knew better. Then Bakugou got kidnapped and the two of you went after him despite him telling the two of you that under no circumstances could you go after him.

. . .

“You could have been fucking killed!”

“Us? What about you?!” You yelled at him.

He let out a huff and sat down on the nearby couch, mumbling something. Izuku sat down next to his boyfriend, cautiously placing his hand on Bakugou’s back and rubbing his back. Izuku gave you a look of, “Go easy on him” and gestured to the seat on the other side.

You let out a sigh and sat on the other side of Bakugou. You sat awkwardly, hands folded in your lap, unsure of what to say next. And thankfully you didn’t have to because Bakugou was the first to break the silence.

“I just didn’t want to lose you,” He whispered. “I can’t lose you…”

Bakugou grabbed yours and Izuku’s hand. Izuku’s in his left and yours in his right. He kept his head down and tightened his grip on your hands. Izuku laid his head on Bakugou’s shoulder and closed his eyes, taking in the moment. After a few minutes, Bakugou squeezed your hands three times, something the three of you were taught in third grade.

A secret way to tell someone you love them.

. . .

When you were sixteen you kissed them for the first time. It was Bakugou’s birthday and the two of you planned a surprise party for him in the dorms. The three of you sat on the balcony outside his dorm room. It was too loud and he just wanted to spend time with you two away from all the dumbasses downstairs as he so kindly put it.

. . .

“What are you even writing in that damn notebook anyway, nerd?” Bakugou grumbled.

He wouldn’t admit it, but all he wanted was to cuddle with the two of you. Which he couldn’t do if Izuku was writing in his notebook the whole time. You could tell Bakugou was annoyed and you chuckled.

“Why the fuck are you laughing?”

“You’re really cute when you get all mad,” You looked up at him and smiled.

That damn smile.

Before Bakugou could retort, Izuku shut his notebook and grabbed his hand. “She’s right about one thing, you’re really cute, Kacchan.”

“Shut it and get over here.”

The three of you sat there with each other for a long time, none of you wanting the moment to end. It was rare that you were like this, what with all the training and school being a constant pain in the ass. It just made every moment spent together that much more special.

“Mm...Kacchan…” He groaned in response.

“Izu, you too...c’mere.”

They were both still half-sleep, Izuku’s arm wrapped around Bakugou’s chest, his head on his shoulder and Bakugou’s arms draped around his and your shoulders. You moved his arm off you slowly and sat yourself in the middle of them, causing Izuku to whine at the sudden added weight.

“Kacchan...happy birthday,” You mumbled, bringing up your hand up to his cheek, stroking it with your thumb and pressing your lips to his.

It was a short and awkward kiss. You weren’t a hundred percent sure of what you were doing, all you had to go off of were the animated movies for kids, which as you may expect weren’t very helpful. You didn’t know what to expect, but you sure didn’t expect Bakugou to pull you in for another kiss.

The two of you pulled away with a smile and you rested your head on his shoulder. He mumbled a quick ‘I love you’. Izuku shifted and looked at the two of you, eyes half closed.

“So, what about me? Don’t I get any kisses?”

“Mm, of course you do, Izu,” You leaned over and grabbed his shoulder to make sure you didn’t fall on him.

. . .

You were sixteen years old when you told them you first loved them. When you said that you would never leave them– when you promised that you wouldn’t leave them.

And you were seventeen when you vanished from their lives.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✭・゜・。.

“Fucking shit!”

Since your disappearance back in April, Bakugou and Izuku had been doing everything in their power to try to find you, but despite all their efforts you were nowhere to be found. Bakugou was grumpier and more irritable than ever before, but more than anything he was completely and utterly heartbroken.

Perhaps if it was only a week, maybe even two or three, he would’ve understood that you just need some time off from the whole hero shtick. But you had been gone for nearly five months.

He missed you, your smell, your touch, your voice, your smile– god, how much he missed that damn smile of yours. He missed waking up to you kissing his face and hearing that small giggle of yours when he’d call you an idiot. He missed the late night cuddle sessions that he’d have with you and Izuku. The late night cuddle sessions where the three of you would talk about the most random things. He missed when he’d be in the kitchen just making himself breakfast and you’d come up behind him and shower him in kisses.

Izuku’s heart broke every time he saw Bakugou beating himself up over your disappearance, which he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He was there for him during his breakdowns, he was there whenever he overworked himself and whenever he’d start to ‘blow up’.

He tried his best to make sure your disappearance wouldn’t completely wreck their relationship. He already lost you, he couldn’t lose Bakugou too.

. . .

“Kacchan! Please, just stop!” Izuku grabbed Bakugou’s arms in an attempt to stop him from exploding the room into a million pieces.

He yanked his arms away from his boyfriend’s grip, nearly pushing Izuku to the ground. He knew it was wrong, he knew he was hurting Izuku. But looking at Izuku only made his heart ache even more. How long before he would lose him too?

“How the fuck can I? She’s gone and it’s my fault! It’s my fault I wasn’t good enough for her, that..that I couldn’t protect her! And you fucking know what? Now’s she’s fucking gone!”

Hot tears ran down Izuku’s face, it felt as if they were burning him. “Katsuki!” He winced at the use of his first name and he knew it’d be better if he shut up.

“Katsuki…” He softened his tone. “I’m sorry for yelling but I...this is hard on me too! And it kills me that you think that this is your fault, because it’s not! It’s not your…” He paused and clutched his shirt as if that would ease the pain.

“It’s not your fault, Kacchan…not yours or mine,” He reached out to touch Katsuki’s cheek and surprisingly he leaned into his touch.

“Neither of know what happened to her and neither of us could stop it, the only thing we can do now is try our best to find her,” Bakugou leaned down and pressed his forehead against Izuku’s. “Okay, baby?”

He nodded in agreement and felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. But he wouldn’t let Izuku see him cry, he couldn’t. Izuku knew though.

��It’s okay to cry y’know…” He whispered, stroking his hair.

“Fuck…’m sorry, sorry, I just–”

“I know.”

. . .

They couldn’t believe it.

After nearly five months of you being missing, all of a sudden the pro heroes come to them with information on you? That they saw you? Izuku put his hand on Katsuki’s, praying that he wouldn’t go off on the heroes.

“Where was she?” He tightened his fists, but no reply.

“Where the fuck was she?!” Izuku whispered something to Bakugou, probably telling him to be more respectful even though he wanted to do the same.

Aizawa held up his hand. “It’s alright Midoriya, we understand,” He glanced over at Thirteen. “We’re just not sure you’d want to hear what we have to say.”

“Of course we want to fucking–” Izuku interrupted him.

“We do, please, Eraserhead.”

“We saw her with villains, but more specifically, she looked like she was with them willingly. In other words…we have reason to believe she’s become a villain and that’s why…”

“She disappeared…” They said in unison.

.

“Baby, we can’t go looking for her,” Izuku laid on his boyfriend’s bed, hugging a pillow as he watched Bakugou change into a hoodie and sweatpants.

“Don’t you fucking ‘baby’ me, I don’t care if we shouldn’t, because I fucking am going to go whether you like it or not.” He replied.

Izuku looked down and tried not to cry. Bakugou always told him he was such a crybaby, once he cried because he realized snakes don’t have arms or legs. He didn’t want to disobey direct orders from Eraserhead, but he also desperately wanted to see you. Even if it was true and even if you were a villain, he wanted nothing more but to hold you in his arms again.

“Are you coming or not, damn nerd?”

.

They’d been walking in the area Aizawa said that they’d spotted you. It had already been an hour, but they wouldn’t give up, they couldn’t give up. They had to find you. They didn't know what’d they would do if they didn’t.

After fifteen more minutes, they heard a familiar voice and it was as if somebody heard their prayers.

“Katsuki…Izuku…” They saw you on the other side of the road.

You were wearing a black hoodie, hood up and a black mask covering your mouth in an attempt to try to stay hidden. But seeing them made you forget everything you’d been told when you first became a villain. They ignored every instinct they had and ran to you. They could have been ran over, but it was late and they couldn’t help it. It had been five, long and painful months without you. All they wanted was to hold you, to kiss you, to tell you much they loved you and missed you.

“N/N…” Izuku pulled away and touched your face, dragging his finger along your cheek, checking if it was really you.

“It’s me, Izuku. It’s really me,” You always knew what he was thinking.

You looked over at Bakugou. He was being uncharacteristically silent and it terrified you. Did he hate you? Honestly, you wouldn’t blame him if he did. You did leave out of the blue after all. Not a note, not even a text or email to let them know you were safe or if you were even alive.

“Katsuki–”

“Don’t you fucking call me that,” He seethed. “You don’t get to call me that anymore, not after you just fucking left us like that.”

“Kacchan, don’t you think you should go easier on her?” Izuku touched his shoulder, but Bakugou flinched away and glared at him.

“No, don’t you dare fucking protect her after she just left us, and– and to become a fucking villain!” Izuku looked down at the ground, he knew Bakugou was right.

Bakugou looked over at you, anger and sadness in his eyes. “And you..you! You fucking left us broken and miserable. We looked for you for weeks, we even set up those dumb ass posters owners put up when their dogs get lost. Do you know how many times Deku came to my room in the middle of the night, crying and a mess because he had a nightmare where he found you dead? Do you know how fucking hard it was to walk into class everyday, to walk into the common room and see the empty seat where you should’ve been? Can you even understand the pain… the fucking pain we felt when everybody, even our own parents, told us that we should just fucking give up?! That..that there was no fucking hope and that you were..dead? Look in me in the eyes, and answer me. Because I know you can’t even began to understand what we felt, and do you know how I fucking know? Because you left, you left willingly and fully aware what’d you’d be leaving behind. Your friends, your family, us.”

When you looked up at Bakugou, all you saw were tears streaming down his face and Izuku rubbing his arm trying to soothe him as he covered his own mouth with his hand, trying to contain his sobs.

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. You left fully aware that there would be no going back. And you did it anyway. You clenched your fists and let out a deep sigh.

“You’re right, Katsu–Bakugou, I did leave willingly. But please, just hear me out before you leave.”

Izuku had stopped crying now and Bakugou looked down at him to decide what to do next. He was silent for a moment, deciding whether he should let you explain or not. He decided on the latter and shook his head.

“Y/N…” He looked up at you with a blank expression. “We loved you, we still love you, but you…you left us without a damn word and now, it’s the first time we’ve seen you in months and it’s as a villain? The exact opposite of what we’ve been striving to be our entire lives?”

“No!” You screamed, startling both of them.

Just like that time when you were ten and yelling at Bakugou for teasing Midoriya.

“That’s what you two wanted! That’s what you two have always wanted! And I know, I know you two are going to be the best fucking pro heroes ever, but me? I’m not cut out for that shit, okay?”

“You didn’t have to become a villain! You could’ve just dropped out and we wouldn’t be here right now, we could’ve been happy.” Izuku snapped.

“What’s the point, huh, Izuku?” You stepped closer and roughly grabbed his arm. “What’s the fucking point of being ‘Perfect Little Miss Goody Two Shoes’ your entire life? Where’s the fun in that, huh? Please enlighten me, why should I waste my entire life helping out others when it doesn’t help me in any way? You too, Kacchan, please tell me why.”

Before Izuku could reply, Bakugou pulled your arm off of Izuku.

“Fuck off.” You smiled at him and placed your arms behind your back.

But it wasn't the same as before.

“Who the fuck are you?”

You weren’t the same.

You put your hand on his shoulder and leaned in, whispering in his ear. “Same person as I always was.”

Izuku heard the faint police sirens in the background and tugged on Bakugou’s sleeve. “We should go, Kacchan, before we get in trouble.”

“Shit,” You muttered under your breath, you knew you shouldn't have gone out there again, not after your former homeroom teacher had spotted you.

But you had to see if they would come.

“Fuck, you’re right.” Izuku grabbed Bakugou’s hand to start to run, but Bakugou stood still, staring at you.

“I swear to god, if you fucking touch him–”

You laughed, but not the laugh he missed so dearly. “Please, as if I have time to track either of you down and make a big fuss,” You began to walk backwards and you smiled at him. For a moment, just a moment, they saw the old you.

“See ya Izuku, bye Kacchan!”

The last thing they heard was an “I love you!”, followed by a short laugh before you were gone from their sight.

That damn laugh.

It haunted them.

[dawniebb]

Face reveal bc yes

So, guys...especially from the Renegades fandom bc i’m the most active there: you saw the title lmao. This will...barely get notes (i wonder if it’ll get notes at all) buuUUUT YEAH LET’S GOOOO (If you’re gonna reblog pls be respectful bc i have issues and btw reblog ONLY if we are mutuals)

THIS IS ME! <3 HELLOOOO!!!

Now, if you want to stop here, do it. If you don’t...well

I’m going to tell you a story about myself and why I decided to post this.

First of all, I’m not celebrating anything. I’m just celebrating me, I guess (?) and in fact I’ve been wanting to do this since my parents got me a She-Ra cake for my 20th birthday back in May, because I loved that thing and felt the physical need to shove that thing into everyone’s faces But I didn’t because I didn’t feel ready enough...then that thought left my mind, and it came back like two weeks ago.

I’ve had mental issues since I was in like...elementary school. I’m sure I had felt depressed before I turned 12; however, the first memory I hold of feeling so, it’s when I was already 12. Because it was then when I realized that I wasn’t just a dumb kid who didn’t know how to make friends xd To this day, I genuinely feel like I was suffering from isolation bullying; you know xd my classmates purposely excluded me from activities, they would find any excuse for not letting me join their work teams and stuff like that; during my last year at elementary school, I only had like one friend, and that one friend and I shared a sort of abusive/toxic relationship, as in: manipulation, “we’re best friends. you should only talk to ME”, and then this friend turned her back at me too, because she decided to join the rest of the group and ignore me.

lol.

And I remember wondering what was I doing wrong. Like, why didn’t people like me; why didn’t they want to hang out with me; why did everyone seem to have friends except me. And then I got trapped into a very...dark place, and I remember being overthinking one day, because I tend to overthink a lot...and I remembered this specific kid who was in the same class as me.

I was in the line for the teacher to check my homework, and this kid, a boy, was behind me.

You see. I’ve always been chubby xd I don’t think I’ve ever been skinny since I was 2 years old or so, because by the time I was in kindergarten my classmates’ moms were already calling me a ‘little meatball’ thinking it was a fucking adorable nickname because Mexican moms can be pretty shitty sometimes don’t let the media stereotypes fool you not all of them are all cheerful and upbeat and when I was in elementary school, for some reason, besides being chubby, I had a really bad posture. And this boy who was behind me started imitating my way of walking and his friends were laughing, so I turned around and asked him wtf his problem was xd and he turned around to his friends and asked “Do you see how hunchback she is?” like I wasn’t even there xd and I genuinely tried to slap him but I couldn’t, and he said “Yo, stop moving because you’re going to cause an earthquake”

And my mom has always felt personally attacked for the fact I’m...u know, fat. She has always been very insistent on the fact I need to lose weight and stuff like that. And her, mixed with my experiences at school, made me feel like I wasn’t enough.

But my mind started saying things like “And u know why you aren’t enough? Because you’re fat”

Because, like, the day of the hunchback insult, when I told the teacher, who was a very shitty teacher btw but i’m not talking about her again today (i’ve already talked about her in MANY of my university papers, because I’m studying to be an English teacher), she turned around at him and said “Don’t listen to HER” and to this day I still don’t know why xd

But it made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Because I was fat.

Lol x2.

To this day, I still don’t know if I have an ED. Like, I genuinely don’t know. But I can safely say that, if I have one, it’s more likely BED... because, through the years, I managed to lose weight when I turned like 15 and I had my quinceañera party, but then first year of high school came and I had a relapse into depression...like, this might come off as a very unpopular opinion, but junior high school was dope for me x’d I remember it as one of the best years in my life, right after my second and third year in high school (high school in Mexico lasts only three years) and so...when I started my first year in high school and got fucking depressed again, I gained ALL that weight back, and even doubled it. During my second year of high school, I met my friends. The friends I still keep with me to this day. And they accepted me like the fucking train wreck I was, failing math like three times in a row and crying about it every single one of those times  because I’m pretty sure I have dyscalculia but my parents won’t listen to me they think i’m just lazy when it comes to math even though they know i cant even read a fucking clock . And them, along with my another very close friend who I met via fanfction when I was 12, helped me go through it. Like, I did have some issues with my body during high school, but not as much as you would expect. They were getting pretty bad in my first and second semester, but during the other four my friends managed to stop me from losing my mind, even when it all went to shit in my third year again for different reasons.

Then I graduated from high school, and I made friends there too. Although my best friends are still my friend from fanfiction, my friends from high school and just one of my university friends. And you know...I was left...pretty scarred from the shit that happened during third year of high school, and even if I didn’t feel like I was *that* depressed, I did gain a lot of weight.

Like, the highest I’ve ever been. Then my dad got sick during October from last year, then my two doggies were murdered god i fucking hate my neighbors the same day my dad was released from the hospital and my mom went kinda nuts during December and I wanted to just...yeah.

So I did a lot of emotional eating. Like, y’all don’t understand.

It was like...I would go to uni and eat a brownie. Then chocolates on my way home. THEN a “a snack” like...fucking rice krispies. Then a huge ass meal, with soda bc why not. Then I would have either cookies or hot cheetos as a treat after my huge ass meal,

I’m a short person xd carrying that much weight was making my ribs and back hurt, as well as my legs and feet; my breathing was freaking awful, and there were some days were I got SO paranoid I just said things like “i’m gonna die today” or “out here trying to get diabetes like the rest of your family, aren’t you??” :’) but i didn’t tell anybody. My parents are not really an option in this case, BUT I didn’t tell my friends, because then I would have to explain that I ate a lot and that was something I was EXTREMELY ashamed of.

When February came, I was scared of going out, because I knew I would have to choose what clothes to wear and nothing fit me anymore and, the things that did, looked super stretched on me and, u know, I was sore. My health was getting bad. But I didn’t like to feel that way.

AND I MUST CLARIFY HERE. I’M WORKING ON THAT. I’M ACTUALLY A BODY POSITIVY DEFENDER, I JUST DIDN’T LIKE HOW *I* LOOKED AND, BESIDES, I WAS GETTING SICK. I GENUINELY THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE AT SOME POINT. I’M NOT SAYING BEING FAT OR CHUBBY IS DISGUSTING. NO. I BELIEVE ALL HUMAN BEINGS ARE EXTREMELY BEAUTIFUL. AND IF I’M WRITING THIS IS BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO KNOW RECOVERY IS DISGUSTING AND DIFFICULT SOMETIMES AND THAT IF YOU’RE GOING THROUGH SOMETHING LIKE THAT: I’M SORRY. NOBODY SHOULD EVER FEEL LIKE THAT. I SUPPORT YOU. AND I HOPE THINGS GET BETTER. AND NO MATTER WHAT OTHERS SAY, YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL. YOU ARE TO CHANGE ONLY IF YOU WANT TO CHANGE. BECAUSE IT’S YOUR BODY. KEEP HOLDING ON.

But going back to the story...

My friends used to tell me I looked pretty all the time, which I appreciate a lot to this day. But my parents were like

Me: I’m fat and I look deformed.

Them: I agree.

Because yeah.

Just before the pandemic madness happened, I went on a school trip with my uni friends and one of them triggered my isolation trauma in the worst way possible...and that, somehow, ruined ALL the photos I took throughout the trip. Because I wasn’t enough. Because I was deformed and fat and I looked like an apple. Because nobody wanted to be seen near me. And my personality was shitty.

Like, I should’ve known I was worth it. I’m still worth it and I know that. But I wasn’t less worth it when I was chubbier. And maybe I didn’t look as bad as my head made me believe. But at the time my mental health was extremely awful.

Now, covid happened.

Not gonna lie. Quarantine fucked me up as much as it fucked everyone else, but for me...by not going out, I stopped being near trigger foods, and I was even able to consult a dietitian.

I’ve lost 15 kg since March. And I’ve managed to love my past self, but I love this one because changing it was my decision. Sure, my parents didn’t help a lot, but in the end it was MY decision. I’ve come to accept I was worth it even when I felt disgusted by myself, and all of those awful things people said or did to me, like my friend during that trip...

I didn’t deserve any of those things. Because NO ONE deserves to be treated that way.  No one deserves somebody else making fun of them. No one deserves somebody else doing awful things to them that they know damn well that they trigger their childhood trauma. No one deserves to be judged for the way they look.

I was in a very dark place, and sometimes I’m still inside there. And like...during all those times, I kept posting in here.

I remember being next to my dad in the hospital, telling him “Guess what? Supernova drops this week” or “We’re going to watch TDP together, right?” or “Let me talk to you about She-Ra...” ....those were things that like...saved my life for a while, though mostly Supernova. Because, actually, Marissa Meyer has helped me in my fucking darkest years x’d from my third year of high school until now.

Her books didn’t take my depression away, but they did make things a little lighter for me, even when I felt like dying.

And I know this fandom is like..full of minors, so...I don’t know if any of you need to hear this: But you’re worth it.

If you want to change anything in your body, do it because YOU want to.

Because YOU’LL like you better.

Because it’s YOUR body, and it’s the only part of yourself that you and other people can touch.

Nobody should ever tell you you’re worthless because of your weight and your physical appearance. And if they ever do, then they’re the ones who should apologize, not you.

Nobody has the right to mistreat you, abuse you, or use your own body against you.

As for me...my ribs don’t hurt anymore. Nor does my back or my feet, and my breathing is getting better; I took the conscious decision to lose weight but, like I said, now that I’m not in such a dark place, I’m staring to realize that the past me wasn’t as hideous as my mind was making me believe. She was okay; she was broken inside, but she didn’t deserve anything that happened to her, nor did she deserved to treat herself that badly.

I posted my photo just to celebrate that I can finally said I’m not disgusted anymore. I can finally see myself in pictures again. And see my own reflection. Or go through my closet. Or do my makeup, because I LOVE doing my makeup and I was even ashamed of that. I’m not fully okay yet, but I’m healing.

So, if there’s any little Dawnie around here: I hope you give yourself a chance and realize you’re beautiful.

I hope that, if you change, it’s because you wanted to do it.

I hope you know that it’ll get better even if the healing process it’s not that easy.

I hope you know there’s people who love you.

I hope you know that you are beautiful. You were always beautiful and, no matter what path you choose, you’ll always be beautiful.

And worth it.

And human.

And important.

Take care of yourself, because you’re wonderful, no matter your size <3

[loopsforlupin]

A Million Things I See

   * So I was listening to the soundtrack of “The Greatest Showman” because I’m a sucker for Zac Efron and Hugh Jackman singing, and being all sorts of sexy! AND MY GIRL ZENDAYA IS IN THIS FILM I MEAN CAN YOU BLAME A GIRL! Ahem… anyway. “A Million Dreams” came up and then BAM! This sweet little thing popped up in my head and demanded, quite fiercely to be brought to the page, it had sharp knives, I was forced..... :) Enjoy! It’s long loves!

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   Sirius was a nervous wreck. He kept fiddling with his tux, messing with his cuff links, running his hands through his hair, then immediately regretting the reaction and fixing his messed up hair. Then he repeated the whole thing, occasionally he would act as though he was fixing his suit of some imagined wrinkles. The white material was flawless, and he expected nothing less seeing as James was mother henning him worse then his mother. Euphemia had tears in her eyes as she watched her youngest son, standing there in the mirror, looking at his reflection while waiting for the proper time. Her precious baby! Her youngest son! All dressed up and ready to walk down that aisle, and she couldn’t help but be an emotional wreck. Her two babies, were all dressed  up in the best suits, and one of them was married and had an adorable baby boy, and the other was preparing to walk down the aisle towards the love of his life. She couldn’t stop the tear that fell at the thought. 

    James was riding a high so high he wasn’t sure he was ever gonna come down again. His brother was marrying his best friend. it was like a dream come true. His two favorite people were getting married, and too each other no less! He fixed Sirius’s tie for the third time, letting his hands flatten it one more time before he dared to look at the clock. FINALLY! It was time. He was more worried about this wedding then his own. When he had married his darling Lily, he had only felt pure joy, he had all but danced down the aisle and he had had to lean against Sirius and Peter, Remus had been on Lily’s side acting as her man of honor, when he saw his bride coming towards him. James hoped Sirius had the same kind of happiness. Though right now, Sirius seemed to be more nervous than anything. He had gone back to pacing the hotel room they were currently in. 

     “Pads, its time. You ready?” Sirius whipped his head up, looked at James and James knew he was gonna need another minute yet, Sirius looked about two seconds from having a panic attack. He shared a look with his mother, who quietly left the brothers alone for a minute.

      “Come on Pads, what’s up?” Sirius looked at James, his grey eyes rolling in turmoil. “I don’t deserve this Prongs! I don’t! I mean look at Moony! He’s so fucking gorgeous. And I mean look at me! I’m a disinherited Black, who’s entire family hates him. I mean Moony already has enough to deal with he doesn’t need to deal with my crappy life. I can’t bring him down to that level. He’s so smart James! And I’m just an absolute mess, the only reason I did as well as I did in school was because you and Moony and Peter forced me to study. He deserves BETTER!” James finally got his brother to quit his manic pacing, and put him in a char. He then silently left his brother, who was in the midst of panicking, and went to find the only person in the whole world who get through Sirius’s thick head right now. 

       James walked down the hall, smiling weakly at his mother as he passed her and his father, before he entered the room down the hall from his brother. Inside he found Peter and Lily calmly drinking tea and quietly conversing in the small sitting room. Lily was sporting a small smile as she talked to his best friend. Seeing him, she pointed to the small bedroom just off the den. Inside the room he found Remus John Lupin, who was calmly putting on his tux jacket, a deep black compared to Sirius’s own white. He was handsome, deeply so James thought, and Sirius was a lucky man. If only he got over this whole panic thing. James shook away his thoughts and knocked on the doorway, letting Remus know that someone was there.  

       “Hey mate! You’re looking sharp huh?” Remus smiled and chuckled, trying to act like James’s comments didn’t make his cheeks heat up with a blush. “Shush Prongs! What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be with Sirius?” James sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed, looking at his best friend. “Yeah, except he’s working himself up into a full tizzy. I was wondering if you’d be able to come to the door and just talk to him. He’s getting pretty bad.” Remus looked at his best friend, one of them at least and realized how bad Sirius must be if he came all the way down here to get him, knowing that Sirius had wanted to follow tradition as much as possible. Which meant that he hadn’t seen his fiancé for a whole day. “Of course.” 

      James led Remus through the hallway back to the door he had left only just two minutes ago. He slipped through the door, motioning for Remus to wait. He then grabbed Sirius, who was still muttering on the chair to himself, and dragged him to the door. James pressed Sirius’s forehead to the door, and banged one hand on the door.     

       “Alright Remus, he’s listening.” James then stood there, pressing one hand on his brother’s back. 

      “Pads? You okay love?” Remus’s voice was quiet, and full of love, which made Sirius relax. “No, I’m freaking out! Baby I’m not good for you. You can do so much better. You're so smart, and you’re gorgeous. And I’m just a nothing... I don’t know why you ever said yes to me.” Remus was silent for a moment, his shock not letting him immediately respond to his upset fiancé. However he shook it off, and leaned his head against the door. “Baby open the door a little please. Please baby!” Sirius opened the door a little, and as soon as Remus could, he shoved his hand through the door. and held it out to his poor love. Sirius grabbed it with his own hand. 

      “Now you listen to me Sirius Orion Potter-Black! You are not a nothing. You are the most incredible man I know. You are the one who reached a hand out to me in friendship for the first time on that train. You were the one who figured out my secret, and instead of screaming and running away, you used illegal magic to find a way to help me. You are the most caring, loving, incredible person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Despite all the terrible things that have happened in your life, despite the rude people you were born too, you have the most amazing capability to love.

      “You want to know why I said yes to you?” Remus was quiet for a while, waiting for Sirius to say something before he continued. A quiet yes was eventually heard, and Remus had to stop himself from pushing the door open and wrapping his darling boy into his arms, he appeased himself by squeezing his hand. 

      “I said yes because when I was with you, I could actually imagine getting married. I couldn't do that before. I was sure that I would never have a spouse, that I would never have that person who I could feel so sure about that I would bind my magic to them. But when we started dating, I imagined this day so many times baby. I imagine you in a tux, I imagined James standing beside, acting like a proud peacock. I imagined Lily standing beside me, doing that small smirk of her’s that lets everyone around them know she knew this was gonna happen even before they did. I imagined Peter making our wedding cake, because he’ s the only one either of us trust to get the balance just right between my sweet tooth, and your bitter tongue. I imagined your dad walking you down towards me, your mom crying in the crowd. I’ve imagined every aspect of this day Sirius. All because I was seeing it with you. You know what else I can see now because of you baby?” 

    Sirius had tears streaming down his face, and his throat felt all tight , but he swallowed, and forced his throat to work. “What else?” 

      Remus smiled, knowing that Sirius was listening to him, and that his love wasn’t panicking anymore. “I see us married, living in your uncle’s cabin that he gave you, Chalet Étoile, remember, the one we visited before we graduated. We spent a week there, and I told you that I loved it, and then you got a big smile on your face and you asked me to move in with you after we graduated. We kissed in the back garden and then you got bit by a gnome? I see that every time I look at the ring on my finger. I love my ring baby. It makes me so happy to see it on my finger, I love it almost as much as I love that seeing the ring on your finger. I also see us, laying in bed, a large black cat on our laps. I see James and Lily and baby Harry coming over for game nights, and I see us hosting your parents there. I see Peter and maybe Mary coming round, asking for advice, or just to have dinner. I see all our friends laughing and drinking in our living room. I see us celebrating our marriage anniversary, with my family and yours, all mixed together, just how they should be. I see me reading my books by the fire, and you lounging on that plush carpet in front of the fire, playing with that snitch James gave you. 

      “ I see you sitting on the kitchen counter in the morning, a large cup of black tea in your hands, your legs swinging back and forth as I make us bacon sandwiches, with the brown sauce, because we both know that I’m hopeless in the kitchen otherwise.” Here Sirius had to giggle, because that statement was absolutely true. Remus was smart, but he could not cook to save his life besides bacon sandwiches. “I see you washing the dishes, and me sitting on the counter watching you. I see you and me being a happily married couple living our happy lives baby. I see us not fighting a war, not looking over our shoulders every twelve seconds, not having to listen to the radio every night to hear if our friend’s names are gonna be called out as a list of casualties. I see a million days of us being married, and baby? Its not long enough but it’s a damn good start I say. I love you baby, now and forever. My love is not going any where Sirius, it’s gonna be you and me, Pads and Moony, until death. I love you. Okay?” 

    By the end of Remus’s speech, Sirius was smiling, and crying, this time though the tears were happy instead of sad. James who had been silently standing there had tears in his eyes as well, and the largest smile that he had ever had. He loved these two idiots, he really did, and he was so glad that his baby brother had someone who loved him as much as Remus loved Sirius, because it was the kind of love that made James believe that despite the war, their little group of friends would be just fine, especially now that Peter seemed to be happier. They had found Mary, battered and bruised, and a little scared but she was alive, and Peter for the first time in a long time seemed to be his old self. James shook away dark thoughts, and clapped his hands, getting the attention of the two love struck morons at the door. 

     “Well, now that I am a crying mess, and so is Sirius, Moony, I think its time you two lovelies go and get married. So Moony, you go out and stand with my darling wife. I’ll find my dad, and get you Sirius as soon as I can. Let’s go boys.” The boys squeezed hands one more time before they split apart. James got Sirius calmed down, and sent a small charm that reduced the puffiness of his eyes, and reduced the red coloring of them as well. Then James called his dad and mum into Sirius’s room, and told his baby brother that he would see him at the altar. 

      The wedding had been beautiful, and James hadn’t thought he could cry anymore, but hearing his brother and his best friend declare before their families and friends to always be with one another and then binding their magic together forever proved him wrong. Well James couldn’t be blamed for his emotions okay? The reception was a blast, watching them dance and drink and acting like there was no war. It was the best thing James had seen in forever. Remus and Sirius returned from their reception to their small little cottage, nestled into the woods. Sirius looked at his husband, and that thought made him smile like a fool, HIS HUSBAND, Merlin, he was married. To Remus. He, Sirius Orion Potter-Black, was married to Remus John Lupin. Life was perfect. At least for now, tomorrow there would be a war to fight, friends to bury, loved ones to look for, but for now, Sirius had his husband, and their lives were just beginning. And Sirius really wished that Remus would get to see the million things he saw them doing. Sirius was going to do his damnedest to make sure his husband got that much from life. After all, Sirius had seen a million things as well, and he would start to make them happen tomorrow, but for tonight, he had a husband in his bed, and he was going to enjoy tonight. 

[talkingwoman]

My Third Charmiversary

Three years ago today, aboard a flight in Spain, I watched CMBYN for the first time and was simply overwhelmed by the perfection of Luca Guadanigno’s masterpiece.  Sure, he completely re-visioned Aciman’s novel and in collaboration with Timmy Chalamet, created a dramatically different Elio, but the result was sheer genius.  More on this topic another time.  Today I am awash in almost unbearable nostalgia for what seems to me to be irrevocably lost. Whether due to the collapse of a marriage, the pandemic, or  stunning explosion of a salacious scandal, I’ve witnessed the erosion of a carefully curated image of a relationship between two beautiful actors that was essentially a mirage.  What was that oft-repeated line, “time was the only enemy for Oliver and Elio”?  No one told me there was an expiration date on the Charmie ship and despite my early statements admonishing myself as much as others on Tumblr that these men were two very skilled actors who were being well compensated to promote a love story as convincingly as they could, I nonetheless quickly succumbed to the allure of Charmiehood.

Perhaps my complicity in the shipping experience is the reason I feel so desolate as I watch Armie’s career, character, and reputation being destroyed by what appeared initially to be gossip at best, and an abandoned fuck-buddy’s brutal revenge at worst.  And I state again, I never “got” the animus toward Elizabeth Chambers expressed by many in the fandom, and believe her alleged role in a conspiracy to destroy the father of her children is about as plausible as the latest post from Q-Anon.  As an aside, people who knew that Hammers from the times they visited Key West, affirm that they were a couple very much in love, mutually supportive, and happy.  That beside the point, and I am not trying to persuade anyone to change their opinions about it, the undoing of a 13 year relationship and the emotional consequences seemed to throw a grenade into Armie’s life. As we watch this train-wreck continue to unfold, the old Hollywood line “Ya can’t make this stuff up”  rears its ugly head.  And to no good purpose, at that.

Most sorrowful to me has been the complete silence from  any and all of Armie’s professional colleagues; directors, screen writers, actors, etc.  I actually considered contacting all his former directors to implore them (yeah, I know this is school of Duh)  to say even the most vanilla of comments, like “Armie was a complete professional who was a credit to this film.  As to his personal life, I choose to respect his privacy...”And then two days ago, when Jarecki, his director in the film Crisis, did speak up it was to imply Armie was comparatively unimportant to the film and that his social media woes had crippled Jarecki’s work.  Yeesh.  Sorry to any who find my opinion offensive, but these public silence episodes from friends and colleagues are betrayals of trust, affection, and relationships that are no less brutal because they are quiet.

You may have noticed, if you have read these three paragraphs, that I have studiously avoided the issue of Armie’s guilt or innocence because I realized at some point in the last 3 months, that I simply do not know the truth of any of this great mess.  And, given the realities of our “woke” world, the MeToo movement, the damage to Armie’s life and career are likely irrevocable.  Even within the fandom, for some there really is no going home again to that lovely pre-topless Vespa rides and  pap walks with wanna-be starlets, era when romantic Charmie dreams seemed at least vaguely possible.  I cannot guess at peoples’ motivations, I can only look at the observable behaviors.  What is apparent is that while one member of the Charmie duo is enduring a very public thrashing, the other is parading around in  different designer casual wear for several consecutive days on the streets of NYC.  To what end?  Does one just wake up one week and say, “Aha! Time for some photos of me stylin’.”?  Maybe, just maybe, these two realities, and the principals involved, have little, if anything to do with the other today.  I wonder this sometimes.  And it makes me yearn all the more for that lost, lovely once upon another time. 

 Toldja I was lost in nostalgia today