#'please shut the fuck up about hermit crabs' the answer is going to be no

[kindlingkeen]

🌿 for the game please! Also related to that, any tips on how to actually get yourself to sit down & write? You seem to have a pretty set schedule of sorts, or at least something in the works. Been trying to write and despite having the ideas & the outline, can’t actually do it.

For this ask game

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

Oof, this is a hard one. I think a change in scenery combined with self-care helps. Take a drive or go for a walk, visit a park, go sit at a cafe, take a bath, hang out in your backyard and watch the birds, whatever. Let the ideas sort of percolate in the back of your mind without actively thinking about them. That usually leads to an aha! moment for me. And if not, I at least spent my afternoon doing something better for myself than scrolling on social media.

Having a friend to bounce things off of also really helps (either in person or over the internet). Or, you know, your dog, cat, iguana, hermit crab, whatever. The power of saying something out loud is significant. Half the time I ask my brainstorming buddy a question, by the time they start to answer I interrupt them to say, “no shut up, I figured it out, I have to write this down right now.”

As far as the rest of your question … friend, I’ve been fucking around on Tumblr all day while avoiding working on my wip, so I’m hardly a beacon of hope on this front. Don’t be too hard on yourself, that’s probably the first step.

Once I have something completely plotted out and mostly written, setting a deadline to post it helps me push it to completion (otherwise I just edit endlessly). If I set a deadline for something in a less complete stage, I usually just blow through it and then feel bad about myself (case in point, the elusive Territorial Disputes).

For actually sitting down and writing, for me starting is usually the hardest point. I get anxious about getting something right or knowing exactly what I want to say, so I procrastinate getting started. Reminding myself that it doesn’t have to be perfect, that I actually like writing, that I will feel so good after just an hour of putting words to a page — that can get me going.

Routines also help. I always write on my iPad with a specific set of noise-canceling headphones on. I have playlists for different stories/characters. If I’m really desperate, there’s a cup of bengal spice tea next to me. It’s sort of like creating muscle memory, so when I set myself up that way it helps flips my brain over to writing mode.

Thanks for the ask, anon! I hope this is helpful! 💙

#keen converses #truth or dare ask game #writing

[toytulini]

i really Should rewatch the librarians...

#toy txt post #but not. right now #right now. i need to. go clean all these fucking filters. i am just putting it off perpetually. so much. its not as urgent #bc there are no live fish to worry about being impacted by it so my motivation to start cant be Kickstarted by going like GO DO IT #FOR THE FISH bc there is no fish. so now it is just another haunting and overwhelmimg task i cant get myself to start 😔 #also. at some point i want to read more about hermit crabs................NOT right now either bc i need to clean shit first before i #get sucked into hermit crab hyperfixation research spiral where i do Nothing Else All Day and at the end of the day im shaking from hunger #cos i forgot to eat and just thinking about hermit crabs and my brain is just fried and my parents are going to be like #'please shut the fuck up about hermit crabs' the answer is going to be no

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Final Faevor|| Agatha and Kaden

TIMING: Current, after Predator and Fae and this phone call LOCATION: Kaden’s apartment PARTIES: @detective-keen and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Agatha makes good on her favor to Lydia. CONTENT WARNINGS: Gun use, gun wound

You will shoot Kaden Langley.

Like an itch, the thought did not seem to just go away. Agatha would try to think of something else, anything else, and still her mind went back to that thought. You will shoot Kaden Langley. She had been told to do it, and she would, because it was the right thing to do, because she owed Lydia this much after all. Eyes on the road, the detective wondered if there was not another way to deal with this. She didn’t want to shoot Kaden. What good would that do? They had a justice system. It was not perfect, but it was better than what she had to do.

Her gun felt heavier than usual, against her ribs. She tried to ignore it, and kept her eyes on the road. The radio had been turned off, and all she could hear was the sound of the engine, the road, and nothing else. Yet she did not even notice the absence of music. She was usually so attentive to every detail, but now, her mind only focused on this one single thought. You will shoot Kaden Langley.

It was not her voice that she heard when she thought about it, but Lydia’s. Nothing like an echo, nothing like a skipping stone. Instead of growing fainter, the thought grew bigger. The itch growing into a wound. If she did not respect the promise she made, that itch, that wound, might prove to be deadly, but how was the detective supposed to know that. All she knew was this : she would shoot Kaden Langley.

She knew where he was, thanks to his coworker. She just had to get to him, and keep her promise to Lydia. She owed her this much.

On autopilot, she parked her car, checked the mirror before opening the door and stepping out, and finally crossed the street that led to his building. She checked the mail boxes, got the apartment number, and climbed up the stairs. There was a trace of hesitation, however, as she raised her fist to bang on the door.

The walk back to his apartment from the woods was long and arduous. The farther away from the woods, the more Kaden limped, the more he felt the ache in his muscles from sprinting, from pinning her down and-- The scenes did nothing but flash in front of his eyes like a sports reply. He saw it all, every move he made. Every shot he took, every one he missed. He had it so under control for so long. He’d let her get the gun. Sloppy mistake. He’d gotten lucky. And then… His choices still didn’t quite add up in his head. The anger was a simmer now, no longer boiling over, dulled by the pain, but it still told him he’d made the wrong choice. He went over it all again, asked himself what held him back, hoped there was an answer to why he couldn’t end it. End her. Lydia Griffin was a person. An awful, loathsome person. A monster if he ever saw one. And he couldn’t kill her. Abel greeted Kaden with excitement and joy as walked in, collapsed onto the couch. He could only manage a half hearted pat on the dog’s head, unable to find the same enthusiasm. He sat there, staring at the wall, knowing damn well he had to stand up, get a med kit, tend to his wounds, tell Ariana the news. Regan, too. Maybe. He-- he didn’t know. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He--

Kaden wasn’t sure how long he was stuck on the couch, but it wasn’t long enough to try and sort his guilt out, determine its true origins when there was a knock on the door. Abel leapt up, barking madly at the door. Kaden froze, his heart seized him. Something told him to be worried, alert spiking through him. The timing was concerning, uncanny at the least. Kaden grimmaced as he pushed himself up off the couch and hobbled over to the door, checking the peep hole to see who was on the other side. “Keen?” he asked. His heart sank. Did she know what he’d just done? Or what he’d-- Was she here to arrest him? Take him in for assault? Or worse? “One second,” he shouted, trying to quell the panic in his voice, wash away the shock on his face before unlocking the door and swinging it open. “Hey, Keen,” he said, trying to remain casual, hoping she wouldn’t comment on his bloody nose and face or the sorry state he was in, only cracking the door as he stood in the way of Abel to keep the dog from bolting out. “What is it?”

“What the fuck did you do,” she did not reply as he greeted her, instead shoving herself inside. His mistake for not blocking the way, really. And well, Agatha was not just going to shoot him in the corridor where everyone could see her. Of course she had noticed the state of his face, the state he was in, and of course she put one and one together and knew that this had to do with what Lydia had asked. The woman sounded weird on the phone, and she did not mean the whole hitman contract thing. That part was weird, of course, but Lydia seemed like someone collected. “You’ve done some fucking nasty things, haven’t you?” Her heart sank in her chest as she looked at him.

Normally, she would have stopped everything she was doing to pet Abel for a good few minutes, but she wouldn’t even look at the dog right now, instead staring at her coworker with narrowed, pained eyes. The voice in her head seemed to have intensified the moment she had stepped in, and she had to stop herself in her motion. Her hand had slowly started to inch closer to the holster underneath her suit jacket. She wondered if he had noticed. She hoped not. She didn’t want to do any of - “I will shoot you,” Agatha who was normally either incredibly calm or just as incredibly excited about anything, looked like an empty shell in which a rather uncharming hermit crab had gotten cozy. Her voice trembled, and her lips quivered as she took a step back from Kaden. What was he going to do now that she had told him this? Would he do to her what he had done to Lydia. The woman had told Agatha that he was...dangerous, that she was in danger, that she should put him down for her, like the rabid dog that he was.

Agatha couldn’t take her eyes off of him. On the verge of tears, the detective tried to think of a way out of this, but inside her head, the only word echoing was shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot. Over and over.

Before Kaden could close the door on her, Keen had practically thrown herself inside. He wasn’t sure why. Seemed forward even for her. Did she suspect him of something? Want to bring him in or question him? No, she would have done something sooner. Wouldn’t she? He swallowed back the fear and stepped aside after closing his door. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to delay answering the questions. He had to figure out what her angle was first. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to keep his voice steady, mask any panic that was bubbling up inside of him. There was no way she was going to miss his injuries. Maybe he could turn the conversation to that.

Before Kaden even had a chance, he watched her reaching for her weapon. His heart spiked. What the fuck was going on? “I’m sorry, what?” The words didn’t even seem like they were coming from her, like she was almost a mindless automaton fulfilling a task, announcing it for him just in case there was any confusion. It certainly didn’t quell that. His eyes went wide and his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what the fuck was going on. Instinctively he stepped in front of Abel, trying to shield the dog behind him, just in case. “Keen. Agatha. What the fuck is happening right now?” Something about her looked like she was fighting herself, like she was holding out against something trying to force its way out. “Don’t-- Hold on. Please. Just. Explain to me what the fuck this is about, Keen,” he said, hands held up in front of him as he tried to talk her down from whatever was going on.

Don’t panic. Shoot him. “I don’t want to do this,” Agatha muttered under her breath, voicing for the first time since Lydia hung up on her, her true feelings about this. And yet, she had this feeling that she would feel better if she did this. Her gun was in her hand, but she didn’t raise it toward him. It did not feel heavier than usual, and everything should have made her raise her arm. She was trained to do this, she knew she would not miss her shot, and this was exactly what terrified her the most. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” once again, she spoke to herself. The voice in her head did not get louder, but instead, her memories reminded her of what she had promised, and that she had told Lydia that she owed her a favor.

Feeling as if her head was spinning, she barely understood Kaden’s very simple question, caught in a void of confusion and anxiety. What was going on? She held up her free hand in front of her, as she tried to understand what he was asking of her. “You want to know what… is happening, right?” She shut her eyes tightly, but it only made things worse for her. Being alone with those thoughts was not a good plan. A surge of anguish filled her and tears finally came pouring out of her eyes. Still, she was unable to tell him why she was here, or what was going on. Still, she could tell who was responsible. A name that she kept hearing, over and over. She could do that, “It’s… Ka- It’s Lydia,” she sobbed, and the hand holding her gun tightened its grip on the weapon, as she lifted it. “I must shoot you.”

“Then don’t,” Kaden tried. He knew it was a stupid request. There was no point in arguing with something that seemed out of her control. He couldn’t figure out what it was yet but he could see that much. Agatha was fighting herself. And holding a gun. “Just breathe. You don’t-- You can fight this. Whatever it is a little longer. We’ll--” He was talking out of his ass, to be honest. He had no idea if he could pause this, stop it, or even figure out what was happening. All the exhaustion he felt was fading away, replaced with panic. He didn’t know if he should back up, get away from Keen and the gun in her hand, or step forward and disarm her. For the moment, he stood frozen in place, hands up and shaking slightly as he looked at her.

And just like that, the puzzle pieces came together. “Lydia? It’s-- Shit. Putain de merde.” Kaden kept cursing in French, trying to quell the panic rising up inside him. Shit. He had to think. Had to-- “You have to shoot me. You-- Lydia. Okay.” His heart felt like it was in his throat, threatening to pound its way out of him. Breathe. He had to breathe. And-- Abel started whining, sensing the tension in the room. Shit. This was… This was not good. “Okay. Okay, we can figure this out. We’ll-- Did you make a promise to Lydia? Or did you owe her or--” Fucking hell, none of the specifics mattered. It didn’t matter what the binding was, it just mattered-- Well, okay it mattered what she said. “Shoot me? You have to shoot me, is that what she said exactly? Please. Let’s-- We’ll figure this out.” His hands remained held up in front of him in surrender as he pleaded with the detective.

Then don’t. What the fuck did he think? That she wanted this? Her lips trembled and she had to cover her mouth and wipe her nose clean with the back of her hand. Burning tears rolled down her cheeks, streaming out. “I can’t. It’s… I can’t. I don’t understand what’s happening,” she cried out. Agatha who liked to control everything, who had her whole life planned for at least the following ten years, currently had no idea of what she was doing and she was terrified. She could feel the shaking in her leg, the ball in her stomach, and quite honestly, she did want to just shoot him and be done with it right now.

She was drawn out of this state of turpitude by his French swearing. This was the kind of music that she was used to hearing at the police station now. That thought did not seem to help at all, however. “I do owe her. I… she helped me out of… grass,” she frowned. It did not make any sense, then none of this made any sense. She suspected that this was yet another one of those weird White Crest moments, but never did she think she would be in the middle of one. “What?!” He had lost his mind too, hadn’t he? She could tell from the look on his face that the cogs in his head weren’t turning anymore, that he somehow made sense of everything, but, could she really trust someone asking her to shoot her? “Yes, I have to shoot you,” her eyebrows furrowed and she closed her eyes, trying to remember what she had said exactly. It couldn’t have been much different from those words on loop in her head. She was unable to really remember anything now anyway, so she really hoped that she was right about this. “She said : Shoot Kaden Langley,” wiping her tears dry once again, she tried to calm herself.

“Out of grass? What does that m--” Kaden shook his head. It didn’t matter what the favor was for, it just mattered that Agatha had owed Lydia and clearly, the fae was cashing in on her favors. One last time, if he had to guess. “Okay. Alright. She said you have to shoot me. Right. Okay.” He had to think and he had to think fast. There wasn’t a great way out of this one. She didn’t say shoot “at” or shoot “near,” she told the detective to shoot him. The only way to break the bind was to take a bullet. “Putain de merde, I can’t believe I’m going to fucking say this, but you have to shoot me, Keen.” His stomach dropped straight to the floor, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes at the thought of this, at the sight of her. “Breathe. I know you’re in pain every second that you haven’t-- But we’re going to figure this out. We’re going to--” If he had time to start pacing he would. Maybe the destruction of Lydia’s house was tied up in a death scream for him after all. Maybe he should be worried. Maybe he should tell someone goodbye. Regan, Blanche, Oscar, anyone. No. He pinched his eyes shut. That wasn’t going to happen. “Alright. Keen. Look at me,” he said getting right up in front of her, grabbing onto her shoulders. “We can make this work. Non lethal. Graze me with the bullet, we’ll patch it up. It should make this all stop. Can you do it?” This was probably stupid, but he reached for the gun, aimed it at the top side of his arm, right along his deltoid. Shit this was still going to hurt like hell. “Shouldn’t be anything major here. Clip the side. First aid is in the bathroom. We’ll fix this. We can fix this.” Maybe if he said it one more time, it would finally be true. For now, he stepped just a little away from the weapon and waited for her to pull the trigger.

“Oh really? Do I now?!” Agatha had never been fond of sarcasm, but right now this was her last defense. She absolutely did not want to do this, and yet this felt like the only thing to do and she hated feeling this way, feeling like she was not controlling everything. What? How do you know how I feel?! What is going on? Those were questions she wanted to ask, she wanted answers to, but now she couldn’t find the energy to even speak. Instead she listened, pushing away as hard as she could, those thoughts, those repetitive, intrusive, demanding, maddening thoughts. Her eyes settled on Kaden’s face, focusing on him as he grabbed her by the shoulders. She felt like she might have dropped to the ground at any second had it not been for that now. Ever since she had walked in, her legs were shaking. “Okay, okay, okay,” she repeated, in an attempt to convince herself that this would be okay, that she could and would do it. Perhaps she would wake up too, and realize that this had just been a dream, right? She heard him say that they could fix it, and with that promise, she pulled the trigger. The sound did not wake her up, and the detective found herself screaming her lungs out from rage as she realized what she had done, what she had really done. “I’m so sorry,” she cried out, rushing out of the room to get to the bathroom. Where the fuck was the bathroom? “Where the fuck is…” She saw a bathtub through an open door and stepped in there, opening cabinets and putting down in the sink the things they would need to fix it.

Kaden tried to keep the fear out of his eyes as he looked at Keen across from him. She was frightened and panicked, there was no denying it. He felt that, too, but his gaze remained steeled, confident as he could muster. Up until the point she pulled the trigger. He felt it almost before he even heard it. Kaden screamed and fell to his knees, hand flying to arm to hold it together. Abel barked and growled, lunging at the detective. “No!” he shouted through the pain, letting go of his arm just long enough to grab his dog’s collar. Fuck, fuck this hurt. It hurt and he was damn used to pain but getting shot was entirely different. But he was alive and the promise was broken. It had to be. The task completed. Maybe not to Lydia’s standards but to her words all the same. “Hurry,” he pushed out as his eyes watered and blood pooled out of his arm. “Stay, stay,” he cooed to Abel, voice unsteady. The dog wasn’t very convinced, but just enough to stay with him and not charge after Keen. Kaden winced as he dared to twist to get a better look at his wound. The bullet had ripped through his flesh, but it wasn’t bleeding as badly as it could have. It hadn’t hit anything major from the looks of it. And he didn’t feel like he immediately wanted to pass out so guess that was good. He clamped his hand over it once more and waited for her to come and dress it. “You did good,” he said to her through grit teeth. “You should be free now.” No doubt he was going to have a lot to explain.

Agatha came back half a minute later, gauze, plasters and alcohol in her hand, she had her eyes on the large dog, worried that he might lunge toward her if Kaden were to let go of the collar. “I did good?” She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffing. Moving closer, she got down on her knees to have a look at the wound. She tried to stay as far as possible from Abel, but the dog approached her anyway, his wet snout pressing against her. “I got you pretty good, you mean,” he was correct however, she was free. Free from the voice in her head, or this overwhelming obligation she had felt. And now, all she knew was that it was wrong, that she should have never done this, and that she hated herself for pulling the trigger. “I’m so sorry,” she glanced over to the wall, where the bullet had ended up, then back at the wound. Blood was still pouring, and all she could do was try to stop the bleeding for now. She kept her eyes on the wound, avoiding to look directly at him for now. What must he be thinking of me now, she thought to herself. Breathing heavily through her nose, she just wished that her hands could stop shaking, but they just couldn’t, just like Agatha just could not accept what had just happened. “What the fuck was that?” She asked that with the same tone she would have used had she seen a pink elephant walk across the street. Flabbergasted, she just couldn’t understand what had just happened.

“Yeah, that too,” Kaden said, voice strained from the pain. Abel growled as Keen approached and Kaden held tight to his collar. “No,” he commanded. “Stop.” The dog was still protective and he understood, she’d hurt his owner, but he needed her help to fix his arm. Desperately. The most dangerous part of these wounds was the blood loss. He didn’t feel woozy yet, but he knew it was coming. “Come on. Let’s go. Crate.” Abel didn’t want to listen to him. At all. Fucking hell, he was glad his dog was loyal but not right now. “Now,” he said, summoning all the commanding energy he had. Abel listened and slinked into his crate and Kaden made sure it was shut to keep the growling dog away from Agatha while he collapsed onto the couch. He winced as he went to shrug off his now very damaged and bloody button down so that she could get a good look at the wound when trying to treat it. Fuck if it didn’t hurt like a bitch. “Don’t mention it,” he told her. “This was Lydia’s fault. She must have called you right after--” He could blame the pain for why he cut his words short, but that wasn’t the real reason. “She bound you with her words. Tried to get you to kill me.” The other night with Regan rolled around in his head. They had to convict Lydia, get her sent to jail. He didn’t think there was evidence just between him and Regan and Ariana, not enough at least. Nothing that wasn’t steeped in the supernatural. But Keen, maybe she could help. She had to know now that things were weird and complicated. And she was involved. “Keen, I have to tell you something. About Lydia. Why she wanted me dead. Part of it at least. Why she also tried to kill a teenage girl. But it’s going to sound-- You’re going to have to trust me.” He started to feel lightheaded, just a little. “And finish patching me up.”

“How is this her fault. She did not put my finger on the trigger, did she?” And yet, it was undeniable that Lydia had something to do with this. Agatha had done everything she could in order to think of anything else but that demand, and yet, here they were. “I can’t believe you did not think of removing that fine plaid shirt before,” she commented as she examined the wound. Of course she felt guilty, and saying that this was Lydia’s fault was barely helping. “Bound me with words? What?” Sure she said that she would do it, but Agatha said a lot of things, and some of them were far from true. This seemed like something that required her to be more open minded than she already was, and for her cartesian mind, this was no easy feat. “I… Okay, I’m listening.” As she patched him up, Agatha listened to Kaden reveal the truth about the terrible woman, and if there were parts that did not make any sense to her, the sense of dread and danger that his words conveyed were enough for Agatha to be convinced of one thing. That woman needed to be stopped.

#wickedswriting #writing #Chatzy #Agatha #detectivekeen #final faevor

[eyeslikefoxglove]

Episode 21 - The PTSD is strong with this one & we need more braincells

Hello hello! Welcome to the commentary. How’s everyone? I’m frozen solid because it’s mid-June in Spain and yet we had 11°C yesterday. Fucking awesome!

I AM NOT WEARING MASCARA SO I CAN CRY ALL I WANT. I DONT KNOW IF THATS GOOD OR BAD THO.

Can I just take a second to appreciate how much this big strong powerful men emote? I mean, I know this isn’t western media where the tough guy can’t show emotions, and I don’t know that eastern media has the same hangups about men emoting but just... it’s so refreshing.

Huaisang bb you’re so sweet.

Oh, oh the PTSD is strong with this one.

Also, bless both JC and NHS, they absolutely noticed WWX flinch and, in their own ways, went and steamrolled over it so WWX wouldn’t feel scrutinised.

WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST TO INFORM YALL THAT I GOT A KITTEN ON MY LAP. (She’s kneading my boob, which, ow, but...)

*BICHEN GRIIIIIIIP*

How do y’all think the guards go deliver bad news to WRH? Like do they paper-rock-scissor it? Draw straws?

NMJ did you have to?

And once again I wonder what would’ve happened if JFM had let sect leader Yao kick it.

Ughvhfnevus it’s this clown. Same as with Su She, if you see a bunch of screaming it’s just me not wanting to listen to Jin ZiXun.

The Nies: let’s throw a banquet to honour WWX’s return

Every asshole there: *gossips about WWX while in the room with him*

Once again I wish I could transmigrate (and speak mandarin lol) and just start delivering tongue lashings.

Listen, I have no idea how to play Guqin, but I did play the guitar for years and even from here I can see how much YiBo’s hands don’t match the melody. Nothing against him but why does this always happen? I know they got classes, so was the music not written by that time or something? Because one thing is not hitting the correct notes, another is plucking slow notes when the tempo is much faster.

JC: Since yours and LWJ’s unhappy separation...

My dumbass: do you mean breakup? *eyebrow waggle*

You will pry my “JC knows his brother is pinning after LWJ, he probably doesn’t want to know anything else” hc out of my cold dead hands thankyouverymuch.

WWX: *spouts a bunch of misdirection to avoid giving JC a straight answer*

JC: Bull-fucking-shit.

Should I count how many times WWX PTSDs all over the place or would you like me to leave your hearts intact? That’s two so far.

Ok ok, I feel that, if someone with a bit less trauma and a bit of insight (NHS maybe?) had seen the bit where ChenQing fucking hurts Shijie thing would’ve gone differently. I mean, yes, LWJ keeps warning WWX that this shit is gonna fuck him up, but as I said in my previous commentary LWJ also has the communication skills of a hermit crab so that wouldn’t work, and JC would be too wound up and WWX too busy trying to conceal his lack of golden core for that conversation to go anywhere. But if someone who WWX knows is a good egg (I’m not gonna say trusts bc paranoia) had sat him down and told him “your new instrument that you use for your new form of cultivation just hurt the person you love most please be careful when you use it.” I think it would’ve worked wonders towards his health overall.

I know Shijie says it’s like Zidian, but she’s not working with the fact that this thing is made for and by the Dark Side of the Force and I’m sorry but I can’t help but see ChenQing as a bit of a horrocrux almost. Or like, if you like me think the Burial Mounds is an Entity, something that’s a bit more sentient that it lets on.

Speaking of reputations and NHS being a good egg, I have oh-so-many ideas (I won’t say plot bunnies because I can’t write for shit) in which NHS for Reasons (time-travel? Letter from the future? His massive brain?) realises just how much damage WWX is doing to his public image. And he might be a sheltered dandy, but he saw what being the son of a sex worker did to Meng Yao despite how hard he worked (I’m assuming he doesn’t know about the whole betrayal business). This is way fucking worse, like hell is he going to let one of his best friends paint a target on his back. So he pulls back his sleeves, engages his slytherin brain and proceeds to lay down a plan to throughly destroy WWX’s reputation as a powerful genius.

I’m guessing LWJ and JC protest, and maybe WWX, and NHS just hits them with “do you want him respected or alive?” And they shut tf up. He glues himself to WWX, and brings up as many instances in which their behaviour can be compared as he can (we got drunk and punished at cloud recesses, we slept in class, we skipped to go fishing, I don’t carry my sword either). And, because assholes be assholes, people like Sect Leader Yao or Clown Cousin are quick to start spouting their own derogatory bullshit and thus WWX the untamed powerful prodigy dies a fiery death. Now he’s just a mouthy kid with a quick mind that “does tricks instead of battle” (I’ll never get bored of using that Thor quote). I also like to think that people who personally know WWX and are not pieces of shit go give NHS a tongue lashing for messing with what they thought was his friend, NHS takes that as a test of good eggness and bring them into the plan. Soon the whole Cloud Recesses class is swearing up, down, left, right and centre that all the shit WWX has ever successfully pulled is just an insane amount of luck and quick thinking.

I don’t know how would they work him into the battlefield (disguise? Mask?) to unleash his demonic cultivation but that’s Plot and I don’t do that.

Also, because I’m a terrible human being I want to say that people assume LWJ is on “pretty but useless” WWX like white on rice because *insert derogatory comment about being good in bed and sexual favours*. Because y’all know the assholes here are Like That. And WWX is horrified because holy fucking shit he’s gonna drag LWJ’s reputation down, he can’t have people thinking HGJ is ok with having him as a concubine pretty much. But before he can act LWJ politely all but confirms that yeah, he’s tapping that, y’all wish you were but he doesn’t share and none of y’all are good enough for his Wei Ying anyway. CUE FAKE/PRETEND RELATIONSHIP BECAUSE I AM INDEED TRASH FOR THAT TROPE.

Muahahahaha y’all thought I was gonna devolve into my personal hcs and not include my fave trope? Shouldn’t y’all know me better by now?

(Btw I like this bit ^ so I might polish it a little and post it separately as well, just a warning if you find yourself reading an eerily similar post by me)

WuJi is playing and LWJ is pining so much. Also, if LWJ did not just realise that, just like Yu the Great, WWX had no other option but tame resentful energy I’ll eat my blanket.

I refuse to believe Jiang Yanli didn’t become the unofficial war camp therapist/sounding board/only sane person/everyone’s mum/I just need a hug and a corner to cry in peace. There are not enough fics about Shijie being her gentle BAMF self while in the camp and it’s a pity. My crops are dying y’all!

Also, I will fight anyone who scoffs at Shijie being the epitome of the “gentle woman who cooks and waits for the men to come back from war”. Look at her mum, do you think it is easy for a kid (she was a kid in the flashback when WWX ran away) to see that day in and day out, to have that as a “role model” and decide that she was not going to be like her mum? That she didn’t like what she saw in her so she was going to be kind and gentle? And do you think it is easy for a person barely in their twenties to deal with years of verbal and psychological abuse for again, being gentle and kind, and not grow a hard shell of bitterness to protect themselves? And to keep being gentle and kind while at war, with your parents dead and your siblings unraveling before your very eyes? Shijie is so fucking strong and I love her.

Hey look, the White Walkers!

“Resentful energy is just energy” ok, valid. But my dude, you’ve got black ghost smoke coming out of you and can hear people screaming in your head. I’m not saying it is evil, like someone’s uptight set in his ways arrogant uncle; but it sure as shit ain’t healthy.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH (that’s a Clown Cousin scream btw)

Ok ok, just one little thing: IF SOMEONE ELSE CALLS WWX WEI YING AS A SHOW OF DISRESPECT IMMA SCALP THEM.

...are those crows eating that man alive? Yikes on bikes.

(Assume my comment about YiBo’s Guqin playing also goes for Xiao Zhan and his flute. I can’t play the flute but the tempo doesn’t match his fingers)

I’m just gonna say it, I think 3zun (well, 2zun as of now) suspect shit went down badly for WWX, that’s two questions by both of them in a very soft conciliatory tone. They are genuinely interested/worried about the topic, and don’t seem to come off as chiding or judgemental. I mean WWX is a weirdo irreverent kid and they’re sect leaders, they outrank him so much it’s ridiculous. I’m also counting the fact that both their baby brothers like him towards them being so kind. But I also think WWX just triggers all their big brother instincts the second he walks in.

Oh there’s a thought, Shijie, Wen Qing, NMJ and LXC take a look at everyone’s shitty parents and just decide to adopt everyone.

What happened at Yiling was a traumatised teenager (is WWX even 20?) PTSDing all over the place with the Dark Side of the Force whispering in his ear and an all powerful trinket at his disposal. Not saying I approve of all the torture and murder but he clearly isn’t revelling in them.

That is some outstanding bit of big-brothering on LXC’s side and I love it. Also, my dumbass just realised LWJ probably wasn’t quoting WWX when he was being punished (what is white what is black?) I think he was quoting his big brother. Which is magnitudes deep too, but in a different direction and I might love that scene even more.

Ok fuck it, I’m gonna tangent. So I had a terrible boyfriend when I was 15-18. He alienated me from my friends, sunk my self-esteem to the molten core of the earth, tried to convince me my parents were abusive and encouraged (aka threatened manipulated and cajoled) the slow tanking of my high school marks. I have A Problem when I see media where someone latches onto their significant other and everything they are shifts towards that person. Now, love, true genuine love, is powerful, and I believe it can be the catalyst for shifting your world-view for the better. I don’t have a problem with that. I don’t have a problem with people sticking with their romantic partner if it is clear their previous “family” is so much shit. I don’t have a problem with LWJ coming out of his shell and defying corrupt precepts because his love for WWX made them see they were wrong, or getting sassy and unrepentant during his punishment (I have a problem with the punishment bc that’s abuse but...). But I do side-eye WangXian being the only thing in their orbit. People need people, and WangXian have other good people around them. So I kind of love that yes, WWX showed him the system was corrupt, but it is the words of his brother he is sticking by to the defy said system.

Let’s go back to our scheduled slew of held pinning glances shall we?

LXC after That awkward run-in: WangJi I wasn’t gone that long, what the fuck did you two oblivious pining idiots do?

(LXC has “bitching” tea sessions with Shijie and you can’t convince me otherwise)

LWJ: *is being dramatic and not knocking on WWX’s door*

Me: oh my god you fucking idiot

Shijie: *walks in*

Me: oh thank god someone with a braincell.

Ah yes, there we go triggering WWX’s paranoia again. Why would he get a break.

OH MY GOD YOU PAIR OF FUCKING IDIOTS. THATS IT, FUCK THIS SHIT IM OUT.

@ LWJ: bitch wtf was that? I know you’re shit at talking but have you thought about writing it down? Letters anyone? It worked for mr. Darcy.

(Yes LWJ is mr darcy and now I want an au where LWJ writes WWX letters and just pours everything in them, WWX finds them, any everything is sunshine and rainbows)

While this bullshit fight/misunderstanding is all on LWJ’s shoulders, I’m also going to scream at WWX. Because yes, he is in PTSD hell, but he trusted LWJ before, and yet he can’t get past his perceived notion of LWJ’s character (and his own inadequacies) to trust him again and ask for help. Plus, you know, he thinks he doesn’t deserve he’ll bc *waves hand at WWX’s trauma conga line*

These episodes can’t be good for my BP.

Thanks for reading!

#the untamed #cql #mdzs live action #mdzs #foxglove watches cql #foxglove watches the untamed #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wangxian #jiang yanli #jiang cheng #yunmeng trio #yunmeng siblings #commentary

[albapuella]

How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure (Chapter Two)

AO3

Fandom: Homestuck

Summary: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days AU Dave needs to win a bet; Karkat needs to write an article. Shenanigans ensue.

Tags: Humanstuck, alternate universe - no sburb session, POV switches galore, implied/referenced child abuse Author’s note: This story is the result of a jam session I did with aceAdoxography on the davekat thirst federation discord server. This one's a little out of my usual wheelhouse, but I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. New chapters every Saturday/Sunday. Didn’t bother with the formatting this time: You want the fancy formatting, go to AO3 :D

Day 1:

Despite his slacker appearance (and life-style, to be honest), Dave was always punctual. He'd even made an effort to look the part of a guy going on a date with another guy: jeans with only a few holes at the knees, his favorite record shirt, and a red hoodie—all freshly cleaned. So freshly cleaned that the sweater was still very slightly damp. Well, whatever, it'd be fine. They were having dinner first, and that meant he'd have plenty of time for the thing to dry out before they went to the movies where the main thrust of Dave's doki-doki plan would commence.

Karkat arrived a few minutes later. He wasn't dressed to the nines, but it was at least to the sevens. It occurred to Dave, as he watched him approach, that he hadn't known how tall Karkat was. The answer was slightly shorter than Dave but with a more solid build. Stocky. Or maybe that was just the black sweater he was wearing. Then again, his legs looked pretty solid in the black pants he was wearing, too. Either way, he looked good.

Dave gave him an appreciative whistle which made Karkat's eyes narrow. Not the reaction he'd wanted. “Looking good, Karkat,” he said quickly, hoping to smooth over any feathers he might have inadvertently ruffled. “I'm digging the whole sexy college professor thing you've got going.”

“Uh, thanks,” Karkat said with evident disbelief. “You, uh, you look good, too.” He straightened up. “You said we were doing dinner first.”

“Yep.” Dave held out his arm. “I’m taking you to my favorite place. A lot of people think it’s wack, but I’m buying, so if you really don’t like it, at least it didn’t cost you anything.” When his date didn't immediately take his offered arm, he shook it invitingly. “It's not too far from here.”

Karkat looked from Dave's arm to Dave, suspicious. Then he sighed and laid his hand on Dave's arm, his hold tighter than Dave had expected it to be considering his earlier hesitation. “Okay. Fine. Sounds great. Let's go.”

---

The first thing Karkat noticed when he took Dave's arm was that his sleeve was damp. Then he noticed the feeling of the arm beneath his fingers. Despite looking thin enough to break, there was some muscle here. As they walked to what was apparently Dave’s favorite restaurant, Dave just kept talking. If Karkat had been offered a thousand dollars, he doubted he could have remembered any specific details of the inanity he'd been subjected to. A nervous talker. He'd have to put that down in his notes.

Dinner went much the same. Dave talked at him while Karkat sat there trying to eat his food (overpriced, faux Italian—of all the places Dave could have chosen, he'd picked a fucking Olive Garden? That was going in his notes, too.). In all honesty, Karkat tried not to pay too much attention to what was being said. First, he'd already determined that most of what came out of this man's mouth was completely meaningless nonsense, and second, if he actually listened to any of it, he'd be hard pressed not to respond to the idiocy. While Dave had no evident compunction about swearing, Karkat wanted to get through at least this first date without screaming.

All right, so that was an exaggeration. Some of what Dave said was actually pretty funny. In a hopelessly awkward sort of way. Karkat hated that Dave's clumsy compliments were making him blush. Clearly, the man had brain damage... which also explained the rapping that Dave kept doing (completely unprovoked!). By the time dinner was over, Karkat was only too grateful that their next destination meant that Dave would have to stop talking.

---

Since Dave had picked the restaurant, Karkat had picked the movie. Some romantic comedy chick flick Dave couldn't be bothered to remember the title of. Still, it gave him an opportunity to sit right tight next to Karkat and eat his weight in popped, buttery goodness, so he really couldn't complain.

“What’s the deal with that dude?” Dave whispered. “I thought he was already tight with that other chick. What gives? Is he cheating on her?”

Karkat made a noise like a cat being stepped on but softer. “Dave,” he whispered back, his tone full of the same sing-songy patient impatience that Rose would use when she thought Dave was being particularly dim, “if you were paying attention, you'd already know that that 'dude' is that 'other chick's' cousin. They are probably not romantically involved. I know you're from Texas, but that's not how it works above the Mason Dixon line.” Then he ducked his head and took a long drink from his soda. “Sorry. Just-just watch the movie and be quiet.”

Dave blinked. He'd been starting to think Karkat wasn't going to open up at all. At least, he'd had fuck all to say during dinner. Even if it had been an incest joke at his expense, it still was nice to hear Karkat say something. Something that wasn't just non-committal noises or unenthusiastic agreements. He leaned against Karkat's shoulder to whisper, “It's not true, you know. About Texas. We don't fuck our cousins; I mean, we do, but not first cousins. We're strictly second cousins only. It's a rule. Of course, none of my second cousins are as hot as you, so I'd be willing to make an exception. Just this once.”

This earned him a light elbowing to the gut and a low growl, but Karkat didn't push him off.

By the end of the movie, Dave had gotten five more elbows to the gut, three startled bursts of laughter, two creative insults (quickly joined by muttered apologies), and one “Will you please just let me watch this movie?” Over all, Dave felt like he'd succeeded in charming the hell out of this motherfucker, thank you very much.

They'd walked out into the open air, a nice breeze whisking away the smell of popcorn and sweat from the movie theater. “I had a lot of fun, Karkat. Thanks for coming on this date with me. Do you think we could do this again sometime?”

Karkat blinked at him, a clear look of surprise on his face. “Oh, uh, sure.” He shook his head. “I mean, yes, I'd love to go on another date with you.”

Dave's heart leapt. “Awesome. You can hit me up on Pesterchum. Or I can hit you up. How about I hit you up?”

“Fine, that's... that's fine.” Karkat's smile seemed uneven. “I'll be looking forward to it.”

Although Dave was tempted to try for a kiss, he didn't think he ought to press his luck so far on the first date. Karkat had loosened up some while they'd been in the theater, but out here under the streetlight, he looked nervous again. The last thing Dave wanted to do was chase him away. “Okay then. I guess I'll see you later?”

A slow nod. “Yeah, later.” Karkat was stilted and contained again. Restricted, like a hermit crab stuck in a shell that was too tight. It wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. Dave had caught a few glimpses of the real Karkat tonight, and the sight made him hungry to see more.

Dave watched him walk away, admiring the view with a new goal in mind: he was going to get Karkat Vantas out of his shell if it was the last thing he did. Getting to rub him in Rose’s face at her wedding was only going to be a bonus.

---

* Never shuts up. Not even during movies. Especially during movies. Attention span of a gnat. From Texas. Doesn't know how to use a dryer. Finds me attractive. Probable brain damage. Funny. Charming. Obnoxious. Never takes off sunglasses. Olive Garden.

Karkat sighed and set down his pen. He'd tried his best to be as cordial as he knew how to be, and he still hadn't managed to last for the entire four hours without insulting his date. Multiple times. Oh well. At least Dave was apparently brain damaged enough to find rudeness terribly amusing (if the way he'd kept bugging Karkat during the movie had been any indication).

He'd been surprised when Dave had actually asked if they could go on another date. Karkat knew he hadn't made the best impression, and yet Dave wanted to spend more time with him? He looked over his notes, trying to ignore the surge of happiness that filled him at the thought. It didn't mean anything: Dave was clearly an idiot, and after a few more days, Karkat was going to start on the offensive. Whatever meager promise there would have been in this fledgling romance, it was still doomed from the start: like all of Karkat's relationships.

Day 2:

It was all Dave could do to wait until the next day to pester Karkat. He didn't want to come off as too eager, after all. Didn't want to put Karkat off. But Dave was only so strong.

TG: so i was thinking TG: if youre not busy TG: we could go to the park this afternoon TG: watch the grifters and maybe get robbed TG: or you could come to my place and hang TG: is it too soon to do that? TG: asking for a friend TG: this is dave by the way TG: i dont know how many people youre talking to TG: not that its any of my business TG: i wouldnt want you up in my grill asking me who im talking to CG: IT IS SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING ON SUNDAY. TG: yea and youre up anyway CG: BECAUSE YOU WOKE ME UP. WITH YOUR TEXTS. THAT YOU SENT JUST NOW. TG: oh shit sorry CG: IT'S FINE. I NEEDED TO GET UP ANYWAY. CG: YOU WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ME? WHY?

Dave frowned down at his phone. Was Karkat fishing for compliments or was he being serious?

TG: because its fun to hang out with you TG: thats how this works right? TG: i thought we could watch another movie TG: at my place TG: or your place i guess if that works better for you TG: ive got popcorn if that sweetens the deal at all CG: YES. BECAUSE THE WAY TO MY HEART IS MICROWAVED POPCORN. TG: fucking called it CG: … CG: FINE. I'LL MEET YOU AT THE PARK AT 2:30PM. IS THAT ACCEPTABLE? TG: perfect ill meet you by the giant yo CG: YOU MEAN THE OY/YO. TG: tomatoes tomotoes karkat

Dave watched the little “CG is typing” message run for almost a minute, feeling his nervousness grow. What had he said that required a novel length response? He managed to reign in the impulse to apologize preemptively, but it was a struggle.

CG: OKAY. WHATEVER. I'LL MEET YOU THERE.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Fine, good then. Nothing was wrong.

TG: im looking forward to it TG: its not hard to intuit TG: when we come out to debut TG: sit by the yo then well go round TG: downtown get the lowdown TG: before we get busy in the hissie TG: partake of the fizzie cause we got a duty TG: to watch the fuck out of this movie CG: RIGHT. SEE YOU THEN. BYE.

Dave shrugged. He couldn't expect Karkat to really appreciate his off the cuff rhymes so soon after waking up, he supposed. Maybe they'd land better later. Flat reception or not, the important thing was he'd gotten Karkat to agree to come to his apartment. He looked around, frowning. Maybe he should clean up a little.

---

Jesus Fucking Christ. Karkat tossed his phone on the bedside table with a groan. It had been all that he could do not to curse out Dave like there would never be a tomorrow. Considering the fact that he was currently planning to go to the apartment of a practical stranger, that much might just be true for him. He lay in bed a little longer, out of spite mostly—he could never get back to sleep after being woken up—, before getting out from under the covers. First things first: notes.

* Inconsiderate asshole. Horrible rapper. Calls the OY/YO “the YO”. Doesn't know the right way to express “tomatoes, tomahtos”. Wants to spend time with me. Insane. We have that much in common.

Thanks to Dave's wake-up call, Karkat had plenty of time to eat a hearty breakfast and start his article.

“How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure” BY KARKAT VANTAS

Since you have decided to read this article, I will assume that you are looking to learn the art of ruining your relationships without the mess of all that trial and error. Maybe you enjoy breaking hearts. Maybe you are the kind of masochist who enjoys getting their heart broken but is at a loss as to how to properly sabotage your relationship yourself. If you can manage to follow these simple steps, you will be well on your way to the same bitter loneliness that usually only the most unlucky in love get the privilege to experience. 

The first step is the victim. For the purposes of this article, I picked one that is particularly obnoxious and brain dead. You may have different qualities you are looking for in a potential short-term partner. Ultimately, the most important thing to consider when you plan to lose a guy (or gal or enby) is that you make certain they are one you do not mind losing. That way you can start the process without any regrets.

The second step is the hook. Laugh at their dumb jokes; accept their stupid compliments; ignore their mangling of the English language (in my case, his horrible rapping); and generally be as agreeable as you can manage. A severe lack of intelligence in your short-term partner can be a boon here, though you will find most people are not immune to flattery. You need to make certain that you have your short-term partner well and truly interested in you before you attempt to lose them. If you try to lose them too soon, you will miss out on the full relationship ruining experience.

A little too informal, maybe, but a fine start. Depending on how well this afternoon went (assuming he wasn't murdered and stuffed in a closet), maybe Karkat would be able to start on step three. He was able to stomp down his nascent guilt with ease. After all, Dave wouldn't have been interested in him after the novelty wore off anyway.

---

The afternoon was a little warmer than the evening had been, but Dave still wore his hoodie. It felt lucky, and it was still clean. More the latter than the former, but the point stood! He sat down on the bench next to the giant yellow YO installation and waited. While it was tempting to shoot a message to Karkat, he decided against it. He’d be seeing him in less than ten minutes, and he didn’t want him to think he was clingy. Which he wasn’t. Totally not. Dave Strider had never clung his whole life. Ask anyone. Except Jade. Don’t ask her. 

He noticed his leg was bouncing and put a stop to that noise. He was a cool operator. He had this thing on lock. The date yesterday had gone good, right? Karkat wouldn’t have agreed to see him again if he’d had a terrible time. He pushed back his hood and ran a hand through his hair. Nothing to worry about. He’d have a date for Rose’s wedding and continue sorting out the mystery that was Karkat Vantas.

Dave heard the crunch of gravel and looked over to see Karkat approaching. Another sweater combo, but gray this time. The guy had a style he preferred, clearly. It was fine: he looked great. He stood and closed the distance between them. “Hey, Karkat.”

“Hey,” Karkat returned, frowning. Of course, that seemed to be his default expression. “I brought a movie to watch,” he said gruffly. 

Although Dave had been hoping he’d be able to pick the movie this time, he wasn’t too cut up about it. It might be a little early in the relationship to bring out The Room anyway. He wouldn’t know. “Sounds great. My place isn’t too far from here.” He held his arm out. “Shall we?”

Again, Karkat regarded his arm with suspicion. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

Karkat opened his mouth before seeming to think better of whatever he’d planned to say. “Never mind.” He took Dave’s arm. “Let’s get going.”

As they walked to his apartment, Dave tried to keep the conversation flowing, but Karkat’s subdued responses quickly killed his enthusiasm. “I feel like I’m talking too much,” he said finally. 

Karkat mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like “You think?” before he shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m just a little too tired to, uh, participate, that’s all.”

Dave winced at the reminder of his first faux pas of the day. “No problem, dude. I got us covered. I got words for days.”

“Months even,” Karkat added before ducking his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

Nudging Karkat’s side, Dave laughed. “Nah, man it’s true. I’ve got words for fucking years.”

Karkat smiled slightly. “Decades.”

“Centuries.”

“Eons”

“Until the next motherfucking epoch, I’ve got words, Karkat. So many words. All the words even.”

Karkat snorted, covering his face with his free hand. “Damn it, Dave. Stop making yourself likeable.”

“I think that’s the point of this whole thing,” Dave pointed out reasonably. “Dating, I mean. It’s not like the old days where your dad and my dad decide if you’re worth enough chickens to trade me for, you know. These days I get to decide for myself how many chickens I want to be traded for.” He gave Karkat a mock critical eye. “How about it, Karkat? How many chickens could I get for you?”

“I don’t know,” Karkat said, his mock serious tone almost too close to a serious tone for Dave’s comfort. “Let me look in my pocket.” He made a show of staring down at the pocket containing his free hand before sliding the hand out and flipping Dave the bird. “Is this enough for you?”

Dave laughed. “I’m sorry, Karkat. You must have at least five chickens to ride this ride.” He felt his face flush but pushed onward. “I guess you’ll have to settle for a movie, and maybe some pizza.”

Karkat was grinning, and Dave decided right then and there that he wanted to keep seeing it. “Maybe next time.” As though to intentionally spite him, Karkat frowned again. “Are we almost there?”

“Yeah, man, just a little further.” As they continued their journey to his apartment, Dave felt himself frown. What was Karkat’s deal? He was a lot more fun when he let himself be himself. Dave didn’t like meanness for meanness sake, but he enjoyed a good joke. For some reason, Karkat seemed to think he shouldn’t joke around? Why? His frown deepened. Karkat also apologized a lot. And he was so often deferential even when it was obvious he had OPINIONS he wasn’t sharing. The pieces were adding up to a disturbing picture. 

Maybe after he was done hanging out with Karkat today, he should hit up Rose. She’d know what to do.

---

Karkat’s expectations for Dave’s apartment had been fairly low, and he’d been pleasantly surprised. While not as meticulous as his own apartment, there at least weren’t empty food containers on every surface or dirty clothes everywhere. There was an overall shabbiness though: the feeling that the occupant didn’t care overly much about the apartment’s upkeep. The futon in front of the television was ancient and threadbare as were the carpets. The posters hung on the walls were dusty and faded, and there was a sort of mildewy smell. Still, as previously mentioned it was clean (more or less), and there were no obvious signs of a hidden murder dungeon (not that there would be if there were one, naturally). 

“Nice place,” he said for politeness’ sake. 

Dave beamed like a little boy who’d gotten just what he’d wanted for Christmas. “Thanks. It’s not much, but it keeps the rain off.�� He gestured towards the futon. “Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got apple juice. And water from the tap, I guess. I could go pick up some beer if you want to go that route, or--”

Karkat held up his hand, hoping to stem the tide of suggestions. “Water’s fine, thank you.”

“You’ve got it,” Dave said before tilting his head and making twin awkward gestures with both hands involving his pointer fingers. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

It wasn’t until after he’d disappeared into, presumably, the kitchen that Karkat realized he’d been making finger guns. What a dork. Not that Karkat was any more suave, but he liked to think he was at least less childish. He tried to supplant the rush of fondness he felt by recalling just how pissed he’d been with this manchild this morning. It was not one hundred percent successful.

Dave returned with two glasses: water for Karkat, and apple juice for himself. “Take a seat,” he insisted as he set the glasses on the coffee table (sans coasters). “It won’t bite.”

Gingerly, Karkat took a seat on the ancient futon. The padding was so thin, he could feel the bars beneath. It was going to take a while to become unbearable, and he hoped this hang out? date? didn’t last long enough for that to happen. Just as he’d been about to reach for the water, suddenly uncertain whether he actually ought to drink anything Dave gave him, Dave flopped down onto the futon beside him like a sack of gangly flour. “Dave!”

“S’up?” Dave asked, grinning. 

“Don’t ‘s’up’ me--,” Karkat managed to stop himself from calling Dave an asshole, but only just. “Just don’t ‘s’up’ me. Speak like a normal person.” He realized he was making a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Sorry, I--”

“Dude,” Dave said, his grin dropping away, “Karkat, you don’t have to apologise for every kind of mean thing you say. I’m a big boy: I can take it.” 

Karkat supposed he shouldn’t be surprised: he’d never been good at pretending to be a good person. If he could have managed that feat for any length of time, he wouldn’t be in this position. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as dryly as he could. 

“I’m serious.” Dave sat up and turned to face Karkat head on, and Karkat saw his own annoyed expression mirrored in the black lenses. “I haven’t known you very long, and maybe I shouldn’t say anything, but--”

“You’re right,” Karkat interrupted, feeling his tenuous hold on his temper slipping. “You shouldn’t say anything.” After taking a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything he didn’t mean to, he spoke again. “Let’s just watch the movie and eat some microwaved popcorn. Does that sound like something we could do? Or would you like to keep pretending you have some deep insights into my character as though we’ve known each other longer than three days?”

Dave raised his hands, and Karkat realized he’d sounded far more aggressive than the situation warranted. At this rate, he wouldn’t even get a chance to lose this asshole! Nice job, Vantas: stellar work. “No, you’re right. I’ll step off.” Dave said softly. He got off of the futon with far more grace than he’d flopped onto it with. “You just put the movie in, and I’ll, uh, I’ll make the popcorn.”

Karkat watched him go before putting his head in his hands. Well, fuck. As though this whole situation hadn’t been awkward before. He should just leave. Just leave, forget about his stupid article, and stop dragging this stupidly likeable idiot down with him. He should. 

He stayed where he was. 

---

Dave took maybe longer than he absolutely needed to to prepare the popcorn. As much as he liked to consider himself a smooth operator, he could tell when he’d made a mistake, and he wanted to give the guy in the other room a chance to cool down. What made it made it worse was that Karkat had been right to get mad at him: Dave barely knew him. In his place, Dave would probably be pissed, too. 

Even so, Dave didn’t think he was wrong about the conclusions he’d come to. It was obvious that Karkat was, for whatever reason, putting on a show for Dave’s sake. Honestly, it was kind of creepy. If he understood why Karkat felt the need to do that, he’d feel better about it.

But it wasn’t his business. Not yet. Maybe you had to reach a certain level on the boyfriend echeladder before that kind of thing was something you talked about. It would probably help if they were actually boyfriends and not just newly dating, too. There seemed to be at least one obvious solution to that problem.

Dave could be patient. After all, he still had eleven days or so to get Karkat to at least like him enough to be his plus one at Rose’s wedding. It wasn’t all he wanted anymore, but it'd be enough to start with. As Rose had so often told him, start with small goals. 

He poured an obscene amount of butter over the popcorn in the bowl and headed out to the living room. Karkat was bent over, fiddling with the DVD player, and when he looked up at Dave, his mouth was curved somewhat upwards. “What movie do you have for us?”

Karkat stood. “Coming to America.” He made his way back to the futon and sat down as though worried he might fall through if he sat down too quickly. “It’s more comedy than romantic, so I thought you might enjoy it more.”

That sounded vaguely familiar. “Okay.” Dave joined him on the futon, taking care not to startle him this time. “Let’s get this party started.”

---

Karkat had hoped bringing a comedy would hold Dave’s attention enough to keep him from talking through the whole thing. He’d been mistaken. Yes, a lot of what Dave said was funny, but it just never fucking stopped. Finally, Karkat couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed the remote and paused the movie. Then he very deliberately set the remote back down. “I want you to listen to me, Dave. Are you listening?”

Dave looked confused, but he nodded. “Yeah, I’m listening. Do you have something you want to tell me? I’m all ears. Lay it on me.”

God, he couldn’t even listen without rambling! “Would it kill you to shut up?” He saw Dave’s eyebrows peek over the tops of his glasses. A part of him told him to reconsider his current course of action, but naturally, Karkat could never abide by a piece of good advice. “Would it literally cause you to drop dead if you couldn’t expel your idiocy out of your mouth like a goddamned septic pipe full of half-formed metaphors and bullshit? Would your head explode? Can we try that experiment and see what happens?” Karkat felt his fingernails biting into his palms and realized he’d clenched his fists. “What do you say, Dave? Wait, I’ve changed my mind: don’t say anything. Let me bask in the gentle ethereal glow of silence for a moment. Can you do that for me, Dave? Can you let me bask? Will the endless flow of words finally cease?”

‘No’ was clearly the answer to that question since Dave was already opening his mouth. Then, to Karkat’s utter shock, he shut it again. His expression wasn’t ever easy to read with those douche shades he insisted on wearing all the time, but now it was completely closed off. Even the eyebrows had lowered back to their original position.

Silence stretched between them. 

Karkat felt sick to his stomach. Shit. Shit. He really just couldn’t do it, could he? Couldn’t pretend even for a few hours that he was a normal person. Well, so much for this experiment. Time to write off this little adventure. Was it worth even trying to apologise? Before he could decide, Dave made the decision for him. 

He was clapping. “Damn, just got owned,” he said, a wide grin splitting his face. “You owned me, Karkat. You should feel proud. Not everyone gets own this,” he gestured to himself. “I just hope you know what you’re getting into: I’m barely house trained.”

For an embarrassingly high number of seconds, all Karkat could do was blink. “You’re not mad?”

“Fuck no,” Dave said, still grinning. “I’m a big kid now. I’ve graduated from diapers all the way to pull ups. It takes more than a finely crafted, well-deserved take down to take me down.” The grin softened. “This is what I was trying to say before: I want to date you, not some weird super agreeable version of you. If you want to tell me off for talking too much, fucking go for it. You’ve got a way with insults--it’s a gift. Frankly, I’m insulted you’ve been keeping it to yourself.”

“There’s more where that comes from, asshole,” Karkat said before he could stop himself. To his amazement, Dave still seemed more amused than anything. A strange mixture of anger and fondness welled up inside him. “Stop grinning at me, and watch the fucking movie.” He picked up the remote and hesitated. “You don’t have to be silent,” he said, still feeling a little guilty over his earlier outburst, “just maybe less talking?”

Dave made a big show of running a zipper over his lips. Then he immediately ruined it by saying, “Scouts honor, Karkat. My word is bond. You can cash that shit at the bank.”

Karkat tried to picture Dave as a boy scout and failed. “Right.” He pressed play and the movie resumed. Of course, Dave still talked during the movie, but the sheer volume of words had slowed to a moderate stream rather than the full-bore blasting Karkat had been subjected to earlier. As he sat there on the futon, occasionally answering Dave’s stupid comments with barbs of his own, he felt warm in a way that was only nominally connected to the temperature of the arm he was leaning against. He felt… content.

---

Overall, Operation Hang Out had been a big success. It had been rocky in places, but again, overall, Dave felt like he’d hit his major mission objectives. A movie was watched, pizza was consumed, and Karkat finally, finally, did something other than apologise every time a hint of the person he’d met at the cafe had come through. He didn’t necessarily want to keep pissing Karkat off, but that bitch fit he’d thrown had been epic. 

Karkat wasn’t the kind of guy Dave had expected to find himself interested in. At least, he’d never thought he’d have a grumpy asshole kink. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed the more quiet parts of Karkat’s visit, too. It had felt nice to sit on the futon with someone leaning against his shoulder. Dave wasn’t a sap, no, not a suave guy like him, but he couldn’t deny he’d like to do it again some time. 

He considered texting Rose as he’d planned to earlier before deciding not to. After all, he’d managed the first crisis all on his own, and she might consider it cheating if he got her help. No, for now at least, this bird was flying solo.

---

* Clean apartment. Finger guns. Puts too much butter on popcorn. Also talks during movies outside theater setting. Likes getting insulted. Kink?  Wants to date the “real” me. Delusional. Comfortable arm. Had a nice time. Had acceptable time. Clothes in his shower??? 

#Homestuck #Humanstuck #fan fic #my fic #wip

[twothumbsandnostakeincanon]

my tags on this post wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone and I’m a disaster with no self control.

“I don’t know how many legs it has,” Peter answered in Ukranian, flipping through his notes as he held the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Let me-”

“It had eight legs,” Stiles called from across the room, nose buried in his own notes as he scribbled something down.

“It had eight legs,” Peter automatically forwarded in Ukrainian before pausing and looking up at Stiles. Peter watched as he stuck the pencil between his teeth and typed on his keyboard, mind apparently intent on his current task.

“Okay,” Peter’s contact answered on the phone. “I think I have something for you.”

Peter turned all of his attention back to the conversation, tucking the revelation away for another time.

__________

“Eight legs, yellow scales, and secretes a gel-like hallucinogen?” Chris clarified with a frown. “I don’t recognize it… I have a few books you could look at, I guess. Only one of ‘em is English though. Another is in French, if anyone took enough in high school to read it,” he suggested skeptically.

“What language is the last one?”

Chris raised an eyebrow at Lydia.

“Russian. So unless-”

“Great, Stiles can take that one, I’ll get the French, and Peter can have the English. Let’s go.” Lydia was already moving toward the safe where he knew Argent kept his supernatural books, Stiles close on her heels.

Peter grinned lazily at Chris, following the other two and enjoying the dumbfounded look on the hunter’s face.

__________

“Dad, just- I know you want to go look at the scene for yourself but please, please don’t go,” Stiles begged.

Peter looked away, trying to give the father and son the illusion of privacy. He couldn’t leave- not when whatever beast they were tracking seemed to have latched on to Stiles specifically.

Not that they were telling the sheriff that.

“Isaac almost got his leg cut off by this thing, Dad-”

“Another pair of eyes can’t do anything but help,” Sheriff Stilinski insisted stubbornly. “I have to help, son.”

“Dad, please,” Stiles said quietly in Polish. Peter startled at the sudden change, turning around to see Stiles squeezing his eyes shut before opening them to look at his father, slightly glassy with tears. “For once think of yourself and me first. Please just keep yourself safe,” he continued in Polish.

The sheriff looked devastated. He was silent for a long moment.

“Alright,” he eventually responded, emotion making his responding Polish sound rough. “I’ll stay away. Until morning.”

The relief on Stiles’ face would have made a better man feel guilty for intruding on the moment, but Peter was too busy wondering just why Stiles knew so many languages.

__________

Peter and Stiles, it always came down to Peter and Stiles, didn’t it? No matter what dumbass plan the group agreed upon, it was always Peter and Stiles left alone.

Peter growled and slashed his claws at the beast again, playing the most high stakes game of goalkeeper in his life.

Stiles frantically clicked through link after link on the laptop behind him, digging for the one spell that would turn the beast back into it’s original form, whatever that was. Well, assuming they were right about it being a transfiguration spell gone wrong in the first place.

“DORISE EMPEROCT COMMONIO” came the sudden yell from behind him, and Peter felt a wave of energy rush past him and into the beast.

The snarling, slavering monster shuddered, scuttling back before beginning to shrink- and shrink, and shrink some more. Two beats later, a hermit crab in a yellow shell sat on the floor in front of them.

Stiles slowly approached from behind.

“… Do you think we can touch it?” he asked.

Peter stared at it with an open mouth for another moment before rounding on Stiles.

“Latin isn’t even Slavic!” he shouted indignantly.

Stiles blinked at him for a moment.

“… I’m gonna touch it.”

“Don’t fucking do that, it might pinch you,” Peter sniped, batting Stiles’ hands away and going to pick up the hermit crab himself. “Your pronunciation is perfect, why in God’s name are you fluent in five languages?” he demanded as he dropped the crab into a mason jar that was sitting out, puncturing the lid with his claws before screwing it on.

“Seven, actually,” Stiles said absently, tapping on the glass of the jar and startling the crab into it’s shell. “I learned French back when I still wanted to date Lydia. I had big ideas about the private tutoring sessions with the language of love.” He stood up straight. “Learning Spanish after that was only practical.”

“Seven,” Peter echoed. That outdid him by three. “Why?” he repeated, so curious he could hardly stand it. “And why didn’t I know about it?”

Stiles tensed his jaw for a moment before forcing himself to relax.

“Most people don’t know, you’re not special. Lydia knows because she dated Jackson, and Jackson knew because of his dad, and Jackson’s dad knew because he’s an asshole who takes the ‘power in information’ concept to the dirtiest lows.”

Stiles squatted back down, looking at the crab hiding in it’s shell.

“I’m adopted. It’s not that big of a deal. I always thought Jackson overreacted… but then again I remember being adopted.” The crab poked the tiniest bit of itself out, testing the environment. “My parents found me in a Ukrainian orphanage. I was four.”

“Before I left, the older children told me that they were kidnapping me to harvest my organs. Which sounds kind of hilarious in retrospect, but I stole a knife as soon as we got to Beacon Hills and kept it under my mattress.” He softly stroked the glass of the jar. “Still have it, actually. I don’t have a whole lot of clear memories of the orphanage, but I do remember that the idea of being killed for my organs wasn’t implausible based on what life was like there.”

The crab came out a little further, getting two legs all the way out.

“Anyway,” Stiles sighed. “Obviously they didn’t harvest my organs. After about six months I felt like they’d taken away something just as important, though. I started forgetting how to speak Ukrainian.” He tensed his shoulders at the memory of what it had felt like, how scared he’d been.

“I was forgetting Ukrainian, but also didn’t know enough English to fully express myself either. I felt like I was losing all my ability to communicate; I felt like I was going crazy. I threw huge tantrums, kicking and screaming and hurting myself. It wasn’t until Dad’s parents came for a visit that I could calm down.”

“Polish is a lot like Ukrainian, you know? They were first generation immigrants, so while they knew perfect English, they still mostly spoke Polish to each other, and my Dad sometimes. After a week with them, most of my Ukrainian came back, and I started picking up Polish too. When Mom saw how much calmer I was, she made the connection. She told Dad to speak to me in Polish.”

The little crab finally came all the way out, timidly skittering around the bottom of the mason jar.

“Mom had already picked up some of the language, just living with Dad, but after that she dove into it. She loved it. The whole process of learning grammar and context and cultural phrases- she just really fucking loved it. After she mastered Polish, she started teaching herself Russian, and asked if I wanted to do it with her.”

Stiles finally stood again, raising his gaze to Peter.

“It was the first thing she forgot when the dementia kicked in.”

Peter stood stunned, unable to think of a single thing to say.

“So anyway,” Stiles said as he started tapping the counter next to the hermit crab, causing it to dart back inside it’s shell. “That’s why most people don’t know. Don’t be ass about it now that you do. What are we gonna do about this guy?” He jerked his thumb at the jar. “Or whoever was responsible for trying to transfigure him?” He glanced around Peter’s apartment. “Also, you need a new couch. Pretty sure that one is done for.”

Slowly, and in Ukrainian, Peter said “I don’t think we can give him to a pet store. Someone’s going to have to keep him.”

Stiles looked at Peter sharply, trying to parse his intention from his expression.

“Yes,” Stiles agreed eventually, responding in like. “Your counter looks like it has enough room for a terrarium.”

“I already have to get a new couch, and now you want me to sacrifice counter space for it too?” Peter demanded, more at ease now that Stiles hadn’t snapped at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Who else is going to take him?” Stiles said, throwing his hands into the air, the edge of a smile tickling his mouth. “I can’t! My dad would actually murder me, and then Scott would have to avenge my death and we both know he’d never win that fight. You’re the only option here.” Stiles picked up the jar and held it next to his face with big, beseeching eyes. “You’re his only hope.”

“Don’t you quote Star Wars at me, not when you’re trying to make me father. You know exactly what happens to fathers in Star Wars,” Peter said despite taking the jar from Stiles and peering in at the hermit crab.

Stiles was openly smiling now, relaxed in a way Peter didn’t often see.

“I’ll take him on one condition,” Peter said, continuing in Ukrainian. “You have to be the one who cleans out his tank.”

“Half,” Stiles haggled. “I’ll do it once a week, you do the other.”

“Deal.”

__________

If Peter’s apartment walls could talk, they’d speak Ukrainian, because that’s nearly all they heard.

They’d also have a few secrets to tell about kisses and boys with pale skin.

#about 1.5k under the cut #I'm already doing steter week so what the fuck is this nonsense #also that latin spell was pulled out of my ass so if it's shit THAT'S WHY #steter #steter fic #this blog needs a tag for my bullshit #tumblr fic and kinda fic

[ncityislove]

Sempiternal Pt.3

➳Pairing: Yoongi x reader

➳Genre: Fluff

➳Warnings: cursing, a smidge of angst if you can even call it that

➳Word count: 4k+

After you left, Yoongi plopped down on the end of the couch that Taehyung was balled up on. For the first time in a while, Yoongi felt happy. He had never met a girl like you. Yoongi felt like yesterday was just the beginning. He wanted more with you. He wanted to take you on dates and show you off to all his friends and more than anything he wanted to be your boyfriend. Yoongi smirked to himself at the thought of that.

"What are you so happy about?" asked Hosoek, slipping out of Namjoon's embrace. Yoongi blinked.

"W-what? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about something," stuttered Yoongi.

"Something or someone?" Hosoek said, running a hand through his sleep crazed hair.

"Huh?" Yoongi said, not catching on.

"I'm not an idiot Yoongi. I remember that day Jin sent you to the grocery store. I stayed over the night before, remember?"

Yoongi shifted in his seat nervously. "What are you talking about?"

"Hyung, I saw you go to the store completely normal and come back looking like someone killed your cat," Hosoek said crossing his arms.

"I don't have a cat," Yoongi grumbled.

"That's not the point. The point is, I saw your face when I dragged you into that bar. You looked like a fat kid who just found a kit-kat."

"Your analogies are weird as fuck, bro."

"I don't hear you denying anything I'm saying, though, do I?" Hosoek said, giving him a knowing look.

Yoongi stayed silent.

"I knew it!" Hosoek exclaimed, doing a victory dance.

"Shut up," Yoongi said throwing his head back on the couch pillows.

"So, y/n is the reason why you've been such a pain in the ass these past two months?" Hosoek questioned.

"Can't you let this go?" Yoongi said growing annoyed by the second.

"You know that's the reason why I dragged you to that bar in the first place," Hosoek continued. "Ha! And you said it was a bad idea. You had been such a dick lately and refused to leave the house like some weird old hermit or something."

"Huh? Did someone say hermit?" said Namjoon shooting up.

Yoongi rolled his eyes to the sky. "You're the only person I know who would wake up just because they hear the word 'hermit'."

"For Christ's sake, please get some help," Hoseok said putting his head in his hands.

"You're the therapist here. Find a cure for Namjoon's crab obsession," Yoongi said standing on his feet.

"Shut the hell up," Namjoon said stretching. "If anyone needs help, it's you two."    

You stalked down the food court, pouting childishly, with your best friend, Leena, rushing behind you. You had been shopping all day and couldn't manage to find a single thing you liked.

"Y/n, slow down!" Leena panted after you.

"How hard is it to find something casually sexy but also comfortable and cute? I don't wanna look like a slut but I don't wanna look like a nun either, god!" You exasperated.

"Girl, let's just take a deep breath and eat something, okay?" said Leena, patting your back.

You nodded at your friend, sighing. You were too tired to argue anyways. You found a table that wasn't too sticky and sat down as Leena handed you your Panda Express.

"So, this Yoongi person is the legendary grocery store guy?" asked Leena.

"Yeah, and he looks even better than I remembered," you said stuffing your mouth with fried rice.

"Does he have any brothers?" Leena said smirking. The corners of your mouth turned down.

"I don't know about any brothers but his friends are equally as hot."

"Is that so? I just might have to meet these gentlemen then, won't I?" she said stealing some of your orange chicken.

"Hey! Who do you think I am? Eat your own food, you whore," you said waving a knuckle in the air.

Leena ignored you and took another bite of your food before wiping her hands on a napkin.

"You know, I may have something at home that you could wear."

You leaned over the table. "Do you, now?"

It was 6:24 and you had tried on almost everything in Leena's closet that could fit you. You had finally found an outfit that you deemed appropriate and Leena almost fell out of exhaustion when you did. Could she literally be any more dramatic? It was a grey jumper that outlined your curves but covered enough skin that it still left things to the imagination. 

Now all you had to do was wait on a call from a certain someone. This was where you struggled the most. An hour passed and then another and you were sure he wasn't going to call you at that point. You thought you had been very clear when you had told him to call you tonight but maybe he didn't like you as much as you thought. Maybe he was just being nice when he said he wanted your number. Maybe he felt bad for you.

Leena rolled her eyes when you expressed your doubts.

"Oh come on, if what you've told me about Yoongi is true then I have no doubt in my mind that he'll call," she said bringing you into a hug.

   As if on cue, your cell phone rang and your body shot up immediately, pushing Leena off of you, forcefully. You dashed for your phone and Leena, who was now lying on the floor, caught your foot before you could reach it.

"Wait! Don't answer it; let it ring a few times."

"Right, of course! Thanks, Leena," you said. You waited a few more nerve-wracking seconds until you slid your fingers across the screen.

"Hello?" you said.

"Hey, it's Yoongi," said a deep voice from the other line. You heart stuttered at the sound of his voice.

"Put it on speaker!" Leena whisper-shouted.

You put a finger to your lips as you put the phone on speaker mode.

"I didn't think you'd call," you said.

Yoongi chuckled. "What did I do to make you think that? I said I'd call and I did." A small smile formed on your face.

"I'm glad you did. I missed your voice," you said.

Yoongi paused, caught off guard by your honesty. "You know, I did too...Which is why I'm asking you out tonight so you can hear it some more."

Leena let out a high pitched squeal and you jumped off your bed to put your hand over her mouth.

"O-okay," You stammered. "What time?"

"Right now. I'm pulling into your neighborhood."

Your eyes widened. "Wait, what?? How do you know where I lived?"

"I got it from your manager at the bar. You shouldn't trust that guy by the way, he gives out your personal information pretty easily," Yoongi said, laughing.

Leena had to cover her own mouth this time because if she didn't, she probably would've scared Yoongi with her obnoxious hyena laugh.

"B-but why didn't you tell me ahead of time?!" You said, scrambling to find your shoes.

"I wanted to surprise you," Yoongi said. And you could tell by the tone of his voice he was smiling.

"I'm only half-way ready, Yoongi!" You said stuffing your wallet into your purse.

"I know," Yoongi chuckled.

You paused. "Min Yoongi, you evil, evil man."

"I can be at times. Now, open the door," said Yoongi. The call ended and not even a few seconds later you heard a loud knock at the door.

"I guess you get to meet him sooner than you expected, Leena. Go get the door," you demanded as you shoved her out of your bedroom.

"He better be as cute as you said he was because-

Ding dong

Leena paused. "Because-

Ding dong

"Damn, can I finish my sentence?" Leena huffed.

Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong!

"Who told you it was a good idea to get a doorbell installed?" Leena yelled as she stalked down the hall.

You chuckled as you grabbed your mascara. "You did, remember?"

Leena indeed had requested for you to install the doorbell. There were countless mornings when Leena came over but you wouldn't answer due to your coma induced-like sleeping state. At one point she even asked for a key but you kept forgetting so when you walked in on Leena on the phone with your landlord you didn't object.  

Leena didn't answer you as she walked briskly to the front door to confront the man causing the ruckus behind the door.  

Yoongi started banging on the door again and Leena flung the door open, causing him to lose his balance and stumble in. Leena looked him up and down with squinted eyes as Yoongi regained his composure.

"You're lucky you're cute," she grumbled as she ushered him inside.

"Uh," Yoongi started, looking at Leena then around the house. "This is y/n's house....right?"

"Yeah, she'll be out in a minute."

"Oh," Yoongi said nodding then taking a seat on the couch, putting his feet up.

Leena gave him a questioning look. "You sure are comfortable for someone who's here for the first time."

"Thanks," Yoongi said pursing his lips but bringing his feet back to the floor.

"You might have to wait a little while. You really bamboozled her by showing up like this," Leena said clicking her teeth.

Yoongi paused. "I find pleasure in the element of surprise. It shows you people's true colors."

Leena raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry was that weird?" Yoongi said chuckling.

She shook her head, "No. Not at all actually."

Yoongi smirked. "So which way is y/n's room?"

"Huh?" Leena asked, furrowing her brows at the sudden change in topic.

"Never mind, I'll find it on my own," Yoongi said, already halfway down the hall.

"W-what? Wait!" Leena called after him but Yoongi continued his journey down to your room, ignoring Leena's protests.

Leena shrugged and plopped herself down on the couch grumbling to herself as she heard you yelp in surprise.

"Jesus, Yoongi!" You screamed. "What the hell is wrong with you, huh?" You said angrily, slapping his arm.

Yoongi was laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking. You huffed and sat down on the edge of your bed.

"You're a real asshole," you mumbled.

Yoongi stopped laughing. "What did you just call me?"

"Did I stutter?" You said crossing your arms.

"Uh, yeah? You were all like, 'Y-y-you're a-a real a-asshole, Y-Yoongi.'"

"You little— You started, throwing your body on top of his, knocking him over.

"I'm gonna kill you! First, you show up to my house out of the blue and now you're disrespecting me?" You said throwing soft punches.

"Ahhh! Oh n-no! Yoongi fake screamed.

  You laughed as you slapped his chest harder and Yoongi grabbed your hands and looked at you with a gummy smile that stopped your heart. You could swear you could see the universe in his eyes and his hair looked so soft that you had to fight the urge to run your fingers through it. Yoongi's smile faded as he examined your expression.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Yoongi said flailing your wrists about, reviving your laughter once more.

"What the hell is going on back here?" Leena asked standing by the door. "What's with all the screaming? And what in God's name are you doing on top of him like that?"

You blushed at the intimate position you were in. You were straddling Yoongi's lower abdomen, just mere centimeters away from a zone that you would very much like to be in but is very much, way too inappropriate to do so. At least right now it is.

Yoongi's smile widened. "I'm not complaining." And with that, you stood up as quick as possible.

"Aww," Yoongi whined, not moving from his spot on the floor.

"Are we going out tonight or what?" you said rolling your eyes playfully.

"Alright, Alright. Let's go," said Yoongi getting up. "It was nice to meet you...?"

"Leena," she said finishing for him.

"Leena. Got it. We'll be going now," he said saluting her as he walked out your bedroom door.

"Byeeee!" You yelled as you were being pulled away.

"Stay safe, you two!" she yelled back as the door slammed shut.

   Yoongi opened the door for you and you slid into the car seat, trying not to pee your pants. It's not that you were nervous or anything like that. It's just that your heart was beating a mile a minute and your stomach flipped every time you thought about the fact that you were on a date with a handsome painter. No, you definitely weren't nervous.

   The car ride was mostly silent other than the few times Yoongi fake stuttered a question every now then, earning a smack on his arm. You tried not to seem so flustered but even under your makeup, every time you caught Yoongi looking your way, they burned a bright red. The effect he had on you frightened you, quite honestly. You'd never been in a real relationship and anytime someone got close, you ran away, sometimes literally. You liked being alone. You lived alone, worked alone, and spent most of your time alone. It's not that you hated people (well maybe) it was just that socialization wasn't your thing. You had a tendency to say all the wrong things and it always hurt the people you loved. You didn't want to burden anyone by having them struggle to understand you, or even worse, accidentally hurting them and they leave you. With the exception of your childhood best friend, Leena, you'd decided long ago it was better to have no one at all then to be left behind by someone you loved. 

Taking a chance on Yoongi surprised both Leena and yourself. If this was any other guy, you wouldn't have even been sitting in the car with him but Yoongi was different. What made him so special, you didn't know, but the thought of ending what had barely even begun made your heart wrench so you decided not to dwell on it.

The restaurant wasn't even a restaurant. It was a cafe located dead smack in the middle of an empty plaza. Not that Yoongi had even told you where he was taking you, but you had high expectations and you worked quickly to hide your disappointment. The heart-stopping smile he sent you as you walked side by side towards the entrance helped a little. 

When you entered the cafe, your eyes went wide as saucers and an over dramatic gasp escaped your lips because this was not what you expected to see. You expected to be met with the heavy scent of coffee and plain walls with a few pictures of the owners on the walls. You had expected an old plain Jane ordinary cozy little cafe but you couldn't have been more wrong. The cafe was brightly colored and a lot bigger than it looked from the outside. Though the coffee scent was still there, it was mixed with the wonderful fragrance that could only belong to nature's cutest creatures. You kicked your feet with glee as the fluffy little angels ran to greet their mysterious new visitors.

A dog cafe. Yoongi has brought you to a dog cafe.

You kneeled down to pet the dogs encircling the two of you, smiling so hard your cheeks began to hurt, cooing at the adorable dogs.

"Oh good, I was scared you might've been allergic to dogs or something when you gasped like that," Yoongi said flicking his head a bit so he could peer down at you through his bangs.

You ignored Yoongi's comment as you inhaled the lavender scented dog shampoo that hung in the air. You had always like dogs although you were never fortunate enough to own one. You had always been stuck with a fish or a hamster whenever you'd asked for a puppy. You scrunched your nose at the memory. Dogs were a rare sight for you so whenever a dog was near, you jumped at the opportunity to pet them and silently wish to yourself to keep it forever.

"I...I think this is the best day of my life," you said, astonished.

Yoongi crouched down beside you and held his hand out for the dogs to lick at. "Obviously," he grumbled. 

You grimaced at him before elbowing him in his ribs. Yoongi rubbed at his sides, hissing, before leaving you and the dogs behind in favor of ordering. While you were distracted with a particularly cute white-haired dog that you didn't know the name of, Yoongi ordered for you and picked out a table for you both right next to the window. You reluctantly left the cute pets to join Yoongi and retrieved your coffee which tasted too good to be true if you were being honest with yourself. Yoongi even went as far as purchasing another of the drink due to your raving, which you tried to decline, but he'd only rolled his eyes and left to make another order, this time bringing pastries that were equally as yummy as they appeared. 

The two of you chatted away for what felt like an eternity but to your dismay, barely an hour had even passed. The date was going surprisingly very well. Yoongi has been s gentleman all night, pulling out the chair for you, opening doors and even paying for your meal. If you hadn't have known better, you'd think you were dreaming. The cafe had been pretty much empty (why that was, you had no idea) so it made the whole thing feel more intimate. That was, until a very casual man walked in, sounding the bells on the door, causing the dogs to come racing from all around to the door. You smiled at the dogs for the umpteenth time that night.

"Do you come here a lot?" You asked turning back around to face Yoongi.

Yoongi finished the last two bites of his muffin before speaking. "Not really. I've only been here once but I always wanted to come back." He said as he crumpled the wrapper in his hand and leaned over the table. "and this time I got to come back with a beautiful girl."

"That was so corny," you shook your head biting your lip to stop the smile threatening to form on your lips but Yoongi could see right through you.

"Maybe, but you liked it," Yoongi said flicking his finger under your chin, leaving your skin burning after its departure and a light feeling in your stomach. "I'll be right back, I've gotta go powder my nose real quick," He said, getting to his feet then briskly walking toward the restrooms.

"Powder your what?" You said to no one in particular. You giggled softly at his strange words. Yoongi always did the weirdest things to make you laugh.

"What a stunning smile," said a voice from behind.

You whipped you head, slightly startled, to be greeted by a pair of curious chocolate eyes and a friendly smile.

"Oh," was all you could manage to say. The stranger stood there staring at you for a second longer than normal then cleared his throat. You took in his black hoodie and ripped jeans as he stuffed his hands in his pockets awkwardly. 

"That was supposed to be an icebreaker but I guess it didn't work too well," the man said sheepishly.

"Oh," you repeated. You blinked a few times before you realized it might come off rude to say nothing more than 'oh'. "Ah, sorry. I'm just a weirdo. Thank you for the compliment.

"No problem," he said grinning, showing off his perfect teeth. "I'll let you get back to your drink." And with that, he was gone. Yoongi had returned back to his spot at the table before you had enough time to register what just happened so you just shrugged it off, ready to resume your date.

"That was quick," you said fixing your already perfect hair.

"I have a small nose," Yoongi said standing again. "Shall we move this party somewhere else?"

You cocked your head to the side. "Somewhere else? You mean there's more?"

Yoongi hummed his affirmation, smiling that adorning smile of his, turning you to mush. You opened your mouth, ready to ask another question, but was cut short when the cashier sits an oversized frappé with a heavenly amount of whipped cream drizzled with caramel in front of you. Your eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Oh!- I, um, didn't order this," You said staring up at her in confusion.

"Yes, I know. It's from the gentleman over there," she said pointing in the direction of the stranger from a few moments ago. He held up a hand with a smile as big as Texas and you froze, looking at your drink, then him, then back at your drink. Your mouth gasped open at the sudden realization that he was attempting to flirt with you earlier and that's when you began to panic. You gasped softly before waving back at the man and telling the cashier to send him your thanks. When you turned to Yoongi, his eyebrows were scrunched together and his sharp eyes squinted at the stranger who either was completely oblivious to his stare or just flat out didn't care.

"Yoongi? Hey! Earth to Yoongi??" You said waving your hand in his face. Yoongi's eyes slowly drifted from the man to you.

"Don't worry about him, it's just a drink," you said rubbing his arm, coaxing him to sit back down. You let out a sigh of relief when he did.

"Just a drink huh?" He questioned.

"Exactly, just a drink," you said flicking your hand as if it was nothing.

"I don't think he knows that," Yoongi said, his jaw set.

"What do you mean?" You said sitting up straighter.

"He's coming," said Yoongi, leaning back in his chair.

Your lips parted in surprise when you turned to see Yoongi's words were true. The stranger was a few steps away and you began to panic again. Your date was at stake here. Your foolish mistake of not realizing the man's intentions was obviously bothering Yoongi and you feared at that very moment that he might murder the poor man. The look in his eyes, although it wasn't aimed at you, sent an icy chill down your spine.

"I hope you like what I picked out. I didn't know what you liked," said the man.

"No, it tastes great! Thank you," you lied, not having tasted the drink yet. "But I think there's a misunderstanding. You see, I'm on a date," you said gesturing to a very intimidating Yoongi.

The man smiled at you. "Yes, it seems so. Sorry if this comes off rude but I don't care that you came here with another man. What's important is that you leave with me."

You shrunk back in your seat with wide eyes.

"What?" Yoongi hissed.

"It's nothing personal, man. We both like her for obvious reasons but it's clear that I could take better care of her than you ever could," he said eyeing his clothes with a slight frown.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Yoongi said, his voice growing louder.

"I was being pretty straightforward. If you can't figure it out than it only further proves my point."

"Listen," the man said turning to you. "I don't know how this guy managed to get you here with him but if you just allow me one date—

Yoongi abruptly stood up. "Listen buddy—

"HAHAHAHA! OKAY TIME TO GO NOW!" You exclaimed, laughing nervously.

"No, hold up, I need to set this guy straight," Yoongi said sizing up the man.

"No, no, no! You said there's more right? The date includes us going somewhere else and we were already leaving so c'mon!" You said yanking at his arm. After a couple of tugs with no reaction, he let you drag him out of the cafe into the dark sky.

Yoongi leaned his body against the passenger's door, his arms folded, as he exhaled a long sigh.

"Yoongs?" You said approaching his tense figure. "Your not mad right?" Yoongi shook his head silently, not moving from his position against the car. You stood next to him lacing your fingers in his as you watched his anger quite visibly dissipate into the cool air.

"I'm sorry. I had no right to get so angry," Yoongi said facing you.

"No, don't apologize. He was outright disrespectful to you. You have every right to be upset."

Yoongi sighed again as he stared at your intertwined hands. A smile bloomed on his face as he squeezed your hand. "You called me 'Yoongs'."

You giggled. "Did I? I heard the boys calling you that so I guess it just stuck."

"I like it. It sounds better when you say it."

You cheesed at the devilishly handsome man standing before you and everything felt perfect. Like you standing with him was something you've done countless times. Your attraction to him somehow grew stronger in the time he picked you to now and you wanted nothing more than to keep his hand in yours for as long as possible. The encounter at the cafe was quickly forgotten as you laughed together in the car, on your way to the next mysterious location.

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