#and i love nine but not when it means bashing ten constantly

[3lostyears]

“nine would never do this” “nine isn’t afraid like ten” oh my goddddd they are literally the same alien but they come from different circumstances and are defined by different things:

nine comes from loss. the time war and the destruction of gallifrey is new for him. therefore, from his perspective, he has everything to gain - the main one being rose. that’s why he genuinely has to decide between losing rose and saving the world, because he hasn’t gained the world. if anything it’s a backdrop. but he has rose.

what nine needs to learn is that things and people can change - himself included. he is far less of a pacifist than ten because his morality is giving things a chance, ie the nestene consciousness in the very first episode. this is also the crux of the dalek episode, rose’s point is not entirely “guns are bad” but “it’s changed”. you see this change in the difference between how nine and ten treat cassandra, specifically in how cassandra shows empathy for the sick woman.

ten, in comparison, has gained. he has rose and a family to have christmas with. and that means he really only has things to lose - again, the main one being rose. because nine came from nothing he was essentially content enough to just have rose in his presence and have her choose him. ten now sees his relationship with rose in longer terms (i cannot stress enough that nine was not counting on his survival but was very accepting of his death, so he’s basically just elated to still be alive and to have rose reciprocate his feelings before he regenerates) and therefore has to recognise that he will inevitably lose her one day.

nine is not thinking about “the curse of the timelords” because he exclusively thinks of himself as a survivor.

it’s the fear of loss that really separates the two characters. because ten’s morality is actually pretty similar to nine’s for most of s2. people say that his “you get one warning” speech from school reunion is a prelude to time lord victorious but it feels much more like nine to me. he has compassion, for the cybermen and even cassandra and the werewolf, but he doesn’t really offer to save anyone with the frequency he will in later seasons. when it comes to the wire, the devil, and the daleks (aka the main three that threatened rose) he’s ready to kill them with limited preamble.

but then he does lose rose and he cannot bear it. he loses her and then murders a bunch of children, gets called out, and then goes pretty much the complete opposite way because he cannot bear any more loss. think about it: nine hears the ENTIRETY of satellite 5 get massacred and is horrified but keeps going. if ten had heard that he would be a screaming wreck.

"ten is a coward" is literally the ENTIRE point? some of nine's last ever words are "coward, any day" because he is sick of being a killer. and i actually fundamentally disagree with that action of his, but i get why it matters. because it shows he changed, and that's not what he believed when we first met him. he thought he was broken and that humans were a bunch of stupid apes, and by the end he is deeply in love with a human and knows he was fantastic.

it is therefore not surprising that davros is the doctor’s worst nightmare because he comes for two regenerations: he breaks nine when he says people can change, but you changed them for the worst; he breaks ten with the reminder that people have lost their lives for and because of him. so you get this pure trauma response of ten offering actual fascist davros safety and yelling at tentoo for "committing" genocide (and tentoo likely reverts back to that nine-era morality not only because he's "born from blood" but because he's actually born from gain - he got rose back).

ten is also a tragedy (where nine is not) because he is ultimately, utterly, completely defined by loss. nine was resigned to his fate (everything has its time and everything dies) and ten was born from hope and love, which systematically get ripped away from him. he was born wanting to live, specifically with the woman he loves, and he doesn't even get to die in the same universe as her.

also the whole "nine would never gitf" ten wouldn't be ten gitf if it was written properly but may i remind you that a couple of hours before he kissed and died for rose he was also blatantly flirting with lynda with a y? "ten was disrespectful he made rose act as a dinner lady" and nine let jabe ask HIM if rose was his prostitute after he’d called rose his plus one. they are not healthy aliens when it comes to people they like!

#tenth doctor #ninth doctor #doctor who #rose tyler #timepetals #meta #my stuff #also i would have loved more CE and i hate how he was treated #but to act like he didn’t get one of the best most fulfilled most completed doctor arcs #in a single season no less? that’s just incorrect #(to me) #and i love nine but not when it means bashing ten constantly #i have said it before i’ll say it again of course ten was different with s2 rose #she had more self confidence and they were married #dw meta

[jimlingss]

Kale’in Me Softly

➜ Words: 17.1k

➜ Genres: 90% Fluff, 9.5% Angst, 0.5% Smut, Farm!AU

➜ Summary: After your grandfather's passing, you decide to take over his farm and plant the trendiest vegetable: kale. It's a struggle to be in the countryside when you've always been a city girl. But there's someone less than sympathetic — a grumpy farmer across the acres who's constantly trying to pick a fight with you.

➜ Warning: Strongly implied smut

cr.

Home — you left it all behind for this.    The tractor chugs and wheezes. Its wheels roll over the craggy and unpaved road, making you feel every bump and pebble through constant jolts and bounces. The sweltering heat of the scorching sun was already making you break into a sweat and you sigh, listening to the buzzing of cicadas and the sputtering engine.   But otherwise, it was quiet. More than what you were used to. There isn’t any traffic, honking, construction or the noise of motorcycle engines or sirens of ambulances. There’s just the rustle of leaves and the swaying of grass strands.   “I can’t believe Old Man Seok had such a pretty granddaughter.”    A laugh bubbles out of you. “It’s all in the genes. Did you know my grandfather?”   “Everyone knew Old Man Seok. Everyone knows everyone here. But it sure helps that our farms are next door to each other. Just down yonder.” The middle-aged farmer grips the steering wheel. A good-natured aura in spite of his intimidating disposition, he feels like a strict but caring father figure. “He was very kind even to the end of his life. Offered my family a lot of jam throughout the years. A good man through and through. My condolences.”   Your smile softens. “Thank you.”   “I gotta say, it’s nice to have a new face around these neck of the woods. Doesn’t happen often.” The corner of the man’s mouth pulls and the wrinkles by his eyes crease. “You should come meet my son sometime.”   “I wouldn’t mind.” The tractor pulls up to the worn house you’ve seen in your mother’s childhood pictures. “I always love making new friends.”   You hop off the tractor the moment it comes to a stop and the man wishes you luck before you thank him again and he’s on his merry way.   With only one packed suitcase in hand, you walk up to the house and push your Gucci sunglasses to the top of your head to get a better look. The fence, door and roof are made with a cherry wood that compliments the forest green walls. The patio, on the other hand, is out of oak that matches the rocking chair in the corner. There’s white trim lining the rectangular windows, giving you a peek at the purple, paisley curtains inside.   The house looks tattered through time, but cozy.   “You’re leaving?!” — “Do you really think this is a good idea, Y/N?” — “Do you even know what you’re going to do there?”   The voices of the friends you left behind echo in the recesses of your mind while you fiddle with the hem of your dress in the shade of classical blue — 2020’s pantone colour and a fantastic fashion statement. It’s not farm-appropriate, but better than most of the things in your closet.   You went shopping for the last time before you packed your one pink suitcase, but you’re starting to realize those tight, denim overalls might not work like they do in the movies.   “You think you can run a farm?!” — “I didn’t raise you so you could go back to the countryside!” — “You don’t even know what you’re doing, Y/N! Grow up already and stop being ridiculous.”   An exhale squeezes out of you as you dispel away your family’s discouragement and you grip your grandfather’s letter as you finally muster the courage to approach the house.   When your grandfather passed away, you inherited ten thousand dollars and his five acre farm. It’s small. Nothing worthy of bragging about and one of the hundred of reasons everyone thought you would sell it. They even urged you to, so they could get a split of the money. But they never thought you would refuse. That you would leave everything behind and come all the way here.   It’s a mess.   Thick layers of dust coat the antique furniture and peering out from the kitchen window, the field is littered in leaves and twigs, wooden planks and debris. A sense of guilt overwhelms you.    You can’t believe your family let it become this way.    You set down your belongings and almost immediately, you begin to look around. Pacing the backyard, the field, the barn, trying to figure out what is what. And it’s not long before a dark-haired man with doe eyes and a permanent dear-in-headlights expression finds you.   He nearly startles you to death with his timid greeting. “H-Hi...”    “Holy shit!” You press your hand to your chest, spinning around and he boyishly grins. “You scared me!”   “S-Sorry…my bad...” Boots, jeans and a white shirt, he looks like a newly graduated high school student who stumbled into the wrong place. “Are you Y/N?”   “That’s me.” You wonder if he’s here to kill you. The farm setting was the perfect location after all and serial killers these days have the potential of looking as cute as he does. “You’re...?”   “I’m Jungkook. I used to work with Old Man Seok. My mom told me you’d be comin’ today and that I should show you around, so….” He scratches the back of his neck, oddly endearing for how awkward he is.    You let him guide you despite having already gotten the chance to peek at almost everything — a detail you leave out to spare him from being disheartened. But with Jungkook here, he has the strength to widen the doors of the old shed out back and you get a better look at the storage and old equipment.   “God.” You cough and bat your hand from the dust piles arising. “It’s so dirty.”   “Yeah. The tractor needs a bit of fixin’ up which I can help you with, if you need.”   It’s clear that towards the end of your grandfather’s life, he was too weak to properly take care of his property. You can tell by the way the field is in tatters, all his crops long dead and his machinery is in desperate need of repair. But as you gander at the space, you discover that there’s everything you need right here. Shovels. Wheelbarrows. Sickles and spades.   “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”   Jungkook nods, wearing a small smile. “Your grandpa used to help me out a lot, so it’s the least I can do. If you ever need any help, I’m down a few acres West by the market. Just give a holler.”   Your cheeks warm, realizing he’s not as young as he appears to be. “I will.”   After a while longer, Jungkook leaves you to get settled down and you bid him farewell. You know it’s going to take a bit of time for you to get used to this change, but with a sigh, you try your best to familiarize yourself with the land and surrounding climate.   //   Back in LA, you were a fashion design marketer.   Originally, you set out to fulfill your childhood dream of being a top designer for a big brand like Chanel or Dior, but along the way, you ended up in the marketing sector. It wasn’t as bad as what people thought. A kind of niche you actually quite enjoyed and while you might've left it all behind for the farm life, you know the first step to starting anything is doing market research.   So at nine in the morning sharp, you enter the farmers’ market.   Open every Sunday, there’s a certain bustle and liveliness in the atmosphere. People from surrounding communities and even far away cities have come to get their fresh produce and dairy products. The market place is held in an open building with doors and massive garages wide open, practically held outdoors itself, and as you walk along the stands, you notice goat milk to beeswax lip balm being sold. There’s everything someone could ask for, bath salts and herbal soaps, baked goods and handmade aprons and quilts. You didn’t know farmers’ markets had so much to offer.   “Would you like to try some raspberry jam, darlin’?” A plump lady offers you a spatula.    “Sure. Thank you.” The sweet taste ends up bursting on your palette and you hum at the taste, considering buying a jar for breakfast. But she interrupts with a curious stare and a bigger smile.   “I haven’t seen you around before, dear. Did you come from somewhere far?”   “Oh no, I just moved in. My grandpa was Seokjin….”   “You mean Old Man Seok?” Her entire spine straightens, face lighting up. “I never knew he had a granddaughter!”   You warm, proud that your grandfather’s made such a lasting impression. “I just moved in a few acres away.”   “Taking care of your grandpa’s farm?” she asks and when you nod, the woman practically swoons. “Why, what a gracious thing you’re doin’! Old Man Seok would be proud to have a granddaughter like you! Keepin’ his legacy alive like that. Heaven knows I can’t even get my boy up to milk the cows!”   You laugh and she ends up handing you a small jar of raspberry jam for free, wishing you the best of luck.    Apparently word spreads fast in this place. After ten minutes of exploring the market, kind and overfamiliar strangers approach from behind their stands, greeting you and taking your hands. Some muse how similar you are to your grandfather while others happily send you some cheese and bread. By the time you’re at the end, it looks like you went grocery shopping.   But in the midst of it all, you get the chance to talk to some customers. Making conversation with a pregnant woman, an elderly man, and a little kid overly excited to use his allowance for some candy. People are receptive and friendly, more than what you’re used to back in the city. But you study what they purchase, their spending habits, what people seem to be interested in.   Then, your attention is caught at a cute honey stand — jars of honey sealed being sold with beeswax candles tied with pastel yellow ribbon. More importantly, you recognize the doe-eyed boy at the cash register.    “Jungkook!”   He greets you with a big smile. “Oh, hey, Y/N! I didn’t expect you’d be here.”   With your previous lifestyle, the attention of a cute boy like Jungkook isn’t enough to make you bashful — a few years too late on that — but you can still appreciate how endearing he is. “I’m just taking a look around. Thought I should get to know the place since I might be here soon.”   “How’re things going? Did you settle in yet?”   “I did actually.” It wasn’t in the realm of your expectations to make friends so quickly out here, but to have such pleasant small talk with Jungkook proves your anticipations were wrong. “It took a lot of time to clean the house, but totally worth it! I strung polaroids above the mantle and I found a vintage armchair that’s really in style, so I’d say things are going pretty well.”   The boy grins from your enthusiasm. “It sounds like you’re adapting better than I would.”   “I’m trying.” Your smile becomes sheepish. “I’m still figuring out the fields and the land. I haven’t even gotten started in clearing out the shed yet.”    He nods, lips parting to respond. But then there’s a call of his name behind him and he sighs before sending an apologetic expression. “Sorry. My ma has more honey to unload from the truck. I gotta skedaddle before she yells, but I’m glad things are working out for you!”   Jungkook’s undoubtedly cute, even when he says goodbye and promises to catch up with you soon. You don’t dwell either, continuing to parade through the market by yourself and discover all the places you missed on your first walk that was overwhelmed with others intercepting.   What piques your curiosity this time is a wooden stall with a soft green cloth draped over the flat surface and a sign that reads ‘Romaine with Me’. What’s offered in the crates are lettuce. Lots and lots of different heads of lettuce lined in rows like plush animal prizes on display at carnival games.   You don’t pay much mind to the man behind the stall that’s sleepily blinking and leaning his head in his hand, elbow propped up and figure slumped over. He looks like he’s dozed off but somehow kept his lids peeled back.   You approach and read the labels underneath. Red. Green. Romaine. Boston. Bibb. Arugula. Batavia. Radicchio. Iceberg.   “I didn’t know there were so many types of lettuce,” you mutter to yourself.   “It’s two dollars for each bundle or head,” the man suddenly pipes up in a raspy tone, nearly startling you to death. You realize his pupils have darted right on you and that’s he’s not in fact sleeping with his eyes open. “Romain is three. And there’s a sale on the radicchio.”   The man has an oddly intimidating disposition for looking so tired. He has tender features and seemingly soft skin that makes you wonder about his skin care routine. Yet, his hair is as dark as his cat-like eyes that have narrowed in on you. You suddenly feel pressure to make a purchase lest you waste more of his time.   “What are the differences?” you ask, studying the lettuces in front of you.   “Iceberg, romaine and radicchio are crispy. But iceberg has a clean and fresh taste. Romaine is more bitter and radicchio is a bit bitter and spicy. Boston and bibb are butter lettuces which are softer and have a sweet taste. Boston's leaves are wider and lighter green than bibb's. Arugula is peppery. Batavia is your usual with more crinkled leaves. Red and green are your standard.”    The man breathes the explanation out with only one lazy inhale in between and when he’s done, he gives you a look as if asking if you’re satisfied. But you’re more than that. You’re genuinely impressed.   He spat facts at you and you’re not sure what to do with the information.   “You know a lot about lettuce.”   “I’m a lettuce farmer,” he deadpans.   “Really?” The corners of your lips pull, even more intrigued than before. You didn’t take him for much of a farmer. The man has a kind of bad-boy vibe that you’re accustomed to and without much thought, the clumsy words stumble out of your mouth— “I thought farmers were dirtier.”   “What?”   “Like sunburnt, straw hats, overalls.” You nod, studying the produce and missing his offended expression. “Like that’s totally the farmer’s aesthetic.”   “Aesthetic?”   “Yeah,” you hum, not realizing the man was glaring holes into you. “I’ll take a bundle of the romaine, please.”   You end up going home shortly after, trekking underneath the sun with recyclable bags full of food that fills your fridge, sure to be enough for a whole week. You’re not sure what to exactly do after that — there’s plenty of tasks and jobs to be done, but you’re not certain where to start.   So you decide to take a break — partly to relax and partly to procrastinate. With your sweat wiped away and a fan whirring in the corner, you plop down into the vintage armchair and grab one of the magazines you brought with you. But it isn’t a good read, not when you had already looked at most of the pages on the plane ride over here….   Your mind ends up wandering, considering what you should do with grandfather’s land, if there was anything new you could offer at all. And at the same time as you’re flipping through the magazine, you stumble on a particular page. A recipe for an avocado kale poke bowl.   You skim it and your eyes stop at a single word. Kale.   Kale. It sticks to you like glue and you squint at the text, the four letters in print. Your mind searches and it hits you that kale was never sold at the farmers’ market. There was everything, every fruit, every vegetable. But not kale.    A smile stretches across your face, determination blooming in your chest. Organic kale was a total new fad. Good for you. Healthy. Sought after in the city, but yet to be prevalent in the countryside. It was a perfect opportunity, one that was sitting right in front of you this entire time.   Relief overwhelms you as you make a decision on your niche: kale.   //   It starts off with books.    Gathering as much information as you possibly can, you also learn through guides and internet articles on your chosen crop. You find out that kale becomes bitter over the summer, sweetest in the Fall after being touched by a light frost. It bolts in Spring, so sowing seeds is most appropriate around April to May while they can still be planted throughout the seasons. It provides a yield between late September to early May, direct seeds maturing in fifty to seventy days while transplants take a bit less than half the time.   You learn how to protect seedlings from pests, purchasing lightweight fabric to cover rows, and you begin to plow the fields.    It takes time to clean up, to get your grandfather’s equipment fixed, to become financed. But you start right away and soon, you’re sewing the seeds eighteen to twenty four inches apart. Getting transplants. Watering them appropriately. Working day and night.   You’re not exactly sure if you’re doing this right. Especially on hot days when you’re sweating buckets, dirt has marred your skin and your lower back screams. But you know that even if you fail and have to pack your bags, the effort of trying would be enough for you to feel satisfied.   So, you persist.    And day by day, the seeds begin to sprout. The dirt is littered with tiny green specks and you feel thrilled that it’s actually growing. Slowly, but surely, you would return this farm to its former glory by your own hands.   //   It’s another Sunday when you take a trip to the farmers’ market.   In spite of having only been here for a short amount of time, you’ve become acquainted with the market. You don’t get lost anymore in the bustle and many like to stop you to ask about your day. It’s a hospitable place, never making you feel uncomfortable or awkward, and you feel relieved that your grandfather was surrounded by such warmth till the end of his life.   You’re also starting to become familiar with one particular wooden stall and the sleepy man behind it.   No matter what week it is, he’s always there, wearing the same loose flannels but in different colours, flipping through a pamphlet or dozing off. He only looks up when someone comes to buy lettuce.   But today, he’s joined by an older man that recognizes you all too easily. “I almost didn’t see you there without being so gussied up in those city clothes. Looks like you’ve gotten yourself comfortable with farm life. Almost reminds me of Old Man Seok back in his heyday.”   Immediately, the younger lifts his head up, brow cocked. “You know her?”   “She’s Old Man Seok’s granddaughter. I gave her a ride to his farm when she first came,” Mr. Min introduces and his son gives you a better look, one that’s ridden with a modest amount of distaste. “Y/N, this is my boy, Yoongi, that I was talking about.”   It never occured to you how similar they are. Their husky voices and quiet yet intimidating dispositions are unparalleled. But the older seems more open and friendly than the younger who has a blank expression and his eyes narrowed in at you. Although you don’t get much time to dwell, ask him that the issue might be or if that’s simply who he is.   Some people naturally have a resting bitch face and Yoongi might be one of them.   “How’s the countryside life doing for you so far?” his father asks and you smile, attention redirected.   “It’s not too bad. But the sun’s hot and I didn’t know farming could be so hard!” Your head quirks to the side, still awed that this was the lifestyle of so many. “I always thought it would be easy cause the organic edamame plant back at my apartment wasn’t so bad to take care of.”   Yoongi scoffs.   “Yep, it’s difficult alright.” Mr. Min’s engrossed and asks, “What’re you growing?”   Enthusiasm and a sense of pride makes you exclaim the answer— “Kale!”    Yoongi winces at the volume of your voice while his father is made even more curious.    “Kale?”   “I was thinking about what wasn’t being sold at the farmers’ market and I found that kale was underrepresented,” you rant, “Kale’s totally the new wave. It’s a trendy, super food and packed with antioxidants. Did you know that kale is among the most nutrient-dense foods on the planet?”   “Can’t say I knew that.” Mr. Min has his mouth upturned into an amused smile. Yoongi, on the other hand, sighs. “I’d love to hear more about it. My wife’s quite passionate about these kinds of things too. She practically runs the entire farm! You should come over for dinner sometime, Y/N.”   “She should?” — “I’d love to!”   Both you and Yoongi talk over another, but you don’t hear him. You’ve never been invited to this kind of thing before and your family rarely ate together. So, the aesthetic of sitting down for a countryside meal with a farming family, like it’s Thanksgiving, is a fantasy you’re eager to fulfill.    //   Unfortunately, dinner at the Min household has to be held off when your first harvest comes.    Finally after a month of waiting, there’s actual kale out in the fields that are ready to be collected. The leaves are small, a little bitter and it’s not a large yield — but it isn’t bad for the first time. You’re happy enough that you’ve grown something, so you don’t nick pick for now.   Instead, you focus on wrapping up the bundles, on preparing a stall, on organizing a spot at the market to sell. And when the days of busy work and high pressure accumulate into the first Sunday of the month, you’ve arranged crates of freshly washed, organic kale ready for purchase.   It’s exciting. One week you’re walking around as a customer and the next, you’re on the other side of the stand as a vendor. You get to witness the behind the scenes of other farmers, the doors opening at nine sharp, the increasing bustle of the market.   But for some reason, you only have a few people who stop by and only one who buys a bundle.   “Don’t be worried,” Jungkook comforts, having stopped by once he noticed you. “People tend to buy what they’re used to, so just wait a while. You’ll eventually get your own set of customers!”   You can only hope he’s right.   By five in the evening, it’s over and you hold in your sigh. You wonder what you should do with the abundance of kale you have left, but you try not to linger as you close shop and the market shuts its doors.   Everyone seems to disassemble their stalls with ease, carrying crates to their cars, collecting their earnings. Most are gone within ten minutes but you struggle, unable to keep up when it’s all too new to you and before you know it, you’re the last one left in the space that’s still cleaning up after yourself.   The only person you catch is Yoongi who’s walking off, passing you with a crate of two lettuce heads, having already sold most of it. You notice he’s in one of his open flannels again, this time it’s yellow and gray, and you send a friendly smile. But he doesn’t say anything or make a change from his indifferent expression.   But then he stops. Five meters away.   “You should stop treating this like a joke,” Yoongi deadpans, swiveling around on his heel.   You freeze, halfway from grabbing the mason tip jar that you decorated with washi tape the night before. You blink, not sure if Min Yoongi is actually and willingly uttering words to you or if it’s your imagination. “What?”   But it isn’t. He is very much talking to you. “The market isn’t here for someone like you to play games.”   Now, you’re just confused. “But…...I’m not playing games...?”   “It’s obvious you’re not serious about this.”   You scoff. You’ve had your fair share of running into mean girls in the fashion industry and in High School, the ones who are snarky and make passive aggressive insults that are disguised as compliments. You just never expected to run into something like that here.   And in such a straightforward way too.   Usually people are more subtle when they show that they don’t like you.   “You can’t accuse me. You don’t know anything about me!”   Yoongi stares at you boredly. “You’re making a mockery out of people’s livelihood.”   “I’m trying to learn.” You cross your arms, standing your ground.    You suppose from his perspective it might be off-putting that you’ve come from nowhere and you’re trying your hand at the farm life. But you swear you haven’t been condescending nor have you ever looked down on anyone. At least you hope it hasn’t come across that way.   “I don’t know what I’m doing, but if it seems like I’ve been mocking you then I’m sorry.” This isn’t just a hobby to you nor is it a spectacle for your amusement. You’re serious. Even if you might come across as ditzy, insincere and inexperienced. “But you don’t need to go out of your way to insult me. I already know I was stupid for coming here. Why do you think I came alone? This is a whole new world for me and I’m trying, so I’d appreciate some empathy.”   Yoongi stares at you. You stare at him.   The two of you have your eyes locked in one another’s, and you want to throw hands, but then he suddenly walks away as if he didn’t hear a word you said.   You glare at his backside, huffing out in frustration.    As if your day wasn’t bad enough, he had to make it worse.   //   “Stop being ridiculous, Y/N!”   Your mom’s voice is jarring on the other end of the line. It’s grating to your ears. There’s a strong urge to hang up, but you’re not sure if she’ll call again. You’re surprised she called you in the first place — the likelihood of a second time is slim.   “I’m actually doing well, thank you very much.”   She ignores you. “Sell the land and come home. Do you really think you can do this?!”   Tears sting your eyes against your will. You inhale to keep your voice even and steady. “I do actually. I’m learning while I’m out here and it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”   “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. You had a high paying job. An apartment. Clean water to drink. Lots of food to eat. You were comfortable! And you gave it all up, why?!”   “The air’s fresher here,” you quip much to your mom’s chagrin and frustration. “I’m a grown woman, mom. I can make my own decisions.”   “Until you make others pick up after you!”    You wince, hand tightening on your duvet. You try your best not to cry. She doesn’t need to know that you’re running out of money, that your kitchen is filled with leafy greens you couldn’t sell, that your back aches from working out on the fields. “Don’t come running to me when you finally get bored or you’re halfway to starving to death.”   You know they think sooner or later, you’ll show up back home with your packed bag. But you refuse to give in. You’ll prove your friends and family wrong — you’ll follow through with this.   If there was one thing you were good at, it was being stupid. Being stupid made you at the bottom of the class, it made you have friends who used you, it made you struggle. And it made you resilient. It made you know what working hard to get to where you want meant. It made you determined.   And you’re gonna fucking give it your best! Even if the smarter route would be to give up!   So with your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, you brace yourself and enter your kitchen full of kale. If you can’t sell it raw, then there are other things that you can try.   //   “Get your kale kombucha! Your kale smoothie! Full of vitamins and nutrients!”   You’re holding a tray of paper cup samples, voice loud with a wide smile. A woman who’s looking at your stand curiously passes by and you steal the chance, smoothly intercepting her way. “Would you like to try one, ma’am?”   “Sure.”   She takes a sample and once she sips, her eyes light up and her expression becomes inquisitive. The woman approaches your stand, looking over the products you have. “It’s really delicious. How much is it for a smoothie?”   “The three sizes are here.” You gesture to the display and she hums. “Two dollars for a small, two fifty for a medium and three for a large. We also have salted kale chips, kale guacamole and kale pesto.”   “Is this all homemade?”   “It is!” Your enormous smile is proud. “I grew the kale organically and made these with fresh ingredients.”   “I’ll take a large smoothie, this guacamole and a bundle of just regular kale then.”   “Coming right up!”   You’re no stranger to the art of advertising — it’s one of your strengths with your marketing background. You’re pretty sure the chalkboard signs are doing a good job of directing attention to your stall and the samples are certainly going a long way too.   “Can I try one, miss?” A little kid tugs on your green apron and you lower yourself down to their eye-level, happily handing them two.   “Of course you can!”   Sunday after Sunday, you do better and better.   Of course, it’s not without constant trial and error, honing in recipes and packaging, learning how to keep products as fresh as possible. But the improvements make the labour all worth it.    You notice how Yoongi watches you across the floor and when you smile, he immediately looks away. But there's little time to pay attention to him when the lineup at your stall gradually becomes longer and longer. Jungkook helps you out when he can, whether that’s manning the register beside you or handing out samples to draw in curious customers.   “You’re gonna run me out of business soon, Y/N.” Jungkook says in the midst of a slow down when you’re finally able to catch your breaths.   “Please,” you giggle. “I’m sure you’re the one drawing in the business. Weren’t those last two customers trying to get your number for the past ten minutes? Last time they kept on asking me about you too.”   The boy laughs shyly and it’s all too endearing. “They’re just bein’ nice. If anything, you’re the one drawing in the customers since you’re so pretty and all.”   More giggles bubble out of your throat and you lean closer to him. “So you think I’m pretty?”   Jungkook realizes what he said and his face reddens. He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “I mean...isn’t that a fact?”   “You’re too sweet, Kook,” you sigh wistfully. “Thank you for helping me.”   “Anytime, really.” Jungkook’s smiles softly and his lips part, but before he can say anything, his peripheral vision finally catches the weight of a third party’s stare. His eyes travel across the market floor to the wooden stall of lettuce — right on the man behind it who’s rolling his eyes.    You follow his line of sight and a knowing smile appears on your features. “Jungkook, can you hand me the sample tray?”   You might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but you’re not that big of an idiot. For the past two weeks, you’ve noticed how Yoongi keeps staring at you. You don’t suspect it to be sudden infatuation either. Most likely, it’s surprise that you’ve proven him wrong or reluctant admission that you’re on your way to success, or perhaps passive aggression too.   Whatever the case is, you approach him and witness him visibly stiffen as you come closer.   Your smile remains bright when you ask, “Is everything okay, Yoongi?”   “I’m fine,” the man deadpans. “You should move. You’re blocking my customers.”   “You have no customers.”   “I would if you weren’t standing there.”   You scoff. “You are not cute.”   Yoongi’s brow lifts, amused at your comment. “Excuse me?”   “I want to make peace,” you outright declare, having no shame with confronting him. “I’ve had my fair share of drama back home and I’m not looking forward to picking fights here, so I forgive you.” Yoongi snorts as you raise your sample tray as a peace offering. “I know you’re curious, so you try one. My kale kombucha is my most popular item. It’s a fermented tea that has lots of healthy yeast and bacteria.”   “No.” The dark-haired man rejects without needing to blink. “Kale is disgusting. There’s a reason no one sells it here.”   You’re shocked, not knowing where to start. But there’s no point in arguing with him and spewing nutrition facts. Your pride is much too high to insist too, so you merely lift your chin. “Fine. Suit yourself. But one of these days, you’re going to fall in love with kale, Min Yoongi.”   It’s a challenge — but a one-sided one. Yoongi simply sighs as you strut away, feeling more tired than he did before.    //   The engines of the moving truck rumbles and coughs as it rolls down the dirt road.   It’s drawn the attention of several, including his dad and mom. They’re peering out the front window, curtains tugged with their noses pressed to the glass. Usually, Yoongi doesn’t care much for what the neighbours are up to or keeping up with community gossip, but for some reason, his curiosity is piqued enough that he glances out as well.   “What’s going on?”   “There are trucks coming back and forth from Old Man Seok’s land.”   Yoongi wonders if you’ve given up and you’re moving out. He wouldn’t be surprised.   But suddenly, before he can walk off and mind his own business, his mother whirls around. “Yoonie, go check up on our new neighbour.”   He exhales exhaustingly. “Why?”   “Well, you’re friends, aren’t you?”    “We’re not.” It’s a firm fact, but his mother doesn’t hear him. She’s already moving into the kitchen and making him follow her. He knows arguing is futile — once she’s set on her mind on something, no one can change it.   “Go on and deliver some cheese too.” She hands him a paper bag. “We haven’t welcomed her properly yet and it’s customary to at least give a greeting and gift.”   Yoongi begrudgingly obliges and minutes later, he finds himself making the trek across the acres to the cottage that always reminded him of Christmas with its cherry red roof and forest green walls. The polluting trucks drive away in the meanwhile, wheels turning against the gravel fading, and the countryside returns to its quaint atmosphere. As he comes closer, Yoongi notices the wooden spools on your lawn and some barber chairs littered around, akin to a dumpster yard, but he avoids them and walks up the porch, knocking twice on the door.   He can imagine thrusting the bag in your hand, muttering a greeting and question or two before getting back to the farm. Yet, what he doesn’t anticipate is silence and then noises farther away.   The man sighs and decides to follow the sounds lest he spends the rest of the afternoon waiting at your front door.   He rounds the house to the backyard.    “What are you doing?”   Yoongi discovers mason jars, picnic blankets, wooden crates sprawled all over on the grass — things he guesses the trucks brought over — and he finds you on a ladder with fairy lights tangled around your limbs.   You jolt. In horror, Yoongi watches the ladder dangerously wobble back and forth, but luckily, it steadies and you twist yourself around. “Holy shit! You almost scared me half to death!”   “What are you doing?” he repeats, more urgently and concerned than before.   “I’m setting up fairy lights obviously.” Your smile is big, cheeks swelling with it. “I’m gonna decorate part of the land with hipster furniture and channel the farm aesthetic. It’s going to become an Insta spot. Hashtag kale-in-farm.”   Yoongi doesn’t understand half of what you just said and he’s not sure if he should even ask.   “What’s a hashtag?”   “You don’t know what a hashtag is?” Your eyes are perfectly rounded, looking at him like he’s an alien and he chuckles. The irony isn’t lost on him. He isn’t the weird one — you are.   “Should I know what it is?”   You don’t answer, merely climbing off the ladder and his breath hitches at how you don’t watch your step.    Yoongi doesn’t get stressed easily, but he swears he’s going to get a heart attack looking at you.   You pull out your phone suddenly from your back pocket and after some tapping, you thrust the screen in his face. “This is Instagram, see? It’s an app where you can follow people and see the pictures that they post. An Insta spot is a place where you can take good Instagram pictures. Hashtags is a way to label the posts, so others can see and search it up. Or at least that’s what I think it is. It’s kind of hard to explain, it’s one of those things that just catches on and you get after using it. This is my page, see?”   You’ve given your phone to him and Yoongi eyes your bikini photos before handing it back.    “Uh-huh.”   “I can’t believe you don’t have an Instagram. You should make one and add me!”   “No thanks.”   You huff, pouting at him and Yoongi’s mouth twitches as he resists the small smile. There’s something in the way you react to him being mean to you that makes it all too entertaining.   “My mom wanted to give you some cheese.” He hands the paper bag over and you excitedly peer inside. “It’s just goat cheese. Usually she makes a cherry pie as a housewarming gift, but today….was a bit last minute.”   Yet in spite of the measly present, Yoongi’s taken aback at how happy you seem. “This is so sweet! Tell your mom I said thank you! I should probably give her some kale—”   He lifts his palm, stopping you in the middle of your sentence. “There’s no need.”   “Well, tell her I said thank you.” You put it down on the wooden patio steps and move towards the ladder. Then something by his foot catches your eye. “Oh, can you do me a favour and put that typewriter on the wooden crate?”   Yoongi doesn’t know why you have a broken typewriter, but he follows your instructions. His eyes travel to several worn bikes you have leaning against the railing. It’s strange considering you don’t seem like the type to bike.   As if reading his mind, you laugh. “They don’t work. It’s just for the aesthetics.”   “Uh-huh.” He turns back, about to bid goodbye and leave this mess behind him. But as he turns away, he witnesses you step on the highest prong of the ladder. The part you’re not allowed to step on. With the danger warning signs plastered on it that says ‘STOP’ in big, red letters.   Yoongi’s breath hitches and he lurches over, grabbing the ladder to steady it as it wobbles.   “Woah!” You regain your balance and turn to grin at him. “Thanks for that. You saved my life!”   “Get off.”   “What?”   “Get off the ladder before you die.” His stern command has you obeying and you come down to the ground again. Yoongi sighs and takes the lights from you. “I’ll do it. Tell me where you want them and hold the bottom rung for me.”   You’re bewildered, but you don’t reject his offer of help. Yoongi follows your instructions too, working quickly and more efficiently than when you were, and you can’t help but giggle as you watch him string the fairy lights.    He glares at you. “What?”   You look up at him, beaming a grin. “For being such a mean, old grump, you’re actually pretty reliable and considerate, Yoongi.”   He diverts his vision elsewhere. “Whatever.”   But it’s all too true.    In many ways, Yoongi reminds you of peppermint candy. Hard on the outside but with just a bit of melting, all too sweet and sugary on the inside.   //   It starts off with you.   A post, a cute caption, the hashtag. You manage to get Jungkook to follow suit and then it’s a group. A person who shows up with their friends, stopping by to enjoy your kale farm and haphazardly filming their adventure to put onto their social media. Then it’s three or four, more and more of the hashtag being used, of pictures being taken, of others catching wind of the trendy new place to take photos, of fresh kale being harvested and kale kombucha being sold.   It’s an exponential growth and before you know it, there’s a bustle at your farm.   Strangers that park in the designated area, families enjoying the picnic spots, young adults posing for photographs underneath the strung fairy lights after dark. Your kale chips and smoothie sales skyrocket and after constructing a website, you know you’ve made a name for yourself.   You hire Jimin, Jungkook’s cousin, to help you out. Recently turned eighteen, he’s gentle and luckily attentive. He excels in customer service and in between selling your products and doing measly tasks to upkeep the farm, you know you’ve finally found a sustainable income aside from the farmers’ market alone.   “This ‘s what I call innovation,” Yoongi’s dad muses as the two of them stand near the tractor, looking over the field to the figures prancing on your land and listening to the laughter that leaks over. “It ain’t often a smart woman suddenly shows,” he says, glancing at him. “You should take advantage of it.”   “It’s not smart.” Yoongi turns away. “It’s dumb luck. There’s nothing impressive about it.”   His dad sighs at him, but as they retreat home, Yoongi can’t help glancing over his shoulder.   //   Yoongi has accepted that you’re a complete wild card — when he thought you were making a spectacle of this rural life for your own amusement, you make a whole declaration about how serious you are. When he expects you to move out, you instead bring bits and bobs to your farm. When he expects you to completely and utterly fail, you thrive.   Yoongi always thought that he was the enigma — hard to understand, hard to get to know, one of the many reasons he isn’t particularly close to anyone. But in reality, you are. At surface level, it looks like you’re simple-minded, overly enthused, optimistic. Yet you continuously defy his expectations.   And he has to applaud you for it.    But of all things, Yoongi most certainly did not expect to see you on his porch one afternoon.   “I got invited by your mom for dinner,” you explain with another infamously bright smile and your arm lifts with a bag. “I brought kale!”   “You did.” He holds in his sigh.   “I don’t know how you want to eat it, so it’s raw….unless…..do you not have electricity? I can go back to prepare it.”   “What?”   “You know, electricity.” When he stares at you, you begin explaining to be helpful. “The stuff that gives you light and power and you can turn on the stove—”   “I know what electricity is!” Yoongi shouts. He’s almost always calm, but you have a talent for being condescending without even realizing.   “What’s with all the noise?” His mom emerges and her face immediately lights up, lips forming into a warm smile. She wipes her hands on her apron and comes to embrace you. “Y/N! I thought I heard your voice! Come in, come in! Oh my word, what’s this? Kale? Thank you! Was the walk here long?”   “Not at all.” You smile, being ushered in the kitchen. It still amazes you how much Yoongi looks like his mom. They both have tender, soft features. Albeit, the male took on his father’s personality and characteristics, his physical appearance compared to his mom is nearly a carbon copy. “It’s only a few acres away. I love your home, by the way. It has a good energy to it.”   Yoongi wonders when you got so comfortable with his parents.   “I’m preparing dinner right now. Should be done fairly soon, but Yoonie! Why don’t you show dear Y/N around the farm?”   Yoongi knows he doesn’t have a choice and you hold in your giggle at his dejected expression. It’s not often you can witness him being obedient and when he takes you through his backyard, you can’t help poking fun at him. “Yoonie?”    “It’s a childhood nickname,” he grumbles.   There’s an urge to squish his cheeks together. They’ve always reminded you of jello or bread loafs, but for the sake of not being slapped, you control the desire.   The Min property is vast.    Chicken coops and several sheds are close to the house, but in the distance, cows and goats graze in the open pastures. The lush fields seem to stretch to the horizon, only broken up by the occasional tree left to grow in peace. It’s a tranquil landscape and there’s an urge to sit back in a rocking chair and knit. Even though you don’t know how to knit.   “How big is the farm?”   “It’s a hundred acres.”   Yoongi says it like it’s nothing impressive, but it’s still fifty times the size of your own farm.   “Is that all lettuce?” You look over the plowed fields filled with green.   “Some of it is asparagus and carrots, but it’s mostly different kinds of lettuce,” he explains, “We don’t sell all of it at the market. We got a few contracts from grocery stores and those get shipped out, so we’re always busy year round.”   You’re amazed. His family manages to do a lot more than you and you already feel swamped half the time. But you suppose you still have a long way to go before you can call yourself a real farmer.   The pair of you approach the fence and you watch the goats chewing on their grass, bleating at you. You grin and mimic their noises, oblivious to the way Yoongi steals a glance at you. “What do you do with all the animals?” you ask.   “They’re for personal usage. We eat chicken eggs and my mom makes cheese a lot.” Yoongi diverts his vision at your intense stare and clears his throat. He didn’t know all of this was so interesting to you. “Have you ever milked a cow before?”   “No!”   “Do you want to learn how?”   “Yes!”   This time, Yoongi can’t hold back his chuckle at your childlike enthusiasm.    He leads a smaller cow into the stall, introducing her as August, and you help him brush her down. Yoongi shows you how to wash August with warm, soapy water, how to clean her utters and let the milk down by relaxing her. He demonstrates as well, clamping the top of the utter between his thumb and first finger before squeezing.   You follow his instructions, mimic his movements and milk squirts into the silver pale successfully. “It feels kind of weird.”   The corner of his thin lips pull. “Is it supposed to feel nice?”   When your hands get tired, Yoongi leans over to help you out, explaining how often someone can milk cows for, where August came from and how long she’s been around. You never expected how awfully endearing it would be to listen to a farm boy talk about his precious cow, but it is. Or maybe that’s just Yoongi being Yoongi. Everything that comes out of his mouth is interesting to you.   “—months ago and…..are you even listening?”   “Of course I am!” You totally weren’t and he doesn’t seem to believe your assertion either, so to divert his attention, you turn the direction of the utter and squeeze. The line of milk squirts directly at Yoongi’s kneecap, dampening his jeans and you laugh at his scandalized expression.   “What the fuc—!”   “Stop! Stop!” You stand, giggling incessantly while blocking your arms up when Yoongi lunges down and squeezes two utters at you. The milk is warm and sticky against your skin. “I’m sorry!”   “Too late!” His cheeks are swollen with a gummy smile, happily taking his revenge.   Before any of you have realized, the sun has gone down and there’s a lingering scent of milk on your clothes. But no one other than you and Yoongi notices or at least his parents don’t say anything.   “How are things going, dear?” his mom asks you with a satisfied smile as she watches you devour her dessert apple pie. Dinner at the Min’s was all too cozy and welcoming. Food had filled the rounded table and the family, albeit only three members in total, had gathered together.    For the past few months, you’ve been eating by yourself with a magazine by your side or in front of the old television with some obscure show on. You missed having conversations over delicious meals and part of you wonders how you’ll return to your regular routine after tonight.   After a taste of the forbidden fruit, you’ll wish every night was like this.   “Better than expected actually. It’s a learning process, so it goes up and down, but everyone’s been so helpful to me that it hasn’t been bad.”   Yoongi’s father nods solemnly. “All on your own too.”   You become shy under their praise. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to preserve the memory of my grandfather and all I have is his land, so....”    Sometimes you lay awake thinking about how much your life has changed. A year ago, you were still in LA in a high rise apartment working, and in an effort to connect with your family roots again, you left it all behind. But you don’t regret your decision whatsoever.   From the moment you came here, no matter what challenges you faced, it all became worth it in the end. It’s a hard life, but a peaceful one. A simple and serene way of living that you always needed.   “Bless your heart,” his mother swoons and you realize Yoongi’s gazing at you too — with an odd sense of gentleness that you aren’t used to. Or maybe that’s merely the dim lighting of the small dining room. “You are the hardest working, gosh darn smartest young lady I have ever met.”   You look away from Yoongi, face warming at the compliments. “No, I just try my hardest.”   “And try hard you do!” His mom leans across the table, eyes bright. “Don’t you think so, Yoonie? Isn’t Y/N marvelous?”   You turn to him expectedly, but Yoongi’s eyes are suddenly down at his empty plate. “Well, there’s nothing else to do out here but work, so isn’t that the default?”   You scoff and it takes his attention. “You aren’t cute at all.”   The corner of his mouth tugs. “Excuse me?”   “Don’t pay any attention to him, Y/N.” His mom bats at your arm. “He’s too much like his dad.”   “You mean, he took after my best traits?” The older man at the table has his brow cocked and you smile at the banter, but the woman beside you doesn’t entertain it.   “He took after your temper and grumbling.”   “Which is why no one ever bullied him.” Yoongi’s father slaps him on his back and he sighs.   His mom turns her head to continue, “Never mind them. I swear, Yoonie used to be the cutest kid in the whole country. I don’t know when he changed. Do you want to see his baby pictures?”   Your spine straightens and your eyes widen. “I would love to—”   Suddenly, there’s the ear-piercing noise of the chair leg scraping against the wooden floorboards. Yoongi has stood up and tosses his napkin down. “It’s getting pretty late. Probably time to go home, right?”   You laugh, but oblige only because it gives you reason to come over again. Yoongi’s mother at least assures as much, promising that next time you’ll be able to see all the albums and photographs of that time he cried while being chased by a goose — something you’re looking forward to, much to Yoongi’s dismay.   He’s just too much fun to tease.   The more and more you get to know Yoongi and the people in his life, the better you’re coming to realize that he’s not that much of a grump at all. It’s a facade, really. A thin curtain that hides how soft and pouty he actually is. Less like the bad boy you initially thought. More like a farm sheep.   “You didn’t need to walk me home, you know.” You turn to him, glancing at his profile. “It’s only a few acres away.”   “Yeah, but then I would never hear the end of it from my mom. It’s dark out anyway and it’s not like I mind.”   You nod and the pair of you fall into a comfortable lull. There’s a lot from tonight that you have to think about and it’s not just about Yoongi and his family. After seeing how they run their farm and how much they’ve expanded, you wonder if you’ll ever get to that size too.   “What do you think if I started growing quinoa and soy?”   He gives you an incredulous look, still visible in spite of the darkness, and it makes you laugh.   “What would you do with quinoa and soy?”   “I don’t know. Make different smoothies or flavours of kombucha? I would have to look into it. But it’s just a thought for no—” The pitch of your voice raises as you lose your footing, about to plunge. But then Yoongi yanks your arm back, steadying you before you trip in the ditch. “Oh my god! I almost died!”   “Watch where you’re going, woman,” he scolds and his hand boldly wraps around yours, palms clasping together firmly. You glance down, foreign to the feeling of his affection and Yoongi notices. He looks straight ahead, but quickly explains, “If you die and haunt the farm, that’ll bring down the value of the land nearby.”   You scoff. “You’re lucky you have a cute face, Min Yoongi.”   His lips curl. “I thought you said I wasn’t cute.”   “Your personality isn’t, but your face is alright.” If anything, you’re downplaying it, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Out here, you’re a good eight, but where I’m from, maybe you’re a six and a half.”   His laugh is mellifluous, and it infects a smile on your own features. “What about you?”   You look down to where you’re joined at the hands and muse how much larger his palm and fingers are to you, how his skin is calloused from working the fields, how warm and secure it feels.   “Clearly, I’m a ten wherever I go,” you quip. “Can’t you see?”   Yoongi apologizes, “I’m sorry, I might be blind then ‘cause I can’t see you as attractive at all.”   Another scoff tears from you, a lighthearted one that makes his grin widen. “You know what? I take it back. You aren’t cute at all. Not even your face can make up for your sour personality.”   Yoongi chuckles, squeezing your hand, and it’s awfully unfair how your face heats more.   //   Despite how busy you get managing the Insta spot, planting and harvesting kale, and cooking and packaging products, you never fail to find time to be at the market every Sunday. While your other sources of income are slowly increasing more than what you get from the farmers’ market, the atmosphere and sense of community is enough for you to scrape up time out of your week to set up your stall.   And it’s often the time that you get to have your conversations with Jungkook too.   “So….did you try it out?” Your eyes glisten, locked into his. “What did you think? Did it work?”   The boy scratches the back of his neck. “I...don’t think kale shampoo is it, Y/N.”   You deflate, keeping your sulking to a minimum. It didn’t work for you either, but you were trying to see if it was just your hair that was the strange one. “Really? But it looks soft.” You reach over and plant your hand in his black bed of hair. To your surprise, it’s even silkier than it appears.   “Woah! It’s soft!”   Jungkook ducks his head, colour blooming on his cheeks. He doesn’t bat your hand away nor does he lean into your touch when you pet him incessantly. “It isn’t that soft…”   “What shampoo and conditioner do you usually use? It feels so nice, Kook.”   The both of you are oblivious to the flannel-wearing man from across the market who’s glaring above the heads of lettuce. He bores his gaze into you, wondering what the hell you’re doing in the middle of the farmers’ market and putting on a show for all the older ladies to watch. Don’t you know how gossip and rumours start at this place? Merely chatting is enough to grab attention, but to be outright flirting like this was downright reckless.   His jaw ticks, nostrils flaring. He’s uncomfortable. It isn’t any of his business, but Yoongi feels an urge to do something. It’s utterly irrational. Completely out of the norm of his usual behaviour.   But somehow, he finds himself abandoning his stall and crossing the floor.   “What the hell are you two doing?”   “Yoongi!” You turn, greeting him with a big smile and suddenly that irrational emotion is replaced with something else that sits at his chest. To have your attention, he feels…..satisfied. Even if it’s childish. “I was just talking about the kale shampoo I made, but I think it’s an idea I’m going to have to scrap.”   “Shampoo?”   “It left a sticky mess on my head and took me ten minutes to wash it off,” Jungkook tells and his smile softens at your sigh. “Sorry, Y/N.”   “Maybe kale conditioner would work better....”   At the same time, Jungkook’s name is called by his grandma nearby, so he bids goodbye and a see you later to the both of you. It’s a slow down period right after lunch, so there’s fewer people around and with Yoongi here, you take the opportunity. “Can you watch my stall for me?”    “What?”   “I need to go to the bathroom.” You clasp your hands together and bat your lashes, trying to appeal to him. “Pretty please, Yoongi? I would really, really appreciate it.”   He exhales and waves his hand boredly, not sparing you a glance. But you already know he’s relinquished before he says it. “Fine.”   You jump up with a smile. “Thanks! You’re the best!”   In the next three seconds, you’ve jogged away and Yoongi’s left standing at the market, watching your stall and his stall from across the floor that he abandoned. He wonders how he got into this predicament, but doesn’t dwell when his eyes stray to your bottles of fancy kombucha on display.   He picks up a bottle, curious as to how you made these fancy labels, and he snorts when he notices in tiny text it says, ‘don’t kale me’. You’re such a dork, it’s impossible to believe. Then again, his mom decided to make a pun for the lettuce stall too, so he’s not one to talk.   For a moment, Yoongi ponders what the hell this kale kombucha tastes like.   He got a chance to try it before when you waltz up to him all those weeks ago with a tray of samples, but he denied you out of pride and stubbornness. He knows it must taste somewhat decent if you’re making all those sales. He’s seen people drinking it as they walk around too, but he’ll be damned if he actually went up to you and bought one. He’s sure you’d throw a celebration and do the whole ‘I told you so’ dance if it was actually delicious.   Relinquishing, he places the bottle back on the display.   But then the awful happens. Time slows — there’s a noise and the entire dainty shelf is collapsing. Yoongi is helpless to the way the bottles collide against the ground deafeningly, how the dark green liquid splatters on the concrete, to the way the glass shards spray. He cusses and manages to catch one bottle before turning around.   There are people staring at him — customers alarmed and vendors sympathizing.   But more importantly, you’re standing meters away, returned from the bathroom.   He catches your shock, your confusion, and then the heartbreak — even if it only lasts for a blink before you’re smiling again.   You come over, looking down at the mess. “I didn’t know you hated me this much to sabotage my stuff like this,” you quip jokingly. But there’s no banter or excuses being made. There’s silence. And you lift your eyes to meet Yoongi’s, realizing how mortified he is. “Hey, it’s alright. I knew the shelf had a few loose screws, but I didn’t know it would fall like that. I should’ve fixed it sooner.”   “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”   “You don’t really need to do th……”   “I’ll make it up to you,” Yoongi states more firmly than before, eyes darkened and you swallow hard. He knows you’re trying to cover up how hurt you are, how you’re trying to save face and not only is he embarrassed, he’s guilty. “You were supposed to sell all this, weren’t you?”   You give in and Yoongi grabs a broom, aiding you in cleaning up the mess. You’ve never seen him so serious and solemn before, but it makes you glad that he’s the one here to help.   //   At six in the morning, you wake up and less than ten minutes later, you hear the wheezing engine of a truck out front.   The sun was barely on the horizon, but when you walk out to the porch, you discover Yoongi shutting the door of his vehicle and coming up to you. He’s dressed in an oversized purple and black plaid flannel and gray shirt underneath, black hair flopping to the side, features softer than usual. He’s yawning and rubbing his eyes, all too endearing that you have to admit it.   “Mornin’,” you greet with a grin and he merely grunts, gesturing inside your house. A laugh draws out of you and you open the door for him. “You didn’t need to do this, you know. I told you I was totally fine.”   “Just accept my help, lady,” he sighs and looks around your living space, glancing at the polaroids strung above the brick mantle, the recycled jar of flowers on the kitchen counter, and the couch cushions made from flour sacks you reused. You grow warm under his scrutiny, realizing that no one has ever entered your home before. But while you expect to get criticism, Yoongi instead says, “I like what you did with the place. It’s cozy.”   You smile, still a bit self-conscious. “Thanks. Do you want tea? Coffee? Kale juice?”   “I’m fine.” He follows after you, stepping into the kitchen. The space is crowded or maybe it’s just you feeling small with him so close. “I’m here to help. What do you usually do at this time?”   “Well, I usually start by harvesting whatever kale I can. The weather seems good today too and there are some fields that need to be plowed, so I should do that and then plant some seeds…”   “Okay.” He’s already tugging his sleeves up. “Let’s get to it.”   It’s unusual to have someone join you during your morning chores, but it isn’t unwarranted. Granted, you have to teach him a little on the way you do things, but he already knows a lot from working on his own farm and you find Yoongi is a great listener. He might have a blank expression and be exceptionally quiet, but his occasional questions are insightful and he’s attentive when he mimics you.   It’s peaceful — the sun not yet sweltering in the sky or giving an unbearable heat that makes it hard to work, the animals in the far distance not awoken, the breeze curling through your hair. When you look up from your spot, you see Yoongi working as hard as you are and it tickles the corners of your lips into a subtle smile.   Things finish twice as fast and then you’re taking a break, making breakfast for Yoongi.   His company is nice at the table, even when he complains that your sunny side up eggs are too overcooked and you threaten to throw him out. It’s a kind of banter that doesn’t so much irritate you — rather, it keeps you on your toes, making you giggle at witty remarks while he rolls his eyes.   After breakfast, Yoongi insists on washing the dishes and succeeds when he whines and feigns annoyance on how you don’t trust him to clean your plates. He ends up fixing a light fixture in your kitchen too after you mention that it sometimes flickers off and startles you.   He’s helpful and handy, more than you thought he would be, but you try not to get used to it.   “This is where you keep your kombucha?” he asks as you show off the pantry that you’ve practically changed into a cellar.   “Yep.” You tap one of the large jars on the shelf. “It takes five to seven days for it to ferment after I make it. Then, I have to add in the kale and let it ferment for another three days. These babies will be ready for tomorrow. But I have to make a new batch today.”   “That’s a lot of work,” he comments.   “Oh. You haven’t seen it yet.” You brush past him, smirking.   Yoongi looks all too cute in the pink apron. It’s a comical sight and albeit, isn’t actually a part of your usual routine to wear one, you made it up on the fly just to see him wear it and he’s too cute.    “What?” His head whips up, brow cocked at the way you’re grinning.   “Nothing. Hand me that bowl.”   It’s a bit of an irony that Yoongi hasn’t tried any of your kombucha, but is first to learn the recipe from you. You show him how to brew the gallon of black tea, how to add the cup of sugar in and allow it to cool before pouring it into the jar.    “What’s that?” he asks when you’re sticking a rubbery flab into the jar.   “It’s a scoby. It has a bunch of yeast and bacteria that helps with fermentation. It’s made from kombucha, sugar, black tea.” You seal off the jar and Yoongi goes quiet. You look up at him, discovering a thoughtful expression on his face as if he’s impressed you know what you’re doing. “I’m not completely stupid, you know. I know I come across as—”   “I never thought you were dumb,” Yoongi suddenly states without missing a single beat. Your eyes become rounded and the corner of his mouth pulls. “Maybe insensitive and ignorant, but not stupid per se.”   “Hey!”   “There’s a difference,” Yoongi laughs and insists, “Being ignorant means you just haven’t learnt yet, but being stupid means you can’t learn at all.” He ducks when you half-heartedly swing and more chuckles fill the home, including your own. But Yoongi’s right. You had no clue what you were getting yourself into when you first arrived. Everything’s been a learning process, but it finally feels like things are falling into place.   Yoongi helps you wash the kale out back and stays by your side, peering over your shoulder, as you make the kale chips, guacamole and pesto. He stirs and gets ingredients when he can, and you find he has quite a knack for packaging things neatly. He’s somehow careful yet efficient.   “I didn’t know you did so much.”   “Yeah.” You wipe your sweat with the back of your hand. “I try to space everything out, but sometimes everything falls on the same day and I’ve been running low on products, so I can’t put it off.”   He hums, sealing the jar of pesto shut and then working on smoothing the label on the surface.   It’s mid-afternoon already. You didn’t realize how quickly time was going. The golden sun is already coming through the windows of the kitchen as you and Yoongi work across from one another, falling into a lull. You turned the staticky radio on, but it often acts as background noise when either of you start another conversation.   You giggle and he tilts his head up at the noise. “What? Did I put the label on upside down again?”   “No.” You shake your head, smiling to yourself. “It just kind of feels like we’re a married couple, that’s all.”   Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi freezes. But then he eases, the corner of his own mouth tugging.   “You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?”   “Seduce you?!” You scoff, looking up to see him focused on tying the ribbon around the jar. “I have higher standards than that, Min Yoongi.”   “Says the one who’s been flirting with me all morning.”   “I’m not flirting with you.”   “Uh-huh. Don’t tempt me with the suggestion of marriage then. I might actually do it.”   You’re baffled, made speechless with how he twists his words and how sweet he can talk. Your face heats and you know that if you open your mouth, you’ll blubber and make a fool out of yourself. So you opt for a huff and silence which only spurs on his chuckles and inadvertently makes you sulk harder.   If anything Yoongi was the flirt. But you’re not about to declare it in case he asks if that means you’re affected by it. Because you are.   The rest of the afternoon is spent finishing on packaging and storing away the products to sell tomorrow when the Insta spot opens and the following day at the farmers’ market. But as you dust off your hands, you feel the gurgle of your empty stomach and you offer to make him an early dinner.   “Is there anything you want to eat? My cooking skills aren’t that great—”   “Clearly.”   You glare at him. “—but I can look up any recipe you want.”   Yoongi makes a disgruntled noise and he leans over to open your fridge. You peep over his shoulder and at once, blood drains from your face.   “There’s nothing in your fridge, Y/N.” He turns around with puzzlement on his visage. “How did you make breakfast this morning?”   “I….used the last of my eggs to make breakfast. I didn’t think you would actually stick around long enough for dinner.”   “And what would you have eaten tonight if I did leave?” With one foot keeping the fridge open, he starts taking out several things like a maid cleaning out your kitchen. “The strawberries have gone bad...and there’s….mold on the bread. How do you live?”   “My budget was a bit low for this week and I underestimated how much groceries I would need.” When he pulls out the drawer with bundled kale, you stop him. “That’s for me to sell.”    “You don’t eat what you grow?”   “Not really,” you admit. “I don’t actually eat much kale….I brought lots of instant noodles from the city, but I ran out two weeks ago….”   He shuts the fridge. “I’ll talk to my mom and bring more eggs and milk to you more often.”   “You don’t need to do that.”   “No, but I want to.” Looking at you, Yoongi realizes that you’re really just a girl who came from nowhere to start a whole farm. Partly hopeless and causing an urge in him to take care of you, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind as much as he thought he would. “Move. I’ll make dinner. You have some iceberg lettuce and kale that I can work with.”   He starts rolling up his sleeves again and you don’t let your eyes linger on his exposed veiny forearms for long.   You feel a bit embarrassed that you didn’t prepare more and that he caught you at a struggling week. But more than that, guests are supposed to be treated better. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”   “Don’t be.” As he passes, he plops a hand on your head and you look up at him, surprised at the unusually affectionate gesture. “I’m quite the chef, you know. I make better breakfast than you do.”   Yoongi probably does, but your pride won’t let you admit it. “Psh. You haven’t started yet. Don’t get so cocky.”   You help by setting the table and then pulling a stool to watch him cook. Maybe it’s a bit lame, but you’re impressed at his knife skills and how fast he chops the lettuce and kale into thin strips, keeping a constant rhythm and never once stopping. You scoff when he glances at you with a smirk, but there’s little you can say, especially when he sautes it in a pan with oil and half an onion you have left.   The house is filled with a mouthwatering scent and it’s even more delicious than expected once the plate is plopped down in front of you and you get a taste.   “Oh my god….how did you make this?”   Yoongi smugly shrugs. “I made it up on the fly. Can’t help that my talent is inborn.”   You’re too busy eating to retort with a snarky comment. “Maybe I should marry you.”   He laughs and quickly eats before you steal his own portion.   The sun eventually goes down and it’s hard to say goodbye after one of the best days you’ve had since coming here, but you know you’ll see Yoongi tomorrow and the next day — whether that’s across the acres and through a giant wave or arguing as you do at the market.   He’s always been around, an addition to the farm life itself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When Yoongi returns home, he announces that he’s back. There are storming steps, his mom enthusiastic and racing down the stairs to ask him how it went. His dad looks around the living room corner as well, and he sighs at their intrusiveness.   “It was fine.” Yoongi tosses the keys aside, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s actually a lot more hard-working than I expected.”   He walks off before they can bombard him with any more inquiries, but they understand their son well enough and they exchange knowing smiles.

You never expect to see Yoongi awkwardly lingering on your porch like a car salesman, especially considering you were once doing the same thing at his house not long ago. But while he’s here just to deliver some apple pie his mom made, you eagerly pull him inside.   “Why? Why?” he whines childishly, but stumbles after you anyway.   “I need you to try something for me.”   It was an Insta spot day, cars filled in the lot you designated, people from the city out in the back and the chatter loud enough to leak inside the kitchen. Families were strolling about, children picking kale, young adults posing for countless pictures by the picnic blankets and decorations. Yoongi can’t quite understand what their fixation and fascination is to drive all the way out here for such frivolous things, but if it works then it works, he supposes.   You set the apple pie on the table and notice Yoongi peering out of the window, primarily watching the brunette boy fussing about and working the register behind the cute stall you made.   “Oh, that’s Jungkook’s cousin, Jimin,” you tell him, even though he probably already knows. Everyone knew everyone around here. “I hired him to help out.”   “Doing well enough to hire people?” he asks, brow lifted and a smile raising on his cheeks.   “I guess you could say so.” Your pride is supported by the bustle outside the window. “I need all the help I can get.”   “Are you trying to get me to help out too? Because I don’t work for free, lady.”   “Pft. No. I thought you might want to try out the kale kombucha you made with me last week. You came right in time actually. I just got it packaged and everything. Wait here. I’ll go grab a bottle.”   Without another word, you pull the door open and Yoongi sighs with a softened smile, watching you march across the land to chat with Jimin. But within seconds, his attention is taken away by the squeak of the door and a middle aged woman sticking her head through.    “Excuse me,” her voice is shrill, “is there a bathroom in here?”   “Uh…” He’s fairly certain you don’t let anyone inside your house and that he caught sight of fancy porta potties you set up on the side. “No. If you turn the corner, there’re some bathrooms you can use.” Yet, she blinks blankly at him and Yoongi holds his long exhale in his nose. Whatever your intentions are, it seems like he’s working for you anyhow. “I can show you.”   Yoongi hopes he’s not wrong or it’ll be terribly awkward, but luckily for him, there’s indeed bright blue stalls and the woman thanks him as she waddles off. But he can’t take refuge inside your home when he’s interrupted by someone again.   “Excuse me!” This time it’s a group of girls around his age giggling with caked makeup and dressed in short rompers. They thrust their phones forward before he can utter a word. “Can you please take some pictures for us?”   “Uh, sure.”   Yoongi feels out of his depth. Embarrassed. While you knew nothing about farm life, he knows nothing about city life. You might’ve disproved a lot of prejudices and stereotypes he held, but he still feels awkward and out of place in their scrutiny. Like he’s part of a completely different world, and he’s not sure what to say or how to act.   But he still tries and crouches down, trying to frame the photo and catch the trees in the back with the stringed fairy lights above. “One. Two. Three. Smile.”   “Thanks!” The girl comes forward to look, but before he can ask if it’s good enough, her friend comes up to him with another phone.   “Can you take another one?”   “Alright.” He gets back into place and times it. “One. Two. Three.”   Yoongi hands back the device and is about to duck his head and seek refuge no matter who calls out to him, but the girl stops in front of him with a brightened smile. “Is it alright if you take a photo with me? I’ve never had a picture with a farmer before!”   Yoongi sputters, speechless. For one, he hasn’t taken a photo in years, much less for a stranger’s personal collection. And secondly, he’s not some spectacle to be gawked at. He’s not some dancing monkey or clown. Not a poster boy or a cardboard cutout. This is his life—   “I’m sorry.” A voice calmly cuts through his annoyance and Yoongi feels a hand against his shoulder. You’re beside him with a polite smile. “Staff aren’t allowed to be photographed.”   “Oh. Okay.”   They walk off and resume their activities. You take Yoongi’s hand and tilt your head towards the door. “C’mon. Let’s go back inside.”   He feels safe inside your house again when he can remain an observer and not a participant.   “Sorry about that. Some people can be a bit insensitive, but most of them have good intentions.”   “It’s fine.”   You pour out the bottle of amber liquid into a tall glass. “They probably just wanted a photo since you’re good-looking.”   “What?” Yoongi snorts and turns around with a grin. “So you think I’m good-looking?”   “Isn’t that a fact? That’s why people were staring at you. The whole rugged look works well for you.” You plop down the glass in front of him before you can think twice about the honesty that just unabashedly spilled from your mouth. “Try it. You had a part in making it, so it’s only right, right? And if you like it, I’ll even let you bring some home.”   He rolls his eyes at your mischievous smile and lifts the glass to his lips. It’s fizzy, and the taste is both tart and slightly sweet. It reminds Yoongi of sparkling cider, but with a herbal hint that he assumes is the kale. He doesn’t utter a word, even when you’re watching him intently. But after Yoongi smacks his lips together, he goes for a second sip.   And you take that as a positive sign. “You like it?!”   He’s startled at your overly excited voice. “It’s not bad.”   “See?! I knew it! All you needed to do was to try my amazing kombucha recipe and your mind would be changed. Didn’t I say that? I totally told you I would get you to like kale!”   “Hold on, hold on.” Yoongi stops you in your ramble. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I only said it was decent.”   You laugh. “Sure. Whatever you say.”   He sighs, but ruffles your hair as he walks past, already bidding goodbye. “Get back to work.”   “Yes, sir.” You dramatically salute him and he leaves through the front door. But then it hits you a moment later. “Wait a minute….”    This is your farm. Not his.   //   You’re thriving in more ways than one. Aside from your personal projects on the farm, you’ve gotten yourself established at the market, like one of the decade long vendors who’ve spent their whole lives here. After a few months of setting up your stall, now everyone knows you by first name basis. A few older ladies even gave you the nickname of Sunshine and it only makes you love them more.   “You’re staring at her a lot, Yoonie.” His mother nudges him and he tears his eyes away from you across the market floor.   “No, I’m not.” He’s not sure why he bothers. Yoongi feels like a child trying to deny the obvious.   “Go talk to her. Lookin’ is not gonna do you any favours, young man. You have to talk.”   Yoongi already knows — he doesn’t need his mother to tell him.   “She’s busy,” he grumbles, “I’ll talk to her later.”    Fortunately, a customer comes up and Yoongi takes the opportunity to escape the conversation, immediately moving to ring them up and leaving his mom with a hopeless sigh.   At the same time, someone approaches you. After taking a sample from the tray, she decides to purchase a whole case of pesto much to your delight. “I actually bought smoothie and kombucha from you last week,” the lady mentions as you’re packing it up for her and you nod.   “I know. You bought two large smoothies and half a case of kombucha, right?”   Pleasant surprise takes hold of her expression. “How do you remember? Don’t you get a lot of customers?”   “I remember most of them, but I especially remember your Chanel classic handbag,” you point out with a smile. “The medium pink is a rarer one, plus it’s not the kind of thing lots of people wear in this sort of place.”   “You have a good eye,” the lady notes and you take the compliment. “It’s the only flashy thing I own and I have no other place to wear it aside from running errands.”   “Oh trust me, I’m like that too.” You grin, finishing up and passing the machine card for her to tap and pay. “I find that as long as you have confidence, you can pull anything off and it makes running errands a lot more fun.”   The lady laughs and easily agrees. She takes the box you offer her, but lingers. “Your kombucha and your smoothies are delicious by the way, and the pesto seems pretty good too.”   “Thank you. It took me a while to narrow down the recipe, but I think I nailed it.”    “You did.” She affirms and then out of the blue, asks, “Would you be willing to sell your products at the supermart? It’s a local grocery store I run with my husband, five miles from here, just down Imlings road.”   You’re speechless, blinking twice at her as your mouth opens and closes. The older woman waits patiently with a smile and you muster a half-coherent answer. “I-I would definitely consider it!”   “Great.” She smiles and then reaches over to her pocket. The woman hands you a business card. “Some folks around here have contracts with me too, and I’d love to add your products on the shelf. Give me a call some time tomorrow and we can chat about the details.”   You’re stunned and only broken out of your trance when a customer comes up and clears their throat.   It’s a triumphant day. You feel like you’re floating, walking on clouds — and Jungkook notices how you’re humming to yourself too and boyishly grins. “Something good happen, Y/N?”   The pair of you are walking out, Jungkook carrying your boxes as you lug your totes with you while waving goodbye to the other vendors that were leaving for the evening. “Just everything. I feel like things are going right for me, you know? And that’s kind of rare for me.”   “No, I get you. Pop always says there are rainbows after the storm. Then again, he always says how the Kim’s are running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”   That makes you laugh, but then the two of you interrupted by a sharp cry of your name. “Y/N!”   You witness Yoongi running up to you, completely out of breath.    “Hey. Are you okay? Where did you even come from?”   “Never mind that.” He straightens out. “Let me drive you back.”   “Oh, Jungkook was just going to….”   “Nah.” He insists and takes the boxes from the younger boy. “Our houses are closer together anyway. I don’t mind.”   “What about your mom?”   “She’s already left since she’s having dinner with a friend.”   You look at Jungkook who’s wholly confused, a deer in headlights and you decide to spare him from the trouble. “Well, alright. Thanks then.”   It feels a bit odd, but you take him on the offer and bid Jungkook a goodbye. The rest of your kale and belongings are packed into the back of Yoongi’s truck before you’re getting in. It’s old and worn, but the vehicle feels like it’s full of memories. You buckle yourself in and then he’s driving off with the fuzzy radio playing in the background as the golden sun sets over the horizon.   “Jungkook ain’t shit,” Yoongi suddenly pipes up after a moment. You glance over to discover him looking straight out the windshield, hands gripped on the steering wheel. And you burst out laughing.   “What?”   “He was seeing Aria for a while and then left her for the hills, so he’s got a reputation around here. I thought I should let you know.”   You see him peek at you in the corner of your eye, but you can’t repress your grin. “You sound like a boyfriend.”   “Yeah, well, I’m actually a good one.”   “Oh yeah?”   Yoongi’s knuckles are white and with the way his tongue peeks out to lick the seam of his lips, you wonder if he’s nervous. “I could show you.”   A giddy giggle that belongs to the sixteen-year-old you bubbles out. “And what would dating Min Yoongi look like?”   Yoongi plays off of your playful tone. “For one, I haven’t gotten to show you around properly yet and you still haven’t gone to one of Taehyung’s bonfire parties. He’s the guy with the strawberry farm. And I have access to his exclusive parties cause we went to school together, so you could use me to get in.”   “Hmmm….you drive a hard bargain, Min Yoongi.”   “I know how to cook a mean dinner if you give me real ingredients too.”   You laugh again, leaning your head back against the seat. “You’re too good at sweet-talking. Does your mother know you chat up girls like this?”   “Maybe. But I only really sweet talk you.”   He’s bold tonight and it’s not doing good things to you.   Your face is heating and you’re incessantly tapping your fingers against your leg. Beneath the lighthearted flirtation was a sort of simmering nervousness that’s filled with questions of if the line is going to be crossed and when that would be, and who would be the first to make the move.   Yoongi parks the car in front of your house and pulls the keys out of the ignition.   The pair of you naturally shift and look at one another. Your gazes lock together and there are three seconds of tense silence — neither wanting to get out, to break the rather intimate moment. Where you muse how brown his eyes are and Yoongi, himself, hitches his breath.   And then you’re lurching over for a kiss.   It’s all mouths and noses bumping together, obscene and sloppy, but a long time coming. His lips are softer than expected, only chapped at the corners, but you don’t get to think about it for too long or deepen the kiss. Not when you’re too busy giggling and laughing against him.   You pull apart, hands grasping onto the collar of his loose flannel. “You’re so eager.”   It’s a bit unusual to see Yoongi be anything other than annoyed or composed, but you soak it up as much as you can. The sunset is painting his skin golden and the car smells like him too. It seems like you’re surrounded in Min Yoongi and it’s fully welcomed.   “You are too,” he retorts on an exhale, hand skimming down to the dips of your waist. But then Yoongi swallows hard and retracts. He leans his arm on the steering wheel and looks out the window in disappointment. You wonder if you did something wron— “I can’t stain the truck. My mom has hawk eyes and she’s gonna know if we do something, and I’d rather she not.”   You scoff and lean forward, swift enough to plant a kiss on his cheek and pull away. “For such a good talker, you sure are stupid, Yoongi. There’s a whole house behind you and no one in it.”   A gummy smile spreads into his face and you feign a tired huff, lifting your chin and sticking your nose in the air. You add, “But for your information, I only give people the time of day when they make it worth it for me.”   He’s already opening the door and accepting the challenge before you can finish.    “Oh, I’ll make it worth it alright.”   You find out that Yoongi has a dirty mouth and an even nastier tongue. Part of you always wondered if he hated your guts, but you couldn’t be any more wrong.    You’re tugging on the strands of his hair, chest rising and falling as you pant. “W-Where did you learn how to do that?”    The bastard shrugs with a smug smile. “I might be unlikable, but I’ve had plenty of practice before.”   “Oh yeah?” The corner of your own mouth tugs. “With who?”   Yoongi grins and lifts himself up to plant a sweet kiss against your lips. “You wouldn’t know them. But they’re not as important as you are.”   “I’m going to choke over your greasiness, Min Yoongi.”   “Good. Choke.”   “You’re gonna have to stuff me with your cock first.”   Yoongi laughs at how you’re desperately tugging him closer to you, but he easily agrees with one condition— “Only if you’re good for me.”   The pair of you are sweaty when you finish. You thought the old bed frame was going to give up mid-way. Luckily, it held up even with all its loud squeaks and creaks. But you wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a dent where the headboard slammed against the wall.    But you’ll count your losses later. You’re just relieved that there was no one in the house.   While Yoongi might’ve been all soft groans and rapid exhales, he made you absent-minded to your own noises that somehow leaves your throat sore. You’re sure anyone who would’ve stood by your porch would’ve heard and been scandalized for the rest of their life.   “You know.” You turn to Yoongi, having stared at the ceiling. His eyes meet yours. “You’re pretty good for a farm boy.”   The playful quip ticks him off enough that he does it again. Yoongi pins you underneath him and is merciless. Your bubbling giggles turn to tears leaking down the side of your face from overstimulation, but you climax again through a moaning apology.   When you’re spent, Yoongi collapses next to you.    You’re surprised at how cuddly he is, how he naturally reaches for you, torso molding against yours and arms wrapped around your waist. In spite of feeling hot and sweaty, Yoongi holds you against him and you relish in it. “How is it possible that no one’s snatched you up yet?”   “Maybe it’s because I’m known to be standoffish.” He smiles against your temple, soothed by the way you run your fingers through the strands of his hair. “And what about you? Do you have a boyfriend or a husband I don’t know about that’s waiting in the city?”   “No. No one’s drawn me in quite like you have.”   Yoongi’s smile pulls into a grin, and the pair of you are lulled by each other’s inhales and exhales, unintentionally falling asleep in one another’s embraces like lovers underneath tree canopies on a Summer afternoon.   It’s some of the most peaceful sleep you’ve had, but then you’re shaken awake by a rattle and an ‘ow’. Your eyes open to find the other side of the bed empty and Yoongi nursing his hip after presumably bumping into your nightstand. You sit up, disoriented as he’s hopping up and down, barely getting his pants on.   “I need to get home before my parents find out I was gone the entire night and start asking questions.” His voice is thick and husky, hair in a disarray, eyes bleary and barely awake.   His panic makes you giggle and you watch him struggle to put on his clothes. Peeking outside, the sun isn’t up yet and the clock reads that it’s five in the morning. “Are they even awake this early, Yoongi?”   “I don’t know. Sometimes.” He fiddles with his flannel, putting his arms through the wrong holes, and even when he figures it out, he doesn’t realize it’s inside out. “I’ll...see you later?”   “Wait. Yoongi.” You stop him for a second and he turns around. It feels awfully juvenile, like you’ve reverted back into your sixteen-year-old self that giggles over crushes, but Yoongi always seems to make you feel that way. “Are we….dating now?”   “If I didn’t make it any more clear last night and by sleeping over, then I don’t know what else to do.”   It takes a beat for the words to sink in, but once it does, a bright and overexcited smile overcomes your features. Yoongi snorts before the corners of his own mouth tickles.   When he’s gone, you discover that you miss him already.

The morning alarm rings at six. But by then, you’re already up.   You’ve fallen into a natural schedule, a cycle that your body has picked up on and has awoken before anything needs to call you. And after brushing your teeth and running a comb through your hair, you’re taking care of your farm. Plowing fields. Harvesting kale. Having breakfast.   You also package the last of the pesto and guacamole, pouring the kombucha into the bottles with the proper labels. Some of which are prepared for the grocery store to pick up while others are packed for tomorrow. Afterwards, you come to the farmers’ market and meet Hoseok, a boy you’ve hired to help you take over. He helps you man the stall and the cash register, giving you the freedom to chat with customers and other vendors or complete other tasks with Jungkook.   By afternoon, you come back to the farm to check out the Insta spot and aid Jimin in running things smoothly.   “This is beautiful, Y/N.” Today, you’re graced by a few friends from the city. They drove out here after you reached out to them again and you couldn’t be more pleased from their genuine reactions. “When you said you were coming out to start a farm...I didn’t imagine this.”    “It took a lot of work, but it’s not half bad, right?”   Mina leans in, eyes flickering around. “Where’s this infamous Yoongi?”   A laugh spills from you. “He’s busy. You’ll see him next time.”   “I keep hearing about him, but I haven’t even seen him or his picture once,” Tiffany huffs. “I’m beginning to think he’s fake.”   You grin and insist, “I promise you he’s real.”   “Oh my god!” Yeri startles the group by the sheer urgency in her voice, but when you all swivel to her, she has her phone held in the air, screen directed to her face. “This is the perfect lighting! Guys, come here and take selfies up before the sun moves!”    You can’t help smiling as you watch them, matching their footsteps as they approach the fields. You can tell that they’re still surprised, that they love what you did — and you couldn’t be prouder.   At ten at night, the last people have filtered out and you bid them goodbye.   “Great job, Jimin. Thanks for the help as usual. It didn’t get too busy when I was gone, right?”   “Not at all.” The brunette with the polite smile shakes his head. “Oh, but the customer feedback box was full. I put it in the living room for you.”   “I saw that. Thank you. I’ll take a look tomorrow.” Looking ready to go, you walk him to the door. “Rest up then! I’ll see you tomorrow.”   “Goodnight, Y/N.”   But as one man leaves, you catch another down the road. The familiar truck is chugging, head beams piercing through the darkness settling across the horizon. Jimin recognizes it too after months of the same routine and smiles at you before he’s on his way.   The truck is parked on your lawn and the dark-haired man in the flannel is already smiling when he catches you through the front windshield. He opens the door and slams it shut as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed and the screen door held behind you.   “Well, well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in.”   Yoongi chuckles and grabs a crate from the back of his truck. “It’s groceries from my parents.”   He meets you at the porch and plants a chaste kiss on your lips as a greeting. You follow him into the kitchen as he beelines to it. It’s almost like this is his home — an idea that tempts you greatly.   “Aw, she packed me more pie.” There’s goat’s milk too and you store it in the fridge as Yoongi organizes your cabinet, making sure there’s enough sustenance to keep you healthy for the week. You’ve already told him that you could take care of yourself, but he’s stood firm and you didn’t argue. It was a guilty pleasure to be pampered by Yoongi after all, and you weren’t about to refuse it.   “My parents want you to come over soon. They keep asking me about you.”   You nod. “I’m happy to come over whenever they want. But I should probably bake something. Your mom always makes me food.”   “Nah. She does it cause she likes to. How about Tuesday?”   “That works for me.”   “Have you eaten yet?”   One shake of your head leads to him cooking and then the pair of you sitting at the table across from one another and sharing a warm meal. You ask Yoongi about his day and he tells you about bailing Namjoon and Taehyung out of jail. Apparently, they landed themselves into trouble after they lost their cow and went looking for it. Yet somehow, they ended up miles away on an orchard farm where they had a confrontation with an old grump and got arrested for trespassing.   But as exasperated as Yoongi likes to act, the irony isn’t lost on you how he drove that far out to bail them out and keep the secret from their parents. He’s the kind of man that conveys his feelings through his actions instead of his words and you’ve come to endear that quirk about him.   After dinner and cleaning up, you turn on the twinkling fairy lights strung along the backyard and stand on your patio, leaning against the banister. The land and rows of kale are strangely bare without people and the ruckus of crowds, yet there’s a certain peacefulness of the uncertain horizon.   “What’re you thinking about?” A husky voice sounds beside you as Yoongi meets your side.   “Nothing.” You shake your head. “All day I’ve been feeling proud of myself, that’s all. I think...my grandfather would be proud of me too.”   “Of course he would be.” Yoongi drapes his arm around your shoulder. “I’m proud of you too.”   As calm and detached as Yoongi may be at times, he still has the effect of catching you off guard when he sweet talks. And it’s a kind of duality that makes you adore him even more.   You wrap your arm around his slim waist, grinning and he plants a wet kiss at your forehead.   “Hey, Yoongi. Since you love me….does that mean you love kale too?”   “Those things are mutually exclusive.”   “But kale is my lifeblood.” You look up at him. “You can’t love me without loving kale.”   He scoffs at your ridiculous argument, but it’s pointless back and forths like this that you enjoy the most. Especially when Yoongi gives in. “Fine. I love kale. But for the record, I love you a lot more.”   You laugh and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m glad I came here.”   You’re glad you never gave up or gave in to the discouragement of your family, the apprehension of your friends or the voice inside your own mind.    You’ve finally found your place.   “I’m glad too.”   There’s no need to go home when home is right here.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi scenario #yoongi reader insert #bts farm AU #bts farm!AU #YOONGI AS A PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE BOY IN FLANNELS #AND OC AS A GIRL WHO KNOWS WHAT'S TRENDY #welcome to my first and only farm AU lol #hope you enjoy

[gleekto]

Fic: Crush Into Me (15/?)

Summary:  Third year NYADA student, Kurt, returns to Lima for an internship coaching the Glee club. The leather jacket and eyebrow ring-clad senior, Blaine, thinks he’s cute.

slightly older teacher-ish!Kurt/ badboy!Blaine

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen

Day Fifteen (Blaine) (word: Appendix):

In the week since their Dalton alumni rent-a-date, Kurt’s demeanour changes. At first Blaine tells himself that he’s imagining things he wants to see, but by the end of the week, he’s given up self-preservation and giving into what really is plain and obvious. Kurt Hummel is his friend and his friend is flirting with him. Constantly. 

On Monday, Kurt comes into Glee with two Starbucks coffees, his own whatever it is latte and a medium drip. For him. “To thank you for a lovely time on Saturday.”

“I gladly take rent-a-date payments in coffee. Thank you.”

“Wonder what I could get if I bring a caramel macchiato tomorrow?” 

Blaine side eyes him. He has a few ideas but he is definitely not going to say. They’re not there. Yet.

And then Kurt texts him later that night. 

K: I really did love your suit on Saturday. So different from your usual jeans and leather jacket style.

B: I told you I’m an enigma. I could have a closet full of Brooks Brothers sweaters and bow ties and you’d never know.

K: Then show me.

It feels like an invitation but Blaine isn’t sure for what. He just doesn’t respond.

The texting continues on Tuesday, also late at night:

K: Why didn’t you take Sebastian up on his offer on Saturday? I mean, as you said, even our pretend dating selves weren’t “exclusive”. And like I said, I remember what it’s like to be out and lonely in high school.

B: Sebastian? Ew.

K: He is good looking.

B: Maybe before he opens his mouth... 

Guess, I’m just not that kind of boy.

K: So what kind of boy are you? 

It’s too much and not enough. Blaine wants to hold on to the charged feeling he gets when his phone buzzes and a text comes in. Innocent but not. He smiles and blushes.

“Who the hell keeps texting you?” Santana asks him on Wednesday at lunch time under the bleachers. 

“This? Oh that’s just Kurt.” Blaine tries to stay neutral, hide the smile that threatens to reveal his heart.

“What is he like texting you nude pics now or something?-”

“Ew Santana. Stop.”

“Well, you just look a little too bashful for boring administrative talk.”

“It is boring and administrative.” Blaine holds out the phone to show her.

K: Hey - Can you stay after Glee club to work on the Rewrite the Stars arrangement for sectionals?

Santana is unconvinced. “Since when are we doing Rewrite the Stars?”

Blaine shrugs. “I don’t know. Kurt and Mercedes said the theme is ‘Risk’ so I guess they chose it.”

Santana nods, amused. “And he wants you to come to arrange it?”

“I guess.”

“And so how was that non-date on Saturday night with Kurt and all his old Dalton friends?”

“It was great, actually. We had a great time.”

“That’s what I thought. Read the lyrics, Blaine.”

Blaine doesn’t have to read the lyrics because he knows them all already. And by the end of the day he’s sitting on the piano bench with Kurt, harmonizing about taking chances. 

You know I want you It's not a secret I try to hide I know you want me So don't keep sayin' our hands are tied

Santana may be right. This is on the nose enough to be ridiculous. He stops singing.

“Kurt? What’s up with this song?”

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Kurt is shuffling through the sheets of music. “I also love This Is Me but thought this one fit the risk theme better. You sound perfect,  by the way.”

Blaine takes his hands off the keys and turns on the bench towards Kurt. “Kurt?”

Kurt stops shuffling the papers and looks up to Blaine looking right at him.

“So,” Blaine takes a deep breath. “It’s no secret that I think you’re hot.”

Kurt’s mouth drops slightly open in surprise and his cheeks turn pink but his eyes are smiling. “Blaine.”

Before he can stop him, Blaine continues, “I think you think I’m hot too.”

Kurt bites his lip. “Guilty. It was that suit. And you know, you play piano. Musicality and all that.”

“So kiss me.” He says it before he can think twice about the risk.

Kurt closes his eyes and huffs out, “Blaine. You’re a senior. You haven’t-”

“I’m a fast learner,” Blaine pushes sensing Kurt’s resolve crumbling.

“Still all bravado aren’t you?” Kurt mumbles and Blaine shrugs innocently.

“I guess?” Kurt’s eyes are flicking from Blaine’s eyes to his lips and back.

“God,” Kurt says almost in defeat. And he grabs the lapels of Blaine’s teeny leather jacket and pulls him forward. “You win,” He says before crashing their mouths together with a little oof.

It takes Blaine’s heart a second to catch up with him - frozen to the seat with Kurt’s mouth firmly on his. Kurt is kissing him. He remembers to move,  softening his face, letting his mouth copy Kurt’s. He puts his arms on top of Kurt’s, who is still holding his lapels, and pulls him closer, letting their knees knock as they straddle the bench. He hums a sound that he thinks is a cross between relief and the sound you make when you taste something delicious for the first time - like creme brulee, or trifle with a splash of tia maria. 

Kurt hums back and moves himself forward, standing up and putting one knee on the bench so he can put his hand behind Blaine’s head and pull him into him. Kurt’s mouth is wide open, tongue tasting, teeth nipping at his lips, breath mixed. It’s heaven.

Then it’s over. 

“That was-” Blaine starts and stops. He’s flying higher than a kite, and deliberately not thinking about what this all means for their friendship. Not in this minute at least. He doesn’t know if this is the end of their story or the beginning and wishes there was an appendix he could skip to with instructions on where to go from here. But there isn’t. So he will just savour the moment instead.

“Yeah,” Kurt looks down, shaking his head. “So I guess that happened.”

“I guess so.”

#klaine advent: appendix #klaine advent 2021 #gleekto writes #crush into me #ho ho

[centipedall]

The Milkman Cometh

“Sorry baby, did I wake you up?”

“Hmm? No, I woke up a second ago. I had this nightmare… I can’t remember what it was about.”

“Me too. And they say marriage gets boring.” I shot her an invisible smile in the dark.

She got out of bed and said, “Well, I gotta get ready for work. Remember, milkman comes at twelve.”

My blood ran cold. “When did we get a milkman?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“I mean, I’m sure we have one but-”

“But you don’t remember when we got one. Yeah… same here.” She sounded shaken.

“Well, whatever. Gotta hit the daily grind, right? I’ll go see if Fee’s up yet. She’s taking Joey to school today, right?”

“Yep. Thank god she can drive now.”

“No thanks to you.” I winked and gave her a quick hug.

“Which one of us is the hot dog cart salesman?” she asked.

I chuckled and let go, “Cold.”

“Like your hot dogs, dad.” Fiona said from behind us.

“I see you got up especially early today. Is it, like, anti-Father’s Day or something?” There was an uncomfortable silence. “Y’know, where you insult and belittle-”

“We got it dad. Geez, you’re so lame.” She smiled and left the room.

“You’re driving Danny to school today, not Uncle Greg!” My wife called as she left the room.

There was a moan of frustration and I finished getting dressed. I walked down the stairs and went straight to the kitchen. My wife had beaten me there, unfortunately. She had the pantry door open and was rummaging around in there.

“Hey honey? Where’s the food?”

“Whaddaya mean? Shouldn’t it be in the pantry?” I checked with her, and sure enough it was empty. Well, except for some canned milk Greg had bought. Jackass. “Probably one of Greg’s pranks. I’ll see if he put them in the fridge.” I said.

I almost vomited when I opened up the fridge. There was only cheese, yogurt, butter, and milk. And all of it was spoiled. Jesus Christ, I could practically taste it. Like a tsunami of awful that wormed its way into your mouth. Good God, it felt like I was the one rotting.

I backpedaled away from the biohazard, into the other room and onto my favorite comfy chair. “Where are my hot dogs?” I whimpered.

“Oh my God- honey? You alright? Listen, it’s- fuck me it’s already eight? I gotta go. Can you deal with this today? Good God, the client’s gonna be pissed.” She started running towards the door.

“What the hell? Hey, Harry? Can you give me a hand? The door’s not opening.”

I jogged over to her, and sure enough, the door wouldn’t budge. It was like the damn thing was welded in there. I went over to the back and- no dice. If only we had windows, we could- why don’t we have windows?

“Hey honey? I’m gonna go get Greg. See if he’s-” The basement door was wedged shut, just like the others.

“Mom, Dad? I can’t open Danny’s door. I think he locked himself in again!” Fiona called from upstairs. I saw her legs as she started walking down the stairs. “Aw geez, it smells like bad milk down there? Milk… hey, did I mention my weird dream last night?”

Okay, what the fuck is going on?

“Wait, it’s nine already? Shit I’m late for school!” Fiona started rushing down, pinching her nose as she entered the awful ground floor.

“Language, young lady! And the doors don’t work.” She sighed. “Goddamnit, I can’t lose this promotion...” My wife muttered.

“What is it with you and this job? Why are you always chasing promotions? Our son is missing! Your shitty brother is missing!” I yelled at her. “Is it really more important than them?”

She wheeled on me, spitting venom. “You and I both know the only reason we live in this house is because of me. How much money does a hot dog salesman make, again? Is it less than a lawyer?”

“Not funny. When we got married, we said we wouldn’t have this conversation. It is my fucking dream, and it makes me happy. Why can’t you be happy with this? With us?”

“Goddamnit Harry, you know I love you guys! And that’s more than you can say! What about Greg, huh? I know you hate him.”

“Guy’s a slacker, Louise! He farts around in our house all day, pulling his stupid little pranks and costing us money. He’s rubbing off on Danny! Have you seen? The kid’s a wild child!”

“He’s only acting out because you are a shitty dad-”

“What the fuck did you just say? What the fuck did you just say?” I screamed.

“You don’t care about him! I get it, he’s not your biological kid! But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t love him!”

“Shut the fuck up. I love Danny so much it hurts and you know it. Stop trying to hurt me. Just- just stop.” I sat back down on my chair. “I’m so hungry. I’m so tired.”

“I- me too. This is just such a bad situation I- I’m sorry, honey.”

“I’m sorry too. Do- do you think this has something to do with that dream?”

“I don’t know. God, I hope it doesn’t. I don’t remember much but-”

“Yeah.” I shivered. “Yeah.”

“Hey guys? Is the clock messed up? Because it says it’s ten o’clock already. And nine was like, five minutes ago.” Fiona said.

“I think we have two hours left.” I said. “Your mom said the ‘milkman comes at twelve’ this morning right after we woke up.”

“And what happens then?” Fiona said.

“You remember the dream?” Louise said.

“Only the feel of it. It was bad.”

A silence fell over the room.

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

“Can we break the door open? If we grab that old lamp in Fee’s room, I bet we can bash the back door down.”

“Aw man. I love that thing, I don’t want it to break.”

“Do you want the milkman to come? Because I don’t think we can get out any other way.” Louise said. Fiona nodded hesitantly.

In a flash, all three of us grabbed the heavy lamp and, with a great deal of pivoting, managed to squeeze it down the stairs. We lugged it over to the back door, and began swinging.

“On three!” My wife yelled. “One! Two! Three!”

The thing slammed against the door and there was a sharp crack. The door split right down the middle. A stench drifted out of the crack. More rotten milk. Oh my God. I would’ve barfed if I had anything in my stomach. As a family, we retreated into the living room.

I glanced at the clock. It was eleven. I sank down into the chair like my entire body was weighted. I was so tired. God, I was exhausted. And hungry.

“So what now?” Fiona asked.

“I don’t know. I- there’s nothing we can do.” Louise said.

I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. A sitcom was on. The theme song played. It was about a family of five. A mom, a dad, a daughter, a son, and an uncle. The dad was dumb, but big-hearted. The mom was smart, but long-suffering. The daughter was a classic teen with too much sense. The son was a wild child. The uncle was the comic relief, a slacker with a love of pranks. I almost threw up.

They laughed and japed. The uncle had collaborated with the son. They had swapped the food in the refrigerator and the pantry and locked all the doors. The other three members of the family ran around like headless chickens. The mom made a joke about how she made all the money. The dad made a joke about how she didn’t love anyone. The mom made a joke about a milkman, and how the kid wasn’t his. I almost threw up.

The family decided that leaving wasn’t worth all the stress. They all sat together and watched TV, like they did at the end of every episode. There was a knock on the door, in the sitcom and in real life. Everyone, TV and real, threw up pure spoiled milk all at once.

I stood up. I walked over to the door. I opened it. The smell almost killed me. There was something out there. A massive, hulking thing. A humanoid, almost, covered in dry cracks and wet holes constantly leaking spoiled milk. The milk flowed both up into the sky and down onto the infinite white plains outside my house. It has no eyes, mouth, or ears, just wet holes that spurted milk like a ship full of leaks. It did have a tiny little paper hat though, perched askew on its head. Below that was a thick, foot long, flopping tongue that sprouted out of the mouthless face. The nostrils were massive too, leaking milk like snot. Jesus, the stuff was chunky. And hairy. I looked down. It had long arms with elbows that reached to its knees so that it could touch the ground standing up. Its hands were huge with no fingernails, just skin with wet holes at the tip of each finger. It had a massive penis, swinging like a pendulum. Spoiled milk leaked. And leaked. And leaked. I was up to my knees in the stuff.

It looked at me with those wet holes, and the tongue flopped wordlessly. I still knew what it was saying. The same thing as in my dream.

Lait, ici.

Fiona, Louise, and I replied.

L’epoux, il est dans la maison.

It screamed. We screamed back.

It nodded to us and left. The milk continued to flow. It sank into my throat. Into my lungs. My nostrils filled with clumps. I drowned in vomit and spoiled milk.

Not the worst way it could’ve gone.

#body horror

[nessafms]

new  york’s  very  own  NESSA  LOCKE  was  spotted  on  broadway  street  in  𝓳𝓲𝓶𝓶𝔂  𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸  𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓪  𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻  𝓽𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓵  𝓱𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓼  .  your  resemblance  to  kylie  jenner  is  unreal  .  according  to  tmz  ,  you  just  have  your  twenty  two  birthday  bash  .  while  living  in  nyc  ,  you’ve  been  labeled  as  being  finicky  ,  but  also  alluring  .  i  guess  being  a  scorpio  explains  that  .  3  things  that  would  paint  a  better  picture  of  you  would  be  expensive  diamonds  clinging  to  delicate  fingers  ,  makeup  swatches  on  tan  skin , &  wine  induced  giggles  .

GREETINGS  ,   cuties  .   i’m  gi  ,  9teen  ,  and  go  by  she  and  her  pronouns  .  i  kind  of  suck  at  introductions  ?  so  please  excuse  all  of  the  rambling  and  unnecessary  comments  that  are  throughout  this  .   nessa  is  kind  of  my  baby  ?  so  im  super  super  excited  to  bring  her  into  this  group  and  play  her  once  again  and  even  more  excited  to  write  with  all  of  you  !!!!!!   everything  you  need  to  know  about  her  is  under  the  cut  ,  and  if  you  want  to  plot  please  give  this  a  heart  and  we  can  do  so  (  or  message  me  on  discord  ,  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐲#1776  )

*  basics 

FULL  NAME.  nessa  ryan  locke  .

NAME  MEANING.   pure  ,  holy  ;  butterfly  . 

REASONING.   it  was  suppose  to  be  vanessa  but  somehow  ended  up  being  just  nessa  by  the  time  she  was  actually  born  .

NICKNAMES.   ness  ,  nessy  .

PREFERRED  NAME.  ness  and/or  nessa  .

BIRTH  DATE.   november  third  ,  nineteen  ninety  eight  .

AGE.  twenty  two  .

ZODIAC.  scorpio  .

GENDER.  cis  female  .

PRONOUNS.  she  and  her  .

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION.  heterosexual  .

CURRENT  LOCATION.   moved  to  new  york  city  at  the  age  of  nineteen  ,  (  click  here  to  see  her  residence  ) .

PLACE  OF  BIRTH.  los  angeles   ,  california  .

HOMETOWN.   los  angeles  ,  california  .

FATHER.  jared  locke  ,  actor  .

MOTHER.   jillian  locke  ,  former  model  .

SIBLINGS.   nirvana  locke  ,  emerson  locke  .

BIRTH  ORDER.  youngest  .

PETS.  wolfie  ,  husky  .

HAIR  COLOR.   originally  a  black  color  ,  though  it  tends  to  go  from  black  to  a  light  brown  and/or  a  blonde  color  . 

EYE  COLOR.  brown  ,  but  she  takes  pride  in  the  small  specks  of  green  .

DOMINANT  HAND.  right  .

HEIGHT.  five  ft  six  .

TATTOOS.   nessa  has  five  tattoo’s  all  together  ,  the  first  one  being  something  that  resembles  the  fire  emoji  on  her  right  inner  hip  she  got  with  her  group  of  friends  .   she  has  a  rose  on  the  left  side  of  her  boob  ,  which  she  got  strictly  because  she  thought  it  was  pretty  .   she  has  two  butterflies  behind  her  left  ear  ,  a  smiley  face  on  her  right  upper  butt  cheek  ,  and  finally  the  words  ,  ‘  take  care  ‘  tattooed  on  her  right  arm .  

PIERCINGS.   she  has  five  holes  on  her  right  ear  and  seven  holes  on  her  left  ear  .  

DRUGS  /  ALCOHOL  /  SMOKING.  no  (  beside  smoking  weed  here  and  there )    ,  yes  ,  no  .  

SOUNDTRACK.   self  care  ,  mac  miller  .   angel  ,  the  weeknd  .  fetish  ,  selena  gomez  .  bitter  ,  fletcher  .  july  ,  noah  cyrus  .  bad  news  ,  kehlani  .   after  hours  ,  the  weeknd  .   needy  ,  ariana  grande  .   save  myself  ,  ed  sheeran .  p*$$y  fairy  ,  jhene  aiko  .  girls  in  the  hood  ,  megan  thee  stallion  .  

AESTHETICS.   emerald  hues  forming  into  a  distant  memory  ,   soft  laughter  in  the  dead  of  the  night  ,  luxurious  material  clinging  to  honeyed  skin  ,   tired  hues  ,   the  glow  of  neon  lights  lightening  up  a  dark  room  .  

LINKS.  here’s  her  pinterest  !! 

FUN  FACTS.   she  has  a  three  year  old  husky  ,  whom  she  treats  as  though  she  carried  him  around  for  nine  months  .  she  has  a  obsession  with  acrylic  nails  ,  you  will  always  find  her  with  something  different  every  two  weeks  .  she  always  has  her  toes  painted  ,  usually  baby  something          baby  pink  ,  baby  blue  .   she  enjoys  switching  up  her  look  which  includes  hair  changes  whether  it  be  sporting  a  wig  or  actually  dyeing  it  .  has  a  talent  of  painting  but  normally  doesn’t  have  the  time  or  inspiration  to  do  so  .  a  music  bug  ,  she  has  to  be  listening  to  tunes  if  she’s  cleaning  ,  cooking  ,  bathing  ...  hates  the  gym  more  then  anything  but  has  a  personal  trainer  (  she  spends  most  of  the  time  avoiding  )  to  kick  her  ass  in  shape  .  rarely  diets  and  with  this  she  has  a  bad  habit  of  eating  whatever  her  body  craves  .  she  loves  waffle  fries  ,  and  prefers  a  burger  over  a  chicken  sandwich  .   she  hates  neon  green  ,  don’t  fight  her  on  this  .  she’s  a  bit  of  a  car  junkie  and  constantly  purchases  them  despite  not  needing  to  .  her  worst  habit  is  online  shopping  ,  she  will  spend  thousand  of  dollars  at  ONE  store  .

*  background .

stranded at  the  age  of  five  ,  a  stuffed  elephant  in  hand  and  confusion  lingering  on  skin  .  only  small  glimpses  of  heart  felt  moments  to  ease  the  tears  .  one  moment  she  was  there  ,  and  the  next  she  somehow  slipped  through  the  cracks  .  not  even  the  power  of  hollywood  being  able  to  track  down  the  angelic  emerald  hued  model  .  instead  ,  her  father  had  to  wrap  his  arms  around  his  three  children  and  fabricate  a  story  that  would  not  shatter  their  delicate  hearts  .  but  the  damage  was  already  done  .

drenched  in  sovereignty  and  affluence  ,  the  privilege  of  being  privilege  had  always  been  a  reality  ,  even  before  the  disappearance  of  her  mother  .  a  celebrity  child  ,  grew  up  in  the  spotlight  and  had  ears  filled  with  comments  from  millions  who  did  not  know  her  .   not  a  sob  story  ,  unless  you  considered  her  mommy  issues  .  inherited  her  father’s  ambition  and  her  mom’s  trust  issues .  started  branding  herself  at  the  age  of  seventeen  ,  a  trend  setter  .  the  title  of  social  media  personality  was  granted  to  nessa  before  it  was  even  a  thing  ,  and  she  did  not  stop  there .   ventured  into  the  beauty  industry  ,  building  an  empire  from  top  to  bottom  .  and  eventually  even  created  a  fashion  line  with  her  older  sister  ,  even  after  all  the  red  warnings  .

but  the  finer  things  in  life  did  not  come  with  all  blessings  .   her  delicate  hands  drenched  in  cold  glue  ,  shattered  pieces  clinging  for  their  lives  with  expectations  of  being  put  back  together  again  .  adored  and  envied  by  the  world  ,  but  the  outside  looking  in  did  not  see  bent  back  constantly  picking  up  pieces  of  her  sisters  who  crumbled  with  even  the  softest  poke  .  addiction  controlling  every  aspect   of  her  sisters  lives  ,  and  the  relationship  she  shared  with  them  .  it’s  never  been  pretty  to  watch  the  ones  you  love  self  destruct  and  take  everything  you  love  and  trust  down  with  them  ..  hard  to  look  them  in  the  eyes  as  anger  and  heartache  consumes   you  .  and  even  harder  to  forgive  .  

forever  fighting  the  demons  her  mother  instored  in  her  ,  and  the  demons  her  sister’s  stir  up  .  her  only  breath  of  fresh  air  being  her  daddy  ,  and  the  way  he  always  has  her  back  (  no  favorites  are  played  but  we  all  know  )  ,  and  the  life  she  helped  build  for  herself  .  wants  to  be  rid  of  hands  that  hold  her  back  and  take  and  take  until  she  has  nothing  left  ,  and  instead  plunge  into  the  world  of  living  for  herself  and  new  york  city  granted  the  brunette  that  opportunity  .  

*  personality .

affection  sings  to  her  in  the  form  of  a  love  song  ,  her  love  language  .  digits  itch  to  hold  friends  hands  ,  and  lean  on  lovers  shoulders  .  uses  pet  names  like  her  vocabulary  only  consists  of  the  word  angel  and  baby  .  a  chatter  bug  that  hides  vulnerability  with  ebullience  and  teasing  manners  .  impulsiveness  that  jumps  out  at  all  the  wrong  times  ,  and  a  carelessness  that  teams  up  with  her  pettiness  to  make  all  the  wrong  choices  .  feels  replaceable  and  easily  disposable  ,  makes  her  fear  of  ever  letting  anyone  get  too  close  .  finicky  ,  hard  to  please  and  even  harder  to  totally  figure  out  ,  some  would  say  she’s  hot  and  cold  .  tries  to  stay  out  of  her  head  with  burying  herself  in  work  .  knows  how  it  feels  to  feel  like  you  are  nothing  ,  and  fills  that  whole  with  giving  back  as  much  as  she  can  .  silly  and  sometimes  ditzy  .  loves  too  hard  for  her  own  good  ,  and  has  a  bad  habit  of  letting  people  back  in  even  when  they  do  not  deserve  it  or  her  ..  has  a  softness that’s  desperate  to  escape  .   hates  love  because  she  understands  what  it  can  do  to  you  and  loves  just  as  much  for  the  same  reason  .  built  a  wall  around  her  heart  to  avoid  adding  any  more  scars  ,  and  will  save  you  before  she  saves  herself  .  holds  on  to  people  a  little  too  tight  ,  because  she  hates  going  through  the  process  of  letting  people  in  all  over  again  .  a  twenty  something  year  old  who  craves  a  mother’s  touch  but  holds  a  grudge  that  sometimes  causes  her  to  miss  out  on  people  .   always  just  wants  to  feel  like  she’s  worth  making  sacrifices  for  .

* career . 

kylie    cosmetics  ?  nessa  cosmetics  ,  a  brand  built  at  seventeen  years  old  and  has  only  grown  from  there  .   collections  that  consist  of  collabs  with  close  friends  and  family  (  when  she’s  talking  to  them  )  ,   and  season  /  holiday  collections  .  does  something  for  her  birthday  ,  november  third  ,  every  year  .  has  a  collection  dedicated  to  her  zodiac  sign  , scorpio  .   constantly  changing  her  formula  to  better  her  brand  ,  and  does  everything  hands  on  .  does  most  of  her  work  from  her  office  .   can  find  her  instagram  stories  to  be  her  swatching  her  latest  products  .  favorite  thing  of  hers  being  her  eye shadows   (  applaud  for  the  pigmented  ) .  good  quality  ,  inclusive  and  diverse  (  more  then  actual  kylie  cosmetics  )  is  the  most  important  thing  when  it  comes  to  her  brand  . 

launched  nessa  skin  a  single  year  ago  ,  and  has  worked  on  it  for  the  last  three  years  .  her  latest  child  ,  and  plans  to  only  grow  it  .  skin  has  always  been  super  important  to  nessa  ,  and  delivering  her  supporters  with  products  that  will  actually  work  is  her  main  priority  .  

a  youtube  channel  with  ten  million  subscribers  ,  youtuber  as  a  second  job .  it  starting  as  a  hobby  and  a  way  of  connecting  with  supporters  to  becoming  something  she  cannot  imagine  not  doing  .   her  channel  consists  of  mixed  content  such  from  fashion  hauls  to  makeup  videos  to  even  vlogs  that  involved  her  friends  (  and  family  )  doing  stupid  things  .  

em  &  ness  ,  a  clothing  brand  her  and  her  sister  are  developing  .   features  trendy  street  wear  ,  more  to  come  soon  . 

* connections

the  childhood  friend  that  reminds  her  of  simpler  times  ,   mud  pies  in  the  back  yard  and  riding  their  bikes  around  the  neighborhood  .  secrets  and  promises  of  being  friends  forever  that  felt  secure  but  feel  short  .  bonded  forever  maybe  ,  but  constantly  feeling  like  strangers  .   (  or   they  could  still  be  close  friends  )

the  family  friend  that  their  parent(s)  swore  were  going  to  end  up  together  ,  though  if  the  two  caught  any  talk  of  that  would  scrunch  their  nose  ups  and  shake  their  head  .  or  at  least  they  did  for  a  while  ,  until  lines  started  to  fade  and  the  comfortableness  felt  like  something  more  ..  not  together  now  ,  but  constantly  a  what  if  ,  the  idea  still  runs  in  their  minds  but  is  a  friendship  worth  something  that  might  not  work  out 

a  friendship  or  more  so  platonic  soulmates  ,  if  you  see  one  you  know  the  other  is ��not  far  behind  .  they  are  somewhat  extensions  of  one  another  ,  swear  they  cannot  survive  without  one  another  .  the  one  person  nessa  trusts  the  most  ,  someone  who  has  never  hurt  her  or  left  her  .  her  person  .

the  bad  influence  that  plays  on  her  impulsiveness  .  talks  her  head  up  to  get  even  or  take  that  tenth  shot  because  why  the  fuck  not  .  anytime  something  bad  almost  happened  ,  like  that  time  we  almost  got  a  fine  ,  she  was  with  this  person  .  and  while  she  adores  them  ,  she  knows  they  aren’t  exactly  the  best  for  her  .

the  friend  group  you  cannot  help  but  envy  ,  constantly  plastered  on  one  anothers  instragram  feeds  .  has  their  own  groupchat  that  does  nothing  but  blow  up  .  shopping  trips  in  italy  and  vacations  in  greece  .  do  not  always  get  along  but  there  is  always  love  in  between  them  .  they  are  constantly  in  her  vlogs  ,  and  would  kind  of  be  like  her  very  own  vlog  squad  .

the  friends  with  benefits  who  swear  they  are  just  friends  ,  and  the  sex  means  nothing  .  despite  the  fact  that  they  linger  a  little  too  long  in  one  another’s  bed    .  and  the  promises  of  this  will  not  ruin  anything  become  blurry  when  they  connect  on  a  deeper  level  .  and    it  gets  confusing  when  their  affectionate  comes  to  surface  ,  but  regardless  they  are  just  friends  .

a  trio  of  three  friends  who  are  always  seen  together  ,  best  friends  could  be  the  world  to  use  to  describe  them  (  bonus  points  if  its  all  girls  )  .

the heart  breaker  ,  the  person  that  fucked  her  up  for  good  .  ruined  the  way  she  loved  and  left  her  with  a  lot  of  regret  and  heart  ache  .  she  swear  she  hates  them  ,  but  she  hates  how  much  she  loved  them  and  how  close  they  got  to  her  .  hates  how  they  went  from  knowing  her  more  then  anyone  to  being  someone  she  cannot  even  look  in  the  eyes  anymore  (  bonus  points  if  it  involves  them  cheating  on  her  ,  extra  bonus  points  if  it’s  angsty  as  hell  )  

the  drinking  buddy  she  confides  in   ,  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  lot  of  shit  talking  that   always  end  up  in  talking  about  personal  matters  .  they  are  a  ear  and  someone  to  lean  on  .

the  on  and  off  fling  ,  their  back  and  forth  being  nessa  and  her  refusal  to  let  them  in  completely  .  her  feelings  for  them  scare  her  ,  and  she’s  not  ready  to  walk  down  the  road  of  being  with  someone  again  .

other  things  i  want  include  ;  unlikely  friends  ,  enemies  to  friends  ,  friends  to  enemies  ,  lovers  to  friends  ,  friends  to  lover  ,  ex  best  friend  ,  ex  friends  in  general  ,  ex  friends  who  miss  each  other  terribly  ,  other  youtubers  she  collabs  with  ,  other  ceo’s  of  makeup  brands  /  skin  brands  she  has  a  rivalry  with  because  the  media  made  it  seem  like  they  hated  one  another  .

#wealthyhq:intro #fingers crossed i didn't miss anything asdfj #tw: mention of addiction

[mikauzoran]

Platonic Alyadrino: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Nine

Read it on AO3: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Nine: War Room

When Alya returned ten minutes later, the boys had gotten up off the floor and were snuggling comfortably on the bed.

Alya could tell from the way that Nino had Adrien wrapped in a tight hug that he was feeling uneasy, insecure, and extremely protective. He would not be letting Adrien out of his sight for a while, so Alya could kiss the thought of any amorous activities with her boyfriend that evening goodbye. He needed to keep Adrien close so that he could feel Adrien’s warmth, reassure himself that his best friend was, indeed, alive and well and very much safe.

Alya hadn’t really stopped to think about the danger her friends were constantly in after learning their identities. She had been too caught up in the juicy details of superhero life and romance. It hadn’t occurred to her to be concerned about the never-ending peril they faced.

Suddenly she felt a little ill and had the strong urge to call Marinette just to tell her she loved her. She was sorely tempted to join Adrien and Nino in their snuggle pile.

Instead of giving in to anxiety, she took a deep breath and pushed those feelings aside for later. Right now, it was Nino’s turn to be vulnerable and raw. She could stay strong for now and wait to have her own freak-out when Nino got his feet back under him again.

“How are you lovebirds doing?” she called with a cheerful, teasing lilt to her voice, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“I think Nino has annexed me,” Adrien reported in amusement with a twinge of guilt.

“Yeah. You’re gonna have to pry him out of my cold, dead hands,” Nino snorted good-naturedly. “He’s mine now.”

Alya shrugged, coming to sit down on the bed beside them. “I always knew you two were sort of a package deal, but this is a bit much, don’t you think?” she joked.

Nino lifted his head from Adrien’s chest to give Alya an earnest look. “Hey. So…would it be really weird if I asked if he could stay the night?” He looked down at Adrien. “Would that be weird for you?”

“It’s not weird for me so long as it doesn’t make Alya uncomfortable.” Adrien looked to Alya for the final decision.

Alya pursed her lips. “I mean, the only thing that might be uncomfortable for me is that the bed’s not really made for three people. But I don’t have a problem going and sleeping on the couch if I wake up and don’t have enough space.”

Adrien grimaced. “I wouldn’t want to kick you out of your own bed. It’s already bad enough that I’m interrupting your quality time together. I’m sorry.”

Alya waved his apologies away. “Cupcake, it’s fine. The couch is very comfortable, and Nino and I can always take a rain check on quality time. I kind of get the impression that Nino needs to listen to your heartbeat for a couple hours or else he’s going to have a meltdown.”

“I’m not gonna flip out anymore,” Nino grumbled petulantly, resting his head back down on Adrien’s chest.

Meanwhile, Adrien’s mouth and eyes rounded into wide “O”s of understanding.

“If you’re sure,” Adrien gave a token protest only to be waved off again by Alya.

“It’s all good. Stay the night,” she insisted. “I mean, you’re already in your pyjamas, so why not? But to get back to what you’re doing here in the first place, did you say you had something you needed to talk to me about?” She glanced at Nino. “Was that, like, a private thing?”

Adrien shook his head and sat up (much to Nino’s displeasure).

Nino repositioned himself so that he was sitting with his back to the bookshelf built into the wall above Alya’s bed, his knee perpendicular to and pressing up against Adrien’s leg.

“Actually, it’s even better to have the both of you to bounce things off of,” Adrien replied, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know what to do. I know Plagg’s probably right, but…” He paused, realizing that Nino didn’t know who Plagg was. “My kwami,” he explained and then looked around, realizing that he didn’t know where the cat deity had gotten to or what havoc he was wreaking.

“Plagg?” he called, voice a little high and tinny in alarm.

“Here.” Plagg floated up out of Alya’s hood, still munching on the chunk of Gruyère she had given him. He went over to Nino and landed on his knee. “Plagg,” he introduced himself, holding out a stubby paw which Nino carefully took between two fingers.

“Nino. Nice to meet you, Mec.”

“I dislike you least,” Plagg announced before tossing the remainder of the Gruyère into his mouth and flying off to retake his perch on Alya’s computer speaker.

“He means that you’re his favourite,” Adrien translated with a fond smile. “He pretends to be a little gremlin, but he’s a big softie on the inside.”

“Why don’t I get to be your favourite, Plagg?” Alya whined, shooting the kwami a betrayed look. “I gave you cheese.”

Plagg shrugged. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that. Luka keeps cheese in his minifridge specifically for me.”

Alya and Nino whipped their heads around to stare at Adrien.

“Luka knows about you being Chat Noir?” Alya accused. “I thought you didn’t tell anybody?”

“I didn’t,” Adrien groaned. “I just have perceptive friends. I’d been visiting him for maybe three months as Chat Noir when, one night, out of nowhere, he asked if I wanted to detransform and feed my kwami because I’d been transformed for so long, and I was like, ‘But then you’ll know my identity,’ and he was like, ‘Perfect Fifth…seriously?’ So…yeah. I’m apparently really obviously me…but I don’t know. Nino didn’t recognize me, and I’m pretty sure Kagami has no idea.”

“You hang out with Kagami as Chat Noir?” Nino frowned, trying to picture it.

Adrien shrugged. “She’s like me. She doesn’t get to leave the house much, so I come visit her and keep her company.”

“Aww,” Alya cooed. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

“I know what it’s like,” Adrien explained sadly. “And I really like spending time with Kagami. She can be a little prickly at times, but she’s a good friend.”

“Who else do you hang out with as Chat Noir?” Nino couldn’t help but wonder. “I don’t know why I always thought I was the only one. Guess I just wanted to be special.”

Adrien grimaced, feeling bad. “Sorry. You are special…but Chat Noir actually has a pretty active social life.”

“Fair,” Nino sighed, shrugging it off.

A somber expression drifted onto Adrien’s face. “It was hard always being under lock and key at home, never permitted to spend time with friends or participate in group activities, so…I actually end up sneaking out most nights. Like, I’m over at Marinette’s all the time.” He bit his lip thoughtfully. “I don’t think she knows it’s me, though.”

“She definitely doesn’t,” Alya grumbled in frustration.

“Her parents might, though,” Adrien admitted. “I’m about ninety percent positive that Sabine knows. Tom is fifty-fifty.”

Nino’s frown turned skeptical. “Her parents? You hang out with her parents?”

Adrien looked down at the bedspread, blushing. “Yeah? I mean…at first, I just went over to see Marinette, but then it felt kind of weird being up in her room late at night without her parents knowing, and I knew they were super chill, so Marinette and I explained the situation with my father not letting me out of the house much, and they were fine with it. I mean, there are ground rules like no unauthorized sleepovers unless I’m having a crisis or don’t feel safe at home or something like that, but then they started inviting me over to cook and have dinner with them when they found out I eat alone most of the time, so…yeah. Tom and Sabine kind of adopted me.”

He looked up with a helpless shrug and a sheepish smile.

Alya clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Boy, you’re already getting in good with the future in-laws.”

“Alya,” Adrien groaned. “Stop.”

“I’m just telling it like it is, Cupcake,” she snickered. “You’ll see. Any day now, you and Marinette are gonna start dating, and you’ll be married with three kids, a hamster, a dog, and a cat before you know it, and then—”

“—This is me seriously asking you to stop.” Adrien shot her a wounded look.

Alya put her hands up, dropping the topic like it had stung her. “Sorry. This is me stopping.”

Nino nodded approvingly, impressed that Alya had learned better than to press Adrien’s boundaries. That was something she had struggled with at times: pushing forward once she got an idea in her head without stopping to think about how her words and actions affected others. He was really proud that she was working on it.

A bashful smile slowly formed on Adrien’s lips as he gave Alya a grateful nod. “Thanks.”

She shot him a wink and abruptly changed topics. “So, I’m kind of ticked that I’m the only one you seem to have decided not to visit as Chat Noir besides Chloé.”

“You run a blog on which you post articles speculating about my identity, and it was once your life’s goal to unmask me,” Adrien retorted sassily. “And I don’t visit Chloé because she’s practically the only one of my friends my father actually allows me to see whenever I want anyway, so there was no need. Plus, she thinks Chat Noir is a loser.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Snowflake, but the blog’s mainly about your partner. There may be some articles about your identity, but Ladybug was always my main focus.”

“But you were right,” Nino chimed in, causing both Alya and Adrien to turn to blink at him. “The very first identity speculation post you did about Chat Noir was that he was secretly Adrien Agreste. You even posted that image you’d made photoshopping cat ears and a mask on Adrien’s picture.”

“It was a joke,” Alya moaned, covering her face with her hand. “Everyone knew it was a joke.”

“Some people didn’t,” Adrien sighed.

“I thought you made some compelling arguments like them both being blonde,” Nino offered encouragingly.

Alya deflated, shoulders slumping as her head dropped to her chest.

“If I had visited you as Chat Noir, are you telling me you wouldn’t have badgered me for details about Ladybug and pestered me for an interview?” Adrien challenged.

All Alya could do was groan, unable to defend herself. “Yeah. Okay. I can see why you didn’t come visit the obsessive Ladybug fangirl. Case closed.”

“So, you’re not upset?” Adrien verified hesitantly.

Alya shook her head. “Nope. Well…maybe a little bit, but that’s on me. I do get it, so…all good, Cupcake,” she assured with a conciliatory smile. “…So…you needed to talk to us about something?”

Adrien’s eyes went wide as he remembered. “You will never guess who asked me out on a date!”

Alya’s jaw dropped. “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh, it’s happening!” She began to bounce on the bed, clapping her hands in excitement. “Marinette finally asked you out!”

Adrien’s wide-eyed expression crumpled into a frown. “What? No. Wait. Did Marinette actually say that she was going to ask me?”

Alya’s elation faded into confusion. “I mean…yeah. She was just over here a couple hours ago, and, when she left, I thought we had reached an understanding that she was going to ask you to get coffee.”

“Shoot,” Adrien hissed, brow furrowing. “Shoot. This makes things even worse.”

“Cupcake, you’ve lost me,” Alya confessed, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “Marinette didn’t ask you out?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Ladybug did, so if Marinette asks me now, I have to say no, right? I can’t…like…go on dates with both of them?” he replied uncertainly, looking to Nino for permission. “Because that would be bad, right? I couldn’t, like, go on a date with Ladybug and then go on a date with Marinette later? Could I? At least until someone says something about making the relationship exclusive?”

Nino shook his head. “Mec. No. You’ve got to be upfront about that kind of thing; otherwise, they’re going to beat you up when they find out, and someone’s going to get akumatized.”

The hopeful expression slid off of Adrien’s face as he dropped his head in defeat. “But I want to date both of them.”

“Well, maybe when Marinette asks you out, tell her the truth and see what she thinks,” Nino suggested judiciously. “Depending on what she says, talk to Ladybug and see what she thinks. Honesty is the best policy here. Isn’t that right, Al?”

Alya was too busy trying to wrap her mind around the ever increasingly more confusing situation to hear at first.

“Al,” Nino called again.

She snapped to attention, hawk eyes zeroing in on Adrien. “Wait. Ladybug asked you out?”

Adrien nodded, wailing mournfully, “Why is this happening to me? For years no one’s been interested, and now the two most amazing girls on the face of the planet both decide to ask me out at the same time. I’m cursed, guys!”

“Wait,” Alya repeated, mental gears still stuck and refusing to turn as she attempted to process how her fool-proof plan had failed. “Ladybug asked out Chat Noir? I thought you two decided last night that, even though you loved each other, you couldn’t date until Papillon was no longer an issue. Did she change her mind?”

Nino’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Clearly I missed a plot-relevant episode somewhere. Lady Noir is canon now?”

Adrien nodded excitedly, momentarily forgetting his woes. “Oh my gosh, Nino. She loves me! She just thinks our feelings for each other will screw up our teamwork, so she doesn’t want to date yet, but she said that after Papillon’s defeated, we can finally be together!”

“Congratulations, Bro!” Nino laughed with a wide grin, giving Adrien a celebratory clap on the back. “That’s awesome!”

“I know,” Adrien giggled. “And it gets even better because earlier tonight she came by my room and asked me out as Adrien. I think Adrien is the guy she’s been turning Chat Noir down for this whole time. Nino, I think she really loves me!”

“What?!” Alya snapped, cutting off Nino’s response before he could give it. “She asked you out as Adrien as Ladybug?!”

Adrien and Nino both stared at Alya in concern as smoke started to billow from her ears and nostrils.

“Um…yeah,” Adrien responded tentatively. “Are you okay, Alya?”

“No!” Alya shrieked, reaching up to grip her hair. “You can’t date a masked superhero! What is wrong with that girl?!”

Nino leaned forward and gently loosened Alya’s fingers so that she wouldn’t hurt herself in her outrage. “Deep breaths, Al.”

Meanwhile, Adrien grimaced. “Yeah. That’s what Plagg said too. Do you think I should text her and call things off?” He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout, obvious not too keen on the idea of cancelling.

“Let me think,” Alya requested, pursing her lips as deep trenches formed in her brow.

They sat there in silence for nearly ten seconds until Alya suddenly broke it once more.

“No. Don’t cancel,” she decided, reformulating her plan as she spoke. “Go on the date.”

Adrien looked to Nino and then Alya. “You really think it’s okay? I was a little worried that it’s technically lying to her for me to date her as a civilian without telling her I’m Chat Noir, but…”

“Well, she’s not exactly telling you who she is either, is she?” Alya snorted indignantly. “She’s being equally duplicitous, don’t you think?”

Adrien frowned, looking down at the zebra-print duvet. “Yeah,” he sighed. “The thought had crossed my mind. I think…maybe she knows me when she’s not Ladybug. That’s the only way her feelings for me make sense because Ladybug has been turning Chat Noir down for her mystery guy for years now, so if Adrien is the mystery guy, she has to know me, right?”

He looked up at Alya, eyes begging for clarity. “You know her, right? She wouldn’t waste years pursuing a celebrity crush when she had genuine feelings for Chat Noir…would she? Her feelings for Adrien have to be from her civilian life, don’t they?”

Alya bit her lip, worried she would give away too much with her answer. On second thought, so what if she blew Marinette’s cover? This stupid love quadrilateral they were stuck in had to go, and if Alya “accidentally” knocked it over like a house of cards, so what?

Gradually, Alya began to nod. “Yeah. You’re right, Cupcake. There’s no way Ladybug would pine after some celebrity crush for literal years. She probably does really know you.”

Adrien slowly released the breath from his lungs. “Okay. Wow. I mean…that’s what I thought, but…” He gulped. “Wow. You think she’s been right under my nose this whole time?”

Alya shrugged. “Maybe.”

Nino frowned as the pieces to the puzzle started to line up. “Wait.” He looked to Alya, eyes narrowing.

She arched an eyebrow.

Nino glanced back to Adrien. “Wait.”

Adrien tipped his head to the side interrogatively.

Nino looked to Alya once more, wearing an affronted expression. “If Ladybug is…” he sputtered, shaking his head. “What the hell is wrong with that girl?!”

Alya tried not to burst out laughing as she saw the true insanity of the situation register with her boyfriend.

Adrien, however, continued to look confused.

“Aw, come on,” Nino groaned in frustration, wishing he had hair to spare so that he could pull some out in his indignation. “I want to hit my head against a wall. Why on earth did she ask you out as Ladybug?” he demanded of his best friend.

“I’m…not sure?” Adrien replied uncertainly, feeling like he had missed something important.

“I swear I’m going to shake that girl,” Alya sighed.

Nino clicked his tongue. “Right?!”

“Maybe she didn’t think I’d say yes,” Adrien suggested, trying to ignore the fact that his friends seemed to be having some secret conversation in front of his face.

“Maybe.” Alya shrugged, too mentally exhausted to do more than that.

“I’m just worried that, if I do go out with Ladybug, we’re going to end up exposing our identities,” Adrien sighed, slumping back against the wall behind him.

“Would that really be the worst thing, though?” Nino posited.

Adrien wrinkled his brow as he considered it. “I don’t know. I don’t know if this is something that I can keep from her. Like you said, honesty is best in relationships. I don’t think I could be with her as Adrien and keep my Chat side a secret for long, but…she’s not going to be happy. The secret identities thing is a big deal for her.”

Alya gave an unconcerned snort. “Don’t you think she considered how it could put her identity at risk by getting close to you as Ladybug? She had to know that this was a gamble. Apparently, the chance to date you was worth it. True, she’s going to be upset when you figure out who she is, but…she loves both sides of you, Adrien. She’s going to be really happy that the guys she loves are the same person.”

“Yeah,” Nino concurred, giving Adrien���s arm a bolstering pat. “You two will deal with the fallout when the time comes, so don’t worry about it too much. Just enjoy your date, and when the identity reveal comes, it comes. You guys have a strong partnership and love each other a lot. You’ll figure it out.”

Slowly, Adrien began to nod as he took their words to heart. “Yeah,” he breathed, gradually starting to feel at peace with the situation. “You’re right. I mean, I totally see where she’s coming from with wanting to keep our identities secret and wait until after Papillon is defeated for us to be a couple, but…whatever happens, we’ll make it work. Our bond is strong enough to overcome this.”

He looked up at his friends with eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate you talking me through this. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Sure thing,” Nino chuckled, giving Adrien’s hair a fond ruffle.

Alya winked and punched Adrien’s arm playfully. “We’ve always got your back, Cupcake.”

The comfortable, warm atmosphere only lasted for a moment. Seconds later, Adrien’s eyes snapped open wide as he realized he’d forgotten about a key issue: “What am I going to say to Marinette when she asks me out?!”

Nino and Alya groaned in tandem.

Nino gave Adrien’s back a supportive pat as he shook his head. “Maybe don’t worry about that so much. I have a feeling it will sort itself out.”

“But…what if she asks me out and I have to tell her I’m marrying Ladybug?” Adrien looked back and forth between his friends as if this was a genuine and immediate concern he was having. “Won’t that ruin our friendship? Will it be awkward if I invite her to the wedding? Marinette is one of my best friends, and I don’t want to do anything to mess that up. She wasn’t seriously interested in me, was she?”

His eyes fell pleadingly on Alya.

She sighed and shook her head. “You know what? I’ll talk to her. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Thank you so much, Alya!” he cried, lurching forward to throw his arms around her and nearly knocking her off the bed in the process. “You’re the best!”

She couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation as she patted him on the back and shook her head. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re welcome, Adrien.”

“So,” Nino spoke up as Adrien and Alya pulled back. “Is that all the drama for the evening, or did you have something else we needed to hash out?”

“Nope,” Adrien assured. “I should be good.”

“Awesome,” Nino chuckled, stretching out on the bed and motioning for Adrien to lie down beside him.

Adrien readily complied and was summarily snuggled for his trouble.

“We were watching that new Netflix show Lupin,” Nino explained, resting his head on Adrien’s shoulder. “Ever seen it?”

“No, but I was planning on watching it,” Adrien replied excitedly.

“We’re only fifteen minutes into the first episode,” Alya informed, retrieving the laptop and waking it up. “If you want, we can start over and watch together.”

“Would that really be okay?” Adrien looked back and forth between them like an excited puppy.

“Absolutely,” Alya assured, cuddling up next to Adrien and restarting the video.

#Platonic #Adrino #Alyadrien #Alyadrino #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Nino Lahiffe #Alya Césaire #Ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Friendship #Fluff #Mikau's Writings #Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.

[acdeaky]

thank you, mr hardy | I

warning: angst, foul language

note: so, this is new and interesting for me. like i said on tuesday: ben hardy owns my ass. finally! the long awaited (probably lowly anticipated) first chapter of TYMH. enjoy...

word count: 1.5k

“or do you prefer jones?” you asked, looking up from your pile of papers, ben hardy’s (ne jones’) file on the top. the blond was looking straight through you, his eyes boring into yours.

“mr hardy will be sufficient, thank you.” he deadpanned. you knew instantly that he wouldn’t be like your other bodyguards; he’d be one tough nut to crack. but you were determined.

“well, thank you, again, mr hardy. it was a pleasure to meet you.” you stood from your large desk chair, your hand reaching out for him to shake. he took it gently, shaking with just the right amount of force.

wow, his hands were soft.

“thank you, miss L/N. it was a pleasure to meet you, too.” his stoic expression not faulting.

“er, karen will show you out.” behind him waiting at the door was your assistant, karen. she was nice enough, good at her job, too. just, not enough. ben only nodded his head before turning straight around and leaving. karen’s facial expression as she looked at you as ben passed said it all.

ben was hot. you would admit that. you were a twenty-six year old woman with eyes. he was hot. with his piercing green eyes which perfectly matched his perfectly groomed blond hair. his hands were the perfect size and you couldn’t help but think off all the perfect things he could do with them. his shoulders were the perfect broadness, his body like it was sculptured by the geek gods themselves, and his perfect smile was dazzling.

well, you didn’t know that just yet. and by the way that introduction went, it looked like it would be a while before he brought out his smile.

but you would wait. you’d wait until the moment until he gave you a perfect smile, showing off his perfect teeth.

okay, so he isn’t perfect; who is? but you felt like he was damn near perfection if you ever saw it. sitting back down at your desk, you slumped down the the chair and sighed, rubbing a hand over your face and through your hair.

bodyguard choosing was hard work. the hard part being choosing them, the easy part being looking at them - to see if they were strong, of course. still, it tired you out to no end. ben was the last interview of the day, and by day you meant evening.

it was late. not too late, but later than you expected to be after only interviewing six possible candidates.

that was all pointless now. you’d chosen who you wanted and he would start tomorrow. you had until then to figure out how to crack the tough nut that is ben hardy.

-

it was around 6am when you woke up. ben would be here at 8 and, since you were in your own home, you had a good amount of time after getting ready to prepare yourself for the day. prepare yourself for ben.

today would be the first day of press for stone cold crazy. it had attracted a lot of attention to you from the media...and others. everyone wanted to know about Y/N L/N, lead of the hit new film stone cold crazy. and i mean everyone.

as a result, your management had decided that you needed a bodyguard. you had decided that a certain mr hardy would be perfect for the job.

after completing your morning routine, you relaxed upon the sofa, feet up and phone in hand. time slipped away as you scrolled through various social media’s. a loud knock interrupted you, almost making you drop your phone in shock.

knowing who it was got you excited. you shouldn’t be acting like this; he was your bodyguard, for crying out loud. but men like ben don’t pass everyday, they’re like a once in a life time opportunity. even if there would be nothing romantic between you two, you still wanted at least a friendship. was that too much to ask?

as you approached the door, the knock came again, this time louder.

“alright, alright. i’m coming.” you muttered, walking quicker to ensure that ben wouldn’t bash down your door from impatience. you unlocked the two locks and heaved open the heavy door.

there he stood in all his glory. his luscious blond hair slicked back, a few strands not following the rest and framing his face. he wore full black: black shoes, jeans, shirt and jacket. all black. probably even his socks and boxers, if you were to guess.

“morning, mr hardy. come in.” you stepped aside, pulling the door open a little wider so his shoulders could fit through. ben stood in the entrance to your apartment, just out of the way of the door getting closed.

“er, did you want a drink or anything?” you asked, shuffling to close the door.

“i’m okay, thanks. you need to get ready, the taxi’ll be here in ten.” still with the stoic expression; that was already annoying you. the press tour hadn’t even started and you already wanted it to be over. you left ben at the front door, practically storming up the hallway to your room to grab your suitcase and your carryon bag.

ben was still in the same spot, except this time, he had his phone in one hand and his other hand in his pocket. he stood with such nonchalance, like he had no care in the world. you genuinely thought that you could stare at this man for hours, finding new scars, marks and indents over the time.

“ready?” you couldn’t have been staring long, but by the tone of bens voice, you knew you had been longer than he wanted. a measly nod was all you could give. “right then, let’s go.”

this time, he opened and closed the door, taking your keys from your hands and locking it himself. wow. he did a thorough job, if anything. ben also took your suitcase, wheeling it down the corridor to the lift of the building. it was an awkward ride down the nine floors, both of you stood in silence, you rocking on your heels to your toes.

outside, a car was waiting for you two, the back windows completely blacked out. ben ensured that you were in first, before taking your suitcase and adding it to his in the boot. he slid in seconds after you had gotten comfy, situating himself next to you.

the ride to the airport was quiet, once again, apart from the light hum of the radio. you watched as the scenery flew passed, remembering little features on the drive you’ve experience countless times.

it didn’t take long to reach heathrow. you were guided through the airport with ben strapped to your side; yours and his suitcase were in one hand, his other on your lower back. soon, you were through check in and security, quickly boarding the plane before the other passengers as soon as it was ready.

first class was always fun. nice, comfy chairs which reclined all the way. decent tasting food with a drink more often than not. entertainment which lasted you the entire flight. the only difference was that this time, instead of being by yourself next to a window, you had ben to your left, the connecting window constantly down so he could keep an eye on you.

as usual, neither of you spoke to the other. it seemed to be some unspoken agreement; don’t speak unless spoken to, which, in itself, was a boring rule anyway. you wished to know more about him, even if he was giving off a closed appearance. there had to be a cuddly man beneath that all. surely?

the flight to new york was pleasant. minimal turbulence and eight hours in the air gave you time to sleep (even if your body clock was still on london time). as usual, you were one of the first ones off, getting though american customs as quickly as possible and grabbing your suitcases soon after.

unsurprisingly, the ride to the hotel was quiet. ben didn’t utter a single word to you and hadn’t done since he entered your apartment almost twelve hours ago.

you were starting to think that maybe he’s just an arsehole. a grade a arsehole who was definitely the wrong man for the job.

after arriving at the hotel, ben, once again, rolled both of your suitcases towards your adjoining rooms. he swiped your card first, letting you enter and he followed.

“i’ll be back in a minute.” he stated plainly, taking his suitcase and leaving.

“he speaks!” you whispered, only to yourself. the aggravation you had for that man was on a new level. you had never felt this way towards someone before, and it worried you. why was ben any different? why did he act like this? maybe it was ju-

knock, knock.

it wasn’t coming from the door you entered, but a door on the side of your room. ah, yes. adjoining rooms. what a great idea(!).

“this stays unlocked.”

“do i get no privacy?”

“we’re in different rooms, love. that is privacy.” no expression. literally. no emotion whatsoever.

dickhead.

“you better get to sleep; it’s been a long day and you need to be up tomorrow.” and with that he left.

a bigger sigh has never left your mouth. you slouched onto the bed, laying down and running your hands over your face.

this was going to be the longest five weeks of your life.

-

TAGLIST: @valeriecarolinaw @leatherjacketmazzello @laedymoon @rogermeddowsx @whitetrashdarling @freelyinwonderland @onceuponadetectivedemigod @hearts-to-the-sky @toreyyyyyy @holeintheatmosphere @scoobydoosbooty @soulexposed @unassumingviking @illfxckingdoitdarling @siobhandx @luvborhap @postercalum @anotheronebitestheskye @miamideacon @mamaskillerqueen @honkyegerton @autismdoesntspeak @laurentaylor-hardy @dancing-deacon @yes-elizabeth-chan-us @lainkaulait @hells-personal-bitch @freddieandrogerandbriananddeaky @belladonichaaze @haileylansley @annathesillyfriend @hardzzellos @harrypotter-life2 @fairestkillerqueenofall @saint-hardy @hulkinqs @radiob-l-a-hblah @alleexxhh

#thank you mr hardy #ben hardy #ben hardy series #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fic #x reader #borhap #acdeaky #bodyguard AU #bodyguard #AU #alternative universe #TYMH

[olivcrfm]

hello! this is my stupid naive child with a heart of gold oliver !  i’m very excited to about him, so pls give me all of your affection & plots 🥺  i wrote like a whole novel under the cut because i had this man for like a year now, so please bare with me

chicago’s very own oliver park-davies has been spotted on madison avenue driving a maroon jeep wrangler , welcome ! your resemblance to charles melton is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty fourth birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re withdrawn, but being empathetic might help you . i think being a cancer explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be lazy mornings in bed, getting the job done at the last minute, & a soft voice  . ( i stole the test answers for my college finals to impress my parents ) & ( cis male & he/him) + ( hailey , 19 , she/her, cst)

— “ basics ! ’ 〉

full name. oliver park-davies.

nicknames. oli, ollie, park, davies obviously lmao.

age. twenty-four.

date of birth. june 26.

occupation. singer/songwriter.

sexual orientation. bisexual.

birthplace. new york.

zodiac. cancer.

spoken languages. fluent in too many languages thank you.

— “ backstory! ’ 〉

oliver park-davies was born in chicago to two extremely loving parents, and his seven other siblings of which he was the oldest, they were this gigantic loving family, and everybody wanted to be like them

okay well when i say loving i mean that’s how they appeared on the outside, his family was very broken, his parents constantly on the edge of divorce, him and his siblings didn’t get along at all, and in the park-davies house there was always something to argue about

the park-davies were billionaires, this was due to their extremely successful business endeavors, and knew when and where to invest their money they had enough money to buy whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, they never looked at the price tag, to quote ariana grande, “they want it, they got it.” their business headquarters is in texas! and oliver’s parents constantly just left him n his siblings in chicago while they went to texas

but he spent his summers their and it’s basically home away from home

his parents often tried to basically bribe their kids to love them because they were honestly the worst, they often emotionally abused their children, and neglected them, and the only time that their parents did want anything to do with them is when they needed to make a public appearance

was very much the rich kid that raised by nannies and butlers rather than his actual parents, and in a weird way he sorta became this surrogate parent for his siblings, he was the one they looked up to and came to for advice that sorta thing

oliver,,,just needed something anything to take his mind of it, so immediately he threw himself into studying and books, and to quote matilda, “the books gave him a comforting message...you are not alone.”

his parents ended up figuring out that their son was smart, like hella smart, by 10 he’d mastered latin, and by 11 he was already reading at college level

bUT despite being able to graduate college by 12 at the rate he was going he wanted as normal of a childhood as possible, and so he continued with his regular grade level, and tried his best to be ‘normal’

honestly his love of books got to the point that his room essentially turned into a small library of it’s own, it got to the point where his parents reluctantly gave him his own room to house all of his books

books weren’t the only thing that oliver found his passion for, when he enrolled in his school’s choir, he realized his love for singing

he wanted to share his music with people without having the recognition, so he uploaded a lot of his music to soundcloud under an alias ( vc: conan gray / cavetown i can’t decide yet lmao rip )

he gained a massive following, that not even he expected, which would seem like a great thing if he wasn’t expected by his parents to take on the family business

one day his parents sat him down and he saw it a good a time as ever to tell his parents about the success he hoped to gain from singing, his parents cut him off immediately and told him that his father was suffering from cancer

due to his revelation his parents ostracized him more than they did before, and slowly but surely he began to be iced out, no longer showing up in appearances, and just avoiding any press altogether

as his father got increasingly more sick, oliver began to realize the mistake that he made, and on his death bed oliver promised his father that he would do as both of his parents wished and take over the family business

oliver had the scores to get to any school that he wanted and decided on business school at columbia, where his father was an alumni, the agreement that he had with his mother was that once he graduated he’d begin shadowing his mother to learn to run the company

the school and the city itself was immediately overwhelming to my boy who came from not so humble beginnings in his small town, and he was unsure of where he belonged in this huge school

until!!!!! he found friends!!!! and they made him feel accepted!!! and it was great!!!!

once his friends heard his voice and of his dreams they encouraged him to join the university’s men’s choir, and was prompted by the director to join the university’s theatre department, where he appeared in a overwhelming majority of the school’s plays and musicals

he was discovered one night at this open mic thing he went to and it was great! he was signed to a record deal with a label! and my bby’s dreams were finally coming true!!!

lmao but the one condition that he did have for his label was that he had to graduate school first, and it was accepted

he graduated early! because of course he did only because he stole the test answers because his grades were sorta declining and finals were coming up sooo

his mom was expecting him to come back to texas and maintain the family business, but he pulled a whole uno reverse card, and ended up disappearing from whatever world it is that him mom lived in

he became pretty successful in the music industry, coming from this cool indie artist that only about a few hundred people knew about to this seemingly overnight sensation

my bb is still v e r y unused to the attention, mostly because his parents never gave it to him and he was like, adoration???? attention??? care??? what’s that

has recently started a band! consisting of people he met a columbia, so him, a guy friend, and olivia dkfsjdkj guy friend remains unnamed because it’s a wc

— “ personality / headcanons ! ’ 〉

is a huge dork that just loves to make people smile and when he sees people genuinely happy his heart melts a little bit inside

is very much the shoulder to cry on for people, and even if he doesn’t know you he’ll sit and listen to your whole life story and just try to cheer you up because that’s just in his nature?

has started his acting career! first it was just cute small little cameos in movies and tv shows, but now it’s turned into him getting his own show!!! he couldn’t be more excited tbh

remember how i said that he’d sit and listen to a stranger cry? if he shows even the slightest bit of emotion that isn’t happiness he starts malfunctioning and just trying to make the people around him happy

he’s honestly probably said, “alright i have to go back to being funny again.” to himself so many times before??? he’s so broken on the inside but has just put up so many barriers

despite the many walls he has to protect himself from other people, he’s just the nicest purest soul, he treats everyone like his family, and just has the insatiable need to be liked dkkfkdkd, pls be fragile with my boy thanks

ollie is left-handed

loves singing show tunes and has gone to too many shows on broadway????

has a special room for playbills because he likes getting them signed and they’re very important to him

hates talking about his family and will probably cry if you make him bring them up lmao

he’s such a himbo ... just kind , beefy , and stupid

he often just dumbs himself down, not because he thinks he’s better than other or something weird like that, buuuut he feels like people will judge him and make fun of him like others did when he was younger

— “ wanted plots ! ’ 〉

some potential wc i’m terrible at thinking of these so please don’t feel limited by this list!

best friends!!!!

roommates!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! think this, this, this, this

guys he can hang out with sdksdflfkj idk a close knit group i’m thinking of ross, chandler, and joey or smth he’d be joey obvi

romantic plots can fuck me up any day of the week

i’m a slut for a good exes plot

unrequited crush, it can be that he has feelings for someone way out of his league, or someone has a crush on him and he’s just oblivious 

someone who broke his heart n inspired his music

band members!!!! would’ve had to attended columbia 

someone who he’s a good influence on

bad influence, he’s too good corrupt him do it cowards

former / current hookups 

ex friends 

straight up enemies

smth like one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen

#wealthyhq:intro #please love him #i have had him for like a year now #and i am so excited to play him again #abuse mention #cancer tw

[gunmetalgrey-trashpile]

medical draaaaaama with @consultingsister

SEVERIN

Severin Moran was supposed to be a doctor. He was supposed to be helping people. Five years of schooling, two years in the army, one treating frontline patients in crisis points to...  being benched behind a desk to run budgets for each department, trying it squeeze pennies here and there just to make ends meet. He got to see a handful of patients, if any. Coming home was supposed to be more than this. He missed A&E more than he could possibly admit, and right now it was weighing on his shoulders more than usual. He used to have full faith in people. In her specifically. Cecelia Holmes was respected, brilliant and a once in a generation surgeon but adjusting the life support of a patient was… grounds for termination. Not to mention her being struck off. 
The pager had practically vibrated off of his desk.

Crash on London Bridge, three casualties, multiple passers by injured. Once dead on the scene. He wore scrubs constantly, just in case for the awful moments like this when he had to sprint down to the first floor and prove himself. The son had made it into triage by the time he arrived, the second and third casualties still under assessment when the daughter began to code. The head of the emergency room should have handled it, but he was closer. He was the official call in this moment. John Watson grabbed the shock cart, more people moving around them to try and support the situation. He ignored the two Sebastian Morans at the emergency room doors, everything else melted into he background.

Third shock, almost twenty full minutes of chest compression and he absolutely refused to call it. He kept going, the muscles in his arms burning but he couldn’t give it up. Long enough for someone to page Cecelia. He didn’t even notice in the fray, he was too focused on the patient. Early twenties, brown matted hair, heavy streaked eyeliner and-

The ringing of the heart monitor and the call of the alarms meant nothing. He had to keep going.

CECELIA

Celia loved a panic. It was sick, she knew but she also knew that almost every doctor on the floor felt the same, whether they admitted it or not. It was a time to prove yourself; it make your heart best like nothing else on the earth. And Cee was riding high. She had been in with of the first casualty; the medics were ready to call it but she met them all the door. While male, thirty-two, glass shards making their way to his heart.

It was almost too easy; she didn’t even need to bring him into surgery.

It was odd to see Celia on the floor in scrubs. It was almost like it’s own alarm bell. Cecelia Holmes has taken off her heels, run for cover. A car crash was also a wonderful distraction from thinking too much about what Sev was going to do. Which weighed more? His love for her or his moral code. Cee used to love that he was a good person, unwavering in it, but now it felt like another roadblock to her success.

She was in between check ups when she got the page. A small gathering at the door, as if there wasn’t anything better to look at. She didn’t need the whispered explanation from Nurse Emma. She could see it in his face, sweat dripping from his forehead. Twenty minutes in. There was nothing left to save. “Clear the room,” she barked. Then her voice softened. “Severin...” her eyes flash to John, then to the two nurses who remained. Down with the ship, she guesses. “Sev.”

A little firmer, she tries again, this time reaching for his shoulder. “Doctor Moran. You have to call time of death. There is nothing you can do now. Step away, take a breath, call it.” She speaks as if it’s easy. “Sev.... you can stop now.” SEVERIN He didn't even hear her barking orders in an emergency room that wasn't hers to control. He simply kept on going. Saying his name wasn't going to pull him away from the job at hand, he had to help people, he had to do... something. Initially he leant backwards at the hand on his shoulder, letting himself be moved so carefully. But he didn't take a breath. He turned to face Cecelia, glassy eyed and hands still shaking with adrenaline. It was his call. And he couldn't save anyone. "Time..." He started out with his voice unsteady, swallowing before he could carry on. He puffed up his chest, his eyes momentarily dropping tot he floor before his brow tightened and all the fury was back in his body again. Severin brushed her hand away roughly, shoving past her to stand next to John. "Time of death 19:57."

He wasn't about to hang around for a lecture she had no right to give. What was she even doing there?

CECELIA

She wasn’t used to being at the receiving end of... what? His bad mood? Sounds a little flat. His hatred? She could hardly bear the thought. He was always sweet with her. Even after the baby, the weeks that bled into months where was cold, dismissive, sometimes outright cruel. He forgave and forgot. It wouldn’t be so simple this time.

She turned back to John but he stopped her, “I’ve got this. Go.”

“I owe you.” She moved quickly from the room. Second sign of an emergency; Cecelia Holmes running. “Doctor Moran.”

It still sounded funny in her mouth to call him doctor. Maybe she still saw him as the kid from her biology class; maybe that was the problem. Cee needed to adapt, needed to see him as a doctor, her boss. Only technically. “Doctor, can I please speak with you? Where are you going?”

SEVERIN

He didn’t stop. He just kept moving, waiting for her to follow him into a completely empty OR, not that he had planned it well. His pager wasn’t going off so he couldn’t claim to be urgently needed elsewhere, his anger and frustration piling on in heaps. He had been so good at staying calm and collected before he came back to work here. With her.

“Don’t.” He didn’t want to see her right now, let alone be forced to listen to stupid justification as to why his saviour complex got in the way of him actually doing his job. “You don’t get to lecture me on life and death, what the hell do you fucking know?”

Severin rallied, rounding on her with those icy eyes that gave away his inner turmoil. He was quiet, despite his rage. Enough so that nothing would carry back to a busy ER.

“You don’t get to speak with me, not now.”

CECELIA

“I know!” Cee wasn’t do adept at keeping her voice down. Sev’s anger was always icy when hers was fire. Hot, unstoppable; people were likely to get burnt. She pressed her lips together, trying to keep it together. “I know that the best thing I could have done for Jennier Ried was let her die on my table. Or, better yet, not have pushed for the surgery at all so she could have died at home, with her family, peacefully. But instead, because of my pride, I kept her alive when it was her time to go. And now she is a fucking vegetable, Sev! With her mother coming in every single fucking day. Losing a child is hard but this...”

She gave a growl of frustration, covering her face and turning away from him. She should tell him it was a mistake; a bad decision made at the end of a long shift. That she was grateful that he stopped her. Even if it was a lie. It was save her career, it would save their relationship.

Cee turned back, closing the space between them. “You weren’t saving that patient. They were gone Sev, you were trying to save yourself. Everyone in that room knew it.”

SEVERIN

"No. No the best thing you could have done was stick to letter of the law.  There are rules Cecelia. You cannot make yourself the arbiter of life and death, although how would you know? It's not like you have ever had that control taken away from you." He snarled. There was hardly two feet between them.

He reached out for her shoulder, pulling her to face him again. No, she didn't get to do this.

"I don't need saving. I am fine, I'm the only sane one here."

Severin pushed her, heading straight for the doors of the OR as if he was ready to head straight back to work.

CECELIA

“You are drowning, Moran.”

She knows because she’s been there herself. She knows because putting him in the position to keep her secrets was as good as shoving him under the water. She moved past him quickly, leaning against the door. He could easily move her, she knew that, but she hoped it would be enough.

“You have been since you came back to London. Fighting with Bash, you’ve been short with interns. I have never seen you like this. I fucked up, I know that! I know I am making your life hard, but please, I can help. This can’t go on, Sev. It’s a race to see who you kill first; yourself or.a patient.”

SEVERIN

“I have to be fine, because I clearly can’t trust anyone. Look at you, I had total faith and you just...”

He stopped dead in his tracks, glaring her down completely. It was hilarious now how many times he could think he had hit breaking point only to realise there was still deeper he could sink to.

“How would you know? You shut me out. You didn’t care when things were at their worst, stop acting like you care now. It’s not going to change my mind, you pretending that there’s a second chance just to save your bloody career. You need to move.”

CECELIA

"Don't you dare, don't you fucking dare." Without meaning to, without even realising she was doing it, she shoved him. He was right that Cecelia didn't like losing control but she was wrong that she never did. "I have never ever cared more than when we lost--" her throat constrict.

"Yes, I shut you out afterwards but that was not because i did not care. I didn't know how to handle how much I cared, Sev. I lost your baby. And I could do nothing, say nothing to bring her back for you. But you left, you picked a war zone over staying with me."

She doesn't want to cry but she can feel the sharp stinging at the corner of her eyes. "I do care now, I cared then and I care now. Fire me, honestly, if that will lift a weight off your shoulders but you know I made good calls, nine out of ten times, I made a good call even if it's not textbook."

SEVERIN

Severin stepped backwards. This was hardly enough to break through to him, even with how much the admission had cost her emotionally. “Really? You put your career first, and always. Clearly above patients. Clearly above us, any chance there was here? It’s gone. Don’t question my calls, don’t undermine me in front of my staff. I am your boss. Remember that.”

He didn’t even want to hear it. “I left to do my god damn job, now step aside.”

CECELIA

"I am willing to lose my job to give a family some peace, Sev. How the hell is that putting my career first?" She knew her argument was weak. What Celia called colouring outside the lines most would call gross negligence. She stands taller against the door, bracing herself.

"No." Her hand wrapped around the door handle and she realised she might even be a little scared of him. Just last week she'd watched him subdue a drink man twice his size in A&E, he could throw her across the room if he wanted to.

SEVERIN

Head shaking, he stepped back again. He moved to the operating table, pressing his palms to it with a deep breath in order to press out some of the anger. He couldn’t do this right now. In a flash, he kicked out tossing a tray across the room in a clattering racket before huffing like an idiot.

His hands moved to his face, his fingers pressing into the flesh with the stress. “I need to get out there before they loose anyone else. Let me go.”

CECELIA

"You have not been paged, I have not been paged. You are not currently in a fit state to look to patients and I have no intention on letting you leave before you have calmed down."

She gripped onto the door handle tighter, trying not to shake. Strike that, she was a lot scared. She had jumped as the tray hit the floor but now moved forward, away from the door, pulling hands hand away from his face and replacing them with her own. "Look at me, look at me Sev. You cannot save everyone. Not everyone lives. Not my patient, not yours. Not the baby. Not Alex. But so many do live. So many people have gone on to live because of what you did for them. Me included Sev. I am only alive today because of you. You saved me. Let me help you, please."

SEVERIN

“What are you going to do for me, huh?” He pulled away again, pacing like a caged animal. He needed to be busy and just... not think.  “How’s putting me in positions were there is no right choice going to help?!”

Severin hadn’t told a soul, and it was the very first time he had disobeyed his own moral code. There was flexibility when it came to the law and high pressure situations but not this.

“I can’t think straight around you. Sam is right, you get in my head. And you just...”

He stopped DEAD IN HIS TRACKS, closing his eyes to breathe in deep through his nose and out through his mouth slowly. “The last thing I want from you right now is whatever your idea of help is.”

CECELIA

“Jessica is brain dead and I am the best surgeon on your staff. You saw me with my hand on the switch, that’s it. There is a right choice.” She almost instantly regretted that. She was right, but it wouldn’t help. Cee moved towards him again.

“Sam is not right. After your punch up with Bash, who did you come see? You said it yourself, you sleep better in my bed. How can you tell me I don’t help?”

It’s a risky move but she stops him, hands back on his face, she kisses him. Hard and urgent, desperate to the through to him. “I love you, i love you. Don’t leave me. I love you.”

Even Cecelia isn’t sure what she is more panicked about; losing him or losing her job but the two seem connected now. It’s their fourth year all over again and her planned future is going down the drain. “I love you”.

SEVERIN

She was the best surgeon on his staff, that he couldn’t argue with. Largely because she took the risks no one else wanted to. It was infuriating that she could be so damn right all the time.

The kiss made him want to relent, forget the chaos going on around them and just kiss her back. Only it wasn’t that simple. Severin lingered longer than he should have, kissing her back with as much frustration and urgency as she had. He slept better in her head, he found life easier by her side but this hurt deeply. Not just her actions, but confronting him like trying to do his all was the wrong move.

“No- no. Don’t say that. Not now.” She knew the buttons she was pressing and this time around he wouldn’t play into her hands so easily. Severin pulled away, pulling her hands down from his face.

“You can’t love me when it’s convenient for you.”

CECELIA

The OR light bounced from the table and onto her face, reminisce of the lighting in black and white movies. She twisted her mouth and her eyes gleamed. She thought she had worked it out this time. Done the right maths. Right time, right place. They could make it work this time.

But he was still Sev and she was still Cee. Not enough had changed. Or everything had, she couldn't tell.

She opened her mouth but a incessant beeping from her waist band cut her off. Looking dow to her check her message, she sniffs. "Loving you... is absolutely never convenient for me. I just do it anyway." She looks into his face and smiles saddly. "We have to go. Second wave."

SEVERIN

Her pager beeped. His was completely silent. He didn’t break his concentration on her face, trying to understand where he should even be in this mess. If she had said those three little words at any other point then he’d be over the moon. The problem lay in the delay, that now apparently there was weight to them.

“Debrief me before you leave.” He still knew it was stupid to send her into surgery unsupervised be he really didn’t have a choice.  “I have a family to call.”

CECELIA

"Sir yes sir." Her smile grew tight. How could he treat her like she was a liability? Her almost perfect track record of general surgery. Who else on her level had that?

The next five hours are a blur. Two minor procedures, one surgery, one shower. By the time she's found him in his office, she's out of scrubs and back in her power suit, heels on, ready for her own battle. She knocks, even though the door is open. "Did I ever tell you I applied for this job when you did? I mean--- thank god I didn't get it. It's sort of make you a dick." Her pleading tone is gone. She's pissed at him. It feels like he is holding her job over her head.

"I'm here you to tell you I didn't kill anyone today. Same as yesterday, same as the day before. I even managed to fit in a scheduled surgery, which brought int he hospital about... hm, ten thousand in billable hours, I think? I'm not an accountant, but I think that's my going rate."

SEVERIN

He should have stopped her. This wasn't about oversight, in fact, he was too invested in a family that had lost two members in one day- in spite of his attempt to help. He wanted to know that there was a chance the other two made it to the end of his shift.

Severin watched her move through the doors, and away from the emergency room. His first call was to Sam, to put him on the ground. Right now, the poor second would be starting his shift with a fresh mind and fresher hands. It was going to be easier on both of them.

He insisted on calling the relatives himself, trying to bury himself in the budget and not watch the hours tick by. He'd managed it, well, his eyelids were drooping as the knock on the door cut through his thoughts.

"Right." His steam had blown off entirely, calmer again. Almost rational. "That sounds about right. I've been running the numbers so I can believe it."

Severin stood up, hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets in a way that would seem achingly familiar. His head tilted awkwardly, charmingly. As if he had never lost his cool. "I think we need to talk, don't you?"

CECELIA

Cecelia paused in the doorway, stuck between an adult and telling him to suck it. However, in the best interests of her own career, she took off her coat and closed the door behind her.

She wishes she had something smart to say, she seems to for everything else but all she can think to say is... you look tired. She wants to take him into leaving with her, maybe even taking some holiday time like normal people. "I meant everything I said before but I can't-- I cannot lose my job Sev. St Thomas' would never sign off on you letting me go so you'd have to have me struck off. Are you seriously considering that?"

SEVERIN

He leant against his desk, propping himself up.

"Just -listen." He raised a hand, trying to get her to give him time. Tired was one way to put it. Total and complete exhaustion was another.

"We've been fighting, in one way or another since I go here. I'm not saying I didn't deserve some of it, but somewhere along the line- we made a good team." Late night study sessions right up to trial parenting. There was nothing they couldn't do, as long as the did it together. Maybe in the months of moving around each other, he'd lost sight of what the real goal was.

"I need to trust you to work with me. You love me, then you know I've only ever got your best interest. And the patients, because there's a situation where the two aren't exclusive." This was the biggest risk of his career, and maybe more. What other alternative was there? He couldn't report her, it was just not going to happen. "I am not going anywhere alright? I love you, but don't use it against me."

CECELIA

A weight lifts. The sky clears. She moved to the door and back to the desk; he’s not going to tell! She should be more sorry, more solemn but she can’t help but. She wants to shout out! She’s keeping her job!

“Yes, I promise. I love you, I really do.” She covers her face with her hands to hide her grin. They’re parents, of course he wasn’t going to let her go. She stares at him for a moment and then laughs, a mister of relief and something else.

“Look at you... behind a desk... pushing papers and working out budgets. That’s... that’s sick.” No wonder he is losing his mind.

SEVERIN

The relief was palpable, but he wasn't finished. "Wait. It's not that simple. Brain dead or otherwise, that's never your call to make. This ever happens again, I'm reporting us both. I can't let you do that Cee. I'm not asking you to be sorry, but I am asking you to promise me that will never, ever happen in my operating rooms again. Am I clear?"

He kept his voice steady, his posture loose. He was very much pulling the boss card, but trying to make it look like there was something more than work that was driving him. This was a huge mistake, the issue was that that the alternative didn't bare thinking about.

"Pays well. Paperwork or CPR, that's what I seem t have signed up for." His blonde hair was growing lighter around the sides, his laughter lines deeper in the dim evening light as it shifted into the early hours of the morning. Just because he wore his weariness well didn't make it any less obvious.

"Starting to see why the job was so available. Poor Lelia, I'm pretty sure she's reserved a bed in the psych ward for the day I finally push her over the edge."

CECELIA

"I promise I will never put you through this again. Ever. With anything." It wasn't a lie, per se, but it wouldn't have made it harder to say even if it was. She would say anything she needed to, as long as he allowed her to cut. To heal someone more optimistic might say. But she would be careful. She would make good, by the book decisions, for a couple months and she wouldn't allow herself ot be in the position again of having a brain dead patient.

She moved around his desk, pulling his arms around her. "You're very clear. And you're very bossy. You're right, I need to stop seeing you as my study-buddy and start seeing you as my boss. Only technically," she allows another grin to grow on her rep lips. "And only when we're here."

Cee wished she couldn't hear the little voice in her head, the wicked nagging little sound that she was sure she inherited from her father. You've got him wrapped around your finger, you're safe now, clever you. It wasn't fair. This wasn't planned. She wasn't going to take advantage of this, of him. She could be better with him.

"I think we're all going going there eventually. Or to hell, I don't know which I'd prefer."

SEVERIN

It wasn’t lost on him that her career was the only constant in her life. She had used it as ammunition to push him away, her only real defiance against her father. When they had pulled apart, she had sought refuge in it. If it came down to a choice...

Severin let himself be moved into holding her, even if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted right now. It was impossible to read her, and even worst to be stuck second guessing her motivations. Of course this was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

“Makes a change, doesn’t it?” He pressed his forehead against hers with a heavy sigh. “Don’t know either. Depends how much paperwork there is in hell. It’s bad excel has me missing Helmand, right?”

He moved back for peace and quiet, and yet in the year he had been here it has been anything but. Constant battles with family, with the board, with Sam.. he was a very different person to the easy going doctor that had agreed to the position. How could helping people twist him up like this?

“I think it’s safe to say today wasn’t subtle. And that I owe John and apology for acting like a prat in his emergency room.”

CECELIA

As his forehead lent against hers, she knew she was safe. Maybe for the rest of her career. It was an accident, in fact she had ever intention of not going near Severin Moran ever again but--

"These things happen." She lifted her chin to kiss his head and then leant against him again. "I've seen John lose it with interns more times than I can count. Even doctors have bad days and A&E seems to get the brunt of it." Even she, infallible Cecelia, had lost her cool once or twice.

"We should get away-- oh, we should go to Italy! Take a whole week off, forget this place even exists. No beepers, no excel, no Bash or Seb!" She gives a little giggle. "Come on, boss."

SEVERIN

It was torture to know he hadn't even finished for the day. He also wanted to head to the ICU, check on the family himself since she didn't seem to have any news. Severin softened further, the tension in his shoulders dropping at her gentle kiss in a way that showed at leas the physical stress had left his body. She was right. A&E was always where tensions were highest, he knew that from his own experience. If that had been his department back in Bristol though he would want to have a chat and make sure all was fine. Maybe he could grab a pint... if it wasn't nearly 2am again. One day he would leave here at a reasonable hour.

"We should." A trip back to paradise would be a welcome break. Maybe if he did a trade off, left Sam for a week and gave him a week in return... "I think that would be perfect. I've got another half hour, you should head home. No point waiting for me, I'm going to be awful company..."

He'd still head back to her flat, slip in quietly and close his eyes for a few hours. Better than the mattress on the floor and empty fridge he was living with in Bermondsey.

#discord thread 005 | cee and sev drama #v; ⋱ science and progress ⋰ ⦙ |*| ( angsters anatomy au ) #the golden boy | (severin) #consultingsister #death tw #injury tw #medical tw #medicine tw #blood tw #idk this is medical drama content ok pls just be aware it's all nonsense with science

[dearlazerbunny]

Vaguely NSFW Headcanons w/ the Ouran HSHC

This is simultaneously a character study ‘cause I was hankering for one and an excuse for my mind to go dirty places (plz don’t judge my brain is fragile). Special thanks to @meliapis for listening to me scream about this goddamn show.

Who knew all I needed to question my asexuality is six hot anime boys AMIRITE

Tamaki Suoh First of all, in true Tamaki ~style~, the mood will always be set. Rose petals, candles, fresh sheets on the bed, soft music playing, the whole nine yards. Seriously, even if you’re spontaneously in the mood, this boy will magically make lit candles appear with a snap of his fingers like wtf Tamaki how did you even… you know what, never mind. Secondly, Tamaki does not have sex, he makes love. Every time you’re intimate is his chance to show you just how much he loves and cherishes you. Wants to maintain eye contact at all times, and if he’s not holding your hand he’s kissing some part of you and is constantly whispering sweet nothings into your ear. He’s the most attentive, selfless lover on the face of the earth- literally does not give a crap about his own pleasure as long as you’re satisfied and taken care of. Everything is incredibly sweet, gentle, and languid; save for those last few minutes when his compliments aren’t quite as smooth rolling off his tongue and he has a hard time keeping himself together when he falls apart inside of you.

Likes it Rough? Absolutely not! No way in heck. To keep you safe and cared for and feel loved is so intrinsically apart of his nature, the idea of hurting you in any way (either by moving too fast or consensually leaving a few bruises) is abhorrent to him.

Kinks? Worship kink, but plot twist: not worshipping him, worshipping you. He gets off getting you off, verbally or physically. He’s also not subtle about it- this boy will literally produce a jewel-encrusted tiara and plop it on your head, and when you go to protest he’ll cut you off by eating you out for a solid thirty minutes straight until you can’t even remember how to form words. His tongue is good for more than just sweet talking if ya know what I mean.

Aftercare: Bubble baths with more rose petals and whatever your favorite essential oils happen to be (how he guessed your favorite scents you’ll never know). He’ll reverently clean every part of you, following up with small kisses here and there and refilling the water every so often so it’s always at the perfect temperature. More compliments about how good you felt, how beautiful you looked underneath him, what you do to him, etc. This can literally be an all day affair with him- not that you really mind.

...

Kyoya Ootori Considering Kyoya is a bonafide Workaholic™, you may not get the chance for sexy times as often as you or he would like. That being said, if you start planting kisses along his jawline and neck while he’s typing away on his laptop, or just straight up set yourself in his lap and give him a look- well, the boy isn’t stupid. He may also surprise you some nights (or in the middle of the day, if he needs to blow off some steam) by initiating all on his own, which is a rare treat. Kyoya is almost ruthlessly efficient- his penchant for memorizing every detail means he knows exactly which spots and what moves get you going, and he’ll go for them without warning or bashfulness. It isn’t an hours long affair (unless you’re on vacation, then that’s another story) but it’s exactly as long as it needs to be for the both of you to be left breathless and spent. Gives as good as he gets. Quick snaps of his hips, nibbling on your bottom lip or earlobe, hands roaming all over you- sometimes you have to beg him to slow down because holy hell it’s only been five minutes and you’re already too close to the edge.

Likes it Rough? Yesyesyes (see below)

Kinks? One hundred percent will tie your hands together over your head with one of his ties and absolutely loves to spank you. Seeing his hand prints on your ass turns him on. Could also see him with a very expensive-looking riding crop a la Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes. His hands are constantly all over you, grabbing just hard enough to sting, and using your nails to scratch down his back always gets a lovely response out of him. Biting is definitely a thing- he’s very possessive, given that his older brothers have gotten everything in life before him, so he wants everyone to know that you are his and knowing that there’s bruises just beneath your collarbone underneath your shirt that he gave you definitely fits the bill.

On the flip side, there are nights where you decide you’re gonna take control and be the dom and Kyoya’s just going to have to deal with it now isn’t he? Will involve a lot of sarcastic backtalk and struggling on his end but eventually you’ll have him begging. After all, he can’t be a complete control freak all the time now can he? *evil smile*

Aftercare: In this instance, Kyoya needs it just as much as you do. He isn’t used to being emotional or letting his feelings take control, so when he does it’s quite taxing. Lots of cuddling; he’s definitely clingy though he wouldn’t admit it in a thousand years, but you’re clingy right back so you don’t mind. Occasionally there will be soft whispers of “you okay?” / “yeah, you?” And then lapsing back into comfortable silence. He likes to nuzzle his head into your neck and listen to you just breathing and enjoying his presence.

...

Hikaru Hitachiin HOO BOY Hikaru is the definition of a wild card. You literally never know what you’re going to get with him- partially because he likes surprising you each and every time, and partially because that’s just the way his attention span/personality works. Down for it anytime, anywhere. You could literally be attending a funeral and he’d have a hand rubbing up and down your thigh. Can be a bit of a selfish lover, but generally you can pull him back on track by simply guiding his hands (or mouth… or, ahem, other appendages) to where you want them. He’s constantly trying to catch you off guard; make the experience thrilling and unique and maybe a little terrifying. If you’re looking for a relaxed, casual shag, this ain’t it.

Likes it Rough? *iconic Hitachiin shrug* if you’re game, he’s game

Kinks? Literally anything and everything. Ice cubes? There’s some in the freezer. You want to tie him up? He’s already unknotting his tie. On top of a fancy car in the garage? Now you’re speaking his language. Somewhere you could very easily get caught? He’ll keep one hand over your mouth to muffle you, and constantly remind you that “we have to keep it down” with that shit-eating grin of his all while he knows perfectly well his fingers are the things making you moan. Definitely the person to be with if you want to experiment- he’s most likely just as curious about [insert x here] as you are. Would also rarely think a suggestion of yours is stupid- and even if he thinks it is, he can most likely very easily be convinced with a few whispers into his ear about what you’ll do to him if he agrees.

Aftercare: Doesn’t necessarily need it himself- he can switch on and off no problem- but if you want it he’ll be there to run a hand through your hair and talk about nothing important until your breathing returns to normal. Most of the time “aftercare” involves A) cleaning up the mess the two of you have made, B) escaping from the (very public) scene of the crime, or C) doing damage control if you weren’t quite quiet enough in your escapades and people are starting to get suspicious about what the two of you were doing in the ten minutes you mysteriously disappeared. Luckily, Hikaru is a master of redirection, so he’d launch into some ridiculous story about thinking you saw a robber run down the hallway while you’re mentally hoping your cheeks aren’t too red.

...

Kaoru Hitachiin This poor sweet boy is a bundle of nerves when it comes to anything intimacy-related. He’s constantly second guessing himself in his head, wondering if he’s an okay kisser or if you like his hands where they are or if he’s going fast or slow enough for you. You’ll have to make him look at you and remind him that yes, you’re doing great; yes, I love you and I want to be here with you, to calm his anxiety. Once you get past that, though, he’s very attentive and sweet. He wants to make sure you are totally taken care of, and sometimes you have to tell him it’s okay to ask if he wants something (he’ll blush and stammer out… could you touch me… here? And of course you’re okay with that, you want to make him happy just as much as he wants to make you feel loved). Takes directions very well, and is never offended if you tell him to move an inch to the left, to go faster or slow down, or to kiss you in a particular spot. Loves kissing you, mostly on the lips but can be convinced to wander elsewhere, particularly if you show him how it’s done first. Would totally be the type to look up articles on Cosmo about giving your partner better orgasms, how to do different sex positions, etc.

Likes it Rough? Not particularly. He’ll get a little handsy sometimes if he’s really into it, but almost always wants to apologize immediately- if you like it, you’ve gotta tell him before he spirals back into self-doubt. With some coaxing, patience, and teaching, you’ll both find a level of physicality that is comfortable and sexy for you both.

Kinks? Mild exhibition kink, probably left over from his time in the host club, and hella praise kink. If you tell him that he’s in just the right spot, to keep going, that he feels good, that he makes you feel amazing- ya boy will be putty under your fingertips. He loves hearing that he’s treating you well (and throwing in that he looks really hot like this never hurts either).

Aftercare: He very much wants it, but never wants to ask for it, so you get used to immediately pulling him to your side and cuddling with him when the two of you are finished. He will literally burrow into your side and stay like that for hours while tracing little patterns onto your hipbone. There’s almost a debrief every time- did you like it when I did this? What about this? You’re always happy to tell him what you enjoyed, and to teach him something new the next time if he wants you to show him exactly how you like something (he always does). He really wants you to be comfortable, so eventually he’ll get up and get new pajamas for the both of you  to change into (he always tries to pick your favorite set if they’re not in the wash- he knows you think you look cute in them, and he agrees), and then resume cuddling.

...

Takashi Morinozuka Mori is a very simple guy, and when it comes to sexy times he is always the absolute perfect gentleman. For sure the type that needs verbal confirmation/consent before, during and after. Before the two of you ever get too intimate, he sits down with you and has a one on one about what you like and don’t like in bed, any reservations you may have, if there’s anything you’d like to try or definitely don’t want to try- he suggests a safe word, just in case- and despite this conversation being months ago he never forgets a single detail. The fact that you’re trusting him with so much vulnerability means he has the responsibility to make sure you always feel safe and comfortable. After all, Mori is a big guy, and has literally been training to incapacitate people for a decade plus. He could hurt you if he’s not careful, and that would absolutely kill him. So he always starts of very slow and gentle, letting you set the pace, and follows your lead on whether you want this time to be slower or faster, sweeter or more intense. His touches and kisses are always very light and reverent, like he can’t believe he’s getting to hold something so beautiful. Not super vocal, other than to confirm you’re still okay with whatever the two of you are doing, so when you do something to illicit a moan or grumble out of him you know you’re doing something goddamn right.

Likes it Rough? Not really- he’s a man of peace unless absolutely necessary. But if you want it, it will take a lot of confirmation that yes, it’s okay; yes, there is good; no, you’re not hurting me. This will probably never go away no matter how long the two of you are together- he knows his own strength, but he can’t afford to accidentally get carried away one day in the heat of the moment and do something he’ll regret, even if it was an accident.

Kinks? You in lingerie. Simple guy, simple tastes, simple pleasures. He thinks you’re beautiful no matter what you’re wearing, but when you pull out the lace, or maybe something strappy- he can’t help himself, you’re just so goddamn pretty. It’s always fun to see the tips of his ears turn pink when you show yourself off to him in a new set you’ve picked up from the mall. On the other hand, though you don’t realize it, he also secretly really likes it when you wander around the house on a lazy Sunday wearing one of his big sweatshirts that’s practically a floor length dress on you. Something about you in his clothes, and the fact that you look so cute and cuddly in all that fabric… unf. Many impromptu kisses ensue, which always leaves you giggling.

Aftercare: Again, a perfect gentleman. He’ll always be up in a dash and be back just as quick with warm washcloths to clean the two of you up, then spoon you until you’re half asleep against him. Sometimes he brings back his sweats for you to put on instead of pajamas (hint hint). Big fan of you playing with his hair or telling him stories about your day while the two of you lay there; he absolutely loves the sound of your voice.

....

Mitsukuni Haninozuka Being intimate with Honey is never a somber affair- it’s always light, happy, and giggly. Definitely not one to take himself too seriously, and the two of you aren’t afraid to laugh together if something silly happens. There’s a tendency between the two of you for everything to be impromptu- lots of leaving cookies in the oven to burn while the two of you go off and in hand for some time together. Feather light kisses all up and down your body while tracing patterns onto your skin with his fingers. He always wants to be able to see your face; to see your reactions so he can gauge how he’s doing and just to see the pretty faces you make when you’re being pleasured. Lots of looking into your eyes as you share the experience together. He likes it when you kiss any bruises he may have gotten from martial arts practice; it makes him feel loved and cared for. Is constantly calling you beautiful, but will never call you cute in an intimate situation- cute is for everyday things and people, but when you’re alone with him like this you are beautiful and gorgeous, not cute.

Likes it Rough? Nope! Honestly the thought never even crosses his mind. I feel like if he found out some people were into rough sex he’d be very concerned for them. Sex is supposed to be loving and fun and happy! (Just like everything else in life really).

Kinks? Loves food in the bedroom- surprise surprise! Whipped cream licked off your stomach, a bit of hot chocolate syrup for temperature-play, picking blueberries off your skin one by one- it’s his favorite way to tease and make you squirm until you’re practically begging him to get on with it already. Of course, this also makes for several cute moments- wiping a squashed berry off of his cheek when he comes up to kiss you, or Honey licking a bit of whipped cream off your nose with childish glee.

Aftercare: All that sugar definitely requires some showering up afterwards, so the two of you generally share a shower or bath when you’re done. This includes bubbles, shampooing your and his hair into funny styles (he likes how he looks with a bubbly Mohawk, and pretends to act like a tough guy with it on), and lots more kisses. He always makes sure the towels are heated when the two of you get out. Then it’s usually off to the kitchen for some cake and tea.

#ohshc #ouran host club #ouran hshc #ohshc tamaki #tamaki suoh #ohshc kyoya #kyoya ootori #ohshc hikaru #ohshc kaoru #ohshc mori #ohshc honey #tamaki x reader #kyoya x reader #hikaru x reader #kaoru x reader #mori x reader #honey x reader #ohshc headcanons

[msjr0119]

Hold On

Part 25 - A premature arrival

Nobody got injured at the Homecoming ball, they all get separated into different safe houses- for safety.

Riley and Drake had confirmed that they had feelings for each other, however Drake believed Riley should be with Liam. Heartbroken, she moves back to New York. Only keeping in touch with Hana, Maxwell and Olivia.

Riley meets lawyer, Nate Cooper and begins a relationship with him. In Cordonia, Drake begins to court Kiara.

Nine months after Riley had left Cordonia- there is a reunion, but not the reunion the friends had hoped for.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

If you are under 18 please do not read this series. If you do you are consenting that you are over the age.

Series warnings: Suicide, domestic abuse, swearing, stabbing, smut🍋 If any of these triggers affect you do not read!

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs

******

“So after brunch, I assume the King and Queen will want some aloneeee time.... But who’s ready for the real party? As it’s a Beaumont wedding- well sort of. You’re all invited to the after party at House Beaumont later tonight, to celebrate our sister getting married!”

Riley and Liam couldn’t wait to go and spend time alone together- with no distractions. They were now officially married. Discreetly they sneaked off up to their Chambers- informing Maxwell that they wouldn’t be attending the Beaumont bash, as they wanted their wedding day/night to be just the three of them. Maxwell was dramatically upset at first- but explained that they would all celebrate anyway.

Carrying his Queen over the threshold, Liam gently placed his wife on the leather couch. Pouring her a glass of water, he couldn’t take his eyes of her- he was in awe of her. The beauty radiating around her.

“I love you Queen Riley of Cordonia.”

Riley hearing these words still sounded so surreal.

“I love you too, King Liam of Cordonia. Who’d have thought that we’d have ended up here?”

“Not me for sure. I’m glad to have you back in my arms. The time apart from each other was torture. I’m going to love you both for as long as I live. How about a little siesta before we have something to eat?” The king smirked at his Queen, with passion and desire in his eyes.

“Siesta? Is that what they call it now your Majesty?” Oh god he’s so sexy with that smirk- I know exactly what you mean Liam.

“Of course. But I can’t promise that I won’t be able to keep my hands off of my gorgeous wife.”

*****

7 Months after Liam and Riley’s wedding ceremony.

Riley was now glowing at 37 weeks pregnant. Hoping that these next three weeks go quick, as everywhere she turned the little princess would knock everything and anything over. Getting frustrated with waddling anywhere she really wanted to invest in a mobility scooter- I am Queen, they may get me one if I ask nicely.

Liam had left Cordonia for two days of meetings in Greece the prior day. He didn’t want to leave her, but she promised to FaceTime him constantly over the two days to prove she was fine. Last night, she placed the phone to her bump so Liam could speak to his daughter. His daughter was doing backflips in Riley’s stomach responding to her daddy’s voice- he couldn’t contain the smile on his face. He was desperate to return home to his wife.

At brunch, Riley had experienced a shooting pain. She just ignored it as the Doctor said she would be expecting braxton hicks throughout the last few weeks of pregnancy. Olivia had noticed the colour drain from her face- and immediately excused herself from the table to find Leo.

“Leo, I know she’s not due to pop that thing out yet. But she doesn’t look well. I don’t want to worry her or Liam but I think the little princess is eager to make appearance.”

Leo looked over towards Riley- Olivia was talking sense, she didn’t look her usual self and she kept holding her stomach every ten minutes. Shit!

“Liv that ‘thing’ is my niece. I need to get Liam back. Try ringing Bastien and I will contact Liam.”

*****

Riley jolted up from her seat knocking champagne and food all over Drake and Hana. The married couple looked at each other concerned, as they stood up clearing the mess that Riley had caused.

“Shit!” Riley screamed in excruciating pain- holding her stomach protectively.

“Brooks? What’s up? Are you okay?”

Riley pulled Drake towards her- gritting her teeth she was tugging on his infamous denim jacket. He looked over towards his wife Hana for reassurance that Riley wasn’t going to potentially throttle him.

“Do I fucking look all right Drake... the fucking baby is coming.... It’s too early... get your best friend back here now!”

Drake stood frozen, before trying to unloosen her tight grip she had on him. His feet suddenly became damp- much to his annoyance. He assumed she had leaked a little accident due to the baby kicking her in the bladder too much.

“Brooks...Why are my feet wet? Have you pissed yourself? You need to let me go so I can ring Li.”

“My waters broke you fucking dipshit!”

Riley fell to the floor, Hana tried to comfort her, speaking softly towards her. Telling her to breathe. Drake attempted ringing Liam up, shaking at the reality the heir was about to be born- fucking pick up your Majesty!

*****

“Liam!” For god sake Leo, I’ve been gone one day- What catastrophes have you caused already? Frustrated with his older brother, he just sighed regretting answering the phone.

“Leo. What’s up I’m in a meeting!”

“Liam fuck the meeting! Your daughter is making an early appearance! You need to get back now”

“Fuck! Look after her Leo, I’m leaving now.”

Liam ran to Bastien, I’m going to be a father today- Riley’s in labour. Get the jet ready ASAP! Quickly explain to everyone for me what has happened and send my apologies.

*****

Leo ran into the room, Hana had placed a cold compress on Riley’s head, and Drake looked in pain- Riley was practically breaking his hand- his grimace pleaded with Leo to take over. Man up Walker, let a real man help- Leo muttered as he shook his head at Drake.

“Ri. You’re doing great. But we need to get you to hospital. Liam is on his way back.” He said calmly holding her hands, his eyes fixated on her.

“It’s too early Leo...” she cried inbetween screaming.

Leo picked Riley up, cradling her in his arms he carried her to the SUV that was waiting for them. Hana grabbed Riley’s hospital bag from their chambers, quickly making sure everything was in- she was excited and nervous for her friend.

“Good luck Ri. We can’t wait to meet our niece. We will all meet you at the hospital. Love you.”

****

Arriving at the hospital, Leo was blinded by all the flashes in front of the car. The press were camping outside the hospital grounds, how they found out Leo didn’t know. He was furious. He demanded that the royal guards find another discreet way into the hospital. Riley looked exhausted already, he was hoping Liam would get here as soon as possible- to be the strength she required to get through it. Leo carried her into the private room, he didn’t want to waste time in waiting for the staff to get her a wheelchair. Placing his sister in law gently on the bed, he asked if she needed anything. I need Liam more now than ever. Leo’s heart sunk- he felt guilty for abdicating especially now in this situation. He wished that a bit of his bad influence had rubbed off onto Liam and for Liam to refuse his duties for once in his life. If Liam missed the birth of his first born, it would all be Leo’s fault. Right now he needed to stay strong for Riley.

“Your majesty, you are about 6cm dilated.”

6cm- that’s good. Hopefully it’ll go slow, give Liam time to arrive, Leo thought. Riley held onto her brother in law for dear life. He didn’t know what to do. She was swearing, she was in pain. At every contraction she would inhale the gas and air- it was taking the edge off the pain rather than blocking it. Even though she was feeling lightheaded - Leo was so proud at how she was coping. He now knew how Drake must of felt because she was making his hand turn blue. Did he care? No. She was providing him with a beautiful niece and an heir to the throne.

****

It had been three hours since they had arrived at the hospital. Liam was still nowhere to be seen. In the back of Leo’s mind, he was furious that Liam had to go for meetings in another country weeks before the birth of his first child, he couldn’t shake this constant thought away. He was knocked out of his trance when he heard a defeated Riley try to talk to him.

“Leo, I can’t .... I can’t do this.”

“Riley you are doing brilliantly. Liam will be here soon....”

Before he could continue the doors swung open, Liam ran upto Riley, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead- holding her clammy hand, he was trying to control his breathing after running into the private wing.

“Thanks Leo. Riley I’m so sorry I knew I shouldn’t have left you.”

“You son of a bitch! You are coming nowhere near me again... I’d have committed treason if you didn’t arrive in time....”

The two brothers looked at each other with worried looks - both gulping. Leo decided to leave them to it. His hand needed a break- and he didn’t want to be in the firing line of Riley’s aggressive insults.

“Riley. I’m here now. I love you.”

“I’m sorry for.... for... calling you that... I love you too my king. Arghhh.”

*****

“You’re majesty, one last push. I can see the baby’s head. Just one more, I promise.”

Riley was lacking energy, she was uncontrollably sweaty, out of breath. Liam had been supporting her as best as he could and she was grateful. One more push and she would be holding her daughter in her arms.

After one excruciating long push, the room was filled with tiny cries, Riley flung her head back- as the midwife weighed the baby. Relieved that it was finally over, she gave her husband a stern warning.

“Liam, I swear to god. You do not touch me ever again. I’m not going through this again.” Liam shook his head, ignoring her as he fixated his gaze on his daughter. Kissing and hugging his Queen, he was so utterly proud of her. Tears ran down his cheek, he didn’t care- he was overwhelmed with the view in front of him.

“Riley, she’s absolutely beautiful. I’m so proud of you. I love you so much.”

The midwife brought the princess over to them, she weighed 6lb 9oz. She had sparkling baby blues like both her parents that kept fluttering open every so often accompanied by a jet black head full of hair. Riley laid her on her chest- having that mother/daughter skin to skin bond. All the pain she had disappeared as if it never existed. Stroking her daughters cheek, she had fallen in love instantly.

“Hello, my little girl. You have given us all a shock. I think Uncle Leo and Uncle Drake have both received broken hands because of your premature arrival. But I’m sure they’ll both forgive you. You are beautiful.”

Riley placed a kiss on the newborns head, Liam was just in awe seeing his two girls together for the first time. Grateful that he was able to make it in time. Liam held his daughters tiny fragile hand, she wrapped her hand around her father’s finger.

“She’s already wrapped around your little finger Li.”

“Riley, she’s... she’s a mini you. She’s beautiful. Daddy loves you so much our little miracle, our princess. You have completed our family. Daddy’s little girl.”

Riley smiled at Liam’s affectionate emotions towards their daughter. Moving up the bed so Liam could join them, the three of them snuggled close together. After all the shit they had been through, fate brought Riley and Liam back together and they had finally become a family.

The King and Queen Of Cordonia, would like to announce the birth of Her royal Highness Princess Ayah Rhys of Cordonia.

Weighing 6lb 9oz... born at 3.57pm.

We would like to congratulate the couple on this fantastic news. And we look forward to officially meeting our princess.

Ana De Luca - The trend

#theroyalromance #choices trr #riley brooks #liam rhys #leo rhys #liam x riley #drakewalker #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #hanalee #trr hold on

[glitchy-dreamers-blog]

Broken Compass

Platonic!Soulmate AU 

Chan x Changbin x Jisung

Word count: 948

this is a short read and poorly written, I hope you somewhat enjoy nonetheless

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three sat in the dorms, waiting for midnight to strike. Jisung’s compass being traced by Changbin. 

Everyone’s eighteenth birthday was the one people either dreaded or couldn’t wait for. It was the day where your compass either began to glow a dull golden hue and pointed towards your soulmate or it stayed the same. If it didn’t change, that meant that your soulmate wasn’t eighteen yet or they had passed.

With neither Changbin’s or Chan’s compass showing the way to their soulmate, they hoped Jisung’s would. 

Jisung was thankful for once that Changbin was so cuddly. It helped with the sick feeling in his stomach. “Jisungie, don’t be nervous!” Changbin had exclaimed as if reading his mind. “What was it you told me when it was my eighteenth? Hm?” He poked Jisung’s cheek with a big grin. “You told me that the only thing I should be worrying about is my height.” 

Jisung let out a laugh at the memory. 

“Don’t worry too much. Either we’ll have a celebratory karaoke night or a major birthday bash at that one restaurant with the old lady who gives us extra beef. Either way, it’ll be a great birthday!” He nodded at Chan’s reassuring words.

With ten minutes until midnight, Changbin stayed cuddled into Jisung’s side. 

All of them were nervous now. 

Their nervous eyes tried to focus onto the movie that played on the small television screen. Chan’s eyes constantly glanced at the clock while Jisung’s eyes kept staring at the compass as if it was going to do something before midnight. 

“Can you guys promise me something?”

Jisung’s question broke through the tense air. 

Both Chan and Changbin nodded. 

“When you do meet your soulmates, promise you won’t forget about us; you won’t leave us.” He swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat. The fear of the three of them growing apart was something Jisung had always worried about. 

He’s seen friendships end because of one of them finding their soulmate. He didn’t want it to happen to them. 

The other two couldn’t deny that they had the same worries. Chan especially was worried. Jisung and Changbin were the closest friends he has over in Korea. No one else in the past seven years of him living here has been able to become this close.

Changbin was happy the two were friends with him for who he is instead of his wealth. It was no secret Changbin’s family had money. Neither had asked for anything from him. He was thankful that they enjoyed his constant cuddles and teasing.

“We promise,” Chan said softly. Changbin nodded and squeezed the younger boy’s hand. 

Two minutes until midnight. 

All eyes were on the clock, watching as both hands moved to the twelve. Changbin wanted to joke about how the boy would still look twelve at the age of eighteen, but he kept quiet. 

12:00

The three immediately looked down at Jisung’s wrist in both excitement and fear. Their eyes widened when it began to glow. The dark golden color illuminated his face as they watched in amazement as the compass hand began to spin. 

Their excitement soon turned to confusion, though, as they watched the one compass hand morph into two. 

One pointed north and the other south. 

“What?” Chan whispered, watching the hands move as Jisung’s arm moved. 

Changbin’s eyes caught a glance of the same glow under Chan’s sleeve, him instantly yanking his sleeve up to reveal the same compass: two hands, one pointed towards Jisung and the other at himself. 

Jisung pointed at Changbin’s exposed arm.

“Hyung, what’s going on?” Jisung’s voice raised in panic as he looked between the three compasses. 

Chan didn’t have an answer. 

Changbin raised his head with a gasp, slapping two boys. “We’re soulmates!” He exclaimed, earning a groan from Jisung. 

“We already know that! But there’s no history of two arrows! And besides, I know for a fact none of have those kind of feelings for one another.” Chan nodded in agreement. 

Changbin only shook his head, the beaming smile only growing bigger. “No! We’re friend soulmates! I remember my grandmother telling me about another group of friends who had two arrows on their compasses,” he began, “They were close friends like we are. She said it only happens once every century so there isn’t much information about it but I’m positive something would show up if you searched!” 

All three scrambled to get their phones and do their own research on the matter and it was well after two in the morning before anyone else spoke.

“Your grandmother is right for the most part. But it’s saying here that scientists believe it can occur anytime, but it must be with a group that has a special bond.”

Jisung’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then why didn’t it happen with the other members? Why is there only two?” Changbin only shrugged his shoulders. 

Realization hit Chan as he looked between the two beside him. 

“Because we were 3RACHA before Stray Kids. We three were brothers before it became the nine of us.” His voice was quiet as he spoke, but they could hear the emotions in his voice. 

The silence that had fallen over the small group had been broken again as Jisung spoke. “Does this mean the The Universe likes our songs?” The laughter that rose through the air was enough to banish the fear that had set in. 

Because the three boys were brothers. They loved each other and would do anything to help each other. 

At that moment, they were silently thanking the Universe for giving them each other. 

And maybe Jisung wouldn’t be too worried about his soulmate(s) after all. 

#stray kids scenarios #kpop scenarios #stray kids #bang chan #jisung #han #changbin #kpop #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #kpop imagines #kpop reactions

[tommyoboe]

FINAL YEAR - WEEKS 29 & 30.

Oh, Birmingham. 

Oh. Birmingham.

Being back here after what has been quite a blast of a two weeks away is not fun. Stress is taking over my being and today has just been lovely. Not.

I was all ready to go in this morning for an audition for an exciting orchestral opportunity in September, and just as I was heading out the door I received a message from a colleague about a rehearsal I was supposed to be in.

Shiiiiiiiit. I knew there was something I had forgotten this weekend, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it, as I had this audition today. Like, it’s not a huge deal, but I really don’t want to be that person who is flakey and unreliable. I’m constantly having a go at those sorts of people, so there is no way I’m going to become one.

Then I spilt yoghurt inside my bag, so I had to go round smelling like strawberry flavouring all day. How lovely.

But I suppose things improved: I had a good first rehearsal with my string group for one of my recital pieces and I’m now enjoying treats with Cameron to close the week.

Now to talk about something much more exciting than being here in cold miserable Birmingham.

I went to Texas! TEXAS! 

On the second Monday of the Easter break, at a rather ghastly 4:30am, quintet and I set off from Mark’s house in Hertfordshire to Heathrow Airport to get the plane to Dallas/Fort Worth and then to the nearby suburb of Southlake, where we were to be based for the next ten days.

After the nine hour flight, having to put our clocks back to lunchtime was not pleasant, and as much as I wanted to be, I was not hungry for instant Mexican food with tonnes of Texan queso.

It was a lovely welcome though, and set the tone for the next week and a half of concerts, travels and crazy adventures.

This began with a rehearsal at what would be 1am UK time with the Southlake Community Band for a commission piece we would perform with them on the Saturday.

With this in mind, tea and rest was well deserved afterwards.

Waking up at 9 the next day realising it was 3pm in the UK felt bizarre, as if I had spent a hungover day in bed. But no, I had the rest of the day to come yet, and no, I was not hungover.

I had the ambition of selling some of our CDs at our first concert on Tuesday, but realised I did not have a large enough pot for potential cash, so I nicked a tiny bowl from my hosts’ house. To our pleasant surprise and amusement, on the night we sold ten CDs, which meant the bowl was overflowing and I resorted to combining our general donations with this money to share with the others. It was a great feeling, properly earning that money for ourselves.

It also meant that we didn’t have to busk whilst we were out there, quite a relief.

The next two days were free, so we filled the first morning with bowling, which for me started off well before things dramatically declined, rather like a bowling ball crashing to the floor.

Luckily my day was redeemed with a large chocolate covered cherry milkshake. That alone was enough to make up for the rest of the day, and then with wine at tea back at my hosts’ place, I was back feeling *the opening of Love Affair’s Everlasting Love*.

Visiting the ranch and cosmopolitan areas of Fort Worth on Thursday provided some real holiday vibes as we roamed in shirts and shorts in the strong Texan sunshine as if it was summer. We watched the cattle drive (ten seconds of cows with horns) before exploring what people might associate more as ‘traditional Texas’. We ventured into places selling Stetson hats and cowboy boots for $5000 (craaaaaaaazy) and thankfully did not have to dual at high noon in chaps, which I really wanted to find so I could joke to my mum about wearing them as I did as a child out of mine and my brother’s costume box.

Not even embarrassed about that.

Cosmopolitan Fort Worth brought a slice of me to the trip, with high buildings a plenty and cool places for tasty food in a cute open square. The toasted sandwich I had was simply excellent. I am thoroughly missing it now, as I am most of the food.

This included the beautiful brisket we enjoyed at one of our hosts’ houses that evening, before indulging in too many brownies, as well as beer and wine. The effects of that lethal combination weren’t felt until after the laughs in the swimming pool and hot tub and gazing at the beautiful husky puppy brought by a family friend. Almost falling into the swimming pool at one point and cutting my finger on a bottle opener made for some literal sore moments, but overall it was a wonderful night in company as such.

Once the lethal effects of that night did pass through me (unfortunately a bit too literally), I was ready for our first day giving a school performance and workshop. This provided many laughs and even a great moment of tension as we played our classic workshop game ‘21′. With the idea between the group to get to 21 without multiple people saying the same number, the moment two people synced ‘21′ was explosive as the room erupted into meltdown and laughter. It definitely made a change to nodding off in some of the workshops I’ve experienced as an audience member!

Following this was a mammoth of a dinner (not literally, obvs), as I had a super large portion of pesto pasta with a gigantic brownie to follow. Some of the others had huge slabs of cake, easily four times the size of portions here in the UK. Food comas ensued.

Said food coma did not stop us from visiting a beautiful place that evening called Velvet Taco, containing the best taco I’ve ever had. No regrets.

Dallas that evening was also superb. As we drove in and saw the skyline emerge, my eyes lit up as we found a place I would happily live in. I just love the excitement and buzz of big cities, and in its architecture alone Dallas had this in abundance. The contrast with a park right in the middle of the city with a cinema made for another lovely evening.

Saturday brought our partaking in a local festival. The sun deceived us, as despite having pegs for the outdoors setting, this was not enough to prevent the wind behind us blowing our music all over the place. However, our missing entries here and there as a result (or sections in some cases!) didn’t prevent us from enjoying our slot at the popular Southlake festival and with a few accent jokes and our supportive hosts as audience, we got through a tricky couple of hours.

Later that day we returned to the gazebo stage with the Southlake Community Band to give a premiere performance of our commission piece, titled ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas’. It was a fabulous piece, full of traditional American tunes and fun little quirks. Having the band play it so well enhanced our playing also, and even with a couple of hairy moments we performed our best and embraced the great opportunity we had been given.

Delicious Phillipino food at another of our wonderful hosts’ followed, sending me into yet another food coma. Can’t complain though, with salmon it was so worth it.

The next day we took part in a church service, which contained lots of terminology that went over my head, like ‘offertory’ and ‘postlude’. I just did what I was told and appropriately walked out between playing when I had forgotten some music (as you do) and listened to a passionate sermon involving the pastor bashing the table and crying (again, as you do). I just sat there like, well, we’re just here to play the nice music and eat the nice food, thank you, bye bye.

We were indeed treated to food afterwards though so my heart’s desires were fulfilled.

Abi, Henry and I ventured into Dallas again that afternoon to watch the Dallas Symphony Orchestra’s stunning rendition of Stravinksy’s Firebird. It was thrilling, after a slightly lacklustre programming for the first half. I just hope all I remember isn’t Abi and I laughing at some of the captions of the story that came with the music, including the antagonist’s soul living in an egg.

Spoiler: it got smashed.

In the next days more school concerts and workshops took place and we expanded our group knowledge and skills whilst meeting some lovely young people. My favourite person by far was the girl who had a mutual love for The Beach Boys; we took great pleasure in discussing best songs afterwards.

We embraced culture on Tuesday, with a trip to Dallas’ Sixth Floor Museum, an insightful exhibit on the assassination of John F. Kennedy, giving interesting details and making me theorise with my colleagues over what may have happened on that historic day.

This was followed by a trip to TGI Fridays, where history was made in the fact that I indulged in yet another massive meal, along with a VERY fruity cocktail.

Before we knew it it was our final day in the vast state, and after a full morning of performances and masterclasses, we treated ourselves to ice cream and I mean ICE CREAM.

I enjoyed two enormous scoops: one of Oreos and caramel and the other rocky road. It was divine. The others revelled in the fact that I finished so speedily. I don’t mess around, you see.

And then it was our last meal and drinks as a whole group. We enjoyed a final night of interesting conversations, fun laughs and lots of pictures, as well as a coffee stout that literally changed my life, before heading back to rest in preparation for the next day’s flight back.

Saying goodbye to everyone was genuinely emotional in places, and with my hosts having been so great to me, I almost didn’t want to leave. The level of accommodation there was nothing like I’d seen before. Such great people.

The flight back, on the other hand, was not great. Due to waiting in a holding bay for almost an hour at Chicago Airport, we missed our connecting flight, which was to be a huge double decker luxurious plane where we could all sit together.

So we were automatically booked on to the next direct flight home where we were unable to sit next to each other, I hardly got any sleep because I felt uncomfortable and as a result of me misinterpreting the air steward’s question of me wanting a ‘special meal’, I got some horrible vegan shit for my tea, whilst everyone else got chicken entrées and pasta. Abi said they weren’t that nice though so that admittedly did make me feel better #notspoiltatall.

Oh and then because we were told our luggage would be transferred over to this new flight, we believed them and were somewhat surprised to not find our luggage on arrival back in London. It turns out they were put on the next flight after ours, so Mark had to come back in the evening and pick everything up to have delivered to us the next day.

We’ll know which airline we shall NOT be flying with next time...

So despite a sour note to end our fantastic trip on, the experience has been that and more, with so many memories made. I have serious holiday blues now being back in Birmingham, and at the moment seeing Cameron and knowing I can be productive again are the only things getting me through.

Now for a gruelling two weeks and then I will have finished final year! Mental! And then the real world, which tonight seems less horrible as I’ve just got some work for the summer, but after that, who knows...

Back to reality this week, wish us luck!

T

(https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipNgt2j9ypNMB3m1d0u8bBzs8naSTuc3kyJ-eBz8CJgfVnUg6Ok16C8W1Gt4dTRbLg?key=UjdtUmNqYTNUU1E0Q0lYcDF5NzEyLUpmMXRpYkl3 - pictures from Texas: there are just too many for one blog post!)

[avengeultrons]

Title: Your New Year’s Kiss (Stark! Reader x Peter Parker) 

Word Count: 1815

Summary: It’s New Year’s Eve, a time to make resolutions and finally kiss the ones you’ve been wanting to kiss all year. Right? 

Warnings: such fluff

A/N: This extremely fluffy new year’s imagine makes me want a boyfriend lol. HAPPY NEW YEAR’S EVE I LOVE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU AND CANNOT WAIT TO SEE WHAT 2018 HOLDS

–

You stared blankly out of the large bay window in your living room, past the twinkling Christmas tree that was starting to shrivel and dry up, and out onto the street. Snow was covering the ground in a thick, plush blanket as it fell from the sky like sprinkles as the finishing touch on a cake. It was so cold that everyone daring to walk outside was walking briskly, their breath coming out in lotus like dragon’s breath puffs of air in the overcast of the sky. It was the final snowy night of 2017, New Year’s Eve.

“Y/N, I’ve been calling you for ten minutes. We have to leave soon, get moving!” your dad waved a hand in front of your face, buttoning his dress shirt as he hollered at you. His hands fumbled at the cuff links as you got to your feet and turned to help button them. Tony was never one to ask for help when he needed it, “Thank you,” he said quickly.

“What are you talking about? I’m ready,” you looked down at your jeans and band tee you found in your dad’s closet and just knew he was going to laugh. If he was putting on a suit for a New Year’s Eve bash, you would be dressing up, too.

Tony chuckled- just as you had suspected- and nudged you to the stairs, “We leave in an hour,” he said, gesturing with his hand to show the way up to your bedroom.

Sixty minutes sounded like enough time, but it felt as if it breezed by. You had thrown dress after dress out of your closet after trying to tame your hair and put makeup on, finally landing on a simple black one with scalloped edges as your father yelled for you at the bottom of the stairs, “Time to go! I really can’t be late for my own party.”

“Coming!” you grabbed a coat, a knit scarf, and a pair of warm gloves before throwing on a pair of heels and making a dash down the stairs. Tony was waiting for you on the porch, his hands jammed into his coat pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels. It was too cold to be standing outside for long, so you led the way to the car, “What are you waiting for?”

The Avengers Facility was already a hustle and bustle of people preparing for Tony’s New Year’s Eve Party, the biggest party of the year. That was saying something, because Tony threw great parties, “Happy New Year’s Eve!” Natasha threw an arm over your shoulder as she blew into a noise maker.

“Need any help in here?” Peter sauntered into the kitchen, his suit jacket unbuttoned and disheveled from his travels. You noticed his pale cheeks flushed pink from the cold as he smiled a warm smile at the people filling trays with hot hors d’oeuvres.

Natasha nodded and took your coat from your hands, tossing it into the pantry swiftly, “You two, go. Be each other’s party date or something, I don’t care. Just go!” she smiled and shoved the two of you out of the kitchen with a bottle of sparkling grape juice and two champagne flutes before you could object.

“What do we do now?” Peter asked as he walked alongside you, his hands jammed into the pockets of his suit jacket. He was dressed nicer than you’d ever seen him dressed before, a well fitted suit that you had no doubt that Tony had picked out for him and a pair of chestnut dress shoes, “We have, what? Two hours until the ball drops?”

You noticed the common area was staring to fill up with the hustle and bustle of people partying and it was only just ten o’clock on New Year’s Eve. You were such an old person when it came to evenings, you were already tired, “Let’s go out here,” you offered, pushing open the glass door to the Terrace. The fire was blazing and cracking with warmth already, thanks to Happy.

“Looks nice,” Peter commented, a smile lighting up his face as he sat on one of the benches close to the fire. You crossed your arms over your chest, slightly regretting heading outside as you sat next to him. It was freezing out, so much so that your arms were covered in goosebumps. Being the nice, selfless, and kind hearted boy that Peter was, he took off his suit jacket and handed it to you, “Here, you look like you’re freezing.”

You took the jacket gratefully, the fresh scent of Peter’s cologne hitting your nostrils, “Thank you,” you said as you passed him the sparkling grape juice and two glasses before sliding your arms through his coat, “Wanna open it?”

“Ole!” Peter shouted as you squealed when the cork went soaring through the air and landed in the fire. He poured two glasses of the sparkling white grape juice and passed you one, clinking his champagne flute with yours, “I can’t believe another year has come and gone.”

“I know,” you scooted closer to him as a gust of wind sent a chill down your spine, “Do you have any resolutions for twenty-eighteen?” you raised an eyebrow at the boy, a small, tantalizing smile on your face.

He looked down at his shoes nervously, taking a swig of the bubbly drink that could possibly be the golden liquid courage in Harry Potter, “I guess it would be to just…to tell people how I really feel,” he shrugged and looked over at you through the curls of his hair that had fallen in his face, “You?”

You hadn’t even thought about your resolution yet. Peter was making you nervous as he stared at you with his kind, shining eyes. You took a moment to stare at him back, trying to take in the fact that the most adorable boy you’d ever seen was sitting close to you. The only thing you were thinking about in that moment was wanting to hold his hands and kiss him, “Y/N? Do you have a resolution?”

“Oh, right. Yes. I guess it would be to be braver,” you said with a laugh and a final smile. Your cheeks were burning with the warmth of an embarrassed blush despite having it so cold outside. Real smooth.

Peter was quite a busy kid. Busier than you, and you were a Stark who was constantly simultaneously traveling and studying while helping your dad pick out his outfits for meetings. He was more than happy to spend the final night of the year sitting with you and doing nothing but spending time in each other’s company. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you looked around the Terrace, your shining eyes flitting from one thing to the next. You had the type of captivating beauty to him that was like watching fireworks on the Fourth of July or seeing a Christmas tree lit with shimmering lights for the first time. You lit up any room you walked into and made everyone instantly happier.

Admitting it made him nervous and when he thought about it, he couldn’t seem to look you in the eye as his heart skipped a beat, “Beautiful. Uh, I mean beautiful as in a beautifully good resolution,” you nudged him with your elbow and laughed quietly to yourself before pouring more cider into your glass.

“The ball’s about to drop soon, if you guys wanna join us,” Natasha’s voice made the two of you spring apart and sit on opposite ends of the bench. Both of you stood up and gave an affirmative, awkward nod before making a beeline for the door, “Woah, sorry. What are you two doing out here, it’s freezing! Aw, did Peter lend you his coat? That’s so gentlemanly.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the smile off of your face that continued to fight for its moment in the limelight as you passed Peter his jacket with a ‘thank you’, “Would you be quiet?” You and Natasha both giggled at this. Peter grabbed a celebration hat with the words “Happy New Year” written on them next to a metallic shining ‘2018’ written in gold. You laughed at him and grabbed your own hair accessory, an obnoxiously large 2018 headband with black feathers poking out of the top.

“He should be your New Year’s kiss, Y/N. Wait, have you had a first kiss? Oh, my gosh. How romantic would it be if he was your first kiss and it was on New Year’s?” Natasha was practically squealing in your ear. As much as she made you want to vomit with all of the kissing talk, she was right. Peter Parker should be your New Year’s kiss.

Peter grabbed your hand as a massive crowd swarmed around you, “They’re getting ready to count down,” he told you. Both of your hearts were beating out of your chests and you felt as if you couldn’t breath. Why were you so nervous all of a sudden?

“Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven,” you looked to Peter and flashed a smile, chanting with the rest of the crowd. It was a lot warmer in the middle of a group of people than it was outside near the fire, yet you wished you were with Peter out there again, “Four, Three, Two, One! Happy New Year!” Balloons fell down from the ceiling, raining confetti and black and gold balloons all through the crowd. Your cheeks reddened when Peter smiled at you and then down at his shoes nervously, the both of you wanted to do the same thing so badly but you weren’t sure exactly how to tackle just kissing one another.

Tony came up behind you and blew a noise maker in your ear, “Happy 2018! Here, first kiss on the cheek,” he said, obviously a bit tipsy from a mixture of alcoholic beverages. He kissed your cheek swiftly and then danced off to the DJ to get music playing again. You sighed loudly, your New Year’s kiss was stolen. By your dad.

“Happy New Year,” Peter said quietly, an air of disappointment in his voice. You couldn’t accept your father kissing your cheek as your 2018 kiss, which made the anxiety swell up in your throat and form a rock.

You grabbed ahold of Peter’s shoulders firmly before he turned away from you and pressed a kiss to his lips. It startled both Peter and yourself at first, but you eventually let go of your grip on his shoulders and let your arms hang, “Happy New Year,” you said with a smile.

“I like you, by the way,” Peter said over the loud music now blaring through the Facility’s sound system, “Trying to keep up with my resolution of telling people how I feel,” with a laugh, he kissed you again. Someone said “finally” from over your shoulder and you were almost positive that it was your own wine drunk father.

You were two minutes in to the new year and both of you had already aced your resolutions so far. It seemed like 2018 was going to be a good year after all.

#avengers imagine #avengers imagines #avengers #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel #peter imagine #peter imagines #peter #peter x reader #reader x peter #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #reader x peter parker #peter parker #peterparker imagine #peterparker imagines #peterparker x reader #reader x peterparker #daughter of tony #new year's eve #new year's #NYE #NYE imagine

[themostrandomfandom]

hey! i've been reading your old ask replies religiously for the past couple days so i've gotta ask what some of you "random" headcanons are, like nicknames, maybe stuff abt britt's sister? i'll take basically anything lol

also, whats your general headcanon on what happened post “new directions” for brittana? bc the 5x20 “explanation” didn’t really explain anything & in 6x03 santana says they should start living together so what exactly do you think they had been doing up until that point?

Hey, @tryingtoohardddd!

So I wrote this little “fix it” patch that is basically my headcanon for what Brittana get up to between episode 5x14 and episode 5x20.

The TL;DR version goes as follows:

Between episodes 5x14 and 5x18, Brittana go on a ten month vacation because the Glee writers can’t keep track of their own timeline.

Despite what Brittany later says in episode 5x20, the girls do indeed make it to both Lesbos AND Hawaii as planned.

Brittana then return to NYC together circa the events of episode 5x18.

However, because Brittany is about 900000000% done with Rachel Berry the New Directions, she lays low while Santana interacts with them.

While Santana crashes at the Jones-Evans-Anderson brownstone, Brittany stays with some dancer friends who are attending Julliard.

During this time, Santana works at the diner while Brittany searches for a job of her own, the plan being that once they save up enough money, they can move in together. Unfortunately, Brittany does not have much luck on the job front.

Brittana see each other pretty much every day during this time, but they never let on to the other glee kids that Brittany is in NYC. Because the glee kids are the glee kids, they also never really ask Santana where Brittany is or what she’s doing or even how their vacation was.

Eventually, Santana gets offered a chance to star in another Yeast-I-Stat commercial. Mercedes also offers Santana the chance to sing backup on the Park and Bark tour.

Santana knows that between the tour and commercial gigs, she will make enough money to help her and Brittany rent their own apartment. Still, she is reluctant to leave Brittany for so long to go on the road.

Brittany’s solution is to finally reveal her presence in NYC to the New Directions and get Mercedes to hire her as a background dancer.

Cue the events of episode 5x20.

Brittana then tour around the US with Mercedes for about five months.

At the end of the tour, they either return briefly to NYC where they both live with Mercedes OR they go straight from their last tour gig back to Lima circa the events of episode 6x02. Take your pick.

Either way, they’re still in a place where they’re looking to finally move in together in New York—for the first time sans roommates—per their discussion in episode 6x03.

They remain in Lima as they prepare for their wedding, and then they move back to NYC once they are lawfully wife and wife.

As for random headcanons, I put a bunch of ‘em after the cut.

_______

So these are mostly Mouseverse, but you can wedge ‘em in to make them fit canon, too, if you like:

Brittany’s dad refers to Santana as “Santana-banana.” Santana always blushes at the nickname, but secretly she likes it because it makes her feel like part of the family.

Brittany’s dad calls Brittany “Brittany Sue,” which is something that of all Brittany’s friends only Santana knows.

Brittany has saved every card, note, and valentine Santana has ever given her over the years, and she keeps them in a secret box in her closet. During the events of S2 when Brittany is dating Artie and she and Santana aren’t really hanging out so much, she sometimes pulls the box out and reads through its contents and has a long cry because she just misses Santana so much, and she doesn’t know how to make things right between them. Of course, on a happier note, once she and Santana actually get together during S3, she has to get a bigger box because Santana is constantly giving her the sweetest love letters all the time, and her collection grows exponentially over the course of just a few months.

Long before she came out, Santana used to have a pretty massive crush on Brittany’s lookalike older cousin, who was a star on the women’s volleyball team at Bowling Green. Of course, Santana never framed her feelings as a crush. She just talked a lot about how the cousin was pretty much the coolest person ever and followed her around like a puppy whenever they were in the same place together. Brittany didn’t get why Santana was so obsessed because, in her opinion, her cousin was kind of boring and didn’t even have an interesting college major. Later on, after Santana is out and she and Brittany are dating, both Santana and Brittany look back on the situation and laugh because, holy shit, little baby gay Santana had it sooooooo bad.

Brittany’s little sister was born when Brittany was nine years old. In my stories, I never actually refer to her by her given name because Brittany and Santana call her mean nicknames like “runt,” “pint-sized,” “pipsqueak,” “brat,” and “rugrat” pretty much all the time. But her given name is Ashley Elizabeth.  

Brittany’s sister secretly idolizes Santana and Brittany, but she never lets on that she does. Instead, she is typically snarky to them, much like Santana is to the New Directions. 

Santana likes ketchup on her macaroni and cheese, and Brittany teases her for it because to her that’s super gross.

Santana sleeps on the left side of the bed. Brittany sleeps on the right. They’ve had their chosen sides worked out since long before they were ever officially a couple.

For as tough as Santana acts sometimes, she gets really scared at horror movies. Brittany never makes her watch them when they’re alone together—even though Brittany actually likes horror movies and is herself something of a buff—but sometimes when they’re at parties or hanging out in groups, they don’t have a choice. On the occasions when Puck decides to pop in a Freddy Krueger movie to fill out a Friday night or when someone has already got Paranormal Activity playing by the time they show up to the yearly Cheerios Halloween bash, Brittany makes a point to ask logistical questions about the movies from start to finish, pointing out plot holes as she does so (“Wait. Shouldn’t someone have found the bodies in the hospital where Jason left them? Why is that guy saying they disappeared?” “How come the demon in Regan freaked out if it was only tap water the priest sprinkled on her? Shouldn’t it have known it wasn’t holy water?”). She puts on a good show, pretending like she just genuinely doesn’t understand movie mechanics, and no one can really yell at her for asking, because, well, she’s Brittany. Still, everyone gets super annoyed because the continuity mistakes she’s noticing are real, and remaining immersed in the story world becomes intensely difficult once you know they’re there. Even though no one else appreciates her making it impossible to suspend disbelief as they watch, Santana is always grateful because Brittany’s questions help her to not feel so scared and to keep her street cred in public. Rather than getting hung up on killer clowns and vengeful ghosts, she can just laugh when Brittany points out obvious, glaring mistakes (“That’s right. God, these directors should hire you to check this shit”).

One of Santana’s favorite scents is sweetpea because that’s what Brittany’s body spray smells like.

Brittana have keys to each other’s houses. During S2 while Brittany is dating Artie, Santana wonders if she should give her key to Brittany’s house back, but ultimately she doesn’t because Brittany never asks for it. Brittany doesn’t mention it, but Artie never gets a key.

If you were to ask the glee kids, they would probably say pink or purple or even rainbow, but the truth is that Brittany’s favorite color is brown because that’s the color of Santana’s eyes. 

Thanks for the question!

#Crazy Brittanalyst answers #tryingtoohardddd #Mouseverse

[nerobombs]

Writing Romance

(Want more? Check out my Writing tag!)

There is the rather prevalent idea among writers that writing romance is hard. And for some people, maybe it is, but I would argue that it’s not difficult to write as much as it is easy to misinterpret.

In real life, relationships don’t have many straightforward rules besides a few obvious ones like “Trust is important” and “Don’t kill your spouse” and “99% of men are dense idiots who wouldn’t know how to read a signal if you tied them to a post and bashed them over the head with a rock, so just try asking him out on a date already”.

In the words of Tom Clancy, the difference between fiction and reality is that fiction has to make sense. What that essentially means is that writing fictional romance does have a few cut-and-dry rules, and that you can substitute “experience” with “logic” and get away with it, so you don’t need any prior relationship experience to understand how to write a decent romance. It can certainly help, but real life romance has a lot of factors that just wouldn’t fly in fiction.

1). “Love” does not equal “chemistry”

This is probably my biggest bugbear with any romance: “love” is not a magic adhesive that is capable of forcing two incompatible characters together. And if you think it is, you’re using it wrong.

You can’t have two characters fall in love when they refuse to empathise with one another, constantly have arguments based on annoyance rather than attraction, and consistently fail to compromise. You cannot portray these characters as completely incompatible, then suddenly up and declare that “they’re in WUV!”

Look, “opposites attract” does have some merit, but if you’re going to try to push the “tense romance” thing forward, your characters have to like each other. Full stop.

There needs to be chemistry. And if you’re wondering what chemistry is, it means that each character needs to have traits or aspects that the other character finds attractive or admirable. It means that they have to have a desire to be around one another, repressed or not.

Plenty of couples were started or ran more on lust and antagonistic attraction than on the traditional fluffy romance. Han Solo and Princess Leia, Ron and Hermione, Edward and Winry, and so on. You can have couples or potential-couples arguing every time they’re in a scene together and still make it believable for them to get together, if belligerent sexual tension is something you’re going for.

But that doesn’t mean you can have them say, constantly insulting each other’s beliefs and ideals. You can’t have their arguments be shallow, you can’t have them dislike being around each other.

Characters who are constantly at odds at each other need to find the other character attractive somehow. They need to engage in the occasional compromise and eventually realise their differences. These characters should possess certain traits or aspects that complement the traits of the other character.

Maybe two characters argue because one is carefree while the other is really uptight. They can have chemistry because the Carefree Character helps the Uptight Character learn how to have fun, while the Uptight Character’s sense of organization and discipline is admired by the Carefree Character. They’re complete opposites, yes, but they are attracted to each other because of what they lack, not despite it. 

2). Long-term romance requires ups and downs

Usually when a romance is solidified, the writer(s) wave it off as some kind of “and they lived happily ever after”. After a hundred scenes of arguing and hating each other, the characters have their love epiphany of “but they really loved each other all along!”, and then they encounter literally no conflict in the course of their relationship. All of the flaws are scrubbed away so that the author can gush about how “in love” they are with cutesy scenes and giggling.

If you remove all conflict or tension from a relationship, then any possibility of that relationship being more interesting gets taken away. Sweet patches or moments of soft intimacy are nice, yes, but I guarantee that if that’s all you read, you would eventually get sick of “how perfect” these characters are for each other.

Perfect romances can be nice for a while, yes, but there comes a point where the characters stop being people and instead become one-dimensional caricatures that only serve as vehicles for the author to fantasise about storybook romance.

Long-term romance that have believable spots of conflict are interesting because they give further dimension to the characters. They provide an avenue to discover a character’s discomfort or pain, and they are intriguing because they can show that characters are in love with each other because of their flaws, not despite them (sensing a theme here?).

 A romance that has survived numerous conflicts is far more admirable than a romance that has literally never hit a bump in its entire course.

3). Do not use the phrase “real me” or any variations of it. Ever.

Oh fuck me, I hate this one.

It’s utterly baffling to me whenever this comes up. The hero(ine) falls in love, and after a few incredibly out-of-character moments, promptly declares that their partner is the first one “to see the real me”.

Here’s the reason as to why it’s completely asinine: people are complex. Sometimes they act happy to avoid displaying that they’re sad, sometimes they deflect questions about their personal life with humour, whatever.

When you throw in the phrase “real me”, what you’re essentially doing is boiling down a character to something that’s completely binary and one-dimensional. People who feel compelled to defend themselves with personas or half-truths never create completely false personalities unless they have some kind of mental disorder or some idiotic plot device like amnesia or memory-rewriting is employed. 

And I hate this phrase because it’s completely self-absorbed. It reeks of a character “choosing” to fall in love just to show off their scars or so they can humblebrag about how tortured and deep they are for having an arbitrary impulse to inexplicably lie about how they actually want to act.

This is especially annoying when it’s something like a social or cultural barrier. You know, the uptight princess who has to act all courtly in front of the King but then falls in love with the peasant and goes on a night on the town on a drunken rampage, promptly declaring that the alcoholic is the “real me”.

Look, I get that social constraints can demand things like politeness or etiquette or a certain form of behaviour. What I don’t get is how a character’s resistance to such strict social constraints is to become either the world’s best actor or a complete pathological liar. People are not capable of masking their personalities to the point where the “real me” phrase can ever be used in any believable fashion.

The only people who use the phrase “real me”, or any variation of it, are people looking for a pity party. Don’t use it. Just don’t. 

4). Love does not stop characterisation. 

Or, putting it another way, love requires loose ends.

Somehow, “love” is seen as the apex of evolution and when two characters fall in love, they stop growing and developing as people because THEY’RE IN WUV.

No.

People change. People grow. People lose interest in some things and gain interest in other things. People encounter situations that force them to re-evaluate their morals.

When “love” is reached, characters do not spend the rest of eternity having flawless communication. They don’t inexplicably become interested in everything because “we’re doing it together”. A couple who has “nothing left to wish for BECAUSE I HAVE YOU” is utterly boring. You might as well just tick a box and never mention the characters ever again. If these characters aren’t interested in advancing in any way, why should I as a reader care about them?

5). All parts of a romance should have equal investment.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a simple monogamous relationship, or a love triangle, or a love pentagon or love dodecahedron. All characters in a romance should feel like people, not plot devices.

If you’re writing a romance such that the readers only care about a minority of the characters involved (for example: only caring about one character in a monogamous relationship, or only caring about two characters in a love triangle and not caring about the third), then it is highly likely that the other character(s) was written as nothing but a plot device.

Do not designate a character as a Love Interest and leave them dangling on a string for our protagonist to chase. Don’t try to induce a love triangle by having a third intruder step into the romance just to create angst and ham-filled melodrama.

Do not have the love interest’s life revolve entirely around the object of their affections. They’re supposed to be people. People with goals, motivations, and a life outside of the protagonist. They do not exist as indulgences.

If you have two characters in a romance, then both of them should have equal depth and effort to exploring them, otherwise who cares? The same applies if it’s three or nine or ten people in a romance.

My personal adage is this: if you can replace the love interest with a dog and nothing changes, don’t write the love interest. If all you want is to indulge your protagonist with a paper-thin Prince or Princess Charming who only exists as a contrived love-giving robot, then don’t bother.

#rp #roleplay #writing #writing tips #romance