#care. but tom!!!!!! oh GOD tom!!!! says i got just enough capital!!!! i got you! and then says I GOT YOU AGAIN! just so greg didn't miss it!

[gregoftom]

mannnn who up tearing up over the sticker scene

#txt #i just starting thinking about how terrified greg must have been :((((( #he made a mistake and why would tom protect him now when he can pick and choose so much more freely who he wants #logically i'm sure he knows matsson is indeed pissed over what he did but he doesn't hate greg at least not enough to get rid of him #yet that kind of phrasing he believes in an instant bc he's in such a state of fear you can see it in his eyes in his movements #he's so afraid he's gonna go right back to being homeless to his last 20 bucks and no one will save him. no one will love him. no one will #care. but tom!!!!!! oh GOD tom!!!! says i got just enough capital!!!! i got you! and then says I GOT YOU AGAIN! just so greg didn't miss it! #you hear me? i got you!!! i'll keep you! #can i come with you nero? YES YOU CAN THATS NOT EVEN A QUESTION #and the sheer. like. shock. of being chosen like that. greg is just staring at tom as he plucks the sticker off #stock fucking still as tom puts it on even swaying slightly with the gentle force of tom putting the sticker on him bc he #can't quite believe it for a second #then he breaks into a dopey sideways smile and tom tells him gently again i got you. #you got me? even after everything? even after i made a mistake? even though i hurt you? even though i tried to make my way #and failed? even after i slapped you? even after i fought back in the bathroom? you still want me? #it just. man idk it hits me right in the kokoro....

[yukiwrites]

Drunken Proposal

Thank you so much for the support as always, @ramann! I had so much fun writing this I got a bit carried away ;v;)!! I hope you like it!

Summary: Chrom finally works up the courage to propose to Robin, right after the war against Plegia -- but when he meets her, she’s way more than a bit tipsy.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

______________________________

The war with Plegia ended, leaving a blur of emotions inside Chrom's chest.

The soon-to-be Exalt couldn't have done it without his allies, -- each and every one of them played an important and irreplaceable part in helping him through all of that -- but it was true that the one he owned to the most was none other than his tactician, Robin.

She had been there from the start, fighting a battle that wasn't hers -- all the while serving as his pillar of strength during his moment of weakness. He owned so much to her, he wasn't even sure how he could ever repay it.

That was also while not considering the feelings he harbored for her that were locked deep into his heart; feelings that now had a fertile soil to grow, away from any conflict threatening their borders.

He had vowed to himself that he would give Robin the ring which was passed down as heirloom within the Royal Family -- the Queen's ring, given to the first wife of all Kings in the Ylissean history -- once this war was over. Of course, he didn't want to impose any more on her plate than he already had with all that went on after they met. If she denied his feelings, he would simply pull away and continue their relationship as friends.

What was important here, most of all, was how Robin felt. As for Chrom, as long as he could spend time with her by his side in any fashion, he was already satisfied -- knowing that no one would truly be worthy of the Queen's ring as much as Robin, though vowing to bury his feelings if need be.

Chrom shook his head to dispel the gloomy thoughts, though it was a hard task in and of itself to even focus on thinking amidst all the noise around him: they were in the middle of the first celebration to the war's end, still in their camp at the border of Plegia's capital.

It was a necessary relief for the soldiers who risked their lives to protect their halidom, as well as the first step into the peaceful era that surely would follow after Gangrel's demise; even if Chrom didn't actually feel like partying.

He had lost too much to be able to leisurely forget his troubles by drinking away into the night, though he would still attend to boost the morale of the Shepherds.

Actually, he had just come back from his quarters -- after the initial speech, he quickly went back to fetch the Queen's ring, intent on gifting it to Robin that night without fail -- so he was still searching for a spot to sit when somebody arm-locked him under their shoulder.

"Theree's our man! I thought you left, pal!" Vaike snorted, his breath stinking of beer, if his rosy cheeks weren't proof enough of his drunk state. "I was already gonna," he hiccuped, "call dibs and say I won against'cha in a drinking comp'tition!"

Chrom was well used to Vaike's armlocks, but the drunk man was gripping at him harder than usual, so it took the prince longer than usual to slip out of it. "I'm pretty sure you won, Vaike, yes." He cleared his throat, though Vaike's tipsy roar of victory filled the air with his thundering voice before Chrom could even think of the next words to say. "Anyway, have you seen Robin anywhere? Last I saw her, she was at Lissa's table, but none of them are-"

"Hahaw!" Vaike interrupted, simply pointing to somewhere behind Chrom. 

The prince saw everything in slow motion, to the point that even the noise started to deafen around him. Still, there was a lot of noise.

Amongst all the yelling, all the laughing, all the mug-clicking, there were countless drinking competitions: People clapping and chanting, 'Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!' in all directions.

The spot Vaike pointed to was the center of the biggest of such gatherings, of which Robin was the protagonist.

Gregor, Basilio, Flavia, Lissa, Sully and Gaius sat around the tactician and were the main instigators of the chanting, with a myriad of rank-and-file soldiers surrounding them. To Chrom's surprise, Robin and Lon'qu were the ones in the middle of all that tom-foolery.

Befuddled by the unexpected development, Chrom approached by huddling himself against all spectators. "What- what's Robin doing there?" He didn't notice he had to voice his own thoughts to be able to hear them.

"Oh, darling, she tried her hardest to resist." Maribelle of all people spoke calmly right beside the prince -- he had managed to huddle all the way towards where his little sister was sitting, beside whom stood Maribelle as a watchful guardian. "It seems Basilio taunted Flavia by saying his 'champion' -- that is, dear Lon'qu over there who keeps getting redder and redder as he chugs down this sewage they call beverage -- could outdrink anyone she picked and, alas, our tactician was her target."

"She was as somber and sober as me when this all started -- how could it develop into this within the minutes it took me to go to my quarters-"

"It was a rather amusing show, allow me to say-- ah, Lissa, darling, do not put that thing in your mouth," she interrupted the instant Lissa tried to take a sip of Gaius' drink, tapping the princess' shoulder without batting an eye. "Where was I? Ah- yes, it was an entertaining show, dear Chrom. Shame that you missed witnessing the unwashed masses gathering faster than ants on a cube of sugar when the word 'bet' was mentioned."

Chrom would laugh if all of it hadn't happened the same night he had been planning to propose of all things. Huffing, the Prince shook his head. "This has to stop -- Robin will hate herself tomorrow for doing this."

"Ah, the rumored 'hangover' of the commoners. Do tell me when she wakes up, yes? I want to bear witness to it." Maribelle giggled with amusement, taking her eyes off Chrom towards the climax of the competition: Robin managed to chug the gigantic mug down without passing out in the middle, thus being deemed the winner.

"WOOOOOOOOO!" Bellows of victory roared here and there -- Chrom wasn't even sure if those were louder than the ones they uttered after they won the godsdamned WAR -- along with the clinking of coins that streamed from the losers to the winners.

"And THAT is your proof," Robin lifted her finger as her head spun around the moment she banged the mug on the table, "that you should not underestimate women, that we can even outdrink you!" Her voice was sleazy with the stupor, though her passionate speech got her from applause to approving whistles and yells, all of which made the rosy-cheeked tactician nod with a silly-looking, triumphant smile. "With that- I take my leaave." She wobbled to her feet, ignoring or not noticing how Basilio threw promises of calling her in whenever he needed a beer-chugging champion. Her steps were uncertain and, well, tipsy, so it was no wonder she tripped the moment she was on her feet. "Whoa there-"

"Careful," Chrom managed to catch her on time, his expression half worried, half amused -- to someone who took everything so seriously as Robin too look as foolish as this was a sight to remember, honestly.

"Chrom! Juust the man I wanted to zee! Did you see me jus' now? I moooped the floor with that woman-hating, fig-dodger Lonk!" She tried to gesticulate, but she was still with both arms wrapped around Chrom's waist.

"Hah, yes, I did see it. C'mon, let's get you out of here." He picked her up on his arms, careful not to do it too fast lest she got dizzier than she already was, moving her towards another, quieter, tent. "There, do you want me to fetch some water? You're not gonna enjoy waking up tomorrow..."

"Water... Water would be good, yeah..." She shook her head, as though the stupor of alcohol had started to loosen its grip on her after being taken away from all that excitement. "Waaater..."

Snorting, the prince turned around towards the water barrel, not realizing something fell out of his pocket.

"Muh? Wazzat, Chrom?" Robin pointed to the velvet little box just as Chrom had filled a cup with water.

"What's wha-AAAT?!" He threw the water, the cup and both hands up in surprise, drenching himself in the process as he quickly took the little box to shove it back into his pocket. "It's- uh, nothing, I just- well, I-"

"Chroom, you're blushing. You're so cute when you blush..." Robin laughed heartily before patting the prince's head since he had been kneeling right in front of her. "What really was that, hmm? Some big secret you can't tell your better half?" Robin snorted, "no, wait, clearly you're the better half here-"

"Marry me."

"-cause you've given me everythin-" Robin froze on her words, feeling like that water had fallen on her head instead. "Marry-"

"Uh, I mean, would you- gods, this was not how I expected this to go." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, not really minding how his entire hair was drenched by now. "I had a plan and it didn't involve you getting drunk on me, but- I'll make sure to ask you again tomorrow... But for now, I want to give you this: it's the Queen's ring-"

"Queen?"

"... yes, the Queen's ring, passed down from generati-"

"Me?"

"-ons of Queens... This is going nowhere, is it? Haha!" Laughing, Chrom slumped on the floor, with the little box wide open to show the wonderful heirloom.

Little did he know that while he laughed, Robin picked the ring and placed it in her left finger. "I'm gonna be queen?"

"Well, that was the plan- wait, Robin?!" Chrom had barely lifted his gaze to Robin when he saw her getting up from her seat and loudly open the flaps to the tent they were in.

"I'M GONNA BE QUEEN!!" She shouted atop of her lungs, so loud that it managed to deafen all the other sounds.

"Robin?!" Mortified, Chrom fidgeted behind his fiancée(?).

"PAY UP!!!" Gaius' voice echoed from somewhere around the loudest tent, bringing even more mortification to the prince's heart. He hid his face between both hands, wanting to disappear.

Yet, why wasn't he able to hide the huge smile apparent on his lips? Everything about this was so silly! To the failed proposal to the drunken acceptance to-

"Ah, Chrom, I forgot to say something important!" Robin turned to him with a foolish, pink smile. "I do!"

... to the two words that made him the happiest man in all realms. 

#chrobin #chrom fire emblem #chrom #robin fire emblem #my writings #yuki's commissions #fire emblem awakening

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Fourteen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of abuse. Stay safe!]

"This would be so much easier if you would just comply , Vega." Maxson sneered.

  "How the fuck else am I supposed to comply? Danse never told me he was a synth, Maxson!" Backhand protested, glaring up at the young man as best as she could with his boot pinning her head to the floor. 

  Across from her in the brig Brandis floundered against his shackles, the older paladin clearly furious but unable to articulate around his gag. 

  Maxson ignored him, leaning down and applying more pressure to the side of Vega's head. "My patience is growing thin , Vega. I refuse to believe that he did not confide in you. You're the only person who's been in and out of the Institute, no doubt keeping that traitor apprised of orders from the masterminds of his true agenda."

  "After everything that Danse has been through, I can't even believe that you would think he's a threat to the Brotherhood! Whether he's a synth or not!" Backhand retorted hotly. "So what if he is one? Synths can be rescued , wiped, reprogrammed with new identities. They aren't all infiltrating units, some of them are-"

  Maxson hauled her to her feet, shoving her back against the wall. The rivets of the brig ground through her Vault suit, making Vega grunt in pain. "You certainly have a lot to say in the defense of synths, Vega." He hissed, taking a fistful of her hair and forcing her to look at him.

  At the tearing sensation on her scalp, two hundred-plus years abruptly melted away for Backhand. She was suddenly in the pristine kitchen of their first apartment and Nate , shouting as loudly as any drill sergeant, throwing his briefcase in frustration, grabbing her neck and dragging her--

  No . She had fought back then and she could fight back now. Backhand jerked her head to the side, not caring whether she lost a handful or two of her hair. "Get your fucking hands off of me!" She snapped, and Maxson's gloved fingers slammed shut around her throat.

  "You would disobey the elder of the Brotherhood?" Maxson asked, a sinister smile twisting his mouth as Vega choked for breath. "I think your insubordination deserves repayment in kind."

  ...

  When Danse awoke, he was incredibly disoriented. His hands clenched tight into the blanket that covered him as he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, feeling his breathing stutter as he tried to remember what the hell had happened.

  Haylen . The message the scribe had given him. Confusion. Terror. Panic . Crushing it all down, I am a paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel I have sworn an oath protect sisters brothers skills weapons body -- 

  Finding the munitions. Elizabeth Knight Vega damn it departing to report back to Maxson, the paladin knowing almost definitively that she had no idea about what he was, about the hideous truth of his existence. Her giving him her lucky bandanna, wrapping it around his neck like a scarf, touch light and tender. 

  Fleeing the Sentinel site, abandoning his armor, the deathclaw, the walk of shame that culminated in...God, was he really a synth?   

  M7-97 .

  A synth . With a sinking feeling in his gut, Danse cast his mind back over his first memories yet again, growing up alone in the Capital Wasteland …

  If he wasn't a synth, surely he would have something more concrete than a hazy record of empty locations? Something tangible, maybe an encounter with a friendly trader or a scuffle with some other children, something . But nothing seemed solid until he got to the memories of opening his junk stand in Rivet City. Eerily similar to what Sturges had mentioned. At that point he had been an adult for several years, or at least he believed he was--

  God, his head was pounding . He was so confused. Danse pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying in vain to rub the tension away. 

  "Oh, you're awake! Good." 

  Danse jerked his hands down, shoving himself half-upright on his elbows. His confusion only intensified when he realized that it was Mrs. O'Brian who was currently hovering in the partially-intact doorway, the woman pointedly keeping her distance. 

  "Wasn't sure how fighty you'd be when you woke up." She said by way of explanation, "you looked like you'd been through hell."

  "Where am I?" Danse rasped. 

  "At the O'Brian homestead, just a little ways south of that Oberland settlement. How do you feel?" She queried.

  "I…" Danse paused, taking a mental inventory. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else. His face and shoulders were, admittedly, worse. Bandages pulled at his shoulders, the fabric wrapped over and under his arms. "I'm in pain, but the levels are manageable." He muttered, struggling to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "I have to-"

  "Whoa whoa, hold it! I did a lot of work getting you all fixed up, you're absolutely not movin'!" Mrs. O'Brian scolded him, waving her hands in front of her like Danse was a rampaging brahmin. "You are going to sit and heal, so help me God, if I have to strap you down to do it!"

  "Citizen, you don't understand . Having me here puts you in danger." Danse's brain finally caught up with the rest of him as he remembered, "you have children , a family, innocents--I shouldn't be here." He said in a panic, trying to stand again.

  M7-97 .

  Mrs. O'Brian scoffed, stomping over to the bed and giving Danse a careful shove in the middle of his chest. He was immediately knocked prone, his back hitting the mattress hard enough to make him grunt. "Don't give me that shit, Mr. Paladin. You're all kinds of banged up and you're not goin' anywhere ." She instructed him firmly. "Trouble might have been followin' you before, but you've already been out for two days and we haven't received any visitors."

  Danse blinked dully up at her. Two days . His stomach growled abruptly, hunger pangs digging in on top of everything else.

  "Now, you just sit tight and I'll get you some noodle soup, alright?" She patted his arm calmly, a fair contrast between her previous attitude. "If trouble comes, then trouble comes. Until then, we'll focus on getting you back to your old self."

  He was almost too weak to move, aside from adrenaline-fueled bursts. Danse felt anxious, skittish, frantic . What the hell was he going to do?

  He had to leave. But where could he go? He could return to the Capital Wasteland. Or maybe he should head north instead, run to the untouched expanses of Maine or the mountains of Vermont. 

  He had to leave. He couldn't stay here.

  M7-97 .

  He should be dead.

  "Mrs. O'Brian," He began carefully when she returned with the soup. "You don't grasp the danger of this situation. I'm a s…" His voice hitched. "A...a synth ." Danse finally forced the word out, speaking it aloud and solidifying it as reality. His empty stomach pitched violently.

  "That's nice. You can just call me Katie." The woman replied absently, patting his hand. "Should we get in touch with the Railroad?"

  " What? " Danse asked incredulously. " How can you be so nonchalant about this? I should be dead , I'm a monstrosity -"

  "Mr. Paladin, what you are right now is a hungry and scared man. So hush up and eat your soup." Katie interrupted Danse gearing himself into an elaborate diatribe. "If you were supposed to be dead, you would be." Her eyes were almost as green as Brandis', and she narrowed them at him. "I don't doubt that if you could have done the job yourself, you would have. And since you haven't ," she continued pointedly, "I'm going to assume you won't."

  Danse mulled over her words as he slowly consumed the soup, more water than broth and noodles. She was right, he realized. He was too afraid to end himself, and too cowardly to wait to be destroyed. 

  M7-97 .

  What the hell was he going to do?

  …

  He tried to slip away the following night, but his attempt was foiled by Mr. O'Brian's watchful eye. That and the fact that he was barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Hell, just tying his boots up had almost made him pass out. He knew deep down that it was idiotic to attempt to leave while he was in such a sorry state, but he kept imagining the sound of vertibirds drawing near and the fear that the O'Brians could be in danger because of him kept him from getting any meaningful rest.

  The older man startled Danse out of his skin when he cleared his throat from his shadowed spot beside the door. "I had a feelin' you might try somethin' dumb like this." He remarked, shaking his head while Danse cast wildly around for a way to explain his current ambulation. "Have a seat, big fella'."

  "I can't stay, Mr. O'Brian. If the Brotherhood-" the paladin began desperately.

  "Call me Tom, Danse. I'm of the impression that we're in this together now. If trouble finds you, then it finds you." Mr. O'Brian interrupted him, inadvertently echoing his wife's sentiments. "Personally, if it was me in a jam, I'd much rather I was surrounded by people that care about me when trouble comes callin'."

  "I'm trying to leave so that you don't need to get involved-"

  "No, you're tryin' to leave because you're hellbent on runnin' from this problem." Tom's expression was sharp in the warm glow from the lantern. Danse had no idea whether Mrs. O'Brian had told her husband that their unanticipated guest was a synthetic freak . "You wanna' get the hell out of here, maybe go back to the Capital Wasteland and pretend like nothin' happened. But the weight of the truth is heavier than any sin, Mr. Danse. You'll figure that out. I hope for your sake it's sooner rather than later."

  "Mr. O'Brian, I...I don't know what to do ." Danse admitted softly, sinking down into the rickety chair beside the other man in defeat and putting his head in his hands. Everything ached. 

  "I can tell, son. You're all tangled up like Katie's balls of yarn. I don't have the answers for you. All I know is that runnin' away only prolongs the trouble." Mr. O'Brian rose slowly, muttering about his old knees. He clapped a hand on Danse's shoulder in passing. "The O'Brian family doesn't give a flying fuck one way or another about whether you're a synth, got it? And if anyone else in the Commonwealth has any sense left in 'em, they'd be wise to follow suit."

  Tom left him to think beside the door, and Danse was there until sunup the following morning.

  ...

  The O'Brians homestead consisted of an acre or so of land and an old, half-collapsed commercial brick building just outside of Forest Grove Marsh. Danse had apparently crash landed on their proverbial doorstep that fateful morning, though he didn't remember much after he had passed out.

  Tom and Katie had eight children, four sons and four daughters of varying ages. They ranged from the eldest, a boy named Eamon who was nineteen, to the youngest, a tiny girl named Siusan who was almost a year old. Between them was Thomas Junior (known strictly as Teej), then came the triplets of Connor, Matthew and Bridget, and the twins Kathleen and Fionnula.

  Danse had never had such a difficult time remembering names, consistently stumbling over Fionnula while the three-year old patiently coached him. 

  It didn't help that Connor and Matthew looked exactly alike, as did Kathleen and Fionnula. Bridget at least wore her hair longer than her identical brothers, so that gave Danse a fighting chance amongst the triplets. 

  Eamon was tall and lanky like his mother, while 'Teej' was on the stockier side like his father. All of the children were freckled and sported either blue-black or dark brown locks, further adding to Danse's predicament. 

  As the days turned into weeks and the paladin slowly regained his health, he found himself automatically settling into the schedule of the O'Brian family. It was comforting to have a routine. Maybe that was the military in him. Rise before daybreak, milk the brahmin, gather the laundry, weed the crops…

  His nose mercifully healed as good as new. No visible damage remained aside from a small mark at the peak of the bridge, right between his eyes. His shoulders were much the same, functional even though they were now graced with long, jagged lines of scar tissue from where the power armor frame had collapsed. Danse knew he was incredibly lucky to have escaped from a deathclaw so unscathed. 

  Tom managed to find a few old pairs of jeans that would fit Danse somewhat after the paladin expressed his concern at his threadbare jumpsuit. "From my younger days!" The older man claimed, tugging Katie close and planting a kiss on her cheek. "Back when I had to stay in shape so that my beautiful bride wouldn't grow tired of me."

  Katie chuckled, swatting Tom's arm. "If you thought a few extra pounds would scare me off, you don't know me very well." She teased. 

  Clad in blue jeans and a tattered assortment of too-small hand-me-down flannel shirts, Danse almost fit in. Almost. He still held himself a bit too rigid to really get away with assimilation, but Katie assured him he at least looked the part. He was still certain to make himself scarce whenever company came calling, not wanting to bring trouble to the O'Brians.

  He refused to be deadweight to the already-struggling family however, and as he was not exactly gifted in the areas of agriculture and animal husbandry, the paladin quickly fell back on one of the many practical skills he possessed. 

  Hunting.

  Only armed with his service pistol now, the man was up well before dawn on the days he stalked prey. He avoided the roads as much as possible, sticking to the brush. The last thing he wanted was to draw any attention to himself and, in turn, the family fostering him. Occasionally he was accompanied by Teej or Tom, both senior and junior relatively skilled hunters in their own right. Through their combined efforts Danse was able to contribute a bit more protein to the large family's diet, while simultaneously balming the concerns that he had about being a burden.

  Eamon was a quiet, peaceable young man and helped Katie manage the younger children while Tom was away. He was adept at settling squabbles and redistributing toys to keep the peace. Danse couldn't help but picture him becoming a knight and sponsoring countless fledgling initiates. 

  He then felt idiotic for still thinking about young people and children in the Brotherhood way, as if they were all destined to be military assets thrown at the next enemy. Danse slowly forced himself to recalibrate, doing his damnedest to imagine a world where a gentle man could still have a future. Maybe Eamon would be a teacher, or a merchant in tandem with his mother's wares. 

  Matthew and Bridget were all but attached at the hip, the two of them dogging Danse's footsteps and peppering him with questions when he was in the yard or weeding. The paladin had taken over a ramshackle trailer that sat across the road from the homestead as 'his', and the two children were always eager to visit as soon as he sat down on the front step in the mornings with his cup of coffee. Connor was a little more shy, hanging back from his outspoken siblings. 

  Bridget was the first one to demand that Danse show her how to shoot. "Papa won't. He says I have to be twelve." She huffed. "But I'm almost twelve, and that's like being twelve."

  "I'm sorry, little one. I can't go against his orders." Danse tried to soften the blow by asking her to teach him how to do something, which was how the paladin found himself learning how to make a poppet out of dried corn husks. Not exactly a practical skill, but he supposed he could do with a few less conventional lessons. 

  Connor actually approached him while he was being instructed, the normally-timid boy offering him a few pointers to make the task a little less challenging. "I'm not good at braidin' like Brigey, so I gotta' hold the ends real tight." He mumbled, tiny hands miles more deft than Danse's had ever been pushing and pulling his fingers to get the arms of the doll tucked properly.

  Bridget praised Danse just like her mother praised her when she accomplished something, and the paladin got a little misty at the notion that his own tendencies towards praise while he was in the Brotherhood might have made a few of the aspirants more inclined to be encouraging to their fellow soldiers. 

  It was hysterical to be supported by a child for his proverbial 'field work', but the way Bridget's little brow furrowed sternly told Danse that she was deadly serious and he should take her as such. 

  "You are very patient for someone your age." Danse commented, holding up his latest attempt for her inspection. 

  "We gotta' work together, Mr. Danse. Mama says I'm the strong one, Matt's the brave one and Connor's the smart one." She replied, squinting at the length of husk he had tied around the body of his little creation. "Almost! You're getting better and better." The thin girl clapped her hands like she was applauding him and Danse couldn't help his sad smile.

  "Show me again, please?" He requested.

  …

  Vega had no idea how many days it had been. 

  After Rhys had brought Brandis' evening meal (and snuck Vega something in the process), the knight had whispered that Maxson seemed to be waiting for something when it came to dealing with the two 'dissenters' in the brig. 

  "Not sure if he's trying to use her to draw the Institute into attacking us directly? I just don't get it." Rhys swallowed hard, glancing over his shoulder before continuing, "According to our field reports, Danse is dead. They bagged him out in the Sea and incinerated his body."

  Backhand had been expecting this news, but hearing it aloud felt like a kick to the stomach. She sobbed out once before she could help it, drawing Rhys' attention back to her. 

  " Fuck , Vega, I'm so sorry." The knight apologized tremulously. "He sponsored Haylen and I, he was fucking selfless and loyal to the cause. I don't...God, I can't believe he's gone."

  "Rhys, this cannot be allowed to continue." Brandis declared, "we are being held without trial, without evidence! Maxson has no right to-"

  "Anyone who questions his judgement is threatened with the same treatment Vega is getting." Rhys interjected dully. "None of us know what the hell to do , Brandis. The consensus is that we need to forcibly eject him, but no one person seems to have the balls to do it." The knight tipped his head forward in shame. "Not even me. If something happens to me, I don't know what might become of Haylen and I...I can't risk it. I'm sorry, Brandis. And Vega, you don't deserve this shit."

  "Don't apologize, son. I'll...I'll figure out something." Brandis replied sadly, letting the knight re-shackle him as loud footsteps heralded Maxson's approach to the brig.

  "Out of the cell, Knight Rhys." The elder ordered sharply, his voice sending a new frisson of scalding fury through Backhand's battered body. 

  He killed Danse .

  "Maxson, how long do you plan to stand on ceremony like this?" Brandis queried as Rhys obediently departed. "This is not justice! "

  "I see the knight forgot to gag you again." Maxson shrugged. "No matter. Nothing that you say will have any real impact." He tugged open the cell door and sauntered in, standing over Vega's crumpled body. "We slaughtered that abomination out in the Glowing Sea." Maxson chuckled in a self-satisfied manner. "It thought it could run from us."

  Backhand squeezed her eyes shut tight against the hot wave of tears that threatened to spill over, forcing herself to focus on the rage instead. "You're a real prick, Maxson." She rasped.

  Maxson caught her arm and roughly yanked her upright from the spot where she had collapsed previously, gripping her shoulders in a pantomime of a caring embrace. "We incinerated it and cast its ashes to the wind." The young man answered smugly, those cold blue eyes boring into her own when she mustered up the strength to raise her head.

  " You ," Vega seethed through her teeth at the elder of the Brotherhood, "were a fuckin' god to Danse, know that? You could do no wrong in his eyes. And you killed him ." The reality of it hadn't wholly set in for her yet and she clung to the rage she felt, nurturing it into a grudge in her chest. "But you're not a god at all, are you Arthur? You're just a scared little brat who got too much power too soon." She spat.

  Maxson ground his teeth, grabbing her by the throat yet again and slamming her back against the bars of the gate. "Keep testing my patience, Vega, and we'll see who the scared one is!" He roared in threat as she struggled weakly in his grip.

  ...

  The celebration dinner for Siusan's first birthday was surprisingly elaborate. The entire house was decorated with garlands of hubflower and ash blossom, painstakingly woven together by Matt and Connor. Katie had been baking with Eamon and Kathleen for the past two days, stockpiling a variety of sweet treats for the youngest family member's fête. 

  Danse, for his part, had done his best to stay out from underfoot. He helped Tom move several of the old tables together, and obediently smoothed the wrinkles out of the faded purple tablecloth that Katie asked him to cover the tables with. 

  Vega never even got to have this with her son , he thought somberly. No birthdays, no celebrations...nothing. First the divorce and then the war, one right after the other . 

  It was a saddening topic to think about and Danse found himself distracted by it. The fact that she had been so thoroughly robbed of raising her child, despite her oft-voiced trepidation of whether she was a good parent...

  Well, there was nothing he could do about it, was there?

  That night Siusan sat on her mother's lap at the table, staring wide-eyed at the child-sized mutfruit pie that was just out of her reach while everyone in the family sang her Happy Birthday .

  Danse hung back in the doorway, feeling a little awkward until Katie urged him in. Fionnula immediately clamored that Danse had to sit next to her. Sandwiched between Kathleen  and Fionnula, Danse slowly relaxed enough to smile and even laugh once or twice, his own attitude affected by the collective high spirits of the O'Brians. It reminded him of being at Sanctuary and with a melancholic pang, he recalled the simple meal he had shared with Elizabeth and her makeshift 'family'. 

  Not a day passed that he didn't think about her. Her smile, her voice, the pleased flush she got when he praised her performance in the field, her selfless nature... 

  Danse had convinced himself that she was better off without him, though. The Brotherhood would allow her to achieve her future goals of totally breaching the Institute's defenses, hopefully letting her enact that master plan of freeing any synths that wished to be freed. He just prayed that the Brotherhood wouldn't override her and decide to wholly eradicate the Institute instead. 

  Maybe once he got himself far away from the Commonwealth, he could send her a message. Something simple that wouldn't compromise her position. Would she even care, though?

  Danse, lost in thought about Elizabeth once again, didn't notice the young man looming in the front doorway for several minutes. Not until Tom called, "Garvey! You're just in time for pie, pull up a chair!"

  Preston removed his hat politely and Danse felt his heart plummet to his boots. "Evening, Thomas. Katie. I'm afraid this isn't a social call." Lieutenant Garvey said calmly. "I'd like to speak with you outside, Paladin." His eyes were flinty despite his mild tone. Dogmeat was at his heel, the large German shepherd's ears flat against his skull.

  Danse surprised himself by nodding, the paladin rising from the table with a murmured apology. "I'll return shortly." He promised Matthew, the little boy looking like he might pitch a fuss. Danse then followed Preston outside, barely resisting the urge to jam his hands into his pockets and hunch his shoulders like a squire waiting to be scolded.

  What he didn't expect was Preston's next sentence. "Alright, where the hell is she?"

  Danse blinked at the other man, suddenly confused and off-balance. "I don't understand." He said finally.

  Preston huffed angrily, "The general , Danse! She's been missing for weeks now, ever since you and your little tin soldiers were all getting prepped for heading to the Sea!" 

  Danse was sure all the color had drained out of his face. Was he going to pass out? Did something like him even have the ability to pass out? No, no, he had been unconscious before. But did that count as actual unconsciousness-

  He grabbed the side of the building to steady himself, his voice shaking when he pleaded with Preston to explain. Dogmeat whined, licking at Danse's hand.

  "How the hell do you not know?! She went missing on your watch!" Garvey protested. "She hasn't been seen at all, Danse. Not at any settlements, not around the airport... nothing . It's been a big fat radio silence."

  "Oh my God." Danse's voice was frail. 

  "You...you really didn't know, did you?" Preston asked incredulously. "What are you even doing out here anyways? Shouldn't you be at the airport with the rest of your troops? I thought Dogmeat's nose had busted when he led me here ." 

  Danse opened his mouth, then hesitated. The reality of being a synth was something he was still trying to come to terms with, but lying to Garvey would no doubt make everything worse. "Lieutenant Garvey, I must confide in you." He fixed his attention firmly on Preston's boots. "Some information was discovered after the first journey into the Institute. Something pertaining to me. I of course, was not made privy to such information before we had departed for the Glowing Sea, but another individual of the Brotherhood managed to tip me off in time. When last I saw Vega, she was returning to Waypoint Echo on foot per the elder's orders. After we were separated, I...I was fired upon." He said gruffly, the words filling him with a morose sensation.

  "Whoa, wait a minute. Danse are you saying you're a-" Preston lowered his voice, "are you saying you're a synth? " His heart hammering in his throat, the paladin raised his eyes to Garvey's and nodded wordlessly. "So what happened in the Sea, then?"

  "We reached our target and cleared the area without incident. She was under orders directly from Elder Maxson to report back immediately once the area was secured. I was tasked with guarding the munitions. I was attacked by my own troops, so...I fled." Danse confessed. 

  " Damn . That is...that's a lot , Danse. She had to report straight back?"

  Danse nodded. "Correct. Maxson was very firm on that."

  "You don't think your elder guy would have...I dunno', locked her up or something?" Preston suggested, pointing out, "You disappearing probably looked pretty bad. She'd be a suspect."

  The paladin swallowed hard, this new realization crushing down on him. "I had not considered the ramifications my sponsorship would impose upon her." He rasped. " God , Garvey, I didn't think...I didn't...I thought I was doing the right thing. Hell, I should have let myself be slain. I'm an abomination , I'm everything that I signed up to eradicate. Of course they would--God, I'm so sorry, if they suspect her, I..." His thoughts were a tangled mess, loping this way and that.

  "Don't be sorry yet." Preston grumbled. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Danse? She's the only way into the Institute. I can't just let her cool her heels on that fancy balloon, not when we're so close to taking the Institute down!"

  "If I had my armor, I might be able to sneak into the airport. But I don't." Danse said unhappily, burying his fingers in the thick ruff Dogmeat sported. "If I go anywhere near there without some sort of protection, they'll just gun me down. Kill on sight."

  "Now's not the time to consider a sweeping policy reform, unfortunately. If we got you a suit…" Preston trailed off, then changed the subject. "Pack whatever you have. You're coming with me."

  "Right now?" Danse asked. 

  " Yes , right now!" Preston retorted sharply. "The hell is wrong with you, man?"

  "I just...I'll need to say goodbye, that's all." Danse felt immensely awkward, but he pressed on, "The O'Brians have been extremely kind to me during my prolonged stay in their residence."

  "Oh. Oh . Okay, yeah. Go ahead. But make it quick!" Garvey blustered, jamming his hat down a little.

  Danse crept back into the O'Brian family dwelling, his footfalls muffled by a rousing rendition of The Ants Go Marching that Siusan was enthusiastically enjoying. This struck Danse as odd, seeing as how the only ants he had ever seen were the size of stray dogs. And why on earth would ants trouble themselves about the rain? Most of the irradiated insects seemed to love it.

  He managed to catch Tom's attention and pull him off to the side, explaining in low tones what was happening.

  Tom surprised him by punching Danse lightly in the chest. "I'm shocked it took you this long to get your head straight." The older man chuckled. "Go get her, Danse. Paladin Danse."

  ...

  The trek to the Castle, or rather Fort Independence, took almost six hours. Preston avoided a majority of the destroyed roads, the both of them tensing up every time they heard the whirring blades of a vertibird approach. 

  "They shouldn't be able to see us without using the searchlights." Danse informed Preston as Dogmeat flitted behind the supports of a ruined overpass. "They have no methods of thermal detection."

  "I'm still not taking any chances." Preston grumbled. " I've got people counting on me, Danse." Danse fell silent at that, just following after the Minuteman and keeping his mouth shut. 

  I've got people counting on me .

  Once upon a time, that had been Danse. An example to his brothers and sisters, the pride of the Brotherhood. Now, he skulked through the darkness like a fugitive. A traitor to his cause. A liar, by omission or by ignorance. A fraud . 

  Danse wiped at his eyes, frustrated with his own weakness. How the hell was he such an emotional wreck? He was a machine for God's sake. It was hardly fair that everything in him was screaming that he was human when he had already been backhanded with the empirical evidence to the contrary.

  M7-97 .

  He gritted his teeth, exhaling through his nose. He didn't have the luxury of contemplating his humanity at this point in time. Maybe someday, once everything had sunk in, he would be able to examine himself from a critical stance. But for the moment, it needed to be compartmentalized. 

  "If I cannot reacquire the general," he began cautiously, "perhaps I can still be of service. If I am a synth, maybe there's a way for me to…" A lump rose in his throat. "Return, I suppose? Breach their defenses accordingly?" 

  Preston hummed thoughtfully. "Vega did mention a synth reclamation department. And coursers , the guys sent out to reclaim the escapees." He shuddered, his grip tightening on his musket. "She had to put one of those bastards down to get what she needed in the first place. It was brutal. She said he almost killed her. I guess they're made for hunting synths or something?" 

  Danse felt sick to his stomach, remembering Vega talking about the courser mourning the loss of his friend. "Well, we have the option," He muttered, "should the need arise. Proctor Quinlan often said that the best edge is the unexpected one."

  The walls of the Castle solidified against the night sky and Danse caught the scent of the sea on the breeze, the smell refreshing his memory of finding Vega half-dead in the Minutemen's crumbling excuse for a fortress. It appeared that they had done extensive renovations since his last visit, however. 

  "Well well well, look what the lieutenant dragged in!" Sturges chuckled without humor from beside the outermost guard tower, his eyes uncharacteristically narrowed. Danse didn't miss the way his grip on his old rifle tightened. "You've got some explainin' to do, big fella'!" The cheer in his voice was decidedly hostile. 

  "Stand down, Sturges." Preston said wearily. "We need your help. You still got that suit you were working on?" 

  Sturges chewed on his answer for a moment before he finally nodded. "Garvey, you'd better not be suggestin' what I think you are." He gestured up at Danse with the hunting rifle. 

  "We don't have a lot of options, Sturges. He's been kicked out of the Brotherhood." Preston replied curtly. 

  Sturges did a double take. "You uh, wanna' run that by me again sir? The holiest of rollers was kicked out? What the hell did you do? " The mechanic asked Danse incredulously.

  Danse swallowed hard. "It would appear that I am...less human than I had been led to believe." He stated, trying to choose his words with care. 

  "Well, physically anyway." Garvey tacked on grudgingly. 

  Sturges' mouth curved into an 'o' as the truth dawned on him. " Ho then. That uh, explains that. Damn. Damn . But...shit. So where the hell is the general?" He muttered, as if to himself.

  "According to Danse, he's been on the run since their foray into the Glowing Sea. That was also the last contact he had with General Vega." Preston explained. 

  "I've heard about how damn wild the Brotherhood gets over synths. How the hell did you even escape?" Sturges queried, his tone suspicious.

  Danse cleared his throat. "One of the soldiers I sponsored tipped me off right before we set out into the Glowing Sea. Scribe Haylen saved my life. Originally I assumed that Vega was to be my executioner, but it turned out that she had orders from our elder to return as soon as we have verified the location." Danse paused. "We were separated and shortly thereafter, the Brotherhood attempted to end my life."

  "Just like that?" Sturges gawked. "How long you been Brotherhood, Danse? Good ten years? Fifteen? I can't even believe that shit. Pitched to the wayside on account of some fuckin' speculation!"

  "Not speculation, if Scribe Haylen's information was accurate." Danse corrected the other man. "My DNA matched the DNA of an escaped Institute asset known as M7-97."

  " Escaped , though. So you're a Railroad refurb like me, you ain't some shitbag infiltrator unit!" Sturges protested, ushering Preston and Danse further into the courtyard. "How could they just try to snuff you? Brotherhood's gone balls-deep this time."

  Danse hadn't actually thought about it like that, but he supposed it made sense. He wouldn't have been listed as escaped if he was assigned to infiltrate the ranks of the Brotherhood, that wouldn't make any sense. It was almost a relief to realize that maybe, just maybe there hadn't been some ulterior, coded motive behind him joining up with the Brotherhood. That and the fact that there wouldn't have been someone he was replacing.

  So for all intents and purposes, he was the original and only Paladin Danse. A comforting thought.

  Sturges wasn't done though. "If you're here and Vega ain't, that means your boys in armor have her. If she ain't dead, of course." The mechanic mused. "Might be that they thought she was in on your little secret and capped her instead of botherin' with interrogation."

  "I would greatly appreciate if you would not suggest that Vega is dead, Sturges." Danse's palms started to sweat, his breathing rough for a moment. Calm down, calm down .

  "Well I'd greatly fuckin' appreciate if she wasn't dead neither, big fella', but until we know for sure…" Sturges shrugged. "Anyway, to work. Got a real cherry suit here, a little pet project of mine, and if you're goin' to that airport, I imagine you'll want some protection."

  "I'll need it just to get near to the damn place at this point." Danse mumbled.

  Sturges' grin was a little less hostile this time. "I think you'll like your chances."

Part Fifteen

#fallout 4 #fallout four #spoilers #paladin danse #paladin danse x sole survivor #Eventual romance #paladin danse/sole survivor #paladin danse x f!sole #paladin danse imagine #fo4 companions imagine #fo4 companions #fo4 paladin danse #preston garvey #fo4 preston garvey #brotherhood of steel #canon-typical violence #slow burn

[third-rail-vip]

20 OTP Questions

Tagged by @tarberrymentats​ thank you so much for the tag! <3

I’m going to tag @minuteminx​ @asaara-writes​  @pchberrytea​ @mayihavethisdanse​ @potatocrab​ @laurelsofhighever​ and anyone else who wants to, tag me because I’d love to see your OTPs!!

I might have gone a bit overboard, so I’ll put most of this under the cut…

Mac x Ivy

1. Who can outdrink the other?

Oh, definitely Mac.  They learnt that the first night they met, not that she was trying to keep up it’s just Ivy is a thorough lightweight.  He didn’t like questions, she can’t help but ask them, so the deal was one shot per question.  She is smol and cannot hold her booze.  Two centuries on ice and she seems to have lost some of the tolerance she built up in college.  Magnolia had to tell Mac to make sure she got to the Rexford ok.  Of course, en route she picked up multiple jobs and talked Fred into giving them 500 caps for going to Hallucigen.  Mac was gobsmacked, it was the beginning of a beautiful if unexpected friendship.  

These days if you give her too much, you’ll find her sat on the floor in the corner of Railroad parties with Tinker Tom talking conspiracy theories.  

2. Who says “i love you” more?

Probably Mac, but not because he loves more, but because he’s definitely the more vocal of the two of them.  Words are one of his main love languages.  Plus, he’s lost a partner before (which Ivy hasn’t) and there were things unsaid in that relationship that he’ll always regret, so he knows the importance of telling the people you love how you feel, and telling them often.  Ivy is more of a show than tell, even though she’s the type to fall first, she’s been hurt before by exactly that so she’s slower to use the words and breaks them out less often.  She shows she loves him through her actions.

3. Who has trouble sleeping alone?

Very much Ivy, not that Mac doesn’t to some degree, but this is a scary new world for Ivy and she feels very much safer having someone there.  She was a wreck when he was away in the Capital Wasteland and really struggled to sleep at all.  She is more likely to not be able to get to sleep if she’s alone.  Mac is more likely to have a disturbed night, waking up feeling an absence.  

4. Who swears more?

Ivy.  She may look sweet but she really can have a foul mouth.  She will basically swear for Mac as well.  He’ll cut himself off and she’ll fill in the blank.  She resists the urge, or at least desperately tries to pick other words at the last second when the kids are about.  It doesn’t always work well.

5. Who does more of the housework?

It’s shared.  Ivy makes more mess though, she’s clean but untidy.  She seems accumulate way more stuff than Mac does, and boy does she spread it around the house.  She’s also very distractible, so he can get back and find a half-risen loaf in the kitchen, which she’ll have left, having had a thought about something she wanted to draw while it was still in her mind.  So, the sketchbooks are out in the living room, but then she’ll see a sketch of Mac and remember she was going to fix the arm on his duster again.  And so on and so forth.  Mac isn’t without guilt, there are always comics on various surfaces, left open (taking up maximum room) to show Ivy or the boys the best bits.  If Codsworth had lungs, he’d hyperventilate.  She will tidy up after herself though, when she realises she’s left everything all over.  I mean, nobody wants to hear a Mr Handy cry pre-recorded tears.

6. Who forgets their anniversary?

They don’t technically have an anniversary, actually getting together was a bit of a messy and protracted process.  The easiest date to remember is Halloween when they first met in Goodneighbour.  Maybe one day they’ll have an official anniversary for something else, but for now.

7. Who steals the duvet in their sleep?

Sometimes they can have a bit of blanket tug of war going on depending on who got into bed first.  Ivy was nesh even before the war, but two hundred years on ice has done her no favours.  She gets criminally cold hands and feet.  If they were just sharing a bed before they got together, Ivy would 100% steal that duvet, but these days she just wraps around her mercenary and they sleep like a little two person blanket burrito.  

8. Who keeps the other awake at night with their snoring?

Neither keeps the other awake.  Mac is the one who snores, but they are little damn kitten snores, like his sneezes.  If anything is going to keep Ivy awake, it’s him falling asleep first and her just silently going “awwwwww” at her adorable boyfriend.  

9. Who finds stray animals and begs the other to let them keep them?

This is totally Ivy and cats.  They have dogmeat of course, but he’s his own man and he’s always welcome with them, but he’s not really theirs.  Ivy love cats, she will sneak off to play with settlement cats when she should be doing far more minutemen type activities.  They are definitely slowly accumulating cats at their most regularly visited settlements.

10. Who usually makes dinner?

Ivy enjoys cooking most out of the two of them, and she’s rather good at it.  Getting better all the time as well since her and Codsworth are doing their best to remember and collect pre-war recipes, or at least work out how to make equivalents.  Mac is a reasonable cook, but over the years he’s generally been happy to exist on pre-war ‘just add water’ kind of food, rather than cooking from scratch, which is definitely Ivy’s jurisdiction.  But if she’s cooking, and if he can persuade Codsworth to leave them to it, he loves to cook with Ivy.  Even more so when the kids want to get involves too.  

11. Who plays their music out loud?

Oh god, they both do.  The pipboy radio is always going.  Turning it right up and singing along is almost mandatory. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you might catch Ivy playing the guitar or the piano and singing.  She’s usually shy about it, but she’s good.  She’s performed once at The Third Rail as a birthday present.

12. Who hogs the bathroom?

Given the opportunity of a hot shower in Vault 81, you will lose Ivy for so long you’d think she’d drowned.  Drenching herself in enough scolding hot water to supply a minor settlement, truly is the most self-indulgent of self-care.  Mac isn’t the biggest fan but he can be persuaded.  The only time he’ll hog the bathroom is when it’s time to keep that goatee in tiptop condition.  He’s very particular about it.  

13. Who gives the most compliments?

Like with saying ‘I love you’ most, Mac is definitely the one who lays on the compliments.  He learned early on that Ivy isn’t used to being complimented like that, or at least, it’s been a very long time since she was treated that way.  He’s almost made it a personal mission to set that right.  How easily she blushes at them is just an added bonus.  

14. Who usually starts/causes arguments between them?

They aren’t an argumentative couple, from past experience, Ivy does not cope well with that kind of confrontation within a relationship.  They are more likely to snark if something has annoyed them, but are actually really good at reading each other’s body language for when something they’ve done has upset the other.  But if it comes down to it, Mac is more likely to be the one to get into a more heated discussion about something that’s upset him.  Ivy is the one to calm a situation.  The only time they’ve had an actual stand up row was during Blind Betrayal.

15. Who isn’t afraid to embarrass the other in public?

They aren’t afraid of a bit of public bantering, and will definitely play up for an audience if they’re in the right mood.  Ivy is a little more inclined to publicly tease Mac in one way or another, but that might be more because Mac suspects she can deal it out better than she can take it, rather than her being the more equipped to do it.  Although when it comes to quietly flustering her in public, that is very much Mac’s jurisdiction.  

16. Who gives the other cringeworthy pet names?

There’s a definite teasing edge to most of the nicknames they call each other, they’re both more comfortable with being called them when there isn’t too big of an audience around.  But I guess Mac would be more embarrassed by Ivy’s habit of calling him anything beginning with ‘sweet’ – it’s not good for his tough mercenary image, you know.  Mac doesn’t care who hears him call Ivy ‘angel’, he’s being calling her it for so long (way longer than they’ve been together) but he might draw the line at shouting ‘kitten’ across Diamond City marketplace.  Most other names they call each other are more along the lines of compliments or abbreviations of their names.  

17. Who fusses over the other when they get sick?

Ivy is definitely the more diligent medic, and a very well qualified worrier.  So when Mac is hurt, she’s all over that, and he regularly jokes that she carries enough gear to set up a small field hospital with her at all times.  Not that that habit hasn’t saved their asses on multiple occasions.  Mac is more likely to get genuinely scared if Ivy is badly hurt or sick because of past experience.  When it comes to just being a little bit poorly, Mac will milk it like an absolute drama queen.  Ivy is a soft touch and will let him.  But she’s also very good at telling when he’s better and is just looking for extra attention.  She’ll make up ‘treatments’ to see if he’ll keep up the charade and how committed he is to being waited on hand and foot.

18. Who finds it impossible to stay angry at the other for long?

For a guy who can mature a grudge like a fine wine, Mac has never ever been able to stay mad at Ivy.  Not even in those early days when she was ‘useless’ and they barely knew each other.  Mac melts at those big brown eyes, even if he tries to keep the frowns on the surface, all the anger goes in an instant.  It’s rare for her to get angry at him, but if the hurt is real then she can hang onto it until he’s shown that he’s earned back her trust.  It took him a while to win her back after coming back from the Capital Wasteland having not sent word at all since he left.

19. Who clings to the other for comfort when they’re sad or scared?

Ivy would be the first to cling to Mac when she’s scared, in fact she was, after very early close call.  That experience rather reinforced Mac as a safe place for her, bearing in mind she’s known him from just a week after escaping the vault, he’s definitely been a grounding presence for her.  When something is wrong, the first place she will seek comfort is in his arms, even from long before they were together.  Mac doesn’t break down until they’ve known each other for a lot longer, but he feels safe enough by then being that vulnerable with Ivy – it’s difficult because he has always had a habit of putting himself in a protector role in so many of his relationship with people that allowing himself to be seen as scared or even sad is difficult for him.  But once those floodgates are open, nothing would stop him from seeking comfort from her, even when things are awkward between them.

20. Who is more ‘physically passionate’? (hugs, kisses, or maybe more…)

When it comes to big public displays, it would probably be Mac (not in the early days though, he was definitely more private then) but he likes it known that they’re together – especially to that one dude from diamond city security who keeps hitting on her.  Ivy is more for subtle displays in public; holding hands, cheek kisses etc.  Although there was one incident…anyway.  Privately they are equally likely to be all over each other.  

#otp 20 questions meme #this turned out big! #mac x ivy #then i met you #maccready #robert joseph maccready #ivy kendrick #maccready x sole survivor #maccready x f!solesurvivor #sole survivor #my art #gorgeous screenshot by mayihavethisdanse

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 1

because we all really wanted smitten!Luka so I’m making it happen, PERIOD. slight AU? canon divergence? where Luka begins to frequent Tom & Sabine’s bakery when his sister needs a pick-me-up through her first year in university, and may or may not have a thing for the new girl at the register once summer vacation hits. and tweets about it.

(yes, i’m still working on La Joconde! only two parts left :( but i hadn’t posted any lukanette content in a Hot Minute and wanted to share a bit of what i’ve been working on. enjoy, loves!)

at T&S for mom and sister and oh god there’s a cute girl i’ve never seen at the register

Post.

i think she’s got flour on her nose, and she probably doesn’t even know it’s there, and she’s adorable

Post.

send help

Post.

That’s the magical thing about social media, isn’t it. The cool, casual, even bored expression you sport in a waiting room or on the subway is a master at hiding away every all-caps rant you swipe out with your thumb. At keeping every moment you want to scream, excited or outraged, under lock and key in your chest while your fingers do all the talking. At cementing the lines in your brow and your lips while you broadcast how much you’re Gay And Dyingggg—and yes, you really need the capitalization and those extra letters for the emphasis—over the image of a kitten falling asleep mid-meal. The viral-video echo of a child’s singing in a big-box store. The pretty girl in the coffee shop with the floral cloth headband, the nude lip, the grey eyes that stop you in your tracks and somehow always seem to meet yours whenever you Just So Happen to look up.

It’s those capital letters, you know. They really do wonders for emphasis. Emphasis.

In a city like Paris, the hundreds of thousands of people you could pass in a single day would never know the intimacies they could stumble upon by happenstance. The ones you choose to share with a few hundred strangers, friends across oceans or friends of friends who happened upon you or lovers of art the way you love art, because the distance and the screens make it safer.

In Paris, almost no one knows who Luka really is, aside from a blue-haired busker downtown who sometimes frequents coffee shop stages. Or some guy who delivers their evening meals when they don’t feel like cooking. No one has to know. And he’s been fine with that for as long as he’s had these accounts.

He wouldn’t call himself a stranger to the internet. He hardly could; he’s a product of it, raised by it, like most anyone else his age. Frankly, he could go so far as to call it his third best friend—third, because his sister and his mother might fight him for not putting them first, and because he values them enough to put them there. But on the metro, he’s near invisible, and online, he’s Sort Of Someone. A set of hands and a guitar and strings of notes to pull in a few hundred admirers, and even fewer friends he’s never met in person. He doesn’t have to, he’s decided, for them to mean something.

And he’s getting the keen sense that they’re all already hanging onto his last three tweets. Or will be, if they’re not already awake yet. (He’ll never understand that—his body almost never lets him sleep in past eight, no matter how late he goes to bed.)

He has to gather himself before he goes in—which is hilarious, because he must have been to Tom and Sabine’s bakery at least a hundred times by now. Or at least, enough times that they know him by name and to save him a napoleon or two whenever he’s in the area. Is it really that difficult this time because of a girl?

And then she… whoever she is, she smiles at a customer, and it looks like utter sunshine, and almost instantly he wishes she were smiling at him. Just for a few seconds.

Yep. It really is that difficult.

With a flip of his stomach and one last post—all right, prayer circle before i place this order—Luka pushes into the tiny bakery just as the customer is coming out. He shuffles among the racks and display cases as though he’s in a museum, and given the care that goes into these decorations, he might as well be. Usually it’s Mrs. Cheng who’s at the register, humming along to some classical piece they’re playing overhead—it fits her, being so traditional—and there’s a stack of finished cake or pastry orders beside her on the counter. The orders are still there this time, but the music sounds younger; it must be one of those study playlists he sometimes finds online or touches upon when he needs some extra inspiration for his own music.

And there is the girl, with her chin in her hand and the flour still on her nose, absently twirling her pencil as she stares down at a sketchbook like she’s about to get into a fight with it. She doesn’t look bored there. Actually, Luka isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone so focused before, because even the bell over the door signaling his entrance apparently hasn’t gotten through to her. If anything, she looks like she’s toeing that impossibly thin line between mellow and frustrated, if the quirk in her lips or the pinch in her brow is anything to go by. Even from a distance, he can tell that her face is soft, that her lashes are beautifully long, and that she probably barely has to do anything with them. If it weren’t so weird, or showy, or even creepy, he’d probably stop in his tracks at the door and watch. Try to make up a song about her, for her, on the spot.

Luka takes a deep breath, readjusts his gig bag on his shoulder, and takes a few quiet steps up to the register, still keeping his distance. It isn’t until he clears his throat that she looks up, and he’d swear that he’s never seen eyes so… so blue, before.

He’s never played a song this color before, and he wants to. Instantly.

Before he can get a closer look at the sketches, one that would have been entirely inadvertent, the girl squeaks and snaps her book shut, immediately apologizing for not noticing him right away. Her fingers twitch a bit, but she smiles cordially in spite of them. There it is. That sunshine, just for him. “Welcome to Tom and Sabine’s. How can I help you?”

Luka wonders if that’s just her Customer Service Voice, or if she always sounds that sweet. Either way, somewhere inside him a cork pops, and warmth floods his insides, just for having heard it. Now that he’s this close, now that he’s really heard her, he’d think she’s only a couple of years younger than him. Nineteen or twenty, maybe. “Hi,” he says, as smooth as he can manage. Maybe it’s her first day; he knows some of the woes of customer service, even if most of his work experience has been in food delivery and not actually processing the orders. Maybe he can ease some of her nerves. “I was wondering if I could get something to go.”

“Oh! Sure thing.” The girl brushes some flyaway dark hair out of her eyes, twirls her pencil again, and taps a few colored squares on the tablet in front of her. “What can I get for you?”

“Let’s see…” He already knows the orders by heart, because in spite of their penchant for chaos and unpredictability, the Couffaines don’t mind anchoring themselves to some things. So much so, in fact, that if it were Mrs. Cheng at the register, she wouldn’t even have to ask. She’d already have the box ready. It’s just that he doesn’t want to overwhelm this girl right off the bat, even if he does have the feeling that she’d look even cuter with a blush. “An opera cake, a pear tart, a fraisier”—that’s for Rose, because he wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still over when he gets back. He goes slowly, gives the girl the chance to look for each item in the menu on her screen before punching it in, just in case she’s ever had customers who were less kind.

Yes, that’s definitely the only reason why, and it definitely isn’t because he wants to spend more time at the register, and has that liberty to do so since there aren’t any other customers in the shop and since he’s done with work for the day.

“Anything else?” the girl asks, her voice slightly more clipped now that she’s in the rhythm of it. She cocks her head, more at the register, and quirks the edge of her eyebrow. Maybe she’s more seasoned at this than he thought. Or maybe she just sinks into this mood when she sets to work.

He kind of likes it. Like, a lot.

But that would be incredibly weird to say, to her face or about her online, so he holds his tongue. “Yeah, um…” He looks around, narrowing his eyes at some of the display cases. “Has Mr. Dupain made any napoleons today?”

The girl’s eyes light up a bit, which makes him smile. “I’ll check,” she says—chirps, more like—and flits toward the room in the back like a hummingbird.

Oh, no.

She’s so cute. Too cute.

She’s back in seconds, before he has the time to agonize about it any further. “Yup, we have them. How many would you like?”

“Just the one.” Luka’s already fishing out his wallet from his back pocket. He holds his breath, card in hand, pushes it into the chip reader. “Say, is Mrs. Cheng… doing all right?”

The girl blinks a couple of times. Is it really that weird to ask? “Yes…? She’s fine. She’s just traveling—she went home for a bit to see her family. She’ll be back in… three weeks?” She trips on her words a bit, not in the way that she can’t recall, but in the way that she doesn’t want to be too forward in her speech.

Huh. Mrs. Cheng didn’t mention anything about a trip the last time he’d been here… “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never seen you around here before.”

The girl smiles faintly, tearing away his receipt once it’s printed. “Well. I guess that makes two of us.”

Oh, she’s good. He doesn’t even know what to say to that.

She flits around the tiny bakery, different pairs of tongs in hand as she assembles his order, and Luka finds himself tapping out the melody of the current song against his thigh. “Nice music,” he says to make conversation. “You pick it out?”

“Uh huh.” There’s that clipped tone again. “Sorry, I know it’s kinda basic—”

“It’s cool.” He pauses. “Uh. I mean, the music is cool.”

The girl looks up from one of the display cases. It might be the lighting, or the distortion of the glass, but he thinks she might be blushing. “You… said that already?”

“Right—right.” Luka clears his throat, leans back against the wall with his arms folded, and resolves to keep his mouth shut and his eyes down. He knows he’s blushing; his face is too hot for him not to be. She’s working, he tells himself. He can’t bother her while she’s working. Still, he can’t help idly tapping the toe of his shoe, or pressing his fingertips into his arms, to that same rhythm, the same melody. At least that keeps him grounded. He only wishes there were lyrics he could mouth along to to make it easier.

He’s about to dip into his own mind, try to find a song that would do the trick, when he hears his name. “Luka?”

Instantly, his head snaps up. The girl is back at the register, a beige box with a gold sticker in her hands, and she holds it out to him. “Yeah,” he says, doing his best to stroll casually to the front and take it from her. “How’d you know my name?”

The girl looks at him, half-confused, before mutely holding up the receipt. On the bottom, along with the last four digits of his debit card number, is his name in tiny capital letters.

Oh. Duh. He heaves a nervous laugh, and on the inside, he’s looking away with wide, mortified eyes. He takes the box from her; the sooner he gets out of here, the sooner he can kick himself. “Thanks. Could you tell Mr. Dupain I said hi?” And also, could you tell him how dare you for hiring a girl who has no right making my heart stop on her first day working?

She nods, twirling her pencil one last time, and Luka’s off with a wave and a mutual exchange of, Thank you, have a nice day! And the instant the door closes behind him and he turns the corner, he sets the box aside, slides down to a squat, and rests his face in his hands, eyes wide and trained on the ground.

In Paris, no one knows that Luka Couffaine is even capable of being an anxious, smitten fool.

Once he’s churned out as many anxious, shaky feelings as he can—once he’s replayed her smile and the sound of his name in his head enough times—he pulls out his phone.

god, i hope she has a nice day. i hope she finds twenty euros on the ground.

Post.

#fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #COME GET Y'ALL FOOD LUKANETTE FANDOM #i have the urge to make a playlist for this fic but rest assured there is a lot of billie eilish on it

[cinnaminsvga]

fox rain | three

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

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

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

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

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

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Was.)

(Will?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what do you say?

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

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

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N––?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch where you’re going!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

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

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

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

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

It’s Lee Sera.

#networkbangtan #armiesnet #btsguild #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts #bts imagines #bts crack #bts fluff #kim namjoon #namjoon scenarios #namjoon imagines #namjoon fluff #namjoon crack #bangtan #bts fanfic #UGHHGJDHGJ im so slow at writing... its the depretion #hopefully this is good.... maybe who knows #IM GONNA EAT A GRILLED CHEESE NOW

[transienturl]

Q: How much do I know about sports off the top of my head? I’m bored, so let’s find out.

NFL:

NFC West (one of the strongest divisions ever):

Seattle Seahawks. Key (and less-key) players: Russell Wilson (QB), DK Metcalf (WR), Tyler Lockett (WR), Freddie Swain (WR), Greg Olsen (TE), Colby Parkinson (TE), Damien Lewis (G), Duane Brown (T), Ethan Pocic (C, I think?), Chris Carson (RB), Rashaad Penny (RB), Travis Homer (RB), Michael Dickson (P), help what’s the kicker’s name, Jamal Adams (S), Quandre Diggs (S), Bobby Wagner (LB), KJ Wright (LB), Jordyn Brooks (LB), Poona Ford (DI), Jarran Reed (defensive... line somewhere), Shaquill Griffon (CB), Quinton Jefferson (CB), Tre Flowers (CB), Benson Mayowa (DE), Carlos Dunlap (DE), Alton Robinson (DE), Shaquem Griffon (DE), god I can’t remember the new slot corner but he’s pretty good I think. Coach: Pete Carroll. OC: Brian Schottenheimer. DC: Ken Norton, Jr. GM: John Schneider. Owner: Jody Allen. Notes: Every game is close. Used to always run, but this year always throws. Quarterback is basically magic. Defense is severely lacking. My home team, obviously.

San Francisco 49ers. Key players: Jimmy Garoppolo (QB), George Kittle (TE), many fast running backs, Raheem Mostert is one of them, Trent Williams (T), Richard Sherman (CB), Nick Bosa (DE). Coach: Kyle Shanahan. Notes: Running game scheme is a work of staggering genius. Best player is a tight end for some reason. Went to the Super Bowl last year.

Arizona Cardinals. Key players: Kyler Murray (QB), Larry Fitzgerald (WR), DeAndre Hopkins (WR), Christian Kirk (WR), Budda Baker (S), Patrick Peterson (CB). Coach: Kliff Kingsbury. Notes: Runs many wide receivers, in scheme Kingsbury got from coaching college. Used to be bad, but getting better each year. Kyler is very small.

Los Angeles Rams. Key players: Jared Goff (QB), Cooper Kupp (WR), Andrew Whitworth (T), Darrell Henderson (RB), Aaron Donald (DI), Johnny Hekker (P). Coach: Sean McVay. DC: Used to be Wade Phillips, but not anymore. Notes: Runs a lot of plays from the same formation. Coach is very smart. Made the Super Bowl two years ago. Best player is a defensive tackle, for some reason.

NFC East (the worst division in NFL history):

New York Giants. Key players: Daniel Jones (QB), Saquon Barkley (RB). Coach: Joe, uh... Douglas. GM: Dave Gettleman. Notes: Spent a huge amount of draft capital on players the numbers said weren’t worth it. Seems accurate.

Philadelphia Eagles. Key players: Carson Wentz (QB), Jalen Hurts (backup QB), literally everyone else is injured. Oh, Jason Peters (T). Coach: Doug Peterson. GM: Howie Roseman. Notes: Everyone is injured. Everyone. Went to the Super Bowl 3 years ago and won with their backup QB.

Dallas Cowboys. Key players: Dak Prescott (QB, injured), Andy Dalton (backup QB, injured), No one of note (third-string QB), Amari Cooper (WR), CeeDee Lamb (WR), Ezekiel Elliott (RB), Leighton Vander Esch (LB), Greg Zuerlein (K), I could probably name more if I tried hard enough. Coach: Mike McCarthy. GM: Jerry Jones. Owner: Also Jerry Jones. Notes: Every year they have good players and lose anyway. Paid their running back instead of their quarterback. Also, now they have no healthy quarterback.

Washington [used to have a racist name]. Key players: Dwayne Haskins (benched QB), Alex Smith (QB... whose leg does not work), Kyle Allen (QB), Terry McLaurin (WR), Chase Young (DE), Montez Sweat (DE). Coach: Ron Rivera. Owner: Dan Snyder, who is the worst human being in the NFL, and that is saying a lot. Notes: No one cares about the football, Dan Snyder should be in jail. Also, Ron Rivera has cancer and Alex Smith’s leg injury almost killed him, so those guys deserve better.

NFC North:

Detroit Lions. Key Players: Matthew Stafford (QB), um, I should remember some more. Jeff Okudah (CB). Coach: Matt Patricia. Notes: Stafford deserves better. Patricia keeps signing ex-Patriots players, and it doesn’t work, presumably because the good ones are current-Patriots-players.

Minnesota Vikings. Key players: Kirk Cousins (QB), Adam Thielen (WR), Justin Jefferson (WR), Dalvin Cook (RB), many good defensive players whose names I don’t know. Coach: Mike Zimmer. Notes: Historically a good defense and just missing a competent QB. Paid a lot for an average QB; defense sucks now for some reason. Also, runs a lot.

Chicago Bears. Key Players: Mitchell Trubisky (QB), Nick Foles (QB), Allen Robinson (WR), Khalil Mack (DE). Coach: Matt Nagy. Notes: Has been wasting great defensive performances with poor to average quarterback play since World War II.

Green Bay Packers. Key Players: Aaron Rodgers (QB), Davante Adams (WR), Allan Lazard (WR), Aaron Jones (RB), Jamaal Williams (RB), Robert Tonyan (TE), David Bakhtiari (T), Za’Darius Smith (DE), Preston Smith (DE). Coach: Matt LaFleur. GM: Brian Gutekunst. Owner: “The fans.” Notes: Has started a hall-of-famer at quarterback every season since before you were born. Winning big but the analytics say they’re getting a bit lucky lately.

NFC South:

Atlanta Falcons. Key players: Matt Ryan (QB), Julio Jones (WR), I forgot the new WR’s name but he looks legit, Todd Gurley (RB). Coach that was recently fired: Dan Quinn. Notes: Have become known for inexplicably blowing enormous leads late in games. It’s quite funny, at this point.

New Orleans Saints. Key players: Drew Brees (QB), Michael Thomas (WR), Alvin Kamara (RB), Taysom Hill (listed as backup QB but just kinda does weird shit on offense), Jameis Winston (backup QB), Cam Jordan (DE), I should remember the cornerback’s name. Coach: Sean Payton. Notes: Known for having tons of talent every year, salary cap be damned, and then losing in heartbreaking fashion in the playoffs. Brees is getting old.

Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Key players: Tom Brady (QB), Mike Evans (WR), Chris Godwin (WR), this one WR who can go eat shit, Rob Gronkowski (TE), Antoine Winfield Jr (S), Vita Vea (DI). Coach: Bruce Arians. Notes: Signed Tom Brady. It’s working pretty well. Defense is top-tier. The most balanced team.

god, who is the other NFC south team, uh...  hold on, lemme get back to you.

AFC North:

Baltimore Ravens

Pittsburgh Steelers

Cleveland Browns

um... Cincinnati Bengals? Maybe?

AFC East:

New York Jets

New England Patriots

Miami Dolphins

Buffalo Bills

AFC South:

Houston Texans

Jacksonville Jaguars

Tennessee Titans

uhh... Indianapolis Colts.

AFC West:

Denver Broncos

Kansas City (I think this name should be changed too, honestly)

Las Vegas Raiders

I guess this must be the Los Angeles Chargers?

Oh, so the other NFC South team is the Carolina Panthers. Of course. Key players: Teddy Bridgewater (QB), Christian McCaffrey (RB and also arguably their best receiver), Yetur Gross-Matos (DE). Coach: Matt Rhule. Notes: Rebuilding their team this year, but quietly doing pretty well, considering.

Alright, I’m gonna stop there. Didn’t even get to the other half of the NFL, let alone started to try and list NBA/MLB/NHL teams, which would have gone extremely poorly. Story for another day.

Also, uh, yeah, this is a normal amount to know about football as someone who doesn’t watch football, oooobviously...

[slasherparty]

h-hewwo. i was wondering if you could write something pertaining to beetlejuice x a shy reader? i really love the way you write him!!

anything for you anon! BJ is my favorite if you haven’t noticed ;o) thank you for the compliment also!! (this is technically a drabble but putting it in bullet points helps my brain keep it sorted)

🎃beetlejuice x shy reader🎃

shy people, breathing or otherwise, are the most frequent victims of beetlejuice’s pranks. there’s nothing more gratifying than seeing their cheeks go red, their faces fluster, their lips stutter over jumbled words they’re too shaken to sort through in the midst of a practical joke that’s gone a bit too well. 

this dynamic is a little different when it comes to romance, however. sure, BJ likes his share of jokes and japes, but if he’s got his mind on someone you can be sure there’s a whole different deck of cards up his sleeve. at this point in the game, shyness takes on a different quality in beej’s eyes. 

he’s always been a flirt. that much is obvious. even before he was the ghost with the most, beej was just about the randiest breather to ever walk the streets of his hometown. but… he’d be lying if he told you his sweet talk always had the desired effect on its recipient. he’ll go for just about anyone, for sure, no questions asked. if beetlejuice had to pick though, he’d say the shy ones are his favorite. they always have such perfect reactions to his flirtatious personality.

he wouldn’t say he looks for this type specifically, but if he happens upon a particularly interesting one, he’ll take a pause in his interdimensional wandering for a peek and see if anything is worth stirring up. 

he happens upon a specific breather one night while sifting through his favorite string of household mirrors (down the american west coast - there’s some reaallll fun to be had in hollywood when you’re an all-powerful poltergeist). they’re in an old house picking at their face in a chipped bathroom mirror, trying too obviously not to look themself in the eyes. this strikes beej as a little funny, so he sticks around and watches idly, hoping for something interesting to happen. the night has gone by rather dully and he could do with some entertainment.

fortunately, this breather gives him something to work with. they huff and disgruntledly begin talking to themself. BJ stands at attention beyond the glass pane.

“get yourself together. it won’t be that bad. no one’s gonna be looking closely at you.” they were going on about something he had no knowledge of, but impromptu pep talks in mirrors always made for good fun, so he listened. “…oh, who am i kidding. it’s gonna be the same old routine the second i go into that party. i’ll stay for five minutes, get self-conscious, make some lame excuse then leave.”

beetlejuice sat back and quirked an eyebrow. for the first time since he started watching, the breather met their eyes in the mirror. beej felt like they were making eye contact even though he hadn’t revealed himself yet.

“god, look at me. i’m 20 years old and can’t even hang out with friends for half an hour without getting anxious. i know they’re just trying to help by inviting me, but… i can’t deal with that much at once. not like anyone would really notice if i went, anyway, but still…”

ugh. if he had to listen to one more second of this pity parade he’d puke. beetlejuice cracks his knuckles then bangs on the other side of the mirror pane, unceremoniously announcing his presence. 

“AHHH!!” the human nearly keels over until their eyes focus on BJ’s bemused expression in the glass. it surprisingly doesn’t take long for them to adjust to his sudden appearance in their bathroom mirror. “wait, what?! is this a haunting?! i knew this house was old, but-”

“pff! you wish this was a haunting, babes.” the poltergeist chuckled. “nah, i was just passing through and noticed your little self-deprecating display through the mirror. you’ve gotta be more careful about what you say to yourself, dude.”

“well, excuse me for trying to enjoy the privacy of my own home, sir fantôme intrus! i mean, who do you think-” a realization seemed to dawn on their face. “oh god, that means… you heard me? saying ALL of that?”

beetlejuice nods, thoroughly enjoying the red flush growing on the breather’s cheeks. they pull at their hair and sit back on the closed toilet seat behind them to process the last five minutes of their life. “take your time, i got an eternity to wait for ya.”

“ughhh.” they groan, head in their hands. “please tell me there aren’t any other ghosts back there laughing at me, too.”

“nope. just me.” BJ taps at the glass. “but hey, that ain’t the point, sweet cheeks. i don’t bang on the mirrors of just any old mortal, y’know?” that last part was a bit of a lie, but it was true that this person had held his interest longer than most, so they were special. 

“so? am i supposed to thank you for gracing my bathroom with your presence or something?”

“you can thank me later, sure.” he winks. “but right now, you’ve got a problem. and it ain’t the smokin’ hot poltergeist talkin’ at ya through the mirror, either. if i was hearin’ correctly, you’ve got a little trouble meetin’ new people.”

“that’s none of your business.” the breather shot back, trying to avoid beetlejuice’s undead gaze. “but… yeah. you heard right. so what about it?”

“so everything about it, kid! sure, i’ve only known you for ten minutes, five of which you weren’t aware of which sours the pot for you a bit i’m sure, but hey! point is, if you can get the attention of an undead party animal like me, you’ve got spunk enough to get a few lame breathers together and call them new pals. they won’t be as much fun as yours truly, yeah, but my point stands. don’t sell yourself short and all that, y’know?”

beetlejuice’s eyes had wondered during his improv inspirational address, but when they returned to make eye contact with his companion he was a little surprised to see them tearing up. “whoa, hey! don’t go pullin’ out the waterworks on me kid, i’m just tryna help!”

“no, no…” they wiped their eyes and stood again. “that was… oddly sweet. for a peeping tom, anyway. you… you really mean all that?”

beej recovered quickly. “hell, you want me to repeat myself? i’ll lay it on extra thick if ya need me to. you’re cute, babe. bet any mortal would be interested in hangin’ around with ya.” he hovers closer to the mirror pane and grins demurely down at the breather before him, cocking one wicked eyebrow. “maybe even a few ghosts too, huh? maybe one specific ghost who’d really like to get to know you better outside of this broken bathroom mirror.”

that absolutely did the trick. the breather’s shy smile falters into something coy and they look down, tips of their ears going dark. “a-alright. just… don’t try anything spooky. i can’t have the floor shaking and the walls oozing slime, if that’s what’s on your mind.”

“haHA!” beetlejuice cackles. “there’s nothin’ i do that ain’t spooky, babes. but nah… floors aren’t what i’m thinkin’ of shakin’ tonight.”

suffice it to say, this breather was perfectly happy skipping that party. they had more than a new friend to show for it in the end. 

cross-posted on ao3! (this version is fully edited and capitalized, yay!)

#THIS WAS SUPER LONG YET AGAIN! but you can't expect much less from my beetlejuice prompts hehe... he's my muse #ALSO LONG TIME NO SEE!! i'm back baby!! #beetlejuice #beetlejuice imagines #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice headcanons #writing prompts #writing requests #horror #horror writing #horror characters #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #slasher writing #slasher blog #think i might cross post this to ao3 #my ao3 is vampire cult btw!! look me up!

[bobbystompy]

68 Quotes I Enjoyed From 2019

Below are my favorite quotes from 2019. Though most occurred throughout the year, some took place before but were encountered during.

1) “I don’t bitch about Millenials.

John Entwistle once complained that he didn’t understand rap. Pete Townsend said, ‘It’s not our job to understand it. It’s our job to get the fuck out of the way.’

New generations come of age. The older generation’s job is to shut up and adapt.” - @danagould

2) “I can’t do drugs with you until we kiss.”

3) “If you pay me $50 I'll show up to your funeral but stand really far away, holding a black umbrella regardless of the weather, so that people think you died with a dark and interesting secret.” - @DanaSchwartzzz

4) “A human being is a dangerous thing to let loose in a room with itself, when it cannot think.” - Roger Ebert

5) “There are no bad bourbons, only better bourbons.” - Dave Hernandez

6) “You can’t put a dollar in a kimono.”

7) “This is how it was.” - rampant takeaway from watching ‘Superbad’ several years after its release

8) “What if I had been born fifty years before you in a house on the street where you lived / Maybe I’d be outside as you passed on your bike / Would I know? / And in a wide sea of eyes, I see one pair that I recognize” - Ben Folds, ‘The Luckiest’

9) “Learn the rules so you can break them.”

10) “Nobody makes chili for two.” - Stacy Massey

11) “‘Best city in the world,’ I mutter to myself, as i adjust my ‘driving blanket’.” - Chicago resident Deanna Belos, during the 2019 Polar Vortex

12) “Dude, no one’s ever got arrested for listening to Counting Crows.” - Ricky O’Donnell, justifying late night music volume at his party

13) Bill Belichick: We’re going to have fun tonight. Rob Gronkowski: Yes we are. We deserve it. Belichick: You’re damn right. Gronk: I haven’t stepped out in like eight months. I gotta step out tonight. Belichick: I’m with you, man. I’m even going to step out. Gronk: Oh, I like it!

A Super Bowl winning exchange.

14) Center David Andrews thanked Bill Belichick for giving him "a shot".

Belichick disagreed with it.

Andrews: Thank you for giving me a shot. Belichick: A shot? I didn't give you shit. You earned it! I don't give anything.

Another Super Bowl winning exchange.

15) “We elected one of the very worst living human beings to be President, and it's exhausting. Each and every day, it's an exhausting slog, just to exist in a world where that's true.” - Michael Schur

16) “Some of y’all always picked Odd Job when you played Goldeneye and it shows” - @thedad

17) “Any app is a dating app if you try hard enough.” - Z.W. Martin (though he says it’s lifted)

18) "Once you're as woke as I am, you learn to feel bad all the time.”

19) “Everything’s a balance beam when you’re 90.” - John Dingell

20) [I wake up in a world where The Beatles never existed]

Me: Check out this song I just wrote

[I begin playing “Ob La Di Ob La Da” without having first built up years of goodwill]

Crowd of people: Wow, this sucks ass

-- @seanoneal

21) “People change people.” - Corey Matthews, Girl Meets World

22) “The easiest thing to do on earth is not write.” - William Goldman

23) “Dan could be like a difficult uncle. I didn’t love his fire-breathing conservative politics. I didn’t love the transformation that came over his novels. In Semi-Tough, he created two benighted Texas jocks and laid their prejudices bare. He was declaring himself a member of the Mark Twain coaching tree. In later books, Dan seemed to be trying to prove he could still tell a racist joke. He insisted that his memoir—the last truly immaculate piece of writing he delivered—include a tirade against political correctness. When his editor said people might be offended, Dan said, ‘Fuck people.’

There are certain writers whose style you pilfer. Certain writers whose moral fiber you try to inherit. For me, Dan represented a third category: a writer whose aura you replicate—or, failing that, try to stand in for a while.” - Bryan Curtis, on Dan Jenkins

24) “Never marry anything. Never choose. Even in love, it's better to be chosen.” - La Dolce Vita

25) “An uncluttered, uncomplicated happy ending might sound wonderful, but it’s hardly ever satisfying. Because the value of great stories lies in the tension between desire and need, between the yearning for the ideal, and the unshakable conviction that ideals don’t really exist, at least not the way we want them to. A great story should hurt a little when it leaves us. There should be some hope, but that hope should remain somewhere just an inch beyond our fingers, because that’s the truth. Even if you had all the perfect moments in the world, you’d still be reaching.” - Zach Handlen, on the Futurama series finale

26) “You can’t see him because he has sunglasses on.” - Alissa Levy

27) “The cinema is the greatest art form ever conceived for generating emotions in its audience. That's what it does best. (If you argue instead for dance or music, drama or painting, I will reply that the cinema incorporates all of these arts).” - Roger Ebert

28) “‘Are you gonna let politics ruin a friendship?’ 

Yes tf I am

People talk about politics as if it’s this isolated, abstract concept that only matters at election time. Somebody’s politics is their world view. It’s whether they think certain human beings deserve rights. It’s how they think the world should be. And if somebody thinks that the world should be colder, meaner, less accepting and downright hostile to people that are different to them, then sure as fuck is the friendship over.”

29) “Can the Supreme Court get me mushrooms?” - J-Papp

30) “Any song under two minutes already has a head start on its way into my heart. Just scream at me and then leave me.” - Drew Magary

31) “Long neck cold beers never broke my heart.” - Clemson Tom

32) “I’d just like to point out that the last spoken words of Game of Thrones were: 

‘I once brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel.’”

- @Authoroux

33) “Just once before I die, I want to toss my keys to someone and tell them ‘Bring the car around’.” - Mike Skully

34) “For all the weight they're given, last words are usually as significant as first words.” - Grand Maester Pycelle, Game of Thrones

35) “The best remedy for unrequited love is a trip around the world.” - Cheers

36) [on switching from a hotel to a motel]

Manny: I don't like the sound of that. A lot of amenities disappear when an H turns into an M. Jay: Hey when I met you, you were eating cereal out of a bucket.

-- Modern Family

37) “You and Lindsey don’t want to be ‘estranged’. Estranged is the relationship we want to have with our mothers.” - MegFil

38) “Cigarettes are undefeated.”

39) “My toes are like my fingers on my feet. I can pick stuff up with them.” - Tracy Cunningham

40) “Republicans govern without shame, Democrats shame without governing.” - Bill Maher

41) Sam: I don’t understand the vagaries of the Internet Josiah: Post often, without thought, and you’ll either get cancelled or cancel someone else.

-- Blink-155

42) “Hang a lantern on your problems.”

43) “What a weird web we weave.” - The Situation, The Jersey Shore: Family Vacation

44) “Let the ocean worry about being blue.” - Alabama Shakes, ‘Hang Loose’

45) “Honesty without tact is cruelty.” - Shelley Rokos

46) “My whole life is the wrong porn link.”

47) “One parent can take care of 10 kids, but 10 kids cannot take care of one parent.” - Joe Gestetner, via “an old Yiddish saying”

48) “There are no heroes in the room.” - Classics of Love, ‘Gun Show’

49) “If I am a little dismissive, it's only because of my harrowing backstory.” - Mitchell, Modern Family (on why he doesn't like sports)

50) “Every time I’m wearing black, I meet a dog.” - Tracy Cunningham

51) “Shower sex? Why would I fuck in my crying chamber” - @chridollarsign

52) “My theory about quarterbacks, having written about some of them, is you either have to believe in god or think you are a god.” - Mina Kimes

53) “The contradictions of capitalism always manifest in our lyrics if you look deeply.” - Blake Schwarzenbach of Jawbreaker, Riot Fest 2019

54) “Got a ‘hang loose’ from the weakside bartender.”

55) “It’s Jennifer’s birthday always.” - Eric Hutchinson 

56) “I can’t think of a less relevant artist in 2019 than Kanye West. A Jesus freak in a MAGA hat. Yeah, congrats dude -- you’re every grandma who watches ‘Young Sheldon’ and mails checks to Joel Osteen now.” - Dan Ozzi

57) “The past and future are in the mind. I’m in the now.” - Tom Brady, via someone else

58) “Sometimes you walk around boring places and you feel like the most exciting thing in it.” - Drew Magary

59) “Sitting is the new smoking.” - Modern Family

60) “I'll straight up fight folks at a book club and discuss books at a fight club I really don't give a shit anymore.” - George Wallace

61) “Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.” - Rose Garvey via wine country

62) “It’s all ‘ok boomer’ until you need someone who can drive stick shift.” - @OrdinaryAlso

63) “He likes the result of the math.” - Dad, talking about my worst subject frustrating during the process but satisfying in the end

64) Stepmom: Do you want a Bears urn or Alabama urn? Dad: Ask me after they play Auburn.

65) “A cold body carries a warm heart.” - Stefanos Tsitsipas’ Instagram, after his Iceland sabbatical

66) [preparing a dish called the Sandwich of Justice with his friend’s recipe]

"The fun thing about it is when you give it to someone, you can say 'Justice is served.’ That's, uh, Ryan's line. I built my whole life on the backs of my friends." - You Suck At Cooking

67) “Usually three people can keep a secret only when two of them are dead.” - The Irishman

68) “An artist can't control who consumes their content any more than a chemist can control how their chemicals are used once they're created.” - Brian Crooks

#2019 #quotes #the irishmen #Robert De Niro #stefanos tsitsipas #bill belichick #nfl #new england patriots #game of thrones #you suck at cooking #dan jenkins #roll tide #alabama #parents #math #jersey shore #the situation #classics of love #alabama shakes #superbad #futurama #sincere engineer #roger ebert #atp #rtr #rgdt #auburn #gronk

[chewie-redbird]

Country Love : Part 1 “Home Again”

Author : chewie-redbird

Word Count : 2,397

Warnings : none

Summary : Havana ‘H’ West returns to her hometown of Spence’s Bridge, the home she avoided since her mom’s death two years before. Havana comes back for a much needed vacay, her family’s 39th Annual Weekend Business Break. Back to Ruth’s Inn and Bar, which is run by her family’s friends, the Daniels. Back to where she left her heart, back to the one who is her whole world. Back to him, back to Alex Daniels, back to her ex and his family. The family she cut all ties with after her mom and then her breakup with Alex. Havana is nervous as it will be the first time she will see him since he left her in Kamloops.

Characters : all OC characters (Havana ‘H’ West, Alexander ‘Alex’ Daniels, Ashley ‘Ash’ Daniels, Ruth Daniels, Geogre Daniels, Magnolia Bree, Sam Keller, Heath James, Talia Knight, Angel West, Marisa Yamelst, Tom Yamelst, Ray Yamelst, Hannah Yamelst, Faye Roberts, Ethan Garcia & Aaron Hansen)

A/N : Uh this was a dream I had and thought it be a kewl (cool) story and decided to share it, so hope y’all enjoy it!!!

Wow…

I haven’t been home in forever…

I miss it…

As I drive by the familiar Fruit Stand on the side of the highway that soon overlooks the small town. I can see my Grandpa Tom’s place on the other side of the river on the rez. My home where I grew up, where my heart is and where I never ever want to leave again after coming here.

As I drive up to the turn off that leads to the middle of this small town called Spence’s Bridge. Nothing big, just a small town where people pass by as the highway runs along the side. You can see the whole town from the highway, it spread into three parts.

The Yamelst Rez is the rez my family lives on, it’s the first part you see when you come into Spence’s Bridge. Its located on the other side of the Thompson River and its where the Thompson and Nicola rivers connect. My grandpa’s house is visible from the highway, the only blue house in the front line of the rez. Up top is my Aunty Barb and Uncle Cliff’s place, with some family spread in between.

The “downtown” area is just the Baits Motel where a scene was shot there for the movie An Unfinished Life. Some homes, the Log Cabin biker bar and then the main attraction, Ruth’s Inn & Bar. The bridge the town’s known for connects the downtown with the other side. A road before the bridge goes down to the post office that used to be the old school.

On the other side of the bridge towards the south is the other rez, simply the South Rez. Here is the Spence’s Bridge Inn, the Community Hall, a thrift shop run by my Aunty Vera. Further down, is the rez part, home to my Aunty Vera’s house and some other homes. Another little thrift shop is here, also a common playground, the old church and a community place.

Ruth’s Inn & Bar was two buildings, a three story inn consisting of twenty rooms; five of which were the presidential suites on the top floor. The Daniel’s bought the land from the Cook’s Ferry Band a long time ago, like seven generations ago. The band office was here but it moved to where the old post office was that also hosts the baseball field. Ruth’s Inn expanded into where people’s homes were, buying them out about four generations ago. Then the bar was built, becoming a separate building itself out back, with a balcony walkway connecting the two buildings. The driveway was connected to the main road, which it went down and snaked back along the bottom of the hill the road was on. Which then leads to a small parking lot, I pulled up to a spot I claimed for myself when I was a teenager. That was located towards the hill near the highway in the far southeast corner.

I parked my beautiful sparkly black with bright red interior 1963 Mercury Comet Convertible. God, I love this car, my Mom bought me this when she went down to Vancouver before my 16th birthday. I have been taken care of it ever since…. Wow... that was like five years ago. A lot has changed since then, my Mom died of sickness two years ago, and I lost the one person I thought was gonna be there for me forever a month after.

I grab my wine red purse I bought my Mom when she was in the hospital, I’ve claimed as to keep her near me. Even though I have her rings on my necklace I bought off the internet, a replica of The Vampire Diaries necklace Elena had. I also got a gold version too, but the chain broke so I keep it at home among the other jewelry. I grab the red and black suitcases that were my Moms, and wheel them into the lobby.

I look around, memories flying at me as I walk through the beautiful sky blue front doors. I look around drinking in the familiar feeling of being here again, it’s been a while. I barely notice when this person comes up to me asking something,

“What? I’m sorry, I was distracted by looking around. My name is Havana West, I have a reservation” I say reaching my hand out to shake theirs,

“Oh you’re Havana! I’ve heard so much about you already, my name is Magnolia Bree. I started to work here a year ago, when my family moved here. Here are your keys, you have three of the presidential suites booked. Everyone is ablazed with talk of the infamous Havana West returning to Ruth’s” Magnolia tells me, with a kind smile as her shoulder length sunshine wavy blonde hair moves every time she does. Her sapphire blue eyes sparkled even inside the lobby. She's wearing a yellow crop top, a size-to-big black and white plaid shirt open over it with white jean shorts. Complete with simple brown boots, a cute gold star necklace and a beautiful small sapphire ring.

“Um, not to seem rude and all, but can you please not call me Havana, it’s the name my Mom had gavin’ me and it’s just...” I simply say with my eyes glossing over, as it was the first time someone called me that since my Mom herself,

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry! I completely forgot what happened! Please forgive me, I just got so excited to meet you I ended up putting my foot in my mouth” Magnolia apologises while smiling sadly as her shoulders tense up,

“It’s okay. You didn’t know, it’s all good, just call me H” I tell her as she seems to relax again.

I smile back at her, seeing as I turn to start to walk up stairs when I hear Magnolia say,

“Sam! Come get H’s bags for her will ya!” she smiles when someone comes into her view, I’ve known that smile,

I’m about to protest when this tall as hell teenager came running up wearing a white tank top, dark wash jeans and cowboy boots. He is sharing her smile as well and it’s clear there is a connection. He’s dark brown hair long enough to cover his hazel eyes messy and all over like he didn’t care.

“No need, I can take my bags up Sam” I try to tell him,

“No, it’s my job ma’am” Sam says grabbing my suitcases as keep Magnolia’s stare,

“Thanks and don’t call me ma’am, I'm only twenty-one” I say laughing walking up the stairs as I hear him fallow,

“Yes ma’am” he says laughing following me up the stairs.

We make it to the little lobby area right above the lobby, meant for the presidential suites. I walk in the middle looking around, seeing the country feel mixed perfectly with the elite taste of a New Yorker.

“Here” I say turning to Sam handing him a twenty dollar bill,

“Thanks H” Sam says smiling, as he turns to head downstairs,

“Hey Sam, take care of her,” I say to him as he looked confused, then understanding what I meant,

“How? And I will” Sam says as he looks at me,

“The smile, I’ve known that smile,” I say as he returns downstairs, leaving me to look around.

Oh yeah I guess I should explain myself abit, my name is Havana West but everyone calls me H, I never felt like an Ava or Ana. I got my name from Cuba’s capital, cause my Mom loved Dirty Dancing : Havana Nights and was apparently conceived from her late B-Day vacay. I was an only child of Angel West, we were very close, everyone says we were more like sisters than mother and daughter. So it devastated me when she got sick and the horrible moment where I had to pull the plug and let her go. Now before you get judgy on me, just know it was a promise I made to my Mom, she told me if it ever came to the point if she lived on a machine or was let go, to let her go because she didn’t want to live on a machine.

I look at the golden keys, we had rooms 3, 4 and 5 to me and my family. I look at them all, rooms 3 and 4 were okay, but room 5 took my breath away. The room was like a dream come true, it was filled with an amazing red with gold and silver highlights throughout the room.

The room leads to a large queen sized bed, covered in a red silk sheet, with gold-sheer curtains over head. Near the door, was the door that lead to the big bathroom, fit for a queen. It had red and gold marble flooring, the counter was the same. The sink was a deep wine red same with the toilet. The towels were red with gold fleur de lis and silver leaves and vines wrapping around them. I look as the walk-in shower’s tiles were red, with silver speckle and big enough to fit five people. Even came with a seat attached to the wall…..huh…..wonder what stories this shower would say if it could.

I leave the bathroom, walking to the middle of the room, seeing the cherry red-stained-wood dressers next to the bed. They had gold handles with silver fleur de lis on the drawers. I start to unpack as I look around, see the wine red couch in front of a big screen TV attached to the wall. A beautiful gold chandelier was above the room making it look classy and elegant.

There was a double doors that lead to a small balcony, the curtains were sheer deep-red with gold fleur de lis and silver leaves and vines wrapping around them. I opened the door, and walked out, looking around as a breeze sent my shoulder-length dark brown roots and platinum-light blonde hair and the curtains to blow around like in a music video. I smile as memories were coming at me like fans when outside a concert of their favourite singer.

I turn to go back in, deciding on walking around for a bit before letting the family who owns this place know I'm here. I leave my room and head downstairs, seeing Magnolia and Sam flirting back and forth. Ah, to be a teen in love again, I know it wasn’t so long since I have been there. But it feels like eons past since I seen him, or even talked with him. It feels weird to no to talk with him... even being this close to him after what happened.

But I shake my head, he’s not the reason I came home, it was my family’s annual get together. But sadly a lot of them can’t make it due to obligations to the family company, W&Y Industries. So it just be my Grandpa Tom, Aunty Marisa, Uncle Stephan, Grandma Darlene, Uncle Raymond and Aunty Hannah. My little cousins Peyton, Ramsey and baby Julia are being taken cared by my assistant Klare at my Grandpa’s for the night. It’s only a five minute drive from here, so it is not bad, they need a night away.

I left the lobby area, it's really this long hallway from the front doors pointing east, towards the back doors that lead to a walk. It was a balcony/cover walkway, with the balcony/cover that lead to the little lobby upstairs for the presidential suites. The balcony/cover walkway leads to the bar out back, I spent many nights here back in highschool. It was the only bar that let sixteen and over, since the other bar, The Log Cabin, was strictly eighteen and over.

But before I went in, I walked the perimeter, a huge field basically of soft grass fenced off. There were flowers and trees all over, my favourite was the willow trees and roses. Rose bushes were lined along the buildings with lavender planted every now and then. Towards the south, there was my favourite spot, it was a fake-natural pool, with two willow trees on the right and left. It wasn’t huge, but not small either, but it was big enough for thirty people to use it…..don’t ask me how I know.

I went to sit at the edge, took off my brown boots, rolled up my jeans and dipped my feet in the warm water. Ahhhh, I haven’t done this since, basically two years ago, after my Mom died. I have been busy with schooling, attending Thompson Rivers University, a business diploma program, which was hard work. But I may have thrown myself into it after my Mom, making me lose touch with everyone. Even the one I didn’t mean to cut out, the one I wanted to be near me.

After sitting there for a while, listening to Shania Twain, I got up, shook my legs, rolling down my jeans and put on my boots. I walked into the bar, looking around as memories flooded my mind again. The dance floor was basically the whole floor, with red booths along the walls, big corner booths, a small stage a little ways to the left across from the front door. The bar was still the cherry-red-stained wood, the stools a bright red with silver legs. I see the red door down south from the front door, that lead to the kitchen in the back toward the east.

I look over to the right, see the red stairs that lead up to the VIP section up top. There were two big rooms above the kitchen for groups of people, me and my friends used them for celebrations. Upstairs was also a door that lead to the balcony/walkway that lead outside and connected the Inn with the Bar. Along the room with the dance floor, it was lined with red couches facing the dance floor. With some small gold side tables on the ends of the couches so people could place their drinks or food. I just looked around, still the same old black paint, covered in memories from years uses.

I was lost in thought when I heard a loud scream, a loud thud and then this person comes running and almost tackled me to the ground…..

masterlist : @daydreamingfairy @mummybear @bilesbilinskix @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @obrosey-af @hayley-noelle-salvatore19 @seashellrosekitty uh if you want just ask to be added!!

[lafiametta]

So I asked @arcticelves​ to pick between Jopson/Little as barista/coffee addict and Jopson/Little as teacher/single parent (her response, unsurprisingly, was utterly delightful), but then it got me thinking about the scenario she didn’t do, and I just couldn’t help myself, you know? I also should admit to drawing a fair degree of inspiration from @keyofmgy​’s wonderful Goodsir/Silna coffee shop AU, On Infatuation (A Case Study). (Does that make what follows fanfiction of fanfiction? Maybe so... the mind boggles!)

Edward Little was definitely not a coffee addict. 

Admittedly, he always had a cup or two in the morning, before he left for work, and then there was his late morning pick-me-up, often followed by a mid-afternoon refill, and sometimes, on those nights when he knew he would be up for hours with a project deadline, he would stop in at his local coffeehouse for a triple espresso, made as hot and strong as humanly possible. But he wasn’t a true addict, not by a long shot. It wasn’t as if he absolutely required it to function and he could have given it up at any point, if he was forced to. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a problem, not really. 

Or, rather, it hadn’t been a problem – at least not up until a month ago, when Edward realized his simple habit was beginning to blossom into something that might well resemble an addiction. And ironically, it wasn’t a need for caffeine that was driving his compulsion, but instead a pair of startling blue-green eyes and a dimpled smile warmer than any mug of fresh-brewed dark roast.

He had been on his way home one Friday night, thinking he would run by his usual place for a half-pound of ground Colombian and a flat white, only to discover it shuttered, closed for long-term renovations. A quick search on his phone had turned up a coffee shop just a few blocks over – Franklin’s – and while he had no idea how good their coffee was, it couldn’t be worse than heading home without decent provisions for the next morning. Inside, it had looked like a typical Friday night scene: a scattering of patrons on overstuffed sofas, chatting or reading as they sipped their drinks, as well as a contingent of student-types, staring furiously into the glow of their MacBooks. There had also been some kind of open mic event going on; near the back, a young dark-haired woman was perched on a stool, singing and strumming a ukulele. She wasn’t half-bad, and Edward noticed that she seemed to have a fair number of clear admirers among her audience, including a curly-haired guy with glasses who looked thoroughly entranced.

Edward must have been distracted enough by what was going on with the musician that he didn’t turn to face the counter until he was right in front of it, and then he found himself incapable of moving at all. 

It wasn’t just that the barista standing across from him was insanely good-looking – even though he was – or that he was sporting the most adorable pink-cheeked grin or that his ink black, deeply-parted hair was falling across his brow in a casual, yet completely devastating way.  

No, it was really the combination of all those things – along with the fact that his eyes seemed to flash with a sudden spark of curiosity as their gazes crossed – that caused Edward’s pulse to suddenly jump upwards, even as the rest of his body remained frozen into place. 

“Hey... what can I get for you?” 

Edward’s mind unfolded into a dazzling array of responses, few of which were decent enough to utter in public, much less to a complete stranger. It was impossible to know what to say, until he realized he needed to say something – and for god’s sake stop staring – before he began to look like the stupidest, or possibly the creepiest, guy on the planet. He must have managed to mumble out something reasonable, because suddenly he was reaching for his wallet and handing over his card, although he made sure to stuff a few dollars in the tip jar, too. Even the time he stood to wait for his order seemed far too brief – mostly because he got to watch the barista at work – and in what seemed like the blink of an eye he found himself back out on the sidewalk, a half-pound bag of beans in one hand and a steaming flat white in the other, his name written in jaunty capital letters across the side of the cup. He didn’t bother to wait until he got back to his car to take a sip.

It was probably the best flat white he had ever tasted. 

A post-work visit to Franklin’s soon became a regular part of Edward’s daily routine, at first just involving to-go orders and take-out cups, but eventually progressing to longer stays where he settled in with a ceramic mug on one of the couches by the window. (He had once tried going by in the morning on his way to work, and found that not only was the gorgeous barista not on shift, there was apparently an entirely new crew behind the counter, overseen by a lanky, wavy-haired supervisor, who seemed oddly fastidious about his clothes and in keeping his white knit sweater as free as possible from coffee stains.) In time, Edward got to recognize the regulars: not just the ukulele player and her number one fan, but also the couple who came in and read quietly together, and while it struck him as a bit of a May-December pairing, the two men looked to be entirely devoted to each other. 

And then there was the barista. 

Edward did his best to play it cool, and hoped that he wasn’t coming across like some kind of weirdo stalker. When he went up to order at the counter, he kept it brief; he didn’t want to pressure the guy into chatting, especially if he wasn’t interested. Besides, he reasoned, only a jerk would try to hit on someone when they were at work. It was true that the barista always had a smile for him, a mischievous little quirk of the lips that never failed to set Edward’s heart racing, but it was just as possible that he might be like that with everyone, and Edward the poor loser who couldn’t tell the difference between mutual interest and good customer service.

Even so, he could tell he was beginning to develop an addiction to this place, not just for the coffee – which, admittedly, was fantastic – but for the man who made it for him, whose face he come close to memorizing after nights of careful study, but whose name he had yet to learn. 

One evening, after ordering his regular at the counter, he went to drop off his work bag in an open seat, only to hear his name and drink being called out over the shriek of the espresso machine.

“Double cappuccino for Edward...?”

He had picked it up and was half-way back to his couch when he realized that he must have taken the wrong order, as someone else’s name was written across the side of his ceramic mug. The dark-haired barista gave him a quick glance as he approached the counter, and Edward did his best to ignore the fluttering sensation already starting to take hold in the depths of his stomach. 

“Sorry,” he said, sliding the mug and saucer back onto the counter. “I think this belongs to someone else.”

The barista grinned, two perfectly curved dimples forming just past the corners of his mouth. His blue-green eyes seemed to twinkle – although it was entirely possible that by this point Edward was simply hallucinating by allowing his own personal fantasies to crowd out reality.

“No, that’s definitely yours.”

“But...” Edward began to protest, mostly out of confusion, “that’s not my name.” He pointed to the side of the mug, where a single word was written out in a familiar all-caps script: TOM. 

“I didn’t say it was your name,” the barista replied, as he bit down playfully against his bottom lip. “Because it’s mine.”

“Oh,” was all Edward was capable of replying. He had played out this moment – or at least ones similar to it – in his head so many times, and in all those scenarios, he had always known exactly what to do and the right words to say, all of which had now fled his mind entirely.

“And here...” Tom – and honestly, Edward thought, who could imagine a more perfect name than that? – turned the mug halfway around, revealing a line of numbers written in dark ink. “That’s my number. In case you ever want to hang out some time.”

“Yeah,” Edward muttered, and then began to nod vigorously as the realization of what was happening overtook him. “Absolutely. That sounds great.” He felt a warm, unprompted smile begin to form on his lips. “We could go get coffee or something.”

Tom turned that brilliant blue-green gaze directly on him and he laughed, his teasing grin wide and bright enough to rival the mid-day sun in all its glory.  

“Anything but that.”

#the terror amc #the terror #fanfiction #edward little #thomas jopson #jopson x little #au #arcticelves #keyofmgy #joplittle

[startwithbrooklyn]

THE GREAT ND REWATCH OF 2021 / SEPTEMBER 10-11, 2019 // the car crash

-"stop acting offended" oh god sis 😰🥶

-"lucy knew hudson family secrets in the past, tiffany knew hudson family secrets in the present. both of them are dead." and you ARE a hudson family secret, hes trying like a pretty little liar to keep it 😭

-"you suspect everyone of everything, you always have since you were little" 🤔 *professor voice* "the ad hominem is a fallacy of relevance where someone rejects or criticizes another person’s view on the basis of personal characteristics, background, physical appearance, or other features irrelevant to the argument at issue.

An ad hominem is more than just an insult. It’s an insult used as if it were an argument or evidence in support of a conclusion. Verbally attacking people proves nothing about the truth or falsity of their claims" https://thebestschools.org/magazine/15-logical-fallacies-know/#adhominem

-"if you keep suspecting the people closest to you of horrific crimes you're gonna end up alone" this quote becomes fascinating in the context of our future knowledge of nancys parentage foreshadowing "i've been alone my whole life" threatening nancy with solitude comes off weird. the price of being too perfect i suppose.* wonder about ryan's take on this as a parent. strangely i think she honestly wouldn't mind being alone (on some level anyway)

-wonder what exactly makes captain tom a "legend". he was featured so prominently in the press that a serial killer engaged w him and made him out to be a hero.

-"didnt want his mom to see" where was aces mom this ep and w the poisoner? wonder why they only chose to reveal her s2. maybe to give captain tom more of a feature?

-"he was letting us down" ...or just you?

-"you two are that kinda close" its been like 2 months since they met sis i guess that is 'close' to you

-"how are you and your family?" laura says that to ace in the recording --> s2 ironyyyyy

-love how mcginnis forces the nurse to update these random strangers at the hospital lmaooo

-i love how nancy kinda thinks shes the only one doing supernatural things like shes always surprised to find people who think its legit, even hannah gruen who takes it so straight faced and seriously, nancy always respects her but gives off a little "you might be taking this a bit too seriously" vibe imo

-bess w that unintentional save on the phone to nick lmaoooo

-rawley side eyes the fuck out of nancy as she literally breezes past him to get to mcginnis 😂

-wonder how mcginnis owes tom exactly

-mcginnis looks just as reluctant to admit he cares about ace as nancy does lmfaoo

-damn she knows him really well, all he communicates to her are fucking facial expressions (and her back lmao)

-"theyre not my friends" vs "i'd try anything to save my friend" - is ace the first one she calls a friend? like, the actual f word? 👀😳

-in sharp contrast to nick, george is ironically good at mysteries bc shes always suspicious of everyone

-"okay. dead lucy-" *everyone groans* 😂

-*breezes past carson in his own house* what a mood lmao

-wonder if adam beach supported this feature or if he thought it was disrespectful/cringe

-"there are many things you and i need to discuss" 👀😳🙈👗👑🤰😰🥺🤱😔

-so do we think ted has been corrupted by simon when bess opens that door orrrr was that just ted doing 8 year old things

-love this nick/bess bonding tho

-so carson-wolf, nancy-whale, george-turtle and ace-bear. wonder if those specific animal choices have any particulr meaning. 🐢"a turtle, cool" 😂

-carson definitely has his white "do not understand but dont wanna offend" face on 😭🙈

-when i first watched this ep i could not stop saying "nifty!" the whole time 😂🤦🏼‍♀️

-carson's like "okay ive had enough of indulging this make believe crap dont tell me somethings wrong w my very clearly wrong kid"

-"this is serious" lmfaooooo at this point nancy only appeases mcginnis' beliefs bc shes desperate for answers at any cost (ie "i can just ask tiffany what happened")

-wonder how long carson has worked on this cover story for when nancy inevitably asked (the fact that he got the most curious child in the world is so fucking painful yet funny)

-nancy like 😌👉🏻👈🏻"hey mom, my friend accidentally wandered into your world for a minute, could u help find her?" lmaoo

-"are we even dating?" its been a week baby chill lmaooooo

-lisbeth + hairstroking 💙

-okay bess nails her with this clothing/fashion analysis but everyone dismisses fashion so readily as frivolous that bess gets underestimated on sight

-15 years ago + "i made you that promise when you were six" = ace is 21

-"the moment he thought his father was going to die" i'll take carson - irony for 1200 alex

-wonder who tom was chasing before his crash

-"these boots dont belong" god damn george's big sister instinct activated on sight 😭

-wait how tf did she get that bear in her hand

-"you made a difference, right?" whens the last time someone told you that

-nick and bess are the weakest fucking links w mysteries lmfaoooo

-UNPOPULAR OPINION : "you're a cop!" nancy + cops - mcginnis and rawley fuck her over/view her sexually/as competition and let her down along with karen- but she likes lisbeth who is the opposite, suspected her from the beginning due to the previous people "betraying" her (she and the chief start this show in an odd place with zero trust bc she thinks she can do it better) but lisbeth passes the test; lisbeth is willing to bargain with them and doesnt question where they got the hudsons info. now nancy does not hesitate to call lisbeth for the murder of owen (ie the hand prints) and going after josh on the roof, even tells her the blunt truth about calling the agleaca (lisbeth is NOT woke to the supernatural btw) "use me" she does want to work with police, which she is infamous for not doing previously, because of her connection to bess? because they were men? karen didnt have enough power, or didnt take her seriously? what makes lisbeth so trustworthy? or is it only nancys desire to avenge owen? but she just didnt trust the other cops to get the job done- maybe she still doesnt, but at least she trusts lisbeth for the time as an authority figure when all others have failed. all cops (karen, chief and rawley) in nancy's trust lose her respect/secrets out but Lisbeth has to prove her worth to get in. maybe its something about engaging w women. i mean women can still fail her of course (lucy kind of, kate+reveal, karen) but in terms of feminist themes, the show capitalizes on these exchanges between women for the living and the dead: ghosts/demons who are male (ie simon) are pure evil (think "mr roper" at the asylum being in particular focus when it was the whole family who died) but something like the agleaca (of human origin) is made to be a sympathetic case/highlighting how women have suffered historically and are take revenge as ghosts, able to find power in death that they did not have in life, and circling back to nancy trying to give them previously denied justice through working with other women.

-"let me do it" 👀👀could it be? empathy? a sacrifice on behalf of someone you still wont call a friend?

-"killer boots." *struts like a badass with 'im a bitch, im a boss' playing in the background*

-okay lbr. how on earth did lucys dress come off her body in the ocean? like. is that legit??

-"it's just so not how i would handle things" SIS THIS SHIT COULD ALMOST PROVE YOU TWO ARE DNA RELATED FOR HOW YOU FUCKING HANDLE THINGS like nancy? are u on crack? lmfaooo carson absolutely came for u and he absolutely should have

-"i understand that impulse, it runs in the family" make it a true daily double, alex🙃

-"you stole evidence and sent it out of state because you believed it was the right thing to do" no, you just think you know better than everybody else tbh

-wowwwwwww i cant believe lisbeth really decked her but another half of me can i fucking love lisbeth

and lastly

-oh ted. 💔🥺

#brooklyn's ND primer #nancy drew cw #the Great Rewatch of 2021 #you best start believing in ghost stories miss drew - you're in one

[mythicalmodernity-blog]

OK so since @tom-hiddleston-god-of-mischief and other people showed interest, I bumped up my schedule and so... Here is my ‘Craig is totally gay and was in love with the MC in college’ post! So, first off- this is Craig Cahn and the thing that made me first think that he was gay instead of bi. (And fyi I am a Bi myself, so this is more headcanoning and exploring character and not trying to stomp on other headcanons, jsyk.)

Yeah the very first time we met. But look- divorces do happen, and do happen in a chill manner. But... let us note a couple things. One, the divorce literally only happened ‘last year’. Which could mean anywhere from (assuming this is the spring due to college letters and school timetables) 12+ to only 3-ish months ago depending on what counts as ‘last year’. You only get a SECOND of him being uncomfortable while breaking the news before he is on even ground and is like ‘yeah it’s old news and everything is in perfect order now’. AND THE DIVORCE HAPPENED EITHER WHILE SMASHLEY WAS PREGNANT OR JUST HAD RIVER. Now, this could be a him lying, except... it’s never really brought up again as a thing? Like, we deal with Mat’s feelings for his dead wife, Joseph’s failing marriage, and etc but despite how recent it was we are lead to believe their divorce was perfectly amicable despite the timing.  (Now placing a cut here because this gets long and has more pics.)

My theory is that it’s because Craig, who emphasizes the Romance in bromance, was open to Smashley when he started going ‘wait... I think... I’m not attracted to women???? At all???’, but that is a lot to unpack and Craig is the overachiever who is desperate to be great and responsible on all levels, so I imagine it was a long process of discussions and figuring stuff out and recognizing their marriage was failing, and maybe a couple final sexy times to confirm whether or not he really WAS attracted to women, because if Smashley isn’t just as much of a bro as her name implies I Will Be Disappointed (and I mean, not just doing it for Craig, but also sex is fun and he’s sexy and she loves the dude who is her bro and husband). River was the result of that near the tail end of their marriage. That also explains the age gap between River and the twins, if she was the result of years of sex just never happening, and then it suddenly WAS happening because Confusion and Confirming if the Marriage is Really Dead And I’m Gay. Not to mention Ok she goes by Smashley (while in her late 30′s/early 40′s), was the kind of cool person who probably hung out with the MC who has the possibility of being a trans gay man- so she’s probably not bigoted and to a degree Gets It, and so really when the marriage ended it was fine. Now, we’re gonna put a bookmark into this and come back to it near the end for a finishing move, but now we are gonna lay down the ‘...and Craig was in love with you in college’ bit.

This is how we get re-intro’ed to Craig. Doooooeees anyone remember the ‘so I was kinda plain back when we knew each other in school but now we are meeting again years later and I got hot and suddenly you’re noticing me and I had a crush on you years ago and I’m suddenly realizing I never really got over it holy shit’ cliche? From Craig’s perspective, this is what this is. Look at how happy he is by you complimenting how he looks. And before you go ‘well... it’s a compliment!’, think about all the compliments he gets in his first date from other people and how he reacts to THAT. Yeah. And it should be noted that, out of all the Bachelors, he is the only one who asks you to go out with him first. To ‘catch up on old times’, yeah, but it’s a break from the narrative with the others. Joseph invites you to the neighborhood grill event and possible counseling, but other than that? Craig is literally the exception here. And not only does he go ‘Hey you should come jogging with me!’, he then FOLLOWS UP BY BADGERING YOU WITH MULTIPLE TEXTS LITERALLY THE NEXT MORNING AFTER YOU MOVED HOUSES. THE BLESSED THIRST OF THIS MAN.

And what does he do the first time you meet up? He tells a story from your college days. But the funny thing is, the first thing he recalls about it is not some epic stunt they did together but... how you vowed to make him feel better. This is what Craig remembers about you. Not so much the epic bro who did epic things with him- nah, we know from some other stories you/the MC was often on the sidelines watching and worrying at times. But he remembers that you CARED and did something utterly ridiculous for him to make him feel better. And the way he tells it, it’s not ‘hahaha remember that time you stole a fish for me in the most stupid fashion possible’ (which is how the MC remembers it). Nah, he tells it like it’s the Best Story Ever, a Tribute to Your Bro-hood And Why You Are Awesome. And the thing is, I’m not sure if Craig has had someone be there for him like that for a long time. Don’t get me wrong, my headcanon is that Smashley was awesome, but she was busy too. And a chunk of Craig’s romance revolves around needing someone looking out for his emotional wellbeing, which you always had his back on. And then, the first official date happens.

Look. In most other dates you are only get a kiss on the final date. Some have some hand holding by the second, but you go straight to flirting and forehead kissing on the first here, leading to a very Unimpressed River. (I love her.) And LOOK HOW MANY POINTS YOU SCORE WITH THAT. Like. LOOK AT ALL THOSE EGGPLANTS, SWEAT, AND HEARTS? THAT IS A LOT. And that is AFTER he turns down a bunch of moms, after he talks about being ‘too busy’ to find someone. But the MOMENT you hint at him giving you a kiss, even ‘teasingly’ he does and is all. over. it. First date after roughly 17-ish years of not seeing each other. Oh, and earlier in the date, when you go ‘I’m sure someone will come along for you and fit right in?’ That was another big scorer. Because he hopes you mean yourself. And earlier on he kept on apologizing for not being able to be alone with you, and actively takes you back to the empty baseball field where he knows literally NO ONE will be. That’s not a ‘maybe we should go to a coffee shop and be by ourselves’, that’s... setting up a atmosphere man. That’s a hopeful move. That’s a ‘I just want it to be the two of us, even if it’s just for a second’.

This leads us to the second date, where you display you are a good dad to his baby and are not a dick about inconveniences. (Important in Craig’s route, man.) But here I want to bring up Why I Think He’s Gay. Because even when the Waitress is not hitting on him before this, he kinda just... wants it to be the two of you again. He kinda ignores her a bit. And then when she interrupts you/the MC and hits on him... man he gets super sad/uncomfortable really fast. And he gets uncomfortable ALL THE TIME when women hit on him. Now- many of these women are nice, motherly types. The Waitress was hilarious with River before hitting on him.  But he shows less than 0 interest. It legit bothers him. Because he just recently is slowly accepting he’s gay, then you just happen to come back into his life after he moved back and the divorce was finalized (though I wonder if his reasons for moving back to Maple Bay didn’t happen to include a vague hope or two there), and he can’t get a moment with you without a woman hitting on him and making him feel weird and kinda guilty and heeeey doesn’t dealing with internalized homophobia suck ass. And then, the third date. Which is aaalllll about you two being Alone, with a capital A. Now, here I want to briefly touch on my bookmarked Smashley bit, because she is totally cool with taking the kids in for a couple days (which, good since she is their mom), when if all of the above is a correct interpretation she KNOWS they are gonna bang. Like. I’m just saying. (Let us take a moment to picture Smashley talking Craig through things and being like ‘Bro, you can do it. You can make this move. Just first swimming opportunity? Strip, your butt will call to him.’) And ok even if this DIDN’T happen, if Craig was going on a overnight vacation with a guy when I knew he was attracted to men, and this is a friend he gushes about and kinda adores? Yeah she knew. And was cool with it. But my final piece of evidence your honor in the ‘Craig was in love with you back in the day’ is this lil’ series here.

HE. MAKES. THE. FIRST. MOVE. AND PROGRESSES IT HELLA FAST. You move closer? Oh he turns over towards you immediately with his head close enough to breath on your neck. You turn over? His eyes are opening and his hand goes to your waist. You both go in for the kiss, but immediately after he confesses to you. And here’s the thing... this happens whether or not you end up together. And while the other bachelors have emotional moments leading up to the confession/kiss which might overrule their ‘Oh I don’t actually want to end up with this guy’ brain, this is a chill, quiet moment. A chill quiet moment which IMMEDIATELY leads to sex if you interpret the final lines of the night that way. The only 2 other bachelors you are implied to immediately have sexy times with on the 3rd date is Joseph because of high emotions, hopes, and a failing marriage and cheating, and Mat who is on a high of playing for the first time in forever and realizing you enable him to do it and WOW. oH, And Hugo I think? Need to replay but once again- he just went to a wrestling show, met his hero, slammed his horrible student in glorious fashion, and wrestled you. I’m just saying, emotions high in every case... except Craig’s. So, on the ‘bad end’, why would Craig do all this if it turns out he ‘didn’t mean to lead you on’? Maybe it’s because it’s something he’s been thinking about off and on since college, and then it was ALL HAPPENING, and then... it happened, and it wasn’t like he thought, and he realized you weren’t what he thought anymore. In the bad end, he still gets some kind of closure on his feelings. But in the good end, let’s think about this. ‘Feelings I can’t deny anymore’. How long has he had those feelings? How long has he DENIED them? If in the very first date, after not seeing you for 17 years, he was desperate to spend alone time with you and leaped at the chance to give you a forehead kiss.... I say it’s been a long ass time he’s had those feelings. And that is my ‘Craig Cahn is hella gay and was in love with you in College’ post. Thanks for reading.

#Craig Cahn #Ddadds #DDADDS spoilers #dream daddy spoilers #dream daddy

[austinpanda]

Dad Letter 090620

6 September, 2020

Dear Dad--

Well, my job search has slowed to a crawl, but it does proceed. What’s slowing me down right now is the stupid Covid-19. Our country just doesn’t have its shit together when it comes to this pandemic, and it’s proving costly. How many employers out there will care enough, or be financially capable of making sure I’m safe? I’m not going to catch a virus I could have avoided catching, even if Tom Hanks and The Rock both caught it. (They both recovered from it too; that’s good!)

One of my favorite directors is making a new movie! I’m very excited about it. The director is David Fincher, and he made stuff like Seven, Zodiac, The Social Network, and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. His next movie looks like it’s going to be in black and white, about Herman Mankiewicz, who wrote Citizen Kane. (The movie is called Mank.) I don’t expect many people to be as excited about this as I am, but I love David Fincher’s work, and I love when a modern director is good enough to pull off a black and white movie, and I love Citizen Kane. This one really pumps my nads, as it were!

The past week has been shockingly uneventful, even for a week happening during the time of plague. Mostly we’ve done our usual domestic shit, but with an extra helping of new kitten, and also, it’s very fall-like here already! We’ve spotted a few trees that are starting to turn yellow and orange, and it’s very chilly in the mornings. I love Maine! Today Zach got a 12-pack of sodas from the store and it says “GO PATS” on it. Obviously, I don’t give even the littlest fuck about the New England Patriots, but I like how geography can affect the soda advertising one gets exposed to. One of our rock and roll radio stations here claims to play, “all the wicked awesome hits you love.” Using “wicked” in that manner is, I’m coming to understand, a very northern-half-of-the-country thing to do. Self-doubt seems big up here, too. That’s reassuring.

So our two cats are getting along better. Three days ago, they had their first tussle. They’d attempted tussling before, but it was always one-sided: little Horta would leap into the air, spread-eagle, and land on Sam, with the intention of biting Sam’s face off. Sam would be annoyed by this, maybe growl or hiss, and walk away. NOW, however, Sam is making more use of his pimp-slappin’ paw, and they’re locking together in a playful embrace where they each do bunny kicks to disembowel the other, and try to bite the other’s face. There’s no growling or hissing; Sam is the attacker from time to time, instead of being the victim every time, and they seem to just love the shit out of it. They’ll play fight for a half hour, and then they’ll both crash, because they wore themselves out, and sleep for six hours.

There’s a church near me that has a Sunday service that they apparently do live on Facebook and I’m considering watching it one Sunday just to see what it’s like. As I’ve transitioned from young adulthood, to adulthood, to the age when I start getting tons of mail from the AARP, I’ve come to realize there’s a lot about church that I think I’d enjoy. I think it’d be fun to have an excuse to wear something nice, not too nice, but something with no sports logos, and go do something with the community, particularly if I didn’t have to do any of the things I’m humorously unskilled at, like drinking beer, or dancing. (I’m perfectly fine dancing if there’s no one else around, by the way.) 

So OBVIOUSLY the only possible fly in the ointment when it comes to my church plan is the whole atheism thing. I still believe in capital-G God about as much as I believe in Santa Claus. I’m not a jerk about it; I wouldn’t presume to question anyone else’s faith, because I don’t assume my beliefs will necessarily work for anyone but me. Those are the answers to life’s questions that I found, but they’ll probably find different answers, answers that work for them, and that’s fine. That’s how shit is supposed to be. The question is: Will they accept someone into their flock who wants to be there, is genuinely kind, or at least trying to be, who does the right thing, or at least tries to, but has no belief in God, and no desire to find one? I’m not even 100% sure what flavor of church it is. It’s just a pretty little New England church here in Old Town with a pretty little white spire on top. 

One thing that gives me courage, whenever I do stuff that’s likely to scare the shit out of someone, or get their blood up, is the honesty of my motives. I’m not there to whiz on anyone’s beliefs. They have something to say, and I want to devote at least one Sunday morning to hear it. Plus, I certainly wouldn’t be dishonest about who I am, or what I’m doing. (That’s the only scary part. They might not appreciate window-shoppers, especially ones as fluent in the language of sin as I.) But I’m not worried. If I’m attending a virtual service online, it seems the chances that they’ll discover my wicked secrets and attempt to run me out of town with torches and pitchforks will be greatly diminished. I can’t imagine how they pass a collection plate in a virtual service, but I assume they direct you to a place where you can donate online. So, if I do that, I’ll definitely let you know how it goes. I predict the following headline: “Local Sinner Burned At Stake For Presumptuous Church Attendance.” 

I’ll bring this letter to a close, and wish you a happy early Labor Day! I’m still in my Halloween movie marathon, and today’s movie is going to be Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter, from 1974, a Hammer horror film. It begins with the protagonist freeing a beautiful woman from a pillory, who then tags along with him and his hunchback assistant. Later, he asks if she’s going to stay (with him) or go, and she says, “I’ll stay, if you’ll have me.” And this is the only movie I’ve ever seen where the main character actually narrows his eyes and says, “Oh, I’ll HAVE you.” Then they go off and hunt vampires. More next week. All my love to you both! 

[restingbritishface]

whoops all of them

1: My name? 

Adam Gabriel :) I’m not a fan of my last name though... can I have yours?

2: Do I have any nicknames? Not derivatives of my name, but you call me a lot of cute ones 

3: Zodiac sign? Aries/Taurus

4: Video game I play to chill, not to win?Skyrim lol5: Book/series I reread? Rangers Apprentice or Percy Jackson 6: Aliens or ghosts? Ghosts7: Writer I trust enough to read whatever they write? You 8: Favourite radio station? Whatever actually plays a good song?9: Favourite flavour of anything? Chocolate? Or salty10: The word that I use all the time to describe something great? Awesome or great lol11: Favourite song? Currently I kissed a boy by Jupither12: The question you ask new friends to get to know them better? I just sort of ask random questions until we have something in common lol13: Favourite word? FUCK14: The last person who hurt me, did I forgive them? Forgiving them isn’t beneficial for me and they don’t think they need it, so no.15: Last song I listened to? I kissed a boy - jupither16: TV show I always recommend? Probably Brooklyn 99 lol I haven’t seen it but I’m behind it 100%17: Pirates or ninjas? Ninja pirates!18: Movie I watch when I'm feeling down? Wonder Woman or Moana19: Song that I always start my shuffle with/wake-up song/always-on-a-loop song? My alarm always plays either i kissed a boy or from the dining table 20: Favourite video games? Probably skyrim, I don’t play too many video games21: What am I most afraid of? Losing people I love22: A good quality of mine? I’m good at giving advice23: A bad quality of mine? Probably my pickiness with food lol. That, or the fact that I always feel like I have to earn good things before I can have them24: Cats or dogs? Kitties!25: Actor/actress you trust enough to watch whatever they're in? Mmmm I don’t really have one26: Favourite season? Autumn!27: Am I in a relationship? Hell yeah!28: Something I miss? Serotonin... best thing from my childhood rip29: My best friend? You!30: Eye colour? Blue?31: Hair colour? currently blondish red32: Someone I love? You!33: Someone I trust? You!34: Someone I always think about? You!35: Am I excited about anything? You!36: My current obsession? Gay shit37: Favourite TV shows as a child? Oooh hmm I liked a lot of Disney Channel shows

38: Do I have someone of the opposite sex that I can tell everything to? I don’t care enough about people’s genitals to know who the ~opposite sex~ is, plus intersex people exist so39: Am I superstitious? A little? Not really40: What do I think about most? Youuuuu41: Do I have any strange phobias? I have fear foods, does that count42: Do I prefer to be in front of the camera or behind it? I live for the spotlight43: Favourite hobbies? Dancing! Singing! Getting overwhelmed with crippling depression!44: Last book I read? Simon and the Homo Sapiens Agenda45: Last film I watched? The Greatest Showman46: Do I play any instruments? Piano and guitar47: Favourite animal? Kitties or penguins!48: Top 5 blog on Tumblr that I follow? In no particular order:       @misstheroses        @charmingimmortality          @beaniebaneenie             @hclliish​               @slenderlof

49: Superpower I wish I could have? Flying would be fucking great50: How do I destress? I love to take long baths or talk to you51: Do I like confrontation? No, but I do like to communicate, so I guess that could be seen as confrontation52: When do I feel most at peace? When I feel like I pass and I’m around people who accept me53: What makes me smile? You, kitties, babies, genuine compliments54: Do I sleep with the lights on or off? Off ofc what am I a heathen?55: Play any sports? Dance is a sport so yes

56: What is my song of the week? oooh I like so many...57: Favourite drink? Fresh orange juice probably58: When did I last send a handwritten letter to somebody? Earlier this month to youuuu59: Afraid of heights? Nope60: Pet peeve? When people order a drink and don’t tell me the fuckin size like thanks for ordering a three shot 8 pump nonfat vanilla latte with no whip, carol, now tell me what size you want before i charge you for the large

61: What was the last concert I went to see? Oh god it was so long ago i don’t even remember62: Am I vegetarian/vegan/pescatarian? I’m mostly vegetarian except when my family makes me eat meat63: What occupation did I want to do when I was younger? I wanted to be a movie star lol64: Have I ever had a friend turn enemy? Yeah haha65: What fictional universe would I like to be a part of? Oooh idk maybe middle earth?

66: Something I worry about? Accidentally pushing people away

67: Scared of the dark? nope

68: Who are my best friends? I consider @misstheroses @charmingimmortality @slenderlof and @beaniebaneenie to be some of my best friends 

69: What do I admire most about others? Their capacity for kindness even in a world that destroys it70: Can I sing? Well enough?71: Something I wish I could do? Move to london right now72: If I won the lottery, what would I do? a shit load of random acts of kindness, pay off my student loans, move to london and buy a flat, then open a queer cafe 73: Have I ever skipped school? I’ve skipped classes, but never an entire school day74: Favourite place on the planet? Wherever you are75: Where do I want to live? London76: Do I have any pets? Three cats and a doggo77: What is my current desktop picture? Wonder woman78: Early bird or night owl? Night owl for sure79: Sunsets or sunrise? Sunsets80: Can I drive? Yep81: Story behind my last kiss? Never been kissed lol82: Earphones or headphones? Earphones83: Have I ever had braces? Yep84: Story behind one of my scars? I scar super easily lol so i have a lot but when I was ~1 or so I got a cyst by my eye removed85: Favourite genre of music? Gay music86: Who is my hero? my boyfriend (it you)87: Favourite comic book character? Oooh Wonder Woman88: What makes me really angry? Assholes who purposefully fuck shit up89: Kindle or real book? I love real books90: Favourite sporty activity? Dancing91: What is one thing that isn’t taught in schools that should be? Non eurocentric history and queer inclusive sex ed92: What was my favourite subject at school? Probably English93: Siblings? I’ve got five94: What was the last thing I bought? Makeup95: How tall am I? 5′796: Can I cook? Yep it’s a lot of fun97: Can I bake? Yes yes yes98: 3 things I love? Babies, binders, and boys99: 3 things I hate? Cisheteronormativity, capitalism, and cunts100: Do I have more girl friends or boy friends? I have friend friends101: Who do I get on with better, girls or boys? Most of my friends don’t identify as only male or female so let’s just say cis boys are hard af to get on with102: Where was I born? In a hospital...?103: Sexual orientation? Gay af 104: Where do I currently live? Too fucking far away from you105: Last person I texted? You 106: Last time I cried? A little while ago? 107: Guilty pleasure? No such thing as guilty pleasures, you shouldn’t feel guilty about self-love108: Favourite Youtuber? I don’t really have one109: A photo of myself. Lmao nah110: Do I like selfies? I guess?111: Favourite game app? I don’t really have one?112: My relationship with my parents? As fucked up as capitalism haha113: Favourite accents? Oh my god I just love british accents they all sound like Tom Hiddleston oh my god so sexy114: A place I have not been but wish to visit? London115: Favourite number? 420 lmao116: Can I juggle? No haha117: Am I religious? nope118: Do I like space? yeah119: Do I like the deep ocean? scary cool120: Am I much of a daredevil? yeah tbh i can be121: Am I allergic to anything? penicillin lol and some other meds122: Can I curl my tongue? yep123: Can I wiggle my ears? no124: Do I like clowns? oh hell no125: The Beatles or Elvis? no thanks126: My current project? i’m working on nothing really currently lol127: Am I a bad loser? I can be tbh128: Do I admit when I wrong? i hate doing it but yeah129: Forest or beach? foresttttttt130: Favourite piece of advice? communicate!131: Am I a good liar? i can be if i have to but i’m terrible at lying to friends132: Hogwarts house / Divergent faction / Hunger Games district? Fairly hufflepuff, dauntless, and idk lol133: Do I talk to myself? not too much?134: Am I very social? if i know everyone i’d be hanging out with, then yes135: Do I like gossip? not really136: Do I keep a journal/diary? nope137: Have I ever hopelessly failed a test? i’ve had breakdowns for getting a b on a test so thank fuck no138: Do I believe in second chances? in certain circumstances139: If I found a wallet full of cash on the ground, what would I do? probably see if there’s any sort of id in there, but then hang around for a while to see if anyone comes looking for it. if they don’t, then i’d keep it140: Do I believe people are capable of change? to a certain extent141: Have I ever been underweight? lmao142: Am I ticklish? literally do not tickle me ever i will hurt you143: Have I ever been in a submarine? nope i’d die from claustrophobia144: Have I ever been on a plane? yep145: In a film about my life, who would I cast as myself, friends and family? oh i have no idea haha146: Have I ever been overweight? lmao147: Do I have any piercings? yeah but they closed up148: Which fictional character do I wish was real? Wonder woman149: Do I have any tattoos? not yet150: What is the best decision I have made in life so far? dating you151: Do I believe in Karma? sort of yeah152: Do I wear glasses or contacts? yep!153: What was my first car? the one i have now 154: Do I want children? i’d adopt, yeah155: Who is the most intelligent person I know? idek there’s so many types of intelligence156: My most embarrassing memory? omfg i don’t even know157: What makes me nostalgic? the smell of hairspray158: Have I ever pulled an all-nighter? yes it was not fun159: Which do I value more in others, brains or beauty? kindness160: What colour mostly dominates my wardrobe? dark colours, esp grey and red161: Have I ever had a paranormal experience? i heard a girl singing from inside my sister’s room but no one was in there, so there’s that162: What do I hate most about myself? oh boy where do I start... lol I get really dysphoric 163: What do I love most about myself? my eyes and my optimism164: Do I like adventure? hell yeah!165: Do I believe in fate? not really166: Favourite animal? kitties or penguins167: Have I ever been on radio? yeah actually i was when I was little168: Have I ever been on TV? not yet!169: How old am I? almost 20170: One of my favourite quotes? “You’re stronger than you believe”171: Do I hold grudges? yeah sometimes172: Do I trust easily? i like to think I dont’, but i trust way too easily haha173: Have I learnt from my mistakes? some of them174: Best gift I’ve ever received? love175: Do I dream? yep176: Have I ever had a night terror? yeahhhh177: Do I remember my dreams, and what is one that comes to mind? cuddling with my boyfriend in a hotel178: An experience that has made me stronger? i hate to say negative experiences made me stronger tbh i don’t know179: If I were immortal, what would I do? idk haha180: Do I like shopping? yeah but i hate spending money lmao181: If I could get away with a crime, what would I choose to do? rob a bank so i can help people182: What does “family” mean to me? people who completely love and accept you and support you183: What is my spirit animal? that’s cultural appropriation of native american culture184: How do I want to be remembered? as a kind person185: If I could master one skill, what would I choose? dance probably186: What is my greatest failure?187: What is my greatest achievement?188: Love or money? love189: Love or career? love190: If I could time travel, where and when would I want to go? i’d probably go to the past sometime191: What makes me the happiest? being myself192: What is “home” to me? wherever you are193: What motivates me?194: If I could choose my last words, what would they be? “go my son, be the biggest slut you can be”195: Would I ever want to encounter aliens? maybe if they’re nice196: A movie that scared me as a child? oooh hmm maybe terminator?197: Something I hated as a child that I like now? the gays lol198: Zombies or vampires? neither199: Live in the city or suburbs? city for sure200: Dragons or wizards? dragons201: A nightmare that has stayed with me? someone very close to me dying202: How do I define love? a deep connection to someone and a desire to support them and accept them 203: Do I judge a book by its cover? yeah i do that a lot204: Have I ever had my heart broken? yeah but i got over it real quick205: Do I like my handwriting? sort of206: Sweet or savoury? both207: Worst job I’ve had? customer service during christmas 208: Do I collect anything? memories209: Item of clothing or jewellery you’ll never see me without? probably my binder210: What is on my bucket list? travel the world, get married, be gay211: How do I handle anger? i don’t handle it well haha 212: Was I named after anyone? my birth name, yes, my real name, no213: Do I use sarcasm a lot? oh hell no I never do that214: What TV character am I most like? idk someone tell me lol215: What is the weirdest talent I have? i’m not sure?216: Favourite fictional character? Wonder Woman and any queer person in any book ever

[yowetremmle]

oh my god not another lwymmd thinkpiece

I haven’t even posted on this account in MONTHS, but (fun fact!) I used to be a pop music writer and watching all the discourse around Look What You Made Me Do has me amused, so HERE I AM.

I think most analyses  of the song and video completely miss the point, which is that Swift isn’t actually playing the victim. She portrays herself as a zombie clawing her way out of a grave, then burying her old self in it, but the old self is smiling and perfectly okay with being in there. Plus, “[she] rose up from the dead, [she does] it all the time,” right? Right. Okay. This is the theme for most of the video- she’s not actually positioned as the victim in most of the depicted situations. This is important, because it provides context for the times when she is framed as the victim- specifically in the car crash scene. 

Let’s get something straight here- cheetah-print Taylor in the car is not Katy Perry. She is also not Kim Kardashian. In fact, she goes out of her way to show that she is, in fact, Taylor herself- first by holding up a Grammy (Katy and Kim don’t have Grammys, so why would they hold one?), and second by hanging the number 13 around the cat’s neck. 13 is Taylor’s lucky number, it’s a number she identifies with herself and with good luck- why would she plaster it on someone else? If you slow the video down right before the crash, you can see the initials TS on the front of the car- why would someone else be driving Taylor’s car? Furthermore, why would there be so many Taylors and just one non-Taylor in the final scene of the video? I’ll admit that I don’t fully understand the reciepts/editing comment at the end in light of that character being Taylor herself, but the idea that she’s playing a character other than herself in that costume doesn’t make sense. Much like how Taylor’s played with duality in the past- for example, by playing both the “cheer captain” and the girl “on the bleachers” in You Belong with Me, she’s playing with her own image, not someone else’s.

This scene is about the danger of the paparazzi, and their power. The fact that she holds up her Grammy the first time she says “Look what you made me do,” while the paparazzi snaps a million pictures is kind of the key to the whole video- they did this. They gave her the massive press coverage that allowed her to win a zillion awards and rise to the top of the food chain. The “what” that Taylor “does” is become massively successful. She’s not playing the victim, she’s winning the game. Later, when Taylor walks away from the accident unscathed, they’re so busy watching her walk away that they forget about the danger beside them, which literally blows up in their faces.

With that in mind, I want to draw a parallel between the line “Look what you made me do,” and The Weeknd’s “Look what you’ve done” in Starboy, another song in which the singer points a sarcastic finger at the media for giving them a platform only to complain that the singer got popular. Similar to LWYMMD, Starboy’s video opens with a current version of the singer murdering their past self, then destroying stuff (including things related to their own fame), only to drive off in a ridiculously expensive car with a jungle cat riding shotgun. Now combine that with the fact that some people see Taylor’s crash scene as an homage to Madonna’s “What It Feels Like For a Girl” video, a song about how men and women are held to different standards... go ahead. Draw your own conclusions. I’m not here to think for you.

I know I’m going out of order here, but now I want to jump back to the bathtub scene. Again, Swift is not being Kim Kardashian, nor do I think she’s mocking Kim (and anyone who says she’s mocking Kim’s Paris robbery- you do realize what a heavy accusation that is, right?). The hair and makeup makes it really obvious she’s playing her Blank Space character- which, as she’s explained in interviews, is a character she invented based on the media’s portrayal of her maneating ways, and which she’s always called a joke, saying that her fans understand that it’s just a parody. It’s almost like she wanted a litmus test to see who’s really paying attention- here’s this super well-known fictional character I’ve not only played in the past, but who I’ve point-blank explained was fictional and is representative of a media portrayal of who I am and not my real self. Let’s see who did their homework.

And this is the point where I as the author of this essay jump in and say I’m not exactly a Taylor megafan. I was into country music when she first debuted- I remember the first time they played Tim McGraw (her song, not the person Tim McGraw) on my local country radio station, actually- but I’ve never paid a whole lot of attention to her, and I’ve never owned any of her music or merchandise. I don’t say any of this to distance myself from her- I just want to point out that I know all this stuff about her without actually trying very hard. When I saw the big number 13 on her hand in the final scene, I Googled “Taylor Swift 13″ and found out very quickly what it meant. Her whole professional life is out there and easy to research, so anyone who’s written about her and misses major stuff like this... why are you writing about her, exactly? What purpose does it serve when you write what you don’t know?

Ahem. Back to the main attraction.

So people keep accusing the video of ripping of Beyonce, which I almost don’t want to address because it seems pretty groundless to me? If anything, the initial teaser images were maybe supposed to give the illusion of ripping of Beyonce (playing with the idea that Taylor somehow “stole something” from Beyonce by winning that infamous VMA over her), but the actual performance isn’t very Lemonade-like at all. I don’t know- maybe it’s just because I’ve been into K-Pop for so long, but the image of a bunch of dancers in a V-formation dancing in heels and crop tops just doesn’t really belong to Beyonce in my mind. To me, it seemed like another Madonna reference. As far as the bat in the heist scene? I mean it might be a Beyonce reference, but it seems a bit far-fetched- it could probably just as easily be argued as a Harley Quinn reference? I don’t think it actually is a Harley Quinn reference, I just want to point out that bats as weapons are, you know, everywhere. Other than the fact that she’s using a bat as a weapon, I don’t see anything else in this scene that calls back to Lemonade at all. (I believe the scene in the bridge where she stands on a pile of past Taylors is also a Madonna reference, with a capital T standing in for the crosses Madonna has hung herself on and and danced in front of, etc. I feel like this is also a reference to an old painting of Jesus hanging on a cross with demons or people or something crawling up the bottom of it, but for the life of me I can’t remember who the painter is or what it’s called and Google isn’t helping but I can’t be the only one who sees this, someone help me!!!  Ahem.)

People also seem to read this scene as a dig at Tom Hiddleston- just like they took the Nils Sjöberg gravestone at the beginning to be a dig at Calvin Harris. Look, I mean- it’s possible. It’s all possible. I’ve seen some convincing posts about how the positions of the necklaces on the floor beside the bathtub and an empty ring box in the heist scene are also references to her relationship with Harris, and I’m not going to say there are no direct references to her famous rivalries hidden in the video. I mean, the dollar in the bathtub is VERY CLEARLY a reference to the dollar she won in her recent legal battle. But, it still seems to me that the gravestone and shirt have more to do with her own image than with the guys she references. Taylor reportedly wrote “This Is What You Came For” under a pseudonym to see if she could write a hit without having her name attached to it- and yes, while having Calvin Harris and Rhianna on the track definitely tipped the odds in her favor, she’s still proven her point to herself and she’s done hiding behind a fake name.

The idea that she’s be “calling out” Tom Hiddleston is a bit funny- as far as anyone knows, that was an amicable breakup, right? She’s not mocking him, she’s mocking the assumptions people made about their relationship, which reached peak ridiculousness when he wore the “I <3 TS” shirt. Now, while I didn’t draw this conclusion myself (believe it or not, I don’t pay enough attention to Taylor’s love life to know how many famous exes she has), some people have mentioned that the eight dancers might be a reference to Taylor’s eight publicly known exes. That, combined with the “I <3 Taylor” shirt as a symbol of peak ridiculousness in relationship speculation, may be a dig at the media for caring so much about her love life.

I’m not a Taylor apologist- like I said before, I’m the most casual of fans. I could be all kinds of wrong about this. That said, people have this weird thing where they think everything Taylor does is a ploy to both make herself the center of attention while putting everyone else at fault for her problems. I think LWYMMD is Taylor turning the camera around on the media and reminding them that if they’re so sick of hearing about her narrative, they could put an end to it any time they want- they just won’t. 

#taylor swift #look what you made me do #i came back to tumblr for THIS??? #i miss music writing but i also don't #it's 99% shouting into a void of nothingness and haters #and 1% people actually getting anything positive out of your work