#did this instead of my programming homework :|

[harlowhockeystick]

LOVESTRUCK, WENT STRAIGHT TO MY HEAD ⎯ S. CROSBY

y/n just wants the best for her son, she thinks the program rule of no freshmen players on varsity is stupid. she just did what any mother would do...right?

coach!sidney crosby x teacher!single mom!reader

warnings: angst, smut (fingering, handjob, sex on a table), somewhat of an inappropriate relationship, single parent content, light talk of divorce, lowkey based off of "slut!" by taylor swift

word count: 4,244

a/n: look at that....i do still know how to write

The bitterness of the coffee wasn’t doing it’s job. On her third cup and it’s not even ten in the morning, Y/N waits for the next period of students to walk through her door. Taking in one of the few moments of silence she has, she refreshes the page on the sports page on the school website, itching to see her son’s name. 

Carter had tryouts with the hockey team last week, he had been talking about it since the beginning of the month. He was training every day to make varsity; in leagues ever since he was ten years old every single coach and spectator could not brag enough on how much talent he had. Y/N was pressured to send him across the country, even out of the country, to go to the top hockey camps but as a single mother she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to send her baby off to some strangers for a few months, and she couldn't afford to move away from family either. 

But her heart dropped as she refreshed the page, pulled up this season's roster, and saw her son’s name and number on the junior varsity roster instead of varsity. She didn’t understand it, she was told by the coaches herself that he was the best kid on the ice that day. Why didn’t he make varsity? 

Her questions were interrupted by students flooding into the classroom for the start of the next period. She pulled herself out of her thoughts to then teach this class period. Reluctantly though. 

-

The final bell rang and that meant she was done for the day. Saying goodbye to her students Y/N started to gather papers and put them in the “to grade” folder to take home with her before tidying up some areas of the room. She anticipated her son’s arrival. Ever since moving up to high school he always stopped by her room at the end of the day to talk about school and help her carry things to her car. 

“I didn’t make it.” Carter said as a greeting when he walked in the empty room. His face was defeated, his tall slender frame was slumped over in sadness and his eyes welling with tears. Out of all people Y/N knew and saw how hard he worked to make varsity his freshman year. He skated over fifty laps a day, worked on shots in the garage until way past dusk, he also started to lift more weights. 

“Oh baby, c’mere,” Y/N pulled her much taller son in for a hug. There he broke and rested into his mother's arms like a little kid again. He softly cried before pulling away. 

“I don’t get it mom, they told me i’d make it for sure, why would he tell me-” “Don’t worry about it son, I will talk to the coach first thing in the morning. I promise. But for now you have to play the cards you were dealt,” Y/N consoled her son in the way moms know how. Gathering her bags she gave the heaviest one to Carter to help carry out the building. They continued chatting on the way to her car, talking about school and homework he had for the week. Carter was a special kid, he deeply cared about his grade and education. He remembers promising his mom when he was younger that if he ever got to play hockey in college that he would get his degree and not go to the draft early. 

Carter was a momma’s boy through and through. His dad lived an hour away so he spent the weekends there twice a month, but he’s at his mom’s house the rest of the time. Carter is also protective of his mom too. He never told her this, but he’s beat in a couple boys’ faces because they made some lewd comments about her. He’s respectful of her, more than any other man on earth ever has been. Y/N is very proud of how she’s raised her son. 

“Okay son, go to practice. Have a positive attitude, don’t do anything stupid okay? I know you’re frustrated but just go into practice and do you, maybe they got you mixed up with someone else. But-” she saw his facial expressions change and get tense, she knew that he was still angry inside, “hey, don’t get mad at them. Wait until I talk and then you and I will figure something out.”

They walked in opposite directions, Carter to the athletic building and Y/N back to the school for one more item in her classroom. Hustling as best she can so she can get home, she runs into the person she didn’t want to speak to until in the morning. Coach Crosby. 

She felt her body coil and tense up in anger at just the sight. She was supposed to wait until morning, but her tongue got the best of her. 

“Coach! Hey, can I ask you a quick question?” she pulls him to the side, into an empty classroom where the teacher had left for the day. 

“What’s up?” Sidney asked, sitting down on one of the wooden desks. He was wearing black joggers, a tight pullover with a school cap on. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how the material of his clothing clung to his toned body. He had been out of the professional league for at least two years, but he still kept up the physical shape of his body, and it was obvious by the way his pants were stretching at the seams on his thighs. 

“I really don’t want to be that parent, but can you tell me why Carter didn’t make varsity?” Sidney cocks his head to the side. He’s only been on sight three months and he’s already dealing with this. 

“Well, it’s my understanding that freshmen must be on the JV team, no matter how good they are. That rule was put in place before I got here.” He explained while crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles making his pullover look incredibly small on his frame. “He’s a good kid though, he’ll make great improvements this year and I'll look forward to having him on varsity next year.” Sidney said, trying to end the conversation and smooth things over.

“But…you’re the new coach. This is your program now, not someone else’s.” Y/N couldn’t really understand what he was getting at. Did he not see the potential in her son that everyone seemed to say? Did he not see the great player, the great athlete that Carter was? Maybe it was just her being a mother, and so obviously her child is the best compared to other kids. But she swore she didn’t want to be like those parents. She remembers being a kid in youth sports herself and hated parents who thought their kid should be player of the week every week. In her mind, she needed to earn player of the week because of her work ethic, not because her parents were board members. 

“Right but I'm not trying to ruffle any feathers my first year. This is barely my program, I need to establish relationships before I change things here,” Y/N takes a step closer to Sidney, her hands folded in front of her. 

“But you’re Sidney Crosby, who can say no to you?” God she feels horrible for doing this, she feels like…like some junior league mom whose husband has nothing between his ears. But she thinks, if she can just rile him up for a minute, startle him, then he’ll change his mind and put Carter on varsity. That’s her end goal, get her son feeling better. If that means pretending to be a horny college student again, so be it. “I mean really, they had to give you this job cause they trust you. So obviously you can do what you want, like putting my son on your varsity team.”

He sighs, looking down at his shoes. He knows what she’s doing…and he can’t believe it’s sort of working. He hasn’t had a woman flirt with him in heaven knows how long. He doesn’t even know how to respond to such a thing anymore. His life for the past almost twenty years has been nothing but hockey. Sidney’s family has been asking him for a long time when he is going to settle down with someone, but nobody ever scratched that itch quite like hockey did. But now? That he’s got a woman in front of him, a gorgeous one at that, who’s buttering him up? Maybe he’ll give in…just to see what it feels like. 

“Your son is a hell of a player, Y/N. He really could go far,” His words got heavier as she got closer, he could smell her perfume, he could feel her breath, he could see her chest move up and down with every huff she took- “so put him on your team, Coach.” she put her hand on his chest softly and she sighed feeling his stern muscles. “C’mon, what’s it gonna take? Dinner and a show?” 

His eyes, dark and blown, looked into hers and if he remembers what the term eye fucking means then that’s exactly what they were doing. His breaths became short but heavy as she left a heavy hand on his chest. She rubbed her thumb over his cheek, trying her best to work her charm that she used to have. She hopes she’s still got it. 

He thinks, thinks, and thinks. This is a bad decision. 

“My place, six thirty tomorrow evening. Give me your best sales pitch, and we’ll see about the show.” 

Sidney stands up and for a brief second his nose bumps hers, an innocent touch but it makes him take a deep breath in to calm himself down. He exits the empty class room and takes long strides to get to practice, glancing at his watch he’s already a few minutes behind. 

-

She’s eternally grateful that Carter is with his dad this weekend. How could she explain to him that she’s not really going on a date…but she’s going to his coach's house with plans to seduce him..but again it’s not a date. Of course, she’d have to leave out the seducing part. She put on her best dress that she had, it was pretty simple but it hugged her figure nicely. She made sure to spritz some extra perfume on as well. 

The drive to Sidney’s house is silent, it’s her having fake conversations in her head about what to say or what not to say. Debating on if her seduction speech was still on date or if it’s too cheesy now. She suddenly feels like she lives in the lowest tax bracket possible when entering his neighborhood; she's never seen so many fake lawns before. She’s actually never been on this side of town much, except to look at christmas lights when Carter was younger. Now that he’s older he doesn’t care for that stuff anymore. 

“Nice place you’ve got,” she said walking into his entry way. To her surprise Sidney dressed up a little bit, wearing a button up with a nice pair of slacks, the top two buttons undone for visual purposes of course. He takes her coat and her purse, hanging it up by the door. “What’s on the menu?” 

“Well, I figured I'd go simple with just spaghetti and toast, with dessert to follow if that’s okay.” Sidney went into his pantry and pulled out a bottle of red wine. “This okay?” He holds the bottle in the air and she nods her head, sitting at his kitchen bar watching him pour a glass. She takes a glance at the label and she’s taken back. On her teacher salary she definitely can’t afford that brand.

Maybe she’s in over her head here- she didn’t think about any of this stuff. Suddenly she’s this woman who doesn’t have much to her name, sitting in a millionaire’s kitchen drinking wine that costs well over two hundred dollars- but damn if it doesn’t taste good. 

They make small talk before heading into the dining room where he sets dinner onto the table for her, such a gentleman. Continuing the semi dull conversation she thanks him for making a meal for her, joking that she’s never had a man make dinner for her. Only half true, her dad growing up would make dinners for her family. But when she married Carter’s dad, she was the chef in the family. Not that she was complaining, it was just odd for her to be on the reverse side for the first time in a while. 

“I am sorry about that idiotic rule, Y/N. Carter can easily be a varsity player.” Sidney broke the minute silence after finishing off his second glass of wine that night. She huffs, finishing her plate and scooting it away from her on the table. Was she really about to do this?

“Is there anything I can do, sidney? C’mon my boy’s in shambles, he’s thinking that he’s not as good as everyone makes him out to be,” Y/N reaches her hand out to rest on his softly. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Y/N hoped he knew what she was implying and that she didn’t have to say it out loud. 

And he did. 

He understood every word she said and the words that were left unsaid. He knew what she was implying and he knew what she was getting at. But Sidney hated that he was willing to do what she wanted. Y/N was leaning forward on the table, getting close enough to Sidney where he could smell her perfume and her lotion mixed together, he could see a couple small freckles up close as he couldn’t see them from a bit further away. 

There were no words exchanged between them, his eyes kept drifting from her tinted lips to her lustful eyes, back and forth a couple times before resting his hand on her cheek and pressing his lips against hers gently. Immediately he felt a rush of arousal- it’s just a kiss, really? He silently asked himself. He hadn’t gotten this aroused in a while, a long while. 

Both parties leaned into the kiss, wanting and aching for more. They tasted wine on each other and felt each other’s temperature begin to rise. Sidney got out of his chair, lips still connected to hers, and got closer. She stood up, one hand cupping his chin and the other resting on his chest, and she leaned against the dining table. She hadn’t made out with someone in years, she hopes she’s doing it right. 

She gets pushed onto the table just by the force of his body so now she’s sitting on the wooden table, Sidney standing in between her legs with both of his hands cupping her face. He doesn’t care if he seems desperate or if he seems needy, or if this is totally wrong and against almost all of the words he signed in his contract, he can’t seem to get enough of her. Sidney feels her play with the buttons of his shirt and how she begins to pull the shirt up and out of his dress pants. It was easy since he wasn’t wearing a belt. 

He didn’t even know that she completely unbuttoned his shirt until he felt her hands roam all over his naked chest, her hands slowly raking up and down his toned muscles. He takes a breath and scans her body. Her skin is hot to the touch, her eyes are completely blown now and her lips are parted. “How do I get this off you?” he asked, taking a fist of the hem of her dress.

“There's a tie in the back,” she huffed out, not able to take her hands off his body. Plus, she wants him to take it off of her. 

“You tied this yourself?” he asked in shock, surprised at how she tied such a perfect bow on her back with such thin strings. 

“I’ve been tying, zipping, buttoning my dresses myself for the past twelve years now, safe to say I got pretty good at it.” God- has she been alone for the past twelve years? Nobody to love on, kiss on, touch on this wonderful body of hers? Sidney takes in a sharp breath when he pulls the dress off of her and he gives her body a quick scan over. Wearing a strapless bra that she’s almost spilling out of, she has on silk leopard print panties that he can’t help but notice a significant damp spot on. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, hands roaming over her soft skin. “Don’t make fun of me, it’s been a long time since I've hooked up with someone.” because that’s just what this is, a hookup. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“I haven’t since I got divorced, so it's the same here.” she hooks her leg around his pulling him closer. He pressed his lips against hers again this time most softly. His hand goes down to play with the hem of her panties, “you sure about this?” 

“Very sure, don’t mess with a pissed off mama sidney.” she pulls him down with her as she lays down on the table. He kisses down her body, she arches her back and lets him take her bra off. Tossing it onto the floor Sidney wraps his lips around one of her hardened nipples. She lets out a heavenly sounding moan at the action.

It’s been so long she could cum just from Sidney doing this for a couple minutes longer. One hand slips down over her clothed cunt, rubbing her sensitive and wet area. She arches her body into his, already she’s lost in a great euphoric high that she can’t even mumble words. All that’s coming out is moans and gasps. 

He removes his mouth and Sidney stands up, she watches up on her elbows as he takes his pants off and removes his boxers. She bites her lip at the size - the sight - of his hardened dick in his hand. She reaches out for it herself, “you’ll give me what I want, and I promise you won’t regret it.” he thought for a moment too long, she began to doubt herself but he spoke up, “deal.”

She licks her hand before taking a grip on his cock. Slowly she starts stroking up and down, keeping harsh eye contact with sidney. She gives him a nice squeeze and a twist of her hand which makes him throw his head back in pleasure. He can only do so much with his hand, it’s nice to have someone else for a change. Y/N scoots closer to him on the table, with one of his hands he works his hand over one of her breasts softly massaging it. She leans into his touch and continues to work her hands over his hard cock. 

He moves his hand from her breast down and slips it into her soaked panties. At first his fingers were a little cold but they quickly warmed up after being immersed in her sex. He circles around her clit a couple times, getting familiar with the female body again. He explores for a minute or two, his middle finger teasing her hole. The more he teases her the harder her grip gets on his cock. He pulls his hand out of her panties, they’ve never broken eye contact this whole time and he sucks everything off of his hand. God that was hot. 

Sidney removes her hand from his cock fearing if she kept going he would cum all over her hand and that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He’s panting heavy now, his body forming sweat on his forehead. He pushes her down onto the table with a palm on her chest lining his cock up with her entrance, “wait do I need any-”

She chuckles, “that ship sailed a while ago, just fuck me like you mean it coach.” 

With her permission she slides in and she lets out a long, loud, moan as he does it. He wants to hear that on repeat for the rest of his life, he swears. Sidney puts both hands on her hips, keeping her body steady as he rocks in and out of her, his hips meeting her every time. 

Sidney allows to feel himself in her warm, wet walls. He throws his head back in pleasure and she shuts her eyes tight. Her hands come up to her breasts to add to the pleasure, fingers pinching both of her nipples as she feels his huge cock pump in and out of her small hole. He feels like he’s three feet deep inside of her, he feels lost in how good she feels. His head grows foggy each time he squeezes her. 

Sidney hits the spongy spot in her tight cunt that made her gasp out in pleasure, she sang his name like a chant over and over which made him fuck her harder and harder. She warned him about her orgasm and he did the same, begging her to cum with him. A few more pumps of his cock he spilled his heavy load inside of her and she moaned loudly like a queen when he did. He pulled his cock out of her, watching his load spill out with it. 

Maybe it was the post orgasm haze she was in, maybe it was the lovestruck feeling she had the minute they began making out, but minutes later she’s standing between him and the cold shower wall. His forehead pressed against hers. His fingers knuckle deep in her cunt and a hand wrapped around her throat as hot water rained down on either of them, her cunt squeezing his thick fingers while she couldn’t even say anything but his name. That’s exactly what he wanted. 

The hot shower water kept her eyes shut but she knew that he was gazing at her. He was in awe of her facial expressions, how she bit her lip through a smile with every jerk he made with his hand, when she furrowed her eyebrows when she was on the edge of cumming, and how she cocked her head to the side while he kissed around her neck silently asking for more. 

He took his hand away from her pussy, licking the honey off his fingers. He stayed that close to her though knowing her legs were probably jello and she wasn’t able to stand for at least a minute or two. 

She took a deep breath, “got what you wanted?” she asked in a joking tone, moving her hand up and down his chest in the hot steamy shower. He chuckled, his hands never leaving her body. He palmed her breasts, he seemed to have a thing for those she contemplated, heavy lustful eyes staring into hers. 

“How many more you got in you?” he asked, spreading her legs with his thigh.

“I can give you as much as you want.” Y/N answered, her hands slowly roaming down lower and lower on his chest and stomach. 

“Then no, I didn’t get what I want yet.”

-

She woke up in Sidney’s bed the next morning with messy hair and sore muscles. Looking over on the nightstand the clock read 8:02 AM. She was glad that it was a Saturday and she was able to sleep in. She saw that Sidney was still asleep, he laid on his stomach with his head facing the other way. Looking over his back, studying the freckles, the faded scars. Y/N wants to stay in this moment for as long as she can. 

She hates to admit but she really fell for Sidney. Not because of how skilled he was in bed, or because he could do wicked things with his hands, but she shared a few heartfelt conversations with him before tryouts even began. 

He cared for the kids at school, the kids he taught and the kids he coached. He had a heart for the coming generation. He wanted them to have someone in their corner, and some kids don’t have that at home and he wants to be that. She got lovestruck in the past few months, sure she never planned on sleeping with him, she felt young again with how big of a crush she had. It went straight to her head, it all moved so fast. 

God if her mother were still here she could just hear the word “slut!” come out of her mouth if her mom found out what happened. But she wouldn’t care. She enjoyed it, and she was sure Sidney enjoyed it too. 

But still, she can’t help but think to herself what did I just do?

Sidney turns his head and sees that she’s also awake. Raising up he sees the time, 8:10. He doesn’t even care that he missed his morning workout session an hour late. He puts his arm around her and pulls her closer to him, tucking his head in her neck. With dry lips Sidney placed a tender lingering kiss on her hot skin.

It might be worth it for once, she thinks. 

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[wolfjackle-creates]

Answer My Call Chapter 3 part 1

Happy WIP Wednesday! Answer My Call won by all one one vote last week. I was a bit nervous since I'm starting a new POV and I wasn't sure if I wanted to write from Tucker's POV or Tim's, but I settled on Tucker because it would let me dive into the action a bit sooner.

Story Summary: Danny's missing. The GIW have taken over Amity. Jazz, Tucker, and Sam are under constant surveillance and have been scattered across the country.

When Jazz's messages to Danny go to the wrong number, Red Hood decides to step in.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.6k

-----

Tucker was alone in his dorm room working on homework. His desk was in the corner in a way that meant his computer screen faced the wall. It meant he had barely three feet of space to sit in, but after everything that had happened, he couldn’t let anyone sneak up behind him to spy on his work.

His roommate hated him for it because it took up so much extra space in their small room, but he was never around anyway, so Tucker didn’t really care what he thought.

He jumped when a loud knocking sounded on his door.

“Coming!” he called out as he took the time to save everything he had open and close all programs. He slammed it shut and squeezed out of his chair, half running to the door. “Sorry ‘bout the wait. Tyler isn’t here right now, I think he said something about spending time with Liz?”

Then he actually looked at the people at his door. The one was a broad boy wearing a spiked leather jacket over jeans. The other had a bulky sweatshirt on and a baseball cap. His face was shadowed as he was looking down at a tablet, typing away.

The bigger one was grinning at him. “You’re Tucker, right? We’re here to see you, not Tyler.”

Tucker blinked at them. “Why?” he asked, confused. People had given up on being friendly with him weeks ago.

The boy with the tablet huffed. “We’re here to invite you to our club.”

Tucker looked between them in confusion. “What?”

Tablet guy still didn’t look up. “We heard you like ghosts. We’re the officers of the student horror club and wanted to offer you a spot. Mind letting us in so we can tell you about it?”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not interested in joining any clubs right now. Thanks, but no thanks.” He went to shut the door, but leather jacket stuck out his foot, keeping it from shutting.

“Just hear us out. We think you’d be perfect for it as an expert on ghosts.”

Tucker clenched his fists to hide their shaking. What did they know? Who sent them? He glared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tablet boy raised his head slightly, revealing a domino mask covering his eyes. He grinned, more a baring of teeth than anything. In a tone just loud enough to be heard, he said, “One of my associates is currently in Boston. I decided to come here instead.” In a normal ton he added, “Let me tell you about the horror club.”

Tucker’s mouth fell open. How? Boston? What had Jazz done? His eyes flitted down the hallway. But they were blocking his path and he wouldn’t be able to get past them. Dumbly, he stepped back, opening the door further.

Leather jacket grinned at him. “Thanks, dude,” he said.

Behind them, Tucker shut the door. His hand fell to his pocket where a lipstick laser was hidden.

Tablet boy was already pulling the blinds down over the window. When done, he handed his tablet to Tucker. It was open to a message that said: “We’re on your side. Turn off your devices. I’m going to set off a EMP and signal jammer.”

Tucker nodded and handed the tablet back.

Leather Jacket cleared his throat. “So, with the horror club, we meet once a week…”

Tucker only half-listened to his spiel. He used his phone to send a coded warning to Dani before turning it off. Then he went through his belongings and did the same to every laptop, PDA, tablet, and gaming system. If he turned on a ghostly recording device hidden inside an action figure, however, no one would know.

As soon as he was done, he nodded to Tablet Guy who pulled out a black cube from his backpack and pressed a button. The he pulled out another device and turned that on as well.

“That’s enough, Kon,” he said, pulling off his cap.

Leather Jacket—Kon?—grinned. “What, you don’t want to hear about my favorite horror movie, Rob?”

“I introduced you to your favorite horror movie. I know it as well as you do.”

Kon just laughed. Then he unzipped his jacket, revealing a blue outfit with Superman’s “S” on it.

“Holy shit,” breathed Tucker. What had Jazz done?

Tablet guy followed, pulling off his cap and removing his hoodie, revealing a red costume with a gold bird medallion in the center of his chest. “Nice to meet you, Tucker. I’m Red Robin, and this is Superboy. I’ve got some questions for you.”

Tucker’s eyes jumped between the two. “Holy shit,” he repeated.

Superboy laughed. “Didn’t expect to see us?”

Tucker could only shake his head. “You said Boston?” he asked.

“Red Hood is with Jazz as we speak. She asked for our help in rescuing Danny. We agreed.”

Tucker tensed. He was lying. They’d talked about reaching out to the Justice League dozens of times, but had decided they couldn’t be trusted. Jazz wouldn’t have gone to them. He reached into his pocked and pulled out the lipstick.

Both heroes tensed, though their wariness turned to confusion when they saw he only had a small lipstick tube.

Good, let them underestimate him. “Jazz wouldn’t go to the Justice League. We agreed it wasn’t safe. Why are you really here?”

Red Robin grinned at him and held up his hands. “All right, you’re right. I simplified for time’s sake. Jazz has been sending messages to a phone number she thought belonged to her brother Danny. But really, they were going to Red Hood. He’d been getting them for ages now, but was…out of town. As soon as he got back, he began looking into Amity and the GIW. When he couldn’t find anything, he brought me in on the case. When that still didn’t work, we called Jazz back. She decided to take a chance on us since Red Hood doesn’t work with the government. And, honestly, I’ve done quite a bit outside the law, too, even if I’m not as public about it.”

Tucker’s grip on the lipstick tightened and he stuck his nail under the cap, ready to flick it off at a moment’s notice. “Prove it.”

Red Robin pulled up his tablet again and tapped a few places. An audio recording started to play.

Tucker stopped breathing when he recognized Jazz’s voice. He closed his eyes and just listened. When he heard her demand a picture and the pose she asked for, he huffed out a laugh.

The recording ended and he slid the lipstick back into his pocket and wiped at his eyes.

“Okay, I believe you. What’s the plan?”

“Right now we want to make sure you, Jazz, and Sam are safe and find out as much information as we can.”

Tucker nodded. “I’m not as closely watched as Jazz. The school keeps close track of us students and the Guys in White rely on their records. Though they do have an agent stationed in admin who checks up on me at least once a week. I don’t keep my most sensitive belongings in this dorm as it’s searched every other week.”

Red Robin grinned at him. It sent shivers down Tucker’s back. “Does that mean your real stuff is kept somewhere else?”

Tucker smirked. “Of course. Cover yourselves back up; we need to go.”

Red Robin did something with his jammer and EMP and then began talking excitedly about the horror club again. “So glad you’ve agreed to come to our next meeting, Tucker! We’ve been trying to build the club.”

Superboy winked at him. “What do you say we get to know each other a bit before then? Want to come play video games with us?”

Tucker bit his lip and looked towards his desk and laptop as if he were undecided. “I should get back to my homework…”

“Oh, come on, it’ll still be there tomorrow,” said Red Robin. “Let’s go.” He looked back down at his tablet and headed towards the door, grabbing Tucker’s hand as he did.

Tucker looked over his shoulder one last time, but let himself be pulled along. They kept conversation light as they exited the building. Red Robin was an expert at angling his baseball cap to hide his masked face from every camera they passed.

Would he be willing to teach Tucker how to do that?

Once outside, Tucker took the lead. One of the first things he’d done after he’d been enrolled was memorize blueprints for every building on campus. On top of that, he’d made himself a good dozen different IDs. Three of those were copies of other students’. Those students he kept close track of to make sure their records didn’t show them in two places at once. Other ones belonged to various faculty and staff members. But his pride and joy was the one that belonged to Gabriel Carter. Gabriel was a janitor at the Academy and so could access any building. Gabriel also didn’t exist.

It was Gabriel’s ID that got them access to the basement level of one of the buildings. Hidden deep in the building was a set of rooms currently not in use. And in one of those rooms was a closet.

Tucker had built the locks on the door himself and, even having all the keys and codes, it took five minutes to get in.

He smirked when Red Robin himself let out a gasp of surprise at his set up.

-----

Hope you enjoyed!

Now, how did Kon get involved? Easy. Tim used the zeta tube from the cave to Titans Tower. Kon happened to be there. When Tim said he was working a case with Red Hood, the guy who tried to kill him once, Kon insisted on coming along. I debated having other members of the Young Justice, but I'm actually trying to keep character counts down for this one, so...

Check out the subscription post if you want a notification when I update!

#dpxdc #answer my call #wolf writes #tucker has learned a healthy dose of paranoia #his roommate tyler hates him #spends most of his time outside the dorm because of it #tucker enjoys basically having a single #he isn't able to relate to regular teens anymore #too used to fighting supernatural beings #and being persecuted by the government #and he doesnt want to be here #so he doesnt try to make friends #and discourages anyone from getting close to him

[itshype]

Navigate any storm, with nothing but the stars to guide you (DC x DP)

Hello! My other dc x dp notfic blew up overnight so here’s another one (this is not a part 2 but here is the link to Kingmaker, Kingbreaker, Crowntaker, Realmshaker where Danny is an important political ghost figure)

So, there are only a few Astronaut!Danny fics and most of them don’t quite land with me. They’re really good, but a lot of them have Danny getting his job at NASA because of his ghost powers. And like, nothing about Danny’s arc/s ever hints to me that he would show up to a government agency and give them a full rundown of his abilities – even for his dream job.

So instead of a protection-obsessed Danny, his Obsession develops as wanting to go to space. So, he’ll still fight the ghosts because he’s not a psycho with no regard for human life, but these fights aren’t a priority to him the same way in canon. Instead, Danny fights a lot dirtier, goes to 10 a lot faster – instead of it being a rarely used ability, his go-to is the Ghostly Wail in round one of a fight because it’ll get everything over nice and quick. He needs great grades to even enter the space program let alone astronaut training.

Because of this, Danny isn’t getting involved in problems just because ghosts are involved.

Did he turn the portal on for the first time? Yes.

Is it his responsibility because his parents refuse to add security or even just turn it off when not in use? Absolutely not!

There’ll definitely be a short-term dip in Danny’s grades but he plays up the “I was in a lab accident” thing to his school (actually more like he just didn’t cover it up) and can get extra credit or whatever (in Australia they’d just ignore the assignments you missed/failed and make your average from everything else but Teen Wolf fics often go on about extra credit so lets whack that in for Cultural Authenticity). But after that, Danny only gets involved if it’s getting really dangerous out there because he can’t skip this test/miss this homework etc.

Because of this, Phantom would probably be a lot more popular. Instead of running around and chasing ghosts and causing damage, he shows up like a Deus ex Machina when people are terrified, and lives are at risk. Downside is probably that Amity calls him Invis-o-bill for a while longer – he still wants to go by Phantom but correcting people isn’t his priority.

Also, his obsession makes his crush for Paulina turn off because I never found that a fun storyline. Also, when he gets in trouble for Dash’s bad behaviour he fights back against Dash and/or the teachers because “There’s a new documentary about theoretical White Holes tonight and our DVR gained sentience and ran off, so I have to watch it live.”

Downside of all these great changes? Jazz. In canon it takes ages for Danny to find out she saw his death-event. But in this, Danny’s personality changes are a lot more evident and drastic. I still don’t think the parents would suspect anything because my opinion of them is so far down it popped out of the other side of the Earth and spun off into the cosmos.

Jazz wants to be a psychologist. ‘Drastic changes in behaviour and personality’ are the early warning signs for hundreds of things from bipolar disorder, to drugs, to schizophrenia, sexual assault or joining a gang. She would be less likely to blow this off I think than in canon where his personality changes can be explained a lot more easily with “moody teen being taught by teachers who are on the bully’s side.” She figures out what’s happening a lot earlier. She doesn’t love that her baby brother is a ghostly hero, but his grades are great and it’s pretty hard to say “No you should let the town be destroyed and get a part-time job instead.”

So then, when the GIW come to town to try and set up, everyone is like “oh yeah, sure, go for it, except for Phantom, he’s our little meow meow.”

The GIW try to attack him anyway and the responding retaliation from Casper high students and most adults is so violent and extreme that the GIW mark the town as being completely 100% possessed with the hopes that they’ll get carte blanche to attack anyone they want in Amity (mostly because they’re petty manchildren).

However, declaring open season on an entire town is a bit much and all this ecto-nonsense is pretty new so the fear hasn’t 100% set into the administration. So instead, the President contacts the Justice League who call in the Justice League Dark (the magic department of the Justice League).

They’re probably freaked out but then Oracle finds footage of the ‘Possession attack on government agents’ from a security camera or something and Constantine is immediately like “None of those people are possessed, hope that helps, I have to go I’m late for a booty call with Beelzebub.”

MEANWHILE!!! Jazz has started coming to fights when she can (dressed like a real Fenton ghosthunter – Dad is so proud) and loudly announcing their insecurities because we know that psychic damage can actually cause ghosts to physically change (i.e. when Cujo is threatened he goes Big, when Spectra is satiated she appears more human, Amorpho’s whole thing). Within weeks, the less-evil ghosts want to make deals. I mean skulker and walker probably won’t want to concede, but the others get day-passes from the ghost zone like:

Ember can throw a concert and hypnotise everyone attending or streaming online but she has to let them go when the show is over.

Maybe Kitty can possess Jazz for a few hours for a date, or Tucker can build her a robot body assuming ghosts that aren’t Technus, master of all technology can possess electronics if they want to.

Eventually, Danny goes “Why is coming here so important, why do you go to so much effort and constraints to leave the Ghost Zone?”

And that’s when he finds out that the Ghost Zone is a ruthless, desolate place that’s awful and dangerous.

So, he calls the Justice League (Tucker gets him the number and he dials right into the Watchtower PA). And he essentially goes:

“I am Phantom, bridge between worlds. The ghosts of Amity Park were interfering with my Ghostly Dream and I have recently discovered that this is because the Infinite Realms is a sucky place to be. Can you fix it?”

The Justice League are thinking ‘wow two birds one stone and we get free amazing publicity!’ Then they talk to Constantine for two-point-five seconds, and he is all “It’s infinite, you morons, you can’t patch it up one villain at a time. Anyways I have to go sell my soul to a sixth party to prevent a magical demon war, peace out.”

So then, the Justice League are in Amity and tell Phantom that they’re very sorry but what he asked isn’t really feasible. And immediately they figure out that something is slightly off.

Now I stand by my headcanon that the Justice League wouldn’t immediately figure out Danny’s secret because there’s no real reason to think a ghost would have a secret identity.  But just speaking to any of the halfas you can tell they’re different. Less obsessive, don’t go violent as fast etc.

Now, just because they don’t realise Danny is 50% human, does not mean they did no research. They looked him up and came across historical records made during his time travel jaunts and immediately reach the fairly reasonable conclusion that he’s special, more powerful and more human because he’s just that old. So they ask him why the ghost zone is like that and if it could be changed or fixed – even just a small portion of it for use by less aggressive ghosts.

Danny admits he has no idea, but they could all go find out because it was Sunday. None of the Justice League know why the day is relevant but through the combined powers of Sam, Tucker and Jazz, they manage to get his parents onto the other side of town while they enter the ghost zone.

They quickly find Ghost Writer, because he’s an under-utilised character. He explains that long, long ago the ghost zone was a much brighter place with a golden sunrise sky and an overflowing font of ectoplasm under the rule of the powerful King of the Infinite Realms – Inferna the Bright. But he was brutally overtaken by the disgusting Pariah Dark. Inferna never recovered and the entire zone changed, becoming dark and harsh like her master whose obsession was subjugation. Pariah was sealed away, but by a large group instead of in single combat. So technically he was still at the helm of the entire dimension.

If only there was another ghost, brave and powerful enough to defeat Pariah Dark. One strong enough to bear the helm of the Crown of Fire. One with an obsession that would transform the ghost realm into a place of wonder once more.

If only…

(TBC??)

(IN CASE IT WASN’T OBVIOUS, each King makes one artifact: Inferna was obsessed with the Sun but expressed it healthily, Pariah Dark was obsessed with winning and beating other people and expressed it terribly)

Also, fyi Inferna doesn’t just sound like Inferno but is also Latin for the Underworld, so the implication is that they were king for FOREVER before Pariah.

#aaaaaa #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #justice league #not fic #mine #the flash #barry allen #batman #tucker foley #jazz fenton #SERVICE ANIMAL CUJO #ghost writer #kitty #johnny 13 #john constantine #the JLA #space obsessed Danny #ember McLain #astronaut Danny Fenton

[ros3ybabe]

Daily Check-in: April 3rd, 2024 🎀

Today was a weird day. My anxiety was off the walls, and I think it's because that time of the month decided to occur, which is throwing me way off. Birth control has made that not happen for 2 years so, I was definitely caught off guard. (omg I hope that's not tmi, it's just something I gotta deal with again as a woman)

🩷 What I Accomplished Today:

Reviewed Spanish Busuu Chapters 6 and 7

Reviewed all flashcards once fully through

listened to one podcast episode in spanish

completed question set about renal nutrition from my dietitian mentor

met with an advisor regarding adding a 2nd major in finance

met with my advisor and got some good advice before adding the 2nd major

emailed the director of the Dietetic program at my college to schedule a meeting

wrote chemistry notes (need to finish and catch up with this week - I've missed both lectures)

completed a chemistry homework assignment

planned tasks for tomorrow

met with dietitian mentor

scrubbed my toilet clean

🩷 Good Things That Happened:

got an extension on my chem lab report

got confirmation of taking a make up quiz for my psyc class

took an hour nap

got excused from lecture and lab today (going to make it up tomorrow)

met most of my goal tasks

my meetings with the advisors went really well

got to talk to my dad per usual, and he was supportive of the 2nd major stuff

my boyfriend was supportive of my 2nd major stuff

met a super cute blue heeler puppy that was so cute and friendly, tho she did cut my thumb slightly but it's okay cause she's just a puppy

got 7k steps in today

🩷 What Could've Been Better:

could've managed my anxiety a bit better

could've been more productive instead of doing my "productive procrastination"

need to stop trying to do academic things while sitting in bed

need to stop trying to stay awake when I randomly wake up at 4am

need to drink more water, for sure

need to work on better nutrition

Today was a weird day. But that's okay. Weird days do happen. I know now what made it weird, and I'll adapt.

Til next time lovelies 🩷

#pink pilates girl #pink pilates princess #self development #wonyoungism #it girl #mental health #physical health #language study #study tips #college student #uni student aesthetic #student life #university student #studyblr #spanish language #language learning #language studyblr #spanish langblr #langblr #uni student #student #college studyblr #college studyspo #studying #that girl energy #that girl #becoming that girl #it girl energy #pink academia #pink aesthetic

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for deleting my classmate's online output in retaliation for previous grievances, & WIBTA if I kept this up?

📚🧪🗑️

(↑ so I know Tumblr didn't toss it into the void)

Take your time reading this before the poll. Trust me, everything matters.

I (16NB) am a student that migrated from the regular 10th grade sections into the top section of my school's STEM program via passing the admission test. I'm part of the very few that made it from the regular sections into such a prestigious senior high strand (which had only 3 sections and ±30 students per section), and the rest of my classmates and batchmates come from specialized programs that they were in since 7th grade. Naturally, they don't know me, and wouldn't think much of me due to my previously "mediocre" background. But really, I was only able to join the STEM strand this year because of financial difficulties during the lockdowns, so my parents could only afford to put me through the regular sections from grades 8 to 10.

Amongst my specialized program classmates was this girl, who I will call V for anonymity. V (16F) struck me as aloof and reserved at first. Our class seating arrangement dictated that I sit near the window farthest from the door, and V near the room exit, so we were 3 columns and one aisle apart, and had no one-on-one interactions so far due to this.

The entire school year in my school is split into two semesters, two quarters each semester, so four quarters. In Q1, I tried signing up for the strand-exclusive club that was practically a boost for report card grades, the STEM club, and we used printed forms. I filled in my form, and V collected the forms from everyone who signed up to give to the STEM club leader. We waited a week for confirmation of our acceptance (which was our forms being given back with a red stamp and the leader's signature) and everyone except me got them back. I asked V if she received my form. "No, you didn't give me any," she had said. I was denied another form by the leader, who accused me of lying about me having already given the form.

I didn't ask for a rivalry, but I had no choice but to be wary.

In Q2, our Earth Science professor gave us a lab activity and grouped us by random. I ended up in a group with V in it. I actively participated in the activity by helping prepare the materials and answering the guide questions on the activity sheet given by our professor, but I was stumped when it came to a question that required some research. Our professor allowed us to assign someone by group to take the activity sheet home and submit a picture instead when we ran out of time, so I went to my group's chat and asked them to wait for me as I finished the answer for that particular question. It took me an hour or so before I finally got the answer. I gave the answer to my groupmates, but V said that they had already turned it in, confirmed by my other groupmates. I asked them "Why did you hurry the submission? We had plenty of time left to refine and finalize the answers." They didn't reply, and they didn't answer me when I brought it up the next day in person. I went to my professor and explained the situation, even providing screenshots of my group messages as proof, but he didn't believe me. However, he did let me write down my answer to the question I was doing research for.

By then, I suspected V had convinced them to submit the activity sheet without me, and going back to Q1, also got rid of my membership form when she had the opportunity. I think she also might have lied to the professor that I wasn't even participating in the lab activity, and damn if he was gullible enough to fall for it.

Come Q3, this current quarter. Our professor in Literature gave us homework to be submitted in Google Drive. I did mine, converted it into the required file format, and had uploaded it to the Drive folder when I came across V's output. I figured it was time she got what was coming when she ruined my reputation to the teaching staff, so I deleted it. I secured my own folder so nobody but I can edit/delete it, just in case. The next day after that, V had nothing for submission and let's just say took some hits when the professor scolded her, and I have plans to get rid of more of her future outputs since we're relying on online tools for turning in homework.

On one hand, I feel a bit bad for doing that, and in addition I'm also scared I may be caught/traced. But on the other, I felt that it was only fair that she experienced even a fraction of humiliation that I faced during Q1 and Q2.

I dunno, Tumblr, AITA for that, and WIBTA for continuing with my plans?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[qierxing]

Persevere, my Player!

A/N: You can tell i've read too many isekais manhuas/webcomics lol. What can I say? I’m a sucker for the trope of “knows your destiny, but destiny changes drastically by several different decisions”. When I have more time I’ll do some one-shots off this AU.

Yan!Twst Isekai AU

Pt.1 | Pt.2 Be Still, My Heart! | Pt.3 Oh, Woe is me...

Imagine being sent into Twisted Wonderland. You know the story and the plot. And so, you decide you're going to do what you can to stop any problems before they become an issue.

Easier said than done. It feels like the world is actively working against you when you try to hold back Grim from causing havoc, to you being forced to solve problems that, really, you were never equipped to handle, and of course, the emotional damage that comes after. Almost as if it’s programmed that way. 

It’s a relief that you do know what to do, but it doesn’t take away the fear that threatens to tear out of your throat when Riddle overblots. You can only pray that Grimm, Ace and Deuce and whatever powers there are in this world can snap him out of it. A dreadful thought flashes in your mind as Riddle hurdles a tree that just barely misses you–can you die in this world?

You try not to dwell on it, resolving to try to comfort a shaken Riddle. You tell him that he doesn’t have to be defined by the rules that shaped his childhood, that he can do what he would like to do without being under his mother’s thumb. You’d like to think you’re helping, but that suddenly becomes your biggest regret when he demands your presence at the dorm constantly. Trey turns a blind eye when you plead with him to convince Riddle to let you be–instead handing you some tarts and tea and telling you to sit down with a chipper tone. Cater doesn’t help either; he just slings an arm around you and tells you to smile for both of your selfies. Surely Ace and Deuce will do something? No, even they start whining as soon as you try to say you have homework to do, stuff to tidy at Ramshackle, anything to just get you out of the suffocating grip they have on you.

So when the Magishift tournament begins, you’re more than relieved when Heartslabyul is also swept up in preparations, making it easier to escape Riddle’s overbearing demands to have tea with him everyday. Of course, Crowley’s asking for you to look after the culprit causing all the mayhem with the injuries, but you know where to go. 

Well, you try to see if you can do something by talking to Ruggie but at this point he’s too closed off, sneering at your naivety and leaving you in the dust, panting and discouraged. Jack is no better and he has no reason to trust you, but it seems like he knows you’re just trying to do your best. So when you completely forget that you meet Leona by stepping on his tail, it’s not Ruggie distracting him, but rather Jack flying to your rescue. Quite frankly, it’s a little frightening. Was he supposed to be in this area in the game? The story continues as usual and the plan is a success–but it tugs on your heartstrings to see Ruggie so betrayed. So you don’t think much about giving him a sandwich and some bandages for his wounds, but you don’t see how his eyes glint as they follow after your figure towards a fallen lion. Leona was an asshole, but you understood his anger, how it feels to have all your efforts looked at as if they weren’t worth anything. So while he did threaten you multiple times in the past, you decide to be the bigger person and pat his head and tell him how cool he was for working hard.

Perhaps you should’ve known better. Known that these predators hunt in packs, and for once Leona is willing to utilize his power and strength if it means he can drag you off to the botanical garden to nap with him whenever he wants. Turning a blind eye when Ruggie comes over to you with food and smothering your personal space. Letting Jack drag you to their Magishift practices at the crack of dawn to show off to you. You’ve quickly become a nuisance to prey within a couple days.

There’s a cold realization that the game is deviating from its original course when the Leech twins seek you. They corner you as they smile menacingly, asking if you’re interested in getting help for studying for midterms. Luckily, the calls from the others make your escape, and for once you accept the tight hug that Trey gives you, not realizing he’s glaring at the twins snickering behind you. Riddle chases them off, but you’re left with a sinking feeling in your stomach. 

Then the midterm scores are thrown up and your fellow classmates are dragged to Octavinelle’s den. You swear you see Azul’s eyes swiveling and focusing on you in the crowd of angry students, making you shudder and step behind Jack. You don’t feel any better when Azul calls you both out. It feels like he’s showing off to you how powerful he is; and it’s sickening. When you finally make the deal with Azul to free Grim and the others, it’s not the Ramshackle building he’s asking for in payment. No, it’s you. In exchange for many, you will be the bleeding sacrifice on the altar. Jack and Deuce nearly rip into Azul’s smug face, but you sign anyway, knowing there’s not really any other way to progress the story. From there it’s an onslaught–the Leech twins and Azul constantly harassing you, showing up to your dorm doors and pestering you in the hallways in between class. When you finally cave and beg Leona to let you hide out in Savanaclaw dorm from them, he smirks eerily as he ushers you into his bedroom without any usual complaints. Almost as if he wanted that. Somehow, the way Leona pesters you into sharing the same bed while Ruggie is shoving various snacks into your hands feels almost as bad as the trio bothering you. You don’t dare say that though, not with Jack providing you a wall to hide yourself behind when Azul’s pupils dilate weirdly or when Floyd’s grin stretches a little too wide.

The destruction of the contracts is cruel, but what you’re not prepared for is Azul having a complete meltdown while his tentacles are choking you, gripping you as the others try to beat him back. There's desperation in his eyes that you don’t remember before as you try to placate the mer, telling him he didn't need to rope and exploit so many to prove his worth. But it's not enough for him and you end up fainting within dark inky clouds.

When you come to, Grim is sobbing on your chest; but you’re even more unsettled that it’s Azul who’s sleeping next to you in a chair, hair completely out of place and dark bags sagging under his eyes. The door opens to the Leech twins and when they reach for you, you can’t help instinctually flinching back from their touch, something they notice with darkening eyes. It’s too late to mend faults though, when Azul wakes up and starts bawling with no abandon as he rapid fire asks for your forgiveness and that he will do anything for you. It’s pathetic, really. Since when did Azul start begging to be forgiven in the game? It’s enough to kindle your sympathy to at least say you don’t hate him and that it’s not a big deal (you want to say otherwise–getting choked by tentacles was not something you ever want to experience ever again), if only to make him stop clinging to you so tightly. Even Jade doesn’t pry off his housewarden, only nodding and agreeing, inviting you to Mostro Lounge so they can fix this grave error of theirs. 

The one thing you don’t expect, however, is how crowded the cafe becomes on the day of your invitation to the lounge. You’re seated in a private booth with all the softest cushions but you notice Riddle, Ace, and Deuce glaring pointed daggers at Floyd laughing and serving you food casually(is that Cater and Trey as well?! Why do they look like they’re going to murder someone?!). Meanwhile, you swear you see Jade intercepting a Jack with high hackles while also sneering at Leona and Ruggie in another booth. A gentle gloved hand turns your face to look at Azul as he guides a spoon into your half open mouth, cooing at how adorable you look. (The room’s atmosphere seems to drop ten degrees colder after the action)

It’s scary, you think to yourself. You’d think there would be more fun to be had in a world that was so different from your own. But that was when you were behind a screen, safely in your bed. And now, as Ace and Deuce grips your wrists tighter to drag you to sit with them in history, Leona digging his claws into your lap as a silent warning while he naps, and Floyd’s hug quickly becoming bone-breaking, you’re wondering if you can even last between these intense, egotistical villains.

You only hope that the ending of this game you play comes soon.

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #my work #sigh i need to write more #yandere x reader

[hardcore-jones]

Ringlight

Jonah x Listener (Featuring Elias being the best wing man)

Okay listen. Hell week is coming up VERY quickly and I've been stressed, of course I have to listen to all the Jonah audios while doing chem homework...which then turned into writing this instead of studying. I just love Jonah sm 🥹🥹

"Okay, just give me one minute, I'll be right back." Your attention was taken away from your book as Jonah emerged from his cave streaming room. His smile widened when he saw you, sprawled out on the couch in your most elegant pajamas. 

"Oh, I didn't realize you were awake already. I didn't wake you up, did I?" 

"Oh no, of course not," you bookmarked the page you were on to give Jonah your full attention. "I mean, it is after 2 pm. All the late night shifts in the world can't knock me down for a whole day." 

He chuckled, shaking his head. "If you say so. I'm gonna make some tea, you want some?" 

"Oooh, that would be nice. Do we have any biscuits?" 

"I think so, let me check." He stepped closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead before turning away. 

You whined in protest, grabbing his jacket sleeve and pulling him towards you. He gasped in faux shock, clearly expecting you to ask for more. 

"My my, aren't you feeling insatiable today?" 

"Shush and kiss me." 

"And bossy!" He laughed as he kissed your forehead again. 

"No, not there!" 

"Alright, your Highness." 

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You held him close, feeling the stubble on his cheek with your thumb. You wished he could stay with you, but you knew he had to get back to his stream eventually. 

"Was that enough for you?" 

You tapped your chin in pretend thought. "Well, that's enough for now. But I expect a few more later!" 

Jonah rolled his eyes as he laughed. "Pinky promise I will, babe, now let me put the kettle on." 

You watched as he slipped away into the kitchen. Theoretically you could join him but... 

Eyeing the door to his streaming room, you had a better idea. 

Quietly, you tipped toed over to the door, opening it slowly to cover the sound of the squeaky hinges. The PC was the brightest thing in the room, some of the decorations and string light you had set up for him were drowned out by the lights coming from the monitors on the desk. You crept over and sat in his surprisingly very comfortable chair. 

One monitor had a game paused, the other one had a few different programs open. The chat was on one half of the screen, a few users talking amongst themselves as they waited. You realized the window open next to it showed what the chat was looking at, which currently showed a paused screen. 

Trying to decipher through the different commands listed, you tried a few before the monitor changed back to its normal view. The game was on the main screen, and you could see the back of your head in the camera as you leaned over to see the second monitor. 

xXIsmoke420Xx: he's back

LIAS_E: wait... no the hair colors all wrong

Blade_Main: yoooooo is that Y/N ??? 

CenterAtkMid: did they hijack again? XD 

You giggled to yourself reading through the chat, realizing you were successfully able to get the screen back to normal. 

"Hey guys, what are y'all up to?" 

You watched chat, leaning back into Jonah's chair. 

PickleMick: Y/N playing LOL would be hilarious 

LIAS_E: oh hes gonna be pissed lmao 

CenterAtkMid: @picklemick LMAO they'd be so lost XD 

"Oh is he playing League today, that's what LOL is, right?" You asked out loud, looking back to the first monitor. "What is this squirrel thing? Is Jonah a squirrel in this game?" 

You moved the mouse around a bit, trying to get a better look at the character on screen. 

You could see chat going by a mile a minute out of the corner of your eye, not able to see each individual message anymore. 

Behind you, you heard the door creak open, followed by a loud, dramatic gasp. 

"You! What are you doing in here, you gremlin!" 

Jonah walked in, shutting the door with his foot and setting two cups of tea down on his desk. 

You let out a maniacal giggle, spinning around in his chair to face him. "I'm the streamer now!" 

He shook his head. "You're unbelievable! I make you some tea and you pay me back by taking over like a dictator?" 

He leaned over the chair, trying to read the chat. 

"A squirrel? Why did Elias say I'm playing a squirrel?" 

You broke down into giggles again, pointing at the screen. 

"Look, you're playing as a squirrel!" 

"What, that's Yuumi! Yuumi's a cat, can't you see!" He shook the computer chair from behind you, grabbing the mouse and zooming in on the character. 

"Hey, it's not my fault the designers made it look like a squirrel!" 

Jonah let out a dramatic sigh behind you, taking a sip from his mug and shaking his head at you. 

You went back to the chat, not willing to get in a debate with him about game design (again).

LIAS_E: jonah is now a dedicated squirrel main 

Blade_Main: I cant even image Y/N trying to play lol 

"Is league of legends hard? The chat said I'd be bad at it, " 

"It's not hard but it's... " Jonah hummed to himself in thought. "Its not the gameplay I'm so worried about, it's the people who play the game. I wouldn't want you to hear what some of the players say in game." 

He nudged your mug closer to you. "Hey now, don't let this get cold." 

"Oh yeah," You took a quick sip, savoring the perfect mix of sugar and milk Jonah always managed to pull off. "Amazing as always, love." 

You didn't hear Jonah respond, and you almost turned to check whe you caught your name in chat again. 

LIAS_E: how was work, Y/N? 

"How was work? It was... Ughhh." You groaned, resting your head on your hand. "Arsenal lost pretty bad last night and the crowd got a little hectic. Luckily, my boss got a few of them to leave and the rest calmed down after that. The train was absolutely full of them too, I almost thought about just getting an Uber instead." 

PickleMick: :monkaS: 

CenterAtkMid: did anyone else see that?? 

xXIsmoke420Xx: someone clip this 

"What the heck are they talking about?" 

"Hm, what are they saying?" Jonah asked. You noticed his voice sounded further away, like he was by the door again. Checking the camera, you realized Jonah was directly behind you anymore, but stood a foot or so away, with one arm hiding behind his back. 

You turned away from the monitor and towards your boyfriend. He looked nervous for some reason, his cheeks red and a wide grin across his face. 

"Are you up to something right now?" 

"Babe," He smiled as he took one of your hands, the other one still hiding behind his back. "this isn't how I planned this but... this just feels like the right time." 

"What do you mean?" 

Jonah's other hand came back to the front, holding a little velvet box between his shakey fingers. 

"Open it," 

You could feel your heart beat a million miles an hour as you opened the box, a ring sitting perfectly on the velvet inside. 

"Jonah?" 

He laughed nervously, slowly sinking down to his knee. 

"You have no idea how happy you make me, and how much you truly mean to me. I love you so much. Will you marry me?" 

"Jonah!" You pulled him back up to his feet, holding him close to you. 

"Oh my god, are you crying? Don't cry, please!" 

"No, they're happy tears!" You let him go then, giving him free access to wipe away the tears. He ran his thumbs over your cheeks, his own eyes wet as well. 

"You still haven't answered, babe," He teased. 

"Of course I'll marry you Jonah! Do you even have to ask?" You giggled at him, standing on your tip toes to press kisses all over his face. 

Clip by LIAS_E

April XX, 20XX

Jonah leaned from behind the computer chair, pushing the mug closer to you. "Hey now, don't let this get cold." 

Making sure you were distracted for just a minute, he quickly pulled his phone out and shot a quick text to Elias, asking if he could keep you occupied for just a minute. 

He checked you weren't watching and quietly slipped out of the room for a minute. 

You took another sip of tea before noticing a question in chat directed to you. "How was work? It was... Ughhh" 

Jonah came back into the office, making sure the hinges didn't creak too loudly. Luckily you didn't notice and he knew he'd be able to pull off his risky plan. 

Silently, he came up behind the computer chair, holding up a small box close enough for the camera to see, but making sure to keep it out of your field of view. With a shaky hand, he opened it, flashing the ring to the camera for just a moment.

#zsakuva #sakuverse #my stuff #jonah x listener #apologies in advance if i got british terms mixed up #tis my fault #fluff #jonah x reader #jonah #also yeah iknow clips on twitch are only like 30 seconds most of the time but were having fun here!!!

[ms-demeanor]

hello! i vaguely recall you doing a new year's resolution bingo thing - first, was that actually you lol? and if so, how'd it go, any adjustments you'd make from the original idea? (i did a resolution bingo this past year, which mostly ended up being a 24 item quest buffet, which did work for me! but i'm curious for more data). happy new year to you and your various sizes of bastard!

Hello! Yes, that was me. It didn't go great!

I did a resolution bingo in 2022 but it ended up feeling like homework and at a certain point in the year I looked at the spaces that I hadn't filled and it just made me feel bad.

In 2023 I did kind of a chore chart; I used a sheet of college-ruled notebook paper and divided it up into columns with things like "guitar" and "draw" and and "quilt square" and "go for a walk by myself" and numbered out 52 lines and I went through and highlighted each thing as I did it each week. That went very well for some things and not very well for others. I had at least a few columns where I did something every other week, and I totally finished the quilt square column, and I drew something for like 40 weeks, but I also had several categories that I did absolutely nothing for and several categories that had very few highlights.

That chart *also* was kind of a problem and there was a week in, like, august where my brain was being weird and was like "you can't do more of X until you've caught up on Y and Z" because I had to flip the paper over and wanted to finish three columns before I flipped it - that was clearly a very silly hangup but I don't make the rules for what my brain will freak out about and it caused a disproportionate amount of stress.

This year I kind of combined the two and I've made three sheets of paper with different tasks on different lines, and in different amounts. (And none of the papers need to be flipped over so I won't get a weird hangup week)

So instead of having 52 blanks each for "pushups" "squats" and "go for a walk by myself" I've got 156 blanks for "workout: lifting, calisthenics, stretching, walking, cardio." I didn't do a single walk by myself last year, and it turns out I'm pretty unlikely do do random squats or pushups, so rather than try to do one exercise fifty two times I'm just going to try to do *some* kind of exercise three times a week and I'm not going to feel bad about it if that's more bench press instead of more cardio.

I did pretty well with quilt squares so i've set a goal to do twice as many this year. I set a goal for 52 drawings and writing seriously 52 times. My yard is a disaster so my goal is to fill my yardwaste bin 52 times this year.

But what I *haven't* done is divide that up by week. Maybe some weeks I'll get four workouts in and other weeks I'll do two. Maybe I won't draw for a month but I'll get into it a lot over the summer.

One of my two other sheets is things that I'd like to do daily. My four daily tasks that I'm aiming for are: clean something at the house, floss, moisturize, and journal. (Journaling was successful in the bingo year but not at all last year)

The other sheet is the one that's more like the bingo, or what I think the spirit of the bingo is supposed to be. I've got it labeled "Bonus" and each thing on it has about twenty circles that I can check off if I do something but that I don't see as a goal. That includes stuff like "friend hangs" and "go someplace" - stuff that I want to do more of but that I can either plan or do spontaneously and that doesn't have a big project end goal (so it's "do something with music like program a music box or play guitar for a while" rather than "write a song" like it was the bingo year, when no song got written).

I may have also just kneecapped myself by making the bingo squares too hard. Maybe I should do a monthly bingo with smaller goals.

The bingo also got harder when I failed at bullet journaling; turns out that's not a great way for me to manage my time and attention and the bingo was in the bullet journal. Having stuff on a wall next to the light switch in my office helped a lot last year, I think, so that's where my sheets are this year too.

IDK, this is all fun to experiment with and I enjoy it but also I'm never sure if any of it "works" in terms of getting me to do more of the things that I'd like myself to do. It did work for quilt squares last year, though, and that's the best progress I've made on my quilt since I started it in 2021. And the daily chart is helping a lot so far.

But maybe I just like making charts (I do).

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/730567395513679872/httpswwwtumblrcomolderthannetfic730187969463

I’m the anon here. I’ve heard the stuff ceerosa mentions before about “learning rules is not helpful” but I’m sorry, I think this is a “not all brains work the same” thing, because while I’ve seen that be true for others it’s never been the case for me in language learning. And I’ve done immersion programs. Learning what the patterns are, like how articles change based on case in German or based on several different things including end of the word in Haitian Creole (seriously it’s so unintuitive) is how it stuck. Just having stuff thrown at me doesn’t help. I’m autistic, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s a factor; the other people I know who’ve told me they’re similar are autistic. Autistic brains process enough stuff differently I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s a factor.

But yeah, just to be clear: I’ve seen and read that research. It doesn’t change that it’s not actually true for me.

And the particular way Duolingo throws stuff at you doesn’t seem to work well for anyone, in my anecdotal experience

--

Well... I think we were talking about slightly different things.

Some students have a desire for there to be reasons for language to work how it does, and they mean reasons that make logical sense today, not just "It evolved from this other historical thing". If there's a word that's an exception, they want there to be a reason for that too that isn't "Sometimes there are exceptions, particularly among very common words. Here's a list."

And from that perspective, yeah, we need to curb that impulse because it's not helpful for how languages actually work.

But yes, the pure immersion, no explanation stuff you get with some programs is not that useful, and the research supports this. It's an idea based on a shallow understanding of how small children learn their first language rather than studying how adults acquire foreign ones.

I did a couple of famous summer language intensives, and the way they typically worked was that there was a bunch of memorization homework for the kinds of things that native speakers just say without thinking about it (e.g. "Merry Christmas" instead of "Happy Christmas" for Americans—there is no why, and there is no innovation, just this set phrase). We then did conversation drills, some free practice coming up with novel sentences, and listened to natural examples in most of the day's classes...

But we had one class that was in English where they laid out the grammar patterns and such very clearly. If we'd been higher level, maybe they would have explained in the target language, but we weren't, so to get us ahead faster, this part was all in English.

Brains do vary, but I'm not sure they vary that much when it comes to these parts of language learning. Some people despise practicing speaking, for example, but they'll still improve more if they're forced to do these tasks they hate than if they do ~for text study~. Another learner who hates the task less might progress faster, but they're not a categorically different type of learner.

A bigger factor is that the really hard part with language study is staying excited about it and sticking with it, so if you enjoy one style of explanation or practice more, having more of it will make you actually stick around, and I'm sure that does vary a lot by learner.

[sunflowerskies00]

sun to me, part 3

but she was layin' there across me

series masterlist

I hated syllabus week. Don't get me wrong, the lake of homework was great, but sitting there and listening to professors go through the syllabus page by page when I could just go through it on my own and not have to come to class, was torture. Literal torture. I sit there pretending I'm looking at the syllabus when I'm really doing anything else on my laptop that's open in front of me.

By the time I get through my second and last class of the day, I'm heading to my car as fast as humanly possible. I felt like my brain was mush, not because we did anything remotely close to learning, but because if I had to hear the words deadlines, and final papers, one more time, I was going to lose my shit. It was the first day of the semester, and I didn't want to be thinking about the giant ass papers I'd have to write come the end of November.

I get home as I get a text from Luke telling me he'd be there in ten minutes. I dump my backpack in my room and toss my car keys onto my desk before going back downstairs. The only one of my roommates that's here is Lindsey. Ava and Josie both have class until later on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

"Ready for your date?" Lindsey teases as I slide my Birkenstocks back onto my feet.

"Not a date," I point a finger at her.

"Right," she nods. "Does your brother know you're spending the afternoon with his friend and former teammate?"

"Also no, he doesn't need to know what I'm doing," I say. My phone buzzes with a text from Luke saying he's here. "I gotta go," I look back up to Lindsey.

"Have fun on your date," She calls as I walk out the front door.

"Not a date!" I yell as the door closes behind me.

Luke is looking at his phone when I pull open the passenger door of his car and climb inside.

"Hey," I smile at him as I pull the buckle across me. He smiles back at me. "Are you going to tell me what we're doing yet?" I ask him as he backs out of my driveway.

"That would ruin the surprise."

"What if I hate surprises?" I ask.

"Do you?"

"Not the good kind." He just shakes his head at me.

"How's your brother?" He glances over at me.

"Ew, you want to talk about Ethan?" there's a hint of amusement in my voice. I don't give him a chance to respond, instead answering his question. "He's fine," I shrug. "We don't really talk about anything important ever," I explain. It's not that I don't like talking to my brother, I do, it's just that we really don't talk that often when we're at school. We're both super busy and staying in touch just doesn't become a priority, which is unfortunate because as much as I love to hate on Ethan, he's my best friend.

"Why didn't you go to U Mich?" He asks me. Everyone's favorite question to ask me. Especially people who knew Ethan, he'd tell them that U Mich was my original plan and that I ditched him for the East Coast.

"I was going to," I start. "It was my plan, I liked it, Ethan was there, I could play hockey, but then Garden State offered me a full ride, and they have a better women's hockey program than Michigan, so I decided to come here instead," I give him the quick explanation.

"Are you going to keep playing after college?" He asks.

"I don't know, it wasn't something that I had ever even thought about until last year. It wasn't even an option until last year. Ethan brings it up all the time actually, but I don't know if I want to keep playing after college to be completely honest," It was the first time I had actually said that out loud, and to Luke of all people.

"Then don't, it's your life, you don't have to keep playing hockey just because people think you should. If you have other plans or whatever, then who cares." Me, that's who cares. I feel like I'd be letting people down. I don't say that thought, that conversation is far too heavy for someone I've just become friends with. So I shrug and nod in response. He pulls into a parking lot and I look at the building, raising an eyebrow at him.

"We're mini-golfing?" I ask him.

"Why not," he lifts a shoulder in response.

"This feels awfully date-like," I climb out of the car.

"Nope, you said not a date, this is just me making sure you don't rot away doing homework or freeze at the ice rink," he smiles. I roll my eyes, but can't help the smile that creeps onto my face.

__

After I absolutely demolish Luke in mini-golf, we end up at some little sports bar place to get food.

"You definitely cheated," Luke says for the 100th time since we left mini golfing.

"You are a sore loser," I point my finger at him. "I didn't cheat, I'm just that good. Or maybe you just suck at mini golf."

"Please, I'm so good at mini golfing, that's why I'm saying you cheated."

"If it helps your fragile little male ego, then sure, I cheated." He just shakes his head at that.

By the time Luke pulls back into my driveway, it's dark out, which is when I actually look at the clock and realize that I have been hanging out with him for 7 hours. My roommates were going to have a field day with this.

"Thanks for this," I wave my hand in a vague gesture. "I had a lot of fun," I smile at him.

"Anytime, you're pretty good company Edwards," He grins, calling me by my last name, something most people who knew my brother only called him.

"I'm gonna go before the tirade of roommates come out, but we should do this again sometime," I open the door, ready to call it a night.

"Sure, I'll text you," the smile doesn't leave his face, and he sits in the driveway until I open my front door and step inside.

#umich hockey #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #jack hughes #quinn hughes #nhl imagine #ethan edwards

[tranquilpetrichor]

the formula for late nights

cast: gunwook (zb1) x gn biochem major!reader

wc: 722

genre: college!au

warnings: food, mentions of yn drinking sometimes to deal with stress, descriptions of food, academic pressure

a/n: eris try to make a story where yn isn't slightly unhinged challenge failed. also the two could be interpreted as having a crush on one another. now that my finals are over, hopefully i can post more

sitting on an armchair in your suite, you sigh with relief as you finish your chemistry homework. you place the little pencil back into the iPad and shut the case. the device goes back into your bag, where you hope you won't have to see it until tomorrow's class.

you're glad that you've finished your homework for the day because you're sure as hell that you cannot handle doing another problem (no more stoichiometry, please!).

your friend, park gunwook, steps into the common room of your suite and greets you. he's been over for a while, but he was busy helping someone else in the suite with math homework and hasn't bothered you since.

he'd wondered if anyone would even ask for his tutoring help, but you assured him that there would always be someone agonizing over math. hm, maybe you should try it one day (if only you had the time)..

he glances at your packed bag. "so, you're finally done suffering through chem?"

you groan, stretching your muscles. holy shit, you worked for about an hour without getting up?

"i guess. for now, at least."

he chuckles and walks over to your snack cabinets. "for now."

you're not even tall enough to reach some of the shelves on the upper cabinets without the usage of a step stool, yet he has the audacity to steal food from there sometimes.

seemingly changing his mind, he walks to the freezer instead, opening the door to peek inside. you don't bother to ask what he's looking for because you already know.

"i can say goodbye to my chocolate ice cream," you mutter.

he protests. "what? it's good. and it's not my fault we like the same flavor."

perks of having a friend with way too much of a similar taste in food, you suppose.

"i guess we could share? we do have a lot."

not even thirty seconds later, two small bowls, two spoons, and an ice cream scoop are out, the latter item present because you never want to try scooping out ice cream with a regular spoon again.

there also happens to be brownies in the fridge that another friend of yours named jiwoo brought over yesterday.

"take them," she had said, "i won't finish them all anyways."

of course you took them, because who are you to say no to offerings of food?

you find the container and give it to gunwook, who's sitting on the couch across from the tv. there's six brownies left, but you'll probably save some for later.

"oh, we forgot drinks." gunwook says. he stares at you as your lips curve into a knowing smile. "no, y/n, not the alcoholic kind. we are not asking our neighbors for soju today."

you pretend to be disappointed and laugh. "don't worry, you know i only allow myself to drink in the dorms during weekends. it's only thursday. and it's an every-other-week type of thing."

(is it from stress built up through the week? perhaps. did you choose the life of a biochem major willingly? yes, so maybe this is your fault.)

gunwook looks for some chocolate milk instead and rolls his eyes.

"not the best habit, but at least you're more responsible than some other people we know."

you shudder. having to be the parent of the group along with gunwook and help drunk friends home from frat parties is a terrible experience, but you digress. tonight is a time for staying in, occupying the couch, and sharing treats.

he calls out to you. "do you want to watch tv?"

without a second thought, you perk up and join him on the couch. he's already unfolded the blue blanket that sits there, and drapes it over both of you.

"what show?"

he's surfing through the various programs on his tv, and you seem to sink a little further into the couch.

"how about the last of us?"

you nod. "i haven't even started it yet."

(you're known in the friend group for saying "i'll watch [insert show]" and never doing it.)

he smiles and navigates over to hbo max on the screen with your remote. "i think a little brain break is well-deserved."

"couldn't agree more."

with that, you allow yourself and gunwook the luxury of another late night spent in good company with each other.

#kflixnet #kwritersworldnet #zb1 x reader #zb1 imagines #zb1 reactions #zb1 drabbles #zb1 gunwook #zb1 fluff #zb1 fics #zerobaseone reactions #zerobaseone x reader #zerobaseone drabbles #zerobaseone imagines

[daechwitatamic]

III. So I Speak Your Name || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

You and Namjoon bond over literature and alcohol.

Section Warnings: language, drinking, drinking games, bar scenes, pov switches between OC and Namjoon a few times

WC: 7.5k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Tuesday October 9th

On Sundays I visit graveyards, paying my respects to the many  words that have died  on my lips.

On Sundays I leave flowers commemorating each admission that I struck down before it could reach you.

On Sundays I leave stones atop marble markers to memorialize those that you and I chose to leave unturned.

They say you only exist as long as someone remembers you, so I speak your name like my own Hail Mary full of grace.

You scratch out the last four lines and read it back. Then you change your mind, decide you like them, and add them once again at the bottom.

The final so turns into an and. Then you change it back to so. You sigh in frustration, closing your eyes. 

“You sound angry,” someone says, and you nearly leap off the stool in your kitchen. Namjoon stands in the doorway, holding a grocery bag, a carton of eggs sticking out the top. 

“Why did I choose a writing degree when I’m so bad at writing?” you ask him plaintively. 

It’s a little more honest, a little more personal than you two have been before. It just sort of slips, honestly, your head still a bit stuck in the world of words and phrases instead of in the present.

He smiles ruefully and moves into the kitchen, starting to put away his groceries. “I know that feeling,” he admits. Then, not looking at you, he adds, “I didn’t know you were in the writing program. I did it, too, for undergrad. You have Jemisen?”

“Really?” you ask. “How did we live together for a month and not know that? And yeah, Jemisen.”

Namjoon chuckles lightly, and you catch yourself watching his shoulders move as he reaches high in a cupboard to put a box away. “I guess we don’t talk that much,” he admits. “Are you doing fiction for your thesis?”

“Poetry,” you tell him.

He turns to look at you over his shoulder, clearly surprised.

“Wow,” he says, brows furrowed. “Really?”

You laugh a little at the circular nature of your conversation. “Yes, really,” you say, smiling. “Though I will admit to regretting that decision on more than one occasion.”

“Again,” he says, finally folding up his reusable grocery bag and stashing it between the fridge and the counter, “I know the feeling.”

“Are you doing writing for your grad program too?” you ask, suddenly curious. 

He nods, leaning back against the counter. It’s that magical golden hour in the apartment, your favorite, when the outside light comes in orange and glowing. It casts a honey tinge over Namjoon’s skin, a softer brown showing up in his dark hair. There’s something sharp in his gaze suddenly, something that’s not usually there - like he’s honing in on something for the first time. 

“Fiction?” you prod. This is more interesting than your poetry homework, for sure. 

“Unfortunately,” he jokes. “So, poetry? My buddy did that track, he said it was hard. I thought about it, but I didn’t want to give up on fiction entirely, and I knew I couldn’t handle both. Plus my poetry’s pretty bad.”

“So is mine,” you grumble, eyeing your notebook grumpily. 

Namjoon gives a sigh and moves towards his room. “I have class tonight,” he tells you, “but if you want to order extra dinner and leave me the leftovers, I’ll pay you for it.”

“Sure,” you say easily, glancing at the clock. You hadn’t really thought about dinner yet, but you’ll need to soon. “Text me what you want. I’ll probably get our usual.”

It strikes you, suddenly, that you two have a usual. It’s early October, the leaves barely starting to turn. It’s the part of fall where you’re too hot when you walk in the sun, and chilly when you walk through the shadows. You’ve only lived with Namjoon for about a month and a half, and somehow you have a usual takeout order.

It’s strange.

But you don’t hate it.

Namjoon leaves a few minutes later, a brown cross-body bag settled against his lower back. You sit at the breakfast bar, your poetry notebook closed in front of you with your pen marking your page, and wonder about your mysterious roommate. You wonder what his poetry is like, what it would tell you about him if you ever got the chance to see it. You wonder if his fiction writing is what keeps him holed up in his room day in and day out, the lights low.

About an hour later, you text Taehyung to see if he wants to come eat dinner.

“Can’t,” he answers. “Already have plans for dinner. Sry!”

You sink onto the couch, grimacing. “Already have plans” means a date. 

The thing is, you know you could ask Taehyung to take you to dinner, and he’d do it. Hell, you could probably even say, “Take me on a date,” and he’d do that, too - wear something nice, spray on a more expensive cologne, open the car door for you and pull out your chair, all that shit. He’d do everything exactly right.

He’d do everything for the sake of irony. 

That’s what it boils down to, and you know it in your bones: intention. Taehyung could spend all twenty-four hours treating you exactly how a boyfriend should, but at the end of the day his intention was not romantic, and there was nothing you could do to change that. 

You turn on the tv, determined not to waste your night wondering how his is going.

Thursday October 11th 

Thursday marks nearly the middle of the month. It’s unseasonably warm when you walk to class, but you carry a jacket, knowing that when you leave the bookstore after your shift, the chill will warrant it. 

You have a bullshit class, one that doesn’t apply to your degree concentration, something that the university requires for everyone. The only saving grace is that it’s short. 

When it ends, you have some choices. You don’t have to be at the bookstore until three. You could go back to the apartment. It’s certainly enough time. Or you could get lunch on campus and handle any academic errands you had, as it were.

And, you sort of had an academic errand swimming in the back of your mind. 

You head to the building that houses the staff offices for the writing and literature professors. They’re all tucked away in a little wing back behind where the classrooms are. You’ve been there a few times over the years - twice to talk to your academic advisor about your upcoming schedules, and once to help a professor carry her armload of papers and her laptop back from the classroom. 

You scan the names on each door until you find Jemisen, and knock tentatively. He turns, surprised. 

“Y/N,” he says, and then glances at his computer, as if trying to determine if you’d scheduled a meeting and he’d forgotten.

“I wasn’t sure if it was your office hours,” you say quickly, to let him know he hadn’t made a mistake. “But I had a quick question about my last assignment, and I was already over here on campus…”

“Ah,” he says, understanding. “Well, it is my office hours, but it just so happens that I was called into a last-second budget meeting, because how we spend our money is certainly more important than my students’ academic success!” He looks at you, seeming to think belatedly that this little sarcastic rant might have been better staying in his head. “Anyway, I have a TA here who could help you look at it? I trust him implicitly.”

You’re a little uncomfortable with the idea - Professor Jemisen has been reading and working with you on your poetry for over a year; you don’t want to work on it with a stranger. 

“Oh,” you say, “I’m not - I could -.”

A body comes around the corner. “I heard TA. Have I been summoned?”

It’s Namjoon.

You want to vanish through the floor.

“I’ll just -,” you start to say, but Professor Jemisen cuts you off, collecting some papers off of his desk and reaching for the jacket he’d placed on a hook beside the door. 

“This is Y/N, she’s a senior in my poetry thesis class,” he tells your roommate. “She’s looking for help reworking a stanza on her last submission, right, Y/N?”

You bluster, you struggle to make words. You want to shake your head no, but your body isn’t cooperating. 

“I’m happy to help,” Namjoon says to you. “My office is two doors down.”

Professor Jemisen is already through the door, clapping Namjoon on the back in thanks as he goes. This gives you the chance to collect yourself, jump-start your brain again.

“You get your own office as a TA?” you ask wryly, one eyebrow lifting. 

Namjoon smiles. There’s something different about him here, an easy confidence you don’t see him exude when he’s just at the apartment. 

“Come on,” he says, and you walk out into the narrow corridor. Namjoon closes Professor Jemisen’s door behind you and leads you to his own space.

“To answer your question,” he says, still smiling sort of sheepishly, “no, TA’s do not get their own offices. This one was empty because Bianca - Professor Whyte - retired and they haven’t replaced her yet… I sort of commandeered it. I share it with two other grad students, technically. Just until the university hires someone.”

He sits at the desk and motions for you to take the chair next to it. The office is clean and pretty empty - a tall bookshelf holds only about half a dozen books, taking up just a small section of one lone shelf. There are two small potted plants on the windowsill, and a coffee mug shoved behind the computer monitor. Otherwise, the room seems unowned, devoid of any identifying artifacts. 

“This is very weird,” you say, because you have to say it. 

“What is?” he asks absently, his eyes on one of the windowsill plants.

“My roommate reading my poetry,” you say flatly. “My roommate workshopping my poetry with me.”

He turns to look at you, surprise and perhaps a touch of hurt flickering across his face. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can ask someone else to work with you, or you can wait for Professor Jemisen. I didn’t realize…”

You sigh inwardly. You hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. “You don’t think it’s weird?” you challenge, trying to keep your voice light.

He shrugs. “I’m just doing my job. I’m on the clock. But like I said… if you’re uncomfortable, then let’s find a Plan B.”

“You’re Plan B,” you grumble. “We’d need to find Plan C.”

You kind of want to take his offer of walking away. But you’re already here, and you don’t want to hurt his feelings worse and make things weird at home. 

“Here,” you say, rummaging in your bag. “Just don’t, like, peer into my soul or anything.”

Namjoon laughs like he’s surprised by this. “It’s poetry,” he says, grabbing a pen and turning to see what you put on the desk. “I don’t think that’s optional.”

You slide your notebook over to him. “Professor Jemisen hated the second stanza,” you say.

He looks at you, eyes wide. “He didn’t say that.”

You chuckle. “No, but it’s still true.”

Namjoon reads the poem to himself silently, lips moving with the words. 

On Sundays I leave flowers commemorating each admission that I struck down before it could reach you.

“Okay,” he says finally, “I think you should keep the top line of the stanza the same - to keep the pattern.”

You nod, listening. 

He presses his pen against his lips, eyes narrowed as they scan the lines again. “I think the word admission is too chunky,” he says. “In the second line.”

“Confession?” you supply. “Commemorating each confession?”

“That gives you some nice alliteration,” he notes, nodding.

“Does it flow better?” you prompt.

Namjoon repeats the first two lines to himself, under his breath. “On Sundays I leave flowers, commemorating each confession. Yeah, I think it does.”

“I’ll change it,” you decide, and he does it for you, scratching out admission and writing confession next to it in red ink.

“The third line sucks,” you muse, reading over his arm. 

“It doesn’t suck,” he says mildly. “What were you trying to say?”

You think about this. “That each admission - confession, whatever - that the speaker didn’t voice…it’s almost like those words were trying to reach their recipient, but the speaker shot them down in flight, you know? Does that make sense?”

Namjoon ticks his head to the side, thinking. “It makes sense,” he assures you. “I’m just thinking about how to say it.”

You both peer at the stanza in silence, thinking.

“You’ve got this imagery of shooting something down mid-flight, like you just said,” he murmurs, eyes on the page, “but in the first stanza, you say the words die on the speaker’s lips, meaning they never get said in the first place. Maybe you need to change the imagery to holding it in instead of stopping it once it’s out?”

You scan the first stanza again, nodding slowly. “Commemorating every confession that suffocated beneath fresh-packed earth,” you say, voice almost a whisper as you listen to how the phrase would sound.

Namjoon chuckles darkly. “Buried alive? Harsh.”

You tap the page, finger on the bottom stanza. “The confessions - the words - are what died and got buried. But then, in the final stanza, she’s saying she keeps him alive by remembering him, but maybe she’s keeping her confessions alive as well. Like, she’s continuing to give them life by continuing to speak life into them. It works on two levels.”

Namjoon nods, letting out a quick, impressed breath almost like a laugh. “That’s good,” he says, sliding your notebook over to you. “Write it down before you forget.”

You scratch out the second stanza and write in the space next to it,

On Sundays I leave flowers commemorating every confession that suffocated beneath six feet of fresh-packed earth.

“I like it better,” you say, reading the whole thing back to yourself. 

“It’s definitely better,” he agrees. 

You put a hand on the page, ready to slide it completely away from him, to put it back in your bag. 

Namjoon places his fingers on the page, just inches from yours. His index finger strokes the last line, where your hand had pressed the pen to the page and placed there, Hail Mary full of grace.

“What would happen if you stopped visiting?” he asks, voice very low. He’s leaning forward, his shoulder close enough to yours that you can feel the heat coming off his body. 

“Excuse me?” you snap. This was exactly what you hadn’t wanted - interpretation, application to your real life.

“The speaker,” he corrects quickly, eyes flicking down to the page and then back up to meet yours again. There’s something gentle and coaxing in his voice as he continues. “What would happen if the speaker decided to spend their time elsewhere? Wouldn’t it be better for them to just… let the dead stay dead?”

Goosebumps cover your arms, but you’re also suddenly pissed. “I don’t have an answer to that,” you say firmly. “It’s poetry, it’s not real life.” You slap the notebook shut and toss it into your bag, tugging on the zipper like your life depends on it. You stand, hiking your bag onto your shoulder. 

He’s still looking at you contemplatively, leaning back in his chair, long legs stretching under the desk. Then, he seems to snap out of it, and he peers up at you apologetically. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m used to that kind of thinking and response from my grad classes. But you’d already expressed that you weren’t comfortable… I should’ve left that alone.”

You shift from foot to foot, still stinging. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Thanks for the help. I’ll resubmit this version.”

“Y/N,” he calls, stopping you in the doorway. You pause, turning to look. “Would it make you feel better to see a really personal one of mine?” His smile is rueful, his dimples teasing.

You exhale on a laugh. “Only if I get to question your poor life choices when I’m done,” you say.

He laughs at this. “I accept,” he says seriously, a smile still tugging at his lips. “In exchange for your forgiveness.”

You slap your palm lightly against the wooden doorframe, twice. “It’s a deal,” you say, and disappear down the hallway. 

–

He sends you a screenshot two hours later. Before you can enlarge it enough to read anything, he sends, “Good GOD this is bad. Enjoy!” 

I love you by pressing my fingertips into soil. Is it too dry? Can it go another day? I love you by pushing ceramic just two inches  to the left where the sunlight hits at exactly four pm. I love you by wiping dust from leaves just how I'd wipe tears from cheeks. I love you by admiring each new bloom as it appears.

And when I’m thorn-pricked it doesn’t hurt because my only expectation  was for it to grow.

You read it twice, then a third time. 

[3:22 PM] You: that is NOT bad omg [3:23 PM] You: i need more context so i can mock your bad decisions [3:23 PM] You: that was the deal 😤 [3:27 PM] Namjoon: haha stop it. [3:28 PM] Namjoon: i cringed so hard when i read it again [3:29 PM] Namjoon: but i hope you actually forgive me now

Friday October 12th

‘-yet with everything left unsaid, still they said goodbye.’

Namjoon pounds twice on his desk in victory as he rereads the last line of the chapter he’d just finished. It’s good, he thinks. It’s actually good, the whole chapter. Not perfect - nothing ever would be - but good enough that he feels excited to send it to the cohort and get some feedback.

There’s a noise from his doorway and he spins in the chair, minimizing the document out of habit. 

You smile at him from the door. “It’s going well, huh?” you say, a little playfully. 

Namjoon feels something like cold run down his legs. It’s the absolute horror of being known.  “What are you talking about?” he asks, voice even.

You fold your arms over your chest like you feel defensive. “You hit the desk when you’re happy about it,” you explain.

Namjoon stares at you, absolutely dumbfounded. He hadn’t realized you even knew he was writing, let alone that you’d been tracking his habits well enough to pick up on little things like that. He’s always kept his writing - and his behavior as a writer - pretty private. The only person who had ever seen behind the curtain, so to speak, was Elyse. And look how that turned out. 

Namjoon decides to side-step this. He doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he goes with, “Did you need something?”

He knows it’s cold. He doesn’t even mean to be cold. But something about this interaction has all of his mental alarm bells ringing - telling him that this might be inching towards dangerous territory. 

Territory he’s been in before. Territory he clawed his way out of. 

“Oh,” you say, a little taken-aback. “Well, yeah. I was trying to see if anyone would be into the idea of a game night this weekend? What do you think?”

Namjoon’s about to answer that he doesn’t mind when his conversation with Yoongi and Hobi floats into his brain. He remembers their bony chins digging into his shoulders as they read your texts and affirmed that, yes, he’d hurt your feelings by leaving last time. 

“Game night,” he repeats slowly. “Care to elaborate on the plan?”

This makes you smile again, like you’re pleased that he’s entertaining the idea. “Smaller crowd than last time,” you say. “Game categories up for discussion - could do board games, drinking games, video games… maybe a rotation?”

“A rotation,” Namjoon repeats flatly, not sure if you’re joking.

Your smile widens, eyes crinkling. It had been a joke. “We can decide what we feel like,” you say. “I was thinking maybe Saturday night?”

“Okay,” Namjoon says.

“Okay I can plan it… or okay, you’ll be there?” you ask, chewing lightly on the inside of your cheek.

Namjoon feels himself smile despite himself, despite the alarm bells, despite your dead-on observation of his habits. “I’ll stay,” he promises.

Saturday October 13th 

The night actually does rotate. Or, rather, you all start with a board game and it delves soon into drinking games. Namjoon finds himself sitting on the living room floor, a whiskey and soda in his hand, watching across an abandoned game board - pieces still laying sideways, forgotten - as you giggle into Taehyung’s shoulder after being brought down by a very targeted round of Never Have I Ever.

(Never have I ever… worn a bra. …used a curling iron. …put on mascara. …cried to a Hallmark movie. The guys went right down the line, 1-2-3-4-5, you never had a chance.)

“You have to drink, Y/N,” Jungkook says, poking you with his socked foot. 

“Get your toe-socks off of me,” you try to snap, but you’re still fighting giggles and you sound as menacing as a puppy.

“I think we need a no-targeting rule,” Yoongi says fairly, watching as you dutifully down your cup and rise to mix yourself a new one. “Or Y/N will end up in the hospital tonight.”

“I am not holding your hair this time,” Taehyung shouts into the kitchen. “Once was enough!”

“It was enough for me, too, believe me,” you answer him seriously, but your mouth twitches. You’re still fighting giggles.

“He’s right,” Jimin speaks up. “No more targeting - not just Y/N, for anyone. It won’t be fun that way.”

“Should we switch games?” Hobi asks. “How about Kings?”

Namjoon groans. “I’m not drunk enough for that.”

“Then get drunker,” Taehyung tells him, nodding towards the kitchen bar - littered with half-full liquor bottles and various mixers - where you’re still standing with your cup.

“I’m working on it,” Namjoon tells him, lifting his nearly-empty cup as proof. 

You settle back onto the floor across from him, carefully holding your freshly filled cup so that it doesn’t slosh over the edges. “What’d we decide?”

The game of Kings begins harmlessly - Jungkook picks an 8 and chooses Jimin to drink whenever he drinks, no surprise there. Jimin picks a 4, and everyone slaps the floor - Yoongi is last, so he drinks. 

Then Hobi picks a King - make up any rule, any rule at all - and his eyes sparkle with unspilled mischief. 

“T-Rex arms!” Taehyung shouts. “T-Rex arms for the rest of the night!”

“Funny accents for the rest of the night!”

“You have to drink every time you say someone’s name!”

“You have to drink every time anyone says ‘what’!”

Everyone shouts their suggestions, but Hobi waves his hands to quiet them.

“If you say someone’s name,” he begins, and everyone leans forward, interested, “they get to tell the group some tea about you.”

Everyone lets out an ooooh of appreciation.

“That’s gonna get messy,” you observe, eyes wide. 

The game continues, everyone being careful to tap each other’s knees to get their attention instead of calling their names. But as the hour grows later and the alcohol flows, you all forget to be so careful. When Jimin gets up to grab another drink, Jungkook calls, “Jimin, will you bring me a beer?”

“You said his name!” Nearly the whole circle shrieks it at once, pointing sloppily at Jungkook in accusation.

“Ji- I mean, sir in the kitchen, you get to tell us some tea about Jung- I mean, this one,” Hobi says, correcting himself around a series of belly laughs. 

Jimin grins like the cat who ate the canary. “He’s the one who broke his good headphones.” He points at Yoongi to indicate which his he means since he can’t say Yoongi’s name.

“Hyung!” Jungkook cries, betrayal written all over his face and voice. 

At the same time, Yoongi’s head whips around to look at his younger friend in accusation. “You owe me money for those! They were my favorite!”

“I told you,” you say, your voice carrying sweetly over the din. “Messy.” 

The game continues, pausing when Yoongi misses his turn as he’s too busy looking up how much his headphones cost so he can show Jungkook.

Without thinking, Namjoon lazily says, “You’re up, Yoongi.”

Everyone looks at him, grins growing like predators who have discovered injured prey. 

“Oh, damn,” he sighs. Yoongi looks up from his phone, eyes glinting.

“Well,” he says, clearly enjoying his audience and the chance to embarrass his best friend, “when this friend was getting over Elyse, he played Davichi’s Beside Me on repeat for hours at a time, and I know for a fact that he still knows every word.”

Namjoon’s not sure how to name the emotion that surges from his stomach up to his face; mortified, sure. Angry, a little. Everyone around the circle is laughing - Jimin’s even wiping a lone tear from under his eye. Is it funny, from the outside? He guesses it is. He feels a little detached, a little floaty.

“Oh shit, Elyse!” Taehyung sort of shouts, sitting up a little. “I forgot about her!”

“That’s cute,” Namjoon says. “Wish I could.” Even he can hear how bitter he sounds.

“What ever happened with her?” Taehyung asks, more musing than actually directing the question at Namjoon, or anyone.

“Tae!” you scold, elbowing him. “You’re such an insensitive ass, do you know that?”

To his credit, Taehyung looks abashed and backpedals immediately. “I mean - sorry - I’m just curious. Didn’t mean to put you on blast.”

“It’s fine,” Namjoon says, but he’s dying to get out of that room, out of everyone’s sight, away from the fading laughter and from the sideways, searching look you’re giving him. He stands, tries to keep his face passive. “I’m gonna… go pee.” 

He slides into the dark of his room and heads for the bathroom. He doesn’t even need to go, he just needs it to look like he left for a reason. Behind him, he can hear Yoongi despite his purposely lowered voice as he says, “She left him back in June. Same shit as always - he loved her way more than she liked him.”

Namjoon wishes he could refute this. Even if he’d been out there to defend himself, he couldn’t. Yoongi knew every detail about Namjoon’s last relationship and the break-up that ended it, and his assessment was right. 

Namjoon had liked her - loved her - more than she liked him. His expectations were too high for what she could give him. Sometimes he wondered if she was the problem, or if he was. Were his expectations for a partner too high in general? Was he asking too much, wanting someone to care for him the way he cared for them? 

When he comes out of the bathroom, Yoongi is leaning against his desk waiting for him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “The song part is funny - I was thinking about it because you were humming it in the library yesterday. I didn’t think about the… Elyse of it all. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you. Especially in front of…” He trails off. But Namjoon knows where the sentence was going. 

He doesn’t even have the oomph to argue it.

“I know,” he says simply. “It’s okay.”

“If we hadn’t been drinking…” Yoongi says, voice a little thoughtful. “I mean, I’m not trying to make excuses. I just would have considered my words a little more carefully.”

“I know,” Namjoon says again, insistent. “It’s okay, hyung. I’m not mad at you. Let’s go back.”

When they return to the group, it seems that in their absence you had organized the board game again and gotten everyone focused. He wasn’t sure if you’d done it on purpose, diverted their attention to rules and set-up so they wouldn’t look too closely at his face as he took his spot again, but he appreciated it regardless. 

Taehyung catches his eye, grimaces in apology. Namjoon gives a shrug and a headshake, letting him know they’re alright. 

How can he be mad? Are they supposed to pretend his mistakes don’t exist? He can’t impose his own rules on others, it wouldn’t be fair.

Friday October 19th

The week passes in a blur. Namjoon works on his book, workshops for his classmates, goes to class, attends his TA hours, eats, sleeps, walks outside when he can. You exist in orbit around him, sometimes communicating in passing - but only in passing. You spend no time together, have no conversations, share no text messages or meals.

It’s starting to feel safe again, Namjoon thinks. Those alarm bells have quieted down. Now they act more like disgruntled guard dogs who think they saw something in the yard; they keep their narrowed, suspicious eyes on the gate, giving unhappy grumbles now and then.

Of course, the universe never lets him rest for long. On Friday night, Hobi texts him at eight, “Bar! You have two hours to mentally prepare! I will see you there or else!!!”

Namjoon texts back, “you need to calm down with the exclamation points”. But he still turns to eye his open closet, pondering what to wear.

–

Sometimes, Namjoon just watches people. People watching is a thing, right? He catches himself at it all the time - at train stations, on campus, in malls, and here - now - at the bar. 

He watches throngs of young women mix onto and away from the dance floor, ebbing and flowing like high and low tide, like they obey the moon too. He watches men his age eye the scene like hawks.

He watches the bartenders hustle from one end to another, hands in constant motion as they exchange money, clutch shakers, wipe out glasses, open beers. He watches the bouncer sweep his gaze over the crowd, like a seaside lifeguard. 

He watches Hobi and Yoongi bend their heads together, talking animatedly over something on Hobi’s phone. He watches Jungkook and Jimin dance near the edge of the crowd, peeking surreptitiously over their shoulders to see if any of the girls near them are looking. He watches Jin throw his head back in laughter at whatever the pretty girl before him has said. 

He watches you lean forward on your elbows, eyes on Taehyung’s face like they’re magnetically drawn, as he talks to you. You both laugh at something; you finish your drink. Namjoon watches as Taehyung leans over to say something to you, slides off of his barstool, makes his way towards the dark hallway that houses the restrooms. You flag down a bartender, ordering a new drink. 

You aren’t watching Taehyung make his way back from the bathroom, but Namjoon is. He watches as Taehyung is intercepted by a beautiful, dark-haired girl who stands only as tall as the middle of his chest. He watches as Taehyung stops in his tracks, a grin slowly growing across his face, starting sly and ending open and friendly. It’s deadly, and Namjoon knows he knows it.

Namjoon sees it happen when the girl cocks her head towards the front entrance, sees it when Taehyung nods and leans down to say something to her before zig-zagging his way through the crowd back to where you sit, waiting for him.

Namjoon sees it when your smile crumples, when you quickly stitch it back together and nod eagerly, when you wave goodbye. He sees it when Taehyung and his date slip out the front door, sees it when you let your head drop to your hands, shoulders heaving with one single deep breath. 

When you raise your head again, your eyes meet his. 

And he sees it - all of it. He sees the crushing disappointment, the resignation, the acceptance. 

He’s moving without making the decision to move, his beer glass cold against his hand as he makes his way to the empty spot next to you. 

“Sorry,” he says, not hiding that he’d seen exactly what happened, had witnessed Taehyung abandon you for preferred company. 

You give yourself a little shake and give him a tiny smile. “Don’t be,” you say easily. “Good for him - I wish I had half his luck.”

Namjoon wouldn’t say he knows you that well if he was asked, doesn’t think himself an expert on your personality. But he knows it’s bravado. He can just tell. 

But he’ll let you save face. He’d want the same. 

He struggles to find something to talk to you about. His brain goes empty, like static, the second he relies on it. Finally, as you stir the ice cubes around your drink, trying not to look as dejected as you feel, he asks, “How’s senior thesis going? What are the criteria for poetry students?”

You perk up, sitting up straighter and releasing the plastic straw you’d had pinched between your fingers. “It’s going okay,” you tell him, glancing over sideways at him like you want to make sure he’s actually interested in the answer, not just asking to be polite. “The criteria? It’s half a written portfolio, half an author study.”

“Who’d you pick?” Namjoon asks, taking a sip of his beer and finding it low. 

You smile at him mischievously, eyes sparkling a little. “Guess,” you challenge.

He feels himself smile in return. “Rumi,” he shoots out.

Your laugh bursts from you, surprising both of you. “That’s your first guess?” you laugh. “Seriously? Going straight to Rumi?”

“Am I wrong?” he asks, chuckling. 

“Yes,” you insist. “Try again.”

He ponders it for a second. “Whitman. Yeats. Eliot.”

“Absolutely not,” you say. “Quit naming dead white dudes.”

Namjoon laughs again. “Poe?”

“Still a dead white dude!”

He stops, thinks again. “Olds,” he finally guesses.

You raise your eyebrows. “Wow, obscure.”

He shrugs. “She seems like your type.”

You laugh at that, a peal of laughter that has you hunching over your drink. “You’re not wrong about that,” you admit. 

“I think you need to just tell me,” Namjoon admits.

“Surely you know more poets than that!” you tease accusingly. 

“Of course I do,” he allows. “But I think this little game could go on for a very long time.”

You laugh again, and Namjoon feels a smile tug at his lips. 

He growls a mental shut up at the part of him that wants to keep making you laugh.

“St Vincent Millay,” you say, caving.

“Wow,” he says, just a bit struck dumb. Because what are the odds you’d pick her? “A favorite.”

You smile at him, eyes crinkling. “You know hers?”

Namjoon is pretty sure he has a copy of Alms stuffed between pages of his favorite notebook, a memento to his post-Elyse days, when he was - yes - listening to Beside Me on repeat and reading every heartbreak poem he could get his hands on, all in the name of feeling understood. All in the name of feeling less alone.

“My heart is what it was before, / a house where people come and go; / But it is winter with your love -” Namjoon quotes from Alms instead of answering.

You keep your eyes on him, steady, as you finish in a quiet voice, “The sashes are beset with snow. Alms? I wrote about that one for my thesis the other day.”

Namjoon catches the bartender’s eye. “If I get a few shots, do you want one?” he asks, looking over at you. You nod, he orders something cinnamony, and then he returns to your earlier conversation. “Alms is one of the only ones of hers I can quote off the top of my head. But it’s… my favorite of hers.”

You give him a sly smile. “I argued in my thesis that Alms is a diss-track.”

Namjoon splutters. “What?” he demands. 

You grin, loving this. “It is winter with your love? Like, tell me your lover is cold without telling me your lover is cold. Plus, all those lines in the middle about how she tends her plants in winter? Of course that’s your favorite.”

As the bar-tender pushes filled shot-glasses towards him, Namjoon just stares at you. You have this uncanny way of knowing things about him, and it’s unnerving. Partly because he doesn’t know that much about you, and partly because he hadn’t realized he was so easy to read.

You each take a shot glass, clicking them together before knocking them back. The burn of alcohol in his throat urges him to speak up, to address it.

“You remember how you mentioned that I tend to hit the desk when I'm happy with what I wrote?”

You frown with your whole face, brows and all, not following his line of thought at all. “...Yeah…” you say, voice wavering with uncertainty.

Namjoon looks away, at the wood of the bar beneath his fingers, at the crowd of people shouting their conversations around them, at the empty glasses waiting to be whisked away. “What else do you know?” 

He’s not sure what makes him say it. Maybe he’s tired of you dropping these little observations here and there and wants them all out at once. 

You trace a whorl in the wood with your pointer finger. Thoughtfully, voice sounding somewhat far away, you tell him, “You pace when you’re stuck. You listen to rap when it’s flowing and classical when it’s not.”

Namjoon lets out a single, shuttering laugh, barely louder than an exhale. “I’m trying to think of a less rude way to ask this, but why - how - do you know this stuff?”

You twist your mouth sideways into the cousin of a smile, self-deprecation written all over your face. “I spend a lot of time in the living room,” you say defensively with a bit of a laugh. “I can’t help but notice. You’re not very secretive.”

That’s the thing. Namjoon thought he was.

You sit in silence for a minute, the loudness of the bar’s music and chatter flowing around you. Then, completely unprompted, you add, “I know that poem you sent me is about your ex.”

Namjoon’s head snaps up, his eyes finding yours. He searches your face for anything unkind, anything mocking. Elyse had made him feel stupid - something he had very little experience with - and he was evading that feeling every second since. But there’s none to be found as you look back at him patiently.

“Y/N,” he says finally, “don’t take this the wrong way, but what the fuck.”

Once you’re sure he isn’t going to get mad or defensive, you relax, shooting him a knowing smirk. “Please,” you protest. “The line about how you can’t get hurt because you had no expectations? A juxtaposition to when you have certain expectations of a partner, and how it hurts when they’re not met. Like expecting someone to love you back, and then they don’t.”

“I think I need to be rescued from this conversation,” Namjoon jokes, pretending to look around for a life-line. “Quit it with the direct shots!”

You shrug innocently. “I’m not making any judgments about it. Just saying I understand the message.”

“How many drinks have you had?” Namjoon demands.

“I don’t know… three or four? Why?”

He can’t say because you’re saying very honest shit and people are usually polite enough to not do that. “You’re just… dropping words like juxtaposition and I…. truly don’t know how to handle it.”

You give him a wide smile, proud and teasing. “Just admit that I have a big, sexy brain.”

If this is the game you want to play, he thinks, he can play it. 

“Well,” he counters, “I know that your poem about the graveyard is actually about -” He snaps his mouth shut, sober enough to know a mistake when he’s shin-deep in it, buzzed enough to fail at stopping his gaze from flicking over to where Taehyung and that girl had disappeared through the front door. 

He watches - literally watches it happen - as a wall crashes down over your face. The open, teasing expression flattens into dull nothingness, your smile melts into a thin line, your eyes leave his and settle on your hands.

Namjoon opens his mouth to apologize, but the heavy weight of someone’s arm across his shoulders distracts him. 

“Are you two talking about poetry?” Hobi asks, voice a touch too loud. “We already have a resident nerd, Y/N, we don’t need another.”

You grasp at the interruption desperately. “Not just any poetry. His poetry.”

Hobi gasps dramatically, clutching at his chest like a wounded man. “He let you read his own poetry? My God.”

Namjoon sits back, allows Hobi and Yoongi to incorporate themselves into the conversation, lets the moment slip away. He zones entirely out of the conversation, lost in his own thoughts, letting the others pick up his slack.

He’s thinking about Alms and thinking about Elyse, thinking about how St Vincent Millay’s line “But it is winter with your love” had rolled around his brain for a solid month as he was wrestling with the insecurity and pain of loving someone who just didn’t feel it too. Elyse hadn’t been cold - at least, not until the very end. Yet, even still, it had never been… enough. 

He’s thinking about the way you just noticed things about him, the way you made him feel seen when he was used to feeling the opposite. 

He’s thinking, and it’s probably a little fucked up, that Elyse had lived with him for over three months - sharing a bed, even - and had never picked up on his mannerisms this way.

He keys back into the conversation when he notices you signing to close out your card.

“Are you going home?” he asks you, the first words he’s said in a while. Both Yoongi and Hobi turn to look at him, as if they, too, forgot he was sitting there. 

“Yeah,” you tell him. You meet his eyes, but your voice is still a little flat. “I was gonna Uber.”

“Wanna share?” he suggests.

You look at your hands again. “You don’t have to leave just because I’m leaving,” you say. 

Hobi and Yoongi swivel their heads back and forth in silence, watching this conversation like a table-tennis match.

“I’m ready to go. But I can get my own ride if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No,” you say quickly. “I’m not. That would… that’s fine.”

You say goodbye to the guys and Namjoon follows you through the bar. He’s tempted to reach out a hand and guide you, help you navigate the drunken, dancing crowd. But you aren’t his to protect, and he’s just this minute starting to examine where the urge comes from, what’s blooming here, a tiny bud forming seemingly overnight.

Outside, the silence hits him like the slap of an ocean wave. The night is warm, despite it being late October. 

You walk silently towards the curb, phone in your hand. You don’t look back at him.

“Y/N,” he says quietly. You glance over your shoulder, frosty, but you soften almost instantly when you look at him. The apology must be clear as day on his face. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

You sag with a sigh. “No,” you say. “I asked for it. I started it. You’re not supposed to dish it if you can’t take it, or something.”

Namjoon doesn’t agree or disagree, doesn’t shake his head. He just keeps his gaze on you, heavy and serious, and repeats, “I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

You drop your eyes again - he’s noticing you do that when you’re nervous, unsure of your words. Then, eyes on the road instead of on him, you say, “Assuming I was right about… you know, the poem… I’m sorry you went through that.”

Namjoon raises his eyes, up past the bar’s neon sign, up past the yellow-lit apartment windows above it, up past the fire escape and the rusty rooftop structures. He finds stars, glinting and joking from behind swiftly moving wisps of clouds. 

“Thanks,” he says. That’s all.

“It’s hard when the people we love…” you trail off, rub your hands up and down your arms as if to ward off chill on a definitively unchilly night. “It’s hard when they disappoint us. For whatever reason.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says. The Uber pulls up, and you check the license plate against what’s on your phone screen before reaching for the back door. He’s got that same urge again, to reach out and guide you into the car. He shifts his hand into a fist, wills himself to get his shit together. As you slide over to make room for him, he lets one last breath out towards those same stars. “Yeah, it is.”

– 

Inside the Uber, you scoot to make room for Namjoon to slide in next to you, folding his long legs in behind the front passenger seat. 

The ride begins in silence, except for the driver’s music, which currently plays an advertisement in a language you don’t speak and can’t even identify. 

You feel a little dizzy, maybe from the drinks. Maybe from getting vulnerable with your roommate. You lean your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. You can feel the heat from Namjoon’s side, can sense him, solid, less than a foot away. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, to keep the conversation as close to private as possible.

You open your eyes, looking sideways at him. He looks back at you, searchingly. You’re struck for the first time, here in the back of a stranger’s shitty Kia, by how pretty his eyes are - full of warmth and depth, but also something sly, like he constantly knows something you don’t, yet. 

Looking at him, you’re tempted to lean against him; the desire comes out of nowhere, comes from the surety you feel that he would feel… safe. Protective. You feel sure he wouldn’t move away. 

What is this? you wonder. It’s just a moment, just a fleeting thing that will be gone by the next red light, but as tiny as it is, there’s a voice in your head pointing out that you haven’t felt this kind of anything for anyone in your whole life except Kim Taehyung. 

You fold your hands in your lap, turn to look straight ahead through the windshield. You can’t lie to him while looking at him.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m fine.”

<- Prev || Next ->

thank you so much for reading!!!! we're past the set up, stuff is movin!!!! please consider some type of feedback, even just 'loved it!' or a keysmash lets me know it's not hot garbage!

Section IV will post on Friday, February 3rd. I hope to see you there!!!!

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #namjoon smut #namjoon x you #bts fic #Namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic #kim namjoon fanfic #rm angst #rm smut #rm x reader #strangers to lovers #s2l #college au #roomie au #rm fic #fic: mffmhh #slow burn

[thebluestbluewords]

"The council," Evie says brightly, "Is prepared to release more young VKs, on the condition that we find them appropriate foster families." 

There's a moment of absolute stillness, and then-- 

"And that's a good thing?" 

"Nope, no way--" 

"They don't even fucking trust us--" 

"Hey!" Evie shouts. "Everybody shut up. One at a time, please. Freddie, you can go first." 

All the eyes in the room swing over to Freddie Facilier, who crosses her arms over her skinny chest and scowls back at them. "Pass. I can't say anything nice right now, so I'm taking my Auradon lesson, just like they want us to do, and saying nothing at all." 

Of course. 

"Fuck's sake, Fred," Mal bites out. "You were literally just saying that they don't even fucking trust us. Finish the thought or get out." 

Freddie pushes off the wall, the whole long line of her rolling upright, from her shiny purple boots to the tip of her sleek pigtails. She looks mad, and it makes her look like her father. "I said pass, princess. We can't all pretend we love these Auradon folks when they keep coming up with new hoops for us to jump through. My baby sister's the circus freak here, and I can't even get her over without a goody-two-shoes grownup to what, adopt us both? Let them take my sister off the Isle, just to lock her up with some prissy princess family who's gonna treat her like dirt because of where she comes from? I can't just sit back and watch her go through what we did alone, and if she's locked up with some Auradon family, instead of here at school with the rest of us, she's gonna feel more alone than a mouse on main street. I'm not doing it. If they wanna make your market kids go through foster families, fine, but I'm not gonna sit here and just let it happen to my sister." 

She pushes her way towards the door, stepping through the whole mess of them, the tangle of kids and homework and jackets thrown across the floor barely impeding her path. 

"Wait." 

Freddie doesn't turn her head at the sound of Evie's voice, but she does pause, which is something. "I don't much care what you have to say, blueberry. You're the one working with them."

Mal's watching Evie's face like a goblin watches the sun, which is why she sees the flash of discomfort that flickers across the set of Evie's mouth, in the corners of her eyes, before she smooths them out into her perfect mask again ."I know. I am working with them, which is why you don't have to believe me when I say this is the best thing that could happen to us." 

Freddie turns, snapping a hand to her hip, her feet still pointing towards the door. "Talk." 

"We have an opportunity to invite families to apply for the VK foster program," Evie says, quick and smooth, like she's been rehearsing it. They sleep in the same room, in the same bed most nights, but Mal's not a member of Ben's junior court representatives, and she's only an associate for Evie's upcoming Isle project, so she's not allowed to know what goes on in the phone calls Evie has with the Bureau of Isle Affairs offices each week. An admirable commitment to Auradon standards of privacy, that's what Evie has, and it's not Mal's place to resent her for apparently rehearsing a whole speech about the VK program without asking her to listen to it even once. It's a good thing that Evie has so much moral integrity when it comes to her secret projects, that's it. There's no reason at all for Mal to feel jilted by the fact that Evie hasn't practiced this speech with her even once, even though they're girlfriends and roommates and ex-rivals. "We can hand pick the families we invite, so there's no chance of horrible people like Audrey's parents applying and making our new kid's lives a living hell." 

"Just whatever assholes can hide long enough to make it through your vetting program." 

"Yes. But--" Evie raises a hand before Freddie can jump in. "The requirements for being a foster family are flexible. The only hard requirement is that there's one adult over eighteen for each minor foster kid placed in the household." 

"We're nearly eighteen." Mal realizes. "Eves." 

"We meet the rest of the requirements too," Evie says, her eyes bright with what might be tears or her own cleverness. "Or we will, once I have my castle set up. We can take one VK for each of us." 

"Four." 

"We can get our friends on board. Jorden already said har family would do it, and Ally's working on her mom as well. Lonnie's not eligible because of her international citizenship, but she's asking all the people she trusts to ask their parents, and she has a lot of friends across all the sports teams she's been in, and the hip-hop club, and the school paper.”

#my fic #descendants #evie grimhilde #freddie facilier #mal bertha #this is going ~nowhere~ at the moment but it’s the lead-up to how they got the Smee kids in that last minific

[hassedah]

hi, could you write a headcanon where y/n has complicated homework and asks for help from the boys and girls, thanks in advance

The boys help MC with its homework:

Hi! How are you? I hope you are well! ^^

Here's the headcanons you asked! Here, I assumed that the MC was at high school. It's a parental relationship with the boys. You can assume that the MC is the biological child of one of the boys or that they simply adopted a child at some point.

I hope you enjoy it! ^^

Take care of yourself and have a nice day! ^^

Vladimir :

Vladimir had teachers hired by his parents for him and his brothers and sisters. When it wasn't one of his parents who took time out to give them lessons. So he would have preferred you to have lessons at home, rather than see you go off to see other people. After all, he's worried about you and he's never sure you'll be safe at school.

He often supervises your homework. It's not that he wants to be controlling, it's just his mother-hen side shining through. On more than one occasion, he's helped you with your homework, especially when it's maths - after all, Vladimir wouldn't hesitate to do maths for fun.

Tonight you were in a bind. You don't usually do your homework at the last minute. OK, sometimes you did, but that wasn't the case this time. You'd been working on this maths assignment for over five hours. What's more, it was a graded homework - it wouldn't have been much fun otherwise. Five hours of trying, re-trying, re-re-trying to find the solution to this problem, only to come up with a different result every time. You'd tried contacting your friends for help, but they'd all had different results too. In desperation, you stared at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling for several minutes, as if the answer might have fallen from a candle.

"MC? What are you doing up at this time of night, aren't you going to school tomorrow?

-Normally if…," you mumbled, turning your head slowly towards him.

-And why are you doing your homework at this hour?"

You looked at him silently for several seconds before sighing in the same dramatic tone Raphaël might have used.

"I'm desperate, I'll never make it. It's not a failure, it's a catastrophe. I don't have a choice now, I can't give this back tomorrow, so all I have to do is drown in the swamp or change my name and leave the country.

-For God's sake, don't talk like that, you sound like Raphaël. What can't you do in this homework? It can't be that bad.

-Everything Vava. All of it. I can't do it so well that I'm questioning my own first name. It turns out that my name isn't MC and I've been wrong all along, and maybe the rain isn't rain and the wind isn't wind… I'm not even sure that 2 and 2 make 4 any more… "

Vladimir rolled his eyes when he heard you speak before pulling up a chair to sit next to you.

"Come on, don't talk nonsense and show me that instead."

You handed him the sheet before letting your head fall dramatically back onto the table. Vladimir merely sighed before beginning to read out the instructions. There was a long moment of silence before he spoke.

"That's not this year's program.

-That's what the teacher gave us," you defend yourself immediately, "I'd like to spend my afternoons doing something other than staring at a maths paper. And… how do you know it's not on the syllabus?

-I've read the syllabus.

-Nobody reads the syllabus Vava...

-I just told you I did."

You looked at him again, one eyebrow raised in doubt, before shrugging. Yes, coming from Vladimir it was actually quite logical, of course he would read this year's syllabus.

"But… if it's not on this year's syllabus, I'll never make it! You're not going to leave me with this, are you? You've got to help me, Vava.

-I wouldn't have a problem with that…" replied the vampire.

A big smile appears on your face as you cling to his arm.

"Please help me! I'll never ask you for anything again. I'll be the quietest person in this mansion. I want to go to sleep so badly, I don't want to do maths ever again. Help me, Vava!

-I'll help you, it's OK, don't shout in my ears."

You let out a cry of joy and Vladimir winced in pain, yet he made no comment and simply started doing the calculations. He was fast, very fast, and in just a few minutes your maths exercise was finished and all you had to do was copy it onto a clean sheet of paper.

Béliath :

It was her sister who taught Beliath everything. There isn't really a school in the world of succubi, well… there is one, but only for succubi, incubi and half-demons don't have access to it. So Beliath was quite enthusiastic about the idea of enrolling you in a school. He's always the first to want gossip about your classmates and the only one who really cares.

He never helps you with your homework. It's not that he's not interested, but his level in many subjects is not excellent. For example, he has no knowledge of biology, physics or chemistry, and the only knowledge he has of history is that of the periods in which he lived, and even then he confuses a lot of things.

Tonight, you had gone to bed feeling light-headed and in good spirits at the thought of being able to enjoy your bed, its wonderful blankets and comfortable pillows. Until your conscience jolted you awake, and you scrambled for your school bag full of dread before realising that you hadn't done a maths exercise. It's not that you're not good at maths, or anything, but it's three o'clock in the morning, your mind is foggy with fatigue and you feel like you can't think straight. You look at the paper in despair, you'll never get it right, the instructions seem to be written in another language.

"MC! What are you doing up? It's three in the morning!"

You jumped and almost dropped the mobile phone you were using for light before turning to Beliath.

"You could knock before coming in!

-At three in the morning? When you're supposed to be asleep?

-Yes. And how did you know I wasn't asleep anyway?

-I saw the light under your door. I got worried.

-If someone wanted to murder me they wouldn't take the time to switch the light on first… or they'd be bloody stupid.

-I worried that you weren't feeling well, that you were ill.

-Mm. Yeah, that makes sense.

-So, what are you doing?"

You shook the sheet of paper in reply and Beliath closed the door to crouch on the floor beside you.

"What's this?" the incubus asked before turning the sheet of paper over and over, as if a secret might be lurking inside.

"My maths homework…

-And... why are you doing this homework so late?

-I forgot it! It happens to everyone! I had lots of important stuff to do and lots of other homework too. We're sweltering under homework at the moment, the teachers are trying to make us all burn out. I do so much homework that I even dream about it at night.

-You're exaggerating a bit...

-Please, Bel, help me!

-No. That's your problem. I've already got mine.

-Please, Vava will kill me! I'll be buried under her cyclamen before I can say "phew". I've already completely forgotten about last week's homework. You can't leave me like this."

Beliath sighed, but he sat down next to you again. They were hieroglyphics to him, literally, why were there letters in the middle of numbers and figures?

"Yes…. No… but. Have you seen my math level? Go and ask Vladimir.

-So you really want me dead, do you?" you ask, looking into his eyes with a serious expression.

Beliath looked at you for several seconds before rolling his eyes, no doubt you spent a lot of time with Raphaël to manage to be as dramatic as he was.

"Rah, it's OK. I'll help you… but don't expect it to be a success…"

You would have howled with joy, if you hadn't been afraid of alerting Vladimir. Beliath took your paper before starting work. He was rather slow, but little by little you managed to find the solution, even if it took you a long hour and by the end you felt as if you were constantly on the verge of falling asleep.

Ivan :

Ivan is one of the few members of the manor who actually went to public school. It's not an activity he enjoyed very much and often he would have preferred to be elsewhere. So he doesn't hesitate to cover for you when he knows you've skipped lessons. After all, he always feels sorry for you when you tell him that you still have a lesson with Mrs Delanay.

He sometimes helps you with your homework, quite often in fact. He wasn't particularly attentive in class and rarely did his homework, but that doesn't mean he didn't understand what was going on. He always got better marks in the arts, but art and music were fascinating courses, much more so than physics or chemistry…

You glanced angrily at the sheet of paper in front of you, and if it had been able to see your gaze, no doubt it would have run away to avoid your wrath… unfortunately, it was a sheet of paper, a sheet of paper with an art exercise on it. It wasn't that you weren't gifted in the subject, it was just that you had no inspiration for the subject "something scary" as your teacher had said, but well, you live with six vampires who organise blood-drinking parties in your own home, so your idea of what's scary isn't really the same as your classmates', so you're in danger of going off topic…

A desperate sigh escapes your lips as you let your head fall back against the table.

"Aren't you feeling well MC?"

You flinch as you hear Ivan's voice behind you, the vampire standing in the doorway to the living room, you shrug defeatedly.

"I've got writer's block... but for the painter... I'll never finish this project...

-Don't say that," Ivan consoles you, coming to sit next to me. What do you have to do? I was pretty good at drawing when I was at school, and Pierrick's a good teach.

You handed him the sheet of paper with the instructions on it with a sad look on your face and Ivan read it. Finally, he scratched his head before putting the sheet down again.

"Yeah, I can see the problem… your notion of scary is probably not the same as everyone else's.

-Right! What do I do now?

-We could ask Aaron…

-I have to do a drawing, an art painting, not give nightmares to the teacher and the rest of the class!

-That's true…" mumbled Ivan.

-I'm stuck… I've been at it for hours… I can't come up with any ideas, I'm struggling and yet I'm trying… What's more, thinking about it all the time makes my brain feel like it's slowing down."

Ivan nodded. He understood the problem pretty well. You were both silent for several seconds before he exclaimed.

"Oh, oh, I've got an idea!. Do the Twisted Man from Conjuring.

-The twisted man… Ivan, that's not scary…, you protest. Stopping Beliath's mother from killing us all, that was scary!

-Yes, it's not scary for you, but it could be for others. You could take inspiration from the Slenderman.

-Is the Slenderman scary?" you ask, full of doubt.

-He was very popular when I was at school, everyone told stories about him.

You sigh, it might be a good idea, if you change it enough.

-Anyway, it's not like I've got any other ideas. Let's just try this…"

You looked up reference images on your mobile phone with Ivan's help, and the vampire even went to the library for a moment to look for art books that might help you find inspiration. You stopped for a moment to look at a series of engravings depicting Dances Macabre from medieval times. Ivan made a few sketches with you to try and give you some ideas. At the end of the day, you finally had a drawing that you thought was good enough to give to your teacher.

Ivan :

Aaron never set foot in a school; his mother taught him everything. It was nice of course, but he didn't learn to read and write very well because of it and if his mother hadn't had to do the accounts for her dressmaking job, he probably wouldn't have learned to do maths. The idea of you going to a school was therefore very appealing to him. Like Vladimir, however, he was worried about your safety at school and insisted on visiting it himself. Did he frighten your teachers and classmates? Yes, a bit, but at least nobody bothers you.

He doesn't often help you with your homework. It's not that he doesn't want to, it's just that apart from a few history subjects, poetry and fauna and flora, he knows he doesn't have the necessary knowledge to be useful to you.

This evening you were working on a presentation given by your history teacher. "The Hundred Years' War". You were looking at the paper in front of you with some frustration. You still had a little time to finish the paper, but you wanted to get it perfect. It would, after all, be the last straw to live with vampires and fail your history presentation. You crossed your arms and groaned at your poster. This was the fourth time you'd done it and you still didn't like it. How could you talk about this war in just 10 minutes?

You sighed again, before pulling out a new poster to start all over again.

"MC? You seem annoyed tonight, is something wrong?"

You gasped as you heard Aaron's voice behind you, narrowly missing dropping your pen.

"Aaron! Don't come in like that! You'll give me a heart attack.

-Sorry," laughed the wolf, before walking over and looking at what you're working on. The Hundred Years' War… I fought in that…

-I know, you've already told me…, you turned slowly to your work before sighing again. I can't do it Aaron… I've been doing it over and over again for hours and it never satisfies me.

-You're too hard on yourself. Do you want me to help you?

-You'd help me," you exclaim, turning to Aaron.

-Of course, since I'm offering. Tell me exactly what you have to do."

Your eyes lit up at the news, Aaron is concise and to the point. You don't think you could find anyone better suited than him to help you sum up the Hundred Years' War in ten minutes or so. You explain your subject quickly and the wolf nods.

"Yes, I can see the problem, it's not easy to summarise such a war in such a short time. We'll see what we can do, don't worry. I'd start by giving a brief summary of the context, the main belligerents, then the stakes, maybe a brief aside on one of the battles, if you have time, and finally the consequences of the war.

-That would be about two minutes per subject…

-You don't have to talk about a battle if you think it's too short. The most important thing is the context, what's at stake and the consequences. For the belligerents, you can assume that the rest of your class already knows them."

You nodded before starting to look for an outline for your presentation. Aaron's advice was useful; even though he often underestimates his ability to speak eloquently, the turns of phrase he suggests have the advantage of being both beautiful and precise. Little by little, your presentation is refined, and after two hours of work it's almost entirely finished, and Aaron also seems satisfied. Once you've finished, you practise your presentation and you're right on time.

Raphaël :

He had teachers hired by his parents and learned to paint with his father. He wasn't really an attentive student, at least not when it came to anything that didn't have to do with art. He skipped a lot of lessons to go out and play with his friends and more than once fell asleep during lessons. Like Vladimir, he would have preferred you to have lessons at home, where at least he's sure you're safe. Unlike Vladimir, he totally covers for you if you skip lessons, listen, he used to do the same thing, he's not going to criticise.

Sometimes he helps you with your homework. As long as it's not maths, physics or biology. He's very knowledgeable on most subjects, but he often talks too much. You can't ask him a question without him launching into long explanations that don't really relate to your question in the end.

Tonight, you were revising one last time for your music lesson the next day, or rather for your music exam. You knew the piece by heart, you'd played it many times without the slightest mistake, but last night you couldn't do it any more. You cursed the piano with an angry growl. Why was it so difficult? It was supposed to be simple, but your fingers were getting all tangled up and making a mess of the keys.

Not wanting to admit defeat, you tried again, your fingers glided over the piano keys with a certain degree of habit, but they slipped on the last few notes, and you let out a raging howl as you barely restrained yourself from hitting the poor piano.

"MC, MC, calm down. You're too stressed to play tonight…"

You turned towards Raphaël, who had just entered the large living room.

"My exam is tomorrow, I can't stop until it's perfect," you reply immediately. "I can't present something that's only passable.

-It won't be "just passable", you're playing very well MC. But you've been playing for hours, and anyone in your place would be exhausted. I'm sure that if you take a break to relax a bit and enjoy yourself, you'll be able to do it again.

-But I can't relax at the moment," you protest. I could do it perfectly yesterday!"

At the end of your sentence, you let your head fall back to stare at the ceiling. Raphaël moves a little closer to you as he continues to speak.

"I know how frustrating it can be when you don't get to play what you want to play and I can assure you that a bit of rest can work wonders. I'll make you some hot chocolate if you like and you can tell me what fun you've had this week. When you try again later I'm sure you'll be able to do it.

-I don't have much interesting to say," you mumble wearily.

-I'm sure you're right, there's always something funny going on at your school," Raphaël smiles at you before putting a hand on your shoulder. Didn't you do a play not long ago?

-Oh no, please don't talk about this any more!" you mumble, thinking with your hands on your face.

Raphaël laughs before answering, "I'm going to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate and get some cakes, so why don't you sit down at the table and wait for me.

Raphaël left and after a sigh you decided to get up and go and sit at the table in the living room. He brought you a cup of hot chocolate while you continued to stare at the piano, as well as the little biscuits he had promised you, which were indeed your favourites. You ate them, mumbling mainly about your music lessons, before slowly changing the subject as the discussion progressed. Raphaël asked you questions about what you were doing at school and about your friends. You relaxed little by little until you were smiling again.

When you sat down again to play the piano later that evening, you managed the piece without making a single mistake.

Ethan :

Along with Ivan, Ethan is the only one who went to a state school. He was a very good pupil, without really needing to work. He always had an ability to understand things easily and he took advantage of that a lot, mainly by being inattentive in class and acting like a clown in the classroom. He thought the idea of sending you to high school was a good one, after all, you'd be bored to death if all you had for company were a bunch of boring old vampires. Like Aaron, he's only worried about the problems you might encounter, as long as none of your classmates are bothering you he's not worried.

He doesn't help you with your homework in general, unless you're having trouble with a physics, chemistry or biology assignment, but he does this by complaining (in fact, he's happy to help you, but he still hates the idea of having to do homework, even when it's not his own).

This evening, you were trying to finish a chemistry assignment… trying, because you'd been at it all morning and you'd finally got to the last exercise. You'd almost finished, which was the most important thing, but your eyes were falling out from exhaustion and you couldn't understand anything about the last exercise. It wasn't for want of trying to understand, though. You read and reread and reread the instructions, but nothing made sense any more. It was as if the instructions for the exercise had suddenly been written in a language you didn't understand.

You sighed before letting your head fall back into your arms, the thought of working even just five minutes longer made you want to cry. Why had the teacher given you such a long and complicated exercise! None of the other teachers did that, she was always the only one to make you crumble over exercises, each more complicated than the last. A third sigh escaped your lips. You still had that damned exercise to do.

"You look desperate tonight, is something wrong?"

You gasped before turning to Ethan. He was standing in the doorway looking at you. You couldn't help but sigh again before pointing to all the papers scattered on the table around you.

"I've still got a chemistry exercise to do… and I can't take it any more…

-I can see that," Ethan replies before coming closer. "Come on, show me this exercise. You're going to make a hurricane sighing like that."

You handed him the sheet, too happy to get help to think of protesting. Ethan read the instructions before frowning.

"That's a lot of work for one person," Ethan points out.

-It's because of the teacher," you answer. It's always like that with her… She gives us more homework than all the other teachers in the school put together.

-Can't you tell her that she's giving you too much work?

-If it was as simple as that I wouldn't do it…" you sigh again before slumping back in the chair. I'm fed up… I'm so tired I want to cry… plus I don't understand anything she's asking. I'm going to go crazy if this keeps up…"

Ethan looks at you as you stare exhaustedly at your work on the table. Normally he'd run away, but you look so tired he can't bring himself to do it.

"MC? How long have you been working on all this?" asks the vampire, gesturing towards your homework.

-Since this morning… "

Ethan sighs before sitting down next to you.

"Come on, give it up. I'll do the last exercise for you."

You sit up suddenly, surprised by the announcement, and exclaim.

"What?! What? Really?

-Yes, I really do. I'm not saying this as a joke and I'm only doing it because you look exhausted.

-Thank you Ethan," you sigh in relief before letting your head fall back into your arms. I could never have finished it without you."

The vampire rolls his eyes but starts to do the exercise, while you, without even realising it, have fallen asleep slumped on the table.

Neil :

Neil has always enjoyed learning things. If he'd been liked by his father, he'd probably have had much better teachers, but he had to learn a lot on his own. He wasn't really keen on the idea of you going to a school… do you really want to be around stupid, useless humans on a regular basis? He could have paid teachers to give you lessons at home… But he gave in to your demands. But you can't go to just any school! You have to go to the best private school in the area. After all, you can't just go to anyone.

He'll help you with your homework as soon as you ask, listen, he wants you to become as good as he is and it won't work if he refuses to help you or explain what he knows. What's more, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy teaching - it's really something he enjoys.

This evening you had an essay to do on the subject of 'Thaumaturgic kings', which was no easy task for you or your classmates. You'd been staring at the paper for half an hour without coming up with a plan for your dissertation. A quick search on the internet brought you across some university articles that were far too complicated for your level of understanding. You were at lycée, not university, and understanding all the nuances of these articles was just giving you a headache.

To top it all off, the teacher gave you some sources… in old French… so largely incomprehensible, just trying to decipher the writing made you feel like you were in an Indiana Jones film. You sighed in despair, you were never going to make it, that was a certainty and you couldn't afford to fail, it was out of the question.

"MC? You look sad tonight, is something wrong?"

You turned back to Neil, who was reading on the sofa, and sighed.

"I have to do an essay, but I can't understand the subject… let alone the sources… Why did people write so badly?

-Show me what your problem is. I might be able to help."

You handed Neil the exercise sheet as he came to join you at the table, and he sat down next to you to read it carefully.

"I see… "Thaumaturgic kings" refers to the healing powers granted to the king after his coronation. It's probably a rather complicated subject for someone your age…

-I don't know what to do, the teacher told us to do something simple, but I'm already struggling to understand what's going on and the sources are illegible!"

Neil bent down to pick up the sources you were pointing out before smiling.

"It's true that I've seen better writing… and there are a lot of abbreviations… didn't your teacher transcribe it for you in a more legible way?

-No. He left us with this!

-All right, then. I'll help you then. I'll start by reading the source for you, I think that'll be easier."

You nodded before bending over the text to try to follow. It was complicated, to say the least, and you interrupted Neil several times to try and understand certain abbreviations. Neil explained them to you patiently and little by little you even managed to decipher certain words.

"Wait, wait," you interrupted suddenly. Did you say Jean?

-Yes.

-But wait, Jean, it wasn't written like that before.

-Yes, it was. That's the problem with this kind of text - the spelling wasn't fixed.

-Not fixed, not fixed, there are limits after all, he could have decided on a way of writing it and stuck to it.

Neil laughs at your confusion before showing you another spelling a little further down the text.

"It's written in a different way here".

You sigh, a little disappointed by such unstable spelling, before continuing to listen to Neil.

You work on your essay together for a while longer, gradually understanding the subject better and better, and coming up with a plan for your essay no longer seems insurmountable. You quickly finish the work before going out for a walk in town with Neil.

Léandra :

She went to a sort of school for succubi when she was a child. It wasn't her favourite thing to do and most of the time she just skipped classes. Most things she learned from her mother or other older succubi. She was a bit put off by your idea of wanting to go to a school because… well it's not the most fun place in the world, but she gave in after all, if that's all it takes to please you.

She doesn't often help you with your homework. More often than not, she doesn't really understand it. Her knowledge of many human subjects is rather vague and she doesn't see the point in going into it any further. Occasionally, when she's in a good mood or the subject interests her, she'll come to you and try to help, although this is quite rare, but her help is always appreciated.

This evening you were working on an exercise that your art teacher had given you. You had to work on a painting about Julius Caesar, more precisely the painting : The Assassination of Julius Caesar by Karl Theodor Von Piloty. The painting was rather interesting, but you didn't really know how to talk about it. No matter how hard you looked for information about the painter, you couldn't find any. You sighed as you continued your search.

"Who's that guy?"

You jumped as Léandra appeared behind you, pointing at César on the painting.

An emperor," you reply.

-And… it's normal for him to be assassinated?

-Well, given that is Caesar… yes."

Léandra remains silent for a moment, shaking her head, seemingly deep in thought, then continues.

"It was the Roman emperor who had sex with Cleopatra? Was it?

-Yes, that's it," you answer.

The discussion ends and You continue to look through the books while Léandra stands around you without moving, finally you turning round once more to ask her.

"Do you want anything?

-What should you do with this painting?

-A presentation.

-Sounds boring… can't your teacher teach you to paint instead? That would probably be more fun.

-No… Are you going to stand over my shoulder for much longer? If you've got nothing better to do, you can help me, you know?"

You had proposed the idea without the slightest hope that Léandra would accept, and yet to your astonishment, she sat down at the table next to you before looking at you.

"What do you want me to do?

-Um… I need to gather some information about the painting and the painter to do my presentation… but it's a bit complicated, I can't find much…

-Okay, I'll help you. "

You continued to stare at Leandra as she suddenly started rummaging through the books for you. It was rather unusual, to be honest, and it took you several seconds to manage to concentrate again on the book you were reading before she interrupted you.

In the end, with Léandra's help you found a lot more information than if you'd searched on your own. It didn't take you long to write your talk and set up the power point for the presentation. And once you'd finished everything, Léandra invited you to go out with her into town so that you could finally have some fun.

Farah :

Farah learnt everything she needed to know from her older brother after they left the family. She learned to read and write from him, and he taught her all about flora and fauna and how to look after herself. So when you told her you wanted to go to a high school, she was all for it. But it was a bit complicated, the pack travels a lot and you couldn't travel with them while studying. So she rented you a small flat near the school and visits you every weekend to see how you're doing.

She will help you with your homework whenever she can, but can only do so at weekends. Farah is always happy to do this for you. She is, of course, much better at helping you with subjects such as flora and fauna or history. However, if she doesn't master something in particular, she can always find a member of the pack to help you.

This evening, you sat in your living room with your homework, waiting for Farah to arrive. You were working on an exercise about the beginnings of human agriculture. It wasn't as easy as you had initially hoped, and little by little your mind was getting muddled. You jumped when you heard the front door open and rushed to meet Farah, who was calling you.

"Farah!" you exclaimed with palpable joy. "I thought you'd get here later!

-We walked faster than I expected," smiled the werewolf. How was your week? Have you got a lot of homework today? I thought I'd take you shopping with the pack when you'd finished."

-I've been working for hours on an exercise on the beginnings of human agriculture.

-I see. Do you need any help?

You quickly looked over all the work you still had to do. Of course, you were capable of doing it on your own, but it had been so long since you'd spent time with the pack and Farah that the idea of spending the day on homework instead of having fun depressed you. You nodded.

"Yes, please!"

-All right, I'll help you then. The sooner it's done, the sooner we can go and enjoy ourselves."

Farah followed you into the living room, smiling, and you sat down around the table. As you worked, you told her what you had done during the week.

"Are you having a good time at high school at the moment?

-Yes, we are. We're preparing a play! We haven't decided which one we're going to do yet, but we can choose between : Sleeping Beauty, Little Red Riding Hood and Alice in Wonderland.

-Well, that sounds like fun, I hope you'll let me know when we can come and see it with the pack.

-Oh no, Farah, I'm going to get noticed if you all come."

The she-wolf laughed in amusement at your reaction, before resuming a few seconds later.

-You can ask Willie if you're nervous. He used to perform on stage when he was still human, so he knows how to deal with that sort of thing."

You nodded as you continued your homework, and with Farah's help it only took you an hour to finish it all. You left shortly afterwards to join the pack and go shopping together.

#moonlight lovers #moonlight lovers vladimir #moonlight lovers béliath #moonlight lovers ivan #moonlight lovers aaron #moonlight lovers raphael #moonlight lovers ethan #moonlight lovers neil #moonlight lovers leandra #moonlight lovers farah

[thewalkingplumbob]

[Beginning] [Previous] [Next]

English class was over and Aubrie gathered up her textbook, ready to follow Liam out to the hallway. Before she could leave, Mr. Olsen called her over to his desk.

Mr. Olsen: You’re Aubrielle Burke, right? Uh... Mrs. Douglas mentioned your name in her notes to me.

Aubrie, surprised: She did?!

Mr. Olsen: She said you’re a very talented writer. Judging by your homework assignment, I’d have to agree with her assessment.

Aubrie didn’t know what to say. She was flattered, but for some reason she felt uneasy receiving the compliment from Mr. Olsen.

Aubrie: O-oh. Well, um, thanks.

Mr. Olsen: The reason I wanted to talk to you was to invite you to join my after school writing program. It mostly focuses on essay and short story writing. It’s meant to help prepare students for the SATs, ACTs, college English classes... Y’know, stuff like that.

Aubrie: I’m flattered. But--

Mr. Olsen, standing up: Just take a day to think about it.

Aubrie, small smile: I will. Thank you for the offer, Mr. Olsen.

Aubrie gave a polite smile and started walking towards the door, eager to meet up with Liam and tell him about the offer. Mr. Olsen didn’t follow her. Instead, he simply watched her leave, a sly expression on his face.

Mr. Olsen, quietly: This is going to be fun...

#The Sims 4 #Sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 storytelling #Behind Your Smile #BYS #Aubrielle Burke #Timothy Olsen #twp post #the walking queue

[scaly-freaks]

Literally every single headcanon idea for Feyd and the new oc, chose any you like I wanna know all of them

HMMM okay omg there were so many questions this is about to feel like HOMEWORK!!! Let me lay the ones I like out. I kinda weave my own canon in to fill out blanks from the OG canon material btw.

(i've decided to name her Eshal, it means 'flower of paradise' in Arabic and is only fitting considering the influences in Dune)

How did your muses meet?

Feyd-Rautha killed her father and dragged her by the hair back to his spaceship. Mhm. I wish I could make it more romantic. But I cannot. Eshal was on the verge of going through the spice agony when the Harkonnens arrived, and for some reason that is inexplicable to both her and her fellow sayyadina, she couldn't use the Voice even though she had the ability before. She hasn't been able to use it since she was brought onto Giedi Prime (though I guess shrieking with grief and rage as Feyd dragged her to the ship counts as a very hearty attempt).

2. How long have your muses known each other?

About two months since he took her.

3. What was the last gift your muses got for each other?

Well, you see, Feyd got her a music box. It had her mother's teeth in it. She does appreciate it, though she'd never tell him, and she definitely knows he didn't do it out of the goodness of his heart. He just wanted to break her spirit, but instead, it's the one thing keeping her from suicide because she focuses on the question: who will protect my mother's teeth if I'm gone? (Her father did it before her - she has no siblings)

4. Do your muses have a 'place' that's just for the two of them?

Yes, the dungeon.

5. Do your muses want children?

Feyd is like the Baron in the sense in that he has a great deal of disgust for the Bene Gesserit breeding program. However he is fascinated by them, and it's like 'penis envy' but in reverse (whatever that's called). I think if it came to it, he'd come round to the idea of an heir, though we better keep that little mf away from him if it's a boy because he's definitely the kind of father who'd be overly competitive with a son.

Eshal would rather cut out her own tongue than consider having a child outside of the breeding program (this may or may not change).

6. Do your muses want to get married?

No.

7. Do your muses have any pets together?

Feyd has his harpy pets. Eshal can share them I suppose.

8. What do your muses do for fun together?

One tortures the other. The other screams. And then occasionally pisses themselves and starts laughing deliriously.

9. Which one of your muses is more affectionate?

An anaconda is more affectionate than either of them.

10. Who's most likely to apologise first after an argument?

Argument? What argument?

11. What was your muses first impression of each other?

Feyd thought she was very pretty in the way a deer is very pretty just before you shoot and kill it. The deers on Giedi Prime have poison tongues though, so if one gets you just before you get it, it's over for both of you.

Eshal thought he was bald and barbaric as fuck. Her opinion hasn't changed.

12. What is one word that would describe your muses relation?

Demonic.

13. What is your muse's sex life like? How frequent? What are they into?

*awkward laugh* Not with each other...but uhhhh...well, I'm guessing since Eshal hasn't been admitted into any kind of Bene Gesserit breeding program yet, she's still a virgin (?) I don't know if they're allowed to have sex recreationally outside of their assigned penis-havers.

Feyd fucks. Like everyday. Doggy position is his favourite. He doesn't like eye contact until it's on his own terms, and he doesn't like any kind of intimacy that involves being reminded the person he's fucking is also a human being. Hence the doggy position where he doesn't have to see their face. I also headcanon that he's into CNC/Bloodplay/Asphyxiation/Humiliation/Degradation all that stuff, ya know? He's also massively into Fearplay. If you don't know what that is...get acquainted.

14. Do your muses have a 'song' that's just for them?

No, but I have some for them.

#feyd rautha #feyd x oc #dune part two #ask game