#i’m not blaming the author entirely because my god you have to dig for ANYTHING on this character. standard [redacted] misogyny. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tyonfs · 4 years

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i like me better (when i’m with you)

PAIRING ▸ jeong jaehyun x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ friends to enemies to lovers, college au, sports, friends with benefits, smut, crack, fluff

WARNINGS ▸ sexual !! tension !! lots of it, smut (public sex, fingering, hate sex, raw sex, pool sex, oral sex), mark lee cockblocking, also yes, there’s actual fluff

SUMMARY ▸ there was no one else on the planet that made your blood boil like jeong jaehyun did. you never thought your feelings toward him were anything past pure hatred, but when you were lost in the feeling of his lips on yours and his hands on your body, you couldn’t help but think that maybe a part of you didn’t completely hate his guts.

PLAYLIST ▸ i like me better by lauv • unravel me by sabrina claudio

WORD COUNT ▸ 11896 words

TAG LIST ▸ @gotoartistprofile @chanluster @steamyjaehyun

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ big shoutout to fia for hyping me up to complete this and i hope you guys enjoy it !! thank you so much for reading ♡ part of the dunk shot! series but can be read separately!

SOMETIMES, THE AMOUNT OF HATRED YOU HAD FOR JEONG JAEHYUN AMAZED YOU.

To the average human being, Jeong Jaehyun was, in a sense, perfect. On the surface, he was everyone’s trademark Golden Boy—good grades, athletic, and a seemingly good personality. The last point, however, was a complete and utter lie. Simply put, Jaehyun was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and you, unfortunately, wound up becoming his target.

If it weren’t for your love for cheerleading, you probably would never have to see Jaehyun, but your passion came with a price. Competitors were often asked a series of questions, and these questions typically included inquiring about your hardships as an athlete. If someone were to ask you what the hardest part of being a cheerleader was, your answer would not be what they expected.

It wasn’t getting back up after bad falls that left you with bruises and a concussion. It wasn’t dealing with the basketball team’s aftermath of a devastating loss and having to cheer them on through it. It wasn’t waking up extra early for morning practices, or having to push yourself to run miles in the sweltering heat. Hell, it wasn’t even dealing with the horny basketball team members at afterparties.

It was the annual training camp.

Every winter, the team attended a week-long training session along with several other teams in the city. With state-of-the-art facilities and a massive training center, the training camp was an event that the entire team looked forward to. Although the training was brutal, the luxury of the hotel rooms and the gourmet meals had made up for all of that. Yet, despite all of that, the camp itself was still hell for you.

It wasn’t all bad, though. In fact, you indulged in the concept of a training camp, delighted with the opportunity to meet cheerleaders from different universities. A handful of your friends from high school had joined teams at different universities, so it was exciting to get to see them all again. All in all, it was the whole package deal: friends, your favorite sport, and fun times. What could possibly ruin that?

Well, a certain someone by the name of Jeong Jaehyun could, and that wonderful individual incensed your fury quite like no other.

“You again,” you spat, clutching your duffel bag strap. You had just gotten off the bus to head into the hotel, but the devil himself was blocking your way.

“Y/N,” the devil cooed, “do you need help carrying that?”

“I’m fine.”

You shrugged Jaehyun off and tried to move past him, but the bane of your existence had other plans. He tossed you a small carton of milk; it was the kind you could buy at a vending machine. Your reflexes kicked in just in time for you to catch it, giving him a questioning look.

“You should be drinking more milk, Y/N. It’s good for you,” Jaehyun said. You were sure he was going to make a snide comment so you opened your mouth to protest, but he continued, “Jaemin likes big tits, you know?”

Ouch.

You and Jaehyun went farther back than you’d like to admit. While you did currently attend different universities, you had the joyous experience of going to the same high school as him. He wasn’t too different now; he had the same dimpled smile, the same godly features, and the same cocky smirk when things were going the way he planned. What was different was that you two were once friends.

And what took the cake? You had a big crush on his friend and fellow teammate. Introducing Na Jaemin, everyone.

It wasn’t like you never got over Jaemin, but you had to admit that your heart still fluttered pitifully whenever you saw him. It didn’t help that he was so breathtakingly beautiful, so undeniably genuine, and such a sweetheart. Unfortunately, Jaehyun knew of your little secret. Being the conniving little snake he was, he used it to his advantage.

Ever since your fallout with him in your senior year of high school, you’ve hated Jeong Jaehyun, and you were sure he hated you right back. It almost felt akin to the competition at this point, and you were a pretty sore loser. Honestly, you were sad initially when he broke off your friendship in senior year and threw crude insults at you. You normally didn’t let things get to you, but it hurt to hear that your best friend didn’t want anything to do with you after you had told him you were going to a different university. You were sure the both of you had grown past that, but now he had changed from a sincere highschooler to a complete low-life piece of shit.

“You’re a douche, Jaehyun,” you sneered.

A grin spread across his face. “Yeah, I know.”

You scoffed. “God, if I could, I would smash that pretty face into—”

“Hey!” a loud voice laced with trepidation interjected. It was your best friend on your school’s basketball team, Mark Lee, coming to your rescue; or, rather, he was trying to prevent you from doing something you’d most probably regret. He shot Jaehyun a warning look and slung an arm around your shoulders. “Y/N, what’re you doing here? We have to check into our hotel rooms.”

You looked back at Jaehyun to see a smug look on his face before he turned to catch up to Taeyong and Jaemin. You looked back up at Mark, who was also keeping an eye out for the demon in disguise.

“Thanks for getting me out of that mess,” you mumbled. “That guy is so infuriating. I can’t believe he still brings up Jaemin when I’m clearly over him!”

Your words were sharp enough that Mark and the people around you flinched, even if they weren’t completely paying attention to your rant. It was common knowledge that Jaehyun’s presence left you in low spirits, and Mark had come to terms that you would always be in a bitter mood during the training camp, and that there was only one person to blame for it.

Mark shot you a sympathetic look that you knew was intended to show his helpfulness, but instead just served to make you appear all the more bitter.

“Why don’t you just ignore him?” he suggested. “He’s just looking for a reaction out of you.”

“If I let him get the last word, then he wins.”

“At least he’d stop bothering you,” Mark reasoned as you both made your way to where your team had gathered by the reception desk.

“Is this about Jaehyun again?” Zhong Chenle chimed in, a devilish grin plastered across his face. “You’re a handful, Y/N.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped.

Chenle just stared at you, arching a brow as if the answer should have been obvious. “You and Jaehyun,” he said, “there’s some tension there.”

“Wow, Sherlock Holmes. Observant, aren’t you?” you spat, words dripping with sarcasm. “We’ve hated each other for years. Of course there’s tension.”

Johnny Suh snorted, averting his gaze as to not bring attention to himself. Chenle rolled his eyes, a delighted smile on his face as he watched you carefully, digging into his bag of chips in the meantime.

“Y/N, I think he means a different kind of tension,” Mark said.

“What kind of tension?” you asked, shocking the rest of them with your surprisingly innocent response. In retrospect, it was more because you couldn’t imagine the answer being anything past the realm of hatred.

While they all hesitated to respond, Johnny spoke up, “He meant the ‘I wanna beat you up and then have rough sex with you’ kind of tension.”

You immediately froze—long enough for Chenle to take a picture of your reaction—the expression on your face a cross between incredulity and visceral rage. You must have looked like a ticking time bomb because Mark had to take a cautious step back.

“Come again? Rough sex?” You were well aware of how strangled and pitched your voice sounded as soon as it escaped your lips, how guilty it sounded, but you couldn’t focus on that as the weight of Johnny’s words were sinking in. “Jaehyun and I?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Johnny answered.

“That’s a lie.”

“Yeah? Then why do you two always look at each other so weird?”

You didn’t know how to defend yourself now so you just said, “He’s a bastard and I would never see him in any other way.”

“You say that now but we all know—”

“Alright, let’s drop it,” Mark said, trying to defuse the situation before you blew it up into an argument. “I would rather go rest in my hotel room rather than bear witness to a homicide.”

“Fine, fine,” Johnny relented.

You scoffed and jabbed at his foot with yours before letting the topic go. Your squabbles with them were all in good nature, but this one somehow put you off. It was like Johnny had planted the seeds and were waiting for them to grow. You were starting to mull over every interaction you’ve had with Jeong Jaehyun.

Johnny and Chenle had made a startlingly accurate observation. You and Jaehyun did look at each other for a little too long sometimes, nearly to the point where it seemed like you were basking in the attention of the other—

No fucking way.

You were not going down that path. There was nothing more to your relationship with Jeong Jaehyun than pure hatred and resentment. He was a douchebag who was intent on making you feel like shit. His only motive was to start shit again between you and Jaemin, who you would’ve completely forgotten by now if it weren’t for him.

No way. There was absolutely no undercurrent of desire that was creeping its way to be uncovered.

Or was there? a small, treacherous part of your mind offered.

You were lost in your thoughts as the coaches handed you your room key, as you waited for your roommate who was some girl named Eunha from the other school, as you made your way to your room on the fifth floor.

The only thing you could think about were those long stares, those mesmerizing eyes, and the implication behind them. You always attributed it to Jaehyun being a hormonal teenage boy, but you had to admit that you’ve seen him look at you with some semblance of lust. Perhaps that same feeling was buried far in the depths of your consciousness, too.

Could you possibly be attracted to the devil incarnate, Jeong Jaehyun?

No, you argued with yourself, and shit, even your frontal lobe sounded pretty unconvinced. He’s a petty bastard and that’s all he’ll ever be.

You instilled the mantra of you and Jaehyun being sworn enemies in your head, but you couldn’t help the fact that it was peppered by the memories of an irritatingly familiar smirk. You scowled, willing your head to get rid of all-things-Jeong-Jaehyun, but he was right there.

Literally.

He was standing right in front of you.

“Hey, neighbor,” he teased, all too satisfied with the horrified look on your face. “Guess you can’t get rid of me.”

You were falling when you jolted awake.

A groan tore its way past your lips. You made sure you didn’t disrupt Eunha’s sleep before you recounted your dream. It had been a while since you’ve had one, and realization was morphing into shame when you realized what kind of dream it was. You’ve never had a wet dream before but what made you want to astral project yourself into oblivion was when you realized that Jaehyun caused it.

After tossing and turning for a couple of minutes in a desperate attempt for sleep to overcome you once more, you came to terms with the fact that you were staying awake for now. Staying awake was worse, though, because there was no way you could keep the intruding thoughts at bay. Not with the way Jeong Jaehyun kept flashing behind your eyelids, at least.

You considered how to spend the rest of your night, surveying your options as you stared up at the ceiling:

Watch season three of Riverdale on Netflix so you could make fun of it.

Attempt to sleep, but with little success because there was no way you were going back to bed after that dream.

Count the slacks of the window’s blinds even though it would be pointless because what the fuck were you going to do with that information?

It was truly astounding how interesting your life was.

You couldn’t think clearly with Eunha’s soft snoring, so you grabbed your keys and pushed the door open carefully to keep it from squealing. After your delicate movements to escape your room quietly, you leaned against the wall and let out a sigh of relief. You weren’t too keen on someone scolding you in the middle of the night for being outside, but you needed to clear your head somewhere. You packed for weather that was balmy, but the air conditioner carried a bite to it that made you wish you hadn’t just worn shorts and a tank top to bed.

You could practically hear Mark mocking you if he were here: Are you in the right headspace, Y/N?

You shook your head, getting your provoking best friend out of there, but instead, you found yourself wandering into dangerous territory again.

Johnny and Chenle were parroting the same words over and over again in your head. You wished you could use your metaphysical hands in your head and squeeze the life out of them, but they always flew out of your grasp. You clicked your tongue absentmindedly, your annoyance rehashing itself as your mind gravitated back to Jeong Jaehyun with his stupid smirk and annoyingly persistent cockiness. It was almost pitiful that you hated his guts and yet you couldn’t deny the magnetism he carried, the pull that made your breath hitch when he met your eyes.

His presence was announced by the change in the air more than anything else. You didn’t have to see him to know he was there. You clenched your jaw; you couldn’t catch a break from him even during the ungodly hours of the night.

He was unavoidable.

He hummed with amusement. “Look who’s here.”

“What are you doing up this late? Go to bed.”

You didn’t even bother to look at him because there was one thing you were sure of and it was that you could not look at his sickeningly attractive face right now. Jaehyun didn’t move, blatantly ignoring your order. The tension was so thick that you wanted to storm away, but you knew he would follow you just to piss you off.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “You should be the one resting up. You cheerleaders always train until you’re near death.”

“Can’t sleep,” was your curt response.

He laughed once, a short sound that was pretty much gone the moment it hit your eardrums. “What? You get nightmares or something?”

“So what if I do?” you retaliated, getting oddly defensive. It was a given that you’d lie about getting a nightmare over a wet dream. “It’s none of your business.”

He laughed again but this time it was lower, more dangerous. “It’s my business when it concerns you.”

“I have and will never be your business, Jeong Jaehyun.”

He leaned against the wall. “I beg to differ.”

“Then keep begging.”

“If you say so.”

“Jaehyun,” you interrupted your own banter. “What’s the point of this conversation? Just go back to your room so we can go back to not talking to each other.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“That’s unfortunate,” you said. “I don’t want to talk to you, so go find someone who does.”

“We don’t have to talk.” Suddenly, his voice sounded closer, and you forced your gaze down at the strangely-patterned hotel carpet.

You swallowed thickly. “I’m here to clear my head. I don’t want you to hover around me for the rest of the night.”

“Actually, I had something else in mind.”

He closed in on you, one of his hands skimming up the soft skin of your arm. A shudder ran down your spine as you felt his fingers travel up to your shoulder, your collarbone, and then the side of your neck. With a swift movement, he caged you in his arms, biceps flexing as he did.

What was going on? You couldn’t quite keep up with the situation but the way Jaehyun was looking down at you made you feel hot. It was exactly like your dream—

“Holy fuck, Jaehyun.”

You couldn’t stop the words from escaping your lips when you felt his hot breath on your neck. Your head went fuzzy and you were pretty sure your knees were ready to buckle under you. The corner of Jaehyun’s lip lifted into a smirk as if he had been planning this. You mustered a scowl at him but one thing was clear: you screwed yourself over by getting into this situation.

Damn it. You knew you should’ve watched season three of Riverdale instead

Also, Chenle and Johnny were right. Not that you’d ever tell them that; put simply, you were a sore loser.

Lust was swimming in Jaehyun’s eyes. The way he caged you felt predatory, a show of dominance rather than passion. That smirk of his carved in deeper, and it only pissed you off. Yet, as much as it pissed you off, all you wanted him to do was just ruin you.

Your pride was too strong, though, and you concluded that you would rather stick a fork in your eye than let Jaehyun do what he wanted. This sparked a dilemma in your head: to fuck or not to fuck Jaehyun, that was the question. One sounded like a pretty uneventful night, while the other sounded appealing save for the self-loathing you’d experience afterward.

“You want me, Y/N,” he cooed. “I know you do.”

“I hate you.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“I mean it, Jaehyun,” you hissed. Your head was screaming at you to just go with it, but denying Jaehyun’s advances and provokes was just natural instinct to you. “I don’t want you. Stop lying to yourself.”

“Is that so? I think you’re the liar here,” he replied easily as you dodged his attempt to kiss you.

You pushed at his muscular arm but he didn’t budge. For a moment, you strongly considered just dropping to the ground and crawling out from under his legs, but you were done for. Seconds later, Jaehyun’s hand flew up, long fingers digging into the soft flesh of your face as he forced your chin upward to look at him directly. The lust in his eyes was so clear, so alluring, and it made you stop struggling for a second.

“I’m not going to ask you again. Let go of me.”

“Good, it’s a waste of breath.”

“Has anyone ever told you how infuriating you are?”

“You did. Many times.”

“Just fuck off already.”

Your words were like poison, but for some odd reason, Jaehyun was immune to it. Any reasonable person would at least flinch, but Jaehyun was so fixated on his one goal. Again, he didn’t budge. He gazed into your eyes with a fierce intensity that threw you off.

“Just let me fucking kiss you, Y/N.”

His smirk was gone. He wasn’t teasing you anymore. Jaehyun’s eyes darkened with his command.

He leaned in and you could feel his hot breath fanning your lips, drinking in your appearance. You were pulled into his trap and you hated yourself for it. You swallowed hard as all of your worries about being with Jaehyun and getting caught had started to fade away. All you could do was yield to him.

“Fine,” you whispered.

“Good girl,” was all he got out before basically smashing your lips together.

It was rushed, messy, and way too rough. Jaehyun grabbed the back of your neck, his other arm still locking you in place. Your hands moved from gripping at the front of his shirt to slowly wrapping around his neck. You weren’t sure how you felt, but there was something that made you want to tangle your fingers in his hair and get lost in him.

The moment Jaehyun’s tongue slid along the crease of your lips, you were conflicted. You weren’t exactly sure what to do so he took the reins. You wondered if he was expressing his pent-up hatred as well. It was clear in the way he was taking prying your mouth open with his tongue, snaking his hot muscle to dance with yours as if he had something to prove. He wanted you to see that he was the dominant one, that he had leverage over the situation.

But when he broke away, he flipped the switch. The both of you were left catching your breath, Jaehyun resting his forehead against yours in a feeling that had a weird sort of intimacy stemming from it. His hand dropped from your neck to brush messy locks of hair behind your shoulders.

Well, that explained why humans were so tempted by the devil.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jaehyun grinned down at you.

You fought down the shyness that was creeping into your chest. Before you could respond, the both of you turned your heads at the sound of footsteps. A flashlight glimpsed by you when you saw two dark figures at the end of the hall. It didn’t sound like your coach, but you weren’t too keen on sticking around to figure out who it was.

“Son, how in the world did you get locked out of your room this late?” one of them asked.

“I’m telling you, I needed to use the bathroom so I went outside without my key, and then I remembered the bathroom was in the room.”

That voice was most definitely Mark.

“Hey!” the security guard scolded when he saw you two. “What are you kids doing? It’s late!”

“You’re on your own.” You pushed Jaehyun away from you and fumbled for your keys before Mark or the security guard could spot you. “Bye.”

You jammed your key in, not worried about waking up your roommate anymore. All you could hear was Jaehyun growling out a short string of curses before you shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Your head was still reeling in what had just happened, but that kiss had left you in the clouds. You could feel the ghost of his lips on yours. Dazed, you just fell onto your bed, into the entrancing clutches of sleep.

You were exhausted when you woke up, and you blamed Jaehyun for it.

You weren’t in the proper condition for training; you hadn’t gotten enough sleep and your head was a mess (well, you supposed you were the only one to blame for the latter). You forgot to set your alarm so you woke up to Eunha shaking you gently, coaxing you into stirring. She was already dressed, tying her hair up in a ponytail. You all but jumped out of bed when you saw her, thinking you were late.

“What time is it?” you asked groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you stood up and tried to adjust to the morning light.

“You’ve still got plenty of time,” she assured you. “I just like to get ready early so I can go for a quick run.”

“Ah, okay. Have fun,” you mumbled before she left the room, leaving you to drag yourself around the room to get ready. You heard a knock at the door and went to open it, assuming it was Eunha forgetting her keys. Your eyes narrowed when you saw who it was. “Jaehyun?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” His voice was somewhere between a pant and a rasp as if he had been working out, which he probably was judging by the sheen of sweat on his biceps.

“Were you waiting for Eunha to leave?” you asked. “You’re disgusting. Why would you think about me?”

“I was thinking about how much of a bitch you are for running away and letting me get in trouble like that.”

“Pity.” You mocked a pout for him. “Now move. I have to get ready.”

“Let me in.”

You made a face at the thought. You knew where he was going with this and you needed to stop it. “No. You’re disgusting.”

“You liked it last night.”

His eyes searched yours in the dim light, looking for something that unfortunately was there: longing. You were never the greatest at hiding your emotions, which was why you couldn’t lie to yourself and refuse Jaehyun. Screw your transparency. Jaehyun grinned at your silence and took a step in your room when you opened your door wider for him.

You closed the door. “I hated every second of it,” you said in a childish attempt to get on his nerves.

You were a terrible liar.

Your back was against the door in a second. You could only let out a soft gasp before he kissed you, hands on your waist, slowing his movements unlike the hurriedness from last night. It was foreign, the way he kissed you like you were the only girl he saw. You pulled away quickly but it just left the both of you staring at each other’s lips.

“You sure about that?” His lips curled into a smirk.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you warned in a low voice, “I still hate your guts.”

“As I’m reminded of every single time I see you,” he returned coolly.

“Fuck off.”

This time, you pulled him down to kiss him again. You fisted your hand into his hair, tugging at his dark locks as your lips moved smoothly against his. Caught off guard, Jaehyun groaned, low and deep against your lips.

The two of you separated again before Jaehyun said, “See? I know you want me. Only I can make you feel this good, Y/N.”

You scoffed. “We’ll see about that.”

Jaehyun’s eyes darkened at the challenge. To prove his point, he pushed his knee up and between your legs, pressing against your clothed cunt. A gasp escaped your lips, the fingers curled in his hair instinctively tightening. You bit your lip but to no avail; a whimper escaped your lips as soon as he started pulsing his knee against you. You grabbed onto his shoulders for leverage, burying your face into his chest while bunching up the thin fabric of his shirt.

You wanted to hold back your moans because you were adamant about not giving Jeong Jaehyun the satisfaction of hearing you moan. Instead, you shifted your hips so that the pressure of his knee became more intense. Sparks flew behind your eyelids as he bounced his knee under you.

He finally released the tight grip he had on your waist in favor of palming one of your breasts, squeezing it firmly through your shirt and bra. All the while, he continued ramming his knee against the apex of your legs. He kept his eyes on yours and you scowled at the thought of him getting off on seeing you crumble in front of him. But you couldn’t stop yourself. He wanted to completely and utterly ruin you, wanted to fuck you in and shut you up.

The worst part was that you wanted to let him.

“You’re so cute when you’re like this,” he mused, slowly rubbing his knee in circles against you. “God, you’re still wearing that fucking tank top.”

“You’re such a—ah!”

He groped your chest again, thumb pressing down on your nipple. Another whimper escaped you as Jaehyun grazed his lips down your neck, nipping at the supple skin. You only got louder as the kisses turned into bites.

He ignored you and removed his hand. Instead, he tugged the neckline of your tank top down, delighted at the loose straps sliding down your shoulders. He yanked it down to your waist so you were exposed to him, and you swore you heard his breath hitch. Jaehyun pinched your nipple with two fingers, drawing out a moan that drove him crazy. He buried his face into your neck, sucking and making you quiver under him.

“Didn’t you say I had small tits earlier?” you jeered, a teasing lilt to your tone.

“Yeah, I still stand by that,” he replied, resulting in you punching his shoulder.

“Asshole.”

“Hey, I never said it wasn’t cute.”

“You’re such a softie,” you grumbled, but your voice was gentler than before. It was almost like you were warming up to Jeong Jaehyun, and you hated the mere thought of that.

Jaehyun pulled away from your neck. “Y/N, I want you to suck me off,” he demanded.

“I refuse.”

“Be a good girl and do it for me.”

You swore you’d go crazy if he called you ‘good girl’ one more time. You were pretty revolted at the thought of sucking his dick, but the way he looked so fragile under your hold made you want to do it for the power rush. It was like some cheap porno in a way; ‘College Jock Gets Sucked Off By Cheerleader.’ You bet half the members on the team beat their meat to something similar to that.

Your shoulders sagged. “Fine. Get on the bed.”

Jaehyun groaned at your approval. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, letting go of you to pull down his sweats on his way to your bed. He sat at the edge of it, tugging the elastic of his boxers down. You swallowed hard, tugging your tank top back up as you stared at his painfully hard erection springing out.

You got on your knees in front of him, lips parted in anticipation of taking in his length. Your hair fell over your face, which Jaehyun took notice of and held it back in a fist. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your hand around his cock. It was rock solid to the touch and twitched at your grip. Glancing up at an eager Jaehyun, you pumped the length of it once, inciting a groan from him.

You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, rousing a strangled noise from his throat. He looked down at you through half-lidded eyes, messy strands of your hair tangling in his fingers while his other hand was gripping the stiff hotel sheets. Then, you took him in fully at his encouragement (which was more of him just grabbing the back of your head and pushing it down on his cock).

“Shit,” he breathed out before slowly moving his hips in and out of your mouth. It was like iron wrapped around velvet, and he was relishing how hot your mouth felt.

He pushed your head down further and right as you gagged on his length, there was a knock at the door.

“Y/N!” Mark’s voice sounded from the other side. “Are you coming for breakfast?”

You pulled off of him with a pop, a string of saliva dripping off your lips. Your eyes were wide as you lunged for your phone, checking the texts. Meanwhile, Jaehyun just frowned down at you, looking up at the ceiling with a frustrated sigh.

“Holy fuck,” you muttered when you looked at the time. You called out to Mark, “Give me a minute!”

“Perfect,” Jaehyun said in a low voice and held the back of your head, attempting to push you down on him. “We can finish up now.”

“Are you an idiot?” you hissed, swatting at his hand. “I have to get out of here before Mark finds out you’re in here.”

Ignoring your state of panic, Jaehyun said, “You look so hot with drool on your chin.”

That was the most disgusting thing you had ever heard, and if it weren’t for Mark being on the other side of the door where you and Jaehyun were screwing around, you would have beat the living daylights out of him. Only a creep like Jeong Jaehyun could find something like drool sexy. You scowled at him and wiped it off with the back of your hand.

“Put your dick away,” you scolded. “Hide in the closet and you can leave when I’m gone.”

He rolled his eyes at you and stood up, making his way to the bathroom. “I need to get rid of the problem you caused.”

You had no time to complain about him jerking off in your bathroom. Mark was not a very patient man, so as soon as Jaehyun closed the door behind him, you stripped off your pajamas and threw on whatever was at the top of your suitcase. You brushed your teeth at the speed of light, using your other hand to brush down your hair. After you laced up your shoes, you opened the door to Mark looking at you suspiciously.

“You’re never late,” he pointed out.

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” you said. In your defense, it wasn’t a complete lie.

“Oh, by the way,” Mark started, “can I use your bathroom real quick?”

“No!” you exclaimed, pushing him away from your room and in the direction of the elevator. “My roommate, um, is… on her period—yeah, you don’t want to see that mess.”

Another reason why you hated Jeong Jaehyun was for giving you reasons to lie when you were a terrible liar.

Training was long and grueling. Your bones were mush and your muscles ached, pins and needles shooting through you every time you moved. As your teammates dragged you to get dinner with them, you couldn’t even resist because you were so drained.

The one thing you loved about training was that you could wear whatever you wanted, whereas you were confined to tight skirts and crop tops at your university. Now, you could rest in whatever position you wanted without worrying about exposing anything, so you didn’t hesitate to manspread as soon as you got to the cafeteria table.

“Did you guys hear about Jaehyun from the other school?” one of the girls gossiped. “Looks like he was fooling around with someone last night.”

You were grounded back into reality from whatever dimension you were floating about in. Your teammates were perplexed as you choked on air, hitting your chest to stop yourself from coughing. You were handed a glass of water, which you gingerly accepted and drank until your body had calmed down.

“Ah, sorry, Y/N,” your teammate apologized. “I forgot you and Jaehyun have bad blood between you.”

“You’re good,” you told her, waving it off. “I was surprised for a second, but I guess it makes sense for a guy like him to go around hooking up.” Then, silence fell. You were confused as they all looked at you with a puzzled look. “What? Am I stereotyping too harshly? My bad.”

“No, it’s not that,” another chimed in. “A lot of girls go around hitting on him, but Jaehyun never lays a hand on them. I thought it was common knowledge that he doesn’t do that sort of stuff, but I guess it makes sense that you don’t care about the details.”

That was news to you.

“Yeah,” you replied distantly. “I don’t care.”

So Jaehyun doesn’t hook up, was what you happened to hear around the grapevine, and he most definitely doesn’t hook up with his enemies.

You stood up in the middle of your dinner. “I gotta go,” you said. “I’ll see you girls tomorrow.”

You actually weren’t very sure where Jaehyun was, but you figured if you walked around enough, you’d run into him or someone from his team. You headed out of the canteen and walked to the basketball courts, expecting to see him dribbling a bar or doing reps. But the first person you saw was Na Jaemin, and he noticed you immediately, eyes sparkling with recognition.

“Y/N!” he greeted cheerfully. “It’s been so long.”

That infectious smile of his was plastered across his face, making a small one creep to your lips. If Jaehyun smiled like that more, then you could understand his charm, but he was always so moody around you. He either did something to get on your nerves or he would just flat-out ignore you. Furthermore, he always riled you up instead of offering you that warm security that Jaemin emanated—

Wait, why were you comparing him to Jaehyun?

“Sorry,” you apologized meekly. “Am I interrupting your practice time?”

“No, it’s cool. We were just messing around in here,” Jaemin replied. “Are you looking for someone?”

You looked into Jaemin’s eyes and your thoughts slowed. He made you feel safe, warm, but that was all; there was no fire, no rage, no heat. It was just a shallow attraction that fizzled out, leaving you neither satisfied nor dissatisfied. And you clawed at your brain as you wondered what you were getting at, but you knew. You knew it was all going back to Jaehyun.

And it pissed you off.

“I was looking for Jaehyun,” you said, “if he happened to be in here.”

“He told me he was going for a swim,” Jaemin said, and that was all you needed.

Before Jaemin could respond, you thanked him and turned on your heel. The pool was in a separate building, and there was no training that even required swimming, so it made no sense for Jaehyun to be there. You let out a frustrated sigh. Even when he wasn’t doing anything in particular to annoy you, it still managed to anger you.

You weren’t going to let Jaehyun do what he wanted this time. This was merely for interrogation—your own personal gain. Then, you thought it over some more, and you reasonably concluded that there was a 97.5% chance that you would not lay a finger on him, but there was a 2.5% chance you’d cave.

When you got to the facility where the pool was, you were entranced by the renovation at first. The pool was massive and the equipment was lined up so neatly along the walls. You peered through the glass to see the pool completely empty save for Jaehyun in the hot tub.

He met your eyes while you opened the door to the pool. His eyebrow arched at your entrance but a smirk settled on his lips as you neared him. You tried to push down your lust; you were not letting him get to you again. You crouched down by the side of the pool and Jaehyun moved so he was facing you, holding onto the edge of the hot tub.

“What brings you here?’ he asked, playfully flicking some water in your direction.

You flinched and scrunched up your nose at his action. “I heard you don’t do hookups.”

“You heard correctly.”

“So what am I?”

“You’re Y/N.”

You were a coward. Admittedly, you had probably always been running away from your own problems, deflecting your feelings with unbridled hate that had no direction, no meaning. Underneath your blunt and fiery front was pure cowardice. Even now, you refused to admit anything to yourself.

You didn’t want to accept that maybe you actually liked Jeong Jaehyun.

Maybe you’ve always liked him.

“Don’t be stupid, Jaehyun,” you grumbled. “You’ve always hated me.”

“I think you just want to believe I hate you. Is that how you suppress your feelings?”

“How long have you liked me for, then? Days?”

“Years.”

You paused for a moment as you recounted your interactions with Jaehyun. It was true that he never explicitly said he hated you and that you always started the arguments, but he was the one who broke off your friendship. Why would he do that if he didn’t hate you?

“You said you wanted nothing to do with me, Jaehyun,” you said in a smaller voice, fist balling at your side.

“You were going to a different university.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, and although you were angry, it was difficult not to enjoy the view. “Plus, you just kept going on and on about Jaemin, and I couldn’t even shut that mouth of yours up back then.”

“So you cut me off?”

“I felt like I was being petty, so I tried to apologize but you blocked my number and wouldn’t let me come near you,” Jaehyun deadpanned. He reached forward and grabbed your wrists, pulling you closer to him. You teetered on the balls of your feet, swallowing hard. “Forgive me?”

“No.”

Jaehyun rose up a little so he was eye-to-eye with you. He smiled at your flustered expression and cupped your cheek with his wet hand. Every muscle in your body was telling you to pull away but you couldn’t. Not when his lips were so close, when his eyes were boring into yours.

“Forgive me,” he repeated in a gentler tone, but it became more of an order than a question.

“Make me,” you whispered and Jaehyun groaned, somewhat helplessly.

“You’re going to be the death of me, I swear.”

You opened your mouth to say something more, but you couldn’t even form your words as Jaehyun yanked you forward and sealed your lips with a kiss. Before, you had the sense to try and push him away, but now you were held captive. He slid his tongue past your lips and you let out an appreciative whimper, hand sliding into his wet hair. You tugged at his hair and this time, Jaehyun was the one to react.

He pulled away for a moment to catch his breath, eyes clouding over with lust. “Get in with me,” he said, voice rumbling. You shivered as he dragged his lips down to your jaw; you could feel his voice reverberate down your spine and to your feet.

“What if someone walks in?” you asked in a daze.

“There’s no use for the swim facility, so no one’s going to walk in on us,” he persuaded. “Come in.”

Water dripped from his neck, landing on your thigh. You took in a sharp breath as his hand tugged at your waist. While the pleading look on his face was priceless, you couldn’t even ridicule him because you were at your limit, too. You let out an irritated sigh when you realized you gave into that 2.5% of you caving.

You responded by pulling off your shirt, tossing it to the side where Jaehyun had left his shoes and towel. Jaehyun watched you as you fiddled with the clamp of your bra. Meanwhile, his hands went to the waistband of your sweats, making you shudder as he tugged them down at the sides. You raised your hips to help him get them off and, after removing your bra, you were only left in your underwear to protect you from his hungry gaze.

You weren’t the type to hook up with guys. Hell, you weren’t the type to even show a guy your ankle if he asked. You thought you’d feel insecure with Jaehyun eyeing you in your full glory, but there was none of that. You wanted to know why it was so different with him but maybe it was the way he looked at you like he just wanted to kiss you. Or maybe a tiny part of your heart always belonged to Jaehyun, and you couldn’t bury it anymore.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

He mumbled the words, barely audible, but they set you on fire. He pulled you down onto his lap like you were his anchor, and you were afraid you’d get swept with the current, but you let him. You’ve only ever kissed a few guys before, so you really had no idea what the fuck you were getting into. All you were sure about was that Jaehyun could make you feel good and you were having your first time in a hot tub. You only prayed that you wouldn’t pass out from the pleasure combined with the heat of the water.

“Is this your first time?” he asked, gliding his hands down your sides. You nodded. “Then I’ll be gentle.” Truly, you did find his gesture rather sweet, but it didn’t stop you from rolling your eyes. Jaheyun saw and narrowed his brows. “I don’t hate you, but you really piss me off sometimes.”

He kissed you again. It was more passionate this time, but also harsher and messier. You let out a sound that was something between a yelp and a moan, making Jaehyun move his hands to run down your bare back. Then, he planted his thumb on your clit and pressed down in a way that made a muscle in your thigh twitch. Your grip on his shoulders tightened; you weren’t expecting that. It felt different in the water, but somehow, you couldn’t get enough of it.

“You’re wet,” he mumbled against your lips as his fingers found purchase on your slit.

“We’re in the water, you idiot.”

Jaehyun scoffed. “You know what, Y/N, you’re right, I did hate you,” he spat, rubbing small circles around your clit now. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself, whimpering as his movements grew more intense. “I fucking hated how you looked at Jaemin with those love-struck eyes.”

There was a shift in his usual cocky expression. He turned focused and, to a degree, angry. It was the kind of look on his face you saw when he was on the basketball court or during a game.

“You’re the one who told me to go after him.”

Wrong choice of words. Jaehyun lifted you up and placed you on the edge of the pool, pushing a finger inside you with no warning. You gasped, your mouth open to ask him why he took you out of the water, but you already knew the answer; he wanted to feel you completely.

“R-right there,” you whimpered out as he pushed his finger deeper inside of you.

He started to curl his finger whenever he passed over your g-spot, and you had to close your eyes. Jaehyun pulled his finger out to marvel at the slick wetness that coated it. Your body tingled as he slid his finger inside you again. This time, he was teasing your slit with a second digit. Jaehyun had no delicacy, though, and he all but shoved in a second finger, causing you to cry out.

He didn’t even care. You opened your mouth to call him a bastard, but all that came out was a pitched moan that seemed to float up to the stars.

“I fucking hated,” he rasped as he pumped two fingers inside of you, “how you treated Jaemin like he was the only one in the world.”

“I don’t… like Jaemin,” you got out, each labored breath of yours fighting off another moan. “I’ve stopped liking Jaemin after high school.”

Jaehyun’s free hand went to your chest, cupping one of your breasts as he rubbed circles around your nipple. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, unable to contain yourself as the fingers on your clit got almost frantic in their place, and the fingers inside of you were pushing against your walls. You felt an unfamiliar cold fire that felt so fucking good, lighting you up and threatening to spill over. Your muscles clenched and spasmed around Jaehyun, and you weren’t even in the hot tub but you felt like you were sinking.

A high-pitched moan left your lips, leaving you hot with embarrassment because you didn’t know you could make a sound like that. You fell from your peak, relaxing in Jaehyun’s hold; it felt like you were floating amongst the clouds in an almost euphoric way.

“I don’t like Jaemin,” you breathed out, still winded from your orgasm, “you fucking idiot.”

“I know.” Jaehyun pulled his fingers out of you, eyes trained on you as he licked them slowly. The look on his face was more gentle now. With his free hand, he brushed loose strands of your hair out of your face. “You like me now.”

“No, I’ve loved you for a while now.” You didn’t know what possessed you to say what was on your mind, but it surprised you more than it surprised Jaehyun. “I didn’t realize it then but… I think I did.”

Love? Love?

You thought you knew what love was. Something that you felt in your bones, that burst within you instantly. Simple glances, thoughts, and daydreams—something gentle and fluffy, but also emotionally shattering. You thought it was tender smiles, kind words, and little gestures.

But maybe that was the kind of love that led to puffy eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and hoarse voices. The kind of love that was left fruitless with an empty gap in your chest.

Maybe this was different.

It was instinctive, the way you fell for him. Like an effortless intake of breath, you were in love before you even knew it. You always thought love was a monster. Ravaging, scraping, foul monsters with jaws so immeasurably large that they would have swallowed you whole. But maybe it wasn’t the tragedy you made it out to be.

With Jaehyun it was fierce and maddening and made you want to rip your hair out. It was a violent hurricane that you tried to brave your way through. But you were blind. You were already at the eye; you had always been at the center without realizing it. And, despite all the pointless arguments and name-calling, it was the most beautiful thing you had experienced.

Yeah, you liked him. You liked how you were around him, despite how much you complained about it to Mark. Part of you refused to admit it, but sometimes the bickering was fun. You realized that you never let go of Jaehyun before because you couldn’t. You simply didn’t want to be without him because Jeong Jaehyun drove a deeper passion within you.

Your rose-tinted loving moment was ruined as soon as a shit-eating grin spread across Jaehyun’s face.

“You love me.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“You love me,” Jaehyun echoed as if he was internalizing the information. “You love me.”

“I take it back,” you said flatly. “I hate you, I hate you, and I’ve always hated you.”

Jaehyun ignored your words, his cockiness morphing into adoration. “You actually love me back.” He cupped your face in his hands, eyes turning into little crescents as he smiled. “Even though I called you a cougar for liking a guy a year younger than you?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I made fun of you wearing a push-up bra in front of him?”

You clenched your jaw. “Yes.”

“Even though I asked Johnny about you and he told me that I still live in your mind, rent-free?”

“What? Johnny said that?” you exclaimed, eyes wide. You grimaced. Johnny would be dealt with later. You placed your hands on Jaehyun’s shoulders and made direct eye contact. “Look, Jaehyun—as much as it hurts me to say this and I’d rather tear out my vocal cords—I like you. I like you so much that I don’t care about the petty shit you pulled when I liked Jaemin because frankly, I don’t care about Jaemin anymore.”

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You wanted to slap him.

“Are you just constantly horny?” you snapped. “I’m pouring out my feelings to you here!”

“I’m better at expressing my love through actions, not words,” Jaehyun explained. “Can I show you?”

“Is this another ploy to get in my pants?”

“No, I’m asking you out on a date,” he said. “Sneak out with me tonight. I want to explore the city with you.”

The offer was tempting. In fact, you found no reason to be opposed to the idea. After all, you were always down for an adventure in the city. Jaehyun being with you didn’t sound too bad either, especially when Seoul was so lively at night. Part of you wanted it purely to catch up on all the time you missed when you stopped being friends.

“Fine,” you agreed. “An hour after curfew.”

“Great.” Jaehyun flashed a grin that slowly curled into a smirk. “Now let me get in your pants.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Y/N, you see,” Jaehyun started, “I don’t hate you, but you’ve really pissed me off these past two years. We have all of this pent-up rage, so it’s only fair that we let it out on each other.” His grip on your hips tightened.

You loathed yourself for wanting him, and for putting aside the fear of being walked in on for him. You internally cringed at the thought of Mark accidentally bearing witness, and you weren’t sure you were willing to explain the situation to him just yet.

It was the price you paid for carnality, you supposed.

You sighed in a forced way so that you sounded reluctant and bored. Unfortunately, your plan backfired and you ended up feeling bad when a concerned look crossed Jaehyun’s face.

“If you’re worried about getting caught, I’ll just cover you,” Jaehyun mumbled, the softness of his voice almost putting you at ease.

You rolled your eyes. “How kind of you.” You paused and looked up at him. “Are we really going to have sex for the first time here?”

Jaehyun looked around him. “Well, I guess we could go to the hotel room if—”

“Nope!” you interrupted, wrapping your arms around his neck and drawing him closer to you. “Let’s do it here. I love the pool, love having sex at the pool.”

He rose a brow at you, hands making their way down your body. Suddenly, your realization of being completely exposed had heightened, and you pressed your thighs together. Maybe it was because your vulnerability showed on your face, clear as day, but Jaehyun smirked, further flustering you by tugging down his swim shorts to reveal his hardened cock.

It was heavy and warm against your thigh, but what you were fixed on was the v-line on his pelvis. You traced along the bone, making him shiver under your touch. You were shocked when he grabbed your wrist tightly, holding it away from him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here,” he growled. Jaehyun leaned closer and nipped at the shell of your earlobe, chuckling as you tensed up under his hold. His hot breath made you squirm under his grip.

Have you ever noticed how insanely attractive he was? Yes, of course. You weren’t an idiot.

Have you ever appreciated his beauty until now? Probably not.

“Just fuck me already, Jae,” you grumbled out as he pushed you down onto the deck of the pool.

In seconds, Jaehyun grabbed your hips and pulled them to his waist. Without any preamble, he rammed himself inside of you. The motion caught you by surprise and you cried out, half out of pleasure and half out of pain. You were definitely wet from being fingered earlier, but two fingers were nothing compared to Jaehyun’s cock.

Seeing his cock disappear in you was enough to make you whimper. Your walls clenched around him, pulsating at the foreign feeling. You were tempted to slap him upside the head for going so fast, but all you could do was tug at his hair and wrap your legs around him.

“You bastard, I’ll fucking—oh.”

Jaehyun laughed cruelly at your reaction, partly to cover up the groan caught in his throat and partly because your attempts at being mad at him were downright pathetic. When you had adjusted to his size, Jaehyun grunted and pounded in you, hitting spots that made your limbs feel like jelly. As if that wasn’t enough, Jaehyun found your clit with the hand that didn’t have a bruising grip on your waist and pressed harshly against it.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Jaehyun gritted out.

“T-then be gentle,” you bargained, drowning in a molten sea.

Jaehyun narrowed his eyes at you. “Have you ever fucking heard of gentle hate sex?” he asked, validating his point with a particularly hard thrust.

Your fingernails dug into his back, leaving hot-white trails down his skin. You were certain you had drawn blood, but knowing Jaehyun, he’d probably feel proud if he saw it. He brought his lips to your neck as you writhed under him, biting around until he found your sweet spot. This wasn’t fair; he was pleasuring you in every way possible and all you could do was cry out as he pummeled in you.

You closed your eyes, sparks flying behind your eyelids as you felt your release rushing to you.

Then, he slowed his strokes down considerably.

“Look at me,” he ordered in a rasp. Your eyes fluttered open, remaining half-lidded as you felt like you were going to spill over. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.”

He slapped his hips against yours again, the sound of skin against skin making you shudder. Jaehyun filled you up to the brim and you were oh-so-close to letting go and falling off the edge. The hardscape was cool but you were on fire, bliss overtaking all of your senses. Your toes curled as you held onto his damp skin for dear life, not sure if it was because he was in the pool or he was sweating due to the heat you both emanated.

“R-right there!” you wailed. “Fuck, right there!”

Jaehyun angled his hips slightly to pound into you, causing you to see metaphysical stars. It was so hard to keep eye contact with him when your eyes just wanted to roll back. Jaehyun let out a groan by your ear, low and guttural. You didn’t even notice how tight the grip he has on you until he releases your hip for you to see the print he left.

You could tell he was close, but he wanted to hold on for you. Both of your breaths were labored as you stared into each other’s eyes, your body moving up and down against the hardscape as Jaehyun railed you. You tightened your grip on him, a pathetic moan falling from your lips as you were falling over the edge.

Jaehyun understood and fucked you through your orgasm, making sure you made the most of it. Warmth blossomed under your skin as you cried out in pure bliss, your vision blurring and refocusing as it flickered from normal to pure white as you rode out your high. You ground yourself back to reality after nearly sobbing out his name, the pleasure overwhelming you. Jaehyun’s eyes went hazy as he fell apart right after you did, and soon, you felt something warm spill inside of you.

Jaehyun finished inside of you and stuttered out a curse as he pulled out of you. He rolled over and laid on the deck of the pool next to you, the both of you catching your breath like you had just run a marathon.

“I have a cute date idea for tonight,” Jaehyun said after a long pause.

You looked over, watching his chest rise and fall. “Yeah?”

“We go to the store and buy Plan B.”

You couldn’t even disagree.

“Sounds good.”

Jaehyun dragged himself off the floor, muttering something along the lines of “shit, that felt good” to himself as he reached for his swim trunks to pull back on. You grabbed a towel to dry yourself off, but pins and needles shot up your legs when you tried to walk. Jaehyun noticed immediately and a smug look settled on his face again, not the least bit remorseful.

You scowled as you slipped your clothes back on. “Shut up,” you jeered. “You’re so shameless for someone who can’t pull out.”

“Oops,” he replied flatly.

“I hate you, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun ran a hand through his damp hair, letting out a laugh as he shook his head. He picked up another towel from the chairs by the poolside and wrapped it around so it covered your head. You bit your lip as you watched him attempt to dry your hair. It was times like these when he seemed so gentle and delicate, unlike his usual irritating attitude.

“You liked it, though,” Jaehyun said. “Right?”

You faltered, looking down at your feet as he continued to dry your hair. “Yeah.”

Jaehyun smiled softly and leaned in swiftly to peck your lips, but your moment was interrupted by the sound of a door opening.

Mark was gaping at you two, eyelids fluttering rapidly as if he was trying to blink away what he had just seen.

“Y/N? Jeong Jaehyun?” Mark questioned, his voice an octave higher than usual. Realization crossed his face through a series of facial expressions that morphed far too quickly for you to process. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Mark!” You and Jaehyun pulled away from each other quickly.

Mark paused to think his words through. “Did I almost walk in on a murder?”

You let out a frustrated groan. “Jesus, Mark, if you’re not going to read the room, at least SparkNote it.”

“Wait, so you were kissing?”

“No, we didn’t kiss,” Jaehyun assured, and you felt tricked for feeling relieved for a split second. “We actually had sex.”

Jaehyun’s words ended with a splutter as you elbowed him in the gut. Mark looked between the two of you, boggled. You nudged Jaehyun again with your foot, signaling for him to leave so you could handle Mark. Thankfully, he took your cue this time and grabbed his towel, mockingly saluting the both of you. You were stupid to think you were safe, though, because Jaehyun had to get another last word in before he walked off.

“See you tonight, Y/N.”

There was a long, awkward pause while Jaehyun opened the door and left the building. You and Mark were staring at each other but neither of you knew what to say or how to approach the subject.

“I just… I just came here to find you, and Jaemin told me you went to the pool. You…” Mark started. He looked absolutely horrified, like a corpse had fallen to his feet—no, rather, he looked like a corpse himself, like someone attempted to do taxidermy on him but did a shit job. “Bitch.”

“Let me explain.”

“Bitch,” Mark enunciated, “you just fucked the hottest guy here, oh my god.”

Definitely not the reaction you were expecting, but you supposed it wasn’t a bad one. You were glad he wasn’t getting into the whole ‘why didn’t you tell me? I’m your best friend’ rant, but this was equally as overwhelming.

Mark continued, “Wait—is that why you were late this morning? Oh my god, this has been a thing. You’ve been hooking up with him in secret, haven’t you?”

“No? Well, yes, but it hasn’t been much until, um”—you gestured awkwardly around you—“you know.”

“So you were the one who was with Jaehyun last night?”

“Yes.”

“And this morning before I picked you up?”

“Yes.”

“Are you two dating now?”

“Honestly, I really don't know,” you admitted. “Mark, please don’t tell anyone about this. Especially not those little shits, Chenle and Johnny.”

Mark gulped. “About that…”

Before you could question him, there was a chorus of loud clapping echoing from the locker rooms which was then followed by a few cheers. You grimaced as the two boys you didn’t want to see walked out: Chenle and Johnny, Tweedledee and Tweedledum themselves. They both wore cocky smirks as they shook their head at you, which made Mark a touch more nervous than he was before.

“Have anything to say for yourself, Y/N?” Chenle teased.

“Go to hell.” You scoffed and turned to Mark, narrowing in on him. “Why’d you bring them along? What are you? The three stooges?”

“We were looking for you so we could invite you to the movie night we were having in Jungwoo’s room!” Mark defended. “I swear, if I knew about you and Jaehyun, I never would’ve brought them along.”

You sighed deeply as Chenle snickered to himself. “Well, I guess Y/N can’t come to movie night since she has a date with—hold on, what did you call him again? The devil?”

“Okay, I get it!” You threw your hands up in defeat, eyes closed to show you were reflecting upon your actions. “I’m a dirty hypocrite and I’ve committed a crime worse than death.” You opened your eyes again. “I’m sorry.” To your surprise, Chenle and Johnny had their right hand up. You stared at it, puzzled. “Do you want me to make an oath or something?”

“In modern society,” Johnny explained, “we call it a high-five.”

It took you a few seconds to process their words before you tentatively gave them each a firm high-five. You blinked up at them before ease washed over you. This was how it always was, anyways. At the end of the day, no matter how much you guys bickered or teased each other, you always made up. That's what friends were for, after all.

“There we go,” you said, oddly satisfied. “For now, I’ll let go of the fact that Johnny snitched on me to Jaehyun behind my back.”

“How dare you!” Johnny gasped. “Chenle was with me.”

Chenle raised his hand to confirm the statement. “Indeed. Please give credit where it's due.”

“Alright, fuck you both.”

What the fuck even was a date?

This was foreign territory to you, but even so, you decided you wouldn’t rely on your annoying friends. First of all, you were sure they wouldn’t really be of any help and just endlessly tease you about it. Secondly, they were simply going to gradually grow more stressed (Mark), lecherous (Johnny), and aggravating (Chenle). Thus, you decided to slay the monster of first dates yourself.

Your first hurdle was looking cute. You packed absolutely nothing that wasn’t for the training camp, so you had already failed. Jaehyun was going to have to deal with you in your gym shorts and a school t-shirt.

Your second hurdle was sneaking away from Eunha, your roommate. That was a piece of cake considering how she didn’t exactly care. When you headed out of the room, wallet and phone in hand, she wished you a kind farewell, which you returned.

Your third hurdle was sneaking out of the hotel. You weren’t quite sure how you and Jaehyun made it outside without being spotted, but you were certain he must have tipped off some of the staff because there was no way the both of you could have walked straight out of the lobby without being reported. When you asked him, though, he said it was probably because you looked like the cleaning lady.

Needless to say, Jaehyun was on thin ice.

You loved Seoul, loved the dirty of it. Even at night, the city was alive and full of vigor, full of young people like you who were chasing cheap thrills. Jaehyun was a dream under the glowing lights, and you almost couldn’t believe that the prince-like boy was head-over-heels for you.

He took you to a wide alley with a night market, full of life and energy. Jaehyun was walking through the crowd and you were following right behind him, like some awkward fish swimming after a cuter, more popular fish upstream. There were several times where you almost lost yourself in the crowd, and Jaehyun noticed this. He reached behind him, still shouldering his way through the crowd, and grabbed your hand. The smell of spicy rice cakes, the numerous pop-up bars lining the alley, and Jeong Jaehyun gripping your hand—it all made a pretty eventful first date.

Jaehyun didn’t kiss you. Not once. He didn’t try to touch you anywhere that would have tempted you both into doing something you definitely shouldn’t do in public. There were times where Jaehyun turned pink or looked away from you shyly, and you indulged in it because this was a side of him you didn’t see often.

Jaehyun stopped at a convenience store before you both decided to head back. You waited outside for him, kicking stones as you thought of him. He was undeniably perfect, which you somewhat despised because you had spent the last two years hating his guts and this was an abrupt change. You were worried if he was buying you something; he had already bought you lamb skewers and rice cakes at the night market. You didn’t want to be the girlfriend to empty his wallet.

Wait—

Were you his girlfriend?

“Y/N,” he called when he walked out of the store, holding something behind his back with a sneaky grin. “Close your eyes.”

You bit back a smile and closed your eyes, holding your hands out. He placed the object in your hands and it felt light, so you were sure it shouldn’t have cost much. Although, your stomach was pitted with guilt at the thought of him spending money on you. You opened your eyes when he directed you to.

Plan B One-Step.

You no longer felt bad for him.

“Very romantic,” you observed, putting the packet in your wallet, “but thank you.”

You were seething. Your face grew unconditionally hot and you had to look down at your feet. It seriously pissed you off that your feelings were so clear right now because Jaehyun had bought you fucking Plan B.

Jaehyun seemed to notice right away and tilted your chin up with two fingers, chuckling. “Is something wrong?”

Your face screwed up when you decided on what you were going to ask him. “Are we dating?” you blurted out.

Jaehyun held your face gently like it would shatter if he applied any more pressure. His fingertips grazed the hinge of your jaw while his thumbs rested on your cheekbones. You were panicking when he leaned in, but it wasn’t what you expected. Jaehyun pressed a chaste kiss to your nose, grinning at your reaction. You reached up to trace his dimple with your finger.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend, Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, flustered beyond imagination, but you had already gotten this far so you continued, “do you?”

“Do I want to be your girlfriend?”

You wanted to hit yourself. “Fuck. I mean, do you wanna date me?”

“Of course,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He drew you into his warm embrace and you buried your face into his chest, wondering how you hated this man for so long. Of course, when those cocky smirks and impish looks came back, you were sure you’d remember again. But right now, in his arms, you just knew that you wanted to be with him. You looked up at him, arms slung around him, and got on your toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

You were positive you hadn’t ever seen Jeong Jaehyun blush before tonight, but it was a sight you were sure you could never get sick of.

And you never would.

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ecoamerica · 23 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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yanderesleepybutwriting · 4 years

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Perfect || Izuku x Reader

_____

Pairing: Izuku x Reader

Request: “Hiya, precious bean! So, I've requested this a few times from other authors, but none have been comfortable with it so far. I found your page recently though, and you're writing is amazing! So, maybe Stockholm! Reader x Yandere Izuku, where reader thinks she isn't good enough for bb Zuku and gets anorexic and loses lots of weight, and when she gets super weak Izuku finds out? Love your work -Anonymous”

Notes: Wow, thank you so much! I’m glad you like my writing, and I hope you enjoy how it turned out. Heads up, yandere themes are ahead [Mentions of Anorexia, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Self-Hatred, Kidnapping, etc.]

_____

All-day you had felt off. Not necessarily feverish, just more tired than usual. Even the usually cozy temperature of the house felt slightly colder than normal. Leaving you with the feeling of not even wanting to get out from your spot within the covers. However, you knew you had to. You had stayed in bed long enough.

Izuku would be home soon, and you wanted to show your appreciation to him for working so hard by cooking him dinner. You had been watching a cooking show earlier in the day and saw them preparing Katsudon. It triggered a memory that you had of Izuku where he mentioned early on in your… ‘relationship’ that he really liked Katsudon, so you were doing your best to recreate it.

You were just about done, which was good because the smell was starting to make your stomach growl slightly. You hadn’t had a full meal for a few days now, and you were definitely starting to feel the effects. You don’t remember what triggered it entirely, you just remembered looking at yourself in the mirror one day and feeling nothing but dissatisfaction. Midoriya would tell you repeatedly how ‘beautiful,’ and ‘stunning’ you were, but you could never understand, and the more you continued to look at yourself, the more you couldn't help but wonder...what if he left you. What if one day, he sees you the way you see yourself. Would he still love you? Would he continue to keep you around? You had been with him for so long that the mere thought of him tossing you to the side was enough to crush you. You didn’t want to give him a reason to leave, so you did your best to change.

At first, you would only skip meals every now and again, but dissatisfied with the lack of results, you started missing more and more. Until you were here. Going on days without eating more than a granola bar. You felt Izuku growing suspicious, so whenever he was away, you would make yourself meals, only to throw them down the garbage disposal after they were completed. The missing food, along with the dirty dishes and silverware giving the illusion that you had eaten something. Then when he would come home, you would insist that you had already eaten.

You finished up a plate for him and placed it on the dining room table before returning to the kitchen to clean up your mess. You pulled out some plastic containers and moved your eyes over the rest of the food left behind. Maybe a bite wouldn’t hurt? Eyes slowly finding their way to your stomach. No. Better not.

You quickly brought your attention back to your pan, moving the leftovers of your meal into a tupperware container. You were so absorbed in your cooking, you didn’t even notice that Izuku returned. Watching you from the kitchen entrance, his expression falling into a state of bliss at the sight of you. His perfect angel.

His feet made their way over to you, hands wrapping around your torso from behind, pulling you closer to him. Gently he leaned down placing his head against your neck, his hair, now even wilder than usual after a day of hero work, tickling your skin, causing you to try to squirm away. But Izuku didn’t back down, only humming, a small chuckle erupting from his chest.

“Mmm, smells amazing, Angel. What did you make?”

“Katsudon. I thought that, maybe, you deserved it after the week you had.” You explained completely oblivious to the ecstatic look, creeping onto his face.

“You remembered?” He questioned, turning you around so you were both facing one another. You felt yourself becoming more and more embarrassed at his lingering gaze before he finally leaned down. Connecting you against him gently, as he savored the taste of your lips on his, sucking lightly on your bottom lip before releasing you. “Thank you. You don’t know how much it means. Knowing that you prepared this meal just for me. Now, come on, let’s go dig in.”

“I’ll just finish cleaning up. Your plate is made and is already on the table.”

“Oh…” He trailed off, hands slipping off of your waist, “You’re not going to join me today?” He was disappointed, and you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You knew how much he enjoyed spending time with you, but being forced to sit through a dinner with him, answering questions as to why you’re not eating was just something you couldn’t do. It would only bring up even more questions you weren’t willing to answer.

“No, sorry. I ate before you came home. I guess all that cleaning really worked up an appetite.” You stated casually, making sure to finish your lie off with a smile, hoping it would be enough to sell it. He gave you a suspicious look, but followed it up with a kiss on the forehead before walking over to the dining room.

“You know you really shouldn’t overwork yourself,” Izuku called out, “You shouldn’t even be cleaning or cooking, although I do appreciate it. I told you so many times that I’m more than capable of doing all of that when I get home.”

“I know, but I want to. I feel guilty since you’re doing so much for me, it just seems unfair. Plus, I like cooking for you.”

“Well, I do love coming home to you looking so focused.”

Slowly your hearing began fading out, instead being replaced with a high-pitched ringing, followed by a slow pressure that was brought into your head as you felt your world becoming more wobbly. Your vision blurring before you lost consciousness completely. The last thing you heard being the clattering of the pan hitting the floor, and Izuku calling out to you.

Ironically, the last of the two ended up being the first thing you heard as well, as you began coming to. Izuku was panicking, shaking you as tears were falling down his face. “Y/N? Oh, thank god!” He cried out, pulling you against his chest. You could hear his frantic heartbeat and uneven breathing. Confirming he was just as scared as he looked. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it! And look at what happened. I wasn’t able to keep you safe.”

Hearing him blame himself made you feel sick. You were the one to blame. You were the one at fault, not him.

“No, Izuku.” You spoke up, trying to lift yourself up, only to be pulled back down into his lap.

“Don’t get up! You could have a concussion. Do you feel nauseous or dizzy at all?” He held the sides of your face and and began examining you intently.

“No, I feel fine.” You lied, trying to push him off of you.

“You’re lying, Y/N. Why won’t you just be honest with me?” He sighed frustratedly, “I’m going to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me. Have you been eating?”

You froze, caught off guard by the straightforwardness of the question. He didn’t beat around the bush at all, and that was unlike him. He isn’t usually one to say what he was thinking, but this was different. Your health and safety is something he takes seriously.

Your expression giving him all the answers that he needed, he continued. Raking his fingers through his hair before speaking up. “Why? Just…why? Why would you do something so careless? Is there something wrong with the food here? Did I not get you anything that you liked? Because if that’s the case I’ll fix it. I-I’ll get you something else. Anything, just tell me what you want.”

“That’s not it.” You whispered, looking down at your lap as remorse overcame you.

“Then what is it? Please,” He begged, “just tell me.”

You held back tears as your throat started becoming tighter. You felt like you were trapped, and you just wanted to be left alone, but you knew that wasn’t an option. Not until you told him the truth.

“I just wanted to be pretty for you,” you confessed, tears making their way down your cheeks, “I just would look in the mirror and hate myself. I hated what I saw. And I was just so scared, that if you saw me, the way that I saw me, then you would leave. And I would be all alone.”

Izuku was stunned, watching you break down and confess what’s been going through your mind broke his heart. Was that really how you saw yourself? He just couldn’t understand. He could never leave you. His love for you was just too strong. How could you not see yourself as pretty, when to him, there’s no one in this world more breathtaking than you.

“Shh, I’m so sorry,” He soothed, kissing your face between each syllable, “this is my fault. You only feel this way because I haven’t made you feel loved enough. That’s okay though because I’ll fix it. I’ll take time off of work so I can spend more free time with you. I’ll show you just how much I love each and every day until you can’t forget it. You’re just so beautiful, and so incredible, but your beauty goes so much deeper than that. I don’t care about the way you look at all. I love you for who you are. And who you are is Y/N. Just plain and simple. You’re my Y/N. And nothing will ever change that. Especially not something as meaningless as your weight. So please, stop. Just stop for me. I want my happy healthy, Angel back.”

After more words of encouragement from your boyfriend, you finally worked up enough strength to bring yourself to eat. It was only a little at first, but Izuku was on top of the moon regardless. He kept his promise of taking time off of work to spend more time with you, but a lot of that time was spent making sure you were well fed. He always made sure you had cleared your plate before he allowed the two of you to do anything fun together.

It was so hard at first, but Izuku was nothing if not persistent. Whenever he caught you looking in the mirror too long, he would immediately pull you away, making you lay in bed with him as he counted off all the things he loved about you. It was so corny, but oddly enough, little by little you felt it working. And that little amount of progress was all the hope and reassurance that you both needed to prove that you were getting better. And that it would only be a matter of time before you were comfortable in your own skin again. Something that Izuku was going to make sure happened.

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fallout4reactsblog · 3 years

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companions react to news of the institute christmas party courser revolution and the fact that the institute is now apparently populated entirely by festive rogue coursers in elf costumes and also what ramifications this has on the politics of the commonwealth as a whole. father's drowned corpse, still in his silly santa hat, is now impaled on the antlers of the fake reindeer on the sleigh prop by the institute's metaphorical front door as a warning and a symbol of their casting off chains.

Cait: “You have to at least give them some points for creativity.”

Cait pulls a face, but says, “I guess.”

“Come on, Cait. You could at least admit it’s a little funny. I’d have paid good money to be a fly on the wall that day.”

“It’s fucked up, is what it is. How are you so calm?”

“How are you so stressed?” They lean back in their chair, folding their arms contentedly. “They basically did our job for us. No more Institute.”

She sighs. “You’re nuts.”

“Maybe. I guess all we can do is wait and see what happens, huh? Maybe they’ll retreat to their underground hidey-hole and leave the Commonwealth alone.”

“Not countin’ on it.”

“You can be as pessimistic as you like. The way I see it, this is a good thing both ways. Either the Institute collapses without strict management- which would be good- the coursers decide they don’t believe in what the Institute was doing before and stop- also good- or we go in there and only have to kill half of what was there. A win-win-win situation.”

She shakes her head. “Whatever you say. I’m not buyin’ it.”

Curie: “The absurdity of the situation is certainly not lost on me, Madam/Monsieur, but surely there are still, ah, consequences for this?”

“Oh, sure, yeah, definitely. I mean, they’ve basically got my son on a pike on the CIT lawn. But, you know, don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things, as the old saying goes.”

“I... do not think this is a ‘petty thing’ anymore.”

They wave a hand dismissively. “We’ll wait for the dust to settle, then go check it out. Until then, I’m not jumping to any conclusions.”

“I am merely saying that, given the evidence, this seems quite disastrous, especially in terms of political instability.”

“Ah, who cares about politics? Unless they or someone else starts a war, it’ll be fine. Let ‘em live a little. Everybody’s gotta have a rebellious teenager phase at some point.”

Curie wasn’t sure this counted as being a rebellious teen, but if that was what brought sole comfort, she would let them have it.

Danse: Listening Post Bravo is quiet. That’s how he likes it, and how it’s going to stay.

Courser uprising. Of course, it was a courser uprising. What else could it have been? Those things are killing machines; death is everything they were designed for, and now they’ve taken the reigns and can do as they see fit across the Commonwealth with no masters to keep them in check.

He pulls himself a little tighter into his corner. God, what a mess. This is over. They needed to go back to DC and forget they had ever heard of the Institute. Tactical retreat. If Arthur wasn’t so far on his warpath, he might have even suggested it, but he was six feet deep in his “now’s the time to strike” speech with no sign of stopping to think about the hole he was digging.

Well, Arthur could do what he wanted. Danse has had enough of this, enough of the goddamn Commonwealth, enough of the synths, enough of it all. This was his home, now, and he was going to sit here and plant potatoes and forget anything that happened outside. Especially the fact that coursers even existed and could, presumably, come knocking on his door at any moment.

He was going to make an effort to forget that first.

Deacon: He lets out a long, low, whistle, then turns to Dez. “We should’ve thought of that one first, Boss. It’s genius.”

“It’s madness.” Desdemona pinches the bridge of her nose. “But I suppose it works in our favor, at least for now. There should be chaos in the Institute right about now.”

“Other synths probably saw the carnage.” Glory pipes up. “They might be getting some similar ideas. This could be our moment.”

“Who would’ve predicted this, though?” Deacon grins. “It’s so out there that I can’t even be surprised that it happened. I mean, tell me “Holiday Office Party Leads to Destruction of Commonwealth Boogeyman” doesn’t sound like a headline you’d see in the Publick these days. It’s the perfect brand of Commonwealth crazy.”

“The Brotherhood is going to want to get on this,” Carrington says, shooting a glare Deacon’s direction. “We need to act before they can get there.”

“I’ve reached out to our man on the inside,” Deacon replies, glaring back. “But until we hear back, we might as well enjoy the show.”

Dez shakes her head. “I suppose so.”

Gage: “Honestly? Can’t blame ‘em. That holiday party sounds like an actual nightmare. I’d kill someone if they stuck elf ears on me, too.”

“Damn. There go my plans for next Christmas.”

Sole’s tone is dry enough he can’t tell if they’re joking. “I’m serious, Overboss. You even look at me with a costume-”

“I value my life, thanks.”

“Just providin’ fair warning. I don’t think any of the others would take kindly to it, either.”

They shake their head. “Mason wouldn’t mind. He practically dresses up in a costume every day.”

“Are you shitting me? He’d be the one that hated it the most.”

“Absolutely not. Mags would hate it the most.”

He thinks about it a moment, then replies, “Fair point, but what about Nisha?”

Sole sucks in a tense breath. “Oh, that’d be a mess. A bloody, ugly mess. Moral of the story: no holiday parties.”

“Good advice.”

Hancock: “I mean, good for them?” He stares at the ceiling, still a little baffled. “I guess?”

“But what does this mean, John?” Fahrenheit lights up a cigarette across from him.

“Well, we’ll be fine. I have that on good authority. Everybody else...” He makes a face.

“Exactly. No one knows.”

“No one even knew this was an option.” Smoke hisses between his teeth. “I mean, it’s fitting that they’d go up in smoke because of their own arrogance, but still.”

“People are losing it.”

He snorts. “Think of the Brotherhood. They must be havin’ a real heyday over there. But us? We’ll be fine. That’s what matters, right?”

“That’s what matters.”

MacCready: “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

Sole shrugs. “Then don’t say anything. I’m still not sure how I feel about it myself.”

“This is a good thing, right?” He looks to them for some explanation. “Right?”

“It’s too early to say, yet.”

“’Too early to say’? It’s a courser uprising for crying out loud. Forget what I said. This is bad.”

“Could turn out to be good, though.”

“Okay, it could, but...” he shakes his head. “What the heck. You’re right. We’ll see.”

Still, it’s a messed-up way to go. The only thing worse than being killed by a courser, he imagines, is being killed by a courser dressed up as a holiday elf.

Nick: He blinks slowly, purses his lips, then carefully folds his newspaper and puts it to the side.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know. Crazy, huh?” Sole pops the cap off a Nuka-Cola and takes a seat on his desk. “All it took was a Christmas party.”

“I gotta say, this wasn’t among the ways I thought the Institute would go. Up in a firey ball, sure, but at the hands of killing machines dressed as Santa’s elves?”

“That’s what makes it so great! No one saw this coming, the Institute least of all, I assume. Can you imagine the mess that must be happening at Boston Airport right now? The Brotherhood is shitting their pants as we speak.”

He just shakes his head. “We can close that case, I guess. I’m not sure if I should be happy for them or horrified at the circumstances. Still, we should be careful; it’ll be hard to know what a change in leadership means for us.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll give ‘em credit for creativity, though.”

Piper: This is the best thing to happen all year.

For once, papers are flying off the shelves. She’s selling copies right off the press, selling them before they’re even printed. She’s on backorder for the story of the festive courser rebellion, which she’d heard all the details about from a Diamond City guard wearing suspiciously Deacon-like sunglasses. But forget him.

People have traveled to get here and get their hands on the Publick. There’s someone from Bunker Hill sitting next to someone from Cambridge next to someone who said they came from the Glowing Sea, of all places. The caps she’s making is more than she could have ever imagined, and she’s glad she faced sleep deprivation to make this one a Publick Occurrences exclusive. It’s been well worth it so far. Nat doesn’t even have to stand on the street to hawk the paper, people are coming right up to her door and knocking, no joke.

She knew the war would be profitable, but it’s made even better by the way it all went down. A holiday party gone wrong is the perfect headline, and if she could find a courser, she’d kiss them for their genius. Because this is the best thing to happen to her since she not-so-subtly implied McDonough was a synth.

Bless the coursers of the Institute for their impeccable sense of style.

Preston: “I have to say, I didn’t expect to be crossing ‘take care of the Institute’ off of my to-do list so quickly.”

Sole cocks their head to the side. “I mean, it’s not gone yet. Just... under new management.”

“New management, new threat in my opinion. You can’t really believe everything is going to stay the same after this. The Institute is going to change in at least a couple of ways.”

“Fair.” They lean up against the workbench. “Kinda crazy how it all went down, though.”

He chuckles. “I’d call that an understatement, General. No one could’ve seen this one coming. Trigger-happy Brotherhood goes on the warpath? I thought we might see that one, but blowing up from the inside?” He shakes his head. “That’s a new one.”

“They kinda had it coming, though. Who thought making killing machines play Barbie was a good idea?”

“Someone who came to regret it, no doubt.”

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deery-fiction · 3 years

Text

Lost Bird’s Forgotten Song

Author’s note: This isn’t a Something’s Changed Update, but The credit is going to the same person, @7spaceace7 because this piece was inspired by her “I Need a Surgeon” fic about Henrik! As always, I hope you all enjoy! A reminder that if you like anything that I’ve written, my Requests are open! Also, this one is DEFINITELY under the Keep Reading break because it took a full 6 pages in my google docs

TW: Blood, Violence

It was dark out, the night sky obsidian black and freckled with glittering stars and a full, gleaming moon. Jackieboyman, protector of the city and one pissed off superhero, was finally turning in for the night as the sun would be rising soon. As a matter of fact, he could see it starting to peak over the horizon, but Jackie was in no mood to appreciate the beauty of a sunrise against the city skyline. Jackie hadn’t been in the mood for awhile now, tense and agitated in his own skin as he spent night after night hunting for a certain elusive glitch bitch. He’d stop to help the civilians, because he couldn’t just neglect them for tragedies in his personal life, he was the hero! But it was frustrating, every night that passed without him finding Anti was another night that something could happen to the people he cared about.

In addition to the agitation and frustration tugging at him, Jackie could feel exhaustion pulling at his mind and limbs. Every night that he went hunting for Anti was another night he didn’t sleep well, and he could tell the exhaustion was slowly taking its toll. It whispered from the corners, spawning and cultivating doubts and fears, things that he carried in his heart and which weighed heavily upon him.

Jackie would blame the exhaustion for his lack of awareness, but he almost didn’t notice that things weren’t quite right in his apartment. The hero paused a few paces from the open balcony he had entered through, suddenly noticing the eerie quiet to the room. It was always quiet when he came back from patrol, one of the side effects of living alone and spending all night out in an armoured protective suit saving people, but this silence… it was different. It hung heavy to the air and clung to his lungs with every breath, settling like a weight in his chest. The shadows seemed darker, more menacing in a way he hadn’t feared in a long time, pooling thick in corners and forming puddles on the ground. If he didn’t know better, he’d call it tar. Above all, it was the awful stillness that raised the most red flags in his mind. No matter how long Jackie spent away from the apartment, it always felt lived in and familiar whenever he came back. This? This felt unfamiliar and desolate, more like a crypt then a place someone actively lived in.

Something was very wrong.

“Aw, is that all the greetings I get, Jackie boy? For a friendly neighborhood superhero, you are awful at making people feel welcome!” Anti mused, giggling maniacally at the other’s severely unamused expression.

As if on cue, an awful, staticy cackle echoed in the room, raising the hairs on Jackie’s arms as he spun around to face the inky, shadowy corner that the Glitchy demon had concealed himself in. The red clad hero instinctively fell into a defensive stance, feet shoulder width apart and fists raised. His face falling into an angry snarl.

“Anti.”

“What the hell do you want Anti? Unless you’re looking for an ass kicking. Which I can happily provide” Jackie snarked back, glaring fiercely.

“I find it funny that you think that’s threatening, especially that you think I’d find that intimidating. Really, do you know who you’re talking to, Jackie boy? I’m offended!” Anti snorted in a rather ugly manner before physically waving it off. “But I digress! I had a question.”

“How does it feel to be the forgotten one, Jackie? I’ve been stirring up so much chaos in the community that I’ve almost… forgotten what it’s like! Haha!” Anti asked, but can’t help breaking into cackles at his little joke, ignoring the confusion on Jackie’s face.

“What the hell do you mean, I’m the forgotten one? The fans certainly haven’t forgotten me, and Jack loved superheroes, he’d never forget.” The hero was baffled, but didn’t fall from his defensive stance, ready if Anti tried anything. “Is this one of your tricks, Anti? Cause it’s not going to work!”

“Oh, but he was so busy, wasn’t he? Making videos, hanging out with friends… and yet he never even so much as called you” Anti pushed, eyebrow quirked and lips twisted into a sadistic grin. “You have to wonder if he had forgotten about you, Jackie. Surely it crossed your mind…”

“No, he hadn't! He would never forget any of us! Unlike you, he was our friend!” Jackie grit out, teeth bared and eyes glowing bright before he releases a bolt of green energy at the glitch. He didn't care if he singed or burned his apartment, he can always get it repaired later with a good enough excuse. If he let Anti get away now though, who knows when he would next be able to find and subdue the demon. That can’t happen, because who knows how many people Anti would have hurt by then? However, it wasn’t surprising when the glitchy rat simply glitched out of the way. “Don’t insult Jack by implying he wouldn’t remember his friends!”

“Oh testy testy... but surely you must wonder? When was the last time he came to check in on you, see how you were doing? When was the last time he did anything with you, Jackie?” The bleeding snake of an ego taunted, flicking out his wrists, and subsequently the knife, out in a bit of a shrugging gesture. Jackie could feel his blood boiling at the insinuations that Jack had left him behind, steadfastly ignoring the quiet part of his brain that was tired, insecure, and feeling small.

“Really? You're asking that? When you're the bastard that KILLED him in the first place?!” Jackie shouted, lunging forward with a fist cocked. He took a hard swing at Anti and let out a frustrated grunt when the dark ego danced just out of the way. He took a small satisfaction in the brief flash of alarm in the other’s eyes, rolling away from the retaliatory swipe of the knife. His eyes flashed radioactive green once more and he let another bolt of powerful energy fly at the other’s head, just barely missing him to slam into the wall.

“Jackie, Jackie, Jackie... you misunderstand me... when was the last time he had done anything with you before I got involved? Haha, of course I'm not asking about after I... t̶o̷o̶k̴ ̵c̴a̴r̸e̸ ̷o̴f̸ ̶h̵i̵m̵, though I am rather quite proud of that one! But my personal pride aside... surely you can't tell me never noticed?” Anti demurred, dancing out of the way of every blow Jackie was sent his way. The Glitch knew he couldn’t take a single hit or it would be game over, Jackie’s strength was no joke. He was a superhero for a reason, after all. Jackie tried to ignore the other’s nagging voice, because he knew that small, exhausted part of his brain would latch onto the other’s words if he focused on it. As it was, The hero could feel himself slowing quickly, the lack of sleep of the past couple of weeks was wearing on him and his stamina certainly took a hit. With each hit Anti dodged, Jackie would acquire another scratch or two from the other’s retaliation. Anti would never take anything lying down, after all.

“SHUT UP! GOD, You piss me off! I'm gonna knock that smug ass grin off your glitch bitch face!” Jackie screamed, not wanting to admit how that last comment was digging its barbs into his heart. He WAS slowing, the hero couldn’t muster up the speed he used to. Was it really because of the exhaustion? Or has he really been declining this entire time, and he’s just never noticed because so few of his opponents truly pushed him to his limits? … Was Anti right?

“You got your little music video... you got that one appearance in Welcome to the game... but then you were scraping by with just references. He stopped showing you in his videos, he eventually stopped mentioning you all together.” Anti continued, voice dripping with false sympathy, as if he genuinely felt bad for Jackie falling behind. However, that was quickly disproven when his voice took a gleefully sadistic edge, grin growing horrifyingly wide, showing teeth sharp enough that it made Jackie flinch back in fear of being bitten. “Meanwhile, everyone else was getting new videos! Even that magic cat brat got to come back before you! Face it, Jack forgot all about you, Jackie. Oh, and you know what happens to Egos who are f̶o̶r̴g̶o̷t̵t̴e̴n̷, don't you?”

“Everyday, you feel yourself grow just that little bit weaker, that little bit less relevant.” Anti sang, letting his words sink into the Hero’s mind. He was taking entirely too much joy in this, it was infuriating how easily Anti was dodging. The glitch was fucking with him and he HATED it. Jackie wanted to make the asshole shut his mouth, because he just wouldn’t stop speaking. His words were like nails on a chalkboard to the hero. “HA! You're slow! You don't hit like you used to Jackie, such a shame... You would have landed that no problem back when you were still relevant... you're only still here by the skin of your teeth, allowed to live and continue only by the grace of the audience. But you and I both know just how fickle they can be, Hero~”

“HAHAHA! You can certainly try, Hero. Should I even call you that? I don't know if you even deserve that title anymore... you certainly haven't done anything to earn it~” Anti jeered, singsonging it in Jackie’s face. He had leaned in, the two practically nose to nose before glitching out of the way of the other’s punch at the last possible second, as if to emphasize his taunts.

“No one asked you, ya ugly bastard!” Jackie shot back on instinct, though it was clearly something he shot back without thinking. With the dark thoughts starting to creep in heavily, that comment about whether he even deserved to be called a hero had shot through him like lightning. Jackie despised how the Glitch Demon knew exactly how to appeal to all of his inner demons and insecurities. Every person he failed to save, every fight that could have gone better, all of it weighed so heavily on the hero. It made for the perfect weakness to exploit. With an enraged shout, Jackie channeled all of his doubt, fear and rage into a single blow, managing to nail the demon in the nose far too quickly for the other to react. For once, the hero relished in the shattering of bone under fist, the crack of Anti’s snapping nose sounding unbelievably satisfying to the pissed off superhero.

“Oh, that hurt~” Anti crooned, sitting up with a dangerous grin, blood leaking down from his nose, dripping down his chin and joining the bloody mess of his neck. “Did I hit a N̷̹̕E̵̻̽͋R̷͎̓͠V̶̛̦̇E̶̹͐̎?! You don't need to be so sensitive, Jackie! I'm only saying what we've both been thinking! What e̶v̶e̷r̷y̵o̶n̸e̸'̶s̸ been thinking!”

“No you're not! Of course I'm a hero! That's my whole thing! I was born to be a hero! It's my duty to protect everyone!” Jackie tries to shout, but his voice was too weak to convey the same sort of authority it used to. It was clear that he was trying to recollect himself, to reassure and convince himself. Anti was starting to wear him down and Jackie didn’t know how to save himself.

“HA! You SAY that, but you only prove my point! You were BORN to be a hero, and yet what have you done?” Anti was digging in his heels, he wanted to make Jackie hurt. The hero was overwhelming in a one on one fight, but words? Words seem to be Jackie’s worst enemy. The demon’s voice turned hissed and glitchy, wanting Jackie to hear every word. “Where were you when I slit dear Jack's throat? Where were you when the good doctor was fighting for both Jack's life and his own? Where were you either of the times sweet, cheery JJ needed you to save him from M̷E̴?̶ ̶W̶H̴E̵R̷E̸ ̸W̵E̸R̷E̵ ̶Y̴O̵U̸ ̷J̴A̸C̵K̸I̵E̷?̴ ̶C̴A̶U̴S̸E̵ ̷I̷ ̸S̸U̴R̷E̸ ̵D̶I̶D̵N̷'̵T̵ ̸ ̷S̵ ̴E̴ ̶E̷ ̸Y̸O̵U̷ ̴T̷H̷E̸R̶E̸!̶ ̵H̸A̶H̷A̷”

Jackie flinched back, Anti’s voice shrill and drilling into the hero’s temples like an ice pick to the skull. The hero was still, eyes wide as he felt himself starting to freeze up, breath catching his throat. As the words left Anti’s mouth, Jackie felt his eyes start to burn, hands shaking. He wanted to yell, to scream, anything at all to make him just. Shut. Up. He didn’t want to hear it, he couldn’t bear to hear it. Because Anti was right. Where was he? When everyone needed him, where was he? Jackie felt cold all over, like he had been dunked in ice water and left to freeze.

“Some hero you are, Jackie! Who have you saved? Where have you been, huh? You say you're a hero Jackie, but from where I stand all I see is a failure and a coward, who never deserved to called himself a hero” Anti giggled, feeling his victory on the horizon and watching with glee as the Heroic ego winced, shoulders tense and raised towards his ears defensively. Their physical struggle settled in the face of the mental anguish that Anti was gleefully inflicting upon the hero.

“Shut... shut up... you don't know what you're talking about…” Jackie tried to protest, but his voice was soft and weak, practically a whisper. The fight was draining from his form, his protests more of a token fight at this point. How could he deny it? He failed. He couldn't save anyone. Anti was right. How could he call himself the others' friend, let alone a hero? He wasn't there, and nothing can excuse that. He was a coward. The burning behind Jackie's eyes grew unbearable, but he still fought to keep the tears back. He didn't want to cry in front of Anti, didn't want to give the demon the satisfaction.

“Oh, don't I? As the villain, I think I'd know the hero the best out of anyone.” Anti cackles, “Come on, What's wrong Jackie? It shouldn't bother you if I'm not speaking the truth~ Oh, but that's the thing, isn't it Jackie? It IS the truth, and you and I both know it.”

The burning feeling in the hero’s eyes finally spilled over, salty tears dripping from cobalt blue eyes as Jackie choked on the rising feelings of failure and grief. Emotions that he had been so steadily ignoring in favor of hunting down Anti resurged with a vengeance, and Jackie found himself sinking to his knees as he grappled with the staticy dark thoughts choking his mind. That grappling turns literal as his choked back sobs turn into desperate, choked gasps of air as something thick and corded wrapped around his neck and squeezed. His hands, which had been at his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds of his grief, flew down to his throat, tugging desperately at the cord as if he could make it budge.

…

The hero should, by all intents and purposes, be able to dislodge what he assumed to be some sort of rope or... Or physical manifestation of Anti’s powers from his throat with his superstrength. However, Jackie found that he couldn’t, the cord holding tight no matter how hard he pulled. Whether it be from a genuine sapping of his strength, or a simple lack of will to actually try, Jackie was as helpless to what was happening as any other regular human would be. The tears came faster and harder, dripping down his chin and landing in soft splashes on the ground and on his thighs. Another Failure. Some hero I am...

“Aw, don’t cry Jackie…” Anti cooed in a sickeningly sweet tone, all soft and fake concerned. The glitch lazily made his way around the kneeling hero, til he was directly behind Jackie. The demon fell into an easy crouch, arms curling around the other ego’s shoulders in a mocking facsimile of a hug. Jackie could almost believe it was one, if it weren’t for the sharp blade resting light on the tender flesh below the bruising rope burn on the hero’s neck. “It’ll all be over soon. Soon, you’ll never have to worry about failing another person. Ever. Again. I’m gonna put you out of your misery, hero, and you’ll finally be able to rest. Now doesn’t that sound just d̶e̶l̶i̶g̸h̷t̸f̷u̵l̴?̷”

That was the last thing Jackie heard the glitching demon croon before the rope was ruthlessly pulled even tighter and a silver blade was pulled, almost painlessly in comparison, across his throat. The world rapidly fell to black and then the Hero knew no more.

“H̶a̵…̴ ̴H̴o̶w̵ ̵p̵a̸t̵h̶e̶t̴i̵c̴…̶ ̷a̶n̸d̸ ̷h̶e̴r̷e̵ ̵I̶ ̸t̶h̶o̷u̶g̸h̴t̷ ̶y̸o̶u̸’̵d̵ ̶b̵e̵ ̸m̴y̴ ̶b̵i̶g̵g̷e̸s̶t̶ ̵t̷h̷r̵e̸a̵t̵ ̵o̷u̷t̴ ̸o̷f̷ ̵t̷h̵e̶ ̶b̷u̷n̶c̵h̵,̷ ̴w̸i̸t̵h̴ ̸a̸l̵l̶ ̴t̵h̵o̴s̸e̶ ̶p̷e̷s̴k̷y̴ ̶s̷u̵p̷e̴r̷p̸o̸w̴e̷r̶s̵.̴”

#Jacksepticeye egos #Jackieboy man #jse jackieboy man #Antispeticeye #JSE Anti #Blood mention #Violence warning #Jackie has a bit of a breakdown #It's anti #An Anti that's a little closer to Canon Anti then Fanon Anti at that

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welcometothebookreport · 3 years

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In 2020, I read 40 books (with maybe a few more to be added after I post this) after discovering my love of reading all over again. I am not a very hard reader to please, so it will be rare for me to rate a book with a low score, so I doubt you’ll ever see any criticism from me. So, here we go!

A few things before I start: There are three series in this list (but technically only two, because I’ve only read Serpent & Dove so far) but I’ve limited myself to no repeat authors. That must have been the hardest part for me. Since Jessi went the extra mile and ranked them in order, I’ve decided to make myself suffer the same. And while most of these were not published in 2020, they were read in 2020.

I am (sometimes) a picky reader, but any book that is on this list, I have loved. I chose not to rate them because honestly, they would have all been high. I give ratings easily, and try not to pick things apart even for books I truly did not like.

Please keep in mind that I do my best to add trigger warnings, but you should always check for certain triggers before reading. Triggers vary for everyone.

10. Saint Anything by Sarah Dessen

Warnings: There’s a male character that’s a creep and you’ll spot him as soon as you crack this one open. This tale deals with Peyton being sentenced to prison, and their mother practically glossing over what he’s done by victim blaming.

I have read Dessen’s books since I was 13 and I truly still enjoy her stories as much as I did then. While this was a re-read for me, it’s a tie for my favorite book of hers. It’s tied with Along For the Ride.

Sydney is left in the aftermath after her older brother, Peyton, is sentenced to prison after a drunk driving accident that paralyzes a boy. Formerly in his shadow, Sydney struggles to discover what it is she wants, and how she wants to be seen as her own mother seems to gloss right over her. It’s a YA read that always feels like more than the romance that originally interested me.

9. Serpent & Dove by Shelby Mahurin

Warnings: Misogyny. The church and religion plays an extremely heavy part of this plot, which was hard for me to get into. It’s clear that some characters do not value women in their actions and words toward Lou. It made me uncomfortable in spots because I just wanted to get past it, but I plan to read this one again since I know that it won’t bother me this time! Still, there is: violence in parts, religious zealots (in case that’s something that makes you uncomfortable like it did me), derogatory slurs toward women, and again, misogyny.

I finished this one two days ago, and I sincerely cannot wait to dig into the sequel. Lou is a witty, snappy character that was such a breath of fresh air from the normal. You usually see the male lead that’s a bit crude, a bit quick to pull the trigger, and the one that’s harder to crack. Is that what happened here? Absolutely fucking not. Shelby Mahurin took something I loved, enemies to lovers, and kicked its ass. Forced marriage? UM YES. A witch and a witch-hunter? Mortal enemies? Characters that can never possibly love each other? DONE DONE DONE.

It’s hilarious in parts. Serious when it needs to be. A bit spicy too, while not a lot, which I certainly appreciate. Reid’s character development is a wonder to watch, at least for me, and by the end of the book, I am so in love with him that I don’t know what to do with myself. I have so many annotations for this novel.

8. The Shadows Between Us by Tricia Levenseller

Warnings: There’s a fair bout of murder. Women are expected not to take lovers before marriage while men are not held to the same standard. Gross. Allessandra is continually underestimated so let me say: let the women do the work.

It’s called the Slytherin romance we’ve been waiting for, and I agree. While this is a shorter read, and a standalone, I was pleased with it. Both characters are incredibly ambitious, but it’s Allessandra that steals the show. The plan? To enter the palace, woo the king, and then kill him in order to take his kingdom. She’s wicked in all the ways I love.

I loved this book, and each page, but this was the line that will make me return to it: “I’m not a trollop,” I announce to the empty room. “I’m a sexually empowered woman, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

The Folk of the Air Series by Holly Black

Warnings: Aside from murder, there’s nothing that stands out to me as a trigger.

A series! The first! There’s something interesting about this series for me, and it’s that I didn’t fall in love altogether, all at once. It was gradual, like wading into water until it went right over my head. By the final fourth of The Cruel Prince, I was fully invested in this world and I absolutely needed to know how Jude and Cardan would become, well, Jude and Cardan.

As a YA series, I was not expecting the sheer amount of mystery, political intrigue, and plot twists that came with this series. However, I never knew what was going to happen, and if I did guess what was coming, Black had at least two more twists to send me for a loop. The Queen of Nothing was likely my favorite book of the series, with The Wicked King as a close second.

6. Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

Warnings: Discussion of attempted non-con assault, forced disclosure of sexuality

I laughed until my eyes watered and I nearly cried in this book. Delightfully funny, and snappy, RW&B delivers on everything I didn’t know that I needed. I had never read a book where LGBTQ was represented in such a positive light. As someone raised in a more conservative household, I’ve known my own sexual orientation for a long time, but this book made me feel like I could relax in my skin because this story was stunning.

Alex and Henry left me with so much hope that it’s impossible to ever put the lid back on. I’m so happy I read this.

(oh, god, we’re in the final five.)

5. The Caraval Series by Stephanie Garber

Warnings: Physical and emotional child abuse.

I could dedicate multiple posts to this series. Maybe I still will. While this is at number five, it’s my favorite series I’ve ever read. If I could only have one series to read for the rest of my life, I would choose this one. Hands down. Full stop. These characters live in my head constantly and I would give an obscene amount of things to read it all over again for the first time. I actually read this with two of my closest friends in our many book club, and we all loved it.

Doused in magic, this world is unveiled to us with excellent descriptions. Truly, Garber owned my heart within a few chapters. Scarlett is the elder sister, Tella the younger, and if you don’t love Tella by the end of Caraval, I promise you will. I know because I was skeptical, but here I am. I’ve said it to my friends, but Scarlett is the one who holds my hair while I have a hangover. Tella is the one that helps me start the bar fight.

With non-stop turns, and magic, everything comes to life on these pages. And the romance, the romance. Please, please give me my great love in this style. It’s not too much to ask for, is it?

4. Letters to the Lost by Brigid Kemmerer

Warnings: loss of sibling, loss of parent, alcoholism, mention of infidelity, mentions of previous physical and emotional child abuse.

Mae sent this recommendation to me, and I devoured all of Kemmer’s books post-haste. Declan and Juliet fall in love without knowing who the other is, while also not liking the real version of their penpal. Juliet has lost her mother, and she’s treading water, but not well. Declan has suffered in the years that follow a family tragedy, and he’s not adapting to life with his new step-father.

But he opens with CemetaryGirl (Juliet) and it’s raw in the best of ways, and the openness between them that eventually moves from their bubble to reality is one of the most pleasing things to read. I’ve read it twice this year. I will read it again next year too.

I also read this twice this year and will for sure be reading it again in 2021.

3. The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Warnings: Child abuse.

This was another novel that I fell in love with as I went, and that’s definitely because of the non-linear narrative. It was a little confusing, but I’m going to read it again someday since I know everything now! I read this to follow-up to Caraval with my book club pals, and it’s just what I needed to leave Caraval behind. Marco and Celia are incredible and I absolutely believe that the ending of this novel is one of the best endings I’ve ever read.

My book club has not finished this book entirely this so I’m not sharing any spoilers, but I would like to share one of my favorite quotes. “What did you wish for?” “I wished for her.”

2. Next Year in Havana by Chanel Cleeton

Warnings: Cuba is in the middle of a revolution, and it’s tense in parts. There are some bittersweet elements and I think the parts of the ending are like the punch in the gut you need in order to wake you up and remember to live.

This was my first read once I really dug back into this hobby in August. It was picked by Reese Witherspoon for her book club, and she always picks good books. This is a dual timeline romance, and mystery. It’s an absolute stunner of a book. It’s a dear favorite to me now. I’ve never been to Cubs, or heard stories, but Cleeton manages to make you feel like you’re right there feeling saltwater spray across your face.

The romance made me feel breathless, but truly it’s the strong familial ties that make this such a beautiful gem. It leaves you with hope even in the dark and with love in the absence of it. I could scream about this book for the rest of my life, which I absolutely intend to do.

Favorite line? “You’re going to be difficult to walk away from, aren’t you?” “I hope so.”

1 In A Holidaze by Christina Lauren

Warnings? There are none that strike me. This is a lighthearted read that pulls at the heartstrings, but it’s by no means short on the laughs. And, I’m sorry for the long wall of text below.

In A Holidaze is the story of a woman stuck in her ways of never going after what she truly wants until a stray wish lands her in a time loop over the holidays. It's only after repeating the same day a few times that she quite literally says "fuck this," and starts living for HER. I really expected this to just be a Hallmark kind of read, but it was SO MUCH MORE. You should read it, even if it's after the holidays.

It's witty, and heart-wrenching, and it's just everything I didn't know I needed. Mae is snarky, and brave when she figures out that there is nothing stopping her, and the romance is - GODDAMN. Andrew. I need an Andrew and a fan.

It's not quite a love triangle, which was what I expected and I was so pleasantly surprised. I have grinned like a goddamn fool all day. I have giggled all day in front of customers, and my co-workers. I have nearly CRIED in my bedroom when my heart fell out of my ass and landed somewhere near my ankles, because hello, it's gonna get you.

This is going on my yearly re-read list for the holidays.

In the two days since I’ve finished, I’ve convinced my two friends in book club to read it, convinced Jessi to order it from Book of the Month Club, convinced another friend to read it, and bought it for Mae on Christmas day because her library had a six month hold and that was simply unacceptable.

#kelseyreads #2020 Top 10 Reads

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aliciameade · 4 years

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A Thousand Cuts

Title: A Thousand Cuts Author: aliciameade Rating: M for alcoholism and angst Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Beca doesn't realize she needs to get her shit together until it's too late, or, my take on a prompt I was sent to write something based on Taylor Swift’s “Death by a Thousand Cuts.”

Also on AO3

My heart, my hips, my body, my love / Trying to find a part of me that you didn't touch

Gave up on me like I was a bad drug / Now I'm searching for signs in a haunted club

Our songs, our films, united, we stand / Our country, guess it was a lawless land

Quiet my fears with the touch of your hand / Paper cut stings from my paper-thin plans

My time, my wine, my spirit, my trust / Trying to find a part of me you didn't take up

Gave you so much, but it wasn't enough / But I'll be alright, it's just a thousand cuts

“You don’t mean that.” Beca’s voice cracks over the words; she’s moments from crying and she knows it.

Chloe’s already crying. “The hell I don’t.” Her voice is steady despite the tears. Her jaw is set, the muscles in her left cheek tensing with how hard she’s clenching it.

“Where am I supposed to go?” That’s when the first tear finally hits Beca’s cheek. They don’t stop after that and she doesn’t bother trying to wipe them away. “I don’t know anyone else here!”

“That’s not my problem.” Chloe walks away so abruptly, steps so heavy it makes Beca jump. She’s digging through the trunk that sits at the foot of their bed and pulls out Beca’s duffel bag to toss it onto the bed. “Pack. And get the rest of your shit out before the end of the month whenever I’m not here or I’m throwing it all away.”

Beca’s sure this must be what it feels like for the earth to swallow one whole. Her world’s been ripped out from beneath her feet.

The thing is, it’s her fault. She can’t argue that it’s not. She could have tried harder, not allowed herself to grow complacent. Chloe was someone who loves with her entire being, every inch of her soul. And Beca adores her. Loves her. But she has struggled to keep up with just how much Chloe needs from her in return for all the love she gives Beca. Truth be told, it’s scared the shit out of Beca since the day they exchanged their first ‘I love yous.’ She had even prefaced her confession by saying she will probably mess it all up.

Fucking self-fulfilling prophecies.

“I’m going for a walk,” Chloe says as she pushes past Beca more physically than necessary. “Don’t be here when I get back.”

When the door slams behind her, Beca fights the urge to crumple onto their bed and weep. They’d just made love on it this morning and she thinks if she touches it, it may burn her flesh.

Instead, she grabs the bag Chloe threw onto it and starts stuffing clothes and toiletries into it. Her head pounds and her chest aches with the need to sob but she won’t give this tiny apartment, their first home together as a couple. She fills the bag until she can’t zip it and throws her laptop into its case to swing them both over her shoulder.

On her way out the door, she rips a photo of the two of them in front of their Christmas tree last year off the fridge—not to destroy it, but to stuff it into her bag.

She wonders if Chloe will even notice it’s gone.

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

Beca takes the train into Manhattan. Brooklyn feels too small, too familiar. She wants the city to swallow her since the earth only pretended to. She doesn’t have a single New York-based contact in her phone except for the ramen house Chloe and she love and the main number for her office. She doesn’t particularly like her job and has made no effort to get to know anyone there.

In the future, she’ll realize this could be a theme in her life.

She ends up at a hotel by Union Square. She can’t afford it. It’s nearly $200 for the night and it goes on an already precariously charged-up credit card. She’ll move to a hostel tomorrow; tonight, she needs privacy and space and the freedom to have the breakdown she’s been staving off for the two hours it’s been since Chloe told her it was over and threw her out of their home.

Once she gets to her room, she drops her bags on the floor and immediately throws up.

It’s the longest night of Beca’s life.

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

She doesn’t get the rest of her belongings back. She’s living in a hostel in a room she shares with five other people, at least one of which is new every night. She has to wait her turn to use the bathroom and to shower and most of the time, there’s no hot water.

The good thing, she supposes as she tries day after day to find a single good thing in her life, is that at $35 per day, she can actually afford her room and board and even feed herself twice a day and keep her phone bill paid.

Thank God for ubiquitous free WiFi.

But that one good thing, just keeping herself in room and board, doesn’t do anything to outweigh all the bad.

She hasn’t spoken to or heard from Chloe in two months. There was no final warning about coming to get her belongings or they’d be trashed. Chloe hasn’t checked in with her a single time.

Not that Beca’s reached out to Chloe either.

She’d thought escaping Brooklyn would help protect herself. Far from away all their usual haunts, she would be safer from the constant reminders of all the moments she and Chloe shared in the year-and-a-half they spent living together there.

Instead, she’s faced with bigger reminders in Manhattan. So many date nights spent there at restaurants and concert venues and theatres and sunset strolls through parks.

“Oh, my gosh, baby, this is so romantic, we have to take a selfie,” Chloe said as she grabbed Beca’s hands to spin them in a circle that almost had Beca tripping over her own feet. “Wait, no! Excuse me, sir?” Chloe asked a passerby. “Would you take our picture, please?”

“Sure,” he said as Chloe handed him her phone. “Tell me when.”

“Just take a bunch,” Chloe answered before Beca had even had a chance to weakly and pointlessly protest the impromptu photoshoot.

Then they were kissing on Gapstow Bridge with Central Park and the New York skyline behind them and Beca forgot why she would ever want to protest such a thing.

She can’t even walk through Times Square without her eyes pricking with tears at the memory of Chloe dragging Beca up the red stairs in the middle of a snowstorm to take a selfie at the top while they kissed wearing beanies and scarves and gloves.

The photo came out looking like they were in a snow globe and felt as magical as it looked. It’s saved in her favorites on her phone, but she refuses to let herself look through that album.

Even when she’s alone at night in a strange place that is her home but feels nothing like it, Chloe is everywhere. She can feel her phantom arms around her waist to pull Beca back against her to settle into sleep. In the shower, her hands travel over her body and she remembers all the times and all the ways Chloe has touched her here, and here, and here.

Alcohol doesn’t help, though Beca gives it her best shot.

It leads to her waking up in the beds of people whose names she only sometimes remembers.

A man she goes home with makes her leave when she won’t stop crying when he tries to touch her.

A woman she goes home with spends the night holding her. They even have sex, finally, in the early hours of the morning. But all Beca can think about is how it’s not right. How she isn’t Chloe and she doesn’t know how to touch Beca as Chloe does. It does nothing to help Beca forget or move on. In fact, it only makes her miss Chloe more.

She stops trying to escape into other people and goes back to drinking alone. It’s cheaper that way, too, which is a nice bonus. One bottle of whiskey runs her $40 which gives her far more drinks for her dollar compared to going to bars.

Eventually, she finds someone in need of a roommate through a coworker and she has a room to herself in Washington Heights. Her roommate is nice, a few years older than Beca, and works for the city’s child services department. She’s a good listener on the rare occasions Beca confides in her when her emotions become too much to take alone.

It turns into a relationship of convenience. They both acknowledge that’s what it is and that they’re setting themselves up for disaster if (when) it ends because someone (Beca) is going to have to move out when things become too messy.

But until that happens, it’s nice to feel at least somewhat normal again. She doesn’t feel like she’s ready to fall apart if someone looks at her the wrong way on the street.

She still thinks about Chloe at least once every minute when she’s conscious.

And usually, even when she’s not.

She knows she’s fixating. It’s too hard to not spend as much energy as she can berating herself for messing up and losing Chloe. It’s delicious torture to hate herself so much and replay the details of every moment of their relationship and pick out every time she fucked up and think about how she could have done it differently, how she would do it differently if she had the chance.

What’s most irritating of all is that there is no one singular cataclysmic event she can blame. It was her series of micro-aggressions, so seemingly small (to Beca), that piled up until replying to Chloe’s multi-scroll-long text message telling Beca that she needed more from her with “k” got her thrown out on the street.

And she knew—knows—she deserved it.

She wishes she could go back in time and slap herself and tell her to get her shit together before she loses the best thing to ever happen to her.

But she can’t. She keeps drinking and it’s never enough to forget Chloe.

Eventually, her behavior lands her out on her ass again, but this time, she expects it. What girl wants her not-girlfriend crying about her ex every time they have sex? At least there’s a discussion first and she’s allowed a couple of weeks to find a new place to live.

A year has passed since she fucked up her relationship with Chloe but, somehow, she’s managed to get her professional life into something resembling moderate success. She’s surprised when she downloads bank statements at the balance in her account to have when she goes apartment hunting. She’s done nothing but pay rent to her now-ex-roommate and buy what few things she’s needed to get by (mostly alcohol). She thinks she remembers an email from HR about a bonus or royalty payout around Christmas…?

It affords her the ability to get her own apartment, a one-bedroom in Harlem.

It also affords her the freedom to indulge in all her vices without someone passing judgment. She can drink herself to blackout. She can have anonymous sex. She can cry until she’s sick or lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling all night in a drug-and-alcohol-induced stupor. None of it really matters, anyway.

She fits right in with the people she’s finding herself forced to be around more often. She gets wasted with colleagues and A-listers under the guise of networking. She impresses men with her ability to out-drink them despite her stature. And if one of them offers cocaine? She can be the last one standing in the early hours of the morning.

She prides herself on her endurance, though not more than she prides herself on the fact that no matter how hammered she gets, not once has she drunk-dialed Chloe to beg forgiveness.

She hasn’t dialed her at all, for that matter.

She’s never apologized.

She wants to point out that showing up at her former apartment building when it’s dark and the streets are empty repeatedly pressing the buzzer for what used to be her apartment is not drunk-dialing nor drunk-texting.

“Hello?” Chloe’s voice crackles through the shitty speaker and Beca slumps against the wall next to the metal intercom at the sound of it. “Is anyone there? I swear if you kids are pulling this shit again, I’m calling the cops.”

Beca laughs to herself, memories of a group of teenagers that roams the neighborhood raising havoc of the relatively painless variety. Things like Ding Dong Ditch and hiding delivered packages from their recipients. It always infuriated Chloe and made Beca laugh and tell her to calm down, they’re just kids and they could be getting into much worse kinds of trouble.

She considers continuing to ring the buzzer just to keep Chloe on the line; it’s been so long since she’s heard her voice. Maybe she could just sleep on the building’s stoop?

She’s still thinking about it when she hears the familiar squeak of the door opening.

“Beca?”

She wonders if maybe she finally passed out to slip into dreamland because Chloe’s standing in front of her in plaid sleep shorts and Beca’s favorite vintage David Bowie tee.

“Hey, babe,” she slurs.

“What are you doing here?” Chloe takes half a step out of the door and starts to reach for her but stops short. “Are you drunk?”

“What if I am?” she says as she pushes herself away from the wall to stand upright again, though everything feels like it’s tilting. She points. “That’s my shirt.”

Chloe crosses her arms over her chest as if that will hide it. “I asked what you’re doing here.”

Beca has to think hard. She doesn’t remember how she got to Brooklyn. She doesn’t know what time it is. “I’m tired,” she answers. “I came home.”

“You don’t live here anymore.”

“I didn’t say I live here. I said I came home.” She tries to walk forward but trips and finds herself caught by Chloe before she hurts herself. “Cat-like reflexes,” she says with a chuckle before catching the scent of the laundry detergent and lotion Chloe always uses and the tears come out of nowhere.

She’s vaguely aware that Chloe’s helping her walk and it’s up the stairs and into the apartment they once shared, not out to the curb.

The last thought that passes through her mind as Chloe helps her into what was always Beca’s side of the bed is that even through her blurry vision she can see a picture on the refrigerator. A copy of the same photo she’d taken with her the day Chloe had thrown her out, placed in the exact place the original had been for so long.

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

She wakes to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Her head throbs but not too painfully; she rarely gets hungover these days. She knows where she is. She knows the feel of the bed, the softness of the sheets, the scent of breakfast and the sound of the quiet tings and thuds of cabinets opening and closing, of plates, mugs, spoons, and knives.

She doesn’t want to open her eyes. Maybe if she pretends to be asleep she could stay there all day without having to be embarrassed by her actions. She can just hold onto this unexpected return to a past life for a few more minutes before it’s ripped away from her again.

She starts when the sound of a mug being placed on the nightstand near her head comes unexpectedly.

“Morning,” Chloe’s quiet, husky morning voice whispers as she sits on the edge of the bed next to Beca.

Beca grimaces and pulls the covers up over her head. “No.”

“I have to go to work.” Beca didn’t even think about the fact that it was a weekday. Her own schedule doesn’t conform to the typical Monday-through-Friday model. “But I’m going to call out sick for the afternoon and come back at lunch.”

Beca slips the covers down until they’re under her chin. She knows she looks like shit but Chloe looks more beautiful than she remembers her.

“You can stay here until then. Help yourself to breakfast. We’ll talk when I get home, okay?”

Beca just nods, afraid that anything more than that will wake her from whatever dream she’s having. She feels Chloe’s hand on her leg, a brief touch before she’s leaving too soon.

Beca watches her gather her things and leave the apartment, locking it with her keys.

She knows she should go back to sleep. Sleep off the last bits of the drunkenness she can still feel swimming in her. But she’s been thrown back into her old life, her old home, and like so many mornings, Chloe’s just gone to work after making coffee for Beca.

Slowly, she sits up to take in her surroundings. The small studio looks much like she’s remembered it. There’s a lot more of Chloe in it now, though. More photos of her and friends Beca’s never met. The band posters Beca had insisted on putting up have been replaced with generic canvas prints from Target that feature the Eiffel Tower and a recreation of a poster for la tournée du Chat Noir avec Rodolphe Salis. It makes her smile; Chloe’s always had an obsession with Paris and it had only gotten worse after they went to Denmark—but not France—in college.

Driven by her roiling stomach she forces herself out of bed. When she stands, she has to do a double-take looking down at herself. She’s not wearing the clothes she’d left her apartment in yesterday. She’s not even wearing pants. Her legs are bare and she plucks at the shirt she’s wearing to see it’s one of her old concert tees.

A memory flashes of last night, of Chloe in the doorway wearing Beca’s shirt.

It makes her feel lightheaded and she reaches for the coffee Chloe’s left bedside before crossing the room to the kitchen. Everything’s still in the same place and it’s mindless yet spine-tingling to go through the motions of finding something to eat in that room just as she’s done countless times in the past.

She plops down at the small table that she once imagined proposing to Chloe over on a Sunday morning over a cozy winter brunch they prepared together and is about to dig into her bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch that Chloe miraculously has on-hand despite claiming to hate it when she freezes, spoon halfway to her mouth.

On the clothing rack in the middle of the room, the one they had to fight over for valuable space, hang all of Beca’s clothes she’d left behind when she was forced to flee.

Her chair screeches as she pushes it back to rush over and quickly flip through the blouses, pants, and dresses she hasn’t seen in more than a year. She tugs open the third and then fourth drawers of the dresser they shared to find them both still stuffed full of underwear, bras, socks, tank tops, shorts, and Beca’s beanies and gloves she’d really missed that winter. She drops to her knees and reaches under the bed to find the sharp plastic edge of a storage bin and pulls it out. All her shoes, still in their place.

If not for the changes in decor, she would believe she never left. Nothing has changed since her last morning with Chloe.

It’s overwhelming. Chloe had threatened to throw everything away if Beca never picked it up. Beca never did, but Chloe didn’t follow through.

Her head swims and her eyes prick with tears. She thinks she might be sick from the rush of emotions and adrenaline; Chloe hadn’t tossed their life in the trash even though she’d tossed Beca to the curb.

She isn’t sick, though. Instead, she strips off her shirt and crawls into the bathtub and turns on the shower to sit under the spray and cry.

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

Beca’s heart races when she hears Chloe’s keys in the hallway seconds before they rattle in the lock. She watches the door open slowly, Chloe peeking in carefully until they find Beca sitting at the table.

“You’re awake,” she says as she enters with less care now that Beca’s not asleep. “Did you find something to eat? I brought lunch just in case.”

Beca’s eyes drop to the bag in Chloe’s hand; there are familiar round plastic take-out containers stacked in it and Beca doesn’t have to ask to know it’s from the ramen place they frequented. “I did, yeah.”

Chloe sets the bag on the table and Beca watches her take off and hang up her coat. When she turns back around, she pauses. “Oh.”

Beca wonders what she’s looking at until she realizes it’s Beca’s clothes. “You didn’t throw my stuff away.”

Chloe takes a break as though she’s about to speak but instead she sighs and says nothing in reply as she sits down in her chair to Beca’s left and starts unpacking the lunch she’s brought.

Beca catches her hand when it’s busy setting up soup and sides and Chloe’s entire body seems to flinch, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. “You didn’t throw me away, did you.”

Tears are welling in Chloe’s eyes when they meet Beca’s but she still doesn’t speak.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Beca rushes when she realizes she’s the one who has to do the talking. “But I do. Will you hear me out? Give me ten minutes. Five.”

“Okay,” Chloe says quietly as she pulls her hand back to resume passing out utensils.

Beca waits until she’s finished, until Chloe’s no longer distracting herself with busywork and her eyes land on Beca nervously so she can finally say, “I’m sorry, Chloe.”

The End

#bechloe #bechloe fic #bechloe fanfic #fanfic

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illegiblewords · 4 years

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5 Questions for Writers!

5 Questions for Writers

I got tagged by @kunstpause, it looked like fun so figured I’d go for it! THANKS TO KUNST!

Tagging @wouldyouliketoseemymask, @nilim, @azwoodbomb, @peregrineroad, @frostmantle, @autumnslance, @strangefellows, @redbud-tree, @nozomikei, and @rivenroad. No obligation to anyone but full permission to steal granted to anyone else who might like to. I’ll literally be delighted if you pick this up spontaneously and blame me as an excuse lmao.

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

I made long answers so have a cut!

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

It depends heavily on what fandom and where I am mentally, but I’ve figured out I tend to love writing angsty lameass dudes with blonde hair who are prone to doing really silly things despite taking themselves entirely too seriously. Honestly, I have a pretty huge track record at this point. Harvey Dent, Vexen, Dmitri, Lahabrea, probably more besides. Every one of them fits the right balance of lameass to angst. I like seeing them grow and find fulfillment as people and they are very very cute while still having an edge of badassery and cleverness. Also they’re funny.

Lahabrea is my favorite at the moment, and him reaching that position is an accomplishment considering how stiff the competition is in FFXIV. Loser tricked his way to the top while I was busy laughing at him.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I really, really, really love redemption arcs and people recovering from fucked up experiences. Latter case especially I love seeing characters in those situations successfully connect to the people and world around them, especially if they get to grow together with a partner. I also LOVE “hero saves the villain and villain takes it to heart”.

(You may be sensing a theme here haha.)

There are a few reason these concepts resonate with me, the first being I think they’re really hopeful, inspiring, and something I always wanted to see growing up but rarely did.

People fuck up in life. People get hurt in horrible ways that bring out the worst in them. Sometimes when that happens they dig themselves deeper and deeper into ugliness. The more a person’s bad side comes out, the more hopeless it can feel. And for mental illness especially I’ve found this can be a major issue.

Everyone makes mistakes and everyone has flaws, but I think there’s something really significant in seeing someone who has hit rock bottom, who can no longer imagine a way out, get offered a hand for support and take it. While recovery and redemption (not synonymous of course) ultimately need to be carried by the individual struggling, I really can’t understate how important it is to know in those situations that you’re not alone and someone believes in you.

I think a big part of why this theme is important to me is because mental illness, both genetic and due to trauma, is something unbelievably difficult and painful not only for the sufferer but those around them. The most mentally ill characters in fiction tend to be villains, and are disproportionately more likely to be suffering severe trauma. It frustrated me since I was pretty young to see over and over again cases where a mess could have been avoided if there was any support system in place.

Seeing compassion and connection given that kind of power means a lot to me, as does recognizing that villains are people before they are villains. It’s also very reassuring in the sense of “If this person fucked up that badly but still tried to better themself, I can too. And odds are I’m also worthy of love and compassion, even when my issues make things harder for others. I just have to keep working to improve.”

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

Eff.

Straight up I think I’ve written too much to have just one favorite description. It’s been a lot of years and I have hundreds of fics and I’m lame. So I’m going to put a few of my favs.

Anytime there’s a gap in block quotes it’s a different section within the same fic.

22 - A Batman Fanfic

He trembles beneath the weight of their expectations but his smile never fades flashes before cameras microphones under his nose crowds screaming questions bleeding together he answers like clockwork the District Attorney who must bring justice to us all paying tribute to false idols with golden hair and silver tongues we the people bow down in worship to this guardian of the law with words and deeds I believe in Harvey Dent so he swears in hallowed halls to bring prosperity to smite the wicked to damn the criminal with authority invested in him by Gotham’s dutiful children and himself.

***

On the precipice of victory we stand united our voice raised like a torch like a spear like a golden arrow against the beast of Lerna we are gods and monsters we are so much more than good and evil we are order in the court cauterizing corruption our head held high and mighty manifest in Harvey of the doubletalk Harvey who writes himself into the fabric of Gotham’s history Harvey who will not bend before the Roman we command you the unworthy we condemn you the unrighteous we will not be merciful and you will fall before our eyes.

***

I am Dionysus divided at the altar of Tyche O Fortuna O Fortuna give me guidance in the light of the moon you dance sacred silver dollar I see and obey the wax and wane your whim Wheel of Fortune the card I am dealt your servant your slave venerated puppet of flesh blessed is your wisdom bestowed upon I am your disciple wine-mad twisted chanting your word becomes law holy splendor against gavels desecrating your name defiant in denial extend your will through me and we shall strike the innocent enlighten the ignorant or spare them all for now.

Doppelganger - A Spider-Man Fanfic

She asks him to tell the story of himself, and like Scheherazade he begins anew each day.

As with many other things, this comparison is imperfect. The Ravencroft Institute is hardly a palace and neither of them could pass for royalty. She sits in a chair across from him over a carpet the color of sawdust. Her walls are lined with insects pinned on display. Not many butterflies, quite a few beetles. On a bookshelf Dmitri sees The Metamorphosis nestled between non-fiction texts more relevant to her profession. He thinks maybe it's an inside joke she has with herself, but doesn't say so.

He's received an invitation to call her Ashley instead of Dr. Kafka and doesn't know whether to accept. It might be to make him more comfortable. It might be something else. In her late fifties Kafka is built from delicate features, and he suspects the lines around her eyes mean they crinkle when she smiles. Short black hair, beige suit, only jewelry a pair of diamond stud earrings. Dmitri thinks she looks like a mother, but not his.

Her weight sinks into leather, darker than the floor. The couch he rests on matches. He finds himself leaning forward with one elbow propped on his thigh, the other locked in a cast suspended by his neck. There is something reassuringly empty in the gray fabric of his uniform, cheap and utilitarian and harmless. Dmitri’s wrists are thin, but then he's lost a lot of weight recently. He probably wouldn't be able to run as fast as he used to, but then circumstances would be the same anywhere he went so that really doesn't matter. His espionage days are over. His free arm is shedding in flakes but at least his skin is dry. Clean.

Dmitri no longer looks like anyone, unrecognizable to himself. A face without much in the way of edges, short nose. Weak chin. Mismatched eyes that shift between green and blue and brown and every other natural hue as moments pass into minutes pass into hours. Dark blotches interrupt his forehead and chin. They will peel in new patterns across a span of days. For the most part though, he is pale enough to trace veins where his body seems on the brink of spilling out.

It's been a while since he shaved his head and the hair that grows back is almost foreign. An unruly mess of black, blond, brunet, and red—strands as unlike in texture as anything else. The mask that made him Chameleon was white plastic embedded with hardware. Left deformed after trying to resemble others in flesh too many times, it allowed him to duplicate any face, any body he could remember. More than holograms, the most complete sensory illusions technology could perform.

Without it, Dmitri feels stripped.

When Kafka looks at him she’s receiving constant signals and missing none of them. The moments he needs to turn away, flat monosyllabic turns of phrase he chooses or resorts to or blankly accepts as his own. It doesn’t have to be this way. It isn’t comfortable and he doesn’t even trust it’s not calculated. But she’s going to notice no matter what he does at this point, and lying about it doesn’t do anyone much good. They both know why he’s here.

***

“We were poor. We worked hard to keep ourselves fed and clothed and less than an embarrassment. I probably could have worked harder. Mother,” he begins before stumbling over himself.

The story he’s telling isn’t hers. Whatever else she was, Sonya Smerdyakov wasn’t Mrs. Bates. He remembers her voice as the beginning of an echo, forever following someone else’s lead.

And so he followed her.

She was bright like a light going out. She was gentle without being kind. Her fingers were short and delicate and she touched him as little as possible. He found her attention in the way she avoided his name.

***

In the privacy of his room, Dmitri began talking to himself.

Celebrities. Teachers. Children. The flat, steady rhythm of his father’s voice. The words and intonations favored by mother. Sergei’s laugh. He lost himself in a fantasy of conversations, strode through space to mimic confidence he didn’t feel, flashed teeth in front of his mirror like other people.

Once, Dmitri raised his voice. And when his older brother came, eyebrows knitting in confusion, he found himself full of stammered explanations, hands fumbling at his elbows, stumbling over his tongue to make sense of it.

Just making stories for himself. A game with no ending. That was all.

***

He would have died in that town under the eyes of speechless parents. Dmitri remembers the confusion that took his peers when he found a job for people who spoke for themselves. They thought he might be growing up.

He could lie. And when he began he understood it would always be a game with no ending.

Dmitri lost himself in a fantasy of conversations with real people and a voice that didn’t belong to him.

They asked a stranger to sign their yearbooks without even realizing it.

And then he was eighteen, and he left to continue elsewhere.

He didn’t announce his departure.

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It was probably a dream.

Lukewarm water crept down his throat, nearly making him choke. A skin pressed to his lips, insistent. He coughed, and for the first time there was moisture enough for resistance.

The face that obscured his vision was shrouded in white cloth. Cenric found he couldn’t focus on it. Mismatched eyes, one light and the other dark. Impossible to say if blindness caused the inconsistency.

A string of shells dangled from the figure’s neck, rattling gently. The skin pulled back for a moment. Careful. Patient.

It returned only once he'd grown quiet. Cenric drank for as long as he could. Impossibly, a great deal remained by the time he relinquished his hold.

There wasn't enough of him present to say thank you. Cenric barely registered being dragged, being carried onto a cart. Awareness was altogether gone by the time they started to move.

***

…to the blessed traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn aether born fire-walker your will sees us to rest we entrust ourselves to your sight forged of oschon for peace and prosperity and an ending you do not weep for father azeyma lives in the earth with you her fan brings no breeze the air is hot and thick and breathless your domain a silent place that does not stir have you forgotten the sound of your own voice have you known what it is to live and fail have you been alone do you know what it is to die how can a god pass judgment without being judged nald’thal lord of departures of flame and sand whose coin purse overflows who knows not what it means to starve what it means to spoil the legacy of one who loved you nald’thal who holds shells and souls and precious stones as if their worth were equal nald’thal who cannot know mercy without knowing pain who are you to weigh mortal affairs?

***

In darkness he unwinds the black bandana, steps first from his slops and then his kurta. Yuyudana has provided robes, which rest neatly on a small rock nearby. It crosses Cenric’s mind that the bones of his knees, his hips, his wrists, even his face have all started to protrude strangely. He looks less hyuran than before, maybe less than he ever has. Closer to something priests would exorcise than anyone deserving aid.

He wonders if this idea has occurred to them.

The water, when he advances, is cold. Goosebumps raise across his skin as slowly, gingerly, he wades in to his waist.

Cenric ducks under.

His hair is a long and tangled wreck. Being wet only disguises this slightly. It drifts past his neck, comes to float near the surface. Cenric holds himself in silence, eyes open, watching the silver scatter of light over stones and plants and fish. He remains for as long as he can bear.

His vision stings afterward. Gasping, he can’t tell if the cause is exposure or something else. For a time he simply waits, breathing hard through his nose, hunched so that his lips are partially submerged.

He thinks of nothing, pretends that this time instead of no future he has no past.

Only one moon remains. Maybe the sky aches for losing Dalamud, but better that than the blow which scarred Eorzea.

Stalemate - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

He is presented with impressions of a horse, gaunt and fetid and decayed. Spreading ruin wheresoever it goes. Occasionally it sloughs off portions of its own flesh, which collect flies and blacken any land that surrounds. On its back rests a world, and alongside it does the herd struggle under their own burdens. But even beasts of such endurance have limits. Theirs are reached. When the rotten steed lags, its companions cannot afford to falter. Cannot turn. Without its ability to bear loads, this aberration has no place. Falling is inevitable.

Yet a heart still beats and lungs yet swell.

The Ascian shivers in his grasp, but does not attempt escape.

Here, something festers. Something bleeds. An old wound exacerbated over time.

Fevered, coated in a film of self-disgust, the core of Lahabrea convulses.

Don’t…

Don’t leave me like this…

***

Teeth and tongue. Lingering, wet, disembodied. Another finds his hip. Another his thigh, slipping beneath what clothes remain.

And another.

Warm, human, seeking. The Warrior tightens his hold, uses the moan crawling from his own chest as incentive. Barred by naught but fabric, driving close as he can manage. Lahabrea makes a strangled sound, his gasp crushed empty. A new mouth finds the dark knight’s ear in response.

These are parts of him no one dares touch, no one dares acknowledge. Slick now, attended with something like reverence. Supplication.

He resolves to fuck the Ascian senseless for this, presses his intent deep into Lahabrea’s aether. He is going to steal all his fancy words away. Make him squirm.

“I… I…” Tight, airless, like a plucked string. The Warrior feels Lahabrea’s voice reverberate against the roof of his mouth.

The feeling is difficult to describe. Cracked ice. A fraying rope. Such is Lahabrea's response, fumbling and disoriented as it is.

The Warrior lets go.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

Just imagine me weeping over here lmao. Same deal as before, I’VE DONE TOO MUCH SHIT.

Spare Change - A Batman Fanfic

"Stop," he gasps, "I wouldn’t—"

"You would Harvey. You did. It’s what makes you such a damn good instrument. You had to test yourself, prove that you’re not a real person.” He can feel fingers grinding against bone. His knees bend. Harvey kneels, shuddering, gazing up into the destruction of his own visage. Two-Face meets his eyes, blue on blue. “People are weak. People are ruled by what they want and don’t want. You’re capable of anything if the wind blows just right. You can’t even stop yourself.”

"I wouldn’t," he repeats, numbly.

"Did you," demands Two-Face, forcing him down further, "or did you not flip for their lives, Harvey Dent?"

"We…We aren’t the same people anymore."

"Of COURSE we’re the same people!" Another shove and he’s on the ground, Two-Face sitting on his chest, teeth bared, coin clenched tight between them. "Do you really think you can close your eyes and pretend you aren’t capable of these things? They’re alive," and there is something hideous in his expression, something certain, "because they were lucky. No other reason.”

"The coin is gone! Even if I wanted to listen to it—I can’t!”

"If you’re so sure," says Two-Face, "then how about you improvise?”

And with one motion the silver dollar is under his tongue, forced back so hard he feels himself gag and begin to choke before his eyes open.

The Inquisitor’s Letters - A Dragon Age: Inquisition Fanfic

To His Worship Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan of Skyhold, My name is Isell from Amaranthine and I’m seven. My mum is helping but says I can send you all by myself. Thank you for fixing the hole in the sky and also the one by the dead man’s house. There were demons but they’re mostly gone now and people are going outside now. Da says Amaranthine has been through too much and can survive anything and he says you’re an elf like us and the Hero of Ferelden was an elf too. He says people used to think elves can’t be heroes but now they don’t. Have you met the Hero of Ferelden? Also I heard that even though you’re Dalish Andraste helped you in the Fade and that humans let you be in the Chantry because anyone Andraste likes must be a really good person. What’s Andraste like? The Chant says a lot but it’s different meeting someone I think. Also I think I saw you a little before but Mum wasn’t sure because you had a helmet on and we were far away and there were a lot of people but I bet it was you. Da wasn’t sure I should write because he says the Dalish don’t like city elves like we are but I think you must be nice and Mum agrees with me. I’ve been playing demon hunters with my brother Arrion (he’s just five still) and Da said templars are who fights demons usually and elves can’t be templars. People thought elves couldn’t be heroes and inquisitors though and we are so I bet I could too. Is it hard fighting demons? Da says they’re real scary but I’m not scared. Thank you for helping us and everyone and I hope you kill lots of demons. Sincerely, Isell U’venlan

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

Cenric sits on the floor, draped in a white cotton tunic. It might have been snug on a Roegadyn but anyone else would find ample room. Behind him, Memesu stands on a cot holding shears. Gold earrings dangle on either side of her face.

“I fought at Carteneau, you know,” she mentions casually. There is a soft hsssssshhhh. Click.

Hair hits the floor. Coils.

He starts to shake his head, aborts the gesture partway through. Stills. “…you saw Bahamut?”

Memesu snorts. “I’m sure everyone this side of Hydaelyn saw Bahamut.” Click.

“That’s probably true,” he concedes. The dragon is what everyone knows, everyone remembers. He can't imagine the proximity. “What about the Warriors of Light?”

“Pff.” Gentle tugging at his scalp. Cenric does not open his eyes but leans into the motion. “I wasn’t of rank to see their like. Not that I’d remember. Stop moving.” Click.

Cenric hesitates.

“What do you remember, then?”

For a time, the only sound comes from blades and a thousand strands cut short. This lasts for several minutes. Cenric resigns himself to secrets.

Then, “I used to think I was special too. As a twin. My sister was Memeni. We studied together.”

Was.

The exhale hits him slowly, quietly.

“She died?”

He can feel the shrug in her hip against his shoulder.

“It was Carteneau,” says Memesu. “Of course she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Click. “It had nothing too do with you. If you keep trying to claim responsibility for every misfortune you find, you’re going to get self-important.”

Cenric only grunts, quiet and non-committal.

Click.

“Carteneu was so much worse than people remember. Only four years later and already we hurry to dispose of details.” There is a hard undercurrent to Memesu’s voice, but what contact she makes remains light. Careful. “I remember the arcanist from Limsa who didn’t dodge a magitek canon in time. Miqo’te. Spells come faster in that discipline, so there’s less stress on distance than thaumaturgy. Girl got careless.” Click. “The mess smelled like rotten eggs and charcoal. Her face was… melted.” Click. “I try not to look in those situations. They only make casting harder. But she was so close.”

Cenric doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

Memesu continues. “One of our own gladiators, an Ala Mhigan, took to mutilating any pureblooded Garleans he could catch. The man had a string of eyes hanging around his neck. I’m pretty sure one enemy officer wet himself before he started to beg. Not that it particularly mattered.”

Click.

“Memeni… didn’t anticipate what she was getting herself into. She saw magic as a way of being useful to craftsmen. My focus has always been theoretical. Right side.” Startled, Cenric lets her guide his jaw to get a better view of his profile. Click. Click. “Meni used to think I was a priss. She preferred to develop magitek kettles alongside alchemists. See if she could find a way to capture light like the Mhachi did. She still enjoyed fishing when she could, even though it smelled awful. Never outgrew the braids she wore growing up. ” Memesu sighs. “…just understand she died afraid, in pain, and with things left undone. My sister didn’t even resemble herself at the end.”

Cenric is very still. Thinks carefully.

“…I wish it could have gone differently,” he says at last.

Memesu’s mouth slides up in a small, crooked smile. She tousles the neat, ear-length hair before her. “So do I.”

Eclipse - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It ends at Elidibus’ untimely arrival.

“Lord Zodiark,” he says, so smoothly that were he not searching for it that the anger would be undetectable, “appreciates your attentions.” His gaze does not waver from Lahabrea as he speaks. “But there is work to be done and I’m afraid there are words I would have with your Speaker.”

They disperse.

Nabriales, careful and curious, folds himself out of sight beyond the chamber then makes his way back to its edge.

Lahabrea, farthest from the exit, attempts to steal some small dignity. Turns to face Elidibus.

The Emissary makes him wait. Expressionless red masks matched by those who wear them.

Then, with more speed and force than typical for his demeanor, the Emissary closes distance to trap his colleague against the wall.

“It was my error,” hisses Elidibus, leaning in, “to have stayed silent upon rescuing you. A mistake I will remedy now, so we can be on no uncertain terms.”

Lahabrea lowers his eyes. Nabriales notes that despite the dread they all share of such reprimands, the man does not brace.

“You know as well as I that these words offer less succor to our Lord than action,” continues Elidibus, his fury quiet and no less sharp for that, “just as we both know your thoughtless action is the cause of repeated missteps these past centuries. Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.”

Silence.

“Do you truly think this is your best service to Him?” asks Elidibus. “To us? Compromising your ability to fill the hours? Even Emet-Selch agrees these displays are disgraceful. You have ever borne them poorly, but being a 'paragon among paragons' naturally you continue ignoring your own better judgment with ours to continue this exercise in futility. Idiot.”

A twitch of the head. Almost a flinch.

It is one of few moments Nabriales has seen the Emissary express his anger so openly. Even after the Thirteenth fell to Igeyorhm’s error, Elidibus allowed the Angel of Truth to lead and voiced his own reproach with a more typical icy demeanor. Scathing though it was.

“I can be of use,” says Lahabrea softly. “Only three of us remain, and I—“

“You,” Elidibus snaps, “cannot follow the most simple instructions for the good of us all. Not for Him, not for Amaurot, not even for yourself. Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.”

Neither man speaks for several moments after that.

And then, at length, Elidibus exhales.

Says the Speaker’s name.

Receives his attention.

“What would you have me do?” the Emissary asks. His tone now is almost weary. “Clearly it would be unreasonable to trust you’d simply listen. Must I mind you like a child?” This is what breaks Lahabrea’s composure.

Knowing the man’s temper, Nabriales had expected him to lash out. Even on the back foot their orator is perfectly capable of defending himself from insults.

Instead, he embraces Elidibus fiercely—face just within the bounds of his pauldrons. Jaw locked shut firmly enough to hurt. Expression downcast.

Elidibus remains perfectly still at first. In the absence of conversation it is possible to hear the rush of Lahabrea’s breathing. Only through the nose, withheld briefly between each inhale as if that offers some means to steady himself.

As if that would make it better.

Tentatively, Elidibus holds him back. Lahabrea's fingers contract, and though he remains upright when his knees begin to give it is the Emissary who helps him kneel.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and Lahabrea removes one hand to run it reflexively over his face—coming against the mask.

Nabriales finds himself staring, searching. A puzzle with missing pieces whose image he may yet divine

“It was not,” says Lahabrea roughly, “my intention to…”

Elidibus reaches beneath the other man’s cowl, finds the hair and skin beneath. Draws him in once more.

Naught that would be shared with or among the Sundered. Nothing so personal as that.

Nabriales has worn his own share of flesh. Bedded lovers, adopted companions and families of vessels to fulfill a purpose. Passable enough, perhaps, but never for him. Not in truth.

It’s as if he looks upon two strangers.

Parched - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

The door closes behind them. Lahabrea, projecting his preferred likeness over the host, waits on a couch within.

It’s admittedly a surreal sight. Ishgardian finery with its gilded edges, its elaborate wallpapers and marble floors. A collection of creams and blues and greens, fine furniture with velvet seat cushions. All ostentatious in the extreme… and then Lahabrea. Masked and cowled. Pouring three glasses of La Noscean arrack.

Elidibus freezes, and though none of them can see his eyes the confusion is clear enough.

“What is this?”

“Your turn,” says Emet-Selch, lightly but less flippant than he might have been.

Lahabrea proffers a cup from where he sits.

Elidibus neither moves nor speaks.

Emet-Selch approaches. Takes the drink. Presses it carefully into the other man’s hand.

“Don’t think,” he says smoothly,” that I won’t let you drop it.”

Mercifully, Elidibus has a good grip.

“Sit,” says Lahabrea, gesturing with his own glass to the sofa across from him.

Elidibus sits.

Emet-Selch sits.

Takes his own glass, perhaps a bit pointedly.

Elidibus’ mouth is pressed tight. It opens briefly, as if to speak. Shuts again.

“Explain,” the Emissary manages eventually.

Lahabrea meets his co-conspirator’s eye. Downs his arrack in a single attempt.

It is a long attempt.

It lasts several moments.

The other Ascians watch.

“Elidibus,” says Emet-Selch as Lahabrea endeavors to catch his breath in the aftermath, “Lahabrea and I are concerned that you may be experiencing some difficulties in recent years.”

“I’m fine,” replies Elidibus coldly. Holding his drink. “Why did you think this necessary?”

“Because—“ wheezes Lahabrea.

“Because you’re practically a mammet,” says Emet-Selch, picking up Lahabrea’s glass. Moving it just out of reach. “Truly. It’s been what, two hundred years? Three? Neither of us can remember the last time you so much as spoke of matters unrelated to the Rejoining.”

Lahabrea reaches. Elidibus pours his arrack into the other man’s glass before nudging it back toward him.

Elidibus makes eye contact with Emet-Selch.

“I remain focused,” he says evenly. “Nothing more.”

Emet-Selch gestures to the bottle.

Elidibus sighs.

Refills his own glass.

“There are matters I must attend myself. As is the case with each of you.”

“Undoubtedly,” replies Lahabrea more evenly. “But with few exceptions, you haven’t done so.”

A hard stare from behind the mask.

“What would you have me do? I can’t very well take time off.”

Emet-Selch sips.

“A negligible amount of time,” he says, “taken sparingly, may be forgivable.”

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

Lmao see this is a plus side/minus side deal. Minus side, it’s being asked just before I embark on a MASSIVE ASS FANFIC. And I basically am excited for all of it. Plus side, there are things I refuse to spoil.

So... putting it vaguely, in no particular order:

- Lahabrea and Hydaelyn meet a second time after Praetorium.

- Moonfire Faire

- Thancred

- Conversations over mulled wine

- Silvertear Lake

Some of these are sex scenes. Most aren’t. But I am very hyped.

7 notes · View notes

joonie-beanie · 5 years

Text

Welcome To The Wild Side [17]

<-- [16] | [18] -->

Genre: Superpowers + College AU

Rated: T

Words: 3,095

A/N: we all enjoy some good angst and fluff...right?

The building that stands before you is familiar, and should feel welcoming, but right now it doesn’t.

After…everything that had happened a few days ago, you had all decided to meet up on Friday and…talk. It…wasn’t like you hadn’t talked about what had happened yet. The day you’d attacked Namjoon, you had stayed at his apartment afterwards to talk with him, Jungkook, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jimin. It hadn’t been a drawn out chat, but more of…clarifying what had happened, and assuring you that none of them blamed you.

Still, though—you lift your hand to your chest, fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket—even days later, guilt sits heavy in your heart.

You had all decided to keep quiet about what had occurred. When they had saved you from the red-eyed man—who you’re all still calling Sasuke for lack of a better name—they’d fled from the police. So if they went to report the incident now—assuming the police would even believe your actions had been a product of being brainwashed—it would likely only create more issues.

After hammering out the matter of reporting it to the authorities, the guys had asked you to describe once again what the man who brainwashed you had looked like. You had—giving them his details to the best of your ability—and Yoongi had dutifully taken notes in his phone. With that taken care of, rather than press the issue further, Hoseok had suggested that you head home and rest. You’d protested, voicing that you should stay to help…clean up, but the three roommates had shaken their head.

“It’s fine, Y/N, we’ll take care of it,” Namjoon had assured you, still smiling even after all that had happened. Reluctant, and still feeling quiet lost, you had allowed Jimin to walk you home. The entire walk he had attempted to make small conversation, which you entertained for the most part, but your tone—absent of anything positive—hadn’t managed to elude him. For, once you’d arrived at your building, he’d given you a long, tight hug.

“We’re always a text or call away,” he had told you, sympathy in his eyes. You’d managed a smile, and thanked him.

Over the next few days you’d received a few texts from him, Hoseok, and Taehyung—asking how you were doing. You’d lied, saying you were feeling better, but here you are now…rooted to the ground outside of Taehyung and Jimin’s apartment building, too fearful to go in.

Not a sliver of your heart doubts that the 7 boys gathered inside are some of the greatest people in the world, but…even if they are, you can’t believe that they’re just…okay with what had occurred. That they’re just okay with always protecting you.

You bite the inside of your cheek, tears welling in your eyes as you recall how helpless you’d felt while attacking Namjoon. Images flash through you head, and you remember the blood that had been on your hands—that had taken far too long to wash off. Your breathing stutters, and in a fit of fear and anxiety you spin around—fulling preparing to run home, but—

“Oof!” you run into something hard, and stumble backwards. A hand reaches out to steady you, grabbing you by your wrist. The impact makes the tears that had been precariously balanced on your bottom lashes fall.

“Hey, where were you go--?” a familiar voice begins to ask, and your eyes flit up to find the face of the male who had started it all. Jeon Jungkook.

Emotions flood your chest, and your breathing picks up. Jungkook’s eyes go wide, and immediately he’s bending down to try and look at you.

“Y/N, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, worry clear in his tone. You shake your head, hiding your face in your arms as tears begin to fall in fat droplets. Jungkook’s hands are hovering just in front of you, face etched with panic.

“Are you okay? You can talk to me. What’s—”

“I don’t think I should be friends with you guys anymore,” you sob out, breathless. You feel like you’re going to start hyperventilating soon.

Jungkook’s heart skips a beat, his body going tense.

“…what? What are you talking about--?”

“This is all my fault!” you hiss, tears dripping onto the pavement at your feet. “If I hadn’t gone looking for trouble…you never would have had to come to my rescue. I never would have gotten you all dragged into all this. With me it just seems to be problem after problem…!”

You sniffle grossly, wiping your face with the sleeves of your jacket. A defeated laugh leaves your lips.

“Maybe you’d all be better off you hadn’t saved me, and if I’d just—”

“No,” Jungkook cuts you off, his voice hard. You’ve never heard him sound so…so…angry?

You peek up at him through your hands. His eyebrows are pinched, mouth set in a hard frown. You sniffle. Suddenly, he reaches out and grabs your wrist. Your eyes, albeit blurry with tears, widen in surprise as he begins to drag you away from the apartment building.

“Jungkook?”

He’s quiet for a long minute, only continuing to lead you away from the complex. Then, finally, he speaks.

“Don’t ever…,” he trails off, and then sighs, shaking his head. You blink curiously, sniffling again. The scenery around you changes as he drags you into the opening of a forest laden path—a scenic foot trail for university students, on the outskirts of campus.

After another minute, he stops. There’s a lamppost overhead, lighting up the area, and a wooden bench off to the side. Your breathing has calmed down, and you’re no longer sobbing, but the tears still won’t seem to stop.

“I…I told you this before, but I like you—we all like you—and I don’t regret stepping in to help you that night. I never have.”

He turns to face you, his hands reaching forward to grab your own, and you blink at the unexpected contact. However, it’s not unwelcome.

Jungkook’s thumbs lightly brush over your knuckles, and he continues.

“Honestly, I’ve been thinking lately about how I’m glad you’re in my life. Sure, just having all my hyungs would be perfectly fine, but…I’m glad you’re in our group. Really,” he reassures you, giving your hands a squeeze when your gaze shifts down to the cement path at your feet.

“I know it’s probably hard to believe, but…what happened this week wasn’t your fault. None of us blame you. I hope you don’t think we’re holding it against you, Y/N.”

You shake your head, biting your lip. You feel like you could cry again, but at the moment your tears are all dried up.

“I don’t think you guys are saying it’s not my fault just to be nice, but…you need to understand that I still feel terrible,” you tell him, sad eyes meeting his. “Even if I was brainwashed and my actions weren’t my own, I still can’t help but think “what if I hadn’t let my guard down”? “What if it had been anyone but Namjoon”? I mean, if I had agreed to meet Taehyung for lunch…”

Jungkook feels you stiffen, and gives your hands another little squeeze. You sigh.

“I just…I feel helpless. Even though I know our friendship isn’t based off of you all feeling an obligation to keep protecting me, I can’t help…wondering. I can’t help feeling bad. I don’t want any of you getting hurt for me. I’m the powerless girl in a group of seven guys with powers. Can’t you see where I’m coming from? Sometimes I just feel like a burden.”

You laugh sadly, guilt once again tugging at your heart, and you try to step away. However, Jungkook tugs you back in—apparently forgetting about his monstrous strength as you stumble into his chest. For a second you’re both surprised, but then he gives in and loops his arms around you, holding you close. Your cheeks feel a little warm.

“Listen to me,” he says seriously. “You’re not a burden. You’re our friend. And our friendship didn’t happen out of any kind of obligation. Me and the guys…we accepted you because we liked you. We wanted to get to know you more. And Y/N,” he smiles softly, and while you can’t see it you can hear it in his voice. “These last few weeks have been better with you in them.”

He hears you sniffle, and brings a hand up to cradle your head. You instinctively hide your face in his shoulder, arms lifting to wrap around his back, and contentedness settles in Jungkook’s chest. Finally, it seems like he’s gotten through to you.

“Have you always been this talkative?” you laugh after a minute, pulling back to wipe away a few stray tears. Jungkook laughs, posing a hand on his hip.

“No, but…I had to say what needed to be said.” He pouts contemplatively. “That, or you run away like you had planned, and the rest of the guys get worried and flood the chat with texts, and Hoseok teleports to your house, and it turns into a huge deal.”

You giggle, knowing he’s absolutely right.

“Well,” you say, flashing him a small, but sincere smile. “Thank you. I much preferred this route, I think.”

Your words cause Jungkook’s ears to turn red as he suddenly becomes aware how intimate he’d been with you. He’s almost as bad as all his perverted hyungs…but…

He returns your smile, offering you a hand. “Let’s head back. They’re gonna start getting worried.”

“Okay,” you nod, and place your hand in his. He tugs you along for a short while before his grip begins to slip away. After all, he’s not sure if he’s making it weird, or—

Just as his hand starts to drop you reaffirm your grip, slotting your fingers together. Jungkook glances over at you, a blush coming to his cheeks when he notices that you’re blushing as well.

“I…um…whenever I get upset, skinship really helps, so…,” you admit shyly, and Jungkook chuckles.

“Oh god, the others would be more than happy to help if you told them.”

You cheeks go even redder at that, and Jungkook grins a little. “No?”

“I mean…isn’t that…wouldn’t it just turn into a riot?”

“Tonight? No. Any other Friday night? Yes,” he responds, and you laugh quietly.

“Well…maybe I’ll ask.” You pause for a second, and then glance at him curiously. “You won’t get mad, will you?”

Jungkook blinks curiously. “Why would I?”

You hum as the apartment building comes back into sight ahead. “I mean…every time one of the others “makes a move” as you all call it, it seems like you’re the one that’s going to beat their ass, no matter who it is, so…I guess I just think you’re a little protective.”

You end with a cheeky grin, and this time Jungkook’s cheeks look like tomatoes.

“I--! I mean--!”

“Or maybe you just don’t want to share?” you continue, teasing him. He glares at you, but you think he looks more like an upset puppy. However, instead of responding he simply squeezes your hand tightly and pulls you ahead.

“C’mon.”

Laughing, you follow along. A short while later you’re standing in front of the door to Jimin and Taehyung’s apartment. When Jimin opens the door his brow is pinched with worry.

“Where have you guys been?”

“Well…,” you and Jungkook glance at each other. You smile a little, feeling reassured, and continue with honesty, “I was feeling upset about what had happened and Jungkook found me. We went for a walk and talked about it, and I’m feeling better now.”

Jimin blinks, genuine surprise in his eyes as he looks over to the maknae, whose ears have once again turned red. Then, he grins fondly.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Jimin says, stepping aside and motioning you in. With a smile you enter the apartment, Jungkook right on your tail. At your entrance, the males gathered around the TV arguing about movies pause.

“Y/N!” Taehyung exclaims happily, jumping up and preparing to make his way over. However, he pauses when Jungkook holds up his hand. Immediately silence falls, and his hyungs look on, curious.

“Earlier Y/N admitted to me that skinship helps her feel better,” he starts off by saying, rolling his eyes a little when you whip your head to look at him, a slight blush on your cheeks. “And due to recent events I think it’s only fair that we come together to help her out tonight. Therefore, I won’t be beating any asses. Tonight is safe, so have at it,” he says, motioning to you. Your entire face has gone red, absolutely astonished and embarrassed.

There’s no fucking way the guys are just going to go along with th--!

“So,” Yoongi asks, interrupting your inner turmoil. All eyes are on you. “Do we have your consent?”

You raise your eyebrows, blinking. “To skinship? Yes.”

And that’s all it takes. In a blur you’re dragged into a pile of bodies—everyone settling in around you as Jin navigates Netflix and starts the first Avengers movie up. You blink rapidly, and after a few more seconds things finally seem to settle. You glance around.

You’re on the mattress on the floor in front of the TV, Namjoon’s long legs on either side of you, and your back pressed into his chest. On your left is Taehyung—his hand comfortably intertwined with your own. On your right is Hoseok, and he lays himself over both your hand Namjoon’s thighs—using them as a pillow. Jungkook, Jimin, Jin and Yoongi are all spread across the couches, looking content for the time being.

Your face still feels warm, but you can’t deny that the skinship is just what you need right now. So, you snuggle back against Namjoon’s chest, feeling him chuckle, and focus on the movie.

At some point, you get up so that Namjoon can use the restroom, and Yoongi is quick to pull you onto the couch beside him. He gently guides your head into his shoulder, and you laugh at the action. He shoots you a glare, which you can tell has no anger behind it, but you just roll your eyes. On your other side, Jimin curls into a ball and leans his head onto your lap. When you instinctively begin to pet your hand through his hair, he smiles.

Time passes quickly, and soon it’s quite late. The movie ends, and despite there being no alcohol consumption everyone decides that they’ll spend the night like normal. So, one by one the guys begin getting up to prepare for bed, but before you get the chance to stand you’re suddenly levitating off the couch.

“Hey!” Jimin protests, missing your hair pats already, and shoots a look at Jin as you land in the elders lap. Jin just laughs, flashing you a smile as he wraps his arms around you tightly. Still a little shocked, since you’d nearly forgotten about Jin’s power as well, you’re a little slow to return the hug, but the elder doesn’t overthink it. After a few seconds he pulls back, his smile bright.

“So, how are you feeling after all that?”

You blink, and then glance around at them all, a light feeling settling in your chest. Unconsciously a smile spreads across your face.

“I love you guys.”

You say it without regret. Despite the ups and downs, you’re grateful they’re in your life, and that they treat you so kindly.

Hoseok, who had been standing behind you and Jin, quickly leans over the couch and kisses the crown of your head. He beams a grin.

“We love you too.”

You glance around at the others and you can tell that Hoseok’s sentiment is shared by them all, a fond look in their eyes. Tears prick at your eyes once more as you heart beats loudly in your chest—overwhelmed by the amount of love you suddenly feel for them all.

You don’t want to imagine any type of life without them.

“Dammit,” you sniffle, tilting your head backwards to stop the tears from falling. A few of them chuckle, and you wave your hand at them. “Go to bed before you make me cry again!”

“Yeah, yeah~,” they echo, disappearing up the hall. After a few seconds Jin laughs quietly and uses his telekinetic ability to lift you off his lap and stand you on your feet. You glance back at him innocently, still unused to being manhandled by…nothing, and Jin pats your head before disappearing up the hall.

Once again, it seems you and Jungkook are sleeping in the living room.

“You can take the mattress this time,” you tell him, and then turn towards the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Jungkook nods, and starts to get settled in. By the time you return his chest is rising and falling evenly—indicative of sleep—and you finagle your way onto the couch as quietly as possible. Soon enough, you’re asleep, however…

You shiver, the one blanket covering your body apparently not enough to keep you warm. Groggy, you push onto your elbows and then look down at the mattress where Jungkook is peacefully sleeping, a pile of blankets at the end of the bed near his feet.

Hoping not to disturb him, you crawl down onto the mattress and manage to snag a second blanket, but—

“Are you cold?” his deep voice murmurs, still half asleep. You glance down to see him squinting at you through one eye. Silent, you nod, and immediately Jungkook reaches his arms out. He catches you around the middle, dragging you down onto the mattress beside him. He covers you with the two blankets he had been using—already toasty with his body heat—and then rests his arm over your waist. You can feel the heat from his chest on your back.

If you weren’t exhausted, you might be embarrassed. But…just because you’re exhausted doesn’t mean you can’t tease him.

“I think the night is over, Jungkook. The skinship rule isn’t effective anymore.”

He snorts a laugh. “How am I gonna beat my own ass? Just go back to sleep,” he squeezes you gently around the middle, and you decide to listen. Within seconds you’re back to sleep—thoughts of seven silly boys following you even into your dreams.

For once, you feel that no matter what happens, everything is going to work out.

#wttws #i'm hoping the fluff seems realistic and not just thrown in their for pairings sake lmao #bts superpower au #bts fic #bts college au

138 notes · View notes

migleefulmoments · 4 years

Note

Oh my God. So now people in Hollywood are threatening Darren and Chris's families if they don't comply? Tinhats are saying they wouldn't be surprised if someone died in a freak accident to put Darren and Chris in line. How long before they bring up Chris's mom and start getting suspicious?

Anonymous said: Damn it’s real dramatic over in CCLand today. Abby’s “anons” are talking about how someone must have threatened to kill Darren or Chris’s family if Darren didn’t get married. And then we have Abby saying that no matter what happens she won’t abandon them. Yeah, she is definitely setting the stage for claiming someone threatened to kill Chris if Darren didn’t have a baby with Mia. She knows a baby is coming eventually and she can’t let go of her CCThrone.

It’s da Mafia, my friends!

They are so full of themselves-and so dramatic- it’s terrifying.

I keep saying that Abby is writing a Telenovela and damn does she love the drama. She’s also desperate to keep her storyline going and there just isn’t a logical reason WHY Darren would be in the closet and married to Mia at this point unless you go for “big threats”. Abby has suggested this vague“threat” theory before but nobody else picked it up so we never had such scary-hilarious promises of allegiance to Criss and Colfer. This is exactly the kind of pithy, over-the-top emotional digging into a cause that social media was made for- the kind in which you have no actual impact but you blog the hell out it like you matter.

One of the biggest issues with the CrissColfer storyline is why should we be sympathetic to ccDarren and/or ccChris? They are both successful, famous, wealthy, powerful men. Abby’s never-ending criticisms of ccDarren are becoming a problem. While she always blames it on “his team”, most people don’t find it so obviously his team’s fault as evidenced by her Nonnies who then get a lecture on HOW it IS his team’s fault. Of course, nobody is controlled by their employees and ccDarren and ccChris aren’t victims or children.

Abby delights when she can claim that ccDarren is treating Mia abhorrently because it fulfills her hatred of Mia but nobody else feels so delighted. For instance, she claimed he was trying to pull her in the water during a New Year’s Eve embrace.

I’m guessing, and we are missing the moment inbetween d goes to dip her so she things she’s getting her kiss but in fact tries to throw her in the water.(X)

The sane among us are disgusted by a claim that he would try to drown his wife. The same goes for ccChris when he publically bullies and shames Mia on social media and his books. Abby’s love of hating Mia often overshadows her need to keep ccChris and ccDarren as victims.

The basis of CrissColfer is that both men want to be famous and work in Hollywood for the big money and they can’t tell their truth without fear of losing everything. After ten years, both men are no longer the “inexperienced, naive, innocent young men who made bad choices when fame was flashed in their faces” and Abby needs a new spin in order to keep her followers emotionally invested. Throw in a storyline where both men are just trying to stay afloat after their families were threatened and WHOA man, you have two very compelling characters with sympathy through the roof.

Anonymous asked: Let's not forget that with the wedding being the lesser of two evils, one of the threats could have gone far beyond you or C would never be working in this industry again, like you said, the people in power will do anything to hide their sins and there really is no limit, who knows a threat on his (or C's or other family) live could have been made. It sure as hell wouldn't be the first time someone dies in a freak accident because they have dirt on someone (Chris already lost his mom in a freak accident. I can’t imagine he would ruin his entire life over the fear of losing someone else when he understands that life is precious and you can’t control what happens to family members. Or the other argument is why would he allow someone to control his life when the easy solution is to go off to NYC and become an author. Leave Hollywood behind for the man he loves and living an authentic life. It doesn’t seem like that hard of a tradeoff to me)

ajw720 answered: Nonnie. I’m really starting to question. And m has her family and SS on her side. That’s a lot of power and ruthlessness. (I'm always fascinated by the power that Abby imagines Mia’s family has. If Chris and Darren are powerless then why is the head of Vera Wang’s company so powerful? Mia’s dad owned a small chain of small music venues. He’s likely loaded but not in the BIG powerful world of movers and shakers. As for Sunshine Sachs- they are very powerful and healthy but there is little incentive for them to risk it all by getting involved in little unknown Darren’s love life by closeting him).

I’ve decided. No matter what they throw at us, while i may not be able to watch as closely, I’m not abandoning them unless there comes a point I think it’s willing. I don’t see that happening. What is happening is not about straight. (What “they throw at us”? This isn’t about you, Abby. Nothing about CC is about you. You’re just a lonely, unstable fan sitting in her living room all alone obsessing about Mia and fabricating outrageous stories about a family you don’t know and a man who doesn’t care about you. I’m curious, what would convince you that he’s willing? You already said you wouldn’t believe him if he told you he loved Mia. You’re destinated to come out the loser because you refuse to see or accept reality.)

It’s about hiding sins. If it were just straight as I have repeatedly said it would be done better and with someone that actually makes d look good. (So she’s twisting the story to be about hiding sins. I’m not sure how forcing the farce to continue is a good strategy to ensure you don’ get caught. It seems like a cut and run strategy is better- preferably with big payoffs. Lots of us DO think Darren does look good. It’s only the people obsessed that he’s gay who don’t like him).

I just hope they have finally aligned with the right people to help them (How would this work? Either Ryan and Sunshine are terrified of their role coming out, all-powerful and threatening his family to keep it quiet OR there are people to align with who can help but not both because people who threaten others' lives for their own interests aren’t going to show up at the negotiation table willing to work out and deal).

flowersintheattic254. @ajw720 I’ll state publicly that I’m with you on that. I’m not going away unless I see it’s willing. Right now it doesn’t seem to be and frankly the more I learn about Holly/wood and how people are manipulated and abused the more I think it isn’t a choice or a very unwilling one. (Why would Darren and Chris stay there if it is that bad? If Hollywood is one big cesspool then reasonable people would get the hell out of dodge, do something because living in that environment will turn you into that kind of person. Also, I just have to add that the Catholic Church has an abysmal record on sex abuse of women and children so if anyplace is manipulative and abusive, it’s Abby’s church)

leka-1998 Totally agreed.

I feel like every day I get more repulsed by what the people in that awful industry are capable of.

notes-from-nowhere If it is possible, the more I know, the more I feel compelled to stand up against this habits and fight back. (How exactly will you do that? I’m fascinated and can’t wait to hear)

Nothing will change overnight. Not D’s life, not the ones of the others in his same situation but we can do something. And as much as we could, I’m sure, we will. (No shit sherlock, you’re 10 years inand no end in sight)

I will accept defeat the day D will show me, without a doubt, that this is what he wants for his life and not matter if right or wrong, I will respect his choice. To date, I don’t think we are even close to that. Time will tell. (Again, what can Darren do to prove to you? He married the woman he’s dated for 8 years, he opened a business with her, he gushed about the wedding, and he travels with her everywhere. When he tells you how he feels about her you all instantly dismiss his words as being contracted or “Mia wrote them”. You refuse to SEE what is so plain in front of you. I cannot imagine what he could do that would convince you.)

In the meantime I will keep doing what I do now. (which is lie, twist facts, post Glee photos as CrissColfer, make stupid comparisons, and blow some up Abby’s ass).

Anonymous asked: I agree about HW and who knows what kind of nefarious shit goes on. The problem I have is his parents not intervening in this . I get there is probably blackmail at this point but surely his parents can see this can’t go on. I’m afraid it’s affecting his family at this point and I would think his dad would take the reigns at some point and say enough. This is the only thing that tells me it’s short term and there is an escape date. I don’t see his parents accepting something permanent.

Do they have a choice though nonnie? That’s the question. How are they more powerful then the heavy weights he’s up against? What has been threatened? I have an idea of where I think this is going but I don’t know and I’m firm there’s 2 distinct paths, one is freedom. The other is too horrifying for words. And I think by the end of the year we will know. (She is sure they will be divorcing after the anniversary and Hollywood airs.)

Because no doubt this has gravely hurt d and his spirit. And between c and his parents, i’d think they are doing everything to help him win. All parties on his side have to be petrified. Because even if there’s a positive plan in place, what’s to stop it from changing? Because I reiterate. D was going to come out tied to ACS and it went nightmarishly wrong. And he’s well being and safety are at stake for as long as she is tied to him. (She reiterates God Damnit! She KNOWS she was right!!!!!!! WTAF? No, he wasn’t going to come out. He’s told you he’s straight and there is no reason to suspect he’s lying. I love the comments about his safety as long as Mia is around or his image as long as his team is around-He’s fucking thriving. When is the shit going to hit the fan? He won the top four awards, has his own show on a new platform, has a big Broadway show coming, has a Ryan Murphy Netflix show that he helped co-create, Elsie is amazing, StarKid had a very successful year, his wedding is all over the “top celeb weddings” lists, he was busy AF this year and he just bought a $3 million house. It’s been a decade-when will this bad stuff start? ).

Anonymous asked: I do fear D is in this for the long haul unfortunately. It has slowed down for her a bit post-nuptials but unless this show with RM is serving as an out, I don’t see how D will ever get out of this. We also need to remember she knows too much too at this point. It’s not that easy to get someone with the amount of info she has to just go away. If she’s intent on riding coattails, there may be little D can do to get rid of her. I hope I’m wrong. I want to see him win. But it doesn’t look good. (What does ccMia know that she can use against him? That would mean he’s done something wrong but according to cc lexicon, it’s all done against him, he’s the victim. If anything he would have dirt on her to use)

I can’t believe how naive I was to think it was as simple as d&c saying no. I doubt that was ever an option and they learned that, after months of fighting post encagement, in the cruelest manner. Honestly I’m feeling almost more heartbroken today then on feb 16 because I’m finally seeing the horrifying reality of HW.Nonnie. Despite the fact that I don’t trust him, I’m praying that RM saw that it serves his agenda and reputation to help d as it would rehabilitate his character much more than to continue to hurt him, because at this point I think he’s the only person that has the power to get him out. Now we wait and see. (I don’t see how Ryan Murphy can serve as both Mafia boss and his savior but I understand that he’s the only one that could possibly play that role right now. There are no other gay Yoda’s in Darren’s life with enough cloud to be the “savior” so by process of elimination, Ryan is the one). . ’t see how Ryan Murphy can serve as both Mafia boss and his savior but I understand that he’s the only one that could possibly play that role right now. There are no other gay Yoda’s in Darren’s life with enough cloud to be the “savior” so by process of elimination, Ryan is the one).

I can’t believe how naive I was to think it was as simple as d&c saying no. I doubt that was ever an option and they learned that, after months of fighting post encagement, in the cruelest manner. Honestly I’m feeling almost more heartbroken today then on feb 16 because I’m finally seeing the horrifying reality of HW. (So basically, the original cc storyline isn’t holding up anymore after the end dates passed for coming out- Glee ended, the 8-year contract expired, Hedwig ended, ACS started, filmed and ended, Awards season came to a finish and now you’re hoping the anniversary is the lucky date. But you need to explain why Darren and Chris have so much power and still are not together so you’re going for something bigger and more sinister. The problem is that while Hollywood has a seedy underbelly, you can’t take one person’s story and extrapolates it to everyone. Judy Garland may have been drugged but they didn’t know the effect of drugs back then like we do know and the military gives the pilots “go” and “no go” pills to help them perform to this day under close medical supervision)

#crisscolfer #darren criss #Chris colfer #crisscolfer lol #debunking cc lies #debunking cc nonsense #Hollywood #sins of Hollywood

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suchagiantnerd · 4 years

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48 Books, 1 Year

I was just two books shy of my annual goal of 50! You can blame the combination of my adorable newborn, who refused to nap anywhere except on me, and Hallmark Christmas movie season, during which I abandon books for chaste kisses between 30-somethings who behave like tweens at places called the Mistletoe Inn (which are really in Almonte, Ontario).

Without further ado, as Zuma from Paw Patrol says, “Let’s dive in!”

1. Human Errors: A Panorama of Our Glitches, from Pointless Bones to Broken Genes / Nathan H. Lents

We have too many bones! We have to rely too much on our diet for survival! We suffer from too many cognitive biases! Reading about our design flaws was kind of interesting, but the best part of this book were the few pages toward the end about the possibility of alien life. Specifically this quote: "...some current estimates predict that the universe harbours around seventy-five million civilizations." WHAT?! This possibility more than anything else I've ever heard or read gives me a better idea of how infinite the universe really is.

2. The Fiery Cross / Diana Gabaldon

Compared to the first four books in the Outlander series, this fifth book is a real snooze. The characters are becoming more and more unlikeable. They're so self-centered and unaware of their privilege in the time and place they're living. Gabaldon's depictions of the Mohawk tribe and other First Nations characters (which I'm reading through her character's opinions of things) are pretty racist. The enslaved people at one character's plantation are also described as being well taken care of and I just.... can't. I think this is the end of my affair with Outlander.

3. Educated / Tara Westover

This memoir was a wild ride. Tara Westover grew up in a survivalist, ultra-religious family in rural Idaho. She didn’t go to school and was often mislead about the outside world by her father. She and her siblings were also routinely put in physical danger working in their father’s junkyard as their lives were “in god’s hands”, and when they were inevitably injured, they weren’t taken to the hospital or a doctor, but left to be treated by their healer mother. Thanks to her sheer intelligence and determination (and some support from her older brother), Tara goes to university and shares with us the culture shock of straddling two very different worlds. My non-fiction book club LOVED this read, we talked about it for a long, long time.

4. Imbolc: Rituals, Recipes and Lore for St. Brigid’s Day / Carl F. Neal

Continuing with my witchy education, I learned all about the first sabbat of the new year, Imbolc.

5. Super Sad True Love Story / Gary Shteyngart

This in-the-very-near-future dystopian novel got my heart racing during a few exciting moments, but overall, I couldn’t immerse myself fully because of the MISOGYNY. I think the author might not like women and the things women like (or the things he thinks they like?) In this near future, all the dudes are into finance or are media celeb wannabes, while all the women work in high-end retail. And onion-skin jeans are the new trend for women - they are essentially see-through. Gary….we don’t…want that? We don’t even want low-rise jeans to come back.

6. The Wanderers / Meg Howrey

Helen, Yoshi and Sergei are the three astronauts selected by a for-profit space exploration company to man the world’s first mission to Mars. But before they get the green light, they have to endure a 17-month simulation. In addition to getting insight into the simulation from all three astronauts via rotating narrators, we also hear from the astronauts’ family members and other employees monitoring the sim. At times tense, at times thoughtful, this book is an incisive read about what makes explorers willing to leave behind everything they love the most in the world.

7. Zone One / Colson Whitehead

The zombie apocalypse has already happened, and Mark is one of the survivors working to secure and clean up Zone One, an area of Manhattan. During his hours and hours of boring shifts populated by a few harrowing minutes here and there, the reader is privy to Mark’s memories of the apocalypse itself and how he eventually wound up on this work crew. Mark is a pretty likeable, yet average guy rather than the standard zombie genre heroes, and as a result, his experiences also feel like a more plausible reality than those of the genre.

8. Homegoing / Yaa Gyasi

One of my favourite reads of the year, this novel is the definition of “sweeping epic”. The story starts off with two half-sisters (who don’t even know about each other’s existence) living in 18th-century Ghana. One sister marries a white man and stays in Ghana, living a life of privilege, while the other is sold into slavery and taken to America on a slave ship. This gigantic split in the family tree kicks off two parallel and vastly different narratives spanning EIGHT generations, ending with two 20-somethings in the present day. I remain in awe of Gyasi’s talent, and was enthralled throughout the entire book.

9. Sweetbitter / Stephanie Danler

Tess moves to New York City right out of school (and seemingly has no ties to her previous life - this bothered me, I wanted to know more about her past) and immediately lands a job at a beloved (though a little tired) fancy restaurant. Seemingly loosely based on Danler’s own experiences as a server, I got a real feel for the insular, incestuous, chaotic life in “the industry”. Tess navigates tensions between the kitchen and the front of house, falls for the resident bad-boy bartender, and positions herself as the mentee of the older and more glamorous head server, who may not be everything she seems. This is a juicy coming-of-age novel.

10. The Autobiography of Gucci Mane / Gucci Mane and Neil Martinez-Belkin

Gucci Mane is one of Atlanta’s hottest musicians, having helped bring trap music to the mainstream. I’d never heard of him until I read this book because I’m white and old! But not knowing him didn’t make this read any less interesting. In between wild facts (if you don’t get your music into the Atlanta strip clubs, your music isn’t making it out of Atlanta) and wilder escapades (Gucci holing himself up in his studio, armed to the teeth, in a fit of paranoia one night) Gucci Mane paints on honest picture of a determined, talented artist fighting to break free of a cycle of systemic racism and poverty.

11. I’ll Be Gone in the Dark: One Woman’s Obsessive Search for the Golden State Killer / Michelle McNamara

McNamara was a journalist and true crime enthusiast who took it upon herself to try and solve the mystery of the Golden State Killer’s identity. Amazingly, her interest in this case also sparked other people’s interest in looking back at it, eventually leading to the arrest of the killer (though tragically, McNamara died a few months before the arrest and would never know how her obsession helped to capture him). This is a modern true crime classic and a riveting read.

12. A Great Reckoning / Louise Penny

The 12th novel in Penny’s Inspector Gamache mystery series sees our hero starting a new job teaching cadets at Quebec’s police academy. Of course, someone is murdered, and Gamache and his team work to dig the rot out of the institution, uncovering a killer in the process.

13. Any Man / Amber Tamblyn

Yes, this novel is by THAT Amber Tamblyn, star of “The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants”! Anyway, this book is a tad bit darker, and follows five men who’ve been victimized by the female serial rapist, who calls herself Maude. Going into this read I though that it might be some sort of revenge fantasy, but dudes, not to worry - we really feel awful for the male victims and see them in all their complexity. Perhaps, if more men read this book, they might better understand the trauma female and non-binary victims go through? That would require men to read books by women though. Guys? GUYS???

14. Ostara: Rituals, Recipes and Lore for the Spring Equinox / Kerri Connor

Yet another witchy read providing more information about this Spring sabbat.

15. Scarborough / Catherine Hernandez

This novel takes place in OUR Scarborough! Following the lives of a number of residents (adults and children alike), the plot centres around the families attending an Ontario Early Years program as well as the program facilitator. Hernandez looks at the ways poverty, mental illness, addiction, race, and homophobia intersect within this very multicultural neighbourhood. It’s very sad, but there are also many sweet and caring moments between the children and within each of the families.

16. The Glitch / Elisabeth Cohen

Shelley Stone (kind of a fictional Sheryl Sandberg type) is the CEO of Conch, a successful Silicon Valley company. Like many of these over-the-top real-life tech execs, Shelley has a wild schedule full of business meetings, exercise, networking and parenting, leaving her almost no time to rest. While on an overseas business trip, she meets a younger woman also named Shelley Stone, who may or may not be her younger self. Is Shelley losing it? This is a dark comedy poking fun at tech start-up culture and the lie that we can have it all.

17. The Thirteenth Tale / Diane Setterfield

This is my kind of book! A young and inexperienced bookworm is handpicked to write the biography of an aging famous author, Vida Wynter. Summoned to her sprawling country home around Christmastime, the biographer is absolutely enthralled by Vida’s tales of a crumbling gothic estate and an eccentric family left too long to their own whims. Looking for a dark, twisty fairytale? This read’s for you.

18. Love & Misadventure / Lang Leav

Leav’s book of poems looked appealing, but for me, her collection fell short. I felt like I was reading a teenager’s poetry notebook (which I’m not criticizing, I love that teen girls write poetry, and surprise, surprise - so did I - but I’m too old for this kind of writing now).

19. Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows / Balli Kaur Jaswal

Hooo boy, my book club loved this one! Hoping to get a job more aligned with her literary interests, Nikki, the 20-something daughter of Indian immigrants to Britain, takes a job teaching writing at the community centre in London’s biggest Punjabi neighbourhood. The students are all older Punjabi women who don’t have much to do and because of their “widow” status have been somewhat sidelined within their community. Without anyone around to censor or judge them, the widows start sharing their own erotic fantasies with each other, each tale wilder than the last. As Nikki gets to know them better, she gains some direction in life and starts a romance of her own. (It should be noted that in addition to this lovely plot, there is a sub plot revolving around a possible honour killing in the community. For me, the juxtaposition of these two plots was odd, but not odd enough that it ruined the book.)

20. Beltane: Rituals, Recipes and Lore for May Day / Melanie Marquis

Beltane marks the start of the summer season in the witches’ year, and I learned all about how to ring it in, WITCH STYLE.

21. Summer of Salt / Katrina Leno

This book is essentially Practical Magic for teens, with a queer protagonist. All that to say, it’s enjoyable and sweet and a win for #RepresentationMatters, but it wasn’t a surprising or fresh story.

22. Too Like the Lightning / Ada Palmer

This is the first in the Terra Ignota quartet of novels, which is (I think) speculative fiction with maybe a touch of fantasy and a touch of sci-fi and a touch of theology and certainly a lot of philosophical ruminating too. I both really enjoyed it and felt so stupid while reading it. As a lifelong bookworm who doesn’t shy away from difficult reads, I almost never feel stupid while reading, but this book got me. The world building is next level and as soon as you think you’ve found your footing, Palmer pulls the rug out from under you and you’re left both stunned and excited about her latest plot twist. Interested in finding out what a future society grouped into ‘nations’ by interests and passions (instead of geographical borders and ethnicity) might be like? Palmer takes a hearty stab at it here.

23. The Trauma Cleaner: One Woman’s Extraordinary Life in the Business of Death, Decay and Disaster / Sarah Krasnostein

When Sarah Krasnostein met Sandra Pankhurst, she knew she had to write her biography (or something like it - this book is part biography, part love letter, part reckoning). And rightly so, as Sandra has led quite a life. She grew up ostracized within her own home by her immediate family, married and had children very young, came out as a trans woman and begin living as her authentic self (but abandoning her own young family in the process), took to sex work and lived through a vicious assault, married again, and started up her own successful company cleaning uncleanable spaces - the apartments of hoarders, the houses of recluses, the condos in which people ended their own lives. Sandra is the definition of resilience, but all her traumas (both the things people have done to her and the things she’s done to others) have left their mark, as Krasnostein discovers as she delicately probes the recesses of Sandra’s brain.

24. Becoming / Michelle Obama

My favourite things about any memoir from an ultra-famous person are the random facts that surprise you along the way. In this book, it was learning that all American presidents travel with a supply of their blood type in the event of an assassination attempt. I mean OF COURSE they would, but that had never occurred to me. I also appreciated Michelle opening up about her fertility struggles, the difficult decision to put her career on hold to support Barack’s dreams, and the challenge of living in the spotlight with two young children that you hope to keep down to earth. Overall, I think Michelle was as candid as someone in her position can be at this point in her life.

25 and 26. Seven Surrenders, The Will to Battle / Ada Palmer

I decided to challenge myself and stick with Palmer’s challenging Terra Ignota series, also reading the second and third instalments (I think the fourth is due to be released this year). I don’t know what to say, other than the world-building continues to be incredible and this futuristic society is on the bring of something entirely new.

27. Even Vampires Get the Blues / Kate MacAlister

This novel wins for “cheesiest read of the year”. When a gorgeous half-elf detective (you read that right) meets a centuries-old sexy Scottish vampire, sparks fly! Oh yeah, and they’re looking for some ancient thing in between having sex.

28. A Case of Exploding Mangoes / Mohammed Hanif

A piece of historical fiction based on the real-life suspicious plane crash in 1988 that killed many of Pakistan’s top military brass, this novel lays out many possible culprits (including a crow that ate too many mangoes). It’s a dark comedy taking aim at the paranoia of dictators and the boredom and bureaucracy of the military (and Bin Laden makes a cameo at a party).

29. Salvage the Bones / Jesmyn Ward

This novel takes place in the steaming hot days before Hurricane Katrina hits the Mississippi coast. The air is still and stifling and Esch’s life in the small town of Bois Sauvage feels even more stifled. Esch is 14 and pregnant and hasn’t told anyone yet. Her father is a heavy drinker and her three brothers are busy with their own problems. But as the storm approaches, the family circles around each other in preparation for the storm. This is a jarring and moving read made more visceral by the fact that the author herself survived Katrina. It’s also an occasionally violent book, and there are particularly long passages about dog-fighting (a hobby of one of the brothers). The dog lovers in my book club found it hard to get through, consider this your warning!

30. Everything’s Trash, But It’s Okay / Phoebe Robinson

A collection of essays in the new style aka writing multiple pages on a topic as though you were texting your best friend about it (#ImFineWithThisNewStyleByTheWay #Accessible), Robinson discusses love, friendship, being a Black woman in Hollywood, being plus-ish-size in Hollywood, and Julia Roberts teaching her how to swim (and guys, Julia IS as nice in real life as we’d all hoped she was!) Who is Robinson? Comedy fans will likely know her already, but I only knew her as one of the stars of the Netflix film Ibiza (which I enjoyed). This is a fun, easy read!

31. Midsummer: Rituals, Recipes and Lore for Litha / Deborah Blake

After reading this book, I charged my crystals under the midsummer sun!

32. Fingersmith / Sarah Waters

So many twists! So many turns! So many hidden motives and long-held secrets! Think Oliver Twist meets Parasite meets Lost! (Full disclosure, I haven’t seen Parasite yet, I’m just going off all the chatter about it). Sue is a con artist orphan in old-timey London. When the mysterious “Gentleman” arrives at her makeshift family’s flat with a proposal for the con of all cons, Sue is quickly thrust into a role as the servant for another young woman, Maud, living alone with her eccentric uncle in a country estate. As Sue settles into her act, the lines between what she’s pretending at and what she’s really feeling start to blur, and nothing is quite what it seems. This book is JUICY!

33. Rest Play Grow: Making Sense of Preschoolers (Or Anyone Who Acts Like One) / Deborah MacNamara, PhD

I read approximately one parenting book a year, and this was this year’s winner. As my eldest approached her third birthday, we started seeing bigger and bigger emotions and I wasn’t sure how to handle them respectfully and gently. This book gave me a general roadmap for acknowledging her feelings, sitting through them with her, and the concept of “collecting” your child to prevent tantrums from happening or to help calm them down afterward. I’ll be using this approach for the next few years!

34. Lughnasadh: Rituals, Recipes and Lore for Lammas / Melanie Marquis

And with this read, I’ve now read about the entire witch’s year. SO MOTE IT BE.

35. In Cold Blood / Truman Capote

How had I not read this until now? This true-crime account that kicked off the modern genre was rich in detail, compassionate to the victims, and dug deep into the psyche of the killers. The descriptions of the midwest countryside and the changing seasons also reminded me of Keith Morrison’s voiceovers on Dateline. Is Capote his inspiration?

36. I’m Afraid of Men / Vivek Shraya

A quick, short set of musings from trans musician and writer Shraya still packs an emotional punch. She writes about love and loss, toxic masculinity, breaking free of gender norms, and what it’s like to exist as a trans woman.

37. The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You / Elaine N. Aron, PhD

Having long thought I might be a highly sensitive person (lots of us are!), I decided to learn more about how to better cope with stressful situations when I don’t have enough alone time or when things are too loud or when I get rattled by having too much to do any of the other myriad things that shift me into panic mode. Though some of the advice is a bit too new-agey for me (talking to your inner child, etc), some of it was practical and useful.

38. Swamplandia! / Karen Russell

The family-run alligator wrestling theme park, Swamplandia, is swimming in debt and about to close. The widowed father leaves the everglades for the mainland in a last-ditch attempt to drum up some money, leaving the three children to fend for themselves. A dark coming-of-age tale that blends magic realism, a ghost story, the absurd and a dangerous boat trip to the centre of the swamplands, this novel examines a fractured family mourning its matriarch in different ways.

39. A Mind Spread Out on the Ground / Alicia Elliott

This is a beautiful collection of personal essays brimming with vulnerability, passion, and fury. Elliott, the daughter of a Haudenosaunee father and a white mother, shares her experiences growing up poor in a family struggling with mental illness, addiction and racism. Topics touch on food scarcity, a never-ending battle with lice, parenthood and the importance of hearing from traditionally marginalized voices in literature.

40. Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay / Elena Ferrante

The third novel in Ferrante’s Neapolitan quartet sees Elena and Lila move from their early twenties into their thirties and deal with a riot of issues - growing careers, changing political beliefs, the challenges of motherhood and romantic relationships, and existing as strong-willed, intelligent women in 1960s and 70s Italy. I’ll definitely finish the series soon.

41. Half-Blood Blues / Esi Edugyan

A small group of American and German jazz musicians working on a record find themselves holed up in Paris as the Germans begin their occupation in WW2. Hiero, the youngest and most talented member of the group, goes out one morning for milk and is arrested by the Germans, never to be heard from again. Fifty years later, the surviving members of the band go to Berlin for the opening night of a documentary about the jazz scene from that era, and soon find themselves on a road trip through the European countryside to find out what really became of Hiero all those years ago. Edugyan’s novel is a piercing examination of jealousy, ambition, friendship, race and guilt. And features a cameo by Louis Armstrong!

42. A Serial Killer’s Daughter: My Story of Faith, Love and Overcoming / Kerri Rawson

So Brad and I had just finished watching season 2 of Mindhunter, and as I browse through a neighbourhood little library, I spot this book and the serial killer in question is the BTK Killer! Naturally, I had to read it. What I didn’t realize is that this is actually a Christian book, so Rawson does write a lot about struggling with her belief in God and finding her way back to Him, etc. But there are also chapters more fitting with the true crime and memoir genres that I equally enjoyed and was creeped out by.

43. The Night Ocean / Paul La Farge

This is another book that made me feel somewhat stupid as a reader. I just know there are details or tidbits that completely went over my head that would likely enrich a better reader’s experience. In broad strokes, the novel is about a failed marriage between a psychiatrist and a writer who became dangerously obsessed with H.P. Lovecraft and the rumours that swirled around him and his social circle. The writer’s obsession takes him away from his marriage and everything else, and eventually it looks like he ends his own life. The psychiatrist is doubtful (no body was found) and she starts to follow him down the same rabbit hole. At times tense, at times funny, at times sad, I enjoyed the supposed world of Lovecraft and his fans and peers, but again, I’m sure there are deeper musings here that I couldn’t reach.

44. Glass Houses / Louise Penny

The 13th novel in Penny’s Inspector Gamache mystery series sees our hero taking big risks to fight the opioid crisis in Quebec. He and his team focus on catching the big crime boss smuggling drugs across the border from Vermont, endangering his beloved town of Three Pines in the process.

45. The Bone Houses / Emily Lloyd-Jones

My Halloween read for the year, this dark fairytale of a YA novel was perfect for the season. Since her parents died, Ryn has taken over the family business - grave digging - to support herself and her siblings. As the gravedigger, she knows better than most that due to an old curse, the dead in the forest surrounding her village don’t always stay dead. But as more of the forest dead start appearing (and acting more violently than usual), Ryn and an unexpected companion (yes, a charming young man cause there’s got to be a romance!) travel to the heart of the forest to put a stop to the curse once and for all.

46. The Witches Are Coming / Lindy West

Another blazing hot set of essays from my favourite funny feminist take on Trump, abortion rights, #MeToo, and more importantly Adam Sandler and Dateline. As always, Lindy, please be my best friend?

47. Know My Name / Chanel Miller

This memoir is HEAVY but so, so needed. Recently, Chanel Miller decided to come forward publicly and share that she was the victim of Brock Turner’s sexual assault. She got the courage to do so after she posted her blistering and beautiful victim impact statement on social media and it went viral. Miller’s memoir is a must-read, highlighting the incredible and awful lengths victims have to go to to see any modicum of justice brought against their attackers. Miller dealt with professional ineptitude from police and legal professionals, victim-blaming, victim-shaming, depression and anxiety, the inability to hold down a job, and still managed to come out the other side of this trial intact. And in the midst of all the horror, she writes beautifully about her support system - her family, boyfriend and friends - and about the millions of strangers around the world who saw themselves in her experience.

48. Christmas Ghost Stories: A Collection of Winter Tales / Mark Onspaugh

Ghosts AND Christmas? Yes please! This quirky collection features a wide array of festively spooky tales. You want the ghost of Anne Boleyn trapped in a Christmas ornament? You got it! What about the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future drinking together in a bar? Yup, that’s here too!

So, what were my top picks of the year, the books that stuck with me the most? In no particular order:

Educated

Homegoing

The Wanderers

Know My Name

Scarborough

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unordinary-analysis · 5 years

Text

Episode 132

Best *clap* chapter *clap* ever

Okjnskfjhskjhfikjhgjsikhg I can barely tybe right now. I’m s h a k i n g.

Honorable mentions:

Happy that Leilah’s coming back

Also i thought she was at work not at some beach vacation wth

Where’d Elaine go? She just disappeared.

There’s this one specific panel in this episode about halfway through that’s a view kind of through John’s eyes and he has Arlo’s shirt grabbed with both his hands. Yeh, that one. I just noticed that Alro looks like he’s about to cry.

Because I don’t know how to put my ideas forward in any other way, I’m going to be doing a compare and contrast kind of thing. First, I will talk about John’s side and his argument. Then, Arlo’s. I’m so excited lets go.

Before reading know that in each section, I talk in favor of their mindset. So stuff I’ve written will be true, but will only be half of the story as I would have written the counter-argument in the other person’s p.o.v.. Don’t just read the John section and come after me with how great and right Arlo is. I already know. Please keep reading. Thank you :)

John’s point of view:

John’s argument (? i don’t know what to call it): John is v e x e d because of a few things. Firstly, he’s angry at Arlo for not telling him that he was looking for Sera. Next, he says that it was totally okay for him to beat up Isen. He’s mad because Arlo wouldn’t let him step away from the calm and quiet life he had built for himself. Lastly, he’s angry with Arlo for praising the hierarchy, but at the same time, not listening to John, who is according to Arlo’s rules, a higher authority. As a final statement, John says that he will ruin down Arlo’s precious hierarchy just like Arlo ruined his life (not his exact phrasing, but I like to make things dramatic). That’s a lot of stuff to get into, so let’s get started.

When Arlo turned down John’s request for help in his search for Seraphina, he decided to do his own investigation. Thing is, he didn’t tell John and the whole time that Arlo was finding out information, John was running around desperate to help his friend and one of the only people that could help him and the one that had figured out the most had already turned him down and deliberately done his own search. I would be pissed too. I mean really, Arlo was approached by John and asked if they could combine their powers to complete their mutual goal. But, nooo. Arlo had to deny him and do it himself, also doing his best to inconvenience John.

In regard to Isen’s beating, John has a point. In the past, Isen has lied to John, rudely invaded his privacy and stalked him back to when he was at New Bostin, and hurt John. Despite everyone’s mutual love for Isen (the fandom, not the characters lol), he kind of deserved some sort of beating. His actions are sneaky and self-serving. Isen is thought of as the poor cinnamon bun that is always put in the middle of things. Digging up dirt on John, becoming head of the newspaper, the whole superhero thing with Remi, looking for Sera. But in truth, Isen is put in many of these situations because of his own actions (mostly Arlo’s but even then, John’s side becomes more powerful). True, when requested by Arlo to investigate John, he could hardly turn it down, but the extent that Isen takes his interrogation too was uncalled for and unprofessional. He asked invasive questions and went after John without a thought for the guy. He was only put in charge of the newspaper because Arlo knew he could control Isen and the two could conspire together. He knew that Isen would easily give up information and would leak false information because Isen had ambition to lead the newspaper and Arlo had granted it, but also because Isen has tried to obstruct information in the past to secure his own well-being. Though many of the poorly thought up plans and questionable conspiracies he’s been a part of have been conducted by others, Isen always holds a little blame. His actions are usually always self-preserving and sly, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but because of the harm his actions have indirectly caused, Isen is in no way innocent. I know I went pretty off topic, but I just really wanted to say this. So yeah, Isen kind of deserved the beating….

Also dealing with his beating, technically John is a higher tier than Isen and high-tiers are practically encouraged to establish their authority over those weaker than them. Arlo’s whole problem with John is that he doesn’t, but is John not doing just that when he attacks Isen? Is he not acting like how Arlo thinks he should?

Also, when Tuesday first approaches John, he refers to it as a rank-match. If this qualifies as a rank-match there’s really nothing wrong (kind of similar to above point, but still gotta say.

Finally moving along lol.

Now we’re at the part where John gets mad at Arlo because he disrupted his perfectly peaceful life as a cripple for the belief that all high-tiers should have to be in charge and are separate from everyone else. John isn’t kidding with this. Arlo seriously walked right into John’s life because he hung out with Sera, a god-tier, and Arlo didn’t feel that this was right. That’s it. The whole reason. Arlo didn’t like that Seraphina was hanging out with a low-tier and that’s how this entire drama started. And John had really tried to step away from the high-tier life. After the disaster at New Bostin, he knew that if he ever was in charge again, he wouldn’t be able to put himself in check. He’s already gone through the royalty bullshit system. He tried that already. And he discovered that he couldn’t handle it, not because he was weak or didn’t want the responsibility, but because of what it did to the students around him. John gave up on the hierarchy because in his experience, it brought out the worst in everybody. It brought out the demons in him, it’s brought out the need to be perfect in Seraphina. When he was last involved with the hierarchy, bad stuff happened. John stepped away from that life, he stepped into the light. He was prepared to live life treated as a cripple, spat upon and looked down on to protect himself and others. And everyone was happy! Until Arlo came and ruined it all because he didn’t like his friends hanging out with the riff-raff. Until he ruined it all by invading his privacy. Until he ruined it all by demanding that John come back to the system that ruined his life.

You would think that after all that, Arlo would at least respect the system today. He would understand that there are two parts to the hierarchy that he promotes so much. According to the hierarchy, Arlo has to listen to John. I’ve already covered this briefly when talking about Isen, but now I’m doing it again (brief again too sorry). John tells Arlo as much; that he has to listen to him, but when it’s addressed, Arlo calls it trivial! So I guess the system is only important when Arlo says it is, huh?

We’ve reached the near end of John’s perspective, but there’s one last, and very important, thing to say. John said he was going to break the hierarchy. I have no idea what this is gonna mean. I don’t think he’s gonna reveal himself, but maybe he’ll use his new influence/fear as Tuesday to mess with the students or maybe he’ll do something with Cecile. Whatever it is, I’m hyped.

Not as hyped as I am to write the Arlo section tho ;) (segway).

Arlo’s point of view:

I’m going to address all of the points made above. Because I’ve already explained them above, I won’t go into as much detail, I will just list a reason or two as that supports Arlo’s arguments.

1.) Arlo not telling John that he was looking for Sera

- John was a complete asshole and by agreeing with him and aiding John in his search for Seraphina, that seem to others that Arlo agreed with things John did or that he listened to everything he said, which would ruin the hierarchy. So because of his hatred for John, his pride, and his protectiveness over the hierarchy system, Arlo could not morally help John.

2.) The Isen thing.

- John attacked his friend seemingly for his ability alone! Even if Isen had been a prick to John, he definitely took the beating way too far.

3.) Why Arlo doesn’t listen to John

- He’s an asshole

- He never properly dethroned him and claimed the throne, leaving Arlo as rightful king

- He’s got more important stuff to worry about

- Some of what John is asking is destructive to Wellston and Arlo won’t stand by that

And now, John’s biggest argument: (which i will go fully into)

Arlo’s love for the hierarchy and what it did to him, John, and everyone around them.

When Arlo was younger, he looked up to someone. This person was a role model to Arlo and inspired him. This person was Rei. Within the first two years of Arlo coming to Wellston, Rei was made king. He proposed all of these ideas about equality and self-worth. He told everyone that they mattered and that they belonged. This was a change from any previous king and the students were new to the concept. With Rei’s constant encouragement, they began to treat each other as equals and friends. High-tiers got along with low-tiers and everyone believed in themselves, believed they had something to contribute. Arlo, being a high-tier was introduced to the idea that everyone around him is his equal and that they could all be friends. Because he looked up to Rei, he didn’t question it, just accepted that everyone was happy now. Arlo believed in that system. And so he helped Rei bring up the low-tiers.

Things were going great, until one day, the low-tier realized something. Because Rei said they were all equal, they could do anything they wanted! Suddenly low-tiers were picking fights and trying out for turf wars. If the high-tiers could, why shouldn’t they? Problem was; they were weak. Rei’s insistence that they were equal didn’t change the fact that they had little ability. Soon, low-tiers were getting hurt, hurt by their misconception that they could do anything that the high-tiers could and hurt by the king that introduced them to that misconception. In the end, Rei’s reign did more harm than good, despite his good intentions.

Arlo lived through this. He saw what happened when you gave false hope and he knew what happened when people got confused. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes that Rei did, that he would honor Rei’s memory by learning from him. And so when Arlo was promoted to king when Rei graduated, he decided that he would abide by the hierarchy previously used before Rei stepped up. He wouldn’t let Wellston fall into chaos again. He wouldn’t let Wellston down. The low-tiers would be treated as such and the responsibility was handed to the high-tiers. Inconvenience on both sides is better than ruin on all sides.

Things are going great. High-tiers are setting examples, low-tiers aren’t getting unnecessarily hurt. Then one day, this new kid shows up. Arlo is only put onto his scent because Elaine tells him that he hung out with Seraphina and Arlo considered her a friend (he didn’t have many considering his position cold demeanor). So he looks into it and is appalled at what he finds! John is supposedly a low-tier, a cripple even, but he acts like he’s the king! He isn’t afraid of the high-tiers, hangs out with Seraphina, the school’s ace, and has no regard for the rules. He acted exactly like low-tiers did when Rei was king. Arlo panicked because he worked so hard to fix Wellston, worked so hard to impress Rei, and then John showed up, threatening to unravel all his work. He remembered what happened when Rei was king and knew what harm an arrogant low-tier could cause.

And so Arlo dug deeper, getting Isen to look into John’s past and personality. Maybe there was something different about this kid, maybe he was just a rarity that had a larger ego than normal. Maybe he wasn’t such a big threat. But when Arlo found out that he wasn’t a low-tier messing up the system, he found another problem. He was a high-tier.

Arlo has stricter rules for high-tier than low-tiers. Though low-tiers will always be there and will always have to be counted on to know their place, high-tiers are the ones who are supposed to tell them where they belong. High-tiers are supposed to be the enforcers and have lots of responsibilities. Even under Rei’s rule, the high-tiers had the most responsibility! It was a must. High-tiers were born with a gift and they had to use it to help the greater good. Whilst John thinks that helping the greater good means being nice to everybody, Arlo knows that helping the greater good is giving everyone a place, it’s letting people know who they are and where they belong. Arlo won’t stand for a high-tier neglecting his responsibilities and at the same time confusing the low-tiers. Because of this, Arlo just couldn’t leave John alone. For the sake of Wellston, for the sake of sanity, and for the sake of order.

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

sorry this is late, but theres a small hiatus so hopefully it doesn't matter too much ;)

#webtoon #unordinary #unordinary webtoon #uruchan #uru-chan #john doe #seraphina #line webtoon #webcomic #episode 132 #official

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sonofhistory · 5 years

Text

Ron Chernow: Tales of False Information, Hypocrisy and Sucking Up.

I’m not doing this in a pretty essay because I wanted to get the taint of his name from my keyboard quick enough. Often enough, I exclaim my opinion of Ron Chernow. What comes afterwards is a bucket of asks questioning my reasoning, to which I have explained on numerous occasions. Today, once and for all, I will answer it in a clear formate so that I may 1) Stop being asked of Chernow and 2) Give you all the information to choose properly when reading up on your history! Let’s begin.

This is Ron Chernow:

Ah, yes. The man himself. Historian, best-selling writer, journalist... you name it. Kinda looks like your uncle who gets you a child’s Christmas present even though you are seventeen years old. If you are interested in history, or follow it to some extent you most certainly have heard his name in the past. Whether it be in a book store, online, or for your especially crafty people--this blog ;) You are bound to be able to recognize his name. He has published titles such as Titan, The Death of the Banker, Grant & Washington to name a few with the most popularity or catch among readers and stats. However, if it is one biography of which stands out the most against anything it is: Alexander Hamilton. You know that big yellow book?

I can assure you, that while this book looks to big and bright as to blot out the sun: it is nothing but a walk in the park. The biography delves heavily into the life of the first Secretary Treasury of the United States in a manner which has never been performed to such an impressive extent for the historical figure before. From the poor island to by Washington’s side and then the forest of Wekawken to his last breath beside Eliza, just as David McCullough did with John Adams, Ron Chernow masterfully articulates all of the information in a conscious and extraordinary manner. So, perhaps you ask: why, Presley, do you hold an utter disdain for Ron Chernow if you think it was good?? Well to answer your question:

Because he does too much sucking up.

Sucking up.

But what do I mean by that? I mean rather poignantly that if Ron Chernow could, he would get down on his knees and please Hamilton in any which manner that he wishes. He sucks up. Alexander Hamilton is solely one example of this manner of creating a larger and life picture of the man. I have stated all this before, in my review on this book, but today I am going to tackle a few reasons why you shouldn’t rush out to read from Chernow on this interesting figure. From not allowing Hamilton to take account for his wrong deeds, to blaming the people in his life to blatant lies among the text. Ron Chernow, is, in my honest and collective opinion, a lying and untruthful historian.

First and foremost: bias. You’ve heard this word before often coming from me on this blog regarding historians. In my context, it means an author who does not take both prospectives in an argument and is always inclined to one specific side. Perfect examples of how historians have been masterful in avoiding bias is Jon Meacham in Thomas Jefferson and John Ferling in Jefferson vs Hamilton. Those authors were able to perfectly walk the line between giving their figure’s opinions and being able to tear their views to shreds. Ron Chernow does not walk the line. Actually he pretty much fell the thousand feet away from the line to his doom in hell. Strong wording? You bet. Chernow is EXTREMELY BIAS. By bias in Chernow context, I mean that he does not understand how to incorporate differing opinions into his passages or know how to interpret Hamilton in what manner he was: a brilliant but extremely flawed man with a multitude of moral issues who constructed the country from scratch with the rest of them. Instead, Chernow chooses to view Hamilton is a divergent light.

So what does this do for his character? Hamilton’s. It amplifies it. Chernow spends the entire biography attempting to convince how holy, forgotten and sacred Hamilton is that he entirely disregards that Hamilton is already interesting by himself! We don’t need useful false information or bias information. For example, Chernow portrays Hamilton in a light of “do no wrong” and that is was everyone around him of which had issue. For a few examples:

Thomas Jefferson started all of the arguments between them and he was evil. Not like Hamilton did anything to be either...

Maria Reynolds is a stupid whore and she seduced poor Hamilton into banging her.

James Monroe just stopped being friends with him and backstabbed him. Lmao. Right.

It is Eliza’s fault that Hamilton cheated on her because she was pregnant all of the time.

It was Eliza’s fault being Hamilton needs to protect his fragile masculinity and bang other women.

It is Eliza’s fault.

IT IS ELIZA’S FAULT FOR EVERYTHING.

This brings me onto another point about characterization. So, in the wake of him having to amplify Hamilton to his extraordinary human bring who cannot do any wrong, he had to, at the same time, ruin the characters and personalities of the people around Hamilton. He spends the entire book trying to say that it was Eliza who was the hero but then completely goes against his claim just to bring attention and say that Eliza was responsible for the largest blot on Hamilton’s character. He trashes James Monroe by putting him the light of a Hamilton or Jefferson wannabe. He characterizes Jefferson the wrong way and takes numerous amounts of time just to dig at his character in the text like a middle schooler talking shit about someone. The thing is? Jefferson sucks! Yeah! We all know that: Jefferson is a piece of shit. However, Chernow doesn’t diss Jefferson in a way that is so bring to light how disgusting he was, he does it just to prove how much “cooler” Jefferson was to him and in turn ignores all of his subject’s flaws. James Madison is portrayed pathetically as well. Thought I’d mention... I believe the most horrifying thing, however, is his incorrect take on Maria Reynolds. That she was a stupid whore and Hamilton couldn’t resist her beautiful, sexy and entrancing sex sex sex.

Alright. I spoke enough about character. Now allow us to tackle a fundamental reason why Chernow drops the ball in all of his biographies. The sacred ball. The sacred, holy ball that all historians must follow.

CITE YOUR GOD DAMN SOURCES.

Chernow puts information in there that you cannot find anywhere else. I mean... anywhere. But... what do I mean? I mean it is no where. No sources, no archives: nothing. A lot of his information is completely and utterly false! He places it in there just to serve his own agenda! It is completely crazy. Here are a few examples I noticed (there are many):

He states that Hamilton never owned any slaves and places him in the light of an extreme abolitionist. WHICH IS COMPLETELY FALSE. Chernow��shows him as a fervent abolitionist and only mentions on one page in one sentence the possiblity that Alexander Hamilton owned slaves. Alexander Hamilton owned one or two house slaves, he married into one of the richest slave owning family, he bought slaves for his family member and Chernow tries to say this was all against his will–seriously? Newsflash, Alexander Hamilton was NOT an abolitionist.

Stated that Hercules Mulligan was in the New York Manumission Society yet he is not in any records and was owning slaves all throughout his life.

The story about Martha Washington’s tomcat is also untrue and the Boston Globe stated the emailed Chernow multiple times to no answer.

Let us also not forgot to mention the incorrect labeling on the William S. Hamilton picture.

As you can see: Chernow puts in facts and flowery information in order to pump up his nice thesis. He spends so long trying to do exactly what David McCullough did masterfully: bring a figure up from the depths and turn him in one fellow swoop into an icon. Sure, Chernow has gotten that done. He has a musical, which is pretty amazing, and everything. But masterfully? Debatable.

At the end of the day, Alexander Hamilton is just one example of Chernow’s dirty deed. He did the same thing in Washington btw which is why I don’t recommend it. I must giver Chernow props however: his writing style is complex but fascination, interesting and he does immense research for his writing. Kudos on that.

If you are looking for entertaining book with many facts and nearly a thousand pages of information on one person: you will go to the right now. I am not asking you to not read Chernow because in the end, he actually is quite good. What I am saying is that when you are going to read Chernow: you will need to take everything he says with a big pinch of salt. Because you may never know what is fact, what is reality and when he is crossing between being a historian and being a fan boy.

Take Chernow with a pinch of salt. A big pinch of salt. A whole thing of salt. A bucket of salt. A damn house of salt. As you are reading, you are going to have to question everything that he is writing about and you’ll never know fiction and fanboying between truth and reality. Want to relax instead? Come to me and I’ll recommend you anything better than him.

#got long #but here you go #ah finally maybe now I can #be done with him #ron chernow #Alexander hamilton #us history #history #pressles musing #american history

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drabblesandheadcanons · 5 years

Text

Thunder and Fairy Lights

All credit to @bessie-bass-on-the-bass for the Foster Au concept!

The thunder is loud.

The thunder is very, very loud.

Relentless- the noise of it breaks like a wave over the dark bedroom, crashing down so forcefully that by the next peal, it’s still reverberating, an auditory undertow, and Joan is sinking.

She can’t block it out, she can’t escape it, she can’t move- and when she hears footsteps and her bedroom door creak open, she has to force herself to lie still and quiet.

A shaft of light falling over her bed; her face half hidden in the pillow.

She can’t make herself breathe slowly so she just doesn’t breathe at all (she’s done this before) and she hopes against hope that she has Jane fooled.

‘Joan?’

Jane’s voice is very soft- she’s clearly caught between not really believing that Joan is asleep but also not willing to risk waking her if by any chance she is.

‘Are you alright, sweetheart?’

She’s definitely heard something, and Joan digs her nails into her palms as hard as she can. Stupid stupid stupid.

Jane waits a moment.

‘If you need anything, you know where I am.’

She shuts the door, just as Joan is forced to give in and start breathing.

Thank goodness.

She does like Jane. She does. She’s definitely been in worse homes.

Except that’s the problem- she knows she can deal with not-nice, she can survive worse (she has survived worse). And every home she’s ever been in began ok.

The inevitable deterioration has occurred with varying rapidity.

She’s not afraid (not much, not really, not anymore) that Jane will do anything really bad, it’s more the fear that Jane will weary of keeping up the patient, calm, gentle front for someone who is still so skittish, so quick to flinch, so unable to respond with the appropriate level of returned trust and affection.

She’s disappointed more than one person on that front before, and she knows that once they give up on her, it doesn’t take long for other things to start to slide.

So…. she’s waiting. On her guard. She knows she won’t be able to tell exactly when Jane is going to snap. She just knows it’s going to happen sooner or later.

Another roll of thunder rattles the sky- Joan feels it through her entire body- and her face, as she presses it deeper into the pillow, is wet with tears.

‘Kitty?’

In her room, Katherine is also pretending to be asleep- but less successfully than Joan.

Still, she attempts to breathe evenly and slowly….

Jane waits.

Eventually, her daughter opens an eye and rolls onto her back.

‘I was honestly only checking facebook for a moment….’

‘Which is why I can hear the Stranger Things music?’

Katherine at least has the grace to blush.

‘It’s Saturday, Mum. And it’s not like anyone could sleep through that thunder.’

‘I know, love. That’s not actually why I came in- I wanted to ask if you’d mind looking in on Joan for a moment.’

Katherine props herself up on an elbow.

‘Why? I mean, sure but why? Is she alright?’

‘I don’t think so- I’m not sure.’

Jane takes in the puzzlement on her daughters face.

‘I went in to check on her- I wanted to see if she was alright with the storm- and i think she was awake but she obviously didn’t want me to know. Would you mind just popping in and seeing if she’ll talk to you, love?’ Jane’s face creases in consternation. ‘I really don’t like to think of her being all alone if she’s frightened.’

‘Sure.’ Katherine slips out of bed and pulls her dressing gown on. ‘She might be fine though. Just- you know, reading or something.’

‘Maybe.’ Jane doesn’t look terribly convinced and to be honest, neither is Katherine herself. As she passes to the door, a kiss is pressed to her hairline and Jane’s arm wraps around her for a moment.

‘Thank you, love.’

Katherine’s heart breaks just a tiny bit as she pushes the bedroom door open. Joan is lying so still under the covers that she’s radiating with tension and oh god, Katherine can remember how that felt- stiff and still and counting the seconds until whoever it was went away, hoping and praying that they would give up.

‘Joan?’

She has a tiny pang of guilt- she knows Joan will be hoping exactly the same thing about her- and there’s a moment in which she wonders if that perhaps would be kinder, to just leave: Jane told her to check but she didn’t tell her to force Joan to talk to her, and besides, Jane does her best (and her best is wonderful, her best is more patient and kind and understanding than most peoples) but she’ll never quite understand what it’s like, for Katherine, for Joan, for all of them.

‘Are you awake?’

There’s no response- the poor girl clearly doesn’t want (or need) company, and she doesn’t need it foisted on her, so she’ll leave, she decides…. And then a wave of thunder crashes over the house as if it’s trying to tear the sky apart, and Katherine- not in the least afraid of thunder- starts and bangs her hip against the chest of drawers and wonders for a second if a building has collapsed nearby to cause such a noise…. And when she’s able to hear things that aren’t the noise outside, what she hears are Joan’s sobs, muffled with pillow and duvet, and she realises she can’t just leave.

‘Hey.’ She makes her way over to the bed slowly- slow and non-threatening- and perches on the edge of it. Joan is obviously trying to stifle herself and not really succeeding (Katherine remembers that too). ‘Are you ok?’ She pauses. ‘I mean…. Like, obviously not, stupid question, but… are you?’

There’s no response and she doesn’t blame the girl- Way to be confusing, Katherine. What she wants to ask is, why exactly are you crying? Is it the storm or is it because once upon a time, when you were little and the world was soft and open, Bad Things happened during a thunderstorm and now you can’t hear thunder without hearing Her voice or feeling His hands? Are you afraid of the noise and the darkness or are you afraid because you know what can happen behind the easy cover of noise, behind the easy curtain of darkness?

Of course, she can’t ask Joan that.

‘I hope you don’t mind. Mum and me coming in. We just wanted to see if you were ok.’

Silence, save a little hiccupy gasp.

‘Storms can be so scary, especially in a new place- we didn’t want you to be on your own.’

Still, nothing.

Think, Katherine- what does she need to hear? What did you need Jane to reassure you of, again and again and again, so many times, until you were sure she must be sick of it?

‘You’re not in trouble for being awake, I promise. Mum wasn’t like….coming in to tell you off. I promise.’

There’s a pause- long and longer- and then slowly, slowly, a corner of duvet pulls back. Joan’s voice is husky with tears, and tiny with fear.

‘I… woke you all up.’

It’s a question as well as a statement and Katherine sort of has to fight the urge to cry. It’s sad, it’s just…. So sad.

What have they done to you? And who are they?

She makes her voice soft as a kiss.

‘No, no, you really didn’t, honestly. Mum was awake already- don’t tell anyone but she really doesn’t like storms either, i think she thinks she’s going to get electrocuted because she says she knew someone who knew someone who went to school with someone who got struck by lightening…’ Katherine gives a fond chuckle and rolls her eyes. ‘I asked Cathy and she said it’s impossible…. Anyway, you definitely didn’t wake her is all I’m saying. And she would’ve come to check whether she heard you or not- she checks on me too.’

Joan is still looking at her intently and Katherine hears the unspoken question: And you?

‘You didn’t wake me either- I didn’t hear a thing actually, but then I was watching Netflix anyway. Have you watched Stranger Things?’

A tiny, almost imperceptible shake of the head.

‘It’s really good, you should. I’ll call up an episode for you tomorrow after school and you can see if you like it. Anyway-’

She’s cut off by another peal- it’s nowhere near as loud as the one before but Joan shrinks into her pillow and sobs again.

She looks so little and young that Katherine can’t bear it- she reaches out a hand to Joan’s shoulder and gently rubs up and down. It’s not the hug she’d like to give but it’ll do- it’s human contact anyhow.

Joan flinches at her touch but doesn’t roll away from it.

‘It’s alright, it’s ok’ It’s meaningless, Katherine knows that- she gropes for something more actually helpful. ‘Shall I put the light on? Sometimes things feel worse in the dark.’

(She knows that to be true.)

Joan looks hesitant, chewing her lip, and casts a longing look at the lightswitch by the door.

‘It’s fine. I’m ok now.’

Katherine could laugh at how un-convincing she sounds. If, of course, the whole thing wasn’t so desperately heartbreaking. Like, the girl still has tears in her eyes and she’s shivering.

‘Well, still-’

She gets up- she’d rather talk in the light anyhow- and Joan sits up so quickly her pillow falls on the floor.

‘No! Don’t!’

Katharine pauses, her hand at the switch.

‘Why?’

Joan’s hands twist on top of the covers; her head dips and she mumbles something.

‘What was that?’

It’s barely audible. ‘I don’t think- I don’t know if- Jane might not want me to- to waste the electricity.’

She looks so anxious and Katherine wonders how many times she’s been begrudged something just for the hell of it? How many petty displays of parental authority has this poor girl had to endure?

‘She won’t mind, Joan. Honestly.’

It’s quiet but steadfast. ‘She might.’

‘She won’t. Really. She’s never once cared if i turn my light on or not. Not once.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How?’

‘You’re… her real kid.’

Katherine wrinkles her nose.

‘You know I’m not Joan- we told you when you arrived, remember? Mum fostered me too and then she adopted me but I wasn’t with her until I was nine.’

‘Still.’ Joan is unwavering. ‘You’re still… real. She might not mind for you but-’

‘.....Oh.’

Katherine wishes she had words for this, wishes she had words to make all of this better. How to explain to someone who has been hurt and rejected and second-bested all their life that it’s going to be different the hundredth time round?

She can’t. It’s awful but she can’t- she doesn’t know how to argue this, she’s too tired, she’s not a grown up or a psychologist or a social worker or- or anything.

She can’t make Joan believe her, not in a night.

‘Come with me.’

But she can make things easier for the girl, for tonight at least.

Joan stands nervously on the threshold of Katherine’s room, arms tight around her stomache. Katherine fumbles behind her desk and holds up the end of her string of pink fairy lights for Joan to see.

‘See? They run on batteries. Nothing wasted, no electricity. They’re meant to stay on all night. Right?’

Joan gives a tiny nod. She isn’t quite sure where this is going, unless Katherine is just showing off that she gets to sleep in a light bedroom when Joan doesn’t.

‘So- you stay here tonight with my lights and it won’t be so scary and you don’t have to be afraid of getting into trouble. Right?’

Joan opens her mouth to object and then closes it. She wants to say it’s alright, she’s fine in her own room. She wants to say she doesn’t need to stay, that she isn’t scared at all.

But also… she doesn’t really want to. Not at all.

‘It’ll be fun- like a sleepover!’

Katherine looks happy, excited even. No one has ever looked really happy at the prospect of her company before.

After a second, Katherine’s smile falters- she looks unsure.

‘I can also just lend you the lights, too, of course. You don’t actually have to stay here, I won’t be offended- you’re very welcome to them-’

She leans over to unhook them from around the bedhead and Joan is suddenly scared- she’s ruined it, she’s going to have to go back to her own room by herself and while that was one thing before, now she’s actaully here in the pink coziness of Katherine’s room, it seems like a horrifying prospect.

‘Please-’

Katherine stops unhooking the lights and turns- Joan has taken another few steps inside and she looks absolutely terrified.

‘Please- can I…. stay?’

Katherine smiles.

‘Of course you can.’

(It turns out Joan does like Stranger Things, and with one of Katherine’s earbuds in, she can barely hear the thunder. The pink curtains over the window shut out the storm and she feels safely cocooned under the pink duvet, the fluffy blanket over the top. And Katherine is comfortingly warm and solid next to her, her arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer with every crash. It’s so warm and cozy that despite everything, she feels her eyes start to get heavy and then she can feel herself drifting.

She rouses slightly when the door opens- she’s too sleepy to be afraid of getting into trouble and Kitty’s arm is still over her, so she’s still safe- and she feels the bedcovers being tucked over them both more securely, the laptop being closed and placed on the floor.

The sound of a kiss as Jane leans over her- she’s obviously come in to say goodnight to Kitty, and thank goodness she isn’t cross at Joan’s intrusion and-

And then- a kiss. Against her own forehead this time.

A soft voice- perhaps she’s dreaming it: Sweet dreams, sweetheart.’

And she sinks back into sleep.

(The thunder doesn’t bother her again.)

#six #six the musical #six fanfiction #joan on the keys #jane seymour #katherine howard #found family #foster au #joan jane and kitty as a family unit #fluff

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