#nonfat people are not even allowed to look at him

[iloveyou8600]

the beginning and end of all teen drama men

#nonfat people are not even allowed to look at him #tbh #finn nelson #my mad fat diary #mmfd

[siswritesyanderes]

Hi! I am so happy to find someone with as many fandoms as me, so I have a selection: (I honestly don't mind whichever one you want to do) Yandere Romantic Mettaton, or Leo Valdez, or Druig, or Camilo from Encanto (if you take requests for him), or Yandere Platonic Sprite, Yelena or Luisa from Encanto, or Undyne, all with a fem or gn reader please! My prompt is how they'd react to a smart reader (maybe a child of Athena for PJO) that tries to escape, or cut ties with them (platonic)! Thanks!

(Okay, I had to go with Leo, just because the idea of Leo kidnapping someone is great, to me.)

You edged toward the bend in the corridor, taking up as little space as you could without daring to touch the wall. The next stretch of hallway looked nondescript– the worst kind. You sized up all that you could see of the floor, ceiling, and walls. Most children of Hephaestus were good at disguising pressure plates and trapdoors, and your captor was the best of the best.

But he seemed to move through this place quickly, when he was here; when he left to bring you food, it never took him long. Which meant either that he had a passageway of his own, without the traps, that was hidden from you, or that there was a quick way to pass through.

And since his traps were all nonfatal, you decided to gamble on the latter.

You could easily imagine Leo getting a kick out of easily, routinely navigating through his own maze of tricks and snares several times a day.

You lowered yourself to ground-level to examine the floor again. Yes, they were slight but noticeable: indentations. Little dips in the floorboards, from having been trodden in a particular way over and over and over again. He did run through every time, and he knew the safe way to do so.

You ran through. With great precision, you regulated each step so that your foot always landed in one of the indentations he'd left behind.

You had almost reached the end of the hallway when a giant net scooped you up, and then you were dangling, helpless, from the ceiling. Your foot had landed correctly, but there had still been a trap waiting for you. You strained against the net for a few seconds before deeming it a waste of your energy.

Not long after, Leo showed up, his eyes bright with intrigue. "Wow, you got far!" he observed. "You cleared Section 1 and got halfway through Section 2; that's huge!"

"One of the indentations in the floor was a fake one?" you gathered.

"I'll never tell," he said with a wink. His eyes kept darting over you, taking in the precarious way you dangled, as if the sight was very appealing to him. "You really did make it far. You don't have to keep impressing me, you know; I'm starting to feel spoiled."

"Let me down, Leo."

"Aye aye, captain; back to your room you go."

You sighed but allowed him to steer you back to your room. "This is overkill," you said, though you knew it was pointless. Most demigods had hangups in the realm of separation and attachment; being a demigod meant seeing your loved ones endangered and possibly lost. And Leo was no exception. Far from it; once one got past his wall of lighthearted emotional avoidance (even accidentally), he became more averse to the thought of losing someone he loved than perhaps anyone you'd ever met.

He masked it with jokes and an impish smile, but he hadn't sequestered you behind a network of elaborate traps and protections just for fun. He was terrified of you leaving, he was terrified of something hurting you, and judging by the hoses rigged around your living quarters that would automatically blast him with fire retardant chemicals if he even lit a fire on his pinkie, he was terrified of hurting you himself.

As he opened the door to your room and you went to sit at your reading desk, you continued, "This isn't sustainable. My siblings are some of the smartest people at camp; eventually, they'll figure out you're the one who took me. People are going to come looking for me."

"I'll make sure they don't make it to this bunker," he said. "For their sake. I don't want to have to hurt anybody."

"If you fill the surrounding area with traps and obfuscations, you'll just confirm any suspicion they have of where I am."

"Give me some credit. I haven't made it easy to find you, no matter who their godly parent is. And the longer they haven't found you, the more likely they'll start to think some monster just ate you and give up on looking," he said cheerfully.

You exhaled sharply, annoyed that he wasn't wrong. Really, given how long you'd been here, you would have suspected they'd burned your shroud already, were it not for the fact that Leo would have definitely mentioned it if they had. But it wouldn't be long now.

Maybe he would give himself away when they did. Maybe he would look a little too cheerful, once the camp decided you were dead, and someone would catch onto him. You weren't sure how good his acting was, when he was there; he was so openly unhinged when he was with you, and there was no way he was the same around anyone else, or he'd have been caught your first day here.

"I made you something, while I was out," he said. He didn't wait for you to acknowledge it; just pulled out a little mechanical hummingbird that flew around the room when he wound it up and landed gently on your lap when it needed to be wound again.

Back before he'd trapped you here, you'd used to be thrilled by every little trinket he made for you. They were all so cute, so thoughtful. Even now, you couldn't help your demeanor softening as you turned the little metal bird over in your hands.

Still, in lieu of thanking him, you just quietly said, "I'm hungry."

"Dinner's coming right up," he assured you. He started to leave, then paused in the door frame, still mostly turned away. "Let's not think about the other demigods trying to rescue you anymore, okay?" He paused. "I'd hate to barbecue any of our cousins, you know?" He scratched his head, more restless than before, and then left.

Your shoulders were tense. Did he mean it? You brought up the topic of being saved to get his reaction, and still you weren't sure you believed his words. Leo was a nice guy, present situation excepted. He wasn't above using hyperbole to make a point. You didn't believe he would really kill them. But you also didn't believe there was no truth to what he was saying. Because the point wasn't what he would do to them- not exactly. The point was that he wouldn't give up. Faced with their opposition, he did not plan to back down.

The door to your room closed.

You wound up the hummingbird and watched it fly around.

#yandere pjo #yandere hoo #yandere heroes of olympus #yandere leo valdez #male yandere #kidnapping #obsession

[marithlizard]

Notes while watching RWBY v9e3 because I can’t help it:

- I am not paying Rooster Teeth to watch this, they suck. (Crunchyroll also sucks but is hard to avoid if you want to watch animation).   I am not invested in this story anymore. I have pulled back.  Totally just casual watching.  Yes.

- Those opening credits... wait, is Alyx going to turn out to be NEO? That would be a fantastic twist.    

- I’m surprised Yang and Blake are able to be so cheerful after everything that went down last volume.  But they have each other, and they know they did their best,   Weiss is clearly damaged but coping.  Ruby...

- Ruby has been heading for an emotional breakdown since volume 1, when  she explained to Jaune that leaders are not allowed to fail, ever.  She  internalized what Ozpin told her on the first day of class right down to  her spinal cord and has lived by it ever since.  (I wish those two  could talk to each other as overwhelmed traumatized failed leaders  sharing comfort.)  

- Ruby I know your whole thing is using your pure heart and smart mind to make unexpected brilliant tactical decisions. Which maybe since volume 7 have not all been so brilliant in hindsight. But uh no hindsight needed right now. This is bad and WBY know it but they’re following you out of habit.

- This short homicidal royal bitchboy?  You should be running away.  Now. Now? Too late now.

- That sequence zooming down the tower with the butterfly is WOW.

- Ruby he just killed two people for giving him the wrong color birthday present.  What makes you think this “game” will not involve more death.  It’s easy to think the chess pieces are not people but -

- oh WELL then.

- You didn’t even ask about “what if you win and we lose”, I notice.  

- So it’s nonfatal for the normal pawns?  That seems good but I don’t trust it. You know the feeling you get when watching happy children sing a fun song to their teacher in Helluva Boss?   That is what I’m feeling right now about this chess game.

- But it’s only episode 3, way too early in the season for horrible doom.  Right? Right.

- I don’t think you should tell him about Alyx, Ruby, given the rather broad hints that Alyx is the reason his father is not around. 

- Oops. Should’ve said you were aliens or something.

- Game’s obviously off, Ruby, can’t you just pick them up off the board and - oh so that’s why they’re riding in her scarf in the teaser.

- Whoa, angel glyph Weiss! Can’t deny that looks gorgeously anime.

- WHOA Yang wielding Weiss’s summoned giant sword? On the one hand, there’s been no in-show time since v8 for them to have trained and powered up in such a major way. On the other hand, it’s so cool I don’t care.

- Cheshire cat with a subtly vicious tongue.  “Unable to do the one thing you were put on this acre to do”... which was what, I wonder?

-”Promises are like birds, they taste great but always escape”.  I like this cat.

- The Jabberwock really isn’t hostile at all, is it.  (Is it the king?) And now I’m worried for it. 

I was overthinking, phew.  It is only episode 3.  Doom tomorrow, doom yesterday, but not doom today.   Except for the Jabberwock.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby v9e3 spoilers

[catboyfurina]

The demon slayers are kind of hypocrites like do they not get that humans kill too. Like say nezuko did kill someone eventually and had to be killed. I could see that being justified but having THREE other people die about it???? Are we going to make the demon slayers kill themselves every time they save a human that abuses people? At least the demons kill because they're hungry

#i know im not supposed to think this hard about it but like #even the demons without nezukos willpower could be rehabilitated and stabilized like lady tamayo does for the guy #the ones that like to kill are one thing but theyve clearly demonstrated that they want to kill all of them #not just the ones that would refuse rehabilitation #also if nezuko kills one person three more die #this means by ordering their honor deaths then those deaths are on the hashiras consciences #or should be #which by their logic.....now they have to die too because they indirectly killed people #(by way of their rules) #anyway i think nezuko should be allowed to kill humans a lil bit #at LEAST allowed to kick em in the nuts #gently #nonfatally #some of them deserve it (sanemi im talking about sanemi nezuko shouldve gotten him in the nuts) #beeep #also super dont like the hypnotism thing #if it was supposed to be wow nezuko has such good willpower then let her have the willpower!!!!! #if you can just hypnotize demons into humans are friends not food then do that for more of them!!!! guys!!! what the fuck!!! #what if nezuko is looking for a demon and encounters a human murdering another human #is she allowed to stop it???? even if it might hurt the one attempting murder???? #based on their rules it might not be allowed #kny is so pretty but i have some Issues with the demon inconsistencies #and mistreatment of nezuko #tanjirous perspective adds the nuance to demons that other slayers dont seem to understand #about it being different than Demons Bad Humans Good #but also many of the demons are clearheaded #why is nezuko not??? #i think for my reimagining slash plot hole filling i would have the reason be because of the hunger #because when you dont eat everything gets fuzzy #but theoretically shes adapted to that and should be getting better :T

[spaceorphan18]

99 Perspectives on a Single Love Story #48

A/N: The Story of Kurt and Blaine told through the eyes of everyone else but them. Each chapter is a different perspective in the ongoing tale of their love story.

I started something like this a while back - and now I’m taking the idea and really running with it. Each chapter is a ficlet of a different character at a different point in Kurt and Blaine’s life - documenting their love story. This starts in Audition, and each chapter will be paired with a different episode until reaching Dreams Come True.

[Ao3]

***

Eli C. (The Break Up) 

“You look like shit.”

It’s Friday morning. Eli slides into a chair at his usual table at the coffee shop. His best friend Becca is already there, sipping on her nonfat mocha with extra whipped cream, grinning like an amused fool. He’s glad someone can be so cheery this early in the morning.

“Lay off, I had a long night.” Eli savors the taste of his own black coffee - hoping it’ll kick in so he can at least pay half attention in class.

“Did you now?” Becca’s eyebrow is raised high with interest.

Eli lets out a groan, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t want to hear about it.”

Becca leans forward. “No, I think I do. What trashy thing did you do now?”

Eli takes another drink of his coffee, settling in. Fine. It’s not like Becca ever lets these things go. “You know how I’ve been on those show choir message boards for the past year or so?”

“Oh, god, this again?” She’s more delighted than appalled.

“I’m allowed to have my hobbies.”

“Yeah, your totally gay hobbies.”

“Says the woman who has her hand in pussy any chance she can get.”

“Anyway…” Becca pushes on. “Your totally normal obsession with show choirs, continue…”

“About week ago, I get to chatting with this guy named Blaine.”

“Really? His name is Blaine?” Becca lets out a hardy laugh. “Of course this story is going to get gayer.”

“Hey, you wanted to hear it.” Eli pushes back.

“Okay, okay, continue.”

“So we get to chatting, and I’m flirty and he’s flirty back, or at least that’s how I took it. So a couple days ago I looked him up on Facebook. Turns out the guy is totally hot - in that classic movie star kind of way.” Eli thinks about it - how it was really pretty harmless at the beginning. Maybe he misread the situation? Maybe he didn’t. Does he regret it? No, not really.

Becca grins her annoyingly devilish grin. “Did you go weak in the knees?”

“You know what, I did - so shut it,” Eli continues. “So, I asked if he wanted to hook up sometime.”

Becca feigns being impressed. “Wow - and he agreed without even seeing you? I mean - it’s not like your profile picture is telling a whole lot.”

“It’s a metaphor, Becca.”

“It’s overcompensation, Eli.”

“Anyway, yes he came over and we hooked up. And that’s that.” Eli doesn’t think there’s much more to tell - but Becca doesn’t seem satisfied.

“That cannot be the full story.”

“Do you really want the sordid details of my sex life?”

“Hey, you got to hear the comedy and tragedy that was Veronica Stalls, so yeah, I do.”

“Okay it was…” Eli lets out a long breath. The image of Blaine remains seared in his head - the moment he first saw him in person, showing up at his dorm room with a sad kind of beauty about him. He had been captivating - but Eli had always been one for lost causes. “The whole thing ended up being very odd. We agreed to meet at my place at seven, right? Well, he doesn’t show up. And I didn’t think much of it - cause I mean, hooking up with internet people can sometimes be sketchy. But then about quarter after ten, he knocks on my door. So, I let him in, and there’s very little talking. Like, the dude was all over me almost the second he walks in the door.”

“Um, hot.”

“More like very aggressive,” Eli corrects. Had it been hot? Yes, surely. Did something feel utterly wrong? Absolutely. Did he want to give up sex that night? Not even a little bit. “Not that it wasn’t a turn on. I just wasn’t expecting it. Online the guy is so polite and almost demure. I figured I’d have to be the one to push him a little. But nope, we were on the bed making out and grinding in, like, ten minutes.”

“Hey, no-strings-attached sex sounds kinda nice.”

In theory, it had been very nice. “Yeah, still…” Eli tilts his head back and forth as he thinks back on it. “It was like… it was like he wasn’t really there?” He remembers Blaine’s vacancy very clearly. It had been just a hook-up. No reason for Eli to take that personally, but some kind of connection would have been nice. Maybe even acknowledgement of what they were doing. Blaine, however, gave him nothing. “He gave me a handjob, and it was ‘meh’ to be honest with you. No finesse at all. Jerked me off as fast as he could. Then I asked if I could go down on him and, oh boy, that froze him up.”

Becca’s eyes grow wide. She sees people. It’s why they’re friends. “Um, so this already sounds like there’s some issues going on here.”

“Oh, clearly,” Eli nods. “But I mean, we weren’t hooking up to deconstruct whatever messed up feelings he was having. I was pretty clear from the outset that it was just a hookup. At least, I thought I was. Anyway, he finally let me go down on him and…”

“...and?” Becca’s unusually hanging onto his words.

“The dude’s dick was fucking gorgeous.” Eli licks his lips thinking about it again. If there had been one bright spot about last night - it was that dick. “I almost got hard again just looking at it.”

“Oh, I hear ya,” Becca says in a bout of sincerity. “Veronica Stalls’s tits, man. At least I get to keep the image of those in my brain for the rest of my life.”

“Right? Man…” Eli looks around. There are barely any customers there - they’re pretty alone. Still, he feels a little strange being so graphic in public. But Becca’s eyes are hard on him, so he continues. “So, yeah, I start to blow him, but he doesn’t really get into it, you know? Like most guys will pull my hair, or fuck my mouth, or whatever, but he just lay there letting me do it to him. And, I mean, seriously, I have no regrets sucking on a dick that delicious, but it did bum me out that he wasn’t, at least, a little into it. Took him fucking forever to come, too.”

“Yeah, he totally sounds suspect,” Becca agrees. “You were safe, right?”

“Oh, totally,” Eli nods. “So afterwards, we kind of make out a little, or more so, I kiss him a little, but he’s just, like, looking as if he’s going to throw up. So I got up to get some water, and by the time I get back, he’s pretty much dressed and out the door.”

“Oh my god,” Becca says, as if it is all clicking for her. “You were, like, the other guy, Eli. This dude totally has a boyfriend or something.”

“Not gonna lie, the thought crossed my mind,” Eli admits. To be honest, it had been fully on his mind but he hadn’t wanted to bring it up. Was he selfish for that? Was he selfish for just wanting to get off? “He blocked me this morning, so… I guess that was that. I feel a little bad though. Not that he blocked me - I guess I expected that. Just that I took part in whatever bad turn this guy was taking.”

“Don’t,” Becca shakes her head emphatically. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And honestly - sounds like you’re better off not being a part of whatever mess this dude’s life is.”

“True,” Eli gives a shrug. “He was a nice guy, though. I hope he figures his shit out.” He gives one last lingering thought to Blaine, hoping wherever he is today that he isn’t full of regret. Eli isn’t. Ah well. Moving on. “Meanwhile… I have a couple of hits from Grindr I should tell you about.”

“Oh, dear god…”

#99 perspectives #s.o. writes things #i'm sure this will be everyone's favorite :P

[ashxketchum]

Writer’s Month - 2

Wow, not me writing something for two days in a row? This one is a stand-alone oneshot for now, but I think there is a lot of potential for a sequel, I even have some part of it clearly planned out so if time allows me to sit down with my laptop sooner than later, I’ll work on that! 

Fandom/Pairing: Digimon/Mimato (friendship, yes I am capable of writing something other than romance between these two hahahaaa) 

Prompt: Coffee shop setting, cold (Yamato is very cold here, it’s actually kinda angsty) 

Setting: Post Tri but pre Kizuna. Yamato is in his first year of college and Mimi is in her last year of high school. The basis for this fic is solely the dialogue in To Sora, I wanted to explore the idea of Mimi and Yamato growing closer and having important conversations with each other, but it had to have a rocky start and this is that rocky start! 

~

“I’ll have a venti matcha berry frappe, nonfat, refrigerated chilled milk, absolutely no ice, extra whipped cream, which, make sure, is layered perfectly, with three pumps of caramel syrup and two of vanilla.”

He could feel his manager’s eyes boring into his back, so Yamato did what any other good employee in his place would, he kept a straight face and diligently noted down the customer’s request before moving on to ringing it up without once bothering to look at the girl standing behind the counter or ask for her name. He wondered if his manager would find it strange, that he hadn’t taken the customer’s name, but seeing as Yamato was already putting all his effort into concentrating well on his job and not explode on the brunette who seemed to take some pleasure out of his misery, he decided that he was allowed this one slip and he’d deal with his manager later, since the bigger problem was in front of him, eyeing him with a teasing glint in her caramel eyes as he picked up the paper cup and moved over to the work station to begin working on her order. He did however, kept a track of what his manager was doing from the corner of his eye, and the minute the older man was out of sight, Yamato breathed a sigh of relief and spun on his feet.

“Please Mimi, by all means, go ahead and make my job more difficult.” Yamato seethed, managing to keep his voice low so as to not attract any attention to them.

“Well, if you’re going to ask that nicely.” Mimi smirked, as always she had the upper hand in the conversation due to the safety guaranteed by being a customer at the shop.

“Just take the drink and go, let me work in peace.” Yamato attempted to maintain a superior tone as he begged her to leave, turning again to add the finishing touches to her order as quickly as he could, before his superior caught whiff of his not so welcoming attitude towards their customers.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Mimi beamed at him, as she accepted the finished product from his hand, her fingers brushed against his for a brief moment, suddenly making Yamato hyper aware of the spot at the back of his hand.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Entrance exams to worry about?” He asked exasperatedly, she seemed too carefree for someone who was in the last year of their high school, remembering his own experience of it from the previous year.

Mimi scoffed in reply, waving a hand in the air to brush aside his concern for her education, instead of turning to make her way out of the store now that she had received her order, she settled on the empty bar stool on the other side of the pick-up counter, resting one elbow on the counter top as she took careful sips of her drink from the other hand. He watched her like a hawk, Yamato wouldn’t put it past the brunette to make fake claims about the taste of the drink just to get him into trouble. 

This had been going on for a few months now, every time he had a shift during her after school hours, Mimi would make it her life’s purpose to show up and annoy him to no extent. He’d attempted to explain to her, that he really needed to keep this job to maintain his life expenses, but apparently the pleasure she took from watching him stumble around while making coffee seemed to take precedent over his livelihood.

Of course, Mimi wasn’t the only one to blame here, if only his roommate at the college dorm wasn’t a bigger pain in the ass, Yamato would never had have to take up this part-time job in the first place. When he had complained to his father about not being able to get along well with his roomie, instead of agreeing to raise his monthly allowance so that Yamato could move out and rent a place of his own, his father had promptly told him that as an adult, he should learn to solve his own problems from now on. Yamato had half a mind to remind his father that him and his friends had not only solved the Digital World’s problems on multiple occasions, but also saved their own world by doing so, but he had stayed quiet and accepted his fate. On Takeru’s recommendation he had taken up a part-time job at this popular coffee joint, the pay was decent and the hours weren’t too bad and well Yamato always had had a knack for being good in the kitchen, so it had been suiting his purposes of saving up to move out of the college dorm as soon as possible just well.

Until Mimi happened to walk in one day and decided to take matters into her own hands.

She had been surprised to see him behind the counter, and at first she had just been curious, about what he was doing here or what he had been up to since the graduation ceremony. Yamato had to admit, that ever since he had graduated high school, he’d finally understood what Jou had been struggling with for the longest time, it wasn’t easy to maintain friendships when one was thrust with the responsibility of taking care of every single aspect of their lives and somehow pursue studies on which one’s future life depended at the same time. He considered himself lucky, if he was able to have a phone conversation with Takeru that lasted more than 5 minutes in a day. So he hadn’t been wary of Mimi popping up every now and them, updating him about her and Koushiro’s school life, and sometimes Jou’s and Sora’s too. It gave him a way to stay connected with everyone without having to make time for them, and while he did feel guilty about this on multiple occasions, he was grateful for it too.

That was before Mimi got bored with just talking about their lives, and decided to spice up their encounters by getting him to light trouble with his manager. It was usually just silly little things like claiming he got her order wrong or giving extremely complicated and hard to follow requests, and she had never pulled something huge that would seriously get Yamato in trouble, but it was still frustrating and it ruined his mojo for the rest of his shift.

There was also the question of why Mimi had suddenly taken such a liking to spending time with him, of all people, since they had never been close enough for a relationship like this. They’d spent time together before sure, and they’d had their fair share of agreements and disagreements when it came to matters related to the Digital World, but apart from that Yamato could barely remember any interactions with her that didn’t circle back to the Digital World or their Digimon Partners. So the thought always nagged at him, at the back of his head, when she would appear with a skip in her step and fix him with one of the brightest smiles he knew.

But then she would go on to do something diabolical, and he’d be reminded of how similar she was to his little brother, which led to him missing Takeru and left him irritated and wishing for her to leave.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Yamato turned his attention towards the brunette sitting in front of him, she had set down the drink on the counter top and was currently surveying the store with her bright eyes, the mischievous glint in them indicating that she was just looking for something that could serve as prop of the day in interfering with his work. Relieved that he had caught her while she was still in her planning phase, Yamato decided to take control of the situation before his manager returned and reprimanded him for being rude to their customers.

“You really don’t have anything better to do?” Yamato began icily, making Mimi turn her gaze towards him, the challenging look on her face seemed to put the last nail to his patience’s coffin as he snapped at her, “Don’t you have any friends?”

He regretted it the minute those words left his mouth, biting his tongue in an attempt to stop himself from groaning outwardly.

The effect on Mimi was immediate, all colour drained from her face and her eyes shone with a blanket of tears just waiting to fall, but with a single blink she managed to keep them at bay and faced him with a hardened look as she replied quietly, “I thought that’s what we were.”

And before Yamato could make any attempts to take back his statements or even begin to apologize for his behaviour, Mimi was out of the door, leaving behind her drink on the counter and without sparing a single glance in his direction.

Yamato allowed himself to groan out loud when he picked up her cup to clear the counter and found that it was still heavy, she had barely begun to drink it. He couldn’t help but chide himself internally, for missing on something that was so obvious, for even deliberating on an answer that was right in front of his eyes this entire time.

Yamato couldn’t believe that he, of all people, had missed out on the signs of their budding friendship, had pushed it aside as nothing but an occasional nuisance within his routine. 

His optimistic side hoped that he would just explain himself to her when she’d show up tomorrow, even offer her her favourite drink for free as a token of his apology, but a tiny voice at the back of his head reminded him, that there was no way Mimi would come back to spend time with him after this.

Unfortunately, it was the tiny voice that prevailed in its prediction, as Mimi didn’t show the next day or the one after that, or after that.

At first Yamato consoled himself by devoting himself to the tasks at hand, happy to finally be able concentrate on his work, he managed to win praises from his manager on multiple occasions which pushed Mimi’s absence from his surroundings out of his head, and for a while it worked.

But then there were slow days, when he didn’t have much to do but stand behind the counter and look at all the people sitting around in groups of twos and threes, laughing and chatting loudly as they sipped their coffees and munched on their food. The sight would tug on an invisible string in his heart, make him long for Mimi’s teasing smile as she rattled off with an order comprising of the most incompatible ingredients, laughing loudly at the look of horror that would take over his face as he wrote down her instructions. There were days when the shop would be eerily silent, and he’d hear her voice in his head, telling him about something that had happened at school. There were days when someone would walk by with a pet, cuddling it and showering it with affection, making him miss Gabumon’s soft fur and he’d instinctively turn towards the pick-up counter, hoping to tell Mimi about it but was met with emptiness instead.

He hadn’t realised, just how much he had managed to share with her during their encounters, and how he had begun to depend on her company to get him through his mundane work life. And in true Yamato fashion, he had gone ahead and messed it all up by thinking about things from only his perspective.

His father’s words echoed in his mind once again, he had to learn to solve his own problems, and what better time to start than now?

#writersmonth2021 #mimato #digimon fanfiction #yamato ishida #mimi tachikawa #digimon #writealot #unfinished excerpt #I wanna write the apology scene for sure #coming up with Mimi's frappe order was hella fun tho #otp : purely friendly

[elmidol]

Rogue Order - Chapter 1 (of 4)

Summary:  You are a barista in the coffee shop that Armitage Hux goes to every morning. He's polite, however has never cracked a smile. One day, you decide to try to change that by giving him a little treat. Things wind up going much better than planned.

Read on AO3

Pairing: Armitage Hux/Reader

Rating: M (smut in later chapters)

for @terry2227​

notes: Modern Day/Coffee Shop AU; outline for fic was written by terry2227

Chapter One

 The town, situated on the outskirts of the city, possessed a charm that lured many visitors away from the hustle and bustle to explore the local shops. It was noticeably quieter there as well, which had served as an incentive to purchase a home within the town despite the subsequently elongated commute that rose as a result. Another factor that was weighed dealt with the distance it created from his family. Armitage Hux had inwardly thrummed with joy at the very prospect. He would have purchased a home nearer to the heart of the town's center, however a brownstone had caught his eye, and that was the end of his search.

 Armitage rose from bed at the sound of his alarm, entering the bathroom to shower and groom before he dressed for business. There was a stop to be made before he drove into the city. It was part of his routine, which helped him keep his sanity when stress mounted as work demanded his attention. Armitage drew his watch onto his wrist; unlike some, he was of the crowd that did not find cellphones to be suitable alternatives to the device, and it had been a gift from his birthmother, much to the chagrin of his father. He allowed Brendol to believe that was the sole reason he wore the watch, though truth be told it had more to do with its sentimental value--this was a fact that Armitage would have denied should anyone suggest it.

 On the way out the door, Armitage grabbed hold of his coat. He had watched the weather forecast the previous night and checked the one playing as he was heading out the door. Now he was ready to make that first stop.

 Winter had gradually rolled in as it was wont to do in the later months of the year. The temperature dropped bit by bit, rose, and at last plummeted. This possessed a tendency to bring in more customers for the coffee shop at which you worked as a barista. You stood behind the counter--white marble top with wooden light wooden bases--and peered through the large window that stretched across an entire side. On its surface was painted the name of the shop, First Rogue. Through those letters you could see snow descending from the sky and gathering along the sidewalks and road. Pedestrians in large coats walked by, some ducking into shops. One individual in particular crossed the street, clearly headed in the direction of First Rogue. It was like clockwork, you thought with a growing smile.

 His suit and tie were in pristine condition. The man, whose name you knew to be Armitage Hux, was one of your regulars. He held his coat up over his head so that the snow did not gather on his red hair, which was swept back. As he quickened his pace, however, some of the strands dislodged from their previous positions and slid across his face. Armitage did nothing to fix them. He was preoccupied with setting a hand on the surface of the door and pushing it open. Within seconds of his arrival, two more customers entered the building.

 “The usual, if you will,” Armitage said after approaching the counter. Your fingers ran along the keys of the register. 

 On his initial visit to First Rogue, Armitage had left you with the impression that you had done something wrong. He had not smiled though he had remained polite. This, you soon learned, was his normal disposition. The tip that he had left had altered your soured mood after his departure. Now you looked forward to seeing him, albeit not because of the tips. He was a handsome man with blue-green eyes that you could drown in. His face had sharp features, although there was a softness to him as well. Armitage was, to put it simply, handsome. This was something you had taken notice of--how could you not?--and it struck you from time to time that he was also not the kind of man who would ever give you the time of day. Not because he was rude, he wasn’t. That just was not what fate had in the cards for you.

 “Of course,” you said, sneaking a peek up at his face. He was not presently looking your way. Instead Armitage was reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet. He had the price memorized, which was no surprise. He had only ever ordered one drink in all his trips to First Rogue--a black coffee with a double shot of espresso.

 Armitage drew the correct amount of bills from his wallet that would cover the charge of the coffee as well as the tip; one thing that his father had inadvertently taught him was that many people felt unseen for what they did in life. The mundane tasks, the bare minimum as some would put it. To have a smile on your face whenever you addressed a customer, to Armitage, was astonishing. Even on the occasions where sadness toyed at the edges of your expression, you did what you could to ensure the customer left with the correct order and in a pleasant mood. That was not something he was going to take for granted. Efficiency with a smile was what he preached at work, and to meet it in place like First Rogue never failed to be a highlight of his morning.

 While you moved to tend to his order, the other barista on duty began to take care of the customers that had come in after him. Armitage slipped the money into the tip jar then checked his watch to ensure that he remained on time so that any potential traffic jam did not ruin his morning. Next he eyed the decorations that had been put up in the shop for the coming holidays. There were novelty items for purchase and new flavors of coffee for people to try. Checking his watch again, Armitage walked towards the counter for order pickup. He arrived just as you said his name, spoken softly due to your attentiveness--you had known he would be there, another fact that he approved of.

 Armitage took his drink, gave a nod of farewell, and walked for the door. He did not spare a single glance over his shoulder--had he done so, he may have witnessed the coy smile that played on your lips--and exited the building to face the snow. Since his hair had already fallen out of place, he decided that he did not mind allowing the frosty flakes to gather on the top of his head. He would touch up when he arrived at the office before exiting his car.

 He crossed the street then walked down the block to where his car was waiting. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he sighed and raised the coffee to his lips. The steam caressed him, warming them. It was a welcomed heat given the frigid morning air. Still, there was no time to waste. Armitage blew to further cool the liquid near the top of the cup then took his first drink. He almost gagged, nearly spit. His lips pursed forward, his nose scrunching. Thankfully he caught himself, lest his pants would have been sullied by the liquid. What was that spice? Swallowing, Armitage waited for the aftertaste to hit. He then blinked, eyebrows furrowed. Peppermint.

 His nostrils flared as heat seeped into his body, reddening his cheeks. Frustration and anger bubbled within up, rising to the surface. Armitage swore. What was perhaps the most irritating part of this was that there was no time for him to return to the coffee shop to remedy the situation. He shoved the drink into the cupholder, thrust his keys into the ignition, and turned on the car. His morning was ruined, yet he could not allow that to interfere with his job. There was an important meeting taking place forty-five minutes after he was set to arrive. Armitage planned to utilize that time to ensure all preparations were properly in place.

 One question that First Rogue employees asked their customers was if they had any food allergies or if anyone they would be in contact with did. This was in part due to the nuts that were in some of the baked goods; the coffee shop owner wanted nothing more than to ensure that the customers did not unwittingly bring an allergen to a loved one. An unfortunate, although nonfatal, incident two years back had prompted the inquiries to proceed. Because of this, you had been aware that Armitage Hux was not allergic to peppermint. You would not have been so careless as to hand him not only the wrong drink, but something that could potentially kill him; not in his assessment of you, at least.

 With a huff, because he was thirsty, Armitage reluctantly reached down for the cup and again raised it to his mouth. This sip was smaller, allowing the flavor to slowly slide across his tongue. It was not bad, he had to admit. It was not, however, what he had ordered. Armitage returned the drink to the cupholder with a heavy sigh. His morning may not have been completely ruined as he had originally believed; it was simply different, and he did not know how to feel about that.

 The following morning when Armitage Hux entered First Rogue, you noticed immediately that his expression was different from the normal frown he wore. He was not smiling. On the contrary, there was a guardedness to his expression that made you wonder if something was wrong--was there an illness in the family (he did not have a spouse as far as you knew; he wore no ring on his finger) or had a business deal gone bad?

 “Is everything all right?” you inquired when he approached the counter without stating that he would like his usual order. His eyebrows had knitted towards one another as though in consternation; it gave the impression that he wanted to say something yet did not quite know how to phrase things. Your stomach churned. You had an inkling as to what that something might be.

 Armitage cleared his throat, turned to check over his shoulder to see if anyone else had entered the coffee shop or was within its walls besides you and him--your coworker would arrive in a half hour, although he would not necessarily know this--and upon discovering that the pair of you were alone, he spoke at last. “Yesterday morning when I ordered my usual--the only drink I have ever purchased here--you mistakenly gave me the wrong drink.”

 You felt your shoulders slump, and heaviness in your chest. There was not exactly a threat of tears, however you were grateful that there was no audience for this conversation. “You said you did not have any allergies.” A pause so that you were able to gauge his reaction. He blinked a single time. You wet your lips with a quick flick of your tongue then pushed on. “I was hoping that maybe something sweet would brighten your day.”

 Those plush lips parted a fraction, albeit not enough to reveal his teeth, and Armitage released a noise that sounded like a cross between a sigh and a strangle oh of surprise. His eyebrows, expressive as ever, drew upwards. At last he did utter that “Oh” aloud.

 “You didn’t like it? I’m sorry.”

 “Oh, I did…” His voice trailed off, and you held your breath as you observed the beginnings of a smile that was never allowed to see the light of day. Your heart thumped in your chest at the anticipation, the disappointment. As your pulse began to steady, Armitage continued with his reply. “I had to take a few sips to appreciate the flavor.” That was understandable. Now that you thought of it, being denied a flavor that one was looking forward to could wreck one’s entire day. “I suppose I should allow myself a little more flexibility.”

 It was an interesting phrasing in your opinion. You had been aware that Armitage Hux had a routine of some sort, however you had not considered just how strict it might be, where the end result was that spontaneity would exist in the form of a new coffee flavor.

 Armitage, as he addressed you, took note of the flicker of surprise that crossed your features at his words. This was not uncommon, as many of his business associates had commented on his rigid routine--though this he found to be irksome, as he frequently was made to adjust and adapt to delays or other sudden alterations in his schedule or business endeavors due to any number of factors. With you, however, there was something soft in the way you were handling his response. Your intention in giving him the peppermint coffee had been to brighten his day, and he could not spot any ulterior motivations for you wanting to do so; he already left, he knew, generous tips.

 “Was there a particular reason you selected peppermint?” He worked to keep his tone level, when in truth that was a question that had been circling in his mind since noon the previous day, shortly after the meeting had ended and he had been left free with his thoughts.

 “It’s one that receives the most recommendations from customers. I have another regular that enjoys hazelnut. Then one who prefers french vanilla topped with cinnamon. The iced drinks have a large variety as well, although they’re not selling quite as much now because of the snow.”

 There was no failure on your part to note that Armitage Hux listened to what you were saying; he had not inquired about the flavor simply out of boredom or frustration. The genuine interest in the background of your motivation for the drink caused your heart to stutter in your chest and your stomach to give a sort of swoop that had you looking towards the large window into the street. Plenty of pedestrians crossed from one side the other, yet no passersby decided to take that moment to delve into the coffee shop. On this particular day of the week, it was not unusual for an hour’s delay before the morning crowd trickled in for their beverages. It would be your luck, however, for one of the regular customers to come in early and thus end this--whatever it was--experience with Armitage.

 “The iced peppermint mocha is topped with candy cane pieces if it’s requested. The hot chocolate as well--do you like hot chocolate?” You might have been succumbing to a bout of verbal diarrhea, or else you were gaining confidence as you regathered your bearings. The heat pulsed through your body. It was a delightful mixture of endorphins, embarrassment, and serotonin. The morning was going rather well, you would have said if anyone had bothered to ask.

 Armitage tilted his head partway to the side. His lips pinched as he considered the question, which for most would have been supplied with a readied response of yes or no. It had been many years since last he had tried hot chocolate. There were a multitude of flavors, the same as with coffee, and he supposed that instant hot chocolate would taste different than when one melted the chocolate and added in other flavors--for this latter, he knew that First Rogue prided itself on the fresh ingredients.

 “I prefer coffee.” He observed your face as he delivered his reply. Saw how your lips twitched in the corners, your eyes creasing a little as your smile won out. Clearing his throat, Armitage lifted his arm to check the time on his watch. He was not running late, although that did not mean he could linger for very much longer; it did not matter that he was finding himself enjoying the conversation, there was business to be conducted. “I would prefer the usual for today. You may resume more...experimental blends starting tomorrow, if you have the urge to do so.”

 The words held no traces of bitterness nor any indication that he was being disingenuous. Your eyebrows rose while nodded. Hands busy with the register, you observed him through your lashes as Armitage withdrew his wallet and pulled out the correct sum of money. Already you were working through which flavors he might enjoy and which he would be more likely to dislike. Given his response regarding hot chocolate, you doubted that anything too sweet would win him over.

 “Ah. Put in another shot of espresso,” he called as you worked on making the drink. You responded with a verbal will do while committing to the task. Perhaps you would ask him what his job was. Not just yet. The conversation had gone well, and you did not wish to spoil this meeting by coming across as too nosey. You were the barista, he was the customer. He was not paying attention to you, you told yourself, because of any interest of that sort. No matter how much you wished it would be so. You would not ruin what you had going. It would have to be enough. “Thank you.”

 “You’re welcome,” you said, eyes drawn to the watch he wore when he checked it again. With a nod of farewell, Armitage took the coffee--black with three shots of espresso--and exited First Rogue.

 The snow that had fallen the previous day remained upon the ground, and more would descend by late afternoon, early evening at the latest. You crossed your arms in front of yourself, leaning onto them as you set them atop the counter. Armitage sipped his coffee while walking, his feet carrying him away from the coffee shop. As for the other morning regulars, the first of them entered the shop. You smiled and gave a light, cheerful greeting. With snow as your inspiration and plenty of orders to take with the day just getting started, you well knew that by the next morning you would have the perfect flavor of coffee to serve Armitage. You could not wait to learn his reactions to more, to hear him talk to you beyond simply giving his coffee order.

#armitage hux x reader #hux x reader #hux x you #armitage hux imagine #hux imagine #hux fanfic #modern day hux #star wars modern day #gift fic

[originofjaehyun]

Constantly, Consistently, Continually, You. | Prologue

CCCY Masterlist

Word count: 3.3K

Warnings: None just hoping you guys would like it ha-ha

Prologue – She is stillness in the world of chaos

“We never had to force love. We were drowning in it the moment we met.”

Next

There’s no other sound except the sound of your pencil scratching the paper. Messy is an understatement if someone were to see your table. Pencil and pens, markers, fabric samples, are just a few of the things that are visible in a glance. You’ve been sitting on your desk for hours now and the clock on your laptop has shown you that it is a little bit past 10 PM. Before you knew it, you’ve been doodling instead of being productive.

You know the reason, your neighbor who happens to be a NEET has been playing whatever online game since yesterday and he’s still going strong. The walls between your unit are quite thin and you could hear him ferociously screaming “MONSTERS ON YOUR LEFT! MONSTER ON YOUR LEFT!!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

You had enough. You barely get any sleep and sleeping has been a struggle because of your neighbor. You don’t even know how he was able to pay the rent when all he did was to play games all day long.

“I need to go somewhere.”

All you wished were to lay down on your bed, still with the messy duvet because you really don’t have the energy to even make up your bed. But ever since you were hired as a fashion designer at 0MILE – one of the hippest Korean fashion brands – you were so busy at work especially when you entered the company during the preparation for Seoul Fashion Week. You really have to make more progress on your work and your neighbor is definitely not helping.

You packed all the necessary stuff on your tote bag and tied your hair into a top bun. You can’t be bothered with contacts at this hour so you grabbed your glasses, wear your black jumper while pairing it with a cozy black track pant before exiting your apartment.

You feel refreshed as the night breeze slowly dances around you. It’s been a long while since you live in this neighborhood. The first time you moved here was when you’re just 22. After college, you decided to move here because it’s really close to your first workplace. Now that you’re 25, even if you’re blindfolded, you can probably still press the passcode buttons on your apartment door. This place has grown on you, and while you’re making more money than before, you can’t just move just because of that reason, knowing how expensive the rent cost is in Seoul. You’re saving up for your dream.

Before you know it, you are already in front of the door of a cafe just around the corner. Sun&Moon, as the vintage-looking gold sticker reads on the door’s glass. You’re glad that this small coffee shop in your neighborhood actually opens until late. As you pushed the door open, you can see two male baristas-turned-waiters behind the counter. The cafe is relatively empty, considering it’s almost 11 PM. There are only a couple and a group of four people left in the cafe.

As if you’re on autopilot mode, you took a seat on the corner and put your tote bag there before making your way to the counter to order your coffee. This is your third coffee of the day but you really can’t afford to fall asleep while the deadline is chasing you. 

You actually know what you’re going to order your usual – cafe latte, considering how late it is, plus, having Americano as your third coffee of the day might not be the best idea. But seeing the cakes on display kind of stimulates your appetite. When did you have your last meal, anyway?

Raspberry and Rose Eclair sounds good

Oh, but so does Chocolate Salted Caramel Tart

But having sweets at this hour is a sin, no?

Then a soft velvety voice snapped you back to reality.

“Uhm, miss?”

“Yes!” You answered almost instantly

He chuckled, and the most prominent set of dimples on both of his cheeks appeared.

“Are you ready to order? Or do you need more time browsing our cake?”

You felt both of your cheeks are now slightly warmer. It’s kind of embarrassing because you are so concentrated while you’re looking at the cake display.

“Oh yes please, I’d like to order. Can I have a hot latte? And also…”

“Nonfat milk and make them extra hot, regular size. Is that correct?” He cut you off before you finished your sentence. On top of that, he got your custom order correctly.

You knit your brows together. How did he know my custom order?

“Oh no need to be alarmed,” as if he knows you’re slightly judging him right now and probably think that he’s a stalker or something.

“You happen to be our regular and you’re very specific with your orders. We, the baristas here thought it would be great to start learning our regular’s order, especially the custom ones.”

You soften your facial expression and it instantly curled-up your lips into a smile.

“Why, that’s a very nice gesture.”

He smirks, “So, did I get your order correctly Miss?”

Unconsciously you let out a small giggle, “You bet you do. Congrats on memorizing my recipe.”

“Well, this is nothing. One latte coming up!” He said it in a playful tone.

You gave him your card as the final numbers of your bill appears on the cashier screen. He then gave you the receipt and politely asked you to go back to your seat as the waiter will deliver your order to the table. You turned back to your seat, allowing him to start making your drink while his co-worker is busy washing the dishes.

You checked the receipt after you sat down.

Your cashier: Jaehyun. So that’s his name.

You typically don’t do this, as you find it slightly… odd to be attracted to someone who’s going to prepare your coffee. But the thing is, he undoubtedly one of the most good looking people you’ve seen in a while. His pale skin that paired perfectly with his soft brown hair that he just messily styled, with eyes that are in the color of deep sienna. They glisten with something else, something that gives you shivers and wraps you in a warm embrace at the same time.

What Am I thinking? Focus, [Y/N]!

You took out your laptop and plugged in your charger to the nearest power plug, before connecting the two. You then spread your notebook on the bench, since the table beside you is empty. In a flash, you are already deep inside your own little world.

After a while, you automatically took a sip of your latte.

Wait, when did this arrive?

You lift your head, eyes searching for Jaehyun. He was in the middle of cleaning up the table from the couple before. You then took a glance at the clock on your laptop screen. 

It’s already past midnight. You were so immersed in your work that you didn’t realize the waiter already delivered your order and there’s only you and another group of people left. You kind of regretted it though, that you forgot to say thanks to the waiter. If it’s Jaehyun who delivered it to you, at least you’ll get a chance to hear his voice again.

You brushed off the thoughts and you immediately start working again. As boring as it might sound – that you missed a chance to exchange eye contact with Jaehyun – you really got to finish your work.

The clock keeps ticking and suddenly you could hear a clink of a plate. You lift your head and now your eyes are locked with the delicate pair of brown eyes.

“I didn’t order this.” You said in a confused tone.

“It’s on the house.” As he said while putting a plate of the eclair you stared before.

He continued, “You’ve been working for a few hours now, I thought by now you’ll need some sugar rush. Plus, I know what you’re working for it's probably important and I don’t mean to rush you but we’re closing in about 30 minutes.”

“Oh!” You quickly saw the time. It’s already 1.27 AM.

“Shit, I hope that crazy neighbor is asleep.” You mumbled.

“Sorry?” Jaehyun raised his brows, wanting to confirm what you said.

“Oh, nothing. Well, thank you for this. I’ll eat this and I’ll pack immediately.”

“Please, no need to rush. You are our esteemed guest, after all.” He said this with a smile, turning his eyes into a shape of a half-moon and as if he knows this is his best feature, he showed his pair of dimples.

As he walks away from you, you asked yourself: Is this a cafe or is this a host bar? He is very soft-spoken, and even though you only hear a few sentences from him, you’re already addicted to his tender voice. You wonder why you haven’t noticed this guy previously.

You quickly take a bite on your eclair, you saved your project before closing your laptop while still chewing your food. You’re slightly embarrassed because Jaehyun saw you in this messy state. Your stuff is everywhere, taking spaces even the table next to you as you are the only person in the cafe right now. You quickly shoved everything to your tote bag and frantically carrying some stuff that couldn’t fit inside. How come everything can fit when you go out but now that you’re rushing it felt like your items are multiplied?

“Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed the cake, good night!” You said as you were about to leave the cafe.

“Ah, yes, thank you. Please be careful.” Jaehyun stands up, a bit surprised with your sudden leave. He was reading a book while waiting for you to finish. He was about to approach you but you already turned your back before he’s able to. 

You would never guess that night is where the string of fate started.

***

“Shit, shit, shit!”

You repeated frantically as you scattered the content of your tote bag. You lost one of your fabric samples. This season, 0MILE material revolves around checkered plaid and without the sample, you might not be able to move forward with your design.

You searched throughout your room that looks more like a shipwreck instead of a room, you even search at weird places like the inside of your freezer but the sample is just nowhere to be found. 

“Fuck, I might left it at the cafe yesterday.”

You grabbed your phone and took your bag in a hurry. You’re moving your feet like the flash as you speed up on every turn towards the cafe before you realize it’s only 10 AM and the cafe only opens after lunchtime.

But you can’t afford to lose anymore second as you have already gone more than halfway to the cafe. As you approached the cafe, you saw a familiar figure.

Isn’t that yesterday’s barista?

He looked in your direction as he heard your footsteps. His eyes sparkled before he showed that warm smile moving towards you so that you meet mid-way.

“Uhm, hi, uh, morning… uhm…” You’re busy finding the right sentence.

“Hi, I think you forgot this.” He handed over the fabric sample you’ve been looking for all morning.

“Oh my God!” You excitedly took it from his hand. Realized that you’re probably being rude to him, you quickly apologized to him.

“Uhm, sorry about that. It’s just that I’ve been looking for this all morning.”

“Don’t sweat it. I noticed that this is important as you were always referring to this before registering it to your laptop last night. So when you left it, I thought you might be searching for this first thing in the morning.”

“Wait, so you’ve been waiting for me?” Your eyes widen.

“Well, I would feel bad if you’re waiting in front of our cafe all morning. Also, I was the last one who cleans up the cafe and that is when I found your stuff. I brought it home because today is actually my day off.”

You’re stunned. As you examined his appearance, his eyes are slightly teary, with ears that have turned red due to the cold weather.

“How long have you been waiting?” 

“Uhm, around an hour I guess?” He said like it's not a problem when it actually is. He has been waiting for an hour in cold weather, and as far as you can see there’s no seat available so its either he’s been standing for an hour or he probably squatted. 

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry you have to do that! I mean, it was my mistake to leave my belongings, but you didn’t have to go that far for a stranger.”

He knows that you are panicking because of your tone, but he just chuckled before giving his reply.

“Well, you’re not entirely a stranger.”

“I mean, you are our regular for quite some time now.”

You let out a sigh, “But still, we don’t even know each other. I’m glad I got this back because it is important, but how could I ever repay you?”

Then he gave a devilish smirk, “We can fix that,”

“How about you treat me for brunch today? I didn’t get to eat my breakfast today because I thought you were already waiting at the cafe, but it’s already too late for breakfast now.”

You’re startled. Did he just ask me for a date?

No that can’t be it. He’s just a kind person that happens to be hungry at the moment, that’s all.

You would actually agree to his condition instantly, but then you saw your slippers and you realized how unkempt you are right now. The person standing in front of you is blessed with his look. He’s definitely bare-faced but he looked photoshopped.

“Uhm, how about lunch instead?” You said while fidgeting with your fingers.

“I’m… not exactly confident with how I look right now. Let me fix myself first, then we can go for lunch? I know the best sundubu in this area, it’ll be perfect for this kind of weather.”

“You’re fine the way you are right now, you know?” Your heart almost jumps because of how smooth he is with his words. 

You shook your head, “I promise we’ll meet at lunch. Here, let me give you my number in case I run away. Which, I would never because I always keep my promise.”

He then handed out his phone to you and you added your contact details to him. He then dialed your number and your phone rang, confirming that the number that he’s calling is in fact yours.

“[Y/N].” He said, in a low voice.

“It’s funny, huh? We never introduced ourself and yet I know your name because of sundubu”

Only then you realized you guys never properly introduced yourself to each other.

“I’m Jaehyun, nice to meet you, [Y/N].”

“At least let me introduce myself,” You pouted.

“I’m [Y/N]. It’s also a pleasure meeting you, Jaehyun.” You acted like you don’t know his name when in fact you already know it yesterday.

“Feisty, aren’t you?” He said with one of his eyebrows went up.

You let out a small laugh, “Well, I’ll better get ready.”

“Uhm, so… where do you want to wait? I mean, you can wait at my place if you want.” You said that and instantly your face turned red. Did I just ask him to crash at my place? You literally just know his name a few seconds ago and it almost felt like you invited him to do something dirty at your place as an added bonus for his lunch. He then laughed.

“I’ll be a gentleman today and wait at the cafe.”

“Let’s keep that one for another time.” Jaehyun continues.

Your brow furrows, “Hang on, you had a key all along?”

He answered with a nod.

“Why didn’t you wait inside? It’s cold out here!”

Again, he smiles.

“The cafe owner is slightly stingy, especially with the utility bill. Also, I could see if you’re coming better if I wait outside, so you don’t have to walk too much.”

You can feel the heat on both of your cheeks. He could definitely see you blushing.

Seriously, how sweet could this guy be?

“Well, I’ll see you at lunch. I’ll be fast, let’s meet again here?”

He grinned, “Take your time, [Y/N]. I’m looking forward to it.”

***

“So you’re a fashion designer?” Jaehyun said while he’s busy preparing the cutleries for both of you.

“Wait, how did you…?” You said in a confused tone. Clearly you haven’t told him anything about you.

“Before you’re getting any weird thoughts,” he chuckled, as he might felt like you just labeled him a stalker.

“One, you carry things like that to our cafe. Secondly, I accidentally saw some of your sketches before.”

You’re in awe. How observant.

“And last but not least,” he continues

“You’re always dressed well. Even though there are times when you visit our cafe in the most comfortable outfit, everything is still very pleasant to the eye.”

Your ears started to turn red. 

“Oh you don’t need to flatter me. The meal is still on me.”

He chuckles, “No, I'm serious. You really do have a great sense of style.”

“Well thank you. You’re a charmer as well.”

Then it’s his ears started to turn into a shade of pink. You think to yourself that it is the most adorable thing as he clearly tries to hide it. So he blushes when he’s embarrassed.

The conversation goes you guys started to eat your meals. He told you more about himself, about the reason why he lives alone right now. He said his family lives far away and he moved out because he wanted to live his dreams. He wanted to be a musician, but since he is supporting himself he currently worked in a tech-startup company at day and took part-time jobs like becoming a barista at night. He does music on weekends, sometimes he would compose his own songs, or do a cover and upload them on his SoundCloud. There are days where he would perform at a cafe or a bar, but he said it’s been a while since he last did that ever since his current day job has been so demanding.

Once you guys are full, you settle the bill and Jaehyun politely thank you for the meal. He constantly insisted that he should pay at least half but you really want to show how grateful you are, at least with a meal.

“I guess we can call it even?” You said it to him while tugging your hands to the pocket of your coat.

He smiled, and you still can’t faze at the sight of his dimples. 

“You really don’t have to, you know. But yes, let’s call it even.”

Then an awkward silence came.

“Uhm, I guess I’ll see you when I visit the cafe again?” Fidgeting your fingers, you really hope that he doesn’t notice that you’re nervous. Am I asking him out?

“Sure.” The response was almost immediate and that is when you noticed he’s also feeling nervous. “I’ll see you around. Again, thank you for the meal.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

After sending your greetings, you finally parted ways with him. Not sure where he’s heading, but he walks on the opposite way of where you’re heading. You are lost in your thoughts until you snapped out of it, after walking just two blocks from where you’re coming from. A notification from your phone brings you back to earth.

Jaehyun (Sun&Moon Barista) 01.27

Hey

Jaehyun (Sun&Moon Barista) 01.27

On second thought, I don’t think it’s even yet. I actually waited more than an hour and we only had 30-minutes lunch.

Jaehyun (Sun&Moon Barista) 01.27

Care for a coffee? I’m still around the area.

You felt the heat start to rise to your face as the color of your cheeks starts to turn into a rosy-pink shade. If this were your room, you would scream your lungs out.

You quickly type in your reply.

“Gladly.”

#nct #nct127 #nct au #jaehyun #jaehyun scenarios #nct aus #nct fic #nct angst #fic jaehyun #angst jaehyun #jaehyunxreader #constantly consistently continually you #cccy

[atths--twice]

Okay, here we go... Mulder is taking Mrs. Scully’s advice and trying to find a therapist. He has seen a couple and today... it will be the third one he is meeting. Will this be the one who will be able to help him get back on track? 

I’ve said this before, but ugh,,, certain chapters of this story just own a piece of my heart forever. I mean, to be honest, the whole thing does as I AM the one who wrote it, but certain ones just hold my heart and always will. 

I hope you all are enjoying this tale I have created. I LOVE this story so much. I love these characters even more. 

Chapter Twelve

Third Times the Charm

March 2015

Mulder sat on the couch in the waiting room of the therapist's office, his leg bouncing. This was actually the third therapist he was meeting with, the other two had not been a good fit for him.

After Mrs. Scully left him the list of possible therapists, he stared at it for a while. He knew she was right, he did need to speak to someone, he just hated the actual doing part of it. He hated sitting in a room and answering questions like “how does that make you feel?” Well, the woman he loved more than anything had left him and it was going on six months, how was he supposed to fucking feel?

He looked up, seeing the door was still shut, and let out a breath. His leg, which had paused, begin to bounce once again. There was music playing softly in the room and it was beginning to put him on edge. It had no vocals, but the melody was familiar and something he had heard with Scully. He did not know the song exactly, but he knew it was something familiar.

“Fox Mulder?” said a voice, causing him to look up and then frown.

A woman was standing in the doorway of the office, a rather young woman. She was tall, curvy, almost plump, and had long dark brown hair with blue streaks throughout. Aqua, he thought, no actually more of a teal.

She had on dark jeans, a long sleeved black shirt with a band name or something he could not quite read, and a plum colored button down short sleeve shirt worn open. She wore only socks, black socks adorned with four leaf clovers, and no shoes.

He looked at her, completely flustered by her appearance. She looked no more than twenty five, like she should be in a dorm, telling kids to turn down their music and that alcohol was not allowed on the premises. No way this was the therapist he was going to be meeting.

“You’re Fox Mulder, yes?” she asked, stepping closer to him. He stood up and found that she was only a couple inches shorter than him. He was definitely not used to that happening.

“I’m Fox Mulder,” he said, reaching out his hand. She smiled and he noticed how perfect her teeth were and then the blue of her eyes. Jesus, they were almost as blue as Scully’s.

She grasped his hand in a firm handshake. “It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Doctor Clarke, but you can call me Rachel. Please come in,” she said gesturing toward her office.

She dropped his hand and waited for him to walk into the office, following behind and shutting the door. He looked around the room and was again shocked by the difference between her office and the last two he had been in.

Here the walls were a light cream color and the floors were a dark hardwood with a large sage green rug set upon it. There was a charcoal gray couch and a matching chair with an ottoman that looked exceedingly comfortable and a dark wood colored coffee table and desk of the same color. Her laptop sat closed, papers and notebooks stacked neatly beside it. A small table with one of the new coffee makers, coffee mugs, stir straws, and cream and sugar sat next to the desk.

He took note of her degrees on the wall and doing some quick math, he was surprised to find she had to be at least thirty five. He looked at her and was struck again by the youthfulness of her face.

“Please, have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the couch. He turned and walked over and sat down. There were colorful throw pillows, in different hues of blue, like the sea. He smiled at the sight of them, again thinking of Scully and her love of the ocean.

He sat down on the couch, moving a couple of the pillows around. She sat in the chair, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen off the coffee table as she did. She clicked her pen and wrote a few things on her paper before she looked up at him with a smile.

“So, as I’ve said, my name is Doctor Clarke, but please call me Rachel,” she said, sitting back in her chair and putting her stocking feet on the ottoman. “I am a therapist with a bachelor's degree in psychology and a masters degree in psychotherapy. I have been a licensed therapist for six years and if I do say so myself, I’m pretty great.”

He looked at her, stunned she would say something like that to a client, especially one she had just met. Her mouth was curling up, trying to hide a smile. Oh, he thought, she was very different than the last two stuffy people he had met.

“Anyway,” she said when he made no comment. “I was going over your information and I saw that the online questionnaire I require my patients to fill out had not been done.”

She stared at him and clasped her hands in her lap. She raised her eyebrows and it was so reminiscent of Scully’s look, his breath caught in his chest. He had still not uttered a word, trying to get a good read on this non shoe wearing, streaks of blue hair woman. She gave not an inch and he knew one of them had to speak eventually. His leg began to bounce when he realized it needed to be him.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t have access to a computer, so I couldn’t fill it out.”

“Truth or bullshit?” she asked, holding his gaze. He blinked, stunned again at her language as well as directness, and she did not back down.

He thought of his computer at home, still cracked and a new one not yet purchased. He had done so purposely, having no desire to have access to the Internet or email. Logically, he knew the computer and the technology it brought were not to blame for the situation he was in now. Emotionally though, it was a link to Scully, and he had wanted to sever that when he had felt angry.

Along with no computer, he had also kept his phone turned off, leaving Scully absolutely no way of reaching him, unless she drove her ass over to the house to see him. As he sat there now, he realized how selfish and asshole-like that would sound if he said it all out loud.

“Truth,” he said quietly.

“Good. Well, then since you were unable to answer the questions and this is our first meeting, I’m going to ask these of you, in more of a ... free form. You cool with that?” she said, picking up her pen, ready to write down his answers.

He nodded and then shook his head before leaning it back. He began to clench and unclench his fists, nervous beyond anything, at the prospects of talking about what brought him to see her today.

She was not saying anything and it was making him uncomfortable. He lifted his head and looked at her. She was watching him, her expression again unreadable. They must teach you that at therapist training, he thought, the right way to stare at a person while revealing nothing of yourself.

He knew how to do that too, years of working for the bureau and questioning suspects, had given him that ability. If she wanted to play a weird chicken game of stare down, he was more than ready. He would give it this one hour, then tell Mrs. Scully this therapist had not worked out either. Yeah ... he could tough out an hour.

“Do you like sports?” came her unexpected question, her eyes watching him. He blinked at her again, unable to form an answer, and she smiled slightly. “Me, I love sports, but I’ve never really been good at all of them. We had to do most of them in elementary school and then again in high school. I was not a fast runner, or good with the fancy footwork that goes with most sports. But oh ... I loved playing baseball.”

She paused for a moment, her hands once again clasped in her lap, her thoughts no doubt on a ball field somewhere.

“I wasn’t a fast runner, like I said, but the feel of the bat in my hands, the power I held to either bunt or whack the shit out of the ball, I loved it,” she said wistfully. “I loved the audible groan I would hear from the team when I stepped up to bat, knowing I was most likely going to hit the ball far. I loved the tight grip I would get on the bat, the feel and sound as I tapped the bat to home plate, the smell of the dirt, and then the sound of the ball hitting the bat and knowing it was going way outfield. I loved it all.” She stopped and smiled, no doubt seeing the ball flying over the outfield, the opposing team trying and failing to get to it in time.

He watched her and thought of his own love of baseball, watching games with his dad and listening to them on the radio. He thought of the scent of a musty old book as he read box scores, the taste of a nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicle in his mouth, and the sound of Scully’s slight gasp when he held her and demonstrated hips before hands before they “slapped a piece of horse hide with a stick.”

Yeah, he loved baseball too.

He looked at Rachel and they smiled at one another. She waited and he knew he was going to have to speak up. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“I didn’t answer your questionnaire, but,” he paused, looking at her and she nodded. He sighed and swallowed. “My ... well she’s not exactly my mother in law, but she kindly requested I speak to someone. She asked some friends and found some people they suggested.”

He stopped and thought of the look on Mrs. Scully’s face as he told her he would see about talking to a therapist. Her face was so hopeful, and he knew he could not take seeing her face heartbroken if it did not work out.

“I uh, my … partner, God ... she and I are not together right now. We’ve, well there’s been some, uh, I only have an hour, right?” he laughed nervously, all of a sudden close to tears. Fuck.

She smiled at him, writing something on her paper. “Yes, an hour, but we can make another appointment. We can talk about anything you want right now,” she said kindly. “The questionnaire is helpful to both of us because it helps me see what you want out of this and it gets you thinking about what you personally want out of it. I can read it and know how I want to proceed, but it’s all dependent on you.”

He sighed and nodded. He looked at the pictures she had on the wall. A drawing of a ballerina in pose, a photo of her at a football game with her head on an older man’s shoulder, both of them bundled in their teams gear, and a mesmerizing drawing of the sea with nearly the same blues as the throw pillows.

“You like the Seahawks?” he asked, looking back at her. She smiled at him and nodded, looking over at the photo.

“I used to live in Washington state. My dad and I went to many games and then we moved here when I was ten,” she said. “We always caught them when they played somewhere close. That picture is me and my uncle at the Super Bowl last year.”

“Your dad couldn’t make it?” Mulder asked, looking at the photo.

“No,” she said quietly. “He passed away when I was seventeen.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ...” he said, feeling terrible and intrusive.

“No apologies necessary,” she said with a smile. “Are you a football fan? Do you have a favorite team?”

“Uh ... yeah I like it, but I prefer basketball and baseball, too. Basketball is the sport I enjoy most and the Knicks are my team,” he looked at her and she nodded. “No matter how their season went, they’re the team I’ve loved since I was a boy. My dad used to watch them and he took me to a few games when I was younger. It was fun and exciting. The crowd cheering, the sound of the buzzer, the squeaking of the shoes on the court, I remember loving that almost as much as the game itself.”

“The sounds and feels of things can stay with us more than remembering the scores or the players. Our minds don’t always work in numbers and stats, but when we go back and read them, we remember the warmth of the day and feel of a parent’s hand instead,” she said softly, smiling at him again.

He nodded, remembering days with his dad before his family life went to shit. Sometimes those days were hard to call upon when so many bad memories pushed their way to the top. He looked around the room and then back at her with a sigh.

“I feel like you’re waiting for me to break down or start pouring my heart out,” he said, pulling a pillow on his lap and picking at it.

She smiled and then lightly chuckled. She moved her feet from the ottoman and stood up. She walked to the coffee pot and picked up a mug, opened the coffee holder, and put something inside. She closed it down and pushed a button before turning to him.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Uhh ... sure,” he said and she nodded. “Just black.”

The coffee stopped dripping and she brought the cup over to him. He murmured his thanks as she walked back to make one for herself. She added some sugar and cream and then sat back down. A few minutes went by as they both drank some coffee.

“Mr. Mulder,” she began and he choked on his coffee, shaking his head.

“I ... no,” he cleared his throat and tried again. “Mr. Mulder ... sounds like my father.” He coughed and she nodded.

“Fox,” she began again and he heard Scully’s voice coming from the passenger seat of a car from what seemed like forever ago. That same hesitation and uncertainty in Rachel’s voice was present, and he felt tears once again at the back of his throat.

“Fox? Would that be okay? To call you Fox?” she asked him, no doubt sensing his unease. He looked in her eyes, so close to the shade of Scully’s, and he knew he would never be able to hear her call him Mulder. He was Mulder only to Scully.

“Yes, Fox is fine,” he said quietly, looking down into his coffee cup.

“Fox, the endgame of therapy is not to force you to break down and cry. I’m not here to make you do anything you don’t want to do,” she said, setting her mug on the small table next to her chair. “I’m not here because I asked to be, you came to me because you must know you have things you need to discuss. I am a non biased party who will hear you out and help you to reach conclusions, that’s my role. If you choose to continue our discussions, I will create a scheduled time for you weekly or biweekly if you want it. These sessions are for you. You get out of therapy what you put into it, Fox.”

She held his gaze and he knew in that moment, she was the therapist he would be seeing. It was not just the more laid back atmosphere and attitude she had, it was the feeling he got being in this room. He felt calm with her and that he could open up without feeling judged or scolded as he had felt at the last two therapists offices.

A buzzing sound interrupted his thoughts and she glanced at her table. She picked up her phone and silenced it, placing it back on the table. She locked her hands in her lap and looked at him.

“Our time for today is up,” she said. He smiled at her and she smiled back. The past hour had flown by surprisingly fast considering he had been dreading it and ready to say it was a bust.

She stood up and he followed suit, setting his mug on the coffee table, and walking with her to the waiting area. She turned to him and reached out her hand once again. He looked down and shook it, her handshake as firm as he remembered.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Fox. I wish you well on your journey to find the therapist who is the right fit for you,” she said with a smile.

He dropped her hand and laughed quietly. “Would this time next week work for you? Or should we do biweekly at first? I could be here next Tuesday and then Friday,” he said, smiling as he watched her smile grow.

“I can do Tuesday, or would Wednesday be okay?”

“No, Wednesdays are ... I have standing plans every Wednesday,” he said, not offering any other explanation that it was the day Mrs. Scully came over to visit. He would not change that day, he looked forward to her coming out to his house every week.

“Next Tuesday it is then,” she agreed, picking up a reminder card and writing the date and time down for him. She handed it to him and he slipped it in his pocket.

“Well, I no longer wish you well on your journey, I now thank you for your decision,” she said, placing her hands on her heart and bowing her head. He laughed and went to grab his coat from the coat rack.

“What made you decide on me, if you don’t mind me asking?” she asked, rubbing her hands together and then interlocking her fingers.

He smiled as he put his jacket on and buttoned it up. “Your story about baseball made me think back to a moment that was pretty special to me. It made me think of the scent of the evening and the sound of baseballs being hit, and how in that moment, every other problem and worry seemed so insignificant,” he said, once again hearing Scully’s laughter and remembering how it felt to hold her, even if for a brief time.

“Huh ...” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I just thought it was a cool story.” She smiled at him and once again he felt his breath catch.

“I just thought it was a pretty cool key chain.”

If he was on the fence about her being the right fit for him, he just fell off and landed in her yard. He could almost see it happening, landing on his ass while she sighed and stood waiting for him to join her in the office, the colorful throw pillows calling to him to sit down and get comfortable. He grinned at her and nodded, walking toward the door, when her voice she stopped him.

“Fox, do us a favor and get access to a computer. I’d like to have that questionnaire to study over the weekend before our next meeting,” she said kindly. He nodded at her once again and walked out the door.

The drive home felt lighter than the drive over to her office. His worry seemed to have not disappeared, but decreased a little, and he felt he could breathe easier. He knew this was going to be rough and he would have to get out of his comfort zone, but he was willing to do it. He hated every second he was away from Scully. If this was how he got her back, he would go every day.

Well, every day but Wednesday.

He pulled into a local strip mall and went into a computer store, picking out a laptop that would work for him. He put the box in the backseat, got in, and started the car. Realizing he had no food at home, he swung through a fast food place for a burger and fries.

Arriving at home, he brought in his food and computer. While he ate, he plugged in and begin to prepare his laptop. He waited as it booted up, doing its updates, whatever else it needed to do. Tossing out his trash, he sat back down and connected to the WiFi. He took the appointment reminder from his jacket pocket, found the website address, and then the questionnaire Rachel asked him to fill out.

Ten questions. Who knew ten questions would break his heart and leave him sobbing into his hands. He held nothing back when he answered the questions, at least as it pertained to what he wanted to gain from getting him and Scully back to where they needed to be. He knew writing in answers and then speaking with Rachel would be two different things, but the recent silence that had fallen on the house, and especially as he sat answering those questions, was enough to settle any fears he had.

He sent his answers off before he could change any of them, and closed the laptop down. He wiped his eyes and stood up, stretching his body. It was not late, but he felt exhausted. Turning off the lights, making sure the doors were locked, he headed upstairs. He used the bathroom, brushed his teeth, undressed to his boxers, turned out the lights, and got in bed.

He thought of the day and the questions he had just answered, his mind buzzing too much to even remember each one individually, and he took a deep breath. He reached out and touched the empty side of the bed, closing his eyes as he did.

His eyes flew open as he thought of something. He pushed the covers back and ran down the stairs. Searching from room to room, he finally found his phone and tried unsuccessfully to turn it on.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, now on the hunt for his charger, finally finding it in a desk drawer, under a stack of papers. He brought both upstairs and plugged it in by the nightstand.

Waiting for it to turn on was excruciating. He sat on the side of the bed, running his hands down his face, and then across his mouth. The sound of the phone starting up, made his heart drop. He looked down and saw missed calls and voicemails from Scully. Text messages piled up and he had a hard time seeing them through his tears.

There were weeks worth of “good mornings” and “good nights,” but mostly “I love you’s.” Simple one lined texts that cut him to the core. What a fucking asshole he had been to cut himself off from her. Why had he done that? To punish her? He had only punished himself by not seeing her messages to him.

He listened to her voicemails and like the text messages, they were short- hoping he was okay, work was going all right, and always ended with her telling him she loved him. He listened again and saved them when he was done.

He looked at the date of her last text, a week ago. As he scrolled up through her texts, he saw they were all about a week apart. If he was right, she should be texting him tomorrow. Well, he was not going to wait until then before he reached out to her.

He thought of explaining to her why he had not responded to any of her messages, but he did not want to lay all his shit at her feet. Not again. He stared at the phone, deciding what to write. Keep it simple, he thought.

Good night. I love you, Scully.

He hit send and exhaled, not expecting an answer, not right away. He set the phone down and laid back down in bed. He hoped she read the message and the simple words he sent would make her feel as good as hers did for him.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Then, he heard a beep. He reached for his phone and unlocked it. One new message and his heart felt as though it were smiling.

Good night, Mulder. I love you too.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #X Files Novel #Therapy #Beginning the journey toward healing #Finding the right person #Dealing with the past to heal the present #Facing past mistakes and making a change

[dumdumdrawstumtums]

ABB3 and I were talking about this earlier, you see I've recently got into the fate fandom and I was wondering if you had any belly canons for any of the guys, specifically Gilgamesh and Fate stay night's Lancer? Or any other guys you like from the series~ (Ive only seen fate zero and fate stay night so far btw.) ^_^

Oh hey good on ya! I'm still a woeful casual when it comes to the series, but it's provided some real nice guys to fawn over~ But alright lemme see what I can do...

G/ilgamesh

Well the fun thing about G/ilgamesh is that his monumentally enormous ego is matched only by his looks... and hopefully his appetite. Cuz I mean, damn, boy knows how to dress to impress.

The thing is though that his taste is incredibly high class, so he'll only be dining on 5-star dishes. He's been around modern society enough to know how to get what he likes, after all. The thing is though that he would be so caught up in holding this fact over others heads that he would neglect to take note of just how much he may be eating. Like, I don't see him as the sort to actively flaunt stuffing himself taut. He may even be secretly embarrassed by it, but damn if he won't play it off as something along the lines of course he's privileged to such gorging. Anything like greasy fast food he wouldn't allow to slip past his lips UNLESS his ability to even do so was being questioned. His weakness is having his ego struck in any way, after all. Then he would certainly have to silence the mongrels' barking and prove himself... probably leading to a very full, very upset stomach having so much garbage filling his belly. At that point he might require some belly rubs - something he would order someone he deems capable of providing to do. Perhaps threatening that if they aren't up to task, they may find themself added to the rest of the trash.

Whiiich leads into the headcanons for vore HAHAH// The King of Heroes lords over all, and sometimes he needs to assert his superiority in less conventional, but no less absolute ways. I don't think he would be too actively yearning to eat anyone, since his body is perfection that he doesn't want anyone ruining. It might be once his (admittedly thin) patience is tested in a certain manner (maybe someone questioned his appetite a little too hard?) that he will give them the privilege of being shown just what he can do. Most anyone he eats he would be dismissive of after; they're food now, they should settle down, and don't they dare give him indigestion, or he can make this even harder on them. And again, this is probably something he prefers to keep private. Although if any company shows up, I feel like Gil wouldn't be doing much to hide his large, squirming belly - like, full on sitting back, just idly stroking over the mega bloat, half-attempting to stifle burps or hiccups, mostly just quietly annoyed. Regardless of how awkward that might make the other feel. Nonfatal situations I think require for G/ilgamesh to at least feel a little respect for who he's gulped down? Which is no easy feat of course, so... he would definitely be the "one way trip" sort of pred the vast majority of the time. But even if that requirement is met, it wouldn't necessarily deter him from carrying on his day as he otherwise would, which includes eating and drinking what he pleases, and giving his belly a firm smack if his stomach's occupant protests. Basically, his wants and needs always take priority.

O/zymandias

Okay and because it would be a good follow-up, another who my friends like would be O/zymandias. Again, another drop dead gorgeous king~

Unfortunately though, since they share such similar attitudes, a lot of headcanons for Gil apply to Ozy OTL  That includes the fine taste, being mostly spurred into eating past his comfort levels by having his pride put on the line, and the authoritative aura he carries even when he's aching with fullness. As a matter of fact it's often fun to imagine them being quite the pair when it comes to eating; they're likely to goad each other into eating more and more with neither willing to face the shame of having the weaker stomach. Thank goodness they get along so well... for them, anyway. Maybe not so much for the restaurant they visit, or the unfortunate people who may be included in their kingly feasting.

I think a good distinction to make Ozy stand out more is that he's not quite so much a jerk as Gil would be regarded as? He's got a monumental ego sure, but seems to be less likely to utterly disregard the personhood of others in the process. So it may take a little more to make him deem someone to be his next meal... maybe. Possibly. His body is a temple, he can't very well be making this a habit, after all. Consequently I also think he would be a bit more likely to indulge in nonfatal scenarios, too. And with the mighty pharaoh he would make a little more effort in being a proper host. Oh, and since there was a funny bit a dialogue in the game where he staunchly denied being decapitated in the most huffy, tsundere way, I think that would apply to him having a ridiculously filled gut as well. "There's nothing wrong with my stomach... *grrrgghh...*"

A/sterios

Another one that friends have a big liking to so of course I'll jump on that too! What we got here is a colossal 9'9" tall berserker bull man, THE Minotaur of legend himself. The fun thing about him is that, as the myth tells, he's canonically eaten people - and plenty of them, too. He's got a great deal of dialogue alluding to how easily he could put even you on the menu as well. So, while he might have some difficulty speaking... his stomach can do the talking for him. Like, he already struggles to control his beastly urges, so who could blame him if he slipped up, caught someone in his inescapable clutches, and ate them? Or even two? He's almost twice as large as normal humans; it would be far less difficult for him to gorge on more than one. Consuming others would be treated as something that just comes natural to A/sterios, like a hunger that was finally quenched.

On the stuffing end (sorry for the reverse order, he's just far more likely to enjoy meat on the very rare side) the bull would require a lot to satisfy him. He's used to eating whole, poor people who were dumped into his labyrinth, after all. And again, this absolute unit is BIG. Not to mention being treated to food beyond "human" would probably be a novel experience for him. He's been in the labyrinth all his life, he has the whole world to see and experience! Poor A/sterios would probably be overwhelmed and adorably yearning to try everything. Very open to being fed, and having his belly rubbed, too! Just, again, both of these things are gonna take a while, given his size.

A/chilles

Husband material that captured my heart big time when I finally got around to watching A/pocryphaaa// He's got a similar vibe to C/u C/hulainn with his lax attitude and enjoyment in fighting. The differences between them though help to separate my headcanons just a bit. Like, whereas Cu's more laid-back the majority of the time, A/chilles has more of an intensity to him. He's more excited by a challenge for one, and that can play easily into some fun headcanons. Like, any meal he sits down for will be filling him up, but afterwards if he sees there's an eating contest going down, he'd still be going "Yeah I bet I could win, piece of cake *urp* Maybe poor choice of words..." And then claim that filling his stomach up beforehand was just to give everyone else a fighting chance. And he will win, it'll just... be something of a pyrrhic victory. One that he'll still try to take pride in sure, but not without a lot of groaning and claiming that he must weigh twice as heavy now. And as wont as the Greek hero would be to lie back and let everything digest, he's just as quickly to pull himself back up and heft around the gurgling gorge, since he hates to be bored or to seem pathetic. After all, while his ego might not be anywhere near the mountainous scale Gil's is, he still has a hefty arrogance to him that can be used to push him (and his belly) further. Though unlike the king and pharaoh, I think A/chilles would genuinely be unabashed in his bloated state, let alone the thunderous belches that might come about - just sighing with relief after and giving his stomach a pat. Even when receiving some welcomed belly rubs, don’t be offended if you get caught in the blast radius HAHAH

Regarding vore, I think A/chilles would very much have the mindset of "eating someone means claiming total victory." And it would probably be something he revels in just as much as any victory, roughly massaging his stomach, trying to clench his stretched thin abs, etc. What makes A/chilles unique is that, as said, he likes a challenge. That means that while he's groaning for his prey to settle down, he's also outright encouraging them to fight against his stomach, which might not phase him quite as much as it would others since, y'know, invincible body and all. If they're especially feisty, to the point it's making the brash hero gag, heave, have to swallow down lumps rising back up his throat, well then that struggle just makes this all the better. Heck, if they're not up to that point he may even waddle himself over to eat more, just to get himself to that point of barely keeping it together. Even in nonfatal situations, the Rider would undoubtedly enjoy making his carry-on squirm - probably utilizing effective teasing to get them riled up, like hiccuping and asking just how much they weigh, or downing a full gallon of drink to drench them, burping, and saying lugging them in his stomach is thirsty work. Much more inclined to some rough play than the blue Lancer would be, methinks. That includes all the belly play of jostling, prodding, 'accidentally' lying on his stomach a bit, all that goodness~

(I left C/u C/hulainn out because I remembered I already did a big post about him here, among other posts, so enjoy that if you’d like!)

#there's others certainly #but i already went too hard on this// #i'm sad i'm not doing anything with a/chilles yet #the-elusive-libbin

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Camp Beaverbrook | 020

A/N: Well, that's about it for Camp Beaverbrook. And I must say, I'm super proud of myself for actually sticking with it even if I did go off schedule a little bit. Either way, I want to thank everyone who has stuck with me during this absolutely insane reimagining of classic 80's horror films. You guys are truly amazing and supportive and I'll never forget that.

(Oh, and uhhh I'm going to take a month or two to focus on getting my other stories filled out before I tackle the sequel, but the girl's stories don't' end here. I'll answer any lingering questions you have, just keep your eyes peeled for what happens next. Because we all know final girls don't necessarily stay final girls)

READ ON AO3  | READ FROM THE START 

Chloe Beale had read somewhere that Hospitals were liminal spaces. An area akin to a waiting room, or a train station, even a bus stop across from a cemetery in the middle of New Orleans. A place that was meant for transition. Somewhere no one stopped for too long, heading to the afterlife or simply to the nurses at the front desk who reluctantly handed over discharge papers.

Chloe felt like she would be here forever. There was no second stop for her, instead, there was a dark examination room where she had been separated from the rest of the world. There was a slight hum from the x-ray chart that lit the room in a blue glow. A slight breeze against the robe that she was instructed to put on- they had taken her clothes and stuck them in a little clear baggie. She hugged herself closer against the sterile air.

Parchment paper against the examination table was stuck to her bare skin. She waited for a knock, or simply for the slate wooden door to open. A doctor of a police officer- that’s what she was expecting. Someone to handcuff her or probe at her already stinging injuries. Anything but this stalemate.

She tried to count the number of casualties like sheep with sloppily painted numbers against fleece. There was Jane, Jane who could have gotten lost in the woods but couldn’t have been a simple accident. Then Gail- sweet Gail who had run the camp in her stead for years and years. And Wilkens. A man she didn’t know but felt as if she did, smelling of cigar smoke and spilled blood.

“Ms. Beale?” It was a voice instead of a knock, but the door seemed to creak open immediately after that. She jumped despite knowing that someone would be coming for her. It was the same nurse that was dressed in washed pink scrubs. The one who had given her the robe and looked at her with inept solitude. “Sorry to startle you but, the doctor would like to see you now.”

Chloe nodded and fought back a wince at the pain it caused. She felt stiff, the bruise that wrapped around her skin like a choker was burning hot like a branding iron and she fought the urge to run her fingers over the raw spot.

The doctor seemed to be a woman straight out of med school. Her hair was darkened, almost black under the blue glow. It was thrown up in a messy bun but strands fell evenly into her ghostly stare. Her face was bare of makeup but pretty, a white lab coat over a button-down shirt that was an even forest green. Her nametag read Dr. Mary Saxe.  

She had a soft way about her, but not obnoxiously so like the bubblegum nurse who had tried her best to make Chloe feel at ease. It didn’t work so well, but this woman had a presence around her. An authority that was otherwise unmatched.

“I don’t want you to speak, okay? Not before I can take a look at your wounds.”

Chloe didn’t do anything this time. She didn’t answer or nod. Instead, she just watched the woman wet her hands under the sink and slide on a pair of purple nylon gloves. She didn’t bother pulling up a seat, instead, she stood right in front of the young girl, eyes hard and focused.

She couldn’t’ help the sharp inhale that filled her lungs as Dr. Saxe made the first contact. She traced the ring of clotted blood with delicacy before applying certain pressure beneath where Chloe thought here tonsils were. Before she got her tonsils removed as a kid, a lot of other doctors poked around there too. This time it brought tears to her eyes and she felt a certain heir of embarrassment, to choose now to cry. To break over a soreness rather than when the actual cord wrapped around her throat.

“Right,” The doctor seemed unphased. “I’m going to need to do some x-rays, make sure nothing got crushed or fractured. Amy here is going to get some pain medication and that should stop the discomfort.”

Dr. Mary Saxe did something unexpected then, she put her hand on Chloe’s shoulder. Maybe in an attempt of comfort or to get the girl to focus on something other than the tears that dripped off her chin and soaked into the ugly turquoise gown she wore. “Chloe, we’re going to catch the guy who did this, alright? You’re safe here. I don’t want you to believe otherwise.”

Chloe knit her eyebrows together, staring at the stressed features of the stranger in front of her. The woman who had such intense focus. The one who still had her hand on her shoulder and her eyes level. She mustered the courage to speak- much against the woman’s orders.

“He’s… dead.”

A flash of horror shifted to understanding in a moments time, she nodded her head, squeezing Chloe’s shoulder. Did she know? Had Chloe been the only one not to give a statement in the nightmare that took place over these last few weeks? She had a feeling that all four of them had been separated for a reason- Dr. Mary Saxe turning to leave before Chloe grasped onto the fabric of her lab coat.

“Emily?”

“Your friend.” She responded, eyes flashing down to the death grip Chloe held. “She’s lost a lot of blood. The shrapnel split an artery and we stitched it up as well as we could, but we had to put her in a medically induced coma. It’s up to her to wake up now.”

It was Chloe’s turn to nod and think, her stare focused on the cross-sections that the tiled floor created. She heard the door open and shut and acknowledged the presence of the nurse who handed over a Dixie cup of water and a little orange pill. It burned on the way down.

Beca Mitchell was slumped against a chair in a way her father would call despicable. Her back was touching the wall through the open design and her legs were spread against blue scrubs that were too big on her. A sickeningly gross blue that made her look pale, her bare feet cold against the tile floor.

They let her take a shower.

She made one of the orderlies sit on the toilet seat while it filled up with a toxic mist, heavy and hard to breathe through. The woman made small talk with her about the weather and how it was unseasonably cold for this time of the year before moving into the topic of her newborn grandbaby. Beca had allowed herself to focus on her soothing words as she stared up at the stream of water, refusing to blink, watching as the muck and blood washed down the drain. Her chest ached.

Beca stared blankly at the floor in the hallway. She hadn’t looked up as the food cart passed, or when another nurse handed her a Dixie cup with a little orange pill. She tipped her head back and swallowed it and crushed the frail paper between her fingers.

The girl didn’t glance up with the chair next to her suddenly became occupied with another. Instead, she stared, stared at nothing in particular and thought about the throbbing in her nose and the throbbing in her heart. She had shot someone- nonfatally.

“What if you’re right?” She finally whispered, “About me being a terrible person. About it being in my blood.”

Aubrey Posen drew in a calculated breath. She had on her own set of scrubs, the cut on her hairline had been stitched cleanly and was coated in a thick smelling medicine to quell the pain. Her arms were bruised, and her hair was wet- thrown into a dark ponytail. Despite her injuries, she sat up straight.

Beca sniffed and turned to face the girl completely. “We learned about Aristotle in summer school. How he thought people were born amoral- not good or bad. It’s something that’s learned over time and cultivated and” She took a shaky breath. “What if I was just born bad, and that’s what made it so easy for me to shoot Jesse?”

“That theory has been argued amongst centuries, It’s not even-“She got ahead of herself, stilling her thoughts. “It was easy for you to pull the trigger because someone you cared about was in danger. You weighed the options and no matter what, you didn’t fire the killing shot. Don’t blame yourself for helping us live.”

“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” Beca’s voice was watery. Aubrey grimaced and looked away. “About what happened in the car? That you did what you did because Emily was going to die if we hadn’t of driven away?”

They returned themselves to the quiet that wasn’t quite silence. Aubrey slumped in her seat and tapped her fingers against the armrest. The phones rang at the reception desk a few corridors down. The machines beeped in unison and a man with an awful cough hacked up his second lung for the night.

Then there was the sound of loafers tapping against the linoleum and Beca’s Chest seized. She wasn’t sure if all people in law enforcement were required to wear the same type of shoes or if there was a convention every year under big-top tents to purchase them. He walked with vigor and purpose.

Detective Luis Desmond, Beca remembered. She had seen him more than once at her hearings, his suits always pressed neatly and his hair cut close to the scalp. His dark skin popped against the lavender tie he wore, opting out of the blazer jacket that hugged his frame in court. Wilkens and Desmond shared cigars as they leaned against the car that was wrapped in neon tape at this point.

Beca pushed herself up in her seat and ignored the discomfort it created as the scrubs rolled up against her skin. Desmond didn’t say a word as he sat across from the two girls who cast a wary glance between one another before returning their attention to him.

“Well, girls, I’m going to be frank with you. None of this looks good.” He formed his fingers into a teepee and leaned forward against his knees. It made his pant legs ride up and expose his black socks, but not quite far enough to show his ankles. “We have a dead camp director, a dead federal agent, a body burned beyond recognition and one with an arrow expertly shoved into his throat.”

“We told you everything we know.”

“I’m not finished yet.” He said sternly. “There’s a blown-up shed, a dead little girl with parents who just want answers, and a sizeable dent in a car that you stole.”

There was enough quiet that followed to inform them that he was done now. Beca didn’t’ think it a good idea to mention that it wasn’t technically grand theft auto if the man who held the title was gutted like a fish. She also didn’t’ find it the right time to disclose the fact that she was about to lose the rest of the lake water in her stomach all over those nice leather loafers.

“We’ve called your parents, and then your guardians. They’re all on the way.” Desmond said with a slight twinge in his voice before he stood. “I’ll advise the four of you not to leave town in the following months. It was nice to see you again, Rebeca.”

“Pleasure.” She croaked out, giving a halfhearted wave. He walked back the way he came, and they watched with laser focus before he pushed through the double doors and vanished completely.

“He’s just trying to scare us.” Aubrey exhaled in a shaky breath.

“Yeah, it fucking worked.” Beca slumped further in her chair until she could feel the cold air against exposed skin again, her eyes trained on a little dip in the floor in a space that seemed entirely too liminal.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #bechloe #bechloe fic rec #bechloe fanfiction #junksen #junksen fanfic #Emily Junk #Aubrey Posen #summer camp au #Camp AU #fanfiction #Pitch Perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction

[yoon-kooks]

Witch Hazel- Pt.1

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader 

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff 

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: none

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

A/N: after a million years, it’s finally here guys! my first jeon jungkook series :’)

“For homework this weekend, I want you all to sketch a self-portrait. It can be realistic or abstract, but just make sure it still represents you,” your professor says before dismissing class.

As you shove your sketchbook into your bag and pick up your guitar case, you hear one of your loud classmates, Kim Taehyung, talking with his friend who’s always so quiet in class that you don’t actually know what the fuck his name is. All you know is that he only ever wears oversized hoodies.

“Psst, Jungkook. Wanna draw my face for me?” Taehyung makes a flower pose with his handsome face.

“What’s in it for me?” Hoodie Boy throws his eraser at Taehyung to make him stop, perhaps out of secondhand embarrassment. You snicker silently to yourself as you pass by them to exit the room, but not before they mention something that triggers you.

“I’ll pay for your ticket tonight.”

“And tomorrow night, too, lol.” 

“Bitch, I’m not even going to tomorrow’s concert.”

“Then I guess you have time to draw your own face~”

“Wait, Jungkook. I’m busy tomorrow. Really. I have a date, remember?” Taehyung is basically pleading for his life at this point, and you can’t really blame him. Out of the entire class, he’s the only other non-art major besides you, so his drawing abilities are almost as shitty as yours. “And besides, we both know you could spend five minutes on the assignment and it’ll still look better than if I spent an hour on it.”

“Fine,” Hoodie Boy sighs. “I’ll take a ticket to tonight’s concert and a signed album instead. Thanks in advance.”

“Deal… I just don’t understand how you can be so whipped for an idol like Snow. She might have a nice body and a pretty face, but her personality is the worst. Even worse than Y/N’s,” Taehyung spins around to wave at you. “Right?”

“Ew, don’t compare me to her, Tae.” You give him an unimpressed face. The boy literally talks to everyone as if they’re his friend, and it kind of pisses you off.

“But you agree she has a shitty attitude, yeah?”

You notice Hoodie Boy is keeping a close ear out for your opinion on his supposed favorite idol. He accidentally makes eye contact with you for half a second before flailing around to gather his shit into his camo backpack. Were you really that intimidating to make those around you so flustered?

“Her shitty attitude isn’t the problem,” you hum as you walk away before they can bother you some more.

When you arrive home, you only have half an hour before you have to head out again. After tossing your bag and guitar case off to the side, you slip into slightly more fashionable clothes and break out your makeup bag. A quick layering of shadows, winged liner, and falsies paired with contouring and rose lip tint is enough for you to transform out of your barefaced college kid self. With a mask and your signature icy blue lens, you leave once more.

-

“You’re late, again,” your manager, Kim Seokjin, only sighs as you casually walk into backstage with a nonfat latte in hand. “I’m the one who’s going to be fired if you keep showing up late for soundcheck, Y/N.”

“It’s not my fault, Jin.” You pass your latte over to your cranky manager, who’s long overdue for another caffeine fix. He takes a sip, still glaring at you. “I was held up after class by two cute boys~”

“Cute boys? Y/N, you know you’re not supposed to be-”

“I know, I know. I’m just fucking with you,” you shrug. “All they did was ask me about Snow’s shitty personality. Oh, and apparently they’re coming to the concert tonight.”

“Don’t let them recognize you.” Seokjin finally hands you back your latte after chugging down half of it.

“I’m sure they would’ve said something months ago if they recognized me in class, Jin…” No one at school knows you’re an idol. As a matter of fact, no one in the world is aware that you, Y/N, are the idol with a cold piercing gaze and an even colder personality, Snow. No one except Seokjin, of course. He’s the only one you trust enough. “Besides, taking that art class has improved my makeup disguising skills, so don’t worry~”

“Well speaking of cute boys attending your concert, there are a few other idols that’ll be coming as well, so be careful.”

“Great, because all we need is another dumb dating rumor to get out of hand.” You’ve already experienced far too many of those in your short idol career. As an idol equally looked up to as you are frowned down upon, you’re pretty much at the center of every rumor or scandal. And it fucking sucks.

“Just try to stay positive about it, and don’t put yourself in a situation that the media can take advantage of, okay?” Seokjin has a worried look in his eyes—not for his own sake, but for yours. It’s his genuine tenderness and concern for you that keep you from walking away.

“Okay…”

The concert goes as usual. There are no technical difficulties, your vocals are on point, and nothing scandalous happens on stage. But at what cost?

Fan engagement is always kept at a minimum—the most fanservice you can offer is a split second of eye contact while you’re singing. You often wonder why anyone would want to see you perform live when there’s an invisible yet obvious wall standing between the stage and the audience. Like Seokjin advised, your company is doing what they can to ensure that their loose cannon idol stays out of any potential problematic situations.

But this distance doesn’t simply go away after your concerts. If it did, you wouldn’t be known as the Ice Queen, and your personal life wouldn’t be such a mystery to everyone. And for that, you cannot even put the full blame on the strict rules of your company. A large part of you appreciates the privacy that comes with this distance. Even if it is a little selfish and unfair to those who only wish to support you and your music.

As your concert comes to a close, you’re finally given the opportunity to address the dedicated fans who came out to see your performance.

“Thank you for coming tonight.” I’m sorry if it feels like you’ve wasted your money and time.

“A lot of you might be busy with school and studying right now, but you still made time for me.” I know because I too am a student.

“That means a lot, even to an Ice Queen.” I know what my reputation is, but please remember I’m human as well. I’m really grateful even if my resting bitch face doesn’t reflect that.

“Let’s meet again next time.” Next time, I’ll try to show a better version of Snow.

“Good night, everyone. Please get home safely~” I hope I was able to make you guys smile at least a little bit.

On your way out, you do your best to avoid both the media and the crowd. If you’re quick enough, you’ll be able to make it home in peace. Tonight is not that night, however.

You don’t even get outside of the venue before you see two familiar faces from class sitting on the stairs near one of the exits: Taehyung and Hoodie Boy. This is exactly why you never take off your makeup or lens until after you’re home where you don’t have to face anyone.

Of course it’s the loud one who approaches you. Hoodie Boy stays put on the stairs and watches from afar. You give them a halfhearted wave in hopes that that’s all they want, but of course it’s not.

“My friend is a huge fan of yours, Snow,” Taehyung lowkey pointed his thumb back at Hoodie Boy. He pulled out a copy of your latest album and a black sharpie. “Of course I love your music too, but would it be alright for me to get an autograph for him? He said he didn’t want to bother you himself.”

Usually you’d refuse. Whenever people say their “friend” is a fan, you get the impression that they’re just too ashamed to identify themselves as a fan of you. Like they don’t want to be associated with the kind of idol that you are.

But you’re certain that Taehyung is telling the truth since you heard that same promise being made earlier in class. And you know how shy Hoodie Boy is. So just this once, you’ll allow it.

You take the boy’s album and pen. “What’s your friend’s name?” You want to know, not only so you could write his name out, but also so you could stop calling him Hoodie Boy.

“Taehyung,” he says in a rather hushed voice.

“Taehyung?” That asshole. You glance over at Hoodie Boy just for a second. He’s busy taking pictures on his phone—not of you, but of the now empty venue. You feel bad, but there’s not much you can do besides sign the album to “Taehyung”. As you hand back the album, an idea pops up, “May I ask what your name is?”

“Me? Uhh-” You catch Taehyung off guard. “It’s Jungkook.” The name sounds familiar to you.

You nod and pull out a spare album from your bag to sign for Jungkook. You even decide to get a little fancy and draw a cute heart next to his name, just to spite Taehyung. “Here,” you say, looking back at the real Jungkook once more, only to find that yet another unwanted visitor had appeared. In moments like this, you question your decision to become an idol despite hating the attention.

Quickly you shoo away your classmates before the media shows up. You wouldn't want there to be another “misunderstanding”. The other boy now approaching you is already more than you’d prefer.

With his bleached ash blonde hair and an expensive yet casual fashion, you recognize him as fellow idol, Park Jimin, aka Korea’s Sweetheart. If you’re the devil, he’s most certainly an angel.

You’ve never spoken to the boy, but you’ve seen him at music shows plenty of times and have even competed against him for several awards. The two of you are “rivals”, or at least that’s how the media loves to phrase it. To you, there is no such rivalry; it’s clear that Jimin is the likable one. Your name is only ever placed next to his to generate newsworthy content.

“Is it really a good idea to visit your rival at her concert?” You don’t know how else to welcome the unwelcomed idol.

“It’s always good to scout out the competition,” Jimin shrugs, going along with your unfriendly greeting. “But for real, the concert was a lot of fun.” He glows with sparkles in his eyes. You can’t deny he has the most gorgeous smile.

“I’m glad…” It’s reassuring to hear compliments, especially from a fellow idol. But at the same time, you know Korea’s Sweetheart would never say anything rude—even if he feels differently. He’s perfect, after all.

“Anyway, I heard from the boy in the black hoodie that you’re handing out free autographs?” Jimin tries to point back at Jungkook, but he and Taehyung have already vanished. “I thought you were notorious for refusing autographs?” He pokes fun at you, but not in a way that annoys you like Taehyung had.

“They were bothering me and that was the easiest way to get them to leave,” you explain in half-truth. “Should I give you one too? It’d be better for you to leave before the media shows up.”

“Only if you have a stash of albums hiding in your bag.”

“I don’t.”

“Why did you happen to have one with you?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“I’m just curious. Idols don’t just carry around their own albums like that.”

“…My friend gave it to me,” you say after a moment of hesitation. That isn’t a lie, but a vague truth.

“Your friend gave it to you as a gift, and you just gave it away to a stranger?” Jimin chuckles, amused by you for whatever reason. “Living up to your reputation as Ice Queen, huh.”

You narrow your eyes at him. You hate when other people call you that, and you hate it even more when they aren’t wrong.

“I’m just kidding, Snow.” The way he smiles while speaking is so mesmerizing that you almost forgive him. “I know you did it with good intentions. And because of that, those two boys were able to leave here with a smile.”

“Good.” Your expression softens. “Anyway, did you need something or…?”

“I just wanted to say hi before heading home,” Jimin shook his head. “But let’s hangout some time, yeah?” He waves farewell and leaves before you can properly reject him.

On your way home, however, you take the time to consider the boy’s offer again. Truthfully, it would be a nice opportunity, especially since you don’t have any friends besides Seokjin. Plus, Jimin is pretty fucking attractive in your eyes.

But the conclusion you come to remains the same. There’s no way you can say yes.

By the time you finally return home, it’s late, you’re exhausted, but you still have that self-portrait to draw. In all honesty, you’re quite jealous of Taehyung who has a friend willing to do the work for him. If anything, Jungkook should draw your face, since you were the one who ultimately ensured that he got his signed album. But that’s just you being salty.

You pull out your sketchbook and pens and stare into the oval mirror that hangs from your bedroom wall. Your eye makeup is smudged, your dark circles are prominent through the fading concealer, and your eyes are as icy as ever. To finish your homework as soon as possible, you don’t overthink anything and just draw what you see. At this point you just want to get it over with so you can roll into bed and laze around.

“Finally~” you squeal about an hour later, plopping yourself onto your bed in your pink penguin pajamas. You’re always in a more cheerful mood after taking a shower, so you snuggle up under your blankets and take the time to check up on social media before dozing off. This wouldn’t be the first mistake of the night.

According to the latest news that has blown up on Twitter, you’re apparently dating and fucking Park Jimin, who made a special trip just to see you, his secret lover. How. Fucking. Romantic. You laugh because you notice a confused Jungkook with his hoodie and album in the shadowy background of the tabloid photo. But other than that, you’re pissed.

You want to post a tweet to express your outrage over the dumb rumor, but those kinds of messages need to pass through PR first, and you’re sure as fuck your company’s not going to approve of anything you have to say. As always, they’d just rewrite your statement in a more civilized manor, and at that point, it’s no longer your words.

So instead, you move away from the toxic hellsite that is Twitter and move somewhere a little more tranquil. You wish you could just find a few posts about fans who enjoyed the concert—that would be enough to set your mind at ease. It isn’t easy, considering all of the positive posts are buried beneath the massive amount of shit you’re getting for sleeping with the Park Jimin, but you eventually reach a cute blog post.

“guys! i saw snow tonight and shes so pretty😭💕”

“her vocals? fUCK. yes pls”

“also she might have rbf but shes super sweet ok”

“btw new fanfic coming tomorrow bc i was suddenly inspired lol👋”

You’re not sure how to feel about being the central subject to someone else’s fictional fantasies, but you do really love that you’ve inspired this person. Being able to have a positive impact in someone’s life; that was perhaps the deciding factor for you to walk the path of an idol. You only hope that this rewarding feeling can outweigh all of the bad.

Before closing your eyes, you check the name of the blog: jk.seagull. What a funny name, you giggle to yourself. But at least there’s someone out there who’s able to make your cold-hearted soul laugh. And for that, you’re as grateful to that person as your fans are to Snow.

-

7:27AM jinnie❤️ “We have to cancel today’s concert.”

7:28AM jinnie❤️ “There have been multiple threats made against you overnight after that rumor broke out, so we believe this is the safest thing to do.”

7:31AM Y/N “at least now i have more time to spend with my boyfriend park jimin~”

7:32AM Y/N “(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻”

7:33AM jinnie❤️ “Y/N, just take it easy today, okay? I’ll keep you updated on everything.”

7:35AM jinnie❤️ “Let me know if you want to talk.”

7:40AM Y/N “can you come over now?”

7:41AM Y/N “and can you bring another album please?”

You roll out of bed much earlier than expected to change out of your pink penguin pajamas and into sweats. Usually, you’d kill time by scrolling through Twitter, but since you aren’t in the mood to see all of the death threats, you decide to check up on that jk.seagull blog instead. You’re delighted to see that there’s a new post waiting for you. It’s a comic of some sort.

The first thing you see is a cute drawing of a pouty magic girl with bright blue eyes and a tiny snowflake in her palms. You’ve never seen fanart of Snow before, but you’re pleasantly surprised by the amount of detail and effort put into the drawing. It looks a lot like you, except cuter.

What impresses you even more is the storyline of the comic. Snow is a powerful ice witch who wishes to protect the world from evil. The only problem is that the world fears her and bans her from using magic. Rather than shunning the world that has shunned her, she decides to find new ways to be a positive light for others without the use of magic. She decides there are other ways to be a hero.

You want to keep reading, but there’s a knock at your door.

“Ooh, pancakes~” you sniff the plastic bag of sweets that your manager hands to you as you sit him down on your couch. “Thanks, Jin~”

“You’re in a rather good mood, despite all the shit that’s been going on,” Seokjin says, putting a warm hand against your forehead to make sure you’re not sick.

“I just read an interesting fanfic.”

“You read fanfics?”

“Not usually, but this one was super cute by this funny person named jk.seagull.”

“jk.seagull? He’s a pretty popular writer and artist for Snow fanfiction, you know.”

“How would you know that? Are you saying you read smutty fanfics about me, Kim Seokjin?” you smirk.

“I never said anything about smut!” He gets overly dramatic whenever you tease him, but you always find it adorable.

“So anyway, has anyone addressed the dating rumors yet?”

“Jimin apologized for the misunderstanding, but that’s all so far.”

“We shouldn’t have to apologize.” You take an angry bite of the pancakes. “I’ll deny the rumor, but I’m not going to apologize for something that didn’t happen.”

“Look Y/N, I understand, okay? But you should at least relay a statement to PR so you can clear things up on your end.”

“Just tell them I’m sorry for interacting with another human and I’ll never do it again.”

“Y/N…”

“What, Jin? It’s bullshit. I can’t do anything without it being twisted into something scandalous and getting a shit ton of hate for it. And the company isn’t even trying to help. The only reason they want me to apologize is to save their own asses, not mine.”

“Then what do you want to do?” Seokjin speaks in his calm voice.

“I want a break,” you sigh. What’s the point of being an idol if you’re doing more harm than good?

“I’ll ask the CEO on your behalf,” Seokjin pinches your cheek. “So cheer up.” He hands you the album you requested before heading out to give you some space to think.

The rest of the day is spent being a sad potato. You honestly don’t mind the threats or rumors by themselves, but what irks you is the fact that you’re not the idol you hoped to be. You’re not a light that people look to when they’re feeling down. You’re not someone who’s made a positive impact on the world. You’re no one’s hero.

You pick up your phone and go back to jk.seagull’s comic and reread everything that’s posted so far. You’re not sure why, but it’s as if this comic understands you—not just you as Snow, but also you as Y/N. The only difference is that the Snow portrayed in the comic is a much better version of yourself; a version you’re not sure you can achieve.

One other thing you don’t yet comprehend about the comic is the title: Witch Hazel. Who would ever name a story after skincare products? Then again, who would ever name himself jk.seagull?

After looking over Witch Hazel once more, you’re finally done being a sad potato and log back onto Twitter. You link the comic to tweet and post it out to the world. No caption is attached to the tweet. You want the comic to speak for itself.

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts angst #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts college au #bts idol au #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #jungkook #bangtan #bts #witch hazel

[sandersbayhq]

[Chloe Eva Lynn] ✖ [26] ✖ [bisexual] ✖ [little miss sunshine]

dob: november 1 occupation: dance instructor at st james performing arts school face claim: zoe sugg pronouns: she/her

Before Chloe came into the Lynn household, her parents desperately wanted a baby. They’ve tried for a couple years with no luck. It was after tests were done that it showed her mother, Rebecca, was unable to conceive. This news struck the young couple hard but they opened their hearts to adoption. After a couple more years of fostering children that they were blessed with a one year old little girl. Soon they legally adopted the baby and named her Chloe Eva Lynn.

Tomas and Rebecca Lynn sat with Chloe when she was ten and explained she’s adopted, the parents deciding on complete honesty with her. Of course Chloe asked questions and wanted to know who her birth parents are but since she was left in front of a church. All that was left with the little girl was a pink blanket with a baby elephant on it. The desire to learn about her parents never left but Chloe didn’t allow that to diminish her love for her real parents.

Chloe is an exuberant girl. She loves to dance, talk, sing and has tremendous love for everyone. As she grew up she made friends easily and would always throw the best parties. Everybody knew who she is but it didn’t go to her head. She just wants to make people happy.

When it comes to Chloe’s true passion, it’s dance. She loves all types but primarily enjoys ballet.  Her mother said she was fascinated by the ballerinas when they saw Swan Lake and they placed her in a class when she was 5 and it came naturally to the little girl. Her father highly encouraged this as he used to be a professional dancer turned instructor until a car accident robbed him of it. She continued to dance ballet until she was 17.

In high school Chloe had a couple relationships. At the time, her 2nd boyfriend meant the entire world to her but after her family moved from New Jersey to Houston, Texas; as her mom took a job as a Copywriter at an Advertising Agency, Chloe soon learned long distance relationships are difficult to maintain.

Chloe didn’t know anyone in Houston and since she was 18 when she moved there she took advantage of the free time and went on a mini road trip when her best friend came to visit. The pair went all over the US and it was during that trip that she and her childhood best friend hooked up. Everything seemed perfect and Chloe thought they were basically living out the plot to some romcom, but when they returned to Houston he immediately flew back to Jersey and distanced himself from her. This left Chloe both heartbroken and without her best friend.

While she tried to get a better feel for her new reality Chloe enrolled in Houston Community College and focused on her pre-reqs. It didn’t take long for Chloe to make friends in her classes and she soon spent more and more time with them than her parents; which is expected of a girl her age. Chloe’s first girlfriend was someone she met in her English class and they’d spend most of their time at her girlfriend’s apartment in Montrose. Chloe still felt hurt by what her ex best friend did but at least the more time she spent with her new friends, especially the ones her girlfriend introduced her to, the easier it was to move away from that hurt.

The relationship with her girlfriend lasted about four months but the breakup was mutual because both of them started to lose interest with each other. However Chloe took advantage of a connection she made through her ex-girlfriend and applied to be a ballet instructor at a dance academy down the street from her ex’s apartment. They made an agreement, as Chloe’s parents live over forty minutes away and Houston traffic is terrible, and Chloe moved in with her ex.

Things seemed to work with this arrangement for a year but when her ex, now roommate, started to have more and more people over; the kind of people who drank all night and openly did lines of coke in the living room, Chloe knew she needed out. The thing was Chloe didn’t have enough money to live on her own, which kept her in that apartment. It wasn’t until six months later, while she was asleep in her bed, that she woke up to a couple having sex next to her bed that she knew it was time to go.

Chloe returned to her parent’s and as much as she hated the commute she loved the job. She worked with children and teens and they never failed to make her smile. She kept with this dance academy for three more years and it was the director who shared a dance school in North Carolina needs instructors and asked if she’d have an interest. It wasn’t until Chloe learned it’s in Sander’s Bay, which mean she’d have easy access to a beach. She was in!

When Chloe moved to Sander’s Bay, a month shy of her 25th birthday, she felt as if she stepped into a whole new world. There’s a cuteness to the city that she saw in some places during that summer road trip. Something she never truly envisioned herself living in but it simply fell into place once she unpacked her things in her small home. Chloe decorated the house in bright colors and it didn’t take long for her to adopt a puppy and kitten, something she’s always wanted to do. And if any neighbors happen by her house they might catch a glimpse of her dancing around the living room and kitchen to 80s pop music.

Chloe has a place to herself she has no trouble finding someone to keep her bed warm; without knowing her ex is in the other room and probably judging everyone who Chloe brought into the apartment. Chloe feels people should enjoy sex and have it as often as possible. And now that she’s in a place where she’s completely comfortable in her home she does just that.

If anyone wants to find her they can either look towards the dance school, beach, or the cute cafe that serves her favorite nonfat lavender latte and vanilla biscotti. And, at least once a week, she’ll treat herself to a Chloe day where she goes to a spa and ends it out with a nice dinner and whatever is showing at the local movie theater.

Chloe remains very close with her parents and tries to spend as much time catching up with calls or Facetime sessions.

Chloe hopes her upbeat personality and cheerful demeanor brightens the day for anyone who she happens across. That even though she may have her own rough days, Chloe looks for that happy thing, that one thing to focus on that can turn the day around. Even just a little bit.

Three months ago Chloe received word her father was in a horrific car accident. Tomas been in one many years before, which caused such injury he was unable to teach dance anymore. The current accident left him bed ridden and Chloe dropped everything to help her mother care for him. It was a trying time for their little family and Chloe didn’t want to leave but her parents encouraged her to return to Sander’s Bay. As that’s where her life is.

As she readied herself to return, the short-term lease with still 4 months to go with the tenant in her house, Chloe found out her cousin Hannah was still there. Which was great because she missed her and really wanted to catch up with everything. However Chloe wasn’t super thrilled about practically being homeless with her two pets but that’s what adventures are all about! She’ll find a place for the next 4 months and make the most of it!

#takenc #takenf #lynn family #chloe lynn

[mzhong2014]

Reading digest 8/4-8/10

What It's Like to Learn You're Going to Die

“Nessa Coyle calls it ‘the existential slap’—that moment when a dying person first comprehends, on a gut level, that death is close. For many, the realization comes suddenly: ‘The usual habit of allowing thoughts of death to remain in the background is now impossible,’ Coyle, a nurse and palliative-care pioneer, has written. ‘Death can no longer be denied.’”

Ironically, this article about death made me think more critically about what it means to be alive. Death is not simply a physical experience, but also one of the soul. I believe that your soul experiences multiple deaths of the nonphysical form throughout life that fundamentally alter the Self -- the death of a romance, death of friendship, the death of a dream, etc. Although these experiences may reappear, they are never reincarnated in the same form, creating a sense of permanence of these nonphysical deaths. So long as one is still living, one is always surrounded by death. 

Perhaps change, both good and bad, can only be done through the death of parts of the Self -- hence why change is so painful. But in the process of destroying and morphing the Self, one is faced with existential questions of what is intrinsic to the Self. If nothing is intrinsic, then does the Self truly exist? 

“In this crisis, some people feel depression or despair or anger, or all three. They grieve. They grapple with a loss of meaning. A person’s whole belief system may be called into question because ‘virtually every aspect of their life will be threatened by changes imposed by the [disease] and its management,’ Lee has written. In a small 2011 Danish study, patients with an incurable esophageal cancer reported that after their diagnosis, their lives seemed to spin out of control. Some wondered why they had received a fatal diagnosis, and fell into despair and hopelessness. ‘I didn’t care about anything,’ one patient said. ‘I had just about given up.’”

Religion aside (which is not a trivial parameter to constrain), physical death is the ultimate destruction of the Self because it destroys both the conscience and the body. Although I have never had a near-death experience, I have had moments in my life where an essential part of my Self was stripped away, leading me to spiral into self-destruction as my perception of reality loses all grounding. During these existential crises, the Self is reduced to the physical body as foundational beliefs that distinguish us from fully functioning robots are blown up into smithereens. Death presents the possibility of rendering all meaning meaningless by denying the existence of both the conscience and body.  

Given the overwhelming difficulty of conceptualizing death, I found the following excerpt particularly interesting:

“Palliative-care doctors used to think that a patient was either in a state of denial or a state of acceptance, period, Rodin says. But now he and his colleagues believe people are more likely to move back and forth. ‘You have to live with awareness of dying, and at the same time balance it against staying engaged in life,’ he says. ‘It’s being able to hold that duality—which we call double awareness—that we think is a fundamental task.’

Whether or not people are able to find that balance, the existential crisis doesn’t last; patients can’t remain long in a state of acute anxiety. Coyle has found in her work that later peaks of distress are not usually as severe as that first wave. ‘Once you’ve faced [death] like that once, it’s not new knowledge in your consciousness anymore,’ she says.”

To live in the face of death is perhaps to feel so acutely what it means to be alive because living is no longer defined in a vacuum of false immortality, but in negation with death. Using this analogy for the nonfatal deaths experienced throughout life, these moments of acute pain remind us what it means to live, and thus what it means to die. But to continuously live in agony of death is to define life as purely a shadow of death, a permanent and unconquerable state of being. Unable to continuously live in this duality, the concept of death shows the limitations of the human mind. But perhaps those who are more able to strike this balance are those who can appreciate simultaneously the concept of life and death. Just as how living makes us fearful of dying, death makes us more appreciative of life and how much we have to lose -- not just of our physical existence, but also of our soul. 

He’s Your Destiny. Just Be Patient.

In every single relationship that I’ve had, I always run up against the following question: Do you just know when you’ve met the right person? Or does your partner become the right person through hard work and patience of both parties? 

As someone who is a strong believer in free will but also has compulsive overthinking tendencies and is prone to identifying patterns in meaningless trends in this noisy and chaotic world, my philosophy has wildly oscillated from believing in the ability of sheer willpower to overcoming incompatibilities to trying to concoct a scientific framework of key inputs to forecasting the future of a relationship.

This article is quite fitting because it shows us the irony of life, both in creating incredibly unlikely circumstances that seem to follow the narrative of a certain trajectory, as well as in surprising us with outcomes far from what one had expected. For Stefanie, the author, this irony is encapsulated in a tarot card reading. During this reading, the author learns that she will 1) soon leave NYC, 2) face a career of unexpected turns, and 3) reunite with her ex in three years time but will have other relationships that don’t work out in the meantime. 

The first two come true, and after leaving NYC for Detroit, she meets a guy named Brandon. 

“I fell very much in love with Brandon. There was no lightning strike of certainty but rather a slow warming that grew into something sweet. I wanted to marry him, and I told him so. I daydreamed about painting walls and walking dogs and all of the ways in which we would build a future together.”

After two years of falling in love with Brandon, Stefanie moves to LA for her work and finds herself in the same city with the ex she is destined to be with. One can only imagine how everything leading up to this moment has been a journey towards that destined love, that all of the pain and heartbreak, learning and growing, has prepared her to reunite with the One. 

“I finally wrote an email to my ex.

‘Hey’” I began casually, as if this greeting had not weighed heavily on me for ages. ‘It’s been so, so, so, so long. I live in LA now and I know you know that. I guess I’m hoping it’s finally time to have coffee and say hi? Whaddya think?’

After three years of wondering, I had to wait only a few hours for his response.

‘Yo yo,’ he wrote. ‘I appreciate the guts it must’ve taken to reach out, but I’m not really interested in grabbing coffee, sorry. I do sincerely hope everything in your world is awesome though!’

And that was that. No destiny. No lightning strike. No certainty written in the cards.”

A few months later, Stefanie and Brandon break up because they have drifted apart from each other and have become different people.

“We didn’t break up because the cards said we would, nor was it a failure of the cards that my ex and I didn’t reunite. I chose to believe in the possibility that there was some perfectly pre-written story that I was only playing a role in, but there was no pre-written story for Brandon and me. There’s no pre-written story for anyone.

And isn’t that part of the bargain we strike with our partners? That we are willing to live together inside of a story being written rather than a story already told? And that trying to see the future before it happens is just an attempt to make the terrible uncertainty about being in love, and staying in love, a little easier to bear.“

I love the ending of this article because it shows the absurdity in trying to predict the future as it unrolls, creating narratives out of disparate crumbs of faded memories and desires. It doesn’t answer the question of whether there are people out there destined for us or whether the success of a relationship is a result of sheer luck and hard work. It tells us that we don’t know, and that we choose how to cope with this uncertainty. But regardless of whether a relationship is fated to be, this does not deny the love that one feels when there is something “true and deep” between two people. 

November Rain

I really love this song, and more generally, Guns N’Roses. The raw emotions in the song and lyrics capture the essence of emotional vulnerability. 

“When I look into your eyes I can see a love restrained But darlin' when I hold you Don't you know I feel the same

Nothin' lasts forever And we both know hearts can change And it's hard to hold a candle In the cold November rain”

The imagery in the last two verses in this stanza shows the fragile, ephemeral, and fickle nature of love.  

“And when your fears subside And shadows still remain, oh yeah I know that you can love me When there's no one left to blame So never mind the darkness We still can find a way 'Cause nothin' lasts forever Even cold November rain”

After a great guitar solo, Rose sings these verses that I find to be so magnetic. It’s a message of hope, but tempered hope. Just as love fades and dies, even darkness must eventually subside. 

Putin plays judo, not chess

I found this to be a really clever analogy for Russia’s strategy in the international stage considering how judo is one of Putin’s favorite past times (how I pity Russian athletes that are pitted against him.) 

“In judo, a seemingly weaker practitioner can rely on inner strength and force of will to defeat a larger, stronger foe. One basic technique involves putting an opponent off balance and taking advantage of his temporary disorientation to strike a winning blow. Mr. Putin has proved adept at seizing opportunities presented by the West’s disarray and its leaders’ indecisiveness. He had a plan to restore Russia as a great power when he took over from Yeltsin; the U.S. has had no comparable strategy in the post-Cold War era, and Russia has taken advantage against its much stronger competitor.”

AKA US needs to get its cybersecurity policy together. 

Being a Law Firm Partner Was Once a Job for Life. That Culture Is All but Dead.

One of my biggest qualms of going to law school to practice law is the incentive system. Lawyers are billed on hours worked, not sales generated or results delivered. Thus, I was surprised that this article paints this shift towards a compensation model found in finance and consulting negatively. The hourly billings model creates an incentive for longer hours regardless of the quality of the deliverable, which trickles down to the associate-level and creates this poor work culture that already faces workaholic pressures by virtue of being client-facing. 

Also, this shift in model doesn’t necessarily mean that being a partner is no longer a cushy position. This doesn’t change the fact that partners would still take profit sharing of retaining client relationships, which they should be able to do as long as they don’t seriously screw up anything. I also don’t think that partners should get an easy pass once they achieve this rank. If you’re making that much as your annual salary, your value-add better be worth a few million dollars. 

Gun Policy in America: An Overview and What Science Tells Us About the Effects of Gun Policies

I find gun policy to be one of the most frustrating and mindboggling issues in politics. How can both sides of the aisle react so vehemently to the tragedy of mass shootings, yet have such different conceptions of what are their root causes and appropriate policy reactions? Additionally, why is this issue so partisan? Do gun issues symbolize the partisan disagreement on protecting personal rights at the expense of greater safety of the nation or clashing of personal identities between the isolated inhabitants of rural regions and the disconnected elitists of metropolitans? I’m not exactly sure why gun regulation has become so divisive, but I do know that protecting people’s lives should rise above the petty politics of partisanship.

RAND, a global think tank that covers both domestic and international policy issues, has tried to dissect these issues in an objective, nonpartisan, and analytical manner. From its preliminary research, what is clear is that there isn’t enough conclusive and rigorous research on gun policy, and that the government should appropriate more funds for researching gun regulation. In fact, “the U.S. government has spent just 1.6 percent as much on gun policy research as it has on research involving causes of similar levels of mortality in the United States, such as traffic accidents or sepsis” (Morral). I don’t know if this is because of lobbying efforts from pro-gun organizations, but investing in high-quality research is one of the first steps to fixing this issue.  

A few issues with researching gun policy include the lack of reliable data sets and the inconsistent categorization of different gun policies. Data sets are limited in sample size and the availability of historical information. New policies affect only a small fraction of guns purchased every year of the population of gun owners (e.g., prohibitions against the mentally ill). The lack of historical data makes it difficult to establish a causal relationship between passing gun regulation and perceived changes in gun violence. The difficulty of establishing strong evidence for a causal relationship between gun regulation and gun violence, however, may be a chicken and the egg problem. If there aren’t enough examples of states passing gun regulation, there aren’t many case studies to draw from for analysis.

Despite the difficulty of researching gun regulation, there are a few gun policies with strong evidence of its impact on gun violence. RAND defines supportive as having three studies showing significant effects in the same direction using two independent data sets, with no other studies of comparable or greater rigor contradicting its findings.

Interestingly, studies on child-access prevention laws are able to draw from larger data sets because of a larger proportion of gun-owning households also have kids (e.g., in contrast to the population of gun owners that commit domestic violence). There is also moderate evidence that background checks reduce suicide and violent crime, and that prohibitions on the mentally ill decrease while stand your ground laws increases violent crime.

Also, just because a policy has inconclusive evidence on its impact on reducing gun violence, this doesn’t mean that the policy is ineffective. Rather, there isn’t evidence to prove its effectiveness – unsurprising, given the relative rarity of mass shootings (which is unfortunately changing as we speak).

However, it is fair to claim that even if with more conclusive evidence on gun policy, this would not bring our government any closer to a political resolution on how to effectively regulate gun ownership. For example, climate change issues have strong evidence for the relationship between manmade pollution on global increase in temperatures. However, the lack of rigorous and conclusive research makes it even more difficult to agree on any changes in gun policy, which is clearly needed to curb recent increases in gun violence.  

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Gun sales were so slow earlier this year that in February, The New York Times ran a piece on how some gun manufacturers were looking to rebrand to make up for the “Trump slump.”

But then the pandemic hit. And on Friday, March 13, when President Trump declared a national emergency, the number of background checks went through the roof, according to the FBI system that vets gun buyers.

In March, the FBI received almost 1.5 million requests for background checks, according to data the bureau released to FiveThirtyEight in response to a public records request. On Friday, March 20 alone, 104,084 background check requests were sent to the bureau; according to a slightly different measure that includes checks run by state systems, that day saw the highest daily number of background checks on record.1 In fact, by that broader measure, five of the gun background check system’s 10 busiest days were in March 2020. While March is usually a busy month for background checks, it was off the charts this year.

But the number of background checks didn’t just go up. As you can see in the chart below, as the number of background checks sent to the FBI rose, so did the percentage that were delayed more than three business days — a critical deadline after which federal law allows dealers to legally sell a gun without a completed background check.

This is significant because it means that it may have been easier for guns to get into the hands of people who cannot legally own them.

The danger here isn’t theoretical. Dylann Roof was able to buy the gun he used to kill nine black churchgoers in Charleston, South Carolina, in 2015 because of this loophole. Roof had a record for drug possession that meant he couldn’t legally own a gun, but after the three-day period passed, the gun dealer sold him a gun anyway.

To be sure, these numbers aren’t a perfect portrait of gun sales: They don’t include data from 20 states that process some or all of their background checks themselves rather than through the FBI. And not every background check represents a gun sale — many checks are run when people apply for gun permits, when states check on the status of gun permit holders, or for other purposes. A single background check can also represent multiple gun sales.

[Related: Where The Latest COVID-19 Models Think We’re Headed — And Why They Disagree]

We also don’t know how many background checks from March the FBI never completed. When a background check drags on for 88 days, the bureau stops researching the potential buyer and purges the background check request from its systems to comply with federal regulations. The bureau hasn’t yet released data on purged requests made in March.

We do know that the bureau never completes the overwhelming majority of background checks that take longer than three business days. For instance, 79 percent of such checks were never completed in 2019. This year, it purged over 80 percent of such checks from January and 78 percent from February.

Still, Jurgen Brauer, chief economist at Small Arms Analytics and Forecasting, and other experts agree that the spike in background checks in March represented a real surge in retail gun sales. For instance, Brauer’s consulting firm analysed FBI data and found that retail gun sales drove the surge in March, along with a second surge in June that was likely tied to Black Lives Matter protests. In total, the firm estimated that gun sales rose year-over-year by 85 percent in March and 145 percent in June.

And a team of researchers at the University of California, Davis’s Violence Prevention Research Program compared FBI data on gun background checks to gun violence data compiled by the Gun Violence Archive, finding a nearly 8 percent increase in gun violence over expected levels from March through May 2020. This study hasn’t yet been peer reviewed, but if it’s accurate, that’s 776 additional fatal and nonfatal injuries, not including suicides and accidents.

[Related: How Americans View The Coronavirus Crisis And Trump’s Response]

This surge in gun sales during the pandemic has meant that an already brittle background check system is getting overloaded, causing massive delays, according to Brauer. He compared background checks to a drainage system that backs up during a big storm. “There’s a massive flow of rainwater, and the systems can’t handle it,” he said.

The FBI, however, disputed that characterization in a statement to FiveThirtyEight.

Holly Morris, a spokesperson for the bureau, said the agency hasn’t found a relationship between the rise in the share of delayed background checks and the increased volume of requests. “The influx in the percentage of delayed transactions and any extended processing times can be​ attributed to a number of variables,” Morris wrote via email, adding that staffing levels for the background check system have remained the same throughout the pandemic.

There are signs that the influx in gun sales might not be slowing anytime soon. The initial spikes in gun sales in March lined up closely with events related to the pandemic, including Feb. 26, when the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention first confirmed that the virus was spreading within the U.S. and not just being brought back by travelers, and Trump’s national emergency declaration on March 13. But as the pandemic has worn on, the reasoning driving the spike in gun sales has changed, too. By the time gun sales soared even higher in June, research suggests it was no longer the coronavirus on buyers’ minds but the protests over the police killing of George Floyd.

[Related: The Latest Political Polls Collected By FiveThirtyEight]

Phillip Levine and Robin McKnight of Wellesley College compared the FBI’s state-by-state background check data with data on Google searches for the N-word to see if states with more searches for the racist slur saw a larger increase in gun sales. They found what Levine described as a “modest correlation” in June, suggesting that at least some of those sales were driven by concerns over Black Lives Matter protests.

“As the pandemic settled down, gun sales settled down too, until it got to June,” Levine said in an interview. “In the aftermath of the George Floyd killing, there was another very dramatic spike.”

It’s hard to know how gun sales in the U.S. will continue to progress, as we don’t yet have data for July. The data released to FiveThirtyEight did not include June, but less-detailed data the FBI published online shows that last month the agency ran more background checks than any other month on record. And, of course, sales rose in 2016 in part over fears that Hillary Clinton would take the White House and impose new gun regulations, so with presumptive Democratic nominee Joe Biden ahead in the polls, another surge in gun sales may not be far behind. Not to mention that another surge in coronavirus cases could again drive a spike in sales like the one we saw in March.

Whatever happens, more gun sales will likely mean more delays — potentially putting guns into the hands of people who can’t legally own one.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Joshua Eaton

[mastcomm]

Arctic Dining: Think Frozen Sashimi, With a Side of Reindeer Blood

YAR-SALE, Russia — The tundra at dusk looks like the open ocean, waves of shades of blue, gray and white.

Indigenous reindeer herders traverse this terrain, eking a nomadic living out of the barren land. The biting cold this time of year keeps their provisions perpetually frozen, but they sometimes lack the time — or the firewood — to cook them.

So, when Mikhail Khudi, a reindeer herder, is hungry, he likes to take a bit of raw, frozen fish or reindeer meat from his sled-top pantry and dunk it in mustard before it disappears, chewy then creamy, in his mouth.

Travel thousands of miles across Arctic Siberia — from the oil-and-gas heartland on the Yamal Peninsula just east of the Ural Mountains, to the nickel smelters of the lonely city of Norilsk, to the Gulag-haunted banks of the Kolyma River as you approach Alaska — and you will encounter Mr. Khudi’s snack: stroganina.

It is raw, frozen fish or meat, shaved thin with a sharp knife so that it curls off the blade. Hurry — you have to eat it before it thaws for the best flavor and texture, dipping the frozen shavings into a salt-and-pepper mix or your favorite sauce, then chewing lightly as they melt on your tongue, like a Popsicle version of sashimi or carpaccio.

You’ll rarely find stroganina on the menu in Moscow. But I am convinced this is one of Russia’s greatest delicacies. In Siberia, you’ll find people who are stroganina connoisseurs, critiquing the mustiness of frozen whitefish from smaller lakes or praising the clean leanness of the catch from the Gulf of Ob.

“I’m used to my Ob kind,” said Dmitry Kuybin, who fishes on that gulf, a 600-mile-long estuary along the eastern coast of the Yamal Peninsula that flows into the Arctic Ocean. “This lake stuff” — preferred by reindeer herders, he said — “tastes kind of mossy.”

For what to dip stroganina in, the possibilities are endless. Nellya Motysheva, who also lives on the peninsula, plans to collect her recipes in a book. What she calls “mom’s sauce” is vegetable oil, mustard powder and reindeer blood.

The Russian Arctic looks remote on the map, but more than a million people live here — far more than in the polar regions of Western Europe and North America. From the Bolsheviks’ forced collective farming and the gulag labor camps to the chaotic collapse of Communism, outside forces beyond local control have shaped the lives of its residents.

Now, places like the peninsula are synonymous with Russia’s rapid development of the oil-and-gas reserves in its northern reaches. Global warming is threatening traditional ways of life. The receding sea ice is turning the region into a theater of increased trade and intensifying geopolitical competition.

“Nevertheless, we’ve kept our passion for our traditional food,” said Zoya Safarbekova, the director of the Yamal District Museum in the town of Yar-Sale near the Gulf of Ob, after ticking off the external shocks that have befallen her Indigenous Nenets people over the last century. “In November, the freezing cold begins, and that’s it — you know you must eat stroganina.”

The name of the dish comes from the Russian word “strogat,” meaning “to whittle,” as a carpenter would. It is distinct from the less refined rubanina — from the word for “to chop” — which is a frozen fish pounded to bits with an ax.

The best stroganina, Yamal residents said, is produced when it is chilly outside — no warmer than 20 below Fahrenheit. That temperature flash-freezes the fish or reindeer meat and locks in the flavor.

It was, alas, relatively warm — around 5 below zero Fahrenheit — when we climbed on snowmobiles to follow Mr. Kuybin, the fisherman, for some 30 miles out of the Yamal village of Salemal as he checked his fishing nets.

We zoomed over the frozen Ob through the blowing snow, the location of the horizon line between sky and ice a matter of guesswork.

Mr. Kuybin, who works with his wife for the Salemal fish plant, didn’t bother to wear mittens or gloves. He donned rubber boots, camouflage pants and a hooded reindeer-fur cloak. Their daughter’s award certificates for good grades — “One Hundred A’s for Mom” — are posted on the wall of their fishing cabin.

In the summer, Mr. Kuybin’s wife is at the oars to keep their boat steady as he sets the net. In the frozen winter, the work is easier, so he goes out on his own.

The catch was meager this time. He laid a pike straight on the ice before it froze, guts and all, to allow for even and well-curled strips of stroganina.

He later acknowledged that eating frozen fish when it is freezing cold outside sometimes makes him even colder but, he said, he enjoys it anyway.

“It’s our own thing, you know,” he said.

The Yamal district put on a stroganina festival in December in the town of Yar-Sale, just north of the Arctic Circle and with a population of about 6,000. The district flew several Russian culinary celebrities to the regional center of Salekhard, and sent tundra-grade jeeps to take them on the five-hour drive over the frozen Ob.

Like many Arctic towns, Yar-Sale is accessible by ice road in winter and by boat in summer, and only by helicopter in the spring and fall.

There was a ball, cooking classes and a stroganina-making competition with separate reindeer and fish stages judged by local officials and the celebrity visitors.

The hardest part of the stroganina process seemed to be peeling the skin off the frozen fish. The best slices emerged thin and curly, shaved by slicing downward, rigid tail held tight.

If the feel of the frozen fish on the tongue recalled a light sorbet, the frozen raw reindeer was like a rich ice cream. In both cases, the flavor of the meat hits you as it thaws.

Three of the competitors brought along reindeer blood, a traditional stroganina dip. It tasted like the essence of rare venison steak — gamy, sweet, salty, smoky.

Young women carried the stroganina to the town square, where residents sampled the competitors’ handiwork and cast their own votes. Children played on a slide hewed out of ice and around ice sculptures of the Taj Mahal, the Eiffel Tower and the Parthenon.

The celebration was a reminder that Russia’s underground Arctic resources, made more accessible thanks to global warming, have created a cascade of wealth even as reindeer herders, hunters and fishermen complain of pollution and disruption from new oil wells and gas pipelines.

“You know, there used to be a time when I didn’t have enough bread,” said Khatyako Yezyngi, a district government official specializing in Indigenous issues. “If we didn’t have all this money, how would we be putting on the festival today?”

Ms. Motysheva, who makes the blood-and-mustard dip, won the residents’ vote competition. Her book of stroganina sauces will be called “Our Future Is with Our Ancestors.”

She said the dish was rooted in the Nenets’ nomadic past, a time when they could only survive on frozen raw meat in the barren tundra.

“If we start forgetting what we once had, we won’t have a future,” she said.

By the end of the two-day festival, I thought I had a fairly good grasp on Yamal’s culinary landscape, at least when it came to dishes served frozen. We spent our last evening on the peninsula in the village of Salemal. The energetic mayor, Maksim Karelin, 31, baked a fish stuffed with lemon, dill and nonfat mayonnaise, and then took us to his friend Sergei’s banya, or Russian sauna.

“Of course, stroganina isn’t the tastiest thing you’ve eaten here,” Mr. Karelin said as we dined at the table in his office.

“Well, the stroganina was pretty tasty.”

“You haven’t had kolodka?”

This, it turned out, was fish salt-cured under weights that pushed out the excess liquid, then left outside to freeze. Later that evening, at the banya, Sergei brought such a fish out of a black plastic bag. He sliced it into chunks alongside a mustard dip. While stroganina is served fully frozen, kolodka is best partially thawed.

In my mouth, the kolodka turned ethereally gooey, like soft taffy. But unlike Mr. Karelin, I prefer stroganina. Its bracing and freezing rawness, followed by its subtle tenderness, distills the wild, blustery, softly lit grandeur of the Far North.

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