#on another note my brain needs a vacation after this semester

[lesbians4kurt]

when you know, you know

happy holidays, @luckynumber4 @ronald-speirs @lena-basilone idk which one to tag :3 i was ur secret santa, here to feed u sledgefu!!!!!! i hope u like it :D

word count: 13.4k

summary: Eugene, a burnt-out Ph.D. candidate, finds himself carpooling with Snafu, a complete stranger, on their way to Burgie's wedding.

The humid evening air of May had long since swept over Auburn as Eugene pages through countless notes, the sound of rustling paper permeating his apartment. It’s month three of researching for his Ph.D. dissertation, and although he knows this is only the beginning, that in a year he’ll most likely still be working on it, he’s already experiencing all the warning signs of burnout. He’s managed these past few months to follow the strict schedule he’d created, keeping himself fully on track with every scrap of discipline he possesses, but an itching restlessness had begun burrowing itself in the back of his brain last week, and his concentration has been off ever since. He needs to find a new angle, take a little break, and approach the daunting process with new eyes. He just needs to hold out for another week: Burgie’s wedding. 

Burgie is a close friend from Eugene’s undergrad days, they had even shared an apartment for a few semesters. They meet up every few months for a drink and catch up, texting every other week or so. Eugene wishes they could meet more frequently, but he hardly has time to see his family, let alone friends. Burgie had gotten engaged about a year ago, and Eugene is looking forward to his upcoming wedding as a chance to wind down. He’s happy for Burgie too, of course; no one deserves happiness as much as him, the most kindhearted person Eugene knows. 

Eugene closes his eyes and sighs. He can’t stay focused at all. He just needs to hang on to his last thread of motivation for a little longer, but every task seems impossible. He sits back in his chair and rubs a hand across his face, figuring he’d close his eyes for a moment before continuing. Maybe he’d take a break for a snack in a minute, drink some water, turn on a meditation… 

Bzzz. 

Eugene jolts awake 40 minutes later, curled up in his chair, back stiff. He silently thanks whoever is texting him. That was stupid, if he had kept sleeping he might not have woken up until his morning alarm. He almost drops his phone trying to unlock it and squints his tired eyes as he tries to read the screen. Weirdly, the text is from Burgie. It’s well past midnight and Eugene has never known him to stay up so late. If it was someone else, he might ignore the text, but he decides to open it.

Hey, call me when you see this.

Oh? Eugene’s skin prickles with worry and he immediately presses the call button. 

Burgie spares Eugene’s nerves by picking up immediately. “Hello?”

“Hey, what did you need?” Eugene asks, hoping nothing has gone wrong with the wedding.

“Hey, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.” Burgie’s cadence is upbeat, melting away the icy worry that had frozen over Eugene’s chest.

“Sure, anything,”

“Okay, so, one of my best friends lives in New Orleans, and his car gave out on him a few days ago. I was wondering if you could pick him up on your way here. I assume you’re driving?” 

Burgie’s right, he would be driving. Eugene has had an extreme phobia of airplanes ever since childhood, making the numerous family vacations he went on a humiliating ordeal. He would get sick or start hyperventilating a few minutes after take-off like clockwork. Logically, he knows he’s safe, but fear isn’t logical. The combination of heights and confined space is just too much for him to handle. Despite his phobia, his mother insists on going on trips that require a plane ride and is offended that he refuses to go on these vacations in adulthood.

“Yeah, I’ll be driving,” Eugene half chuckles before getting more serious. “So, who is he?”

“His name’s Snafu. Well, it’s Merriell Shelton, but we all called him Snafu, anyway,” Burgie says, a fondness so strong taking over his voice that Eugene can recognize it even over the phone. “He can’t really afford a plane ticket. I know it’s probably out of your way, but it would mean a lot to me if you could drive him.”

Eugene has to keep himself from sighing. He knows this detour will add about an hour or so to his drive, and he’ll have to drive over eight hours from New Orleans to Fort Worth with some guy he doesn’t even know. What will they talk about? Will it be awkward silence all the way? Will he have to drive him back too?

“Of course, Burgie. I’ll drive him for you,” Eugene ends up saying before thinking about it any further. The favor is simple, really, and he wouldn’t want Burgie to be missing one of his best friends at his own wedding. Plus, Burgie has been an amazing friend to Eugene, never giving up on him no matter how busy he is and never letting things become awkward between them. 

“Thanks, Eugene! Really, thank you.” Burgie sounds elated, putting a soft smile on Eugene’s face. “I can’t wait to see you. We’ve barely talked since you started your dissertation research.”

“I’ve barely talked to my own mother since I started,” Eugene jokes. “And you know how she is about phone calls.”

Burgie laughs and Eugene is reminded of how much he misses just talking to him.

They chat for a few more minutes before Burgie decides he needs to get to bed. After hanging up the phone, Eugene stretches before standing up and pacing for a few minutes. That short nap and talking to Burgie rejuvenated him, and despite it being past one in the morning, he decides he has enough energy to continue working for another hour before going to sleep. He pours himself a glass of water and grabs a few crackers before sitting back down at his desk, resuming. 

The next few days pass similarly: Eugene eats every meal at his desk as he researches and researches and researches, staying up late every night. He leaves his apartment every morning to meet with his professors or attend a class, but otherwise, he spends every waking moment on his research, his newfound motivation from the phone call sticking to him. He’s almost disappointed now that he’ll be leaving for the wedding soon as it will interrupt his productivity, but he reminds himself that upon his return he’ll probably be even more inspired. 

Four days before the wedding, Eugene realizes he hasn’t bought gifts yet and spends six frantic hours online shopping. If there’s one thing he’ll be eternally bad at it’s picking out gifts; he spends hours overthinking every purchase only to feel the gift he chooses is shallow and impersonal. Of course, this time proves no different. He buys Burgie and his bride-to-be, Florence, a set of matching watches and a bottle of champagne. He knows people normally buy small kitchen appliances or home decor, but he eats TV dinners every night and the white walls of his apartment are blank, so he’s not very experienced in either of those departments. Plus, he has no idea what they already own or what they might need. As he plugs in his credit card information and confirms his purchase, he sighs and thanks God for two-day shipping. He lays awake in bed that night wondering if his gift properly conveys his love and appreciation for Burgie, and frets about it until the early hours of the morning before deciding to write a heartfelt card for good measure, drifting off to sleep. 

The following night, Eugene finds himself increasingly curious about this Snafu character he’ll be driving with for eight hours. Merriell “Snafu” Shelton, huh? He bites his lip as he opens his computer, quickly googling the name. The only relevant result is from one of those sketchy phonebook websites, and he immediately feels stupid and guilty. But not guilty enough to stop him from stalking Burgie’s Facebook for any signs of the guy. Again he finds nothing, and the wave of shame hits him again. He should be working anyway, but his curiosity is slowly morphing into anxiety and he really wishes he had asked Burgie a few more questions. He calms himself by rationalizing: Burgie wouldn’t be friends with some insane weirdo. Everything will be fine. He closes the tabs he was using for stalking and continues his work.

Two days before the wedding is the day Eugene decides to depart. He knows his mother will be upset if she finds out that he drove right through Mobile without stopping by, so he’ll visit his parents first and spend the night there. Tomorrow he’ll leave Mobile, drive two hours to New Orleans, and then drive eight hours to Fort Worth, so he better be well rested. He spends his morning and early afternoon packing up a suitcase and waiting for his parcels to arrive in the mail, practically jumping the postman when he rounds the corner. He wraps them carefully in gold paper before placing them in a gift bag, then struggles to write a heartfelt card for about 40 minutes. He’s ready to leave the house at 3 PM and packs the gifts into his backseat, perhaps being overly cautious when he buckles the bag in with the seatbelt. As he sits down in the driver’s seat, he thinks he should probably call his mother to let her know he’s coming. He quickly shakes this thought out of his head, knowing that any phone conversation with her gets strung out for several hours and ends with him nearly tearing his hair out with stress and annoyance. Instead, he shoots his father a text as a warning and puts his phone on silent in case his mother ends up calling him in response before starting his car and taking off. He’s the type of driver others get angry being behind, the type people assume are old ladies and scream at angrily as they pass. He likes to say he’s meticulous and cautious, but any passenger he’s ever had groans at his slow pace. It occurs to him that Snafu will probably complain about it too, and the thought somehow embarrasses him even though he hasn’t even met Snafu yet.

He arrives in Mobile four hours later, mentally preparing himself to face his parents as he pulls into the driveway. The house of his childhood stands before him in all its grandeur. It’s an old manor house built in the 1800s, with the rest of Mobile slowly rising around it. It stands only one story high, but to Eugene, it’s always been an imposing structure that never quite felt like home. There’s no denying it’s a beautiful house; tall willow trees frame the wraparound porch and its accompanying Greek revival-style pillars, and large flowerbeds color the ground below. A large, freshly mowed yard stands between Eugene and the front door. He takes a deep, shaky breath before taking the first steps. He never likes visiting here, everything is so suffocating.

As he approaches the large, mahogany door he has the same debate with himself he always does when he comes here. Does he knock or just walk in? The further removed he becomes from living here the more the answer to that question becomes knock, but his mother always makes a comment about him knocking, about how this is his home. Regardless, he decides to knock and waits anxiously as he hears rushed footsteps approach the door. It swings open aggressively and there his mother is, a huge smile splitting her face in two, every tooth on display. Before he can even tell himself to smile back, she pulls him into a tight embrace. He drops his bag to the floor before awkwardly wrapping his arms around her and squeezing his eyes shut. It begins.

“I’m just so happy to see you, Eugene,” she gasps into his ear, and for a moment he’s scared she’s going to cry. She pulls away from him and brings her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks.

“I missed you too, Mom,” Eugene says sheepishly. It’s not that he doesn’t. She can just… be too much. Too hot and cold.

She rubs his arms a few times before taking his hand and leading him through the door. “Well, let’s get you inside. You look exhausted. I can tell you haven’t been eating properly, Eugene. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

He doesn’t reply and merely lets himself be dragged inside, resigning himself to his fate. She’d probably make him eat three meals worth of food now. 

“You didn’t have to knock, Eugene. You’ve come home,” she says, clasping his hand a little tighter as she speaks, leading him through the hall. 

Eugene suppresses an eye roll in response. Of course, that comment. It’s like clockwork.

She stops once they enter the dining room where his father is seated at the head, reading a newspaper as he waits for dinner. A genuine smile softens Eugene’s face when he sees him.

His father puts down the newspaper. “Hey, Fritz!” he says, standing and making his way up to Eugene to properly greet him. Fritz is an old nickname from when Eugene was a little boy. He’s not sure where it came from, or when it started, but his father has affectionately called him that for as long as he can remember.

“Hey, Dad,” Eugene says softly, pulling his father into a hug.

“It’s good to see you, son.”

They hold the hug for a good minute, just swaying back and forth with the occasional pat on the back. If this house isn’t home, his father’s embrace is. He’s filled with a sense of comfort and ends the hug with the strength he needs to get through the rest of the visit.

“Dinner’s just about ready, Eugene. Have a seat and I’ll be out with it in a minute,” Mary Frank says, rubbing his arm again before walking off toward the kitchen.

Eugene turns to his father, who holds out a hand toward the table. They both take a seat, Eugene to his father’s left, the same place he always sat as a boy. His mother will sit across from him to his father’s right. The table is already set and Eugene feels a little bad that he interrupted their dinner preparations, or that he didn’t arrive early enough to help. 

“So, Fritz,” his father begins. “How’s the research?”

“It’s been… overwhelming,” Eugene replies earnestly. “I enjoy it and everything but… The fact that it’s been three months and I’ve barely even started…”

“I know, it’s a long road ahead of you. I remember those days myself.” His father reaches out and places a reassuring hand on Eugene’s own. “I know you’ll make it through. Just keep persevering.”

Eugene’s soft smile from earlier returns as his eyes almost glaze over with tears. He hadn’t realized, but he’d needed to hear those words. Especially from his father. To feel like someone was proud of him.

The moment is gone when his mother returns, placing a shepherd's pie in the middle of the table. “I wish I’d known you were coming earlier, I would’ve cooked more,” she says. “We need to fatten you back up. Remember when your brother first lived on his own? He didn’t eat right and almost landed himself in the hospital!” She’s exaggerating. Sure, Eddie hadn’t been eating properly, but he just felt lethargic and lightheaded. He hadn’t even gone to the doctor, let alone the hospital.

“Mom, I’ve lived on my own for the good part of a decade now,” Eugene deadpans, pushing his food around with his fork.

“Has it really been that long? And still no girlfriend?”

Oh. Now she’d struck a chord.

“Mom,” Eugene says firmly. “We talked about this.”

She doesn’t look up at him, merely takes a bite of her dinner as she answers, “Well, I haven’t accepted it.”

“Now, Mary Frank–” his father begins.

Eugene all but throws his fork down on his plate. “I’m gay,” he seethes out through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, do you have to make an argument out of everything, Eugene?!” She slams a hand on the table, making her plate clatter in its place. “Am I not allowed to hope for your happiness?”

“But you’re not! And you started it!” Eugene can feel his face flushing as his hands clench painfully into fists. “I…” He makes brief eye contact with his father and wills himself to calm down, knowing this isn’t worth it. She’ll never understand. She doesn’t want to. “I can’t… I’m gonna go out to Deacon’s spot.”

Eugene wipes his mouth with a napkin and has to force himself not to throw it down on the table. As he stands, his mother calls out to him to finish eating, but he ignores her as he makes his way out the back door. He shuts the door behind him and takes a moment to close his eyes and enjoy the evening air. The sun is setting, painting the sky a beautiful pink, and he can smell the bay in the breeze. Even if he doesn’t miss this house, he does miss Mobile. The flatlands and plains of northern Alabama just don’t hold the same charm as the gulf. He turns his gaze from the sky to a group of willow trees across the expanse of the backyard and begins walking toward them. As he approaches, a small bench comes into view, along with a sizable rock that protrudes from the ground: Deacon’s grave.

Deacon was Eugene’s childhood dog, a birthday present from his father the day he turned nine. He was the best dog anyone could have asked for. He slept in Eugene’s bed, comforted him when he was sad, and followed along when he went on bike rides. Leaving him behind when he went to college was one of the hardest things Eugene’s ever had to do, no matter how silly that sounds. Deacon was hit by a car two months into that first semester and Eugene was devastated, not leaving his dorm for anything but class. Burgie spent weeks trying to cheer him up enough to go out and have fun again. Eugene went home a few weekends later, and by then his father had buried Deacon under the willow trees. He spent nearly the entire visit just sitting at the grave. The next time he visited, his father had placed a bench there. Eugene’s never thanked him for it, an unspoken favor with unspoken gratefulness. 

“Hello, boy, it’s me,” Eugene whispers to the ground at his feet. He sits on his haunches for a moment, stroking the grass in front of the stone with a hesitant hand, before sitting on the bench. He lets silence overtake him and tries not to think of the argument at the table. He wishes he hadn’t risen to his mother’s comment. He wishes she hadn’t said anything at all. He wishes he never came. Guilt burns in his chest for admitting that thought, but he knows it’s true. Everything will be fine. He can go to bed early, and tomorrow he’ll be on his way. It’s fine.

Too soon, Eugene hears the back door swing open and footsteps approaching. When he looks up, he sees his father, and his shoulders drop a little. Small mercies. 

“Fritz… Eugene, I’m sorry for what your mother said back there,” he says, sitting down beside his son. “I just spoke to her, and–”

“It’s okay, Dad,” mutters Eugene. “I know how she feels. It’s never going to change, no matter how many talks you have with her.”

“I’m not sure that’s fair, son. She’s making progress–”

“No,” he interrupts. “No, Dad. It’s been years. I don’t want any excuses anymore. All I want... All I want is for her to just love me. Love me without all these conditions.” Eugene’s voice cracks a bit on the last sentence, and his eyes lock on Deacon’s grave, not daring to look at his father in case the tears in his eyes are obvious.

They sit in silence. Eugene hears his father’s mouth open a few times as though to speak, but it closes again after a few seconds each time. Ultimately, he places a hand on Eugene’s shoulder in comfort, and they just sit in each other’s presence for a few moments. Eugene feels numb. The tears have gone from his eyes and an empty cavity opens in his chest like quicksand. His father couldn’t deny anything. A small part of him, an inch of his being, had hoped that he’d been wrong, that he’d just been misunderstanding his mother, that she loves him fully and has his best interest at heart, just with a funny way of showing it. But no, he was right all along, and this silence is all the proof he needs. 

As the silence sinks into awkwardness, his father squeezes his shoulder and stands up from the bench. “Give me a minute, I’ll be back with a check for you.”

“Dad, that’s really not necessary. I–”

“Just let me do this.” His father turns away without another word, walking back toward the house.

If there’s one thing Eugene dislikes about his father, it’s his generosity. His parents are paying what scholarships and grants don’t cover for his education, and his father insists on paying half the rent for his apartment. Eugene has tried to tell them that between his stipend, tutoring, and being a teaching and research assistant, he can pay his own way now, but they refuse to listen, especially his father. He’s a grown man, and it makes it uncomfortable to think he’s still dependent on his parents. 

His father returns in a few minutes, check in hand, and Eugene reluctantly accepts it but makes a mental note to shred it without depositing it later. He doesn’t want to take any more of his father’s money. Afterward, they say a tense goodnight, and Eugene finds himself staring up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. It’s early, only around 9 PM, and he feels restless, especially in this environment. The room is mostly barren, picked apart over the years. All the books on the shelf had been donated or taken to his apartment, all his old clothes given away, and some of his furniture sold in a yard sale. The room he used to spend all day in couldn’t make him more uncomfortable. 

Eugene tries to concentrate on falling asleep, knowing he has a long day ahead of him. He tosses and turns for what seems like hours before his thoughts land on Snafu. Oh, yeah. He almost forgot he’s supposed to pick him up tomorrow. Will they get along? Being trapped in a confined space with someone you can’t stand for eight hours seems grim, so he hopes for the best. What does he look like? What did he get Burgie as a gift? Will it make Eugene’s gift look stupid? These thoughts carry him to sleep.

Eugene’s mother wakes him the next morning, opening the bedroom door and calling out his name. He sits up and rubs his eyes before making sleepy eye contact with her. She gives him a weak smile before walking away. He groggily pries himself out of bed before getting ready for the day. It’s early, just past 6 AM, meaning he’d slept for maybe eight hours after all of that tossing and turning. He can’t fathom how his mother wakes up this early every day. She’s always had this habit for as long as he can remember, waking up with the sun and making breakfast. He can smell it now, the savory scent of eggs frying as he dresses himself. The thought of sitting down to eat with his mother is daunting after the events of the previous night, but he figures if she’s dead set on pretending nothing is wrong, he can play along.

Eugene greets his mother as he sits down for a breakfast of over-easy eggs and cheesy grits. It’s one of his favorites, and he figures maybe this is her way of apologizing. He’s grateful for the food, of course, but he has no appetite. Regardless, he takes a bite, determined to avoid giving the impression that he’s still upset. The two eat in silence until his father enters the room, sitting down at the table and pouring himself a mug of coffee. 

“Good morning,” his father greets, and the two murmur replies between bites of food. “Eugene, you mentioned in your text you’re headed to a wedding today?”

“Yeah, my friend Burgie’s wedding. From college,” says Eugene, staring down at his food. “He lives in Fort Worth, so it’s quite a ways.”

“Why didn’t you fly? It would’ve saved you some trouble,” his mother chimes in. She’s entirely serious and Eugene once again has to battle an eye roll.

“I’m terrified of flying, Mom,” he says flatly, taking a brief moment to close his eyes and quell the rising anger in his chest.

“You need to get over that childish fear, Eugene,” she almost snorts. “It’s a plane ride, not skydiving.”

“I felt like a drive,” asserts Eugene loudly. He bites back the argument that’s attempting to claw its way out of his throat and goes back to eating.

“Alright,” is all his mother says in reply, and the three of them lapse back into a silence that continues for the rest of the meal.

When 7 AM rolls around, Eugene decides it’s time for him to leave and is filled with relief. He can’t stand the stuffy atmosphere of this house for much longer. Even the idea of being in a car with a total stranger is more appealing than spending even one more minute in his mother’s company. He gathers his things and meets his parents at the door, bag in hand.

“Well, I’ll be off,” he says, discomfort clear in his voice. 

His father hugs him first. “I love you, son. See you soon.”

Eugene leans into the hug, calmed slightly by the embrace. “I love you too, Dad.”

Eventually, they separate, and Eugene is forced to face his mother, whose eyes appear to be filling with tears. She hugs him abruptly, sobbing into his shoulder, and he’s left frozen in place.

“Come visit more often, Eugene. Please,” she whispers, a fist full of Eugene’s shirt, squeezing him so hard it hurts. “I love you.”

He’s not sure how to react and merely rubs her back, forcing out a numb, “I love you too.”

They say their final goodbyes, Eugene’s mother still sobbing, now in his father’s arms. He gives them a wave and steps outside, quickly shutting the door behind him. His stress is immediately alleviated after leaving his mother’s presence, and he is left with a bittersweet longing for human connection. For someone who will understand. He finds solace, however, in the bright morning sky as he steps back across that large yard, toward his car. Time to get this shit done.

Eugene opens his texts from Burgie and plugs Snafu’s address into the GPS on his phone. Once he begins, he can fully concentrate on driving, still at his cautious snail’s pace. Focusing on the road and the directions keeps him from thinking about the visit with his parents, his mother’s crying face, and how the two of them will never understand each other. Well, maybe he thinks about it a little and has to shake the thought from his head, but he mostly focuses on driving. 

The drive goes smoothly, except for when Eugene struggles to stave off a panic attack crossing over Lake Ponchartrain. He hates driving over any body of water, let alone on the five-and-a-half-mile-long, 30-foot-high Twin Span Bridge. He pants for air as he inches forward toward the high-rise section, cars beeping behind him. His sweaty palms clench the steering wheel tightly as the road elevates beneath him, gritting his teeth. Once he’s over the hump, he breathes a sigh of relief and feels a bit better about the remainder of the bridge. He drives on smoothly but wishes the water would stop reflecting the sun into his eyes. At least he wasn’t forced to go over the Causeway. He considers that bridge a deathtrap and has always avoided taking any route that includes the nearly 24-mile-long monstrosity.  

Once Eugene is past the bridge, he continues down I-10. He’s officially in New Orleans East. Slowly, the area around the road transforms from unkempt trees and shrubs to a neighborhood. Duplexes with chainlink fences roll by, some surrounded by empty lots. The area had clearly never fully recovered from Katrina all those years ago, as Eugene remembers taking a day trip to an amusement park that was in the area as a child. The GPS announces that he’s arriving at his destination on the right, and he pulls into the driveway. The house is identical to many others he’s passed by, with white panels that could use cleaning and a porch covered in chipping paint. A lump of anxiety rises in his throat, which he swallows with guilt. How childish to judge someone he doesn’t know based on where they live. He double-checks his text message from Burgie to confirm that this is indeed the correct house and to find out which apartment in the duplex is Snafu’s. Knocking on the wrong door would embarrass Eugene so thoroughly that he might never recover, so it’s worth it to be sure.

After quelling his anxiety with a few deep breaths, Eugene steps out of his car and heads up the stairs of the porch, cringing as the steps creak loudly under his feet. He stands in front of Snafu’s door motionless for a second, gathering courage, before knocking. He waits and waits, ninety seconds passing with no response. He battles with himself internally on whether or not it’s too soon to knock again before deciding he has to as there’s been no noise from inside. He thumps the door louder and longer the second time around, hoping that doesn’t come off as rude. There’s no response again and Eugene begins to doubt himself. Maybe he had read the address wrong or the apartment number, or maybe he hadn’t been loud enough. Just as he raises a fist to knock again the door flies open and he jumps back, heart racing. 

The man at the door is approximately Eugene’s age, a few inches shorter with dark, curly hair. His eyes are squinted and his face is puffy, and his tan skin is on full display as he’s shirtless. Eugene’s knocking must have woken him from a deep sleep. He blinks slowly a few times before grumbling out, “Who the fuck are you?”

Eugene shuts his mouth, which had been left agape, and straightens himself out. “Um, I’m Eugene Sledge, Burgie’s friend. You’re Snafu, right? I’m here to pick you up.” He reaches out to shake hands but avoids eye contact. In fact, he avoids looking at the shirtless man altogether and feels his cheeks burning a dusty pink. He hopes he doesn’t seem like an idiot. God, why does he always have to make a fool of himself around attractive people?

Snafu looks down at Eugene’s outstretched hand for a moment but ignores it, instead replying, “Yeah, that’s me.” 

Eugene stands in silence for a moment, shoving his hands into his pockets clumsily when he realizes his handshake has been rejected. Still staring at a spot behind Snafu, he waits for him to continue speaking. He doesn’t, and Eugene's skin crawls with discomfort. He clears his throat and makes accidental eye contact with Snafu, whose eyes are now wide, gazing directly at Eugene’s face with a smirk. Eugene’s mouth goes dry under that gaze, those piercing blue eyes making him feel small. He’s not sure whether Snafu’s smirk is playful or cruel, but either way, he’s sure the intention is to make him uncomfortable.

“Um, did Burgie not tell you I was coming?” Eugene finally says, licking his dry lips, not looking away from Snafu’s eyes. He feels trapped in the eye contact, almost hypnotized. 

“He did, I’m jus’ surprised you’re here so early,” Snafu replies. His smirk dissipates as he lets out a catlike yawn, fully exposing his angular jaw. 

Eugene swallows hard, finally looking away from Snafu’s face. “Well, um, long drive ahead of us,” he says. “Burgie wants to get together for dinner tonight anyway, so we should get going.”

“Okay.”

Before Eugene can even contemplate a reply, Snafu slams the door in his face. Not sure what to do, he reaches for the doorknob before realizing that’s probably a bad idea; he can’t just walk into the guy’s house. He hears a faint rummaging from inside and slowly presses an ear to the door, curiosity getting the better of him. Snafu must be packing up, and by the sound of it, he’s in a hurry, smashing things about. After a minute or two, the noise dissipates, and hasty footsteps take its place. Eugene jerks away from the door, nearly taking one too many steps backward and falling down the stairs behind him. As he regains his footing, the front door swings open, and he pretends to be examining one of the porch columns intently.

Snafu emerges, fully clothed now with a duffle bag over his shoulder, and raises an eyebrow as though Eugene is the crazy one. “Let’s fuckin’ go. I thought you were in a hurry or whatever,” he says, pushing past Eugene toward the car.

Eugene stares at his back, confounded at Snafu’s audacity. As he follows behind, he realizes this drive might be even worse than he realized. Out of every possibility he had considered, he never imagined Snafu being this rude. Or attractive, but mostly the rude part.

“Where should I put my stuff?” Snafu asks once Eugene reaches the car, waving his duffle bag in front of him. 

“Just a second,” Eugene says. “Let me pop the trunk.” He feels Snafu’s gaze on the back of his neck as he unlocks the door. He feels awkward like a kid having to read aloud in class. Can’t this guy look at anything else?

Snafu snorts. “You were standin’ a few yards away from your car the whole time an’ you still locked the door?”

Eugene just lets out a shaky fake laugh, not sure what to say. He’s an anxious person who locks his car when he pumps gas. He presses a button and hears the trunk pop before getting up out of the car.

“Typical,” says Snafu under his breath, and Eugene can hear the smirk on his lips. It’s like Snafu’s provoking him, but Eugene has no idea why. Maybe just to be an asshole.

Eugene helps him find a spot in the trunk for the duffle bag, having to shove aside his own giant suitcase. Once they finish, they get settled in the car, Eugene in the driver’s seat and Snafu sitting shotgun. As Eugene buckles in, he realizes Snafu didn’t seem to have a gift with him, unless it was in the duffle bag. Maybe he just got them a gift card. What if Burgie asked for no gifts and Eugene just forgot? The anxiety surrounding gift-giving consumes him for a second, and he even considers asking Snafu about it before reconsidering.  He discreetly turns to look at Snafu, who’s staring blankly ahead as he bites his thumbnail. Eugene shakes his head with a sigh, starting the car and the GPS route. Forget that notion he had about Burgie not being friends with any insane weirdos, there’s one in the seat right next to him.

Eugene backs out of the driveway and they begin the long drive to Fort Worth, the car filled with an awkward silence. After Snafu’s behavior at the house, Eugene hadn’t anticipated him keeping his mouth shut like this. The silence is crushing and unbearable and Eugene is almost tempted to start some small talk, but then figures that it might be for the best that they stay quiet. Snafu is off-putting and Eugene can’t read him at all, has no idea how to respond to him. Yeah, silence is best.

Around ten minutes into the drive, Eugene sees Snafu move in his peripheral vision, and the car radio begins playing. Snafu flips through the stations before landing on 90.7 and turning it up. The smooth beats of an RnB song fill the air and Snafu slumps in his seat.

“Hey,” snaps Eugene, glancing repeatedly from the road to Snafu. “I don’t like listening to the radio when I drive. It’s distracting.”

“I’ll turn it down real quiet,” Snafu says, hand already reaching for the dial.

“No, this is my car.” Eugene reaches over and turns the radio off himself, bumping Snafu’s hand out of the way. He can take some rudeness and maintain cordiality, but distracting him while driving is where Eugene draws the line. 

“Jesus, then, okay.”

They lapse into silence again, and, if he didn’t know any better, Eugene would say Snafu is pouting. He pulls his legs on the seat with him, hugging them with one arm, the other propping his head up as he stares intently out the window. As Eugene peeks at him, he realizes in horror that Snafu has taken off his shoes, but decides not to say anything. As long as he’s not being distracting, it doesn’t matter. Eugene just needs to get through this drive, then he can come up with some excuse later as to why he can’t drive Snafu back. Maybe he’ll say his mother is seriously ill or something.

“Listen,” Snafu starts, and Eugene almost jumps in his seat. “I can’t handle sittin’ here for eight hours in silence other than that damn GPS, so…”

Eugene groans internally as he realizes Snafu is about to make conversation. Great. “So, what?” he grunts in response.

Snafu snickers, puzzling Eugene. “How d’you know Burgie? Let’s start there.” Eugene doesn’t have to look to know that smirk is back.

Eugene sighs, resigning himself to his fate. There’s no way he can avoid talking now. “Um, we went to college together. What about you?”

“We served together when he was on active duty. Both got stationed in Australia,” Snafu says. Eugene should’ve guessed this. He’s been wondering how Burgie would’ve been such good friends with someone from a different state, especially someone this weird. The Marine Corps makes perfect sense. Burgie had attended Auburn on an ROTC scholarship and paid it back with four years of active duty service, meeting Florence along the way during his time in Australia. And Snafu, apparently.

“Wait, have you met Florence, then?” Eugene asks with genuine curiosity, the dread that had previously been present in his voice gone. “The timing was never right for me. I’ve gone to visit him and vice versa, but I didn’t get to meet her yet.”

“Oh yeah,” says Snafu. “I was there when they met. She’s real sweet, her and Burgie are perfect for each other.”

Eugene glances at him again and sees a soft, pure smile gracing Snafu’s face. The earnestness of it is startling, starkly contrasting with the grouchiness and arrogance of before. He’s beautiful.

Realizing he’s been staring, Eugene clears his throat and looks away. “I’m really glad Burgie met his person. He deserves it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Snafu says, and Eugene can feel his eyes again, but different this time. No smirk.

Silence returns, this time with a different flavor of awkwardness. Snafu is just staring at him, his body fully turned to face Eugene, and Eugene has no idea what to do. Snafu had been leading the conversation before, perhaps he’s now expecting Eugene to continue it?

Eventually, Eugene can’t take it anymore and caves. “So, um, what do you do?”

“I’m a truck driver,” Snafu answers. “Y’know, I just got home from four days on the road this morning. Y’woke me out of a dead sleep.”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Eugene mumbles, cringing internally. “You can sleep now if you want…”

“Naw,” says Snafu, leaning closer to Eugene over the center console. “Then I wouldn’t get to find out more ‘bout you, would I? What d’you do?”

Eugene blushes, not sure where this change in attitude is coming from, why Snafu is suddenly so interested. Also, he knows he’s about to sound like a rich kid, which he is, but still. He tries his best to edge away from Snafu without obstructing his driving, saying, “I’m working toward a Ph.D. in botany. I’m going to be a professor.”

“Oh, so you’re smart, okay,” says Snafu.

Eugene clenches his hand on the steering wheel, wanting to change the subject.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Snafu continues. “I could barely finish high school, I hated it so much.”

“Oh, well, I just really love botany,” says Eugene, trying to relax. “Once I started learning more I didn’t wanna stop.”

“So you’re gonna be a doctor, huh? Doctor Eugene?”

“Sledge, Doctor Eugene Sledge.”

Snafu merely hums in response, and Eugene feels strange. He really can’t tell what Snafu’s thinking, his asshole façade is impenetrable. Eugene can sense something underneath, but it’s well hidden. “Snafu.” Not Merriell. What does Snafu mean anyway? Eugene wants to ask where the hell that nickname comes from, but doesn’t want to come off as offensive. Maybe he’ll ask Burgie later.

“Can I smoke in here?” Snafu asks nonchalantly, jolting Eugene from his thoughts. 

He glances over, making brief eye contact, and Snafu shakes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter at him. “Um, sure,” Eugene responds without really thinking, taken aback by the sudden question.

Snafu rolls his window down and lights a cigarette, taking a long drag. Eugene has to stop himself from wincing at the smell, instantly regretting his quick decision. He tries his best to ignore it and focus on the road, but it’s ten times more distracting than the radio. At least maybe this will make Snafu like him. Not that he gives a shit. He glances at Snafu only to find the other man staring back, smoke spilling from his nostrils.

“You smoke?” he asks, holding up the cigarette box again.

“No,” says Eugene. There’s a beat of silence before he decides to attempt humor, “I would be a bad almost-doctor if I did.”

Snafu snorts. “That’s bullshit; you’re gonna be a fuckin’ plant doctor.”

“Hey, a doctor’s a doctor,” Eugene says, smiling without even realizing.

“Ain’t smoke like plant food anyway? And ashes fertilizer?” 

“Not if your cigarette butt catches plants on fire.”

“Who the fuck’s doing that shit? I never burned no plants down.”

Eugene gives him a look, a grin still on his face, and they both laugh, and Snafu doesn’t seem like such an asshole. It’s like when he was talking about Burgie; his smile lights up the whole car. Eugene has to remind himself to look away, eyes back on the road. The banter feels good.

Silence returns, but this time more comfortable. Well, aside from the suffocating cigarette smell. Snafu continues chainsmoking and Eugene is all but retching. The smell has always been something that easily bothered him, even passing a smoker on the street sometimes makes him nauseous. His temples pulse with a fierce migraine, which worsens with each passing minute, not aided by the fatigue of his early start this morning. When it becomes too much to bear, Eugene suggests pulling off the highway to eat at a rest stop and fill up the tank. Snafu agrees, and they drive another few miles to the next exit.

The rest stop isn’t very big, just a Popeye’s, a McDonald’s, and a local chain gas station Eugene doesn’t recognize. 

“Where d’you wanna eat?” Snafu asks as Eugene pulls into a parking space.

“I don’t eat McDonald’s,” says Eugene.

“What d’ya mean you don’t eat McDonald’s?” Snafu sounds almost offended.

Eugene looks over at him in confusion as he shifts the gear to park and turns the car off. “I’ve never eaten there. Ever. I just want to keep my streak.”

“Somethin’ about that jus’ feels classist,” Snafu says. “I don’t know if I can trust someone who thinks they're above McDonald’s.”

Eugene has no idea if he’s being serious. “If you really want to eat there it’s okay, I’ll just get a pretzel from the gas station or something.”

Snafu snickers. “Naw, I’m jus’ playin’. I don’t even want McDonald’s anyway.”

“Then.. What?” Eugene shakes his head in confusion before sighing. Why bother? He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to understand this guy’s sense of humor. “Anyway, so, Popeye’s then?”

“Sure.”

They cross the parking lot and enter the fast food joint. Eugene’s legs feel stiff and weak after all that sitting, and he tries to shake the pins and needles off without making it obvious. He fails, and Snafu stops to ask if he’s alright, causing him to flush in embarrassment. At the counter, they order their food. Eugene glances at Snafu out of the corner of his eye. He really is attractive. With the proximity, he can smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, but now, really looking at him, it doesn’t smell so bad. Suddenly, Snafu looks back at him with those startling eyes, and Eugene realizes it’s his turn to order. He sputters for a second, tripping over his words as he tells the employee what he wants. 

“Somethin’ on my face?” questions Snafu as they walk to the pickup counter.

“No,” Eugene answers, face beet red. He doesn’t turn to look at Snafu, he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. And he knows that smirk is back on Snafu’s face anyway, he could hear it in his voice.

Once their order is ready, they pick up their trays, Eugene letting Snafu lead him to a table. They take the first few bites of their food in silence. Eugene feels strangely shy about sitting face-to-face with Snafu now; they haven’t been properly face-to-face since they spoke at the door, and that seems like ages ago.

Snafu takes a loud slurp of his soda before asking, “So, where are you from? Burgie mentioned you drove out from Alabama.”

Eugene immediately swallows the food in his mouth, despite having not properly chewed it. He narrowly avoids choking, but his voice is still weak when he replies, “Oh, I’m from Mobile. I live in Auburn, though. Drove from there to Mobile yesterday, then down to New Orleans this morning.”

Snafu raises an eyebrow at his strained voice, but nods, continuing to eat.

Realizing it’s once again on him to continue the conversation, Eugene returns the question. “What about you?”

“I’m from New Orleans East. Lived in Baton Rouge for a while, y’know, after the storm, but… That city has a way of calling people back.” There’s something bittersweet and melancholic about the way Snafu speaks about his hometown, captivating Eugene. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt that strongly about Mobile.

“I haven’t spent much time in New Orleans,” says Eugene. “I’ve only been on a few day trips as a kid, to museums and stuff.”

 “I love it,” Snafu says without a pause, shrugging. “Shitty place, but… Yeah, I love it.” That glimmer is back on his face, the serene expression reserved for Burgie, banter, and now New Orleans. Eugene wonders how many other things can make him smile like that, and a part of him wants to try to find out.

“You must have missed it when you were in the Marines,” says Eugene.

Snafu laughs, “Let’s not get dramatic now.”

Eugene feels immediately embarrassed for asking, turning to look at the food on his tray and picking at it. He wishes he could throw a chicken tender at Snafu for being so annoying. Or that the booth would swallow him whole. Either one.

“Yeah, I did.”

Eugene looks up. “Huh?”

“I did actually miss New Orleans, though. Me and Burgie used to jus’ sit around on base and talk ‘bout home. Used to go to the grocery store and look for hot pockets, y’know. Somehow, they made us feel less homesick.” Snafu has a far-off look for a moment, then catches Eugene’s eye and they share a laugh. 

“Burgie and I used to have similar conversations in college,” Eugene says, smiling again. “Neither of us left the South, and I wasn’t even that far from home, but everything was still unfamiliar. Now I haven’t properly lived in Mobile ever since, and Burgie’s been all over the world...”

“Time flies, huh?” Snafu sighs.

“Yeah,” Eugene says. “Feels like yesterday and forever ago at the same time. And now he’s getting married!”

Snafu hums again, the same hum he gave in the car, and Eugene’s chest feels light for a reason he can’t place. They continue eating in silence. Eugene feels Snafu’s eyes on him repeatedly but decides not to return the eye contact. He wishes Snafu would at least stare less blatantly. He’s been doing it all day, just looking at Eugene. He’s not even trying to hide it; he doesn’t care that Eugene knows, it’s almost like he wants him to. Any normal person just looks away when they’re caught staring, but not him. Snafu’s just odd, and his behavior keeps Eugene on his toes. 

Once they’re done eating, Snafu reaches into Eugene's space and transfers the garbage onto his own tray. Eugene is puzzled by the unexpected favor but doesn’t dwell on it. They stop by the trash cans and make their way out to the car. The tank still needs to be filled, so Eugene backs out of the parking space and drives up to the gas station.

Before he steps out of the car, Snafu stops him. “Hey, why don’t I drive the rest of the way? You look like shit, you could use some sleep.”

Eugene’s heart drops. Does he look like shit? Is that why Snafu was staring at him this whole time? Does he have huge, ugly eyebags, is that all it was? He comes back to reality. He can’t let Snafu drive his car. “Uh, no. I’m fine,” he replies.

“C’mon, I don’t mind. Go ahead and sleep,” Snafu insists.

“No, uh, my car can be um. It can just act a bit weird, it’s best if I drive.” 

Snafu raises an eyebrow and Eugene can tell his words are less than convincing.

“Do y’think I’m a bad driver or somethin’?”

Okay, maybe Eugene does, but it’s only because of Snafu’s off-putting demeanor. He just seems like the type of person to tailgate someone and flash his high beams at them. 

He opens his mouth to reply, but Snafu cuts him off, saying, “I drive for a living. I’m a truck driver, remember?” 

Oh, yeah. Eugene had forgotten that detail. He can tell by Snafu’s tone of voice that he’s offended, and Eugene doesn’t blame him. He feels bad for assuming but is still apprehensive. “I don’t like other people driving my car,” he says. 

Snafu rolls his eyes obnoxiously. “Whatever, just don’t fall asleep at the wheel or some shit.” He sinks into his seat, pouting again. “You drive like my grandma, by the way.”

Eugene glares at him before finally stepping out of the car to fill the tank. He thought Snafu was going to spare him the grandma quip but he should’ve expected otherwise. As he stands at the meter, his eyes ache with fatigue and he feels a little woozy. The food has done nothing to help his tiredness, and all he wants is to curl up in the passenger seat and wake up in Fort Worth. Snafu’s offer almost seems tempting, but he only met the guy a few hours ago. It’s out of the question to trust him to drive Eugene’s car, even if he’s Burgie’s best friend. He jumps at a noise behind him, realizing he’d been closing his eyes and dozing off at the pump, with the tank already full. Snafu has stepped out of the car and is standing next to him now.

“Oh, alright,” Eugene gives in. “You drive the rest of the way.”

Snafu has an insufferable smug look on his face and immediately sits down in the driver's seat. Eugene returns the nozzle to the pump and makes his way to the passenger’s seat. Once he’s seated, he takes his keys out of his pocket and waves the one to his car at Snafu menacingly. 

“If you have even the slightest bit of road rage, I’m taking over,” he says, making direct eye contact.

Snafu snatches the keys from Eugene’s hand and rolls his eyes again. “Oh, please,” he grumbles under his breath. “I’m gonna get us there a lot faster than you would.”

To Snafu’s credit, he actually is a good driver. He’s completely focused on the road, finally using those big eyes of his for a good cause instead of just harassing Eugene. Snafu clicks on the radio again, still playing 90.7. The voice of a female soul vocalist floats through the car and Eugene’s eyelids grow heavy. He doesn’t want to leave Snafu’s driving unsupervised, so he attempts to fight sleep by repeatedly blinking, but it’s useless, he’s too tired. He’s had a long past two days. Weirdly, he feels more comfortable falling asleep in a car being driven by a stranger than in his childhood bedroom. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he gazes at Snafu, all jaw and tan skin. From this angle, Eugene can see the firm muscles of his arm as it rests on the steering wheel, his other lying on his thigh. He could feel Snafu’s eyes earlier; can Snafu feel his now? Does Snafu know that he looks back? His thoughts become foggy and he’s sleeping soundly within minutes.

He wakes around five hours later, 5 PM, with a severely dry mouth. He licks and smacks his lips as his eyes begin to focus. He tries sitting up and groans at his stiff neck, turning to the backseat to reach for a water bottle. 

“Hey, sleepin’ beauty,” Snafu laughs, turning and grinning at him. “We’re in Texas now. Gettin’ real close to the finish line. Only ‘bout an hour left.”

Eugene ignores him in favor of chugging the water, pausing every few seconds to swish it around and wet his lips with it. His mouth tastes terrible and he hopes his breath doesn’t stink.

“Y’know, I was thinkin’ while you were asleep,” Snafu prattles on. “Why d’ya have a gas car? Ain’t you all obsessed with nature? Shouldn’t you have an electric car or some shit? Lovin’ the Earth an’ stuff?”

Eugene scoffs internally but keeps ignoring him, choking as he downs the rest of his water. He hacks out a cough as his throat burns. Snafu keeps talking, not even taking notice. Tears fill Eugene’s eyes as he attempts to breathe normally. He clears his throat loudly in a final attempt to get his lungs working again.

“Are you okay?” Snafu finally stops ranting.

“Oh, I’m just great,” Eugene says shakily, rubbing at his watering eyes.

“I got super fuckin’ bored while you were asleep,” Snafu says. “Once we got to Texas I turned off the radio ‘cause none of the stations were playin’ soul no more.” He turns to Eugene and fully looks at him for the first time since he woke up. “You got a red mark on ya face from the seatbelt.” 

Eugene is too groggy to be embarrassed and feels around his face for the indent, massaging it when he finds it. “You crash into anything while I was asleep?”

“No,” Snafu deadpans, not taking the bait. Clearly, he doesn’t like this line of humor. 

“Shocking,” Eugene returns in the same flat tone. “Do you want some water?” 

“Sure,” Snafu says.

Eugene tries to hand him a bottle, but he waves it away with his free hand.

“Open it for me.” Snafu’s not asking, it’s a command. 

Eugene looks from the water bottle to Snafu a few times before complying. He tries to hand it to Snafu again, but instead of grabbing it he puts his free hand on the steering wheel and opens his mouth.

“No,” Eugene says with a sigh, not even bothering to be shocked at this point.

“Was worth a try.” Snafu turns to him with a smirk, reaching for the water bottle. Their fingers graze as Eugene hands it to him and Eugene is forced to consider if he’s doing this on purpose. Is all this weird behavior Snafu’s way of flirting? The staring, the smirking, the teasing? Snafu takes a long gulp of the water and Eugene watches as a droplet rolls down his chin and onto his throat. It wouldn’t be so bad if that was the case.

The remainder of the drive to Fort Worth is uneventful, just some casual banter here and there as Snafu follows the directions of the GPS. As they close in on their destination, Eugene realizes that he has no idea where Snafu is staying. 

“Wait, the GPS is set to my hotel,” Eugene says. 

“Okay,” Snafu replies blankly.

Eugene rolls his eyes. “Well, where are you staying?”

“With Burgie.”

“Let me change the destination, then.” Eugene hopes with every fiber of his being that they don’t have to backtrack too much. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. Yeah, Snafu’s hot, and he… doesn’t mind him, but being trapped in a tin box with anyone for this long would drive him insane. He needs to be alone. Luckily, the change of course only adds about twenty minutes to their ETA, and Eugene pats himself on the back for having the foresight to book a hotel close to Burgie’s apartment. He shoots Burgie a text to let him know they’ll be arriving soon.

As they approach Burgie’s apartment, Eugene wonders about Snafu. He must be closer to Burgie than Eugene himself. He’s staying with him, it seems like he didn’t get a wedding gift, and Burgie went to all this trouble to ensure Snafu was able to come. Some part of Eugene is sure that Burgie might have driven out to New Orleans East himself to pick up Snafu if Eugene wasn’t able to. It’s not jealousy, but there’s a hollow feeling in his chest. He’s disappointed, filled with the dismay that comes with realizing the person you feel closest to feels closer to someone else. It’s silly, the kind of thing a kid gets upset about, but he can’t help it. 

When they arrive, Eugene quickly exits the car and walks to the driver’s side, ready to switch places with Snafu.

Snafu’s laughing as he opens the door. “You look like some kinda butler tryna help me out of a carriage standin’ there like that.”

Eugene snorts, then feels awkward as they now stand face to face. He’s not sure what to say or if they should shake hands. “Uh, see you for dinner later, then,” he ends up saying.

Snafu grins a real smile, the one reserved for Burgie, banter, New Orleans, and now, Eugene. “‘Course,” he beams and gives Eugene a pat on the shoulder before walking away. 

Eugene stands, frozen, and watches him be buzzed into the apartment building. If he feels Eugene’s eyes, he doesn’t react. Once the door closes, Eugene snaps out of it and sits down in front of the wheel. He plugs his hotel into the GPS and hazily drives his way there. Once he’s safely inside his room, he smacks himself down on the bed and lets out a sigh. It feels good to properly lay down after all that sitting. Alone and staring up at the ceiling, he still can only think of Snafu. If he was flirting, was Eugene doing it back without realizing it? I mean, he was immediately attracted to him, so maybe subconsciously… He wonders if it’s wise to entertain this flirtation. It might be a good distraction from all the pressure of his dissertation. It’s just flirting, it’s noncommittal. He wonders if he made the whole thing up in his head. He tries to clear his thoughts but instead starts imagining his mother meeting Snafu. He snickers at the thought. They would hate each other.

He feels himself getting drowsy again and bolts upright. He’s supposed to meet Burgie at the restaurant in only about an hour, he can’t let himself drift off. He checks his breath and his suspicions from earlier are confirmed. He definitely needs to brush his teeth before he leaves. He hopes Snafu didn’t notice. He checks himself in the mirror to make sure his clothes don’t look too wrinkled. He decides to change from a t-shirt into a button-down to look a little more proper before freshening up in the bathroom. He’s ready a little too early, so he kills the rest of his time by rummaging through his suitcase and reorganizing it.

He confirms the address of the restaurant with Burgie, picking out a route on the GPS, and stands, ready to leave. Of course, as soon as opens the door, Eugene’s anxiety decides that he must pee before getting in the car. Luckily, he decided to leave early, so it doesn’t make much of a difference. He’s on his way in a minute or two, stepping out of the hotel into the humid, late spring air. The sun isn’t setting yet, but it’s circling its way around the horizon, getting ready to descend. 

The restaurant is only thirteen minutes from the Comfort Inn Eugene is staying in, and he arrives 10 minutes before the agreed time. He looks around the parking lot, searching for Burgie’s car, but he can’t remember what it looks like for the life of him. Does Burgie have a truck? That would seem in character. But maybe it was a hatchback? Or a sedan? Maybe he should go inside and say Burgie’s name as the reservation. But he can’t get there first and be alone at the table, that’s weird. Two figures crossing the threshold interrupt his thoughts: a sturdy frame he immediately recognizes as Burgie and a curly head that can only be Snafu. They seem to be laughing about something, and Eugene’s chest feels light. He’s so happy to see Burgie after so long, he’d missed him so much. And Snafu’s face… If he’d smiled when talking about Burgie, he was beaming now. The look on his face is infectious, and Eugene finds himself smiling despite being alone in his car.

Eugene waits a few minutes for the pair to get settled inside before getting out of his car and following behind. The restaurant is a typical steakhouse with a bar and TVs playing various sports on every wall. He searches the tables until he finds Burgie, who makes eye contact and starts waving. He tells the hostess that his friends are waiting before walking toward them, trying to maintain a normal pace despite his excitement. Burgie stands, grinning, and gives him a warm hug, patting Eugene’s back firmly a few times.

“I missed you!” Burgie coos into his ear. 

“I missed you too,” Eugene says as they part, face glowing. 

Burgie turns and holds out an arm toward the booth.  “You’ve already met Snafu.”

Snafu gives a mocking wave and smirks. “Oh, yeah. We know each other very well now.”

Eugene blushes. What’s with this guy? Why’s he making it sound weird? All they did was talk! Burgie gives Eugene a look as they sit down and he has to stop himself from explaining that nothing happened, it wasn’t like that. 

“So, uh, who else is coming?” he says instead, clearing his throat.

“Just a few more guys, friends of mine from work,” Burgie replies. “They should be here soon. Anyway, I didn’t get to properly talk to you on the phone last week, how have you been?”

“Well, nothing much. Just my dissertation,” he shrugs. It seems evasive, but it’s the truth. Eugene’s life is boring, all he does is research these days.

“Nothing new?”

“Honestly, no.” He gives an empty chuckle before continuing, “It’s exhausting. It’s like I’m working on something impossible to finish. I’ve been really burnt out lately…”

Burgie reaches across the table and gives his arm a quick pat. “I know you’ll succeed,” he says. “Just remember that you love botany. Return to that passion, the reason you wanted to do this in the first place, then you’ll have the strength to persevere.”

Eugene smiles. “You sound just like my dad, he said something similar.”

“Well, he’s a doctor, he must be right,” says Burgie with a laugh.

There’s a lull in the conversation and Eugene becomes aware of those eyes boring into him yet again. He’d almost forgotten Snafu was there, which is odd. In Eugene’s experience, he’s not usually such a silent person. Eugene glances at him. He’s just sitting there, curled up in his corner of the booth, observing with those wide, blue eyes. His expression is blank, but he slowly grins as they make eye contact. Eugene looks away, back down at the table, but he knows Snafu hasn’t and is continuing to stare. 

Burgie’s friends arrive within the next fifteen minutes, and they have to get a waiter to push another table up to the booth. There are three of them, all working at the same contracting company as Burgie. They’re loud and rowdy, watching and reacting to the sports on the TVs. Eugene only meets each of them briefly to shake hands, but he can immediately tell that his nature doesn’t mesh well with theirs. The three steal away Burgie’s attention throughout their meal, leaving Snafu and Eugene alone together on their end of the booth. 

“You don’t like them,” Snafu states as he eats his steak. 

“It’s not really that I just… I don’t know how to talk to them,” Eugene says between bites. “They’re not my type of people.”

“D’you know how to talk to me?” Snafu says, not looking at Eugene but instead focusing on his steak. He’s attempting to hold the entire thing up with his fork and rip the meat off with his teeth instead of cutting it.

Eugene watches him play with his food with slight disgust but ignores it. “No, I don’t. You’re weird.”

Snafu snorts at this. “Am I not your ‘type of people’ then?”

Eugene’s face splits into a playful grin. “Hm, I don’t know. Maybe if you stopped playing music in the car.”

They both laugh but are interrupted by louder laughter next to them. Burgie and his work friends have all ordered shots. They offer some to Eugene and Snafu, but both decline.

“Designated driver?” Eugene asks.

“Somethin’ like that,” Snafu replies vaguely, avoiding eye contact. He’s abandoned his plate by now and is leaning over the table with his chin in his palm. 

Eugene can tell that he’s approaching a sore spot, so he changes the subject. “So,” he starts. “Did you get all settled at Burgie’s apartment?”

“Yeah, it’s like my home away from home or whatever.”

Eugene nods, unsure of what to say next. He doesn’t know why Snafu does this, letting the conversation die. It’s like he wants to put Eugene on the spot. 

“I’m goin’ out for a smoke,” Snafu says, interrupting Eugene’s thoughts. He stands slowly, then asks, “Wanna come?”

“Sure,” Eugene says, looking up at him. In the dim light of the restaurant, his features are even more harsh and pronounced.

They maneuver their way out of the booth, trying not to bump into Burgie and his friends at the adjoined table. The others don’t even notice they’re leaving, too invested in a drinking game. Outside, the sun has fully set. None of the stars are visible in the sky, and there’s no grass for fireflies to blink in. Eugene doesn’t like heavily urbanized areas like this, where nothing lives but people. He needs the plants and the birds and the stars to be happy. 

Snafu reaches into his pocket, retrieving a box of cigarettes and a lighter. He offers them to Eugene, who again refuses, before lighting one up and taking a long drag. His eyes close for a moment, seemingly in some sort of bliss, as he holds in the smoke, before exhaling away from Eugene. The odor hits Eugene’s nostrils and he has to keep himself from making a face. He distracts himself by watching Snafu take another drag, sucking on the cigarette, cheeks hallowing slightly. At least he looks pretty, even if it smells.

At this moment, Eugene feels oddly close and familiar with Snafu. Maybe it’s their proximity throughout the day, or how attractive Snafu is, or the smoke messing with Eugene’s thoughts, or maybe just the moonlight. He thinks about his antics in the car and how they seem almost charming in retrospect, despite being annoying at the time. Maybe they were charming then too, but Eugene was too obsessed with feeling awkward to realize.

“I have a heart condition,” Eugene says out of the blue.

“Huh?” Snafu says, eyebrows raised. In a few seconds, a look of understanding washes over him, and he drops his cigarette, stomping it out. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I don’t wanna kill you or somethin’.”

“No, no!” Eugene’s cheeks are flushed red in embarrassment. What is he doing? “I meant, that’s why I’m not drinking. Not just because I have to drive. I don’t drink. Sorry, I don’t really know why I’m telling you this.”

Snafu laughs again with that earnest smile, and Eugene almost doesn’t mind embarrassing himself if he gets to see that face. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, boo?”

Eugene’s chest warms at the pet name. He normally hates when people call him things like that, but somehow Snafu is an exception. “Sorry, I guess I was just thinking about it because of earlier.”

“You’re funny, Eugene,” Snafu says, looking serene in the moonlight.

They’ve inched closer toward each other throughout their conversation, shoulders almost touching as they stand side by side. Eugene, slightly taller than him, can look down at his face from this angle, and he looks perfect. Suddenly, Eugene knows that if he doesn’t reach out to Snafu now, he’ll regret it later. He can’t let his anxiety or apprehension get in the way of his own happiness. He bumps his hand against Snafu, knuckles grazing, who turns to look at him. Their faces are only two shoulder widths apart, and Eugene can see every eyelash, every freckle on his face. He takes Snafu’s hand fully, entwining their fingers.

Snafu smirks and turns so they face each other.

“Why do you keep smirking at me?” Eugene whispers. “All day, that smirk.”

“For an almost doctor, you’re so stupid,” Snafu says with a roll of his eyes.

Eugene is about to respond but is interrupted by Snafu cupping his neck with his free hand and kissing him. His eyes flutter shut, hand drifting to Snafu’s jaw. The kiss is sweet and warm, and when they part they leave their faces close for a second, just breathing in each other’s air, before returning to their shoulder-to-shoulder position. 

“I’ve been flirtin’ with you all day,” Snafu says, and now the smirk in his voice doesn’t seem so evil. 

“I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe you were just being an asshole.”

“To me, that’s flirtin’.”

Eugene snorts. 

They stay out there for a few more minutes, just chatting and basking in the moonlight and each other’s presence. The barrier Eugene had set up, that fear of awkwardness, had melted away. He’s not sure where this thing with Snafu is going, or if it will go anywhere, he just knows that right now, it feels good, and that’s what matters. He spends too much time worrying about his past with his parents and his future with his dissertation; the two press against each other until the present is all but gone, a sliver of its former self. It’s time to finally live. They kiss again before reentering the restaurant, this time more lingering, parting with a smile. When they sit down again it’s like they share a secret, something only for them to know, and they can’t help but knowingly grin at each other from across the table.

By 10:30, Burgie and his work friends are all at varying levels of intoxication. Burgie is the least drunk, mostly just buzzed, to avoid a hangover on his wedding day. The three others are properly drunk and talking about continuing at a bar down the road. Eugene frowns at them, finding it difficult to hide his disdain. Aren’t they going to the wedding tomorrow? He makes eye contact with Snafu who looks as disgusted as he is. 

They say their goodbyes to the three, which for Eugene is just a curt nod of the head. Burgie pays the bill, which Eugene protests but Burgie insists the host should pay. Snafu keeps entirely out of the conversation, but looks off to the side guiltily when Eugene glances at him. He’s able to convince Burgie to let him leave the tip, placing a fifty-dollar bill down on the table. The poor waitress had a lot to deal with, a huge order and three annoying, rowdy drunks. They make their way out to the parking lot, Snafu now walking with Burgie, and Eugene trailing behind.

“It was so good just to hang out,” Burgie says to him, pulling him into another hug. “Sorry I wasn’t able to talk much, those three can be overwhelming.”

“It’s okay, we’ll talk tomorrow.” Eugene gives him a tight squeeze before letting go. “I can’t wait to meet Florence.” 

“Speaking of which, I should go call her and warn her I’m coming home,” says Burgie, smiling softly. “I’m sleeping in the living room with Snafu tonight. Don’t want any bad luck.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Eugene pats Burgie’s arm, nodding him off. “Don’t keep Florence waiting.”

Burgie walks off, phone in hand, leaving Snafu and Eugene alone again. Their previous goodbye had been uncomfortable at best, but all of that was gone now. 

“Guess you’ll see me tomorrow too, huh?” Snafu drawls, each word glazing over Eugene like honey, hand reaching out to palm Eugene’s shoulder. 

“Guess so,” he replies, mirroring Snafu’s movement before pulling him into a hug. “I’m glad I decided to pick you up today. Even if you were a little insane at first.” He brings a hand up to Snafu's hair, petting it softly and running his fingers through the curls.

“Sorry about that,” Snafu chuckles, leaning into the touch slightly.

They part and say their goodbyes, Eugene turning and walking toward his car, this time Snafu watching his back disappear. Once alone in his hotel room, Eugene can hardly believe himself. He doesn’t regret anything, but normally in social situations, he feels overwhelmed, especially by people like Snafu who are hard to read. He finds it difficult to act in such situations, to do anything. Today he acted, and he was happy with the result. He goes to sleep thinking of Snafu and what the next day may bring. He won’t need to lie about his mother suddenly becoming ill now; he’ll gladly drive another eight hours with Snafu being annoying in the passenger seat as long as it means they get to kiss again. 

When the morning comes, Eugene is buzzing with excitement. He feels slightly ashamed that this is mostly because of Snafu and not his friend’s wedding, but he can’t help it. He arrives early, sitting alone in one of the church pews behind those reserved for family and the procession. Only a few others are here so early, and he sits in contemplation, the excitement from earlier suddenly washed away. Churches will always remind him of his mother. Maybe he should feel bad for his outbursts two days before, but he can’t force himself to. She chooses to never understand. She wants him on that altar with a woman one day, saying his own vows. She’ll never get that. He’s filled with a melancholic feeling as he stares at the cross.

He sits there, unaware, for an hour as the church fills around him. His wallowing is interrupted by the sound of the pianist playing a precursory song. Within a few minutes, the procession starts. First Florence’s mother, then Burgie, who looks nervous. He takes his place at the altar, and Eugene tries to find his eyes, to give him a consolidating look, but Burgie’s gaze is fixed on the aisle. Next, the bridesmaids and groomsmen, Burgie’s three brothers, walking arm in arm, with the maid of honor and… Snafu at the end. For some reason, Eugene didn’t expect him to be the best man and almost feels offended that he wasn’t offered a spot as at least a groomsman. This is all quickly forgotten when he gets a proper look at Snafu in a suit. His hair is neat and gelled back, a grin on his face. He meets Eugene’s eyes with a smirk as he walks by. Florence is next in the procession, and she looks beautiful. Eugene has seen pictures of her before, but they couldn’t do her justice. She is radiant in her gown, and he sees Burgie’s face light up as soon as she begins her walk down the aisle.

The ceremony proceeds without a hitch, Burgie picking up Florence and spinning her around once the pastor tells him to kiss the bride. Everyone makes their way to the reception hall, with what would normally be a ten-minute drive turning into a twenty-five-minute drive with all the traffic. Eugene puts his anxiety-inducing gift down on the table designated for presents then finds himself a table in the corner, waiting for the wedding procession to be introduced and the party to start. 

When they arrive, the dancing begins, and the food is set out. Eugene grabs himself a plate and is moving down the buffet when someone touches his shoulder, He nearly jumps, but turns and sees Burgie, giving him a half-hug with his free hand.

“Congratulations, Burgie,” he says. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

Burgie beams at him, then steps to the side, revealing Florence, who leans in to give Eugene a half-hug as well.

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” she squeals. “Burgie just loves you! Thank you so much for coming!”

“Nice to meet you, too!” Eugene says. “Congratulations, Florence!”

“I have to go greet the others, but I’ll talk to you later, Eugene. Bye!” She turns and walks off, a bounce in her step.

“She's lovely. I’m so happy for you, Burgie.” Eugene actually feels like he might cry. In a strange way, he feels like he’s saying goodbye to Burgie today. With him married and Eugene getting his Ph.D., they’ll have even less time to see each other. But Burgie means the world to him, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep their bond from fading.

“So, how did you feel about Snafu?”

“Huh?” If there was anything Eugene was expecting Burgie to say, it wasn’t that.

Burgie looks at him knowingly. “I just thought you might like to know that he’s playing for your team, that’s all.”

Eugene sputters, “Did you plan this? Is that why you called me in particular?”

“I just thought you two might click,” laughs Burgie. “And by your reaction, I’m guessing you did?”

“Well… maybe a little,” says Eugene, unable to stop his cheeks from dusting themselves pink.

“He’s right over there watching us, by the way. I think he’s waiting for you,” Burgie says, motioning his head behind him to where Snafu is standing in a corner. “I won’t hold you up.” He begins walking away but then turns back. “Oh yeah, don’t worry, I sneaked a look at your gift and I love it. I know you’ve probably been letting that torture you the whole time.”

Eugene snorts and Burgie gives him a clap on the back before going to join his wife. With him gone, Eugene can clearly see Snafu across the room. He shakes his head, smiling as walks over.

Snafu – no, Merriell greets him with the usual grin. “Wanna dance?”

fin.

p.s. i also made this playlist of songs i think snafu would listen to in the car :)

#girl omfg i hope u like it cuz my heart is racing rn #did not end up changing it to take place during christmas my bad! #winter weddings just aren't common so that why it takes place in may #hbowarsanta23 #hbo war #sledgefu #the pacific #eugene sledge #merriell shelton #snafu shelton #mutuals #hbowardaily #Spotify #my fic

[ironwinterhawk]

One thing I miss about being on a college campus during finals:

Everyone collectively yelling/not yelling about finals and like the mood is perfect to study in

#college #pre finals week #finals week #*SCREAMS* #on another note my brain needs a vacation after this semester

[binxyu]

Jungkook was meant to be just a guilty pleasure. Not your guilty pleasure, but a guilty pleasure. You knew never to fall in love with a man that thought loyalty was showing up on time. He was everything you never needed, but here you were. Your fingers pressed on the trigger that would start the flame of pain.

>>Pairing: Jeon Jungkook (dom) x fem!reader (sub) | fuckboy!jk x witch!reader

>>Word Count: 7.5k

>>Genre: Mini Series / Smut & Angst

>>Warnings/Kinks: Arguments, breast play, creampie, cum play, disloyalty, degrading, exhibitionism, fingering, hair pulling, marking, oral (receiving), praise, unprotected sex, and witchcraft

Jungkook was too beautiful for his own good.

From his pouty lips and sharp jaw line to his starry eyes. The man was perfection.

Even you had fallen for him, a woman that stopped believing in love.

But, all you could do now was remember the times you had together as the fire slowly burns in front of you.

As your love for Jeon Jungkook disappeared into nothingness.

Your fingers typed away at the keyboard, writing the second of three essays you had due. It was nearing the end of the semester and, while you were ecstatic at the mere thought of summer vacation, the stress of exams was looming over you.

“Can you look over this paragraph for me?”, you peeked up over your laptop and nodded, moving your own device out of the way to make room for Namjoon’s. Kim Namjoon was a journalist in the making, a man that knew exactly how to put events into words. He was quite different from you, but study sessions together were always eventful. You were the perfect person to correct his grammar mistakes or to help add detail to his work and he was the perfect person to help explain a certain historical detail you may have missed.

Studying religions was what you had decided was your interest considering your unique practice. You enjoyed learning about the beliefs of people centuries ago but the facts could get scrambled in your brain and that’s where Namjoon came in. He almost seemed to have a never ending timeline in his brain.

“I’d add more emphasize on Jungkook. He did beat the record after all”, you quickly realized when you read the paragraph that he was writing for the school paper again. Despite your attempts to persuade the man that he could do much better with his time, he continued to write for it.

“That’s true. Wait, how did you know about that?”, you let out an amicable chuckle. Of course Namjoon would assume you did not know. Just because you despised sports did not mean you were deaf. The whole school had been talking about the student since the track meet. While you couldn’t remember the exact record he beat, it was still a record.

“People talk”, you shrugged and Namjoon nodded. It was peaceful for a moment as you went back to typing, managing to push aside your emerging migraine. Your body was begging for a good nap, but you had to get this done. You were, among less appealing qualities, a hard worker. Perhaps it was due to the pressure put on you as a child or maybe it was because that diploma was just out of reach. Either way, nothing was going to get in the way of your future.

And, like the biggest fuck you from the universe, Jeon Jungkook walks in.

Yet, you hadn’t realized and kept typing until Namjoon cursed loudly, drawing you out of your world.

“Are you okay?”, your voice was soft before your eyes met the issue. Oh, poor clumsy Namjoon.

He had spilt his coffee all over his shirt, staining the freshly new white blouse he had worn. You couldn’t help but laugh as you dug in your bag for a napkin.

“Don’t bother, it’s too much for a napkin. I’ll go to the restroom. Be right back”, you gave him a brief nod and a thumbs up. Still, you got up with your little pack of napkins and tried to clean up the remaining coffee staining into the table. The librarian is sure to kill you both if it does end up staining the wood. Standing back to examine your work, you almost screamed.

Standing by your laptop was a tall figure with the most sinister smirk you’ve ever seen.

Jeon fucking Jungkook spilt your coffee all over your notes and laptop.

Your mouth hung open for a moment before fury overtook the shock. You stomped up to the broadly built man and yes you didn’t believe in violence as a solution but all you wanted to do was slap the smirk right off his gorgeous face.

“Why did you do that?”, you also wanted to yell but the librarian was already eyeing the table and you couldn’t draw attention to the mess.

“Because I like to watch you suffer, sourpuss”, how have you not killed the man in front of you? You had no idea. Because that name infuriated you.

You knew it was the student’s way of messing with you, wanting to strike that minuscule nerve inside of you. No one else believed you could get angry but Jungkook knew you could. Mostly because he had caused that anger.

“And why is that? Because Jimin told you another lie about me?”, Jeon Jungkook was so impossibly similar to Park Jimin that it was uncanny who he had learned his traits from. Truth be told, you had the smallest crush on the man in front of you during freshmen year. He was so affectionate, caring, and friendly back then.

But, instead of ending up with the sweet heartthrob, you had ended up with Jimin for that year and the next.

Starting out, he was simply a popular boy and loved you with his whole heart. But, time went by and his true colors shun through like the sunlight through your irritatingly useless blinds. He was a playboy. An awfully good one at that for you to have never noticed the extra pairs of undergarments that laid on his floor when you slept over at his dorm.

He cheated, but he blamed it all on you and even Jeon Jungkook hates your guts because you were sure Jimin had told him exactly what he had told most of your friends. That you had broken his heart with your “horrifying” witchcraft and that you were dangerous. It explained why so many students asked to see your devil shrine the next day or tried to barge into your dorm to look at what Jimin talked about.

The most ironic thing was that you had never used magick around the man and you barely used it to begin with. You supposed it was for good reason considering that happened the first time you told someone about it.

“Jimin doesn’t lie. He’s never lied to me and I’m sure you’re well aware of what you did”, his finger jabbed harshly above your breast, just slightly lower than your collarbone. Among many things, Jungkook was dense and forgetful. You noticed that quickly when you started spotted reminders written on his fingers or palm. Just like the little note saying “library 7pm” was written on the finger jabbing you.

Unless the track star had another reason to be in the library he never visited, he wrote that down just to catch you in time.

“Tell me, Jeon. What did I do?”, you tilted your head and moved away from him, realizing the coffee was now leaking onto the floor. You desperately wished Namjoon would hurry up and get back to help you.

“You broke his heart. Using magick or something”, you bit your lips in annoyance and turned around to face him.

“Or something? Jungkook, I never did anything to Jimin. I know you won’t believe it because you look up to him like some god, but he cheated on me. He broke my heart”, you jabbed back, hitting the same spot he hit you, “and, if you haven’t noticed, Jimin doesn’t seem heartbroken, does he?”. If he dared to say yes you may have to use that horrifying magick Jimin lied about because your ex was anything but heartbroken. He was with a new woman almost every night and, even with this knowledge, they lined up to be with him. Who could deny the charming Park Jimin?

Finally, Jungkook shook his head, his curly black hair bouncing as he did the movement. If he wasn’t such a nuisance, you might’ve wished you could run your fingers through it. It looked so fluffy.

“Then, leave me alone. It’s been years of your torment and I’m tired of it”, you sighed and slung your bag over your shoulder after shoving your slightly wet laptop into it, walking out of the library after sending a text to Namjoon that you had felt bad because no one really knew about your fights with Jungkook and Namjoon would surely try to beat his ass if he found out about it.

Leaving the coffee on the table was a bold move but a part of you hoped that the asshole would clean it up. It was his mess after all. Not your’s.

“You’re coming to the track meet, right?”, the voice startled you and you sat up on your bed, making direct eye contact with Kim Taehyung. The only guy with a key to your dorm.

“Tae, I love you but you know I do not do sports”, you grumbled and flopped back onto your bed. Your classes had you beat and the need for a nap was too great to give up. Even if it was for your best friend.

“I know but it would mean so much if you were there”, don’t do it. Don’t do it.

You did it.

You made direct eye contact with those big puppy eyes Taehyung always used to get his way. You had fallen victim once again.

Which was why you had ended up in the cold, shivering as you watched the team run around the track for what felt like an eternity.

Taehyung had done great considering he barely moved before the season but who really stood out was Jungkook. His back muscles were only moments away from ripping through the flimsy shirt he was wearing and sweat was coating his hair. He was aware of how good he looked. He always was. He even was ballsy enough to wink at one of the girls screaming his name in the crowd.

Thankfully, the pleasant bliss that was drinking kept your mind off how irritated you were. You had snuck in a beer to drink (not that everyone else didn’t) and the alcohol loosened you up a bit.

After the meet was over, a sweaty Taehyung was clinging to you like a massive koala. He was high off adrenaline and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to cuddle or jump around.

“Tae, take this before you pass out on top of me”, you handed him a water and he gratefully took it, still leaning against you as he chugged down the drink.

Taehyung and you were polar opposites. He was an athlete, quite dorky, a great singer, and was overly optimistic. You, on the other hand, liked to keep to yourself, was not the best of singers, and always stuck to the reality of things. Even if you could manipulate that reality the tiniest bit.

“Let’s get you home”, you let the man lean his weight on you tiredly as you started to walk towards the exit of the field.

“Sourpuss, I need to talk to you”, that voice was definitely not the one you needed to hear when you were this tired and already agitated. What does a girl have to do to spend time in her bed?

“I’m a little busy if you haven’t realized”, you gestured to Taehyung, who was breathing directly on your neck and nuzzling his nose against the skin. It wasn’t an odd gesture considering your close friendship but his face was so cold it send goosebumps down your spine.

“I’ll help”, Jungkook offered, quickly coming to your rescue by crouching down and getting Tae on his back. The man grumbled but was happy to take the ride considering it was less soreness for his legs to endure the next day.

The Jeon Jungkook helping? What a trip.

“What do you want?”, you winced at how rude it sounded. Sure, Jungkook most definitely deserves said rudeness, but he was helping you.

“I’m sorry”, you legitimately thought you were hearing things and turned your head to look at him, stopping in your tracks.

“Can you say that again? I don’t think I heard you correctly”, the athlete groaned before turning to look at you, frustration evident on his face.

“I’m sorry. You were right about Jimin. He’s been talking shit behind my back for months and I had no idea”, if it wasn’t for your “told you so” attitude, you would’ve felt sorry for him. Jimin was one of his closest friends after all.

“Hate to say I told you so but”, he glared at you to shut up and you quickly did. His glare was so cold that a shiver went up your spine.

“Sorry, it was a joke. Jimin is really manipulative so don’t let him bring you down”, you reassured him, even bringing your hand up to pat his shoulder. By the way he flinched away, you would’ve assumed your hand was made of lava.

Noted. Jungkook hates being touched.

“I assumed so much about you and that was immature of me”, the man smiled softly at you. It felt like arrows pierced your heart. He had such a cute smile for an asshole. Like a bunny.

“It’s fine. Lots of people assume things about me”, you shrugged as you both started walking again, Taehyung looking down at you to make sure you’re okay. He was like your protective older brother and you couldn’t be more thankful to have him around.

“But they shouldn’t. So what if you follow a different religion? It doesn’t mean you’re evil”, that was probably the first time someone agreed with your practices besides Taehyung and Namjoon (mostly because he understood it better than others).

“Thank you for saying that. It means a lot”, you finally smiled back at him, sending his heart right into his chest as his heartbeat picked up. Needless to say, he adored your smile.

“I hate to ask this of you but could you tutor me on Epidemiology? I regret ever taking it and I’ll pay you”, you were wide-eyed with shock to say the least. You didn’t expect Jungkook to go out of his way to learn. Especially, not with you.

“Sure, you can join Namjoon and I in the morning”, you nodded before you saw the way Jungkook’s nose crinkled up in displeasure.

“What? What’s wrong with that?”, he sighed in response to the question as you both reached your dorm building. You’d just let Tae stay with you for the night.

“Namjoon hates my guts. We’re way too different. Besides, aren’t you two dating? I don’t want to be some third wheel”, Jungkook almost sounded disgusted at the idea, probably imagining you making out with Namjoon in front of him.

“I’m not dating him. He’s just the only other intelligent male I can tolerate”, he seemed to relax once you finished speaking but there was still tenseness evident in his shoulders which wasn’t due to the large man on his back.

“I still don’t get along with him despite the fact that he writes about me all the time. He once yelled at me for cheating and wrote an article about it”, that was a slap right to your face. Right, Jungkook was a player and he could throw your feelings aside like one of his cigarettes. Do not get attached.

“Well, don’t cheat”, you said because, let’s be real, it’s the truth. You unlocked the door and helped Taehyung off of his back.

“Bye Koo, thanks again”, your words were quick and you kicked the door closed with your shoe, your hands full thanks to the oversized man child clinging onto you.

Koo. He liked that.

Weeks had ticked by and, somehow, Jungkook had managed to get your number. Honestly, Namjoon probably slipped it out or Taehyung gave it to him. According to Tae, the man had been oddly friendly to him and they were (borderline) friends now. They played video games together, practiced together, and even barged into your place for snacks together.

Great. Now you had two man-children to take care of and feed. It was definitely taking a chunk out of your paycheck each week to get extra snacks for the two. They ate like starving animals whenever they came over. A small part of you even thought it was just to piss you off even more.

Jungkook finally managed to get you to agree for a tutoring session with him. Just one. If this one went well then maybe you would agree to more.

The only sad thing about the session was that it was scheduled to happen right after your last class on Friday in your previous dorm. The dorm you had just finished cleaning up since the last time the two adult toddlers had destroyed it.

Surprisingly, when you had woken up one morning, Jungkook was still there. You assumed he and Tae were too drunk to get back to their own dorms and had decided to just sleepover at your’s. It was quite annoying if you were to be honest, but the way Koo looked actually interested in your religion was enticing.

He didn’t look scared or disgusted when he looked at your little collection of crystals on your desk or the jar resting on your end table sealed with candle wax. If anything, he actually looked amused or even impressed.

“I’ll pick you up after class. I can’t believe you don’t drive and walk to your dorm every day”, Jungkook shook his head as he walked beside you. Coincidentally, your last classes were next to each other but you were shocked to hear him offer to give you a ride.

“Don’t judge me, Mr. Playboy. I just have a fear of hitting someone. Have you seen the lunatics at this campus? They will run out into traffic for fun”, the man chuckled wholeheartedly at the pout on your lips. Plus, your joke was actually pretty accurate. Even he had almost hit a drunk idiot when trying to get back to his dorm late one night.

“Okay, that’s fair. So, you okay with me driving you?”, you nodded cautiously. While Jungkook was guaranteed to know every path to your dorm by now, you were still guarded. Being in that tight of a space with him was going to be difficult.

No, you don’t get those so-called “butterflies” when you were with him. Honestly, those butterflies were typically a bad sign to you. Feeling sick because you loved someone sounded a bit odd and almost contradictory.

You actually found yourself with more powerful emotions than anything. If Jungkook made you angry, you were angry. If he made you happy, you were happy.

Everything just felt so much stronger when you were around him. Thankfully, he almost always made you happy. He made you laugh because, once he discovered that beautiful sound, he couldn’t get enough.

So, after your class, you met him out in the hall and he walked you to his car. Now you realized how such an undetermined man got into college.

He was filthy rich.

Sitting there in the parking spot was a brand new Mercedes Benz. Its black color almost matched the distinct leather jacket that he decided to wear today. It very much screamed Jeon Jungkook.

However, it did not scream you whatsoever. You were almost afraid to get near it.

“Hop in. My grade isn’t getting any lower”, he opened the door for you and you weren’t sure if it was because you were friends, or whatever the fuck you two were, or if it was because he wanted a discount.

That’s not fucking happening. He’s already stolen plenty of money through snacks from your cabinets.

Meekly, you got into the vehicle, immediately buckling your seatbelt as if it was going to hurl itself into motion at any moment. Jungkook shut the door and went around to get into the drivers’ seat. Apparently he trusted his own driving so much that he never wore a seatbelt (Namjoon would’ve had a stroke if he was told that) and he drove with one hand (scratch that- make it two strokes).

Despite those things, he was an actual good driver. You felt safe and he drove the speed limit. Maybe it was just because you were in the car with him?

Getting out of the luxurious leather seats proved to be a hassle considering you knew your seats in your dorm were no where near as comfortable. You could sleep in that passenger seat without a care in the world compared to your own bed. Still, you forced yourself to get out and you two went up to your dorm. Jungkook is way too familiar with the place now considering he barely talks to you. It’s your place and, yet, he comes here for Tae.

“Alright, what unit do you need help on?”, you asked softly as you took the needed supplies out of your bag. You actually already took Epidemiology. It had nothing to do with your major but it was interesting to you. Who wouldn’t want to learn about the science of the world’s biggest killer: disease?

Jungkook simply looked at you, blinking a few times and pressing his tongue into his cheek in that nervous habit you realized he had.

“Oh- for fucks sake, Koo”, you grumbled as you realized how long of a process this was going to be.

It had been months since you began tutoring the student and, finally, there was progress.

Standing proudly with his shoulders back was Jeon Jungkook holding a test with a big number ‘92’ on it in red ink. Your heart swelled with pride.

“I passed! This was the exam review test so I’ll pass the exam, right?”, you smiled brightly as you looked at his excited eyes. You never thought Jungkook would ever be excited over passing a class but you can’t judge people by their covers, right?

“Yeah! Just keep up with the studying and you got it”, you nodded quickly, looking away from his puppy eyes when you felt happiness engulf you like a fire.

Ironically, you were actually playing with fire. Your hand tugged on the trigger and a flame flickered from the end of your lighter. You brought it down and lit the candle in front of you. To be honest, you were a bit of a goodie two shoes but you did break one rule.

No fire in the dorms.

“Hey, I really wanted to thank you. I’m actually passing all my classes now and it fills like my life has purpose again”, woah, didn’t expect that.

“No problem, Koo. Your life always has purpose. What do you mean?”, you looked up from what you were doing, noticing he was leaning against the frame of your door.

“All I did was party and drink. Sure, I was a good athlete but that can only take you so far”, you nodded in understanding and stood up, walking towards him.

He followed your every move like prey waiting for the predator to attack them.

But, instead of an attack, he was met with a warm, genuine, and, all around, great hug.

“Do you think of me as everyone else does?”, you looked up at him, meeting his starry eyes.

Oh, you hated them because of how much you loved them. They held the galaxy within them and you could stare into them for hours if given the chance.

You were many things but, tragically for Jungkook, a liar wasn’t one of them.

“Honestly, I did before. I’ve seen you do some of the things the rumors talk about-“, smoking, cheating, fighting, “but now I know that’s not all you are. There’s more to you, Koo”.

All Jungkook had been able to think about was your words. Sure, he didn’t care about your opinion before but it truly did make him happy to know you thought better of him.

“Jk! Where have you been?”, oh no.

“Jimin? I’ve just been at the gym a lot”, lies. He had been with you a lot.

“Ah, I see. How’s the bet going?”, the shorter man asked, running his fingers through his precisely cut hair. What a born model.

The bet. The bet you had no clue about. The bet Jungkook was too dense to refuse.

“It’s going. She hugged me yesterday”, Jimin scoffed and then chuckled, vastly different sounds that almost made Jungkook double over in fear. Truth be told, he despised Jimin. He despised him because he scared him. The only other man more influential than him was Jimin and that meant Jimin could ruin his reputation in a matter of seconds.

“That’s all? Damn, she really is void of love”, the bet Jimin was referring to was the one he made with the younger at the beginning of the year.

“I bet you can’t make her fall in love with you. She didn’t even love me, Koo! Me! I’m telling you, if you make her fall in love with you then I’ll get you anything you want”.

Time was running out with exams coming up and Jungkook needed to hurry if he was going to win such a bet. But, was it worth it if it meant disappointing you? Jimin may be scary but you made him feel so happy and so proud.

The only time he had seen you disappointed was when Taehyung broke one of your jars, resulting in a mess of coins, herbs, and wax on the floor. That’s the day he decided he never wanted to be on the receiving end of one of those looks.

“Yeah, she’s guarded which is understandable-“, wait- did Jeon Jungkook just grow some balls? “I’d be void of love too if everyone judged me for something I believed in”. He did.

“Where is that coming from? She deserves it, doesn’t she? Come on, JK. Keep that head in the game!”, Jimin patted his head like he was a child with all A’s on his report card, which, for once, was actually true thanks to you.

What game? You? Were you truly just a game to him?

“Alright, I’ve got this”, damn. Maybe you were.

Most nights you found yourself at the library now. It was the only place that was filled with peace and quiet. Especially on a Friday. Not even the librarian was here.

“Guess who”, hands covered your eyes and you would’ve punched the man behind you if you didn’t immediately recognize his husky voice. It was soothing with just the perfect mix of roughness. You couldn’t help but wonder what it sounded like when he just woke up.

“An asshole who thinks it’s okay to sneak up on women in a deserted place”, you grumbled and Jungkook immediately removed his hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you”, oh here we go. Argument number two thousand.

“I wasn’t scared. I was just saying that, one, you’re an ass and, two, don’t do that to women”, he nodded in agreement and you thought that was the stopping of an argument. Boy, oh boy, were you wrong.

“I won’t anymore but you’re so weak. I’ve scared you so many times now”, you glared at him. Thanks to months of being by Jungkook’s side, you had become a bit more out of control. The feelings you used to keep caged up were now more out in the open. You cussed more often, even tried drinking (and almost spit it out on him), and your frustration was no longer hidden from the world.

“Jungkook, you are a menace to society and I would like it if you leaved”, it was a pointless threat. You didn’t really mean it. You adored his company but you wouldn’t admit that with a gun to your head.

“Liar, you love me”, shit. Did you? No, don’t ask that. It was just a joke.

Damn you and your overthinking.

“No, I hate you. Shut up”, that was also a useless threat. Jungkook never shut up. He was quite the talker and shutting up was not in his vocabulary.

“No, you hate me. Shut up”, he sat on the table you were previously working on, knowing this would take a while. Your arguments always lasted between thirty minutes to two or three hours. You both hated to back down.

“No, I love you. Shut the fuck up”, wait a second-

“As you wish”, he smirked victoriously and leaned closer, his face so close to your’s that you could smell his musky cologne.

“That was wrong”, you glared at him and he shook his head, “don’t open your mouth aga-“ you were cut off as his lips connected with your’s. He kissed you so intensely that your mind was fogged up, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Finally, with your brain still hooked on adrenaline, your hands found their way to his cheeks, cupping his well defined face as you kissed back. You could feel him smile into the kiss before he pulled away, leaving a spark traveling down your body. Now, that’s a good feeling.

“Ah, I love when you shut the fuck up”, you were so close to beating him with your bag.

Everything was weird after the kiss. Life wasn’t some fairytale where you both lived happily ever after in some old palace somewhere.

No, you were both actually stuck in that “fuck, what are we?” mess.

Love wasn’t something you could control and that was why you never let it get that far, but, with Jungkook, it felt uncontrollable, spreading like wildfire.

So, you avoided him.

Of course, it wasn’t the most humane or easiest form of dealing with your feelings but it worked.

Well, for a little bit until Koo decided to block you off in the library, cornering you into the back section of the religious books. Oh, how ironic.

“What’s wrong?”, his voice made your knees want to give out. It was early and you assumed he woke up early just to catch you. His attire said that enough from his sweatpants to the tank top hugging his upper body. He obviously just threw something on before he left.

“What are you talking about?”, you tilted your head and tried to act innocent, but, once again, a liar you were not.

“Oh please, you’re obviously pissed off or scared of me or something”, bingo. You were horrified of what you were feeling and, in tune with it, Jungkook.

“I don’t know! Why do you even care? You’re obviously going to pass your exam so what am I needed for anymore?”, you winced at your own words, watching as the man’s usual bright expression turned into a sorrowful one.

“It’s much more than that, y/n”, that was probably one of the first times he had said your name. He usually called you nicknames like princess, sourpuss, or whatever else he came up with depending on his mood.

“Then what is it?”, the stare he gave you made you want to hide further into the corner. It was so predatory that your body was trying to fight its own instincts to run away and avoid the problem. You were always a flight over fight type of girl.

“You”, the one word made your eyebrows furrow, racking your brain for a response or understanding of what he meant. Jungkook shook his head as you watched your face twist in confusion.

“You’re so dense. Why would I kiss you if it wasn’t all for you?”, he leaned closer to you, hand resting on the shelf of the bookcase behind you. You silently thanked the universe that no one else was in there yet.

“Discount?”, it was the first thing you thought of and it caused a low chuckle to rumble out of Jungkook’s chest. He looked up into your eyes and it almost knocked the air out of you.

“Hmm, unless it’s a fuck buddy discount then I don’t think I want it”, he raised an eyebrow cockily and your eyes went wide. Little did Jungkook know that he just complicated your relationship even more.

“And what if I’m okay with making such a discount?”, the student practically groaned at the words, free hand finding its way on your hip, squeezing it. You don’t know where your new found confidence came from but you had gotten rather blunt since hanging out with Jungkook.

“Then I’d say you’re not the person I thought you were”, he hummed, leaning in to whisper in your ear. The way his breath tickled your ear sent sparks through your body.

“Is that what you want? For me to take you here against these books?”, yes you did. Looking around, you were met with many versions of Bible and other holy books of all religions. It was absolutely filthy and wrong to do it there which was why it was perfect.

“Yes, I want that”, your nails dug into the wood behind you, trying to ground your emotions down. It had always been an escape tactic to you.

“How naughty”, now you understood why he had chosen today of all days to corner you. He loved the skirt you were wearing and how easily it gave access to everything delicious underneath. Plus, your legs were perfect to him.

His fingers danced along your thighs before he pushed up your skirt, revealing the black lace panties underneath. Oh, you knew what was going to happen today and you definitely knew Jungkook liked his black.

“So pretty. Just for me?”, the question took you off guard, your own questions flooding your brain. Ultimately, after a few moments of silence, you decided he probably had a possession thing. Who didn’t like to feel powerful?

“Just for you, Koo. Fuck, touch me please”, so you decided to feed his little ego, edging him on until he pulled the panties to the side to reveal your glistening pussy.

The dim light of the library truly didn’t do it justice but he couldn’t help himself from finding it to be also perfect. He was in deep shit now.

His long fingers ran down your slit until they reached their destination: your pussy. He rubbed around it before he slowly plunged his middle finger into the wetness, curling against your walls.

Fuck, you always hated that finger but with it inside of you? Maybe you could make an exception.

Your body shook in response to the stimulation since you hadn’t been touched in so long, your hands gripping the wood tighter to keep yourself steady. Jungkook smirked when you clenched around his finger before he added another, stretching you out wonderfully as he scissored you open.

And that was when Jungkook found his favorite sound in the world.

“Jungkook! Oh god”, you moaning his name sounded like music to his ears and he couldn’t get enough. The only thing he hated was how quiet it was since you were still conscious of the library around you. He wanted you to scream it.

“You like that, princess? You want more?”, you obediently nodded, not in the mood to be denied an orgasm (which you were sure Jungkook would do if you didn’t obey). The man chuckled and leaned down, still pumping his fingers steadily as if it took no effort at all. If you had done this yourself then your fingers would have been cramping by now.

Your body jolted when Jungkook’s plump lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly on the nerve as if he was starving. To be fair, he had skipped breakfast.

You feared for the books behind you as your body spasmed, orgasming on the man’s fingers. You took deep breaths once you were finished and watched as Jungkook pulled away, pulling his cum covered fingers out of you.

With prolonged eye contact, he slipped the digits into his mouth and sucked the juices off of them. A new wave of arousal went through you when he tapped your lips with them, making you open your mouth. You gagged briefly when they hit the back of your throat but you sucked on it, licking your way up his middle finger.

“Good girl”, now that was going to haunt you forever. You whined when he pulled his fingers away and he smiled teasingly at you.

“I’m going to need to see these”, your eyes went wide when he gripped the collar of your shirt and ripped it clean down the middle, tossing it aside as if it didn’t cost you a fortune.

“Jeon Jungkook! That was expensive”, you huffed but he paid you no mind, just reaching behind you to remove your bra too so it can join the rest of your clothes.

“What if someone sees? I can’t cover these up quickly, Koo”, you crossed your arms over your chest, looking around cautiously. Jungkook just laughed and pulled your arms away, pinning your wrists above your head so he can press his body against your own.

“Take my shirt off and you can put that over you for the day. It’s fine, sourpuss”, oh you would’ve slapped him if you weren’t so turned on. He let go of your wrists and you quickly removed his shirt for him, revealing a muscular chest you could’ve never imagined.

And he never imagined how beautiful you’d look with your hard nipples pressed against the thin fabric of his white t-shirt. He grabbed them immediately and you failed to see the spark in his eyes as he squished them together.

“That was one of my favorite shirts. What a di-“, you yelped when he pulled your leg up over his shoulder, yanked his pants and boxers down, and pulled your panties aside to rub his angry tip against your folds. Your head rested back as he rubbed against your clit, covering his cock in your juices.

“What a dick indeed”, Jungkook chuckled deeply, arousal blurring his world into nothing but you. The only thing that mattered at that moment was feeling you.

His lips attached to your neck and you were so out of reality that you didn’t realize he was littering the skin with his marks, a silent claim on you as he pushed himself inside of you.

“Oh shit, it’s exactly as I imagined. So tight and warm”, and he was just as you imagined. So very big. You didn’t think anyone else could stretch you out as much as Jeon Jungkook and that thought made you groan.

“You’ve been imagining it?”, it was your turn to smirk and, for the first time ever, the man in front of you blushed.

“Oh please princess. I know you’ve been thinking about it too”, and you had been. Not that you’d ever admit that after he just basically friends with benefits zoned you.

“Just move you asshole”, Jungkook gripped your hair, tugging on the soft strands as he finally kept pushing, bottoming out inside of you perfectly.

His big hands moved to grip your hips, a little help to keep you up as he started to snap his own into your’s. He was mildly uncomfortable at first but, as you adjusted to his size, bliss filled your body.

Finally, you were doing something to make yourself happy and pleased. Maybe Jeon Jungkook wasn’t the best man to do it but he was making you feel so so good.

The man snapped you out of your thoughts as he brought your hand down to your clit. You understood and started to rub it, happy knowing that Jungkook was also looking out for your own pleasure too. Not that you’d know he had been thinking about you creaming on his big cock for months now.

“Keep doing that”, he whispered despite the heavy groan that threatened to come out. He was referring to the uncontrollable clenching you were doing around his dick, sucking him into your walls with each muscle movement. You listened and (despite knowing you were going to keep doing it anyways) clenched once again.

“Can I cum inside?”, you whimpered at the idea of Jungkook’s cum filling you up and, knowing you’re on grade A birth control, you nodded. While Jungkook was effortlessly attractive, kids were not part of your plans by far.

“You close too, princess?”, you nodded, a small moan spilling past your lips despite your best efforts to be quiet. With that knowledge, the man orgasmed and you could feel his seed start to coat your insides. The feeling made you tumble over into your own orgasm, coating his softening cock with your release.

“I think that’s the best sex I’ll ever have”, you praised him as you tried to put your cramping leg down off his shoulder. Instead, he held it tighter and pulled himself out of you. He watched as his cum started the spill out of you, dripping down your thighs beautifully.

So, he’s a man who likes to admire his work.

You almost screamed when he pushed it back inside of you with his finger due to the sensitivity.

“See you later, sourpuss”, Jungkook smirked and put your panties back to their original position before he pulled his own boxers and pants back up. He walked off and you were left gobsmacked with his cum dripping out of you onto your panties.

As the weeks passed by, the world became more vibrant and cheerful but also more chilling and worrisome.

Exams were over and you were free to go wherever you pleased but, somehow, you always found yourself wanting to be with what was supposed to be your secret guilty pleasure. Now, he was your everything. He truly brought color into your world; sadly, color always comes with black and white.

“I won the bet, Jimin. I want what I asked for”, you listened intently from the other aisle of books. The library had become your go to spot to find Jungkook. Surprisingly, the once unmotivated student was more frequently in here because of the sheer relief he got when you stood before him with a proud smile. What a softy.

“Really? She fell for you? Damn, you still got it. I can’t believe you asked for this though”, the disgust in your ex’s voice was evident and you so desperately wanted to see what he was referring to. You truly thought Koo had stopped being friends with Jimin after he apologized but apparently you were wrong about a lot of things. Most of all, you were wrong to love again.

Feeling your tears start to spill down your cheeks for the first time in years, you forced yourself out of the library. You should’ve seen it coming. What would a playboy want with you? A woman looking for a serious relationship? You’re an idiot and you’ll fix it.

Said playboy must’ve spotted you because you could hear his heavy footsteps behind you as you rushed out of the library, hurrying into a run with the safety of your dorm in mind. It was time to end this.

So, here you were. Remembering everything from the past few months as the candles in front of you burned, getting so desperately close to the string connecting them. You had carved an evident ‘JK’ on one and your initials on the other, bonding them to the people who needed to be apart from one another.

Watching his candle, you noticed the wax dripping down the long wick and you knew they were tears. You knew because of the loud banging coming from your dorm door, the man on the other side screaming and sobbing for you to let him explain.

Your candle, however, burned strongly with vengeance. It stood so tall compared to Jungkook’s and, as the fire finally burned through the string tying you both together, you felt free. It was like Jeon Jungkook had never affected you before and his name slowly slipped from your mind.

Eventually, the banging stopped as the candles reached their ends and the fire flickered out under your gaze. You felt so blissfully numb as you walked towards the door, opening it to reveal a confused Jungkook looking up at you.

“What did you do? It’s like-“, you cut him off with your hand, pulling him up rather roughly.

“You never knew me. That’s how I want it, Jeon Jungkook. You never knew me and I never knew you. Now, get your prize and leave me alone”, you slammed the door in his face. You felt pure relief but Jungkook could still feel a pang of want in his body.

You had failed to notice the little wax left of his candle that stood strong as you dumped it in the trash and he failed to notice that he had left his “prize” outside your door as he rushed off.

A gorgeous rose quartz necklace.

What a way to declare your love to a witch who just cut it all off.

#binxyu #btsghostie #lsn.works #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook imagines #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook smuts #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshots #jungkook oneshot #bts jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagines #bts oneshots #bts scenarios

[unrelenting-jazz-hands]

He picked the wrong seat.

(This is something that’s been floating in my head. I love college!AUs and I’m just happy to be here. I like the idea of Levi studying to be a social worker and Hange being a behavioural Neuropsychology prof/researcher. plus Hange would have rats... this fic is just a place for her to have rats and rat friends.)

He didn’t know it when he first sat down on the couch, but he should have known it when a woman in maroon sweatpants staggered up to his couch.

She placed the tower of books and papers she was carrying onto the couch with a grunt that let on how heavy the pile had been. She shook out her arms before sitting on the other side of newly formed blockade. Levi glanced her way and leaned over to throw a scowl, to make sure she knew the disruption was not appreciated.

But she just sat quietly and read. So, he didn’t move, he figured it would be fine. He should have moved.

And she just sat quietly and read. So, he didn’t move, he figured it would be fine. He should have moved.

"Hange! Hey, Hange! There you are, why didn't you answer your phone?" A young man jogged over to the woman sitting on the couch next to Levi.

Levi's scowl deepened, and he glanced at his watch, not for the first time in the last 15 minutes. His own class finished over an hour ago, but Isabel's lecture wouldn't be finished for another 45 minutes. It was getting late, and as the air grew colder, the nights were getting darker. He didn't like the idea of her walking home alone at this time of night. Furlan thought he was being dramatic, they weren’t on Understreet anymore.

The kid approached the couch and dropped his bag unceremoniously at her feet. He looked a little older than Isabel. Fuck, he was dreading the day she introduces some dumb boyfriend to him.

The woman slowly looked up and seemed more startled than she should have been to see the kid in front of her. She blinked and looked at her watch.

"Oh, it's 6:45 already? Hey Jean! Sorry, I lost track of time." One of her hands was still on the stack of books that was starting to lean just a little too much for Levi's comfort.

He shifted away and glanced around the room. The atrium was busy and noisy. There wouldn't be anywhere else to sit this side of campus on a gloomy September night. The choices were to either sit here or to stand somewhere like a weirdo. He grumbled to himself and looked back down at his notes.

Jean shrugged, "All good, Hange. But, where's your phone? You didn't see my messages?"

Hange looked down at the report in her hand as though she expected herself to be holding the phone. "Oh... I thought I had it." She attempted to pat down her jacket pockets (of which there were far too many) and then tried to use her foot to move her bag towards her.

Glancing up at the kid with a slight frown, "what's up? Why? Did something happen at the lab?"

"No," Jean said with smile, "Armin was just asking what time he should tell his tutorial the kick-off party starts. And then just to say that the slides for the lecture tomorrow look good."

Levi watched out of the corner of his eyes as Jean bent down to help the woman check her bag for her phone and mumbled, "We really should get you a case you can clip to your belt or something…"

"A-ha!" Hange raised a fist clenched around a flip phone, and then suddenly, she was holding it with two hands.

Her pile of books had had enough and was about to topple over when Levi's arms shot out to steady the tower before it collapsed on the brunette. She hadn't even noticed.

He didn't mean to catch the books before they fell. He really hadn't planned on moving at all; the books weren't even falling his way. It was her own damn fault if she didn't notice. But, his body was just too used to moving quickly to catch pictures, mugs, and lamps before they could reach the floor. It wasn't a coincidence that they didn't have many breakables in the apartment, what with the way Isabel was constantly twirling around and Furlan's sleepwalking.

When Hange did notice, a few seconds later, she let out a startled yelp and attempted to use her whole body to steady her library.

"Shit, no! That's making it worse," Levi said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. He steadied the pile again and kept his arms holding it up for a while longer before shooting a glare to the airhead next to him.

"Sorry, sorry!" Hange said with a laugh. She grinned at him from around the books, "thanks a bunch, though! Wild reflexes!"

He rolled his eyes, "You just weren't paying attention."

She raised an eyebrow and cracked a grin, "what? Were you staring at me?"

Levi felt his cheeks go warm and diverted his gaze from the woman's laughing eyes.

"No, I wasn't," he said curtly, "I was just sitting in the fucking danger zone."

He made sure the books were steadied before he picked up his notebook again.

The kid in front of them coughed and shifted around uncomfortably. "Thanks, man," he said while giving Levi a quick once over. "If those textbooks go down, all the paper she's stuffed into them would have ended up everywhere. It took hours to match the notes up to their text pages again."

Jean reached over and started restacking Hange's stuff on the floor while she held on. She still looked like she found the whole thing much too funny for Levi's liking. He decided not to look her way.

"You should really organize your shit better," Levi mumbled, keeping his eyes on his paper.

Hange leaned her head back against the couch, "aww, man... that's what everyone says. I've tried, guys! It just never lasts." She let out an exasperated sigh.

Jean muttered something too quiet for Levi to catch, but Hange nudged him with her foot and shot him a look.

"Well, enjoy carting around half the library then..." Levi shot her way and that, he hoped, was their last interaction.

Hange looked down at Levi's open binder, which was neatly labelled and visibly well organized.

She let out a small "huh," before turning her attention to the kid again.

"Alright, Jean! Well, the kick-off party starts at 8:30 at the Wallflower. I'll head over after my lectures and locking up the lab." She frowned, "wait, why wouldn't people join? Puppy therapy is always super busy."

Jean sighed and leaned his head to the side, "yeah, but Hange. I mean, the hype just isn't the same with rats. Plus, the lab is intense and the hours for the regular meetings are kind of random."

Levi frowned at his notes. What the fuck? Fucking weirdo...

Hange sighed, "yeah, you're right." Then shot him a bright grin, "But! I swear I'm about to get a big grant to really kick it all up a notch! We're really getting somewhere, and we can maybe take on a few more assistants next semester to help with all the data entry that's going to need to happen!" She was basically bouncing.

She paused and looked around the room quickly before returning her fiery gaze back to Jean, who was looking a little frazzled.

"And get this, Jean Boy, I've been working on something with Moblit. I can't get into it right now, but it could be really big if it all goes according to plan. Like really big!" She was bouncing again. Her hand gestures were getting more exaggerated and much too close to Levi's personal space. He decided to just lean away and scowl instead of getting dragged into another conversation.

Jean narrowed his eyes, "Wait, like big for you and research nerds or big as in normal people big."

Hange grabbed his hands, "like brand new wing big. Like the Rat Pack Club goes on vacation big."

Levi was still looking at his notes. He had to admit he was starting to be a little more curious than he was annoyed. She was trying to whisper but wasn't doing a very good job at it. God, it was like she didn't know how to be quiet.

"Wait, so this is something you're working on with Dr. Berner? I thought you were still heartbroken from him switching labs," Jean asked while trying to take his hands back. "Is he back?"

Hange shook her head, and her smile dimmed a little, "no, my ride or die still over at the Medical Imaging Lab in the comp sci building." She perked up and continued on, "But! It may have worked out for us in the end!"

Jean looked a little less tired now, "huh... well, when can you tell us about it? Who knows about it?"

Hange let out a low chuckle, "uh, well, don't tell anyone. It started as just a little side project for Moblit, Nanaba, Nifa, and me. We didn't expect it to really go anywhere. So keep it to yourself, for now, I'll let y'all know when I can."

Jean nodded. He looked determined and, suddenly, a lot younger than he had a minute ago. He gave a mock salute, "you got it, Doc!"

Hange mirrored his salute and gave him a wink. "Awesome, ok! Oh, also, did you have any questions about tomorrow's lecture?"

Jean shrugged and shook his head, "nah, I looked it over, and it's pretty chill. Cog Psyc was a fun course."

Levi glanced up and looked at the top right corner of his notes. Intro to Cognitive Psychology.

"And that's exactly the vibe we want this semester! Fun!" Hange exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

"Yeah… ok, fun. I can do that," Jean mumbled. "I'll tell Armin," he said as he turned to go. The kid waved lazily over his shoulder, "See ya tomorrow, Hange!"

"Get home safe, Jean! Tell Sasha and Connie I say hello," Hange waved to the back of the kid's head before leaning back and slouching down.

"Rat Pack Club goes on vacation. Ha! Take that monkey brain," Hange muttered with a smile. She closed her eyes like she getting ready to take a long nap in the middle of the atrium, which was getting less busy as time went by.

"Oh!" She exclaimed and shot up and turned to face Levi with a much-too-bright smile, "I forgot to introduce myself!"

She stuck out a hand that was covered in ink smudged. Levi felt the corner of his lips fall and held back a snarky comment; he really was trying to be less pissy, as Isabel put it. He sighed and reached out to shake her hand. He had hand sanitizer in his pocket.

"I'm Zoe Hange, but please call me Hange! Nice to meet you, and thanks for saving my books!"

Levi nodded, "Levi." He went to take his hand back, but the weirdo was still shaking it.

"You're taking Psyc 221 tomorrow, right? That's awesome. I hope you're ready for a heckin' good semester, Levi!" Hange was still shaking his hand.

"Yeah. Yeah, it sounds great," Levi mumbled as he jerked his hand away from her grip.

"Is this your first semester here? Transfer student? Do you live on campus? What courses are you taking?" Hange kept going as though he looked happy to be there instead of inching away and gathering his papers to leave.

"Second semester here, transferred from Wallrose College," Levi muttered. He didn't want to admit it, but Hange's enthusiasm was putting him on edge. What the fuck was she on?

Hange nodded enthusiastically, "That's great! Welcome, and if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask! I'll be your lecturer for PSYC 221. My lab's down in the Neuro wing, so feel free to stop by if you have any questions!" She pointed down the hall that had a staircase at the end of it. "I always really enjoy having some older students," she continued, "at least someone to make eye contact with when the kids make a reference I don't know." Hange smiled at him before rummaging through her pocket and proceeding to hand him a business card. He didn't want to take it, but he also didn't want to piss off his professor. Fuck it, whatever.

"I know what you mean. My younger sister is always trying to get me to do these stupid fucking dances for TikTok or whatever the fuck," Levi grumbled out as he looked over the card. His eyes flicked upwards to meet hers.

"[email protected]?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. He didn't let it leak into his voice, but, shit… She had to be a few years younger than he was, and she was a professor and director of a research lab. He didn't want to say he was impressed, but he was. But she was also a fucking weirdo.

Hange nodded and smiled widely. She reached back into her pocket, grabbed the card back from Levi, and scrawled something down with the newly retrieved pen. The pen was labelled, pocket pen.

"Yeah! It's the email address for the club I started with some students. My research lab has been doing some behavioural studies with rats, and it's hard not to fall for their little paws and their little eyes. So, every now and then, we get together and hang out and chill with some rats. This Friday, we are having our kick-off party. You should stop by!"

Hange handed him the card back. It had a time, a date, and an address.

"This is more of a social gathering at a bar near campus, not really a regular meeting. It's mostly just a bunch of research assistants and a few of us old folk having some drinks," Hange shrugged, still smiling. She wasn't done, "the usual meetings are chilling with the rats and throwing around ideas. Sometimes the students pitch us some experiments, and then we give them feedback."

Levi didn't think he would go. To the meetings or the party tomorrow. Hell, he knew for sure he wasn't going to go. Still, he nodded and muttered out a half-assed, "sure."

"Plus! The kids don't stay too long at the parties. They eventually head out after a few drinks to the next destination to get trashed where their profs can't see them. So it's only rowdy for a little while. It's been a while since I made it to the second location. I'm not that old, but I'm not that young anymore." She laughed lightly, and Levi was caught off guard by how pretty the sound was.

"I can't Fridays," Levi said as he pocketed the card, "I work Friday afternoons."

Hange nodded, "It's 8:30 to late-thirty, so stop on by if you want! Or if you know someone who'd-"

She was cut off by someone dropping their bag onto Levi's lap.

"What the fuck?" He started, looking up with a scowl. Of fucking course it was Isabel. He looked at his phone and saw 5 missed calls.

"Dude, what's the point of having a phone if you never answer it," Isabel said with a little more sass than Levi was used to. His brow furrowed. He'd ask about that later.

"Don't be a shit," he said gruffly, but still more gently than his usual tone. She made him worry like that. "My phone was on silent."

"Hi! You must be Levi's sister! He mentioned he had a younger sister." Hange stood up and grabbed Isabel's hand with a smile, "I'm Hange. I'll be your brother's professor starting tomorrow. Should I be keeping an eye on him? I feel like he's going to give me a hard time." Hange gave Isabel a wink and a smirk, which the younger girl returned. She looked a little less tense than she had a minute ago.

"Pfft, Nah. He's pretty bland." Isabel replied and shook Hange's hand with significantly more enthusiasm than Levi had. "I'm Isabel. Thanks for engaging with Mr. Grumpy here. He usually just sits there like a weirdo."

Levi stood up and thrust Isabel's bag back into her arms, "Ok, time to go." He turned on his heel and started walking away at a brisk pace.

Hange shouted out, "bye, Levi! See ya tomorrow!"

Levi waved over his shoulder but stopped when he didn't hear Isabel following behind him.

Isabel was still standing next to Hange, who was staring at her pile of books. He groaned and made his way back to the couch as Hange leaned down and tried to pick up the stack.

He placed a hand on Isabel's shoulder and attempted to steer her away.

"Isabel let's go," Levi said.

The young lady shook her head, "Nah. I'm catching a ride with some friends. We're gonna go get some food before heading home! So don't worry about me!" Isabel gave him a look and gestured towards Hange, still mapping out a game plan. Levi pretended not to notice her look and shot her a glare of his own.

"Isabel. Dammit, why did you tell me that before I stayed till the end of your classes?"

Hange let out a chortle and glanced up at them, "Ha! Classic. Have fun, kid!"

"Well, since you don't need to worry about me," Isabel said sweetly, "you're free right now. Hange, let Levi help you with this!" She shoulder-checked Levi and stuck out her tongue at him with a grin.

"I'm sure she's fine," Levi said.

"Oh, man! I would so appreciate it!" Hange all but yelled, standing up suddenly. Her head smashed right into Levi's chin, making them both groan and bring their hands up to their respective injuries.

"Dammit, four-eyes. Be fucking careful," Levi growled. He shot Isabel a look, but it didn't stop her giggling. He was losing his edge.

"Ok, bye! I have my phone, and it won't be on silent!" She waved and hurried off in the direction of the exit. There was a group of girls who waved, laughing, before walking off together. Levi let out an exasperated sigh, but he was happy to see she was making friends. She deserved it.

Groaning, he looked back down. Hange… was just sitting on the floor, next to her pile of books. No, she wasn't just sitting there. She was reading a book.

"Yo, four-eyes. You want help or not."

"Hmm?" She looked up as though unsure of who was talking to her. She blinked her big, brown eyes and then smiled. Her lips formed a little oh, and though she only just remembered where she was. "Oh, yes! Sorry, I got side-tracked there for a minute. How's your chin! I'm really sorry about that!"

She stood and reached out to touch Levi's face.

He took a step back, "You were just touching the floor. I don't want you touching my face!" He felt his cheeks warm up a bit and shifted his gaze. He picked up most of the stupid, fucking books.

She chuckled and reached down to pick up the rest. She looked at him with a grin and replied, "that's a fair point, Shorty."

"Shorty?" Levi all but dropped the books. "Whatever, Four-eyes," he said and stormed away.

He heard some undignified sputtering as she tried to think of a comeback. He smirked. Good, she should feel bad.

"You just called me Four-eyes? What, I can't call you Shorty?"

"Not when I'm doing you a favour," he shot back. " And after you try to break my face!"

"No! Come back, Shor- Levi! I mean... I mean, come help me, Levi," she sounded whiney. He wasn't sure if he liked that sound.

He turned around and saw her trying to pick up the stack again. He let out a sigh and dragged his feet back to the fucking weirdo, again.

"Oh my fucking god… Why do you even have this many books with you?" He said gruffly as he took an armful of the offending items.

"Research!" Hange exclaimed as though it was obvious. She started to walking away at a surprisingly fast pace.

"What the fuck, slow down, weirdo," Levi said. In-fucking-credible.

"Well, come on then!" Hange said, glancing over her shoulder. "My office isn't too far away."

It sure felt like it was, though.

After winding their way through the halls and then down several sets of stairs, Hange finally unlocked a door and turned on the lights of her office. It was absolutely filled with books, with stacks of papers covering every surface. She shuffled into the room, stepping over a few plastic boxes, and placed her cargo on her chair. It was the only surface that had any space. Hange motioned for Levi to hand her his share, which she placed on the ground, next to the chair.

"Fuck, Hange. How the hell do you ever find anything?" Levi said, unable to hide the growing frustration from his tone. He didn't like clutter, and he really didn't like this room. "This is a fucking mess."

"Oh, it's not that bad! I can find what I need eventually!" She waved her hand and flicked off the lights. Hange picked up two plastic boxes, letting out a small grunt as she did so.

"Alright! Let's head out. Close the door, would you?" She nodded to the open door.

"What's in the boxes?" Levi asked, shutting the door. He had no idea why he was still here. Why was he still here, talking to this lunatic. God, he shuttered thinking of the stacks of paper in that little office.

"Oh, just old notebooks that I need to shred, some speakers I need to donate, and then a lot of rat food to bring to the shelter."

He had forgotten about the rats.

He looked over at the tall, lanky woman. She was obviously struggling. Shit.

"Give me those," he muttered as he took the boxes from her.

She let out an audible sigh as she shook out her arms, "oof, thanks a bunch! Ok, it's over this way!"

Levi glanced her way, "what is?"

"My apartment!"

He felt weird about this. He didn't know this person. Well, he did, or he would know her. Tomorrow, anyways. It still felt weird. He wasn't sure he really knew why. He nodded silently and followed her.

He paused when he looked down.

"Are you wearing fucking crocs?"

#levihan #college!au #levi is a loving older brother #and Hange is a delight #I’d carry her books #a mess but I hope u like this mess #aot #attack on titan fanfic #fanfic #levihan fic #myposts

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Please tell us more about Seventh Virtue–we need more? Also what was your general thought process for writing this right now?

Hello!! Seventh Virtue is the fantastical version of the Fostered series (which I’ve been writing for many years as you probably already know)! I came up with the initial idea for this project back in the summer of 2019, but knew I’d probably never write it because at the time, I couldn’t see myself writing beyond literary fiction (and also: I know nothing about fantasy :)) in fact I think I’ve only ever read 3 fantasy books from the same series and that was years ago)!

This led to why I’m writing it right now, actually! Earlier this week, my sister and I binge watched Shadow and Bone and it reminded me of this project (which I’d called Fostered But It’s Magic haha). I couldn’t help but delve more and more into the project as the days progressed, and so I decided I’d try to draft it. I actually tried to draft this project once before as a screenplay because I thought it’d translate better to screen, but gave up FAST when I realized I am terrible at screenwriting! With this in mind, I knew I wanted to write this project, but I’m also impatient, and know I want to write more things this summer. TBH, I didn’t want to spend the rest of my vacation writing another Fostered book (I planned to write something outside of this universe but apparently it doesn’t want me to??) so yesterday at 1AM, I came up with a very... stupid idea to write 10k words in one day.

I made this decision strictly for anxiety exposure. I’m exporting the vlog where I chat about this experience so I won’t delve too much into it. TL;DR: I wrote 11k words yesterday, and finished the first chapter (almost done the second).

So what’s the book about?? Honestly, it’s pretty loose right now. This is the pitch I wrote way back in 2019, which is more or less accurate:

After being tormented by nightmares of his ex lover, which result in violent hot flashes and an inability to keep up a job, Harrison seeks a magical intervention. When the clairvoyant he hopes will cure his strange ailment turns out to be a con woman—and his old friend, Reeve—he is thrown back into the past and forced to rekindle relationships he thought he’d left behind.

The main thing that’s surprised me since drafting is how contemporary this world is?? Despite being literally fantasy, this setting is the most contemporary-aligned compared to the rest of the series. Fostered book 1-6 take place in a sort of dystopia (which gets softer and softer as the books continue), whereas Moth Work and Feeding Habits take place in older-contemporary times (2006)! This book on the other hand I could certainly see taking place in some sort of alternate 2019 (because we :) cannot include the pandemic years :)). It’s also magnificently funny?? I feel really blessed to have just decided to write this book. I know about 10% of what is going on at all times, but it’s so fun to draft!

Something I didn’t expect initially was how big a presence Foster would have in this book! I kind of :) forgot about Foster in Moth Work/Feeding Habits (so sorry he is still an icon), and while I knew he’d be Harrison’s roommate, I kind of assumed he’d be a side character?? But no, he said, I am reclaiming my “Main Cast” title and you can do nothing to stop me. For the majority of what I’ve written, Harrison and Foster are living in the past. This is because Foster can ~time travel, but is incredibly ethical and sustainable, so he refuses to actually change the past/do anything that would affect the present/future. After a hex goes wrong and results in Harrison’s mother getting into an accident and eventually disappearing, Harrison’s life is in literal shambles. Tormented by nightmares and hot flashes, he is NOT living his best life. To cope, Foster agrees to take them back to the past where he can relive the last 5 days before his mother’s accident, thinking they will only stay there for that one week. But when they’ve repeated the same week dozens of time, Foster ups the pressure on Harrison to give him the okay to head back to the present. And when these “hot flashes”/nightmares get even worse, Foster tells Harrison about a “healer” who cured his broken wrist (so he could plant his tomatoes lol), Harrison concedes and they finally head back to present day so he too can visit this woman, who is actually their old friend, Reeve.

This book is SO angsty and hilarious! I think my favourite thing about it is that I get to write Lonan and Harrison falling in love again lol, which I didn’t exactly get to experience in the conventional way (the first time around). By the time we meet Lonan (who is introduced in book 2), he and Harrison already have a pretty complex relationship. This relationship gets even more tangled in book 3, and book 5 is where we get to see the first glimpses of a romance. Somewhere in this timeline, between books 3-5, they ~fell in love, but I don’t know when! I think most of that occurred off the page, so even I don’t know. What’s so fun is now I get to glimpse into that a little bit more. Their relationship is my favourite thing and always has been, about this entire series, so I’m so stoked to finally get to dabble with it from the beginning. All I really know at the moment is that they meet because Lonan catches Harrison being a thief lol so, so much fun tension already to work with!

I’m not sure if I’ll finish this, mostly because the prospect of writing an 80k novel sort of terrifies me?? The project is almost 12k at the moment, and we really have only scratched the very surface, so we’ll see! I haven’t written genre fiction in so long and I’m adoring this! It’s also so much less strenuous than writing literary lols so perfect because I’m still a little wiped out after my semester ended!

Here’s an excerpt when Harrison meets up with Reeve for the first time:

The shop’s name is The Lark’s Lagoon. When he enters, a string of freshwater shells clatter, like bells would. She is not at the table like she was in the past, so he putters around the shop. Some of the things she sells are silly. Plastic mood rings that are clearly heat activated and more suited for a child but marketed to women in their thirties. Ping pong balls with the inscription enchanted aims. Snowglobes with a miniature witch figurine who says I’ll tell your fortune when you shake it.

“That’s a bestseller.” Her voice comes so suddenly that Harrison drops the globe. It shatters across the floor in a glittery bundle. “So you’re going to need to pay for that.”

Harrison describing Lonan lol:

Harrison hated him. He was cute, but Harrison hated him.

Harrison chilling in his timeloop where he can’t be seen:

It’s harder avoiding birds than he thinks. Every time one spots him, his body lurches, magnetized in the direction of the apartment. If it weren’t for the trees he latches onto along the way, he’d already be back at the brownstone listening to Foster lecture him on not being seen and not exploiting his magic. So he becomes more careful. Checks every direction—up down, left, right, diagonally, whatever—until he is certain no one can see him.

Some Stressed Foster dialogue lol I love him protect him at all costs:

“How many times have I told you that you cannot be seen in the timeloop? I woke up with a migraine five minutes ago and when I went to find you, realized you’d slipped out. Do you know how my brain feels when you stretch the timeloop like that? It feels like someone’s cracking it. My brain, a walnut. You, a nutcracker. Not to mention, you didn’t even leave a note. What if you were robbed? Or murdered? What if they dismembered you and I had no idea?

so that’s this project! don’t see any reason to stop writing it, so I’ll make an update on it soon! :) let me know if you have any more q’s!

#asks #writing #fostered #seventhvirtue

[prayedtoyou]

overrated - read it on ao3

<<  when you get home, will you help me with a project?

>>  sure thing. i have to stop by the gas station on my way back, want anything?

<<  yeah, grab me some of those chocolate covered raisins that i like

>>  you got it. see you in 15

Dean had plans to go home after his three classes of the day to watch Netflix with his hand in his pants and eat pepper jack Cheez-Its until his stomach hurt, but he supposes it wouldn’t hurt to cancel those plans to help out his roommate for a few hours. Dean doesn’t often interrupt plans with himself, especially on a day where he doesn’t have any homework and he doesn’t have to show up for a shift at the salvage yard, but Cas is someone Dean doesn’t mind giving up a  few luxuries for.

Dean met Cas in their Design 101 class during freshman year. It was nothing more than a foundation class, one that Dean and Cas had to take in pursuit of their BFA degrees in film and television, and photography, respectively. Dean expected to jack off to the course by flirting with the fellow classmates while still paying just enough attention to pass the class and turn in projects and assignments on time, but when Cas started sitting next to him in the third week of the semester and heckled him about listening to the professor and taking better notes, Dean really started to buckle down and take it a little more seriously.

They’ve been friends ever since. They had late night study sessions during their first year when they were only an elevator ride away from each other’s dorm rooms. Their first college summer was mostly spent at the Biggerson’s just off SCAD’s campus where Cas served tables; Dean would come in to bother him, drink coffee, and take advantage of the free WiFi. They found an apartment they could barely afford just south of the metro area and moved in a week before the new school year started. They still have that same apartment.

This was to Charlie’s disappointment, at first. She had suggested moving in together before Cas had and Dean had been on the fence about it. He loved Charlie, they got along, she understood his nerdy references, they had similar taste in women--but he had been holding out for another photography major to make his move. She quickly forgave him when she met and later moved in with her girlfriend, Dorothy.

There was just something about Cas that set him apart from Dean’s other friends. It might have to do with how passionate Cas was about his classes and major; since sixth grade, he’s known that he would grow up to be a photographer for National Geographic so he could travel the world and take pictures of all his favorite creatures. Or it might have to do with his sense of humor--a little dark and always just flirtatious enough to make Dean wonder just how serious he is and whether or not he should laugh or take him up on his offers.

More than likely, though, it has to do with how attractive he is, how his smile is so bright it puts the sun to shame, how his laugh makes Dean’s heart swell up like a helium balloon, how he’s intelligent and eloquent, but also absolutely clueless about a lot of stuff Dean considers to be required life knowledge. Does most of that knowledge revolve around Star Wars, Back to the Future, and Indiana Jones movie references? Yes, but that’s beside the point.

And that’s what led Dean to living with the guy for going on three years, to spending entire days dedicated to showing Cas his favorite movies and shows, to picking up dark chocolate Raisinets on his way home from school, to walking into their apartment and calling out Cas’s name just like Ricky Ricardo.

Cas shouts back from the opposite side of the apartment where their bedrooms are. Dean finds Cas in his room, furniture pushed away from one wall and replaced with Cas’s favorite reading chair from the living room (that old, forest-green armchair that Cas found at an antique store on the Savannah River that Dean verbally hated, but secretly used when Cas wasn’t around because it’s about the most comfortable thing in the world), and a camera set up on a tripod facing the chair. Cas is wearing that white button down that looks especially good against the tan he got over the summer, the one that matches Dean’s after they spent several long days on Tybee Island right before their senior year started.

“So, what’s the project?” Dean asks, handing over the box of Raisinets. He curses at himself for forgetting to get a snack of his own while he was out.

Cas takes the box with a smile. “Thanks, Dean. This one is based on touch and what emotions it brings out in us, but we can’t have more than one subject in the shot. So, I need you to put this on.” Cas reaches out and drops a small black object into Dean’s palm.

It’s… a tube of lipstick.

“Uh, Cas? I thought we’ve established that I’m not really much of a model.”

Cas rolls his eyes, no doubt remembering the arguments they had on the river walk during their second year when Cas tried to shoot Dean for an assignment that ended up with them deciding that Dean would stick with filming and Cas would recruit performing arts majors to be his models. “I know, I'm not taking pictures of you, you’re taking pictures of me. I already have the camera focused and everything, you just need to put that on, give me a few kisses, and snap some pictures.”

Dean’s brain short-circuits. “K-kisses?”

“Yeah. I’m using lipstick kisses to represent my past relationships and how I feel about them touching me. Just cheek and forehead kisses. We’re not going to be Frenching or anything.”

“Oh.” Dean looks down at the lipstick, caught somewhere between disappointment and relief, wondering if it would be better or worse if these kisses were meant for Cas’s lips instead of the rest of his face. Would it even be right of him to take Cas up on this offer when he already fantasizes about putting kisses all over Cas’s skin? Would it be wrong for their first kisses to be over some project? “I don’t know how I feel about this, Cas.”

“About what, kissing me? They’re not even real kisses, you just have to pucker up like you're kissing your mom.”

Dean chews on his lip. Would it be so bad to take advantage of the situation and indulge in something he’s wanted since their second semester together? Shouldn’t he be a good friend and roommate and help Cas with his project, no matter the requirements?

Cas must see the uncertainty in Dean’s expression because he continues with, “Come on, Dean, we’re graduating next semester, we’re practically professionals. Are you really going to be embarrassed about a little lipstick when you could be filming HBO sex scenes a year from now?”

Dean looks back up at Cas. If he’s going to insist, who is Dean to tell him no? “Alright, asshole, I’ll do it. But you owe me.”

Cas smiles wide and, damn, Dean would wear lipstick every day if it meant Cas would look at him like that. “Okay, there’s a mirror behind you. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just put some on and lay it on me.”

Dean turns to find Cas’s mirror hung up with his portfolio. Photos are hung, tacked, and taped up from vacations, day trips, school projects, and family holidays. Dean is up there a few times: laughing on the opposite side of the table from Cas at Biggerson’s, a selfie of the two of them under the unflattering flash of a smartphone in a dark movie theater, the only good shot Cas got of Dean that day on the river walk, Dean asleep on the couch with a book folded up in his arms like a teddy bear.

Dean didn’t even know Cas took that last one.

He puts on the lipstick, ignoring the photos of himself. It’s definitely not as easy as he thought it would be--staying inside the lines was something he’s improved upon since childhood, but crayons are a lot different from makeup. He manages to swipe the color onto his face, grimacing at the taste of it.

When he looks back at Cas, all he gets is a blank stare and a slight nod. Feeling less than confident with deep red lips, Dean steps up to the plate.

“Where do you want it?”

Dean can hear the click of Cas’s throat as he swallows. He raises a hand, pointing to the knob of his left cheekbone.

“Here.”

Dean steps just a little closer. Cas is about his height, maybe an inch shorter, but it’s not even noticeable when Dean tilts Cas’s face up with a finger and thumb gently pinching his chin. He leans in and--smells Cas’s shampoo, notices the pores on his nose, finds trimmed whiskers along his cheeks--presses his lips right where Cas wanted them.

With the lipstick, Dean can’t taste Cas’s skin, but he can smell the face wash where his nose is sticking into Cas’s temple. Like pomegranates.

When he pulls away, he knows he’s blushing, but he has no way of hiding it, so he just smiles and says, “That’s a good color for you.”

Cas, a little pink himself, scoffs. “Just take the picture, Taylor Swift.”

Cas takes his seat, Dean steps behind the camera. He clicks the shutter button a few times, watching Cas’s face on the screen. He’s leaning his face up and slightly away, lips parted, eyes cast toward the door instead of the lense. It’s a great angle to show off that jawline of his.

Dean was never destined to be a model, but Cas looks just as good in photos as he does in real life. He knows exactly how to position himself, which light to use, how his face should look. He could model, if he ever wanted. Dean asked him if he would star in a short film Dean had to film, but Cas just laughed and said if he wanted to act he would have gone into performing arts.

“That should be enough,” Cas notes, and Dean realizes that he had taken way too many photos while thinking about Cas’s face. He backs away from the camera. “I’ll need a fresh layer for each kiss, so apply some more lipstick.”

Dean does as he’s told and goes back to Cas to kiss him again. This time it’s just above Cas’s right eyebrow. They go on like this a handful more times, until Cas has lipstick stains across his entire face. Each time feels like the first, and Dean has a harder and harder time removing his lips from Cas’s skin as they progress through the photos. Cas doesn’t seem to be as phased--he sits right down and assumes his pose. In each and every picture, Cas mostly just looks sad.

“Why do you look like that?” Dean finally asks after the sixth kiss, snapping pictures.

Cas unfurrows his brow and looks up from the floor. “Like what?”

“Like your dog just died.”

Cas cracks a small smile. “These kisses represent each of my exes and how I felt about my relationships with them.”

“They were all that bad?”

“They certainly weren’t good. After being cheated on, left for someone else, and dumped over text, I don’t exactly have fond memories of most of these people.”

“I remember when that dickhead Balth slept with that web designer. You didn’t leave the house for a week.”

“You took me to the Atlanta Aquarium and pointed at all the ugliest fish and said they looked like him.”

“And I was right. ”

When Cas smiles broadly, Dean sneaks in another picture. The shutter of the lense gives him away, but Cas doesn’t mention it.

“Remember when I watched 500 Days of Summer eight times in two days?” Cas asks. “That’s because Hannah kept telling me she didn’t want a relationship and ended up leaving me for someone who she got engaged to after five months.”

Dean chuckles low under his breath. “Yeah, I remember. I had to force you into the shower and then we went out for burgers.”

“And when Gadreel drunk texted me all the things he hated about me--”

“We toilet papered his frat house and went to a baseball game the next day. We got so sunburnt.”

Cas laughs at the memory and Dean captures it with the camera. He looks so much better like this, happy and covered in kisses from someone who actually cares about him. He deserves to be this happy for the rest of his life.

Cas sobers up and looks at Dean. His expression is soft, something closer to adoration than anything else. Dean wonders if he’s just amused  by the makeup.

“You were always there for me, Dean.”

Since Dean can’t take a compliment to save his life, he shrugs it off. “I was just trying to be a good friend. You did the same for me when Lisa and I broke up.”

They go quiet for a moment. Dean reflects back on the two weeks after their break up. Dean was drinking daily, taking whiskey in a travel mug to his classes, going to bars at night, falling asleep on the couch with a bottle in his hands. It took Cas several tries to get him out of his rut, first by asking Dean what was wrong, then by requesting that he eat something solid, and finally by whacking him with his rolled up yoga mat until Dean cleaned himself up and changed into some fresh clothes.

Dean had grumbled about it for a few days, but it was just what he needed. He couldn’t mope around forever and fall into a pit of alcoholism just because his year-long girlfriend finally got fed up with his shit. Cas spent extra time with him that month, changing his schedule and cancelling plans to hang out or do homework in the same room as him, occasionally reaching out to lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder or knocking their feet together to remind him that he wasn’t alone. It helped tremendously.

The worst part wasn’t losing Lisa, it was coming to terms with everything he had been trying to deny since he was seventeen. His attraction to men was something he first noticed when a new kid came to his high school and he fell for the linebacker build and honey-sweet Cajun accent. But after dating women exclusively his whole life, the last thing he wanted was for Cas to feel like some sort of experiment.

“What happened? With Lisa. You never told me.”

Cas catches his eye, but Dean directs his gaze away quickly, suddenly finding the curves of the camera very interesting.

“I, um… I wasn’t very good to her. I was kind of using her to get past a crush I had on someone, but it didn’t go away and she said she couldn’t keep living like that. Like she was competing to be my girlfriend. I don’t blame her one bit, she was right to leave me. I just thought, if it was just a crush, it wouldn’t be a problem once I was with someone else, but when I couldn’t stop liking them…”

Dean chances a look at Cas, who looks just as sad as he had in those pictures. His eyes are wide and it almost looks comical with all the lipstick kisses on his face.

“I realized it was more than just some crush,” Dean finishes lamely.

Every part of him wants to tell Cas. But what would be the point? The two of them will graduate and Cas will become the next most famous National Geographic photographer and Dean will be looking for work as a camera holder on low budget movies and shows that may or may not be cancelled halfway through filming. He could always turn to porn as a last resort, but he'll never make it as far as Cas and he’ll never make it with Cas.

In the beginning, he didn’t want to ruin their relationship. They worked well together, whether it was study sessions or getting back at exes or picking out mismatching furniture at second-hand stores. He worried about losing his friend. Now he doesn’t want to say anything because he knows he’s going to lose Cas one way or another, and it will hurt less if they don’t get involved with each other any more than they already are.

Cas takes a deep breath, processing the information. He searches the room. His eyes land back on the camera.

“I have one more shot to get.”

Dean blinks. It’s what he expected. It wouldn’t matter if Dean subtly tried to imply how in love he is with Cas or if he bluntly told him, he would always get the cold shoulder. It’s for the best, he tries to convince himself. Any other way would just end in a bigger heartbreak than necessary.

He turns back to the mirror. He finds the photo of him and Cas in the movie theater again. He can’t remember what movie they saw, but their faces are nearly touching and Dean’s arm is around Cas and he wishes more than anything that he’d taken the chance to kiss him back then. Because, what’s the quote? ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Does it count when Dean is, technically, in love, but just hasn’t voiced it yet?

With a new coat of lipstick, he faces Cas again. He’s standing in the middle of the room, right next to the camera, ready for his last kiss. Dean musters up all his fake confidence and closes the distance between them, standing just a little closer than he had before.

“And this time?” Dean asks.

Cas looks hesitant. Maybe he’s finally realizing that he should have chosen someone else to kiss him over and over again. Someone who he wouldn’t have to awkwardly live with afterwards. Someone who wouldn’t have made a straightforward project into something uncomfortable.

His hand comes up to his face. He points a single finger to his bottom lip.

“Here.”

Dean’s breath catches in his throat. He hunts for any sort of lie in Cas’s eyes, any indication that he didn’t want it, that he wanted to take it back. But Cas just looks right back at him, waiting, patient.

Dean fits the corner of Cas’s jaw into the center of his palm, runs his thumb across Cas’s cheek. A lipstick kiss smears under the pad of his finger, wiping into nothing but a blur, just like the memory of whichever lover that one was meant to be.

When their lips meet, Dean forgets about every single reason he didn’t let himself have this before. Everything in his head melts away until there’s just Cas and mouth and hands and Cas and Cas and Cas.

Cas doesn’t hold back. He grips Dean’s waist like a life raft in the middle of the ocean, opens his mouth and moans when Dean slips his tongue in. He takes everything Dean gives him. He moves his head aside when Dean trails his mouth along his jaw and down his neck, kissing and sucking and nipping at the skin. Dean pulls him closer, desperate to feel as much of Cas as he possibly can.

Dean feels like he’s shaking, or maybe vibrating, with need. Everything is tilting, moving, wavering around him. The lights could blow and he wouldn't even notice, he’s too wrapped up, too confused about which way is left or right.

Their mouths come together again and the world straightens out on its axis. They slow down, brushing their lips together the way pages of a book slide against one another. They take their time. They learn the way they move with each other.

Eventually, they part. Not to gasp for breath, but to rest their foreheads together; to align their hearts. Between them, Dean can smell Cas’s toothpaste and taste the lipstick.

“We should do projects together more often,” Dean concludes humorlessly.

“I think we should skip the projects and just make out,” Cas counters.

Dean pulls back to laugh quietly at Cas, but then sees his face. Cas is covered in lipstick, all around his mouth, his chin, across his jaw, down his neck. The makeup follows the patterns of Dean’s kisses, right down to where he had sucked Cas’s earlobe into his mouth.

He lets loose, practically wheezing at the state of Cas’s face. Dean’s must look similar, because Cas erupts into laughter too and they both sink into each other, bodies convulsing in their arms.

“Come on, come on. One more picture,” Cas begs, pulling out of Dean’s grasp and positioning himself on the chair. He couldn't wipe that smile off his face if he tried, and it looks like he isn’t putting in any effort at all to push it away.

Dean presses the shutter button three times, hoping at least one of them is a good shot, before diving around the camera to pull Cas into his embrace again.

The lipstick ends up on chests, wrist, bed sheets, and hips, but they don’t mind. They might even keep the tube for another time.

tags below the cut!

@sweatercas | @queenvee08 | @fierydeans | | @scamp-00 | @cottondean | @hallowedbecastiel | @wanderingcas | Please let me know if you’d like to be added to/taken off the list!

#destiel #fanfic #my work #destiel college au

[steves-on-a-plane]

Run. (Pt 1)

Run. Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six  / Part Seven Words: 2132 Pairing: Tony Stark & Reader Timeline: Pre-Iron Man [1990, 1991, & 2000] Other Info: Run AU Summary: Reader is Tony Stark’s best friend and is flying across the country to start college. Tony is obviously nervous about Reader going away and makes her promise to call if she ever needs anything.  Author’s Note: This It’s an AU Based on HBO’s new series Run. Mostly just based on the concept of the show which is that when one character texts ‘Run’ to the another character, if the second character texts ‘Run’ back they’ll meet up and run away together. They didn’t have texting in 1990, so I had to improvise a bit. I really like this idea and will do more parts to this story if it does well. 

September 1990

“I’m really going to miss you.” You confessed as you stood outside of the airport security. Your one hand was gripped tightly around a carry-on bag, the other on the shoulder of your best friend.

“I’ve already told you not to go a hundred times.” He yawned impatiently. “College is overrated.”

“That’s easy for you to say in your third year of MIT. You’re almost done. I’m only just getting started.” You reminded him.

“And I am proof that college does nothing for you, just ask my old man.” He scoffed.

“He’s not so bad.” You rolled your eyes. “He just needs a chance to get to know you better.”

“The man’s had seventeen years [Y/N]. I think we know as much about each other as we’re ever going to.” Tony sighed.

“I really have to go, I don’t want to miss my flight.” You told him apologetically.

“Sure, of course.” He nodded. “Oh but before you do, I want you to take this.” Tony handed you a small box hastily wrapped box. “Open it.” He insisted. You let go of your suitcase and unwrapped the package with both hands. Inside was a cellphone.

“Tony, these are really expensive. I can’t take this.” You insisted.

“They’re not that much.” He waved you off. “It was only like $1,00 bucks.” He shrugged. “And I’m footing the monthly bill for it, alright? There’s just one condition.”

“Always a catch, isn’t there Stark?” You laughed, still marveling at the piece of technology in your hands. Your own parents didn’t even have cellphones.

“Listen, I’m not kidding college sucks. Moving to the other side of the country away from your friends and family sucks more.” Tony said. “So, the only condition if you want to keep this cellphone is that if you get into any kind of trouble or you just can’t take it anymore. You call me. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night or I’m in the middle of a class. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. Leave me a voicemail with only one word if you have to.”

“What should this one word be?” You asked. “We should pick it now, so we’ll know exactly what it is and it should work both ways. You call me and say the word if you need me too.”

“Okay. What’s our word? Better think quickly, because you’ve still got to catch that flight.” He reminded you.

“Run.” You decided. “If you ever call me and or I call you we just say ‘Run’ and hang up and the other will know what it means. Okay?”

“Okay.” Tony nodded. He kissed you on the cheek before ushering you into the security coral. He waited until he couldn’t see you anymore before turning and walking out of the airport.

December 17, 1991

It was the middle of the night. Your school had already ended the first semester of the school year. Your roommates had all driven or flown home to see their families. You were the last one at home, with a flight scheduled the next afternoon. You’d been awakened by strange chimes that were different than your usual alarm clock. Someone else must have left their alarm on before leaving for vacation. You thought as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You turned on your bedside lamp and realized as your brain started to catch up, that it wasn’t an alarm clock chirping at all.

It was the ringtone on the cellphone that Tony had given you over a year ago. You’d used it a few times to talk with him or your parents back home, but you used it so infrequently that you often forgot that it even existed. By the time you fond the cellphone, beeping incessantly in your desk drawer, you had missed the call. You saw from the home screen that you missed a call from Tony. You called the voicemail number to see of if he’d left you a message.

“Hey ah, I don’t know if you remember this but, run. Anyway, if you remember what that means I, ah, I need you, Kid. How soon can you get home?

Luckily, you’d already planned on flying home. A quick glance at the clock told you your flight was scheduled to depart in three hours. You knew you’d be too anxious to sleep now knowing that Tony had called you. So, you decided to gather your things and head for the airport. In the cab ride over you called Tony back, he sent you right to voicemail.

“Tony it’s me. I understand if you don’t want to talk. I just want you to know that I got your message and I’m on my way to the airport. It’s a five-hour flight that leaves in three hours. Your house is my first destination after I land.”

When you landed eight hours later, Tony was standing in the airport pickup. His eyes were red and puffy like he’d been crying. He looked tired and his walk lacked its usual bounce. He pulled you close and wrapped his arms around you. He held you silently for several seconds.

“Thank god you’re here.” He whispered finally.

“Tony, now that I’m here, will you please tell me what’s go in?” You asked, not daring to pull away from him.

“They’re gone.” He told you quietly. “Howard and my mom.”

“Oh Tony.” You let go of the bags in your hands and wrapped your arms around him trying to pull him closer.

January 2000

“There she is, my second favorite person in the world!” Tony Stark entered the diner with the same usual boisterous swagger you’d grown used to over time.

“Second favorite?” You repeated, getting up from the counter stool so that you could hug him properly.

“Sure, c’mon who isn’t their own favorite person?” He laughed before dropping into a stool next to you. “It’s good to see you. It’s been awhile.”

“A month.” You nodded. “That’s the longest we’ve been apart since…”

“Since my parent died?” He interjected. “It’s okay you don’t have to dance around it, no one else ever does. Besides,” He pat your hand encouragingly. “We’re not here to talk about me, are we?” Tony pulled his phone out of his pocket and slid it across the counter towards you. You didn’t need to look down to see what he was showing you, but you did anyway. Open on the screen was a text conversation between the two of you. The most recent text was from you. Run. The usual place.

“I didn’t know if you’d remember.” You replied.

“Of course, I remembered.” Tony said. “The usual place, that part took a little while to work out. Then I remembered your unfathomable love for milkshakes and all the times you’ve dragged me here at ungodly hours of the night for one.” He gestured towards the strawberry milkshake that you’d ordered when you first arrived.

“I can’t help it if it’s the only place open that late that will serve me a milkshake!” You laughed. You reached over and sipped from your milkshake. Tony waited patiently for you to explain what was going on.

“So, what have you been up to?” You asked quietly.

“Oh, you know, working on stuff for the company. Dealing with the board members. That sort of thing. The end of the quarter is coming up, so things have been hectic.” He explained dryly. “How are things with you?” You sighed and closed your eyes. When you opened them, Tony’s face was much closer to yours. His warm brown eyes were watching you carefully.

“I have to move back to California.” You finally confessed.

“Oh. Oh, that’s what you’re worried about? If you want to move back to California, that’s not so bad. I’ve got the place in Malibu; we’ll still see each other all the time.” Tony breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought you were going to tell me something crazy like you were engaged or pregnant. Moving? You moved to California before.”

“Well…”

“Well? What’s ‘well’ mean?” Tony pushed.

“You’ve met Michael, right?” You bit your lip.

“Michael, the architect you’ve been dating for three years? We may have crossed paths once or twice.” Tony laughed. “Don’t tell me he proposed to you! Uh, he seems like the type to take you to a restaurant and put the ring in something; your drink, your desert. Where did he hide the ring, [Y/N]?”

“It’s nothing like that.” You assured him. “because he hasn’t actual proposed yet. But I am pregnant.” Tony stared at you blankly. You could practically see the circuits buzzing in his mind as he tried to process what you’d just said.

“You gotta give me something here, [Y/N].” He confessed at last. “Are we happy? Are we angry? Are we terrified? Whatever you need me to be I’m there.”

“Um, all three I think.” You told him.

“You’re going to need another milkshake. Can you have a milkshake when you’re…like that?” He asked, suddenly worried.

“Yes, Tony. I can have milkshakes.” You assured him.

“Alright, two milkshakes coming up.” Tony placed an order with the waitress behind the counter before looking back over at you. “So California?”

“Michael needs to move there for work and I can’t exactly raise a tiny human alone.” You pointed out.

“So don’t go.” Tony shrugged as if it were that simple.

“Tony…” You tried to argue but he interrupted you.

“No.” He shook his head. “You can stay here, and I-I’ll pay for everything. You wont have to lift a finger! We’ll get the kid nannies and tutors and we could get a butler. Are there still butlers in Y-two-K? Can a person go to school for butlering?”

“Tony, you hated all of your nannies and most of your tutors.” You reminded him. “Plus my kid deserves to know their dad, and Michael deserves the chance to be one.”

“Do you love him?” Tony blurted out.

“How could you ask me that?” You gasped.

“I want an answer, [Y/N]. Do you love him?” Tony pried. “Because you’ve been together for three years and you still have separate apartments. The man alphabetizes his CDs! He chews with his mouth open! More importantly, you told him that you’re pregnant and he hasn’t even suggested getting married?”

“Tony, don’t do this.” You begged him.

“Don’t make you say it out loud?” Tony held up his hands defensively. “That’s fine, no answer is just as good as saying it in my book. So, you don’t love him. Then don’t marry him. You want to move to California and give him a chance to be there for his kid? That’s fine. Don’t marry him.”

The waitress came by with your new milkshake order. Tony thanked her with a nod and buried his face in his hands. He sat like that in silence for several seconds. When he finally dragged his fingers from his forehead to his chin and eventually off his face entirely, his expression was a mask of composer.

“I want to renegotiate our deal.” He told you calmly.

“Our deal? A deal we made twenty-two years ago, when we were kids?” You asked him.

“I have a bad feeling about all of this.” He gestured between the two of you before pointing at your stomach. “Not the baby, about Michael. So, I want you to know that I’ll always be there for you. New rule. If one of us text run, and the other person texts run back, we don’t just drop what we’re doing. We pick a place to meet and we just go there and run away from our lives together.”  

“Tony…” This time you let your sentence trail off on its own. An awkward beat past between the two of you.

“I’m serious, [Y/N]. You called me here, because you must, in some part of your brain, somewhere, think that this is a bad idea. Run is for emergencies and if you’re asking for my permission to move across the country to raise a kid with a guy you don’t love, this is how you get it. If you text run, I text run back and we drop what we’re doing. We hop on a plane, or train or whatever. We meet…in…Grand Central Station. We’ll get on a train together and leave everything else behind.”

“Okay.” You nodded. “Fine. If that’s what it’s going to take to easy your mind about the whole situation, fine, but only if my kid gets to call you Uncle Tony when they’re old enough to, and you promise that this doesn’t change anything between us. You’re still my best friend.”

“Alright then.” Tony sighed, reaching for his milkshake. “Call me Uncle Tony.”

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #Tony Stark Fan Fic #Tony Stark Fan Fiction #Tony Stark FF #Tony Stark Reader Insert #Run #Run AU

[lyssismagical]

Soulmates 20, please.

“Everything about you is amazing to me”

 Insecurities were something Peter had learned to keep quiet about. He didn’t mention the self-conscious habits that caused him to shy away from anything that drew too much attention to him. He never believed the kind words sent his direction, flushed at any compliment and filed it away to fail the battles against the harsh words he kept close to his chest.

He didn’t like a lot of things about himself.

He got worked up about stupid things too easily because of the insecurities that held him tight in their grasps, made his head feel rotten and dizzy.

Harley’s hand is over his on the table, quietly worried about Peter. Crying at their kitchen table.

It wasn’t too abnormal. Peter had always been an overly sensitive, emotional person, another thing he hated about himself. It doesn’t help that he cries over the most minuscule things and then cries over the big things too. He cried just the other day over a stupid commercial he saw, and a few days before that he cried over nearly being too late to save a woman on patrol.

Harley’s probably trying to make an educated guess of whether this is an important cry or a silly cry.

“What happened, darling?” Harley asks quietly. He squeezes Peter’s hand. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s up.”

They’re living together now. About six months into their life as college boyfriends sharing an apartment. They’re nearing their three-year anniversary together.

Never once in these three years has Peter cried over something like this.

He’s always been a genius. Never had troubles in school, never really felt the pressures of teachers or the disappointments of dropping grades. Even back in high school, if he was late handing in a project or if he was too busy Spider-Manning to get something done, he always had the option to ask Ned for answers or for MJ to stage a Panic-Work-Lunch where they’d hurry through as many assignments as they could in the hour.

He’s used to being the gifted student. The one who never really had any trouble in school. Plus he had Tony as mentor. It was easy to get help when he had Tony just a few blocks away.

College is different.

“I just feel so fucking stupid!” Peter admits, fingers tugging at his hair. Tears spill down his cheeks onto his notes, smudging the pencil markings.

It was physics work. Work that he could do in his sleep, but he keeps getting stuck and confused and he’s been having trouble all semester, and it’s made everything a million times harder.

“You’re not stupid, Peter.” Harley’s voice is shocked, confused. He pulls Peter’s notebook away from him and looks at his chicken scratches across the page. “You’re nearly there, you’ve just gotta put substitute this stuff into another equation. You know this stuff.”

It’s not said condescendingly, but Peter feels even more stupid knowing that this is easy stuff and Peter can’t do it.

“I’m so- I can’t do it. I can’t do these stupid fucking equations and I can’t finish my essay and I failed my last test, Harley. I’m- I’m failing. I’m so stupid and I can’t get my brain to work like it used to anymore,” Peter vents, hands trembling as he grips the ends of his hair harder, tugging like it’ll get the rusty gears in his brain to start up again.

He’s shaking and the tears won’t stop falling down his face, and he wants Harley to understand how much harder this is for him because he’s supposed to be better. He’s always supposed to be better than he can be.

He’s got the pressures of being Tony Stark’s kid on top of being Richard and Mary Parker’s kid. Not to mention how much Ben used to always tell him what a genius he is, how far he’ll go.

He’ll lose his scholarship if his grades drop too far and he doesn’t have the money to afford the tuition if he’s put on academic probation.

He’s supposed to be better, a genius, but he can’t seem to do anything.

“You’re overworking yourself, honey. You’re just tired,” Harley murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek. “You’re not stupid just because you’re having trouble. We could get you into some study groups, get extra credits for the classes you’re struggling with, get you a tutor if you need it-”

Peter stands abruptly, chair pushing out behind him and hand ripping away from Harley’s. “I don’t want a fucking tutor, Harley! I want to be smart like I used to be! I want to feel good about my brain like I used to! I just- I hate feeling like this.”

“Honey-” Harley’s eyes are too soft, too sympathetic, frown too sad.

“I’m the World’s Worst Superhero. I can’t seem to do it right. I’m failing my classes. I can’t even do us right. I’m failing this relationship too. I skipped out on date night three weeks in a row.”

Harley’s forehead scrunches up in a frown and understanding passes over his face. “Peter, my love, I know you’re under a lot of stress right now. You’re doing a lot at the same time and you probably feel like it’s harder to put your usual 110 percent into everything.”

“I just hate- I hate myself. I hate feeling like this. I hate that I’ve started having nightmares again. I hate that I nearly let that woman die the other day. I hate that I can’t seem to do anything right anymore. I hate that I feel like I’m letting everyone down, and no matter how hard I try, nothing seems to go right.”

Harley just sighs, soft and gentle, and touches Peter’s shoulder, leading him to their old maroon couch in their living room.

“First and foremost, I love you, Peter. I love you for all that you are. Everything about you is amazing to me. No matter how badly you screw up, which you haven’t, my love for you isn’t going to change that.”

Peter sniffles but there’s the ghost of smile that passes over his mouth that makes Harley feel like he’s doing something right.

“Now, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but have you thought about taking a gap year? Going back to therapy, taking a much-needed vacation, focusing on yourself for a little while? We’re almost done our first year of college, there’s nothing wrong with taking a break.”

“What about Spider-Man?”

“Bucky and Sam would be more than happy to look after Queens for a while.”

Peter looks small and shy, eyes wide and glassy as he reaches out to hold onto Harley’s hand. “What about you?”

Harley smiles, pressing a kiss to Peter’s cheek. “If you want me with you, I’d be more than happy to join you in a gap year. Not gonna lie, but I’ve been feeling kinda overwhelmed with everything too. A nice long vacation, anywhere you want, sounds wonderful to me.”

“Maybe Europe? My last vacation there was pretty disastrous.”

“For now, though, I want you to hang up your suit for a few weeks. You’re going to call Sarah, book a session, and accompany me to my study groups, and we’re going to get your grades up by exams, okay? Together.”

“I love you, you know that? I know I’m-”

Harley’s quick to press his hand over Peter’s mouth. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence with anything negative. I meant it when I said I love everything about you. I don’t care what that entails, I’m here for the long haul, okay?”

“I love you,” Peter says, words muffled by Harley’s hand.

“I love you too. And one day, you’re going to love you as much as I love you.”

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @tonystarkweneedyou 

#lyss writes #lyss answers #parkner #parley #peter parker #harley keener #harley keener/peter parker #this is kinda a mess and i kinda hate it but whatever

[antiadvil]

5 times Dan and Fiona were not dating (and one time they were)

summary: Dan has been confused about her sexuality for a long time, and Fiona isn't helping. Or maybe she is? 

Labels are overrated. Having sex with girls is fun. Just as long as there aren't any feelings involved. And there aren't any, right? Right?

rating: M

wc: ~2.8k

chapter 1/12- I’ll get you lost (but I’m having fun)

first chapter on ao3 | tumblr masterlist | next chapter on tumblr

notes: a gift fic for @itsmyusualphannie

Dan didn’t know how to play poker. Most friends would probably take this opportunity to try to teach her, she figured. Not her friends.

“We could play strip poker instead,” Fiona joked.

“I still don’t know how to play poker,” Dan protested. “Don’t you need to know regular poker to play strip poker?”

Fiona shrugged.

“Do you want me to lose?” Dan demanded.

Fiona smirked, looking Dan up and down. Dan suddenly felt very exposed, even though her jeans and long sleeved T-shirt were covering most of her body. “I mean. I wouldn’t be complaining.”

Dan’s face flooded with heat. Fiona was still joking. Right?

“We can’t play strip poker; Dan’s the only straight one here,” PJ joked, bumping Dan with her shoulder. “I wouldn’t want her to feel left out.”

Dan dropped her cards. “I-”

“PJ! Leave the poor girl alone.” Chris elbowed her and smiled across at Dan. “I want you to know, Dan, that I support your heterosexuality, even if PJ doesn’t.”

“Thank you,” Dan mumbled, trying to pick up her cards without letting anyone else see them. Not that it mattered. She was still going to lose.

“I don’t,” Fiona deadpanned.

Dan rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Fiona. Glad to have a friend I can always count on.”

“Of course.” Fiona smiled sweetly.

They played regular poker, to Fiona’s disappointment. Dan lost. Multiple times. She idly wondered what happened in strip poker if you ran out of clothes to take off. Did you just start tearing your skin off? Was that the end of the game?

Chris and PJ left early, claiming they needed to work on a group project (“It was the only time we could find that worked for everyone, can you believe these people?”), leaving Dan and Fiona alone.

Dan thought it might have been the first time she and Fiona were ever alone together. She had known PJ and Chris for a year or so now, ever since they met in their first semester English class, but they hadn’t introduced her to Fiona, who they had known in high school, until earlier this year.

Dan didn’t dislike Fiona, but she was a little bit intimidating. She wasn’t an English major like Dan, Chris, and PJ, her major was something to do with technology- Dan couldn’t remember what. She was openly lesbian, and Dan was very confused about her sexuality, and the fact that Fiona was very pretty was not helping.

“Should I go?” Dan asked.

Fiona looked confused. “Why would you go?”

Dan shrugged. “I’m the only one left. I don’t know, it feels weird.”

“I mean, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. It’d be nice if you did, though. Besides,” Fiona said, walking to the kitchen and beckoning Dan after her, “Look what I have.” She pulled a bottle of vodka from a cupboard.

“Were you hiding that earlier?” Chris had asked if Fiona had alcohol when they first showed up, and she had said no.

“Don’t tell Chris,” Fiona said. “I provided free alcohol once and now she expects it every time she comes over.”

That did sound like Chris.

“Tell you what,” Fiona said. “For such a special guest, I’ll even get out my real shot glasses.”

“I’m honored,” Dan said sarcastically, but she felt a smile tugging at her lips.

Fiona handed Dan the bottle of vodka and pointed her towards one of the doors in the hallway. “My roommate’s out tonight, but just in case, let’s move this to my room.”

It took Dan a moment to find the light switch in Fiona’s room. Fiona’s room was about what she expected- small, a messy desk in one corner, brightly colored sheets on the bed.

Dan liked it. It felt like a room that belong to Fiona.

Fiona entered the room behind her, holding two shot glasses. She took the bottle from Dan, poured the alcohol into the two glasses and passed one to Dan. “Here you go,” she said.

“Cheers,” Dan said, clinking their glasses together and immediately feeling stupid.

Luckily, Fiona didn’t seem to mind. “Cheers,” she smiled, tossing her drink down her throat.

Dan did the same, grimacing immediately afterwards. She never got used to the taste of vodka.

“Another?” Fiona offered.

Dan shook her head. “No thanks. I’m good for now.”

Fiona nodded, collecting Dan’s shot glass and setting it aside with the bottle of vodka. She sat cross legged on her bed and patted the spot next to her. Dan sat down.

“So,” Fiona said, leaning forward, her chin on her hand. “Are you really straight?”

Dan startled. “What?”

Fiona shrugged. “You got weird when PJ said you were straight. That’s all.”

Dan hesitated. Sexuality was a sensitive subject for her. She’d spent most of her life determinedly not thinking about it. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, she had reasoned, but lately, she wasn’t so sure.

“It’s okay,” Fiona said. Her eyes were bright and blue, reflecting the light. “I won’t tell.”

“I dunno,” Dan confessed. “Girls are kind of hot, but I don’t know… everyone thinks that.”

Fiona snorted. “No they don’t.”

Dan rolled her eyes. “I mean, not like, a lot. But a little bit.”

Fiona quirked an eyebrow. “They really don’t.”

Dan was starting to feel a bit silly now, but she had come this far. If she backed down now, she’d just feel even sillier. “Girls are always looking at other girls, telling them how pretty they look-”

Fiona laughed. “Dan, you sound like me when I was in grade school. Trust me, when those girls compliment you, they’re not thinking about having sex with you.”

“I mean-” Dan’s face felt warm.

Fiona leaned in closer, so close Dan could smell the soft rose of her shampoo. “Why? Are you thinking about that?”

Dan opened her mouth to respond, but her brain took this moment to go on vacation somewhere very far away. Hopefully it was somewhere sunny. Maybe it even had a beach. Dan wished she could join her brain there.

“Um,” she squeaked. Fiona’s face was very close to her face. Her eyes were so bright, and they weren’t really blue, Dan realized- they were a million dizzying shades of colors all at once, all green and blue and yellow. “What?”

Fiona leaned back. “Sorry. Ignore me. I’m just…” She flicked her hand. “I really need to get laid.”

Dan’s face felt even hotter as her imagination ran in directions it really should not be going.

Fiona noticed. Why did Fiona always notice? “Did that make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to-”

Dan shook her head. “No!”

“Okay…” Fiona said slowly. “Why are you all red then?”

“Just.” Dan took a deep breath, stalling. “Thinking.”

“About?”

Dan’s face, which had cooled a bit, was hot again. She looked down.

“Oh.” Fiona smirked. “You want to.”

Dan opened her mouth, but her brain was still on vacation.

“It’s okay,” Fiona said. She was leaning forward again, not quite as far as she was earlier. Her hand slipped out to grip Dan’s thigh. Did her eyes drop down to Dan’s lips or did she imagine that? “You don’t need to be scared.”

Dan was leaning in too. Her brain had decided to return from vacation, but all it could focus on was the steady pressure on her thigh, the growing warmth in her core, how achingly perfect and pink Fiona’s lips were.

“Can I kiss you?” Dan whispered.

Fiona hesitated. “Look, Dan, yes, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea- I mean, you’re cute and all, but I think we’d be better off not in a relationship.”

“I wasn’t saying- I don’t want-” Dan protested.

Fiona looked relieved. “Okay,” she said, and quickly closed the distance between them. So quickly that Dan barely had time to react before Fiona’s lips were on Dan’s, and oh.

They were so soft, and Dan suddenly felt incredibly self conscious about how chapped her lips were, how rough they must be, but then Fiona opened her mouth, and Dan could taste the vodka on her tongue, and there was no more room in Dan’s head for insecurities.

Fiona tugged her own shirt off before reaching to tug at the hem of Dan’s. “Can you take your shirt off?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Dan said breathlessly. She lifted it over her head with shaking fingers, balling it up and tossing it to the side, where it landed on top of Fiona’s shirt.

Fiona closed the distance between them again, but she didn’t kiss her just yet. “You’re so pretty,” she whispered. “God, you’re so fucking pretty.” She kissed her then, slow and sweet.

Dan kissed back, breathless, hoping Fiona couldn’t feel how warm her face was getting again.

“You really sleep with boys?” Fiona said. “God, they don’t know what they’ve got.” She kissed her again, pushing Dan so she was lying down. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Dan couldn’t help but moan at that, pushing her hips upward against Fiona’s body.

Fiona smiled. “Are you ready?” she asked.

Dan hesitated. She was, but- “I don’t know what to do,” she confessed.

“It’s okay.” Fiona’s voice was soft and reassuring as she straddled Dan, pushing her further into the bedsheets. “I’ll show you.”

***

So maybe Dan was a little bit gay, she thought. Or maybe a little bit more than a little bit gay. That was what having sex with a girl usually meant when you were also a girl. Especially if you really enjoyed that sex.

Dan filed this piece of information away to think about later. Now wasn’t the time to have deep, introspective thoughts. Fiona was lying next to her and being very cute. She should focus on that instead.

“We have to cuddle afterwards,” Fiona pouted. “I always cuddle afterwards.”

Dan rolled her eyes, but she rolled herself closer, so her head was resting on Fiona’s shoulder. Fiona wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “Don’t be shy.”

“I’m not,” Dan protested into her neck. The rose scent of her shampoo was even stronger from here, and her skin was a little bit sticky from sweat. It was a little bit nice- like they were glued together in the places their bare skin was touching, Dan thought.

It was also a little bit gross, but Dan had decided not to think about that.

“You can touch me,” Fiona said. “It’s okay.”

Dan reached across Fiona’s body, putting a hand on her hip, tracing circles with her thumb. Fiona hummed quietly. “That’s nice,” she said.

Dan’s other hand was a bit too awkwardly positioned to reach most of Fiona’s body, but it could reach just far enough to land in Fiona’s short, dark hair. “Hair,” Dan mumbled, because she wasn’t sure what else to say.

Fiona laughed. “Hair,” she agreed.

Dan thought her head must be short circuiting. It was just hair, she reminded herself. Lots of people had hair. Lots of boys had hair, but she’d never felt this way about a boy’s hair.

Of course, boys’ hair was never this nice. Fiona’s hair was so soft and nice smelling and Dan wanted to run her fingers through it, so she did.

“I like your hair,” she said.

“It’s good hair, isn’t it?” Fiona agreed.

“Now,” Dan said, “No need to get conceited.”

Fiona shoved Dan away playfully. “Hey.”

Dan pouted, opening her arms and giving Fiona her best puppy dog eyes. “Come back.”

“Apologize.” Fiona demanded.

Dan pretended to think about it.

“Apologize for upholding a patriarchal system where women are expected to-”

“Geez!” Dan said. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Fiona said. She moved smugly into Dan’s arms, resting her head on her chest.

They stayed like that for a few moments. The rise and fall of Fiona’s chest was surprisingly calming. Dan tried to match her breathing for a bit- it was a nice relaxation exercise, she thought. Like meditation, except better.

“I have a dumb question,” Dan said.

“I have a dumb answer,” Fiona said. “Hit me.”

Dan tried to resist the urge to make the obvious joke, but failed. “Didn’t know you were into that.”

Fiona kicked her shin. “Hey.”

“Ow,” Dan said, even though it hadn’t really hurt.

“Sorry,” Fiona said, kissing the top of Dan’s head and moving closer so their legs were tangled together. “What’s the dumb question?”

“What’s your major?” Dan asked.

“Philosophy,” Fiona said.

“Oh,” Dan said.

“What did you think it was?” Fiona asked, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Weren’t you doing STEM or something?”

“Oh.” Fiona’s face cleared of confusion. “I started out as a CS major, actually. I switched last semester, though.”

“Weird jump,” Dan said.

“Not really.” Dan could feel the movement in Fiona’s shoulders when she shrugged. “Theoretical computer science and philosophy are a lot more similar than most people realize. Lots of logic things involved.”

Before Dan had time to feel stupid for not knowing anything about Fiona’s major, Fiona changed the subject. “You’re an English major, right?”

“Yep,” Dan said.

Fiona dipped her head into Dan’s hair. “Ha. I got it right.”

“Right,” Dan said. “You’re a better friend than me. I get it.”

“Aww,” Fiona said. “I didn’t say that.”

“I did,” Dan said.

“Are you saying something mean about yourself?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, stop.”

Dan considered it. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’ll make you,” Fiona said.

“Maybe I want you to.”

“Yeah?” Fiona turned her head to place a kiss on Dan’s collarbone.

“Yeah,” Dan breathed.

“Well,” Fiona said, “I’d love to, but it’s getting really late.”

“Oh.” Dan tried not to sound too disappointed.

“In fact,” Fiona said, reaching to check her phone, “It’s past midnight. You can stay over if you’d like, but if you’re not, you should probably head home. I’m going to bed soon.”

The offer was tempting. Dan kind of wanted to stay like this forever, but she did have a lot of homework to get to the next day, and she didn’t like the idea of running into Fiona’s roommate, or anyone really, the next morning. She didn’t need anyone to know what they had done.

“I think I’ll get going,” she said.

Fiona nodded, though she looked a bit disappointed. She sat up, reaching for her clothes, and Dan thought she might cry at the loss of her warmth.

She thought that immediately sobbing might not be the best look, so she just gathered her clothes and got dressed.

“Did you bring anything else?” Fiona asked, cracking her door open.

Dan shook her head. She had everything she had come with.

“Okay then.” Fiona walked Dan to the door, where she wasn’t quite sure how to say goodbye. A kiss was way too much, probably, maybe a hug? A handshake? No, definitely not a handshake-

“Text me when you get home,” Fiona whispered, hugging Dan tightly. Okay then, a hug. Dan clutched her back, sinking into her warmth. How was it possible for a human being to be so warm?

“I will,” Dan promised, reluctantly letting go.

Fiona nodded, pressing a light kiss to Dan’s mouth. “Good,” she said. “Be safe, okay?”

“I will,” Dan promised again. She stared for a moment back into Fiona’s eyes, wondering if she dared kiss her again.

Fiona shoved her lightly away and grinned. “Now get out of my apartment, loser.”

Dan was normally good at banter, but something about Fiona’s eyes were throwing her off today. “No, you,” she managed.

Fiona rolled her eyes. “See you.”

“See you.” Dan turned away, finally, and started down the stairs, her lips still burning from Fiona’s kiss.

It was colder than she expected outside. Dan had only worn a light sweatshirt- she hadn’t been expecting to leave so late, or for the temperature to drop so much while she was inside. She shivered, pulling her hood up.

Luckily, her own apartment wasn’t too far away- just a ten minute walk. She unlocked her door and slipped in quietly, hoping she wouldn’t wake her roommate up. There wasn’t a light from under her door- she was either still out or she had already gone to bed. Dan stayed quiet as she moved to her room, just in case.

back, she texted Fiona before tossing her phone on her bed. She could really use a shower, but she was also incredibly tired, so she just changed into her pajamas and tossed her dirty clothes on the floor. She could pick up her laundry and take a shower in the morning.

She flopped down on her bed, rolling over to check her phone one last time before she fell asleep.

I had a really good time tonight and I hope you did too :), Fiona had messaged.

Dan relaxed a little bit. Fiona had certainly seemed to enjoy it, but there was always that doubt in the back of Dan’s head.

i did :) Dan texted back. She hesitated, then added, i’m glad you did too :)

Disgusting. Way too many smiley faces. Who was she becoming?

She didn’t want to think too much about that question. She set her phone aside and rolled over, going to sleep.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #my writing #wlw!phan #femslash

[atinytokki]

Here’s my first impressions (aka this is what 2020 is gonna sound like folks)

Alright so I’m really behind today, as some of you know I literally just got back from vacation and it’s also my first day of classes this semester and it’s just craziness. Yes I’m posting the first chapter of Yeosang’s spin-off today. But people seemed to like my first impressions of the last album so I’m going to do them again. Thankfully (?) this album is a lot shorter so I can pause and talk about stuff.

Warning! a loooong post, squealing, incoherent thoughts smashed together, and crying ahead. A lot of crying. Keysmashes included.

Post-MV thoughts before I listen to it again: There’s way too much to focus on and I’ve watched it many many times to look at the choreo and the storyline stuff that’s happening, but this is my first time listening without the video so I’ll notice more musically this time. But first I wanna say; YEOSANG’S LINES!!!! I’ve been screaming for forever that he has a beautiful deep voice and needs to be given parts that compliment it. And wow it finally happened :’) Anyway here we gooo

건배하자 like a thunder!! Can you believe they literally spoiled the entire hook of their next song in Beginning of the End? *flashbacks to my utter confusion when that happened* San sounds amazing and I like the little echoey thingies. Gives it a real nostalgic feel. Jongho already popping off vocally barely 10 seconds in. Mingi’s rap here and the transition to Hongjoong’s— rap line goals. The attitude in that mm-mm made me smile ngl. This prechorus might be my favourite part of the song. Seonghwa sounds heavenly. An EDM drop bringing back that hook, good decision and again it kinda feels nostalgic?? Especially the oh-oh-ohs which are also giving me a pirate drinking song vibe wow 0.0 Wooyoung with that 불러 불러 lol. Yes the Yeosang part!! I love a good post-chorus switchup and he. handled. it. perfectly. There’s even harmony, yall know how much I love harmony. And SINGING RAPPERS AHAHDJAHAK YESSSSS. Back to that glorious prechorus but it’s Yunho’s turn. This chorus is just such an anthem. I’m bopping rn. San in this bridge— he said I am a VOCALIST listen to my beautiful VOICE. Yay the rappers going back and forth again!! It’s like If Without You. Man I can’t believe I get to replay this song forever. 2020 is gonna be lit. You hit those notes Jongho! I’m always blown away by this kid, and that scoop earlier mmmm. Just nodding very energetically right now. Perfect end to the song. 100/10!!!!

Okay I’m pausing before the next one starts because no I am not prepared. It’s just like last time; I know Hongjoong wrote this and I know it’s gonna ruin me but I have no idea how and when and what it’s even gonna be like but anyway, too bad, let’s just go.

Oh kinda futuristic sounding opening with the synths? Yooo the vocal thingy in the background, sounds like a sample of some kind, that is super cool and I hope we get more of it. Ok I paused just to write that, let me unpause. This is gonna be a long one, I can already tell, sorry guys 😅 And the beat changed right before the vocalists came in. definitely a back and forth thing here in two registers, very sweet. Wow. WOW MINGI WOW. This rap is?? It sounds super mature and idk just full of confidence. I’m shook. Ok the chorus. Holy cow this is LIT lit. Nope nope I need to pause and go back. This is so chaotic, I feel like I’m missing things?? I’m listening to that chorus again because there were so many elements there. I just wanna take this song and break it down second by second to hear every single sound hahahah. I’m only catching an odd word or two here as far as lyrics go. Oml harmonies 💆🏻‍♀️ Alright Hongjoong’s rap. OMG if he sounded sassy in Answer this is a whole new level and I LOVE IT. Flow is 100/10. The “are you gonna take me there” gives me chills. This song needs a dance this chorus is TOO LIT. Am I at a rave rn??? Oh thank God the bridge took it back a level. Ok I’m pausing because I think I caught some of the lyrics this time. If I’m not wrong I heard 난 궁금해 저 끝이 궁금해, 더 가까이 조금 더 가까이 ? Which is something like “I wonder, I wonder about the end. Closer, a little bit closer” if I heard correctly. I need to look up the lyrics in full later because Hongjoong has a big brain and his lyrics are always 🤯🤩 Ok unpause. Final breakdown! Yep this is going on repeat the rest of today. Jongho yussss with the ad libs. No it’s over ㅠㅠ Alright this one is already vying for top spot this album. We shall see. But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. HONGJOONG GENIUS.

Um so yeah I saw them perform this live for their anniversary thingy and cried so this should be fun. At least I already know the song so how much can it hurt me? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Smart of whoever put this album together to stick this song right in the middle and make us cry between head banging to the other songs. Mingi in the beginning is just 💖💕💘💝💓 San ballad king. I need more ballads from him. Jongho, of course, with perfect vocal control. Oh Seonghwa too, I need more ballads from him. Wooyoung with T H A T part. A tear is forming, I just love this chorus. People are saying the song should be in a drama and I 100% agree. Everyone together FOREVER YOU ARE MY STARRR. The little drum frills it’s so cute :(( Yay Hongjoong, and his cute little voice I’m UWUWU. Wooyoung with the high note and I’m ascending........... Chorus again and this is the real meaning of crying in the club. It just occurred to me that the second verse seemed really short. Yeosang + Hongjoong + that guitar in the bridge is *chef’s kiss*. This is so emotional, do we really need to do this at 4am?!? I’m just gonna vibe for a sec, it’s the last chorus. The ad libs were so perfect and the way it ended— wow. I need a moment.

From my understanding this is a full version of the Precious Overture they gave us last album. Tempted to go back and see my first impressions about that one, but either way i have a distinct feeling my wig is about to be snatched. Let’s GOOO

So far, it’s starting the same. Creepy humming and all. Okay scratch that, we have a vocal melody. Yunho sounds great ugh I’m so proud. Sorry, San’s voice just takes me to another plane of existence or something, how can it be that smooth and gorgeous, someone please explain. Building to something now... Oo. OO?! Hongjoong’s rapping. This is so cool oh wow, and into this vocal part which I believe is the chorus?? wOW wow it’s amazing to hear this having already heard the bgm, this is like a new level of appreciation. It really all goes well. Ah we have a switch up now with Seonghwa. guys GUYS GUYS you know how I feel about switch ups. Sorry I’m going back to catch something. The tempo changed here and really grabbed my attention. The bass is also super cool, it’s actually the same melody as the treasure opening (and the opening of this song) but much lower, I believe. Uh oh guys this might be vying for top spot too. Let’s continue. Ok Mingi’s rap which I’ve already heard. Um I’m confused now. It’s Hongjoong’s rap again? Is this the chorus?? Woah woah hold on I gotta pause. Because. Wait, what?? This is the chorus??!? Yoooooooo bold move! I have no idea what is going on but I love it. Continuing on. Ah yeah ok the vocal part with Yeosang again, so I guess the rap + vocal part is the chorus? Also I neglected to mention but Yeosang is killing this song. Ooh okay this bridge is building some suspense. Feeeelingggggg.... And now a shouted version of the rap for the final chorus. Okay wow I’m impressed that they took it this direction. And Jongho with the ad libs is PERFECTIONNNN. Oop okay they’ve added the revised-lyric Treasure part to the end here. And the lyrics are the same as in Precious (Overture) so I’m guessing we still didn’t find the treasure, good grief. How long is it gonna take to find this treasure 😅. And it ended like that. Well. WOW. Again, I could listen to this on repeat all day. Again, I am deceased. Instant fave.

I’m pretty sure this is the exact same as I already heard on the trailer thingy but we are gonna react to it anyway.

The orchestra really loosens my tear ducts like nothing else. It’s beautiful, who else is doing it like them?? “Did you find your treasure?” Yes, I found ATEEZ 🥺. The way he says “finally found it” . This is Maddox btw. Also about Maddox, hang on I’m gonna pause for a PSA: guys if you don’t know Maddox please PLEASE check him out. He’s doing the amazing narration on this (and Intro too), he’s a soloist under KQ and one of Ateez’s hyungs who they look up to. In addition to his superior narrating talents, he is also an amazing vocalist. If you like R&B and lo-fi music I would definitely recommend him, he just dropped a single called Color Blind, his insta is xxmaddox, he’s a great guy and YEAH that’s all for my plug but go stan him, he is deserving and proof of the fact that KQ artists are talent through and through. Unpausing! The way the orchestra swells and then goes into a piratey sounding theme is so motivating and familiar :))) “Can you hear those voices?” HNGJRKSNDN WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE SCARY. This is the Epilogue, it’s supposed to be like the denouement, the falling action!! The bad guys should be gone now! What’s next?? Treasure Ep: Answer to Question? Because that’s what I have after this album! More questions!!! Anyway, the bass here and the humming 👌🏻 100/10 for the instrumental. And in ATEEZ fashion, they leave me thirsting for more.

So that was my first impression/live reaction to the mini album! I think it’s Horizon and Precious fighting for #1 currently. Maybe I’ll reblog with second and third and fourth impressions... Thanks for reading if you got this far! And tell me what your first impressions were and if I missed something big while I was keysmashing. TTFN~

#ateez #ateez action to answer #ateez answer #ateez reactions #ateez first impressions #first impressions #keysmash #liveblog #tokki.txt

[lawinformation]

Co-parenting tools, systems and helpful knowledge for post-divorce life

On the off chance that you have require a best reasonable Texas Divorce Law encounter, Co-parenting tools, systems and helpful knowledge for post-divorce life with the immense procedure!

Family Attorney Houston: Creating a system of keeping track of events, illnesses, habits and other aspects of your child’s life is essential to co-parenting well after a divorce. Many divorced parents fail to integrate a system of wellness and check-ups into their child’s life after a separation and the results can be disastrous for the child and the parents alike.

While I would never say that I have seen and experienced everything as a family law attorney, I would say that I have witnessed people parent effectively and people parent ineffectively. My goal today is to continue to share what I believe to be the habits of ex-spouses who effectively co-parent after divorce.

A Calendar- digital or on the wall

I remember back in the days when going to the mall was an event, there would be little booths, kiosks and stands set up in the corridors where families would walk up and down in order to move from one store to the next. One of those kiosks was inevitably one where calendars would be sold.

These calendars would usually have themes like football or kittens or marine life. Whatever the theme, there was clearly a time where on the wall calendars were a mainstay for many households.

Flash forward to today and I don’t think this is the case. Outside of my own home, I can’t recall having seen a calendar hanging on anyone’s wall in the past few years. The reason is probably due in large part to the fact that there are online calendars available that serve the same purpose. Your email provider probably gives you access to an online calendar for free, in fact.

Many co-parenting issues come about as a result of poor communication and bad planning. Using a calendar can nip these issues in the bud when it comes to co-parenting your child.

A simple calendar can help you to plan out events up to twelve months in advance. If you are planning a vacation for yourself and your child in June you can fill that in on the calendar so that your ex-spouse has access to and knowledge of the event as soon as you can.

I will note that if your final decree of divorce requires you to provide notice to your ex-spouse in writing of a trip during the summer, you must do so as well. The calendar is just another method for keeping track of everything.

Telling your ex-spouse that you plan on taking your son to the beach for four days in June only leaves so much of an impression. However, showing him on a calendar that stretch of days and highlighting it in yellow leaves a more indelible image and imprint on his brain.

Resolving conflicts through planning

What if that expected beach trip coincided with another event that you had been planning for your child? It would be less than ideal to have the idea of this in mind but to not share it with your ex-spouse until late April. The calendar system allows you to take the calendar map out your year months in advance and hopefully, sidestep avoidable issues like this.

I don’t know how you and your ex-spouse resolve contentious issues. One could surmise that due to the fact that you are now divorced, your methods for conflict resolution probably aren’t great. Despite this, the calendar allows for those discussions to come forth early rather than late.

Reasonable people, of which I assume you are one, can come together to settle disputes with some ease if afforded the time to do so. The calendar provides you time by allowing one another to know how you plan on spending your time with your child during that year.

Getting the calendar ready for January

Divorce Attorneys in Houston: Major retailers all sell calendars, so when you see a good deal on one go ahead and make the purchase. If you buy this year’s ask your ex-spouse to do the same next year if costs are an issue. Once the calendar gets home take an opportunity after your child is in bed or at the other parent’s home to map out the year. Take your time and take care to make sure that every foreseeable event is planned for.

We tend to get excited about summer trips and the winter holidays, but your child’s school year calendar is probably the most important. Map out the Spring Semester for your ex-spouse based on the information that you are aware of. He or she can do the same once the calendar is turned over to him or her.

Combine the hectic schedules of your child and you and you will quickly find yourself in mess after mess if you cannot anticipate events occurring in your child’s weekly schedule. Sports teams, extracurriculars, school projects, dances, and the list goes on and on. Fail to plan and you should plan to fail.

Next, Summer Vacation should be looked at. If you are the parent with a visitation schedule you should look to make sure that you have provided the requisite notice to your ex-spouse of the time period that you intend to have visitation with your child over the summer.

Once you have met this requirement in writing you should fill in your summer plans on the calendar. This way your ex-spouse can plan for when your child will be gone and can also begin to figure out when he or she will be taking their weekend during your 30 or 42-day visitation stretch in the summer.

You may not have all the information available to you as far as planning the Fall Semester schedule for the following school year but you may have some dates that can be filled in. Once you find out the schedule for Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks you can fill those in along with which parent has what parts of the Christmas holiday.

Taking calendaring to the next level

All of these tips are tricks are helpful in and of themselves as far as I’m concerned. However, I can share with you some “next level” tips as far as helping you take the fullest advantage of the help that a calendar can provide you with.

First of all, if you are the parent who is designated as being the one who should prepare the calendar you should have a deadline to send the calendar over to your ex-spouse for their review. Likewise, your ex-spouse should have a deadline by which he or she needs to turn the calendar back to you. This way he or she will be made to review the calendar immediately. Questions or concerns about any marks made within that calendar can be addressed sooner rather than later.

Any conflicts or problems with the schedule can be addressed and negotiated upon. Once a final resolution is arrived at, a final draft should be done where both you and your ex-spouse can keep a copy in your respective homes. That calendar should be kept out someplace handy so that you both and your child can review it with ease. A year is a pretty long time, so I’ve been told. If you need a refresher just look at your calendar and it will hold all the answers you need.

Medical Situations Examined in tomorrow’s blog post

Houston Divorce Attorneys: In situations where medical attention is needed for your child, or if you find yourself in a medical emergency, proper communication is essential to everyone’s well being. With this said, the family law attorneys with the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC hope you can return tomorrow to read more about this subject in particular.

If you have questions about this subject please do not hesitate to contact the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC. A free of charge consultation is available to you with one of our licensed family law attorneys six days a week ... Continue Reading

#divorce #divorce law #family #Family Law #fagan #bryan fagan #attorney #attorneys #texas attorneys #law #lawyer #lawyers #Houston lawyers #Texas

[serenitysilverfantasyworld]

The PenPal

Sorry it’s been so long since the last chapter. Here is the next chapter of The PenPal!

New beginnings

A few days later

*back to Ikuto

               “Iku! Letter!” Shigure said excitedly running from the mailbox outside and into the bed and breakfast.

               “Thanks buddy.” Ikuto said scratching his mess of blonde hair before he bounded off to play with Akane. After Ikuto finished what he was doing he took a small break and rested on a lawn chair outside. “I hope she’s feeling better today.” He muttered to himself as he opened the envelope.

Dear Ikuto,

       I took a tumble down the side of a mountain is all, the doctors just want to make sure that I am perfectly healthy before they let me go. My eyes were severely damaged… so time will tell if I get my sight back. If my sight doesn’t return my dream will remain a dream…

               Ikuto wiped the tears that were streaming down his face as he heard Tsuki’s voice in the distance.

              “Ikuto-kun, you okay?” Tsuki asked her head poking out of a nearby window in the bed and breakfast.

              “I’m fine Tsuki.” He smiled wiping his tears quickly. “What do you need?” He asked.

              “You just look like you need a hug, so,” She grunted climbing over the windowsill and jumping onto the grass before bounding over to where he sat, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. “Feel better?” She asked her bright blue eyes gazing up at him.

              “Much better.” He smiled touching her nose playfully. “Now run off and play cutie.” He chuckled as she bounded off into the distance. Once she was gone he read the rest of the letter.

         It sounds like your parents have their hands full, and I’m sure your siblings like having you around. When I was Shigure’s age I ran around the yard looking for all the bugs and critters I could find to show my dad. He was never happy to see me on those days, but I guess all I wanted him to notice me. That’s another story all together, I don’t want to bore you with that story.  

       That’s a smart idea, you taking online classes especially if you work a lot. I have been so busy with high school and my college courses that I haven’t gotten myself a part time job.

          You write music, that’s really cool I’m kind of jealous I can sing well enough, but can’t write a single cord without it sounding like a dying whale. What genre of music do you write, I’d love to hear it sometime. I don’t doubt that you will be an amazing musician. When you make it big I��ll be sure to buy your first album alright? I’m finally feeling better; the flu has finally bit the dust and I’m on the road to full recover and hopefully out of this sanitary prison they call a hospital. I look forward to hearing from you again soon.

~Kyoko

          “Ikuto!” His dad shouted from the back door. “Can you cover the front desk while your mom and I go shopping?”

           “Sure thing dad.” Ikuto said as he slid the letter into his back pocket. “I’ll reply when I have some spare time.”

            A few weeks go by and Kyoko’s letter was still on his desk, waiting a reply. His parents surprised him that night when they came home from their shopping trip. Telling him that they were going to go on a vacation to Kyoto for their twenty-fifth anniversary, so that left Ikuto to take care of his siblings and run the bed and breakfast by himself. Luckily they did have several part time employees that helped take care of the patron’s needs and meals, but they were all still pretty new to the job so Ikuto was there most of the day supervising when he wasn’t otherwise chasing his siblings. With his finals coming up in online school courses he spent most every night after closing up the bed and breakfast studying and waking up to Akame’s nightmares.

            Every morning started with a large cup of coffee just to wake himself up before the chaos of the day. The moment his parents returned from their trip he went to his room for a much-needed nap. After waking up the next morning he finally replied to Kyoko’s letter she sent three weeks ago. “I’m so sorry Kyoko, please forgive me.”

Three days later

*back to Kyoko

               After her confrontation with her father Misaki demanded over and over for Kyoko to be released from the hospital to avoid further injury from him. The staff declined, because they didn’t want to get fired for disobeying Dr. Ootori’s direct orders to keep his daughter here until she is ‘fully recovered’ after a thorough examination by himself. Which everyone knew that he had some really high standards, so Misaki resigned herself to getting the permission to stay the night every night until Kyoko was recovered enough for a release.

               For the past few weeks every day that Misaki came back from the store with no letter Kyoko’s spirits dropped. Every day was a rollercoaster of emotions when she heard Misaki come in her hopes would rise and then quickly plummet, until at long last Misaki rushed in excitedly. “Ikuto finally replied Kyoko!”

               “Great.” Kyoko said gloomily with a hint of sarcasm.

               “Don’t you want to hear what he wrote?” She asked as she set the groceries she bought into the mini-fridge they had in the hospital room.

               “Whatever.” She said.

               “Just give him a chance, I’m sure he has a good reason for not writing you for so long.” Misaki said sitting in the chair on the balcony next to Kyoko.

               “Doesn’t matter.” Kyoko shrugged as Misaki ripped open the envelope.

Dear Kyoko,

         I’m so sorry it took me so long to respond to your letter, my parents went on a surprise vacation for three weeks, so I had to hold down the fort at home and the bed and breakfast while they were away. It was quite tiring.

         I’m so sorry to hear about your accident, I hope you can recover fully soon. Especially your eyes, those are needed to do most everything.

         I’m flattered to hear that you want to hear my music, but I have to say I’m not that good. My mom may call me her little superstar, but I still have a long way to go before I’m star material. I can play any genre on the piano and guitar. With my original songs I tend to lean towards calm and soothing melodies, my teacher calls it smooth pop. Sometimes I use my guitar and sing some big country hits just to mix things up at the bed and breakfast. If you want to hear my music maybe we could video chat sometime, but wait do they allow laptops in the hospital? Or when you are released you can always come over to the bed and breakfast, but we can figure that out later I guess.

         I’m sorry again that it took so long to write back to you, I was just so busy lately, please forgive me.

~Ikuto

               After Misaki read the letter Kyoko sat their silently, sighing heavily.

               “You know we could go…” Misaki started.

               “No.” Kyoko argued. “I can’t….” She said pointing at her face, the scars across her eyes that she’s felt so many times she knew there is no way that the whole world wouldn’t notice them the second she stepped outside.

               “You look beautiful as always, and your dad will understand or at least accept your condition one day… we hope.” Misaki said as she walked to the microwave, placing some instant noodles inside. “On another note, I got a call from the service dog agency like you asked me to do, they have a dog that is ready for you to start going through the training with.”

               “Great.” Kyoko said, knowing at least in her situation having a new set of eyes to help her avoid obstacles would be helpful. “When?”

               “I told them to bring the dog here tomorrow as soon as they can.” Misaki said as she grabbed her noodles from the microwave. “This should hopefully help you get some of your independence back.”

               “Yea...” Kyoko sighed heavily. “Dad’s not going to like this.”

               “We can only hope he’ll come to his senses.” Misaki replied. “Hopefully before school starts.”

               “Yea.” Kyoko sighed, desperate to change the topic from her overbearing father.

               “Let’s eat, then we’ll write the letter.” Misaki said as she handed Kyoko her cup of noodles.

               “Ok.” Kyoko replied as Misaki placed a cup of noodles into her hands, handing her a fork since chopsticks are difficult for her.

                After the garbage was thrown away, Misaki pulled out her notepad and pen. “Ready when you are.”    

                Once the letter was written Misaki was so happy to hear from Kyoko’s tone of voice that she was starting to feel just a little bit cheerful. Since finding out what the accident did to her eyesight she barely spoke a word for that whole three weeks. She was still not her normal perky self but she’s at least been less snippy than she was when she first got the news from the doctors. Misaki was filled with hope for the future that Kyoko could have with her new friend that she couldn’t keep tears from flowing.

               “What’s wrong?” Kyoko asked, hearing Misaki sniffle a couple of times.

               “I’m just happy Kyoko.” Misaki said as she slid the notebook and letter into her bag. “Your mom would be so happy for you.” Misaki said.

                 “I hope...” Kyoko smiled gazing softly towards Misaki.

A week later

*back to Ikuto

               He had finally finished off his online classes for the summer semester and was ready to enjoy the rest of the summer writing songs and working when he was needed at the bed and breakfast. He went back to the song he wrote a few weeks ago that was inspired by Kyoko, trying to put lyrics to the tune. He racked his brain for several days whenever he had free time, but no lyrics came to him. As he scrubbed the dishes from dinner one day the mail carrier walked in and set the mail on the bar, seeing Ikuto at the sink behind it.

               “Thank you very much.” Ikuto said drying his hands off as the mail carrier walked back outside. He flipped through the pile of letters until he found one from Kyoko. He smiled as he slid the letter into his pocket, going back to his chores. “I’m hope she isn’t mad at my late response.” He sighed in relief.

               That night after closing up the bed and breakfast he went to his room to read Kyoko’s letter.

Dear Ikuto,

       I was so happy to get your letter, I was worried that you forgot about me…. My friends haven’t visited me this whole two months I’ve been here. On top of that my boyfriend dumped me before I was even out of surgery shortly after my accident, and now he’s married to my best friend. He’s the heir to a large company so the marriage was all over the news so if you have a television you probably saw it…. They both graduated at the end of this school year in May and now… I thought what we had was something special, he told me he would wait until I graduated to propose so my studies wouldn’t be hindered. I guess he only really loved me for my family’s money after all.

My family’s business is Ootori Medical Inc. My father is the CEO of the whole company, which is I guess one reason I’m stuck in this hospital, even though all my injuries have healed.

I’m sorry, didn’t mean to rant about something so trivial, but it’s nice to get it off my chest… I…haven’t really spoken much to anyone lately… The only one that I’ve really spoken to has been Misaki, she’s been like a mother to me since I was born. She’s been my scribe for my letters until my eyes heal.

       Misaki has told me time and again that singing was one of my mom’s favorite things to do. There was a rumor of my mom getting a record deal but was forced to give it up when she married my dad. When I would walk to school I would often sing to my favorite songs, I guess in a way it made me feel closer to the mother I never knew….

I’m sorry, this ended up being a letter of venting, I’ll try to avoid that next time it’s just been a rough three weeks…

Were you able to get any sleep while holding the fort down? If not you should take all the time you need to sleep, I’m sure you’ve earned it. You mother should be giving birth soon shouldn’t she?

I would love to visit the bed and breakfast sometime, I’m sick of this prison of a hospital my dad has forced me to stay in.  

~Kyoko

           After reading Kyoko’s letter he sat there, unsure what to think or how to respond. He looked over at the clock by his bed and saw it was already midnight. When did it get so late? He thought to himself as he quickly undressed and went to bed, leaving the letter on his nightstand.

               A few days go by and Ikuto finally had a few minutes to sit down to respond to Kyoko’s letter.  

               “You writing to Kyoko?” His mother asked as Ikuto sealed the envelope, she sat down slowly on the couch next to Ikuto.

               “Yea,” Ikuto smiled as he set the envelope on the table. “Do you think it’s too early to ask her to meet in person?” He asked looking over at his mother.

               “Well you have only known her a couple of months so it’s hard to say, does she want to meet you?” she asked.

               “I’m not sure, she mentioned that it would be nice to get out of the hospital so maybe…?”

               “What is she in the hospital for?” She asked.

               “Well, I don’t know the details, but she was in an accident of some sort and her eyes were severely damaged, they aren’t sure if she’ll see once her eyes are recovered. I should ask her if her eyes are better.” He said as he jotted that down on his notepad.

               “Oh the poor thing…” She sighed.

               “Yea… she seems to be dealing with it in her own way, but I can imagine it’s really hard for her, she wants to be a doctor so she needs to be able to see.”

               “Yea she certainly does, I hope all is well. Any sort of serious injury is hard to deal with at first. Especially if you were in perfect health before.”

               “What should I do?” Ikuto asked.

               “Let me read.” She replied as Ikuto handed her the letter. After reading it she set it down, her hand rubbing the end of her chin in thought. “It sounds like she is in need of a friend Ikuto, her life has just been flipped upside down.”

               “Alright, thanks mom.” Ikuto smiled.

               “Maybe you should wait to ask her to visit till she’s able to.”

               “Alright.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to hurt her, it sounds like she’s been through a lot.”

               “You’re so cute when you worry Ikuto.” His mother chuckled.

               Ikuto’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, she was only partially right. He was worried about her, but it felt different than anything he had ever felt before. From his previous rejection he wasn’t ready to admit that this could be the beginnings of love that he was feeling. “I just care for her as a friend.” His blush deepened.

               “Whatever you say Ikuto.” She winked as he left to put the letter in the mailbox.

#thepenpal #romance #serenitysilverfantasyworld #lovestory

[immagettinmyshittogether]

Worthwhile distractions

So I’ve been having a little trouble keeping up with some shit lately. A couple weeks ago I got hit with a MASSIVE cold/flu/something. So my diet went out the window in favor of chicken noodle soup and spicy food to clear my sinuses and whatever the heck comfort food I needed to get through the day. Considering how sick I was, honestly, I suspect that my body was burning more calories than normal anyway just to fight it off. And I don’t seem to have gained or lost much weight in the last few weeks, so I think my hypothesis is probably pretty close to true. But I was so sick that I honestly couldn’t think straight for several days. Of course, the days that I was the most sick were Friday through Sunday. So I didn’t miss any work. I just spend the entire next week sniffling and taking dayquil.

Needless to say, for the second time, I missed a writing deadline. My writing income has dropped considerably (which thanks to the two month delay in Amazon sales, I won’t notice until the end of January). Partly because of missed deadlines, I’m sure, but also partly because I think the series I’ve been working on just doesn’t have as big an audience as I thought it would. I was trying to shift from straight up smut to smutty romantic smut. It appears that for short-term and short story/serial publishing, the lowest common denominator might be a better thing to aim for. My sales have been practically nil, and my Kindle Unlimited reads have been a little below average. I haven’t had the heart to check my book rankings, but I know they’re lower than they were the last few months.

Author’s note/edit after posting - I realized that I hadn’t updated anything about last month’s sales. Last month jumped up to over 150. It was on target to hit 200 until Thanksgiving came around and I missed my first deadline.... then it kind of hit a stasis that week, and I basically didn’t earn hardly anything for the entire last week of the month. Still, I’m afraid to look at my current projected monthly income based on what I’ve made so far this month. It ain’t gonna be pretty.)

Then the shit kind of hit the fan at work. I work on a college campus, so these last few weeks of the semester are just kind of a run-up to the end. Always busier than usual, often with higher stakes in order to make sure shit gets done in time. So the next week after being sick has been one of the busiest and most stressful weeks of the semester. I’ll explain the details under the ‘keep reading’ line if you’re curious.

I did manage to get the story out late. So I still managed to publish once my brain was functioning. Unfortunately, I’m finding that at the moment, my usual after-day-job home environment isn’t really conducive to my current writing. I don’t know if it’s just because I’m writing smut, and I have trouble focusing on that with my spouse in the room. Or, more likely, it’s because my spouse has ADD and needs constant background things going on, like youtube videos or something, in order to concentrate. Whereas I don’t, and those things are distractions for me.

I’m wondering if I should just wrap up the various series that I have going now and call this experiment in writing a minimum of a short a week what is was: an experiment. But with winter vacation coming up for me, I will have the chance to sit at home and write without distraction for a few weeks. So I’ll at least try to catch up on my work then and get a good backlog to keep posting.

The pen name I was using for this smut is not one I ever planning on using to make a living. I was just using it to force myself to write something out of my comfort zone, get some experience writing on a long-term repeated deadline, and get a feel for online publishing.

I have learned a bit about serial publishing. And I’m starting to understand why all the old classic serial publishers tried to make things as salacious as they did. In the fast-paced world of publishing, the most important thing is just to grab people’s attention. After that you can worry about quality.

I also had another pen name that focused more on the romance side of things rather than the smut side of things... but that’s an entirely different market, and it generally requires a longer time investment and longer stories. And when all I can do at the moment while I’ve got my day job is about 5k words per week, the smut seemed to be the better option to focus on.

So this winter break might be a turnaround. A chance to try something else. Or a chance to at least finish up my work on one pen name.

But back to the now. this week, since the series I was working on was doing so badly, I decided to put it on hiatus and go back to one that I’d wrapped up the first arc and put on hiatus. The one that had caused my numbers to kinda explode last month. I had an idea for a nice little intro story that was not only holiday-themed, but would be able to stand alone months from now, and would work as a good introduction to the second arc. So I started churning along. I had a lot of stuff to do around the house to start getting ready for the holidays, but my spouse was going to be out of the house for about five hours on Saturday, so I decided to pace myself. Get half of it written Friday, half Saturday. And I was on track. I was about 3.8k words in on the  ≈5k story. And I’d already found a suitable image to photomanip into a decent cover for publishing. (Something that often takes a while, sorting through image sites, finding something that fits what I need, but doesn’t run afoul of Amazon’s fear of butts on cover art. Just once, I want to find a picture of a sexy model who would look good on a smutty book cover who’s wearing regular underwear, and not a nigh-invisible thong. The problems of a smut writer.)

And then I got a message from a friend in need. I won’t go into too much detail, but it is someone who had just lost their job, suffers from severe anxiety and depression, and even if the big S word that so often goes along with situations like that hadn’t come up, I still would have done the same thing. I had pants on, brushed my teeth, and ran out the door in record time. (Even if said friend could afford a car, the anxiety issues are bad enough to make driving unhealthy and unsafe) And my spouse got home right around the same time we got back to our house. So we spent the night helping a friend in need. Needless to say, I really don’t feel too bad about missing the third deadline. Some shit is more important. My spouse and I may be super introverts who are terrible at most socialization related things... but even if we’re crap at helping a friend in need, we’re still going to try.

Right now, my spouse and I aren’t in the best place financially. I’m not in the best place health-wise. But I’m still working at it. I’m still getting my shit together. And as I was just reminded on Saturday, I’m not the only one. For everybody out there... if you have too much shit to handle, call a friend. Somebody. Anybody. As I mentioned, my spouse and I are NOT great at being sociable and helping people. We’re actually pretty terrible at keeping in touch. We hadn’t talked to this friend in a few months. But even we were able to help, just by being there and hanging out with someone who wasn’t safe to be alone.

Sometimes we can’t keep our shit together. And that’s nothing to be ashamed about. Sometimes all we can do is try to keep afloat and look for something to hold onto. And sometimes, we can be that something to hold onto for someone else.

... I still have a lot of shit to get done this week, though. After two weeks of neglect when I should have been preparing for holiday visitor (I was hoping for visitors plural, but c’est la guerre. Siblings are all on various coasts, and we can’t always find a way to get together. Especially since only two of the five of my generation can really AFFORD to travel), my house is a MESS. And I still have that story to finish.

Day job explanation time. My official job title on campus is ‘proctor’. Basically, it means two things: I administer makeup and online tests in my office/testing lab, and I keep copies of certain paper tests for a few departments on the smaller satellite campus where I work. There are two main departments that I mostly proctor tests for, one uses the computers in my lab, so all I have to do is check students in. But the other uses paper tests, and I proctor makeups for that department as well as provide the paper tests for the teachers to use in their class.

Unfortunately, the copier on my floor is showing signs of wear and tear. Once you get over about 50 pages in one sitting, it starts to overheat and jam. So this year, they decided to limit the number of pages per copy job to 50. And with good reason. Unfortunately for me, I need to copy rather large batches of tests. And I can’t go to the other copier several floors down, because 1) I can’t leave my lab for more than a few minutes at a time, in case a student comes by with a narrow time window before their next class to take a test, and 2) I’m only scheduled/paid/officially on duty during the lab hours, so I can’t stay late or come in early to do copies.

Needless to say, my first thought was to see if I could just send my print jobs off to the print shop on campus and have them do them all and deliver them. Unfortunately, I need a digital copy to send to them for that. And in spite of the fact that I requested this at the beginning of the semester... all I’ve gotten from that department are the practice tests, not the actual tests. And of course, the practice tests are small enough that I can copy those just fine.

So I’ve been breaking the rules and doing batches of 60-75 pages whenever I can. But that’s still only 15 copies at a time, and I need something like 400 copies of each test. And the copier is occasionally down for a day or so when something breaks and they have to wait to get the part to fix it. And Murphy’s law seems to be in full force, because when I need to refill my inventory, it’s always fine on the days that I have a steady stream of students in my lab, and down the days that I have a trickle and therefore plenty of time with no students so I can close up the lab for five minutes.

The finals, of course, are 8-10 pages each, depending on the class. Which means that I can literally only do 5 copies at a time if I follow the rules. And there’s a hard deadline as to when I need to make sure that I have enough for every teacher. That deadline, of course, being after the last few weeks of classes, when students realize that they REALLY need to get in to take that makeup test and raise their grade before it’s too late.

Thankfully, the department actually got around to sending me a digital version of the finals. So I sent those off to the print shop, several weeks ahead of the due date, and I set the deliver due date as last Thursday at the latest, since I don’t work Friday, and I knew some teachers were letting students who couldn’t be there for the final take their test on Thursday or Friday before finals week. I gave them explicit instructions to deliver it to my lab, warned them that the lab is locked for test security reasons while I’m not there, told them where to get the key, and asked them to email me if, for any reason, they couldn’t deliver the tests.

I got to my lab in the morning to find... no delivery. I checked the support ticket. It said that they were finished 9 days ago... but neither one actually had a digital signature of who finished it. That day just so happened to also be the busiest test day of the semester. The department that uses computer tests in my lab had a final due date for the last chapter that day, so every semester that is always my busiest day. So as soon as I was relieved for my fifteen minute break, instead of taking my break, I ran downstairs to see if perhaps they simply didn’t read the delivery instructions and left the tests in the (thankfully locked) employee mailroom. (Which, coincidentally, is where the good copier is. This will be important later.)

So when I got back from break, the first thing I did was look up how to contact the print shop. Other than submitting a print request... there was nothing. I could look up the employees and email them, but there was no formal support ticket. Only a print request ticket. So I emailed the supervisor of the department.

An hour later, I finally had a moment with no students in the room, so I could make a phone call without worrying about disturbing people testing. So I called the print department. It rang four times... and went to voice mail.

I waited a minute, tried again, just to see if I got unlucky and just missed someone. Still voicemail. So, even though I hate using the phone because that means they’ll call me back instead of emailing, and I can’t really talk when there are students testing, I left a message.

By the end of my shift... still nothing. Nothing at all. And I knew that at least one teacher needed a few copies BY THE NEXT MORNING because he had students who couldn’t be there during finals week. And, just to add insult to injury, because of the holiday coming up, we had to submit our time sheet early this week. So I had no way to report extra time spent staying late to deal with this issue. But the teachers all depend on me, so I printed out  a copy of each of the tests, and I was in the middle of composing an email to let the teachers know that I would drop off an unstapled copy and a copy of the answer key in their mailboxes, so that if they desperately needed it, at least they could use the copier right next to their mailbox to make as many as they need for class.

While I was doing that... the phone rang. It was the print shop. Apparently they had finished my print job early, and set it aside and forgotten about it. It was just sitting in a corner of the room, on the main campus several miles away from the satellite campus. She apologized for forgetting about it, said that it was loaded in the delivery vehicle trunk, and as soon as the delivery person got there the next morning he would head over.

Since I didn’t know when he would actually get there, and when teachers would start needing the tests, that still didn’t change much for me. I thanked her for getting back to me, told her that if that should be fine, and just amended the email I was sending out to let them know that the tests SHOULD be there by the morning. But just in case, I was still going to drop off the unstapled copies. (Plus two stapled ones for the teacher who mentioned needing a couple by Friday morning) I’m still not sure how I can report the extra 37 minutes of overtime I had to spend doing that, since the time sheets are already in... and I can’t just add it to next week, because I won’t be working next week.

But I got to work today and... the tests were here. And things have been slow enough that I’ve been able to write this huge freaking post with only a few interruptions here and there. (Okay, now that I’m done helping someone, interruptions here, there, and the one while I was trying to hit post.)

#getting my shit together #writing blog #writing blues #life blog #life blogging #i did mention weight loss #but not very much #stress #work stress #work blog #i'm not actually pulling my hair out #but it came close

[namjoonchronicles]

smart | 2

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#2 : The Downside of Capitalism.

How do one decide between good and bad? What makes the good, good? And the bad, bad? When the line that divides it becomes a mirage, how do one justify what not to do, and what’s to be done?

Because life did not come with manuals.

For Namjoon, the world is blinded by the thirst to conquer, to obtain, to own, to have. He worked hard to be where he is, and yet to him, they are not enough. They are never enough. A gifted student his whole life, scholarship is his dream. Unlike the others, he was not born with the silver spoon in his mouth and yet, here he is, surrounded by ‘winners’.

Yes, he calls them winners—the privileged. Bashful and proud with the things their parents bought for them, never had a day where food was not on the table, having not to worry about going jobless for a year because their family made enough—so being wealthy is Namjoon’s end point.

Money was tight at home, so he hones his brain to be sharper than most, and sealed his place in this college for the rich and outstanding. And Namjoon felt like he was on top of the world. And kept climbing.

He shoved his newly borrowed books into the bag, phone pressed to his ear as his eyes, unfocused while he carefully listened to his mother spoke, “...But mom, I gave her pocket money last three days, are you telling me that it already ran out?” He fidgets his eyes to a small bright neon pink notes on the base of the locker, took it out without reading, and slammed the locker door shut, “...I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise.” End call.

He sighed and looked down at the screen with a hard expression—furrowed brows, narrowed eyes, crinkled forehead and thumb scrolling down the phone’s wrecked screen. He double tapped the bank icon and quickly check his account balance. It loads auspiciously slow this time, the irony.

The fact that it loads longer, when he needs it to be quick than the time where he wasn’t worried about the amount, is ironic. And.

As expected.

The numbers aren’t great. His bank account were not great. Namjoon is not going to last this month. Not with that stash. Not at all. He would have to go starving a few days until the next allowances come in. Which is no sooner than the middle of next month. And it’s only the 18th.

He clenched his eyes shut and let out harsh exhale through his nostril before he puts away his phone into the back pocket of his faded and aging denim. “This can’t do...” he mutters to him and crumpled the pink neon notes before it gets to be read. And as he about to discard them in the bin in the hallway, he straightens them, realizing that he hadn’t read what it says.

“Do you tutor? Please call me.” He looked at the time.

2:17PM. There’s a class.

Fuck, I’m late. Namjoon dashes across the hallway, through the open park where the water fountain is, jumped over the benches, sputtering apologies like he is spitting rap verses. Lecture Hall B. I made it.

He pushes the door and saw several students walking in leisurely, and felt a pang of relief when he discovers that he wasn’t very late. The professor has just started setting up his laptop, fumbling with the cables and wires, stack of papers on the desk while a female student wait by his side. His lips were moving, pursing and milling unheard words, especially at the distance Namjoon was standing at--he couldn’t hear a thing.

The professor settles his work station just in time as Namjoon chose a seat. Namjoon didn’t take out any books but chose to lace his fingers together and patiently wait. He saw the professor passed a marked paper to the girl and she walked away with a sullen expression. She took the seat in the farthest row in that lecture hall, walking past Namjoon with her head down.

“...afternoon.” The professor greeted before he continued to pass the marked papers around the class. “...I marked most of it on my vacation in Greece. Most of you made me pretty pleased, while some are just, completely missing the point of the whole assignment.” Namjoon obtains his, with a perfect score and a single yet, empowering comment by the professor himself, “Simply brilliant.”

He bit his lips, not smiling much but his neighboring colleague congratulates him with a single slap on the shoulder, “...You scholarship guys are too much...don’t you have enough A’s in line already?” Namjoon sparked a quick smile before putting his papers to face down and have the marks and comments, covered. No, he wasn't ashamed. People tend to be envious about the little things in life, and he thought the act would mirror something called, humility. The lecture begins with some intergration practice, before the professor delves into a more complicated differentiation and deviation.

While others scrambling to take notes or take pictures of the slide, recording video or struggling to write in an insane speed, Namjoon sits back and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at the board, peering at calculations the professor laid across, doing mental maths because he predicts that he is about to ask one of the students in the hall to complete them for him, “...volunteers?”

A good third half of the class lowered their heads in hopes of never getting chosen. The professor tips his eyes at one confident pair of irises, with his arms crossed and laid back, the relaxed Namjoon—and he smiled with a little shake of his head. The professor then drops his gaze to his finger on his laptop and called a name.

Hers. The girl Namjoon saw earlier. The one standing by the professors’ desk when he came in. The one who took her marked papers with a sad expression on her face, walking up and avoiding Namjoon’s air. Her name.

“Oh sir. Please..not me, I can’t—I don’t...” Namjoon casted his eyes downward to write down his answers with a pen he borrowed from the one sitting next to him while she started rambling.

“Come down here.” The professor demanded. “There must be something you learnt through out the last semester, that’s why you’re here in the second semester. Come on...” he said and you climbed down one step at a time. “...write whatever you know.” He added and handed you a marker.

Gulping, you uncapped the marker and then recap it while staring at the equation before you, for at least five minutes.

“Prof! We don’t got all day!” One of the students yelled and you were visibly shakened. Namjoon threw a side glance to the back of the student’s head, disapproving his reckless comments, allowing a small scoff to leave his lips. The professor held his palm outward at the immature student and clicked his tongue. “...why are you in this course, sweetie?” The professor asked gently, as he straightens up from leaning against the desk, not expecting an answer from you, before asking you to return to your seat with the downcast of his eyes.

You laid the capped marker down and walked back to your seat, climbing up a few steps while Namjoon climbed down.

And again, you dropped your head while he had his chin up, took the marker you laid down and wrote his calculations with one hand in the pocket, scribbling the final answer with great ease. “Thank you.” The professor darted and Namjoon bowed with respect before returning to his desk. The class ended a few minutes later and before the professor could even finish his words, you were already dashing out the door, disrupting his ending speech. You caught everybody's attentions, including Namjoon's. The door slams shut after you. He nodded once and the students dismissed.

Namjoon shoved his paper in his bag and zipped them up. The class is half empty now, with students exiting one by one or in groups, Namjoon walked down the flight of stairs of the huge lecture hall, greeted by some pretty ladies, congratulating him, shyly. One of the hottest girls in the class handed him an invitation to a party in an expensive nightclub closest to the college, he smiled in appreciation and almost made it to the back door when the professor called his name.

“Yes, Prof?” He turned around and walked to the desk.

Big dollops of tears fell on top of the assignment paper, heavily stained with red crosses, scribbles on top of scribbles, large circles around certain words and then some painful remarks. At the top right hand corner, the professor wrote aggressive cursive in red ink, “See me!”

Another teardrops fell. The writings swells where the tears fell.

Disappointed. Disheartened. Heavily distraught. All these words doesn’t even compensate how you actually felt.

The worthlessness kicks back into you, lowered your confidence, and humbled you. I don’t have what it takes to be here. Your lips quivered as your face was covered by your hair, sitting on the last step of a stairwell people usually avoid using, unless there’s a fire drill. Head started to pound, drilling because you cried so hard, the muscle around your eyes started to swell, your face is now puffy beyond recognition. You could feel it. You don’t have to see it.

Holding the paper before you, you tore them down the middle, and repeated the process until they’re size of your palm. Pulling your bag’s strap over your shoulders, your notes and purse and whatever that’s left of your invisible strength, you yank the door heading out of the stairwell, back to the college hallways. You threw the shredded papers into the bin. It had no covers. Gathering what’s left of your pride, you avoided the cafeteria where most of your colleagues are and locked yourself in your room. For an hour, maybe two, maybe the whole day. Maybe, even tomorrow as well.

Phone vibrating. Yours. “Hello?” “Cover you? Today? Sure.” Maybe locked yourself, later.

Namjoon stared at the shredded paper in the bin. His grip on the bag straps tightens as he clamp his lower lips between his teeth. He blinks at it, knowing exactly who it belongs to, unsure what to do with the information he just obtained from staring at it, breathes in and in a split second, someone discarded their Americano and stained the whole paper. Your name was still visible. Namjoon took a look at his half filled cup of coke, took a tiny sip before expelling the rest into the bin, on top of the same paper. Now your name is gone. No one will know who threw their graded assignment in the bin and tore it to half. No one.

Namjoon spends the rest of his day, lazying in the basketball court, dribbling the basketball, shooting hoops and laughing with his friends. He sat on the bleachers, talking about new music videos, and cool movies they’ve watched or plan to watch. Some of them pointed out that party that was happening, hosted by that hot girl in class. Namjoon’s passion died a little when they mentioned about it. He wasn’t too excited to go a place that is crowded and loud and simply overpriced for a mediocre joy.

Loud noises, getting whacked drunk and grinding on girls might be fun to some, but not to Namjoon. Definitely not his cup of tea.

“Come on dude, they’ll have discounts if you show them your invitation card... don’t scholarship dudes have fun too??” They pestered him, pushing his knees, and Namjoon dropped his gaze down the middle before looking up at the far distant, and passed, “...Some people hates things you don’t. It’s a huge planet.. incase you forgot.”

And that’s when he saw it.

Those legs lunging across the unused basketball court, with a tiny backpack, hair in a bun and a uniform worn by employees of a fried chicken parlor. The girl who threw her marked paper into the bin, left it; shredded and unwanted. And as if you felt eyes on you, you glanced at the direction where Namjoon was sitting—a white bleacher with a ball in his hands, knees wide spread and squinted eyes. He broke off the contact first, turns away, as if he saw nothing. You turned away too.

You had no time to waste. Certainly not on him.

Namjoon went to look at your back as you continued to walk away, to the university entrance, exiting. He watched you write your name on the record book and running to the bus that takes students to town, from the bleacher while his friends danced obscenely. “...aren’t we forbidden to find jobs outside the universities?” Namjoon suddenly spikes in the uproarious conversation, making the laughter die. “Don’t know. Never had to work.” They shrugged.

Of course they won’t know. What would rich fools know about the struggles the middle class had to face everyday?

“Why? Is your money tight?” They asked. Namjoon dropped his head down, dribbling the basketball while sitting, he nodded a bit. This wasn't something he would have shared, mindlessly, but he thought if he didn't tell someone, the thought would have burdened him. The earlier conversation with his mom came back to him.

“She needs to pay the tuition this month, if not, she’ll be excluded. She’s not as smart as you, Namjoon. She needs this class...they’ll pry on her. It’ll stress her...and she won’t do well.” Namjoon could tell that she’s tired. Mother would never have called if she didn’t need to. Namjoon’s younger sister would have never called to tell him this.

“How much?” Namjoon pauses for his mother to answer and blinked, “...I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise.” End call.

His friend glanced over his shoulder, jumps over a seat, and rested his elbow on Namjoon’s shoulder and, “...you know what to do.” He wriggled his eyebrows. Namjoon took a moment to realised what he was talking about and when he did, he winces his shoulder away from this friend.

“What...what?” The other fellow with the Air Jordan shoes perks up.

“Why? It involves no drugs, no sexual intercourse, no hooligans, it’s perfect Namjoon!” The guy leans closer, “You did it before, you can do it again.”

Air Jordan guy hoisted up in his seat. “... do what?”

The other fellow, scooches closer to Namjoon. “Everybody knows that women, drugs and booze brings the money, Joon. All of that is illegal, I don’t need to brief you on that because your genius ass would have found out most of it by now... that’s why I have a preposition. We can start this again.”

And this time, wealthier clients, a more foul-proof plans with greater than 75 per cent success rates.

“With you around Namjoon, we can easily have 98.99 per cent sealed deals.”

Namjoon returned to his dorm. He laid in his bed. “1 million, 2 million. 15 students. Each.” He stared up his ceiling, his chin portruding, brows furrowing , eyes narrowed. If he agrees, and he keep up the pace, he would easily close in a 300 million won in account. His younger sister doesn’t have to worry about tuition fees, being excluded of classes. He would be able to pay off the debts his father left, his mother can leave her job, and he will be paying his younger sisters’ college fees until she graduates. And maybe even a little more after that. He is going to give his sister the life he always dreamt of.

Today, there is a quiz. 75 questions. A mock exam. All objectives with five options: A, B, C, D and E.

The scores will help in the GPA. 5%. 

You stood outside, while other people walked in confidently, without hesitation, you were knotting your fingers together, sweating profusely, as if you’ve been running a marathon. Uncapping your water bottle, you gulped a monstrous amount of water since morning. No, since last night, because you didn’t sleep trying to prepare for this exams.

And still feel that you’re lacking. None of your preparations would ever make you feel enough. You felt like fighting a losing battle. Its monstrously unmotivating thoughts, few minutes before entering an exam.

Now that you’re standing at its door. All is in shreds.

“Relax, you won’t get anything from being nervous about it.” A deep voice passed, and walked past you. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. There’s only one voice you know to be that deep,

“Namjoon.” Your heart whispered. He held the door open for you but you shook your head, not yet ready. He tipped his head and walked in.

It made you smile.

But the nervousness remains, even if the amount severely diminish, it was still there, the remnants. As irritating and totally unneeded it was, you sincerely hoped that for once, you don’t have the ability to feel, to have emotions, to be scared, to have fear. It was just an exam, you said to yourself.

Namjoon sat a few seats before you. He sat relaxed, his shoulders sturdy, listening to perhaps, classical music in his earphones. He rolls his head around, his long, almost feminine-like fingers, clutches the back of his shoulder blade, massaging himself while the students take their seats and the professor wrote the exam details on the board.

“Hurry in, the exam is about to begin.”

Heart pounding against your chest and ringing in your ear, you can feel the panic, setting in you as the hall grew quieter, more silence and rigid, as the seconds passed. “Do you have extra pencil?” A lushious voice drilled into your hazy thoughts and you jumped in your seat.

It was the everly beautiful and stunning, Kim Seokjin—whose face is as impressive as his lineage. “Quickly, I don’t have time...” he averts his eyes to your pen, “...Celebrex.” He called you. And if you thought it was rude to call someone by everything else but their name, Kim Seokjin are one of those people in campus who was allowed to call a human, a walking trashcan—if he wanted to. He simply had that much power around.

And if you think that this college is filled with the obnoxiously wealthy, the top 1 per cent, the money machines? Seokjin owns half of what everyone here, owns. He is the rare, 0.25 per cent—the people who are deemed as wealthy as the kings and queens, and some said, perhaps even more. So rich, they could be called royalties, of their own class. It is not an exaggeration if they were to be named: The Korean Rothschilds.

You handed him your pencil. And took another one out with an eraser. He blinks at you, and tilt his head to one side. “...incase the tip breaks.” You shrugged. You thought he would need the eraser since he clearly came without basic stationeries, but he took only the extra pencil. “I won’t be needing that.” He eyed the eraser. Then. He walked off in a relaxed stride. He was the last one to sit and he chose the seat next to Namjoon. Everyone avoided the desk as if it brings bad luck or something. The professor knows Seokjin was taking his sweet time but said nothing to haste him—like he did everybody else.

That was how much power Seokjin had.

The professors can’t say a word to him. His family pays the lecturers here, owns most of the building built here and of all his family members, Seokjin is the fifth generation to be educated here. Namjoon stabs the pencil on the desk, repeatedly when the exam papers were being passed down. Upon the starting minute, he didn’t even began immediately like everybody else did.

You were already muttering the questions, having hushed by your neighboring desks, violently—eyes wildly scanning and unfocused. Sweats beading on your forehead and in your palms.

Seokjin were spelling his name on the piece of paper, taking time with every stroke of letters, humming his favourite tune that changes everyday. Today, it was The Story I Didn’t Know by IU.

While Seokjin is humming, Namjoon is considerably relaxed. He picks up his pen, started from the back because he was not one to do things in mannerly order. Doing things in sequence, harnesses his brains’ clockwork. And sequences kills creativity. Not one to stick his brain in a boring, sequential thinking methods, Namjoon would do things most people won’t have thought.

Around 9:45, Namjoon set his pen down. Several heads lifts up and dart their eyes to Namjoon’s seat. He stretches his arms. You looked up, briefly. Seokjin was turning his head to Namjoon. While answering, Namjoon had pushed his answer sheet to the edge, on accident. You darted your eyes to Seokjin in between reading the problems in your paper and witnessed a very suspicious action.

Seokjin kept glancing to Namjoon’s answer sheet, and marking his own.

He is copying Namjoon’s answers.

You were down to two more questions. And because you couldn’t answer them, you scribbled on the options and gathered your papers together. You were turning in your exam and answer sheet. Leaving your seat, you purposely dropped your papers next to Namjoon’s desk. You shifted to the one that was written in block letters until Namjoon looked down to see, “Seokjin is copying your answers.”

Namjoon watched you gather your things. Walking to the front desk where the solo exam inivigilator was seated, half asleep, you placed your papers down. “Finished?” The professor asked and you simply nodded. “Sir...” you hesitantly say, fist by your side, “Kim Seokjin is copying Kim Namjoon’s answer.”

The professor, a bit younger than the professor who was giving out papers in the beginning, tilted his chin up, “Kim Seokjin?” He pauses and grinned slyly, “...no he didn’t. And you didn’t see anything. Did you?” You gulped.

It was the kind of power Kim Seokjin had. You walked out with an ominous feeling.

Namjoon was about to make his way through the library entrance when a message from the bank beeped in. “An amount has been transferred to you by Kim Seokjin...” Namjoon saw the numbers in his bank double up. Called his mother and paid up his sisters’ tuition fee in full. Namjoon felt liberated. He has done his duty. Easy money.

And he kept doing it. For a year and a half.

Namjoon goes to exam centres, taking exams and giving out answers to the clients that pays him. He come up with various ways to deliver his answers and his methods differs from one exams to another. The last one he used in his high schooldays almost got him caught, but they had no concrete evidence to charge him—only blind accusations from an unhappy clients.

That was the only reason why he stopped. And then he sworn to be straight.

But money was tight, so he got persuaded to do it again. As long as he doesn’t get caught. Even if he did, he won’t be imprisoned. You won’t get imprisoned from cheating in exams. Study hard to earn yourself a degree to work at a 9 to 5 pace with a five figure yearly income, or; do this and get seven to eight incomes at once?

The choice is clear, isn't it?

But Namjoon isn’t giving up on his scholarships or his college degree. He was doing this so he could have more. Even more than a three-part time jobs could have ever provided.

Because, fuck morality right?

"Yes, prof? Anything I can help with?" Namjoon tipped his head up to the graying hair of the professor after everyone left the lecture hall.

"The girl I called earlier... she's not doing so well. If she doesn't improve, I will have to have her lined to expulsion. I was wondering, if you would do some tutoring sessions, perhaps? Help her, or simply, look out for her?

If it's not too much to ask, maybe...guide her?"

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[fucklawschool]

Habitica ideas for students

I’ve been using Habitica for a while now and I love it. The reason I love it so much is that I can use it to track pretty much everything, even apart from the normal productivity stuff, if I’m a little creative. 

As for setting all of this up, I highly recommend doing that on desktop. The mobile app is great for on the go but I wouldn’t recommend it for putting an entire new system in place (maybe that’s just me, though).

So here are some maybe a little more unconventional ideas for Habitica usage: 

HABITS

My habits are mostly positive with few exceptions because it’s much easier to reward yourself for doing something than to punish yourself for not doing something, in my opinion. Plus, I feel like it works out, too, because after all, you do usually want to feed your pets or buy equipment or buy quests.

Water tracker: Drinking water is important, yo. The way I go about this is I have a positive habit called “1l of water” and I just hit the + for every liter I drink. I’ve set it to reset daily so I can see at how many liters I roughly am at for the day. If you struggle with drinking water more, you can also just put “drink a glass of water” and set the difficulty to hard instead of easy, as I have it set because at this point I’m pretty used to drinking a shit ton of water, I just like to keep an overview in case I’m busy and forget. That’s the beauty of Habitica vs other apps, you can modify it to your needs! 

Meet friends: This one I have set to reset every week so that I can see at a glance whether I’m having a social life. Having “high density” fun (as Thomas Frank frequently puts it) is crucial to my mental health, yet I tend to do it too little especially when I’m stressed and instead sit there on my phone wondering where the hours went and feeling generally very blah. I only have this as a positive habit because I don’t want to and need to force myself to do something with friends every single day (what’s up fellow introverts), but I’m aiming for at least once a week of my own accord, so not counting when I see them in a uni context or at fixed activities. I have this set on hard to motivate myself to actually do it, too, since I have to leave the house to fulfill it.

Color: As you may have noticed (X, X) coloring is a bit of a hobby of mine so the habit isn’t really necessary right now while I’m still technically on break and have more time to do it, but I like to keep it in there anyway. I usually color while listening to podcasts because that goes hand in hand, and many podcasts I listen to are also somewhat educational (hmu with your favorites, I’d love to discover some new ones!) while still expanding my horizons beyond what I learn at uni. This one I have set to medium, because while it is a hobby that I like to do, there’s definitely some resistance because you have to be very focused and can’t really do other stuff except listen to podcasts simultaneously. Coloring is very therapeutic to me, and I’m not an artsy person, so maybe give it a shot! You can also replace coloring with any artistic habit, obviously.

Read or listen to podcast instead of watching TV: I love doing both of these things yet they start to get infinitely harder when you’re at uni and running around town trying to stay alive during the semester. Reading especially is very beneficial to my mental health and I love doing it, but it’s just so much harder to pick up a book than to hit play on Netflix. I should probably split these two habits up now that I think about it, because I do tend to read much less than I listen to podcasts. Either way, the difficulty setting here is hard with a daily reset although it doesn’t really matter that much as both daily and weekly resets are equally suited for the purpose in my opinion. 

One book per week: Ah yes, my reading goal. I am terrible at reading slowly and steadily during the year which leads me to binge read on vacation. Now, while I love doing that and I don’t perceive it as a stressful, I would prefer to also read during the year. This habit is set to hard with a weekly reset, and it is both a positive and a negative (which means I probably have to hit the - today, siiiiigh). 

Work out: During the school year, I weirdly don’t struggle with working out a lot because I see it as a study break and I’m one of those people who actually looks forward to working out and hitting some goals. This one also has a weekly reset, hard difficulty and is both a positive and a negative habit, however, I only hit the - when I was supposed to work out and didn’t. This is partly the reason why I don’t want my workout as a daily, I don’t like having fixed days because sometimes you gotta move your schedule around a bit and I simply aim to work out 4-5 times a week. I’m looking into starting an exercise class for swimming next semester, though, so if I do join that one, I will absolutely make it a daily. 

Meal not eaten at desk: Kind of a weird one. I started developing this terrible habit of constantly doing everything at my desk last year, especially eating. Now, if you don’t have a ton of space and roommates, it makes sense for your desk to be basically where you spend your entire day, but I want my desk to be as much of a work only, no play space as it can be, even with limited space, and eating at it is a very bad idea to keep that mental separation in place. Also, I want to be focus on what I’m eating as much as possible and not do five things simultaneously. So, in order to motivate myself to eat my food at the dining room table, I’ve made this a simply positive habit with a medium difficulty and a daily reset as I usually eat three meals a day.

Cook: If you follow me, you probably already know I’m a big proponent of home-cooked meals. But cooking is time consuming, exhausting and hard sometimes when all you want after a long day at uni is some sushi. I aim to cook at a proper meal at least two or three times a week and try to avoid takeout as much as possible. To motivate me, I have this as a positive habit, at a hard difficulty and a weekly reset. 

Go to bed before midnight: I struggle with this. A lot. However, I do need my sleep - when I don’t sleep at least seven hours, I’m unfocused, cranky and tired. Plus, it’s really bad for athletic recovery. Getting to bed before midnight at least ensures I’ll be getting seven hours (since I try to get up at 7:00), ideally I’d get eight or nine, but I’m trying to stay realistic here. I have this as a positive habit with a weekly reset and at a hard difficulty. I don’t see the point in making it a daily because I know I won’t do it (I could, however, maybe make “get to bed before 1:00 a daily, to get brownie points for getting to bed even earlier than I needed to, I might yet do that).

EDIT: It’s been brought to my attention by the lovely @gold-n-mind​ that mobile doesn’t show the counter, something I didn’t really think of because I only use Habitica of my phone when I can’t avoid it but mostly use it on desktop. You can still set up everything how I mention it, but you will have to check the count on desktop, as of right now there doesn’t seem to be another way for mobile users. For potential mobile only users, this is what I’m referring to:

DAILIES

These, just like the habits, will be very personal. My dailies tend to change a lot because when I’m back home at my parent’s I don’t really need cleaning dailies for example. But here are some ideas nevertheless:

Get up within 15 minutes of waking up: I suck at this. I tend to waste away time in my bed, staying on my phone for 30 minutes before I even think about getting up. But a quick jumpstart to my day is extremely beneficial for my productivity, so I’m trying to work on it. This is due every day since lounging about in bed makes me tired and cranky and consumes time I could be using to eat breakfast while watching youtube.

Morning skincare/evening skincare: Pretty self-explanatory. Due every day.

Open window: Due every day. I try to always open my window before I start studying, as I don’t really leave it open over night and fresh air is obviously very helpful for da brain. Also, the cold air tends to help me wake up. 

Make bed: I never used to do this. But then I read “Unfuck your habitat” and I saw the merit in starting your day on a positive, structured note while making your room seem more tidy. Also, these easy dailies give me something to check off before getting started on my harder to dos, which is a concept known as momentum. Due every day.

Do a 20/10 of cleaning somewhere: Another lesson from UFYH. It means you do 20 minutes of tidying somewhere, then take a 10 minute break. I have found I rarely really need more than 20 minutes, and you can easily integrate one 20/10 somewhere in your daily schedule. It’s not fun, but constantly chipping away at messes means you don’t have to do huge binge-cleans. Due every day, but usually not needed every day.

Take out trash if needed: Tasks like these (this one is exemplary because I have a lot of these when I’m in my apartment during the semester) are great because they get you check if you have to do something every day and if they’re due, you do them right away since you’re already there checking! If they’re not due, you can easily check something off your dailies without actually doing work. Of course, the difficulty setting on these is usually trivial, but taking out the trash is a very trivial task, you just tend to put if off forever. Other ideas for this are put on laundry, check the mail, etc.

Week review/weekly planning: This is due every Sunday. I suck at following through and do need to get better at it, but actually looking at your week in advance and knowing what’s gonna happen when as well as getting into the mindset for Monday does help. 

Study dailies: These will vary wildly depending on what kind of study system and schedule you have! I have a general study daily with a checklist that says “x pages” and “flashcards”. I also now have a separate flashcard daily with a checklist for every set of flashcards I’m trying to get done. Like I said, it will vary - for some of you having a daily with a certain goal of pomodoros may work (I don’t really utilize the pomodoro method a lot, though), some of you just need a push so “study for 30 minutes” may be enough to set you on a productive course. I change up my study dailies most frequently of all of them because they change a lot depending on what subject I’m focusing on, but most of the time I’ll only have them due during the week, sometimes also on Saturdays. 

Go to class: I don’t really struggle with this because I literally cannot skip more often than once or they fail me, but why not reward yourself for leaving your comfy flat and braving the real world? These are also easy to set up because classes generally take place on a weekly basis, just set them as due on the weekday when the class is, and if you don’t struggle with going to class like me, you can always set the difficulty to trivial.

TO DOS

I won’t really go in depth on the to dos, because I feel like they’re pretty self-explanatory. I will explain a couple, but apart from that it’s pretty personal and whatever you have going on, just throw it on there. 

Grocery list: This is the only more “unconventional” use I have for to dos. I like to make one to do that says “grocery shop” and then put everything I need as a separate sub-point. This works really well and I like to do it this way mainly so I don’t have my shit spread out over five list apps. The only drawback is that you can’t share that list with friends (unless you shell out €€ and get a group plan), so if you have a joint shopping list with a roommate, you might not be able to use this.

University readings: I like to make huge tasks of my required reading with tons of sub-points so that the reward is proportional to the pain (lol). The drawback to this method is that you don’t get the instant gratification of being able to check off a task at the end of the day, but I use dailies to work like this so my to dos are kind of a more long-term overview of where I want to be by what date. You can be as detailed with this as you want, but I just kind of use the big chapter headings. You could also divide it by pages, though. Whatever floats your boat.

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Co-parenting tools, systems and helpful knowledge for post-divorce life

If you want to related guideline confidentiality Texas Child Law experience, So you can better suggestions in Co-parenting tools, systems and helpful knowledge for post-divorce life

Divorce Attorney Houston: Creating a system of keeping track of events, illnesses, habits and other aspects of your child’s life is essential to co-parenting well after a divorce. Many divorced parents fail to integrate a system of wellness and check-ups into their child’s life after a separation and the results can be disastrous for the child and the parents alike.

While I would never say that I have seen and experienced everything as a family law attorney, I would say that I have witnessed people parent effectively and people parent ineffectively. My goal today is to continue to share what I believe to be the habits of ex-spouses who effectively co-parent after divorce.

A Calendar- digital or on the wall

I remember back in the days when going to the mall was an event, there would be little booths, kiosks and stands set up in the corridors where families would walk up and down in order to move from one store to the next. One of those kiosks was inevitably one where calendars would be sold.

These calendars would usually have themes like football or kittens or marine life. Whatever the theme, there was clearly a time where on the wall calendars were a mainstay for many households.

Flash forward to today and I don’t think this is the case. Outside of my own home, I can’t recall having seen a calendar hanging on anyone’s wall in the past few years. The reason is probably due in large part to the fact that there are online calendars available that serve the same purpose. Your email provider probably gives you access to an online calendar for free, in fact.

Many co-parenting issues come about as a result of poor communication and bad planning. Using a calendar can nip these issues in the bud when it comes to co-parenting your child.

A simple calendar can help you to plan out events up to twelve months in advance. If you are planning a vacation for yourself and your child in June you can fill that in on the calendar so that your ex-spouse has access to and knowledge of the event as soon as you can.

I will note that if your final decree of divorce requires you to provide notice to your ex-spouse in writing of a trip during the summer, you must do so as well. The calendar is just another method for keeping track of everything.

Telling your ex-spouse that you plan on taking your son to the beach for four days in June only leaves so much of an impression. However, showing him on a calendar that stretch of days and highlighting it in yellow leaves a more indelible image and imprint on his brain.

Resolving conflicts through planning

What if that expected beach trip coincided with another event that you had been planning for your child? It would be less than ideal to have the idea of this in mind but to not share it with your ex-spouse until late April. The calendar system allows you to take the calendar map out your year months in advance and hopefully, sidestep avoidable issues like this.

I don’t know how you and your ex-spouse resolve contentious issues. One could surmise that due to the fact that you are now divorced, your methods for conflict resolution probably aren’t great. Despite this, the calendar allows for those discussions to come forth early rather than late.

Reasonable people, of which I assume you are one, can come together to settle disputes with some ease if afforded the time to do so. The calendar provides you time by allowing one another to know how you plan on spending your time with your child during that year.

Getting the calendar ready for January

Houston Divorce Lawyers: Major retailers all sell calendars, so when you see a good deal on one go ahead and make the purchase. If you buy this year’s ask your ex-spouse to do the same next year if costs are an issue. Once the calendar gets home take an opportunity after your child is in bed or at the other parent’s home to map out the year. Take your time and take care to make sure that every foreseeable event is planned for.

We tend to get excited about summer trips and the winter holidays, but your child’s school year calendar is probably the most important. Map out the Spring Semester for your ex-spouse based on the information that you are aware of. He or she can do the same once the calendar is turned over to him or her.

Combine the hectic schedules of your child and you and you will quickly find yourself in mess after mess if you cannot anticipate events occurring in your child’s weekly schedule. Sports teams, extracurriculars, school projects, dances, and the list goes on and on. Fail to plan and you should plan to fail.

Next, Summer Vacation should be looked at. If you are the parent with a visitation schedule you should look to make sure that you have provided the requisite notice to your ex-spouse of the time period that you intend to have visitation with your child over the summer.

Once you have met this requirement in writing you should fill in your summer plans on the calendar. This way your ex-spouse can plan for when your child will be gone and can also begin to figure out when he or she will be taking their weekend during your 30 or 42-day visitation stretch in the summer.

You may not have all the information available to you as far as planning the Fall Semester schedule for the following school year but you may have some dates that can be filled in. Once you find out the schedule for Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks you can fill those in along with which parent has what parts of the Christmas holiday.

Taking calendaring to the next level

All of these tips are tricks are helpful in and of themselves as far as I’m concerned. However, I can share with you some “next level” tips as far as helping you take the fullest advantage of the help that a calendar can provide you with.

First of all, if you are the parent who is designated as being the one who should prepare the calendar you should have a deadline to send the calendar over to your ex-spouse for their review. Likewise, your ex-spouse should have a deadline by which he or she needs to turn the calendar back to you. This way he or she will be made to review the calendar immediately. Questions or concerns about any marks made within that calendar can be addressed sooner rather than later.

Any conflicts or problems with the schedule can be addressed and negotiated upon. Once a final resolution is arrived at, a final draft should be done where both you and your ex-spouse can keep a copy in your respective homes. That calendar should be kept out someplace handy so that you both and your child can review it with ease. A year is a pretty long time, so I’ve been told. If you need a refresher just look at your calendar and it will hold all the answers you need.

Medical Situations Examined in tomorrow’s blog post

Family Law Attorney Houston: In situations where medical attention is needed for your child, or if you find yourself in a medical emergency, proper communication is essential to everyone’s well being. With this said, the family law attorneys with the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC hope you can return tomorrow to read more about this subject in particular.

If you have questions about this subject please do not hesitate to contact the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC. A free of charge consultation is available to you with one of our licensed family law attorneys six days a week ... Continue Reading

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