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theolddarkmachine · 4 years

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Imaginary - Chapter Eleven

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Lord, let me tell you, it was like my boss lady and he husband both knew when I was trying to work on this, cuz damn near every time I opened the word doc they came up with some new task for me to do lol Here’s to still getting this bad boy knocked out!

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The shiny silver gleam of the elevator doors seems to taunt Katsuki as he stares at it, anticipating the sound of its arrival as he waits, steaming cup of green tea in hand. Even by his own standards it’s pretty damn early, leaving him wanting for just a bit more time to enjoy his tea alone, but the Administrator had requested he come in first thing in the morning.

Which couldn’t mean too much good.

Toshinori never was much of a morning person.

Sipping some of his tea, Katsuki enjoys the slightly too hot burn of the liquid in his throat as it pushes back the last dredges of sleep down deep into his chest. It lands beside the soft and tempered memory of Midoriya’s eyes as they’d shone a bright, brilliant emerald beneath the sun, looking toward him with wonder and appreciation.

They’d been the crowning jewel of his dreams the previous night after he’d finally made it back home from their outing. It would probably piss him off if he took the time to think about it, but the elevator dings, pulling him back roughly to the hallway and away from the gemstone gaze.

Stepping through the metallic doors after they slide open, Katsuki settles his back against the cool steel of the lift. Pulling another long sip from his cup, he watches as the door begin to close slowly before their stopped by a hand being thrust between them.

The hand pushes gently at the door and the space between them widens, revealing Kirishima and his all too bright smile. Katsuki grumbles low as he scoots to the side to accommodate for the second body in the elevator.

“Hey, Bakubro!” Kirishima boasts, eyes crinkling at the sides as his smile grows impossibly wider around his sharpened teeth. “It feels like it’s been forever! How have you been?”

Looking over his shoulder, the redhead punches a button before turning his attention back to Katsuki. The door quietly close behind him, leaving Kirishima outlined by shiny silver as he awaits his reply.

“Been busy,” Katsuki gruffs, eyes burning as he watches the numbers Ono the floor counter rise painfully slow.

“Yeah, me too man,” Kirishima chuckles, finally moving forward to settle into the space beside him. Placing his hands against the metal railing that wraps around the car, he folks his fingers around it, gripping tightly as he leans back into it as he lets his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.

They both stand there in silence fo a moment before the redhead turns his head slightly, his grin sharp and troublesome as he eyes his companion. Ignoring the weight of it, Katsuki takes another long drag from his paper travel mug, emptying it of its contents.

“You must really like your current assignment though,” Kirishima says with a wicked tone darkening his words. Almost dropping his cup, Katsuki chokes on the last dregs of his green tea.

“What the fuck makes you say that, asshole,” he coughs, glaring at Kirishima as he laughs loudly and smacks at his back with an open palm.

“Ah, it’s nothing really, man,” he replies, voice tilting up like his smile as he pulls his hand away and shrugs. Katsuki would believe his words more if he hadn’t just made a very blatant attempt on his life.

And here he had thought Kirishima was a friend.

Dick.

“You’ve just seemed a lot happier than I’ve ever seen you is all,” Kirishima continues, gaze going soft in the wake of Katsuki’s hard stare. Dopey grin still spread wide across his face, he shrugs once more as the elevator car shudders to a stop.

“Well, this one’s me,” he says, pushing away from the wall and crossing the short expanse of the lift. Stepping out into the hall, Kirishima turns back to wave as the doors close.

In return, Katsuki gives him the finger.

“Fucking, Stupid Hair,” he hisses as the elevator continues its ascent. Crushing his fingers around his emptied cup, the paper gives to the pressure with a soft crumpling sound as he groans and drops his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“What does he know anyway,” Katsuki says up to the bright fluorescent light before the elevator fills with its soft mechanical hum.

The last few seconds of the ride is filled with a damning quiet before it shudders to a stop once more, this time at the top floor.

Stepping through the threshold, he locks eyes with the receptionist, who doesn’t even bother asking if he has an appointment before waving him towards the Administrator’s door.

Without knocking, he pushes the door open, eyes immediately finding Toshinori in the quiet space. The older man sits there silent as he stares into the distance, mug stalled just before his mouth.

If Katsuki was being honest, he looked like he had been hit by a fucking truck.

“Hey old man,” Katsuki bites out, kicking the door closed behind him and dropping his disposable cup into the trash beside it. He watches as Toshinori startles, putting down his own mug and eyeing him as Katsuki drops down into the bean bag before his desk.

The dark circles beneath his eyes seem a bit darker, highlighting the hollowness of his expression before it flickers to something warm as he smiles.

“Good morning, young Bakugou!” He cheers loudly, dipping his chin in quick greeting as Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, cut the crap, what do you want?” Katsuki growls, sinking so low into the bean bag that his knees jut out and his spine curls into a tight c.

“I can’t want to check-in with you?” The Administrator asks, eyeing him closely, a single blonde eyebrow creeping up towards his hairline in silent question and challenge.

“With anyone else? Sure. Me?” Katsuki says, leaving the rest unsaid as he returns the look. Crossing his arms across his chest, he waits, watching as Toshinori’s expression eases into a look of tired resignation.

“You’ve always been far too perceptive, young Bakugou,” he relents before taking a sip from his mug. The quiet thickens in the air, clinging to him like a second skin as Katsuki traces his gaze over the bright smiley face on the mug’s surface.

“So, what is it?” He finally prompts after the Administrator resurfaces. Setting his coffee down with the gentle tap of porcelain on wood, he turns his gaze back to Katsuki.

“How is your assignment going?” He asks with a forced casualness. It’s just a question, one that he’d ask for any case, but something about it now makes unease zing through Katsuki like a spark of lightning. Toshinori’s bright blue eyes seem to cut straight through him as he fixes his own gaze just over the older man’s shoulder, finding a grounding solace in the off white paint of the office wall.

“It’s going fine,” Katsuki says, voice damning in its earnestness. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he grinds his molars against the taste of his sincerity before trying to rectify it with a dry laugh.

“Who do you think I am, some extra? Of course it’s going great.”

Humming low, Toshinori nods as he steeples his fingers, resting his chin against them as he leans forward into his desk.

“Would you say Eri is progressing well?” He asks, ignoring his quip. Unable to help the proud smile that stretches wide across his features, Katsuki gives a quick nod as he sits up straighter in the bean bag chair.

“Hell yeah, that little shit is probably one of the best kids I’ve had,” he exclaims, chest puffing out just slightly. A light sparks in the depths of the Administrator’s eyes as Katsuki speaks, his chin dipping slightly with a small nod as his smile softens.

“Is she happy?” Toshinori asks quietly.

“Of course she’s fucking happy,” Katsuki scoffs, glaring at the older man. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if she wasn’t.”

Toshinori’s booming laugh shakes the room, causing him to jump slightly at the sudden sound of it.

“You seem to be happy too,” he says simply, answering the unspoken question in Katsuki’s stare, and it causes him pause. The administrator’s words echo that of Kirishima’s not even 15 minutes ago, and he isn’t quite sure how to wrap his mind around the fact that they were right.

He was happy in a different way than he’d ever been, and if he was being honest, he didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t even know who he had to thank for that.

A small voice at the back of his mind quips that he might have some idea of who might be the culprit.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Katsuki’s vision narrows as he imagines burning a hole at the center of Toshinori’s forehead with his stare.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s nice to have such an easy case, what’s it to you?” He says slowly, ignoring the collection of sweat at the nape of his neck. The early morning meeting suddenly feels like a sentencing as his mind wanders to Eri, and to Izuku.

He had had his suspicions that administrators knew everything, and could see everything, but he’d never gotten the chance to confirm that. Now, sitting there pinned beneath Toshinori’s stare, Katsuki isn’t sure he wants it confirmed.

Friendship terminated.

Silence bleeds into the cracks and spaces of the office as they hold each others gazes. Moments pass in silent standoff before the Administrator looks away first, gently shaking his head before ducking behind the lip of his mug for another sip.

“It’s just nice to see you loosening up, young Bakugou,” he says, tone full of meaning as he resurfaces from behind his cup.

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki brushes off, cutting his gaze down to his knees. “Is that all?”

“You tell me,” Toshinori replies. “Is there anything else I should know about this case?”

It draws lines of goosebumps across his skin as he bites at the full of his lip, swallowing down the sudden burn at the back of his throat before shaking his head.

“No, that’s it,” Katsuki says lowly. “The kid is doing great, as they always do thanks to my amazing work.”

Another loud laugh echoes through the room as he looks up to the older man in time to catch his kind smile. Rolling his eyes, Katsuki tsks softly before pushing himself out of his seat.

“Then that’s all I need to know. You’re doing well, young Bakugou,” Toshinori says warmly, gaze set on him with silent amusement as if he knows he’s ready to bolt. “It shouldn’t be too much longer that you’ll need to be with her.”

The statement goes through him like a lance, cutting through muscle and bone before catching deep in his lungs and stealing his breath. With his eyes wide, his mind flits from Eri’s bright eyes to Midoriya’s small smile before landing back heavily in the office with Toshinori and his expectant stare.

No, he wants to say. I need more time.

Instead, Katsuki nods curtly before turning on his heel and walking slowly toward the door.

“Next time pick a later time,” he growls as he pushes the oak door open. “You’re shit with mornings.”

The Administrator’s laugh follows him into the hallway, but any retort Katsuki might have is cut off as the door clicks shut.

***

A sense of deja vu twists around Katsuki as he finds himself glaring at door. Carving shapes into the boring white paint with his gaze, his fingers curl into a fist but it stays stubbornly at his side.

He doesn’t know why he’s here, if he’s being honest. He’s Bakugou fucking Katsuki. He doesn’t need anyone to help him untwist the tangled heap of confused emotions settled low in his gut, put there by the Administrator’s words.

This was all part of the job, after all. Katsuki was meant to show up where he was needed, to help while he was needed, and then to leave once he wasn’t.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

That much has never bothered him. Why would it?

But now, the thought of leaving Eri has left shrapnel bits of dread running through his blood.

Swallowing down an annoyed sound, Katsuki clenches his fist tighter, focusing on the bite of his nails at the meat of his palm as he wills it to move. Instead, it stays frozen at his side.

After several moments of crushing immobility, he takes it as a sign. Growling in defeat, Katsuki turns over his shoulder to head back toward the elevator. He doesn’t even make it two whole steps before he hears the lock of the door click, and then open.

“If you leave now, I’ll spend the rest of the day wondering what you wanted,” Todoroki’s voice is dry with the barest touch of humor. It causes Katsuki to freeze, mechanically turning his head to look to where the other man stands in his doorway. Tucked into an oversized cardigan and a pair of faded jeans, Todoroki is a picture of comfort as he watches Katsuki, waiting to see what he’d decide to do.

Honestly, it pisses him off.

“Like hell you’d give that much of a fuck,” Katsuki snarls, glare tightening as he sees the smallest beginning of a curl at the edges of Todoroki’s mouth.

“You’re right, but I’m sure no matter what I’ll end up dealing with your bad attitude, so might as well get it over with,” he replies with a small shrug before stepping to the side and ushering him forward. Flicking his gaze to the entryway of the apartment, Katsuki feels the unmistakable tug of curiosity deep in his gut.

“Well?” Todoroki prods, arching a brow.

“Fine,” he growls, pushing by Todoroki as he stomps loudly into the apartment. Turning his back to the man as he carefully shuts the door, Katsuki kicks his shoes off at the shoe rack before making his way further into the home.

He’d only ever been to Todoroki’s a handful of times, but it still looks the same as ever. Tidy and sparse, with a worn leather couch, matching armchair and coffee table, it feels less like a home and more like a stopping spot.

“Can I get you anything to drink? You’ve been out there so long, you must be parched,” Todoroki asks as he passes behind him, sliding into the kitchen just off the entryway.

“Hah hah, funny, IcyHot,” Katsuki says low, moving into the living room and looking over the counter that stands between the two rooms. “If you knew I was out there so long, why didn’t you open the goddamn door?”

Todoroki shrugs again before opening the fridge and grabbing a pitcher.

“Wanted to see if you’d swallow down your pride and finally knock,” he says smoothly, shutting the door with his hip and moving toward the counter. After grabbing two glasses from his drying rack, he flicks his mismatched gaze to Katsuki as his mouth stretches into an all knowing grin.

“Surprise, surprise, you didn’t.”

The sound of water filling glass fills the room as Katsuki moves to the couch, dropping down into it with a soft, squishing thud.

“Fuck you,” he says without heat as Todoroki appears at the side of the couch, putting down one of the cups on the table before him before sitting in the armchair. His gaze never leaves him as he takes a sip from his own water.

Ignoring his look, Katsuki keeps his attention focused on the plain wall ahead of him, all to aware of the weight of his hands where they sit on his thighs. Somewhere, a clock ticks loudly, counting the seconds of silence for an undetermined amount of time.

“So,” Todoroki finally says, breaking the silence, “not that I dislike the company, but I can’t help but feel you aren’t here to pretend like we’re friends.”

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, Katsuki chews at it, letting the seconds tick further by before letting out a long, growling sigh.

“What would you do?” He asks, hoping Todoroki understands what he’s asking, if only because he isn’t sure he can force himself to elaborate. It had already taken all he had to make it this far. Hesitating for a moment, Todoroki cocks his head to the side and studies him. Staying like this for a handful of breaths, a look of realization finally eases across his face.

“Is this about that other person seeing you?” He asks, curiosity bright in his voice. It grates at Katsuki’s nerves as he gives a sharp nod as his foot starts to jackrabbit impatiently. A thoughtful sound escapes Todoroki as he leans forward slightly.

“Have they seen you since?” He pushes, interest thick and evident as his eyes spark with intrigue.

“Yeah,” Katsuki huffs, looking down to the coffee table and his untouched water before adding, “a lot.”

With his attention turned away, he misses the way Todoroki’s brow arches high.

“So, there’s no way to avoid them,” it’s a statement, not a question.

“If there fucking was, do you think I’d even be in this situation?” He bites out, heated stare cutting back to Todoroki in time to see him hold up his palms in show of acquiescence.

“Have you talked to the Administrator yet?” Todoroki asks then, echoing his question from that night as he intertwines his fingers and braces his forearms on his knees. Blanching at the question, Katsuki shakes his head.

“Fuck no.”

Another thoughtful hum fills the space.

“So you like them.”

It’s another statement, one that makes Katsuki’s blood burn, the epicenter of it right over his heart.

“The hell did you say?” He snarls, trying his best to swallow down the scorching ache as he jerks halfway out of his seat. Hands fisted and teeth clenched, he glares down at Todoroki waiting for the excuse to fight.

“If you didn’t, you would have told the Administrator,” Todoroki says, matter-of-fact. And dammit all if he wasn’t right. Katsuki knows that, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t. Sigh heavy with the weight of defeat, he falls back down into his seat as his companion continues.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have told him first, but you would have told him after your curiosity was sated. So, you must like them.”

Fucking Peppermint Head.

“Yeah, well even if that’s the case, fat lot of fucking help that will do me as his kid’s imaginary friend,” Katsuki growls lowly, running a hand over his eyes. As his fingers press into his eyelids, a flash of green sparks across the darkness, making him growl again.

The quiet settles over the living room again as they both fall into the silence of their separate thoughts. Todoroki is the first to break it again, speaking slowly, carefully.

“If he can see you, that must mean he needs you.”

He says it with a small lift of his shoulders, as if the simple statement hasn’t just upended Katsuki’s thoughts. Distantly, he hears the echo of Eri’s own words the other day, when her words had amounted to something very similar. The burn explodes, racing out across his chest and through his veins as the two voices twine together.

“Imaginary friends are meant to help those who have forgotten how to smile,” Todoroki quotes, eyes gleaming. Katsuki hears his teeth audibly click as his mouth snaps shut.

Another lengthy pause wraps itself around him as he stares down at his hands, tracing the length of a scar that runs across his knuckles. Reveling in the way fire licks along his ribs, his mind gets caught on the brambles of Midoriya Izuku. He had been a fool to ignore the amount of space the other man had preoccupied, and with those words twisting and turning between the spaces that he didn’t, Katsuki found himself wondering if maybe, Midoriya wasn’t the only one that needed someone.

Tearing his attention away from his hands, he looks to Todoroki to see the curious glint still captured in his stare as he watches him.

“Well thank fuck you know the friend motto,” Katsuki finally says, grabbing for his water and throwing the whole thing back. Without waiting for a reply, he slams the glass back down onto the table’s surface before standing.

Making his way to the front door, he doesn’t bother to check if Todoroki is following him, instead focusing on tugging on his shoes. After making sure they were secure on his feet, Katsuki pulls the door open before stopping.

Coolness eases across his palm as he stands there at the door, hand on the knob as he counts three breaths before turning a look over his shoulder. Leaning against the entryway wall, Todoroki has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches him.

“Thanks,” Katsuki growls begrudgingly, only waiting long enough to catch Todoroki’s acknowledging nod before stepping over the threshold and slamming the door shut behind him.

Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, Katsuki frowns down to the ground as he watches his feet step one in front of the other in the direction of his own apartment. All the way, his thoughts spin precariously around what Todoroki had said.

If he can see you, that must mean he needs you.

**********************

#bakudeku #bkdk #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #did i break the alternating chapter pattern? maybe #was it worth it?#uh hopefully lol

5 notes · View notes

turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Note

Can you make a Sprace fic where Race is a foster kid and has PTSD?

nng sorry this took so long

but n e wayyyyyy its 2:00 an d w e posting cuz my brai n hates me

I Can’t

warnings: panic attack, implied abuse

ship: sprace

editing: lol

word count: 1731

“Okay, can I have Tony and Spencer onstage for their fight call,” Medda Larkin called through her megaphone, flipping through the script in front of her, “I wanna see this fight in full, don’t hold back. I need to know if anything needs to be fixed sooner rather than later.”

Spot straightened his back, leaning over in his seat next to Medda to look over his prompt script as Race and Specs walked out on stage. He glanced up, sending an encouraging smile to Race, who flashed him a forced one in return. Even from his place in the back of the theatre, Spot could tell that something was off. Race’s composure was guarded and nervous, shoulders drawn up ever so slightly and fingers twisting in front of him as he and Specs took their respective places stage right and downstage.

“Ready, guys?” Medda called, waiting for Specs and Race to give her a quick thumbs up before leaning back in her chair, “Alright, Spot tell them where to take it from.”

Spot nodded, eyes scanning his script, “Uhh, take it from…‘lay offa me’, okay?”

Race nodded, rolling his shoulders a few times to get into character. He braced one hand on the ground, hunching his shoulders as he kneeled in what looked like a defeated position.

“Lay offa me, wouldja?” He spit, panting as he turned his head slightly to glance at Specs across the stage, “Thought you’d be satisfied by now. You won! Is that what you wanna hear?”

Specs scoffed, crossing to him, “Ah, but here’s the fun thing,” he bent down, grasping Race by the sleeve of his shirt and hauling him to his feet, “I haven’t won,” he pressed their noses together, hovering over Race, “until you’re six feet underground, you hear me boy!?”

Race’s face contorted into one of pure anger and he mimed spitting at Specs. Specs jerked his head backwards, reacting as if he’d actually been spit on and taking a moment to wipe at his face before shoving Race lightly towards the ground. Race stumbled, falling heavily to give the impression that he’d been pushed much harder. Spot raised his eyebrows, impressed by both of their acting. It was coming along surprisingly well given the short amount of time they’d been off book.

“Get back up!” Specs fumed, “I will not tolerate this kind of-”

Spot frowned as Specs continued to monologue, eyes trained on Race as he cowered on the floor. He’d long since missed his cue to stand back up and he had shifted to his hands and knees, head bowed low between his shoulders. Spot could see his arms shaking and he sat up straighter, alarm shooting down his spine when Specs stopped speaking abruptly.

“Race?” Specs stepped forward, kneeling down next to his friend and momentarily freezing when he noticed the tears that seemed to be running down his face, “Shit,” he cursed, turning his attention to Spot and Medda, “Hey, something’s wrong!”

“Oh dear,” Medda mumbled under her breath, standing swiftly as Spot did the same.

They hurried towards the stage, Spot pulling ahead of Medda in order to reach his clearly hurting boyfriend faster. By the time they got there, Race had rocked back onto his heels, hands braced behind his breath as he tried to reign in his unsteady breathing. Specs reached out, placing a hand on his back, but quickly withdrew it when Race yelped a little, hitting him involuntarily.

“Fuck,” Spot hopped onto the stage, coming to a halt in front of Race’s trembling form, “Hey, Race, hey. What’s happening?”

Race didn’t answer, having resorted to lacing his fingers in his hair, pulling hard.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Spot coaxed, “Can you hear me?”

Race didn’t answer and Spot flashed a worried glance at Medda, who moved to squat next to them as well.

“Antonio, dear, can you open your eyes for me?” Medda spoke softly, motioning for the students who had begun to peek their heads out from behind the curtain to back away.

Specs looked between Race and the rest of the cast a few times before huffing a decisive breath, “I’ll make sure they don’t crowd,” he said, already moving to rally the others.

Tears had begun to stream down Race’s face at a steadier pace and Spot grimaced, worrying his lip between his teeth as a few gut-wrenching sobs worked their way out of Race’s chest.

“Antonio, c’mon sweetie,” Medda said, “You’re okay, can you open your eyes?”

Spot pursed his lips, hesitantly opening his mouth, “Racer,” he tried, shifting a little closer to Race than Medda, “You’re safe, baby,” he kept his voice low and private, “Do you want to go somewhere else? I’ll go with you and we can work this out.”

For a moment, it seemed like Race still hadn’t heard him and Spot clenched his jaw, feeling utterly helpless. Then, Race nodded sucking in an unfulfilling breath as he did so.

Spot quickly glanced at Medda for permission, who waved him off, “Go, be careful.”

Spot nodded, mouthing a grateful ‘thank you’ before turning his attention back to Race.

“Can I touch you?” He pressed, “It’s just me.”

“No,” Race gasped, “Please, I-”

“That’s okay,” Spot said, hurriedly, “No touch, no problem. Think you can stand, though?”

Race shook his head vigorously and Spot’s shoulders hunched. He was at a loss.

“It’s alright, honey,” Medda said, gently, “You two stay here, I’ll move everyone to the blackbox.”

Relieved, Spot nodded, continuing to murmur easy nothings while Medda shepherded all the students out of the theatre. Once they were alone, Spot sat criss cross in front of Race.

“Tony, hey, you listening?” He said.

Race nodded and Spot smiled, “Awesome, okay, uh,” he let his eyes wander, trying to figure out how to help Race, “can you try to open your eyes for me? Just try, love.”

Race let out a small sob, blinking rapidly as he opened his eyes. His pupils were blown wide and he flinched, hands flying to his chest as he tried to breathe.

“Hey, hey, okay,” Spot crawled a little closer, itching to reach out and take hold of Race’s hands, “Good job on opening your eyes, but do you think you could take a breath now? Like, in as deep as you can, feel it, like, fill your chest.”

Race shook his head, “Can you,” he coughed, struggling to get his words out, “Can you just, like, ask questions?”

Spot tilted his head a little, “Questions? Like..”

“Anything,” Race pleaded, “Easy stuff.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, uh,” Spot ran a hand through his hair, “Hamburgers or hotdogs?”

Race drew in a breath, exhaling his answer, “Depends.”

“On what?” Spot pushed.

“My mood,” Race said, still sounding choked.

“That’s fair,” Spot said, “Uh, mountains or beaches?”

“Beaches.”

“Same,” Spot agreed, “Favorite dog breed?”

“Pitbulls,” Race answered, sounding a little bit calmer, “Misunderstood good boys.”

Spot chuckled, “Yeah, they’re pretty cute. Favorite book series?”

“Harry Potter, hands down,” Race said, dropping into a sitting position. His breathing still sounded labored, but his tears had mostly stopped, which was a win in Spot’s book.

“Good ass read, yeah,” Spot scooted next to him, sitting close enough so Race could lean into him if he wanted to, “Favorite book outta the seven?”

“Uhh,” Race took in a deep breath, letting it out shakily, “The third. Sirius is a badass in that one.”

“He’s a badass always,” Spot countered, immediately hugging an arm around Race as he curled into his side, “How’re you feeling?”

Race hummed, “Shitty, but better.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Race sighed, reaching out to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, “Uhh, so like, remember how I told you I was in foster care from, like, fifth to ninth grade before I could move in with my aunt?”

Spot nodded, listening intently.

“Well, they stuck me in a few homes, but there was this one that I ended up staying at for the last three years I was in the system and it sucked,” he swallowed, curling closer to Spot who gave his arm a comforting squeeze, “Kids called it ‘The Refuge’ and the guy running it, Snyder the Spider, wouldn’t treat us too well. Kinda beat up on everyone and yelled a ton, but if you stayed under the radar, he let you off easier,” he let out a humorless laugh, “‘Cept I never really liked to stay under the radar so he liked to, uh, give me the brunt of shit.”

Spot felt the blood drain from his face, the puzzle pieces falling together, “So when Specs was acting like-”

“-Like an abusive adult? Yeah, not a cake walk for my mental state.”

Spot clicked his tongue, “Not that it’s your fault that you reacted like this, but why didn’t you tell anyone how you felt about this scene? We coulda worked something out.”

Race shrugged, “I dunno,” guilt laced his tone, “Thought I could handle it, like, I tried to mentally prepare for it and I figured it’s been two and a half years and like, it’s just Specs, but… yeah, I overestimated myself.”

“Like I said,” Spot said, firmly, “Not your fault, but you need to tell Medda about this. She’ll understand. She raised Jack, so she’s familiar with this shit, but we can’t have that happening again. S’not good for you.”

“Well, no shit,” Race snapped, immediately backtracking, “Sorry, sorry. I know it’s not good for me and yeah, I’ll talk to Medda.”

“I can come with you if you want?” Spot offered.

Race pulled himself out of Spot’s embrace, studying his hands for a moment before looking at him, “Yeah, could you?”

Spot smiled, reaching down to take his hand, “Of course.”

Race ran his thumb over Spot’s knuckled, still looking worn, “And, uh,” he quickly flicked his finger under his nose- a nervous tick, “thank you by the way.”

“Yeah, you know it’s not a problem,” Spot said, sincerely. He glanced at his watch, seeing that a good chunk of their rehearsal time had vanished, “We should go talk to Medda now. She’ll prolly let you chill out for the rest of today, but we still gotta finish out rehearsal.”

Race scoffed, “The show must go on no matter how mentally or physically fucked you are.”

Spot laughed, “Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.”

those last two lines are theatre culture lmao

thanks for reading, chiefs

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@andthewoildwillknow@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog@sunshine-e-cigarettes @have-we-got-news-for-you@musical-shitposts@thebroadwayaesthetic

@thomasbeingthomas

@irondad-spiderson-duo

@snakesarenonexistent

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing

@kpop-kk

@mentallytiredgoat

@yxseminx

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen

@stopthe-presses

@elmers-half-a-cup

@and-i-lostmy-shoe

@spot-me50-papes

@honeynutpoptarts

@newsies-ensemble

@bennie-badeend

@auspicioustarantula

@faithm

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

@bxnesof92

@backgroundnewsies

@sure-as-a-star

@skybert-daherty

@eveningpaper

@malex-13

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@heart-a-n-o-n

@bitching-newsboys

@orollyitsracetrackhiggins

@joshuaburrageenthusiast

@random-superhero-stuff

@awkwardstranger98

@falling-out-trees-101

@modern-race-owns-airpods

@asphodelnerd

@i-dont-do-sadness

@rockyroad236

@sirgrahamcracker

@godhatesjordan

@thats-our-que-boys

@bastille-smedry

@nerdsies

@toss-me-a-pape

#newsies fic #newsies #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #sprace

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years

Note

20-30!

Thank you so much for asking!!!!

20. Favorite character to write?

Already answered, but I don’t mind re-answering cuz I thought maybe I’d narrow my three way tie, but alas, no lol. Still a tie between Ahkmenrah, Snafu, and Skwisgaar.

21. Least favorite character to write?

Ooh-tbh, Larry from NATM just because I feel like I always make him an asshole? Like, I haven’t published all my fic ideas for NATM because I keep making him really mean? And in some it works but in others I’m like ‘jesus chill Lee he’s just a Dude trying his best’ but also at the same time I feel the way Stiller played him and his character arc means he’s got some major ego to him as the films go on? Idk that isn’t a hot take or anything just me being frustrated with Ben Stiller lol

22. Favorite story you’ve ever written?

Hard choice, because I love all my kids, but I cried after writing this one lol: https://aboutthatmelancholystorm.tumblr.com/post/186781309036/you-know-that-i-love-you

It hit some personal stuff for me, so to be able to have it work organically in a fic so I could also like, mini therapy session myself? Cool af. Also, ppl seemed to like this a lot too, and while that validation isn’t the only reason I write, it’s always cool when my writing makes ppl happy.

23. Least favorite story you’ve ever written?

I don’t really have a least favorite, but I do have some I’m more frustrated with, due to how long they took me to write, etc. Currently? The answer to this is my Mark the Date series because A. it is taking me a day and an age to finish it and B. I feel like it kinda flopped, so it’s hard to pull up any energy to finish it, but like...I may as well now lol. I’ll get it done eventually.

24. Favorite scene you’ve written?

Oh god tbh I have too many I love just cuz like

I can go back to how I felt writing them and yeah

But as of most recent fics, I really this bit:

-Snafu patted the blanket near his head, and waited for Eugene to put out his pipe and lay back beside him before snuggling close to him. “You could be right. Could be God. Could just be love.” “How’s that?” “I think love has its own way. Even before you meet someone, even before you know you’re fallin’ for ‘em. Love’s just…out there, like the air or somethin’. Finds you when the time is right, and finds who you click with. You gotta do the rest, the stayin’ in love part, but that bringing together, that first spark…that’s love just existing, and doin’ what it needs to so the world keeps spinnin’, so people make it through tough shit,” Snafu replied. “I like that,” Eugene said. “Think love did a good job with us. Makin’ sure we found each other.” Snafu pressed a kiss softly to the corner of Eugene’s mouth. “Sure did. Wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. I don’t even know what that looks like, and I don’t want to.” “Same here,” Eugene’s mouth was warm as he kissed him back. “Here’s to love for making sure you found me.” -

from this fic: https://aboutthatmelancholystorm.tumblr.com/post/186926226531/absolution-is-the-taste-of-your-lips

Because I’m sappy af more than I let on, and also this was a chance to like, write out my own feelings via Snafu. And that was a pretty cool and fulfilling thing for me, ya know?

25. Favorite line you’ve ever written?

oh god this is another hard one to narrow down but

I always come back to this line and go ‘oh shit did I really write that. Nah, someone better than me at this had to have. They briefly possessed me or something”:

-Music and talking and shouting and footsteps collide kaleidoscopic in his ears, but none bearing the one sound that he’d run to if he heard it.-

from this fic, mentioned twice now in this post lol: https://aboutthatmelancholystorm.tumblr.com/post/186781309036/you-know-that-i-love-you

I really love alliteration, and for me this line just sums up how it feels to walk thru a city when you aren’t just wandering really, but are looking or waiting for someone, and have that awful yet sometimes good feeling of expecting to hear or see them but it feels like you’re waiting or searching forever and in the meantime the city just lives on around you, a stopped platelet stuck in a vein full of vitality. Like, idk if it hit any of my readers that way, but that’s what I was trying to get across lol, so the line always hits me hard in a good way when I scroll thru my writing tag and see it.

26. Story you’re most proud of?

Gosh

I gotta choose just one kid for this aldsfkja I’m bad at choosing I love my gaggle of ragtag goofballs. I have an original piece I’d choose for this, but I’ve never posted it on here, so I’m gonna choose out of my fanfic on here instead.

One I am really proud of is this one: https://aboutthatmelancholystorm.tumblr.com/post/186781309036/you-know-that-i-love-you

and I know it’s the third time it’s been part of an answer on here but

I really love this one idk. Thinking back to how I felt while writing it, how it all flowed in a certain way. The whole experience was just something else, and I’m proud of this one in a certain way I find myself, funnily enough, unable to describe.

27. Best review you ever got?

Okay this sounds cheesy but like

I really do love and appreciate every review or review-like thing I’ve ever gotten so I can’t choose just one for this

Like, y’all gotta understand, I’ve deleted some of it and erased traces of it from my blog, but I’ve written for years on here, I have some stuff on my ao3, and for the longest time I got nothing back, or very nearly nothing. Maybe a few likes, but no comments and not much else. I always just rolled with it and assumed I just wasn’t writing anything good enough to inspire reviews. Idk if that’s true or not, but in any case it means I cherish every comment, like, reblog, and anything review-like in nature because I’m so grateful to have it now, and I know it could well be pure luck that I stumbled up on a really supportive bunch of fandoms with great readers.

In other words, thank y’all for every kind word and like and reblog and also I may be an immortal feeding off of validation of my art, but we’ll see on that last bit, because I haven’t tested it.

28. Worst review you ever got?

One from middle school. I’d just finished my very first novel, gave it to a friend to read, and he said it ‘smacked of being too fanciful and childish, something only kids and women would read’ (it was a YA fantasy novel so I mean... what exactly he expected, idk cuz he knew what it was before I gave it to him, like it’s supposed to have those elements as a lot of these sorts of novels/stories do, and that isn’t a bad thing about them at all, so like...what his damage was idek.)

Also this is the same dude who texts me randomly and is really weird abt his friendship with me and happens to be an English teacher now (RIP to his students.)

Anyway, after he said that I tossed a review right back, because well, middle school and also I was very upset with him because I’d not asked for anything other than a general ‘if you picked this up randomly and started it, would it suck you in enough to keep reading or would you put it down’ like that was literally all I needed him to answer for me. So I told him his latest novel (his second at that point) was essentially just him masturbating to his own opinions (because he’s an arguer, who loves to tell ppl they’re always wrong, and that’s by his own admission) for one hundred pages, and not in a way that anyone else would care to read. He was pissed, but so was I. We didn’t talk for a good week, and we had almost all our classes together lol.

Like, getting nothing back in review sucks too, but this one has stuck with me forever. Best part? I mentioned it to him a few years back, and he only vaguely remembered it, and followed it with “but I’ve said a lot of rough stuff about your work. I mean, it deserved it at the time, but you might be good at this someday!”

I didn’t smack him, but I really, really wanted to.

29. Favorite story/poem of another author

This doesn’t specify on Tumblr or not, so I’ve got two: one from outside tumblr, and one from on here.

A. When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be by John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,Before high-pilèd books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;When I behold, upon the night’s starred face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more,Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love—then on the shoreOf the wide world I stand alone, and thinkTill love and fame to nothingness do sink.

B. Again, this Tumblr one could be a huge ass list because y’all on here are amazing, but one I’ve been rereading over and over again recently is @xmxisxforxmaybe ‘s Remnants series, which can be found here: https://xmxisxforxmaybe.tumblr.com/post/186702235396/remnants-complete-work

Like, Ahk as a character is captured so well, and I love the way the plot twines and also when the smut comes up? Very good A+ smut, something I value pretty highly on and off Tumblr because man, sometimes smut is just work to write, so I appreciate it when it’s really good. All around, this series has captured my heart and I legit have a link to it saved on multiple devices so if I need something to read, I can just pull it up right away.

30. Hardest part of writing?

Self-doubt. It’s the biggest hurdle for any artist, regardless of the art in question I think, but with writing it seems to double down a lot. Like, you have to really get out of your own head, even as you spend all your time there with your writing ideas. Shit gets weird and twisted, man.

For the longest time, I really let self-doubt defeat me too, and I regret the time I lost to that. I still get hit with it randomly, cause I don’t think it every really goes away for any writer, not even the big names like Stephen King or Neil Gaiman (who I’m half tempted to @ on here purely because I wanna know his feelings on this stuff because I respect and admire him as an artist and his thoughts very much, but also he’s a very busy man so I’m not gonna bug him by doing that lol.)

All there is to do is to work with it, push past it, and most importantly keep writing. I have days where that feels like the hardest thing, but each day I manage to get past it and get the words down? I let myself feel proud of that, and mark it as an achievement in my Big Book of Stuff I’ve Done in This Life.

#text post #ask box things #these answers got long and wordy but I doubt that surprises anyone lol #this helped to answer a bunch of these too #finally got me to a point where I feel ready to try and sleep even if I'm not tired #so thank you to everyone who asked me stuff!!!!#apineappleheart

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callioope · 5 years

Text

Questions Meme!

Hello, yes, this HAS in fact been sitting in my drafts for ages and ages. Thank you to both @crazy-fruit and @ruby-red-inky-blue for tagging me and for waiting forever for me to answer (oops)! I’m sorry I took so long, but y’all ask really good questions and I had to think about some of them!

Question Set 1

1. How are you?

Oh, I’m doing alright! Thank you for asking. The earlier part of this year was rather rough, but therapy has been helping. I’ve been rather busy these past few weeks with traveling, and my schedule going forward is rather busy, too, so while I’m excited for those things, I’m also excited for the eventual moment I can just relax.

2. What would you say are your talents?

Writing. Making fancy color-coded spreadsheets. I’ve been told that my super power is getting random (annoying) songs stuck in other people’s heads. Does that count as a talent?

3. If you had the chance to start your life again, would you take it?

NOPE. No thanks. I like where I am at right now, and I would not want to relive my awkward years. Er, at least, my more awkward, younger years. Cuz I’m totally still awkward. Just less awkward. I hope?

4. Which language would you like to speak instantly?

HMM. ALL OF THEM. It’s really hard to choose!

Language fascinates me, and in another life I feel like I would have devoted a lot more time to learning more of them. Unfortunately, I really hated German class in high school because of the teacher’s tendency to put people on the spot -- I think that is sort of inherent in a language class, but I get anxiety speaking in public.

Anyways, I suppose I’ll answer Turkish to this question, since spouse and I keep saying we’re going to try to learn Turkish via Duolingo. For the record, my HS offered six languages, which was the most I’ve ever heard of an American school offering, and I was always quite happy with my choice of German. (The others were Spanish, French, Italian, Chinese, and Latin.) I do wish I had maintained my German better, and I that I had more time to learn Spanish.

5. Where would you like to be right now?

Honestly? I’m pretty happy when I’m at home. But if I had to answer where “else” would I like to be right now, out of the whole world? Being back on safari in Botswana is a top contender, as are a variety of places in Turkey, and also Munich.

6. What name would you give yourself?

I’ve always liked my actual name (Elizabeth). I know I go by Liz; one of my HS friends was quite stubborn and I’m a bit stuck with it now, but I don’t mind it. There are worse nicknames that come from Elizabeth. I used to go by Fiona online; I’ve always been fond of that one.

7. What is something you’re currently learning?

OOF, what a good question. I sorta blanked on this at first, and my first thought was uhhhh learning how to cope with my OCD??? I’m doing exposure therapy right now, ish. Emphasis on the ish. Also mindfulness. Does that really even count? I started a beginner’s knitting project several months ago that I never finished, does that count? (I just need to seam it, that’s what I’m putting off. I have knit plenty of scarves; however, this is my first hat.) I’m sort of teaching myself ukulele although I haven’t really learned any new chords or songs in awhile. I would very much like to take more photography classes with a focus on wildlife photography. That involves buying a new camera and... signing up for classes.

Question Set 2

1. What is a detail in a piece of art/a text that you like that you really admire?

This was very difficult, at first because it was like looking at a bin full of loose things and just seeing an assortment of color and being overwhelmed by it all, and then because once I did start digging around, I kept finding different ideas and it was too hard too choose.

Character-building: In the A Song of Ice and Fire series, when Arya starts working for the House of Black and White, Martin stops using the name “Arya” as she dons different identities. For example, he uses “Cat” for a bit, among other names. It shows she’s trying to be someone else, but the caveat is that there are still little mannerisms and such that show she hasn’t really left Arya behind (I think maybe she bites her lip or something? I don’t remember specific examples because it’s been over 5 years since I read these books, but I do remember really appreciating the general technique at the time).

Music: In The Beatles’ “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” I love those repeated arpeggios, over and over, building, intensifying, as the white noise comes in and you can just feel the heaviness of desire, of want... (and then I love how it just breaks so suddenly! And I know it wouldn’t have been intended this way because that’s the end of side one, but since I listen to the whole album on spotify, then those bright chords of “Here Comes the Sun” come in and god Abbey Road is the best Beatles album)

Writing: the poetry of Florence + The Machine’s “All This and Heaven Too,” obviously, since literally the title of my blog comes from that. I’d quote that whole song honestly. There’s something that speaks to me about the incapability of language to fully encompass just... everything. I mean, love in specific here, but also just everything. Words are just these little boats we put meaning on and we hope they make it to the other side but everyone takes ‘em a little differently.

Like, look at this:

And the words are all escaping, and coming back all damaged And I would put them back in poetry if I only knew how

And this:

Words were never so useful So I was screaming out a language that I never knew existed before

Anyways, there’s also something just incredibly soothing about the music, too, and how she sings the song. There’s another line, from Sara Bareilles’ “Miss Simone” that goes “How does she know what a heart sounds like?” which pretty much sums up how I feel about “All This and Heaven Too” (and also many of Sara Bareilles’ song, especially that particular album, but I digress).

Anyways I did have some art examples, but I think I’ve rambled long enough.

2. Is there an idea that you really liked but had to discard because you couldn’t get it to work?

If I really like an idea, I don’t really “discard” it so much as put it on the shelf to attempt later. Out of recent fic ideas, I’ve really struggled with “How to Lose a Spy in 10 Days.” I first thought of this in late spring 2017, and for awhile I couldn’t stop thinking about it, but I was working on Whatever I Do at the time, and wanted to wait before starting another WIP. By the time I got to writing this, the inspiration well had sort of dried up.

I really like the idea of a fun cat-and-mouse rom-com idea where Jyn and Cassian keep outsmarting each other, with a whole lot of competency kink, some “oh shit we actually work well together!” and maybe some battle couple. And I was really looking forward to both the moment when they both finally let their guards down around each other and the big confrontation when they actually find out each other’s identities. But it involved more mission writing than I was prepared for, and I really struggled with it. I think I need to start over but that involves a lot of working, so it’s unfortunately shelved for now, and I’m working on a “You’ve Got Mail” concept instead.

3. Is there something fandom-related you would like to be able to do (i.e. I’d like to be able to make gif sets but can’t)?

Oh, yes, absolutely! Really anything that’s not writing related, lol. Gif sets, art, etc. But most of all, I have a music video idea for the song “So Close” from Enchanted--like I have a whole story board plotted out in a google doc. But I don’t have any video editing software, don’t even know how you get the scenes for a music video, etc. I have made videos before, but not since high school, and I don’t even have the cheap, basic video editing program I used back then. Sometimes I think I should just attempt make a gif set instead, but there are so many lyrics! and scenes that go with the lyrics! that I don’t know how to consolidate it into that format anyways.

4. What is a skill you’ve acquired through fandom work?

Hmm, this was tough. I’m going to say HTML. I’m not up-to-date on webdesign at all, but back in my early fandom days, I ran a few fansites. I still sometimes use HTML while leaving comments or to edit posts on dreamwidth or w/e. It’s super basic, but it has helped me at work at a variety of jobs. I take it for granted that people my age should know basic HTML, but a lot of them don’t, and then a lot of people I work with now are older and definitely not tech savvy.

5. Do you think anyone can learn to create great art, or does it take talent?

Well, I’m going to cheat a little. I do think think that anyone can learn to create great art, but I also think that everyone has a talent at something, and part of learning to create great art is recognizing your skill sets and honing those. If that makes sense? I’ve sort of seen both sides to this. I’ve seen naturally talented people create great things, but I also think that they’re probably cheating themselves if they’re not learning and honing their craft and trying to get better. But I’ve also seen people who started out making things that maybe you wouldn’t call great, but they worked hard over and over again, and looking at their work now, you’d say they were talented without ever knowing the difference. Great art = talent + learning + passion. Did that even answer the question? ...moving on

6. Do you prefer AUs or in-universe? Why?

I prefer to write in-universe, for sure. I find modern AUs more challenging, mostly because--and I feel kinda bad saying this--it’s very difficult for me to tap into Jyn and Cassian’s characters without some kind of tragic background. Their experiences and how they coped with them shape their personalities, and it’s really hard to separate them from those. My WWII was easier because, hey, it’s war, not so different from in-verse. But I initially tried to write Learning Curve in a modern AU and I was just totally bored. Putting it in universe made it more interesting to me, especially having to finagle a happier plot inverse. IDK, it might even be that I generally struggle to make up any conflict in modern AUs that feels interesting.

THAT SAID, lol, I definitely read either. So it’s probably strange for me to be hung up on it because I’ve read nice fluffy modern AUs and found them perfectly engaging.

Tagging: @theputterer, @magalis, @allatariel, @mythologicalmango, @threadsketchier MY USUAL DISCLAIMER APPLIES: no pressure if you just don’t wanna, AND if anyone sees this and was like “aw hey i wish she’d tagged ME” well guess what, I wish I did too! so go ahead and do it and let me know and then i’ll know to tag you next time, too :-)

Questions:

When you suffer a setback or a series of setbacks when creating (writing, drawing, knitting, any kind of crafty project thing you work on... even work), what are some strategies you use to cope with that stress and move forward?

What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to create/make and what did you learn from it?

What part of a bicycle would you be?

What’s a helpful writing (art/crafting/work) technique you’ve learned?

What’s a piece of art that made you see things differently?

You’re a new addition to the crayon box. What color would you be and why?

What was the last board game you played and what did you like or not like about it?

*sorry these came out rather writer heavy!

#about me #tag meme

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nyruratchet · 5 years

Text

Time...

“...Why you punish me?”

So, I explained last time the situation regarding the creation of my music...monetarily. But let me explain and expand on how my time is utilized on a monthly basis.

If I haven’t made it clear, I hate my job. But here’s the thing, it’s flexible (for the most part), has benefits: (insurance, free-ish air travel, scheduled pay increases). Cons: passengers are allowed to treat crew like shit, always working with new people (that you may not mesh well with), anyone you try establishing a relationship with has pre-conceived notions/little to no faith you will ever be around, pay SUCKS until you get REALLY senior (7+), and...more, but I digress. But that flexible schedule, albeit limited, has afforded me the ability to work on music; until it doesn't.

See, I was getting “comfortable” in my work situation a few years ago until certain a situation beyond my control forced me into deep debt, bad credit, and deeper depression. In order to fix all of this, money is needed. How do u get money? Work more. More work leads to more depression and sometimes health issues. So, I’ve been stuck in this seamlessly endless cycle of paycheck to paycheck living. And my desire and NEED to work on my music has not helped it (as explained in the previous blog post). Every time I get a bit more money, it goes to my craft.

See, after you put all that money into creating art, you have to then put it OUT there. And in the case of a performer, you need to do live performances. That is a whole other situation in itself. There are lots avenues to get live performance experience. Open mics, concert showcases, live cabaret/karaoke bars, etc. Guess what THEY ALL COST MONEY. But not only money, LOTS of excess time is involved.

This past spring, I was dragged into a showcase by my producer friend (who I’m partially in love with but he’s straight...but that’s another story). In order to do a showcase, you have to apply for acceptance. Applications involve you submitting current work and having a worthy social media following (which you have had to spend constant time building). Once you fill out the application, send the files and info, PAY your entry fee ($25) and receive your acceptance, you then have to sell tickets. Yes, how do they get people to come to the showcase? By having YOU bring them. And if you cannot find people to buy your tickets, all of those tickets come out of YOUR pocket. So, I was given 25 tickets to sell (last minute mind you); 25 tickets to sell at $20 bucks each. So, if I don't sell them, I owe the company $500 dollars. Yup, that’s correct. In order for me to perform my original content on their stage, I needed to make sure they got their $525 and help them get people in the venue so that they buy drinks at the bar (which we were given ZERO drink tickets for). Now before stepping on stage, you don’t get a sound check. So, you show up early before everyone to check in and simply check they have your correct music file(s) then wait...and wait...and wait. But your music has to be edited within their restrictions (this means more studio time. Remember, studio time =more $$...just making sure ur following me. Too many times you’ll hear big recording artists talking about how they have just sat in studios for hours creating a song from scratch. Yeah, only if you are signed to major label is this a thing! But anyway...back to the showcase.)

Needless to say, I did everything I needed to. But I had some help since I asked to do this last minute and told them UP FRONT they would have had to get that unsold ticket money from me in blood. I landed from working a redeye the day before, got a nap in, did my vocal exercises in my car on my way to New Jersey, checked in and sat there. Since some people didn't show up on TIME, I was abruptly grabbed from drinking my whiskey at the bar and told “YOU’RE ON NEXT!” Being the seasoned professional that I am, took that shot to the head, said “Actually, that’s not my slot...but ok, I’m ready.” NO SOUND CHECK, NEVER given TIME on the stage beforehand...I went on. Sung my ass off with a standing ovation from the judges. Then, went back to drinking with my friends who were in shock because they had never heard me really sing live. Then I had sit for HOURS while mediocre “rappers” and “singers” rapped over pre-recordings of their own vocals. Finally, they were ready to announce the winners. I won that sucker.

But what did I win? ...A promise to be put into another show... *DICK FACE* No money to recoup what I just spent getting to this moment. No free promotion on social media to help me and my art. NO, some bullshit. So, I took the experience fore what it was and cut my losses. I got some exposure and was able to test out an unreleased song...but besides that. Nothing but wasted time and effort. I left there feeling somewhere between elation and disappointment. Not to mention, I was exhausted; I had done all this after working my full time job, and had to work again the next day. So all I had time to do was drive home and sleep.

“Like a wave bashing into the shore...

Since this, I have had some money issues and mental health issues, so I have just barely been able to work on music. On my days off, I have to sleep and get back in the groove of being a real person instead of a redeye zombie. Then when I’m feeling slightly normal, I’m back to work...it is a vicious, irritating, restraining cycle. I’ve tried working shorter flights so I’m home more; nope, the pairings (schedules) for those flights work you in a way that leaves you feeling raped. My company will build a pairing with a duty time of 27hrs and only pay you for 15-17 of those hours. DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. Then on top of that, your rest time at the hotel is set to 11hrs...WTF??

Let me explain this for those of you with normal jobs. On these pairings, you are schedule to work a number of flights each day. So, 3 day pairing means you work 3-4 flights each day and have 2 layovers. Now lets say FLIGHT time is 1.5-2.5 hrs each (8-12hrs). Then you land from your final flight for day one. We’re usually delayed at our carrier...honestly, rarely on time. So, you have minimum rest at 11hrs. BUT, before you can leave the aircraft we have to get all passengers off the plane, CLEAN the seats, wait on our shuttle which is probably late if your pilots are sucky human beings and haven’t called ahead to make sure they’re there (Pilots aren’t required to clean; just us lowly peasants). So, by the time you get to the hotel, down to 10hrs. If you get there and rooms are ready, great. IF NOT, another 20-30 min or longer. But, lets say you’re down to 9.5hrs now. Get to your room. Hopefully your key works, air/heat works, no one is already in you room (yes...it happens all the time), room already cleaned, no bed bugs, and you aren’t by a noisy ice machine/elevator. You then have to shower and eat. Let’s say you get all that done in an hour. You now have 8.5 hrs to sleep...BUT WAIT, the van is scheduled to pick you up from the hotel 45 min to an hour before you are supposed to report at the airport and you need to be dressed and ready to make that van. So instead of 8.5hrs, you actually have 7hrs at best to sleep and pop outta bed, get dressed and properly ready to do the shit show all over again; all the while, knowing they are really only paying you for the time you spend on the aircraft, AFTER THE DOOR IS CLOSED AND THE BRAKE IS RELEASED. Time before like boarding, checks, delays? nope...no pay. Just us waisting our fucking time. Literally.

Why, is this? cuz everyone does it is the answer. That is how all airlines do it, so you have no leg to stand on. Got a union, the company retaliates like a reprimanded toddler. Now as I said before, once you get to be a super senior in your company and can choose what you want to work, when you want to work, in the position you want to work, getting $40/hr at base hours and a crazy amount for premium (overtime) hour, etc. the job is GOLDEN. (Unless that company gets purchased/merged.) But for a young person/flight attendant in debt, living in NYC, with a high cost of living, life ain’t fun. I tried living in New Jersey for a lower cost; that came with its own issues. I’ve taken out loans, became a hermit to save money, worked holidays, etc. Dug my hole deeper is what I did. And I’m pretty good at setting goals and managing my time and getting things DONE. But for some fucking reason, life is not working in my favor. This job is not working for me. I see younger people coming up behind me doing LITTLE to no work, getting musical accolades with trash “music” (I know, matter of opinion...but really. C’mon now), young white/latino/asian twinks shaking their ass for anything that breathes and getting rich men to pay their bills or marry them, all the while telling me they just want my BBC or other racist BS like that (Yes, I have receipts) and I’m just like WTF AM I DOING WRONG?! Have I spent my time stupidly?

And the most recent shit that really hurt my feelings: If any of you remember (to the three of you reading this lol), a few months ago I posted about help getting into bartending. Well, I had actually asked a friend in person before that about bartending and if he knew any directors who could do a music video. This “friend” told me “no, not really”. Didn’t know anything about that, he just does movies and short films (which I’ve donated to his kickstarters for btw...) but no one who he thinks does music videos. THEN, I asked this same “FRIEND” how much he would charge to be IN a music video, as I had a song (the one I won the showcase with) that he would be perfect for as it deals with subject matter he rallies for. I wanted to help his career out in turn by help my video out, because I’m ugly and having beautiful actors in my video would be a better sell (as again, I need this song to make money. He then tells me me, he’s not sure how much he would charge for that. SEVERAL MONTHS LATER...this bitch releases a music VIDEO to his NEW SINGLE about a SIMILAR SUBJECT!! Without promotion, he gets instant 2.2k hits on the video on youtube. MIND YOU, he would always be shy to sing around me and I told him, “you need to give yourself more credit. You have a beautiful voice.” Meanwhile, I’m asking for some knowledge from him, and he wouldn’t help me with ANYTHING. I have NEVER asked for a hand out. Just tell me where the door is, I will get in even if I have to pick the lock. But he not only pretended he didn’t know where the door was, he was holding the keys, had lock picks on the side and duplicates to share; But, for whatever reason...didn’t want to share that with me. Even though, I was going to include him in MY art without any thought and was willing to pay. Now, I have some thoughts on why he did this. But seeing as I’m on the verge of tears, I’ll end on that note.

...You wash away my dreams.”

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lighthenight · 5 years

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Long time coming

Hey tumblr and blog from over 10 years ago....

This is a post that’s long overdue.

Well, where do I start? I’m 27. I work at a hyper growth cannabis startup called Caliva. I’m single. I’m living back at home. That’s the surface, “what have you been up to?” question and how’d I answer it.

To go off that, basically I officially finished my time at UCSD June 2018. I was ready to grow career-wise, not do one-of contracting gigs, and learn from larger companies and more experienced teams/products. And so I began the job hunt. Not to say that I took a huge break after graduating by just playing games for hours on end...

Job hunt was not as easy as I expected. I remember going into it thinking, well there’s tons of tech jobs and recruiters are constantly hitting me up. Surely, I’ll land an offer sooner than later. I promised my parents it’ll take 2 months after I began searching. I’ll tell you later how long it actually took.

So it’s competitive. Figured, right? Knowing that they pay high wages for the tech industry and want the best talent they can get. The gate was really at the technical interview and the fact that I was applying to mid to senior level positions yet I couldn’t prove my worth at the technical interview.

Here were the numbers that I remember off the top of my head: 55 days, 89 applications, 66 interviews, 8 on-site interviews, 2 offers.

I made the two months at least, right? Heh at the time, this was probably one of the most stressful times, and took me on emotional roller coaster for a bit. I didn’t question my self esteem but it made me question my ability as a programmer and that my personality doesn’t really cut it when it comes to technical jobs.... except my current job. But I’ll tell you when I get there.

My job was at Logitech’s HQ in Fremont. Super exciting opportunity, working in technology that I was at the time, really interested in. ReactJS in an electron app. And gaming industry? That’s the life right there. I worked on one of the most important teams, CPG - Creativity, productivity and gaming. So all the gaming mice; that was our shit. We designed the consumer software that controls your devices all in one cross platform app. It’s called LG Hub or Kiros.

Going into it, was super excited, given that they interviewed me in what I thought was the proper way - through a practical reactjs exercise. The interviewer there, Tom, ended up becoming my mentor at Logi. My team there was welcoming forsure and quirky. There was a guy named Jack Brindle who was obsessed with amateur radio... lol and only ever used apple products. Boris was by far the most interesting - Russian dude who did everything off the grid, loud as fuck, and spoke with no filter. It was like a hodge podge of personalities - someone once told me, where google and Facebook takes all the amazing tech talent with wonderful personalities, Logitech, an old tech firm, takes the leftovers. My manager Tanvi, was nice up front but I later realized she didn’t really know what she was doing because she kept people on the team who were way underperforming.

This all goes back to Tom. Tom really showed me the ropes. He showed me the different projects he was constantly building and iterating on, which provided value to the company where the management didn’t initially see. He exposed the flaws of management to me, in as much detail and unbias as possible. He chatted with me about the differences between me and him when it comes to opinions and beliefs. He taught me how to solve problems the “right way”. And not to cut corners, only to create more work for yourself later. I still have the utmost respect for him cuz he cares about the work he does, almost to a fault. I know that anywhere he goes, he’ll be successful as an engineer and I hope to work with him again someday.

That brings me to a point for a lesson I’d like to remind myself: stay in contact with good people in your life. Don’t let them always solely contact you, react out to them.

Going back to Logi, we were rebuilding a new JavaScript team and I was there during the prototyping phase so I didn’t get as much of a chance to actually code out the product. But I provided value in other ways - side projects like yarn integration, interview automation, front end docs, etc.

The story continues... where I basically get hit up by Johnny to go to this “green tech” hackathon. I wasn’t really down initially, especially when I asked mileung for his help and he wasn’t down... gg so... I ended up going, and coincidentally, Charisse misses her bus to her hackathon in sac town and so we end up telling her to just join ours. It was at Yeti LLC, home of Boris’s ex-gf Ellie’s company; fuckin small world. Charisse thinks of honesty a genius idea to make a mobile app to track sleep data and recommend cannabis strains and dosages to the user based on sleep inefficiency. We called it REMedy. Get it? Lol lo and behold, we actually end up winning... to my big surprise.

Amidst that, other than getting a bunch of weed and goodies, we get introduced to the host of the hackathon, Caliva. I was just interested as to why they chose us tbh. They seemed to be interested in my path to programming and why I enjoy it, coming from a psych background.

So... basically Caliva becomes really interested in me and I’m still at Logitech. Some hiccups here and there at Logi, with a confrontation with Boris about him calling me “not bright” and I’m weighing my options at both places. Definitely wanted to stay at Logi and try to get full time, but Caliva went all out on me. I told them I’d need my parents approval to really feel convinced of considering it. Matt, the CTO, took me up on it and offered my parents a tour of the facility. And btw, the facility is freaking amazing, unheard of. Calvin was like “what a time to be alive”, seeing my mom go into a cannabis cultivation room.

I consoled with my dad and he told me one thing. I could always go work for Logi, but there’s only a few times that you get the chance to work for hyper growth companies, and this is one of them. So, I really took his word for it and thought long and hard on this offer Caliva was giving. Made the decision thinking it was a good career move and an exciting opportunity to pursue one of my passions, wellness.

Here I am - it’s been 7 months since I first started at Caliva and it’s even been a bit of roller coaster ride here.

To be continued...

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asahi-no-kagayaki · 5 years

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Rainbow 6 OCs

I!!!!! Finally!!!!!! Finished!!!!! My!!!! Rainbow 6 Siege OCs!!!!!!!!!!! I’m really happy how this kinda turned out jifjfi my new babies i love them. I’m gonna have so much fun implementing them in r6s universe lmao i’m gonna post my first (r6) fic about them soon lol

Also i cant draw shit so i made their (casual-look ofc cuz cant find military-chara sheet thing) character design using Picrew (this website is really great btw) so dont blame me if theyre looking too anime-y jdojofjfo

More info about OCs below!!!!

1. Beruang (’Bear’ in Indonesian) Real Name: Lukman Susilo Sanjaya Age: 37 (As of 2019) Organization: Kopassus Position: Attacker Birthplace: Tegal, Central Java, Indonesia Date of Birth: January 12, 1982 Height: 5'10'' (1.79m) Weight: 177lbs (80kg) Armor: Medium Speed: Medium

Appearance: He wears standard Kopassus uniform but his face is covered by black half-mask and shades. In his free time, he usually wears bland t-shirt and sport pants. He’s kinda hairy, has a little bit of stubble and scar under his right eye. (Casual look:)

Personality: Serious 24/7. Difficult to approach since he only gives necessary/short answers if asked. He never seeks company of other people, and sometimes can be oblivious about things not related to his job.

Appears stoic, but it’s not because he doesn't have any feelings. He just doesn't know or can't express his emotion to other people except Jasmine. Lowkey insecure about himself, like thinking he's 'not good enough' and people deserves someone better than him.

It's hard for him to have a close relationship with other people other than Kirana because of his insecurity as well his oblivious and stoic personalities. It's not impossible, just hard and take a lot of work before someone could call Lukman their friend or even boyfriend.

Special Gadget: Bear Knuckles - It's basically a pair of gloves shaped like bear paws, used to further increase the power of Lukman's fist (It should be noted that his punch is already strong before he put on the gloves), allowing him to break any surfaces (except steel, for now at least). Yes, it's technically like Sledge's hammer but it's his fist instead lol. Punching a person without holding back with this will likely put them unconscious or heavily injured.

Unfortunately, it's powered by battery and can only be used a few times before it runs out. It must be charged before he can use it.

Short Biography: As a son of the current Major General of Indonesian's Special Forces Kopassus, Beruang's life was revolved around how to be just like his father. With his incredible strength and agility, coupled with knowledge of various martial arts, a fight without a weapon is what he shines the most. Calm and obedient, Beruang is one of excellent soldier Kopassus had, a War Machine ready to serve under his country.

Psychological Report: Suffers from a condition where he can't express his emotion and low self-esteem where he claimed that he's never good enough. It is believed that harsh training and upbringings from the environment he lived in was the cause of those problems. While he's good at his job, his social skill is very lacking, and he himself appears to be distancing himself with his teammates other than one person.

2. Jasmine Real Name: Kirana Tunggadewi Pitaloka Age: 26 (As of 2019) Organization: Kopassus Position: Defender Birthplace: Malang, East Java, Indonesia Date of Birth: July 18, 1993 Height: 5'5'' (1.65m) Weight: 131 lbs (59kg) Armor: Light Speed: Fast

Appearances: wears standard Kopassus uniform and her face is also covered with black half-mask and shades. In her free time, she usually wears colorful clothes, along with this black-chocker thing she always wear. She has short, neck-length straight short hair. (Casual look:)

Personality:

She has two personas. A facade she used to manipulates others: Kind, supportive, and positive. And then her real self, which so far only Six and Lukman knows: Lazy, vengeful, manipulative, and cold. She loves gossip, and although usually lazy, she will put a lot of effort into works that beneficial/important to her (such as maintaining her face around other operators or learning 'perfect english' before joining Rainbow).

But, Kirana is loyal and helpful towards people she thinks as her friends. If they're in trouble, you bet Kirana will try to cheer them up or maybe even hurt those who hurt her friends. She can be easily stressed, which surfaced as paranoia and mild anxiety. She also has abandonment issues, but no one know about this.

Due to her upbringings and her job as a spy, she would do anything to obtain important information she ordered to. Like for example, if someone ask her for intercourse in exchange of information, she would do it as long that information is very important and worth the deal (if not, she wouldn't do it and if they lied about it, she would kill them on site). She doesn't believe in and sometimes even disgusted with people in romantic relationship (like dating/engaged/married/etc), especially those who is in relationship with their workmates, but she's down for one night stand and such.

(It's not impossible for her to be in romantic relationship, but it is very hard to tie her in it)

Special Gadget: White Petals - Five small gadgets shaped together to look like jasmine flower. There's two set of this, one that function like Kapkan's gadget: Putting it on the side of a doors/windows/any openings and watch as everyone that walk through it get electrocuted. It's strong electric surge could even renders someone unconscious. Unfortunately, people could just jumped over/crawled under the gadgets to avoid it when it activates. But the gadget itself is very small, so it can be difficult to spot.

The second set of White Petals is a gadgets that works kinda like smoke grenade, usually used by Jasmine when she have to run. When thrown, it filled the entire room with a special, thick smokes that not even drone could see through. Unfortunately, it last only for a couple of seconds.

Short Biography: Born and raised in a family where her parents worked as spies, naturally Jasmine herself was shaped to be one. Claimed to be one of the best spy her country ever had, she never failed to complete her mission in obtaining and gathering information. While her firearms skill is lacking compared to other operators, her skill of espionage, her cunning thinking, and her good self-defense skill prove herself to be a spy to be reckoned with.

Psychological Report: Her facade personality seems to be a defense mechanism she put up to make herself appears benign and easy to communicate with, which what she needed for her job so she would be least suspicious. On rare cases someone's grow suspicious of her, she would be stressed which resort to anxiety and paranoia. Regardless, she doesn't have any issues in engaging in large group of individuals and offers genuine help and advice to people she care about.

3. Angel Real Name: Florence Marie Walanda Tambayong Age: 31 (As of 2019) Organization: Indonesian National Armed Forces (Land) Position: Defender Birthplace: North Minahasa, North Sulawesi, Indonesia Date of Birth: April 29, 1988 Height: 5'7'' (1.70m) Weight: 143 lbs (65kg) Armor: Light Speed: Fast

Appearance: Wearing standard Indonesian Army uniform, also wears crucifix-necklace. In her free time, she usually wears long-sleeves black/gray/white/pink shirts with silly designs (like some Indonesian words or random bootleg characters) or sweaters and capri pants. If she's on duty treating operators in the medical facility, she wears lab coat, surgical mask, and white gloves. Also her skin is darker compared to the other two ops. (Casual look:)

Personality: Brutally honest but also cheerful and friendly. She likes to socialize/interact with everyone, joining any kind of 'fun' activities, and laugh the loudest at jokes that’s not even funny. She cares a lot about her teammates' condition, so much to the fact that if she ever see any kind of injury or sickness, she will 'fix' them. She doesn't care if they refuse her treatment, she WILL treat them with or without their permission.

She's very dedicated and focus on her works. Even if she lose her limbs, as long she's still has consciousness and able to move, she will try her damnest to treat injuries and sickness.

Special Gadget: Nightingale - A first aid kit she named after a figure she idolizes. Said kit is filled with numerous vitamins, boosters, bandages, medicines, scissors, needles, etc. It's equipped with every medical stuff you can imagine, people wonders how the hell can all that stuffs are stored in it. The gadget itself isn't very special, but Angel's adrenaline rush make her performs medical operations perfectly whenever she uses this kit on someone, so it's more like a mixture of a very-equipped first aid kit and Angel's excellent determination to save lives, just like Florence Nightingale.

In game, this could heals or revives operators to full-health with additional 30 health points. Unfortunately, it can only be used thrice before it ran out.

Short Biography: Her involvement in medical world began at University of Indonesia where she eventually got her medical degree. After that, she worked as a nurse in a local hospital before she joined Indonesian Red Cross Society and eventually served as medical staff in Indonesian Army. With her excellent comprehension of human anatomy, she vowed to erase sickness and pain from everyone.

Psychological Report: With her optimism and carefree attitude, Angel has no trouble making friends in every place she stay. However, trauma about her failure to nurse injured civilians back to health in 2009 Sumatra Earthquake took a toll in her mental state. This resulted in her strong dedication and commitment in her job, which usually would be a good thing to have but it made her force anyone with injuries or sickness, no matter how small it is, to be nursed by her. She doesn't take no for an answer, in fear of her past experiences. It is best for one to approach her in a healthy condition.

Trivia:

- Jasmine studied in Airlangga University and got bachelor's degree in Psychology, Angel studied in University of Indonesia and got (obviously) medical degree, while Beruang studied in military academy.

- Jasmine speaks Japanese to some extent, like she doesn't know proper grammar for each situation (Japanese has different grammars for any situation, like speaking in workplace or towards elders for example) but she can understand and communicate in it. She studied it all by herself, mostly because she's a weeb.

- As said before, Jasmine is a big weeb. She watches a lot of Japanese dramas or animes, also plays a couple of Japanese's mobile games like Fate/Grand Order and Love Live. This is what she mostly do in her free time.

- All of them like spicy food, although Jasmine likes sweet food a little more. As such, if they're cooking a meal you bet it will be spicy as fuck.

- Beruang loves coffee while Jasmine and Angel loves iced tea. Both Beruang and Jasmine doesn't like alcohol, although Jasmine might drink wine or champagne a little, while Angel is open to trying variety of alcohol drinks.

- Jasmine's hobbies includes cooking and gaming, Beruang's hobbies are reading history or watching documentary films, and Angel's hobbies are treating patients and jogging.

- Regarding their sexuality, Beruang is gay (still in the closet, only Jasmine knows). Jasmine's down to have sex with anyone so she’s more of a pansexual, while Angel is straight but dedicates her life to her work so much she doesn't care about romance or sexual activities.

- As said before in his special gadget entry, Beruang is strong. Literally strong, his fist could destroy wood in a second without him putting his gloves on. Although without his gadget, he can't destroy bricks and such (might leave a dent on it though). If angry (which is thankfully unusual), he can't control his power and might break something he hold at the moment.

- As mentioned in his biography, out of various martial arts' learned, Beruang is great at judo and silat. He would use Judo technique the most in a fight, though.

- Beruang thinks of Jasmine as his little sister, while Jasmine thinks of Beruang as either her best friend or a dad. They have close platonic relationship regardless, although Jasmine had a crush on him a while ago (before she knew he's gay).

- While regarding Angel, Jasmine and her dislike each other. Beruang is neutral with Angel, and Angel regards him as a friend.

- Beruang's favorite animals: German shepherd. Jasmine's favorite animal: any cats. Angel's favorite animals: Parrot.

#rainbow six siege #rainbow six siege oc #r6s oc #siege oc #beruang #jasmine #angel #r6s #everyone in r6 fandom: stop with the tags ho #OK SORRY #also im kinda unoriginal about their special gadget im doijdfojdfoifjof

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hopeful0romantic · 5 years

Text

Get to know me thingy

Uhhh I was tagged in this by @wizardess-shitpost—

Well, I mean technically @why0am-i-like0reblogs was tagged but that’s me, so lmao—

And I have too much anxiety to tag others in this so oof :’)

Uh, okay so, here—

How tall are you?

I’m short as hell at 4’11” :D

What color and style is your hair?

So, my hair is long, straight, and light brown with two blond streaks in the front—one on each side. It goes down to my ass and is usually kept down but is sometimes in a pony tail or braid.

What kind of student are/were you?

The kind that teachers say “have potential” or whatever the hell but don’t try. I don’t give a fuck, sooooo. I just want them to leave me alone.

What color are your eyes?

Simple answer: blue.

Elaborated: gray blue?? Sometimes greenish blue?? Mainly gray blue I guess. I’ve been told by a couple tho that they see a bit of green in them.

When were you born?

March 3rd

What’s your fashion sense?

Uhhhh casual//comfortable????

I just where funny(ish?) or comfortable t-shirts that are too big for me, almost always a jacket cuz I feel comfortable wearing one, jeans (every now and then leggings I guess), and combat boots.

Although I won’t lie—I do have a very feminine side that longs to wear dresses and look pretty and—y’know—like a girl—

Do you like school?

I fucking hate school. So much. The only reason I have to maybe like it was I get to see my boyfriend along with my ONE friend.

What school do/did you go to?

Currently a small town high school.

Used to go to one in Killeen, Texas for second half of kindergarten to 2nd grade, that was a shitter school full of racist little kids.

Went to one in Elizabethtown, Kentucky for 4th and 5th grade. Very good school 👌

Was also homeschooled for second half of 2nd grade along with 3rd grade. My mom did a pretty good damn job if I do say so my self (and I say so!)

Where were you born and where do you live now?

Both the same place, good ol’ corn field and cow state of Indiana, lmao.

Full Name?

Just like @wizardess-shitpost, I also go by a different name.

Online, I go by RynTinTin.

Ryn for short, obviously.

Do you wear braces?

Nope.

Do you have any regrets?

A shit ton! :D

How many? Too many to remember!

What are they? Embarrassing shit that I’ve said on impulse, mostly ;D

Favorite book?

Oh god, there’s a lot—

At the moment I’m really liking Dragon’s Keep and Dragonswood by Janet Lee Carey. I love the writing style and the pace of it so I’d like to read more books written by her.

I’m also a fan of Warrior Cats and Harry Potter. Mortal Instraments is good too, although I haven’t continued reading it in a LONG time—

I’ve also somewhat gotten into Liz Braswell’s A Twisted Tale books :0 I’ve only started reading one but they all sound really interesting and I really wanna read more—

Favorite TV Show?

~~Supernatural~~

Do you wear glasses?

Yeppie—doodle—roonie, I certainly do

Favorite pastime?

Probably writing??? Whether it’s my own project, something I plan to post, or a writing assignment for my creative writing class. All are fun 👌

Dream Job?

I’d love to be an author ❤️ if not, maybe work in theater??? I am somewhat interested in being a theater actor because I believe it’d be fun!! But also author 👀 lol

What countries have you visited?

The only country I’ve ever been in is the great ol’ USA, lmao :’)

Scariest nightmare?

Well. I used to have night mares when I was a little kid. Me and my mom call then the bear dreams lmao. All I remember of them was that I was always getting chased by a bear. My mom says I started screaming bloody murder in my sleep.

An emotionally scary one, though, was one where I told my crush that I liked him and all that happened was awkward situations :’) he said he didn’t like me back although being friends was still aight. Which, isn’t the worst, but god it was so fucking awkward in the dream and I hated it.

(I’m dating him now tho so lololololol suck on that, stupid dream!!!)

Any enemies?

Oh yeah lmfao. This one bitch named Lavender. She (purposefully) took m best friend from me and is now continuously trying to get the attention of my boyfriend. There’s more to it, I swear, but there’s too much and I don’t wanna start ranting about this whore. (She literally took another guy to prom who has the same first name as my boyfriend lmfaooooo—I’m gonna smash her head through a damn window)

Significant other?

Yes 💕💕💕 I love him

Do you believe in miracles?

I don’t know, actually.

I mean it must be a miracle if this d00d I adore apparently feels the same about me—😂😂😂

Honestly tho—I think maybe??? I guess I lean more towards yes than no.

How are you?

I’m either extremely shitty or extremely happy, there’s no in between recently lmao—

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auntie-diluvian · 5 years

Note

What would have happened in chapter 2 if you decided to write it?

Eek I’m so sorry I took so long to answer this!

The longer I think about it, the more I think a second part would have really jumped the shark any way I’d have written it, but I did have some thoughts*, which got… uh, kinda long (hence me taking forever to answer your ask), so I’m gonna put them beneath a cut if I can figure out how.

Some of this was sort of charted out in a long chat between me and Py (specifically I think the bit with Papyrus showing up, which I think was her idea?), but that conversation was so long ago it’s been lost to the sands of time (and tumblr chat having no search function), so most of this is new and specific to the version I posted.

I had a couple of scenes in my head that were a little more defined, the rest was just kind of vague, and it never came to a conclusion, really. So I guess, in theory, all of those “Reader goes to Italy and carboloads themself into personal fulfillment, Sans dies of skelesyphilis, and his gf fucks off somewhere” fantasies can still happen. If, you know, by the end of me rambling about this, any of that still sounds, oh god, you know, fuck, appealing, or whatever. If not, then uhhh whoops sorry I don’t have any ending for you at all, my dude.**

Also this hasn’t been beta’d or anything, I didn’t want to give it the same status as the stuff I actually publish, just like, on principle? so like. keep your expectations in check maybe? especially re: some of the most cliche and melodramatic dialogue I’ve written to date lol

The first scene was to take place on Jan 2nd:

Your friend, the one you’re now glad isn’t speaking to you, is standing at your door, anxiously clutching a small, rectangular cardboard box bearing a sticker you recognize as the logo of your favorite bakery. She speaks to you, and you feel your stomach flip.

“Um, so, these are for you. Uh, happy new year, by the way, and um, the frosting probably got a little smushed- you know how high they like to pile it on. But, you know, they’re fresh, so- should be good. Got your favorites.”

She hands you the box and you peek inside. Cupcakes, of course. Half the frosting’s on the lid, like she said, and you stare at them, dumbfounded. Can’t look at her.

She clears her throat.

“I know what I’m like, sometimes. I can be melodramatic and petty and- and self-destructive. I do dumb shit like drive away my closest friend with the silent treatment because I didn’t get the answer I wanted. I’m so sorry. You were right, and, god, furthermore? The entire thing was just… stupid, you know? Can you forgive me?”

You sway on your feet, dizzy.

“Of course.”

She steps forward and hugs you, and as her arms wrap around you, so does an awful panic.

Your cell phone is burning a hole in the pocket of your bathrobe, from the text you had received ten minutes prior, alerting you to your friend’s impending arrival:

Sans: she’s coming over to your place. please don’t tell her anything. i’ll figure something out. sorry to ask you to do this. i’ll make it up to you

Sans: ok that sounded wrong. not what i meant. everything sounds wrong though

Sans: i’m sorry

“Oh, thank you,” she says, sounding more grateful than she should, her scarf tickling your cheek. “That’s such a relief. Thank you.”

Really just laying that guilt on thick. Uhhh let’s see, after that:

You tell her you’re sick just to get her to go away and she believes you because you look horrible and are wearing a bathrobe in the middle of the afternoon

Cue angst about furthering the extent of your dishonesty

The next day she texts you just to “catch up” but in the middle of it, drops that Sans has been more than usually distant. They talked about so much and she knows it’s going to take time for things to get better, but since that first conversation on New Year’s Day, he’s kind of shut down-

But enough about her problems, what’s been going on with you? Oh, Not Much, you tell her. You’re still getting over your cold but you’ve gone back to work. It’s the truth, more or less. You have the sniffles, at any rate, though that’s more due to your daily extended heartbreak/guilt crying alone sessions than any physical malady.

A week later, your friend is back to sending you memes and talking about her job, your favorite shows you watch. Sans is living with her. Everything is normal, on the surface. Sans chimes in on the group chat every now and again, but that’s it. Not another word from him. The awful feeling in the pit of your stomach has faded to a dull ache that only bothers you at night.

Which is why it’s a total surprise when Papyrus shows up on your doorstep one evening and lets himself in. You didn’t even know he was in town. You’ve met him a few times, loved the guy, but he’s not here for a social call.

Well, okay, he is, but it’s not a pleasant one. He is. So. Disappointed. In you. He’s prepared a speech! To express the enormity of your fuckup.

About the 45-second mark of which, you break down sobbing. He stops immediately and grabs you a glass of water and a cool washcloth for your neck.

He apologizes as you calm down, and you have a long talk with him about the hows and the whys. It’s incredibly cathartic, you’ve never told anyone about any of this situation, and you’re drained by the time you’re done. But as he leaves, he has this look on his face and you hate it- pity tinged with trace amounts of leftover dismay, so it’s a relief to lock yourself in for the evening, even if the alternative (i.e. being alone with your thoughts and your guilt and everything else) isn’t much better.

An hour or two later, you get another text from Sans: “i’m sorry again, i didn’t know he was gonna do that.”

Interrupting myself here to say as an aside, so much for a synopsis of my vague concept; this is now going on 800 words. Look at all this work you definitely made me do that I didn’t put on myself at all. Anyway.

Sans text, continued: “he’s in town cuz of me, though, so i think i gotta listen to him. he’s uh saying we should get together and talk about how i”

“hang on”

Five minutes later: “scratch that i’m not listening to him.”

Ten full minutes later: “we can have lunch tomorrow. to talk. if you want. you don’t have to agree to it. i’ll understand.”

It’s about two in the morning when you finally respond: “Where and when?”

He replies immediately.

It’s a good sandwich. A shame you can’t do much more than just poke at it and nibble at the toppings that have fallen out of it onto the wax paper basket liner. And the bag of chips is completely out of the question. You’ve already put them away for later, for when you might eventually start regretting skipping lunch because of the awful somersaults your innards keep doing. Sans’s sandwich isn’t faring much better- he’s twirling his frilly-ended toothpick between his fingers, occasionally poking it into his dill pickle wedge.

Neither of you has said a word past your perfunctory greeting and the order you’d both placed at the counter eight minutes ago. The rest of the sandwich shop doesn’t seem to care, though. Most of its other patrons are absorbed in getting their order and getting out, or making the most of their too-brief lunch hour. It’s noisy, and it would be the perfect setting for the conversation you’re supposed to be having, you credit Sans with that much. If you could just speak.

You’re staring off over his shoulder, at the display rack of different brands of hot sauce, when he startles you by biting off over half of his pickle, chewing, and swallowing with his eyes closed and a sigh.

“thanks for… you know, not telling her yet.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you say with enough sourness to give that pickle a run for its money.

“no, yeah, i know- i just. yeah. i’ll tell her, though. soon. uh, -ish.”

“Will you tell me when you do it? I don’t think I can take another unexpected visitor, and I-” you laugh, ”-I’m going nuts checking my phone, panicking at every single notification.”

“‘course. yeah.”

“Okay. Thanks. For that.”

“sure.”

You tear off a piece of sliced turkey that’s hanging out the edge of your sandwich.

“…can i say somethin’?”

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“i didn’t- uh, know you had- i just thought you were riding the same wave of… whatever that was, as me.”

He clears his throat.

“i didn’t know you felt that w- i mean, that you had actual feelings for- at least, not until you started sayin’ all those things–”

“–I changed my mind, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He ducks his head.

“yeah, okay.”

You take another bite of your sandwich, chewing as you scramble for something, anything, else to say.

“So. Uh, how’s, um, y'know, everything else?”

He blinks, shakes his head, and laughs.

“what, you really wanna know? or are you askin’ just to ask?”

Shit. No, you don’t really want to know.

“Yeah. I wanna know.”

He leans back, the plastic of the chair back creaking, and looks out the window behind you.

“shit… it’s all… it’s all fallin’ apart on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, already a well-honed reflex.

“not your fault, really. in the end. i’m just already tired. a week ago, this’s all i wanted, for everything to go back to normal. but it turns out normal was just a lot of her pretending she could stand me. and we’re not pretending, anymore. so… but that’s supposed to help us sort everything out, right?”

Goddamn your bleeding heart that got you into this in the first place.

“feels capricious of me, right? but if it’s gonna end, why can’t it just end already? but i’m not allowed to give up yet, because that’s not what we’re doing, we’re working through our issues.”

He pushes his basket over to the seat next to him, and folds his arms on the table, head nestled into them.

“even though giving up is all i wanna do anymore,” he says, voice muffled by his sleeves.

“Every relationship requires work, Sans,” you say. Platitudinal, but true, if not particularly helpful.

“but at what point do you cut your losses? is it before or after the seventieth thing this week she tells you you’ve been doing wrong all along that she never bothered to mention to you before? you know she prefers the loose end of the tp to come out underhanded? i didn’t. she’s wrong, but hey, fuck- anything for my baby. i’m tired. i didn’t know it was gonna be like this.”

Underhanded toilet paper rolls? Do you even know who she is?

“i should just go ahead and tell her about this whole thing, already, see if that- i dunno, breaks us beyond repair. but if i do that now when all our wounds are still fresh, i don’t get to say i tried to fix things, and i guess on some level, i need that.”

He rubs his face.

“fuck, listen to me whine. i’m making it sound worse than it is. ”

“Dude, I don’t know. I’m still horrified by the toilet paper thing.”

He snorts.

“i don’t even use the stuff much, so it wasn’t worth makin’ a whole thing out of it.”

“Okay, but I’m fixated on it. It’s like, all I can think about. What the fuck?”

You’re overcome with the strangest feeling- it shouldn’t be so odd to you now, three weeks into your guilt spiraling, but you want to text her about this so badly, to give her grief about it. And if this were a normal situation, if you hadn’t made everything awful, you wouldn’t hesitate. But you’re having a clandestine lunch with her boyfriend to discuss the awful thing you did, and therefore you can’t give her shit about her weird habit you now know about thanks to him, which is what friends do. Friends don’t let friends put the roll on the wrong way without at least dragging them for it for the rest of their natural lives, so can you still even call yourself her friend?

Probably not, huh? That, and the other thing you did. Friends don’t do that, either.

Your smile fades as you start to understand on a much more personal level what he meant. You doubt you’ll be granted the same mercy as him, of working out your issues, and until then you have to live like this, unable to even joke around without it turning bitter. You’re going to lose her, too- you’re going to lose them both, maybe, probably, and the waiting and pretending is only adding to your misery. It’s a hollow kind of wanting, for something to be over and done with, but it’s rooted in you all the same.

You finally decide you’re not going to finish your sandwich, but you wrap it back up in the wax paper liner anyway, and start putting your coat back on.

“Well. Thanks for meeting with me. I think I’d better head back to work, now.”

“you realize we didn’t talk about what happened at all, right?”

You shrug. “Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe we don’t need to.”

“you don’t- you don’t have anything you wanna say to me.”

You close your eyes and sigh.

“I’m… sorry?”

“shit, yeah, me too.”

“It was a mistake.”

“unequivocally, yeah.”

“I think that about covers it, don’t you?”

He nods silently.

“Then… I’ll see you around.”

You almost make it to the door, leaving him slumped in his seat with his uneaten sandwich. You look outside at the cold, slushy parking lot, check the time, and nearly get in your car and drive back to work. But instead, your feet carry you back to the table, back to Sans.

“I do actually just have one question.”

He looks up at you, and you can see deep into his eye sockets, and the dark semicircles beneath them, how tired he is.

“sure. anything,” he answers.

“If you had known how I felt, would it all have gone- would we be here now, having this conversation? Or would I have gone home before and none of this would have ever happened?”

Your fool brain wants you to continue: Or would you have stayed?

But you already know the answer to that one, so you stop yourself; these questions are dangerous enough, as is.

He actually looks somewhat taken aback.

“i don’t- i dunno. and i dunno how much good speculating about it’s gonna do. what’s done is done.”

“Please. It’s the one answer I feel like I have any right to.”

He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and leans back.

“yeah. i think i’d have done the same thing.”

Your chair creaks as you fall back into it, defeated.

“Why?”

“what do you mean, why? did it seem like i gave a shit who else i was hurting at the time?”

He slumps a little further down, and in a softer, more soothing tone, says, “what are you after? do i care now that i hurt your feelings? …yeah. not that it really counts for anything.”

“It counts,” you croak.

“hmm.”

He stands, finally.

“guess you’re right, though. i’d better be getting back to work.”

He shrugs on his wool coat and winds his scarf around his neck.

“you uh… you gonna be ok?”

Are you? Feels like… maybe not?

The sobbing starts, even as you will it not to- christ, no, anything but that.

“oh. uh. shit.”

People are staring, now. You hide your face behind your hands, try to even out your voice to reassure him and your new audience that no, really, you’re fine, but it just comes out all the more overwrought for your efforts. Sans is useless, grimacing, hands outstretched towards you, placating, like with a panicking animal, and it reminds you of the conversation you’d had that night, when you’d offered yourself up as a shoulder to cry on.

“you wanna get out of here?” he asks, and you nod, rolling your eyes at your own uninvited histrionics and swiping at your cheeks.

“k,” he says, and when you open your eyes again, you’re sitting on your couch, in your apartment.

“got tissues?”

You swallow.

“Uh, bedroom, but- please don’t go in there, it’s- it’s bad.”

“k.”

He returns a few seconds later with a handful of toilet paper, and you take it from him.

“hey. it’s gonna be okay. y’know why?”

You blow your nose.

“Why?”

“no matter what else happens, you’ll always know: you put the toilet paper on the holder the right way.”

You chuckle weakly into your wad of tissue.

“You’re right. I’ll always have that.”

He sinks down on the couch next to you. Not too close.

You sigh and slump forward, elbows on your knees, calmer now.

“Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen. The- you know, the turning on the waterworks in a sandwich joint. That was embarrassing. I’m embarrassed.”

“happens. plus, i think you’ve earned the right to cry.”

Your chin wobbles again, threatening.

“Oh? I have? Cool. ‘Cuz I don’t know what I have the right to feel, or do, right now. It all feels wrong.”

“yeah. i know,” he mumbles.

“Sometimes I start feeling sad, for me, because of what I’m about to lose because of this? But then- no, can’t do that, because- hey, maybe I should have thought of that before we-” you catch your breath.

“yeah.”

“I’m mad at myself, and I’m pretty okay with that. But then sometimes I think maybe I’m mad at you for like, seven different reasons, and half of those reasons conflict with each other, but I can’t even… stay mad at you like I think I want to.”

You aren’t looking at him, but you can feel his stare.

“like how?”

You poke and prod at your face, trying to relieve some of the tension headache that’s building around your eye sockets and temples.

“Like, as your friend, I’m annoyed that you put up with ALL of her bullshit. You’re such a doormat when it comes to her. But as her friend, I’m so fucking appalled that you’d sleep with me, her best friend, less than a month after the breakup of a like- how many years? Six?”

“…seven.”

“Seven year relationship. Fuck, sorry, not to belabor the point or anything, but- yeah.” You sniffle. “And then- here’s the kicker. Just as me, alone, not relative to anyone else- I keep wishing you’d just fucking stayed in bed after I poured my heart out to you. Like I have any right to feel that. And of all of it, all the shit, that’s the one that sticks the worst, so the rest don’t get a chance to mean anything.”

The second you turn your head to make eye contact with him, he’s there, leaning in, warm. Big old eye sockets looking at you just like you’d wanted for so long.

“i should’ve. i know.”

Your breath leaves you, almost-but-not-quite on a sob, as he kisses you, and everything is right and better, if only for a split second.

“Wait.”

“yeah- yes. ok.”

“What about-” you can’t bring yourself to speak to him more than a few inches removed from the kiss, as if tethered there by a spell, “-what about everything you just said, what- this isn’t fixing things.”

“no.”

“And I can’t- you can’t do this to me again.”

“i won’t. it won’t be like last time.”

“You can’t promise that,” you say as matter-of-factly as you can manage, given the circumstances.

“keep thinkin’ about how i can’t remember the last time i felt the way i did when you were sayin’ all that stuff about me.”

Your cheeks flush even harder, as if the rest of you hadn’t yet gotten the memo.

“That’s called an orgasm.”

The ridge above his nasal cavity scrunches up pleasantly when he laughs.

“We shouldn’t. If it was wrong before, it’s so much worse now.”

“i know.”

You cast your eyes aside to your front door, then down to where your hands are almost touching as you lean towards each other on the couch.

“You’re so full of shit, you know that?” you ask. “Fuck you for making me fall for it twice.”

Your eyelids flutter shut as you pull him in by the back of his neck.

THEN YOU FUCK AGAIN!!! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING!!! HOW COULD YOU!!!

hehe

He keeps his promise, more or less. It’s not her he has to run off to, at the end. You both have half a day of work ahead of you. You’re both late, and it’s as good an excuse as any for you to pretend he won’t still be going home to her, later.

You still have questions. You can’t focus at work.

He never promised much of anything, you now realize. It felt like he was offering much more, but- so what? Is he actually done with her? After everything? What does this look like tomorrow? A week from now?

What, you seriously think he’s going to leave her for you? Only if she kicks him out, you think, bitterly. Which makes you what, exactly? A consolation prize for his neglected ego?

You call him right as you’re getting off work, but hang up before he can answer. You want the truth??? You can’t handle the truth!!!

Things get better as they get worse. He starts coming over to see you, at least once a day. He stays an hour or two when he can. He talks with you in bed.

Yours, now, you think, sometimes.

You don’t ask him when he’s going to tell her. He’s choosing you, so he has to, right?

He will. Soon.

*Now I’m looking back at the beginning of all this and I’m like-

Some thoughts??? Bitch! You just wrote most of the damn thing! And after you said you weren’t gonna!

…So CLEARLY I had like, a little more I evidently wanted to say about this fucking thing. So there you go???

GOD that was a lot of dashes in there though, huh? I didn’t even try to keep the number down.

Oops hehhe

But, uh, yeah! I don’t know how this ends! Or even, at the risk of sounding a bit pretentious, if it ends! Maybe everyone learns from their mistakes and suffers the consequences! Or maybe nobody does! Or maybe it’s a weird combination of learning and not learning and suffering and not suffering because it’s supposed to be like, way more complicated than that.

**Or maybe reader and Sans’s gf wind up auditioning for the same local network tv wrestling show and they have lots of sexual wrestling tension together and also reader has like a will-they-won’t-they thing with an 80s disaster caricature of Marc Maron and they both bond with a group of wonderful interesting women and get to create something bigger than themselves!

God, I love GLOW. Maybe just go watch GLOW instead of this, it’s like, basically the same thing only with more eighties vibes and less skeletons and more women’s wrestling and less magical penises.

So really, not the same thing at all except for the one plot point of sleepin’ with your best friend’s dude that they kind of share, but very very good, you know?

Anyway! I love getting asks (I apparently love them so much that I can’t help myself and end up writing almost an entire chapter just to answer them), and fleshing out all the vagueness a little more without the self-imposed pressure of having to finish it into something publishable was really fun. So thanks for this ask!

#ask #the-one-eyed-king-kaneki-ken #habby balentimes day #sorry mobile users i know this was long as shit #sorry everyone actually #sans/reader #for auld lang syne my dear

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goodnightkisseu · 5 years

Text

Tag Game~

I was tagged by @prettywordsyouleft on my main, ongsung, and by @this-song-thats-only-for-you on here, so I decided to just answer these here :3 Thank you both of you for tagging me <3 Love you both!

The rules are:

1. Tag the person who tagged you

2. Answer the questions.

3. Tag 10 people

Let’s get it started!

•How tall are you?

I’m ~157cm / 5ft 2in. I’m okay with my height, but tbh I look hella short next to all of my friends that are 165cm+ ;___;

•What color and style is your hair?

I used to dye my hair a lighter burgundy (think Jaejoong during Mirotic) but it became hard to maintain that living in California. The sun is not kind to my hair ;__; So now I go a very dark purple-red. My hair just looks naturally black in most light... until I step into a place with natural sunlight and you can see the purple-red better :3 I’m pretty sure I have pics somewhere...

Style-wise... I’ve had it shoulder length before, and I liked that because it was manageable, but now I keep it long, about chest length with bangs :3

•What color are your eyes?

Brown

•Do you wear glasses?

Much like Chelle, I also have an astigmatism >_< I also didn’t used to like my glasses because I didn’t think I looked good in them ;; I’ve grown to like them tho, only wearing contacts every now and then. Which, honestly, is for the better, because I have such dry eyes that contacts do not help ;A;

•Do you wear braces?

I had braces as a kid. I wasn’t a fan of them, but I don’t have horror stories about them either.

•What’s your fashion sense?

I... really don’t now how to describe my fashion sense lol. I work in a game studio so there’s really no need to dress up, but I guess I am on the dressier side? I like skirts or skinny jeans with a nice top, all of it under my over-sized work hoodie XD

•Full name?

Ashley, though I’ve started answering to Ash too :) As a kid, letting kids refer to me as Ash was rough cuz of Pokemon >< And though I love the franchise, I did not really like the Ash Ketchum jokes >< Now that I’m older, Ash is fine.

•When were you born?

I share a birthday with SuJu’s Eunhyuk :D I’m just 6 years younger than him, so April 4, 1992.

•Where are you from and where do you live now?

I was originally from a smaller town in Washington State, then I lived on my own in Seattle for 6 years (school and work). Now I’m down in southern California in Irvine, for work :3

•What school do you go to?

I graduated 4 years ago (holy cow it’s been longer than I thought O_O)

•What kind of student are you?

Lolol I was that terrible perfectionist friend OTL Never missed classes, read the assigned reading (which most of the people didn’t in my classes ><), tried to get projects done early. But I also would procrastinate on things that I knew I didn’t need to spend a lot of time on? But I still wanted them to be done well? I was stressed as a college student. How I was a KPop stan and had a pretty good GPA coming out of college was a miracle x.x

•Do you like school?

I like learning. I like doing assignments to enhance my understanding. (Coding assignments were super, super useful! I love them even if the tests often kicked my butt) but I don’t like busy work ><

•Favorite subject?

I took a lot of programming courses cuz I majored in Computer Science. Those courses were a lot of fun, but I think weirdly my favorite class was one on Japanese Plays? That was pretty neat :0

•Favorite TV show?

Most of what I watch is anime or kdramas >< but I do love Doctor Who a lot :D

•Favorite Movie?

So I got asked this question recently and I had to think about it pretty hard. I think the film that takes the title of ‘favorite’ for me is Hero. It came out back in 2002, and it starred Jet Li, Donnie Yen, Tony Leung, Maggie Cheung, Chen Daoming and Zhang Ziyi. It was so beautiful and now I have to go re-watch it ><

•Favorite books?

I loved the Stravaganza series way back when. I only found out like 3 years ago that there were more than the original 3 so I may have to go back and re-read them :3

•Favorite pastime?

I love to write! Most of my freetime is dedicated to that and mobile games. >< I also love to draw, which I haven’t been able to do in a while >< Maybe soon...

•Do you have any regrets?

A handful. I will only go into depth if people want to know, lol. Nothing is serious. Just lots of little life things

•Dream job?

So, back when I was about 9 or 10, I picked up Final Fantasy X. I loved the game and the art so much that all I wanted to do was be a concept artist for games. Admittedly, I don’t have the talent of a concept artist, even though I do love to draw. I do work in the game industry now but in a slightly more technical sense. ^^ There was also a time I wanted to be a writer... but honestly... none of my stuff is publishing worthy lolol

•Would you ever like to be married?

I’d like to, but I haven’t met anyone yet. Plus, given how old everyone is at this game studio, I probably won’t find anyone here ><””

•Would you like to have kids?

Eventually?

•How many?

One or two.

•Do you like shopping?

Yes and no. There are times when all I want to do is look for cute clothes. And then there are times when I just... don’t want to, lol.

•What countries have you visited?

Canada, Vietnam, Thailand, and the inside of an airport in Hong Kong and in Incheon when my family still traveled XD

•Scariest nightmare you have ever had?

Lately I’ve been getting a lot of like... assassin/fighting type of dreams and I’m not having it, yo. I’ve also experienced the teeth falling out dreams, mostly if I’m stressed... which just makes me more stressed OTL

•Any enemies?

Not that I know of ^^’’’’’

•Any significant other?

Maybe some day...

•Do you believe in miracles?

I’d like to :3

•How are you?

I’m alright today. I’m a little exhausted, but happy too! I got a lot of tasks done at work and I’m wrapping up my last fic request. I’m also thinking of drawing one of the girls from the new mobile game I started. So overall things are looking up! :D I could probably use with a bit more sleep tho ><

I’ll tag @romeongs, @jinyoungmoans, @xiaojuxiyou and anyone else that wants to do this. I feel like most already have, but you can say I tagged you if you want to give it a go! ^o^

#get to know me~#there are so many emojis in this #i'm sorry i talk with a lot of emojis #it's a habit ><#i also feel like a lot of this showed my age ><

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those-bulletproof-boys · 7 years

Text

LOL Prince AU for Yoongi

Lol so remember that time i was all jazzed about writing a prince au for yoongi and it was gonna be long af lol that didnt happen i got discouraged and never finished it but i teased it a heck ton for yall and even tho im never gonna finish it I thought yall deserved to at least get what I had because like idk i teased it you should get a little bit e ven tho it prob wont ever get any longer. Sorry. Its really fucking long cuz I was planning on breaking it up but i cant be bothered so if youw anna read it go ahead if you dont thats ok. Love yall!! <3

Published: October 31st, 2017

Word count: ~14,459 Words

{Also I haven’t read this since I posted it and I didnt edit it obvi so like its gonna be shit just be prepared.}

“Your highness, it’s time for you to wake up.”

Yoongi squeezed his eyes closed against the sudden light that surrounded him that he recognized as the maid opening the curtains of his bed chamber. He groaned and flipped onto his stomach to press his face into the pillow that had been under his head all night.

“Your highness, I’ve been instructed to awaken you.”

The voice came again, but it sounded closer. Yoongi sighed and removed his face from the pillow before turning to look around the room and spot the owner of the voice. His hair fell into his face and he could feel his loose sleep-shirt hanging off his shoulder.

The voice itself had been unfamiliar to Yoongi, but the face was definitely someone that he had never seen before. The girl that stood 4 feet from Yoongi’s bed, with eyes as large as the mood at his sudden movements, had hair that fell in curtains around her face. Her eyes were bright and, at the moment, full of...was it fear?

Immediately, the girl fell into a curtsey, her head bowed and her hair falling over her face. “Good morning, your highness,” She said quietly.

Yoongi just looked at the girl before him. “I’m awake,” he said in a monotone voice.

The servant looked up, “I beg your pardon, your highness?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Your job is to wake me up. I’m awake.” She blinked. “You can leave now,” he finished with a pointed look.

Her mouth opened and closed before she understood his words and rushed out the door. Yoongi let out a sigh before the door flung open again and the girl was back. She frantically curtsied and flew out the door again, clearly still flustered.

Yoongi chuckled as he raised his arms over his head and began stretching, pulling himself into the world of the awake.

“Ah Yoongi, good morning,” An older man called from the head of the table as servant flitted around him, bringing and taking away plates from around him, constantly.

Yoongi looked around as he walked through the doors into the elaborate dining hall. The table before him could easily hold up to 30 guests, but only 2 places were set. He made his way to the end of the room before taking his seat next to his father. “Good morning, Father,” he responded as he continued to try to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

A servant placed a large plate of breakfast foods before Yoongi and he picked at it with his fork and knife, his mind wandering to other lands. “Yoongi?” His father called.

Yoongi continued eating, not hearing the voice calling his name.

“Yoongi?” He called, a bit louder.

Yoongi’s eyes cleared and he turned to look at the man next to him. “Yes, sir?”

His father looked at him. “Is your mind elsewhere, son?” Yoongi nodded reluctantly, his eyes apologetic. “Very well, but your first lesson is in Mathematics and I would advise against such daydreaming until World Geography.” Yoongi nodded reflexively as his father swallowed the last bite of food on his plate and stood up, his shoulders broad and strong.

Yoongi stood respectfully as his father turned to him. “Good day, son,” the older man said. Yoongi watched the servants bow to him as he walked out of the room, but as soon as the door was closed, he slumped back into his seat and resumed picking at his food, dreading the day ahead.

As much as he tried to hold it back, his mind eventually began to wander as his mathematics lesson dragged on and on. Mathematics had never been his strong point, and no matter how hard he tried, he knew that it would always be one of his weaknesses, not a good thing if you’re expected to govern a country someday and deal with it’s financials.

Every since Yoongi could remember, he could remember spending his entire mornings at lessons for anything and everything, changing every day. Supposedly they were all supposed to teach him how to take after his father, the King, when he died, Yoongi couldn’t even imagine his father passing away because of the strong grip that he constantly had on the country that had grown to rely on him for everything. If he died, everything would collapse...unless Yoongi was able to take over seamlessly.

“Prince Yoongi?”

Yoongi looked up to see his teacher waiting for his answer and his face grew red in embarrassment, knowing that his mind had travelled to a foreign land.

His teacher sighed.

The only class that could truly capture Yoongi’s attention was, contrary to his father, World Geography. Learning about the world around him and all the places, that he hoped to be able to visit someday, banished any other thoughts away, keeping his mind in place. From the moment he walked into the lesson, his teacher had his entire attention.

He walked out of that class, his last for the day, and slowly began to make his way back to his room until his sword wielding lesson in an hour. As he made his way through the castle, maids and servants here and there would stop their actions and curtsey, but none of the faces were familiar. The walk to his bed chamber blurred together and before he knew it he stood at his door, his hand on the handle.

Lazily, he turned the piece of metal under his hand and swung the door open. It took a few moments until his eyes registered the other body in the room, dusting the top of his dresser. His eyes widened at the sight, mainly because his room was always already clean by the time he came back, and he squinted, trying to see which servant had been taking so long at their job.

Her back was towards him and he couldn’t see anything except her long hair that fell down the back of her uniform. Impatiently, Yoongi coughed into his palm, trying to pull the girl’s attention towards him.

Immediately, the figure spun around, her mouth open in shock and her eyes as wide as they had been this morning. Her head dropped after half a second as she dropped into a curtsey, but Yoongi had already seen her face and recognized her as the maid that had come to wake him up that morning.

“Your highness,” Her voice cracked, clearly from nerves, “I’m so sorry, I’m behind schedule and haven’t finished with your bedroom.”

Yoongi looked her up and down as he focused on the rag in her right hand and the black smudges, presumably from his fireplace, that went up her left arm. Her head was still bowed and Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“What’s your name,” He asked as he began walking towards her.

With her head still bent, she responded in a surprisingly steady voice, “My name is Y/n, your highness.”

“Why are you behind schedule?” Yoongi asked, his voice flat.

Y/n gulped, “I–”

Yoongi interrupted her, “Look at me,” He said sternly. Slowly she raised her head and looked at Yoongi with the bright eyes that he had seen this morning, but now they shook with growing fear.

Slowly, she breathed out and started her sentence again. “I am behind schedule because I am not yet used to my chores, your highness.”

Yoongi nodded. “Are you part of the recently hired help?” he asked, his eyes studying her face for any hint of familiarity that could show that she had been here longer.

Y/n nodded, “Yes, sir, I started work yesterday.”

The boy took a step forward until he stood inches in front of y/n. Her eyes dropped immediately by reflex and Yoongi sighed. He leaned head down until his lips were centimeters from her ear as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to turn away. “Next time, be out of my room by the time I’m done with my lessons,” He said, venom lacing through his voice as his exhaustion that had built throughout the morning was released to an innocent maid. Y/n’s head snapped up as Yoongi took a step back, her eyes wide with fear and her lips parted slightly, like she was about to say something.

“You can leave now,” He said tiredly. He watched as Y/n curtsied, her eyes back on the carpet, and walked out the door, her arm still stained with soot.

A breath made its way out of Yoongi’s mouth as he fell onto his bed, letting his eyes close and his body melt into the cushions beneath him to rest.

Another unfamiliar voice snuck its way into Yoongi’s ears the next morning. The night before, he had been up late, and now his body was cursing him, begging for more sleep. “Your highness, it’s time to wake up,” it said.

Yoongi was sure that he had never heard that voice before and decidedly pulled his blanket up over his head, efficiently blocking out the noise. “Your highness?” The voice came again, a bit less timid and Yoongi groaned.

“Go away!” He shouted in a groggy voice from under the fabric. Frantic footsteps receded into the distance and Yoongi smiled at his small victory before turning and burrowing the side of his face into his pillow again.

Abruptly, the door to Yoongi’s bedroom opened again and slow, timid steps made their way to his bed. Convinced that it was the same servant as before, Yoongi groaned before throwing the quilts off himself and pulling himself into a sitting position, a snarl on his face. His hair sat in a knotted nest on top of his head and his undershirt was untied, showing the upper part of his chest and his collarbones.

Y/n jumped at the sudden movement and stared at the boy before her with wide eyes that Yoongi had grown accustomed to. Yoongi stared at them, blinking. Apparently they had sent in y/n to wake him when the other maid could not. Seconds passed as they stared at eachother before y/n dropped to a curtsey, her eyes back to focusing on her toes.

“Prince Yoongi, I’ve been sent to awaken you.”

Yoongi blinked at the first usage of his name with his title to come from her mouth and it took him a moment to compose himself, because every servant in the castle referred to him as “Your majesty.”

“I’m awake,” He said, repeating his words from yesterday, but with less bite in his voice.

“Very well, your majesty,” She said as she curtsied and left the room.

Minutes passed as Yoongi sat, with his chin in his hands, staring at the place that y/n had stood just a little while before. Before anymore servants could tell him to get up, he stepped out of bed and began to dress for the day.

As soon as Yoongi stepped through his door, his eyes landed on y/n standing just a few feet away from the door, her hands clasped together, her eyes lowered. Slowly, she curtsied without raising her eyes. “Your majesty,” She said, her voice steadier than normal.

Yoongi closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose before letting it out and opening his eyes. He raised his hand to rub between his eyes, already tired moments after waking up. “Wait until I’ve already left to go into my room to clean. Don’t wait at the door; I should never see you. Be invisible, y/n,” The prince said before brushing past her and started down the path to the breakfast table without looking back.

He’d only walked a few feet when he heard a small, “Yes, your majesty,” Come from behind him and heard his bedroom door open and close. A small smile appeared on his usually stoic face and a maid’s eyes widened at the change from a few feet away as she dusted the corridor’s ornamentations.

“Son?”

The king’s voice broke through Yoongi’s head on the third try and his eyes snapped up to his father’s immediately. The line of thought that had been traveling through Yoongi’s brain was immediately broken off. “Yes, sir?” The boy responded.

His mind had been traveling to the events of that morning, trying to piece together why he hadn’t just fired y/n when she clearly wouldn’t be able to perform her chores properly. Yoongi had never had any trouble firing insufficient help, but something about y/n restrained that reflexive reaction.

“What is it with you spacing out lately?” His father said impatiently, not bothering to continue with his previous thought.

Yoongi dropped his head. “I just have a lot on my mind at the moment. I’m sorry, Father.” The king nodded as he took a bite of food. Yoongi looked up tentatively, “What are my lessons today, Father?” He asked, curious as to why his father hadn’t assigned anything yet.

The king’s head sat, resting on his hands as he sighed. “Nothing today, Yoongi. Some things are going on and I didn’t have time to plan anything. Just study what you know, for today.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar response before a grin split across his face and he leaped from his seat. He quickly bowed to his father, and rushed out of the room, his body light and happy. Immediately, he made his way to the back doors, commonly used by the help, and ran through them, heading towards the stables. His breathing was heavy, but his heart was light and he hadn’t felt this happy or free in months.

A ragged breath tumbled from his mouth as he slowed to a walk and opened the doors of the stables. A man, tending to the horses, was the first thing in his field of vision. The man turned around, surprised at the sudden intrusion before falling to a bow.

“Your majesty, how can I help you today?” He asked, his eyes focused on the ground in front of his feet.

Yoongi’s heart continued to beat heavily as his wide eyes stared around the large building, its familiar smells filling his nose. “Where is Holly?”

The man straightened and nodded before walking down the aisle between stalls. “Follow me, your highness; she’s right this way, her morning bath has just finished and she has been eating well.”

Yoongi’s smile grew, a sight that the man was familiar with whenever a conversation was about the Prince’s horse. “Thank you for taking special care of her,” Yoongi said, bowing his head slightly towards the man in appreciation. The man’s cheeks filled with color at the kind words and continued walking.

Moments later, they both stopped before a large stall with a sign that read “Holly” on the door. Yoongi’s smile leaked into his eyes as he stared at the horse that brought him such happiness. Slowly he stepped towards the door that separated him from his animal, his face alight, and pressed himself against the bars. As if my instinct, Holly looked up from her eating to see the Prince at her door.

The stable hand stepped away, confident that the prince knew how to saddle himself up for his impending ride. The worker was always surprised to see this side of the prince whenever he came to the stables. He had heard of the fear that he struck into the workers in the castle, but every time that he had seen the prince, his face had been happy and lit with a smile; the worker felt honored to experience this side of the boy.

He turned to walk away when he heard the prince’s voice. “Thank you for taking care of her, again.” The boy’s voice was soft, and the servant turned to see him stroking the horse's face through the bars, his eyes full of adoration.

The man bowed before responding. “It is my pleasure your majesty.”

As the man disappeared into another stall at the other side of the room, Yoongi grabbed the key that hung by the door of the stall that he stood in front of and excitedly opened the lock. Immediately the door slid open and Yoongi rushed in to embrace his equestrian friend. Instead of backing away, as most horses would at the sudden movements, Holly moved just as fast to meet the young prince.

“Oh Holly,” Yoongi breathed against her mane as he pressed his face into the side of her neck, “I’ve missed you. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner, Father has had me busy with Mathematics and other classes.”

Holly snorted in disgust and a laugh tumbled from Yoongi’s mouth.

“I feel the same way, but he said I have nothing to do today. Would you like to go for a ride in the forest?” A whinnie of agreement met Yoongi’s ears and his cheeks began to hurt from smiling too much.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Holly stood completely still as Yoongi did his own work to prepare her for a ride. His father would let a servant saddle his horse for him, but Yoongi preferred to handle Holly himself.

Minutes later, Yoongi was atop his house, galloping across the acres of land that surrounded the castle, reveling in the wind that blew across his face and the feeling that he was free to ride wherever he wanted.

As soon as he disappeared into the treeline, the air around Yoongi became colder, combined with the wind that was created from the speed at which he was traveling and soon he was shivering, but didn’t dare stop. Holly wanted to continue as much as he did, begging for more speed. Although the stable hands fed and washed her well, she received very little exercise, usually in the form of a walk around the property–nothing close to this speed.

The path through the trees winded on the uneven ground, but both knew it like they knew each other. Yoongi barely needed to touch Holly to get her to go in the right direction. Half an hour passed and Yoongi could feel Holly growing tired under the intense running. Slowly he began pulling back on the reigns until Holly slowed to a walk, breaths tearing out of her as well as Yoongi. The sun hours away from high noon, and the air around Yoongi, dark by the intense foliage, was cool against his sweat covered skin. Holly walked for a few minutes until they came to a familiar clearing. As usual, Holly had grown tired near the same place she always did, and after a few minutes of walking they would come upon the place that Yoongi called home more than the palace.

As Yoongi dismounted, Holly nudged him impatiently. With a smile, the boy pulled out a handful of oats, that he had stolen from the stable, from his pocket and held them out to his horse. As a safety precaution, Yoongi slid the reigns over a low hanging branch from a nearby tree. He sighed, happily, as he turned to the large tree that loomed larger and taller than all the rest. Although all the trees in the clearing were ideal climbing trees, this was clearly the king.

Eagerly, he rushed to the trunk of the tree and became enveloped in its intense shadow caused by thick foliage. He untucked his shirt from his pants and shed his heavy, royal jacket before latching his hands onto the lowest branch, almost 7 feet above the ground, and pulling himself up to that his arms held his waist even with the branch.

Although Yoongi looked slight on the outside, the intense training working with swords that his father required had created muscles that disappeared under his daily clothes but reappeared in times of need. Even apart from that training, Yoongi himself worked out, longing to be stronger. Although he knew that no one in the palace would dare to endanger his life, he had heard of citizens and commoners fighting back to soldiers and endangering the lives of other royals.

Reflexively, Yoongi pulled his right leg up to rest comfortably on the branch that he had pulled himself up to. After this, most of the branches were fairly close to each other. As familiar and comfortable as a stairway, Yoongi made his way up the tree, staying close to the trunk and stepping on branches that were sturdy and stay away from those that weren’t. He had learned the difference through experience.

A breeze flowed around Yoongi as the blanches became sparser and sparser and the trunk thinned. What had started at a 5 foot diameter had become barely 2 feet wide. The wind that blew began to make the tree sway under his feet, a feeling that he had grown accustomed to through many adventures.

A few feet later, Yoongi came to the part of the tree where all but a few branches fell away. A large branch was in front of him and easily, he took a seat on it, completely comfortable. Through the minimal leaves, Yoongi could see the forest surrounding him and in the distance was the parapets of the castle, sticking into the sky. The wind engulfed Yoongi and he lazily closed his eyes as he wrapped his arm around the tree trunk to steady himself. To his right, a 90 degrees difference compared to the castle, Yoongi knew was the people’s town. None of the buildings stuck past the tops of the trees but from knowledge of the land’s geography and the obvious gap in the trees indicated its existence.

Ever since Yoongi had first seen the town on a map, he had wanted to see it for himself, and ever since he had see it with his own eyes from this vantage point, he had longed to walk its streets.

Time passed and soon the young princes hair had become a complete nest by the wind and the sun stood at high noon in the clear sky. Reluctantly, Yoongi began making his way back down the tree to the ground, hating every step from this safe space. Although getting out of the castle and into the forest was uncommon, he came here almost every time to clear his thoughts of the royal affairs that constantly hung over his head.

Although slightly out of breath, Yoongi felt relaxed as his feet hit hard-packed dirt. Immediately, he felt something tug on his hair and turned to see Holly walking behind him to follow his head and nibble his hair affectionately.

“Holly!” Yoongi laughed as he tried to reach behind himself and pull his locks free from her mouth. She only nickered in response and Yoongi giggled as her lips brushed against the back of his neck, touching the tickling part of his body. A laugh spilled out of his lips and he pulled out of Holly’s grip. He pulled the horse into an embrace with a smile on his face.

Languidly, Yoongi pulled himself into the saddle after feeding Holly another handful of oats. At a slower pace than they had traveled at on their way there, they set off to go back to the castle.

An hour later, Yoongi slid off the back of his ride and stood beside her heavily breathing frame. “Good girl,” He cooed at she led her to the closest stable hand, a familiar face, and handed her off to have a wash and be fed well after a final farewell kiss from her prince.

Relaxedly, the boy made his way to the front of the castle and walked through the door that were held open by a pair of guards, seemingly ready and waiting for his arrival.

As soon as he had stepped through the doors, the scents of lunch wafted up to his nose and his mouth began watering. He pushed the doors to the dining hall open and his eyes grew wide at the large display of meats and vegetables along with drinks and sweets. At the head of the table sat his father, already burying his face in an abnormally large piece of meat.

“Wow, Father this looks amazing,” Yoongi said as he made his way to his usual seat at his father’s side. The older man looked up barely focusing on his son.

“Ah, Yoongi you’re here” His father asked, a drop of grease from his meat making it’s way down his chin as he picked up his cup of wine and took a deep drink, his eyes glassy, seemingly unable to focus on anything before him.

Yoongi collapsed into his seat beside the older man with a smile and took a moment to respond. “It is gorgeous today, Father, the woods are beautiful as so is the sky.”

A tiny smile grew on the King’s face and they sat in silence for a few moments, the King clearly deep in thought as Yoongi began digging into his own plate of food.

Abruptly, the king spoke again. “I must go,” he said before standing up and stepping away from his chair.

Yoongi looked up, confused. Normally, his father spent much longer at the meals than he did, arriving before him and leaving long after. “Father?”

The king nodded, ignoring the questioning tone in his son’s voice, but even Yoongi knew that something must be happening for his father to act this way. He walked towards the door and before Yoongi knew it, he was steps away as it was being opened for him.

“Father, what is the schedule for the afternoon?” Yoongi called, just a second too late as the door closed behind his father’s figure. He fell against the back of his chair, confused by his father’s actions; usually at their lunch together, he would be told his schedule for the afternoon, similar to breakfast. He couldn’t remember his father ever just walking out on him during lunch without any information.

Every blue moon, the king would let his son have a morning off, releasing him from the grueling lessons and boring interactions. It was times like these when Yoongi would explore the palace grounds in depth or spend hours with Holly or just wandered through the most secret parts of the castle, but never before had the King left him an empty afternoon. Although his mind was curious as to his father’s actions, he wasn’t about to let an afternoon pass him by.

He stood from his place at the table and began to make his way towards the door. Servants avoided him as they began to walk towards the table to clean it up, their lips loose with gossip now that the king was gone. Normally he could ignore the gossip, but a familiar name caught his ear from the mouth of a younger woman as she began to pick up the plate of ham.

“I walked past Y/n today while she was working; she’s so behind I don’t think she’s going to make it here,” The woman said, shaking her head impatiently.

Her friend, a larger woman that had begun to clear the wine glasses tsked her tongue. “What a poor child, this is so important to her.”

Yoongi realized that he had stopped mid step while listening to the women’s conversation. Before they could notice him, Yoongi rushed out the door of the dining hall, his eyebrows furrowed.

The words slowly disappears from his consciousness as he began to walk towards his room, desperate to wash up after his ride, and excited to have the rest of the day to himself.

Happiness was coursing through his veins so intensely as he opened the door to his bedroom that he didn’t even register the second person inside when he walked through, closed the door behind him, and began removing his shirt to prepare to wash up.

He curled his fists into the fabric that rested against his shoulder blades and tugged the shirt over his head so that it sat in his hands in front of his torso.

A shriek sounded from the other side of the room and Yoongi jumped before looking up, surprised. A familiar girl in a maid’s uniform stood cowering against the curtains that sat to the sides of the large window at one end of the prince’s room. A feather duster was held in one hand while the other covered her eyes.

Yoongi’s wide eyes returned to normal size as he groaned. “Why are you still here?” He said as he casually threw his dirty shirt onto his freshly made bed.

Y/n kept her hand over her eyes before curtsying. “I’m sorry, your highness, cleaning the curtains has taken more time than I expected. I’ll be leaving,” She said before curtseying again. She removed her hand from her eyes, but kept it at an angle so as to shield herself from seeing him.

“Are you done?”

Y/n looked up at the sudden words from her superior, forgetting that he was shirtless and suddenly finding it hard to figure out where to look. “Pardon me?” She asked, her voice trembling.

Yoongi sighed, “Are you done cleaning the curtains?” He scanned the room impatiently, “Or the fireplace for that matter? It looks filthy.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed and her breathing shook. “Unfortunately, Prince Yoongi, I have not finished either of those tasks. I am still unfamiliar with cleaning your bedroom and have yet to learn how to work effectively.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and suppressed the way that his heart jumped when she said his name. “I could have you fired, you know. Most maids we pick have already learned this by the time they start. You should’ve been done long before I got here; what did I tell you about being invisible, y/n.”

Terror flashed across y/n’s eyes as she dropped to her knees reflexively, staring straight into Yoongi’s eyes. “No, your majesty, please. I need this job, I promise that I will do better in the future.”

Yoongi’s eyes softened at the girl’s readiness to protect her station and his mind flitted back to the gossip that he had heard in the dining hall. A breath escaped his lips, “Get back to work. I hope that you’re done by the time that I come back out.” He turned on his heel and walked into his bathroom before closing the door and pouring the already prepared and properly heated water into his tub. He finished stripping before stepping into the water and washing all the thoughts scattered around his head away.

As the time passed, Yoongi heard y/n’s actions in the other room through the door. At first he could hear her trying to get the dust off the curtains and moments later would hear the clang of a metal poker hitting the metal fireplace grate.

Although his bath was normally silent, the noise from the other room was unusually enjoyable, trying to guess what she was working on based on the different sounds.

Yoongi sighed contentedly as he fastened the front of his new undershirt closed and pulled a new jacket over it after stepping from his bath and pulling on trousers. His hand reached out to grab the handle of the door to his bedchamber but hesitated. Seconds passed as he stood, waiting for any sounds to indicate that y/n was still in the room as he knew that the sounds had stopped a few minutes ago. Finally, he turned the handle decidedly after taking a deep breath, and strode confidently through the door.

His eyes scanned the room, expecting to see y/n somewhere, dusting something, but instead only saw a flash of a skirt whisk through his main door and heard the door close.

Refreshed, he walked over to his window overlooking the garden and pondered what he could do for the rest of his rare free afternoon.

Yoongi’s hand wrapped around the knob of his door and he pulled on it, opening it reveal the hall in his wing of the castle. He scanned the hall around him and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that no one else was there.

Slowly, the prince walked down the corridor before turning down a hall and following the familiar path to a bedroom that sat unused in the opposite wing of the castle. The dining hall, his father’s bedchamber, Yoongi’s bed chamber, and the servants quarters were all in the west wing, and when he wanted alone time, Yoongi tended to either go to the forest, the stables, or the east wing.

His boots made no sound as he walked down the carpeted hall that he knew ran parallel to the face of the palace. If he was to peek into one of the many bedrooms on the right side of this hall, a window would sit across from the door and show the gardens that sit behind the Palace, but one of these bedrooms was not where Yoongi was headed. Occasionally, though, as he walked, he would hear the whispered voices inside one of these rooms. His excess of his time allowed him to stop and listen whenever he heard anything he wanted to listen to. Usually, the voices would just be complaining about their lack of a love life or how much their back ached from cleaning fireplaces, but at one point, he heard his own name.

“I can’t believe y/n has been sent to wake up the prince two days in a row,” The voice said, annoyance clearly lacing her voice.

Another, lower, voice was introduced, an equal amount of distaste evident. “Isn’t it like her first week working here? Who decided that as her job; I’ve been working here for years and I’ve only seen the prince’s face in passing.”

A gasp sounded from the woman with the higher voice. “You’ve seen him up close? I’m almost always stuck in this wing of the palace or in the basement, I’ve only seen the back of his head since arriving here two years ago,” The first woman whined. “That lucky bitch, it’s probably because she’s so youthful and pretty.”

“I’m youthful and pretty,” the deeper voice spat under her breath “The head maid is probably just giving her special treatment because of her mother.”

A sudden whack sounded and the lower voice whimpered. “What was that for?” It asked, clearly confused as to what it did to deserve this treatment.

“Shh,” The higher voice responded, wary of something. “We’re going to get in trouble for talking like that; we’re not supposed to know about it.”

“Well you didn’t tell me it was a secret when you told me.”

“You idiot, let’s just get back to work,” The woman with the higher voice responded, obviously not wanting to continue the conversation anymore.

Reluctantly, Yoongi turned his ear from the room that contained the two women and looked around the still empty corridor. He began walking again as he mulled over what he had just heard.

Two turns later and Yoongi stood in front of a lone door at the end of a short hallway. Tentatively he looked around him to confirm that none of the servants that continuously travelled around the castle were in sight before pulling the door open and ducking inside. He turned and gently pressed the wooden door back into its place until a soft click echoed around the room to notify the prince that it was closed again.

A breath floated out of his voice as he closed his eyes and breathed in the smells of the familiar room. Excitedly, he turned away from the door and scanned the room around him.

It was a relatively large room with couches scattered around the closer half of it. Amidst the couches were singular chairs to fill spaces and a few tables to set tea or plates of delicacies. In the second half of the room were various stands for sheet music and musical instruments scattered here and there, currently silhouettes because of the sun shining through the wall of windows behind them as it slowly made it’s way to it’s daily grave. Yoongi squinted as the bright light bounced off the white sheets that covered all of the furniture around the room.

Slowly, with his hand shielding his eyes, he walked through the various seats around him until he passed the midpoint of the room and began to walk among musical stands. The vast majority of instruments themselves were stored in another part of the castle and well looked after daily, but their stands and seats stayed in this room for conveniency.

Yoongi continued pulling himself through the room until he came to a large object, barely a few feet in front of the windows, completely covered in a white sheet; however, he didn’t need to uncover the object to know what it was. Through a multitude of visits to the West Wing, Yoongi had found this room to be his favorite place inside the castle.

His hand fluttered up to barely brush against the fabric. A small smile began to spread across his face; after moments of his hand hovering just above the object, he collected a fistful of fabric and pulled it upwards and towards him, causing a cloud of settled dust to be released into the air.

The sudden contrast of black against the white fabric that had been laid on top of it, combined with the warm yellow-orange light that was coming through the windows, as sunset approached, took the Prince’s breath away.

Impatiently, Yoongi rushed to take his seat on the small stool that sat in front of the grand piano. His breath rattled out of him at the comfort of his first love that he hadn’t seen in months. Hesitantly, his hands fluttered inches above the ivory keys as he sat, unsure of where to start again.

In a spontaneous motion, he pressed his naturally spaced fingers down onto their respectful places to create a chord. He breathed a sigh closed his eyes as he let the sound flow around him and echo off the walls of the large empty room.

Habitually, his hands began to move up and down the keyboard as his eyes fell to watch them move across the ivory. Chords and melodies floated out of the closed lid as the music was created on the strings and the notes bounced around the room.

Delighted by the rhythm that he was able to attain after months without practice, a smile spread across his face before he stilled his hands in thought, pondering what song he could play all the way through.

Immediately his hands rested in their starting places for Passacaglia in D minor. With just enough force to create a clear sound, he pushed his hands onto the keys in front of him and began to play. If the chords that his hands had created moments before had been evening sunbeams and new violin color, this song was the beginning of twilight and marble busts. The dark emotions portrayed in the notes gave Yoongi chills even as he played it years after he’d learned it.

Reflex began to take over as he fell into the rabbit hole of piano, his hands moving there they needed to without his command. His eyes closed and he only opened them to peek at his hands during an especially technical part.

His body felt like it was covered in a large warm blanket that the Prince was familiar with: the blanket of creating music. Whenever he played, his head felt lightheaded and his body felt warm and comforted physically, like the music notes were wrapping around his frame and producing heat.

So focused on the music that he was creating, Yoongi failed to hear the sound of the door being opened. Drawn by the unfamiliar sound of music flowing through this wing of the castle, Y/n had followed the sound to the end of this hall. Reluctantly, she had pulled the door open and walked in to see a boy sitting at the piano.

Having cleaned this room yesterday, Y/n was familiar with the layout, but she had not seen the piano uncovered at the time when she had been instructed to dust the tables.

The piano was still closed, but the sounds being produced from it were just as strong as they would normally be, and just as beautiful as the boy making them.

The sun had really begun to set within the past half hour and the golden light that flooded through the window encompassed the figure that sat with perfect posture in front of the piano. Their silhouette had a halo of light around them and y/n’s breath caught in her throat as she saw them. Unconsciously, she pulled her body towards the music, making her way through the room silently.

As she came closer, Y/n began to be able to distinguish features of the boy before her. His hair sat, slightly curly, in a short black mop; it looked damp but messy. His eyes were closed, and his eyelashes rested gently on the top of his cheekbones which stood out prominently on his pale skin.

His clothes had been drowned in darkness, but as y/n grew closer, she began to be able to distinguish the buttons and facets of his jacket. Her eyes strained to see the details of a small metal ornament on the left side of his chest; she was still multiple feet away, out of Yoongi’s field of vision and his eyes were closed.

She inched forward until she could make out the details of the metal piece and the rest of his jacket. When she did, she gasped and fell onto her knees, her forehead pressed to the floor.

Startled by the sudden sound, Yoongi looked around to see a servant, kneeling on the ground, in front of him with her face against the carpet and her hair splayed around her. He jumped to his feet, shocked by the sudden presence of someone else in the room and shouted.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi bellowed. The figure on the floor flinched and began shaking. “Why didn’t you make your presence known? Why did you even come in here?”

When the prince’s voice ceased, his ears registered the sound of crying. He looked down at the small frame and realized that the servant was just a girl.

Seconds passed as Yoongi tried to regain proper breathing. When he had counted to 10 and his breath had returned to normal, he stepped forward until the tips of his shoes were inches from the hands of the servant. “Stand up,” He said, his voice calm and steady.

Immediately the cries of the girl grew louder. “Please your highness, I just followed the music I didn’t know that it was you until I got closer,” A small wobbling voice traveled through the hair that shrouded the figure’s head and reached her superior’s ears.

Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest. “Who are you,” He asked straightforwardly.

“Please, your high–”

“Who are you?” Yoongi shouted, his patience wearing thin. “Just tell me and I can figure out what to do with you!” Nothing in response. He sighed and resorted to another approach. “If you don’t tell me who you are, I’ll fire you right here and now.”

Immediately the figure shot into an upright position, still on her knees. She frantically brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up to meet the Prince’s. “My name is y/n, Prince Yoongi, I am the servant that cleans your bedchamber. Please sir, you’ve met me multiple times and every time you have, you have seen my hard work, despite my lack of knowledge. I will become better.”

At the first moment of looking into her eyes, Yoongi had recognized her. His mindset of “firing this servant no matter what” changed as soon as he saw her.

He eyed her carefully, running over the event that happened just moments before. “How close were you when you heard the music?” He asked as he looked her in the eye.

“Pardon?” She asked, confused by the question. Yoongi was about to open his mouth to repeat the question when she understood his query. “Oh! Um, I was cleaning the room at the beginning on the hall and heard it only when I had walked back into the hall when I had finished; I couldn’t even hear it from inside the room.”

The prince breathed a sigh of relief and sat back down on the piano stool, brushing the hair that usually rested over his forehead backwards. Y/n waited, holding her breath, for the prince word that was law.

Finally, Yoongi tilted his head down to look at y/n and waited until she looked back at him. He couldn’t believe he was doing this when he had fired every other servant that had walked in on his playing; this girl was getting under his skin. “Do you promise to take what you’ve seen and heard tonight to your grave?” Yoongi asked, his voice low and serious as he tried to convey the importance of this to him.

Y/n’s eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly as she took in the words of her prince. Seconds passed as her brain worked to compute what he had just said to her until she finally understood, “Yes, Prince Yoongi. Of course I will.”

Yoongi flinched. “I will let you continue with your regular chores around the castle if you do that for me and one other thing,” He said slowly.

“Yes, of course, anything!” She responded as she rose to her feet and stared at the boy before her, paying attention closely.

He spun on his feet to face back to the piano before closing the fallboard over the keys and gathering up the sheet that had been on it before he had walked in. Patiently, he spread the fabric over the instrument until it was in the same state as it had been before his arrival. Y/n stood, waiting, for his response as she watched his careful and methodical actions.

Abruptly, Yoongi turned from the now covered piano to face y/n again. The sound of his footsteps were absorbed by the carpet as he made his way closer and closer to y/n. He was about to pass by her left side when he stopped, their arms right next to each other.

For the first time, Yoongi’s voice was unstable as he spoke to y/n. It didn’t sound like it was from fear or worry, but like he was shaken by something. Y/n held her breath as she waited for the Prince’s words to wash over her.

Yoongi didn’t even turn his eyes from the door in front of him as her spoke. “Don’t call me Prince Yoongi. I am your Majesty; refer to me as such,” He said, his voice wavering slightly despite his superior position. Without waiting for a response or looking back, he opened the door, walked through and closed it behind him, the sound of which echoed around the nearly empty room as a single girl stood, frozen, next to the grand piano.

Anger bubbled inside of Yoongi’s stomach as he practically ran through the west wing of the castle. Voices cut off as soon as they heard his footsteps in the hall, but he saw none of the heads sticking out of the doors once he passed with quizzical expressions on their faces, eager to gossip about the possible causes for his actions over dinner.

He stopped at the door of his bedroom, tempted to simply spend his evening in there, but was interrupted by his stomach growling, begging for food. Although he hadn’t noticed it before, Yoongi wasn’t surprised by this revelation. Ever since he had been a child, playing piano had caused hunger to arise in the young prince.

Defeated, he turned away from his bedroom door and began to slowly make his way down the main staircase to the door on the dining room.

As he walked through the door that was opened for him, giving him a walkway into the room, Yoongi’s eyes reflexively took in the spread, but stopped when they landed on his father. He sat, papers strewn about his place, with his head in his hand and his eyes wide as if the king was forcing them to stay open.

Yoongi was shocked at the sight; his father never brought work to the table. By dinner time, all of his papers were finished and gone, not to be seen until the next day. Clearly something was happening that was causing mayhem in the older man’s daily routine.

Slowly, Yoongi walked forward to take his place beside his father, a servant placing a plate of food in front of him as soon as he was seated. The king didn’t even look up at the new arrival as he continued to stare at the papers around him and take a small bite of the food from his plate.

“Hello, Father,” Yoongi said, trying to start a conversation as he began to consume the food in front of him. The man in front of him jumped before looking up, his hand on his forehead, barely registering his son before him.

“Oh, Yoongi, you’re here.” His voice was flat and emotionless as his mind was clearly elsewhere.

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed as he scanned his father’s. “What’s wrong, Father?”

A sigh pulled itself from the King’s mouth and Yoongi’s heart ached to see him like this. Slowly, the king shook his head, clearly not willing to tell his son the woes of his heart.

Yoongi saw this action and clenched his jaw, annoyed that his father didn’t trust him enough with stress-causing information when he was next in line to the throne. “Father,” Yoongi said, a bite in the edge of his voice cutting through the stress that was strung between them

The day that had been meant to relax Yoongi and distract him from any other happenings had gone south. He had gone down to eat dinner with his father, tried to maintain a conversation and failed. Eventually he created an excuse that he had been busy all day and was extremely tired; somehow, his father had bought it.

Stars had already begun to appear only a short time since the sun had receded below the horizon. After leaving the dinner table, Yoongi had rushed to the hidden stairwell that wasn’t very hidden and raced up it until he reached the door that lead to the roof of the castle.

When he was stressed or confused, the prince tended to come up here at night to stare at the stars and let his thoughts into the dark and empty night sky. Usually the thoughts were scattered, coming from dozens of problems that had been building up until he could come to the roof and let them out, but this time they were all based on one person that wouldn’t leave his mind.

“Y/n,” Yoongi said into the atmosphere, more than a little bit of annoyance in his voice.

Abruptly, the prince sat up and rested his forehead in his hands. Why hadn’t he fired her? She’d given him enough reasons to, such as being behind schedule and going into rooms she wasn’t supposed to, but Yoongi couldn’t stand the thought of sending her away from the palace.

“She said herself, she needs to stay here,” Yoongi whispered to himself, trying to justify his actions the past few days, “You’re just helping her.”

However, this justification only led to more questions without answers. Why was he helping her? He was the prince and she was just a servant, he didn’t owe her anything.

Usually, Yoongi would spend hours on the roof, mulling over everything and letting his thoughts surround him until they became wisps of smoke and floated into the night, but tonight he couldn’t. Lingering on these questions was only serving to confuse him more and they felt like they were becoming solid instead of turning to smoke.

Impatiently, he rose to his feet and dusted himself off until his jacket was back to its original state. He turned to open the door to the staircase and walked through it, his feet making loud noises as they fell heavily on the wooden steps. As he neared the floor that he would exit at, he slowed and reduced the noise he was creating. Carefully, he pushed open the creaky wooden door that opened into the large corridor that connected to his bedroom’s hallway.

Although he had been determined to leave the thoughts on the roof, his brain continued to pick apart pieces of information and desire more pieces of the puzzle. He turned, his back towards the corridor, and gently pushed the door back into it’s place. A rustling of skirts startled him and immediately, he turned to see the maid that had created the noise.

She was older, and looked familiar. Yoongi assumed that she had been working at the palace for a while, mainly because the only time when servants were hired was at a young age or with credentials. The rustling had been made as she had lowered herself into a curtsey.

“Your majesty, is there anything I can help you with?” Her voice was soft and kind like a mother’s and Yoongi’s shoulders relaxed.

His reflex was to dismiss her without a thought and walk back to his room by himself, but a thought popped into his head. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth to respond, “Um, yes, actually.”

The maid looked up, her eyes wide in anticipation, waiting for his request.

Yoongi wrung his hands, wondering how to ask this bizarre question. “A-Are you familiar with a y/n? She was hired recently?” His voice stuttered as he asked the slightly awkward question to the servant.

A small smile spread across the woman’s face. “Yes, your majesty. I was the one that trained Ms. Y/n; she’s a bit of a slow learner, but I assume that after a few more days, she will become invaluable to this household.”

Yoongi stood, leaning against the door that he had just walked through, nodding as the woman talked. When she finished, his brain rushed, looking for another question. “What is her background? Why did she come to the palace?”

The maid looked down at her hands, the smile dropping from her face in seconds. “I only know a little bit of her background, your majesty. I know that almost all of her family died in the sickness that swept the country when she was a child, and that her mother is bedridden with another sickness; she plans to send almost all of the money she makes here back to her mother so that she can be taken care of. Ms. Y/n really loves working here.”

Yoongi finally understood what y/n had meant when she had told him that she needed to be here. The sudden reminder of the plague that had swept the country, years ago, made Yoongi shiver, his legs threatening to give way as he remembered his own repercussions from those days.

“Your majesty are you ok? Would you like me to escort you to your bedchamber?” The maid stepped forward, alarmed at the physical appearance of this prince. His normally pale skin had become ghost white, and his eyes went from focused to unfocused easily.

Yoongi blinked, pulling himself back into reality. Carefully, he pushed himself off the door behind him and into a standing position. “I’m fine,” He said, not looking at the woman before him.

She looked like she was about to step forward and help him anyway, but thought better of it. “As you wish, your majesty,” She said before curtsying and walking briskly in the opposite direction of Yoongi’s destination.

The boy listened to the receding footsteps, waiting until they went behind a corner, to reach out and hold himself up. Thoughts of the plague had been repressed and avoided for years, but now images, voices, and memories that he had no desire for popped up.

Desperate for relief, he rushed forward, his feet pounding on the floor beneath him, down the corridor and down a hallway until he came to stand right in front of his bedroom door. The familiar guard that stood outside looked at him concerned, but the prince only shook his head before pushing his way into his own space and closing the door behind him, effectively blocking out the world around him.

All at once, the darkness that had surrounded Yoongi all night lifted to a bright morning light. A groan pulled itself from his throat as he pulled the blanket around him up over his head, refusing the inevitable.

“Your majesty, it’s time for you to awaken,” An unfamiliar, strangely high, voice cut through the silence. The sound caused Yoongi to wince it’s sharpness. Hoping it would just go away, Yoongi laid still.

“Prince Yoongi?” The high voice continued, but Yoongi’s eyes flashed open. Another newbie.

Impatiently, Yoongi sat up, causing the servant to jump before turning to her superior and bowing. “Prince Yoongi, good morning!” The voice said, unusually cheerful so early.

Yoongi reached up and rubbed his nose beside his eyes, wearing thin so new to the day before him. The young girl looked up confused. “Prince Yoon–”

His patience snapped. “Get out!” Yoongi bellowed as he pointed towards the door. The servant’s eyes grew wide, but she didn’t move. Infuriented by her incompetency, Yoongi’s temper wore through. “You’re fired!” He shouted, pulling himself up to his knees, causing him to be taller than the servant that stood before his bed.

Tears began falling from the girl’s face, but Yoongi just stared at her, continuing to point at the door until she finally gave it and ran away, her face in her hands.

Aggravated, Yoongi fell back onto his mattress and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to rub away annoyance for how the girl had acted. Although this kind of action wasn’t unusual, Yoongi still reflected on it during the time he spent laying in bed, as still as a rock.

Quietly, the door to the prince’s room opened, barely making a nose against its hinges. Light footsteps padded against the floor, but Yoongi just squeezed his eyes closed, behind his arm that was now flung over his eyes as his blankets sat in ridges around him, and tried to ignore them.

The footsteps slowly made their way closer until he could hear them stop at the foot of his bed. “Your highness, I’m afraid that it is past the time for you to be awake.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s eyes flew open at the familiar voice. He sat up suddenly to look straight at y/n standing in front of his bed, her eyes on the floor, and her hands clasped.

“I see that you’re awake, your highness,” She said, her voice low and monotone, “I’ll leave you now, trusting that you can get out of bed by yourself.” Her voice sounded cautious and devoid of emotions.

The prince sat still, tempted to say something to y/n and pull her from her state of being frozen towards him more than normal, but decided against it as his hand fidgeted, longing to reach out.

“Thank you, y/n,” Yoongi responded against his better judgment, his voice as low as his eyes as he looked down at the bunch of blankets on his lap.

Without another word, y/n dropped to a curtsey before turning and striding out the door and closing it with sufficient force. Stilled by the sudden events, Yoongi couldn’t move. Curiosity was bubbling inside as he tried to figure out why y/n had been brought in to wake him up as a back up.

Gradually Yoongi stood up next to his bed and walked over to his clothes before dressing.

When he was finished buttoning the last button on his jacket and had done his best in pulling his hair into place. Lazily, he began walking towards the door, slowing when he heard voices talking outside of it. They were quiet and could only be heard from very close to the door, but they were there; Yoongi stalled his footsteps and quieted his breathing, trying to listen to the conversation.

“Why did you get y/n when Jess ran out crying?” A high pitched voice asked.

A deeper voice responded, “We can’t leave the prince unattended. For months, it would like multiple tries every morning to get him up, but in the past few days, he’s up as soon as y/n walks out of the room; however, from what I can hear, she says the same things as anyone else.”

“I don’t understand, what’s so special about her that Jess would be fired one minute and y/n come out unscathed the next?” the higher voice inquired, growing impatient.

A sharp gasp came from the other voice.

“What, what,” the high pitched voice said excitedly.

“Do you think,” The deeper voice said, slowly decreasing in volume, causing Yoongi to lean closer to the door, “something is going on between y/n and the prince?”

Yoongi bolted into an upright position, prepared to fling open the door right away when another response came from the higher voice. “Don’t be ridiculous; he’s a prince, she’s a servant, it’s absurd.”

Nodding, Yoongi stepped away from the wall that he had been pressed against, and grasped the door handle before him. All at once, he pulled the door open, causing the two women behind it to jump into their places and curtsey to the floor embarrassed.

“Y-Your hig–” The two women began their greetings simultaneously, but Yoongi pulled his face into a stoic expression before brushing past the women; They turned to watch him go before, without looking back, he flicked his finger towards the hallway to their right that contained a servant’s’ passage.

“Back to work, women. Less gossip tomorrow morning, please.”

Without uttering another word, Yoongi heard the women’s rushed footsteps retreat down another hallway, soon disappearing as he walked in the opposite direction.

Not in the mood for a large meal, Yoongi arrived at the doors of the dining room, but stalled outside. A few moments passed as he tried to decide whether or not to enter. He heard the boisterous voice of his father calling to servants through the thick wood and knew that if he entered, it would not be a short visit.

Decidedly, the prince turned from the wooden doors and began walking down a clearly less decorative hallway. Although the lessons that his father planned anew everyday were hard to find an order in, the one thing that was consistent was a Math class, first thing in the morning, every other day.

Slowly the undecorated hallway split off into an even smaller passageway with no embellishments on the walls. The walk was familiar, but not something that he was completely unaccustomed to. On the days that a full breakfast or a run in with his father felt like too much, Yoongi took this path as an alternative

Multiple turns and one flight of stairs later, Yoongi arrived at a simple door with loud noises making their way through it. Timidly, Yoongi reached out and knocked on the door, having learned that knocking yielding a safer result than just entering.

Barely a second later, the door flung open to reveal a woman with a kind face and an apron around her waist. When she recognized the boy before her after a moment of taking in his appearance, she immediately fell to a curtsey. “Good morning, your majesty.”

“Good morning, cook,” Yoongi said as he gave her a small smile.

Cook rose from her curtsey and scanned the prince, taking in his slight frame. “My, my, why are you so thin? Have you been eating the food at the dinner table properly? Why are you down here instead of up at the table i prepared so nicely for you and your father?”

Yoongi looked at his feet, feeling sorry for neglecting Cook’s meals the past few days. Although his adventures to the kitchen were few and far between, Cook always held a soft place in her heart for the young prince. “I didn’t want to have a run in with my father and wasn’t especially hungry. Do you think you could fix me up something small and fruity instead of hearty?”

Cook frowned at the simple request of a meal, but nodded all the same before opening the door even wider and pulling the boy over the threshold. Immediately, the sounds of the kitchen surrounded Yoongi. From one corner of the large cooking area, an oven door slammed shut, while from another a knife hacked away at slabs of meat.

“Hey, don’t cut the meat too thin!” Cook yelled to the latter corner of the room. A chorus of “yes, ma’am” returned to Yoongi and Cook’s ears a second later and Cook looked content.

Yoongi followed the older woman to the back of the room where a solitary table and cooking station sat, empty. He pulled a familiar stool out from under the table and sat upon it as he watched Cook roll up her shirt sleeves like he had many times before.

After setting her work space into order and pulling some ingredients out in preparation, Cook turned to Yoongi and rested her elbows on the table to look at him. “What do you want for breakfast today, your highness?”

Yoongi had told Cook to stop speaking formally to him after his first few visits to her kitchen, but even though she had stop most of the formal actions, she still curtsied at his appearance and referred to him as Your Highness.

Yoongi pretended to ponder, something he had already done during his walk to the kitchen, dreaming up everything impossible, knowing that Cook would make it possible.

Moments before arriving at the door, Yoongi had decided on his soon-to-be breakfast. “I want a berry tart with lemon glaze, cook. I’m dying for something sweet and sour,” You said, his eyes sparkling with desire.

Cook laughed and readjusted her apron. “Something so simple? Your requests are usually a test of my ability; are you sure that’s all you want?” Yoongi nodded and Cook smiled before walking away to gather the ingredients she would need.

As he waited, yoongi scanned the room around him watching the busy lifestyle of the people that worked to produce the food at sat daily on his table. More than a few of them would cast furtive glances in his direction and whisper behind hands to someone beside them.

Every time that Yoongi made his way to the kitchen below the palace floors, glances were always thrown at him, silently asking why he was there instead of in him elaborate dining room. No one had ever actually said anything to him, no one would dare, but Yoongi could translate the looks in their eyes well enough.

Suddenly frustrated, the young prince turned back to the workstation that he sat at. Gently, he rested his elbows on the wooden tabletop and looked to the side to see Cook rummaging through her storage for the right berries and the best flour for a flaky crust.

Minutes passed with Yoongi playing with the small amount of ingredients already on the counter before him. A few eggs rolled back and forth from one of his hands to the other, but he withheld his desire to attempt to juggle them when he knew that they would just fall and break. Finally, Cook came back her arms laden with fruit and other ingredients.

“Sorry it took so long your majesty,” She said, as she bowed her head. Yoongi shook his head, silently telling her that it wasn’t a problem, but still looked at her expectantly.

Cook sighed and looked at the boy before her with a grin. “Is it an eating or learning day today, your highness?”

Whenever Yoongi found time to return to the kitchen, the visit was one of two types. On days in which he was in a hurry, he let Cook make the dish herself without any interruptions; it was made fast and in his stomach just as quick. However, on days that Yoongi had more time or was willing to sacrifice his schedule, Cook was accommodating and would help him learn to make the dish by her side, hands on.

Yoongi pondered the options. Although he knew that his math lesson was soon, and his stomach begged for quick relief, Yoongi looked up at Cook and responded with, “I’d like to learn today.”

Cook nodded and began separating the ingredients into two identical sets. By the time she had finished, Yoongi had washed his hands and pulled on the small apron that Cook left around just for learning days.

Immediately, cook set to work, starting to organize and combine her ingredients. Yoongi watched for a second before falling in step behind her and working at a good pace, a step behind Cook at all times, looking ahead at what she was doing while simultaneously performing his own action.

Slowly, they combined their respective amounts of butter and sugar and other ingredients to create a mixture of wet ingredients. Cook looked over to watch Yoongi’s slow and methodical hands performing his actions and critique when needed. After the wet ingredients, they both worked on the dry ingredients, succeeding in creating a few dust clouds, mainly from Yoongi’s bowl, and making their black aprons partially white with handprints and “splashes” of flour here and there.

Although Yoongi’s bowl contained significantly less flour than Cook’s, most of which could be found on the work surface or on the floor, they progressed to the next step anyway and slowly combined their wet ingredients into their dry ingredients.

Slowly the time inched by until the tart pans sat hot on the countertop, golden brown around the edges and warm in the middle. Ignoring the ticking clock on the wall, Yoongi impatiently pulled out a small knife and began cutting into the tart that sat, tempting him.

The crust was sliced easily and soon a large slice sat on a small white plate, in Yoongi’s possession, waiting to be devoured. Hesitantly, he picked up a fork and cut a bite sized piece away from the rest of the sweet. He stabbed it, hunger threatening to take over, and pushed it into his mouth.

He smiled as the tart berries exploded in his mouth and sighed in contentment as the crust fell apart in flaky pieces. “Cook, this is amazing,” He said, his mouth half full of pastry.

Cook turned away from the oven to set the other tart beside the one that he had just taken a bit of. “I’m glad you like it,” she said with a smile as she looked at him, “because that’s the one you made, your highness.”

Yoongi coughed and covered his mouth to keep from getting tart everywhere. Immediately he turned to stare at the two tarts before him. They looked incredibly similar, but after a few moments, Yoongi could see the perfect pinches created by Cook’s hands on the crust of the untouched tart. His eyes widened as he looked at the one that he had just taken a piece from. Now that he knew it was his, he could see minor flaws here and there, but he was still shocked at the delicious pastry that he didn’t know he could bake.

Reluctantly, he looked up to see the face of the clock staring at him as he stood there, beside Cook, telling him that he was already 30 minutes late to his mathematics lesson.

“Oh shit,” He said, nearly dropping the plate of tart in his hand. Frantically, he placed in down on the counter before him and rushed to untie his apron before pulling it over his head.

He began running towards the door before turning to see Cook in a curtsey at his departure. “Send the rest of that to my room please, Cook,” he called before turning the corner outside the door to the kitchen and leaping up the flight of steps, two or three at a time.

From in the kitchen, slightly muffled, Yoongi heard a small “Yes, Your Highness.”

Yoongi began to retrace his steps that he had taken to the kitchen. His mind was on the Mathematics lesson that he knew he was already late for. If any of his tutors didn’t tolerate tardiness, it was his mathematics tutor, but Yoongi could care less; he would pick cooking over a lesson any day.

As his mind wandered, his feet carried him to the main entrance hall of the castle, suits of armor and tapestries lining the halls, the former seeming to be staring at him disapprovingly. His math lesson always took place on the other side of the castle, in the west wing on the first floor.

He slowed to a walk reflexively as he made his way through the entrance hall, its floor covered in a luxurious red carpet that his father continuously reprimanded him for running across. The door to the dining room, to his right, was silent and Yoongi assumed that his father had already left breakfast for his work room, filled with advisors. When the open space that surrounded him became a large hallway and the carpet underfoot changed to a dark purple, Yoongi broke into a jog again.

Doors passed him on both sides, some leading to bedrooms while others led to a library or a drawing room; all of their doors were closed except one. After a few moments, he passed an open door, sounds of annoyance flooding out of it. He passed by it at first, but curiously bloomed in his chest and he stilled. Hesitantly, he turned, looking from the door behind him and to his left, to the hallway before him, leading the lesson that he was already late for.

Cautiously, he moved his feet until he stood facing the door from which even more of a voice could be heard. “Oh come on,” it said, annoyance clear in it’s voice.

His feet moved forward without his consent, pulling him to the opening of the door, barely 9 inches wide, but large enough to look around the room with limited vision. When Yoongi stopped in front of the door, he slowly leaned forward to peer through the opening.

Across the room, holding herself up against one of the 8 foot tall windows, trying to clean as close to the top as she could, was y/n, slowly becoming aggravated with her height. Suddenly, she leaped, barely streaking the top pane of the glass, before falling back to the height of the pane second from the top. “Shit, this is going to put me behind again if I don’t pick up the pace,” she said, anger lacing her voice.

Yoongi stared at the sight of his home being cleaned. Although he knew that cleaning went on constantly behind the scenes, the more experienced maids had become proficient in keeping themselves hidden during their work, commonly by closing the door behind them after entering a room.

After recognizing who the voice belonged to, Yoongi involuntarily took a step back. His curiosity was satisfied, but he couldn’t help but think about what she was doing. Clearly she was behind schedule, again, and struggling to properly clean a room that she wasn’t familiar with.

“Ugh,” Yoongi heard y/n say. He turned to look through the door again and see y/n standing, massaging arm that had been stretching high above her head in an attempt to finish her job.

One half of himself said to turn and walk down the hall to his mathematics lesson and let her finish her job, or not, on her own, but the other knew that he’d already missed the majority of his class, and that if y/n didn’t finish this assignment, there was a good chance that her luck was out.

Without thinking, Yoongi’s feet began walking towards the door. He was surprised by himself, but once he got started, he realized there was no going back. Giving in, he pushed against the already partially opened door and it swung open, hitting the wall behind it.

Y/n jumped at the sudden sound and turned to see her superior striding towards her, a serious expression on his face. “Your highne–” Y/n started before being cut off by the prince.

“Where is another rag?” Yoongi asked impatiently as he walked straight past y/n figure that had already begun to dip into a curtsey. His comment was only met with silence. Slightly annoyed he turned to y/n, his head lolling to the side. “Listen, you’re not gonna get anything done hurting your shoulder from trying to reach the top of the window. I’m trying to help you get your job done on time; now where is another rag?”

Y/n looked up and locked eyes with the prince before pointing to a table a few feet away with a few cleaning supplies on it, unable to speak. Yoongi nodded in thanks before turning, snatching up one of the cloths before grabbing the back of a chair and pulling it to the window. After that chair was in place, he walked back to the same table and grabbed another of the same kind: simple and wooden.

When he finished setting them up, he turned to y/n and held out his hand to her still frame. “You’ve got to work with me if I’m gonna help you y/n,” He said, a hint of laughter breaking through the stoic expression on his face.

Y/n blinked before tentatively following his flitting eyes to his hand and reaching to place hers in it. Her heart was racing as he pulled her towards the chair beside him and stepped onto his own chair, prompting her to do the same. She followed his lead, slightly unbalanced, onto the slightly wobbly chair.

“There,” Yoongi said, letting go of y/n’s hand nonchalantly, “Now you can reach the top of the window.”

Y/n nodded and turned to begin to wipe the upper parts of the window clean, occasionally dampening her cloth with cleaning solution. She was slightly surprised when Yoongi turned as well to follow her lead. Thoughts ran around her head, most of them panicking about why the prince was doing part of her work with her when he was clearly royalty.

They worked side by side for a few moments before y/n turned to Yoongi, her head bowed. “Your highness, I can finish by myself. Please let me do the work.” She held out her hand for the rag that had still on the window before Yoongi.

A small smirk appeared on his face. “Y/n, you do realize that you are still behind right? I know the schedule of most maids and I can assumed that you’re supposed to be done in half an hour.” He glanced around the room, his eyes playful, “It’ll take you at least another hour to finish this room,” He turned to face her, her head lifted when he caught her, his eyes holding it up, “Unless I help you.”

“Your high-” Y/n started, but was interrupted when Yoongi gave the window beside him a final swipe and jumped down from his stool.

His back turned to her, he began dragging the chair back into it’s place. A casual look sat on his face as he twisted to face her, the rag still in his hand. “What’s left to do?” He asked, his arms folded over his chest.

Y/n stared him, knowing that his mind was set on helping her with her task, for some reason. Hesitantly, forcing herself to follow his wishes, she pointed to the uncleaned fireplace on the next wall of the room that she knew would take her the longest to clean. A smile crept onto Yoongi’s face as he turned to see where he was pointing.

“Now you’re getting it,” he said as he began to unbutton his jacket. Y/n’s eyes widened at the sudden action, her mind yelling, wondering how this action could correlate to cleaning the fireplace.

“Your highness!” Y/n yelped, jumping down from the chair that she had remained standing on, and covering her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Yoongi chuckled at the sudden actions of the maid before him and reached forward to grab her wrists and pull her hands away from her eyes. “Do you expect me to work in this stiff jacket? I could barely clean the windows because my arms are so constricted.”

Y/n blinked as the prince slowly let go of her hands and removed his jacket, revealing his white long-sleeved undershirt, slightly see through, tied at the front of the neckline.

Carelessly, he turned and threw the ornamental jacket onto one of the chairs strewn about the room and began to roll up his sleeves that sat hanging on the lower part of his wrist. Trying to remember the few times that he had seen maids cleaning his fireplace, Yoongi walked over and knelt before the grate as y/n watched from the other side of the room. He carefully reached forward and pulled the grate to the side, revealing the empty square where charred wood and ashes sat around a metal log holder.

Y/n stared at him as he sat, crouched, in front of the fireplace, clearly confused. Slowly, she turned and continued cleaning the windows. When she turned back a few minutes later, Yoongi sat in the same place as before, the grate off to the side, and his chin in his hand, clearly thinking hard.

A chuckle fell out of y/n’s mouth as she stepped down from the chair that she had been using and slowly returned it to it’s place at a small tea table. She only had the fireplace left to clean, which took the longest, and dusting to do about the whole room.

“Your highness?”

Yoongi jumped at the sudden address and turned to see y/n a few feet behind him, looking at his concerned. He rose to his feet and opened his mouth to respond. “Yes? I was just…” He stopped, not knowing how to continue.

Y/n sighed, wishing that she could send the prince away instead of worrying about his rank hovering over her every move with the ability to throw her out and any moment. “If you want to help, would you please do the dusting and I can deal with the fireplace?”

Yoongi broke into a grin, “That’s exactly what I was going to suggest,” He said, clearly trying to play off the fact that he had no clue how to handle the fireplace situation.

With a smile, he jogged over the the set of cleaning supplies that sat on the table that he had his chair from and plucked the feather topped wooden handle from the lot of items, smiling triumphantly.

He saw y/n shake her head slightly at his antics before taking his place crouched in front of the fireplace and begin to pull the charred logs into their place.

Her hair fell over her face, but she ignored it, seeming not to have seen it. Yoongi’s hand itched to replace the strand to its place at her back, falling over her shoulder blades. Chastising himself, he turned and began the work that he was using to distract him from thoughts of another mathematics lesson.

Twenty minutes passed, and Yoongi finally returned to the place that he had begun dusting at. He looked around the room at its shiny surfaces and sighed in contentment at his work well done.

Curiosity had always bubbled up in his throat when he walked passed maids carrying out their duties in the halls: he constantly wondered what their schedules and days were like.

Y/n sighed, having finished her job at the same time at Yoongi, and stood up and brushed off her skirt.

She turned, a deep breath having left her chest, to face Yoongi.

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