#i can PROBABLY name rap when i hear it because it's god awful

[the-little-fox-in-the-box]

My fatal flaw? I can't name genres of music.

How can people hear a bunch of funky tunes and think "Ah yes, this is Indie Folk Rock with Punk influences" like what???

#personal #music #i can PROBABLY name rap when i hear it because it's god awful #but I'm musically illiterate

[rhysismydaddy]

An Artful Revenge pt. 6 (Feysand)

Part of the Damnation series. 

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

This is the last part of this fic! Gonna work on some asks next, then start the Nessian story (see the link above for details) 

~Feyre~

Men, in general, are beyond stupid.

I honestly don’t even know how the male population is still around.

I mean sure, they have their moments. Fire? Pretty cool. 

Maybe I should amend my statement: Men are stupid when it comes to women.

Because if Tamlin had any common sense, he would wonder why I drag myself into his office downtown, the day after I found out who he really is.

He’d wonder how I even found his posh little office, since he sure as hell never told me about it. (Answer: Rhysand). 

He’d wonder why I’m crying and having an emotional breakdown, but am still dressed in a lowcut dress with my hair done. (Answer: men are even stupider when it comes to a woman with exposed breasts). 

But he doesn’t.

He sees me stumbling toward him, a mess of tears and fluffy hair, and jumps to his feet, coming to my rescue.

His arms wrap around me miraculously at the same time my legs give out, and I fall into him dramatically. 

That was a little much, but what can I say? I was a theatre kid.

“Feyre,” he says calmly, stroking my hair like he didn’t insult me twenty-four hours ago. In fact, he’s acting like we didn’t even break up. “What’s wrong?”

I press my face in his shoulder, trying not to think about how wrong this feels, how wrong he smells. 

Rhysand smells like citrus and the sea and something so manly it makes my knees go weak for real. Tamlin smells like dirt and bad decisions. 

“You were right.” It’s something all men love to hear a woman say, even though it’s hardly ever true. “You were so right, Tamlin.”

He pulls back and runs a thumb over my cheek, swiping a tear away. 

His green eyes question mine, so calm and understanding compared to yesterday’s rage. His hands are gentle as they cradle my face, and I want them off off off.

“He’s a monster,” I wail, dredging up some more tears. Knowing there needs to be more of a concrete reason for my breakdown, I make some pretty seedy shit up. “He... killed his driver! Because he took a wrong turn!”

Gods, Feyre. Really?

I can practically see Rhysand rolling his eyes. He’d see through my lies in a second. 

Tamlin, however, bites the bait... more like he swallows the whole damn line.

He hugs me again, so tight my feet leave the floor, and I go limp against him, pressing all the soft parts of me against the hardness of his chest.

Don’t get me wrong, Tamlin’s attractive. Wide shoulders, surfer boy hair, tan skin, and green eyes that look like the deepest of emerald. 

But he also is a fucking asshole, and everything about him irritates me.

It’s crazy, I think as his hands slip lower on my back, that yesterday he called me a whore, and now he wants to sleep with me.

Prick.

“Tamlin,” I sigh against his neck.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

I almost throw up at the little pet name, but I nod and act like he’s the greatest thing on this planet, the gods’ personal gift to all things women.

But then he kisses me, and I get tired of this little charade. 

I keep my eyes open as his warm lips meet mine, wanting to see his face as the needle sinks into his skin.

His eyes fly open, and he drops me to my feet roughly, a hand pressed against his neck. It’s too late, of course.

Whatever black market shit this is, it works fast. 

His legs give out, and I shove his shoulder so he lands in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. 

“Feyre,” he growls, no longer happy to see me, “What the fuck are you doing?”

I roll my eyes, because even the dumbest of men should be able to figure that out my now. 

You’d think he’d pass out or be too paralyzed to talk, but just like Rhysand promised me, the drugs have paralyzed him from the neck down but left him perfectly conscious. 

I want him to see exactly what I’m doing.

Straightening my dress, I saunter over to his desk, eyes scanning the messy papers and folders for what I want.

Three rings, the exact copy of Rhysand’s, sit in a glass box, the shining titanium making them look like treasure. And they are.

But they’ve been here fucking long enough. 

I try to open the box, but it’s locked, so I sigh and grab a paperweight, then smash it to bits.

“You do this, Feyre, and I’ll come after you.”

“Ooooh, scary,” I deadpan, completely writing him off in a way I know drives him crazy.

Glass flies everywhere, but I just grab the rings and put them on whatever fingers they’ll fit on. 

Yet another piece of evidence men are idiots: I was wearing Rhysand’s ring when I walked in here.

A small detail, sure, but when I took that ring from him yesterday in his car, I made a vow to never take it off.

It’s a little big, resting on my thumb, but it’s perfect. 

It means I’m his, and he’s mine.

“He might have Chicago, but I’ll make you’re life miserable!”

“You did that for two years,” I remind him with a smile.

Then I set the radio exactly like I’d been told to, turn back to Tamlin, punch him square in the jaw, and smile when I hear a crunch.

That wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but I was tired of his threats. 

He howls in pain, and I know it makes me meaner than an adder, but I blow him a kiss and laugh as I walk out of his office. 

A sleek black sedan, driven by the very much alive Rolando (I’ve officially stopped thinking of him as Beefcakes), waits for me at the curb. I swing the door open and climb in, turning to Rhysand with a grin.

I hold up my hands victory. 

Rhysand smiles and laughs, relief and love and awe written across his beautiful features. 

He’s so fucking handsome, I can’t hold out anymore.

Muttering an apology to Rolando for what he’s about to witness, I sling myself across the leather seat and pretty much attack Rhysand. 

It might be the fact that I just drugged someone with illegal substances--my very first crime!--or maybe just how he looks when he’s happy. I don’t really care.

My hands are on his jaw, running down his chest, tangling in his hair. 

He lets out a surprised laugh as I paw at him, and I use the opportunity to sweep my tongue into his mouth, holding back a moan at the taste of him.

The car stops, but I sure as hell don’t.

Until Rhysand takes me shoulders in his hands, and gently pulls away. “Adrenaline junkie,” he accuses with a smile, pressing one last kiss to my cheek. 

I nod, because it’s probably true.

He gives me an amused look. “Then I can’t wait for what happens in twenty minutes.”

I stick my tongue out at him, ever the mature adult, and he smiles. Then he takes my hands, examines the rings, and takes the two that fit the worst.

He slips them on, and even though it’s a casual gesture, I almost break out into tears.

Too manly to cry like a baby, Rhysand just opens the door and walks out, taking my hand and pulling me with him.

Even though he looks calm and cool as a cucumber, I know he’s not exactly thrilled I’m here. We had our first real argument about me coming along for this part of the plan I’ve secretly begun to call Toppling Tamlin the Tool. 

I won, obviously.

He warned me time and time again about what I was going to witness today, but I don’t care. His revenge is his to take, but I want to be here for him. 

He’s been fighting for so long, completely alone. 

And no matter how it started, I fell for him. He isn’t alone anymore, and won’t be ever again, no matter how dangerous the situation is.

Hand in hand, we stroll into Leperchaun’s Luck, the last remaining Irish stronghold in Chicago.

When I asked why he’d let it remain all this time, Rhysand smiled that cruel smile and said, “Revenge is only worth it if it’s slow and painful.”

I’d shuddered, half in horror and half in excitement.

I know it’s horrible and beyond absurd, but what he does for a living doesn’t scare me. He explained the gory details last night, and I listened. And even though I was scared, it wasn’t of him.

It was for him.

He has enemies with rap sheets longer than my arm. 

The guy Rhysand blocks from buying Degas? Russian arms dealer!

But Chicago, he’d told me with a smile, is his. Someone would have to be suicidal to come after him here. So I guess I’ll just blow up his plane and never let him leave.

Sounds realistic.

I’d like to think it was my smile and charm that made him give in and let me tag along, but it was likely the fact that we aren’t in any super big dangerous. 

We walk through the empty bar and to the courtyard in the back, and it’s a little amusing how quickly the six men sitting around a poker table jump to their feet and start shouting questions. 

“What the fuck?” is the most popular. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” Rhysand greets smoothly, ever the gentleman. 

Someone behind us loads a gun, the sound making my eyes go wide. 

But it’s never fired.

Because all of a sudden, red dots are on every single chest besides mine and Rhysand’s. 

“Pull that trigger, McCallen, and all your friends die.”

They all look down and around at each other with huge, saucer-sized eyes. 

Not one to dally, Rhysand smiles and tells the group, “I just bought this establishment. Needless to say, you’re no longer welcome. In here, or Chicago. You have six hours to leave my city.”

‘Bought’ is a bit of a strong word. He hacked into Tamlin’s bank account and bankrupted him, forcing him to sell to the highest bidder. Guess who that was.

“Or what?” one asks, feeling brave.

Another dot makes its way to his chest.

Gods, how many snipers does Rhysand have?

“Or you’ll die, and your precious little daughter Lena will be an orphan.”

The man’s jaw sets, even as his face pales. 

Checking his watch with a casual gesture, Rhysand reminds, “Six hours and counting.”

Then he says, directly at the small box in the middle of the poker table, “That goes for you too, Tamlin.” 

Since he didn’t want to risk coming back to Chicago, much less his last property here, Tamlin had been keeping control of his men by listening to everything that happened in this place on a private radio frequency.

Which, somehow, Rhysand knew.

He’d told me the number, and I’d turned the radio in Tamlin’s office to it before leaving. The drugs haven’t left his system and won’t until later today, meaning he’s still lying limp in that chair, listening to every word.

“Leave before I lose my patience,” Rhysand growls, and the men take the warning and haul ass out of the building.

Turning to me, he smiles and asks, “Ready, Feyre darling?”

“Ready.”

We walk out of the restaurant again, pep definitely in our steps, then get back in the car. Rolando starts driving immediately, leaving the restaurant behind us.

“Do you want to-”

“Yes,” I answer immediately, grabbing the phone from him and hitting call.

"So violent,” he murmurs with a smirk, turning in his seat to watch as the explosives he’d placed there years ago during a mandatory “city inspection” finally came into use. 

The explanation I got on that one: “In case I got bored.”

Gods, he’s sexy.

The car rocks slightly as orange and blue and yellow flames race out of the building, leaving absolutely nothing behind. 

Even though the violent woman in me wants to keep watching, I look at Rhysand instead.

His eyes find mine, and he smiles softly. “It’s done. It’s over.”

I nod and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, linking our hands together. We both stare down at the rings. “It’s over.”

Tamlin will run back to wherever he’s been the past seven months, and since there’s absolutely nothing for him here, he won’t come back. 

Rhysand has complete control of the city again, his empire built brick by brick through hard work and rage. He’s gotten his revenge, taken everything from the man who left him with nothing. 

And he got me.

“Was that enough adrenaline for you, Feyre?” he asks, hitting a button to roll up the barrier between us and Rolando. 

Someone else, it seems, is an adrenaline junkie. 

Smiling, I slide down on the soft leather and lift an eyebrow. “Come find out.”

~Feyre, three months later~

Somehow, I feel nauseous, excited, and doomed all at once.

I don’t even know how that’s possible, but it’s true.

I’m so nervous, I might be sick. I’m so excited, I can hardly walk. I’m so unsure of myself, I might fail. 

Focusing on the one in the middle, I walk down the aisle between chairs, ignoring the people watching me and focusing on the destination.

I can feel his eyes on me, and just like the first day we met, I can hardly breathe. But I ignore the tingly feeling in my spine and focus on what I’m doing.

I walk up to the slightly lifted stage in the large auditorium and turn to my peers, smiling and feigning confidence. 

I’m presenting my senior project today. And even though I’m excited and nervous and doomed, I’m proud of it.

It turned out better than I expected, honestly. 

It took me forever to finish the painting aspect because I wasn’t quite satisfied until late last night. 

The paint’s interrupted and surrounded by photos I’ve collected this year.

Rhysand, covered in paint. Art from both Chicago’s museum and the private collection I visit almost every day. Random bits of architecture and the night sky and shots that just work. 

Up close, it’s a bit of a mess, but from a distance--particularly, the distance between me and Rhysand’s chair--it looks like three dancers, twirling and leaping under the night sky. 

My professor hugged me when she saw it. So did Rhysand.

No offense to Prof. Jones, but I enjoyed his a little more.

“This is called Starlight Dancers,” I tell the room, my voice surprisingly level. I’m glad for the bright lights, because I can’t see anyone’s actual face as I continue. “It’s a rendition of Degas’s work, Dancers in Blue, which is my favorite piece. I’ve also incorporated photographs of art and people who mean a lot to me. Like a lot of pieces from the Renaissance, it’s meant to be viewed at a distance.”

I keep talking, going through the difference elements and explaining how, essentially, it’s a celebration of painting and love.

More than once, my eyes are drawn to the photographs of Rhysand, and I find myself searching for him in the crowd. 

I also get a little distracted by the mass of sparkles adorning my ring finger.

We’ve been engaged for three days, eight hours, and a handful of minutes.

He proposed in the museum, right where we met. When I almost feinted at the site of the biggest diamond I’d ever seen and told him it was too much, he’d just laughed and said, “It was this or the painting behind you.”

Ridiculous, wonderful man. 

I know it’s fast to get married after less than five months together, but the scary truth is that I can’t imagine life without him.

I scan the crowd again, and it might be my imagination, but I think I see a pair of violet eyes watching me. 

And I could swear one winks at me.

~Rhysand~

I’m not supposed to be in here.

I’m not a professor, and I’m sure as shit not a student. 

But I snuck in anyway, ignoring the millions of things I actually need to be doing, because I want to support her. 

I don’t even know what she’s talking about--impressionism and romantic elements and different types of photography--but she’s so passionate and beautiful, I can’t take my eyes off her.

She has me completely wrapped around her finger, and it should probably scare me that I don’t even care.

Years and years of planning, and everything that’s happened in the past month still surprised me.

Not the part about running every last Irish bastard out of my city; that’d been set in stone. 

The part about me getting engaged.

Ironically, that’s the only part that makes me smile.

Sure, I sent Tamlin running for the hills with his ragged band of leprechauns, set his stronghold on fire, and finally have peace over what happened all those years ago. 

But even that pales in comparison to waking up next to the woman up on the stage.

She’s a bed hog and always puts her freezing feet on me as soon as I crawl next to her, but the way she smiles at me when she wakes up makes up for it.

Everything about her makes up for it, actually. 

She’s still absolutely crazy and wonderful and I now have paint splatters on more than a few of my suits, but being loved by her is like... standing in the sun after being locked in a cave. Or some other shitty metaphor.

The fucking point is, even though getting down on one knee in a museum and asking her to share her life with me is the last thing I expected to happen, I’m glad it did.

Because being with her gives me something I’d thought I’d lost ten years ago: happiness.

________________________________________

Thank you for reading! 

TAGS: @elorcan-trash​ @januarystears​ @emikadreams​ @alpha-omegas​ @joyceortiz13​ @sapphic-beauty​ @meowsekai​ @ahappyhistorianreader​ @courtofjurdan​ @acalypsot​ @acourtofsjmtrash​ @highladyofthesith @bookwormq702 @swankii-art-teacher​ @lunaroseperdomo​ @leaf-love-life​ @mari-highladyof-feels​ @raghad-50725​ @perseusannabeth​ @cursebreaker29​ @a-bit-of-a-cactus​ @elriel4life​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @shinya-hiiragi​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @highqueenofelfhame​ @nahthanks​ @ghostlyrose2​ @lovemollywho​ @tillyrubes10 @claralady​ @tswaney17​ @rowanisahunk​ @superspiritfestival​ @thegoddessofyou​ @awesomelena555​  @booksofthemoon​ @greerlunna​ @jlinez​ @studyliketate​ @over300books​ @justgiu12​ @maastrash​ @aesthetics-11​ @bamchickawowow​ @b00kworm​ @sleeping-and-books​ @musicmaam​ @hizqueen4life​ @maybekindasortaace​

#feysand #feysand fanfiction #feyre archeron #feyre #rhysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of frost and starlight

[mintchocolatechipnut]

the boys but they’re idols

ft. bakugou katsuki. midoriya izuku & todoroki shouto

Note: yes, I missed prime pun opportunity to write ‘the boyz’ in the title. Anyway, I’ll be general enough to not include any real-life names and music, but I’ll get specific about other details. (Besides, if you squint real close you can see where I got my references from.) I’m thinking of a follow-up part, but we’ll see. Hope you enjoy!

* These headcanons are detailing each of the boys as a member in a hypothetical idol group, and not that they’re all in the same group.

** For context: the difference between main and lead positions is that main is the position that gets majority of the activity e.g. song, dance, rap, etc. Lead is more of a supporting role, but still important nonetheless. 

Tags: idol!au, no x reader for this one, unless??, as you can see from the word length I think you’ll know who I’m partial to

Word count: 3.3k

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

Obviously an all-rounder. He can sing, dance, and rap, though his forte is definitely dancing.

Bakugou obviously has some mad hand-eye coordination if he can play the drums, and I haven’t even brought in his utilizing it through his quirk and fighting talent. He’s also very flexible when twisting through the air and extremely precise with his explosions

Thus, I’d say that his moves are the most on-beat and precise. He’s got very solid moves when dancing; imagine his limbs cutting the air in sharp, refined movements, and his flexibility leads him to be an overall powerful dancer.

Bakugou is a HUGE stickler for technique. Sure, he’s not above improvisation, but technique’s where he excels the most. He’s looking far ahead enough to not want to jeopardize his health by doing some dangerous moves that could potentially hurt his body, so he always takes extra care when going about them, such as taking advanced dance classes.

He works wonderfully as a center, because not only does he have this charisma that makes people unable to look away from him, his perfected balance between his fierce dancing and his emphasis on technique lead him to be a picture of refined strength, and an absolute delight to watch on stage

His facial expressions are definitely the best when he’s performing powerful songs, probably because he’s naturally angry lol. His worst concept has got to be cute, but while he dreads doing it, it’s not like he can’t pull it off. He’s an idol, dammit.

Bakugou’s that one member who wears a headband or bandanna during cutesy performances and sticks with it, because that’s the closest the stylists are ever gonna get to his hair

God forbid if he ever has curly or straight hair

He’s not against dying it though, but he still cares about the repercussions it has on his body, so he tries to refrain from dying it too often. (Which could be inevitable if his managers require him to, I know that. But I’m going to give the boys a little more leeway here to showcase their personalities.)

Anyway, a bandanna suits him just fine, and now he’s the trademark member with the bandanna haha

Some things that don’t change from canon are obviously his schedule. Boy still wakes up at the crack of dawn, probably goes for runs or do sets in the gym, make himself a healthy breakfast, then get down to work

Now I’m conflicted as to what position he would take in a group; I’m leaning towards main dancer

Then again, he IS an all-rounder, so really you could get him to do anything and he’ll be just fine

It’s not in his nature to fail, after all

He can sing, but since his voice is kind of gravelly he’s not the first choice for a main vocal. Strong lead vocal material, I’ll bet, because his voice adds a lot of color and diversity. It’s not something you’d usually hear in a song, that’s why.

He can rap, but again, his voice is gravelly and hard to hear, so I don’t think it would be too good a fit for fast-paced raps. Though, throw him one or two iconic rap lines in his natural ‘I’ll punch you in the face’ tone and you’ve got yourself an icon (and a meme) for days.

I can also see Bakugou being leader of the group, since in canon he’s actually the oldest in class 1-A. One thing though is his outward persona isn’t all that pristine; he has trouble switching gears into idol mode. As we know Bakugou doesn’t lie, regardless of circumstances, and he’s not about to start doing that just to be liked better. If any of these extras are going to be his fans, they’re going to have to recognize real talent, without all the fake smiles.

But because he knows what it could do to the group’s reputation if he came out to look like a big bad bully, he usually keeps his mouth shut during publicity events

He’s probably one of the first idols to have a not-so-sunny media persona, but fans mostly see him as this brooding, sulky kid that’s prepared to put 100% into everything he does

Which is why they still like him

Suffice to say, his fan-base is very similar to the BNHA fandom lmao

Cue all the memes on him being a jerk and everyone liking him anyway, but they know he’s fully committed to the group and wouldn’t want to do anything to risk its image

But over the years, and with the amount of events he’s been involved in, Bakugou’s learnt to let out his true personality one step at a time

He’s considering things carefully because he doesn’t want his fans to be jarred by his personality change all of a sudden, and also because he’s tired keeping up appearances

Jokes on him because the fans already know how he is and are just waiting for him to be more comfortable around the group to showcase his true feelings

And you know what? It sells!

His members also see him as some inspirational figure because his determination and commitment is truly unparalleled

And while he isn’t the easiest to get along with, they know that he’ll do anything within his abilities to push the group to greater heights

While that’s cute and all, it also means they have to suffer at the hands of Bakugou’s tough love. Tough luck

Besides being leader, I could also see him having a hand in producing as well

Remember when I said he was a stickler for technicality? Well, yeah, exactly this

If he feels something isn’t up to par he’d rather do it himself. I think he’d dabble in mixing for a bit and realize he actually has an ear for it, to which he’d then go on to producing whole songs that just awe his members and they’d be like ‘yeah let’s go with this’

And one more thing. Bakugou’s actually got an eye for fashion

Yeah, gripe all you want because all this boy ever wears in the dorms is skull shirts and black tanks but seriously, when he gets down to it, he knows what looks perfect on each member and can make little adjustments to change up a whole style

Courtesy of having designer parents lmao

Overall Bakugou is nothing if not capable. While it means he could definitely go solo at some point, he’s formed bonds with his members and knows he’s grown as a person as a result. And at this point he can only get better

In a leader position, he’s got the charisma, and is not afraid to push for changes if he thinks the status quo isn’t doing enough to ensure the members’ well-being

His weaknesses are obviously teamwork and perfectionism, but he’s been learning how to get along with others better, that it’s not all just a rat race for fame and influence, and he’s able to form some pretty lasting relationships (see: Kirishima)

Not perfectionism, though. He sees it as a strength and not for one second will he compromise. He wants nothing but the best quality, not just for himself, but for the fans

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Looks like the maknae but isn’t. That’s it, that’s the post

He has a really sweet voice so I can see him going for vocals. So imagine when he turns around, holds a mic in his hand and starts RAPPING

You got it, he’s a rapper. Look at the speed that kid goes when he’s mumbling and muttering to himself all the time

Cue Deku’s origin story where he’s mumbling to himself on the street and a talent scout hands him his business card asbfajgfsa

His enunciation is also clear, and his sweet voice makes for a very refreshing rap. That and he also writes his own rap, because if he’s going to be saying anything on that stage, he’s going to want it to mean something.

His raps are always soulful, with hard-hitting lyrics that serve to encourage and motivate anyone who hears and vibes with them.

Basically, his gap moe game is STRONG. Dude be spitting fire up there on stage but once he’s come down, he’s a timid, sweet, shy boi, with overreactions and exaggerations that just make him all the more endearing

He’s also a big fan favorite because he nails every concept well, and has a very down-to-earth personality which he doesn’t hide from the cameras

You want him to act cute and youthful? You’ve got it. You want him to go for something sexy? Um yeah, he’ll have his reservations, but he’ll still do well. You want him to be angry and powerful? The strength in his gaze has got you trembling from the pit.

He’s not just a fan favorite but also that of the staff. Seriously Deku deserves all the love in the world and in this world, he’s going to get it

He’s in the position for main rapper, but I could see him going for lead vocals as well. He’s got a sweet, clear voice that immediately tugs on anyone’s heartstrings the moment they hear it, and he’s usually given more lines in ballads. His vocal range isn’t bad, he can reach moderately high notes, but sometimes his voice undergoes strain. He’s training for that, though!

As for his dance style, Deku probably goes for freestyle! He’s got this easy-going, totally relaxed style going for him that’s full of swag (omg outdated word alert) that makes his movements very smooth. He’s also reasonably flexible, though not as flexible as Bakugou or Todoroki, so he still can pull off certain dance moves.

Unpopular opinion, but it’s Deku, not Todoroki, who looks good in EVERYTHING. Literally his stylist is squealing backstage because they can go ham on dressing him. You could put him in a gold chain and ripped jeans OR an oversized hoodie and rompers, and it’d just go. The only thing is his hair though; he’s thinking of selling it as his charm point (not his freckles!) so he’d prefer if it could stay green. He doesn’t mind if they style it different ways though

The fans would go ballistic if they saw Deku with an undercut, and chances are they’re going to get to see it

He’s definitely one for improvisation! He’s very flexible with these changes, much like how he considers his growth in canon. He’s always looking to try out new styles or moves and see if it fits for him

Besides, I also see him producing! It’s because he’s so immersed in his idol career that he’s always studying new trends on the scene and making them into formulas for the group. He’s also thinking of marketing strategies in his free time

Everyone better be afraid of businessman Deku because he’ll be stealing those bucks from right under your nose

He’s also got mean leadership skills, but I don’t see him in a leader position

Rather, he’s like the second-eldest-but-co-leader kind of guy! He assists the leader in any way he can, and always serves to inspire and motivate the younger ones to work harder together as a team

Deku’s still got that shounen-protagonist charm, even in this world

But for all his good points, Deku still worries he isn’t enough

He knows how cut-throat the industry can be, having studied it inside and out, and he doesn’t want to lag behind

Cue him getting up at odd hours of the morning to use the practice studio (without waking up the others, of course) and other instances

Whenever his members realize he’s been overworking, literally everyone turns on him

He used to be the mom figure, but the moment he’s ushered into bed, a cooling pad on his forehead and thermos at his bedside desk, and the members even station one person to be in the living room so if he tries to leave his room to practice by himself they’ll see him

Jokes on them because Deku practices in his room

He practically moves in his sleep as if trying to get the muscle memory down

Precious boy must protecc!

In sum, Deku’s a great teammate to have and a valuable asset to the team

He’s also the best of friends and is never one to let a fellow member down

Probably the first to burst into tears if the group ever disbands

With his talent and fan-base, he could definitely go solo. But more than that, he wants to cherish the time he has with his members and achieve greater milestones with them every day

TODOROKI SHOUTO

High-key a visual. I mean, everyone wants to look like him!

Like. Everyone stops to look at him whenever he enters the room. Staff, producers, backstage crew, everyone. Even his members, sometimes.

Man’s just too pretty not to stare at

That's not to say he isn't talented, oh no. He's much like Bakugou, an all-rounder, but he's gone through rigorous training from when he was young to get there

Definitely not because of genes, no offense to Rei

As much as Enji is a major shareholder in the industry, anyone who sees Todoroki strut his stuff and still says he got in because of his father has got to be blind. Or deaf. Or plain stupid.

Sure, he had all that training courtesy of his dad. But the moment he enters as a trainee, it's all him from there and no one else.

He's a lot withdrawn at first, still is, but he's improved a lot from when he first joined. It's because of the support he's gained from both his members and fans that he's able to push himself to be the best version of himself everyday

He definitely doesn't come out and say it, but he's probably the most grateful for his fans. As in his family isn't the only lifeline left for him anymore

Todoroki has an amazing voice; while his speaking voice is low, he can reach higher notes without much difficulty. His tone is deep, somber and perfect for ballads, but the training he's undergone has made his technique immaculate. He's got excellent control, he can do runs and riffs effortlessly and he's even perfected his growl. Fans won't even see it coming

His dancing on the other hand is a lot about technique; but unlike Bakugou, Todoroki probably did classical and contemporary dance training as opposed to hip-hop or popping. Because of that, his movements are smooth and elegant, and he always carries himself with the grace of a dancer

That's not to say he cannot be an absolute beast on stage, of course. He's just more in his element when it comes to melancholic ballads, and he's had a hand in choreographing contemporary routines before

That experience and knowledge easily make him a capable choreographer for the group

After all those years of not being able to properly express himself, Todoroki learnt to let his dance tell a story in itself

He's also a fast learner, so any hip-hop techniques he easily picks up and incorporates into the routine

This makes me think he’s going to be a main dancer and a lead vocal, maybe even main vocal

I don’t see him in a leader position because while he has the charisma for it, I think he’d lack in communication, like Bakugou. They’re both a bit too used to doing things on their own that they 1) can’t trust anyone else to do it right and 2) as a result have never consulted other people about how they do things

The difference is Bakugou is a little more observant and far-thinking enough to be a leader, but it doesn’t make Todoroki any less important

If anything, he’s the mom friend, and always makes sure that the members stay in line and out of trouble

Also, for some reason, he's got exceptional charisma on stage and he doesn't even know it

Like, a sexy song comes on and then there’s Todoroki's smoldering heterochromatic gaze

Fans: omgomgomg how is he so hot what the—

Him: ??? This is my normal face tho

It's a strange feeling. One moment, he can be humping the floor and another moment he's got dimples in his cheeks from smiling. It makes him look like a totally different person, even though he's the same guy

His fans don't know why either

As much as he has a creative outlet in dance, Todoroki thinks he has no talent for songwriting or producing. He doesn't consider them his areas of expertise and if he was asked to write lyrics he'd have a hard time because he rarely expresses himself with words. He'd fret on it and eventually not get much done, so why try?

He does help out though, in offering suggestions on how to proceed, but he won't take the lead for any of these. Only dancing

That and his growing up with a businessman father leads him to also know the industry rather well, so he can offer some insights as to what image they could go for and how to market their discography

When it comes to styling, Todoroki is an absolute Mess. The things he likes and wants to wear doesn't suit him all that much, and the stylists usually have a hard time picking out clothes that really accentuate his look and figure. The myriad of colors in his hair and face lead to color clashes, but they find that red and blue are usually the go-to colors.

Did I mention that Todoroki doesn't mind dying his hair as long as they don't dye the white part? Enough said

They've done rainbow on him before!

He also doesn't cover up his scar, and over the years he's learnt to make it his charm point

It serves to make him a noticeable figure in the industry (as if his heterochromia weren’t enough) but it also makes him easily recognisable to fans

It’s not like he doesn’t like interacting with his fans, but sometimes some of them get a little too close, or ask questions that are way too personal

During those times, he’s at least got his members to relate and support him through it

The cutest thing about this man has got to be when he interacts with fans

Like, he’s pretty expressionless most of the time, but he always makes sure that his fans know that he’s extremely happy to have them here, and that he’ll continue doing the best he can for them

If you’re lucky and catch a small smile from him when you’re at a fan sign, I guess you could die peacefully

To summarize, Todoroki is a sweet bean but hardly ever shows it

When people praise his looks, he’s humble about them (though it’s more because he doesn’t know or think he’s attractive… baby just doesn’t see it)

And to top it all off, he’s a charmer on and off stage  with his quiet, sensitive nature and calm demeanor

He’s also the one that’s most likely to have a modeling career outside of his idol work

He can’t act for the life of him even though he’s got the expressions right on stage

Like Deku and Bakugou, he could always go solo, but his reason for not doing so is mainly because he’s found a new family, here with his members, and he doesn’t want to lose it

He doesn’t even mind if they don’t produce music anymore. As long as everyone sticks together and has a good time, he’s willing

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you haven’t checked out my other pieces, you can find them on my masterlist; if you have, thank you for your support! I’m trying to post something new every week, so stay tuned :)

#bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #bnha idol au #mha idol au #bakugou katsuki #bakugou headcanons #midoriya izuku #midoriya headcanons #todoroki shouto #todoroki headcanons

[lailoken]

The Coblynau

“Under the general title of Coblynau I class the fairies which haunt the mines, quarries and under- ground regions of Wales, corresponding to the cabalistic Gnomes. The word coblyn has the double meaning of knocker or thumper and sprite or fiend; and may it not be the original of goblin? It is applied by Welsh miners to pigmy fairies which dwell in the mines, and point out, by a peculiar knocking or rapping, rich veins of ore. The faith is extended, in some parts, so as to cover the indication of subterranean treasures generally, in caves and secret places of the mountains. The coblynau are described as being about half a yard in height and very ugly to look upon, but extremely good- natured, and warm friends of the miner. Their dress is a grotesque imitation of the miner's garb, and they carry tiny hammers, picks and lamps.

They work busily, loading ore in buckets, flitting about the shafts, turning tiny windlasses, and pounding away like madmen, but really accomplishing nothing whatever. throw stones at the miners, when enraged at being lightly spoken of; but the stones are harmless. Nevertheless, all miners of a proper spirit refrain from provoking them, because their presence brings good luck. They have been known to

Miners are possibly no more superstitious than other men of equal intelligence; I have heard some of their number repel indignantly the idea that they are superstitious at all; but this would simply be to raise them above the level of our common humanity. There is testimony enough, besides, to support my own conclusions, which accredit a liberal share of credulity to the mining class. The Oswestry Advertiser, a short time ago, recorded the fact that, at Cefn, 'a woman is employed as messenger at one of the collieries, and as she commences her duty early each morning she meets great numbers of colliers going to their work. Some of them, we are gravely assured, consider it a bad omen to meet a woman first thing in the morning; and not having succeeded in deterring her from her work by other means, they waited upon the manager and declared that they should remain at home unless the woman was dismissed.' This was in 1874. In June, 1878, the South Wales Daily News recorded a superstition of the quarrymen at Penrhyn, where some thousands of men refused to work on Ascension Day. This refusal did not arise out of any reverential feeling, but from an old and wide-spread superstition, which has lingered in that district for years, that if work is continued on Ascension Day an accident will certainly follow. A few years ago the agents persuaded the men to break through the superstition, and there were accidents each year-a not unlikely occurrence, seeing the extent of works carried on, and the dangerous nature of the occupation of the men. This year, however, the men, one and all, refused to work.' dealing with considerable numbers of the mining class, and are quoted in this instance as being more significant than individual cases would be. Of these last I have encountered many. Yet I should be sorry if any reader were to conclude from all this that Welsh miners are not in the main intelligent, church-going, newspaper-reading men. so, I think, even beyond the common. Their superstitions, therefore, like those of the rest of us, must be judged as 'a thing apart,' not to be reconciled with intelligence and education, but co-existing with them. Absolute freedom from superstition can come only with a degree of scientific culture not yet reached by mortal man.

It can hardly be cause for wonder that the miner should be superstitious. His life is passed in a dark and gloomy region, fathoms below the earth's green surface, surrounded by walls on which dim lamps shed a fitful light. It is not surprising that imagination (and the Welsh imagination is peculiarly vivid) should conjure up the faces and forms of gnomes and coblynau, of phantoms and fairy men. When they hear the mysterious thumping which they know is not produced by any human being, and when in examining the place where the noise was heard they find there are really valuable indications of ore, the sturdiest incredulity must sometimes be shaken. Science points out that the noise may be produced by the action of water upon the loose stones in fissures and pot-holes of the mountain limestone, and does actually suggest the presence of metals.

In the days before a Priestley had caught and bottled that demon which exists in the shape of carbonic acid gas, when the miner was smitten dead by an invisible foe in the deep bowels of the earth it was natural his awe-struck companions should ascribe the mysterious blow to a supernatural enemy. When the workman was assailed suddenly by what we now call fire-damp, which hurled him and his companions right and left upon the dark rocks, scorching, burning, and killing, those who survived were not likely to question the existence of the mine fiend. Hence arose the superstition—now probably quite extinct—of basilisks in the mines, which destroyed with their terrible gaze. When the explanation came, that the thing which killed the miner was what he breathed, not what he saw; and when chemistry took the fire-damp from the domain of faerie, the basilisk and the fire fiend had not a leg to stand on. The explanation of the Knockers is more recent, and less palpable and convincing.

The Coblynau are always given the form of dwarfs, in the popular fancy; wherever seen or heard, they are believed to have escaped from the mines or the secret regions of the mountains. Their homes are hidden from mortal vision. When encountered, either in the mines or on the mountains, they have strayed from their special abodes, which are as spectral as themselves. There is at least one account extant of their secret territory having been revealed to mortal eyes. I find it in a quaint volume (of which I shall have more to say), printed at Newport, Monmouthshire, in 1813. It relates that one William Evans, of Hafodafel, while crossing the Beacon Mountain very early in the morning, passed a fairy coal mine, where fairies were busily at work. Some were cutting the coal, some carrying it to fill the sacks, some raising the loads upon the horses' backs, and so on; but all in the completest silence. He thought this 'a wonderful extra natural thing,' and was considerably impressed by it, for well he knew that there really was no coal mine at that place. He was a person of undoubted veracity,' and what is more, 'a great man in the world-above telling an untruth.'

That the Coblynau sometimes wandered far from home, the same chronicler testifies; but on these occasions they were taking a holiday. Egbert Williams, 'a pious young gentleman of Denbigh- shire, then at school,' was one day playing in a field called Cae Caled, in the parish of Bodfari, with three girls, one of whom was his sister. Near the stile beyond Lanelwyd House they saw a company of fifteen or sixteen coblynau engaged in dancing madly. They were in the middle of the field, about seventy yards from the spectators, and they danced something after the manner of Morris-dancers, but with a wildness and swiftness in their motions. They were clothed in red like British soldiers, and wore red handkerchiefs spotted with yellow wound round their heads. And a strange circumstance about them was that although they were almost as big as ordinary men, yet they had unmistakably the appearance of dwarfs, and one could call them nothing but dwarfs. Presently one of them left the company and ran towards the group near the stile, who were direfully scared thereby, and scrambled in great fright to go over the stile. Barbara Jones got over first, then her sister, and as Egbert Williams was helping his sister over they saw the coblyn close upon them, and barely got over when his hairy hand was laid on the stile. He stood leaning on it, gazing after them as they ran, with a grim copper-coloured countenance and a fierce look. The young people ran to Lanelwyd House and called the elders out, but though they hurried quickly to the field the dwarfs had already disappeared.

The counterparts of the Coblynau are found in most mining countries. In Germany, the Wichtlein (little Wights) are little old long-bearded men, about three-quarters of an ell high, which haunt the mines of the southern land. The Bohemians call the Wichtlein by the name of Haus-schmiedlein, little House-smiths, from their sometimes making a noise as if labouring hard at the anvil. They are not so popular as in Wales, however, as they predict misfortune or death. They announce the doom of a miner by knocking three times distinctly, and when any lesser evil is about to befall him they are heard digging, pounding, and imitating other kinds of work. In Germany also the kobolds are rather troublesome than otherwise, to the miners, taking pleasure in frustrating their objects, and rendering their toil unfruitful. Sometimes they are down- right malignant, especially if neglected or insulted, but sometimes also they are indulgent to individuals whom they take under their protection. ‘When a miner therefore hit upon a rich vein of ore, the inference commonly was not that he possessed more skill, industry, or even luck than his fellow-workmen, but that the spirits of the mine had directed him to the treasure.'

The intimate connection between mine fairies and the whole race of dwarfs is constantly met through- out the fairy mythology; and the connection of the dwarfs with the mountains is equally universal. God,' says the preface to the Heldenbuch, 'gave the dwarfs being, because the land and the mountains were altogether waste and uncultivated, and there was much store of silver and gold and precious stones and pearls still in the mountains.' From the most ancient times, and in the oldest countries, down to our own time and the new world of America, the traditions are the same. The old Norse belief which made the dwarfs the current machinery of the northern Sagas is echoed in the Catskill Mountains with the rolling of the thunder among the crags where Hendrik Hudson's dwarfs are playing ninepins.”

-

British Goblins

Wirt Sikes, 1880

#the fae #faerie folk #faerie faith #faerie #coblynau #british goblins #wirt sikes #welsh folklore

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

“Why Not Me?”

Spike x Summers!Reader, BTVS

Warnings: angst, character death, cursing, some sexual content

Description: The reader is struggling with their sister’s death and needs a helping hand. Set between the end of S5 and the beginning of S6.

This has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute while I’ve been working on other stuff. It’s actually one of the first Spike pieces I wrote 🙈 I’m not in love with it, but I’ve been busy with other things lately and I wanted to release some new content, so here you go! I’m currently working on figuring out how to put together a masterlist and link my stories with the read more thing that I see on other fic writers’ pages so things are a little more organized.

Also (last thing, promise), I just wanted to say how much I appreciate the likes and comments you guys leave! @kind-wolf especially has helped motivate me so much in releasing new work, even if I feel it’s not my best ❤️

The first few days are hard. You wouldn’t be able to get yourself out of bed if not for Dawn. Everyone keeps peeking glances at you like you’re broken, like after your mother died but worse.

Infinitely worse, because Buffy and Dawn are your responsibility. You’re the oldest. You’re meant to protect them, to shield them. But all you’ve ever done is watch as your sister saved the world. And now even that has been taken from you.

You keep busy. You can only take so many days off work, trade so many shifts. Soon you have to go back and Dawn has to go to school, unless you want her to be taken from you, too.

Spike watches her for you while you’re at the diner. You’ve shortened your hours so you can sometimes be there with her before she goes to bed, but you’ve still got bills to pay. And you can’t bring up downsizing like you once meant to. Not when the house is the last thing linking the formerly whole Summers family together.

Willow does her best to play therapist, considering how you can’t go to a real one. First of all, they’d probably commit you for telling them your story. Second, you don’t have the strength to let anyone else in. Expanding your world to include more people only means that you have more of them to lose.

You made some mistakes in the first few weeks. You’re not proud of them by any means, but you’re doing your best to own them.

The worst one involved Spike.

One night (or, rather, morning) after your shift was over, you had come home and showered. As usual, you cried for as long as you could justify letting the water run. Then you stepped out and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel that you almost dropped when you saw him waiting in your room.

“I think we need to have a chat, Summers.”

He patted the bed next to him, just like he had when he tagged along for the first time to your diner shift all those months ago. The gesture made you want to cry again.

“Let me get dressed,” you mumbled. You rummaged through your dresser for a tank top and sweatpants, the only types of clothing besides your uniform that you had been using since the funeral. Then you locked yourself in the bathroom.

You strongly considered crawling out the window, but you were too loud when you tried to pry it open and Spike rapped loudly on the door.

“Don’t even try it, love.”

Resigned, you came out to sprawl on your bed and wait for the lecture.

Spike started in as usual by saying that you weren’t taking care of yourself. Once again, you reminded him that you were a perfectly capable adult who was keeping an entire household running and that you didn’t need him or anyone else questioning you.

“I know you’re capable, that’s not the point—”

“Then what is the point? What right do you have—”

“I’ve been right here beside you the whole time! I’m allowed to have some input—”

“I’m sorry, is your name Spike Summers? No? Then get off my ass about—”

You could see in his eyes that he wanted to shake some sense into you. He thought you were the one being obtuse. But all you were doing, all you had ever tried to do, was to hold everything together.

“Summers,” he growled. The two of you had been inching closer together during your heated argument, your voices raised dangerously, considering Dawn was still asleep. For a moment, you saw a flicker of his other face. Even knowing he wouldn’t hurt you, you gulped. “Stop being so bloody thick about everything. You’re working yourself to death, and who’s going to be here for Dawn if you’re carted off to the hospital?”

Normally, this was the point where the tears would flow against your will, but you only felt frustrated. Then Spike tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and it boiled over.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, and you still don’t know why you did what you did next. Maybe you wanted to push him away like you had been doing with everyone else. Maybe you wanted a distraction. Or maybe you just wanted him.

You kissed him.

It was an automatic reaction, but if you had to guess, you’d say it was probably because you needed to show him that you were fine at taking care of yourself. You were still an independent agent, making your own decisions, however poor they might be. But you didn’t think that was the message he got at all, because it turned needy real quick.

His hand came to the back of your head as he wove his fingers through your hair in a tender gesture, but you didn’t want tender. You wanted the pain to be blocked out. You tried to seal yourself to him, pulling yourself into his lap. You ran your nails over his jaw, his neck, and then his chest, clawing at his shirt. He lifted it halfway, enough for you to see the defined abs that waited beneath, before he pulled away abruptly and dumped you onto the bed.

“We can’t,” he said, panting. “You’re grieving.”

“I’m fine.”

You crawled over to him and slipped off the edge of the bed to press him against the wall, but he held you back.

“You’re sick. It would be taking advantage.”

He knew before the words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say.

Your eyes widened and you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly wanting every trace of him off you. You stepped toward the door backwards, almost tripping over your backpack.

“No, my mom was sick,” you said with your hand on the knob. Then, whipping back around, your face contorted like a Fury: “You’re sick, you know that? You chase after me for months, following me to work, to school, telling me you don’t want to see me hurt myself. You hold me while I’m sleeping and touch me when you think no one’s watching and joke in front of the others about how you’d like to see me naked and then I give you the chance to and what? Has mourning made me so awful to you?”

Spike couldn’t have been more shocked if you slapped him. He kept waiting for your knees to buckle, for you to break down, but you never did. Not in front of the others, not in front of him. Anyone would think you were the goddamn Energizer Bunny, if not for how exhausted you looked.

“Love—”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you said. “If you aren’t willing to ‘take advantage,’ I’ll find someone who is.”

You didn’t slam the door. Even now, you were mindful of Dawn, of how early it was. Instead, you grabbed your keys from the kitchen countertop and made it as far as the front porch before you folded in on yourself.

Not now, you pleaded, praying to a God you weren’t sure existed. Please, let me get somewhere else first.

But you couldn’t move. You kept seeing Buffy fall over and over again, tearing through the inter-dimensional portal like a silk screen, hitting the concrete hard.

You couldn’t breathe.

It was like you could see her and Dawn up top, before Buffy dived down like some kind of fucking Olympic swimmer. You had been on the ground with the others, but you could see them in that moment. Buffy taking Dawn’s face in her hands as she cried. Playing the hero. Telling your sister how she had to do this and to remember how much she loved you both.

You didn’t see or hear Spike come out on the patio or notice when he pried the keys from your hands. You were too busy sobbing silently to the point where he was worried you might pass out.

“It should have been me,” you said, not to him or yourself, but to whatever God had taken Buffy. Glory, maybe. Someone with more power than you. “I’m the oldest. I should have been there. Bring her back and take me.”

“She was the Slayer,” Spike said softly. He didn’t touch you, just sat a fair distance away and ached. “It had to be her.”

In your crazed state, you thought God was talking back, and he happened to have a British accent. You tried to reason with him.

“No, it wasn’t about that. It was about Summers blood. It could have been me, if I had gotten there in time. If—”

“You wouldn’t have made it up the steps past Glory, past the demon. You didn’t have a chance.”

“But it should have been me!” The words came out as more of a wheeze than anything else. You weren’t taking in enough oxygen to support your crying jag. “I should have been the Slayer. I’m the oldest. Why did you choose her? Was I not strong enough?”

You couldn’t open your eyes fully through all the tears. They swam in front of your vision like you were underwater, turning your car into a coral reef, the grass of the front yard into seaweed.

“Or if I couldn’t be the Slayer or the Key, then I should have been the one to jump. You know it’s true,” you pleaded. “Summers blood. It’s all the same.”

But it wasn’t. Because whatever blood was in Dawn and Buffy contained courage.

Spike didn’t know who you thought you were talking to, but he was worried you were going to knock yourself out on the steps and split your head open, with the way you were wavering back and forth, leaning forward to weep and then throwing your head back to ask why, why, why it hadn’t been you.

Finally, he had to restrain you, scooping you up into his lap and holding you tight to keep you from getting any ideas about taking a dive of your own off the porch. At first, you fought against him, thrashing like a wildcat, but you were too tired to keep it up for long.

“Why not me?” you asked him again. Your voice was muffled against his chest, but he heard you loud and clear. How could he not?

“Because you’re needed here. You’re the only thing keeping everyone sane, lo—” He cut himself off, barely remembering how much the word had upset you earlier. “You protected Buffy as best you could your whole life. And now you need to be here for Dawn.”

“No,” you said, wrestling out of his grip enough to face him. “I mean, why don’t you want me?”

Your eyes were swollen and you had just gotten snot all over his shirt, but in that moment he was so grateful that you were alive that his heart would’ve skipped a beat if it could have. He pulled you close and kissed your forehead, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, reminding himself that you were flesh and blood right before him. You were still here.

“Any other time, sweetheart, it would’ve been you,” he whispered against your cheek. You were going slack in his arms, relaxing like a kitten, unable to keep yourself upright and rigid when you were so completely spent. He could taste your tears. “I always want you. But not like this.”

“What do you—hic—mean?”

This was alright. You were a little out of it still, but you were coherent, and you weren’t trying to hurt yourself anymore. Spike resisted the urge to pull you closer, to feel your heart beat against his chest like it was his own, just to confirm you were here, solid, breathing.

“I want you when I can tell it’s real. That you don’t need someone to take your pain away and that’s it, even though I’d strip right now, right here on the porch, if I thought it would help.”

Spike thought he might get a laugh out of you there, but your eyes were unfocused. Frightening. He lifted you up like you weighed nothing, which wasn’t far from the truth now that you’d all but stopped eating, and carried you back into the house and up the stairs to your bedroom.

“I want you so much it hurts,” he promised you as he peeled back the covers to tuck you in. “Like when I’m starving for blood and there’s no one around.”

He checked your face quickly, thinking his metaphor might’ve been less-than-helpful, but when it remained blank he continued.

“I need you. That means I have to do what’s best for you, and right now that’s not sex.”

He started across the room, but you called out.

“Spike?” You sounded uncertain, fragile. “Will you stay with me? Not for... not for sex.”

“Of course I will, lo— Summers.”

He shed his t-shirt and slipped into the fuzzy bottoms you’d gotten him a few months ago, when things were not quite good but getting back to normal, and cradled you.

He gave it a couple minutes before he tried again. “Summers, you know, if you do want sex in the future and you’re not on the verge of a breakdown, I’m your guy.”

But you were already asleep.

#fanfiction #btvs #buffy season 5 #buffy the vampire slayer #spike x reader #reader insert #buffy season 6

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Put Your Head On My Shoulder

[Wing AU; Tour!Verse]

Wing Chart

I did another art-writing trade with @spooner7308!!! They once again requested EB and Tour!Joan content for the wing au, so here it is! I think their dynamic is great

Also art-writing trades are open if anyone is interested! Just DM me!

Also also for legal reasons Jane is Lauren!Jane, not Carly!Jane, because Carly!Jane would NEVER. Though, if Jane really did what happens in this fic is up to interpretation hehe

Word count: 4880

TW: Blood, discussion of torture

-----------------------------

The frantic knocking at the front door roused EB from her half-dazed reverie on the couch. She peeled one of her large wings away from her face and squinted through the dim lamplight; she really had to change the light bulb one of these days. She should treat the electrical items in her house like she does with the ones at the theater, right? But there was no real motivation for her own personal things…

More knocking. EB grunted in annoyance, hoping it would just go away. It was probably some stupid solicitors trying to get her to buy some cable program or something dumb like that. Don’t they know not to wander into a vulture’s nest? She wondered if she could flash them to get them to go away and never come back… No, no. That would just throw her back in prison, and who wants to go down with public indecency due to nude tits and bare ass on their permanent record? It was already hard enough to get her current job as is. And that was very un-metal of her.

The knocking continued, and now it just sounded like someone was trying to bust her door down. She growled. How good could this fucking cable be? Unless it had free porn, she did NOT want to hear it.

But the salesavian apparently didn’t take the hint because they kept trying to break her fucking front door, and EB finally threw herself up with a roared, “ALRIGHT!!”

Stomping to the entrance of her small, dingy apartment, EB flung open the door and was nearly rapped on the chest by the person standing outside. She flared her wings and crest feathers, fluffing them up to look bigger, and snarled, “What the FUCK do you w--”

And then the words died off.

Because it wasn’t some degenerate annoyance trying to sell her shitty cable at all, but a small, stick-thin hybrid that would never in a million years be able to go door-to-door selling useless crap people.

And there was something attached to her head.

It almost looked like a diver helmet and bear trap were fused together. Two thick iron jaws were clamped firmly over her mouth, attached to a series of metal clasps and straps and hinges that branched out over the sides of her head, anchoring the thing to her skull. It looked heavy and very uncomfortable, and EB could see chipped and frayed pieces digging into the hybrid’s sensitive flesh. It was brown from age, rusted and pockmarked in dents and scratches, practically crawling with tetanus. 

With a jolt, EB realized it was a jaw trap, and it was Joan beneath its abrasive metal grasp.

The jaw trap was never used on EB personally while she was being tortured before her execution. At the time, there had been only one existing in London, and it was mainly used for show, getting its own pedestal and everything like it was the king’s fucking crown. No, instead she owed her tortured pleasure to the end of fat dove fingers, which ripped out handfuls of her feathers until it looked like she was infected with Drop Feather Fever. And for a dove, a supposed “holy figure”, he was fucking BRUTAL and MEAN. She also got to get a taste of the merciless brutality of a tail chopper, which severed the bone, muscle, and tendons of her tail before she could even have another fucking vision--and her tail hasn’t even recovered from THAT experience, and it’s been over FIVE HUNDRED FUCKING YEARS!! And then there was also the whipping of the base of her wings, pulling out her talons, that one time they attempted to set her crest feathers in fire… God, she was starting to fall back into the darkness of those memories again.

Joan sniffled, and EB shook off the black vines trying to crawl through her heart and mind. Big, tear-filled grey eyes stared up at her, filled with so much terror and pain and distress. Joan looked absolutely shaken, like she was about to faint at any moment from pure horror.

EB grabbed her by the arm and dragged her inside.

Was her apartment too dirty? There were definitely some cans on the floor and it smelled a lot like cigarette smoke. Didn’t Vespers have heightened smell? Or was that the Hydras? Wait, Joan was crossed with both-- Shit, what if the smell suffocated her or something?! Could that happen? Joan whimpered, bringing EB back to awareness once again. She sat the young hybrid down on the couch and retrieved her tools from her bedroom (what? she’s a technician! might as well have some on hand! now if she could just change that light bulb…).

  “Hey, hey,” EB said when she heard Joan whimper again, and she was surprised at how soft her voice came out. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of that thing.”

She knew how dangerous jaw traps could be. Even though she hadn’t been around to ever see one be used, she did her research on the things that happened after she died. She read about the awful things Mary had done. The way she put the traps on hybrids, the Flightless, and even Vespers simply for existing and because she didn’t like them. How she would have them sprung for the stupidest reasons, ripping the jaw off or crushing the skull or tearing the face of innocent people because they disagreed with the things she said. And then what Jane did with her four hybrids…

Rage simmered in EB’s veins, but she did her best to cool it for now. She could get her revenge when Joan was not at risk of losing her entire fucking mouth.

EB brandished a screwdriver and began looking for a give, but there didn’t appear to be any gives on the jaw trap. It was made of very specific metal riggings and hinges and springs, which were attached with even more specific clasps and latches. It wasn’t like any normal device that she could just take apart.

This was going to be a lot harder than she thought.

EB gently twisted Joan’s head with her hands and began searching for a weak part of the jaw trap. The back had several hunks of metal attached to it, dozens of locks and joints that looked very uncomfortable to have dug into the head. She tugged on one lightly and the entire trap creaked dangerously. Joan let out a muffled scream and burst into tears.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” EB quickly swerved back in front of her. Glistening droplets ran into the grooves of the metal jaws clamped around her mouth; EB wondered if it was so rusted because of the tears of the victims who had to wear it. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you out.”

Joan sobbed again. Her breathing picked up, raspy and muffled through her nose because she couldn’t gasp out of her firmly closed mouth. Her eyes were wide and manic, like she was already seeing her own bloody demise playing out to her, and EB began to wonder if she had visions, too… 

But EB would not let the hybrid die. Not ever.

  “You’re going to be okay.” EB said firmly, but her voice still had a certain softness to it that was able to grab Joan’s attention. The hybrid looked up at her with so much desperation in her shiny eyes. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

Joan sniffled and nodded. Her panic attack had yet to be tamed, but at least she didn’t look like she was visualizing her own jaw being ripped off anymore. EB considered that a win for now.

  “Turn your head for me, love,” EB said, and the pet name slipped out without her even thinking it through. Joan obeyed, tensing when the jaw trap jangled when her head moved. “Now sit still for me. Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”

With careful claws, EB began analyzing the back rigging of the jaw trap with a surgeon’s eye. She poked and prodded pieces of the contraption with the gentleness of someone holding an extinct bird egg, knowing the risk if her talons slipped for only a moment.

There were two thick circular seals attached to either sides of the jaws, which seemed to be holding them closed. They were connected by taut wire rope that fastened onto the back, too tough to cut through with her claws, but maybe some bolt cutters or pliers could do the trick… 

  “Okay, hold still for me,” EB said, pulling a pair of pliers from her tool box.

Joan began screaming, startling EB and nearly making her stab her in the temple.

  “What?” EB yelped.

Joan shook her head wildly, and EB had to grab her by the ears to get her to stop from hurting herself further. She screwed her eyes shut, crying harder, and made distressed noises that sounded like she was saying “no.” Upon closer inspection, EB realized her panic when she saw that the wires were tightened into their straightness by a gear--and her knowledge in tech told her that if she were to cut them without unlocking the seal, the trap would spring.

  “Shit,” EB muttered.

Joan whimpered. Her wings, shaking so badly they may just shudder right off of her back, pulled close around her like she thought they could protect her. EB’s heart ached at her despair and she wiped her thumb under one of her eyes, brushing away the tears.

  “Joan, pup, look at me.” She said softly. She unfurled her wings around Joan, and the hybrid tried to curl into them like she craved their warmth. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to get you free, okay?”

Joan sniffled pitifully and nodded weakly.

EB returned her attention to the back of the trap. She looked closer, carefully poking her claws through the cracks and creases in the metal. She eventually saw a sprocket and fastener near the center, slightly obscured by springs and links. She could tell that it was the key to unlock the trap, and was probably hard to get to for a reason, so victims couldn’t just reach back and set themselves free.

  “Okay, Joan,” EB said, peering in at the fastener. “Take deep breaths. You’re doing so good. I’m going to get you out.”

She reached in and tried to twist the fastener, but it was much too tight for her claws to loosen. Which also made sense. And also made her angrier because a victim wouldn’t ever be able to get the trap off if they were forgotten about.

She took the pliers and stuck them into the small gap, grasping the fastener with the jaws. She began turning it, loosening it slowly but surely, and the jaw trap creaked, then clicked. Joan cried out as the entire thing shuddered around her head, but EB could see that the wires were starting to lose some of their tightness.

  “It’s okay, love,” EB said, brushing one of her wings against Joan’s arm comfortingly. “It’s almost off. Just keep breathing.”

Slowly, carefully, the seals and riggings went loose and the entire trap seemed to go slack around Joan’s head, allowing EB to pull it off of the terrified hybrid.

The first thing EB saw were the purple bruises bloomed across Joan’s cheeks and lower jaw from the tightness of the trap, then the nicks and cuts from the frayed metal, and then her mouth full of blood.

EB had read about how jaw traps were sometimes so tight that they damaged the jaws of the victim, causing nerve damage and bruising. There was also a plate that went into the mouth, sometimes cutting into the tongue and gums, which explained why Joan’s mouth was all bloody.

Rage boiled up again, like pus from an abscess. EB clenched her talons, driving the black claws into her palms. She released her fists before they could break skin and jumped up to retrieve a rag from the kitchen, which she wet with warm water. She swiped some painkillers from one of the cabinets as well, knowing that Joan had to have been in pain, even if she didn’t say it out loud.

When EB went back to the couch and brought the rag to Joan’s face, Joan flinched away with a whimper. Her eyes were glazed and haunted; she reminded EB of the way she used to be after she had first been reincarnated.

  “Hey, hey,” EB gently brushed Joan with her wing. “It’s just me. It’s EB. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “E-EB?” Joan squeaked. Her voice was raspy and hoarse…as if she had worn it out from screaming.

The anger bubbled back up, burning hot, like molten lava trapped in a cauldron. She fought to keep it from showing on her face, knowing it would definitely startle the poor hybrid in front of her if she did.

Joan’s face crumpled and she began to openly cry. “I-I was so scared!” She choked out. “I-I thought I was--” She trailed off into the frantic wheezes and whimpers of a spiraling panic attack.

  “Hey, shh,” EB wrapped her wings around Joan, and Joan sunk into them. She was tiny in comparison to the feathery appendages, and EB realized she was curled in them like a chick would in the wings on its mother…and that EB had her hooded like an actual mother hen would.

EB internally snorted. Her? Being a mother hen? That was about as likely as her changing the lightbulb in her lamp, which was definitely getting dimmer by the second. In fact, she would probably be THE WORST mother hen! Absolutely terrible! Would probably actually sit on a kid instead of just hooding them!

Wait, wasn’t it nesting season?

EB shook out her wings and Joan flinched. She quickly calmed her when she made a noise of distress.

  “Sorry,” She said, rubbing the hybrid’s head with one hand. She used the other to wipe off the blood on Joan’s face with the rag, making sure to be careful over the tender bruises. When she finished, she gave Joan the painkiller pill, and then Joan promptly balled back up in her wings.

As EB held Joan, rubbing her back with one hand, keeping her protectively wrapped in her wings, she let the anger finally march through her veins like a colony of army ants. 

How could someone do this to a kid? She could understand in a way why she had been tortured, she had a blasphemous vision, but Joan was so young. And all she was was a hybrid. She just looked a little strange, and yet people hated her like she was a devil loosed from hell.

A growl curled at the back of her throat, coming out sounding more like something a dog would make rather than a vulture. Her feathers stood on end as she cupped Joan’s face, made her look up at her, and whispered, “Who did this to you?”

Joan’s big yellow ears swiveled around like a searching radar, then pinned back flat against her head. She looked away, hugging her wings around her. 

EB let out another growl. She couldn’t have expected Joan to give her an answer; no fault of the girl’s own, she was much too timid and anxious to spill information. 

EB gently deposited Joan from her hold and stood up, becoming very aware of the empty, cold feeling that quickly infected her wings. She quickly shook them out, as if they were crawling with spiders, but the feeling didn’t go away. She scoffed. Must be stupid nesting season shit. Not that nesting season affected her. She was METAL and TOUGH. And metal and tough birds do NOT become mother hens!!

  “I’ll be back,” EB said, thorns edging her words. She picked up the jaw trap and was surprised that the metal didn’t bend within her tight grasp.

  “Wh-where are you going?” Joan asked, stammering over her words.

  “To get revenge.” EB stated bluntly, striding for the door.

  “P-please don’t leave me!”

That made EB falter. She stopped at the entrance to the apartment, the door half open, her wings spread and ready for flight.

  “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.”

She hurried out. If she heard Joan’s reaction, then she wouldn’t be able to go on with her plans.

She hoped the little hybrid wouldn’t be mad.

Outside, EB leapt into the night sky and began flapping her way across the city. She pumped her wings furiously, soaring like a speeding jet through the stars. Her rage fueled her onwards, and she flew like--

(like that damn dove was on her tail feathers.)

Elizabeth grit her teeth through the pain. One by one, her brown feathers were plucked from her wings, leaving ugly bald patches and red marks across the tender pink flesh. She did her best not to whimper or whine, bit small noises of pain escaped her lips against her will.

  “Oh, so now you’re quiet,” Chuckled the dove. He ran his claws over a handful of her feathers. His white wings were spattered in blood. “Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut about your fucking visions and you wouldn’t even be in this situation.” He flicked his wings and droplets of blood went flying. “Though, I guess I wouldn’t have gotten to have some fun with you right now. And I don’t expect a vulture to understand anything.” He raked his claws down Elizabeth’s left wing and laughed cruelly.

--like a demon was on her tail feathers. A demon. Not a dove.

EB shook her head and growled deep in her throat. She flew faster, beating her wings until her muscles burned with exertion.

(like how her back burned when the dove whipped her)

A cry of pain escaped Elizabeth’s lips when the whip came down on her bare back, slashing open a gouge down her tender flesh. Blood came pouring out, wet and hot and sticky down her spine. Her head spun- how many lashings has this been now? Five? Twenty? A hundred?

The dove’s laugh from behind her sounded like the cackle of a hyena.

  “Still no new visions?” He asked. “I surely thought I could beat them out of you.” He leaned down in front of Elizabeth, and his face was dripping with her blood. “Come on, nun. Predict my future. Where am I gonna be in twenty years?”

  “They don’t--work like that.” Elizabeth said through her teeth. The pain was sharp and radiating, burning like a wildfire through her back. Her wings were trembling violently and every shudder sent a new wave of torture vibrating through her nerves.

The dove laughed loudly, and Elizabeth winced. “Well, aren’t you tough?” He gave a gravelly chuckle and raised the whip again. “That won’t last much longer.”

  “GET AWAY FROM ME!!” EB roared, wheeling around to swing her wings at something that wasn’t there. A sharp gust of wind caught her flight feathers and nearly sent her spiraling out of the sky. Sweat dripped down her face and she shook her head wildly, growling. With a whirl of brown and gold, she spun back around and continued her flight path.

She couldn’t remember the last time the memories of her past really came up. She was good at repressing them, beating them down into the darkest reaches of her memory so they could never come crawling back up. And if they did, she would fill her body with so much alcohol or smoke that her brain would drown in liquor and ash and become muddled enough to block out the memories on its own.

But she didn’t have time to drink or smoke or suppress anything. She just had to fly.

(because the dove had made sure she never would again back then)

Elizabeth glared at the dove as he curled around her. It was agony to stand, but she held herself as still as possible. The cuts along her back had broken open and were bleeding through her shirt.

  “Tell me a vision, vulture.” The dove said.

Elizabeth growled, opened her mouth, then screamed.

The blade of the tail cutter sliced cleanly through her tail.

EB tucked in her wings and dove from the sky like a comet falling to earth. She opened them back up at the last moment and swooped down to the front stoop of the queen residence. She knocked furiously on the door, surely thinking she was splintering the wood beneath her fist.

(just like the way her bones had been splintered)

Tendons severed, muscles cut away, tail feathers docked, wings twin labyrinths of blood and gore. Elizabeth lied in her cell, shuddering in agony, staring listlessly at the wall. She couldn’t think straight at all anymore. Did she ever really have any visions?

The dove opened her cell down, rope in hand, and stared down at her.

  “Get up, vulture,” He said. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

After twenty-two eternal seconds, the front door opened. EB shoved past a confused-looking Cathy and stormed into the house like a raging firestorm. 

  “JANE!” She roared. “GET THE FUCK OVER HERE!”

  “EB, what is the meaning of this?” Howard asked, but EB ignored her.

Jane walked out of a hallway, eyebrows furrowed, and EB nearly tackled her right then and there.

  “What’s going on?” The old world swallowtail Cimex asked. Her large wings were twitching nervously, and EB so badly wanted to tear into them with her talons and teeth.

  “I am going to be asking the questions here,” EB said to her, fire licking her words. She brandished the jaw trap, and it looked so much more menacing in actual light. Jane tensed, and gasps went around the room. “Recognize this?”

Jane swallowed thickly. “Wh-where did you get that?”

  “I think you know.” EB said.

Jane looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, you snotty, pompous gnat!” EB snapped, enjoying the way Jane flinched. “You know exactly where this came from. You know what you did.”

  “No, I don’t!” Jane said, glancing all around the room. “I haven’t seen one of those in centuries! I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “YOU FUCKING LIAR!” EB roared, making everyone in the room jump. “You--you put this thing on a fucking kid, you absolute monster! She came to me crying, thinking she was going to die! I know you’re fucking racist, but how fucking SICK do you have to be to pull this shit AGAIN?”

Jane took a small step back. All four of her hands were wringing in her shirt, like she didn’t know what to do with her arms while she was getting ripped a new one. Her face was ghostly pale, eyes wide in shock, and her wings had started to tremble.

  “I-I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” She squeaked.

EB scoffed. “You’re such a fucking joke.” She said. “I knew you were illiterate and fucking stupid, but do I really have to spell it out for you? I know what you did to Joan, and I’m not going to let you get away with it.”

  “She did WHAT?” Howard snapped to attention.

  “What happened to Joan?” Aragon followed, unfurling her golden dragon wings. She shot an evil glare at Jane. 

  “She put this fucking torture device on Joan.” EB said, shaking the jaw trap for emphasis. It clanked loudly, the deadly jaws hanging limply. She stalked closer to Jane, ruffling up her wings to look bigger than she already was. The butterfly cowered beneath her, shaking from antennae to toe. With a voice that was dripping with venom, she said, “And you should know that when it comes to all equipment, tech, and machinery, whether it be used in the tour or not, my word is law. And my decree is that if you so much as think of bringing along another one of these wretched devices, then you have another thing coming.”

Jane went to reply, and EB slashed her across the mouth.

Driven backwards by pain, Jane staggered, wings flaring out in shock. Her hands flew to her jaw, pawing tentatively, green Cimex blood drooling through her fingers. Four long claw marks were carved across her lips and cheeks, and EB struggled not to smirk at how long the scars would linger on her face.

  “Do NOT try and argue with me!” EB boomed, her voice resounding like thunder through the house. “I did NOT live through torture at the Tower of London to see this fucking thing be used in modern day!” She clutched at the jaw trap with both hands, imagining it were Jane’s head she was crushing between her talons. “You’re not going to hurt anyone everyone again, you fucking monster. Not while I’m around. And if you lay a single claw on Joan, if your silk so much as TOUCHES her, if your wings even BRUSH her, I will fucking kill you, and I will make sure it’s much worse than goddamn natural causes. I will make you feel real pain, you useless baby-making trophy.”

And then she pulled the jaw trap apart, looking Jane dead in the eye as if to say, “THIS is you.”

Silence fell around the house. Jane was frozen, shaking madly, but her petrified expression was more than satisfying for EB.

Was this what the dove felt when he tortured her?

Come on, little nun, tell me my future. Don’t make this all be worthless…

Raising her chin haughtily, EB threw the broken jaw trap at Jane’s feet, fluffed her wings at her, and then turned and walked out.

She took to the sky instantly, and began flying home. She swore she had a boost under her wings as she flew, making her stronger and faster.

She felt powerful.

EB was home in record time, landing smoothly and instantly darting into her apartment.

Joan was curled on the couch where she left her, wrapped up in a cocoon made of her own weird wings. Her head popped up when the door shut, and her grey eyes were rimmed with thick rings of red.

  “I told you I’d come back,” EB said.

Joan threw herself at EB, and EB caught her in her wings. The hybrid dissolved into tears once again, sobbing so hard it sounded painful. EB tried to maneuver her back to the couch before she collapsed, but she ended up scooping her up instead. She ignored the weird nagging sense of worry tugging on her brain when she realized how light Joan was, even for an avian of her size. Because she will say it again: she was NOT affected by nesting season!!!!

  “Shh, shh, shh,” EB murmured, swaying Joan in her wings. “It’s alright. I’m here now. I’m sorry for leaving you, but I had to take care of something.”

Joan sniffled and whimpered something completely incomprehensible, but EB couldn’t really tell if it was because she was crying or because she was also Scottish, and who could REALLY understand Scottish avians?

  “It’s okay, love,” EB held her tighter, feeling stubby little half-chewed claws grip onto her shirt. “I won’t let you go. Everything is alright now. Everything is alright.”

Joan cried steadily for ten more minutes, and EB was surprised that she had that much left in her. But after the storm of tears was over, she was reduced to weak hiccups, slumped against EB’s chest in clear exhaustion. Her shiny grey eyes were clouded with fatigue, and she barely had the strength to even lift her own wings. EB stroked down her crest feathers, clucking.

  “Let me get you some water before you die of dehydration, little creature,” EB said affectionately. But when she tried to get up, Joan made quite an adorable whine (don’t tell anyone she thought that, though, or she will fucking rivet you a new anus) and mustered up enough strength to wrap her wings around her stomach and hang on her with her dewclaws. “Uhh. Pup? You gotta let go. I need to get you some water.”

Joan buried her face against her chest and shook her head.

  “What, do you want to come with me to the kitchen or what?”

Joan looked up at her, eyes glistening like a newborn baby bat’s, and EB had her answer.

Carrying a hybrid hanging onto her like a baby koala might have been weird if EB hadn’t have read something that said Vespers liked hanging on things because it was “true to their bat nature” and also liked being swaddled by wings because it made them “feel secure” and “reminded them of their mother.” Not that she looked that up because she liked Joan, though! Well, she DID like Joan, but she was just looking up things about Vespers because she was interested in the other tribes, that’s all! Nothing for Joan’s sake! She was just curious!

Oh, who was she kidding? Maybe she could let her persona fall just this once. After all, Joan gave her a reason to change that goddamn light bulb. And when did a little nesting season instincts ever hurt anyone?

#wing au #dont tag as ship #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fic #six the musical au #EB #elizabeth barton #tour joan on the keys #tour jane seymour #tw: blood #tw: torture #put your head on my shoulder

[firemblem-fics]

hey! I just want to announce firstly that I’m taking a little break from requests. I’m in a slump and I just want to write my own things to remind myself why I love to write yk?

parents? PT. 2 | claude

warnings: cursing, hilda’s naked, fuck man I don’t remember but it’s nothing awful

this one isn’t as long as the last and I apologize for that but I want this to be like... a series leading up to me hitting 1k (I’m so close) and so it may be about four parts?? thank u

Also I do not know what the plumbing situation is like in Fodlan but for the sake of the story they’ve got plumbing

———

“Where are we going?” 

“Just to Claude’s room. You remember Claude, right? We sit by him sometimes in class.”

“Oh. He has cool earrings.” 

You only nodded, laughing a bit at the boy. It had been two weeks since you had taken in August and he’d gotten more and more comfortable with you each day. He finally started talking more and showing his true personality- a sweetheart. August was still rather quiet and only spoke unless spoken to, but you weren’t going to push anything. The poor boy did lose his entire family after all, he was probably at least a little traumatized. 

You knocked on Claude’s door, ready to hand the boy off for a few minutes while you showered. August stayed behind you, looking out of the windows in the hallway. You heard a bit of fumbling before the door opened a crack, Claude sticking only his head out. 

“May I help you?”

“What are you hiding?” 

“Wow, nosy aren’t you?” Claude laughed dryly. “And here I thought you were actually visiting me instead of just bringing me a child for an hour. But if you’d like to know, I also just recently got out of the shower. I’ve had to alter my schedule to fit yours so you can leave him here. It’s bullshit, really.” Claude opened the door more to reveal his entire self. 

You practically covered your face. He was shirtless, his winter night-pants hanging low on his hips as his hair was still mussed up from the shower. “First, language. Second, put on some damn clothes!” 

Claude laughed, turning around to go to his closet. “Bring yourself and the boy in for a minute while I do just that. I can’t leave him ‘unoccupied’, which is what I would be doing if I changed.” 

You rolled your eyes and motioned for August to enter first. He did, immediately going to Claude’s desk and grabbing a bouncy ball that Sylvain had given him for no apparent reason one day. As you watched him bounce it around, you noticed that his shoe was untied and called him over. August sat in front of you, putting his foot up and grabbing the laces. He tied them in the first knot and looked at you expectantly. 

You kneeled down in front of him, gently saying, “Make the bunny ears… yep… Wrap them around… and pull. Good job, Auggie. You’ll get it down in no time. I’ll get you two cookies from the dinner line if you do.” 

Claude watched the two of you as he pulled on a cotton nightshirt. He watched your eyes light up as August stood up and cheered, hugging you as a thanks before returning to play with the ball. He shook his head, making a mental note of what to do once you left. 

You eventually did leave soon after, running your hands through your hair as you prayed that Claude didn’t corrupt the poor kid. You had realized your mistake soon after volunteering Claude to be your helper- he could easily turn the kid against you. And you couldn’t leave him in anyone else’s care, since you had specifically asked for Claude. If Seteth found out, August would definitely be taken from you. 

You shouldn’t be this stressed about a kid since you were only a teenager yourself, but August reminded you too much of your shy, quiet little brother back home. He was older than August, but you could see the similarities. You were just like his big sister, and Claude was his big brother. You didn’t have to be parents. Just good influences. And providers. And teachers. 

God, you really were parenting, weren’t you?

You shook your head, walking into the girl’s showers and stepping into one of the stalls. You let the warm water roll over you, soothing your aching muscles from today’s training sessions. You were basically in heaven and you sure as hell didn’t want to leave and talk to Claude anytime soon. 

“Y/N?” Hilda’s voice rang out from the stall beside you. 

Thank God, an excuse to stay longer.

“Yeah?” 

“I just wanted to say that I think it's cool that you’re helping August. He deserves it. I’m just sorry you have to deal with Claude. I know he can be a nuisance to you.”

You groaned. “Nuisance is too nice of a word. He’s done nothing but go against what I ask. He won’t even stop cursing when August is around. That’s all I ask of him anymore and he won’t do it. I dropped off the kid at his dorm earlier and he was half naked. Walking around with his dick almost out like Sylvain. Not something me nor Auggie wanted to see.” 

“Hmm,” Hilda thought for a moment. She didn’t answer for a while. You listened to try and hear what she was up to with no avail. The water beside you turned off and she continued to hum a bit as she opened up her curtain. Suddenly, your shower curtain was yanked open, revealing the pink-haired girl as she nonchalantly stepped into the shower will you. 

“Hilda, what the fuck!” You practically screeched, trying to cover up. 

“I’m trying to have a serious, girl’s talk, heart to heart with you but I can’t do that if you don’t shut the fuck up.” She rolled her eyes, grabbing the soap and beginning to wash her legs. “Now let me talk. You’ll want to hear this.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Okay, what?”

“Claude can be a bother sometimes but he’s never been that big of an ass to anyone but you. Did you do something to piss him off?” 

“What? Not that I know of…” 

Hilda hummed again, turning to look at you dead in the eyes. Honestly, you were still unnerved at the girl walking into your shower like she owned the damn place, but her staring at you was about to be the last straw. She snapped her fingers. You had no clue what kind of revelation she could have come to, but nothing was apparently impossible. 

“I think he likes your reactions.” 

“Elaborate.”

“He always says shit to upset you- hence the daddy shit and him cursing while August is around. He’s constantly making remarks to make you angry or flustered with no real reason behind it. Think about it, Y/N. Maybe he likes you?” She looked up at the shower head in thought. 

“You had me in the first half, Hilda. Maybe he is just trying to rile me up, but that doesn’t equate to him having feelings for me.” You sighed, turning the water off. “Let’s go before someone thinks somethin’s up with us two in here.” 

Hilda shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. You just don’t want it getting back to your child’s father that you were showering with another woman. He’d be awfully jealous.” 

“He’s NOT interested, Hilda.” You laughed. The two of you stepped out of the showers with towels wrapped around you, not noticing Dorothea. She looked at you two in a bit of horror before shaking her head and taking a shower of her own. 

“If he isn't, then he will be soon.” She teased, getting dressed and saying goodbye. 

You shook your head and got dressed yourself, taking your time. There was no way Claude would ever like you- you’d practically forced him to take care of a child that he didn’t want. It was a little disappointing, but you understood- wait. Disappointing? You hated the dude just as much as he hated you, right? He was an annoying asshole and he thought the same about you. There was nothing more about it. You were going to get August from him, argue for a few minutes, and then leave. Yeah. Perfect. 

You wouldn’t look into his eyes. Those gorgeous, green eyes. And you wouldn't listen to his incredibly soothing voice as he spewed insults towards you. You sure as hell wouldn’t stare at his lips either while he was talking, calling you a bitch while you longed to know what they felt like. 

Nope. You wouldn’t do that. 

Your knuckles rapped against Claude’s door as you crossed your arms, waiting for him to open it. 

“Yes?” Claude opened the door, smirking. 

“Can I have the kid back?” 

“Not yet. He’s working on something.” Claude covered your view of the inside of his door. 

“What? Are you making him do your homework?” You pushed him aside, maneuvering under his arm and going inside the room. August sat there with one shoe on, the other out in front of him. “Oh, so you’re just not helping him.”

Claude rolled his eyes at your remark and crouched beside August. “Alright bud, show her what you can do.” 

You watched confusedly as August put the shoe on his feet, cautiously grabbing the two laces. He concentrated and wrapped the two ends into a knot, looking at Claude for reassurance. Claude only nodded. August looked back down and fumbled a little more with the strings, eventually mumbling, “Make the bunny ears...wrap him around… and pull”.  

Claude stood up, a triumphant smirk on his face. “See? I did help him. More than you have.” 

You reeled back. You were going to thank him, but not anymore. “More than I have? August and I have been working nonstop on his shoes and reading. He can spell his name perfectly now because of me. If you wanna help him more than me, spend time with him other than when you just have to. Be a good role model for him, not an ass- a butthole towards us. Goodnight.” 

Claude leaned against the doorframe as you led August out of his room. “Goodnight, princess. Goodnight, Auggie.”

August turned around and waved. “Goodnight, daddy!”

“CLAUDE VON RIEGAN, YOU DID NOT.”

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem three houses x reader #x reader #fire emblem three houses imagines #claude #claude x reader #claude imagine #claude von riegan imagines #claude von riegan #claude von riegan x reader

[twoblueheartslocked]

Mini Para: November Flashback

Rating: PG/PG-13

Pairing: Seblaine.

Sebastian: @colorsicantsee

Blaine: @twoblueheartslocked

Time: Four years before the events of ( Hold On To The Memories, They Will Hold On To You ) Events taking place in November of Blaine’s Senior Year and Sebastian’s Junior Year. Blaine (17) Seb(16).

Location: Blaine’s House. Westerville, Ohio

Info: A little glimpse into the month of November and the progression of Sebastian and Blaine’s relationship. Blaine invites Seb to his small family Thanksgiving dinner. Cooper embarrasses Blaine a bit and Seb makes him feel better.

Warnings: Teens cursing, kissing, touching.

Extra Warnings: (This RP is not Kurt Hummel friendly. You’ve all been warned.)

Notes: Some canon events remain in place while others have been changed. Some things may even be out of order. You can consider this sort of canon divergent AU. A few changes are that Blaine’s parents are different from the show (His mother is Filipina), he didn’t cheat on Kurt or date Dave and Sebastian is younger than Blaine. Feel free to send a message if you have any questions!

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine paced nervously at the foot of his stairs as he waited for Sebastian to show up. He wasn’t late by any means, but Blaine was beside himself trying to get to the door before Cooper, who was in town from Los Angeles,  managed to throw it open and scare him off. Cooper had been harassing him about his relationship with Sebastian for the last two days, making ridiculous faces and taunting him with stupid questions that made Blaine blush. Oooh, going after the bad boys now? Oh my god, do you think you’ll survive college? Oooh, are you in love, Blainey? At least you get to dress yourself now, that’s a step up. Coop had been relentless and Blaine was sort of regretting inviting Seb to come over. He was now terrified that Cooper would say something dumb about love and actually chase Seb off with his idiocy.

It didn't help that he was a little afraid of how Seb might see Cooper. He’d never met him and if he saw him on the television then he’d never fessed up to it. But, people tended to like Cooper better than they liked him and Blaine couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous that Seb might see his brother's six foot frame and blue eyes and forget he was even there. He remembered how cute Kurt had thought Cooper was and how in awe he’d seemed and the flair of jealousy Blaine had felt and now he was fighting as hard as he could to keep the jealousy at bay this time.

Blaine sighed, a little annoyed with himself because he knew better now. Sebastian seemed to only have eyes for him, seemed to only ever make time for him (and occasionally Hunter) So He knew he should calm down. Over the last month he and Sebastian had managed to get even closer. They’d spent the rest of October after his incredible birthday night in spooky bliss-Seb actually went to a Haunted House with Blaine and Sam and didn’t scream once, just clung to Blaine like a lifeline, but Blaine hadn’t minded at all. And since the start of November they'd taken more walks in parks with autumn leaves falling overhead and stepping over blankets of the crunchy ones with hot cider than he could count. And now Seb was going to be sitting at the family table with his mom, dad, Cooper and himself and he was giddy with it all.

His cheeks hurt with how happy he was. He couldn’t remember ever smiling this much before and if he had, whatever he’d been smiling about suddenly didn’t compare to the sight of Sebastian Smythe’s cheeks tinged a pinkish red whether from the cold where he got to sneak frozen kisses or from Blaine’s hands or mouth in their intimate moments as Seb sang out his name in a chorus that seemed to only be for Blaine. He was closer than ever to letting his feelings for Sebastian slip past his lips and he didn’t know what that might do to them. He’d made a promise to himself to keep it in for a bit longer, see how tonight went and maybe get through the New Year, but every day that Blaine spent with him made it harder to keep the pitter patter rhythm of I love you I love you in his heart to himself.

The very heart that skipped a beat when Sebastian’s confident and steady knock rapped through the door and pulled him from his thoughts. Blaine surged forward, throwing a look at himself in the hall mirror and noting that a curl was loose and his fitted navy blue sweater was slightly disheveled- he couldn’t care too much though, he needed to beat Cooper. He could already hear his brother’s thundering feet as he tried to get to the door first. He grabbed the handle, trying not to slip on the hardwood floor as he pulled the door open to Sebastian standing in the brisk Ohio autumn, his cheeks tinged pinkish red front the cold. A smile broke out on his face as he reached out and pulled him in, wrapping him in a hug and giving him a quick hello kiss before Cooper could round the corner and make fun of him more.

“Hey you. I see even the cold couldn’t keep you away.” 

He teased, not wanting to let go. Suddenly the thought of sharing Seb with his family for the evening seemed tortuous, especially when they could just be alone. But, Cooper's little singsong of Blainey rang out and Blaine knew that wasn’t entirely possible. He’d have to introduce them sooner or later.

“Maybe we can get a few more of those kisses in later?” He whispered before leading his person into the family room where a defeated Coop had retreated.

“Coop this is Sebastian; Seb this is my brother Cooper.”

Sebastian’s POV:

If you would have told Sebastian a year ago that he would be regularly going on planned dates and lingering on doorsteps for goodnight kisses and getting invited to family dinners, he would have laughed in your face and said a few things that would probably hurt your feelings. But here he was, walking up to Blaine’s doorsteps with a pumpkin pie his cook had prepared. The bottom of the glass dish was warm in the palm of his hand as the chilly air whipped around him. Of course, Blaine answered right away to rescue him from the biting air, as if he could sense Sebastian’s discomfort.

“Hey B.” He leaned down for a quick kiss. He could sense an edge of nerves in the other boy. “Thanksgiving dinner? I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” Seb squeezed Blaine’s hand and hoped that it had comforted him some. Sebastian knew that he was on edge about his older brother being home for the holidays. Blaine had told him about how Kurt and the New Directions fawned all over him because he was in a few insurance commercials and was typically good looking. Sebastian had assured Blaine that a few commercials didn’t impress him and that nobody was him and therefore couldn’t steal his gaze away.

“I can’t wait.” Seb whispered into Blaine’s ear before he was tugged towards the Anderson’s family room.

Cooper was tall and handsome, sure but extremely goofy and cocky (an interesting mix). Sebastian could feel the puppy dog like energy roll off of him as he clasped his hand in an energetic handshake.

“Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Sebastian figured it was best to keep things generic. Cooper grinned and clasped a big hand on Blaine’s shoulder but kept eye contact with Seb. “I can say the same for you, big guy. You ever think of doing commercial work? I could hook you up with a gig for Athlete’s foot powder. Lacrosse, right?”

Sebastian felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop open a tiny bit. Blaine’s cheeks turned bright red like the ribbons on the Christmas tree in the family room.

He recovered and shook his head, “Nah, no thanks. But yeah, I play Lacrosse. Season starts up in February.”

Sebastian looked around the room and could smell the scent of turkey and stuffing and cinnamon drifting into the room. “Where are your parents?”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine’s smile felt far too big over something so small, but Sebastian telling him he wouldn’t miss Thanksgiving meant a lot to him. He knew that this wasn’t really Seb’s scene and the fact that he was here right now made Blaine happier than he could say. Little prickles of goosebumps broke out over his skin from the whispered words and Blaine was even more reluctant to share his time with Sebastian than he was before. Did he have to get that close to his ear? He was blushing when they entered the room and Cooper’s grin told him that he saw it too.

He stood there as Cooper looked Sebastian up and down, appraising him like one would a diamond and bit his bottom lip. Did Cooper have to make a show of everything? Athlete’s foot powder? Where did he come up with this stuff? He knew he was still blushing, the damn thing never seemed to go away when it came to Seb and he cursed himself for being so easy to read. He tried not to feel too self conscious standing in between the two of them but he felt so tiny next to them, he’d always felt that way next to Coop and with Sebastian being taller than Cooper he felt even smaller. And for the thousandths time Blaine wondered what Seb actually saw in him, especially with Cooper looking like a goddamn movie star.

“Don’t try to solicit Sebastian, Coop.” 

He groaned and shook his head watching as Cooper pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket, his big brother gave a cheeky smile before excusing himself with a clap to Sebastian’s back and an overdramatic thumbs up to Blaine. Blaine wanted the floor to eat him up. He turned to Seb and gently took the pie from him with a shake of his head.

“I told you he was ate the hell up.” He laughed, “They’re both in the kitchen cooking away. My grandparents on my dad's side usually come but they had other engagements this year and mom and dad must have forgotten out of habit and have made too much food. Don’t be surprised if my mom tries to send you home with fifty pounds of mashed potatoes.” He grinned up at Seb. “Don’t worry though, you can say no.” He turned and linked their fingers, Seb’s fingers still warm from the pie before tugging Sebastian into the kitchen to greet his parents.

His father poked his head up from the oven, his blue eyes looking too bright in the autumnal colors of their kitchen as he smiled and greeted Sebastian with a, “Hey kid! Take your coat off, stay for a bit! Oooh, is that Pumpkin?” Before ducking back into the oven to mess around with their turkey. Blaine always felt a little useless on Thanksgiving, his parents liked to take care of everything and really didn’t let him help much in the kitchen, no matter how much he liked to cook- his mom always told him the meal was their gift to him and Cooper. Blaine appreciated but, but would much rather have been covered in cranberries than stuck listening to Cooper's harassment.

His mom wiped her hands on her apron and gratefully took the pie from Blaine and squeezed his hand before turning her attention to Sebastian, her dainty hands reaching out to squeeze both of his shoulders in a sort of but not quite hug. She’d gotten to know him enough that she knew what touching she could get by with. He watched the comfort with which they interacted, both of them smiling, and couldn’t help but smile himself. “Yes, thank you for the pie, Sebastian. And welcome to your very first Anderson Family Thanksgiving. Hopefully next year we’ll be better prepared and the food will actually be ready when you get here. Alas, you're all three going to have to wait a big longer. My husband underestimated his turkey cooking time.” She laughed and let go of Seb and looked between the two of them. “Why don’t the two of you go hang out for a bit, I think it’ll be ready in about an hour.” Blaine laughed a little as she shooed them gently away.

He nodded towards the stairs, trying to make a beeline to his room before Cooper found them again. He hoped his phone call was a long one and that his brother would get lost on his way to bother them as he pulled Sebastian into his room and closed the door. He probably should have kept it open, but his mom and dad were up to their elbows in dinner so hopefully they wouldn't notice. He turned to Seb and held out his hands for his coat.

“It really is too warm in here for you to be wearing that.” He smiled up at Seb and wanted nothing more than to cash in on those kisses right now. “Sorry about Coop, he can be a bit much.” He sat down on his bed and rolled his eyes. “Not that it stops my friends from adoring him.”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian didn’t have time to ask if the Anderson’s needed any help, not that they would have taken it before they were shooed from the kitchen. He had never seen his parents interact together the way Will and Imelda did. Hell, he’d never even seen his dad prepare anything besides peanut butter sandwiches and he inherited his mother’s cooking ability, so figure that one out. It was really nice to see parents actually get along, nice to walk into a warm, inviting kitchen where there wasn’t a single staff member or catered food laid out. “I like your parents.”

Sebastian shrugged his jacket off and tossed it onto Blaine’s bed. “Now we have a reason to come back up here tonight. Can’t leave without my coat.” He sat next to the other boy and reached for his hand. Seb held Blaine’s hand in his lap and reveled in the feeling of his music worn hands. He never grew tired of his strong, calloused fingers. Sebastian would often get lost in thoughts of those hands on other parts of his body...

“Don’t apologize. He didn’t do anything too crazy.” He sighed and watched the other boy’s face. Sebastian knew that Cooper and B had a strained relationship and that the younger sibling often felt swallowed by the other’s shadow.

“But. Wait? Aren’t you...oh my god…” Sebastian moved to his knees and gasped dramatically, he wobbled a little unsteady on the bed. “Blaine Anderson?! Oh my god, I’m such a fan.” He pinned Blaine to the bed with one hand and gently tickled his side as he straddled him. “ You’re like, show choir royalty and you can play like, 465 instruments!”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine felt a wave of emotion at the mention of his parents, he smiled softly up at Sebastian and nodded, “They like you, too.” He let out a little laugh. “Mom actually told me she was surprised that she liked you so much considering the whole slushie and almost blinding me in one eye bit, but she said that she likes the way I am with you.” He shrugged, a little embarrassed to admit her words. “She said that I’m, I don’t know, like way more myself with you than I was with Kurt, and my dad agrees. So, yeah, you’re their favorite, kid.” He teased echoing his dad’s nickname from earlier. “You’re mine, too.”

He watched as Seb shrugged off his coat and a little flutter of giddiness swept through him as Sebastian sat down next to him on his bed and held his hand in his lap. They’d been on this bed before, kissing and touching, but each time it made Blaine feel twisted up and out of sorts in the best way possible.

“Mm, and of course I’ll have to come up and help you find it.” He teased. He bit his lip as Sebastian looked at him, the sigh leaving the taller boys lips making him tense up a bit. Was Seb regretting spending the holiday with him and his family? “He’s a pain in the ass, that’s what he is.” He grumbled, rolling his eyes again before looking back up at Seb, his brow furrowing in confusion for a moment at Seb’s words. Once he realized what Seb was doing his face broke out into another smile and he let out an actual giggle.

“Don’t you dare tickle me, Sebastian.”

Of course Seb had sensed Blaine’s insecurities. His shoulder came up as if to defend himself from Sebastian’s tickles and his giggles intensified as he playfully pretended to bat the other boys hands away. He let himself be pressed down onto his bed, his body wiggling in an incredibly half hearted attempt to get away. It amazed him that Sebastian knew what he needed even when Blaine wasn’t actually aware that he’d needed anything at all. The other boy had this amazing ability to pull him out of almost any funk he’d found himself in. He’d been managing to do it even before they started dating.

“You’re so sweet.” He mumbled as he caught Sebastian’s tickling hand in his own and pulled it towards him so he could press his lips against his knuckles. Blaine loved it when Seb did things like this. Blaine was confident that nobody else had gotten to see him when he was like this; sweet, and kind and smiling at him with every perfectly imperfect tooth on display and it was all just for him.  “Come here.” He whispered softly as he tugged on Seb’s hand gently, pulling him down towards him. He tilted his head back against his pillow, his face up and open towards Seb’s. His wrist was still locked in Seb’s slender fingers against the comforter, but his other hand was free and he slid it around Seb’s waist to press them close before lifting his head to connect their lips and kissing him slowly and sweetly, his eyes slipping closed as he lost himself in the blissful moment.

There was this terrible fear in the back of his mind that Cooper would burst in and ruin the moment, but he couldn’t be bothered to stop. It would be his brother’s own fault and he’d have to live with the sight. He let his free hand slide up from Seb’s waist and let his fingers curl against the back of Seb’s neck, one of Seb’s favorite places to be touched, scraping lightly against the sensitive skin and pulling the other boy even closer, a tiny little gasp escaping his lips as he rolled his hips up involuntarily. He hadn’t meant to do it, but Sebastian’s lips and body felt good and heavy against his and he wanted nothing more than to roll them over and pin Seb down so he could slide his hands up his shirt and let his fingers dance against the sprinkle of soft hair on his tummy- just to watch the other boy squirm underneath him. He wanted to touch and kiss him all over all the time and each time they got to Blaine had to stop himself from asking Seb to take things even further. They’d done plenty; Blaine could still feel every touch, taste, and movement, but they still hadn’t gone all the way in the traditional sense, they never seemed to get enough alone time, someone was always lurking about but Blaine was so ready for for that connection, yet so incredibly scared to make that move.

He sighed into the kisses knowing that if he didn’t stop soon he wouldn’t be able to explain his swollen lips and tousled hair to his mom and dad and Cooper would totally know what they were up to. He nipped playfully at Seb’s bottom lip before letting his head fall back against his pillows feeling needy and suddenly hot even though it was freezing outside. He could feel his lips pulling down into a pout and he let his fingers walk up and down the back of Seb’s neck as he spoke.

“Do you ever wish that we could just have like, a night alone?” He could feel himself start to blush again with each word as he locked onto Seb’s green gaze. “I mean, I know we get to be alone some, but I mean like… alone alone. Where there isn’t a parent in an office next to the basement stairs or down in the kitchen.” He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I’m just super selfish and I want you all to myself and there always seems to be something we have to do.”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian sighed into Blaine’s mouth. He thought that he could kiss him forever and would even be content missing out on homemade mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce and fresh pumpkin squares if that meant rolling around in the other boy’s comfy bed. Seb could feel Blaine’s fingers on his neck and his hips pressing up into his and he couldn’t help but moan a little despite himself. He loved when B touched his neck and he would often daydream about his hands on his neck in a more intimate way. God, he wished that they were in that damn house by themselves and that Cooper Anderson wasn’t loafing around, probably trying to bust into the room at any given moment.

He bit his bottom lip. Of course he thought about alone time with Blaine. “Yeah. All the time. Like….all the fucking time.” Sebastian  fixed a curl that started to pop out of place in the other’s perfectly kept hair. “And about that…” Sebastian took a deep breath. “My parent’s will be going out of town at the end of December. They’ll be gone a few days and I’ll have the place all to myself. I...was thinking that you could come over, spend the night.” He leaned down and gave Blaine a small, slow kiss. “What do you think?”  

Sebastian smiled and laughed a little bit, his nose bumped the other boy’s which made them both laugh some more. “This is probably the best Thanksgiving ever and I haven’t even tried the food yet.”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine shivered, the sound of Seb’s little moan sending a thrill through the lower half of his body and he wondered if Sebastian could feel how into him he was. He licked his lips and shifted his hips under Sebastian’s body a bit. As much as he wanted to keep this going, he knew they needed to slow down. He lets his fingers ghost over Sebastian’s sensitive neck once more before letting his hand fall away. He reached for Seb’s hand and linked their fingers the best he could from his position and held their tangled hands to his chest. He could feel the rapid thump of his heart against his fingers.

“You do?” His voice was soft and he watched as Seb removed his hand from his pinned wrist and reached out to brush one of his curls away. He let his eyes fall closed for a moment so he could enjoy the movement and he wondered, not for the first time, what Seb’s fingers might feel like tangled in his hair after a shower, before he put product in. The thought felt so intimate and Blaine felt like he was going to go crazy with how much he wanted Sebastian. How he felt like he’d never get enough of him. And from the sound of desperation in Seb’s voice he appeared to feel the same… At least he hoped.  He bit his lip and let his eyes meet Seb’s, trying to read him. His green eyes were heavy and he suddenly seemed a little nervous and god yes Blaine wanted to spend the night with him.

As he kissed Sebastian back, the slow press of their lips made his brain feel a little fuzzy. He didn’t know how he’d do it, he’d probably have to lie to his mom and dad about staying with Sam or something, but he’d get there. He could already picture Sebastian lying naked against the sheets, shivering under Blaine’s touch, the two of them getting to explore each other's bodies without interruptions. Blaine couldn’t wait to sleep wrapped around him, couldn’t wait to tuck Seb in his arms where he’d be warm and safe and he’d make sure he got to wake next to him so he could kiss his sleepy face good morning. He smiled up at Seb softly.

“Well, I think that I’m gonna make it happen, Seb. I promise.”

He laughed as Seb’s nose bumped gently against his, “Now that’s a serious statement. Thanksgiving dinner is some of the best food ever.” He teased, his face falling into a wide smile. “I hope you still mean that when Cooper interrogates you over dessert later.” His smile softened a bit as he looked up at Sebastian. “All jokes aside, I think this has been the best Thanksgiving for me too, Seb. I’m so damn happy you’re here with me.”

And as soon has he finished his sentence the jarring sound of Cooper pounding on his bedroom door and and making them both jump with his singsong voice, “Blaaineyyyy, Sebaaassstiaaan. Dinner time! You’ve got about twenty seconds to get decent before I open the door. Twenty, nineteen…”

Blaine sighed as Seb got off of him and Blaine scooted so he could sit up and adjust himself. “I guess it was nice of him to give us a warning, yeah?” He gave a little laugh before letting himself steal one more of Sebastian’s kisses. “One for the road.” He helped Seb straighten his clothes and then his own. He glanced over at Seb’s discarded coat, excitement about getting to kiss him some more in his room later and the thought of getting to spend a whole night with him kept him even happier than normal as the evening went on without a hitch. It really had been the perfect Thanksgiving.

/fin.

#Mini Para: November Flashback #seblaine #colorsicantsee #november flashback #seblaine para #mini para #seblaine canon divergence

[thelastdragneel6417]

𝗗𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗧𝘂𝗯𝗲 𝗝𝗔𝗚𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 part 1

(Ok sooo here’s my first time trying to write something original and good god am I nervous soo I hope you all enjoy)

The sun has now just rose above beacon academy signaling the start of a new day, while many would view this day to train or study to improve themselves as huntsmen and huntresses. For the (SUPER AWESOME AMAZING AND SERIOUS) team called team RWBY their is only one word that they would call this day

...

...

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚

*At Team RWBY’s dorm room*

Yang: *laying on her bed looking throw her scroll before tossing it next to her* uggg I’m booored.

Weiss: * gruntingas she stops working on next weeks homework* normally I would scold you on your bluntness I agree it is quite boring today.

Blake: * siting on her bed reading her por - u mm I mean Um her “high class literature” yeah I agree but what do you ya think we should do?

Yang: *in a thinking pose* ummm how about we got the club?

Blake: *shaking her head* seriously is that all you can think of?

Yang: *in a hurt tone* HEY!!!

Weiss: besides we can’t the bullhead terminals are shut down for repairs after YOU AND NORA ALMOST DESTROYED IT BECAUSE OF YOUR IDIOTIC FIGHT *glaring at Yang*

Yang: *waving her hand defensively* hey in my defense Nora started it server her right for saying that pancakes are better that wallfls and besides I won it in the end.

Blake: no you didn’t Nora clobbered you into the ground.

Yang: *angry* hey whose side are you on anyway!?!?

Blake: *rolling her eyes* anyway how about we head to the library?

Weiss: that’s an excellent idea Blake. I think some time in the library would do us all some good.

Yang: ugggg no not the library I though we decided to kill our boredom not to kill me!!!

Weiss: you can stand to improve your book smart you barbaric bimbo *glareing at Yang knowing fill well that she probably a single second in the library during the new semester*

Yang: hey I’ll have you know that physical strength and training are more valuable than reading a few book right sis?

*silence*

Yang: *confused* umm sis???

*yang and the girls all turn to look at Ruby’s bunk to see that she’s laying on her stomach kicking her feet in the air in a childish manner headphones on her head humming along to a song not paying attention to the argument going on*

Yang: Ruby? *no answer* hey Ruby?? *still no answer frustrated Yang walks over to Ruby lifts one side of her headphones and screams in her ear* RUBY!?!?!

Ruby: *leaps I. The air in shock before landing on her butt in shock* owww *rubbing her butt to suve the pain before glaring at Yang* why would you do that?

Yang: sorry sis but I could get your attention what were you doing anyway?

Weiss: yes I would like to know too? *internaly* probably reading on of her childish comic books uggg what a dolt?

Ruby: ohh I was just listening to JAGames *ploping herself off the ground before jumping back on top of her bunk*

Weiss: *confused having never heard of what that dolt they called a leader was talking about* JA who???

Ruby: *gasping in shock before using her semblance to bolt over to Weiss getting right up to her face* YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF JAGAMES!?!?

Blake: *anoyingly picking rose petals out of her hair and book* let’s assume we haven’t who are you talking about?

Ruby: *wipping her head around to Blake before screeching* HE’S ONLY THE GREATEST DUSTTUBE SINGER OF ALL TIME!!!!

Weiss: DustTube??? You mean that stupid website where people post those idiotic videos of themselves???

Blake: I wouldn’t say that DustTube it that bad you can make some serious money if you’re committed to it.

Yang: yeah but a DustTube singer is not a good thing to hear cause most of them are absolutely horrible *cringing as she remembers that Oum awful rap named “It’s Just Today Mate” by Ten Team*

Ruby *scoffs like she’s offended* ugh JAGames is nothing like them he’s a thousand times better than them his singing, his rhythm, and his music makes it look like all those other wanna bees are just babies playing with a baby piano.

Blake: huh seems like you know this guy a lot?

Ruby: of course I do I’m his number one fan after all I’ve listened to all of his music and bought all of his merch and all his albums JAGames’ music have gotten me through some tough times so I will always love him even though he has never shown his face.

Yang: huh soo that’s where all that stuff came from I’ve always wondered about that also *grinning* aren’t you already dating a certain noodle boy right now for shame Ruby how could you break jaunes heart by having an affair?

Weiss: I still don’t know what you see in that dolt *rolling her eyes back not truly understanding why ruby would want to date that idiot but nether the less grateful that he has stop relentlessly trying to ask her out*

Ruby: *beet red embarrassed* Yannng stop that it’s not like that all *blushing* even though I really like him and his music I will always love my sweet knight more.

Ruby: anyway I’ve got an idea since I’ve talked about JAGames this long *an ear to ear smile creeps up on her lips before shouting* WOULD YOU LIKE TO LISTEN TO SOME OF HIS MUSIC WITH ME!?!?

Weiss: *appoled* are you crazy!?!? No why would we ever want to listen to your stupid music!?!?

Yang: I’m in sounds like fun

Weiss: *shocked* WHAT WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO THAT?

Yang: it sounds fun anything to beat this boredom and besides I’ve been trying to find some new music for a while now.

Weiss: fine then be that way but know that Blake and I won’t be bothered to listen to your childish music.

Blake: actually I’ll join in too.

Weiss: *absolutly shocked* WHYYYYYYYYY!?!?!?!

Blake: same as Yang seems like fun also I’ve just finished reading my book so I e got nothing else better to do.

Yang: see even kitty cat wants to watch with us *blake glares at Yang for saying that* so whatcha say I’ve queen care to join us?

Ruby: *giving Weiss the worlds most dangerous weapon known to man the dreaded puppy dog eyes* plweeessszzzzzzzzzz?????

Weiss: *unable to resist the deadly powers of the puppy dog eyes* I— umm I ohhh alright I’ll listen to your stupid music what kind of music does he make anyway?

Ruby: *jumping up and down excited* yay thank you bestie ohh he mostly makes rock -metal songs some time a little bit of pop and always follows a certain theme.

Weiss: *annoyed by knowing that she’s going to be listening to that barbaric type of music* and that I is???

Ruby: *embarrassed* umm video games?

Weiss: WHAT THOSE STUPID IDIOTIC CHILDISH GAMES THAT ARE A WASTE OF TIME WHY DID I EVER AGREE TO THIS *exclaimed loudly but secretly at the same happy because deep down she is a HUGE gamer a secret that she will take to the grave* AND YOU *pointing to Blake* ARE OK WITH IT!?!?!

Blake: why not? I don’t have a problem with video games sometimes they can tell a story better that a book.

Yang: welp too late to turn back know soo sis what song are we listening to today?

Ruby: *excitedly grabs her scroll unplugs her headphones and sets her scroll near her freinds* how about his newest one it’s a remake of one of my favorites I’m sure y’all will love it!!!

https://youtu.be/wNI0VCRmQ0c

(Here’s the song if you want to sing along)

🎶following total atomic anihilation🎶

🎶the rebuilding our this great nation our ours my fall to you🎶

🎶that’s why we at vault-tech have prepared these educational materials🎶

🎶for you to better understand the seven defining attributes that make you🎶

🎶special🎶

🎶the future fotells a tale of when the world goes🎶

🎶BOOM🎶

🎶BOOM🎶 (when the world goes BOOM BOOM)🎶

🎶nobody prepared🎶

🎶don’t think anybody cared about the🎶

🎶SOLE TRUTH (nobody cared about the SOLE TRUTH)🎶

🎶oh the bombs🎶

🎶they rose🎶

🎶 now everybody knows the🎶

🎶DOOMS DAY DEVICE(DOOMS DAY DEVICE)🎶

🎶claustrophobia🎶

🎶autotrophic🎶

🎶catostrophic hell🎶

🎶will be soo🎶

🎶and be up in the sky🎶

🎶even when the world feels🎶

🎶lonely and cold inside🎶

🎶even when the heart feels🎶

🎶BLISTERED FORM THE SCENES🎶

🎶for they will fall🎶

🎶For they will rise🎶

🎶for they would tear apart the view 🎶

🎶from your very eyes🎶

🎶take your hindsight and Change the world🎶

🎶FOR A NEW BEGINNING🎶

🎶for its now your chance🎶

🎶to use your hands🎶

🎶descend through the cracked in the dirt🎶

🎶WHERE YOU STAND🎶

🎶take on the vast open🎶

🎶MASQUERADE🎶

🎶THIS IS ATOMIC RENEGADE🎶

🎶following total atomic anihilation🎶

🎶the rebuilding our this great nation our ours my fall to you🎶

🎶that’s why we at vault-tech have prepared these educational materials🎶

🎶for you to better understand the seven defining attributes that make you🎶

🎶resources are scarce prepare yourself for homicidal🎶

🎶RAMPAGE (HOMICIDAL RAMPAGE)🎶

🎶 claim you’re rightful place🎶

🎶mark the writing on your face turn a🎶

🎶NEW PAGE (WRITING ON YPUR FACE TURN A NEW AGE)🎶

🎶well the bomb🎶

🎶they took🎶

🎶your land and now you’re🎶

🎶LEFT ALL ALONE (LEFT ALL ALONE)🎶

🎶Thers masses of🎶

🎶rebellious🎶

🎶proposterous, demonical🎶

🎶CARNAGE READY FOR YOUR BONES🎶

🎶use your senses and you’ll🎶

🎶PROVE YOU’RE WHOLE AGAIN🎶

🎶you’re the hero of this🎶

🎶LAND DEMISED WITH PAIN🎶

🎶for they will fall🎶

🎶For they will rise🎶

🎶for they would tear apart the view 🎶

🎶from your very eyes🎶

🎶take your hindsight and Change the world🎶

🎶FOR A NEW BEGINNING🎶

🎶for its now your chance🎶

🎶to use your hands🎶

🎶descend through the cracked in the dirt🎶

🎶WHERE YOU STAND🎶

🎶take on the vast open🎶

🎶MASQUERADE🎶

🎶THIS IS ATOMIC RENEGADE🎶

🎶now let’s begin with some simple instructions on what makes you a

SPECIAL 🎶

🎶strength🎶

🎶build your ability’s to carry more🎶

🎶persecution🎶

🎶will keep your aim right where you want it to be🎶

🎶endurance🎶

🎶bronze will tackle foes but how long for?🎶

🎶charisma🎶

🎶socialize enemies are closer than you think🎶

🎶intelligence🎶

🎶outsmart your foes with gadgets capable of removing harm🎶

🎶agilety 🎶

🎶build your reflexes to defend from approaching scum🎶

🎶luck🎶

🎶Tatic and strength is one thing🎶

🎶but some times all it takes is good luck🎶

🎶now take your world and throw it upside down🎶

🎶one man pushes through🎶

🎶ONE🎶

🎶MUTANT🎶

🎶AT🎶

🎶A🎶

🎶TIME🎶

*insert guttiar solo*

🎶for you will rise🎶

🎶through hell and back🎶

🎶you fortell of time when you were under attack🎶

🎶put your hindsight and change the world🎶

🎶for they will fall🎶

🎶For they will rise🎶

🎶for they would tear apart the view 🎶

🎶from your very eyes🎶

🎶take your hindsight and Change the world🎶

🎶FOR A NEW BEGINNING🎶

🎶for its now your chance🎶

🎶descend through the cracked in the dirt🎶

🎶WHERE YOU STAND🎶

🎶take on the vast open🎶

🎶MASQUERADE🎶

🎶THIS IS ATOMIC RENEGADE🎶

🎶TAKE THE WORLD AND BEGIN🎶

🎶THE CHARGE OF THE DAMNED🎶

🎶BE SURE TO DEFENS🎶

🎶YOUR BRETHREN FRIEND🎶

🎶YOUR ARMY DECENDS🎶

🎶YOU SAVE ANEW RACE 🎶

🎶UNTILL THE END🎶

Ruby: *nervous* sooo what do you girls think???

Yang:That. Was. Awesome Sis that has got to be one of the best songs I’ve ever heard it was soo action packed.

Blake: I have to agree that was a very good song not my cup of tea but still very good nonetheless.

Ruby: YAY that two for three sooo bestie did you like it???

Weiss: *quiet as a mouse and as stiff as a board before throwing her hands up in the air and screaming*HATED IT THAT WAS THE WORST SONG IVE EVER HEARD

RUBY: *almost as pale as a ghost and on the verge of tear* W-w WHAT!?!?!?

(That’s all I can type was it good or shit (sorry if it was) this is the longest thing I’ve ever typed here I hope you all enjoy) (don’t worry jaune comes in next part with a secret)

#rwby #rwby lancaster #dagames #dusttube jagames #jaune arc

[hi-im-marshall]

Everything I know About the Subsystem

I don’t know much about anyone in the subsystem other than myself. I’m the one who looks exactly like our body in the inner world (I’m not sure if anyone else does) and I also just learned about this in the past few days. Right now, I only have names for two of the other parts and I don’t know what anyone else looks like.

I also don’t know how many other parts that there are or what they all do. But from what the two that I can sort of communicate with (they can somewhat control my dreams, that’s how they really got through to me to start with- I’ll get into that later) told me, there are a few more parts. Again, I’ll get into this later.

From what I can tell they’re sort of like the half-way point between fragments and alters. That’s probably because it seems like they just formed (we have some shit going on, but don’t worry about it) so they haven’t really had time to get full personalities yet- sort of like I just started fronting again in January after being for years so it took time for me to get a full personality.

I also want to say that I have a strong thing with music and I almost always have, which explains the whole thing with them having personalities and jobs similar to how I interpret songs. That’s also why they sort of have this think with playing certain songs in certain situations. 

I’m also not sure if any of them have fully fronted at any point in time since I’m not sure how well they can function outside because of how 2D they kind of seem. I’m not sure if they really are that way since I don’t know much about any of them, but that’s all I really know right now.

This is gonna make sense later, so now I’m gonna get into the more interesting stuff.

The Parts

King

Intro

First off, I’m not even really sure if King is his (I think ‘his’) name or just a nickname. That’s mostly because the song that he’s ‘linked’ (not sure of the right word) to is ‘Mockingbird’ (you’re also probably gonna notice a trend with the songs that makes it pretty clear who I’m an introject of).

I’m pretty sure that the reason for it being ‘Mockingbird’ is because it was a comfort song for a few of us (especially me and Jabari) for a while and still kind of is. So I’m not sure if his name is King, Mockingbird, or something else.

King was I think the first part that I “met”. We didn’t honestly meet fully, more like he made his presence and purpose known. From what I got, he’s a lot like a caretaker and protector (which makes sense, cuz that’s pretty much what I am). 

I didn’t actually get to look at him so I have zero idea how he looks. I also didn’t really hear much of his voice. I got bits and pieces, but he mostly just sort of put the thoughts in my head.

I’m pretty sure that King was the one explaining most things and I feel like that’s because this whole thing was sort of stressing me out (still kind of is) and he’s a caretaker and protector.

Fronting

This part is going to be more how it feels when he gets close to the front, because I’m not exactly sure what it’s like when he fronts. He’s never actually fronted, to my knowledge, and I know nothing about it if he has.

Anywho... For King especially (but also with Beau and I think Way- don’t think RG’s ever gotten close to the front) I start to feel air-headed when he gets close. Sort of like light-headed, but it feels more like I just have a balloon in my head.

I also start to feel kind of warm, safer, less anxious, etc. Honestly just normal “Protector coming to the surface” stuff.

A lot of times ‘Mockingbird’ (the song) starts playing from the headspace (the sub-headspace??? I really don’t know how this works), which makes sense. I mean, it’s where he got his name.

He also always starts Mockingbird at the same point which is different than Beau. It always starts at the chorus and not at the beginning, which is kind of interesting.

King normally starts coming closer (and Mockingbird normally starts playing) when I’m anxious or having flashbacks which means he gets closer a lot of the time when I’m around 10-16. He also does it when I’m close to having a flashback but I don’t know yet so I guess that he can sort of sense them, or even just when I’m 10-12.

That does kind of make sense because of his whole paternal thing.

Characteristics

I don’t honestly know much about King, but here’s what I do know.

He’s more calm and paternal than Beau, Way, and RG. He’s also sort of a gatekeeper (I don’t know if he really is one, if there’s an actual gatekeeper other than him, etc.) since he knows a lot about what’s going on inside.

He also apparently has a really soothing voice (I found out while trying to figure out who the person other than Way was that he told me about).

Beau

Intro

Again, not 100% sure that Beau is his full name or just a nickname. He’s ‘linked’ to ‘Beautiful’ so I’m not sure which he actually goes by.

Sort of like with King ‘Beautiful’ was a comfort song, especially for me, just in a different way. It was sort of a dark, “it’s really awful now and I know that it sucks, but there’s someone who cares about you and it’s gonna get better” kind of thing.

Beau was the only other part in the dream and the only other one who I know can control my dreams. He didn’t really do much of the main explaining, he was more just there to fill in any gaps for King (stuff he wasn’t sure about, got wrong, etc.).

I’m not exactly sure what Beau really does, since neither of them really got into that and he’s a little more mysterious.

I didn’t get to look at or really hear him either, since he and King were both hiding (or something) from me.

Fronting

This part is going to be more how it feels when he gets close to the front, because I’m not exactly sure what it’s like when he fronts. He’s never actually fronted, to my knowledge, and I know nothing about it if he has.

He does the same weird balloon-head thing. It’s honestly something that I think everyone else in the subsystem does so I feel like that’s sort of a given.

He sort of brings that weird kind of safe but also anxiety type thing where mentally you’re mostly fine, but you still feel something in like your back and the pit of your stomach.

There’s also the ‘Beautiful’ playing from the headspace (think) when he gets close enough and he thinks I need it. There is a difference between him and King is that Beau starts the song at different points depending on what’s going on.

He normally gets close when I’m getting a very specific kind of anxious (I’m not exactly sure how to explain it, I just know  when it’s happening) or when I’m having flashbacks.

Beau also gets closer when I’m (I think) 19-26(ish), which makes plenty of sense (to me anyway, I’m not really in the mood to explain). It also happens when I’m sort of drained with/by people and feeling pretty numb inside (the song kicks in, too).

Characteristics

I honestly don’t know much about Beau outside of the dream and near-front stuff. Like, he seems sort of anxious and just over everything, but that’s all I really have right now.

Way

Intro

I don’t know much about Way. I really just heard that he exists and sort of what he’s like, but not very much. Unlike the first two, I think his name might just be Way because ‘The Way I Am’ seems really long for a name.

‘The Way I Am’ wasn’t exactly a comfort song the same way ‘Mockingbird’ and ‘Beautiful’ where, but I was still kind of attached to it for a while, so it does kind of make sense.

Way wasn’t in the dream so I haven’t heard his voice at all, unlike the bits that I got from King and Beau.

I really don’t know what he does either. He seems sort of Avenger-like, but I’m not 100% sure.

Fronting

This part is going to be more how it feels when he gets close to the front, because I’m not exactly sure what it’s like when he fronts. He’s never actually fronted, to my knowledge, and I know nothing about it if he has.

I’m honestly not even sure what it feels like for him to be close to the front, more so just what causes him to get closer.

It’s mostly just when other people are starting to get on my nerves, but in the way that I start to get a little more aggressive instead of just tired. He also starts to get closer when I’m around 16-26/7.

That’s really all I have right now.

Characteristics

From what King and Beau told me, Way is kind of aggressive, he’s angry a lot, he has a short temper, etc. which makes sense.

That’s all I know about him right now.

RG

Intro

I know pretty much nothing about RG, just that he exists and that he’s “linked” to ‘Rap God’. King either doesn’t know about him or isn’t ready to tell me yet. Either way, I don’t even know enough about him to make the rest of the sections.

I know he exists and that’s it.

#subsystem #39 #dissociative identity disorder #actuallydissociative #actually dissociative #did #actuallydid #did community #actually did

[himbowelsh]

Oh my lord, I went through your shiftab tag and read the secret admirer oneshot, it was so cute! 😭 I know you aren't taking requests for those particular prompts but if possible, could you write a similar 'secret admirer' storyline for winnix or baberoe? Gosh please I'd die of happiness!

i have...  done the thing.  went with baberoe, because honestly i’m never not craving more content between those two, and there are considerably more ghosts than you probably wanted, but i really hope you enjoy, darling!!!

(read here on ao3)

Every one of his better instincts — and, contrary to popular belief, Babe does have a few — is screaming that this is an awful idea.

Quit your Irish dancing around the problem and fuckin’ do it, Bill would say, if only Bill were here. Babe knows exactly what advice Bill Guarnere would give — he can hear it in Bill’s voice, like the man’s shouting it, an entire ocean away. Still, an imagined echo is no substitute for the real thing. Babe can dream up as many Guarnere platitudes as his brain can handle... but they still won’t solve the problem in front of him now.

Namely, a blank piece of paper.

“God dammit,” he says out loud. “I don’t know how to do this.”

There’s no one around to hear him. More and more nowadays, there isn’t. He never used to talk to himself before — that was always something crazy people did, in Babe’s experience, and he could be called a lot of things, but crazy was never one of ‘em. People like Crazy Joe McKloskey could stand on the street corner talking to a lamppost like it could understand him. That’s fine, because it was crazy Joe. Babe Heffron, who delivered papers and chased his brothers through the backstreets of South Philly, never talked to himself... maybe because he was never alone.

To be fair, he’s at war, and it’s tough to be alone in a company of a hundred other guys. He’s gotten good at it, though. Gene was the one who showed him how to seek out peace when he needed it, taught him all the good places to hide, how to go away somewhere in your head the rest of the world couldn’t reach. He’d never needed those skills before, but now that he’s learned them, they’ve proved invaluable. More and more nowadays, with nothing to do but soak in the Austrian summer, Babe finds himself wanting to be alone.

Yeah, sometimes he talks to himself... only because the people he wants to be around, the people who damn well should be here, aren’t. 

You’re overthinking it, the voice in his head that sounds too much like Julian declares. When Babe looks up, he can almost see him — his old buddy, leaning back on a crate on the other side of the musky garret room. Julian has a way of lounging that was so casual it made him look boneless. He was a spreader, too — how many damn times did Babe have to shove him to the other side of the foxhole because Julian’s knee was digging into one of his damn organs? The kid liked to take up space. His ghost absorbs it now, studying Babe with a sort of mocking smirk. Look. Practically tearing your hair out, and you’ve barely even written a word yet.

“Yeah, well, it’s harder than you’d think.”

Babe’s not a letter writer. He never has been. His wrists cramp up when he holds a pen too long, and he can’t find the words anyways. His kid sister writes long letters, filled with funny anecdotes and memories from home; his Ma’s letters are shorter, succinct, and bluntly affectionate. Even Bill sent a message, after agonizing months of silence, letting the whole company know he’s doing alright, back home in the states. Babe treasures every letter he receives, tucking them away in his trunk between his underwear and his Bible... but the entire war, he’s only written his family three times. So far, he can’t bring himself to write to Bill at all.

Yeah, because you’re a lazy bum. There’s Old Guarnere again. He’s standing next to Julian — on both legs, whole and healthy — arms crossed as he blatantly judges Babe’s writing ability. The ceiling’s so low, on a steady downward slope, that Bill’s head hits it every time he moves. Babe can see the disgruntled faces he makes, clear as day, and it draws a laugh from him in spite of himself.

“I just — it can’t be any old letter, okay? It’s gotta be perfect. I need it to be perfect.”

You need to take a nap and quit pretending you’re a better writer than you are, Bill scoffs. When has anything you’ve ever written been perfect?

Babe presses his palm hard against his forehead, fingers tugging at his uncombed mess of hair. “That’s the problem, dammit. It ain’t gonna be perfect... but it’s what he deserves.”

If this goddamn war has taught him anything, it’s that Eugene Roe deserves nothing less than the best. The war sure hasn’t been shy about giving him the worst, over and over again. Gene’s hands have been stained with so much blood that it’s a wonder he can still look at them — can still go about his life as normal, humoring nervous patients and summoning a smile when the other fellas rib him — when he’s dealt with more shit than any of them. Babe just heard about his best friend getting his leg blown off. Gene was the one on his knees in the snow, scrambling to save Bill’s life. Yet when Babe retreated into himself afterwards, grief-stricken and reeling, Gene was the one who anchored him to earth. His quiet conversation and soft smiles put Babe back together, piece by piece at a time. He’s got a gift for healing, in ways he doesn’t even realize. A guy like that... deserves every good thing in the world, and Babe wants to hand them all to him.

As it is, he can’t even write one lousy letter.

“He’s gonna hate it. He’s gonna... throw it right back in my face, cause he realizes he’s talking to a guy who can’t spell ‘adoration’. He’s gonna... he’s gonna...”

Laugh. Except that’s not like Gene at all. Be goddamn disgusted... except Babe knows Gene well enough by now to know that’s not like him either. It’s hard to tell with other guys, especially in the army, where shared foxholes can so easily blur the lines between friend and lover... but he’s seen a gleam in Gene’s eyes when other fellas talk about Rita Hayworth and Betty Grable, like he’s just humoring the conversation while wishing it’d go somewhere else. Babe knows the feeling. No, Gene could do anything, but he wouldn’t be disgusted that a guy loves him.

Maybe... just that it’s Babe.

Now you’re really being an idiot, Julian moans, tipping his head back towards the sky. Babe’s first instinct is to throw something at him — the hand holding his pencil twitches, but he’s only got one, and there’s no satisfaction in swinging at ghosts.

 “I don’t know what to say,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw again. Dear Gene, the letter reads. I’m writing because I need to tell you...

That’s as far as he’s got. Not even a full goddamn sentence.

Have you considered... you’re overthinking it? You’ve gotta actually write something before deciding you hate what you’ve written.

“Julian, you’re a regular goddamn philosophizer.”

I’m just saying! 

Suddenly, Julian is no longer on the other side of the room. He’s looming right over Babe’s shoulder, his presence like a weight bearing down on Babe’s back. Every twitch of his hand is being observed, every uncertain breath noted. Geez, he didn’t crack during jump school training, but this pressure is enough to split him in two.

“Forget it!” Babe exclaims, throwing the pencil down onto the paper. “This was a stupid idea, I give up!”

No, you fucking are not.

There’s Bill again — Bill Guarnere, and his unbeatable determination to butt his head into everyone else’s business. Babe lifts his head, glaring into the spot he imagines his best friend standing. Bill’s answering glare is an echo of the real thing… and Christ, what Babe wouldn't do to see that familiar scowl right in front of him, for real! Bill always made things simple. There was no overthinking when he was around. When Babe was being an idiot, Bill told him.

I’m telling you right now, jackass — you're being an idiot.

“And you’re winning motivational speaker of the goddamn year.”

I’m not trying to win anything here. You are, and doing a piss-poor job of it. I could cry just lookin’ at you. Look at this — ‘I’m writing because’? What kinda opening line is that? Did they not teach you how to write letters in grade school, or were them nuns too busy beating the ginger outta your hair?

“Trying their best,” Babe mutters, subconsciously rubbing the back of his head, where the phantom rap of a nun’s knuckles still stings. Today’s a day for phantoms, he guesses. While Julian cackles begins him, Bill’s specter crosses to the desk, hovering over Babe’s paper with a critical eye.

No, he finally declares, like he’s handing Babe’s bayonet back with instructions to polish it all over again. That’s it. You can’t do this.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Babe exclaims, grateful to hear his subconscious finally agreeing.

You ain’t gonna be able to do this… Bill turns, then reels back around, sticking a finger in Babe’s face. So long as you keep thinking ‘bout what he’s gonna do when you hand it to him. What he’s gonna say once he reads it. You gotta write something before he can read it, you realize that, Babe? And you haven’t written a goddamn word worth reading so far. 

Babe assumes there’s a point here somewhere. He curls his fingers around the edge of the letter, waiting for it.

So, if you can’t get outta your own head… then write it as somebody else.

Bill grins, broad and shameless, like he always does when he ain’t making a lick of sense.

“You lost me,” Babe says. “Way back there.”

Keep the letter anonymous, Babe! Bill’s imagined face twists in frustration, his hand coming down to tap the paper. The silent impact rings in Babe’s ears. Don’t sign the thing. Leave it somewhere Doc will find it, and see what he does.

“That defeats the whole purpose of telling him how I feel!” Babe exclaims.

And how much luck are you having with that? demands Julian, coming to stand at Bill’s side. The two of them cross their arms, staring down at Babe with unabashed judgement. Burdened by the weird feeling that he’s being bullied by his own subconscious, he picks up his pencil again. What would Gene’s reaction be to finding a love letter unsigned? Babe imagines him pulling it out from under his pillow, or finding an envelope with his name on it at his makeshift aid station in the basement of Easy’s billets. How his long fingers would unfurl the paper, his lips mouthing the words silently as he read along… how his brows would furrow slowly, disbelief and awe swirling in the dark pools of his eyes… how eventually he’d look up, see Babe standing there waiting on him, and murmur, “Heffron, you’re not gonna believe this…”

And then what? Babe would pull Gene into his arms, and admit he’s loved him all along?

No. No way, not him. Not in this lifetime, at least.

Overthinking, Julian’s voice chimes again, and Babe’s never felt more tempted to swing at a ghost. Will you just write it already?

“Fine, goddammit!” Babe hisses. It’s frustration, really, that gets him to whip out a fresh sheet of paper… and as soon as he starts to write, the words flow from his pen like a dam’s burst open.

See you every day… know your heart… your caring… your sense of humor... impossible not to love you… wouldn’t know how to stop if I tried… love you more than I know what to do with.

I love you.

I’m in love with you, Eugene Roe.

Whatever you want is up to you… but I wrote this letter because I need to let you know.

He doesn’t sign it.

The envelope seals like a promise fulfilled; and when Babe looks up, he’s in the tiny attic alone.

------------------------------------------

It’s just his luck that Gene doesn’t spot the letter until Babe’s standing right next to him, alone in the cozy little infirmary.

Gene doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey,” he says, picking the letter up. “Babe, what’s this?”

There’s nothing on it, is the thing! No way to tell where it came from, and he knows Gene isn’t familiar enough with his handwriting to pick it out of a lineup. Babe stumbles back a step, alarm spiking as Gene holds the letter up. Playing dumb’s his only chance.

“Uhh… looks like a letter, maybe?”

Okay, not that dumb.

“Maybe,” echoes Gene, thoughtful, as he turns the envelope over in his hands. When his gaze is no longer piercing him, Babe can breathe again.

“Where’d you find it?”

“Someone left it on the chair. I sat on it.”

“Wow.” Wow, Babe. Just… wow. “You know, uhh, Vest made his rounds a little while ago, maybe something slipped from his pile. Or maybe he’s playing a joke, huh, you know that Vest —“

Why the hell is he implying Vest wrote his love letter?

“Doubt it was Vest,” Gene mutters, fingernail playing underneath the envelope’s fold as he carefully opens it. He even pries open mail like a doctor, slow and precise. Something in Babe’s heart soars at this tiny detail, and he almost wants to go to his knees in front of Gene right there.

“Well, it had to be someone,” he says instead, taking another few steps back. When he chuckles, it sounds shrill to his ears — like he’s fighting off the urge to scream. God dammit, Heffron, you’ve got all the subtlety of a rock, why’d you think this was a good idea?

It’s not. This is a horrible idea. He can’t look Gene in the face while he’s reading the letter, and if Babe stays here one more minute, he’s gonna give himself away. “Sorry, Gene, but I gotta go now — told Liebgott I’d help him with, uhh, this thing that he — needed help with, and… so yeah, I gotta do that.”

Gene looks up at him, distracted from the letter. Babe manages a grimace, and a tiny wave. “See ya!”

He can’t get out of the basement fast enough. Behind him is only silence, as Gene Roe begins to read.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Gene finds him much later that night, after the sun has already set over Zell-Am-See, painting the town in violet and blue. The late summer sky has always spoken to Babe in a way he can never explain, like a fist locking inside his chest and trying to tug his heart out. It’s nostalgia for a place far away, and a time he can’t return to. As daylight slowly fades out into inky darkness, Babe watches the sky, lost in a time when everything was simpler.

He doesn’t hear Gene coming until he drops onto the window ledge beside him. Babe isn’t jumpy, and Gene’s never startled him yet, so he doesn’t tumble over to the street below in shock… but the look on Gene’s face almost sends him jumping the fifteen feet down.

“Hey, Gene,” he says instead, quickly looking back out at the horizon.

“Hey.” Gene lets the word linger. He fumbles with a cigarette, long fingers moving deftly as he maneuvers his lighter. He gets it lit, and holds it out generously. Babe’s nerves would like nothing more, but his balance can’t take holding onto this will with just one hand. He shakes his head. With a shrug, Gene tucks the cigarette between his own pursed lips.

“You close up shop for the night?”

“Yeah. Unless someone stumbles around drunk and ends up knocking their head… or gets hit with a dart again. Had to pull it outta Perconte’s shoulder the last time.”

“Think I heard that from upstairs. Screaming like a cat the whole time, huh?”

“The man’s been shot before, and he complained less.” Gene exhales through his nose, blowing two long lines of smoke into the air. Babe’s eyes linger on it, transfixed.

“You, uhh —“ Suddenly, he’s frightened of silence, but his mind’s too scattered to keep a conversation in one place. “You get dinner?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

Quiet again. Christ, even when he was a kid, Babe could never stand the quiet; his Ma sometimes pushed him out of the house and locked the door behind him, just to get some peace. Why is it so hard to find words now?

“Look, Heffron —“ Gene starts, and the exact moment Babe blurts out, “Gene —“

They both go silent, staring at each other. Babe inhales, holding the breath in his chest until he feels like he’s gonna burst with it.

A familiar voice in his head — the one that’s a dead-ringer for Bill Guarnere — groans, Will you please spit it the hell out already?

“So,” Babe says, “the letter.”

“Yeah,” says Gene. His gaze doesn’t leave Babe’s, sharp as a needle.

“Look, I wanted to —“

“I know,” says Gene.

“I wanted to say —“

“Babe,” Gene cuts in. “I know.”

Finally, Babe meets his gaze head-on. It’s never possible to read what’s going on in Gene’s head, but his face gives something away, sometimes. The way the corners of his lips twitch when he’s trying not to laugh; the line that appears between his eyebrows when he’s really worried; the way his eyes go soft when he knows someone needs comforting, and turn to hot coals when he’s furious.

Right now, Babe can’t pick a damn thing out of Gene’s expression… but his eyes are very, very soft. It feels like a punch to the stomach.

“You know,” he says slowly, “but…”

The words linger between them for a long, charged moment. Babe’s chest feels like it’s caught in a compactor, being slowly squeezed until his lungs burst and his ribs turn to dust. He huffs out a laugh — a dry, desperate thing. “Jesus, Gene, you look like you’re about to break my heart.” Gene still doesn’t say a word; Babe looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Why’s it you doctors just love to drag things out? Rip off the band-aid quick, and save us both the trouble.”

“Edward,” he says gently, laying a hand over Babe’s own. Babe jerks away like he’s been stung.

“Don’t Edward me right now!”

“Babe,” Gene says, and his voice is softer than ever. Babe’s throat is tight, eyes stinging… but damned if he’ll let himself cry over this, not where Gene can see. Christ, he’s an idiot. He’s so stupid, he should never have done anything, why did he even think —

“I have known... for a while, now. Didn’t need a letter to tell me some things.” Gene pauses, like he’s chewing over the words, before adding, “But it was good to read. Just to know.”

“Now you know,” Babe replies, and inhales a deep breath. “You happy now?”

Gene doesn’t answer. When Babe risks a glance over, Gene isn’t looking at him at all anymore; his eyes are on the sky, watching as the first pinpricks of starlight pierce through the indigo curtain. He looks thoughtful, almost mournful. It gouges something in Babe’s chest.

“Gene,” he says again. “Are you happy?”

“I don’t know.” When Gene inhales, it’s almost like a whisper. When he exhales, it’s like he’s singing to the night air. “Thought about it for a long time. Trying to figure out how I feel.”

“You’ve had a whole afternoon to do it. You get it all sorted out yet?”

“Longer than that,” Gene replies. His gaze flickers over to him. “I told you, Babe. I knew.”

Jesus. So he wasn’t as subtle as he thought. Babe exhales, praying to make the sick-to-his-stomach sensation go with it. Instead, it just churns even harder. If this goes on any longer, he’s gonna need a damn bucket.

Gene’s never been the best with words; expressing himself has never been easy, which is why Babe’s gotten so good at reading between the lines. Gene’s really trying now — for his sake, Babe supposes. “Reading that letter, seeing all those feelings laid out on paper… Babe, you didn’t have to sign it. I’d ‘a known it was you, just from what you said. It was like… listening to your heart. And a part of me already does that every day, so I guess it was easy.”

Can Gene hear his heart screaming now? Babe grips the windowsill until his knuckles turn white, grounding himself. 

“I wasn’t sure how you felt before… and I wasn’t sure how I felt for you. Knew you felt something, but not what, and not how…” Gene swallows, pale throat bobbing. “But now I know.”

“Now you know.” Babe dwells on this statement for a moment before turning, hesitation heavy on his tongue. “So… what now, Gene?”

Gene takes a deep breath, clinging to the night sky for one last moment, before turning his gaze on him. “Do you— “ He pauses, licks his lips. “Do you really mean what you wrote? All of it?”

“Gene,” Babe replies, “I meant every word.”

Something calms in Gene’s eyes, like a storm settling. Babe isn’t expecting the way his gaze clears, or the flash of steely certainty that follows. “Well,” Gene says, “there’s only one thing to do.”

Another thing Babe isn’t expecting — how sweet Gene tastes when his lips are suddenly pressed to his own.

Somewhere far away, beyond the depths of his own consciousness — which is really just a victory parade and firework show, that’s all he’s capable of at the moment — he thinks Bill would be proud of him. Beyond the grave, Julian’s probably cheering for him, glad his buddy’s finally getting some.

For once, though, their voices are drowned out completely. It’s impossible to hear anything over the storm raging in his ears, which only swells to a fever pitch when Gene leans back and smiles at him.

“Well, Babe,” he says, as Babe cups his face like a reverent thing. “Think we can figure things out from here.”

“Jesus, Gene,” Babe declares, and swoops in to kiss him again.

#baberoe #hbo war #band of brothers #babe heffron #eugene roe #my writing #Anonymous

[gwentoryfics]

Hot for Teacher, Part 7.

Genre | College Student x College Professor Smut AU

Pairing | Reader x Hongseok x Hyunggu (Kino) x Wooseok

Words | 9.8k

Summary | You never realized how much one drunken night could color the rest of your college experience until you discover that the handsome stranger from your cousin’s wedding is also the new professor at your university.

Warnings | Swearing. Masturbation. Mentions of underage drinking. Uhhhh pining? Lol

Parts | 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 5.5 • 6 • 7 • More Coming Soon

Note | WOW this update took forever, but I feel like this is a super special part of the fic and I hope you all enjoy. PLEASE let me know which of the boys you’re rooting for - I’m trying to make it difficult (can you tell) and I really want to see how you’re all feeling 😏😏 love you, peaches!

Wooseok plops onto Yuto’s couch, tucking his bowl of fresh-out-of-the-oven pizza rolls between his knees as he picks up his gaming controller.

“You know those things are terrible for you.” Yuto criticizes the snack choice as he resumes the video game, skillfully ducking around a corner to avoid being shot.

“Yeah but they’re fucking delicious, so suck my ass.” Wooseok patiently waits for the food to cool off, not ready for the inside of his mouth to get burnt to hell. “Stop stocking your fridge with pizza rolls if you don’t want me to eat them.”

Yuto shoots Wooseok’s avatar twice in the back and once in the head until he collapses. “I only do it because you’d complain about how I ‘never have anything good to eat.’”

“What the fuck, dude? Friendly fire!” 

“You literally stood right in front of me and blocked my sight. Make better decisions.”

Wooseok finally bites into his cheesy pepperoni pizza bite as he waits to respawn, and it’s lava on his tongue. With a hiss, he tries to cool his mouth. Eventually says, “Speaking of bad decisions…”

“What did you do this time?”

“Remember how you talked to me about _____…”

“Wooseok, you fucking idiot.” Yuto seethes. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“It was her idea! I literally apologized for, like, making out with her and fingering her and stuff. And she was just like, nah it’s cool, let’s be friends with benefits.” He pops another one in his mouth and it’s just as hot as the last one. “I wasn’t gonna say no to that, so we hooked up. Also I’m not supposed to tell you about it so keep your mouth shut.”

Yuto pauses the game again just so he can look Wooseok in the face and express his full disdain. “Friends with benefits? As in, no romantic feelings?”

“Right.”

“...So does she know that you like her?”

Wooseok frowns. Yeah, he thinks she’s hot as fuck and she’s super cool and fun to be around, but he’s not, like, in love with her or anything. “I’m not even in it that deep! It’s totally fine, and we’re just having fun. So what if I’ve got a little crush.”

“It’s not going to be just a crush if you keep sleeping with her.” 

“You know, at some point you need to stop parenting me and just let me do what I’m gonna do. Just trust my judgment for once and if I end up being wrong, that’s my problem to deal with.”

“If you’re wrong, then I have to listen to you whine and complain about your broken heart.” Yuto is unrelenting in his disapproval. “You know that she probably won’t reciprocate your feelings if she ever finds out.”

Against his better judgment, Wooseok accidentally holds out hope that she could. “We don’t even know that she won’t. It’s just a hunch that she might like Kino. I could be totally wrong about that.”

“And if she does like Kino?”

Wooseok chews his bottom lip, his brows pinching together. “Then it is what it is.”

“What is that?” Yuto points at Wooseok’s face. “What’s that look? Are you sad? Is this sadness?”

“Shut the fuck up, Yuto,” he grumbles. Yeah, he’d be fucking disappointed if she and Kino turned out to be a thing. But it’s not really up to him to decide who she likes.

Yuto eases up just a little, showing his soft spot for Wooseok. “I can’t let you walk into this mess. You have to stop this. Either quit it with the hook ups, or come clean about liking her.”

“But I-”

“No ‘buts.’ It has to stop. And what the fuck, Wooseok?” Yuto frowns. “You’re supposed to keep this all a secret, but you’re telling me anyway?”

“You know I can’t keep secrets. I just need you, my one and only confidante, to know about this shit. Although I don’t even know if I can call you that anymore,” Wooseok turns the blame to Yuto. “Now that I know you went and told _____ not to get involved with me because I might get hurt.”

Suddenly there’s a knock at Yuto’s door, and he groans, completely ignoring the issue Wooseok just brought up. “Do you think we can pretend I’m not home?”

Wooseok’s petty side comes out and he yells, “Who is it?”

Yuto elbows him. “What the fuck, dude?”

With a shrug, Wooseok defends himself. “You kind of deserved that.”

Through the door, a female speaks. “It’s Nailah, I just need to talk for a second.”

“Ooo, who’s Nailah?” Wooseok prods, a stupid grin on his face as he looks at Yuto.

Yuto tosses his head back, resigning himself to having to get up and socialize. “She lives across the hall with _____, coincidentally.” He makes his way to the door, and Wooseok follows him like a little puppy. 

“_____’s your neighbor? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Why would I when I know you’re just gonna try some dumb shit?” He throws open the door, bluntly addressing their visitor. “Yes?”

Nailah seems unbothered by his rude greeting. “Hey, Yuto. I just wanted to extend an invitation. I’m throwing _____ a birthday party at my friend’s place on Saturday, and I figured it’d be cool if you came.” She hands him a hand-written invite. 

“_____’s birthday?” Wooseok chimes, inserting himself into the conversation. “Wait I think I know you.”

Nailah nods casually. “Yeah, we ran into each other before, I think. _____ brought me to that party that got busted at your place.”

“Oh shit, yeah.” Wooseok chuckles. “Was a good night ‘til it wasn’t.”

“How much trouble did you get in?” 

“It wasn’t awful. I just couldn’t do clubs for a few weeks and I had to write a paper about how I’m going to make more responsible decisions.”

Yuto crosses his arms over his chest. “Clearly that made an impact on you.”

“Shut up.” Wooseok nudges him before changing the subject in a way that doesn’t really change the subject. “Is _____ home?”

“Yeah, but- hey!” Nailah steps back as Wooseok pushes past her, taking all of two strides to reach her apartment door.

“_____!” He knocks on the door, rapping a quick rhythm. “Open up!”

He turns back to Nailah. “Is the party a secret?”

“No, she-”

“_____! I wanna go to your birthday party!” Wooseok knocks again, and this time she opens the door.

She looks a little bewildered to see him, but she’s wearing a smile that’s just honest to God the cutest thing in the whole damn world. “Fine, you can come,” she laughs.

Wooseok tries not to be distracted by the memories of last night, but her messy hair is too much of a reminder. He pushes through the urge to come on to her, but only because he doesn’t wanna make a scene. “Were you not gonna invite me?”

“Of course I was. I was gonna bring your invitation to R&B Ensemble tomorrow.”

“Okay, good.” Wooseok leans against the doorframe, sliding a hand into his pocket in an attempt to look cool. “So your birthday’s Saturday?” 

“No, it’s Tuesday.”

“Cool, cool.” He keeps his face fixed in a relaxed expression and delivers a promise that he’s not quite sure how to fulfill. “Look forward to a bomb ass present.” 

“Dude, you don’t have to get me anyth-”

“Nope. We’re buds. You’re getting a present. Don’t you worry about that, short stuff.” He’s not at all subtle as he winks at her, and her eyes flash, a flirty grin on her face.

“Watch it,” she whispers, trying not to raise suspicion from Nailah and Yuto.

“It’s fine,” he speaks lowly, not concerned by their audience but still trying to keep a low profile for her sake. He knows he’s going to get a talking-to as soon as he returns to Yuto’s room, anyway. “You look hot today, by the way.”

Without missing a beat, she sasses, “When don’t I?”

“Good point.” He can’t hold back his laughter at her bold statement. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to doing whatever you were doing.”

“Okay,” she giggles. “See you tomorrow.”

He gives a two-finger salute as she closes the door, then turns back to Nailah. “Make sure I’m on the guest list. I’m RSVP-ing right the fuck now.”

“Great.” Nailah just stares at him with wide, questioning eyes. She’ll probably have some questions for _____ after this, but he’s trusting her to handle it however she wants.

Yuto’s got a flame of frustration in his gaze as he stares Wooseok down. “I’ll be there, too.”

And Nailah seems fully unsure of what to make of all of this. She looks between them both for a moment before heading back to her room. “Great. See you goons Saturday.”

Wooseok doesn’t fight the name-calling, and Yuto is far too focused on his idiot of a best friend to be bothered by the insult. He follows Wooseok back into the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Before you say anything,” Wooseok defends himself, “I just want to remind you how much I love parties. I heard there was a party and, like, my inner party monster just took over, and I had to make sure I was invited.”

“Quit the bullshit.” Yuto’s calm aura makes him even more intimidating. “What was all of that?”

Wooseok can’t help the sheepish grin that forms on his face as he tries to lighten the mood. “She seemed kind of into me, right?”

“Oh my God I’m going to beat some fucking sense into you.” Yuto threatens, but Wooseok knows it’s empty.

“Whatever.” Wooseok falls back onto the couch. “Are we playing or what?”

With a deep sigh, Yuto joins him. “Let’s do it.”

Hongseok’s favorite place to run is along the water. It’s so peaceful to watch the boats and hear the soft waves of the lake as it laps along the shore. Not to mention, the striking difference between the fluidity of the water next to the sharp, structured skyscrapers is a dichotomy that he finds profoundly intriguing.

Now that the temperatures are dropping, only the truly dedicated still run the lake trail. It’s windy and brisk, but Hongseok has always preferred running in cooler weather, anyway. Feels a little less like he could die of heat stroke.

The rock music coming through his headphones suddenly changes to his ringtone, and he slows to a gentle jog as he checks the phone strapped to his bicep. Hwitaek’s name appears on the screen, and he smiles as he swipes to answer.

“Hwitaek! Hey!” Hongseok falls into a walking pace to make it easier to talk. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“I know! We’ve both been busy, I guess.” Hwitaek sounds glad that he answered.

“Right, how’s married life?” Now that he thinks about it, Hongseok’s not sure that he’s really talked to Hwitaek too much since the wedding. He headed back to the city before Hwitaek and Jiyoo returned from their honeymoon, so he had to say his goodbye at the reception. They’ve both kind of missed each other since.

“You know it’s really pretty weird, but in a good way. If that makes sense.” Hwitaek chuckles. “I feel like I know Jiyoo better than anybody, and it seemed like we were already so close that marriage wouldn’t really change much. But it really does make the whole relationship feel different. More official, you know.”

“A little slip of paper and a tax break can really do that much, huh.” 

“I know you’re skeptical, Hong, but love can be whatever you want it to be. Maybe for us it’s the ceremony, the certificate, the too-expensive dress, the whole nine yards. But you don’t have to avoid relationships just because that’s not the kind of love you want.”

“I’m not avoiding relationships,” Hongseok scoffs. “I’m just busy.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to be able to sleep at night,” Hwitaek concedes.

Hongseok hates to admit it, but there is a seed of truth to what Hwitaek’s saying. He’s never been a fan of traditional love - it just feels ingenuine. Like everyone is following a script, just doing and saying the things they’re supposed to. He wants it to actually mean something when he does a gesture like planning a day together or giving a gift. He’s not going to buy flowers just because that’s what guys do. That’s not how he is.

With a sigh, Hongseok says, “If something happens eventually and I fall deeply in love with whomever it is, then fine. It happens. But I’m in no rush. It was nice enough for me to watch you do the whole marriage thing.”

“So when it does happen, I think you know that I’m expecting to be the best man,” Hwitaek says indignantly. “It’s only fair.”

“Would Jiyoo be okay sending you off to my bachelor party?” Hongseok laughs just imagining the fit she would throw. He was much more of a partier during their college days than Hwitaek was, and he’s positive Jiyoo would prefer for her adult husband to behave himself.

Hwitaek’s voice is noticeably softer as he says, “I’ll do what I want. I don’t need her approval.”

“Is she nearby? Is that why you said that so quietly?”

“Yes and yes. But you’re my best friend so I’ll make it work.”

“A true brother.” Hongseok smiles warmly as he pauses to stretch his legs. Damn, he misses hanging out with Hwitaek.

“So, actually the reason why I called…” Hwitaek smoothly changes the subject. “Um, just out of curiosity - maybe this is none of my business - have you been talking with Minseo at all?”

“Minseo?” The name doesn’t immediately ring a bell.

“Yeah, Jiyoo’s cousin. Kind of tall. Loud. Really nice teeth, though.”

Hongseok struggles to come up with a face to match the name. “I don’t think I know her.”

“Wait, I’ll send a picture. She was just over last night.” A moment later, “Okay, check your phone.”

He pulls the phone out of the case strapped to his arm and opens the message to find a somewhat familiar face resting on Jiyoo’s shoulder.

The face of the girl that convinced him to dance with _____ at the wedding.

She’s the only one who actually knows what happened that night.

Christ.

“I do recognize her.” Hongseok tries to keep his voice steady so as not to give away that he’s hiding a secret. “Why are you asking about her?”

“I was just wondering if something might be going on. Or if she might be pestering you. I don’t know, like I said she’s just kind of a big personality and I just wanted to make sure she’s not, I don’t know, trying to get with you or something.”

“Why would you think that?” Surely that’s incredibly far from the truth, and it strikes him as odd that Hwitaek would have that impression. 

“She just keeps asking about you. She wants to know what you were like in college, what your relationship history is like, whether you cook. Just really random stuff and I don’t know why she’d care unless she were into you.”

What Hwitaek doesn’t know is that the only possible reason why she’d be asking all of those questions is because she’s trying to share the information with _____. That’s it. That’s why.

Does that mean _____ has been trying to find out more about him? Has she tasked Minseo with a spy mission?

Hongseok rubs his temple, gripping his phone tightly. He really should tell Hwitaek what’s up, even if he doesn’t want to own up to what happened. Walking towards the water, he finds himself a place in the grass to sit. “She’s not asking for herself. She’s asking for _____.”

Hwitaek, the poor ignorant bastard, asks, “Why would she do that?”

Here it comes. With a single deep breath, he finally sets the truth free. “I slept with her after the reception.”

“With _____?” Hwitaek is audibly shocked. “You slept with Jiyoo’s cousin? At our wedding?”

“After the wedding, okay? Jeez. It’s not like we fucked while you were at the altar.” Hongseok defends himself. “I even made a point to say goodbye to you beforehand to officially end the night, so really the whole situation is completely removed from the ceremony.”

There’s a lot of noise coming over the phone, because Jiyoo very obviously heard Hwitaek say the whole you slept with Jiyoo’s cousin? thing. Hongseok’s head falls back in dread. That’s a whole can of worms he was not prepared to open.

“Just put me on speaker phone and I’ll explain.”

Immediately, Jiyoo’s voice responds. “You slept with _____? My baby cousin?”

Hwitaek jumps to his defense. “Don’t sound so disgusted! Hongseok’s not a bad guy!”

She retorts, “He had a one night stand with my sweet little _____. She’s not that kind of girl.”

“She certainly was that night.” The words come out of Hongseok’s mouth before he can stop them.

“HONGSEOK!” Jiyoo screeches.

He just frowns as he hears Hwitaek frantically try to calm Jiyoo down. “Buckle up, you guys, because the story’s not over.”

“Don’t tell me it happened more than once. Please.” Jiyoo’s voice is lined with an unspoken threat.

“It hasn’t, I swear.” Another sigh as he gears up for the last bit. “We haven’t done anything but talk. But you two should know that she’s one of my students.”

Jiyoo doesn’t say a word, which somehow makes it worse. Hwitaek speaks up instead. “I didn’t even realize that she went to your school.”

“Neither did I.” Hongseok rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms before returning his gaze to the water, shimmering in the bright sunlight. “I wouldn’t have touched her if I knew. But she and I had a conversation, and we agreed that nothing can happen between us again. The class is strictly business. Neither one of us wants to risk getting in trouble with the school for misconduct.”

Sassily, Jiyoo’s voice returns. “So he has a brain after all.”

“Sweetie, come on. Cut him some slack,” Hwitaek pleads. “Yeah, it wasn’t a great idea to sleep with her, but it happened and it’s over. There’s no use getting so worked up about it.”

Even with Hwitaek defending him, Hongseok can’t just sit there and take this. “Stop acting like I’m the villain and she’s some innocent victim. She’s capable of making her own choices. I didn’t force her into anything. It was fully consensual, and now we’re both handling the situation like mature adults.”

That may be a bit of a stretch. He’s done nothing but ridicule her for acting like a child since the semester started. But he’ll stick up for her if it means getting Jiyoo off their case.

“My apologies.” Jiyoo comes off much softer. “I need to take a moment to let this all sink in.”

Hongseok hears her leave the room, and then Hwitaek’s voice is much clearer as he turns off the speakerphone. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll settle down.”

Hongseok lets himself take a deep breath, feeling much safer now that he can talk with only his friend. “I just needed to tell you that. I think Minseo might be digging for more information about me to share with _____, because she knows what happened between us. And she knows that I’m _____’s professor.”

“Are you handling all of this okay? It sounds like a really tricky situation to be in.”

“It’s… hard. It’s really difficult. I’ve been really cold to her just to prevent anyone from thinking I might be biased in any way, but that’s just caused so much tension. And then she just does stuff sometimes that’s so cute…” His memory flashes back to the time she sang Aerosmith in his office, and then the song played in class and she started laughing. It was just so endearing. “Do you think I can stop being attracted to her? That would make everything so much easier.”

“I don’t think there’s a real answer for that, Hong. In my experience, you’re usually just attracted to the people you’re attracted to, and that’s that.” Hwitaek attempts to reassure him, but it’s useless. Especially when he follows up with the most problematic question he could’ve asked: “Do you have feelings for her?”

Hongseok pulls his knees in towards his chest, tucking his head down and effectively curling into a ball. He’s been trying so hard to avoid all of this and now he has no choice but to just confront whatever it is that’s been going on in his head and his heart. He’s felt attracted to her ever since he first laid eyes on her, but could it be anything more than that?

The night they spent together was nothing short of incredible, and he fondly remembers the way she so warmly looked up at him in the moments before he kissed her, the soft touch of her lips overwhelming his senses and driving his desire for more. 

Even though the nature of their relationship is obviously very different now, he still sees flickers of that warmth in her. He sees the way she absentmindedly bites her lip when she’s thinking, and the small taste he’s gotten of her ridiculous sense of humor makes him wonder just how great they could be together.

If only she were older.

If only she weren’t his student.

Hongseok can’t even pretend that he wouldn’t be interested in her if the circumstances were different. He knows that under different circumstances he would certainly try to date her, because he already tried the night they were together.

He gave her his phone number with the boutonniere. He gave her the opportunity to reach out and establish something more than just that one night, but she didn’t do it. That’s part of the reason why he was so frustrated to see her in class - it’s one thing that they slept together, but it’s entirely different to know that he expressed an interest in seeing her again and she rejected him.

And now he has to watch her work admirably hard in class once a week and pretend like it doesn’t make his chest ache.

Forever reticent, he seeks a way to keep his thoughts to himself. “Do I have to answer that question?”

“That response says a lot.” Hwitaek sighs. “It might feel better to just get it off your chest and say it out loud.”

“Nope. Saying it just makes it harder to ignore.” Hongseok peeks up from the crook of his elbow, finally starting to feel chilly now that he’s been sitting for so long. He stands and briefly stretches his quads, getting ready to continue his run.

Hwitaek tries to encourage him. “Well the most important thing in this situation is that you just get through the rest of the semester without acting on it. And then she won’t be around anymore, and you’ll be able to move past it.”

“You’re right. I just have to make it to the end of the semester.”

“And that’s not so far away, right? You’re probably about halfway by now.”

“Midterms were about two weeks ago, so yeah, we’re nearly there.” 

“See? You’ve got this.” Hwitaek sounds cheery as he motivates his best friend. “I’m rooting for you. I think it’ll all turn out fine. It’ll continue to be difficult for a little bit, but it’ll pass.”

Hongseok lets out a deep sigh, feeling some sense of relief for the first time in months. “I should have told you about this a long time ago. Thanks for looking out for me.”

It seems like Hwitaek is also a bit relieved after this conversation. “I’m glad that we got to talk.”

Hongseok smiles, returning to the path he had been running. “Go take care of Jiyoo, okay? And if you want, it’s okay to tell Minseo that you two know. I’ll leave that up to you. But don’t tell anyone else.”

No matter how hard he tries, Kino simply cannot stop thinking about Saturday night. Something about holding her hand completely captured his whole consciousness and he could think of nothing except the feeling of their fingers intertwined and his lips on her forehead.

He had probably gone too far by kissing her like that, but it just felt right, even though they’re only friends. He just feels so comfortable with her, and it’s easy for him to get wrapped up in the moment. She hasn’t seemed interested in anything more than friendship, especially after that whole dirty voicemail incident, but she also didn’t seem to be bothered by the kiss. If anything, he distinctly remembers the cute way she looked up at him right after he did it, like she was surprised but definitely not opposed. 

There’s only one way to find out for sure what she thinks… but he’s not ready to have that conversation yet.

As he waits in the lobby of her dorm building to walk with her to R&B Ensemble, he tries to at least clear his head. He has something important to ask her, and he doesn’t want it to accidentally come out awkward.

He stands there, trying not to pace, and he notices how much lighter he feels the second he spots her coming off of the elevator. She waves cheerfully when she sees him waiting there.

“Hey!” She greets him as she approaches. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Was trying to wrap up that aural skills homework.”

“You know it’s not due until Wednesday, there’s no rush on it,” he chuckles. She’s such a go-getter.

“Well yeah, but tomorrow’s my birthday and I don’t want it to be full of homework. So I’m knocking it out now.”

Kino sucks in a breath and bites his knuckle, grimacing. “Ah, I completely forgot about your birthday, shoot…” It’s a total lie, but he just wants to get her worked up.

She deflates a little, but it’s hardly noticeable. “That’s okay. I didn’t expect you to remember or anything. I probably only brought it up once.”

“_____, I’m teasing! Of course I remember!” Kino nudges her playfully. “You’re like, my closest friend. How could I forget?”

With a shy smile, she loops her arm in his, and they head out into the cold. “That’s right.”

“Do you have anything planned for tomorrow?” 

“Just class, actually. Nailah’s organizing a party for Saturday, though, and you have to come! I have your official invitation in my backpack. I’ll give it to you when we get to rehearsal.”

“I can totally be there Saturday.” Kino immediately agrees.

“Good. It’ll be a shitty birthday party if you’re not there.” She tugs on his arm, and it makes his cheeks grow warm.

He takes a deep breath now that it’s his turn to extend an invitation. “Okay, so if you don’t have any plans for tomorrow night, you should be able to come to the birthday dinner reservation I have for you and me downtown. Right?” He hates that he can’t keep eye contact, but he just can’t get himself to look at her while it feels like he’s asking her on a date.

But it’s not a date, exactly. It’s just a nice dinner. Between friends. For a birthday.

Totally regular stuff.

She scoffs. “Well I guess I have to if you made a reservation and everything.”

Kino pulls his scarf closer around his chin and jaw, trying to block out some of the cold wind. “I mean you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Don’t feel like you don’t have a choice…”

“Kino, stop. I’d love to go to dinner with you. It better be a nice place, though. I’m a woman of taste.”

“Says the girl who downed a whole family size bag of salt and vinegar chips in one sitting.” Kino cringes at the memory. Even the smell of the chips made him shrivel up in disgust.

“Okay you’re the one with a suffering palate. Salt and vinegar chips are the bomb.”

“Gross.”

They spend the whole walk to class bickering about food tastes, and it’s a completely pointless conversation, but he’s fully invested because it feels meaningful when it’s her. 

When they enter the rehearsal room, they’re both full of smiles and laughter, but his smile fades when he locks eyes with Wooseok. The tall drummer is standing next to Yuto, and he seems less than thrilled to see Kino with _____. He looks a little disappointed, actually.

Kino gets himself set up with the other singers while she heads over to the rhythm section, and Wooseok’s expression changes as he playfully greets her, pulling her into a headlock and messing up her hair. She squirms and laughs, and Kino tries desperately to pretend like their interaction doesn’t bother him.

He stops paying attention until she comes up to him with a little envelope in her hand.

“Here,” she hands it to him. “That’s for Saturday. Wooseok and Yuto are coming, and so is my friend Shinhye. You’ve met her before.”

“Yeah I remember her.” Kino nods.

“And some of Nailah’s friends will be there too, since they’re hosting the party. We all thought it would be a good idea to have the party off campus, since there’ll be booze.” She grins impishly. “It’s gonna be fun.”

Kino laughs. “I bet. I’ll be there for sure.” 

“Awesome.” She squeezes his arm. “And honestly, I’m seriously looking forward to dinner tomorrow. It’s super sweet of you to make dinner plans.”

“No problem.” He tells himself to smile confidently so she doesn’t see how flustered he is. “Just make sure you’re wearing something nice and I’ll come get you around 5:45.”

“Sounds great.” With one last squeeze, she heads back to her part of the room.

This time when Kino catches Wooseok’s gaze, he doesn’t stop smiling.

It’s just another class. Just another Tuesday morning. That’s what Hongseok tells himself, anyway. But when she shows up, he immediately realizes that this is actually a very special Tuesday.

Shinhye’s trying to convince her of something, as they walk through the door, but she refuses. And then Shinhye turns to Hongseok.

“Professor Yang! It’s _____’s birthday today,” Shinhye announces as she holds up a piece of silky fabric with ‘Birthday Girl’ embroidered on it. “Can you tell her that she has to wear this sash for class?”

The birthday girl averts her eyes, clearly unwilling to participate in whatever Shinhye’s trying. As flatly as possible, he comes to her rescue with an incredibly practical excuse. “No birthday sashes. It’s a hazard around the power tools.”

A perfect smile breaks across her lips as she finally looks up at him. She holds his gaze for a moment, and it’s really a beat too long before she finally turns back to Shinhye. “See? Now put it away.”

The girls walk off to their spot in the back of the room, and he forces himself to focus on his computer to keep himself from looking back at her. There’s something especially magnetic about her today, but maybe it’s just because he knows that it’s her birthday.

When he has today’s workshop playlist set, he looks around the room and realizes that the birthday sash would have been the least concerning part of her clothing choices. The olive colored v-neck sweater she wears draws his gaze directly to her chest, and he knows today is going to be more challenging than usual.

He wishes he could just avoid her during class, but he needs to make sure all of his students get the help they need. Most of them don’t know anything about sawing, sanding, or the appropriate way to use wood glue, and he needs every kid in this class to leave the room with all of their fingers intact.

Inevitably, he makes his way back to her after weaving through the room and helping other students with their projects along the way. A few pieces of wood that will eventually become the body of her instrument lay on the table in front of her. He helps her select the right grit of sandpaper to sand down the edges of the pieces she finished cutting for the top and bottom of her dulcimer. The last big piece of her project build is to bend the side pieces into the hourglass shape she wants her instrument to have.

He had to bring in his bending iron just for her, since literally every other student wanted to do simple instruments with straight sides. It’s not a difficult process, but it’s a little tedious.

Hongseok picks up one of the side pieces and walks her over to the bending iron. “So the shape that you want is going to require three bends in the wooden piece. Here, here, and here.” With a pencil, he marks the two spots where the wood should curve out towards the top and bottom, and the spot in the middle where it should curve in. “You don’t have to be perfect with this, but work on getting the general shape.”

She just nods attentively. He tries desperately not to look at her for fear that he might accidentally look down her sweater. Thankfully, it’s fairly easy to do as he demonstrates how to use the iron.

With a wide, clean paint brush, he brushes water onto the first spot they’ll bend. “First, you want to make sure that the wood is wet before you bend it. The water turns to steam from the heat of the iron, and that’s what bends the fibers in the wood. You’ll have to reapply water pretty regularly to keep it from getting dry. Then you just rock the wood over the iron like this.” He shows her how to slowly work the wood. “The iron does get really hot, so keep your hands at a safe distance, and just apply a bit of pressure. Not too much, though, or you might crack the wood.”

“Got it.” She nods again, observing.

He takes a moment to get a bit of a bend started, and then hands the wood to her. “It’s going to take some time, so you just need to be patient. Rushing the process will just damage the wood.”

“Okay. I’ll be careful.”

Hongseok’s not sure why, but it almost sounds like she’s reassuring him that she’ll be okay. He wasn’t trying to come across as being protective, because he gives all of his students the same warnings whenever he shows them a new tool. But he just nods. “Give it a try.”

She steps up to the iron, wets the wood, and starts mimicking his rocking movements.

“Keep the edge of the wood parallel with the back of the iron, otherwise the bend is going to be crooked.”

She follows his instructions. “Like this?”

“Exactly. You can even use just a touch more pressure. If you don’t use enough, the wood won’t bend.” He resists the urge to reach over and show her, reminding himself that he needs to keep his distance.

“Just gotta find that happy medium,” she chuckles, and the lighthearted sound makes him smile. 

“That’s it.”

She presses down on the wood a little harder, and her form looks good. “How soon should I re-wet it?”

“You can give it a few minutes. So just do that until you’ve got a nice curve going for the lower body, and then you can do the waist and the upper body, in that order. You might not get to all of it today because you want to give the wood some time to cool between each bend.”

He loves sharing his craft with his students, but there’s something different about sharing it with her. It just feels so intimate to share such an important piece of his life with her in this setting, and her genuine interest in the subject only makes him want to share it with her more.

At the end of the day, he knows that it’s only because he’s slept with her. Every little interaction feels sexually and emotionally charged. She’s just so attractive in both looks and personality, and he’s drawn to her over and over again.

But he can’t let himself give in to whatever it is that he’s feeling for her. Hwitaek’s advice rings in his head and he reminds himself that he only needs to get through a few more weeks before the semester is over.

He can avoid the temptation for at least that long.

“Seriously, Kino, this place is amazing,” _____ gushes, taking the last big bite of her steak, savoring each chew and talking with her mouth full. “Jesus, this steak is fucking delicious.”

Kino covers his mouth as he laughs, trying to maintain some semblance of maturity. They’re at an incredibly fancy restaurant, after all - one that he’s certainly spending way too much money at, but it’s worth it for her - and he doesn’t want to make a scene when it’s clear that they’re just two dumb college kids trying to have an experience. 

“Maybe you should swallow first before you talk,” he comments.

“That’s what he said.” She doesn’t miss a beat, making it even harder for Kino to keep his composure.

“No,” Kino nudges her leg under the table with his foot, softly lecturing her. “Bad.”

“Kino, are you trying to play footsie with me?” She nudges him back, playfully teasing.

She’s been in particularly high spirits all night, and he’s trying to convince himself that it’s only because of her birthday. Everything has been borderline flirtatious since he picked her up from the dorms. 

“Stop it,” Kino gives her a warning look, but he’s still smiling. “You’re just asking for trouble.”

She smiles and takes a sip of her water. “I’m just having fun. Thank you for taking me out tonight, Kino. I’m having a blast.”

“I am, too.” He feels his cheeks unintentionally grow warm.

“Good! I’m gonna use the bathroom. I bet they’ve got bathroom attendants and everything in a place like this.” She gets up from the table and heads off to the bathroom, the skirt of her dress clinging to every curve as she walks and making Kino way more flustered than he should be. When he had told her to dress up, he hadn’t quite expected her to wear something so… hot.

It’s not a big deal, he sees dancers clad in tight clothing every day. But it’s her, and that makes it different.

While she’s gone, he flags down their waiter. “Excuse me, it’s my friend’s birthday today. Could we get a dessert?”

“We have a chocolate lava cake that she’d likely enjoy. We can even write a Happy Birthday message on the plate for you.”

“That sounds perfect! Thank you.”

As the waiter heads off with his special order, Kino notices _____’s phone on the table, lighting up as multiple messages come in. He’s not a snooper by any means, but when his eye catches Wooseok’s name as the sender, he can’t help but feel curious. She hasn’t said anything more to Kino about Wooseok since the night she came over drunk, but he never pried. He always figured that she’d share whatever she felt comfortable sharing.

The previews of the messages give away everything he needs to know, though - the number of eggplant and winky emojis that comes across is enough to make him feel embarrassed. That has to mean something’s happening between them, right?

A sense of dread suddenly sets in. Maybe this was all too much, and it’s going to come across like he’s romancing her when she’s already involved with somebody else. He doesn’t want to be that guy, if that’s already the case. Ordering that dessert was definitely too much… ah, he definitely shouldn’t have done that…

No, it’s fine. It’s just a cake, and it’s her birthday! He’s just being a good friend. That’s all. He’s just a good friend.

_____ reappears right in the middle of his internal debate. “I was right! There was a lady in there, and she squirted soap into my hands and then dried ‘em off with a cloth towel after I washed up.”

“Wow,” he breathed, forcing out a small chuckle. “That’s fancy.”

“Right?” She takes her seat, and the cake comes out shortly after. There’s no song because this restaurant is clearly too classy to have the waiters sing. But the joy on _____’s face is absolutely precious, and he’s glad that he ordered the cake after all.

“Kino! Did you do this when I was in the bathroom?” She surveys her plate in awe, with the beautiful chocolate sauce message and the strawberry slices atop the chocolate-drizzled lava cake. 

“Yeah. We can’t have a real birthday dinner without cake, can we?”

“Kino… This is so sweet…” She looks like she’s getting a little choked up, but she manages a smile. “You’re the best friend I could’ve asked for. Thank you so much for doing all of this for me.”

“You’re welcome, _____. Happy Birthday.” He smiles wide, pretending like his whole chest hadn’t painfully tightened at the word friend.

It’s fine. This is what he wants. He’s just her friend.

After they wrap up their meal and he pays the astronomic check - still worth it for his best friend, he reminds himself - they hop on the bus and head back towards their dorms.

“I’m actually coming to your building,” she announces as the bus pulls up to their stop. “Wooseok said he has a birthday present for me, so I’m going to stop by.”

“Ah, okay.” Kino tries to seem cool about it, but he just has to say something. “He’s seemed pretty flirty with you recently, don’t you think?”

“Wooseok?” She lets out a laugh and they step out onto the sidewalk, heading for the dorm building. “Nah, he’s just like that. He’s playful, you know?”

Kino hums. “Yeah, I guess he is.” He holds the door open for her, and they pile into the elevator together, each pressing buttons for their respective floors.

“Thanks again for tonight, I seriously had so much fun.” She pulls Kino into a tight hug that lasts just a bit longer than it probably should. But he holds her, completely willing to keep her there as long as she wants. When the door opens and she finally pulls away, she parts with the cutest smile. “Next time, don’t wait for a special occasion to get dinner with me.”

He lets himself smile, even though he’s fully aware that he’s filling with false hope. “Okay.”

Wooseok crosses his arms over his chest as he surveys his handiwork. He didn’t mean to make her gift so romantic. When he had considered what to do for her birthday, he thought to himself, you know what’s cool? Fuckin pillow forts. It was supposed to be something fun but like, there’s no way that she’ll see what he’s done and say wow, thanks for this pal, you’re really just a true friend, let me just casually suck your dick now.

Not that a blow job is expected. He just likes to think about it sometimes.

Anyway, he knows nothing sexual is gonna happen between them tonight unless she doesn’t care that his roommate is home. Wooseok had tried to get him to go somewhere else, but Minho was adamant that he was staying in and going to bed early, since his Wednesday 8am class regularly kicks his butt.

Briefly, he considers tearing it all down, but she’s going to be here any moment and he doesn’t want to be empty handed after promising her a cool gift. 

Hopefully she’ll like it and it won’t be weird.

Right on cue, there’s a knock at his apartment door, signaling her arrival. Wooseok ducks into the bathroom for just a moment to check his hair before giving himself a weird look in the mirror. Why is he concerned with looking good? He’s not, like, trying to impress her or anything. It’s just casual.

He pushes his hand through his hair once before deciding it’s fine, and he heads for the door. She looks super cute in her dress, her jacket hanging open to reveal the tight fabric clinging to her curves. It immediately makes him think of the time she showed up and handed him her panties - which he safely stored in his underwear drawer, because that just makes sense - and it nearly gets him hard on the spot. 

“Hey,” she glows as she smiles up at him.

“Is that dress comfortable?”

She raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Why, you want me to take it off?”

“I’d definitely never say no to that, but… just a sec. Cover your eyes.”

“...Okay.” She gives him a quizzical look before holding her hands up to her eyes. He guides her into the apartment and directs her into the bathroom.

“Just a sec.” He flicks on the light and closes the door.

She laughs from the other side. “What are you doing?”

“Just hang on!” Wooseok shouts as he dips into the bedroom, where Minho is diligently reading his history textbook. 

“She here?” Minho doesn’t look up.

Wooseok digs through his drawers, pulling out a clean t-shirt and some sweatpants. “Yeah. She hasn’t seen it yet, though.”

“Girls love that shit. She’s gonna fall head over heels for you as soon as you show her.” 

Wooseok’s heart pounds with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. He definitely likes the thought of her falling for him, but there’s also a good chance that this whole gift won’t go over well and she’ll feel like he’s trying to make a move on her, and then she’ll want to call the whole thing off. So he needs to make sure he frames it right. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Good luck, dude.”

“Thanks.”

He emerges from the room and opens the bathroom door just enough to hand the clothing in. “Put this on. You need to be comfy.”

She takes the clothes with a quiet giggle, and then opens the door a few minutes later. 

The way his heart jumps into his throat at the sight of her in his shirt is unreal.

His clothes are big on her, of course, since he’s basically a giant, and the way the fabric hangs on her frame is just the most adorable thing that he’s ever seen. He knows immediately that he made a mistake and she should’ve just kept the dress on.

Regardless, he swallows his heart and gives a thumbs-up. “Better?”

She nods with a cute smile. “Very comfy.”

“Good. Close your eyes again.”

“Whyyy?” 

“Because it’s a surprise, dipshit.”

As soon as she covers her eyes again, Wooseok pulls her into the living room and angles her to face his masterpiece. He doesn’t let his hands linger on her shoulders any longer than they have to.

“‘Kay. You can look now.”

He’s completely fixated on her as she drops her hands, anxious for her reaction. And when she sees what he’s done, she completely lights up.

“You made a blanket fort?” 

“It’s cool, right?” He tentatively asks.

“It’s awesome!” She laughs joyfully. “Can we go in?”

“Nah, we’re just gonna look at it from out here.”

She playfully smacks his chest before approaching the fort, lifting up the sheet to peek inside. “Wow, this is so much cooler than the ones my brother and I would make when we were kids.”

From the outside, it looks like just a couple of sheets draped over various pieces of furniture, but the inside is really where most of his effort went. The fort’s ceiling is lined with twinkling lights, and there are decorative pillows of all shapes and sizes lining the back and sides. Small fake candles are scattered throughout and a fresh bowl of popcorn sits next to his opened laptop.

“Wooseok…” She crawls inside, making herself at home. “This is seriously awesome. I can’t believe you did all of this.”

He follows her in, taking extra care not to bump any of the blankets or chairs out of place with his large frame. “I promised you a cool birthday gift, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.” She looks up at him, and her sweet gaze is a little too much for him.

“So I thought maybe, like, a lowkey movie night would be fun? We can just relax and hang out and watch your favorite movie or something. Or we could pick something we haven’t seen. Your call, birthday girl.”

After a few minutes of browsing online, they eventually pick a movie to put on. It’s a crime thriller that he’s surprised she’s interested in, but she insisted that this is the one she wants. And then the movie starts, and they’re just sitting there side by side, and he’s internally debating whether he should put his arm around her. He knows the right choice is absolutely no, but it’s just so tempting to let her snuggle up next to him. 

Wooseok glances down at her to see where she’s at, and he notices that her little eyebrows are pushed together in concern.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Hm?” She looks up at him and throws on a smile. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m alright.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing. I just…” She scoots a little closer, curling her legs in towards her body and leaning against him. “It’s nothing.”

Is that the signal? Should he go for it? She’s trying to cuddle with him, right?

Wooseok feels hopelessly lost. This would be so much easier if he didn’t actually have some kind of feelings for her. Even though they both agreed that they’d come clean if any feelings ever cropped up, he just can’t convince himself that it’s a good idea to confess. If he says something, then they’ll stop hooking up, and she’ll probably feel weird about being his tutor and hanging out with him. He can suck it up and pretend like he doesn’t have feelings.

“Woo.” She shortens his name to get his attention. They lock eyes. “You know, you haven’t actually wished me a happy birthday yet.”

“I haven’t?”

She shakes her head minutely, her gaze not moving a centimeter. There’s something deep in her eyes, and he’s probably just reading into it all too much, but it feels like it did the first time he kissed her - like they’re connected and grounded and alive in this moment.

This time, he doesn’t ask for permission.

Wooseok kisses her slowly, as if she might break if he’s not careful. His eyes close as his lips connect with hers, and she’s soft and sweet as always. He fights off the urge to hold her hand, to cup her face. He just wants to kiss her, and that’s what he does.

It’s a long moment before he pulls away from her. She looks happy and he feels like at least for tonight, he’s done a good job.

“Happy Birthday, short stuff.”

Hongseok finishes off his bourbon and looks around, not really sure why he thought it would be a good idea to come back to Andy’s jazz club. He had planned on going to the bar across the street, thinking he might be able to find someone there who could serve as a distraction for the night. He had plenty of hookups when he was at university so he knows how that scene works. 

But as soon as he got there, curiosity got the best of him. It’s the Friday after _____’s birthday, which means she’s probably looking for a way to celebrate, right? And she’s snuck into Andy’s before, so why couldn’t she do it again?

Honestly, even if he found her there, he’s not sure if he’d tell her to go home or just be glad to cross paths again.

When he arrived, she was nowhere to be seen. He knows that’s for the best, since she's still not legally old enough to be here, and he shouldn’t be going out of his way to try to interact with her anyway.

The best he can do now is just look for a distraction as he had originally planned. 

Hongseok leaves his empty glass at the bar and approaches an attractive woman in a deep red dress. He smooth talks her. He lays it on thick, because he notices right away that she’s eating it all up. He asks her to dance, and she agrees.

The band tonight is great, and they play plenty of music that’s perfect for dancing. The smooth jazz makes for perfect slow dance music, and he clasps her hand in his, his other hand resting on her back and keeping her close. He murmurs everything she wants to hear, his lips brushing the cusp of her ear as he flirts. She’s like putty in his hands.

And when the moment’s right, his lips find hers. 

He kisses her like it means something, like he’s not just trying to avoid his problems. And she kisses him back, a delightful breath of fresh air.

Perhaps he can actually break free of _____’s spell.

It’s not long before their kiss becomes more than what is socially acceptable in public, and he suggests that they go back to his place. But she declines, claiming that she’s not that kind of woman, but leaves him with her phone number and a request to meet up for dinner next week.

Not exactly what he had hoped for, but he can't let himself be bothered by the fact that they both want different things. Still, he decides to keep her number, because she is quite beautiful. Who knows if anything will ever happen between them.

The pianist on stage starts a solo, effectively catching Hongseok's attention and driving his gaze to the front of the room. The melody is tender, full of longing, and for just a brief moment he thinks it might be _____ at the piano.

Of course it's not.

That's all the reason Hongseok needs to get the hell out of there.

When did he get in so deep? When did he become so crazy for this girl that he's hoping for any chance just to see her? He has no excuse for acting this way, but he can't help the fact that he's been completely enamored by her from the moment he first spoke to her at the wedding reception.

Hongseok returns to his apartment to settle in for the night, realizing that the only distraction he could possibly get for the night is his music. He lounges on his bed, plucking at the strings of one of his many acoustic guitars, his cat stretched out next to his leg.

His fingers move freely as he tries not to think about her, but is there really much harm in just getting lost in his thoughts?

He remembers the first time he saw her in his classroom, and how differently it hit him than the first time he saw her at the wedding. He remembers how dreadful it felt to see her sitting in the back, yet how thrilling it was to invite her into his hotel room. 

He remembers her anger, her joy, her ecstasy. She’s beautiful and fun and sexy and charming, entirely intoxicating. 

The memories of their night together visit him once again. He thinks about it far more often than he should, but he’s always told himself that he can at least savor the memory if he can’t let himself be with her again. 

As Hongseok lets himself relive that night in his mind, he sets his guitar to the side, his hardening length capturing his attention. His hand slides down the front of his sweatpants, tentatively stroking himself in search of some relief. 

The mental image of her naked body very quickly drives him wild. God what he wouldn’t give to be inside of her again, his hands massaging her round ass as he peppers kisses along her throat. He wants to hear her sighs of pleasure, wants to watch the way her lips part as each wave of her orgasm washes over her, her walls pulsing around his cock.

And the feeling of her tongue as it swirled around the head of his cock… he’d never get over it. 

It’s like she knew every single one of his buttons. Like she already had full and total control over his pleasure.

Hongseok breaks out of his fantasy just long enough to push his sweatpants down and grab the lube from his nightstand. His hand alone isn’t enough, doesn’t do justice to the incredible wetness of her.

He lets out a groan as he resumes his stroking, his cock twitching delightfully in his hand.

And, completely swept up in the heat of it all, he allows himself to imagine what would happen if he caved.

What if he told her how badly he wanted her, and she said the same? What if he invited her over, and she agreed without hesitation? What if he gave himself just one more chance to taste her, explore her, ruin her…

Love her?

Hongseok lets himself moan as he pumps harder, imagining his cock plunging into her, her nails digging into his back. He can practically hear her voice as it wraps around his name in the most seductive tone he’s ever heard, and all he wants is to give her everything she could ever ask of him. 

He wants to bite her skin, squeeze her curves, bury himself so deeply in her that he completely loses himself.

Hot ropes shoot from his cock onto his v-neck shirt as he thinks of nothing but her, and once his breathing returns to normal he finally realizes just how fucked he is.

It feels harmless, but he knows that fantasizing about her will only continue to chip away at his already weakening willpower, and eventually he’s going to end up doing something incredibly dumb.

After pulling off his dirty shirt and cleaning himself up, he returns to his bed, picking up his guitar once more. Unfortunately, not even his release is enough to get his mind off of her, so really he’s just back to square one.

He remembers how he played in his office for her, how she watched him in awe. He wonders if she feels music just as deeply as he does, if she feels the same connection to the melodies she plays and hears. 

She had asked if he could drum while he played, and his attempt had been mostly unsuccessful. He was sorely out of practice at the time, but he's been working on it since then.

He fingers a tune, taps his fingers on the face of the guitar, bumps his palm against the wood. If only she could hear him now, she'd surely be impressed.

And then - he has an idea.

The rest of his night is spent in the makeshift recording studio he's created inside of his closet with his best guitar, his microphone, and the desire to create something just for her.

Post Script | Thank you for reading! Please stay tuned for Part 8.

All Rights Reserved © gwentoryfics. No translations, reposting, and/or modifying of the material is allowed without my direct permission.

#ksmutclub #uninet #universenet #hongseok smut #hongseok scenarios #hongseok angst #kino angst #kino fluff #wooseok angst #wooseok fluff #wooseok smut #kino smut #hyunggu angst #hyunggu fluff #hyunggu smut #pentagon scenarios #kino scenarios #wooseok scenarios #hongseok fics #kino fics #wooseok fics #hyunggu scenarios #hyunggu fics

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 30/01/2021 (Wellerman, Fredo, Sabrina Carpenter, Billie Eilish & ROSALÍA)

I’ve never been more thankful for a song being this big – “drivers license” by Olivia Rodrigo spends a third week at #1, blocking “WITHOUT YOU” by The Kid LAROI at #2. Thank God. Anyway, we’ve got 10 new arrivals so let’s cut the chit-chat and start REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Rundown

Of course, after this brief rundown we always do. Thankfully, the site actually updated last week, so I can go through this as routinely as possible. For drop-outs, it’s a lot of recent new arrivals falling out either off the debut or a few weeks after – most of them being pretty crap – but we do have some notable drop-outs, like “Forever Young” by Becky Hill, “Plugged In Freestyle” by A92 and Fumez the Engineer, “pov” by Ariana Grande, “Love is a Compass” by Griff, “Tick Tock” by Clean Bandit and Mabel featuring 24kGoldn, “Lasting Lover” by Sigala and James Arthur, and finally, “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. Now to move onto the chart proper, we do have some movement to discuss. Firstly, we have some fallers, those being “Dynamite” by BTS at #32, “positions” by Ariana Grande at #39, “Lemonade” by Internet Money and Gunna featuring Don Toliver and NAV at #41, “All I Want” by Olivia Rodrigo at #43 off of the return, “SO DONE” by The Kid LAROI at #46, “Best Friend” by Saweetie featuring Doja Cat at #47, “Midnight Sky” by Miley Cyrus at #48, “What You Know Bout Love” by the late Pop Smoke at #51, “Wellerman” by the Longest Johns practically being replaced at #52 (We’ll discuss this more later), “See Nobody” by Wes Nelson and Hardy Caprio at #53, “Notorious” by Bugzy Malone and Chip at #55, “Looking for Me” by Paul Woodford, Diplo and Kareen Lomax at #60, “Bad Boy” by the late Juice WRLD and Young Thug unfortunately purging to #62, “WAP” by Cardi B featuring Megan Thee Stallion at #67, “Pinging (6 Figures)” by Central Cee crashing off of the debut to #72 and “Diamonds” by Sam Smith at #74, joining our two returning entries – which are just older songs getting another brief pick-up at the bottom of the charts. Those are “Baby Shark” by Pinkfong and “Shallow” by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper at #75 and #73 respectively, by the way. Oh, and we also have “Martin & Gina” by Polo G at #65, but I honestly can’t see that song going anywhere – and I really like it. This doesn’t mean that we don’t have any gains, however, as finally, we can see some rising hits trying to fill in the cracks, like both of Rudimental’s debuts from last week: “Be the One” with MORGAN, TIKE and Digga D is up to #58, whilst the incredibly worse single “Regardless” with RAYE is cracking into the top 40 at #40. Sigh, well, we do have some more promising gains, like... “Heat Waves” by Glass Animals at #38? “Friday” by Riton, Nightcrawlers and Musafa & Hypeman at #37 off of the debut? Okay, 2021 might end up being pretty rough, huh? Thankfully, we have a plentiful amount of new arrivals to waive any of my fears, so let’s just start with those.

NEW ARRIVALS

#70 – “Overpriced” – M Huncho

Produced by Quincy Tellem

Oh, come on! Okay, so this is M Huncho, UK trao’s answer to the late MF DOOM, except without any of the lyrical complexity, storytelling abilities, genuine wit, charming sampling and production techniques, brilliant discography... he’s pretty much just a guy whose main gimmick is the mask, and it’s on this single cover too, seemingly in a museum. This song in particular is just one of these melodic trap cuts with wavy acoustic guitars blended with synths beyond recognition, topped off with odd bass mastering and a checked-out performance from M Huncho, who spends way too much time on his verses going “doo-doo-doo-doo-doo”, before the beat switches for a verse that fades out after like 20 seconds. What’s the point of any of this, honestly? It’s not awful – the bass does kind of knock – but I really don’t understand why this is here, or why M Huncho is a big name. It’s not even as good as AJ Tracey’s trap bangers and it’s not even as funny as D-Block Europe, which I’m surprised by, considering that he had his own stupid hit with “Pee Pee” around this time last year, and that song was actually good. Also, M Huncho, what do you think your fans get from you dissing them? If you’re going to brag about your “house by the lake” and then rap about how some unnamed individual “still lives at their mum’s in a council estate”, consider that a lot of your audience will still live with their parents in council housing or be surrounded by people who do. Someone who really came from poverty should know that this is classist and disrespectful to your own demographic. Yeah, this is worthless. Why’s this guy still charting? At least Young Adz knows how to write a hook.

#65 – “New Love” – Silk City and Ellie Goulding

Produced by Silk City and Picard Brothers

Okay, so we do have some energy on the chart – or at least half of the credited acts have. Silk City is a duo of producers, those being Diplo, a true weirdo in mainstream EDM who’s honestly kind of fascinating and oftentimes a fluke genius (especially in its work in Major Lazer and Jack U with Skrillex), and Mark Ronson, one of the greatest producers of the 21st century so far, probably most known for “Uptown Funk!”. These guys did have a hit together with Dua Lipa in 2018 in the form of “Electricity”, but it’s been a while and I’m interested to see how they work with the complete non-presence that is Ellie Goulding. It’s with some level of disappointment that I say that she’s not a non-presence here, as this is otherwise a pretty neat house tune with some excellent 90s keys and a deep-house groove I think is pretty fun. The strings in the pre-chorus are great and build-up to a fantastic chorus... or at least the instrumental is fantastic, because Goulding is a waste here, mixed way too high and honestly just faltering her vocals here. She sounds awkward through multi-tracking and even worse without it, as she clearly goes for a rough swagger that cannot work with her light, almost fairy-like voice she’s relied on much of her career. The intricacies of this production are really admirable, but Goulding was clearly an afterthought. With a real diva on vocals, or honestly just a sample of a soul or diva house track, this could be excellent. As it is, I’m bored. Next.

#63 – “Typhoons” – Royal Blood

Produced by Royal Blood

Oh, okay. Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Royal Blood are an English garage rock duo that rock pretty hard, and don’t go for anything else beyond that, which to me is a breath of fresh air, and, yeah, this is good. Is it as good as their debut? Of course not, their biggest hit “Figure it Out” is still incredible, and this one goes for a more synthesized 70s feel, even accentuated by disco keys in the pre-chorus. The riffs are still here though, as that main guitar line is pretty awesome. I see this as a mix of garage rock revival bands from the 2000s like the White Stripes, as well as some stoner-adjacent bands like Queens of the Stone Age, with a more classic hard-rock groove and Mike Kerr’s signature yelp, and it works for what it is, so I’m excited for that upcoming single. Nothing’s particularly impressive here, but I’ll definitely go for this over the rest of what we have charting, so I’m not complaining. This is good, you should check these guys out, even if they tend to be a bit derivative. That tense bridge with the looming background vocals and intensifying riff is genuinely epic, by the way, even if there isn’t much more of a pay-off behind just... the chorus again, which ends up rendering as flat as a result. Regardless, it’s a good break from the norm – which for a chart week like this, I’m especially glad is here.

#61 – “Your Love (9PM)” – ATB, Topic and A75

Produced by ATB, Topic and Rudi Dittmann

German DJ ATB was showing his girlfriend his new recording studio when he got carried away with a single guitar sound and made a song out of it, “9PM (Till I Come)”, named after the time the track was finished. Later on, he took the track and added some whispered vocals from Spanish model Yolanda Riviera. This happened in 1999, by the way, when this song was released to great success in Europe, leading to a hilariously dated album cover but still a UK #1. The song is honestly kind of bad, relying on a pretty typical house groove, ugly MIDI guitars and that seductive vocal loop. Regardless, since 90s nostalgia has come way too fast, Topic has remixed the track with A75, a collaboration we’ve seen before on “Breaking Me” from last year, which sucked. To be fair, the original song is pretty empty, so I’m interested to hear A75 add some vocals... and he just sounds pained over a deep-house rip of the original. The ugly MIDI melody stays, just now it’s drowned out and even more synthesized – this is the guitar sound you liked so much? I hope she left you. Let’s move on.

#59 – “My Head & My Heart” – Ava Max

Produced by Jonas Blue, Earwulf and Cirkut

Speaking of being bored, here’s pop singer Ava Max, with a new lead single from the deluxe edition of her debut studio album, Heaven & Hell. This one’s produced by Jonas Blue, which, alongside a redundant “Jonas Blue remix”, is probably why it’s charting. What’s sad is it’s not really very good, as the vocals are over-processed over fake hand-claps and clipping mixes that make those plastic synths sound even worse. Admittedly, I like the rubbery future bass-esque bass line here, but that’s really as far as my appreciation for this goes, as the writing is non-existent, and Ava Max is barely here. It’s honestly really similar to “New Love”, except this one’s not even as interesting as that track, going for an exhaustingly tired house-pop style that while she is a natural fit for, it does make the 2000s synth-pop she started with sound inspired in comparison. Oh, and the “Jonas Blue remix” is practically a glorified bass-boost that makes this sound even uglier, so, yeah, skip this.

#42 – “Apricots” – Bicep

Produced by Bicep

Bicep is a Northern Irish electronic duo from Belfast, and this is an instrumental from their most recent album, Isles, which clearly must have stood out enough for it to debut at #42. I can understand why too, as that sample from Hugh Tracey’s African music recordings, particularly the vocal sample used, is really infectious and interesting. I don’t think everything surrounding it is enough to really make it less annoying, as it running through nearly the entirety of a four-minute track makes this sample lose its lustre too quickly. It runs its course far before the song has the chance to build up into a house track, with that sample crushing everything that isn’t the percussion in the mix anyway. The keys are really cool, and I can’t fault the strings and ambiance that keeps the song building up for as long as it does. It also takes a sample from a Bulgarian folk choir, which they paralleled to the Celtic folk they grew up hearing, and honestly, this is just a cool blending of global music rather than an actually good song, ending with me respecting this more than actually enjoying it. The synths by the end sound fantastic as does the Bulgarian chanting, but it doesn’t really have a great climax or drop to make the build-up worth it, defaulting to a generic house groove by the end that fades out before it can have any real impact. So, yeah, this isn’t bad, but feels like a waste of some really great ideas. I guess I can say that “Northern Irish remix of an English ethnomusicologist’s recordings of African music that also samples a Bulgarian folk tune” isn’t quite as much of a developed idea as “Kazakh remix of an American rapper of Guyanese descent’s trap song in a Brazilian house style released on a Russian record label”.

#35 – “Lo Vas A Olvidar” – Billie Eilish and ROSALÍA

Produced by FINNEAS

It’s not often that songs in non-English languages chart in the UK. Whilst in the US, Latin music is such a force that it’ll launch hits for many Spanish-speaking artists, this isn’t the case in decidedly smaller Britain, where a still multicultural society tends to produce art that is always in English. To be fair, we don’t have a place like Puerto Rico, and the few songs I’ve talked about this year that have been in a different language... well, basically the one song I can remember off the top of my head, was in a Nigerian Creole language. So, why’s a Spanish song by Spanish artist ROSALÍA charting so high? Well, it’s also a Billie Eilish song, and it’s also from the HBO teen drama Euphoria. Yeah, a teen drama makes a lot of sense for Eilish to soundtrack. This has been teased since 2019, and is actually ROSALÍA’s first song to chart here in the UK, so is it any good? Well, yeah, actually, it is. Both Eilish and ROSALÍA have excellent whispery tones that complement FINNEAS’ muted, ambient production perfectly, and their harmonisation sounds great, with both singing in Spanish here for the most part. That chorus is pretty janky, though, and I don’t really see the point in the Auto-Tuned interludes, even if they both sound great playing off of each other with a lot of tuning in the outro. This is pretty minimal and dare I say awkward, kind of eerie, so I don’t see it sticking around, but as a longing break-up track, they both sell it well. Next.

#28 – “Skin” – Sabrina Carpenter

Produced by Ryan McMahon

Joshua Bassett’s response flopped immensely, meaning that now it’s Sabrina Carpenter’s time to shine, because if it’s anything she gets out of this Disney love triangle, it’s a hit song, and people clearly want to hear more from the women than they do from Josh. Telling. Now I��m not one to follow Disney teen drama because this is all a marketing gimmick. I mean, the songs dropped every Friday so anyone who can’t see through this is either blind or... a child, and considering the audience, that second one is more likely, which is fine. Popular music is, ultimately, in the hands of teenagers and record executives, and all of these break-up response diss track... things, tend to feed into both hands, whilst also giving these talented young actors a bigger break. This is Carpenter’s first charting hit in the UK, after all. The song is decidedly worse than “drivers license” though, and by a lot, as the mixing here isn’t even competent, as Carpenter’s voice clips through these ugly pianos, worsened by how her voice does not sound great here at all, as she struggles through that terrible chorus. She may say that this isn’t a response to Rodrigo, but given the lyrics and how quickly this rushed release was put out, are we really supposed to believe that? The percussion here is gross as well, drowned in bad reverb that makes this just sound grey and dull. The strings building up to a climax are barely there, and when they are, they sound like they’re elevating a really garbage performance from Carpenter, who can barely keep up. This is supposed to be a ballad yet it sounds so stiff and controlled, meaning that Carpenter trying to let loose on the vocals makes this awkward and painful. I’m sorry, but this is really bad, and I hope it doesn’t stick around. Thankfully, I don’t see that happening.

#20 – “Back to Basics” – Fredo

Produced by Dave

Lil Chocolate Frog’s got a new record out this week that I’ve yet to hear, and this is the lead single, produced by his long-time friend and collaborator, Dave – who’s awesome. I’ve typically been less kind to his mate Fredo but honestly, his ever so slightly off-kilter style has grown on me too, and this song is a pretty good introduction to that. It’s one verse over rattling trap hi-hats and a really eerie vocal sample, and Fredo flows casually and smoothly over the beat, in his typical careless, just barely there style, which works well over a pretty subtle beat like this. Fredo’s lyrics are pretty interesting here too, as amidst flexing and gun-play, he has some pretty funny lines, although far from Dave’s wordplay, rather relying on fun one-liners where he says he’s “kind of Christian”, doing revision on drug trafficking, will run for mayor, and because of how much of the gang violence is sadly amongst ethnic minorities, he himself is racially profiling his “opps”. One line near the end of the track actually made me laugh, when he says he counts up twenties while eating porridge. It’s not funny on paper, sure, but the delivery is gold. He shows more character here than he has since “Funky Friday”, also with Dave, so I’m pretty excited to hear this record, which Dave actually executively produced. It’s also got the late Pop Smoke on a track with Young Adz, so at least I’ll let out more of those laughs. This lead single is pretty good though, and I can see it going top 10 next week with the album boost.

#3 – “Wellerman – Sea Shanty” (220 KID x Billen Ted Remix) – Nathan Evans

Produced by Saltwaves, Billen Ted and 220 KID

Last week, the sea shanty “Wellerman” charted as a cover by the Longest Johns. It’s a fine acapella cover, and this version, by Nathan Evans, was originally similarly acapella, except for the tap of a table as percussion to keep time. This version got even more viral on British TikTok, and if I recall correctly, he quit his job to be signed by Polydor, which is pretty scummy on Polydor’s part. I mean, you know this guy won’t have any more hits. Regardless, this version debuted at #3 thanks to a remix by DJs 220 KID and Billen Ted, three English producers. According to their Spotify duo, Billen Ted used to be a death metal band of all things but then transitioned into writing for dance-pop tunes, and have worked with 220 KID, even if this is technically only their second single. This remix is actually pretty cool to be honest, as it takes the original track and adds some needed energy, mostly through this generic 90s house beat and some admittedly really nice pianos. It’s nothing special, and I would usually criticise something this generic, but the song’s not even two minutes and it’s a pretty inoffensive remix that genuinely adds to the original song through that brilliant flip of the original hook melody in the drop, so I can’t complain. This won’t last, but I’m not mad that it’s here.

Conclusion

I’m actually somewhat pleased with this chart week, which I wasn’t expecting initially, as you can probably tell from my above cynicism. Regardless, we’ve got some variety here (though I don’t see much of it sticking) and I’ll give Best of the Week to Royal Blood for “Typhoons”, with a tied Honourable Mention for “Back to Basics” by Fredo, and, God damn it, “Wellerman” by Nathan Evans and remixed by 220 KID and Billen Ted. Shut up, it’s fun! Worst of the Week will probably go to Sabrina Carpenter’s “Skin”, with a Dishonourable Mention for the complete lack of effort that is M Huncho’s “Overpriced”, just being mildly offensive if anything. Here’s our top 10:

For next week, I mean, a girl can hope for some Weezer, but it’s more likely that we’ll be met with a Fredo album bomb and some scattered efforts from that middling Lil Durk deluxe edition. For now though, you can follow me @cactusinthebank for more ramblings and thanks for reading. I’ll see you next week.

[laruna]

— interloper.

characters. lim yuri, min yoongi, kim namjoon.

word count. 21.1k

genre. angst, fluff, friendship, romance, slow burn

warnings. underage drinking, hospitals, car accidents, mentions of family issues

summary. when yoongi feels like an interloper, yuri reminds him that he belongs.

November 7, 2011. Big Hit Entertainment Building, Seoul.

While Namjoon signed his contract until earlier that year, he still had to wait until the dorms were built to move in. Yuri gave Hitman Bang an earful when she found out he had signed him as a trainee when the company didn’t even have fucking dorms yet, but Namjoon fully assured her that it was okay and quelled her rage long enough to stop her from biting the poor old man’s head off.

But it all worked out eventually. Namjoon moved in when the dorms were built back in August, and without the awkwardness that parental presence at his house entailed, Yuri invited herself over as often as possible, practically making the dorms her second home. 

It’s almost a kind of domestic bliss, the way her and Namjoon lived before, cooking for each other and cleaning up the shitty company building until they get so tired they fall asleep on the floor. Sometimes, if she’s really lucky, he’ll offer to let her share his bed. You know, since all the empty beds are going to be occupied by other trainees eventually, and it’d be rude to give someone a used bed, right? Of course.

It’s a Monday when they go to the dorm and actually find the bed across from Namjoon’s occupied.

“...hi.”

The new trainee’s name is Min Yoongi. He’s only a year Namjoon’s senior, but despite the closeness in age, he doesn’t seem willing to bond with them at all. If anything, he barely talks to either of them. According to Hitman Bang, Yoongi is from Daegu, and the only speaks so little because he’s still trying to get used to Seoul’s dialect and is embarrassed that his satoori keeps slipping out.

Yoongi only talks when necessary, like a coworker. They spend the first week or so not talking about anything but work—music, in their case—but even that they can’t be friendly about. Despite their similar interest in hip-hop, Yoongi and Namjoon have very different approaches to rap music. To music in general, really.

Yuri can’t help but feel as if Yoongi has kind of an edge over them. On top of being a year older, he’s also both a producer and a rapper. Yuri is only the former and Namjoon is only the latter, so it’s like he’s got the force of them both combined. She can’t help but feel a little bit small, next to him. 

When they argue about something in the studio, he tends to use this as leverage, telling them to just listen to him because he knows better about this kind of thing. That escalates into arguing, which usually consists of Namjoon and Yoongi yelling at each other while Yuri desperately tries to mediate the situation. The current tally she’s been keeping in her journal shows that Namjoon having won two arguments, Yoongi having won six, and Yuri having successfully distracted them from finishing eleven. She likes to believe that means she’s winning.

Hitman Bang begs to disagree.

He finds out about it one day when he comes to visit her when she’s alone in the studio. The old man never knocks before entering, Yuri notes the invasion of privacy with annoyance. Even so, he kicks it up a notch by glancing over at the journal she’s left open on the corner of her desk. He laughs when he sees the page headed argument wins, pointing to the to the tallies by her name.

“I’m not surprised you’re in the lead,” he laughs. “You’re a menace.” She cringes when she remembers his first impression of her. She wasn’t exactly… tactful about it, but it got the point across well enough. Now that he’s her boss, though, she worries it’ll give him more reason to check up on her, and she would rather selfishly indulge in having some alone time with Namjoon.

“I’m not!” she defends herself, flustered. “I just know better than to waste my time arguing with boys. My points are for when I stop them from arguing, okay? Not having to hear them try to bite each other’s heads off is a win for me.”

“Hm.” He purses his lips at that, regarding her with a look she can’t quite read. She hates how unreadable he is. Her instincts have rarely failed her, but the old man is one of the few people whose energy has yet to come to her.

“Don’t be afraid of fighting,” he tells her after a bout of silence. “They should be able to fight if they’re angry. You should let them fight, let them yell if they’re angry. Even fist fights are fine. It’s okay to fight. Fearing fights only makes conflicts grow bigger.” Yuri shifts uneasily in her seat.

“I don’t like fighting. I don’t like yelling. I don’t like fists,” she says. “I get enough of that at home.” She doesn’t mean for it to slip out, doesn’t even realize that it does until the old man makes that face.

“Oh, Yuri.” He says it more sincerely than she’s ever heard from anyone at the dad age.

“Oh my God, no,” her voice cracks as she speaks. “We’re not doing that. We’re not having, like, a moment. I’m not emotionally prepared for that. I’ll cry and I’ll hate you.” He just nods at that, before awkwardly clapping a hand down onto her shoulder.

“Just remember that you can’t solve everything between them,” he says. “Let them resolve some of that on their own. You won’t be around to resolve things forever.” It feels like a jinx, the way he says it, but she still nods along.

“Okay,” she says. Sounds like simple enough advice to follow.

“And try to befriend Yoongi, okay?” he adds. She wrinkles her nose. That one seems a little harder.

“Okay,” she says anyways. She’ll definitely try.

Namjoon wrinkles his nose when Yuri proposes inviting Yoongi to the Lim household.

“He doesn’t really know anyone else,” Namjoon rationalizes. “Wouldn’t it be a bit awkward for him?”

“That’s the point, dummy,” she says, “I think it’d help him learn to get along with everyone, is all. Including us, hopefully. I don’t know.” Namjoon sighs, if only because she’s been getting harder and harder to say no to these days. He’s not sure why.

“Alright,” he agrees.

Unexpectedly, it’s significantly harder to get Yoongi to agree.

“I barely know you guys,” he deadpans, and Yuri winces. The I told you so look that Namjoon shoots her doesn’t help, and only reminds her of how much she’s always struggled with making friends. 

Hoping to spare her pride, she persists. This is the only opportunity she has to have everybody over in a while—she doesn’t know the next time her father’s going to be working overtime and they’ll have the house to themselves. Knowing him, the old man would probably bite her and Kyunghee’s head off if he came home from work and saw everybody over on a daily basis.

“You can,” she offers softly. “Get to know us, I mean. Please?” 

Yoongi only raises a brow, seemingly unconvinced.

“We have alcohol?” she offers, but the inflection makes it sound more like a question. Namjoon smacks her arm at that, only for her to shoot him a look that says, What? It’s true! Awkwardly, she adds, “Also, um, free food.”

And that’s enough to convince him, apparently.

Yoongi looks starstruck when he first enters the Lim household, suddenly feeling very small. Or at the very least, smaller than usual. He was easily the shortest of the company’s trainees, second-shortest of everybody in the building, towering over only the perpetually tiny Lim Yuri. He almost has a heart attack when said tiny girl takes his shoes from him to put in the garage. It’s her big-ass house, after all. Shit, just being here makes him feel like he should be the one serving her.

Yuri and Kyunghee explain that their father is out working overtime and... doesn’t really say anything about their mom, but the others know better than to bring something like that up unprompted, so they don’t.

The alcohol is present as promised, provided by none other than resident adult, Ikje. Was it illegal? Yes. Was that going to stop any of them? In the words of Donghyuk, ‘hell nah!’

What terrible, terrible influences, Yuri thinks.

She’s never had alcohol before, nor does she plan to have it anytime soon. Not for any legal or moral reasons, mind you—with the amount of alcohol so freely available in her household, she could probably sneak as much as she wanted whenever she wanted. Personally, she just thinks it smells weird and makes her dad act like a crazy person.

She’s only fifteen, but they make it seem fun. They take the thin metal tail of the soju bottle’s metal cap and tighten it into a straight, brittle line. Everyone takes turns flicking it until Kyunghee’s fingers finally break it off. He makes a face when Ikje fills the shot glass in front of him with soju as punishment.  

Yuri doesn’t miss the way he side-eyes Donghyuk before downing it, like he’s trying to make sure that he’s watching. Like he’s looking for approval. She wonders if that’s how she looks at Namjoon. She wonders if that’s how Namjoon looks at her. He’s on her brain too often, these days. Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon. 

They’ve gotten even closer since they made up, and she’s learned a lot more about him since then. He’s still the stickler that refuses to drink in public where he could get in trouble, but he still still laughs and encourages the others’ antics in private, maybe even allowing himself a shot or two. He is also more than the sexless smart dude that she stereotyped him as when they first met, as she has come to learn through his awful, nasty jokes. 

She really was right when she said that he had a whole solar system in his head. Whenever he seems like he could fit into some mold, he immediately proves her wrong. Kim Namjoon is everything.

In contrast, Min Yoongi isn’t much to her at the moment.

When she turns over to look at him, she immediately feels bad for not really paying attention to him the whole night, especially when she was the one to have invited him. The only reason she’s even paying him any mind right now is because he’s just situated himself next to her at the table, as a now drunken Ikje has thoughtlessly occupied his previously-claimed spot. 

Yuri isn’t sure if it’s because he’s not comfortable enough to drink around them yet, but she finds the way he innocently refuses to drink is a little endearing in the same way she found endearing when Namjoon refused to do so back in Hongdae. Instead, Yoongi opts to eat his entire body weight in meat, and is on what she believes is his third plate of fried chicken wings. Respect.

It’s a nice environment, and Yuri really is still adjusting to the fact that this is actually her life. She has a solid friend group that eats and drinks and laughs and plays stupid games together in her house. It’s relaxing. It’s safe. It feels like home. They feel like home.

It’s when they hear her dad’s car pull into the driveway a couple hours earlier than anticipated that makes Yuri remember, oh yeah, home kind of sucks.

In the next few minutes, their living room descends into absolute chaos. Kyunghee moves to swipe all the food and shot glasses off the table and into the sink, Yuri helps load them all into the dishwasher, Ikje is scooping all the soju bottles up into his arms, and everyone else is drunkenly scrambling out the back door. Once they’re all collected, Ikje climbs out the back window, for whatever reason. She blames it on his batshit drunkenness.

Everything is in the clear by the time their dad steps in. The entire scene is inconspicuous enough, Kyunghee passing Yuri plates from the sink to load into the dishwasher like they just ate a nice dinner. They even go so far as to force awkward smiles for their father, but he simply nods at them in acknowledgement before rubbing at his temples and makes his way upstairs, clearly still stressed from work. Kyunghee breathes a sigh of relief when he hears his father’s bedroom door click shut.

“We’re good,” he says, clasping a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Go lock the back. I’ll finish up the dishes.” Yuri nods, before making her merry way off to follow her brother’s orders. She nearly jumps out of her skin when she’s about to lock the back door and sees a male figure standing ominously in the shadows instead.

She turns on the back light, and lo and behold, there stands Min Yoongi, eating a fucking chicken wing on her back porch. And he has the audacity to look surprised, like she’s the one who shouldn’t be there on her own porch. Heaving a sigh, she steps outside, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible.

“What are you doing here?!” she whisper-yells. “Why didn’t you go with the others?!” It comes off as more aggressive than she intended, but the last thing she wants is for him to get caught and in trouble when she’s the one that invited him over in the first place.

“Namjoon went to sleep over at Donghyuk’s place,” he explains awkwardly. “Ikje went to sleep over at Hunchul’s place and, uh. I wasn’t invited to either. Ikje dropped me off here from the dorms, so… I don’t really know how to get back to the dorms from here.” 

Yuri heaves a sigh. She’s going to have to give everyone a stern talk about the importance of camaraderie and the no-man-left-behind policy. After shooting a quick text to her brother, she uses the house key hanging off of her lanyard to lock the back door.

“I know Seoul like the back of my hand,” she says. “C’mon. I’ll walk you back.” 

“I don’t know how I feel about you walking back home alone so late at night,” he says. “It doesn’t sound very safe for you.” His genuine worry makes her heart warm. Those unexpected moments of sweetness he has always throw her off. Not in a bad way, though. It’s nice.

Unfortunately, the rest of the walk is significantly less nice. They spend the first ten minutes arguing over whether or not it really is safe for her to be walking back home alone so late. He feels bad that she’s out because of him, but she insists that it’s fine as she’s done so many times before. 

“Taking the subway home and walking home are two very different things,” he admonishes her. She resists the urge to roll her eyes at his patronizing tone.

“Relaaaax. I’ve got pepper spray,” she justifies herself. “Also, I hold my keys between my fingers.” She even holds up her hands for emphasis.

“I’m sure you could give a good stabbing if you wanted to,” he snarks. He doubts the tiny girl before him is capable of causing any physical damage, even with a deadly weapon in hand.

“Are you making fun of me?” she whines, and he snorts, because it really should be obvious. “I’m just trying to make sure you get home safely, and this is the thanks I get?”

Yoongi stops in his tracks to think about it for a moment, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he does so. She obviously means well, as annoying as she may be. She’s also his junior, and when he thinks about it, he’s just being mean to her for no good reason.

“Fine. I’m sorry for being an ass,” he relents with flushed cheeks, more for his conscience than anything else. “It’s just that—I just like being alone with my thoughts when I walk, that’s all. You’re not annoying.” 

Or at least, not that annoying, he doesn’t say.

“I know I can be annoying,” she says so matter-of-factly that it makes him feel even worse. “And my brother can be the same way. He likes just thinking, too, so I can just be quiet if that’s what you want. I just want you to get home alive, that’s all.” His eyes soften.

“I’ll be fine,” he assures her. “I can defend myself if I really need to. I was on my school basketball team, you know. Boxing, too.”

“With these noodles?” she says bluntly, reaching over and taking hold of his arm. “And how did you get into the basketball team? Aren’t basketball players supposed to be tall?”

“You don’t have any right to talk about height,” he says, staring down all 150 centimeters of her frame as he snatches his arm back from her. “And my arms are not noodles just because I’m not built like The Hulk.”

“We can’t all be Kim Namjoons, I guess. He’s got biceps for days.” Yoongi gives her an amused look at that, and she flushes uncharacteristically. “Sorry. That was weird. Just don’t—nevermind. I’ll stop talking now.”

“No, by all means, keep going,” he teases. “As long as you don’t mind me telling him about it later.” She gasps at that, smacking him in the arm.

“Oh, so now you want me to talk!” she huffs, smacking his arm. “You will be telling him no such thing, Min Yoongi! You don’t even talk to him about that kinda stuff, anyway!” He laughs as he jumps ahead to get away from her playful smacking, smiling so wide that Yuri can see his gums showing. They’re cute. She decides that she likes them.

“You really like him, don’t you? Namjoon?” he chuckles, far too blunt for her liking. It’s a special kind of adorable the way that she so visibly shrinks at his words, he thinks.

“We’re not dating, I, um—” she sputters. “Is it obvious? That I like him, I mean.”

“Relax,” he says. “It’s not. Really, I don’t think he knows. I don’t think anyone knows except Kyunghee, and I only know because of him.”

“My brother knows?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck that guy.”

Yoongi laughs at her sudden vulgarity. She really got really blunt and fiery when she wasn’t thinking, even with her seniors like him. It makes things feel a little bit more comfortable.

“Relax,” he repeats. “I think he just knows you? Because he’s your brother, I mean. He was like, ‘I just have to tell someone and nobody talks to you so it’s okay.’ So I doubt he’s told anyone else.”

Yuri nods, inclined to agree. She’d never tell Namjoon about Kyunghee’s crush on Donghyuk, and she has enough trust in her brother to know that trust goes both ways. Still, she feels bad that the exclusion Yoongi goes through on the daily is so obvious, even to her socially-awkward brother. But she has her own relationships to worry about.

“Just don’t, like. I don’t know. Interfere in whatever is happening, okay?” she huffs. “You’re the only one who knows, as far as I know. I just… don’t try to plant any thoughts in his head, okay? I want whatever happens to happen naturally. Because he likes me for me, or something.”

“Spoken like a true romantic,” he says sarcastically.

“Oh, stop it,” she whines. Yoongi laughs.

“I won’t,” he assures her.

He doesn’t know when they started walking again, but it feels just a bit less awkward and stilted now. Yuri’s just a couple steps ahead of him, guiding the way. Wrinkling his brows, he stops dead in his tracks.

“This isn’t the right way,” he says. “You take a left here.”

“No?” she says. “The subway pickup is right here.”

“I’m not taking the subway, I’m walking, remember?” he says.

“What?!” she says. She didn’t mind the fifteen minute walk to the subway, but this was too much. “The whole way? The whole walk back to the dorms is like, an hour, Yoongi! Jesus, if I knew we were gonna be walking the whole way, I wouldn’t have come.”

“Well, you don’t have to walk me home if you didn’t want to,” he says. “You’re the one who offered.”

“I didn’t think you were a crazy person!” she huffs. “Why don’t you just take the subway?”

“I spent all my money on chipping in for dinner, how the hell am I gonna afford a subway ticket?” he snorts. “Look, I can walk however long it takes, but I can’t spawn food out of thin air like you guys can.” He tries to say it as casually as he can possibly manage, but the venom still leaks through. Her face visibly drops when he says it.

“Oh,” she says, her voice tiny. “I didn’t… sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Stop that. You’re being weird,” Yoongi says. 

He hates this part. He hates the pity looks he gets from rich people like the Lims who have year-long subway passes their father bought—who, by the way, probably gets to sit pretty in a big office telling other people what to do while overworked laborers like his parents carry the South Korean economy on their backs.

But he digresses. He doubts she’s the kind of person who’d want to listen to his long-winded spiels on the economy or the government or the Gwangju democratization movement, anyway. Really, he doubts she’s type to need or think about funds at all.

Much to his surprise, she does.

“Okay, but like—just to make sure—money for that kinda stuff isn’t an issue for you guys, right?” she asks. “Like, Hitman Bang is feeding you guys?” There’s a level of threat to her voice that reminds him of the story Bang PD told him when he first joined the company, of her marching into his office to make demands for her friend’s safety. Loathe as he is to admit it, the image of it is equal parts genuine and endearing of her.

And maybe that’s why he feels the urge to spill his guts to her so suddenly, then. Maybe it’s also the warm, almost disarming energy in the way she talks to him now that they’re finally speaking one-on-one, despite his previous assumptions. Maybe it’s how innocent her eyes look when they shine under the Seoul streetlights.

“You know, I… I used to make beats out of a studio in Daegu,” he confesses. “Most of the time, I’d get scammed out of them, though. The guys who went in and out of the building would rip my shit off or use them but never pay me back, so like… I didn’t make much. But I stayed there because I still wanted to make music and using the studio was cheaper than buying equipment on my own.”

“Oh,” is all she says, pressing her lips together in a thin line. It’s definitely not the kind of thing Yuri and her brother ever had to worry about, seeing as they were so well-off. Hell, they were giving away the shit that Yoongi was slaving his life away over for free.

“So I couldn’t really pay for food or transport that easy, you know?” he continues, against his better judgement. It’s the first time he’s ever talked to anyone about this, and fuck, it feels so good. He can’t stop himself. “In front of the studio, there was this Chinese restaurant that sold jajangmyeon for 2000 won, and down the street, there was this place that sold janchi guksu for 1000 won, and like… I don’t know. It sounds stupid, but I had to worry about that shit everyday. If I ate the janchi guksu, I’d be able to get the bus and if I ate the jajangmyeon, I’d have to walk 2 hours to get home. So. I don’t know. I’m just stuck thinking like that, I guess. I know it’s not like… a thing anymore, but I feel using public transport still makes me feel guilty.”

“Mm.”

“Sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

“It doesn’t,” she reassures him. “I’ve just, um, never had to think about stuff like that. I’m sorry you had to, though. It sounds shitty.”

“Not your fault. Don’t apologize for something like that.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling up at him. “Thank you for telling me, Yoongi.”

“Uh. Yeah. No prob,” he says, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. His flush only darkens when she shoves a couple of won in his hand, and he realizes she’s been slowly guiding him in the direction of the subway station this whole time. “Wait, h-hey—”

“No, no, I don’t need it,” she says when he shoves the money back into her hands.

“But—”

“It’s fine,” she assures him, soft smile still gracing her features. “I’d rather not walk all the way back to the dorms. Just take it, you’ll be doing me a favor. You don’t have to pay me back or anything, either. It’s not that much, anyway.”

Yoongi frowns. As much as he wants to argue with her, he’s tired enough as it is, and he has no doubt she’d stay up all night just to stay here and debate this with him. 

“Okay,” he relents. She grins in what he believes to be triumph before gently taking hold of his hand in one of hers and placing the money back into his grasp with the other. She waits outside for the subway take off, like she’s afraid he won’t do as she says unless she sees it happen. When the train lurches to a start, he watches her figure retreat through the glass windows. 

There’s a stark contrast to her soft hands and the fussy way she thrust her money at him, he thinks. 

Lim Yuri is a strange, strange girl.

Namjoon jumps in his seat, startled when Yuri suddenly marches in, plops in to the studio chair next to him, and looks up at him with crossed arms and a very non-threatening scowl on her face.

“I have a bone to pick,” she says, and his brain immediately kicks it into panic mode as he rakes through his mind for anything that he could have possibly done to upset her within the past week.

Namjoon likes to consider himself a considerate person who wouldn’t want to upset anyone, but for some reason this feels different from pure consideration. At the beginning, Yuri was just Kyunghee’s kid sister who happened to help make good music. These days, though, she feels more like a peer than a junior, more like a friend than a dongsaeng. 

For whatever reason he can’t quite pinpoint, her opinion of him has become quite important to him as of late. The idea that he’s done something she disapproves of makes his hands sweat. Even so, he manages to keep his composure, nodding as calmly as he can manage.

“What’s up?” he asks, cringing at the way his voice cracks. The way she sighs as she scoots her chair closer to his amps his anxiety up to eleven.

“You guys need to be nicer to Yoongi,” she says sternly, “You all really excluded him last week. He said you guys all went to each other’s houses after bouncing out last week and he just had nowhere to go. Why didn’t you guys plan for that or something?” Namjoon droops inward, like a kicked dog.

“Sorry,” he says, face hot with embarrassment despite immediately trying to justify himself. “It’s just—it was just kind of weird because nobody is really close to him or anything. The only person he really talks to is Ikje, and they’re not really even friends. We didn’t know how to broach the subject with him, or if he already had plans or anything, you know?”

“You could’ve asked,” she huffs, “I mean, I walked him to the subway station so he could ride back to the dorms, so everything turned out okay in the end. But—”

“By yourself?” Namjoon cuts her off. “That’s dangerous. Did you walk back by yourself, too? That late at night? Something could’ve happened. Why didn’t you ask Kyunghee to do it?” Yuri shakes her head fondly at his worrywart antics, and he sighs in relief when she smiles. It’s a warm reminder that she’s really not that mad at him.

“You sound like my dad,” she giggles, gently shoving at his arm. “Stop that. I’m trying to be mad at you.” He can’t resist cracking a smile back at her.

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound apologetic.

“Anyway,” she continues, her tone considerably lighter, “Yoongi and I talked a bit when we were walking to the station, and like… I don’t know. It just made me realize how excluded he really was from everyone else. So can you just talk to him more, or something? And please try to get the other guys to talk to him more, too?”

“Yeah, of course. But for future reference, you could’ve called for a group discussion for this,” he chides, playfully adding, “I thought you were just mad at me for something. I really thought I did something wrong and didn’t know about it. You gave me a heart attack for no reason.”

“Sorry.” She laughs shyly now that it’s her turn to apologize. “It’s just—you’re the only one who really listens to me, you know? I feel like the rest of the guys kinda just see me as a little kid. I mean, I get it, because Kyunghee is my brother and Donghyuk is his best friend and Ikje is old, but like. I don’t know. I don’t feel like they respect me like you do, sometimes.”

Everything she says comes out in that nervous, rambly tone that she uses when she wants to keep things light, no matter how serious it actually is to her. Namjoon frowns.

“Sorry,” he says again. She shrugs.

“Not your fault,” she says, “I think things are gonna get better with Yoongi around, anyway.” Namjoon raises a curious brow at that.

“Oh?” is all he says. Yuri nods, like that’s an answer.

“He’s cool,” she says. “He was a little rude at first, but he got really shy and apologized when I pointed it out. Can you believe it? A man! Apologizing! Men never apologize, Namjoon!”

“I resent that statement.”

“Shut up, man,” she teases. They both chuckle at that. “Anyway. I think that you should try to talk to him, if anyone. I can’t tell you everything he said ‘cause that’s his business, but I will say that you’re both really passionate about music, so I think you’d get along really well.” Namjoon wrinkles his nose at her idealism, not quite sure about that one. 

He supposes she’s sort of right, seeing as music is probably the only thing he and Yoongi can agree on. Even saying that is a stretch, because their very different methods of music-making lent cause to many studio debates. It’d probably be more accurate to say that music was the one field in which they respected each other enough to discuss things amicably. If the conversation wasn’t about music, they spent more time throwing passive-aggressive one-liners at one another than talking about anything else.

“I don’t know about that,” is all he decides to say.

“It can’t be that hard,” she says, pouting. “Yoongi is a nice person. And even if there are things you don’t agree on, you can’t deny that he works really hard. So at least try? For me?”

“That walk to the subway really changed you, huh?” he jokes. He’s expecting her to laugh or roll her eyes or smack him or something, but she nods sheepishly instead.

“He gives me good vibes,” she says like it’s an explanation.

“There you go with your vibes again,” he says. It comes out a bit more passive-aggressive than he’d have liked. 

The atmosphere is a bit too fragile for him to start another debate, but it bothered him that she could dislike people like Hunchul because of the bad vibes she got from him, yet expect everyone to drop everything and befriend Yoongi because he gave her good vibes. She says that it’s just her intuition, but he thinks it’s just an excuse. Even without him saying all this, though, she rolls her eyes when she picks up on his implications.

“Yoongi really is a good guy, okay? I can feel it,” she tries convincing him. “I actually saw him smile, Namjoon. And he never smiles! And it was all cute and gummy! I know he comes off as kinda cold, but he just seems soft underneath it all. I just think he’s a person who’s been through a lot.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a crush on him,” he teases. For whatever, the prospect of that makes him more uneasy than it should.

“I’m being serious!” she whines, smacking his arm. “I’m not asking you to stop fighting or arguing with him or whatever if that’s what you want. Just… try to make up after you fight.”

“It’s just weird,” Namjoon admits sheepishly. “It’s not like I want to fight, so I don’t. Especially if it’s over something stupid. I just try to ignore the little things. But then all those little things pile up into one big pile of resentment until I get mad at him for something stupid and he thinks I’m crazy and I’m still mad at him and it’s weird.”

It sounds stupid when he says it out loud, but the way that Yuri purses her lips and nods in understanding as he speaks makes him feel a little less crazy about it all. She’s always been someone that people just feel comfortable around, and Namjoon himself is no exception.

“It’s not weird,” she reassures him. “Fighting isn’t bad, I don’t think. I don’t love it, obviously, but Hitman Bang said the other week that being afraid of fights is only gonna let stuff like that and make the conflict big and worse. All I’m asking is that you at least talk to Yoongi.”

She looks up at him with those doe eyes when she says it, big and hopeful and pleading, and he can’t possibly bring himself to say no.

“Alright.”

Ever since his talk with Yuri last week, Yoongi has been finding instant ramyeon cups in his desk.

At first, he thinks it’s a one-off thing, maybe Yuri’s apology for saying something she thought was insensitive because he made her feel bad and she needs to soothe her conscience. But once he’s run out, they quickly get restocked when he’s not looking, and he has to admit that it warms his heart. He didn’t expect his words to affect her nearly as much as they currently seem to. 

He appreciates that she doesn’t give him the noodles directly or even say anything about it. It lessens the guilt he already feels from receiving free food from his junior. Yuri doesn’t ask for any thanks or even any acknowledgement, not breaching the topic beyond asking if he’s eaten yet.

Lim Yuri, he’s come to find, is not as bad as he thought. A little naive, to be sure, but nothing like the selfish, spoiled little girl he’d conjured up in his head when he first met her. He feels bad for the image he’d once conjured up of her in his head, the little brat surrounded by shiny, foreign production equipment who was no doubt born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

Lim Yuri is kind and generous and even thoughtful when she wants to be. She feels too hard, so sentimental that she cries when a beat she’d been working on for the past six hours fails to save before her computer shuts off. He tells her she can just remake it, but she sniffles and shakes her head, saying that it just won’t be the same as the last one.

“That beat was, like, my baby, Yoongi,” she explained to him that day. “I can’t just replace it, you know?” He doesn’t quite get what she’s getting at, but nods anyways. Over time, he comes to find those weird antics of hers he once found annoying to be kind of… cute? Even if he doesn’t get them. Even now, as she whines cutely, all he can offer is a couple of comforting pats atop her head. He wishes he had more to give.

Maybe that’s the worst part of being the poor kid, he decides. Everyone is impossibly kind here, and he’s probably making an ass of himself by meeting that kindness with a cold distrust. So he brushes off their niceties knowing that he has nothing to give back in return, and thus is seen in a doubly awful light. He tries to comfort himself with the knowledge that at the very least, that prickly demeanor means that nobody is expecting anything of him.

After all, Yoongi doesn’t do well with expectations. He’s not the son his parents expected him to be, who’d get good grades and go to university in pursuit of a business degree or something before slaving away at a desk from nine-to-five everyday for the rest of his life, nor does he want to be. 

But he has to be something.

Hence why he’s in need of a job. Not one of the office jobs that his parents suggested, mind you, but a simple part-time job to hold him over on top of being a trainee so that he doesn’t feel like a useless moocher. Thankfully, he’s already got it in the bag. As expected, they can’t just hire anyone, so they’ve just got one little test for him before they can officially put him on the employee roster.

What he doesn’t expect is to run into Lim Yuri, numerous plastic bags in hand.

“Yoongi!” she shouts when they make eye contact, running up to him excitedly. He’s never seen anybody that excited to see him, even back home in Daegu. It makes his heart feel a little funny.

“Hey,” he says, “I didn’t expect to run into you. What are you doing? Are you alone?” As annoyed as she wants to be, she can’t help but be endeared by the concern she shows her, the same kind that he showed her back when she walked him to the subway.

“Well… yes. But it’s fine. I’m not a kid, you know? Don’t worry about me so much! Really, you just sound like a grandpa when you talk like that,” she teases, “I bet one of these days I’ll come into your studio and you’ll be sprawled over the floor because your back gave out or something.”

“Hey, Hitman Bang says I’m an old soul,” he jokes, a wry grin on his face. She rolls her eyes.

“That’s just a polite way of saying he’s surprised that you’re this young and already depressed,” she snorts, but he can tell that there’s no malice to it. Still, it’s so unexpected of her that he has to do a double-take before bursting out laughing. 

He doesn’t even notice the pedestrian light flash on until she links her pinky with his and walks him across the street. Surprising even himself, he can’t bring himself to really mind that much. In due time, he’s found himself growing adjusted to her touchiness. It’s kind of nice, when he thinks about it. It makes him feel a little less like an interloper. Makes him feel like he belongs where he is.

“It’s fine!” she assures him. He doesn’t look very convinced. “We’re in broad daylight, Yoongi. I just finished grocery shopping.” She lifts her bag-lined arms up for emphasis. “It was my turn this week. Kyunghee and I take turns with groceries since our mom isn’t around.”

“Makes sense,” Yoongi says. Now that she mentions it, they’d only ever mentioned having to avoid their father whenever everyone came over to the Lim household. He’d always just assumed their mom was out or at work or upstairs—never that she wasn’t around at all. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about it, but it seems too heavy of a topic to pry about right now, especially when he already has somewhere to be.

“What about you?” she asks. “Where’d you come from? Or are you headed somewhere?”

“Work,” he explains. “Sort of. It’s just a part-time job. I haven’t technically started yet, but I’m going to. It’s a delivery thing, so I’m just going to test the delivery bike so that they can see that I actually know how to drive and won’t ride around like a crazy person.”

“Like a motorcycle?” she asks enthusiastically. “A real one? You know how to ride a motorcycle?”

“Yeah,” he says as nonchalantly as he can manage, secretly revelling in how much it impresses her. It’s cute of her, he thinks, the way she’s so wowed by the little things. It’s like every conversation with her is an ego boost.

“Can I come watch?” she asks hopefully, eyes glittering with excitement.

And how could he possibly say no to that?

It’s a little silly, how bouncing-off-the-walls excited she is when they get there. Even the old couple who own the restaurant he’s supposed to be delivering for are enamored with her, wrapped up in conversation about meat buns or something. She really is genuinely sweet with them, so much so that they barely take notice when Yoongi mounts the bike they’ve prepared for him to test-ride.

It’s an older Yamaha model, the ‘YD250’ on the scratched up by what he assumes can only be years of wear and tear. He thinks nothing of it as he revs the bike up to life, but before he can take off and begin driving, he’s cut off by Yuri’s voice.

“Hey, hey, hey!” she calls out. “You should be wearing a helmet!”

“It’s in the box,” the old man explains. 

“I’ve ridden without one before,” Yoongi mutters, resisting to roll his eyes at their safety concerns. And Yuri calls him the old person. Even so, he opens the delivery bike box mounted on the back of and reaches in to grab hold of the big black helmet so that he can put it on. “Happy?”

“Very,” Yuri says, sounding far too pleased for his liking. The old woman chuckles at their banter.

Yoongi takes off in a flash after that, quickly riding around the busiest blocks and most bustling streets a couple times, the image of Yuri’s enthusiastic eyes as he rode away on the motorcycle burned into his mind. It’s nice to be admired so deeply. It’s the only reason he’s still on board with the whole idol thing, after all. He doesn’t want to rely on his parents and their money for everything, though, so right now he just needs this job to help support his training. 

He’s officially got the job, they inform him when he gets back. They also tell him that Yuri has been vouching for him in the mere minutes that he was gone. She ducks her head to hide her blush at that, and he finds her shyness in the moment impossibly cute. It only intensifies when she pipes up.

“Can I join you? On the back, I mean?” she asks bashfully. “I’ve, um, never ridden one before. I just think it’d be neat. You can just take me home, if you want. It’s not super far from here, I think.” In any other circumstance, he’d say yes in a heartbeat, but she’s asking him this question in front of his employers. Thankfully, the two nod when he looks to them for permission.

He can’t but feel kind of mortified by the way the old couple coos at him when he takes off his helmet off and places it atop her head, taking extra care to fasten the buckle tight. 

“Cute,” she says. “But what about you?” It’s the little things like these that remind her how thoughtful and softhearted he is, even if he doesn’t really care to show it.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve ridden without one before,” he echoes his earlier sentiment. She doesn’t look convinced, but the old man speaks up before she can get a word in.

“Get your girlfriend home safe, alright?” he says, clapping his hand down onto Yoongi’s shoulder a little too forcefully. Both him and Yuri send each other an embarrassed glance at his assumption, but neither can find it in them to correct the old man.

“Yes, sir,” is all Yoongi says.

The ride back home is a lot less nerve-wracking than he had expected. Yuri’s soft from head to toe, he notes, like a little human pillow. Against his expectations, the feeling of her form pressed against his back throughout their ride in the city feels more comforting than restricting. So much so that he actually feels a little bit disappointed when they get to her house and she has to let go.

He helps her unload her groceries from the delivery bike box, watching as she takes every bag but one. He reaches in to grab it until he sees what’s inside—ramyeon. The exact kind that spawns in his desk every week. At that moment, he realizes that she left that specific bag inside on purpose.

“This is for me,” he says. It's a statement, not a question.

“Mmhm,” she replies. “It’s my favorite brand. It’s got that little egg brick in there, you know the one? These things are mostly carbs, so I think it’s a good source of protein. Good for building muscles.” He frowns, baffled as to how she can be so nonchalant about all this.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” he says. “I have a job now, so I can buy my own food if I’m ever craving anything beyond those cardboard chicken breasts Hitman Bang gives us.” Yuri giggles at that. “I’m serious. I’ve already gotta pay you back for the last couple of weeks. I’m not sure if my salary is gonna be able to keep up.”

“Hey,” she says gently, staring him down a bit more earnestly now. “You don’t have to pay me back for anything, okay? The ones I get for you are only, like, 1200 won per little cup.”

“Isn’t 1200 won kind of a lot?”

“It’s not,” she assures him. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s fine. It’s really fine. It doesn’t hurt me at all. If it did, I wouldn’t keep doing it.” Yoongi pulls a face, not entirely convinced.

“You may not feel bad, but like—I feel bad.”

“Well you shouldn’t.”

“But I do,” he says. Yuri sighs.

“Yoongi—”

“It’s not just the ramyeon, you know?” he says, staring mindlessly at some spot on the ground. Anywhere but her face. It’s a daunting task when he speaks so earnestly. “It’s just—you do so much for everyone all the time. And I’m just—I don’t even talk to anybody.”

“Hey.” Yuri speaks softly, taking one of his hands between both of hers in what he thinks is an attempt to comfort him. Her hands are just as soft as they were that night by the subway, he muses. “You can’t blame all that on yourself, you know? I know the other guys aren’t the best at being friendly and inclusive and all that, but that’s not your fault. It’s more of a time thing.”

“A time thing?” he asks.

“We’ve all known each other for, like, two or three years before you came here,” she explains. “ So I think they’re just trying to get used to you? But they don’t dislike you! If anything, I’m sure they’ll like you soon. I mean, I already like you, so it shouldn’t be too hard for them to follow suit.”

“Okay,” he says, thinking nothing of the flush that spreads up to the tips of his ears.

Namjoon supposes that now is as good a time as any when Yoongi steps into his studio.

He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. After all, Yuri points out, Yoongi is the one alone in Seoul with nobody to talk to. When she puts it like that, it makes them all sound like assholes. Maybe they are. But it’s fine, because Namjoon is finally going to be nice and converse with him about something not music-related. The bar is on the floor. All he needs to do is open his mouth and say something.

“We need to talk,” Namjoon says. He immediately knows he’s said the wrong thing when Yoongi’s eyes widen like saucers, anxiously backing up until his back hits the door like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. “Oh God, no, not like that. You’re okay. You’re not in trouble.”

“Oh. Alright,” Yoongi says, visibly relaxing.

“I just, um. I wanted to talk,” he repeats. “I feel like I’ve been… mean? But I’m not trying to be. It’s just that I’m supposed to be the leader, but you’re the hyung. “And you also produce a lot of our songs—which I’m really, really grateful for, of course. I just don’t know how to talk about things as a leader without seeming disrespectful. I try to keep my mouth shut about it, but I guess that’s how things like that build up, you know?”

“My mom gave birth to me,” Yoongi says, seemingly out of the blue, and Namjoon laughs. It’s that loud, booming laugh of his that always fills up the whole room.

“What—?!” he laughs incredulously.

“Let me finish,” Yoongi says, hopelessly fighting to the smile off of his face. “My mom gave birth to me. My mom is older to me, obviously, and she’s done a lot for me, too. And of course I’m grateful for that, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fight her on some things. Doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything she says, because I haven’t. Neither have you—if we did, neither of us would be here right now. We’d be like, I don’t know, doing cram school or preparing for university shit or something like that. I think I’d resent her if that’s what I was doing right now just because I wanted to please her. That’s why it’s okay to fight. If we don’t, then all that resentment just grows.” Namjoon smiles fondly at him.

“You really are an old man,” he chuckles, prompting Yoongi to raise a brow at him. “Hitman Bang said the same thing, you know? About fighting being good, since conflicts just get bigger if you don’t fight.”

“Well… he’s right.”

“Wiser words were never spoken,” Namjoon replies.

“So no more not-fighting?” Yoongi asks. It’s so ridiculous, the way he has to phrase it—but Namjoon nods, so he supposes that it gets the point across well enough. “We’ll try to resolve problems instead of avoiding them completely.”

“No more not-fighting,” he agrees. “Resolving things. Not avoiding them.” He holds out a pinky.

It’s a ridiculously silly sight, Yoongi thinks, the way Namjoon’s large hand offers out a pinky for what he thinks must be a pinky promise. Seeing someone as big as Namjoon do something so childish is unfairly endearing. He must’ve picked up from Yuri, he muses. Yoongi can’t help but laugh.

“Did you just giggle?”

“Huh?”

“That was kind of cute, hyung.” Yoongi flushes a dusky pink.

“…shut up.”

Yuri doesn’t come in late on Sundays anymore, Yoongi muses.

She always used to come in late on Sundays, which was a stark contrast to her appearances right after school on weekdays and her early morning entrances on Saturdays. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice before, but he supposes it’s a good thing that he does now. It means that at the very least, they’re taking note of each other’s presence. 

Yoongi does think it’s weird, but for as curious as he is, he is not nosy enough to ask about it. Normally, it wouldn’t even cross his mind to do so, but with the talk he had with Hitman Bang last week about getting along better with everyone, he’s having second thoughts.

Yuri may not be a fellow trainee, but she’s still a member of their team. He only just started talking easily to Namjoon, so Yuri is easily the most comfortable person to talk to. After a rather heated internal battle, he gives in and brings it up to her.

“I’m glad you come in on Sundays, now,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can manage. “What cleared your schedule up?”

“Oh!” she says, pleasantly surprised that Yoongi is taking the first step in making conversation. “My mama worked as a vocal teacher before she divorced my dad and moved away, so my little brother Daniel and I would go over there to help her, especially with translating stuff since her Korean wasn’t very good. I used to go over to help the other lady who works there on Sundays since she’s nice and I liked singing!  But Daniel handles all that now, so I’m free to work here with you guys.”

That’s certainly a can of worms. He’s learned more about her and her home life from this single conversation than he did from the night he was over at her house, but he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable by pressing further about the deep shit, so he keeps his digging as shallow as he can.

“You sing?” he says, and she flushes.

“Yes,” she admits. “But like. Not in front of other people. That’s scary.”

“Like stage fright?”

“Sort of,” she says. “It’s different. More like, scary in the sense that you have to share your art that you’ve poured all your heart and soul into for so long. Because then when people reject it or don’t like it, you feel like they don’t like you. On top of that, people also care about visuals and dancing and aegyo, and like… how am I supposed to fulfill all those categories?”

“I get that,” he says. He always knew that music would be a big part of his life, but he never imagined he’d be performing for other people. The thought of scrutiny had always made his stomach churn, but that’s basically all that idol life was. He’s not sure how he’ll handle it. “You don’t think you’ll ever be singing on a stage one day?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. Maybe one day,” she says. “Maybe if I was more… you know.” She grimaces as she makes a vague gesture with her hand.

“Mm-hm.” Really, he doesn’t know, but it seems like a touchy subject. 

He deems it better not to pry.

Big Hit and Source Music are due to debut a girl group soon, Hitman Bang says.

Unlike the boys, they’ve even got a name—GLAM. Yoongi, however, has yet to know the group’s trainees beyond seeing them in passing. After all, Source is the one handling all the management and promotion and all that fancy stuff. 

(Hitman Bang says he’d never be able to manage a girl group because he doesn’t understand women. It takes all of Yoongi’s willpower to stifle a laugh when Yuri says she’s not surprised.)

Meanwhile, all Big Hit has to do is help make their music. 

Yoongi feels a bit of pressure when faced with the prospect of making music for somebody else. Music has always been a very personal process for him. The thought of someone else interpreting his work was both exciting and overwhelming. While the prospect of someone interpreting his work or liking his work enough to perform it piqued his interest, the idea of someone either fucking up something he made or pitching his work to someone who’d only reject it was anxiety-inducing.

To his relief, that is not what he is currently doing.

At the moment, he’s currently mixing a demo for one of GLAM’s future songs, touching up the vocals so that they stand out above the instrumental’s bouncy synths. It has a nice vibe to it, he muses. It’s in English, but he understands enough of it to make out that it’s about getting ‘too close’ to somebody who’s supposed to be a friend. Hitman Bang must’ve purchased it from some overseas songwriter. He’s not sure why. It seems like it’d be an expensive process, and even after buying it they’ll have to translate it back into Korean. What was the point of all that hassle?

At least it sounds nice, Yoongi supposes. It’s a cute, pop-based little R&B track with airy vocals. The high notes are clear and smooth, with a distinct little squeak at the end of the high notes. It’s almost familiar, he muses, but he’s listened to a lot of music in his lifetime, so—wait a minute.

Yuri. That’s Yuri’s voice.

He recognizes those little squeaks anywhere, reminiscent of the whiny tones she makes whenever she’s being stubborn about something. It’s harder to pick up on when she speaks in English, which he supposes he should’ve assumed she’d know how to speak. He recalls Namjoon offhandedly mentioning that she was his English tutor a couple of times, as well as Yuri mentioning translating for her mom. Still, he’s never actually heard it come out of her mouth. It’s kind of jarring.

Against his better judgement, he asks her about it.

“Oh! Um, yeah, that’s me,” she admits, laughing sheepishly. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“It’s good,” he assures her. “Your voice is pretty. The lyrics you wrote are catchy. I bet you could be an idol, if you wanted to.”

“Uh-uh. I don’t think so,” she says just a bit too forcefully, “I’m perfectly content just producing for you guys. Seriously.”

“That’s selfless of you,” he says. She shakes her head.

“It’s actually a little selfish, when I think about it,” she laughs nervously. “To be honest, I think a big part of my support comes from living vicariously through you guys. Saying it out loud makes it sound kind of awful, but you guys are doing things I could only ever dream of doing. I’m just here to make sure you guys are as successful as possible at all the things you’re doing, you know? Even though I’m not actually, like, putting in all the work and being on stage and all that.”

“You could, if you really wanted to,” he says encouragingly. She shakes her head.

“I mean, I don’t think I look very idol-like,” Yoongi muses. 

“You do!” she argues. Poking at his pale cheek to emphasize her next point, she says, “White as sugar, just like old man Bang said. You’ve got that glass skin, you know?” 

“That’s because I don’t go outside,” he says, self-deprecating as ever as he swats her hand away.

“Oppa,” she whines in a way he thinks is unfairly cute of her. “Just accept the compliment, okay?” He rolls his eyes, but relents to her wishes anyway.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You’re very welcome,” she says, sounding far too pleased with herself. “Don’t be like that, okay?”

“Like what?” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“Well… you know. Mean to yourself about how you look,” she explains. “Namjoon is the same, which is sad. And also just not great for an idol, you know? You have to be at least a little confident in your looks, or you’re gonna be miserable every time the stylists dress you. It takes them longer than you’d think. Or so I’ve heard.”

“There’s not much to be proud of,” he deflects, not missing the way that Yuri rolls her eyes like that. 

When she raises her hand, he thinks she’s gonna flick his forehead or prod at his face again or something, but instead she places a finger on the tip of his nose. He furrows his brows together.

“What—”

“Your nose is cute,” she says matter-of-factly. He can’t help the strangled noise of surprise that escapes him at that, face growing hot as he flusters. “And your pale skin makes it easier to see when you blush, too. That’s a strong charm point as well, I think. You’ve got lots of charms.” He turns away, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Still, it’s nice to know that somebody thinks so.

Yoongi presses the end call button on his phone just a little too forcefully.

Another phone call, another argument with his parents. It was instances like these that made him not want to call them at all. He’s always in this limbo of guilt, grateful that they paid for his trainee contract while also being angry at the way they constantly voice their disapproval. He slams his phone down onto his desk in frustration. 

Apparently, it was louder than he thought. His studio door opens up a sliver, just enough for Yuri to peek her head in.

“Hey,” she calls softly. “Everything alright in there?” Yoongi pulls a face that makes it obvious that no, he is not alright. “Can I come in, then?” 

Upon his nod of approval, she files into the room, gently closing the door shut behind her. She walks over and settles into the seat across from his, sliding it over next to his so she can lay her head on his shoulder. Her touch is comforting, he thinks.

“Talk to me,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

“Sometimes, I think I should just… I don’t know. Anything to stop shit like that from happening,” he sighs. “My parents nagging me, I guess. Just go back home. Go to college. Get a nine-to-five. Have a nice family, or something.” And Yuri frowns, because she gets it.

It’s something she’s spent many days and nights comforting Namjoon over when he’s just had another argument with his parents over the same exact thing. She wishes she could relate or understand, or anything to comfort him—but she can’t. 

She’s glad the two can talk to each other about it now, but she can’t help but feel a little jealous that she can’t be a part of the conversation and can help them. She almost scoffs at herself for envying them being able to bond over their unsupportive parents. How fucked up was that?

Heaving a sigh, she hops up and takes a seat on the edge of his desk, careful to mind his production equipment. She swings her feet up into his lap, in that very casually touchy Yuri-esque way of hers. Impulsively, he brings a hand up to gently tap at her shin. She tries not to giggle at the ticklish sensation.

“Yoongi,” she starts, as seriously as she can manage. “Not to be, like. A downer or anything. But when your parents are gone, where would that put you? Stuck in a job you hate for no reason?”

“Six feet under,” he snorts, and she gasps.

“Not funny!” she whines, kicking at his hand. Her assault on his poor palm only gets worse when he bursts out laughing. “So not funny!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but he’s still laughing.

“I really am trying to be supportive,” she huffs, a bit less childishly, now. “But I can’t like. Get it, get it, you know? The only reason I have any idea what to say here is ‘cause I’ve had this talk before. You know, if you two tried talking to each other more about personal stuff, I think you’d see that you and Namjoon are more alike than you might think. I’m not going to spill his business, but. I’ll just say that I think if anyone were to get it, it’d be him. It took some coaxing from my dad, but both my parents are okay with me pursuing music, now. As long as I took the producer route and not the idol route, at least. But still. It’s a good start. I’m lucky. I’ve got it better than a lot of people do, I think.”

“Would you?”

“Hm?”

“Take the idol route,” he clarifies, looking down at her shoes. “If you were given the choice.”

Sometimes, Yoongi feels like he’s never been given a choice. It feels like he’s been given every setback in the world. He’s never had the support or the funds or the hunger for fame that so often accompanied those pursuing music. He can barely remember why or when or what began his relationship with music, but he so vividly remembers feeling it, feeling like music chose him rather than the other way around. He can’t help but wonder what someone who seems to have been given almost all the choice in the world has to say about the only restrictions she’s been given.

Not much, it seems.

“Oh, um, nah. I don’t think so,” she laughs nervously. “I’m just—I’m not really pretty enough?”

“You are pretty,” he says, too quickly and too naturally to be insincere. He doesn’t miss the way that she ducks her head to hide the flush flooding into her cheeks.

This must be the vague ‘you know’ thing she was always talking about, Yoongi muses. He really should’ve picked up on it from the moment she said she didn’t look very idol-like. He’s never been the type to kiss up, so he hopes she knows that he means it. 

“You’re so—stop that,” she whines, embarrassed. She half-heartedly attempts to kick at his hand again, but makes no move to try again when she misses. “You’re too much.”

“I’m serious,” he says.

“I know,” she squeaks, hands flying up to cover her flushed cheeks up in embarrassment. “That’s the embarrassing part. Get some taste or something.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Yuri,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You always tell Namjoon and I not to be insecure about appearances, but you act the same when it comes to yours.”

“That’s different,” she whines, “You and Namjoon are gonna be in front of the cameras. I’m gonna be behind them. I don’t need to muster up any kind of confidence for that. Which is good. Because I don’t have it.”

“Looks don’t matter to me,” he says flatly. “But confidence does. I’m not gonna hold your hand and tell you that you’re pretty all day, even if I think it’s true, ‘cause you’re not gonna believe it no matter how many times I say it.”

“Ouch.”

“Let me finish,” he continues, “Even if it isn’t your looks, you deserve to at least be confident in something. Your music, your grades, your music, whatever. You’re generous and thoughtful. Don’t let society make you miserable just because all they care about is appearances.”

Yuri doesn’t say anything, her face still buried in her hands. More than a little bit concerned at this point, Yoongi flicks her forehead through her bangs. 

“Hey, you good in there?” he asks. She doesn’t reply. Just sniffles. Oh, fuck. “Uh, sorry, I—” Yuri shakes her head, finally lowering her hands.

“Don’t be,” she laughs nervously, still teary-eyed. “That was one of the nicest things a boy ever said to me. You should be, like, a motivational speaker or something.” He snorts.

“I can’t give advice to like. People I don’t care about,” he says, grinning awkwardly, “I’d just tell them to get their shit together and I’d get fired.” Yuri can’t fight the smile off of her cheeks at that.

She’s sure she’d know that he cares through his Yoongi-isms alone, but it’s nice to hear it from the man himself. He wouldn’t be giving this advice if he didn’t care. 

Min Yoongi cares about her, and it makes her heart feel warm.

Lim Yuri has become an unexpected addition to Yoongi’s delivery sprees.

Yuri’s arms, small and gentle, have become a comforting presence as they wrap around his waist. The old couple doesn’t seem to mind the extra person joining him on his trips, content with her politeness and the fact that she isn’t demanding any money despite providing help. They coo about the highs and lows of young love whenever Yuri arrives to join him on his trips, and Yoongi can’t find the energy within himself to correct them.

Things go on like this for a long time, hours, days, weeks, of this halcyon. Her arms keep him warm in the winter and her cold hands keep him refreshed in the late months of spring. The old husband hands them a bag of leftover food for them to eat together, an wistful smile on his face. 

They eat in the midst of impromptu therapy sessions, which usually consist of Yuri comforting Yoongi as he complains about his problems. It’s okay, though, because she likes to give advice and she likes how deep his voice is when he talks and she doesn’t have many problems of her own to complain about, anyway. When she does talk, it’s always lighthearted, talking about a song she wrote or something dumb Kyunghee and Daniel did or how cute Namjoon’s dimples were on that particular day. 

One day, curiosity kills the cat, and Yoongi asks a question that’s been killing him from the start.

“Why do you like Namjoon so much, anyway?” It’s something Yoongi asks out of the blue, so much so that he doesn’t even realize he’s asking it until it slips out. He’s not sure what he’s expecting until she answers, and when he does, he realizes that his expectation was literally anything but what she says next.

“No reason,” she says, and he’s so thrown for a loop by the words that leave her that he practically stumbles over his feet when he hears them.

“Wait, seriously?” he says. “I’ve read your lyrics, you know. You’re good with words.”

“I am?” she says, sounding far too surprised for his liking.

“Yeah. Which is why I thought you’d have a way better answer than that,” he says. “I expected you to talk about…” He pauses as he sifts through his brain for all the things that he personally finds attractive about Namjoon. “…I don’t know, his dimples or his height or his good grades or something.” All things that he lacks, Yoongi muses with insecurity.

“Oh my God. Those are all, like, great and all, but they’re not like… why I like him,” Yuri giggles. “He’s just—I don’t know. There’s a lot of things about him that make me like him, but I can’t, like, come up with an itemized list. It’s not like one day he reached a quota in traits I liked and suddenly I liked him. I just realized I did. I just… felt it. It felt right. He felt right.”

“Oh.” Yoongi feels a pang of jealousy at that, like an itch he can’t scratch. Maybe it’s because a tender part of him can only dream of being loved so dearly.

He silently wonders what it would be like to be loved by a person like Lim Yuri.

Namjoon has been feeling himself growing fonder and fonder of Yoongi in these past months.

Finally learning to talk to him without being all weird has helped with that. Without the formalities, they’re both able to speak a lot more freely. In the time that they’ve done so, the two have been able to talk about and bond over their rocky family situations and their choice to pursue music.

What’s fueled his fondness more than anything, though, is Yoongi’s little habits—the way he runs a hand through his jet black hair as he shyly recommends jazz and art study because they seem like the type of thing you’d like, Namjoonie, the way he always wears those grey jacket and sweats because they’re warm and winter is starting to trickle in, the way he smiles with his gums just like Yuri said he would.

Those two have gotten impossibly close lately, Namjoon notes. Now, he doesn’t think he’s the most perceptive person in the world, but it’s hard to miss the tenderness in their actions. Every time he steals a glance in their direction, they’re exchanging knowing glances or whispering softly to each other or linking pinkies in the way that Yuri loves to do so much.

It’s only natural to conclude that Min Yoongi and Lim Yuri are involved.

He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. It has no reason to, right? But it does. He combs through his mind for any possible reason that it should. Maybe it’s because Yoongi, who’s agreed to be more honest with him, hasn’t told him about it. Maybe it’s because Yuri, ever perceptive, has been one of his closest friends for years and yet seems to have no intentions in telling him about it despite how painfully obvious their interactions make things.

The familiar sting of loneliness rises sharply in his chest when he sees them interact, like they’re in their own little world, with seemingly no room for him. He feels like he’s spying on their relationship when he shouldn’t be. He feels like a voyeur. He feels like an interloper.

Maybe this is how Yoongi felt when he first came to Big Hit, he muses. If this is how he feels just watching him and Yuri, he can’t imagine having to watch everyone who’s known each other for years talk and laugh together from the outside. The more he thinks about it, the more he feels selfish and ridiculous for being so bothered by it. After all, who was he to meddle in their affairs?

Maybe it’s high time he finds one of his own.

Yuri’s sheets are soft, Yoongi thinks.

They’re at her house today, Yuri not feeling very keen on having this conversation in the Big Hit building for fear that Namjoon might walk in on them while they’re talking about him. Right now, she’s half-heartedly producing something on her bedroom computer and venting to Yoongi as he lies on her bed.

She rants about how Namjoon has been talking a lot about girls lately, clearly bothered. She especially seems bothered by the fact that Namjoon won’t let her be as touchy with him as she used to be. Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t give a damn about other people’s affairs, but things are different, this time. While he’s not personally bothered by it, he doesn’t like the fact that it bothers her so much, for whatever reason he can’t quite pinpoint. 

Dear Lord, she even goes into detail, describing each and every pretty girl in a way that is far less flowery than he believes Namjoon would speak about a girl.

“And then there’s Jieun, who they all say is a good kisser. What does that even mean? Like, what the hell makes someone a good kisser? You just jam your lips together, right?”

“You’ve never been kissed,” he says, more a statement than a question.

“Yes?”

“Kinda late, don’t you think?” he says. Yuri gasps as she smacks at his arm, clearly mortified.

“No it’s not! Shut up!” she says indignantly. He’s trying to take her seriously, but her squeaky little whines make that hard.

“Sorry—” he tries apologizing through his laughter.

“You don’t sound sorry at all!” she whines. “It’s not funny, okay? It’s fine! I’m still young!”

“You’re sixteen already!”

“I’m only sixteen!” she huffs, crossing her arms and turning away from him. “I-I have time, okay? We can’t all be heartbreakers, Min Yoongi.”

“Heartbreaker?” he repeats. “I haven’t had a girlfriend since middle school.”

“I never said you were one,” she defends herself.

“You implied it.”

“I—whatever!” she huffs. “I’m saving my first kiss for someone special. And it’s gonna be somewhere magical, like under the cherry blossoms at the Goyang Flower Festival or on a picnic blanket under the stars on New Year’s or something.”

Oh my God. He’s trying so hard to stop his laughter. 

“Did you swallow a fucking romance novel?” he laughs. “My first kiss took place in the hallway after gym class, so like. Don’t be surprised if it sucks and you mess up and slobber all over them or something like that.”

When he turns to look at Yuri, she looks incredibly nervous. She’s come to a still in her spinny chair, nervously pulling her hair over her face as she ponders his words with utmost seriousness.

“Do you think that?” she asks, voice small.

“What?” he asks. Wordlessly, she sighs, wheeling her chair backwards over to where he’s lying on her bed. She cranes her neck back onto her bed, coming face-to-face with him.

“Do you think I’ll mess up my first kiss?” she says softly. Not that she needs to speak anything but—she’s so close he can feel her breath against his nose. He pulls away, face aflush.

“You’ll be fine,” he mutters, voice cracking. 

Yuri gives a huff, seemingly dissatisfied with his answer. She hops down from her chair—there’s an inherent cuteness in the fact that her feet don’t touch the ground when she sits on it, Yoongi muses—and up onto the bed, right next to him. He rolls his eyes when she settles onto her knees and urges him to sit up, too. He obliges, in spite of his annoyance.

“What was your first kiss like? Aside from the whole being in the hallway thing?” she whispers, like they’re telling secrets. There’s nobody else in the house but Daniel (who’s probably got his headphones cranked up to a hundred percent), so Yoongi can’t help but find her antics endearing.

“My first kiss was just a kiss. Nothing bad. Nothing mind-blowing,” he says with a shrug.

Even that’s a bit of a stretch. They were both gross and sweaty and their teeth clacked together. But he already feels kinda bad for making her doubt herself so much, and he doesn’t want to aggravate her worries.

“So how did… did you just…” she gestures awkwardly with her friends as she trails off, unable to articulate whatever she wants to say. He gets it, though. He always does.

“You just go for it,” he says, “It’s the kinda thing you just feel your way through. Just don’t think too hard about it. You’re good at doing things without thinking, so it should go well for you.”

“Gee, thanks,” she says, rolling her eyes at the back-handed compliment. “It’s just—I don’t wanna mess up in the future if I ever… you know.”

“Just say kiss,” he teases. “It’s not as sacred as you’re making it out to be. It’s just lips-on-lips. If humans never decided it was a thing to kiss people you liked, it wouldn’t be important at all. It’d just be an exchange of germs.”

“It’s important to me!” she bristles, so aggressively that it throws him for a loop. She takes note of her overreaction, coughing awkwardly before returning to her normal volume. She repeats, “I-It’s important to me. I just want it to be nice. I don’t wanna be disappointed. And I don’t wanna be someone else’s disappointment. That’s why I’m asking you this.”

“What are you asking?” he says, raising a brow.

“Augh!” She buries her face into her hands, miserably failing an attempt to hide her flushed cheeks. Peeking through her fingertips, she gently continues, “Just… hypothetically… purely for practice reasons… it wouldn’t count as my first kiss if you could, um. Help me. Try. Practice. I don’t know.”

The room goes impossibly quiet. She can’t say a word after that, the pair just staring at each other in awkward silence, him impossibly floored at the suggestion. Their faces go blank as Yuri processes what the hell she just did and Yoongi processes what the hell just happened.

When it all finally clicks, Min Yoongi has the audacity to fucking smirk, gums showing and all.

“Practice,” he repeats, no lilt to it, no bite. His attempts to remain straight-faced are to no avail, because her pouting up at him is all it takes for him to burst out laughing.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” she yells, pushing him back down onto the bed. “Just forget it! Forget I said anything!” She hooks a leg over his waist, pinning him down before grabbing a pillow and smacking him as hard as she can with it. The pain does little to quell his laughter.

“Get off!” he laughs in-between smacks. “You’re too much!”

“Are you calling me heavy?!” she asks, more fake-offended than anything.

“What—no! What the fuck made you think that?!” he tries to sound indignant, but he’s still laughing, and before he knows it, she’s laughing too. When the laughter subsides and the room goes quiet, they both realize what kind of situation they’re in. Yuri’s still got him pinned down, having just talked about first kisses. Kisses in general. Having just proposed that they kiss. The air goes tense.

“So,” Yoongi says, cutting through the silence.

“So.”

“I didn’t. Uh. I didn’t say no.” He has the decency to look embarrassed, now, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide. “Unless you don’t want to.”

The two stare at each other for a moment after that, like they’re waiting for the other to back down. A Clint Eastwood-style duel of the eyes, so to speak.

“I won’t start something I can’t finish,” she says decidedly.

She leans in as promised,

presses her nose against his—

“I’m sorry!”

—and promptly places both hands over his mouth.

The motion isn’t harsh enough to hurt too bad—only a light sting—but it is very sudden. Yoongi blinks up at her a couple of times in surprise just to reassure himself that whatever that was actually just happened.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “For um—yeah. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this? Because, um, you know. If someone asks me when my first kiss was, I’ll have to say, ‘Oh, it was on my bed at like, 11PM when I was in high school. A-And that already makes me sound terrible! And then when they ask with who, I’ll have to say, ‘Oh, just with my friend that I work with so I could practice kissing for the future since I was in love with our friend!’ And that’ll be my stupid goddamn answer! And that’s… that’s, um… that’s kind of not very romantic…”

Her voice tapers off towards the end, quieting in what Yoongi thinks is embarrassment as she takes his hands off of his mouth. It really does sound kind of ridiculous when she says it out loud. Maybe Yoongi was onto something when he laughed at her for sounding like she ‘swallowed a romance novel.’ To her relief, his next response is anything but patronizing.

“Hey,” he says, “Relax. Don’t apologize for changing your mind, that’s just—that’s just weird. Don’t force yourself to do shit you don’t want to. That’s weird.”

She’s so close. They’re still nose-to-nose, breath tickling each other’s lips every time the other speaks. He awkwardly pats the back of her thigh a couple of times, which she reads as a signal to roll off of him. She obliges. Even though she knows he doesn’t mean much by that little touch, the intimacy of it still makes her blush. Thankfully, he can’t see it with the both of them laying back down onto the bed and staring awkwardly at the ceiling above them. Yoongi pretends to find interest in the faded glow-in-the-dark stars on her bedroom ceiling.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” he repeats.

“Sorry,” she says again.

“It’s fine,” he reassures her, because as mortifying as the situation is for them both, it really is fine.

She blindly reaches her hand out to find his, feeling around until their fingers meet. When he fondly links his pinky in hers, the way she always does with him, she decides that a kiss isn’t the kind of thing she should be rushing into, anyways.

Yoongi just assumes it isn’t weird.

After all, Yuri settles against him so naturally, her face buried into his neck and her studio chair sidled next to his as he sits at his desk and works on mixing what he hopes will end up being a song on their first album, whenever that comes out. Were it not for the way that her breath hit the sensitive skin of his neck, he would barely even register that she was there.

Well. Maybe not barely.

She’s so warm, the way she presses against him. She’s always warm, except in her hands, but it’s fine because his hands are always colder. Her cold fingers thread through his hair, and it reminds him of how accustomed he’s become to her touchiness. It’s just a habit of hers, he’s since learned. She has a lot of little habits he once found weird, but now only sees those habits as things that make her Yuri. 

Yuri who hides behind her hair when she’s shy or nervous. Yuri who only wears half her jacket and leaves the other half hanging off for no reason. Yuri who wordlessly leaves ramen cups on his desk. Yuri who has to link her pinky with someone else’s when she’s nervous. Yuri who awkwardly bends her hands to link both of hers together when she doesn’t want to be a bother.

But it’s come to the point where she’s never a bother anymore. If she were, he wouldn’t have situated himself in her life as the outlier, the one person who coaxes her to talk about all of her problems because she’s the one resolving everyone else’s. Yuri taking always feels like giving, because he takes in her little habits and private thoughts that she shares with him and nobody else. It makes him feel more important than it makes him feel annoyed.

She has a special bond with everyone at Big Hit, and even with the Source Music and JYP trainees they practice with—she wouldn’t be going out of her way to force them all to resolve their conflicts, otherwise, even if they see her as nosy and meddling because of it.

In everyone being special, he supposes, he has gone full circle in no longer being special. Maybe he is, but he’s not as important to her as say, Kyunghee, her own damn brother, or Namjoon, who she stares at like he holds all the world’s answers. With that, Yoongi takes his place in her heart at a solid bronze (at the very most), which stings a little more than he’d like to admit. 

He hasn’t had much opportunity to grow as close to anyone at Big Hit—hell, anyone in Seoul—yet. Maybe that’s why he’s grown so attached to her like this. As sad as it is, she is quite literally the one person in the whole city that he’s close to. Listening to all her problems like this makes him feel like he’s just as important to her, so he can feel a little bit less pathetic about holding her so close to his heart. Even if the problems that she tells him reveal anything but.

“I’m so stupid,” she whines against his neck. Her warm breath gives him goosebumps.

“Jeez, you’re not. How many times do we have to go over this?” He’s been comforting her over this for the past half-hour now.

Namjoon has a girlfriend now. A tall girl from his advanced algebra class with great math skills and pale skin and sharp eyes—everything that Yuri does not have. He knows she’s insecure about it from the way she wrinkles her nose when she sees her reflection in the mirrors of the practice rooms. It makes him want to throttle Namjoon, despite him probably not having a clue.

“Sorry,” she says, her voice small, “For dumping all this on you, you know? I don’t wanna be that friend who only ever talks to you when I have problems. I kinda feel like I’m using you.”

“Hey, hey. It’s fine. Relax,” he says, feeling her nod softly into his neck as he continues, “It doesn’t bother me.” In fact, he prefers it, is what he doesn’t tell her. Humiliating as it is, he revels in feeling like he’s giving something, when he always feels like he’s taking from her. Like everyone is taking from her.

He knows what it’s like to be a producer, always behind the scenes of it all. She says she���s perfectly content with it, but he once said the same thing back in Daegu. But even when he chose to do things and make things for other people like this, there was always that underlying feeling of feeling like something has been taken from you. Sometimes it was just wanting the same amount of recognition as the people singing the songs you made.

Being young in society meant a desire for acceptance, and what bigger acceptance was there than fame? He recognizes the stars in her eyes whenever they practice with the other trainees in JYP’s big, shiny entertainment building because his own eyes held them once, too.

He’s still a trainee, so maybe they still do.

But for now, he’s letting himself dream small, living in the studio whenever he doesn’t have to practice those stupid dances Hitman Bang has them do. For now, music comes first, especially with his current job as one of the company’s main producers.

Producing is a lot harder with one hand, he muses, noting that she has at some point monopolized his left one when he wasn’t paying attention. He interlocks their fingers in spite of it all. With his ability to perform keyboard shortcuts impaired, he delegates the task of manually clicking things to his free hand. It’s annoying, but the feeling of her hand fit so snugly in his makes the inconvenience feel worth it. They sit like that for a while, quiet as one of her hands threads through his hair and the other softly strokes at his hand with her thumb.

“I like your hands,” she says. “They’re nice to hold.” Yoongi swallows. She’s so close to him that he’s scared she’ll hear how fast his heart is beating. To his relief, she says nothing of it.

“They’re just hands,” he says as nonchalantly as he can manage. “Cold hands.”

“Usually when you hold someone’s hand they get all hot and sweaty and clammy and gross, which is why I do the pinky-linking thing,” she muses, “Yours don’t do that, so they’re nice to hold. And they’re honestly not even that cold.”

“They are,” he argues.

“I don’t think your hands are ever that cold,” she says, her voice a teasing lilt. “I think you just keep saying that so you have an excuse to have your hands held. I bet you secretly love skinship.” He rolls his eyes, tightening an arm around her tiny frame.

“Watch it. Your life is in my hands,” he says, as flatly as he can manage for maximum ominosity.

With a squeak, she flies off of him like he’s on fire. He can’t help but smile, wide and gummy, at her Yuri-esque antics. Even when she turns away, shaking her head fondly, he can feel his heart swell in his chest as he looks at her. It reminds him why she’s the first one at Big Hit he was able to really talk to. Everything feels easy and comfortable with her, the way he felt back in Daegu.

His reverie is interrupted by Namjoon’s voice booming from the studio next to his.

“Yuri!” he calls. “Can you look at this for me?”

Hearing this, she does a little happy dance with her feet. It’s a habit he usually finds endearing, but right now it just makes his stomach twist. She waves him off, dropping everything—she even forgets her water bottle on his desk—to run off and attend to whatever Namjoon needs her for.

“I’ll be back,” she says in a sing-song voice as she’s out the door. 

He knows she will. She always comes back to him whenever Namjoon isn’t available.

Yoongi runs a frustrated hand through his hair, not sure why it bothers him so much. The fact that he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much bothers him more than anything else.

Yuri is awake at the Big Hit dorms at two in the morning.

This is nothing out of the ordinary, though. Whenever their dad was out of the country on a business trip, she always took the opportunity to stay out past curfew as a chance to spend her nights at the Big Hit studio while Kyunghee played video games with Donghyuk in the dorms. She always had to hide in the studio until early dawn so as to not get caught by Hitman Bang, who made it clear that he detested the idea of someone so young being out late just to work for him.

Today is different, though. Today, she’s in the dorms, taking a well-deserved break from work as she lays on her stomach next to Yoongi and watches a movie with him. She brought the DVD over from her house, thinking nothing of the way her father’s old American movies lined the TV stand until the day Yoongi bashfully mentioned wanting to watch it.

So here they are, watching a Korean-subbed version of Scarface on the tiny screen of his laptop. Yuri can’t enjoy the movie very much, finding it a bit too bleak and violent for her liking. And it just never gets better. It’s just hit after hit, one bad thing happening after another. She’s sure that if she squinted hard enough, she would be able to appreciate the cinematography and whatever deeper meaning the film holds, but that sounds like too much brainpower to be using at two in the morning.

Yoongi seems to find it interesting, though. He’s enraptured by every word that leaves the main character’s mouth, so much so that Yuri would be surprised if he forgot she was there. It really seems like he’s in his own little world. Instead, she finds her entertainment in his little gasps of delight, the innocent widening of his eyes, the way his grins of anticipation look as they’re illuminated by the dim light of his laptop screen.

It’s unfair, she thinks, how pretty Yoongi is. Perfect skin and catlike eyes and gummy smiles and he’s not even trying—hell, he doesn’t even have a skincare routine! God really does pick favorites. Yuri absentmindedly brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes, one he’s probably too entranced by the movie to notice. She hums softly at the way he leans into her touch without thinking.

She wonders if anyone is ever going to look at her this way.

There’s no time for her musings to continue when she hears what sounds like someone throwing their guts up in the bathroom. It stops for a moment before continuing, and Jesus, that sounds pretty brutal. She nudges Yoongi with her arm.

“Sounds like someone’s dying in there,” she says. He furrows his brows together in concern.

“Huh?”

“Someone’s not having a good time in the bathroom,” she says. “Did Namjoon undercook the chicken breasts again or what?” As if on cue, the poor guy is retching again, and Yoongi shakes his head.

“Jihoon,” he says, pausing the movie before he stands up and dusts himself off. “He hasn’t been feeling well for a while, now.” Yuri gets up and follows Yoongi when he makes his way towards said bathroom, cringing at the distinct sound of dry heaving as they draw closer. Yoongi knocks on the door before entering, his frown deep-set when he sees Jihoon hunched over the toilet.

“Hey,” Yuri says softly, stepping forward and placing a comforting hand on the small of his back. “Are you okay, buddy?” Yuri and Jihoon aren’t exactly the closest—of all the Big Hit trainees, Namjoon and Yoongi nabbed that spot—but he’s still nice to talk to, always offering to walk her home when it got too late like a good oppa. Seeing him like this breaks her heart.

“‘M fine,” he rasps, despite the pain in his voice telling them all that he is anything but. “Probably just food poisoning. No big deal.”

“Food poisoning for three days?” Yoongi says, obviously in disbelief. “It could be a stomach bug. Or God forbid, appendicitis. You really need to get yourself checked out.”

“It’s fine, hyung. I—” he begins, but the need to heave again cuts him off. Yuri rubs comforting circles into his back some more, unsure of what else to do. She sends a questioning glance Yoongi’s way, who looks just as concerned as she does.

“We’re taking you to the hospital,” he says. Jihoon groans, but doesn’t have the energy to resist.

The drive to the hospital is tense, Yuri filing in the back before Jihoon so he can lay his head against her shoulder and she can make sure he doesn’t throw up anymore. Meanwhile, Yoongi pushing is the edge of the speed limit, eyes darting back and forth between the road and the rear view mirror to make sure that they’re holding up okay in the back. Yuri sends him a reluctant thumbs up.

Yoongi insists that they take Jihoon to the emergency room, where they take Jihoon to the back. As soon as he’s out of eyeshot, Yuri watches with wide eyes as Yoongi takes out his wallet and puts down a hefty payment for the walk-in fee.

“I can pay for it,” she says, shaking her head as she fishes for her wallet in her own jacket pocket. Yoongi smiles, a bittersweet thing, at the unspoken words—she knows how much he’s struggled with money in the past. Even so, he shakes his head, reaching out to tenderly fit his hand into hers.

“There are worse things to spend my money on,” he says. “You can’t really put a price on anyone.”

Something in the way that she sees Yoongi snaps, then, but she has no clue as to what it is. She’s not sure if it’s the lack of sleep or the lateness of the night that makes her think this, but something about him reminds her of the moon, at that moment.

They stay like that the rest of the night, side-by-side in the seats of the hospital waiting room. Yoongi’s lashes flutter dreamily at the way a sleep-deprived Yuri noses against him, softly muttering sweet things against the sensitive skin of his neck and meaning every word.

“Your heart is warm, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi can’t help but notice the way that Yuri’s wrap around him a little bit tighter during their deliveries, these days. More than that, he can’t help but notice how much he likes it.

He’s slowly accepting the fact that this might be a thing that he will have to address in both himself and with the rest of the Big Hit team later. Yuri being her normal touchy self was one thing, but him finding himself enjoying her touch rather than just allowing it was… new. It’s scary and exciting all at once, but mostly the former. For now, while it isn’t a problem, he chooses to ignore it.

He still puts the helmet on her head himself, pulling the buckles tight and making sure it’s fully secure before anything else. He takes extra care with it these days, tender in the way he always does it for her like it’s the first time. He feels like a little kid all over again, the way he cares like this.

It’s easy for him to psyche himself out of things, convincing himself that she’s just being all touchy because that’s how she is, but then she does little things that make him think it isn’t all in his head. Just last month, she gifted him with a black Yamaha helmet, covered with stickers of Kumamon and logos of brands he likes and Scarface, even though he remembers her having a pointed disinterest in the film while they watched it on his bedroom floor.

He never anticipated that he’d actually need it one day.

He doesn’t know how it happens, who went too fast or too slow or turned when they weren’t supposed to. All he remembers is tightening his arms around Yuri as they tumbled off the bike and onto the ground, hoping that she’d be okay. 

She always kicked in his protective instinct, being so small and so delicate. The thought of her getting hurt because she wanted to help him out makes him feel impossibly guilty.

Yoongi’s fading in and out of consciousness, vaguely registering Yuri’s voice sobbing into her phone on what seems to be a 1339 call.

“He’s—he’s unconscious,” he hears her sniffle, “Oh my God, he—um, no, no, he has a helmet on. His head is under the car. His body’s sticking out from under it. I just—I don’t wanna move him, ‘cause, oh my God, what if I hurt him? Oh God, what do I do? I don’t know what to—no, ma’am, the street is—um...”

When he wakes up, he’s lying in a hospital bed, groggy and miserable and aching to the joints. He’s in the emergency room, he realizes, the same one he drove Jihoon to only weeks ago. His heart sinks when the doctor informs him that he’s got an incredibly bad shoulder injury—no more boxing, no more basketball, he tells him. It was nearly dislocated, he says, so don’t move too much. Don’t put too much pressure on it. Just relax for a month or so.

This sends him into a full-blown panic. He doesn’t have a month. He’s never been much of a dancer—of everyone, she should probably be practicing the most. This sets him back far behind the others. How is he gonna catch up? How is he gonna make up for that?

As soon as the doctor leaves, the weight of the whole world hits him all at once. He can even feel himself hyperventilating, but is halted by the shock of a gentle hand reaching out to grasp his. When he turns, he sees Yuri sitting on the hospital chair next to him. Lord, he was so out of it he didn’t even realize she was there. She’s got bandages on her legs, but other than that, no major injuries. He breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey,” he says, slowly blinking up at her.

“Why did you do that?” she says, voice cracking.

“Huh?”

“You, um, kind of,” she begins, “…broke my fall? You held me. I don’t know. I crushed your shoulder. That’s why it’s all fucked up. Why would you do that?”

“I—I don’t know,” he admits. “I wasn’t thinking. I just felt like it was the thing to do at that moment.” She whines pitifully at his answer, squeezing his hand as tight as she can.

“I just feel like I owe you one,” she says. “Something. Anything. I don’t know.”

The tender part of him tells him to assure her that she has no need to do any such thing. After all, nothing was more important than other people—especially Lim Yuri—but the scared part of him takes over.

“Make me a promise,” he says softly. She leans in to hear him better, nodding as she does so.

“Anything,” she says.

“Promise me you won’t tell the others about this injury. Please.” Yuri furrows her brows and widens her eyes upon hearing this, obviously not expecting that answer. She practically rips her hand from his at that, pulling back from him as if appalled.

“What?!” she says. “Yoongi, no! They have to know about this!”

“They’ll worry. They’ll bench me. They’ll pull me out,” he says. “I promise you, it’s better if they don’t know.”

“What, so they can make you dance and exercise and all that shit with your injured shoulder? If it was sprained, that’d be one thing, but this is a serious problem! You’re only gonna hurt yourself further by not telling them.”

“I don’t care. It’s fine.” Yuri shakes her head.

“I just don’t get it,” she says, sniffling. “How you can care so little about yourself when I—when everyone—cares about you so much.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures her. “It’ll heal. Everything will, alright? I just need you not to tell anyone about it.”

“Of course,” she says, as flatly as she can manage. “I owe you one, after all.” Yoongi knows her well enough to sense the bite in her tone. He rolls his eyes.

“C’mon,” he clicks his tongue. “Don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like that, then,” she says, pressing her back to the opposite wall of his little hospital room. “It’s just—it’s just so stupid, Yoongi.” She slides down against the wall and onto the floor, looking impossibly small and hopeless in a way that only makes him feel guiltier. “You don’t have to pay anyone back for any of the nice things we do. You think we do all that just to kiss ass, or what?”

“What—no! Of course not.”

“Then why am I keeping this a secret, huh? Tell me that,” she says. 

Yoongi pauses for a moment, deep in thought. Every single thought falls upon him, all at once. He thinks of the evaluations next weekend and he thinks about his family back home. He thinks about the money they spent on his trainee contract and he thinks about the amount they’ll have to pay off, regardless of whether or not he debuts. His heart beats wildly in his chest. His head pounds away.  His lips press together into a thin line.

“There’s so much at stake,” is all he can offer as an explanation. What else can he say?

“All the more reason to trust us, then, isn’t it?” she says desperately. “Come on. No way anyone would let the company drop you. I’d fight for you, you know that! We’d fight for you. No one else can rap and produce like you. Don’t you remember what Namjoon said? You can debut before him, or he can debut before you, but it’s important that everyone supports each other, always. He’d be here for you, if he knew. He wants to be there for you. We all want to be there for you. You’re so loved. You just have to trust us. You just have to let us in.”

“Sorry I don’t remember every little thing Namjoon says,” he scoffs. “I’m not you.”

“Are you really talking about that right now?!” she bristles. “This is serious, Yoongi!”

“I’m being serious,” he says firmly. “You’re the one bringing up Namjoon while I’m lying in a hospital bed. He’s the leader. He’s the one I’m worried most about. The whole group is built around him. I don’t know if I can trust him not to tell any of the staff about this. If he does—, if anyone does—they have a reason to drop me as a trainee. I can’t let that happen, Yuri.”

He doesn’t know why he’s saying these things. He’s talking out of his ass right now. After all, he trusts Namjoon. He likes Namjoon. But the pain in his shoulder and the claustrophobia of the tight little hospital room makes him feel anxious, restless, paranoid. He wants to get up and move and run or do something. But he can’t, so all he can do is project every negative feeling bogging down on him onto other people.

“If you can’t trust Namjoon,” she says softly. “Can’t you at least trust me?”

A beat of silence is her only answer, Yoongi’s lips pressed together into a thin line as he looks away.

“I can’t believe you,” she says, voice cracking. When he hears her begin to sniffle and sob, he has to force himself not to look back at her, guilt and shame bubbling up in his stomach.

He doesn’t even get to see her as she storms out, slamming the door shut behind her.

Yoongi feels incredibly alone.

He really shouldn’t, though—after all, his family comes all the way down from Daegu just to visit him while he’s in the hospital. They bring him all sorts of different foods, agreeing with his complaints that hospital food really, really sucks. After repeated assurances that he’ll heal just fine, they ask him about trainee life, about his food, about his friends. On the third day, they ask why nobody else has visited him. He lies and says that they’re all too busy training, when in reality they don’t even know that he’s here. 

The insecure, self-loathing part of himself wonders if they’re even worried.

Rationally, he knows they are, because he misses them, too. They’ve been in such close proximity that it’d be impossible for them not to grow as close as they have in these past months. He chuckles softly whenever he thinks about the way they were so rarely separated, bonding and laughing over situations where Hoseok was using the shower while Donghyuk used the toilet and Namjoon brushed his teeth, all at the same time.

It only makes Yoongi feel worse about the last conversation he had with Yuri, making an ass out of himself over Namjoon of all people. Namjoon who he’s lived with the longest. Namjoon who he gives his shirts to when they come in two sizes too big. Namjoon who he holds so dearly. 

He wishes he didn’t have to be apart from everyone for so long to realize what an ass he was being.

It hits him the worst on the sixth day his family visits him and they bring him a cup of a very familiar brand of ₩1200 ramyeon. He saves the little egg brick for last. It tastes bitter in his mouth. 

As he reluctantly finishes his water, listening to his brother, Geumjae, and his parents chatter about their dog and their work and the weather in Daegu. Usually, catching up with them felt like a much-needed break, but right now he just feels restless. 

He’s been lying in this hospital bed for too long. Listening to nothing but their idle chat for too long. He’s been drifting in and out of sleep so much that he probably wouldn’t even know how many days he’d been in the hospital if his phone didn’t tell him. The repetition of it all ends one day when the nurse informs him that somebody’s coming up to visit, even though his family is already there in the room with him.

After a set of gentle knocks, Lim Yuri appears from behind the hospital door like an angel.

She introduces herself to his family a bit too formally, bowing more than she needs to, like she’s trying to impress them. It’s cute of her. What’s even cuter is the way she blushes and flusters in surprise when they ask if she’s a Big Hit trainee and she waves her arms around as she explains that she’s a producer. She looks nothing like an idol, she says. Geumjae jokes that Yoongi doesn’t look anything like one either. He glares at his brother from the hospital bed.

Yuri looks shy as she tells them something too softly for him to hear, but they nod in understanding and send Yoongi a knowing look as they file out of the door with promises to visit tomorrow. His cheeks flush in embarrassment as he realizes he’s going to have a lot to clarify for them then.

His flush deepens when she sets the plastic bag in her hands on his side table, clambering up the bedside to take a seat beside him. He moves to make space for her, revelling in the way the warm skin of her thigh presses against his arm. 

“Did you eat?” she says softly. “I brought you food.”

“Yeah, I ate,” he says. “Thanks, though.”

A beat of silence. She reaches down to grasp his hand, which fits so perfectly into hers. When he squeezes it, she squeezes back. Everything feels like it’s falling back into place where it belongs.

“I didn’t tell anyone, like you said. I told them all that you went back to see your family in Daegu. Said it was a family emergency that you didn’t really wanna talk about,” she says softly. “Told Hitman Bang, too. I think you should be okay if you want to stay here for the next week or so.” He shakes his head.

“It’s okay. I’ll be discharged soon,” he assures her. “Next two days, maybe. It won’t be completely healed, but I’ll just tell them that I fell down the stairs back home or something. I don’t know. Gonna try to play it off as nothing major.” 

She hums in reply, squeezing his hand again. He can tell she still disapproves of his secrets, but is willing to keep them if that’s what makes him comfortable. She slides down so she’s laying next to him, legs slotted nicely next to his. He feels a wave of comfort wash over him as she gets touchy with him, like nothing has changed.

Seeing as Yoongi has never been the touchy-feely type, one would think that this would annoy him. To his own surprise, it doesn’t. If anything, he finds himself reveling in her affections. It’s weird even to him, the way he likes her touch so much.

Wordlessly, she starts playing with his hair. She’s always liked his hair, she’s said before, all sleek and smooth—she doesn’t like her own hair and the way they curl at the ends. And he’d frown every time she talked about herself like that because he thinks she’s one of the cutest people he knows.

Not that he could ever tell her that without shrivelling up and dying of embarrassment.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by her wandering fingers, which have moved on from playing with his hair to prod at his ears. The sensitivity makes him cringe, but it isn’t an entirely unpleasant thing. He gasps sharply when her fingernails nip at the shell of his ear in a way that feels like the sensitive skin is being bitten. Mortifying as it is to admit, the goosebumps that rise on his skin stem from a sensation more pleasurable than it is uncomfortable. It feels good. Suddenly, the touches that he once found curious and innocent—childish, even—make his face go hot.

“You have something you’re not saying,” she chides. “You can tell me, you know, if it’ll make you feel better.” He turns in closer to her, close enough that her breath tickles him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For saying stupid shit that I didn’t mean. I was jealous and stupid and angry.”

“Apology accepted,” she says immediately, trailing her finger back down from his ear to prod at his bready cheeks. “I’d forgive you even if you didn’t apologize, you know. I missed you too much.”

“I missed you, too.” 

She freezes, then. They both do. Yoongi doesn’t even realize what he says until it’s slipped out—it’s probably the most intimate thing he’s said out loud. The closest thing he’s ever said to I love you.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks suddenly. “I just—I know it’s not super romantic to ask, but I don’t just wanna do it without your permission, so—” Yoongi’s face burns a dark crimson as he cuts her off.

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Go ahead. Please.” He can’t trust his voice to say much else. His hands are shaking.

When she presses her lips against his, everything feels different. 

It’s like every shitty romance movie he’s ever watched has come to life in his bones. Every cheesy metaphor—the sparks flying, the angels singing, the flowers blooming. It’s the way he finally understands why wars have been waged and empires have fallen for a single heart. It’s the way Yuri smells like cherry blossoms and whatever else is in her girly lotions. It’s the way he’s never felt like this before.

It’s different from his first kiss. It feels exactly like Yuri said it should feel. Maybe because it’s her. 

And Min Yoongi finally understands why Lim Yuri put so much importance into a single kiss.

Yoongi doesn’t know how long he’s been avoiding her.

It’s not like he immediately iced her out after the kiss. It was a gradual thing, each interaction slowly becoming more and more unbearable. The first time he can recall feeling things start to fall apart was when he made some rude joke that he can’t even remember now. All he can remember is the way she laughed afterwards, so naturally and so easily that he couldn’t help but to think about how everything with her was just easy. Easy to tease, easy to joke with, easy to share secrets with.

That’s how things should be, right?

And then it spirals. Makes him think about his girlfriend from middle school, a smart girl with pretty hair that sat in front of him in class, who began going out with him when he shyly asked her out via letter. He could talk to her normally before, could ask her for pencils and for homework help, but once they began dating he couldn’t even do that much.

It’s weird, the way he acted so differently once romantic expectations were set up. There’d always been this tense aura of awkwardness around them, and he could vaguely tell that it annoyed her, but he was too chicken to do anything about it. He never thought it could happen with Yuri, who he always felt so comfortable, but here he was now.

He feels pathetic, agonizing over this when she’s probably thinking about Namjoon. Even if she does like him back, there’s a clawning fear in his gut that tells him that he’s never going to compare. He wonders how long she’d do that, seesaw herself over to him whenever Namjoon was unavailable. Moreover, he wonders how long he’d let her.

Everytime her little hands found themselves laced in his, the rate at which his thoughts dissipated and his heart melted became laughable. If she asked, he’d probably let her do whatever she wanted with him forever.

The tiny, selfish little devil on his shoulder whispers to Yoongi that he would possibly-maybe-kind-of be more compatible with her than Namjoon. Even without thinking too hard about it, he knows it’s a terrible thought just from the way it makes his stomach churn with guilt.

Namjoon and Yuri have known each other for several years longer than he’s known either of them. He’s nothing more than an interloper in this relationship, and it’s conceited of him to even think he has any kind of chance when he probably isn’t even in the running. The possibility of being in the running scares him more than it excites him, at this point.

So he ices her out.

With how frigid he’s gotten, it should come as no surprise that she wants to hang out more with the trainees at JYP and Source. These days, she’s been over in their dorms more often than she’s been in theirs. He only ever sees her in the studio. Even then, he only speaks to her indifferently, replying to her when it has to do with music and brushing off her attempts at small talk. It reminds him of his interactions with Namjoon back when they first met, tense and awkward and professional.

And speak of the devil.

“Hey,” he hears Namjoon say, his voice deep and distant at his studio door. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” he says thoughtlessly, not even bothering to look up from the song he’s producing on his computer. That changes when Namjoon seats himself on the seat next to his and he can practically feel the air go tense, forcing him to turn and give Namjoon his full attention. The way that his leader, who was a year younger than he was, could command so much authority with his presence alone was both admirable and terrifying.

“You’ve been avoiding Yuri,” Namjoon says. He immediately knows there’s no beating around the bush with this one. Regardless, he pushes his luck.

“I haven’t,” he lies through his teeth. Yoongi has never liked lying about matters of the heart. If it were anybody but Namjoon, he wouldn’t have, but he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Namjoon sighs, obviously in disbelief of the lie. Yoongi doesn’t blame him.

“Look,” he says. “I’m not asking you to tell me what’s wrong, or what happened between you two or whatever. If it was between two members of this group, then I would have to. It’s my job as leader to be responsible for you guys. But whatever is going on between you and Yuri? That’s your business. It’s not my job to keep up with our producers, no matter how much I might want to.”

“But you do want to,” Yoongi clarifies.

“Of course,” he says. “I mean, she’s not just a producer to me. She’s my friend. And so are you. So I’m asking you this as a friend, and not a leader.” Yoongi raises a brow.

“What are you asking?” he says.

“I don’t know. Just don’t be mad at each other anymore. Please.” Namjoon sounds impossibly desperate, hopeless in a way that feels incredibly out of character for him. “I don’t like seeing you guys mad at each other. Remember what Hitman Bang said? It’s okay if you wanna fight or yell or whatever. Just sort it out. I don’t know what she did, or what happened between you, but everyone seems pretty miserable without her around, including you. So please make up soon. Please don’t be mad at her anymore.”

“I’m not mad at her,” he says, and it’s the truth. If anything, he’s mad at himself—but not at her. Never at her. “It’s just… weird. I don’t know. But I’m not mad at her.”

“You think she knows that?” he says, and Yoongi’s heart immediately sinks.

“Probably not,” he admits, suddenly feeling a large wave of guilt wash over him. Now that he thinks about it, she’s probably been blaming herself this whole time. Yoongi’s face burns hot with shame.

“Then you should let her know.”

“Hey, can we talk?”

Yuri practically jumps in her seat, eyes widening like saucers as she whips around upon hearing the voice of Yoongi of all people at the studio door. She hesitates for a moment, but it’s not long before she gets up to let him in. Over the months, he’d gotten harder and harder for her to refuse.

“Okay,” she says as she unlocks the door, letting him into the studio. They’re face to face now, so much so that his incredible closeness reminds her just how much he towers over her. He always said that he was short, but he’s pretty tall to her. It only makes her all the more nervous.

She hasn’t had the opportunity to talk to Yoongi alone like this about something non-music related in months. She can’t beat around the bush with this one—she doesn’t know the next chance she’s going to get to say what she wants, so she has no choice but to say it outright.

“Let’s not fight anymore,” she says, gently dropping her head against his chest. It comes out soft and sad and a thousand times more pathetic-sounding than she’d originally intended. “I won’t kiss you anymore. We can pretend it never happened. Just talk to me again. I miss you.” The way her voice cracks breaks his heart into little pieces.

“We’re not—we’re not fighting, Yuri,” he assures her, stern and gentle all at once. Hesitantly, he brings an arm up around her to rub gentle circles into the small of her back. “We’re… disagreeing.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” he says. “And even if I was, it wouldn’t be because you kissed me. Why would I be avoiding you because of that? I said that you could, didn’t I?”

“But you are mad,” she says.

“At me,” he clarifies. “Not at you.”

“Why?” she asks. “Yoongi, tell me.” He flushes, feeling incredibly trapped by the way her doe eyes look up at him. Refusing her wishes feels impossible, these days, so he supposes that honesty is the best policy in this case.

“Because I wanted you to kiss me again,” he admits, cheeks burning hot with shame. “Even though everything was fine as it already was.” Yuri blinks slowly at him upon his admission.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I think I get it,” she says, and despite being forgiven, he can’t help but frown at how understanding she’s being—it’s more than he deserves at this point, if he’s being honest.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s scary.” Words are hard right now.

“I think it’s why I could never say anything,” she continues. “It’s so easy to love someone without them knowing, because you get to live off these happy little fantasies of being together and everything being perfect in your head. I think that’s why being loved back is scary. Because then anything is a possibility. It’s kind of like—it’s kind of like finishing a really good webtoon.” He chuckles softly at the comparison, fondly bumping his nose against hers. “It is! Because then you have nothing left and you’re hit with that post-webtoon depression, because the fun and the fantasies and the excitement are over and then you’re left to deal with the real world. And sometimes the real world means that everything changes, or that even if the person you want loves you back right now, they might change their mind later on. And that’s scary.”

“I still want to be able to talk to you like we used to,” he says. “But I also still want to kiss you. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“Kiss me, then,” she says. “We don’t—we don’t have to think about it or talk about it or decide anything. Just kiss me. Please.”

And so he does.

It makes him shiver, the way she seems to shrink when her back presses against the wall, the way she feels so small when he cages her between his arms, the way her tiny hands find purchase against his chest before travelling up to wind behind his neck.

Yoongi can’t find it in himself to be afraid at that moment. He’d kiss Lim Yuri forever, if she let him.

#era.glass #fic.interloper #laruna.conn #laruna.dev #ship. yoonri #writings

[yarart4ever]

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! HAMILTON ARRIVED ON DISNEY+ A FEW DAYS AGO WHAAAAAAAAAT!!!?????

as you couldn't tell, I am IN LOVE with Hamilton! the musical got me into discovering the musical fandom! sure I was in love with Hairspray and musicals in general but Hamilton was my first actual music obsession!

this is the LIVE SHOW! just recorded professionally! and Imma do my usual review on it! :3

-lol king george's intro at the beginning! XD

-WHO ELSE BOPPED AND GOT EXCITED DURING THE FIRST SONG IN ACT I: ALEXANDER HAMILTON!?

-I like how the crowd is so respectful to the performers and only laughs and claps when necessary!

-the dance choreography! *chefs kiss* perfecto!

-YO! the actors for John Laurens/Philip, Lafayette/Thomas Jefferson and Hercules Mulligan/ Maddison ARE. FINE! they. are. DADDIES! PERIODT!

-okay but like... the actresses for Angelica and Peggy are also pretty fine! like.. UwU WIFEYS!

-Angelica~, (work, work) Eliza~ and PEGGY! the schuyler sisters~! sorry I had to! TvT

-ANGELICA. IS. A QUEEN! PERIODTTTT!!

-lol everything that comes out of King george's mouth is gold! XD

-RIGHT HAND MAN IS A BOP OH MY GOD! (O///o///O)

-aw, Helpless is so wholesome I love it! <3

-okAY BUT SATISFIED IS MY FAVORITE SONG AND IT'S WHAT GOT ME INTO THE HAMILTON FANDOM! I KNOW THE SONG WORD FOR WORD ISTG-

-lmao who else died at raise a glass reprise cuz... XD it got me!

-WAIT FOR IT IS MY SECOND FAVORITE SONG!! (>///o///<) but like show me mother theodosia pls! T^T

-"I'm a general! WEEEE"  Charles Lee~  best quote by far!

-  the way! John Laurens! looks at Alexander! jesus why does he have to be so attractive!?

-damn Alexander got daddy issues! O_O

-that would be enough almost made me cry what??

-EVERYONE GIVE IT UP FOR AMERICA'S VERY HOT FIGHTING FRENCHMAN!... wait that's not the lyrics..

-damn! dying is easy, but living is harder... that hit different! :'(

-THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN!! HOLY THAT SONG SLAPSSSS!!

-oml Hercules Mulligan's solo (O///_///O) and he sticks his tongue out too! he's a aggressive top hottie and I am living for it!!!

- what comes next was totally foreshadowing for when Trump becomes president. like, "when your people say they hate you, don't come crawling back to me"! like yo! foreshadowing or what??

-aw dear theodosia! my third favorite song! you know, ever since I heard this I wanted to name my child theodosia so that I could sing her this song as a lullaby.

-NO!!! JOHN LAURENS MY HUSBAND!!! T^T </3 I knew he was gonna die anyway cause I've listened to the sundtrack many times but still! and Alexander was so happy singing about his son and then he hears about John's death I'm- :'( I almost cried again during that song... you can probably tell that I love John Laurens..

-NON STOP THO!! LIKE WHAT!?! THIS SONG WAS AWESOME IN THE SOUNDTRACK AND IT'S MORE AWESOME NOW THAT I'M SEEING IT AND SINGING ALONG!! (>///O///<)

~~intermission~~

-okay okay, act II! I'm ready!! give. me. that. tea!

-THOMAS JEFFERSON! HOLY SH!T HE'S HOT!!! AAAAHHHHH!!!

-OH! AND HE DOES THE KISS!! excuse me while I faint of fangirling...

-aw, poor Maddison is sick. lol corona?? I'm telling y'all they knew what was gonna happen in 2020! like even John wanted to help end black slavery and then there was that george floyd situation now and just... foreshadowing all over! :T

-HOLY CRAP YO THERE'S AN ACTUAL RAP BATTLE!! XD WHAAAATT??? like Jefferson and Hamilton got them mics, they be all up in each other's face roasting each other like bro!

-"turn around, bend over I'll show you where my shoe fits!" OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH! GET ROASTED JEFFERSON BAM WHAT??

- lmao why the fnck do they have an grown a$$ man playing a 9 year old?? XD

-okay, I love the sister dynamic for Angelica and Eliza! they're so cute! and I like how no one questions that even though their races are different they're still related. and it bothers me that people nitpick about that. like leave them alone, they are sisters! periodt!

-oh no it's say no to this... I hate this song... I can't believe Hamilton had an affair with someone he doesn't even know! who cares if she's hot?? you're MARRIED!

-and wait... ain't that the actress who played Peggy in the last act?? sheesh no wonder she's so attractive!

-look at this dude saying "lord show me how to say no to this, I don't know how to say no to this"! LIKE BOI! just say no! tf?? it doesn't matter if she's a fncking model! if I was married to a kind hearted, gentle and just generally an amazing person Like Eliza, and a woman pulled me in their bed and said "stay~" I would've  been like "HAHA nope! peace out my guy, I'm already taken thank you very much and they do it to me better than you ever did! periodt!" and I would leave. it's that easy!

-"and her bodies screaming hell yes" BOI IF YOU DON'T KEEP YOUR D!CK IN YOUR PANTS AND GO HOME ALEXANDER I SWEAR TO FnCKING ALLAH......

-and he fncked up... that's it... I'm done!! Deuses! *gives peace sign and leaves*

-no one else was in the room? okay we getting hype now! XP

-damn Aaron Burr is a great dancer! XD

-oh sh!t oh sh!t there's another rap battle! same people too... everyone take cover! seriously this is not a drill!

-damn! okay did not hear this yet?? uhm so.... Hamilton snapped. and not the good type of snapped too... the moment he was given a opportunity to speak he literally shouted "YOU MUST BE OUTTA YOUR GODDAMN MIND!" and when I tell you I shook....

-"daddy's callin'.." oKAY FIRST OF ALL HOW WRONG DOES THAT SOUND TO YOU??

-lol when Burr came on stage and started singing, Jefferson was so confused he was like "bruh the hell did you come from??" and I died! XD

-oh sh!t Burr and Jefferson are joining forces- LOOK OUT EVERYONE AS THEY BRING THE THUNDER!

-YO THE RAPPING IN THIS SONG IS LIKE WOWZAH! LIKE BARS BRO! :D LIKE FnCKING M&M IS QUAKING!

-"sir, I don't know what you heard but WHATEVER IT IS.... Jefferson started it.." LMFAO ALEX I SWEAR TO GOD XD

-one last time oh no I'm scared this song is gonna make me cry isn't it??

-YEP I WAS RIGHT! I'M CRYING NOW! GREAT!

-George Washington's voice is so powerful oh my lord... and oop! he's crying too! also great! :'D

-my hEART T^T-

-King George Istg STOP! XD

-also yay, I like how they used a woman for the guard/right hand man to the king! as a feminist... I approve UwU

-who else flinched when the king started laughing........ because I did....

-"sit down John you FAT MOTHER FnCKER!" oop... was not expecting that!

-NO ALEX DON'T TELL THEM THEY'RE JOINING FORCES YOU'RE DEAD IF YOU TELL THEM THAT- aaaaaaaand you told them... smart.. real smart -_-

-okay but Thomas' reaction was even more funny on screen then in the sound track X'D

-welp... now Burr's gonna tell everybody.. oh wait no.. ALONG with Jefferson and Maddison... good job, Alexander..

-holy sh!t the reynolds pamphlet! he actually wrote it down?? I mean I knew this happened but STILL! WHAT THE FnCK, HAMILTON?!?

-Jefferson is getting to hype for this I swear XD

-OH CRAP ANGELICA IS HERE!

-"all the way from London? DAYUM!" that's me!

-damn, work it, King George! XP

-YEAH DAMN RIGHT HIS POOR WIFE ELIZA DIDN'T DESERVE THIS! >:(

-aw man, Burn hit's different! especially when you catch your ex cheating on you. if that ever happens, LISTEN TO THIS SONG! trust me!

-I feel so bad for her.. :(

-Philip saying "the scholars say I got the same virtuosity and brains as my pops, the ladies say that's not where the resemblance stops~" MADE ME DIE! LIKE ON THE SPOT! NO JOKE!

-the ladies are getting hype for Philip and honestly I CAN SEE WHY! HE'S A DADDY! DUNNO! UwU

-OOF! BEEF!

-he got shot AGAIN!?!

-he dies AGAIN!?!

-WHY DOES THIS HANDSOME BOI KEEP DYING?? LET HIM LIVE BRO!! T^T

-poor Eliza...

-oh god please no not it's quiet uptown! Imma cry again!

-oop... and now I'm crying again... ain't that fun! :'D

-the way they held hands at the end! T^T be still my heart!

-DAYUM! Hamilton chose JEFFERSON over Burr! oof, that's gotta sting!

-"you know what we can change that, you know why?" me: why? "because I'm the president.." me: *blushes and sweats*.... uh.. ahem... welp, that's enough convincing for me you got it sir!  I am so sorry... TvT

-oh no they about to duel! oh sh!t oh sh!t! I'm scared!

-lol A. Ham! XD I'm sorry I just find that so funny! HAM! AHA do I look like a Christmas meal to you?? lmao

-he's... HE'S AIMING HIS PISTOL AT THE SKY! BURR HOLD UP DON'T SHOOT DON'T-

-... he shot Hamilton...

-seriously Burr??

-Eliza has been through many heartbreaks right now..

-oh this is my 5th favorite song. who lives who dies, who tells your story... I'm gonna cry again, aren't I?

-yep! definitely just cried! that song always hits home for me..

I love this musical so much! no words can describe how much it means to me. so I suggest you listen to the soundtrack yourself, if you haven't and tell me how you feel about it. c:

#I feel a rollercoaster of emotions #i criiii #who lives who dies who tells your story #hamilton #hamilton the musical #they added hamilton to disney+ #we rise and we fall and we break and we make our mistakes #alexander hamilton #the schuyler sisters #i'm in love with musicals #musical #musical fangirl #extreme fangirling #who else thinks that Thomas Jefferson is hot?? #who else thinks John Laurens is hot?? #who else thinks Hercules Mulligan is hot?? #the revoltuion #dear theodosia #musical fandom

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Maou-jou 1 | Munou na Nana 1 | Grace of the Gods 1 | IWGP 1 | Akudama 1 | Crusade 1 | JJK 1 | HypMic 2 (also brief thoughts on the dog and cat TV short because I had them)

Maou-jou 1

I sampled this manga with what’s called a “Viz sampler”. I only ever seem to find those at libraries, so I’d assume only they and bookstores can get those.

…Twilight looks like Maou Sadao (Hataraku Maou-sama!).

“Dawner”??? I can read katakana, ya idjits. His name is Akatsuki. Update: The translator must’ve gone, “Dawn is a girl’s name. Let’s tack on an -er so it looks like a guy’s name.”

Aw, Hiro Shimono is Akatsuki. If it were Yoshitsugu Matsuoka, we could’ve gotten a Kirito joke out of it.

Oh! 快眠 (Kaimin) = good rest, literally “happy sleep”. Hence this is the nation of Goodreste. I see.

The lightning effect is soooooooooo cool! *eyes glitter at the particle effects*

I’m gonna die from cuteness from all the teddies and seals!

The little fanfare is so cute and the yokudekimashita reminds me of my days playing the arcade game Bomberman (which had a flower sticker much like this one). I wanna see this get a dub and succeed on all its merits! It’s basically my baby already…bar the fact it took a bit to work up to the first good bit of comedy.

The teddy demons are called Debiakuma, a pun on kuma (bear), devil and akuma (devil). Lessee…After “lesser demon”, there’s more text…“Fluffy bears that can be also used as pets. They give in easily to temptation. A lot of them live in the demon castle, so the princess likes to gather their fur, dye it and spin nice cotton out of it. Warning: A lot of them will either run away or call you their friend./Occasionally act as friends for the princess.”

LOL, I recognised that voice of the Scissors guy straight away…although I didn’t know who it belonged to. That’s Suwabe. (It doesn’t sound like Suwabe, I would’ve thought it to be Takuma Terashima or something.)

Aw, the Japanese version is more boring this time. It’s just Scissor Magician (in the singular for both).

*hears Scissors Demon going -ageruwa”, which is a feminine sentence ending…that’s Suwabe trying to (voice) act effeminate???!!!

These trumpet sounds never get old.

LOL, Siberian huskies dressed as Russians…

Okay, my turn again: Hari means needle, toge means thorn. Next to “His stomach is soft”, part of the subs are cut off due to Funimation’s hardsubs, but I can read “he is proud of his defence” on the 2nd line, “is the type to not refuse when relied on” on the 2nd-last line and “his favourite food is strange bird chawanmushi” on the last line.

I love how parts of the castle are upside down for no reason at all except to look cool…architects must hate that, though.

I hadn’t heard of “seesaw battles” until now. but the metaphor does make sense...kind of.

What about changing the mattress? Update: She does do that…kind of.

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Kirito was under my nose all along! Damn Demon Kinggggggggggggggggggg!

Kamina glasses on one of the background trees! Cute tapir! Ahhhhhhhh, it’s so cuteeeeeeee!

Anyways, that’s a fun show. Not as fun as HypMic, but still fun after it gains momentum.

Munou na Nana 1

I remember seeing spoilers for a twist at the end…let’s hope I don’t anticipate it. That would kill the entire anime for me.

The message actually says something about how the island is a nest for enemies of humanity.

There’s the ice narcissist I saw in the promo stuff, right on cue. I’ve never heard of his voice actor Hiromichi Tezuka before, although he does sound like Hiroshi Kamiya or someone much better.

Why do I get the feeling once the title character arrives, even Nanao will get powers…? Or maybe Nana is the catalyst for Nanao’s powers awakening or something? (Just realised having a Nana and a Nanao together in the same anime is confusing…)

Subbers spelt “noblesse oblige” wrong, unless it was deliberately done as such.

I predicted the “duke it out” line.

There’s a menu on the wall of the restaurant.

Maybe Nanao’s “talent” is his leadership stat or something?

Or maybe even Nanao is an enemy of humanity and doesn’t know it? (Sorry, speculation going into overdrive…that usually happens with superpower works like this for me, because I like to analyse them.)

Maybe Nanao can see the future, like the protag from Koi to Producer?

Technically, shouldn’t ice be weak against fire…? Or am I too used to the Pokemon system?

Called it! Nanao has a hidden power! (That reminds me: I still don’t know what Lucien’s (from Koi to Producer’s) power really is.)

Vigilantes is really good at exploring how people can expand on their own powers.

…wow, I heard rumours that the main character was going to die, but I’d pegged Nana to die, not Nanao.

Onodera is clearly important…maybe he was the one with the wind powers? Or was Nana lying about that?

…dude, the red eyes are kinda obvious that Nana is evil in some way, or at least really devious.

Grace of the Gods 1

All I really know of this is that it’s got slimes and it’s an isekai/SoL hybrid…That’s it.

…I am not, I repeat NOT, on board for a harem centred around an 11 year old!

Ryoma speaks with an unnatural amount of starts and stops, hence the caveman speak.

What’s Jil’s role in the party…?

Why would you even need to know 4 high-level skills? Isn’t it better to know all of them?

LOL, I knew the isekaid guy was meant to have a hard life so he could start over with slimes, but…stick Doppo in this and it’s basically the same thing. At least Doppo tries to resist his bosses behind their backs, this guy just did the whole gaman thing and look where that got him!

If he worked for a black company with no overtime and so forth, how did he know about a recent anime trend, eh??? Sounds suspect. Update: Unless he was thinking about 90s isekai, which still involved less reincarnation than this.

I noticed the gods have senbei (the rice crackers with the seaweed). Western-looking gods probably shouldn’t have senbei, unless…they did that to make Ryoma feel more at home?

Seriously, how does a guy with no overtime still have time for online games? Even if he were getting just ads for them, he probably wouldn’t have paid enough attention to be able to figure out what the cliches are, right? Either that, or the Dragon Quest system is older than I think it is.

Slimes don’t have paws…or hands or other appendages…to give…

…I’m not sure what to think there. Am I meant to think the slimes are cute? Am I meant to think the catgirls/animal girls are cute? The answer to those questions is “no”, so…eh.

IWGP 1

Basically, I chose this for associations with HypMic.

…the best first impression involves a CGI car. Of course. <- (sarcastic)

Given HypMic, I almost expected a rap battle…nahhhh…Rap battles don’t look so cool outside HypMic, man.

The owl is a pun. Fukurou (owl) matches ‘bukuro (bag, which is the 2nd character in “Ikebukuro”). There’s also an owl statue used as a meeting spot, much like Hachiko in Shibuya…(I learnt a bunch of things about the division territory through HypMic. Let me show off…)

I think the character designer for this anime also did Joker Game…that’s throwing me off a little. Also, they had a prime opportunity to use a Buster Bros song, so I’m still a bit miffed about that – this OP’s kinda standard. Update: The character designer is Junichiro Taniguchi – my insinct was wrong on him. He did Touken Ranbu Hanamaru’s character designs.

“Smoking kills” – Yuuuuuuuup. That’s true.

Why do I get the feeling all the male otaku will wanna bang Makoto’s mother (to put it lightly)…?

Curiously, the one who hates drugs in HypMic is Jyuto, who’s not from Ikebukuro Division at all. Hmm…

Yokoyama’s voice sounds familiar…but I’m not sure why. Update: If I had to guess, I’d say he’s Saito Soma or someone who sounds similar, so maybe Takuma Terashima, Daisuke Ono or something like that. Update 2: Takahiro Sakurai. See? I knew I knew that voice.

“Big Rei” (“Rei-nii”). That’s different from Ichi-nii (what Saburo calls Ichiro) and could also be goroawase for 02.

Uni of Tokyo is the most prestigious uni in Japan. It has quite the reputation.

…is it just me, or does Makoto have a piercing in his left ear? IWGP also happens to happily work with my existing character, although said character has a piercing in his right ear.

Zero One kinda looks like Uta (Tokyo Ghoul), LOL.

…and of course the girl has to rely on the dude. *sigh* Welp, we can throw drugs off the list for “things that count as TV-MA to Funimation” – IWGP is rated M (not 15+ explicitly, but that’s what it stands for normally) in my region.

This ED song…that’s the sort of song I was expecting from HypMic, Akudama or this.

Seems both Makoto and Takashi have earrings…maybe in both ears? Takashi’s are yellow, I could confirm that much.

…this is decent, but putting it up against its competitors is a bit harsh.

Crusade 1 (cont. from sneak peek - it’s in the title here because this is where it’s completed)

Turns out that preview was most of the episode…like “14 of 24 minutes” long.

Wait, how did Alice fall forward and end up in the princess carry pose? I remember having trouble with that when a character in a story of mine had the same problem.

…Iska-nii…(?)

That opera house looks pretty darn modern to me…

…eh…that was middling. Nothing any ol’ adaption of Romeo and Juliet couldn’t do, bar the CGI for the magic fight in the middle. (There was a fluffy griffin thing in the middle there, though.)

Akudama 1

Ume + Kimura and a cool urban aesthetic. Let’s go!

This is kinda Tron-like, eh?

Ooh, now it’s more like Cop Craft.

Kimura seems to use his gruffer voice more than his Ichiro voice, but Ume is actually worse on that fron with his ordinary voice…Welp, at least his ordinary voice sounds like it fits right in with the Courier. I almost expect an Ocean’s Eleven thing (or Now You See Me, since I’ve actually watched that) from this. Update: Turns out Kimura is the pompadour guy, not the fighter.

You can tell Ordinary Person is an okay person because she keeps saving cats. A bit cliché, but it’ll do.

Ohhhhhh…I can see where this plotline is going. Ordinary Person pretends to be Swindler to get herself out of this mess, but then she keeps getting involved with the Akudama. It’s a typical plot for a typical gal, common to insert a viewpoint character in series that require one, or a magical girl ally.

Wow, those missiles look like a**.

LOL, Hoodlum’s sentence is kinda measly in comparison to most of them. Plus, when he yelled, that sounded more accurate to Ichiro than Fighter was, so…yeah, sorry I messed up.

…Ordinary Person has some real bullseye…uh, eyes.

This could be a top contender…aside from the CGI, which does look a bit funky. I’m getting a death game vibe here, but I don’t know if that’s really the case. Also, it’s a lot of fun, but the possible intolerable thing here is Ordinary Person’s screaming – the pretense she has to keep up seems like it’ll fit right in though.

JJK 1

I read the manga once, dropped it and then read it again and didn’t realise why I dropped it.

Fushiguro has long eyelashes, tbh. Itadori comments on that at one point, I think.

Oh, it was a fish (carp) in the manga. I couldn’t figure out what the Japanese equivalent was just from the Kokkuri board.

This track club teacher is a bit of a freak, honestly. Meddling in kids’ affairs is probably illegal to some extent.

Itadori is known as “tiger” because the kanji for “tiger” is in the surname. Update: Also, the Czech dude Mirko was called “the Croatian tiger”, if a tweet I read is any indication.

I like how there’s more comedy in this one. They show the world records, so you have standards to compare Itadori against.

This is an almost beat-for-beat adaption, bar the slight comedy of the records being added (and not explaning who Mirko is). The contrast makes this better.

“People really can die.” – That’s summoning some real energy of “People die when they are killed.”

(Brief thoughts on the dog and cat short: I enjoyed that more than I thought I would. The picture of a realistic cat – someone’s actual photo of their cat?- that serves as a punchline never gets old and in fact, sometimes contributes to the humour.)

HypMic 2

LOL, TV-MA warning strikes again.

“Kore wa prologue/Hajimete no ippo/Fumidasanai yatsu ni wa/???? shinpo.” – The translation is really good for the bits I can read…the problem is I can’t read the bottom left corner. Update: The part in the bottom left is nai...That’s it.

…uh, even people from around the world can read 24 hour time??? You don’t need subs to read Arabic numerals???

…couldn’t you have just told Ichiro verbally, Saburo…? Update: Come to think of it, kids these days are more on their phones than ever, so it makes sense but also kind of doesn’t.

You don’t really need subs for laughter either…

I’d never heard of “pulling rank” before…hmm: “to use one's high position in a society, organization, group, etc., to order someone to do something or to get special treatment or privileges.”

…and here comes the F word here to mess with us again. Japanese nastiness is conveyed using words that might be considered “soft” in English, hence the sudden jump to use the F word a bunch, but the subbers could use some variety in their swearing. I mean, “dips**t” worked where it did because subbers made Samatoki go overboard with the F word, but…you could stand to use that more, maybe(?)

I like how even the Tenderloins guy rhymes where he’s meant to. It’s the prelude to a battle, after all. (He kinda looks like Kotaro from Zombieland Saga.)

…I freaked out for a second. I swore I saw a similar-looking restaurant (udon shop, located on the left of one of the shots) while in Japan. Also, we finally get to see Ichiro’s reputation at work.

…I still have no idea what a “steelo” is after all this time, but I didn’t realise I was staring at a part of Ore ga Ichiro until I saw it in context. Also, it was kinda derpy – but still really in character – for Ichiro to run to his destination with his arms up like the Glico man in Osaka (except he had his head down).

I get a weird feeling the subbers may have used the wiki translation because I’m using it as a reference and the language seems oddly similar for the most part…

The kick Ichiro does seems like it references the OP.

Notice the location is Nishiguchi Kouen…the West Gate Park. *raises eyebrows at the IWGP anime*

…oh! It occurred to me that the sign the BB do with their hands is…well, a lowercase B. (LOL, if you read my previous line funny, it rhymes.)

Gentaro doing the peace sign to his chest…that was random the first time, because it doesn’t seem in character, but then it does for Dice and possibly Ramuda, so Gentaro probably just chose to go along with it (“to add to his image as a rapper,” maybe…?).

Oh, Saburo has airpods in…those aren’t good for blocking sound, are they…?

Notice the owl on the…uh, café(?)…Ichiro goes to.

That one “holy shit!” made me laugh like a madman. Where it came from, I don’t know, but it was so random I had to laugh at it.

This makes me wonder…if you use a mic that’s different to your personal mic, does it produce the same speakers? No one’s ever addressed that before (much like how no one questions if magical girls always need the same transformation device – I wanted to make a plot on that someday, but I can’t seem to find a comprehensible way to pull it off…LOL, that reminds me, I even had a HypMic version of that featuring Samatoki at one point, but it probably makes even less sense than the standard one because it activates via physical contact. It’s notable – in my head – for Nemu’s version of the “power” being “Samatoki can’t swear, no matter how hard he tries”).

I’m pretty sure that round thing wasn’t part of Ichiro’s rings, ever. (…Unless that was the head of his spoon or something.)

…Microwave? (referring to the shot inside the hospital, which seems to be based off ARB)

The series normally transitions from BB -> MTC -> FP -> MTR, so it was interesting to see that shuffled up. Update: That’s if it has to have an order, but notably ARB breaks this standard a lot by assigning colours to each solo and then arranging interactions based on not repeating those colours (aside from the Sky High Tower event). With 4 things there are 4! = 24 possible combinations and 6! = 720 possible combinations if you count DH and BAT, so as we move forward with those 2 divisions...prepare for more shuffling.

…is Jiro gonna steal a ball? I thought it was just bikes anime characters stole. (LOL)

The mic changes the background, too, huh? Never expected that from more than the speakers.

…and of course, s*** explodes and the day is saved once again....by the Buster Bros!!! (LOL, but also *sigh*)

Hmm, so this anime’s real plotline probably involves this trio: Rex, Tom and Iris. They’re probably foreign in some way, judging by Tom and Rex. Maybe they’re aligned with a foreign government or something? Update: If you look at the credits, their full names seem to be Tom Whisper Weathercock, Iris Innocent Traiter (sic) (LOL) and…Taroumaru Rex…? (romanisations confirmed for all katakana)

Sadamezuka was voiced by the ubiquitous Kenjiro Tsuda.

It seems Cola Bintarou (aka Subaru Kimura) was on the case again today. He wrote the new song for BB, called RUN THIS CITY, along with Gesshoku Kaigi.

Of course, I’m going to keep this anime on my list...I’m just a bit worried about myself going forward, because I realised my ego got a bit inflated trying to defend the series from haters. I’ve never had a series where I’ve been a fan from the beginning that wasn’t already a known quantity for a while (Muhyo and Roji’s, Furuba). With Boueibu, I was discovering things alongside other people (or even later in a lot of cases) since it was anime-original.

#simulcast commentary #HypMic #Hypnosis Microphone #Hypnosis Mic #Hypnosis Mic: Division Rap Battle - Rhyme Anima #our last crusade or the rise of a new world #kimi to boku no saigo no senjou aruiwa sekai ga hajimaru seisen #by the grace of the gods #kami-tachi ni hirowareta otoko #Munou na Nana #Talentless Nana #akudama drive #ikebukuro west gate park #Jujutsu Kaisen #inu to neko docchi mo katteru to mainichi tanoshii #maou-jou de oyasumi #sleepy princess in the demon castle #with a dog and a cat every day is fun #Chesarka watches HypMic #Chesarka watches Maou-jou #Chesarka watches Akudama Drive