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thecrownnet · 4 years

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October 3, 2020

Series four of The Crown takes on Princess Diana: exclusive pictures and interviews Charles has found a wife, Andy’s got a racy new girlfriend and Thatcher’s coming for tea... Megan Agnew gets an exclusive tour behind the scenes of the most wild and lavish series yet

Lasers. That’s what helped Emma Corrin understand Princess Diana in the latest series of The Crown. When the cameras were rolling, she imagined that lasers were pointing at her, as if she were in a spy film or a bank heist drama. It was her way of imagining hundreds of people staring right at her. Lasers helped her with the iconic Diana head tilt. She pretended she was shying away from them.

Corrin could also draw on her own trajectory as a 24-year-old actress. Before landing her part in The Crown, she was an unknown. Suddenly “there’s a huge amount of pressure”, she says.

When I visit the set at Winchester Cathedral, which is pretending to be St Paul’s, the paparazzi arrive to catch Corrin pretending to be Diana. She’s dressed in a replica of the outfit they papped at the actual royal wedding rehearsal almost 40 years ago. Every time she moves between buildings and trailers, Corrin has to be shielded with umbrellas. Life imitates art imitates life.

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Almost every person Corrin has spoken to since getting the role has their own “Diana moment” — they might once have waved at her car in the street, been a pupil at a school she visited or knew someone who sat next to her at a dinner. Diana was one of the first celebrities to whom people laid claim. “Everyone has this ownership,” says Corrin. She was, and still is, the People’s Princess. But Corrin is trying not to think too much about it. Public expectation has been “overwhelming since the beginning”, she says. She wants to do Diana “proud”. “I know that’s strange and cheesy, but I feel like I know her.”

Emma Corrin as Princess Diana/ NETFLIX

The first television series of The Crown, which aired in 2016, was at the time the most expensive in history. Each series since has been estimated to have cost upwards of £50 million. The first two covered the first decade of Elizabeth II’s rule to wide acclaim, but series three — in which Her Majesty Claire Foy was succeeded by Olivia Colman — had mixed reviews. “The jewel in Netflix’s tiara has lost its shine,” said one. It was “okay”, said another.

Now, with series four’s reported £100 million budget eclipsing the Queen’s own sovereign grant last year of £82.2 million, The Crown is barrelling straight into the Eighties era of celebrity glamour and modern party politics grit. Peter Morgan, the show’s creator, is taking on two of the most controversial public figures of the past 50 years: Princess Diana and Margaret Thatcher. “The word ‘iconic’ is overused, but in the case of these two women quite justified,” Morgan says. Both have passionate fans and detractors. “Writing them was a bit of a high-wire act, but it was exhilarating.”

We meet Diana as a teenager, scampering around her huge family home in Northamptonshire. She is young and apologetic. The Prince of Wales, at that time dating her eldest sister, is rather distracted. A number of years later, Diana is leaving her relatively modest flat in Earls Court and her job as a nursery school assistant to move into Clarence House — but finds herself in solitude. Bored and lonely, 19-year-old Diana rollerskates down corridors to Duran Duran and sits all by herself in her chamber. One night, after finding out about Prince Charles’s affair with Camilla Parker Bowles, she gorges on puddings and makes herself vomit them back up.

Behind the scenes: the latest series of The Crown/ NETFLIX

*Spoilers*

It is a dark moment that Corrin wanted to get right. She listened to real-life accounts of people who had suffered from bulimia and talked with experts from the eating disorder charity Beat. Diana herself said that it was the most ��discreet” way of harming herself: “Everyone in the family knew about the bulimia,” she said in recordings from the 1990s later made into a Channel 4 documentary.

“Drawing on my experience,” says Corrin, “not that I’ve experienced that kind of self-harm, but mental health in general, it can lead you down a very dark path when you’re struggling to cope, when things feel out of control. Diana very much doesn’t have the love and comfort and attention she needs from the man she loves or the family, who aren’t really acting as a family to her. There is a build-up of emotion she can’t deal with and making herself sick is a way of taking back control.”

When Josh O’Connor, who plays the Prince of Wales, first read the script for this series he thought: “Oh God, how can Charles be like that to Diana? But he feels wronged. He feels like she has an addiction to the spotlight,” he says. “I have to feel sympathy for him in that world. This is a family who have an intense inability to be emotional and he has inherited that awkwardness. In this series there’s an awful lot of Charles trying to explain himself and not being allowed to. He’s trying to say that if he can be with Camilla, then at least two of the three people can be happy. As it is, there’s three miserable people.”

The Crown works differently to other shows in that the “writers’ room” is not made up of writers but researchers, who constantly feed back to Morgan, the king of The Crown. It means that for each word eventually spoken on film, there are pages and pages of briefing notes. Annie Sulzberger, head of research, started this series by hiring a young team. “I wanted people who did not grow up believing one or the other [Diana and Thatcher],” she says. “You have to be curious enough and ignorant enough, I suppose, to write the kind of work we need.”

This series will span the Thatcher years — 1979 to 1990 — and will include the assassination of Charles’s great-uncle, Lord Mountbatten, by the IRA, Charles and Diana’s wedding, and the Falklands War. Once the team has laid out a timeline, Morgan picks out the events he wants to feature. The research team starts to hone in on each, getting increasingly “micro” in their investigations. In the making of this series, one of the team spent two weeks researching the label on a bottle of wine from which a character briefly swigs.

Dress rehearsal: Josh O’Connor and Emma Corrin act out Charles and Diana’s wedding run-through/ NETFLIX

As the show has progressed, the fact-checking work has multiplied, thanks to the tabloid journalism of the 1980s. “It’s not just about words being printed,” Sulzberger says, “but who wrote it. Diana will become very close with a journalist called Richard Kay and feed him information, and Charles’s team will do the same. So you need to start unpicking the biographies of all the writers in order to know that what you’re doing has some objectivity.”

Did the team speak to any of Diana’s family or friends? “No.” Do the producers give any material to the Palace to see beforehand? “No. We have no connection to them that would result in editorial shifts. These are real people, these are real stories and we are filling in the moments that aren’t recorded — private conversations, moments of reflection, philosophical moments.”

When I ask Morgan if it’s true that he meets high-ranking courtiers four times a year, he is keen to clear up that he doesn’t. “I have never had any discussions with anyone actively working at the Palace,” he says. “The two worlds, the royal household and The Crown, exist in a world of mutual deniability, which I’m sure is every bit as important to them as it is to us.”

Corrin, though, did speak to Patrick Jephson, Diana’s private secretary, who appears as a fictionalised character in this series. “I got a sense of her joy from him,” Corrin says. “He said she was so naturally happy. When she joined the royal family, she had come from living with flatmates in Earls Court and she was a very normal girl. Patrick said she was still full of that girlish silliness, very down to earth.”

The couple themselves at the real thing in 1981 MIKE LLOYD/SHUTTERSTOCK/REX

The executive producer Suzanne Mackie says that “particularly now” The Crown team feels a sense of responsibility “to living people, people’s children, people’s parents. Obviously what we don’t do is engage on a fact level with the royal family. We have a tacit understanding that they need distance from us and we need distance from them.”

It is a cold day in January and I am watching Charles and Diana’s wedding rehearsal in Winchester. About 75 per cent of the show is filmed on location around the world, over the course of seven months. The rest is filmed at the show’s base, Elstree Studios, just north of London.

Today in Winchester Cathedral there is a crew of 78 and a cast of almost 200. The sight is as epic as the show’s budget would suggest. Between takes, Corrin sits on the stone steps by the altar, scrolling on her iPhone with one hand and biting her fingernails on the other. Even before the clapperboard snaps shut, the resemblance between her and the princess is uncanny.

Sidonie Roberts, head buyer and assistant costume designer, has a timeline of photos of Diana covering the wall of her studio at Elstree. Roberts is devoted to the cause. She travels to Paris to buy buttons from the same shop the Queen’s dressmaker uses (it sells more than 30,000 types of button) and to Soho to rummage in basements for fabric. Last year she was in a Bangladeshi fabric shop in Brick Lane, east London, when she saw a roll of material right on the very top shelf. “It was still in its plastic, but I just knew — that’s Diana’s colour,” Roberts says. She got a ladder, climbed to the top, pulled down the fabric and bought it for £3.50 a metre. When Roberts got back to the studio at Elstree, she unrolled it and saw a stamp at the bottom: “The Lady Diana Collection, made in Japan.” Roberts did some research. It was real silk, from a collection made in the princess’s honour.

In the corner of the studio an assistant is gluing tiny pearls to Diana’s flat wedding shoes. She has been decorating them, exactly like the originals, for a day and a half. “We’ve had a long conversation about the size of those pearls,” says Roberts. David and Elizabeth Emanuel, who designed Diana’s original wedding dress, donated patterns to the show, which were used to make the new version. With its 25ft train, it took ten people to get Corrin into the dress. In the show it is seen in full, and only from behind, for no more than 15 seconds.

Paying their respects: Olivia Colman as the Queen and the rest of the royal family at the funeral of Lord Mountbatten/ NETFLIX

Corrin is masterful at inhabiting Diana’s coyness — hunching her shoulders towards her ears as she walks, the smirk, her intonation. Diana’s voice was the “polar opposite” of the royals’, says William Conacher, The Crown’s dialect coach. “She moved her jaw twice as much, so her voice was more forward, open, easier to access, and I don’t think it’s especially revelatory to suggest accessibility was her shtick,” he says. “She used a minor key that made her seem vulnerable. Despite the Queen’s and Prince Charles’s accents being ‘stiffer’ to listen to, I think it comes entirely naturally, whereas I find Diana’s voice more studied. I think she spoke to have an effect.”

What sort of research did Colman do for series four’s Queen? “Yeah, I don’t do research,” she says when we speak on the phone in the summer. “The research team on The Crown is a bit like the British Library. It’s extraordinary, and when they kick in, your computer can’t really cope with the amount of stuff they send you.” Was there something in particular that the team sent her that made things click? “No.” There is a longish silence. It seems Colman’s royal duty is waning. “They’ve got every image and film of the Queen ever made. I’ve also got three kids, so I can’t spend all my time going through all of it.”

As she wraps up a second series of The Crown — Imelda Staunton will take over for five and six — Colman knows that she would “really not like” to have the Queen’s job. “There are very few people who are forced into a job and have no choice about it,” she says. “She’s done it with dignity, for decades, bless her. It’s amazing.”

The funeral of Lord Mountbatten took place in 1979 BENTLEY ARCHIVE/POPPERFOTO/GETTY

If there were rumours of Elizabeth II being unhappy about the last series of The Crown, I can’t imagine she’ll be too chuffed about this one. Series four’s Queen is colder and more distant, and the effects of her duty on her children more obvious: Charles is heavy with melancholy, Anne feels unheard, Edward is portrayed as a spoilt bully and Andrew is dangerously arrogant.

Speaking of Andrew, there is a subtle nod towards recent events. At one point the prince discusses a young American actress he is dating. The actress had recently played a 17-year-old who must entertain several “old predators who seduce the vulnerable, helpless young Emily”. The real prince dated the actress Koo Stark in 1981, who had starred in The Awakening of Emily, which had a near-identical plot.

In series four, the pivotal relationship between the Queen and Margaret Thatcher begins well. They are respectful of one another as no-nonsense working mothers, but tensions arise — not least, over tea etiquette at Balmoral.

In preparation for her role as the Iron Lady, Gillian Anderson met Charles Moore, Thatcher’s biographer, as well as secretaries who worked with her. “The only way for me to go about sitting inside of her was to find the reason behind her actions — growing up, what she learnt from her father, how much she truly believed that she was the answer and as long as we all took the sour medicine now we’d be able to turn around this country, completely shutting her eyes to the people that she was turning out on the street.”

Anderson eventually “settled into” the body of Thatcher. “She walked very fast, always up ahead,” Anderson says. “She would power forward in front of presidents. With [Ronald] Reagan she would supposedly be alongside him, but was walking ahead. Always walking ahead of [husband] Denis, telling him to catch up.”

Thatcher’s barnet also features. In one scene she spends an asphyxiating four seconds hairspraying it in preparation for a showdown with the Queen. The hairdo took endless camera tests before Morgan was happy with it. “It essentially meant destroying it so it had an overprocessed ‘frothy’ quality,” says the hair and make-up designer Cate Hall. “To treat a wig so badly was against all of our instincts — they’re so expensive — but I’m grateful now that we went through the process with Peter, with him saying no, more, it’s not right, try again.”

Clash of the titans: Margaret Thatcher, played by Gillian Anderson, is filmed meeting the Queen, played by Olivia Colman, in a memorable scene from series four/ NETFLIX

Series five will have a whole new cast. Colman says she is “not the sort of person who keeps the shoes of a character they played 20 years ago”. But Helena Bonham Carter is going to miss Princess Margaret. “She does pop out [in everyday life],” she says. “The other day I was at some public event and there was the normal scramble of people and I just told them, ‘No, shut up.’ The finger came out, which is very her, and I said, ‘Shut up and wait. Don’t get hysterical.’ So I’ve got the bossy side of her.”

Originally Morgan said there would be two more series after this one. Then he changed his mind, describing series five as “the perfect time and place to stop”. Now there are two more again (“To do justice to the richness and complexity of the story,” he reneged). The show is creeping closer to the modern day. It is now said to be ending in the 2000s, spanning, perhaps, Charles and Diana’s divorce, the deaths of Diana, Margaret and the Queen Mother, the marriage of Charles and Camilla, and the teenage and twentysomething princes. “I want to end it close enough to present day to feel that we have completed a long journey and distant enough to feel historical,” says Morgan. “I have a specific incident in mind, but until I’ve actually written it and seen if it works, I can’t commit to discussing it.”

On set with Mackie, I mention Harry and Meghan. “Too often,” the couple posted on their Instagram page that month, “we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring.” Is it possible, I ask Mackie, for the royal family to humanise themselves while still justifying their existence as something mightier, more important, regal? “That’s where you go wrong, as a public figure, letting light in on the magic, especially as a monarch,” she replies. “You have to be an ideal. After years and years of that subjugation of self in order to put duty first, you, the essence of you, is buried somewhere. The Queen is a tiny little person inside many, many Russian dolls.”

Series four of The Crown is available on Netflix from November 15

#olivia colman #helena bonham carter #gillian anderson #the crown #the crown spoilers #tobias menzies #josh o'connor #emma corrin #princess diana #ben daniels #erin doherty #emerald fennell #charles dance #marion bailey #the crown netflix

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lilwenney · 4 years

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TOO HOT (HOT DAMN)

pairing: james x reader warning(s): a lot of fluff & james sets things on fire word count: 1.2k a/n: just a lil something while u all wait on a fic update. and james is severely underappreciated in terms of writing so here’s a random fic about him not being able to reheat food properly

For a flat in the middle of London, noises during the night typically came from the busy street below - someone was always honking their horn at the ungodly hours of the morning or groups of drunk friends stumbling on the street screaming out the lyrics to house-party songs or laughing, it was always something.

But never the sound of a smoke alarm.

The smoke alarms were usually never triggered in your flat building, and if so, it was only just for a few seconds because someone was automatically manically waving a towel in front of their alarm to stop it before it triggered the others. You had your own scare once, thanks to your flatmate, and it caused the entire upper level of the building to evacuate, but luckily everyone seemed to manage their cooking or fire-involved activities pretty well after that. That was, until your neighbor moved in.

James had moved into his new flat a mere 72-hours ago and already had the fire alarm blaring in the kitchen. It was quite impressive, actually.

You never cared about the alarms cutting into your sleeping schedule for a few seconds, but this time, it was far too late and this alarm had been going on far too long for your liking. Glancing at the clock on your nightstand, you groaned when the digital numbers read off 02:31 a.m. - you had work in less than six hours and there was no way you could get back to sleep until the blaring alarm stopped.

Sliding your feet into the pair of slippers at your bedside, you briskly walked through your flat and to the door, throwing it open and poking your head out. The alarm got louder and louder as you neared it, your head ringing while looking down the hallway to see the source of the alarm coming from the flat with an open door.

It was your new neighbor, as in so new you hadn’t even got the chance to meet him yet. You only knew someone moved in because the landlord had sent out an email to those on the floor, telling them to give a warm welcome to the new addition.

Well, your ‘warm welcome’ happened to be standing in their doorway in light smoke as they fanned a towel in front of the fire alarm yelling “what the fuck?”

You quickly took in the scene, piecing together the story of what might have happened. The microwave door was wide open and inside laid something small and burnt, smoke rising to the cabinets above it. Your neighbor, who you didn’t particularly focus on, was standing on a chair waving a towel. Like an instinct you sucked in a deep breath and walked further into the flat, grabbing the first thing you saw (which was an instruction manual) and used it to fan the smoke in an attempt to clear it out.

Less than fifteen seconds later, in the rush of fanning wildly, the smoke alarm finally stopped beeping. Smoke fanned across the ceiling and out to the hallway, disappearing, and whatever was in the microwave, had also now melted.

“You were trying to reheat a burger?” You finally asked, looking into the microwave to see a burnt (partially melted) wrapper on a McDonalds burger. Turning to him, you raised a brow, “are you mad?”

“In hindsight, probably wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.”

“I could have told you that beforehand.”

Heavy footsteps followed the clicking of the stairwell door and within seconds two firefighters appeared in the doorway. They looked at you both, frazzled and out of breath, and then nodded. “We’re going to have to evacuate this floor.” One of the firefighters said, behind them someone knocked on the neighbors door, telling them to head downstairs. “Get your keys and head down, please.”

You nodded and quickly moved past them, down the hallway back to your flat. In a rush, you grabbed your keys and a blanket from your sofa to put over your shoulders, then took the stairwell to the first floor where you stepped out among the other floor residents. None of them seemed particularly happy to be standing out in the cold on a Tuesday morning when most of them, including you, had to be at work in just a handful of hours.

The culprit came outside a minute later, pocketing his phone and keys as he walked down the steps to the pavement. Everyone stood together quietly, mostly still half asleep, as firefighters came in and out of the building to inspect any damage and the cause of a nonstop alarm for three minutes.

Looking over at your neighbor, you watched him shudder from the chill. He was only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, not at all prepared to stand outside after his own attempt of a late-night snack went wrong. He shuddered again and you sighed, stepping closer to him.

“Come on,” you held out the side of your blanket to him, and he tilted his head, hesitating, “I’m only offering it for so long, you know.”

He laughed and stepped over, taking the other side of the blanket and draping it across his shoulders. “I’m sorry about all of this.” He apologized. “And I didn’t catch your name.”

“(Y/N),” you said.

He nodded, “I’m James, your bastard neighbor who doesn’t know not to put fast food wrappers in the microwave.”

You let out a small laugh, looking up at him, watching the red lights from the firetruck nearby bounce off his dark hair and eyes. “Don’t worry,” you finally said with a smile, “last fire alarm was because my flatmate tried to reheat a pizza. In the oven. With the pizza still in the box.”

“Ooh, unlucky,” James chuckled, “fire alarms happen often?”

“Not really, usually just for a few seconds. So you might have the record for the longest fire alarm now.”

“Really am off to a great start here, aren’t I?”

“Great is one way to put it,” you said now watching the firefighter exit the lobby, holding the microwave from James’ flat in his hands. Raising a brow, you turned your body to him, “Please tell me that’s not a new microwave.”

“That’s my new microwave,” James said with a now dejected tone and your lips flattened, trying not to laugh. “I have a concrete table that I’m trying to get rid of so maybe I should have set that thing on fire instead.”

You let out a small laugh and the firefighters said everyone was allowed back in. Quietly, everyone shuffled back up the steps and into the building, taking the lift up to their floor. You and James were the last ones to shuffle off, now standing on opposite sides of the corridor, talking like neither of you had to be awake in just a few hours.

“If you need a microwave anytime soon, you’re free to use mine,” you said sliding your key into the lock and turning it, your door sliding open. “On second thought, do you often set things on fire?”

“Why?”

“Because we might need to hang out more if you do. You know, for safety purposes,”

James grinned when he saw you shoot a wink at him. “For safety purposes and safety purposes only?”

“Of course, why else would we hang out?”

“Because you like my company?”

“And where would you get an idea like that from?” You smiled and nodded at him. “Goodnight James,”

“Night,” he chuckled as your door clicked shut, and then he slid into his own flat.

#ahhhHHH #anyways #luv a boy #james #one shot

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sleepyfantasy · 4 years

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Yoongi - A Borrowed Hoodie Part 20

AN: Every chapter now comes with an apology for sucking at updating included.

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

ABH Masterlist

Masterlist

You’d been to the BigHit building many times over the years, but it had always been to see your sister before. It felt weird coming for any other reason.

‘Weird’ changed into the best feeling in the world when the first thing you saw on the other side of the door was Yoongi waiting for you. And when he smiled as he spotted you, it somehow got even better.

“Y/N,” he called out to you, making a few people turn to face him and therefore making him blush, pulling his hood further over his head.

As you got close, your hands twitched to meet each other, but you were both aware that this was not the place for that. A pang of something went through your heart at that thought, but you decided to ignore it.

Due to the lift being busy, you had to wait a little longer before you could let your guards down. Yoongi kept his hood up and you both stayed quiet. When you got to the right floor, he tugged on your sleeve to let you know it was time to get off and the second the doors closed behind you, he grabbed your hand.

“Shouldn’t we…” you started, going to move your hand out of his.

He interrupted you, “At this time of night, this floor is always pretty much empty apart from me and the other members. We can be ourselves.” He pulled on your hand and wrapped his arms around you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you repeated, speaking into his shoulder as you held onto him.

Pulling back from you, he said, “Did you bring food? I’m starving,” as he started down the corridor, leaving you no choice but to follow as he did not seem to want to let go of your hand any time soon.

“Of course I did,” you told him, tapping your backpack with your free hand. “I said I would.”

After a quick stop in a small common area with a kitchenette to pick up some plates, he led you around some corners and towards a very familiar door.

For some reason, entering Yoongi’s studio, you found yourself oddly surprised that it looked like it did in the pictures. This should have been obvious but, as usual, your brain had separated Suga and Yoongi, meaning you hadn’t really thought about it. You found yourself slowly turning in a circle in the centre of the room taking it all in, hands slightly reaching towards something before pulling back as if, had you tried to touch anything, alarms might sound.

“It’s not a museum!” Yoongi told you, laughing at your reaction as he took a seat at the desk.

“It could be!” you argued, finally ceasing your rotation, facing him. “Thousands of fangirls would pay money just to be allowed to enter this room.”

He scowled, “No one is allowed in this room.”

“I’m in this room.”

“You’re special,” he conceded. “And I’m hungry.”

You laughed and took your backpack off, taking out the bag you picked up from the chicken place nearby. As soon as you handed it to him, he started unpacking the food placing it on whatever free space there was on the desk around all of the equipment and notes. The limited surface space ran out pretty quickly.

“Sorry, this isn’t exactly a great place to eat…” he said, shifting some papers around with one hand so he had somewhere to put down the container of chips in his other hand.

“You mean you didn’t design your studio where you work with dates in mind?”

“This isn’t a date.”

Your face heated up, not understanding what he meant.

“When we went to the fair, that was a date. The aquarium was a date too. This doesn’t count though,” he clarified. “This is us hanging out because I can’t wait until I have time for a date before I see you again.”

Now that he could finally put down the chips, he reached out and took both of your hands in his own. “I’m sorry I can’t take you on more dates and we can’t really be together in public.”

You squeezed his hands and he pulled you into his lap.

“Of course it has crossed my mind that it would be nice if we could hold hands in public and tell my friends who you are. Much more of my time, however, is spent thinking how lucky I am to have you in my life. Even if all we ever did was watch movies at the dorm or me hang out here while you work, I’d still be one of the happiest people in the world. I really like you, Yoongi.” Embarrassed by your monologue, you buried your head in his shoulder.

When he laughed at your reaction to your own words, you felt his chest shake as you cuddled up to him.

“I really like you too, Y/N.”

After a little while of just enjoying being close to each other, you sat up. “We’d better eat before the food gets cold, and you need to work.”

He nodded, then looked at the food containers taking up every free centimetre on his desk and frowned.

“How do you normally eat in here? When you actually remember to eat, that is,” you asked him.

“I usually just put a few things on my plate and leave everything else in the bag until I want it but that’s…”

“Let’s do that then,” you told him, getting up from his lap and packing the food back into the bag.

He still didn’t look happy. “We could go out into the common area…”

“We can if you want to, but I assumed you would want to keep working while we ate?”

“Well, yes. But…”

Handing him a pair of chopsticks, you said, “Then we’ll eat in here and you’ll work.” After getting a container out for you to take over to the sofa, you kissed his forehead. “I told you, I don’t care what we do. I’m just happy to spend some time with you.”

“Even if we’re just going to sit silently in the same room as each other?”

“Even then.”

“Won’t you get bored?”

“I brought some work to do and a book to read.”

Finally, he seemed happy and reached to grab a container out of the bag which you had left by his chair, on the right side so it wouldn’t get in the way if he wanted to wheel between the computer and the keyboard. After you did the same, you moved to go sit on the sofa, however, he caught your hand and pulled you gently down so he could place a kiss on your lips.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he told you.

“Me too.”

Yoongi hadn’t been exaggerating when he said you were going to sit in silence. While you were eating, you spoke a little when you went to top up your plate. After that, you didn’t speak at all. You had meant it when you said you didn’t mind, though. You were content just being in the same room as him, both with your headphones in, working on very different things.

When you got bored of working on your essay, you got out your book, an old favourite you were rereading for the millionth time, and curled up on the sofa.

You weren’t sure how much later, pretty sure it had been a while due to how stiff you felt when you looked up from your book, Yoongi got up from his chair. His headphones were now plugged into his laptop and he was changing things even as he walked over, but when he sat down next to you on the sofa, he lifted an arm and gestured for you to slide over.

After stretching out quickly, you rearranged yourself on the sofa, leaning against him and bringing your feet back up. Once you were comfortable, he put his left arm over your shoulder, and you held his hand, playing with his fingers absent-mindedly as you continued reading, glad your book was small enough to be held easily in one hand.

When you finished your book, you tucked it between your leg and the sofa cushion and closed your eyes. You hadn’t looked at the time, but you knew it must be late because it wasn’t a particularly short book and you had worked on your essay for a couple of hours before you started it.

Having been drifting pretty far towards sleep, you jumped nearly out of your skin when Yoongi exclaimed, “Shit!” and pulled the headphones off his head.

“What? Are you okay?” you asked, sitting up and turning to look at him. There didn’t seem to be anything obviously wrong with him, so you calmed down a bit.

“Time! Late! Your flatmates are going to murder me!”

You laughed, “Don’t worry. I told them I would probably be out late. As long as I tell them if I’m going to stay over somewhere else, they were okay with it.”

After putting his laptop down on the floor, he pulled you against him again, closer this time. So close you could feel his heart racing at the panic he was going to get you in trouble again.

“It’s still late. I should get you home.”

“Why?” you asked, yawning. “What time is it?”

“About half one.”

“Wow, yeah. You should be getting to bed too, Yoonie.”

“Yoonie?” he asked, smiling, although you couldn’t see that with your eyes already closed again.

“Sorry, don’t you like me calling you Yoonie?”

“No, I do, you’ve just never called me anything other than Yoongi…or ‘the great Agust D’.”

You laughed, your eyes still closed. “Not to your face. Don’t forget that I was a fangirl long before I met you, Lil Meow Meow.”

“Please don’t call me that in front of the others,” he groaned.

“No promises.”

He kissed the top of your head before pushing you gently off him. “Come on, sleepyhead. Home time.”

Once you’d packed up your stuff, you held hands until you got to the lobby, happy that this time you were alone in the lift.

After spending most of the day working in silence, Yoongi was positively chatty as he drove you home, telling you about what he had been doing, including a bunch of technical music stuff you didn’t quite understand but made a note on your phone to google later.

Pulling up outside your building, he said, “I wish the night wasn’t over.”

“Me too, but sadly it’s already morning.”

“Does it have to be?”

“I have to be in uni in less than eight hours and you probably have stuff to do tomorrow too. So, sadly, I’m going to say yes.”

You got out of the car and walked around to Yoongi’s side, planning to kiss him goodnight through the window, only to find him already out, hood up, waiting for you.

“What are you doing? Someone could see you!” you exclaimed, worried for him.

Placing his hands on your shoulders, he physically turned you from side to side, making you look around your dark, empty street. “Who?” he asked, wrapping his arms around you, laughing gently, as you realised he was right.

He leant down and kissed you, smiling as he did. “I have group schedules tomorrow night or I would ask you to come to the studio again. What about Friday?”

You shook your head, making him pout. “Sorry, sister movie night. A sacred event that cannot be interrupted for anyone, especially when I just pissed her off by disappearing all night the other night.” When he pouted even harder, you added, “What about Saturday?”

“I’ll have to let you know about weekend plans. I’m not sure what we’re doing yet,” he told you.

“So I guess we’ll just leave it at ‘Goodnight and see you soon’?” you asked.

He nodded, repeating, “Goodnight and see you soon.”

When you tried to pull away, however, he held on to you, kissing you again.

Hearing a noise, both of you looked up. A second later, however, you pulled him back down, wrapping him in a tight hug, hiding his head against your neck as the giggling girls coming back from a night out walked past.

Once they were out of earshot, you said, “As much as I wish it wasn’t, it’s late and we both need to get to bed.”

“I know,” he groaned. “One more though,” he added, before pulling you into another kiss.

When you finally managed to separate yourself from him, you made sure to take a step back towards your building before saying for the last time, “Goodnight. Go to sleep. Message me if you have time tomorrow.”

After walking up to the door, you turned back to see him still standing there. When you waved and motioned for him to go, he just did the same back, wanting you to go in first.

You stuck your tongue out before doing what he wanted and when you checked through the window on your way up to your flat, his car was gone.

#min yoongi #bts suga #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #suga fanfic #yoongi/reader #reader insert #a borrowed hoodie

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lokislytherin · 5 years

Text

나 너를 사랑해 // namjin

pairing: kim namjoon x kim seokjin, slight mentions of jikook and yoonseok

summary: a fic in which namjoon has heart cancer and seokjin’s summer job is to spend time with him

word count: 6076

a/n: this was a monster to write jfc i lowkey regret writing it in a notebook before transferring it here also i planned this to have a sad ending at first but i couldn’t bring myself to write it lol i lowkey don’t wanna break my own heart. sorry if it’s bad? i’m not exactly the best fanfic/romance writer, but i’m learning tho (i’m better at crack fics haha) also i didn’t edit this because the tumblr words on computer are so thin and hard to read

kim seokjin was bored.

it wasn’t like he had nothing to do, per se- he had to look after his younger brother taehyung, as well as work in the restaurant his parents had left him after they’d passed away within months of each other- it was that he felt like he’d lost his purpose.

“maybe you should try volunteering at the local hospital,"his friend and flatmate park jimin suggested one day, "who knows, you might even meet someone.” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

seokjin groaned, but agreed. it wasn’t like he had much else to do with his life anyway.

a few days later, seokjin found himself standing at the front desk of the hospital. "hello?“ he peered down at the beady-eyed woman sitting behind the desk. "i volunteered for the volunteer program here, do you know where i should go…?”

the receptionist glanced up at him, uncaring eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. "name?“

"seokjin,” he said quickly, “kim seokjin.”

the receptionist turned back to her table, rifling through one of the many stacks of paper on her desk. "kim seokjin…“ she scribbled something on a post-it note and slapped it on the space in front of him. "follow the red line on the floor, and stop when you reach the room with this number,” she instructed him curtly, “you’ll be assigned a patient. or you could just ask nurse jung.”

a brief feeling of horror swept over seokjin as the fact that patients were assigned registered in his mind, but he pushed it down, thanking the receptionist instead. jimin hadn’t told him that! or maybe he’d done it on purpose, seokjin thought bitterly to himself.

he wandered down the corridors until-

“oof!”

he barely had the time to react before he was falling backwards, landing on his ass.

“sorry!” yelped a voice. "are you okay?“

seokjin groaned, staggering to his feet. "i’m fine,” he wheezed, “my ass would say otherwise, but otherwise i’m fine. besides, it’s mostly my fault fo not really looking where i was going.”

there was a loud “haha!” from the voice, which as seokjin saw, belonged to a tall young man around his age, maybe a little younger. "maybe you should use your eyes,“ the young man teased as he pushed his glasses up his nose, "they’re there for a reason, you know.”

seokjin put a hand on his chest, mockingly insulted. "shut up,“ he told the other man, "i don’t even know your name!”

the man standing in front of seokjin grinned. "i’m namjoon, kim namjoon. now you know my name!“

seokjin couldn’t help but laugh.

namjoon stared at him for a few seconds before beginning to laugh himself. "you sound like a windshield wiper!” he gasped out between snickers.

seokjin grunted, trying to reign in his blush. "yah, i know, i get that a lot.“

namjoon opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted by a man in a white doctor’s coat running towards him and shouting his name. "namjoon!” the man yelled. "stop running away from your room! do you have a death wish?“

namjoon shrugged playfully. "nah, i was just bored.”

the man rolled his eyes. "you’re becoming a bad influence on jeongguk,“ he said, rubbing his temples, "he may be paralyzed from the waist down and possibly bound to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, but he’s learning to just disappear like you. i have no idea how he does it.”

namjoon laughed again, and for a brief second, seokjin felt like capturing the sound in a jar and keeping it with him forever. "i’ve taught him well, then.“

the man, who was probably namjoon’s nurse, started to lead him away. "come on, we need to get you hooked back up, you need your meds-”

“wait!” seokjin blurted. "i signed up for your volunteer thing, and i have no idea who my assigned patient is! do you happen to know where i can ask or something?“ he looked at the post-it from the receptionist. "the receptionist said go to room 314, or ask ‘nurse jung’, but i have no idea where room 314 is, or who 'nurse jung’ is.”

the nurse grinned. "well, you’re in luck! i’m jung hoseok.“ the man plucked a sheet of paper from his coat. "what’s your name?”

“kim seokjin.”

the man scanned the piece of paper for seokjin’s name! “oh! what a coincidence!” he smiled broadly. "you’re paired with namjoon! lucky me, i have to do less work, since you two are already acquainted.“ he shot namjoon an obnoxious wink. "i’ll head off now. i’m a busy man, i’ve got things to do.” he dashed off, this time yelling for jeongguk.

namjoon snorted to himself. "yoongi- whoops, dr min- he means.“

seokjin frowned. "huh?”

“hobi-hyung- aish, i keep forgetting he’s a nurse now, and not just my next door neighbor- has a crush on one of the doctors here. one of the best heart surgeons in korea, actually. dr min likes him too, but neither of them realize it. i don’t quite know what they see in each other- hoseok-hyung is always so warm and happy, but dr min is so cold and cranky.”

seokjin laughed, effortlessly keeping up with namjoon’s long strides as he led them back to his hospital room. "well then, i guess you could say they’re polar opposites.“

seokjin cackled as his own pun, earning a few judgmental glares from the nurses, doctors, patients and visitors scuttling along the corridors. one doctor gave him a particularly harsh scowl as he swished by in his white surgical coat. "what?” seokjin wheezed out between bouts of windshield wiper laughter. "that was a good pun!“

even namjoon couldn’t help but laugh. "that’s min yoongi for you.” he pushed the door of his room open. "after you, jin-hyung.“ he paused for a second. "may i call you jin-hyung, actually? it just slipped out of my mouth. i mean, it sounds nice, but i wasn’t sure if you’d mind being called jin. after all, i barely know you, we just met-”

seokjin decided to cut off namjoon’s rambling. "jin is completely fine, by the way. nobody’s ever called me that, but i like it.“ he gestured towards the door. "after you. you’re the patient, i’m just in charge of watching your back.”

namjoon shook his head. "no, you first. i’m already holding the door open for you, don’t make my efforts go to waste.“

seokjin wedged his leg between namjoon ad the door, attempting to subtly nudge the other man through the door frame. "no, after you.”

“after you!”

“no, after you!”

there was a loud “ahem!” as a young man in a wheel chair smoothly wheeled himself into the room. "after me, before joon-hyung manages to break the door handle again.“

seokjin cocked his head curiously. "how’d you manage to break a door handle?”

namjoon blushed, flustered. "it’s a long story.“

seokjin heard a familiar high pitched voice screech for jeongguk. he turned around, spotting-

"jiminnie? what are you doing here?”

namjoon turned to seokjin, a look of confusion on his face. "wait, how do you know jimin?“

"he’s my roommate!” jimin piped in, he was dripping with sweat, but seemingly unfazed by the workout he just had from chasing jeongguk around the hospital. "i told you about him, didn’t i?“

realization dawned on namjoon. "you’re that seokjin?”

seokjin, however, had a completely different response. “you talk about me behind my back? this is betrayal, jimin! betrayal!”

jimin deliberately ignored the melodramatic older man, instead focusing on helping jeongguk haul himself from his wheelchair onto his bed. seokjin realized that jeongguk was the 'cute patient’ jimin kept talking about. for a rather small guy and another guy who’d lost function of his loweer body after a car crash, they made a pretty strong couple. seokjin subtly nudged namjoon into the room, before heading in himself.

“and yes, namjoon, i am that seokjin.”

namjoon laughed, plopping himself down on one of the beds. "yeah, jin-hyung, i figured as much.“ he patted the empty space next to him. "come on, sit! i’m not a bed hogger like gukkie.”

true to namjoon’s word, jeongguk lay starfished across the bed, arms crossed under his head, long legs splayed over jimin’s lap. "it’s not my fault, hyung,“ jeongguk grumbled, "you know i can’t move my feet.” namjoon only laughed in response.

in a blink of an eye, hours had passed. jimin jumped up from his position next to jeongguk, shoulders oddly stiff. "seokjin-hyung and i have to go now. our shift is over.“

seokjin glanced at jimin, faintly alarmed. they had shifts? even if they did, he wasn’t sure if he could leave- namjoon was leaning on his shoulder, and seokjin had lost feeling in it completely.

jeongguk frowned, as if he too sensed jimin’s sudden tenseness. "alright. i’ll see you soon, jiminie-hyung.”

jimin smiled, a faint blush on his cheeks. "see you tomorrow, gukkie.“

namjoon turned to seokjin, a hopeful expression on his face. "will i see you tomorrow, seokjinnie-hyung?”

seokjin hummed thoughtfully, eyebrows creasing as he thought about it. should he? he’d had a nice time with namjoon (who was cute too, as a bonus), but would tomorrow be the same? he felt jimin, namjoon and jeongguk’s expectant gazes on him. "yes,“ he decided spontaneously, "why the hell not?”

namjoon broke into a grin so wide it almost split his face in half, deep dimples carving themselves onto his cheeks. "i knew you’d say yes.“

jimin cleared his throat. "seokjin, we have to go, remember?”

feeling bold, seokjin blew namjoon a kiss. "bye, namjoonie.“

namjoon had called him 'seokjinnie’, so 'namjoonie’ was a fitting nickname, was it not?

jimin pushed seokjin out the door, promptly pulling the door shut behind them.

as soon as they were out of earshot, jimin turned to seokjin, a wide grin on his face. "now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

seokjin shrugged, trying to hide his frantic heartbeat. "namjoon’s pretty nice to hang around.“ namjoon was pretty, too.

jimin whooped loudly, and the receptionist glared at him as the two young men passed her. "has he told you about his condition yet?” he asked, lowering his voice.

seokjin shook his head. "no, why?“ seokjin waved goodbye to hoseok, and the nurse saluted him in response.

jimin shrugged, walking a little faster in order to keep up with seokjin. "he’ll tell you in his own time, i guess.”

“do you know his condition?” seokjin asked curiously. jimin probably did- he’d been doing this for far longer than seokjin had, and jimin and jeongguk were so close, namjoon probably trusted jimin too.

the shorter man nodded. "he’s kinda sensitive about it though, and now that you two are friends, i don’t want you to think differently about him because of it.“

seokjin left the conversation alone, making a mental note to ask namjoon about it the next day.

a little over half a day later, seokjin was at the hospital again, casually chatting to jimin as they made their way to namjoon and jeongguk’s room. he wondered if he’d even be there if not for a certain kim namjoon, and apparently, so was jimin.

"so, seokjin-hyung,” the younger began with a sly grin, “are you looking forward to today? you get to spend more time with namjoon-hyung.”

hoseok hurried past, complaining to jimin that jeongguk had ran off- or rather, wheeled off- again. jimin just laughed, telling hoseok it was okay, he was used to it.

seokjin glared at jimin, shoving him away. "watch your mouth,“ he warned, threat as empty as his stomach, "and watch your boy crush.”

jimin spluttered, cheeks growing red. "i do not- jeongguk is not-“

seokjin smirked. "yah, jiminie, karma’s a b*tch, but so am i.”

jimin flipped him the bird before running off in search of jeongguk. "hey! ungrateful brat!“ he shouted at jimin over dr min’s head. "you should learn to respect your hyungs!

there was a laugh from behind, and seokjin jumped a mile high. he whirled around, clutching his chest melodramatically. "aish, joonie! you’re going to give me a heart attack!”

namjoon laughed loudly, covering his mouth afterwards. namjoon blushed, looking a little flustered. "sorry, i have a habit of doing that. before, dr min told me off for laughing too loudly, and i’m still kinda scared of him.“

seokjin awkwardly patted his arm. "it’s okay!” he smiled. "i like your laugh.“

namjoon cleared his throat, a professional looking expression on his face. "yeah, about that…”

“hmm?”

“i need to tell you something.” he lowered his voice. "in private.“

seokjin agreed. he had to ask namjoon why he was in the hospital anyway- from an outsider like seokjin’s perspective, there was absolutely nothing wrong with him.

they made their way to namjoon and jeongguk’s hospital room, namjoon making himself at home on the bed before asking seokjin to join him like the day before. hoseok strolled in, exchanging a few words with namjoon, occasionally glancing at seokjin while attaching wires and tubes to namjoon’s skin.

hoseok gave seokjin a few instructions, pointing at a bag and telling seokjin to fill it up with the transparent liquid next to it. seokjin followed dutifully, only looking up at namjoon when he winced.

hoseok left a few moments later, instructing seokjin to keep an eye on namjoon’s vitals and to press the help button on the heart monitor machine if anything happened.

the awkward silence seemed to stretch between them, the quiet beepbeepbeep of namjoon’s heart monitor the only sound in the room.

"so, joonie, mind telling me about what you dragged me all the way here for?” seokjin asked, breaking the pregnant pause.

namjoon made a wounded sound at the back of his throat. "i didn’t drag you, you came willingly!“

airily, seokjin waved a hand. "there’s not much of a difference-”

“not much meaning there is!” namjoon interjected triumphantly.

seokjin grunted, trying not to smile. "i still wanna know what you have to tell me so desperately.“

namjoon took a deep breath. "are you sure you want to hear it?”

seokjin nodded firmly.

“i have a cardiac myxoma.”

seokjin blinked. "a what?“

"a malign heart tumor,” namjoon explained, “and according to the doctors i only have around half a year, give or take, left to live.”

“i’m sorry.” seokjin didn’t know how else to respond.

namjoon breathed out sharply. "no, i’m sorry. i’ve always been too much of a romantic, and jeongguk keeps teasing me for it, and you’ll probably hate me for this, or think that i’m weird, but i- i think i like you.“ he confessed.

seokjin fell over backwards, lying across namjoon’s long legs. "damn. okay.”

namjoon cursed under his breath. "i’m sorry, that was such a dumb thing to say. forget what i just said. i can’t believe i just said that, oh my god-“

seokjin laughed, reaching up and flicking namjoon’s nose. namjoon blinked, a small look of surprise coming over his face. "what can i say? i’m a very likable person. only dr min seems to hate me, but again, he seems to hate everyone.”

namjoon breathed a sigh of relief. "you took that remarkably well. i mean, a guy who’s about to die just told you he liked you, and you just responded with 'okay’. i would’ve freaked out, big time.“

namjoon sat back up. "i mean, you seem like a nice person. for 'a guy who’s about to die’, as you so eloquently put it, you seem pretty upbeat. if i was about to die, i’d be pretty depressed about it.”

namjoon frowned thoughtfully. "for a while, i was, actually. i mean, i don’t want to die, you know, i’m only twenty four.“

seokjin’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. namjoon was younger than him!

"i don’t want you pity or anything, i just want to make the most out of what little time i have left.” namjoon smiled wistfully. "speaking of which, have you ever been to america? it seems like a nice place. i’d like to go there one day.“

seokjin nodded, unable to help but feel bad for the man with a faulty heart, the man with so many dreams and aspirations, the man who deserved so much more than a life snatched away by the cruel hands of fate.

"i studied there for a few years,” seokjin replied quietly, “performing arts. i used to want to be a singer, or an actor, but after mom and dad passed away, i put that dream aside so i could raise taehyung. i quit school to manage our family restaurant. taetae’s my little brother, and i love him so much. he deserves so much more than what i could ever give him.”

namjoon sniffled, and seokjin looked at him in alarm. “sorry,” he sniffed, “i just think taehyung should be grateful to have such a great hyung like you.”

seokjin smiled, flushed with pride. "thanks, joonie. you should meet tae one day, i think you’d like him.“

namjoon hummed thoughtfully. "jin-hyung?”

“yah?”

seokjin looked up. namjoon was blushing so hard, even the tips of his ears were pink. "could- could you sing for me?“ he asked shyly.

now, it was seokjin’s turn to blush. "ah, i haven’t sung in years…”

“please, hyung?”

namjoon pouted, and whatever resolve seokjin had melted away at the sheer cuteness of it. "are there any songs in particular that you’d like me to sing?“

"i don’t really mind…” namjoon trailed off, looking at him hopefully. "have you written any?“

seokjin nodded guiltily. he’d written quite a few, but he’d never sang them to an audience. sure, taehyung and jimin had heard his first song, awake, but he’d never sang them epiphany.

"i’ll sing you epiphany,” seokjin decided. namjoon could listen to awake another day. he’d written epiphany not long ago, as a sort of follow up to awake. seokjin had written awake when he’d dropped out of performing arts, pouring all the heartache, all the pain, all the loneliness into the song. epiphany was about him moving on, with the knowledge that taehyung would support him, no matter what.

seokjijn opened his mouth and began to sing.

and by god, it was beautiful- his voice was hauntingly melodious, notes of pure power escaping his lips, the strength of the vibrato enough to bring tears to anyone’s eyes. even though the melody was simple, it was as if seokjin had put his heart on his sleeve, bared his soul for those who were willing to listen. namjoon closed his eyes, unable to resist the temptation to tune out the sounds of the outside world, drowning himself in the beauty of seokjin’s voice. for a while, it was like seokjin had swept namjoon away from the dreary hospital he was stuck in until his imminent demise, a welcome distraction from the pain that plagued his heart.

but as soon as it began, it was over.

seokjin was blushing, cheeks tinted rose. "was… was that okay? it’s the first time i’ve sang that to anyone.“

namjoon was too busy gawking at seokjin with wide eyes and an open mouth to respond. "wow.” kim namjoon was rarely ever rendered speechless, but seokjin…

kim seokjin was something else entirely.

“wow.” namjoon repeated as intelligently as he could. "you- wow. just wow.“

seokjin smiled shyly. "i’ll take that as an 'it was okay’?”

namjoon nodded, still looking a little starstruck. "that was more that okay, that was just… wow. i have no words.“

seokjin laughed, relief visible on his face. "thank god.”

suddenly, the door was kicked open, and jeongguk rolled in on his wheelchair, jimin pushing him in with an annoyed expression on his face. jeongguk gave namjoon a subtle thumbs up, mouthing you chose well, hyung!

namjoon smacked jeongguk hard on the head as he rolled over. "shut up, guk!“ he hissed.

"seokjin-ssi, your singing is so good!” jeongguk gushed, a devious grin on his face.

seokjin’s mouth popped open in an 'o’ before he collected himself. "thanks, jeongguk, and hyung is fine.“ he laughed a little. "i wasn’t even aware i was singing that loudly!”

jeongguk burst out laughing. "did namjoon-hyung tell you that he used to be an underground rapper?“ he asked, eyes gleaming with mischief.

behind seokjin, namjoon shook his head rapidly, mouthing at jeongguk to just shut up already and stop ruining his life.

"no,” seokjin replied, “he didn’t, actually. i wonder who would bury such a good looking wrapper, though. maybe they thought the wrapper looked too precious.”

it took namjoon a few seconds to understand what seokjin had said. "did you just use a pick up line disguised as a pun on me?“

seokjin let out another one of his infamous windshield wiper laughs, throwing his head back. "it’s not a pick up line, it’s a fact,” he told namjoon with an obnoxious wink.

namjoon groaned, burying his head in his hands. he didn’t even know he could get this flustered in a day.

“jiiiin!” he wailed.

“i bet you five hundred won seokjin-hyung is a top,” seokjin heard jeongguk whisper to jimin.

the kid really thought seokjin couldn’t hear him, huh.

“thanks for your faith in me, but i’m not a shirt,” seokjin said with a grin, unleashing another bout of windshield wiper laughs.

the door burst open, revealing a panicked looking hoseok. "what’s happening? namjoon’s heart rate is dangerously high.“ he turned to seokjin. "didn’t i tell you to press the alarm if anything suspicious happened?”

namjoon slammed a pillow onto his face, groaning into it. "if i have a heart attack right now and i die, jinnie-hyung, you’re paying for my funeral.“

hoseok sighed, grabbing seokjin by the shoulders and frogmarching him away from namjoon. "please try not to accidentally kill joonie. his heart is fragile enough as it is.” hoseok leaned closer. "if you break his heart,“ he whispered dangerously, "i’ll make sure yours stops beating and make it look like a convenient accident.”

seokjin gulped, barely hiding the squeak that came out of his throat. "are you allowed to do that?“

hoseok smirked. "who knows?”

seokjin swallowed. he didn’t want to cross the nurse. "it’s not like i have any intentions of breaking joonie’s heart anyway.“ he muttered under his breath.

namjoon looked at the older duo curiously. ”hyungs? what’s wrong?“

"nothing!” seokjin yelped as hoseok subtly stomped on his foot. "just got something lodged in my throat, that’s all.“ he said in his normal voice. "i’m fine now.”

hoseok gave him one last warning look before slipping out the door again. jeongguk snorted. "hyung, your lies are as bad as joon-hyung’s old haircut, and your excuses are as cringey as runch randa.“

namjoon gasped, visibly offended. "excuse you, gukkie, but runch randa is great!”

seokjin nodded in agreement. "taehyung forced me to come along to one of runch randa’s shows. i don’t regret it one bit, though. the guy seemed pretty cool.“

jimin grinned slyly. "seokjin-hyung, namjoon-hyung is runch randa.”

seokjin’s eyes went wide before he composed himself. "well, i regret watching that show even less now.“ he turned to namjoon, who buried his head in his hands. "your rapping’s pretty good.”

but not as good as your looks, seokjin added in his head.

“thanks.” namjoon mumbled, voice muffled by his palms.

they spent the rest of the morning like that- the two maknaes bringing up old memories to embarrass their hyungs, namjoon being a flustered mess and seokjin heroically defending namjoon with dad jokes and embarrassing jimin and jeongguk instead.

seokjin had struck up a conversation, both of them giggling like teenage schoolgirls whenever seokjin made a pun, laughing when they both lapsed into awkward silence and the heart monitor beepbeepbeeped in the background.

at one point, namjoon had fallen asleep, exhaustion taking over after laughing too hard. seokjin had stayed awake, staring down at him with loving eyes, fondly stroking his hair, fingers brushing against his skin. for a second, seokjin wondered how it would feel to wake up to that beautiful sight every morning.

he felt his cheeks grow hot, and he forced the thought away. he’d always been too much of a romantic.

namjoon’s eyes suddenly snapped open. "jin-hyung?“ his voice was uncharacteristically weak.

"yah, namjoon-ah?” seokjin asked, concerned for the younger man. "what’s wrong?“

namjoon whimpered. "hyung, my chest hurts.” his voice was growing weaker, even the beeping from the heart monitor seemed a little quieter. "i- i- think i’m dying.“

seokjin’s eyes went wide. "no. joon-ah, stay with me.” he slammed the 'help’ button several times, hoping that hoseok would arrive quickly.

“but hyung, it hurts…”

“kim namjoon, you are not dying on me.” seokjin demanded. namjoon was not going to die, not on his watch.

“jin-hyung…” namjoon’s eyes fluttered shut.

seokjin nearly screamed.

“no! namjoon, stay with me. namjoon, please. hoseok-ssi is coming, and dr min-ssi too. you’re going to be okay. joonie, goddammit, stay with me.”

the heart monitor flat-lined, and this time, seokjin screamed for real. "namjoon!“ he could feel hot tears of dread pooling in his eyes against his will. "namjoon, please don’t go.”

hoseok kicked the door open, dr min behind him. "what did you do?“

"i didn’t do anything!” seokjin wailed. "he just said his chest hurt, and then-“ he waved his arms wildly, unable to put the whole experience into words. he turned to the surgeon, desperation written all over his face. "dr min-ssi, please, you have to help him!” hoseok and another nurse started loading namjoon’s unconscious body onto a trolley, ready to wheel him off elsewhere.

“please, you have to help him,” seokjin croaked, voice cracking with emotion he didn’t know he had. "i- i think i’m in love with him.“

dr min smirked. "i’m not the best heart surgeon in korea for nothing, you know. i try my best to save my patients” he put on a pair of surgical gloves, latex snapping against his wrists. "you can count on me, seokjin-ssi.“

seokjin collapsed in relief.

"someone get him out,” commanded the surgeon, “i don’t want to risk him freaking out and getting a heart attack too.”

one of the nurses dragged seokjin out, sitting him down on a bench and warning him to stay there. seokjin just prayed that namjoon would be alright.

***

namjoon woke up alone in a hospital room. he sat up curiously, looking around. beside him, the heart monitor beeped, reassuring namjoon that he was still alive. he glanced down. his chest was covered with bandages, but it didn’t hurt anymore. he just felt numb.

hoseok walked in, sat down beside him. "so, namjoon, how are you feeling?“

"like i just died,” namjoon rasped out as dr min pushed the door open with a concerned but proud expression on his face. "what happened? i can’t remember what happened. did i pass out? where’s jin-hyung?“

questions, questions, so many questions.

"namjoon-hyung!” jeongguk shouted as he wheeled himself in, almost rolling right over jimin who was holding the door open for him. "you’re alive!“ he yelled gleefully.

namjoon shook his head. jeongguk was being too loud. everything hurt, but at the same time nothing did.

"what happened?”

jimin stepped in, another young man in tow, looking at them curiously. jimin whispered something to the young man, whose gaze focused on namjoon for a few seconds before he made the 'i’m keeping my eye on you’ gesture at namjoon.

“guys? why is nobody answering my question?”

hoseok took a deep breath. "namjoon, you were-“

”-clinically dead for almost a minute,“ dr min finished for him. "your heart stopped beating-”

“so we gave you a heart transplant.” namjoon raised an eyebrow. since when were the surgeon and the nurse so close to each other that they could finish each other’s sentences? "luckily, we had a willing donor.“

"you were out for two days afterwards, but thankfully the surgery went successfully.” dr min added, rubbing his eyes. now, namjoon could see the dark circles and the eye bags- one of the cons of working as an er surgeon.

“we still have to run a few tests to make sure you’re completely fine, and that the tumor won’t reappear elsewhere, but if everything goes alright, you’ll be discharged in a few days.” hoseok told him happily.

namjoon nodded, glad that he’d be able to see the outside world again. but there was still one question at the forefront of his mind- where was seokjin?

the young man namjoon didn’t recognize gave him a sad look. "who do you think gave you his heart?“

namjoon choked on his breath, and hoseok immediately came dashing over to his aid. "what?” namjoon could barely hear himself over the thumpthumpthump of his new beating heart. "no. no. no-“

the young man passed namjoon a card with a grim look on his face. it was red, with black spots, folded up to look like a ladybug. "he wanted you to have this.”

namjoon nodded his thanks, swallowing the lump in his throat and unfolding the card with shaky hands. with his luck and destructive tendencies, he accidentally ripped a corner. he read the neatly written words: go out the door, and look for all the ladybugs.

namjoon blinked. ladybugs? why would seokjin want him to look for ladybugs?

“what does it say?” the young man asked namjoon with a look of childish curiosity. "hyungie wouldn’t tell me,“ he said with a pout.

so this is taehyung, namjoon realized, seokjinnie’s beloved baby brother. he wasn’t quite sure when exactly he’d started calling seokjin nicknames in his head, and he couldn’t hide the blush sweeping across his cheeks at the realization. ��"he told me to find the ladybugs.”

jimin raised an eyebrow. "ladybugs?“

jeongguk shrugged, wheeling himself behind jimin and pulling the shorter man onto his lap. "i’m sure he did it for a reason. seokjin-hyung doesn’t look like the type to do random things, and i’m pretty sure he wouldn’t send namjoon-hyung on a wild goose chase, not in this state.”

“i think you mean wild card chase,” namjoon said with a small grin.

jimin groaned, leaning back against jeongguk. "oh god, you’ve been spending too much time with seokjin-hyung.“

"either way, i’ll do it.” if nobody would tell namjoon where seokjin was, he’d find jin himself. maybe it was payback for all those times seokjin had to hunt namjoon down after another one of namjoon’s hospital room escapades.

“you have to be careful, though,” warned the surgeon, “your body is still weak.”

namjoon nodded. "i will, dr min.“

the surgeon gave namjoon a rare but genuine smile. "please, just call me yoongi.”

namjoon agreed, eyeing hoseok, who blushed a dark red and dismissed himself. "alright, yoongi-hyung. i’ll get going now, and you can go find hobi-hyung.“

yoongi shot him a familiarly terrifying scowl, stomping off to find the nurse he was denying his obvious love for.

now, it was time for namjoon to find his love. it was all a bit strange, really- namjoon had never believed in all that 'love at first sight’ stuff jimin loved to spout, but embarrassing as it was, seokjin had changed all that.

gingerly, namjoon pulled on a shirt, stepped off the bed and almost fell flat on his face. it seemed like he’d forgotten how to use his legs. jeongguk snickered. "now you feel my pain, hyung.” namjoon chose to flip the boy the bird, taking another cautious step forward. he’d do this. for seokjin.

slowly but surely, namjoon made his way through the hospital. it was strangely quiet, for midday. but that didn’t matter- he kept walking, left foot after right, guided by the ladybug cards plastered to the wall, steps powered by his love for the man who’d stuck them. he’d opened up a few of the cards, which were filled with puns, each one more ridiculous than the last. namjoon couldn’t help but smile as he read them.

“oof!”

he stumbled forward as somebody bumped into him. he reached out for something, anything, to stop himself from falling. he latched onto something hard and warm, and a pair of muscular arms wrapped around his waist. he looked up, spotting an angel with broad shoulders and twinkling brown eyes.

“wow, namjoon, you should be careful.” the angel 'reprimanded’ him. "can’t have you falling for me already, eh?“

namjoon gawked up at him. "jin-hyung?” the older man looked gorgeous as ever, even with messy hair and a hint of dark eye circles. like always, he looked too beautiful to be real. "are you really here?“

seokjin grinned, smile lines appearing on his face. "i’m real, i promise. i do like hearing that i’m beautiful, though.” he handed namjoon a small red box with black spots on it.

namjoon snorted. "you’re so vain.“

"hey! respect your hyungs!”

namjoon choked out an apology between snickers, unable to help but smile. "but really, jinnie-hyung? ladybugs?“

seokjin helped him to his feet. "what can i say?” he said with a mischievous wink. "i guess i’m your lucky charm.“

namjoon laughed. "another pun? i should’ve known.” he thought he was used to seokjin’s love for puns, but apparently not, it seemed.

“open it, namjoon-ssi!” an excited voice cried. "hyung’s been waiting for this moment since-“

seokjin all but shoved taehyung out of namjoon’s line of sight. "ignore taetae.” taehyung stood beside seokjin, bouncing up and down like an excited child. seokjin pushed him a little further. namjoon glanced around, seeing jeongguk, with jimin sitting on his lap. even hoseok and yoongi were there! jeongguk made a small ripping motion, waiting for namjoon to open the box.

seokjin cleared his throat, yelling at everyone to piss off because they were making him nervous. nobody responded. “open the box, joon-ah.” he told namjoon softly, a stark contrast to him mere seconds ago.

gently, namjoon opened the ladybug box, gaping when he saw the heart bracelet inside, 'knj + ksj’ carved on the back. "what-“

he looked back up. seokjin was kneeling on me. "kim namjoon, i gave you my metaphorical heart. now will you be my boyfriend?”

namjoon’s brain spun. now it all made sense- another donor had given namjoon their literal heart, and when taehyung asked 'who do you think gave you his heart’, he’d meant seokjin had given namjoon his figurative heart. impossible as it seemed, namjoon’s love for seokjin- and seokjin’s love for him- had kept namjoon alive.

“thank god,” said namjoon, stalling for time, “i thought you were proposing.”

“say yes anyway!” jeongguk shouted impatiently, only for jimin to turn and smash his palm on jeongguk’s mouth.

“marrying me wouldn’t be that bad,” seokjin protested, “i’m just a little high maintenance-”

“stand up,” namjoon told him demandingly, using the voice hoseok had playfully nicknamed him 'president’ for.

seokjin did exactly that. "it’s okay if you reject me, i just-“

namjoon smashed his lips to seokjin’s. "shut up,” he whispered with a small smile.

seokjin had a goofy grin on his face. "make me.“

namjoon kissed him again.

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achromacat-blog · 5 years

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Tips For Surviving Your First Day of Higher Education

Congrats, you have endured High School and are currently while in transit to being a first time in college rookie. While this is an exciting advance forward in life, it will likewise be one of the more unpleasant strides as the first day of the fall semester moves nearer.

It is astonishing, yet 1 in 4 college understudies drop out before completing the sophomore year (according to American College Testing). In any case, you shouldn't be frightened. There are some simple tips to encourage you. One thing that I have seen is that the understudies who go to every one of the introductions have fewer issues around the grounds. I know numerous understudies say it is boring, yet trust me, going through every one of the presentations will help you in many instances. Open up with the general population in living arrangement corridor, particularly your flatmate. Your flatmate may change later on, yet it is smarter to get to know individual green beans understudies. Another excellent tip is to remain sorted out. Purchase a coordinator or a PDA. It will enable you to stay aware of various assignments and their deadlines, as posted by teachers. Additionally, ensure you go to your classes. You may feel languid and need to skip classes, however attending classes will encourage you, as you acclimate with various educators, their working style, and the kind of inquiries they may put in the tests. One incredible tip I'm going to provide for first-year understudies is that they should meet their teachers. By and large, teachers have exceptional hours that are available to their understudies when they can run and talk about scholastics with them. On the off chance that you open up to your teachers and get to know them, it will help you a ton through the whole college time frame. These are the essential tips for new college participants. Only be a dependable understudy and tail he college rules. College time is seen as most understudies as a fun time, however, keep in mind that you are here to make profession. Be not kidding with your scholastics and it will help you through your life. The majority of the pressure can be maintained a strategic distance from by keeping a couple of things in mind.

Introduction

One of the first things you'll be required to do at any school is going to a green bean introduction. The presentation will comprise of nothing yet icebreakers and information sessions. The essential thing to recall about introduction is that it is the ideal time to meet new understudies and lay the foundation for your free organization.

Enrollment

Class enlistment pursues introduction. While registering for classes, it is imperative to remember class times and educator decision. By this I mean you don't enroll for an 8 a.m. class 3 days seven days on the off chance that you experience difficulty waking up each morning. The exact opposite thing you need to invest energy doing is paying two or three thousand dollars a semester on snooze time. Sites, for example, rate my teacher are a gift from heaven regarding educator decision. The site gives clients a chance to rate their teachers and can give you a decent take a gander at how the class is run or the general frame of mind showed. Altogether a 12-15 hour class stack is prescribed, and anything more is unnecessary excess.

Get Involved

One of the essential things one can do when going to college is to get involved with the understudy associations on grounds. Each grounds has a unique culture which is just improved by the vast assortment of associations advertised. Regardless of whether it is submerged bin weaving, rugby, marketing, or a Greek association you'll make sure to find one that fits you. Joining an association extends your group of friends allowing you to make associations that would profit you sometime down the road.

Striking a parity

One misstep individuals regularly make during their first year of college, is that they put excessively of accentuation on either scholastics or recreation time (partying, sports, and so on.) One thing that should be noted is that it is alright to gathering and it is ok to concentrate on your evaluations. A sound equalization ought to be made to where you're spending time doing both.

Stress

Stress is something that you should figure out how to manage. There is no getting around it. There are; notwithstanding, a lot of approaches to achieving it. Getting a lot of activity whether it is hitting the exercise center or just going for a run can help hugely and keep you sound (while fighting off the first year recruit fifteen.) If you have more significant issues, you can generally hit up your school's counseling and wellbeing focus to get more expert help if necessary.

Conclusion

Those are the tips for surviving in college during the first days. Go to Essays Match which gives service that solves problems with writing, lack of free time and money in college.

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wannawrite · 6 years

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In Your Area

who?: Yuehua’s / Idol Producer’s Zhu Zhengting genre: 🌸 type: bullet point - I’m sorry I promise scenarios soon

blog navigator.

neighbours! AU

• you aren’t quite sure what to make of your new neighbour but hey, he’s nice and pretty cute

Zhengting is so boyfriend material no one understands how I feel :”) I thought Justin was immortalised as my YH baby but Zhengting popped off ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ Thanks for requesting fluff anon!! I really needed it

- Admin L

a/n: sorry this took like two decades and can y’all vote if you want us to start writing for IP in 2018. drop us a message/ask!!!

disclaimer: pictures used do not belong to be and credit goes to their original owners.

everything written is purely fictional

ZT’s diary: (/^▽^)/ moving day

what. the. hell. is. happening.

the dream that played out like a perfect movie scene in your head was VERY rudely interrupted and ruined by the ‘clings’ and ‘clongs’ scarring your ears

wrapping your stuffed pillow around your ears weren’t providing much help either

‘you’ve got to be joking...’

you groaned, realising there was, in fact, a new neighbour moving into that empty apartment next door

eyes closed, paradise fought to overpower your current reality

it was drifting in the distance, just out of reach, beckoning you to immerse yourself in the paradigm once again

but a loud crash resounded through the atmosphere and shattered whatever serenity there was

muttering complaints under your breath, you peeled your eyes open and slowly clambered out of bed

sickening...who moves in at this unholy hour

it was 9am

I found out that sleeping until 9am isn’t a hard task I thought it to be

do these people have a conscience? are they not aware that weekends are time for people to sleep in?

while complaints and rants ran through your mind, your cousin and flatmate, Wenjun, threw the door open and barged into the room

‘WAKE UP!’

his face displayed an enthusiastic puppy-like smile. ‘WE HAVE NEW NEIGHBOURS!’

great

‘wonderful, I can tell. Now, go give them some gifts and greet them,’ you tell Wenjun before flipping over and pulling your blanket over your head

‘NO! You come with me! Aren’t you supposed to be the older cousin?’ he complains. ‘It’s rude if I go alone.’

saying hi isn’t exactly the first thing I want to do

you sigh. ‘Okay, okay but later. We should give them some time to settle in. Besides, we need time to get a proper gift.’

I just really need a couple more hours of sleep why can’t you get any hints Wenjun :((((

huh maybe this is why you’re still single even though all of the college kids are in love with you

I follow the confessions page on ig, you don’t even know

oblivious, really

‘just go get something appropriate from the mall nearby.’ you shove Wenjun, eyes still shut and head still resting on your pillow

‘we have to choose it together so it’s more meaningful,’ he says. ‘sleep can wait.’

this child knows nothing about junior year in college

lucky sophomore

sunlight begins to gently flitter in from the curtains, you almost enjoy the warm sensation as it lulls you back to sleep

that is before Wenjun decides to be a little pest and yanks the material apart, bathing your room in ample sunlight

it tickles your face and burns into your eyes, effectively driving you out of bed

‘OKAY! Just let me get ready first,’ you huff grumpily. ‘Wait till your mother hears about this.’

Wenjun just sticks his tongue out and prances off

brat

hastily and half asleep, you pull on a random college camp shirt and walk out in your sleeping shorts

‘get me my sunglasses like qinfen’s and car keys,’ you order Wenjun since it is HIS fault for making me arise so early

I can’t let Mrs Lau on the 8th floor see me like this...geez that nosy auntie

she’ll tell this whole block for sure

I know she secretly tracks our movement to arrive at the lift and the exact time when the gossip is fresh

she really has too much time on her hands being the newest third wife of her current sugar daddy of a husband

I hope our new neighbours aren’t like her...I also pray they know what they’re getting themselves into by moving into this condominium

if we get just ONE more snobby, rich, gossip digger neighbour, I’ll gladly pay for that 11.2 million mansion Wenjun was looking at

there’s no denying the estate you and your cousin resided in was a rich one, flourishing with the younger generation of old-money families

it didn’t help that prestigious universities were planted nearby

okay fine, you and Wenjun lived big because of your family

but y’all weren’t stuck up, gossipy or as gold-digging, as the majority of the neighbours you had encountered

the new ones next door better not be any of the above

click click click

Wenjen pops his head over your shoulder to stare at your phone. ‘Why are you searching up that mansion? Are we moving house?’

your eyes swivel to check if anyone was lurking in the corridor before whispering in a hushed tone, ‘No but we will be if our new neighbours are anything like the existing ones.’

Wenjun sighs and shakes his head dramatically but his lips quirk up playfully

‘I’m sure they aren’t that terrible. C’mon, let me get my new Gucci sneakers.’

remind me why my kid cousin wants to wear his 2K shoes to the mall smh

no one is going to see them

besides, isn’t Gucci a little overexposed nowadays?

yes, I went to the local Gucci store to check it was like 1.9K? but round it up

pushing the gate open, you manoeuvre your way around the piles of cardboard boxes

simple cardboard boxes

nothing at all like the usual sleek black boxes embellished with the family name in silver calligraphy font

all of which ended up in the trash bin afterwards

dumb

flip flop flip flop

‘...could you at least get a new pair of...marketing slippers?’ Wenjun pointed out, blinking in horror at your worn out slippers, the left side’s sole was loose and threatening to fall

‘oh stuff it rich kid. These were from Rubi and there was a sale!’

that led to a family bicker over slippers right outside your front door

the two of you were so engrossed that you didn’t hear the pairs of footsteps drawing closer

‘um hi?’

you froze

Wenjun had a faster reaction time. He beamed brightly and cleared his throat. ‘Hi! Welcome to the neighbourhood! Have you guys eaten yet?’

吃饭了吗？

your eyes scanned over the two boys who would now occupy the last flat at the end of the corridor

they both had dyed hair just in differing colours, one blonde and the other jet black

both were tall

one seemed older and more athletic than the other

‘I’m Bi Wenjun and this,’ Wenjun paused to shove you the in ribs. ‘Is my cousin, Y/N.’

the boy with the blonde hair spoke first, smiling to reveal pearly whites. ‘I’m Zhu Zhengting and he’s my brother, Justin.’

not related but YH are so close they’re all fam

OH SHIT

AM I SERIOUSLY GREETING TWO HOT NEIGHBOURS IN MY PYJAMAS AND FLIP FLOPS

WITH MY HAIR LOOKING LIKE A FRICKIN BIRD’S NEST

at least there are Coach sunglasses perched on my head,,,not so bad not so bad

Wenjun had already started making small talk. Just smile and wave!

THIS IS SO HUMILIATING

I’M NEVER WEARING THIS SHIRT AGAIN

i need new shorts and slippers pronto!

• UGH

‘oh! China School of Fine Arts! I go to the same college,’ Zhengting suddenly spoke up.

at which Justin rolled his eyes at. ‘Pfp, not for a term. Don’t worry if you don’t recognise him, he never actually attends classes.’

Zhengting blushed and elbowed Justin away

hm cute

‘oh cool,’ your tone was clipped and you feigned disinterest, trying to get your burning face to cool off. ‘I suppose I’ll see you around.’

m o v e you tried to send a telepathic message to Wenjun

I CAN’T STAND ANOTHER SECOND BEING IN ZHENGTING’S PRESENCE WHEN I LOOK LIKE SHIT

times Wenjun has been oblivious today: 2

the wait seemed excruciating and when Wenjun finally bid them goodbye, you took of in the direction of the lift with a carelessly wave

it was good that your neighbours were people around your age

just so happened that Zhengting was incredibly good looking and currently the only dateable candidate available

IF YOU CHANGED YOUR OUTFIT, THINGS WOULD HAVE TURNED OUT SO MUCH BETTER

all drive long, Wenjun kept teasing you about your appearance or gushing about how well he and Justin got along

he insisted on gifting them the most expensive hamper from Tangs

you didn’t see a need for two young adults to have bone strengthening essences meant for elderly

but they were complementary in the particular hamper so...

supermarket was particularly quiet that morning

and it seemed to be offering an alarming amount of samples and candy promotions

candy was more suitable for a high schooler and college student but you weren’t up to argue with Wenjun

he seemed too whipped for Zhengting and Justin

‘I need ice cream to get over this,’ you moaned. ‘There’s no way I can ever look our neighbours in the eye again!’

call me overdramatic but you would have done the same

I haven’t even had breakfast yet

stupid Wenjun

I think it’s low blood sugar that’s causing me to be like this

‘sweetie, it’s 10.30am in the morning and you are on a strict diet. Remember that detox tea you ordered a week ago?’ Wenjun reminded, shovelling free samples of chocolate chip cookies into his mouth

why does my kid cousin always have a point...but my day was absolutely terrible!

‘whatever, f*ck it. I’ll just pass those to Cheng Cheng.’ It was your turn to sample those cookies

don’t you just love supermarkets?

you didn’t think the back seat of your car would be stocked with boxes of biscuits

morning supermarket runs are interesting in the Bi household

luckily, there were no snooping neighbours in the lift lobby to witness the Bi cousins haul about a dozen plastic bags filled with questionable groceries

such as croutons without a leaf of a lettuce

lift buttons were nearly hidden from view by white plastic

bring your own bags to shop!

there were no longer any boxes lining the corridors when you guys arrived home

thank god

imagine going all American Ninja Warrior with arms full of grocery bags

there was a lot of packing going on in the kitchen

and ripping open almost all of the cookie boxes by the time y’all were done

Wenjun went over to lend a helping hand while you hibernated in your room, reflecting over your outfit choice and eat more

it was just sheet embarrassment that plagued your mind and influenced your actions

might as well be all comfortable and sappy around them because they’ve seen me in my pyjamas

AND ZHENGTING IS PROBABLY MY BATCHMATE

i hope he doesn’t follow the school’s confession page

those thoughts made you crunch down on the biscuit with unnecessary strength

ding dong

the melodious - rather generic - chime of your doorbell broke your train of miserable thoughts

‘hamper delivery!’

as you were still clad in your wonderful get up, you opened the door wide enough for only your head to be seen

‘send it next door,’ you hissed quietly. ‘Say it’s from your new neighbours with love. Thanks!’

oh my god

WITH LOVE?

HEY ZHENGTING AND JUSTIN I LOVE YOU

WENJUN IS GOING TO LAUGH HIS HEAD OFF LIKE A DAMN HYENA

you slammed the door faster than the delivery man’s reply and raced to your bedroom

‘i’m ruined.’

*cue dramatic Disney princess sob fest on bed*

a few heart-pounding minutes passed, you strained your ears for any sign of reaction

unfortunately, people paid for soundproofed walls around here

yet, there seemed to be a sound coming from outside

out of curiosity, you peeled away your balcony door to take a look

lo and behold

Zhengting was standing on the balcony, tossing small pebbles onto yours

visual reference: Songyi and Minjoon’s apartment balconies from Kdrama ‘My Love From The Star’

is...he really wasting the decorative pebbles...

SHIT I’M STILL IN THE SAME OUTFIT NO NO NO

battling a blush of complete mortification, you gestured for him to say something

‘Thanks for the hamper!’ Zhengting yelled with a bright smile. ‘We appreciate it!’

on impulse, your lips stretched into a grin. ‘No problem! Welcome to the neighbourhood!’

he looked at the small trench of bamboo and pebbles separating the two balconies and then back at you

please please please stop judging my outfit

‘hopefully, we’ll see each other a lot.’

HUH?

he shot one last smile, maybe a soft chuckle before stepping back into his room

his words confused you

maybe he meant to spite your outfit choice

or maybe he genuinely felt like seeing you more often

that’s because he’s new and probably needs someone to show him around the estate and would rather have a friendly next-door neighbour do it than the security guard

get your head out of your ass he doesn’t mean it like that

hmm...

ZT’s diary: one 1/2 months of living with Justin╰( ･ ᗜ ･ )╯

over the course of a month, you learnt that Zhengting and Justin were very inconsiderate neighbours

there was always some loud music playing from their flat at every time of the day

fortunately for them, you and Wenjun were the only neighbours on the right side of the 12th floor and you didn’t really care much to complain

the resident care committee was rather useless anyway

regardless, their music still annoyed and distracted you to an extent

according to Wenjun their apartment was larger and thus, they had extra rooms to build a dance studio in

that was how you found out Zheng Ting was a dance major in CSFA

he just had to be under Professor Zhou or Professor Cheng

Cheng xiao’s real name is so cute omg

at least he was in a different major

you wondered if he knew Professor Wang

Professor Wang knew everybody and Zhengting looked like a popular kind of guy

+ the guy who actually liked his major

while it was touching to see how hard he worked, you wished ‘I am the sheep’ wasn’t stuck in your head while you were studying for a quiz

the clock read 2am, that was the time you finally snapped

popping panadol pills wasn’t going to take a headache away

the soundproofing here sucks! it only works whenever it wants to

shockingly, Wenjun was tucked away in his dreamland, wrapped up in a cocoon of his blankets and oblivious to the world that surrounded him

you grabbed your phone and stormed to your neighbour’s apartment, pounding furiously on the front door

it took a while but the music stopped playing and a few clicks of locks could be heard

‘hi,’Zheng Ting panted out, wiping the sweat that was beading on his forehead. ‘It’s about the noise level isn’t it?’

suddenly, the want to yell at him was gone

he! was! just! too! knowing!

it made you feel a bit ashamed

not to mention that his white shirt was slowly becoming see-through

you clasped your hands together, grinning.

‘No! Not at all! I-I j-just wanted to find out the song you’re dancing to.’

lie lie lie?

Zhengting seemed to ponder about that for a moment before beckoning you to enter his apartment

not shady at all

let’s go

be sure to take off your flip flops before entering houses

each room was slightly larger than the ones in your home

surprisingly, the house was kept neat and tidy, minus the odd one or two boxes that had yet to be unpacked

‘where’s Justin?’

the lack of the younger boy’s presence in the flat noticeable

Zhengting revealed that Justin was away for a week visiting his family

no wonder Wenjun seemed a bit sulkier

Zhengting pushed open the door to his cosy little dance studio

honestly, it was spacious enough to have a group of dancers practice

very well lit by the fluorescent spotlights and outfitted with a panel of mirrors

there was even a ballet bar on the other side

and Zhengting had hidden this treasure how?

his personal studio was comparable to the ones at school

suddenly, you came face to face with an iPad, an iTunes tab open

‘these are all the songs I’ve been choreographing to recently, and uh...loudly as well,’ Zhengting said, handing you the device

all of his fancy music equipment was organised in a small shelf

cut

he’s so damn invested into his dancing career

‘why are you working so hard for?’ you wondered out loud

even during finals, Professor Wang never gave your class so many assignments to work on

this is so inaccurate ^ btw, don’t take my word for anything

Zhengting nibbled on his bottom lip and nervously readjusted his headband. Pink flushed his cheeks as he took a step closer to you

with his lips so close to your face, you could feel the ba-bumps of your heart quickening

if I tell you, will you promise not to reveal it to anyone else?’

so secretive

you nodded, eager to find out what Zhengting was hiding

‘all these are for the school’s dance showcase. this year is more exclusive and getting a seat in the audience is invite-only,’ he disclosed. ‘Scouts from all the prestigious academies are coming to take a look.’

a small gasp of astonishment left your mouth, hands flying into a congratulatory clap

*iPad falls from your grip and your reflexes aren’t quick enough*

forget the iPad

rip screen

ZT has a million more in some boxes anyway

showcases were a MAJOR event for CSFA students, this had to be out of the world spectacular!

discovery: praise only caused your neighbour to turn redder than a tomato

‘will I receive an invitation any time soon?’ you teased, gently nudging his side with your elbow

please say I didn’t smash his iPad screen

hey, I placed it on the floor G E N T L Y

a mischievous glint twinkled in Zhengting’s brown orbs

you guys KNOW that look

he let out a huff and pretended to be in deep thought, weighing out the pros and cons

arms akimbo, you willed for him to stop teasing and provide an answer

he genuinely has no idea if Professor Zhou will grant him so many passes, stop being so pushy😫😔

Zhengting clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth triumphantly, finally able to decide on his answer

‘okay, IF you help me fine tune my choreography a bit more, I’ll beg Professor Cheng to save you a seat,’he offered

SCORE!

‘sure, of course! I am a composer and rap study though,’ you quipped in reply, hoping he would still go through with the proposal

ZT shrugged nonchalantly, ‘the more diverse an opinion the better. And please, you’re all Prof Jin and Prof Jackson brag about to our classes.’

now was your turn to blush and deny his claims

who cared if his iPad was broken

at least his heart wasn’t

ZT’s diary: month two of living with Justin＼(・ω・)/

commotion

yet again

and it was early in the morning

history does repeat itself

thank goodness it wasn’t the sacred hour of 9am but 11am

still early on in the new day

however, havoc seemed to be wrecking your neighbours flat

• one moment, the sharp charring of a vacuum cleaner could be heard and the next, shattering items or dropping of boxes boomed through the flat

basically, just huge chaos

not wanting to seem too nosy, you kept yourself from going over

however, the level of pandemonium was getting so out of hand that Wenjun put down his gaming control and asked if he should check it out

what could be so wrong on a Saturday morning?

you opened your mouth to answer but was abruptly cut off by two urgent knocks on the front door

the door creaked open to reveal a panicky, oddly-dressed Zhengting holding onto handles of pet crates

‘hi,’ you quickly greeted, unable to stand the awkward silence. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘just peachy,’ he replied, tongue slipping over his chapped lips

ZZT WITH CHAPPED LIPS ???

WHAT WAS UP WITH HIS CLOTHING CHOICE TODAY?

my most fashionable neighbour is clad in a shirt that cost more than my life from some new streetwear brand and lounge pants - probably from the market - with yellow butterflies on them

what a fit, a fashion statement

such fittingly random sense of style today

something obviously wasn’t right

yes, I’m referring to his pyjamas featured on idol xinfan

YH sprouts rlly wear questionable clothes to sleep no offence

...at least they don’t sleep nude right?

like that’s living life on the edge imagine getting your period while sleeping that’ll be awful

anyway

turning your gaze on the pet carriers, you spot a pretty white kitten and a caramel coloured puppy

in separate carriers

‘I’ll explain later but um our parents are coming for a surprise visit and they don’t know about my babies yet so could you please look after them for an hour or so?’Zhengting begs, desperation creeping into his voice

an ear-splitting crash echoes from their apartment before Justin yells, ‘ge! I can’t get the cat fur off our clothes!’

this is an emergency!!!

you take the pets from his hands gleefully and throw out your lint roller in exchange

‘try this!’

in no way am I advertising lint rollers I don’t even think I have one

Zhengting shoots you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen and hurriedly dashes over to Justin

Wenjun joins in a few moments later, leaving you alone to bond with your neighbours’ pets

a puppy and a kitten? sign me the f*ck up

sorry, couldn’t find if he was more a dog or cat person so you get the best of both worlds

the snow white kitten cautiously pads onto your ottoman while the more adventurous puppy bounces happily onto your bed

I think your heart just melted into a puddle of goo

just imagine Zhengting playing with these two cuties

ba bump, ba bump, babump, babumpbabump

since you’re worried the young animals might pee on your bed, you take them out to the balcony to play

an animal approved balcony

they mess with a collection of small potted

after which, grow tired and begin snuggling up to you for comfort

without caring you’re attempting conversation with pets - that are not even yours, you pose shy of a billion questions

like ‘is ZT treating you well?’, ‘does he look better with his hair up or down?’,‘isn’t he so cute?’

‘Zhengting’s so attractive,’ you muse wistfully not realising the man standing on the neighbouring balcony

ZT chuckles, feeling red tint his cheeks

he only emerged from his room to inhale a breath of fresh air before the intense grilling by his parents could pepper him

yet he felt his heart grow warmer than ever, prior to your heartfelt confession

*intermission*

the front door clicked shut behind Justin and the brothers flopped onto the living room carpet, finally able to breathe normally

we pulled it off, we did it,’ Justin gasped in disbelief, wondering if all the cleaning he had done was a lucid dream

but the realness of Zhengting’s high-five and sparkling counters proved him wrong

ah ha! whatever ge’s parents said to him also proved it happened!

‘soooo,’ he drawled out teasingly. ‘pa and ma think you’re attracted to our neighbour.’

Justin’s hand reached to pinch Zhengting’s steadily crimsoning cheeks

He only snickered when his ge swatted his fingers away as if they were pesky flies

puppy love

speaking of puppies, Justin insisted that Zhengting collect their babies back

knocking at your door, Zhengting had no idea why he felt more anxious than usual

his throbbing heart seemed to want to jump out of his chest

at least he was momentarily distracted by your endless gushing of love for his pets

compliment after compliment, love confession after love confession

shhh...he kind of wished you were referring to him

‘they’re such great listeners too!’

oh!

they admitted that I’m handsome!

Zhengting raised a smug eyebrow, mouth curling upwards. ‘So, you think I’m attractive huh?’

ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION I REPEAT ABORT MISSION

*sweats nervously*

thankfully, he doesn’t prompt for a reply as he takes the pet carriers from your grasp

with a wink, Zhengting walks off

leaving you in a frantic yet charmed mess

you: ZZT, you did NOT hear that

the text is fast, your fingers flurry over the keyboard

his answer isn’t delayed either

zhengting: hear what? your Romeo&Julietesque confession of your love for me?

you: pft just bc we both have balconies doesn’t mean we’re Romeo and Juliet

you: it didn’t happen

you: I take my words back

zhengting: mhm and you definitely did not talk to my pets as if they were humans

you: SHUSH

zhengting: no :)

zhengting: come to the balcony

zhengting: please

zhengting: where are you

zhengting: :(

zhengting: come out or I’m calling Wenjun and exposing you

you rolled off your bed and onto your balcony faster than Usain Bolt

Zhengting had already propped his arms on the dividing decoration, awaiting your arrival

‘hey, secret lover,’ he poked. ‘Missed me?’

your orbs rolled in perfect circles,

‘please, I saw you a couple of minutes ago. If anything, I miss your puppy more.’

‘come over tonight.’

what? excuse me?

‘I really need help with my choreography. Please? You promised!’

Zhengting looked needy enough for you to say yes...plus, you wanted tickets to the showcase...and it couldn’t hurt to spend more time with help him right?

also because you wanted to see his pets again

you told him you would come over after dinner

the temptation would be too great to arrive on an empty stomach when a full-course meal awaits

Justin was clad in his baby blue onesie and carrying the small white kitten when he opened the door

how childlike

I should get matching pjs for Wenjun too

with a knowing smirk, he mentioned that Zhengting was in his room

in return, you filled him in on the new video game that Wenjun bought

and then let him into your apartment to bug Wenjun

hehe

family goals

you ventured further into the flat, a tad bit more familiar with your surroundings

Zhengting must be playing with his puppy as excited barks were coming from the inside

you rapped your knuckles on the door then entered

bc you’re a cultured person who knocks the door before entering!

you learnt you to knock after walking in on many...unpleasant things

such as wang ziyi and cai xukun proclaiming their eternal love

then catching xukun on a date with zhang yixing a few days later

not the kind of things you want to recall

as you expected, Zhengting is on his bed, playing with his puppy

oh wow can I just say

bedhead ZZT with his shirt sliding off one shoulder to reveal a defined collarbone

his grey sweatpants have loosened around the waist to reveal his Calvins and the very tip of his waist tattoo peeking out

wow

so sexy

but no, in reality, he’s just cradling his puppy and cooing sweet nothings into his ear

‘what’s his name?’ the puppy pads over to greet you, flicking his small tongue over your hands

‘Justin and I decided to name him Ry, taken from the end of Jeffery,’ Zhengting replies while casually fixing his top

...as in Jeffery from school?

oh goodness, of course, these boys had connections

they must be popular

even though ZZT never attends class???

what sorcery

an awkward silence passes

you both communicate without opening your mouths

eventually, you’re seated on the floor of ZZT’s dance studio, cuddling Ry - not exactly paying attention to his dance

honestly, I think Zhengting’s focus is unbreakable

but when it breaks...it shatters

you go from trying to explain that his left arm needs to be at the same height as his right arm

to ‘oh my god I really like your new phone case.’

and then he’ll pick up the conversation from ‘thanks my phone case is from bare bears official.’

he loves being cute deep down and we all know it shh

then it goes back to ‘one two...three...stop! pose. Wow, you’re a great choreographer.’

not even dance counts ^

blame Professor Wang for influencing my class with dance

I’ve been dragged to deep down

eventually, the night wears on and the two of you simply sprawl out on the dance floor

tired

Ry cheers you up by licking your face though, cutie

you’re curious to find out more about zhengting, now seems like the perfect opportunity to pose questions

‘what other animals would you want as a pet?’ Though, you can’t picture Ry and the kitten having TOO many friends yet.

you watch as Zhengting pouts, thinking hard

‘maybe a pet piglet. My friend, Mubo has one and I played with it once at his place. It was so adorable that all my friends were in love with it.’ Zhengting laughs fondly at the memory.

‘my mother would kill me though,’ he adds quickly

idk man we could like share a pet so we both gain from it and become piglet parents

wh00ps did I say that out loud? Why is he giggling at me?

‘yes, yes you did,’ Zhengting speaks between his chuckles. ‘I already am a Zhu so might as well be a piglet parent.’

朱 (last name) and 猪 (pig) are both ‘zhu’

jokingly, you say, ‘I’ll choreograph a celebratory dance if you take up my offer.’

that’s when Zhengting gets all excited and seriously considers buying a pig

one hour passes just researching on pigs

how to care for one

what to feed it

where to buy one

is it legal

how much does one piglet cost

not that the cost affects his decision ^

‘let’s do it,’ Zhengting decides surely, the determination in his tone. ‘Let’s be piglet parents.’

‘you’re kidding...’ your voice trails off when you see he is COMPLETELY on board with the idea

what :) have :)) I :))) done :)))

I CAN’T BE A PARENT TO EARLY ON

yet I really like the idea of Zhengting as a pet dad

with me

it’ll be a small family

‘we’ll work out the custody issues later,’ he jests. ‘Are you ready to sign some adoption papers? I found a reputable place.’

there’s this look of certainty and assurance in his eyes that only read ‘with me, everything’s going to be fine.’

maybe that was when you realised you were SO ready to admit you wanted to be with him

maybe confession could come later but for now

piglet parenting?

hell yeah

‘I’m in on it.’

I’m so glad you moved in next door

I’m so happy Justin chose the right apartment complex

worked on this for one whole week oh my god and this lowkey became crack

rlly wanted to get this up for his birthday!!!

so happiest 22nd/23rd to the gorgeous Zhu Zhengting!!

can’t believe he’s joining the old men club on Idol Producer I’m so proud :)

I fell for him on Pd 101 but unfortunately, his incredible talents weren’t recognised

he and Justin were my Chinese kings and now they’ve both come back to claim their kingdoms

Zhengting is just so talented, hardworking, kind-hearted and humorous

I love

tbh idk what lies ahead for his future bc YH’s plans look a bit scattered for the SKR and CH side

but whatever happens, I only wish the best for him and I hope that he would achieve his dream

literally, I would marry this man if the age gap wasn’t so big and if we shared the same religion

God bless him and his household, they deserve love and grace too

@ zhu family, thanks for raising such a wonderful man

朱正廷，祝您生日快乐！我希望正廷哥哥会得到耶稣的祝福，会继续努力也会好好照顾自己的身体。我希望有一天我们可以见面。加油吧！我一定会支持您。我爱您。💝💞💘

pls don’t bash me for my errors, my ancestors are disappointed enough already :”)

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZHU ZHENGTING #zhu zhengting #yuehua trainees #idol producer #produce 101 #idol producer scenarios #produce 101 scenarios #yuehua sprouts

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feuillesmortes · 7 years

Text

After an incredibly stressful week at work, it’s finished! Here’s your weekly dose of fluff and awkwardness and whatnot from our two favourite historical dorks. Set on the flatmates AU verse, I’m tagging my pals @queenbessofyork and @harritudur. Enjoy!

Henry woke to the sound of a strange mumble, the weight of something pressing down on his arm. The room was dark, safe from the colours coming from his laptop screen. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. Something beside him moved and he remembered. He twisted around to find Lizzie sleeping on his arm, one arm circling his waist. God, they had fallen sleep on the sofa, hadn’t they? Henry hadn’t even removed his contacts, he could feel his eyes red. The end credits on the screen reminded him of the film night he had sorted with his former flatmates. It all had started during a typical cheeky Nando’s after uni that he had been dragged into, a charmless event and restaurant Henry usually avoided like the plague. Between a spicy chicken wing or two, Lizzie had uttered the sentence “I have never watched Lord of the Rings” for the absolute shock and disbelief of everyone who heard it. It had been settled there and then: Rodrigo (the self-declared greatest Tolkien fan) and Lizzie were to come over and binge-watch the trilogy at his place.

Of course they couldn’t get to the very end. Rodrigo left during the second film, claiming he had heaps of coursework he had yet to finish. Lizzie had stayed, even though she had pulled an all-nighter just the night before to submit an essay. She wanted to know what happened to Faramir. “He’s going to die, innit? Just like his brother.” Henry had brushed it off without telling her any spoilers. Well, it seemed she didn’t find out what happened to Faramir after all, since they both had fallen asleep in the middle of the third film. Henry was lying on his side and Lizzie was snuggled up against him, legs tucked inside his duvet. The bowl of snacks was half-turned on the coffee table, crisps and popcorn were everywhere. Her trainers were messily slumped on the floor. It was all very particularly Lizzie, just like old times. For a moment he debated with himself whether he should wake her or not; she looked so peaceful sleeping. He brushed a strand of golden hair falling on her face, tucked it behind her ear. There was a tingling sensation at the tip of his fingers, a strange pressure in his chest spreading through his body. He wanted to drag his fingertips across her cheek, feel the softness of her skin. Henry let out a quiet, heavy sigh. It wasn’t the right thing to do.

Henry reached for his phone lying on the coffee table, only so he could have something to occupy his hands with. He unlocked the screen and tapped to read the texts he received the previous night - the lads were sorting tickets for their next gig... his mum was asking about his week... and oh, there it was. An overly enthusiastic text from his boss François. At the beginning of his internship Henry had thought hitting off with the boss right away was a good thing. François was a thoroughly proud Breton, one who had been greatly happy to hear his intern had attended a lycée in France, and more specifically, in Brittany. Only now it meant Henry was bound to receive unwanted texts at all hours of the day and night. Suddenly it became a habit to ask Henry personal favours like fetching his relatives at the airport or buying his wife a gift. On top of all his normal responsibilities it was absurdly annoying, but Henry didn’t have much choice in the matter. He needed an internship if he were ever to graduate at Westminster that year. And Henry suspected that Pierre, François’ assistant, would be only too glad to see him go. No, Henry wasn’t a quitter - above all things, he’d stay at the company if only to spite Pierre Landais.

“HENRY!” He read his name the way François called him: Henri, à la française. “I’m giving you the OutCast’s account! I can’t think of anyone better suited for the task. I'm confident you’ll do a great job! Don’t forget to bring a full report by our next briefing. P.S.: Remind me to talk to Paul on Monday.”

Great, another account. Staring at the text he felt the familiar sting of anxiety worming its way into his brain. God, he felt like he needed a cigarette. He put his mobile aside, yet could not think of anything else other than starting the report right there and then, no matter how late in the night. If maybe he was sufficiently sneaky he might get to his laptop without waking Lizzie. He meant to move when he heard a sound. It was her, talking in her sleep. He kept very still and tuned his ears to listen. Amidst a bunch of incomprehensible words he heard “I’m a princess”. He looked at her, entirely bemused himself, and she was smiling. “I’m a princess”, she kept saying, “A dragon princess”. Henry had to suppress a laughter. She might have watched Lord of the Rings that night, but it seemed she was still thinking about the season finale of Game of Thrones. Lizzie mumbled some other words he couldn’t understand until he heard “That’s my home.” and “Henry”. What? Did he hear that right? Henry watched her face going into a frown. “No, no. Mr Dragon, please. Don’t destroy my home.” Henry gently poked her, trying to wake her. “Mr Dragon, please.” Henry started shaking her lightly. “Hey, Daenerys Targaryen, wake up. Wake up, Lizzie.” “Henry, no.” He gave her a hard shake and Lizzie woke up with a gasp.

“What? What?”

Lizzie pulled herself up into a sitting position, Henry following suit. He touched her arm, trying to direct her gaze to him. “Hey, hey. Lizzie, what happened? Was it a nightmare?” In the semi-darkness of the room, Lizzie was squinting her eyes at him. Her hair disheveled, her brows furred together, she had the look of someone who had just been run over by a car. She blinked hard for a few seconds. “Sorry?”

“You were talking in your sleep. It sounded rather bad, actually.” Lizzie hummed a negative response and averted her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Henry let out a growl. “Lizzie, c’mon! You must remember something. You just woke up!”

“I don’t- No. Absolutely not.” Lizzie shook her head in the clumsiest way.

“So you’re telling me you don’t remember anything? At all?”

Her tone was final. “No.”

Lizzie had her blank face on, but it was all so positively plain she was lying, Henry decided to tease her a bit. He started by scratching his jaw. “Here’s what’s funny, though. You said you were a princess. Actually, there was a dragon from what I heard. Curiouser and curioser... I wonder if-” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh God! You heard everything, didn’t you?” Henry laughed aloud, a full-blown laughter he hadn’t had in days. He soon remembered it was late, so he stopped himself. “Lizzie, but why was I in your dream?” She started shaking her head again and he tapped her hand lightly. “Allons, allons! Don’t you deny it! I heard you saying my name.” Lizzie looked so distraught in her drowsy state that Henry almost pitied pressing her to talk. “I… Oh, alright, alright! You were there. You were the dragon.” Henry sputtered in laughter again. “I was the dragon!?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, mocking his laughter. “Yes, you were the dragon. Sometimes you were this monstrous creature with big dragon wings and red scales and sometimes you were just like yourself, with your own face. I don’t know how to explain it, but that’s what happened. Happy?” Henry wiped the small tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “Quite so.” By now he wanted to stop his chuckling, but her vexed expression was too much for him. He couldn’t resist taking the piss. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. But you should’ve seen your face.” She opened her mouth to offer some sly retort of her own, but instead she stopped mid-sentence and her eyes went wide. “What time is it?” Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. Late. Why?”

“I should- I should get going.”

“You’re sure? You can sleep here. I’ll prepare the bed for you and then I’ll take the sofa.” Lizzie frowned quizzically and started to slowly rub her eyes in circles, as if mulling over his offer. After some seconds though, she protested weakly. “Henry, no... You shouldn’t sleep on the sofa.”

“You’re my guest, Lizzie. Of course you get the most comfortable place to sleep.” And you’re not exactly suggesting we share the bed, are you?

She grunted. “Hmm… I don’t know.” She rubbed her eyes again, then suddenly lifted up her head as if a realisation had just struck her. “Where’s the loo?” Henry gestured her the way. “Second door on the left.” His was a small flat, with just one bedroom. Lizzie slowly got to her feet and dragged herself across the corridor. She spent a long time in the loo, in fact she spent so much time there Henry was sure she was sleeping on the toilet. Henry had enough time to clean their mess and get to his laptop to start working on the report François had requested. He was beginning to wonder whether he ought to go over and knock on the door when he finally heard it unlocking. He saw Lizzie crossing the corridor and going straight into the kitchen, walking on wonky legs like a zombie. Eh bien! He should go and check on her, he thought, as his agile fingers hit the keyboard word after word.

Before he could move from his place, though, Henry heard a loud crashing noise followed by a cry and an emphatically uttered curse. He hastened to the kitchen only to find a mayhem of pots, pans, a variety of kitchen appliances, all lying on the floor and Lizzie simply standing there, rubbing her forehead. Henry hurried to her side as quickly as he could. “Lizzie! What happened?”

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

Henry blinked once, blinked twice. “Excuse me?”

“Why do you keep your kettle so high up there?” While keeping a hand on her forehead, she angrily pointed to the cabinet shelf she had just knocked over. Is she having a laugh? No, she was looking at him with accusing eyes. “Why don’t you keep your kettle on the counter like everyone else does?”

Henry scoffed. “I’m sorry Lizzie, but you could’ve used a stool or a chair, or better yet, you could’ve just called me to get it. Did you forget I was just in the other room?” He tried to keep his tone neutral, but obviously failed at keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Well, maybe I don’t need you to do everything for me. Has it ever crossed your mind that I can do things by myself?”

Henry rolled his eyes so hard he thought he might see his brain. For fuck’s sake, he couldn’t believe he was arguing with Lizzie in his kitchen at 2 am. But Henry wasn’t so daft as to tell a woman to calm down. “Alright, miss independent. You come to the kitchen, absolutely knackered, and you expect everything to go splendid. Well, good luck with that.”

For once Lizzie didn’t have a reply, she just kept moody and scowling as she bent down to pick up the things that had fallen from the cabinet. Henry let out a sigh, but crouched down to help her anyways. As he put his things back on the shelf he eyed her from over his shoulder. “Why did you even want the kettle for in the first place?” Lizzie simply shrugged. “I just wanted to make a cuppa. Something to wake me up before I went home.” Her lip pouting, she looked just like a sullen child. Henry couldn't resist smirking. “There’s coffee for that, you know.” He pointed to the italian moka pot conveniently placed atop the stove, a pristine steel appliance that granted his coffee a strong distinctive flavour. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You bloody well know I don’t drink coffee.”

All that conversation and Lizzie still kept the one hand on her forehead, Henry noticed. “Oh, sod it! Come here, let me see it.” He stepped closer and took her head in his hands as she warily removed her own to reveal a red swollen bump. He tried to keep the touch of his fingers light on her hair as his thumbs skimmed over her temples. “What hit you?” Lizzie shook her head slightly. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. It’ll probably look purple tomorrow.”

“You think so?” Lizzie looked at him through long golden lashes. She had beautiful and expressive doe-like eyes, the sort that could hide thunderstorms behind the guise of sunlit skies. Her eyelids batted softly, but her gaze held a silent question mark on it. He dragged a thumb across her cheekbone, his voice low. “Are you alright?

“Yeah.” Her reply came out just above a whisper, her chest rose and fell in cadence. There was something... something different shimmering in her pupils at that moment, he surely couldn’t be wrong about that. She said she’s not with Charles anymore, the thought came to his mind abruptly and unbidden. Henry hesitantly let his left hand fall to cup her cheek, afraid he might scare her. He glanced at her lips, rosy and tempting and inviting. She was just so fucking beautiful all the time, it was maddening. He realised that somewhere deep down his sense of pride was hurt; he had never thought he would ever play the fool in love. Do it, you air-headed, useless git. Just do it.

“Well, this is awkward.”

Henry froze. S h i t e. He looked back up to find Lizzie blinking uncomfortably. He instantly let go of her and straightened up. “It is, isn’t it?” He leaned back against the counter, his hands sagged inside his pockets. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out of it. Henry went to the fridge, if only to do something to fill up the silence stretching between them. “I’ll get you some ice.” He fumbled for words. “You know... For the bump.”

Lizzie lowered herself to a chair and he handed her the ice rolled up in a towel. She thanked him with a half-smile and pressed it to her bump, but kept silent. “Your mother sent me an email a couple of days ago. She told me her hearing is coming up.” Henry said, searching for any topic of conversation whatsoever, but Lizzie didn’t look much pleased by that. “She did?”

Henry nodded. “She’s invited me to the hearing. Do you... Do you want me to go?”

“I- I mean, if you’re up for it. I don’t see why not.”

An ominous silence fell on them again, so Henry reopened the fridge. “Are you hungry? I’ve got some of those red velvet cupcakes you like.” He had gone out to the nearest co-op the day before just to buy them specifically for Lizzie.

“There’s no need.” Lizzie blurted out, rising up from her seat and placing the towel on the table. “I should- I should just go home now.”

Henry turned back to her, closing the fridge door behind him. “Lizzie, are you fleeing from me?” He crossed his arms over his chest and faced her squarely. He was just so tired of playing games with her. She let out a not-so-genuine laugh as she left the kitchen. “What, me? Don’t be so absurd.” Henry followed her across the room. “Yes, you. I’m not sure why, but you’re fleeing from me.” As Lizzie bent over to grab her things, she let out an agonized puff-like scoff. “I am. Not.”

“Good. Cause if you are, and you forget something in your haste, I’m sorry but I’m not returning anything. You’ll have to come back here and get it yourself.”

Her expression changed, and she gave him a deliciously devilish smile. “I can think of a worse fate than that. Seriously, Henry. You've got to step up your game. You're severely lacking in imagination.” Bemused and half in awe, he couldn’t think of a reply; it seemed it was her turn to leave him speechless. As she got to the door, he hurried after her. “I’m walking you home.” He announced, rather than asking it. His former flat was just a few blocks away from his current place, but he didn’t trust Lizzie to go back there alone, no matter how many times she said London was a safe city. She only lifted an eyebrow at him. “If you insist.”

The way back to his former flat was short, their path punctuated by the myriad of pubs that populated the neighbourhood. The Red Lion, The Horn of Plenty, The Nag’s Head, The White Hart, all of them closed by the lateness of the hour. As they approached her building, Henry called her attention. "Lizzie, before I go I need to tell you something.” She turned to him with an inquisitive eye, her keys in hand, and Henry summoned his most serious voice. "I, the Welsh dragon, vow not to destroy your home. Do not despair." She let out a silvery cascading laughter. "Shut your gob, silly!" She slapped his arm lightly, but straightened his sleeve right after with a smooth motion. “So... If I understood you correctly, I’m invited to visit your place again.”

“Uhm, yes. Yes, absolutely. And Rodrigo as well, of course. We can sort another film night or something.”

“Right.” Her smile slowly died, and the silence that followed turned slightly awkward. “Well, goodnight to you.” As she turned to insert her keys in the door, Henry stepped back to leave. “Goodnight, Lizzie.”

“Henry, wait!” He turned back, only to be surprised by a peck on his cheek. “Thanks for walking me home.”

He didn’t know how long he simply stood there, staring at her door after she had long vanished inside the building. He was grinning like a blinking idiot, the bloody fool. Down the street, drunk Londoners waddled their way home, brawled and shouted. The sirens of passing ambulances raged loudly off in the distance. Just a typical night in the city. Not for him, though. Not for him. The cold in the air nipped gently at his cheeks like the caress of a lover.

#cheeky nandos: you know I had to do it to them #henry x lizzie #henry vii x elizabeth of york #flatmates au #twp fic #modern au #*author rubs hands maniacally* the seeds are all planted #sorry this took so long #my fic

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enemmauk · 7 years

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“why can’t you make yourself like wetting? As you and your flatmates have bladder problems anyway, it would be perfect! You are in the perfect position to enjoy wetting accidents.”

I wish it was as simple as that! I have an overactive bladder, flatmate B had kidney problems when she was younger, and C doesn’t have any issues like that at all. I can’t disconnect myself from the issues my bladder gave me when I was younger, and I have never enjoyed that trickle of warm that quickly turns cold. Then the worry about other people seeing. Sometimes I don’t particularly care if I wet, but I never enjoy it. Apart from the occasional mild relief when I’m not desperate anymore.

The worry comes from school accidents. In primary school when my wetting accidents were at their peak, I would fail to make it to the toilet, then spend the rest of the day worrying about it, if someone smelled me, saw the wet patch on a skirt or tights, and even if I changed my pants (as I often did), what if my tights smelled of pee? Did people actually know but pretend not to notice? Did the whole school know and was secretly laughing at me? That person on the other end of the school corridor laughing, were they secretly laughing at me? I’m convinced I got away with it most of the time but it’s difficult to forget about things like this and it’s the reason I don’t enjoy it now. Messing is something that never happened to me when I was younger so I don’t have that same emotional connection to it, it feels silly and naughty.

At least I usually had a warning when I was desperate to pee. For B, it was dry then wet, in an instant. She told me she couldn’t even detect the need to go to the toilet for a time (I think when she was between 5 and 8) and had to set an alarm every 15 minutes telling her to go. I can’t imagine how scary that’d be when growing up.

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luminoustico · 7 years

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@introspectivenavelgazer prompted: “Someone left the cake out in the rain”.

I’ve taken a sinfully long time to fill this prompt, argh. So have some pre-s1 secret!marriage fic to make up for it. I hope it’s good enough!

—

The door rattles against the sound of the knocker. Thunder rumbles overhead. Molly sighs, rubbing her palm against her temple and yawning as she plods down the narrow hallway. Rain spatters on the overhead windows, the permanent draft whistling around her sock-covered feet. Above her, lightning flashes. She tampers down a shiver. Childish fear, which she’s over well enough. Well, enough not to hide her covers and count to ten.

She opens the door. A familiar figure stands before her, furiously soaked with a bent square of cardboard, a box in other words, in his hands.

“Why can’t you live on the ground floor?” he growls, pushing past her. She rolls her eyes, locking the door closed, glancing out for her nosy neighbour. The concrete corridor is empty, rain spattering on the edge of the walkway, minute shelter coming from the final floor.

“Could’ve got a taxi,” she mutters. He doesn’t hear her, or in his current mood, at least pretends she isn’t speaking. He remembers himself enough to hang up his coat and scarf.

He rolls up his sleeves, picking up the bent box and heading through the splintered door to the rectangular kitchen, the height of modernity when it was built. She’s been allowed to get rid of the horrible patterned wallpaper, thank God.

“What’s the box for?” she asks.

“What’s the date?” he asks in reply, the question obviously more for her benefit than his. She answers with a challenging smile.

“It’s still a week away, you clot. Guessing this is a last minute purchase,” she says, still smiling and opening the box. Her smile twitches with the threat of a delighted gasp. He’d switched the boxes, the bastard. Made it look plain and lumpen so she wouldn’t guess what was in it.

“A new hypothesis, Dr Hooper?”

“Don’t tease me,” she says, swatting the arms that ‘mysteriously’ have wrapped themselves around her waist. She feels his damp clothes press into the back of her dressing gown. “Where’d you get the money for this?”

A wariness edges her voice, which he cannot blame her for. He’s earned it. He starts to sigh, to snap off a curt answer, but he pauses. He settles for tucking his chin against her neck.

“I owe a favour to Mycroft.”

Molly examines the cake inside the deceitful box. She sends him stuff occasionally; only when something takes her eye. Strolling through London, neck aching from bending over a desk, she’d taken a snapshot of the best-kept secret in their city. An apricot and almond cake, sweet to taste, made by a bakery he’d sniffed at and called 'quaint’ when he’d seen the photo. Her idea of a compliment, his idea of a condemnation. (A compromise.)

She reaches up, finding his cheek. Her palm slides underneath his jaw, caressing his skin with the pads of her fingers. He hums at the touch, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

He pauses.

“You just shivered.”

“A compliment?” she says, glancing up and turning her head towards him. He lifts his head. Lightning flashes, following the loud rumble of thunder. His peering, curious frown, finishes scanning her, lightening with the answer. She shakes her head.

“I’m not.”

“Molly.”

“It’s just – just a kid thing.” She shrugs. “I’m fine.”

Sherlock’s arms leave her waist. His hand slips easily into hers. His other gently shuts the box.

Sighing, she turns to face him.

“I’m fine,” she repeats. “Honestly, Sherlock.”

“I’m going to be gone for two weeks. I wanted you to have something early.”

“Your efforts are appreciated,” she says, feeling his thumb brush over her palm.

“I’m quite glad I made the effort to get it here.” His eyes flit towards the window. “That storm is horrendous. Don’t you agree?”

She glares at his playful look. Wriggling her hand from his hold, she returns to her bedroom. “I’m fine,” she calls over her shoulder, shutting her bedroom door.

Shrugging off her dressing gown, she hangs it on the back of the door and slides into her cold bed, shivering against the cold sheets. The bucket in the corner of the room spits and spatters with sounds of the leak the landlord’s too lazy to fix. (She doesn’t dare ask Sherlock to repair it; she doesn’t want to think of the bomb site she’d end up living in.)

He follows her moments later and crouches by the bed. He has his curious look on again. His hand gently brushes through her hair.

“Thunderstorms are a perfectly normal thing to fear. Scientifically at least. Lightning has proved—”

“Oh Sherlock, don’t. Sorry,” she adds quickly. “I just – when you’re scared of thunderstorms, you don’t particularly want to hear about people being killed by lightning.”

“Really?”

She sighs and closes her eyes. “Just – keep stroking my hair? It’s… well… nice.”

“Hm. I suppose I can do that,” he says blankly, with a snatch of amusement. She smiles at his tone.

As she’s halfway into sleep, he leans forward and kisses her temple.

“Happy birthday, wife.”

“It’s not for another week,” she mutters.

“Research indicates early celebration is better than letting the day pass by unnoticed.”

“You need to stop reading women’s magazines,” she mutters into her pillow, grinning. He clearly notices her grin, because he chuckles.

“You’re not an average example of 'woman’, Molly. Not if all those magazines are to be believed.”

“If they are, I’m supposed to be blonde with either no tits or massive ones.”

“Your tits are fine. They do, after all, stimulate me well enough that I can climax without issue.”

“That’s the worst chat-up line I’ve ever heard,” Molly replies, giving up on sleep and rolling onto her back. She glances to her husband, the curls of his hair still stuck to his nape and his clothes drying in patches against his body. She pats the empty side of the bed. “C'mon,” she sighs softly.

She happily watches him undress, his pale skin and toned body quickly revealed. He moves naturally around the room, neatly folding his clothes over the three warm radiators (the reason she prefers sheets to a duvet and chose this flat in the first place). He slides into bed beside her, drawing her close to his naked body. His feet stick out from underneath the sheets, over the edge of the bed. She giggles at the sight.

“Well you’re short,” he grumbles, hiking her closer. She rolls onto her side and kisses him soundly, her breasts pressing up against his chest. His hands find their way to her hips, caressing the path down towards her backside.

“You need a better bed,” he growls in frustration after a few minutes of awkward kissing, their two bodies even too much for this not-quite-a-double bed. “And a bigger kitchen, as a matter of fact. That one you’ve got doesn’t deserve your cooking.”

“When I get a job, I promise a better bed and bigger kitchen are at the top of the list,” she says with a laugh, kissing and nibbling lightly on his collarbone. He hisses at the pleasure, cupping her backside and tweaking her nipple. She yelps, and he smiles.

“How’s the detective thing working out?”

“Much better than being the supervising manager of – where was it?”

“I’ve no idea. I just know it didn’t suit you.” Sherlock Holmes, her husband, was never suited to a normal job. “I miss the bed at your old flat, though.”

“Hm. I’ve been looking at flats,” he muses, voice hitching at the path of kisses she lays on his chest and torso. He slides one hand down her pyjama bottoms, between her thighs. She moans against his skin and spreads for him. “There’s one with some potential. Remember that case in Florida?”

“The drug dealer?”

“His widow has a flat she needs to let. Willing to give me a deal. Would still need a flatmate, however.”

She pauses, her eyes flicking up to him. He shrugs in answer to her question. She shakes her head.

“Kind of gives the game away, doesn’t it? If we’re living together.”

“Don’t even know why we’re bothering to keep this a secret. Your neighbour’s already worked it out. Or at least has a suspicion.”

“No, she just thinks you’re a prick. I’ve complained enough about you,” she adds, grinning at his frown. He settles back on the pillows with a hum.

“You think of everything. Why are we keeping this a secret, by the way?”

“Because we kept it a secret during university and never bothered stopping? Oh,” she gasps as his lazy ministrations between her thighs suddenly become a lot more determined.

“Sounds about right. My disinclination to look at anyone else helped, I’m sure.”

Molly laughs at her husband, a soft intimate sound and kisses him. “I like it this way,” she says. “And thank you for the cake.”

“You’re welcome, wife.”

He never says 'I love you’. Simply says 'wife’. If he ever said 'I love you’, if she ever said it back—it would make this real, instead of the delicious, dizzying dream state that it is. An impulse, to get married after knowing one another only a few months. They’ve made it two years now, with only three people on the planet knowing. Her, him, his brother Mycroft. They can make it a few more years, surely.

Sherlock’s ministrations, deepening again, and a hungry kiss from him distracts Molly from her thoughts. Cupping his neck she kisses him back and loses herself until she can hear nothing but his voice in her ear and the thunder is another reality.

#introspectivenavelgazer #sherlolly #mollock #wow i filled a prompt!#it's possibly crap and so i apologise for that #i'm really into the pre-s1 secretly!married au for some reason #otp: we'll start with the riding crop #ch: sherlock holmes #ch: molly hooper #sherlock #eleanorwrites #au

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greenonthursdays · 7 years

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Script Treatment: AT BLAKE'S

(an authorized sequel to EM ONE by @captain-aralias)

(under the aegis of Blake’s Junction 7)

SCENE: Six months after the non-events of the film. EXTERIOR, DAY.

Avon loses track of and finds Blake’s card several times before Vila finds it for him.

(“What’s this, then?” “…hrm…? No, wait, give that here, it’s personal!” “If it’s personal, why’d you leave it on the dashboard?”

To which Avon has no good answer.)

Sooner than later they are en route to Blake’s last known address.

(DIRECTOR’S NOTE: There is a large apartment complex near me where all tenants have to pay what’s called a public safety surcharge on their rent. Basically, the city noticed that a single address constituted a wildly disproportionate number of police and emergency dispatches, and decided its residents should foot the bill for their own delinquency. There’s also a couple of cruddy motels whose owners pay a property tax surcharge for the same reason. I don’t know if this situation could exist in Britain, or if there’s anything comparable. Nevertheless this is the approximate level of seediness you should imagine, going forward.)

Avon purposely neglects to call ahead in hopes they’ll find Blake is out, or better still, moved away. This is not the case.

Gan doesn’t come up with the others because he’s lying down in the caravan with a migraine. Cally would actually prefer a migraine over the prospect of watching Avon and Blake dart their eyes around and mumble at each other for an hour. Of course it was Vila who convinced Avon they should come, and if he’s made a worse decision recently he can’t remember it. The only one who isn’t wildly uncomfortable is Dayna, who’s preparing herself to be wildly bored.

Blake plays that he is delighted to see them while wondering if he is, really. After about a minute he will realize he is not. Unfortunately it is far too late.

Blake’s flatmate Deva absolutely will not take the hint to make himself scarce and hangs around the kitchenette doing nothing in particular. Avon can’t tell whether Deva and Blake are just mates or, you know, “special friends.” Deva seems rather camp, but you never know. Also Avon can’t figure out whether he’s jealous.

Jenna goes to light a cigarette for her nerves and is informed this is strictly prohibited. There are all sorts of smoke detectors, and the system is wired directly to the local fire station. If anything goes off anywhere they’re sure to send a crew.

Blake offers to put the kettle on. No comment except from Avon: “I think. I think that would be nice.” Then there’s the matter of washing up enough cups for everyone, and then he finds the tea canister has been put back in the cupboard empty. He turns off the burner. The kettle hisses to itself as though it alone truly understands what it means to be happy.

There is a police siren in the distance. It gets closer. It is directly outside the building.

“Not to worry,” Blake says, “the cops come, they go, it’s usually nothing.”

Dayna rushes to the window, Cally not far behind. “There’s more of them coming,” she says. “Three, four cars.”

“I think it’s the firearms unit!” Cally says. They share a significant look.

Vila has an unpleasant thought. “Avon,” he says, “you don’t suppose…this…is on account of us, do you?”

“Of course not,” Avon says. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I only meant,” Vila says, “that Blake, well, you were always keen on us being terrorists and. Well. Maybe someone noticed.”

“Blake,” Deva says, “you never mentioned that you were a terrorist.” He doesn’t sound concerned or even terribly interested.

“Oh,” Blake says. “That. Haven’t in ages, actually. How about you, though?” he says to Avon. “Been keeping your hand in?”

“At what,” Avon says blankly.

“Being a terrorist!” Blake says. He looks rather cheerful for the first time all afternoon.

“I think the girls do,” Avon says. He isn’t sure whether this is a lie. Jenna is looking pointedly at nothing.

Heavy footfalls of an unknown number of police in the stairwell, then in the corridor. Deva looks out the peephole. “They’re all grouped round the door of 508,” he says.

“But that’s Mr. Yousef,” Blake says, “whatever could they want with him?”

“No, he’s 510,” Deva says. “508 is the blonde girl with the manicure that could slit your throat.”

Outside, the police announce that the occupant(s) of 508 should open the door and stand back with their hands on their heads. No answer. Then they state that if the door isn’t opened immediately they will break it down. Then they begin doing so.

Deva has his eye glued to the peephole; Dayna and Cally are on the balcony watching the scene below. Everyone else sits frozen, stewing in a unique blend of social anxiety, secondhand shame, and existential dread.

More thumps from the corridor. “If it isn’t just,” Blake says lamely, “if it isn’t just like what we used to get up to.” Then he doesn’t say anything else.

Vila thinks wistfully of the flask that’s in one of his pockets, probably. The thing is it’s only half-full, and if he brought it out now he’d be obliged to share.

Avon is supposed to be quitting smoking as of last week, which means he’s been bumming cigarettes off Jenna as often as she’ll allow. Pretty soon they’re passing one back and forth, not looking at each other. Avon is definitely, particularly, not looking at Blake.

No one notices the smoke detector beeping at first because of all the noise from the corridor. Deva removes his eye from the peephole to point out that the the building-wide alarm will be going off in a moment and they had better get started evacuating. Considering the alarm will have originated from this flat it’s the least they can do.

“Yes,” Blake says, “be a good-faith gesture, wouldn’t it?”

Dayna and Cally tear themselves away from the balcony. Everyone files cautiously into the corridor. The door of 508 is askew on its hinges and the police inside look simultaneously agitated and depressed.

Vila slipped out first and gets as far as the third-floor landing before the building-wide alarm goes off. He pauses to hunt for his flask. It’s in the last pocket he checks, and full of pineapple juice for some reason.

Outside, Gan is remonstrating with a tow truck driver who is leisurely winching the station wagon up onto the platform.

“I keep telling you,” he says, “you can’t tow a vehicle when someone’s inside it, it’s not permitted.”

“Well, you weren’t inside it when I got there,” the man says without rancor.

“I had been, though,” Gan says. “I’d only just stepped out. For air. I suffer from migraine.”

“Sorry to hear that,” the man says, adjusting the hitch on the caravan.

“Look, you’re not taking the caravan as well, are you?” Gan is beginning to get really upset.

The others watch blankly. “Avon,” Vila says, “he can’t do that, can he?”

They are standing directly beneath a sign marked GP ESTATES RESIDENT PARKING ONLY. ALL OTHERS WILL BE TOWED. Avon sighs deeply. Jenna lights a cigarette and hands it to him.

“I’m sorry about all this, Avon,” Blake says. “Should’ve mentioned about the parking situation. I suppose I thought you must have taken the bus.”

“Why would we have taken the bus,” Avon says rhetorically, without inflection.

Vila is speaking earnestly to the tow truck driver. “I don’t suppose you could leave the caravan? It’s where I keep all my things.”

“Can’t,” the man says. “They’re attached, aren’t they? Besides, the caravan’s not going anywhere without being towed anyhow.”

“Oh,” Vila says. “That’s very true.” He takes out the flask again.

“Let me have some of that,” Cally says.

“It’s pineapple juice,” Vila says.

“We don’t care,” Dayna says.

They stand apart, passing the flask between them. Gan makes a last attempt to enter the caravan, which is by now at an angle on the tow truck’s platform, only to be rebuffed by the driver. He joins them in a huff. Dayna offers him the flask.

Gan smells it. “This is pineapple juice,” he says.

“Well, don’t drink it then,” Dayna says.

It begins to rain lightly. Deva has gone inside. "We should have brought Orac in with us,“ Jenna says. "He’ll be terribly bored all alone, wherever they’re taking him.”

“I think he’ll manage,” Avon says.

“How is Orac?” Blake asks.

“The same,” Avon says.

“Oh,” Blake says.

The tow truck drives away. Blake begins to say something about coming up to make some phone calls, but thinks better of it. Jenna is checking her purse for a bus schedule.

“I don’t suppose you have a car,” Avon says. Blake shakes his head. “I think,” Avon says, “I think we should be going now.” To the others: “Come on, let’s get moving!”

“Is that it, then?” Blake says.

“It’s the end, Blake,” Avon says heavily.

A motorbike engine revs loudly somewhere nearby, startling everyone. “The next bus is in 12 minutes,” Jenna says. She heads toward the street and the others follow.

“Goodbye,” Blake calls after them. “Goodbye, Avon!”

“Goodbye, Blake,” Avon says without turning around. He isn’t sure if Blake can hear him. It doesn’t matter anyway.

ROLL CREDITS.

(But stay tuned for: DVD EXTRAS!

(DELETED SCENE 1: Featuring Soolin as the blonde in 508 who is being extremely cagey about why the police might want to speak with her. She takes hardly a moment to survey the damage before beginning to pack a bag while talking briskly on the phone in Korean. Neither Blake nor Deva will see her again.

(DELETED SCENE 2: Featuring Tarrant as the young man who has been polishing an already very shiny motorbike next to the drained swimming pool. Gan suspects him of having called the towing service out of spite. This is incorrect, but sometimes it’s nice to have a face to blame.

(DIRECTOR’S NOTE: Anticlimax is one of my favorite narrative devices, so naturally I loved Blake’s Junction 7. It’s a parody that has maybe 3.5 outright jokes, all of which are underplayed into nonexistence. The utter banality of every interaction is, for me, the film’s greatest appeal.

(After reading EM ONE, I started wondering what the series finale would be like as refracted through the Blake’s Junction 7 universe. What kind of catastrophe can you orchestrate when your prime directive is that nothing of any importance can be allowed to happen to anyone? I’m personally squeamish about social humilation/embarrassment scenarios, but I take an unholy delight in inflicting them on characters.

(I don’t expect I’ll post this anywhere else. I wrote it in about a day and a half, not looking back, and keeping the narrative as spare as possible. It feels, to me, more like a detailed treatment for something I haven’t yet developed than a full-blown story. I did make myself laugh, though. I hope you do too.

(The police-raid-next-door thing actually happened to me. Except it was two cops instead of many, and turned out to be a case of deliberate false reporting. It was still extremely awkward, though.)

#blake's 7 #blake's junction 7 #my fic #script treatment #art imitates life

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