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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

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The One with the Engagement Picture

Ayy, using this to try new ones. Another for @thatesqcrush’s FRIENDS challenge.

Peter Stone hadn’t always been as much of a partier as he’d become, and he would certainly reject the term womanizer. Anyone he dated or slept with knew that he just wasn’t ready to settle down anymore. Maybe it was because he’d tried to do that once and ruined it. When he tore his ulnar collateral ligament, he’d accepted he wouldn’t be pitching anymore, and slowly an ocean seemed to settle between himself and his teammates. He was bitter, and they were busy. As the partying stopped for him to heal and return to school, there was one woman he found himself content to spend nights with on the couch with. It was the first time since he’d been an adult that Peter was in a serious, monogamous relationship, and he thought it suited him.

Dahlia had moved to Chicago for graduate school, and she was thoroughly unimpressed with his baseball background. Did she think it was cool? Sure. Was she understanding they’d be going to games? Yes. But, he had to teach her how the game worked and let her know which of his friends even played when she met them. She was more interested in dragging him antique shopping or to old bookshops where he’d have to keep her from falling off of a ladder. While she learned his world, Peter got far more comfortable than he ever expected to with pin curls, vintage compacts, and inspecting dresses for sweat stains or cigarette burns. It made her happy to invest time in it, so if she’d wear his old jersey tucked into her high waisted jeans and go to a game with him, he’d take pictures of his pin up at the rockabilly festival they drove out to.

When he proposed, he was nauseatingly proud to find a mid century ring at the vintage jewelry store she loved. The owner knew him from each time he had followed her through, shopping bags in hand as she purused. That meant he had help from a woman who knew Dahlia’s ring size and which cut she’d like the most; he picked correctly anyway, she’d said. He’d been careful to plan an outing to the park, packing a picnic and red and white checked blanket. He had a friend hiding to capture pictures, and it felt like the timing was perfect. Soon enough, he had a picture of her, hand over her mouth as he asked her to marry him sitting on his desk at home, and one with her showing off the ring as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, his arms slung around her waist, sitting on his office desk.

Things were easier then, when he was working and she was in school. Their schedules still aligned, so they could see each other in the evenings. Then, she finished her MFA and taught night classes in order to make ends meet while she worked on her next novel. They’d met not long before the first was published, and he’d read a preview copy the first weekend he knew her and dug up poetry she’d published in volumes stored at the university. His brain didn’t work like that and he liked that about her. He was more about practicality and comfort. She was creative and artistic, comfort be damned.

The change in schedules made things hard. Peter wasn’t good when things got hard. The transition to not seeing each other much during the week, even though they lived together, quickly coupled with wedding planning stress to create arguments they hadn’t had before. Instead of quiet togetherness, they’d bicker. He got home late, so they didn’t see each other before she left to teach. She had to pick something up after work, so he was asleep when she got home. Dahlia wanted to plan the wedding, and Peter was getting nervous because he hadn’t watched many marriages stay happy. He pushed off decisions, avoided picking a venue. After a while, she got an offer to teach creative writing in New York.

“I could have normal hours, Peter. We could see each other. You know you’d get a job in New York.”

“I’m not going back there, Dahl.”

“It’s a big city. You wouldn’t even have to see him. We wouldn’t even have to tell Ben, would we?”

“No.”

“So we just keep not planning a wedding and not seeing each other? Do you even want to marry me?”

“You know I do.”

“No I don’t!”

“Then maybe you should take the fucking job without me.”

The minute he said it, he regretted it. The way Dahlia’s face fell and tears came made him feel stupid. She’d spent her weekends helping him with physical therapy. She’d taken the shitty adjuncting job to stay in Chicago until he was a little more established. She was patient about maneuvering the strained dynamic between Ben and Peter Stone. Hell, she wasn’t even asking him to go back to New York forever. It was a year and then the university would evaluate if they’d offer her a permanent position. They could be back in Chicago after a year. And now she was crying. He hadn’t made her do that before, not because she was sad.

“Fine,” she managed, jaw shifting as she tried to get the tears to stop. “I’ll go then. I can’t keep doing this. You won’t plan the wedding. We fight all the time. And now you want me to go? Here’s your fucking ring.”

If Peter had been used to having a girlfriend or wanting her to stay, Peter might have developed the skills required to do more than stare as Dahlia shoved her clothes into a suitcase and clutch the ring in his outstretched hand. He might have thought to fly to the city when he realized she’d actually gone ahead and moved and show up at her apartment unemployed and ready to go to the courthouse to prove he needed her there.

Instead, he steeled his jaw over the next few weeks. His arm had healed the first year of law school, so he simply returned to his circle of friends that went out and dated whoever and covered for each other. He always ignored the ones in a vintage dress or with dark curled hair. Those were the ones who could hurt him. Who let him pretend afterwards that it was Dahlia beside him, and they were married and happy.

When he moved out the apartment they’d shared-it was too much there now- he picked a painfully modern place and filled it with sleek modern furniture, The antiques she hadn’t taken were sold, and he finally felt that maybe he’d scrubbed his life of Dahlia, save the engagement pictures he kept in the top drawer of his desk. She had probably responded to the break up like an actual adult and moved on. Had a husband and career. Maybe even a baby. He hated the thought, so when he thought it, he’d pour another drink. And it was fine, because he’d just distanced himself from everything that could make him think of her. And that was fine, really it was. Peter had been a playboy before. He was a partier. He was an ex-baseball player. And he was fine.

Then his father died.

Peter felt the solitude then. There hadn’t been anything new and hard to process since Dahlia left. He wandered New York and wondered if she was still there somewhere or if she’d gotten another teaching job somewhere. When McCoy convinced him to take the ADA position after Baba’s trial, he couldn’t say no, and one of the engagement photos found a new home in the top drawer of his new desk. SVU was harder, and it found its way out more. He’d hold it in his free hand, sipping a drink as he tried to channel the advice she’d have given him.

“Ben liked her,” Jack said softly one day. “He had a copy of that picture until the engagement ended.”

“I was an idiot.”

“Aren’t we all at some point? Learn from it.”

Peter left it out after that. It faced him from the corner, and he remembered feeling grounded. That was what he really missed. Dahlia had given him a place to land. His dad had always felt unstable, and he wasn’t close with his mom. He wasn’t even always at home, staying with his aunt periodically. And then he’d made a happy stable home with Dahlia and ruined it.

When Pamela died, he stopped partying for fun and started using it to numb himself, but one night, he met a woman with dark brown pin curls and fair skin. She’d left when Dahlia’s name fell from his lips. That’s when he knew he had to reach out. He had to know if there was a family or a set of kids or a job in another city. He needed closure.

“Hello?” She sounded confused when she answered, and he suddenly remembered it was nearly midnight. He also remembered she never checked caller ID. Oh God, or she’d deleted his number.

“Dahlia?” Papers stopped shuffling and he could hear her sharp intake of breath. He could almost picture her, perched in an armchair, probably a yellow velvet one, with wide eyes and hair pinned up for the night and tied in a silk scarf as she graded or proofed her own manuscript. Maybe it was a friend’s manuscript.

Oh God, what if it was a husband’s manuscript. Another writer. She’d like that.

The cool metal of the picture he kept at home was pressed into the skin of his palm before he whispered, “Dahl, it’s Peter.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m not.”

“What happened?”

“Pamela.”

“What happened to Pamela? I can be on a plane to Chicago if you need someone. Or if you need help in the city, I can arrange things. Check on her.”

“How do you know I don’t have someone?”

“Would you be calling if you did?”

“I’m in New York. Where did you end up?”

“They offered me a permanent position. How long have you been in the city?” He could tell she was trying to mask hurt that he hadn’t called before now. But what was he supposed to say? Dad’s dead so I live here now.

“Since January. Dad died. I prosecuted an ADA. Then I took his job.”

“Ben’s gone?”

“So is Pam.”

“Pam’s gone?” He let out a shaky breath, chest tight. “Send me your address.”

“You don’t have to--”

“Address or I start calling your baseball buddies.”

“I’ll text it.”

“I’m not hanging up until I’m there.”

“Is it creepy I keep the engagement photo on my desk?”

“We’re not touching that right now Peter. You’re drunk and not okay.”

She was true to her word, not hanging up the phone until she arrived at his apartment. When he opened the door, he saw her just as he’d imagined her. Her hair was pinned in the silk scarf and a silk robe was tied over her pajamas. She had thrown it on over the same babydoll top and short sets she’d always been hunting down patterns for so she could make them herself and she’d slid on flats.

The sight of her made him feel tethered again, though he had had enough more to drink between the initial call and her arrival that he had gone from tipsy to unsteady. He went to hug her, and Dahlia carefully kicked the door close, locked it, and maneuvered him to his big leather couch that she looked terribly out of place on.

“Let it out, Peter,” she whispered, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck like she might float away or vanish. The cry wasn’t like anything he’d let her see before. He’d been careful and controlled anytime something hurt, glossing over details that could make it worse to give her a pig picture. But now, he cried like he was alone, heaving sobs with snot and tears and drool as he clutched her.

She settled into the couch enough he was basically curled in her lap. That’s how he woke the next morning too, curled against her torso with his head on her shoulder. She’d fallen asleep with her cheek pressed against the top of his head, and he was both embarrassed and relieved she was still there. Carefully he untangled himself from her, wanting to clean up before he had to face her. Face the fact it was his own fault he’d had to deal with it all alone.

He came out to find her having obviously used the guest bathroom to rinse her face, though she was clad in his boxers and henley now. She was too averse to pants for his sweats. And like the angel she was, Dahlia was cooking. He was, however, mortified to see what she was holding as whatever she’d put in the oven cooked was the engagement photo he’d been clinging to when he called. But he could also see she seemed to be looking at it fondly.

“Your interior design is terrible,” she teased gently, setting the frame aside. “I left you so much of the good stuff.”

“I couldn’t bring it from Chicago.”

“Peter, you forget I brought it from Chicago.”

“When I looked at furniture we found together, it made me miss you, so I got rid of it.”

“I kept mine because it made me remember you.”

“I’m the one that was an absolute moron.”

“It was easier then, huh?” she said softly, picking the picture up again. Their smiles were wider. There were fewer lines on their faces. Ben and Pam were in New York alive, and Dahlia and Peter had forever in front of them. Peter didn’t need to talk to her about something he didn’t want to remember.

“Yeah,” he whispered, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry I let you go.”

“I’m sorry I let you. I shouldn’t have left the first time we fought. I knew how you were.”

“You were right to. I went for what I knew would hurt.”

“We can address all of that later. For right now, do you want to start talking or eat and then talk?”

“It’s my fault Pam’s dead.”

“You need to elaborate on that one, Peter. Because I’m sure there is more happening than you’re saying.”

“I didn’t drop a case. A victim tortured her attacker. We didn’t know for sure at first. A cartel was involved and they threatened to hurt Pam if I didn’t drop the case. We had guards, but they massacred Pam’s facility and took her. Diaz killed her in the gunfire. Dahl, she recognized me. She called for me, and he killed her. It’s been months, and I just, I feel so lost.”

“Peter,” she whispered, pulling him close.

He stiffened at first. He’d expected disgust, not sympathy. This was his fault. That’s what he’d been telling himself for weeks, distracting himself with booze and bars and women like he had done when he wanted to pretend his family was fine, that Pam wasn’t sick, that he was close with his dad. This time though, the hurt was bigger.

He was crying into her shoulder again, and he suddenly wished he’d been smart enough to call the minute he’d arrived. That she’d been there at dad’s funeral and for the trial of Rafael Barba. Maybe then he wouldn’t have even taken the job. He’d have recognized something bad was brewing. Instead he’d gotten his sister killed and was clinging to Dahlia in the early morning light of his kitchen.

“It happened in May.”

“Why didn’t you call sooner?”

“I didn’t mean to call now.”

“How have you been coping?” He was quiet, shifting awkwardly. “Baseball methods?”

“Yeah.” He was ashamed to tell her, and she squeezed him gently.

“I went with baseball methods after we split. You’re a single man. I don’t like the thought and it’s not healthy, but it’s better than other things you could’ve done.” They didn’t speak much as they ate. Neither one knew what to say to the other any more, but she didn’t want to leave him alone and he shouldn’t be left alone. When he did speak again, his voice was gentler than it had been in a while.

“Can we go antiquing?”

“You want to go?”

“I want to carry your bags and think about sweat stains.”

“How does that help you?”

“Is it manipulative if I say that’s the last time I was really happy? Because if you say no I won’t be mad. It’s just true.”

“It could be. But I believe you. I think it’s the last time I was really happy too.”

“Really?”

“Depends? Did I pretend to understand baseball between our last antiquing trip and moving?”

“No. You moved in the off season.”

“Then really. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been fine. I love work. I love writing. I love the city. But I like everything more with you. Even if you’re a jock.”

“I thought I was happy before you. But I wasn’t.”

“You have to take me home first so I can get ready.”

“Deal.” And that’s what found him in her living room while she got dressed. He wasn’t stupid; Dahlia was the same as she’d always been, so he was waiting patiently as she brushed out her set curls and did her make up. She came back out in a pretty shirtdress, one he felt sure he’d found for her a long time ago, and keds, and Peter knew he’d do anything to get this back. The feeling of groundedness, that maybe they could be a team again, awe she was even agreeing to comfort him on any level.

She led him through new vintage shops now. They were in a whole new state after all. He decided that maybe baseball methods didn’t work, and he talked to Dahlia. This time he really talked though. He’d brushed over stories about his father and Pam. He didn’t like the bad ones or the feelings they could bring up. Besides, Ben Stone was a saint, didn’t you know? Peter hadn’t ever been talk about his father, so he kept that habit up with Dahlia the first time. He also told her the truth. He’d panicked over marrying her because she was his first real girlfriend and the prospect of settling down and having her grow to hate him like his mother had his father scared him. That one was a revelation to her.

He’d basically moved in with her a month after their outing to go antiquing. She preferred their old furniture and her vintage collection. Besides, Peter, I have a built in vanity here! The engagement photo in the park was replaced on his desk a year later. It showed them now in a different park in a different city with different lives to the ones so long ago. They also had different methods of communication, meaning they’d weathered fights as they adjusted to things again. The same ring was on display, however, and the same smile was plastered on Peter’s face as Dahlia pressed a kiss to his cheek.

#thatesqcrushFriends #peter stone x reader #peter stone #peter stonex oc #law and order #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit

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merakiaes · 4 years

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Comfortable - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: This is really quick and really shitty, I’m sorry😭 I’ve been really stressed lately and it’s ruining my ability to concentrate and work creatively </3 But I hope you like it anyway, let me know what you think. Not proofread, and Spanish translations at the end.

Wordcount: 2952

Summary: A part two to ‘Pussy Whipped’. You’re on your period, grumpy and really easily vexed, and Oscar makes sure you’re comfortable.

After Oscar went out to do whatever Cuchillos had him and the Santos doing this time, you went back to bed and fired up some Netflix on your laptop in the wait of your boyfriend’s return.

Runs like these usually took between one and two hours, sometimes more and sometimes less, but never longer than three hours. So you waited, for your boyfriend to return home to cuddle you and provide you with the food you had been craving ever since waking up.

One hour passed, two hours passed, and you began coming to terms with the fact that this was one of the odd jobs that were going to take longer than usual.

The movie you had been watching was over in an hour and fifty-three minutes, and the heating pad you had brought with you to the bedroom was turning cold and not providing you with much comfort anymore.

Unfortunately, your abdomen was cramping too much for you to be able to stand up properly so you couldn’t be bothered to get up and reheat it, instead just closing your laptop and falling asleep, expecting Oscar to wake you up when the time did come that he got back home.

That, however, did not turn out to be the case.

Rather than waking up to the gentle touch of your loving man, you woke up to a not-so-gracious thud against the wall over your head, followed by loud laughing and noisy ruckus coming from the kitchen, sounding an awful lot like your kitchen cabinets were being rummaged through.

The mere sound of the repetitive thudding against the wall was enough to make your blood bubble with the already existing annoyance that seemed to constantly follow you around wherever you went whenever you were on your monthlies.

And that irritation only increased when you properly came to it after your nap and realized that the bedroom door was still closed, just like you left it, meaning Oscar hadn’t even been in to check up on you.

If he had, the door wouldn’t have been fully closed; he always left a small gap open behind him.

It would have been okay if he hadn’t been home, but with the way the boys were calling out for him from the kitchen, you knew for a fact that he was and it made you pissed because you knew that he knew exactly what you wanted at times like this, and he wasn’t there giving it to you.

Grumbling sourly under your breath, you pulled yourself out of the warm bed, pushing the pain radiating from your abdomen away to your absolute best ability and heading out into the hallway.

The headache you’d thought was gone returned in a sharp jab in your head the second you stepped out of the dark bedroom and into the sunlit hallway, which did nothing to calm your annoyance.

By now, the voices that had sounded from the kitchen a minute ago were instead speaking from outside where you from a glance through the living room window could make out Oscar and the Santos chilling on the lawn like any other day.

Throwing a glance to the clock ticking away in the dining area of the open space, the pointers were showing twenty minutes past four in the afternoon.

That meant you had been asleep for well over two and a half hours, and who knew how long Oscar had been home throughout that time, without even coming to check up on you.

You scoffed, shaking your head, and before you could even process your own actions, you had marched over to the front door, ripped it open and stepped out onto the porch.

No one even seemed to notice you, Oscar sitting with his back to you in the sofa on the lawn and everyone too busy either drinking or checking out their own muscles to know what was going on around them.

The sight was one you saw every day, and yet on this particular day, it caused you to want nothing more than for them all to go away.

So like the grumpy party-pooper you were, you walked right up to the boombox that was placed on the wall of the porch, singing out some Spanish song, and hit the OFF button with one quick motion of your finger.

Only then did all of them turn to look at you, finally noticing your presence where you stood at the head of the porch steps with your arms crossed over your chest and your face pulled into a fierce glare.

“Buenos días, la Bella Durmiente.” Sad Eyes was the first one to speak up with a playful smirk, watching you from his seat beside Oscar on the armrest of the sofa.

All of their eyes were squinted in order to see you through the bright rays of sunshine shining right down at them, but your eyes were fine with the ceiling of the porch protecting you from the sun, allowing you to glare harshly at each and every one of them.

“Nice bedhead.” One of the older Santos pointed out before you got the chance to say anything, sending the rest of them into a fit of chuckles.

Your eyes automatically flickered to Oscar, watching as he raised his eyebrows at the comment and raised his bottle of beer to his lips in an attempt to hide his smirk. But the way his body was shaking with coughs gave him away immediately, only causing you to get even angrier.

Your hands instantly flew up to your hair to pull at the hairband holding your hair up in a very messy bun, putting it back on your wrist while ruffling your locks as you stepped down the porch.

“What’s the matter with you?” You called out to all of them as you approached them, their eyes trailing after you.

You stopped by the closest Santo and grabbed the weight he was holding just in the middle of a curl, dropping it back to the ground and completely ignoring the annoyed look crossing over his face as you moved on to the next person and repeating your previous actions.

Once all of them were relieved of their weights, you moved on to the sofa where the rest of them were sitting around, wasting no time in starting to grab the bottles of beers from their hands while scolding them.

“All you do is sit around in this nasty ass couch all day, lifting weights and getting drunk from the early hours. Haven’t you got your own houses to hang around?” You questioned, grabbing Sad Eyes’ beer just as he was about to take a sip. “Are you homeless? Or why do you insist on being on Spooky’s ass all day, every day? You’re grown men, for fuck’s sake, get a life. Go on, dip.”

Now balancing six bottles of beer in your hands and arms, you waved your hand to your best ability as a sign for them to fuck off.

They wasted no time in doing as told, getting out of their seats while grumbling under their breaths. They weren’t happy to be bossed around like this, but at the same time, they had learned a long time ago that they did not want to be in the line of your fury.

Sad Eyes gave you an amused smirk but stood up, too, bumping Oscar’s fist and squeezing your shoulder as he moved around you and in the direction of his car.

Oscar, himself, didn’t move a muscle, simply watching you boss his boys around angrily with a proud and amused smirk playing on his lips while sipping on his beer.

As he was about to take another sip, however, your hand shot out and ripped the bottle right out of his hand, and before he could even think about protesting, you had walked over to the trash can at the side of the porch and dumped all of the bottles in.

Without as much of a glance backward, you then stomped up the porch steps and back inside, leaving the front door open and plopping down on the livingroom sofa bitterly.

You listened as Oscar chuckled outside, followed by the sound of his feet dragging over the pavement path to the porch, and a second later, he was walking inside and closing the door softly behind him.

You kept your eyes set on the black screen of the TV, feeling his amused stare burn into the side of your face.

With another chuckle, he wordlessly walked into the kitchen and without turning your eyes away from the flatscreen, you could hear him opening a cabinet and rummage through something plastic.

You then heard him close the cabinet back up, the sound of the fridge opening and closing following shortly after, along with the ‘psst’ sound of a beer bottle being opened.

You rolled your eyes at the latter, but you didn’t get much time to think about it before he re-entered the living room and walked over to you at the couch, flicking on the TV on his way.

“Move over.” He told you and nudged your legs that were spread out over the couch, and you finally allowed yourself to look up at him, seeing that he was now holding a fresh bottle of beer and a bar of the chocolate he had promised to bring back for you before he left earlier.

The sight of the sweet, chocolatey goodness instantly made your anger decrease, causing you to move your legs away from the couch to allow him to sit down.

“When did you get home?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched the re-run of ‘How I Met Your Mother’ now playing on the TV.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you caught him throwing a glance at the clock on the wall. “Half past two.” He replied simply, taking a gulp of his beer before setting it down on the coffee table and leaning back into the sofa, getting comfortable.

You scoffed, quickly doing the math in your head and figuring out that this meant he’d gotten home not long after you’d fallen asleep, and been home for two hours without waking you up.

He took one look at you from the side and immediately understood what you were thinking, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. “I didn’t want to wake you up, figured you needed the sleep.”

You pouted, turning to look at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“I didn’t want to sleep. I only did because I got bored while waiting for you.” You whined lightly, touching the hem of his tank top and looking up at him through your lashes. “I wanted to be with you.”

He chuckled at you, bending his head down to kiss your temple. “I’m here now, mamas. Bring your grumpy ass here.” He said, attempting to pull you closer.

You rolled your eyes, but nonetheless you moved into his side, cuddling up to him and sighing in contentment at the feeling of his warm hand resting on your bare upper arm.

He wordlessly reached around you to grab the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa and unfolded it with his free hand, pulling it over the two of you before leaning forward to grab the bar of chocolate and his beer from the table.

While balancing the bottle between his thighs, he broke open the plastic of the chocolate and broke off a piece, which you gratefully accepted despite still being annoyed for no apparent reason.

“You could’ve at least checked in on me, you know.” You pointed out as you took a bite, the anger slowly starting to melt off the more comfortable you got at his side.

His feet kicked up on the coffee table in front of the sofa and he sipped at his beer while his hand rubbed small, warm circles on your arm. “I did.” He mumbled lowly, both of your eyes stuck on the TV even though neither of you were watching the show that was on.

“No, you didn’t. The door was closed.” You grumbled, your face pulling into a glare again.

“I closed it.” He answered, and you turned your head to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You?” You asked. “You closed a door?”

Chuckling, he leaned down to press a light, quick kiss to your lips, mumbling against them. “The homies were being loud. Like I said, I wanted to let you sleep.”

At this, you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, the remaining anger melting right off and your body turning warm with contentment instead.

You shared another few kisses, Oscar clearly savoring the taste of the chocolate with the way he was humming quietly and his tongue was poking out of his lips ever so slightly.

His cheeky antics brought a chuckle from your lips and he broke apart at that, rubbing his forehead against yours playfully, smiling when it made you crack another laugh.

“The cramps gone?” He questioned, his thumb still rubbing your arms.

Only then you became aware of the pain jabbing you in your abdomen again, your face instantly pulling into a distasteful frown. “No.”

He hummed, and moved his hand down from your arm to your stomach, where he moved his fingers underneath your shirt and began rubbing slow, soft circles over your abdomen.

You instantly relaxed at the feeling, your head lulling against his chest and your legs pulling up over his lap on the couch. He pressed one kiss to your temple, and then another and then a third, all while holding the remote out toward the TV and switching channels.

Netflix popped up on the screen and he nodded to the TV, looking down at you questionably. “Clueless?” He asked, and you instantly smiled up at him,

“You know me well, baby.” You raised your head up to capture his lips in another, longer kiss, rubbing your hands over his chest.

When you broke apart, he leaned his head down and pressed a kiss to your neck.

“I know I do.” He mused, looking back up and turning his attention back to the TV where he typed in the name of the movie and wasted no time in putting it on, rewinding it to the start after the other countless times you’d force him to sit through it.

Once the movie was playing, he put the remote on the armrest of the couch beside him and took his beer from between his thighs, bringing it up to his lips while you continued nibbling on the chocolate.

While you stared at the screen concentratedly, he gazed at you from above, admiring every feature of your face and feeling amused at how easily pleased you really were.

You liked to convince yourself and everyone else otherwise, but he knew you like the back of his own hand and therefore knew exactly how to make you happy, and it didn’t take much.

As long as he was there, you would get happy by pretty much anything; even something as small as a bar of chocolate, belly rubs and your favorite movie when you were on your period.

Feeling his stare burning into the side of your face, you glanced away from the movie to look up at him, your glare now long gone and instead replaced with a wide-eyed, content expression.

“What?” You asked, clueless as to why he was watching you with such a soft expression. But it still didn’t fail to cause a flutter of butterfly to spread through your body.

He smiled at you, raising his thumb to your lip to rub some chocolate off. You watched with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile as he brought the thumb up to his face and put it in his mouth, and then, he took your face in his hand and pulled you into a kiss.

Your fingers automatically wrapped around the fabric of his tank top, your lips smiling against his as they moved together.

He tasted bitterly, of beer and cigarettes, two things you didn’t necessarily enjoy separately. But still, it was the most delicious taste you knew, blending together with the chocolate still on your lips.

You broke apart for a brief second but he quickly latched his lips onto yours for another quick kiss, before finally pulling back to allow you to breathe.

His thumb caressed your cheek and his eyes searched yours, lips pulled into a fond smile.

“Te quiero, gruñona.” He told you, Spanish words tumbling out of lips so easily it was as if they were the only words he’d ever known.

The first two caused your face to break out into a large smile, but the last one automatically caused you to shoot a hand out to slap his chest.

“Watch it.” You mused, chuckling, and he chuckled with you, grabbing your wrist to protect himself from any possible eventual hits.

His chest shook with laughter under your touch and you smiled, adoring the way he always let his guard down when you were alone.

Moving your hand up from his chest to his face, you cradled his cheek, pressing your forehead against his.

“I love you, too.” You answered and as his chuckling died down, you pressed your lips to his in another kiss before the two of you cuddled up to each other and turned your attention to the movie playing in front of you, his hand returning to rubbing soothing circles on your stomach until the pain was completely gone, and your foul mood with it.

He may have been a fearless gang leader that constantly needed to assert his dominance, but there was nothing in the world that would keep him from making sure you were comfortable.

Translations (I’m not a native Spanish speaker so this might not be a hundred percent accurate):

Buenos días, la Bella Durmiente – Good morning, Sleeping Beauty

Te quiero, gruñona – I love you, grumpy

Tagged: @babienay @firebenderwolf @fairygardenss @moanlightbaby @dolanackles @marvelously-flawed @jazzwhitlockhale @spookysnena @joyrivh @socialistavocado @clemmingstylins0n @chaneajoyyy @ugh-jalynn @turn-diamonds-into-snow @bxmaaa @shadow-of-wonder

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moon-stars01 · 3 years

Text

-A Song For You-

Woozi x Reader

Author:nari97

Summary:Woozi is having trouble writing a song,but your there to remind him of what he’s capable of.

Pairing:Woozi(Svt) x Reader

Gene:fluff,cute

Rating:General Audiences

Word Count:2431

•A Song For You•

A yawn escaped your lips as you lifted your arm up above your head; your legs stretching out along the length of your sofa as you lazed back against the armrest. Today was a relaxing day, and you were relishing in the peaceful quiet that engulfed your living room as your eyes scanned the words in your favorite book. You had just gotten to the climax of the story – and although you already knew what was going to happen, you found yourself getting lost in the action once again. You were so entranced by the story, in fact, that you failed to notice the other presence that had made its way into the room. It wasn’t until you heard a heavy sigh resounding from the kitchen that you finally tore your gaze from the pages.

As you sat up and peaked over the top of your sofa, you were met with the sight of your boyfriend hovering over the counter – hands resting on the edge of the cool countertop and his head lazily hanging down. A small smile danced across your lips as you took in the sight, but it soon fell upon realizing how visibly tense he was.

“Woozi” you called; a guilty grin crawling across your features when he slowly lifted his head. Dark circles rested below his eyes, and his hair was a tangled mess – which you could only assume was due to the countless times he had frustratingly ran his fingers through it. A small smile appeared on your boyfriend’s lips when he met your eyes, and you placed your book down on the table next to you before standing up and navigating through your main room. As you made your way over to him, he pushed himself away from the edge of the counter and held his arms out. You willingly let him wrap his arms around your waist as you pulled him into a big hug – your fingers trailing up to play with his disheveled locks.

“You work too hard,” you mumbled, but he only groaned in response.Woozi had only been home for a few days, and he had spent most of it cooped up in your shared bedroom. He had promised himself that he was going to sit down and write a song, but the task was turning out to be more difficult than he had initially predicted. After another moment, Woozi pulled away from you, and you took that split second to place your hand on the side of his face. A content sigh sounded from your boyfriend as he leaned into your touch – his eyes closing when he felt your thumb started slowly stroking circles along his cheek. He began to hum lowly as his head pressed harder against your palm, but you pulled away all too soon - causing him to pout.

“Woozie, you’re going to fall asleep standing up,” you giggled. A dopey grin spread across Woozi’s lips as he slowly opened his eyes once again, and you took this moment to poke the end of his nose. His face scrunched up at your action, and you let another giggle slip past your lips.

“You need to rest,” you sighed, “you’re way too tired to do anything – let alone write a song.” Woozi exhaled deeply; his head lolling back to look up at the ceiling.

“If I don’t finish this by the end of the week, I’ll get scolded for it.” His voice was hoarse from not speaking for hours, and you felt a tingle run up your spine at the sound of his sonorous tone.

“Why don’t you let me help you?” you suggested, but Woozi immediately began shaking his head. He let his head fall forward again to meet your gaze.

“This is for me to worry about,” he replied, “not you.” His words were stern, but you could clearly hear his resolve fading away.

“Come on,” you sang, “at least let me give you suggestions. Then you at least have something, right?” Woozi narrowed his eyes at you, causing you to rustle his long, curly locks in return.

“It’s only Tuesday, baby,” you continued, “stop stressing yourself out too much.” Unfortunately for you, Wozzi was stubborn as a rock, and he refused to budge. He continued to stare at you with the same disapproving look on his face; arms hanging lazily at his sides while he struggled to stay awake. You supposed desperate times called for desperate measures, regardless of how much you hated your plan.

“Oppa,” you cooed suddenly. Woozi's eyes widened slightly at your sudden use of the word, but he was still persistent. Bringing your hands up to cross over your chest, you lightly stomped your feet.

“Let me help you, oppa,” you whined, and you could have sworn you saw Woozi fighting a smile. With every ounce of dignity that you had left, you widened your eyes and jut your bottom lip out into a huge pout, and that was the last thing you needed to do for Woozi to begin beaming from ear to ear.

“Fine,” he chortled, “but only suggestions, alright?” You nodded fervently as you grabbed his hand and led him towards your bedroom; giggles erupting from both of you as you jogged down the hall.

To say writing a song is difficult is an understatement. You and Woozi had spent hours huddled over the small corner desk in your room before he threw his hands in the air - pencil landing on the desk in front of you.

“This is impossible,” he groaned. His hands came up to slide down his face as he sighed heavily.

“No, it isn’t,” you reassured, “I know you can do this Woozie. Write about what you know.” Woozi glanced over at you with an annoyed look on his face.

“I know a lot, love,” he retorted, “the problem is narrowing it down.” You hummed as he let out another sigh; mind searching for any answer to his predicament.

“Maybe you just need a new point of view,” you said. Woozi raised a quizzical brow at you, causing you to hold up a finger in response.

“Give me a minute,” you went on, “I’m thinking.” A slight chuckle sounded from Woozi as he watched you rack your brain for answers.

“A-ha!” you exclaimed after a few silent seconds, causing woozi to nearly fall out of his chair. You shot him an apologetic grin before getting up out of your chair and heading for the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” he called, but you only shushed him in response as you skipped down the hallway. You had an idea, and it had to work.

Once you arrived in the main room of your apartment, you looked around for things that Woozi loved. Anything from music to art to large hoodies were thrown into a basket that you had retrieved from under your couch-side table. With a cup of steamy hot cocoa stacked to the brim with marshmallows and a proud smile on your lips, you headed back to the bedroom.

Woozi looked up from the empty sheet music in front of him when he heard you re-enter the room, and a grin spread enveloped his features at the sight of the hot cocoa in your hand.

“Now,” you began, “we’re going to talk about what you love.” Woozi looked at you in confusion briefly, but the grin that was there previously reappeared when you handed him the cup of hot cocoa.

“You always write better when you’re writing about things you love or things you feel,” you stated, “so let’s start with some material items.” You reached into the basket and fished out the large hoodie that you had grabbed from the back of your couch. You extended your hand to take the warm drink from Woozi’s hands – causing him to pout in the process – and then beckoned him to stand up. You stood on your tippy-toes to pull the cozy material over his arms and cover his white t-shirt.

“There,” you smiled, “now you’re comfy.” You reached into the basket once again and pulled out a small picture frame. Inside the frame was a small portrait of you that Woozi had painted, bringing back a plethora of memories. Regardless of Woozi’s protests at the time, you had insisted on getting it framed, and he finally gave in after weeks of begging.

“Look at how talented and creative you are, Baby,” you beamed. Woozi’s cheeks burned a bright red as he looked at the portrait in your hands.

“I still don’t think it’s that good,” he murmured, but you were quick to shoot him an offended glare.

“I think it’s amazing, and I refuse to have my portrait painted by anyone else other than Vincent Van Gogh’s apprentice himself.” Woozi smiled as he picked up the discarded mug and took another sip of hot cocoa. You placed the portrait down on the desk beside you two and reached back into the basket, knowing that the next item was something you treasured dearly. You carefully pulled out a copy of Seventeen’s album, 'An Ode,' and attached to it was a copy of the lyrics for 'Second life .'

“Look at this masterpiece,” you sighed, “you worked so hard, and it was worth it. You truly do deserve all of your success, Baby.” Tears began to well in Woozi’s eyes at your words, but it wasn’t until he saw the final item that you had brought that caused them to spill. When you pulled a red envelope out of the basket, Woozi immediately recognized it as the love letter he had written you two years ago. You smiled warmly as you opened the letter, and your heart swelled when you were once again met with the mess of curves and lines that Woozi had written on the page.

“You have such a way with words,” you whispered, “Woozi, I read this every night.” Woozi’s jaw fell agape at your sudden confession - much to your amusement.

“Really?” he asked; voice barely above a whisper. You nodded as you felt tears start to brim your own eyes, and before you could continue to talk about how amazing your boyfriend was, he placed the mug of hot cocoa back down on the desk and pulled you into a huge hug. You heard him choke out a sob as you held him tighter, and you let a few of your own tears spill.

“I know what I’m going to write about,” Woozi mumbled into your shoulder, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you.

“I’m glad,” you responded. He held you as tight as he could for a brief moment before letting go; a teary giggle slipping past his lips as he brought his hands up to wipe away the access tears on his face.

“Go back to reading,” he smiled, “I’ll be out soon.” You responded with a small nod before rustling the locks atop of his head once again, and then left him to his work.

Just as he had said, Woozi emerged from the bedroom a few hours later. This time, however, he was carrying a few sheets of staff paper in his hands, and you were overjoyed to notice that there were music notes plastered all over them. Woozi didn’t say a word as he walked up and grabbed your hand, and within a few moments, you two had ended up at the keyboard that sat on the other side of the main room.

“Sit,” Woozi commanded, and you did as he said; a small laugh escaping you when he tried to organize the sheets along the stand.

“I took some of the English words that you suggested and put them in so that it would flow better,” he said. You couldn’t help but notice that the tension that rested in his shoulders before had vanished, and he was smiling so wide that you thought his jaw might break. You felt your heart speed up as you watched him try and rearrange his space; your eyes filled with curiosity and wonderment. Soon enough, Woozi sat on the piano bench next to you, and he shot you a small smile before his fingers began to play the first set of chords.

Woozi’s song started off slow, but it eventually evolved into an emotional ballad. By the time he had finished playing it, you couldn’t stop the tears that streamed down your cheeks as you replayed his words over and over in your head. The song told of a boy who loved little things like large hoodies, art, and music, but most of all he loved the girl that reminded him that the little things were always there to remind us of how much we love the bigger things. He had poured his heart and soul into his work, and you could feel the pride radiating off of him. You remained silent as you watched his hands lift off the keyboard, and when you didn’t say anything for a few moments, the expression on woozi’s face turned to one of worry.

“Do you like it?” he asked; voice quiet and nervous. You brought your hands up to wipe away at the tears under your eyes and let out a choked laugh as you looked up at him.

“I love it,” you responded, “and I love you. So much.” Woozi smiled warmly at you before taking his thumb and stroking way the stray tears that had poured down your cheeks.

“I love you too,” he whispered. He then leaned in and placed his lips against yours, and you swore that you could feel all the love and passion behind his sudden display of affection. When he broke away, you gazed into his chocolate eyes and placed another longing kiss on his lips, trying to pour every emotion you were feeling into it as you gripped the hem of his hoodie. He smiled at you as he pulled away and wrapped an arm around your waist, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder as he hummed his new song to you. It was moments like these that made you feel like you and woozi were meant to be; coexisting as two souls who refused to be torn apart, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#woozi scenarios #svt woozi #woozi x reader #woozi fluff #seventeen fanfic #kpop #stories

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nad-zeta · 4 years

Text

Match up ☀

Hello! I am a new follower and I really like your sengoku work and matchups and would like to request one! I am a proud Leo and I look like one too with long blonde hair, curious big green eyes, short and tiny ready to pounce. Cat in human form really. At first I am very outgoing and passionately outspoken, but tend to be very introverted with my feelings due to past trauma. I am intelligent and feisty but very easy to irritate, annoy, tease, and also sometimes high maintenance that someone has to have the ability to bite back and tame. My group is very small, and to those I love I tend to be more relaxed and let my feelings/ideas run freely. I enjoy deep connection, equality, and intimacy with my partners and never say no to a cuddle session. In my free time or with friends: I love music, dancing, eating(I love food lol) and tend to get lost in my hobbies such as reading, painting, video gaming, exploring/hiking, and puzzles. I have a hard exterior like a scorpion but once you get to know me I’m a snuggly goof ball who just wants to hang and listen to music. Thank you, and I hope you are safe in this craziness right now!

Hi, there love! I hope you are doing well! Welcome to my random blog, so happy you are here, lol! And thanx for the request! And don’t stress about all the information, the more, the better, makes the creative process easier! Anyways without further ado…….

So I match you with…………………………. Masamune

Can I just say the first time Masamune saw you, his good eye gleamed with delight. Finally, someone fun to keep him company instead of all these boring old sticklers for the rules. He couldn’t help but think you look just like a cute, feisty little kitten ready to pounce, and boy oh boy did he want to get to know you. He practically sprinted to where you were sitting in the audience hall once the war council was over and you were announced to be the new chatelaine. He loved how outspoken and fearless you were, even holding your own against the great Nobunaga. Masamune joined in with Mitsuhide’s teasings, it seemed like Mitsuhide had also spotted your big green curious eyes from across the room and was now just as intrigued as Masamune. The more the teasing went on, the feistier you got. Masamune couldn’t help but give you his brightest smile, you were really going to be a lot of fun.

As is the standard procedure for Masamune; even though you were amusing to him, he had to put his duty above his feelings. So that night, he greeted you with a sword to the throat. You legit started scolding him, like what the actual hell. Masamune was a little shook; usually, when he pulled this trick, people would be running for the hills and confessing their every sin to him. Yet here you were telling him what a dumb ass he was. He put the sword away, and you told him exactly who you were. Honestly, if he didn’t believe you, that was his problem. Masamune was shook for a second time. You had shown him undeniable evidence. He simply smiled at you, “Welcome to the past, feisty kitten. Let’s be friends”. It was now your turn to be shocked, this dude who was going to kill you seconds prior wanted to be your friend? Jip, he is definitely crazy, but you couldn’t help but smile, he was definitely going to keep things entertaining.

The next day you got your first task from Nobunaga, and that was to deliver letters to all the warlords. You made your way to Ieyasu’s manor first and was greeted by him throwing a wooden sword your way. “Look, I didn’t challenge you, but if it’s a fight you want, then I’m more than happy to give it my all.” THB, you had so much fun sword fighting with the blonde porcupine. You obviously didn’t know what you were doing, so Ieyasu rolled his eyes and showed you some moves. Once you were done, you smiled and left him to his work. You were now on your way to the next manor.

Oh, great its Hideyoshi’s manor. You honestly were a little wary of him, this boy looked like he wanted you dead. You walked into his room to see the angel Mitsunari reading a book. You felt yourself relax a little after seeing Mitsunari. You tried to get his attention only to be startled by Hideyoshi walking in behind you. He gave you a pat on the head and apologized for scaring you. You gave him both the letters, and he invited you to stay for tea, considering Mitsunari was too far gone to be a good company. You were a little confused but curious. Hideyoshi brought out some snacks courtesy of Masa, which you without a second thought started chomping down on. After that, you were cleared of all suspicions, no assassin would just eat food so carelessly. Hideyoshi gave you a mini-lecture about accepting food from strangers and you got to see the true doting Masayoshi come out. The two of you sat and chatted a while finishing up the food. Hideyoshi truly was a mother hen as he even gave you snacks for the road on your way out.

The next manor on your list was Mitsuhide. You walked in his manor to see him scolding a tiger cub for scratching his wooden work desk to bits. You couldn’t help but laugh. When the tiger heard you enter into the room, it pounced into your arms, and you fell back onto your rear. It was now Mitsuhide’s turn to laugh “Instant karma, my dear little mouse.” You delivered the letter to Mitsuhide and got teased for a good 20 minutes before you were on your way to the final manor.

Honestly, this whole day had seemed a bit strange, but you shrugged it off and walked into Masamune’s manor. You were greeted by the entire household staff lined up from the entrance of the manor, all the way up to Masamune’s room. You were a bit creeped out, so you closed the front door and went in the back. Needless to say, Masamune didn’t expect you to sneak up on him through the back door bypassing all his staff members. He laughed at the crafty kitten. You sat on the floor tired from all the adventures of the day and started playing with the tiger cub. Masamune saw you were feeling low on energy, so he brought out some of his famous dumplings. You happily munched down on them. And that is how your daily visits to Masamune’s manor started

You worked super hard, and the castle staff loved the vibrant energy you brought to your work and the room. You were extremely intelligent and often coming up with new faster ways to do the jobs. Your boundless energy and fun-loving nature made every maid in the castle want to work with you, cause you would somehow just turn the most boring jobs into the funniest games.

Masamune would always pull you away from your work to take you on new adventures with him, exploring new places and hiking up mountains. When the two of you are together, it’s always a good time filled with laughs and fun. Like that one time, you and Masamune decided to cook together, something as simple as cooking turned into a full-blown performance with you two goofballs. The two of you were singing and dancing and just having the best time playfully throwing flour at each other. Well, it was a good time until Mother Dearest walked past and saw the mess the two of you were making. At this point, Masamune was head over heels for you, and things were starting to get serious.

The one-eyed dragon decided to confess his feeling for you. The two of you loved building big puzzles together. So, one day Masamune invited you over to build a 5000-piece puzzle with him. The two of you spent weeks building it together, bickering playfully and sipping on tea like an old married couple. Until one day, the puzzle was complete Masamune allowed you the honor of placing the last piece in place. You stood back to see that the puzzle had been a hand-painted picture of two cute tigers playing in the garden with a poem inscribes on the side

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken…;”

You were so happy you legit pounce him and started kissing his face all over! The two of you make the wildest funniest couple. Always having fun going on some or other adventure. Masamune, like you, also has some past traumas and keeps his feelings deep down, so the two of you slowly open up to each other and help the other grow and heal. When Masamune told you about his dad, you couldn’t help but cry his unshed tears after all his pain was now your pain. He would usually just hug you tight and kiss your pulse point thanking the universe for bringing such an amazing person into his life.

At this point it’s safe to say the tiger has managed to tame the kitten and vice versa. The two of you sweet goofballs can often be found chilling together in Masamune’s room. You would read or paint, while Masamune would work. You loved that you and masa still had your independence and that he wasn’t super clingy. And Masamune loved his soft little kitten and would find any, and every excuse to cuddle and snuggle you, whether it’s out in public or alone in private Masamune, will shower you with love. Masamune’s absolute favorite is just to spend a quiet evening with his kitten snuggled in his arms

Other potential matches……………….. Mitsuhide

So check out the poem if you don’t already know it! Its Shakespeare sonnet 116, legit one of my favs! @iotona

#ikesen masamune #masamune date #ikemen sengoku masamune #match ups #ikesen matchup #masamune matchup #matchups #submission

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fmdjaewonarchive · 4 years

Text

► ‘our songs’ audition.

date(s): 20 july 2020 mentions of: jiah, ash, andy & sooyeon (all briefly namedropped) word count: 1617 warnings: n/a details: jaewon decides to audition for ‘our songs’ and somehow, manages to already stress himself out before the show has even begun. he also covers ‘q’ by onewe (note: the original version of the song features hwasa but this stage was my main reference point for this)

it’s not that jaewon has been putting this off but that’s exactly what he has been doing. which, truly, is stupid. he’s the one that decided he wanted to sign himself up from this, it’s one of the very few things in his idol schedule that he gets to weigh in on.

unlike his own music these days.

oh right, that’s why he’s been so stressed about this. dimensions entertainment had kickstarted his 2020 with a big fuck you and the announcement that they’d be taking away his creative freedom for something that would hopefully be more… lucrative than his own work. and their strategy had been proven effective, the sheer commercial success of fiancé has been a thorn in his side, a constant mocking reminder that maybe, jaewon doesn’t know shit about making music after all.

it has also only solidified dimensions position meaning that truly, jaewon could write any creative freedom apart from the odd co-writing jobs for unity and songs he featured on goodbye.

until our songs came along.

sure, the company hasn’t said it in that many words, nowhere has jaewon actually gotten the confirmation that maybe, if he does well on this, they’ll consider letting him weigh in on his own solo work again. but hey, there surely is no harm in taking some initiative right?

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

which circles right back to where jaewon is right now, in the home studio of his and soo’s apartment at some awfully late hour at night -because apparently his brain does not function during common office hours- to sit down and record this video for once and for all.

(for the 5th time this week but really, who is keeping count).

jaewon is glad he’s in a space so familiar to him as his own home, it takes away just a little bit of the stress and if he tries hard enough, he might even be able to forget just how much he has riding on this already, a pressure that for some forsaken reason he’s put on this all by himself.

he turns on the camera before leaning back into the office chair. it might look relaxed almost but anyone that knows jaewon also knows that the pen he’s twirling in his left hand is to keep the nerves at bay. luckily enough he can pass it off as a means of concentration for now.

the questions are displayed on the monitor of his computer in such way that jaewon can read them without having to make an obvious effort to lean forward. he has no answers written down but truly, he has mulled over these questions for so long by now that there is no need for that anyway. jaewon knows what he wants to say and he knows himself well enough that he can’t truly rehearse those words without sounding stiff and insincere.

“what inspires me to write songs?” he allows a brief silence to settle, a light frown on his face. “i’m not the best with words, not when i have to say them at least. i’ve always had struggles communicating, i just kinda… froze up. writing has helped a lot with that, it’s made it easier for me to put my feelings into words and to get messages across i wouldn’t have been able to get past my lips otherwise. i’ve written songs about difficult subjects in the past and hearing back from people that those resonate with them has really been keeping me motivated to keep pushing the bar further for myself, even if it’s a little hard sometimes.”

“what is my favorite song that i worked on... that’s kinda impossible to answer. i’ve been very fortunate to release quite some music already and to work with a lot of really talented artists. they’re all very different songs too so it’s hard to compare them so i don’t think there is really one ultimate favorite. if i had to name a few though-” he let his voice trail off for a second. “i collab earlier this year on we don’t talk together, i really enjoyed that song and working on that, i think it turned out well. oh and i got to feature and work on jiah-sunbaenim’s easy which has been released recently. i don’t get to take too much credit for that one though, taeyong-sunbaenim worked on that too.” his free hand moved to rest under his chin. “if i’m thinking about my solo work though i’d probably have to say am 4.44 and rebirth, both from my biorhythm album.” jaewon didn’t know if it was necessary to name what album they were from, especially since he hadn’t gotten to write a single word on love language but it would have to do for now. “i think those two are kinda a package deal for me? am 4.44 is about a pretty low point in my life, just mentally and all and rebirth is kind of the process of recovery from that.”

“songwriters i look up to? i worked with a lot of people and they all brought their own strengths to the table, all of those experiences have been very useful and incredibly pleasant.” he nods absent-mindedly. “i’d say i look up andy-sunbaenim, i got to work with him twice, on both bermuda triangle and on his latest album, i really like his style, i feel like it’s a bit different from my own but i do think they go well together. i also admire sooyeon from wish a lot, she’s very talented at a very young age. she balances both wish’ style and her own very well i think, i have a lot of respect for that.”

“my goals as a songwriter? i think to continue to grow till i can hold my ground by myself amongst other songwriters. i’ve learned a lot from all the people i already worked like i said before but i don’t think i’m near their level yet. i want to reach the point where i can continuously put out high-quality songs for other artists. like, i know my own sound and songs that work well for me but i think the real skill is being able to write well for someone other people. i want to be able to do that someday.”

“what do i hope to achieve by participating on this show?” to tell dimensions to go fuck themselves, jaewon thinks bitterly. but he can’t say that, not now he’s supposed to be all camera friendly. “i want to prove myself. towards other people on the one hand of course, you know, get my name out there and show everything i’ve learned up until this point, show that i know what i’m doing.” and yes, of course, other people in this case could just as easily be replaced with dimensions entertainment but there was no hard evidence for that. not like anyone was aware of jaewon challenging his label, not even dimensions itself. “but also to prove myself towards me. i’ve been writing for a while now, mostly when i felt like it or when i had an idea stuck in my head. i want to push those boundaries, to write specific themes within specific timeframes instead of just on a whim. i think that’s an important step i have to take for myself.” jaewon nods firmly. if he didn’t know himself so well he could believe it looks confident even.

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

after he pauses the recording, the first thing jaewon does is roll his shoulders and let out a deep sigh. he’s definitely not an interview person he can’t help but think to himself, at least the worst part is over now.he takes a sip from the water bottle on his desk, letting his eyes fall shut for a second as he leans against his seat. just a brief moment of recovery before he forces himself back into action.

the interview might have been the worst part but he still has a cover to record.

first he gets up to retrieve the electric guitar they keep in their home studio, getting it plugged in and getting the microphone all set up, before pulling up the audio file from his desktop and hitting record on his camera.

there are some changes to the original song. after all, onewe is a band and q is not a rap song but jaewon toyed around with audio some, emphasizing on electronics of the backing track rather than the instruments. he has taken some liberties on expanding on the rap parts in the verses and together with the monotone, repetitive chorus it makes it sound so much more like a laidback hiphop song rather than the band song it was before.

another big change is made to the bridge. jaewon has taken out the vocals at the beginning of the instead opting to extend the guitar solo that follows. which is where the electric guitar on his lap comes in. admittedly, it’s a risky choice because while jaewon doesn’t have to worry about hitting notes he can’t reach, he also isn’t as gifted of a guitar player as he pretends to be. it works though, maybe it’s because he’s been practicing this particular riff until he could barely move his fingers and he has to admit, it sounds pretty good.

he finishes recording, switching the camera off nearly immediately after and then spends another hour rewatching both videos -the interview and the song cover- fixated on finding a fatal flaw, any reason to tank this whole idea and just not send in his audition for the show.

he doesn’t find it.

so instead he sends it in before finally calling it a night.

here goes nothing.

#fmdosaudition #*:･ﾟ♛– «filled with all these empty moments» // solos.#//listen i know i couldve just used a rap song for jaewon #//but somehow q as a chill rap song REALLY works in my head #//idk im running on 4 hours of sleep pls just believe me on this one #«our songs // era.»

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theswiftarmy · 4 years

Text

#17 – We Go Live In Five Hours!

Scene 17: The Microsoft Theater at L.A. Live - Downtown Los Angeles - Daytime, Interior – Twelve O’clock Noon exact on Sunday November Twenty-Fourth, Twenty-Nineteen.

FINAL DRESS REHERSAL FOR THE AMERICAN MUSIC AWARDS

TAYLOR SWIFT, POINT OF VIEW: Watches as the show director for the American Music Awards, Jeffery, tells the show’s stars sitting in audience seats that they must run the entire show from the top as a full dress rehearsal, again.

CHANGE CAMERA SHOT, we ZOOM in on Taylor Swift, slowly, panning from a full shot of the stage.

WRITER: Oh yeah, this is good stuff. I really should start writing this as a screenplay from here on out, so that way after Taylor Swift finds it and reads it, and then sends it over to her friends that made that “Cats” movie—and I am in turn contacted by Taylor herself along with a big time studio in Hollywood to get this masterpiece made into a movie, the screenplay will already be ready! And THEN I can be all like, hey Steven Spielberg, you want in on this? And he’ll be all like… “Cut it, print it, ship it, sell it, baby!” Or whatever snazzy jazzy lingo it is they use out in Hollywood—

EDITOR: Uh, I hate to break it to you, but this is never going to be a movie. Can we talk about this? First off, you’re never going to get all these people to agree to be IN a movie together in real life, what with the bad blood and all. Plus, you do know that’s just not how it works… The process of getting a movie made is so much more complicated than posting awkwardly written fan fiction online for your idol to stumble upon it and fawn all over your wordplay—

WRITER: Just trample on my dreams why don’t you?

EDITOR: I’m just telling it like it is! Dude, I’m not trying to let you down… But that’s not at all how Hollywood works! Plus, I doubt Taylor is ever going to even see this story, she’s REALLY busy these days and you tend to ramble on and on in some sections, you should definitely be a little more concise instead of meandering around making your point, but keep dreaming… Keep telling yourself: “Oh, look, Taylor Swift is going to find some random Tumblr novel about her and sit there reading the ENTIRE thing post by post completely captivated by your every word…” Because THAT’s realistic! Let me let you in on a little secret though, I don’t know how I feel about Taylor, I mean, have you read some of the stuff online about her? The gossip against her… Maybe you’re better off not capturing her attention… She could bad news my friend.

WRITER: Why don’t you go edit something?

EDITOR: Oh, yeah, because that’s a come back. Why don’t you go right something?

WRITER: AH-HA! See… And you call yourself an editor… don’t you mean WRITE something!?

EDITOR: No. I mean what I said, ‘right’ something—right a ship that’s sinking fast—right something that’s going wrong…. Like this story, that’s going nowhere fast.

PRODUCER: Ohhhhhh… Sick burn! Sick. Burn.

WRITER: Just leave me alone and stop crushing my dreams. I know it’s never going to be a movie, I know Taylor is never going to read it—you don’t think I know that? I know that… Just let me at least dream while I write this scene and stop being so mean.

EDITOR: Look at you, Mr. Poetic. Alright… I’m gonna go play some Xbox, call me when you’re done. Come on producer, I’ll let you pick the game. We’ll leave the writer to his “dreams”.

EDITOR AND PRODUCER EXIT STAGE LEFT, THEY LAUGH AS THEY SLAM THE DOOR SHUT, WRITER STARES OUT WINDOW WATCHING SNOW FALL, SAPPY MUSIC PLAYS. ZOOM IN ON WRITER FOR SHORT MONOLOGUE.

WRITER: If only I could make the Editor understand. I just don’t see things the way he does. I don’t see how a girl that makes such wonderful things, could be bad. Look at this story! Isn’t it neat? Wouldn’t you think it’s cool and complete? About a girl, a girl who has… Everything. A trove, of treasures untold! How many wonders can her song catalogue hold… Looking at her, well you’d think, sure, she’s got everything! She’s got catchy songs a plenty! She’s got singles and albums galore. You want music videos? SHE’S GOT TWENTY! But who cares, no big deal, she wants more. I want to be where Taylor’s people are… I want to sing and be there dancing! Hanging out with all her, what do you call them? Oh, Swifties. Being a fan of hers is cool and all but I want to do more than just jumping and dancing. I want the cameras rolling along with a catchy musical… What’s that word again? Oh yeah, beat… Up where they talk, up where it’s fun, up where they sing all day in the sun… Swiftie and free… Wish I could be, part of that world. What would I give, if I could make movies with Taylor… What would I pay, to spend a day part of Taylor Swift’s band … Bet you she’s grand and understands and doesn’t reprimand someone’s daughters. Bright young women, Swiftie women, taking a stand! And I’m ready to join with her, ready to go! Ask her a question, and get some answers… What’s her favorite cover song and how long did it take her to, what’s the word… Learn? When’s it my turn, to make a movie about love, a lover for sure, she is she’s a lover in love… As everyone can see… Sigh. Wish I could be, part of that world… Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s silly to dream. But what if Taylor never dared to follow her own dreams! If she never picked up a guitar or played a single note on the piano. What if she never tried at all, how many Swifties would be Swiftieless! How many lives has she positively impacted with her music, with her kind words, with her retweets and reblogs on Tumblr, with her fan photo hearts, her genuine heart… and all her creative works of art…

WRITER SIGHS. Writer continues tay-ping into the night on the computer keyboard…

“Everyone! We’re going to do it again. Because, right now? I can’t. I just can’t… I can’t even handle it. I can’t even look at it, I can’t even think about it, I can’t even say I can’t about it…”

“Calm down Jeff. Okay? Just breathe. We’re gonna get it right.”

“Carol… It’s just… Everything is mess. We go live at eight! EIGHT! They’re acting like it’s still tech week! WE GO LIVE AT EIGHT!!! And that’s New York time, which means we go live at FIVE here in L.A.”

“It’s okay. You’re stressing yourself too much.” Carol King stood on the stage with the director of the American Music Awards, Jeffery, attempting to reassure him. A stage manager also stood nearby for backup should Carol’s efforts go in vain.

“Those two crack me up.” Selena sat in the audience seat to the left of Taylor.

“Well, it does need to be perfect, Selena.” Taylor reminded her.

“Speak for yourselves, I’m already perfect, did you see me during Tik Tok… NAILED IT. And my new song… Oh HELL to the yeah.” Kesha kicked her feet up and put them on an empty seat just to the left of Selena.

“Watch it!” Selena said turning her head slightly. “I just had my hair done!”

Kesha wiggled her barefoot toes close to Selena Gomez, just inches from the new hair-doo, egging her on, Selena made a grossed out face shifting over in her seat closer to Taylor. Kesha sat up. “WAIT! You guys, I just had an idea!!! I should make a TikTok video, during Tik Tok!” Kesha impulsively yelled her idea immediately up to the stage, “JEFFY! Can I record a TikTok while I perform Tik Tok during my set?!”

“NO KESHA!” He shouted back from the stage.

“Way to ruin my dreams.” She said sulking back into her seat. “It’s my creative expression, I should be able to do whatever I want.” Kesha made a pouty face. She went back to trying to pretend to touch Selena’s hair with her toes.

“Taylor, I know it needs to be perfect, but he’s stressing out so much. KESHA! Stop, that’s soo gross.” She turned around and stuck her tongue out at Kesha. Kesha laughed then let up and moved her feet away. “Ugh… Poor guy. He practically runs this whole thing.” Selena sighed. “I mean yes, there’s a ton of other people behind the scenes, but it all falls on his shoulders.”

“EVERYONE!!! WE GO LIVE IN…” He looked at his watch, “FIVE hours. It’s NOON! The show starts at EIGHT Eastern Standard Time, which means we pull the curtain at FIVE O’CLOCK PACIFIC TIME!”

“We know Jeffery. Just chill out man. Jeffy you’re gonna get your pants in a Jeffy jiffy twisty.” Ozzy yelled in his Ozzy Osbourne voice from his seat as he turned and high fived Post Malone.

“Right on.” Post laughed, and then sipped his beer. “Just take it as it comes and carry on.” He toasted to the stage with his bottle of beer and then clinked glasses with Ozzy.

“Post! It’s only noon. How are you already drinking?” Lizzo said looking over two seats. “Also, did they open the bar yet or what? This girl gotta get her drink on too.”

“Nah, B-Y-O-B, they won’t serve until after the red carpet… You want one?” He opened a cooler with a six-pack of beer.

“Ummm, I’ll wait.”

“Suit yourself.” He reached in and cracked open two more handing one to Ozzy.

“Ozzy! It’s only noon!” Sharon said slapping Ozzy on the hand.

“Sharon… Chill out… It’s non-alcoholic.”

“Oh, well in that case, give me one.”

“Sure thing Sharon…” Post Malone smiled and cracked open another beer handing it to Sharon Osbourne. He pulled out a bag of Trader Joe’s chips and passed the bag around for everyone to take a handful. Life is funny like that, one day you’re eating chips on your own solo, the whole bag to yourself—maybe with some dip, or salsa, or guacamole even, and maybe not—then suddenly the next thing you know, it’s a Post Malone party, you’re sharing the bag of chips together with Sharon and Ozzy Osbourne, and Lizzo.

Taylor turned back from Taylurking the conversation happening several seats away from her between Post Malone, Lizzo, Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne. Just wait until you try my Fizzy Lifting Lover drinks she thought to herself.

“At least Scooter won’t be here.” Sara said to Taylor in a low voice, leaning over in her seat.

“I know. But, I kind of wanted to roast him in front of everyone, watch him squirm a little. That would have been sooooo amazing!”

“Taylor, no. We talked about this. You need to wait until the time is right. We need to…” She quieted down and looked around. “Well you know.”

“Sara, I know. Okay?” Taylor whispered back.

“Hey Taaaaaay…” Shawn Mendes walked by Taylor and smiled over his shoulder.

Taylor awkwardly covered her mouth, hiding a smile waiting for it to subside, when it finally did, she waved back.

“What was that?” Sara asked noticing Taylor blushing ever so slightly.

“What was what?”

“Umm, between you and Shawn.” Sara pointed over at Shawn now standing beside Camila Cabello.

“Nothing. What?”

“Taylor—Is there something between the two of you? Because if there is, as your attorney, I NEED TO KNOW! YOU NEED TO TELL ME EVERYTHING!” Sara raised her voice—she was almost shouting. Billie Eilish looked up from her phone raising an eyebrow in Taylor and Sara’s direction, then turned her attention back to her phone.

“Whoa, Sara…” Taylor lowered her head sinking into her seat, “You’re making scene.”

“Sorry, I… I don’t know what came over me.” Sara’s voice returned to her normal calm and collected tone.

“It’s okay… It’s… It’s alright.” Taylor pushed her self slightly away from Sara in the seat; she’d never seen Sara act like that before. Almost like Sara was a different person for just a moment. Taylor reached down to check on the masters case and make sure it was still seated next to her, unable to make contact she looked down and noticed Sara had pulled it closer—Taylor pulled it back.

“I just need to know things, okay?” Sara said to Taylor, making direct eye contact. Taylor looked back up at Sara. “To… protect you. That’s all. And to advise you properly…. I care about you okay? I’m not just your lawyer, I’m a loyal Swiftie, and I’m your biggest fan.”

Taylor’s eyes drifted away from Sara and back to Shawn again. “Riiiiight. Okay Sara, yeah, sounds good.” She said distracted, ogling Shawn Mendes. She felt that same dang crooked smile forming on her face. What was that? Why could she not help but smile every time she looked at him, SHE almost felt like a different person—She needed a distraction. Taylor pulled out her phone and texted Joe.

Hey you… Just wanted to say I was thinking of you! Inset 50 heart emojis.

She clicked send.

There was a sudden commotion from one of the entranceways to the theater, “Billy Porter is in the house!” Someone yelled.

“Oh my God Billy is here! Sara, hold my phone.” Taylor got up from her seat and ran over to hug him.

Sara looked at the phone in her hand; the screen was unlocked… She began to tap through a few of Taylor’s apps, her social media accounts folder named ‘My Loves’, which included the Tumblr app, Twitter, Instagram, and various other ways to connect with Taylor’s fan base, her Swifties—The pulse of the Swifties’ synchronized heartbeats in one tiny little device, she felt a wave of power rush over her, one Tumblr post, one Tweet, an Instagram photo, all of it connected to millions of Swifties, around the world, an army ready to act on Taylor’s behalf at moment’s notice.

As Taylor returned to her seat, Sara placed the phone back on her lap pretending to have never looked at it, she handed the phone back to Taylor with a reassuring smile.

“HELLO!!! ARE WE GOING TO DO A SHOW OR NOT? You still have to go home, freshen up, red carpet, photos, AND WE HAVE NOT EVEN STARTED THE DRESS REHERSAL… Am I the only one who cares about this?”

“Jeff, they care, okay? It’s just that we’ve run through it 73 times. The show is already good.”

“Good is no good, you should know that CAROL!”

Carol rolled her eyes.

“Okay everyone, everyone, let’s take it from top! Places… PLACES!!!!” He paused. “Oh, Taylor, I have a note here that you had a change request to add a backing track during your performance of Lover?”

“Yes, that’s right.” She yelled back to the stage gleefully.

“Okay, well, make sure you get that track to the sound team as soon as we finish rehearsal!”

“Oh, I will.” Taylor’s eyes flashed Teen Wolf RED for the second time today.

@taylorswift

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riseofmoonxchild · 5 years

Text

b i t t e r ⬴ ʇ ǝ ǝ ʍ s // chapter one

➴pairing – jimin x reader – taehyung x reader – [ft. namjoon]

➴genre – fluff // angst

➴theme – college!au // jimin!barista // taehyung!artist

You developed a little crush on the barista at your local coffee shop, Jimin. While you start going to the cafe regularly, thinking it as harmless and innocent, you don’t realize that your interest in him will catch the attention of Taehyung, the most-liked boy in school. As the two of them stir up an almost espresso-and-milk-kind-of element to your school life and study load, you find yourself involved in a more complicated situation than you were prepared for.

»listen to the bittersweet playlist titled “coffee shop boy” here

« m u s e »

✰

f a l l

The first time you met Jimin, he was antagonizing over making your coffee perfect. And by met, you meant it was the first time you had ever laid eyes on him. You could tell that this wasn’t special treatment for you—because he was so nervous, so confused, and so focused on the process of actual coffee-assembling, because he cared about the smallest details—you could tell that he wanted it to be the best that anyone could make it. It went beyond trying to seek recognition from the customers or his boss; nevertheless, it was cute. And even if his genuine efforts weren’t meant to flatter you, they made you feel warm and even flustered.

So many college students had come for a coffee break at this time, which was probably overwhelming. It was the height of midterms, and this coffee shop was a popular spot for students to hit because it was right across from the main campus location in Seoul.

“What can I do for you today?”

“Hi-” you paused, taking a moment to mull over your thoughts, “I’d just like a caramel macchiato, please.”

The whole time he was taking your order, he had never made eye contact with you. He was quietly focused on the machine in front of him.

“What size?”

“Just a medium.”

“Alright, that’ll be $4.32,” he reported, looking up. Jimin smiled slightly, as of he were ready to take on his next challenge. “It’ll have that ready for you in no time!” He vowed.

You watched him make your order with a small yet enthusiastic determination.

And finally, as he reached to hand you your coffee, as soon as he saw your hand grabbed a hold of it, his eyes flicked to your yours. He smiled shyly at you and giggled a little, almost nervously. And a heartbeat later, before you could even process your own reaction, he was helping the next customer.

✰

w i n t e r

You were determined to finish your final paper for your English class. Paragraph by paragraph, you sipped on the coffee, savoring hints of cinnamon and caramel as you persevered. You couldn’t help but glance outside every ten minutes, watching the snow gently blanket the outside world. Part of you wanted to venture out there, but the warmth of the coffee brought you back in every time, keeping you cozy and focused. Relatively focused, that was—inevitably it brought you back to the barista boy, and by that time your whole face became warm.

It had been two months, since you started coming in around four or five times a week, getting your fix of caffeine and something else you didn’t want to admit to yourself. But, inevitably, you discovered what days and times the barista boy worked, just by observation, and that he also had a name other than “barista boy”—Jimin.

When you finished your paper, you were relieved to have officially completed your second fall semester. You stretched, prepared yourself for a final chance of relaxation, and messaged your friend in hopes of celebrating somehow. You wanted some way to relieve all the stress that had piled up to this point.

“Hey, Joon,” you texted, “Do you want to go to Club Avenue tonight?”

You suddenly were reminded of the past semester and the drama that had consumed most it. Despite relentless, pointless efforts, it seemed everything that could have fallen apart inside your own little world did—friends, grades, reputation, your planned future. And with that you had picked up some habits, like drinking and clubbing, especially on week nights, skipping classes. This cafe had, unexpectedly, become your safe haven.

While you had commended yourself for pulling yourself together half way through this semester, and finishing the best you could, you couldn’t help but want to let everything go.

Namjoon, your best friend, your partner in crime, the one who stuck with you through all the fires, seeing you get hurt and sticking around to deal with the burns. You literally couldn’t go on any adventures without him or make any big decisions without his advice. He had been the only constant, and he was the only person you really had as a support now.

“Sure. I’m finishing my assignments but they’ll be done before tonight.”

“Mmk ♥♥.” You knew that Joon didn’t personally like your idea of fun, because he rather be doing other things, but he was always along for the ride. “Good luck!”

“Let’s have a good time tonight. We deserve it ;)”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

From the way he pulled on Jimin’s sleeve, he could have been easily mistaken as a child. “Ahhh, wae, Jimin-ah. I need you,” he whined.

The whole time the boy begged, Jimin tried to remain as indifferent as possible. However, seconds later a smile flashed on his face, promising the other boy a chance at triumph.

“Yah, Taehyung-ah,” he started in a parent-like tone. “Do you not have any assignments left? Didn’t you have a big art project due?”

Taehyung pouted, his face dropping in disappointment.

Pleased with his ability to stay firm, Jimin folded his arms and raised his chin just the slightest bit. “We can’t play until we’ve finished our work—like the responsible haksaeng, students, we are.”

Exasperated, Taehyung asked the air more than anything, “Ah, wae..”

“Fine,” he perked up, heavily invested in this more-of-a-business-like proposal than anything, “I finish my portfolio by tonight, and you-” he pointed at Jimin’s chest, “have to grace me with your presence.” His charming, yet childishly and genuinely satisfied smile made an appearance to conclude the agreement.

Jimin smiled and looked up, amused and please all at the same time. He immediately switched back to his previous persona, face sullen. He raised his right eyebrow, as if considering the options, and gave one confirming nod. “Alright,” he extended his hand for a handshake.

Taehyung accepted the gesture, a goofy grin on his face. “Waaaaaa, Jimin-ssi. It was a pleasure working with you.”

The two laughed, and Taehyung confidently announced, “I’ll pick you up at 10,” winked, and then sauntered off. Jimin just shook his head and went back to work.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The snow had stopped, and so Taehyung sat on a city street bench, across from the coffee shop, trying to work at a masterpiece in his mind. He had his sketchbook on his lap and was pensively observing his surroundings. While it may have seemed like he was procrastinating this whole time, he really just hadn’t been able to muster up the concentration or inspiration necessary to enter into a creative mood, let alone the mental state he needed to be in for this project. Taehyung sighed.

I want you to use something from the ordinary everyday, something people wouldn’t think twice about. But I want you to convey it from the onlookers’ point of view, as precious or extraordinary from their eyes. That was the professor had demanded. But Taehyung had never really thought about things, things that weren’t so attractive or alluring, that they didn’t demand the attention of every person who laid eyes on them. He liked things like that. People that were so spectacular, their essence flowed, oozed off of them, making them irresistible.

It wasn’t that he pursued outwardly gorgeous people, or that he had shallow intentions, per say. He just enjoyed beautiful things and beautiful people. He saw people as art, and art came to life in his every day. He was always trying to find his muse in one thing or another.

One might even argue he was one of those beautiful people, one of the most exquisite pieces of living art. He never really thought about the people in the background, so indistinguishable they were barely silhouettes on a page. In life, from middle school—elementary even—into college he had been the feature highlight, the centerpiece, almost. Wherever he went, people just gravitated towards him. It was all he had known. And he didn’t really seem to mind.

Frustrated with the assignment, he dramatically sighed to the paper, fiddling with his pencil before he looked up for what felt like the thousandth time. But then he saw her. He saw you. With your brows furrowed in concentration, sending waves of intense synergetic energy with your glare towards the computer screen. Taehyung laughed in amusement, that same goofy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. But then, what he thought was an indestructible focus was suddenly broken, as he saw you sneak an almost nonexistent glance towards the barista boy. And his eyebrows raised in partial-curiosity, partial-surprise.

Taehyung, a contemplative look resting on his face, came to a sudden realization. And then, with this newfound sense of purpose, he began sketching.

☾——————————————————————————————————☽

A/N: wow i’ve been meaning to post this, cause i’ve been excited about this♥ not exactly sure where this story headed, as far as character development, but i’m looking forward to what avenues i may end up exploring (hopefully with constant fluff included). plus, it’s kinda become my baby, haha.

☽

→ preview // chapter one // next

→ "coffee shop boy” playlist

⋆

taglist: @monvieesdaebak

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meanlizard · 6 years

Text

How Many Walls Can You Demolish

Summary: Roman and Virgil get into a bit of a situation...

Pairings: platonic prinixety? i suppose?

Words: 1,443

Warnings: light-hearted fluff, comedy, um. lots of fourth wall breaks.

When Virgil walked into the kitchen that morning, it was to find Patton staring blearily upward. He paused, watching the unusually still man, before shrugging and going to the fridge. “Morning, Pat’n,” he muttered, still sluggish as the last dredges of sleep fell away.

Patton did not reply. Now, Virgil was worried.

Closing the refrigerator, Virgil squinted at him, eyes gleaming suspiciously. He hadn’t moved whatsoever from his staring contest with the ceiling. “Dad?” he prompted, and when no movement followed, he traced the other’s gaze.

A dusty spiderweb, bereft of any actual spider. A barely perceptible crack. Bland, off-white paint peeling at the edges.

So, nothing, then.

Virgil was now thoroughly concerned. “Patton? Are you okay, man?” as he spoke, he moved to nudge him- only to be rudely interrupted by the unfortunately familiar sound of Roman stretching out an E note with his vocal chords.

Virgil sighed, and Roman swung into the kitchen, the brightness of his entire existence being almost unholy. His hair was brushed and pushed to the side impeccably; there was nary a wrinkle in his pristine white-and-gold garb. His sash downright shone with cleanliness. As always, the sight of him made Virgil feel suddenly very aware of himself, and he hunched further into the comfort of his hoodie.

“Good morning, darling citizens!” Roman called flamboyantly, gracing the room with a blinding flash of pearly-white teeth.

Virgil didn’t bother to return the greeting.

“Roman, Patton’s acting weird.”

And say what you would about the obnoxious, annoying, loud-mouthed, insulting, pristine, ridiculous, quick-to-judge, far-too-handsome-despite-having-the-exact-same-face, petty, and entirely empty-headed prince, but he was certainly diligent when it came to any perceived danger that Virgil brought to his attention. Immediately, his attention was on the man in question, red-brown eyes looking him up-and-down for any sign of injury.

Finding none, he shot Virgil a strange look. The latter indicated Patton’s staring with a nod, and Roman went back to inspect him.

Then, as if the seriousness had suddenly worn off, he made a small ah sound and relaxed. His lips turned back into that ever-annoying smirksmile (smirkle? smirle?) and he waved a flippant hand that Virgil ducked to avoid.

“Oh, come off it, Mr. Frowny With a Chance of Meatballs,” he laughed unconcernedly, “he’s just discovered the fourth wall, is all.”

Virgil stared. He glanced back at Patton, still entranced in whatever it was he was seeing, and then back to Roman. “The... the fourth wall,” he didn’t so much ask as he did state, voice dry and flat. It was as if someone had murdered all the inflection that could be indicative of any emotion what-so-ever, thus leaving it as nothing more than a hollow shell of it’s former sarcastic glory.

Roman nodded. “Yes. The fourth wall.”

Virgil took a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbed it, and then let his hand drop to the side. “No. Just-” he held a hand out to stop Roman’s incoming protest, and shook his head. “Just. Just no. Why are we even doing a fourth-wall breaking fic right now? It’s, like-” he turned his dead glare toward the corner of the writer’s computer screen, and shot them a quick, judgmental look before returning his attention to Roman.

“It’s 1:19 am. This came out of nowhere. And where’s Logan? We need a straight man.”

Roman laughed.

“Ha! Don’t you mean a-”

Yes. Yes, Roman, I meant a gay man. Because you are all gay.

Roman pouted, joke thoroughly ruined. Virgil smiled a little. Patton stared at the ceiling. Where was Logan? Working, probably. Or, rather, simply not there because the stress of adding yet another character to this catastrophe was simply too difficult for the writer to handle.

“Would you stop that?” Virgil asked, exasperated. “I was willing to go along with this because you writers have no sense of time-” he stared, accusingly, at the various other writers in the fandom (some of which may be named Marin, Taylor, Vanna and Kat, but who’s to say), “but this is ridiculous. Too much of a good thing can be sh*t, you know!”

“Woah, slow your roll Paint Tool Sigh of Despair! This is a PG show!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Is that why all of your nicknames suck today?”

Roman recoiled as if physically stricken. “How dare you,” he gasped. “You know that’s not my fault. If anyone, we should blame the author’s creativity.”

Both sides turned, in unison, toward the dining table set up in the middle of the kitchen. The author’s Creativity was munching on a bagel, muttering in between bites as darkened glasses slipped down their round nose. Their hands, trembling, translucent things so clear you could see the very details of their veins, were thoroughly occupied; one was shakily rewriting a scene for the thousandth time with one, while the other crumpled up yet another drawing to start anew, and a third- a third? no- a fourth??? - shakily fidgeted with the rim of a mug full of a sludgy black liquid that could almost pass for coffee.

As if sensing their stares, one dead, sleep-lined blue eye peered up at them, and they immediately turned away.

There was silence. Then, Virgil released a shaky breath. “Roman,” he said, very quietly.

“Yes, Virgil?” the uncharacteristically solemn Roman prompted.

“I never thought I’d say this, but... I am so glad that you exist.”

“Dit-to my good sir. Dit-to.”

Unsure why Roman said ditto in such an odd way, but still reeling from the creature that continued to scribble ominously on their kitchen table, Virgil decided to let it go and turn back to the problem at hand. Which, if you would kindly consult the paragraph far, far above this one, was Patton’s worrying stillness.

“I thought he already knew about the fourth wall,” Virgil mentioned contemplatively, turning back to his (admittedly) favorite blue-clad side. Roman shrugged, clearly unconcerned, and moved to the fridge to take a carton of milk from it.

“Guess not. It doesn't really matter, though- he just needs some time," he reassured. "I mean, all we can do is just sit around and wait for him to process... well. Everything.”

Virgil was still largely unconvinced.

Roman, glancing over at him as he poured some milk in some nondescript glass, noticed and let out a breath of slight exasperation.

“Look,” he started in his best mollifying voice as he screwed the cap back on, “We’ve all been there. It took me five hours, and Mr. Roboto spent an entire three days completely out of it. It’s lucky that we’re just figments of a personality, and that food is just a thing authors use to humanize us further even in non-AU’s, or else he’d be in pretty big trouble.”

Virgil raised a brow, and Roman nodded. “Right, right. Off track, I know. But I'm just saying- don’t you remember going through this?”

Virgil’s face, which had previously been rathee blank and slightly irritated (as was it’s usual state), suddenly became impossibly blanker. His eyes lost any gleam of life, expression falling into nothing but a wooden ghost of its previous humanity.

“I have always been aware of our entirely superficial existence since the day I was made. The continuous existential horror has made it hard to form any real relationship with any of you until now. Even then, a lot of our deep bond comes from the various universes and situations that fans throw us in. Roman, right now we are making out on a rooftop in New York. I have super powers. Logan is an empath, and he’s a royal tutor. We are having this conversation right now. There is no reality for us. We just do as we’re written to do. It is an ever continual source of anxiety for me, but one that I am used to, have always been used to, and will continue to be used to. So, I suppose the answer to your question is ‘no’. I do not.”

Roman stared. Virgil stared back. Roman looked up to re-read the paragraph, and, having finally processed it, turned back to Virgil. Wordlessly, he handed him the glass of milk.

No words could be said, and a hug simply felt too awkward for them at this point in time and at this moment in this particular universe, so it was all he could offer. Virgil understood, because he could read just as well as you, and agreed with Roman’s emotions on the matter.

As he took a sip, he felt indescribably touched.

Patton, as if roused by the emotional scene, suddenly shifted. Both Roman and Virgil turned to look at him, eyes wide as if they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have, but Patton was just grinning, bright and unconcerned and... normal. Not at all the expression of someone who had just discovered that they weren't real and that choice was a neverending illusion.

“It’s as I thought,” he said, and his voice sounded relieved. “There aren’t any spiders there after all.”

Virgil breathed. He thought, very seriously, about screaming. He carefully did not, instead bringing the cool glass of milk to his lips and taking a long, long drink of it.

He took a deep breath. Smiled.

"That's good, Patton."

general tag list:

@princelogical

@smokeyrutilequartz

@kickthecel

@fangirlfiles1

@do-rey-me

@peanut0303

@cyndaquil17

@lady-literature

@anastasialestina

@i-will-physically-fight-you

@ironwoman359

#tsfic #thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #crack?#un-beta'd #i'll fix this tomorrow promise #lizard's journal

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komorebirei · 5 years

Text

Her Story | Chapter 2: Dreams

Chapter Word Count: 3,006 / Total Word Count: 4,559

The sun set, casting an orange glow through the white sheer curtains in Julien’s flat. He pulled a light v-neck sweater over his button-down shirt, opting for a trench coat this time. Slipping his wallet and keys into the deep pockets of his coat, he sprayed two pumps of cologne on his neck and headed out the door for the second time that day, this time at a more relaxed pace and without the camera.

A short walk and subway ride later, he was standing in the lobby of one of Manhattan’s signature high-rise buildings. It was a fancy lobby with low lighting, and a concierge discreetly reading a book behind the counter. Leaning against the cold granite wall, Julien shuffled through the photos from the shoot that morning, using the app to rate each photo between 1 star and 5 stars. They didn’t need much post-processing, so he’d be able to wrap that up tonight with some time to spare. He was in a good mood.

Every now and then, the elevator light would blink and the door would open with a whoosh, gracefully breaking the silence. Each time, Julien looked up in expectation, only to glance back down. The thick doors had parted to reveal a businessman checking his phone, then two young women chatting away, then a janitor. Not the person he was waiting for. The photo review was interrupted by a notification of a new text from Gabriela. Sorry, just wrapping up. I’m coming down now. Julien smiled and shot back, Ok, see you soon. He tried to cover his excitement by continuing to review the photos, but his mind wasn’t there anymore. He ran through different scenarios of what he would say when the elevator opened, knowing he would just end up going with the flow anyway.

True to her words, the next elevator arrival revealed the person Julien was there to meet—Gabriela. She was smiling, her long, slightly-wavy dark brown hair spilling over her shoulders. She was wearing a buttoned-up green pea coat and a brown textured pencil skirt with elegant beige kitten heels. Julien slipped his phone into his pocket and greeted her with a smile as she stepped out of the elevator. “Hey,” he called out.

“Julien!” She came to him with open arms and gave him a quick hug of greeting. “How’s life?"

“Pretty good, actually,” he answered. “How was work?"

Gabriela sighed. “It was a long day, but I’m glad it’s over and I get to spend some time with you. Where are we going?"

Gabriela was a friend he had known since high school. She had gone to college in a different city, but had moved to New York several months ago for work, and they were meeting up for the first time since high school. They had been in the same circle of friends in the past. He wouldn’t have said he was close to her at that time, but they had spent many evenings in the company of the same group of friends, watching movies or hanging out. He had found her attractive back then, but wasn’t one to act on his feelings, so it never progressed beyond the faint suggestion of a high school crush.

Thanks to modern technology and Facebook though, they had developed a closer friendship post-college. For some inexplicable reason, he had sent her a message one day asking how she was, and it led them down the rabbit-hole of long Facebook chats about a variety of topics, from broad life events, to deep philosophical questions. He had never known their minds would align so well. Whenever he needed someone to vent to about his thoughts or whatever was going on, she was the only one that he felt comfortable speaking—or rather, typing—his mind to without worry that she would judge him.

He supposed it was a bit of an unusual relationship they had. They had never spoken much in the real world, back in high school, and they hadn’t seen each other in almost 10 years. Yet they had a degree of intellectual closeness that was unmatched by any of the other relationships he had in his life. Because of that, he was a bit nervous about tonight and unsure of how to act. He decided to just follow her lead and play it cool.

“You like Thai food, right?” Julien asked, remembering she had mentioned that before.

“I do!” Her eyes lit up. "Do you know a place?”

“Sure do,” Julien grinned. “Follow my lead. It’s not too far, so no need to take the subway.”

Gabriela laughed and held the door open for him. Wow, Julien thought. He had forgotten the sound of her laugh. She’s gotten even cuter. Wait, what was he thinking? They were just going out as friends, to catch up and reconnect after all these years. He mentally shook his head to clear the thought. He knew she was dating someone anyway.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, Julien gestured toward the right. Falling into step beside Julien, Gabriela shifted her purse to the opposite shoulder so it wouldn’t get between them.

“So, I have to say this feels a bit weird,” Julien confessed, chuckling.

“Weird? Why?"

“Well,” he began, “We’ve been chatting on Facebook, and I feel like I know your mind as well as I know my own. But we haven’t seen each other in almost 10 years.”

“I guess that is a bit strange,” Gabriela laughed. “Well, everything’s new to me here, so I’m glad to see a familiar face.”

“How’s your new job going?"

“Oh, I love it,” Gabriela sighed, “I’m part of the creative team for the cultural reporting program, so there’s always something new. The people are great, the office is beautiful, and I get to do quite a bit of field work too. It can be tiring of course, but that’s life. And it’s a good kind of tired I guess.”

“You’re still singing too, right?” Gabriela used to be in the theatre program in high school, and although her career path had taken her somewhere different, she had mentioned that she wanted to maintain her singing ability by getting involved in whatever she could.

“Yeah,” Gabriela answered, “Lately I’ve managed to land myself a side job, singing at bars with a band. The Cat’s Meow.”

“That’s what they’re called? That’s cute.”

“Yeah, it was a chance meeting. I saw them play at a bar one night and made some conversation with them. Turns out they were looking for a singer."

“That’s awesome. Let me know when you’re performing next, I’d love to come watch you guys.”

“Sure!” Gabriela grinned.

Julien slowed down, holding out one arm to point at a shiny glass restaurant facade. The interior was dimly lit with orange-hued down lights and paper lanterns. “We’re here. After you.” He opened the door for her and she nodded her thanks as she stepped in.

“Two people,” Gabriela told the host, who led them into the restaurant to a booth. They took off their coats and settled in. There was a tea candle at the center of the table, floating in a dome of water with a flower submerged inside. Across from them, a large reef aquarium displayed beautifully colored tropical fish, glinting in the low light while anemones gently swayed.

“This place is fancy,” Gabriela commented. “Have you been here before?"

“Yeah, once,” Julien answered. “For a friend’s birthday. Their mango-on-sticky-rice dessert is amazing."

“I guess we’ll have that to look forward to,” Gabriela winked, picking up the menu.

They spent a few minutes choosing their dishes and placed the order. Julien went with his typical pad thai, and Gabriela chose a green curry. After ordering, Julien stole a glance at Gabriela across the table, suddenly feeling a bit shy. Even though this was supposed to be an outing of friends, the glamorous environment, candle on the table, and privacy of the booth made it feel a lot like a date. Gabriela was important to him of course, she was a great friend, and he had liked her before, wondering if there was potential for them to be something more. But he had no intentions of getting between her and her boyfriend. He hoped she wouldn’t take this the wrong way.

“So,” he started, breaking into a grin and hoping it looked natural, “Uh, you’re dating someone right? Eric was it?” She alluded to him sometimes in her messages but didn’t talk about him a lot. They usually went pretty deep in their conversations about emotions and ideas, but surprisingly didn’t talk much about the details of their lives and the people they surrounded themselves with.

“Yeah. Well…” She looked away, a pensive expression on her face. “I was dating him."

“Was?” Julien looked at her inquisitively.

She continued to look away, as if it were a topic she wanted to avoid. “Yeah… we broke up recently."

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s ok,” Julien reassured her.

“No, it’s ok.” She sighed. “I mean, I’m not sad about it. I’m the one who broke it off. But I guess I’m just… kind of annoyed by the whole situation. He keeps trying to get me back somehow. Sending presents to my job, letters in the mail.”

“Wow.” Julien didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t resist asking, “Why did you break up with him?"

“Well…” she struggled to find the words. “It was inevitable. I always felt like there were parts of my personality that he wasn’t willing to accept. We had some good memories, but I don’t think we would have made it in the long run."

“Oh really?” Julien looked down at the napkin he was turning over in his hands. The thought came into his mind, If she’s single, then does this count as a date? He pushed the thought away again. It was too soon. Does she see it as a date? She looks pretty dolled up. No. Too soon. Julien shook his head. It wasn’t time to flirt, it was time to be a good friend. “Well, it was wise of you to recognize that. Are you sure you’re ok?"

“Yeah,” Gabriela smiled. “I’m relieved, actually. And glad I’m here with you tonight. If I were still dating him, I’m sure he’d be texting and calling me now to make sure nothing was going on between us."

Julien shuddered internally. That would’ve been stressful. He couldn’t stop the words from slipping out, “So I guess we’re in the clear.” He winked at her. Ugh. Why? Anyway, it just felt so natural.

Gabriela laughed. The waitress brought their drinks—just water for both of them.

Swallowing a sip of water, Gabriela asked him, “So, what are you up to these days? Still freelancing?"

“Yeah,” Julien answered. “It’s a pretty sweet life I guess. I have appointments almost every day. And in my off days, I take art shots and sell photos online. Sometimes I have to travel for photoshoots, so I get exposed to all kinds of new people and places."

“That sounds exciting."

“It is. And it’s going pretty well, so I can even afford to take time off if I need or want to."

“I guess we can thank your rebellious teenage days,” Gabriela joked, referring to the times in high school he would opt to roam around town taking pictures instead of doing his homework. Back then, he did it out of a mild depression and longing for an escape from his suburban student lifestyle, but that had been when he started his Instagram. It was true, what had started as a side hobby had led him down his career path. He was one of the lucky few, he supposed, who got to make a living out of doing what he loved.

The meal passed with this type of quiet conversation. Thought it felt like a first date, with two people meeting for the first time in years, there were many moments that reminded both Julien and Gabriela that they had a shared past and knew each other very well already. It was comfortable and intimate. To Julien, it felt like a dream. He had been nervous that the dinner would be awkward, but on the contrary, he felt as though he had slipped into a pocket of space and time that would last forever. They talked about the past few years of their lives, joked, and shared tastes of their dinners. He enjoyed the night more than he had imagined he would, and reading Gabriela’s demeanor, it seemed the same was true for her.

Soon enough though, their dessert plates were empty and Julien was signing off on the receipt, slipping it into the black leather holder with a few bills. “Shall we?"

Gabriela nodded, and they walked out of the restaurant into the chilly autumn air. Julien’s cheeks felt warm, glowing with the aftermath of laughter and pleasant company. He saw Gabriela shiver and held out an arm for her, hoping she didn’t find it too forward. “Let’s keep warm,” he said sheepishly. To his relief, she took his arm with a grateful smile. “Where are you going?"

“I have to take the 5 train north,” she replied. “I think the subway entrance is right up the block."

“Yeah,” Julien nodded, “I’m taking a different train but we can walk together to the station.”

“It was… really nice meeting with you,” Gabriela said quietly as they walked. Julien smiled, feeling a flutter in his chest.

“Yeah, thanks for coming out with me,” Julien replied. “I know you must be tired from work. It means a lot to me."

“No problem! It was a treat.” Gabriela turned to smile at him, her eyes catching the light from the neon signs they were passing. Her cheeks were flushed from the chilly weather, framed by her wavy hair that blew gently in the breeze. Even with the slight heels, she was about a head shorter than him, and had to look up to meet his eyes.

Julien almost stumbled, feeling his cheeks get warm again and suddenly very conscious of her arm in his. “Oh,” he said, breaking her gaze, “Here’s the subway. Watch your step."

They descended into the grimy station, a pungent cocktail of smells suffocating them. “This is my platform,” Julien said quietly, indicating a set of steps to their right. “I guess this is where we part ways."

“Yeah,” Gabriela answered, pulling him into a hug. “It was fun. Let’s meet again sometime."

“Sure.” He hugged her back, catching a whiff of her shampoo. Her hair was soft on his cheek.

The embrace felt natural, comfortable, and lasted maybe a little longer than she had intended. She stepped away and smiled at him. “See you next time."

“See you."

Julien walked up the steps to his platform, hearing her kitten heels tap the hard floor of the subway tunnel, quieter and quieter as she walked away to the next platform. He sighed. He really hadn’t known what to expect from tonight, except reconnecting with an old friend. But he felt a warmth in his chest and cheeks that told him he had come away with something he hadn’t expected. This girl, who had been in his life for years and had existed in his mind as a distant memory, who had long been his confidante in the virtual world, was now a very real presence in his immediate life. And this dinner had opened his eyes to how much he actually liked her, how well they got along in the real world. Not only that, but she had just gotten out of a relationship, meaning that he wouldn’t be a complete jerk to entertain thoughts of dating her.

Finally back home in his silent flat, he switched on his computer. It was 9:03 p.m. and he still had to get through the rest of the photos and do some post-processing. He had a meeting in the morning, but it was normal for him to go to bed past midnight, so he had at least 3 hours to finish everything up. That was plenty of time.

Clicking the mouse as the photos flashed before him in a routine he was now well accustomed to, he let his mind wander, picturing the way Gabriela’s dark hair framed her face, the way her eyelashes looked as she blinked, the faint shine of her cheeks in the candle light, the sound of her laugh. She had been a tomboyish, outgoing girl in high school. Who knew his pen pal had grown into such a charming woman? He hadn’t expected her to have this kind of effect on him. Stopping what he was doing for a moment, he pulled out his phone to send her a text, using the nickname she was called by in high school. Hey Gabi, I had a great time tonight. Thanks again.

A few moments and a few photos later, the buzz signaled her response. Me too. Good night!

He smiled and responded, Good night.

Sighing, the warm feeling felt somehow a little painful in his chest as he forced his mind to return to the work in front of him. He could tell this was going to be rough on him. He was a bit of a hopeless romantic. After having had his heart broken during his college years, he had turned away from relationships and focused solely on work for the past few years. He didn’t want to go down that path again. But he could fell himself falling hard. He didn’t even know if she would want to date someone so soon after a breakup.

He sighed and went to the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee to help him focus. I guess it’s too late now. Here we go again… Grabbing his mug from the Keurig machine, he settled into his desk chair and turned on some jazz on his phone, prepared for the usual long night.

#HerStory #fiction #NaNoWriMo

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littlemisskookie · 7 years

Text

Dick and Mortified

Dick and Mortified Ship: MadScientist!Reader | FWB!Yoongi Description: Rick and Morty!AU | Your friend-with-benefits is dragged into a crack-like adventure to get Mars Argo, on a planet you’re wanted on. Warning: The humor is inappropriate/slightly offensive/really random/really stupid. Lots of dick jokes, like way too many. I’m not saying this is good, trust me, it’s basically a crack oneshot. But enjoy it anyway. Handjob, Blowjob, Intercourse, Dirty Talk, Cumplay, Masturbation Word Count: 6,647 A/N: This is far different from typical smut since it’s more like action/crack smut, and it’s a lot different from any of my other works, so don’t expect complex characters or eye-opening issues being brought to light, because I needed to write something light hearted that let me laugh. That being said if you don’t like the humor or jokes or just find it poorly done, then you’re free to leave. This was mainly for fun, especially after I binge-watched the show. Enjoy!

You and Yoongi were officially dubbed the title of friends with benefits, and though years ago he would’ve never so much as considered talking to you, he now found himself hooking up with you frequently, and more often than not being dragged away on adventures.

You were always seen as strange, eccentric even. You missed multiple classes, and at first, Yoongi simply assumed that you were one of those kids who was lazy and skipped many classes, perhaps up to shenanigans that had you being chased by the cops for your wild and crazed antics.

He was partially true about that, except it turns out the cops were in the forms of giant wasps.

Though you were scarcely seen at classes, you seemed to ace every test, being at the top of the school despite doing any work. Everyone was baffled and intrigued, wanting to get closer to you and see exactly what made you so special, and yet something drew you to him.

Frankly, he could’ve cared less. Sure, he was curious in a sense, but it didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it. Would his eyes trail after you, spotting the bright white lab coat you’d occasionally tie around your waist? Of course. Did his brows furrow when he spied you doing something particularly quirky, and a small event or detail completely baffled him, like when you found a way to have a pencil write on your paper for you when you fell asleep in class, or that one day where your hair was moving as though electric currents were going through, making your hair stand straight and far from your head, as though static. The oddest part was that it stayed like that all day.

And as oddball as you were, with no one quite knowing what your deal was or even managing to really get so much as close to you, for some odd reason, you approached him at a party. Truth be told, you were drunk out of your mind, as Yoongi would later find out happened quite often, but immediately you latched onto him, and thus continued your hookup for the night.

Much to Yoongi’s surprise, you stayed the night, and after spending the day in his dorm while telling absolutely horrendous, inappropriate jokes and vulgar comments that sounded as though it came from the mind of a teenage boy, Yoongi was instantly transfixed, finding your sense of humor equally horrifying and hilarious. You were blunt at times, avoiding beating around the bush, and it was rather refreshing sometimes.

And thus began the friendship. Often times you two would insult each other, letting the comments roll off your back, and Yoongi would guffaw at some of the words you’d say, absolutely surprised that a girl could curse like a sailor or be so perverted. You were constantly horny as well, so it seemed, and the only time you’d stop being so crazed was during sex, which he found to happen quite often. You were also sort of a dick, not really caring about anyone but yourself, but Yoongi would find that at times, he was an exception.

Apparently, what first drew you to him was his bright blond hair, and because he seemed to somewhat enjoy your humor and could both take and throw insults, you kept him around, the sex being an added bonus. You were officially dubbed the honorary title of friends with benefits.

But it wasn’t until after six months that Yoongi came to find out exactly what it was you did and why you missed classes. He was simply waiting for you, texting away on his phone, when a bright flash of green appeared before him, and you tackled him.

He was shocked, and staring into the green, swirling void- which he’d later find out to be a portal- he saw something absolutely jaw-dropping pop out from it. It was some sort of monster, but it was entirely made of candy. You had forced Yoongi to stand once again, running, and he was absolutely mindblown when you got some sort of ray from your lab coat pocket, zapping at the monster. Yoongi’s mind felt as though it couldn’t process what was going on, but he was already on the run as you encouraged him to do, all the while zapping behind you until the candy man was literally blown into skittle-like smithereens.

Yoongi would’ve guessed you had killed someone or facilitated some sort of alien government, but as it turns out you just slept with the candy-man’s wife.

After that whole situation, you revealed that you were literally the smartest person in the universe, building robots and gadgets that wouldn’t be used until the far off or near distant future, and often times you wound up in trouble in other dimensions. Yoongi asked why you didn’t want to give any of your brilliance or gadgets to the government to help them along their research, and you only muttered something about bureaucracy.

But because he somewhat helped you with the candy-man (AKA falling on his face and having the monster trip over him, giving you the perfect opportunity to shoot him), you found him rather useful and decided to make him your partner in crime for the following adventures. The atrocities and absolute chaos Yoongi would see and have partial help causing made him rather stunned, but he admitted he liked going on those adventures with you. Not only did your crude humor have him rolling his eyes and trying not to laugh at the nightmares that ensued, but typically after a great adventure, you were more so in the mood for sex. He never understood, but he never really denied it either.

After a while, he got used to the various adventures you’d drag him along to, though of course, it didn’t mean he was necessarily okay with some of the crimes you had him commit.

Today’s adventure was no exception.

Your spaceship- which you apparently made completely out of robot prostitutes from a distant planet where STDs came in the form of computer viruses- had crashed into the window of his bedroom. The boy was startled, fumbling out of bed as he kicked the covers off his feet and looked to you.

“Y/N, what the hell?!” he shouted at you. “You can’t just crash into my bedroom- oh my God this is my dorm! What are you thinking?”

“Yoongi, Yoongi,” you mutter, climbing out and stepping over the rubble you made, repeating your name and showing your habit of saying his name often whenever you talk to him. “I’m a fucking genius, I can clean this up in five minutes, do you think I really give a shit?”

“I know that! But for goodness sake-”

“No time!” you say, grabbing onto his arm and dragging him behind you. “We’ve gotta go, Yoongi.”

“I’m still in my pajamas,” he murmured but knew he had no choice. Climbing into the UFO, he quickly did his seat belt, spotting you drinking from a bottle of champagne as you started driving. Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut, and once he opened them, you guys were in a completely different place.

“What are we going to do?” he asked you, unfastening the seat belt.

“Getting Mars Argo.”

“What? Is that a drug or something? Don’t tell me it’s another one of your fancy wine bottles,” Yoongi grumbled.

“What? No, she’s an American artist,” you huffed, taking another sip of the bottle. “She was replaced by Poppy in some great conspiracy theory, and more or less she disappeared from the face of the Earth. No one’s seen her since.”

“Wait, what does this have to do with anything?”

“Turns out her boyfriend, Titanic Sulfur or something, sent her to get kidnapped to this planet to replace her with this creepy cyborg girl that’s blowing up on the internet- not important,” you say dismissively. “The point is she’s been here for years, and we need to get her back because she had some good ass music and I want more of that shit.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yoongi muttered, facepalming.

“Doesn’t exist,” you finish, winking and snapping finger guns at him. Your crude sense of humor and devotion to science never failed to make him grimace.

“Wait, so why’d you drag me along on this one?” Yoongi asked, yawning. Of course, he already knew that you needed him because you were partners in crime, but you seemed to have another answer each time to evade his own, simply because of either your pride or creativity.

“Because without me you’d have completed the rest of your college career, getting a job and meeting a nice young lady and making her your wife, having kids early in marriage until they eventually add onto the stress and difficulties of your relationship, straining it and changing the two of you forever, and you end up having a mid-life crisis at 46 when you realize you hate your job, leave your wife and kids to rediscover yourself only to break the family bond and have them hating you forever. Then you go to the church believing that if you pray hard enough to a god that doesn’t exist you’ll be saved in the next life, only to be sent to a nursing home and die while shitting your pants. At least with these adventures, Yoongi, you’ll have something to look back on fondly instead of just your divorce, wondering what might’ve been, and scrolling through dating apps for a sugar baby pathetic enough to sit on your wrinkled dick that has cum like toothpaste by that age. Don’t live a mediocre life, Yoongi, trust me. It’s so sad Yoongi.”

Alright, so perhaps he shouldn’t have asked.

“Fair enough,” he muttered. “Alright, let’s find this Mars Argo chick.”

Suddenly helicopters were coming, as well as police cars, and soon enough the two of you and the ship were surrounded. Aliens of all shapes, sizes, and colors- who oddly enough reminded Yoongi of testicles- stepped out of the vehicles, pointing various weapons and missiles at the two.

“Oh, I may have forgotten to mention this is another planet I’m wanted on,” you shrug.

Yoongi’s eyes are wide. “Oh, you’ve really done it this time,” he hisses.

“Chill dude,” you laugh. You take out your portal gun, shooting at one of the walls and delivering a hard kick that pushes the ship into the portal, thus closing it.

“What’re you doing?!” Yoongi exclaims. “That was our chance of escape! Our ride!”

You flicked his forehead, which he angrily swiped away. “Calm down, Yoongi, we’ll get out. I have the portal gun, and besides, I know these guys’ weakness. Cheer up a bit, it’s not every day you see these tentacle monsters who look like they’re inspired by the male scrotum. I mean, you think you’ll see this fucking shit every day? The last weird thing you saw was the Chupacabra when we shaved it!”

Granted, that was yesterday.

“You know you always drag me into these things,” Yoongi grumbles. “If I end up in alien jail I swear-”

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi,” you hushed him, pulling another item from your lab coat and placing a weird gun in his hand. “Look, survive and I’ll blow you in the ship, alright?”

“I want to survive anyway,” Yoongi mutters. “But who am I to turn down a blowjob?”

“Atta boy!” you say. “Now, shoot the tampon gun!”

“The what?” Yoongi asks, flabbergasted. What did you just say?

You rolled your eyes. “They’ve got the same fears as a prepubescent straight boy, Yoongi, trust me! Just throw the damn tampon, or shoot it!”

Yoongi stared into the barrel of the gun, the aliens all murmuring and waiting to see what he would do, all of them too scared to shoot or make a move, anticipating the humans’ attack. Yoongi aimed it at one of the aliens with a missile and squeezed the trigger, sure that it would simply bounce off of the creature.

To his surprise, the small white bullet embedded in the creature, and it screeched in agony as its skin and flesh started to dissolve until there was a gaping hole in its chest that was growing larger and larger by the second, eating away at the flesh as it almost evaporated. It screamed in agony, firing the bullets from its own gun off and even killing a few of its friends as everyone panicked.

Yoongi was mortified, gripping onto his gun as he neared closer to you, and you watched the scene in boredom. “Oh yeah, they’re also allergic to cotton. And feminine products,” you say dismissively. “That should’ve been a good thing to tell you. But they’re idiots, they won’t pay attention to us for the next few minutes.”

“Oh dear God!” the dying creature shouted out as the others surrounded the wounded beast. “I’m dying, I’m dying! Mom… Mom is that you? I thought you just left Dad… Mom where have you been for the past ten years? We missed you…”

“We’re losing him!” the creature beside him shouted out. “Brandon, listen to me, you can’t. Don’t go into the light, I repeat, don’t go into the light!”

One of the creature’s tentacle-like arms reached above, “I’ll take your hand… Mom.”

“No!” another monster pushed forward, this one having long squid-type hair. “No, Brandon, it’s me, Marsha. I’ve loved you for so long and I’ve been so scared to tell you, but if you die on me, I swear- I-I… Don’t leave me! I love y-”

His arm dropped, and his long fruit-by-the-foot-like tongue rolled out of his mouth, announcing him dead. The creatures around him bowed in respect and grief, and Marsha wept over his dead body.

“Well, that happened,” you remarked, pulling out a bottle of wine, putting the cork between your teeth and yanking it back to open it. Yoongi never understood how you could fit so many things in your lab coat pocket, but you simply muttered some science-mumbo-jumbo and something about acid.

Marsha’s monstrous face looked up, and they acknowledged your presence for the first time since Yoongi shot Brandon, and suddenly Marsha was pointing a gun at Yoongi’s head, letting out a monstrous screech. “You killed him! Why, you’re dead, buddy!”

“Woah there, Debra, or whatever typical white suburban Mom name you’ve got,” you interrupt, yanking Yoongi out of the way. “Look Susan-Beth-Janice- fuck, I don’t know, but he’s innocent.”

“You’re wanted!” Marsha shrieked. “Oh, you’re heading to jail, bitch!”

“Alright, Yoongi, it’s about time we head out-” you grab him, running through. “Shoot shoot shoot! I know you, you’ll drop the soap on the first day, and tentacle-sex isn’t as good as it is in anime! SHOOT!”

Yoongi fired the custom-made gun everywhere, hearing shrieks as others began wildly shooting at the two of you, red lasers narrowly missing you two as you dodged past the dissolving bodies and ran. The lab coat tied around your waist flew behind you, almost like a cape, and Yoongi’s heart was pounding in his ears as he tried to fire off behind him. He felt as though you two were about as screwed as a pregnant woman with a smoking addiction.

The two of you swerved, going behind a building and hiding behind some nearby trashcans. At least, Yoongi assumed they were trashcans. They certainly smelled like they were, like a dead hooker rotting by some expired sushi.

“Tell me why you’re wanted in another planet?” Yoongi bitterly spat, holding on tightly to the gun and keeping watch.

You roll your eyes, “Wow, someone’s grumpy. Who pre-shat in your pants?”

“Fuck you,” Yoongi grumbled. Both of you were used to talking to each other this way, neither taking it personally. Between your asshole-ness and his intolerance towards your dick attitude, both of you were fine with spitting insults to each other.

The comment rolled off your back as you waved off his comment, looking down at the wine bottle that was half empty. Yoongi had no idea how you could still be basically sober when you’ve had a full bottle, but alcohol was typically needed to be in your system in order for you to do anything.

“That’s your job,” you fired back, wearing a cocky grin as he scoffed. “Anyways, if you must know, it’s because I cut off the balls of their king.”

“You what?!”

“Hush up, will you?” you snapped, pressing the bottle against his lips. “Do you want us to get caught?”

Yoongi swiped the bottle from you, taking a small sip and handing it back to you. “Alright, tell me what happened.”

“I thought I was getting an interview to be the head of the military, and I ended up getting interviewed to be some sort of sex doll, Yoongi,” you murmured, making Yoongi’s brows jumped. “Anyways, he made a move on me, and I didn’t like where he was putting his bedazzled tentacle, so I cut off the balls of his octo-dick. You know, I heard they cut off the balls of male rapists in India, and then they can’t reproduce because the semen factory is gone. At least that’s what my fifth-grade teacher said when she was high.”

“This is insane,” Yoongi shook his head. “They’re trying to kill you because you were almost raped?”

“Well, you know how it works,” you shrugged. “Convicted of something, and someone privileged either gets the story dismissed or goes through a punishment 1/10th of what they actually deserve. And because he was the king, of course, no one really knew the real story, and I’m accused of treason and attempted murder.”

“Well, removing his testicles might’ve been a bit extreme,” Yoongi points out, receiving a glare from you.

“We do it to dogs all the time, Yoongi,” you mutter. “It’s called getting someone fixed. He was a bitch anyway, am I right? Am I right or am I right Yoongi? Yoongi?”

“Be quiet! I hear someone!” he says, slapping a hand over your mouth. You grumble, licking a stripe along his palm and causing him to wipe his hand against his pajama bottoms, disgusted.

“A to the G to the U to the STD-”

“How is your phone able to receive calls on an entirely different planet?!” Yoongi asks, flabbergasted once he heard your ringtone.

You rolled your eyes, turning it off. “Yoongi, I’m a genius who builds robots and travels to other dimensions, how could I not figure out how to do that?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “You know someone could’ve found out our location.”

“You’re acting grumpier than a man who’s two wives left him, is currently doing cocaine with hookers, and paying them with the money the government gives him for mental illness he faked and is yelling cuss words at baseball games while his psychiatrist sits behind him as he’s unaware,” you roll your eyes.

“How are you so specific about these things?”

“I’ve seen things. There are tons of universes with problems just like ours. Like teenage girls who are forced to keep the baby and end up getting kicked out of their homes and have to become strippers or prostitutes to live and eat and just end up getting addicted to heroine. Or perhaps the little boys who are abused by their girlfriends and can’t tell anyone or risk their masculinity. Or the people who are repeatedly told they don’t have a mental illness because apparently, they don’t exist.”

“Alright, you’re getting dark. What are we going to do? We’ll get caught eventually,” Yoongi huffs.

“It’s fine,” you say. “Besides, we need to get to the palace. I wouldn’t doubt if the king himself would be the one holding that underrated and practically unknown talent from the world. He’s an awful man, Yoongi, the one who’s more terrifying than the portrayals of him. He’s the one who haunts kids, who causes the worst dreams and inhabits your nightmares!”

A chill ran down Yoongi’s spine at your description, though he refused to show it. “What is he, a werewolf?”

“Say, have you ever had sex with a werewolf?” you ask him, getting side-tracked. “I don’t mean that midnight sparkle bullshit, I mean like an actual werewolf. Man, definitely something I’ll go back to. Wasn’t bestiality necessarily, but if it is considered bestiality, it’s never felt better.”

“Y/N!” Yoongi snaps, trying to keep a straight face. “Stop getting perverted and side-tracked for five seconds and figure out how we can get this Uranus chick?”

“It’s Mars, you uncultured swine,” you fire back, pursing your lips. “Alright, I’ll whip something up.” You take one last swig of the bottle, and toss it to the side, getting up and running off.

Yoongi’s eyes were wide, “Wait, are you leaving me here? Y/N? Y/N!”

He must’ve screamed too loud because the horde of the laser-shooting monsters was now running towards him, discovering his hiding place and he was already running. God, he should’ve slept in, he loves to sleep, why’d he agree to this?

Tampons and lasers were shooting through the air, and soon enough it was just him and Marsha, who was crying while pointing her gun directly at him, pressing the barrel against his forehead. “Drop your weapon!” she shouted out, her throat swelled and a gurgling sound accompanying her cries.

Yoongi dropped the tampon-gun, which had run out of tampons not too long ago, and he was silently praying for you to finally show up like usual and fuck shit up.

“You’re going to die today, twerp,” Marsha hisses, pressing it harder against his head. “This is all your fault.”

A shot fires and Marsha crumbles, her shoulder bleeding out from the wound. Yoongi sees nothing there until you take off a necklace, revealing yourself and a crazy and brightly-colored gun by your side. “You got receipts, Judge Judy?” you say snidely. You shoot in her head about three more times, positive she’s dead.

“Where were you?” Yoongi asked, trying to catch his breath.

“I had to go to a planet of tiny bigfoots to get a legally-safe necklace,” you say, holding it out. “This’ll help us sneak in. I’ll be recognized on the spot, I’m too popular. Those D-Bags once tried to arrest me when I was eating fucking waffles, but it took them forever to actually do it. A lot of the time these idiots just stand around and wait for you to murder one of them.”

Yoongi raises a brow. “How am I going to sneak into the palace? For fuck’s sake I jus murdered someone again.”

“We’ll dress you as a butler. Trust me, these guys are idiots. If you have a bowtie on they won’t even think twice about if you’re human. And if any one of these pea-brains suspects, my invisible ass can knock them the fuck out,” you say, holding up the special gun. “I made this out of a kid’s water gun and alien testicles.”

“What?!”

“I’m kidding,” you laugh. “It wasn’t a water gun, it was a Nerf gun. Man, that prep shit is great.”

“That’s disgusting,” Yoongi grimaces.

“And I’m still going to be sucking your dick tonight,” you wink. “Now, I’m getting hornier by the minute, so let’s get this over with.”

True enough, when Yoongi had on a bow tie, no one seemed to recognize him as someone who caused a rampage just half an hour ago. You snuck him in the palace by opening certain doors, and he could hear the small beeps and such from whatever invisible gadget you were working with, and he swore he could feel a bit of your lab coat brushing against his leg.

“We’re almost to the King’s bedroom,” you say. “Argo’s hot as shit, so no doubt he’s doing terrible things to her. We can rescue her of course, but we also need to shoot the bastard.”

Yoongi wasn’t quite able to hear what you were saying, mainly because a maid who walked past kept on muttering, “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job,” and he was too busy trying to not seem suspicious, though he trusted your plan.

“I want to go to bed,” Yoongi grumbles.

“And you also want to be top for once, but clearly not everything goes your way,” you grumble, and Yoongi rolls his eyes at your ribbing. “And we’re here!”

An electrical door was before you two, and a code had to be punched in. Yoongi spied how the buttons were pressed down in a complex and intricate, rather random, order, and soon the door shot up and revealed the room. You slipped off the necklace, entering the room as the two of you stared at the walls, which were worn and a faded yellow.

“It’s like fifty shades of depression,” you grumble. “Where’s Argo?”

Yoongi’s eyes searched the room, and he tugged at your sleeve. “By any chance, would it be the chick in the corner?” You turned to look at the direction he was pointing towards, and sure enough, the blonde girl was in the corner, shivering.

“ARGO!” you exclaimed. “Big fan, how are you doing girl?” The girl didn’t respond, just shivering still. You narrowed your eyes, going closer.

“Y/N, she might be traumatized,” Yoongi warned. “Are you sure you want to-” You gripped onto her hair, yanking her head off, and Yoongi was stunned, jaw dropping. “What the fuck?!”

“This isn’t Mars Argo!” you say, spiteful. “This is… this is a vibrating sex doll!”

“You’re joking,” Yoongi gaped. “Also where do I buy one?”

You swatted his arm, glaring at him. “And you call me a pervert.”

“You are!” Yoongi said, giving you the typical ‘wtf’ stare.

Suddenly the two of you heard some clapping, and a figure slid out from under the bed, similar to Rosé’s slide in Boombayah. You cross your arms as the figure stops clapping, standing to reveal that he was a shadowy creature, with elongated features and long, talon-like fingers, the tips as sharp as knives.

“I’d hate to be the girl fingered by that guy,” you whisper to Yoongi, and he cringes away from you. You glare at the figure. “Hello, Your Majesty. Apparently, the Boogey Man himself isn’t above the slow clap entrance.”

“And apparently the mad scientist isn’t above the 'pointing out how lame the slow clap entrance is’ cliche,” the figure fires back. “Who’s your friend?”

“Min Yoongi,” you comment. You look to the boy, gesturing to the creature before you. “Boogey Man.”

“You’re the Boogey Man?” Yoongi asks.

The creature crosses his arms crossly, “What’d you expect?”

“I don’t know, maybe that living beanbag full of bugs? Like from The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“What’s that?” the Boogey Man asks.

“American pop culture reference,” you say. “Unimportant. Where’s Argo?”

“Ah,” the Boogey Man chuckled. “We knew you’d come for her, so once we got news that you killed someone- as you always do- we sent her home. Don’t worry, she’s on her way to Earth now.”

“Wait, hold up, why is the Boogey Man the king of some alien planet?” Yoongi asks, baffled. “Is no one questioning this?”

“Yoongi,” you sigh. “We don’t have time to discuss the history of the Boogey Man. Next thing you know you’ll want me to say how I sunk Atlantis!”

“Wait, you did what!?”

“Anyways,” you dismiss him. “How’d you know I’d go after her? She hasn’t been seen for years, man. For all you knew I couldn’t care less.”

“Lucky guess,” the creature shrugged. “Next time we’ll kidnap him,” he pointed to Yoongi.

“Oh fuck no,” Yoongi said. His eyes wandered around the room, and he spotted something similar to your newly crafted gun and grabbed it, pointing it at the Boogey Man. “Try shit and I’ll shoot you with this.”

You grimaced, face palming. “Yoongi… you’re… Yoongi you’re holding a space dildo.”

“What?!” he stared down at his weapon of choice in horror and remembered you saying something about your gun being made with alien testicles. He dropped it, grimacing and wiping his hands frantically against his clothes. “Oh dear God.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head and handing him the necklace. “You need this more than I do, so it seems.” You turn to the Boogey man, “Why’d you lure me here after what I did to you last time?”

“I want my genitals back,” he hissed, shaking a fist at you. “And then, I’ll kill you!”

You quirk a brow, a smirk being plastered over your face. “Is that so? Why didn’t you say so! I have it right here.” You pull out the new gun you made, and Yoongi had the most horrified expression, as did the Boogey Man.

“My beautiful testicles!” he shouted out. “You’ll pay!”

Yoongi simply facepalmed, shaking his head. “What is wrong with you people?”

“Come and get them,” you hissed, beginning to shoot at him. He shot down under the bed, a low hiss that was rather snake-like coming from underneath. You shot at the bed, seeing him climb from behind to latch and crawl onto the wall, and he pounced.

Yoongi’s scream of fear was well earned, and the Boogey Man had his talon-like fingers around the boy’s neck, the tips barely piercing the soft skin. “I’ll kill him first,” the Boogey Man hissed out.

Yoongi knew you’d probably shoot anyway, regardless of whether or not he was in the Boogey Man’s grasp, so he thought quick. Throwing the necklace over his head, and the Boogey Man jumped back in surprise, and Yoongi had to duck down as the monster swiped and clawed at the air. Yoongi crawled on all fours, hearing you call out, “Atta boy, Yoongi! Yoongi my man, Yoongi. Yoongi, dunno where you are, but try not to get caught. Got that Yoongi?”

Yoongi huffed in response, crawling to the side as you began wildly shooting at the monster, though it jumped from the walls and crawled on the ceiling. Jesus, that thing was creepy.

“You’re probably a pedophile!” you shout at him. “Hiding beneath kids’ beds and all! Pervert! Take this! Die already! Pew pew mother fucker!”

You shot wildly, and Yoongi wasn’t exactly sure how much ammo you had left. Thinking fast (and cringing all the while) he grabbed what he mistook as a gun earlier and threw it at the back of the monster’s head, causing it to be surprised and fall to the floor. You took the opportunity to shoot him in the leg, rendering him immobile. You stepped on the creature’s neck, pressing the gun against his head and twisting his arms behind his back.

“You’re going to be killed with your own balls,” you tell him. “And you deserve it for making me come all this way for nothing!”

“Please!” the Boogey Man cried out. “Have mercy! I’ll do anything! People will perish if I die, and all will go into anarchy and-”

You fired, and the Boogey Man was dead. Huffing, you stretched your arms, scrunching your nose. “Does that look like my problem?”

Yoongi slipped off the necklace, becoming visible once again as he looked to the Boogey Man. “You know, I figured he’d have a sack over his head or something.”

“He’ll be having a body sack soon,” you shrug.

“Should we be concerned with the future of this planet since their king is dead?” Yoongi asks.

“Nah,” you shrug. “Yoongi, am I really the type to be concerned with this shit? You know me, I’m an asshole who’s a slight alcoholic. But I’m a genius, so it makes up for it.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Yoongi shrugs. “You’re a dick. Most times. Other times you almost seem as though you have some level of humanity.”

“Oh I need to fix that,” you grumble. “No more of that fucking bullshit. Anyways, let’s get to the ship, I’ve been horny for the past hour or something and I need to let off some steam from that fucking Boogey Man.” You pull out the portal gun, aiming at the wall, and the familiar green swirl appeared.

“I don’t understand your sexual appetite sometimes,” Yoongi shakes his head. He’s been wide awake now, especially after the Boogey Man, and he could definitely fall back asleep with what you’d sometimes call 'Nyquil’.

“You know what should’ve happened? Dance battle, I mean, they’ve got to call him 'Boogey’ Man for some reason,” you say. “Man, that was disappointing. I didn’t even get to meet Mars Argo!”

“You know she probably won’t make music still, after being kidnapped by aliens and all,” Yoongi points out.

“Way to put the cherry on top of a pretty disappointing day, Yoongi,” you say. “Now, let’s just hope you don’t disappoint me. You’re lucky I’ve seen and sat on your dick so many times I know it’s not the size of a goldfish. This is my reward for you because you did a good job today. Don’t upset me where I revoke blowing privileges.”

Yoongi laughed hard at that, following you as you climbed through the portal, landing inside the spaceship, which was evidently in your workshop that you stowed away in an abandoned factory.

“You know, I’m pretty sure you mentioned you wanted to fuck in here once,” you mention as the portal closes.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, watching as you slowly remove the lab coat tied around your waist, pushing it to the side. He admitted to you one of the nights he agreed to get drunk with you that he wanted to have sex in the back of your ship, since not only it was it roomier, but c'mon, how often do you have sex in the back of a space ship? Granted it was apparently made from parts of robot prostitutes, but Yoongi learned from you not to overthink things and to just relax. Or, rather, let chaos ensue. Whatever floats your boat.

He let you take control, letting out a sigh of content as your pants yanked down his pajama bottoms and boxers, taking his dick in your hand and slowly pumping him. You sit between his legs as he sits in the backseat, and he watches to see your hand travel into your pants, rubbing yourself in front of him. Yoongi bit his lip, giving you a dark look as you wore a mischievous look on your face.

You offered a small kitten lick at the tip, making Yoongi hiss out slightly. You were the type to drag out teasing for extended about of times, but tonight you owed him this, so that meant you couldn’t torture him forever as you would’ve preferred. You knew it, and soon enough your lips wrapped around the head, and you slowly sunk down his length. Your tongue was pressing against the shaft of his dick, the warm muscle making him hiss in pleasure.

He let out a low groan as the head made contact with the back of your throat, which was an incredibly soft spot. It took a lot of self-restraint to avoid bucking up into your mouth, and you stayed there, swallowing around him. The sensation had a low moan slipping from between his lips, and he could tell that really turned you on.

Your hand was rubbing faster and faster in your pants, the hand motions small but furious, and when Yoongi’s eyes weren’t trying to roll to the back of his head with each time you swallowed around him, he tried to peek down at your hand as you rubbed yourself vigorously.

His hands curled into fists at his sides as your mouth popped off of him, and you inhaled greedy amounts of air. “Are you enjoying this so far, Yoongi?” you purr to him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Yeah. God, you’re great at that.”

Both of your hands reached up to grip his cock, the one glistening with your juices already sliding up and down his length, and the other massaging his balls. You batted up at him, your eyes seductive and pupils blown out with lust. “Want me to ride you, Yoongi?”

He bit his lip, “Please.”

You smirked, “Perfect.” Quickly, you slipped your pants off, dragging your underwear down your legs as well. You climbed up onto the seat, straddling Yoongi’s hips as he leaned back, letting you take control. Your hips swayed, your heat hovering directly over his, and you gripped onto his length, keeping it upright and still as you started rubbing yourself against him. The feeling was pure torture, but he knew you wouldn’t let him get rewarded without a little teasing.

Slowly you sank down on him, and as you did so you sank your teeth down on his shoulder, biting down as he filled you. “You fill me up so good, Yoongi,” you moaned out, and soon your lips were attached to his neck, sucking tentatively as you moved up and down his length, letting him have a moan of content, a chill running down his spine at your words

Ironically enough, the only time you weren’t saying something absolutely ridiculous and inappropriate or being an absolute pervert was during sex. The only time you weren’t making asshole-type comments towards him (though, to be fair he had his moments where he did it back to you, and nothing was taken personally of course), was when you were whispering dirty things in his ear instead.

Sometimes Yoongi wondered why he was going on those wild adventures with you when he could be focusing more on his studies or perhaps sleeping since you cut into that schedule so often. Truthfully he wouldn’t trade your adventures for the world because while he always acted annoyed with them, in reality, they were the highlight of his day or week. Except for the murder parts, he wasn’t so keen on that.

But the parts that really made it all worth it? This. When you were riding him vigorously, sweat forming on your forehead as you moved up and down his cock. When you’d give him pleasure and continue to reach your own, murmuring things about how much you loved riding him and how good his cock made you feel. Your hand was rubbing fast circles around your clit, and strands of your hair were sticking to your neck and forehead, a thin sheen of sweat making you seem shiny.

“Yoongi, just like that,” you panted in his ear, one of your hands coming up to grip onto him. “I’m so close, Yoongi, can you feel me squeezing around your dick? God, I’m so close, I’ll spasm over your cock, I swear.”

Your favorite thing was talking dirty, and Yoongi simply smiled at your words as you stroked his ego. He felt how your walls clenched around his length, and he hissed at the sensation, his hands on your hips as he guided your hips. You felt so warm around him, and from how your whimpers and moan were getting breathy and higher, he knew you were close to your orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum,” you breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You still around him, and he feels how your walls tighten around him, and your legs quiver the slightest bit at the sensation, and you press your sweaty forehead against his shoulder, panting hard.

“You good?” Yoongi murmured.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Cum in me, Yoongi.”

He worked at maneuvering your hips, having you bounce on top of him once again, and you do your best to clench your walls around him, adding more friction to your otherwise slippery walls to get him to cum. He makes fast thrusts and pumps into you, chasing his high as he felt it rise up, and before he knew it he was filling you up, and both of you were panting, sweaty messes.

“Oh, fuck,” he murmured, and you slipped off of him, hovering the slightest bit. He watched as your hands dived beneath your heat, slipping between your legs. You brought them out, the small digits coated in the white, slippery liquid of both of your cum. Yoongi opened his mouth obediently, and you slipped the fingers in his hot cavern, letting him swirl his tongue around it and swallow the liquid.

“You like your own cum?” you smirk. He only hums in response, staring at you darkly. You giggle, pecking his lips as you climbed off. “I need to go to the restroom to pee now, thanks a lot. I give that a 7 out of 10 because we couldn’t use the toys. But it made my day better.”

“You’re such a fucking dick,” Yoongi laughs, his gummy smile showing that he was satisfied. He could still taste the weird mixture on his tongue.

You winked at him, pulling on your pants and panties, tying your lab coat around your waist. “Don’t act so mortified. You love it.”

“As if,” he scoffed.

#Rick and Morty #rick and morty au #bts smut #yoongi smut #suga smut #smut #crack #crack humor #holy fuck what have i done #this is so stupid but i love it?#min yoongi #yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga

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aniallstory-blog · 7 years

Text

Chapter Eight

It only took another two weeks for things to go south again. It was almost the end of April, a week before Niall's next single came out and the day before he was off to America for about six weeks. We'd been home for a few weeks and hadn't discussed anything else about the wedding. I wanted to ask about dates so I could contact the venue since we'd both agreed it seemed like the perfect fit, but I resisted, still scared about what his reaction may be.

However, maybe due to the fact that we'd both had a long day or just the tension and stress that always came when we knew we'd be apart for a long period of time, I finally reached my breaking point.

Niall had left early and been out all day doing radio interviews to promote his new single and I'd worked all day then been dragged to a yoga class by Charlotte. We were both finished around the same time though so he picked me up from the yoga studio and we headed home, both ready for a quiet evening curled up on the couch with some take away. The plan for the night changed drastically though as soon as we stepped in the door.

I'd grabbed the mail from the mailbox on my way and was absentmindedly flipping through all the bills and junk until my eyes settled on the magazine at the bottom. It was a bridal one I'd order just before we went to Ireland and I'd completely forgotten about it. It was supposed to be the best guide for building your dream wedding and I felt the excitement bubble in my stomach.

“Niall!” I squealed. “Look what arrived!”

I waved it in his face and he looked at me with an amused smile until he realized what it was.

“Oh, nice,” He shrugged. “I'm sure that'll come in handy.”

His lack of enthusiasm once again got my back up.

“It will,” I said firmly. “Maybe we can flip through it tonight?”

“I guess so,” He said flatly as he walked over to the fridge to grab a beer.

I sighed in frustration and decided not to let him get out of discussing things this time.

“Have you picked your groomsmen yet?” I asked, setting the magazine on the counter between us.

“Not really,” He shrugged. “I guess Greg will be my best man since I was his, but I haven't thought about it much.”

The way he was acting so indifferent was quickly making my temper rise.

“Well you should probably start,” I informed him. “It's the easiest part of the wedding really.”

“Yeah, I'll decide soon.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “And what about a date?”

Niall froze mid sip before shrugging again.

“Don't know.”

His simple answer was the last straw, our conversation was getting no where and I was done with his passive attitude,

“Well we have to know, Niall!” I snapped at him. “We need to contact the venue and see if they're available at the time we want, if we want any guests to show up then we need to let them know so they can start planning things and we need to book a honeymoon. There's a lot to do!”

Niall seemed shocked when I first raised my voice at him, but by the time I was done, he looked just as annoyed as I was.

“I know there's a lot to do, m'not an idiot,” He argued. “But I don't know when will be a good time, Ava. I'm busy with this new album for the foreseeable future!”

My stomach twisted with worry. I knew he was busy and I had a feeling his hectic schedule would interfere a little bit with our plans, but we always said we didn't want to be one of those couples who were engaged for years.

“I know you're busy,” I said, my voice much quieter than before as I fought to control my rising sense of dread. “But can you give me a ballpark figure? Just so I know what to plan for.”

Niall sighed and my stomach turned again, knowing I wouldn't like his answer just from the look on his face.

“I honestly don't know, love. Could be a year, maybe even two. It depends how things go with the album and the tours that we'll have to do after.” I felt tears fill my eyes, but I blinked them back, hoping he hadn't seen. “I don't see why it matters so much though, Ava. We're so young! Yer only twenty-two! If we get married in two years, you'll still be younger than most people are when they get married!”

“I don't care about most people, I care about us!” I snapped, feeling my sadness bubble back into anger. “We agreed not to have a long engagement and if we're 'so young' then why did you even propose?”

Niall shrugged.

“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

“And it doesn't anymore?”

The look on his face gave me the answer before he even spoke, but I waited to hear what he had to say anyway.

“S'just different now,” He admitted after a tense moment of silence. “Ya know I love ya, but I didn't think I'd be releasing an album so soon when I proposed. I didn't think I'd have anything else to do this year than plan a wedding.”

“Wow, Niall,” I sniffled as a tear rolled down my cheek. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special. Everyone wants to hear that the reason they were proposed to was because their fiance had nothing better to do that year than get married.”

Niall cringed when he realized how his words had come across.

“Hey, don't cry,” He started as he stepped towards me, but I backed away before turning and walking out of the room. “Avery, wait! C'mon, I didn't mean it like that!”

I ignored his protests and stormed up the stairs, knowing he was following close behind. Once I reached our room, I grabbed the first bag I found and started tossing some clothes in.

“What're ya doin'?” He asked, his accent getting stronger as it always did when he was upset.

“I'm packing. I'm going to stay at Gemma's or Charlotte's or whoever will have me for the night. I'd hate to interrupt your creative process since apparently I'm not needed when you have other things to occupy your time.”

“Ava, stop this,” Niall demanded, grabbing at the bag as I tried to zip it shut. I pulled it out of his grip and continued what I was doing as Niall's worry quickly turned to annoyance. “Yer being unfair. I've always supported you in yer career.”

“And I've always, always supported yours!” I snapped back. “I've arranged my entire life around your schedule for the last four fucking years, Niall. I organize everything around when I'll have to visit you on tour or when you'll be home, you've never once had to change any of your plans for me. This is the first time I've ever wanted you to put me first for something as important as our wedding and you can't even contemplate the idea. It’s just another thing that will have to be slotted in whenever you have a free day!”

I could see Niall's eyes flash with anger, his temper obviously flaring up, but I didn't care. He'd hurt my feelings and all of my points so far had been perfectly valid.

“You're complaining about my career now, but when it's paying for this fancy fuckin' wedding ya won't hate it so much,” He argued. “Ya can't have everything, I have to fund all yer plans somehow!”

“You wouldn't even know my plans because you never listen to them! Whenever I bring it up, you change the subject!” I pointed out. “Besides, I think you know me well enough to know I don't want anything fancy! I'd marry you at city hall tomorrow if that's what you want, but oh, wait. You'll be in the studio tomorrow even though I took the day off work to spend with you before you leave for over a month!”

“Oh, so that's what this is about, huh? Yer mad that m'spending so much time in the studio!”

I rolled my eyes at his attempt to once again change the subject off of our wedding.

“No, Niall,” I said firmly as I slung the bag over my shoulder. “This is about our wedding and how I'm the only one showing any enthusiasm because you have more important things to do than marry me while marrying you is the absolute most important thing I will probably ever do in my whole life.”

Niall opened his mouth to argue, but hesitated and I took that chance to turn and walk away as the tears started to spill down my cheeks. He called after me, his voice breaking as the emotions of the fight and the fact that I was walking out in the middle of an argument, something I only did when I really couldn’t handle being near him, finally caught up with him, but I kept going. I needed to clear my head and us screaming at each other for the rest of the night wasn't going to do that for me.

I drove around for about twenty minutes before Gemma finally answered her phone. She assured me it was absolutely fine that I stayed with her and promised me several bottles of wine would be waiting. True to her word, she handed me a glass the second I walked through the door and even waited until I'd finished it before she asked questions. Once she started, I poured my heart out. I told her about how worried I'd been the last few months and how he'd confirmed all my fears, how angry I was that he couldn't have just told me when he knew we wouldn't be getting married for a long time and I cried from the disappointment that the wedding I'd been looking forward to wouldn't be happening any time soon.

We were just finishing off the second bottle when the door opened and Gemma's boyfriend Michal walked in. Coincidentally, my phone lit up as Niall called for what felt like the hundredth time that night. I practically growled as I hit ignore once again.

“You have to talk to him sometime,” Gemma said gently as I shook my head and blinked back more tears.

“I'll talk to him in two years when he might actually be able to squeeze in five minutes to marry me.”

“Uh, oh...trouble in paradise?” Michal asked as he leaned down to kiss his girlfriend.

“Niall doesn't want to marry me,” I choked out through my tears. “He only proposed so he'd have something to do during his time off, but now he has a new album he doesn't care!”

Michal raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced.

“Did he actually say that?” I nodded. “Those exact words?”

“Well, no,” I admitted before explaining our whole argument. By the end of my tale Michal was smiling and shaking his head.

“Sounds to me like he didn't explain himself very well and you over reacted,” He said simply. “He just meant he didn't expect to be as busy as he is, not that he'd rather be making music and only wanted to get married to kill time.”

“Well if he wouldn't rather be making music why can't he just stop? That was supposed to be the point of this hiatus anyway, not to just stay busy making music on his own.”

Michal shrugged.

“Music's a complicated industry. If he'd left it too long then his fans might not have been as interested and his solo career might not have been a success.”

“Have you met his fans?” I scoffed. “He could wait until he was fifty and they'd still lose their shit if he put out a recording of him singing twinkle twinkle little star.” Gemma laughed knowing it was true. “But I don't mind that he wanted to keep his career going. I know how much his music means to him, but I'm supposed to mean just as much. I don't see why he can't just say 'look, I need these two or three weeks empty so I can get married'.”

“Maybe he doesn't have that much control.”

I frowned knowing he could be right, but also knowing that if Niall put his foot down, the label would eventually bend to his wishes. He just didn't want to rock the boat.

“Then why wouldn't he have said that then? He said he couldn't make any promises to me because he was too busy with this album and tour. He made his priorities clear.”

Michal shook his head again, the amused look on his face making me feel rather patronized.

“We can talk this out for hours, love. And I can do my best to tell you how Niall may be feeling, but the only way you'll actually work through this is by talking with him.”

“I know,” I sniffled. “But I'm never going to get what I want. Even if he caves to my bullying and picks a date, it won't be the same as if he'd just done it because he wanted to.”

“And what if he doesn't cave?” Gemma asked. “Would it be a deal breaker if you had to wait a couple years?”

I frantically shook my head, horrified by the thought.

“No, I'd rather marry him on his terms than not at all,” I admitted. “I think that's why I'm so upset. I have no leverage here. Either I do it his way and wait to get what I want or I don't get it at all. It's not fair.”

“Sometimes love and life just really aren't fair, hun,” Gemma said sympathetically.

“I know. I just need to sulk for a while.”

“And you can do that here for as long as you'd like.”

“Thanks,” I nodded. “I think I just want to be by myself. Mind if I go to bed?”

“'Course not,” Gemma smiled. “You know the way.”

I nodded again and stood up to go to the guest room. Gemma grabbed my hand as I walked by and squeezed it gently. I shot her what I hoped was a reassuring look that conveyed the gratitude I had for her always being there for me before going to my room.

Once I'd changed into the pyjamas I'd luckily thrown into my bag, I snuggled down in the bed and grabbed my phone. Niall had called my seventeen times since I'd left and texted me almost twice that. I sighed as his face popped up once again almost like he knew I was finally alone. I ignored the call, but not wanting to be too cruel, I sent him a text.

“Going to bed. We can talk in the morning. Please stop calling. Goodnight.”

His response was instant.

“Alright. I love you, Ava. Don't forget that.”

My eyes welled up with tears at his message.

“I love you too.”

There was no reply after that and I quickly set to my bedtime routine of going through social media. Ten minutes later I logged into twitter and Niall's latest tweet was the first thing I saw.

Me too, Niall. Me too.

#niall horan #niall horan fanfiction #niall fic #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #years&years

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pocketlotus · 7 years

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HOW TO STAY MINDFUL AT WORK

By Kate Taylor

In the corner office, a woman scans her email, talks on the phone and intermittently sips from a giant coffee cup. In a nearby cubicle, a man listens to hold music while stapling paper stacks and squinting across the room at a wall clock. Up at the reception desk, another man plays online Solitaire while eating soup and preparing office supply orders.

This is a snapshot of an office where I once worked. Indeed, it’s what most of my past workplaces looked like. And according to social psychologists, it’s what most American workplaces (those with cubicles, desks and chairs, anyway) look like.

Everybody multi-tasking. Nobody giving their full attention to a single task.

“The bottom line is we are all constantly self-distracting,” says Larry Rosen, Ph.D., author and research psychologist.

Rarely, he says, do we “focus and attend” any task for more than three to five minutes. We’re perpetually distracted — primarily by emails, texts and other social media.

No wonder it’s so hard to be mindful at work.

But don’t give up just yet!

Above all, mindfulness requires practice, and the following expert tips are all you need to keep off autopilot and stay mindful throughout your work day.

https://www.mindful.org/10-ways-mindful-work/

Be Consciously Present

Mindfulness is about being aware and awake rather than operating unconsciously. When you’re consciously present at work, you’re aware of two aspects of your moment-to-moment experience — what’s going on around you and what’s going on within you.

If you’re mindfully writing a report, for example, you give it your full attention. You choose the words you type with care. You remain aware of how your chair supports you and how the keyboard keys feel beneath your fingertips.

Sounds easy, right?

Perhaps, if you’ve spent the last five months on a silent retreat. Most people, however, are used to giving far less than 100 percent of their attention to work. As they write a report, a third or even half of their attention drifts with music coming through their earphones. Or wanders to last night’s Game of Thrones episode. Or rumbles about needing some fries.

If you’re trying to boost your mindfulness at work, don’t let your undisciplined thoughts discourage you. Staying present requires practice. Lots of practice. ‘When you catch your thoughts slipping away to global warming or Kim Kardashian-land, just acknowledge what’s happening and usher them back to the task at hand. Here are some extra mindfulness tips to boost your chances of success:

Make a clear decisionat the start of your workday to be present as best you can. Pause for a few moments before you start your work to set this intention in your mind.

Make an effort to work more consciously, even if that means that you need to work more slowly at first—doing so pays off in the long run.

Keep the advantages of being presentin mind to motivate you. Mindfulness brings a powerful sense of calm and focus to your day and will help you produce your best work.

Give your full attention to seemingly mundane taskslike typing, loading the copy machine and dialing phone numbers. If you’re just waiting in a meeting room, just focus on your breathing. These little moments can energize you and bring unexpected pleasure and peace.

Use Short Mindful Exercises at Work

Mindful exercises train your brain to be more present. The more you do, the easier your brain finds it to drop into a mindful state, thus optimizing your brain function.

In a busy workplace, it might seem impossible to find time for mindful exercises. No worries — they can be as short as you want them to be. In fact, just a minute of consciously connecting with one of your senses qualifies as a mindful exercise. You don’t need to make is obvious to others by assuming a lotus position or closing your eyes. You don’t even need to be sitting down. So be creative! Find the time for several mindful exercises every day.

Quick way to fall in love with mindfulness:

Try a mindful exercise when work-stress is driving you to your limit. Just closing your eyes and tuning everything out for two minutes can help rebalance your nervous system, tone down the fight-or-flight response and engage the wisest part of your brain. Once relaxed, you’ll be far less reactive and better equipped to make smart decisions.

Be a Single-Tasker

Single-tasking means doing one thing at a time. Multi-tasking means trying to do two or more tasks at the same time or switching back and forth between tasks.

Multi-tasking is a myth, scientists say. We may think we’re multi-tasking, but in reality, our brains are madly switching from one thing to the next, often losing data in the process.

So why do we keep trying to do it? Multi-tasking makes us feel more productive. And that false feeling of productivity, experts say, is addictive.

Here are a few ways to kick the multi-tasking habit for good and become a paragon of single-tasking:

Keep a time journalof what you achieve when single-tasking or multi-tasking. Note the time each time you measure, and write down what you achieve in both modes. See whether you can notice your productivity rising when you single-task. Noticing the benefits can motivate you to switch permanently to single-tasking.

Switch off as many distractions as you can.Silence your phone, log off from your email account, and so on. Then set a timer for whatever amount of time you need to work, and record how much you get done.

Practice mindfulness during breaksbetween tasks. Once you’ve completed a task, get up, stretch, take some deep breaths or go for a mindful walk.

Use Mindful Reminders

Remembering to be mindful is challenging, even for veteran meditators and mindfulness students.

Here’s why: the brain’s normal (default) mode is to be lost in thought while running internal narratives. As we go through our routine daily activities, our brains automatically switch into this unmindful state.

One Harvard study showed that people spend nearly half of each day lost in thought, performing many actions automatically. And though we often think of day-dreaming as pleasant, this study also showed that unmindful thoughts frequently take us into negative or unproductive ruts and sabotage our well-being.

Operating on auto-pilot means that you’re not fully present and awake to the opportunities and choices around you. You’re unable to be creative or thoughtful, you can’t come up with new ideas or solutions – some of the best parts of owning a mind are simply unavailable to you.

Reminders can help bring you back to mindfulness. Here are some effective reminders to try:

Set an alarm on your phone – a vibrating alarm that doesn’t disturb others can work well.

Add mindful exercises in your daily schedule – set an appointment with yourself, and keep it.

Post a small note or picture on your deskto remind you to be mindful.

Associate certain activities with mindfulness, such as meal times or meetings or when finishing one task and starting another.

Use the sound of bellsand rings in the workplace as “bells of mindfulness.”

Slow Down to Speed Up

By slowing down, you can become more efficient, productive, happy, resilient and healthy at work.

Chronic rushing is a misuse of energy and leads to bad decisions. Instead, pause, focus on listening, stroll rather than run, and generally take your time at work.

Effective leaders, workers, and entrepreneurs slow down and reflect to make the best decisions—they slow down to speed up. That’s a mindful way of working.

Feel Gratitude

Human beings have what psychologists call a “negativity bias.” That’s a tendency to react more intensely to negative stimuli than equally strong positive stimuli.

We owe this tendency to our primitive ancestors, who made life and death decisions all the time.

Makes sense, right? Back then, it was far more important to remember the poisonous striped snake by the river than the tree with super-sweet plums on the hill.

In modern times, however, that negativity bias is basically a useless buzzkill. It dampens our happiness and pre-disposes up to fear and anxiety.

Having a negativity bias “is a great way to pass on gene copies, but a lousy way to promote quality of life,” says Dr. Rick Hanson, psychologist and senior fellow of the Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley.

Our work places are full of things to worry about, from possible future layoffs to perceived bad vibes from the boss. That’s why it’s so important to fight our faulty programming.

“Be mindful of the degree to which your brain is wired to make you afraid, wired so that you walk around with an ongoing trickle of anxiety (a flood for some) to keep you on alert,” Hanson says.

Remember that we tend “to tune out or de-emphasize reassuring good news, and keep thinking about the one thing that was negative in a day in which a hundred small things happened, ninety-nine of which were neutral or positive.”

The antidote to all this predisposed negativity?

Gratitude!

Being grateful helps us realize how many blessings we truly have. It helps us step away from fear and anxiety and feel better. It helps us stay positive and put problems in perspective. It boosts our creativity, health, working relationships and quality of work.

Of course, this brings up another problem with our troublesome minds: we’re not hardwired to be grateful. For the same reason we focus on negative stimuli, most of us don’t spend enough time reflecting on how lucky we are.

Not to worry – we can recover from gratitude-deficit. Try these tricks to bring more gratitude into your life:

http://www.dailygood.org/story/1166/10-ways-to-become-more-grateful-robert-emmons/

Keep a Gratitude Journal. Establish a daily practice in which you remind yourself of the gifts, grace, benefits, and good things you enjoy. Setting aside time on a daily basis to recall moments of gratitude associated with ordinary events, your personal attributes, or valued people in your life gives you the potential to interweave a sustainable life theme of gratefulness.

Remember the Bad. To be grateful in your current state, it is helpful to remember the hard times that you once experienced. When you remember how difficult life used to be and how far you have come, you set up an explicit contrast in your mind, and this contrast is fertile ground for gratefulness.

Ask Yourself Three Questions. Utilize the meditation technique known as Naikan, which involves reflecting on three questions: “What have I received from __?”, “What have I given to __?”, and “What troubles and difficulty have I caused?”

Learn Prayers of Gratitude. In many spiritual traditions, prayers of gratitude are the most powerful form of prayer, because through these prayers people recognize the ultimate source of all they are and all they will ever be.

Come to Your Senses. Through our senses—the ability to touch, see, smell, taste, and hear—we gain an appreciation of what it means to be human and of what an incredible miracle it is to be alive. Seen through the lens of gratitude, the human body is not only a miraculous construction, but also a gift.

Use Visual Reminders. Because the two primary obstacles to gratefulness are forgetfulness and a lack of mindful awareness, visual reminders can serve as cues to trigger thoughts of gratitude.

Make a Vow to Practice Gratitude. Research shows that making an oath to perform a behavior increases the likelihood that the action will be executed. Therefore, write your own gratitude vow, which could be as simple as “I vow to count my blessings each day,” and post it somewhere where you will be reminded of it every day.

Watch your Language. Words are powerful and often reflect the way we think. That’s why grateful people often use happy words like gift, giver, blessing, blessed, fortune, fortunate and abundance. Try using a few and see if it doesn’t add to your happiness.

Fake it until….. As a last recourse, go through the motions of gratitude — it’s very likely to trigger true gratitude. Motions of gratitude include smiling, saying thank you, and writing grateful letters and notes.

The post HOW TO STAY MINDFUL AT WORK appeared first on .

#tips for happiness #finding purpose #finding happiness #inner peace #mindfulness

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emilyplaysotome · 7 years

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Part 40 - New Kid on the Block

Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole is an ongoing story about our MC, who could easily be anyone in voltage fandom. She woke up in hospital bed only to discover that she’d somehow been transported Voltage universe.

This story is ongoing, so if you missed a part, or are new to the story, please use the link to the masterpost below to catch yourself up:

https://tinyurl.com/k4rrxna

Part 40 - New Kid on the Block

Zyglavis left my room shortly after accepting my invitation for Wednesday, so I could change and get to bed, considering I had an early morning ahead of me.

Before I’d gone to sleep I noticed that I had a few new text messages from the king which let me know that Zyglavis and the rest of the Punishments and Wishes Gods were unable to locate me in the reflecting pool, seeing as how I was from another world.

It made sense, considering the fact that the time I’d ran away Zyglavis had assumed I’d died, and with the exception of the King of the Heavens, it was sort of nice to know that I wasn’t being monitored the way I once feared.

The king also made it clear that he’d enjoyed watching his usually straight laced minister squirm with discomfort. He suggested that I provoke Zyglavis further in order to push him into admitting what was really in his heart considering I seemed so sure that the scene which spoke to my heart told the truth in terms of what had really transpired in the king’s chambers.

“Win or lose...you really do know how to put on a show.”

The message ended with clapping hand emojis, and feeling confident that I was delivering the kind of ratings the network execs (or in this case, the king) wanted, got myself to bed knowing that Soma would be waiting for me in the morning.

My alarm blared at 5:30 AM, and I groaned seeing as how I was not a morning person.

It’s fair to say that I already regretted scheduling exercise before work, but learning kendo in the otome-verse from an expert was a once in a lifetime experience and I forced myself out of bed.

Seeing as how I was barely awake, I made my way to the mansion’s bathroom and quickly got my usual morning routine out of the way. After I’d brushed my teeth I still felt a bit sluggish, so I splashed my face with cool water, and made my way back to Zyglavis’ room where I’d laid out an outfit the night before.

I changed into the workout clothes, and grabbed my gym bag in addition to a large Birkin style purse that was packed with everything I’d need in order to have a fabulous first day of work, including my favorite outfit from my shopping spree. My morning had been planned to a T, but just as I was about to leave, I noticed that there was a freshly made latte waiting for me.

I tentatively took a sip, and knew immediately that this could only have been made by Zyglavis.

I found myself smiling as I quickly confirmed that I had everything I needed for the day, and with it all present and accounted for, grabbed the to-go cup and made my way to the train.

Waiting outside the mansion for me was a giggly Altair, who upon spotting me bounded up to me.

“Lady Ami!”

“Good morning Altair.”

“Oh...what’s that you’re drinking?” he asked boyishly, which made it obvious that he had been the one to deliver the drink to my room.

“It’s a latte...and it’s quite good. You didn’t perhaps make it for me did you?”

He giggled once more and continued to skip alongside me as I walked to the train.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

“It’s from Lord Zyglavis! He wanted you to have it before you start your new job. He didn’t say this...but I think he’s rooting for you to do your best!”

I patted Altair on the head affectionately and said, “That was very kind of him. Will you thank me for him?

Altair’s eyes widened and he firmly shook his head no, exclaiming, “It’s a secret - remember!”

“Oh right…”

Altair giggled once more, and grabbed my hand.

It was sweet of the boy to walk me all the way to the train station, and the combination of caffeine and conversation began to perk me up to the point that I found myself ready for Soma’s lesson.

In the back of my head, I wondered if Zyglavis had instructed him to escort me with the hopes that he might get a clue as to who the other men were, seeing as how Altair was unusually inquisitive in terms of where I was going, if I was learning Kendo with anyone, etc. With that said, it was hard to tell, since the little boy was often a bit of a chatterbox, and I couldn’t help but affectionately ruffle his hair once we’d reached the station, thanking him for walking me to the train before saying goodbye.

I’d met Shusuke Soma briefly when I’d visited the academy for the first time in the hopes of finding out the identity of the man who had found me in this world. At the time, I’d been so enamored with Namba, that it had been difficult for me to really process anyone other than him. However, getting to spend one-on-one time with Shu (as he liked to be called), proved to be an enjoyable experience.

He was clearly intelligent, soft spoken, and thoughtful, yet also had an edge to him and a hardness that lurked just below the surface. It was obvious that should you cross him, you would experience a Shu that was quite dangerous, and a far cry from his usual gentlemanly demeanor.

Seeing as how I’d never held a Kendo stick in my life and knew literally nothing about it, most of the hour was spent as a history lesson of sorts, in addition to some basic calisthenics. Towards the end of our hour together, one of the academy’s advanced students joined us in order to demonstrate what the martial art looked like when it was practiced at an advanced level.

It was impressive to say the least, and having experienced a sliver of the Bakumatsu period firsthand, I had a bit more of a grasp on the difficulty and history surrounding the martial art.

As class ended, I thanked Soma for his time and bowed deeply, seeing as how it was obvious that his time was wasted on instructing a newbie like me.

He insisted that it was no trouble at all, and that teaching beginners only helped to remind him of all the reasons why he loved Kendo as much as he did. On that note, he escorted me to the women’s locker room where he informed me that he’d see me tomorrow at 6 AM once more.

I took a quick shower, then dressed myself in Zyglavis’ heels and the fabulous first day of work dress that was both office appropriate and designer in brand.

I left my hair completely wet, and tied it back in a bun as I headed towards the neighborhood near Addison & Rhodes.

Knowing that I was pretty much incompetent at doing my hair and makeup, I spent the hour from 7:30 AM (post-Kendo) to 8:45 AM getting my hair and makeup professionally done at a salon that was around the corner from Addison & Rhodes. It was something that I would never do back home, but seeing as how I had time and money to burn, it seemed like the obvious solution considering the fact that I had less than a week to charm the pants (quite literally) off my new, hot boss to see if he was marriage material.

To the point that I had money to burn, while at the Salon I had a courier take my cumbersome gym bag off my hands, seeing as how I had no desire to schlep it around to my welcome party that Shun had promise to throw me on my first day.

Feeling considerably lighter without the bag, and with my wet hair now perfectly styled in a similar fashion to the women I’d encountered during my tour at Addison & Rhodes, I tipped the staff handsomely and let them know I’d be back every day this week at 7:30 for the same services. Their eyes lit up and they bowed low, letting me know that they would look forward to seeing me tomorrow.

With the office only five minutes from the salon, I decided to pick up another latte, and feeling a combination of first day of work and caffeine jitters, headed to the Addison & Rhodes lobby where Shun had instructed me to meet him first thing.

“Ami,” he said upon seeing me, approaching with his usual confident swagger, “Welcome to our team.”

“Thank you for having me sir.”

“You have no idea how excited I am that you’ll be with us from now on. You’ll be working directly with Toshi, as well as the creative team, which I oversee.”

I followed him to the security station, where he stayed with me until my official Addison & Rhodes ID card was created.

I have to admit that I was pleasantly surprised with the picture on my ID, and was happy that I’d stopped by the salon before work seeing as how I looked quite fetching my new ID photo. While we waited for it to be laminated, Shun commented on how nice I looked, noting that while I’ve always been attractive it was clear that my professional appearance was even more scintillating.

Naturally, he’d said it half-joking, half-serious in a hushed whisper with his usual sexy smirk.

Seeing as how I only had a week and there was no time like the present, I decided to meet his boldness with my own, suggestively noting that it had not yet been five minutes and here he was, already being a naughty boss. I hammered the point home by purring his name (Mr. Tachibana), and upon doing so I completely caught him off guard.

Even though he was one to dish it out, it was obvious that he was unfamiliar with the kind of woman who had enough personality to keep him on his toes.

We spent the rest of the morning teasing each other.

Upon the guard handing me my ID, he put his hand on my lower back and guided me towards the turnstiles.

I sent his heart a flutter by backing up in the crowded elevator, allowing my bum to “accidentally” graze his crotch, before shooting him a suggestive look and issuing a false apology.

He met my false apology by whispering seductively in my ear about the fact that the door to his private office (in which he stressed the word private) was always open...just for me. Not wanting to back down I thanked him for being so kind on my first day, and as we exited the elevator, quietly insinuated that I was looking forward to witnessing how he inspired his team to get their creative juices flowing (so to speak).

He actually flushed a little upon hearing that line, and I’d worried that I’d crossed the line with him, but he recovered quickly and with a devious grin reminded me that he’d be taking me out for drinks to celebrate my first day in addition to the fact that he was very much looking forward to it.

My desk was somewhere in the midst of the creative wing, where I found myself at an empty seat next to the copywriter I’d met during my tour of the office.

I’d already heard through the grapevine that the seat had been vacant due to the fact that Toma was considered to be a bit of a tyrant, but knowing that he was most likely a playable character, I was certain that he probably had a soft side, or something incredibly charming and redeemable under his callous exterior.

I was hoping that I wouldn’t be forced to interact with him much, but no sooner than I’d booted up my computer and logged in, did Toma approach me.

“It’s you.”

“Yep.”

“So you took the job? I’m surprised.”

“Why are you surprised?”

Toma shrugged, “Just didn’t think you would.”

“Cool story bro,” I said, hoping it might shut down further conversation, but instead saw him smirk, somewhat amused by my response.

“Easy there Noob. I’m your superior.”

“You may call me Miss Mizuno, not noob, and I believe I actually outrank you as Addison & Rhodes’ brand new Digital Marketing Director.”

“You’re a Director? That’s impossible...how old are you?”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to ask a woman’s age?”

“Don’t care much if people think I’m rude - how old are you?”

I sighed and said, "I’m 30.”

“Me too. What month were you born?”

“What does that matter?”

“I bet I’m older.”

“Even if you are you act like a child so…”

Our banter back and forth had happened so naturally that I didn’t realize the entire floor was watching us go at it in stunned silence.

When I realized that I had somehow become the center of attention (on my first day no less), I smiled at my coworkers and with a small bow introduced myself and let them know that I was looking forward to working with them. Once I sat, the room became lively once more as I listened to the whispers of the people around me as they marveled at the fact I hadn’t backed down from Toma in the slightest.

Toma himself seemed surprisingly amused by it all, and though he didn’t say anything about it, sat next to me without complaint.

Just before lunch he addressed me as, “Miss Mizuno” per my request and I felt triumphant in the fact that I had somehow tamed the tyrant beside me in only a few hours.

Going into my first day at Addison & Rhodes, I already knew the account I’d be working on.

That day in Shun’s office when I’d sat in on the Mira Black coffee account, I’d learned a fair amount about the brand and knew that they were struggling to cement themselves in the millennial market. It was a problem, seeing as how they needed to capitalize on establishing their brand with younger people in the hopes that they would build a lasting brand relationship with these consumers.

At the current moment in time, Mira Black was most popular among 40 year old male office workers, and had a reputation for being a bit bitter, and an acquired taste of sorts.

Taking all this information into consideration, Shun and Toshiaki were hoping that I’d be able to make good on my promise to leverage Tweeter in order to engage a millennial market, and seeing as how this world had gifted me with various cheat codes (despite actually being competent at this job), I had the perfect plan that would ensure I stood out during my first week at Addison & Rhodes.

I used the morning to put together a presentation deck outlining my plan for the week, in the hopes that we might be able to get our Mira Black client to sign off no later than Wednesday.

Seeing as how I was operating under the assumption that I only had a week in this world, I thought it important to distinguish myself here as quickly as I could for fear I might not have the chance later on.

To that point, Shun was surprised when I refused his invitation to lunch in exchange for a private meeting in his office with Toshiaki at 4 PM. With that said, I knew that trading a lunch date in exchange for establishing myself on my first day would impress him far more than some additional flirtatious banter.

I worked like a mad woman - merging Toshiaki’s metrics with my own creative spin, as Toma glanced over at me from time to time, unsure as to what I was working so diligently on, seeing as how it was only my first day.

I finished the deck exactly 15 minutes before the meeting which was something I always did back home (my team joked that I enjoyed the photo finish), and feeling triumphant closed, my assigned laptop in order to make my first presentation as Addison & Rhodes’ Digital Marketing Director.

I got to Shun’s office five minutes early and knocked quietly on his closed office door for fear I was interrupting a client meeting. No sooner had I rapped twice did it fly open, and Shun motioned for me to join him in his office, leaving the door slightly ajar for Toshiaki.

Like any woman who was attempting to seduce her boss, I connected my laptop to the TV in his office as suggestively as possible.

I kept “accidentally” dropping the dongle, bending down to plug and unplug cords, until innocently taking a seat, pretending I was completely unaware of the fact that I’d been showcasing my rear end to him. To that point, when I finally did sit, Shun was looking quite antsy, and I attempted to fan the flames more by crossing and uncrossing my legs which was something I had read drove men crazy in Cosmopolitan magazine as a teenager.

Clearly having met his match, Shun barely was able to get anything out and I felt quite triumphant, seeing as how I’d managed to completely fluster him. Luckily for him, Toshiaki joined us before his mind could fall further into the gutter and I started my presentation.

“Our problem is simple,” I said, “Mira Black has a taste that appeals to a different target bracket than millennials, who tend to opt for limited edition flavors and in general, sweeter coffee drinks. All we need to do is get them to embrace Mira Black, and in order to do that we need to make bitter, cool again.”

“That’s quite the problem...” Shun said skeptically.

“Millennials are not like their parents. They’re not watching ads on television or even YouToob. They’re engaging with brands on Tweeter, and trends are telling them what’s cool since they’re not decided by a stuffy agency like us, but their peers…”

I clicked the arrow on my keyboard to go to the next slide, and watched as Shun’s skepticism spread to Toshiaki.

“Friday night Revance held a pop up concert where their new song ‘Cry Me a River’ prompted them to become one of the top trending hashtags in all of Japan. That song...is bitter. Like Mira Black.”

On my next slide I showcased the heart of my idea - a “Revance Tweeter Takeover” in which the band would take over Mira Black’s Tweeter page, answer questions about breakups, all the while promoting bitterness being cool. In addition to Tweeter, they’d also use FaceTime live to stream a sneak peek of their new LP, whose theme of “heartbreak” went hand in hand with that of “bitterness”.

“Interesting,” Toshiaki said doubtfully, “but Revance would never agree to something like this. They’re notorious for not working with advertisers like us.”

To that I simply smiled, and took out a signed contract from my bag as I slid it across the table towards Shun and Toshiaki.

“They already have. NDA signed with the understanding that they would make themselves available upon request.”

The two men looked at each other in shock, then at me, then at the paper, then at each other, and then at me again.

“These guys owe me a favor,” I said casually.

“You...know Revance?” Shun asked.

I nodded, “All we need to do now is get the client to sign off if you guys like it. I was hoping to shoot for Wednesday or Thursday so…”

Shun and Toshiaki looked at each other in a way that made it clear that they were communicating with each other without having to say anything out loud. I held my breath as I waited for a real response and upon seeing Toshiaki give Shun a curt nod, the creative director finally spoke.

“Ami...I think it’s safe to say that this is the most impressive plan anyone has ever put together at Addison & Rhodes, and you’ve done it on your first day. I...truly, I’m floored. We’ll get on the horn to the client immediately. Toshiaki will present this and hopefully we’ll be green lit before mid week so you can make it happen.”

“Great!” I said cooly, “This will be fun.”

I decided long ago that real men are not threatened by a woman’s competence. They see passion and skill as an attractive quality, and I was pleased in the moments leading up to the day’s conclusion to see that Shun was in fact, a real man.

My presentation did more to seduce him than any of my suggestive flirting ever did, and by the time 6 PM rolled around it was clear that he was eager to take me out to celebrate as he’d promised.

The entire walk to Storm Bar he rattled on and on about how impressed with me he was, and that even Toshiaki had expressed unabashed praise when it came to my plan. He marvelled at the fact that I’d even been able to shut Toma up, and hadn’t cowered under his acrid gaze as many others had.

He gushed on and on about how I amazing I was, and to be honest, I totally agreed with him.

I’d worked my ass off to make sure everything had gone according to plan, and as Shun brought our drinks over to a private table I realized yet again that I’d managed to make it happen. I was alone, having drinks with my boss that I hoped to seduce at some point this week.

It was obvious that it would happen at this rate, the only question was...would it happen tonight?

To be continued…in Part 41!

If you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend or buying me a coffee! My goal is to create an original web series so if you like my characters please consider donating something to help me get it made.

Thanks for reading :)

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Sorry if I missed anyone and let me know if you want to be added/removed!

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marcusssanderson · 7 years

Text

HOW TO STAY MINDFUL AT WORK

By Kate Taylor

Everybody multi-tasking. Nobody giving their full attention to a single task.

“The bottom line is we are all constantly self-distracting,” says Larry Rosen, Ph.D., author and research psychologist.

Rarely, he says, do we “focus and attend” any task for more than three to five minutes. We’re perpetually distracted — primarily by emails, texts and other social media.

No wonder it’s so hard to be mindful at work.

But don’t give up just yet!

Above all, mindfulness requires practice, and the following expert tips are all you need to keep off autopilot and stay mindful throughout your work day.

https://www.mindful.org/10-ways-mindful-work/

Be Consciously Present

Sounds easy, right?

Make a clear decisionat the start of your workday to be present as best you can. Pause for a few moments before you start your work to set this intention in your mind.

Make an effort to work more consciously, even if that means that you need to work more slowly at first—doing so pays off in the long run.

Keep the advantages of being presentin mind to motivate you. Mindfulness brings a powerful sense of calm and focus to your day and will help you produce your best work.

Use Short Mindful Exercises at Work

Mindful exercises train your brain to be more present. The more you do, the easier your brain finds it to drop into a mindful state, thus optimizing your brain function.

Quick way to fall in love with mindfulness:

Be a Single-Tasker

Single-tasking means doing one thing at a time. Multi-tasking means trying to do two or more tasks at the same time or switching back and forth between tasks.

Multi-tasking is a myth, scientists say. We may think we’re multi-tasking, but in reality, our brains are madly switching from one thing to the next, often losing data in the process.

So why do we keep trying to do it? Multi-tasking makes us feel more productive. And that false feeling of productivity, experts say, is addictive.

Here are a few ways to kick the multi-tasking habit for good and become a paragon of single-tasking:

Practice mindfulness during breaksbetween tasks. Once you’ve completed a task, get up, stretch, take some deep breaths or go for a mindful walk.

Use Mindful Reminders

Remembering to be mindful is challenging, even for veteran meditators and mindfulness students.

Reminders can help bring you back to mindfulness. Here are some effective reminders to try:

Set an alarm on your phone – a vibrating alarm that doesn’t disturb others can work well.

Add mindful exercises in your daily schedule – set an appointment with yourself, and keep it.

Post a small note or picture on your deskto remind you to be mindful.

Associate certain activities with mindfulness, such as meal times or meetings or when finishing one task and starting another.

Use the sound of bellsand rings in the workplace as “bells of mindfulness.”

Slow Down to Speed Up

By slowing down, you can become more efficient, productive, happy, resilient and healthy at work.

Chronic rushing is a misuse of energy and leads to bad decisions. Instead, pause, focus on listening, stroll rather than run, and generally take your time at work.

Effective leaders, workers, and entrepreneurs slow down and reflect to make the best decisions—they slow down to speed up. That’s a mindful way of working.

Feel Gratitude

Human beings have what psychologists call a “negativity bias.” That’s a tendency to react more intensely to negative stimuli than equally strong positive stimuli.

We owe this tendency to our primitive ancestors, who made life and death decisions all the time.

Makes sense, right? Back then, it was far more important to remember the poisonous striped snake by the river than the tree with super-sweet plums on the hill.

In modern times, however, that negativity bias is basically a useless buzzkill. It dampens our happiness and pre-disposes up to fear and anxiety.

Our work places are full of things to worry about, from possible future layoffs to perceived bad vibes from the boss. That’s why it’s so important to fight our faulty programming.

“Be mindful of the degree to which your brain is wired to make you afraid, wired so that you walk around with an ongoing trickle of anxiety (a flood for some) to keep you on alert,” Hanson says.

The antidote to all this predisposed negativity?

Gratitude!

Not to worry – we can recover from gratitude-deficit. Try these tricks to bring more gratitude into your life:

http://www.dailygood.org/story/1166/10-ways-to-become-more-grateful-robert-emmons/

Use Visual Reminders. Because the two primary obstacles to gratefulness are forgetfulness and a lack of mindful awareness, visual reminders can serve as cues to trigger thoughts of gratitude.

The post HOW TO STAY MINDFUL AT WORK appeared first on .

#travel #happiness #finding happiness #joy #how to be happy

0 notes

davidamosley · 7 years

Text

HOW TO STAY MINDFUL AT WORK

By Kate Taylor

Everybody multi-tasking. Nobody giving their full attention to a single task.

“The bottom line is we are all constantly self-distracting,” says Larry Rosen, Ph.D., author and research psychologist.

Rarely, he says, do we “focus and attend” any task for more than three to five minutes. We’re perpetually distracted — primarily by emails, texts and other social media.

No wonder it’s so hard to be mindful at work.

But don’t give up just yet!

Above all, mindfulness requires practice, and the following expert tips are all you need to keep off autopilot and stay mindful throughout your work day.

https://www.mindful.org/10-ways-mindful-work/

Be Consciously Present

Sounds easy, right?

Make a clear decisionat the start of your workday to be present as best you can. Pause for a few moments before you start your work to set this intention in your mind.

Make an effort to work more consciously, even if that means that you need to work more slowly at first—doing so pays off in the long run.

Keep the advantages of being presentin mind to motivate you. Mindfulness brings a powerful sense of calm and focus to your day and will help you produce your best work.

Use Short Mindful Exercises at Work

Mindful exercises train your brain to be more present. The more you do, the easier your brain finds it to drop into a mindful state, thus optimizing your brain function.

Quick way to fall in love with mindfulness:

Be a Single-Tasker

Single-tasking means doing one thing at a time. Multi-tasking means trying to do two or more tasks at the same time or switching back and forth between tasks.

Multi-tasking is a myth, scientists say. We may think we’re multi-tasking, but in reality, our brains are madly switching from one thing to the next, often losing data in the process.

So why do we keep trying to do it? Multi-tasking makes us feel more productive. And that false feeling of productivity, experts say, is addictive.

Here are a few ways to kick the multi-tasking habit for good and become a paragon of single-tasking:

Practice mindfulness during breaksbetween tasks. Once you’ve completed a task, get up, stretch, take some deep breaths or go for a mindful walk.

Use Mindful Reminders

Remembering to be mindful is challenging, even for veteran meditators and mindfulness students.

Reminders can help bring you back to mindfulness. Here are some effective reminders to try:

Set an alarm on your phone – a vibrating alarm that doesn’t disturb others can work well.

Add mindful exercises in your daily schedule – set an appointment with yourself, and keep it.

Post a small note or picture on your deskto remind you to be mindful.

Associate certain activities with mindfulness, such as meal times or meetings or when finishing one task and starting another.

Use the sound of bellsand rings in the workplace as “bells of mindfulness.”

Slow Down to Speed Up

By slowing down, you can become more efficient, productive, happy, resilient and healthy at work.

Chronic rushing is a misuse of energy and leads to bad decisions. Instead, pause, focus on listening, stroll rather than run, and generally take your time at work.

Effective leaders, workers, and entrepreneurs slow down and reflect to make the best decisions—they slow down to speed up. That’s a mindful way of working.

Feel Gratitude

Human beings have what psychologists call a “negativity bias.” That’s a tendency to react more intensely to negative stimuli than equally strong positive stimuli.

We owe this tendency to our primitive ancestors, who made life and death decisions all the time.

Makes sense, right? Back then, it was far more important to remember the poisonous striped snake by the river than the tree with super-sweet plums on the hill.

In modern times, however, that negativity bias is basically a useless buzzkill. It dampens our happiness and pre-disposes up to fear and anxiety.

Our work places are full of things to worry about, from possible future layoffs to perceived bad vibes from the boss. That’s why it’s so important to fight our faulty programming.

“Be mindful of the degree to which your brain is wired to make you afraid, wired so that you walk around with an ongoing trickle of anxiety (a flood for some) to keep you on alert,” Hanson says.

The antidote to all this predisposed negativity?

Gratitude!

Not to worry – we can recover from gratitude-deficit. Try these tricks to bring more gratitude into your life:

http://www.dailygood.org/story/1166/10-ways-to-become-more-grateful-robert-emmons/

Use Visual Reminders. Because the two primary obstacles to gratefulness are forgetfulness and a lack of mindful awareness, visual reminders can serve as cues to trigger thoughts of gratitude.

The post HOW TO STAY MINDFUL AT WORK appeared first on .

#keynote speaker #happiness #finding happiness #happy life #how to be happy

0 notes