#I also wanted to distinguish the colors of the eggs and their parents

[larsbarsart]

@cardinallll I drew more of them. Here's the whole page!

I'm gonna try drawing children versions of these eggs next! :]

[jesperweidemann]

Master the Comma

The comma, a seemingly simple punctuation mark, holds significant power in shaping the clarity and flow of written language. Its correct usage can transform a piece of writing from confusing to coherent, making it an essential tool for any writer. Understanding the various roles of the comma and how to apply them effectively is crucial for enhancing readability and ensuring your message is conveyed with precision.

The Role of the Comma in Lists

One of the primary functions of the comma is to separate items in a list. When you enumerate three or more items, commas help to distinguish each element clearly. For instance, consider the sentence: “For breakfast, I had eggs, toast, and orange juice.” Here, the commas separate the items, making the list easy to read. The comma before the conjunction “and” is known as the Oxford comma. While its use is optional, it often helps to prevent ambiguity. For example, “I dedicate this book to my parents, Oprah Winfrey, and God” is clearer than “I dedicate this book to my parents, Oprah Winfrey and God,” which could imply that Oprah Winfrey and God are the parents.

Setting Off Introductory Elements

Commas are also used to set off introductory elements in a sentence. These elements can be words, phrases, or clauses that precede the main clause. For example, “After the meeting, we went out for lunch.” The comma after “After the meeting” signals a pause, helping the reader to understand that the introductory phrase is separate from the main action of the sentence. This use of the comma enhances readability by clarifying the sentence structure.

Joining Independent Clauses

When two independent clauses are joined by a coordinating conjunction (such as for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so), a comma is placed before the conjunction. For instance, “I wanted to go for a walk, but it started raining.” This rule helps to avoid run-on sentences and maintains the flow of ideas. Without the comma, the sentence might feel rushed or jumbled, making it harder for the reader to follow the writer’s train of thought.

Nonessential Information

Commas are also used to set off nonessential information—details that add extra context but are not crucial to the meaning of the sentence. For example, “My brother, who lives in New York, is visiting us next week.” The clause “who lives in New York” provides additional information about the brother but is not essential to the main point of the sentence. Removing it still leaves a complete thought: “My brother is visiting us next week.”

Avoiding Common Mistakes

Despite their importance, commas are often misused. One common mistake is the comma splice, which occurs when two independent clauses are joined by a comma without a coordinating conjunction. For example, “I love reading, it’s my favorite hobby.” This can be corrected by adding a conjunction or changing the comma to a semicolon: “I love reading, and it’s my favorite hobby” or “I love reading; it’s my favorite hobby.”

Another frequent error is the overuse of commas, which can disrupt the flow of writing. For instance, “The cake, was delicious” includes an unnecessary comma that interrupts the sentence. Conversely, omitting necessary commas can lead to confusion. Consider the difference between “Let’s eat Grandma” and “Let’s eat, Grandma.” The first suggests cannibalism, while the second is an invitation to dine.

Advanced Comma Usage

Beyond the basics, commas can be used in more sophisticated ways to enhance writing. When two or more adjectives equally modify a noun, commas are used to separate them. For example, “She wore a bright, colorful dress.” If the adjectives are not equal, no comma is needed: “She wore a bright summer dress.”

Transitional phrases such as “however,” “therefore,” and “for example” should also be set off with commas. For instance, “I wanted to join the team; however, I was too late.” This helps to clarify the relationship between ideas. Additionally, when addressing someone directly, commas are used to set off their name or title, as in “Thank you, Dr. Smith, for your assistance.”

Conclusion

Mastering the comma is essential for effective writing. By understanding the basic rules and avoiding common mistakes, you can use commas to enhance the clarity and flow of your writing. Whether you are listing items, joining clauses, or setting off nonessential information, the comma is a powerful tool that, when used wisely, can significantly improve readability. Remember, the key to mastering the comma is practice and attention to detail. With time and effort, you can become proficient in using this versatile punctuation mark to enhance your writing.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

SPOILER REVIEW FOR ACROSS THE SPIDER VERSE BELOW THE CUT

1000000/10, best movie, go see it immediately, Spider-Man my beloved 💖💖💖

- The Visuals

• Holy shit guys, this might be THE best animated movie ever created. They took the visuals and art styles from the first movie and cranked it up to 10,000!!

• Seeing all the Spider people in different art forms had my eyes glued to the movie, there were so many Easter eggs and nods to other popular Spiders, I know I didn’t see them all!

• The backgrounds were absolutely gorgeous! My personal favorite being the ones from Gwen’s universe, almost every shot had different colors in the background and it was just mesmerizing!

• They did a fantastic job distinguishing each universe from one other by using different color schemes and art styles, even when some of them looked similar, you could tell there was something different!

- The Characters

• They definitely go all in on character development in this film, they wanted to give everyone more character and personality and backstory. We’re missing a few of our Spider friends from the first film but they’re replaced with some new faces!

• Miles, the absolute GOAT, was such a great protagonist in this film. We spend a lot more time with his family this time around and they didn’t shy away from the slow and heavy moments. His mom even gets more of a role in this movie and she was great! He’s only 15 y/o in this movie and absolutely outsmarted every single other Spider at one point which was great to watch! There’s a plot point in the movie concerning Miles that will absolutely break your heart 😭

• Gwen gets a lot more screen time than in ITSV, she’s a stand out character in this movie! We get to see the relationship she has with her dad and get to go more in depth about how she lost her Peter! And I’m happy they didn’t rely too heavily on the romantic aspects between Gwen and Miles, but they touched on it and it was incredibly sweet!

• Miguel O’Hara my beloved!!! (I’m an Oscar Isaac stan, Moon Knight was the best Marvel tv show, fight me on it, lmao) I wouldn’t consider Spider-Man 2099 a villain, but he made a very good antagonist to Miles, he was very threatening! He didn’t get a very in-depth back story but you were given just enough information to sympathize with his pain. Something seemed fishy about his story, maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I’m hopeful they dive into it more in the sequel!

• SPIDER-PUNK, HOBIE BROWN OMG, what a fantastic new addition, he’s such a fucking anarchist and it’s great! He speaks in a thick cockney accent and I love his rebellious nature, he don’t give two shits about what anybody thinks! His character’s look might be the most impressive in the film, apparently it took animators 3 years to make him look the way he did!!

• Pavitr Prabhakar, baby boy, sunshine!! He’s a little cocky but in a cute way! His home of Mumbattan was SO GOD DAMN COLORFUL! I honestly wished he had more screen time because he was super funny and HIS HAIR, SO FLUFFY AND SOFT!!!

• Everyone’s favorite Peter B Parker makes a return! I can say he didn’t have as big of a role in the film as ITSV but he was still great regardless! And now he has a baby girl named Mayday!! And he kept trying to show everyone pictures of her like an actual new parent would lol.

• Jessica Drew is also a new character! She was super badass with her Spider Cycle! AND she was pregnant the whole movie which is even more badass! (Also, side note, when Gwen asked about her pregnancy, I really appreciated that Jess said that they she didn’t know the sex of the baby instead of saying gender, it was small but I liked that little detail!)

• Spot, the main villain of this movie (and the next) was interesting! If I had any real complaints about this movie, it would be that Spot was not in this movie as much as I hoped. I understand why because this is the first part of a 2-part movie, but by the end of the movie, he shows up and I was like “Oh yeah, Spot, where the hell has he been??” But he technically is a character we’ve seen before (I don’t wanna say who because it’s actually funny who he turns out to be!) He starts out being kind of goofy but he gets very threatening!

• There are bunch of other minor characters that I won’t go too deep into but my favorite minor character had to be Ben Riley, he was made to be super over dramatic and stated really obvious things while he was on patrol, got a few laughs out of me!

- The Plot

• Babes, the story is so good in this. I don’t want to give EVERYTHING away cuz I want y’all to see it for yourselves but I will say that this is a 2-parter! There is a “to be continued” at the end of the movie just so you’re prepared!

• The basic premise is that the Spiders have to take down Spot because he’s hopping to different dimensions, making himself more powerful. Spot has a personal grudge against Miles and wants to take away everything from him. You can tell from the trailers that Miles is trying to defy Miguel and what he’s doing, which ends up going in a very suspenseful direction! Again, not going to spoil everything, but it’s just such a great story!

• Like I said, they focus more heavily on family dynamics in the sequel which I loved! More time with Jeff and Rio which was nice to see, Rio has a great talk with Miles during the movie and it was so heartfelt! Gwen and her dad have a few scenes together too, it’s a really great relationship to watch unfold. Gwen and Miles have some great character moments together, but of course it’s not all positive!

• The dynamic between the different Spiders is a blast as well! I was never bored with this movie, it kept me engaged even during the non-action sequences because they did a great job making you care about these characters!

• This movie clocks in at almost 2 1/2 hours but I promise you, you’re not gonna feel that time. I did not want this movie to end! They throw so much at you but at the same time, you’re gonna leave wanting more!

• Where this movie ends is…wow!! I can say I definitely didn’t see it coming until a few seconds before they revealed what was going on, and I sat there and just went “oh…oh no…” for the last 10-15 minutes lol. And apparently the sequel will be out next year! And thank God cuz I could not wait another 3 years!

• A heads up! There aren’t any end credit scenes so you don’t have to stay for those! The only thing that happens after the initial credits is text appearing saying “Miles Morales will return in…” and it gives you the next movie title (won’t say what it is!)

- Miscellaneous (mostly Easter eggs and cameos)

• There were so many GOD DAMN Easter eggs in this film, it’s insane! I know I’ll have to watch it a few more times if I want to catch everything the put in here! There is def one cameo that stands out above everything else (I won’t say who, but you’ll know when you see him 😏)

• They actually showed very brief scenes from Toby Maguire and Andrew Garfield’s movies which caught me completely by surprise, but I sure as shit was happy about it!!

• They don’t show any scenes from Tom Holland’s Spider-Man (which I understand cuz Marvel 🙄) BUT they make two references to it, one with a line from Miguel and with the cameo I mentioned previously!

• The Spectacular Spider-Man had a fucking voice line and I almost passed out, like I watched the shit out of that show, I was so happy he was included! They also showed the PS4/PS5 version of Spider-Man which I thought was pretty funny!

- Final Thoughts

• Peak cinema! The story, the characters, the visuals…all incredible! Go watch it right now immediately!!

[spanishprof1956]

Advent 3A 11 December 2022 We learn early on in life to distinguish road signs and landmarks. When our parents took us to our favorite places, we’d look out for beloved signs that indicated to us where we were on the journey. When I was little, my brother and I took music lessons, and our father had to drive us every Tuesday to the next town over where the music store and music teachers were. In that 20 minute ride, which seemed like forever, we’d point out to each other gasoline stations, funny houses, a windmill… each landmark gave us an idea of how close we were to arrival. And just about 3 minutes before arrival, we’d go up and down a huge hill, and we’d cheer for joy! We were close to our destination, the beloved music store! Isaiah’s passage today brings us an image of a highway, streaking through the desert. It will be called a Holy Way, he says. A highway in the ancient world was built by a king or an emperor. The chief purpose of such roads was to take the king’s armies from one place to another. A highway was always the result of an oppressive tax levied on the people. A highway was an instrument of empire—a means of travel for armies, and a route for the processions of conquering kings. Processions meant to terrorize and control the population. In Jesus’ day, the Romans had built thousands of miles of highways, many of which still exist. There was no question that the Roman roads were instruments of conquest and occupation. But Isaiah’s Holy Way is not a highway of conquest. This is a highway where a different kind of people travel—holy pilgrims traveling in fellowship toward Jerusalem. As they go, they are singing songs of praise to the Lord God. In Advent, the readings about John the Baptist also talk about a road, a “way.” “Prepare the way of the Lord!” John exhorts us. What kind of road are we preparing? What do we do to prepare a way? A parishioner recently asked me if Advent was a penitential season. Many churches change the vestments on the altar from green to violet—is that to connect this season to Lent, which is also color-coded in violet? This is a very good question and it gives scholars and pastors a lot of material to ponder over. I think the best answer is that Advent is reflective—meaning that we should be in thought and prayer, and possibly that might mean some spiritual housekeeping. Like confession. Like repentance. But the focus is different. For example, in Lent, many of our prayers are voiced in the first-person singular, Forgive my sins. Advent, however, uses the first-person plural, and our focus is more corporal. Handel’s Messiah has a chorus, “All we like sheep have gone astray.” Our collect this Sunday mentions, “we are sorely hindered by our sins.” So Advent asks us to collectively ask ourselves, “Where have we gone astray? Where have we missed the mark?” Even John the Baptist wondered if he had put all his spiritual eggs in the wrong basket. Was Jesus who John thought he was? Was he leading people astray? Jesus answers him: Read the signs. See what’s happening. Decide for yourself, but the evidence is here. Jesus wants John, and us, to read the road. Look at the landmarks. We’re getting close! The HILL! John says to us, “Prepare the way of the Lord.” What on earth does that mean? I think it means, we have to become the road, the Holy Way. Isaiah says that the redeemed shall walk there. But it also means that we can’t passively wait, but rather participate in God’s work of constructing a highway. One that is not a pathway for empire, but a road to redemption. We don’t walk this Holy Way alone. We walk as a holy band of pilgrims, a motley caravan of the redeemed. As we walk, our weak hands are strengthened, and our feeble knees are made firm. And we’re waiting for our Redeemer, our Emmanuel, our God-With-Us, to walk alongside us.

Advent 3A 11 December 2022 We learn early on in life to distinguish road signs and landmarks. When our parents took us to our favorite places, we’d look out for beloved signs that indicated to us where we were on the journey. When I was little, my brother and I took music lessons, and our father had to drive us every Tuesday to the next town over where the music store and music teachers were. In that 20 minute ride, which seemed like forever, we’d point out to each other gasoline stations, funny houses, a windmill… each landmark gave us an idea of how close we were to arrival. And just about 3 minutes before arrival, we’d go up and down a huge hill, and we’d cheer for joy! We were close to our destination, the beloved music store! Isaiah’s passage today brings us an image of a highway, streaking through the desert. It will be called a Holy Way, he says. A highway in the ancient world was built by a king or an emperor. The chief purpose of such roads was to take the king’s armies from one place to another. A highway was always the result of an oppressive tax levied on the people. A highway was an instrument of empire—a means of travel for armies, and a route for the processions of conquering kings. Processions meant to terrorize and control the population. In Jesus’ day, the Romans had built thousands of miles of highways, many of which still exist. There was no question that the Roman roads were instruments of conquest and occupation. But Isaiah’s Holy Way is not a highway of conquest. This is a highway where a different kind of people travel—holy pilgrims traveling in fellowship toward Jerusalem. As they go, they are singing songs of praise to the Lord God. In Advent, the readings about John the Baptist also talk about a road, a “way.” “Prepare the way of the Lord!” John exhorts us. What kind of road are we preparing? What do we do to prepare a way? A parishioner recently asked me if Advent was a penitential season. Many churches change the vestments on the altar from green to violet—is that to connect this season to Lent, which is also color-coded in violet? This is a very good question and it gives scholars and pastors a lot of material to ponder over. I think the best answer is that Advent is reflective—meaning that we should be in thought and prayer, and possibly that might mean some spiritual housekeeping. Like confession. Like repentance. But the focus is different. For example, in Lent, many of our prayers are voiced in the first-person singular, Forgive my sins. Advent, however, uses the first-person plural, and our focus is more corporal. Handel’s Messiah has a chorus, “All we like sheep have gone astray.” Our collect this Sunday mentions, “we are sorely hindered by our sins.” So Advent asks us to collectively ask ourselves, “Where have we gone astray? Where have we missed the mark?” Even John the Baptist wondered if he had put all his spiritual eggs in the wrong basket. Was Jesus who John thought he was? Was he leading people astray? Jesus answers him: Read the signs. See what’s happening. Decide for yourself, but the evidence is here. Jesus wants John, and us, to read the road. Look at the landmarks. We’re getting close! The HILL! John says to us, “Prepare the way of the Lord.” What on earth does that mean? I think it means, we have to become the road, the Holy Way. Isaiah says that the redeemed shall walk there. But it also means that we can’t passively wait, but rather participate in God’s work of constructing a highway. One that is not a pathway for empire, but a road to redemption. We don’t walk this Holy Way alone. We walk as a holy band of pilgrims, a motley caravan of the redeemed. As we walk, our weak hands are strengthened, and our feeble knees are made firm. And we’re waiting for our Redeemer, our Emmanuel, our God-With-Us, to walk alongside us.

[brawltogethernow]

@mirrorfalls​ submitted: Came across this while searching for James Bond’s scrambled-eggs recipe (long story). Your thoughts?

~~

But did you find James Bond’s scrambled eggs recipe?

In this article, Scocca laments his inability to find accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable to read with his young son, while also demonstrating a mysterious aversion to looking at DC and Marvel’s lines of comics for children, which is where the accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable for reading with young children are. He wants his elementary schooler to be able to safely have the run of all superhero media so he doesn’t have to touch the yucky baby books.

This is not an industry-wide crisis. This is just one dude who got paid to write an article where he accidentally exposed one of his personal hangups.

The child headed toward the trade paperbacks of Marvel and D.C. superhero titles on the side wall […] a few steps in front of me. […] Is he with you? a clerk asked me. I said he was. You know, the clerk said, we have a kids’ section. The clerk gestured backward, at a few shelves near the entrance. I said, Thanks, we know and tried throwing in a little shrug, as the kid kept going.

You can’t just turn a seven-year-old child loose in a comic-book store to look at the superhero comic books. […] My seven-year-old really wanted to see that last Avengers movie […] that is, he wished it were a movie he could see, but he understood that it was, instead, a movie designed to scare and sadden him—a movie actively hostile to people like him.

They have a children’s section. Because comics are a medium suitable for stories for everybody, and they are sold in comic book shops, which have sections, like bookstores. You can use this organization to find books that you know in advance are suitable for children. What goes in that category is determined by industry professionals. This area will be bigger the bigger the shop is. These comics are not lower quality that titles from the main lines. They are actually slightly better-written on average.

Your local comic book shop has considerately wrapped Empowered in a plastic bag, so your child will not be drawn in by a colorful superhero and accidentally read a graphic scene. If you think your kid might find a memoir about internment camps upsetting, it is your job to notice them picking up They Called Us Enemy and read the blurb on the back before you let them have it. This comic adults are meant to read is in a comic book shop because that is where comics are sold. Not every public place is supposed to be Disneyland.

Movies have ratings systems. If you do not want your child to watch a PG-13 movie, you will find that most superhero cartoons are for children. They are about the same characters. Some are quite good! I really enjoyed Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Your child may like Avengers Assemble. At least I think that’s right. I’m always mixing those titles around.

This is a deeply weird bias for Scocca to casually demonstrate, because he identifies in the article that real childishness is striving for empty maturity.

He compares an old comic,

[…]a 1966 Spider-Man comic in which Spider-Man meets, fights, and defeats the Rhino; participates in a running argument between John Jameson and J. Jonah Jameson about his heroism; buys a motorcycle; breaks up with his first girlfriend, Betty Brant; flirts with Gwen Stacy; and reluctantly agrees to let Aunt May take him to meet her friend Mrs. Watson’s niece, Mary Jane.

and a new comic,

[…]a 21st century comic book in which Thor, brooding in a Katrina-destroyed New Orleans, beats up Iron Man. He also yells at Iron Man a lot about some incomprehensibly convoluted set of grievances, including involuntary cloning, that he believes Iron Man perpetrated against him while he was dead(?), and then summons some other Norse god from the beyond somehow for reasons having something to do with real estate. I think. Where the 1966 comic is zippy and fun and complete, the whole contemporary one is muddled and lugubrious and seems to constitute a tiny piece of a seemingly endless plot arc—simultaneously apocalyptic and inert.

and concludes that the edgier comic is actually less mature. This is true. (This is not news about mediocre comics.)

It also has nothing to do with either comic being child-friendly, the article’s nominal thesis, except in the sense that ASM #41 (yes, I eyeballed that from that summary, yes I am just showing off now) is better written, making it more everyone-friendly. It also has practically more space dedicated to word balloons than art and is about a college student juggling girl problems and a part-time job with a tyrannical boss. But the immature one, as Scocca points out, is dour.

These are both teenagery issues, separated only by quality. It’s true that lots of new comics published by the big 2 are bad in the specific way Scocca describes here, taking themselves too seriously and hauled down by associated stories instead of buoyed by them. Some are not! Some titles from these companies’ main continuities are zippy, contained, and child friendly. Give your child The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl! Or if you like vintage comics so much better, why don’t you…buy some?

The books on the kid’s rack are good and fun and totally suitable for parents to read with their children without wanting to scoop their eyeballs out. Scocca cites the Batman ‘66 comics as the brightly colored, tightly written all ages solution to his problem about sharing superhero stories with his son. My local comic shop stores this title in the kid’s section. I am glad that Scocca’s does not, as he seems to have a peculiar aversion to looking for comics to read with his son there.

Scocca cites Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as a superhero movie he could watch with his kids. (I was surprised when this line made it sound like he has several. I don’t want to assume the other one isn’t in this article because they’re a girl, but I very much am assuming that.) Great! Go to the kid’s section and look for Marvel Adventures: Spider-Man. It’s a fun, zippy title directly inspired by ITSV where Miles, Gwen, and Peter superhero together. It’s much more tightly written than most of the various Spider-Verse comics, which are ambitiously messy ubercrossovers. You may not want to give those to children because they include murder and so on, but also you just have the choice between the two as an adult reader deciding how much continuity you want to deal with. Adventures is one of the only titles I would buy on sight before corona. The kid comic rack is a reliable place to take a break from How Comics Get Sometimes regardless of how old you are.

This article makes me feel quarrelsome. Maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like exploration of a single idea so much as a loosely grouped bundle of things to kvetch about. Maybe it’s that the experience of getting into superheroes that Scocca describes experiencing, projects his seven-year-old son will experience, and from which he extrapolates a metaphorical microcosm of the history of the genre is completely alien to me.

Comic books [and] comic-book movies—are […] trapped in their imagined audience’s own awful passage from childhood to adolescence. A seven-year-old has a clean […] appreciation of superheroes. They like hero comics because the comics have heroes: bold, strong, vividly colored good guys to fight off the bad guys and make the world safe.

But seven-year-olds stop being seven. […] They become 13-year-olds, defensively trying to learn how to develop tastes about tastes.

The 13-year-old wants many things from comics, but the overarching one is that they want to prove that they’re not some seven-year-old baby anymore. They want gloomy heroes, miserable heroes, heroes who would make a seven-year-old feel bad. (Also boobs. They want boobs.)

Not because of the boobs line, although that does illicit an eyeroll that this gloomy thinkpiece is fretting over preserving the superhero experience of little boys who resemble the little boy the writer was while casually dismissing everyone else. I was one of those unlikable little seven-year-olds with a college reading level and the impression that maintaining it was the crux of my worth. I only read Books - distinguished media you could club someone with. I have a formative memory of pausing, enraptured, in front of a poster for Spider-Man 3, preparing to say that it looked pretty cool, and being beaten to the punch by my mother making a disparaging comment about how the movie was trash. It wasn’t out yet, but it was a superhero movie. That meant it was for loud, brainless children.

That was the total of my childhood experience with superheroes, excluding being the unwilling audience to incessant renditions of “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” that left me wondering why in god’s name Batman’s sidekick was named Robin. I certainly never visited a comic book shop. I got into TvTropes, which got me into webcomics, which got me following David Willis, who got me into Ask Chris at ComicsAlliance, which led to me rewarding myself for studying like a demon for the AP tests with three volumes of Waid’s Daredevil, pitched as a return to the character being colorful and swashbuckling. I was seven…teen.

This is of the same thread as Scocca’s point that immaturity is running from childish things. It leaves me baffled that he doesn’t follow that maturity is embracing them.

I will disclose here that while I think it was dumb I had to overcome my upbringing’s deeply embedded shame associated with enjoying arbitrarily defined lowbrow media and children being childish, I think it’s fine that I was allowed largely unchecked access to technically age-inappropriate content. In my limited experience, content small children are too young for is also content they’re too young to understand, so it kind of just bounces off of them, and what actually ends up terrorizing them is unpredictable collages of impressions that strike out at them from content deemed perfectly child-friendly. I would not forbid a seven-year-old I was in charge of from seeing an MCU movie unless I had a reason to believe that specific child would not take it well. These are emotionally low-stakes bubblegum films. It will probably be easier to socialize with other kids if they have seen them.

But then, when I picture being in charge of a hypothetical child, I usually imagine this being the case because they are related to me, and the pupal stage in my family strongly resembles Wednesday Addams. ALL children love death and violence, though, right?? This isn’t a joke point. I know it looks like a joke point.

The MCU thing seems especially weird in light of the article’s particular focus on Spider-Man, which is the kiddie line of the MCU, even if they refused to waver from their usual formula enough to get a lower rating. Though I am more inclined to describe it as “preying on the young” than “child-friendly”.

(MCU movies are increasingly dubious propaganda, but I would not judge them in front of a child who wanted to watch them for that reason, just in case this led to them partaking of them without me the second they were old enough to and then they grew up to run a blog about them while our relationship suffered because they didn’t feel like it was safe to talk to me about their interests…Mom.)

I tried to overcome the philosophy of letting anyone read anything while compiling this handful of mostly-newish superhero recs for the road that anyone can read. (Handily, I have been in spitting distance of being hired as a comic shop clerk enough to have thought about it before):

For actual children:

Marvel Adventures Spider-Man (the new one is reminiscent of ITSV, the old one is more like 616) any DC/Archie crossover, Archie’s Superteens The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl (for bookish children who think they’re too good for comics and adults afraid of the kid’s section) Teen Titans Go (even if you hate the show) Superman Smashes the Klan

For teens:

Ms. Marvel Young Avengers (volume 2) Unbelievable Gwenpool Batman: Gotham Adventures Teen Titans Go (the tie-in comic based off the old show was also called this)

Here are a bunch of relevant C. S. Lewis quotes.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 11: Intruloceit (pt 2)

@tsshipmonth2020

The sequel y’all were waiting for! (@hoppe-ideas)

Day 11: ‘Choose your own adventure’ day! I chose to continue from Day 9, since I couldn’t very well leave it there.

Content warning: allusions to abuse, Remus being Remus (need I elaborate?), implied past panic attack, mention of bipolar disorder, and of course, Janus’ crippling insecurities. Angst with a happy ending. 

Word count: 4k

*READ DAY 9 FIRST*

Blue: What time are you available?

Green: What is this, a doctor’s office? I’m free after lunch 

Blue: I was merely tr

Green: I know, I know. I’m just teasing you. It’s endearing, my little mocking-nerd. Bring your textbook, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. It’s octopus learning time!

Blue: I will never understand you.

Green: Good 

He drew a crude rendering of the devil emoji, then a heart, and the conversation ended as quickly as it began.

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

Green: What would happen if you injected coca cola into your bloodstream

Blue: No.

Green: It’s just a question!

Blue: I’m assuming you would die.

Green: Damn. Can we try anyways?

Blue: No!

Green: C’mon, for science?

Blue: NO! Why did this question even arise?!

Janus hid a small chuckle, before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth. Even if the writing was as much on his arm as it was theirs, it still felt wrong to read it. Felt wrong to admit that he was starting to enjoy their shenanigans.

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

Green: Hey

Blue: Hello, my dear. What is so important that you couldn’t text me?

Green: my mom broke my phone and I’m having an attack

Janus sat straight up, his calligraphy pen clattering to the floor, effectively ruining the large swooping letters he was working on with a splattered gold streak. This was the first message the two had shared that wasn’t either Blue’s notes about homework or Green’s odd creative ideas, or cheesy conversations between the two that Janus tended not to read. It felt like intruding on someone’s life. He hadn’t learned their names yet, and while they always stuck to the same color scheme, he knew at this point he’d be able to distinguish their handwriting with no hesitation. It was his version of hearing their voices, and he’d started growing attached to them. He turned his full attention to the conversation on the back of his arm, feeling a surge of worry.

Blue: I’m on my way, be at the curb in ten minutes?

Green: thanks

Blue: Remember those breathing exercises. Try to stay calm. 

Green: please hurry

Blue: I’m driving as fast as I can, love.

The messages ended there, and Janus didn’t sleep that night.

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

Blue: Happy birthday, Remus. I hope you have an amazing day.

Remus: Are we still good to go for tonight? 

Blue: Of course. I had Roman and Patton help plan most of the date, so I hope you enjoy it.

Remus: Logan, if it’s with you, I will~ 

Logan: You’re a sap.

Remus: And you love it

Logan: Guilty.

Never had Janus felt so alone. It was one thing to have anonymous messages scribbled on your arm, little doodles and good luck wishes, but to know their names? That brought on a whole new round of tears that he hated himself for. Remus and Logan. The names of his so-called soulmates, the labels he could finally put to the personalities. As much as he hated to admit it, waking up had become a whole lot easier since they’d started appearing on his skin. It was something little to look forward to.

It also hurt, just a little bit more. Before he was eighteen, he’d been able to imagine his situation like his parent’s, with a soulmate who would end up hating and hurting him, and it was easy to decide to never communicate when the time arrived. And even if they seemed like genuinely good people, every time he lifted a pen to respond, to announce his presence, he stopped himself, as his father’s words rang through his head.

Why would anyone want you, Janus?

You’re a mistake, and they’ll see that instantly.

Honestly, what good do you even have to offer a soulmate?

He didn’t want them to be true, but it wasn’t like anyone had ever told him differently. His mother avoided his eyes and was silent, his peers treated him like a disease, so those words were the ones he started to believe. So he capped the pen, pulled his sleeve down, and ignored the small feather light tickles as they spread across his arms. 

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

Of course, it wasn’t avoidable forever. 

It was writing on skin, did he think that was something he would never do accidentally? Was he really that stupid? They were going to be so pissed when they found out how long he’d been snooping on their conversations. They’d hate him. They’d never be open to the idea that he was somehow meant to be in their lives. He was done. He was such an idiot.

These were the thoughts raging through his mind as he looked down over himself in shock, spilled amber ink shimmering on his skin. It was an accident; an opening of an ink pod combined with over enthusiastic dancing to the Chicago soundtrack, leading to a faltering concentration and skin covered in staining gold. He’d been sitting cross legged on his chair when the cartridge exploded, and he’d bounded to his bathroom to try and wash it off, but it had only been partially successful. There was no doubt in his mind that they would see it. It had covered a good majority of today’s messages on his arms, smeared across his shins from hurriedly trying to wipe it away, and speckled across his face like the world’s most unfortunate freckles. 

He dropped back into his chair, his music now turned off, and laid his head on the cool wood of his desk. The ticking on his clock was the only sound in the room and he counted each one, mentally marking the minutes as they passed by. Waiting. Five minutes of silent fear had passed before a new anxiety began to rise in him. What if they were his soulmates, but he wasn’t theirs? He’d heard of it happening, ever so rarely, that soulmarks weren’t reciprocated. If that was true for him, and he was starting to become sure it was, they wouldn’t see the ink. They never would. He would be forced to live the rest of his life on the outside, reading their life on his skin but never able to take part. Somehow that seemed a lot worse now that it wasn’t his choice.

Just as he was starting to spiral, a familiar tickle on his arm snapped him back to the present. His head jerked up, hair falling into his heterochromatic eyes as he followed the dark blue script, starting just under the largest golden spill.

Hello? 

And how should he respond to that? He couldn’t think of a fun one liner, a sassy quip, to introduce himself. For the first time in his life, lying wasn’t an option, and he hated that. He grabbed the first pen he could grab, a black ballpoint, with shaking fingers.

Hi. Well, that was lame. 

You’re our soulmate. It was less of a question, more of a statement. Janus took a deep breath, bringing the pen down again.

Yes. 

I’m sorry. What he was apologizing for, he couldn’t quite put a finger on. But it felt right. Apologizing was simply second nature to him.

Whatever for?

He didn’t know how to answer that time, so he did what he always did best, and watched. Waited again, hoping that Blue (Logan, he remembered vaguely), would just drop the subject. This was the most conversation he’d had with someone in a while. 

My name’s Remus. The other dork is Logan. 

The green ink appeared under the blue, and Janus’ heart dropped painfully in his chest. As if he didn’t already know their names. It’s not as if he could say that, though. 

You seem kinda shy. It’s cute 

Let them speak, Remus. 

Both of them went silent, offering time to allow Janus to write. But he didn’t know what to say, how to explain… 

So he didn’t. He yanked down the sleeves of his pajama top, pulling the edges over his hands to hide the now dried golden  ink, and collapsed onto his bed, dooming himself to another night of restless sleep. 

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

If Janus had the choice, he wouldn’t have gone to school the next day. He would have laid curled up under his blanket, struggling to tune out the sound of his parents arguing, letting the world pass him by like an old camera reel. Janus didn’t have the choice though, not when he remembered it was nearing the end of the year and exam season was drawing closer, and then the bickering downstairs became motivation. Good grades would equal an out-of-state college, which would mean getting away from thrown dishes and slamming doors. 

Even so, that didn’t mean that Janus didn’t regret the entire day of school. It seemed like a breath of fresh air when the lunch bell rang and the students shuffled out of the class in a lump, leaving just him and Mr. Sanders behind, as per usual. Just as he reached down to pull his lunch out of his bag (just a handful of cold scrambled eggs he had set aside from his already meager breakfast), the teacher spoke.

“I actually have a meeting today, Jay. You’re gonna have to find a different place to have lunch.”

“What?” Janus recoiled as he spoke, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He hadn’t meant to talk back, half expecting a lecture, and was surprised when the teacher’s expression morphed into one of sympathy.

“Sorry, bud. It’s a staff meeting, and I couldn’t find a TA to watch the room over the break. It’s only for today. Cafeteria is open though, I’m sure you can find an empty table there. Or better yet,” He smiled softly, lifting his laptop bag onto his shoulder, “Sit with someone. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

Janus picked up his bag as well, rushing from the room without a second glance. He didn’t feel like explaining that the reason he sat alone wasn’t his choice, and he couldn’t help it. He was just tired of being pushed away, so why not make the first move himself. 

The path to the cafeteria was hardly trodden by him, and he tried to take in the pictures of past grad classes on the wall for as long as possible before his time was up. The security guard marching the halls gave him a pointed look, reminding him that he couldn’t stay in the hallways during lunch, so he hunched his shoulders and walked into the lunch room. He cursed the weather under his breath for being so damn hot today; he would melt in his hoodie and gloves to cover the ink. Luckily the splatters on his face blended in enough with the skin tone to be unnoticeable. 

The first thing he noticed is that it was loud. People shouted, trays clattered, and Janus wanted nothing more than to curl up in his hoodie. Social interaction. Gross. The second was that Mr. Sanders had been right, there was a line of empty tables at the back that people seemed to avoid in favor of grouping together in the center. The third and final thing was the overwhelming sense of loneliness that flooded Janus as soon as he walked in. Sitting alone in an empty room was one thing, choosing to sit alone in a crowded room was another. 

For a split second, the teacher’s words ran through his mind, and he wondered briefly if he should join a group, only for his anxiety to immediately shut the idea down with a shriek of are you crazy?!

He chose the closest table to the door that was untouched and sat hesitantly, appetite lost. All he had to do was get through an hour of this, he thought painfully. If he paid close enough attention, he could tune into other people’s conversations, and if he closed his eyes and drifted far enough, he might actually imagine that he was a part of them. 

“Hi!”

Janus’ eyes shot open and he shrunk back as if he’d been slapped. Standing in front of him was a guy he recognized from his math class, bouncing on his heels enough to make his blonde curls fall into his eyes. He was grinning from ear to ear, gleaming teeth matching the white collar that stood out from under his blue sweater. 

“Do you want to sit with us?”

His critical glare didn’t deter the overly joyful guy as he gestured over Janus’ shoulder, encouraging him to look. He did, albeit reluctantly. Four people were sitting at the table behind him, three caught up in a spirited conversation. The last one was staring back at him owlishly through thick square glasses, and surprisingly, Janus wasn’t unsettled by the look. 

“Come sit with us!” The happy guy said again, looking like he was refraining himself from just grabbing Janus and pulling him over. His round glasses had started edging down his nose as he hopped from foot to foot.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep! Please?” He drew out the word for several seconds. Janus couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, nodding mutely and gathering his backpack. His anxiety started again, pelting him with ‘they’re going to hate you’s and ‘this changes nothing’s, but he pushed them down resolutely. It was just the one meal. Tomorrow would be back to normal, eating lunch by himself in Mr. Sanders’ room. And he really couldn’t say no to that hopeful face. 

“Yay! Okay,” He led Janus to the table, dropping into one of the two empty seats and pointing to the one next to him. He took a deep breath before gushing on, “Sit! Okay, okay, okay, so I’m Patton, purple-hair is Virgil but they hate the name so you can just call them V. We all call them V. That’s Logan, and the twins are Roman and Remus. Remus has the white streak, but it’s actually really easy to tell them apart once you get to know them.”

Janus’ blood froze in the middle of Patton’s gleeful rant. Those names… those were all the names that kept popping up over the five months of secret soulmate snooping. That wasn’t a coincidence, right? Most of those names weren’t exactly common.

His eyes shifted to the two Patton had introduced as Remus and Logan, sitting shoulder to shoulder across from him. Remus had halted whatever he was talking so animatedly about in favor of greeting the newcomer, but Janus couldn’t get himself to wave back. Instead he dropped his gaze to their loosely intertwined hands on the table, feeling somewhat lightheaded at the identical golden stains covering both of them. 

So... he ran. He wasn’t proud of it, and he was somewhat certain that he’d made a scene, but he couldn’t do it. His own self doubt was crippling, all his fears rushing him full forced and reminding him just how little he mattered, how messed up his life had made him, how he would only ruin any possible relationship. This was all too real now. They fit so well to the picture he had unintentionally made of them in his mind; navy blue button up tops and slicked back hair, green bomber jackets and mussed up shoulder length curls. Eyes that glinted with barely concealed mirth, a dimpled grin revealing almost razor sharp canines. Two polar opposites, so perfectly built for each other, soulmates. He would just come along and ruin it. 

Screw the sun, he thought, as he sat on the scalding hot bleachers by the football field. To his extreme annoyance, tears had started drifting down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away from sheer habit. His dad didn’t like tears almost as much as he didn’t like Janus. It wasn’t like they would know it was him, right? All they knew was a stranger had been invited to their table and had booked it before they even got his name. So he could stay a mystery, a fly on the wall, for the rest of his days.

The all too familiar feeling on his arm was more of a curse now than it ever had been. Resigned to his fate, he rolled the sleeve up to read whatever the two were no doubt talking about. 

Hi. 

He looked around frantically despite his better judgment, his eyes landing on a figure standing at the end of the bench, uncapped pen in one hand and one blue sleeve rolled up. Logan regarded him with a careful look, locked in a staring contest that neither wanted to look away from. The other broke first, turning his focus to his steps across the rickety surface as he approached Janus. He took a seat, mumbling something about how hot it was, before scribbling something else onto his arm and capping the pen. Janus tried to fight the urge to look down at his own still-bare arm, but he couldn’t resist a quick peak.

I found him. Bleachers in the north field.

“Why don’t you take off the gloves, at least. It’s almost ninety degrees out.”

Welp. Apparently this was happening. “How did you know?” He whispered, not touching his gloves.

“Remus and I both felt naturally drawn to you as soon as you walked into the cafeteria. We could not and still can not explain it. When Patton followed our gaze, he was more than eager to invite you over. Not that he needed the prompting, I am certain he would have invited you over regardless of Remus’ and my feelings the moment you sat alone,” Logan stopped briefly, taking note of the new green smiley face under his last message, “Your reaction to our names and hands in rapid succession was enough to solidify our previous suspicions. That-” He pointed to the shared messages on their skin, “-was the final proof I needed.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Janus at a complete loss for words, until a loud clang to their right grabbed both of their attentions. Remus was clinging to the railing like a vine, having climbed all the way from the bottom, he realized with a start. The older man crawled over the top and landed solidly, rattling the seats, before bouncing over to them.

“Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi!” He plopped onto the bench in front of Janus, sitting backwards to face them. Consequently, he was slightly lower than the other two, and could see Janus’ usually ducked face for the first time. “Oooh, I like your birthmark! Is it a birthmark? Or a burn? Either way, I don’t care. I like it.”

“Gee, thanks,” Janus snarked before he could stop himself, his self protective tendency rising to the surface. Remus only giggled in response, manspreading a tad more and leaning forward on his elbows. 

“I like him, Logan. He’s feisty.”

“I’m so glad I have your approval.” He was on guard now, he couldn’t help it.

“Remus, stop pestering him. He just met us.”

Remus grumbled under his breath but held his tongue. Logan could silence him, he’d have to remember that for the future. If they had a future. He couldn’t help the sliver of hope since they had actually come to find him… but maybe it was to let him down easy. No clue.

“When did you turn eighteen?” The question shouldn’t have shocked him the way it did; it was a valid thought.

“Five months ago.”

And he waited, expecting the worst at the sharp intakes of breath from both of them. Expected them to stand up and leave. Expected them to call him a creep. Expected them to… anything, really. 

Well, anything except take his hands. Which they both did.

It was like they could speak telepathically, the way they seemed to be so in sync. Maybe that was a soulmate thing. Remus reached forward and weaved their fingers together at the same time that Logan placed his hand over Janus’ left one, squeezing it gently. They were both calming gestures in their own ways, and admittedly the most contact Janus had felt in maybe years. If that wasn’t enough to bring back his tears, Logan’s next words certainly were. 

“Why didn’t you write right away?”

“That’s so much missed time we could have spent together,” Remus chipped in, eyes surprisingly soft. 

“I…” Oh, for fuck’s sake. Better let them see how messed up he is now so they can walk away before he gets attached. More attached. “My parents are soulmates and they ended up hating each other. He’s a jerk, he hurts her and me and I didn’t want that to happen to me and my soulmate. Soulmates, I guess. Then the first thing I saw was you guys talking, and I realized, there’s two of you,” He laughed humorlessly, shrugging nonchalantly, “You wouldn’t be missing out if I never made myself known, and what kind of asshole would I be if I intruded on your relationship anyways? It’s not like I can add anything worthwhile. I’m not… that great of a person. I never have been. I have too much baggage and I’m pretty boring and I only scare people away so if I were you I’d get out while I had the chance.” His cracking voice gave away how he actually felt, and he despised himself for it. In all honesty, there was nothing he wanted more than to be held and loved and wanted. He’d never had that before in his life, was it a crime to not want to be pushed aside forever?

To his utter confusion, neither of them pulled away. He’d just vented to two strangers, and they were still as attentive as before. 

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that,” Remus hummed in a decent impression of John Mulaney, letting his thumb glide over Janus’. 

“So if I’m correct,” Logan stated in a tone that implied he usually was correct, “You didn’t contact us because you didn’t want to burden us, or get yourself hurt.”

“I mean… yeah.”

“I’m going to kill your dad,” Remus chirped all too brightly, “For hurting you. And for ever making you think that we would hurt you.” 

“Remus!”

“It’s true!”

Logan sighed heavily, “Remus is a little extreme, sometimes, but he is harmless. Look, I can assure you that your presumptions are entirely false. We would never harm you, and anything you’ve gone through in your past, what you call baggage, is not a deterrent to us in the slightest.”

“I have bipolar disorder, and a whole wacky past that we’ll get into another time,” Remus added, waving away Logan’s ‘shut up’ face, “And in the fifteen years I’ve known this nerd, he’s always stood by me.”

Janus knew it was supposed to feel better, but learning that the two have known each other since long before they knew they were soulmates suddenly made Janus feel that much more like he was intruding. Remus must have noticed his expression, because he quickly kept going.   

“All I mean is that we have our fair share of baggage, my multicolored friend-”

“Remus!”

“Both of us do. So you won’t be hurting us in any way, shape, or form. And we won’t hurt you either.”

Janus’ own doubts were still raging inside him, but each word they said was adding splashes of water, slowly dousing the flames, much to his dismay. Even Remus’ attempts at humor were delighting him in ways he wasn’t used to. 

“For some reason, the universe wants us together somehow. We’re meant to be in each other’s lives. Aw gross, that sounds like something Roman would-”

“Trusting us will be a slow process, and we understand that,” Logan interrupted smoothly, “You don’t need to believe our words, because we’ll prove it to you. Alright?” 

It took a second until Janus nodded, but he did. He could hardly understand it himself.

“Can you start by telling us your name?”

“Janus.” It was a near whisper, a confession of the name he’d disliked since he was old enough to get bullied by his peers.

“The two faced Roman god of decisions, doorways, and new beginnings,” Logan spouted as if on instinct.

“Janus,” Remus repeated slowly, before a huge grin stretched across his face, “I love it.”

[votederpycausemufins]

I promise you by the end of this chapter, both of the bots are being held in the arms of someone. who those people are... uhhh well you better read the chapter. it is definitely no one bad.

@petrichormeraki @helleborusangel

Tubbo struggled against the ropes that tied them to a chair. He had been put in a room with someone else, but it was still too dark to see. He wasn’t sure if Ranboo was still there, but Tubbo was face to face with the screen that matched Dream’s mask. With the bright light, it was hard to distinguish the rest of the form from the dark room, but Tubbo could just make out the shape of the body. 

From the short time he had known the pair of bots, he was pretty sure this was Grumbot. He tried to say something, but the cloth in their mouth made it tough. Still, he watched as the screen tilted from the robot tilting its head, so Tubbo tried again. He kept repeating a single word over and over until it was understood, then the robot moved and suddenly Tubbo was squinting their eyes as the room filled with light.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust, but when they did, he finally got a good look at the robot. A large crack was on the screen with a dent near it on the monitor. There were also similar dents on other places of the robot’s body. The buttons that had been on the robot’s chest had been torn out and the light next to them was also cracked. There were three holes in a line on the robot’s side where something had pierced it, sparks occasionally appearing through them. Finally, the normally clean body was covered with burn marks and mud and other things.

Tubbo couldn’t help but feel sad for him. Obviously he’d been stuck with Dream and the admin hadn’t been caring for the bot. And that made Tubbo’s heart hurt. He had listened to Dream and ended up exiling Tommy just when they had all come up with a different plan. He had been so upset at Techno for what he had done that he ended up leaving Tommy to something like this. It was a miracle he was even willing to still be around Tubbo.

The sound of a snort made Tubbo look around. He couldn’t tell the source, but there was the sound of cloven hooves lightly clopping on the ground and moving closer. Tubbo smiled sadly when Michael finally came into view, then tilted his head as the ziglin grabbed Grumbot’s arm. Grumbot turned to look at Michael, who was spooked a little and pulled away with a squeal to hide behind the chair Tubbo was stuck in.

Tubbo wanted to comfort Michael, but couldn’t really move to do that. He tried pulling against the ropes again, but then paused as the light from the screen flickered in front of him. He watched as the image was changing to how the bot’s face normally looked, like he was trying to get back to normal, but eventually the screen was back to just a smile. Still, that alone gave Tubbo some hope for the bot. He tried a bit more, and it started to feel like one of the bindings was coming a little loose. He started focusing on that one arm, but then froze when something touched it. A small snort then came from the same area and Tubbo was able to watch out of the corner of his eye as Michael used a toy sword to help cut the ropes. Since it was a toy and not that sharp, it took a bit, but finally the rope snapped.

Tubbo was glad to have their arm free and pulled out the fabric gagging their mouth. Once it was gone, he pulled Michael into a one armed hug. “Good job Michael! I’m sorry I was gone so long. I’m sure you missed me.”

Tubbo talking seemed to get someone’s attention, because now the person in the other chair was moving, muffled noises coming from them. “Can you try to help them out too?”

Michael nodded and went over to the other person as Tubbo continued to free themself. Once he was, he went over to help Michael with the other person, who Tubbo instantly recognized. They were easily able to get the ropes off Tommy, but instead of a cloth or rope preventing him from speaking, a metal shackle of sorts was covering his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t think we can easily get that off.”

Tommy nodded in understanding before looking over to Grumbot, Tubbo following his gaze. The robot was still just standing there, having done nothing to prevent them escaping. “Tommy, I don’t want to leave Michael here and I’m not sure I can lift Grumbot. Can you carry him?”

Tommy nodded and attempted to pick the robot up, but he was met with it pulling an axe out and attacking him. A muffled yell came from Tommy and Tubbo pulled him back. “Okay, not picking him up then. But I don’t want to just leave him here.”

Tommy held up some of the discarded rope and formed it into a lead. He held it up to Tubbo as a suggestion, making Tubbo reluctantly nod. “I guess that could work, though I wish we had a better option.”

Tubbo helped tie the rope around Grumbot’s waist and then let Tommy have the other end of the rope before picking Michael up. “I’ll message the others that we have him.”

Tommy nodded and Tubbo pulled out their communicator to send a message. He was almost done with it when someone spoke, making him pause. “I. W-w-w-want. M-my. D-bzzt.” Tubbo looked up, seeing that the voice had been Grumbot, whose face was currently back to it’s mustachey self.

“Your dads? We’re trying, don’t worry.” Tubbo attempted to comfort the bot by patting him, but Grumbot just flinched away and Tubbo pulled their hand back. He then finished up the message and sent it. “Let’s go. I’m sure Grian will see it in a moment.”

Dead plants were strewn about and anything the red plants weren’t touching were instead coated in a thin layer of mycelium. Everyone was injured enough that they lay on the ground from the wounds. The person who got them to that state was currently staring up at the red egg-shaped plant in the corner of the cavern, blade in hand. “Were it under any other circumstance, I may have said yes, but a mother protects her children.”

The sword was stabbed into the egg a multitude of times until the attacker was absolutely sure it was dead. Around them, the people who had been affected by the egg seemed to be coming out of a bit of a daze. Bad sat up, rubbing his head and opened an eye to see the egg killer in front of him. They bent down and then stood back up holding Jrumbot. “This is mine.”

“Wh-Hey! You still can’t just take him like that!”

“Hmm, I assumed your care for him was simply due to the control of the plant. I see I assumed wrong.” They brushed a hand over the remaining vines on Jrum. “Hmm, these will be removed after he has woken up and I can see how he is doing. I wouldn’t want them to have taken a host.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is a chance the plant may try keeping itself alive through the plants growing within this child. It should not be too much of a problem to remove once they have awoken. But that will require waiting.”

“Wait, so are you one of Jrum’s parents?” The demon spoke and slowly stood up. “Why are you only getting here now?”

“As far and the child is concerned, I am not, and yet am. The one I use as a host is one of their parents. We have a reluctant alliance as we both want to protect. However, I cannot do much more than this, so the spores from my mycelium will not cause you any trouble.”

The demon looked over at the dead egg. “How did you kill it without getting yourself killed?”

“It was weak. The host I have taken is very strong. A lineage of death and Watchers trained as admin among other things. It is disappointing to see a child of such a person fall to an organism such as this. Now, the previous question of the delayed arrival. Time has been distorted and what was a few days has become a few months.” 

“That’s a thing that can happen?”

“Yes. It is more common of an occurrence than one may think.”

Then Jrum stirred before waking up with a slight yawn. “Dad?”

“Almost.”

Jrum looked up at the one holding him then frowned. “Oh… I was asking for my new dad.” And he crossed his arms.

“You must answer some questions first. First of all, are you able to change the color of your screen?”

“Yeah, but why would I?”

“Change it to blue, then you may change it back. This is simply a test.” Jrum rolled his digital eyes, but shifted everything to a blue hue before changing back. “Good. Now you are to ignore this threat, but if you hear a response to the threat, please inform me. Is that understood?”

“Why should I?”

Bad leaned over to make sure he could be seen by Jrum. “They’re just making sure you’re doing okay. Can you please tell them if you do?”

Jrum nodded and then the threat came, the grayish-purple of their eyes spreading out from the sockets. “If you still hold any control, you will come to regret it as you are infected from the inside out and you experience every minute bit of pain that you caused others even unintentionally.” Then the growth receded and they spoke again in a calmer voice. “Did you hear anything?”

Jrum shook his head. “No. Is that good or bad?”

“Very very good.” Bad answered, which made Jrum smile.

“I will be able to remove these remaining plants with little harm, but it may take a while and I will need to go dormant once more while they are killed.” Bad opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off. “I will return to remove the spores when they have completed their work. They would just cause more damage if they remained in a being such as this.”

“Alright, good to know.”

The main vines around Jrum’s antenna were pulled off and discarded to the floor. Then a kiss was pressed to the bot’s forehead before the grayish-purple color disappeared from the eyes and were replaced by Grian’s normal eyes. “Hoo boy, how much did I miss?” He looked around at all the dead flora. “My guess is a lot.”

“I’ve just gotten a message. Someone has found and recovered Grum. We should find them before the admin attempts to take him back once more.” Xannes spoke, having received the message with his helmet. “I’m attempting to as for- Hmm, that is concerning.”

Mumbo looked over to the hacker. “What’s wrong?”

“I received a message with their coordinates, but also their current predicted end coordinates. They were sent by a name of someone not in the group. Also their group includes Tommy, who is most definitely the one currently next to you in bed, meaning his hels version is there instead.”

“Can I ask who’s in the group?”

“The one to send the message is Tubbo. They say they are with Tommy, Grum, and someone by the name of Michael.”

“Can you stay here and watch over Tommy? One of us needs to stay and I-”

“Yeah yeah, go see your kid.”

Mumbo nodded and made sure Tommy was tucked in well before getting up and following the coordinates that had been messaged to him as well. He had absolutely no idea how much time he had, so he ran a bit before using his elytra to get into the air and hope to find the group.

He was getting to the point something had happened to them or he had missed them when Mumbo spotted the bright green of Tubbo’s shirt. He did his best not to crash while landing and then caught up to the group. “Hey! Tubbo! Grum!” Tubbo stopped walking to turn around meanwhile ‘Tommy’ started to move faster. “Hey! Get back here!”

Tubbo turned to look at Tommy trying to escape with Grumbot while the robot did nothing to struggle. He quickly set Michael down and ran forward to grab the rope around Grumbot and start pulling the other way. In a few moments, Michael was at Tubbo’s side attempting to help, though he had trouble actually grabbing the rope. When Mumbo reached them, he took his sword out and sliced the rope, causing everyone else to fall from the lack of tension.

“Tommy! Why were you trying to take Grum away?” Tubbo asked.

“Because that’s not Tommy. He’s currently unconscious in bed. This must be Theseus.”

“Oh.” Tubbo looked over at the copy whose eyes shifted back to a brown color. “Why were you trying to take Grum?” Theseus tapped the metal around his mouth. “Why didn’t you just ask earlier. Grum, are you able to take that off his mouth?”

Grum nodded and walked over to Theseus and hesitantly removed the shackle before his arm was grabbed by Theseus. “God that was easy. I’m trying to take him because I know Dream is after him, and this time I’m not letting any of you getting in the fucking way. Two times was enough.”

Mumbo started to move forward, but an axe was put to Grum’s neck. “Look, right now this is the only thing letting people respawn. If he dies, that won’t happen. So I wouldn’t move closer if I were you. Look, all I’m going to do is use this piece of scrap metal as bait and then get out of here with the admin, if you can even call him that anymore with this thing being the console. In fact, speaking of. I’m guessing it could just teleport him here. Can’t you?” Theseus looked down to Grumbot, who nodded. “Alright. Do it.”

Mumbo and Tubbo winced as some sparks flew out from Grumbot as he processed the request. In a few moments, Dream had appeared right in front of Theseus and he let go of the robot to grab him instead. “Finally! Took long enough!”

Mumbo immediately ran over to Grumbot and picked him up, holding him close. “Hey don’t worry. We’re going to get you home and fix you up.” Mumbo whispered comfortingly as the bot trembled in his arms.

Theseus smacked Dream with the dull part of his axe head, cracking the mask he wore and knocking the admin out. Theseus held Dream by the fabric of his hoodie, just letting him hang there. “Now I’m sure you want me out of here. Send me to the hels dimension of this place or else.”

Mumbo could feel as Grum stiffened up and some sparks shocked him, but a moment later Theseus and Dream were gone. The redstoner had hoped that once the admin and Grum were in different universes, it would help the bot, but he still looked the same, stiff and trying to remain emotionless. “Let’s get back to EX.”

[cosmiclatte28]

6 Shots of Coffee (Jaemin x you + Dreamies)

a/n: I am back! With a sudden wild oneshot. Please be aware that this is purely fan-fiction. Anything happening here is mere pure imagination. I did not intend to connect any disorders with the idols in real life.

Warning : characters with disorders, a lot of dozing off characters, character with slight adhd (i tried my best to picture them correctly but I’m sorry if everything is wrong, i only did a short research). Mentions of orphanage, drunk parents, and a broken family. HAPPY ENDING! 

CHARACTERS : dream (minus Hyuck and Mark), Taeyong, and Yuta also our brave (y/n)! 

here we go, 

If there are three things in life you hate, that will be Jaemin, Jaemin, and oh god another team assignment with Jaemin!

Jaemin has been the most excruciating classmate you ever have! Not only did he tease you about your freakin need of keeping things in their proper place and keeping things spotless, but he also keeps using you to help him pass his classes. Yet no teacher minds your complain, and all the school girls think you're a freak for being mad about sharing a group project with the handsome guy.

No you’re not sick or weird. You just love organizing things and you like clean things a bit too much. Why? Coz you've had some bad memories with dirty things. Okay Jaemin is just another naughty kid in your class who likes to play and have fun with others, but you certainly did not find his jokes funny.

“Come on calm down (y/n)! It's only coffee, we can clean that.” Jaemin tries to laugh it off despite seeing you standing completely frozen in front of him with an empty cup and you with a  brown uniform. Although you clearly see there is a slight worry in his eyes.

You hold yourself back. How come the worst day has to become worse?! You woke up to period cramps, you forgot a homework thanks to late night distracted room cleaning, and as you were about to rush to type your homework in the library, Jaemin decided to meddle and spill his coffee on your white uniform.

A part of you want to scream and yell and pull his hair apart, but you're too tired to talk with Jaemin. Let alone think about Jaemin, there's just so many things you hate related to Jaemin.

Despite him trying his best to apologize and to help you wash your clothes, which is something new… Jaemin never cared if he messed up with you. You ended up slapping his hand away when he wants to drag you to the office to ask a spare uniform.

“Go away! I have to rush,” you push him aside with your shoulder and run to the library. Knowing so well you'll probably get another minus score and a weird look from the library thanks to your stained uniform.

You hate the feeling of sitting down with this coffee stained shirt, and as much as you want to open that shirt and change into something else, you don’t have the energy. So, after sitting down on the table with the library's laptop you stare into the keyboard only to focus more on your uniform and the least wanted thing happens.

You cry. You cry by yourself in the corner of the room and you don’t really mind the stare they give. You just want to end life here, can anyone just stab you? Or can the ground split and swallow you?

There’s another thing you hate other than Jaemin meddling with your ugly life. It's dirt and unorganized objects. Why? Well you were once a very regular kid, always playing in the rain mud and all kinds of sand. You don’t mind having dirt all over your body you know when you go home you can shower. That's until you grow up and notice how your family is different. Your parents look like they are okay, but every night you hear them argue and argue. The argument gets stronger and scarier, they shout, scream, throw things down and you were always awaken to the no longer comfy homey house. You realize one day you woke up to seeing your dad getting drunk, your mother depressed, and the house super dirty like a tornado just hold a party. It’s awful to wake up to the smell of cigar and alcohols instead of bacons and eggs. You had to keep one plate with you or else it will end up like its friends, lifeless, prickly, sharp, on the ground.

Your maid stopped working, you're moved to a new school, this middle school where you meet Jaemin and some other annoying problematic students. Your once colorful life turned dark and gloomy. No longer you woke up to morning kiss and breakfast. You find yourself sitting alone in the dining room, preparing your own sandwich from some cheap dry bread. No more nutella and you're grateful for butter.

You tried to understand, keeping all to yourself as you grow up and noticed your family is broken. You thought everything will get better, one day mom and dad will love each other again and you'll be back with the bright family you love.

Life is not that kind. Life is cruel, on your 14th birthday your dad left for another woman and your mother dropped you off to an orphanage. She said she can no longer pay for your school and living fees. Heck she even had to borrow money to buy you your monthly pads.

The cheerful friendly you turned 180° into a mournful secretive teenager. You hate everyone who looks bright and you hate every single dirt. Seeing unorganized things and dirty objects just remind you of the dark memories you want to forget.

The orphanage found your smart talent and you got a scholarship making you still able to attend the school. The orphanage you live in has a rule where there is a schedule for cleaning up and preparing dish. You meet a similar boy who has the same problem with you; just that he looks like he had overcome his bitterness and chooses to live a happy life. Which you deadly want to do but cannot.

Renjun, is the only person you talk to in that house. The adults taking care over you, still cannot make you talk comfortably with him and you're not planning to do any sooner.

“Hey, it's me. Should we make a letter to the office and go home?” Renjun's soft voice comes to your ear and you look up to him with blood red eyes.

“How long have I been crying?” you sniffle.

He shrugs his shoulder “I just came an hour ago when I noticed you're missing Chemistry class and Jaemin too. I thought he was with you.”

You scowl “Why would I be with Jaemin?”

Renjun scratches his head “I don’t know… you were always assigned a team with him… I thought both of you are rushing a task.”

“I am having a bad day.” You exhale.

Renjun shakes his head “That is more than a bad day. Here, put this on that coffee is hot or cold?” he gives you his school blazer and you gladly put it over your stained uniform.

You sigh, of course Renjun noticed. He is also like you, despise any single speck of dust.

“Jaemin spilled his cold coffee on me. Now I am late to submit my work, I'll never get the essay done and I am skipping classes. GREAT! Looks like I will be kicked out of school next week.”

Renjun shakes his head again “Silly, you're dramatic. They won’t kick you just because of that. What about your achievements?”

You scoff “They can always find another better painter. I could barely tell difference in colors.”

Renjun smiles well that’s what makes you different. The school honors your brilliant talent of drawing although you have a hard time distinguishing colors. But your emotions are well delivered on every picture you paint. That gives honor to the school when the art teacher secretly sent your works to different curators and exhibitions.

“Come, we will go home. I'll make your letter. Can you wait for me in the lobby by yourself?” Renjun smooths your hair away.

You shake your head and clearly looks afraid “Can I join you?”

He nods and lets you go with him, blaming himself for ever offering you that option.

You got home, Renjun fixes your mood by giving you new clothes. Yes, as simple as that, and you’re already less scarier than before. He makes you tea when he saw the circled date on the calendar and drops you some pain killers.

“It's that month, sorry for not noticing had I known, I'd bring you home when I heard Jaemin looking for you around the school.”

You pause from cutting the potatoes, well you need to start cooking dinner for the others. “Jaemin looked around for me?”

Renjun nods “Uh huh that's also how I know something is not right. Jaemin never looked for you except when he needs your score.”

You curl your lips “Weird. He also wanted to bring me to the office, which he never did before.”

Your sudden emotional change is a regular thing to Renjun. Although at first he has to bear with your monthly exploding sensitivity since you're the first teenage girl in this house, Renjun manages to tame you down when he calmly offer you a cup of warm chamomile tea you love.

“Maybe it’s the coffee.” You shrug it off. Come to think of it, you never see the school selling coffee but Jaemin always brings his cup of super dark coffee.

“Oh home early?” Taeyong, the oldest son of the orphanage owner, greets you both. Well Taeyong is like the head matron here, every school letter directed to him and every new kid will meet him.

“It's not her day. I brought her home before she spent another day dozing off in the school's garden.” Renjun whispers to Taeyong and the older just nods his head.

“Oh! Did I mention to you we will have a new family tonight? Please be nice, he comes from this neighborhood and we actually had been waiting for his arrival since last month, but he always escaped before his vise parents want to drop him here.

You grow annoyed at this news. Well you don’t really like having to act kind and good in front of the others. Especially when meeting new members. Taeyong always asked you to at least be welcoming and less patronizing but you cannot keep your resting bitch face to yourself.

“I might as well skip dinner.” You taunt at Taeyong “No way I am acting kind in front of that person when I had a shitty day.”

Taeyong just hums to your threat, it is nothing new. You're a stone heart and he doesn’t want to have to slap you because of your stubbornness.

“I don’t mind. Just try to be welcoming, he had a rough time too.” Taeyong waves his hand and disappears behind his study room.

“I wonder who is going to join us. Our dining table is empty after Mark and Hyuck got adopted.” Renjun is excited to welcome the new family, maybe because he really likes it better here and therefore, he wants to make sure everyone else is welcomed.

Unlike you who still can't swallow the bitter truth. For you, your real family was the best, yet you didn’t know when everything started to fall apart.

The other comes home, you see Jisung, Jeno, and Chenle coming from the backyard and you hide yourself back on your room. Dinner is ready they just have to heat it up. The stew.

You close your window and come back to sit in front of your paper. Trying to remember what project you missed and have to do.

You look around the room, you used to have a bigger room, but after Taeyong knew you cannot stay still when there are mess, he moved you to a smaller room where you cannot store so many things. He said its for your own good. He doesn’t want you to stress yourself and distract your studies just to clean things up.

You feel your stomach rumbling but when you hear the noisy sound downstairs, you remember the new family. Actually, you are curious, so you sneak from your room and take a peek from the walls.

Your mind might be playing tricks on you, you rub your eyes and focus more to the familiar man in the same uniform as yours. You want to doubt it, but when you hear Jisung repeats his name you want to jump away from this house and run far away.

Life must have hated you so much to send Na Jaemin not only to your school but also to your “house".

Although you try to ignore him, your mind wonders what makes him come here. He looks like he is okay, only naughty, but he doesn’t look like an orphan.

“Dinner?” Yuta, Taeyong's younger brother asks you when he was about to go down and greet Jaemin.

You quickly gasp and shake your head before making a quick run to lock yourself in your room.

You try to think of any reason why Jaemin is here… from dinner to nine you cannot think of doing other thing rather than fiddling with your pen as you let your brain wonder and wonder.

Only around twelve did you suddenly jolt and realize you've wasted another night without doing your paper. You hear a step on the squeaky floor, and you have to stay quiet. Taeyong and Yuta wouldn’t like seeing you still awake this late. However, you don’t recognize the footsteps. Must be Jaemin’s.

The next morning, you escape earlier from the house. Leaving before breakfast for the sake of not meeting Jaemin. You're still mad at him and you hate him. You hate him for giving you hard times at school and now at “home".

You were waiting in the class when suddenly Jaemin comes into the class with a nervous face. You wonder did he just see a ghost? Jaemin really looks out of his place. Did he finally realize he is thrown away to the orphanage? Or did he finally realize you're secretly writing foot notes to the teacher that Jaemin is only leeching on your grades? Did he get called by the office?

You try your best to stop distracting your mind and continue working your essay. Thank goodness you can submit the work when the teacher leaves the class, only then did you see Jaemin's frozen state on his chair.

“Jaem?” you surprise yourself too for calling out his name. He also looks surprised.

“Yes?” he puts on his damn sickening pretty smile back like he always did to other students.

“Erase that smile. It's creepy.” You mutter and the other girls in your class is wanting to end you up there and then.

“Sorry, it’s just that… I … I didn’t get my coffee this morning.”

You raise your brow, oh right. Taeyong and Yuta are not giving us caffeine until we are 20.

You raise a brow “And? Can’t you skip once?”

His feet thump on the floor and he looks around nervously “You're right. I- don’t mind me.” He stands up and suddenly leaves you with bigger question mark in your head.

He sure is weird. What’s wrong with skipping one cup of that bitter liquid?

--

“(Y/n)! Come let's go home.” Renjun greets you on the lobby as you wait for the youngers to come too.

“Noona, you should meet Jaemin hyung! He is so sweet last night!” Jisung tugs on your uniform.

You frown and shudder your shoulder “Jisung, I hate that man.”

Jeno just laughs at your words and at Jisung's surprised expression “So, should we wait for him?”

You click your tongue “Actually that weird man left class after the first session and did not come back to class. Maybe he ran away. Let's go before it rains.” You start leaving the lobby, but no one follows you.

“Is it because of us?” Jisung worriedly asks his brothers.

Renjun thinks for a while “You mean what happened this morning?”

Jisung nods. Your ear can still hear them, for they start walking after you too. You have to hold yourself from turning around and asking them what happened this morning that made him weird!

When the five of you enter the house, that's when your brain finally clicked on what Jaemin must be suffering.

There in the middle of the living room, is Jaemin looking so uncomfortable as he forces his hand to write on a paper with a textbook opened by his side, but what comes out of his hand is just scribbles of lines and curves and he looks like he is painting instead of writing an essay.

“So damn hard to be productive!” he suddenly throws his pen and pulls his hair. All five of you are shocked to see this. Even you! You never see this side of Jaemin in school.  He always looks like the charming prince every girl’s crush, but this is definitely not the same man.

His lips are trembling, limbs unable to stop shaking and he looks in pain. And he starts to hit himself as if scolding his body for not cooperating.

You are in awe and you have to quickly usher Jisung and Chenle away.

“Jaemin! Calm down okay.” Jeno and Renjun quickly stand by his side and tries to keep the boy from hitting himself.

You bring Jisung and Chenle to their rooms while your head is quickly thinking of what to do. You sure see he is panicking and he's throwing tantrum. Taeyong and Yuta are not here yet but when you see your reflection on the window with a clean uniform suddenly your mind reminds you of the incident yesterday.

Coffee. Na Jaemin needs coffee. As silly as it sounds, you've read somewhere that coffee can help someone with ADHD or something like that. You're not sure, but you want to give it a chance. You run to your room, break your saving jar and pick out the bills you've been saving.

“Jaemin, how many shots?” you ask him when you pass through him.

Renjun and Jeno look at you with question in their face but Jaemin understands you and holds out a number with his hand.

Your eyes widen but you run to the nearest coffee shop, the one with the brand you always see Jaemin holding.

“Give me americano with six shots of espresso. Cold I don’t know with water or not.” You sound as mad as a hatter, but the barista seems to notice something.

“Are you by any chance taking an order for Jaemin?” he asks you nod your head baffled that he is a regular here until the shift knows his order and name.

“I was confused when the morning shift told me Jaemin skipped his coffee today. Alright i'll make it like how he always orders.” The man with a name tag Mark punches the bill and gives you the amount.

You don’t mind paying such high price for the black bitter drink you never like, as soon as Mark hands you the drink you walk as fast as you can back to the house.

You see Renjun waiting for you in the porch and he looks pale.

“Where did you go?! I was worried.” Renjun almost scolds you for leaving suddenly.

You walk past him “Jaemin! I have your coffee.” You yell at him, who is currently staring on the TV that's off. Jeno is still sitting next to him, afraid that Jaemin will do anything dangerous.

Jaemin's eyes widen as he quickly takes over the drink and gulp it down like his life depends on it.

All three of you wait for him to finish half of his drink and like magic, Jaemin looks calmer.

He closes his eyes and leans on the couch. His head rests on the small pillow Jeno tosses to him and you can see his usual self back.

After ten minutes, he opens his eyes stretches his body and like a robot who has his reset button pressed, Jaemin shoots a “what?” look to the three of you.

“Sorry if I freaked all of you out. I…” he shyly scratches his head “I have a minor ADHD and … coffee seems to be helping me focus and calm down.”

Now everything clicks. You understand why the teacher actually always assigned you with him, because no one else can handle Jaemin as patient as you and you're too blunt to notice he has his own trouble. You understand why he always brings a coffee to the class and why he looks calm when he has them. Unlike yesterday when he spilled it over you, you clearly see a slight terror in his eyes, and he disappeared from class. Maybe he was shy of showing his true self in class. You now know the reason he skipped class today because of the lack of caffeine and you just didn’t know he is also as wrecked as you guys.

That night, Jaemin knocks on your door and invites you to join dinner.

“You skipped dinner last night, I don’t know if it’s because I was there… and yesterday I was really ruining your day. I'm sorry I wasn’t a good friend too at school.” Jaemin speaks rather in a calm tone and you're taken aback he can speak in a soft kind voice and not the high pitch annoying teasing voice you regular get in school.

You're flustered, but you quickly put back your cold face “It's okay. T'was my fault too not looking the way.  Don’t worry I skipped dinner last night coz I am not hungry.” You lied.

No way you were going to spill the truth to him, not when you already know how hard his days are. He was not as bright and happy as he looks like.

“Renjun told me last night everything about you. I am so sorry…I didn’t know my jokes were very painful and disturbing to you. I should’ve stopped but you know I sometimes cannot hold my brain back.” Chuckles Jaemin nervously.

You sigh and place a hand on his shoulder “Life is hard right?” He nods his head and you squeeze his shoulder, “We also find it hard. But at least we're not alone now. We have each other and the others too. I am also sorry for picking on you to the teacher for leeching my score, but I promise I won’t do that again. I'll help you Jaemin.” You smile sincerely to him.

His face brightens “You're the best! I always have hard time focusing! Well coffee helps me, but still it's not healthy.”

You take his hand in yours “Na Jaemin, you're a part of our family now. Since we're family, we will get each other's back! Don’t worry things will be okay and you too will be okay!”

He Smiles and that is a new smile you've ever seen on him. A smile that's pure and true. That shows he too is also a human who can feel pain not just the angelic handsome boy in class.

“We should eat. The others are waiting,” Chenle's appearance in the hallway makes you and Jaemin turn your heads to him.

“She's right. We're family, now family eats dinner, together right? Come on! Taeyong hyung got us some pizzas for your welcome party.” Chenle drags the taller man's hand which automatically pulls you too.

A smile comes to your face when you realize just how perfect this imperfect family is!

Yes you also struggled focusing on a certain job, yes you also hate messy stuffs, yes it's true Renjun took three months to open his mouth and speak complete sentences, it also takes Jeno five months to be true about his feelings, and Jisung plus Chenle? They also have their fish to fry. Now Jaemin, is here with his own battle that will soon be shared within us.

Just like the famous quote, Ohana means family and family means no one is left behind.

Looking around the table, although you really wish you have a sister or a mother figure here, you're more than happy to call the 7 men your brothers and families.

end

please let me know if there are anything I can fix. I am trying a new genre and it’s a bit challenging but I am happy with finishing this. 

Contact or reach me out if you have any curiosity of what happens to the members or maybe you wonder what their problems are. 

Thank you for reading :D 🤗💖

[eventidespirits]

Adam Allistair Freemont

Aliases: Edwin Lockhart, William Silva, Francis LaRue, Everett Brighton, James Fenwick

Apparent Age: "29"

Birthday: August 11th, 1897

Death Day: December 19th, 1926

Species: Vampire (Siren Bloodline)/Bloodbound Spirit

Gender: Cis Man

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: Primarily Heterosexual

Occupation: Photographer

Residence: Santa Marta, California; Morgan Kendrick's Psychic Realm

Universe: Primarily original lore but also Vampire the Masquerade where he's a Camarilla Toreador who defected to the Sabbat.

Appearance:

Height: 6'0

Build: Tall and lanky with angular shoulders and long limbs. He has a trim, lightly muscled physique with long delicate fingers and soft hands.

Eye Color: Luminous Yellow/Gold with slitted cat-like pupils and a darker, amber band around the edges.

Hair Color/Texture: Black, 1b hair texture. Just long enough for the ends to brush against his shoulders. Partially brushed back and parted to the right but a significant amount of his hair ends up falling into his face.

Face: Angular with a square jaw and high cheekbones. He has a mostly straight nose with a slight convex curve to the bridge. He has deep set eyes with heavy lids and dark circles and usually looks somewhat sleepy but in a strangely sensual way. Defined lips that are usually curved into a sadistic little smirk. He's quite attractive but in a way that feels vaguely dangerous or even predatory.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Adam has bright golden eyes with slitted cat-like pupils. He also has a rather large, jagged scar on his back, located between his shoulder blades. I'd include his *other* distinguishing characteristic but that's kinda NSFW ;)

Posture/Body Language: Confident, even arrogant, chin up, shoulders back but not in a way that looks particularly stiff. His body language is generally relaxed and easy, bringing to mind a big cat at rest -- there's always something about the way he moves that implies a predatory nature laying beneath his cool, collected surface. Adam walks with clear purpose and long, smooth strides and always knows how to make an entrance.

Voice: Soft and smooth with a deep timbre and confident inflection. Adam's voice is somewhat like poisoned honey or arsenic laced velvet -- smooth and sweet but with something slightly off.

Clothing Style: Adam prefers dark colors -- burgundy, blood red, black, charcoal, rich deep browns and the ocassional pop of gold or cream or a white dress shirt. He wears primarily expensive, tailored button downs made from things like silk, velvet or very high thread count cotton with the sleeves rolled up and the top three (or four) buttons undone. Sometimes with brocade, floral or striped patterns. If it's cooler out, he'll wear a black blazer or something similar. When it comes to pants, it's almost entirely black or charcoal tailored pants or pitch black jeans. He usually wears very few accessories -- a nice watch, a belt, a silver and garnet ring and a pendant on a thin silver or gold chain. Generally wearing pointed toe oxfords or other dress shoes. When it comes to outerwear, Adam generally prefers things like wool coats and the ocassional leather jacket (always real leather, too) (to get a better idea, check out his [Pinterest Board]

Skills

Social: Manipulation, Lying, Gaslighting, Flirting, Proper Etiquette, Public Speaking, Blame Shifting, Negging, Seduction

Physical: knife combat, some hand to hand combat, basic combat training (circa 1914), long range firearms/sniping, Ballroom Dancing, Fencing, Horseback riding, the carnal arts

Talents: Photography, Drawing, Poetry, Lying, Being an Asshole, Manipulation, Painting, Seduction, Sex

Knowledges: Fluent in French & Italian, Masters in Psychology (circa 1926), Photo Development (wet plate, autochrome, modern methods), some basic knowledge of financial law and property law

Hobbies: Photography, writing, breaking pretty girls, avoiding his deep-seated psychological issues, general hedonism

Special: Emotional Influence, Telepathy, Emotional Transference, Enhanced Stamina, Enhanced Strength, "Immortality", Enhanced Senses (esp sight), minor regeneration, sweet blood, emotional radar/supernatural empathy, hypnosis/mind control

Psyche

Strengths: Charismatic, quick-thinking, clever, good at understanding the thought processes of others, empathetic, deeply romantic, treats service workers well, dedicated, generally calm, high emotional intelligence, has critical thinking skills, polite*, can be incredibly sweet, adaptable, pays a lot of attention to his partners in bed, passionate, artistic, creative, protective

Weaknesses: selfish, self-absorbed, arrogant, manipulative, almost completley lacks compassion, disdain for basically everyone around him, dishonest, has a horrible temper, needs constant attention and praise, has a massive inferiority/superiority complex, overconfident, easily susceptible to flattery, deep-seated intimacy issues, can't stand being wrong, terrified of vulnerability, paranoid, detached from his own emotions/denies his own humanity, callous, sadistic, can be incredibly rude, actually a bit of a coward, condescending, possessive, jealous and generally kind of a dick.

Fears: genuine intimacy, abandonment/loneliness,true death, being buried alive

Goals: To finally create the perfect art piece (i.e., break someone in just the right way -- he's not even sure what this MEANS, he's just sure he'll "know" when he finally does it), to just enjoy his immortality.

Personality: On the surface, Adam seems likable enough -- at least, at first. He's incredibly charming and thoughtful, often anticipating people's wants before they're even able to articulate them, witty, intelligent and seemingly very polite...

But beneath that surface lurks a spoiled rich kid who learned early on in life that having money, being good looking and charming meant he could get away with almost anything. Adam is self-absorbed and arrogant and almost everything he does is a carefully crafted performance intended to get people on his side and manipulate them into doing what he wants.

Beneath even that, which he desperately tries to ignore, is a little boy who was spoiled by his mother and entirely ignored by his (largely absent) father -- a young man who was traumatized by being forced to fight in WWI and who is full of deep-seated fears and insecurities.

To make up for this, Adam is often sadistic towards the people around him -- but in that way where it's difficult to tell that he's actually being cruel until one looks back at the conversation.

He has difficulty genuinely connecting to others because of those insecurities and instead uses his powers as a Siren to make the people around him love and adore him-- no matter how badly he treats them.

Life

Best Memory: Being gifted his first camera, meeting his Maker.

Worst Memory: Somewhere between when he almost died during WWI and his actual death...

Biggest Achievement: Getting his Masters

Prized Possession: Silver and Garnet ring gifted to him by his Maker, his first camera, his black 2020 Ferrari Portofino (with the red leather interior), (he also has an engraved custom sniper rifle but a friend picked the model and shit for me and I cannot remember what it is for the life of me)

Favorite Color: Red, Gold

Favorite Food:

-Mortal Food: Partial to anything rich and flavorful, prefers food that's not pointlessly ostentatious (nothing coated in gold leaf, that's absurd), dry red wines, Italian Cream Cake, Eggs Benedict, Crepes Suzette

-Blood: Blood taken in the heat of the throes of passion from someone that's truly and deeply in love with and obsessed with him...

Favorite Scents: Blood, Gasoline, Cloves, Cinnamon, Resin, YSL Nuit, roses, vanilla, rain, the sharp smell of a cloudless winter night

Favorite Songs: Winter, 1st Movement - Vivaldi, Raindrops - Chopin, La Vie En Rose - Edith Piaf

Can't Leave Home Without: At least one knife somewhere on his person.

Birthplace: San Francisco, California

Childhood: Adam is the only child out of six in his family to survive to adulthood with four older siblings who had either in infancy, had been stillborn or died of tuberculosis when Adam was still too young to remember them. He had one younger sibling, a sister named Mary who was killed in an accident at the age of 6 when Adam was 8 years old. His parents were already a little bit older by the time he was born and his father was the owner of an incredibly lucrative railroad line and had profited greatly from the Gold Rush as well as owning multiple properties in San Francisco and neighboring Santa Marta...

Due to the loss of her other children, Adam's mother doted on him -- giving into his every whim, supplying him with the best education she could and basically just spoiling the ever loving fuck out of him. His father, on the other hand, was always busy with work and when he was home, had nothing but criticism for Adam who desperately tried to gain his approval to no avail.

Adolescence: Adam developed a passion for photography as a teenager and discovered that being good-looking, clever and rich meant he could get away with A LOT more than most people and also meant that he rarely heard "no" and accepted it as an answer even less often (though he rarely resorted to force to get his way, relying instead on bribery, flattery, blackmail and implied threats). All of this gave him quite an interest in psychology and he intended to become a clinical psychologist. During his adolescence, Adam would have a great many girlfriends and despite being a selfish and manipulative little shit, was actually not the world's worst boyfriend and no hint of the violent temper and genuine sadism he'd develop after being Changed.

Adulthood: Adam's education would be interrupted by the outbreak of WWI,which if asked he will describe as "incredibly distasteful and personally inconvenient." He was a skilled marksman and sniper but was otherwise unremarkable -- much to his father's disdain. After nearly dying in one of the trenches of France after taking a grievous bayonet wound in the last few months of the war, Adam would be sent back from the frontlines and would shortly begin work on continuing his education...

However -- despite the fact that he would complete all seven years necessary to get his degree, Adam's interest in becoming an actual psychologist wouldn't ever come to fruition. In 1925, he would meet Amelia Madeleine Smith -- an unbelievably beautiful and charming socialite from Santa Marta who would see Adam's potential as a source of money and influence for the Nightingale Court of Northern California. She would spend the next year carefully grooming him to become her protege -- manipulating him much in the same way he would later manipulate the women he dates as a vampire -- using emotional transference, mind control and mundane manipulation to cause him to fall madly in love with her... In December of 1925, Amelia would finally perform the ritual of transformation on him and bring Adam over into the world of the Supernatural.

Unfortunately for Adam, his Change would take nearly two weeks to complete -- two weeks spent in absolute agony beyond anything he'd experienced before. Amelia, believing the most important first step for a newly born vampire is to break their bonds to humanity would kidnap his mother during this change and leave her for him to kill upon waking. Adam would remain with Amelia (who used her bond as Adam's maker to control most of his actions and her abilities as a Siren to continue to influence his emotions) until 1980 when she was killed by a member of the Bram Park Wolf Pack in Santa Marta, leaving Adam behind. During this period, Adam would end up being "taken in" by a bonded pair of Stryza -- Camille Belikova and Lucy DeSantos and would act as their primary draw for new playthings.

Recent: Adam met Morgan Kendrick at the Velvet Box goth club in Santa Marta when Morgan was twenty two years old and would sweep her off her feet, intending to make her into his "masterpiece"... Three years into this relationship, Adam would finally Change Morgan, which would break the initial control he had over her and result in her, in a fit of rage, completely draining him and through a magical fluke, causing his spirit to become bonded/fused with her blood...

Recently, Adam's presence has disappeared from Morgan's psyche due to the machinations of Miss Belikova and her wife -- though it appears that the two of them are still inextricably linked in a way beyond the usual bond between Maker and Fledgling.

Relationships

Family: Lawrence Freemont (Father; Deceased), Anne Freemont (Mother; Deceased), Mary Freemont (Sister; Deceased)

Lovers: Amelia Smith (Maker; Deceased), Morgan Kendrick (Fledgling, Ex, Soulbond), Many other unnamed girls.

Friends: Camille Belikova, Lucille DeSantos, Jonathan Andreason

Enemies: Morgan Kendrick, the Bram Park Wolfpack

Acquaintances: Miranda Cortez (Queen of the Nightingale Court of Santa Marta)

Income: Moderately Wealthy

Vehicles: 2020 Ferrari Portofino

Residences: Penthouse Apartment in Vista Rosa, a small Victorian row house in Val Del Mar and a 1br/1ba apartment in Park Verde (all located in Santa Marta)

[eutheo]

⟨ CHARLIE GILLESPIE. CIS MALE. HE/HIM. ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, THEODORE “THEO” MOSETTI is actually a descendent of H E R M E S. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-ONE year old MCOGNITIVE PSYCHOLOGY MAJOR from NEW YORK, USA has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite LOYAL & IMPULSIVE. 

guess who’s back, back again? it’s me, the local mommy long legs here to give you yet another character for me to try and do justice too. as ALWAYS please dm me for plotting purposes for this hyperactive boy, he is a fairly good egg. let’s get into it.

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME theodore james mosetti NICKNAME(S) theo, teddy, tj OCCUPATION cashier at fireside records (part-time) SEXUALITY: pansexual AGE 21 DATE OF BIRTH april 2nd NATIONALITY american RELIGION spiritual THREAT LEVEL 5/10

PHYSICAL INFORMATION

FACE CLAIM charlie gillespie HEIGHT 6 foot even EYE COLOR hazel HAIR COLOUR + STYLE brown, almost like a caramel color. slightly grown out (he hates hair cuts) DOMINANT HAND right DISTINGUISHING FEATURES warm and welcoming smile, shaggy hair, bright sparkly eyes, broad shoulders, full bushy brows, small beauty mark to right of nose, freckles scattered through out skin. ACCENT + INTENSITY has a new yorker accent, especially strong when he’s excited (which is common) or angry (which is not too common) TATTOO(S) he has ONE tattoo, a smiley face on the side of his right hand with “just smile” scripted beside it. SCAR(S) long scar running along his left shoulder from surgery from an in game injury, a few little scars on hands from sports. PIERCING(S) one of his ears is pierced, he did it as a dare and honestly didn’t hate it so he kept it

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

HOMETOWN newark, new york CURRENT RESIDENCE athens, greece LANGUAGE(S) english/italian SOCIAL CLASS middle BASIC EDUCATION high school COLLEGE EDUCATION currently a junior in college DEGREE(S) N/A PARENT #1 holly mosetti & enzo mosetti (adoptive parents) PARENT #2 barbara hawks (birth mother) PET(S) growing up had two dogs, golden retrievers  RAP SHEET? clean as a whistle PRISON TIME? he would be dead, tbh

VICES + HABITS

SMOKES? ocassionally DRINKS? yes DRUGS? only weed, has taken ecstacy/molly before VIOLENT? not unless provoked OR sticking up for someone ADDICTION(S)? physical activity, perhaps? also enjoys reality television. SELF-DESTRUCTIVE? he can be at times. HABIT(S) excessively bouncing leg, pacing around, whistling (someone smack him if he does it too much), drumming hands on knees, rubbing the back of his neck, talking too loud. HOBBIES sports, sports, more sports, late night drives, playing guitar, enjoys listening to music for hours or watching sports. LIKES any sport but football and baseball are his favorites, the song brandy (you’re a fine girl), karaoke nights with friends, laughing until he cries, falling down youtube rabbit holes. DISLIKES overly-aggressive people, missing birthdays, wet socks, people who bite ice cream, overly seasoned food or UNDERLY seasoned food, quiet rooms. OBSESSION(S) once again SPORTS, ANYTHING SPORTS. and john lennon. COMPULSION(S) talking to fill space, he hates long pauses.

MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

HOUSE hermes ZODIAC aries ELEMENT fire ANIMAL golden retriever 

HIS POWERS AND PERSONALITY CAN ALL BE FOUND RIGHT HERE <3

EXTRACURRICULARS: capture the flag (vp), member of the choir, feminist alliance, lgbt alliance, theo tackles that (sports segment for radio), songwriting club

SPORTS CLUBS: captain of baseball, member of basketball, lacrosse and football.

WORKPLACE: somehow manages to pick up shifts at fireside records?? he is all over the place tbH?

HERE ARE SOME HEADCANNONS about the basic background info on my son, i might write his full bio.....i might not, WHO KNOWS, but i probs will. for now, here’s some need to know background:

theo was left in the foster care system at a very young age, his mother was an addict who gave him up in favor of continuing her life of addiction, but he was VERY QUICKLY adopted by the age of 2.

the family who adopted him already had an older son, who at the time was 6, and also eventually gave birth to a daughter who is 5 years younger than he was (she was a miracle baby).

he has diagnosed adhd, it was pretty intense when he was younger but after getting medication for it and diving into sports, it’s calmed down a bit...although it does still tend to flair up every now and then.

theo’s family was middle class, they lived in newark, new york (right outside new york city) in a humble home and were very tight knit. of course they had little family arguements here and there but, over all, he had a very wholesome childhood.

he found out he was adopted when he was pretty young, it wasn’t like his parents needed to tell him, he didn’t really look like his siblings or parents in the slightest but he was always assured that they loved him regardless and theo knew they meant that.

VERY MUCH involved in sports all throughout his life given his athletic ability, he loves sports (don’t get him started because he won’t stop). honestly, he just loves being involved and being a part of something. to quote high school musical “being a part of something special MAKES you special.”

outside of sports, however, he loves music...picking up guitar (mostly to impress a girl when he was younger) and he has a decent singing voice although he very much is more of a jock than a performer.

hermes claimed him when he was 12, he found out he was a demi-god when he was sixteen.

right before his sixteenth birthday, he was severely injured in a football game against another team. it was a rare day when he was off, as if something drained his energy, and he dislocated his shoulder. it was the ONLY TIME he used his powers to steal a larger amount of money since his parents would have to pay a lot for the surgery.

he is currently studying PSYCHOLOGY (cognitive) due to his adhd and wanting to learn more and help other people out there who might be struggling, although knowing how all over the place he is...he may switch at some point, who knows with him tbh??

SIMPLE WANTED CONNECTIONS FOR THIS GOLDEN RETRIEVER BOY:

best friends (2 or 3), brother/sister figures (2??), workout buddies (2 or 3), sports junkies such as himself, fwb (maybe 2 or 3, he is a pretty loyal little pup but he iS still a boy), exes (could end on good terms, bad terms, awkward terms who knows??), crushes (unrequited, mutual, secret??), enemies (1 or 2, theo doesn’t have many enemies but maybe someone isn’t about his good vibes?), party pals, coworkers, teammates, ANYTHING really.

i’ll probs make him a wanted connection page down the line when i get my stuff together hehe <3 feel free to dive into my DMSSSS!

[mccarricks]

( brittany o’grady / demi woman ) WESLEY McCARRICK is 23 years old and is a SENIOR at thales university. SHE is majoring in FILM and is known for being THE MAVERICK as THEY can be HUMOROUS and OPEN-MINDED as well as DITZY and IMPULSIVE. every time i see HER/THEM, THEY remind me of PURPLE SKY IN THE DESERT, SKATING AS FAST AS YOU CAN TO FEEL THE WIND ON YOU, A JOKE TOLD WITH A TOOTHY GRIN.

hero’s back w character no. 2 and yet......

full name: wesley ‘wes’ elaine mccarrick

birthdate: february 2, 1997

age: 23

gender: demi woman

pronouns: she/her/they/them

zodiac: aquarius

nationality: american

ethnicity: black (louisiana creole) and white (irish)

hometown: santa fe, nm

languages: english, intermediate spanish

family:

theodore mccarrick, father

elaine barlow, mother

ruby mccarrick, older brother

delphine mccarrick, older sister

sherri barlow, maternal grandmother

many cousins

orientation: bisexual biromantic, pref. towards women/nb people but will date men

religion: agnostic

height: 5 ft 4 in

distinguishing features: eyebrows, hair, lips

character inspo: ilana wexler (broad city), harley quinn (dc comics), phoebe buffay (friends), prob more

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

TRIGGERS: divorce, mentions of crime, drug and alcohol use

the youngest child of ted and elaine mccarrick, wes was a kid who is full of life. she’s the kind of kid who did things to make you smile, and it usually worked. she was warm and inviting, a little naive, but she had a strong support system.

her parents divorce when she’s six, she doesn’t quite understand it but her dad moves out, and her grandma and multiple cousins move in. it’s a lively household, between her mom, who works as a nurse, and her siblings, and her cousins, it was never really quiet and there was never a lot of room.

despite the split, her parents maintain that their children have a relationship with both of them, and truthfully, wes is a daddy’s girl. she and her dad were cut from the same cloth, happy go lucky, fun loving, a bit silly, he’s the one who introduces her to movies. it’s their thing, watching and critiquing them together, and it’s not whatever is in theatres either. they went for all times of filmmaking, new wave, surrealist, and more.

it really stuck with wes, who herself had begun making movies, mostly horror/fantasy/scifi stuff with her friends-- she writes and directs and occasionally, she’ll don a costume and star in them. they’re silly little things, but her family always sat down for her “premieres.”

her formative years are marked with plenty of things, sports, deaths of distant family members, a cousin or two who gets caught in the wrong crowd and ends up in jail, and throughout this, wes remains a rock for her family.

she’s in high school, and she gets into the eclectic crowd, the outcasts, the weirdos, the ones who smoked under the bridge, and partied out in an abandoned trailer near the desert. these freaks were her freaks. they accepted her with open arms, as she them.  

she chooses thales because she always wants to see the east coast, and frankly, as much as she loves her family, she wants to be free of them. and they have a fantastic film program. so!

she meets steven in their first film class together, and they’re fast friends, despite her usual weariness of YET another film bro, steven proves to be a good egg. so she thinks. she finds out through him talking that he might not be the most faithful to his girlfriend, and as much as she doesn’t like meddling, she thinks it’s only right to let clarissa, who she doesn’t really know well, know. however, before there’s a chance, everything happens-- now she’s stuck wondering if she should reveal the truth, or let sleeping dogs lie.

nana is different, nana and her dated her sophomore year, nana’s freshman year. it wasn’t serious. but they were fond of each other. they eventually break up, but they stay friendly, waving to each other in the halls, chatting at parties.

both the disappearance and the murder is weird for wes, who by all accounts, isn’t great at dealing with bad shit. she prefers to laugh about things. laugh about everything. because if she doesn’t laugh, she’ll cry.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

wes is a mess, a free-spirit, a walking contradiction. she’s very independent minded, the kind of person who does things without thinking so much about the consequences, this leads her into trouble sometimes. like nicking something from a convenience store, or stealing a stop sign as a prank. she’s definitely the kind to goof off and not exactly dedicate her full attention to something. and while she’s in genuinely good spirits on most occasions, she has a staunch ‘no asshole’ policy. the type to defend the underdogs, and go after bullies. she’ll punch you with a smile on her face, and yet it ends up being more unnerving than you realize. she’s a bit of a ditz, as well, never the best at school, but can talk your ear off about the going ons of the world. she’s a lovable dumbass, for sure, and loyal to a tee once you get her as a friend.

𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒

horror movie fan! her favorites are some of the oldies, like dracula and  the bride of frankenstein! and some new ones! big fan of jordan peele’s work, as well as ari aster’s! but mostly really advocates for women directors and directors of color!

also does roller derby! she picked this up her first year at thales and fell in love with it, i can’t think of a name for her yet, but she’s a blocker, won’t hesitate to elbow some dick at the bar

kinda a tomboy? she’s always been! she’s rough and tumble and not afraid to get down and dirty with someone, i.e. will join those football games on the quad or crawl through the mud for a scene to shoot

doesn’t know if she wants to be a director/writer or a cinematographer honestly.... she loves the technical aspects of film as much as the making the stories

definition of a bruh girl, says it a whole lot, but also just if you tell her you love her, she’ll just roll her eyes and be like you’re an idiot (which means she loves you too) she’ll be affectionate if she’s close to you

kinda a wh*re oops....... texts multiple girls at a time and doesn’t want to hurt any of their feelings she doesn’t know how she keeps ending up in these situations... also a bisexual disaster

a stoner as well..... always has a massive jar of weed

unclear whether she lives on campus or off campus but if she does live off campus she has a pet turtle named elsa lanchester after the bride of frankenstein actress

a drummer! she’s in a band (name tbd) she started drumming at a young age and found it was a good way to manage her aggression

doesn’t really do well with emotions, so she’ll either be like there, there, or try to make jokes.... she really said kids can you lighten up

walking meme... such a walking meme... doesn’t know so many things she’s like a cute puppy with no thoughts head empty but she’s so fun to be around

life of the party.... nana she came fr ur spot and she took it and she’s not sorry but she does miss u a lot

doesn’t rly feel like she’s allowed to be upset anyways bc some people have it...... way worse.... can u say Imposter syndrome

kind of an enabler...... will be that person to push u to try things but not in a peer pressurey way, more like if u are unsure abt sending a text she says do it

wears fun earrings and socks! think lollipops or gummy bears or found objects like she collects that shit it’s her lifeline

boxes! she’s been boxing since she was abt 12, courtesy of her older brother (who is now a doctor thx ruby) and it’s a good way to exercise and release stress

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

best friend -- two of a feather, cut from the same cloth, or complete opposites it doesnt matter to her (the abbi to her ilana)

roller derby friends -- she’s p close to the team, margs on her

makeup artist pal -- i think it would be neat fr someone to try and teach her makeup whether its normal or sfx bc she wants to look like a monster or smthn

she’s gullible, u take advantage of that -- u just tell her lies p much and she’s like yeah ok that sounds right

party friends

classmates

fwbs (f/m/nb) -- tbh she might have one or two of these but they literally are the def of pals who bone sometimes... like v good abt being like you good? u dont want more? cool me too

exes (f/m/nb) -- mostly dated women or nb people but def cld have had a guy

she smokes you out -- p much the only reason u hang out w her is bc she has good weed

someone she’s fought -- like fully decked in the face, prob said something that rubbed her the wrong way and it just devolved from there

people who dislike her -- she could definitely be seen as annoying bc shes loud and dorky and funny so ??

breaks someone out of their shell -- p self explanatory, pushes them to have fun, w everything happening shes rly like lifes too short to not take the opportunities around u

cousins! probably on her dad’s side! i figure she has some east coast fam 

anything? truly?

[laruna]

— epiphany.

characters. lim yuri, kim namjoon, etc.

word count. 19.4k

genre. angst, fluff, friendship, slow burn

warnings. mentions of colorism and homophobia, family issues, arguments

summary. lim yuri keeps a long record of epiphanies, many of which concern a very special kim namjoon. and maybe accidentally falls in love in the process.

December 14, 2007. Lim Household. Seoul, South Korea.

An epiphany is an experience of a sudden and striking realization.

Lim Yuri learned that in English class today. Admittedly, it was the first time in that class that she’d actually heard a word she didn’t know. English was the only language her parents both spoke, so it was all she ever spoke at home. Naturally, it had always been a subject that she breezed through until today.

Normally, she wouldn’t think much of it, but today was the last day of school before the holiday break, her teacher has very cruelly given her class over-the-break work. It’s not like it was anything hard, just the simple task of reciting an epiphany you’ve had over the holidays in perfect English to the class. Unlike most of her classmates, the English wasn’t the hard part.

Yuri has never been very fond of sharing things about herself. She’s always found blending into the background made every aspect of her life easier, so sharing a sudden realization that she’s had sounds like it’ll imply a lot about her. She figures that she’ll just make a list. At the end, she can choose.

Epiphany #01: I look different from the other kids.

She’s not quite sure if that one counts. It’s not something she’s suddenly realized, after all, especially just over the break. It’s something she’s known for a while now, slowly having come to realize it after all the little moments piled up. It’s in everything—the way the other kids in class look at her unless she keeps her head down, the way people talk to her in English first like she’s a foreigner, the way her aunt tells her she has the skin of Jeju and Busan’s beach girls. At first, she’d taken that last one as a compliment, but her aunt had run to the bathroom to give her a bottle of skin lightening cream before Yuri could say anything. Which was mortifying, to say the least.

Sometimes she does wish she lived in Busan instead. Even though her father grew up there, he never seems to have anything good to say about the city, always opting to badmouth everyone he left there instead. He tells her she should be grateful to live in Seoul where the people only say bad things when you’re not around, because they’re blatant about that kind of thing where he’s from. He tells her that the Looks she gets here in Seoul are soft and easy on her. Busanians are too honest.

She doesn’t say it out loud, but sometimes Yuri thinks Seoulites aren’t honest enough. Her mother always tells her not to care too much about what other people think, but she feels like it’d be a lot easier if people just insulted her to her face so she doesn’t have to worry about what they say about her behind the scenes. Is it worse than the insults she comes up with in her head? Is it kinder? Is it pitying? Do they see her and then think nothing at all?

She wishes she didn’t even have to think about these things at all. Sometimes she envies her brothers, because they get treated better than her. Her parents tell her it’s because they look more Korean, but Yuri has no idea what that could possibly mean. She thinks her classmates are distinguishable when she looks at them. They have different shaped eyes and faces and skin tones. Her differences are a smidge more obvious, to be sure, but she doesn’t see why it should be something that affects her social life as much as it does.

But at the end of the day, it does, so Yuri does her best to cause as little problems as possible. She doesn’t meet with her brothers to walk home together until they’re three blocks away from school so that people don’t know they’re related and start picking on them too. 

Her older brother isn’t happy about it, but he understands. He wishes she didn’t have to, but knows that it’s better this way. He apologizes to her for the ‘colorist, xenophobic, homogeneous society’ they live in. Yuri doesn’t understand what any of those words mean, but she nods along anyway.

Daniel, her poor angel of a little brother, doesn’t get it at all. He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with her. Her heart breaks a little when he says that he wishes his noona would wave back at him when they pass each other on campus. 

Yuri’s mother comforts her with the thought that if she lived in the Philippines, where she’s from, she’d be considered very beautiful. But she doesn't live in Busan or the Philippines. She lives in Seoul. So, being the weird-looking kid it is.

Thankfully, she’s not entirely isolated. Even if her parents aren’t kind to each other, they’re kind to her and she knows they love her very much. And even if the kids from the music program she’s in with her older brother make a couple of insensitive comments from time to time, but for the most part, they’re nice as long as she does her part and sings her songs—that’s what brings her the most joy.

Despite everything that goes on in her life, it’s music that constantly remains her greatest love and comfort. Her older brother, Kyunghee, must feel the same way, because he’s always cooped up in her room with her and making music when their parents are arguing again and he doesn’t want to deal with it since his bedroom is right next to theirs. 

If there’s anything positive to be gleaned from it, it’s that they have something to bond over that isn’t the yelling that comes from upstairs. Over time, he’s even taught her a thing or two about music. She can’t compose anything on the piano like he can, but he’s taught her the basics of beat-making on some cracked version of GarageBand he pirated from the internet.

For whatever reason, he’s been really into hip-hop lately, so that’s what they’ve been making beats for. She can’t blame him, though. As a VIP, she’s kind of in the same boat. The fiery bars and pure charisma of the Kwon Jiyong was too much for a music-obsessed teenage girl to resist. It’s a little more personal for Kyunghee, though. 

Shin Donghyuk is her brother’s best friend and a self-proclaimed underground rapper, despite only beginning to rap around a year ago. He’s not terrible or anything—the dude’s actually gained a good following since he began uploading his freestyles to Hiphopplaya and Jungle Radio. 

Still, Yuri finds it a little bit suspicious that he started rapping around the same time her brother started producing. She can’t help but wonder if Kyunghee began producing to help Donghyuk’s budding rap career or if Donghyuk started rapping because Kyunghee started making beats he could rap over. It’s like the chicken or the egg question.

It’s none of her business, she supposes, but Yuri’s still curious about their dynamic. All she knows is that, around school, she never sees one without the other, and that they’re always cooped up in the music room. She never approaches them because her older brother always looks like he’s in his own little world when he’s with Donghyuk and interrupting would make her feel like an interloper.

Her brother doesn’t seem to mind introducing them now, though. Today is apparently a big day for Donghyuk, because he’s going to be performing at a rap showcase at some club in Hongdae. Yuri thinks that it’s weird for them to be inviting fourteen year-old boys to clubs, but her brother assures her that the whole event is for rapping, so there’ll be no drinks around. So she guesses it’s okay.

“I’m, uh, not sure, though,” he admits to her on the subway. “But don’t drink anything that anyone gives you. Don’t drink anything at all, actually. But don’t be uncool about it, either. Just—don’t embarrass me in front of Donghyuk, okay?”

“Okay,” Yuri says, rolling her eyes. Donghyuk is a figure she’s only seen in passing, but hasn’t actually met. Despite his friendship with her brother, he’s never been at their house, but when Yuri remembers the way her parents’ arguments resound through the walls, she can’t blame her brother for never inviting him over. She also can’t blame him for escaping to his friend’s house after school, sometimes. His escape is usually her bedroom, but sometimes it’s too loud even in there.

Hongdae Station, Seoul, South Korea.

Yuri clings to her brother’s arm as they get off the subway station, and she can practically feel him vibrating in excitement to see his friend. Donghyuk is at the venue early like all the other performers, so they’re meeting him there. She makes it clear that she doesn’t get what all the fuss is about.

“It’ll be exciting to see him in action,” is all her brother says. “You’ve only heard recordings, no? And you’ll get to hear all the other underground rappers that use our free beats and stuff, too. So look on the bright side! Even if their rapping sucks balls, it’ll be funny. Plus, it’ll be a good networking opportunity if you ever wanna go into entertainment. If they look important, just pretend to like it.” She snorts at his insincerity.

“How business-savvy of you.”

Yuri has to squint when they finally get into the club. It’s dark and it’s loud, as one would expect, so she holds tighter onto her brother’s arm in the hopes that she won’t get lost. It was so bright outside, but the atmosphere inside makes it feel like it’s nighttime. If it weren’t for all the yelling, she would probably think of it as calming.

“Kyunghee! Over here!” she hears a voice call over the crowd, and turns to see a figure that she can vaguely make out as Donghyuk. Before she knows it, she’s being dragged all the way across the room towards the stage, muttering awkward apologies every time she bumps into someone.

Yuri’s dizzy once her brother makes a stop, tuning out the niceties and conversation he has with Donghyuk to gather her bearings. She doesn’t snap back into reality until she feels her older brother clap a hand down onto her shoulder.

“This is my sister,” he says, and she waves awkwardly. “I’ve been teaching her beats and stuff, too. I think we used one of hers on your last mixtape…? Her beats are under GLASS. You better get good, because I think she’s been learning more than you have.” 

So her brother is helping Donghyuk learn how to produce, too. Makes her feel a little less special.

“Luna, right?” he asks, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Weird name. Sounds like a video game character.” He puts his fist out. She’s flushing at his bluntness, but awkwardly bumps it, anyway. She’s trying to be polite and not embarrass her brother, after all.

“Oh, that’s what my brother and mom call me,” she explains, “Everyone at school calls me Yuri.”

“Makes sense. I just used Luna since that’s what Kyungie calls you,” he explains, and Yuri feels a little surge of pride at the fact that her brother talks about her to his friends. “Want me to call you Yuri, then? You probably get called that more by your friends and stuff, right?”

“I don’t really have friends,” she admits, wincing as soon as the words leave her mouth, because honestly, that sounded a lot less sad in her head. Donghyuk doesn’t seem to notice though, because he’s practically howling with laughter.

“Fuck, Yuri, you’re funny!” he laughs, clapping a hand down a little too forcefully on one of her delicate shoulders. She winces again at that, but nervously laughs along like it’s a joke and not just… her life. She also accepts Donghyuk’s bestowment of the name Yuri. It’s just a name, but maybe it’s his way of telling her that he’s her friend now. Which is kinda nice.

He seems nice enough, but he’s too brash and loud and blunt for Yuri to comprehend how he could possibly be best friends with someone as soft-spoken as her Kyunghee. Still, she’s glad her brother has a good friend, even if her current interactions with Donghyuk are kinda weird.

“So,” Kyunghee interrupts, having had enough of the awkward atmosphere. “You said in your text they wanted help with sound check?” Seems a little trashy to make teenage boys help out with this kind of thing, Yuri thinks.

“Yeah,” Donghyuk confirms. “They can only have three people in the sound booth, including the guy who’s already there. C’mon!” Kyunghee looks all too giddy as Donghyuk grabs his arm and drags him away, probably to the aforementioned sound booth. In the moment, he looks too carefree to be her worrywart of a brother.

“You can handle yourself, yeah?” he yells out to her as he’s being dragged away. He doesn’t wait for her to answer before he’s out of earshot.

“Totally,” Yuri says sarcastically to herself.

Alone, she finds herself weaving through the crowd again. Without her brother around, she finds herself easily slipping in between everybody thanks to her small stature. She takes in soft lights and harsh voices as she makes her way towards the seats by the entrance, which seems a bit more void of people. Everything around her is too stimulating right now. Soft lights. Harsh voices. 

Yuri’s almost there when she bumps into a tall male figure. She looks up to see sharp eyes narrow at her, so threatening and intense that she almost jumps back. His street clothes help up the intimidation factor, along with the dark beanie concealing his jet black hair.

“Sorry,” she mutters. He doesn’t reply, gently shoving her out of the way before continuing to trudge along his weird, bendy path. She watches as the big guy bumps into a few other people before coming to a realization.

“Hey!” she calls out to him, and he whips around to narrow his eyes at her (again), which she now realizes is more of a squint than a glare. “Are you looking for your glasses?”

His eyes soften, gaze immediately turning away from her in embarrassment.

“N-No!” he sputters, but the way he says it makes it very obvious he’s lying. She really doesn’t know why she’s attempting to help this guy out in the first place. Either she feels bad, or she just wants to be right. 

Probably the latter, if she’s being honest.

“If you admit it, I’ll help you find them,” she says.

“...I lost my glasses.”

They’re probably a sight to see, the tall boy squinting down at the ground with Yuri practically glued to his hip, finding a much easier time seeing with her contacts and closer proximity to the ground.

“How’d you lose them anyway?” she asks, and he sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck.

“It was in my back pocket,” he explains. “To be honest, I didn’t even realize I’d dropped them until I reached for them and they weren’t there.”

“Why weren’t you, like, actually wearing them?” she asks, matter-of-factly.

“I’m rapping soon,” he says like that’s an explanation. “It won’t help my image.” 

“Oh, ugh.” 

“What?” he says.

“Are all you rap dudes like this?” she asks, “Just swallow your pride and don’t hurt your eyeballs trying to look cool. If your rapping is good enough, it doesn’t matter if you look like a loser or not.”

“Gee, thanks,” he says sarcastically.

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that,” she defends herself. “You don’t look like a loser and there’s nothing wrong with glasses. I think the only person who seems to have a problem with it is you.”

“Name one successful rapper with glasses,” he retorts.

“Swings,” she says immediately.

“Shit,” he mutters, and she laughs at him. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Hey, be nice!” she huffs. “You’re a complete stranger and I’m helping you find your glasses. For all I know, you could be leading me outside to kidnap and murder me. Heck, I don’t even know your name!” He rolls his eyes as she points this out, but answers, anyway.

“Namjoon,” he says.

“What?”

“That’s my name. Namjoon,” he repeats, stretching out a hand. When Yuri takes a look at it, she realizes just how big he is. His hand would absolutely dwarf hers. 

“Yuri,” she says formally. When she steps forward to shake his hand, she feels her foot clink against something and hears the light sound of plastic sliding across the floor. “Oh, your glasses!” 

The lenses are thick, she notes as she picks them up. Damn, no wonder he was bumping into everyone. His vision must suck. Other than a few scratches on the lenses, they seem fairly undamaged. Even so, she gently blows a warm breath onto the lenses and wipes them off with the sleeves of her hoodie. Less gently, she pulls Namjoon down by the strings of his hoodie so that they’re at eye-level with one another before putting his glasses back on his face. Even in the low light, she can see the embarrassed flush across his cheeks.

“Thanks for the help,” he says sheepishly, quickly straightening up and pulling away. “Gotta go now. It’s showtime.” And then he’s off.

“Who the hell says ‘it’s showtime’ out loud?!” she yells after him, not ready to give this guy a break just yet. 

“Who the hell wears their jacket like that?!” he turns around to yell back. Involuntarily, she pulls on the side of the puffy down jacket she leaves hanging off of her body. When she flounders for a response, he just laughs at her, a deep, loud thing that booms over the chatter of the crowd. She bets the sound could fill the whole room if it were empty.

She looks away, embarrassed, when she notices people are seating themselves and quickly plops herself down on the nearest seat. Well, shit. It really is showtime.

A lot of the rappers are vaguely familiar to her, and she’s struck with the realization that names she’d only seen online now have actual physical forms. They’re obviously passionate about what they’re doing, and now she kind of feels bad for how her and her brother used to roast whoever they deemed ‘the worst ones’ from behind their computer screen.

When Donghyuk steps up, the host introduces him as Suprema—yes, like the hype beast brand. She shivers as the Douche Chills overtake her body. Despite his overwhelming teenage boy-ness, he’s pretty okay, or at the very least, better than she expected. But the bar was pretty low, if she’s being honest. Kyunghee probably thinks the world of his skills, though.

The only other familiar face she sees is introduced as Runch Randa, and she has to stop herself from cooing at how cute she finds the stage name. She also has to stop herself from rolling her eyes all the way into the back of her head when she realizes he’s not wearing his fucking glasses.

As much as she wants to clown on him, she finds herself speechless when Namjoon steps up to the mic and spits straight fire, his narrowed eyes making him look all the more intense. While he’s not quite as aggressive as some of the other rappers she’s heard, his lyrics are riddled with wordplay and double-meanings that it takes her a couple of seconds to wrap her head around.

She’s snapped out of her reverie when she hears the crowd cheering, prompting her to clap along. Thoughts of Runch Randa dissipate as the next act steps up. She doesn’t quite recognize the name or face, so she lets herself get lost in the music without predisposition. When she recognizes one of her beats being used as background music, her heart beats a little bit faster.

Yuri knows that posting them online for free means lots of people will use them, but it’s another thing to actually see it in action. The amount of amateur rappers, good and bad, using her music and appreciating what she does for them makes her feel all warm and fuzzy. Huh. Maybe that’s why Kyunghee enjoys helping out Donghyuk with his rapping endeavors so much.

By the time the show is over, she’s warm and happy, but also very drained of energy. She has half a mind to head backstage to search for her brother, but the thought of swimming through the moving crowd makes her nauseous, so she heads outside instead. Kyunghee will find her eventually.

It’s dark when Donghyuk and Kyunghee finally come outside, laughing over ‘some newbie’s shitty freestyle’ with their arms slung over the other’s shoulders. They talk animatedly about what they liked and hated on the walk to the station and in the subway. Yuri nods along to the conversation despite having been tuned out for a while now. The only thing in her head is music. In the moment, something about that feels very important.

Epiphany #02: Music is something Lim Yuri wants to do for a long time. Maybe forever.

January 12, 2008. Starbucks, Seoul, South Korea.

Ever since that show in Hongdae, Yuri’s been more in love with music than ever. Naturally, she’s thrust herself into it with a passion, making new instrumentals when she’s at home and working on improving her vocals with the kids from her music program when she isn’t. Other than that, though, she hasn’t exactly left her house. Not until today, at least.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one meeting new people at that Hongdae show—Donghyuk and Kyunghee had done a good amount of networking backstage, exchanging numbers and starting a group chat with a bunch of other underground rappers. In time, they decided that the others were cool enough to work on music with in-person. So here they are, Yuri and Kyunghee spending their last Saturday of winter break waiting for everyone else to arrive.

Suddenly, Donghyuk enters with a very familiar figure in tow.

Namjoon grimaces as soon as he makes eye contact with her, and Yuri has to bite her lip to hold in her laughter, because damn, this dude really sucks at keeping a straight face. Neither action goes unnoticed, it seems, because Donghyuk sweeps his gaze back and forth between the two.

“You two know each other?” he asks, and Yuri nods, a devilish grin on her face. Namjoon’s expression of anguish only deepens when Donghyuk adds, “Oh, nice. Is he cool?”

Namjoon sends a nervous glance her way, looking like a kid who’s just been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. It endears her, for whatever reason, so Yuri spares his pride.

“Yeah,” she giggles, unable to hold her laughter in anymore, “Yeah, Namjoon’s cool.” His body relaxes at that, but the tips of his ears still glow bright red.

“Hey,” Kyunghee says, nudging her arm. “He’s our age. Don’t go talking to him casually, now. Show some respect.” She rolls her eyes, but obliges.

“Namjoon-oppa,” she corrects herself, and he smiles, looking a bit too satisfied at that. Maybe it’s because now he has something to hold over her head, too. It lowkey makes her want to smack him. Before she can say anything, though, two slightly less familiar figures walk through the door,

They introduce themselves as Hunchul and Ikje, or by stupid-teenage-boy-rap-name, Iron and i11evn, respectively. Yuri finds both monikers considerably cooler than Suprema and Runch Randa, if she was being honest. The guys themselves, though, are a lot less cool.

Ikje is twenty, which is like, okay, weird. It makes sense when Donghyuk cracks a joke about him being a little drunk when they exchanged contact information. What kind of twenty year-old was keen on hanging out with a bunch of fourteen year-old boys and one of the boy’s twelve year-old kid sister? He’s a little immature, to be sure, but passionate about rapping. And that’s what everyone is there for, so she lets it slide purely because he doesn’t seem like a creeper.

Despite being the same age as her brother and everyone else, Hunchul does seem like a creeper.

“You’re Glass, right?” he asks, shaking her hand. “I’m Iron. Our names kind of match, right?” 

“Um, yeah, I guess,” she says, forcing a laugh. Awkwardly, she continues, “My big brother chose the name for me… because my name is Yuri… and that sounds like glass.”

“Big brother?” he asks. “Kyunghee is my age, you know. How old does that make you?” Her cringe reflex nearly kicks in, infinitely uncomfortable at this point.

“Thirteen next month,” she answers honestly, and fights the urge to cringe when he pats her head. As touch-starved as she is, she’s not this desperate.

“Ha, cute,” he laughs. She doesn’t think he’s very funny. She’s always prided herself on her instincts, and something about Hunchul just feels off.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to deal with him for long. The group all converses for a while, but soon enough, they’ve all kind of splintered off into pairs for conversation. As expected, Kyunghee’s first pick for this is Donghyuk. Naturally, she gravitates towards Namjoon.

“Hey, glasses guy,” she says, and he flushes.

“Oh God, please don’t let that become a thing,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“Sorry,” she says, even though she really isn’t.

“It’s fine,” he says, scratching nervously at his face. “I actually wanted to thank you again for that. I lose things a lot and my mom probably would’ve killed me if I lost my glasses.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” she assures him, but the gratitude still has her glowing.

“I should probably thank you for producing, too,” he continues, “When your brother said you were a 96-liner in our group chat, I was so surprised, because I recognized your account name since I’d used your beats before, since they’re free and all. You’re really talented.”

“Oh,” Yuri says softly, covering her flushed cheeks and wide smile with her hands. Her glee is soon apparent when she fails to hide a giggle, preening under his praises. Her voice goes small when she finally replies, ducking her head. “Well. You’re very welcome.” He laughs at her sudden bashfulness.

Conversation continues smoothly, even if it’s mostly about music. The atmosphere emanating from their little group in the cafe is warm and lively. Even when the barista has to come over to tell the group to simmer down, she can’t find it in herself to be upset.

She hasn’t had many friends in her life, but the way things are going, she feels like she will soon. She makes a mental note to add it to the list when she gets home.

Epiphany #03: Lim Yuri is capable of making friends, after all.

January 16, 2008. Lim Household, Seoul, South Korea.

It’s been two days since school started back up, but it already makes Yuri want to claw her eyes out. She ended up just bullshitting that English assignment and spitting out some shit about how she had an epiphany about platypi being the only mammals to lay eggs or something.

But for whatever reason, she’s still adding onto that epiphany list. Kyunghee catches her adding onto it one night and says that she probably likes it because it gives her life more structure. She tells him it’s not that deep, bro. 

But maybe it is. Who knows. She adds it to the Epiphany List, just to be safe.

Epiphany #04: I like things that give my life structure.

Her mind jumps to the very turbulent, very unstructured family life they have at home, and thinks that maybe he might be onto something. Thankfully, it’s not that bad today, but her parents are still not speaking to one another and shooting each other passive-aggressive stares from across the table, thinking their kids won’t notice. If she had the balls, she’d tell them how obvious they are.

Unfortunately, her younger brother Daniel does have the balls. When he opens his mouth to speak, their mother must sense the impending bullshit, and quickly interrupts.

“How was school?” she asks, turning to Kyunghee—easily the most diplomatic of the three of them.

“It was good,” he says, “Classes were good. Friends were good.”

“Any friends in particular? Of the romantic variety?” she teases, poking him a couple of times in the side. Their mama loved gossip too much. Everytime they brought it up, she’d say I’m Filipino, I can’t help it! Gossiping is in my blood! Yuri and Daniel roll their eyes fondly at her antics—usually, Kyunghee would be doing the same.

But he doesn’t.

“Uh, n-no,” he stutters. Kyunghee always stutters when he’s lying. There’s a beat of silence before Kyunghee answers. Their mother looks entirely too pleased with the fact that after what has to be the thousandth time of asking about this topic, her hunch is finally right.

“Subtle, hyung,” Daniel snorts. “Way to be fuckin’ obvious.” Their father reaches over and pulls at his ear.

“Don’t curse, Jaeyeol,” he says. Daniel shrinks in his seat.

“Sorry.”

The rest of dinner is tense, their dad having successfully killed the vibe. They wash their dishes and clear the table in awkward silence, every action done hurriedly so they can get the fuck out of there as fast as possible. Afterwards, everyone else files back into their respective rooms, but Yuri follows her older brother instead. Fer and her older brother are both in middle school, so she’s curious if she knows whoever her mom was teasing him about. Always too nosy for her own good, she’s determined to find out. Maybe it’s that Filipino blood her mother was talking about.

Kyunghee doesn’t think much of it when she follows him back into his room. Maybe it was because of the age difference, but he was always closer to her than he was to Daniel, just like Yuri was always closer to Daniel than he was to Kyunghee. Her coming into his room to talk about stuff—especially music, these days—was commonplace. He pays no mind as she flops onto his bed, making his way over to sit at his desk and turn on his computer instead.

“Soooo,” Yuri says obnoxiously, just as a little sister should. “Who is she?”

She was expecting Kyunghee to roll his eyes at her like he always did, not quite spilling the deets but dropping little hints and hoping she’d dig enough to get it. But there’s none of that—instead, he presses his lips into a thin line and shakes his head.

“Drop it, Yuri,” he says through clenched teeth, turning around in his seat to glare at her. His tone is so sharp that she can’t help but to curl in on herself. He must see the fear in her response, because his expression immediately softens.

“Look, I’m sorry, just—just forget about it. It’s nothing, Yuri, okay?” he sighs. Normally, she wouldn’t ask her older brother to do anything he didn’t want to, but Kyunghee isn’t normally this secretive with her. Naturally, she’s more than a little curious. Butting into other people’s business was her favorite pastime, after all.

“I won’t judge, I promise,” she assures him, “Everyone likes someone for a reason, you know? I promise I won’t laugh or anything, even if she’s a total weirdo—”

“It’s not a she, Yuri.” He’s turned back to his screen by now, but even just from his profile Yuri can see the flush of mortification on his face.

“Wait, that means…” she trails off and everything clicks. “Oh, oppa.”

“This isn’t something you can help me with,” he cuts her off tersely. “This isn’t something you can understand. Just—just go to your room, Yuri.” He sounds like their dad. It makes her feel small.

Regardless, she nods, plodding along back to her room with a heavy heart. When she gets there, she sits at her desk and opens up her journal, adding another bullet to her epiphany journal.

Epiphany #05: Sometimes you won’t be able to understand what someone is going through, no matter how hard you try. No matter how hard you want to.

January 18, 2008. DGBD Club, Hongdae, South Korea.

It’s moments like these that make Yuri remember that, oh yeah, these rap clubs are still clubs.

Ikje is the only one of legal drinking age, so he’s the only one downing alcohol on the opposite side of the club. Hunchul is sat right there next to him in the corner of the bar, handing the bartender more and more money so he can witness his friend get absolutely shitfaced. Unlike Ikje, he is not of legal drinking age, but that will not deter him from seeking entertainment in any way he can… even at his friend’s expense. Meanwhile, Kyunghee and Donghyuk mess around in soundcheck and Namjoon looks to sit as far away from Ikje and Hunchul as he can get. 

It’s kind of endearing, she thinks, the way Namjoon is so straight-laced about these things, despite his ‘hard’ underground persona. Outside of it, he comes off as kind of a stickler. Maybe a little dweeby, but it’s why she trusts him more than the others, so she pays it little mind when he situates himself next to her at the opposite side of the club so he’s not alone.

Poor Namjoon, her low self-esteem weeps for him. Having to kick it with Kyunghee’s annoying kid sister.

He’s nice enough, so she supposes he’s good at humoring her. Kyunghee would kill him if he was anything but polite to her. That, or the more likely possibility that he’s being nice because this is a business transaction, which makes sense, too. She’s just here to be the producer to his rapper, the Kyunghee to his Donghyuk… minus the lifelong friendship part.

She doesn’t know why talking to him is so daunting when they spoke extensively in the group chat—which she is very proud to say she made her brother add her to last Sunday—so it’s not like they’re strangers. She didn’t love the vibes in there, but they never did anything to make her feel like she was on the outskirts of it all. That’s something she’s imposed on herself. She just didn’t know what to talk about in the chat if it didn’t have to do with music.

She tries not to think much of it, distracting herself with the notebook in her lap. In it, she takes little notes on all the different rappers and indie artists she sees performing throughout the night. On top of her writing it in English, she doubts anyone would understand the references and shorthand she uses, so she makes little move to cover it when Namjoon leans over and squints at it.

“Nosy,” she chides playfully.

“Sorry.” He pulls away with a flush. “What are you writing about?”

“Oh. It’s just like, an analysis, kind of? Of everyone’s different rapping styles,” she explains. “Like flow and lyricism and genre and stuff like that. It’s kind of just for me. I produce better if I know who I’m producing for and how they sound, y’know?” He nods.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he says. Leaning over to peek at it again, he adds, “Your handwriting is nice, by the way. I didn’t know you were so good at English.”

“Yeah, my brother and I are both fluent,” she says, looking down at her hands. “We speak it at home. But like, I’m no good with words, so I’d be no good for songwriting help or whatever. I don’t know. It’s dumb. I’m dumb. I’m fluent in two languages, but can’t speak like… in general. That’s why I’m a beatmaker and not a songwriter.” 

Oh God, she rambled.

Namjoon is staring right at her when she looks back up. She forces herself not to look away—that would be suspicious, right?—despite the probing, unreadable expression on his face making her cheeks heat in embarrassment. Conversations between them rarely strayed into personal territory, especially when their whole relationship was about music. In her head, she repeats the phrase business transaction over and over again like a mantra. She can’t help but feel like she’s crossed a boundary.

“If it helps any,” he offers with a grin, “My mom’s trying to get me to learn English by making me watch Friends. I can’t make out what your notes say quite yet, but I like to think I’m getting pretty good.” Yuri laughs at that, surprised but relieved.

“You strike me as a Chandler,” she says. “Maybe a Ross.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m very offended by that second accusation,” he says, but he’s still smiling. She giggles into her hands.

“Sorry,” she says, despite not being very apologetic at all. “If you ever need help with English stuff, you know. I’m here.”

She doesn’t know why she says that, but it feels right. It feels like something a friend would say.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says, “I’d like that.” That feels like something a friend would say, too.

They very coincidentally spend the rest of the night talking about Friends. They both agree that Ross is a douchebag and that Rachel deserves better. They talk and talk until it’s closing time and the club owner starts yelling at them to just say goodnight and go! Before kicking them out. Everyone stumbles out of the door bursting with laughter, with even shitfaced Ikje giggling drunkenly as he hangs off of Kyunghee’s shoulder.

They’re still laughing even as they run through the streets in a frantic attempt to catch the last subway. Yuri can’t help but think that it feels just like those teenage coming-of-age movies, the ones where they go to high school parties with red Solo cups in their hands. It almost feels like a dream, a fantasy that she never thought she’d get to have.

Namjoon lets her hold his hand so he can drag her along as they run, seeing as her short legs don’t allow her to keep up with the others. She wonders if it’s the cold night air or the way that he links their fingers together that make her cheeks flush.

Epiphany #06: Lim Yuri has a friend.

March 15, 2008. PC Bang, Hongdae, South Korea.

Okay, so maybe Kim Namjoon is not necessarily a friend, per se.

Not to say that he’s unfriendly, or that he doesn’t want to be her friend, but friendship is the kind of thing that develops slowly, right? They’d only just started hanging out recently, after all, and the age and gender difference was bound to make forming a meaningful friendship just a little bit harder.

At this point, though, he’s definitely more than a business partner. Maybe not a friend just yet, but more than just an acquaintance. He feels like a classmate, a peer. Her answering his texts asking for help with English homework has definitely helped with that, as of late. Conversations have continued to stay outside of personal territory, especially when the others were around. 

While Friday nights were reserved for rap performances at DGBD Club, Saturdays were for going out somewhere that they could work on music together or just chilling and hanging out together. They rarely ever met up on Sundays, which were reserved for Yuri helping her mom at her job of doing vocal training with the weird musical theater kids. For Kyunghee and Namjoon, Sundays were cram school days, and for the others… she didn’t really care how the others spent their Sundays, if she was being honest.

As of today, they’ve decided to migrate to a PC bang since there’s a distinct lack of baristas yelling at them to shut up. Plus, if they want to take a break to play MapleStory, they won’t have to worry about the club or the cafe having a shitty bandwidth. 

They’ve got a two-person-per-computer policy, and Yuri finds herself immediately paired off with Namjoon. She doesn’t feel like pairing off with her brother—his energy has been kind of awkward around her since his confession—and she doesn’t like the rest of the guys’ vibes, so Namjoon it is.

They’re stuck away from the others, the only available computers in the PC bang spread far away from each other. She notices he’s talking to her a bit more freely. Self-consciously, she wonders if it’s because he’s embarrassed to talk to her around their friends or if he’s intimidated by her older brother breathing down his neck.

“Do you not like them?” Namjoon asks, out of the blue.

“Huh?” she says, blinking a couple of times in surprise. “Who? What? What are you talking about?”

“You know,” he says. “The others. Hunchul and Donghyuk and Ikje-hyung and them.”

“I don’t dislike anyone,” Yuri huffs, maybe too defensively. “I just—I don’t know. I mean, I don’t like them, but it’s not like I dislike them.”

“Why though?” he asks. “Did they do something weird?”

“No, nothing like that,” she assures him. After a long while of thinking, she admits, “I just don’t like their energy, I guess. I get weird vibes from them, you know?” Namjoon scoffs.

“You shouldn’t pass that kind of judgement without reason,” he says. “You’re smart. Use your brain.”

“I’m not really that smart,” she laughs nervously, ducking her head to hide the flush on her cheeks. “I only use my brain, like, thirty percent of the time.” He laughs at that. For whatever reason, it feels like victory.

“C’mon, don’t say that,” he says reassuringly, “You come up with like, five new beats a week.”

“That’s different!” she argues. “Producing is more… subjective? Than words and lyrics and stuff, I mean. So you can just go with your gut to see if it sounds good or not. You don’t have to think too hard like you do when you write lyrics. Putting stuff into words is hard. Feeling my way through stuff has worked for me ‘til now, so I’m gonna keep doing that.” He shakes his head at that, but relents.

“You do you, I guess,” he says. “But I think I’d choose going using my brain over my gut any day.”

“Did you use your brain when you were bumping into everyone at the club ‘cause you lost your glasses? Or were you using your gut?” she asks cheekily. “It kinda seemed like you were using neither, if we’re being honest.” He rolls his eyes before leaning over to flick her on the forehead.

“Shut up,” he laughs, a flush on his cheeks. When he turns back to the computer screen, she can see his profile from where she’s standing next to their desk. She notices something she hadn’t before, and it makes her realize she’s never quite seen him grin so long. She lets out a little gasp of delight.

“What?” he says.

“Nothing.” 

He furrows his brows at her response, but doesn’t press it any further, either. When she gets home, she gleefully adds her newfound discovery to her list.

Epiphany #07: Kim Namjoon has dimples.

It’s an unexpectedly cute addition to the hard rap persona she’s always envisioned him with.

May 17, 2008. Lim Household, Seoul, South Korea.

“Holy shit, this place is nice,” Donghyuk whistles as he takes off his shoes.

Yuri is not exactly thrilled about Kyunghee inviting everyone over to their house.

Chilling together at PC bangs and the DGBD Club was one thing, but inviting these people into her home was… not ideal. She didn’t exactly love being vulnerable around other people, so she considered her house a safe space to do just that. Having guests over makes her feel like she’s in school again—and just like when she’s in school, she would prefer to be blissfully ignored.

Thankfully, she is. The boys are all switching between fucking around on her and her brother’s shared MIDI keyboard and kicking each other’s asses on Kyunghee’s copy of Super Smash Bros. Brawl for Wii. She also gets to stuff her face, so she supposes it’s not all that bad. Their mom had made way too much food, impossibly happy that Kyunghee was finally bringing friends home. It was unprecedented for him. Sadly, she could guess why this was the first time for that, seeing as he had very conveniently picked the day that their dad was gone on a business trip.

She quietly sits in the corner and eats her tteokbokki, careful not to spill any of the sauce on her notebook as she writes in it. She nearly chokes when Namjoon makes his way towards her, because she can’t quite wrap her head around it. It makes her a little tingly when he chooses to spend time around her even though he really doesn’t have to.

Now that she thinks about it, they’ve been doing that a lot lately. Hanging out alone, she means. Texting each other one-on-one rather than in the group chat, heading out to Hongdae separate from Kyunghee and Donghyuk, going out to PC bangs and Starbucks without everyone else. In the beginning, it was just so they could tutor each other, as they’d made the deal that while she helped him with his English, he’d help her with the horror that was linear equations.

Yuri can’t fathom how he can find English so hard but algebra so easy. It’s very Namjoon-like, she thinks. He’s incredible at very niche things, but he can’t do things that most people can do. She’d never want to humiliate him by asking, but Kyunghee heard from Donghyuk that Namjoon can’t tie his shoelaces correctly. And honestly? She believes it. He strikes her as a scatterbrained genius.

She thinks about Namjoon a lot lately, for whatever reason. But not in a bad way. If anything, she regards even his worst quirks fondly, like how he duct tapes his bag because he keeps accidentally breaking the strap off or those times (yes, there were multiple) he made them run back to the PC bang while they were walking back to the subway station because he suddenly remembered that he left his phone there. Despite all this, for whatever reason, she’s been feeling exceptionally shy around him lately. 

Is this what it’s like having a friend? She doesn’t know if it’s just the fluttery excitement of a new friendship, but it makes her face go hot. It only gets worse when he leans over her where she’s sitting at the table, his chest lightly pressed against the back of her seat.

“What are you writing in there?” he asks.

“Just stuff I’ve noticed,” she says casually. “Nothing interesting.”

“I see my name there, though,” he says, and she immediately clamps her hand over the page. Her response makes him chuckle.

“I thought you couldn’t read English,” she says, cheeks flushed.

“I’ve improved. Thanks for that, by the way,” he teases. That bastard. “What is that? What did you write about me?”

“It’s the same thing I was working on in Hongdae,” she admits. “The music analysis notebook.”

“And you wrote about me?” he asks.

“Yes?” she says, like it’s obvious. “You’re pretty prominent, dude.” 

“Interesting,” he says, looking at her expectantly.

“What?”

“Are you gonna tell me what it says?” he asks. “You wrote about me, so it’s only fair, right?”

“I guess,” she says, flushing.

“What’s this say?” he asks, pointing to a sentence that follows his name.

“Oh, that just… that just describes how like, you do this thing, sometimes,” she laughs nervously. “You do this thing when you rap, where you like… puncture the ends of syllables very aggressively. It’s just funny because that’s how English sounds, but like, you’re doing it in Korean, and… I don’t know. It stands out. I just like when you do it.”

“Oh.” He makes a face.

“Hey, I don’t mean—it’s unique. Because it sounds English, but it’s not?” she explains, but it feels like she’s digging herself into a deeper and deeper hole. So she continues, “Uh, I don’t know how to explain it. It probably just stands out to me because I speak English? But it’s still good. It’s really cool, actually. It’ll be good for when you audition for a label or whatever you wanna do.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I…” he trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to audition or do anything like that. To be honest, I was just planning on doing something behind the scenes, you know?”

“What? Why?” she asks. 

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I don’t think my parents really like the idea of me becoming a rapper as like, a career. I always figured I’d go to college for sound engineering and become a producer or something like that. Technically, they can still call me an engineer. They can’t get mad then, right?” It’s delivered jokingly, but Yuri can feel the underlying truth in it, sad and wistful.

It’s moments like this that make Yuri realize how easy she has it. No matter how rocky her family life has gotten, her parents had always supported her and Kyunghee’s pursuits.

“That’s shitty,” she huffs, lying her cheek against the smooth wood of the table. “What a waste. You’re one of the better rappers I’ve heard, to be honest. Not becoming a rapper would be, like, a disservice to all of South Korea.”

“Don’t say that,” he says sheepishly, but he can’t stop smiling.

“I’m telling the truth,” she says, and she is. “I mean, most of the dudes who want to drop out and become SoundCloud rappers are doomed, but you have actual talent. You could pull it off, though. You could be the chosen one.”  Namjoon laughs, ducking his head to hide his flushed cheeks.

“You’re too much,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

When he leaves to go to the bathroom, she flips her journal to the back where her epiphany list is.

Epiphany #08: Sometimes hardworking, talented people don’t get what they deserve.

What a bummer.

August 15, 2008. Hongdae Station, Seoul, South Korea.

There’s no single observation that makes it all fall into place—it hits her suddenly, like whiplash, as she’s walking home from the subway station with her brother, like all the little moments she thought nothing of before had suddenly come together to form this big amalgamation of questionable. 

Hands lingering on top of each other for an extra long second during keyboard lessons. Glances for just a bit too long when he isn't looking. The constant stream of yeses, even when it’s for something she can’t possibly fathom anyone wanting to agree to.

Of course, Donghyuk. Sure, Donghyuk. Okay, Donghyuk. Donghyuk. Always. Anything.

“Oppa, do you like Donghyuk?”

Kyunghee stumbles, tripping over the question like it’s a brick placed before his feet.

“Huh? What? Huh?” he sputters, too hurried to be casual. “Of course I do? Of course I do. Like him I mean. He’s my friend. I like him.”

“Oh… you know what I mean,” she says, refusing to push the obvious out into the open. Usually, she’d just say what’s on her mind like she always did, but being wrong about this kind of thing would be mortifying for them both. When he flushes and quiets, she knows that she’s not wrong.

“Don’t tell him,” he chokes out, voice cracking he’s going to cry. He puts a hand over his face so she can’t see, so maybe he really is. “Please don’t tell him.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” she rushes over to hug him, letting him lean down half a foot so he can drop his head to cry into her shoulder.

“I can’t just—we’re mixed kids living in Korea, Yuri, things suck for us as it is! I’m not interested in making life harder for myself!” he tells her. Everything comes out rushed, like he’s presenting a PowerPoint and he has like ten slides left to get through but only two minutes left.

“Hey, hey, hey—” she tries, but he doesn’t let her speak.

“And nothing’s gonna come out of it, anyway,” he continues. “He’s the most heterosexual man alive, his—his fucking rap name is Supreme Boi, for fuck’s sake. Like the fucking hype beast brand. And—and have you heard him speak? He sounds like the guys that called me a fag in middle school.”

“You don’t think he’s like that, do you?” she says, eyes sad and droopy as she rubs comforting circles into his back. His scoffs.

“We high-fived and he said ‘no homo’ right afterwards,” he says, like it’s an answer. 

Well. It basically is.

“Why would you like a person like that?” she asks, appalled. Her brother is a good person who deserves nice things, so she cannot fathom why he would subject himself to this kind of torture. 

“I don't know. I don’t even know how or when or why it happened. I just…” he trails off. Then sighs. “I guess you don’t know ‘til you know.” 

To be honest, Yuri has no idea what the fuck he’s trying to say.

“Sounds dumb,” is all she can offer.

“It is dumb,” her brother agrees. “And confusing and controlling for no reason. You just fall into it, I guess. And you barely ever get anything in return for it.”

Yuri’s nose wrinkles at the senselessness of it all, but she supposes it’s something she’d have to learn eventually. When they get home that night, she takes note of it in her journal.

Epiphany #09: Love is dumb. Cost outweighs benefit. Do not attempt.

September 15, 2008. Kim Household, Seoul, South Korea.

Yuri and Namjoon tutor each other on Saturdays.

However, today is Chuseok, so the club and the Starbucks and the PC bang and all their usual hangout spots are all closed. Meanwhile, Yuri’s dad is home and he invited all his siblings over for the holiday, including Aunt Skin Lightening Cream from Busan. None of them are even from Seoul, so she’s not even sure why they’re visiting when you’re supposed to visit your hometown on Chuseok. 

Fuck Busan, her dad says.

Understandably, she doesn’t want any of her friends coming over to the house, especially when she knows her dad is going to use it as an excuse to get even drunker than usual. Namjoon’s place it is, then.

Yuri’s never been to his house. She’s never really gone over to a friend’s house before period, so when she tells her mom about it, she’s… overenthusiastic, to say the least. Yuri spends a good half-hour reminding her mom that, no, she does not have a boyfriend and she is not going over to his house for Chuseok. They are just friends. Regardless, her mom does her up pretty for the occasion, fitting her into a baby blue hanbok and doing her hair and makeup all pretty.

A suited businessman on the subway even tells her that she looks pretty. She thanks him, and begins to wonder if she should maybe wear makeup more often. For once, she does feel pretty, just a little bit out of her element. But not out of place, with so many of the passengers in similar for attire for Chuseok. The feeling only intensifies when she steps off the subway and catches sight of Namjoon, who they agreed would wait there for her so he could walk her to his house, since she got lost easily. He’s in hanbok, too, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from widening when he sees her.

“What?” she says.

“Nothing,” he replies. “You look pretty.”

“Oh. Um, thank you.” She takes his arm as they walk back to his place. It feels natural at this point.

“Is everyone fine with me coming over on Chuseok?” she asks nervously. “Don’t you have anything planned? Am I intruding? Oh God, Namjoon, what if your mom doesn’t like me?” 

“You’re overthinking this. I don’t see why they’d be mad when we’re just studying together,” he laughs. “Seriously, it’s not like we’re dating or anything.” For some reason, the statement makes her heart beat a little faster.

“R-Right.”

When they get to his house, his parents welcome Yuri with open arms. They tease Namjoon profusely about her, to which they both have to repeatedly remind them that they are study buddies and are most definitely not dating. Yuri feels like she wouldn’t mind dating Namjoon, though.

No clue where that thought came from. She files that one away to deal with later, but it doesn’t stop her quickened heartbeat from kicking it into fucking overdrive. It only worsens when he invites her upstairs to his room, and she can practically feel her legs wobbling as she goes up the steps.

It’s so very Namjoon in a way she can’t describe. Little Kaws figures line his desk, textbooks lay scattered on the floor, and a blue-hooded Ryan plushie lies tucked in his bed like it’s a living person. It’s an instant reminder of how soft he is, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. She grabs the stuffed toy coos at it lovingly.

“That’s uh—that’s my sister’s,” he says. She ignores the obvious lie.

“Baby,” she says lovingly to the toy, squeezing its tummy. “Hey Namjoon, can I lay in your bed?”

“Uh.” Namjoon coughs awkwardly, turning away with flushed cheeks. “Do whatever you want.”

She flops down onto it rather unceremoniously, turning over onto her stomach with little care as to whether or not she smudges her makeup or wrinkles her hanbok.

“Smells like you,” she says without thinking.

“What?” he laughs, swiveling around in his desk chair to grin at her, a teasing smile on his face. With her having just said that, his embarrassment over a plushie pales in comparison. Now she’s the one scrambling for an excuse. She sucks at those, so she just powers on and tells the truth.

“The other guys use like, obnoxious amounts of cologne and Axe body spray,” she explains. Embarrassedly burrowing her face into the sheets, she says, “You just smell like boy.” He chuckles.

“I am just a boy.”

She lifts her face from the sheets to look up at him, hands folded nervously in his lap. In the big desk chair, he looks impossibly small compared to the tree of a man she knows him to be. Hip hop albums and posters line the shelves and the wall behind his desk, and it makes him look an awful lot like a dreamer.

Maybe Kim Namjoon and Lim Yuri are the same, she thinks. Two kids with dreams bigger than they will ever be.

October 25, 2008. Hongdae Station, Seoul, South Korea.

She’s quiet today, Namjoon thinks.

It’s not like she’s being icy or anything. If anything, she’s being really objective and professional about everything—no teasing, no joking. It’s so bad she says she doesn’t want to meet at the PC bang because it’s too loud, and she doesn’t want to meet at her house because it’s loud there, too. He doesn’t get what she’s implying with the latter statement, but thinks it better not to pry.

Decidedly, they’re meeting at the same Starbucks they reunited in that week after she helped him find his glasses in that club in Hongdae. Somehow, it makes the distance between them feel impossibly wider. Maybe if things were this way when they first met, he wouldn’t mind, but it’s all so extremely un-Yuri-like that it makes his skin crawl.

Now that he thinks about it, she didn’t respond to his texts last night, either. Usually, she’d leap the opportunity to talk about her school life or the obnoxious musical theater kids, and he’d give her advice on how to deal with it like a good oppa. He doesn’t really mind, though. It makes him feel like he’s taking care of her. Makes him feel needed.

Which is probably why seeing her like this sucks so much. She’s obviously upset, but she won’t even talk to him about it, and she tells him everything that doesn’t involve the forbidden topic of her home life. Even that she’s let up on lately, letting little inklings of it spill out here and there. Her dad drinks a lot. Her mother’s a bit protective. Her little brother is her baby, despite the demonic energy he exudes. Basic things.

He feels like he should ask about it, but also struggles with the possibility that he might be prying into something she’s not comfortable talking about. He spends so much time wrestling with these thoughts that he ends up saying nothing the whole time, all the way up until closing and the barista kicks them out. Yuri’s working especially hard today, he notices, like she’s trying to distract herself from something. Uneasily, he continues to wonder what it is.

His discomfort only grows as he walks her down to the subway station and she still has nothing to say. On the days she veered into the weirdest, most off-topic territory, he reached over the table to flick her forehead and tell her to focus on the music. But even then, she’d find a way to squeeze a couple of personal anecdotes into the conversation, and then elaborate on the walk to the subway since they really didn’t need to talk about music stuff anymore.

Sometimes, it’d be the other way around, and he’d vent about his life problems on the walk back while she listened. But today, whatever problems he can scrounge around for in his mind feel miniscule compared to whatever she’s going through, if her sudden change of character is any indication. She even refused his regular offer of an extra canned coffee for the road.

She doesn’t look particularly upset, though? Just neutral. It’s definitely an unwelcome change of pace from her usual free-spirited smiliness, but she doesn’t seem to be doing too badly, so he just keeps his mouth shut. 

At least until halfway through their walk, when she trips over nothing and tumbles to the ground.

It’s not a particularly terrible fall, and she pushes herself back up onto her hands and knees without trouble. But then she just. Stays like that. Doesn’t get up off the ground. Gently, he taps her shoulder.

“Hey, c’mon. It’s dirty down there,” he chides softly, like he’s talking to a little kid. She doesn’t budge, so he places a comforting hand on the small of her back. “Are you—are you okay?”

It’s crazy how quickly those three words alone can break the proverbial dam, because suddenly she’s crying. No wailing or sobbing, just quiet tears with the occasional hiccup, which really is all the more heartbreaking.

“No,” she whimpers through her tears. “I’m not. I’m not okay.”

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, pulling her up off the ground and holding her tight against his chest. She’s pliant like a ragdoll, like she’ll fall over if he lets go, so he squeezes her tighter. Her arms make their way around his waist, resting just above his hips. 

The weight of the world comes tumbling out her lips, and he just holds her and listens. 

Everything makes her older brother mad these days. Her little brother, Daniel, the scary one, cries a lot. Her mom cries a lot. Her dad drinks a lot. Drinks too much. Her parents are divorcing and her mom is moving back to the Philippines without them.

It’s just so much, she tells him. It’s so much, Namjoon. She apologizes over and over, because I didn’t mean to break down, not like this, not in front of you. Not in front of anyone. 

He frowns as he comes to the realization that she never talks about her problems or her feelings or insecurities, but he spills his to her and she coaxes his out of him all the time. He understands not wanting to share this with everyone, since it’s technically Kyunghee’s personal business, too. He’s glad that she’s able to confide in him like this. It just sucks that it took a breakdown for her to do so.

“I’m sorry,” she says, over and over and over. “I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. You have enough to deal with, you know?”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” he says, burying his nose into her hair. “Just because my life sucks doesn’t mean yours can’t, either. Just don’t think about me and my shit, okay? There’s nothing wrong with talking about yourself for once.”

“That’s not—I can’t just—I can’t just ignore you. It’s impossible to ignore you,” she sniffles into his chest. Squeezes him tighter. “You’re my friend, you know? I care about you.” 

Namjoon breathes out a shaky sigh at that, goosebumps rising on his skin. His heart swells at her words, despite the circumstances, and all he can do is wish there was more he could do for her. There’s nothing to do but squeeze her tighter.

It’s a while until she pulls away to wipe her tears. He reaches down and smooths out her hair.

“I’m sorry for crying.”

“Don’t be.”

“Thanks, then.”

“Mm-hm.”

The rest of the walk to the station is peaceful and familiar. She picks the conversation back up, opting to ignore her breakdown and talking about literally anything else, instead. She talks about how her little brother has his first crush and how her older brother wants to be drum major next year and how the weird musical theater kids are, unsurprisingly, still off the shits. All the while, she grasps his hand in hers, fingers interlocked. She gives his hand the occasional squeeze, and he squeezes back without fail.

They part once they’re across the street from the station, subway and he finds himself incredibly endeared by the way she doesn’t want to seem to let go. 

“Goodnight, Yuri,” he says, reluctantly pulling his hand from hers.

“Goodnight, Namjoon-oppa,” she sighs, letting her fingertips linger over his for a minute He watches as she turns to leave, but suddenly something hits him.

“Hey, one more thing,” he calls out to her, and tries not to laugh at how fast her head whips around at the sound of his voice.

“Yeah?” she calls back.

“It’s, uh,” he says, “It’s impossible to ignore you, too.” 

It’s just a simple repeat of her own words, but he hopes she knows that he means them, because he wants them to make her feel the way he did when she said them—needed. Important. A little bit fluttery.

Her face crumples then, so sudden that he almost regrets saying it. But then she’s practically hurtling towards him, smacking against his chest with a force that quite literally knocks the wind out of him. She’s crying again, and this time it is the loud sobbing kind. He shushes her softly. Presses a kiss onto the top of her head. He rarely initiates affection, but in the moment it just feels right. 

They hold each other like that for who knows how long. He takes hold of her hand as she calms down, the two staring down at their interlocked fingers all the while.

She misses the subway in her reverie.

“Just say goodnight and go next time,” she jokes, laughing tearily into his chest. “Stupid Namjoon, making me late. Making me cry.” There’s no threat to it, though, because she squeezes him tighter, nuzzles her face deeper into his scent, practically burrowing into him.

“I’m sorry,” he laughs softly.

They spend another thirty minutes waiting for the next subway to come in, two kids holding each other under the Seoul streetlights.

April 11, 2009. Kim Household, Ilsan, South Korea.

Yuri sprints to Namjoon’s house from the subway station at a speed unimaginable.

When Namjoon opens up the door, she’s panting and sweaty. He opens his mouth to question her about it, but before he can say a word, she’s shoving a piece of paper in his hands.

“The final match,” she recites the flyer word for word. Despite how out of breath she is, she still manages to smile brightly and sound excited. “Big Deal Show. August 23. Be there or be square.”

“The final match,” he repeats. His eyes bore holes into the paper even as he walks inside, Yuri following closely behind him. 

“You should do it, Namjoon,” she says. “Everyone’s waiting on you. You’re it, Namjoon.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, shaking his head.

“I’m serious,” she huffs. “They gave it to Kyunghee to give to me to give to you. Donghyuk didn’t get one. They want you.”

Namjoon looks up from the flyer to see her face, bright and wide-eyed and hopeful. He wonders where all those stars in her eyes came from. They can’t possibly be for him.

“Okay,” he says, grinning like a fool.

“Okay,” she says back.

“But there’s one more thing I should deal with before I go into this competition,” he admits. “I’ve been thinking of changing my stage name.” He’s been thinking about it for a while, really, even reserving the username on a throwaway account so nobody takes it, but he still brings it up to gauge her reaction just in case it really isn’t a good idea. Yuri’s always had a good feel for things.

“Aw, I like Runch Randa,” she says with a pout, but continues, “I guess I’m open to change. What are you planning on changing it to?”

“I was just thinking about shortening it to Randa. No big deal,” he says, throwing in that pun for good measure. He’s trying to be nonchalant about it, throwing a shrug in there and all that. But then she does That Thing where she folds her arms over her chest and looks up at him with those big ol’ doe eyes.

“Is this because Fetion called you ‘lunch boy’ in that diss track?”

“What? No. What? No,” he says twice. And forcefully. It’s laughable, really, and he commends Yuri for not letting even a chuckle out because he knows he’d lose it.

“Oh, Namjoon,” she sighs sweetly, and the way she says his name makes it sound like it could belong to anybody but him. It makes his heart fall into his ass. “Don’t look too much into what other people say about you. Rappers like to diss just because, you know? That’s just hip-hop culture.”

“It’s not because of that,” he says, and she frowns like she thinks he’s lying, which is only half-true. “Really. I just wanna go for a more mature sound, you know? Randa just sounds more respectable than Runch Randa, that’s all.”

“Nothing to do with Fetion?”

“Nope.” He even pops the ‘P’ for emphasis. Maybe he’s trying a little hard.

“I don’t know if I believe you, but I won’t press it,” she says. As expected, she sees right through him, but he counts the outcome as a win.

“Good,” he says. “I just wanted your opinion on it.” She gasps dramatically.

“Wanted the opinion of little ol’ me?”

“Of course,” he says, “You’re important to me.” He says it like it’s nothing, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Epiphany #10: Knowing you’re important to someone feels really, really nice.

August 23, 2009. Rolling Hall, Seoul, South Korea.

It’s a really big day for Kim Namjoon.

At the very least, it’s a big enough day that he’s arrived to the venue two hours early, just to be safe. He leans against the wall as he scrolls and scrolls and scrolls again over the lyrics he has written in the notes of his phone.

There’s a sense of finality to it. Logically, he tries to convince himself that isn’t true, but it’s already taken him this long to convince his mom that his interest in rap was more than a waste of time. He just needs this one shot, this one thing, to make her believe in him. That’s all he wants. All he needs. In the meantime, Yuri’s there to support and believe in him. His own cute little personal cheerleader.

Yuri just oozes cuteness, he thinks. If you asked the honest Namjoon, he’d tell you that he just wants to pick her up and put her in his pocket to take home. But the Namjoon in the real world is not only a teenage boy, but an aspiring rapper with a reputation to maintain. Masculinity is a prison. That doesn’t stop him from letting her hold his hand as she helps him practice his lyrics, all the way up until he goes on stage to perform. She even kisses his knuckles for good luck, like they’re in a fairytale. It twists his heart in a way that only pushes him to succeed. He has to do well. He has to win--to prove it to his family, to have something to celebrate with his friends, to make sure that all of Yuri’s producing and support hasn’t gone to waste with him.

But he fucks up his only chance.

He forgets a bunch of the lyrics he’d planned out and ends up having to pull some lyrical miracle spiritual individual shit out of his ass. After it’s all over, his heart sinks at the way that Yuri lights up when she sees him, even after all the performers and judges and audience members have dispersed. She looks at him like he didn’t just completely fuck up, like he didn’t just lose and give one of the most embarrassing performances in his life. Before he knows it, he’s crying.

His hands fly over his eyes in the hopes that she doesn’t see. He feels fucking pathetic.

“Hey, hey, hey!” she says, her soft voice panicked. Cautiously, her hands take hold of his wrists and, for fear of hurting her with his resistance, he goes limp and lets himself be handled. When she places her cool, tiny hands over his eyes, he can’t help but to breathe a sigh of relief. Though he can’t see her, he can feel her dropping her head into the crook of his neck, breath tickling his ear with gentle shushes.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she says softly. “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I messed up,” he said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Namjoon,” she sighs. “You did great.”

“I messed up,” he repeats. “I was the worst one there.”

“Don’t say that,” she chides, moving her hands from over his eyes to thread through his hair. “Are you deaf? Just because you didn’t win out of all these people doesn’t mean you did badly at all. There was only one ranking, you know? One of the judges asked for your contact info, right?”

“Just one. Sleepy.”

“I love Sleepy. That has to count for something, right?”

“He probably just felt bad.”

“Oh, Namjoon.” 

She squeezes him as tight as she can. What else can she do? Meanwhile, he reaches out, feeling around since he can’t exactly see, until his hand finds purchase on the back of her neck. Oh God, she’s so small. 

He can faintly feel the ridges of her spine as hand slides lower to find its place on the small of her back. He could easily squish her if he tried, so he feels a tingly sort of pleasure at the trust she’s given him as she settles deeper into his embrace. God, he feels so bad. He hates that she’s almost always the one comforting him and picking up the pieces when all he wants to do is protect her from everything ever. If he weren’t so worried about hurting her, he’d squeeze her tight and probably never let go.

Yuri squeezes back just as tightly. She doesn’t understand why he thinks he messed up so bad. In her eyes, he did everything perfectly. Sleepy wouldn’t have asked for his contact information if he wasn’t any good, right? How could he have been anything but? Didn’t he hear himself?

She wishes he could just see himself the way she sees him.

To make matters worse, he seems to have lost his student ID somewhere at some point throughout the day. Yuri spends a good half hour helping him look for it in the dim lights of the club, and it fills her with a little sense of nostalgia for the night they first met. Unfortunately, they find nothing this time around. Seeing as he needs it to get on the subway, he calls his mom to pick him up instead. It’s just the cherry on top for how pathetic he’s feeling today.

Namjoon dries his tears and regains his composure so that his mom doesn’t ask about it when she shows up. When she arrives, she thanks Yuri for looking after her son and offers her a ride home, not taking no for an answer even as Yuri assures her that it’s okay and she doesn’t want to intrude. With the emotional draining he’s had today, she’d rather Namjoon get home as fast as possible, but she’s terrible at coming up with lies and excuses.

“Her dad is on his way to pick her up,” he lies for her, knowing damn well she’s taking the subway. His mother accepts this, thanking her again before waving her off. Once she’s out of eyeshot, she mouths a thank you to Namjoon. He forces a half-smile in reply.

Yuri plops down on one of the seats to sulk. Something stops her from leaving for the subway right away, and in retrospect, she likes to believe it was fate. It was probably just laziness.

In the midst of her musing and sulking, she notices a very familiar figure—from the judge’s table no less—emerge from the bathroom. Sleepy from Untouchable, she recognizes him as. She knows because her and her brothers have Quiet Storm on loop in their house, so he’s got to have some sway in the contestants they pass on. She’d worry about making a good first impression, but she was a friend before she was a fan. If it meant risking looking like a crazy person, then so be it.

“You!” she yells from across the room.

“Ah! Me!” he yells back in surprise.

“I need to talk to you!” she yells. He gulps as the tiny girl approaches him like he’s prey, not daring to take her eyes off of him. 

Please don’t be a sasaeng, he prays.

He steels himself as she draws closer, relaxing as he takes in her measly, barely-five-foot stature. Yeah, he could handle himself if things went bad. He could punt a child. He sighs gratefully when he realizes he will have to do no such thing.

“H-Hey,” she says nervously, voice immediately going small when she’s in front of him. “You were a judge, right? For the contest?”

“Yes,” he replies, trying his damnedest not to sound intimidated by this little girl.

“I need your contact info.”

“Excuse me?”

“I—look,” she says, sounding more and more desperate by the minute. “I’m not asking for your number or anything, like—just give me your work email or something!”

“Uh���”

“My friend performed today,” she scrambles to explain. “In case some stuff happens to his work, I want you to have it. Or get your hands on it? So you have material to hear if you call back. Um, here, just take this.” She scribbles her email into her journal and rips the paper out before handing it to him. He squints his eyes at it.

“Beats by Glass,” he reads her email address.

“Yes.”

“I know you,” he says, “a lot of the trainees at TS use your beats for their audition tapes.”

“It’s ‘cause they’re free,” she explains. He looks surprised at that.

“Admirable.”

“Thank you,” she says, “I produced his stuff, too, um—yeah. Just let me send you my friend’s work.”

“Don’t you have your own music to focus on? Wouldn’t you rather promote yourself?” he asks. She shakes her head.

“He deserves this more than anyone.” Sleepy’s eyes soften at that.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

October 17, 2009. Lim Household, Seoul, South Korea.

As a surprise to even herself, Sleepy emails Yuri back. She sends him Namjoon’s music that she has saved. He emails back a thumbs up emoji. Ugh.

Unfortunately, just as Yuri had anticipated, Namjoon found himself in a bad headspace and immediately deleted all of his content off the internet in an especially powerful bout of self-loathing.

He could get a callback, she keeps reminding him, but he just won’t believe it—so he gives up before he even tries. He psychs himself out of things before he even gets a chance. His mom says that’s why he hasn’t started driving yet.

Despite this, Namjoon and Yuri still find themselves working together, even as Namjoon assures her that he is not interested in swallowing his pride and crawling back to the entertainment industry. For now, he’s just a songwriter that she’s teaching the basics of her beatmaking programs. She relents to letting him believe that, but she also takes the fact that he’s having anything to do with music at all as a glimmer of hope that he’ll return to his promising rap career.

At this very moment, Namjoon is not writing lyrics, and a good dozen pages of his notebook now half-filled with content he’s apparently dissatisfied with. For now, Yuri’s relented to letting him absentmindedly scribble on her left arm with a pen while she works her producer magic on GarageBand. She’s allowed it on the simple condition that he doesn’t draw any dicks or write any curse words on his arm because her mom might see.

“No promises.”

“Try it, bitch.”

Fortunately, he does not scribble any dicks nor fucks. It’s all just mindless doodles, like stars and swirls and hearts and that one pointy S everyone drew in elementary school. The only one she actually pays any mind to is a little crescent moon on her inner wrist.

“Aw, that suits you,” she says.

“How so?” he asks.

Yuri doesn’t know how to tell Namjoon that he reminds her of the moon, bright and calm and watchful and constant and underappreciated, without embarrassing herself. So she doesn’t.

“You’re… I don’t know,” she says. “It just does.”

“What were you gonna say?” he presses, raising a brow. As expected, he can see right through her.

“Nothing. There was no end to that sentence,” she says.

“Okay.” From his tone, it’s obvious that he doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t press the issue any further. He was a lot better than the others at making sure not to stray into uncomfortable territory.

They usually sit together in comfortable silence, which she’s noticed has since become a staple of their relationship. She doesn’t mind, though. There are no expectations between them. It’s a nice change of pace from the constant expectations present in both their day-to-day lives. His silence today, though, seems a little tense. She doesn’t know how she can tell, but she can feel it. Maybe their hearts are connected, she thinks.

“Are you okay?” she asks, hoping she’s not wrong.

“I don’t know,” he admits with a sigh. “I don’t really like anything I’ve written at all. I feel like I’ve reached my limit, you know? Maybe I’m just out of good ideas. Maybe I never had any in the first place. Maybe I was never meant for this at all.”

She shoves at his arm, pouting up at him once she’s fully distracted him from his absentminded scribbling. There’s a wobbly line running down the side of her arm now, but she can’t bring herself to care very much.

“What?” he asks, annoyed.

“C’mon, Namjoon,” she huffs, ignoring the way he scoffs and rolls his eyes at her. “You’re really gonna let one bump in the road throw you off momentum for good?”

“That ‘one bump in the road’ was my last shot, Yuri,” he says hopelessly. “It’s over for me.”

“But you’re still trying,” she says. “I like to believe that means something. C’mon, let’s see what you’ve got.” She reaches over him to grab his notebook, flipping it open to a random set of lyrics. They’re close enough now to where Namjoon barely bats an eye at this—he is, both literally and figuratively, an open book to her.

Smoothing it out, she reads, my heart is like a detective who is the criminal’s son. Even as I know who the criminal is, I can’t catch him. She blinks a couple of times in surprise. Reads it again.

“You wrote this?”

“Yeah,” he admits sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Look, that one is really old. It’s from before we even met, I think. I know it’s kinda corny—”

“It’s good,” she cuts him off.

“Yeah?” he says, surprised. She just nods in response, even though there’s so much more that she wants to say.

She wants to tell him that everything he says leaves her in awe. That he’s the smartest boy she’s ever met. When she writes her lyrics, it’s always about something she’s seen or done or felt—but the lyrics he comes up with are written like stories, like there’s an entire universe in his mind. His mind is filled to the brim with different worlds and swirling galaxies, and hers does nothing but walk along a path already laid down by the cosmos.

But she doesn’t.

“It’s good,” she repeats instead.

She doesn’t know why it’s so hard to say what she feels. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t even know how to word how she feels.

Especially with Namjoon, as of late.

Epiphany #12: Talking about feelings with Namjoon is hard now. Like getting over a great big hill.

March 07, 2010. Starbucks, Ilsan, South Korea.

Against all odds, Namjoon gets a callback. 

It comes directly from a man known as Hitman Bang, the CEO of Big Hit Entertainment—according to Namjoon, he’s a very successful songwriter (that’s where the Hitman part is from… how cheesy) who’s worked with big wigs like JYP before. Yuri hasn’t heard of the guy or his company. Probably some poor, weird indie label, from the looks of it. She’s not exactly sure how credible they are, but when the man sings Namjoon’s praises and offers him a contract, she pushes her doubts aside.

As soon as the phone call ends, Namjoon envelopes Yuri in a hug, warm and all-encompassing and very, very Namjoon-like. He feels like he’s on top of the world, like all the dreams he felt he’d thrown away as only dreams were tumbling back into the realm of possibility. It’s like all his wishes are coming true—in everything, there’s only one problem.

Namjoon has yet to tell his mom that he’s been rapping.

Of course she knows that he does it, but it’s just a little hobby in her eyes. She still believes the lie—well, half-truth, he prefers to say—that he’s going to PC bangs all the time, and not rap clubs in Hongdae. She’s found a couple of his lyrics tucked into the pages of his textbooks, but he bullshits excuses about how they’re extra credit poetry for his literature class. He’s been lying about it for years now, but now that he’s going to get signed for rapping, now’s as good a time as any.

He’s nervous. It’s one thing to confess that you’ve been lying for three years, but it’s another to beg your mom to sign a contract that’ll help you pursue your rap dream immediately afterwards.

Yuri was just there for emotional support. They’re walking to his house back from Starbucks because really, he could only gather the courage to do this when hyped up on overpriced espresso. They walk back with Yuri’s hand linked in his, and despite him never being the best with physical affection, it feels natural, supportive. Loving, even.

“You got this,” she says, squeezing his hand in hers.

“I got this,” he repeats, even if he sounds like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s saying.

“Just be honest about how you feel and everything’s gonna be fine,” she assures him. He doesn’t quite believe her (feeling things out was never his forte) but he supposes he’ll just have to take her advice on this one. He wishes she could just be there next to him, but having her randomly sat into their family discussion would just be weird. Instead, the plan is for her to sit in that same Starbucks they were just at until she gets the text that he is 100% okay.

“If it goes really bad, I am four blocks away!” she reminds him, putting up four fingers for emphasis. “Hopefully your dad won’t threaten to kill you, but you know. Just in case.” Namjoon grimaces, but nods. He wonders what her home life must be like for her to make comments like that.

“Okay,” he says.

Yuri’s heart falls into her ass as she squeezes Namjoon’s hands one last time before letting him go back into his house. Once the door shuts behind him, she practically sprints back to Starbucks, not wanting to stay close and accidentally hear yelling or some other part of the argument. She heard enough of that kinda stuff at home.

She can barely sit still at Starbucks, fidgeting anxiously as she thinks about what her friend must be going through right now. She brought her laptop and her notebook in her messenger bag so she could at least take advantage of the free Wi-Fi to work on stuff, but her mind always strays back to him. She periodically checks on her phone for any new notifications (her group chat with the boys has been long since muted) and heaves her shoulders in disappointment every time there is none. It’s been nearly four hours and he has yet to text her anything. 

Suddenly, the blip of a text notification on her phone catches her attention.

[18:27] Namjoon: look outside

Yuri whips around to see Namjoon grinning behind the glass walls of the building. Carelessly shoving all her stuff back in her bag, she practically flies through the door to greet him.

She practically crashes against his chest, but it’s okay because he picks her up and spins her around like he’s just returned from war. He’s so bright and giggly and infectious that Yuri finds herself laughing, too. She almost feels like it’s a little romantic, but quickly kicks that thought away, as always.

“They said yes,” he says once he sets her down, like he’s still surprised, even now. “My parents said yes. They’re gonna sign the contract with me. I’m gonna be a rapper, Yuri.”

“Oh my God.” She’s in disbelief too, because that’d be tough news for any parent to handle. But Namjoon is the most articulate person she knows. If anyone could break that kind of news, it would be him. “How’d you win ‘em over? What’d you say?” Namjoon laughs nervously.

“It’s kind of—it’s so lame,” he says, embarrassed, but Yuri nods for him to go on. “My grades are 5,000th place in the country, right?”

“Nerd.”

“Shut up. Anyways,” he continues, “The part I think I really got them with was—basically, I asked my mom whether she wanted to have a son who was a first-place rapper or a 5,000th-place student.”

Yuri bursts into laughter.

“Cheesy!” she yells. “Namjoon, that’s so—that’s so cringey.”

“It worked, didn’t it?!” he defends himself.

“It was gonna work no matter what,” she laughs. He shakes his head.

“I think I just got lucky,” he says. She doesn’t believe it.

Kim Namjoon could take over the world, if he wanted to.

March 06, 2010. Ilsan Lake Park, Ilsan, South Korea.

It’s a Saturday night, and Namjoon and Yuri hold hands as they walk through Ilsan Lake Park.

They do this a lot, now, and it makes her feel a little tingly. It’s just walking and talking, she knows, but it’s different. Whenever they’d go over to each other’s houses to study or work on music together, she’d psych herself out of any sense of excitement with the reminder that, as close as they may seem, they were still both getting things out of it. But this isn’t like that.

Neither of them are obligated to spend any time with each other outside of helping one another, but they do anyway. Namjoon ends up talking most of the time, but it’s okay. She’s no good with words anyway, and she likes his voice and the things that he has to say. Sometimes the skip rocks, even though neither of them are any good at it, before giggling at their failures.

Are these dates? she sometimes wonders. They feel an awful lot like dates. She doesn’t know how that makes her feel, but she feels it in the pit of her stomach. Yuri has always been upfront about the things she wants, but with Namjoon, she isn’t quite sure what she wants. She thinks she just wants to be around him.

“I’ve been discussing contract stuff with Hitman Bang,” he says casually, “and he’s thinking about changing it from an underground rap-based group to an idol boy group.”

Yuri freezes in her tracks beneath the streetlights.

“What?” she asks, making a face. “Seriously? You can’t be serious. You’re joking, right?”

“Why the hell did you say it like that?” he bristles. “Jesus. You’d think I told you I was planning on dropping out of school and becoming a stripper.”

“I’m just trying to warn you. Idol life is hard,” she says. “Netizens will have a field day with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I—fuck, I didn’t mean it like that, okay?” she huffs. “It’s just that—you saw how people treated Nacseo when he signed to an entertainment label. I like idol music, too, but not everyone around us is open to that kinda change, you know? They’re gonna eat you alive, Namjoon,”

“I don’t care about their opinions,” he says, and she scoffs.

“You’ve never not cared about what people think of you,” she shoots back, her mind jumping to every time he’s thrown away a good set of song lyrics because he thought it’d make him sound lame or corny. Or God forbid, soft. “Why would you want to leave? Everyone in the underground scene already loves you. They’re gonna call you a traitor, just like they did to Nacseo.”

“Do you think I’m a traitor, Yuri?” he asks. When she responds with a beat of silence, he looks more betrayed than she could ever feel. “Yuri.”

“Why would you want to leave?” she repeats. “Look, I’m just saying—why would the company suddenly switch gears like that? Don’t you think that’s suspicious? What if they’re scamming you into debt? What if they’re trying to force you into a slave contract or something?!”

“God, why are you suddenly so against this? You sound like my parents right now!” he yells. “You know, of all people, I would’ve thought you’d be the one to get it.”

“What—of course I get it!” she huffs. “I handed you the flyer, I watched you perform, I waited for you when you told your family about it! There’s just no good reason to leave the underground scene to become an idol. The risks are just too much, Namjoon!”

“Well, I—no, you know what? I don’t need to justify myself to you!” he yells, despite proceeding to do just that. “I’m not just gonna stay in the underground because—because you want me to!”

“I just—why would you want to be an idol anyway?” she shoots back, scrambling for some bullshit reason that doesn’t sound as desperate as please don’t leave me. “They’re gonna control what you eat and who you see and everything! Everything’s gonna be different, Namjoon! We won’t be able to go to DGBD and we won’t be able to go out together like this anymore because they’ll throw you into a scandal over some stupid rumors and they’ll never let me see you again.”

“Wait, so—so this isn’t about me, right?” he says. He scoffs, shaking his head, “Yeah, this isn’t about me at all! This has nothing to do with what you think is going to affect me and everything to do with what’s going to affect you! This is all about you!”

“Shut up!” she yells back. “It’s not like that!”

“Really? Because I’m not so sure,” he says, and immediately regrets it when his doubt makes her look at him like she’s been struck. But he just keeps going. He can’t stop himself, no matter how much his conscience screams at him to. “If you were actually thinking about me, you’d be listening to what I have to say, you’d be taking everything that’s happened up until now into account—but you’re not! Why is that? Thinking with your gut instead of your brain again?”

“You’re—you’re talking too fast! Slow down!” she’s crying now, but it doesn’t register for either of them. She puts her hands over her ears, like she’s a little kid listening to her parents fight again. “Just shut up for one second, okay?! Shut up! Shut up! You know I’m no good with words!”

“I thought you were more mature than this!” he yells. “Fuck, you’re just—you really are just a little kid, you know? Seriously, you want me to throw away an opportunity for my family to let me do what I actually wanna do? So I can stay with you and the rest of the losers—”

They both freeze, mouths open in shock as the weight of his words set in.

“Wait, I—I didn’t mean that, I—” he’s stuttering, trying to find the words to fix things, even though he knows in his heart that he can’t take it back. “You’re—you’re not a loser—” He takes a step toward her, arms outstretched with the promise of comfort. 

But she refuses it, taking a step back into the streetlight. She looks so small, hands curled into her chest, so far away from him.

The world hits him all at once. They’re just two teenagers yelling in the Ilsan streets at night. She bows her head down, but he can still see the tears in her eyes, glistening under the street lamps.

“You should go home,” she says softly.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“I’ll walk with you.” 

“Okay.” 

It’s an awkward walk back, to say the least. He’s still mad, and he knows she’s still mad, so he makes no move to touch her as she walks next to him. She doesn’t reach out to grasp his hand like she always does, instead awkwardly linking her pinkies together, like she doesn’t know where her hands belong if not in his.

“We’re here,” she says, stopping at the sidewalk across the street from his house—like she’s not welcome, like she wasn’t lying on his bedroom floor just weeks ago. Weird how fast things can change.

“Hey,” he says, feeling a sense of relief when she looks up at him instead of ignoring him. He almost doesn’t want to break eye contact, like if he does he’ll never have another chance. Still, he reaches into his bag, fishing through the energy drinks and coffee cans at the bottom he’d bought earlier that day, originally purchased with the express purpose of keeping himself awake during training. But this is ok, too. He settles on giving her a Baba Vanilla Delight, because he knows she likes sweet things.

“Drink this,” he says as he hands it to her. “So you don’t fall asleep on the subway. There are weirdos on the train, you know. If any weird old guys try talking to you, call your brother, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, popping open the metal tab and drinking. After a couple of gulps, there’s silence, before Yuri leans forward and gently presses her head against his chest. Reflexively, he places a hand atop her head. No patting or stroking. Just a gentle, awkward, weight.

“You should go inside,” she says.

“Yeah,” he agrees, but neither of them make the move to part. He doesn’t know why. He’s still mad at her and she’s still mad at him. But it just feels right. When it happens, she’s the one to initiate it, breaking away from his touch to sip at the coffee in her hands again.

“Bye,” she says.

“Bye,” he says back, even though his gut tells him not to. 

There’s a sense of finality to it, somehow.

Namjoon turns around sharply so he doesn’t have to think about it, but makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder one last time. She has yet to budge, sipping at her coffee and watching to make sure he gets into his house safely, even though she’s still upset. 

I care, I care, her gaze says. He thinks he’ll know that forever.

But he doesn’t know that she starts crying as soon as he steps inside his house, or that she cries the whole way home, or that when she’s on the subway, she takes her journal out of her messenger bag and plops it in her lap to scribble a pathetic, self-aware message onto her epiphany list.

Epiphany #13: Lim Yuri will never stop caring about Kim Namjoon. Never ever ever. Not in a million years.

What a coincidence that it lands on such an unlucky number.

April 07, 2010. Big Hit Entertainment Building, Seoul, South Korea.

Lim Yuri makes her way to the Big Hit Entertainment building with nothing but a coffee in her hand and conviction in her heart. She’s nervous for a multitude of reasons.

For one, she’s about to interrogate an old music mogul when she’s a fifteen year-old girl that barely scrapes five foot nothing. No matter what bullshit her father has put the family through, she still stands firm with his advice that old men in the music industry are bad news. 

Secondly, she’s not supposed to be here. Nobody knows she took the subway here—she told her brother she was taking the subway to a friend’s house and really, it’s his fault for believing her lie. He should know damn well that she doesn’t have friends.

Thirdly, the coffee enhances every nervous feeling beating inside of her body. She feels like her heart is going to beat out of her chest. Regardless, she’s come too far to turn back now. Yuri raps her knuckles on the Big Hit building’s front door three times before ringing the doorbell.

As she waits, she can’t help but notice that the building is pretty small, especially for an entertainment company. Kinda shabby, if she’s being honest. Man, this place is poor poor. She wonders if they can even afford trainees.

When a staff member opens the door, she tells them she wants to talk to the CEO. He narrows his eyes suspiciously at the little girl and tells her to schedule a meeting ahead of time. When she hands him ₩20000, his eyes widen and he directs her to sit in the waiting room. Damn, really? These people were cheap.

Minutes later, another staff member directs her to the Hitman Bang’s office upstairs. She hates to be judgmental, but this place is like. The shitters. The floors are dirty and the paint is peeling off the walls and the halls are a tight squeeze through. When she makes it up to his office, she’s not surprised to see how small it is. She sits herself down onto the seat in front of him and opens her mouth to speak, but he quickly cuts her off.

“Here, sign in first,” he says. She expects him to direct her to a computer or a card reader or something, but he hands her a clipboard with a stack of binder paper on it instead. The sight makes her wrinkle her nose, but she signs it anyway.

Whew, this is trashy.

“Lim Yuri,” he reads her name off the clipboard, “What brings you here today?”

“I, uh,” she pauses to shrug. “Just wanted to talk, I guess.”

“About?” he asks, quirking a brow.

“Kim Namjoon,” she admits. She’s not sure why saying his name aloud makes her face so hot. “He’s, um, a trainee in your company, I think. Or is going to be. I’m not really sure, uh, we haven’t really talked recently. Gonna need a status check on that one.”

“He’s coming in to sign his contract with his parents next week. It took a while, but he wore ‘em down,” he jokes, shaking a fist in victory. “So not yet, but soon.”

“This sounds like the kind of information that a company shouldn’t be sharing so freely. Haven’t you heard of contract confidentiality?” she huffs. “I came here to protect Namjoon, and you already seem like you’re not doing a very good job.” Old man Bang’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline in surprise, obviously not expecting the little girl in front of him to be so serious about all this.

“Well, uh, he hasn’t signed any contract with us yet,” he justifies himself. “So I haven’t technically said anything confidential.”

“Nice save.”

“Thanks,” he says, before awkwardly clearing his throat. Regaining composure, he continues, “I can assure you, we’re doing our best to protect our artists, and will do the same for him once he’s with us. What do you think you need to protect your friend from?”

“I don’t know, weird industry stuff that he doesn’t know about!” she says, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. “Like a slave contract or eternal debt or some weird shitty concept that he doesn’t wanna do, okay? I don’t know!”

“Relax,” he says. She huffs and folds her hands back into her lap. “Your friend is in good hands. It’s easy to take advantage of young trainees, but I can assure you that this is not the case here. We’re forming this next group around him. Because of him. We respect his creative decisions and will be giving him near-full reigns on whatever projects he wants to work on. I’ve heard him rap before, so Lord knows he can.”

“Which one?” she asks after a beat of silence. She can’t fight the hint of a smile off her face, despite the circumstances.

“Huh?”

“What song did you hear him rap?” she asks curiously. “Was it the one about the detective? I like that one. That one’s my favorite.” He blinks a couple of times in surprise.

“Yes, I heard that one,” he says, nodding. “He’s very talented. Incredibly introspective for your age.” 

“I know,” she says, almost boastfully. “Everyone knows except him.”

“Do they now?”

“Yeah. I even asked Sleepy,” she continues bragging. “You know, from Untouchable? ‘Tell Me Why’? Yeah, him, and he agreed, too. I just know he’s destined for greatness, and—”

“You’re right,” he says. “When I first heard his audition reel, I thought, ‘this person deserves to be an idol.’ I didn’t even have to see him to know that.” Yuri lets herself smile at that.

“Glad to know we’re on the same page.”

“And I do know Sleepy,” he adds. “In fact, he’s the one who showed me your friend’s mixtape and passed his contact information onto me.” Yuri’s eyes widen, genuinely surprised that he did that even after she harassed him at Rolling Hall. Outside the bathroom, no less.

“You know, I’m surprised that you know Sleepy,” he continues slowly. She can practically hear him thinking as he narrows his eyes at her. “Are you Glass, by any chance? The one from outside the bathroom?” 

Is that her thing now? She hates it here. His tone isn’t exactly flattering, but what’s she gonna do, lie?

“...I am she.”

“You’re that Yuri?” he asks, and she grimaces. 

“Yes.” She’s expecting him to like, shove a cross in her face or something. Instead, he just laughs.

“I heard you gave him an earful.”

“Well. Harassing old men on my friends’ behalves has recently become a hobby of mine,” she says wryly. He shakes his head, but even the old man can’t resist another laugh at that.

“That also means you made those beats, right? The ones in his audition reel?” he asks. 

“Yes, sir. Every last one,” she says truthfully.

“Interesting.” He folds his hands in front of his mouth and leans forward in his desk, and Yuri can practically see the cogs turning in his head. She can’t imagine what he’s thinking so hard about.

“Hypothetically, if we were to debut your friend in a boy group,” he begins.

“Oh God, I don’t like hypotheticals,” she interrupts. He laughs at her antics.

“It’d be a smart idea to have a female producer,” he continues. “Because if you think about it, that’d be our main audience, right? Girls around your age, give or take a few years?” She nods slowly as she thinks about the implications of what he’s saying.

“Yes,” she says after a long pause. “That would be smart.”

“And we’re already understaffed,” he admits. “It’d be a great help. I don’t know how much I’d be able to pay you—” 

“I can tell—”

“—but you’ll be working with your friend, right? Isn’t that a good idea?” He raises a brow at her, and he doesn’t need to say anything more for her to know that it’s a question and an offer all in one. 

In all honesty, it doesn’t sound that bad. Doing what she likes and working with a friend? Getting ‘near-full’ creative reigns? It sounds too good to be true, even to herself. She can’t exactly say she trusts in this, but it seems like it’s worth a shot. She heaves a sigh.

“You got a business card?” she asks. He seems to panic at that, awkwardly scrambling around his desk. Yuri nervously links her pinkies together as he spends a good five minutes opening and closing and opening his desk drawers again and again.

“Uh, you know what?” He pulls a sticky note off the top of the stack on his desk and writes his email address and phone number. Yuri has to stop herself from grimacing. The disorganization of this little company makes her cringe, but she guesses she’ll just have to take a leap of faith.

April 17, 2010. Han River, Seoul, South Korea.

Yuri links her pinkies nervously as she sits, staring down at the dosirak boxes in her lap.

She’s on a park bench by the Han River, praying to every God she can think of that Namjoon shows up. She’d texted him earlier that week asking him if they could meet there, to which he replied with a simple ‘okay’ text—a very bad sign when coming from the wordiest guy alive. But they did just have a really bad falling out, so she supposes beggars can’t be choosers.

“Hey,” she hears a familiar voice say from behind her, accompanied by a tap on the shoulder. It makes her whip around so fast she nearly smacks him with her ponytail.

“Oh, um, hey! Hey,” she says nervously. Namjoon laughs fondly, shaking his head.

“You look like you got stood up for a date,” he jokes, taking a seat next to her on the bench. She can’t help but blush as his knee bumps against hers. They sit in silence for a moment, as was usual in the Namjoon-Yuri dynamic. Despite the awkward air about them, it dawns upon her just how much she’s missed him, even just by sitting next to him like this.

“Here,” her voice cuts through the quiet as she drops one of the dosirak boxes in his lap. “I, um. I made this for you. And I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Namjoon clicks his tongue.

“Don’t be,” he says, shaking his head. “I should be the one saying sorry. I overreacted and said shitty things to you that I shouldn’t have. I’m embarrassed, really… I’m the older one, you know? I should’ve been the one to apologize first, if anything. I know you say things because you care, or because you don’t want to be lonely… and I get that. Nobody wants to be lonely. Nobody deserves to be lonely, especially a person like you who always does things for other people.”

“Namjoon-oppa.”

“Hm?”

“You have this—” she cuts herself off, voice cracking. “You have this bad habit of making me cry.”

Wordlessly, Namjoon shrugs off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders and placing a comforting hand atop her head. He coos when she leans into his touch. It makes her chuckle softly, even through the tears. She slips her arms into the sleeves, using them to wipe those tears away.

“Sorry for getting snot on your jacket,” she sniffles. He shakes his head, moving his hand down from her head to rub comforting circles into her back.

“Keep it. It looks better on you anyway,” he assures her. He drops a jab in there, too, if only to reach for a bit of normalcy. “And I just took it off, so. It’s got that boy smell you like.” He laughs when she smacks him with one of the long sleeves.

“Suuuure,” she says sarcastically. She rolls her eyes at his words, sincerely doubting that she looks good in anything in her current snotty, teary-eyed state—let alone a jacket that’s like, four sizes too big for her. But Namjoon has, embarrassingly enough, read her for filth. She will very much be keeping the jacket for as long as it has that very distinct Namjoon smell.

She leans her head on his shoulder and realizes she really, really missed him. That’s just the truth of it. She missed him and his smell and his dimples and his weird metaphors and his big wrinkly brain.

“I just want to make things clear,” she begins nervously, “If you think signing with Big Hit is the way to achieve your dreams and stuff, I want you to do that. I want you to know that I’ll be right there with you.”

“Thanks,” he says. “It’d be tough to know someone I cared about wasn’t supportive of this.” The admission makes her blush, but she shakes her head.

“No, I mean like, literally,” she admits, laughing nervously. “Um, I went to their building the other week, you know? To check it out and see if there was anything weird happening there. I, um, talked to the old man upstairs—old man Bang, not God.” He laughs at that. It melts her heart a little. “But, um, yeah. He was talking about how they’re understaffed and had heard about my producing and stuff and thought it’d be a good idea since we worked together already. We’re not discussing contract stuff for like, another two weeks? But before that happens, um, I just wanted to let you know before you sign yours. I won’t do anything that like, forces you to work with me or—”

“You don’t need my permission to do anything,” he says. “You want to still work together, right? Isn’t that why you went there?”

“Yes.” A half-truth, but she’s not gonna admit she harassed that poor old man to ensure his safety. That’d probably be a blow to his ego, and seeing as they just made up, that’s the last thing she wants.

“Then you should. We already know how the other works. It just makes sense,” he says. “And we’ll be together.” And her whole stomach does flips.

Her whole mind is going a mile a minute, then. It barely registers when he holds out his fist, and a couple awkward seconds pass before she has the brainpower to bump it back.

When he smiles at her, dimples on display and teeth poking out from between his lips, it feels like a punch to the gut. The relief she’d felt swell in her chest when she heard his voice is nothing compared to the tingling sensation she feels in her stomach right now. Suddenly, she understands what her older brother meant that night she asked about Donghyuk, and he said some bullshit about not knowing until you know.

She gets it now because she knows. It’s going to race through her mind every time she looks at him. She doesn’t need to write it down, but she knows she will when she gets home, if only to get it out. She needs an outlet for what she feels like is going to be etched into her heart forever.

Epiphany #14: Lim Yuri is stupidly, uncontrollably, undeniably in love with Kim Namjoon.

[kronk-is-launchpad]

Here in the Garden (Chap. 1)

Summary:  Della Duck didn't think of the possible consequences of leaving her unhatched eggs. Nor did she think of the pain she'd cause to her 3 yr old daughter. Donald takes the triplets in a fit of emotions, but doesn't think to take his only niece. After being forced to give up searching for Della, Scrooge now devotes all his time & affection to his youngest niece. Elliot has grown up unaware that she has brothers, and now that very fact is holding her up by the thread.

MASTERLIST

[DuckTales 2017]

[DuckTales OC insert]

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elliot was at a meeting with Scrooge & the 'penny pinchers', bored out of her mind. Though surprisingly, she'd rather be no where else. Scrooge is the only person she could trust, and she didn't plan on that changing anytime soon.

   On the limo ride back Scrooge was telling Elliot about how annoying Glomgold was, and she responded with the usual "hm" And "huh". As the gate pulled into view, she could see a station wagon. LaunchPad lurched to a stop, sending Scrooge & Elliot out their seats. Scrooge got up, mad as ever.

"Why aren't we movin?!" He shouted.

Scrooge immediately moves over LaunchPad to honk the horn and get out the limo.

"Ay!!" He yelled angrily, "Jettison that jallopy from my driveway this instance you deadbeat!!"

A familiar duck exits the station wagon and walks towards Scrooge. They meet halfway, glaring at each other with sheathed anger.

"Donald Duck." Scrooge seethed.

"Uncle Scrooge." Donald responded.

Elliot's eyes widen, and she slowly gets out the limo.

"Dona?" Elliot called out quietly, tears starting to fill her eyes.

"Ellie?" Donald whispered, taking a step towards her.

Scrooge cuts Donald off, glaring at him with the fierceness of a beast.

"JETTISON THAT JALOPY FROM MY DRIVEWAY THIS INSTANT YA DEADBEAT!!" Scrooge growled loudly, annunciating each word with a poke of his cane.

The two duck spiraled off into a pointless argument as Elliot shifts her attention to the 3 kids in the car who were filled with excitements. They were clearly triplets, with different color-coded outfits to distinguish one from the other. The one duckling wore a red polo shirt with a baseball cap to match. The duckling to the right wore a green hoodie, and to the left was a duckling in a light blue long-sleeve with a darker blue t-shirt over it.

'Dona had kids?' she wondered, 'did he really forget about me?'

She gets shaken out her thoughts by Scrooge's yelling.

"YOU'RRREEEE WELCOME!!" he taunted loudly, but then realizing what had happened, "wait what?"

Donald huddles the triplets out of the station wagon, and over to Scrooge.

"Huey, Dewy, Louie," he introduced, "meet Scrooge McDuck."

The ducklings looked like they were about to burst from the intensity.

"Remember," Donald warned, "no tricks, no lies, no trouble."

"Yes Uncle Donald," the ducklings responded in-sync.

"I wasn't talking to you," Donald corrected, his eyes narrowing at Scrooge, who returned the favor.

After Donald drove away the 4 ducks start heading back to the car, sending Elliot into panic.

'What do I do?!' She thought nervously, 'I don't know these kids?!'

Then the limo door opened.

"EEEEEEEEEEEE!" Huey squealed, "it's you!"

"It's me?" Elliot questioned nervously.

"THE Elliot McDuck is my Aunt!" He screamed, "this is the greatest day of my life!"

 Huey jumped up & down outside the limo,  giddy with glee. The other 2 looked at the teen with curiosity & amazement. Scrooge ushers the triplets into the limo, and Huey immediately start bombarding the young duck with questions.

"How do you create such innovative designs for your prosthetics? What 3D printer do you use for the models? Do you build them here or at the McDuck bin? How much work do you get done in a day?"

Before Elliot could answer, Scrooge was already blocking the red clad duckling.

"Leave the lass alone," Scrooge grumbled.

"No Coo, it's quite alright," Elliot interrupted, "curiosity brings discoveries.

I think of what people need in a prosthetic, and strive to make it happen. I don't 3D print as of now, but I do have a small lab in McDuck Manor for making models though the prototypes & final products are made in the McDuck laboratory. I can get a sketch & model in a 9-5 work day, but I do take days off to cool down. I hope I've answered all your questions."

Huey looked at the teen in awe, writing down everything she said. The limo lurched to a stop, causing the triplets to fall out of their seats. The partition rolled down to reveal LaunchPad.

"You're all home now Mr.McDee," he announced, "have a great day Elli!"

"Much appreciated LaunchPad," Elliot thanked as she exited the vehicle.

 She bolts to the door, Mrs. Beakly opening it automatically as she disappeared inside. Scrooge followed, walking normally. Once Scrooge made it through, the door is slammed shut on the triplets for a few seconds, before quickly being opened by Mrs. Beakly.

- - - - - -

'I didn't know Donald had kids,' Elliot thought as she made her way through the house, 'Did he really forget about me so easily?'

 She reached the garage, a wave of emotions fell over her. Seeing the souvenirs brought an old feeling of naivety, but it also brought tears to her eyes. Seeing all that happened while she was stuck to a garden with no social interactions outside of a butler. While lost in thought, she didn't notice 4 ducklings sneak in. As she ponders an old painting she hears a loud gong. She whips her head to see Webby being chased by a headless horse.

"*gasp* Ms. McDuck?" Webby blurted, "what are you doin in here?"

Before Elliot could counter there was another gong. The girls turn to see a ghost pirate chasing the triplets. Elliot runs past them, grabbing the kids and hiding.

"What are you 4 doing here?!" She shouted, "this isn't a playground!"

"We were bored!" Dewey responds frantically, "how was I supposed to know there were ghost pirates!?"

"And if we hear one more gong, an unspeakable evil will be set loose!" She screams.

"Not if I can help it!" Elliot growled, getting up.

She runs out, grabbing a sword and jumping on top of boxes.

"Hey Dorky Jones!" She shouted, catching the pirate's attention, "Where'd you get that hat? Party City?"

 The ghost let out a screech as it flew toward the teen at lightning speed. Elliot quickly dodges, flipping over the undead attacker and landing gracefully behind him. The pirate grabbed a glowing sword, ready to fight. Before either could charge a heavily accented voice rang out.

"What in Dismal Downs is going on here?!"

The 4 young ducks sheepishly turn to the elder one, as Elliot smiled nervously.

"Why good noon Coo!" Elliot greeted hurriedly, "What brings you here to garage?"

"Garage!?"

Before Scrooge could tear into the 5 ducks, another screech ripped itself free from the beak of Elli's opponent. Elliot quickly parries the glowing sword that was speeding towards her. She deflected it up, but the sword quickly turned itself around and was back to speeding at her face full-force.

"Aw phooey," she muttered tirelessly as she parried the endless attacks from the sword, getting pushed away from the group more and more.

"Could *pant* really use-woah! SOME HELP!" The teen shouted as the swipes got faster.

"The sword won't stop till it hits its target!" Webby shouted from the side lines as Scrooge is facing the ghost pirate and its new partner, the headless man horse.

'What do I do? What do I do?' Elliot thought frantically as she was growing tired from the persistent saber.

She could feel a lightbulb go off in her head.

'Ah-hA, That's it!'

After a final deflect she drops her sword, her stare calculated and confident as the sword was speeding back at her.

"Ms. McDuck what are you doing?!" Huey screeched out in terror as he covers his younger brothers eyes.

"Trust me!" The teen called out, her gaze still on the sword.

Just as the blade was about to impale her she quickly side stepped, ripping her sleeve and drawing a small amount of blood. The sword stopped glowing, dropping immediately. Elliot returns to the others to find the headless horse and ghost pirate gone.

"Now what are you all doing in the ga-rage?!" The Scotsman shouted, slamming his cane to the ground.

"So it IS a garage!" Huey exclaimed.

"B-but what about all this treasure?" Webby asked desperately, "The garden hose of destiny, Montezuma's stack of old magazines?"

It takes the energetic duck a moment to realize her words, and she slumped her shoulders in defeat.

"Unbelievable..." Scrooge growled, "I invite you into my home-"

"You locked us in a room!" Louie countered angrily.

"You did whAt?" Elliot cried out in disbelief.

" I gave them marbles!" Scrooge shouted back."

"All we wanted to do was spend time with you." Huey explained.

"Well now you have," Scrooge grumbled, "and look at the mess it's got me."

"I guess family's nothing but trouble," Dewey muttered aloud, "right Scrooge?"

Elliot watched as Scrooge's face contorted into an anger she never saw often. She took a step towards her angered parental.

"Everybody out." He growled.

"Coo let's just calm down for a min-"

"OUT!" He screeched, hitting the gong with his cane.

Everyone gawked at the action, some covering their beaks in shock.

"Oh what are you gaping at?"Scrooge asked, "the curse is only activated if you ring the gong three times, and-and you already hit it two times didn't you?"

Then the statue started to crack.

The stone crumbled away to reveal a slithery golden dragon. It broke through the roof, letting out a mighty roar.

"Pixiu, the Gold-Hunting Dragon," Webby muttered out.

"Gold hunting? Sounds great!" Louie commented.

"Not when you're Duckburg's single largest owner of gold!" Huey exclaimed.

"Aah! Me money bin!" Scrooge screeched in horror as he grabbed the dragon's tail, "Elliot! Take them inside!"

Elliot watched in awe as her legal guardian gets yanked into the sky. After minutes of shock pass, Webby starts to walk out of the garage with a mission.

"Where are you going?" Dewey called out.

"I'm gonna go eat a hamburger." Webby stated confidently.

"We're in!" Shouted the triplet

"Anything for Coo." Elliot said, joining the quartet.

"Cool!" Webby squealed, "and to be clear, I'm gonna go catch the dragon. The hamburger was a metaphor from before."

"Yeah, yeah, no, we get it. We get it." Dewy responded, "But how are we gonna get up there?"

Launchpad pops in out of nowhere, scaring the living daylights out the teen.

"I'm a pilot," He informed, an excited smile on his face.

"Well what are we wait for? To the Sunchaser!" Elliot shouted as they all ran to the large plane.

They quickly board the aircraft, Elliot buckling up the kids. She barely sits down when launchpad lurched the Sunchaser into the sky. Elliot struggles to look over her shoulder.

"You guys doing alright?" She calls out.

She here's a shaky chorus of "yeah!"s, along with one "We're gonna die!".

"Yeah they're fine," Elliot muttered reassuringly to herself.

Once the plane steadied enough Elliot hopped out of her seat and over to the kids, unbuckling them.

"Ok listen up team," Elliot commanded, "we need to form a chain to grab Scrooge. I'll be second in line while three of you support me. Who's grabbing him?"

"Step aside comrades," Dewey instructed, stepping out from the group, "I was born for this."

They all get in a line, linking arms with each other. The plane is becoming more unstable as they approach the flailing Scotsman.

"Launchpad now!" Elliot ordered, tightening her grip on Dewey's hand.

Launchpad opens the hatch, the air almost vacuuming Dewey out if not the duck-made chain. Dewey reaches out just as Scrooge looses grip on the golden dragon, grabbing the old duck's arm.

"Now heave!" the teen shouted over the thrashing winds.

The 5 ducks pull with all their might, dragging the Scotsman into the plane.

"I thought I told you to go to your-" Scrooge was cut off by Dewey.

"No time. We gotta work fast." He turns to the pink duck, "Webby, how do we stop it?

"It's mystical, so we need a mystical device," Webby stated, "like an oblivion mirror, or a medusa gauntlet, or-"

"Like this?" Louie suggested, pulling the gauntlet out of his pocket.

Everyone stares at the youngest duck, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What? I was gonna give it back," He assured horribly, "Now, how do we get him down there?"

"Garden hose of destiny!" Huey chanted, pulling the makeshift rope out of thin air, "Launchpad, we need to swing him out. Nosedive towards the bin and get ready to pull up!"

"Yes, sir, random kid I just met!" Launchpad responded enthusiastically as the kids tied Scrooge to the makeshift rope.

"Any questions?" Dewey asked.

"Since when is Launchpad a pilot?" Scrooge questions as the hatch opens up again.

Elliot puts her hand on the Scotsman's should.

"Have a nice trip Coo," she said jokingly before pushing him out of the plane, "see you next fall!"

Launchpad nosedives towards the money bin, pulling up at the last moment and swinging Scrooge towards the mythical beast. Scrooge grips onto the tail with his gauntlet clad hand, reveling in his victory.

"You guys, our family is awesome!" Dewey cheered as they all held on to the garden hose of destiny.

The golden dragon upon realizing its predicament, started to thrash about, catapulting Scrooge high into the air. The ducks (minus Elliot) watched in horror as the Scotsman was free falling in the air.

"Ah for old times sake," Elliot mumbled before leaping out of the plane in a swan dive.

She caught up with Scrooge, who she gave a mischievous smirk to.

"See you in the gold," she shouted smugly, "old man!"

She accelerates past an offended Scrooge and dives gracefully into the money bin, the latter following suit. She comes up up for air, laying back onto the cold hard cash as faint cheering can be heard in the background. The cheering doesn't last for long as she then hears a loud crash. She lurches out of the bin along with Scrooge to help the kids.

—————————

"In the short time I've known you," Scrooge stared angrily, "you've wrecked my home and my money bin, unleashed several ancient evils, and almost got me killed, twice!"

"Four times if you count...each..monster...as an...individual..time," Huey corrects nervously.

Scrooge stomps in front of the 4 kids, Elliot gasping lightly as he does. Then in a turn of events he let's out a boisterous laugh.

"That was incredible! When you pulled me into the airplane and said 'No time!' And who would have thought of a Medusa Gauntlet?! Brilliant! Oh, and then you swung me out and pulled up just in time and..." Scrooge gets up, "You kids are nothing but trouble! Curse me kilts, have I missed trouble! I suppose I'll have to keep an eye on you to teach you how to get into trouble properly."

Scrooge pulls out his golden flip phone as the kids look excitedly at him.

"You mean?" Dewey questioned hopefully.

"Beakley! Clear my schedule!" Scrooge commanded into the flip phone, "I'm taking the wee ones on a field trip."

He hangs up the phone, turning to the other ducks.

"Now," He says devilishly, "let's go find the lost city of Atlantis!"

The Ducks cheered out a great big yeah.

"And no one tell your uncle Donald!" Scrooge adds.

The Ducks cheer even louder.

"Wait who is that?" Launchpad asks.

[caspianhayes]

                            CASPIAN ALEXANDER LEVI HAYES.

FULL NAME:  Caspian Alexander Levi Hayes. NICKNAMES(S):  Cas. AGE:  28. DATE OF BIRTH:  November 20th, 1991. PLACE OF BIRTH:  Chicago, Illinois. CURRENT LOCATION:  Red Ridge, Nevada. ETHNICITY:  White. GENDER:  Cis male. PRONOUNS:  He/him/his. SEXUAL ORIENTATION:  Pansexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:  Panromantic. RELIGION:  Atheist, raised half Jewish, half nondenominational Christian. OCCUPATION:  Bartender at Violet. EDUCATION LEVEL:  Bachelor’s Degree in business from the University of California, Los Angeles. EXTRACURRICULAR:  Swimming, baseball. LIVING ARRANGEMENTS:  Has a studio apartment near the north side of Red Ridge, lots of windows, usually relatively messy. SPEAKING VOICE AND ACCENT:  Speaks smoothly & calmly, a very standard midwestern accent that’s barely noticeable. It’s very easy to listen to him speak.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE, ETC.

FACECLAIM:  David Corenswet. HAIR COLOR AND STYLE:  Brown, curly, very well taken care of. It looks just as silky as it feels. Typically kept short, has grown out once in his life, and didn’t like the way it looked then. COMPLEXION:  Pale, warmer undertones. EYE COLOR:  Blue. EYESIGHT:  15/20 vision - what the average person sees from 15 feet away, Caspian can see from 20. He won’t be needing glasses anytime soon. HEIGHT:  6’3” WEIGHT:  174 lbs. BODY AND BUILD:  Muscular, but not as muscular as he used to be. He retains his biceps and pecs, but has given up on ab workouts, aside from the occasional one once in a blue moon. TATTOOS:   None, with no plans on getting any. PIERCINGS:  None, no plans on getting any. CLOTHING STYLE:  Cas’ wardrobe leans casual. Dark jeans and t-shirts are his everyday apparel. He only dresses more formal for work because he has to. When it’s cooler outside, he’ll go for a sweater before a sweatshirt. He still wears white Converse, has a beat up old leather jacket that he got in high school, and doesn’t like jewelry on his wrists or fingers.   DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:  Almost unnaturally blue eyes, his dark curls, and a smile that lights up a room. A sniffle that’s almost always there. SIGNATURE SCENT:  Whiskey, leather, vanilla, and cashmere.

HEALTH.

MENTAL DISORDER(S):  Anxiety. Fear of abandonment and failure. ADHD. PHYSICAL DISORDER(S):  None. ALLERGIES:  None. SLEEPING HABITS:  Caspian has nightmares most nights. He doesn’t go to sleep until the sun starts to rise most mornings, thanks to the fact that Violet doesn’t close until well into the night and he has to stay after closing to help clean up before he goes home. It takes him a while to fall asleep,  but, once he does, he usually isn’t asleep very long. His nightmares startle him awake. It’s rare that he gets a total of six hours combined any given night. EATING HABITS:  He tries to take care of himself where he can in regards to his food. His breakfast most morning is a smoothie and some eggs, he’ll spend the extra money for organic fruits and vegetables. While he does take care of himself most of the time, there are those times where he sits down with a whole pizza and a pint of ice cream and finishes it all, though. When he’s high, he rarely eats, which is why breakfast is so important to him. SOCIABILITY:  He is an extrovert through and through. That’s part of the reason he thoroughly enjoys his time at the bar - socialization. He’s a very smooth talker and a very good listener, which is likely why people typically find it easy to trust him. The cocaine makes him even more sociable. BODY TEMPERATURE:  Naturally warmer, he gets cold very easily. That’s part of the reason he likes the desert so much. ADDICTIONS:  Cocaine. DRUG USE:  Frequently. At least once a day. ALCOHOL USE:  Semi-frequently. Likely drinks one glass of whiskey whenever he’s on shift, but otherwise rarely touches alcohol. Outside of work, when he does drink, it’s likely watching a football or baseball game.

PERSONALITY.

POSITIVE TRAITS:  Loyal, hardworking, charming, resourceful, charismatic. NEGATIVE TRAITS:  Anxious, sly, liar, secretive, stubborn. LIKES:  Cocaine. The Chicago Cubs, dogs, cashmere sweaters, traveling, warm weather, swimming pools. DISLIKES:  The cold, rough textured clothing, grating voices, loneliness, the sound of someone chewing with their mouth open. FEARS: Abandonment, loneliness, never being good enough. Failure. Death. HABITS:  Cocaine, cutting his nails frequently, smoothies with breakfast, fiddling with a necklace or other small things. ASTROLOGY:  Scorpio sun, Taurus moon, Scorpio rising. PERSONALITY TYPE:  ESFP. MORAL ALIGNMENT:  Chaotic neutral. HOGWARTS HOUSE:  Slytherin. ELEMENT:  Water. PRIMARY VICE:  Lust. PRIMARY VIRTUE:  Diligence. WEATHER: Sunny day, no clouds in the sky. Somehow, still a chance of rain. COLOR:  White and red // light blue. MUSIC:  Doesn’t listen to much music. MOVIE:  Inglourious Basterds (2009, dir. Quentin Tarantino). SPORT:  Baseball. BEVERAGE:  Kale and banana smoothie / Arnold Palmer. FOOD:  Scrambled eggs with cheese, broccoli, cupcakes, raspberries, peaches. ANIMAL:  Dogs of all varieties. SEASON:  Late spring, early summer.

FAMILY, RELATIONSHIPS, ETC.

MOTHER:  Amy Hayes. FATHER:  Stephen Hayes. SIGNIFICANT OTHER:  None. SIBLING(S):  One older sibling, 33+. CHILDREN:  None. PET(S):  None.

PROMPT.

Routine.

Who would’ve thought that Cas would end up here, of all places? Certainly not his family, certainly not anyone from his past. He doubted that anyone actually needed a business degree to bartend at the Violet, or to bartend anywhere, really. He doubted that anyone would think to find him there, which was part of the reason he enjoyed being there in the first place. That was the point of running away from the past, no? To escape it? Nights at the Violet were indulgent, and that was Caspian’s favorite part of it all.

Indulgence. Sweet indulgence. To start his shift after a hit of the best coke he could get his hands on was a feeling of near-euphoria after a morning of restlessness and anxiety. He could feel that paranoia and constant worry wash away as he walked the length of the bar, ears tuned in to everything happening around him. That was the thing about Violet; people talked. And when people talked, Caspian heard. They may have thought that he wasn’t listening, that he was just there to do his job and go home. But that wasn’t the truth. He knew about the man at the third stool and how he’d been cheating on his wife for the past three months. He knew about the woman at the seventh who owed Valencia more money than she had in her bank account, and, despite that, continued to turn to Violet every night for the comfort of a glass of gin. He knew the high-rollers with their hands dirty, knew the secrets of the civilians who simply wanted to live life without Valencia’s influence, knew those who feared Rorschach and what his arrival may mean. And it was almost as euphoric to him as the coke was. Almost.

HEADCANONS.

He grew up in the shadow of his older sibling. He always hated it - always hated never feeling good enough for his parents. No matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. Not when he made the varsity swim team and baseball team as a freshman in high school, not when he was given a swim scholarship to UCLA for college, not when he worked his ass off to get good grades despite his involvement in two sports.

The Hayes family is big in the financial planning world. If you don’t know a thing about that, you probably won’t know who they are, but his mother has been on covers of industry magazines and interviewed for finance TV shows before. She and his father co-own their own company.

He started partying in high school to try to let off some steam after games and dances. He only increased his partying in college. This was when he first tried cocaine. The partying got heavier and heavier, and, eventually, he lost his scholarship. That’s when he started bartending - he didn’t want his parents to know that he lost the scholarship, so he had to pay his own way through the rest of school. This was also when he cut contact with his family.

He likes it when people talk to him as if he was a brick wall, not absorbing any of their information. But he keeps that dirt in his brain - after all, who knows when he’s going to need it?

He was a good cook, once upon a time. Now, he doesn’t really have the incentive to be one, especially since he works through what most people would consider “dinner time”.

He’s pretty good at poker, but he’d never go into the casino to play. That’s too formal for him.

He wouldn’t refer to himself as a cocaine addict - just a man who likes cocaine. He figures he could stop at any time he wants to.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

SUPPLIER: he's got a drug addiction; he needs drugs. this is probably someone within valencia who provides him with his fix - someone he pays either with information or money.

MUTUAL DISLIKE: this person doesn't like him for whatever reason. maybe he owes them money. maybe he's made a promise he didn't keep. whatever the reason is, cas doesn't like them, either. they're greeted with distaste.

FRIENDS: obviously everyone needs friends. these people may or may not know about cas' addiction problems, and, if they do know, he still won't admit to having an addiction problem.

PAST HOOKUP: any gender ! he does have a tendency to sleep around solely for praise and validation that he feels like he's been missing in his life thus far. don't be mad if he doesn't call you back.

BOSS: this is someone in Valencia, as Violet is owned by them. Cas probably doesn't know too much about them/their involvement in the organization, they probably aren't too close because he's wary of them more than anything.

WARY: this person knows that something's going on with Cas. May or may not suspect the cocaine addiction, probably someone on the side of the law, recognizing that Caspian isn't getting by on his own.

OWED DEBT: Cas owes this person something, whether it be because they provided him with coke or because his car broke down and he needed help fixing it - whatever the reason, he's in debt, and he can't repay it yet. Valencia or not !

OLDER SIBLING: this is the big one ; see the main.

[livinasimminlife]

Nathan Simself Green’s Aesthetic and Profile

Name: Nathan Robert Simself-Green

Age: 19 (at the start of Gen 2) (the youngest of the three triplets) 

Star Sign: Aries

Aspiration: Party Animal   (Bonus Trait: Gregarious)

I changed his aspiration because I wanted something he could do while away at Uni, and City Native wasn’t possible. 

Traits: Daydreamer, Geek, Genius, Good (inherited from Joseph), In the Know, Lazy (inherited from Lizzie), Night Owl

Childhood Traits: Happy Toddler. Good Manners. Mediator. 

Hometown: San Myshuno, Cascadia

Currently Living: Britchester, Avalon, Sim Union 

Parents: @livinasimminlife’s Lizzie Green Simself and LegacySims2017′s Joseph Simself

Siblings: Carrie Buckley (adopted sister), Joseph Simself-Green and Parker Green (2 of the triplets)

Best Friend: Mariposa Sims (daughter of Bugsie2016/ForgottenPixels’ Bugsie Sims and Kolby  KÖhler) 

Career: Pursuing a distinguished degree in psychology from Foxbury Institute 

Interests:  bowling, mixology, video gaming, dancing, DJ mixing, basketball, karaoke, attending festivals, street art, spa activities, yoga

Signature Colors: blue and white with some red and purples 

Style Influences: Bowling, City Living, Spa Day

Favorite Music: NuDisco and World 

Favorite Foods: Cubed Ahi with Veggie Wasabi Matrix, Artisan Fish Matrix, carrot cake 

Favorite Holiday: Egg Day 

CC/Mods Notes:

***I’m not responsible for third-party CC or mods. Please exercise caution when downloading and adding CC to your game. Also, I have way too many clothes, accessories, skins, hairs, etc. to remember exact CC creators and give them credit here, BUT if you ask, I’ll do my best to answer.

I used James Turner’s Random Pack Generator to determine fashion/style influence, personality stuff, and other things!

chingyu1023′s More CAS traits for Sims

Natasha’s Zodiac Signs Traits (shared by Luna on Mediafire - original creator deleted the files on MTS)

kutto’s Calm and Daydreamer Traits

TwilightSims’ Night Owl trait

[bigfan-fanfic]

The Prince and the Baker - Pt. 2

Written for @herald-divine-hell. Thank you for being my friend, and I hope that this is worth the wait. Featuring OCs from both of us.

Esmyial had never spent the night before in a bed that wasn't of the finest materials, in rooms not designed for opulence and elegance, and he absolutely loved the experience. He had slept in a bed Tash explained belonged to his brother Arno, who was not using it, as he was traveling with a mercenary company, the Valo-Kas. It seemed Arno was human, as the bed was of normal size, compared to Tash's, which was proportionately large.

Tash's fathers had been pleased to meet Esmyial. Kaaras, the large Qunari man, his hair salt-and-pepper and his eyes gold like his son's, his horns nearly brushing the ceiling when he stood up, had welcomed him and thanked him for protecting Tash. Colm, the baker, a blond human with a full beard and shining blue eyes, had offered Esmyial lodgings for the whole Tourney, to which he had been very grateful.

They had spent a large portion of the evening (after a hearty meal of sandwiches made with leftover bread from the bakery's sales and fresh cheeses and vegetables brought by Kaaras, who worked often as a hunter to trade with the farmers on the outskirts and selling the skins to tailors and tanners in Markham Town) simply talking to each other. Tash talked about his love of baking and reading, and how every year he went to see the Grand Tourney. Esmyial responded with stories about his parents and siblings, and his life in Skyhold, although he refrained from mentioning that his mother was the Divine and his father was the ruler of the Frostback Kingdom. Esmyial figured Tash thought him the son of some minor noble lucky enough to live in the famous castle.

Esmyial couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm Tash seemed to have for everything, whether it was talking about his daily chores or getting a twinkle in his eye listening to Esmyial's stories. And Tash admired the quiet strength and care in everything Esmyial did, whether it was neatly arranging his things at the foot of the bed or pausing for a few moments to think before responding to an excited question from the other.

They stayed up far too late into the night, learning about the other. And something in Esmyial fluttered as he listened to Tash's breathing slow and turn into soft sleeping breaths.

---

The next morning, Tash awoke Esmyial with breakfast in bed. "You have to keep your strength up for the Tourney!"

Esmyial gratefully dug into the large plate of eggs, a pair of warm rolls beside it that he could dip into the yolks, and a small bowl of fruit with cream, a Marcher attempt at Orlesian crème fraîche with berries. He glanced up to see Tash hovering somewhat nervously.

"Oh, my apologies. Thank you for the meal." Esmyial said politely, although he had already given thanks when served. He thought back to his etiquette lessons. Jacqueline always seemed to be better at them than he was. Maker, even Isalian was better at them than he was. What was it? Did Marchers only say thank you after the meal or something? Had he made some sort of horrid breach of etiquette?

"Oh, er, no, it was no trouble." Tash said, starting. "I... I know that it isn't what you're probably used to. I... I made it all fresh."

Esmyial stopped, and gave Tash a hard look. "This... is one of the best meals I've had in my life. You made all this?"

Tash's face broke out into a grin, and Esmyial's heart fluttered again. "Well, I didn't make the berries, obviously. The bushes did that. But I cooked the eggs and took the rolls from the morning batch I made, and I mixed the cream." His voice lowered conspiratorially. "I also put powdered sugar on the berries."

Esmyial chuckled and resumed eating. "It's... ah... berry good."

Tash snorted in laughter. He seemed comfortable enough to go and get a plate for himself. They ate in companionable silence as the morning mist began to clear. 

---

Seeing as how his fathers had allowed him to take the day off, he offered to lead Esmyial to the registration tent, walking through the set up marketplace stands for merchants with their merchandise and makeshift barracks for competitors unable to find accomodation. There were always some on-the-day additions, he assured the young prince.

"So... do you have a strategy for the Tourney?" Tash asked, tilting his head. "Any allies you're planning to team up with? Are you fighting with a house or company?"

"No... not exactly." Esmyial said, the nervous jitters growing in his stomach. Being with Tash had completely made him forget about his nervousness. "I'm a freelancing sword."

"Ah." Tash said, grinning. "A mysterious knight of mysterious origins. That's good. Most of the fighters will wait to engage you, see what you do first. Freelancers are the wild cards of the melee. That gives you an advantage. Trust me; I've been watching these since I was old enough to watch things."

Esmyial smiled, only to frown as he noticed Tash looking at him appraisingly. "What? What is it?"

"You need something to help you stand out. The crowd's interest does, in fact, play a role. You're going to have a hard time winning if they're pelting rotten vegetables at you because someone more interesting is in the ring."

Esmyial's eyebrows raised. "I've never been to the Tourney. They do that?"

Tash nodded. "They like doing it to nobles who do fancy moves and let their house guards do the real fighting. We Marchers have kind of a thing against nobility. Another advantage of being a freelance fighter. It's not just me who enjoys the idea of the wandering knight. We need something special to help you stand out, like a crest or something."

"Or a favor?"

"That could work. Something in bright colors, maybe a deep red or a sharp green..." Tash seemed lost in fantasy for a moment as he imagined the possibilities, before returning to reality. He glanced around and quickly ducked towards a stall selling bolts of cloth, grabbing a shiny strip of green silk and slamming a copper piece on the seller's bench before the merchant could protest.

"This is the armor you're wearing?" Tash asked.

Esmyial nodded. "Yes."

Tash smiled. "Great." He brought the strip of silk up to his face and slowly breathed over it. Esmyial felt the surge of magic and saw a vague haze spreading across the cloth before it cleared. Tash quickly tied the cloth strip around Esmyial's bicep, the tails of the knot just enough to flutter artistically but not get in his way. "There. I placed a barrier on it so it won't get dirty and will keep distinguishing you."

Esmyial smiled. "So... this is my lord's favor, yes?"

"Oh... er... I... if you want it to be, I suppose?" Tash said, blushing deeply.

Esmyial's smile became a smirk. "I believe I do."

"Er... then a favor it is."

Esmyial ran his fingers through the tails of the silk bolt. "Then I shall return this to you along with my victory in the melee. I will seek you out in the stands."

Tash smiled. "I'll be right under the box for the royal guests."

"I shall dedicate my victory to you, my lord." Esmyial said, starting to chuckle.

Tash giggled and nodded. "Well, hurry, or you won't be able to get in!"

---

Esmyial glanced around anxiously as the competitors were led onto the field designated for the melee. They were meant to wait there while the royal guests were announced. There was a lot of buzz this year, but Esmyial kept his eyes focused on the area below the royal box, searching for Tash. His anxiety melted away, and he even flashed a confident smile at the Vashoth, who had politely squashed himself into a single seat above the jostling groundlings, his height meaning he almost scratched the bottom of the royal box with his horns.

Marcher ruler after Marcher ruler was announced. Lord Tethras, Viscount and the dark-haired Messere Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall earned a round of applause from the crowd. Esmyial's grin vanished. He hoped that Varric wouldn't recognize him.

---

"Remind me, Varric, why we come to these things?"

Varric sighed at his lover's reluctance. "Come on, Cal, you've been a Marcher for years, it's like Fereldans and their dogs. This is our dogs."

"I wish. It would be a whole lot more interesting if there were dogs involved."

"You never stop talking, do you?"

"You wrote me that way." Hawke teased, sticking out his tongue. Varric jabbed him in the sides, making the Champion bark with laughter in a most undignified manner.

---

And Queen Ava of Starkhaven, the other Champion, was announced alone due to King Sebastian staying behind to manage a revolt. Esmyial had had quite the crush on her when he was little. He was now struggling not to hide behind the burly Fereldan beside him, knowing that Ava, as a close friend of his father's, would certainly recognize him.

---

"Brother."

"Sister. So you got roped into this thing, too?"

Varric sighed loudly. Ava smiled at him. "Yes, but unlike you, I didn't get to come with my husband, so stop complaining."

Cal grumbled a little.

"So, it's been a while."

"Yes, well, we've all been busy. Although, I have heard a certain bit of news..."

"What's that?" Cal wondered.

"Oh, right. You mean the... guest coming to the Tourney." Varric nodded, tapping his nose.

Ava grinned. "Right. I knew you'd know, Varric. You have nearly as many informants as the Inquisition used to."

Cal pouted. "You both are doing this on purpose, and I hate it."

"But we just gave you a hint!" Ava teased. "But you had better figure it out in the next five seconds.

Cal's eyes widened. "Wait a minute... Amayian's coming here?"

---

Esmyial gasped as he heard the trumpets. This was not something he had expected.

"King Amayian I of the Frostbacks!"

The crowd glanced in shock as the former Inquisitor walked into the royal box. And Esmyial turned pale as Amayian's gaze settled directly on him without a trace of surprise. He smiled inscrutably, and Esmyial's heart nearly stopped as his eyes focused on the silk strip around his bicep, and then slid to look right at the back of Tash's head. Esmyial shook his head, trying to convey everything he wanted to say in that small desperate look.

Amayian inclined his head, eyebrow raised. He looked back at the Vashoth in the stands, who was unaware of the interest the Divine's husband was taking in him, who gave Esmyial an encouraging wave. The look on his face was clear. We will talk about this later.

He had wanted to escape his father's shadow, the shadow of being the heir to the throne of Ferelden, the shadow of the Sunburst Throne his mother sat on. He wanted to win the Tourney as himself, not as Prince Esmyial. But it now seemed foolish that that could be possible. He liked who he was without the worry of who he was expected to be. The way he was talking with Tash late into the night, or walking in the morning, flirting without having to worry about political alliances and slighting the heirs of such-and-such. And yet, his father had not exposed him yet.

He considered the facts. He liked the Vashoth son of a baker and a hunter living in the Free Marches, and he was the Prince Esmyial, heir apparent to His Majesty, King Alistair Theirin. He had run away from home to participate in the Grand Tourney. His father would already be livid. And now he wanted to somehow convince his father not only to not drag him back to Skyhold, but to allow him to stay and fight in the Tourney as a freelancer, and to stay in the house of a baker.

Esmyial felt like borrowing the words of Varric. "Well, shit."