#I have an essay and a job application I’m way behind on and need to fit in with work

[crowns-of-violets-and-roses]

Taking a break from tumblr for like a week from tomorrow

[marscia]

On life post-grad and how I've been, where I've been

It’s been almost a year since I finished my bachelor’s degree. Funny though, I don’t miss university at all, when all I could think of before graduation was how much my life would probably feel so weird without uni. But I think I just felt so burnt out in those last few months that all I wanted was to wrap things up and move on—which I did quite easily, to my surprise. Though, despite wanting to write about my experience in terms of graduating uni and shifting to working full-time in corporate (which was quite the change of environment!) sooner, I just could not get the right words out of my system and was always faced with a blank Word document. Now that it’s been over ten months since, I’m starting to get my rhythm back.

I now work in marketing for an e-commerce website that houses international luxury fashion, beauty, and lifestyle brands. I execute and produce (mostly) video content for the website’s social platforms, mainly Tiktok, Instagram, and Facebook. A lot of people I know describe their first few months of post-grad as overwhelming, confusing, etc., but luckily it wasn’t the case for me (which I’m very thankful for). I was given the opportunity to apply for Vogue and managed to submit my writing portfolio and even snagged an interview, but after receiving a job offer from a different company that met my requests, I took it without hesitation. 

I immediately started two weeks after graduation. So far, the work environment has been wonderful. The company values work/life balance and I always get to enjoy my weekends and hours outside of work. I’m aware that this is a privilege not many people have, so, I’m extremely grateful for it. 

What really threw me off, though, was the sudden shift in where most of my mental energy goes. In university, I was always thinking in the context of theory application and research. But now, at work, I’m required to think in the context of aesthetics and what makes something visually appealing and how to effectively translate that into an equally appealing visual content. It’s a different kind of challenge; though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being directly involved in academics and writing essays.

I still fall behind on some days and forget to eat lunch, or drink water to keep my body hydrated. I sometimes spend way too much time on my phone and lose what could have been a couple more hours of sleep. Reading slumps hit me more often now than it did when I was a student; because no one warns you that when you start working full-time in corporate, you get home every day, tired and socially exhausted, and most days all you want to do is close your eyes and take that nap you’ve been dreaming of since lunch. 

But I try. I’ve managed to get back into the habit of doing my skincare every night before bed. I watch Booktube to inspire me to read and lately it’s been such a big help; I’m slowly getting back into reading again. I bought a new shelf to organize the stacks of new books that have been piling up all over my room the past couple of months—now it looks so pretty standing next to my desk. Last month, I decluttered my closet to make room for new clothes. This weekend, I’m planning to buy new sheets and a comforter I’ve been eyeing for a few weeks now. I’m doing alright.

It’s comforting though, that one day you’re crying about finals and the next, you’re drinking a hot cup of tea on a Monday night after a long day at work, telling yourself that you did good and tomorrow’s another day. And you realize that no one’s after you. There’s no need to rush and everything will be fine. Things always figure themselves out, anyway.

[aspd-culture]

Do you have any like actual tips for pro-socials who have antisocial loved ones, like friends or partners? So many sites are like “dealing with a [x]? Here’s ten ways to handle it!” and then it details abusive tactics (which is blatantly stupid, IMO, pwaspd/npd already expect the world to do this to them so idk where they’re getting the idea that pwaspd/npd wouldn’t expect this behavior because their upbringing TRAINED them to expect this behavior but hey, nobody said ableists actually knew what the fuck they were talking about).

I personally struggle with an aspd trait here or there alongside a bigger bpd/npd comorbidity so I get the pathological aspect of this disorder but truly, it is hard to like. believe them when they say they care or whatever because even though I know, mentally, that the bare minimum is pretty much their way of trying to care when they don’t get anything out of it like I do, a small part of me wishes for the mask back where I got the effort and adoration I used to. It sucks but I also don’t think pwaspd should also be left behind in society just because their relational instincts got fucked up before they had a chance.

Idk. I feel like there’s a lot of ableism that people without aspd need to unpack (myself included) but it’s also like, what do you do when someone quite literally admits to manipulating you (in an effort to hold themselves accountable) and frequently lies to make their lives easier? Like I get it Mentally and I can pinpoint why their actions Are them trying to care and show care, especially if they actually do care and well, aspd innit? but the mental understanding is one thing and the craving for the emotional connection with them is another.

I hope this is cohesive and I hope I’m not imposing or being an ableist dick or anything, I just. Don’t think it’s fair to hold the disorder against them and a grand majority of people who think “HOLD THEM ACCOUNTABLE” about mental illness advocacy is almost always punitive and withholding and expecting an exorbitant amount of groveling or self-flagellation on part of those with “scary” disorders and idk how to approach this with sensitivity and nuance that it deserves and requires.

Ok, so first part of your question asked for tips for prosocials who have antisocial loved ones. Here I go into how to support someone with ASPD (suspected or diagnosed).

Following the tips further down in this post can avoid conflict as well as help you communicate in ways that are effective to pwASPD.

As for dealing with someone telling you they are manipulating you, try and remember that much of the socially acceptable (and even some mandatory behaviors) are manipulation. Manipulation is just trying to affect someone's feelings, thoughts, or actions, or trying to change the end result of a situation. This includes flirting, job interviews, college applications/essays, pay raise negotiations, court proceedings (on the part of everyone in that room except the judge and jury), etc etc etc. If you have ever apologized with the hope or expectation that you will be forgiven, you have manipulated for your own gain. If you've ever bought someone dinner before asking them a favor, you have manipulated someone. One of the most romantic things someone can do - an elaborate proposal where you take them on a lovely date to their favorite places and make them feel special and then list all of your favorite things about the person before asking them to be with you forever is MASSIVE manipulation. It's just not malicious manipulation. Have you ever tried to convince someone to get out of an abusive relationship? That's manipulation for the purpose of sabotaging a relationship because you believe it is what is best for another person, even at the expense of what they think about it and what they want. Does that make it wrong? Of course not. There is such a thing as being manipulative in neutral and/or positive ways - society just doesn't like calling all of that stuff manipulation because the word manipulation has been given a nasty connotation.

As for the lying, though, if they are lying to *you* consistently and not making effort to change despite communication about it (including reassurance that you will allow them to explain themselves fully without interrupting and do your best to remain calm even after that no matter what they tell you - people with ASPD need that if you expect us to give up a coping mechanism as big as lying in a close, vulnerable relationship/friendship that we don't want to lose), that is a problem. It is not acceptable for them to lie to you. You are entirely in your right to make boundaries and separate yourself if they can't be honest with you, especially about big/important things, but honestly about anything. If they're lying to other people in a way that doesn't affect you, though, why is that a problem? They are dealing with their symptoms and making certain they are doing so in a way that doesn't harm you. That is very difficult for someone with ASPD, as it would be for anyone with any personality disorder, and that effort should be respected and appreciated.

Also who *doesn't* do things to make their lives easier? If you were being asked by a creep at a bar for your number, would you give it to them? Would you maybe lie about having a partner or give them a fake number or say you had to go for a pretend emergency to get out? Yes, those lies are for your perceived safety because that situation could be dangerous, but for pwASPD (people with ASPD), every interaction with other people has as much potential for danger as the situation I described. It is understandable to not be used to seeing things that way, but that was our life during vital stages of development and there are things we had to do to adapt to that reality. ASPD literally changes how your brain is wired, so there is only so much that you can expect us to change, and one thing you cannot expect from most of us is to get rid of that belief that we are in danger. Trying to only really makes us see *you* as a danger trying to get our guard down so you can hurt us.

I also don't think "the bare minimum" is a fair way to describe the way pwASPD show love. It not being what you're used to is not the same as it being the bare minimum. It takes an exceptional amount of work on the part of someone with ASPD to try to understand, accommodate, communicate with, and avoid hurting prosocials what with all the extra effort that requires for us. We literally work more than a prosocial does to be "extra" in a relationship just to manage what you call the bare minimum. What is caring about someone if not inconveniencing yourself purely for the sake of understanding them and making them happy? What is love if not effort?

I do understand wishing for the mask to come back, but as someone who has disorders you mentioned in your ask, I'm hoping you understand why asking them to do that would be unfair, unrealistic, and ableist. However, it is none of those things to privately miss that time, and it sounds to me like you're doing the latter which is in no way problematic in my opinion.

There are ways to ask for some of their previous behavior and treatment back without asking them to mask again, if it's things that aren't symptoms of ASPD themselves. For example, if they initiated hangouts/dates more often before, it's completely reasonable to ask them to do that again. If they no longer are expressing interest in your emotions, you can address that concern. Things like that don't have to be asking them to mask - it can just be asking them to do some things within your love language. That's not unreasonable if you're being kind, communicating with them, and making sure your requests are made within reasonable expectations with their symptoms.

You're allowed to have needs and most pwASPD will respect you much more if you can effectively communicate exactly what they are, rather than a generic "I don't feel like you care about me as much anymore" or expecting us to read social cues we aren't wired to understand/look for. I have given (and stick by!) more than one pwASPD the advice to not engage with guessing games and make boundaries expecting their partners to communicate in a way they can understand easily - and thus to not adjust behavior unless they have been told that it is causing harm unless it is *blatantly obvious*. When I say that, I don't mean obvious to prosocials; I mean things like physical or sexual abuse. Even raised voices are pretty normal to plenty of pwASPD, to the point where it isn't obvious that that would scare or hurt someone.

However, if no amount of simple behavioral changes or verbal reassurance can convince you that someone with ASPD cares about you without them basically not having the disorder or letting you cherrypick allowed symptoms, then I feasibly see two choices for you. This isn't me trying to be a jerk, just being objective to what I think makes sense for you and them. The first is that you can put in the work yourself to unlearn the ways that you're used to care being shown to allow you to accommodate your loved ones with ASPD without feeling hurt. If that isn't something that can work for you, that's okay. It's okay to have boundaries and be honest with yourself about what things you are incompatible with. However, at that point, the only thing to do that would be fair in my opinion is to separate yourself from the people with ASPD that are in your life.

I'm not suggesting you never speak to them again (although you are certainly allowed to make that choice for yourself). I'm suggesting you may need to restructure your relationships with those people such that feeling like they don't care (so long as they are doing their best to show they do) won't negatively impact you. In other words, for example, if you can't handle a partner showing they care the way they do because of their ASPD, then it's your job to end that relationship with them and either entirely remove yourself from their life, or just be friends.

If that's the choice you need to make for yourself, then I think it's important that you stress to them that this is not anything they have done wrong or need to work on - that it is an issue with how you are able perceive people caring about you. It's hard to say this in a way that won't sound ableist, because admittedly the issue would be rooted in some societal ableism (not really ableism on your part, just that the way children are taught to perceive love is incompatible with ASPD and even other disorders that can affect empathy and such).

It is very important to note that most of this does not apply if what you are dealing with is abuse - meaning for the purposes of this that they know they are hurting you, they are in control of the behavior that is hurting you, and are choosing to continue it without making any effort to change despite you clearly communicate your pain and what exactly is causing it. To evaluate that, you need to be objective and really ask yourself if you're coming from a reasonable place or not. Are you asking this person to either not have a disorder or allow you to pick and choose what symptoms you find acceptable? Or are you communicating boundaries to protect your wellbeing and making compromises that work for both of you while respecting their past and their symptoms? Those are two very different things, and there are shades of gray inbetween. Asking another prosocial who has not intentionally worked to unlearn their ableism against ASPD and done their research into its symptoms or a pwASPD who has not taken reasonable steps to heal their trauma and not hurt those close to them is not going to be truly objective. If you have a therapist who is aware of and respectful of ASPD, they would be a relatively objective place to evaluate what is abusive vs symptoms they can't be expected to control, assuming you could keep your language neutral (moreso than in your ask, which while not disrespectful or ableist, was definitely not entirely neutral). However, as a person with ASPD I would always prefer my partner speak to me about their concerns over my behavior before they ask anyone else - so if you haven't done that, I would certainly advise you to start there.

Even if any of the things I said are ableist or are rooted in ableism apply to you, it's worth noting I'm not saying or implying you are ableist yourself. Evidently, you came to a blog to get help with this situation from someone who understands the perspective of your loved one as much as possible, and that shows you likely aren't ableist - but as you mentioned one can have ableism to unlearn while not being ableist themselves. Please do not take any of this post as aggressive or attacking. It was all written in a neutral tone, I promise. I am aware how my text tone can come off to prosocials, which is why I specify this. If I was upset with the ask or thought you were just an ableist person or that the ask was disrespectful/not in good faith, I would just delete it.

I hope this helps and if you have or need any clarification, have any other questions, etc. you are more than welcome to submit them to me./gen

[crossfire-essays-collected]

From Crossfire #4, August 1984

Letters are just beginning to arrive on CROSSFIRE so, beginning next month, I’ll shut up and let some of you talk. But, in the meantime, here’s more of me talking. If you want to make sure I don’t write any more of these essays, keep the letters coming. If not, you have no one to blame but yourself. —M. E.

The hunter insisted he had “a right to bear arms.” Whereupon the Wabbit ripped the hunter’s sleeves off.

That flatulent pun was as far as I’d gotten in my mental plotting when the German class, to which I’d paid scant attention, was dismissed. German lessons — required by college curriculum — didn’t seem to have any practical application to my life. You see, at the time, it was 1972 and I was unaware that, ten years later, I’d be writing Blackhawk.

The Bugs Bunny tale I was plotting would be one of my more posturing scripts dealing, as it did, with hunting; particularly with the notion that annihilating a deer with a two-thousand dollar rifle is in any way akin to sport. Coming out against Death may not be the most courageous stance in the world but it kept my sagging interests up for my job. At the time, I was writing something like eight comic books a month to be published under the Gold Key imprint. And after forty dozen scripts about wabbits and pigs and ducks ad nauseum, I was beginning to feel occasional twinges of futility: Just what was I spending my time on?

The money certainly didn’t matter. I have all the business acumen of a Pez Dispenser.

I suppose I was entertaining some sort of audience out there — but their laughter and applause, if any, existed only in theory.

And Pride of Authorship was small reason to continue. My long-time editor had retired and his successor, though a most decent chap, didn’t see eye-to-eye with me on what was Funny. He especially didn’t like my endings. He bought story after story and, every time, rewrote the endings. If you brought this editor Gone With the Wind, it would go to press with the South winning.

(What you’re reading here, you might already have figured out, is the story of my one Crisis of Faith with writing comic books. Apart from a few maddening frustrations with industry business practices, I’ve experienced but one Crisis of Faith and this is it, complete with how it cured itself. The hunter shtick in Bugs Bunny was a bit of self-indulgent propagandizing, intended to bolster my then-atrophying Funnybook Idealism — which, of course, was the wrong reason to do it.)

As I ambled out of German class, the student behind me came up with an offer. Her name was Sue and she wanted to know, would I like to give a chalk-talk at this elementary school she was a teacher at? With further participles dangling (those who can’t talk, teach English), she went on: “I think the kids would be fascinated to hear about how you do those comic books you write for. Even Arlene said she wanted to come along, too.”

Arlene was her best friend, also of our mutual German class. Arlene was gorgeous and Sue, I only mention because it becomes germane to this tale, was what you’d politely call drab. I’ve always wondered why beautiful women invariably have best friends who resemble the welcoming committee at Easter Island. Must be some sort of franchise deal.

Anyway, what you need to know here is that I was trying to get better acquainted with this Arlene, to invoke quite a euphemism. Later I did get better acquainted, discovered that Arlene had the brains of a puka shell necklace and moved on to find a girl friend with an I.Q. over nine. But, on this day I describe, I agreed to go give the chalk-talk because it would give me some time almost-alone with Arlene…which, again, was the wrong reason.

If they ever give an award for doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, I’m a cinch to win. For the wrong reasons.

Actually, there was one other reason to go: When I was a young comic book reader, I’d have given anything to have someone come to my class and pre-empt Arithmetic to talk about cartoons. And I guess there was a third reason — to meet my “audience”. — and a fourth: To have a reason to polish up my drawing which was so rusty, a case of Three-in One oil couldn’t have budged it. So I had four reasons and maybe one or two of them were even the right reasons.

Finally came Chalk-Talk Day and Sue and I drove towards the school where she was apprenticing to teach. En route, I got the first in a series of surprises: Arlene was not coming with us. Too nice a day. “She went off to that nude beach,” Sue disclosed. “She wanted you to go with her… then she remembered you were coming with me today to do this.” A slight whimper was heard from my side of the Buick.

Surprise Number Two, almost as chilling: As we arrived, Sue casually mentioned, “Oh, by the way, you know these kids have learning disabilities, don’t you?” No, I didn’t, so Sue explained. “They were put in this special class because they couldn’t be reached by their regular teachers. In this class, we teach them how to cope with a learning situation.” lasked, “You mean you train them not to set the teacher on fire. Is that it?”

“Something like that,” Sue said. “These kids are just hard to reach… especially Billy and Annie. Billy likes to pee in the aisles.”

“Oh, great,” I thought to myself. Just what I need: A urinary ovation. “What does Annie do? Or don’t I want to know?”

“Nothing. She just sits there. She never talks. She never listens. She just sits there.”

By the time Sue led me into the classroom, I was extremely nervous. Note that “extremely” is in italics for emphasis. The first thing I saw was a little boy playing a game, the object of which seemed to be to completely cover another little boy with Kindergarten Paste. Over in one corner, another lad was sharpening a Bic pen in the pencil sharpener and nearby was a little boy who never spoke in any language except for one he’d made up himself. Many kids were just sitting about, yowling meaningless noises. A harried lady teacher rushed from desk to desk, admonishing some students and awarding “A” marks to others. If a child went for ten minutes without causing bodily harm to himself or anyone else, he got five “A” marks. If he, say, spit up on the principal, he got only three. No “A” marks at all went to little Joey who was running around the room, jabbing others with a push-pin.

And here I was with my cartooning talk.

A few minutes later, I was introduced and I stepped before a room of forty-some urchins. I could feel all my clever opening lines draining from me and I longed to be anywhere else— preferably the beach. I stammered out, “All cartooning is based on circles,” which wasn’t true but I’d stoop to lying to keep this thing moving. I turned to the blackboard and drew a circle that looked more like a map of Uruguay. “Now, suppose we add two long circles inside it… then we put two more up here…” There was a mumbling behind me as a few children recognized the makings of a lopsided Mickey Mouse. I drew in the snout and nose and the class broke out laughing, yelling, “Mickey Mouse! Mickey Mouse!” I finished him off and drew a similar circle next to him.

“Now, once you know your circles, you can do a lot of things, like…” I drew Charlie Brown’s eyes in this new circle and his nose. It was when I put in that squiggle hairline of his that forty voices behind me began hollering, “Charlie Brown! Charlie Brown!”

I drew another circle and customized it into Donald Duck… then another into Porky Pig. “Now, what we have here is really nothing more than a bunch of circles and straight lines,” which is a hell of a way to summarize every drawing in history but perfectly true.

I next did Yogi Bear, Huckleberry Hound, Bugs Bunny and Fred Flintstone. As I began each face, the kids would start guessing names… then someone would guess the right name and they’d all call it out, along with some of the character’s catch phrases. When I drew Yosemite Sam, one little boy shouted, “Can you play a pianny?” which, if you know your Warner Brothers cartoons, is a line Sam says in one that Channel Eleven out here likes to play, every twenty-three minutes or so. “Any requests?” I asked the kids.

Instantly, a hundred and nineteen names were shouted out. I looked over at Sue at the back of the room and she was looking at the teacher and both of their expressions said the same thing: We’ve never seen these kids react like this before. Ever!

As fast as I could part the chalk dust, I scribbled out approximations of the characters they named and I offered a few items of info about each—like the fact that Sylvester’s voice and Daffy’s are really the same voice except that Daffy’s is sped. up. The children listened in fascination to this extraordinary peek into the world of cartoons. As I was drawing the Road Runner, it suddenly dawned on me that I’d never learned how to draw the Coyote. I finished the Road Runner off, silently praying that no one would request that I draw the Coyote. Naturally, as I turned back to face the class, forty kids screamed, in unison, “The Coyote!”

So I drew the Coyote. Pretty wretched likeness, too. The little boy who’d invented his own language suddenly learned enough English to say, “That doesn’t look like the Coyote.”

I invited him to try and he raced to the blackboard and sketched a Wile E. Coyote that put mine to shame. I returned to the board and started to erase a large Snoopy I’d sketched a few minutes earlier. Suddenly, I heard a little girl cry out, as if in agony. I froze: What happened?

Sue ran up to me and whispered, “You’re erasing them too fast! That girl who just got upset… that’s Annie! Remember the one I told you never did anything? Well, she’s been copying your drawings off the board and you erased Snoopy too fast.” The teacher, standing in back, called for attention and announced, “Why doesn’t everyone try drawing along with our guest here?”

Bang! Out came forty pads and forty crayons. I drew Snoopy again, explaining each stroke of my chalk. Then I walked them through Charlie Brown and Woody Woodpecker. Some of the kids squealed with delight at what they found themselves producing on paper.

After ten minutes or so of this, I suggested that we all try drawing a real person. Sue was still standing up at the front of the room and I said, “Let’s all draw Miss Johnson here “ Sue stood there awkwardly as everyone caricatured her. She was, as I mentioned, a very plain lady and she looked like she wanted to die, rather than face forty childlike drawings of herself. But everyone drew her in what was meant as a flattering way. One girl even drew her as a princess. I made her look like a goddess and, when the kids saw my version, they all cheered in approval. They really liked her — a fact that came as a surprise to her. What these pupils had never been able to express through traditional means, they expressed through their drawings.

And that’s the way it went for another half-hour, until the two o’clock bell rang. Even as it was ringing, the teacher hollered out, as if by rote: “No one leave until you’re dismis—” and then she stopped. No one was leaving. These kids — who usually ruptured the sound barrier departing at the sound of the bell — were all still in their seats, shouting out questions and characters for me.

The teacher sighed and shook her head. “I’ve got to learn how to draw Bugs Bunny.”

I stayed for an hour and everyone stayed as long as bus schedules and such would permit. We talked about cartoons and I critiqued their drawings and one girl interviewed me for the school paper. My biggest surprise came when a boy asked me, “Did you do the story where the Beagle Boys printed up fake comic books that showed the bad guys winning?” I did a double-take, maybe even a triple-take, because I had written that one, along with a few others he remembered. “This is your audience, Mark,” I recall thinking to myself and then noting that maybe my job was rather worthwhile, at that. In the weeks that followed, I visited the school a few more times and saw that class and others. Sue reported that many of the students were showing a marked interest in writing and/or drawing. Who was responsible? Not me: The credit goes to Bugs and Mickey and Scooby-Doo and all the other characters that make growing up a bit more bearable.

And from then on, when I wrote comics of those characters, I never felt more than a twinge of Futility and then, only for a second. Because I’d think back to that classroom and those kids and I’d remember how important it was that their comics be funny and true to the characters. Hopefully, somewhere out there — either in that school or amongst the general readership, I could touch some aspiring cartoonist the same way that the comic books of the late fifties, early sixties touched me.

Yeah, I know. It’s a dirty job but somebody has to do it.

                                                              — Mark Evanier

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐞𝐚 ~

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝; SMUT!!! a smidge of angst and a lil fluff, felix x fem!reader. enemies to fwb, bullying!!!, highschool!au, blowjob, pierced!felix, mentions of complicated family relationships/bad economy, felix being rude lmao, PIV, unprotected sex (use protections ffs, this is a bad example), orgasm (m/f), cum, nicknames, shy reader, fingering. 

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝; 6.6 k 

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎; Consent is like tea or my personal favorite,,, tea slut HSAHSHA PLEASE im- anyways enjoy both tea and consent, both very very sexy and good for you

also,,, my first kinda long fic?? 

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺; Lee Felix. The class bully. Also the son of a wealthy business man. You didn’t have the same privileges, living alone at such a young age. After an arrangement Felix invites you to work at his fathers old tea shop but this relationship turns into something unexpected.

The cold wind blew on your exposed calfs, the skirt of the school uniform fluttering as your backpack was lazily thrown across your shoulder, your head turned to the direction the bus comes from. You were not the only one on that bus stop. Other students standing at least a feet apart from each other, all eagerly waiting to hurry back to their comfortable homes, eat dinner and start on their assignments.

You on the other hand had other plans. 

What was on your computer screen wasn’t the typical essay or sheet of physics questions. It was job applications. And lots of them.

A notification arrived, your phone vibrating in your coat pocket and as the screen lit up you saw a message. 

[ Rent due today y/n, have it in by 8 ]

Living by yourself in a dusty apartment that contained nothing more than a bed, a desk and a tiny kitchen overfilled with noodle packets was nothing to be proud of. You could barely afford that type of lifestyle since you were a student so how on earth were you gonna get rent in to the old lady that served as your landlord? 

You sighed, the packed bus rolling slowly on the way and stopping, there barely being place to stand in the crowded vehicle. 

Your apartment was right above an old tea shop, the owner being a wealthy man that owned several shops on the block. His busy lifestyle including buying and selling properties kept him away from his true passion in life; tea. What scared you was his resemblance to a person you knew. A person you knew too well. 

Lee Felix

His only purpose in life was to have fun. To ruin others. And he had every opporunity to do so. His report card was nothing but lies and money, his fathers wealth being able to buy him decent grades without lifting a finger. There was one, only one, instance where the young boy would try his best and that’s when intimidating others. His best skill. Those piercing dark eyes and knife-sharp jaw could leave anyone shaken for days. 

But do you know who his favorite person to bully was?

You. 

All the hurtful memories eventually started to merge together but one stood out clearly to you. It happened a year ago. You walked into the sunlit classroom, your other classmates sitting around their desks, chatting and showing each other photos, laughing happily. Friends was not something you had, more like acquaintance. The students you would greet and exchange a couple of words with but nothing more. Your assigned seat was in the third row, the one sitting right behind you being Felix himself. With a quick glance at the clock you looked underneath your desk, searching for the book you needed for english class, your eyebrows furrowing as you searched desperatly, turning every book over and ripping open your backpack, did you forget it at home?

“Looking for this?”

The cold voice sent a shiver down your spine, you slowly turning back, afraid of what evil gaze awaited you. You gulped as you saw his angular facial structure, his cheekbones pertruding as he held your english book in his hand, the arms of the white school uniform shirt being rolled up just enough to show off his blinged out watch, veins softly trailing upwards on his flexed arms. 

You nodded to which Felix scoffed. Sighing you stood up, standing at the side of his desk and all of a sudden throwing yourself over it in a quest of snatching it from his grasp but failing epically, you falling down onto the floor, scraping your knees on the rough wooden flooring of the classroom. You try to stand up but was quickly stopped by Felix grabbing your face with his other hand, his wrists decked out with multiple delicate chains, all jingling with his movements. 

Meeting his gaze made your skin crawl, his eyes almost animalistic as he looked deep into your innocent doe-eyes, smirking. His blonde hair falling on each side of his face, framing it like a renaissance painting since his stoic features was art in itself. Your eyes lingered a bit too long on Felix’s making the boy annoyed, before you knew it a clear liquid was spilling down your cheek, that not being tears but instead Felix’s spit. You flinch back as he waves the book infront of your face, tears jerking in the corner of your glossy eyes due to the humiliation, your other classmates forming a circle around the two of you, unable to do anything since that could mean the end of them. 

“You want this, you want it so bad? What’s that angel? You’re gonna cry?”

He crouches as your gaze lowers to the floor, hair hanging infront of your face as a shield from his degrading words as the tears started pouring out of you like water, mixing with Felix’s saliva. He laughs psychotically, the cold laughter echoing in the classroom, tiny specs of dusty floating around like bubbles in a fizzy drink. The bold boy puts down the book on the floor behind him before he raises his hand, you shutting your eyes tightly, expecting the worst but being surprised as his hand laces in your disheveled locks. He pushes a strand of hair behind your flushed ear, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath hit the shell of your ear. 

“I’m gonna give it to you,,, but I want something in return”

You snap your head up to look at him, your eyes wide open, eyebrows hightened. 

“W-what do you want?” you say, only for him to hear.

Felix hums, running his tongue in the inside on his cheek before speaking in a low voice.

“You”

You choked on your own spit, coughing as you turned away from him. You could hear his laugh ringing in your ears and after your coughing fit you turned back hastily, eyes as big as saucers. This couldn’t be true, this couldn’t be what you though it was. In sheer panic you once again tried to snatch the book, crawling on the floor like a bug in order to snake around his back to have a chance to grab the corner of plastic outside of the textbook but being met with disappointment when Felix slammed his foot on it, you retracting your hand after being mere inches away from his shoe. The boy tsked. 

“I expect you at the school gate by the end of the day and if you don’t show up you’re gonna pay for it, understood angel?”

You nod, just nod. No words or mimicks. Simply a nod. His intimidation wiping the entire alphabet from your mind. 

He stands up, grabbing the book and throwing it at you before exiting the classroom, a evil smirk plastered on his face. The sharp gazes of other students around you made you want to escape but you couldn’t, class was starting in 2 minutes. 

♡ 

The sun shone it’s rays on your face, students exiting through the wide white metal gates. You ran your hand through your hair, pulling the straps of your backpack impatiently at you looked left to right, seeing the flowers blossom out in the rather windy weather. Suddenly your wrist was grabbed by a hand wider than yours.

It was Felix.

His closeness made you gulp loudly, a lump nestling into your stomach as you felt your anxiety rise, scared of what he might do to you even if you did find him strangely attractive even though he was a complete asshole. But who didn’t? The entire school was ready to give up their life in order to even be this close to the boy, girls and boys alike. You shook your head, wanting to get rid of the silly thoughts that clouded your mind. Only after minutes did you realise that your legs moved on their own, you being dragged by Felix, his hand still on your wrist. 

“W-where are we going?” you inquired, the wind blowing on the blonde pierced boy, his angelic hair bouncing with every step. 

“Don’t worry about it” he said, not speaking a single more word during the entire time he held your wrist and walked with you in the spring weather. 

All of a sudden the two of you were standing infront of the tea shop, you lifting your head to glance upwards at your dusty window that was right above the tiny wooden sign that said “Tea Shop”, swinging rustily back and forward. Felix retrieves a key, unlocking the corrodated wooden door, the color matching the sign above. 

“Wh- how do you know-” 

Felix hushes you, closing the door behind you before throwing the keys on the counter. 

“I don’t care about what you have to say. My father owns this place and I usually hang around here whenever it’s closed.” 

“Do you work here?” you asked with a voice filled with curiosity. 

Felix starts laughing his signature laugh, it being laced with nothing but iniquity. 

“Work? Do you think I need to work? I’m the only child of a wealthy family, I’m pretty much settled for life”

You nervously look down at the floor, only being in the tea shop a couple of times before it was closed for business.

“Well,,, I know that your father owns this place, I live in the apartment just above so-”

You were quickly cut of by Felix slamming his hand on the table, standing behind the checkout counter and leaning over it with his two arms as pedestals. 

“Why?”

You looked at him confused before your eyes gazed across the wall of glas cabinets displaying their finest china. Teapots with squiggly handles, painted with the utmost attention to detail, the colors of the scenes painted contrasting nicely with the eggshell white background. Small lamps were installed above each teapot, illuminating the work of art even more. 

“Why what?” you said back, still in trance from the beauty of the teapots.

“Why do you live alone?” His eyebrows raised.

“I never said that!” 

“y/n, that apartment is barely enough for a fucking mouse, there’s no way you could live there with someone else”

Damn, how did he know that? You had no other choice but to nod timidly, curling your hand into a fist.

“Don’t have the best relationship with my parents and since they aren’t wealthy like yours I have to do my best to find a way to support myself” you spat out at him, annoyed at his many questions. 

“Touché” Felix said shortly, shrugging his shoulders.

After a long moment of silence the blonde boy spoke again;

“Let’s make a deal, I’ll get you a job here and I’ll join you but only because you’re stupid and need my help, not because I want to be here”

Your eyes light up, like an excited child you dash toward the counter and place your hands near Felix’s, looking at him with twinkling eyes. 

“Really? You would do that?”

Felix nods.

“But don’t get too excited, you haven’t paid your end of the deal yet”

“Tell me! I’ll do anything, I promise!” you says quickly, smiling widely at Felix’s deadpan face.

“Suck me off”

Your previously bright smile faded in a matter of seconds, now turning into pure confusion. 

“Wh-what? I can’t do that! Are you crazy?!”

Felix scoffs, walking towards the door in a cocky manner with his black backpack over his shoulder, wearing black ripped jeans that were strictly banned in school but no longer warned to Felix by the teachers. The schools logo embroidered on the white flowy shirt that was unbuttoned, exposing his brand name t-shirt. 

Just in time you managed to block the door, his lips inches from yours as he sighed, smirking down at you. 

“I’ll do it! I will do it!” 

You blurted out, you had no other choice but to do it. Seeking other jobs had been impossible since you were only a student without any work experience, not having many other skills other than procrastinating and sleeping. You needed this in order to survive. You needed him. 

The boy pushed you against the entrance door, placing his forehead against yours. 

“Of course you will” Felix whispered in a voice deeper than the ocean, causing you to helplessly gulp and drop down on your knees, them hitting the floor with a thump. His small but veiny hands reached for his belt, unbuckling it in a swift motion, metal hitting each other. You were lost deep in thoughts, simply staring at his crotch whilst rethinking your every life decision. Wondering how on earth you got to this point, soon having your mouth stuffed with your bully’s dick. 

Thank god that he was at least hot. 

Felix popped his dick over the band of his underwear and as if you hadn’t had enough surprises today one last one awaited you. A silver metal barbell lodged right beneath his pretty red tip, his dick already hard as he gave it a couple of pumps. Your mouth fell agape, cheeks heating up as you struggled to keep a straight face. Felix being the tease he is had to comment;

“What? Bigger than you thought?”

You scoffed from his boldness, not believing your ears. 

“N-no! Get over yourself you ass”

“Enough talking princess” Felix said in a deep voice, rubbing the tip of his leaking cock on your plushy lips, them being coated with a layer of saliva from you repeatedly lickning them out of nervousness. 

There was a moment of awkwardness, you not being sure where to place your hands before you grabbed the base of his girthy dick, pursing your lips and latching them onto the tip, sinking down gradually in order to not choke immedietly, not wanting to embarrass yourself even more than you already had. 

Felix let out a strained groan at the sensation, you feeling the cold metal as you flattened your tongue, licking a fat strap on the underside of his cock earning yet another groan. The blonde laced his fingers in your hair, tugging on it slightly in order to control the sinful sounds dripping out of his mouth. You whimpered against his dick, there barely being any room to breath as your nose was hovering just above his abdomen, impressed by your own gag reflex but that didn’t last long, Felix now shoving your head down his length, making you choke. 

“Wow, is there anything you can do right? Can’t even suck me off properly”

You can only hum in response, sending shivers down Felix’s spine from the vibrations, the boy feeling the knot in his stomach tightening. The hair flies in front of you face as you bob your head down his cock that was equally as veiny as his decked out arms, feeling the metal hitting your bottom teeth a couple of times. Tears teased the corners of your eyes as you were throat deep on Felix’s member, your hands slightly sweaty from the butterflies in your stomach. Eventually Felix started to weaken in your grasp, small grunts escaping him as you hollowed your cheeks, mascara staining your heated cheeks. 

“f-fuck,,,yes just like that,,ah-”

Luckily for the both of you the shop was located in a rather desolate area of town therefore no bypassers saw the scandalous view through the door that was decorated with a small foggged window. But did Felix care? Not really, the boy was bold enough to get sucked off in public if the opportunity presented itself. 

You looked up at him with the most innocent eyes you could muster, spit starting to dribble down your chin and landing on your skirt, forming slightly saturated patches on the fabric from the wetness. The blonde boys useless comments didn’t make it any easier to withstand this agonizing process. 

“Ah,,, never thought I would be seeing you like this, thought I had degraded you enough but this is just another level of humiliation, isn’t it y/n?”

The hand that was previously tangled in your hair was now moved to your stained cheek, him carefully swiping his thumb across the warm skin but you furrowed your eyebrows, swatting his hand away causing him to scoff before being interupted by his own loud moan, you pulling off and kitten licking his tip, coaxing his impending orgasm. 

It didn’t take long before the boy was shutting his eyes tightly, his jaw slacking as a last low vibrational growl ringed in your ears, his eyes still piercing yours while the thick white liquid spilled out of him, coating the metal bar and seeped into your mouth, your dry lips now getting a coat of clear gloss, the rest dripping down onto the floor and your dark colored skirt. 

You shook your head as you looked around the shop, not wanting to spit out his salty seed right on the floor but Felix simply shook his head back at you, grabbing your face gently. 

“Swallow”

Goosebumps erupted on your skin from his intimidating voice, as if you’d been cast under a spell you nod, swallowing the droplets of cum harshly, the sound of your loud gulp causing Felix to hum and with a smile, ruffle your hair before zipping himself up and running a hand through his own hair, exposing his forehead for just a bit. You stand up on your own, legs wobbling as you don’t even expect the rude boy to help. 

“You start tomorrow after school, my father will only be happy to know that someone actually want’s to work in this shithole. I’ll join you but once again, not because I want to but because your stupid head will mess everything up.”

You nod, only now noticing how scruffy the rest of the teashop looked, moving boxes piling up like the dust in the windowsills. You jerked your head to the side, eyes wandering all over the place, everywhere from the wittering plants to the miscellaneous stacks of files. 

The both of you step out of the dusty shop, the cool air hitting your cheek, now remembering the makeup that was running down it. Without saying a word Felix tries to escape but you stop him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t turn around, staring at the road ahead of him. 

“Thank you”

You whisper out, your hair fluttering in the wind, feeling yourself getting emotional from his seemingly sweet gesture. Felix starts walking, the sound of his footsteps getting fainter as the disappears down the sunny asphalt road, leaving you standing infront of the shop before you go behind the shop, entering your burrow of an apartment.

♡ 

You walk to the teashop in the floral spring weather, wondering where Felix had been all day since he wasn’t in school this wednesday where lectures went in half speed. Arriving at the shop everything was surprisingly closed. You peeked into the window, standing on your toes as if that would improve your vision but gave up quickly after, only seeing the scene from yesterday, the same old piles of rubbish. 

A light tap threw you off guard, you yelping and jerking away before noticing the blonde hair, Felix greeting you with a jingle of keys in his hand.

“Wanna have the honors? I mean, it is your first day after all” 

You respond with a small “yes” before grabbing the keys from his hand and unlocking the entrance to the stuffy teashop, coughing as you step in from the dust that twirled all around the two of you. You walked over to the sad plants that were placed haphazardly in the windowsill, swiping your finger over the leafs and closely examining the dust that rubbed off, blowing it away softly before turning to Felix that was nearing the pile of random files. 

“Looks like we have a bunch of work to do before we can actually brew tea” 

He didn’t smile, visibly annoyed. Felix went into the back, behind the beaded curtain he retrieved a bucket of cleaning supplies. 

“You mop the floors, I’ll clean some of the heavy stuff away” 

Felix said, his voice still in that notorious deep tone. 

“Not fair? There’s not even a mop which means I’ll have to do it by hand?” 

Felix scoffed, throwing a old rag at you before turning around and grabbing a moving box filled with god knows what. You sigh, grabbing the bucket and emptying the contents, the brushes and strangly colored bottles of cleaning solution spreading across the counter before you went behind the beaded curtain, being met by a murky kitchen that hadn’t been cleaned in what seemed like forever. You sighed, looking around and opening cabinets only to be met with half broken porcelain and cobwebs, the shelf at the top displaying a multitude of metal cans filled with loose tea that had probably gone tasteless. With a disgusted face you close the cabinet, instead filling up the bucket with water and adding dishsoap in lack of other cleaning substance. 

Hours ticked by, Felix sighing and huffing out of annoyance when carrying out and sorting through countless boxes while you cleaned the floor and dusted every corner, the shop transforming right before your eyes. The two of you eventually ended up in the kitchen, you observing every cup for cracks and disposing of those that showed just that as Felix was washing those that you thought looked presentable. Felix tried his best to not drop the cups despite his slippery fingers in a pathetic attempt at trying to do the dishes, it was clear that he had never in his life had to do this which made you roll your eyes, thinking about the boiling anger you had at this pompous and spoiled boy. 

“Do you like living alone y/n? ” 

The question was rather unexpected, making you choke on your own saliva. Never in your life had you thought that he cared about you. You shrugged your shoulders, wanting to appear unbothered.

“y-yeah, I wanted to be more responsible, I mean we are adults soon and nothing is served on a silver platter but I wouldn’t expect you to know.”

Felix smirked, seeing right through your lie but choosing to not taunt you. You felt vulnerable from the question but instead of continuing the awkward silence you wanted to get to know him better, maybe he wasn’t such a dick after all, maybe his tough guy personality was only a facade?

“What’s with that piercing?” you said, pointing at his groin with your chin making Felix laugh, getting shy from your question but snapping back to his cold outer self. 

“It was a bet and as you can see I lost” he scoffed before continuing, “wanna see?”

Your eyes widened, cheeks heating up before stammering out;

“N-no, Felix you’re disgusting!” you say in desperation for an answer but Felix only laughs even more, almost annoying you. 

“Well it wasn’t so disgusting when you were sucking me off, have you forgotten babygirl? Maybe I should teach you your place again.”

You gulped, not answering but instead just staring at him, a cup frozen in your hand as Felix locks his eyes with your, tilting his head in a cocky manner. You harshly place the cup down, storming out into the area where racks upon racks displayed the many tea sorts that were stashed away somewhere in the shop, Felix retrieving them earlier in the day. You start sorting through them, seeing a paper with orders on a clipboard and deciding to check the different kinds. Everything from oolong to pu’er to herbal was lined up in both teabags or loose tea leafs and surprisingly Felix did a good job, everything displayed in pretty and uniform lines. Before you could put a dash for a variety of tea that was missing. Felix sticks his head in between the beaded strings of the curtain, his eyes twinkling. 

“Want some tea?”

For the first time he seemed cute. Not scary or intimidating, just cute. By the way his blonde locks fell infront of his face to the way his earrings were jingling, fading out to his angular facial structure. 

You nod shyly, placing the clipboard on a random shelf before scooting over to the kitchen, seeing that Felix had placed out a white teapot with cobalt blue details, a floral pattern that contradicted to the eggshell white base. On the counter stood a small brown paperbag with black tea and right next to it a small tray of white sugarcubes. 

“This seems awfully complicated for making tea” you say, looking at the red kettle boiling on the stove, there not being an electric kettle in this old establishment. 

“What you expect? That I’ll be satisfied with you serving some watered down tea from a teabag? There’s a process you know.”

“Wow, and this is coming from Lee Felix? The son of a rich man and also the schools scumbag?”

Felix snaps his towards you, previously looking at the piping hot kettle. He licked the inside of his cheek, exhaling sharply through his nose, turning his cheek towards his shoulder, a momentary pop being heard before he looked at you with his dark eyes.

“I’m being nice, take that to your advantage and I’ll break your kneecaps”

You nodded and he smiled, astonished by the duality of this man. 

“Are you just gonna stand there? Come closer”

You stepped closer to the counter, your breath hitching when you felt Felix’s chest again your back, his hands leaning against the counter and trapping you between the two. You swallowed harshly, eyes darting over the various equipment needed to make a simple cup of tea. 

“Open the tea pot maybe?”

Felix said, sighing. You feeling his warm breath against the outer shell of your ear, his voice sounding even more dangerous when it was right beside you. You grabbed the blue detailed teapot and opened it, only to see a metal strainer already a part of the pot. Doubtfully you grabbed the little packet of loose leaf tea, removing and placing down the clip that was hindering it’s aroma from escaping the luxurious leafs. The fragrence of the tea hit your senses, the smell almost addictive. 

“What tea is this?” 

You said, turning the bag in you hand, looking for any type of lettering that would bring you closer to an answer.

“Russian earl grey. It contains bergamot orange making it more pungent”

You hummed, being to scared to turn around and face him, you now zoning out whilst your eyes were stuck on the awfully colored tiles on the kitchen wall. 

“You’re supposed to drink it y/n, not smell it”

Felix stated causing you to snap out and notice that you’ve been holding the bag to your nose, scrunching your nose ever so often. 

“Oh yeah,,, right,,, sorry. How much should I put in?”

You say, tilting the bag and slowly watching dark colored particles spill into the metal strainer. Felix slowly put his hand on yours, tilting the bag even more. You could feel your heart in your throat, your hands starting to sweat from his close proximity. His hand was warm for such a cold person. 

“It’s supposed to fill up one third of the strainer, remember that”

You mewled out a quiet “yes” as he put the bag down, removing his hand from yours. The next step was obvious, filling up the tea pot with hot water. Just as you were about to grab the black handle of the shiny red kettle Felix smacked your hand away, him grabbing it instead.

“It’s hot and I can’t trust someone as stupid as you with it”

“I can grab a kettle you know? I’m not that weak-”

“Shut it”

You pressed your lips shut as Felix pressed himself against your back, carefully reaching and pouring in the steaming water and seeing the water droplets diffuse up into the atmosphere. He carefully put the lid back on the pot and backed away as he put the kettle back on the stove, turning it off. 

“What do we do now?” 

You asked, turning around and leaning your butt against the cold counter.

“We wait for 5 minutes, the steeping time is different for different teas, you’ll have to learn them when working here.”

You nod attentively, staring down at your shoes and turning your heels against the dark wooden floorboards. 

“I wanna change the deal y/n”

Your head shot up to the blonde boy, him standing close by in all his glory, not wearing his school uniform but instead a black t-shirt, of course having a obnoxiously loud designer logo in the front just like the belt that was resting on top of his black slacks. His bracelets jingled everytime he moved his hands, this time wearing dainty silver rings to match with his wristwatch and shining piercings. 

“W-what why? Are you gonna fire me?”

Blood was boiling in your veins, not knowing his intentions yet but knowing that they were just as sinister as the boy himself. Before you knew it his lips were attached on yours.

Your heart skipped a beat, knuckles whitening as you held onto the counter from sheer panic. His lips were softer than expected, pressing gently as he tilted his head, his eyelashes feathering over his closed lids. His hands traveled up your clothed body, exploring every inch of you. The soft sound of lips smacking against each other ignited a feeling deep in your core. You were pushed closer to the edge of the counter, his body so close, leaving you with no choice but to jump up on the metal surface. The coldness radiated through the thin fabric of your pleated skirt, hitting your aching cunt that was already dripping from Felix’s simple actions, his daunting aura clouding your mind with sinful thoughts. 

“I’ll raise your pay if you fuck me, please y/n”

He whispers against your plush lips. You hummed, hesitating before slowly nodding, not being able to think clear with your heart beating like it’s about to protrude from your chest. He smiles slyly before reattaching his lips onto yours, his wet and sharp tongue running over your swollen bottom lip, desperatly wanting to taste your tongue. Your lips parted as you moaned into the kiss, giving him the perfect opportunity to pry himself into your mouth, the kiss getting sloppier, Felix growing needier as the seconds on the large clock on top of the door frame ticked. The blonde boy placed himself inbetween your legs, his veiny hands placed on your knees, seperating your already shivering legs. Without knowing what you were doing you cupped Felix’s cheeks, feeling the sharpness of his jaw against your soft hands.

Why did you pull him closer? He’d hurt you so bad in the past, everyday was living hell because of him and his deeds. A lightheadedness hit you as memories scrolled past your consciousness. Memories still painful, tender as open wounds. But for him you could forgive anything. Forget, just to see him smile at you.

His cologne was strangely addictive, the musky smell mixed with the scent of his soft sunkissed skin. You moaned softly against his lips as his fingers traced lightly over your exposed panties, the skirt already folded up your thighs. He hummed in delight, feeling the soaked fabric sticking against your pulsating cunt. 

“I’ve waited for this for so long y/n”

You looked at him with confusion in your glossy eyes. Waited, for you?

Within a matter of seconds his fingers pushed aside the wet patch of fabric shielding you from the cold air, only to insert a finger inside of your desperate hole causing you to gasp. A second finger joined close by and Felix groaned, feeling your tight walls around his glistening digits. You had so many questions but not enough power to say them without stuttering.

“W-waited for,,, m-me?”

His fingers curled upwards as you finished your sentence causing you to grip his wrist, the squelching sound of your pussy pleasing the blonde boy as he pumped his fingers into you relentlessly.

“That’s how I get attention. You aren’t impressed by materialistic things so I did what I had to”

You couldn’t believe your ears. All that to get your attention? He succeeded but he would never understand the emotions you went through because of him. The hatered you thought would never melt away suddenly did, you becoming nothing more but a whimpering mess from his touch. 

A thump was heard from your head hitting the cupboard, the pleasure firing through your body as your small cries echoed throughout the small kitchen. A sudden feeling of emptiness caused you to sigh in both relief and frustration. Your previously shut eyes slowly drifted open, panicked when you see Felix unbuckling his belt, letting both the fabric of his pants and underwear fall to the dim floor. 

Somehow his leaking cock looked prettier this time around, the shiny piercing distracting to the eye. Your mouth watered embarrassingly enough, turning your gaze to the ticking clock until Felix cleared his throat, his adams apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed his spit. He looked nervous which was unfamilliar, the boy always being persistant with his cocky mannerisms. Felix pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, your face heating up as your legs were spread wide open for him. There was nowhere you could hide your flushed face and Felix took this to his advantage.

“Huh? Shy, babygirl?” 

You gulped as you watched him stroke himself, the crimson colored tip disappearing only to reappear seconds later. Your eyes shut tightly as he moved the slick-stained panties to the side, anticipating to be filled to the brim from his impressive size. Mouth agape, Felix pushed into your wet hole, your hands gripping his broad shoulder in order to hinder a loud moan. 

“fuck y/n,,, you’re so tight, s-shit”

You couldn’t answer, still adjusting your velvety walls around him. As the pain subsided your core ached for friction, needing to feel him deep inside of you. Your arms wrapped around the boy, pulling him closer to your heated body making him smirk slyly before carefully pulling away, only his tip resting inside of you. Just as you were about to sigh due to emptiness he slammed inside of you, your entire body shaking from the impact. Panting, you begged for more, begging for him to go faster.

“F-felix! faster,,, please”

Your warm face was buried deep in his shoulder, his slightly cold hands gripping your hips tightly, starting to roll against your throbbing cunt earning small mewls from between your swollen lips. The counter creaked with each thrust that grew louder as his pace got faster, feeling your delicate walls clench around his veiny length, his silver earrings dangling from his lobes. Felix explored parts of your body even you hadn’t felt, his dick prodding you deep enough to make your eyes roll back into your skull, biting down on his shirt. 

The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, your weakening legs wrapping around his figure, trapping him inside of you but the blonde boy had no plans of stopping. Sweat beaded around his temples, his previously serious expressing turning into a grin as he adored your moans, words falling out in incomprehensible syllables. You were close and so was Felix. 

The pit of fire grew violent deep in your core, holding the young boy tighter to your body, clawing his clothed back. Every thrust had it’s impact, shaking you up and forcing shameless moans out from your throat that were being muffled by the fabric between your lips. The two of you moaned in unison, Felix’s deep mutters getting louder, his vicious thrusts becoming sloppier and uneven, desperate for his sweet release. You clenched around him involuntarily, trying to hold back from screaming, glad that your warm face was between his shoulder and neck so that he couldn’t see your fucked out expression. His name rolled off your tongue like a mantra, mind blank as your eyes were squeezed shut.

“Felix, i-im gonna c-cum! im-m cumming!”

The wall seperating you from your orgasm collapsed, leaving you with a powerful sensation washing over you. Your legs shook, struggling to keep your legs wrapped around him but soon enough you wouldn’t have to. Felix thrusted into you one final time, sending a shiver down your spine and overstimulating you before pulling out, his dick glistening with your erotic juices as he fucked his hand, hot spurts of cum leaking out. He growled, scrunching his forehead as he released on your shaking thighs, one last droplet of cum descending down his shaft and coating the shiny piercing that decorated his pretty cock. 

You panted, still processing what just happened, looking at Felix that unwrapped his hand from around his member, dick turning flaccid. You lifted yourself off the counter, only then realising how weak your legs were, not letting go of the surface you just fucked on. 

“Is this a one time thing or,,,” 

You start, not really knowing what to say afterwards. Felix cleared his throat, putting on his pants as you fixed your dark skirt, back against the boy.

“Let’s be friends”

You turned around, gazing at Felix as he looked down at the grimy floor.

“I’ll stop,,, bothering you, now we’re friends,,, with benefits but it’s a secret, understand?”

Every sentence this man spoke sounded serious with his deep voice but this was serious, for real. 

“Why should I? Why should I agree, Felix? So that you can play around with me even more, make me your little shy puppet? I’m not having it!!”

You yelled at the boy, his expression deadpan as you hit him in the abdomen, instantly regretting it as your knuckles hit his rock hard abs. Frustration clouded your mind, wanting to break every single piece of porcelain in the narrow kitchen. Instead you broke yourself apart. Crying in front of Felix like you’d done so many times before, dropping to the floor and feeling the cold material against your bare thigh. This feeling, so familiar. Felix gazing down on you like you we’re worth nothing more than the ground. 

Only this time he didn’t only stand and stare. 

His arms wrapped around your quivering figure, his embrace warmer than his face. 

“I’m sorry, y/n”

His voice shook as the silence overtook the both of you, the quiet ticking of the clock interupting. 

“Hm? Look at me, y/n”

Felix pulled away from you, sitting on the floor next to you, watching your head hang low as he gently put a hand on your jaw, lifting your gaze up to meet his. 

“I’m fucking stupid, I know. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that but,,, I didn’t know how- how to get closer to you.”

He swiped the rough pad of his thumb across your cheek, wiping your tears. 

“I will never hurt you ever again, y/n. We- we can work here and just,,, do stuff.”

You knew exactly what he meant by “stuff” but somehow you trusted him. You trusted him because you had no one else to trust. 

“But one rule” he said.

You tilted your head, wondering what his rule was.

“No falling in love”

You hummed, nodding as you wiped your tearstained cheeks with the sleeves of your shirt, cracking a smile at your own vulnerability. Felix stood up and you looked up at him, feeling small but not afraid. 

“So what do you say, y/n?”

He offered you his hand, you couldn’t stop looking into his secretive eyes that slowly turned mellow. 

You grabbed his hand, passing it as a yes to his question. 

But the both of you knew that the rule would be broken soon, like the brittle edge of a teacup. 

[moldisgoodforyou]

you'd come with me?

wordcount: 1.5k

lol this picture just makes me laugh we love a mich ultra man

“How much longer?”

“Just a few…” Sophie answered Rafe absentmindedly, biting her bottom lip in concentration as she typed.

They’d assumed their usual positions while studying in her room - she was sprawled out on her bed, while he sat at her desk, concentrating on whatever homework he had for the day. She’d banned him from the bed during study time, much to his dismay, claiming he was far too distracting. (He still got away with distracting her half the time anyways, slinking over and tucking his large frame into her side like a dog that had overgrown its owner’s lap years ago.)

“Rafe?” She broke the silence after a while, punctuating her sentence with a firm shut of her laptop.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I just applied for a grad program.” She told him nervously, unsure of what his reaction might be.

He shrugged, not turning his attention to her. “Okay? I thought you applied to Ohio State’s, you’re basically in already.”

“Well, yeah. But, um - can you look at me, please?” Sophie bit at her bottom lip, anxious.

He glanced up and finally noticed her nervous energy, then came over to sit next to her on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just big news. Maybe. I don’t even know if I have news yet, really -”

“Spit it out, Soph.” He nudged his knee against hers, concerned.

She nodded, taking a breath. “Okay. I applied to three other places, too. Two are in New York, one’s in Texas. And I know, I should have told you, but I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to do it in the first place, I kind of applied on a whim - well, I’ve been perfecting the application essay for weeks, but -”

“Soph, hey, it’s okay.” He cut off her rambling and a broad grin spread across his face, completely surprising her. “New York and Texas, for real?”

She raised her eyebrows and fidgeted with her ring, glancing at him worriedly. “That doesn’t worry you at all? That we’d be apart?”

She’d thought about how to tell him, when to tell him, for weeks now. She’d been hiding that she was interested in applying to other schools since June and though she felt incredibly guilty, she kept thinking back to long distance and how sad he seemed sometimes. She couldn’t break him with the news again so soon, not when she saw the way he lit up when they were together again and how content he was. Not when she saw how hard it was for her to support him from thousands of miles away, knowing physical touch was a big thing he relied on for comfort in their relationship.

He interrupted her train of thought as he took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Sophie, baby, do you know how many jobs are in New York and Texas?”

“Wait, you’d come with me?” She stuck her bottom lip out a little, overwhelmed and almost near tears at his response.

“I was planning on following you no matter what.” Rafe smiled encouragingly, reaching out and stroking his thumb over her cheek. “If you’ll have me.”

“Oh.” She said softly, growing shy. “You’re sure? You could go wherever you wanted, I don’t want to hold you back -”

“Hey, hey, none of that. Where’d you apply, when do you hear back?”

“You’re sure this isn’t an issue.” She asked warily, not wanting to undermine his feelings.

“I’m positive.” He gave her a proud grin. “What schools?”

“Okay, um. Columbia -”

He let out a long low whistle, nodding. “Impressive.”

She blushed, finally grinning back. “Hush. Columbia, Syracuse and UT Austin. Isobel already got into Syracuse. Columbia’s my top choice, but that’ll probably never happen.”

“Of course it’ll happen, get out of your head.” He leaned down and kissed her, smiling against her lips. “Look at you, big shot, applying for an Ivy.”

She relaxed, her hands trailing along the hem of his shirt, and ducked her head to hide her grin. “Stop. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is that big of a deal. When do you find out?” He shifted to lay down by her, then tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Um…not for a couple months, I think. You’ll really follow me?”

“Course I will, if you’ll have me.” He nodded earnestly.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” She beamed, nudging her nose against his. “You’re my favorite.”

“Love you too.” He responded. “Wait, did you just apply? Like right now?”

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “Just finished my Columbia essay, I did the rest last week. Now I wait.”

He smoothed his thumb over her cheek, making her relax again. “You’re so damn smart. Should we go celebrate?” Rafe gave her a cheeky grin. “Double scoop with sprinkles?”

She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t have the same effect now that you get it for free.” As a part of his internship program, he’d received a punch card for 25 free visits to Jeni’s, their favorite ice cream shop - they’d hardly made a dent in it since returning to school.

“No, I pay extra for the sprinkles and your waffle cone.” His grin gave way to a slow smirk and he kissed her neck, sucking gently for a moment. “We could celebrate other ways…”

“Wait, no, I actually do want the ice cream.” She pulled away before he could leave a mark, giving him a warning glance. “I gotta make up for what I missed over summer.”

He laughed, getting up and offering his hand. “Alright. C’mon, genius. Jeni’s is waiting for you.”

She took his hand, but didn’t stand. “Wait, Rafe. You’re sure, this is okay with you? I know you have your job lined up and all…”

Rafe paused, shrugging. “Yeah, well. Uh, Brooklyn got the job offer too, she’s already accepted it. So I wasn’t too psyched about it anyways.”

“Oh.” She nodded, thoughtful. “Have you been to New York? Or Austin?”

“I have. You haven’t? You want to go visit when you get in, so you can make your final decision?” He tugged on her hand, pulling her up into a hug and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Not sure I could afford that.” She mumbled, resting her head on his chest.

“Man, too bad you don’t have a boyfriend with money to pay for those trips.” He hooked a finger under her chin, tilted it up so he could look her in the eyes and see her scowl. “If you want to visit, we’ll go. Easy weekend trip.”

“Right.” Sophie nodded, unsure. “Maybe. I’m not even sure I’ll get in, I’ll probably be stuck here in Columbus for another year anyways.”

“Hey. Stop talking like that. You’ll help me look for jobs in New York and Texas, right?”

“Of course I will.” She confirmed. “You know, we could probably find something related to film in New York…”

He scoffed and looped his arm around her shoulders, steering her out of her room and down the stairs. “I think my dad might write me out of his will if I did anything adjacent to the film industry. Waste of my time, he says.”

She frowned, letting him usher her out to the car. “Maybe you should go talk with the career counselors, see if there’s options to combine both. You’re good at marketing too, maybe there’s something there?”

“Not sure. Haven’t really thought about any of that.” He dismissed her quickly, feeling uneasy like he did any time he thought about his future outside of school.

Sometimes he realized he was really good at absorbing other people’s interests, like he was able to always match his personality into a perfect mold to other people’s expectations. With Colin and James, and now Sophie, he was able to let his guard down a little and figure out who he was, who he wanted to be beyond his father’s expectations. He felt like he was thinking about this ten years too late - eleven year old Rafe had always written his ‘dream job’ in school as working for his dad. Now he was about to graduate, set to get a job, and wasn’t even sure if he could list his hobbies outside of hanging out with Sophie and his friends, and watching movies.

“Look, I just...I don’t want you to lose sight of what you’re actually interested in just because you need a job. You don’t have to hate your job.” She told him, carefully.

“I know.” He nodded, shutting down the conversation. “Today’s not about me, though, we gotta celebrate you, hotshot over here.” He grinned at her, leaning over to kiss her quick across the seat. “I think they have the chocolate cake back in stock, I’ve missed it.”

She picked up on his hesitation, but didn’t push it. “You’re such a creature of habit.”

“No, you’re just a psychopath picking a different flavor every time.” He shook his head as he reached his hand to rest behind her seat, turning around to back up. “Good thing I love you anyways, smart girl.”

“Love you too, sweet boy.” She replied with a smile.

taglist: @drewstarkey @lemur46 @jjmaybanksbaby @edgeofgr8 @quxxnxfhxll @obxtess @hoodpankow @vtgirl802 @outerbankies @messagesinthesky @nicolecarsley @svechnikolan @ilovejjmaybank @obxtess @abbyj1822 @oopsiedoopsie23 @g4bster @jjmaybankzz @freddymaybank @dontjinx-it @illbesafeforyou @moniamaybank @tovvaa @jailcalledlife @sunshineitsfine44 @randomficsandshit @outerbankspreferences @outerbanksbro @karsinner @kkmaybank @whoeveniskendall @lemur46

[scripts4dreamers]

And Stuff

AN: When you decided on a life of academia, you’d never expected to meet someone like Spencer Reid 

Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

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

You hated this stupid paper, you really really did. You stared blankly at your screen, reading and rereading the same two paragraphs in the vain hope that something would stick, but it was all gibberish.

“Hey, there’s my favorite PhD student,” a familiar voice called, collapsing into the seat beside you, “coffee?”

“Please,” you sighed gratefully, wrapping your hands around the disposable cup and taking a deep sip. It was perfect, just warm enough to shock some life back into you, “I owe you one, Prof. Reid.”

Spencer wrinkled his nose distastefully, and you laughed.

“I told you I hate that,” he said.

“And we both know that’s a lie,” you teased back, “you love being called Professor.”

��By my students,” he admitted, “not by you. How’s the thesis outline coming along?”

You sighed, “it’s not.”

“Can I take a look?” Spencer asked, reaching out towards you.

“Noooooo way,” you said, closing your laptop quickly, “not until it’s done.”

“But, Y/N-“

“No, Spence! It’s terrible.”

Spencer stuck his tongue out at you but didn’t press the issue as he pulled a stack of unmarked essays out of his satchel. You and Spencer had met a few years ago, when you’d both started a BA in philosophy. It was your third undergraduate degree, but like Spencer’s hundredth, and you’d bonded over your love of academia almost instantly. By now, meeting in one of the common areas to study and work together was almost a ritual, twice a week at least, every week of the semester. You loved it, you relied on it really. Without Spencer you were sure you’d have lost your mind years ago.

Spencer couldn’t always stay long, after all he was still a hot shot FBI agent, but even just the little bit of time you did have together was like a breath of fresh air. You both looked forward to the chance to talk about something other than your jobs for once.

“I’m sure it’s not, Y/N/N,” Spencer assured.

“Mhhm,” you said unconvincingly, “what about you? Did you get your epistemology paper in on time?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not sure anything I wrote technically qualifies as an argument, but it’s done.” Spencer replied, his eyes tracing the papers in front of him at lightning speed and marking as he went

You could see the signs of exhaustion on his face and your stomach pinched with concern. Spencer was a genius, you knew that better than anyone, but even he wasn’t immune to the stresses of university life. He was always burning the candle at both ends, taking on more than any reasonable person could ever hope to accomplish, and that was before he started teaching an intro to criminology class. It worried you.

“Spence?”

He looked up, his eyes still glassy and faraway, the hint of a smile on his lips, “Mmhmm?”

You frowned, “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

Spencer nodded, “Did you know that some studies have shown that an adult man can actually survive on as little as two hours of sleep a night without showing outwards signs of exhaustion?” He rambled, gesturing at nothing with his hands, “Sleep deprivation will, of course, affect your mental capabilities over time, but the amount of time that process actually takes is fairly individual. In my case-“ he looked over, noticed you raising your eyebrows at him, and laughed, obviously realising just how tired he was. “Yeah I’m a little tired,” he admitted, “it’s just been a long week that’s all. I was up for a few days for a case,,” he nudged your shoulder with his, “you know if you took me up on my offer I’d probably have more time to sleep.”

“Me? Join the FBI?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “No way. I’ve never even held a gun.”

“Neither had I before I joined.”

“Yeah but you’re-“ you gestured in his general direction, “you know.”

“I’m what?”

“You know,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment, “strong. And brave. And stuff.”

Spencer laughed but he looked pleased with himself nonetheless, “you think I’m strong and brave?”

“And stuff,” you clarified, “I’m an academic. I’m perfectly happy in a dark room with my dusty books and manuscripts, thank you very much.”

Spencer nodded, stealing a sip of your coffee and grimacing at the taste, “is there any sugar in this at all?”

“You tell me,” You answered, “you bought it.”

“Well there’s obviously not enough, you can still taste the actual coffee,” he said, just as his phone started to beep frantically.

Spencer took it out of his pocket and frowned at the screen. Your heart sunk a little but, when Spencer looked up at you apologetically, you shot him a small smile.

“Duty calls,” you said simply.

Spencer nodded, packing his stack of papers back into his satchel, “I’m sorry, Y/N/N. I’ll see you back here on Friday?”

“Sure,” you agreed, “if you’re back by then.”

“And you’ll send me your thesis outline when you’re finished with it?”

“Of course.”

Spencer wrapped one arm around your shoulder, giving you a quick hug, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Enjoy your day.”

“Good luck, Professor,” you smiled, waving him off, “and thanks for the coffee!”

He waved back at you, half jogging and already on the phone as he vanished into the incoming crowds. You watched him go, sighing sadly as you turned back to your unfinished outline.

“Okay, Y/N, you can do this. Spencer’s written like three of these, let’s go.” You muttered, “The psychological implications of linguistic progression, think.”

You threw yourself back into your research, losing yourself in the methodical nature of your work. The coffee next to you got cold.

————————

Spencer was flushed by the time he made it into the office, his cheeks hurting with the effort of suppressing his smile. Time with you always did that to him, no matter how drained he was when he first arrived.

You were like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise very gloomy day, and ten minutes with you was better for his mental health than a whole weekend’s worth of sleep. You were sweet, and funny, and you let him ramble about whatever he wanted to and even pretended to listen. Meeting you for coffee every week had become more than an act of friendship, it was an act of self care, a thin thread holding what was left of his sanity together.

His phone chimed and he smiled down at the message, a picture of you sipping your coffee and giving the cameras a big thumbs up:

Go kick some bad guy ass, Wise Guy!

He started typing up a reply but, before he could, someone interrupted.

“Good date, Pretty Boy?” Morgan greeted.

“It’s not a date, Morgan, you know that,” Spencer replied, fondly, “it’s just coffee with a friend.”

“Oh yeah it’s totally not a date, just a biweekly coffee hangout with someone you’ve been in love with since forever.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he smiled.

“But it did go well, then?” He retorted with a knowing smile.

Spencer smiled and nodded, “She thinks I’m strong and brave and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“And stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Prentiss interjected.

Spencer froze, “I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Does she know you’re not dating?” Prentiss asked.

“What? Yes of course! Or-maybe? I don’t know we haven’t exactly talked about it.” Spencer replied.

“No, she doesn’t know,” Morgan clarified.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue but, before he could, Garcia cut in.

“Okay my little geniuses, it’s a weird one today. Let’s get briefed,” Garcia called.

“When do we get to meet her?” Prentiss whispered as they took their seats.

“Never,” Spencer replied.

Emily pouted, “you’re no fun.”

Spencer smiled but, as the briefing went on and the picture of their newest case got clearer and clearer, so did something else; they couldn’t do this alone. They needed help, very very specific help. His heart sunk. As they headed to the jet, Spencer pulled out his phone, wishing to God he didn’t have to.

“Hey, Y/N, remember how you said you owed me one?”

—————————-

This had to be some sort of nightmare, you thought to yourself as you stepped off the jet. When Spencer had first called you, you’d laughed, told him to stop joking around and tell you what he actually wanted but, as it turned out, he was serious. They had a case, he’d said, one that required a certain set of expertise, one that only you had. And you couldn’t really say no could you? Not to Spencer.

And now you’d solved it. It was over. Your hands were shaking and you’d never been this tired in your life, but it was over. You felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped.

“Hey, it’s alright, kid,” Derek Morgan assured you, “you’re okay.”

You nodded, even though it wasn’t a question and gave him a small smile.

“I know.”

Derek nodded, his dark eyes boring into you in that way only members of the BAU could, like they were looking into you and not at you, so you tried to look brave.

“You did good work on this case,” Derek said, walking back to the building with you, “without you I’m not sure we would’ve caught the guy.”

You shook your head, “Spen-Reid would have figured it out eventually.”

Derek pressed his lips together, “Probably, but even he said it would’ve taken him days to reconstruct the language from scratch, even without adding the psychology behind it. In that time who knows how many people our UnSub would have been able to get.”

You looked over your shoulder to where Spencer was standing at the base of the jet’s stairs, looking everywhere but at you. He’d been acting distant for a while now, ever since Hotch had decided to strap you into a bulletproof vest and send you in to talk a maniac off a ledge. The UnSub had been having some sort of psychotic break, he’d forgotten how to speak English and communicated exclusively in a language he’d created himself, a combination of several that pointed to details about his personal life. It was fascinating, in the worst way possible, a real life application of the theory you’d been working on for years. It would make your thesis a piece of cake to finish.

The thought made you feel nauseous.

“Is he-“ you asked Derek, pressing your lips together nervously, “is he angry at me or something?”

He frowned, “Reid? No. He’s crazy about you, he looks forward to those coffee dates with you every week for days.”

You flushed, “They're not dates, Derek.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” he replied, sarcastically, “slip of the tongue.” He ruffled your hair fondly, “Go on, talk to him, I’ll call you a cab when you’re done.”

You nodded and hung back, letting Derek’s hulking form vanish into the FBI building as you made your way slowly back toward the jet. Spencer was staring up at the moon, looking pensive and beautiful and painfully sad.

“Hey, there’s my favorite profiler,” you greeted gently, “you alright?”

“Hey,” he replied, still looking up at the moon, “why didn’t you go inside with everyone else?”

“I was waiting for you,” you explained, “I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“If I’m okay?” He laughed incredulously, meeting your eye, “Y/N, I’m out here because I’m trying to figure out what I could possibly say to make up for what I just put you through.” He explained, “This...this stuff-it’s my world, not yours. I should never have brought you into it.”

“Spencer you needed me, your team needed an expert and, no offense, but your social circle isn’t big enough to have two experts in linguistic psychology.” You teased gently.

Spencer chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest.

You stepped forward, resting a hand gently on his bicep, “You made the right decision, Spence. I’m glad you called, I’m-“ you paused, “I’m glad you let me help you.”

Spencer snorted, “And it nearly got you killed.”

“It didn’t nearly get me killed-“

“Yes. It did,” he insisted, “the UnSub was psychotic, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have killed you on sight. Hotch should never have let you-I should never have let you go in there.”

“But I wanted to and I’m fine. The case is over, Spence, we’re in the clear.” You assured him, “Things can go back to normal now.”

“No, they can’t!” Spencer practically shouted, turning to face you, his eyes red and puffy. You instinctively stepped back and Spencer pressed his lips together, looking guilty, “Y/N, I-knowing you were in danger and that there was nothing I could do about it...it killed me. You were never meant to know about any of this, you were meant to be safe! I was meant to keep you safe!” He explained, running a hand through his hair, “You were the one thing in my life that this stuff couldn’t touch and now-“ he breathed, “now everytime you look at me you’re gonna think about this, and him, and everything I put you through and-“ he met your eye, “and things will be weird and you’ll stop wanting to talk to me. Things won’t be the same, Y/N.”

You flushed and stepped forward, “You're worried that I’m not gonna talk to you anymore?” You asked. Spencer didn’t answer, but the way he avoided your eye and worked his jaw seemed like answer enough, “Spence,” you smiled, “you’re like...my favorite person in the world. This stuff,” you gestured around, “what you do, it doesn’t change that. In fact I think it’s kind of incredible. You guys tracked down a serial killer based on nothing but some muddled letters, who does that?” You laughed.

Spencer didn’t respond, but the edges of his lips twitched, like he wanted to smile. You watched him for a moment, the way he held his head, the way his eyes darted up to yours. He was just as beautiful as he’d always been, but there was something more now. He was vulnerable, you realized, really vulnerable for the first time since you’d known him. No matter what he said, Spencer was reaching out to you.

“Your world is messed up, Spencer,” you continued, stepping forward and taking his hand, “but you aren’t. We aren’t, and I’m glad I got to be there when you needed me. We’re good, okay?”

“Do you promise?” He asked, his voice small.

You squeezed his hand, “I promise.”

Spencer nodded, squeezing back, and let you slowly pull him back towards the FBI building.

“Besides,” you continued, “you still owe me a look at my thesis.”

Spencer snorted, “That’ll literally take me 3 seconds.”

“Show off.”

“What? It’s true.” He laughed.

You suddenly realized that Spencer was still holding your hand and, when he saw you looking and tried to pull away, you held on tighter. Spencer smiled nervously, and you felt a rush of something warm and promising flow through you.

“Hey, Y/N?” He started nervously.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“Are we dating?” He asked.

“After today? We’d better be. I’m expecting at least a dinner after almost getting shot for you.” You teased, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“That’s so not funny,” Spencer replied, but he was smiling when he said it.

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Fine,” Spencer agreed, stopping in his tracks and pulling you towards him, “it’s a little bit funny.”

And that’s when he pulled you in, cupping your face with his hands and pressing his lips to yours. Just like that, the weariness of the day melted away, disappearing into a kiss that tasted like burnt coffee and sugar and the best champagne you’d ever had. Spencer was strong and sure. He kissed you like it was the only chance he’d ever get, like he wanted to burn the memory of you into that brilliant mind of his forever. When you broke apart it felt like the earth had shifted beneath you and you stared at one another, breathless and smiling like teenagers caught making out beneath the bleachers.

“Oh yeah,” you laughed, “yeah you definitely owe me dinner.”

“Woohoo!” Morgan cheered.

“Ooooo, Y/N and Reid sitting in a tree,” Prentiss sang, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Go get ‘em, Lover Boy,” Garcia joined in.

Spencer laughed, letting his head fall down onto your shoulder, humming when you threaded your finger through his hair.

“Can we-um-can we maybe continue this at a later date?” Spencer asked, “Like maybe at dinner? Or,” he checked his watch, “breakfast, maybe?”

You looked back at Spencer’s team and felt, with a sudden rush of clarity, that you were looking at a group of people who would soon be staples of your life.

“Let’s go get coffee with the others,” you answered, “and then after that,” you tilted his head up and kissed him softly, “you can take me to breakfast.”

taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​ 

[pacifymebby]

Age gap crush anon back because I forgot to say that you totally do not need to be sorry for not replying to my anons right away!! I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time right now and I hope things get better soon!!

I also forgot to talk about how I’m super worried about if he wants me to meet his mom or even just if he starts to take me to meet his friends. Because I’m currently unemployed and out of school (I’m going back soon hopefully but I had to stop for a while). I’m totally unsure of what I want to do in school and with my entire life and I don’t want to embarrass myself. I’m just so embarrassed about my situation because he’s got a really good job and he’s a full on adult while I’m here unemployed and trying to figure out if I’m even smart enough to go to college or university. I just think my situation really makes our age gap stick out like a sore thumb. I know it’s stupid and that his mom is probably really lovely and wouldn’t judge me and that if anyone else did judge me it wouldn’t matter but I can’t help ruminating on these things. Ugh I’m probably just being over dramatic again aren’t I?

Thanks lovely, I'm doing a bit better mental health wise, I'm just up and down i guess. I'm working a lot and I'm tired and I miss B a lot haha. All in all I'm one sulky girl atm haha.

So also I'm living through your updates!!!

Okay I get this, I really understand actually because I'm coming to the end of my course and I'm getting a lot of people ask me what I'll do when I finish and honestly, my answer is that I will take on more hours in the care home and just try to do writing I guess? And it's not much of an answer and I don't feel like an adult at all.

BUT this is literally your 20s now ngl. It's everyone's 20s. Not to be morbid but the world has run in such a way that now your whole 20s is spent piecing together some kind of life, trying to become an adult when the generations above you keep burning the instruction manuals and rewriting the rules.

Not knowing what you want to do yet is not a weakness, it's an opportunity. You can tell people you're preparing to go back to school but that you're trying to work out what your best options are. You can say shit like, you don't want to waste time on a degree that won't lead you anywhere, you want to work out the best path to go down or whatever. There are adult ways of saying you don't know what you're doing trust me.

Have you spoken to ur man about any of it? Like when he was ur age he probably had fuck all clue what he was doing either and you never know he may be able to help guide you or at least offer you a little reassurance/encouragement or whatever.

Like with me and B I have this complex where I think he's soooooo much more intelligent than me because he's already got his degree and his masters and he got 1sts and he did amazingly well at them. And I did not get a 1st for my undergrad and idk I'm scared I won't get a Distinction for my masters. I'm constantly worrying about stuff to do with uni and at first I wouldn't ask B for help because I thought he'd think I was dumb but actually now he proof reads my essays and he's really good at helping me out with stuff, he gives me so much encouragement. It was the same when I was applying he read my application and guided me through the whole process.

I think if you tell him you're worried ur man will do the same.

You're not being dramatic though I totally get it, there's a lot of B's family I haven't met but every time I meet someone new I have the fear all over again. I also always think that like I'm so shy and awkward in social situations and I do just hide behind B, I think his family probably must think I'm not good enough for him or that it's weird we are together, but like they actually don't and it's all just in my head. And also, the same that you don't care what your family think of your man, you still like him anyway, your man will be the same. He won't care, he already likes you.

❤️

[vanderlindemangofarm]

The Van der Linde Gang - Jobs in a Modern AU

I’ve been really inspired to write about this lately and I’d love to hear your takes! These are the occupations that I think each gang member would have in a modern AU. Some were more challenging than others, but hopefully you guys can see where I’m coming from with each! 

Arthur: Film location scout. His natural eye for photography and framing makes Arthur the perfect member of a pre-production team. His no-bullshit approach to everything means he keeps to deadlines, although he’s known to go wandering off into the wilderness for unknown amounts of time. He enjoys the lone working side of his job and finding exactly the right spots that would make the film come to life. He doesn’t always like the films once they’re finished (in fact he’s often bought cinema tickets and walked out half way through, grumbling that it wasn’t worth the popcorn) but he can’t deny the excited buzz he gets every time he gets hired. In his early years as an assistant he met Bertie Mason, a nervous but talented photography intern. Despite an ill-advised hookup after a week joined at the hip they have remained close friends and still go out on shoots together. 

John: landscape gardener. John? Flowers? Yes, alright, I found it hard to believe too. But look, it’s not about the flowers, even if he does get misty-eyed at the sight of a sunflower in the early morning light. It’s about the challenge, the outdoors, and solving problems. After all the renovations he did to his house and garden (some more successful than others) John found how much satisfaction he got from digging and reshaping and planting. Don’t get me wrong, he’s often without a shirt, even in the colder months, much to the delight of some and the horror of others. He always makes friends with the household pets and is wonderful with the kids, always dropping his task to throw a frisbee around for a bit or cheekily accept an ice cold glass of lemonade from their mothers. Whenever he drives past one of his projects he feels himself glowing with pride - “I did that!”. 

Dutch: philosophy lecturer. As always, late with Starbucks. Will he actually grade your essay? Will it mysteriously disappear? Keeps you on your toes, doesn’t it? Sitting precariously on the very edge of his desk, leather jacket hanging off his shoulders and losing his balance every 15 minutes, Dr Van der Linde is nothing short of a wonder. For the love of all that is holy, do not get him started on Kant. Kant has no place here. You want to talk about your precious Kant? Get your butt down to Dr O’Driscoll’s class, he has plenty to say about Kant. Perhaps a little too fond of Socrates. Plato who? Completely illegible handwriting and definitely sleeping with several members of the faculty. But somehow his students always walk away with excellent grades. At the end of each term Dutch takes everyone out to a local bar for drinks, insists on buying tequila which no one really fancies at 11am. Claims to ride a motorcycle called The Count which no one has actually seen. Impossible to hate, and he writes everyone great references for their summer internships. 

Hosea: social worker. In a crisis, there’s no one better to knock on your door. Hosea has seen it all and he’ll see it all again, but that doesn’t stop him from treating every single case he gets with the upmost respect and care. His no-nonsense approach to his work means he gets things done, but he never sacrifices his compassion. He mostly works with teenagers and has a way of being able to connect to each individual without coming across as patronising. He’s been in the field for over two decades and is an invaluable mentor for any newcomers, always willing to share a word or two of advice or be a shoulder to cry on. 

Javier: guitar teacher and music therapist. During his worst years, Javier’s guitar was his lifeline. And he wants to help others find their lifeline, too. He works on a freelance basis, mainly going into mental health hospitals, schools and prisons. He runs workshops focusing on guitar playing, but brings other instruments (mainly percussion) to try too. He’s a gentle teacher, always with a joke in his back pocket for when you need it most. He has nicknames for everyone and remembers everything they’ve ever told him. He’s patient and never lets anyone feel bad for making a mistake. Javier also runs an after-school guitar club at the local middle school alongside playing his own music at gigs whenever he can. No, he doesn’t reply to DMs no matter how thirsty they are. 

Sadie: self-defense instructor. After surviving an attack several years ago, Sadie used her ferocity to get her qualification in self-defense to teach other women how to fight back should they need to. Her husband Jake helps out in her classes, happily allowing himself to be thrown around and slammed onto the mat as many times as required. Her students are terrified of her in the best and nicest way. Sadie also volunteers at a women’s refuge, providing emergency care and taking phone calls. 

Charles: environmental campaign manager. Charles has always been drawn to charities and started doing voluntary work for Greenpeace when he was at university, securing an internship with them in Canada which led to a full time job. Whilst Charles mainly hosts meetings and organises events, he also works closely with elementary schools and runs workshops with outdoor activities, crafts and music. Last week they made bird feeders! It was awesome. He’s also a keen activist and regularly meets up with Javier to go to protests and community events, most recently for BLM. 

Micah: motorcycle mechanic. Micah is massively invested in motorcycle culture and treats his beloved bike better than his own mother, if he still spoke to her. Although he pretends not to care, fixing bikes is his greatest passion and almost looks...happy when he’s doing it? Maybe? He likes knowing more than the people who stop by his shop and makes sure they know it. Occasionally he leaves his number on a scrap of paper inside women’s handbags when they’re not looking but for some reason none of them call. Like it or not, he’s incredibly skilled and will have your motorcycle singing a tune if that’s what you want. Euphemism? Of course not. 

Abigail: nurse. She was so shy when she realised she wanted to pursue nursing - would people laugh at her? Was she too impatient, too nagging, too shrill? Her dyslexia always put her off going into further education and she was always discouraged by her parents. But with lots of encouragement from Hosea (who helped her to fill out her applications and other forms) and her friends, Abigail went to university in her 30′s to get her degree. She graduated top of her class and now works full time in her local hospital, based mostly in the emergency room. From drunken brawlers to tearful children and grumpy old men with lumbago, Abigail has learnt to keep her cool and to have faith in her own ability. 

Molly: holistic therapist and masseuse. It took years to get that bastard of a philosopher out of her head (and out of her bed - damn those happy hour drinks “for old times’ sake”), but she’s finally free. Molly radiates a kindness that few took to the time to see, and she wanted to take strength from her past struggles to help others who may need someone to listen, just as she did. Molly took a bunch of online courses in various holistic therapies, including aromatherapy and massage, as this was something she had always been interested in. She runs a tiny clinic on a quiet street, the rooms filled with sunshine and the scent of geraniums. She also has a quite popular ASMR YouTube channel, Emerald Eyes ASMR, which she shyly admits just reached 500k subscribers. Her most popular video, ‘Irish Girl Helps You Fall Asleep (soft spoken, tapping, mouth sounds)’ just reached over a million hits. 

Kieran: veterinarian specialising in equine care. Much like Abigail, Kieran didn’t like the idea of going back into education. He’d had a rough time of it as a teenager, dropping out of high school early and working a string of menial jobs for the next decade. They paid his rent, but he still felt poor. His favourite job, however, was working at a stable. The horses made him feel calm and he found that he could read them better than most people. He went to the library and read as much as he could about them. From there, he got himself an apprenticeship which paved the way for him to earn his degree in veterinary science. He smiled so hard in his graduation photo his eyes disappeared into his cheeks. He travels all over the local countryside, visiting farms and ranches to care for the horses. His confidence picked up after the first few blunders, and little by little he’s saving up to buy his own ranch one day. 

Lenny: political science student. You know that kid who always looks amazing, even in 9am lectures? Yeah, that’s not Lenny, but he’s sat just behind. See him? Yep, the one rubbing sleep from his eyes as he pushes through the effects of another all-nighter. It’s not due to procrastination, but from perfectionism. He spends hour agonising over references, appendixes and even titles. One time he was so tired he signed his work “Ynnel”. He’s completely in love with his course and relishes every class he takes. Oh, he’s taking Dutch’s ‘History of Western Philosophy’ module by the way. Sitting in the front row, middle seat, directly in front of Dutch, his eyes glinting wickedly. Poor Dutch. Lenny has a counterpoint for absolutely everything and can barely stifle his laughter as Dutch gets more and more flustered. He’s been dating Jenny Kirk, an English Lit student, for the past few months and it’s going well. So well in fact, that he might stop hiding his Doctor Who merchandise every time she comes to his dorm room. 

Tilly: business student. Tilly started university at the same time as Lenny and they still always go to the library together, rolling their eyes at each other over their morning peppermint lattes. Tilly is at the forefront of any and all on-campus activism. Think of Sam from Dear White People - that’s our Tilly. She wears her Ravenclaw scarf all autumn and winter long and posts scathing Instagram stories about the cafeteria food. But she’s powerfully kind and very ambitious, taking on a part time job tutoring kids with dyslexia in their reading and writing. 

Susan: midwife. Think having a baby is scary? Try crossing Nurse Grimshaw. She’s here now, and that baby is coming out of you one way or another. She’ll hold your hand through thick and thin but if you dare say “I can’t do it” one more time she’ll unleash hell. Susan will make sure everyone has a job to do. Partner just standing there like a lemon? Not on her watch. She’s harsh but kind to her trainees and will always offer a cup of coffee and a shoulder to cry on, but there’s a time and place for slacking and it’s not on her labour ward. 

Trelawny: talent agent. Our Josiah is cunning, infuriatingly charismatic and with an eye for the best of the best - what else could he do so effortlessly? He’ll wrangle you a 10 second role as a latrine cleaner in a non-profit film and he’ll still make you feel like the next DiCaprio. You’re a diamond, don’t you know? Of course you could nab Elphaba, we’ll worry about the singing later. How do you feel about cat food commercials? No no, it’s not pornography, it really is cat food this time - he double checked. On top of this, he knows everyone in the business. No, really. He can’t move 3 feet down Broadway without someone booming his name. The tone of said boom depends, of course, but who hasn’t been caught with his bottom out in that director’s wife’s en-suite? 

Sean: outdoor activity centre instructor. You mean you can actually get paid to swim in lakes, ride ziplines through the forest and eat roasted marshmallows?! Sean couldn’t believe his ears. But it was true, and he’s living his best life. He may be on his penultimate warning for unruly behaviour, but he knows he could never really get fired. How could they? Everyone loves him. And to his credit, he’s a fantastic instructor, especially with kids. Everything from canoeing to caving, wild swimming to climbing, Sean has mastered it all and he always makes it fun. No one is allowed to feel left out or silly for not being able to do something. Sean has a way of making everyone feel included, even if you can only make it up the first few rungs of the ladder. Hey, that’s still off the ground! He once knew this feller Bill who cried because a moth flew into his face. You’re doing fine. 

Mary-Beth: librarian and YA author. Sweet Mary-Beth, how could she be anywhere else but surrounded by books? She adores her job at her small, local library and is always looking for ways to make it even better. She often gets tangled up in the stories she reads whilst organising shelves, but it’s quiet enough most days that she’s rarely caught. She loves helping people find their books or recommending her favourites. She also runs the toddler storytime groups and a writing club for older kids. Of course, she’s also writing her own books. The first of her ‘Valentine Mysteries’ books made a modest profit and she’s excited to write more about the adventures of Leslie Dupont. 

Karen: actress. Realising that she had a knack for accents and even after an especially successful high school lead role as Roxy Hart, Karen didn’t really acknowledge her would-be passion for acting for a long time. But she used her talents to get herself and her friends into X-rated films, dive bars and successfully pull off dozens of prank calls. It wasn’t until one of her friends was going to an open-call audition for a short film and wanted someone to go with her that Karen had her epithany. She was cast on the spot, much to the dismay of her friend. Since then, she’s been in a handful of arthouse films, a commercial here and there, and recently enjoyed a short run as Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at a small theatre downtown. Does she want fame and fortune? Honestly, she hasn’t really thought about it. Right now, she’s just enjoying the ride. And the phone numbers left for her at front of house from many admirers. 

Strauss: financial loan adviser. Oh boy, perhaps you saw this one coming. Then again, maybe not. Old Leopold isn’t quite the two-pronged-tongued eldritch horror people often mistake him for. In fact, he actually advises people against loan sharks. He had his fair share of debts y’see and he genuinely doesn’t want anyone else to go through the same thing. He’s not exactly sweet and cuddly, but he might let you have a free pen if you call by his office. I mean, technically they’re not free but...never mind, just take it. 

Bill: plumber. It was purely accidental that Bill bashed his way into his career. No, really. His sink was blocked and after an hour of poking and prodding the pipes he started hitting the poor thing with a spanner out of pure frustration, cursing all the way. To his shock, it worked, and he suddenly had running water again. What shocked him more is that he realised he wanted to know how. So, he bought a book. And he read the book. And one thing led to another, and now he’s the proud owner of Williamson Plumbing Inc. The money is very good, but for Bill that’s not it. You have to understand that for him, it’s the act itself of fixing something that brings Bill immense satisfaction. And Bill isn’t used to knowing more about something - anything - than those around him. For the first time perhaps in his life, he can sit down, solve a problem, and know that he’s done a good job. 

Swanson: AA group leader. After getting completely sober almost a decade ago and staying that way, Orville wanted to give something back to the people who had helped him out so greatly. Becoming a volunteer to help those who were trapped where he was seemed like the only path, and it felt so right. Orville is there in meetings, making coffee, handing out donuts and training new volunteers. If anyone wants to talk about their faith he’s all ears, but he never pushes it as a cure-all in any situation. Orville’s sobriety has also meant that he’s learnt to make the most phenomenal mocktails. 

Pearson: grocery shop manager and cooking teacher. Simon has his small grocery shop on the edge of town which has a wide range of regular customers. But he wanted to do more, so he set up a small class to teach fellow veterans how to cook. His wife helps out, and they grow the ingredients together in their garden and down at the allotment. It’s just an therapeutic for him as it is for his students, as he’s only just realising how much he wants to talk about his time in the navy. 

Uncle: unknown. For the longest time, everyone thought Uncle worked at one of the worst dive bars in town, as whenever they stumbled in for a nightcap he was there, behind the bar, happy as a pig in shit. Turns out that he just started going there one night and no one could get him to leave. And so every evening he’ll appear like a phantom, sit himself in the half-broken chair behind the bar (clearly labelled “not for customer use”), order the cheapest beer on the menu and sit there until midnight. No one can understand how he gets the means to live as he ragingly denies receiving any government handouts despite his lumbago. Claims to be a veteran but hasn’t fought in any wars anyone has heard of. 

[bonaintan]

A Journey to KGSP/GKS: Study Plan

After a very long while, I finally managed to post this! This, I guess is my final post on A Journey to KGSP/GKS Series. I’m still considering whether or not to make a post about the interview. I’m not sure I can cover this topic well since my experience is limited to the interview session in the Korean Embassy. Even I heard that each Embassy has its own way of conducting the interview, including the questions given. Anyways, on this post, I’ll be sharing on my experience in writing a study plan (or statement of purpose for the Graduate degrees) for the GKS Application. If you just started preparing the GKS Application, you may want to check my previous posts on the guideline to the application forms and personal statement essay or read my experience in applying for the 2016 KGSP/GKS-G.

So, as we’ve known, a study plan is another important stage to showcase the applicant’s ability in planning his study in Korea. One needs to explain his/her plans before coming to Korea when doing the study in Korea, and after graduating from the Korean university.

Study Plan template (2021 GKS-Undergraduate Application)

Statement of Purpose template (2021 GKS-Graduate Application)

 When preparing for the application back in 2016, I tried to find as many resources as possible. I joined the KGSP Global Applicant Facebook group, searched awardees from Indonesia and other countries online through Facebook and Instagram, and contacted them to discuss their experience and ask for some advice. I then found Mas Nasikun’s blog, a KGSP awardee from Indonesia who did his Master’s degree program at Seoul National University. I was especially very grateful for his posts on how to write a study plan. His posts on KGSP Application are still there and anyone interested in applying for this scholarship will surely find it very useful.

Here I’m making a kind of brief guideline in writing a study plan. I divide them into plans before, during, and after studying in Korea.

Plans before going to Korea. Here, you need to write down things you have been doing and will be doing before going to Korea. This mostly covers Korean language preparation. I believe that ‘taking Korean language courses’ shouldn’t be necessarily on the list. There’s a bunch of fun ways to learn a language, especially the Korean language. What is better than watching Korean TV shows and being whipped by the actors and actresses? (Not watching one?) Okay, if you still doubt whether you should start learning the language by now, I urge you to do so unless you just apply for fun and ‘luckily’ see yourself get a seat at the end. Especially for those who never got anything related to Korea, get yourself used to how Korean language sounds is an important first step that will take you further lightheartedly. I met people who hardly heard the Korean language until they reach the country, and they struggled within one-year language training which I believe could have been less tormenting and fun instead. One year is short if not to say insufficient, trust me.

I was far from fluent when applying for this scholarship program (well, I still am), but I wasn’t unfamiliar with the language either. If there was only one effort in learning the language that I invested the most, it was listening to Korean songs. I wasn’t into K-dramas before coming to Korea, and I could barely make any time to go to a language center. I started learning Hangeul (Korean alphabet) while preparing for the application but just started self-teaching on basic grammars around 2 months before my departure in August. I wasn’t confident in mastering the language in one year, plus my over-anxiety told me to do something to lessen my stress in the future. Still, I knew I should’ve started earlier.

So, you need to explain that any plans during this time are to prepare you for life in Korea and of course the degree program. Here, you also need to mention your goals during the language training program. You may divide it into two semesters; what things you will do and the level of Korean proficiency you aim in the first and second half. There are many programs you can participate in during language training, such as the Buddy program, voluntary work at Korean schools, cultural festivals, etc. You may do your research and mention what you’re mostly expecting to do to improve your Korean skills.

Plans during your study in Korea. This section is a little bit different for GKS-U and GKS-G applicants AND applicants via Embassy and University Track. GKS-U applicants are provided a separate section for this part whereas, for GKS-G applicants, this part is combined with the plan before coming to Korea. Regardless, the best way to deliver this part is by setting a timeline for your plan, either per semester or per academic year.

For GKS-U applicants, I personally think that you can simply mention the number of credits in total to graduate and the average number of credits every semester. As for the course, you can mention some courses you’re particularly interested in and the reason (for example, those courses are in line with the topic interest of your final project/thesis, or they will be beneficial for your future career). These are basic information, so make sure you check the curriculum and graduation requirements! Other things to include are plans on taking short-term courses during summer/winter break and organizations/clubs/other student activities you will want to join (check on the university/department website for reference). Don’t forget to elaborate on why you need these activities (project it to your future goal).

For GKS-G applicants, I recommend writing down your study plan per semester since dividing into two academic years may limit the details. Depending on the major, you may set different goals each semester. Generally, I believe, the first semester would be the time to strengthen your fundamental knowledge regarding your field of study while adapting to the Korean education system. Some may have chances to start consulting with their academic advisor/professor even working in a lab. In the second semester, you may need to start working on your research plans. Here, you may briefly explain the thesis research you want to do. Most Master’s degree programs in Korea require a thesis for graduation so make sure you prepare one. Unless you’re applying for the Research Program, no need to go very detail on this. Three important points to include when explaining your research plan: what the research topic is, why you want to work on it, and why Korea and/or your university choice is the best place to carry out this research. In the third semester, you will probably need to sit for a comprehensive exam and start conducting your research. For social science and humanity students, you should prepare the ethical clearance application by the end of this semester or during the semester break so that you can start conducting your research, especially, collecting the research data, as the new semester begins. Finally, you may wrap up your final semester by completing the thesis and publishing or submitting a research article to a journal (some departments have it as part of graduation requirements).

For Embassy track applicants, I don’t think you need to elaborate on your 3 university and major choices and the reasons behind every choice. You likely apply for similar if not the same major. Despite different names, the focus study should be the same and that’s what you need to elaborate on. What I did back then is briefing the reason I applied for that major (I already mention it in the Personal Statement so I just briefly explain it here) and what topic of study I will focus on my thesis research. For university track applicants, you may explain the reasons for applying to the major and the university of your choice and your study plan followed by the plan each semester.

Plans after graduating from a Korean university. The keyword for this part, I believe, is future career. And the best way to show the reviewer your enthusiasm and your visionary side (regardless of how vague the future life is yet), is to name your future goal. I think telling what kind of job you aspire and some motivations behind it would work. Another important point to include is whether you will return to your home country or stay in Korea after graduation, accompanied by things you will do afterward. Again, this part may seem vague for some, especially for GKS-U applicants. Still, you need to make it as detail as possible, regardless of whether you’ll change it someday in the future or whether it seems unattainable for now. Dream big! If you plan on going directly to a graduate school, briefly explain what motivates you to continue your study and what field of study you’re going for. For GKS-G applicants, I guess their work for this part shouldn’t be too difficult as some are likely to already have a job and/or know where they’ll go after receiving the degree.

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I hope you find this post helpful and may as well be a reference for writing your study plan. Best of luck with your GKS application and your study in Korea.

[roostercrowedatmidnight]

TV Show Soundtracks, and Why Buffy’s is So Great

There are a lot of ways in which Buffy the Vampire Slayer is an incredibly intelligent and well-crafted show, so much so that there are tiny details in the costumes, the acting, the set, etc. that you only notice after your fourth or fifth rewatch. One of the places where you can see how much care went into the production is the soundtrack. Buffy had a lot of different composers, some of which would compose the soundtrack for a few of the episodes and some of which were the primary composer for entire seasons. Some of the most prominent composers include Christophe Beck, who was one of the main composers for season 2, the sole composer for seasons 3 and 4, and composer for one episode in season 5 and one in season 6; Thomas Wanker, who was the main composer for seasons 5 and 6; and Robert Duncan, who was one of the main composers for season 7 (a complete list of Buffy composers can be found here). I’m mostly interested in these three composers because they wrote a great deal of the music overall, and their music tracks are most important in terms of what I hope to convey here, which is that one of the best things about the Buffy orchestral score is how beautiful it sounds and how smartly it is utilized. To convey my point, I will explore the use of music in the show, especially in the season 5 finale, ‘The Gift.’

WARNING: gonna be lots of Buffy spoilers. Mostly just up to the season 5 finale, but possibly smaller spoilers for seasons 6 and 7 as well.

A TV show doesn’t need a fantastic soundtrack to be good — many shows have a more minimalistic, atmospheric score which serves its purpose. A lot of shows also use contemporary pop songs instead of an orchestral soundtrack (which Buffy also does). However, I think having a good orchestral soundtrack elevates a show to an even higher level, and can add layers of emotional complexity that would otherwise have been absent. To achieve this greater emotional depth, I argue that there are two main criteria a score must have: music that is enjoyable to listen to, and music that is intelligently employed.

It’s difficult to define what ‘enjoyable’ music is. Any song is going to reach some people and not others. However, some are definitely more likely to create a response in people. It is important for composers to make soundtracks that create an emotional reaction in the viewer. Some composers do this very subtly, and others more saliently. There is no definitive way to determine if music is good or not — that is completely up to the individual. However, I’d argue that there are some composers who are better at creating a consistent emotional reaction in viewers. (If you’re interested, a few composers I love include Ludovico Einaudi, Murray Gold, my man Christophe Beck, Rachel Portman, Thomas Newman, and Joe Hisaishi. I would definitely recommend checking their stuff out if you’re into soundtracks.)

The second criterion for a good TV score, which I will be discussing in more detail, is that it is intelligently employed. What I mean by intelligently employed is that the music is thoughtfully applied to the story. This ultimately ties back to emotional reaction as well -- if the people behind the scenes are smart in where they put the tracks, they’ll create a stronger reaction in the viewer. Soundtrack is best employed when certain tracks, or leitmotifs, are used for specific characters, ideas, or plot threads, without being over- or underapplied. If you just slap the same track over every single emotional scene in a show, or add a random new track when you could have reused one that relates back to the character/theme in the scene, you’ll be missing out on a chance to create a response in the viewers.

Before I continue, I just want to quickly clarify that a leitmotif is essentially a small chunk of music that is associated with a specific character, relationship, setting, or idea. Basically, it’s a theme, and is tied exclusively to a certain element in the story. For this essay, I will be using leitmotif sometimes to refer to an entire track that is tied to a story element, and sometimes to refer to a shorter phrase of music, which may sometimes be contained in larger tracks. That’s not super important, though. Basically, leitmotif = theme for a specific thing.

When a leitmotif is given to a specific story element, such as a character, then using the leitmotif in scenes that are significant to that character gives the viewer a sense of familiarity and nostalgia. This is especially great if the character has been gone for a while and has just returned, or if they have died and the leitmotif is used while other characters are remembering them. Leitmotifs can be used to draw subtle parallels to earlier episodes or certain story arcs, and if the viewer is paying attention then they will be able to understand the show in a deeper way.

Some shows have great music but a poor application of it. One example of this is BBC’s Merlin. For the record, I am not dragging the composers here, because they did a beautiful job and created some great music for the show (if you want to check out the soundtrack, a few tracks I love are ‘The Burial’/’Merlin Buries Lancelot’ by Michal Pavlíček, ‘Merlin Lost’ by Rob Lane, ‘Farewell to Gwen’ by Rohan Stevenson, and any of the suites from the finales). I don’t know who actually makes the decisions about which tracks to put where in a show. It probably differs from show to show, depending on how involved the composers are. Budget probably also plays a role, with some shows being forced to reuse music if they can’t afford a full score for every single season. With all this in mind, Merlin has a lovely soundtrack, but hardly any thought went into its application. Songs are reused constantly, to the point where they have no special attachment to specific story elements, and therefore carry no emotional meaning. You won’t gain very much insight into the text when you hear them, and they appear so often that you lose the emotional reaction you once had to them. Simply put, the Merlin soundtrack is not intelligently employed.

There are a lot of shows with great soundtracks that follow these criteria of emotional reaction and intelligent employment. A few that I know of include Once Upon a Time (composer Mark Isham), Sherlock (composers David Arnold and Michael Price), and Doctor Who (composer Murray Gold from s1-10, and Segun Akinola from s11-present). I especially love Murray Gold’s work in Doctor Who — he created a leitmotif for every single Doctor, practically every companion, and even for some of the major villains, and the music would sometimes even be used to foreshadow the return of a character. I could write several dozen essays about the thought that went into Murray Gold’s composition, though that obviously isn’t the point of this particular piece.

Now onto Buffy. Buffy has such a wonderful soundtrack because the music is enjoyable and emotionally evocative (in my opinion), and it is very smartly employed. The show has certain tracks it reuses which hold significant meaning, and that are used throughout an entire season, or several seasons. Some of these include the Angel/Buffy theme (plus an Angel/Buffy breakup theme used towards the end of season 3), the Buffy/Riley theme, the Spike/Buffy theme, the Giles/Ms Calendar theme, the Tara/Willow theme, and doubtless many others that I haven’t noticed yet. As you can see, the Buffy composers are big on relationship leitmotifs which often span multiple seasons. There are leitmotifs for recurring ideas as well, like Joyce’s illness in season 5. All of these are used over many episodes. They create an emotional reaction in the viewer because they carry a sense of familiarity, tie plot arcs together, and give you nostalgic feelings towards character relationships.

Other tracks in Buffy are limited to a single episode or a single scene, instead of being reused frequently. Because of this, they pack a lot of emotion and make the scene or episode even more memorable. Think the score for ‘Hush’; ‘Restless’; the track ‘Slayer’s Elegy,’ which plays during the big final fight scene in ‘The Wish’; or the track ‘Spellbound,’ which plays during the Faith/Riley-Willow/Tara sex/magic parallel scene in ‘Who Are You’ (by the way, all of these episode scores were composed by Christophe Beck). The track ‘Spellbound’ is actually sort of an extended version of the Willow/Tara leitmotif. 'Spellbound' only plays in one scene, and it’s my favourite track in the entire show. By using certain tracks sparingly, instead of overapplying them, the composers can create a memorable musical experience out of a single scene or episode.

Some tracks get reused across episodes, but only once or twice, instead of many times. They may be attached to a very particular setting or idea. Reusing this kind of track in a later episode draws you directly back to the previous time it was used, creating a sense of familiarity and reminding you that you have encountered this sort of thing before. For example, there is a track called ‘Little Miss Muffet’ by Christophe Beck, which appears in the dream sequence shared by Faith and Buffy in the season 3 finale, ‘Graduation Day Part 2.’ This track does not appear again until part way through season 4, when a version of it plays in the episode ‘This Year’s Girl.’ It appears during the opening scene of the episode when Faith and Buffy are sharing another dream together, establishing it as the leitmotif for Faith/Buffy dream sequences.

Even when you aren’t consciously aware of the significance of every leitmotif in Buffy, they still create subtle emotional reactions in you which help you engage with the story better.

To wrap up my point, I want to offer an example of a fantastic track in Buffy and how it is used to draw viewers to a specific moment and create an intense emotional reaction. One of the absolute best episodes of Buffy is the season 5 finale, ‘The Gift.’ One of the many great things about it is the soundtrack, done by composer Christophe Beck (who also composes the orchestral score for Frozen, Frozen 2, Bring It On, WandaVision, and Ant-Man). Christophe Beck came back to the show to compose for this episode, and the most important track he created was ‘Sacrifice.’ From what I’ve observed, there are only three instances in which this leitmotif is used: twice in ‘The Gift,’ including Buffy’s pivotal final scene, and once in ‘Bargaining Part 2’ from season 6. The most important time that ‘Sacrifice’ is used is obviously when Buffy is sacrificing her life for Dawn’s at the end of ‘The Gift’; that’s why the track is called what it is. The track is used earlier on in ‘The Gift’ when Buffy and Giles are talking as they prepare for the final battle, and Buffy expresses her exhaustion with life and her vow that if Dawn dies she will stop being the Slayer. The use of ‘Sacrifice’ here is to foreshadow what’s to come. The longing for rest Buffy feels, and her wish to stop being the Slayer, will both be fulfilled when she dies at the end of the episode. The track is used in this scene to hint at what’s to come for viewers. The track is repeated in the second part of the season 6 opener, ‘Bargaining Part 2,’ when Buffy is standing at the top of the tower shortly after being brought back to life. This entire scene is a very deliberate callback for viewers as well as for Buffy: she is standing right where she was when she died, flashback clips play of her final moments, and Buffy repeats her own words to Dawn from ‘The Gift.’ Using the track ‘Sacrifice’ in this scene helps make the callback even more obvious. The song is able to elicit an extreme emotional memory for the audience, which the familiar setting and flashback clips may not have been able to create on their own. It reminds you not just of what happened in the season 5 finale, but of how you felt.

Of course, this foreshadowing and flashback use of ‘Sacrifice’ would not be as emotionally effective if Buffy’s last scene from ‘The Gift’ wasn’t such a fantastic scene, the song so skillfully employed, and the song itself so beautiful. ‘Sacrifice’ is one of my favourite tracks in Buffy. I love playing it on the piano. I love listening to it. When it plays at the end of ‘The Gift,’ it makes me almost cry. It’s saved for one of the most significant scenes in the entire series. The emotions are so elevated because soon after ‘Sacrifice’ starts playing, the rest of the audio is stripped away. All you can hear is Christophe Beck’s music and Buffy’s voice as she says her final words to Dawn, overlaid with silent shots of Buffy’s body, her heartbroken friends, and finally her gravestone.

In summary, I think the Buffy soundtrack is especially strong for a TV show, since it not only features breathtaking music but carefully applies that music to create the best emotional response from the viewers. TV shows don’t require a fantastic soundtrack to be successful, but I definitely think that the strength of the soundtrack makes Buffy infinitely better than what it would have been without it. The orchestral soundtrack for Buffy sadly isn’t available on Spotify or Apple Music at this time (though the soundtrack for the musical episode is). However, if you like instrumental scores, the official Buffy soundtrack can be found in various places on YouTube, and there are also many people who upload unofficial tracks (including here and here). Either way, I would definitely recommend checking out the music, or at least paying closer attention to it next time you watch Buffy. The creators clearly put a great deal of thought into it, and once you start recognizing the leitmotifs of the show, it reveals a whole hidden layer of storytelling.

[noladyme]

Skip To My Lou, My Darling - Chapter 3, Too Perfect II

The road so far…

Seeing Dean again wasn’t the warm reunion Lulu had imagined. Standoffish and cold, the eldest Winchester brother seems to want her anywhere else but near him. Is he trying to protect her? Or himself…

Tag list (Let me know of you want to be added) @edonaspanca​ @wonderlandfandomkingdom​

II

7 years ago

Slow night at the diner again. Tips aren’t going to be great; but I need the hours. “Order up for 13!”, Ricky calls from the hatch. I go over to grab the plates. Bacon and pie. I chuckle, and walk over to table 13 with the order.

“You know, 13 is supposed to be an unlucky number, John”, I smile. “You shouldn’t pick the same table every time you come in”. A pair of caramel eyes meet mine. “I got a rabbit’s foot stashed away. I have all the luck I need”, he smiles. “Besides, if I don’t sit here, how can I be sure I’ll get my favorite waitress?”. I give the man my brightest smile, and place the servings of food in front of him; and go to clean down the counter.

“Oh, Lou?”, John calls. “You still haven’t…?”. “Heard of any crop failures or more cattle mutilations?”, I laugh softly. “Sorry, no. Not since last time you dropped by, what… two months ago?”. “Yeah…”, he mutters. “Just needed to check”. “You ask some weird questions for a Wildlife Service Agent. Do cows count as wildlife?”. He clears his throat. “They’re… free-range”. I raise my brows. “Ok; well, enjoy your meal”.

I get back to serving a few other patrons; dropping by table 13 to top up John’s coffee once in a while. He seems enraptured in his paperwork; but always smiles brightly and thanks me. At closing time I take off my apron, and walk over to his table one last time. “I’m locking up in a minute”, I say. John is looking out the window; narrowing his eyes at something. “I think… could I stick around for a few minutes? I just need to finish something up”. I chew my lip. “I-i… don’t know. I’m not supposed to…”. He grabs my hand, and looks at me pleadingly. “Please, Lulu? I’ll throw in another 20”. I laugh softly. “You don’t have to pay me… I’ll just go work on proofreading my application essay by the counter”.

John grins at me. “You’re finally doing it!”, he says. “I’m proud of you”. “Thanks”, I blush. “It’s about time”. He nods. “This last year, I’ve come through here – what – six or seven times?”. I look down, stifling a smile. “Eight”, I whisper. He raises his brows. “Are you keeping track of me, sweetheart?”. “You leave good tips”, I chuckle embarrassedly. He winks at me. “Sure it’s not my charming personality?”. I shrug. “That might have something to do with it”, I giggle.

He sighs deeply. “If only I was 20 years younger… I should introduce you to my son”, he says. “Is he as cute as his dad?”, I ask. John laughs his warm deep laugh. “He’s… Let’s just say the ladies love him”. He seems to ponder over something. “Actually, you should probably steer clear of him”, he chuckles. I wink at him, and grabs his plates. “I’ll let you get to it”, I say, and walk back behind the counter.

I sit over my essay for about 20 minutes, before the bell at the front door rings. “We’re closed!”, I call out; looking up. A menacing looking man is standing in front of me. “The money…”, he grunts, and points a revolver at me. I raise my hands in the air. “Please… I don’t have any money here. The chef already went to the bank…”. “Your tips. Hand them over”, he snarls. I have about 50 dollars in my pocket; but I need every cent for my savings.

My breath hitches, and I look out the corner of my eye, towards table 13. John is gone. I’m alone.

“I said, hand them over!”, the man shouts. “Now!”. He begins thrusting the gun towards me. “Ok… ok”, I croak, and begin sliding my hand into my pocket.

Suddenly, someone jumps out from the shadows; knocking the man onto the floor. Within seconds, the man is in a headlock; struggling against Johns grasp. “Lulu”, John growls. “In the back of my waistband. There’s a gun. Take it!”. Rattled, I run around the counter, and lift Johns jacket to reveal the weapon in question. “What am I supposed to do with it?”, I whimper. “Point it at him, and if he moves; shoot!”, John says.

I’m half way hyperventilating – panicking. “I don’t know how to shoot. I hate guns!”. John looks over his shoulder at me. “Pull the hammer, press the trigger”, he says. “Isn’t there a safety thingy on it?”, I croak. “Waste of time”, John scoffs. “Just do it”. I pull the hammer, and aim it at the man on the floor. He begins squirming in Johns grasp. “Don’t move, you son of a bitch”, John snarls. He looks at me again.

A bird taking flight outside startles me, and I pull the trigger of the gun – hitting the floor a few feet away from the robber’s head. He instantly stops moving. John looks at me again. “See? Now you know how to shoot”, he grins. “Keep aiming. I’ll get something to tie him up, and call the cops”.

The man on the floor begins whimpering. “No; please, man!”, he sobs. “I was just trying to… I just needed some cash to get out of town”. John sighs; and then gets up; raising the man to his feet in front of him. He grabs his collar, and looks at him with a rage I’ve never seen in any man before. He looks dangerous. “You get out of here. Go far away”, he growls; his eyes aflame. “If you even set foot in this state again; I will find you – and I will rip your lungs out with my bare hands. Is that understood?”. “Uh huh!”, the man nods fervently. “Apologize to the lady!”. The robber looks at me. “I’m sorry, miss!”, he says. John lets the man go, and he runs out of the diner.

Once we’re alone, John takes the gun from my shaking hands. “He’s been staking out this place for about an hour. Waiting until he thought you were alone”. “Oh…”, I croak. I swallow hard. “Thank you”. He strokes my cheek. “You’re welcome, sweetheart”, he smiles. “Is your essay finished?”. His change of topic startles me. “Uhm… yeah. It’s just over here”, I whisper.

John walks over, and picks up the handwritten text, and quickly glances over it. “Erszebet Bathory – The Blood Countess of Csejte”, he grins. “Interesting subject”. I shrug. “I don’t know, it was… I just shot at a man”, I say. John nods. “Yes you did. And you did a half way decent job of it as well. Just try to hit, next time”.

He stuffs my essay into his pocket. “Kansas State, right?”, he says. “John, I need that…”, I say. He shakes his head. “I’ll send it for you”. “It’s not finished…”. John sighs and shakes his head. “For a year I’ve seen you bent over this thing ever chance you had. It’s finished”, he smiles. “You’re a smart young woman, and you’ll get in”. I let out a disbelieving gasp. “There’s the admission fee…”. He grins again. “I said, I got it… should have done the same for my son”.

He pats my shoulder, and goes to leave. “John!”, I call after him. He turns around, and I run over, and hug him. “Thank you”, I say, and get on my toes – kissing his cheek. “Your kids are lucky to have you”. He furrows his brow. “Goodbye, Lulu”.

He leaves the diner; and I watch him get in his truck, and drive away.

---

Dean was stood leaning against the impala, which was now parked a way down the small road leading towards the house. “I thought you’d be halfway to the nearest dive by now”, I muttered. “Should be…”, he grunted. “But you’ll just run off with Sam and Bobby, and start hunting monsters; if I don’t stay”. “Would that be so bad?”, I whispered. “You’re not a hunter, Lou”, he said earnestly. “I don’t want you…”. “Getting hurt”, I said. He nodded.

I looked across the masses of old cars strewn across the place. The impala stood parked near the house. Dean cleared his throat. “We haven’t been able to… talk, properly”. “Since I flipped you on your ass?”, I muttered. “Hell, ever since I got here, you’ve been acting like a disgruntled babysitter… I didn’t ask to be brought here, you know”. “I know”, he admitted. “It’s like I said. It’s not a good time”. “Well, get over it”, I said. “Apparently, I’m in grave danger, and need protection. Isn’t that your gig? Saving my ass?”. He chuckled. “Seems you’re pretty capable of that yourself”, he said, and stretched his back again. I stifled a smile. “I didn’t know you could do that”. “You didn’t stick around long. There’s a lot about me you don’t know”.

We stood in silence for a moment.

“So… Been dancing on any bars or tables lately?”, he suddenly asked. “Every chance I get”, I said. He nodded. “Alone?”. I let out a soft chuckle. “Are you asking if I’m seeing anyone?”. He didn’t respond. “No, Dean… We didn’t exactly agree to be exclusive; but I haven’t wanted to…”. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place to ask”. “Isn’t it?”, I croaked.

He ran a hand over his face and stepped further away from me. “I want it to be… God, I want…”. He looked at me. “The way I feel about you; that hasn’t changed. But the circumstances are completely different”. “How so?”, I whispered. “Me and Sam… we found out some things lately”, he said. “Some pretty earthshattering and life altering things… It’s why you shouldn’t be here… around me”. I scoffed. “What? You’re not just trying to stop the devil – you’re the living embodiment of him?”. Dean sighed. “No. that would be Sam”, he grunted. My eyes widened. “I… what?”.

Dean cleared his throat and looked at me meaningfully. “Turns out Sam and I are the human vessels of Lucifer and Michael. The archangels”. “You’re an angel?”, I gasped. “No! Hell, no”, Dean said. “But I’m Michael’s preferred meat suit. If I say yes”. “Are you going to?”, I asked. He shook his head fervently. “Absolutely not. That’s not happening. Ever”.

I took a deep breath, and blew out my nose. “Is that why you haven’t reached out? Are you afraid I’ll run away screaming?”. “No, I’m afraid you’ll get hurt, Lou!”, he growled. “Those dicks were coming for you. They’re were gonna try to bargain your life, for my yes”. I shook my head. “You should have told me”. “You were safer thinking I didn’t care”. I frowned. “But you sent Cass”, I whispered. “He wasn’t supposed to make himself known. He didn’t tell me, the winged jerk”.

“He came by so many times… even popped up in the shower with me once”, I said. “He what?”, Dean snarled. I nodded. “Yeah… let’s just say that if he felt any real pain; he’d still be limping from the blow I delivered to his balls”. Dean couldn’t hide his smile.

I sighed, and shook my head. “Dammit, Dean… Don’t you get it?”, I said. “I’m already in this… And I want to be”. “Why?”, he frowned. “Isn’t it obvious?”, I whispered. He shook his head. “No”, he muttered. “It’s not. What do you want with me? Except for the great sex, I’m not exactly a catch”.

He stepped towards me again. “You deserve a life, that’s not… this”. He gestured generally around him. “Last week Sam had to fix my dislocated shoulder, after a friggin’ demon threw me against a wall. After that, I ganked a ghost, while nursing a hangover from the half a bottle of scotch I drank, to mask the pain from a bullet grazing my leg… I’m a mess, Lou. Not boyfriend material”. “Huh…”, I said. “That sounds… bad”.

I chewed my lip. “Do you know what I was doing last week?”, I asked. He didn’t respond. “I was at my friends’ wedding. Raul and Chad got married”. I smiled. “It was beautiful. They had these amazing flower arrangements, an ice sculpture, a live band… People danced and celebrated; and had an amazing time”. I sighed. “And I was miserable. Spent the whole ordeal worried, because I didn’t know where in the world you were, or if you were even alive. I just wanted you there… I mean, you would have hated it; they only played pop-music, but… I wanted to see you, just for a second; to know you were ok – and that you still…”.

“I do…”, he muttered. “Lou…”. I tilted my head in exasperation. “I know my hurt feelings don’t come before saving the world. I get it”, I said. “But the thought of you not caring… That’s like being cut into and bled dry… Trust me, I know!”. His eyes grew sad. “I don’t want that… I’m sorry”. He took a hesitant step towards me. “I just want you to have the kind of life you deserve… I did miss you”, he muttered. “What did you miss?”, I whispered. He chuckled softly, and licked his lower lip. “Well, your smart-ass mouth, comes to mind…”. “Really?”, I smiled. “Yeah”, he shrugged. “It keeps me on my toes”. “Good to know”, I grinned.

I went to walk back towards the car; but Dean stopped me – putting a hand on my shoulder. I turned to face him again. He looked as if he was about to say something, but the words didn’t come out. He scrunched his brow, then got a determined expression his face. “Screw it…”, he growled; and pulled me towards him – planting his lips on mine. My knees instantly went weak from the melding of our lips. It was as if he was almost hungry for me – tugging at my lower lip, and searching for entry to my mouth with his tongue. I opened my lips to allow him access; and put my hand on the back of his head, as he snaked his arm around me, and held me close.

I pulled back – and with a look towards the house; which seemed far enough away to give us privacy – I opened the door to the back seat of the car. “We can go inside… We don’t have to…”, Dean began. “Sex in this car has been on my bucket list since I first saw it”, I grinned. Dean looked like he just won the lottery, and moved to let me get inside. He got in after me, and shrugged off his jacket – then met me in a passionate kiss.

Dean put his warm hand against my cheek, making me tilt my head, so he had better access to my mouth. As our kiss grew more heated, I put my hand under his arm, and onto his back; pulling him towards me, so he was laying over me. He began tugging at the hem of my tank. “Dean”, I panted. “Mhmm?”, he breathed as his lips travelled towards my neck; suckling at a spot just below my ear, that sent a pulse of warmth straight to my core. “Getting completely naked might not be the best idea…”, I said. “I think it’s a great idea”, he breathed, and tugged at my earlobe with his lips – while his hand travelled upwards under my tank, finding my breast over my bra. “I think… oh, wow. That feels amazing…”. Dean began pulling at my cardigan with his other hand. “No, Dean, stop!”, I chuckled. “It’s about 50 degrees out here. I’ll freeze”. He smirked at me. “I’ll keep you warm…”. He put his thigh between my legs, and grinded against my already pulsating core. I whimpered as the friction it caused sent waves of pleasure through my body. “Just…”, I croaked. “Pants… Just the pants, then”. Dean almost growled, and hooked his fingers into my waist band – pulling my leggings downwards – along with my panties; allowing me to keep them on, on one leg.

He looked down at my folds, and let out a pleased sigh. “This is probably my favorite place in the world…”, he smirked. “Where?”, I laughed. “The backseat of your car?”. “No”, he said. “Here…”. He slid two fingers inside me slowly – letting me feel the luscious sensation of his knuckles graze my walls. I whimpered, and threw my head back in pleasure.

I wanted to feel him, and opened his belt and the buttons of his jeans – giving me access to the hardness beyond the fabric. With both hands, I pushed at the waistband of his pants and boxers; finally freeing his erection from its confines. I took him in my hand, and followed his rhythm in my warmth; using it on his penis. I kissed his pleased smile, and our tongues met again – this time with more fervor.

My arm was being squashed by the tight confines of the otherwise quite large back seat. “This would be easier if we sat up”, Dean breathed – noticing how I was struggling. I nodded; and in a swift move, he sat up, and pulled me with him – having me straddle his lap. He slid his fingers back inside me, and I grabbed his hardness again.

I began riding his fingers, and he used the palm of his hand to create friction against my nub. As I rode, I held his member against myself stroking him up and down as I moved. The way we were sitting, and the light we still had from the setting sun; made us able to look at each other as we worked together to bring each other pleasure.

Dean’s hand found my breast under my top, and pulled the cup of my bra down; so that he could tug at my nipple. I grinded against his hand, and whimpered – making Dean smile softly at me. “God, you’re perfect”, he said. I leaned towards him, and suckled at his lip; trying to lead his penis towards my opening with my hand. “Not yet”, he breathed. “Let me… I want you to come like this”. “Why?”, I whimpered in desperation. “Feels… tighter. After”, he smirked.

He pressed harder at my front wall; and I gasped from a sudden sensation of electricity moving from my warmth and through my limbs. “Please…”, I croaked; putting my face in the crook of his neck. He kissed the spot of bare skin just next to the strap of my tank-top. “Let go, baby”, he whispered. His words sent me over the edge; and with a series of breathy moans, his fingers brought me to my climax.

Dean removed his fingers, and my hand from his member. With a firm grab on my bottom with one hand, he used the other to place himself at my entrance; then used both his hands to push my hips down – until he was fully sheathed in me.

I looked at him with dazed eyes, as he parted his lips and let out a gasp. I put my hands on Dean’s shoulders, and began moving up and down on him. The feeling of him inside me again was familiar and yet brand new. As if we were built for each other, but were both surprised about that fact.

The furrow between Deans brows as he watched me in awe, made me smile. I kissed it; making him furrow it even deeper in confusion. “What was that for?”, he breathed. “You’re cute”, I whispered. His expression darkened. “Cute?”, he said; his voice low – almost menacing. I bit my lip, and nodded. “I’ll show you cute…”, he said.

He lifted me slightly, and began thrusting into me hard; making me throw my head back and whimper in delight. “Tell me how cute I am…”, he grunted. “Adorable”, I jeered. He pounded into me hard. “A-absolutely precious”, I smiled. He went harder. “Try again…”, he growled; his eyes aflame – with just a hint of mischief. “Endearing, even”, I gasped.

Dean pushed at my shoulders, so that I leant my back against the front seat backrest. It made me lift my hips; and Dean hammered into me with such force I began to hear the mufflers squeal. “Don’t break the car!”, I croaked. Deans thumb found my bundle of nerves, the arching of my back gave him access to. I felt my walls beginning to clench around him; and I came in violent shocks around him. He put his hand behind my neck, and pulled me close to his chest; still thrusting – and using my orgasm to reach his own. Soon after; he let out an almost desperate moan, and came undone inside me.

Dean held me in his arms for a moment; my own arms slack around his neck. He kissed and suckled at my neck; stroking my hair. I shivered from the chilly air in the car; though we had managed to steam up the windows quite well. “You’re right”, Dean muttered. “It’s cold out here. Let’s get inside, before you freeze your cute ass off”. He reached for some paper towels in a box on the floor; and I lifted myself off him – letting him wipe us both off, with a smug smile.

“What?”, I chuckled, as I put my clothes back in order. “You don’t wanna know…”, he grinned. “No, really”, I said. “Tell me”. He sighed, and tucked himself back into his boxers, and closed his jeans. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had sex in this car”, he said. “I figured”, I grunted with a crooked smile. He raised a brow at me. “But it’s probably the first time where I don’t wanna just drive the girl home, and ditch her”. I smiled sweetly at him. “Aww… I’m flattered”, I said. “I guess that makes me special”.

He grabbed the back of my neck, and pulled me in for a tender kiss. “You are”, he breathed.

We got out of the impala, and walked back towards the house; not holding hands, or putting our arms around each other. We didn’t need to. The looks we sent each other spoke more than actions. Back inside, Sam and Bobby where going over an old journal. Dean stepped over to join them. “Did you two finish fighting?”, Bobby asked. “Probably never will”, Dean said quietly, and sent me a look; raising the corner of his mouth. “Dad write anything about mylings?”. “Haven’t found anything yet”, Sam said.

I went over to the desk to join them, and looked down in the journal. An old picture was poking out from the side of it, and I picked it up; looking at it. The caramel-eyed man smiling back at me from the picture made my jaw drop.

“Why do you have a picture of John?”, I asked. The three men looked at me in surprise. “You knew our dad?”, Sam breathed. I smiled in remembrance. “He was my best tipper, back when I waited tables; saving up for college”. Dean looked flabbergasted. “You must have seen him more than once, if you remember him!”, he said. I chewed at my bottom lip. “He… came in a couple of times. He was a flirt!”, I grinned. Dean groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t… not my old man!”. He looked like he was about to throw up. I laughed. “No… I mean I wasn’t opposed to the idea of it. Your dad was hot, in an older guy kind of way”. Dean heaved. “I’m gonna be sick…”.

“He was the one that taught me how to shoot… sort of. We took down a robber together”, I said. “Really?”, Sam smiled. I nodded, and recounted to them my first meeting with John Winchester. “He came in quite a few times after that. Paid my college application fee – even sent my essay for me”, I smiled. “I guess now I know why he liked the subject – being a hunter, and all”.

Sam shook his head, and sat down in a chair. “I can’t believe you met our dad… and he put you through college”, he said; looking angry for a moment. “No, Sam, he didn’t pay my tuition…”, I smiled. “He talked about you guys… didn’t give your names or anything, but he’d say how proud of you he was. Seemed like he missed you. Both of you…”. I looked into Sam’s pained eyes.

Dean looked at me in suspense. “What did he say?”, he asked. “That he lost his wife… that he had two kids, both boys. One was a straight A student, who’d gotten into Stanford. That was a big deal to him, Sam”. Sam scoffed. “Yeah? Could have fooled me…”, he muttered. “I think he was trying to make amends in some way, by helping me”, I said. “I’m sorry if that hurts you”. Sam shook his head. “No, it’s fine… It’s just a sore spot still”. He smiled slightly.

Dean swallowed hard. “Did he talk about me?”, he asked. “Said you were a ladies man, and that I should stay clear if I ever met you”, I smirked. Dean looked embarrassed. “And he told me what a great big brother you were”. Sam and Dean looked at each other for a second, before both their eyes dropped to the floor.

“How come he told you so much?”, Bobby asked. “He seemed lonely… sad, at times”, I said. “I guess he just liked talking to me. Called me Lou”, I said quietly; and looked at Dean. His lips twitched. “He saved my life…”, I whispered.  “That was dad…”, Sam smiled.

“When was the last time you saw him?”. “After the robber, he didn’t come back”, I replied. “But I got a graduation present of 500 dollars, with a note”. “What did it say?”, Dean asked. I smiled in remembrance. “Thanks for the extra cream. – J”, I said. He frowned. “What was that supposed to mean”. I shrugged. “Cherry pie”, I smiled. Sam and Dean’s faces both lit up. “Extra cream. Always get extra cream with the pie”, Dean said. “And let me guess, bacon; right?”. “Every time”, I said.

Sam looked at me questioningly. “When did you graduate?”, he asked. “About 3 years ago…”, I said. “Why?”. “That was just before…”, Dean muttered I bit my lips. “What happened to him?”, I croaked. “He sacrificed himself for me”, Dean muttered. “I died… almost”.

My eyes welled up. “Winchesters…”, I muttered. “Always throwing yourselves in the line of fire”. “Yeah…”, Sam said. “Thanks… for being his friend”. “I always thought I’d see him again someday…”, I sniveled. Dean reached for my hand, and squeezed it. “I could have been your step mom, if I’d played my cards right!” He instantly let go of my hand again. “I need a drink”, he grunted; with a terrified look on his face.

We had a drink in John’s honor, and I dried my eyes. “Let’s get back to the case”.

---

I slept on the couch again; not wanting to leave the action. I was used to being awake during the night, but the commotion of the day had tuckered me out. When I woke it was only because my head was on a document Sam needed for cross referencing. He lifted my head gently, took the papers, and set down a mug of coffee in front of me on the coffee table. “My hero”, I croaked. I looked around the room. “Where are they?”. “Bobby’s doing physical therapy in his bedroom”. “He does that?”, I asked. “Don’t tell him I told you”, Sam chuckled.

“Dean?”, I said quietly. “By the car. Your story about dad kind of got to him”, he muttered. “Oh”, I whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”. Sam grabbed my hand. “No… What you told us… That means the world to the both of us… Thank you”. His puppy dog eyes were to cute to ignore. I leaned in, and gave him a hug; where he sat crouched in front of me. “I think I’m gonna go talk to him”, I said. Sam nodded. I grabbed my mug, and went to leave the house.

It was early morning, I noticed, when I stepped outside. The sky was pink and orange; making the scrap yard seem almost magical.

The impala was no longer parked near the house. Tracks in the mud let me know Dean had moved it a way down between some piles of old dishwashers. I followed the trail, and found him leaning against his car; staring up at the sky. “Always figured you’d be more of a stargazer than cloudwatcher”, I smiled. He let out a soft laugh. “Just needed some air”, he muttered. “Thank you… for telling us about my dad”. I smiled. “He was a good guy… I’m sorry he’s gone”.

Dean looked out the corner of his eye at me. I handed him my mug. “Are we good?”, I asked; as he took a sip, handing it back to me afterwards. He licked his lip, and took a deep breath. “Last night… that was amazing”, he smiled – but there was a hint of standoffishness in his voice. “But…?”, I breathed. “I don’t this it’s a good idea for us to keep it up”. He looked up at the sky. “My dad was right. You should stay clear of me”.

I wanted the earth to swallow me. “This… us. Is it over?”, I asked with a raspy voice. Dean frowned – his forehead a map of emotions I couldn’t define. “Honestly, Lou… Maybe it should be”.

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Ok. If that’s what you want…”, I whispered. He shook his head. “It doesn’t have anything to do with what I want”, he said exasperatedly. “We’re fighting the end of the world here…”. “I thought it was just a myling”, I grunted. Dean sighed. “Bigger picture, Lulu… I’m trying to keep you alive”. “By ending it…”. I closed my eyes. He went over to stand in front of me; and I opened my eyes to meet his pained ones. “You and me; it may have started even before we thought”. “What do you mean?”, I asked. He shook his head. “Look, I’ve already been through two near fatal incidents with you guys. On top of that, there’s the whole you going to Hell, and coming back – and the fact that I have angels and demons out to get me… I don’t think there’s anything you can say that will surprise me by now”.

He cleared his throat. “You meeting our dad… It’s too much of a coincidence”. “It’s a small world…”, I muttered. “Not that small”, Dean grunted. “Our family – generations back – has been moving towards this point. Me and Sam. Michael and Lucifer”. A chill ran down my spine. “Like… fate?”, I asked. “Ever since Abel and Cain… Angels made sure we would be born; put our parents together”. “What does that have to do with me?”, I asked.

“You met our father, became his friend – hell, you even flirted with the man”. I smirked in remembrance. “Please stop. The thought is still creeping me out”. “Sorry”, I said, and stifled a smile. He swallowed hard, and looked green for a moment. “Years later, I meet you, and we develop this connection… have earthshattering sex”. I frowned. “Sweetheart, it’s earthshattering, admit it”, he smirked.

I took a deep breath. “You’re saying angels put us together?”, I asked. “Maybe… yes”, he said. “It just makes me think that this – whatever it is we have – it’s not real. It’s all in the hands of some winged deuches, with too much time on their hands”. “And that’s bad… how?”. “Free will? Real emotion? None of that matters to you?”. “Angel’s didn’t make me fall for you, Dean”, I said. “You did”.

He shook his head. “I wish I could believe that”, he croaked. “I really do. You’re… like made for me. Your personality, your interests, you’re into hunting now; hell, even your hot ass body…”. I blushed in glee, and simultaneously felt strangely exposed. “I’m not…”, I began. “To me, you are”, Dean said, brows raised in earnest. “That’s the problem. It’s too perfect… I don’t want you to want me because some jerk angel told you to… And I don’t want to want you, because of the same reason. You having come across my dad as well… It just screams angelic intervention”.

I looked into the car; the backseat – where hours before – we’d made love. Or was it love? “Maybe you’re right”, I whispered.

Suddenly, we had company. The trench coat wearing angel was looking at us intently. “Have you had intercourse yet?”, Castiel asked. “Cas! Seriously, dude!”, Dean groaned. “Good. Then we can get back to work”.

“I’m gonna go back inside”, I muttered, and left the two men. “Lou…”, Dean called after me. “I’ll be in the house”, I said, not looking back at him.

---

Bobby and Sam were filling shotgun shells with salt at the kitchen table. Sam looked up at me; and instantly narrowed his eyes. “You good?”, he asked. I nodded and faked a smile. “Uh huh…”, I said. “How are we with getting me back home?”. Bobby raised a brow at me. “You still have Heaven and Hell tracking you”, he said. I shrugged. “I don’t think that’s an issue anymore”, I said.

I went into the living room, and looked down at some of the papers strewn across the desk. Articles on crop failures and cow mutilations. I winced in remembrance of my conversations with Dean and Sam’s father. He’d been looking for demons all along, from the looks of it. I saw one about UFO-sightings; with handwritten notes in the margin. “Angels? Trickster?”. The word trickster was scratched out, and “Gabriel” was written underneath it.

A warm hand landed on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”, Sam asked. “It’s over”, I said. “You don’t have to worry about me”. “What happened?”, he said with a dark voice. I looked down. “Angels… it was never real”, I whispered. He sighed. “Is that what he thinks?”, he muttered. I nodded.

Sam shook his head in exasperation. “I love my brother, but he’s an idiot”, he said. “Doesn’t matter what put you in our path. You’re here now; and I for one am happy you are”. I smiled sadly. “Yeah?”, I said. Sam squeezed my shoulder. “Back when Dean went to Hell… I was a mess, and I needed a friend. You were that friend. You still are”. He kissed my forehead. “That’s not gonna change any time soon”.

I looked into his eyes, and saw John smiling back at me. “You remind me of him…”, I said. “Who?”, Sam asked. “Your dad. Too much heart for just one person”. He smiled, and looked down. “Thanks”.

Dean and Cass came back in the house. My now former lover met my eyes for a second, before looking down. “Cass has a lead on Death…”, he muttered. Sam looked at his brother coldly. “Dean…”, he began. “Not now, Sammy”, Dean said. “Please”. I grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s fine”, I smiled.

I walked over to the angel. “When can I go home?”, I asked, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “I can take you right away”, he said. “What?”, Dean frowned. “What about the celestial hitmen? And demons, for that matter?”. Castiel looked at his friend calmly. “Gone since yesterday afternoon… I contacted the right people. Lulu will be safe. But she should keep the sword”.

My jaw dropped. “Since… yesterday?”, Bobby said. “Oh, balls; Cass!”. “Yes”, Cass said. “We could have avoided…”. I wanted to say breaking my heart, but decided to halt myself. Dean clenched his jaw. “Dean needed you. You’ve done your part”.

I was ready to throttle the angel right there and then. “Take me home”, I rasped. “Now”. “I can take you”, Dean said. “No”, I said. “You have a ghost to get rid of; and Cass has wings. He might be able to get me back in time for me to salvage whatever job and life I have left there”. Dean tried for a hard expression, but failed. “I’m sorry, Lou”. “Goodbye, Dean”, I said.

I looked at Cass, and nodded.

---

I was standing in my apartment. Alone.

Looking around me, I saw that my things had been searched through – drawers were opened, and my books and CD’s where strewn across the floor. My front door was slightly ajar; and I stepped over to close it. I heard a fluttering of wind behind me; and once I turned back around, I saw the angel sword laying on my kitchen table. “Thanks, Cass”, I whispered into the air. He hadn’t stayed to chat – and I was grateful.

I leant back against the door – slid down to sit – and let my tears fall.

---

A few months later.

He wakes up from another nightmare. One where his brother – in fact both his brothers – fell into a hole in the ground. When it’s not the hell-pit, it’s the dream where the girl – the perfect girl – smiles at him, kisses his cheek; and then disappears – leaving a gaping hole in his heart.

Grabbing the still half full bottle of whiskey by the motel bed; he takes a sip – when his phone rings. After seeing the number – he picks up the call. “I’m still alive…”, he grunts. “Haven’t heard from you in three days, son… You promised you wouldn’t go dark on me”, his friend responds. “What have you been up to?”. He looks at the bottle in his hand. “Dancing on tables”, he mutters. “Getting any sleep?”, his friend asks. “Too much…”, he says. “I’m sorry, Dean… But you need to move on”. He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want to talk about it”. “Well, if you’re not gonna talk to me, find someone else. You’re a mess”. “Who?”, he croaks. There is a pause. “You know who…”, his friend says.

He stands up and runs a hand over his face.

“You know I can’t do that”, he breathes. “I can’t see her”. “She’s the only one…”. “I said, I can’t!”, he roars. He hears his friend sigh. “Now you listen here, boy!”, he snarls. “That girl made you happy! Sam is gone; but that don’t mean you’re alone! You can have a life, a good life; but you choose not to – because of some horse crap about angels… She is your salvation, son!”. He sighs. “I know…”. “Then, get of your ass, and go get her!”. His friend hangs up.

Many hours later he is in Denver; having driven through the night. He doesn’t even know if she’ll take him back. And he’s not convinced she should. He sits in his car outside her building, working up the nerve to go inside; when a man in too tight jeans, a leather jacket and a fedora walks out of the door; holding it open for a woman behind him. She’s wearing a summer dress; looking like she stepped right out of his dreams.

She takes the man’s hand, kisses his cheek; and smiles.

Dean starts his car; and drives away.

[goindownshipping]

You make me feel something like summertime

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker)

Rating: Teen (T)

Notes: I was thinking about my own beach vacation and my head was suddenly filled with thoughts of Starker meeting at the beach. The following fluff ensued. Thanks to @ohwereusingourmadeupnames for several nudges throughout this!

Words: 4.6k

Summary:

There was the older couple staying a few houses down that always walked by in the late afternoon, the family with three kids that passed by around noon, and then there was the Golden Boy, as Peter had started calling him in his head. He was Peter’s favorite. He strolled by in the mid-afternoon with a couple of older folks, who Peter assumed were his parents. Golden Boy had dark, curly hair, his upper body was tan from days in the sun, and his smile was more blinding than the sun’s reflection off the ocean. 

Or, Peter and Tony only have eyes for each other while they’re both on vacation with their families. A lovely summer romance follows.

Throughout his entire life, Peter couldn’t remember anything better than summer vacation. His childhood was filled with plenty of ups and downs, more downs if he was being honest, but summer vacation was always a highlight. Although he and May didn’t live a life of luxury, their annual summer trip was, without fail, the best week of the year.

Over the years, the trips to the family beach house contained more memories and traditions than Peter could possibly put into words. As a child, he lost his first tooth at the house, conquered his fear of jellyfish (mostly), and learned the hard way why he needed sunscreen on his ears. As he got older, the week at the beach provided much-needed relief from the stresses of summer jobs, college essays, and job applications. No matter what was going on in his world, the beach made everything better, it was truly his happy place, no matter how cheesy that sounded even to himself.

During college, the trips to the beach were more difficult. New jobs and less time off made the annual trip less frequent, but all the more special. A few years post-grad, Peter was settled into his job enough to take the time off for him and May to take their trip. It had been a couple of years since they’d gone, and Peter was itching for that feeling of home. As soon as the salty, humid air filled his lungs, Peter felt his entire being fill with relief. May had barely parked their rental car at the house when Peter practically ran down the walkway, eager to feel his toes in the sand and let the sounds of the ocean drown out the buzzing of work he’d left behind. 

May came up behind him, equally relieved to be at her family’s beach house. 

“Feels like we never left, huh?” she sighed.

Peter took a deep breath in, trying to soak in as much sea and sand as he could. “Best feeling in the world,” he agreed.

The next day passed in a blur of rolling out of bed late and heading straight for the beach - after he covered himself in sunscreen, thank you very much. He and May spent the day in comfortable quiet, sharing snippets of the books they read, pointing out cute dogs on the beach, and deciding which restaurant they wanted to visit that night. It was peaceful, comforting, and everything Peter needed from a vacation.

The following day, Peter started recognizing the faces of folks that passed their chairs on daily walks and shared kind smiles in acknowledgment. There was the older couple staying a few houses down that always walked by in the late afternoon, the family with three kids that passed by around noon, and then there was the Golden Boy, as Peter had started calling him in his head. He was Peter’s favorite. He strolled by in the mid-afternoon with a couple of older folks, who Peter assumed were his parents. Golden Boy had dark, curly hair, his upper body was tan from days in the sun, and his smile was more blinding than the sun’s reflection off the ocean. 

Peter attempted to be subtle when he walked by, but even his dark sunglasses couldn’t hide the way he stared when the other man passed by. After the first time he’d walked past, Peter was determined to find out where this beautiful human was staying. He immediately popped up to take his own beach walk, searching for the bright red and gold swim trunks he’d seen the man wearing. When his eyes found the very loud fabric, he blushed, finding Golden Boy’s eyes trained on him. They shared a small smile, neither man willing to take the leap to say hello. 

Tony looked up from his seat in the sand, struck by the curly-haired boy he’d seen on his walk a short while ago. Although he complained at his parents’ insistence that he walk with them, he was grateful he’d given in. The man he’d seen lounging under his umbrella absolutely took his breath away, and he was thrilled to see those long legs passing in front of him now. He smiled shyly, hoping his blush was hidden by the slight sunburn on his cheeks. His attention was quickly redirected by his mother calling from him from their walkway, forcing him to turn away. When he looked back, the other man was already headed back the way he came; Tony could only hope that meant he’d walked all this way just looking for him.

The following day, Tony and Peter took more beach walks than either of them had taken in their lives. Each time they passed each other they shared a smile, maybe a wave. At one point, Peter was taking a quick dip in the ocean, cooling off from the sweltering heat and humidity. As soon as his head popped up out of the water, his eye’s met Golden Boy’s. The other man appeared to stop in his tracks, just staring for a moment. Bravely, Peter threw him a wink before pushing off the sand and diving further into the water.

By late afternoon, they both started walking toward the other at the same time, unintentionally colliding mid-walk. They saw each other at a distance, slowly approaching each other in the sea of people around them. As they got closer, they both slowed, coming to a stop in front of each other. Peter looked down at the tide washing over their feet, not sure what to say to the person in front of him.

“In all the years I’ve been coming here, I’ve never decided to take a walk on my own,” Tony shared quietly. “I blame you for all the exercise I’ve done today”.

Peter let out a loud laugh, unable to stop the snort that accompanied it.

“That’s about the best thing I’ve ever been blamed for, so I’ll take it”. 

Peter smiled up at Golden Boy, unable to resist. He extended a hand between them, gripping tightly when the other man reciprocated the gesture.

“I’m Peter”.

“Nice to meet you Peter, I’m Tony”.

“Tony,” Peter repeated with a smile. “It’ll be nice to stop referring to you as Golden Boy in my head,” he admitted.

“I don’t know, I might prefer that,” Tony chuckled.

They dropped the hands between them, and Peter returned his gaze to the sand, unsure how to continue their conversation. Tony interrupted his thoughts before he could get too unsure of himself.

“Well, since we’re both walking, we could walk together?” Tony asked carefully.

Peter nodded, excited at the prospect of getting to talk to Tony a bit longer. 

The two men walked for nearly an hour, completely unaware of time passing or any obligations they had to their respective families. Peter learned that Tony had been visiting this same beach for years but usually came much later in the summer. Peter blushed when Tony noted it was a shame it took this long for them to cross paths. Peter talked about living in Boston and Tony lit up, excitedly sharing that he’d gone to MIT before moving to New York City. The two of them swapped favorite stories and traditions at the beach, embarrassing moments from college, and agreed that the working world was far more terrifying than they expected. 

At some point, they turned around and started walking back toward both of their houses. When they finally made it back to Peter’s house, they came to a stop. May had already headed up to the house, just Peter’s chair remained under the umbrella.

“Are you free at all tomorrow?” Peter asked before he could think too long about it.

“I have a very busy day of doing nothing on the beach,” Tony grinned.

“Can I steal you for a couple of hours in the afternoon?” Peter requested.

“Absolutely, Petey. I’ll meet you here at two o’clock?”

“That’s perfect, Tony”. 

Tony reached out to take one of Peter’s hands, squeezing tightly before turning and continuing down the beach toward his house. Peter quickly gathered the last of his belongings on the beach before turning toward their walkway. He took one glance in Tony’s direction, thrilled to see Tony looking back at him over his shoulder. They shared a quick smile before nodding and heading off.

When Peter opened the sliding glass door to the living room, he was met with May’s knowing gaze. He smiled, knowing she’d see right through it.

“So, I uh, I need the car tomorrow afternoon,” he explained.

“Is that so?” May asked with a smile. “Does this have to do with your sudden interest in beach walks? It’s romantic, don’t get me wrong, but not really your style,” she pressed.

Peter sighed, sitting down across from her. “His name is Tony. I don’t know May, there’s just something about him. He’s brilliant, makes me laugh, makes me feel,” he paused, “important, somehow. I know that sounds nuts, but, uh, yeah. I’m taking him mini-golfing tomorrow”.

May just nodded, happy to see Peter excited about someone. “Well, I expect a full report tomorrow night”.

With that, May left the living room, squeezing Peter’s shoulder on her way toward the kitchen. Peter was grateful for the easy relationship they’d always had. They were everything to each other for as long as Peter could remember and he would never take that for granted. 

The rest of the evening and the following morning were uneventful for both Peter and Tony. Both men went about their respective routines and family traditions, counting the minutes until their date. Tony’s parents had pressed him when he arrived home after the walk with Peter, mostly concerned about his absence from cocktail hour. He brushed them off, letting them know he’d be out for a few hours the following afternoon. His dad hadn’t thought twice about it, but Tony didn’t miss the small smile on his mother’s face, curious about her son’s happy demeanor.

On the beach the next day, Peter refrained from taking any walks down the beach, not wanting to appear too excited to see Tony. He knew they would have some time to themselves later, and that was more than enough to look forward too. Tony, apparently, got roped into another walk with his parents and smiled widely when he passed Peter in the middle of the day. May glanced up, watching the interaction between Peter and Tony, smiling to herself at the way Tony looked at her nephew.

A few minutes before two o’clock, Peter was showered and ready, dressed in casual shorts and a t-shirt. It was far too warm for anything nicer, even for a first date. He perched himself on the railing of their walkway, facing the direction of Tony’s house, eagerly awaiting the other man. When he saw Tony emerge from the crowds of people on the beach, it felt like his breath had been knocked out of his lungs. Tony was wearing slim-cut shorts that ended just above his knees, and a short sleeve button up that hugged his waist. His golden skin went on for miles, and Peter couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Before he knew it, Tony had ascended the few steps and came to a stop directly in front of Peter. 

“Tony, you look incredible,” Peter breathed.

“Thank you,” Tony blushed. “You look lovely as well, Peter”.

He smiled, hopping down from his perch on the railing. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Tony answered easily. “Although, you never did tell me what you have planned for us”.

“How do you feel about mini-golf?” Peter asked.

“You’re on Pete,” Tony beamed.

They made their way to the car, and Peter led Tony to the passenger door before opening it for him. Tony smiled a brilliant, heart-stopping smile, and Peter had to fight the urge to comment on it out loud. The drive to the mini-golf course was comfortable. The radio played quietly while Tony and Peter chatted about their music preferences, both sharing a love of live music and concerts. They laughed when they discovered they’d attended the same Shakey Graves show in Boston a couple of years prior.

Peter pulled into his favorite mini-golf course, the same one he and May used to come to every summer. He and Tony were surprised to find the course mostly empty, pleased to have the place almost to themselves. Once they were situated with their colorful golf balls and putters, they approached the first hole.

“I feel like now is the time to tell you that I’m really good at this,” Tony said as he lined up his first putt. 

“Well, I’m absolutely terrible, so we’re in for a fun afternoon,” Peter laughed.

True to their words, the first couple of holes were smooth sailing for Tony, easily navigating windmills and tunnels, while Peter just tried not to hit his golf ball out of bounds. They shared easy smiles and soft touches as they passed each other between putts. When Peter launched a putt clear over the barrier, Tony just winked as he replaced the ball, giving him several do-overs.

“How did you get so good at mini-golf anyway?” Peter asked as they walked toward the next tee.

“So full disclosure, I’m a total nerd,” Tony began. “I studied physics in college and my friends and I used to make our own little courses to try and stump each other. They got crazier over the years, it just became our thing”.

“You’re right, you are a nerd, but that also sounds amazing,” Peter chuckled.

“It’s still a thing too,” Tony continued. “My best friend Rhodey is getting married later this year and his bachelor party is going to be one big homemade mini-golf course, designed by yours truly”.

“You have a lot going on in that head, don’t you?” Peter inquired, turning to head for the next hole.

Tony just shrugged. “I guess so, I’ve just gotten used to it over the years. I am pretty hyperactive though,” he admitted with a touch of self-deprecation.

Their hands were hanging between them, nearly close enough to brush pinkies. In a moment of bravery, Peter reached out and squeezed Tony’s hand tightly, hoping to convey even a fraction of the thoughts and feelings swirling inside of him. Tony gripped back, just as tightly, smiling over at Peter. 

The rest of the course passed in a similar fashion. Tony gave Peter all the extra shots he wanted while absolutely smoking Peter with too many holes-in-one to count. They held hands each time they advanced to the next hole, grinning at each other every time. As they approached the final hole, complete with an upside-down loop, Peter was determined to get it on the first try. 

Tony stepped up first, demonstrating where to aim and how hard to hit, making it through the loop easily. His red golf ball rolled easily down the turf, dropping into the cup.

Peter pouted slightly. “Now that’s just unfair”.

Tony laughed, walking down the path toward the loop. He used his putter to point out where Peter should aim. “Aim for this right here, and hit it harder than you think you need to, nice and easy”.

Peter rolled his eyes, stepping up to his blue golf ball. He checked his aim, rolled his shoulders, and took a deep breath. He swung back and through, feeling the solid contact with the putter. He watched the golf ball glide down the turf, taking the loop with ease and slowly approaching the cup. He held his breath, willing the ball to make it to the lip of the cup. He dashed down to where Tony was standing so he could see how far his shot made it. When he saw the little blue golf ball just barely drop into the cup, he threw his arms up in celebration.

“Yes!” he exclaimed.

Tony erupted with loud applause, cheering for Peter’s success. Peter absolutely beamed at him, and Tony was taken aback by the beauty in front of him. Without much thought, he wrapped Peter up in a big hug. Peter’s arms were trapped between their torsos, but he was more than happy at that moment. He couldn’t understand why he was so excited about silly mini-golf shot, but if it meant Tony hugging him like this, he wouldn’t question it.

When they pulled back from the hug, they both smiled at each other, happy and carefree. They were pulled out of their reverie by a father and daughter approaching, clearly trying to finish their own round of golf. Peter blushed, grabbing Tony’s hand and dragging him toward the little clubhouse to drop off their putters. They continued holding hands as they walked toward the car and this time, Tony approached the driver’s side to open the door for Peter, waiting until he was settled before shutting the door firmly.

Peter grinned widely, waiting for Tony to round the car and get settled on the passenger side. As soon as they were set, they started back toward the beach. Tony shared more stories about college at MIT and his favorite parts of Boston. Peter took it all in, still figuring out the city he now called home. Tony made several restaurant recommendations, most of which Peter hadn’t even heard of yet. As they turned down the quiet street leading to their houses, Tony directed Peter a bit further to his own driveway. 

Before exiting the car, Tony turned to Peter with a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Thank you Peter, I haven’t had that much fun in a while, honestly.”

“Me too, Tony. Come find me on the beach tomorrow morning?” He asked hopefully.

“You bet, Petey”.

The next morning, Tony did exactly that. Peter had just gotten settled under the umbrella with May, an extra chair next to him, when Tony approached. May smiled but kept her attention trained on the book she was reading, giving Peter some privacy. Peter stood, smiling widely at Tony.

“You came,” he said with relief.

“Of course I did”.

Tony came in close, giving Peter a tight hug before stepping away to introduce himself to May.

“You must be Ms. Parker,” Tony said, extending his hand as May rose to her feet.

“Oh lord, please call me May, honey”.

“May, it’s great to meet you, I’m Tony. Thank you so much for letting me crash your beach day with Peter,” he said sincerely.

“Sure thing, Tony. What’s a good beach trip without good company?” May winked in Peter’s direction, making him groan with embarrassment. Even at 25 years old, May knew exactly how to embarrass him.

“Alright, enough of that. Tony, I brought you a chair and an extra towel,” Peter gestured toward the beach gear. 

May subtly scooted her chair a bit further over, giving the men some space of their own. 

Peter and Tony settled into their chairs, with just a hint of space between them. They spent the whole day lounging on the beach together, taking leisurely walks, and jumping in the ocean when the heat became unbearable. It was surprisingly easy to spend such an extended amount of time together. They never seemed to run out of things to talk about, but also sat in companionable quiet while reading and people-watching. Every so often, they would head up to the house, grabbing snacks and cold drinks for them and May. Peter quickly showed Tony around the house, loving the way Tony’s eyes widened with the stories he told throughout the short tour. 

The next day, Peter threw his beach gear in a bag and headed down the beach to Tony’s umbrellas. Tony had been more than willing to come back to Peter’s spot, but Peter insisted, wanting to see Tony in his own element. As he approached, Tony met him at the water’s edge, twining their hands together with a big smile.

“My parents are a lot,” he said quickly. “But my mom is excited to meet you”.

“I’m good with a lot, Tony”.

Tony pulled him toward the umbrellas in front of his house, his parents already standing from their chairs.

“Mom, Dad, this is Peter. His family’s house is down just past the big green one. Peter, this is my mom Maria and my dad Howard”.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Stark,” Peter greeted as he stepped forward to shake Maria’s hand. 

“Call us Maria and Howard, dear,” she said easily, smiling kindly at Peter.

Peter turned to Howard, shaking his hand with a firm grip and a small nod. Peter knew the relationship between Howard and Tony was tense, but he could see the love for his son in Howard’s eyes.

“Thank you so much for having me down here for a bit today,” he said, mimicking Tony’s statement to May.

“Nonsense, we’re happy to have you,” Maria waved off. 

Peter and Tony spent the say much like the previous one, laughing and smiling, sharing a few more touches as they got more comfortable with each other. At one point, Tony challenged Peter to a round of bocce ball and hauled his family’s set up from the house. Their competitive spirits kept them entertained for a while, each man throwing the Palina further away than the last round. After one too many close calls with the dog in the group next to them, they packed up the set and settled on a swim, desperate to rinse the sand off. 

Peter wasn’t sure what happened when they got in the water, but suddenly it was as if magnets pulled them closer together, unable to separate for too long. They floated out to shoulder-deep water and Tony felt Peter’s arms wind around his waist, pulling him in close. Embracing the buoyancy of the water, Tony allowed himself to be pulled into Peter and wrapped his legs around Peter’s waist, his arms settling around Peter’s neck. Water-slick skin slid together easily, and Tony found himself bobbing with the current, secure in Peter’s grasp.

“Hey there, Pete,” he breathed, his nose nearly pressed against Peter’s.

“Is this okay Tony? I just couldn’t help myself,” Peter admitted shyly.

“More than okay, as long as you don’t dunk me under a wave”.

They stayed like that, just holding each other close, bouncing with the waves, enjoying the feeling of being pressed together. They were both avoiding the same topic, neither wanting to break the spell they’d fallen under together. Eventually, Tony leaned his head into Peter’s shoulder, sighing loudly.

“So, we leave tomorrow,” Peter began.

“If we ignore it, maybe it won’t happen,” Tony pouted.

Peter squeezed Tony tightly. “What do you want to happen, Tony? After we leave tomorrow, anything can happen,” he murmured.

“I want us to keep doing this. I mean, obviously we can’t stay in an ocean forever, but I want there to be an us”. Tony lifted his head from where it was resting against Peter’s shoulders, gauging the other man’s reaction.

Peter leaned in, closing the minimal distance between them and pressed a salty kiss to Tony’s lips. He kept one hand secured around Tony’s waist and brought the other one up to tangle in Tony’s hair, holding him close as if the waves would carry him away. Tony hummed against Peter’s lips, tightening his arms around Peter’s shoulders.

A wave knocked them off balance, causing them to pull back with a gasp. Once he had his feet under him again, Peter smiled at Tony.

“I’d very much like for there to be an us too, Tony”.

“New York and Boston really aren’t that far apart, right?” 

“Definitely not too far,” Peter agreed. “We should probably head up, huh? I promised May I’d be back in time to make dinner”.

“Only if you let me steal you in the morning before we go. Just a quick walk?”

“Sounds perfect Tony”.

With that, Tony unwound his legs from Peter’s waist, opting to grab his hand as they made their way toward the shore. Once Peter had his beach bag in hand, Tony leaned in to leave a quick kiss on Peter’s cheek.

“See you bright and early, Pete”.

“Bright and early, Tones”.

When Peter finally made it back to the house, May was waiting on the porch. He knew his smile gave him away when May raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“So, not just a beach fling, Peter?”

Peter shook his head. “Not just a beach fling”.

With that, Peter headed inside for a quick shower before starting on dinner for the two of them. He felt bad that he hadn’t spent as much time with May this trip, so he planned to make it up to her that night. Once dinner was ready and they were seated on the porch, he couldn’t help but gush about Tony. May just smiled, trying to remember seeing Peter this excited about something. 

“So, when are you gonna visit him?” she asked.

“Um, we haven’t really talked about it yet. I guess we’ll just see how things go for now,” he said nervously.

“Make plans before we leave Peter. Distance is hard, but having a date to look forward to makes things easier, May advised.

Their conversation shifted after that, and they talked late into the night wishing their vacation would never end. Before Peter went to sleep that night, he checked his calendar for open weekends, wondering how soon he could visit Tony. On a whim, he bought a train ticket to New York for just over a month later, hoping Tony wouldn’t find it aggressive. He went to sleep with a smile on his face, hopeful for what was to come.

At eight o’clock the next morning Tony and Peter met up on the beach, about halfway between their houses, exactly where they’d collided on a walk just a few days prior. Time moved differently that week; Peter felt as if he’d known Tony much longer than he had.

They joined hands and walked quietly, enjoying the emptiness of the beach as most families were packing up and leaving that day. They smiled as they passed by some other folks soaking up their last few breaths of salty air, doing the same thing themselves.

Tony was the one to break the silence after a while. “This feels silly at this point, but um, can I have your number?”

Peter cracked up at that, looking over at Tony who smiled right back at him. He reached for his phone and handed it to Tony, encouraging him to enter his information. He immediately fired off a quick text and heard Tony’s phone ping in his pocket.

“This might be too much too soon,” Peter started, “but I bought a train ticket to New York City at the end of next month. I just wanted us to have tentative plans to see each other, but I can always change it,” he rushed out.

Tony stopped walking, using his grip on Peter’s hand to pull him in close. He pressed a tender kiss to Peter’s lips, lingering for just a moment before pulling back. 

“I guess now’s a good time to tell you that I bought a train ticket to Boston in two weeks,” Tony admitted sheepishly. “I couldn’t bear the thought of not knowing when I’d get to see you next and I got a little eager”.

Peter was speechless and blown away by Tony. He fisted one hand in Tony’s shirt, the other in his curls as he pressed his forehead against Tony’s own. “Tony,” he breathed. 

“I’m not letting you get away, Pete,” Tony murmured softly.

“Right back at you, Golden Boy”.

[vanaera]

Daffodil Rings

Synopsis | In a world where the red-string-of-fate tale has been proven true by science, each scientific journal has been up to date with every new-found “soulmate system,” and everyone out there has been in their never-ending search for their soulmates, there stands one bug in the system: You. You don’t believe in the absoluteness of the soulmate phenomenon, nor the too-perfect-to-work-out soulmate systems, arguing each and every bit of them are for everyone but you. With 17 years of defiance against such natural occurrence, you did not expect you will be literally swept off your feet by your soulmate on some ordinary Thursday into the wildest night of your life. Everything only goes downhill when you learn that “soulmate” of yours happens to be Park Jimin, the singer from the worldwide famous boy group BTS, you have embarrassingly crushed on for six years.

Characters | idol!Jimin x law student, part-time florist!you (soulmate au proven by science; strangers to lovers trope)

Genres | Fluff, angst, implied smut

Wordcount | 22.3k (I’m sorry)

Playlist | I was Made for Loving You by Tori Kelly ft. Ed Sheeran

Cross posted on | AO3

A/N | Hi everyone! Friendly reminder that everything in this story is fictional and has no intended connection with actual individuals and groups involved in this story. I just felt the need to remind you all ;)  

                 You always loved arguing. Whether it be about politics, philosophy, human rights issues, science advances, or if pineapples really do belong in pizza (which you agree with) – the topic doesn’t matter because you found it always necessary to go against the current. For check and balance, you insist. You don’t want to admit that “hobby” of yours was almost pathological.

               You tell people it started from a time you were five and went around your neighborhood. Your mother told you to get outside your introverted shell and talk with the kids of your age. However, instead of striking friendships, you started arguments, arguing person after person on the littlest of things–from the notion that ocean sunfishes are the stupidest animals to exist, to the fallacy behind ‘blood is thicker than water’.  Unlike your mother’s expectations, you earned angry snarls and glares to the point she was almost bothered by the stinging stares of anyone who will pass by your house. “Almost” is the keyword, because as soon as local debates were announced in your community centers, you became the most sought-out consultant of every single contestant. Times now seemed short of instances people can prove what they’re ideas are worth. Anyway, your mother forbade you to enter the contest because you were too young to join at that time (“Goodness, you’re just five!”). And because Mrs. Thornbow, your third grade English teacher and adviser, was not impressed of your carefree negligence of school rules, especially regarding proper attires. You guessed your teacher warned your mother of letting you participate in debates in your notorious black slacks, the one you always wear in school instead of your red plaid skirt, in case you get too “out of hand” again in school.

               Unlike the story you told everyone, the real origin of your almost-sick hobby has to do with the red string of fate. The invisible, indestructible string created by fate which ties two people together, two soulmates, for the rest of their lives. Generations upon generations were expecting to be paired with a person made by the heavens just for them. Even more, most relationships, marriages, and families are the fruits of this system. Thus, it will be unnatural for anyone to go against such destiny.

                The soulmate phenomenon was an inexplicable truth and people explained such phenomenon through the myth of these red strings, until 1986 when Professor Vandikes and Doctor Weber discovered biological evidences of the soulmate phenomenon. The two found extraneous neural interconnections of two “soulmates” through neuroimaging. Vandikes and Weber discovered that thoughts can be transmitted back and forth between the soulmates because of their identically coordinated neural activities. Even more, the soulmates simultaneously produced similar accurate results even when they’re living in two different countries.

               As soon as Vandikes and Weber’s study hit the news, everyone was automatically convinced in this soulmate science. It even prompted researchers to investigate every single existing soulmate systems. No wonder everyone accepted the soulmate phenomenon as an unarguable truth, an unbreakable tradition, and even as absurd as a purpose in life. Of course, everyone except you.    

               You didn’t believe in fate dictating who you should love when you already have enough of the society telling you who you should be. Science has proven fate is capable of planning someone to be awfully compatible with you but, it does not ensure it will always work.  Your existence was enough of a proof.

               You do not have any existing soulmate system countl. There is no “soulname” on your wrist, a permanent, inborn tattoo of the name of your soulmate, the very soulmate system your mother and father has. You do not feel any kind of “soulbond,” the emotional transparency system between two soulmates, nor do you see any “soul-art” decorating your body, a system of identical, dull tattoos, which only turn vibrant at the touch of a soulmate. You already see the world in color since you were born, unlike your playmate Jung Seolhee. She said she has “soul-vision” as her soulmate system that’s why she sees the world in black and white until her soulmate comes and enters her field of vision. And, you most definitely do not have any thoughts, other than yours, rambling in your mind as you grow up unlike what Vandikes and Weber claim in the rare soulmate system, “soul connection”.

               In short, the soulmate phenomenon did not include you into their equation. Hence, at sixteen, you’re adamant about your disagreement with this red-string-of-fate bullshit–a sentiment you nurtured since you’re five–when everyone of your age has already set out to travel the world to find their soulmates. You decided you won’t base your life on what fate has dictated.  You will create your own path, your own life, and your own destiny. Cures for numerous illnesses have been discovered yet their effectivity for every single person are not identically applicable. The soulmate phenomenon excluded you and it most probably happened so because it’s not for you.

               You love arguing, most especially when it comes to the soulmate phenomenon. Your 17-year-defiance is enough of a solid proof and such experience warranted you enough skills not only to graduate college as the top of the class, but also to pursue law school. You just didn’t imagine your longest duration of arguing will not be against a competent lawyer inside the court, but against a stranger you met in a hole-in-the-wall bar, who unknowingly becomes your greatest misfortune of your night.

               It all started at ten o’clock, fifth of September 2019, in Marti’s Hub, a small bar you always frequent when you’re in need of intoxicating liquids. You never thought anything aberrant will happen as two hours prior, you were just mourning over the disappointing results of your Law 114 essay with some drinks with your bestfriend Lucy.

               “C’mon, Y/N, let’s dance! Stop being such a party pooper!” you feel Lucy’s insistent pull on the sleeve of your jacket and you glared at her before putting your drink down on the table.

               Actually, two hours prior to that dreadful ten o’clock, you were mulling over your Law 114 essay while Lucy is mulling about the probability of her soulmate appearing in the bar. And as much as you totally love arguing, there is only one exception to your uncontrollable hobby: you hate doing it with your bestfriend.

               Lucy Kim has been with you since you’re an intolerable ten-year-old in elementary and for the longest time your friendship lasted, it isn’t hard to tell the girl was a sensitive bunch. You remember her fat ugly tears in senior high when Peter Lee, the local asshole, told her her braids look dumb. Like every other friends, you’ve had fights here and there. Everytime you argued with her, you hated yourself a bit for making her feel bad and you feel much worse when you have to apologize and see her tear-streaked face. It’s ironic how you’re this soft for Lucy when you didn’t bat a damn eyelash at your mother whenever she complains you’re the frequent source of her headaches. In your defense, Lucy understood your anomalous hobby as your second nature far better than your mother could.

               However for tonight, you’re gonna cross the line and disregard the exception you reserved for your bestfriend.

               “Lucy, I told you I came here to drink. Not dance.” You picked the lime on the plate and took a bite.  Your fingers enclose firmly on your glass before your friend could attempt to take you away again. “Plus, I just agreed to tag you along because you told me you want to cry over your fruitless job hunt. I did not agree to accompany you to hunt for your soulmate tonight, which is what you’re doing right now.” You look pointedly at her.

               “Well,” Lucy drawls, rubbing her arm, “you can’t blame me. I’ve already searched our entire neighborhood, my hometown, and even my old university and still I can barely see any Michael Hudson coming my way.” Your eyes caught how she grazes her fingers on the soulname marked on her right wrist. You tried to sympathize with her but still-

               “That does not justify why you’re asking me to accompany you to the dance floor.”

               Your remark is returned with a scathing look from your friend. “Are you not listening to me? I told you I already searched the entire city! And you’ve always accompanied me in every single soulmate hunt! Plus, you didn’t have any qualms yesterday when you and I started to search in nightclubs. It won’t hurt for another try tonight.” You turn away, silent in the truth of what she said. Lucy huffs, “Also, a Michael Hudson sounds someone that usually goes to nightclubs.”

               “It does not,” you mutter, taking another swig from your drink.

               “Uh yeah?” Lucy’s frown deepens, eyes turning into slits as she glares at you like you’re an imbecile. Hypothetically, you are one based on your non-impressive streak in your law essays but that’s beside the incredulity of the things your bestfriend is spouting. Whether she understood the disinterest painted in your whole face or not, she continues on, “I already met lots of Michael’s yesterday and I just met two ‘bout 20 minutes ago. My Michael Hudson may actually be here.”

               You placed down your drink on the bar to stare at your friend. “Lucy, your argument is a false causation. Look,” you sigh, “a bar is not an ideal place to find true love. In this generation, it is more likely you’ll meet an asshole Michael in here instead of your prince charming Michael.” You grimace but you continue on, “Your Michael Hudson may be having some coffee right now in a sophisticated café while some ‘Michael’ here turns out to be a jerk who just wants to get into your pants. Why don’t we just go home, yeah? I’m already finished with my drink and I don’t want to drag your drunk ass back to your home again.”

               “Y/N, you don’t understand,” Lucy groans. “I feel he’s here right now. I can’t just go up and leave without trying. My guts are telling me to stay. It’s a soulmate thing!” You scrunch your face in a disgusted cringe. Lucy narrows her eyes. “See? You’re just saying these stuff because of your prejudice against the soulmate phenomenon.”

               “It’s not a prejudice. What I believe is true–”

               “Doesn’t matter. Look,” Lucy sighs, “If you want to go home, you can go. I’ll stay here and take my chances.” She doesn’t wait for your reply and turns around to head for the dance floor.

               A heavy rock settles on your chest. You don’t like arguing with your bestfriend especially when it comes to this soulmate thing where your views are in absolute disagreement with hers. You don’t like to come off as a bitter, unsupportive friend who ruins everyone’s mood with their cynicism. But sometimes, you can’t help but say a thing or two to wake Lucy up from her fantasies. After toxic relationships with already three Michael Hudsons in your university, you figured Lucy is annoyingly naïve for outright jumping in a relationship with anyone who has the same name as the words inked on her wrist.  You’ve already picked up broken piece after broken piece of herself from relationships after relationships, helping her stand on her feet again and again. You’ve always been by her side to not let her stay far too up in the clouds, balancing her happy-go-lucky spirit with your boring seriousness to help her grounded to reality. That’s why you can’t ignore the thorns pricking your chest when she dismisses your advice so easily as if she never learned anything from her hopeless romance just a week ago.

               You bite your lip and decide to have some soda. You’re not yet leaving but you most definitely won’t wait for her to go home with you. You just have to soften the heavy walls building on your chest so you won’t sleep tonight crying. You hate doing that.

               Another glass of soda and a plate of lime later, ten minutes have passed with just you indulging on a combo you know will be frowned upon by other bar patrons. Ten minutes of doing just that is also enough for you to notice the man in a navy button-down by your left was now a little too close to you. You saw him seated on the far left of the bar, about three feet from you prior to your argument with Lucy. He was ducked on the table, shoulders hunched, which guaranteed you no opportunity to assess his face before. Now, he’s by your side, elbow brushing against your jacket and back straightened enough to see a cringe-worthy smile he’s sending your way. You don’t manage to make out his whole face though because his disheveled brown locks were covering about half of his face. You take your focus back on your plate. Your grasp on your glass tightens. There’s no need to panic. Maybe the stranger transferred seats because your spot has closer proximity to the shelves where the bartender is situated. Maybe he’s sober and you’re just making this whole situation blow out of proportion in your head. Maybe–

               “Hi, doll. You seem tense. Wanna come over to my place to loosen up?” His breath against the shell of your ear makes the hair on your neck rise. Your shoulders stiffen and you gulp. You could feel a ghost of a hand looming on the exposed skin from your ripped jeans. Warning bells wail in your head.

               “I’m not interested,” you mutter between gritted teeth. You don’t look his way as you swat his hand away that was about to rest on your knee. You don’t want to make a scene when you’re about to finish your drink and leave this hole of a bar. You’ve had enough drama for the night already.

               However, the man seems to turn deaf because he smiles at you again. “Oh, don’t play hard to get now, doll. I know you want it. You’ve been staring at me earlier.” His alcohol-stained breath fans against your face and despite what you said earlier, he places his hand on your knee, grazes your clothed skin, and then gropes the swell of your thigh.

               Motherfucking hell–

               “Hey, man, can you please take your hands off my girl.”

               A voice from another stranger blares behind you and you freeze in your spot. What the fuck, now you have another gross man to deal with?! You grunt in annoyance and whipped your head to the side to finally yell the fuck out to these creeps. Social conventions be damned. You’re gonna make a scene.  However, the man behind you holds you on the curve of your shoulders, not too tight to hurt yet not loose enough for you to turn in your seat. You furrow your brows, bewildered. You lean away slightly to get a glimpse of this man’s face but it didn’t do much because his bleached blonde fringe is almost covering his eyes and a midnight black mask was pulled over the lower half of his face. Now you’re just terribly confused. Is he a wanted criminal to cover up almost majority of his face or is he severely ill with something much worse than the common cold? You don’t know whether to trust this man or be wary of him.

               “I don’t know man,” the drunk creep slurs, hand still poised too comfortably on your thigh. You wriggle in your seat but the man keeps his hold on you firm.  The stranger smirks at you, then to the stranger behind you. “From what I know, this girl is my chic. Go find your own, dickhead.”

               What the absolute fucking shit–You found your rage already growing the best of you and you swat his hand repeatedly but the man grips your thigh even tighter. You open your mouth to scream at the the drunk out of mixed pain, anger, and frustration–but the guy behind your back beats you to it again.

               “Look, man. Take your fucking hands off my girl before I call the cops. She’s my soulmate.”

               At the mention of ‘soulmate,’ the drunk man lets go of your thigh as if his hands were burned. He raises both arms to show he’s not touching any part of you anymore and before you could say something back at him–to redeem yourself and at least roast him into his next life–the guy behind you has already grabbed you by your shoulders, taking you in tow as he walks in fast, short steps towards the exit of the bar.

               The chilling wind of September slaps you in the face and even if you’re still shaken up from the whole deal earlier, you still have your brain on your head to make out the dark interior of the semi-vacant parking lot of the bar. Another set of warning bells blare inside your mind and you thrash your arms around, never caring who you’ll hit or if you’ll be hit, just to break free from the hold of the stranger. You’re not going to get kidnapped after being just indecently hitted on! The man instantly lets you go but it doesn’t put him in any good light for you not to turn around and raise an accusatory finger at him.

               “YOU! Just who do you think you are to hold and take me out here?! Who–”

               The man pulls down his black mask and immediately, words die in your throat.  It’s his drooped eyelids and warm brown eyes that hits you first, then it’s the small slope of his nose and the soft curves of his full, pink lips. Your eyes fleet toward the side of his face and goddamn, the long silver earrings dangling on his pierced ears were the same ones you were ogling at an online article you were reading yesterday.

               Your eyes widen and your jaw falls open in shock. “You-you-you’re–”

               Some random stranger was grabbing you by the shoulders earlier and now in front of you is fucking Park Jimin. Park Jimin, vocalist and dancer of BTS, the biggest boy band in the world who sang tracks upon tracks that earned the greatest number of music show awards in history. Park Jimin, member of BTS who performs in sold-out concerts in countless stadiums around the world. Park Jimin, the famed contemporary dancer from Busan, the beautiful man whose full lips and gentle eyes you’ve continuously written about in countless fanfictions since you started stanning BTS. Park Jimin, the person who may or maybe not have been your ultimate celebrity crush and the object of your both innocent and not-so-innocent fantasies for six years now. Goddamn, is he Park Jimin, the boy you straightaway took a liking to ever since you saw him in his cringe-worthy snapback and No More Dream black jersey ensemble in BTS’ 2013 debut music video.

               Your jaw twitches. “Oh my–Oh my God. You-you–”

               “Wait, don’t panic!” Jimin reaches for your trembling fingers and then you feel it–the explosion. Blinding silvery fireworks seem to go off behind your eyes as hot white combustions fill your chest  for a millisecond before their aftereffects register in a series of numbing kaleidoscope of feelings running hot and wild. Your body is tingling, your chest is burning, and searing pain is engraving its way down your arm from where the man touched you. You immediately pull up the sleeves of your jacket and there you see it–tens, no, hundreds of vibrant, yellow daffodils growing an inked garden in astounding speed from a bloom that has looped around your left ring finger. The blooms spread towards your elbow, creeping even further up to your chest where you can see a bud already peeking out on the skin exposed from your low-cut white tee. Your mouth remains open in shock. You clasp your right hand on your newly-tattooed left arm only for you to mumble a faint “oh my god” when you see your right hand–and right arm–also inked with the same yellow flowers.

               Still hunched over, your eyes fleet towards the stranger–towards Park Jimin, and it was only then you manage to let out audible words again. “You’re-you’re–”

               “–your soulmate.”

               “–Park, Jimin.”

               Jimin smiles, “Oh, you know me already. This wasn’t so hard as I thought.”

               You don’t register what he said, still caught up on the instant sleeves you are now sporting and the outlandish word the man in front of you spouted. “My soulmate,” you trail off, voice softening into a little above a whisper, “my–my soulmate. Oh my god.”

               Unaware of the war going on in your mind, Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, I’m your soulmate. I already know. You don’t have to repeat it again and again. It’s true–”

               “Out of all people, why you?!”

               Jimin’s face falls. “Why? What’s wrong with me?”

               “I–you–ugh!” you throw your hands up and cover your face in hopeless dismay.

               Jimin is more confused than he has ever been in his whole life. “Hey, what do you mean? What’s wrong with me?”

               Your eyes peek out from your hands and you see the distance Jimin has closed between the two of you as now his beautiful, perfect face is practically shoved in front of you. A gunfire inside your head resounds and you blow up. “You! What’s wrong is that you’re Park Jimin! Manggae of BTS who sing in sold out concerts in every goddamn country and the youngest recipients of the Order of the Cultural Merit from South Korea and are now the biggest boyvband in the world!” You huff out, breathless. And then you pale. Oh my god, did you just word-vomited–

               “I didn’t know you know me that well,” Jimin giggles. “That’s great! We’re off to a good start!”

               Confusion flickers in your eyes for only a second before it turns into aggravation. “Why is this not bothering you?! You’re an idol!”

               Jimin nods, “Yeah, I’m an idol. And I’m also your soulmate.” He takes a step toward you and you take one back. Seeing the apprehension in your tensed form, he doesn’t push further and instead opts to place his hands in the pockets of his ink black leather jacket. “Don’t you know why I came just in time before that drunk jerk even tried to further push his sick plan?”

               You don’t answer him, still shaken up from everything that’s suddenly happening.

               Jimin just smiles. “I felt you’re near and you’re distressed and anxious. Soulbond, as people say. I went with my gut feeling and I proved it true when I saw you at the bar with that man. It’s a soulmate thing. And oh, I also have this.” Jimin pulls up his sleeve and raises his left hand, flashing you his ring finger inked with a daffodil looped around it just as yours. His tattoo didn’t spread into a sleeve, hinted by the clear skin peeking from the seams of his leather jacket toward the rest of his hand. But still, his inked ring is undeniably a daffodil bloom just like yours. Jimin smirks, “I told you, I’m your soulmate.

               You could hear your heart pulsing loud against your ears and you could still feel your veins thrumming with the aftershocks of the explosions of stuff you don’t want to label anything that is already connected to the grinning boy in front of you. You open your mouth only for you to close it again. You cannot deny his statement when two full sleeves of tattooed flowers bloomed right in front both of your eyes. He’s your soulmate and that’s undeniable. However, a different chaos brews in your mind again when you remember that this man in front of you was very much the celebrity you have fawned over for the entire latter six years of your life. You must have weirded him out already when you blurted out the achievements of his group earlier. You cannot let yourself further creep him out by telling him you’ve always raved about him, dare even adored him way, way back then before this very night. Sure, you’ve never believed in this soulmate thing for 17 years of your life but it doesn’t mean you didn’t know about love nor experienced it. Your three ex-crushes under your belt and your six-long stable years of intense crushing on this boy in front of you (that even prompted you to write cheesy romance and dirty filth about him in your still-very-alive tumblr writing account) are enough to color your single-as-fuck-since-you-were-born life with enough joy and pain. But anyway, you can’t let him know everything about this. It’s too embarrassing. It will definitely make him run for the hills just like your three ex-crushes.

                You wouldn’t have to do all of this hassle in the first fucking place if Park Jimin is not your fucking soulmate. Goddamn it, you didn’t even imagine in your whole life you will actually fucking say that ridiculous “s” word.

               Frowning again, you storm off.

               Jimin laughs and joins you in your furious steps outside the parking lot.  

***

                Unlike your initial plan of running away, you didn’t know you will actually stay with Jimin into the night as he rambles about future date plans.

               Half past ten, the two of you are seated in Aunt Marie’s, a 24/7 retro-themed diner you frequent every finals week for late night dinners. Massive cheeseburgers are on your plates and Jimin is seated across you, sporting the mask you have seen on him earlier.

               You drop your utensils and sigh. “See? This won’t work. How the hell will we date if your face is always covered with that?”

               “I didn’t know you’re already thinking about dating me.” Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he sets his elbow on the table, cupping his face. “I’m liking this fast pace so far.”

               You didn’t know this man can easily evade your question by getting sidetracked like a pesky toddler. You purse your lips, unamused. “I’m not thinking about dating you. I’m just laying out a general probability for anyone who will date you. Don’t get ahead so fast, you don’t even know me.”

               “You know me.” Jimin shrugs. “At least that’s a headstart.” You glare at him and he laughs. Jimin continues, “We have lots of time to know each other. That’s why we’re here.”

               “Correction, we’re here because you told me you’re starving and this is the only near place I know that serves good food this late in the night.”

               “Which means we get to know each other,” Jimin repeats, smile turning into a grin. “I could have brought us to a place I know but you insisted going here, hence I learn tonight that you like eating at Aunt Marie’s.          Therefore, we are here to eat and also learn about each other. It is inevitable.” You sigh in defeat and Jimin smirks at his victory. “Also, I can eat, look.” He slices his burger, pulls down his mask and shoves a piece in his mouth, and then pulls up his mask on again. You can’t see his teasing smile but you could tell he’s already giggling because his cheeks grow rounder, making his eyes turn into crescent moons. Slicing another piece, Jimin says, “So, can I know more about you, Y/N?”

               Your mouth opens again like a blubbering fish. “Wait, how did you know my name? I haven’t told you my name yet.”

               For a second, you see his eyes widen but it passes like a blur when you find yourself starting to like the mischievous glint shining in his warm eyes. Jimin shrugs and answers, “It’s a soulmate thing.”

               You cringe and Jimin chortles. Okay, you take it back. You don’t like the mischievous glint if he does that while saying that ridiculous “s” word.  When his snickers die down, Jimin repeats his question, “So, can I now know more about you, Y/N?”

               You  dab your napkin on your lips and sigh for the nth time. “Well, everything about me is as plain as plain Jane can be. Name’s Y/N L/N, only child from a middle-class family. I had a quite nice childhood, playing here and there, making many…friends.” You can’t help but cringe at the word, quite unsure if you could ever tell your neighbors who consulted you during community debates were your friends. You want to make a good impression even if you weren’t still sold into this soulmate phenomenon. Unlike back then, you weren’t too fond of people seeing you less of what you are now. You pushed on, “Until middle school came and I learned how friendships work only if everyone gets to free-ride on projects and you carry the whole group.”

               Jimin snorts, “Who hurt you, Y/N?”

               “That asshole’s name is Kim Yeonjun. I still remember the cookie he stole from my lunchbox. Never gonna forgive him.” Your serious front breaks out into snickers and Jimin follows suit. “Anyway, I didn’t know my life will get more boring until high school came and our teachers taught us in detail about Vandikes and Weber’s soulmate science–”

               “Wait, this soulmate thing has a science behind it?” Jimin looks at you, eyes round.

               “Well, yeah,” you reply, brows scrunched. “Your teachers didn’t tell you about them? It was like the only thing any kid will actually remember from studying next to reading and writing.”

               “I don’t remember anything about such science. I studied in a performing arts school in Busan.”

               You look at him incredulous, “Impossible! It’s more likely you’ll know about the soulmate science before you even learn how to read. Parents already start the red string of fate bullshit as soon as their kid starts to speak gibberish. It’s impossible to leave out anyone from the soulmate science since everyone was raving about it–teens, adults, and even kids.”

               “Do you rave about it?”

               The furrows on your forehead deepen. “What? No!”

               “Well, that’s not everyone,” Jimin leans on his seat. “So, people like me who’ve never heard of such science are justified.”

               “Touché” you agree, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll get away without learning at least a two or thing about it because teachers start to teach soulmate science in basic sciences at the end of middle school.” You lean forward, eyes challenging his. “And everyone studies basic sciences in middle school. Heck, you even mentioned soulbond earlier. You’re just probably asleep when your teacher taught it in class.”

               “Okay, I surrender my fight,” Jimin mutters and you laugh.

               “So long story short, Vandikes and Weber first discovered  the biological proof of the soulmate phenomenon. They show how neural interconnections of two soulmates transmit info to each other at the same time even when they’re in two different countries. Which then means the soul connection and all other soulmate systems are scientifically accepted as a truth now than just some folklore.”

               “Wait, what’s the soul connection?”

               “It’s the soulmate system where two soulmates get to read or hear each other’s thoughts. It’s the phenomenon Vandikes and Weber witnessed while formulating their biological proof. Also, it’s rare. Only five couples were recorded to have that system. One of them was the participants of Vandikes and Weber’s study.”

               Jimin hums and you continue with your story, “Anyway, I was surrounded by screaming teenagers desperately looking for their soulmates and all that cringey stuff while I busy myself with studies because that’s the only thing I’m good at.”

               “And you’re busy loving pre-debut BTS.”

               You choke on your burger, eyes wide before you glare at him. How did he know? The guilt on your face must be evident because Jimin starts breaks into a laughing fit that other people (a couple of nightowl teens and couples) look at your way. In your defense, 2013 you didn’t know any better and just spent hours googling BTS and buying posters with each members’ faces on them (with always an extra poster of Jimin’s solo picture everytime you buy a bundle) instead of getting a social life. At least 2013 you were smart enough to realize you’re broke and you can’t afford to buy albums yet when you’re already struggling just to get your hands on required textbooks your teachers assign. You maintain your pointed look at him, refusing to admit to his very much true statement. You don’t want him to know even when the proof is right in your home–the posters you collected for three years, rolled up and still tucked in the corner of your closet. You never found it in yourself to dispose them even after every annual promise to throw them away.

               Jimin sniggers before he cues for you to continue on. “Sorry, it wasn’t funny.”

               “Anyway,” you stuff your face with the last piece of your burger and swallowed it, “I got high honors and got into my dream college. I realized next to studying, I was good at arguing–

               “–so true–”

               “–so I decided to go into law school.” You send Jimin another glare for his (very true) remark and he smiles. “So here I am now into my first year in law school, flunking every essay, and currently worth minimum wage.”

                 Jimin nods in interest, “Where do you work?”

               “Oh gee, I didn’t know you’re into asking occupations of your date like every other cliche dates.”

               You see Jimin’s eyes spark in interest and you regret what you just blurted out. “Oh, so you do see this as a date.”

               “Nooo,” you groan, heat already creeping up on your cheeks, almost like a wildfire. What the hell is happening to you? You always know how to control your word vomit; you’re never impulsive when it comes to speaking out. You’re a law student for Christ’s sake!

               “Don’t worry, I also see this as a date.” You could feel Jimin’s stare linger on your warm cheeks. You snug deeper into your jacket, wishing for the ground to break open and eat you up. Instead of further teasing you, Jimin repeats his question. “So, where do you work?”

               “At Petal Hill,” you mumble.  “It’s a flowershop two blocks away from my flat.”

               “Oh, a flowershop. Then, you must probably be knowledgeable of a lot of flowers.”

               “Yeah” you answer, a smile instantly tugging on your lips. “I get to recommend the best bouquets and sets to my customers, not to mention I have great grasp on the flower language to help them pick flowers they want to convey their messages through.”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah! I mean, I get to understand your confusing I Need You and Run music videos just with the two flowers used alone,” you blurt, thinking fondly of your Tumblr text-post, the only one that got you over 300 notes, where you wrote flower theories about BTS’ music videos. However, the moment you see Jimin gawking at what you said, it’s too late to undo what’s already let out in the open air.

               “Really? Oh my god, I never even knew the meaning behind those flowers. The directors just tell us to sit here, hold this or that, and do sad-emo-boi hours.”

               You stifle a giggle but it comes out unsuccessful when you break out into a huge grin, “You– what?”

               “Don’t get me wrong,” Jimin laughs, “We actually knew the plot of the music videos and internalized the characters assigned to us. But really, I never knew the flowers alone are a huge hint to the whole story.”

               “Well, my time to shine has finally arrived,” you grin, finding the need to stretch out your arms comically like how Tom does when he’s smug about catching Jerry. “The most iconic flower you guys used again and again is the white lily. Although the flower means rebirth, royalty, and purity with its delicate yet grand petals, they are often associated with funerals. White lilies symbolize the restored innocence the departed soul receives after death. That’s why the moment the music video flashes Seokjin’s character spreading six lily petals on the floor, I already knew either all your six characters or Seokjin’s, will die, before the video even reached to your guys’…sad-emo-boi hours.” Jimin nods in interest and you continue, “The Japanese version of the music video for I Need You was a large give-away since the large masses of flowers surrounding Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s characters resemble like the clump of flowers thrown at a coffin being buried.” You gulp, “Anyway, going to the lighter side because I don’t want to dwell on such grim topics, the second flower you guys used that caught my eye was the blue rose.”

               “Oh yeah, that one!” Jimin eyes glimmer in recognition. “It was the only flower we used in the Run music video. What’s its meaning?”

               “Impossible love.” You said, lips forming a thin line. “Blue roses don’t occur in nature because roses do not have the specific gene to produce such color. Instead, they are made by placing blue dye into the bark of the roses’ roots. Since it’s impossible to produce blue roses naturally without artificial means, these roses mean impossible love. So when the video flashes the blue rose in the background of Yoongi and Jungkook’s characters fighting, it can be said their familial love for each other, as they were depicted like brothers in the videos, will be unable to mend the wreckage of their characters.”                

               “Wow, I didn’t know it’s possible to reach to such accurate perception with the flowers alone.”

               “Then are my theories true?” You lean forward.

               “Yeah, on Jungkook and Yoongi’s characters being brothers and their strained familial bond. Also with the connotation of the lilies, although,” Jimin leans forward, too, smirking, “I wouldn’t reveal to you who really died or didn’t in the music videos.”

               You scoff. “Wow, such torture. You’ve been keeping the fans in the shadows about the story far too long.”

               “Not my choice, blame Big Hit. The concept team just tells us anyway the plot when we have to shoot them so you can say I’m also in the dark” Jimin shrugs. “Also, I want to keep you on your toes, making theories and analyses. They interest me.  How did you easily connect the dots?”

               “I’m a part-time florist. And, I took English literature as my undergraduate study. The plot analyses and the story critiques we did really grew in me.”

               “Oh wow,” Jimin gasps, leaning back. “My god, I didn’t know you were so out of my league!”

               “What?” Out of his league? Is he fucking crazy? He’s the one across you who’s got millions of followers, followed everywhere by the media, known and loved in every country, not to mention, worth of millions of dollars. And you’re here, who’s got millions of bills to pay, followed by countless work and university deadlines, barely spared a glance from the people in your university and work, and you hate to mention again, worth minimum wage. Hell, you could tell Jimin’s face is glowingly beautiful even with his mask pulled on while you’re here, probably sporting a full oily face look. By all blatant circumstances, he’s the one who’s out of your league.

               At the sight of your frown, Jimin’s hands wave in front of you, trying to dismiss any misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just–I didn’t know you’re such an intellectual. You read lots of books and do analyses and you’re so damn good in arguing. You always get me convinced. I haven’t done anything yet in our date but gawk and say ‘wow’ like a kid. I don’t…want to look stupid in front of you.”

               “You’re not.”

               “Huh?”

               You clear your throat. “You’re not stupid. And no, you didn’t just ‘gawk and say wow’ at me. You did a good job arguing with me earlier…about the ‘date.’ And that takes a lot because it looks like you’re having fun doing this friendly debate with me when people curse me for being so adamant in arguments.”

               “Why would they curse you? There’s nothing wrong in fighting for what you think is right.”

               You shrug, “They got nothing substantial to say so they resort to shaming you for what you know. Sick way of lifting yourself above others.  Anyway, why don’t you fire me some flower questions you have in mind? I’m in the mood to go all out in my flower-nerdiness today.”

               “Okay, so…what do you think is the best flower to give for your friends?”

               “Pink tulips are automatic to-gos. They mean ‘I care for you’ and also ‘good wishes’ so they’re also perfect for joyful gatherings. Pear blossoms also do the trick as they mean lasting friendship.” You glance upwards and hum before you return your eyes to Jimin, excitement thrumming in your nerves, “Oh, and Arborvitaes may not be popular but they’re the perfect flowers to give to a friend if you want to have ‘everlasting friendship.’”

               “Hmm, then what about the best one to give to your parents?”

               “Flowers of gratefulness are the top candidates. Campanulas, azaleas, and dark pink roses all mean gratitude and thankfulness.”

               “I’ll make sure to remember that next time I buy flowers for my mom,” Jimin smiles. “I always go for red roses every damn single time.”

               “It’s the classic. Can’t blame you though, it has the most generic message applicable to many kinds of relationships.”

               “Yeah, really?”

               “Yeah, they mean true love–True love for your friend, true love for your parent, or true love for your significant other. People usually use the connotation of “true love” for romantic relations when it’s actually applicable to familial bonds and friendships. After all, all of these relationships require truthfulness and love at the same time.”

               Jimin’s  mouth forms an o-shape. “Oh, I never really thought of that.”

               “Well now you know,” you grin.

               “Inked and stamped now, ma’am,” Jimin slaps his palm on his head and you giggle. At your laugh, Jimin smile grows bigger. “Okay, here’s another one: what flower is the best one to give to your mortal enemy?”

               “Are you insane? Who gives flowers to their mortal enemy?”

               Jimin shrugs. “Why not?”

               “Disregarding the money and time you’re wasting picking these flowers for such person,” you squint your eyes at him and Jimin laughs, “you should definitely go for foxgloves and orange lilies. They literally mean ‘Fuck you’ to the hardest core.”

               “‘Fuck you’ in what sense?” Jimin teases.

               You easily go along with it, mischief easily brewing inside your head. “They mean ‘fuck you’ as a curse, but if you mean the suggestive ‘fuck you’ then go for balsams. Though they may not be that arousing because they have these large, curving petals that look worn and limp, and you DON’T want to imply you’re like that flower.”

               Jimin guffaws, “Then why do they mean ‘fuck you’ if they’re not the least bit attractive?”

               “I don’t know, blame the Victorians who invented this floriography. Preferences change over time anyway so we can’t blame them for thinking balsams back then are ahhhsm.”

               You’re co-workers always found that joke dry and lame and yet in front of you, Jimin laughs as he holds his stomach, even finding the need for his other hand to slap the table again and again.  At this rate, he’s toning his abs from how hard he tries to keep his laughter not loud enough to disturb other customers. Despite the forming grin on your face, you found the need to say, “Okay, sorry that came out really, really suggestive.”

               “No, it’s okay,” Jimin assures. “I was the one who insinuated the suggestive themes anyway. I don’t mind at all.”

               “Me too,” you gulp. “It’s cool that we get to sit and chat like this without worrying about anything sexual.”

               “…Yeah, I agree,” Jimin tugs his shirt and clears his throat. “Anyway, what flower is the best one to give to your significant other? The most romantic one, the one that will instantly make your heart flutter?”

               “Well,” your fidget in your seat, “that depends on what the significant other likes. Flowers may hold different meanings but the preference for them still largely relies on the recipient.”

               “What do you like to receive?”

               You look at him, gaze questioning any ulterior intentions, any flirtatious comebacks he wants to blurt after possibly faking interest about such important topic. But when he tilts his head, waiting for your answer, you can’t help but blindly disregard your doubts and just answer his question. “I think pansies would be enough for me.”

               “Pansies?”

               “Yeah… They have these delicate, round petals and they’re resilient whether the sun beats too harsh on them or the winter almost freezes them to their roots. Whatever weather, whatever place they live in, they’ll always, always live. I guess that’s why they mean ‘You’re always in my mind.’ There’s nothing more infectious, more resilient, than any disease but a constant thought. That’s why I think being always in someone’s mind is a lot. To have a significant other that gets to see you, feel you, hear you, smell you, even taste you without them being aware of it is already akin to…love. You can’t control what passes through your mind, much less on what or who stays in it. But it doesn’t matter,” you laugh awkwardly, throat hurting in the process. “I’m not into receiving flowers. They’re over-the-top and they wilt and I just have to throw them away when they served all their worth.”

               “But what would you do if someone is willing to give you those pansies everyday, help you clean them away when they wilt, and assure you a new batch will make its way to you again?”

               “Then…I will accept it. Gifts are free and my labor will be lessened.”

               Jimin leans back, eyes shining. “I will make sure then to drop by in your shop and buy you a bouquet of those to make up for my lack of gifts for our date today.”

               You scoff at him. “You’re buying flowers right from my workplace to give to me? That’s not romantic.”

               “Wanna see me come over with a suit and tie, then?”

               “Oh my god, why are you like this?” you wail, palms covering your face. You’ve always adored Jimin’s unwavering determination in their reality shows, however, having him here in front of you showing you this stubbornness is something else. You don’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. Wait, what–

               “How about this then?” you feel Jimin’s fingers part your hands away from your face and a breath gets stuck in your throat. He has leant forward, mask pulled down to his jaw, and his eyes trained straight towards yours. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away, too absorbed in Jimin’s intense stare. The thought that his vision is probably just filled with you and nothing else just like how your eyes only frame his entire face makes you queasy in your seat. You’ve never had someone look at you this, sincere and so open before that your long-time indignation to real-life romance and the whole soulmate thing has rendered you incapable of thinking what you should do–or if you should actually do anything than just get lost in another person’s eyes. You see Jimin’s lips pull into a soft curve of a smile. “Is this romantic enough?”

               Before you could choke on your own spit and indulge in awkward silence you know you’ll probably won’t get out of, a foreign voice by your side breaks your little bubble with Jimin. You glance to your left and a tall waiter bows. “Sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, sir, but would you like to order some dessert?”

               You look down at your plates to find everything in miniscule bits and crumbs, your meals completely finished. You sneak a peek at your wristwatch. It’s only 10:51, just mere twenty minutes have passed since you stepped onto the diner’s black and white tiles. You never imagined time could run so fast with another person invading your space than just your comfort zone.

               You see Jimin turn to the waiter. “Oh, no we’re finished. Can we ask for the bill?”

               Wait, you’re already finished? So soon? Your scrunched forehead must have gave out everything you’re thinking because Jimin turns to you and says, “I want to show you to some place. My turn to let you learn more about me.”

               Indifferent to the exchange between you two, the waiter hands Jimin the receipt. “Here it is, sir.”

               “Okay,” Jimin hands the payment on the waiter’s awaiting hands and you gape as you flounder for your own wallet. Jimin dismisses you. “I got this. You can pay me later.” He turns back to the waiter, “Thank you for the service.”

               “Thank you, too, sir.” The waiter returns and when you see him smile at Jimin again, his voice trails off and his eyes squint at the man across you. “Say, sir…you really look like Park Jimin from BTS.”

               “No.” Jimin’s smile drops into a frown and he quickly pulls up his mask.

               “No, really! I’ve been staring at you earlier and I can’t deny the similarities!” the waiter insists and you see his eyes spark in recognition. “You have the similar droopy eyes and familiar voice. Oh yeah, Jimin’s blonde hair on yesterday’s Music Bank is the same as yours–wait, don’t tell me,” The waiter pauses and raises his index finger to Jimin, “you’re the Park Jimin himself?” Jimin glances at you in panic and the waiter catches the small movement of denial. “Oh my god, you are Park Jimin! Damn, man, can I get an autograph? My sister loves you so much!”

               Neither you nor Jimin were able to say a thing after that, nor did you get a chance. The customers that didn’t care about your presence twenty minutes ago are now looking at your way with full, intent stares.

                “Jimin? Park Jimin? That singer from BTS?”

               “Jimin is here?!”

               “Oh my god, it is him! It’s Jimin! It’s the same hair color and jacket and earrings he wore in tonight’s V Live!”

               In the next second, everyone is screaming and rushing out of their tables to approach you.

               You’re frozen in your seat, chills rising in succession in your feet, arms, and spine. Crowds of faces were shoved right against your face, bunches of arms reaching and grabbing and thrashing around, and the screams and hollers were so loud they turn into garbled white noise. It’s like the zombie apocalypse except the creatures grabbing at you are still real, living people.

               “Jimin! Jimin!”

               “Oh my god, Jimin’s with a girl!”

               “Hey, Jimin, look here!”

               “Jimin, please sign this!”              

               “Wait, is that Jimin’s girlfriend?”

               “Jimin, can I take a picture with you?”

               “Jimin, who’s that girl?!”

               “Jimin, I love you!”

               The next moments are a blur. A second ago, jumpy teens and young adults were crowding your table, screaming and thrashing around. In the next second, Jimin has his hand clasped around yours, pulling you fast out of your table and out of the door. And now you’re here, running on the city street, your steps pounding on the cold pavement in heavy beats as a thunderous stampede follows close behind your tail.

               You’re finding it hard to take in all that is happening that the sudden pull on your arm toward your right has you dizzy and almost nauseous.

               “What’s ha-happening?”

               Jimin sneaks a glance at you and then back on the street. “Our fans are chasing us. Keep running. We don’t want them to ruin our date.”

               You purse your lips and will your legs to keep up with his pace. You’re about to chide him for what he said but you decide against it and just kept your mouth shut. You can’t bite back a witty comeback when you’re running out of breath.

               Huffing, he pulls down his mask to take a breath. “C’mon, let’s run faster!”

                The city whizzes by you, multicolored houses meshing into straight lines and warped shapes in a fast-forwarded reel. The streetlights overhead promise another corner to turn to and the pavement below your feet remains constant in its grayness and never-ending stretch. You and Jimin run and turn to corner after corner and it wasn’t until you’re stepping on the fifth street from your run do you realize your hand is still clasped in his.

                It feels weird to have another hand next to yours, much less a hand with fingers that oddly perfectly fill each gap between yours. What’s more odd is that you are comfortable, running to god knows where, hand in hand with a stranger. Well, Jimin’s not technically a stranger, given that you’ve known about him onscreen for six years, but still, everything feels too new and strange especially when he’s your…soulmate.

               The sleeve of your jacket has ridden upward your arm and your eyes immediately caught your inked daffodils. You’ve let your eyes miss their beauty in your shock earlier. But now, you can’t help but stare at awe when the flowers’ yellow petals rival the golden daylight as if the moonlight above has reflected every bit of the sun’s shine onto the art inked on your arms. You’ve never heard of this kind of soulmate system before, nor its strange incongruity with Jimin’s soulmate system. What is truly strange, is you’re already finding yourself dismissing any doubts about them. It’s horrifying that you can’t seem to care about anything anymore because all you could feel is…joy. Everything feels too perfect like a dream. Maybe it is true that you’re actually dreaming because as far as you’re concerned, the soulmate systems have ousted you since you were born. Everything about this daffodil sleeves and Jimin are probably just conjured by your unconscious, trying to make you feel better to ease the guilt of ruining Lucy’s night. You’ll wake up to your alarm to another shitty day in law school and then –

               “JIMIIIIIIN!”

               Unlike your expectations, it is a blaring scream that wakes you up to your senses.            

               “Where’s Jimin?!”

               “There, there! I can see his blonde hair AHHH!!!!”

               “Jimin! Don’t run away from us!”

               And then, you’re running fast again, lungs squeezing in short breaths as Jimin pulls you to corner after corner, maneuvering you in and out of street after street. Your legs are starting to numb from exhaustion but before you could start to whine at Jimin for a short break to rest, he has already pulled you into a dark, narrow alleyway crammed between two clothing retail stores. Only a few seconds later, a mass of shouting teens runs past the street.  You turned your face away, holding your breath in until the last one behind them misses your hiding spot, only finding it permissible to breathe again when the fans’ loud voices dissipate in the next corner.

               When you turn your head back to your front, you’re met with Jimin’s own flustered face. Only mere inches separate your lips from brushing against each other. Words are caught in your throat as you let your eyes take in his flushed state: his fringes matted on his forehead, his pink lips parted as he huffs, his ears reddened from the cold, and his warm brown eyes that reflect your own blushing face. If everything that has happened tonight really turns out to be a dream, you hope your sleep could be long enough to let you drag this night for as long as you could.

               “What are you staring at?”

               You’re suddenly brought back to where you are, pressed uncomfortably against the cold walls of the alley. Your eyes instantly moved down to your feet and with the motion, you caught a glowing thing sitting right atop on your left ring finger. It takes you a second to realize that the yellow glow is coming from the inked daffodil on your ring finger. Your daffodil ring is glowing like a fucking firefly. Your eyes widen and they fleet upward to meet Jimin’s eyes, your mouth gaping. “I–uh-uh–um–”

               Jimin raises his eyebrows, lips curving upwards. “Can’t get enough of my beautiful face?”

               “What? No!” You turn away and scowl, hoping the night could cool down the heat forming on your cheeks. You frantically pull the sleeves of your oversized jacket to hide your glowing tattoo.

               “Don’t need to be defensive. You can stare as long as you want, Y/N. After all,” Jimin raises his index finger and gestures to his face and down to his body, “you own all of these.”

               Your eyes twitch and your lips form an unamused frown. Jimin laughs.

               Jimin was the first one to squeeze out from the narrow space and you follow next. Despite your reaction earlier, you find it necessary to keep the frown on your face. You try to not let it show how much his words are making your heart pound loud and proud against your ears.

               You clear your throat. “You’ve got some serious fans out there.”

               Sighing, Jimin takes off the mask pulled under his jaw and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. “Ah, yeah. We always get that occasional…warm greeting whenever we land at airports. I guess we’re already used to that.”

               “Warm?! It’s borderline harassment!”

               “They’re just…excited to see me, that’s all. I can’t complain because I signed up for this when I decided to pursue this career.”

               “But still! That doesn’t mean they get to shove their faces to you and scream and demand you to take pictures with them or sign this or that. You still have your personal space and people should respect that. You’re still a human being, Chim.”

               Jimin stares at you before he breaks into a chuckling fit. “I didn’t know we’re on the stage to be making petnames for each other now, Y/Nie.”

               You gulp as you feel your cheeks heat up again. “I’m serious!”

               “Yeah, I know. I’m just joking to laugh off the heartbeats I hear pounding loud in my chest. You look at him, brows furrowed. Jimin shrugs. “I can’t help it. You make me feel like this.”

               You clear your throat again, diverting the conversation to where you are before he got sidetracked. “Anyway, can’t you get like a restraining order on them or something?”

               “You know that’s impossible.”

               “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just pissed off.” He looks at you smirking, and before he can come up with another cheesy line, you spoke out, “For you! Pissed off for you, yeah. Any person shouldn’t go through such trauma.” Jimin nods and you ramble on, “I only saw you guys’ airport fiascos on fancams. I never knew a toned down version of those like this will be already this bad. Heck, I’m already trembling with just a couple of fans hot on our toes, what more for you guys who get pushed and shoved and grabbed here and there by a flock of them. It’s goddamn scary and infuriating. If I were in your shoes I would have dropped down and screamed and cried. I’m glad I didn’t push my stupid 17-year-old dream of becoming an idol. I can’t do that stuff.”

               “I’m glad too you didn’t pursue that dream. I don’t want other men freely ogling my girl with no lawful repercussions.”

               “’…Ew. Don’t say that again.”

               “What?”

               You blanch despite the heat gathering on your cheeks. “The ‘my girl.’ It’s cringey.”

               “Oh hell no am I never gonna say that again if you’re blushing and being cute like this because of it. Oh my, Y/N, you can just say you like it! I can say it again if you want to–”

               “Oh please, no–”

               “My girl.”

               “Shut up!”

               “Ahh, you’re blushing more!”

***

               The skyline has long deepened in an inky indigo blanket yet you can’t feel your eyes fluttering close any minute now. It’s true because about eleven thirty, you’re still busy chirping away flower meanings to Jimin who was attentive to every word down to every flower color, to notice you two have already reached the business area of the city. There were no more residential areas or any run-down bars. Skyscrapers stood tall and brooding on strict two sides of the road while cut-straight gravel streets measure a meter or two to separate establishments. Unlike the streets from the bar to the diner, which were colored in various hues of maroon, beige, blue, and occasional flickers of yellow, the buildings in front of you followed a narrow color palette of light gray to black. However, the gloomy vicinity did nothing to dim the colorful trivia-dump you’re doing with Jimin.

               “Did you know, most yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings?”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah, like the marigold. Despite being a vibrant flower, it actually means envy and jealousy. And oh, don’t get me started with carnations. I always find myself inquiring young men who came into the shop picking yellow carnations if the flowers were for a first date.”

               “Why is that?” Jimin raises his brows.

               “It’s a horrible choice for a first date! Yellow carnations mean disdain and you DON’T want to jinx a starting relationship with such a negative connotation.”

               “What flower should I pick then for a first date?”

               “Roses are safe. Red, pink, or white are definitely the charmers. White carnations also do the trick for you as they mean sweet love. Although I mentioned yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings, there’s one flower I know that stands out, the most perfect one I think for a first date.”

               “What is it?”

               “Sunflowers,” you grin. “Despite all their beauty and all that mechanism where they turn towards the sun’s direction, they are quite tedious to grow. They’re needy of nutrients. They drain the soil from its nutrients, hogging them that no other kind of plant should be placed near them as they will easily die. That’s why they carry the meaning of draining love. But you know what? Even if they’re draining, they hold one of the most delicate and romantic message”

               “What is it?”

               “Everlasting love,” you smile. “They may be quite draining but their beauty is worth every effort. See? Wouldn’t be that the perfect flower for a first date?”

               Jimin nods. “Yeah, they are.” He looks at you, smiling and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling too wide.

               When you turned to another street, Jimin asks, “Do you know another flower that holds such a…bittersweet message?”

               “Yeah, spiderlilies. But you know, I think that flower has the saddest story to tell.”

               “Why is that?”

               “It’s the flower of parting. It–” You suddenly trail off and Jimin stops in his step the minute you pull his arm into a stop. “Wait, where are we? Why are we in the business part of the town?”

               Jimin tilts his head, “I told you I’m gonna show you a place.”

               “A place? In here?”

               “Just trust me,” Jimin chuckles and he grabs your hand before you can utter another word.

               After a couple of minutes weaving down two streets and turning two corners to the left, the two of you stand in front of a humongous gravel gray tower. It would have looked uptight and intimidating if it weren’t for its darkening edges, from the soot or age, you couldn’t tell. All you know is that Jimin is already pushing through the large glass double doors with you in tow.

               “W-wait, what are you doing? This is trespassing and if you don’t know what it is, it’s illegal!”

               “We’re not trespassing. Trust me.”

               The furrows on your forehead deepen, anxiety grappling at the edges of your nerves, but you couldn’t do anything but follow him. You don’t want to admit your feet were walking on their own so you’re gonna blame Jimin for holding your hand too firmly.

               The ground floor of the tower wasn’t that much. All it has was clean white walls and cream-tiled floors. Its reception desk wasn’t too grand with just a gold bell, a couple of stacked news articles cased to the side, and a fake Picasso painting hung behind it. You can tell it’s Picasso because it was the same painting you always stare at in the guidance counselor’s room, with a small black label printed “Picasso” underneath it. And you know it’s fake because the guidance counselor told you the original piece of that painting now resides in the residence of an old Italian antique collector. The two of you wound a corridor and passed two hallways before you stop in front of metal double-doors, the ones used for fire exits in hospitals. It has a built-in lock and by the way Jimin pushes the door without any advances, you know it’s locked. Jimin fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans and produces his wallet, taking a silver key tucked in its small flaps.

               You gawk. “You have a key for this?”

               Jimin doesn’t answer but smiles, inserting the key. When you hear the doors unlock, he pushes one open and gestures for you to come inside. You didn’t have any qualms and just followed him. You figured that if Jimin has the key, then what you’re doing is not trespassing, and you find yourself relaxing eventhough you’re boggled as to why Jimin possesses such key when his entertainment company is in another twenty-six storey building on the opposite side of town.

               Jimin leads you down a wide hallway past the metal double-doors, now colored in gray walls and darker gray tiles instead of the standard white and cream of the rest of the ground floor. There were a couple of doors lining on the sides, each designated with a position of an authority you didn’t catch to read. At the end of the hallway, a set of stairs lead downwards and you find yourself yet again, waiting in front of another set of metal double doors as Jimin inserts another silver key into the built-in lock. He pushes the doors open and as you stepped inside, you feel your jaw drop to the floor.

               In front of you was a skating rink, surrounded by glass partitions that measure about a meter. Black benches surround the rink like the ones you see in the hockey games inserted in films. However, unlike the ones you watched, the benches weren’t many enough to hold spectators of a game, and the rink was too small to hold a proper hockey game. It’s probably ideal only for recreational skating like the ones you went to with your mother whenever she feels like taking you out in winter.    

               You turn to Jimin. “What is this skating rink? I thought we were inside a business building.”

               Jimin leans on one of the benches. “Me and my group always go here to let out stress. When we were stressing for our debut, when we need a breather for comebacks or, when the cameras and media were too much–we always go here. It’s a secret hangout place, tucked underneath this large corporate building.About 50 years ago, this building was like a winter sports complex. It has this large skating rink where monthly local competitions for hockey and curling are held. Sometimes, it’s lucky enough to hold regional competitions as this part of town was far from the business center back then. Aside from contests and trainings being held, anyone–kids, teens, adults–gets to arrange who uses the spare time from the fixed schedule of the complex for recreational hockey, curling, or just…skating round and round.” Jimin laughs. “Sometimes, the complex frees it schedule to invite anyone to come and skate for a downgraded price. You know, like how your local authorities turn the frozen lakes into a public skating area when winter comes.”

               Jimin’s lips form a straight line, “However, business turned sour in the long run because another sports complex was built near the area, equipped with more supplies and employees. So the owner of the complex and the land had to sell their whole business because of that, and also because her family is going to migrate to the States. This skating rink was supposed to be taken down but the first owner of the land run back to this town and made an agreement with the buyer. Pleaded nothing will change from the negotiation except she’ll pay anything just for the buyer to keep the rink. She went all out with her money then. Even sold her house and her ancestor’s villa in Taiwan.”

               “She…spent all her money for this?”

               “Well, yeah. She did go almost bankrupt but at least she got to keep her skating rink before she died.” Jimin glances at you, waiting for a reply but when you just return a stare, he tilts his head in inquiry.

               You pull on your sleeves. “I didn’t say she did bad choices…it’s just that–it’s a lot of risk. I don’t think anyone could do that but her.”

               “Anyone can do that, it just depends what they’re willing to risk. Because–well, some things are just worth risking everything for.”

               You stay silent, staring at him. Jimin chuckles and grabs your hand to lead you towards the locker room. He proceeds with his story, “The buyer built a commercial building but fulfilled his end of the agreement by keeping the rink. And when the buyer eventually handed over the building to his son, the skating rink was then cut into half as the 3rd owner got the building renovated and sold half of the land to another millionaire. The other section of the rink was turned into another building but this one remained because the owner’s son loved to skate whenever his dad brings him for bring-your-child-to-work day. Now the son, the current owner, kept this skating rink and even opened it to the public because unlike the previous owner, his dad, he’s fun and wants to let kids come into this concrete jungle just to play and hang out.”

               “How do you know all of these?”

               “I’m friends with the current owner. His name is Henry Kim, a friend from preschool, and I swear I never knew how filthy rich he was back then. We became friends because I got enticed by his story of the first land owner meeting her soulmate, her husband, in a local skating rink which inspired her to build the sports complex and even had the succeeding owners keep the rink. Henry even got me some articles about it to read. So now, I and the boys get to have alone time in here whenever we want, away from all the cameras and the media and the pizzaz. It’s a privilege, I know, given our…status, but I’d like to think it more as out of our friendship.” He turns back to smile at you. “It makes me warm.”

               You didn’t know how to reply to his last statement so you just returned his smile and let his hand guide you to the locker rooms where you can strap on your skating shoes. It didn’t take you too long to lace up your skating shoes and waddle onto the rink because within just a couple of minutes, you’re already giggling, waltzing on the ice. It’s been a while since you let yourself enjoy like a child like this–free from societal pressure, success strife stress, and family expectations; to laugh aloud and feel nothing akin but being on top of the world just because of simple things like this–skating round and round.

               “So you told me, it’s your turn to let me learn more about you,” you skid in front of Jimin, grinning. “When is that gonna happen? You’ve been rambling about on and on about a lot of other people.”

               “Well, there isn’t much,” Jimin skates in time with you towards the east end of the rink. “I practically showed and revealed everything already on TVs and magazines.”

               “Not true. You’re more than what the cameras show what you seem to be.”

               “You’re a fan though. You practically already know everything about me.”

               “Also not true. No one is capable of fully knowing everything about everyone. All you have is your perception of others and others’ perception of you, but they will never be enough to be everything about you nor others. People are like mirrors, you know. They see each other based on the images they envision them in so, they’re just staring at what their thoughts collectively created about another person. In the end, the only one who truly knows themselves are no one but themselves.” You sigh, turning to him and taking his hand as you let centripetal force control your balance and skate you backward. “How about this: you tell me things you’ve never told anyone before.”

               “Okay,” Jimin agrees and he pulls you back to his side, hands still connected. “Do you know I used to dream of becoming a fisherman?”

               “A fisherman? Do you even know how to fish?”

               “Well…no. But you know how preschool assigns you this homework where you have to draw your dream?” You nod. “Well,” Jimin continues, “I don’t really have a dream for me back then and I can’t draw for the life of me. And then, I figured a fisherman is easy to draw because you just have to get the trapezoidal boat, the swirling waves, the stickman, and the two lines of a fishing rod right. You can add puffy clouds and the ‘m’ birds for background. After that, I convinced myself all I ever wanted is to be a fisherman and when I told that to my mother, she almost fainted.”

               “Oh my god,” you giggle, “you just made up a dream for yourself out of a drawing?”

               “Yeah, and it wasn’t the only scenario,” Jimin laughs. “By 3rd grade, I learned how to draw a motorcycle from sticks and circles so when the draw-your-dream assignment came up again, I upgraded my drawing skills and changed my dream: I now want to be a pizza delivery guy. Of course, I told my mom about it again and this time, she also upgraded: she chased me around with a slipper.”

               “I understand your mom though,” you manage to chortle in between snickers. “Being a fisherman and a pizza delivery guy are honorable but they weren’t the greatest permanent jobs in this down-slope economy.”

                “True,” Jimin agrees and this time, he lets himself skate backward, keeping his hold on your hand, firm. “Anyway, the rest is history. The media already wrote about how I got into a contemporary arts school and from there I learned to love dance and eventually dreamed of becoming a performer.”

               “What did I tell you about not being only what the people see you to be?”

               “Okay, okay. Umm,” Jimin trails off, eyes wandering as if the things he wanted to say can be easily picked up in the skating rink. But just a second later, he’s suddenly looking straight into your eyes, his own ones glimmering. “Oh, I got one! I was a hell of a headache when I was a kid. I was always so jumpy, running around, loudy as hell–the type of kids you cannot contain in one place?”

               You nod, smiling. “A lot of kids were like that.”

               “Well,” he chuckles, “the difference is that I cannot still be contained in one place even I’m way past a kid. Anyway, the me back then was a whole different level. I like going to town after town, wandering around, always hoping for some adventure. I once got on top of a delivery van, parked near my neighbor’s house, so near that it was easy for me to jump on it from their balcony. Their balcony wasn’t that tall anyway because their house was some kind of a Spanish-inspired bungalow. We were playing hide and seek at that time. I was so competitive I thought if I got on top of the van and lied down very flat, I will be unnoticed. It turned out to be a good idea because ten minutes later, the kids are now calling out for my name, yelling for me to show up so we can start another game. When the van suddenly rumbled, I quickly realized what I did was a terrible idea. The van picked up its pace and now we’re really moving from the front of my neighbor’s house. You know what I did?”

               You shook your head, giggling.

               “I cried. Real loud. Snot, sweat, and tears mixing, I look like a dumb, reckless kid who always gets complaints from the neighbors.” Jimin laughed. “So after crying for like good two minutes, that I thought was an hour back then, I started choking on my own spit. With the wailing turned down, I heard my father running behind and screaming for the van to stop. I was lucky that the driver immediately stopped after hearing my father’s cries. But after that, I wasn’t lucky anymore. My mom felt the need to keep me away from vans and my neighbor’s balcony. God, it was so embarrassing.”

               “At least your ‘hobby’ got corrected,” you quip.

               “You think jumping on vans was my hobby?” Jimin scoffs then smirks. “Don’t underestimate me. I can do much more than jumping on vans. I even did bungee jumping. Remember that episode on Run BTS!, our TV show?”

               “Of course I remember. You screamed like a screeching pterodactyl.”

               “No, I did not. That was Taehyung.”

               “Okay, okay, touché. I was just trying to make you laugh.”

               Jimin grins. “You don’t have to try though. You can always effortlessly do that.”

               You tilt your head. “Are you telling me my existence is funny?”

               Jimin pulls you towards him and you almost tumble forward but his firm grip on your hand keeps you balanced on your skates. However, you could feel every bit of warmth coming from his body as his arms are now wound around yours, keeping you as close to him as possible. Close enough for you to feel his breath fan against yours, close enough for you to trace every constellation marking up his face, and close enough for you to see the reflection of your face in his eyes…again. Jimin breaks into a grin. “I’m trying to tell you that you can easily make me happy without even trying.”

               You feel scorching heat immediately spread on your chest and to the rest of your body. You lightly push Jimin away, scoffing. Jimin puts his hands into his pockets. You sputter out,“W-what? As if I can do that. I’m really really intolerable and insufferable, you know?”

               Jimin chuckles, “It’s okay. I can handle that.”

               Before you can mumble out another disagreement, Jimin grabs your hand again, leading the two of you to the other side of the rink, this time, skating side by side.

               “Continuing from what I left on, you know what good came out from my reckless days?”

               You don’t answer him but glance his way.

               Jimin continues on, “I managed to get lots of friends. I got a bunch of them in preschool, then in elementary. When I got into high school, my group of friends got so large that almost everyone in the school, not just our batch but the lower grade levels as well, practically knew me before I even knew their name. Man, it was crazy. I get to hang out with different people per week and I get to learn their stories. It’s so fun.”

                “You must be quite of a people-person even back then.”

               “Ah, yeah,” Jimin nods. “People said I thrive off people surrounding me. Said I like being complimented and that I grow more when I’m surrounded by them. Something about collective growth.”

               “But, who wouldn’t like compliments?”

               “True. Everyone likes them. It’s just…I think they are right, but sometimes…I beg to differ.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I feel like it’s the people who thrive on me, not the other way around.”

               You look at him, curious. “How come?”

               Jimin breathes out, tugging the collar of his leather jacket closer to his neck with his free hand. “I thought why people liked me back then was because I was fun. You know that type of kid, who gets the crowd’s attention easily and entices everyone to join them in in whatever they do? That type of kid who’s easy-going and can effortlessly make boring things look cool? The people around me told me I was like that and at times, I do feel it’s the reason why I got so many friends. But as I grow up, I feel people liked me because I really love listening to their stories. I love it too much that it was even quite…abnormal.”

               “Abnormal?”

               “Yeah…abnormal. You see, back on the days, I used to latch on to person after person telling them, no, begging them to tell me their stories–the place they were born in, where they grew up in, their secrets and interests, anything. I learned how to clean vinyl records from an old unmarried man in our neighborhood. I got to travel to Geneva from a rich girl who told me her summer vacation at the playground. I even unknowingly caught up with the local gossip of a married man and his mistress three blocks from our neighborhood. I don’t know why exactly I did it. It just felt nice. It seems our generation’s now short of anyone willing to listen to what they have to say. So when people heard of my abnormal…hobby, they searched for me and spilled everything. They get someone to listen to them, and I get myself new stories. It’s a win-win situation.”

               Jimin steps to the side, creating a wider gap between your bodies as you skate but still kept your hands interlocked. “They treated me like a pond they could throw rocks into, entertaining them with my fascination and curiosity and assuring them I will not tell another soul about what they said. Just repeating what they said, nodding when they ask questions, and taking everything they told me inside when they bid their temporary farewells. They always come back for another listening session and everything will repeat. Some people I listened to talked too excitedly as if a day will never be enough to tell their story. A few talked in spurts that it’s hard to determine the beginning and the end of their stories. There were the factual lessons, rambles of nonsense, litanies of achievements, and some tear-jerkers.” Jimin sighs. “But the most amazing one I ever got to listen to was how my mom and dad met.”

               You purse your lips. “U-uh, who told you that story?”

               “My mom,” Jimin grins. “She told me the story of how they met as soon as I can understand anything. Of course, they told me the red string of fate story, but what interested me the most was their soulbond. Their soulmate system lets them know what each other is feeling even without talking about it. It’s amazing.”

               “How did they meet then?”

               “Well, my dad had a crush on my mom before he even knew she was his soulmate. My mom is my dad’s childhood friend. She became his friend in his very first day in school after she defended him from a group of kids bullying him for being too short. After that, all he ever did was admire her. He wasn’t too adamant about the soulmate system before then because all he could ever feel from his system was annoyance and irritation.  My mom lived next to dad’s house and belonged to the same group of friends he has so it was easy for him to always see her. However, talking to her was a difficult feat because my dad is one hell of an introvert and he always gets frozen feet just at the sight of her. So when my mom finally had enough of my father’s tiptoeing around her, she demanded for him to just tell her whatever issue he has with her so she can stop feeling awkward with his coldness.” Jimin giggles, “Of course my father is bad at confrontations so he just hiccupped and ran away in embarrassment. However, my mother’s words sunk in so he pulled out a recorded track he made about a month ago–a song he made just about my mother, and edited it, ending with a shy ‘I-I know you probably have many suitors by now…but can you please, please, please take a chance on me? Okay, that was too forward, shit, I’m sorry, how do I turn this off?’”

               Your jaw hangs open in disbelief. “You memorized it word per word?”

               “Of course,” Jimin chortles. “It’s too funny to let go!”

               “So after my mom heard about the record my dad left on her doorstep, she immediately asked him to dinner that night. And during their date, that’s when dad felt his soulbond feeling at peace and in love. It didn’t take them to put two-on-two together to tell they were each other’s soulmate. I swear, their soulmate system is wonderful. Dad can easily tell when mom is upset and he easily convinces her to talk it out with him. I always think communication is a strong foundation of every relationship, and to have such a soulmate system to let you feel easily what the other is feeling, it must be heaven! Imagine not having to guess or tiptoe around one another when conflicts arise. Feelings assure you the truth because no one can control what they want to feel, not to mention that soulmate system betters you to become a more empathic person.” Jimin turns and locks his eyes with yours. “Don’t you think it’s amazing to have such phenomenon? To have a significant other crafted by the universe just for you?

               You glance away. “…Yeah.”

               Jimin diverts his eyes back on the ice. “Unlike the me back then, I wasn’t that much into stories now.”

               “Why?”

               “These days, it’s hard for me to reach out and listen to people who have anything but hate or illusioned righteousness fueling their systems. The only things people tell me now were how great I was, how much I make from this job, how handsome I got. Sometimes I get to listen to bitter people who feel the need to question my career choices, making me feel bad to uplift themselves. And then majority of the time, I get people who idolize me so much, put me on the pedestal, and make me out as someone that wasn’t really me. I know some of them mean well, but sometimes…you’re just not comfortable anymore.”

               You look up at him, “Because you know you’re more than that?”

               “Well, yeah,” Jimin glances at you. “You put it really well into words. I’m impressed.”

               A question was on the tip of your tongue and you purse your lips, debating whether to ask him or not. But then, this might be your only chance you could ask him this, so you made up your mind and tugged his jacket. “Tell me, sometimes…do you ever wish you didn’t get this humongous fame at all?”

               Jimin stares at you and a couple of seconds passed before he decided to answer. “Yes, sometimes. I hate how people follow me everywhere, invade my privacy, and treat me more as a commodity than a human being. I hate how I have to hide my family and childhood friends from the limelight just so they don’t get dragged in any scandals people are so obsessed in making up. I hate having to wake up and unconsciously worry about my looks, my angles, and my weight more than anything else because I know more important matters in the society are more worth thinking and talking about–but I–I don’t know, I just can’t help it. I can’t help how the media changed me. Of course, there’re good and bad changes it brought to my life but I hated the bad ones to the very core.  But you know, when I look back and trace my steps to where I was before, I realize that fame made me happy before,” he looks at you, “and how it still does now. With this fame I was able to bring joy to lots of people and give them love they were unable to receive from those around them. With this fame I was able to give my parents a home they used to only dream about. With this fame, I was able to meet my bandmates who loved me like a family…and, I wouldn’t have met you if I didn’t become the Jimin now.”

               “H-how so?”

               “You wouldn’t have taken a chance on this date, on this soulmate thing for one whole night with me, if I wasn’t who I was today.”

               Your forehead furrows, your chest constricting in pain. “N-not true. Why are you telling me that –okay, maybe I gave you that impression of an obsessive fangirl because I blurted everything on my tongue when I first saw you, but honestly I wanted to know you more as a person and not as–”

               “No, no,” Jimin waves his hand, chuckling. “I’m sorry I implied it that way. What I mean is: You wouldn’t have trusted me enough to stay with me tonight and try this soulmate thing if I wasn’t able to love myself first before I met you.  I didn’t know what love was back then. I just imagine myself being unconditionally admired and taken care of my soulmate. And, I guess I wasn’t my best during that time. I complain a lot, demand too much, and bottle my feelings inside until they suffocate me. When things go wrong, I find it easy to blame someone else. I regarded too highly of myself that I’ve become selfish and insensitive to the people around me. So when I slowly started  to outgrow my horrible past-self, I then learned it’s impossible to trust someone about love and relationships if they are still unable to love themselves. Sure, people will argue that they can figure that out together. But still, I think it’s better if we learn how to be comfortable in our own skins before we demand others to love us. It’s not fair for them to tolerate their significant others who can’t love them right. How can we love others when we don’t know even know how love is supposed to be and feel like? That’s why…I’m glad I met you now, because I think I’m ready to love–” Jimin bites his lip, “Okay sorry, I got too sidetracked and went off the loop again , but do you get what I mean?”

               “Yeah, it’s just,” you close your eyes, shaking your head, “everything about this soulmate thing still shocks me and I’m still trying to get a hang of it so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

               You keep your glance down, apologetic, waiting for Jimin’s reply. But all you got is, “Why do you like flowers so much?”

               You look up and Jimin looks at you, eyes warm, smile wide. You didn’t have to stare for long to know he’s trying to change the topic. Trying to make you comfortable again. Actually, he never failed to make you comfortable throughout the whole night. He has never pushed you to tell everything about yourself–never demanded for you to tell him about your family like how he openly talked about his, never forced you to reveal your weaknesses and insecurities when he let you in on his vulnerability.  And even though you’re starting to think whether to talk about each one of them or not now, he still gives you the choice to come back to your safe zone whenever you want. All of these are enough of a reason to grip his hand tighter in yours and pull him to the center of the rink, facing each other.

               “Wait, whoa!”

               “Okay, why don’t we dance?”

               Jimin’s eyes almost bulge out “Dance?”

               “Yeah, dance! You know what, I’ll take the lead.” You pulled him closer to you, looping your arms around his frame in a gentle hug. Jimin’s shocked and tensed for a bit, but it wasn’t long before you can feel him giggling behind your ear and returning the hug.

               “I didn’t know you were this…aggressive.”

               “Shut up,” you laugh. “Can you just indulge in my free offer and not say another cheesy pick-up line?”

               Jimin chuckles. “Okay, will do.”

               You didn’t move much. Just, swaying and turning in small motions with your arms wound around each other. You can’t exactly point out why you’re suddenly doing this when an hour ago, you’re too adamant showing him you’re not affected by him at all. All you know is you can no longer disagree that everything with him felt right. Even if you’re still afraid and unsure, everything you did with him made you feel good. Everything you did with him made you feel something akin to happiness.

               And this time, you feel the urge to take the risk and dive in. Just for this night, you’re going to do yourself a favor. Only for one night.

               “I… like flowers so much because words can sometimes be never be enough. Flowers are the only ones that can materialize them. They’re ephemeral and they wilt, like how words evaporate into thin air once you let them out in the open. But, you know that they once lived to fill a moment because you saw their beauty and their ugliness in such a short period of time. They did exist and you know it. And I guess,” you murmur, snuggling deeper into Jimin’s hug, “it’s only through those flowers I get to be true to myself.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “Out of all the things I said tonight, the truest of them all are only the flowers. I’m not a great…arguer at all. I’m a pathological liar. I lied to myself about my distrust in this soulmate system. My cynicism to it was never solely because I wanted to make my own destiny. It was because I saw my mother and father’s relationship go down the drain even when they’re already made for each other. They knew each other so well that it’s easy for them where to hurt each other each time one of them fucks up. They divorced and I have to live in a broken family, torn between the two of them, afloat and in limbo as to where I should stand when they’ve easily marked my days as to what kind of daughter I should portray whenever I have to visit them.  And for me to live without any soulmate system at all, it felt I was further kicked down to the curb by life. Because as much as important love is, sometimes what only matter the most is the assurance that somehow, someone will love me. Because that thought is enough of an emergency kit for my mind whenever I feel too cut off from the world. And having no soulmate system as any kind of assurance….I pitied myself, thinking I can never find out what love truly feels.”

               You hiccup. “I lied to myself for years that my mother’s disappointment in me didn’t bother me. I always knew I’m difficult and for her to see me grow as a woman that she did not expect me to be is hard. I was never into law. I’m into gardening. My mom knows that because I was the one who always tended to our plants and made our garden grow as much as it could even if we’re just in a single bedroom condo unit. I just decided to take law because I know I can’t make a living out of gardening yet. It’s sad, I know, but I have to push through so when the time comes I get to save enough, I can open my own garden shop. And,” you trail off, grasping Jimin tighter in your arms, “I lied to myself I hated every bit of this night with you when tonight’s probably the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.”

               Jimin didn’t say anything. He just hugged you tighter when your shoulders quiver, stroked your back when he felt stray tears wet the skin of his neck. He didn’t push you to say more. He lulled you back to comfort in his swaying, singing you a tender melody by your ear to help you feel at ease again. He is just there, unobtrusive, just patiently waiting for you to do anything.

                When he felt you loosen a bit in his hold, he lets out his voice. “Would you mind to continue the story of the spider lily? You left me quite hanging there.”

               You don’t know why he’s diverting the topic again, but you didn’t mind, having the chance to relieve yourself from years-worth of heaviness you just have mindlessly let out in the empty ice rink. After all, he’s a stranger and telling him everything in your mind wouldn’t hurt because they all leave unobtrusive marks in your life which they easily erase once it’s time for them to go. However, it pains you to type in Jimin as just a stranger in your life.

               You clear your throat. “The-the spider lily is the flower of parting. Their flowers only bloom when the leaves die. They were believed to be lovers who aren’t destined to be together at all.”

               “That’s…terrible.”

               You nod. “…Yeah.”

               “I’ll make sure our story does not go like that.”

               You draw back to look at his face. “What?”

               Jimin smiles. “I’ll make sure our story does not turn out like the spiderlily’s. I know you’re still probably against this soulmate phenomenon. But…I want you to know that you don’t have to feel alone and unloved anymore. I’m already here. And I’m serious about you. Soulmate or not, what we have now isn’t just a one-night thing.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I love you.”

               Jimin stares at you and it only takes a second before he suddenly rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I-I know it’s too soon and you don’t have to say it back but I can’t control what I feel and–”

               You lean forward and shut him up with a kiss. Jimin freezes in your hold for a second, and then he instantly melts in your arms and returns your kiss. You don’t know why you’re doing these–embracing him tighter, angling your head, deepening the kiss to taste more of him, letting him pull you closer so that you can now compare the matching rhythm of your heartbeats. You don’t know why you’re exactly doing these things with a man you just met, no, your soulmate you just found tonight, when hours ago you’re expressing your disdain on the existence of the soulmate phenomenon. The only thought unwaveringly running in your mind now is you don’t want this to stop.

               You don’t want to stop staring at Jimin, even when you struggled getting in the cab he hailed, too busy getting lost in his eyes. You don’t want to stop enjoying the warmth from the small kisses he places against your nape, even if you had difficulty pulling your house keys from your tight jeans pocket as you giggle and moan in his warmth. You don’t want to stop feeling hot and high, even when the coldness of your home starts to seep into your toes as Jimin sheds the clothes on your body, piece by slow aching piece. You don’t want to stop holding his hand, even when you had to strain one arm pulling off his black shirt as he laughs against your neck. But most of all, you don’t want to stop kissing his lips, even when you have to part from him for a second as you lose your breath when his hips bucked into you when he laid you down on your bed.

               Jimin hovers above you, kissing you with such passion as if it will be the last time he would be able to hold you. And, you tried to return the same intensity, to balance the heat he radiates on your burning skin, to pave every expanse of his skin you could reach as he ventures every curve and ridge he could touch. With your bodies bared and stripped naked to each other, you can no longer hide the plethora of feelings that has welled on your chest just from such dream-like night you had shared with him. When Jimin parts away to cup your face in his hands, thumbs slowly caressing your cheeks, you see nothing in his eyes but the image of you–breathless, flustered, happy. You almost wanted to cry.

               “Can you be my first and last, Y/N?” Jimin asks, voice almost quivering.

               You can only manage a whisper through parted lips. “I can, Jimin. A-and I want you to be mine too.”

               After that, you were a goner. No words are further exchanged as Jimin starts to leave a trail of kisses from the sunken juncture of your jaw, to the ridge of your collarbones and onto the valleys of your tender breasts. He travels the gentle swells of your stomach, onto the curve of your hips until he’s down to the banks of your hot core, aching and willing and waiting for him. No words are slipped past each other as he dives in and savors every inch of you, nipping, and licking, and kissing your sopping heat until you’re a moaning mess on your sheets. And when he finally brings you to your high, no words are enough for you to express the euphoria thrumming in your nerves, settling on your chest, filling your head. No words are needed when your eyes and his convey them for you as you plead for more, more, and more and Jimin willingly gives all of him to you.

               Every touch of his hand on your quivering hips has you groaning and pleading. Every caress on your waist and shoulders has you sighing and moaning. Every brush of his hard chest against the soft buds of your breasts has you moaning and wailing. And every graze of his lips against yours, you can’t help but melt and let your body speak your thoughts for you. You pull him desperately, cupping his face as you roll your hips against his that has him choking out a moan.

               “Jimin,” you breathe into him and he smiles.

               “W-What?”

               “Please.”

               You don’t need to say anything in words for your dazed and glimmering eyes are enough to convey them all. Jimin smiles and gives in. He captures your lips into another kiss, murmuring your name between interlocked mouths. You feel him shift in his position above you and when he deepens the kiss again, you finally feel him burying himself deep in you. Jimin gives himself to you in slow and deep strokes that have your back arching off the bed, fingernails digging into his skin. You sputter his name again and again and despite how far gone he is losing in your heat, his gaze on your eyes never wavers, nor loses trace of every bit of him he has exposed to you, making you lose yourself into him even more.

               Everything compounds into each other in such miniscule timeframe–from the moment Jimin intertwines his tongue with yours, to the second you clutch his head closer underneath your chin to continue his featherlight kisses on your jaw. When he angles his cock deeper into you, you can only think about nothing but him, him, and only him. As he holds your hand tight in his hold, with his lips on yours as he mutters “I love you, I love you, I love you,” in between every thrust, you finally feel what it’s like to be on top of the world.

               Like the explosion you felt when he first touched your hand, it only takes one second for Jimin to let you fall apart in his arms. Euphoria living alive in every inch of your nerves, you clutch desperately on his arms and Jimin draws you closer to him as your walls clamp onto him and coaxes him to also let go in your arms. The fullness and torrid heat of him spreads inside you and Jimin kisses you once more with everything he’s got–sloppy but passionate, messy but powerful–a beautiful mosaic of the feelings you had in the most wonderful night of your entire life.

               You’re dazed and shaken, wondering if it is possible for everything to be a dream. But when Jimin collapses next to you and pulls the blanket over your bodies, all thoughts cease in a staggering halt as he whispers, “I’m happy I get to know you.”

               You smile in his embrace, “Me too.” Sensations always hit first before thought and without thinking twice, you find yourself breathing out, “Promise me you’ll be by my side ‘til tomorrow morning.”

               Jimin kisses your left hand, the one with the daffodil ring, and as he says “I promise,” you fall into a peaceful slumber. His words are enough of an assurance for you.

***

               When tomorrow comes, you wake up on a cold bed. Jimin is nowhere to be found. You didn’t need to feel more of his side of the bed to know his clothes and shoes and every trace of him in your home is now gone. But still, he promised.

               You slip into your shirt discarded on the floor and drag your worn body to the living room. Your couch and your coffee table stood untouched. When you turn to your right, you find your kitchen and dining table empty. No smell of cooked food lingered in the air. You dashed to your shower even when you hear no sound of water splashing on the tiles. The door swings open and your shower stands empty, polished tiles dry, no trace of use on the faucet. With pounding steps, you run back to the living room, straight down to your door. Fingers skimming down on your bolts, your hand trembles when you find the knob and grasp it. When you twist it, your door clicks open as it unlocks.

               You refuse to acknowledge the obvious possibility looming on your head since you woke up. But now, it only takes one more second of you standing by your unlocked door before your thoughts crash down, choking out a broken sob from you. Jimin left the minute after what happened last night. He didn’t go outside to just buy something before coming back to your home. He didn’t even stay long enough to wash up and clean himself. He just got up, locked your door close, and went out, leaving you behind.

               You hunch over your doorstep, grunting, pain hammering on your chest as your body falls to the ground. Uneasiness, frustration, and desperation muddles into a heavy iron ball that sinks on your chest, sinking deeper and deeper until its heaviness constricts your lungs of any air.

               Jimin left and he didn’t even bother to leave a note. He doesn’t have your keys, nor your number. He isn’t planning to come back.

               You stiffle a broken scream on your clenched hands.

***

               Three taps on your desk grow louder by the second, each one nipping on your nerves.

               “Hey, Miss, my roses?”

               “O-oh, right,” you stir, eyes fluttering wide, taking in the bouquet of roses you were wrapping. The flower shop is brightly illuminated by the overhead lights and the morning daylight, yet everything looks so hazy, the frantic movements of your hands sticking out so aberrant from your perspective.

               “Here’s your bouquet, sir. Thank you for coming to Petal Hill.” The man waves off and your smile falls the second the glass door swings close in his exit.

               Everything went back to normal. You went to university in the morning, started your shift in the flower shop in the afternoon. You didn’t miss a day and you eat and sleep the same way. Routines are done the same way they are until they blur day after day, just how you live your days with sleep marking the end and beginning of every tomorrow. But, they are still not enough to fill the gaping hole in your chest. Whatever you do, they’re not enough to let you forget of that night. Even if you tried to convince yourself that you felt okay after Lucy made up with you, your false defense just crumbles whenever you so much glance at the inked flowers on your arms, the ones Jimin ignited to bloom that night. More so when now the flowers have dulled in their yellowness after he left.

               Even if you know it’s futile, you still did everything you can. You changed your sheets and cleaned your home. You refused to look into any online article pertaining to him. You busied yourself until you break down tired. You screamed and have already cried for so many nights. And you did something you abhorred: wait–wait for someone to come back without any assurance they have actually plans of coming back.

                You wait for Jimin to show up at your door, explain and apologize and fulfill his end of the promise. Because even if you abhorred the sight of your mother endlessly waiting for your father to come back and how you did the same for the both of them, Jimin is different. He is your soulmate and that night you met him, he convinced you it won’t hurt to give this soulmate phenomenon a chance. So each day after that dream-like night, you waited and waited until all seconds, hours, and days add into an excruciating week.

               For one week, Jimin didn’t show up and when a gray Sunday afternoon comes, eight days past the night, you’re starting to wonder if you should still keep your unrealistic hope alive.

               The glass door swings, ten footsteps echo in the silent shop, five pansies are laid down on your table–and then you stop. Your thoughts halt in a frozen limbo, your body stills in staggering shock.

               It’s the same bleached blonde hair, the same black leather jacket, the same silver earrings, the same drooped eyelids and warm, brown eyes – it’s Jimin, Park Jimin, who stands in front of you, waiting for you to wrap the pansies on your desk. It’s him, the soulmate you’ve been waiting to come back to you for so many days and nights and all you can do is–

               Your eyes immediately dart down to your desk as your fingers scramble to wrap the flowers. “If you just came here to make sure I won’t tell anybody what happened, don’t worry, I already plan not to. Your reputation will remain clean and you’ll still have millions of fans. You can leave after I wrap this.”

              “W-what? No, I’m not gonna do that, Y/N. Never...I came here to talk.”

              “Oh, so now you wanna talk. After a week of silence, you now decided you want to talk.”

              “Y/N–”

             “So now that you wanna talk, what are we gonna talk about? How everything that happened was a mistake?” you spit out. You’ve already thought about this but hearing them loud from your own lips starts to make your eyes sting with tears. You immediately look down again at the flowers you’re wrapping. You can’t cry in front of him again, let him see you this weak again. You can’t have him to kick you down to the curb again.

            “No, Y/N. I’m sorry. Please–please look at me.” Jimin says, a sob escaping his lips. Receiving no response, he places his palms on your desk and pulls down his mask as he leans forward to meet your downcasted eyes. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side that morning. But believe me, I didn’t want to break my promise, I just have to do something–”

              “What do you have to do?” you cut him as you raise your hand to wipe away the tear that has made its way down your cheeks. “What do you have to do that is so fucking important for you to just leave me as if nothing happened between us? Why do you have to disappear for a week without any word? Why do you have to just show up now? Why, Jimin, why?”

              You face Jimin, letting your eyes meet his for the first time and really look at him. His lips are chapped, his complexion pale, the bags under his eyes dark. He looks just as bad as you but you don’t want to dwell on it, afraid your resolve will crumble down when you should be keeping a strong front.

              “Y/N, I–I'm sorry,” Jimin says again as a tear escapes down his cheek. “What I did is unforgivable and I know you have every right to hate me right now. But I-I have actually planned to stay and make you breakfast and tell you–”

              “I don’t need to hear what you could have done because it did not happen,” you look at him and Jimin freezes. “You didn’t stay like you promised, Jimin.”

             “Y/N, please–” 

             “Just tell me why you left me. Why do you have to appear now?”

              “I,” Jimin starts and he sighs. “Namjoon called me around four, demanded where the hell I am. Apparently...the media has already published pictures of us getting in a cab together that night. Namjoon asked me to come back to the dorm right that instant before the media can do a massive stakeout in front of your building and barrage us with their cameras. So I didn’t come back the morning after to not raise any more suspicion. I waited a week to pass for the paparazzi to calm down and drive away their cars before I can go back to you.” He raises his hand to wipe a stray tear on his cheek but it’s not enough to prevent the small wet drop from landing on the pansies. “I-I can’t let the media invade your privacy and create horrendous articles about you. They can do that to me, but not to you. Never to you. You don’t deserve that.”

                You’ve imagined this confrontation scene again and again in your head for the last couple of days. You’ve planned what you’re going to say and how you would end this goddamn connection with Jimin once and for all. And yet...you couldn’t remember the words you’ve planned for so long to say right now. They just died immediately at the tip of your tongue as if they were never there in the first place. And you hate it. For once, you thought you could finally have some control over the effect of this man has on you. You feel ashamed. You feel as if you’ve betrayed yourself.

                Biting your lip, you bring your eyes back to the pansies. “I guess that’s better than having you figure out I’m just a simple nobody you can fuck over for one night of fun and throw away when you’re done and satisfied. Because that’s what I thought when you left me.”

               “No, Y/N, I’ll never do that to you–”  Jimin scrambles to reach for your hands but you take a step back away from him. You could see pain brim in his eyes and hurt pangs in your chest. You thought if you could deliver the same pain he brought to you, you would feel better. But no, you only felt worse. Worse for thinking hurting back the person you love is the right thing to do. Just like what your mom and dad did to each other. Tears sting your eyes at the thought. You swore never to become like them and you’re doing the very mistake they did. You hate this. You hate feeling so weak. You hate how you’re even thinking about Jimin and what he must be feeling when your own chest feels so heavy with the pain he caused.

               You tear your eyes away from him and dart them to your clenched hands. “I already heard your apology, Jimin. You don’t have to repeat it again to convince me. I’ll just finish these pansies so you can go.”

              “No, Y/N, you don’t understand. Can you please–please just look at me?”

             “What for, Jimin? I already heard you out, what more do you want?” You wipe away the tears that have streamed down your face, “Do you want me to hear now how sorry you are because you didn’t mean everything you said? Because if you do–”

              “I meant every single thing I said,” Jimin breathes out. “I love you, Y/N. So much that I want to do everything I can just for you to be happy. I waited for so long to finally meet you and I’m so, so, so sorry I broke my promise and fucked everything up. But I swear, Y/N, I want nothing but you and I meant everything I said especially when I told you I love you.”

              You raise your head to finally look at him and you almost wanted to regret your decision. Jimin stands in front of you, sobbing, eyes wrecked. He looks so vulnerable, cut wide open for you to see. You know he must be saying the truth but you still can’t ignore the doubt clouding in your head. You’ve already believed him once. You don’t want to repeat your mistake again.  “I would be lying if I told you I don’t want to believe what you said,” you choke out a sob, “But Jimin, I can’t just take you back and pretend what happened did not hurt me.”

               Jimin freezes. “N-no, Y/N, please–”

               “Jimin, I want you to prove you mean everything you said. I’m sorry, but I...I just can’t forgive someone so easily with mere words. I’ve seen hundreds of relationships go down because of that.” Your voice cracks, “Hell, I’ve seen my own mother and father destroy each other with repetitive apologies and forgiveness. I need to respect myself, Jimin, I–” you let out a shaky breath and hand over the wrapped pansies, “I’m sorry I can’t accept your apology now.”

               Jimin looks down and nods, “I understand, Y/N.” He doesn’t take the flowers and turns away, walking to the door. Each step he takes is synonymous to another crack making its way down your heart but you know you have to do this for yourself–for you to have enough reasons not to regret the decision you already made up in your mind about his and your future. You have to do this for yourself so you can finally deal with your fears and doubts about the soulmate phenomenon. So if Jimin can’t do what you request for, then you’ll let him go. You can’t let him and yourself experience the inevitable tragedy brought forth by the intense intimacy and transparency the soulmate phenomenon brings. You can’t take it if the both of you will face the same horrible ending your parents had.  

               Jimin stops by the door and you look up to see his retreating frame.

               “Keep the pansies. They’re for you. I-It was nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

               After that, he’s gone.

***

                You didn’t expect anything from him after your meeting in the flower shop. However, you know better than to anticipate nothing from Jimin but an effective counter-argument. You know your judgment is right when you found the proof first on your doorstep in the morning after of your talk, September 15. Five pansies stood in a small vase placed on the right of your door, next to your umbrella stand. Underneath it was a pink note, which said, “I’m sorry.”

               That evening, you stayed up late into the night. Your clock ticks ten thirty and then you hear it: a click of a button, a faint clink of glass, and Jimin’s soft voice.

               “Hi Y/N. I…I’m sorry for what I did. And I hope you know I won’t give up making it up to you for you to know I’m really serious about you. I–I’ve brought you pansies. I remember every single thing we talked about that night and after that night, the only thought that always comes to my mind ever since is you.”

               The morning after, you see the same vase and a fresh set of flowers, the wilted blooms probably cleaned up and taken out. However, instead of the note, a record lies next to the vase. When you slid it into your beat-up player, a relic you kept from your mother’s home, it plays his short message last night.  

               The routine falls into place the following days.

               “Hi Y/N. Our schedule today wasn’t full so I had the time to go to a library and read about flo-flo-floriography? My tongue always gets twisted when I say that so please don’t judge me. I’ll pronounce it better soon. So back to the book–I read that sweet peas mean ‘Thank you for the lovely time’ and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you that right after our date. After all, it was the happiest night of my life. Anyway, I got you some sweet peas now with the pansies. I hope you like them.”

               “Hi Y/N. I’m sorry I’m late.  We got dance practice until ten and I rushed here right after our choreographer called it a night. I wish I can show our dance to you now, but yeah…I guess you wouldn’t want to. You’ll probably throw the flowers I have now to my face. Okay, I’m kidding. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just want to make you laugh. I miss hearing you laugh.”

               “Hi Y/N. I stopped by Petal Hill this afternoon but I didn’t see you there. Someone filling in for you told me you skipped your shift to study for your tests. I wish I could help you like how guys in cheesy romance movies do but I guess I won’t be able to do that because I’m not that smart. I’ll leave early today so you can study. Eventhough I know you’ll slay it, I’ll still wish you good luck. I hope these gardenias with the pansies will give you additional good fortune.”

               “Hi Y/N. We did songwriting today and I wrote my first solo song. Guess who’s my ispiration. Surprise, Surprise, it’s you! Namjoon told us to just write out anything we’ve been thinking a lot lately and all I could think about is you. I can’t show it to you yet because it’s still messy but I promise, as soon as I made it perfect as it should be, you’ll be the first one to hear it!”

               “Hi Y/N. I read a book about flowers again! This time, I got curious about azaleas, the small, pretty pink blooms on the front shelf of Petal Hill? The flower book I read says they look like azaleas. Anyway, I learned that they require quite an effort to grow because they prefer a little sun and a little shade. I guess that’s why they mean ‘fragile’ in the older books of floriography. However, I read that even if they’re fragile, they can last for several weeks. Thus, they also mean ‘take care’ in modern floriography books. Isn’t that amazing? I brought azaleas today so they can last long and remind you to always take care of yourself.”

               Every morning you collect the records he leaves and every night you can’t help but forgive him bit by bit. His flowers and records make your mornings worthwhile; his soft voice and songs, a lullaby that you start to anticipate in the night. Jimin does his routine religiously night after night and it wasn’t long before you find your heart softening to him again, opening up for him so easily even when you didn’t want to.  There’s no use to deny the fluttering of your heart anymore because as nights go by, you already find yourself gathering up your courage to open the door and finally let him back in.

               For twelve nights, Jimin’s routine doesn’t fail. In the latter six nights, you’re by the door, practicing what to say. You plan to just throw open the door once you finally sorted out everything you want to say. However, that plan immediately goes down the drain because of one Monday night, the 14th night of Jimin’s supposed routine.

               “Hi Y/N. I know it’s late but….I have to say something important. I…I won’t be able to stop by for the next few days. We’re having our comeback tomorrow and soon after, promotions will require us to go overseas. I just came because I hope you’ll open the door by now and at least show me your face. Doesn’t matter if you throw the door close to my face the second after you show your  face. I just want to see you real bad. It would be long before I can see you again and I…I miss you. I miss you so much, Y/N. So can you please open the door? Because…I know you’ve already forgiven me.”

               Your body freezes and before you know it, your feet are pounding hard on your floor towards your door. The millisecond you tear open your door, you barely whisper, “Ho-How did you know that?!”

               Jimin stands in front of you, eyes wide. His hair is still bleached blonde like the last time you saw him, his gentle eyes still the same. He looked better than the last time you saw him, healthier. But unlike your expectations, there’s no vase and record this time. It’s just him and his flowers–a bouquet of pansies and sunflowers in his hands. Tears well up in your eyes and your lips tremble. But before you can say anything, he answers your question. “I–I can hear your thoughts.”

                “W-what?” Your jaw falls open. Oh my God.

               Jimin opens his mouth. “Oh my God.”

               Your forehead furrows. What the fuck, is he copying me?

               Jimin shrugs. “What the fuck, is he copying me?”              

               What the hell –“H-how did you know what I’m thinking? Wha-what–”

               “It’s my soulmate system,” Jimin looks into your eyes and your body goes rigid in shock. Jimin bites his lip. “I lied about soulbond being my soulmate system because…I don’t want to scare you that night that I practically already knew everything about you before I even met you. That I purposely went to Marti’s Hub just to get a glimpse of you when I knew you’re going to that bar to cry over your Law 114 essay and I just happened to be near that area. And that how I came to your rescue was not perfectly a coincidence, but intentional because I heard your…mental cries of help.”

               “The-then what about the-the daffodil ring?” You point to his left hand and Jimin breathes shakily.

               “This ring wasn’t because of your soulmate system…or mine,” he admits. “Remember that time when you’re fifteen and you thought about how romantic it will be to have a daffodil bloom inked around your ring finger instead of a wedding ring? I thought about that a lot until I can’t think about anything else. All I knew is that I have to own a permanent mark of you on my body because it felt wrong not to be tied to you in some way when you already own every part of me. I have a daffodil inked on my ring finger because,” he trails off and looks into your eyes. “What’s the meaning of the yellow daffodils?”

               You’re the only one.

               “You’re the only one,” Jimin breathes out. You felt your tears trailing down your cheeks and Jimin’s thumb wipes them away. He keeps his hand on your cheek and you look up into his eyes, into his eyes that reflect nothing but you. One second is all it takes for your defense to crumble down and fall. Fall into Jimin’s arms, fall into him again, letting him hold everything that you are–your strengths, burdens, weaknesses–everything.

               “B-but what about y-your parents?” you choke, “The-the soulbond–”

               “They’re true,” Jimin says, firm. “Excluding my soulbond soulmate system, everything I told you that night is true. My parents, my stories, my wishes, my intentions, my ‘I love you’–they’re true. All of them.”

               You tremble in his arms and Jimin holds you tighter. It is right then you decide to finally deal with your fears. “H-how can you be so sure, Jimin? How can we make this work? I-I’ve only known about you in one night.”

               “That’s not quite true,” Jimin chuckles. “You’ve known about me since 2013. I know I caught your eye the instant I showed up in the screen with the cringey snapback, trying hard to swag with cheap gold chains on my neck.”

               “But what about me? You only knew me i-in one night…”

               “Not true too.” Jimin cups your face in his hands. “I told you, I can hear your thoughts. I’ve been hearing them since you were born–all that you did, all the things you liked, all the people you disliked–I’ve already known you since I started hearing you. Hearing the minutest details of your thoughts for over so many years is enough for me to know about you.” He breathes out, smiling. “Enough for me to know my soulmate already loved me before she even meet me. And I want her to know I already felt the same before I even saw her.”

               Before you can say anything else, Jimin leans over and presses his soft lips against yours. It’s gentle, intimate–a delicate touch that conveys nothing but love. You make a noise of surprise but you already know you’ll be melting in his touch within mere seconds. You know because your cheeks feel warm and your chest flutters in joy. You know because everything about the night suddenly feels right. You know because even if you haven’t said it aloud, Jimin knows what he said is true.

               When you part, you’re greeted with his soft smile and gentle eyes that you love so much. And right then, you know that even if it scares you, you’ll have to say everything in your heart aloud. What’s let out in the open air cannot be undone anymore and you have no plans of taking back the words you will utter.

               “I love you, Jimin.”

               Jimin smiles and beams back, warm and bright. “And I won’t get tired telling you I love you, too, Y/N.”

               Standing there on your doorstep, as the world slowly turns around you, you think it’s finally time that you accept the tale of the red string of fate is more than just a fairytale for everyone else but you. Because right in front of you, is your own happy ending. And, you’re sure, even in another universe, you will relive that night you met Jimin again and again if it will grant you what you have now in your arms: love.

               You don’t need to glance at your glowing daffodil ring to prove that you’re right.

Epilogue

                As you touch your red-stained lips with one final dab, your voicemail beeps. Your free hand presses your telephone to hear the call you missed since you’ve been out of your house the whole day.

               “Hi Y/N. It’s mom. I…I wanted to tell you this in person but it would be a while before my bus reaches your place. I just…I just want to say that your father met up with me two weeks ago and…yesterday, we decided to give us another chance. I’m sorry I’m only telling you this when I always felt I should have said this way back before: the soulmate phenomenon works and I’m so sorry we caused you to distrust it and lose hope in love. I know we’re not the best parents out there, but Y/N, I want you to know that you are loved and someone out there made by the heavens and destined by fate will love you more and make you happier than we ever could. This soulmate thing–it works as long as you give it a chance and work hard too to make it work. We will be there at your place tomorrow with your father…We missed a lot about you these recent two weeks…especially your father, and I hope we can catch up. Always take care, Y/N. Mom and dad loves you.”

                   “You ready, Y/N?”

                  You turn to your boyfriend, smiling. “Yeah, Jimin, I’m done.” You grab your purse and take Jimin’s open hand, giggling when he presses a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips.

                   Smirking, you said, “You really know now how to kiss me without smearing my lipstick.”

                   Jimin looks at you, grinning, “Of course, I won’t ruin your perfect makeup. You made yourself pretty for our date tonight.” He leans to the crook of your ear and whispers, “Unless…you want me to do now what I have in mind for us later in the night.”

                  You cringe at him but Jimin probably already knows his words have affected you because you already feel your cheeks starting to heat up. “Ah, you’re so cute. I love teasing you,” Jimin chuckles as he interlocks your hand with his. When you step out of your home, you glance back to your telephone and then to your daffodil ring, glowing faintly. Smiling, you close your door.

A/N pt. 2 | Hi hons! Thank you for reading this 2nd long-ass oneshot I made after Translucent Fireworks! The inspiration from this fic came from one of the requests in my Songs to Read Playlist:

3 minutes of listening to I was Made for Loving You and one eureka moment are all it took for me to plot this story in detail from start to finish.Thus, I decided then to make this a full oneshot, and now, I am drained and tired after finishing this. This has sucked the lifeblood out of me as this kept me busy for one whole f*cking month and next week is all I have left of my summer break before uni starts hell again. But hey, at least I made up my lack of activity to you hons with lots of wordcount! Thank you for appreciating my works and I hope you all stick with me longer as I have a lot of upcoming works in store for you!

All Rights Reserved © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.i

[andysmetahell]

One for All and All for One: The study in complimentary and infinite (wasted) potentials

One for All and All for One: two Quirks whose history we can, in the universe of Boku no Hero Academia, treat almost as the history of society. Their users had left enormous impact on everyone in the series, and through hints we can see their influence stretching long, long back to the first appearance of the Quirks.

Neither Quirk can be considered ‘normal’, though: the ability to take away Quirks at whim and an ability to share Quirks with others (which would inevitably leave you Quirkless) are both complete anathemas to the society that by and large is half-in love with the idea of simply having a Quirk (which deserves a whole breakdown in on itself, but that’s not what I’ll be writing about here!). And yet, One For All users are all heroes, and All for One users are all villains as far as we know (written after the release of manga chapter 280).

How is that even possible? With how objectively similar they are, why aren’t they both heroes, or both villains?

Well, before we take a crack at how Horikoshi coded the Hero society that made this happen, let’s first take a look at just why I’m so surprised the two Quirks aren’t on the same ‘side’. Also, obligatory ‘spoilers ahead’ warning for everyone who’re anime-only watchers, or haven’t gotten past Meta Liberation Army arc in manga.

Purely from the activation/mechanics point of view, All for One and One for All are warped mirror images of each other. All for One functions on the assumption that a) the user knows the other person has a Quirk and b) the Quirk doesn’t have an inherent clause that disallows itself to be taken by force when it comes to taking it. One for All is the only Quirk so far that has shown the resistance to the b), as it is encoded in the very nature of the ‘share-along’ Quirk that forms the true base of One for All that it can only be given away willingly.

Why is this so important? Because All for One doesn’t only take Quirks, it’s also capable of releasing them and giving them to others, whether the recipient is willing or unwilling. In this regard, One for All is startlingly identical: it can be forced upon someone else, as long as the DNA is exchanged and the previous user is willing to give it away. This little fact is often overlooked (likely deliberately) by the existing canon in favor of emphasizing the ‘cannot be taken forcefully away’ which makes sense plot-wise, but not ethics and logic-wise.

But who knows, maybe Horikoshi is holding back on us, and One for All ends up being the ultimate villain of the story.

… yeah, not likely. But the idea is interesting, isn’t it?

Moving onto the way they interact with their users and other Quirks, One for All and All for One are again very, very different, but with a shared approximate visualization of usage behind it. The closest approximation of how they interact with other Quirks would be, in my opinion, be gravity – but two very different applications of gravity.

There are two relevant things you need to know about gravity: it is defined by the masses of an object interacting with another object, and every single object in the universe has its own gravity field. (thank you, Physics nationals I went to once, for forcing me to learn more about gravity!)

All for One is more akin to a star within a stable planetary system: it holds planets, satellites and comets (other Quirks) locked in its orbit, but any change can make all those objects lose their orbits and go wander in the deep space. Its hold is strong, but the fact still remains it can be nullified in order to give away Quirks. It’s also stable – its attraction/hold power doesn’t change with the number of Quirks taken, it simply gives it a bigger array of powers to work with.

One for All on the other hand would be closer to black hole: its gravity is so enormous even light, the fastest object in the universe, cannot escape it, and its mass (and therefore its gravity) grows stronger with every object it swallows. Once it grabs a hold of anything (its user’s other Quirk) it merges it with itself and keeps it for forever, with very little chance of it ever surfacing again as individual Quirk (unless your name is Midoriya Izuku). However, it heavily relies on the energy (other Quirks it merges with) to provide power-ups; hence the ridiculous difference between Izuku’s and Toshinori’s One for All. (also protagonst shenanigans, but we’re not going that far into metatextuality here – that needs its own essay)

So, concept-wise, One for All and All for One are again identical in the idea behind it, but drastically different in application – both still fucking scary, but what can we do here, our main protagonist and antagonist need to have OP armor around themselves.

This leads us to the probably the biggest spoiler I’ll discuss in this essay:

this panel.

In chapter 270 of manga, Shigaraki Tomura is revealed to have been passed All for One, which is a whole mindfuck in on itself that Horikoshi needs to explain stat because I’m going crazy over here with theories (!!!), but moving on. The short and extremely brief summary of what happens afterwards is: Heroes discover where Tomura is while he’s still being transferred All for One, they wreck the Nomus and facility, Shigaraki gets partial All for One and his original Quirk Decay goes absolutely nuts again, Izuku runs off to face him, and at one point point, while using Ragdoll’s Search, Shigakari utters a very strange sentence while seemingly under the influence of All for One (the Quirk):

“You will be mine… little brother.”

Moments later, Shigaraki snaps out of it and comments about Sensei (All for One) no longer being his puppeteer, that he’s making his own choices and not Sensei’s.

Here we get a stunning punch in the plexus about what we already have been hinted at during Izuku’s fight with Shinsou Hitoshi, during Kamino Ward and Joint Training Arcs:

One for All and All for One both retain the echoes of their past owners.

Now, here comes a million dollar question: is this something both the baseline ‘share’ part of One for All and All for One possess (which would further link the two Quirks, and also explain a lot of characterizations in the series so far), or is it an imprint of All for One on ‘stockpile’ part of One for All that ‘share’ part absorbed and made its own? Both possibilities are extremely intriguing and make any future possibility of unification (which was apparently Sensei’s original goal before, judging by that one panel) extremely volatile, and very intriguing if Horikoshi pursues that idea to its end.

Speaking of the man himself, now we arrive at the question that really started the whole essay here: how come it was All for One chosen to be the ultimate evil, and One for All to be ultimate good? As we’ve seen so far, both Quirks are startlingly similar; theoretically, could All for One be a ‘heroic’ Quirk and One for One for All ‘villainous’?

The answer is yes and no.

Yes, because theoretically, switching the two would still make the story work; it’d change the motivations of characters drastically, sure, and turn the story of generations of good trying defeat one evil into one good fending off generations of evil, but it’d work – and no, because that’d fundamentally change the society in which Boku no Hero Academia’s current time frame is, and society is the key underlying factor in this entire story.

Let me explain through the examples of three characters and a faction.

Midoriya Izuku is Quirkless person in a society who is, like I said at the beginning, half-in love with the idea of having Quirks – the fact that you have them makes you seem useful, someone with potential, no matter how objectively useless some Quirks inevitably can be in certain lines of work. By their standards, he’s without potential, and therefore is largely useless out of gate. Had All for One been in public eye and celebrated as Hero, he’d be the pinnacle of useful: there’d be no danger of bad reactions to donated Quirks in his DNA, and he, someone who wishes desperately for a Quirk, could easily be given a Quirk of someone who finds their life unbearable due to it.

Bakugou Katsuki, someone with extremely property-damaging Quirk, would constantly be told that if he doesn’t behave himself, he’d be sent off to All for One to have his Quirk taken away – in essence, he’d be no one special, just another kid with a Quirk. Since All for One is so visible, it’d be all too easy for parents and teachers to threaten their kids into compliance whenever they throw an over-powered tantrum with the removal of a Quirk; it’d also be a good deterrent for any Pro Heroes that existed there to not get too comfy with their jobs, because they could easily be taken out of it if they manage to anger All for One enough, which would deter some people from being Pro Heroes.

Shigaraki Tomura (Shimura Tenko), someone whose Quirk came in during an extremely traumatic event and left him so scarred mentally he was never quite the same again, could easily simply give away his Quirk and have something far less volatile and triggering if he wished so, and also have a chance of potentially one day seeing his Quirk in the hands of someone like Izuku or Melissa, who could use it to its full potential without being constantly triggered by it or being re-traumatized again and again by the society who would rail on him for having such a potentially devastating Quirk.

Meta Liberation Army (which is a poorly disguised Brotherhood of Mutants on Genosha in X-men cartoons, let’s be realistic – the whole thing about the superiority of fight-compatible Quirks was not subtle at all) would be a much smaller and a lot less influential group. The publicity of a Quirk being able to take away other Quirks would make the existence of Deika City clones very, very difficult; it’d take but one hint, one whisper of a fringe group amassing in remote location that wants to eliminate so-called ‘useless Quirks’ for All for One to act – as much of an asshole as he is, he was shown [cite] to like all kinds of Quirks, despite only keeping the ones he felt were the most useful to him.

OK, but what about them being on the same side? You might ask yourself. If they’re so similar, why not make them both on the same side?

One, drama is always more delicious if there are high personal stakes involved, and nothing gets more personal than family drama – that’s just a fact. (Kardashians, anyone?)

Two, this is shonen – openly bad guys being the protagonists isn’t often done (in mainstream at least).

Three: we need some material to make all those ‘Izuku’s related to All for One or One for All first user’ for our satisfaction before Horikoshi josses the whole thing, okay??

(no, this is certainly not a call for you to make more ‘Izuku is related to original two brothers’… but it’s heavily suggested lol)

Thank you for sticking around until the end of this essay! Have a cookie, and enjoy the hell my mind led me to during the binge-read of the last 5 released chapters of manga:

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations

This is a fic that I originally told myself I wouldn’t post any of until it was complete.   Evidently I lied.  It’s not complete but I do have 21k words and eight chapters built up already.  It was meant to be Gordon’s story of how he ended up in WASP but the other brothers have decided to put in an appearance too (I blame the boys and also @willow-salix​ for encouraging them)

I’ve also set myself a secondary challenge with this to produce a piece of art for each chapter.  I’m hoping to try out different styles and hopefully make some progress over time.  This first bit was very much about getting a feel for the tools (a challenge seeing as I first have to wrestle the drawing pad away from the small person who just likes being able to make rainbow glitter pictures)

Anyway....

xoxoxox

Summary: Jeff Tracy has very strong beliefs about what he expects from his sons.  Sometimes his expectations are at odds with what his sons themselves want from life, especially Gordon.  

Chapter One

The office was tiny, barely large enough for the single desk it contained.  It didn’t really matter.  This room no longer had a permanent resident. State wide cuts to the careers service and an investment in online guidance meant that careers advisors were stretched across districts; a few lonely individuals doing the rounds of the high schools to dispense reassurance and wisdom in statutory ten minute blocks.  As a consequence this area of the school hadn’t been refurbished in many years and had a general air of neglect.  The carpet tiles had been worn bald in a clear path to the two chairs in the room, one in front of the desk and one behind.  The painted cinderblock walls were covered in posters, bleached and faded by the California sun, bearing inspirational quotes.  

 You can do anything!

 Be the change you want to see

 Aim for the skies

 The posters mirrored the sentiments he had heard at home too many times.  Although at home they tended to come tinged with disappointment as he handed over yet another report card that didn’t meet the standard set by the siblings who had gone before.  Yale, Harvard and the Denver School of Advanced Technology had already accepted a Tracy.  Gordon just couldn’t match up to their lofty heights of academic success.  He was bright but that just got overshadowed by the glittering trio above him.  Anything he did had always been done better by at least one, but more often all, of his older brothers.  

 The pressure to achieve academic excellence had lessened slightly as his swimming training had ramped up in intensity.  As competitions progressed from local, to state, to national, to international the family had grown to accept that this was no passing hobby.  But Gordon still lived with the constant threat that he would be pulled out the pool if his grades dropped too low.  It was taking all his energy to keep on top of his school work to the required B- average insisted on by his father so that he could keep doing the one thing he felt truly good at.  The one thing that set him apart from his over-achieving brothers.

 At least the teachers didn’t judge him or at least couldn’t judge him against his more intellectual siblings.  As soon as John had graduated high school and started at Harvard, an accomplishment for which he was several years younger than the average after skipping a couple of grades, Jeff had moved himself and the youngest boys away from rural Kansas to Los Angeles.  The old farmhouse was retained but was no longer a permanent base for the family.

 The move to the city was a strategic decision by Jeff and one that was only delayed in order to allow John to complete his high school education without the disruption of an inter-state move.  For Jeff it meant the ability to site himself in the commercial heartlands expected of the business that was flourishing under his direction.  It also meant he was able to get back each night to care for his youngest children, even if he sometimes didn’t make it back to the apartment before midnight.

 It may have been expected that Jeff Tracy, an individual rapidly climbing the lists of America’s richest and most influential individuals, would have used the move as an opportunity to enrol his youngest sons in the finest educational establishment Los Angeles had to offer. But Jeff Tracy was a man raised in Kansas wheat fields.  A man for whom his own success and the successes of his eldest three sons had been built on the foundations of learning delivered in small town rural schools. What was good enough for him was good enough for all his children.  There were no private tutors or exclusive schools.  Gordon and Alan found themselves enrolled in the regular district school with its air of neglect and underfunding.

 A large part of Gordon really wanted to be back in his math class.  Not because he had any great fondness for the subject but because he found it hard in a way the others didn’t.  He was not above digging out Virgil’s old annotated English texts or Scott’s history files if he wanted a bit of extra insight for his essays but math was different. Any notes left by his siblings were generally an incomprehensible scrawl.  Not that any of them had made many math notes; they all seemed to just get it.  

 Gordon still remembered the first time after John had headed off to Harvard that he had called for help with his homework.  John had tried to be patient but there had been an unmistakeable tone of annoyance accompanied by a condescending eye roll clearly visible on the call screen.  Gordon had been left in no doubt that John found the idea of a Tracy struggling with algebra to be frankly insulting.  Virgil had displayed rather more patience and understanding but the pity that came with the help was too much for Gordon to take.  He didn’t want to find out what Scott’s reaction would be.  The golden haloed first-born was becoming increasingly distant and superior as his career in the Air Force progressed.  

 And so Gordon ploughed on alone.  Taking study guides to swim competitions to read between the heats.  Trying to juggle the conflicting demands of Team USA and Team Tracy.  The former striving for physical excellence and peak performance, the latter demanding excellence across the board.

 The careers advisor on the far side of the desk looked up at the young man sat opposite her.  The school records showed he was academically above average.  He had prospects.  

 The students that entered her office tended to fall into three broad categories.  There were the ones that didn’t really need their regulation advice session having already got their chosen career path mapped out, whether that involved furthering their education or just jumping straight into the local jobs market. There were those that were bewildered and clueless about where to turn next.  Then there were those that just didn’t seem to care and who drifted through her office much like they drifted through the rest of their school career. She wondered which she would encounter in this interview.

 “So Gordon” she smiled at the teenager, “have you considered what you want to do after you graduate high school?”

 The teen looked at her with a slightly surprised expression.

 “Swim, ma’am”  

 It was said bluntly and without preamble, accompanied by a mid-western politeness that the move to the city hadn’t shaken off. Stated as fact rather than as some hypothetical idea.  She had encountered plenty of teenagers with dreams of making it big on the sporting circuit but very few made it professional.  Usually the dreams were of football or basketball; swimming was a new one to add to her list.  

 “Swim?”

 “Yes ma’am, swim.  I’ve already got my qualifying time sorted.  Come the summer I’ll be at the Olympics.”

 Cogs clicked into place.  This was her nineteenth interview of the day and the students were beginning to blur together, even with the supplementary notes put together by the tutors that actually got to see these kids each day.  The low attendance scores suddenly made sense. Gordon Tracy, the rising star of the swimming circuit.

 “Of course.”  She flustered slightly over her notes.  It was a new experience to have a member of the Olympic squad sat before her. But she was obliged to be a sounding board for his career choice for the next ten minutes.  She couldn’t just send him back to class off the back of a one word answer.  She decided to stick to familiar territory; if they know the plan, find out the backup plan.

 “Have you considered what you will do after swimming? You have good grades here.  I’d recommend making a college application.”

 The youngster gave a hollow sort of chuckle. “Not good enough for anywhere that matters.  I think I’ll stick to what I’m good at, ma’am.”

 The interview was brought to a close by the final bell of the day and Gordon was glad to be able to scoop up his rucksack and escape the claustrophobic confines of the office.  He was sure the careers advisor meant well but he felt that the session was a pretty pointless experience.  Actually being in class would have been a better use of his time.

 As he reached the front of the school he spied Alan waiting for him in their usual spot.  The younger boy was scuffing his shoes in the dirt while waiting, the bored expression of his face breaking into smile when he saw his older brother.  They set off on the short walk back the apartment.

 “Good day, Al?”

 “Yeah, ok”

 “Much homework?”

 Alan grimaced.  He was about as fond of homework as Gordon was.

 “I’ll take that as a yes.  Well make sure you get on with it as soon as we get in.  No video games until it’s finished.”

 “Yes Sir!”  The response was accompanied by a mocking salute which earned Alan a gentle whack on the back of the head.

 “Hey, less of that.  I’m not Scott.  But seriously Al, just make sure you get it done.  I’ve got an extra training session tonight but only a short one; you’ll have the place to yourself until about 6.  I’ll sort us some dinner once I’m home.”

 “Will you be able to play video games with me once you’re back.”

 “Sorry, I’ll have my own work to get on with.”

 Alan’s shoulders slumped dejectedly and his feet dragged along the sidewalk.

 “Another quiet night then.”

 Gordon hated seeing Alan so flat.  The pair spent a significant amount of time together and, like all his brothers, he had a desire to protect the youngest.  He wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the shorter boy and was rewarded with a shove in the ribs.  Evidently anything even slightly resembling a hug in public was out this close to the school grounds.

 “I’ll see what I can do.”

 They had reached the apartment by this point. Gordon dashed inside to grab his swimming kit and left Alan with strict instructions to make sure he got all his homework done.  He didn’t like leaving Alan home alone but it was a regular occurrence now.  Their father wouldn’t be home for hours and with all the others moved away the youngest two had got used to fending for themselves.  He left Alan with a promise that they would spend some time together later.

 The training session passed in a blur of drills.  There were now more days with both morning and evening training in preparation for the Olympics and the extra workouts were taking their toll.  By the time Gordon reached the apartment his shoulders ached and all he wanted to do was stand under a scalding hot shower before collapsing in to bed.  Unfortunately he knew he had other responsibilities to attend to first.

 Gordon rolled his shoulders, plastered on a smile and scanned the entry system for the apartment.

 xoxoxox

 Normally weekday meals were Gordon’s domain or he was at least there to help out if Alan ventured into the kitchen.  But he had completed his homework quicker than expected and in the boredom of the empty apartment it had seemed like a good idea to start dinner.

 He took the pack of greens from the fridge, prodded the pan of pasta and gave the chicken a quick stir.  As he sliced the greens an acrid smell assaulted his nostrils.  The chicken, which had been cooking nicely until now seemed to have chosen the moment he took his eye off the ball to catch and stick to the bottom of the pan.  Carefully prepared strips of prime breast disintegrated and crumbled as he tried to scrape the dried out offerings from the base of the pan.  He cursed, turned out the stove, and went back to preparing the greens.  

 The clock ticked closer to 6pm.  Steam rose in billows from the pan of greens which had reached a rapid boil.  Perhaps he should have waited until Gordon was actually home before cooking the vegetables, the shredded leaves were starting to disintegrate.  

 At least the pasta should be ok.  

 The pasta which wasn’t boiling.

 More cursing filled the air as Alan realised his error. In his attempt to salvage the chicken he had turned off the heat under the pasta as well.  Perhaps he should have just let Gordon cook the whole thing. This was a mistake.  All he wanted to do was free up some time in the hope of getting a game in with Gordon and instead he had ruined everything.  He wondered if it was too late to dig out the emergency credit card and call for take out.  He would just have to make sure Dad took it out of his allowance rather than Gordon’s.

 The sound of the front door broke through his thoughts.

 “Hi Alan.”  The voice echoed up the hallway.  Footsteps approached, only pausing briefly as a kit bag was launched into a room, landing in a corner with a heavy thud.  Too late to salvage anything now, within moments Gordon was in the doorway.  “Hey, you cooked.  Thanks”

 “No need to sound so surprised.  Don’t thank me til you’ve tried it though.  It’s, um, not really gone to plan.”

 “I’m sure it’s fine.  Want me to drain these pans while you get the plates out?”

 Alan signalled his agreement by delving into the crockery cupboard leaving Gordon to drain and stir together the contents of the various pans.  He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the meal but Gordon seemed grateful to be spared the chore.

 Dinner was everything Alan expected it to be.  They sat opposite sides of the kitchen counter, Gordon shovelling down vast quantities of noodles while he picked at his own much smaller portion.  The meat was as dry as cardboard and stuck in his throat alongside the shards of undercooked pasta. Perhaps he ought to pay more attention in the kitchen, especially as Gordon was likely to be training more and more over the coming months.

 Gordon’s fork clattered onto the empty plate before Alan was even half way through.  He looked up to see eyes the colour of mahogany under the harsh kitchen lights looking at him with concern.

 “You ok?  You’ve hardly eaten.”

 “I’m fine.  Just wishing I’d ordered us a pizza instead.”  He waved a forkful of charred chicken to emphasise his point.

 This earned him a small chuckle and at least dispelled the worry.

 “Hey, no complaints from me over it.  I think my coach would have something so say about that too, we’ll save the pizza for the summer.  I’ll start clearing up while you finish off.  You still want that game?”

 Alan grinned.  Suddenly the pasta was a lot easier to stomach if there was a chance to thrash his brother in the goblin realms at the end of it.  

 xoxoxox

 As the clock ticked past midnight and into the small hours of the morning Gordon lay in the darkness, sleep refusing to come.  His normally comfortable bed felt too lumpy and he turned this way and that.  First facing the blank wall next to the bed, then the ceiling and finally the open room. A shelf of trophies glinted faintly in the light that managed to spill around the edges of the heavy blackout curtains.  Back in Kansas Gordon had rarely bothered closing his curtains; he had always been an early riser and was usually up long before the dawn in order to get to early morning training or fit in a gym session before school.  But the pervading yellow glow of the city from the ever present light pollution wasn’t like the peaceful moon.  On nights like this the city felt oppressive and he yearned for the open fields of home, as he still though of Kansas.  Gordon might now be able to access better training facilities and coaches which had enhanced his Olympic prospects but he had never embraced city life.

 He was exhausted.  The training session after school had been intense and he had thrown himself into the drills with maximum effort.  The gaming session had probably been a mistake but he hadn’t wanted to let Alan down.  The kid had gone to the trouble of trying to make dinner and save him a job.  Ok, the noodles had been still firm to the point of being slightly crunchy and the greens had been on the verge of turning to soup but it’s the thought that counts.  It was calories.  It was from his prescribed meal plan.  It was mostly edible.  He appreciated the level of consideration shown by a teenager who shouldn’t have any more pressing concerns than getting his chemistry paper completed and working out whether Ellen from World Studies class had a crush on him.

 His own homework had been its usual slog.  He wrote until his eyes became sticky and the notes he was reading became a jumbled blur.  Sleep should have enveloped him within minutes of climbing into bed but instead the words from his earlier interview kept churning around his head.  The thoughts drowning out even the gnawing ache in his overworked muscles.  

 What about after?

 He had always managed to stave these thoughts off before.  Whenever his father had made comments about future plans he has always managed to deflect the conversations.  He didn’t have room in his head for anything other than visualising the dream.  Why on earth should the words of a complete stranger, parroted from some state approved script, make life any different.

 He was a Tracy.  A name synonymous success and achievement.  He had found his calling in a way that set him apart from the others.  

 He was going to swim.

 He was going to represent his country.

 He was going to win.

 He ran through the visualisation that had been a constant companion in his head for years.  He could feel the flow of the water over his body as his muscles flexed in perfect synchronicity.  He could hear the roar of the crowd as the results flashed up on the scoreboard.  He rode the wave of emotion as the medal was presented.  This was the moment that would mark him out as more than just the fourth son of an astronaut.  Gordon Cooper Tracy.  A name in his own right.

 With the sound of the national anthem still ringing in his ears Gordon tried to visualise the next steps.  He tried to force the dream beyond its current conclusion but instead found only darkness.