#I have this habit of only reading the first few letters and then completely skimming over the rest of a name

[camellcat]

you ever realize you never properly learned how to say a character's name, so by the time you finally HEAR it, you have no idea who they're talking about? cause I feel like I keep doing this and it's very confusing to keep being corrected like that

[kikizoshi]

It truly is funny, and I'd like to share Karlinsky's take on it, too (because of his interesting takes, but also because his translation of Gogol's letter I find very humourous).

Skimming, I think I've seen that Nabokov decided to translate Gogol's letter about the fictional woman, whereas Karlinsky decided to translate his letter about the fictional disease misunderstanding. I'm just going to put in Karlinsky's, but if anyone's interested, Nabokov's translation of Gogol's letter to his mother about the fictional woman should be found around pages 16-20, and his mention of the fictional disease misunderstanding should be found around page 22.

Karlinsky's explanation of the fictional disease misunderstanding (beginning with him talking about the failure of Gogol's 'Hans Küchelgarten'):

"Gogol considered himself disgraced, bought up whatever copies were on sale at bookstores, and burned them-the first of his burnings of his own work. Then, in desperation, he took the money his mother had sent him to pay off a mortgage and used it to run off to Germany.

"To explain his actions to his mother, Gogol wrote her a long, frenzied letter prior to his departure, in which he informed her of a love affair he was having with a woman who was so "lofty and highly placed" that she was totally unattainable. This letter was obviously an exercise in literary style and imagination. By the time Gogol got to Lubeck several weeks later, he had forgotten all about having written it and wrote his mother a second letter of explanation: the reason he had had to go to Germany was to have a cure for a rash on his face and arms. Maria Gogol combined the information contained in the two letters and came to the conclusion that her son had contracted a venereal disease. Gogol's hysterical reply to her accusation deserves to be quoted at length:

With horror I read your letter, mailed on September 6. I could expect everything from you: deserved reproaches, much too kind to me, just indignation and everything else that my ill-considered act could provoke, but this I couldn't expect. How could you, dearest mommy, ever think that I had fallen victim to the vilest debauchery, that I find myself on the lowest rung of human degradation! How could you, finally, resolve yourself to ascribe to me a disease, the very thought of which has always made my very thoughts quiver with horror! For the first, and may God grant that it be the last, time in my life, I have received such a terrifying letter. It seemed as if I was hearing a malediction. How could you think that a son of such angelic parents could become a monster in whom not a single virtuous trait was left! No, such things cannot exist in nature. Here is a confession for you: I was carried away only by youthful pride, originating, however, in a pure source, only by an ardent desire to be useful, a desire not tempered by prudence. But I am ready to answer to God that I have not com- mitted even a single depraved exploit; my morality is incomparably more pure than it was at school and at home. As for drunkenness, I never had that habit. At home I used to drink wine, but I do not remember having had any here. But what I cannot understand is how you came to the conclusion that I had that particular disease. It seems I wrote nothing that could indicate that particular disease. I believe I wrote you about the pains in my chest which barely allowed me to breathe and which have now fortunately left me. (Letter to Maria Gogol of September 24, 1829)

"About a decade earlier, the young Alexander Pushkin had contracted gonorrhea. He composed an amusing poem on the subject and wrote jaunty letters about it to his friends, pleased that he was now a real man and hoping to be back in the social whirl in a few weeks, after completing a course of treatment that involved swallowing mercury. About two decades later, the young Lev Tolstoy was to have the same experience. It depressed him and he brooded darkly about getting even with the world by deliberately infecting a few stray streetwalkers. At the end of the nineteenth century, Anton Chekhov wrote an admonishing letter to a woman writer who had sent him a story in which syphilis was equated with vice and depravity. "Syphilis is not a vice," wrote Chekhov, "it is not a product of ill will, but a disease, and the people who have it need warm, human care." None of these other great nineteenth-century writers could have experienced anything like the panicky aversion that throbs in this letter of Gogol, with its obvious equating of sexuality, illness, and total moral perdition." ('The Sexual Labyrinth of Nikolai Gogol', pg 23-25)

irl gogol lying to his mom that he fell in love and couldn't bear it so he must go abroad then straight up forgetting abt it and making up another lie that he'd fallen ill which led his mom to think he had caught some sexual disease sleeping around is ngl the funniest and most relatable broke college student experience I've ever read

[funtimebunnyblog]

Pillarroomates (Chapter 2: Strange introductions...)

(Summary: It's time to meet your new Roommates and things are already off to a shaky start...)

"--and you mentioned you're a student aside from your work?"

Smiling, you nodded as the violet-haired man before you scribbled away on the neat lined paper laid out in front of him.

"Yeah. It's mostly online stuff but I do occasionally go for in person lectures when I get the time." You began, making Kars hum quietly to himself as you went into more detail.

This was honestly starting to feel like more of a job interview (or perhaps more of a Police interogation) rather than a simple interaction concerning becoming a roommate with hopes of living here.

Even though you had only spoken with him for a short time now, you could tell this "Kars" (or so he had introduced himself as) was all business.

The giant of a man was asking you all sorts of questions, jumping back and forth between ones boarderline ubsurd and ones you had expected.

He asked a little about your history and about your Family (most specifically your surname and any distant relations you might have). He questioned you on your work and what you did, your wages and your work ethic. He wanted to know every single one of your habits (annoying or not) and how you spent your free time; jotting things down as he went.

Every single time his eyes fell on you, you couldn't help but feel exposed under his gaze; like you were sitting completely naked before him on an operating table, cut open, and he was taking you apart piece by piece and examining every inch with a scrutinizing eye.

Speaking of eyes, you definitely didn't miss how inhuman his were. Maroon on crimson, like thick droplets of blood splattered onto the white of a fine ivory knife and cutting you just as deeply as one.

It was like nothing you had ever seen or felt before.

You told him the truth and nothing but during the entirety of the seemingly endless line of questioning but it still felt like it was all a spew of dirty little lies falling from your lips. It only made an icky swirl of anxiety churn consistently in your stomach, like the spinning of a washing machine, as you sat there talking away.

There was no telling how you would feel if you did tell a lie or if he happened to indeed smell one lingering on your breath; which you were also struggling to keep in check.

"Interesting..." he muttered quietly, more to himself than to you. The scratching of his pen on paper filled the long silence at the round little wooden table.

Your eyes fell to his handwriting a number of times in hopes of catching a glimpse of something that would indicate whether you were "passing" this little test or not but it was inevitable.

You were beginning to wonder where exactly this man was from as the entirety of his notes were in a language you couldn't identify at all.

Even if it was written in proper English, you doubted you'd be able to read it at all either. His handwriting was something akin to what you'd find on an ancient scroll being presented late at night on the History Channel; small and scratchy letters scrawled across white in quick flicks of the wrist.

As if things couldn't feel anymore stressful, you could also feel the eyes of two others burning into you.

The one whom you had an encounter at the door with, Kars informed you that his name was "Esidisi" after the man had retreated down the hall again, was now standing in the far corner of the little kitchen.

There he loitered, a piece of pizza cradled in each hand (was that.... macaroni on top???) and munching away as if he hadn't seen so much as a morsel of food in months.

Much to everyones relief, the man had put some clothes on by the time he ran to answer the door for the 2nd time that day; his long awaited pizza finally having arrived.

At the very least he had saved the poor delivery boy from becoming as startled as you had.

You didn't even want to think of how different things would've gone if his towel had somehow slipped...

The burning intensity of Kars' glare (despite the fact it wasn't even aimed remotely in your direction) made you squirm in your seat as Esidisi came onto the interview scene with the pizza box in hand, a sunny smile stretched across on his face and the words "HOT DAD ALERT" emblazoned in bold white letters on his t-shirt.

Esidisi wasn't even so much as fazed by the look like you were. The man only smiling all the brighter, cheeks stuffed uncannily like a chipmunk storing food, each time he met Kars' sharp gaze.

Then there was the other one, the blonde with the mullet-like haircut and the stained apron. While he was doing his best to busy himself by cleaning around the stove, you managed to overhear Esidisi addressing him as "Wamuu" when offering a slice of the boxed Italian monstrosity he was savoring; which the other kindly declined.

Even through your talking, you didn't miss the fact that Wamuu had wiped down the kitchen surfaces at least 3 times during your little chat with Kars; he hadn't even moved an inch from his spot. You had managed to catch his gaze once or twice as he was sneaking a few little glances over his shoulder.

Much like Esidisi was doing (but with a lot more inconspicuous action) Wamuu was eavesdroping on the interview.

However, you also couldn't help but feel that he was was also standing guard. The man was keeping a close eye on the scene, reminding you of a bulldog protecting its Home from intruders while its master was away.

"And, uh... that's about it, I guess." You finished, a tight smile flashing across your face as you shrugged helplessly.

Kars pursed his lips, eyes skimming over his papers. For a long moment, perhaps the longest moment you'd ever had to endure, he was silent.

"Acceptable." He hummed, not exactly much emotion carried in that word, papers rattling as they were shuffled in his hands. "Perhaps the most acceptable I've seen in some time. You definitely fit our criteria."

You could only blink, unsure if you should even thank him for saying something like that.

"Uhh, I take it you've had your fair share of annoying roommates?" You asked, laughing a little, only making the man across from you hum again.

"Oh, you bet we have," Esidisi cut Kars off just as he opened his mouth to speak, wiping his hands with a paper towel as he waved the other off. "You wouldn't believe it! The last one we had was a real idiot. Lazy too, couldn't hold a job to save his life, he left the kitchen a mess every time he walked though it."

Hearing that, you could at least nod understandingly.

You definitely sympathized with them on that one, you had met your fair share of people when jumping from place to place who outright refused to pull their weight.

One of the main reasons you had been looking for a place to start with was because of one of those same types of people, afterall.

You had been happy living in an apartment closer to the edge of town for some time. Your earlier roommates had been nice, kind of fun too, and you had hopes things would stay that way at least until you finished school.

Everything had been just fine until the first one chose to move cities, then things only went downhill from there. Along came your other roommates boyfriend (better known as; the laziest, most childish piece of shit you ever had the displeasure of knowing) and after almost a year of just barely tolerating that shitshow you had decided enough was enough.

It was overdue for you to find another place to live.

Esidisi laughed as he went on, leaning on Kars' chair. "He really had it coming to him when we--"

THUNK! The table rattled, making you jump in your own chair. Esidisi's lips came tight together, a long breath sucked hard enough through his nose that the little gold ring dangling precariously on the ridge of his nostril shivered.

Kars acted as if you didn't know that he had just kicked the other under the table, clearing his throat.

"When that one was evicted," here Kars shot Esidisi another one of those looks, which the other actually paid attention to this time around. "It was unanimous that was the final straw, so we agreed to put some proper ground rules out there before allowing anyone else to even think about inquiring to live here."

Your head tilted, unable to hold back a chuckle as you pulled out the print out of their half-garbled "guidelines" you had kept for them to see.

"I'll be honest, at first I was sure this wasn't a real ad..."

Here, both Esidisi and Kars shared a pointed look, you had a feeling there was something more to the story there.

Kars' eyes fell on you again after a beat, thankfully his expression much more neutral.

"I'll ask you," he began. "Do you want to live here?"

"Well..." you honestly couldn't help but laugh a little. Even if things seemed a little worse here you probably wouldn't find yourself refusing, you NEEDED a place and you needed to jump on this before the opportunity was gone again. "Yeah."

"As you said, dear Kars, they fit all the criteria." Esidisi's voice dropped into a teasing little purr, you suddenly felt that heat you felt at the front door blooming in your face once again when the man tossed a wink and a smile your way. "They're cute too, just what I asked for at the very least."

Cute? You nearly sputtered out the word, lips tightening together as you had no choice but look away from the man and his cheeky little grin.

You sat there struggling to force down the memory of him in only his bathtowel again, face feeling hot enough to rival the sun.

Kars let in a deep breath, ignoring the way the other was shaking him in his chair, the sight of an actual smile working his way across his face brought you a little closer to reality again.

"In that case," here he stood, holding his hand out for you to shake. "Welcome to our Home."

A smile of your own spread across your face as you grasped his hand, cold and calloused and FAR bigger than your own, suddenly feeling as if a great weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

"I'm glad to be welcomed." You sighed, beaming up at Kars. Now he didn't seem so very intimidating (well, at least a little) when he was looking a tad more relaxed around you. "I don't have much stuff so getting it from the shelter to here won't be a stretch. I'll probably have it all moved by tomorrow."

Here, you were treated with the sight of not only Kars and Esidisi but Wamuu as well, still lingering by the stove, staring at you in surprise.

Here, Wamuu spoke up for the first time during this entire interview, "You... were living at a shelter?"

All you could do was shrug, feeling s little helpless. "Well, yes... I was." You sighed again as that heaviness on your back suddenly returned at their staring, a hand going up to rub the back of your neck. "Not the best place to stay, I know, but I've been looking around for a place for a quite a while."

It was better than sleeping on the street that was for sure. At least there you could shower and rest and get ready for work; really the only fears you had staying there was someone stealing something important of yours.

Not to mention, it was much more preferable than having to go back to--

The top of your head tickled as a warm and quick puff of air suddenly reached out and touched you, like a hand lovingly caressing your hair. Though the feeling was miniscule it made you suddenly stand on edge.

A beat passed before the very same thing happened again, just as fleeting as the first time. A strange itch crawled up your spine as the unmistakable heat radiating off another body sank slowly through your back, though its source not touching you directly.

Someone was behind you.

Slowly, though with much hesitantance, your head turned. You eyes were wide open as your neck rotated, the action best described as owlish, blinking at the words "seether" emblazoned across a barreled chest, only urging your eyes to seek more upwards.

Your eyes locked onto icy cold rings of blue, an unconcious shiver dancing through your body as the chill of them seeped deep within your body.

There, now right before you, was another man. It was best to assume this was your last supposed roomate as he was just as big and as muscular as the rest.

However, you couldn't shake the feeling that this one was strangely... different than the others.

A hot puff of air brushed the space between your eyes as the stranger breathed out quietly, the action only making you blink hard. He said nothing, he made no indication at all to say anything, he only... stared.

"Umm..." your mouth opened but the jumble of words sitting like a lump in your throat couldn't find your mouth.

"Y/N, this is... Santana." Kars piped up from behind, sounding more than tempted to sigh again today. "He is the 4th and last of us here."

Call it intuition but from what you could tell already, this Santana wasn't the chummiest one of the bunch. Tall and still, skin as fair as snow, almost every square inch of him was chiseled and, well, square.

That stoney expression of his didn't exactly give you an insight as to what was going on in the others head either.

Something told you you'd have to make the first move or else all this staring would get you nowhere.

A hesitant smile squirmed its way across your face, every effort you had inside to be polite straining to the point of almost breaking.

"Hi Santana," your voice nearly cracked. "It's-- nice to meet you...?"

Santana continued to stare at you as if he hadn't even heard you speak at all. A cold sweat prickled on the nape of your neck, you struggled to fight back a cough as the room fell into a dead silence again.

You were starting to wish you were back in the hallway where you had started...

"Santana," Esidisi spoke up next. "come on. Like we practiced..."

Santana exhaled again, the sound more like the huff of a disgruntled pasture bull.

A thick bubble of uncertainty ballooned in your throat as the red-heads arm extended, sticking out quite stiffly in your direction. A long moment passed, you blinking stupidly, before you realized what he was trying to do.

Your watery smile returned with much more force, reaching out to grasp his offered hand. Your fingers could just barely wrap around his ice cold palm.

Another beat. Nothing happened for another uncomfortable little eternity.

Across the room Kars cleared his throat, loudly. Another prompt.

That bubble of uncertainty in your throat dropped like a stone down into the pit of your stomach as his arm moved up and down, up and down, up and down. The movement was just as cold and robotic as his stare.

He didn't even wrap his fingers around your hand, keeping them as straight and pointed as dense meaty rulers.

You honestly half-expected to hear a feint squeaking come from his shoulder at the slight and stiff movement.

"Do not forget to smile..." It was Wamuu who whispered loudly to the other from across the room; as if that would keep you from hearing the plea.

Your own forced smile threatened to dissolve completely for good as you watched Santana's lips twitch, slowly peeling back to reveal two rows of white teeth.

Teeth of your own sank into the flesh your tongue as the glimmer of 4 very sharp K-9's hit your eye, making Santana's painfully cheered grimace all the more chilling.

Up and down, up and down, up and down.

"Nice... to... meet you..." Santana's voice was deep and gruff, the very tone of it shook your insides like an Earthquake.

Maybe it was just his voice, maybe he didn't mean to sound so very rough; the thought definitely crossed your mind. Though, you couldn't be quite sure about that by the way this interaction was going...

"Uhh, the--... the pleasures all mine..." Really, what else could you say?

The very second you let go, Santana's arm retreated back to his side, his face falling back into that stoney hard glare. And just like that, he pushed past you, marching quickly towards the fridge; a word was grumbled, too low for you to hear, but it was something about you.

It was more than clear to you and everyone else that he decided this horrible too-long-of-a-greeting was over.

The fridge door was yanked open, the movement harsh enough the bottles inside chattered. All of you watched as Santana made a grab for a container of lettuce, slamming the fridge shut and striding right out of the kitchen without so much as another grunt, let alone a glance, in your direction.

A breath you didn't even know you had been holding let go, a strange sense of relief washing over you like a warm tidal wave.

Talk about awkward. So awkward you almost wanted to shudder.

What the Hell was his problem?

You nearly jumped when a huge, warm hand clapped you on the shoulder, blinking up into the smiling face of Esidisi.

"He'll warm up to you," The man said, shrugging. "Santana doesn't care much for new people or, well, people in general I suppose. It's just the way he is..."

"We're trying to acquaint him with the concept of socializing and get him used to social norms of this time," Kars practically groaned, pinching the space between his eyes. "As you can see, it's still a work in progress..."

"It probably doesn't help that the last guy living here was the one to seriously piss him off in the end." Esidisi only shrugged again.

You, on the other hand, flinched hearing that. Like it or not, their last roomate had obviously left a lasting impression of newer people on him.

You wouldn't be surprised if Santana thought that you would be the very same thing judging by what you had been told about the last guy and the last thing you wanted was this near-to-stranger having some sort of hard feelings on you when you hadn't even so much as moved in yet.

"Would you like to see your room before you go?" You were most thankful that Kars spoke up again.

"Ah-- yeah." You said, blinking. "That'd be great."

"Wonderful, Wamuu will show you where it is." The kitchen chair creaked as Kars pushed himself in closer to the table, settling back into his comfortable working slouch as he pulled his laptop out again.

He still had work to get done afterall.

Your eyes drifted across the room, meeting the more stern gaze of the blonde, making you realize that Santana wasn't exactly the only one in the house you couldn't quite read just yet.

Nonetheless, the man made no move at all to argue with Kars for being volunteered like so.

Wamuu peeled off his stained apron with a huff, hanging it neatly on the wall.

"This way," a huge hand waved you along, Wamuu's back already to you as he was heading out of the kitchen.

You fumbled for a moment, head turning not-unlike a pet budgie, choosing to wave to Esidisi (Kars was already too focused on whatever he was working away at) before moving to catch up with Wamuu.

Something told you that he wouldn't exactly appreciate having to wait up for you.

This day was far from over yet but at least the hardest part of it was....

Wasn't it?

[babiemingoo]

lollipop boy || jeon wonwoo

summary: greaser!wonwoo is only kind of your friend when he comes up with a stupid (but brilliant) plan to piss off your ex boyfriend and test just what person you claim to have become

genre: greaser!wonwoo, suggestive? || wc: 2.6k

a/n: this is actually a snippet of my next series I have planned, so I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

This was awkward.

As you sat there, thumbs twiddling mindlessly in an attempt of a distraction from the tension, you couldn’t escape how awkward of a situation you were in. When your friend Sien had texted that she was running late but someone should already be there waiting, you had hoped with every cell of your being that the someone wasn’t Wonwoo. But when you opened the front door of the diner nestled in the middle of your hometown, the only member of your newfound “friend group” that had arrived on time was, of course, Wonwoo. 

The diner was classic, with a neon sign hanging above the milkshake bar and a worn down jukebox near the corner window looking like it had survived every teenager in your town since the 1940s. The color scheme of red, white and gray made the boy wrapped in a shiny black leather jacket look even more so out of place than he already was. He never seemed to care, though, always sat in the exact same spot on a Wednesday afternoon, flipping through his auto vehicle magazine with a lollipop between his lips while his friends bustled about excitedly. Except, his friends were late, and now it was just the two of you together despite the fact that you had spoken more less 20 words to him since you met.

If silently sitting across the said boy wasn’t awkward enough, the diner was pretty dead for a Wednesday when most people your age tended to trickle in - except for, with your luck, your ex boyfriend. Him and your old friend group were huddled about in the opposite end of the diner, next to the jukebox that you knew they liked to hang around to play their favorite 70s songs while they loitered. None of them seemed to have noticed your arrival apart from the boy that you used to spend every Wednesday holding hands with. Now you two side glance at each other, looking away in the split millisecond when your eyes meet and pretend like it didn’t happen. You repeat the action probably five times before a deep voice pulls you out of the routine, “So much for hating his guts, huh?”

Wonwoo’s still skimming his eyes through the words printed next to a picture of a motorcycle in the magazine, but you know he was the one that had just spoken to you. “What are you talking about?” You question him, feigning ignorance. His deep chuckle cuts through the air as you observe the candy he has wrapped in his fingers, just an inch away from his mouth so he’s able to voice out his thoughts. One thing you had noticed about Wonwoo was that he always had a lollipop with him. Sometimes it was green, or purple, or even blue; but today it was his classic red shade. His usual soda was always red, all the candy he bought at the liquor store was red, and the chapstick that he would pull out every now and then was that of the same color and flavor; the one you have realized to be his favorite. Cherry.

“You tell everyone how much you hate him for what he did to you, but you keep making love eyes at him,” The boy across from you states in a tone that you’re sure is dripping with arrogance. “Not surprised though. I told Sien that you would run back to rich boy the first chance you got.”

You scoff at the audacity he had. The two of you may have been in the same friend group, and you’ve come to have a soft spot for a few of them - like Sien and Jun - but Wonwoo speaks as if he has a right to judge you or any of your past. Wonwoo was the only one out of the group of greasers that you felt hadn’t really taken to you and you’re certain it’s because of your old friends and boyfriend that he hated so much. Every part of you itched to prove him wrong about every assumption he had made about your life. “I’m not going to run back to him!” You say to him with determination, in a low voice. 

For the first time since you’ve met him, Wonwoo closes the magazine. He quickly folds the corner of the page he was on to not lose his spot, shuts it, and pulls the lollipop out of his mouth again before saying, “Everytime we meet up at a spot and he’s around, you both make puppy eyes at each other like you’ll run into each other’s arms in a flower field and sing love songs. Even I can’t ignore it and I make it a point to half ignore everyone. Just admit you want to make your boy toy miss you, get your job done and go back to your perfect little life. Don’t drag my friends into this.” The way his voice comes out is laced with venom and you feel it. You always had a hunch that Wonwoo held dislike for you rather than indifference, but this is the first you’re hearing of his theory that you’re just using your new friend group to prove something to your ex. 

“I’m sorry if the guy I was with for three years and had to break up with a few weeks ago still holds a little part of my heart,” You retort with sass. “But I’m not going to go back to him. What he did was so completely fucked up and even if I’ve been with him for that long I have more self worth, I know that I deserve more-”

Ding.

It was a bad habit of yours to leave your ringer on. A habit that had got you written up in class more times than you can count, one that got you caught during friend gatherings when you and Seungkwan were trying to sneakily talk behind the other boys’ backs. And now, it was a habit that had you caught up with Wonwoo. The brightness of your phone screen was almost mocking in the way that it illuminated the notification you had just gotten from your ex boyfriend standing across the room, letters sewed together in a text that said, ‘hey can we talk?’

You catch the text message in the corner of your eye and Wonwoo does, too. He laughs; a deep chuckle of satisfaction that matches his tone when he says, “Preppy boy is calling. Shouldn’t you go kiss and make up?”

It’s silent for a beat. Wonwoo is infuriating in the way that he’s never gone easy on you, even the first day you had met, Sien bringing you to their table with tears streaming down your face and his first sentence to you had been a tease. He’s infuriating in the way now that he’s fully expecting you to turn around and head in your ex’s direction to talk. He’s infuriating in the way that you consider actually doing it.

“Well?” He questions, head nodding towards the man who used to occupy all your time and all your thoughts. Instinctively you turn around and make eye contact with him for the sixth time that day and his eyes are pleading, waiting. Waiting. Just like you had been sitting, waiting for him all those days and weeks while he had been running around, betraying you, lying to you- 

“Aren’t you going to go talk to your lover boy?”

“No.”

The answer leaves your lips before he can even finish his question. Truthfully you were hoping Wonwoo would look impressed, or a little surprised in the least. He doesn’t. All he offers you is a smug grin as his tongue peaks out of lips, lapping at the red lollipop a few times before he speaks, “Bullshit.”

You want to counter his cockiness but he beats you to it, adding, “Don’t string it on, sweetheart. The others will get here and then you’ll have to explain just how weak you are for your ex in front of all of them. I won’t say anything to them; you can do that yourself later. Just go back to your preppies where you’d rather be.”

Sweetheart? Weak? Where you’d rather be? Gosh, the nerve Wonwoo always had with you. You roll your eyes before crossing your arms at him, vision narrowing, “I’m not going to talk to him. I don’t want to talk to him. He fucked me over and now we’re done.”

“Really?” He questions with his eyebrows raised, but you know he’s mocking you. The boy wants to test you because he still thinks he knows you and that all his assumptions of you are right.

You want to prove him wrong. “Yup! I hate him and I don’t want anything to do with him. If I could make him see that him and I are completely done, I would.” The tone of your voice made every word come out with conviction. You wanted to make it a point that you think - no - you knew that you were done with your ex. Whatever the two of you had was completely finished after how he had mistreated you and your heart, and you needed to show that to Wonwoo. You need to show that to yourself. You wanted to prove him and everyone else who doubted you, wrong.

Ding.

Another notification. Another text message. Another attempt of your ex trying to crawl back into your life, your heart, the letters on your phone screen now fitting together to create your name in question. From the corner of your eye you can see his gaze; no longer pleading but begging. He wants to talk. The deepest, darkest depths of your heart will you to get up and listen. Your brain says to stay put. Another chuckle from Wonwoo.

“You sure you’re done with him?”

With gritted teeth, you harshly grab your phone and flip it upside down so the screen can’t mock you anymore. “I’m sure.”

Wonwoo finally looks just the slightest impressed by your reaction. But not convinced - not at all. Strangely, he gets up, says nothing as he walks around the table and sits next to you before facing you with a glint in his eye. His lollipop is wrapped around his mouth until he pulls it out again to say, “Prove it.”

This day is a bunch of firsts. The first time you’ve had a conversation with Wonwoo (albeit a negative one, but still), the first time you’ve gotten heated since you found out what your ex had done, and the first time you’ve ever seen Wonwoo so up close. Your eyes follow the creases of his lips, across his laugh lines which are - surprisingly - fairly prominent, past his nose and cheekbones and to his eyes, small but fierce and shaped in a way that has you wondering if you would’ve enjoyed looking at them under different circumstances. You try not to get yourself too caught up in the intricacies of his features and distract yourself by countering, “Prove what?”

“Put your money where your mouth is. You said that if you were able to make him see that you two were done, you’d do it. You said you don’t want to go back to him, then prove it.” The leather of his jacket squeaks a little when he shrugs.

“Wha- How am I supposed to-”

“Kiss me,” His tone is so casual in the way he says it, like every other word that he’s ever targeted at you hasn’t been spoken with condescending undertones and haughty implications. You want to keep your sassy facade but you begin to gape at him like a fish out of water, gasping for some sort of clarity on the situation. There is no way he could be seriously asking this of you when the two of you had barely established a frenemies relationship. In fact, it was more of the enemies than it is friends.

He smirks at the way you’re caught off guard (because he’s a little shit) and repeats himself while scooting closer, “You don’t have to, but as a guy I’ll tell you - if I saw the girl who used to be my everything kissing another guy after I had texted her asking to talk to her? I think I’d get the hint.”

You can’t help the way the cogs in your head turn together to make sense of what he says, even if it’s a bit out of left field. Technically, you did say that you would show your ex he no longer had a chance with you, if you were able to do so. You wonder if doing such a thing like kissing Wonwoo would give the boy across the room a big old fuck you like he deserved. Your gaze travels to the said boy, who’s eyes have changed to hold something of confusion and wonder. Was he confused at why Wonwoo had come to sit next to you? In an attempt to support or debunk your hypothesis, you scoot closer to Wonwoo, your hand finding it’s way against his jean clad knee where the frayed rips let you two meet skin to skin. 

The emotions behind your ex’s eyes shift. They’re shocked now; angry. Hurt. Those were the same feelings you felt all those weeks ago when the world came crashing down at your shoulders and your relationship went with it.

You take your attention and put it back on Wonwoo, who’s breath you can feel against your face with how impossibly close you two have gotten. He’s smirking again. Similar to moments ago when your eyes scanned over his face, his gaze begins to do the same to you; memorizing the dip of your cupid’s bow and the tip of your nose. 

The boy lets out a breath when his eyes find their way up, meeting yours. Hand on your waist. Head tilting, “Kiss me,” He repeats.

You lean forward. Your lips touch. He might have just meant a peck, just to get your ex riled up. But the way your lips fit together implied so, so much more than a peck. They move together, slotting against each other in a way that would’ve convinced anyone in the room that you two have been captivated by each other with adoration and nothing but. The thought of how mad your ex probably is begins to get buried in the back of your mind when you start to focus on him, Wonwoo, and the way that he feels. The way his right hand pulls you just the slightest bit closer even if there’s no more room. The way his left hand reaches behind your neck to cradle you in place like he wants the two of you to keep kissing for hours.

All thoughts of everything else that had been going on in your life begins to dissipate in your head as you get caught up in him. In this moment you only think one thing: Wonwoo. Wonwoo Wonwoo Wonwoo. Wonwoo in his leather jacket, Wonwoo on his motorcycle, Wonwoo holding his magazine, Wonwoo looking at you, Wonwoo holding you- It’s funny, because earlier today you were dreading Wonwoo. Now it seems like your subconscious craves him, head leaning forward as if he was going anywhere. You want to remember this; even if the future version of yourself is going to pretend like you didn’t enjoy it. So your tunnel vision goes completely there to his lips, his kiss. You make sure to note the way he tastes just so you can brand him and this kiss with it for the rest of your life. You’ll make sure to associate this taste with him forever so that every time you have another lick of it you’re reminded of this day that Jeon Wonwoo stole your breath straight out of your mouth. You memorize what your taste buds feel when you kiss him. Cherry.

[kenzieam]

Us This Way - Oneshot

Rating: M

Warnings: Angst, heartache, some language ****TRIGGER WARNINGS****

Word Count: 4417

Tags: @jewels2876​  @moonbeambucky​  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​  @iammarylastar​ @captstefanbrandt​  @badassbaker​  @pinknerdpanda​  @oliviastan17​ @mizzzpink​​

***************************************************************

Okay, so this frickin’ song gets me every time.

Kudos to the beautiful Lady Gaga for this hauntingly beautiful gem.

**************************************************************

Lev swallowed past the lump in her throat, skimmed the note in her hand one last time. She’d wrote and rewrote the words so often in her head she knew them by heart, but it didn’t make reading them any easier.

James,

By the time you sober up and read this, I’ll be gone.

I can’t do this anymore, the drinking, the fights, the lies.

You aren’t the same man I fell in love with, and I can’t say anymore that I’m the same girl you knew either.

When we started this journey, you told me things would never change; that it would be just the two of us, against the world, travelling and sharing your music and voice and I, naively I guess, believed it.

But everything is different. You’re drunk all the time, drinking to excess and its only going to be a matter of time before your followers see it too, there’s already gossip on the fan sites about your behaviour.

And I’m not leaving because of that, I could deal with the alcohol if it weren’t for the craziness that comes with it.

These women aren’t here for you, they’re here for the idea of you, the Rockstar, and I can’t watch you take them into your hotel rooms anymore, I can’t hear you through the walls with them.

I deserve better and, to be honest, so do you but I can’t help you anymore.

God knows I’ve tried.

I hope one day you find peace and closure from whatever haunts you so badly and discover your voice again.

I love you; I always have.

I always will,

Levi

A tear burned hot down her cheek, but she wiped it away absently, clearing her throat. She’d already wasted so many tears, she couldn’t spare any more.

Laying the note silently on the bedside table, Lev took one last lingering glance at the man, her former lover and friend, current rockstar touring and conquering the world, now passed out face down in the hotel bed, back scratched and red from his latest groupie foursome she’d chased out just minutes ago, two or three empty liquor bottles visible among the tangled sheets, then turned and left the room.

*******************************************************************************

A throbbing headache dragged him from oblivion later and, for a time, James just lay there, eyes half-open, trying to piece together the last hours.

He remembered two, or was it three? Groupies: giggling girls with fake tits and trout pouts, wearing little more than ace bandages and laughing at his every word like he was the most charming asshole on Earth and everything that fell out of his mouth was pure gold.

Lev had never put up with his shit. She’d always set him straight with a few well-chosen words, a sharp glare with her hypnotizing violet eyes.

Come to think of it, where was Lev? Usually she was prodding him awake by now, pushing coffee into his face, talking about getting up, getting showered and getting on the damn bus.

Bottles clinked as he moved, struggled in the tangled sheet to push himself upright. His back stung and faint memories surfaced, one of the harpies scratching him, moaning theatrically as he fucked her, wishing it were Levi beneath him still instead of this random stranger.

God, he hoped he’d worn a condom, not that it stopped theses psychos; Christ, every week there was a new accusation, a new girl stepping forward claiming he’d impregnated her.

Thank fuck for his lawyer, Sam Wilson; the man was a gem, with the retainer bills to prove it.

“Lev?” He croaked, wincing as fresh pain shot through his skull.

No answer.

“Lev!” He chanced a shout, growling and grabbing his throbbing temples. “Fuck, where are you?”  

He turned his head, squinting before freezing as his glare landed on the letter.

***********************************************************************************

“So, you just left, huh?” Steve asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, and staring at it contemplatively.

“Yeah, same as you.” There was a hint of venom in Lev’s voice and the blond man smirked.

“Yeah, same as me. Got tired of the shit.”

“Everyday.”

Steve sighed, staring out at nothing, thoughts a thousand miles away. “Remember when we first started out?”

“You, me and James in that old van? Driving from bar to bar and playing for peanuts?”

“You’d go up on stage when he reached for you, join him for a few songs?”

Lev sighed sadly. “Long time ago, man. We were just fucking kids.”

“Yep, but you two? Timeless. I remember when I first saw you. First day of grade three in Ms. Hawthorn’s class; James elbowed me and said, ‘that’s the girl I’m going to marry’.”

“He did not!” Lev fought a smile, she’d heard this story so many times, her reaction varying from honest disbelief to warm-hearted nostalgia depending on how fresh her latest pain was.

“He did.” Steve replied, smiling fondly. “Couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Yeah, well… something else has caught his eye now.”

“You can’t save him, Lev. He has to want to save himself.”

“I know… it just hurts.”

“I know.” Steve murmured quietly. “I know.”

*****************************************************************************************

‘Rockstar James Barnes’ newest run-in with the paparazzi, next on TMZ’

Lev groaned and turned off the TV, throwing the remote onto the scarred coffee table.      

Obviously, he was perfectly capable of carrying on with his shenanigans without her, not that her pleas for him to stop had ever fallen on anything but deaf ears.

She glanced at her cell phone, then cursed and purposefully looked away. Every day for years she’d seen his name come up on her display, multiple times a day, through the night and she’d come to expect it.

The calls after she’d left had come heavy and hot, barely a pause in between except for increasingly abusive texts and voicemail messages. When they had changed to broken, mournful, pleading messages she’d thrown her cell away, smashed it for good measure.

It was just habit to look for his name now, a useless throwback.

She had left a month ago and James’ spiral of self-destruction was becoming a nightly news story.

She didn’t envy Pepper, his long-suffering publicist, nor Nick, the rep from Fury Records; word was both were close to dropping him soon, if he didn’t get his act together.

Cursing herself afresh, Lev reached for the remote and flicked the set back on. She was a fucked up as him sometimes, intent on making it hurt.

James’ face appeared on the screen and Lev was shocked at how haggard he now looked, pale and drawn. His hair was lanky, in his face, clothes wrinkled. As the paparazzi swarmed him, leaving the latest club, he glanced up at the cameras and Lev was struck dumb by the utter misery on his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, either from sleep problems (something he’d had more than his share of in the time Lev had known him) or he’d taken up hard drugs.

The pap screamed questions at him, jostling each other and him as he struggled through the mob, the slightly shell-shocked bottle-blonde woman on his arm being all but dragged behind. What security James hadn’t chased off was all but overwhelmed by the reporters and fans, light flashes strobing the scene.

“Just leave me the FUCK alone!” James roared, pushing hard at one spectacled paparazzi, knocking him to the ground and only inflaming the mob more.

Lev felt a surge of fear, mixed in with a healthy dose of rage at the sight. Someone could easily get hurt tonight, lines could be crossed that would never be forgotten. James was juggling with the remains of his career right now and he had the shakes.

“Are the rumors true?” One pap screeched.

“Where’s Lev?” Another yelled and Lev winced. They were still asking him, four weeks into her departure.

“Is the picture of you snorting a white substance outside The Down Low real?”    

Shit.

James didn’t answer beyond a wild-eyed sneer then he was scrambling into a large black SUV, the confused milling of his few remaining security guards telling Lev they hadn’t expected him to drive; then the SUV was screeching away, paparazzi and security scattering like flies, their shouted questions turning into screams of shock and fear and Lev clapped her hands to her mouth, biting back her own scream.

He had totally gone crazy; without Lev there to anchor him, he was dangerously adrift.

The clip ended and the TMZ crew started rehashing it, some expressing sympathy for James and others outright condemning him for losing his shit so badly.

“Does anyone know where she went?” Harvey asked, sipping on his trademark straw.

“Who, Levi Riel?” One the lackeys frowned in confusion.

“Who else?” Harvey laughed. “I mean, James Barnes was a wild man before but now he’s completely off the rails. Something’s happened there but his camp won’t comment. Any luck on contacting Lev herself?”

They’d tried, endlessly, until Lev had smashed her phone and gotten a new number; so far, that hadn’t been leaked but the pap was sneaky and resourceful, Lev had been in the spotlight long enough as James’ gal Friday to know how it worked and she didn’t expect to remain incommunicado forever. Besides, she was already fielding calls from other musicians, hearing she was free and desperate for her services. So far, she’d said no, it was still too raw for her to go back into the industry, but her savings wouldn’t last forever.

Would she be alright? Running into James at an award show somewhere, contracted to another singer, seeing him with some other woman (not that that was in any way new), or perhaps worse, doing just fine now without her? How long would he last like this? There were plenty of examples out there of musicians who’d self-destructed, died by suicide or misadventure, and if James had been spotted snorting white powder already, he was well on his way to joining the club.

Her phone rang and Lev almost dropped her glass, despite staring at the damned thing almost compulsively looking for James’ name, the sound still made her heart race.

“Hey, Steve.”

“You saw that?” His voice was resigned. “TMZ?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Every miserable second.”

“You going to tell me to go back to him?” A part of Lev wanted Steve to say no, but a larger part wanted to hear yes.

“No. I was going to tell you to make sure you stay the hell away. This isn’t your mess anymore, hon.”

“But… my leaving-”

“Didn’t do anything, he was already circling the drain, you were right to get yourself out when you did.”

Lev blinked back tears, wiped them angrily away. “When did it all go so wrong, Steve?”

He exhaled sadly. “Who knows? After Clint overdosed?”

“After my miscarriage?” Lev whispered, the memory of James holding her, crying with her on that hotel bathroom floor, blood smeared on her inner thighs rushed back into her mind’s eye.

They… he’d wanted a child so badly, back in the good years, when they’d lay sated and exhausted in bed together, murmuring softly before sleep claimed them both.

“I want a baby,” he’d whisper, eyes searching hers. “You’d be such a good mama.”

“Not right now,” she’d always answer, although the thought of growing round with his seed sparked heat low in her belly. “It’s not the right time, you’ve had five consecutive number one hits, you’re on top of the world.”

“We are.” He’d reply, reaching up and stroking his calloused thumb over her bottom lip.

“Maybe.” Steve replied softly. “It’s still not your fault, Lev.”

She couldn’t hear anymore; the memories were rushing back too hard and too fast. “Goodbye, Steve.”

********************************************************************************

A part of her expected the call, and she reached for the phone, half-awake, when it rang sometime after two a few nights later.

“Miss Riel?” A clipped, professional voice. “This is Dr. Keening from the UCLA Medical Center, I'm calling about your husband, James.”

********************************************************************************

Lev wouldn’t let herself examine the reasons why she dropped everything and booked the next flight to Los Angeles, maybe it was seeing him so distraught on TV, maybe it was thinking about their past; the way he’d held her so tightly, so lovingly, even as he cried so hard with her that night, the realization so fresh that their child, almost too early to even be called a baby yet, had left them already.

She gave the Uber driver directions then leaned back in the seat, staring out the window without really seeing and, all too soon, the car was pulling to a stop in front of the hospital.

The sterile smell inside made her stomach roil and she almost turned around and left, then squared her shoulders and pressed the elevator button for the right floor.

A nurse directed her to the correct room then had the grace to leave her alone. Lev milled around the hallway for a beat, chewing on her lip and struggling to find a reason, any reason, why she should walk through that door.

This…. He wasn’t her problem anymore, she’d left.

But they could both use some closure.

He was asleep when she entered the room but before she could turn around and leave his eyelids fluttered. He’d always been able to sense when she was near, and that connection apparently hadn’t faded in their separation. The instant his gaze landed on her the cloudiness vanished and a desperate, clinging hope took its place.

“Lev?” His voice cracked with exhaustion, his hand shaking as he reached for her and Lev was surprised by how hard it was to not step forwards and take it, smooth back the dark hair plastered on his sweaty forehead. He’d lost weight, dark rings under his eyes, the muscles that always flexed so deliciously as he moved fading away.

She squeezed her fist around the handle of her bag and waited, not moving forwards.

His fingers twitched, confusion joining the hope. “Levi?” His voice was plaintive.

“What are you doing, James?” She clipped.

“What?” His brow furrowed, his breathing beginning to speed up. Finally, he dropped his hand, pulling it back into his lap, fingers clenching.

“Acting like this? Getting caught by the gossip rags snorting coke? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He’d obviously not expected to be chastised and wasn’t that the heart of the issue; he’d always gotten his way before, the coddled rockstar, no one calling him out with any degree of seriousness, no one but Lev anyway and she’d always caved before laying out any real boundaries, never done something so extreme as leave before.

Was that why she’d come back then, because she felt responsible for this?

The furrow in his brow deepened, the simple hope in his face vanishing. Now came the temper, the short bursts of fury meant to force his will, likening him to a spoiled child, an attitude that Lev regretted not shutting down years ago when it first started raising it’s ugly head.

He stared at her, eyes dark and wounded, “you left,” he hissed.

“I couldn’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” A compulsive snap, he knew exactly what she was talking about, but he’d never owned up to it, never, not once.

“Watch you with all those girls, see you take them into your room, hear you fuck them through the walls, chase their skanky asses out the next morning so I could get you out of your drunken stupor and looking like a human being only to have you treat me like a piece of shit by doing it all over again the next night!” Lev hissed, enraged to feel the prick of tears in her eyes.

For a moment she was surprised to see betrayal flash through his eyes. “They don’t mean anything. They’re just groupies-”

“So that makes it alright? And telling people I’m your wife? What the fuck, James?!”

“Well, you should be!” He snarled. His arm snapped out, sweeping across the rolling table hovering over his bed, loud crashes sounding as everything on it hit the floor. “I fucking asked you enough times!”

He had. So many times, and every time she’d said ‘no’. What had held her back?

“Grow up.” Lev snapped, her face heating. How many times had they argued like this? How many times had they danced this twisted dance?

Too many fucking times.                    

“Fuck you.”

“No, James. Fuck you. I’m done. I don’t know why I came here anyway… I’m, I’m done. Have a nice life, what’s left of it anyway.” She turned to leave before the fury she was feeling was overwhelmed by the hurt and disappointment; what had she expected? Why did she always do this? Hadn’t she learned yet that he would never grow up and be the man she saw deep inside him? When would she stop hurting herself trying to draw that out?

She needed to stop trying.

“Hey. What are you doing?” James demanded but Lev ignored him, marching back out the door she’d just entered moments ago. “Hey!”

Lev stopped and took a deep breath, collecting her words. Without turning she swiveled her head enough to look at him.

“I’m done, James. I can’t watch you self-destruct anymore. I tried for years to be there for you, because I love you… but I can’t do this anymore, I need to live my own life.” Without waiting for an answer, she swiveled back, let her feet carry her away even as she felt her heart break anew in her chest.

If this was the right thing, why did it hurt so bad, why did she feel like she was abandoning him just when he needed her the most?

“Levi!” His voice broke on the scream, reverberating around her in the hallway but she didn’t turn back.

******************************************************************************

Ten Months Later

Lev sorted through her mail, separating the junk from the real then paused, lifting a large, cream coloured envelope from the pile.

Who sent letters anymore?

Splitting the seal, Lev pulled out folded sheets of thick paper, the same colour of the envelope, definitely expensive. As it opened, another smaller piece of paper fell out and Lev reached for it, brows drawn in confusion.

JAMES BARNES – STRIPPED BARE

A SPECIAL EXCLUSIVE, ACCOUSTIC ONLY ENGAGEMENT

She stopped reading, dropping the ticket to the table, and focussed on the letter instead.

Levka.

It’s been a while since we spoke, but I wanted to send you this anyway.

I understand why you left, and I applaud you for having the strength to do it. It seems to be the kick he finally needed.

James took a break from music, as you may or may not have realized but has recently decided to return, albeit in a much different capacity from before.

He has done away with the show, or ‘bullshit’ as he so eloquently puts it. No more pyrotechnics, no more lightshows and theatrics; he said he wants to return to the way he started, just him and his guitar, the band behind him.

Enclosed is a ticket to his first show and a plane ticket, first class, to reach it. The seat is in the back, where James won't be able to see you, if that is your wish.

I leave it up to you whether you attend but understand that James has not asked me to do this, and I have not told him I have.

Regards, Pepper

Lev stared at the letter for a full minute, marveling despite herself at the publicist’s flowing handwriting, her graceful hand.

She had stayed with James after all, even when Lev had left.

The second sheet was a printed plane ticket, leaving the next morning. Lev, if she took it, would land in mid-afternoon, giving her a few hours to gird herself before going to the show.

She recognized the venue listed; James had played it in his earlier years, just as he was starting to become famous and it was smaller, intimate, suited to an unplugged show. The seat shown was in the back, just as Pepper said; Lev could attend the show and leave again without James ever seeing her.

But did she want to?

What would it feel like to see him again, to hear him sing again the way he used to, his voice clear and full? When he’d reach his hand out to her, pull her onstage and sing with her, gaze at her so lovingly as they shared a microphone, voices melding and complimenting each other so beautifully?

Could she handle seeing him again?

She hardly knew.

*************************************************************************

Taking a deep breath, Lev opened the door and stepped inside. Other ticket holders milled around, no one paying her any mind. She prayed no one would recognize her, going so far as to dye her auburn hair a lustrous blue-black, switch out her contacts for the thick wayfarer frames she usually only wore in quiet moments spent relaxing or working from home.

The show was going to start in only a few minutes, but Lev resisted the urge to find her seat just yet, drifting until she gathered the will to enter the main area.

Finding her seat, Lev stared at the stage, hardly noticing as others shuffled to find their own places. Although small, the venue appeared to be sold out. Scott sat at the drums; Thor held an acoustic bass and James sat on a stool at the front, head bent over his favourite redwood acoustic guitar, the one he’d always said reminded him of Lev’s hair.

One jean-clad leg bent, worn biker boot on the footrest, he looked better than Lev remembered. Some of his physique had come back, thigh straining the jean’s stitching, biceps visible through the t-shirt he wore as he plucked the strings slowly, listening for the sound.

He looked good. He looked healthy again, his hair lustrous under the light, cheeks dark with just the right amount of stubble, fingers strong and sure, the boot flat on the stage floor tapping slowly to the beat in his head.

Lev felt a riot of emotions swell in her chest. This was the James she’d fallen in love with, the man she’d spent their early years with, before the vampire of fame began to bleed him dry.

He lifted his head, flashed a gorgeous smile at the audience and the show began.

It was beautiful, James’ voice strong and clear; the audience sat spellbound, hypnotized and Lev knew he’d made the right decision; to go back to his roots, let his talent speak for itself. He would enjoy a long career like this, unplugged and real.

Time passed like the blink of an eye and suddenly, too suddenly, James was standing, setting his guitar in its rest and stepping to the side of the stage. The spotlight followed, leaving Thor and Scott in the dark and illuminating a gleaming grand piano. The audience cheered in building excitement as he sat, adjusted the microphone.

He had not played piano is one of his shows for years, Lev wasn’t even sure he knew how to anymore.

The din died down, waiting and James looked out over them as he began to speak, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips.

“A while ago my life fell apart,” he stated simply. “I got tangled up in fame and being a rockstar and pushed away everyone that cared. Even Lev, the most important person in the world to me.”

Lev felt her cheeks warm, edginess creeping into her limbs. Was he about to blast her? Was she about to get her proverbial ass handed to her? Did he know she was here?

“She left,” he continued. “And I crashed. The only woman I’ve ever loved, and I hurt her everyday until she couldn’t take my bullshit anymore.” He swiped at a tear and Lev bit her lip.

“I hit rock bottom and Lev came to see me one more time. But instead of being grateful, of begging her for another chance, I acted like a total asshole and pushed her away again. And that was finally it, Lev leaving me like that was the push I needed to get my life together. I haven’t seen Lev since, I don’t deserve to…. but I owe everything to her.”

Lev heard sniffles around her.

“A while ago I heard this song for the first time. It made me cry like a baby and I listened to it for hours, until I couldn’t cry anymore. It brought about this idea I had about ‘stripping bare’ and starting over again…. This song is for you, Lev. I love you, baby.”

He focussed on the keys and a haunting melody began. Lev recognized it immediately, for it too had provoked her own tears the first time she’d heard it.

That Arizona sky burnin’ in your eyes.

You look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire.

It’s buried in my soul, like California gold.

You found the light in me that I couldn’t find.

His voice was heart-breaking, emotion pouring through as he sang, the piano a poignant, moving accompaniment, his fingers sure on the keys.

So when I’m all choked up,

But I can’t find the words.

His voice broke, but he pushed through.

Every time we say goodbye baby, it hurts.

When the sun goes down

And the band won’t play,

I’ll always remember us this way.

The band joined in quietly and Lev was lost in the sound, swaying slightly to his beautiful voice as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Too soon, the song ended, James’ head bowing as he breathed the last words, the last notes fading and the audience sat still, stunned silent for a beat before exploding.

Lev exhaled raggedly, wiping at her tears. As she watched, James tipped his head back, tears shining on his face and swallowed hard, seeming to gather himself before returning to the show.

The crowd continued to scream and cheer as James nodded once in acknowledgement, the smile on his lips tempered by the pain in his eyes.

He was open and vulnerable, stripped bare and he’d never been more beautiful in Lev’s eyes.

God, she still loved him, but was that enough?

Was she the key to his success, or the poison?

Should she go to him, step through the crowd and join him onstage, forgive him and start their next chapter together?

Or leave, let them both live their lives and follow the song, simply ‘remember us this way’?

She decided.

[little-diable]

Raðljóst - a crime series by little-diable Part 1

My loves, this is my first non-fanfiction series that I’m posting on here, since I can’t really use many tags, I’d appreciate it, if you’d reblog it, ofc only if you're into it. This mini series is something I’m really proud of, so I hope you love it just as much. I mostly listened to Kaleos Vor í Vaglaskógi and save yourself while writing this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Elvas sister had been missing for six days by now, will they ever find Silja? Will they find out what happened to the Icelandic girl and if somebody had deliberately ripped her away from her family?

Warnings: angst, disappearance of a family member, could be triggering

Raðljóst (noun) enough light to find your way by

Blonde, shoulder long hair, green eyes, no freckles or moles on her face. Sixteen year old Silja had disappeared on Tuesday morning, she carried her brown school bag with her.

…

Two days after Silja went missing

She had been missing for days by now, the chilly December air blew through the streets of Höfn, snow covered the island in a white, thick blanket, deepening the heavy, melancholic feeling that nestled in her bones. 

Elva couldn’t rip her eyes off the windows, patiently waiting for her sister to finally turn into their street, with that breathtaking smile of hers on her lips, telling Elva that everything was alright, that nothing had happened to her.

But now, two days after her disappearance, hope was slowly fading away, leaving eighteen year old Elva feeling empty, lost even.

Elva could still picture the salty tears that ran down her mothers cheeks, the messy hair of hers she’d comb her fingers through, a nervous habit and those empty, grey eyes of her father as the detectives sunk down on their sofa, speaking way too calmly for Elvas liking. 

They’d never understand what it would feel like, would never understand what it would mean to lose the one person that you could bare your soul to, the one to always listen, the one to always guide you through the darkness. 

Elva felt like a raft, fighting its way through the clashing waves of the icelandic sea, fighting and fighting till all strength would leave her, till water would soften up the wood and she’d drown, without Silja by her side to rescue her, without Silja as her safe haven, the lighthouse that would guide her through the darkness.

Elva felt the days pass by in a blur, she’d barely move from her spot in front of the big window front of their living room, Elva had always been a rather optimistic nature, she couldn’t give up, not on her little sister.

“They need us down at the station, do you want to stay here?”, her father’s hand felt heavy on her shoulder, adding to the weight that seemed to drag her down, “I’ll come”. She’d grasp any chance to move her legs for a little while, any chance to get her hands on new information, anything she could cling to. 

“Alright”, his raspy voice made her knit her eyebrows together, he sounded just as tired as Elva felt, she couldn’t imagine the pain he and her mother were living through, losing your sister seems like the worst nightmare one would have to fight against, but losing your own flesh and blood, your daughter must feel like walking through hell and back.  

Snowflakes were dancing through the air, covering the ground as they drove through the calm streets, silence engulfed the family, Elva had her eyes trained on the interlaced hands of her mother, she looked emaciated, veins shining through the pale skin, displaying the hurt and anxiety that flooded through her. 

Wordlessly Elva reached for her mothers shoulder, she couldn’t get herself to speak any promising words, not when she was haunted by nightmares of Siljas dead body, wakening with drops of sweat bearding her skin, praying to the spirits that they’d find her, alive and breathing.

The police station seemed cold and uninviting, stoic faces greeted them, made Elva gasp her mothers hand a bit tighter, goosebumps rose on her skin, the need to turn around and run back home seemed to grow with every step she took. 

“Elva Jónsdóttir?”, the calloused voice made her shudder, creeping closer to the small frame of her mother, averting her eyes as the tall detective made his way up to them. “We’d like to speak to Elva first”, as he pointed towards the room he’d take her to Jón instantly got up to follow them, “alone”, the voice cut through the thick atmosphere around them, grey, stormy eyes hooked on his daughter’s frame as she disappeared from his sight.

Elva looked much younger than eighteen, her appearance seemed to deceive the beholder, dark circles underneath her eyes made her appear dull, her hair hadn’t been brushed for days, tangled into knots, baggy clothes were hanging loosely down her frame. 

“Hello Elva”, her head whipped towards a blonde, tall woman, piercing green eyes were staring at her, Elva couldn’t tell where the detective was from, the foreign accent stuck with her and would follow her for the upcoming days. “I’m sorry about Silja, we’re doing everything we can to find her”, Elva sunk down in the cold, uncomfortable chair, hands clasped together, eyes not leaving the woman's frame. 

She tried to read the name that was stitched into the jacket she wore, but she had left her glasses at home and couldn’t properly decipher the small letters. “Lilian Korhonen”, for a spur of a moment, a grateful smile tugged on Elvas lips, she visibly seemed to relax, deeply inhaling as the other detective opened Siljas file, eyes skimming through the pages. 

“Elva, you need to tell us anything that could be helpful, places where we could look for her, people she’d meet up with, anything”, a sigh spilled from Elvas dry lips, bite marks were still prominent on the thin skin, remainders of the moments where her teeth would pierce through them, a habit that she couldn’t get rid of.

 “I-”, she stuttered, panic crossed her eyes for a moment, her mind went blank, forgetting all about the essential things that would describe her sister's life, “she’d take riding lessons”. Elva closed her eyes, trying to picture Silja, the things she’d do on a daily basis, “she didn’t have a lot of friends, just her boyfriend Rubin, every now and then she’d work a shift at the viking village, especially on summer afternoons, she truly loved working there”.

“The movie set you say?”, her eyes snapped open, finding the green ones of Detective Korhonen, “mhm”, she hummed, crossing her arms in front of her chest, nails digging into her forearms, “it closed a few weeks ago, but normally she’d help out from May till September, the stable is quite near, so she’d mostly spend some time there before going to work”. 

Silja had always been into horses, the complete opposite of her sister, always full of life, a bubbly persona through and through. “I don’t know why she’d ever disappear just like that, Silja wouldn’t leave us, at least not without saying goodbye”, Elvas heart was aching, bleeding for Silja, wondering though doubting that she’d ever see her little sister again.

The detectives seemed to understand that Elva wouldn’t say much more, she was clearly struggling, fighting against the tears that would blur her vision, struggling to properly breathe with the lump in her throat. 

“We’ll call as soon as get new information, I promise”, Korhonen shook the hands of Elvas parents, shooting the girl one last glance before she left them standing, almost jogging towards her colleagues, urged on by an idea, a slight hope.  

Part 2

[realm-sweet-realm]

Prison Cell, Chapter 3

Sorry this took so long- it got so long that I had to split it into two parts. Anyhow, from this point forwards, you can expect a lot of violence, so be warned. This chapter will have a lot of interpersonal stuff, and the final chapter will be pretty much entirely action.

---

Sammy unlocked the door. On the other side of it was a demon. The demon. The one that had stolen her blood.

Its body was humanoid and wearing a suit and white bow tie, but its hands were made of ink. The top of its head was covered in black ink, which spiraled up into horns and spilled down its face, leaving only its mustache, mouth and chin visible. Seeing it in the light for the first time, Susie recognized it as the bottom of Joey’s face.

“Joey?” Susie asked, her voice full of wonder and fear.

“Once,” the demon said, and its voice was not Joey Drew’s. It deep, and rough, and horrible. “But I have taken over. Don’t worry- I don’t want this any more than he does. Once I find a way to separate humans from ink, I’ll go back to my dimension and free all of you to yours.” The demon turned and beckoned Susie to follow him. “Come.”

The demon led Susie through the basement, seemingly one large room full of very strange things. Pentagrams littered the floor. Scattered iron cages contained a few emaciated, ink-covered people. Shelves full of sharp tools and unknowable ingredients lined the walls.

“I can still hear him, you know,” the demon mused, taking a syringe and a number of bottles from a shelf, “Joey. His mind. I can see into him. Learn how to manipulate humans. I asked him how to crush your insurrection, and he said that I’d need to destroy your little story.”

The demon led Susie to a door and opened it, and when he did, she lost all her breath.

It was Norman, chained to the far wall. He was wearing the same clothes he had been when he was taken away several weeks ago, but now they were hanging off of him at sharp angles. Susie ran to him, and he cringed away from her. He didn’t want her to see him like this, or to feel how thin and bony he’d gotten.

“What did you do him!?” Susie demanded.

“Nothing beyond the obvious. You see, you thought that some of you could overcome us with physical power. That was your story- that your hope and your resilience would lead to freedom. I needed to show you that rebellion only forces me to take your strength. This isn’t something I wanted to do. Strong, healthy people do better work, and unfortunately Joey’s desire to manage the studio is in me. But... you forced my hand.”

The demon then pulled Susie Campbell up by the collar, pushed her against the wall, and put the syringe to her throat.

“He can’t protect you now,” the demon explained, perfectly calm. “His ability to do so was always under my control, and you made me take it away.”

All Norman could do was bury his head in his hands and listen to her whimper. The chains were too short for him to reach her, and he didn’t stand a chance against the demon anyhow. Not like this. The demon released her blood into one of the bottles, then reinserted the needle, working at an unhurried pace. He repeated the motion several times before letting her go. She fell onto her hands and knees, faint from blood loss.

---

Utterly haunted, Sammy escorted the two sickly individuals back to the music room, carrying with him the two first-aid kits and a message that Joey had written. The second he entered the recording studio, The instruments went silent. A bassist got up from his instrument and tackled Sammy to the ground.

“Okay, someone get these two to the infirmary and look after them,” the bassist ordered, “And Johnny, get the rope. We have a loyalist to hang!”

“Wait!” Sammy cried, “I carry a message from your lord!”

“Can it! You let this happen to them. Why would we listen to your stupid ‘message?’”

Meanwhile, Jack Fain picked up the message from the ground and read it. “Guys! It says if three days go by without incident, they’ll release our prisoners! Let’s not do this. Please.”

The man who’d tackled Sammy got up, snatched the message out of Jack’s hands, and skimmed over it. “Huh. You’re right. Fine. Take him to the elevator and I’ll take this to Abby. Hopefully she’ll actually use it.”

---

Abby read over the letter.

To the upper levels,

A lot of violence has occurred between the upper and lower levels recently, so let me make myself clear: I do not want war, and no matter what level you come from, you should not want loyalists to die. Without our work, you would starve. I’m sorry to have done what I did, but I think you all needed a reminder of what’s coming for you if you keep interfering with our work. I do not wish to have to do this again.

Simply put, be peaceful, do what’s needed of you, and everything will be fine. As a final peace offering, I will release your prisoners three days from now if the rebellion stops entirely.

-Joey Drew

Abby knew the letter was full of lies. That thing wasn’t Joey, and it wasn’t forced to keep them here. She knew that the others knew that, too, and she knew that now that the upper levels had tasted hope, complete compliance would be even more impossible than before. This so-called war was going to happen sooner or later, so she needed to make sure they started at an advantage. She called on Henry to help her make a plan, and called everyone into the recording studio that night to announce it. Thankfully, it seemed to satisfy even the most rebellious of souls.

---

The door to Susie’s room opened, and Abby stepped in. Susie's eyes opened weakly.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry you had to miss the meeting tonight. Big things are happening, and I thought I’d let you know about them.”

“Okay,” Susie said.

“So... Joey, or, his demon, rather, has threatened to come down hard on us if there are any more signs of rebellion- and we both know that there will be. He also promised to release our prisoners if there are three days of good behaviour. So, I’ve decided that we’re breaking out the same night that our prisoners are released. The plan is for someone stealthy to go down there in the dead of night, steal the keys, and come back. After that, we’ll leave in groups of seven in order to sneak out of the portal. We’ll do it as quietly as possible, but we’ll also be packing axes and spears made from the knives you brought up. Hopefully there won’t be too many causalities.”

“Why seven?”

“We’re expecting to have ten injured people, and we’re not leaving anyone behind. There are going to be 68 of us in total, assuming that none of the prisoners died, you know, I thought that one per group would have the least chance of really compromising a group’s chances of escape. Plus, smaller groups will be quicker and quieter.”

Susie nodded.

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ll be better by then. And Norman is fine, too, by the way. Well, physically. We looked him over and he doesn’t have any issues aside from the obvious. He won’t talk to any of us. I don’t know what that’s about. Maybe some kind of spell.”

Susie should have felt something in regards to that, but she was honestly too exhausted from the blood loss.

“Alright. I’ll let you rest now- but tomorrow, I’m going to have to ask you about everything you saw down there- especially anything that might help me plan. Goodnight, Susie.” With that, Abby left.

---

The rebellion required planning, and management. Every axe was pulled off the walls and moved into Sammy’s sanctuary, along with the knives- just in case a loyalist decided to take them away one night. Two people guarded the elevator on each floor and at all times, and not to keep loyalists out. Loyalists were allowed right through, but any especially rebellious souls had to be kept from ruining their plan. Henry and Abby were busy planning the groups and drawing up an easy-to-follow map to the portal room. Every department head struggled to keep the remaining workers to their jobs. It seemed pointless for them to work jobs they’d quickly be fleeing from, but it was essential in order to keep suspicions to a minimum.

---

It was the night before the march. Most were turning in early, knowing that tomorrow, they would have to be on their guard well into the night. Susie had tried to do the same, but she couldn’t sleep. There was too much on her head. Too many factors that had to align if she was ever going to make it out. The horrifying possibility of facing the ink demon again if they failed. And her mind, despite there being there bigger fish to fry, kept going back to Norman, if they could ever have what they had once had again, and if Norman even wanted that anymore.

“Has Norman talked to you, yet?” Susie asked Grant once he entered their room. Since Norman hadn’t rejoined them, there was no real reason for them to still be roommates, but they’d stayed roommates anyhow, just out of habit.

“No. As far as I know, he hasn’t talked to anyone.”

“I saw him speak today. Wally wanted to help him carry something, and Norman snarled at him to back off. So, it’s not a spell- just mental stuff from being imprisoned. I wanna help him, but he won’t talk to me. Can you try?”

“Sure,” Grant said. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work, but I’ll try.”

“Okay,” Susie said, biting back tears. “I just wanna know that he’s in a place where he’ll be able to handle things tomorrow. And... I know that this is the last thing that should be on my mind, but... can you ask why he’s avoiding me?”

“Oh, Susie. I...” Grant tried to find the words to comfort her. “I’ll talk to him.” Honestly, it didn’t seem like Norman was the only one who had to pull themselves together for tomorrow night.

Norman wasn’t used to being pitied. Even as a kid, after all he’d been through, his adoptive family had known that he was a problem child who needed to be set straight before he got even bigger and his aggression became more dangerous. He’d never wanted pity, either, and now that he had it, he couldn’t say that his opinion on it had improved any. He never thought he’d miss his coworkers looking at him like he was a frightening beast. Though he did cut the long, greasy hair he’d grown while imprisoned as soon as he had the chance, he’d been half-tempted to just wash it and keep it, just to somewhat retain that beastly image.

Mostly, he wanted a way to cope. He wanted to talk with his sister, or go for a walk in the woods, or somehow get out of the sight of these people without isolating himself in one room. That had been what he was doing in his off hours- both because there was little else he wanted to do and because he didn’t have the stamina he used to. It wasn’t Susie’s room. Honestly, he’d been too scared to even look at her.

Norman knew of the plan. Honestly, it had happened so quickly after he was released from his imprisonment that it was a little hard to take in. Yes, late tomorrow night, he and everyone else would end up escaping or die trying, and Norman would either reunite with his sister and put his life together from there, or it would be the end of him. It was happening, but it didn’t seem real.

There was a knock at his door. Norman pulled himself up and answered it. It was Grant. Well, out of everyone in the studio it could have been, Grant was the most tolerable.

“Hey, Norman. You... wanna play some cards?” There was a little pity in Grant’s voice. Thankfully not too much.

Norman ushered Grant into the room. They sat down on the floor, and Grant started shuffling the cards.

“So, you ready for tomorrow?”

“I guess. Kind of hard to believe it’s happening.”

Grant’s face lit up. “You’re talking!”

Norman shrugged. “It’s easy when it’s you."

“Uh, thanks. Do you want talk about... you know, what’s happened?”

“No,” Norman said, and the two played cards in silence for a while before Norman spoke up again. “Is Susie okay?”

“She’s fine. She’ll be strong enough to make it out, assuming the plan goes well.”

Norman’s face was unreadable. “Good." A long pause. “Y’know, she’s childish, and shallow, and stupid. But she was impressed with me because I was strong and I could protect her. And so, you know, she was pretty, and we did... things together. I thought that could be all it was, but she was sweet and kind to me and I went and caught feelings for her. Of course, shallow attraction based on one thing won’t last now that I look like starving stray dog, but whatever. So long as she’s okay. She’s a good girl. So long as she’s okay.”

Grant just stared at him. “Have you... looked her in the eye recently?”

“What?”

“Uh, sorry. It’s just that you’re usually so good at figuring this kind of thing out that it borders on the supernatural, and right now, you’re really, really wrong. This entire, organized rebellion started with her trying to put together a rescue team for you. She wanted to be the first one down in loyalist territory, for you. She’s actually the one who sent me, because she’s worried about how you’ll do tomorrow.”

With the last line, Norman’s face went from appreciation and disbelief to twisted anger. “For God’s sake! Joey didn’t cut my fucking legs off!”

“Well, she can’t know how well you’re doing if you avoid her. Look, if you aren’t up for it, I can go back and try to comfort her, tell her you’re fine.”

“No. No. I’ll do it. And I’m sorry that I’m not my most pleasant right now.”

Grant smiled. Nothing ever changed- the best way to get Norman to do anything was to offer to do it for him. Susie slept in Norman’s arms that night, knowing it could be their last chance to be together.

[ahgasescenarios]

Corrupting the Innocent Pt. 3- Dong Sicheng

Word count: 1.6k

Genre: fluff with hints of angst/suggestive

Plot summary: In which (Y/N) decides to “help” innocent exchange student Sicheng win over his crush. Except she has ulterior motives and Sicheng is too clueless to notice.

 A week had passed and here you were, getting comfortable in this environment you had instilled for your lessons, with a different version of Sicheng seated by your side. Apparently, treating the situation as though it was a university course had been the right move- the exchange student wowed you with his completion of the assignment. He even vouched for extra credit, surprising you with a new fashion sense.

Your eyes skimmed over his notes, a full list of attributes on display before your eyes. Hair, eyes, lips, ears and the list went on. You nodded approvingly before handing him back the textbook.

“I’m impressed, bravo.” You paused, gauging his reaction. “How did that exercise feel?”

“Good, honestly. I hadn’t taken the time to think about it before.” He seemed pensive, a different aura about him. Could a week of changing his mindset have done this much?

 You reoriented the conversation to the reason you had started this coaching in the first place.

“Now, I want you to tell me something. Have you talked to Rosé before?” He lowered his head, embarrassed.

“Not exactly.”

“Lovey, that’s going to be your assignment for the week.”

“But I’m not ready.” His eyes had taken on two sizes from pure astonishment and dare you say it, fear.

“Sure, you are.” Seeing as your words didn’t have the reassuring effect you had expected them to, you switched gears.

“Here, I’ll help you. Just pretend I’m Rosé.” You wriggled in your seat, getting comfortable for the role.

“This isn’t going to work.” His lip was caught between his teeth now. What you’d give to bite that lip.

“Yes, it is, try it.”

He finally gave in, a familiar love-shaped glimmer traveling across his eyes when he angled them back towards you.

“Hi, Sicheng.” You coaxed him into a “natural” flow of conversation.  

“Hi, Rosé. What’s- um, how are you?” He scratched the back of his neck. Adorable.

“I’m great! You?”

“Um, good. Thanks.” Silence thickened the air in the room for a second, both of you standing awfully still. Sicheng was entranced by this meager roleplaying and he reached over to you, caressing your cheek lovingly. The way he was looking at you almost made you rethink your plan. You pulled back admittedly not soon enough. Why was your heart beating so fast?

“See, you’re ready.” You smiled at him encouragingly. His mind felt elsewhere, though.

“Yeah, um I should get going. I have an exam Monday so.” His vibe was off, but you dismissed him, brushing the awkwardness aside. You had probably just been nervous because of the sexual tension between you two. The newfound confidence did multiply his already obvious sex appeal (or potential, in his case).

 You retired to your bedroom for the rest of the evening, alienated from the rest of the world as you rolled reruns of your favorite tv shows, barely even acknowledging the outside world. An incoming text message jolted your phone awake, only slightly capturing your attention.

Have you gotten him laid yet?

You sighed. I wish, you thought.

No, I have to keep pretending that I’m setting him up with you.

Rosé: How long are you going to keep this up for?

You shrugged; you didn’t have an answer. What Sicheng didn’t know was that you were actually friends with Rosé, and she was in on the whole thing. This scheming was what kept you two close, toying with people so they wouldn’t toy with you. Rosé shared the same view as you when it came to people and relationships which had made it easier for you to form this dynamic duo. Plus, none of her friends were keen on her “habits” so you were all she had when it came to this.  

 How’s project J coming along? You texted. “Project J” was code for her own plans to get Jaehyun in bed, the hot but oh-so-catholic eye candy.

Ugh, don’t get me started. He’s so much of a prude- even at the party, he would barely touch me. I’m sick of the “no sex before marriage” bullshit, I just want to fuck him already.

You could relate to that. If anyone else was reading these texts, they’d probably think you were both horrible people. That didn’t bother you, everyone was a little horrible anyway- you were just more public about it. You enjoyed these games of yours, it spiced up your otherwise rather dull life and kept you feeling alive. There was nothing like manipulating other people’s lives to make you feel in control of your own.

 “Sicheng, what are you-“ You had jolted awake at the sound of someone knocking on your door, just now identifying the culprit.

“I did it, I talked to her.” He beamed with excitement; his eyes illuminated with joy. If it wasn’t so damn early, you would’ve faked happiness.

“What did you say?” You rubbed your eyes, trying to rub the fatigue out of them.

“We just talked like we rehearsed and guess what, I’m seeing her tomorrow!” His brows furrowed together. “Do you think she thinks it’s a date?”

“I don’t know Sicheng, it’s too early for ME to think.” You sighed, the word think slowly decomposing to a mess of letters you couldn’t fathom.

“Right, sorry. I should’ve called first.”

“It’s fine.” You squinted your eyes at him, he wasn’t budging from his spot. “Did you need anything else?”

“Um, can I come in actually?” He was biting his lip again, by now you had figure out the habit was the manifestation of his nerves. You stepped aside and opened the door wide.

He was twiddling his thumbs, pacing around your living room. What on Earth has gotten into him?

“Remember at the party when we were in the closet together?” You nodded, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Where was this going? you asked yourself. Your question was soon addressed as a prominent blush overcame his delicate features.

“Did you mean it when you said you would teach me how to kiss?”

You licked your lips, knitting your brows together. This had taken an interesting turn.

“Of course.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Sicheng, have you kissed a girl before?”

His teeth reflexively caught his lip as he timidly shook his head no. A virgin, yours to corrupt. Things just kept getting better and better.

“No need to be embarrassed, I’ll show you.” You offered him your most reassuring smile and he seemed to relax a tad. He sat down on your couch, gaze averting yours. His palms ran down his thighs, his nerves transpiring over every inch of his being. He looked everywhere but at you.

“Honey, this isn’t going to work if you can’t even look at me.”

To this he turned his head back around, eyes boring into yours. Emotions were wrestling each other behind those coffee brown eyes, you could tell.

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” Making them feel like it was their choice was key.

“Yes.” All hesitation from before had evaporated from his voice, perhaps those scenes before his eyes had given him a pep talk.  

You crossed your legs under you, now facing the exchange student. You guided his hand to lay on your waist and he gulped. You rested your hand on his cheek and brought his face closer to yours.

“Just follow my lead, okay?” He nodded and you pressed your lips on his. You gave him a few seconds to get used to your lips on his before you started moving your lips against his. It took all your willpower not to devour him right this instant, it was just too good. He shifted towards you, asserting his hold on your waist. Your lips moved in a steady rhythm against each other’s and Sicheng slowly started to get the hang of it.

You broke away to catch your breath, Sicheng’s eyes following you avidly. You dove back in, deciding to spice things up a bit by sliding your tongue in his mouth. A single yelp resonated into your mouth before he relaxed into the kiss, tentatively adding his tongue as well. He pulled back, not realizing that the lip he had caught between his teeth was yours until you moaned out loud. You quickly covered your mouth with your hand.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You breathed, truthfully the sound had escaped your mouth unbeknownst to you. You shouldn’t be so careless. The expression scattered on his face was one you had never seen him wear before.

“I’m gonna go.” The air was thick with tension, and not of the sexual kind. You didn’t even protest, cursing yourself for that slip-up. You hoped he wouldn’t make a habit of leaving anytime things got remotely awkward.

You let your thoughts wander as you hopped in the shower. You were enjoying him way too much; it was bordering obsession. It was the first time you had wanted someone this badly before and you weren’t sure how to feel about it.

 The next day, your phone buzzed on the counter, the screen illuminating the following words from Rosé:

Next time, could you not involve me in your hook-up projects? Thanks

Right, their “date” was today. If only Sicheng knew…

Rosé was radio silent for the next couple of hours and you busied yourself with household chores, homework and things of the like. Only around dinnertime did you finally hear back from the blonde.

He barely looked at me, let alone talked to me. He seemed completely uninterested in me, weird since he asked ME out. Good work though, you’ll get him laid in no time!

Had your plan already worked? Was he already growing disinterested in Rosé? You found yourself to be the one biting your lip this time. If you had indeed succeeded, why did your heart feel like it had dropped into your stomach?

____________________________________________

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

a/n: hi loves! I just finished this series and I wanted your opinion on smth- did you want me to post the rest sooner than every week? I hope everyone is staying safe and doing well xx 

[growntolovesecrecyfic]

Grown to Love Secrecy - Chapter One (Petekey)

Can be read here.

Summary:  Mikey Way hates Oscar Wilde but Pete Wentz convinces him to read The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Chapter One: All Art is Quite Useless

--

“Let’s fall in love for the summer.”

Mikey chokes on his spit and goes into a fit of coughs managing to squeak out a measly “What?” in between coughs.

Pete hands Mikey a can of Coke before responding, “Stop loving me in September.” Pete looks around before he pats and rubs Mikey’s back to ease the coughing a bit.

Mikey nods, taking a sip from Pete’s soda. His coughing calmed, he sucks in a deep breathe before saying, “I know what you said.” He stops for a moment to think, looking through the fence that separated the bands and the rest of Warped Tour. Admiring the orange and pink hue the sunset paints the field they’re in. He forgot which town they’re in and it’s only the fourth day.

He looks back at Pete who was picking at his lip while staring off into the distance. It’s a bad habit, they both know this, but they have worse habits to deal with.

Mikey sighs, grabbing Pete’s hand, “Hey, stop that.” Pushing his hand away from his mouth, his fingers quickly wrapping around Pete’s palm. Pete scans the area, giving Mikey’s hand a quick squeeze before placing a small peck to his lips. Mikey smiles, looking at the ground before back at Pete again.

“Yeah. Sure, I’m down,” His smile falters, looking away from Pete for a moment, “Only for the summer?” His eyes are back on Pete who’s now smiling, “Of course!” Pete pulls Mikey in a bit closer, indulging in Mikey and drinking in his scent of sweat and a hint of cologne before asking, “Why would it be longer?” He inspects the area once more before he uses his free hand to push Mikey’s hair out of his face, cupping his cheek and pulling Mikey in for a kiss.

Later that night, Mikey was deep in thought in his bunk on the My Chem tour bus, skimming through the pages of an old book he brought with him. He fingers the small tears at the corners of the hardcover book, the maroon cover with gold lettering was all too familiar yet the contents inside remained unread. He turns the book and reads the cover, his fingers feeling the golden indents on the leather.

The Picture of Dorian Gray.

He stole the book from his old job at Barnes and Noble. They weren’t fond of him asking for weeks off when performing across the East Coast with his band and their friends from Midtown. Fired after two years but at least he has this and their band name as a memory.

Not that he read the book or anything. He worked in the music section; books weren’t really his thing but something about this one caught his attention. Gerard had an Oscar Wilde phase during his last year of high school after reading The Canterville Ghost, so Mikey is somewhat familiar with the author.

He opens a random page and reads briefly before stopping and setting the book aside, letting out a long sigh. He curls up in himself, hugging his knees and staring at the page before his train of thought was interrupted by a light tapping on the wall outside his bunk beyond the thin, navy blue curtain.

He remains silent before a small voice spoke out, “Hey, Mikes? Are you there?”

It’s Gerard.

Mikey leans forward and pulls open the curtain, revealing his brother behind the navy shield.

“Can I come in?” Gerard asks and before Mikey could answer, he crawled in, making himself at home. Sitting against the wall next to Mikey, mimicking his position.

“Sure.” Mikey responds faintly in hopes of filling the silence that plagued the bunk and that part of the bus. The rest of the guys were probably out goofing off with Cortez or maybe at the front of the bus playing video games. Mikey didn’t know and frankly, didn’t care either.

The pair sit there for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company before Mikey notices Gerard’s gaze, silently cursing himself upon the realization that he’s reading the page that Mikey left off.

Gerard would constantly pester him to read the book and he never got around to it, ultimately convincing himself that at the age of 23 Oscar Wilde isn’t worth reading.

“Live. Live the wonderful life that is in you.” Gerard reads out loud, seemingly towards Mikey. Mikey just holds himself tighter, looking away from Gerard and the book.

He remains silent as Gerard reads him the rest of the passage.

“Be afraid of nothing,” Gerard finishes. Gerard grabs the book and closes it, looking over at Mikey. “What are you afraid of, Mikes?”

Mikey is suddenly filled with annoyance. He knows his brother means well but he really doesn’t want to answer, and he knows if he doesn’t Gerard will start asking questions. Ask him about where he was all day, why he’s so quiet, why is he finally reading Oscar Wilde after officially declaring his personal beef with the dead author while drunk after one of their shows a couple of years ago.

“The water and cutesy animated films.” Mikey answers and Gerard replies with an annoyed sigh. Mikey rolls his eyes, turning to meet the eyes of his brother for the first time since he got into the bunk.

“Where were you all day?” Gerard asks, “I know you’re old enough to watch over yourself, but I haven’t seen you since after our set.” Mikey looks away, he knows what’s coming next.

“Is it a girl?” Gerard asks his brother, gingerly placing a hand on Mikey’s shoulder.

Mikey frowned.

He knew his brother was the feminist type, often advocating for women’s rights on stage and in person. He always admired that about his brother, his courage. Just like how he wore makeup for the first time when him and his parents left to go to blockbuster when Gerard was 16, or how he would wear drag to school just for the hell of it or how Gerard would kiss Bert for the Taste of Chaos tour. That was a riot. Pissed off a lot of dudes from the scene but Gerard didn’t care.

He always knew his brother was brave like that, kissing and hugging dudes and holding them close and not being weird about it. He wishes he didn’t spend his first two years sleeping with every girl he could find to make up for the fact that he was questioning his sexuality.

The way he dressed and carried himself didn’t help either.

After the few incidents he was faced while on the bus, he decided that it’d be best if Gerard was his personal chauffeur rather than being asked by some older dude if he’d like to have a “good time” with him and some of his buddies at some shady club.

But that’s beside the point.

“No.” He answered coldly.

He was close with Gerard, yes, but he hadn’t talked to Gerard about his sexuality crisis. He knew that Gerard would understand but he’s not sure if he’s comfortable enough to talk about it himself. He didn’t want to push the responsibility on Gerard for him to deal with and then run off to whatever new problem or crisis is in his life.

“Then what is it?” Gerard’s voice was tight, and he was closer now.

Here goes nothing.

“It’s not a girl.”

Gerard was about to ask another question before Mikey cut him off.

“I was spending the day with Pete.” He started to stammer, “And uhm, He uh, he asked me if I could… uh.” Mikey was having some second thoughts, unsure if he could finish his sentence then Bob interrupted their conversation and Mikey thanked the God that he no longer believes in.

“Hey, Toro and Frank are wondering if you guys wanna stop at a 7/11 for some slurpees. We have the entire day tomorrow before we need to be at Dallas.” He asked the pair, his hands occupied with poker chips in one and Ray’s blue DS in another.

Mikey was quick to answer, “Sure.” Quickly getting up and out of the bunk, leaving Gerard behind with Bob.

“Tell me something, Frank,” Gerard asks his best friend who’s occupied with stuffing candy bars in a slurpee cup.

“Mmm, something.”

Gerard grumbles and Frank snickers at his annoyance.

“Ugh, no. I was talking to Mikey earlier and he was talking to me about Pete and how he asked him to do something, but Bob interrupted us before he could say anything.” Gerard crossed his arms, carefully watching his brother and the other bassist fuck with the nacho cheese machine, laughing amongst themselves and Gerard swore that there was a moment between them. He knew he had to get to the bottom of it.

“Well, I mean, do you think it’s anything important?” Frank asked as he attempted to shove another bag of skittles in the cup, completely oblivious to the pair that Gerard is watching.

“I think so. He was stressed earlier, and I didn’t think we wanted to tell me anything in the first place.” His eyes were off Mikey and Pete now as he didn’t want to be accused of anything later.

“Then don’t bother him.” Frank says bluntly, grabbing another cup for an actual slurpee while Gerard follows him to the machine.

“Why? He obviously seems bothered. Do you think Pete’s bothering him?” Gerard looks back at the pair who were now in the chip aisle, Pete picking for them both it seems.

Frank turns to look at Gerard, “Dude, he’s not 19 anymore and even if he was, you have to stop treating him like a child. Him and Pete seem perfectly fine. Maybe Pete asked him to play a show for them or something and was nervous to ask you if he could practice with them instead? And even if it wasn’t that. It’s totally fine. You know Mikey, he doesn’t get hurt easily.”

Gerard was a bit stunned by Frank’s response and just stared at Frank as he filled his cup with cherry-flavored slurpee. He knows he’s right, but he can’t help but worry about Mikey sometimes. He is a bit reckless but an adult. If he needs help, he’ll ask.

The two bands meet up at the cash register, their bassists in the back of the group while the others talk. Their chatter filling a mostly empty 7/11 while Pete and Mikey stand close together, their pinkies locked as they drink their slurpees feeling like the only people in the world.

[lokimostly]

Polaris (Ch.8/?)

Loki x Reader, Pirate!AU Word Count: 3,011 Warnings: smutty undertones (what a surprise) Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything– if you choose to trust him, that is.

A/N: Thank you all so much for your patience. November has been balls-to-the-wall crazy, but December is looking much more chill. Lots of love! 

Chapter One ~ Chapter Two ~ Chapter Three ~ Chapter Four ~ Chapter Five ~ Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Ten ~ Chapter Eleven ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fourteen

You stirred from slumber, turning your head against the pillow. Your eyebrows pulled together and you groaned, opening your eyes blearily.

Loki’s sea-green eyes stared back.

Your face flushed and you pushed yourself up quickly, brushing away the hair stuck to your cheek. You probably looked a mess, and the thought of it only made you more embarrassed. He was still staring. 

“What?” you asked defensively, your voice thick with sleep. 

“I came down. You were calling out for me in your sleep.”

Any bleariness or fatigue was gone in an instant. Your eyes snapped wide open and you opened your mouth to defend yourself,  to admonish yourself of the guilt that came from your wicked dreams – and then you stopped.

Loki wasn’t teasing you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his angular face was somber, brow gently furrowed in a mark of genuine concern.

You cleared your throat and forced the panic explanation back down your throat. “Just a bad dream.”

A terrible lie, and completely untrue. His performance had been stellar. But if Loki suspected that you were lying, he chose to ignore it. “About the storm?”

Your eyes flitted to the window and you realized for the first time since waking that despite it being late morning the light outside had diminished, and the muffled sound of pelting rain against the ship’s hull met your ears.  You didn’t realize it would come so fast. “It’s upon us?”

Loki nodded. “The beginnings of it.” He rose from his sitting position on the edge of the bed and offered you his hand. “Are you hungry?” 

Your stomach rumbled with an answer of its own and you took his hand, letting him pull you out of the bed. You brushed the sand from the corners of your eyes and followed him, noting silently that he didn’t let go of your hand.

He opened the door and the wind funneling down from the stairs met you with a violent rush, slamming against your body with such force that you nearly fell back against the wall. Loki acted quickly, pulling you back, further into the cargo hold and away from the stairs.

“The beginnings of it?” You echoed incredulously, watching one of the sailors come down with his clothes sopping wet, absolutely drenched from the rain. Little streams ran down the steps and settled in ever-shifting puddles on the floor, spilling from one side of the ship to the other as it rocked in the wind. 

“It’s just water,” Loki pointed out, but his stance was protective and overshadowing, his shoulders curled inward to shield you from any rogue spray of seawater. He didn’t give you any time to savor it, however – in another moment he had taken your hand again, leading you further into the cargo hold. You passed neatly arranged rows of barrels and crates. To your surprise, at least half the crew was belowdecks, tying off ropes and tightening lids. They worked at a maddening pace, and you found yourself pulling closer to Loki to avoid colliding with them as they passed.

“I thought everyone would be on deck,” you mused aloud. You took care not to step in any puddles of water as you walked.

Loki glanced back at you, then around at his men working in the orange lamplight. “If the cargo hasn’t been properly stowed, it will come loose during the storm and cause the ship to keel over.”

He stepped across a large puddle and reached under your arms, lifting you effortlessly over and setting you down again without missing a beat.

Your limited knowledge of sailor’s vocabulary was failing you. “Keel over?” You repeated. 

Loki nodded, rounding a corner. “Tip onto its side.”

An immediate rise of anxiety filled your lungs and you forced it back down, trying to think of calmer things, like Loki’s hand still grasping yours, firm and solid. His hands had done positively sinful things to you in your dreams – enough to make you call out to him, apparently. Your face was burning at the thought. 

Suddenly the rows of wooden boxes and pirated cargo pulled away to reveal the open door to the galley kitchen. Loki dropped your hand as he stepped inside, nodding to a sailor spooning soup into a bowl. The sailor took one final ladle’s worth before hurrying out, ducking his head as he passed and clutching the bowl tightly to stop soup from spilling over the edges.

You gripped the frame of the doorway for balance and took a moment to look around the room. There were salted meats hanging from the ceiling. Other hardy foods were carefully stored and labeled. Metal utensils dangling from their pegs made a symphony of clinking whenever the ship rocked, bumping tin against tin with metallic chimes.  The embers below the cauldron of soup glowed a dim orange. Hot coals shifted, casting dull sparks over the floorboards that faded to black and dissolved into ash. You lifted your foot when a coal rolled off the brick hearth and tumbled towards you.

Loki moved cat-like across the room and spooned soup into a wooden bowl, being careful not to spill as the ship rocked. “What was your dream about?” He asked without turning. 

You felt your heart drop in your chest and tried to sound nonchalant. “I can’t remember.” So much for sated curiosity. You should have known he wouldn’t push it from his mind so easily. Everything you knew about him indicated otherwise; his seaglass eyes and cunning wit missed nothing, and if your mind didn’t cease and desist its inappropriate behavior, you knew you were going to pay for it soon. 

You were so unused to dealing with something so relentlessly frustrating. Fancying someone was one thing; dreaming about them almost every night was another. You weren’t sure whether to act on your feelings, or keep trying to stifle them. Both ideas held a measure of guilt, and you twisted the ring on your finger as you puzzled over them – something that had become a nervous habit by now. 

“Pity,” He said, stepping carefully over and holding the bowl outstretched. You took it quickly, holding it close to your chest and wincing aloud when the floor tilted and a fraction of its scalding contents burned your fingers.

You left the galley and followed Loki back to his quarters, grateful when he shut the door behind you and cut off the howling wind. You had largely succeeded in staying dry. You sat down on the edge of the bed and cradled your bowl of soup in your lap, watching Loki pull off his jacket and smooth back his dark hair. He gazed at the door for a moment.

You raised your eyebrows cautiously. “Shouldn’t you be up there?” 

Loki’s eyes held their gaze for a moment before he shook his head and sighed, rubbing his face. “They know what they’re doing.” Suddenly you caught a glimpse of the hollows in his cheeks and darkness beneath his eyes – Loki was exhausted. Even the way he carried himself, with pinched shoulders and heavy steps, pointed to his blatant fatigue. But it was there and gone in a moment; he straightened, and sighed, and the illusion of grandeur and charisma was back in full form. It was almost bewildering, the mirage that came and went, and you found yourself staring at him with a new wave of sympathy. You could afford to wring your hands and fret about the storm from down below, in the relative safety of his cabin, but Loki was the one who bore the weight of actually delivering you from the wind and waves. 

So piracy isn’t all careless frivolity and clear weather, you thought mildly. 

Loki sat down and pulled the familiar tri-folded parchment from his jacket before tossing it over the arm of the chair, holding the letter out to you.

You frowned, taking it. “You promised to tell me what it contained yourself.” 

Loki raised an eyebrow and leaned back, crossing his arms and bringing one hand to his lips. “It would be easier to answer your questions once you’ve…” he smirked faintly, recalling your phrase, “. . . passed the interesting part.”

You nodded, unfolding the paper. “Fair enough.” You could feel Loki’s eyes burning a hole as they stared at you, and you suddenly felt like an imposter – you were reading something deeply private, made only more intimate by having the subject sit in front of you. But you pushed the feeling away and set to reading, skimming down the lines until you found your place. 

… Of the many pirates aboard the ship died in defense of a certain precious cargo. Had I not discovered for myself what was there, it might have gone unnoticed. This woman, dying from her wounds, held against her chest a bundled infant. She was on the verge of death when I found her, but still she tried in vain to fight me, and breathed her last. I can only assume that this child, black-haired and pink of skin – not unlike our son when he was scarcely a week old – is the Captain’s son. Though his father is doomed to the gallows, and rightly so, this child is innocent, and if you should find in your heart the desire to accept him as your own I would not be opposed. If not, the poorhouses may care for him, and see that he is brought up in good standing.

There were a few more paragraphs, but you stopped there to look up at Loki. 

He stared at you with bated breath. Every second of heavy silence was counted by his nervous, almost imperceptible inhale, made all the more obvious by the fear in his sea-green eyes. Loki’s eyes were rimmed with fear as he waited for your response.

It broke your heart. You set your jaw, gave the letter one more glance, and tossed it aside almost carelessly, returning your hand to hold your bowl of soup. “Alright.”

You took a sip – and regretted it immediately, the brew was still scalding – while Loki gaped at you.

“That’s all you have to say?” He asked slowly.

“Should I say something else?” you asked, lowering the bowl and looking up at him curiously. “Your family adopted you.”

“I– I am the son of one of the most villainous pirates– criminals –in the Caribbean,” he protested, sounding a bit chagrined by the fact that you were taking this so lightly.

“Are you trying to justify yourself to me?” You asked, gesturing around the room with your spoon. “The piracy? Because it’s in your blood?” Loki opened his mouth, but you pressed on. “You have wealth, and freedom, and the world at your feet. The seas are open to you to sail in whichever direction, with a group of men who will follow you to whatever end. Why should it matter who this rogue pirate was?”

Loki’s jaw flexed and he sighed. “Charles Vane.” You stopped and closed your mouth. The ship creaked and hanging lanterns tilted with the rocking of its hull against the waves. 

“Your real father… ” You whispered.

“– was Charles Vane,” Loki finished for you. 

You knew him. Everyone in the Caribbean did. Bloodthirsty, vicious, and infamously wretched, Vane was as fearsome as they came. The unspeakable acts and violent tales were frequent discussion topics in seaside taverns. You’d heard more than a handful of legends yourself, well enough to tell them. “But…  he didn’t hang, he escaped the noose,” you said. “They say he still sails these waters.”

Lok raised an eyebrow and smiled for the first time that evening. He gestured grandly to his chest with one hand. 

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re pretending to be him?” 

Loki hummed an affirmative. “Him, his son, his vengeful ghost. I let them believe what they choose. Apparently I take after his roguish looks.” He raised an eyebrow and sighed, reaching for the letter. He folded it carefully, his long fingers making slow work of an otherwise simple process, like he was reluctant to put it away. He shrugged. “No one knows the truth of who I am. Not Thor, not my crew … and my father thinks I haven’t the faintest idea,” he adds, smiling ruefully. “Second son or not, he has never cared for me. I was only ever a tool in his grand scheme.” 

Your heart panged with empathy. You certainly knew how it felt to be used by your father. “So you’ve turned pirate to spite Odin?” 

“That is the long and short of it,” Loki agreed amiably, standing and striding over to the dresser. He opened the drawer, lifted the false bottom, and set the tri-folded parchment back in its place. “Once I’ve successfully torn apart my father’s empire and left his fleet in shambles, I’ll leave. With more than enough money for an honest living, should I ever desire such a thing. But piracy is fun,” he added, smirking. 

 The idea of Loki leaving made your heart twist painfully in your chest. “Where?”

He shrugged, nonchalant. “Who knows? I’ve been to Europe a few times. There is so much ocean I still have yet to see.” His sea-green eyes held a far off look, their irises reflecting the colors of foreign waters. You could envision him easily, discovering some new continent, sailing confident through calm and stormy weather – like the ocean outside your cabin now. Your mind turned to the gravity of the storm as the ship rocked more violently than usual, and you twisted the garnet ring on your finger.

Loki glanced at you and saw your eyes staring through the paneled window with an anxious expression. The feeling in his heart resurfaced – that annoying, insistent desire. You looked genuinely distressed. While he wanted desperately to believe that it was the thought of his departure, Loki knew that the storm outside held sway over your emotions. Not him. He was loathe to admit that when his mind had drifted to thoughts of Europe, Africa, or someplace unknown – he had seen you there beside him like a daydream, laughing into the wind.

And then there was the ring on your finger. He watched you spin the heart-shaped garnet given to you by his brother, who knew so little about you. Thor, whose focus was ever turned towards pleasing their father – how would he ever have the time to know and love you the way you deserved? Loki knew that he didn’t even desire it. An arranged marriage was simply another task set to him by Odin, right in between shipping orders and merchant maps. The thought of it made his vision red-rimmed.

He had never intended to help you, only to use you for his own amusement at best, but Loki couldn’t deny that things had changed. His heart had changed. He couldn’t live with the idea of dooming you to such an unhappy life, to wait guilt-ridden for you to turn to him in desperation. You were owed the chance to make your own choices. 

Even if you fled from him at the first sign of freedom, Loki decided, he would help you nonetheless.

Suddenly the boat rocked violently, and Loki was pitched forward. The scalding contents of the bowl cradled in your hands spilled onto your lap and you shrieked, standing up just as Loki collided with you. You latched onto one of the bedposts in a desperate attempt to stay standing. Loki’s arms flung out to catch himself on the bed, taking you down with him.

You gasped as the burning water immediately soaked through your clothes and pushed desperately against his chest. “Get off!”

“I’m sorry–” he stammered, pulling back as fast as humanly possible. You sat up, pulling at the fabric of  your shirt. Loki jumped into action, helping you undo the strings and pull it over your head. He averted his gaze, grabbing onto the bedpost and coming dangerously close to toppling into you when the ship rocked again, more violently.

You hissed at the sight of reddened skin – it wasn’t terrible, but it would certainly aggravate you for a few days. You pressed a finger lightly to the enflamed skin before realizing that your top half was entirely bare – your face flushed and you grasped for a blanket to hold to your chest, but Loki was already turned around, rifling through the dresser for a clean shirt. 

He found one, waiting for the ship’s uneven pitching to balance out before crossing the floor and holding it out to you with lowered eyes. “Here.”

You took it and pulled it over your head. When you pushed away your hair and looked up, Loki’s eyes were still averted, his alabaster cheeks tinged crimson. He had always been so quick to torment you in the past, but apparently all it took was spilled soup to unravel his facade. Maybe some of the things he said were, in fact, genuine. 

“Loki,” you began.

The door opened. Volstagg stood in the doorway, holding onto the frame to keep his balance. You could hear the amplified howl of the wind and cascading rain as it drummed against the hull and flooded the stairs. “Cap’n?” 

Loki was pulled from his thoughts and raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“They need you on deck, sir.” 

Loki nodded, and the door closed, taking the sound with it. He moved slowly to grab his coat from the desk chair, hesitating. He turned and looked you up and down, flexing his jaw in a way that drove you mad. 

“Yes?” you asked.

He shrugged, shaking his head. His lips were curved in the faintest of tired smiles. “I would never take what isn’t freely given, no matter how tantalizing you may be.” His expression sobered. “Stay here. Under no circumstance are you to leave, do you understand?” 

The change in his tone – not to mention his initial comment – practically gave you whiplash. You struggled to respond as he made for the door. “But–” 

“Under no circumstance,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows. 

You stared back with your heart in your mouth. Just how terrible was the storm outside? “Alright. Just… Be careful.”

Loki paused in pulling on his coat, and then nodded, setting a hand on his chest. “ I swear, I will return to you in one piece.”

---

Tag List is CLOSED. Thanks for reading! I love all your comments. <3

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[batmanisagatewaydrug]

book blogging #1: Dr. Tatiana’s Sex Advice to All Creation

by Olivia Judson, published 2002

Question: what do you think of when you think of books that are “fun” to read?

For me, a lot of speculative fiction comes to mind. Recent books that I found fun include Space Opera (Catherynne M. Valente), The Beautiful Ones (Silvia Moreno-Garcia), and everything by Sarah Gailey that I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. Though I haven’t gotten ahold of it yet, I’m pretty sure Gideon the Ninth (Tamsyn Muir) is going to be spectacularly fun as well. 

These are books that aren’t necessarily my favorite stories of all time, but they have been some of my favorites to read. They’re all propelled by zany premises and whirlwind plots, enjoying themselves way too much for anyone to ever stop and worry about the parts that don’t make that much sense. When Sarah Gailey says “I have a crew committing a heist while riding hippopotamuses, do you want in?” I don’t ask questions. I just say yes and go along for the ride.

But there’s one major anomaly that always comes to mind when I think of books that I’ve had fun reading, and that’s David Sax’s The Tastemakers: Why We’re Crazy for Cupcakes but Fed Up with Fondue. It’s a 2014 work of nonfiction, and as the title suggests it’s an analysis of popular food trends and the forces that power them. The Tastemakers isn’t what this blog post is actually supposed to be about, so I won’t go into too many details, but suffice to say that I was engrossed despite the fact that I know pretty much nothing about the world of culinary trends or foodie fads - or cooking in general, if I’m being totally honest. But there’s something really delightful about learning things that are entirely outside your wheelhouse without having to worry about the material showing up on a test later. 

Given that I’m posting this on a blog with relatively few followers and that this is a write-up of a very niche book that was published eighteen years ago and could not be further from trendy, I’m well aware that anyone reading this is probably already at least passing familiar with me and what I do, so you folks might be saying, “Hang on, Makenzie. Are you seriously trying to say that this is outside your wheelhouse? The title on your Tumblr has been “Ask The Sex Witch” since 2015. You’re a whole sex educator, for fuck’s sake!”

Well, yes and no. Judson is a real-deal evolutionary biologist and gets into some pretty serious science in this book, which is pretty wildly different from what I usually do. I talk to people about sorting out their likes and dislikes, their boundaries, their sense of personal sexual autonomy, and so on. Although I definitely advocate for introspection and self-examination, I rarely go looking for answers far beyond the individual level. Judson asks big biological questions to figure out how some truly peculiar-looking behavior evolves: Why is it worthwhile for some animals to fight to the death trying to fuck? What’s up with some species of insects eating their mates? And who, pray tell, is engaging in the noble art of penis-fencing? Clearly, this is a totally different ball game on many levels.

(Speaking of ball games, did you know that the male shiner perch’s testes completely shrivel up over the winter? That’s rough, buddy.)

Offering sex advice to humans is hard enough, but Judson - writing as chipper sex advice columnist Dr. Tatiana - easily offers education to an impressively vast variety of species. The framing device of the book is a charmingly weird one. Each segment opening Dear Prudence-style, with a short letter from an animal badly in need of advice. The first chapter, for instance, begins with a query written by a stick bug called Twiggy (aww) wondering how to get her boyfriend to stop having sex with her after ten continuous weeks of intercourse. (Answer: Girl, he’s not gonna. Apparently that’s how he stops any other stick bugs from getting it in.) For the final chapter Judson mixes it up by formatting a discussion about the pros and cons of asexual reproduction as a hectic daytime talk show, complete with microscopes to view the tiniest guests and seating that offers both saltwater and freshwater tanks for aquatic audience members to sit in, like something out of Zootopia. 

(I haven’t seen Zootopia and the only thing I know about it for sure is that in one scene there’s a DILF-looking tiger, but I’m pretty confident in the assumption I’m making here.) 

Judson does an admirable job of providing pretty comprehensible explanations for a lot of evolutionary science, and while I did have to power skim through a few segments that were really beyond my grasp, it did make a pretty lively read out of the biological pros and cons of producing sperm bigger than your own body. It’s not exactly a book that’s difficult to put down, but I had a perfectly pleasant time reading it in the moments between doing anything else - eating a meal, resting in bed, getting some sun in my backyard - and even learning a little while I did so. I fully intended to use Dr. Tatiana as a break between the two installments of N.K. Jemisin’s Dreamblood duology, and it has served that role magnificently.  

Am I recommending this book to you? Not exactly, unless you’re extremely interested in evolutionary theories that are nearly two decades old or a science fiction writer looking to give your non-human characters some thoroughly non-human sexual habits. I’m not supremely interested in making recommendations with the blog in general, unless someone specifically asks for them; I’m hoping this will be more like writing up my personal thoughts about books and then hurling them into the virtual void like messages in bottles. If they wash up on your shore and you read them and come to the conclusion that this is something you, too, would like to read, that’s pretty rad. I love that for you! But it wasn’t necessarily my intent.

Strictly speaking, I didn’t even recommend this book to myself. In 2019 I tried to stay pretty intentional about my to-read list, really whittling it down to stuff that I actively wanted to engage with rather than anything that sounded vaguely not awful. I was hoping to keep that trend up in 2020, but like many other things that are much more serious, this whole pandemic situation has scuppered those plans a bit. I get most of my books by borrowing them from the public library where I work, and that’s been closed for nearly two months. Unlike many book bloggers I’ve observed I don’t keep a massive stack of unread books around at all times, so I’ve really been relying on the kindness of friends to keep me supplied in these trying times.

My friend Paige slipped me Dr. Tatiana’s (along with the aforementioned Dreamblood books and several volumes of Kurtis J. Weibe’s comic series Rat Queens) in exchange for some books I lent to her, because we all have to look out for each other in These Trying Times. I trusted her good taste, despite having no idea what the book was about and more than a few reservations. 

At other times I think this book might have sailed right over my head - not to sneer at the so-called soft sciences, but there’s a reason I gave up on my childhood dream of marine biology and got a sociology degree instead - but right now, as I’m finally adjusting to the slower pace of life in quarantine and remembering how to focus, I’m finding that it fits my needs. It’s unlikely to live on as an all-time favorite, but it’s something to do and gives me an occasional excuse to gasp and tell my roommate something absolutely wild, like the fact that spiders have two penises and that the dual arachnodicks are located on their faces, on either side of their mouths.

My basic understanding of evolution is that change rarely happens based on logic or reason, but by finding something that works and then sticking to it, no matter how improbable it may seem. When male elephants get horny they apparently develop an insatiable bloodlust and piss so constantly their penises turn green (yikes!), which is definitely not the most practical way to do things, but evidently it’s been getting the job done. Getting through quarantine has been sort of like that, has it not? A lot of behavior that might not be the most intuitive but is somehow enabling ongoing survival, like occupying myself with books that I might not have given a second glance in the halcyon before times.

That’s totally the same thing, right?

Right.

A note about the appearance of this book:

I’ve been talking a fair amount lately about my dislike for what I see as pretty transparently romanticized materialism in a lot of book blogging spaces, with an emphasis placed on acquiring and showing off as many pristine books as possible. I don’t own this book, and it looks like ass. It looks like Paige stole it from a library in North Carolina, which would not be shocking. When I noticed the large brown stain in the corner I jokingly asked if she’d dropped it in coffee, and she unflinchingly confirmed that yes, she had.

[ddaengyoonmin]

Chapter 2

Pairing: Jungkook x reader, eventual Ot7 x reader in later chapters

Genre: fluff, angst, uhh maybe smut eventually??

Theme: Based kinda on sword art online a lot of similar ideas and themes kinda combining the idea of them trapped in the game, but the world is closer to ALFheim online

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Swearing?..I swear a lot it can’t be contained.

Next --> Chapter 3

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

-“But this isn’t the real world...this is my world” He pulled away, a smirk on his face. Your eyes widened.  What were you getting yourself into…-

“What the hell does that mean” You laughed trying to hide the nervousness flooding over your body at his closeness.

He shrugged and laughed, returning to his previous demeanor quickly.

“I just mean to say that...I think you’ll find I’m quite... skilled, when it comes to this kind of thing”

‘He’s such a flirt’ you thought.

You couldn’t deny to yourself that you were most definitely falling for it though.  The last man you’d felt this type of attraction toward was years ago in your freshman year of college, it was brief and fleeting, and this felt stronger.  

You’d never had a boyfriend, you didn’t see the point. Getting straight A’s in high school kept you busy and then College, and now your job.  You thought you were completely content with that being your life.

So this feeling was new, and baffling to you.  You’d barely just met this man and you already felt like you have to get to know more about him.

“So...Kookie? I call you that right?” You said pointing to the screen to his left.

He nodded and pointed to yours, “Velvet Tiger huh??”

“It’s actually a combination of my cats names” you admitted and blushed.

He nodded slowly with a look you couldn’t quite read. Something close to amusement possibly? He must think you’re a dork, or worse, already assumes you are a crazy cat lady just like your family does.

“So, why didn’t you use a spell to fight off the bees? Wouldn’t that have been better than running like a dog with its tail between its legs? You are in a game with magic you know” he states.

“Spell?”

He groaned and rolled his eyes, “Jesus christ, did you read the manual on this game? Or ever look up anything about it before diving in?”

You shook your head looking down at your feet.

He sighed, “So we are really starting from square one here huh?”

He ran his fingers through his hair again.  It seemed to be a habit of his, and you were becoming quite fond of it.

“So...basics of spells is probably a good place to start” he said and moved close to your side so he was standing facing your holographic screen.  He pointed to the menu button.  “Touch your finger to that”

You did as he said, a new page opened up ‘Spells, Items, Skills, Spell Store, Achievements, Settings, Log out’ were all listed on the screen.

“Everyone starts out with a couple basic spells depending on the fairy race they selected.  Shadow fairies like me get ‘Shadow ball’ for a fighting spell and ‘Quiet feet’ as an illusion spell, my race specializes in sneak skills, illusion magic and night vision”

He motions for you to click your finger to the word ‘spells’ on your screen.

Again you are taken to a new page with two spells listed, ‘Squirt Gun’ and ‘Novice Healing’.

“If you select one of the two of those it’ll be your default spell”

He continued on, showing you different tips and tricks, for how to use your spells and how to level up different skills by using them frequently.

He taught you about the five races of fairies when you admitted you had only just skimmed over the info on them and just tried to pick the one you thought looked the coolest.  That earned a laugh and some teasing from him.  

There were ‘fire fairies’ who specialized in (obviously) fire magic, and they were the strongest but also the slowest.  

Next were ‘hybrid fairies’ with either the ears and tail of a wolf, cat, rabbit, or fox depending on what the game auto picked for you in the character room.

(You now slightly remembered seeing fox ears on yourself on one of your options you had scrolled through…) They specialized in animal taming and controlling spells, and had excellent long distance eye sight.

 Lastly there were the Sylph fairies, who were skilled at wind spells, and music spells that could enchant, stun, or temporarily confuse and disorient opponents. They were also the fastest.

Most of the info he continued to spill out went right over your head, but he was so cute talking about it so you couldn’t bear to admit you only were taking in about 90% of this info.  You could tell that he was a huge gaming fanatic.

 You would’ve never seen yourself being attracted to someone with such an impractical hobby, but here you were, in the game with him, grinning widely and nodding along as he talked about this fantasy world you were both sitting in.

Finally, after much explaining he excitedly grabbed your hand dragging you to the treeline that you were previously headed to in your frantic escape from killer bees.

You take note of how soft his hand feels holding yours, then remind yourself that this is just a game.  Who knows what his hands feel like in real life...or if you’d ever even meet in real life.  That thought made your heart sink a bit, but, you were going to do your best enjoy your time with him in this world (‘his world’ as he said) as much as you could.

“Time to take everything I explained and put it into action” He grinned as he continued to pull you into the forest.

You spent the next few hours fighting various in-game creatures. The freakiest being a four foot tall rabbit with giant fangs you nearly fainted upon seeing.

You conquered some fears and slightly got the hang of how to use the Squirt gun spell to shoot water from your fingertips to cause damage.

By the end of all of your “beginners lessons” as Kookie called it, you had leveled up from level 1 to level 4 and Kookie had leveled up from his previous level 10 to 12, explaining that it was easier to level up at the beginning and gets harder as you go on.  

You also were surprised to see after each defeated beast a small amount of ‘coin’ showed up in the corner of your screen.  

‘Dammit’ you thought as you shook your head ‘mom was right, I’m having fun, and I made a friend’ you contemplated downplaying your fantastic adventure you had today when she called you late tonight (as she said she would)  just so you didn’t have to hear her smug “I told you so”

Kookie laid out on the ground, relaxed and propped up on his elbows, one leg slightly crossing over the other.  He smiled as he stared at his screen scrolling with one finger through the new items he’d acquired from defeating creatures with you on his first day, looking very proud of himself.  Realizing you were staring he turned his head to you “Good day huh?” he grinned ear to ear.

You took a seat next to your new friend cross legged, “Honestly? Yeah, and I really didn’t expect to, thank you...really” You can’t remember the last time you spent this much time with another person, let alone a cute guy that (you assumed?) was near your age.  

He looked quite pleased with himself upon hearing your appreciation of him, “Anytime sweetheart.” he paused “Actually... Will you be here tomorrow? We could meet up again, I still haven't taught you about in game flying!”

“Sure!” You said with more enthusiasm than you planned.

“It’s a date then” He said, bringing his hands behind his head as he relaxed staring straight up into the sky.

You blushed, ‘Date…’

You joined in and looked up too, it was the most beautiful sunset you’d ever seen in your life.  All the shades of pinks and oranges painting the sky in a way you could only have dreamed about before.

Wait...sunset?

“Holy shit, what time is it” You said in a slight panic

He chuckled “uhhh 7:00 or so I think” he sat up and double checked on his screen and then nodded.

“Yikes, I’m probably hungry as fuck...weird that I can’t feel it here, that's probably not too smart for the game makers to have ignored that”

You also had some thoughts about how salty Velvet was going to be when you got home. You half expected her to have been curled up on your lap the whole time pawing at you curiously trying to demand pets and attention from your unmoving body in the chair.  Tiger on the other hand was much like you and probably didn’t notice your absence.

Kookie shrugged, “yeah, I suppose that might cause some problems, you kinda lose track of time here, especially with good company” he smirked poking your shoulder, causing you to blush again and hold the spot he had just touched shyly.

“ I had logged out and had a big meal right before I found you, but I’m probably pretty hungry too”  he continued, and put a hand to his face in a thinking gesture,

“I’m craving….pizza!” he exclaimed pointing a finger to the air, making you giggle at his goofiness.

“See you tomorrow then!” You beamed at him “Enjoy your pizza!”

You clicked the menu button on your screen to log out, in the corner of your eye you saw Kookie was doing the same.  

“That’s weird…” you heard him say “The logout button is...gone?”

You looked to your screen, “Oh shit, mine is too!”

“Probably just first day glitches, that blows…” He shook his head “I’m sure we aren’t the first ones to notice, I bet it's been reported and they are working on it as we speak”

“Shouldn’t we report it too though? Just in case?” you looked to him “you know how to do that right?”

He nodded in agreement and went to the settings menu on his screen “For real?” He sounded irritated “The button to contact support is gone too?”

You’ve now started to worry a bit.  “Wha...what do we do?”

Just as you said that a loud sound like an alarm blared out all around you and Kookie, causing you to jump and startling some birds in a nearby bush making them flutter away to the now darkening sky.

Your screen flashed red along with Kookie’s screen.

“ALL PLAYERS REPORT TO FLOOR ONE’S MAIN TOWN SQUARE” it read in bold, urgent looking letters.

“Okay...that's probably good right? They know there's something up and they are going to gather us all together to explain” you stutter out

Kookie nodded but didn’t say anything, he didn’t feel right about this. He finally stood up and offered you his hand, you took it and got on your feet as well.

“I’ll show you the way” he said with a grin.  But something seemed off about that grin, there was some worry hidden behind it.  You didn't like this at all...

[thecursedhellblazer]

@adventurepunks​ asked: “ Do you read other people’s threads or do you only read your own? //  Have you ever felt pressured to write something you weren’t comfortable with? // What current rp trend do you hate? ”

Honest Mun Meme || Accepting !

Do you read other people’s threads or do you only read your own?

(( From time to time, I skim through the threads I find on my dash, but there currently aren’t any threads by other people I truly stop and read. It’s not that I don’t enjoy my partners’ writing enough to do it, it’s really nothing personal against them. I mostly have two reasons behind my choice. ))

(( First of all, most of the times, I materially don’t have the time to follow others’ threads. I find myself struggling to find the time to keep up with my own drafts and my other Tumblr related things, so, even if I tried to follow some of my partners’ storylines, I’d eventually either lose pieces of them or have to stop because I need to focus on my shit instead ^^” ))

(( Secondly, even if it might not seem from the outside, I’m extremely insecure both as a person and as a writer. About my writing, about my ideas, about the value I can have as a RP partner, about my portrayal, and so on. Pretty much about everything. Stopping to read the stuff the people I interact with write with others would just fuel all the crap that normally dwells in my head (more if those people are writing with someone else who plays my same character, but also  if they are different muses). It’s been there for years and years (one of the bad sides of having a personality disorder...they are chronic), so I mostly learnt how to live with it, but I still try to avoid the triggers that can be avoided. Plus, I have the paranoia of unconsciously stealing someone else’s idea and I would hate to do that. ))

Have you ever felt pressured to write something you weren’t comfortable with?

(( I can say I have, a few times. Not as in writing a specific subject I didn’t want to write, but more as in feeling pressured to write with certain people/certain characters I had no real interest in interacting with. It connects a bit with what I mentioned in the previous reply. Especially when I start a new blog, even while claiming to be selective, I basically feel obliged to RP with whoever asks/follows me because I find myself thinking that, if I don’t I’ll never really find anyone to interact with >.> It gets better when I do find my little group and start feeling more comfortable with my characters, but it’s a habit I still haven’t broken. ))

(( When it comes to specific subjects, that’s much easier to avoid. If someone tries to pressure me to write that one thing I’m uncomfortable with, I have no issues to tell them “No way in hell”. It’s a bit of a contradiction, perhaps, but it seems like it’s how it works with me ^^” ))

What current rp trend do you hate?

(( Honestly, as long as I’m allowed to have my way with things around my blog, I don’t mind too much what the other RPers do with theirs, so “hate” is a bit too strong as a word. ))

(( I tend to dislike it when people use too fancy text in their posts, but that’s for the mere reason that it can be super hard to read what the heck they had written. Till they use it for graphics and promos and stuff, all good, but I could never RP with someone who uses it in threads. It would take me ages to decipher what they have written and that alone would kill the mood. Same goes with people who space their words and the letters inside the words a lot...It really gives me a headache. ))

(( As for something that I do hate, even if it’s not a trend, or I fucking hope it’s not...People who send hate, especially if it’s on anon. Now that is beyond disgusting as a concept and you must be a real coward not to even have the guts to show your face while you’re being mean. I had my own experiences, online and IRL, and bullies are just something I can’t stand in any form. That is one thing the RPC should stop doing completely. And I do miss the times when, if someone got hate, some fandoms wholly united to shit talk the jerk. Good times. ))

[the-wanted-niffler]

Picture In A Case

This is sort of my headcanon of what happened prior COG – the one where we see Newt sitting on a bench in the Ministry. Newtina fanfic, but the focus is on Newt. Enjoy!

- - -

It was Newt’s habit to have a look over the delivery owl before paying it.

The feathers were glossy, there was a scratch above its eye but the appearance of the scab showed that it was a minor injury that was healing nicely. Nothing to worry about.

Newt dropped a Knut into the owl’s pouch and gave it a gentle pat.

“Come on. Off you go.”

The delivery owl ruffled its feathers importantly and took off through the window.

Stuffing the last of his toast into his mouth, Newt took the Daily Prophet down with him to the menagerie. The first few pages were as usual dedicated to political affairs of the day. Newt merely read so as to not be entirely ignorant, but he wasn’t interested or compelled by the urge to actively take part in sides. Theseus often chewed him out for lacking interest in what the Ministry was doing. Well, if the welcome Newt received upon arriving back in his country wasn’t a travel ban, he might have reconsidered Theseus’s advice.

Newt couldn’t work out how tricky it would be to get those stuffy old fools in their office chairs to lift the ban. His book was complete for now; he sent the manuscript to the publisher yesterday – but having travelled once, how could he not travel again? What he witnessed, observed and documented was merely a tiny shell in the vast ocean.

There was also the promise he gave to Tina. He had to return to America. Probably a couple of months later when his book was finalized and published.

Surely the Ministry would lift the ban by then? Newt didn’t like to think of the alternative.

He flipped through the paper, skimming the news. It was with a jolt to his stomach to see Tina looking back up at him. He read the title: TINA GOLDSTEIN REAPPOINTED AS AUROR.

And there it was, a picture of Tina looking proud and pleased with herself.

His breath quickened without him realizing it. His first thought was what an injustice this picture has done to the real Tina! The picture was moving, of course, but it failed to capture her real appearance. That was not how her eyes looked like when he looked at them. Beautiful, dark – resembling those on fire-dwelling lizards: the salamander. That was how her eyes looked like. He wondered if Tina would realize if he showed her one of those creatures.

The second thought was that he wanted to keep the picture. He tore the picture slowly from the page, being careful around the corners and made sure to include the title as well (There was her name there, he couldn’t not have that.) A wizard featured in an advertisement on the flip side of the page looked vandalized as Newt unknowingly severed the wizard’s hand in the process of saving Tina’s picture.

He held Tina’s picture in his hands. He smiled at it, touching the hair. The Tina in the picture glanced sideways at his fingers. She arched an eyebrow at him, as though warning him not to mess it up.

Newt walked absentmindedly to his work desk where the framed picture of Leta stood. He placed it there once he came back from his trip. Leta, unaged, a moment of her frozen in time when they were close friends. A tinge of longing and sadness pulled at his insides.

Leta was seeing Theseus now. It was only a matter of time before they were engaged. With Tina  slowly filling the rest of his mind after magical creatures, it wasn’t as painful as he thought it would be. He took up the frame with one hand. With one last look, he placed it into a drawer of old notes and knick knacks and kept it away.

His gaze moved back to the picture from the paper, thinking of where to put Tina. He wanted to have it somewhere he could see everyday …

He went to his case and opened it. There were only a few sketches-in-progress on the inside lid; the space was sufficient. He put a Sticking Charm onto the back of the picture and taped it onto his case.

(7 months later.)

Tina didn’t reply.

Newt waited.

It took a fortnight maximum to receive her letter.

It was now already a month.

A depressed feeling followed him around that day. His footsteps felt heavy and everything in the world felt dull. His heart leaped a little each time an owl dropped by, but it was mostly letters from readers of his published Fantastic Beasts book. He turned down yet another dinner invitation from Theseus and Leta. He felt isolated and awkward in front of their loving banter. If only Tina was with him … He, Newt, could introduce her: This is Tina Goldstein. I met her during my trip to New York. A sense of pride welled inside him at knowing someone so capable, talented and kind.

But the fact remained that he had not heard from her for a month.

In the evening, Newt sat down in front of his opened case, staring at the sketches he pinned. His eyes stopped at Tina’s picture. The edges were beginning to yellow, yet the Tina in the picture beamed up at him, confident and happy as always beneath the words “Auror”.

Had he annoyed her? He must have, otherwise she wouldn’t have stopped replying all of a sudden. Had he annoyed her all along? A small, cynical voice in his head wanted to say yes, but Newt knew he did not. Reading her letters, he felt the smile in her words, the reserved eagerness in which she convey her thoughts in her writing.

In his last letter, he informed Tina he couldn’t come to America just yet but did not tell her about the ban. There was an unexplainable sense of embarrassment of having lost his liberty to travel. He didn’t feel like admitting this issue to Tina. He simply explained that he was busy. As he wrote, he thought of Theseus’s tendency to side with the Ministry in spite of the decision to ban Newt’s right to travel. At that time, he lost his temper a little and wrote sharp words criticizing the system.

Newt let out a long sigh. Tomorrow would be his fifth attempt to have his travelling permit approved. For Merlin’s sake, couldn’t they simply stamp down an approval and let him get on with his life? It was frustrating, sitting in front of those people. He didn’t harm anybody … He just needed to travel to fulfill a promise he gave to someone.

Night fell. One by one, his creatures slowly settled down to sleep. A few nocturnal ones made some noise in the distance but most of them were now curled up in their habitats. The sounds of quiet breathing filled Newt’s surroundings. Alone in his basement, the words slipped from his mouth in a soft whisper.

“I like you very much, Tina,” he said to the picture.  

If only he could tell the real one.

- - -

Being the smol bean he is, I feel that Newt would blurt out his feelings to the picture. He’s unknowingly practicing for the confession, really. xD Here’s to the wait for Fantastic Beasts 3! (Everyone chant with me: Newtina kiss, Newtina kiss, NEWTINA KISS.)

[sugamoonv]

A.A.R.M

Word Count: 2,979k

A.N: I got inspired with this at 3 in the morning and spent all night working on this. My favorite show is the The Office and I sort of modeled this after the episode A.A.R.M where on of the characters, Jim, gives Pam the letter he saved from before they were married. 

Pencil:

He was dumb. So dumb. He knew there was a meeting today. It had been announced at the beginning of the week and it wasn’t even anything major. Just a small presentation to bring everyone up to speed for the next quarter. All he had to do was pay attention and take notes.

Yet here he was, blank piece of paper sitting in front of him, useless as everyone else scribbled in their notebooks. He watched your hand swiftly move along the lines of your notepad. He squinted his eyes in happiness as he saw your handwriting change from messy to neat; some words barely legible and others looking like actual print.

He admired you diligently taking notes for another moment before he leans his upper body toward you and whispers your name. Your face is close to your paper so only your eyes shift towards him. And when he asks if you have a pencil, they shift from his face to the bare paper at his spot.

You glance around your notepad to check if you had brought an extra before straightening in your chair and patting your sides, as if the pencil skirt you’re wearing had miraculously gotten pockets between now and this morning. When you shake your head, he smiles at you before returning to his seat.

You watch as he dejectedly compares his nonexistent notes to those around him and the disappointed look your boss, Seokjin, gives him before moving on to the next slide. You purse your lips and roll your chair next to his. He snaps out of his daze when you set your pencil atop his notebook.

“Here. You can use mine.”

You never did get that pencil back.

Bobby Pin:

Your eyes skimmed your article, combing for any errors that you might have missed before glancing to the compact mirror you had sitting to the side of your computer. You wiped the corners of your coral pink stained lips for the twentieth time and barred your teeth to check for smudging.

The deadline for your project had arrived sooner than you anticipated and so you found yourself applying makeup to your sleep deprived face an hour and a half before your project proposal. By the time the fifth frustrated groan left your lips and you were re-applying eyeliner to your left eyelid for the eighth time, Jungkook had meandered into your cubicle.

You ignored the way he tugged your hair as he worked to pull it into a neat, professional bun in an effort to help alleviate some of your stress. Your eyes stayed focused on the screen, afraid that the words you wrote required literal blood, sweat, tears rather than the figurative blood, sweat, and tears you had put into it.  Whether it was from nerves, lack of sleep, or simply it being a bad hair day, your hair refused to even want to appear tame today.

Jungkook cursed under his breath as another bobby pin slipped from his fingers to the carpeted floor. He grabbed a new bobby pin from the diminishing pile but it was in vain as the strand he was trying to pin was now free and had no plans of being controlled. You looked at the strands fighting to escape and the baby hairs standing up straight in disdain and slapped Jungkook’s hands away. You quickly removed the bobby pins he managed to get to stay and smoothed down your hair. Its natural state would have to do.

You picked up your portfolio and gave yourself one last look over before you scrambled to the conference room. Jungkook was left standing with the bobby pins from your hair in a pile in his open palms.

Tea Pot:

You slam your lunch bag onto the table and throw yourself into the seat across from Jungkook. He watches with an amused smirk as you hide your face in your arms with a groan. You were beginning to regret making a bet with Jimin to see who could go the longest without caffeine. It’s only been a day and a half and already you were getting migraines from withdrawal. They don’t warn you about caffeine addiction growing up.

Jungkook felt bad watching your semi-tortured state. Especially since he knew Jimin had given up coffee a while ago and refused to drink most sodas. You were set up to fail from the start. Late nights working and early mornings had made it so coffee was your lifeblood since college.

Before Jungkook can tease you, Jimin walks into the breakroom to join you. He sets his lunch box down then slides a hot cup of tea to your hunched form as he takes a sip of his with a smug smile. You lift your head to glare at him and lift your cup to your lips. You raise your brows in a challenge at Jimin as the scalding tea burns down your throat. Jungkook stays to the side, holding in his laughter as you and Jimin silently chug hot tea while staring at each other.

“I think I burned my tongue earlier.”

Jungkook snorts at you and pours hot water from the kettle into your cup. He leaned against the counter, content being in your presence, as you add milk and sugar to the hot beverage. He silently laughs when you scrunch your nose at the taste.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I don’t think Jimin’s had caffeine for at least two years.”

You look up from your cup, eyes wide. Your body tenses before it explodes in movement. You slam the cup down, splashing hot water all over the counter and Jungkook’s hand. He’s too busy frantically drying his hand to see you storm past him out of the kitchen.

“Park Jimin!”

Ticket:

“I swear to god,” you slap down a piece of paper in front of Jungkook’s computer, breaking his concentration, “Look at this.”

Jungkook looks down at his desk to see a small slip. Jung Hoseok’s neat cursive is scrawled all over the paper, describing some made up transgression. It seemed this morning you had stalled the elevator.

After being announced employee of the month, Hoseok had gone on a small power trip and laid claim to your parking spot. He believed that you shouldn’t have gotten the spot as you were the youngest in the office along with Jungkook. In retaliation, you had begun to leave “parking” tickets on the shield of Hoseok’s car every day.

Eventually, you adapted and began to drive to work earlier just so you could get back your parking spot and learned to never leave the office for lunch. Hoseok ceased vying for your spot and instead opted towards giving you a taste of your own medicine. In the beginning, he would make sure to write you up daily but he’s calmed down and now only tickets you two-three times a week.

Jungkook hides his smile from you in the palm of his hand. It’s not the worse ticket you’ve gotten from Hoseok. He remembers the hour-long rant during lunch because Hoseok had written you up for “blinking wrong”.

Jungkook’s attempt is futile because you see his bunny smile peeking through. And as much as his smile causes a flutter in your heart, you refuse to let Jungkook win and so you feign annoyance and turn to leave. You hear him laugh loudly at your retreating figure. He watches until you're completely from sight and looks down at the ticket again, laughing to himself before returning to work.

Hot Sauce Packet:

You, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin sat at the bar together. It had become a tradition to go out once you all got your first paycheck of the month. After experimenting with a few bars and restaurants, this became all of yours’ favorite and eventually, you became regulars. It was a bit awkward that Seokjin’s brother owned the place, which meant that you saw your boss a few times, but you soon got over it and he became a close acquaintance with you. Besides, Jungkook and Taehyung were obsessed with the buffalo wings they had here.

You all ordered the same dishes when you frequented this bar. Jungkook and Taehyung would share wings, Jimin would usually get steak, and you got fries. And Jungkook would never admit this to you, but he made it a habit to steal from your plate because he was completely enamored with the way you would cutely whine at him.

You make a noise of contentment when your plate is set in front of you that knocks the breath from Jungkook and left him looking at you moon-eyed. Taehyung rolls his eyes at Jungkook’s lovestruck gaze and digs into the wings. You don’t notice Jungkook as you reach over Jimin to the basket of red packets and grab a handful.

You rip open the first packet, eager to feed your growling stomach and drizzle its contents over your fries. You preferred for your condiments to be to the side but unfortunately so did Jungkook and you found that pouring ketchup directly on the fries reduced the number of fries he stole from you. The starchy goodness on your tongue from the first bite is quickly ruined as you feel a suspicious tingle on your tongue.

The tingling spreads to your throat as you swallow and soon turns into burning. You stick out your tongue and begin fanning it as the burning grows intense. You reach for your regular glass but the water does nothing to calm your mouth. In fact, it only seems to make it worse. Jimin picks up the empty packet and after reading the label, he points out that you put hot sauce on your fries, not ketchup. And not even plain hot sauce. Habanero hot sauce.

Jungkook pushes his glass of milk given with the hot wings to you and you immediately begin chugging the liquid. The glass is nearly empty by the time the burning gets to a manageable level. You begin taking sips and holding the milk in your mouth to try and quell the spiciness as much as possible before swallowing.

Taehyung and Jimin have their phones pointed at you, no doubtedly recording you, and Jungkook’s cheeks look as though they’re about to burst from him laughing so hard. You wipe away the tears from your eyes and try drinking more water. You wince as the cold liquid travels down your raw throat and sputter a few times, which has the boys laughing even more.

You glare at Jungkook and push your full plate of ruined fries towards him. He smiles at you and pops a fry fully covered in hot sauce in his mouth and chews with an obnoxious pout. You stare at him in betrayal before clicking your tongue and ordering another plate, blocking out the way he laughs at you again.

Santa:

Every year. Every year you and Jungkook are assigned to each other for secret santa. Namjoon’s the one that pairs everyone together and you’re gullible enough to think that he’s going to assign someone else to you, but no. It’s always been Jungkook.

You set your glass of spiked eggnog on the floor to pick up one of the presents and give it to Yoongi since it was closest to you. From the way Jimin is beaming at him, you can tell that he was Yoongi’s secret santa. You’re happy for him. Jimin had been gushing to you about Yoongi for years and if you were correct about the way Yoongi looked at him, then hopefully this would be the year they get together.

Yoongi’s too busy admiring the sheet music notebook and expensive headphones Jimin got him to be bothered to hand you your present that lies near him. You're the last to open your gift. Hoseok and Namjoon swapped theirs along with Taehyung and Seokjin, and the cheesy friendship bracelet you joked you would make for Jungkook to his disapproval is fastened on his wrist.

Jungkook, sitting next to Hoseok, nervously fidgets in his seat before reaching down and grabbing your present to hand to you. You quirk your eyebrows at him and he scratches the back of his neck as he leans back in his seat. You give the box a quick shake to try and make out what lies inside.

Jungkook’s hand shoot out as if to stop you. “Oh-I wouldn’t shake it,” he nervously laughs.

You set the box on your lap and begin tearing the wrapping paper off. You note that it looks the same as the role of wrapping paper you pointed out to Jungkook when you went Christmas shopping for your families some time ago. A light blue teapot sits in the box, Jungkook’s favorite color, and you send him a confused look. But your silent question is cut off as Seokjin pats Namjoon’s thigh and announces the time. You all collectively look at the windows to see it is, in fact, dark out and begin to clean up and prepare to leave.

Jungkook tries to talk to you, becoming desperate as he watches you put on your coat, but the co-worker that’s flirting with him refuses to let him leave. He sighs sadly as you wave goodbye to him and leave with Hoseok. He looks at the face of his co-worker and rolls his eyes before he sulks to his desk.

Letter:

The blue teapot from the Christmas party remains on your desk. It seems you forgot to bring it home with you before you left for break. You write a small reminder to bring it home with you today.

The first break you have during the day, you spot Jungkook at the vending machines and bounce over to him, excited to see him after going a week without his presence. But he simply gives you a polite smile and quickly leaves rather than engaging in conversation, so your left standing alone, feeling confused and rejected.

Jungkook continues to actively avoid you all day. And if it weren’t for the assignments Namjoon asked for help on that he had gotten from Seokjin, your energy would have been spent annoying Jungkook to find out why he was being so distant. Instead, your day is spent silently working in Namjoon’s office. You catch Jungkook walking past the windows of the office a few times but every time you try to make eye contact, he looks at the ground.

You slowly pack your bag and re-organize your desk for the next day. You had a stay a little overtime as some of the paperwork Namjoon had gotten had been messed up by the temp and thus had to be re-done. You peer around the dim office, hoping that Jungkook would still be here for some reason but all get is Namjoon’s kind smile as he walks to Seokjin’s office. They both often worked late together.

You stare at the teapot in contemplation when someone behind you clears your throat. Jungkook shuffles from foot to foot and wrings his hands together. He also appears to be out of breath too.

“Did-did you open it yet?” Jungkook stutters.

You shake your head before telling him you forgot it at your desk and apologizing. He looks relieved at this. You study him for a few moments before turning to the teapot. You hear him object as you lift the lid but you ignore him and inspect inside. One by one you pull out a pencil, a few bobby pins, one of the tickets Hoseok had given you, and a habanero hot sauce packet. At the bottom of the teapot is an envelope which you pull out last.

Your name is written in large letters on the front. You delicately pull open the flap and tug out the card. It was the same card that you had received on Valentine’s from a secret admirer. Your’s and Jungkook’s breathing was the only thing that could be heard as you read the inside of the card.

“I-Jungkook, I,” you turn to him, heart thumping loudly in your chest. You both stare at each other, afraid to make the first move but the tension has to be broken at some point.

Jungkook’s gaze falls and he quietly apologizes before walking away. You’re frozen to the spot but luckily your legs have a mind of their own and your running after him, calling out his name. He’s in the lobby by the time you reach him.

You call out his name one last time and he turns around just in time for you to slam into him. You surge upwards and capture his lips with yours. He’s still for a moment as he processes your actions but soon he’s feverishly kissing you back, hands harshly gripping your waist and pulling you closer to him.

Your hands move up to cup his face to bring him closer to you somehow. His nose brushes against yours as his lips smash against yours. They’re as soft as you had been imagining for the last few months. Just as Jungkook teases your bottom lip and his tongue enters your mouth, you pull back, out of breath. He almost follows but stops himself. You open your eyes to see Jungkook in his glory. Lips puffy and a beautiful shade of vibrant pink, eyes closed, and breathless from you. He opens his eyes and you finally see the small details of his warm brown doe-eyes.

“I love you too,” you whisper. Jungkook’s eyes become glossy and suddenly his lips are on yours in a plethora of quick kisses.

He moves to pepper your face before returning to your lips, “You love me,” Jungkook brings his forehead to yours and sighs, afraid that if he speaks any louder he’ll wake up from this dream, “You love me.”

Tags: @eshika0102 @detectivebourbon @omgsuperstarg

[sevenfactorial]

How I Write Class Notes

First of all, I totally forgot that I said I’d do this and I’m really sorry about that.

So my note taking is specifically designed for upper-level math classes since that’s what I do the most but my notes for CS and many other classes still take a similar form, just with less things labeled theorems (also with more bulleted lists. I love bulleted lists but I use them way less in math notes than any other class). This also works for reading textbooks or papers independently. If you want info specifically for lower level math classes (high school up through calc 3), I can see what I can do too.

Here’s a very basic summary of what I think is most important for note taking

Feasible (ie simple and fast enough for you). You want to be able to keep up your system even at points where your class is going absurdly fast or when you’re exhausted/having trouble focusing/etc

Easy to skim. Just writing things down at all is good for retention but if you’re taking notes, you probably want to be able to read them later easily. So it needs to be easy to pick out key definitions/theorems/etc.

In that vein, include necessary assumptions even if it does feel repetitive.

Don’t cram things together. Allow for white space (again, so skimming is possible)

Label things. Major topics, definitions, theorems, key ideas especially. Also make it obvious that a proof or example is a proof/example.

All of it is together one way or another, whether that’s a digital file, paper in a folder/binder/etc, or a notebook. Keeping it together is extremely important to me.

A detailed description and more thoughts are under the cut.

I’m very basic about my notes and am not always fully consistent (I have an indentation problem which occasionally irritates me but I’ve decided it’s not worth it to obsess over), but I try to be and generally have a structure for my notes. If you were to flip through even my recent notebooks you’ll find deviations but that’s just how it goes.

I don’t actually have any of my old class notes with me right now so I wrote the following to give a sense of what my notes tend to actually look like. I wrote it on loose leaf but normally I take notes in a composite notebook. I find I consistently take 30-45 pages (1 page = front and back) per class per semester (I’ve also taken less) so I find the halfway point and do two classes per notebook to decrease number of notebooks I’m carrying around. If you have two semester long classes, account for that so that you don’t end up having alg I and II in different notebooks like I do.

(I typed more or less what I wrote afterwards but there’s really no way I’m recreating the formatting on a tumblr post)

First of all, this is a fair bit neater than my actual notes are. One of my best friends can barely read my normal handwriting at all and this is a bit neater than that. But if you can’t read it still, I don’t blame you at all so,

Date goes in the top right column at the beginning of every single class. It helps when you’re flipping through to find something later and also forces me to be somewhat aware of the date from day to day (further discussion on dates later)

I underline chapter/section titles/topics and include the the relevant textbook section numbers if given. This varies according to how my professors introduce topics generally.

Also I will generally just skip two or three lines between sections but will start at the top of a new page for chapters.

Some of my professors start off topics by giving an overview of what we’re looking at and motivations and the like so I just write “Idea:” and follow it up with whatever the professor is giving me.

Definitions: Typical in most subjects, I shorten it to “def” on the left of the margin line and start writing on the same line

I used to like starting out with the word itself but I often find it awkward in math notes so I just underline it in the statement (and highlight later)

Even though it’s a pain, I make a point of restating assumptions pretty constantly because it’s really useful if you’re studying from notes later.

Some typical things to follow up definitions include notation, warnings, and sometimes an intuitive way of thinking about it that may not completely capture all the details of the statement. I just do “thing:” for everything except the later, which I just write in quotes

Don’t forget, definitions are always if and only if statements. This is something you’re generally vaguely aware of from early on but perhaps don’t actually fully realize until some random point (I did that and heard of several others doing it too)

Theorems: The other mainstay of math. Honestly, I’m pretty sure everything’s ultimately a theorem, definition, axiom, or example

I give theorems a label of “THM” on the left. I can’t really explain why I write it in capital letters here but if I write theorem within a statement or example or something, I’ll use a lowercase “thm”

Like for definitions, make a point of rewriting assumptions.

Just overall, I try to keep my “paragraphs” short, one to three lines, before leaving the rest of the line blank and indenting the next one in order to increase whitespace

Lemmas/Corollaries/Other words which exist: I tend to put their label on the right side of the red margin line and indent their content more. I’m not super consistent with them, though make sure to indicate end of lemmas if your theorem goes “theorem - start proof - lemma - proof of lemma - finish proof of theorem”

If a diagram is useful, I tend to stick them to the right and write around it best I can. I’ll generally wait until after class to add color if it’s useful but occasionally, if class is going relatively slow or the colors REALLY matter then I’ll grab colored pens as quickly as possible

Also, my professors tend to not shy away from longer proofs and are not always the best of keeping track of time so that means we end class in the middle of proofs more often than ideal

I will just continue right along with the proof but shove the date at the right of the first line on the next day.

When we end at more reasonable places, I tend to skip a line, date on the right, resume on the next line

Unless I end within the last 8ish lines, then I’ll often start on the next page

Some things to consider that I didn’t write in the example:

I converted to writing in pen at the beginning of the summer (I’ve had a few lectures at the beginning of my REU but it’s not quite the same as class). Don’t be worried about scribbling out if you’re using pen. If you want prettier notes, rewrite them later. It’s a good way of studying anyways.

Also consider typing them up (tex for math) to have a searchable reference for later (studying/future classes).

I write up definitions and theorems before exams in colorful pen to study. Usually just on copy paper. The color is mostly just for fun since i’m probably stressed at the time.

I feel like a lot of math students do use pen exclusviely? idk. Use whatever you feel most comfortable with. When I used pencil, I did a combo of erasing and scribbling out, depending on the pace of the class.

If you are in the market for pens, G2 pens seem to have a bit of a following and honestly, I get it. They’re really good and within typical prices for disposable pens (you can order refills online and it makes them even cheaper). I also love papermate’s felt tips (they’re what I use for colored pens) but you can see them from the other side of the paper far more so I don’t find them appropriate for note taking.

Don’t be afraid to write notes in the margins (I usually use the left margin at an angle but like, wherever it fits works too). Often these are comments to myself.

Having a way to indicate things you want to look up later or exercises your professor suggested is good. I usually put a star on the red margin line at those points.

I try to keep a def/thm/proof on the same page but it’s really hard to always anticipate the length of things so I try but don’t worry about it too much.

Use shortenings when you can but make sure you remember them and that you’re not actually spending more time recalling the abbreviation than you would just writing it out

I find the most common abbreviations in math are first three letter of the word, first four letters, or first three and last letter

I don’t think flat out trying to use someone else’s note taking system is really the best. You’ll have to take more time than you probably have to remember the formatting. However, getting ideas from others is often useful. I don’t know why I started doing most things I do but I know that some of my habits came from seeing my friends or professors do it.

I think I mostly just use typical organization methods and nothing particularly interesting/novel but I hope it was still useful to some people.