luckybelieverbanana

[sassyandclassy94]

The part in the book where Joe and the freshman boys head to Poughkeepsie for the regatta and it says “The boys did not appreciate the oppressive hot and humid New York weather.” I felt that. Same, boys. Same. I live in upstate New York - I’m used to its summer weather and HATE it with a passion.

I say this as we’re in the midst of an oppressive heat wave (it reached 95 yesterday🥵)

Also, I love the part where it mentioned their coxswain tried to get away after the race but they chased him down, tackled him, and tossed him into the water🤣 At least it was probably refreshing?🤷🏻‍♀️

[pr1ncessm00n]

for sale or wanted — jean kirstein x fem! reader

series masterlist

prev | next , part two

warnings: cursing, porco being toxic lol. dates are wrong once again sorry !!

[ playlist : love again - dua lipa ]

eight.

Half asleep and ready to go to bed, Y/N fell back into her bed. She picked up her phone, hoping to mindlessly scroll through some TikToks. Instead, she was met with two messages. Audibly gasping as she read Porco’s name, she dropped her phone, hitting herself in the face in the process. “Ow!”

Porco? Y/N thought incredulously. What the hell does he want?

Contemplating asking Ymir and Sasha for advice, Y/N then decided against it. This was her life, she couldn’t expect her friends to guide her though it. But God, was she such a coward when it came to Porco. It wasn’t like he was Prince Charming, but Y/N had an extreme loyalty complex. She couldn’t ever allow herself to let go of people. Porco used to berate her for that constantly.

Why are you so clingy? He would ask.

Who’s the clingy one now? Y/N thought bitterly. She decided to ignore Porco’s text until she could think of a reply that wasn’t along the lines of “No, fuck you.” She slid her thumb over to Jean’s message.

Great. Another text asking to talk. Why couldn’t people just send their question and save a girl the anxiety? Y/N scolded herself for allowing her egotistical ex to ruin her mood. Jean didn’t deserve her snappiness.

Jean sighed in relief. Thank God she replied. He didn’t know if he could handle the mortification if she didn’t.

Y/N pondered for a bit.

Y/N laughed quietly to herself. So Jean could in fact match her sense of humor. She exited out of their chat, mindlessly scrolling through social media. She actively avoided Porco’s message, not wanting to burden herself with the chore of responding to him. What could he possibly have to say? She headed to Twitter, hopefully finding something relatable to retweet. As Y/N scrolled, she saw a familiar face appear on her timeline.

Recommended for you from contacts, the header read. Below it was about 3 profiles of people in her contacts she had not followed yet. Among them, was Jean.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Should I? She questioned. Would she be overstepping some unspoken boundary? What if she hurt her own feelings by stalking and seeing something she wouldn’t like/had no business seeing? Maybe she should just ignore it. She doubted Jean was some internet creep… but wouldn’t it be good to know if he was? Curiosity getting the better of her, Y/N decided to invade that boundary and look at his account.

He didn’t have much content from what Y/N could see. He just retweeted fancy cars and some funny memes. She spotted Connie, Sasha’s lifelong friend and Jean’s infamous roomie. She mentally hoped Jean didn’t tweet like Connie. That would be the ultimate ick.

Y/N’s thumb stopped scrolling, hovering over a tweet. Her heart beated ten times more rapidly.

well she is pretty lol, Jean’s tweet read. Tweeted just an hour after he met Y/N.

Could it be? Y/N wondered. No way. There’s no way it’s about me. I’m just jumping to conclusions. Why would he say that about me? I’m just being self absorbed.

She brushed off her inquiries, deciding to just stop stalking his account entirely. From what she already saw, there wasn’t anything suspicious or icky enough to make her want to not interact with him. And she was already paranoid, so every tweet she saw she would begin to assume it was about her as well. She was just getting her hopes up.

Rolling over on her side, Y/N placed her phone to charge and went to sleep. It was late, which was probably what was causing her mind to become fuddled.

——

“You should’ve told me Sasha’s third roomie was Y/N,” Reiner had said to Jean in the truck. “I totally blindsided her. Top ten worst encounters of my life.”

“Uh, care to enlighten me? Do you guys have beef or something?” Jean asked, perusing the radio stations.

Reiner sighed. “She’s dating- was dating- my childhood friend, Porco.”

Jean felt his stomach drop. “Oh.”

Reiner glanced at him before stopping at a red light. “I said dating. He dumped her like a week ago. It was pretty trash.”

Jean secretly felt more at peace hearing that. Poor Y/N, but.. she could probably do better than this Porco person.

“So what does that have to do with you?” Jean asked.

Reiner shrugged. “I guess I didn’t really help. She said she felt a little betrayed. Like I agreed with Porco and my friends that she’s the crazy one.”

Jean nodded. “So you were a bystander.”

Reiner sighed again, tilting his head in an I guess motion. “It’s just hard. Porco’s like my brother, and I don’t agree with how he acted… but maybe I should have spoken up sooner.”

Jean patted his shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself, man. That was between them.”

“Yeah. I could have at least told Porco to step it up, though.” Reiner murmured.

I’m glad you didn’t. Jean snickered to himself.

“So, you think she’s cute?” Reiner shot Jean a devilish grin. Jean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess. You goin’ to Historia’s birthday?” He slyly changed the subject.

“Is it open invite?” Reiner’s eyebrows scrunched up.

Jean shrugged. “I have an invite. Maybe you can be my plus one.”

Reiner made a “Hmm” sound in response, weary at Jean’s invite. “What are you dressing as if you go?”

“I was thinking swag era Justin Bieber.” Jean replied, smiling widely.

Reiner gave him a look. “You for real?”

Jean’s smile dropped. “What?”

Reiner laughed. “I’d pay money to see how badly you embarrass yourself with that.”

“It’s a 2000’s party?” Jean was confused.

“Yeah, but everyone does like, early 2000s. Think Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake.”

Jean shot him a curious look.

“What? Pop culture is my guilty pleasure.” Reiner explained himself. “And everyone knows Britney Spears.”

Jean hummed in response. “I just think you got a thing for pop girls.” He referenced the earlier Becky G mishap.

“I’m not even gonna deny it anymore.” Reiner agreed, defeated.

——

“Guys,” Y/N said the next morning. Ymir and Sasha were at the breakfast “nook” (a corner of their miniature kitchen designated for a small table that barely fit all three of them), Sasha eating cereal and Ymir chomping on an apple while scrolling on her phone. “Porco texted me last night.”

Ymir continued scrolling, unfazed. Sasha’s eyes widened and she swallowed her food before speaking. “What? Why?” Y/N glared at Ymir.

“Thanks for your interest YMIR, but as i was telling Sasha-“

“I’m Sasha.” Sasha cut in, obviously confused.

Y/N gave Sasha a look.

“Did you say something?” Ymir said, bored. She still hadn’t looked up from her phone.

“Ymir!” Sasha scolded. “Y/N’s telling us Porco texted her!”

“Who’s Porco?” Ymir replied, monotonous.

Y/N sighed in exasperation. “Are you stalking Eren again? I already told you to stop comparing your subscribers-“

“I’m not stalking Eren!” Ymir snapped defensively. “I’m…” She mumbled the next part incoherently.

“Huh?” Sasha and Y/N asked in unison.

“I SAID,” Ymir repeated, annoyed. “I’m looking up Britney Spears outfits. Historia wanted us to go as different eras of her. But I can’t find anything that matches my style.” She grumbled.

Y/N’s heart melted. It was adorable watching Ymir struggle to find a matching costume for Historia. It was like Marilyn Manson wanting to get along with a CareBear.

“Just go as JT,” Sasha said, chewing her cereal.

“One, close your mouth, and two, Historia asked for us to go as Brittney. I can’t just show up like a dude.” Ymir visibly deflated as she scrolled through countless pictures of a younger Spear’s iconic looks.

“Why don’t you try her bandanna phase? That wasn’t so over the top, and she wore mostly jeans.” Y/N suggested as she squeezed into the corner chair.

Ymir sighed. “I don’t want to wear a skirt or some bimbo shit. That’s y’alls look.”

“How do you manage to sound endearing trying to please your girlfriend while simultaneously insulting us?” Y/N wondered aloud.

“It’s a talent.” Ymir waved her off. “What did you guys get her though?”

“A giftcard to Urban Outfitters,” Sasha replied. “I got tired of searchin’. I put $50 on it. I think that should be enough for like, a shirt and a half. She better like it, too. ‘Cus I’m broke.” Sasha pointed her spoon at Ymir accusingly.

“I got her the Taylor Swift vinyl she’s been wanting. And some pink film for her camera.” Y/N added. Ymir nodded approvingly.

“I hope she likes my gift. I don’t know if I’m moving too fast though?” For the first time since Y/N mer Ymir, Y/N hadn’t ever seen her this distraught.

“Calm down,” Y/N reassured her. “You’ve been together for years now. I don’t think you can move any slower.”

Ymir rolled her eyes, leaning back im her chair with arms crossed. “It’s a small trip to Seoul. I know she’s been dying to go. It’s not like it’s anything she hasn’t seen before with her family… but I figure it’d be different with just us.” Y/N’s heart melted.

“That’s so sweet!” Sasha exclaimed, eyes watery. “I want an Ymir!”

“Well, you can’t have me!” Ymir laughed. “It’s not a big deal. The sponsorship I managed to land gave me a decent payout.” Ymir sheepishly replied, her cheeks a faint red

Y/N nudged her. “Look at you, being modest.”

Ymir waved her hand. “Shut up. How does this look?” She turned her phone to Y/N, showing a picture of Britney Spears clad in low waist jeans, a black tank top and sure enough, a yellow bandanna.

“That’s perfect.”

Ymir smirked, smug. “Just like me.”

“Y/N!” Sasha shouted. “Go back to the Porco thing!”

“Oh, yeah. What did Oinky want?” The girls turned to face Y/N, who shrank a bit back in her seat.

“That’s a new one,” Y/N chuckled. “I thought of one last night, too,” She paued for dramatic effect. “Porker!” She gasped out, giggling, hitting the table in a slight fit of laughter. Sasha and Ymir gave Y/N a blank stare, unamused at Y/N’s mediocre roast.

“Not funny, didn’t laugh.” Sasha spat.

“If your career was stand up you’d be living in a box.” Ymir deadpanned.

“Tough crowd,” Y/N sighed, wiping imaginary tears from her eyes. “But if you must know…” She purposely stalled a bit, knowing it would send an impatient, jittery Sasha over the edge and annoy Ymir even more, even if she pretended she was not interested in the relationship drama between Y/N and her disgraced ex.

“Just say it already!” Sasha begged.

“I…don’t know. I haven’t responded.” Y/N finally admitted, putting her head in her hands. “I just-“ Her words were muffled by her hands.

Ymir removed her hands from her face. “Your words, darling.” She scolded, voice oozing sarcasm.

“Ugh,” Y/N groaned. “I’m too pussy to respond. He just asked if we could talk. What could he possibly want? What if he wants the couch? It’s just too much.”

Sasha gave her a sympathetic gaze. “Just leave him on read! If he wants to talk so badly he’ll find a way to say what he needs to.”

“For once, I agree.” Ymir added.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Y/N stretched. “But it did keep me up at night wondering what he wanted.”

“Y/N, forget him! Historia’s party is soon, there’s no time to worry about ugly men!” Sasha stood up, rushing to put her bowl in the sink. “I got a lecture in a few, but you need to find your costume! We’re all going as Britney!” She said before disappearing into her room.

“Um, who’s gonna tell her we’re not all dressing as Britney?” Ymir inquired.

Y/N snorted. “Not I. I’m probably going as Suki from Fast and the Furious.”

“Niiceee,” Ymir fist pumped Y/N. “She was my sexual awakening.” Y/N choked on her muffin.

“Ymir, what’d we say about uncalled for horniness?” Y/N reprimanded. Ymir made her way to the coat rack, searching for her car keys in her leather jacket’s pocket.

“If I was gonna be chewed out for liking women I would’ve lived with my parents!” Ymir called out. “I gotta pick up Historia!”

“Will you be back?” Y/N shouted back.

“Get off my dick!” Ymir shut the door. Laughing to herself, Y/N picked up Ymir’s dish to place in the sink. She was, out of the three, the more tidier one. Ymir did the best cleaning, but she was selectively lazy.

“Bye, Y/N!” Sasha shouted before leaving in a rush. One thing Y/N had grown used to was the fairly chaotic mornings. She secretly hoped they would be like this for a long time.

Since Y/N had transferred, Ymir and Sasha had been the best roommates she could ask for. Yes, Ymir was snappy and Sasha was a bit ditzy, but it was the perfect combination and they were respectful. Y/N had transferred from Sina University purely for academic reasons, but she had not expected to fit in so well with the girls or their group of pre establish friends. She worried she would not fit in since they had already been so tight-knit, but found that wasn’t the case at all. They were open, accepting and loyal. Y/N couldn’t be happier where she was, and even though she wouldn’t admit it, she was grateful for how close they had all gotten in their short time together. Who knew randomly assigned rooming would provide her with friendship to last a lifetime?

Which is why every time she thought about Porco she kicked herself. How could she have let some… meathead ruin her freshmen year of college? She should have been having fun, interacting with Ymir and Sasha’s friends more, lived her own life. But no, she chose to become involved with a self absorbed fraternity guy of all people. Now she was semi-heartbroken, extremely humiliated, and about a year’s worth of time and effort short. She had allowed him to take advantage of her so much, that he felt he could contact her still after basically using her. The thought made her want to rip her hair out and scream.

Almost as if through divine intervention, her phone beeped with a notification.

What the actual hell? Y/N thought.

She froze for a second. What does she do? Respond? Ignore? Block?

After a few seconds of mental deliberation, Y/N finally decided. She was fed up with the lack of bravery she showed and decided to just end it once and for all. Typing out a response, she clicked send and decided to go to the mall for the retail therapy she was sure to need after whatever Porco said what he wanted to say. Turning the shower on, she braced herself for his response. What could Porco want? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

This better be good, Y/N thought.

taglist : @tsunderehokage @lagrimasdeglitter @snowyseungs @mukeovernetflix @bakugouswh0r3 @punicorn999 @deadlyaffairs @usernamehere91 @calumsfringe

a/n: woohoo!! long chapter. so to recap: i graduated!! i am finally free from the clutches of high school. i might do a face reveal :) bc i loved my grad dress. anywho, my fever cleared up, i have chapter 9 already completed (just need to revise + edit) and this is NOT proof read!! it’s 2 am guys i’m tired. but i hope you enjoyed this :) sorry for the weird cropping too. peace out

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Hi! I also read How the World Slowly Found Out and I'm also having withdrawals lol. The fic is about famous!Kurt and regular!Blaine who were childhood best friends and are in a secret, long distance relationship and how people slowly started to know about them. It features a really cute Anderrose friendship and Kelliot too. So, I'm guessing the person wanted more secret-relationship, famous!Kurt/regular!Blaine fics like that.

Thanks for clarifying this for me. Looks like I’ll be reading "How the World Slowly Found Out". I list a few that I can recommend where Kurt is famous and they are in a secret relationship. If you check out our Secret Relationship tag, you will find plenty of fic recs where they are both famous or Blaine is famous. - HKVoyage

How the World Slowly Found Out by FaNdOm_FuN (active WIP)

“So to be clear…you’re mad at me…because I can’t read your mind?”

“Yes,” Blaine said bluntly. “We’ve been best friends for ten years and together for four…you should’ve mastered reading my mind years ago Hummel.”

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

Hi! So you're probably wondering what this story is about, right? Well, dear reader, I will tell you that this is a love story of sorts. It’s a love story but it’s not one that has your basic “they meet and slowly falling in love” plot line because…well the two main characters in this story have already figured that out. This story walks more along the line of…how the rest of world found out these two characters loved each other. Is it cliche at points? Possibly. Cheesy? Maybe. Adorable? Absolutely. Chaotic? Most definitely but it’s all 100% true! Have I enticed you enough into sticking with me yet? No. Well, what if I told you that a certain celebrity was involved…are you intrigued now? Are you just dying to know who I’m talking about? You’ll have to stick with this story then! So, without further ado, my name is Blaine Anderson and this is my story.

~~~~~

If I Could Use Your Love by raeofultraviolet

Blaine Anderson is an incredibly talented musician living in Los Angeles and trying to make a name for himself. He is also incredibly shy and can’t assert himself enough to get in the limelight. When a chance meeting with Kurt Hummel, a famous actor, opens up an opportunity for him, how can he say no? The only problem is, it requires the two of them to lie to everyone around them.

~~~~~

When Are You Gonna Sing For Me? by TheNameIsBritney

Kurt is one of the three members of wildly successful pop punk band One Three Hill. He is also forgetful as all get out and accidentally leaves his phone somewhere where a certain music teacher just happens to find it.

OR

The pop star!Kurt/middle school music teacher!Blaine au that lives rent free in my brain

~~~~~

Ace of Cups by sundaysalvation

Blaine Anderson never expected that the Kurt Hummel, newest fashion designer to rise to fame, was the same Kurt Hummel whose name was scarred across his palm. But they were soul mates, destined and determined to be together even through photographers, tabloid gossip and rumours.

Note: You need to be logged into an AO3 account to access this fic.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

On Track

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Lee Minho

Genre: Married Life AU, Romance

Warnings: Smut and Language

Word Count: 11K

Summary: Despite her reputation, Y/N is considered one of the very best agents in the music industry. Of course, it doesn’t help that she married one of her clients---notoriously stubborn and arrogant Lee Minho AKA the extremely talented Lee Know whose silky voice and amazing choreographies appeal to an enormous fan-base. A pop singer who prefers to work alone, Y/N usually obliges Minho’s preferences...until her boss demands that he collaborate with the up-and-coming and multi-talented trio, 3racha.

Well, nobody ever said that married life is easy.

For: @hwngjn​

There’s a certain decorum involved with the management of arrogant pop singers who think the entire world revolves around their singular existence. In my experience, if you want to tame these wild inclinations, then it’s best to do one of the three things: 1) leave the company ASAP with a two-week notice and a heartfelt plea for a good recommendation, 2) tolerate the existence of this pop singer and hope that he matures with age, or 3) marry this pop singer because you fell in love without understanding the fraternization clause of your contract. 

Allow me to elaborate: options one and two will leave you with enough room to continue rising through the ranks without much conflict with upper management. You see, I have firsthand knowledge because I lived through the ensuing outcomes, leaving my first job at the tender age of 23 with very little knowledge and then arduously suffering at my next position with a female artist who insisted on testing my patience. But then again, if you choose to skip options one and two and pursue option three, then you better learn to live with the consequences because it will bring the most long-term effects.

Let me start from here because, for the most part, the consequences for me were fairly minimal. The record company was, of course, incensed when they found out about my unauthorized affair. Unfortunately, Minho liked to brag about the things he cherished, and he made no secret of our relationship outside of the company. I knew it was only a matter of time before the issue was brought to the attention of Mr. Park, the company’s CEO and head producer. 

I can still remember sitting in his big office, ignoring the lingering smell of smoke, while Mr. Park shoved my management contract in my face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, to which I had no response other than my weakness for Minho’s cunning smile. “You’re done here,” he announced and my heart broke in my chest. 

Fortunately, before I could finish packing my belongings on the same afternoon, Minho had appeared at my desk with a very unhappy Mr. Park trailing behind him with an intense scowl. “Tell her,” Minho growled.

“Y/N,” he sighed. “You’ve been reinstated. Mr. Lee made a convincing argument on your behalf. Apparently, he can’t possibly work here and renew his contract without you as his manager.”

I remember glaring at Minho for his intervention, since our impromptu marriage was entirely his fault. “Thank you, sir.”

Thereafter, I was determined to do the best job I could as famed singer Lee Know’s manager, even if it meant facing scrutiny from jealous fans or bowing my head when I faced another agent in the hallways. I suppose I could deal with their scrutiny because it was better than the alternative of finding myself lounging away in Minho’s expensive condo unemployed and ruined because of my reputation. Even so, I was walking on thin glass everyday, and Minho continued to make things hard by insisting that he didn’t need to follow the rules, especially since he insisted on some one-sided feud with Mr. Park. 

For example, today Minho was scheduled for an interview with a very distinguished magazine, but my husband had decided to prioritize his never ceasing libido over regular responsibilities. “Hold still,” Minho said, smirking against the side of my neck while his hands made quick work of my skirt and panties, shoving them harshly down my legs to make room for his greedy touches. Inhibited access to the heat between my legs, presented to him in just the way he liked, meant that his fingers were currently teasing the swollen folds of my labia while I fell apart at the seams. 

I could tell that Minho wanted to take his time, but one glance at my wristwatch told me that we weren’t allowed such liberties today. “No, sir,” I said, reaching behind me to scratch my nails along his forearm. “You have an interview in ten minutes!”

“Relax,” he said, kissing delicately down the individual knobs of my spine. “I missed you today.”

“How romantic,” I deadpanned. “Can you hurry before the agency sends someone to look for us?”

As I said before, Minho was never the type to follow clear instructions, and he didn’t like the fact that his agency was rather strict when it came to scheduling. He liked to spite the men upstairs whenever an opportunity arose, such as prolonging needless foreplay when I was already dripping down my thighs because of his ministrations. I reached behind me for his belt, attempting to undo the zipper and release the erection straining the material.

“What’s your hurry, sweetheart?” he purred, knocking away my hand. 

“My job as your manager,” I returned, fervently trying to hasten our unexpected intimacy. 

“Well, as your favorite client, I suggest you bend over for me so I can fuck this little pussy.”

His words went straight to the tight coil offering no resistance the longer Minho continued to speak dirty words into my ears. “Did you lock the door?”

“Why? Are you expecting someone?”

I frowned, ready to offer a snarky retort before the words were wiped clean from my head when I felt the tip of his cock sink into my awaiting heat. “What was that, sweetheart?” he asked and I moaned loudly because he was suddenly intense with his movements, leaving no room to gather my bearings before he was fucking at a harsh pace.

Actually, in hindsight, I should’ve seen this coming when I met Minho in my office for the very first time. He walked in wearing a loose-fitting tank top and tight skinny jeans like he was attending a fraternity party instead of a company meeting. Minho’s steps were completely assured, sunglasses framing his face perfectly and standing out against the smooth tone of his skin. “Y/N?” he asked with a smirk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “The agency assigned you to my care.”

“Really?” Minho asked, cocksure and smiling bright as he made himself comfortable on my futon without permission. “Miss, you say?”

“We go by professional titles, Mr. Lee,” I said, glaring at him from behind my computer screen. 

“Sure,” he dismissed, reaching for the flower vase on my coffee table. “How does this work exactly? You do whatever I ask, right?”

“Put the vase down and pay attention.”

Minho’s smile vanished at my tone. “What did you say?”

“Mr. Lee, the agency forewarned me about your...behavior. I must assure you that it won’t be tolerated because my job is to make sure that you do everything outlined in your contract. I’m sure you didn’t bother taking the time to read it, but there are certain things the company expects of you other than posting to your Twitter at 3:00 AM in the morning.”

I took a deep breath, satisfied that he appeared to be listening. “For example, the company expects your first album release this October. It’s my job to make sure you attend all recording sessions. Furthermore, promotions will be anticipated leading to the album’s delivery to applicable streaming platforms. That means interviews, photoshoots, award shows, and radio performances. Please understand that I’m one of the very best this agency has to offer, which means my clients demonstrate respect and high aptitude for their work and how it reflects on the company. From the moment you first stepped through that door, I knew that you lacked both of those capabilities.”

I stood up from my desk, walking around to the front to regard the man who suddenly found it difficult to look at me. “Here’s a warning, Mr. Lee. If you fail to adhere to my standards, then I won’t hesitate to ask the company to find you a new manager, understand?”

Minho scoffed, snatching his sunglasses away before nodding his head. “Fine.”

Satisfied, I reached behind me for the manila folder I prepared for his arrival. “Now, let’s review your schedule.”

Of course, that was two years ago and despite the whirlwind of mischievousness that encapsulated Minho, including several scandals, an endless barrage of paparazzi, and several intense arguments with upper management, I wouldn’t trade our relationship for anything else in the world. You see, I never counted on falling in love with an idol singer, but he managed to charm his way into my good graces with an irresistible smile and warm personality masked beneath his arrogant facade of indifference. He always brought a smile to my face, even in the midst of an intense orgasm bent over my desk as his cock hit deep inside. 

He fingers wrapped around my wrist, dragging my watch into his line of vision. “Two minutes, Y/N.”

I groaned in complaint, wondering how someone who graduated college with a flawless 4.0 GPA continuously broke company rules on a daily basis.

The following morning, I found myself crushed between several executives for an undisclosed company meeting. “Everyone!” Mr. Park announced. “I have exciting news for this year’s Christmas theme.”

A chorus of groans greeted his words. “Sir, I thought we were leaving the decision for the talent?” another agent spoke up.

“Yes, but I think this will work better for our core demographics,” Mr. Park said. “Y/N!”

I sat up straighter, attempting to look more alert than I felt inside. Unfortunately, Minho had kept me up all night in the small recording studio he built in our shared condo, asking me for continuous feedback on his latest project. “Sir?”

“Mr. Lee gave us a very interesting demo last week for a recent project.”

“Oh?”

“I’d like to make it a collaboration effort with our talent,” Mr. Park said and my heart seized in my chest because I knew firsthand just how much Minho despised working with other people. “3racha have landed their first platinum album. We need to capitalize on their success!”

“You want a collaboration between 3racha and Minho?” I asked, swallowing hard at the idea of telling my husband. 

“Exactly,” Mr. Park said with a smile. “For the music video, I was thinking we could also invite Hwang Hyunjin and Lee Felix to choreograph something for the project.”

“How...exciting?” I offered, cringing at my tone. Thankfully, Mr. Park was already addressing 3racha’s manager while I stared at my empty coffee mug and wondering if I would need more caffeine to survive.

Afterwards, Mr. Park adjourned our meeting and I returned to my office to find Minho waiting for me perched on the edge of my desk. “Sweetheart,” he greeted me, pulling me in by my waist to press a welcoming kiss to my pout. “You seem worried?”

I leaned back enough to meet his gaze. “You better promise me that you won’t get upset and scream.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “When have I ever done that?”

A million scenarios filtered through my mind before I decided to leave those memories in the past. “I just finished a company meeting.”

“Oh yeah?” he nodded, playing with the necklace resting against my collarbone. “What happened?”

I took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “Mr. Park had an... interesting suggestion.”

Minho glanced up and narrowed his eyes. “This doesn’t sound good.”

“He wants a collaboration,” I said, deciding to go for the killing blow before I could lose any more of my fading confidence. “The new demo you played for the company. He wants you to work with 3racha.”

Minho was quiet for a moment before he chuckled. “Really? Well, I don’t think so, sweetheart. You know how I feel about those things.”

I released an unsteady exhale. “It might be an opportunity?”

He shook his head. “You just march your cute little ass back into Park’s office and tell him I’m not interested.”

I groaned, pulling out of Minho’s arms to walk around my desk. “I have no power to tell Mr. Park anything.”

“Why not? You’re my manager!”

“Yeah, but he’s the head producer and owner,” I remarked, offering him an unimpressed look as I sat down to unlock my computer. “Besides, I think it’s a cool idea for the fans.”

Minho frowned. “Fuck, if I’m collaborating with anyone, then it’s gonna be Sam Smith or Post Malone.”

“As likely as that sounds,” I started with a dramatic sigh, “I think you should start small and work your way to the top.”

“But 3racha?” Minho grimaced. “Those fucking guys think they’re the absolute shit around here.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Not funny,” Minho grumbled. “It’s my demo. I should be able to choose who I work with.”

“I think you’ve forgotten the fine print in your contract,” I said, reaching across the desk to offer his hand a gentle squeeze. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this. Can’t you make an exception...for me?”

Minho sighed, and I offered my absolute best pout in return.

“You’re lucky that I love you.”

Later that afternoon, I was surprised to meet Mr. Kim in the elevator on my way to the lobby. It was heavily rumored around the office that 3racha’s manager was notorious for locking himself away in the studio with his favorite clients. “Y/N,” he greeted me. “Are you busy?”

“Not really,” I said, holding up a folder. “I was bringing some files to Mr. Park.”

“Leave them with his secretary,” Mr. Kim insisted. “I thought it might be a good idea for you to meet my clients since we’ll be working together.”

“Minho is busy with an interview right now.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Mr Kim said. “Maybe it’s better if you talk to them first?”

I considered his offer, noting the disheveled appearance of his suit. “How long have you been trying to find me?”

“Does right now work for you?” he continued, pointedly ignoring my question.

“If you must insist,” I grumbled. “But they’ll have to meet at some point.”

“Yes, but I think we can delay the inevitable,” Mr. Kim said with a pointed look which I knew was directed at my husband.

“Fine.”

My easy agreement was met with a satisfied smirk to which I resisted the urge to remind Mr. Kim that I was only meeting his clients to make things easier for everyone involved in the collaboration. Of course, I had no room to talk down to my superiors and Mr. Kim’s credentials were practically golden compared to the minimal mark I had left on the company and its prolific talent. Instead, I let out a shaky exhale, wondering if it was too late to reconsider the fight I endured on a regular basis to keep my position with the company.

“Here we are,” Mr. Kim grinned. The elevator stopped on the top floor with a resounding alarm. “I think you’ll find my clients to be satisfactory.”

“In comparison to Minho, you mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes as Mr. Kim urged me to follow him down a narrow hallway. I vaguely recognized our destination, but I usually never lingered around the studios.

“Did I say that?”

“It was implied,” I sighed, crossing my arms.

“Well, that wasn’t my intention, Y/N. You, of course, understand that nothing between us is personal?”

“We’re colleagues, Mr. Kim,” I replied. “That defines our relationship.”

“In that case...” he trailed off, pausing outside one of the doors. “I’m excited to work together.”

I rolled my eyes when he turned his back, but held my tongue as he reached for my hand to drag me inside the room. Immediately, my eyes were drawn to the plethora of monitors and screens dragging the walls of the entertainment studio. It reminded me of my early time as an intern during college, overwhelmed by the inner workings of the record company I was privileged to support, learning everything about the business. There was also a time, however briefly, when I first entered my current company as nothing more than an executive assistant for Mr. Kim who enjoyed reminding me of the fact, especially when his clients continued to eclipse mine in popularity. And that included the three men who offered us polite smiles when we interrupted their session. 

“Y/N,” Mr. Kim said, dragging me further into the room. “I thought it might be nice to formally offer introductions. I’d like you to meet Bang Chan, Han Jisung, and Seo Changbin.”

“I’m very excited,” I said, taking on a professional tone as I extended my hand to Chan. “My client is looking forward to your future collaboration.”

Chan accepted my outstretched hand, curling his fingers around mine. “Likewise.”

I withdrew my hand slowly, offering Jisung and Changbin a courteous nod. “Mr. Kim insisted that we meet today.”

“Yes,” Chan nodded. “But your client is noticeably absent.”

I swallowed hard as I met his gaze. “Minho is busy with an interview.”

“I see,” Chan remarked, taking a step back. “Well, 3racha is working until this evening. Perhaps Minho could join us here after his meeting.”

I turned around to look at Mr. Kim who only shrugged in response as if it hadn’t been his idea to keep Minho as far away as possible until necessary. I rolled my shoulders, schooling my expression as I gave Chan an airy laugh. “That only makes sense, doesn’t it? Let me send him a message.”

“In the meantime,” Changbin sighed from behind us. “We can continue with the recording.”

“Keep us updated, Y/N,” Chan said, returning to his work while I started on drafting a message for Minho.

To Minho: Tell me when your interview ends

“Y/N,” Mr. Kim cleared his throat. “I hope Minho’s schedule is cleared for tomorrow?

I raised one eyebrow in question. “Tomorrow?”

“We’d like to start the first recording session,” Chan replied. “Mr. Park played us some of Minho’s demo and we have some ideas for the track.”

“Oh,” I responded, completely out of my element when it came to the actual creation of music despite the many nights I spent with Minho in our home studio. “I’m sure we can make it work.”

“Perfect,” Mr. Kim declared, pulling out his cellphone with a grin. “I’ll make the arrangements on my end.”

Mr. Kim stepped out into the hallway, leaving me alone with his clients who were all watching me with barely concealed curiosity. “You know,” Chan started, “I’ve listened to Minho’s albums. He doesn’t seem like the type of person to write love songs.”

“He likes to experiment,” I said, blushing when I recalled the way he had intimately explained the meaning behind his new demo, but there was no way I was telling anyone that the song was about me. 

“Is he...open to criticism?” Jisung asked hesitantly.

“Why? Is there something wrong with the demo?”

“Of course not!” Jisung immediately corrected. “I just thought I’d ask because we have some cool suggestions to improve the overall quality. But I don’t know if Minho would listen.”

It was highly unlikely. “I’m sure he’s open for improvement,” I lied, wincing when I felt my phone vibrate from inside my pocket.

Minho: Call me.

“One second, gentlemen,” I said, cringing at my tone before escaping into the hallway. I held up my cell phone reluctantly, tapping on Minho’s contact name to place the call. He answered almost immediately. “Minho?”

“Sweetheart,” came his voice from the other end. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah,” I said with a heavy exhale. “I’m with 3racha.”

He was silent on the other end for an uncomfortable duration. “Why?”

“Mr. Kim caught me on the way to Mr. Park’s office,” I said. “He insisted we meet.”

“Really? Are you having fun?”

I inwardly groaned at Minho’s tone, recognizing it as the same one he reserved when he was feeling particularly annoyed. “They want to meet you too.”

I was met with another long silence and then- “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I paced outside the studio entrance, wondering if Minho had suddenly had a change of heart in the brief amount of time he had been notified of the collaboration project. After all, everything would be a lot easier if my husband wasn’t so stubborn, a perfectionist in every sense of the word who had trouble delegating work to other people, especially when he didn’t trust them. But for this to be successful, Minho would need to respect 3racha as capable artists who knew what they were doing when it came to creating hit singles.

“This feels more like an intervention,” Minho suddenly announced, trudging down the hallway and pulling me out of my foreboding thoughts.

“Then don’t give me a reason to be nervous,” I said, accepting his brief kiss before reaching out for the door handle. “Promise me you’ll behave?”

“I’ll try,” Minho grumbled, and that was the only confirmation I received before letting the literal beast into the jungle..

Chan was the first to realize Minho’s arrival, standing up from the couch to greet Minho with a professional smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Minho glared at Chan’s outstretched hand. “I’m not thrilled about this collaboration.”

I shook my head, resisting the urge to grab Minho’s hand and force him to feign politeness for once in his life. “Oh,” Chan said, retracting his arm. “I just thought we should get along since we’re working together.”

“A temporary arrangement,” Minho said, clicking his tongue as he turned around to look at me. “Y/N can handle the PR stuff.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I quipped, trying to lighten the air even though Minho had more or less successfully generated enough tension to last a lifetime. 

“Mr. Lee, my clients were hoping to schedule a session tomorrow,” Mr. Kim said. “We’d like to start on the collaboration as soon as possible.”

“Sure,” Minho said, jaw clenching to betray that he wasn’t entirely happy. “I’d like to work quickly.”

A long, insufferable silence ensued while Minho took his time studying the three artists he was expected to share his newest creation. Finally, Mr. Kim interrupted the never-ending staring contest, flashing a forced smile. “Bring the demo with you, Mr. Lee, and anything else you’ve been working on.”

Minho nodded. “I’ve already finished most of the song.” I took a deep breath, waiting until Minho turned around to look at me. “I have something to do, so I’ll see you at home.”

I bowed my head, holding my tongue until the sound of the door closing broke whatever spell Minho had cast over our sullen group. “Pleasant isn’t he?” Changbin snorted.

“He’s just busy,” I tried to excuse, but the sentiment fell short and I suddenly had the desire to run down the hall with my arms flailing above my head.

I guess we can consider day one a complete and total failure.

Despite the awkward tension of Minho’s first meeting with 3racha, I was determined that the remainder of the collaboration would endure no further obstacles. Accordingly, I woke up early the next morning with every intention of playing the part of the mediator, which meant doing everything possible to improve Minho’s mood. For example, my husband was notorious for being intimidating at work, but he was nothing short of soft at home and I took advantage of his early-morning clinginess by surprising him with breakfast in bed and open arms without worrying about rushing through our usual routine. 

“You want something,” Minho said, one arm pulling me close to his chest while his other hand made busy work of his breakfast.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“In general? Maybe it’s the fact that we’re already twenty minutes behind schedule and you aren’t losing your shit.”

I opened one eye, watching him as he swallowed down the remainder of his orange juice. “I’m comfortable.”

“Really?” Minho snickered, looking down with a knowing glance. “Sweetheart, you’re usually pushing me out the door right about now.”

“Well, things have been hectic at the company, so I thought it might be nice to treat ourselves.”

“I assume you’re talking about my required collaboration with the three idiots,” Minho said. 

“I’m concerned,” I continued. “Minho, you hate working with the other artists, but this isn’t something we can just walk away from.”

“I understand,” Minho sighed. “I don’t want you to worry about me or the collaboration. I promise to be a good boy.”

I rolled my eyes at his tone. “That’s a great way to instill confidence.”

“They’re irritating,” Minho continued. “My inbox is full of messages and I hate email.”

“Welcome to the 21st century.”

“Are you sure Mr. Park wanted this?”

“Minho,” I said, slowly pulling myself out of his arms. “Stop thinking about the project like it’s some sort of punishment. Consider it an opportunity instead.”

“Please feel free to elaborate.”

“3racha are incredibly famous and they have a considerable fanbase,” I said. “When those fans hear your voice on the record, they might start paying more attention to your music.”

Minho exhaled, chest falling beneath my hands. “I see your point, but I don’t like it.”

“Nobody said you had to like it,” I reminded him. “Be nice to them.”

“What are you asking me to do?” my husband groaned, rolling over onto his stomach.

I quickly straddled his waist, working my fingers into the tense muscles of his shoulders. “I know you don’t like the collaboration, but it won’t last forever and then you can go back to working on your solo projects.”

“I guess, but only if you come to all the recording sessions.”

I grinned triumphantly, even if it was only one victory in a long history of tedious arguments with my stubborn husband. 

Mr. Kim was a very impatient man, and I was only somewhat surprised to see him standing by the main entrance when we finally arrived at the company.  “Minho, you needed to be in the recording studio...” he trailed off, glancing at his wristwatch with a frown. “Ten minutes ago.”

My husband scoffed. “I don’t work on your time, Mr. Kim.”

“We had a late start,” I intervened. “I’ll make sure he gets there soon, Mr. Kim.”

The older man grunted, clearly displeased with Minho’s behavior. Thankfully, Minho had the decency to wait until he was well out of hearing range before further disparaging Mr. Kim’s character. “Sweetheart, I’m doing this for you,” Minho said, glaring over my shoulder at Mr. Kim’s retreating form. “But I don’t appreciate being told what to do.”

“That’s how he is,” I said. “I used to work for him as an assistant. He was always keeping everyone busy. Time wasted is money lost.”

Minho snickered at my poor imitation of Mr. Kim’s accent. “I’d kick his skinny ass if I was any less patient.”

I resisted the urge to laugh at Minho’s “restraint” because my husband was notorious for acting without consideration for the consequences. “Don’t be late for your first recording session.”

Minho pouted, looking down at me with wide, brown eyes. “You aren’t coming?”

“I’ll be there soon,” I promised him with a quick kiss. “I have something to do first.”

Minho was hesitant to leave me behind, but I offered him another encouraging kiss before retreating in the opposite direction to my office. It seemed that I would need reinforcements for this particular occasion, and I knew there were only two men who I could force to help me. As such, I found Jeongin and Seungmin loitering around their desks, passing back and forth what appeared to be a paper airplane. “I wasn’t aware I made any prior aviation requests.”

Jeongin let out a small whine, quickly disposing of the distraction in the bin next to his desk. “Sorry, Mrs. Lee.”

“Look, I’m actually in a hurry today and there’s too much going on for me to handle your hijinks,” I said, beckoning the interns to follow me into my office. “I have an important assignment for you.”

“Of course!” Seungmin agreed, walking ahead to grab the door. “Whatever you need, Mrs. Lee.”

“It’s about Minho.”

“Lee Minho?”

I turned around to glare at Jeongin. “Who else? Or did I receive notice of another client with the same name?”

Jeongin shook his head furiously. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lee. It’s just...”

“Minho has a history with interns,” Seungmin finished. “And maybe people in general.”

I laughed at their suggestions. “You’ll be with me the entire time, alright?”

They both visibly relaxed. “So we don’t have to help him?”

“Not directly,” I affirmed, moving around my desk. “Sit down, boys.” They both complied quickly, looking up at me with wide and innocent eyes that reminded me of my days in university. “Minho and 3racha have a recording session scheduled for this afternoon.”

Jeongin squealed from his chair. “The 3racha! I love their music! Oh, do you think it’d be too much to ask for an autograph?”

Upon seeing my glare, Jeongin quickly apologized. “Would it be too much to resist that urge, Mr. Yang?”

The younger boy sighed. “Sorry, Mrs. Lee.”

“Anyway,” I continued, ignoring their antics. “I have your assignments.”

Seungmin leaned forward expectantly. “Whatever you need, Mrs. Lee!”

“Your job,” I said, glancing back and forth between Jeongin and Seungmin, “is to make sure that Minho doesn’t piss off 3racha.”

“How?” Jeongin asked with sad eyes that almost forced me to change my mind on the spot.

“Just make sure you’re at their recording sessions with me,” I said. “Intervene whenever it seems like they might argue.”

“Intervene?”

I sighed impatiently. “I don’t know, improvise or something, but nothing bad needs to happen or Mr. Park will chew my ass out for disrupting a perfectly good collaboration opportunity.”

Seungmin and Jeongin looked at each other before sighing in defeat. “Does this mean we’ll be getting a raise?”

Here’s the thing about my job: despite Minho’s insistence, he was not the only client I represented. For example, I was also currently working on the debut of a new boy group who were incredibly talented and highly charismatic. They were also obedient and respectful, doing whatever they could to make my job easier even though I never asked them to sacrifice their free-time to practice their dancing and singing. When I worked with their leader, I couldn’t help but think that my job was considerably easier in comparison to the extra effort sometimes required to fix Minho’s mistakes, like the time he showed up an hour late for an interview because I forgot to set the alarm in our bedroom. Nonetheless, it always seemed like I was doing something extra to remedy Minho’s abrasive nature, which explains why I was prepared to sacrifice two of the company’s interns for the betterment of the future.

“Are you ready?” I asked the younger boys, lingering by the doorway to the studio.

Seungmin managed a nod while Jeongin murmured something that I decided to interpret as his approval. I knocked on the door expectantly, slightly relieved when Minho greeted me on the other side. “There you are,” he said. “We couldn’t possibly start without you.”

I rolled my eyes, but followed him inside with my interns hot on my heels. Minho retired to the couch, hunched over his laptop as he worked with a frown. Meanwhile, Chan, Jisung, and Changbin were busy adjusting the sound equipment while Mr. Kim watched his clients with eager eyes.

“Stay here,” I said to my nervous interns before joining Minho on the couch. “Do you actually plan to help them?”

“Believe it or not, Y/N,” Minho said. “I’m not actually procrastinating...just putting the finishing touches on the initial demo.”

He lifted one of the earbuds, offering it to me with a grin. “Are you trying to ask me something?”

Minho scoffed. “Will you please listen to my finished demo?”

I snatched the earbud from him in response, plugging my right ear and blocking out the lingering noise from the studio. The soft cadence of the piano started to play from the computer, shortly followed by Minho’s familiar breathy vocals that never ceased to amaze me. My husband was gifted with a profoundly gorgeous voice that could reach high notes that even I would struggle to obtain.

“My voice sounds angelic, wouldn’t you agree?” Minho asked.

“I see your ego has somehow managed to grow overnight.”

Minho chuckled, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to my lips. “Don’t worry, I don't intend to sabotage the collaboration...I worked too hard on this demo.”

“I guess we can start then,” I said, stretching my arms high above my head as I waited for Minho to eject his flash drive. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Jisung approaching the two of us with a hesitant smile. “Good morning, Jisung,” I said, nudging Minho when he continued to remain silent.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, holding up the flashdrive. “I prepared most of the song.”

“Really?” Jisung questioned, accepting the device from Minho. “I’d like to listen.”

Jisung returned to the sound booth and Chan accepted the flash drive with a brief glance over his shoulder at Minho. My husband remained silent while Chan opened the corresponding file on the computer and everyone listened with admirable concentration while Minho’s sweet music and tender voice filled the empty studio space.

“It’s good,” Changbin acknowledged at the end, even though his tone was somewhat reluctant.

“Good enough on its own,” Minho muttered and I shot him a warning look. “Fine,” he begrudged. “I have some ideas on the arrangements.”

“Sure,” Chan nodded, leaning back against the sound booth. 

“We can split up the parts,” Minho continued. “I’ll handle the chorus.”

“I see,” Chan acknowledged. “I guess that means you want us to take the verses?”

“Logical, isn’t it?” Minho snarked. “I suppose you can add a rap verse or two since that’s your...thing.”

“I could try and sing as well,” Jisung offered. “We could harmonize over the final chorus.”

“You sing?” Minho snorted. “I thought you were a rap group.”

“Does that automatically disqualify us from being singers?” Changbin asked gruffly.

“Of course not!” I interfered, inserting myself effectively between Minho and Changbin. “I’ve heard some of your vocal work and it’s absolutely beautiful.”

Minho grumbled something indecipherable under his breath from behind me, but I ignored him and continued to do my absolute best to ensure the recording session progressed as smoothly as possible. “I hope you don’t mind, but my interns will also be joining us today for their field work.”

“That’s fine with me,” Chan spoke up from his position behind the sound station. “Should we start with finalizing arrangements?”

I ushered Minho forward whose expression revealed his reluctance. However, since he was on his best behavior, Minho started conversing with Chan and the others about arranging the vocals and rap verses for the song. In return, I sat down on the couch with my interns since I wasn’t skilled enough to comprehend their impressive knowledge of song production. I knew Mr. Kim was also quite unfamiliar with their vernacular, but the proud man continued to linger around the artists as if he could possibly offer something beneficial to the professionals.

I scoffed at the idea, turning to look at Seungmin who was busy playing some sort of application on his phone. “Is this your way of doing a good job?”

He jumped at the sound of my voice, closing out of his game before shoving his phone back into his pocket. “I’m paying attention!”

From my other side, Jeongin sighed happily. “Han has the best voice.”

I tried not to laugh at Jeongin’s starstruck expression, especially since Han Jisung was a very impressive vocalist, singing Minho’s lyrics like they had come from his own imagination. “He’s quite talented,” I agreed, studying my husband to try and determine if he also shared the same opinion.

But Minho was difficult to read when he was focused on his music. He never spoke during Han’s performance, waiting until the younger boy was finished before addressing him expectantly from the recording booth. Minho sighed, pressing the button to allow him to speak directly to Jisung. “It was alright for a rapper.”

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the wall as Jisung glowered at Minho. “I’m not just a rapper.”

“The tone isn’t right,” Minho carried on as if Jisung hadn’t spoken, “we need tighter vocals.”

“My vocals are fine!” Jisung bristled and I shoved at Jeongin’s arm who immediately jumped into action. The younger intern stood up abruptly, the unexpected action commanding the attention of the entire studio...

“Who wants coffee!”

I sighed at his dramatics, but it was a decent distraction. “Why not?” Chan asked, reclining back in his chair. “It seems like we have a lot of work to do.”

Sadly, truer words had never been spoken.

Graciously, Minho managed to keep his more radical opinions to himself for the remainder of our scheduled recording sessions with 3racha. Of course, my husband always had his ways of insinuating an insult through carefully chosen words. Nonetheless, I think all parties involved knew it would be to everyone’s benefit if we finished recording the new song without arguing about Minho’s dismissive comments. 

In any case, Mr. Park was thrilled with the final result, inviting me and Mr. Kim to his office after listening to the finished product. “This is exactly what I envisioned,” he said with a bright smile. “The fans will love this!”

“It was a process, sir,” I admitted, sheepishly offering Mr. Kim what I hoped was a sincere apology.

“I’ve scheduled a shooting day for the music video,” Mr. Park said. “I have the perfect concept for the song!”

“I’m sure it’s brilliant, sir,” Mr. Kim added.

“Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin have agreed to choreograph the track,” Mr. Park said. “They have some very interesting ideas for your clients.”

It was only then when I remembered that Minho liked to arrange his own dances, but since we were already this far into the collaboration, he might reluctantly agree once more. “We’ll be there,” I reassured my boss.

Unfortunately, I knew it would be a horrible shooting day when I walked outside with Minho and saw a gray sky and light misting of rain. “This is already a mess,” I said, dragging my still sleepy husband to the car. 

“How long will this take?” Minho grumbled.

“If you’re willing to cooperate,” I said, fixing him with a stern glance, “then I’d imagine we can finish by this evening.”

Minho yawned. “I hate music video shoots.”

“You poor thing,” I sighed. “Whenever you finally decide to become a director, then I’m certain you’ll insist on controlling that aspect of music production as well.”

“I feel like you understand my vision, Y/N,” Minho said with an airy laugh. “I’m too tired to argue today.”

I exhaled a sigh of relief, hoping that he was being honest. “Mr. Park invited the company’s best choreographers. Please don’t insist on doing your own performance.”

“As long as they won’t have me doing anything less than artistic,” Minho said. “We should be fine.”

I chose not to take my husband’s words to heart as we drove to the shooting sight together in silence. It had started to steadily rain the longer we drove, and I had a feeling that the sky itself was foreshadowing the impending breakdown threatening to destroy all the progress we made. But I was also an optimist, and Minho was usually the least abrasive when it came to shooting music videos.

I parked my car next to the company’s van, watching a few regular staff members unload equipment from the back. “Y/N, it’s not too late for us to drive to that adorable little breakfast restaurant we like so much,” Minho reminded me.

“Shoot the video and I’ll treat you to a gourmet dinner,” I said, reaching across the console to squeeze my husband’s hand. 

He was still reluctant, but I was proud when he reached into the backseat for our umbrella. We stood close together, Minho’s hand firm around my waist. In the distance, I easily found Mr. Kim talking with his clients as they fought to stay dry under one of the company’s tents.

Mr. Kim saw me first, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Y/N, you’ve decided to keep us waiting again.”

“Blame it on the weather,” I said, closing the umbrella as Minho wandered over to talk with one of the directors.

“Oh! You mean the rain pushing us into a delay? I guess I didn’t notice,” Mr. Kim returned, rolling his eyes as he led me further into the crowd of people. I faintly recognized the younger men dressed in gorgeous outfits, recalling their appearance in various music videos from some of the company’s most distinguished artists. “Y/N,” Mr. Kim smiled. “I’d like you to meet Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin. They have some excellent suggestions for the music video.”

“The honor is mine,” I said, bowing respectfully to Felix and Hyunjin. “Minho is eager to work with you.”

Felix smirked. “You don’t have to lie to us, Mrs. Lee. We know your husband prefers to work alone.”

“Ah,” I murmured. “His reputation precedes him.”

“I hope he can appreciate our efforts,” Hyunjin added. “Felix and I have been working on some new choreography for the track.”

“He’s being compliant today,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“There isn’t much of a choice,” Mr. Kim said, startling when the director attempted to speak over the white-noise of the tent’s occupants.

“Attention! We’re starting inside the school for the first scene.”

I met Minho’s eyes over the crowd of moving staff, nodding for him to obey the director’s command. “What’s the concept, Mr. Kim?”

“Friends-to-lovers?” Mr. Kim shrugged. “Your pretty husband is the main character, which I’m sure will please him greatly.”

“It’s a high school setting?”

“Yes, and he has a crush on a school girl,” Mr. Kim said. “You should know this very well, Mrs. Lee, didn’t he seduce you in the same way?”

I ignored his jab. “And 3racha?”

“Protective friends, I guess,” Mr. Kim said. “The director assured me that it wouldn’t take long to film.”

“I hope not,” I said. “The less Minho has to be here, the better.”

“Cut!” the director growled. “Mr. Lee, this is not the same choreography that we discussed with Felix and Hyunjin.”

“I tried to improvise,” my husband defended himself.

There were less than two scenes left to film and I was very close to dragging Minho away from the film shooting and knocking some sense into him. “Follow the script we discussed,” the director said. “Let’s take five.”

Chan glared at Minho as he snatched a bottle of water from the snack table. “Is it too much to ask you to cooperate, Minho?”

My husband ignored Chan, pausing in front of me to bring his forehead against mine. “I’m tired.”

I shot Chan an apologetic smile as I smoothed my hands through Minho’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled back to look at Chan who was engrossed in conversation with Jisung and Changbin. “He’s impossible to work with.”

“What’s wrong now?” I sighed, feeling another impending headache courtesy of Minho’s behavior.

“I hate Bang Chan,” Minho said. “He keeps looking at your ass.”

“Who cares?” I nearly shouted, attracting the attention of a few camera workers. “Minho, the shooting is almost over. Please, for the sake of my mental sanity, can you try to listen to the director?”

Minho’s eyes betrayed his exhaustion. “I want greasy food for dinner and a cheesy movie when I get home.”

I laughed, amused by Minho’s behavior. “Whatever you want.”

“Minho!” the director yelled. “We need you back on set.”

Minho closed his eyes and sighed. “He’s lucky I’m a professional.”

I was lingering by the snack table, picking my way through the bowl of skittles because I only liked the red kind, when I heard the unexpected sound of yelling from somewhere inside the school. My husband’s voice was easy to detect about the noise, and I stuffed a handful of candies into my mouth before deciding to investigate. As much as I’d like to imagine that the yelling was a part of the music video, common sense told me that my husband had likely gotten into another confrontation with the director.

However, the last thing I expected to see was Minho marching through the open doors of the school with Chan following him with clear annoyance. “I’m telling you it’s not good enough,” Chan said, frowning when Minho stopped by my side.

“I don’t want to film it again,” Minho said. “Besides, your reaction was genuine. The best ‘acting’ you’ve done all day.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” Minho said, glaring at Chan as he reached for my hand. “The collaboration required a song and we have a finished copy and a music video. I’ve done my part, so if you’ll kindly excuse my wife and I...”

Chan shook his head. “Do whatever you want, Minho. I don’t care anymore.... But the sad part in all of this is how much I was sincerely excited to work with you, despite your reputation.”

Minho seemed at a loss for words, glancing back and forth between me and Chan. “I can’t share your sentiment, Chan,” he finally said. “I think it’s best if we make this a one time thing.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Chan agreed with a disappointed sigh.

I could only helplessly stand aside as the two bickered, wondering if it was too late to formally retire.

Sunday was the only day of the week where I could actually enjoy myself without having to worry about the company or the never-ending demands of my clients, with the exception of my husband. “Y/N,” Minho slurred from next to me in our bed.

I made a vague noise of recognition, pulling the blankets closer to my chin because it was too cold in the apartment. “What?”

“Your phone is vibrating,” Minho said, and I managed to crane my head back just enough to realize that he was right.

I reached out my hand to feel for the stupid thing on the nightstand, pulling it close enough to read the message displayed across the screen:

From Mr. Kim: Mr. Park planned some sort of elaborate interview/performance for the new collaboration. Make sure Minho is at the company tomorrow by noon.

“Who is it?” Minho asked, using one arm to drag me closer to his welcoming heat.

“Mr. Kim,” I murmured in return.

“Why?” Minho growled.

“Apparently, you have an interview with 3racha tomorrow. Mr. Park wants a live performance for the debut of the collaboration.”

“I thought I was done with them,” Minho said with a tone that suggested he was anything but pleased with the news.

“It’s just one performance,” I argued. “And you promised me that you would finish all your responsibilities.”

“You keep adding more things,” Minho gruffed.

I smirked, rolling onto my side to face my husband. “I think it’s a great idea to let the fans hear it live on the same day it starts streaming.”

“Can’t they just play the recording of my parts?”

“It won’t be the same,” I said, leaning in closer to brush my lips across the seam of his pout. “I’ll be the loudest fan screaming your name from the back.”

He chuckled, allowing one hand to pull me in closer. “Aren’t you always my biggest fan?”

“Lee Know, will you sign my albums?”

“You’re a good negotiator, sweetheart,” he said, diving in for a passionate kiss that reminded me of when we first started dating and Minho was always eager to shower me with affection. 

“Minho,” I gasped, barely restraining a moan when he suddenly moved between my thighs.

“I’m sorry I’ve made things difficult,” he said, pressing sweet kisses to the skin around my calves. Tender moments like this reminded me of the person I fell in love with, slowly learning that there was more to Minho than his arrogant stage persona. 

“Please,” I whispered, helping him remove my sweatpants before weaving my fingers through his hair.

“Anything for you,” Minho said, breath hot against my sensitive skin. He stuck out his tongue, tasting the heat between my legs with languid strokes that promised the best wake-up call to start the day. Not that Minho and I did anything substantial on Sundays since we preferred to watch movies and indulge in the glorious high of junk food.

More often than not, we always ended up in this position with my husband doing his best to please me. And I had no room to complain because Minho was awfully talented with his tongue, and he had me writhing against the mattress like a complete mess. “You’re too good at this,” I complained halfheartedly.

His nails dug into my hips, holding me in place while he continued to drive me over the edge. “Are you going to cum for me?”

I always broke at his husky tone, lying spent in my post-orgasmic haze as Minho feathered light kisses across my legs. In moments like this, it was impossible to think about the negative aspects of working for the company, or the drama of the collaboration. Besides, it was only one more day and Minho never broke his promises.

I found a strange, but calming quality to pacing back and forth when I came across a problem that was incredibly difficult to solve. For example, arriving at the office early to prepare last minute forms while fully expecting my husband to show up to his scheduled interview and performance without my intervention. Yet, despite my expectations, I was currently backstage with Mr. Kim and his clients while we listened to a crowd of eager fans waiting to hear the new collaboration. Unfortunately, my husband was nowhere to be seen, and that meant our schedule was in jeopardy.

“Where’s Minho?” Mr. Kim nearly screeched, raking his hands through his balding hair while remaining heavily engrossed in his phone screen.

The performance was supposed to start ten minutes ago and the fans were clearly confused. A distinct murmuring of intermingled voices echoing throughout the soundless concert hall. “Y/N?”

I turned around, using every last ounce of strength I could muster to meet Chan’s gaze. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Is that so?” Chan asked, and the anger in his eyes was enough to nearly give me a premature heart attack.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, desperately ringing Minho’s number once again only to be met by the familiar greeting of his voicemail inbox.

“I knew that bastard would ruin this,” Changbin said. “He was determined from the start to see this fail.”

“It was one performance,” Jisung bemoaned, and I could only feel absolutely miserable listening to their shared complaints. But, in the words of my formidable boss, the show must go on and I couldn’t bear to disappoint the eager fans waiting to hear the song they loved.

Speaking of which, I reached out a hand to support myself against the wall when I saw Mr. Park walk backstage with his assistants. Our eyes met from across the room. “Mr. Park,” I managed, but my throat was suddenly dry despite the three empty bottles of water I had consumed.

“Y/N,” Mr. Park sighed, eliminating the distance between us. “Tell them to have 3racha perform without Minho. Our phone conversation today has certainly changed my mind about the viability of his collaboration.”

“You talked to him?” I growled, feeling nothing short of betrayed since my husband had repeatedly ignored my phone calls.

“We’ve reached an impasse,” Mr. Park explained solemnly. “Please tell Mr. Kim about the change.”

“But sir!” I tried to protest because I was extremely confused and had no idea what we needed to tell the fans.

However, Mr. Park was already focused on a new task and instead of delaying the inevitable, I found Mr. Kim talking urgently to a stage hand next to the curtain. “Introduce 3racha,” I said. “Tell them that Minho had an unexpected emergency.”

Mr. Kim, if it was even possible, grew even redder to the point where I hesitated to call for help backstage. “This is an outrage!” he finally growled, crowding me against the wall. “If this goes wrong, then I hope you know that it’s entirely your husband’s fault and his mistakes reflect poorly on your performance.

I bowed my head, because I knew that part of the blame rested on my shoulders as Minho’s manager, especially in regard to the mysterious phone call he shared with Mr. Park. In the meantime, I could hear the crowd cheer for the arrival of 3racha who performed to the best of their ability without my husband. Still, it broke my heart to know that he had somehow been excused from the performance after promising to complete the remainder of his responsibilities. 

But I still wanted to give Minho the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps something happened when I left for the company and he was forced to call Mr. Park? Still, my optimism didn’t stop my hands from shaking from my grip around the steering wheel, pulling into my usual parking spot with a heavy sigh. Before our marriage, there were plenty of times when Minho tested my patience. For example, on multiple occasions I had come very close to handing in my request to have him transferred to someone else because he was sometimes impossible to handle. However, each time I would threaten to leave, Minho always convinced me to stay, turning his entire attitude around and doing his best to make up for his mistakes. He was usually successful, but today’s mishap forced me to question whether or not he was capable of recovering from this unexpected slight. And it wouldn’t just jeopardize my relationship with him as his manager, but also the close intimacy I shared with him as his wife.

I paused at the door to our apartment, trying to listen for any sound of movement from inside. “He’ll have a good excuse,” I attempted to justify, unlocking the door before dragging my feet into the entryway. “Minho?” I called out, greeting nothing but silence before I walked downstairs to his studio where Minho often liked to escape when he wanted to be alone.

I was surprised to see him inside, working on his computer as if today was just another ordinary session. “Minho,” I snapped, opening the door without bothering to knock. “We need to talk.”

Minho sighed, glancing away from his computer screen. “I know Mr. Park cancelled my performance.”

“Yeah? And you don’t think that there’s something wrong!”

“Y/N, don’t worry about the interview,” he replied. “Park called me earlier and told me he would take care of everything.”

I slowly exhaled. “I know he called you, but I don’t understand why it happened.”

“He said it wouldn’t be the last time I was involved with marketing,” Minho continued. “I told him I was under the impression that today would be the last performance. We argued for a while and he told me that I shouldn’t bother showing up today if I wasn’t committed to the project.”

I blinked twice, trying to process his words. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, barely restraining the anger. “I called you several times before Mr. Park showed up backstage.”

“I knew you’d be disappointed,” Minho said with a vulnerable tone I could hardly tolerate. “It’s not a big deal. Park knows about everything, and tomorrow we can forget about the collaboration.”

He looked at me like he was expecting me to just agree with him, but I was beyond words. Instead, I turned my back to him and retreated upstairs to our bedroom. I had fought with my husband before, but this was an entirely new level of anger and frustration.

I could hear Minho following me, but I refused to acknowledge his attempts to gain my attention. “You’re an asshole sometimes,” I growled, storming around the bedroom to find a spare set of sheets in the closet. “Let me know when you’re done being the world’s biggest jerk.”

“What are you doing?” Minho asked, blocking my path to the doorway. “We’re not done talking about this if you’re upset.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m done and you don’t always get your way,” I snapped, pushing past my husband into the living room.

“Y/N,” Minho said, reaching for my arm despite my attempts to ignore him. “I’m sorry.”

“No you aren’t,” I said, spinning around on my heel to confront him. “If you were sorry, then you’d try to make things right, but your ego has grown to such a monumental size that you can’t even accept the added weight of another mistake.”

“What are you saying?”

“You can’t make this right,” I said, tears obscuring the vision of my husband. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, expression transforming completely when he realized I was truly on the verge of a breakdown. “You know I’m not mad at you! Park knows everything, he was the one who told me not to show up!”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cried. “I asked you to do something that’s surprisingly simple for most people. Not because I wanted to punish you, but because I saw an opportunity to help Lee Know! But after the stunt you pulled today, I don’t think I’d bother helping you anymore.”

The single tear that fell from Minho’s eye would have normally been enough for me to recognize his guilt, but I wasn’t in the mood to fall back into the tedious cycle of forgiving him only to deal with another mishap in the future. “Y/N,” he said softly. “Please don’t leave me.”

I shook my head. “I need some time to think about things.”

“What do you mean?” he asked with a desperate tone. “We should talk about this, I can make it better!”

“Just let me sleep,” I begged him and he broke even more, releasing my hand with an uncharacteristic whine.

I tossed my blanket onto the couch, attempting to find a comfortable position on the leather. It was a far cry from the mattress in our bedroom, but I desperately needed space away from Minho. For now, I didn’t want to deal with the reality of our situation, which is why I was more than willing to drown myself in the familiar darkness of sleep.

The smell of bacon was surprisingly overwhelming when I woke up the next morning with lower back pain. I groaned, attempting to sit up despite the near constant throbbing. Apparently, leather sofas were built for style instead of comfort.

I opened my eyes slowly, feeling my heart jump inside my chest when I saw Minho holding a plate in my direction. “Y/N, are you okay?”

I swiped a hand across my face, remembering my argument with Minho from the previous evening. “I’m fine.”

“You should eat,” he insisted so I accepted the plate from him, shaking my head when I realized the toast was burnt, but Minho had never been a great cook. “I want to talk about last night,” Minho said. “Because you’re obviously hurt and that’s the last thing I wanted.”

“What did you expect?” I asked. “You weren’t there for the performance, you ignored my calls, and then my boss tells me that one of his artists decided he was done promoting his new single?”

Minho winced at my tone. “It’s all my fault because I decided to take everything personally. He forced me to do the collaboration when I didn’t want to participate, and it felt like he was taunting me...like I had no control over my music and he could do whatever he wanted.”

“He can, Minho,” I said. “You signed a contract with the company.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I keep forgetting that part, and it’s really stupid how much I let it affect me, but I hate it when things are out of my control.”

“But that’s no reason to take it on the people who were only trying to do their job,” I snapped. “Or refuse to tell your own wife!”

“I understand,” Minho nodded. “I was too caught up in my problems to realize that everyone was suffering because of my decisions.”

“What are you going to do about it?” I asked, holding my breath because I was dreading his answer.

“I’ll apologize to them,” Minho said, hanging his head in shame. “I need you to know that I’m sorry for everything.”

My heart broke at the sorrowful expression he wore, completely uncharacteristic of my husband...as was his decision to apologize since I halfway expected Minho to threaten his leave from the company. However, I also sometimes forgot that Minho was more than the way he acted around other people, and his sincerity was perfectly evident for me to recognize. “I know you are, but sometimes you do things without thinking about the consequences.”

“I’m aware,” he chuckled. “And I usually don’t really care, but that’s selfish...especially when it hurts you.”

“It is selfish,” I agreed. “How do I know you won’t do this again in the future?”

“Because I’ll remind myself of this moment,” he said. “I’ll remember what happened last night and do whatever I can to prevent it from happening again.”

I was stunned by his determination. “Are you really going to apologize to everyone?”

“I am,” he nodded. “Of course, your forgiveness matters the most.”

I took a deep breath, processing his words and the steady way he continued to hold my gaze. “You know I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against my lips. “I need you more than anything else in the world.”

My heart warmed at his declaration. “I wonder what everyone at the company would think if they saw how cheesy you are.”

“Are you going to tell on me?”

“Not as long as you behave,” I returned, laughing at the way he held me tighter, feeling nothing short of safe and secure in his familiar embrace.

Mr. Kim was surprisingly calm when I requested a meeting between our clients. In fact, I was shocked that he even accommodated my request considering our bad relations. However, I recognized an opening, walking down the hallway next to Minho who was clearly nervous as he hugged the bottle of champagne we brought as an apology gift.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Mr. Kim greeted us upon our arrival, sparing Minho a grimace before inviting us inside the studio.

Chan and Jisung were sitting together on the couch, glancing up only when Minho paused in front of them. Meanwhile, Changbin stood against the wall, watching my husband with narrowed eyes. Minho held tightly to the bottle of champagne in his hands, glancing between the three men who all wore similar expressions of disdain. “I’m sorry for the interview,” he said. “It was really selfish and immature.”

Chan arched one eyebrow, glancing between me and Minho. “Really?”

I quietly offered Minho a small push against his lower back, encouraging him to continue. “I rehearsed this,” Minho chuckled, “but it’s hard to swallow my pride.”

“Take your time,” I whispered to him softly.

“Well, let me start by saying that I was wrong about the whole collaboration thing,” he said. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be and you guys did everything to help us succeed.”

Changbin scoffed. “You certainly made it more difficult.”

Jisung nodded furiously in agreement. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this much trouble with promotion.”

“I know,” Minho agreed. “I was just upset because I have this stupid thing with Park and he knows that I have...problems working with other people.”

“That’s an understatement,” Changbin said, glowering at my husband with obvious disapproval.

“Honestly,” Minho said, swallowing hard. “The song is one of my favorites. I wouldn’t mind collaborating again in the future.”

“Well-” Jising broke off, staring at Mino with something akin to shock. “Huh?”

Chan frowned. “You really made us look bad on stage.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Minho sighed. “I was being an enormous jerk, trying to stick it to the man or something ridiculous and it played out better in my head.”

I reached out a comforting hand, squeezing Minho’s shoulder for support. “I think he knows his decision was wrong.”

Minho nodded. “You might be upset with me and I understand. I’m sorry for everything that happened, and if you decide I don’t deserve to be taken seriously, then I won’t blame you.”

Minho ended his speech with a nervous cough, thrusting out the bottle of champagne in Jisung’s direction who accepted the bottle hesitantly. “Minho,” Chan said, closing his laptop with a sigh. “I know about your history when it comes to working with other artists.”

“It’s not exactly a glowing resume,” Minho admitted.

“No, but that’s the only reason why I know that your apology was sincere,” Chan said. “If you’re really serious, then I think we can move past this.”

Changbin nodded his agreement. “Mr. Park also explained some of the...politics behind the interview fiasco.”

“I guess it’s hard for you,” Chan shrugged. “I’m glad you came here to make things right.”

“And the champagne is nice,” Jisung added quickly to which Minho managed a smile.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

“Well, if you were serious about collaborating again, we can start with line distributions,” Changbin said, leaning in with a smirk. “I want to sing next time.”

Minho laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“In that case, we have cause for celebration,” Jisung cheered. “Mr. Kim, do we have spare glasses?”

In the meantime, I took a step back to allow the four men space to talk together, distributing several glasses of champagne before laughing at Jisung’s failed attempt not to spill anything on the carpet. It was certainly admirable, and I found myself simply watching Minho from across the room. This was nothing short of substantial progress, and I cherished the moment because it promised very good things for the future.

And at one point, Minho snuck away from his new collaborators to join me at the sound booth. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’ve always been at my side.”

I reached out for his hand, watching Chan, Changbin, and Jisung hold up their champagne glasses in our direction. “You know? I’m really excited about your next project.”

Minho grinned, leaning his forehead against mine. “I think I could get used to this...as long as you’ll be there.”

I sighed happily, closing my eyes to remember this moment. “That will never change.”

[asterekmess]

S3A - E3

Hiya, back with another episode of the rewatch. I am...not looking forward to this episode. *deep breath* here we go.

Read More’s save sanity

Hey, so I know this is a really heavy first bullet point...but isn’t anybody else uncomfortable with the image of a black boy running around out of his mind with fury and bloodlust and going after little...white kids? Am I reading too much into this? I know Cora’s running around too. I just...whatever, I’m just gonna keep my mouth shut.

Straight from way too heavy to way too light. So that girl dropped a big jar of fireflies, but they say that fireflies that actually glow aren’t native to California, which would mean these are part of the whole magic thing going on, and at the end of the whole firefly thing they get rid of all the fireflies. So...what if someone finds that jar and opens it?

...nevermind the jar opened up somehow...

Okay, listen, I have a petty and biased hatred for this moment with Scott. Like...is it so hard to say, “I had to get the kids he was chasing away from him?” It’s not like they don’t have time..they just stand there in silence for a while. I also hate the savior pose he strikes there with the kids clinging to him. Like, I get that it’s a very common trope. I still hate it. I use the anti-scott tag for a reason, let me be salty.

why te fuck does Scott FLOAT in the intro?

Lydia has seriously emptied an entire bottle of ibuprofen? She should be dead. Or at least at a hospital. She’s too smart not to know how dangerous it is to take ibuprofen (even the recommended dosage) for too long at a time.

Lydia...Lydia knows about werewolves now. Did no one tell her about this whole escape plan for the betas? She could’ve helped.

Cue the shitty SFX running. Y’all look ridiculous.

Man, come on. Are you seriously telling me that Derek never played hide and seek with his siblings? Like, they’re werewolves for fuck’s sake. Derek never did fake chases through the woods? He tracked PETER for christ’s sake, all the way across town. He was like yards behind him before he got shot that one time.

This show relies a lot on character’s losing time and just finding themselves places. Jackson losing time, Lydia losing time. Lydia losing time again, but in a new way. Later, it’ll be Stiles losing time. I’m just saying, it happens a lot.

It’s fucking august in California. Does it actually get that cold? Poor Lydia’s nose is always red cus she gets forced to wander around in the dark and freezing. I can see her goosebumps when she kneels next to the pool.

I know it’s gotta be hell on her voice, but I think it’s so interesting the way Lydia screams and how it has to jump around the chords before hitting that one note. I don’t know why I find that so interesting. Guess it just reminds me of a wolf howl. Seriously, look ‘em up. Weirdly similar. GO  Holland!

What do you mean the last memory that she had of her mother, Scott? You should’ve told her RIGHT THEN. Right off the bat. There was TONS of time between her getting bit and when she died. You should’ve told Allison right away. Fuck you, you had all of spring break!

god fucking damn it now I’m crying again. Erica, sweetie...Derek honey...

I’m trying to get past the tears to enjoy this romancey stuff, with the candles and the lil lamps, and the LOTR references. I’m really trying.

This is totally not what I should be thinking about while watching the two of them make out, but like, so does Caitlin not go to their school? She just sort of appears a couple times, but Stiles doesn’t seem to know her. Maybe she went to the same school as Heather?

don’t like bugs don’t like bugs ew ew ew ew

Hi cora!

Isaac! You’re somehow feeling better, even though you were apparently out of commission like an hour or two ago...wait huh?

I gotta say, okay, listen I just can’t help it. I know this is serious, but that lil smirk on Isaac’s face? I don’t think he looks smug, personally, I think he looks like he’s about to go play, go rolling around in the grass and leaves, playing with a pack member. He’s been alone for so long this summer, what with Jackson leaving. he’s had no wolves to play with (cus’ we know Derek’s a grump). As worried as he’s gotta be, I bet he’s having funnnnnn.

I..uh..Cora what sound is coming out of your mouth? That..that does not sound like a wolf. That sounds like a wild cat of some kind. Wolves don’t make that screechy noise. They bark and growl, like the sound that came just before. That doesn’t even sound like a roar. Who gave you cheetah sounds?? You’re canine, not feline. Come on they did SO WELL with Derek’s sounds-- No. NO Do not tell me they gave Cora cat sounds cus she’s a chick. I’m gonna fight someone. (For those of you interested, if you scroll to the bottom of this webpage, you can listen to wolf growl snippets and they’re such good quality (I think the bark snippet is broken tho). Listen to those whimpers and whines too, fucking fascinating. I love wolves. Such beautiful animals.)

Cora with Isaac and Scott attacking her and growling at her: “Fuck you, I’ll bite you!” Cora with Derek just growling at her: “BYE bro!”

Stiles, honey! I missed you! Literally, just the sound of your voice makes me feel better.

Scott, Seriously, Derek just said you haven’t tracked either of them anywhere near the pool. You’ve both been following them all night! Yeah, they’re dangerous, but they couldn’t get to the pool and back in time to fight you! I”M GONNA SMACK YOU. DOn’t use that fucking patronizing tone of voice when Derek is TELLING YOU FACTS.

OUR fault? OUR FAULT? I’m gonna fucking *kicks a chair and storms off, grumbling* *Spins around, cus fuck it i’m gonna yell. it’s my post.* NONE OF THIS is DEREK”S FAULT. NOne of this is ISAAC’S FAULT. Fuck dude, I’ll even say that it’s not Scott’s fault! If it’s anyone other than the Alphas’ fault, it’s Allison’s, but tbf she thought she was helping.

DEREK SHUT YOUR PRETTY MOUTH. I swear to god.

ARE YOU FUCKING JOKING? DEREK WOULD NEVER SUGGEST MURDERING BOYD AND CORA. NEVER. He thought Cora was fucking dead and he just found out she’s alive! HE WOULD NEVER. NEVER. FUCK YOU. FUCK EVERYTHING. *Throws a plate* YOU KNOW YOU ONLY FUCKING WROTE IT SO THAT YOU COULD SHOW OFF SCOOT MCFUCKFACE’S SUDDEN FLIP IN MORALITY BY HAVING HIM SAY THAT “KILLING ISN’T THE RIGHT THING TO DO” OH REALLY Scott? REALLY? Killing is bad? YOU DIDN’T THINK SO WHEN YOU SPENT MONTHS attempting to commit PREMEDITATED MURDER of a GUY WHO WAS ALREADY DYING. MONTHS. Scott. FUCK YOU. FUCK THIS SHOW. 13 minutes in and I’m already about to chuck my laptop across the room. MY CAT WON’T EVEN CUDDLE ME ANYMORE I’M SO ANGRY.

And now I’m really fucking sad, cus’ I hate watching this poor girl get told she’s just hallucinating.

WHY does everyone go shopping at fucking 8 pm in Beacon Hills? What...Chris you don’t even have a day job.

I don’t...I don’t understand this scene with Isaac. Like..what exactly are they trying to imply? That he thinks she’s hot? All he’s seen is her raging around with fangs free and glowing eyes. And yeah, some people definitely think that’s hot. But like...that’s just so...what? I choose to read this scene as him just wondering about Derek’s home life. Like, “Since when do you have siblings? Why don’t you tell me these things? I have an aunt?”

WHAT DO YOU mean “Your world?” CHRIS YOU GREW UP AS A HUNTER. THIS IS YOUR WORLD TOO. He was YOUR dad. You’ve been a part of this WAY longer than Scott! Don’t blame the werewolves for ruining your life! THAT WAS YOUR DAD and YOUR STUPID HUNTER CODE’S FAULT.

OKay, listen, I have so many issues with this I need a therapist to mediate my conversations with it. FUCK YOU TW for bringing in Chris. I dont’ give a fuck if he’s experienced or trying to redeem himself. He is a HUNTER he has Slaughtered Derek’s kind for his entire life. He may want to do the right thing, but the right thing definitely doesn’t involved him Standing in front of Derek and forcing him to listen to hunter PROPAGANDA BULLSHIT. I’M SO FUCKING MAD. This was so inappropriate, holy shit. SO far beyond okay. Even the CONCEPT that werewolves wouldn’t be as good at tracking other werewolves as hunters are is fucking stupid. You said it yourself, Chris they can follow scent up to TWO MILES AWAY. Wolves can track their prey for weeks without losing the scent. Just because Isaac stepped on some footprints doesn’t mean he’s incapable of finding them. And what’s all this shit about them “Being able to rely on their human half”? NO? First off, minor detail. Werewolves aren’t half wolf, half human, dumbass. They’re all werewolf. AND The show has said like Ten TIMES that they can’t access their human form/the thought processes they would normally have during a full moon without an anchor, and Boyd and Cora are effectively anchorless on this moon. This is just utter bullshit and I’m so goddamn angry I don’t even know how to process it. “If you’re not trained like me you have no idea this print is Boyd’s” YEAH THEY DO. THEY CAN LITERALLY SMELL IT.  DEREK ALREADY IDENTIFIED THE TRACKS. FUCK you.

ALSO. Getting REAL SICk of people slicing their wrists every time they need a little blood for a ritual or for bait. YOU CUT THE MEAT of the arm. ON THE BACK. WHERE YOU WON”T HIT a VEIN. DUMBASSES.

WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK DO YOU MEAN NINE YEARS DEREK? YOU’D BETTER MEAN CORA WAS NINE YEARS OLD, CUS’ THE FIRE WAS SIX YEARS AGO. and what do you mean you don’t have a lock on her scent? you’ve been following it just fine all night! Wolves remember human scents decades later.

Booooo, i hate the entire concept of wolves going mad on a full moon. It’s lazy and boring. Wolves are not vicious animals, they’re shy as fuck. THey don’t attack without reason. Werewolves should be the same. Full moon’s enhance their wolfishness, so it should make them MORE SHY. The moon should enhance whatever they feel, rather than just making them mindlessly aggressive.

“Primal apex Predatory satisfaction”? seriously? Shut the FUCK up Chris, I’m really fucking sick of your hunter bedtime stories.

....i hate this woman.

Casual reminder that Isaac wouldn’t suggest Killing boyd. Ever. I fucking hate these writers.

yeah yeah, running scene. blah blah blah.

See, I never really understood those fics where Peter just refuses to give anyone any info. He tells Derek what’s up constantly. He didn’t lie or hold anything back when he helped Derek figure out what was up with Jackson or how Jackson needed Lydia to be cured. He walks right up to Derek and says “Hey, so those Alphas clearly want you to join them and that means they’re trying to make you kill your own pack” Peter helps Derek all the time. He’s just a dick while he does it.

Look, I love this moment with Peter, his “Let Scott be the hero of his morally black and white world. You and I, we live in shades of gray” lines are so good, and they speak so much to his character and personality. And he’s right. But I hate that they built the scene around Derek planning to kill his own pack, and following Scott around doing as he asks. I just hate what they do to Derek here.

The dog whistles suddenly have no effect on their hearing? Love it.

Take a second to bring up a plotline you won’t explain for ages. I vibe with that, so long as it is eventually explained.

OOh, suddenly BHHS has a football field?

Not gonna cry, not gonna cry. FUCK I’m crying again.

I just...dude I’m over here trying not to completely lose my shit and cry like a baby, and Stiles is in the middle of panicking and losing his oldest friend and he still puts the dots together. Like. Jesus christ this boy.

NOW Derek? You choose NOW to take Every Single Step down the stairs? JUMP.

...what is this a cartoon? Glowing eyes in the dark? one too many sets? Yeah, yeah, I get it, they’re supposed to look like fireflies.

Why did you stop to look at each other after blasting them? Just go.

OH, yeah, of course Scott has to be the one to hear the extra heartbeat. Scott. Not Derek. Not the ALpha who’s senses are heightened above the a Beta’s. Not DEREK the ALPHA who has a PACK, which makes his senses even stronger that that. No. Scott. The omega. Because he’s like an inch closer to the door. Yah. Sure. That makes sense. SUre.

Dude I wish my high school had that much backup supplies free for the teacher’s to grab. Also, I hate this woman.

WHy were the lights off in the boiler room if she was in the back grabbing stuff? That..what?

OH. I forgot, so Caitlin’s out of high school? She’s...what, 18? 19? Okay, fine, I’ll take that.

Oh stop faking Jennifer, fuck you.

Crying again. dont’ mind me. This is Derek. Not choosing to kill his beta or his long lost sister. Choosing to die himself instead. THAT is Derek (it’s self-sacrificing and it’s because he gives his own life no worth, but it’s still him.)

HOW IS IT DAWN? THAT WOULD BE like 6 HOURS of standing around! Or did the sun not set until like 10 pm? Hm? This show has no concept of time, and werewolves are very time oriented. Someone take away the show from the writers. They’ve lost their privileges.

I hate this. I hate that Isaac shouts for Scott. Not Derek. That’s just so fucking dumb. I’m so tired of it. I’m just so fucking sick of it.

I don’t even wanna look at this. I hate this woman so much.

YOU REALIZE that the third Virgin was Taken. The third virgin is DEAD. the sacrifices have been made, and now Jennifer has control over people. This is where she starts controlling Derek. Right Fucking Here. He loses his agency the moment they touch, if not the moment they make eye contact or he gets in range. I hate it. I HATE IT.

BOOM. Episode three, and Stiles already has the villain after next figured out. He’s past the Alphas now. 

Final Thoughts: I’m angry, I’m tired, and I honestly got very little joy or interest out of this whole episode. I hate what this show did to werewolves and how much insane Scott glorification there is and how every little thing HAS to be about Scott. Scott’s relationship with Chris. Scott saving the kids. Scott’s the one Isaac calls for. Scott’s the one who hears the heartbeats. I get that he’s the main character. I also hate that he’s the main character. It’s just so sad and pathetic and boring and just....ugh. I’m going to bed. I will try for another episode or two tomorrow.

(I promise I’m okay. Just go listen to the wolf howls for me in that link, huh? Listen to those beauties and imagine how amazing a wolf show could have been.)

[brokentoothkiss]

@ikea-boy (thank u ily and i loved reading ur answers too) 🤍🤍 tagged me for some questions but the thread’s pretty long so i’m dettaching <|:)

qoute or lyric you heard/read that changed you: that is so hard. everything changes me man. probably though, from what i can think of, the lyric “if you don’t have it then you’ll never give it, and i don’t blame you for the way you’re living” from the lumineer’s donna. I sometimes put it on just for that line. And I think everyone needs someone to tell them that too.

a song with a moment that makes you put both headphones in: ok this could be the beginning chimes of somebody else, but it’s most likely 1:58 of bleachers’s dream of mickey mantle (which i highly recommend you check for reference). the entire song is building up to this moment, the layering of “rolling thunder cursed my bedroom” and the quickening drums are both a heartache. can’t imagine riding the highway without it.

favorite/coolest thing you own: old receipt, yellowed by now, from two years ago when a cute cashier rung me up at chick-fil-a (his name was chandler and i think about that night every time i go)((also debating heavily whether i should release this information to the public))

do you remember your dreams like memories? do you mix up the two?: i can only remember dreams if they’re odd/unsettling. i remember nightmares vividly but they never mix with my memories. if anything i mistake my actual memories for dreams.

favorite season: spring

least favorite holiday: fuck columbus day ((thanksgiving also seems unecessary tho))

time you always see on the clock: i always happen to either look at the clock or my check my phone at 9:11/ 9:10

movie that’s most emotional for you: perks of being a wallflower (in that scene where charlie calls his sister from their empty house), or la la land (where mia sees sebastian in his new club years later and they show you what their life could have been together)

what do you think about often: i’m not really sure if i think about anything consistently enough but i’ll edit this if i find something

what is one of your favorite things: three things sorry. tilting your head back when you’re on a swing and getting instantly dizzy, the literal last thirty seconds of COIN’s crash my car, and straight faced people with soft sides.

tysm hope this isn’t overboard!! & i’ll tag some new people @folklore101 @cursedmybedroom @mariferish @boyishs @monetnwilde

here are my ten questions for u!

📍what’s something that’s only happened once in your life?

📍a piece of mainstream media you shamelessly enjoy

📍what is something you never got to say in the moment but should’ve?

📍if you could choose how you die and where you go after what would it look like?

📍something you would never do

📍what do you think about often?

📍something that gets on your nerves

📍worst nightmare you’ve had vs. best dream (i already asked this but it’s a good question)

📍how do you arrange your clothes? (by color? by type?)

📍three of your most favorite words

[eltanin-malfoy]

Get A Grip III - Epilogue

pairing : draco/fem-y/n 

word count : 3.3k

warning(s) : mentions of healing/PTSD/war/sex, lots of fluff.

requested : sort of??

a/n : i just wrote this in one sitting! lol. i hope this is satisfying?? i know a lot of my stuff ends on cliffhangers so I decided not to do that for this one. give me some feedback pls! love u! hopefully this doesn’t come off as rushed??

tag list : @kaibie​  @acciodracoo​  @drawlfoy​  @war-sword​  @socontagiousimagines​

Part I II

Y/N’s life as a healer was nothing short of tedious on paper. But she still loved it.

After having received specialised training for treating those impacted by war, trauma and violence post her basic healing certification, her schedule remained full, full, full, thanks to the Second Wizarding War, of course. Everyone and their mother was impacted and gravely so. Thanks to the Ministry’s work towards spreading awareness about the mental implications of war and trauma, everyone had been encouraged to seek support. 

Her ward at St. Mungo’s remained constantly occupied, with the people who were permanently disabled as a result of the violence of the war taking up beds and pretty much being forced to spend the rest of their lives there. It was heartbreaking, but she had to keep her head up high and help them move on. She’d been lucky enough to be able to cool down the impacts the war had had on her in time enough to complete her schooling and be able to work towards achieving the goal she had desired ever since her seventh year at Hogwarts.

Her clinic times were full as well, with her having to both counsel and treat afflicted patients. There were some familiar faces here and there, old friends and teachers and classmates from Hogwarts. And also, the others who’d been in the cellar along with her. Sure, a hospital wasn’t an ideal destination for her to meet others, but it was the only place she seemed to have time for. The little time she got off, she’d stay home, reading up and attempting to expand her knowledge of post traumatic stress disorder based on Muggle research. (Someone had to put in the effort for the rest of the Wizarding World, right?) Romance wasn’t something she put effort into anymore. Sure, she’d had a few affairs, but.. she wasn’t actively looking for something, not when she was so busy. 

But sometimes, the best things come when you least expect them to. 

Y/N was sitting at her desk, writing off yet another prescription of Potion for Dreamless Sleep (something that was so greatly helpful to those suffering with mental illness, you’d never have thought!) for a previous patient. She soon finished writing notes about the frequence of the dosage they were permitted and charmed the parchment to go to the patient’s hand. 

She checked her list and almost froze as she read the name of her next patient. 

Malfoy, Draco. 

Age : 27. (D.O.B. : 5th June, 1980.)

Blood Status : Pureblood. 

Nationality : British.

Ailments : 

Diagnosed with PTSD at 18. Now mostly recovered. 

Suffered severe physical damage and faced Cruciatus curse at a young age, has some sensitivity to loud noises, flashing lights, etc.

Suffered dark magic curse at 16, left with minor scarring on abdomen. No other permanent effects.

Hereditary concerns : skin hypersensitivity, family history of osteoporosis.

Prescriptions : 

Potion for Dreamless Sleep. (Taking regularly for 10 years.)

There was a name she hadn’t seen in years. She’d thought about him, sure. But they hadn’t stayed in contact at all. She usually learned the most about him through the Daily Prophet, where she’d recently learnt he’d been seen talking to a woman at a party. Huh. There really wasn’t much to report about anymore, it seemed. Maybe that was something to be grateful about?

Most of what was on his sheet was expected, when she’d last seen him, at Hogwarts, during their 8th year, which most of the others in their year had chosen to forego, she remembered he was still taking the potion. The only oddity was his continued prescription.. most patients would basically be ‘weaned’ off of it by their fourth or fifth year of treatment.. why had Draco been taking it for twice that long?

Either way, she kept staring at her door a bit nervously, awaiting his entry. There was a soft knock at the door and she bit down on her lip. “Come in.” And then.. He.. walked in. 

She offered him a smile and ushered him over to the chair in front of her desk.

 “Hello, Draco.” 

He was wearing dark robes, his height still prominent as he stepped into the room. His hair seemed to be a bit longer than she remembered it, a few pale strands covering his forehead but still styled meticulously. He seemed obviously more mature, and a bit less skinny than the boy she remembered. There were slight wrinkles on his face, under his eyes, which could again be traced back to the stresses of war, most likely.  

“Good afternoon, Y/N.” He looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “I.. I recognised your name but I didn’t know whether it was really you. I should’ve brou-” For some reason, she forced out a slight giggle. “That’s no-no problem at all, really. I was a bit surprised when I saw your name too.”

“I usually have my check ups with uh.. Healer Bole? I thought it was him again, but the name on the door confused me.” “He’s taken some time off these past few days. That’s why they must have assigned you to me instead.” “I suppose…”

Y/N looked straight into his eyes as an awkward silence rose into the room. His grey pupils stared right back at hers, blinking very slowly. What were you supposed to talk about with someone you’d been close to ten years prior? 

Oh, right, she was supposed to be healing him. Thank god there was no need for any actual small talk between them. 

“So, what brings you here today? If you need counselling or anything, I probably shouldn’t do it since we know each other personally an-” “Oh, oh, no. I just needed to refill my prescription.” “For Potion of Dreamless Sleep?” “Yes.” “Right.. Before I do that, could I ask you about it..?” “Um, sure?”

“Well.. I wanted to know.. how come you’ve been taking it for so long? I don’t know if you know, but patients are only recommended to take it regularly for a maximum of five years.”

“I.. I need it. I can’t sleep without it. The nightmares are still awful.” “But you’ve been.. taking it regularly ever since th-”

“I have.” “So.. how do you know the nightmares are just as bad?” “Well.. um.. I’ve tried sleeping without it, it didn’t work out well for me.” “For a night?” “Yes.” “Well, I’d like for you to try it again, for a few nights. We can send in a nurse for you, if you want.”

He looked at her with a slightly pained, irritated expression.

“Must I..? Bole would give me the prescriptions just fine.” She hesitated for a second, then thought through what he’d just said. “Bole was.. making a mistake, I think. Did he know you’d been taking it for that long?” “I’ve been seeing him all along.” “You’re kidding!” “I’m not..”

Wow, had she just discovered her colleague had been engaging in medical malpractice? Taking the easy way out of a complicated situation? Surely, there had to be more to this, right?

“Did he never ask you to try..?” “He did, but after I told him it didn’t go well the first time he seemed fine with just continuing to prescribe it to me.” “I see..” Hmm. Bole had definitely not done the right thing. It sounded terribly lazy. He was risking Draco developing an addiction just so that he wouldn’t have to put in actual effort to heal him. When dealing with a case as such, patients were often kept in the ward for observation, but obviously Bole hadn’t even brought up the possibility of the same to Draco. A complaint was going to have to be filed, it seemed.

“I hate to inform you of this, but I feel Bole might have done the wrong thing in this case.”

“Oh..?” “Yes, I will again insist you try to forego potion for a few nights. There are major potential implications of using it for as long as you have, and we can avoid any actual damage if we can have you give it up soon.”

“But.. Y/N.. I..” “Come on.. “ She bit at the inside of her cheek. “Like I said before, we can have a nurse come in for you and observe. And also.. It’s Healer Y/L/N to you, Mr. Malfoy.” He smirked at this and set his hands on his lap, taking a deep breath. 

“You know what, Healer Y/L/N? I might be willing to try.. but.. I don’t want a nurse to come in. I want you to.”

Her eyes widened and she reached for the quill on her desk, fiddling with its fibres. When an ex challenged you as such, were you supposed to take it? The feelings he used to stir inside of her had long faded and she was sure the both of them had moved on as much as the other had, it was a mutual break up, in the end. Was this supposed to be related to that..? Was he.. Actually interested? Or was he just playing games? 

Did it even matter? Life was getting a little boring. Something a little out of the ordinary for her would be fun, for sure.

“You know what? Sure.”

***

It was seven o’clock on Friday evening when she finally finished up with all her work at St. Mungo’s and headed home, ready for the night that lay ahead of her. 

She slipped out of the lime green uniform robes she wore to work and went through her wardrobe, confused. What the hell was she supposed to wear? Definitely not something inappropriate, not something overly casual, and not something too fancy either. In the end, she was going over to his place to watch him sleep, and hopefully manage to sleep herself, not to sleep with him. (She was quite tired, admittedly.)

In the end, she decided to wear a pair of pyjamas (white with purple stripes!) just out of spite. Would it be a turn off? Huh, possibly. Would it be funny? For sure. Would it be embarrassing? ..maybe, but hopefully not.

And so she did exactly that and apparated to his home. One she’d only visited years and years ago. 

It was just as grand as it was then. Probably a bit more wellkept now. Obviously so, since it had been 10 years since the war had struck.. since she’d been trapped inside that very cellar. And for a second, she just stood there, processing her memories. She was not going to let the sight of this house cause her to relapse, absolutely not. It had been years. Many years since then. She’d gotten over it. She didn’t need to think about it. 

Slowly but steadily, she made her way through the gate and into the estate. The hedges were gorgeous, trimmed to perfection and even with the sun down, the lamps set every few steps along made everything look even more.. perfect. Draco really did live in the lap of luxury. He always had.

She walked to the door and used the snake-shaped door knocker (Christ!) a couple times, staring up at the tall hardwood door as it suddenly opened. 

And of course, it was him. Him. In a blue cotton button up shirt and silky pyjamas. Cute.

“Good evening, Healer Y/L/N. Do come in. Nice outfit.” He took a step back and held the door open. “Good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” She stepped in, looking around curiously. 

It was all different. Draco had switched up the layout considerably. Gone was the dark and gloomy aesthetic that had presided over the interior of the house before. Everything was white now. Off-white, perhaps, like the color you’d call marble. The palatial chandeliers still hung from the ceilings, but that was all that remained the same. Everything else was brighter. She was glad to see it was so.

“Having a look around, are we?”

“Well, what do you expect, Draco? It’s been.. so many years.. It looks beautiful, by the way.” “Thank you, interior design by yours truly.” “I thought as much.. your taste has improved a bit, I’d say.” She smiled up at him.

The change was definitely helpful towards her not feeling panicked at the sight of the place. It actually looked.. inviting, to some extent. 

“Glad to hear you think so, Healer.” “Right, so, were you going to get to bed?” “This early? I thought we were going to have dinner first.” “I.. had some dinner at work. Quite a bit, actually.” “That’s too bad.. I just had Golby set out the table for us. Nice food too.”

“You can have it, if you like. I’m just here for work, am I not?” “.. Y/N..” He rolled his eyes. “No formalities between us, please.” “It’s not a formality. It’s protocol.”

He set his hand on her shoulder and she almost winced. “Please? For me?” “Ugh.. fine.”

***

Sitting beside him on the table brought back memories. Pleasant ones. Of all the times they had together. The first true ‘moment’ they had between them wasn’t one she liked looking back at all that much. It was unpleasant and could still trigger an anxiety attack. 

But everything after..

She could remember the joy that had filled her upon seeing Draco stumble into Shell Cottage that same day. He was wounded, badly, but he was alive. He could be healed. She’d helped Fleur as much as she could with all the healing after that point, and she took up a mattress right next to where Draco had been put to sleep, and she took care of him, personally. He was beyond grateful, as he’d told her a few days later.

And she was beyond grateful to Harry and Ron. They’d actually listened to her when it would have been so easy to just ignore her. She knew they’d hated him like anything at school, and it had truly elated her to see Draco again, actually alive. 

They’d spoken to Draco and he was actually willing to help them. He told them of the plans he knew the Death Eaters were working on. It wasn’t quite a lot to go off of, since apparently, You-Know-Who had begun to distrust the Malfoy family, but it was still helpful. Draco even told her he basically saved their lives by lying for them, and they’d basically returned the favour. She wasn’t sure about the specifics, really. All she knew was that they’d somehow balanced out what they owed each other. 

They’d spent a while at Shell Cottage before being moved over to a different safe house. Draco was the Death Eater’s biggest target at that point, and he had grown very, very scared. For some reason, it was decided that the two of them would go to the Tonks’ house. To Andromeda’s house. To Draco’s estranged aunt’s house. He felt even more afraid.

She’d been shunned out of their family! All because she’d eloped with a muggle born. He was afraid she wouldn’t take much of a liking to him, but.. it was completely different to what he’d anticipated. She welcomed with open arms, treated him like her own son. Everything was just fine. Or at least that’s what it seemed like.

The ‘Battle of Hogwarts’ came to fruition before them and the two of them stayed far from it, the lack of wands rendering them useless in such chaos. Obviously, after the conflict, they were off in search of their families. Draco’s was glad to have him back alive, as was hers. They’d apparently fled from the country the instant they realised she’d been kidnapped by the Death Eaters. 

But.. of course.. she was then forced to spend quite a lot of time at St. Mungo’s. PTSD. Thankfully, she was far from alone. Practically every other person even partly involved with the conflict was also undergoing some sort of treatment post war. And right after a particular therapy session, when Draco’d asked her to join him for a pint at the Leaky Cauldron, was when repressed feelings came out into the open and she kissed him. 

And that was that, really. 

They were inseparable for the next year. The ‘eighth years’ at Hogwarts, which consisted of several students looking to get the NEWT’s they’d missed out in the year prior, were banded together most of the time, and Draco and Y/N seemed to be joined at the hip. Well, until they weren’t anymore.

It was a mutual agreement. Neither of them were treating it very seriously and they had things to focus on. It ended on a positive note, with a little giggle between them and a hug. They were teenagers, after all.

But now, ten years later, she wasn’t sure why all those feelings were coming right back. Making her blush when he spoke to her. Goddammit. Why did Draco have to get cuter as he got older?

Soon enough, it was time for bed. They’d chatted for nearly an hour just at the dinner table and Y/N suggested he try sleeping earlier than usual, just for observation’s sake. And so he led her into his bedroom, shutting his door behind the two of them.

“Should I.. get you a mattress?”

“That would be nice.” “Actually.. wait... I..” She stared up at him curiously, smoothing back her hair. All of a sudden he grabbed ahold of both of her hands and pulled her forward, closer to him. 

“Draco, I-”

“No, I have a confession to make…” He took a deep breath. “I might have had.. intentions.. calling you over here. Doing all of this, really.” “You.. what?” “I asked them to schedule my appointment with you instead. I kind of.. missed you.” “..Oh?” “I totally get it if you don’t want anything.. romantic with me. I’m fine just being friends. I.. I don’t think you’re in a relationship, but of course, I could be wrong.. I just.. I.. we were so good together, you know?” “We were.” “We just.. got each other. You were so kind to me. Why did we even.. end us..?”

“It was a mutual thing, remember?” “I know but.. I like you, you know?” That made her cheeks flush more than she’d care to admit.

“You do?” “I do. I.. didn’t really need the potion when we’d.. sleep together. You’d just.. I don’t know how you did it.. But I’d feel calm with you. Around you. There’s no better candidate for a healer, really. I was thinking that you’d be very, very good.. and I was right, you were. You.. did the right thing, didn’t you?” 

This was so out of nowhere. She should be more shocked, shouldn’t she? But why was she feeling like she was on cloud nine?

“I like you too.” was all she could manage out. He looked at her for a second before giving her a wide, wide grin. 

“I can’t believe you pretended you didn’t know it was me! Was that just because you couldn’t be arsed to get me chocolates or something?”

“Uh.. well.. Maybe.” He laughed and she did too, playfully hitting the side of his arm. “I’ll get you some if you want them so badly. I have.. better gifts to offer you.” He winked.

“Draco!” She shook her head. 

“Fine. As you wish, Healer.” She just rolled her eyes at him and stared at him with the most sincere smile she could manage. He pulled her even closer towards him, bringing a hand up and setting it on her cheek. His eyes were suddenly on hers and she leaned up towards him, puckering her lips. 

And then their lips met. It was the most familiar feeling in the world and yet the most electrifying. Everything was soft and sweet and perfect. All their wounds were healed and they knew anything that still hurt would only get better. 

All was well.

[sammysreelreviews]

Counting Down My Top 10 Netflix Original Tv Shows

Netflix has 593 original tv shows and counting. Yes you read that number correctly but, this also includes shows that are made by other networks but Netflix has the international rights to stream them for example: Peaky Blinders and The End of the F***ing World or shows they’ve saved like Lucifer and You but those won’t be included in this list. I’m always asked “what do you recommend to watch on Netflix” and these are my holy top ten that I know you’ll love. Once again, I’ve decided to make the list solely off of Netflix produced shows so shows they saved like You and shows they share like Peaky Blinders are unfortunately not on this list which is a shame cause I love the fookin Peaky Blinders. These shows are not only amazing they’re all shows I’ve rewatched many times like y’all these are my ELITE ten! I was gonna have this up weeks ago but I dead ass forgot to write/wasn’t feeling well mentally but here it finally is so enjoy my absolute Netflix favorites! Spoiler free!

10. Stranger Things (2016 - )

I mean we all know of the Sci-Fi phenomenon that is Stranger Things. I really wanted to rank this after season 3 came out and I’m not gonna lie I was a tad disappointed. This is a spoiler free post so I won’t give anything away to the people who take forever to binge shit but I felt like this season was dull, too cheesy, expensive but not in a good way, and directionless? Beside season 3, seasons 1 and 2 are immaculate and I hope season 4 is on point this time.

Status of show: Has been renewed for a 4th season

9. Atypical (2017 - )

This comedy about a teenage boy with Autism is one of the funniest and heartwarming shows EVER! Keir Gilchrist is absolutely brilliant in this and it really shows a side of autism we don’t normally see in the media. There’s family drama, lots of laughs, and some tear inducing moments. It’s a show you can binge super quickly so please give it a chance there’s nothing else like it!

Status of show: Renewed for a 3rd season

8. Big Mouth (2017 - )

The vulgar animated show that shows the trials and tribulations of puberty is a show that’s so fucking crazy it works. This is a show you can rewatch multiple times cause I promise you there are some jokes or scenes you’ll miss in the background. The planned parenthood episode is not only hysterical but also so well written its genius (also within the time I took to post this this exact episode was nominated for an Emmy). Nick Kroll, Maya Rudolph, and John Mulaney deserve all the awards for their voice acting.

Status of show: Season 3 should be coming soon

7. Bojack Horseman (2014 - )

Bojack Horseman is not only one of the best animated shows ever created but also one of the most depressing? Don’t get me wrong Bojack is indeed a comedy and it is HYSTERICAL but once you dig into Bojack’s past and really get to know him it makes you self aware in a way. I don’t like when my cartoons get sentimental but Bojack talks about mental health and if you know me I am all about checking your mental health.

Status of show: Renewed for a 6th season

6. Dear White People (2017 - )

The show based off the film of the same name about black kids in a mostly white elite college is very relatable, funny, and informative. Dear White People has drama, great conversation starters, and tons of laughs. Coming from a black girl in a mostly white area and going to private mostly white schools my whole life this show is like everything I could ever say. The writing is impeccable and is one of Netflix’s highest rated shows on Rotten Tomatoes.

Status of show: Season 3 is currently streaming on Netflix

5. Quicksand (2019 - )

This is a show I have literally BEGGED people to watch cause it’s just so well fucking done! I’m not gonna repeat myself and go on again but I will tell you the plot. Quicksand is about a girl who is the only one left standing after a school shooting happens in her classroom. The question is what the hell happened? The show then goes on to flashback on the events that happened before the shooting. This is a Netflix international show from Sweden and the acting is phenomenal, the story is powerful, and as chilling as it is you’ll wanna watch it again so um, FUCKING WATCH IT.

Status of show: Sadly unknown

4. Dark (2017 - )

It’s exhausting how many times I’ve told people to watch this sci-fi masterpiece but here I am again begging y’all to watch it. Dark is about a small German town where two boys go missing and what happens next no one could’ve prepared for. This is a show that’s so well written it’s scary like you can tell everything was planned out to the T. I just want y’all to know that this is probably the best show on Netflix. It would be number one on this list but the next three shows I’ve probably rewatched one thousand times. Any who, Dark is ending with a third season and it should be out in late 2020 so binge binge binge!

Status of show: Season 3 will be the last season

3. On My Block (2018 - )

The show about a group of high schoolers dealing with love, school, and gang violence is a show I’ve rewatched like way too many times to count. What I love about this show is that the cast is all people of color and while it is funny as hell when it gets deep it really tugs on your heartstrings. The characters are all so easily to fall in love with and I can not wait for season 3! Also the season one finale... whew!

Status of show: Season 3 is currently filming

2. Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt (2015 - 2019)

The quirky show about a woman who was kidnapped in her teens escapes and moves to New York is one of my favorite shows of all time. The references and situations on this show are even more special because sweet Kimmy (Ellie Kenner) only understands things from the 90’s since she was trapped underground for 17 years. The cast also includes Titus Burgess, Jane Krakowski, and Carol Kane. Everyone pulls their own weight on the show but Titus Burgess as Titus is literally one of the best performances I’ve ever seen on television. He should’ve gotten all the awards for his Lemonade episode ALONE! Not only is Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt funny but it deals with sensitive topics like #metoo and immigration in lighthearted ways. It’s repulsive how many times I’ve watched this show but honestly there is not a funnier show on Netflix. Periodt.

Status of show: Ended BUT, I heard there’s going to an interactive episode coming out so that’ll be interesting

1. Narcos (2015 - 2017)

This is now the 5th time I’ve mentioned this show on here. I’ve described it best in my last article here. For the love of Godney Spears please watch this fucking show.

Status of show: Ended BUT they focus on the cartels in Mexico in Narcos: Mexico which stars Diego Luna and is also a Netflix original

[therealkn]

David’s Resolution - Day 10

Day 10 (January 10, 2019)

sex, lies, and videotape (1989)

“You’re right, I’ve got a lot of problems... But they belong to me.” “You think they’re yours, but they're not. Everybody that walks in that door becomes part of your problem. Anybody that comes in contact with you. I didn’t want to be part of your problem, but I am.”

When I was a kid, we had a big book of Roger Ebert’s movie reviews, and I remember reading it a lot. I don’t remember a whole lot from the book, but I remember liking it and being fascinated as I read about all these movies that this guy had seen. It was kinda nuts that someone saw so many movies, many of which I could only imagine what they were like since I wasn’t able to watch these movies back then. I was also a fan of the “AFI’s 100 Years” TV specials that aired from the late 1990s to the late 2000s (Does anyone else remember those specials?) and they’d talk about movies that had an impact on American cinema and why they’re classics and such. 

In carrying out this resolution and ramblingreviewing this films I’ve been thinking about my interest in film and where it came from. And I realize that it stems largely from a curiosity fueled at least in part by these things. Why do people say this film is a classic? Is it as good as they make it out to be? Why do they say this film is bad but not that one? Why did this film succeed at what it tried to do, but not that one? Why do critics say this movie sucks, yet most non-critics like it? I wanted to know why.

I bring all this up because sex, lies, and videotape is one of those movies that I was curious about when I was younger. It wasn’t on the AFI lists, but it was in the Roger Ebert book if I remember it correctly. It seemed like one of those movies that the cool people who knew lots about films needed to like. Something I should probably have warned about before was that a good chunk of movies I will watch this year are ones I feel I should have seen a long time ago. This one, however, I’m happy I waited until now to watch it because ten years ago, I probably would have hated this movie. He wasn’t as patient as I am now.

The film is about four people and the interesting relationships they have with one another. One of them is Ann Bishop Mullany (Andie MacDowell), a neurotic housewife whose marriage to her lawyer husband John (Peter Gallagher) is not in great shapes. She’s worrying about anything from where we’ll put garbage to starving people, and she’s not enjoying sex much, to the point where she won’t let John even touch her shoulder. John, meanwhile, is a dick who constantly leaves his office just so he can bang Cynthia (Laura San Giacomo), Ann’s more outgoing and sexually active sister who is almost the complete opposite of Ann. And then Graham enters the picture.

Graham, played by James Spader, is the other central figure of the story besides Ann. He’s an old college friend of John’s who comes to visit John. He’s kind of a bohemian, living out of his car and with only a few possessions, among them a video camera and a box full of videotapes. After Ann helps set Graham up with a place to stay, she learns about the videotapes and what they are exactly. The tapes are of Graham recording women talking about themselves, their sexual lives, and other such things. It’s a strange fetish, but there is actually a reasoning behind it that makes sense, and this has an effect on everyone involved in some very interesting ways.

Here’s the thing. There’s not a whole lot of action or things happening in this movie. There is, however, a lot of talking and drama, and that’s where the meat of the film is. Steven Soderbergh’s direction and writing are both top-notch in this film. We are seeing one person change not only the relationships between three people, but also themselves. We learn a lot about these characters, and as we watch, we feel an attachment to them. At some point, they don’t become characters anymore. They become people that we feel like we’ve known for a long time and are now learning even more about them. And the film does a lot to add to that personal feeling. A lot of the film takes place in areas that have some personal connection to one or more of the characters, whether it’s their homes or the bar Cynthia works at or at John’s office for however briefly he’s there before he’s off for his sexcapades. It makes us feel more like we’re not omniscient observers, but people who are actually present in those scenes hearing these characters speak. It’s like we’re really there.

And then the writing, because that’s one of the big strong points of the film. The dialogue flows naturally and doesn’t feel like “movie” dialogue or sound like navel-gazing nonsense. It feels like things people would actually say and talk about, which would include frank discussions about sex and their personal lives. It also reminded me of how we present different sides of ourselves to different people we know and how we open up differently to people. The Graham who sits with Ann at a restaurant and talks about his personal hang-up that leads to his videotaping women is different than the Graham who’s having dinner with Ann and John and slightly defensive around John. There’s probably a lot more than I could talk about, since again I’m not a professional, so yeah.

The acting’s great across the board. Andie MacDowell’s performance as Ann is fantastic, and there’s little tics she does like sitting cross-legged on the couch or her fingers fidgeting with her glass that make her seem like a person who’s trying to resolve their issues and having great difficulty with this and how they really feel. Laura San Giacomo is also great as Cynthia, who could easily have been a more one-note character but instead has some depth to her. She comes off as someone completely comfortable about their sexuality, which could have been written as “she’s a slut”, but thank God that’s not the case. Peter Gallagher’s John is the weakest of the four characters, but is still interesting to watch and he does great with what he has. But the real standout is James Spader as Graham, who comes across as affable and very honest and a bit dorky, but also a little awkward and uneasy to be around. There’s a reason for that, trust me, and it’s a damn good one. Near the end, there is a scene with him and Andie (those who’ve seen the movie know the one) that’s fucking phenomenal. The acting between them is astounding, with both actors displaying an incredible emotional range without being overly dramatic. The writing is very, very strong in that, and the music adds to the scene perfectly, not overtaking the scene or overriding whatever mood it’s trying to convey. And the smaller characters in the film, from Ann’s therapist to the barfly who makes passes at Ann and Cynthia, are also great.

Oh, right, music. The soundtrack’s great. It’s funny to say that since there’s so little music in the movie, but what music there is was courtesy of Cliff Martinez (who I know mostly as the drummer on the first two Red Hot Chili Peppers albums) and he created some really great tracks. Except the guitar bit at the beginning, that was someone else. He also did the music for Traffic, which was also great. I should’ve mentioned that in the Traffic review. Sorry, Cliff. Honestly slipped my mind.

I highly recommend this film. Strong acting, great writing, awesome story. Check it out for yourself and see why it’s great, because there’s much more to it than I could say without this getting any longer than it already is. Just go see it.

Next time: A modern screwball comedy, but leave the gazpacho in your fridge.

[thedefinitionofbts]

If You Knew

Pairings: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Doctor Au

Words: 7K

Description: Requested by anon

Dr. Min Yoongi is the most skilled neurosurgeon in the country. He has successfully faced a number of challenges in his career and is under the assumption that he can professionally handle anything at this point, that is, until he was put in charge of treating the girl he has harbored a secret crush on since college.  

Or, in which you lose your eyesight in a car accident and fall in love with the neurosurgeon treating your condition.

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who sent in a request for a doctor au!

Min Yoongi has treated a lot of people in his life.

As a world-renowned neurosurgeon, he wasn’t the least bit surprised when he got a request to treat a victim of a brutal car crash. He’s always the first doctor to be recommended because of his reputation, and nine times out of ten, he is, without a doubt, the best person for the job. But the moment he saw your name on the patient form that was handed to him as he walked down the squeaky clean hallway of the hospital, he knew this was going to be that one out of ten time that he was fucked.

Rewind back to when his best friend and closest colleague, Kim Namjoon, had told him that the hardest part about being a doctor isn’t actually acquiring an extensive amount of knowledge on the practice of medicine, performing long surgeries, or dealing with being overloaded with work on the daily. For geniuses like them, it was never about not being smart enough or skilled enough. Instead, Namjoon had brought to Yoongi’s attention long ago that the most difficult part of being a doctor was dealing with being the courier of bad news.  

Of course, being forced to play that role doesn’t happen often. It shouldn’t because doctors are supposed to save people, to heal them. But they aren’t divine entities. They can’t fix everything, and with the existence of things they are powerless to do anything about comes the need to perform error handling, to figure out how to let people down without allowing those feelings of guilt and remorse consume you.

And so, being the overachieving perfectionist that he is, Yoongi took the liberty of conditioning himself in a way that he would never have to run into that issue. He figured if he detached himself from his patients to the point where his relationship with them lied solely on a professional level, he would never have to meddle with emotional attachments.

Up until now, his solution of desensitization has been working smoothly. He’s faced the task of notifying family members of the death of their loved ones and informed people they are in the later stages of cancer or some untreatable disease. He’s told mothers that their babies were born impaired and will die before the age of 5, and athletes that they may never walk again. He’s seen the worst of it and has come out more or less unfazed.

He thinks he has it down to an art form, one that he has spent the majority of his career crafting to the utmost perfection, which comes back to the one thing he had never thought in a million years he would have to do, and that was to be in charge of treating you.

 …

 To say that Yoongi was inept at comforting people would be an understatement. Don’t get him wrong, he comes off kind and considerate to everyone around him, and he’s highly, highly respected by everyone in his field of work. He has good relationships with his patients (professionally), and he always delivers treatment to the best of his ability.

But it’s safe to say; he’s never offered anything deeper than surface level care. Surface level care as in, treat physical condition and get out before getting too deep into consolatory territory. He’s not a therapist. He shouldn’t be expected to treat psychological ailments or provide a shoulder to cry on.

Of course, that’s under the assumption that he’s treating a stranger or at most an acquaintance.

And that’s where you come in.

You, as in, the girl he fell head over heals for the first time he saw you reading under a willow tree on a warm spring day. The same girl he never had the guts to approach properly because you were always surrounded by hotter guys, and Yoongi being the classic nerd who had his head buried in textbooks 24/7, was nowhere near your league.  

“Dr. Min, she’s in room 227” The nurse next to him reminds as she watches Yoongi almost open the door to the wrong room. 

He looks up at the room number of the door his hand is already gripping around the knob of:

226

“Aish” He curses under his breath. He needs to stop drowning in his thoughts before he makes a fool of himself. He quickly glances back at the group of residents and assistants, making sure they don’t suspect he’s unfocused due to fatigue, which he’s proud to say he has never been, before continuing to the next room over. 

There’s no background noise in the room. Other than the familiar beep of the heart monitor, it was almost disturbingly quite. Yoongi’s gaze lands on your sleeping form, head and arms wrapped in gauze after going through emergency treatment right after the accident and breathing through tubes for the time being.

“She was transferred here this morning.” The nurse informs, cutting through his mental observations. “Her left arm and ribcage have sustained minor fractures. Her spinal cord was not severely damaged, but we are still uncertain about how much the cranial trauma has effected her eyes.”

“Her eyes?” Yoongi echoes, partially unsure of why his own voice sounds so distant and hollow.

“It is inconclusive whether her vision loss is dude to nerve damage or just corneal lacerations. We will need to run more tests when she wakes up.”

 ….

 Past

 Yoongi was in his second year of undergrad when he first came to the realization that he hadn’t experienced as many youth related “joys” as his fellow peers. He had never dated a girl, never felt the recklessness of partying until dawn, wasn’t a club goer or drinker, and steered clear from recreational drugs all together. He always used the “too busy focusing on my future” excuse for virtually everything that came crashing his way.

It was a classic case of being determined to succeed, and he was pretty sure his future self would be proud of his strong will at such a ripe young age.

Everyone around him knew that he wasn’t the type to get distracted easily; in fact, it was a labor-intensive struggle just to get Yoongi to do anything non-school related. His attention was rarely, if ever, drawn away from his goal-oriented mindset, but you somehow managed to make him do a double take the moment he looked out the window of the library he had been rooted in all afternoon.

“Whatcha looking at?” Namjoon’s voice from across the table snaps him out of his momentary trance.

“H-huh?” Yoongi turns back towards Namjoon, still unaware of the chemical change that had occurred in his brain due to a certain heart-fluttering stimulus. “Oh uh, nothing, just…enjoying how green the grass is.” He fabricates; eyes quickly shooting down to his textbook in hopes that the other male will treat this occurrence as nothing out of the ordinary.

But of course, he doesn’t.

“Enjoying how green the grass is?” Namjoon cocks a brow obviously unconvinced, pupils shifting towards the direction Yoongi had been staring at for a good two minutes- that likely would have turned to five or even longer had he not interrupted.  

And there you are, sitting peacefully under a willow tree with your flowing hair partly fluttering in zephyr, partly tucked behind one ear, and eyes fixated on a book resting gently in your lap.

It was almost too cliché, but Namjoon wasn’t about to judge.

His lips curve upwards, sighing fondly as he turns to face Yoongi, who is now not so subtly trying to avoid direct eye contact with the all-knowing male.

“Are you going to go out there and talk to her?” Namjoon inquires without a single hint of hesitation.

“What are you even talking about?” Yoongi retorts, trying to sound like Namjoon was being completely absurd and didn’t just witness the signs of love at first sight displayed on Yoongi’s habitually apathetic face.

Namjoon exhales and shakes his head. “If you’re going to deny your infatuation, you should’ve tried to be less obvious.”

“Again, I have no idea-”

“Oh come on, Yoongi. Are you really going to play this game with me?”

Yoongi tsks in mild annoyance, expression turning sour. “I don’t have time for this. Let’s get back to studying.”

Yoongi is definitely a stubborn one. He was like that with his goals and dreams, his resolve to succeed in the medical field, and personal desires, as he soon came to learn. Perhaps that is also why he never moved on from you.

 …

 Even after that little incident at the library with Namjoon, where he pretended like he had been unaffected by the first stages of a growing crush, the thought of you had constantly been on his mind. It was like that image of your elegant form had been imprinted in his memory, and it wasn’t going away. Although he would never admit it verbally, he would catch himself thinking about you at the most random times, while he was eating, walking between classes, listening to music, and even during exams! It was a nightmare, and further to his dismay, such thoughts had been increasing in frequency to the point where he couldn’t stop himself from hoping he could see you again, even if it’s just a distant glimpse. Which is precisely why he found himself frequenting that same spot in the library more often than not.

It’s a bit creepy to say he went there to observe you from afar, but when it all boils down to the crux, that is all he had the courage to do. And it’s not like he was just staring at you the whole time, thankfully he’s not that creepy. It was more like the intermittent glance outside when his eyes got tired of the same old human anatomy flashcards scattered in front of him or the occasional tilt of his head when he caught you lifting an arm to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He would sometimes imagine what it would be like to invite you to study with him, to sum up the guts to actually talk to you because it was definitely a more natural way to handle the state he was in.  

Surprisingly it wasn’t that hard. And by “that hard”, he means that one day it unexpectedly started pouring rain, and somehow turned into the first time you met him, or in other words, “found out about his existence”. Yoongi himself was actually immersed in his own reading when it happened. He was occupying the exact same seat in the corner when he heard light tapping on the window, only to recognize they were pellets of water hitting the glass.

He jolts up at the realization, and his eyes immediately shoot to the spot you were sitting outside, gathering your belongings in your backpack in preparation to escape the downpour. He doesn’t even take the time to think about what he’s doing, diving into action without a game plan as he hastily grabs his umbrella and sprints out the door. Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever ran faster in his life, heck, he didn’t even know his scrawny legs could carry him so swiftly. But he makes it to the tree in time, just as you were zipping up the last compartment of your bag.

“Here” He says briskly, handing you the umbrella gripped between his hands before considering how bizarre the situation was from your perspective, to see a stranger handing you an umbrella while he was getting soaked under the rain himself.

You look up at his out of breath state, his clothes drenched from the water still falling from the sky. “Ummm, thanks?” You hesitantly take the item he’s presenting you, eyes still trained on him, waiting for him to explain what was going on, where he had magically appeared from, and why he was not using the umbrella to shield himself but rather offering it to you. “So…” You open the parasol and hold it above both of your heads, biting your lip when you realize you have no idea what to say.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, silently cursing himself for not thinking this through. His wet bangs were now clinging to his forehead, and he’s 99.9% sure he looks like a complete idiot. “H-here, I can hold that.” He awkwardly reaches out and takes the umbrella from you, hands brushing against yours momentarily before you let go of the handle. “Sorry.” He mutters again.

You shake your head. “No, I should be thanking you for saving me out here.” You smile brightly, and Yoongi swears he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I don’t think we’ve been acquainted, I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N…” Yoongi spends a little too long savoring the way the syllables roll off his tongue. Even your name was beautiful. Nothing like any of the names he had conjured from the guessing games he had played in his head for the past few weeks. Y/N…it was perfect. “Uhh..my name is Y-Yoongi. Min Yoongi.” He adds, fortunately catching himself before he fell into another daydream.

You giggle at his display of nervousness. “Did you just happen to be out here on a walk?” You query, tilting your head in the cutest way possible (according to Yoongi).

“Oh, no. I was studying in there.”

Your eyes follow the direction his finger had raised to point towards. “So how come…?” You wanted to ask why he had ran out here.

“But then I got tired of reading and came out for a break.” He lies, praying that you won’t be suspicious of the impossible coincidence that he just happened to be outside with an umbrella within your vicinity right before it started raining.  

“I guess it’s my lucky day then.” You grin, putting your pearly whites on display this time. Yoongi’s heart is pounding so hard he feels like he’s going to pass out.

The two of you slowly make your way back towards the library. Half of Yoongi’s body remains exposed to the rain because he tries to leave enough room for you, even though you insisted he should scoot closer to you. You assume he’s just being polite, seeing as though the two of you just met.

“So what’s your major?” You ask, directing the conversation casually in an attempt to dispel the tension.

“I’m, uh, pre-med.” He answers.

“Impressive.” You nod. 

“What about you?”

“Literature. Not as practical.” You shrug, remembering how your parents were against your decision to study something that would not provide very many career opportunities, but you loved it too much to give it up in exchange for something else.   

“No, no. That’s really interesting.” Yoongi quickly butts in, regretting his choice of words the moment he hears what he had just voiced. He clears his throat, taking a deep breath before trying again. “It’s a study that is irreplaceable, and central to us as human beings. It helps us expand our horizons and express ourselves in unique ways.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “It’s really cool that your passions lie within something so important to humanity.”

Your lips curve upward at his heartwarming words.

The rain lets up not long after you reach the library, and you end up thanking Yoongi again before parting ways. He doesn’t know it then, but you were grateful for several things he did for you on that fateful day. Although he probably didn’t mean for his encouraging words to make such a huge impact on your mindset, to you it was unforgettable because it was exactly what you needed, not only on that day but also for many years to come.

 …

 Present

 He stands at the doorway staring at your limp form lying on the patient bed. His heart feels like someone is tying ropes around it, and he feels like the air in the room is too thin.

“She will be blind until we find a donor.”

The words keep repeating in his mind, and he doesn’t know why they are affecting him this much. He’s not supposed to be attached to patients. He’s not supposed to be concerned past an acceptable professional level. He’s not supposed to be too weak to inform them of bad news, and yet he had forced a resident to break the crippling news to you earlier this morning. 

At least it’s not permanent. At least it wasn’t nerve damage and can be fixed with ocular surgery. But even so, it doesn’t quell any of his concerns because compatible cornea donors can take months to find. 

“H-how are you feeling?” Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut the moment the words leave his mouth in a not so smooth manner. Why the fuck was he getting nervous? This is not how a world-renowned neurosurgeon should be acting. Min Yoongi, fucking stay professional.

Yoongi swallows thickly through gritted teeth, hoping that the sound isn’t loud enough to make it to your ears.

You continue to lie stiffly on the cot, not turning your head in the direction of his voice or giving any other indication that you had even heard what your doctor had just asked. The bandages around your head had been removed, but your eyes were kept closed for obvious reasons.

“Better” You softly answer after a painfully long silence that Yoongi spent mentally scolding himself.

He instantly relaxes the moment your voice, which is just as beautiful as he remembers might he add, fills the quiet room.

“That’s good. If you feel any discomfort or need anything, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“Ok” You respond with a slight upturn of your lip that almost resembles a half smile.

“I’m going to perform some simple tests to make sure your nervous system is still functioning properly.” He informs as he prepares his equipment.

“Ok” You answer again, shifting a little this time to show that you are ready.

Yoongi takes a deep breath before reaching over to take your uninjured arm. He proceeds to give instructions for you to move your fingers, elbow, and shoulder, before moving on to make sure you haven’t lost sensation in any of your other limbs. You stay quiet for the majority of the time, only obediently doing as he says. You take note of how soothing his voice is and how delicately he handles you, and you can’t help but wonder if all doctors were this gentle, this kind, because you hadn’t quite experienced the same tenderness with the previous nurse and assistant who had performed initial tests on you.

“Now I’m going to quickly assess your lungs.” He notifies before reaching over to grab his stethoscope, shoving it in his ears and trying to ignore the fact that he’ll be seeing your partially bare body. The exact thing that he’s shameful to admit he could not refrain from fantasizing about when he was lying alone in his dorm room so many years ago. He swallows again, harshly reminding himself to stop being so ridiculous. That was the past. That was natural for a male in his sexual prime, but he’s older now, more mature, a respectable doctor-

Fuck.

All thoughts of reason flew out the window the moment his fingers brushed against the smooth and soft skin of your chest. His heartbeat is quickening, and he clenches his jaw to prevent his hand from trembling even in the slightest bit. Thank god years of surgical training has gifted him steady hands, because he’d be shaking uncontrollably if he had not practiced the art of calming himself when his own nervous system is on overdrive.

“Inhale. Exahale.” Yoongi instructs, for your sake and his own.

You follow his commands, taking in a deep inhale and long exhale, but you manage to squeeze in a quick question, one that you had been curious about for the past half hour. “Since I can’t see your name tag, can you tell me how I should address you?” Yoongi’s hand freezes, still placed above your exposed chest.

“You can call me Dr. Min.” He answers, eyes fluttering up to trace over your facial features but finding it difficult to read your emotions without your eyes to give anything away.

Lucky for him, you smile at his response, and it’s so reminiscent of the first time he saw your lips stretch into such a beautiful form that his heart almost skips a beat.

The rest of the testing goes efficiently, mostly because it’s filled with some light conversation. Now that you know his name, you somehow feel closer to him for some inexplicable reason. He’s not that nameless, faceless medical practitioner that’s pinching and probing you like you are some lab specimen, but rather a doctor by the name of Dr. Min, who handles you like a porcelain doll and speaks with a kind of rhythm that takes you to a place as familiar as home.

“Well, that’s all for now.” Yoongi announces as he cleans up. You can hear him packing away up his equipment, metal against metal, and the sound of him pushing the cart back into the corner.  

“Will you be back?” You ask as he walks back to your bedside.

“Of course.” He answers, letting his face relax into a smile. “I’ll come as much as you need me to.”

“I would like that.” You say, as he helps you lie back down to rest.

Yoongi doesn’t know what you mean by that statement, but he assumes you just want to be reassured that you’ll be properly taken care of. He jots down a few notes on his notepad and prepares to leave, but just as he was about to leave the room you call for him one last time.

“Dr. Min?”

Yoongi halts mid-step. “Yes?” He turns back to look at you, even though he’s fully aware that you can’t see him anyways.

“Thank you.”

 …

 Past

 Yoongi didn’t lack appeal in the traditional sense of the word, but he wasn’t exactly good at being a ladies magnet. He knew he wasn’t physically alluring, but he had brains, and there were plenty of girls who could appreciate a smart man. Like take Kim Namjoon for example, a man with the IQ of a genius, constantly spewing quotes as deep as the Pacific Ocean. But unlike Yoongi who gave off the aura of someone who hated everything about life, Namjoon made his nerdiness come off as charming and irresistible.

Yoongi, on the other hand, rarely expressed emotion on his face, and even when he did, it was always solely around his closest friends.

“So you’ve moved on from spying on her from the library?” Namjoon leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, contemplating the next steps he can suggests the hopeless male take.

“Joon, I told you, I stopped engaging in that shit a long time ago.” Yoongi huffs. “It was creepy, I know.”

Namjoon chuckles wholeheartedly. “And yet you managed to do that for what, 2 months?”

“Shut up”

“You’ve spoken to her before. Why not ask her out?” He proceeds to push the topic, despite knowing that the older male never wants to talk about it.

“Because I’m over her.”

“Lies.”  

Yoongi hates it when Namjoon is right because Namjoon is always right. He’s not over you. Hell, he’s never going to be over you. And just because he doesn’t see you anymore, doesn’t mean you’ve stopped haunting his dreams or daytime musings or every crevice of his cerebral cortex.  He even applied to be a TA for an introductory Bio course this semester, hoping that it’ll take his mind off of things that should not be specified.

He had thought it was the perfect plan, that is, until he saw you walk into the lecture hall on the first day of class.

What kind of fuckery-

“Yoongi, right?” He looks up to find you standing in front of his desk, apparently keeping his head down and eyes trained on the professor’s stack of handouts was not going to help him turn invisible.

“Y-Yes” He clears his throat.

“I know we don’t really know each other yet, but you don’t know how glad I am to see you.” You admit, looking around at the other students whose faces you’re even less familiar with. This is what happens when a liberal arts student decides to take a science class for fun, just to see what it was like.  

“You are?” Yoongi’s jaw slackens at your unexpected revelation. You can’t seriously be glad to see him for the reason he thinks… can you? He’s not misinterpreting your words… is he?

You nod while beaming at him so brightly it’s almost painful for his frail heart. “Yeah, I don’t know anyone here.” You clarify.

Yup. He misinterpreted. “Oh, right. Lit major.” Yoongi pretends to casually recall, not that he even came close to forgetting any detail about you.

Throughout that entire semester, Yoongi learns more about you than he had ever dreamed he would have the opportunity to. Because of your nonexistent science background, you always show up to his tutoring hours and stay longer than any other student. At first it made him a bit uncomfortable, knowing that there was no way he would even stand a chance at getting over his feelings for you at this rate, but interacting with you soon settled into a comfortable routine, one in which he almost gained enough confidence to be less nervous around you.  

“I’m sorry, you probably have other things to do.” You apologize as you look up at the clock hanging on the wall and see that it’s past the end of his tutoring hours.

“It’s fine. I was planning on staying here to study anyways.” He smiles at you, pulling out his own textbooks to show that he wasn’t leaving any time soon.

He hates himself for unleashing this type of self-torture on himself, for falling into this vicious cycle of not being able to resist caring about you past what is expected, or even reasonable for a mere TA. He didn’t have to stay past his tutoring hours for your sake. He didn’t have to make customized study guides just for you, and go out of his way to hide the fact that he did all of these extra things.

So you never knew about the countless occasions, Yoongi spent all evening helping you study class material, even when he had projects and lab reports due the next day. You never knew about how he didn’t mind losing a few hours of sleep, if it meant spending those hours with you.

 …

 Present

 “Y/N? The Y/N that still plagues your conscience to this day?” Namjoon almost spits out the bite of food he was chewing on. He and Yoongi were eating lunch in the hospital cafeteria when the older male decided to break the news to him. He knew Namjoon would find out eventually, so there was no need to hide it.

“You’re over exaggerating” Yoongi mutters, looking down at his lunch tray and picking at his food absentmindedly.

Namjoon sighs. “Am I? I told you the guilt wouldn’t go away that easily.”

By guilt, Namjoon means the terms in which Yoongi left for medical school without saying goodbye to you or even leaving you a way to contact him. 

“It was four years ago.” Yoongi reminds, as if time would really allow him to accept the decision he made.

But he’s never stopped regretting it. He’ll never forget how long he spent waiting by that bench, pacing back and forth while formulating a way to tell you how he truly felt about you, only to run away when he saw you walking down the sidewalk with someone else. That other guy was probably just a friend of yours, but the scene of you laughing to your hearts content as you linked your arms with him shattered any bit of confidence he had managed to assemble.

In retrospect, it was pretty stupid of him to let something so trivial prevent him from doing what he should’ve done at the time, which was confess in the face of potential rejection. He also didn’t know it would be the closest he ever got to telling you how much he liked you, nor did he anticipate it being the last chance he ever got to see you before he went off to medical school. He often wonders what would’ve happened if he had just sucked it up and confessed. Would you have given him a chance? Would he be less regretful? Even in the event that he was rejected, he was certain at the very least he wouldn’t feel so pathetic for chickening out even to this day.  

He still lingering over those thoughts of the past as he lightly knocks on the doorframe of your recovery room.

At the sound of the familiar tap, your head jerks towards the entrance and your lips curve into a gentle smile when you hear the distinct footsteps of the doctor who never fails to brighten your day.

“How are you feeling?”

It’s always the first thing that glides past his lips, the tangible serenade that makes the dull room come alive. 

“So much better now” You hum, exhaling blissfully.

Yoongi furrows his brows, not quite understanding what you are referring. “Did the nurse up your dosage?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It has nothing to do with any of my medications, Dr. Min.”

Yoongi takes a seat on the chair by your bedside, still oblivious to what you mean.

“I heard you’re a writer now.” He says as casually as he can while simultaneously gripping the book he has brought and is planning on reading to you- if you wanted, that is. He was actually on a break from work, but decided to pay you a visit because he figured you would be bored, or at least that’s the excuse he kept repeating to himself. Truthfully, he’s feeling very uncertain of his actions and whether or not this is even an acceptable thing to do as your primary doctor. It’s probably not, but when has Yoongi ever been able to resist going the extra mile when it came to you?

“Now?” You pause at his peculiar statement. Were you being overly sensitive to his choice of words or did he actually sound like he was someone who knew you in the past? Maybe it was just a misunderstanding on your part.

“I mean, it says you are a writer on the patient information forms.” Yoongi corrects, quickly clearing his throat awkwardly.

“I am” You nod. “I’ve always been passionate about literature, but sadly, I can’t read or write in this condition.” Your expression falls, and Yoongi feels a tiny pang in his heart.

Yoongi looks down at the book clutched between his fingers. “Well, I can read to you if you would like.” He is trying really hard to make this a smooth transition to why he came to visit you today and not give away the fact that he actually planned this whole “read to you” thing. “I just happen to have this book here with me right now, and I’ve got some time to kill.”

You remain silent as you let his words sink in. It crosses your mind as being a little strange for a doctor to just have random books on hand while working. “Do you always carry books around?”

Yoongi swallows nervously. “I-I….yes” He stutters.

You giggle. “So you’re an avid reader?”

“You can put it that way.” He responds before flipping over the cover.

When he begins reading, you immediately recognize the title of the piece he had conveniently chosen. Was it too much of a coincidence that he just happened to have picked up one of your favorite books? Surely the patient forms would not contain such personal and medically unrelated information.

“You’re a fan of Murakami?”

He glances up from the page. “A friend of mine is.” He replies, recalling how Namjoon had shoved so many of the Japanese author’s works in his face over the years. He eventually grew fond of them for reasons he normally elected to not acknowledge, but deep down he knew it was because they always reminded him so much of you and your own literary tastes.

“I’m glad it rubbed off on you.” You comment, smiling once more.

Yoongi takes your peaceful reactions as a sign that you enjoyed his uncustomary visits, so he comes whenever he’s on break. Of course, he always hides those details and pretends that he’s just stopping by as he’s making his hospital rounds, but that was beside the point. Sometimes he even comes with a journal to write for you, becoming your pen and paper. You share all of your ideas with him, the deepest layers of your thoughts that your surprised became something that was so easy to do. It’s not every day that you feel comfortable enough to be in someone else’s company when you are writing. You typically wouldn’t even allow your closest of friends to walk in on you brainstorming fantastical ideas for new stories.

It was all going well for Yoongi until the day he didn’t time his visit right and almost fell out of his chair when the nurse walked in on him as he was reading to you.

Her expression is of mild astonishment as she stares at the neurosurgeon dressed in casual attire. “Dr. Min, I thought you were off work today?” Her question echoes loud and clear throughout the room, making Yoongi wince at the revelation of the secret he had kept so well up until now.

“I-I…” He completely at loss for words, eyes shifting over to you who has no idea what is going on.

The nurse proceeds to check up on you, clearly oblivious of Yoongi’s stupefied state.

He remains standing awkwardly against the wall as she finishes her assigned duties, not making a sound or clarifying why he was still there. Luckily the nurse doesn’t think much of it, and leaves as soon as she is finished.

“Dr. Min?” You voice as you hear him sit back down.

“Yes?” Yoongi murmurs timidly.

You smile knowingly. “Thank you”

 …

 It was exactly four months later that Yoongi was informed of a potential corneal donor for you. Admittedly, the moment was a bit bittersweet for him because it meant that you would be leaving the hospital with new eyes as soon as you recover from surgery, which means he would probably never see you again.

“I can’t believe you haven’t told her.” Namjoon is tempted to tear his hair out at this point.

“Of course I told her!” Yoongi defends, taken aback by the fact that his closest friend would think so lowly of him.

“I’m not talking about the donor stuff. I’m talking about the fact that she doesn’t know you’re the Min Yoongi from her undergrad days. 

Yoongi sighs. He should’ve known that Namjoon was still caught up in that. “Eh, she’s probably long forgotten about me.” Yoongi brushes it off, despite the little voice in his head that’s furiously trying to agree with the younger male. “It’ll just be weird if she finds out now because I’ve stepped over my boundaries as a doctor.” It was the truth, more or less. He’s definitely way past distant professional relationship at this point, and he thinks he’s certain that you’d be creeped out if you knew everything he’s done or has been doing for you.  

Namjoon rubs his temples in utter frustration, completely speechless at this point. “I don’t know what else to say.”

The surgery is successful. Of course, since it’s Min Yoongi and he’s just that skilled of a neurosurgeon. He doesn’t visit you on the day your bandages are removed and you can finally see the world in all of its glory once again, the brilliant sunlight surging into the small room, the vase of vibrantly colored flowers on the table by the window, the light blue and white bed sheets that you are seeing for the first time in four months. It was an exhilarating feeling; one that you’ll probably remember for the rest of your life, and it would’ve been a perfect moment, if only the first person you saw was the Dr. Min who gifted you the honor of being able to experience such a wonderful sensation again. 

You couldn’t hide the disappointment in your expression when all you saw was the nurse staring at you apathetically, and checking to make sure everything was functioning properly.

Maybe he was busy. You console yourself.

 …

 Yoongi was just getting off of his overnight shift a week after you checked out of the hospital, when he noticed that the flowers around the hospital grounds were beginning to bloom again. Leaving the hospital in the morning wasn’t that odd of an occurrence, but it was the first time in a long time he was taking a moment to enjoy the heartwarming signs of spring in the air. The sky was clear and the wind was twirling in enchanting ways.

He kind of wishes you were here to enjoy this with him.

But he only chuckles at the silly thought. Allowing you to actually see him was completely absurd. He even made sure some other patient was occupying your room before making a trip back to the place he had frequented for the past four months, basking in some of the old memories of the conversations the two of you had. He can’t deny the fact that he misses you, but he convinces himself that leaving you oblivious was for the best. Just as his mind was flooded with a few remaining thoughts of you, he closes his eyes and imagines he can almost hear the sound of your voice.

“Yoongi!”

The echo of his name being called by such a lovely and familiar melody makes him wonder if his lack of sleep or ungodly sleeping habit due to his job is finally taking a toll on his body.

“Dr. Min Yoongi!”

This time it’s louder and clearer than the first, and it makes his tired heart begin to race.

No fucking way.  

He whips his head around in a daze, only to see you standing a measly few feet away from him. He blinks a few times; still unable to comprehend that this isn’t one of his drowsy hallucinations.

You continue to stare at him with fond eyes, tracing over his aged yet soft features. He honestly hasn’t changed much, other than the dark bags under his eyes which you know will disappear after he gets some much needed rest. The disbelief that he’s drowning in is evident in his wide pupils and slightly parted lips.

“You were going to leave me hanging again, weren’t you?” You playfully accuse, taking long strides forward to close the gape between the two of you.

“I-I-…” He’s dumbfounded, unable to believe that this isn’t one of his illusory dreams of you, and that you are in fact standing before him right now, tangible and real, and looking at him with eyes that are seemingly verging on joyful tears. “You knew it was me?” He manages to inquire amidst his incredulity.  

“Eventually.” You admit, smiling at the way he drops his gaze. You gently reach up and cup his cheek. “At first I was a bit hurt that you didn’t tell me, but then I realized that it gave me a chance to fall in love with you…again.”

Yoongi’s jaw drops at your confession, and he feels like his breathing has stopped all together. “Y-You…m-me…again?” He’s lost the ability to form coherent sentences. This can’t be happening. Did you really just? To him?

You nod, chuckling at how embarrassing this all was, but you couldn’t lose him again, not after you regretted never telling him how much he meant to you four years ago and how much he still means to you now. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pour all of this on you all of a sudden.” You exhale in an attempt to calm your pounding heart.

There’s a long moment of nerve-wracking silence before Yoongi finally speaks.

“Y/N…” He takes a deep breath, organizing his frenzied thoughts as best as he can. There’s so much he wants to say, but he doesn’t know where to begin. He wishes he could just transfer everything he wanted you to know without having to come up with a way to eloquently convey his feelings. From that heart fluttering moment he first laid eyes on you to this unforgettable exchange that is making him feel like the happiest man alive, he doesn’t know how to get it all across in one statement, so he settles for something simple. “Y/N, I love you.” He ends up spilling the words he’s always wanted to say but never thought in a million years he would have the chance to.

Your face heats up at his direct confession, but that doesn’t stop you from taking it as a green light to jump into his arms, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m not dreaming, am I? This is real, right?”

Yoongi closes his eyes and soaks in the scent of your hair, arms squeezing you just a tad bit tighter as if to show that this, indeed, is not a dream. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this to be real.”

...

[thisislizheather]

April Activities 2021

The major news of the month? I can’t believe I get to be fully vaccinated. It’s hard to describe how incredible it feels but I’m so ready to really start this next phase and I can’t wait for everyone I love to feel this feeling soon. Here’s what went down last month.

Here are my favourite tweets from last month. Also, I’ve decided to compile the best tweets list every two weeks rather than only once a month mostly because I love re-reading them and want that sort of joy in my life twice a month, not just once.

I did Nathan’s podcast and we talked about Rogers, sex robots & god only knows what else.

Two new nail polishes that I bought and love: English Lavender by butter and Cold Brew Crew by essie. Beautiful colours.

I’ve made this lamb ragu from Alison Roman twice so far, it’s so luxurious but somehow easy to make. I’ve put it on tagliatelle as well as zucchini noodles and both have been wonderful. Small tip: it does get better after it sits in the fridge for a bit, for some reason. (Also, the recipe doesn’t call for it, but I added basil at the end. I tend to add basil anytime something calls for parsley because it’s just so much more flavourful and fun.)

Above Photo: Alison Roman’s lamb ragu

I want to buy new underwear and I’m looking for any suggestions that aren’t Victoria’s Secret, Aerie or The Gap. I might just bite the bullet and try the ones from Blush (love love love the models they use).

I tried the strawberry short cake soft serve from Milk Bar and it was heavenly. The soft serve is even better than the strawberry cake (although the cookie crumbles within the cake always make my knees weak). In fact, I’ve yet to try a Milk Bar soft serve that I didn’t love (their vegan apple pie soft serve was out of this world), should I have been buying their pints this whole time? Yes.

I gave a chance to Ouai’s Air Dry Foam and it didn’t impress me or anyone else for that matter, so I guess I’ll just stick with the Wave Spray instead.

The rain boots that I bought a few years ago from Winners have disintegrated and I’m in search of new ones, but please don’t recommend Hunter ones. I hate Hunter. Open to any other suggestions!

Influenced by a TikTok video, I bought Falscara and holy shit. I know I promise this a lot, but I’m going to do a video on it so you can see how good a product it is. So many videos are coming, I vow.

There milk chocolate coconut almonds from CVS are UNHOLY.

I tried a sample of Glamglow’s Glowstarter moisturizer and was pleasantly surprised at how it really does give you a pleasant glow. What’s that about.

It’s uncivil how expensive body suit/swimwear hangers are. Who is this benefiting? I just want to hang my delicate bodysuits and carry on with my day.

Trader Joe’s has started selling their own vodka and I’m hoping they’ll start to sell it in New York soon. Seems weird that they don’t already.

I tried a small sample of Charlotte Tilbury’s Magic Elixir and discovered that the true magic behind the elixir is how she got anyone to believe that it does anything at all. Makeup products truly enrage me at times.

Nathan and I went to a movie theatre and it was everything I wanted it to be and more. We saw Godzilla vs. Kong and I found myself beaming through every inane scene. Perfect movie to see after a year of no theatres. Would I ever watch it again? Good lord no.

I bought a lotion bar from Gift Box on Broadway in Astoria and I love it. I think I’d use it more if it were slightly smaller and more manageable, but I love it nonetheless.

I tried Rao’s spaghetti and it was incredible, so now I’m forced to seek out their other types of pasta. Such a quality pasta.

I ate at The Pineapple Club and the basil fried rice and frozen pina coladas were both outrageously good.

I bought this bag from Zara and I’m honestly nervous to even wear it out for some weird reason. Like, am I the person who would have a bag like this? Do I want to be that person? Am I feeling this way because of having nowhere to go for so long? Have I always been this fearful? Some of these questions I shouldn’t answer, I realize.

Just bought these shoes in tan and I think I have my life all figured out now. Now if I can just leave the house wearing said shoes and holding said bag.

Speaking of shoes, I truly can’t decide if I love or loathe these slippers.

Last shoe thing: head over HEELS (not sorry) in love with these feet hugging sandals. Should’ve bought four more pairs.

I made these chocolate banana muffins and they were great but the real standout is the recipe at the bottom for the salted honey butter. Christ, you should make that butter.

I perused Molly Baz’s new cookbook and it’s a big one. Some standout recipes: The Big Italian salad, a dilly horseradish cream sauce for shrimp, and of course her caesar salad recipe.

I never thought I’d be the type of person to buy fake plants, but this one is so lifelike and pretty that I had to get it. Plus it’s perfect for the top of a bookshelf.

Above Photo: Fake plant from Target

It’s ramp season and I couldn’t be happier about it, you’ll hear more about my ramp creations next month.

I watched This is a Robbery on Netflix and don’t waste your time. Yes, it’s an interesting story, but save yourself a few hours and go read this instead.

I’m watching The Nanny and loving it. I’ve only ever watched a few episodes growing up, and I thought I would hate it because of how much everyone makes fun of Fran’s voice but her voice is fine! It’s wild that anyone ever said it was annoying. Also, the theme song is catchy as hell.

I rewatched Speed and it’s, of course, still great. What can’t Keanu do.

I watched the 90s movie The Crush and it’s really weird that movies like that would never have a chance being made today.

I’m all caught up on Riverdale now and… it’s hard to remember when it was really good. Maybe it was all Skeet Ulrich? Was that the main draw in my mind? I can see that making sense. In any case, it’s taken a turn.

There’s something so inviting about having good washroom rugs, I just got these soft-as-hell Threshold ones and I’ll never buy another brand again.

I visited the midtown Ideal Cheese Shop (been meaning to forever) and it’s such a great spot for NYC delicacies as well as, obviously, cheese. They had pre-packed bacon from Peter Luger and salmon from Daniel Boulud.

Things are already changing fast with new restrictions loosing in NYC, but did you know you can rent out a bar for an hour?

I tried the breakfast Beyond Meat sausage patties and surprise, surprise, they’re great. There’s nothing this company can do wrong. I’m becoming suspicious.

I got drinks and some small bites at Bar Dalia in Astoria and what a sweet little place! Would go again.

I finally got my hands on the kitchen-scented mini candles from Trader Joe’s (the scents are lemongrass, tomato leaf, fresh mint). They fill me with joy, unfortunately. I also got their grapefruit scented body butter, which goes on very smoothly but I’ve noticed it has a scent that’s slightly off-putting over time. I will not dwell on that fact further.

Had no idea that Banza made a pizza crust but I tried it and it’s wonderful.

I love seeing what promotional giveaways are planned for the upcoming baseball season but since we’re technically still in a pandemic, the Mets are only releasing what the promotions are each month (makes sense). So I’ve bookmarked the page to go look at on the first of each month.

I don’t eat a ton of fast food, but I’m sorry, some of these are genius ideas.

I’ll regret it if I don’t buy a box of these, right?

I know that it’s common to read an article about something and feel “that’s me!” but this one really resonates with me: “There’s a Name for the Blah You’re Feeling: It’s Called Languishing.”

The best brand at Target: A New Day.

Love and fully agree with all of this woman’s questions about things that don’t make sense.

I was walking past a Home Depot in Queens and the smell of the sandwiches at Rocco’s was heavenly. I had just eaten, otherwise I would have leaped into line. Must remember to get a Philly cheese steak here next time. The Yelp reviews are calling me.

I bought this earring organizer from The Container Store and it’s perfect. Fully recommend. I also finally got a purse organizer and some shoe boxes that make me feel like I might be a successful woman in her prime.

Above Photo: Earring Stand from The Container Store

Above Photo: Left: purse storage holder, Right: shoe storage boxes, Not Shown: me, opening & closing my closet door ten times to bask in my new found organizational skills

I had no idea Zara had a home section. I wish I didn’t have this knowledge, but now that I do, you must too. Literally ALL of these glasses are gorgeous. Tempted to go smash each glass in my kitchen cupboard right this instant.

This Artist Faked Being a Billionaire to Photograph New York City's Best Views - such a great idea, such great photos. How was it not me who came up with this?

Some more spring recipes I’m dying to make:

Ramp & Ricotta Tart

Grilled Asparagus Caesar Salad

Lemon Poppy Seed Cake

Scallop Risotto with Lemon & Sweet Peas

Grilled Caprese Skewers with Halloumi and Sourdough

Some things that I’m looking forward to this month: the new/final season of Shrill comes out this week (!), I might be going to a Mets game (!!), dying to eat at Under The Volcano, really want to visit the new Dippin' Dots store, I’ve been craving a good club sandwich for months so I might try to get brunch at Mark’s Off Madison, I know it might be early but I can’t wait to go tan on Governors Island soon, and at some point I’d really love to take one of these pasta cooking classes.

Above Photo: The club sandwich at Mark’s Off Madison, photo courtesy of Front of House

If you’ve got any interest in reading last month’s roundup, you can see what went down in March over here.

[davidfieldfutureworks-blog]

Contemporary Contextual Studies: Session 17 (02/02/2018)

Had a presentation today for the “imaginary game jam” thing. As TK is one of the resident technical designers my prospective role was essentially already filled, so I just said I’d handle the audio design. Strangely enough, I actually put some brief thought into it.

As the concept was essentially Twisted Metal/Crazy Taxi meets Fallout, and felt that a dark ambience-heavy metal mashup was on the cards for the soundtrack. Being based in Manchester, the use of Manc bands was essential (anything else would be punishable by being sent to live in Liverpool). The core idea would be to take the melody of one song (eg The Boy With the Thorn in His Side by The Smiths), time stretch it and play it in reverse, then lay on some guitar samples by assigning segments of guitar riffs from other songs (eg The Girl in the Dirty Shirt by Oasis) on a sampler, and just basically experimenting til it sounds good. That’s my approach to music at least...

Regarding my actual assignment work, I decided that if I’m going to do this thing properly and look into how I’m going to break into the industry and eventually land my desired role, I’d have to look at everything from a practical perspective. Therefore, I decided to do some budgeting.

Working through all my current and projected expenditure, I came to a target monthly income. I then looked into various roles available at studios in a realistic location, ranging from areas in Greater Manchester, Cheshire, Yorkshire, and Lincoln (I have family and a few mates there so adjusting to a smaller city for the sake of two or three years wouldn’t be as big of an issue if I was starting from scratch). The roles themselves however were quite frustrating.

First off, I clearly have no specialised role to begin with. I’m decent with low poly models, but not good enough for entry level art. I can do technical design, but can’t code, so that’s out (most roles require strong knowledge in C++). My level design skills are limited to real life maps and floorplans that I can draw over and make slight modifications to, leading me to conclude that looking into this particular job would be pointless. Then there’s audio. As much as I love working in a recording studio, I’m too out of practice to consider myself genuinely good, and on top of that most job listings again ask for strong knowledge in C++. It became clear that the role to look into would be the dreaded QA tester.

Going for the position of a QA tester is problematic for a few reasons, ranging from the difficulty to get noticed enough to progress through a company, to the redundancy of being a “qualified game designer” (whatever that means). Ever since I first considered the possibility of working in the industry fifteen or so years ago, it’s always been said that the way to get a job with no experience or qualifications is to go for quality assurance.

Now, obviously it does at least require a background in something related (modding, for example), however besides the knowledge and experience gained from this course (or the second year, if I’m being totally honest) it brings up questions such as “should I really have plunged myself into £45k+ debt for a job like this?” At the end of the day, I could’ve easily earned a comfortable £16-18k/annum for three years building up my portfolio on the side. Then again, would I have actually spent my time doing that, or would I just have wasted it all on going out? Resilience is a key factor in a job such as QA testing though, so it’s a point I’m going to have to moan about til I get bored in order to get it out of my system.

Another issue I’ve been having is the complete lack of information about salaries in job listings in the industry. I’ve honestly never known anything like it, and it’s quite insulting, as it seems to suggest that people should be so lucky to even be considered for a position. That has got to be the most infuriating thing I’ve learned so far about the industry. I perfectly understand a company being secretive over their finances, but to actually withhold information from potential employees is ridiculous when you consider the fact that everyone has responsibilities. How is anyone supposed to know if they’re wasting their time or not in applying for a role that may or may not be financially sustainable for them?

Anyway, putting that rant to the side, I did a little digging, and from what I can gather £15k/year seems to be a sensible figure to work with as far as QA testers are concerned. Long story short, the finances just don’t work out. The alternative is to spend the first few years of my thirties living with my mam, a prospect I refuse to consider.

From here I effectively (a word branded onto my brain thanks to Ewan) ruled out looking for a job at AAA studio straight out of uni, at least until I have some savings or pay off enough debt for it not to be considered part of my monthly budget.

Speaking to John, who I’m assuming could hear my frustration through my choice of words (which consisted of “f” words such as “[it’s] frustrating...) he simply suggested I get in contact with producers at studios around Manchester and the North West area and simply ask the questions I needed to ask. Out of my pool of ten studios that range from low level indie to not quite AAA, only two got back to me on my request for advice (which is more than I expected).

One basically suggested that the best way to find out would be to ask people in the industry (!!!) and the other went into a highly appreciated amount of depth, including personal experience. In hindsight I probably should’ve mentioned my age, as he also gave as he went onto say I’d need to get another degree for getting a “normal job” (on the off chance that anyone who hasn’t had one before is reading... no you don’t. Having a level 2 in both Maths and English, along with six level 2s in total is all you require in terms of qualifications to get such any type of “regular job”).

Nevertheless, his advice was actually quite brilliant. A basic breakdown for anyone who’s interested: - Being a game producer is a catch 22 position. You need experience to get a position, but can’t get experience without filling such a role.

- Make games no matter how bad they are just to get something done.

- Use game jams to get the experience you otherwise can’t get.

- Loving the work you do is worthy of sacrificing money. [Side note: it’s sacrificing what the money pays for that concerns me]

- Wanting to be a game producer is great, but the worst thing to want to be before entering the industry.

- Design documents are the way to go for landing the role of a “junior designer” at a larger studio.

- Quality Assurance is indeed the recommended role for a budding producer to start off with.

- Being a QA at Sony’s Liverpool branch will likely meet my budgetary needs, and is a realistic commute, though staff turnover is very high.

- It’s worth getting a PRINCE2 qualification, as it will prove true understanding of project management.

- Speculative applications and LinkedIn are a must for getting work.

So, to bring this lengthy entry full circle, it seems that my best approach is to banish myself to the city of scousers.

[pllsetskyonice]

@yuriplisetsky is a size queen

Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky

2,900 words

“What are you talking about?”

“Your Twitter? Your thread that spends about ten tweets waxing poetry about the size of my dick? Everyone’s talking about it, the fans are going crazy, I had Victor ringing me up half an hour ago to ask if it was true and if I really had deflowered Russia’s Fairy like that, and I just – what the hell were you thinking, Yuri?”

In which Yuri gets drunk and Tweets some things he probably shouldn't have.

AO3 link

So @94mercy made this post that headcanoned that Yuri gets drunk one night and talks about the size of Otabek’s dick on social media, and I immediately knew I had to write it. Otherwise known as me just wanting to join in with all the hung!Otabek content that’s been coming out of this fandom in recent weeks. 

(Also tagging @daddybek because that’s where this all started back in February)

They’ve been dating for a few months when it happens.

Yuri goes round to Mila’s for a few drinks after practice one day, and they steadily make their way through a bottle of vodka, laughing and talking about their respective partners. The music is loud and Yuri feels all loose and giggly as he reaches for his phone, taking selfies and documenting their escapades on Snapchat. He’s never been this drunk before, so drunk he’s not even sure what order his memories from the last few hours go in, so drunk that he can barely stand, so drunk that the room is spinning.

He sits down and opens Twitter, starting to type. He doesn’t even think about what he’s Tweeting, just starts a thread and keeps on going until he gets it all off his chest. Mila is grabbing at his hands and pulling him up so they can dance together again, and Yuri’s phone lies on the couch, forgotten.

So he doesn’t see what he’s done until morning.

-

It’s the sound of his phone vibrating loudly on the bedside table that wakes him up. He’s in Mila’s spare bedroom, a small sized room with what feels like the most uncomfortable bed he’s ever slept on, but it evidently didn’t bother him at whatever time he collapsed onto last night. At least he made it into bed, he supposes. That’s an achievement, even if he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

He grabs at his phone, squinting at the screen. It reads 6 AM, and is somehow fully charged, even though he has doesn’t remember plugging it in last night. It’s far too early. Yuri wants nothing more at this particular moment in time than to roll over and go back to sleep to avoid dealing with this hangover from hell, but it’s Otabek that’s calling him, so he supposes that he’d better answer.

“Hello?” he says, his voice sounding all croaky as he unplugs his phone and rolls back onto his back. There’s light streaming in through a gap in the curtains, and Yuri would get up and close them properly, but they’re too far away to deal with right now. Instead, he opts for the easier option: pulling his blankets over his head.

“Yuri, what the fuck?” Otabek asks on the other end of the line. Even in this still half drunk, hungover state, Yuri can tell that this is Not Good. “What were you thinking?”

“What are you talking about?” Yuri replies. He wonders if it’s about his and Mila’s Snapchat stories, but from what he can remember there’s nothing too outrageous on them, just some really bad singing in questionable English to pop songs neither of them like.

“Your Twitter? Your thread that spends about ten tweets waxing poetry about the size of my dick? Everyone’s talking about it, the fans are going crazy, I had Victor ringing me up half an hour ago to ask if it was true and if I really had deflowered Russia’s Fairy like that, and I just – what the hell were you thinking, Yuri?”

Yuri fumbles with his phone, opening Twitter with his phone call with Otabek still active in the background. He doesn’t even need to go onto his profile to see it, it’s all over his timeline. “Oh, shit,” he swears as he scrolls through the Tweets. “I don’t even remember posting any of this. I was so drunk, Beka. So drunk. I’m sorry.”

-

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

Alright buckle in its gonna be a bumpy ride let me tell you a thing or two about the size of @otabekaltin’s dick

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

I hope you’re ready bc I sure as hell wasn’t the first time I saw it – tho in fairness he did warn me about it beforehand

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

But I’m gonna be honest here and say I had to take a moment when we did somethinh sexual for the first time bc girl, I couldn’t’ cope

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

Shall we talk about the time he fucked me for the first time?

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

YES WHAT A WONDERUFL IDEA KETS CARRY ON TALKING ABOUT THE SIZE OF MY BOYF’S DICK FOR THE NEXT TEN MINUTS

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

After all of the prep (srsly ive never seen so much lube lmao) he finally entered me (is that even the right word idk I’m so drunk rn)

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

I’ve never felt so full in my whole life it was SO GOOD 10/10 WOULD RECOMMEND (although hands off he’s mine)

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

honestly tho I swear the sex gets better every time? He REALLY know what he’s doing with that thing let me tell you

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

I did once ask if he needed a licence for it, he didn’t take it well lmao. Anyway, tl;dr: @otabekaltin’s dick is a godsend and

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5h ago

I am forever grateful that I’ve got to experience such a masterpiece so many different times in so many different positions

Christophe Giacometti @c_giacometti · 5h ago

Replying to @yuriplisetsky, @otabekaltin

Holy mother of god is this true? PLEASE TELL ME THIS IS TRUE

Yuri Angels @yuriangels10 · 5h ago

Replying to @yuriplisetsky, @otabekaltin, @c_giacometti

AHAHAHA WE’VE BEEN SAYING THIS FOR AGES WE CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING

-

“Yeah, I figured, from the numerous spelling mistakes and yours and Mila’s Snapchat stories from last night,” Otabek says, sighing. “But that doesn’t make this okay, Yuri.”

“I know,” Yuri says miserably as he continues to scroll through the shit storm that’s taken over his Twitter. “Do you want me to delete the tweets?”

“I’m not sure what good that’ll do at this stage,” Otabek says. “They’ve already been screenshotted and reposted too Tumblr and Instagram and Facebook so many times that deleting the original tweets doesn’t mean that people will stop talking about it.”

“True,” Yuri agrees. He hasn’t checked Tumblr yet but he already feels like the Yuri Plisetsky tag will be trending on there, full of screenshots taken from Twitter and detailed posts discussing it all. Instagram will be full of people screaming in the comments, and Facebook will have people criticising his decision to share this all on the internet for everyone to see. No doubt someone has already put together a compilation video on YouTube of closeups of Otabek’s crotch with Yuri’s tweets edited onto it. “I can’t apologise enough for all of this. I’m so sorry.”

-

russian fairy @plsetsky · 4h ago

@yuriplisetsky is a size queen

Jenna @xxknifeshoesxx · 4h ago

Replying to @plsetsky

I can’t believe that this is confirmed, what the hell

skate away @quadloop · 4h ago

Replying to @plsetsky, @xxknifeshoesxx

Is it just me that rlly wants to know just how big Otabek is now?

russian fairy @plsetsky · 4h ago

Nah (I mean it might be bordering the slightly creepy territory but still, SOMEONE FETCH THE GUY A TAPE MEASURE)

-

“I know,” Otabek says. “I’m not happy that this has happened, but it has, so we’ll deal with it – oh no, Victor’s just messaged in the group chat.”

-

Victor: EXPLAIN YOURSELVES

Victor: [multiple screenshots of Twitter threads]

Yuri: …

Yuri: why the hell should we have to explain ourselves to you two??!

Victor: BECAUSE IT SEEMS LIKE EVERYONE IN THE SKATING WORLD IS TALKING ABOUT THE SIZE OF OTABEK’S DICK AND HOW MUCH YOU LOVE IT AND WHY DID YOU POST THIS ALL ONTO TWITTER?

Yuri: jesus

Yuri: stop yelling

Yuri: I was drunk and said some things on twitter, it’s not a big deal

Victor: It very clearly is!

Victor: Yakov is going to have your head off over this, I’m surprised he hasn’t called you yet

Victor: If you thought he was mad at you after Welcome To The Madness, then you’ve really got another thing coming

Yuri: I can handle yakov thank you

Otabek: I’d make a joke about how if you can handle my dick you can handle anything but somehow I don’t think that would be appreciated

Yuri: oh my god beka

Victor: You’re right, it wouldn’t be appreciated

Yuuri: Maybe

Yuuri: Maybe it doesn’t matter because they’re both consenting adults and what goes on behind closed door isn’t anyone’s business but theirs?

Victor: Yuuri I love you but that’s not the point

Victor: They’re going to get people going on about this for months, in interviews, in articles, online… it’ll come back to haunt you in five years’ time at a party when someone’s flicking through their camera roll and finds the tweets and is like, “oh wow who remembers when?”

Yuri: alright I get it my tweets are a ghost that’ll come back to haunt me

Yuri: can we all please calm down I really don’t want to deal with this rn

Victor: Is that because you’re hungover? Well you should’ve thought about that before you got drunk and posted a bunch of stupid tweets to twitter!

Yuri: *true, not stupid

Yuri: and stfu victor

Yuri: no one cares what you have to say

-

Phichit Chulanont @phichit_chu · 3h ago

I’M YELLING pic.twitter.com/t35v5f

Phichit Chulanont @phichit_chu · 3h ago

Someone should get yuri drunk more often this is GOLD

Mila Babicheva @mila_b · 20m ago

Replying to @phichit_chu

I honestly don’t know if I should be apologising or not

Phichit Chulanont @phichit_chu · 20m ago

Noooo! Definitely not lmao I WANT TO KNOW ALL THE SECRETS

-

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 10m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this banana bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/235g5y

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 10m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this cucumber bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/43qg5

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 10m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this aubergine bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/4gaf35

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 9m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this leek bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/98rga3

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 9m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this can of dry shampoo bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/257g23

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 9m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this chair leg bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/5gsgj1

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 8m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this table leg bigger than otabek’s dic? pls respond pic.twitter.com/43tg83

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 8m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this branch bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/6grg24

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 8m ago

@yuriplisetsky is this tree bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/7gr32t

Yurabek For Life @yurabek4life · 6m ago

Replying to @slicetheice

@yuriplisetsky is this dildo bigger than otabek’s dick? pls respond pic.twitter.com/24gw46

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 6m ago

u ruined it

registered yuri angel no 4525 @slicetheice · 6m ago

gtfo my thread

-

There’s a knock on the bedroom door and Mila enters, a glass of water in one hand and her phone in the other. Her hair is messy and she obviously didn’t get around to taking off her makeup last night, as her eyeliner and mascara is smudged around her eyes and what’s left of her foundation is decidedly patchy.

“Hey,” she says quietly, walking forward and placing the glass on the bedside table. “Thought you could probably do with a glass of water.”

“Thanks,” Yuri mumbles, reaching for the glass and taking a few small sips. Though his phone call with Otabek has now ended, they’re continuing to text as they both keep an eye on what’s happening on social media. Victor keeps texting him too, and Yakov keeps calling him, but Yuri is ignoring those. He doesn’t need a lecture right now.

Mila shuffles on her feet, pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, looking down at the carpet rather than at Yuri. “I never should’ve got you that drunk last night.”

“You do realise I don’t really give a shit, right?” Yuri replies. Mila’s head snaps up and she stares at him, brow furrowed.

“What?” she asks, confused.

“I don’t care, Mila,” Yuri says. “Maybe in a perfect world I wouldn’t have posted those tweets and sent the figure skating fandom into a meltdown, and maybe people at Google questioning wouldn’t be wondering why there’s been a sudden increase in people Googling what the average penis size in Kazakhstan is, but it’s not the end of the world. Otabek wasn’t best pleased at first but I think he’s getting over it now. If anything, it’s just given everyone another reason to be jealous of the fact that I’m dating him.”

Mila scoffs, a smile spreading across her face. “You’re something else, Plisetsky,” she says. “Are you going to tell me, then?”

“Tell you what?” Yuri asks, feigning ignorance as he continues to scroll through Twitter. He’s trending, but he’s not exactly sure how he’s supposed to feel about that given the circumstances.

“How big he is, of course!”

“Fuck no. Get out my room.”

“Technically speaking –”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

-

17 missed calls from Yakov

Yakov: What on earth is going on

Yakov: I hope you have a reasonable explanation for all of this

Yakov: I am concerned about that boy’s influence on you

Yakov: Please answer your phone calls

Yakov: Answer the phone when I call you!

Yakov: ANSWER THE PHONE!!

-

Otabek Altin retweeted

russian fairy @plsetsky · 5h ago

@yuriplisetsky is a size queen

Otabek Altin @otabekaltin · 1m ago

Replying to @plsetsky

Hell yes he is. ;) #yurisizequeen

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 30s ago

Replying to @plsetsky, @otabekaltin

#yurisizequeen CONFIRMED

-

Worldwide Trends · Change

#yurisizequeen

@yuriplisetsky and @otabekaltin are Tweeting about this

General Election

UK General Election ends in hung parliament

The King and The Skater III

@phichit_chu is Tweeting about this

#mysearchhistory

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve Googled?

Kazakhstan’s Hero

Otabek Altin is now being celebrated for entirely different reasons than the ones you’re thinking of

#thebigmeat

1,257 Tweets

-

Yuri Plisetsky

@yuriplisetsky

Gold medallist Russian figure skater. Otabek Altin’s boyfriend. Size queen.

St Petersburg

Joined March 2014

Born March 1

-

Phichit Chulanont @phichit_chu · 10m ago

@yuriplisetsky YOU UPDATED YOUR BIO AND I’M YELLING

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 10m ago

Replying to @phichit_chu

I was just showing who I am

Christophe Giacometti @c_giacometti · 8m ago

This whole thing is making my day #yurisizequeen @otabekaltin so how well does he take it?

Otabek Altin @otabekaltin · 8m ago

Now that would be telling ;)

Christophe Giacometti @c_giacometti · 7m ago

Is that code for “I’ve never had anyone take it so well before”?

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 5m ago

Why must I be exposed in this way

Phichit Chulanont @phichit_chu · 4m ago

You exposed yourself

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 2m ago

…true

-

Yuri: I’m never drinking with you again.

Mila: Yeah, whatever you say

Mila: I will get you drunk again and get you to spill your secrets all over Twitter

Yuri: NEVER

Yuri: NOT HAPPENING

Mila: Sure, keep telling yourself that

Mila: So, you want to have a few drinks next Friday?

Yuri: …

Yuri: Fine. I’m in.

-

Yuri’s been back at his apartment for a few hours, doing nothing more than curling up on the couch and watching Netflix and contemplating if he can stomach food yet when the doorbell rings. He stares at the door for a few moments, confused, because he no one’s told him they’re coming around. Maybe he left something at Mila’s and she’s decided to drop it off when running errands or something. Sighing, he pauses Netflix, drags himself off the couch and shuffles to the door, his blanket wrapped round his shoulders like a cape.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Yuri demands when he opens the door and sees Otabek of all people standing there. “You decided to just hop on the next plane to St Petersburg or something?”

“Um, yeah,” Otabek mumbles, brushing a hand through his hair as a faint blush spreads across his cheeks. With his other hand, he holds up a bag from the local convenience store. “I also got food. Wanted to make sure you were actually going to eat something today.”

Through the thin white plastic of the bag, Yuri spots a familiar label. “You got me Pringles.” They’re one of his favourite foods that he’s not really supposed to eat when he’s training, but they’re also what he really wants right now.

Otabek grins. “I did.”

“Have I told you how much I love you recently?” Yuri asks, making a grab for the bag. Looking like a kid at Christmas, he takes the lid off the Pringles and tears at the paper/foil one, before taking several crisps out of the tube and putting them all into his mouth at once.

“Well, you’ve told the world about how much you love my dick, but apart from that, no, I don’t think so.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Yuri says through a mouthful of crisps, rolling his eyes. “Come on, get in here.”

-

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 13m ago

Look who flew all the way from Almaty just to be here! ♥♥ pic.twitter.com/36uhghefh5

Otabek Altin @otabekatlin · 12m ago

Replying to Yuri Plisetsky

It’s good to be back. ♥♥

Christophe Giacometti @c_giacometti · 10m ago

I bet it is ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Yuri Plisetsky @yuriplisetsky · 10m ago

Oh yes ;)

[ecotone99]

[MF] An Impossible Dream

An Impossible Dream

Dreams are scary things. People will sacrifice everything they have in pursuit of a dream. They can both drive people to achieve great things and imprison them in insanity. Some people have dreams that they can follow quietly. Other people have grand dreams that trample over the dreams of others, leaving nothing in their wake. Even after a dream has long since faded away and been tossed into the darkest depths of the mind, it still simmers. And if a dream has completely disappeared from a person’s mind, then they are no longer human, for they have no dreams.

---

Ever since I can remember, my family has lived in poverty. I grew up in a small townhouse in the lower south side of Atlanta and was surrounded by gangs, drugs, and violence growing up. Many mornings I would sneak into my dad’s office cabinet and borrow his old Browning High-Power pistol because I was afraid that someone would jump me on my way to school. I never had to use it, thankfully. But I was still always scared. I would never stay out with friends past sunset. I refused to go to the west side of town. I only went out to shop or run errands when necessary. My friends all called me a coward, but a lot of them died before we graduated high school. I imagine that they would be just as careful as me if they had a second shot at life. I shared a dream with everyone who grew up in neighborhood back then. I wanted to leave this life of poverty. I wanted to grow up and become rich and make something of myself. That was my sincerest dream.

I was nineteen years old when I found out about the organization. My father had been spending late nights outside of the house and our family was suddenly bringing in sums of money that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. I begged my father to let me go out and earn money as well, but he adamantly refused-- until the day he lost his job at the hardware store. That night, he packed his bags and departed our house at midnight, and when I begged him to let me come along, he finally obliged. I was inducted into the organization by his recommendation that night.

The organization was made of faceless phone numbers. I was assigned an operator who would give me jobs to do every now and then. At first, the jobs were relatively simple. My operator would ask me to deliver a package of drugs to a certain location or help in a looting of some warehouse. They paid me well with each completed job. Eventually, the jobs started to get more dangerous. My father tried to convince me to abandon the job and go back to school, but I refused. I killed political figures, drug lords, rogue agents, and anyone else that troubled the organization. As the intensity of the jobs increased, so did the pay. The first person I ever killed was a young boy who had managed to learn some secrets behind the higher-ups of the organization. I remembered the look in his eyes right before he died—pleading desperately for life. It was the look of someone who knew that all their unfinished hopes, desires, and goals would remain just that—unfinished. He begged me for his life and cried, promising that he wouldn’t use the information against us. I closed my eyes, shot him once, and left him there to bleed to death as I couldn’t stomach to shoot him a second time. I vomited afterwards and I resolved that I would never get used to killing people. I started counting every time I took a life, and eventually it did get easier. I lost track past 100. After every mission I was awarded with thousands of dollars, expensive clothing and jewelry, exotic vacations, and so on. Slowly but surely, my dream was starting to come to fruition.

One day my father took a job to kill some important underworld figure and managed to get himself killed in the process. His funeral had all the makings of a somber moment. My relatives gathered around his grave while my mom knelt next to his coffin, screaming at his corpse to wake up. There was not a dry eye during the procession that evening. The whole funeral, all I could think about was how much of an idiot my father was for taking that job. He should’ve known how risky it was. I really couldn’t feel sad over my father dying. I only felt disappointment. I remember thinking to myself how strange it was. But I knew that I was supposed to feel sad and cry during funerals, so I did. But I knew that regardless of whether my father was alive, my dream still was.

My phone gently vibrated on the nightstand next to me, flashing a notification about an incoming text. I groggily awoke and read the message. It was from my operator. Are you available for a job? There’s a rogue agent near you right now that is suspected of killing an agent named Edward Nuvelle. I stared blankly at my screen for a while, contemplating if this job was worth the risk. I generally avoided jobs where my life was in jeopardy too. Another text message. We can pay $50,000. I immediately texted back to accept the job and got up to put my clothes on as a drop pin was sent to me of the location of the crime scene. I checked the time. It was 1AM, and I could be back before sunrise. I dawned my black coat and set out into the frigid night.

My taxi pulled up to the pin location at around 1:30 AM. It was an extravagant mansion located about 20 minutes from the center of the city. A spiked metal gate loomed over me as I exited the taxi, as if warning me of imposing danger inside. The house itself was ostentatious. It had a large Victorian garden in front of it with immaculately trimmed bushes, well-kept flower gardens, several statues of Renaissance figures, and a giant Lotus fountain at its center, spouting off torrents of water. The grass itself was a bright green and clearly mowed recently. It was picturesque. As I walked through the steel gate, a concrete pathway was laid out for me that cut through the middle of the garden, around the fountain, and straight to the front door of the house. The house itself occupied the size of a football field and was made entirely of white bricks and stucco. It had countless windows and a steeply pitched roof that was sectioned off with different wings of the house. Waiting for me at the front door was a woman in her mid-20s. She was wearing a short red silk nightgown with black lacing around its edges. She had voluminous dirty blonde hair that fell around her pale shoulders and neck like curtains of gold. Her eyes were a shade of deep blue, but they were red and puffy from crying.

“Are you the agent they sent?” She said shakily.

“Yes,” I said. “And you are the spouse of Edward, Emilia Nuvelle?” She nodded and beckoned me inside the house through the two mahogany wooden doors. “Thank you,” I said, and paused before adding “and my sincerest condolences.” The inside of the house was barren. The floor was an ocean of polished marble tiles while a grand chandelier of diamond and gold loomed over the entrance hall, but there was barely any furniture or decorations. It didn’t feel like a home.

“My husband is in the dining room. I left the body untouched.” She said.

I nodded and made my way through the entrance hall and into the dining room, where Edward’s body was slumped in a corner of the room. His blood was spread out across the wall and there was a dark red bullet wound to his chest. His face was twisted in an expression of worry. Edward’s tracking badge was still with him, an instrument which documented every human encounter he had over the past 72 hours. I took out my phone and scanned the badge chip. My phone lit up with a list of names arranged from most to least recent encounters. The list of names had mainly documented encounters with his wife and another person by the name of “Charles Nuvelle,” which I presumed to be his son. The two names that stood out, however, were “Yuri LeBlanc” and “Elise Martritz.” I quickly passed along the information to my operator to locate the last known positions of these two names. As I sent off the request, I heard voices coming from the entrance hall.

I ran over to see Emilia and a young boy. “Charles! Go back to your room. Don’t worry about Daddy, okay? He’s safe.” The boy was on the verge of tears and instantly turned to me as I entered the hallway. He ran up to me, with tears still in his eyes.

“Mr. Agent, is my dad safe? He really is okay right?” he cried.

I hugged him and shed tears, patting the back of his head before facing him with a reassuring smile. “He’s going to be okay. Don’t you worry. Now listen to your mother and go back upstairs.” The boy nodded and ran back up the house’s spiral staircase into his bedroom. As soon as he was out of sight, I wiped the tears from my face and asked Emilia, “What I said wasn’t insensitive, right?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sure he was very comforted by your words.” She hesitated, opening her mouth for a few seconds as if she had something to say. “How- how long have you been with the organization for?”

“About ten years.”

She laughed and said, “Do all agent of the organization have that look on their face?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You share the same expression that Edward always had. The look of someone who doesn’t care about anyone but themselves,” she said. “I could tell you were faking crying back there. Don’t you have the slightest bit of empathy?”

“My father died when I was young. I-” I hesitated. “I cried at the funeral.”

She scoffed. “None of you are human,” she said, as she walked away.

Her words bit at me. After all, I had a dream, and to chase a dream is the most human thing that one can do. My phone vibrated in my pocket with a text message from my operator. Yuri LeBlanc seems to be the agent who killed Edward. He’s been in the junkyard downtown for the past hour. Elise Martritz seems to be an agent who died a few days ago. I looked up at the room that Emilia had retreated to, and decided against pursuing any further argument.

The sky was dark and even the birds were silent at 2AM in the abandoned junkyard. The junkyard itself was just a large field of dirt and gravel with countless broken-down cars littering the area. The cars were arranged in disorder, with vehicles of all different shapes and sizes being scattered randomly about. Some were tipped over on their sides while others were slammed into each other. A couple of yellow school busses lay abandoned in the junkyard too, towering over the smaller cars like giants. The only signs of life were the weeds growing rampantly around some broken down cars that looked as if they had been sitting in the junkyard for centuries. Empty trash bags and lost toys sat still on the ground, waiting for someone to pick them up.

I closed my eyes and listened to the silence. Several minutes passed by of listening to my heartbeat until I heard the faint sound of a piece of trash being knocked over. I twisted around to the source of the noise and caught a glimpse of a silhouette running past a group of cars. I immediately took off in pursuit. Once I had a clear view of the figure, I steadily aimed my pistol and shot once. Then twice. The figure shrieked and immediately collapsed to the ground. I ran up to see a young man lying on the ground with two bullet wounds to his abdomen. He was dressed in a dirty dress shirt and pants, clearly having had been in the junkyard for some time now. He looked up at me from behind the threads of his long black hair.

“So, you found me,” he said dejectedly.

“Yuri LeBlanc. You killed another agent of the organization.” I said. “I’ve been assigned to kill you.” I raised my gun to his head.

“Before you kill me,” he interrupted, “I want to ask you why.”

“Why?” I questioned.

“Yes,” he said. “You don’t seem hesitant at all. I want to know what drives you.”

“I do what I’m told,” I said. “I-” I paused. “I have a dream that I must see to fruition. A dream to stand above all others. To succeed in life. To escape poverty.”

Yuri laughed. “A dream, huh? I had a dream very similar to yours, once. But… that dream changed. Your dream… it’s very empty.” I lowered my gun. In a raspy voice, he said, “I have a different dream now. And I killed Edward for taking that dream away from me.”

“What was it?”

---

My name is Yuri LeBlanc. I was born in a black box. I was raised by the uncaring hands of uncaring faces to become just that—Uncaring. As a child, I would waste my days away in a cramped, damp, pitch black room watching shows on an old TV set that just barely illuminated a corner with whatever program it was playing that day. Food was delivered to me 3 times a day, through a little doggie door in the far end of the room. I started the counting the amount of meals I got—1,2,3… I eventually lost track. The first time I was taken out of the room I was brought onto a surgical bed and had several operations done on me by strange men with uncaring faces. Something was implanted in my brain that day. I went back to the black box. A few weeks later I was called in for another surgery where something else was implanted in me. This cycle repeated for more surgeries than I could count—1,2,3… I eventually lost track. The day I was finally done with countless surgeries, I was taken out of the black box and greeted by a very enthusiastic man who told me that from that day forward I would be serving the organization. He smiled at me too, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Despite how much he wanted to put on a façade, he was just another uncaring face.

The organization was filled with uncaring faces. Day in and day out I would get sent on missions to kill certain people and no one would ever care. I would find some person who had angered the organization in one way or another and I would kill them, and I never knew why. But a lesson had been ingrained in me from birth—I had to do what I was told, without question. So, I did. And I didn’t care. Maybe something they implanted in my brain stopped me from caring. Maybe I had just become desensitized to it after a lifetime. One day, the enthusiastic man told me about a wonderful thing called a dream. It was a desire that fueled men so deeply in their hearts that they would do anything to accomplish it. So, I imagined that instead of killing for no reason, I could kill for a dream. A dream of success.

I was seventeen when I first met Elise. She had just joined the organization at the time. She had the most determined, blood-thirsty look I had ever seen when I first met her. Perhaps that’s what drew me to her at first. The first job we went on together, I saw that my evaluation of her was right. She knew how to sneak around, how to operate weapons, and how to do everything just as well as any other agent. Yet, she was unique from anyone I had ever worked with in that she always cried after completing a kill. Every time we got sent on a job together, she would always successfully kill our target. And every time we killed anyone she would always cry afterwards. One day I got tired of wondering why.

“Why do you cry after we kill people that you don’t know?” I questioned one afternoon, after she had finished crying from a job.

She looked down. “I can’t help it. I know I should be used to it by know, but I just-” she paused. “I just think about the children, siblings, and parents they’re leaving behind when we kill them. And it gets to me. It doesn’t get to you?”

“No,” I answered. “I guess I can’t relate.” We walked in silence for a while longer. “Then… If you’re so remorseful for our target’s loved ones, why do you kill them at all?”

She frowned. “Because I have a dream.”

“I see,” I said.

I took more jobs with Elise. We would always discuss each other’s lives after we were done. I learned little things about Elise every day. She loved chocolate. She was squirmy around mice. She wanted to go to South Africa one day. She loved drawing with charcoal. She had a best friend named Cece growing up. She was raised in a small apartment in a dangerous part of a city where she worked hard to support her parents. Her mother was a recovering drug addict while her father was a blue-collar worker. She ended up joining the organization because her parents died, and she resolved to work her way out of poverty. She hated school and her boss was strict.

“Are you glad that you left that life?” I questioned her one day.

“No,” Elise quickly answered. “My best memories were with my mom and dad.”

“But they were-” I interrupted.

“I know,” Elise said. “But it was great to have a home to go back to every day. I could come home from a long day of work and my dad would ask me how my day was. My mom would be in the kitchen cooking up something tasty. And we would sit down and have dinner together.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“It wasn’t,” Elise chuckled. “But…” her voice trailed off. “It was nice.” When she remembered that moment, I saw her smile for the first time. A smile that reached her eyes.

Before I knew it, I wanted to spend every day with Elise. I spent every day thinking about her. When we weren’t together, I felt lonely. Whenever I was with her, I felt content, happy even. I started spending time with her outside of missions. Sometimes we would go to observatory and stare up at the stars together—she knew an awful lot about constellations from her time in school. Sometimes we would go to the junkyard and practice shooting bullets into old cars, just to see how accurate we could get our aim. We would rent movies and watch them together. She would always cry at the sad ones. She got scared easily. She would blush every time I called her by her full name. She had the cutest smug smile every time I would treat her to food. She became everything to me. My life was contained in our little moments.

And among the thousands of agents I had worked with over the course of my life, she was the only one who had managed to change my dream.

Elise was killed by Edward Nuvelle two days ago. The report from my operator read that Elise was working for another organization as a spy, and she had recently been commissioned to kill me. Agent Nuvelle took care of her for me. I didn’t know what to think after I read that report. I felt something break inside of me. I did understand that Elise may have been planning to kill me, but for some reason all I wanted at that moment was to see Elise. Why did I long for her like this? Why did I feel pain that someone who was out to harm me had died? Why did I desire the touch of someone who no longer exists? I collected my thoughts and figured that I may find some answers if I went to Agent Nuvelle’s home.

Agent Nuvelle’s wife answered the door for me. She welcomed me inside their lavish home. She told me that she was cooking dinner while her son was fast asleep in his bedroom. They were getting ready to eat dinner together as a family. Agent Nuvelle was seated calmly in the dining room, reading a book.

“Yuri,” Edward said. “So, you heard about Elise’s death?” I nodded. Edward’s face was a deadpan stare, showing no remorse over the fact that he had just taken a life. “It is… regrettable that such a promising young agent ended up being a traitor.”

“Do you have a dream, Edward?” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“Everyone has a dream. I had a dream. Elise had a dream. You have a dream. Your wife has a dream. Your son has a dream. Even the biggest, scariest executives of the organization have a dream that’s precious to them, right?” I said.

“I suppose,” Edward said, “I’ve achieved my dream of starting a family.” He smiled as he gestured to his wife in the other room.

“You have achieved that dream by trampling over the dreams of others,” I said. “Does that leave a bitter taste in your mouth? After all, if someone were to take this dream away from you, you would be very upset, right?” Edward nodded. “You ruined my dream, Edward. So I’ll take away yours.” I then raised a gun to his head, and calmly pulled the trigger. As I left the house, I glanced back to see his wife cradling Agent Nuvelle’s dead body. Their son was still fast asleep in a bedroom upstairs. And I begun to shed tears. Maybe, I thought, I’ve become like her.

---

Yuri coughed up blood onto the dirt beneath him. “You asked for my dream?” I nodded. He managed to whisper out his last words. “I wanted… to tell her that I l oved her. I wanted to text her that I missed her when she would leave me, and I wanted to say welcome back and hug her when we saw each other again. I wanted to watch movies together. I wanted to crack jokes with her. I wanted to argue. I wanted to make up. I wanted to start a family together and have a kid. And most of all, I wanted to leave the organization with her and get a normal house and a normal job.” He grinned and said, “And… It was a silly little dream, but… I thought that I could come home from a long day of work. And… she would say, ‘How was your day today?’… and I would say… ‘It was good.’” He died with a smile on his face. One that reached his eyes.

I knelt next to Yuri’s body for a while. Tears finally flowed down my face, for my father who had died so many years ago. And they really wouldn’t stop.

​

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Hi guys I'm really new to writing and would appreciate any feedback on this story that I've been working on.

submitted by /u/ananiacc [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2umhsrI

[patheticphallacy]

IT’S MAY Y’ALL. Even though I’ll still be doing blog posts in May, it’s not going to be as hectic, as I finally finished my second year of university and have decided to take it easy after a very packed April.

I’m also doing things a little different with my wrap up this month by getting rid of star ratings. I watched a video on it, and I just feel like I’d rather people go by my actual comments on the books than look at the rating and decide that covers all my thoughts. I still have star ratings on Goodreads for my own personal use, but I’m doing my best to start writing proper summaries of my thoughts from now on!

READING WRAP UP

  Tropic of Serpents by Marie Brennan– a solid follow up to the first book, although there’s a startling lack of dragons in a series about a dragon naturalist! Definitely go into this one expecting a lot more politics than book 1, and Isabella starting a lot of Drama.

The Elementals by Michael McDowell– such an amazing horror novel! McDowell is so underrated for a writer who wrote predominantly in the seventies and eighties, and it’s so tragic how young he died. 

Princess Jellyfish Volume 1 by Akiko Higashimura– such a disappointing read. It’s really problematic, to the point where it drastically impacted my enjoyment of the plot, especially when I’ve got so many other more recent manga I could be enjoying more than this. 

Fullmetal Alchemist Volume 8 by Hiromu Arakawa– speaking of next tier manga… holy shit. I am so scared of volume 9 and finishing this series, it’s meant so much to me and it’s really helped me immerse myself fully in reading manga. 

Lumberjanes Volume 9 by Shannon Watters– Barney is a precious precious bean and I love them! This is a roller derby volume, and it was pretty great: I’ve been a fan of roller derby since I first watched Whip It, and this volume was super entertaining!

Lumberjanes Volume 10 by Shannon Watters– wholesome volume where the parents come to visit their kids. I do feel really sad for Molly, but it was nice seeing everyone else’s parents! 

Lumberjanes: A Midsummer Night’s Scheme by Nicole Andelfinger– this was a fun bonus one shot comic. However, it does get very cheesy and it’s whole message is just so obvious  that them explaining it was very much unneeded. 

Smut Peddler Volume 1 by Various Authors– this is a fun anthology of smut comics that I super enjoyed reading. E.K. Weaver’s comic is by far my favourite, and it’s only after I realised that it was a one shot about a character in her webcomic! 

Rumple Buttercup BY Matthew Gray Gubler– a very cute children’s graphic novel about loving yourself and finding acceptance! 

Smut Peddler Volume 2 by Various Authors– this wasn’t as good as volume 1, but I still read it really quickly and had a fun time looking at the different art styles and methods of story telling!

Dream Daddy by Various Authors– there are so many good moments in this comic, it’s so great. Highly recommend if you’ve played the game, and if you haven’t, check it out, it’s real fun! Damien and Robert’s issue was by far my favourite as they were my favourites in the game too.

Tokyo Ghoul Volume 5 by Sui Ishida– finally, I’m starting to enjoy Tokyo Ghoul. It took a while this volume to actually understand what the hell was happening, but once I did, it really did become something I enjoyed.

Rick and Morty VS Dungeons and Dragons by Patrick Rothfuss– A decent enough read, although there is way too much dialogue and exposition on every page. The font is really small, too, so reading it was a hassle. 

Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero– this book was actually terrible and I have a whole review discussing my issues and how harmful it is!

Jackass! Volume 1 by Scarlet Beriko– This is a funny, sweet manga about fetishes and blackmail. It has an age gap romance between an 18 year old and a doctor, and there is some transphobic bullying/weird treatment of bullying being okay if the person has a crush on you, but the main relationship is great, and the MC has a really lovely relationship with his older sister. 

Batwoman: Elegy by Greg Rucka– Chronicles the Alice Batwoman arc from Detective Comics, as well as giving the backstory for Kate. It’s so great having a badass DC hero who is a lesbian, whose storyline also touches on homophobia in the ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ era of the military. Glad I finally got to this!

Sparrowhawk #5 by Delilah S Dawson– a really disappointing series conclusion overall. I knew I should’ve just stopped reading after the first issue and I wasn’t feeling it, and I honestly wish I had after such a dissatisfying conclusion. Others may enjoy this, but it really wasn’t for me.

Assassination Classroom Volume 1 by Yusei Matsui— an amazing series starter! Already really moving with a teacher who spends all his time encouraging his students despite being a threat to the entire world they have to kill within the year. I have a feeling this will become a new favourite.

I’ll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara– really great non-fiction read written by a journalist who played a massive part in the resurgence of talk surrounding the Golden State Killer. You also get some of her life story, and by the end I was almost in disbelief that the author had already died by the time her work was published. I will say it did drag at points, especially in the parts not written by McNamara that had to be finished after she died, but overall a really thorough look into the cases and the victims.

The Woods Volume 5 by James Tynion IV– this series is- dare I say it- picking up? I still have issues with the representation and the fact that most of the main characters to have died, especially in this volume, were POC while the white characters are in the exact same situation and survive. Will have to see if this carries on. 

Backwards & In Heels by Alicia Malone– this started off strong, and I found out so much about women in film and their presence in the industry since the creation of film in the 1800’s. However, by the end it got so repetitive and formulaic in the way information was presented that I started skimming. This is more of a coffee-table, occasional-read book when you fancy learning more about amazing women! Also, even though there is diverse rep and talk of lack of hiring of WOC and LGBT+ women in the industry, we also get the author praising white women earlier on in the book who took on roles where they did blackface and yellowface, which really dulled down the conversation in the latter half of the book. 

My Love Story!! Volume 6 by Kazune Kawahara– so GOOD. I got so emotional reading this volume, I ended up crying. This is by far one of my favourite manga series, I can’t recommend it enough. It follows tough-but-soft boy Takeo as he enters into a relationship with Yamato, cutest girl in the universe, with the support of his best friend Suna. Truly the PEAK of romantic comedy fiction. 

When the Sky Fell on Splendor by Emily Henry– emotional, hardhitting read about a group of friends who end up with superpowers after discovering a strange alien object. It’s very reminiscent of the film Super 8 in my head, and if you love stories about not only aliens but found families through friendship, highly recommend!

The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle– I just don’t think Sherlock Holmes is for me. I love the retellings and adaptations, and in theory, I’m invested in the murder mysteries, but I just think Doyle’s prose weighs it down and there’s always that underlying racism I don’t think is appropriate to even attempt to shake. 

And my May TBR Jar pick is…. MY HEART GOES BANG by Keris Stainton!

TV SHOWS/MOVIES/VIDEOS

At the start of the month, I started bingeing Dead Meat videos, a channel entirely revolving around horror. My personal favourite series is the Saw kill count videos, and the movies that changed horror podcast episode James (the host) does with his girlfriend Chelsea (who is amazing)!

I finally watched season 2 of Stranger Things! I adore Steve, as always, and it was such a solid season (BOB). However I did have an issue with the needless rivalry that festered with Elle towards Max, season 3 better sort that and stop pitting girls against each other for no reason other than because of boys.

Zoe from Read by Zoe was on FIRE this month with some really great read-a-thon videos! I loved her 24 read-a-thon vlog especially, she read only books she enjoyed growing up and it all felt really nostalgic.

This is very much a personal one, but my favourite streamer returned to a podcast with the company he used to work for, and it was just…. so heartwarming to watch. I can’t believe he left four years ago! I’ve been watching this company since I was about fourteen, so it was so nice watching this, a long-awaited reunion.

Kat at paperbackdreams did an amaaaaazing video rant reviewing After by Anna Todd, and I loved it. In general Kat is a top tier booktuber for me, I highly recommend her videos as much as I can!

MUSIC I’VE ENJOYED

Pressure by The 1975

Old Town Road Remix by Lil Nas X, Billy Ray Cyrus

The Black and White and I Spend Too Much Time in My Room by The Band CAMINO

I Got 5 On It  (Tethered Mix From US) by Michael Abels, Luniz, Michael Marshall

Soldiers (From Stranger Things) by Kyle Dixon, Michael Stein

REVIEWS I POSTED

Three Romance Reviews: Kulti, The Hating Game and Sunstone

The Elementals Book Review

Meddling Kids Book Review

OTHER POSTS I’VE DONE 

Spring Cleaning Book Tag

Film Friday: Favourite Campus Films

Getting Through Exam and Essays: ADVICE

DISCUSSION: Reading at University, and how I do it!

Music Monday: OMG This Song Book Tag

Top Ten Tuesday: Rainy Day Reads

Top Ten Tuesday: First Ten Books I Ever Reviewed on Goodreads

  April Wrap Up & May TBR Jar Pick IT'S MAY Y'ALL. Even though I'll still be doing blog posts in May, it's not going to be as hectic, as I finally finished my second year of university and have decided to take it easy after a very packed April.

[braindamageforbeginners]

Hangovers

Cycle 3, Day 9

Two things learned in the last 24 hours:

1. I really need to shut up whenever discussing how things aren’t too bad, that’s just begging for a smiting.

2. I should probably not write about infusion days on infusion days, because the weird stuff tends to happen right before bed (largely because of my new, “Go to bed immediately if something weird happens policy.”

I had another odd, brief hallucination last night, to go with the crippling pain and limp. I was on Facebook, and the icons suddenly became sand castles, and, in a weird way I was suddenly at the beach, sort of (I can’t really describe it; if that makes any sense to you, kudos). And it is kind of frighteningly amazing how quickly these side-effects can set in. However, if you’re sober at the time (I realize that’s an extremely odd, almost self-negating concept when you’re being pumped full of experimental toxins), it’s not frightening. And my bedtime policy paid off; I didn’t become Timothy Leary.I woke up this morning with an unbelievable hangover. I realize I’m prone to hyperbole and exaggeration, but the one this morning had teeth. Which is one of those sorts of good-news/bad news things - I’ve noticed the faster and harder the serum side-effects hit me, the sooner they go. Also, you know how, when you had to get up early to go to school when you were a child, and Mom, in an act of breathtaking cruelty ripped off your covers off and lied, “I know you’re tired and cold now, but it’ll get better if you get moving.” Which, again, feels like a betrayal of sorts if you finally make it out the door and find out it’s 40 degrees. Well, dear reader, mom may been lying to get you out of the house, but I assure you - based on my own experience - once you get out of bed and a-movin’  (and, more importantly, eating and drinking)(make sure you take your zofran or any other appropriate medications), you’ll start feeling like your old self. Don’t rush that “getting out of bed part,” though, take time as needed (this morning, it felt like I actually had go through several stages of evolution)(side-note; you’re gonna feel much less human and more like a jumbled-together set of human cells at the start of activitiies). I went for an ultra-high fiber and coffee breakfast, which seemed to help - or at least reduce my physical description from “possible 90-year-old amnesia patient” to “nasty but manageable back and shoulder pain.” If all this seems meaninglessly detailed, well, yes, it is. I wish I’d known four months ago that switching to a largely coffee-and-raw-fruit-based diet could save me some pain. Definitely I’m feeling immeasurably better and less-mentally foggy (I successfully recovered my Spotify username and hassled the DMV about my ongoing bureaucratic feud), although I’m still definitely showing signs of sleep deprivation and exhaustion, I’m not too bad. Except for some back pain, which probably isn’t that bad, except it is a novelty for me (sort of, it’s happened to me frequently enough that I know to just grab the Tylenol salt-lick).

So, bad news for you guys, mentally-capable yet too physically sore to anything terribly ambitious is the horrible sweet spot of “might as well sit down and write. Something a friend mentioned on Facebook got me thinking; if I’d been told I’d have to heavily modify my diet (sort of; after six pm I believe I’ve done due diligence), schedule (again, Temodar is very weird, and I’m glad I’ve finished it for this cycle), religiously take lots of various pills, get a lot more cardio exercise, sleep a lot more than I’m used to etc. a year ago, like most of you, my first thought would be, “Oh,God, I’m gonna die.” And, to be fair, the night is young (and I still have that new blip on the MRI); but you’d amazed at what you can adapt to. And after a while, even though you still hate all those things, your body will help keep you on the straight and narrow (mostly because your own body will start actively punishing you if you don’t keep up)  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still grumpy and irritable and not going all Tuesday’s with Morrie, but there is a sense that, denied a lot of other of life’s options, I’d double down on the Warlocks, see how far that took me, and leave the black flight box behind for the next folks in line. And now I’m having hallucinations, which, while I can’t claim is something I’m happy about, but it’s definitely not boring,.

Speaking of strange developments, I had some time to think about Ronny Jackson (as it turns out, television news is the perfect thing to watch when you’ve just been pumped full of various suspicious chemicals - there’s no plot, there are no characters, everything lasts 45 seconds, and you don’t lose much of he information) and my constant harping on about finding top-grade professionals when you’re in my situation. Firsoff, I require that level of competence not because of my personal preferences, but because I have a rare, amazingly dangerous disease that’s already behaved unpredictably. If this was standard colo-rectal cancer, I’d probably go to the Local Health Mart. Not to slam anyone, just that different diseases require different levels of management and training (diabetics are allowed to live in society and actually have their own insulin). The common thing you want - from your GP to your neurosurgeon (okay, especially your neurosurgeon) is to be 50th case like yours they’ve seen, not the first (as Dad described it when choosing his orthopedic surgeon)(that’s not the only indicator, but we’ll come to that point briefly).  And that doesn’t happen unless the doctor (or nurse) is out there practicing (oddly enough, younger doctors make better doctors because they don’t have the professional pride/investment that would discourage them from getting a consult)(that was in a study I read).  Which means that the current physician to the president has had two patients in ten years, one of whom was, by all accounts, quite physically healthy except for a history of smoking (I’ll discuss that some other time), and another who’s not completely healthy, but that would require a neurologist and nutritionist. One middle aged man and an elderly-but-previously healthy man. Most practitioners could get out some folding chairs, grab a six-pack, and let the situation play out until someone had a noticeable complaint (TWISTED SIDE NOTE: I just realized that all of my complaints/symptoms have, so far, not come from any disease process, but from side effects of treatment)(my apologies if any of my doctors or nurses are reading this, you’ve all been great, but that Zen Koan is true . Unless they had some sort of horrific, undisclosed disease. That’s barely qualified and experienced enough to lance a boil. And he got his job through Yelp, basically - Obama liked him and wrote a letter of recommendation, and so did Trump. And, in total honesty, now that I have artificial middle-age aches and pains, I’d like anyone who offered me Percocet, too. Mine are mostly-manageable with Tylenol, but infusion days are vicious, and if that was a daily occurrence, I’d make out with anyone with Percocet,

This isn’t actually about Ronny (it’s about widening the scope of this essay so it’s not another gripe-fest of me neurotically keeping track of symptoms), it’s about finding good clinicians. I’m still trying to figure that out for everyone, and I’m only beginning to sort through that data (also, there’s a good chance I’ll die during he attempt, but that’s also not the point of this piece). Ronny is obviously not a good doctor (he might be a fun one, though), but he does provide some lessons.

First, you don’t have to like your doctor. Yelp doesn’t have to like them. You have to trust them. I realize that’s not always easy to sum up, but all of my physicians (and probably nurses and other folks I’m ignoring or forgetting because there isn’t any data available that I can find) have been driven to be better doctors than they are now - that sometimes takes a bit of research (Mad Scientist has an impressive number of papers on PubMed) to figure out, sometimes a neurosurgeon will discuss some new drillbit he helped design to get through the skull (okay, I’m getting the details of that incident wrong, but it happened)(It’s a little off-putting to hear that described in the same glowing tone as developing a new, experimental bratwurst for the.county fair BBQ. But he’s been my neurosurgeon for two extremely successful surgeries. And I might need to revisit him before the year’s out (I hope not, obviously)

Which also brings up a teachable moment; for years - a few solid decades - the medical industry recruited and adhered to the standard that as long as you were competent, you could be an utter sociopath. Which, according to some sources, Ronny is. It’s not even some medical secret, it’s a common stereotype in the media. I suspect that the medical industry is trying to combat this more actively, but, in my first semester, I met a guy (you go to as many study groups as you possibly can when possible) who probably had a favorite hooker buryin’ spot. I listened for ten minutes (and I don’t know how I lasted that long; I should’ve just conspicuously glanced at the clock and fled, as my smarter classmates did. It was 10 minutes of narcissism and genocide (not exactly, he felt that poor people got plenty of insurance, and put-upon hospitals should be able to kick them out on the street)(which actually happened to me at one hospital, thanks to the insurance companies using an obscure legal loophole) I think that was the point I left Mr. Wonderful’s company (If I die and end up the traditional Judeo Christian afterlife and am made to atone for my sins, I’m sure St. Peter will want to know why I didn’t follow that motherfucker back to his apartment and kill him with a shovel, I know it a dark thought, but no darker than the probability that he got his MD, passed all his boards, and was set loose upon an unsuspecting public. But that’s just one guy amongst thousands of potential doctors, Ronny’s been accused by a few sources of sociopathy, As a patient, it’s almost not even worth worying about them - you will know them when you see them. Or, rather, when you talk to them

Another checklist item: if your doctor enjoys where they live.

I’ll continue this thought tomorrow (or technically today)

Author’s note: I spent 12 hours on this thing (sort of; after starting it in the morning (obviously), there were various distractions and errands and infernal family members demanding my time, So the last hour or two was mostly desperately typing before exhaustion took me. So I edited this thing a bit.