#I wish I could be paid to catalogue things

[succubusfuccubus]

Embroidering the Magnus Archives

Here is a google doc masterpost of @kirikiri1 episode Hoops, in order. Just in case anyone listening to the Magnus Archives would like to follow along. Some episodes haven't been done (yet?), and so I've left them blank.

[bigmilkagenda]

Of the many, many plates of pancakes* that were offered to the listener in magp 1-07, this one may be my favourite

[ID: A screenshot of an unofficial transcript to The Magnus Protocol. CELIA is saying "Yeah. I mean, it's an old system, but it could have been worse. It's not like we're wrestling with tape recorders and manila folders." /end ID]

When we meet TMA-Celia for the second time, she's lost her name. She was Lynne Hammond, and now she's not. She doesn't seem to remember Martin, either, but it's not clear how much of herself and her life from before the change she does remember. She's freaked out by the tape recorders that start showing up, and there's no indication that she associates them with the Institute specifically.

If Celia Ripley is, as we are clearly intended to believe or consider, the same Celia as in TMA, why is she making knowing comments about manila folders and tape recorders? Tape recorders in particular are hardly standard equipment at what seems to be mostly a text data-entry and cataloguing job. She could have said typewriters, or carbon paper. Fax machines, if we're dunking on Freddy specifically.

She says "tape recorders and manila folders." Celia Ripley is referencing The Magnus Institute, particularly the outdated technologies in use in the Archives.

Maybe she learned more from Melanie about what the recorders were and did at the Institute, sometime after MAG 190. Maybe she has those specific memories of giving her statement in MAG 100, and little else. Maybe Martin grew an apocalypse beard and she remembers everything, but just didn't recognise him out of context and in a tunnel and during A Pretty Weird Time Overall.

Maybe she stuck around with Melanie-Georgie-Basira for a while after things returned, and that's how she learned about the particular significance of tape recorders.

Maybe she found some tapes and listened to a couple hundred of them.

Or maybe she's simply an AU Celia, with a knack for oddly specific and kind of clunky comparisons, drawn into this through the powers of metafiction and string theory.

Or maybe someone filled her with spiders and sent her to finish the job of spreading Fear to this particular world.

And the reason this particular plate of textual pancakes** (short stack, butter and nightmare syrup) is one of my favourites from "Give and Take" is because I genuinely have no idea! None of these are theories because there isn't enough evidence to point me in any particular direction. It's a mystery!, Jon voice, etcetera.

If you cornered me and paid me to have an opinion about it I could say which options I thought were more likely, I guess. But the odds are high that I'd be wrong, and I think the boat for me getting paid to interpret texts probably sailed fifteen years ago, besides. I'm in this for the love of the game.***

November is the true spooky season in the northern hemisphere.**** Yeah, October ends with Halloween, but you know what month starts with Halloween? Mmhmm. By November of 2019 TMA had been on my list for a few years, and someone I was getting to know and really liked recommended it to me specifically in the days after 159 aired. The conditions were correct for me to get into something new, is what I'm saying. I still remember listening to "Anglerfish" for the first time, walking home from my office job in the blustery November dark. I got home starry-eyed and red-cheeked and thrilled by the story I'd just heard.

It took a couple of months for me to catch up, and though I loved having so much to listen to there were times when I wished I'd started earlier, to have the experience of seeing things unfold.

And now we're back at a beginning, and get to experience the horrible joys of finding out.

[ID: A screenshot of an unofficial transcript to The Magnus Protocol. LENA is saying "Of a sort. I hope you're as ready for it as you think you are. Consider yourself "in." /end ID]

*Sabrina pancake meme

** the best kind, especially if it's a contest between textual and fluffy pancakes. Keep those spongy bastards away from me, I'll take the kind with a typeface instead

***Being a huge nerd

**** For more of my opinions on November, see https://www.tumblr.com/almostmolly/188799234276

[thursdaygirlmp3]

big day for media business girlies now that watcher is trying to go the dropout route - some thoughts below the cut

>big L on the fact that they don't have first mover advantage as a lot of their audience already has crossover with other paid subscriptions for independent productions (eg. Dropout, Nebula etc) and they still have a fairly young audience who don't have enough purchase power to subscribe to multiple services past a certain point. my sense is that the average viewer will put watcher on the chopping block - their output unfortunately simply isn't high enough to justify it as a good deal for most folks

>I do understand why they would make this move given how high their production quality is. one only has to assume that their 11k patreon supporters were not enough to meet their P&L. i'm assuming an 80% conversion of patreon subscribers to watcher subscribers will probably happen

>they've had 2 rounds of funding from what I remember, I'm sure there was some push from the investors also to meet their profit line so they could see returns. if they drop a few business focused interviews (hoping for a colin and samir episode, they're one of the best in the YouTube business news space) I'll have a little more to work with in terms of understanding why they did the damn thing

>bigger L on putting their back catalogue behind a 50$ paywall - a bad move both in a business and viewer satisfaction sense

>the value for subscription looks? okay? it's not tooo bad. but if I had to make a choice, i probably wouldn't want to dish out the money for this singular service. superfans probably won't mind but as someone who has become a moderate-to-casual fan, it's just not worth it for me, even to access a few comfort episodes of their back catalogue. it's YouTube, someone will have it backed up on a drive link somewhere.

>i'm hoping for the best for them because more independent creators being able to properly fund the work they'd like to do is ultimately a good thing, but media and entertainment is very much an economies of scale business - you need be certain you have a very high and dedicated viewership to undertake large projects which cost a lot of money. if they don't have enough supporters immediately they'll be unable to launch at the scale at which they want to, which also means it'll take longer and harder for new viewers to pour in. it's not company-ending stuff, but it's a tough journey and i wish them the best

will probably reblog this with more thoughts as more details come out

[screamting]

I wish comics would just admit they're fanfiction. I mean I want them to get paid and I don't want fanfic monetized so they are different, but I do wish they would admit they are fans of a concept just expanding on it. I wish we didn't get stupid plot lines introduced just because it's been introduced to canon, even though i get that having ongoing canon helps keep a fandom active.

I wish comics were good fanfics. I wish comics had emotions in them. I wish they didn't hear "make your script have an action beat every page" and not realize a film script is very different from a comic one and also that it's not even good film advice really. I wish they realized action beats don't have to be literal action scenes. I wish we didn't have 'blink and you'll miss it' cameos where I wonder why someone even existed on the page, where you can figure out the thought. I wish when someone said "this is a good comic run" I didn't get hopeful just to get reaffirmed a good comic run is just a slightly better comic run. I wish you could find the damn runs people were talking about without a god damn atlas and full card catalogue. I wish they were printed more thickly and more slowly so the overall arc could actually come together some and the artists had time to drag things out on the pages with three whole panels to a single facial journey and multiple pages to a conversation. I wish comics could avant garde that shit. I wish they were allowed to be better fanfiction.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fics Still Missing part 4

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These fics are still missing suggestions!

Feat. WangxianFicFinder blog

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1. This is a bit old fic. I remember in it Wangxian are living in a cottage now, and one day WWX finds LWJ vehemently chopping wood. Turns out LWJ is punishing himself because he missed few days of “everyday” therefore he thinks he failed WWX. Do you remember what that fic was? Heh #3 on post

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2. Could you please help me find a fic? The main point was that Lan Wangji was injured in the Gusu massacre and during the turtle cave scene Wuxian gives Wangji his core. The story is canon compliant otherwise, but after Wuxian’s death Wangji learns to play the dizi and he always keeps Chenqing in his belt. I think it was a long fic (50,000+ words) and could have sworn I read it on ao3… but I can’t find it again! Help!! #12 on post

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3. Looking for a fic. Wei Wuxian goes on tour or something similar, and the tabloids post something about him cheating even though he didn’t. He’s dating Lan Wangji and even tho he knows he didn’t cheat he can’t handle the stress of having a boyfriend on tour/ far away. I think it ends with WWX coming back to LWJ and canceling his tour or something similar. Please, any help would be great!!! @/withoutwingsx  #17 on post

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4. i have given up searching for a fic on my own and turn to you. it was a modern au w/cultivation, lz and wwx were working together but wwx was not sect/family affiliated. it’s revealed at some point that wwx was manipulated by madam yu into donating his core and then basically tossed out, but no one knew the details. he’s on some kind of probation while he recovers from the core donation surgery. please help, it’s been days. @/plotwitch #4 on post

not FOUND All Old Things are New Again series by The Feels Whale (@/miscellea)

not FOUND Wei Wuxian’s Guide to Hacking for Fun and Profit by ArgentInferno

not FOUND the soft animal of your body  by sysrae

not FOUND this river runs to you by sundiscus

NOT FOUND! Where You Say My Name by trippednfell

NOT FOUND! Hear a song this deeply by so_shhy

NOT FOUND! 🧡 but his smile never dimmed by Stratisphyre

FOUND? Truth Will Out (when caught on video) by KizuKatana (E, 117k, WIP, wangxian, WN & WWX & WQ, modern cultivation, YZY abuses WWX, caught in camera, partial core removal, WWX expelled from Jiang sect, live streamer WWX, meet-ugly, dual cultivation)

For #27 of missing fic, it sounds vague familiar. Does the fic have wwx working freelance to catalogue/prep-clear out a seized warehouse full of dark artifacts and lz is searching for a missing dragons scale? Or is it one where they're investigating a series if grisly murders where people are used to make arrays and he works as a professor and is briefly a suspect? Or where there's sect cultivators, but also 'city cultivators' like wwx that deal with simple/animal control type & he lied for job

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5. Hello, I’m searching a MDZS fic that is a Empress Ki AU. It’s in AO3, but I cannot find it. @/annarielwen  #7 on post

FOUND? Оплачено сполна (Paid in Full) by Rubiya_Sinner (E, 49k, WangXian, ChengXian, Drama, Romance, Slavery, Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Inspired by K-Drama | Korean Drama, Loyalty, Intrigue, Ancient China, Love/Hate, Revenge, Unhealthy Relationships, Doomed Relationship, Betrayal) there is one empress ki tagged fic however it's in Russian

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6. Hi. You all do great work. I’m hoping you can help me find a fic. It’s a sweet little post cannon, birthday fic for WWX. He and LWJ go into town for food with the juniors to celebrate. All the juniors give him really nice gifts. I think JL gives him something really special and LSZ is worried that his gift isn’t as good as JL…or something along those lines. I wish I could remember more. I hope this is enough to go on. Thanks again! #10 on post

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7. Hi! I was wondering g if you could help me find a fix, I actually first knew about because of you I belive, it’s a time travel fix it fic in which both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wanji got send back before the sun campain, they had a meeting with the clans and basically stopped it from happening, great part of the fic is actually after all is well, like they adopt a yuan, and stuff, nobody dies. I remember Wei Ying having a panic attack and people believing they are from the future because they are inmediatly lovydovy with each other. I believe it was long, like 30 or 50 chapters? Thank ahead!  #19 on post

FOUND? We Can See a New Start by preciousbunnynoiz (M, 127k, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, Soulmates, Time Travel Fix-It, Biting, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, but mentally they are adults, Making Out, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Happy Ending, PTSD, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Supportive LWJ, Communication, Soul Bond, Blood, Found Family, Parent-Child Relationship, aromantic JC, Lesbian WQ, Queerplatonic Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Disassociate episodes, disassociating, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Depression, Delusions, Mental Health Issues, Mental Breakdown, Attempted Sexual Assault, Therapy, Supportive JC, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Torture, Revenge, Self-Sacrifice, Accidental Bonding, Brotherly Bonding)

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8. Hello! I am looking for the wangxian fic where Jin Ling wants to formally court Lan Sizhui. He asks wei wuxian and then asks for his help to talk to lan zhan. I know I’m the fic wei wuxian wears gusu robes during a conference and acts like the best version of a lan wife. Thank you in advance!! #15 of post

NOT FOUND! A Civil Combpaign by Ariaste

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9. hello! i can’t stop thinking about these (a bit vague) scenes from wangxian fics. could you help me find a fic where A) wei ying falls asleep as he waits for lan zhan outside the jingshi. i think it specified that he fell asleep on the porch? #16A of post

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10. Hiii i need help in finding a fanfic So i remeber that the fic starts with the author telling us that wei ying and lan zhan are happy after everything that happened and wei ying is trying to cultivate his golden core  but wei yings core is not strong enough so that he can cultivate to imortality. Lan zhan decides that he does not want to live eternaly and he ages with wei ying. Lan zhan is  sharing his spiritual energy with wei ying and this way he ie sustaining the both of them until he finally runs out of it and one day they lay in bed and they die together in the jingshi. Next thing you know they wake up in the past and i think this fic is a time travel fix it or just a time travel one i cant remeber anything else. I know i read it on AO3. Please help. @/dacika98 #18 of post

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11. Hey, I’m looking for a post-canon fic where there’s an assassination attempt on WWX with poison and LWJ is super protective and has to find the culprit. Thanks so much! #3 of post

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12. For your next fic finder… I’ve suddenly remembered this elusive  fic. I’m pretty sure it was a canon era BDSM AU (in that people have   inherent dom/sub dynamics), and WWX was a sub that had been   raised/socialized as a dom by the Jiang sect. The fic was set during the  CR study arc, and IIRC something happened in the library that caused   WWX to drop hard, revealing the truth to everybody. It’s not The Hilt  Lies Well In Hand by HeavenlySkyfarer, or A Gesture of Companionship by  Khashana. Help? #13 of post

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13. Hi, for the next fic finder I need help finding 2 fics that I read on AO3. A) During the first siege Wei Ying uses the Soul Summoning Ritual to bring back Jiang Yanli’s soul in his body and the Yanli runs to Jiang Cheng and says something like “A-Cheng it’s me.”.   B) During the Wen Settlement days one morning Wen Qing walks into Wei Ying’s cave and finds him dead on his bed. I think he died due to an illness and Wen Qing wasn’t suprised to find him dead.  Thank you for your help. @/bluekittenfire  #16 of post

13A)

FOUND! A Final Sacrifice by FrozenHawFlakes (T, <1k, major character death, Angst, Protective Siblings, Family Feels, family love, everything is worse off for everyone, except maybe JL, but he has another set of problems, What-If, Canon Divergence)

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14. I can’t find a fic where Wei Ying died at canon and woke up from coma in modern world where everyone is alive and good. And they think Wei Ying is dreaming. Wei Ying is also confused. Everyone is good even madam yu and fengmin. And he’s also lan zhans husband there. Thank u #18 of post

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15. hii!!!! im looking for a fic in which wwx is badly hurt, and the lan doctor tells him that the only way he can survive is through dual cultivation. lwj immediately goes to do the deed because he can’t stand wwx in pain. they get together in the end! but it has a little of angst! their first time is a little sad because wwx is very hurt but they love each other a lot and get quicly together! thank you #20 of post

FOUND? as amber of ember glows by occultings (microcomets) (E, 11k, WangXian, Sex Pollen, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, First Time, Miscommunication, Aphrodisiacs, pining for the person you're fucking, Getting Together, mostly) sounds like one of occulting's fics, maybe 'as amber of ember glows' but there are several along this line so I can't be certain?

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16. Posted on instagram. LWJ and WWX were both models, WWX were kidnapped and tortured at one point because of jealous Jin Zixun  @/hid9884 2B of post

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17. Hi can you help me find a fanfic?? um wei wuxian works at a sex shop and lan wangji comes in to close it down bc his parents own it but end up falling in love where as jiang cheng works at a bar where lan xichen fall inlove w/ him and wei wuxian crazy ex (jenny I think) tries to kill him?? #3 of post

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18. Hello, can you help find this fic? The back story in this fic is yzy is cheating with wcz and wwx is yzy'son with wcz. After wwx born he was cast aside and yzy pregnant with soon after with jfm as the fathet. Wcz become a rogue cultivator while raising wwx and he meet csr. In the first chapter i think wwx is kinda kicked out by bssr to make him meet with his sibling in cloud recesses and make a peace with them. I think he introduce himself as a-xian (or it is a-ying? But i think it was a-xian). I think that’s all i can remember. Thank you! #18 of post

FOUND! The Undesirable Son by FragranceLotion97 (G, 34k, WangXian, CQL but WWX is Madam Yu's Bastard Son, It goes differently from the beginning, WWX becomes sworn brother with lxc then becomes his in law, LWJ is still whipped, There is Yin Iron, Heavily CQL with a little mix from the novel, Adding donghua into the fandom because i decide to use a lot of things from there)

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19. For the next fic finder: can you help me find a fic where wwx falls in the lake when they’re fighting the abyss, and everyone believes he dies. Weeks (or maybe months) pass, and then he washes up on the shore of the lake, somehow still alive. I think it might have been Lan Xichen pov, and he was blaming himself for losing wwx since he was in charge of the hunt. #19 of post

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20. Hello! Looking for this fic: Just before he dies, Wei Ying sees Lan Zhan being severely injured (really bad wound through the chest). When he resurrects later on, he’s certain that Lan Zhan is dead, and he’s pissed about it. But Lan Zhan isnt dead, and they find each other. Its a darkish fic with wangxian being quite in love but kind of a murder couple. Lan Xichen is kinda bad here. Meng Yao gets his head chopped off. I cant find it anywhere, it might’ve been deleted… Help? 😳 @/dreammaiden21 #3A of post

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21. Hello, I’m looking for a fic where Lan Wangji raises the Lan disciples to express their emotions healthily. I remember it ends after WWX’s resurrection with Lan Wangji crying really hard. #4 of post

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22. I watched wangxian toxic lover FF video in YouTube I want read this ff please can you search the ff story I’m try find this story but never find it’s request please can you find #9 of post

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23. Hi ! Can u find me a fic? The summary is basically future wy transports to the past where everyone is basically stuck in this cafe and they solve their emotional trauma and after that is solved both wys go back to their own timeline and everyone lives and no one dies #9 of post

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24. It’s been a while! It’s boyfriend! (Hello again! - Mod C)

There’s a fic that I have been trying to find for a while now and I forgot what it is about. All I remember is this:

- Madam Yu good so is the rest of the Jiang

- I think it’s something about time travel fix it

-The Jiang Family + Wei Wuxian talking about Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling’s weird naming of dogs and then they said something about Sect Leader Jiang naming the Sword suibian. Someone in the group said it runs in the family to which Jiang Cheng refuted it by saying his name and Yanli’s name were good names. Madam Yu just laughed and said that it was her who named them and not Jiang Fengmian.

I’m sorry that’s all I remember but anyway thank you in advance!! #13 of post

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25. Hey! There is a fic set in canon where the following scenes happen, and jiang fengmian divorces madam yu at the end.

Wei ying frequently leaves lotus pier at nights, once his room flooded while he was away. One such night, Wei ying overhears jfm n yzy arguing in a pavilion near the lake.

That day jfm had bought a comb for madame yu as a gift but couldn’t give it to her because she stormed out after blaming wwx and jfm.

Help me find this pls🙏Hi! I’m the anon who asked for a fic set in canon era where jfm divorce madam yu at the end. I remembered a few more details, here are they:

• wei ying frequently sneaks out of lotus pier to practice since he has to pretend he is lacking in front of madam yu to appease both her and jc.

• Once when he went out his room floods and yzy blames him• One night wy overhear jfm and madame yu fighting. We later learn that, that day jfm bought a comb for yzy as a gift but couldn’t give it due to her pushing him further away from having any sort of companionship.

• Jyl is an enabler in this fic and unconsciously defends jc’s actions while asking a-xian to forgive and forget. She never asks jc to apologize to wy and wy calls her out on that later in the fic when he and wens settle with the lans. #1 of post

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26. Hello, me again! 😊 Sorry to bother you, but I literally just thought of a wangxian fic I was searching for a few months ago and never found. The problem is I only recall one scene: Lan Zhan is somehow at Qiongqi Path with Wei Ying & Wen Ning when the ambush happens. I think LZ is telling WY to concentrate and not lose control as they fight… When WN is made to attack Jin Zixuan, LZ steps in between and WN’s fist goes through “him” instead. Does anyone know which fic has that scene? 🤔 @/dreammaiden21

Hello! I was #2 in the latest fic finder, and I just wanted to let you know that it was, sadly, not those two. Great fics though! 👍 But in the one I’m looking for Lan Zhan is definitely hurt in that altercation, seriously enough that Wen Qing (who treats him) fears for his life at first. Wei Ying is beside himself (duh!) and Xichen is there at some point, being worried and angry at WY for endangering his brother. I know I read it somewhere… 🤔🤔🤔 #2 of post

NOT FOUND! and so it goes by doyeorem (pomellogranate)

NOT FOUND! Home and the Heartland by Witch_Nova221

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27. Hi! Im looking for a wangxian socmed au fic wherein they are celebrities. I think LWJ is a singer and WWX is an actor who won golden globe awards three times. I remember that there are scenes that they don disguise in public and some of their fans recognize them but posted their picture in twitter hours after the fans encountered them. There’s also a scene where wwx went to an orphanage and gives red packets to the kids for new years day. Wangxian also went to Jiang Yanli’s restaurant. A scene wherein the Jiang Family took a family photo wearing family sweater. At the end of the fic, wwx win a best actor award and Yu Ziyuan was the one who presented it.  I cant find it in ao3, so it might have been deleted by the author. But maybe someone downloaded it? I really love that fic. Thank you!  @/ynariaalejo #5 of post

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28. Hi! I was wondering if you guys knew this one fic on ao3 that’s a Divergent au? I couldn’t find it around and I suspect it’s been deleted :( #12 of post

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29. I don’t remember anything else about the fic so I’m sorry in advance! I just remember that Wen Qing lived and it was her who performed the sacrifice summon instead of Mo Xuanyu so Wei Wuxian was in her body. #13 of post

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30. Hello. I read a fic where wwx was a first responder and he was also in college and lwj was his classmate and misunderstood him as a bad student because wwx was always sleeping in class. Pls help find the fic. @/rosesstarsandhim  #17 of post

FOUND? Scribbled Hearts by Caelum_the_Slytherin (Not Rated, 2k, WangXian, College/University, Misunderstandings, Crushes, goth wwx, felon wwx, Mentions of Death, Realizations, the slightest of angst)

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31. For fic finder, I remember one scene from an arranged marriage/marriage of convenience that may have involved marrying to save the Wen Remnants, wherein they’re opening their wedding gifts and are puzzled by Sect Leader Yao’s gift, a bunch of unlabeled bottles. Wei Wuxian opens one and dips a finger in to taste it and they eventually realize it’s lube and are mortified. @/rosethornewrites #1 of post

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32. Hey! I’m looking for 3 fics, @/imstillthinkingaboutithmm

A) Alternate canon setting where wei ying has an arranged marriage with a dead lan wangji. They have never met before, Lan zhan is a ghost, his dead body may or may not be present in the room. Come night wei ying can feel the cold ghostly touch of his dead husband. They eventually fall in love.

“lovers be lost (but love shall not)” looks interesting but it is not the fic i was looking for. Thanks for the rec though. This fic is set in 1910s while the fic I’m looking for was set in ancient china

C) A modern AU based on the British dating game show “Naked attraction”

Wei ying goes as a contestant and lan wangji is one of the hidden naked men. #10AC of post

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33. Hello Mods! It’s me again! Please help me find this Spy vs Spy AU with WWX vs LWJ. I can’t exactly remember, but i think it was based on that thread about how if you only slash 3 tires of your ex, the insurance won’t pay? My Dumbass forgot to save it, soooo…. I think it was them being Enemies (like from opposing spyclans maybe?) but it could have been colleagues who hate each other too… in any case it was enemies to lovers ish. Thank you soooo much! @/desperation-is-my-middle-name #11 of post

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34. Hi! I sent a query on Mar16 but I’d like to rewrite my FicFinder request Could you help me find a Wangxian fic where either Lan Zhan or Wei Ying was trained to be a feral attack dog owned by evil forces?They put a collar on him and remove it when he’s to attack their enemies. He’s able to break away from them & is welcomed into a warm & loving home. It’s not a new fic, think I read it last year. Similar to the plot of “Across the street to another life” Maybe it’s also an Unleashed AU. Thx a lot! #13 of post

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35. Hi can you help me find a wangxian fic. Is about wei ying want a place to work on his experiments and lab.. and wangji said he be safe with him in his arm sleeve.. and they make it safe for wei ying to be inside of wangji arm sleeves. @/sadritsuka12 #14 of post

FOUND? My heart in my sleeve by exmanhater (G, 2k, WangXian, Crack, Qiankun Sleeves, Sleeve Husband, Post-Canon)

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36. Does anybody know the name or have a copy of this fanfic where I believe lwj is a Lord and he has 5 wives. I believe wwx was the 2nd wife and lwj didn’t really notice him until one day he saw him playing with the other wives children. And I think one of the wives either the 1st or 3rd tried to kill him for favor. @/teamironman98 #1 of post

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37. Hello, for fic finder I want to find a short story set post canon where Wei Wuxian is transformed into a cat and keeps Jin Ling company, I vaguely remember a scene where Wei Wuxian in cat form bapped Fairy on the nose with his paw and stared in wonder at his paws possibly realising he had claws or in wonder that he touched a dog without running away screaming. I think he later figured out how to transform into his cat form at will to nap in sunbeams. Finding this story has been driving me nuts any help is greatly appreciated. @sorathemasterofmasters #16 of post

FOUND? deep and inscrutable by twigofwillow (T, 1k, WWX & JL, Post-Canon, LSZ & LJY show up briefly, poor JL suffers so much, WWX does not care for Fairy at any time, it is a beautiful morning in Lanling and you are a horrible cat, Humor) this sounds like "deep and inscrutable" by twigofwillow, it doesn't have him figuring it out but he's definitely thinking about it, and the other details match

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38. Hello, I recently remember this fic that ive read months ago and im not sure if i remember it correctly, i cant find it anymore so i hope u guys can help me with this.

- its a modern fic. wei ying is sick then he lives with the lans. i remember him going to the same school(?) with lan zhan. i think lqr told lz to take care of him smth like that. then there’s a girl that is also sick(?) there’s a scene where wy asked lz to stay with him but then lz left and chose the other girl (lz didnt know that wx is sick and he was like the girl needs me more than u) there’s a confession on a radio station(?) then when lz found out that wy is sick he ran back to him. there’s also jiang-wen family connections. wy is cousins to the jiangs and has a connection with wens, im not sure if rouhan is his grandfather or uncle or smth. then they found out there’s a scene where madam yu slapped the girl because of what she did (hurt wy) and they cut off ties (business/job) with their family

im not sure if im talking about one story or two. #17 of post

For #17 I’m sure I’ve read the fic but it was when I was early into fandom and new to AO3. Also the girl is engaged to LWJ or something. WWX already is in love with LWJ,  but he’s sick and gonna die in a year

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39. Hi there, I’m looking for a Jiang Cheng time travel story. I don’t remember the how or why but it was during the Sunshot campaighn and he remembered that Wei Wuxian didn’t seem to suffer any symptom to Demonic Cultivation after his marriage to Lan Wangji, contributing it to his healing songs, and planned to have Lan Wangji marry into Lotus Pier this time… @/krysaniar #1 of post

NOT FOUND! Brother-In-Law’s by ILikeReading101

FOUND? Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It, Lynchpin [PODFIC] by Opalsong, [PODFIC] Lynchpin by Gwogobo)

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40. Hello! Can you please help find this fic? I don’t remember much. I thing wq make a deal with sushoot soldier that she will give yiling to them in exchange of her famaly and her safety. Wwx fights with a bow and killed wzl using a bow in battle at yiling. I think that jc knows about golden core transfer because he awakened at close at the end of procedure. Thats all that i can remember. Thank you!! #3 of post

FOUND! Justified in Knowledge by Comfect (G, 50k, JC & WWX, JC/WQ, wangxian, WWX & WQ, WQ & WN, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer, Everyone Lives AU, except like WRH and WC, And probably a cast of thousands because its a war)

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41. Hi!!! I’m looking for a fic where alpha Lwj thinks ômega Wwx is a fuckboy. He decides to have one night with Wwx to see if his feelings might disappear. Wwx, who is not a fuckboy at all, thinks Lwj is in love with him too, and confesses to him some time after their one night, but Lwj turns him down rather cruelly, even insinuating he is promiscuous. He regrets it once Wwx starts crying. I also remember Wc/Wx said something about Wwx, and Lwj got into a physical fight with him before going to apologize to Wwx.

Hi, it’s number 6 from the lqst foc finder. It’s not the threadfic by Kizukatana. It was not a threadfic, it was on ao3. #6 of post

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42. Hello! I’m looking for a fic I read ages ago and only remember very little of. I think it was either a war prize or arranged marriage fic? But that could be wrong. What I do remember is that when wwx kills the big bad, everyone expects him to take the crown and be evil or something, but he immediately turns and offers the throne/crown/sword/whatever it was to lwj. Help? Thank you so much for all the wonderful work you do!! @/deathdefyinglifeleaps #11 of post

#11 Oooh, that’s a good one, but not the one I’m looking for. Thank you for reminding me that this one exists, though! (Also, sorry I’m wicked late to this? Not sure how I missed it… my bad.)

Not FOUND pitiful destiny, point your finger at me by sassybluee

FOUND? to porcelain, to ivory, to steel by sunsandships (E, 27k, WangXian, Vaguely Game of Thrones Inspired, Arranged Marriage, top!WWX, top!LWJ, Dubious Consent, Intercrural Sex, Oral Sex, Breathplay)

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43. In this fic wen ruohan will send all the sect heirs into the burial mount. Some sect heirs died and others learned demonic cultivation and came out. Jiang sect send wei wuxian to the burial mount instead of jiang cheng. #1A of post

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44. I hope you can help me with this one. Lan xichen can hear the Jiang wanyin clarity bell ringing. He eventually learn that the clarity bell rings differently according to the emotions of Jiang wanyin. Thank you very much #3C of post

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45. Hello i’m for a fic where wwx dies and everyone mourns for him (including wens in burial mounds) and everyone tried to revive him. @aycee0806​ #13 of post

Is 13 the one where WWX died right at the cusp of immortality right around when the first seige was supposed to happen, and because of that even though he was dead his body didn’t decay? So a type os glass casket/shrine was set up for him up in the Burial Mounds I think? Or is it some other fic? I know I’ve read at least one other fic with this vague premise, but either way I absolutely CANNOT remember the fic name either

FOUND? could be the deleted "When I'm gone" by qiankun_pouch. I have a copy of it. ~bluekittenfire

FOUND? If One for you, then One for us by KusakabeNAyako (T, 85k, wangxian, WIP, Canon Divergence, WN is precious Cinnamon roll, WWX is precious cinnamon roll, Rape/Non-con Elements, YLLZ WWX)

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46. HII!!, I was wondering if you have the fanfic where wei wuxian is going through a hard time bc of his gf jenny and lan wangji the son of a ceo who is working a sex shop to close it down also jiang cheng works at the bar- #15 of post

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47. Similar in vibes, also complete: WWX travels to an alternative universe, where JC died and WWX is somehow the Jiang Sect Leader. He meets LWJ at a conference. The new universes’ WWX was not friends with LWJ. LWJ’s leg was still broken after the Wen Indoctrination and never healed, so LWJ is wheelchair bound (pushed by Jingyi). WWX builds up a friendship with LWJ but I think in the end he goes back to his own universe. This one sounds like that one fic where the theme was something like ‘be careful what you wish for’, iirc WWX wanted to see either his parents or JYL alive 🤔 ~Mod L

Any help would be much appreciated! As well as any other dimension travel recs anyone has. Thanks again for this wonderful blog! @/vasterthanempires #4B of post

4BI have read but also cannot recall! Additional details, it was an alternate dimension talisman WWX created, and when he leaves any changes he might have cause are erased but somehow wheelchair!LZ starts an actual friendship with local!WWX? not sure if it was a bonus chapter or an endnote but I recall I was happy that it was a hair ending for both sets…

FOUND? empty as the sky by incendir (T, 23k, wangxian, JYL & WWX, CSSR & WWX, be careful what you wish for)

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48. I need help on finding a fic. It’s about how wei wuxian created his own sect from a past syndicate movements, he transformed it into a merchant/shops/silk road or something similar. He never went with the jiangs or any sects. When he was still on the streets he got betrayed by an “esteemed” cultivator because of false accusations (vendor told the cultivator that he caught wei wuxian stealing from him, but in actuality wei wuxian was at the wrong place at the wrong time), it was another kid that stole a toy from a merchant, if I’m not wrong. He was also a part of an illegal underground fights where he “won the bet” against the strongest fighter. He’s also claimed by wen qing to be the killer of a murder because the only one who knows around needles is herself, and she met wei wuxian and taught him the arts of needles. There’s also a wei wuxian - xue yang connection by said syndicate because the chang sect was a part of it. #9 of post

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49. hi! i’m looking for a fic where there was quarantine and wangxian went to stay at the family house (it was so big like a mansion or an apartment i don’t really remember).

remember a scene where jingyi was having a panic attack (?) and wei ying came to calm him down. they were at the balcony. i think they were adopting jingyi.

i don’t know if it is finished or deleted. #12 of post

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50. Hi I want to ask is there a wangxian fanfiction where lan zhan is a prince and wei wuxian is a huli jing and becomes his consort by forced marriage but instead wei ying is against this loveless marriage and so everytime they sleep it’s always hate s£× until he gets preg and gives birth to a yuan and tries his best to give him love until he dies protecting a yuan from a wen attack and that day he realises wangji actually loved him dies and gets reincarnated and tries to fix things @/random-online-reader #15 of post

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[lilflowerpot]

given that there are deacons who are members of the church but not actually druids, how do you recognize someone is capable of being a druid? do they have some recognizable feature or is it discovered while joining the church? are there galra who have the ability do be druids but aren't bc they don't know/aren't part of the church? is there some druid checklist going around like "hey, if you can do these things, you should totally join the church bc you might be a druid"? /are there galra school fieldtrips to church outposts?/

You're going to hate me for this, but my punnett squares post, while obscenely long, is very much relevant to this question because it explains the nuance of galra genetics and the likelihood of any given individual inheriting a druidic allele,,, likely in greater depth than anyone other than me probably cares for, but still.

First, a quick refresher of the key terminology:

Deacons—vassals of faith without the ability to manipulate quintessence, often but not always born of druidic ancestry. Druids—known as Sa Naacht in the old tongue, druids are galra born with the ability to manipulate raw quintessence, though the degree to which this is true varies depending on the degree of the individual's natural ability / experience. Priest(esse)s—the lower rank bestowed by the Church upon an individual capable of manipulating quintessence when they complete their training, formerly recognising them as fully-fledged druids. High Priest(esse)s—the upper rank bestowed by the Church upon a druid after decaphoebs of faithful service if they demonstrate exceptional power, skill, and experience. The Archivist—the highest position within the Church answering only to the Imperial Monarch themselves, the Archivist is considered the the living conduit of Sa, and so takes charge of the Empire between rulers as well as guiding said rulers through swearing their oaths to serve and protect the Empire.

As I've said time and time again, bloodlines are important the the galra. So much so, that the Empire keeps rather meticulous track of them and has done for generations, especially with regards to the druids due to their quintessence manipulation abilities being so invaluable, what with quintessence being the primary power-source of pretty much all modern Imperial technology. This, naturally, means that those of druidic ancestry are carefully catalogued at birth, and closely monitored throughout their childhoods for any signs of quintessence sensitivity; such signs in a yet-unrealised druid tend to be subtle (perhaps they have a particularly green thumb, owing to their desire to foster a healthy plant channeling a little of their own quintessence into every flower they care for) but the most tried and true method is regular contact with the Church, as fully-fledged druids are trained to notice even the slightest fluctuation in the quintessence around them.

I've spoken in great depth about the Imperial school system previously, and in that post I covered the fact that all imperial citizens are taught religion along with everything else—every branch equally without preference or prejudice—with members of all manner of churches (not just druidic! not even those solely galra in origin!) speaking to the children about their faith/history/practices. Rather than field trips off-planet that might compromise the safety of their charges, nursery colonies by their very design have everything an imperial child could every possibly wish for right on their doorstep—including religious sites!—ensuring that all children in their care will be periodically seen (and therefore assessed) by multiple seasoned druids over a period of decaphoebs. Of course, particular attention will be paid to kits with druidic ancestors in their recent family history because the likelihood of such children displaying druidic ability is significantly higher than those who do not, but occasionally there are bloodlines that haven't produced a druid in several centuries only to turn out a little bundle of quintessence-sensitive surprises.

This doesn't mean that no unrealised druids of unlikely ancestry slip through the cracks, but it is a rare occurrence.

Truthfully, there's no fool-proof physical indicator of druidic ability, but so far as "recognisable features" are concerned, there's a common galra myth that tsai agmt—natural patterns of skin and/or fur pigmentation, passed from parent to child, as a brand unique to an individual’s lineage—are an indicator of spiritual power, and therefore an obvious sign of druidic blood. While this has been proven categorically false (as many druids do not bear tsai agmt, while many bearers of tsai agmt haven't one drop of druidic blood to their name) there does seem to be an unusually high concentration of druidic bloodlines who have been so marked by Sa... though this may in fact be a result of the Church's inclination to encourage their druids to couple with partners bearing tsai agmt, under the belief that they will produce stronger offspring.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

And, ART! I've been doing art! How 'bout Sanaam's tarot card?

This is an illustration for Tin Soldier # 11, The Sailor is Home from the Sea. I'm stressed and distracted, so I may be a little light on the description here, but it's been through some changes!

Here's the original, and I don't have a crummy pen-paper-scan version of this one.

What I wanted to do was kinda complicated and it's hard to find reference images of fat guys. At least I can search for "plus size woman" and get various clothing catalogue images. "Big and tall" the male equivalent, tends to cough up "muscular and tall." And the public domain has a real lack of diversity, which some folks are working hard to remedy. My S/O posed for this in MY long coat to help me out!

Anyways, the one on the top there is all public domain, and the shaded version is... mostly public domain, but I think the suitcase is a paid stock image. I'm licensing with Creative Commons, BY-NC-SA, so you can use/share this stuff if you're so inclined.

Sanaam is #9, and #s 7 & 8 are his wife and daughter. I like when it works out like that. He's based on The Hermit, you can see he has a light, and a boat, just with slightly different significance. He's standing at a bus stop, which seems to be literally on the beach, and waiting to go home, but looking over his shoulder at the boat and the sea. He wishes he could be in two places at once, you see.

Fire and water represent two types of loss, and he has both - the sun and the sea. Water is for passive loss, and fire is the more active kind. He misses a lot when he's not home, but he does choose to leave, over and over again.

Sanaam is my automated summary function. Every time he comes home, he needs an update about what he missed. He's also standing in for my own dad, who wasn't home a lot. I do not feel super great about having produced yet another absent Black father, but the social pressures that cause these things are ubiquitous, even in an alternate, fictional universe. He's doing his best! So am I!

Maggie and the General are making a cameo appearance in bird form, in the background, and Sanaam has a fleur de lis on his luggage - which also appears on his wife and daughter's cards. I'm using it for their family and to symbolize loyalty. In his case, he is definitely loyal to his family - but he has family in a lot of places. Also, it's difficult to take care of a family without a job, ya know? Still, I decided the fleur ought to go in the top section, with San Rosille, where Maggie and the General live, not in the middle with the stamp from the company he works for, or at the bottom with the island where he came from. Milo made him a compass that always points "HOME," and that seems to be defined by wherever his wife and daughter happen to be.

I like the more Sgt. Peppery version of the coat in the less-detailed shadow format. I think it looks more like a captain! Maybe a bit like Captain Crunch, but the guy isn't working for the military anymore. It's like Scoops Ahoy in Stranger Things puts its workers in silly costumes too. Sanaam is not an unsilly person, and it's a perfectly functional coat, so I doubt he minds.

[amndstuckinwonderland]

Emerge From Water - 03

Chapter 3

Summary + Chapter list:

Harry thinks he fell in love a bit when he looked at all the options in the store, “Mr Potter,” Severus said to break Harry out of his admittedly, very well hidden awe, “Buy what you need for school and Owl Order the rest.” Then he, the Professor, motioned to a store out the window, “Meanwhile I will be at the ‘Slugs and Jiggers Apothecary’ three stores down, understood?” Harry answered yes and the Professor slipped out of the store. Honestly, even Dudley didn’t run out of a clothing store that fast.

Walking up to the counter, Harry was ushered to a stand to take his measurements. “What will you be needing today?” The attendant asked slightly distracted by the blonde lady that walked in, she was quite beautiful. “I need the Hogwart uniforms for first years and any and all catalogues for Owl Orders to browse through, I am just returning to the Wixen world and would like to look the part befitting my family.”

At the mention of looking the part, both the attendant and the lady, though much more subtly, looked Harry over. The attendant seemed to realise who she was talking to, hence apologised immediately, “I’m sorry Heir Potter, I meant no disrespect.” Harry waved it off, “Don’t worry, I didn’t even know that I was a wizard until my Hogwarts’ letter arrived, and it’s Lord Potter.” At that the blonde lady couldn’t help but interrupt, “H - Lord Potter, you thought you were a Muggle?”

Harry's face turned to the lady, she oozed natural sophistication and grace, “I lived with my rather bitter Aunt who never got over her sister being Magical.” He said keeping a neutral face, hoping he didn’t let too much bitterness seep into his voice. Alas, it didn’t work, but the Lady politely ignored it.

“I apologise, I did not ask your name.” Harry said, as he moved off the stand and was handed a few catalogues for Fall robes and the store’s self updating year around selections. Harry then went to sit by the woman. She then slightly raised her chin, “My name is Narrissca Malfoy, Lady of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy.”

Harry carefully gauged her posture and body language before asking, “If it’s not too much of a hassle, would you mind helping me with which style of robes are better? If I let myself decide, I’ll never be able to choose.” Lady Malfoy seemed excited at the prospect of picking clothes so she opened one of the magazines and pointed at the many choices that were in fashion.

By the time the attendant brought back Harry’s clothes, Harry and Lady Malfoy had already marked multiple pages worth of shopping that Harry would order. Turns out the Wixen world cared not for gender in terms of clothing hence everything was like long dresses that were fitted. If the robes were closed, but open robes, which were currently popular, came in multiple styles and lengths. Essentially, Harry realised, robes were like thin coats and jackets that were worn over simple dress shirts and trousers. 

Harry paid with the Gringott card and bid Narcissa goodbye before heading to the Apothecary Professor Snape was at. The trip to the Apothecary was short, all Harry did was grab the catalogues since the Professor had already gathered what Harry needed for school as well as recommended certain knives which Harry ended up buying as well. 

After that, the pair went to Astronomy shop parallel to the Apothecary, where Harry bought a telescope as well as star charts that he thought might come in handy. Now the only thing left was getting a pet and picking up his Wand from Ollivanders before he could finally go to the bookstore.

Though, they ended up going to Ollivanders first and then ‘Flourish and Blotts’. Harry went ahead and paid Ollivander ten galleons for the Wand and then another twelve galleons for a dragonhide Wand Holster and Wand Care Kit because Mr Ollivander recommended it, saying that a wizard should never put their Wand in pockets.

‘Flourish and Blotts’ was a wet dream Harry wished he never wake up from, there were so many books to read and buy and thankfully, the store had premade baskets for first years which Harry grabbed and went straight to the counter to pay, he would just have bear with coming back another day to buy books without being monitored. Or so Harry convinced himself as he watched the Professor walk into the Potion section.

Unable to resist, Harry strolled through the religion section, and that’s where he found a book called; ‘The Greek Gods and their Stories’. It was an introduction book to Greek Mythology, and in that moment Harry wanted to smack himself for not remembering that Lady Hera, the Goddess his Mum mentioned was from the mythos books he had wrote down in his to read list from ages ago because he kept rereading the same three books.

Grabbing the book, Harry went into every section and got supplementary books on each subject to help him not fall behind and get him up to date with courses he was going to study. After thirty minutes, Harry met up with Professor Snape who had a look over Harry's cart. “Leave the potion book, the Potters are known for their Potion skills, you’ll find many good books in your libraries.” Harry conceded, and felt a bit giggly about owning more than one library, oh how he loved books.  

After leaving the bookstore, the pair walked into ‘Magical Menagerie’ . Harry was glad he decided to put everything into the trunk and had it shrunk by the Professor because the shop was filled to the brim. The Professor looked like he was going to run away from the store but he had too much dignity to do so.

Harry very carefully pulled the Professor to the corner where he heard hissing, thankfully Snape did not argue as it was the least crowded area. Harry scanned over the multiple tanks, except none of them were occupied until heard; “Green One!” A beautiful obsidian and green eyed snake shouted. If the snake hadn’t said anything Harry would have glossed over it.

Harry looked over to see Snape staring right at him and the snake, Harry bit his lip before resigning himself to the inevitable,“Hello.”  Harry greeted the snake, it was roughly a metre long, hence Harry deduced the snake was the teenager phase of a snake before it grew a few inches.

The look on Severus’ face could only be described as awe and horror, on one hand, ParselTongue was an amazing and envious Family Magic, but the Wixen world held a large stigma against the Wixens who spoke it.

Harry and the snake for conversed a bit before he grabbed the terrarium and brought it to the front of the store, the cashier looked at Harry weirdly but said nothing. Harry bought the snake as well as a female snowy white owl.

Finally finishing Harry’s shopping, they put Harry’s things into the room he booked at the Leaky Cauldron, before going to eat at the pub. “Professor, how do you know Aunt Petunia?” It was something that nagged Harry for a while, “And why was my name plastered everywhere?” Whilst they were shopping, neither of them had addressed Harry being famous, and wasn’t that a thought. 

Harry observed Severus with piercing eyes as visibly saw the man sadden, it was a very miniscule change. Harry wouldn’t have been able to tell if he hadn’t had practise with the teachers at school as well as the Dursleys. “I live near where your Aunt and Mother lived as children,” He started, explaining his childhood and how he knew the Evans. Severus hadn’t thought about his childhood in a while, especially the one before his Hogwarts years.

“Despite the house prejudice and different friend groups, your Mother and I were friends, that was until I messed up because of an incident caused by something your Father and his friends did.” And wasn’t that telling, suddenly, Harry understood why the Professor sneered at the mention of Remus’ name. “We never reconciled, it is my biggest regret.”

The mood turned sombre, but Severus continued, “The Order of the Phoenix, a vigilante group your parents were a part of, heard word of the Dark Lord trying to harm a child born to the members, hence Lily and Potter went into hiding along with another pair.” 

Harry listened quietly without disturbing the man in front of him from his trance-like state. “The Dark Lord was feared intensely for his view on Wixen born from Muggles, he, personally wish to ban them from visiting the Muggle world to avoid breaking the Statue of Secrecy, except that belief ended up twisting to both Muggle and Muggleborn eradication.

On October 31st 1981, during the height of the war, either Pettigrew, or Black, because apparently, he could be innocent, betrayed your parents as their secret keeper, a person who can only willingly give the information about what is under the spell, the Fidelius Concealment Charm, is hidden to everyone as they are unable to recall any detail pertaining the object or house.

The Dark Lord murdered your parents that night before turning to murder you using the killing curse, a curse with no countercharms nor shields. When he did cast the spell, he was vanquished, no one knows why you survived and it is unknown if the Dark Lord is truly dead or not. It is why you’re famous, you did the impossible and rid people, temporary or permanently, of a terrorist. The boy-who-lived, is what they call you.”

The amount of information dumped on Harry had his head hurting, seeing this, the Professor took Harry to the hotel room and bid him goodbye before leaving. It was around 15;35 Harry needed a nap, but before he slept he jotted down everything he could onto the notebook before falling asleep.

James and Lily Potter

Parents were magical too? - Explains why Petunia said I was a freak like my Mother and Father.

Bambi - a Nickname for Harry?

Green Light Magic - What is it called? Is it reversible?

Who is the murder?

 Peter - Why did he betray my family?

Who is Sirius?

Who is Remus?

Gods above - Lady Leto, Hera and Aphrodite, who?

WHY DID I SURVIVE WHEN MUM DIDN’T?

Why do crystals feel funny?

Pearl Tears.

Study Paganism and Greek Mythology.

Brush up Latin.

Types of Magical Races.

Go through Vaults.

Check on Sirius’ Case and Injustice. Why was there no trial?

Clear Sirius of All Charges.

Contact Remus Lupin.

Sift through Mail.

Sift through Family Portfolios.

Choose which house to stay in.

Attend Will reading.

Research Residual Magic.

Owl Order Clothes.

Owl Order Potions.

Go see a Healer.

Learn Etiquette.

Learn about Magical Animals.

Harry crossed out anything that was answered before jotting down more points. Looking at the list, Harry knew the next three days were going to be hectic.

Harry woke up around 19;23, and decided to be productive. First things first, Harry took out some parchment and some ink pens he brought from the Dursleys’ house. Important letters were not the ideal practising exercise for quills. 

Dear Mr Lupin, 

Hi, this is Harry writing. I just recently became aware of being a Wixen and wanted to contact a few of my parents’ friends and your name came up, hence the letter. Going through some of my Gringotts business, the Goblins informed me of an injustice and a lack of trial your friend, and my GodFather, Sirius Black went through. Though that is being dealt with, I hope this letter finds you well Mr Lupin, and I can’t wait to meet you in a few days.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter.

Harry hoped that Remus would reply to the letter, but didn’t want to get sentimental. Over the course of the next two and a bit days, Harry had gone through the family files and portfolios, visited a Healer, who sternly told Harry to take all the Nutrient Potions he assigned as well as he gave Harry all his vaccinations. 

According to the Healer, Harry would have to wait around two weeks after the month-long Potion course to take the Eye-Sight Repair Potion to make sure none of the medicine taken would react against each other. So, Harry walked out of the clinic with a box full of Potions and Ointments for his body and scars.

Harry spent the next day studying and practising his reading and writing skills in Latin as well as going through the books he bought for school, and about the Wixen World. Harry had also finished reading; ‘Greek Gods and their Stories’, and finally understood as to why he survived, Aphrodite had intervened.

Harry sat around piles of books on the bed when he realised he had an extra book, picking it up, Harry turned to the front cover, ‘Book of Patrons; To Devote Yourself To A Patron God’. It was exactly what Harry needed. Harry had spent the last hour or so musing on how to thank the Goddess and really hoped the book would have some answer.

Flipping to the first page, Harry began reading; 

[ Chapter One; What is a Patron God?

A Patron God or Goddess are Deities that followers receive their Guardianship and Protections through devoted prayers, gifts and worship…]

The book then went on how Patronage worked and how the Gods returned and reacted to. By the third chapter Harry was finally understanding the concept and how it would work. First of all, Harry would need to find out his Patron God, and according to the book, if a God had intervened in a Wixen’s life before, there is a higher chance of that God being their Patron.

Hence, Harry set forward to clean the bed and sat crisscrossed. “Lady Aphrodite, I am sorry if this prayer is not up to your standard, but I needed to thank you.” Harry suddenly felt so much lighter, like an invisible weight had been taken off of his shoulders. “Your divine intervention saved me, yet that is not why I am so utterly grateful. You fulfilled my Mother’s dying wish, and for that I would go beyond anything to show how much I appreciated your actions.” A quiet sob left Harry’s lips, “Thank you.” Harry laid down on the bed and decided it was time to go to sleep.

[daemonhxckergrrl]

I remain against:

capitalist exploitation of workers by any means (including capturing their likeness for a one-time payment and then effectively owning their image)

the marketing drive to call these neural networks, these essentially simulating metaprograms "AI"

the marketing drive to shove "AI" products into everything as a selling point

the use of vast catalogues of creative works (whether offered as paid pieces or freely released under a permissive licence) as training data for a system used by individuals to profit by selling works created by systems trained on those catalogues (inspiration is one thing, generating directly from these works is another), or by corporations looking to replace their skilled creatives by a fancy input->transformation(weighted)->output program

I remain for:

the possibility of true AI, actual artificial life in whatever form it takes

neural networks as a tool to assist in creative projects, in scientific research, in data science and compute, in any place where the actual mechanics behind the various types of "AI" model we see could ve beneficial

ways to train such models on the public domain or through agreements, and research into different methods of training

my favourite example of how neural networks are great for certain applications but terrible for others is trying to implement something basic like an AI adder or AI OR gate.

addition is a hardware operation in all CPUs. it sums up two registers where the two numbers have been placed. provided your CPU isn't faulty and there's no weird magnetic storms or whatever, that addition is 100% accurate. and cheap on resources.

ask a neural network to add ? well, it has to learn to add. and by that I mean it has to learn how to get from input to expected output (which happens to be the sum of the two input numbers). it can take thousands of practice iterations to train even such a simple network. and even then it might only be 95% accurate !

but yeah, I stand in solidarity with sag and wga. fuck this marketing lie they call "AI" and the way the capitalist class wish to wield it against us.

Just wanna warn you, sag and wga are anti ai

that’s good. fuck ai.

[dzthenerd490]

Tales: Backrooms - Intro

"Okay three, two, one, go!" There was a Foundation staff member holding a camera while also wearing Environmental Protection Suit and mask who was holding a camera with another staff member wearing the same suit and mask, though she had a microphone under her mask.

"Good evening, everyone! And welcome to Beyond the Veil, the main TV news broadcasting service for the SCP Foundation! Here to show off the newest and most exciting anomalous discoveries the O5 council wish to share with all of you. As always be sure to get some popcorn and of course take your notes as we also rely on your views to make sure every single detail is catalogued! Today in the year of 2018 and truly an amazing time to be in the Foundation as for years of dimensional experimentation and multiversal mapping have paid off! Welcome everyone to Universe-Ω-197! As you can see behind me, construction of Foundation Area B-01 has already begun!" The reporter waved her hand back to show Foundation staff and AFA-1's moving parts and displaying holographic blueprints on where to place what.

"Currently we are in the first and largest recorded room within Universe-Ω-197, as such this will be the perfect area to establish a Foundation Area within this reality. You may be surprised to know this but these strange plus shaped walls, wallpaper, floors, and even ceiling with lights are all naturally made within this world! Which all the more raises the question? How did this universe come to be the way it did? Why is it that no matter how much our researchers call out no one seems to show up? Did the gods create this if so why and which ones? stay with us as we update you on all the wonderful things this universe potentially has to offer. Back you to Randle!" The reporter then waved her hand over her neck and the cameraman lowered his camera. He then reached into his backpack and pulled out his Computer Screen Pad.

"Okay we got about 5 minutes before they want us back on the air. They want us to interview one of the workers."

"Sure, I guess we can do that, though I think they're going to be pissed with how busy they all look." The two then walked over to one of the human construction workers and tapped on his shoulders.

"Excuse me, are you one of the construction workers."

"Oh, actually no I'm the acting security here to ensure everyone is safe."

"Oh! Well in that case you'd be perfect, our manager want's an interview with one of the staff members who are overseeing the whole construction situation here so it would be nice if we could ask you a few questions while on air, would that be alright?"

"Uh... yeah sure, I can do that."

"Perfect! how long until we're on air?"

"In about a minute."

"Alright good, you can stand right here, and I'll be beside you, sound good?"

"Uh... yeah it looks like we're not in anyone's way so it should be fine."

"Okay then, when it's about time call it in."

"Okay... Here we go, three, two, one, go!"

"Thanks Randle! Right now, I'm with one of the acting securities here to ensure the construction of the Area B-01 is made without issues. Please tell us sir, is there anything we should be worried about when entering this universe?"

"Well as far as we can tell nothing really populates this area, we've sent several teams out they all came back reporting to have found nothing but more empty rooms with more hallways leading even farther out. Now just because this place is empty doesn't mean it's not dangerous. From what we've seen there are some areas that have dangerously low hume levels so we've already putting a request to have some Scranton Reality Anchors delivered so we can place them in the areas with low hume levels to get things more stable. With any luck we'll be able to know how this place works and start moving in further and further."

"Do you currently have any idea of how large this area even is?"

"Well, it's impossible to tell form here, maybe if we broke through the ceilings, we could see some sky and then send a drone up to get a birds view form there. But until then we just have to keep sending exploration teams and hope to find an exit somewhere. Though if I had to guess it's probably almost as large as an entire hotel."

"And you're sure about this?"

"Well unfortunately we don't really know anything about this world. For all we know this place could expand as large as the surface of planet earth, it could even go on forever. We currently just don't have the information to-" Suddenly everyone stopped as they heard a large and distorted sound in the distance. sounding a lot like a scream form a recording but its heavily distorted making it sound extremely baggy and weird.

"What was that?"

"Uh, hold on one second. Hey West Guard come in, you read me?"

"We read you, boss; you heard that thing too?"

"Sure did, was it coming down your end?"

"Yeah, down one of the halls looking down it right now but I don't see anything. We took safety's off just in case though, don't wanna be blindsided by anything."

"Okay good, keep us posted if anything changes."

"Oh, so we're good?"

"Yes, for now, at least, as I was saying we don't have the information to confirm anything. It's even the reason you and me are wearing this protective gear right now. But it shouldn't take any longer than a week to confirm whether this place is safe or not and even if it's dangerous an additional week to make it safe for more Foundation staff."

"Ah, well thank you for your time and dedication sir."

"Uh, of course be safe now." The reporter then walked forward while the cameraman started walking backwards to keep her in the shot.

"You heard it here first folks. Most of you will only have to wait two weeks at most in order to get to see the amazing display of Universe-Ω-197! Administrative staff are impressed with the space they are seeing and want to use this area as a storage area for excessive resources and quite possibly living space for Foundation staff. Though this is only the beginning to unraveling the potential and strange secrets of this universe as you can see especially with that strange noise. What was that noise? Was it a life form we have yet to document? Are their people or a soon to be discovered species of interest out there? Please stay with us as we attempt to find out these questions and bring them too you live, here on Beyond the Veil! Until then, keep it working!" The reporter then again waved her hand over her neck and the camera man turned off his camera as their segment was done.

"Alright we're good right? Good, let's get out of here and get decontaminated because I really didn't like the sound of whatever the hell that creature was."

.

SCP: HMF - Tales Hub

[literaticat]

How can a debut author determine if their (big 5) publisher considers them a lead title or mid-list? Is it only based on advance? What differences in the experience at various parts of the process signal where your book fits in their overall plan?

Oof, how I wish upon all the stars that I had never answered a question with the phrases "lead title" or "mid-list" in it. Talk about a can of worms, FML. OK. Sorry this is long, in advance.

First, let's remove the words "mid-list" from this discussion for a minute, because actually, though the questions I answered last week (or whenever it was, what even is time) used that phrase, IMO "mid-list" is not a thing for brand-new/not-yet-out books, really, and I am pretty sure I have never heard a publisher refer to them this way before the books are even out, it's more a word describing sales performance over time.

(It's like how you wouldn't call a newborn baby "advanced for his age" or "middle-of-the-road, growth-wise" -- he's barely got his eyes open, don't start giving him performance evaluations!)

So. ALL new books are frontlist, and they all have a certain amount of marketing done for them. A few will be "lead titles" (if that particular publisher uses that terminology) - likely titles that the publisher went hog wild on and paid an enormous advance, and they now have to recoup that advance by selling A LOT of books, so they have a large inventory of them. You'll know if your book is getting "lead title treatment" if a) you got a huge advance, and/or b) your book gets EXTRA things. Like, a billboard of your book in Times Square, or you are sent on an extravagant multi-city tour (back when we did tours, anyway) and they are booking fancy dinners for booksellers in your honor. Like - it'd be kind of obvious, and you'll probably go "oh! I wasn't expecting that!" (Unless you generally just have super high expectations lol).

How do they decide? Well, they are making an educated guess about which books are likely to resonate with the highest number of readers. Either because of recognition factor of the author, or because the premise or writing or whatever is SO compelling and highly commercial or timely that they feel like it could be a huge hit. (Are they always right? No.)

Some of the lead titles AND some of the "regular" frontlist titles end up getting great reviews, attention, awards, or whatever, and will really perform well. Some will do just fine. Some will tank, probably.

AFTER the season is over -- all frontlist titles become backlist titles. This is not negative in the least -- backlist just means, it's from a previous season. "Mid-list" is the word for the ones that are doing fine -- maybe not ginormous hits, but steady sales, finding an audience, doing what they are supposed to do. That's not a bad thing!

Think about it like a catalogue you are shopping from. Remember catalogues? Like the paper kind that you used to get in the mail (if you are old)? That's what you are imagining here. Because yes, even though lots of things are digital nowadays, in the book industry we are talking in literal catalogue terms, because yes, this is a business where publishers are selling objects to shops -- sales reps still go around and talk to the store owners and show them their wares with wheelie suitcases and everything. Really! Very olden-days like (though in recent times, perhaps conducted over zoom!). Anyway -- so you have this catalogue, right? Let's not say they are books - in this case it's a catalogue full of widgets.

The front part of the catalogue is brand new stuff. (Frontlist!) Frontlist are ALLLLLL the brand new widgets. All of them. Every new widget this season is "Frontlist" and they are all being promoted.

Some of the widgets, you'll notice, get a little bit of extra zazz in the catalogue - maybe they are in a highlighted box, or have their own page with certain features noted, maybe there is a special deal on them, or something. These are items that the company wants to make VERY sure you notice, because they probably have a lot of inventory. These are lead titles. (Err... lead WIDGETS, that is). There aren't that many of them, because it would be foolish to have extra highlights on *everything*, or they wouldn't stand out. Now mind you, the rest of the front list widgets are also terrific, and are also showcased in the catalogue, they are also important -- those "lead widgets" are just ones that the company has decided a lot of people will be drawn to, and as such they have a lot of inventory of those widgets, and so they are pointing them out because they need to move those widgets!

After the glossy pages of front list, you probably will come across some black and white pages of "backlist" -- these titles are not bad, or less-than, or anything else -- they just aren't new. These are previous season's widgets, which are still for sale. Widget companies rely on a robust backlist to survive, quite honestly, and the bulk of income for them and royalties for widgeteers come from strong backlist titles. If we say something will "backlist well", that means we suspect that it will continue selling steadily for many years to come -- which is a GREAT thing. Within the backlist, you probably have a few widgets that were bestsellers and continue to be -- and a few widgets that you have definitely never heard of and might be about to go out of production. But the majority of them, ideally, are good, sturdy, "mid-list" widgets.

"MID-LIST" IS NOT A BAD THING, even if some jerky people make it SOUND bad. It's a neutral-to-good thing. It just means NORMAL. Reasonably successful, steady, normal widgets that have done exactly what they were supposed to do, turned a profit for the widget factory, pleased a lot of widget-buyers, etc, and those widgeteers will be able to go on making widgets in the future.

[after-witch]

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you. 

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

**

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh. 

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat.  And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately  as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

**

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure."  His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know.  You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do." 

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge.  Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine. 

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing.  You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours. 

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant. 

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.  

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

[deerest-me]

i offer the following information, under a readmore bc i just know im gonna ramble (and boy i sure did):

i am a (physics) PhD student for whom approximately 2/3rds of what you described holds. i.e., interdisciplinary work / education, acceptance of unorthodox students, but no vibrant culture (it is. pretty miserable. i work entirely remotely for now bc i became disabled during the pandemic, but at my school itself there is little to no community everyone says, and i can tell tbh. the lab i collaborate with is a different story! more on that later).

so, i started out as a pure math major at another institution (with a great, education focused faculty, and veryyyy warm and close department life. i miss it a lot). got a BS and MS, saw lots and lots of cool math (similar to you, took grad courses during undergrad, so i exhausted the whole course catalogue).

BUT! when it came time to decide what to do for my math PhD, i drew a blank. i liked everything! how was i supposed to choose? and mulling in the back of my mind is that i really liked physics and wanted to use my math ``superpowers'' for that. i had it in my mind that i wanted my research to be very mathy still, though!

so, i applied for a PhD program in physics, and ended up where i am now. i cant go into excessive detail about what it is i do, my research is specific enough that it would basically doxx me. the point is, though, ill talk about what i did to attain similar goals / requirements to what you described, and what i WISH i had done, potentially, to hit that mark even better.

so, what i do right now is basically mathematical modeling of an interesting optimization problem in the wonderful world of accelerator physics. it is, super applied, in that my work is about ONE SINGLE APPLICATION (well, a discrete family of single applications), but but but! the great part is it draws from so many research areas. fundamental physics knowledge is required because there is a beam of high energy particles involved, so all three standard model fundamental interactions are important, computational fluid dynamics bc fluids are there (aside: fluids are SUPER SUPER mathy. if you like analysis, probabilistic / stochastic descriptions, you could even just work in fluids directly), material science (things become irradiated), ANDDDD math because Bayesian optimization is being used, and i have made my own probabilistic models to describe parts of the problem. again... cant get too specific here.

not saying this to show off, bc you might notice that although i apply pure math knowledge (e.g. convergence theorems for Bayes Opt, knowledge of PDEs for doing CFD, etc) there is no room to do actual proof writing, and man do i miss that. this brings me to my first two pieces of advice:

1) getting a graduate math education and then going into physics/engineering for applications is a method that works to cover a lot of interests. you will be treated like an eldritch wizard by your colleagues. unfortunately you ``have'' to give up proof writing with this method.

2) it's harder to avoid specialization if you come in through the math side. you will get proof writing and get to see actual fancy stuff (group theory applications in graduate physics courses were. disappointing, quite frankly. let alone getting hopf algebras involved like i always dreamed) the tradeoff is not having as broad of a scope as if you are working on an application. interdisciplinary math is real and possible, but not as expansive as interdisciplinary physics/engineering. less related, but funding is also worse. while i am ``unemployed'' at the moment until my contract gets renewed (any day now) i get paid a lot better in physics than in math. just putting that out there.

the reason i have this setup, though, is that i collaborate with a national lab. and that arrangement... is really good. better funding, and, if school department life sucks, there is usually more life / activities at the laboratory!! certainly the case with my lab, and you work with lots of different people even in one group. also, better work culture than one advisor and one grad student locked in a concrete box in a university basement together.

the tricky part, is labs usually (usually) look for physics or engineering students first. there are still lots of things for math people to do, though! examples of labs / govt agencies that use math especially: NIST in colorado and maryland, NOAA (weather modelling rules. dynamical systems and chaos theory and multiscale modeling EVERYWHERE), Argonne National Lab (they have a whole mathematics and computing division i know), and probably even more that i cant remember. every single DoE lab has use for math people, but some are more fruitful, if that makes sense. in private i can tell you about my lab in particular, if you have questions.

also, i find with my current work that mathematical modeling is the skill i use the most. actual physics stuff usually is second, interestingly enough. this leads me to my next piece of advice:

3) regardless of being a math or physics major, consider looking for a professor with ties to a major laboratory. government preferably. the pay and work culture are better, and the potential of making friends is MUCH higher. it also makes you feel kinda cool. also, if you are a person who likes to learn a lot, they make for great employers. basically, once you get hired / in with a national lab, they will want to keep you on as a postdoc or permanent employee if you let them. so, you have the opportunity to work on lots of projects and move around in your research interests. SO, LONG STORY SHORT: profs which collaborate with labs are found in math and physics faculty, and doing your PhD at a lab has a lot of benefits.

so far i have probably come across as biased toward what i did, so ill just say what i regret about my choices:

i wish i had tried to find a similar setup with a lab, but coming from the math side. it would be slightly more satisfying i think, but is harder to pull off.

physics is more interesting when taught from a mathematical perspective, but that is almost NEVER going to happen in a physics classroom. you will have to supply that perspective yourself almost certainly, unless you are lucky and take a class in a math department on physics. they exist but are super rare.

so, these are negatives to leaving math to accomplish the goal of being interdisciplinary.

otherwise, though? i have been able to hit most of the three targets that both you and i were looking for. community is lacking at my current school (so watch out for soul-crushing technical institutes) but that can be resolved by working at a lab, where there is a healthier work culture usually. the specifics of what you want to research and work on are probably different for you and me, and so i hope this wasnt too ramble-y and biased. i want to emphasize that doing math at labs is not just for physics-y applications, there are lots of opportunities at the aforementioned places.

ive layered some mention of accommodation in the above, but to talk directly for a moment: schools are better about this now. and a lab work structure will usually make it better (im part of a disability advocacy group at my lab, and having bosses and coworkers and such usually makes it less focused on YOU, SPECIFICALLY, needing to get everything done RIGHT NOW). your idea of finding a professor first is a great one: if they are comfortable with discussing it that usually already weeds out the people who wont be good about it.

disability is always tricky, and i was super worried about how it would affect my work, but people have treated me well so far. so, if you vet people for that like youre saying, you will likely have a good situation.

anyways. i hope this could be of some help. i dont know if it is lol. GOOD LUCK IN YOUR ENDEAVORS---I AM SURE YOU WILL FIND SOMETHING GOOD!!

and finally, four miscellaneous incredibly specific pieces of advice:

w) mathematical physics is an interesting area. it is more math than physics. fascinating problems. cleaning up sloppy arguments and math by physicists to get something actual coherent and sensible is the main idea. PROBLEM: i couldnt find many places that do it. for one university i applied to (fairly big name) their math dept had ONE mathematical physicist, and he turned out to be a crank. like, serious crankery.

x) check out the engineering applied mathematics program at Northwestern in Illinois. it's a Math graduate program (Math with a capital M) but they are super interdisciplinary. i have no idea about the work culture, but i THIIINK the department is on the close knit side too. really thought about going there, and might have been better in some respects.

y) seriously consider fluids. again, not sure if you prefer analysis, but it is a really cool subfield of math. BEAUTIFUL pictures are part of the job. dont mean to oversell it but everyone kind of forgets about it because turbulence is a famously unsolved problem. Kolmogorov made major progress on it

z) if beam physics excites you, there is a super mathy area, known as Lie exponential transfer maps. this is really theoretical work that gets applied to make accelerator simulation codes, so it marries lie algebras, particle accelerators, and computer programming. people at university of maryland have a research group for it, and they have a tight department community last i heard.

and finally, general graduate life advice:

dont discount small name universities. they treat you better.

So, I think I'm finally going to apply to grad school for math!

But there are a few issues!

One issue is that I've got pretty severe ADHD. I think that means I ought to look for a professor first, and a school second. I think I need to find a particularly accommodating professor who's willing to take on unorthodox Ph.D. students.

Then there's the issue of: well, what do you want to do research in? And honestly, I kind of want to spend some time learning a lot of things in multiple areas of math. I already have a lot of exposure from taking mostly grad courses in undergrad, but I want to understand things more deeply. I don't want to be tied down to a specific area; generally, I'm interested in: understanding complex systems; connections between different fields of math; the foundations of "abstract nonsense"; fundamental theoretical physics; the places where group & representation & number theory come together; computer realizations of mathematical practice (UX for actually doing math research, knowledge organization, and formalization); and some more "philosophically-oriented" things which tend not to be part of any named fields. I've also got interdisciplinary inclinations and have some budding interest in nanotechnology; and I'd like to be in a place that mixes everything together, and exposes me to even more things to be interested in.

So really, I'm looking for either a professor or two who are also interested in all sorts of things, or a department that allows you the freedom to do all of this stuff at once! A lot of Ph.D. programs seem to signal that they prize specialization, but that's just not an option for me. Sure, I'll do a thesis about a particular thing, but ideally it'll involve a lot of things!

And that's another crucial desideratum: I want a vibrant culture. Far too often I hear about grad experiences in which the grad students are working away in isolation without much community or energy. I want to be around people who are excited about all of the things I'm excited about!

So, three things: accommodations for unorthodox working style; encouragement of interdisciplinary/wide-ranging interests; and a vibrant, exciting culture.

This is really a diary/processing post, but feel free to consider it a request-for-info post—if you happen to have any helpful ideas or connections, pls don't hesitate to share! :D

(I could also use some advice on how to find what I'm looking for, including pointers to groups of like-minded people or places to ask questions. Right now my strategy is "read the faculty bios on university websites, see if anything jumps out, and cold-email the professors", which, you know. We'll see how that goes.)

[httphopewrld]

I Don’t Know What to Call This | (f/m/a)

Just Friends? Friends with benefits? Dating? Questions swarmed your mind when one of your dear friends, Allie, asked about you and Hoseok’s relationship. The truth was you didn’t know. You and Hoseok were close, knowing each other since elementary school, and considered each other friends. However, as you two grew older, maturing into separate professions—you a well-known fashion designer, and Hoseok a famous musician and dancer—you two had engaged in some intimate activities (sex—lots of it.) After Allie’s simple question, you had to confront your feelings. But were you and Hoseok ready to be more than close friends and f*ck buddies?

Pairing: friend/lover/bfhoseok! x female reader

Genre: slowburn fluff and SMUT

Rating: 18+ because there’s swearing and pretty detailed smut

Warnings: swearing and SMUT (one of the most detailed smuts I've written, and there's more than one sex scene.) Smut includes: switch!reader and switch!hoseok, grinding and thrusting, protective sex (USE CONDOMS, I cannot stress that enough), lots of kissing, ass-grabbing, dirty talk, a wee bit of choking on both sides, squirting, male and female oral, fingering and handjobs, vibrator use, cyber-sex, the reader uses dildo, slight degradation, and just lots of filth—YOU'RE WELCOME FELLOW FILTHY ANIMALS. Oh, and spoilers for the horror movie Hush. It's on Netflix if you haven't watched it yet. It is GOOD.

  Word Count: 16, 465 (wowie)

A/N: Thank you for waiting! It’s rushed, so expect some little mistakes here an there, but I’m happy with how it turned out. I hope y'all enjoy it! Also, Y/L/N means "your last name."

  Taglist: @kirbykook​ @kleritata​ @taestannie​ @jenotation​ @hemmos-obrien​ @zeharilisharaban​ @speed-of-wind​ @kawaisoraya​

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

“You can move those over there,” you gestured to the left corner of the windowed room, where a pile of boxes waited. The move was going to take longer than you expected because the movers arrived a week later than your assistant, Rachel said. I really need to talk to her about this. You stressed in your mind, rubbing your temples. “Are you okay?” You looked up, vision resuming its focus on your friend, Allie. Allie, your friend for as long as you could remember, offered to help you move to your new building. She would help you manage everything, including the movers, tracking your company's items, and the layout you gave to her for said things while managing the company. “I’m just irritated at Rachel,” you noticed her confusion, “my new assistant.” She nodded, remembering, “Right. Why is she still employed?” “Because she’s new, and being an assistant is a tough feat. She’ll get it soon.” You reassured, “Rachel is a fast learner, and this is her first mistake. We’re prepared for the next show, though, because Westley's helping me organize it.” “Remind me who Westley is?” Allie asked. You sighed. “West is like my second brain. He helps organize the fashion shows, hire the models, find the venues, and secure the guest list. He has other people help him too, but he’s the brains of that. I create the fashion, and he finds a way to present it.” Allie nodded, “Gotcha.” Your phone rang, and you answered. “Y/N.” “Y/N!” Rachel chimed on the other end. “It’s Rachel. I’m so sorry about the mix-up on dates. It won’t happen again, I—” “I know it won’t, Rachel. You’re new, so I expected to slip up. I’ve gotten it taken care of,” you nudged Allie’s arm, and she smiled. “We’re luckily prepared for the next show in Vancouver, so you don’t have to worry about the mess up. All I need you to do now is make sure that my fabrics are coming in.” “Yes! They’ve arrived at the studio.” Rachel replied. "Fantastic. Thank you. That'll be all for now. Check on West if he needs anything." You ordered. “Will do, Y/N. Talk to you soon.” You hung up. The Vancouver show was in five months, giving you and your team enough time to design the clothes for the production and move to the new building. The show's theme was natural bodies of water and nature, a nod to Canada's landscape. The clothing catalogue would include various icy blue shades to represent waterfalls and warm emerald tones like flora and fauna. These colours would be encapsulated in elegant gowns and suits, worn by different body shapes, genders, and colours. The materials would be made from recycled fabrics from your previous shows and from your fellow artists. You were known for designing elegant attire, so it was best to keep to it. However, it was rare to see different sized, coloured, and gendered models on a runway; because of having to customize clothes to those models. Additionally, making clothes from recycled fabrics would be tough. “Okay,” you began, “I need to talk to my design team and plan out the gowns. Can I leave you here to deal with the movers?” Allie gave you a thumbs up. “Thank you,” you smiled, hugging her, “if you need anything, please call me or Rachel, or both. We’ll be back to help.” Before you left, a thought struck you. You turned around to face Allie. “I should just hire you.” She chuckled, “Why?” You scoffed, "Because you're here all the time!" You walked back to her. "Listen, you're the best manager I know. You can be my third brain. You already are, outside of work, so it would make sense." Allie seemed unsure. “I already have my job at Youth and Hope.” You grasped her hands. “You would be given a great wage, not just because you’re my best friend, but because you’re going to be busy with lots of work. You would be handling the management tasks, like West. You’d be given a good amount of vacation, trips for shows and meetings would be paid for—you could get that loft you always wanted downtown.” You wiggled your eyebrows, and Allie laughed. “Don’t I have to go through an interview process?” You brushed a hand through the air. “I can get someone to interview you and officially hire you. Once that’s done, you’ll start getting paid.” You checked your watch, and a quick rush of panic ran through you. “Shit, I’m going to be late. Consider it, alright! Let me know your availability, and we’ll schedule an interview!” “Okay!” She shouted back as you left. . . The coffee had become bitter. You weren’t sure if it was the roast or the fact that this was your fourth cup of the night. It had been a month since the fabrics arrived. Thanks to Allie, your friend and now employee, your move to the new building was complete; however, your designs weren’t translating as smoothly as you wish. "Fuck," you cursed, resting your head in your hands and rubbing your temples. The sketches waited in front of you—the measurements and ideas raking at your confidence. Your designs are redundant. You’ve done something similar last time.                                                                       Boring. Plain. You turned back to your mannequins, still bare. The theme was in your mind, and your design team reassured you that your sketches were fine, but it all felt fuzzy. “Y/N,” Rachel peered into the studio from the door, “there’s a gentleman here to see you.” “His name?” You asked, still looking at the mannequins. You heard footsteps retreat into the front lobby, then come back to the door. “Jung Hoseok?” You turned around, trying to contain your excitement. “Please send him in.” Rachel nodded, jogging back to the lobby. You heard a muffled “thank you” before heavy footsteps approaching your studio. Hoseok reached the doorway, beaming his signature smile. He wore acid-washed jeans, a baggy white sweater that matched his chunky light sneakers. His dark hair was slightly wavy and parted in the middle. A tote bag was slung over his shoulder. “Y/N!” He cheered, opening his arms wide. “Hoseok!” You replied, running into his arms and hugging him tightly. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw Hoseok—a year or two? “Fuck, how long has it been?” You asked him. He pulled away, thinking. “About six months?” Totally off. “Seriously, it felt longer than that.” You argued. Hoseok pulled out his phone and scrolled through his calenderer and photos. He made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Ah, see here,” he showed you a few photos of you two with his friends, who were also his bandmates, “six months ago, you joined us on tour for a couple days before coming back here. I have it also marked in my calendar.” He showed you the dates, which were marked with ‘💚Y/N’s visit💚.’ “Can Namjoon or Yoongi confirm this?” You crossed your arms. Hoseok mimicked your body language. “I can call them right now,” he challenged. You two stood in competitive tension. You succumbed. “You win this time, Jung Hoseok.” He playfully chuckled. You realized that Hoseok doesn’t live around here. “Wait, why are you in town. Shouldn’t you and the others be in Korea planning another album or something?” You speculated. “Our company gave us a month for vacation because we spent most of the year touring.” Hoseok sighed. “So, I decided to come to visit.” You hugged him again, happy to see someone who wasn’t your employee amidst this chaos of stress. “How long are you staying?” You asked, muffled against his chest. He paused. “Maybe a month?” You pulled away from him, shocked. “A month? Here? That’s all your vacation time.” “Yeah,” he replied, as if that wasn’t a big deal, “I didn’t want to travel to a bunch of places because the group and I have been doing that for almost a year—and it’s pretty chill in this area.” He sighed. “Besides, I don’t think many people would recognize me. The airport wasn’t busy, and I haven’t been swarmed by fans yet.” “Do you have a place to stay?” You asked. He nodded. “Yup! I’m staying at a fancy hotel. I got the suite at the top floor,” he made a gesture with his hand, indicating how high up his suite was. You playfully elbowed his side. "Wow, look at you, Mr. Famous. You can afford a top suite now. Are you sure you don't want to stay with me, though?” Hoseok dismissed your offer with a wave of his hand. “It’s alright, Y/N. Thank you, though.” He peered over your shoulder, “It looks like you’re busy anyway, so I think I’ll just stick to my suite.” He walked past you, over to the bare mannequins. “Are you preparing for that show in Vancouver that you told me about?” You nodded, relaying your theme and ideas to him. He smiled. “That sounds really cool,” he pointed to the mannequins, “but don’t you need some clothes for the show, then?” You rolled your eyes, chuckling at him for being a smart ass. “Yes, I do. I’m brainstorming some ideas right now, but I’m coming up with nothing. I have the design team coming in tomorrow with drafts, but I’d like to bring my own thing to the table, you know? I’m the main brain of this operation, and it’d be embarrassing if I come in with zilch.” You leaned against one of the tables, facing the mannequins. "The tough part is designing gowns that fit the right people, you know. Sure, you can make a collection of clothes, but they won't look good if they don't fit the models." You shook your head. "Maybe it's just tougher to design clothes for different bodies. I should just stick to one type of person and leave it at that." Hoseok walked up beside you, leaning against the same table and facing the figures. “Why don’t you find the models and then design the clothes?” You looked at him, surprised. “But wouldn’t that take a long time?” He crossed his arms, “Well, how many models would you need?” “We’re thinking around seventy. There’s going to be two changes within the show.” Hoseok nodded, and you could see him brainstorming. “Well, you have four months left, right? You and your team can make some drafts, cast the models, and finalize the ideas with said models. Which would take about a couple of months? You could do that while planning the show?” He paused, appearing to notice your hesitant expression. “Think about it. You’ve trained your team well enough to work on its own, right? That’s what you did for your last show, which was a success. You came in every day for a couple hours to make sure everything was in order, then focused on other things.” Hoseok grasped your hands. “You’re great at multitasking, so do it. It’s scary, but you can check on people every day to make sure everything’s alright.” You bit your lip, “I-I don’t know, Hoseok. That sounds like a lot of work—” “You did it last time, and it worked out just fine,” he gently squeezed your hands, “and I’m here for a month. I can help out whenever you need me. I’ll simply clean things up and fetch coffee if that’s what you need.” You laughed, “Like my intern?” “Yeah! I don’t know how to design anything or plan a fashion show, but I’ll do what I can.” He smiled. “You’re so much more than you think, Y/N, and if you need reminders, I’ll be here.” You smiled back at him, so grateful to have him here. “My god, you’re fucking sweet,” you scoffed, taking your hands out of his. Hoseok laughed. You pushed yourself off the table and faced him. “How did we even become friends?” You questioned. He actually gave it a thought. “You joined by dance club in elementary school, when no one else would.” He laughed so hard that he teared up. “I think we actually took club photos, and it was only you and I posing.” You laughed with him, remembering those days spent trying to breakdance to hip hop and presenting dance routines to your parents. “Yeah, that was before you joined that Music Academy in grade four, right?” He nodded, and you sighed, surprised you still remembered. Your mind came back to the present. “So, you’re actually okay with helping out?” You checked. “Why would I ask if I didn’t want to?” Hoseok replied. You tapped your index finger against your temple, “true.” “So, how much do you want?” Hoseok looked offended at your question. You chuckled. “Well, you’re going to work for me, so I need to pay you.” “It’s only just a month, though.” “Yeah, but—” “What about we see how much you have me do before you pay me?” He interrupted. “I might just have to fetch coffee, so you can just give me money on the spot.” You thought about it for a minute. Hoseok yawned. “This work talk is making me tired. Do you want to go out for dinner?” He looked around you, “Unless you have more work to do. I can always wait in the lobby for you to finish.” You brushed your hand through the air, “Nah, it’s okay. I’m pretty brain dead anyway. I need to be energized for tomorrow’s draft review.” Hoseok pushed himself off the table and clapped. “Awesome! Where do you think I’m taking you for dinner?” You bit your lip, trying to guess. “Sushi?” “Sushi it is!” He beamed. You grabbed your things and followed him out of the studio.

Both of you sat towards the back of the sushi restaurant, to Hoseok’s request. The waitress placed you two in a concealed booth, with drapes covering a small entrance.

You two had to take your shoes off before sitting down.

“Why did you say, ‘sushi it is?’” You asked, taking a sip of your water.

Hoseok opened his can of sprite, “What do you mean?”

“You asked where I thought you were taking me, I responded, and you said, ‘sushi it is!’” You reiterated.

He took a sip of his soda before responding, "It's a trick I learned from Instagram." He set his drink down. "You ask someone, 'where do you think I'm taking you for food?' dinner or whatever, and then take them to a place with that food. It's easier than asking 'what do you want to eat?' because people can't decide."

You nodded, making an ‘aaahhh’ sound. “Smart.”

You two caught up while eating your meals. Hoseok chatted about his bandmates and the tour, and you talked about your move to the new building.

Most of it was just adding more details about your lives because you two texted lots during the week and sometimes video chatted. You'd get to see Hoseok and his friends, and he'd get a view of your life on the other side of the world.

To others, it looked like both of you were dating. Both of your friends would tease, singing, "Y/N and Hoseok sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G." Many of his fans, ARMY, would theorize your friendship, pointing out the matching bracelets you two wore—which was later proved normal because Hoseok went live on Vlive making bracelets for his bandmates.

And you two would continually clarify that you two were strictly long-time friends. Nothing more.

Girls and boys can be friends. Simple as that.

You and Hoseok finished your meals. You two shared a few rolls and a bento box and were full.

“That was really good.” You commented, rubbing your stomach.

Hoseok chuckled, copying you, “I think I’m pregnant.”

You laughed, “Shut up! You’re so fit.”

“You’re right,” he replied, pulling up his sleeves and flexing his arms.

You both laughed as he flexed his muscles, which were significantly more prominent than your remembered. You were slightly jealous of his lean athletic figure.

And were gazing at it for too long.

“I don’t know about you,” Hoseok sighed, appearing to be tired from the food and flexing his muscles, “but I’m in the mood for some Ben and Jerry’s.”

Your eyes lit up. “YES.”

“Cookie dough with chunks?” You both said in unison.

You two erupted in laughter.

"I'll go play," Hoseok said, getting up.

You stopped him, “It’s alright,” you smiled, “my treat.”

Before you left the booth, you turned around and said thoughtfully, "But you're getting the ice cream."

Hoseok's expression conveyed the same seriousness as if a soldier on a mission.

He saluted you. “Copy that, Y/N.”

You saluted him back and left to pay.

The walk to Ben and Jerry’s was quick. Both of you were eager to share the tub of ice cream.

You ended up getting a chocolate chip cookie dough and a cherry Garcia pint, and two spoons to share. You both ate the ice creams with delight while walking back to your apartment building.

When arriving at your building, Hoseok handed you the cookie dough ice cream pint.

“What are you doing?” You asked while he gave you the closed pint.

He tilted his head to the side, confused. “What do you mean? I’m dropping you off at your place.”

You gave a shocked expression. “Dropping me off? We’re not even done our pints!”

“But you have work tomorrow. I don’t want to keep you up.” Hoseok stepped back towards the edge of the sidewalk. “I can catch a cab back to the hotel, don’t worry.”

You balanced the pints in one hand and used your other to grab his arm.

“You’re not going anywhere,” you said, pulling away from the curb and closer to your building.

Hoseok pulled his arm out of your grip. "Y/N, you need to be well-rested—"

“At least help me finish the ice cream.” You interrupted, holding up the pints that were now in both your hands, along with your spoon.

“We haven’t seen each other six months, and it’s only…”

Hoseok pulled out his phone. “Nine.”

“Exactly!” You expressed. “It’s only nine. I don’t need to be in until nine-thirty tomorrow morning. As long as you’re out by eleven, that gives me an hour to get ready for bed at twelve, and I will wake up at eight. Plenty of rest!”

You watched his unsure expression.

"If you don't want to go home at eleven, that's fine by me. Could you leave earlier? Or you can go back to your hotel if you want. I won't take offence; you know me." You held up your arms in surrender, ice cream pints still in your hands. "But if you're leaving because you're worried that I won't get enough sleep, don't. I'm a grown woman. I know how to take care of myself, and I want you to come in.

Hoseok bit his lip, appearing to debate the offer.

He sighed. "Fine, I'll come in. However, I don't want to get a text from you complaining about being tired in the morning."

“I swear,” you promised, pretending to draw an ‘x’ over your heart, “I cross my heart.”

Hoseok chuckled, and you led the two of you into your apartment building and into the elevator. You pressed the twentieth button, and you two waited in comfortable silence.

The elevator doors opened, and you two walked to your apartment.

You opened the door to your studio apartment, locking the door behind you two and hanging up your bag along with your keys.

“Want anything to drink?” You asked, setting down the ice cream pint in your hand and taking off your coat.

Hoseok set down the cookie dough pint on the coffee table. “Anything is alright, thanks,”

You hummed, getting both of you bottles of black cherry soda and bringing over the cherry Garcia pint and your spoon.

"Jesus, do you need help?" Hoseok asked with worry, seeing you holding the bottles by their necks in one hand and the ice cream pint and spoon in the other.

You chuckled, “It’s alright, just sit down.”

You two sat on the couch, twisting off the caps on your sodas and taking a sip.

Hoseok sighed. “That’s really good,” he gestured to the pop before putting it down on the coffee table.

“Yeah! They’re so addictive,” you replied, setting coasters under both of your drinks.

Both of you continued to reminisce about your childhood, especially middle school. The puberty years had been gruesome to you two, speckling your faces with acne.

You pulled out a photo album you kept on one of your bookshelves, which had pictures of your families and your younger selves—even photos when Hoseok was training, before debuting with BTS in 2013.

“Oh my god, look at you!” You gasped, showing him a picture.

In the photo, Hoseok arms were crossed over his chest, his attempt at having swagger. He wore a collared shirt, and his hair was short.

“Oh god, no,” Hoseok cringed, gently pushing the photo away.

You chuckled, "You were so adorable, always dancing and having a good time." You smiled. "You are such a hard worker, practicing so much. I remember you twisting your ankle but still practicing."

You looked at him tenderly. “I wish people could see that.”

Hoseok smiled back at you, softly touching your hand. You grasped his hand, feeling butterflies in your stomach.

He was the first to pull away.

“You remember our sleepovers?” He asked.

You giggled, "Yeah when you could leave that cramped place you shared with the boys."

He swatted your arm, “That apartment was good! It was where everything started.” He pouted. “Anyways, we would always look up deep questions to ask each other—or would you rather.”

You rolled your eyes. “Those questions were overrated.”

“I thought they were nice!” Hoseok defended. “We got to know each other more, like, ‘what is your biggest fear?’ or ‘what is your biggest pet peeve?’”

He must've seen your unimpressed expression because he continued, "You got to admit that you learned a bit more about me because of those questions!"

You sighed. “I did, I guess.”

Hoseok held up his index finger, seeming to signal ‘wait a minute.’

He pulled out his phone. “Let’s try some now, then.”

“Hoseok—”

“Come on,” he interrupted. “If you don’t learn anything new about me from the first four questions we do, then we can stop, alright? I will never bring up these questions ever again.”

You debated his offer.

“Fine.” You agreed, setting down the photo album. “Shoot.”

“Okay, but we both pick two questions and answer all of them. For example, when we ask a question, the other person answers before the picker.” Hoseok said while he scrolled.

You hummed, understanding his instructions.  

“Want to do would you rather?”

“Sure.”

"Sexy edition?" Hoseok wiggled his eyebrows. "Unless you're uncomfortable."

You scoffed. “Hobi, we're grown, adults. I can take a few sexual questions."

“Okay,” Hoseok replied, “but if you ever feel uncomfortable, we can choose another question or stop.”

You nodded, and Hoseok appeared to find what he was looking for.

“Alright,” he began, “would you rather bite someone’s ear during sex or bite someone’s lip during sex?”

This is pretty vanilla. You thought.

"Lip, for sure." You emphasized the 'sure' in your sentence, stringing along with the 'er' sound.

“Same,” Hoseok agreed while passing you his phone.

You took his cell and strolled through the website.

What do I choose? Do I just dive in, or go for the vanilla shit?

“Would you rather engage in foreplay or go right into the main course?” You asked.

Hoseok thought about it. “I would say foreplay. You can warm things up—and nothing is more fun than teasing.” He shimmied, making you two laugh.

You agreed, passing the phone to him.

“Oooo, here’s a classic,” he grinned, “top or bottom?”

“I think I’m a switch,” you replied.

He tilted his head.

“It’s like, you’re both, top and bottom. I like to take control sometimes, but I can also sub.” You explained. “You?”

“Top,” he replied, “for sure.”

You laughed, “You sound so against being a bottom.”

He laughed too. “I like pleasuring the person I’m having sex with. Nothing is more satisfying than making someone cum.”

“True,” you admitted.

You found your mind wandering to unholy memories of you and Hoseok. What was odd about your friendship that—to put it blatantly—you two had sex. Not just once, but a few times.

This is why asking these questions was pretty casual and not too surprising.

You two started engaging in sex a couple years ago. You were stressed about your company starting, and Hoseok was in town. He offered to help you relax, and before you knew it, he was drilling into you from behind.

Both of you agreed to stay friends but continued to have sex every now and then. It was great, you had to admit. Probably the best sex you had in your life, and it was good that you two were able to keep your friendship platonic at the same time. Only, it was sex without the romantic feelings.

To be honest, you were craving it again.

He passed you his phone again, and you tried to pick a good last question.

“Would you rather kiss me gently or kiss me aggressively?” You asked.

Hoseok paused before answering. “Depends on the mood.”

“Well, at this moment, then, what is the mood?”

You watched Hoseok’s eyes shift between your lips then your eyes.

“Aggressively.”

You hummed. “Good to know.” You passed him back his phone. “Last question.”

Hoseok chuckled, “You seriously didn’t learn anything new?”

You shrugged. “I guess not.”

He didn't seem bothered, though, when his body shifted closer to yours.

When he looked back up at you, his expression changed. Although his eyes were already an opaque shade of brown, they had darkened.

I know that look.

He smirked. “Would you rather make the first move or receive the first move?”

You bit your lip, gazing up at his body.

Before you could reconnect with his eyes, you heard his phone drop, and his lips were on yours.

Just like his answer, his kisses were aggressive and needy. You could taste the cherry cola and ice cream on his lips and mouth.

You pulled his face closer, wanting more.

Hoseok’s body language opened up, allowing you to get up and straddle his lap. You felt his hands inch up your shirt and tug at the fabric. He helped you take it off, which gave him access to your breasts.

You felt him undo your bra with a quick flick of his fingers, and you tossed it off without a care.

Hoseok let out a chuckle before claiming your lips with his.

His lips were intoxicating, and you wanted more.

“Please touch me,” you begged against his lips.

He hummed, grazing his hands down your back before roughly grabbing your ass. You moaned, and he held you against him, hard enough to feel him grind into you.

“Fuck, stop teasing,” you pulled away, and he laughed.

“Baby, I’m not teasing,” he smirked.

Baby. The term of endearment made your heart swoon.

You weren’t always this infatuated by Hoseok. But the way he came to visit you during his break, had dinner and ice cream with you, and kissed you this good—it made you want more than just a fling.

But you couldn't think that way. It was sex. You two were doing this to get off, not engage in lovemaking.

Hoseok swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, eyeing your figure. “You know what I want.”

You ran your hand up and down his chest. “What are you waiting for?”

Hoseok's hands came underneath your thighs, and he picked you up, walking you to your bedroom. He used your body to close the door, slamming you against it.

He ground himself against your core, causing you to moan louder than you expected.

You covered your mouth in embarrassment.

Hoseok chuckled, “It’s okay,” he pulled away enough to graze his thumb over your cheek, “I love it when you moan.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing him and grabbing his ass, causing him to grind on your core.

"Fuck, I can practically feel that you wet," he groaned, trying his best to hold you up and sturdy you against the door.

“B-bed,” you choked, one of his particular thrusts stroking perfectly against you.  

Hoseok moved you towards your bed and gingerly placed you down. He kissed down your bare chest and slowly took off your pants and underwear.

“Fuck, your perfect,” Hoseok awed, softly running a finger through your wet heat.

His cold finger sent a wave of pleasure through you, making you flinch.

Hoseok hummed. “So wet for me,”

He looked up at you. “May I?”

You nodded, but he only smirked.

“Words, baby,” he put a hand to his ear.

“Please,” you bit down on your lip.

You felt him spread your lips, and you clenched in response. He appeared to savour you, taking his time as he ate you out.

When you moaned, he’d hum, sending vibrations into your heat that brought you closer to your climax.

“Fuck, I’m close—”

He pulled away, licking his lips and gazing down at you.

“Hoseok—”

“You taste better than I remembered,” he commented. “But I want you to cum around me.”

God, I love his dirty talk.

You watched him take off his clothes. He must've been working out because he was more toned than six months ago.

He was about to line himself up with your entrance, but you stopped him with your foot on his chest.

You smirked. “Not yet, baby.”

You stood up. “Sit.”

Hoseok sat on the bed, your roles shifting.

“But I want—”

You interrupted his beg with your hand around his erect cock. He appeared to be speechless as you run your hand up and down his shaft.

“Hm?” You asked, chuckling lightly at how easy it was to make him submit. “What do you want, baby?”

“I-I wanted,” he stuttered, thrusting slightly into your hand, “to cum inside you.”

“Is that so?” You questioned, pulling your hand away.

Despite his vocalized want, he whined when you pulled away.

“I’m only doing what my baby wants,” you shrugged. “Condoms are in the bottom drawer on the right.”

Hoseok dashed over to the bedside table, rummaging for the condoms.

“Those should fit you, right?”

"Yes," he replied, opening the familiar wrapper and unravelling it on his erect member.  

He stood there for a minute, wrapped penis and naked, just fondly looking at your nude figure.

He whispered something under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” Hoseok blushed. “You still want to fuck?”

“Yes.”

“Top or bottom?”

“Top please,” you smiled.

Hoseok laid down on your bed, and you climbed onto his torso.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he cursed as you moved off his abs and onto his cock.

A wet puddle was left on his abdomen, which he wiped away with his fingers, then putting said fingers into his mouth.

“So good,” he groaned.

You hummed in response, slowly sinking onto him.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you said when you bottomed out.

You started moving, swaying your hips back and forth. Each time Hoseok's cock would graze against your g-spot.

His hands were placed on your hips, guiding you on him. You could feel yourself clenching around him and your climax building up.

“I-I’m close,” you stuttered.

Hoseok swallowed, “Me too.”

“Ch-choke me,” you requested as you picked up your pace.

Hoseok grinned. “Only if you choke me back.”

You chuckled and rolled your eyes. Hoseok gently wrapped his hand around your neck, and you did the same, slowly applying pressure.

You felt your thighs burn from exhaustion. "F-fuck me," you cursed, slowing down.

Both of you let go of each other's neck, and Hoseok flipped you two over, still inside you.

"It's okay," Hoseok assures before resuming the pace.

His thrusts were rough and deep, and he pushed your thighs against your chest.

“Fuck, please keep going,” you begged.

“Can I choke you?” Hoseok asked.

“Please,” you replied, “do you want me to choke you too?”

“Yes,” Hoseok responded.

You felt yourself rhythmically clench around him. Hoseok must’ve realized because he began thrusting faster into you.

The room was filled with unholy noises. You could hear the wet sounds of your entrance and the impact of Hoseok’s hips against your core.

“Fuck don’t stop,” you choked out.

The knot building up in your abdomen unravelled, and pleasure and relaxation spread through your body. Your core gripped onto Hoseok like a vice.

“H-Hoseok,” you stammered, your core overstimulated.

“I-I want you to squirt,” he replied, continuing his firm thrusts.

“Oh,” you moaned.

He pounded deeper into your core, to the point where you could feel his tip ram against your cervix.

“Ah!” You screamed, feeling yourself gush around him.

“Fuck, so good,” Hoseok groaned. “I-I’m cumming.”

You felt the condom fill up inside you, and you felt disappointed that his cum couldn’t coat your walls.

His thrusts slowed down, and he stood still for a few moments.

When he pulled out, you shivered with oversensitivity. You knew that your sheets would be a mess and weren't looking forward to cleaning them when Hoseok left.

You looked up at the ceiling, breathless, while you heard Hoseok walk away from the bed.

“Where do you put your towels?” He asked.

“In the hallway, in the closet beside the dryer and washing machine.” You replied.

You heard him walk into the hallway and the closet door open and close. “Thanks,” he said. “And your bedsheets?”

“The closet in my room.”

You heard him walk back into your room, open your walk-in closet that led into your bathroom, and shuffle around. The tap ran in your bathroom for a couple seconds, then the sound of Hoseok wringing out something.

You began to sit up, but he hushed you to lie back down.

“Just relax,” he soothed, placing the clean bedsheets on your bedside table and walking over to you with a damp cloth.

“You don’t have to—”

He placed a hand on your thigh. “It’s okay,” he reassured.

You two exchanged a quick smile before Hoseok began to clean you up.

“You didn’t even cum on me,” you chuckled as he gently wiped your inner thighs.

“I know,” he replied, “but I still made you messy.”

When your thighs were no longer covered in your cum, you two changed your bedsheets.

“You good sleep in the same bed?” You asked while folding over your duvet.

“Sure,” He smiled.

You walked into your closet. "There should be some clothes that fit you. I usually wear men's clothes at home, anyways. It's crazy how great the quality men's clothes are compared to women's clothes." You picked out a t-shirt and sweatpants and tossed them at Hoseok.

He caught them, “Thanks.”

You two showered separately and spent the time getting ready together dancing to tunes.

If someone were to walk into the room, it wouldn’t look or smell like you two just had sex. You two looked like close friends having a dance party before going to bed.

Again, after you two had sex the first time, you both agreed to stay friends. It was easier said than done.

It was awkward initially, but you both were able to get past that by talking it through. Hoseok would ask how you felt during sex and what could have been better, and you would return the question.

Now, you both were able to have a good time and intimately learn more about each other.

Sure, it was strange, but it was a mutual agreement between consenting adults and fun.

The sex was fun—great, really—and you couldn’t have it any other way.

But you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t feel like something was missing.

.

.

“Good morning, everyone,” you greeted your fellow designers, “this is Hoseok. If you don’t know him already, he’s a well-known musician and one of my closest friends.”

Everyone welcomed Hoseok with a warm round of applause.

“Thank you, it’s a pleasure to be here.” Hoseok thanked.

“Hoseok will be helping out here and there while he’s vacationing here for a month,” you explained, “so take it easy on him.”

People shared chuckles at your joke.

"Anyways, let's start looking over the design ideas. You all are very talented artists, and I want you to remember that this is a draft, which means that these ideas are not final. If your idea is rejected, it's okay. We'll continue to work on a collective theme for the show."

The morning was spent listening to everyone's design concepts. To follow your reputation, the designs were contained within suits and gowns. As mentioned before, the theme was Vancouver's nature, where the fashion show would be taking place.

You and your design team used the recycled fabrics—which were separated by colours, textures, and materials—while figuring out your drafts.

You asked your design team to draft some ideas because you couldn't think of anything to present.

You were pleasantly surprised that your whole team had ideas that you approved.

“This a phenomenal,” you awed, “Great job, Erinn.”

“Actually,” you grabbed the attention of the other team members, “you all did a great job. We will be using all these ideas for the show.”

Your team shared cheers.

“Y/N,” Rachel nudged your shoulder, “I’m sorry to ask, but now that we’ve got the designs all in order, what about the models? You wanted to have various body types, right?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered,” you whispered back.

You turned back to your design team. "You all know that this show is tougher than our last one because we are trying to include more body types, genders, races, just different kinds of people. Which means that we will need to cater our clothes to the models, rather than the other way around.” You smiled, “So you all can go home for the next week.”

You heard Rachel choke on her inhale.

"Although you all have the week off, I want you all to try drawing your designs on other body types. Experiment with materials and colours. Remember to take some of the recycled fabrics home with you, and feel free to come in to pick anything up. Just let Rachel and I know in advance, and we'll give notice to the front desk so they can let you in. When we reconvene in a week, which would be next Friday at nine-thirty, I need you all to be ready to translate your designs, colours, and materials to our models." You ordered.

“Any questions?”

Comfortable silence amongst everyone.

You nodded. "Awesome. Good luck, everyone. Contact me if you have any questions."

Your team started packing up.

“Y/N, does that mean we’re spending the next week casting?” Rachel asked.

“Yes, Rachel. Please contact Westly and schedule lunch tomorrow at noon to discuss modelling criteria. It’s probably going to be pretty loose, but we need to contact Westly before sending it out.” You answered. “If he’s not free at that time, try figuring out something later tomorrow. Then book a reservation for three at Romeo’s.”

“Alright, on it,” Rachel replied.

You turned to Hoseok, who seemed shocked.

“What?” You blushed.

He continued his surprised expression. “I haven’t seen you like this before.”

You chuckled. “How else are you supposed to run a company and organize and execute a fashion show in 3 months?”

Rachel tapped you on the shoulder. "Westly can do lunch tomorrow, at noon, at Romeo's. He and his team secured the venue with Vancouver Fashion Week and are currently collaborating with the interior designers to figure out how the place will look. West said he'll debrief you tomorrow, at lunch, about the rest of the progress."

You smiled. “Great! Thank you, Rachel. You can also take the rest of the day off.”

Rachel appeared to be stunned, not responding to your words.

You waved a hand in front of her face. “Rachel? You can take the rest of the day off.”

“Are you sure, Y/N?” She asked.

You chuckled, “I wouldn’t be telling you to if I wasn’t sure, would I?”

She gave it a thought. “I guess not.”

You grinned. “Just meet me at our main building tomorrow, at eleven-thirty, and we’ll go to Romeo’s together.”

Rachel nodded. “Thank you, Y/N,”

“No worries,” you smiled.

You and Hoseok watched her leave, leaving you two alone in the studio.

“I’m sorry, it passed my mind. You’re okay not joining us for lunch tomorrow, right?” You asked Hoseok.

He dismissed your apology by brushing a hand through the air, “It’s all good. You’ve got your shit to do.” He smiled, “It gives me time to tour around a bit, anyways.”

“Good,” you replied. “So, where to?”

You pulled apart the croissant, eating pieces one at a time. The butteriness covered your tongue in a warmth that mixed well with the iced coffee you and Hoseok shared.

The park was surprisingly empty, despite it being a Friday. Usually, it would be tough to find a spot decently away from others, mostly shaded by trees.

The inlet was a few meters away, allowing you two to see sailboats pass by. People also kayaked and canoed, and you could hear their laughter faintly on land.

Here, you and Hoseok would be shielded by looming trees and away from potential fans of Hoseok. It was a rarity to have those two things when spending time with Hoseok: privacy and security—peace and quiet.

“This is what you wanted to do?” You asked, finishing off the croissant.

He nodded, sipping the iced coffee. “Yeah. It’s quiet and nice here.”

You two people watched, enjoying the breeze and serene environment.

“I was thinking,” you cleared your throat, “about last night. Did you enjoy it?”

Hoseok set down the iced coffee. “Yeah. I always like hanging out with you.”

“I mean—the sex.”

He seemed shocked by your question.

���Yeah, that was good too. Why do you ask? You never brought up before.” He pointed out.

Because I am growing feelings for my childhood friend, who I now have sex with for fun. This wasn't a part of the agreement, I know. We agreed to not grow feelings for each other and just have sex for pleasure. But it's inevitable to develop feelings for someone you have sex for, right? Like, there are probably people out there that can distinguish sex from love—and I guess it started out like that—but for us?

Am I crazy?

“No reason,” you sighed. “I just wanted to know if there was anything I could have done better.”

Hoseok turned his body to you, smiling. “It was perfect.”

He gestured with his arms for a hug, and you obliged. His cologne smelt of freshly peeled oranges; it was a pleasant fragrance, and you found yourself snuggling closer.

.

.

The past month went by in a busy blur.

The model casting went well. You and Westley found fantastic individuals to present your clothing line, which was in the process of being altered to fit those people.

The venue was secured, and the guest list was being made by You and Westley.

“Maybe invite Hoseok,” Westley suggested.  

You shook your head, “I can’t.”

"Why not?" He retorted. "The worse thing he could say is 'no,' and you can invite the whole band." He giggled. "Maybe I can meet Jimin in person."

You chuckled, “So that’s why you want me to invite Hoseok. Just because you made eye contact with Jimin for more than five seconds, it doesn’t mean that he’s into you. He’s straight.”

“How do you know?” Westley had a hand firmly on his hip.

“W-well, I haven’t asked him personally—”

"Then you can't assume he's straight!" Westley exclaimed. "The baseline isn't being heterosexual."

“True. Anyways, let’s get back to the guest list.” You chewed on your lip. “We have Harry Styles, BLACKPINK, Lizzo…”

Both of you ran down the list of a thousand attendees to the show in Vancouver. It was way smaller than fashion week or any of your previous shows, but it wasn't meant to be a big party.

Y/N [14:00]: Hey! Are you free and the boys on March 1st at 1 pm for about four hours, including an after-party until 10 pm, with food?

Hoseok [14:30]: Hiiiiii!! Sorry for the late text. I was asking the others. Yeah! That’s in 4 months? 🧐

Y/N [14:31]: Yeah, it’s for my fashion show. You can ask your company for that time? We’d provide the plane tickets and accommodation. You’d probably stay 3 days and 2 nights? You’d fly in the first day, sleep the one night, then attend the show the second day, sleep the second night, and fly out the 3rd day. I’ll need to know by the end of the week.

Hoseok [14:32]: Sounds good!!! I’ll ask my managers and let you know 👊

Y/N [14:33]: Awesome! Thanks 💚

Hoseok [14:33]: Np 💚

“So, Hoseok and the boys can come, but he has to confirm with his managers. He’ll let me know soon.” You relayed to Westley.

"Great! As long as we get confirmation from Hoseok at the end of this week, we can send out the invitations. We've checked with everyone's management, and they all seem to be busy. Worse comes to worst; we'll just have to move seats around." Westley advised.

He closed his laptop, and you followed.

“Alright, that seems to be all of the guest list business. I’ll get my team to start organizing plane tickets and accommodation.” He sighed, “shall we head to the studio to check on the design team?”

“Yes,” you replied.

Both of you were driven to the studio to check on the design team.

The studio was filled with models of various shades and shapes. Music played quietly in the background, and your coworkers and models grooved to the tunes. Designers pinned fabrics around people’s figures and sketched down measurements and ideas.

You and Westley went around checking on everyone, making sure gowns and suits were well in progress. A smaller group of people created ideas for shoes and were sending them out to shoemakers.

The rest of the day was spent getting to know the models, fixing measurements, finalizing some ideas, and briefing everyone about the plan for the next two months.

"Please have the gowns, suits, and shoes by the end of this month so we can start having the makeup artists consult all of you; to make sure the makeup correlates with the clothes and the models." You informed. "Thank you, everyone, for your amazing work."

Scattered “thank you”s responded, and our workday was over.

“You want to get some drinks?” Westley nudged.

You nodded, frankly too tired to answer but eager for a drink.

Both of you decided to walk to the high-class bar, which allowed private areas in the back for paying customers. You and Westley sat alone, away from the crowds of people near the entrance of the bar.

“To having a productive three months,” Westley sang, holding up his martini.

You sighed, “Cheers,” you tapped your peach Bellini glass against his, admitting a chime.

"Fuck," Westley cursed at the sip of his drink, "they're always stronger than I remember. "Anyways, the show is pretty much underway. Guestlist is handled, the venue is prepped and ready for us, the clothing is almost done. Oooo, I can’t wait to see it all together.”

You nodded.

“You don’t seem so excited, Y/N.”

“I am,” you replied.

“But?”

“I am excited.” You affirmed, although not living up to the word

Westley silenced, knowing when not to push your buttons.

He took a careful sip of his martini. “Where’s Hoseok?”

You fidgeted with your glass. "Hoseok went back to Korea. He only had a month of vacay, so," you left the sentence adrift.

“Did you enjoy his company?”

“Can we not talk about him right now? I rather not mix work and personal life.” You stated.

Westley acknowledged with a firm nod, finishing off his martini and asking for another.

“May I ask a question?”

“Sure.” You replied.

He cringed. “But if I ask, promise me you won’t fire me.”

You turned to him. “Depends on your question. You have to ask me first, then I can decide whether or not to fire you. I cannot make promises.”

“Why are you so off all of a sudden?” He genuinely asked.

You took a deep breath. “I’m not going to fire you, not for a long time. You’re my best worker, and I can’t let you go.”

"I feel like there's going to be a 'but' somewhere. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid." Westley sighed.

You nodded, “You’re right. And you’re right about my mood. I’ve been kind of off lately.”

“Because of Hoseok?”

"Yeah, to be honest." You admitted. "I feel like we're really close—more than just friends. We're on the same wavelength, you know? And whenever we're apart for a long time and then meet up again, it's like time has passed."

“And let me guess, you haven’t told him because you’re afraid to ruin your friendship.”

You scoffed. “There’s no need for sarcasm, West.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m just saying, it’s the oldest narrative in the book. One friend is falling for the other, and that one friend doesn’t want to confess their feelings because they’ve known the other person for years and are afraid of ruining that connection.” He took a sip of his martini. “But in the end, it’s two friends just pining over their feelings of love for each other.”

“But we’re different.” You argued.

"I guess so. The narrative doesn't really specify one friend is a famous fashion designer and the other being a famous musician—"

“I mean,” you interrupted, “we have sex every time we see each other.

Westley's mouth fell open in a silent gasp. His hand was placed on his chest, and his eyes stared into yours.

He tipped back his martini into his mouth, finishing it off. “Well, you didn’t mention the friends with benefits part.”

“I know!” You groaned. “That’s why it’s so complicated.”

"Is it really, though? Wouldn't confessing your feelings after you two have had sex so much make it slightly easier? Because it makes sense to grow feelings for someone you've known for a while and have had sex with on multiple occasions." Westley speculated.

“I didn’t say we had sex on multiple occasions—”

“Honey,” he began, “you said you’ve had sex with him every time you see each other, and you two meet a lot. It doesn’t take a detective to figure it out.”

"Anyways," he digressed, "the sooner you tell him, the better. There's no use debating over it for years, then finding out he's found someone else when he would've picked you anyways."

"Gosh, when you say it like that, it sounds like a romantic movie." You cringed, finishing your peach Bellini.

He shrugged. “Well, it kinda is.”

You chuckled. “Well, thanks for the advice.”

“Thank you for filling me in,” he smiled.

.

.

The week went by fast. Your design team was still working on alterations, so you were left brainstorming hair and makeup and contacting specialists in those fields.

You were sitting at home, knee-deep in Pinterest boards when your phone buzzed.

You stopped strolling through your laptop and peered down.

Hoseok [19:30]: We can come to your show!

Y/N [19:30]: Fantastic! I'll let my team know, and we’ll send out the invites.

You texted Westley, informing him that BTS could attend the show.

Westley [19:33]: Great! I'll let the rest of the team know, and we'll send the emails out tomorrow

Y/N [19:34]: Thanks!

Westley [19:35]: Np

You set down your phone and continued to add ideas to your private Pinterest board.

Your phone buzzed again.

Hoseok [19:55]: What are you doing right now?

You were puzzled.

Y/N [19:56]: Nothing much, just brainstorming ideas for the show. You?

Hoseok [19:57]: Just chilling in my room.

Hoseok [20:05]: I miss you

You chuckled at the text, thinking that Hoseok was drunk.

Y/N [20:05]: I miss you too, Hobi.

Hoseok [20:08]: …how much?

Again, you were puzzled by his text.

Y/N [20:10]: Wdym? I miss having you here? Is that what you mean?

Hoseok [20:11]: I mean, do you miss me intimately?

Y/N [20:14]: Like sex-wise?

Hoseok [20:14]: Fuck, I need you, Y/N.

You stared at his words.

Hoseok [20:18]: I miss your body and how perfectly you fit around me.

Your cheeks flushed.

Hoseok [20:21]: Can you video chat? Unless you’re not in the mood.

You panicked.

You were in the mood but weren't presentable. Your hair was messy, and you weren't wearing any makeup, and you were dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants.

Y/N [20:23]: Yeah, I’m in the mood. Just give me 5 mins.

You quickly got out of your seat and ran to your bedroom. You sifted through your closet and found the sexist clothing item you had: a red lingerie set. You quickly undressed and put on the set.

You looked into your full-length mirror and tried not to cringe. Your hair was a mess, and you weren’t wearing any makeup. It definitely looked like Hoseok's text came out of nowhere—and it did, but you somehow expected yourself to be decently presentable.

However, the lingerie set was doing you favours. The set was composed of a crotchless thong and a bralette that exposed your nipples.

Y/N [20:28]: I’m ready.

Your phone rang, and you answered, quickly propping it on your drawers across from your bed.

You were faced with a shirtless Hoseok, his cock already in his hand.

“Fuck, you look amazing.” He complimented breathlessly.

“Wow, you’re ahead of the game—and really? I’m a mess.” You chuckled.

He hissed, flinching in his grip. “Fuck, just take the compliment, Y/N.”

You cleared your throat. “Thank you.”

You sat a pit forward, angling your breasts towards the camera.

“What are you imagining, baby?” You purred.

“Y-You,” he stuttered, moving his hand up and down his cock.

“Mhm,” you moaned, “thinking up my pussy clenching around your cock, making it all wet.”

He nodded.

"You can do something if you want," he suggested. "You said you were in the mood."

Your eyes opened wide. “Wait a minute.”

You brought the phone with you on your journey, going back to your closet and fetching your dildo, lube, and vibrator. You hurried to the bathroom and propped your phone up against the closed door.

You suctioned the bottom of the dildo onto the titled floor. You placed the vibrator on the bathroom counter.

“You want to watch me bounce on this dildo and think of you?” You smirked, rubbing lube onto your hands, onto the toy, and onto your vagina.  

“Fuck, yes,” he replied, stilling his hand around his cock for a moment.

“Did I say you could stop?” You spat.

“I’m waiting for you,” he smiled, making your heart melt.

You paused over the dildo, smiling back at him. “Awww, that’s actually kinda sweet. Thank you.”

You quickly washed your hands and grabbed the vibrator.  

You crouched down and slowly onto the dildo.

“Fuck,” you moaned, tilting your head back at the feeling of being filled up. It didn’t hit the spots Hoseok did, but it was good enough.

You lifted yourself up and sunk back down again, rhythmically repeating the motion.

“Fuck, so good,” you sighed, overlooking the pain in your knees.

“That's right, baby, imagine me filling that pussy up," Hoseok groaned, following your rhythm while pumping his cock.

“Fuck yes,” you replied, “and I’m clenching around you so tight.”

You two exchanged moans at the sound of your pussy squelching around the dildo.

“Use the vibrator, baby,” Hoseok purred.

You hummed, grabbing the rose gold vibrator and turning it on. You place the buzzing toy on your clit, feeling pleasure rippling through your core.

“Fuck,” you hissed, speeding up your pace a bit.

“I-I’m getting close.”

“Yeah, baby?” Hoseok smirked. “You get off at me rubbing my cock? Imagining me buried inside your pussy, making you feel so good?"

You nodded. “But it’s not as you, baby.”

“I know—” He choked, appearing to be on the brink of his climax. “I fucking miss the way your pussy fit so well around me, no matter how many times I fucked you open.”

“Mhm,” you bit your lips, watching him with hooded eyes. “Don’t stop.”

“Who knew you were filthy enough to cum during cybersex?" He observed. "I'm not even there to touch you, but just thinking of me inside has you in ruins.”

“What would you do if I was with you right now?” You asked.

“I would fuck you until you couldn’t walk the next day,” he replied, “I’d fuck you until that pretty pussy is swollen.”

"F-fuck, I'm going to cum," you stuttered, feeling the familiar build-up in your core.

“M-me too,” he stammered.

You watched his head tilt back in pleasure and his cum squirt up from his cock.

“Fuck!” You cursed, feeling your pleasure shoot out of your core and onto the floor

“So hot,” Hoseok sighed.

You chuckled, coming down from high. You pulled yourself up and off the dildo, sitting on the cool tile floor.

“Fuck, did you squirt?” He asked, looking closer.

You nodded, gesturing to the mess on the ground.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” he commanded and obliged, showing him your battered cunt.

You spread your lips, and he hummed at sight.

“So beautiful.” He awed.

“You happy? I need to wipe this all up, now,” you scoffed.

He chuckled. “It’s not my fault that you cummed.” He angled his phone to the floor, showing splashes of his cum on the floor, "and besides, you also made me make a mess.”

You both chatted while cleaning up your messes, talking about your days as if nothing happened. After finishing your clean-up, you two continued your conversation while showering, as if both of you were doing it together.

Ready to relax for the night, both of you signed off with exchanged ‘thanks’ and ‘good night.’

You turned off your phone with a soft click and stepped out of the steamy bathroom. Your pyjamas were soft on your skin, and you felt ready to go to bed.

Hopping onto your bed, you grabbed your laptop and turned on some Netflix to fall asleep to.

From an outsider’s perspective, masturbating with your best friend and then casually talking with them while showering and getting ready for bed was odd. Repeating the scenario in your mind did make it sound like you two were in a long-distance romantic relationship rather than a platonic one.

But you and Hoseok were different. That was your excuse.

A friend could do this and not catch feelings. You two were the perfect example of that.

Emphasis on were because you were currently spiralling in your growing romantic feelings for Hoseok.

But what would you do in this situation?

You and your childhood friend engage in sex one time and promise each other to not grow feelings. In this manner, you two could have sex without attachment. Fast forward into the future, and you both are still making this arrangement with no negative consequences and feel like you two have gotten to know each other better and have become better friends—until you catch feelings. And you don’t want to risk losing this relationship you two have.

Because he is a worldwide musician who can’t be tied down because it could risk his career, and he might lose fans—and you couldn't be bothered with any romantic commitment with your fast-paced and unpredictable work schedule.

So, you stay in this unnameable mess.

.

.

“Time flies by when you’re having fun,” Allie commented from the plush couch.

You looked in the mirror, twisting your back towards it to see the back of the dress. “I guess so.”

“You have to admit, planning a fashion show is pretty fun,” she said. “If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be doing it over and over again.”

“True,” you replied, turning to the stylist.

“May I see the other dress?” You asked, and the stylist nodded, retreating to somewhere in the shop you couldn’t see.

It was the last month until the show. Everything was in order: the show’s venue and its decorations, the clothes, makeup and hair for the models, and the guests’ accommodation. Now, it was your turn to find suitable attire for the occasion.

You tried on the next dress. It was a slim-fitting number, with a leg slit in the front. It was scandalous and stunning, but not right for the show.

“I don’t like any of these dresses,” you sighed, annoyed.

Allie appears to brainstorm some ideas.

“Maybe try a suit?” She proposed.

You kept your eyes on the mirror, twirling your figure and watching the fabric move at your feet.

“Think about it,” she began, “think of all the powerful women who’ve worn suits and killed it. Zendaya, Kristen Stewart, Blake Lively, Awkwafina. The list goes on. It’s a statement piece, and you’re the big brain behind this operation.”

“I think it’s ‘mastermind behind this operation,’ but I get what you mean.” You corrected.

“You literally bypassed my whole point—”

“I know, I know,” you interrupted. “It’s just—suits for women are so overpriced. And it’s just like the dresses, except a different fit. Same colour palettes, same materials, so on.”

Allie scoffed. "You're a fucking fashion designer, did you forget? Make your own thing. There are leftover fabrics at your studio; you have time to make something." Her face lit up, “And, technically, it’s for free.”

You gave it a thought, but the stylist came back before you could finish it.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Vega, but I’m not finding anything, and I don’t want you walking back and forth and bringing me more dresses.” You gave an apologetic smile. “Thank you very much for your help.”

"No worries, Y/N! Just hang up the dress when you take it off, and I’ll deal with the rest,” she replied.

“Will do,” you said, and she stepped out of the room.

Allie helped you unzip the gown, and you shimmed out of it. You did as you were told and hung up the dress, and you and Allie left the shop.

The walk back to the studio was quick, you two making determined strides through the crowded city.

You and Allie entered the empty studio, turning on the nights.

The studio was organized chaos with dressed mannequins, big boxes of fabrics in the back of the room, and papered patterns on the tables.

“Wow,” Allie awed.

"Yeah," you replied, leading you both to your master station is near the back, "it's crazy what a couple months before a show looks like.”

You looked through the drawers beside your desks and grabbed the tools you'll need to plan out the suit.

“So, just a suit jacket and pants…” You said, grabbing some paper to sketch up your pattern.

You looked up at Allie, “Do you mind helping me out with measurements?”

She nodded, “For sure. What do you need?”

You guided Allie on how to measure your proportions for the suit. She measured your inseams for your pants, the sleeves, the cuts, and so on. In between, you'd write down the dimensions for the patterns.

You two sifted through the fabrics to create a monochrome patchwork outfit. The suit would be shades of cherry red, with different materials making it up. There were no patterns in the patchwork, only various tones of red in several types of wool.

“Fucking hell,” Allie cursed while sifting through the materials, “who would’ve thought there were so many shades of red.”

She held up a piece of recycled fabrics, checking with you that it was the correct tone. You took it and held the portion against the others.

“Nope, too dark,” you shook your head.

"What? It looks exactly the same," she disagreed, walking over to your table. When comparing the fabrics, she made an 'aaah’ sound, letting you know that you were right.

Before sectioning off your pattern, you tried your best to evenly sew all the material together into a quilt-like form.

“Jesus,” you muttered, shaking out your sore hands.

“We don’t have to get this all done today, you know. You do have two months left.” Allie advised.

"I know. I just want to put this all together first," you replied, continuing to push the material through the sewing machine.

“Alright,” she surrendered, bringing one of the seats over to your table.

You sewed in silence for a bit.

“So,” Allie began, “how are you and Hoseok doing?”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

“You know…you two and your arrangement.”

You scoffed, “Our arrangement? You mean us having sex?”

“Yeah, but the other stuff.”

You pulled your hands from the sewing machine, crossing your arms over your chest. "Just spit it out, Al."

“Well, you’ve had mixed feelings with Hoseok, right? Like you’re starting to like him?” She speculated.

Your mouth gaped open. “Have you been talking to West?”

She didn’t respond, not making eye contact.

“You can’t be fucking serious. You two are ganging up on me!” You yelled.

“Y/N, we’re just worried.”

“About what? I have feelings—and?” You fumed.

She sighed. “You shouldn’t be having sex with someone if you’re growing romantic feelings, especially if you two agreed to be platonic.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you stood.

“Y/N!” She exclaimed. "Don't you dare talk to me that way? I am your friend, not your enemy." Allie stood up and sighed. “I get it. You don’t like people in your business. That’s fair. I just feel like you're sacrificing yourself for Hoseok when you could talk about it with him."

“Allie, you don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.” You spat.

“I get it,” she sympathized. “I don’t. I’m not you or Hoseok.”

“So, tell me,” she said. “Educate me on the situation. I am not here to judge. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“It’s okay,” she forgave, “just don’t push me away so fast, okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed.

She sat down, “So?”

You sat down and rehashed your feelings about you and Hoseok to her: the growing romantic feelings for him, not knowing what to do, and wanting something more.

“Well, do you think it’d work out between you two if you dated?” She asked.

You shifted in your seat. "I honestly don't know. It's tough with Hoseok's work because he has a loyal fanbase. I'm afraid he's going to get even more hate if we were to date.”

“But would you two be happy?” She asked.

You gave it a thought. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you go into a relationship regardless of other people. Whether you’re a celebrity or an ordinary person, you date someone for you and that person; no one else. There are going to be people who support and hate your relationship no matter what. What matters is what the two people think in the relationship."

She sighed. “You cannot control what others will think about you. No matter what you do or who you do, you're going to upset someone. So, just do what feels comfortable and safe with you."

You hummed, understanding.

“So, would you be happy if you and Hoseok dated?”

“Yes.” You stated without a thought. “I really like him—love him even.”

"Then that's all that matters," Allie replied.

.

.

The week before, the show crept on you faster than you expected. You, your team of designers and event organizers, models, hairstylists and makeup artists flew into Vancouver a week early to prepare on location.

However, the majority of the week would be spent preparing for the show. The first day was spent unloading all of the outfits and equipment for the show into the venue. Everyone was required to show up to organize their stations and to familiarize themselves with the venue.

“Please set up your stations while Westley and I look into the main runway and after part section. We’ll be back in around two hours to check up on everyone. If you have any questions while we're gone, please contact me on my phone." You held up your cellphone and everyone nodded. "Great. Good luck, everyone!"

The venue and interior designers' owners toured you and Westley around the place, showing you the drawn floorplans, running down the prices, and checking that the decorations correlated with your plans.

“These weren’t the chairs we sent over,” Westley pointed to the black folded chairs lining the runways.

“Yes, but these were within the price range and—” One of the interior designers, Queeny, said.

“But did we get an email regarding this change?” You interjected.

Queeny exchanged looks with the other three decorators, and they shook their heads.

Wesley let out an angry sigh. "Well, I guess we’ll have to live with these then.” He sat down on one of the chairs. “At least they’re comfortable. They look cheap, but they’re sturdy.”

“Are there any more changes you made without informing as?” You asked.

They all shook their heads.

"Great." You turned to one of the two-venue owners, named Ruby. "Shall we continue to the after-party part?”

“Yes,” she replied, gesturing to the doorway that led to the front reception area.

From the reception area, where guests would check-in and get a wristband, a double-door way on the right led to a ballroom for the after-party.

The overall theme of the place was classic European designs with off-white luxurious walls and chandeliers. The ceilings were intricately carved, and the floors were a smooth white oak. Just walking around made you feel like you were dirtying the place.

“This place is stunning,” Westley whispered.

“I know,” you replied, “you chose the place.”

“I know,” he smiled, pretending to flip his hair.

You both chuckled, continuing to follow the owners around the venue.

Everything worked out, besides the chairs, so you and Westley checked on the designers, models, hairstylists and makeup artists.

At the end of the workday, everyone was in order and ready for the next three days of dress rehearsals and solving and problems.

You arrived back at your hotel with sore feet and exhaustion.

Your phone rang as you flopped onto your bed.

You answered. “Hobi!”

“Y/N! How was your flight to Vancouver?” He asked.

“It was good. We didn't have a rest day, though. We had to settle into the place and check it over. My feet are so sore.” You groaned.

“Really? I thought you’d at least have a rest day when you guys arrived,” he assumed.

You shook your head. “No. Sadly, this whole week will be walking around and making sure everything is going smoothly.”

He sighed. “Shit. That sucks.” You heard him shift on the other side of the phone. “Do you want to relax?”

You laughed. “Jung Hoseok, did you seriously booty call me from across the world?”

Hoseok gasped, "I did not! I was talking about watching Netflix or something." He chuckled, "You're so dirty-minded."

You both laughed.

“Okay, so what do you want to watch?” He asked on the other end of the call.

You brought out your laptop and scrolled through the movie selection.

“Oooo! Let’s watch Hush. I’ve heard so many good things about it.” You recalled.

You could hear his hesitation.

Hoseok did not like being scared. Whenever you watched anything scary, you were afraid that your neighbours would complain at how loud his screaming was. As you remembered saying "hello" to him once and him screaming in fear and surprise, he was also easily frightened.

“We don’t have to,” you said.

“No, no,” Hoseok reassured, “we’ll watch it. Just send me the Netflix Party link, and I'll ready the Zoom link."

You giggled. “You don’t have to be brave for me, Hobi. I know you don’t like scary movies.”

“You want to watch it, so let’s do it,” he said, “and the ratings are good.”

“Okay,” you digressed. “I’m texting you the link right now.”

“Same,” he replied.

You two hung up and joined the links.

“Hello!” Hoseok beamed, dancing.

You rolled your eyes and chuckled at his burst of energy. “Hello, Hobi.”

You carried your laptop to the bathroom and began getting ready for bed.

“How was your day?” You asked.

Hoseok described him and his bandmates' film day for "Run! BTS," and you groaned at all the work they had to do.

He laughed. “But we got to play games, which was fun. We laughed so much that my abs hurt.” You watched him lift up his shirt and show his toned abdomen.

Your core felt a familiar flutter.

“W-wow, that must be a lot of laughing,” you cleared your throat and took out your toothbrush and toothpaste.

For the moment, the time difference worked for you two because it was almost ten at night for you and nearly three in the afternoon for him.

“Should I turn off my camera?” You asked before undressing to get into the shower.

He shook his head. “I’m okay with you leaving it on. I’ve seen you naked before, so it’s not really different. But if you’re uncomfortable, you can just turn it off.”

You shrugged and began taking off your clothes in full view of the camera and screen.

You noticed Hoseok’s expression.

“Enjoying the show?” You chuckled, finally taking off your undergarments and fully exposing yourself.

Hoseok smirked, “Don’t act like you weren’t just turned on by my abs. I saw how you looked at me.”

You nodded and surrendered. “Fair point.”

You hoped in the shower, and you two continued talking.

“Jesus, we haven’t started the movie yet,” Hoseok commented while you were washing your hair.

“Shit, right,” you laughed, massaging the shampoo into your scalp.

After you hoped out of the shower and dried your body and hair, you both started to watch the movie.

“This is a pretty cool premise. Like, we’ve never seen a deaf person in a horror movie before,” you regarded.

"True, that's a good point—AHHHHHH!" Hoseok screamed at the sudden slam in the movie.

You burst into laughter.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed, trying to calm himself with controlled breaths.

The movie continued as you finished off your skincare and put on your pyjamas.

The oversized t-shirt was long enough to cover your thighs.

“You’re going to watch this before bed?” Hoseok gasped.

You chuckled. “Yeah. It’s not that scary.” You say as you jump at the sound of breaking glass in the film.

Hoseok laughed at the coincidental timing.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you woke up to the sound of your alarm.

“Shit,” you grumbled and turned it off.

You heard Hoseok stir awake on the Zoom call.

Both of you had fallen asleep, but Hoseok finished the movie before you could; because you saw the end credits paused in the Netflix Party.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s okay,” Hoseok mumbled, squinting at the screen.

“I’ll let you sleep,” you smiled, hovering your cursor over the "send" button.

He softly smiled, “thank you.” He snuggled into his pillow, “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Hobi,” you replied, ending the call for both of you.

It didn’t hit you until you were halfway through your dress rehearsal, but Hoseok had stayed with you while you slept. He didn't wake you but quietly continued the movie and fell asleep.

Hoseok was usually sweet, so you didn't pay too much attention to it.

But it did make you feel special.

.

.

It was the day of the fashion show, and you were fucking nervous.

You had done this before, a show, but this one was different. You had put in so much effort and were proud of how it turned out but were afraid of what other people would think.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Allie assured through video call,” it’ll be excellent, and everyone won’t stop talking about it.”

“Probably,” you replied, putting on your makeup.

“It will be excellent, Y/N. I am so sure I will bet money.” She stated.

You chuckled, "then I'll take your word for it because I am not bidding money.”

You both laughed.

“Okay, I know I already showed you my outfit, but are you sure it looks good?” She asked, putting on the A-line floor-length dress she’d shown you before. It was a beautiful viridian green with lace shoulder straps that draped over the sides of her biceps.

“You look beautiful,” you complimented, setting your makeup with setting spray and heading to your closet.

You put on the suit you made and looked in the mirror. You looked a bad bitch.

“You look great! Oooo, put on the red bottoms,” Allie squealed.

You put on the signature Louis Vuitton black high heels with the ruby bottoms.

Your phone buzzed.

“I got to go; Westley is here with our ride to the venue. I’ll see you there!”

“See you!” She waved, ending the call.

You did a quick check in the mirror, fixing your hair, grabbed your bags, and headed out the door.

Your driver waited outside the vehicle as you approached, and opened its door, showing you a well-dressed and excited Westley.

"Oh my god, you look great!" He gasped. “When did you make the suit?”

“I finished it a week before we flew out,” you chuckled, “and you look great too! I love the pine on you.”

You took a step back and looked at Westley’s crisp pine-coloured suit with matching brown dress shoes.

“Thank you,” he grinned. “Okay, get in before we become late.”

You hopped into the car, and your driver got in and started the vehicle.

The drive was spent recalling your opening and closing speeches with Westley and the show's agenda.

“So, five pm is when the show ends, and then the guests for the after-party go into the ballroom area. Food is served at six pm, and everything is wrapped up at ten pm.” Westley relayed.

You nodded, “Yup.”

Both of you arrived a couple hours before the start time, which was at 1 pm, to set everything up and warm up the models and crew.

Westley checked the organizers and the models while you went to the runway area to check the lights and sound.

"Let's rerun the lights, please!" You announced as you walked into the runway room. "Can I get a headset, please?" You ask the crew on the ground, who nodded.

“Yup!” You heard the lighting crew respond.

You were given the headset, and you heard the head light technician’s voice.

“Can you hear me?” They checked.

“Yes,” you confirmed.

They ran by the six light settings for the show, and it was all correct.

“It’s perfect, thank you. Can you please check that the sound is alright?” You asked through the headset.

“Yup. You’ll have to hand the headset to another person, though, and we’ll give you a mic.” They added.

You heard their muffled voice as if they covered their mic's headset with their hand. Next, you had someone hand you a mic and take your headset.

“You’ll need to stand on the stage,” The person said.

“Okay,” you replied, going to the runway and standing on the end portion.

All the room’s lights turned on, and you could see the lighting crew’s area in the back and the chair organized around the runway.

“You can speak into the mic!” You heard someone shout.

You started speaking nonsense in the mic, like the type of weather outside, as they adjusted the volume.

“Thank you!” Someone shouted.

“Thanks,” you said into the mic before handing it to one of the crew.

“Is there anything to report? Any problems that arose before I got here?” You asked the crew.

They all shook their heads.

“How is everyone feeling?” You asked.

They all shared nervous laughter, and a few people said “good.”

“Alright, if there’s anything you all need, just come to the modelling area and ask me. It’s in the backroom.”

They all nodded, and you left them to their business.

You arrived in the backroom and saw designers fitting their outfits on the models and makeup artists and hairstylists prepping their stations.

“How is everybody doing?!” You enthusiastically asked.

They cheered with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"I get it. Everyone is on their toes. You all have an hour left to set things up before people start filing in. Remember, the show starts at 1 pm. The door opens thirty minutes before them.”

They call responded with various forms of understanding, and you went around to check on them individually.

Rachel came and taped your shoulder, with a headset on, “So, the guards are in their posts, and the front is ready to check people in.”

“Is there a line already?” You asked.

Rachel pressed down the headset, asking the crew on the other end.

“Yes, there’s a line of people outside,” she reported, “about twenty people, so far.”

"Shit, yeah, let them in. It's probably cold." You ordered.

“I’ll tell them,” she replied.

“Okay, everyone! We’re starting to let people in. Again, you all have about an hour left, so try to wrap things up and relax. Thank you!” You announced.

Again, sounds of understanding, and you, Westley, and Rachel left the backroom.

“Rachel, Westley and I are going to check that the ballroom area and catering are all handled. Please check in with the front desk to see how they're doing, and then meet us in the ballroom." You told.

“Got it, Y/N,” Rachel answered, walking past the two of you and towards the front area.

Westley appeared impressed. “She's terrific. She's even got the headset and everything."

"I know, right? She's cool." You remarked.

Like clockwork, you and Westley ran over the details and schedule for the catering and the after-party. Everyone had places to sit, with elegantly decorated name cards.

Everything was ready.

"Fantastic, thank you," you thanked the caterers and the staff in the ballroom. "Feel free to come into the runway area during the show if you all would like to watch."

With that, it was about time the show would start. You and Westley hurried backstage, where you both were handed microphones.

The lights dimmed, and classical music played—fitting the theme of elegance and high class.

You and Westley regarded each other, did an excellent handshake, and strutted out on the runway. Both of you were met with applause from the crowd and blinding spotlights.

You two walked to the end of the runway and let out an exhausted sigh.

The music quieted, faintly heard in the background.

“And that’s why I’m not a model,” Westley joked, causing the crowd to giggle.

“Same here,” you chuckled.

“Anyways, welcome to the show, everyone!” You cheered, and the crowd clapped. “As you know, I am Y/N, and this is Westley. Today, we’ll be showing recycled elegant clothes on people. Not just models, but people. All the clothes you'll be seeing here today are made from recycled fabrics and hand-crafted by our design team and me."

Applause.

"We wanted to represent people, so we got people to present our clothes. Redundant, I know, but the fashion industry rarely shows models that look like people. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all fantastic. However, this show will be different. Enjoy!” Westley waved.

A final round of applause while you and Westley walked off the runway.

The show went smoothly and wonderfully. The changes were fluid, and there were no clothing mishaps. The classical music turned into upbeat music that everyone seemed to groove to. Models danced on the runway while walking, and there were joyful cheers in the crowd.

In the end, you and Westley gave your brief thank you speeches, and months of planning and work were officially completed.

When everyone was backstage, you all collectively cheered.

“Phenomenal job, everyone!” You praised. “I am speechless at how well we all did. Thank you all for being such wonderful people to work with.”

Smiles and cheers were shared as everyone got ready for the after-party.

“Okay, remember that food is being served at six o’clock, and you all will be able to find your names at a table.” You reminded.

You and Westley did a quick check-up on people before heading to the ballroom area to socialize.

“Great job, you two!” Some complimented.

You and Westley thanked the praise and had a small talk with some colleges.

“Hey, Y/N!” You heard a familiar voice say.

You turned and say Hoseok with the rest of the boys, waving.

“Hey!” You smiled, nudging Westley to join you.

"Well, enjoy the after-party," Westley grinned at the other guests before joining you.

As always, the seven boys were well-dressed in designer suits. Hoseok wore lightly tinted shades paired with a dark suit and floral dress shirt. His hair was wavy.

“That was awesome, Y/N,” Namjoon said.

“Thank you!” You replied.

“Yeah, Y/N, I loved the recycled-fabrics idea. Are anything on sale?” Taehyung asked.

You nodded. "Everything will be on sale next month. I'll send you the dates, so you mark them in your calendar. The clothes go fast," you chuckled.

“Damn,” Taehyung remarked, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, Jimin,” Westley greeted.

“Hey West,” Jimin smiled, “loved your speech today. That suit looks great on you.”

“I know,” Westley smirked, “you look good too.”

"How are you feeling?" Hoseok asked, letting Westley and Jimin casually flirt.

You sighed. “Glad that it’s over, to be honest. It was fun, of course, but it's a lot of work to organize."

“Oh my god, is that Charlie Puth?” Jungkook gasped, hiding slightly behind Namjoon.

Everyone laughed.

"You should go and say 'hi,' Kook. You've already met and sung with him before. You two are practically friends." Yoongi expressed.

“True,” you agreed, “and Charlie’s a nice guy.”

“Okay,” Jungkook straightened his posture, “I’ll do it.”

You all watched Jungkook walk over and begin chatting with Charlie Puth.

“God, he’s grown up so much,” Seokjin sighed.

The rest of you caught up and chatted about the show.

Before you knew it, Westley was poking your side to let you know it was five minutes until six.

“Shit,” you cursed. “Sorry to cut this convo short, but Westley and I have to announce dinner. We’ll talk soon!”

You all said your goodbyes, and you and Westley went up to the front to state it was time for food.

You two were seated with Rachel, Allie, and a couple others. Everyone ordered off a menu, which served various kinds of pasta, salads, and a mix of alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages.

It was an excellent way to end off the show.

There was a dancefloor, too, where people could groove to music after eating.

Of course, the seven boys went to the dancefloor, which caused others to join.

You were finishing off your fettuccine alfredo when Hoseok danced over to your table. You chuckled as he held his hand out and quirked a brow.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, taking his hand.

“You love it,” he smirked, pulling you off your chair and leading you to the dancefloor.

You danced together, along with your friends. He held your hands as you two swayed to the slow songs and body-rolled with you during the upbeat songs. Of course, a few BTS songs played, and everyone tried to follow the known choreography. You went back to your table for a drink of water, and Allie came with you. "Look, and you and Hoseok dancing up a storm," she teased. “Shut up,” you chuckled. “The chemistry is there, Y/N,” she commented. You drank your water. "Not now, Al." “Come on! He’s here for, what, the night and then gone tomorrow morning? When will you see him again?” She asked. You paused, honestly unsure when you'd see Hoseok again. “Now or never, Y/N. How much longer can you debate this?” “I know,” you replied. “I’ll do it later tonight.” Around nine-thirty, the party was dying down, with only a few guests scattered around the venue helping to clean up. You made eye contact with Allie, who was tending to the chairs, who nudged towards Hoseok’s direction. Now or never. You said in your head. “Can I speak to you, Hoseok?” You asked, walking up to him. “For sure!” He replied. You led both of you to a secluded part of the venue, away from listeners. “Did you enjoy the show?” You asked. “Yeah! You did a fantastic job, Y/N. I love how everything turned out, the colours, the recycled fabrics were great—and your suit! I can’t believe you made it,” Hoseok complimented, stepping back to look at your attire. “Thank you,” you blushed. You gave a quick look around to make sure no one was around. “Is everything alright, Y/N? You’re looking around as if they’re spies around.” He gasped. “Are there spies around? What secret don’t they know?” “I don’t want to have sex with you anymore.” You abruptly stated. A stretch of silence. Hoseok’s expression was a mixture of surprise and concern. “What?” “I can’t have sex with you anymore.” “You can’t or don’t want to? Is it something I did?” “Yes? No? In a way?” You pondered. You took a few deep breaths. "I like you, Hoseok—possibly even love you.” You ran your hand through your hair. “I know we agreed not to catch feelings, so I think we should stop having sex.” You watched his expression shift from some form of being happy to disappointment. “You know I cannot date with work,” he explained, "with the fans, touring, and whatnot, I cannot date someone. And you have your company to work on." “I know,” you replied. “But do you like me back?” You asked. “I do—” “You do?” You were on the verge of hugging him, but he stepped back. You looked at him, confused. “We can’t—” “Why?” “I literally just told you, Y/N. With work, dating wouldn’t allow it. I already have people—” He choked on his words. “People who wish I was dead, j-just for being me.” “Hoseok—” You reached out to him, but he gently pushed you away. “No,” he objected, “I’m fine. I just don’t want to add you to the mess.” “You can’t decide that for me.” You retorted. “I understand that you don’t want to add me to it, but I’m okay with it. I don't care what other people would say about us. They're not in the relationship, we are—" “But what if I care?” He said, almost too quiet for you to hear. “I’m the happy guy of BTS, who’s dedicated to his work.” “But are you truly happy?” You peered into him. “Yeah,” he replied, avoiding eye contact, “but it gets really hard sometimes.” “So, let me help, Hoseok,” you pleaded. "I don't need to be helped! I'm not another project for you to work on.” He thundered. “You know that’s not what I meant.” You seethed. “Let’s just drop it, okay? We’re not dating, that’s it.” He dictated. “Fine.” You replied. “Have a safe trip back home.” You left without another word, trying your best not to cry. Out of all the ways you thought he'd respond, this took you off guard. Hoseok wasn't one to push you away, but here he was doing so. “Fuck this,” you whimpered, walking up to Allie. “I’m going back to the hotel, sorry,” you said, turning away as soon as possible. “Y/N!”

You washed your face and hoped into the shower—the warm water soothing your sore muscles and emotions. You couldn’t tell if it was the water or your tears streaming down your face.

What else did you expect? Hoseok had a point: with his work, he couldn’t date someone. And it was ridiculous that Hoseok would want to date you.

However, instead of sulking over Hoseok, you decided to have a bath and put on a facemask.

The room’s phone rang while you were starting the bath.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Y/N Y/L/N?

“Speaking,” you confirmed.

“Great! There’s a man here, named,” a muffled noise, “Hoseok Jung.”

“Tell him I’m busy, please,” you replied.

Another muffled noise. “Hoseok says he's sorry and that he has ice cream—cookie dough. But if he’s dangerous, I can call the police.”

“No, no. God no,” you said.

You bit your lip. "You can send Hoseok up."

“Okay. However, if there’s anything wrong, please try to press the red button on the receiver. I will check back with you in an hour. If there’s no response, I’ll get someone to check on you.” They informed.

“Thank you,” you replied, slightly shocked by their concern.

You hung up.

A few minutes later, you heard a knock on the door. You tightened your robe.

You checked the peephole before cracking the door open.

“Hi,” you greeted.

“Hey," he smiled. "I'm sorry for leaving you like that at the party. It was sudden and insensitive. I should have been more considerate of your feelings rather than shutting you off.”

“I was just—scared. I don’t know what it’s going to be like for us. And I don't want you to fix me—but I like you, a lot—so I brought cookie dough ice cream and two spoons—"

“Do you want to come in?” You interrupted his nervous rambling.

“Yes, thank you,” he chuckled.

Hoseok still wore the suit from the fashion show, but his jacket was folded over his arm, and his dress shirt was unbuttoned lower.

“Oh, you’re running the bath,” he noticed. "We can deal with this later if it's a bad time."

“No, it’s alright. I’ll just turn off the water.” You replied, going to the bathroom to do so.

When you came back, Hoseok was sitting on the edge of your bed.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” You asked, sitting beside him.

He opened the ice cream tub, setting the lid on the desk and handing you one of the spoons.

“I was thinking you could talk more, actually; about how you feel," he replied, giving you the tub and angling himself to face you. "I just want to listen to you this time."

You gave a brief smile before spooning a small piece of ice cream into your mouth.

“Well, I just feel like we’re in this grey area of being really close but having sex. And we both like each other, and we said at the venue, and I just feel like we should just date then.” You set the ice cream and spoon down on the desk. “I get that work complicates things for you. But once we’ve confessed our feelings, I just don’t know what to call this—this friendship?”

Hoseok nodded.

"So, if you don't want to date, that's completely fine. I understand. However, we can't keep having sex like we used to; because I have feelings for you now, and you said you do too, so it's not a good mix."

“That’s fair,” he acknowledged.

“But what do you think? Like, how do you feel about us?” You asked.

He paused and set his spoon on the desk with yours. “I want to date you, Y/N. I just don’t want to get you hurt.” He softly grasped your hands. “The industry can be toxic, and I don’t want to subject you to that.”

“I understand,” you replied, “but I want to date you too, regardless of all the other bullshit. As cheesy as it sounds, all I want is you, Hoseok.”

Hoseok smiled but then pretended to gag.

“Hobi! I was romantic."

“Sorry, but that was so cheesy.” He cringed.

“So, do you want to just start dating, then?” You proposed. “We have the ice cream here; we can pretend to get to know each other more.”

He chuckled. “Sure. Let’s do that.”

Hoseok stood up and held his hand out to you. “Y/N Y/L, will you go on a date with me?”

You laughed but composed yourself. “I would love to, Jung Hoseok.” You took his hand, and he immediately sat back down.

“So, Y/N,” Hoseok began, handing you the partially melted ice cream and your spoon, “what do you like to do on the weekends?”

.

.

1 year later.

“I’m thinking of moving to Korea,” you said. Hoseok turned to you, surprised. “Really? But you’re not based here.” “I know,” you acknowledged, “but I can fly in and skype, or whatever. I can have a home base here, too.” You were visiting Hoseok for a couple weeks before you had to go back home for a clothing launch. Both of you were cuddling at his place when you brought up your idea of moving to Korea. “Of course, it wouldn’t be immediate. I would need to sort things out with Westley and Rachel and organize a place to stay here and a work area. The company is sturdy enough to handle the change.” You reasoned. “You could move in with me,” he suggested, turning his body to face you. “Are you sure?” “Yeah, why not. We’ve been dating for a while now, and it makes sense.” He shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to.” You kissed him. “No, I want to.” Both of you discussed what your move would be like and imagined living together. If you were to look back at how your relationship with Hoseok progressed, you would be shocked. In a matter of a few months, you and Hoseok went from friends to romantic partners. Although you had not come out publicly about your relationship, many people had a sense it existed; but that didn’t matter. You and Hoseok were in a secure and healthy relationship. It was long distanced, but you two made it work by visiting each other when you could and calling almost every day. The only thing that didn’t change was the sex—although it had gotten better. Nevertheless, so much has happened over the past year. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[rumblelibrary]

hello!! i saw requests are open and i was wondering how zemo would react to seeing their nonbinary/fem presenting partner in a suit for the first time! i get kind of insecure about if people will find me attractive when im masc rather than fem, so it’d mean a lot! also maybe there can be a suitkovia reference somewhere LOL

Perfectly Suited [Baron Helmut Zemo x Nonbinary/Fem presenting!Reader]

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: get ready to be loved and spoiled by our best sugar daddy

Author’s note: I hope I managed to get through your wishes, thank you for allowing me to do so

Baron Helmut Zemo was many things, but there were two particular things he liked to regard himself: a man with an exquisite taste and the deepest adoration to his partner.

He was one of those men from another time, he loved, he loved completely, devotedly, without limits.

He loved you with a passion that nobody could deny, it was vibrant, electric, he didn’t need to show pda, just to see you two together proved his care.

He would give all the best to you and only the best, and that’s how you would only eat in the best places, find yourself sleeping only in the silkiest sheets and go to a tailor for any piece of clothing you needed.

Too much? Always not enough in Zemo’s eyes.

He was old fashioned on this: a piece of clothing had to fit like a glove, to suit your habits and not the habits of the mass market, and you better not start him on that  topic because he could go on for ages about how the quality of clothing just mirrors the quality of society.

Nevertheless, you’d benefit of all the best tailors of the world, anything you desired, you’d just have to book an appointment with Zemo’s name and you’d be settled.

On that particular evening you asked him to be present for your final fitting, you didn’t tell him what it was but he guessed it must have been something special because it took time.

As you walked into the shop he smiled at you leaning his hand on the lower of your back.

“Show me darling, I can’t wait” he said as he took off his coat moving to a private room reserved for the fittings.

Mirrors and flowers everywhere, the place smelled heavenly and you grew to love it with time.

“Today is the day” the old tailor told you with a big smile, he grew excited with you, he wasn’t a young man and didn’t understand a thing about the whole concepts of ‘modern sexuality’, but he knew clothing, he knew how what you wear can bring you the highest or the lowest.

He hanged your little surprise and left you to change.

You nodded at him as the excitement was taking over you, but also the worry.

What if he doesn’t like it? What if he refuses that side of you? Yes, all good but this is too far? He paid big money for it, what if it is not right to his eyes?

What if he has no reaction at all? Is that good or bad?

You undressed quietly and slipped into your new suit, you smiled instinctively as just wearing it made you feel confident and alive.

You looked up at yourself in the mirror as you laced up the shirt buttons and you indeed liked yourself, you wanted to wear it always, everyday. 

You put on the jacket and buttoned it up, a little move from side to side to take in every angle before calling the tailor in.

“I am so good at my job” he chuckled as he adjusted a bit the position of the shoulders and instructed you about how the sleeve of the shirt has to show in a certain way outside of a jacket.

“That’s how you understand if a jacket is perfect for your arms” he explained and he was always covering you in little trivia.

He knew you were nervous, so he tried to distract you.

“Ring the bell when you want me to come” he said as from your changing room you’d get to where Zemo was sitting, chilling on the big sofa, legs spread comfortably as he sipped his glass of ‘welcome champagne’ while going through some catalogues stocked in there.

When the door opened he closed The catalogue looking up at you.

He blinked for a moment as you squirmed under his watch 

“Can you do a turn for me?”

He asked moving his finger and you did as asked, a vague sense of nausea and fear taking over you.

He stared at you, the moment you gave him your back the most nerve-racking. When you gained back your starting position he gulped down in one shot the drink he had and left the empty glass aside unceremoniously before standing up.

In your mind, you were already consoling yourself over the fact that it was another time when you will just have to accept things.

“Y/N”

You looked up at him as he called your name.

“You’re so handsome” he said, his eyes shining, a Cheshire Cat kind of smile taking over his lips as he kissed you enjoying the privacy of the moment.

“Y-You do?”

You asked surprised pulling back from that kiss, still doubtful, you got so ready to hear a rejection that you didn’t allow yourself to foresee the amazing smile he was gifting you now. He touched on your sides and up onto your shoulders, the dark fabric slipping through his fingers as he observed you closely before meeting your eyes again.

“Darling” he scolded you gently with that nickname “you even doubted I would love to see you suited up for me?” He asked and you looked down, his hand slowly moving under your chin to make you look up again

“Never look down” he said, his hazel eyes burning holes into you “Remember always: you are the one that makes the rules, you can do everything you want, dress as you want, don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t wear something or do something. If that makes you happy, if that makes you be you, then it is perfect”

You felt emotional as his smile triggered you to smile back, your eyes tearing up a bit.

“Hey, listen to me, I might be right for once, you’re talking to a man with a collection of fur collared coats who doesn’t care at all”

You chuckled, because it is true, you even have got one just for his own pleasure.

“All good?”

You smiled looking at him and you nodded, his arms making you feel safe and secure, that mixed with the power suit you were wearing you felt even bold.

He did a very secure nod before leaning in to ring the bell on the side

“We have only one problem now” he said and you looked at him puzzled.

What is wrong now? You looked down at yourself instinctively.

The tailor came inside smiling warmly, happy to see you two in a cuddly moment

“How you find my job, Sir?”

“Impeccable, as always” Zemo said “but this is an evening suit”

Zemo moved on your side touching onto your jacket, the closeness of him, his warm attentions being a gift for you.

“We need at least two day suits, one in linen for the summer and one for the winter, something thick like Harry’s Tweed” he explained as the man took note “and of course something else for special evenings” he added looking at you.

“Please, I’ll show you the fabrics” 

The tailor said to you motioning you to follow him to his table so he could show you all the books with the textiles.

“Perfect, we don’t have much time, so pick wisely, I’ll schedule another appointment soon”

Zemo said checking his watch and you looked at him, once more, very surprised because you had no following appointment.

He smirked leaning to your ear “You don’t expect me to watch you in a suit and not bring you out for dinner” You smiled at him.

“Helmut…” you murmured but many words couldn’t just allow you to express ho much it meant to be accepted, to be even liked in the way he does “Thank you”

He smiled “I love you” he said, as simple as it is “now go pick your fabrics or I won’t be able to wait for the dinner to be over to reach the second idea that suit gave me”

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[blu-joons]

The Making Of ‘You Calling My Name’ ~ Im Jaebum

Tears spilled onto the paper as he wrote down the lyrics, only hating himself further for ever making you cry. His mistakes had left him with heartbreak, and a catalogue of lyrics to put together to create his next masterpiece. It was the last thing that he wanted to write about, he never imagined he’d be left with the lyrical scars of you leaving.

As he sat at his desk, as he often did, he expected to hear you walk through the door. It became a habit for you both whenever you came home from work, you’d call out his name and let him know you were home and have a look at what he’d been working on.

“Jaebum!” You yelled, closing the door behind you as you stepped into the apartment. You followed the sound of his murmur back at you, opening up his studio door to see him slumped at his computer. “How’s it all going?”

“It will get better,” he mused, tapping his lap for you to sit in. “My inspiration is back with me now so I should be able to get back on with things.

Your eyes lit up, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “So, who might that be then?”

“You of course, silly.”

The silence killed him as he looked back at his laptop, the inspiration had left him now, the only memory he had of that inspiration was the fatal mistake he made that tore his life apart. The studio felt like it was closing in, the pressure of trying to come up with something.

As he began to think about all the things he done, he managed to scribble down page after page of regrets, plenty of comments of wishing that he’d never done what he had done.

“Y/N, please,” he mumbled, following you down the stairs as your suitcase crashed down behind you. “Where are you even thinking of going?”

You spun back around on your heels to face him, “I’m going anywhere away from you Jaebum, I’m fed up with being here and crying again and again. I’m worth more than this, you don’t deserve to treat me like this Im Jaebum.”

The last time he heard his name come from your lips still haunted him. He always held onto the fact that you’d come back to him and that it would be the last time he heard you call his name, but the anguish and torment was just a small price to pay for breaking your heart.

After hours sat at his desk, the lyrics all finally pieced together, completed, unlike the state he currently found himself. He never imagined missing his partner would hurt so bad, he wished and hoped that you’d come back and piece him back together again, but even he knew that you weren’t going to cave that easily.

With the song finally complete, the day finally came for the boys to debut the song on Music Bank. The list of artists performing was given to the boys as they made their entrance, JB’s eyes darted through it, spotting one familiar one at the bottom.

“She’s here,” he mumbled under his breath causing Jinyoung to turn back at him.

He reached out and pulled the piece of paper out of his hand, “she’s performing her song, don’t cause any trouble for her today,” Jinyoung warned him.

“I don’t want to cause trouble, I just want to hear her call my name,” JB sighed, snatching the list back, brushing his thumb over where your name was written before pressing the paper against his heart.

The corridors and the stage were places he’d walked several times before, he still remembered the last time he was at Music Bank, supporting you for your comeback, living the dream. He had the clearest memories of that day, and best of all, being with you at the moment you won.

For the rest of the day, his eyes had been hoping to fall on you, but you were nowhere to be seen. You’d also caught onto the rumour that the boys were performing, making sure to keep your distance so that you didn’t bump into him.

You crept around backstage as you noticed that the boys were next on stage, you looked next to the name of their song. ‘You Calling My Name.’ hit you like a tonne of bricks, as you glanced up at the stage and saw him for the first time, you paid close attention.

Throughout the entire performance, JB’s mind was only filled with thoughts of you, how bright the days used to be with you, the smile you always had whenever you heard him perform, how he wished that he’d be able to hear you call his name for one last time.

Your heart pounded as the song came to an end, quickly wiping under your eyes before anyone around you caught onto the fact that you were tearing. Your eyes focussed on Jaebum as he walked off the stage, completely unaware that you’d been at the other side all along.

Your head and your heart were still conflicted even once the show had come to an end, you were the first to admit that your performance wasn’t quite as you hoped, fogged by the vision of JB being in front of you for the first time in months.

As you closed your dressing room door, you glanced up the side of the corridor, spotting all seven of the members of Got7 leaving the dressing room just three doors down from you. Just as you tried to turn away, your eyes locked with Youngjae’s, noticing his eyes widen the second he saw you there.

Your body froze as he stepped aside so that JB was in your vision. You closed your eyes momentarily before looking across, staring at the back of his head.

“Im Jaebum,” you called out.

His body tensed up the moment he heard the familiar voice calling out his name. It took a moment before he turned around, feeling his eyes meet yours as soon as he spotted your figure down the corridor. Slowly, he began to step towards you, cautiously placing one foot in front of the other.

“Y/N,” he whispered once the boys were out of earshot.

Your head shook at how shy he had become, “I liked the song you guys performed, I could tell that you were into it.”

“Well, that’s all down to you,” he sighed, brushing his hands through the back of his mullet, “you’re the reason behind the song after all. You’re still a part of me, and somehow even thought you’re not around you’re still the biggest inspiration of my life.”

Your head nodded, leaning against the wall as you tried to keep your composure. “Are you really as regretful about what happened as the song suggests?”

“Even more so,” he assured you, finally bringing himself to meet your eyes. “You and me, we’re still one, we always will be, whatever happens won’t change that. You’re my reason Y/N, somehow even when you’re not a part of my life, you’re still there.”

You sighed gently, noticing the empathy that was in his eyes, a quality that you missed so much in him when he first decided to break your heart. Your body was pulling you in two different ways, he was still Jaebum, but still the one that had torn you apart.

“I want to hear you call my name again Y/N,” he confessed before you even had the chance to speak again. “I didn’t think I’d miss you this much, but all I’m asking is for one more chance to be able to prove myself to you.”

“You really think you can change my mind with one more chance?” You asked him.

His head nodded back at you, “say my name and I’ll prove it to you.”

“Im Jaebum,” you giggled, taking a step closer towards him.

“I’ll never make the same mistake again, just please come back to me Y/N.”

---

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