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stutterfly · 4 years ago

Text

Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 15.1K

Last time on SR03: You joined a gym to increase your confidence and things progressed the way you want with your tinder match. You ended up in an unlikely competition with your friends when you went new bar together, leading to some unexpected conversations and shenanigans.

CW & Other Tags: Drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, muscle tearing injury mention, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, pick-up lines, sexual tension, Joonie is still Y/N’s best boi, soft Jungkook

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (4/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

When’s the last time you felt as good as you do right now? Jungkook has pretty much stopped bothering you since that night at Seesaw, your date with Jason went well, and you’ve been sticking to your early morning workouts. You definitely don’t push yourself as much as trainer Hwasa, and you know you should really take advantage of the free trial, but it was overwhelming to take in so much at once and the session made you sore all over for days.

At least your stamina seems to be improving and you’ve discovered post-workout endorphins are real. Tonight is your second date with Jason, a date you’ve uncharacteristically elected to host at your apartment. You can place some blame on those endorphins for your boldness, with pining and disappointment composing the rest of it.

While your first date ended without a kiss, there was enough flirting to keep you hopeful. Neither of you were brave enough to do anything about it then, but you’ve mentally coached yourself into pretending like you have an unbreakable spine with nerves of steel. Meeting him only solidified your attraction, and you’ve resolved to take the lead, even though you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing.

It’s not like you often make the first move, but your confidence in him to do so has waned. You’ve been talking and playing games together online for months without any physical touch. Despite how he’s said he likes you and wants to see you again, you’d still be waiting if you didn’t suggest today.

You’re determined to show him what he’s missing by being a recluse. That’s why you’ve picked out the sluttiest clothes and the strappiest heels you own, decorated your face with expensive makeup, and even styled your hair instead of just letting it do whatever it wants for the day. You check yourself out in the full-length mirror on your bedroom door for the millionth time and pull down on the hem of your dress like it will somehow magically grow longer.

You don’t need the heels; no part of the night calls for them. You’re going to be sitting on the couch with him. If you’re lucky you’ll even move it to the bedroom you spent so much time cleaning. But they’re cute and they make you feel sexy, so you’re going to keep them on until he’s peeling you out of your dress.

Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you have to pretend like they’re not there or you’ll fixate on how hard you’re trying to be confident and cool. You’ll fall apart when it’s obvious to Jason how hard you’re pretending to be everything you aren’t. Checking your phone doesn’t help; it’s almost time.

Taking a deep breath, you pace through the confines of your apartment as you wait, and answer group texts from Jennie and Namjoon. You offer up a selfie, hoping any compliments will build your confidence enough to stave off the anxiety in your gut. A few devil emojis later, some keysmashing, and more than a couple hamfisted compliments from Namjoon, your ego is adequately inflated but you can always use more hyping. Maybe you should send it to Jimin to fish for more compliments? He’d indulge you for sure.

Instead you flop on the couch and open Tinder. According to Jennie, Jason is stringing you along; it’s been months, but you hate to admit that she has a point. So you don’t. She’s been telling you for a while now that she thinks you should pursue other suitors. While you object to her assumptions, she has more experience with this kind of stuff. It’s not exactly something you want to believe, not when you’ve put in so much effort for literal months.

You want to believe in Jason being awkward and dorky and that’s why it’s taken so long for the two of you to hook up. He’s shy and super introverted, but so are you. So why are you the only one trying to make things happen? You want to believe, but at this point you’re uncertain enough to heed Jennie’s advice and keep swiping any time you find yourself in a situation where you’re waiting on him. Like now.

You have your reservations about swiping while you wait for your date to begin, but you can practically hear Jennie cheering you on. He’s late anyway, and it will keep you busy until he arrives. You open the discovery tab and swipe left on a couple incomplete profiles. Most of the guys on here don’t put in any effort. How are you supposed to want to give any of them a chance when you don’t even get a tiny snapshot of who they are?

When you pass on yet another fish pic profile, a blue frame appears around the next guy in line. It takes a moment for your brain to register the name along with the duck-faced photo as someone familiar.

[Jungkook said: Your legs remind me of oreos 🥴 wanna know why?]

How fucking dare he? You match with the intent to ream him out and leave.

You: I told you not to fucking find me on here

It takes only a few seconds before you see the dots move on his end, like he was waiting for the moment you would answer, and it keeps you tethered to the conversation.

Jungkook: Princess!! I couldn’t help myself how are you

Jungkook: Surprised you didn’t block me

You: Don’t worry I’m gonna

Jungkook: it’s bc you wanna know huh

You: ???

Jungkook: Your legs

Jungkook: Like oreos

Jungkook: I wanna split them n lick the cream from the center 😜

Electricity rumbles in your gut, carrying heat and a surge of excitement to your cunt that threatens to flood your panties. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together as you stare at the screen. Embarrassed by the response his antics elicit, you scramble to formulate a coherent thought.

You: I wish I could unread 🤢

Jungkook: Aw but that’s one of my favorites

Jungkook: Just like you 😘

You: 🙄

You: I hate you so much

Jungkook: So much that you matched with me?

You stare at the message like a clever response will come to you and when it doesn’t you bite your lip. He’s got a point. Haven’t you learned your lesson not to encourage him? Your eyes scan the top of your phone for any notifications from Jason. Nothing. At least this is keeping you distracted. That’s what you tell yourself.

Jungkook: You’re still here which means 👀

You: It means I’m tired

Jungkook: Of?

You pause for a moment. Namjoon and Jennie can’t know how anxious you are about Jason. It’s the guy’s last strike with them and he hasn’t even met them yet. Jungkook, an impartial third party, might be able to lend an ear. As much as you don’t care what he thinks, you need an outlet for the anxiety in your chest. You start to draft a word-vomit. Jason has been so hesitant to see you in person again and now he’s late. Maybe if you just put it out there to someone you’ll feel better.

Jungkook: If you need to sleep how about a massage?

Jungkook: I’m good with my fingers 🥴

Stupid. In what universe could you confide in Jungkook? Deleting your word-vomit before you can send it, you start to type something else, but your thumb accidentally taps enter at the exact wrong moment.

You: You know what? I want you

FUCK. Goddamn you, sausage fingers.

You scramble to rewrite the sentence but Jungkook is quicker. He has to know it was an accident, but you’re still fucking mortified.

Jungkook: 😈

Jungkook: My place

Jungkook: Ten minutes

You: *to stay off my profile

Jungkook: 👉👌?

You: YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

You: 🤢🤢🤢

Jungkook: 😩

Jungkook: Now you’re just playing games with me princess

Jungkook: Can’t say I mind just fuck me up 🥴

You: Don’t you have a princess to fuck in another castle? Maybe she can stroke your tiny ego

Jungkook: Ouch felt that from here

He goes quiet and you close the conversation out. Setting the phone down on the cushion beside you lasts all of two seconds. When your phone buzzes twice, you know better than to answer, yet you feel compelled to look.

Jungkook: Hey quick question

Jungkook: Is this the most you’ve used the app to talk with someone you like? 👻

Just like that you unmatch with him and take a moment to seethe. Distraction or no, he’s not worth the mental energy. He always seems to draw you in like a pretty little thirst trap and drain you of your sanity. Not engaging is the safest option so why do you always end up doing so? Maybe it’s that shitty little part of you that gets excited any time he shows you attention.

There’s a gullible girl within you; she sets your pulse on fire when he feigns even the slightest interest, fills your head with wind when he brushes against you, and floods your eyes with tears when he walks away. Still, she wants him to look at you, even if it means he’s really looking through you. You hate her. Why can’t she learn that you deserve better?

You check the time again and wince. Jason is really late now. Not even a text. Or a phone call. Maybe it’s traffic?

Try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to have fun tonight.

You start up a game to take your mind off the options available to explain his absence. When you’re invested in a game you often lose track of time, but tonight you’re hyper-aware of every minute that passes. You bite at your freshly painted nails during loading screens, chipping the red from their edges. Sounding casual is difficult when you’re worried, but you attempt it anyway via text. It’s ten more agonizing minutes of waiting before your phone buzzes with an answer.

The controller drops to your lap and immediately tears begin to sprinkle your thighs with the manifestation of your heartache.

He forgot.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

An earthy scent fills Namjoon’s apartment as he carefully transfers the last of his plants to a bigger pot, filling in the edges of its roots with fresh soil and patting the edges down with care. His plants have needed this, maybe even more than he needs the mini hangout that will soon follow. The kitchen table is covered in dirt, but at least he’s almost done.

It’s not his fault Jungkook showed up earlier than expected. At least he’s quiet now. It’s been a while, but he’s finally stopped asking about how much longer it will take, so he must either be invested in the show he put on or asleep on the couch.

“Almost done,” Namjoon loudly announces. “Can you text Tae?”

“Kay.” Jungkook yawns as he stands and heads towards the bathroom. “Jin was already cooking when I left so it should be ready soon.”

“Good. I’m hungry,” Namjoon says, carefully transporting the plant to the desk in his bedroom.

As he’s on his way to clean up the mess on the table there’s a soft rapid knock at the front door. The moment he opens it and finds you standing before him, he knows something is wrong. Even the ratty hoodie covering your shoulders can’t hide the effort you’ve obviously put into your appearance tonight. While your makeup seems to have fared rather well, your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. His mind automatically assumes the worst about your second date and his jaw tightens.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“He never showed.” You throw your arms around him and openly sob.

“Oh, Y/N…” His arms are around you in an instant, hugging you close while keeping his dirty fingers at bay.

You press your cheek against his chest, letting the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry. I know you probably have plans tonight, but I wanted to stop here—” You choke out a loud sob and wipe your nose with your sleeve as you look down at the floor. “I didn’t want to drive upset but you weren’t answering and I just—”

“Shit. Exam today. I left it on silent.” He pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there, wiping as much dirt as he can on his jeans before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.”

Jungkook emerges from the bathroom quietly with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Did he hear your voice or is it his imagination? Unsure if you’re some wishful remnant of earlier texts, he peeks around the corner.

Heels: black, strappy heels with a velvety smooth red undersole. Has he ever seen you in heels? If he has, it’s never been something as flashy as these. His gaze travels up the smooth, exposed skin of your legs until it hits the hem of a skirt. The dark fabric seems a little short; it clings to your thighs, riding up as you embrace his friend. It’s hard not to notice how well it accents the curve of your hips and more importantly: your ass. He’s definitely never seen you in something so revealing, not even on nights where you’ve joined them for dancing.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes trained on the swell of your ass before moving up to find the disappointing sight of your favorite hoodie barring much else from view. Namjoon’s arms outline your shape, but the places his hands rest are far too respectable to glean much else other than simple blueprints.

With his dick leading his steps, Jungkook opens his mouth to announce his presence with a joke. He means to selfishly steal a glimpse of your entire ensemble with some snarky comment but you choke out a sob and his stomach lurches to form a whirlpool of apprehension. His mouth remains open, but his words are swallowed back into the dark swirling pit that now wrenches his gut in circles.

Namjoon looks up just in time to read the confusion and shock on his features. He shakes his head and cups yours against his chest, wordlessly signaling Jungkook to keep quiet.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, hoping you don’t see the man behind you slowly backing away like he’s just approached a rabid animal.

You’re sobbing. Why are you sobbing? What happened? Was it what he said before you unmatched? Jungkook tiptoes back into the kitchen without a word. He leans against the counter and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, trying to piece everything together. Did he cause this?

You screw your eyes shut to try to keep the tears inside. It’s no use. They always seem to find a way out. “He didn’t show up and when I texted him, he… he said he forgot."

“What?"

“I thought it would be good after the arcade date, you know? Like, good chemistry. He’s weird. I like him! He seemed interested and we made these plans and he just—” you choke out another loud sob. “God. Am I really so fucking forgettable?”

You wanted your friends to be wrong so badly that you ignored the fact that it’s been like pulling teeth trying to get Jason to meet up again. For him to forget completely is like a kick to the face that leaves all the teeth intact, maybe a little bloody, but stubbornly intact.

“Y/N, no. It’s not your fault. You deserve better than this fucking guy.”

Jungkook swallows hard. This definitely doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be hearing, but it’s loud enough to carry through the entire apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom: his options are limited, but he knows there’s nowhere to go to pretend like he can’t hear it. It’s not like he can just walk out the front door now.

“Do I? It’s seems like a fucking pattern, Joon. I fall for people so easily and they always make me feel like an idiot for trying. Donghyun. Seojun. Jason. Jungkook… It doesn’t matter. No one fucking wants me.”

Jungkook tenses. He may not know all the names on your list, but his is among them all the same. Has he really hurt you so much?

“Hey… Don’t think like that,” Namjoon says, his voice soft as he rubs your back. “You know your worth, and it’s not measured by how well someone else can see it.”

Every time you think you’re done crying, fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks. “I’m tired, Joonie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We'll get you home."

As you step back to look at him your ankle rolls, and you begin to fall. Hearing the scuffle, Jungkook winces and peeks around the corner. Namjoon has a good enough grip to stop you from fully tumbling to the floor, but you’re definitely not stable by any means.

Although you now face Jungkook, you’re too distracted by your ankle to notice the extra pair of eyes on you. He allows himself to stupidly linger within your line of sight, raking his gaze across your form to take in the details of your attire, right down to your choice of earrings. Even with a red nose and puffy, smudged eyes, the time you’ve spent on your appearance remains evident.

You did all that for some guy who didn’t even show? If that’s how you dress for your dates then his innocent perception of you is completely wrong. What kind of moron would pass up the opportunity to peel you out of that dress and dive into your cunt? You look incredible. What the fuck.

"God. Shit. Fuck! Fucking stupid heels!” You huff out your exasperation and let a small pitiful laugh pass your lips as you right your stance with Namjoon’s help. “You know, I spent hours getting ready and now I just look stupid. I feel stupid.”

“You don’t. You’re not,” Namjoon insists, his palm squeezing your shoulder.

“Namjoon, I shaved my entire body. Do you know how long that took?”

Jungkook forces himself to withdraw into the kitchen. If you see him now you might murder him. He purses his lips into a thin line and tightens his grip around his arms. In an instant he imagines hiking your dress above your hips and parting your legs so he might brush his cheek against the smooth expanse of your thigh all the way to your core. Are your panties as slutty as your dress? Are they cute? Lacy? Plain?

“Geeksquad…” Namjoon sighs loudly. “I really don’t need to know— Hold up. Wasn’t this the second date?”

“Are you slutshaming me?” The tired laugh that follows sounds more like you, but it still hurts his heart. “I’m stepping up my game.”

“Nah. You do you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips that’s obviously full of pity. “You want to stay and get some food? I think I have some sweats you can change into.”

Tires screech in Jungkook’s mind. Is he going to be trapped here for the night? Without dinner? What kind of karmic torture is the universe putting him through?

“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweater. “Jennie wants me to come over but I—I didn’t think I could make it with having a full meltdown. You were on the way.”

“No need to apologize.” He pulls you into another tight hug. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m right in front. Thanks, Joonie.” Your phone begins to buzz in your hoodie pocket. You pull back and wave it at him, already on your way to the door. “It’s like she knew. I’ll talk to her on the way. Thank you for listening to me cry for the millionth time.”

“Always. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Will do, mom,” you tease with a soft laugh.

“Zip up your hoodie.”

You grimace at him with narrowed eyes but heed his advice on your way out. You also pull your skirt down as far down your thighs as it will reach. Men are gross and you trust virtually none of them.

Jungkook waits until he hears the click of the lock on the door to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and stares at the door. He worries about you.

“Yikes. That Jason guy is a dick huh?”

Namjoon swivels on his heels and rounds on his friend. “Like you were so much better to her?”

Jungkook casts his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t stand her up.”

Even he knows that argument is flimsy.

“Guk.”

“It was always just a joke.”

“It’s not though. She really liked you, man. I asked you not to mess with her.”

Memories have warped Jungkook into a jaded man: untrusting although not uncaring. Guilt is the only thing churning in his stomach as he thinks of you. He never expected to genuinely hurt you. Somehow things twisted into a gnarled mess that never really felt like more than a playful game of tug-of-war. But these kinds of games only work when the people involved know that they’re playing. It’s shitty when one pulls another into the mud when they’ve never agreed to participate.

Faced with the reality of how you consider him now, it dawns on him that he’s dragged you into the mud face-first without even the slightest resistance. You’ve stood up and you’ve even yanked the rope in retaliation, but you never should’ve been in the mud in the first place. Regardless of his own emotional ineptitude, he knows you never deserved that humiliation. No one does. The weight of his actions sits heavy in his gut.

Still he tries to justify himself. “All I do now is make pass after pass and she’s the one who turns me down.”

“You said it earlier yourself,” Namjoon sneers, irritated by his friend’s immaturity. “It’s always a joke. You’re never serious and she knows it. Look, you don’t have to like her back. She’s my friend and so are you. Just don’t lead her on and stop with the mind games. Be honest with her. The least you can do is apologize for being a dick.”

“That’s— I feel like… I don’t know how.”

Jungkook can’t bring himself to tell him of your conversation earlier tonight. It just adds to the guilt piling on his conscience. Namjoon used his own words against him and the worst part is it makes sense. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger at a bar or a random encounter at a club, but you’re neither of those things. He lumped you into that category all the same.

Namjoon clicks his tongue and puts an arm around Jungkook’s back. “Starting with ‘I’m sorry’ can go a long way. She’s a good person and I know you guys can get along. Things were going well until you made that bet, right?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Mmm.”

“Not every girl is a Jiseo, Jungkook.”

“Yeah.”

“I think…” Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can you try to just... tone it down? Maybe try to patch things up?”

“Okay.” Jungkook’s brow furrows and he chews his lip as he mulls over Namjoon’s words. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his keys. “You ready?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Your head dips forward as your fingers glide across the keys. It's hard to concentrate on your task when you're this distracted by your own thoughts. You stare at the monitor with furrowed brows. Namjoon grabs the back of your chair and leans forward to tower over you.

"Went that well, huh? Did he blow the second chance he didn’t deserve?"

The motion jerks you backwards and you grip the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. Despite your best attempt to curb the irritation in your expression, your frustration remains apparent. You sit back and tilt your head up to look at him, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to not reinforce the "told you so" waiting in your future, not after you showed up at his apartment sounding like a dying whale a few days before. When no ideas come to your immediate aid, you click your tongue and let out a heavy sigh as you turn your attention back to the screen.

"Geeksquad," he presses. "Talk to me."

You exhale through your nose and briefly purse your lips before obliging his plea. The words are quick and quiet so you don't run the risk of bawling your eyes out again. "He canceled.”

Namjoon steps back and the pressure on your seat is gone. He places a large palm on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite wanting to give the opposite answer, you shake your head. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you'd like to tell him. He's clever and you know he'll likely find a way to get it out of you with minimal effort anyway. Still, you don’t think you can manage the words without crying like a baby and you don’t want to do that when the morning has only just begun. Silence falls between the two of you as he gives you time to decide if you want to open up.

After a moment of tapping away you finally give in. You know you’ll feel better after you cry.

"He said he had to stay behind and help do clean-up for the party he was at. And that’s nice and all, but we had plans. I feel crazy. I should be glad that he’s so kind, right? Like that shows he’s a good person, right?” Your voice has cracked but it hasn’t quite broken.

He sighs and flops in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Y/N… I think you’re asking me for answers you already know.”

“But tell me anyway,” you press, tears welling in your eyes. “Our first date went so well. So why-y-” Your voice breaks.

“Hey.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against your arm. “I know you want me to help you make excuses for him... But you deserve someone who values your time. Clearly he’s just looking to waste it.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you don’t need someone like that. If this is what he’s like before you’re even together, then what kind of effort is he really going to put into a potential relationship? Not enough. There are so many people out there, people that would trip over themselves just to have the chance to be with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s a mistake that you even gave him another shot. He blew it. Twice. Delete his number. Forget him.”

“I know,” you croak. Tears fall from your eyes and you quickly swipe them away, focusing on the task at hand.

Namjoon is right and you know it, but you’re kind of irritated about it. You know it’s not really him you’re mad at, but Namjoon is a good enough placeholder while you try to sort through your hurt feelings.

You muster your most monotone voice as you stand. “I updated your drivers and deleted any cached files that might have been causing issues. Is that all?”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads, rising to block your path as you step towards the door. “You have a big heart and I hate seeing it stepped on.”

In a matter of seconds you melt into his embrace and bury your face into his shirt. “I hate how fast I like people.”

“I know.” He pets the back of your head softly and squishes you against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. How about udon later? My treat?”

“With beef?” you ask with a sniffle.

“With beef,” he agrees.

“Gyoza?”

“Mhm.”

“And takoyaki?”

“...You’re pushing it.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You slide the appetizer tray across the table towards Namjoon. “Here.”

He shovels a dumping into his mouth right before he speaks. “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life.”

“Could you afford it though?” you tease, taking a sip from the bottle of saké and crinkling your nose at it before passing it to him.

“Not if you’re joining me,” he snorts. “You’re supposed to pour it.”

“No, thanks.” You push the tiny glass full of liquid back towards him.

"Wow. Are you guys on a date?"

You know the source of the voice before you even crane your neck to see Jungkook.

"Pfft." Namjoon waves the question off with a deep laugh.

Despite finding the scenario of ever dating Namjoon absolutely absurd, you can’t help but feel a little insulted by the volume of his laughter. Namjoon’s hangout night was supposed to take your mind off of how unwanted Jason made you feel. Instead, the pit of insecurity within your stomach grows into a thick, tangled brush of hostility. Is being seen with you really so laughable?

“Why would we be?” you snap, turning your attention back to your bowl.

Heat settles in your face and you purse your lips, not daring to look at either of them. You try to wrangle some noodles to shovel in your mouth before you can say something stupid. Their eyes are on you. Jungkook is definitely confused but not alarmed by your hostility. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But Namjoon knows when he hurts your feelings, every time, and it’s easy enough to disarm your irritability.

“She’s way too good for a mess like me,” Namjoon says with a light laugh.

“Why are you here?” you ask, tone already softer than before.

"Post-work snackie," he answers, all too cheery for your sour mood. “Came for the noods. Mind if I join?”

He looks to the rosy-cheeked Namjoon for his answer, as you set your hoodie and purse down in the space beside you to give him yours. Namjoon betrays you by scooting over to make room on his side of the booth. You’d mentioned to him before that you’d eventually like to fix things with Jungkook, to somehow make steps for peace. But you only have so much mental energy left to give today.

“Not tonight, Jungkook,” you plead with a sigh.

The frustration in that puff of breath is enough to make Jungkook hesitate. He blinks a few times, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I just… can’t handle your bullshit tonight.”

Jungkook tries to break the uncomfortable tension with a grin. “No bullshit tonight. Promise.”

“No.” Your answer is firm and somehow so fragile that it makes both men worry their brows in the same fashion. “Please, just go away.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a few steps back. He doesn’t know what to make of your demeanor, but he can put enough together to know the basics. You’re upset, maybe not at him for once. However unlikely, that’d be a blessing. Maybe you’re still upset about that guy that stood you up a few days ago. If that’s the case, he probably shouldn’t stick around and risk letting on how much he knows about that.

He tongues the side of his cheek and nods, forcing a smile to his face. “Alright. I’ll just order it to go. Planned on that anyway. Catch you later.”

Guilt wracks your nerves as he walks away. The moment you look back at Namjoon, you’re faced with a wall of disappointment that threatens to topple the scale of decision-making in Jungkook’s favor.

“You’re judging me for that,” you mumble. The noodles between your chopsticks slip back into the broth.

“Little bit,” Namjoon admits, watching his friend sulk over to the entrance waitstaff. “You know he told me he’s trying to be nicer to you.”

“What? When?”

“The other day. We hung out.”

He keeps his answers short and ambiguous, hoping your curiosity has been piqued. Maybe this is the golden opportunity he’s been hoping for to patch your friendship.

“Was this before or after he harassed me on Tinder?”

Namjoon’s heart sinks into his butt. Of course Jungkook would make reconciliation harder than it needs to be. “When did he do that?”

“That night I showed up at your apartment like a big crybaby.”

“I went over his place for dinner after you left. Jin wanted to try a new recipe out on us.” That seems to at least make you pause.

“You guys talked about me?”

“Yup.” He goes back to chewing his food, knowing he’s got you hooked.

Your incredulous stare does nothing to pull information past his lips. “Joonie. What did you say about me? What did he say?”

“Mmm?” He slurps up a long noodle. “A lot of things. But they’re not really my words to tell.”

“No one likes clickbait, Joon.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that he told me that he wants to fix things. If you want specifics, maybe we can invite him to come eat with us. It might be easier for the both of you to talk about it over good food.”

You sigh, seriously considering his words even as you shake your head. “Joon, I’m already emotionally compromised. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook tonight.”

“Why would you cry? This is a night for good things only. Namjoon-approved and protected. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to... I just thought it might be nice to make some good memories with good friends.”

You roll your eyes but hold your pinky out for him. “Fine. But this is Joonie-Y/N time. You’re cutting into that allotted time slot, you know that right?”

Namjoon rests his elbow on the table, preparing to pinky swear to whatever you’re about to suggest. “Conditions?”

“He sits next to you, he doesn’t make fun of me if I cry, and…. he doesn’t get to talk.”

“Y/N.”

“Fiiiiine. He can talk. But he better be as nice as you say he’s trying to be.”

“We allowed to talk about Jason?”

“If it comes up…” you sigh. “You know, if he’s mean to me and I cry then you have to deal with it.”

He clasps his long pinky around yours. “Deal. But with how all that just went down, you gotta go tell him to come back. He won’t believe me if I do it.”

“Don’t let him be mean to me,” you plead, tightening your grip on his pinky and locking eyes with him. “Good vibes only.”

“He won’t be mean. Good vibes only.” Namjoon nods with a soft smile. “He really is a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

You push your things aside and force yourself to find Jungkook. He’s leaning against a wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his order. You quietly request to your waitress that you’d like his food brought to your table. She’s nice enough about it, but your stomach churns regardless. It’s the anxiety.

You gingerly poke a finger against his shoulder as you approach. “Um. Hey.”

He seems startled at first, but smiles when he realizes it’s you. “Hmm?”

You take a deep quiet inhale, trying your best not to get lost in the butterflies his charming smile conjures in your gut. You try to tell yourself it’s anxiety and nothing more. Apologies are hard and scary. That’s all.

“I’m… sorry for being rude. I’ve had a rough week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come eat with us, please. Namjoon’s buying anyway.”

His eyes seem to light up with surprise and a warm smile deepens the creases around his eyes and mouth. The hope that these feelings of attraction would evaporate with time is a flame swiftly snuffed out and replaced with a burning heartache that deems denial useless. Even now, pangs of infatuation lurk below your feelings of disdain, breaking the tension of its surface with each beat of your heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I shouldn’t have invited myself when I saw you guys. I should really get home and shower anyway.”

He looks so clean that you’d assumed he’d already showered. It’s not like you can smell him from where you stand. Maybe he’s lying, but at least you get the sense it’s coming from a place of politeness.

“Jungkook, I want you to come eat with us. Besides Namjoon wants someone to drink saké with him and I cannot keep doing it.”

“I see.” He offers a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty against it before. What changed?”

“Namjoon told me you’re trying to be less of an asshole to me.”

“Did he?” he licks his lips and tries to hide his pleased smile. “I’m surprised you believe him.”

“He also promised me I could punch you in the dick if you make me cry,” you lie, completely stone-faced.

If he knows that’s a falsified statement, he doesn’t say anything. He looks past your shoulder to quirk a brow at Namjoon, who appears to be furiously texting at the table. Jungkook’s phone buzzes a few times against his palm and he’s fairly sure he already knows who it is.

“Come on. I already asked them to bring your food to the table.”

He reads Namjoon’s messages as he trails behind you.

NAMJOON: If you seriously want to apologize stick around, make her laugh, just listen when you need to

JUNGKOOK: Don’t worry

JUNGKOOK: I got u

Before Namjoon can send a text saying that Jungkook's response has the opposite effect, you’re peeking across the table, trying to get a glance at the screen.

“Who’s that?” you wonder. Namjoon’s not usually one to be so secretive with his texts.

“Hmm?” he raises his eyebrows at you and pours you a shot. “Stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ha. Haha. Ha.” You gesture at your face. “You say to the girl with anxiety.”

Crinkling your nose at the glass he offers, you slide it across to Jungkook as he settles in next to Namjoon. “Here. I’m done drinking that stuff tonight.”

He regards it with a quirked brow. Something about your demeanor really has changed, but looking between you and Namjoon does nothing to answer the question of what that may be.

“Okay, so on reddit this guy was reaching. He’s going on about the symbolism in the red scarf—”

Your eyes gloss over the moment he mentions reddit. Is there anything you care less about than Joon’s favorite modern literary discussion threads?

“Got it. Not worrying about it,” you interrupt, bringing your bowl to your lips to slurp some of the broth.

Jungkook hides his smirk by throwing his head back to drink his shot. Namjoon is a genius. It might be scary if he ever decided to use his intellect for nefarious purposes. Lucky for the universe he uses it to protect others, like a real superhero would.

As the three of you dine together, you’re surprised to find that Jungkook isn’t being as annoying as he usually is. In fact, it seems the more he drinks outside of any competitive setting, the more affable he becomes. Maybe there’s something to Namjoon’s clickbaity words. He’s almost the person you remember meeting before the Halloween Party, maybe even more pleasant.

You’re grateful when the two of them start telling embarrassing stories so you can listen and laugh at the way they slur their words and interrupt each other. Laughter makes your heart feel light and full, and brave enough to take the last step to prove to yourself you’re done chasing Jason. As the two men fight over the last piece of gyoza and distract themselves over dessert, you quietly decide to clear your text messages from Jason. Your finger hovers over the delete icon for a second before purging his contact information from your device entirely.

It’s freeing to not have to worry about what you should send him. It’s frustrating to have tried so hard for so long and have nothing to show for it, but at least there will be no conversation history to pick apart anymore. It should feel perfect. That will definitely show him, right? You don’t have to reflect for more than a couple seconds to reinforce the memory of how little he actually reached out on his own.

He still has your number. The only time he ever called was on your first date. He never texted you unless you spoke first. He probably won’t even notice you’re gone. He’s probably relieved he won’t have to answer you anymore. He probably thinks you’re desperate for trying for so long. You don’t realize how well you wear your anxiety.

When you look up Jungkook is watching you while he chews with his mouth wide open. “Hey, why do-” He hiccups and swallows. “Why do you look so sad? You should have some ice cream.”

He scans the table for something to offer you, but he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for in his drunken stupor. After a few seconds his eyes finally land on his own plate where the other half of his red-bean cake sits.

“Do you want my taiyaki?” He holds the tail end of the fish-shaped cake out to you. “It’s really good!”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected sweet absurdity of the night. “Jungkook, I don’t want your half-eaten cake.”

He frowns and looks at the pastry. “Is it because I bit it? I’ll break off that part for you if you don’t want your mouth to touch that.”

Although Jungkook definitely is more drunk than Namjoon right now, the older man can’t help but be amazed by how well this is going. He loads up on green tea ice cream and digs his spoon in it. He shouldn’t have been so worried. Jungkook can put away the act when he wants to, especially once alcohol is involved and there’s nothing to prove. You guys are actually getting along. What a relief.

“No, really it’s okay.” You laugh.

Jungkook is already breaking the pastry apart in his hand, watching as it crumbles to pieces on his plate. He blinks a couple times and closes his mouth in a frown.

“I thought that would work.” He sounds utterly defeated.

The waitress walks over just in time to watch Namjoon stick a heaping spoonful of wasabi in his mouth. You're too busy laughing at Jungkook's forlorn expression to notice the way Namjoon's eyes water. His eyes drop to the ice cream he thought he shoveled into his mouth. Right next to the pristine, untouched scoop of green tea ice cream, he finds his spoon resting in the hunk of wasabi adjacent to it. He should really pay attention more. He pushes against Jungkook's side and motions that he needs to get up. The younger man spares a glance his way but Namjoon waves him off while mumbling something about the bathroom.

The waitress tries to keep her composure and looks between the pair of you. "How is everything?"

"Great! Could you please bring us some water?" you ask in your sweetest voice, realizing the two men with you should at least try to start sobering up.

You expected to have Namjoon crashing on your couch on a Friday night, or at least be dropping him off down the hall at Hobi’s place. Jungkook was not part of the plan, but you can’t exactly let him drive home inebriated. You know he’s not your responsibility but you’d feel guilty making him call for a ride home when you’re perfectly capable.

Although you hate to admit it, you’ve had fun tonight. If you’re being honest with yourself you’d like to see what he’s like without Namjoon nearby to police his moves. He’s been nice enough, but you want to know for sure this isn’t an act. You want to ask him if he’s made another bet, or playing some game since he hasn’t hit on you all night. Before you can get your line of questions in order, Jungkook turns to the server with large, pleading eyes.

"Oh! Can you bring some more dessert, please?"

He may be a grown ass man capable of charming the pants off of women everywhere, but right now he is little more than a child begging for seconds. Regardless of everything he's done, your heart softens, endeared and embarrassed by his drunken request to your server.

The waitress nods. "Sure, what would you like?"

His eyes fall to you for an answer. "What do you like?"

You blink at him. "Me? I thought this was for you."

He nods. "Mm. We can split it."

"Um, how about... tempura?"

"Banana?"

Jungkook’s voice is full of anticipation and his upturned eyebrows seem to bargain for agreement. It’s so hard to believe this is the same man who has been so cold to you for so long when he seems so open and warm now. You remind yourself it’s probably the alcohol. It’s probably some secret promise to Namjoon. Some bet with Hobi. Some game he’s playing. It’s probably anything other than what your dumb crush-stupefied heart wants it to be.

The waitress looks to you for approval and you give a nod. "Sure. Banana tempura."

The waitress awkwardly smiles as she gathers the empty platters and gives you a chance to break away from his endearingly drunken face. He smiles across the table at you and wrings his hands while you pick up your phone to check on those nonexistent messages. Maybe if you distract yourself enough you can ignore the feelings that are catching up to you tonight.

“Thank you for inviting me back over,” he says, reaching to the nearly empty bottle of saké to pour himself another shot. “I’ve... been wanting to talk to you."

"I’m surprised you didn’t blow up my phone.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a harshness in your tone that exposes a venomous bite beneath it.

He downs the shot and plants his elbows on the table, leaning forward on them. "I wanted to say it to your face."

“Oh, really?”

You don’t allow yourself to entertain the idea that he’s about to say anything groundbreaking, but you look away from your phone to meet those dark, twinkling eyes. Suddenly there’s hope in your gut. You’re desperate to put some distance between the feelings jumping to the surface.

“I’ve been a dick.”

“No shit.”

Though the fog of alcohol consumes his apology, his eyes focus on you with clarity. “I’m sorry.”

How long have you waited to hear those words? You never really thought about what you might say in response. His apology sits in the air between you for a moment before he speaks again.

“I’m really sorry. Namjoon is right. I am trying to be less of an asshole to you. We don’t…” he catches himself, “I don’t have a lot of close friends who are women.”

“You don’t say.”

That seems to cut through the fog. He hangs his head and focuses his gaze on the table.

“I never wanted to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did,” you mumble.

“I know... I’m sorry.” It’s like now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop saying it. He’s not sure how to make you understand. Maybe you do understand and you just won’t forgive him. Can he really blame you for that?

“Why?” you question; it’s the last barrier protecting your heart, the only thing keeping you from caving. “Why do you care now?”

Jungkook’s head lolls to one side as he sits back against his seat and stares at the nearly empty bottle of saké. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking… I wish I had a save to reload. Before I messed up.”

It seems that’s the best you’re going to get out of him right now. The waitress sets down a beautiful platter of banana tempura meticulously arranged around a simple mound of ice cream, topped with a single cherry and drizzled with decorative chocolate. She places three waters on the table and you both take a moment to politely force smiles and pause your conversation.

He licks his lips and stares down at the plate and then back up at you. “Can we start over?”

“Depends. Are you gonna go back to being a dick when you’re not drunk anymore?”

“No, no. I mean it. I wanna try to be friends.”

“For real?” You swipe the cherry, pop it in your mouth and tilt your head to regard him. You can’t let yourself fully believe him. You want to. The earnestness in his drunken features charms you, but you hold onto a shred of disbelief as a crutch. You’ll wait for the moment he reverts. Hopefully this time you’ll be prepared for the whiplash that comes along with it.

“For real.”

You reflect on his apology as the pair of you dig into the dessert. “Maybe. Prove it.”

He perks up. He’ll take a maybe. Maybe means the damage he’s done might not be irreparable. The guilt weighing on his conscience feels lighter. It’s a start.

“I will. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, unwilling to put stock in his words. “Is this another bet with Hobi? About how quickly you can make me forgive you?”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously, wisps of wild black hair whipping his cheeks. “No, I mean it. I promise.”

You drag your lip through your teeth as you teeter on the line of acceptance. “What is a promise from a liar worth?”

He drops the flat of his palm to the table and he pouts. “Hey. I mean it…. Hm. If I break my promise…” His eyes scan the table for anything he can use to change your mind. He looks at his arm pressed against the table and then back at you. “You can choose my next tattoo.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. “Really.”

He eagerly nods. “I’ll get whatever you want wherever you want. Just. Not my face.”

“I want that in writing,” you snort.

Jungkook glances around the table and pulls a napkin from under the plate of tempura. “Do you have a pen?”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“I’m serious.” He’s not taking no for an answer.

You shake your head and rummage through your purse to supply him with a pen. He smooths out the napkin he’s chosen to use as a conduit for his promise. When he’s finished writing he slides it towards you.

Princess

I’m sorry. I can make it right.

I promise. Please give me another chance.

If I blow it you can choose what & where my next tattoo goes.

As long as it’s not my face. Let’s be friends? #promise.com ♡ Jungkook

Of course he signed it with a heart. Despite his inebriation, his handwriting is still neat. Well, that’s one hell of a promise.

“Okay.” You fold the note and drop it into your purse. “We can try.”

His face lights up as he stuffs a piece of tempura into his mouth, happily chomping with his mouth wide open. He reaches for the saké but you slide a water in front of him instead.

“Friends don’t let friends get totally shitfaced at Hajime.”

He frowns at you but seems to accept your answer with a pout.

“Speaking of which… Where is Namjoon?” You crane your neck to look around the restaurant.

“Friday noodle nights common for you guys?” Jungkook asks, digging into the dessert between massive gulps of water.

“No, not really. We’re usually watching movies at my place or hanging with Hobi. But Namjoon wanted to take me out because I was sad,” you say, finally catching sight of your friend on the other side of the bar.

Jungkook’s chewing slows and he regards you with furrowed brows. “Sad?”

Before you can decide how you want to answer, Namjoon is scooting into the booth next to Jungkook and reaching for a piece of tempura. “Mmmm. What did I miss?”

“Y/N was telling me why she’s sad.”

Namjoon nods like he understands exactly what you’ve been talking about. “He’s a dick, right? Like how do you even stand someone up, not once, but twice? Makes no sense.”

“Joonie—”

“And I know what you’re gonna say, but I disagree. It has nothing to do with you or how you look, Y/N. You don’t need to workout like a maniac to try to change anything. Especially not for someone like Jason. I can’t even imagine—”

“Joon.” You click your tongue and slide a glass of water in front of him. “Please, shut the fuck up.”

As you glare at him, he looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes. Unsure what to do now that he’s obviously fubared the conversation, he casts his guilty gaze to his cup and brings it to his lips.

Jungkook stares at you with furrowed brows, trying to wait to let you fill in the blanks even though he’s itching to ask about everything. He picks another piece of tempura and stuffs it into his mouth, but when you remain silent the impulse to pry takes over. “Jason?”

“He stood me up…” you start, but you close your mouth when you realize you’re going to try to defend him. Your throat feels full, like you can’t get enough air through with a giant knot in it like this. You have to whisper so your voice doesn’t crack. “Twice.”

The couple drinking at the table nearby becomes a much more interesting place to rest your eyes than the two men across from you. Tightening your jaw doesn’t prevent the gloss from coating your eyes. Thinking about it makes you feel so stupid and desperate. Bending over backwards a thousand different ways to accommodate him couldn’t convince him to put in even a minimal amount of effort one time.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. “Twice?”

The hurt you feel in your chest scorches your cheeks until anger is filling your head like a teakettle ready to release an unhealthy amount of steam right in Jungkook’s face.

“That’s what I get for giving people second chances,” you snap as you focus back on him.

Joon says your name like it’s a warning but you don’t need it. You feel guilty enough for projecting your anger onto Jungkook with a petty one-liner.

“Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Your throat closes around the rest of the words.

Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over the table, Namjoon inches the bottle of saké with his fingertips until it’s in front of him. “Dating is tricky. Jason sucks. It sucks that he hurt you. But you don’t have to twist yourself into whatever you think he wants anymore. And that…” He pours the pitiful remainder of alcohol into a shot glass and slides it towards you.“...is worth celebrating.”

Jungkook silently nods his head in agreement. It’s obvious you’re on the verge of tears and he doesn’t want to be the thing that pushes you over the edge.

A soft smile curls the corners of your mouth. “That’s true, but…” you slide the glass back towards him and steal the last of the banana tempura. “I can celebrate back at my apartment. Finish your water so you’ll be awake enough to join me. Both of you.”

Jungkook perks up and happily reaches for his water while Namjoon gives you a proud, yet confused look. It seems like a new start to something. What that is remains to be seen.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook watches intently as the colors of the city shine through the windows. He runs his fingers over the soft blanket you keep in the backseat, mouthing the words to the song softly playing from your dashboard. Namjoon has been talking nonstop from the passenger seat, which is fine with Jungkook since he’s feeling a little tired. The last session of the day was a bit more intense than intended, but the client left happy and covered in sweat. A success. But Jungkook is sore and exhausted. Physically and socially.

A sense of relief floods him at the memory of his conversation with you. Things may actually be okay from here. Who would have thought crashing your noodle night with Namjoon could have yielded such results?

His head bobs to the music as his eyes wander across the scenery outside until he grows bored and they drift to the interior of your car. A graduation tassel swings from your rearview mirror as you turn. He follows the movement of the tassel when it swings towards you and his eyes land on your face, or at least what he can see of it from this angle.

You look focused and calm while conversing with Namjoon but your posture is a bit rigid and your hands remain planted on the steering wheel in complete control. There’s something about this candid snapshot of your persona that puts him at ease. Your voice is a soft contrast to Namjoon’s, but equally enthusiastic.

He tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, pulling the blanket over his lap and twisting the fabric around his palm. Your eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, catching his. He gives a tiny wave and rests his head against the cushion, fighting the temptation to close his eyelids for longer than a second. The more he listens to you laugh, the more he finds himself smiling. It’s goofy.

It’s also kind of cute.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi answers your knock; he thought he would be asleep. He’s even more surprised when you make yourself at home on his couch and guilt him with a puppy dog pout to make you a drink, and he complies. When Jungkook asks the same, Yoongi tells him there’s beer in the fridge while measuring out the ingredients for your cocktail. The suspicious sour ache of jealousy stabs his gut as he moseys to the fridge but he quickly shakes it off, settling on the floor in front of the tv with a beer in hand.

After a couple hours of drinking, laughing, and playing Jackbox games with the three men, you’re feeling much better about everything. Life is good. Friends are good. Alcohol is very good.

It doesn’t take much to get you drunk. You’re about as much of a lightweight as Hobi and for better or worse everyone has come to know that fact. What’s nice about drinking in Yoongi’s apartment is that you don’t have to walk very far to get home. Things don’t get awkward with the three of them together; it’s actually kind of nice, like a mini Saturday night pregame.

Soon Namjoon and Yoongi are snoring on the couch with a movie playing in the background while you stand in the kitchen with Jungkook. He pours another drink for himself, though he knows it will mostly likely remain unfinished. Tomorrow may bring a massive hangover, but tonight has been surprisingly pleasant. He feels like he’s finally on okay footing with you, maybe even on the road to serious repair. Amazing how well you get along when inhibitions are replaced by inebriation. If that’s what it takes, he’s determined to keep it up.

As he turns his back to place the liquor bottle in the cabinet by the fridge, you swipe a sip of the drink he’s concocted. He spins around in time to see you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he pouts.

“Blegh. You can have it. Yuck!” Your face screws up again at the aftertaste.

He drunkenly giggles as he slides the drink closer to him. “What, don’t like sour?”

“Too sour!” You reach for the water bottle Yoongi gave you hours ago and attempt to rinse the puckering sensation from your mouth.

Amused, he tilts his head and watches you take gulp after gulp. He purses his lips and holds back the comment itching to escape, deciding to enjoy a sip of his drink instead. You shimmy out of your hoodie and tie it around your waist and his eyes lazily follow the motion of your arms, noting a slight difference in their musculature. Some errant thought about their shape leads him back to an earlier unaddressed comment that he’s finally comfortable enough to prod you about.

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” he blurts.

Suddenly you feel very exposed. You straighten in your seat and suck in your gut, hyper aware of every imperfection of your body on display to someone so in shape. You immediately begin to fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie you just tied around your waist.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just—” he pauses, exhaling a small breath and looking down at his drink as though he’s wary of continuing the thought.

“No, no it’s fine,” you assure him, too curious to say otherwise. “What is it?”

“When Namjoon said…” he sighs and takes a sip, smacking his lips and licking them before looking back to you. “I thought maybe I can prove myself to you by helping you come up with a plan.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You plant an elbow on the counter and lean on it.

“I want to,” he insists, reaching out for your arm.

His hand is like fire engulfing your skin and your eyelids flutter at the sensation. Instinctively you place a hand over his and rub your thumb anxiously over it. He looks down to where your thumb grazes his knuckles and then back up to your face with a surprised smile.

“Um… Everything,” you say, trying to sound as vague and nonchalant as possible so he doesn’t judge you for your lack of knowledge.

“Like, full body?”

“Uh...” You’ve managed to make a habit of going to his gym a few days a week while successfully avoiding him, but it seems that time is coming to an end. “I… machine.”

“Oh. Like at a gym? Did you join one?” He seems genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah.” Suddenly you pull your hand back when you realize the speed at which your thumb is moving.

“Which one?”

The more you say, the more suspicious you seem, but is saying less any better? Jungkook rests his elbow on the counter and simply looks at you but you don’t look back. A slow smile spreads his lips as the possibility dawns on him.

“Princess… Did you join Iron Kingdom?”

You puff your cheeks and force the air through the tiny opening of your mouth. You don’t offer any sort of confirmation and continue to avoid his gaze.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he playfully prods, drumming his fingers against your forearm.

“I… Yeah,” you admit, your voice small as you stare at the counter. “I didn’t want you to know.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I don’t want to give you another thing to make fun of me for.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” When you don’t respond he tugs on your arm. The motion is enough to angle you towards him. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

“What?” you grumble, staring at your lap even as you face him.

He takes your hands in his and drunkenly waves them around. “Heeeeeeeey. Look at me.”

He pouts until you reluctantly drag your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says softly. “Even me.”

The shift in his demeanor catches you off guard and you subconsciously lean forward as you relax. “Well I started with Hwasa, but I was too sore to ask for another session with her.”

He nods sympathetically, clapping his hand over yours. “You should try again.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel like…”

“Like?” he prods when you let the silence trail for a bit too long.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sigh. “I feel like I don’t belong there. I look so stupid reading the instructions on the machines. I don’t even think I’m doing it right.”

“What?” He makes a sound between a laugh and a grunt. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you don’t hurt yourself. Nobody knows how to instantly do things. If they tell you they do, they’re lying.”

“Or they’re Namjoon,” you say with a roll of your eyes, glancing over at your snoring friend.

He smiles and clicks his tongue against his teeth in thought. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I started.”

“Really.”

You’re skeptical. It’s always seemed like he was born in a gym. Or maybe hatched. He’s kind of inhumanly gorgeous. Maybe he sprouted from a flower like a mythical god.

“For real. First time doing squats. I think it was gym class? Yeah, I was like twelve or thirteen. I was… not very athletic. Didn’t play sports or anything. Kind of shy. Didn’t really have a lot of friends either…”

The way he trails off makes your heart hurt. Puberty isn’t nice to most people. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone like Jungkook isn’t instantly popular and naturally fit. While you’re not exactly the same person you were at twelve, a lot of your interests and personality quirks have remained the same. You’re still painfully awkward at times. How did he manage to overcome something like that? Is it not ingrained in him like it is you?

“Just a big dork, you know?” He laughs. “I see this girl I had a crush on, Amber. She’s looking at me. I think I have to impress her. So I’m stacking up weight and I think I’m hot shit and go too fast. Know what happened?”

“Please don’t tell me you dropped it on your foot or something,” you plead, squeezing his palms at the way he’s building up the story. The secondhand embarrassment is too real.

“I hear a pop.”

“No!” you gasp, bringing your hands to your face as if you can stop the past from happening.

“And pain. So much pain. I don’t remember putting the weights down but I remember ending up on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”

“Oh no. Knees?”

“Worse.” He points down to his crotch. “Pulled a muscle in my groin. Had to sit the rest of the day with an ice pack on my junk. Was not fun. My point is: don’t give up. You learn more as you go. Give Hwasa another shot.”

His anecdote gives you pause but you’re desperate to cling to the comfort of your anxiety. “My free trial with her is almost up and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to keep at it.”

“More excuses,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “At this point I should just—” His eyes widen, a lightbulb practically forming above his head as he puts his cup down. “I’ll be your personal trainer!”

“Uhh…”

“No, no. It’s perfect. We’re friends now.” He smiles, proud of himself for finding a way to prove himself to you. “I can teach you everything you need to know about working out. I can set up a plan for you and figure out the best way to help you achieve your goals. Oh, man we’re gonna have to figure out your goals. What do you—”

“Hold on. Hold on,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “You’re missing the part where I still can’t afford it.”

He rolls his eyes and grabs your glass, holding it under the sink to refill it. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover it.”

You’re stunned into silence as you observe the expanse of his back, searching the black fabric of his t-shirt for the definition of his muscles. He sets the cup in front of you, waiting for your agreement. When it doesn’t come, he second guesses himself. Did he overstep?

“I mean if you’re okay with that. Would-would you want to do that?”

The innocent drunken sparkle in his eyes makes your stomach do a flip. When you woke up this morning you hardly thought the day would include getting sloshed with Jungkook and having him offer to take you on as a fitness trainee. It’s like he’s opened himself up just enough for you to see the soft mess beneath. You like it. You like it a lot and you kind of hate yourself for it. While you don’t know if you can trust him past the evening, you find yourself hoping you can.

“You won’t make fun of me?” you ask timidly before bringing the cup of water to your lips.

“It’s my job not to make fun of you. We start where you’re at and go from there. And like I said, I’ll cover the fees for as long as you want. No pressure.” He smiles at you. “What do you think?”

“...Okay,” you murmur with a nod of your head. “If you’re serious, then I’m… I’m in!”

His lips part to expose his teeth as his grin spreads. “Yes!”

As he brings his hand up in a sign of victory, his knuckles knock against his glass. You reach for the cup with impaired reflexes, hands fumbling over the slippery surface in conjunction with his. The sour contents spill across the counter as the pair of you struggle to right the glass. While he’s quicker at getting the glass upright, your brain is faster at processing what to do next and you already have a paper towel in hand, wiping up the liquid as fast as possible.

Your eyes follow the spill to the edge of the counter where it’s flooded over the side. Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, you quickly press down where the liquid has begun to pool in his lap. As you fold the paper towel over, you rub frantically as if the action will keep the stain from setting into the fabric. He shifts in his seat and squeaks out a sound so small that you can’t actually tell whether it came from him or the chair.

It only dawns on you how inappropriate your actions are when you glance towards his face and find his wide eyes gazing back at you. His cheeks, already flushed from inebriation, seem twice as vivid and his mouth is parted slightly as though he means to speak, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it’s too late for that.

Your palm stills against his crotch as the shape beneath becomes clear in your mind. For a second you’re frozen, but your lips work quickly to mumble an apology. It feels like an eternity before you will your drunken fingers to release the paper towel. The clearing of Jungkook’s throat is followed by a tiny giggle, then a full on snort. A grin spreads across your lips and you soon follow him into a fit of laughter. You thank the universe for the small mercy of being drunk enough to push your embarrassment to the side for the time being.

“I wasn’t thinking!” you wheeze, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll dry.” He laughs, dabbing his pants and shirt in the absence of your hand. As he stands he pulls the hem of his shirt away from his torso and looks down at it. “Really. It’s my fault I’m so…”

“Sticky?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a blatant flirtatious action thinly disguised as a joke as you eye the blot of liquor staining the lower half of his shirt.

Both of his eyebrows raise and a mischievous smile curls the corner of his lips. “...Wet.”

You consider his answer with a pleased hum and turn back to the counter to polish off the last of your water. You’re friends now, right? It can’t be that easy. But it kind of is. So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting between friends?

Drunk brain, who happens to be a notorious hoe, assures you it’s great. Rational brain might disagree, but she’s taking a well-deserved nap. You’ve at least had a good night. You’re not sure it matters at this point who is giving you the attention you crave. It feels good. So good, in fact, you’re sure you can indulge drunk brain a little more.

You’re drawn to the inky shapes swirling around Jungkook’s bicep as he wipes the counter down. Every time your eyes begin to focus on an object marking his skin with some kind of meaning, he moves and you lose it. It’s brush strokes, isn’t it? You’ve definitely seen a paintbrush and mountains and a knife surrounded by roses. A swathe of grey and purple connects to each one you’ve seen, but you know there are more.

Before you can blurt that you’re dying to know how many he has and how bad it hurt to get them, he turns toward the sink and begins to work his t-shirt up his torso. You watch in awe as the toned muscles of his back are exposed. The image of the bright phoenix does little to hide their definition.

Trying to will yourself to look away is of no use; he’s hot and you’re drunk enough to acknowledge that fact. Of course he peeks at you just as the shirt slips over his head to find you open-mouthed and dazed, ogling him as though there isn’t any shame in the world that could pull your gaze from him. He turns to the fridge to give you a moment to compose yourself, nabbing a water bottle from the shelf in the process. You’re clearly not ready for the way he quickly spins on the balls of his feet to face you.

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

Your fingers hang in the air suspiciously until you lazily drop them. But Jungkook dons a toothy grin and has the audacity to look shy. He mockingly shields his chest from you with the shirt clutched in his hands.

“Princess! Are you… checking me out?”

Somehow you don’t let the fire in your face turn your brain to ash.“Pfft, no.”

“What’re you doing, then?” he teases with a laugh as he sits, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“Counting,” you reply simply, brow furrowed in concentration. To drive the point home, you poke at his flesh everywhere you can make out an object drawn into its surface.

“How many?” he wonders, watching with cloudy, amused eyes.

“Mmm…” You trail your finger down his arm and back up, following the curve of the brushstroke around his shoulder. “Can’t tell if this counts as one.”

He shrugs and rests his head on his palm as he leans against the counter. “What do you think?”

You hesitate when he quickly quirks a brow.

“I think… A lot.”

“Definitely accurate,” he says with a grin.

Awkward laughter steers the pair of you towards your waters. The TV in the background provides enough noise to steal your focus; you’re grateful for the distraction from the attractive man beside you. Drunk brain is telling you to touch him again, to grab his hand, to feel the touch of someone just for the night, to ruin every good thing this night has started to rebuild between you. Anything to stave off the emptiness of your bed, the 2AM thoughts of failure, and the drunken desperation to find someone, anyone, who will fall in love with whatever image you happen to project on your dating profile.

Heart pounding wildly in your chest and blood rushing through your ears, your fingertips tap against the countertop as they inch closer to where his arm rests. Luckily your futile attempts at nonchalance go unnoticed. Jungkook anxiously turns his water bottle over in his hands, trying to gather words in his brain before freeing them from his mouth.

“So…” he begins.

You jump at the sudden sound and retract your hand while he’s not paying you any mind.

“I was thinking. About that guy…”

You wish you could at least pretend you don’t know who he’s talking about. You’ve vented plenty tonight, but still your heart sinks. Deleting Jason’s digital footprint from your life was simple and quick, but the feelings of rejection and disappointment that swirl in the back of your mind spill forward the longer his pause continues.

“I know this probably means nothing coming from me. But I just— I know you liked him, but you can do better.“

Your posture stiffens at his reassurance and you find yourself grateful he’s not looking at you. Do you deserve better?

“You deserve better,” he affirms, as if somehow aware of your internal struggle.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as you stare down your glass.

It's cry hours, isn’t it?

Realizing you don’t believe him, he takes a deep breath and nudges you with his elbow. “Hey.”

“What.” You refuse to look up because you know you’re on the verge of an irrational stream of tears over some guy you hardly knew. It’s stupid and you know it. But the wet warmth coating your eyes tells you it’s coming regardless.

“I’m... sorry that you don’t feel like you do. Some people can’t get over the weight of their own shit. But that doesn’t mean it’s on you to pick it up for them. If they can’t even bother to carry themselves to meet you halfway, then they’re not worth the effort.”

It’s a perfect time for your heart to seize up and it takes the opportunity to do so. The advice he offers doesn’t stave off the tears, but it resonates deep within you. Namjoon said something similar. It makes you ache to hear it again from someone else. It just leads you back to the same questions you keep asking yourself. What’s so wrong with you that people don’t even want to try? Is it your personality? Physicality? Is it a lack of confidence? What is it?

‘I can’t even get a shitty guy to like me. Maybe I’m the one not worth the effort.’ You don’t dare say those words out loud. Pity isn’t something you’re looking for. A warm body to fill your bed maybe, but not pity.

“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” you murmur, trying in vain to will the tears not to fall. You’re quick to swipe at them and force a smile. “I guess I have trouble giving up on people. It’s not that I’m naive. I try to be realistic. But no matter how many times I get fucked over I just... hope for the best in people. I can’t help it.”

He pats your arm reassuringly. “That’s why you deserve better.”

If only it was as simple as hearing those words and magically being able to believe it. A big chunk of your confidence has crumbled away and there’s no clear path to restoration. As the warmth of his palm comes to rest against your arm, you place your hand over his and squeeze.

“I don’t know if I believe it,” you pause and thoughtfully add, “but thanks for saying it.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise and he offers a tiny, “You’re welcome.”

A shaky chuckle passes your lips. All of his features seem to soften the more you look at them. Maybe it’s the drunken gloss coating his big brown eyes or the way his lips slightly part as he looks back at you. The tightly coiled nerves in your belly urge you to unravel.

Although it's a subtle gesture, he licks his lips as he smiles and it practically seals your fate. If you don't leave now you're bound to do something you'll regret.

"It's late. I should sleep."

Or masturbate.

The speed at which you launch yourself from the seat is unpleasant. You're not sure what's worse: the dizzying vertigo or waves nausea sloshing in your gut. Jungkook's reflexes may be delayed but he's a steady mass of muscle the moment you reach out to steady yourself.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Maybe," you mumble, finding yourself drawn to the heat radiating from his skin. Instead of walking away, slump down to rest your cheek against his shoulder and sling an arm around him. You might be drunker than you thought. "I don't know."

"Hmm. What do you need, princess?"

"Just wanna stop spinning."

His stance shifts to better accommodate the additional weight you press against him.

"How about you take over Yoongi's bed tonight," he suggests softly. "He's passed out anyway."

"No, I should go home." You peel your cheek from the warmth of his skin.

“You gonna make it there?”

“Yes,” you say indignantly. The world may be a bit wobbly right now, but you’re certain you can handle the short stroll down the hall.

"Okay.” He smiles, loosening his hold. As you step back your foot catches on the leg of the chair and it drags loudly against the floor.

Despite Jungkook’s attempt to keep you standing by grabbing at your arms, he loses his balance and he drops to his knees. The chair clatters to the floor before your ass does. Luckily his grip keeps your back and head far from impact, but you’re too cramped to be comfortable.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Those big, dark doe eyes of his are frozen in fear and a frown adorns his face. He looks so serious it’s ridiculous.

You can’t help but laugh, wiggling backwards to make space between his body and the heat steadily building between your legs. “I’m fine. Stop making that face.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” He sits back on his feet and tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He breaks into a fit of giggles when you dramatically mimic his expression. You roll back onto your elbows, making another ridiculous face to further mock him.

“No, no. It’s more like…” Jungkook takes the opportunity to lean over you, reaching with one hand to squeeze your cheeks to pucker your lips. You blow a disjointed raspberry at him before pulling his hand off to the side.

While the clamor of the fallen chair did nothing to rouse the men on the couch, the sound of Jungkook’s hearty laughter is loud enough to disturb the rhythmic snores of Namjoon.

Jungkook sits back on his heels and peeks over the countertop. He seems miles away, even as you sit up and scoot in to bring yourself closer. Laughter fades into a quiet hum as Namjoon’s snoring resumes.

You're lost in the abyss of his gaze as he turns his head to look back at you. All that remains in your brain at this point is a foggy desire to tug on the silky spirals of his ebony hair until he presses himself against you one more time.

Your hand settles for following the curves of his bicep instead, wondering how it might feel to be wrapped within his embrace. Some might say liquor makes you bold and stupid, and they're right. They should say it. But it also makes you feel invincible, like a goddamn glowing Mario star power-up.

"Princess?"

Enraptured, his eyes follow the motion of your hand as it slithers around his arm and squeezes. Unable to ignore the prompt, he answers with a flex against your palm. His ego swells when you shiver and noticeably hold your breath.

You know it's a mistake. You know it goes against all of your sober judgement, but you find yourself doing it anyway. It doesn't matter that you still harbor a grudge that holds your heart hostage. Drunk hoe vibes are taking the wheel. You’re tired, drunk as hell, and just want to feel wanted. And he's here.

Every fiber of your inebriated being is singing in unison: Why the fuck not?

Heartbeat pounding against your eardrums, you attempt to gauge his reaction as you lean towards him. It's hard to tell from beneath half-lidded eyes, but you think he's leaning towards you too. If he isn't you suppose you can always play it off like you're just a mess. It's not far from the truth. Focusing on the tiny freckle below his lip, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes and go for it.

But the universe isn’t here for your dumb boozy bitch mistakes.

The front door swings open with the sound of jingling keys dropping to the floor. It snaps you back to reality and you freeze, realizing there's no defense that will save you. Jungkook is quick to disengage, poking his head above the counter to acknowledge Hoseok’s presence with a wave. But his friend is completely enamored with the company he’s ushering towards his bedroom.

“Yeah, baby? How bad?” Hoseok whispers to the giggling girl wrapped around his arm.

He pins the stranger against the door to drag his tongue across her neck. Their bodies move rhythmically in a slow grind, a precursor for what’s likely to come. Jungkook purses his lips. How long until one of them notices him watching? It’s not until the girl moans Hoseok’s name softly that Jungkook spares a panicked look towards you.

Oh shit.

You gesture for him to get down before he draws their attention. The last thing you want to explain is why you’re on your knees in Hoseok’s kitchen with a very shirtless Jungkook standing close by. He obliges your silent request, squatting down beside you.

“Feel how hard you made me?” Hobi chuckles quietly.

The girl giggles, her voice growing closer. “You gonna fuck me right here or what?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Naughty girl. What if my roommate wakes up? Looks like he has a friend over too. You really want them to see what a dirty slut you are?”

You can hear her giggle as he directs her where to go, failing to keep his voice down so you hear every filthy thing he says after. Your hands fly to cover your mouth. Is your skin made of lava? You want to blame it on the close proximity to Jungkook, but the only thing you can imagine is Hoseok’s dick and the eager mystery woman about to be impaled by it. Can you scrub your brain of this memory? How are you supposed to look at him after this?

Jungkook watches your face carefully, trying his hardest not to laugh. Your eyes look so big he’s pretty sure they could roll out of your skull any second. Are you really so innocent? The way you cover your mouth says you are, but maybe it’s just the shock. Maybe you’re just trying to not laugh. Or scream. Or breathe? It kind of looks like you might pass out.

Are you gonna make it, princess? he wonders.

Once you hear Hoseok's bedroom door close, you fuss your hands over your hair and scramble to your feet, releasing a big exhale. The hushed words fall from your lips while you scurry away like a timid mouse. "I should go."

Despite being too far to make contact, he reaches out as you round the counter. "Wait—"

As soon as the word leaves his mouth he struggles to come up with the rest of his statement. There’s no reason to keep you here, except to maybe laugh a little about what just happened to smooth over any second-hand embarrassment. So why doesn’t he want you to go?

He swallows down the blank space caught in his throat and searches every last crevice of his brain for something of import to say. Guilt weighs his gut down, though there isn’t a clear cause. He’s probably screwed something up again without realizing it.

“Thanks for giving me another shot,” he says softly.

You breathe a sigh of relief and offer a tiny smile as you half turn, your hand already on the door handle. “Don’t blow it.”

He nods with a smile. “I won’t. Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumble.

As soon as the door is closed you practically sprint down the hall to lock yourself within your apartment. Maybe it will also lock out all the mistakes your brain has made tonight.

The world feels colder now that you’re not pressed against the human-shaped heater that is Jeon Jungkook. Thinking about him makes your heart swell and ache at the same time. Regardless of how badly you wish you'd asked him to bed, you know loneliness is fleeting and guilt would be a far worse feeling to be saddled with.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook picks up the fallen chair, finding your soft, worn hoodie draped over it. Rubbing a thumb over the material, he considers running it back to you, but he can't remember which door is yours. It's not like he's been here often enough to know. Instead he slips his arms through the sleeves before flipping the hood over his head.

He settles on the floor in the space he previously claimed for the night, pulling a blanket out from under Yoongi's ass. Yoongi rolls his head up, a scowl on his features though his eyes remain closed. He grumbles but lies down, facing the couch.

Jungkook regards his friend for a moment before deciding to drape the blanket over him instead of claiming it for himself. Jungkook rolls onto his side and fluffs the throw pillow under his head. As he watches the credits roll on the TV, he nuzzles into your sweater.

He closes his eyes, thinking of you. He knows he shouldn't linger on the little occurrences of the night, especially with how foggy his brain is. He can't trust anything about his memory.

Still he thinks of the way your fingers trailed along his arm and curled tightly around his bicep. He lets himself dwell on the tiny sound you made, the involuntary tremble of your body, and the subsequent hitch in your breath.

He smiles and inhales the subtle scent you've left behind. A new spark of adrenaline fans flames that inflate his ego, spreading warmth from his stomach up into his chest. The world may wobble around him right now, but the little magical warmth within his gut helps him comfortably drift off to dreamland like he's the world's most immovable object.

#smutcentralnet #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #bts fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic

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the-adhd-society · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, I need some advice if you’ve got the time.

My parents are heavily against adhd meds (they want me to do like meditation and stuff) but nothings working. I’m a complete mess at school. I’m riddled with lack of focus and memory problems. My parents are “willing to talk to someone” but I really think that meds might be more helpful or at least worth a shot.

On top of that, I might being getting a job soon. It’s at a video game store I love and I’m really into games, so that’s exciting. Seeing as we know the owners pretty well, it’s highly likely that I’ll get the job. I want this, really badly, but I’m scared that adhd is going to come hit me like a truck.

I turned fourteen two weeks ago.

Many advice on holding retail jobs with adhd and asking for meds?

(I’m also autistic if that changes anything)

Thanks!

Apparently my draft didn't save. That's annoying. Good thing is wrote out my response..

So my answers really depend on why your parents are against the medication. From my experience parents usually are against meds for two ish main reasons..

1) they are uneducated and or are afraid of the stigma: they are afraid of the side effects or the idea that you will be dependent on it for life. Yadda yadda.

In this case i suggest looking up articles on adhd medication and the benefits and common misconceptions that parents have. At 14 you are past the age for major risks ( that i know of...i'm not a doctor) there are TONS of adhd parent groups and resources that you can direct them to so they can see how others have navigated this before.

I would say something along the lines of " hey parental units (mom dad whom ever). I know that we talked about medication before and I heard your concerns so I did some of my own research can I share with you what I found or send you the links ?

The other "camp" or mentality that parents often have is. "It's not really a problem" (denial).

They might say that you are exaggerating, just not trying hard enough, looking for excuses and just aren't trying.

With this one, it's really difficult but it might help to work with them. Or let them think you are working with them. Talk about where you are struggling, talk about the plans that you make to keep organized and where you need help. Talk to them about the best way that they can support you. Showing them that you are "trying" might help them to see that you need more help. Also showing them how much effort and thought you are putting In might help as well.

This could sound like " hey parental, I am trying to meditate like you mentioned. But I can't seems to keep my mind in one place while practicing what do i do ? "

Or " hey I am really struggling with getting all of my assignments done on time. This is what i tried in the past and this is what i am doing now, can you help me find a better way to be successful ? "

You can also just be really upfront and say " i am really struggling with ay and z, i have tried abc but it has not helped. I'm getting really stressed and worried that my grades are going to drop. It is upsetting because i will spend five hours trying to get one assignment done but i seem to get off track. I want to be successful and i know i am capable but i just can't get it all done"

Now i want to say straight up in some cultures and in some households, this type of conversation might be a lot. You might want to look for ppl with adhd from a similar background to see what they did. ( I'm very white and have had many conversations with people about how in their families this is taboo.) .

anyways. I also wanted to let you know that this entire situation is ableism. Just an fyi the fact that you can't get the medical treatment that you need.

I think it is important to talk about medication as a tool to be successful. It's not a cure all and it does have it's draw backs ( price, side effects etc). So don't get your hopes up if you try one drug and it doesn't work well on the first try

The person they are going to talk to do you know how they feel about medication ? Perhaps try and have a conversation with that person beforehand you can say something like. " i know my parents are looking to talk to you about medication, it's something that is really important to me, do you have 5-10 mims where we can talk about it so i can give you my perspective ?"

Obviously you probably might need to ask your parents for permission but just a suggestion. ( if it is someone from school i say go ahead and do it but idk who they are going to talk to).

Moving on to memory things:

I think you need to look at specifically what is the issue that you are having. Are you spending too much time on one assignment so you can't get others done ? Do you forget what is due when ? Do you not leave enough time to do the work so you are stuck cramming ?

Different issues call for different plans. I'd also talk to your case manager or disability person at your school. If you are in the u.s. you should have an IEP or a 504.

With online learning(and in general) you can ask for accommodations such as reducing the work load ( instead of answering 10 questions and writing 4 paragraphs, you do five questions amd two paragraphs)

You can ask for extended time for homework or to not get points off if it is late. There are many different things you can do. The point with homework and assignments is to show comprehension and mastery. If you are able to do that then the other requirements aren't as important. But that is something you amd your parents need to advocate for. And if theu are against bring up that it is just during thr pandemic.

This is what i did organization wise when i was on college.

I went through each of my classes and wrote down in my planner the home work for the entire semester (you might only be able to do it a week at a time) of when they were due ( in pencil).

I wrote down all of then due dates and reminders the week before they were due for larger projects. Then i had a very large desk calendar that i wrote all of my papers and tests on.

Before i would leave class i would write down in pen the homework for next time. (Again second time)

When i would go home i would wrote those assignments on a post it note so i knew what needed to be done for the day(third time). At NO POINT did i ever rely on my memory. I set up clear expectations of what i was going to work one for that day.

find what works for you. Maybe you need a small white board to write down your assignments for the day or week. Maybe you need to write it on a post it note before the end of class. You might need a mix of google calender and post it notes Figure out what works best for and then create a structure around it.

I also used a time app called productivity timer that can help with time blindness and i used another app to lock me out of apps.

In terms of retail. I have no idea friend. Lol.

Let me know if this helps and i would love if any younger people have suggestions.. Or parents. Or literally anyone.

#long post #ask #anon #medication

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aryn-writes · 4 years ago

Text

And we are back to over sharing to deal with my mental health

TW: Caps, Eating Disorders, Self-Harm, Depression, Anxiety

Venting Post!

I am so tired. And before you ask, yes I sleep over six hours every night. When I can, I sleep over 12. So my sleeping is not the issue.

The issue is that I have no fucking clue how to exist anymore.

I was initially trying to remain as the person that I was. They were a happyish ray of sunshine that was so good at helping people. And they did! People came to them daily to vent, get advice, or just letting them know that they are doing better. And I wasn’t doing great mentally then, but I was making improvements!

It has been over a year since we went into lockdown.

And you know, there have been good things that came out of the isolation.

I know I am nonbinary! And I was getting closer to dressing how I want!

But I am exhausted.

While I am at a healthy weight now, I have been slipping in and out of my ED habits. My family has also been continuously shitting on me for gaining weight. (if you’re curious, I am 5’4” [~162 cm] at 135 lbs [~61 kg]. I used to be at 100 lbs [45 kg]. And I would continuously dip back in double digits.) So, I have a fear that I’m going tot get bad again and that is just not something that I can handle at the moment.

I also can’t socialize, because holy fuck that shit is terrifying.

Like there are times when I can’t even talk to my family.

My closest friends? One of them messages me daily to make sure I’ve eaten at least one thing (which I agree, very kind, but I will explain why I don’t like it in a bit.) The other I haven’t talked to in months and it is so awkward when we try to talk. All the other people I used to consider close haven’t talked to me in a year, even after I would attempt to reach out to them.

I know that it is partially my fault; I am horrible at messaging and keeping conversations going is one of my weaker points, even in person. Along with that, I have been having depressive episodes more often that I care to keep track of, and I push people away and isolate myself during those times. So I get that it might be difficult to talk to me.

But there are people who I will reach out to, and they read the message and just don’t respond.

Like... I will literally say “hey! It’s been a while, how have you been?” (No response)

A week goes by

“I’m just checking in to make sure you’re doing alright” (left on read)

Another week

“Me and this person wanted to plan a small hang out online! She found this really cool website that we can play games, and we can use discord to chat. Wanna join?” (No response)

And it goes on.

For over seven months.

So if you have an active imagination and are prone to overthinking, you can imagine that my thoughts are “well shit. They just don’t like me and were only friendly bc i was dating him.” (Him being my ex boyfriend; we broke up a month into the quarantine.)

And so that kinda fucked with my anxiety even more.

I don’t blame them for not talking to me. The logical part of me understands that sometimes you just don’t respond, or maybe you forget or just don’t want to. I get that. But the part of me that has been overwhelming is pretty much like, everyone hates you and you’re a burden.

And it’s really hard to open up to the people you are close to when you feel this way.

So we come back to the close friend who checks that I’ve eaten.

He is wonderful, do not get me wrong. We became acquaintances around September 2019, and friends a few months after. At this time, I was dating my ex, who was an acquaintance to the close friend. (We are going to call the close friend Edward from here on out.)

At that time, I was struggling with my body image and my eating disorder. (Every year I go through a relapse and recovery, it fucking sucks and sometimes the relapse take over almost the whole year, but not the point right now.) One of his first memories of me is me having a panic attack because I ate a sandwich.

So during this pandemic, Edward has been messaging me to make sure I’m eating, because he doesn’t want me to get really bad again. Which is nice!

Except he doesn’t really understand mental illness.

He has been trying! Do not get me wrong, he does try. But his way of going about talking to me during a depressive episode is “Just don’t let it get to you” And “Be happy” and my favorite, “I don’t get why it’s so bad.”

😃🤡

Along with that, he gets incredibly upset when I don’t respond to his messages within like thirty minutes.

Keep in mind, I have been going through many, many depressive episodes and am constantly struggling to get out of bed and keep up with my school work. I have told him this. I have told him that sometimes I just cannot handle checking my messages and participating in conversation.

And a side note, I am in my last year of high school. Which mean I have online learning and in a few months I will be graduating. Which means I have a few classes I need to pass in order to graduate. If you keep up with most high schoolers, we have been getting an absurd amount of work with due dates every fucking day. That plus depression does not go well, and so I am very tired all the time, but since we have actual lectures instead of recordings, I keep my camera on for every single class because the teacher’s get sad if we don’t. And yes, there are classes where it is just me and the teacher with our cameras on. And yes I constantly disassociate during class and stop focusing because I forget to.

So yeah, it is fucking hard to just keep up with that, and socializing isn’t really something my brain sees as important because of the constant negative energy I receive when I do try to talk to people. So I have told him that as of late, it is just difficult to do much besides school, and things that produce any sort of serotonin or dopamine.

And he got upset that talking to him wasn’t making me happy!

Which, it does! Because he is a great friend! But he is so rude about the things involving my mental illnesses! And acts like he understands it better because he is in a psychology class! So in this state, I do not feel as comfortable talking to him since he only wants the ‘happy’ version of me that struggles to eat so that he can ‘fix’ my eating disorder and be able to feel like he did something!

But I continue to try to talk to him, because he is an only child and I am one of his only actual friends. (I really wish I was kidding, but when we became close, he told me that I was the first person to ever actually care about how he’s feeling and how he is actually doing rather than just taking advantage of his presence. He almost cried when I said that I appreciated his existence.)

And I do care about him. Edward is definitely a close friend, and I appreciate that he tries. But lately, he only does it for the validation of knowing he did something good, and it feels like he is just tired of having me around since I can’t bring myself to speak much.

So I have been trying to push myself to be a good friend to him. And I am doing what I can to pretend that I am getting better so that he can be happier. Which is just tiring me out even more.

I feel empty most of the time now, and I am so easily put over the edge. I can hide it pretty well, but it has been getting to the point where I am contemplating self harm again just to feel something.

I don’t remember how to properly do things. I am really just trying to get through every day. But it feels like I am headed straight for doom and I am so tired of it and I just want to leave!

Which in a few months, technically I will. I hope to go out of state for college (to get as far as I possibly can from all of this shit) but as I apply to more scholarships, I want to scream and cry because I have no clue how I am going to pay for college because my parents make too much money and my mother spends it all on herself so I am stressed out. I didn’t do enough extracurriculars, and I have been rejected from so many scholarships that it’ s starting to look like I might need to stay here, and I can’t do that. I just can’t.

So I have been crying and trying to escape from this shit, and I feel like at some point I might just constantly think that nothing is real and none of this shit matters, because that is on my mind more and more.

But hey! I have been reading, writing, gaming, watching anime and drawing to cope so that shit exists (even though it’s all shit so I won’t post it) and I’m making improvements with that so that is something?

I don’t fucking know lol.

I am just tired, and this was a rant. I don’t fucking care. Hope you have a good day!

#reality is often disappointing #and i am exhausted #life seems fake #depressive episodes suck #i literally can’t talk because of #anxiety #pretty sure everyone hates me #do i need tight hugs #therapy #or music #anyways #fictional characters #are the only thing really motivating me #tamaki and haruhi would not stand this #jumin and saeran would be making me get help and making sure that I wasn’t this stressed out #and there’s more but you get the gist #imma take a nap #emotional vent #depression

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bow-woahh · 4 years ago

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Heal Me After Hurting chapter 2 DVD commentary ask?

Send me your favorite scene/chapter from one of my works and I’ll post a DVD commentary on it.

Heal me after hurting! it's been a while since I've revisited this so I'm excited to talk about it! It's crazy to think it was nearly a year ago when I wrote it. It genuinely feels like just yesterday.

Chapter 2 ("Sick of saying nothing back") is the chapter where Catra and Adora actually start to communicate their feelings about each other and past together (hence why it's pretty dialogue heavy).

Catra has obviously just woken up from a nightmare and is still feeling pretty out of it, so it makes sense she'd be a little less closed off as a defense mechanism. Plus after hours of not actually speaking to Adora, she actually really wants to.

"Catra? Hey...hey, babe— don't, don’t cry, what’s wrong?”

I could be wrong but I'm pretty sure Adora says babe at least once every chapter. Maybe just one and two. But yes, that was purposeful.

(“For many, closure is a good tool to put an end to lingering questions and thoughts in one's mind, for others, all it does is remind them of things you needn’t reminders of. Over due time, you’ll figure out whether you want that closure or not, or whether to move on and look towards the future.”)

It's so sad that S5 completely destroyed the Micah as Catra's father figure/advice giver character but hey I still love the idea of this dynamic and I stand by it with him as her therapist in this fic.

Also, closure is a very important theme in this chapter, as neither of them got that: Catra because she literally wasn't allowed to get any and by the time she was it was too late; Adora because although she did break up with Catra, it was over text and was the last thing she wanted to do. Lots of unresolved issues were left behind.

“You—” Catra stops herself, takes a breath, then tries again. "You just...disappeared out of my life, left."

There's an obvious reason as to why Adora left and completely cut her off (because of Catra's mental health and how she wasn't just a danger to herself but others too) but it's so unlike her that Catra wants to believe that there was some other reason, that is wasn't just because—in her eyes—that she wasn't good enough. And actually, she turns out to be kind of right.

“I wasn’t well,” she says, mouth dry and words meek. It comes out like an excuse, even though it’s anything but.

This is at the moment the closest Catra can get to an apology, because she knows what she did was wrong and has grown a lot since then, but it's still so hard to admit that, especially to the person the hurt the most.

"It's just, I just...I dreamt about—"

Adora scoots closer. "Everything that happened that night? Yeah, I, um…I do too sometimes. It must be worse for you though, especially because…” she hesitates, then says, “still– you're not supposed to use your voice, you need to fully recover, okay?"

She cares SO much like ❤️🥺

"I didn't know what to do, or say, what was allowed." Adora replies, still apprehensive.

Adora likes rules, and boundaries. Before, although their relationship was obviously still kind of convoluted, for all it's faults it worked. After the incident, even once Catra was leading a healthier life, Adora had no clue how to approach her, if she could approach her. All the boundaries once there were gone with new ones that were so blurry that there was no point in trying to cross them. It was as if they were strangers, which is something Adora wasn't equipped to deal with.

Adora also says before this: “Everyone said– they said to give you space. So you could recover. So...I listened.”

Because she didn't know what she could do, what the boundaries were, she followed the guidelines set for her by others, which may or may not have been the right thing to do.

“You still care,” Catra whispers, bringing her knees up to her chest, head starting to pound as she begins to regret the bold statement.

Despite everything, despite Adora taking care of her the whole day, it's only now that Catra realises (or let's herself acknowledge) that Adora does still care greatly for her. Adora is obviously amazed at how Catra can even imply otherwise, because Adora never stopped caring and she thought it was pretty obvious.

Closing the lingering distance – the lingering tension – between them, Catra moves to sit opposite Adora.

“Adora... I’m sorry. For everything. I wish that– I wish things were different. That I was different.”

This!! Line!! Okay first — the fact Catra said the same thing in S5...I'm a prophet. But also, this is so important because now, just like in the show, now that Catra's finally admitted to the person she hurt the most that she does feel remorse over her actions, she can move forward now. Obviously, the contexts are a little different but I'd say it mostly applies.

Maybe things were always destined to happen this way.

Listen Catradora are simply star crossed lovers, but only for a little while. I just feel like in every universe it only makes sense of they fall out/grow distant before coming back together. They get their happy ending, but it just takes a little while yknow?

"No, it wasn't right, I should have spoken to you sooner, instead of lurking in the background…" the colour seems to rush to her face at the statement, and Catra can't help but be curious about what she actually means.

I remember when I was outlining literally writing how Adora would like,, low-key stalk Catra to see how she was doing. Nothing like super creepy, maybe just sitting in one of lectures or watching her with Scorpia and Catra at a coffee shop that she just happened to go to as well. Completely coincidental.

Catra wants to say 'me too'. She wants to shout it out at the top of the lungs, because all throughout when she was recovering she thought of Adora, love or hate – or a mix of the two – she thought of her.

Obviously drawing from the show here. Like it was clear they never really stopped thinking about each other and the same can be said here. Catra could never quite get rid of Adora from her mind. Partially because of how much she cared and loved her but also because of the fact she'd had so little closure from Adora.

“I didn’t even have my phone. The old guy was pretty careful with who I talked to in the first month or so. But…” she halts, and can’t help but wrap the arms around herself tighter.

A little extra info that I never put in the fic because it just relevant — Catra has a dad in this, which is who she's referring to here. Also, if you couldn't tell from the few context clues here and there, Catra is also pretty rich too. She wasn't exactly spoilt when she was growing up because, for a while, her dad was married to SW (picture evil step mum) but by the time she was around 16, 17, she's out of the picture, because of an,, unfortunate accident. Shadow Weaver is either present or dead in all the fics I write, okay?

“[...]They all told me to cut all ties with you, so you’d be able to focus on yourself, so I could do the same, and what I had wanted to say wasn’t exactly what everyone else expected.”

[Adora taking about the message she sent to Catra] I imagine before Adora agonised over what to say to Catra for days, much to Glimmer and Bow's dismay that they ended up sitting down and helping her right the message that she actually sent, but she obviously hated it then wrote the message she actually wanted to send in her own, before being unable to send it and going with the other one.

“Catra, I’m here babe, talk to me,” Adora says

She said babe again?!? Damn I went to town lmao

“Don’t...don’t cry,” Adora says, unconvincingly and accompanied with a weak smile in an even weaker whisper of her own. That’s all it takes for the dam to crumble completely and overflow. When those tears finally pour down, her first sob sends shivers down her spine, and it quickly worsens from there.

Ouch...this scene hurts to read. I'm sure when I was writing it I was laughing manically at the pain I was going to inflict on you all but...damn. Like the way Catra is trying so hard to stay strong but as soon as she sees Adora distressed again she just breaks down. God how an I getting hurt by my own fic??

Carefully, cautiously even, she wipes a straggling tear from her cheek, and with her lips just slightly upturned, mismatched eyes piercing through sky blue ones, she whispers, “it’s okay now though? Isn’t it?”

This moment is. Everything. So far, a lot of this has been Adora comforting Catra, Adora literally looking after Catra, but this is finally Catra reciprocating that by comforting Adora back, by letting her know ‘I'm here for you too.’ Also the brief tension that this causes.. wonderful.

Catra can see, smell, is Adora, and her lips are right there, looking soft and alluring like they always have, like they'll be enough to dissipate all worries, cast away all her doubts. But she’s scared, scared for this to happen, because it’s all so soon, too sudden, and moments before they'd been crying, and what if she messes up, what if this gesture messes it up?

I loved finding out how I actually fooled people into thinking they were gonna kiss. I'm sorry. But I'm not. Most people actually said they were glad they didn't, which was very much the response I wanted, so I was pretty happy with it.

“I was kinda worried you'd never come around, or that we'd get close and one of us would shut down once the serious stuff was brought up. If I’m being honest, I nearly didn't come— when Scorpia asked.”

"I don't see why she asked or why you'd want to." Catra shrugs

Yes. Scorpia was 100% being a bit of a shit stirrer. She knew these two fools needed to talk to each other.

Casually, Adora let's out the next statement as if it were fact. “They weren't you.” she answers with a shrug.

At this point Adora has long accepted that there's no one like Catra. That there's no one who can replace her. What she was to her. Obviously she tried, but Catra was still there the whole time in her mine. Catra is just it for her and she knows that. So for her, admitting this is as easy as breathing because she's come to terms with it.

But she can't, she's too far behind, she's still processing, and she hates that, because Adora feels – is – a million miles ahead of her, and she wishes it could be easy, that she could be easy on herself, that she could let Adora hear what she wants, no, needs to hear…though she just isn't there yet.

I feel so bad for Catra here because she feels like she can't keep up with Adora's pace, how well she's handling this, but it's not even her fault, like, it's just harder for her to deal with it like :((

Catra never saw the need for it anyway– Adora already looks stunning without it. Expecting her brain to chide her for even thinking that, Catra is practically amazed when there’s no little voice in her head condemning her for thinking such a thing, for going back there.

Progress,, we like to see! Obviously, in the last chapter we see more of this as well, which is great.

Adora, who broke up with her. Adora, who was once her everything. Adora, the one she had hurt the most, was here; talking to her, accepting her, smiling at her, forgiving her.

Callback to chapter 1,, we love to see it lmao

Anyway I hope you enjoyed this! Sorry it took 59 years but to make up for it, chap 8 of bloom will be up in like 2, 3 days! (:

#spop #catradora #fic ask #micah answering asks #answering asks #thanks anon!#this was fun #once again

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mittensmorgul · 6 years ago

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Hey mittens! I have a new friend on tumblr who is struggling. She wants to be a writer but her fics aren't being seen. She's frustrated. She wants to give up. I've given her the best advice I can give. I'm a small blog but I keep writing all the time. Trying to give her advice, but not sure what else I can do. She's in her mid twenties, lives at home, doesn't have a job or a car but desperately wants to. She's stuck and needs help. What else can I do and what advice would you give? Thank you!

Heck, I have no idea. D:

Write good? >.>

(haaaaa three hours after I started typing this, with the intent of replying privately, I’ve officially invested too much time in it not to post it… under a cut for length, and because I have officially run out of mental energy and real-world time for dealing with it for today…)

I mean, I see advice all the time on how to get seen/noticed around here, and half the advice conflicts with the other half. It’s hard to even guess what worked for anyone sometimes.

There’s networks she could join (I have no idea how networks work, and I’ve been here nine years, so someone who actually uses networks would probably be better to ask about how to do that, but I do know that the point of them is for a group of people to see/reblog member works, so that might help her get noticed).

There’s also things like Profound Bond and Writers of Destiel. These are discord groups, but they both have a tumblr presence (especially @profoundnet which she could look into.) They run challenges, have a really vibrant community over on discord with hundreds of members, and regularly reblog member works on tumblr.

Plus, making friends, working with beta readers or other writing partners will help find new friends and followers who will help spread her works, too. Volunteering to beta read when a “bigger” writer puts out a call can also help– not only in building friendships with other authors but also gaining experience with writing as well as editing.

Interacting with other authors on tumblr, reblogging their work and commenting– even if it’s just “OH GOSH I LOVE THIS” kind of stuff– ESPECIALLY with other “smaller writers” and thereby spreading the word around about each other’s writing will help grow up a community around all of you.

None of us started out popular, you know? And “popularity” is definitely a relevant term. When I started writing fic, I lucked into a situation that I attempted to recreate with the Christmas collaboration thingy I ran, but ouch that proved to be way more work than I really had the time or energy for. I’d be happy to help others run that type of collab and offer advice, but heck if I’ll ever do one myself again. :P

A lot of fic challenges are a good way for new writers to get noticed, too. There’s a TON of challenges out there. Now, something like the DCBB or one of the other larger and more established challenges might not be the easiest place for a newbie writer to cut their teeth. There is A LOT that goes into challenges that newbies are just not prepared for (rules, deadlines, etc., because knowing how to write, edit, and post on a concrete deadline where others are relying on you to know what you’re doing without needing an undue amount of help from the mods isn’t something you want to learn on the fly in a high-pressure situation like that… there’s an assumption when signing up for something like the DCBB or the Pinefest that in doing so, a writer is CERTAIN that their skills– including TIME MANAGEMENT and the ability to collaborate with an artist and follow all the rules (YES, ALL OF THE RULES) and meet every deadline– are up to the task.

So, that said, I’d highly recommend some of the other smaller, more laid-back fandom challenges. There’s new ones popping up all the time, and a lot of them are geared toward specific types of fic (canon fic, certain tropes, etc.), so there’s a built-in audience for their work. Not to mention that in smaller challenges there’s actually more room for exposure, and not having your work drowned in a flood of hundreds of other long works, potentially many of them by already established authors, coming out in the same time period. Readers are literally spoiled for choice in those situations, and an “untested” author posting a 20k+ fic might fall by the wayside while “guaranteed thing” authors works get more attention, you know? Readers have a limited amount of time they can commit to reading, and with SO many choices available, are actually more likely go for the “tried and true” author they’re already familiar with before investing in an unknown author. Profound Bond is just starting the @casdeanflipfest, for example, with a smaller wordcount minimum, and therefore a more reasonable length work for readers to take a risk on an author they’re not familiar with. I might not have time, as a reader, to invest in every 60k fic that crosses my dash, but I will drop everything to read a 5k fic for half an hour, you know?

There’s also event-specific tags that offer opportunities to be seen by a wider audience. For example, for the last few days, the DCBB folks have been encouraging folks to tag Valentine’s Day themed works #dcvday. This is a very laid-back and casual way to put your works out to an audience who’s looking for exactly that type of thing, you know? Other situation-specific tags like this happen frequently (like Dean’s birthday fic, or the Destiel Anniversary fic, or holiday fic, for example).

There’s also fic collections. For example, right now the @destieltropecollection is collecting fics for this year’s lists: http://destieltropecollection.tumblr.com/post/182800717844/destieltropecollection-destiel-trope-collection. If you have fic that fits into any of these tropes, fill out the form and submit them to be added to the masterpost. They’ll be posted in May, a different trope’s list each day. People looking for that specific trope will have a handy list, and you can reach a whole new audience that way. :)

Take writing prompts, if that’s something you’re comfortable doing. People with cute lil fic ideas will LOVE you for fleshing out their ideas and turning them into something beautiful. Or GIVE writing prompts to other authors who accept them. You never know what sort of creative collaboration that might spark. If you have a fic idea based on someone’s post, by all means TALK TO THAT PERSON! Express your excitement about their idea, ask if it’s okay to turn their little headcanon or writing prompt into a longer fic, and I can almost guarantee that the original poster will be THRILLED.

Take fan art as writing prompts, as well! As much as authors Die Of Squee if an artist is inspired to draw something from one of our fics, ARTISTS ARE EQUALLY FILLED WITH SQUEE if you’re inspired to write fic based on their art. Just, if you do this, please please PLEASE actually communicate privately with the author or artist in question before you do anything with it. Make it clear you’re writing out of love for their thing, and not in a selfish grab for attention, you know? Otherwise it feels a little too much like stealing. It’s a fine line, but it’s all a matter of perception to everyone involved. That communication and collaboration is key.

That said, I think 99% of it all is pure luck. But because of that first challenge I did, the next fic I posted was (miraculously!) reviewed by destielfanfic, which I don’t think is the sort of exposure most authors get on their first long fic… This was also early 2015, when there was a sort of Boom Market for fic, and I don’t even think the atmosphere for fandom is still exactly the same, you know? It feels a lot more decentralized, and a lot of the “big writers” from back then have left the fandom entirely, or else don’t write much at all anymore.

But fandom is a cyclical thing like that. People come and go, popularity rises and falls. I think my best advice is to develop friendships with people who are in that same general region of that arc as you are, you know? Build a community, support each other.

I see bitter posts all the time about how “popular” people don’t want to support newcomers, and “elite cliques” of folks are conspiring to hold on to their popularity by keeping others down, and that’s just bullshit. The little group of people I generally hang in tumblr circles with have been my friends for years, at this point. Most of us are kinda stunned that we’re all still around, you know? We all showed up around the same time, and went through these sorts of struggles together. We’re still here, and most of us recognize that we’re only considered “popular” at all by attrition. We survived while other folks rage-quit the show or the fandom. I know that’s not a particularly encouraging-sounding bit of advice, but that’s literally how the vast majority of us got recognized. We just… didn’t quit.

I was blogging on this dumb site for four years before anyone really started to notice me. (and I still know that the perception of my personal popularity FAR outweighs my actual popularity, you know? I’m not one of the elite 1% of writers around here, and I know it, and I’m perfectly fine with that. I don’t post long fic serially, and that shows in my total hit counts on AO3. Serial posting artificially inflates hit counts, and keeps works at the top of the results page week after week, and I’d personally just rather post a complete fic to stand on its own. But that’s a dilemma for another post.) Then again, I started out mostly reading meta and squealing about the show, occasionally commenting, asking questions, or adding my thoughts to posts. I learned the lay of the land, so to speak (who was receptive to these sorts of additions and conversations starting on their posts and who wasn’t, and the social conventions surrounding it all), while lurking and not even really trying to get noticed. I made friends with people before I ever started writing fic.

(but I also have a background in original fiction writing, so I already knew quite a lot about author culture in general, and had a lot of experience writing myself before I started to write fic, which likely helped me personally quite a bit. I was able to jump into writing chat groups and had a bit of writing cred even before I published a single fic, because I’d been writing original novels and had already cultivated a group of “Professional Author Friends,” participated in writing critique groups (which comprise Alpha and Beta Reading in fanfic writing circles), and therefore knew how those social circles functioned, you know? I mean, some of the authors from my “Professional Author Friends” circle, who I’ve been friendly with for more than a decade now, have gone on to Big Things in Publishing. And clearly I never did… aah health crises that knocked me off that train. But I realized I’m happier writing fic, without all the pressures that come from professional publishing, so I still consider it a personal win. But I was able to take a lot of that knowledge and experience with networking and building communities with me and transfer it to fandom, so I know my experience is not everyone’s experience.)

I think the main key thing is to create that sort of community. A lot of new writers go directly to the perceived “most popular” authors in fandom, as if they somehow held the key to understanding how to become more popular, or expecting the “popular” bloggers to “pay it forward” and give them a hand up (whether it be through asking questions or reblogging their fic posts, beta reading for them or whatever it may be). But even there, there’s a limit to pretty much everyone’s time, in a real-life sort of fashion. The more popular or widespread an author’s works become, the more up and coming writers will also see their work, and I get how people want to hitch themselves to that, you know?

Not to mention, most of us are entirely baffled by being thought of as popular writers. And again, I’m still sort of on the fringe of that kind of Big Fandom Popularity myself, and still kinda baffled as to how I got here.

But we’re all just people, with limited amounts of time to engage with other people, and a limited number of spoons in our respective drawers for social engagement. I do TRY to do what I can, but between beta reading for my already-established writing buddies (which I still only have limited time for, I AM SO SORRY ELMIE I SEE THE THINGS AND WANT TO READ THE THINGS BUT I CAAAAAAAN’T AND I’M MAD ABOUT IT OKAY?!), and still want to engage with current canon and write and read meta about it, and still want to actually write my own fic, not to mention helping to run the Pinefest (even though Cass does the bulk of the behind the scenes work, I take on a lot of the day to day general upkeep of it all) and still have to engage with reality and my human family that I live with and like… pay my bills and cook dinner and all that boring shit, not to mention coping with those chronic illnesses that knocked me off the Professional Paid Writer train in the first place… it’s not easy to balance out, you know?

It’s not so much a function of “I got mine, so screw you.” I just needed to make that clear, since I’ve seen that sentiment bandied about recently (again), and it’s just insulting. I think the main takeaway here is that Fandom is a Baffling Ordeal, and the key to winning in any way is to build up a community around yourself. If you want to achieve success as a writer, push yourself to write better. Find people you trust to beta read for you. And maybe most importantly, never “promote” your own work with negativity.

I see way too many writers who add notes to their work like, “ugh this is probably terrible.” Just… never do that. Have confidence in yourself, love your own writing, or at least present it with enthusiasm, if you ever expect anyone else to take that risk and read your words, you know?

So really? It boils down to perseverance, networking, and putting in the work to become the best writer you can, with no small portion of sheer luck. There’s no secret magical formula to success, aside from building a community that makes you happy. I’ve discovered that people are really attracted to happiness and positive energy, you know?

Heck I’m worn out just from spending five hours on this post now, in between Real Life Adulting I needed to take care of for an hour. I hope it all makes sense, but I’m gonna go surf my dash for a while and hopefully recover enough brain power to do the rest of the stuff I need to today D:

#fandom problems #this isn't a problem per se but i don't really have a better tag for it... maybe something like #fandom 101 #we're all just random people doing the best we can here and trying to make the most of our own experiences #emptywithout

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sketchesofsam · 6 years ago

Text

The Illustration Master Class - A First Timer's Journal

This is a long blog post. It's mostly for my own purposes, but also for those who want an in-depth look at what being at the IMC is like. I have some pointers for first timers, things you might not think of and things to consider in advance. They'll be at the end of the article. I want to thank Dave Palumbo for allowing me to use a couple of his amazing photos too, he's a talented SOB.

probably won't forget the moment my Facebook messages suddenly started pinging off. 'Congrats Sam!' 'Hey Sam, you won!' I distinctly remember thinking, hmm, what did I win? Did I enter another twitter giveaway or something? Then someone followed up with 'you won the scholarship!' It took me a moment. Then the chat I was in the middle of with my other half suddenly filled with lots of expletives and capitals on my end. Holy shit. I'd won the Muddy Colors scholarship to the IMC, something that had been a long-term wish of mine since I'd found out about it 5 or 6 years prior but hadn't ever had the funds to attend. So to find out that my entry to their scholarship program - through the generous donations of the Muddy Colors Patreon - submitted on a 'what have I got to lose' mentality that was still shadowed by the fuzzy sting of not getting into Spectrum, had scored me the full cost of the course. I'd honestly forgotten I'd applied. Let that be a lesson to those of you who hold back on submitting to things, especially the things that are free. It's always worth a punt.

So what's it like to go to the IMC? I can tell you that winning the scholarship made the pre-IMC thumbnail assignment a lot more stressful than if I'd paid for it. The weight of imagining disappointing the people who had seen my work and voted for it - artistic heroes of mine - was pretty heavy. It made me feel like I couldn't just go and do the same thing I'd always done, even if it had won me the scholarship. Before I started drawing, I reconsidered my influences. I'd started a secret pinterest board a few months back simply called 'Ho Fuck That's Good.' Stuff that gave me a gut punch when I looked at it. I spent a lot of time looking at those images and a lot of the others I had pinned. I stopped paying attention to work that I simply found technically impressive, that had awesome composition or great values. I looked for what moved me. Why it moved me. I started making notes about themes I found compelling or that cropped up a lot in my own work. I decided I wasn't going to do just a straight up realistic narrative Whaler Girl piece, I was going to try and make my own work be more like that which moved me. A risky, and perhaps somewhat dumb move, given those same realistic, narrative images had won me the scholarship.

We were asked to provide 4 or 5 thumbnails, either of our own choosing, or from an assignment provided, such as an illustration to accompany a short story, the likes of which are often published on Tor.com. With themes like duality, death, grief and love in relationships crowding my brain, I created a lot of thumbnails. I wasn't going to take the first 3 or 4 that came out. I did about 20 in total and narrowed it down to the 6 I felt most attached to. Some of them even had hints back to The Whaler Girl in a very asbtract way. They'd come out better than I'd hoped for and I could see a tiny glimpse of the sort of painting I might get out of it. It made me excited to put them in front of my chosen faculty member.

We were asked to pick a top 5 from the vertiable smorgasbord of faculty. That was hard. It turned out that most people got grouped with their top pick and that dictated who the other faculty were that would give you feedback. I suspect my pick would have surprised a few people. Kent Williams was actually the instructor I was least familiar with, but researching his work, especially his most recent work, it hit the same kind of buttons that my inspiration board had. His work felt emotionally personal and while I knew I didn't want to necessarily paint like he did, I felt he might be able to give good feedback on how to tap into that sense of the personal. Perhaps someone who could help keep me on track with the first wibbly steps I was taking with my own work. I count myself lucky to have landed in the group with Rebecca, Kent and Tara (McPherson).

I wanted to make a good first impression, but there were so many approaches to the dreaded 'crit day'. Some folks brought only one or two finished colour thumbs, some folks just had small, traditionally drawn thumbnails, occasionally done on arrival the night before. Some brought photo mockups of the exact piece they wanted to work on. All approaches got good feedback. I'd been forewarned that crit day could be rough, but I think the Studio 201 guys were pretty chill. I did peek my head in on the other two rooms briefly. Donato, Greg Ruth and Scott Fischer were all highly animated and I've been told often argued with each other's feedback. Dan Dos Santos, Irene Gallo and Greg Manchess were part of the group that, from chatting to folks, seemed to get the most direct feedback.

I was a little surprised when there was no tracing paper used during my crit. All three faculty members responded favourably to what had been my favourite thumbnail, despite its weirdness. No direct suggestions other than resolving the shapes in my minimal, non-figurative space (that minor bit of feedback would come to haunt me by The Thursday of DOOM, but I'll get to that later). Inspirations like Inka Essenhigh, Hope Gangloff and Dorothea Tanning were thrown my way, I loved all three for very different reasons. It was safe to say inspiration was running high and I had a tonne of positive energy to run with.

I felt like I was well prepped going into the IMC, but I wasn't. Choosing to go full traditional when having to fly internationally was a pain. I didn't have a lot of the stuff I needed and had to rely on the infinite kindness of my fellow students and faculty to see me through. Stephen, Annie, Chris, Julia, you were all lovely, I can't thank you enough.

My Tuesday started with James Gurney sat at my breakfast table. That was surreal but awesome. He and his wife Jeanette are as lovely two people as you could hope to meet, full of insight and always taking notes. The previous day's lecture on photo reference was flowing through my mind and I dreaded having to ask fellow students. My figures were both nudes and that wasn't something I was comfortable with, though I thought perhaps I could take individual legs and arms and use a little online ref to fill in the rest. I wish I'd drummed up the courage to ask my fellow students, but that particular social step eluded me the whole week. I spent the day instead with many sheets of tracing paper, figuring out What marks were what. I had discussions with Greg Ruth and Donato Giancola about how to find those shapes and make them fit in my piece. You have to figure out who to listen to, and whose advice to stash for a later date. You get bombarded with advice if you go in as open-minded as I did. I'd thrown myself into a pool I should have been paddling in first, pretty much at the very public deep end. I'll admit I found ways to put off getting to painting, as it was only the 2nd oil painting I'd done in the last 20 years and the company I had in the room was stellar and a little overwhelming. Eventually, I chose to redraw via a grid so I could edit as I went along and I used some reference I shot of my own limbs to help flesh the drawing out. I left Tuesday feeling reasonably positive about the work.

Wednesday was a full day with faculty feedback, up to the first 5 pm lecture. Dan Dos Santos, who is perfectly lovely, but also very honest with feedback, stopped by my easel. Overall, very complimentary, he pulled me on a bit of weird anatomy, that after using a lot more photo ref with the rest of the piece, had begun to stand out. He suggested I grab Rebecca after our discussion. I'd responded best to her feedback, as she seemed to understand what I was trying to do, so I grabbed her after lunch. She immediately told me the leg and anatomy I'd had in the thumbnail had been working, and that if I liked the weirdness (which I did) to go weird with the rest of the piece to make the leg fit. Literally the opposite of Dan's feedback. Feedback is such a personal thing, every instructor has their own view of art and own journey. I'd probably tried to take a little bit of everyone who'd stopped by and given feedback and every little bit had nudged me slightly off the course I'd intended to take. Dan's feedback was spot on, if I'd been after something with a solid grounding in realism, but I wasn't. I was after an emotional feeling rather than muscles that looked like they fit where they were supposed to go. Rebecca suggested I just print the thumbnail out, mount it to masonite and paint on that. But resolve my shapes first.

That led me to ask Tara for advice and after some back and forth, I thought I knew where I was going, and decided rather than be tied to the values I'd got in the thumbnail to start with, I'd trace down the printed thumbnail and resolve my shapes. All went well, I got the drawing on the board, and aware of the ever-ticking clock and my ability to get feedback on my painting process, I was keen to get started the following day.

I nick-named Thursday 'Thursday of DOOOOOOOM' in my sketchbook notes. With that many 'O's'. It started well, with my sketch on my illustration board, I figured I'd use acrylic underpainting to speed up the process, then seal with matte medium and start on top in oils. I'd brought a lovely lime green and violet with me, my underpainting was done in warm purple-reds as a counterpoint, and I was winging it. It felt good. I stepped away for a bit before lunch and came back after to the horror of a C-shaped warped board. A brand I'd not used before, I hadn't been heavy with it at all. I threw some matte medium on the back in the hopes it would pull itself out of the curve, but it only stiffened. I think panic set in at this point, I knew there was no point in doing more on the board, but I'd been stubborn over mounting the printouts I'd done. Old dog, new tricks and all that.

Distraught, I knew I had no choice. I slunk off to the back of the studio and tried not to blub my eyes out as I tried a totally new method of mounting with less than perfect tools. Flustered, my hair constantly got stuck in the medium, making me even more panicked that the whole thing would be a disaster and that I'd missed the last supply run and would have to face the very public shame of asking someone for actual help. If there's one thing I hate, it's not being self-sufficient. My fellow students would have happily helped out, but shame is a pretty powerful emotion, it tends to rule what you do. I prayed the mounted paper wouldn't need a 2nd sheet mounting on the back to counter the drawing mounted on the front. At best, in the blazing sun, this stuff would take a couple of hours to dry to the point I could paint on it. The wind did its best to prevent me from stacking the board outside and in my hours of deepest bleakness, I figured that maybe if it blew over into the dirt and insects, I'd say fuck it and make them part of the fucking thing too. It was also at this point I realised the printouts had cropped the two thumbnails I'd chosen to work with, altering their composition drastically. My own dumb fault for not setting the page size up properly in the printer. One more shame I'd suck up and live with. I wish I'd asked for help. I think knowing the pieces weren't what I'd initially intended broke my ability to give them my full attention and killed my mojo for the next couple of days. My anxiety rats, as Rebecca delightfully referred to them, were in full swing.

While I waited for it to dry, I headed back into the studio and mentioned to Rebecca I'd given in with the curved board and mounted the thumbnail and would she have a look over what I'd chosen to do with the background. Rebecca is gracious and lovely and patiently listens to me explain what I've done. Then she points to some of the graphic elements I'd put in and gently says that they still feel too literal and forced, that the motifs I choose should be something I relate to closely and that it doesn't quite live up to the right hand, figurative side of the painting. I suggest a couple of other ideas, feeling a scrabbling panic bulding in me, only to hear her tell me everything still feels too literal. My logic brain knows she's right, but after a distraught morning, I'm clasping at any straw I have to salvage the situation. I don't know if it showed, and she saw that I was struggling with it or if it was just honest feedback for the moment, but at that point, she looked at me and said 'maybe this piece is a step too far for you right now, maybe you should do the other piece, if that's something that's more comfortable for you.' I think I agreed with her, nodded and extolled the virtues of taking a step back into my comfort zone, getting a painting I knew how to do done was a good thing, yes? But damn if that wasn't a kick to the gut at that very moment.

She was absolutely right, though. I'd throw myself into a deep pool, with people who were olympic athletes at diving its depths, and in the course of a week expected to be able to at least dive a good distance with them. I'd been able to get my head underwater with my well-planned thumbnails, but in this overwhelming, information packed, inspiring, public test of artistic mettle, I'd punched above my depth, so to speak. Trying to shift gears artistically when you have your own space and the time to find your journey is one thing, I don't know if it can be done in a week, no matter how much amazing input you get from your artistic heroes. Chris, Erin, Annie, I'm sorry if my energy those next 48 hours was a bummer, it wasn't a place I was familiar with being.

Kent Williams came to the rescue of my very bruised ego that evening with a talk about his personal journey through art. Indirectly, seeing the bredth and depth of his work over such a long time span, I confess to feeling a little idiotic that I'd expected to be able to make that leap in a week. Every faculty member who gave a talk like that had shown me that their journeys were long, and often fraught with failed ventures or periods of doing artistic things they didn't want to. I left the lecture with my tail between my legs, but a renewed sense that I would do my best with the hand I'd given myself. I did a couple of colour studies that evening, traditionally, inspired by seeing James Gurney's master studies in his lecture. I loved doing them, and wish I'd had more time to do more. But I found a piece online that had a palette I liked and did a couple of explorations of a similar theme. I finally, finally, 4 days into the escapade, managed to put down some oil paint.

Friday and Saturday I painted as much as I could, but tentatively, I was making marks I'd never made before. I listened to the feedback being given around me and let anyone who wanted to stop and give me feedback, do so. I'm not sure I actively asked for it. I struggled as the ladies around me with their amazinly characterful pieces drew the attention of everyone who went past. I wondered if I was so far off the mark and weird that no one knew what to say about my piece. Maybe it was so bland that they couldn't praise or crit it. In retrospect, I recognise that my mood and lack of decent sleep was tinting my mood heavily, and I suspect I was giving off the same vibe, which is enough to make folks give you a bit of a wide berth.

The theme of finding your niche and doing what you love came up in more than one lecture over those days. I went to bed at 2 am both nights, in an attempt to get as much done as I could. I socialised a little more, realising that was as much a part of the experience as the painting. If not more. I'm hugely thankful for the bonds I forged during that week, something I couldn't have done at home, no matter how much I painted. Those bonds were worth much more to me than the painting I half finished. I think I came to accept that what I wanted to do was going to be a journey that needed a little longer than a week to take. I wish there had been more 'round table' lectures with all the faculty, seeing them interact together on the business lecture was amazing.

Sunday was chill. I'd had the intention of painting more, but clearing up took a while, and I felt good being relaxed. So I socialised more instead. Our final lecture with Donato was the perfect note to end the experience on and the open house was a chance to take in everyone's work, the standard of which was amazing. After a super tasty mexican dinner and strawberry margherita, the bar beckoned. After drawing I don't know how much hentai in people's sketchbooks and getting a badass Bill Nighy sketch from the awesome Bud Cook in my own sketchbook, alongside the weirdest pseudonyms and animal drawings ever, I crashed and burned as being under the influence after a week of mental stress and lack of sleep took its toll on me. Conan, thank you for making sure I got back safely that night, I really appreciate it, I suspect I'd have passed out in a dark corner of the bar otherwise. Sad I missed out on the late night partying that ensued, but damn, did I need that night's sleep.

So there's one woman's view of what it's like to go to the IMC, to throw yourself at the mercy of the faculty and your own desires. To fail and not deal with it well, to realise that the painting was never the important thing. IMC was amazing. I can only hope this gives those of you who haven't been a teensy insight. I'm not going to cover what the lectures were or what faculty shared with us, that's a very specific IMC experience, that you really have to go to appreciate. I will say I am hugely thankful to Dan, Rebecca and all of those on Muddy Colors who made that experience real for me. It has enriched me in ways I suspect I'll only realise as my journey continues. Thank you to everyone who gave me kind words and praise and to those who tried to guide me on my way. If ever the opportunity arises for you to attend, I would say grab it with both hands and run with it. Even if your experience doesn't run as profound as mine, and it simply lets you have some time to paint whatever the hell you want, being in a huge room full of people going through the same thing is well worth the price, not to mention watching faculty paint in real time is invaluable.

So, what if you've taken that leap, some months from now and you're going to the IMC? Here's a few pointers from someone who thought they were prepared and was woefully not.

1 - THE DORMS Are basic AF. I was somewhat prepared, but when the FAQ says the beds are firm, they mean it. Think springs wrapped in a bit of plastic tarp. The sheets are functional, but the blanket looked like someone had put used dog bedding through a shredder and mushed it out into a rectangle. I bought a spare blanket at the CVS store, cause no way was that thing touching my skin. I may be a little sensitive though. I affectionately referred to the whole set up as my prison bed, cause honestly, that's all I could think of. If you can bring your own bedding, I'd recommend it.

The dorm bathrooms are gender neutral, which means anyone can use them. I was fine with it, but it's odd the first time you wander into the bathroom and find the opposite sex brushing their teeth. I never had any problems taking a shower, though, they were pretty quiet.

Morris Pratt Dorm was definitely the more social, I was very thankful to be on the 3rd floor, as a light sleeper, the partying into the wee hours would have kept me awake had I been on the lower floors. The box fans helped with white noise, but the doors are all pretty heavy, so unless folks are very delicate with how they close them, expect some noise. I found the box fan enough without the AC, even when it got pretty warm on the last couple of days.

2 - FOOD. Having never been to a large educational establishment in the US, I wasn't sure what to expect with the food. Would I have to venture into Amherst to find healthy stuff, would there be much choice? The food was surprisingly decent. It's still a large facility, so it's never going to be amazing restaurant quality, but there were a few choices every day and a well-stocked salad bar. They even had a soft serve ice cream machine, that I managed to avoid until Sunday. I'm not a coffee drinker, but I had it on good authority that the coffee in the dining hall wasn't great. It might be an idea to bring a drinks container with you, as mealtimes are the only time you can get drinks on campus, outside of water fountains. Amherst is only a 10-minute walk down the road, though.

3 - ART SUPPLIES AND STUDIO SAFETY. I brought paints, brushes and surfaces with me, with the knowledge I'd ordered a couple extra things for while I was there and that there was a supply run. If you work on specific surfaces, it's best to bring those with, Michael's wasn't super well stocked, and more speciality things like large clayboard weren't available. A lot of people bring extras and are happy to share, thankfully. I would have brought more old rags or kitchen towels and some tape. People often used walls to tape up thumbnails or other pieces of art.

The university runs a very strict number of safety policies surrounding paints, water and mediums. Bring some lidded jars with you for mediums and water. Everything has to be labelled clearly and remained closed when not in use. Even water used for rinsing acrylic and watercolours. All have to be disposed of carefully too. Same with anything you wipe paint or mediums on, so using something a bit more disposable like kitchen towel might do you better. They ask you to cover your oil paints when not in use, though that can be with a simple piece of palette paper.

If you choose an easel, if you have space for a little extra table, you'll likely make good use of it. The chairs they supply are also very basic and not comfortable for long periods, so bringing a cushion is definitely a good idea. Oh, and they say the studio opens at 8 am on Monday but I got there at 8 am and a lot of the spaces had already been taken, so if you want prime real estate, get there early!

4 - SELF PROMOTION This sounds like a no-brainer. I brought business cards for the faculty and my portfolio review with Irene Gallo. I thought I'd sorted my work out reasonably well, but actually, my website would have been a better place to show off my work. I also wish I'd brought a physical portfolio to leave out for students and faculty to flick through, perhaps an example of finished work that was either nicely printed if I was doing digital, or one of my traditional pieces. The latter is tricky when flying. My business cards were on the pricey side so I wish I'd had some decent postcards or stickers, printed for the open studio, where folks were picking stuff up. You never know who's going to pick one up! The internet can be spotty in the building, so unless you have some 4G going on, it can be tricky to show off folios digitally.

You might also be lucky enough to score a second portfolio review if the guests have enough time, I am so glad I could put my work in front of WotC's Jeremy Jarvis. It cheered my Saturday up no end! Make sure you check the lists when they go up and bag your second spot early. And don't puss out.

5 - DON'T BE AFRAID TO ASK FOR HELP I'm stubborn and British, so asking for help is the worst, but everyone there will gladly help you out if they can. Especially the assistant team, Daneen, Julia and Stephen and the 'honored easels' who've been in your situation. Take advantage of them, they are all lovely people.

And that sums it up! An amazing, tiring, exhausting, mentally demanding, inspiring, overwhelming experience that I wouldn't change for the world. I hope to repeat it in the next year or two. I count myself lucky to be part of the alumni and perhaps if you're reading this, I might see you there too.

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fourteenacross · 8 years ago

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hi its me again. sorry. ive got some oc's for a story that im trying to piece together, but its kinda a mess. turns out i cant write natural dialouge. youre really good at it, and since i havent figured it out by re-reading your stories over and over again, i figured id come to the source, how do you write dialouge that doesnt feel forced or awful? ❤❤-Myah

Don’t worry about it, I love getting messages even if I cam crap at actually responding to them in a timely manner /o\

As for dialogue…gosh, I wish I had an easy answer! Dialogue is my favorite thing to write and it’s the thing that generally comes easiest to me. About half of the stuff I cut when I’m editing is unnecessary dialogue and the reason so many of my things get stretched out to so many words is because I can never make the characters shut up. I like banter, I like jokes, I like people with an easy rapport, which leads to lots of chatting.

The key for me, for fic anyway, is hearing the dialogue in the character’s voice. I don’t know if it’s a skill or a talent or what, but that’s how I know I’ve nailed it. If I can get the character’s voice in my head, hear what I’m writing as if it’s said by the actual actor or in the same cadence as the writer, that’s half the battle. It solves the problem of it sounding realistic and the problem of it sounding like something that particular character would say.

Getting to that point, though, is a little harder for me to advise because, like I said, it’s either a talent or a skill, but that’s something that I’ve just…always more or less been able to do to some degree. The advice I can give, I guess, is to listen to the way people talk to each other on teevee or movies or whatever. Listen to how you converse with your friends. Do you ever obsess over what you’re going to say to someone in a particular situation and make it up over and over in your head? Break that apart, look at how it’s structured and why you put it that.

The shitheads are easy for me to write because they’re a little younger than me, but they’re here and now. They’re in this time period, living in a place I lived, with a lot of the same references. They’re dumb twenty-two year old boys, and I’ve known a lot of dumb twenty-two year old boys in my time. They’re casual and sarcastic with each other the same way my friends and I are casual and sarcastic with each other. There’s a little bit of code-switching involved–they’re more formal in the classroom and on cases and with the Washingtons, and those are conscious choices that they make, but generally they swear a lot and use slang and pepper their speech with filler words (”um,” “uh,” “ah,” as well as “like,” “I mean,” “basically,” “you know,” etc).

The other big thing that helps, I think, is just knowing your characters inside and out. If you’re in their head and you know their motivation, you start to structure their speech with the background of their intentions, if that makes any sense. Whether they’re cautious or trying to get some information from someone or oblivious to what’s going on or secretly angry at the other person or whatever–that all changes how people say things to each other and that’s a big part of giving life to the language. There are a dozen ways to ask the same question, and some will be perfect and others will sound totally stiff and wrong, even though they’re essentially asking the same thing.

FOR EXAMPLE, let’s look at two things under the cut:

So, here’s a thing based on a conversation in a fic I just posted, a dialogue between two characters:

“Good morning, my dear. I’m shocked that you’re up earlier than usual.”

“I went to the gym.”

“That’s strange, because usually you have trouble getting out of bed to go to work in the morning, but today is the start of our vacation and you got up earlier than you normally would for work.”

“As I said, I was at the gym. I find that if I’m going to go to the gym, I need to go very early or very late so that it doesn’t throw off my schedule.”

“We’re on vacation, though. Do you have plans today that I don’t know about?”

Which, you know, is a perfectly civil and valid conversation for two people with a more formal style of speaking or a less familiar relationship to have with one another. But even though it says exactly the same thing, meaning wise, as the actual dialogue I used, never in a million years would shithead Alex and John have that conversation at ten am on a Saturday in their kitchen, if they would ever have it at all. So instead, we take the same meaning and we shift it to get what I put in the actual story:

“Good morning, starshine. I can’t fucking believe you’re up this early.”

“I went to the gym.”

“You stumble half-asleep into the lab most days, but your first weekend off and you’re up at the asscrack of dawn.”

“I went to the gym. If I’m going to the gym, I’ve either gotta go first thing or last thing. Any other time and it fucks up the whole day.”

“There’s nothing to fuck up, we’re on vacation.”

“It fucks up my sense of time.”

“Vacation. What could you possibly be planning on doing today?”

Which, you know, sounds much more like something these assholes would say to each other, while conveying the exact same meaning.

The other tip I’ll give you is to give certain characters particular verbal tics that they repeat. If you do this, it really helps flesh out the character in the readers’ minds and adds a certain rhythm and tone to their speech that makes it particular to them. For example, in the ghosthunters, each of the characters have very specific names that they call each other. I actually made a chart to keep track of it. For instance, Lafayette sometimes calls GWash “George,” while everyone else only calls him “Washington” or “GWash.” Herc mostly uses people’s last names. John never calls Alex “Ham,” even though all the other student characters (except Burr) tend to do it. Beyond names, John swears a lot and has a hard time expressing his feelings, so anytime he’s saying something emotional, he draws it out and stutters. Lafayette uses a hodge-podge of formal and informal English and occasionally gets thrown off if a word is the same in French and English. John has terrible pick-up lines that come out when he’s tipsy. Alex has a tendency to go on random tangents questioning the literal meaning of idioms he uses. Alex and John have two exchanges that they frequently repeat (”Hey.”/”Hi.” and “I’m/You’re a _____.” / “But You’re/I’m my/your _____.”) Et cetera.

Oh gosh, I hope this makes any sense whatsoever and is at least a little bit helpful. I feel like I’m just rambling at this point. I have a lot of difficulty explaining HOW I do certain things if I don’t have to put a lot of work into them and, to be honest, dialogue is something I personally don’t have to work hard to nail.

So, tl;dr: 1) Try to hear the words in the characters’ voices; 2) Listen to how people around you, in fiction and RL, speak to each other; 3) Know the characters well and take care in choosing words that you think it makes sense for them to use; 4) Give further character to people’s speech by giving them repeated verbal tics.

I hope this helps!

#writing is hard #replies

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susantregre · 6 years ago

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What To Do With Older Kids During Holiday Break

What to do with older kids during holiday break? It is a question that many families are asking today…or will be asking in the next few weeks!

Here is some practical advice for what to do with older kids during holiday break from a mom of three older kids who has struggled with the concept of quality time spent with teens!

I am now the mom of 3 teenage boys.

It happened suddenly last week when my youngest turned 13.

This last year, I started working on a project that put into words, steps and systemized some of the things I have learned {the hard way} of being a mom. Watch for that series to get started here on Kids Activities starting January 1…

And one of the things that kept coming up was quality time with teens.

In fact, one of the moms that went through the program actually wrote me and said, “I just don’t know WHAT to do with them!”

Hey, I get it. In fact, I get it more than you can imagine! I have spent the last decade devoted to kids activities and crafts…the type of thing you see here on the site.

Give me a 2 year old and I have 100s of ideas of ways to play!

Need ideas to keep that science-loving 5 year old busy for a few hours?

If you have run out of homemade slime recipes...I literally wrote a book for you (affiliate).

But…when it comes to a 13 y/o that rolls his eyes when a craft is suggested or a 17 y/o who seems too busy to spend time with the family, things get a little more challenging.

Activities for Older Kids Inspired by Vacationing with Teens

One of my solutions to this challenge of finding quality time activities for older kids is to draw on any experience you might have from the family vacation. I found over the years, that when the family was AWAY from home, together, with bad internet connection, it was easier.

In fact, as my boys got older, traveling got so much easier!

They started wanting to do the things I liked to do.

No more 13 hour Candyland marathons {shoot me now}!

They could participate in things that I loved to do:

rock climbing

skiing

biking

hiking

exploring more than a 100 yard trail

scuba diving

swimming

card games like poker and Rook

board games like Settlers of Catan

trying new food at a restaurant (and behaving during the WHOLE meal)

going to a movie I actually might choose

concerts

plays

escape rooms

painting classes

cooking lessons

kitchen tours or any type of tour

and so many other things that younger kids are just too young for participation…

Have you played tourist with your kids in your own town?

We live in the Dallas-Fort Worth area which has a million things to do with kids and we haven’t taken advantage of it! All the things I have mentioned are things we have done while away. This break, I am challenging myself to find some of those special places to take the teens that we would be delighted to visit if we found them while vacationing elsewhere!

Older Kids Still Yearn to Play

No matter how much eye-rolling and choruses of “oh mom!” I might hear from my teenagers, I try to stay confident that under all that teen angst lies the heart of a child.

Push through the resistance. <–I promise you it will be worth it.

At first, you might need to be a little sneaky. But I truly believe that your child was given to YOU for a reason because if anyone can outsmart him, it is you.

To prove my point, I thought back to the last time one of my boys was laughing out of control. You know the type of laugh that shakes their entire body and is completely uncontrollable. What prompted that laugh? It is usually rooted in simple play. Like when the dog {our dear Panda} was intentionally “stuck” under the bed and playfully attacking anyone trying to rescue her. Or trash-talking after a board game win. Or when a side of the gingerbread house he had constructed just wouldn’t stay and a pile of gingerbread rubble erupted. Or when we got lost on a trailride and ended up going in circles despite my absolute confidence we were going in the right direction. Or when they were trying to explain Fortnite to grandma.

We all need play in our lives.

As kids our world is shaped by play.

As teenagers, play helps make sense of the world and put it in perspective.

As adults, it helps decrease stress and connect us with others.

When you are using the excuse that your teen is too grumpy or disconnected to play, you are depriving them of the very thing that could get them out of their funk.

So it is OK to push a little. Set some expectations. Gently demand some participation.

Ideas for Activities for Teens at Home

Traditional play activities should not be overlooked even though kids are older. There is a sensory experience that happens when you get your hands dirty, jump around or dive into a pool that helps increase endorphins and a sense of well-being.

Think of an older version of any activity that your kid loved when they were younger.

If they loved playing with playdough, then consider suggesting baking bread together or making a batch of sugar cookies that would require rolling out of dough and decorating.

If they loved playing with LEGO bricks, then think of a building/strategy activity like one of the advanced LEGO model sets, putting a puzzle together, or playing a strategy game like Chess. Make a gingerbread house or city!

If they loved going to the park, then find something physical you can do together outside. Biking, hiking, snowman-making, simply taking a walk with the dog, going to the community indoor pool, finding a good trampoline park if you don’t have one in the backyard, or creating a obstacle course inside/outside and timing each other’s journey through it.

If they loved kids crafts, this one is simple. There are so many more options for adult crafts that can work amazingly. Knitting, crocheting, needle-point, wood-working, wreath-making, sewing, create homemade ornaments for your Christmas tree, make gifts to give this season, a trip together to a local craft supply store can open the doors to so many adventures together…

If they loved making art, again, this one is simple. Being an artist is a life-long journey. Experiencing different mediums, trying new techniques and honing skills is something that takes a lifetime to master and there is no reason they shouldn’t keep having that fun as a teen. If they have always loved to draw, but never tried sculpting, that is something that you could try. Or if they love painting, but have never tried it on ceramics, that would be an easy activity that would require very little convincing!

If they love playing video games, then put that affinity for strategy and competition to work at your kitchen table in the form of card and board games. It is the same thing. Don’t be intimidated by the simplicity of the game when the majority of the activity is strategy! There is a reason that poker rooms in Las Vegas are filled with 20-30 year olds who were gamers. They desire community and competition which both video games and card/board games can provide IRL.

How to Get Started Planning Activities for Older Kids

Create a plan of action – get out the calendar and figure out what days are best to do things outside the house and which days are best to stay at home. For us, we are very adverse to crowds! So, finding when less people will be visiting our desired destination would be the first thought.

One thing a day – don’t overwhelm yourself with planning or your teen with forced family time! Start slow. Adding just one thing each day that you will do together is plenty and can make sure they do have the required 13 hours of texting time they need.

Get teens involved in planning – remember when they were little and you gave them directed choices? You know…do you want this apple or this carrot stick? That is the same concept here. You already have an outline of what the next few days will look like and this can help guide things in a direction that they are excited about (OK, tolerant of). Let’s say that Monday you are planning something outside of the house. You could offer three choices: the paining class, the escape room or the science museum trip?

Take them shopping for supplies – I don’t care what age kids are, this is a good strategy. The problem with our adult brains is that we OVER-strategize crafts and art projects with the end result in mind. Kids and teens aren’t like that and we should encourage it. They would do it so differently than we directed if they had the chance. Give them that option. Going to the craft store with an open mind and a suggested project (and budget) with their input will have you bringing home a completely different set of supplies for a completely different project that they are way more excited about.

Share the schedule from day one – don’t spring “forced” family time on them. It will make them feel held hostage and give them a bad case of FOMO with their friends and online activities. Setting start and end times gives them a sense of control over their schedule and is respectful of the fact that they do have things they want to do. If there is a conflict of time, think about being flexible about changing.

Don’t give up after the first day – stick to your plan through the entire holiday. It is ok to make changes, be flexible and adjust expectations! Teens are a lot like two year olds…they really do thrive on schedules and family contact, but they have a really hard time seeing it or expressing it. When you are in a routine that they start to understand, they can relax and begin to adapt to it. If something goes poorly, stopping it short of the expected time and giving a teen a hug and “releasing” them is fine, but start over the next day.

Set realistic expectations – I know you see other family’s post on FB about how they spent the entire day in a beautiful episode of dancing through daisies followed by organic, vegan picnics and dreamcatcher creations. There is no family on earth that actually spent their day in that manner (especially if there is gorgeous photos or videos involved). Behind the camera were tears, a lot of messed up white clothing and 1/2 eaten sprout-infested sandwiches. You know your family. You know your kids. Expect that not everything will go as planned. Embrace that this is more about spending time WITH them and not getting whatever planned activity completed.

Above all, have fun. You need the break too. You need the play. You need the connection with your kids. And that only happens if you aren’t playing drill sergeant, fun police or party hostess. Be a participant in the activity! Laugh alongside your kids. Make mistakes. Make it so it is easy for them to laugh at you.

Having More Fun as a Family

Life gets busy. And if you have involved teens, that means it is a revolving door of sports, enrichment activities and time with friends. A teen’s home base is still HOME. They still get their confidence, resilience and perspective from their family experience.

If that family experience is only filled with coming/going, directions, corrections and schedules, they are going to miss out on gaining the coping skills it really takes to be an adult in the real world.

If that family experience is sprinkled with inside jokes, playful teasing and quality time together, they are going to gain a perspective that allows them not to take things so seriously.

The truth is, this is just something we need to do. It won’t look perfect. It won’t go as planned. But the investment we make into our kids is the most important thing in life right now…and they need to have a little more fun!

What is your favorite thing to do with older kids? Please tell me in the comments!

The post What To Do With Older Kids During Holiday Break appeared first on Kids Activities Blog.

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This Is Ajit Pai, Nemesis of Net Neutrality

In March, Ajit Pai, the 45-year-old chair of the Federal Communications Commission, took to the internet—a community he joyfully inhabits and grudgingly regulates—to pay tribute to his favorite movie. “It’s not just, like, my opinion, man: 20 years ago today, #TheBigLebowski—the greatest film in the history of cinema—was released,” Pai wrote on Twitter. “Decades on, the Dude still abides and the movie really ties us all together.” And sure enough, the response to Pai’s cheerful tweet was united.

You’re out of your element Ajit. —@JohnsNotHere

Yes, Ajit. Stop trying to mingle with humans. —@Douche_McGraw

I hope you enjoy watching that movie alone since you have zero friends —@aseriousmang

No one likes you dork —@chessrockwell_

The insults, hundreds upon hundreds of them, accumulated in his replies. Some took the form of incredulous Jeff Bridges GIFs, others mimicked famous lines of Lebowski dialog. (“Shut the fuck up, Ajit.”) People debated whether Pai was more like one of the movie’s nihilist kidnappers or its corporate stooge.

The WIRED Business Issue

The competition is stiff, but Pai may be the most reviled man on the internet. He is despised as both a bumbling rube, trying too hard to prove he gets it, and a cunning villain, out to destroy digital freedom. (As one mocking headline put it: “Ajit Pai will not rest until he has killed The Big Lebowski, too.”) The anger emanates from his move, shortly after being appointed by Donald Trump, to repeal Obama-era net neutrality regulations. He called his policy the Restoring Internet Freedom Order, an Orwellian touch in the view of his critics, who see it as a mortal threat.

In the simplest terms, the principle of net neutrality prevents internet service providers, such as Verizon or Comcast, from manipulating network traffic for discriminatory purposes. Defenders contend that, without such rules, those companies could exert nefarious powers. They might slow down Netflix, making movies like The Big Lebowski unwatchable, in order to push captive subscribers to their own properties, a prospect that becomes more plausible as telecoms like AT&T and Verizon expand into content. They could charge tech companies extra fees to reach customers, giving a competitive advantage to those that pay. They could starve a startup or stifle a voice of dissent. Pai discounted such scenarios, calling them “hypothetical harms and hysterical prophecies of doom,” and pointed out that there was little evidence of such behavior before the Obama administration imposed the regulations in 2015. But the opposition, drawing energy from the broader anti-Trump resistance, was not persuaded by his reassurances. “If you’re not freaking out about net neutrality right now,” the activist group Fight for the Future warned its followers last year, “you’re not paying attention.”

Pai sought to defuse suspicions by presenting himself as an affable nerd, dropping conspicuous references to Star Wars and comic book heroes. But the internet wasn’t buying it. Last May, after satirist John Oliver delivered a scathing monologue ridiculing what he called Pai’s “doofy, ‘Hey, I’m just like you guys’ persona”—he focused on Pai’s habit of drinking from a giant novelty coffee mug at meetings—and calling on viewers of Last Week Tonight to stand up for net neutrality, the FCC’s website received an onslaught of comments against the repeal. Most simply voiced support for Obama’s policy, but some spat racist vitriol at Pai, who is a child of Indian immigrants, or even threatened his life. Trolls tracked down review pages for his wife’s medical practice and filled them with abusive one-star reviews. Perhaps unwisely, Pai kept trying to fight back on the internet’s own terms. He jousted with celebrities and nobodies on social media. He staged self-conscious stunts, like appearing in a video entitled “7 Things You Can Still Do on the Internet After Net Neutrality,” in which he posed as a Jedi and danced to “Harlem Shake” with a bunch of young conservatives. But the video just inflamed the internet. On Twitter, Mark Hamill—Luke Skywalker himself—jeered at Pai, calling him “profoundly unworthy” to wield a lightsaber. Someone else quickly identified a young woman dancing next to Pai as a right-wing conspiracy theorist who had helped spread “Pizzagate,” a hoax scandal from the lunatic fringe that linked Hillary Clinton to a child-abuse ring.

At a meeting of the FCC in November 2017, Ajit Pai drank from the novelty cup he finds so amusing—and his critics love to hate.

Zach Gibson/Bloomberg via Getty Images

On December 14, as that spectacle of Pai cavorting with the far right was zipping around the world, the FCC commissioners met to consider the fate of net neutrality. Demonstrators rallied outside the agency’s headquarters, but Pai appeared unperturbed as he and his four fellow commissioners filed into a fluorescent-lit chamber. By Washington tradition, the FCC’s membership is divided, with two seats picked by the opposition’s congressional leaders. His two Republican colleagues spoke in favor of the repeal, while the two Democrats offered harsh dissents. The chair had the final word. “The internet has enriched my own life immeasurably,” Pai said. “In the past few days alone, I’ve set up a FaceTime call with my parents and kids, downloaded interesting podcasts about blockchain technology, I’ve ordered a burrito, I’ve managed my playoff-bound fantasy football team. And—as many of you might have seen—I’ve tweeted. What is responsible for the phenomenal development of the internet? Well, it certainly wasn’t heavy-handed government regulation.”

As Pai spoke, there was furtive commotion in the back of the room. A hulking armed guard stepped forward. “On advice of security, we need to take a brief recess,” Pai said abruptly, and then stood up and hurried out a side door. A murmur went through the audience: bomb threat.

The room was evacuated and searched. Eventually everyone returned and Pai called for a vote. The repeal passed, 3–2. Pai took a satisfied sip from his much-maligned coffee mug.

People who know Pai swear that his nerdy persona is authentic. And even his adversaries will admit that he’s an anomaly in the Trump administration: a skillful practitioner of the Washington game. Pai has spent his entire professional life in the capital, acquiring influential patrons (Mitch McConnell, Jeff Sessions) and insider expertise. As Harold Feld, an ardent critic who works for the consumer advocacy group Public Knowledge, laments, “Why was my area of policy the one that got the guy who actually knows what he’s doing?”

Behind Pai’s brainy, technocratic mask, though, is an alter ego: ruthless conservative ideologue. In this sense, he is emblematic of Trump’s Washington, where all debates—even the bone-dry bureaucratic ones—have become so heated that they are fought like matters of life and death. Pai’s competence has allowed him to make quick work of undoing the Obama administration’s legacy at the FCC. But his polarizing politics assure that the battle over internet regulation will keep raging. “I like Ajit Pai personally, although I don’t want to defend him in public,” admits another net neutrality supporter. “But you’re not allowed to try to destroy the internet and then be treated well by the internet. The internet should hate him.”

Pai may be a creature of Washington, but he still presents himself as a provincial at heart. He grew up in the small town of Parsons, Kansas, where his parents, both Indian-born doctors, practiced at a county hospital. Pai’s connections to the wider world were AM radio and his family’s satellite television dish. Today many rural communities are without broadband internet access, an issue Pai often addresses publicly. “I’ve been to many, many towns around this country, and I’ve seen how people are on the wrong side of that digital divide,” Pai told students at his old high school in Parsons last September. (He declined to be interviewed for this article.) He told the assembly about a momentous occasion: meeting Trump in the Oval Office for the first time. “You walk out and you see the grandeur of the White House and you think about the fact that you just met the most powerful person in the world, and I couldn’t help but think about a kid I used to know 30 years before,” Pai said. “He was a shy kid, bushy mustache, bushy hair, really awkward talking to people, just didn’t quite know what was going on. He was, candidly, a dork.”

Pai could argue, though, that dorkiness was his ticket out of Parsons. He was a top-flight debater in high school and, later, at Harvard. He arrived in Cambridge as a Democrat, but under the influence of a professor, Martin Feldstein, who had advised Ronald Reagan, he adopted a conservative free-market philosophy. Pai was also put off by the racial politics on Harvard’s campus. After the 1992 race riots in Los Angeles, his residential house invited students to post their feelings on a wall—a literal, brick-and-mortar one. Though a minority himself, Pai was skeptical of liberal identity politics, and he wrote that “the real problem” when it came to race at Harvard was “voluntary segregation.”

“Pai is very much casting his lot with this Trump revolution.”

Pai graduated from Harvard in 1994, a year in which two developments emerged that would shape the course of his professional life. That October, Netscape released the first commercially successful web browser, opening the way for the modern internet. A month later, the Republican Party won control of Congress. The spirit of Newt Gingrich’s “Republican Revolution” was strong at the University of Chicago, where Pai had just started law school. He belonged to the Edmund Burke Society, a vocal conservative group, but also studied with Cass Sunstein, a brilliant liberal scholar of administrative law. (Gigi Sohn—a Democrat and net neutrality advocate who worked at the FCC when Pai was there—told me that after a controversial vote, she saw Pai vehemently arguing with someone who had disparaged his knowledge of administrative law on Twitter. Explaining his anger later, he told her: “I got an A in Cass Sunstein’s administrative law class!”)

When Pai later moved to Washington, he joined a cohort of young conservatives who were impassioned about curtailing regulation. “Ajit was a type, as were a lot of his friends from Chicago, that would geek out about the differences in originalist philosophy of Scalia and Thomas,” says a friend from the time, Ketan Jhaveri. “And how to use that to get the government to do less.”

In 1998, Pai joined the Justice Department as a junior attorney in the antitrust division. He was assigned to a task force overseeing the telecommunications industry, which was going through a period of upheaval. Deregulation had contributed to a boom in dot-com stocks, huge investment in broadband, and a wave of telecom mergers. In 2000, Pai took part in an investigation that eventually blocked the proposed merger of WorldCom and Sprint, partly because it stood to give one company a dominant percentage of the internet’s “backbone” infrastructure.

Protesters, like these in Chicago, came out in force to support Obama-era net neutrality regulations. But the Republican-majority FCC repealed the rules on December 14.

Scott Olson/Getty Images

The concern, then as now, was that the company that owned the pipes could also manipulate the flow of data. For practical purposes, some traffic management was essential, but the academics and engineers who pioneered the internet could already foresee how that control could lead to abuses such as blocking access to websites and “throttling”—or deliberately slowing—the connections of certain consumers. In 2002, a young law professor named Tim Wu wrote a short paper that he titled “A Proposal for Network Neutrality.” He framed the issue in modest terms, suggesting a standard that regulators could use to decide which methods of network management should be permitted (for the valid purpose of directing traffic) and which should be banned (for distorting the fundamental openness of the internet).

“I was sure it was a complete waste of time,” Wu recalls of that paper. But the phrase “net neutrality” caught on. Over time the concept has come to mean something far more sweeping, invoked to protect not just bits of data but free speech, personal privacy, innovation, and most every other public good associated with the internet. (Pai has called it “one of the more seductive marketing slogans that’s ever been attached to a public policy issue.”)

The world of telecommunications law is small, and Wu says he crossed paths with Pai around the time he came up with the concept of net neutrality. “Back in the day, he used to throw pretty good parties,” Wu said. Pai was active in the Federalist Society, the intellectual center of the conservative legal scene, but he was a bipartisan networker. He used to arrange large happy hour events, sending out mass email invitations that took the form of clever limericks. “Everyone knew his politics, but it was kind of like a joke,” says Jhaveri, who worked with Pai at the Justice Department and is now a tech entrepreneur. “A lot of our close friends were liberal and would give him a hard time about it, but all in good fun.”

After the Justice Department, Pai went to work at Verizon as a corporate attorney, but his foray into the private sector lasted just two years. He went on to Capitol Hill as an aide to two of the most conservative members of the Senate: first Sessions, from Alabama, and then Sam Brownback, who represented Pai’s home state of Kansas. Unlike his bosses, Pai was not a fire-breather on social issues, but he could see who was on the ascent in Washington during George W. Bush’s presidency. Finally, in 2007, Pai found his natural place at the FCC, taking a midlevel position in the general counsel’s office.

Established in 1934 to oversee radio airwaves and the Bell telephone monopoly, the FCC is one of those government institutions that conceals its importance behind an impenetrable veneer of boringness. The agency has historically had a dynamic of symbiosis—to put it politely—with the companies it oversees. FCC staffers deal mainly with lobbyists, and often become lobbyists, shuttling back and forth between K Street and the “8th Floor,” as the commissioners’ suites are known in Washington.