#a little more and I may try some new applications and see if I actually get past screening for fucking once

[pearl-kite]

found a site that scores your resume based on like, ATS shit and whatnot, and my issue may be a clunky resume

but HOW do you list QUANTITATIVE achievements from a classroom when you don't have access to that data anymore? I don't remember how many points my students went up on their MAP tests four years ago! I don't know a quantitative measure of how effective MY lessons were vs another class because I was almost always the only teacher of that grade, so who KNOWS how much better students did with me

[taintedges]

*tiny little polished shoes running across igneous rock* inkblade headcanons perchance?

You can’t just say perchance!

However, I am absolutely honored to be asked. All takes place after junior year.

This one, I thought of after the little epilogue they had. With them hinting that Adaine and Aelwyn will hunt their mother down maybe during summer break, they will probably need a little party of their own to do that.

So the rest of the bad kids are busy. Kristen and her four-god pantheon, Riz trying and failing to de-stress, Fig’s podcast with Sandra Lynn ep. 69, Fabian buffing up to welcome his new sibling, Gorgug probably busy in his new bench with Mary Ann. And going back to the forest of Sylvaire is certainly going to be difficult for just two wizards.

Jawbone trying to both be a helpful parent and school counselor, suggests they bring trg or now high five heroes(?), let's face it they need some practical applications outside school.

Adaine absolutely hates this idea and does not think another wizard would be useful (she strongly emphasizes that Oisin should be excluded)

Aelwyn provides her own sassy remarks but surprisingly becomes the mediator when an argument happens, which is often.. usually when Oisin tries to refine parts of the plan and puts forward his many “better” ideas which, of course, he has.

And even when Adaine admits to herself that his plan makes more sense she doesn’t ever give up an argument. At first, Oisin doesn’t reciprocate but his cattiness comes out and the whole thing just escalates.

During travel when the silence is too awkward, Oisin will start talking about a book he really likes, and Adaine just roasts his taste even though she probably thinks the opposite.

They may have saved each other from dying multiple times in combat and will awkwardly say thank you after.

There are times when the forest gets too dark and Adaine remembers the last time she was there and how scary it was to face her fears alone. She often wonders if it was the same when Oisin died before getting forced with a rage star in him.

Sometimes they stay up talking at night when she can’t trance and finds him the only one still awake.

When they start to become familiar with each other’s magic, they become totally in sync during a battle (the rest of the group pretends not to notice how good they work together).

Sometimes Oisin wonders how Adaine would know something about his magic that he didn’t talk about (in my head, when tbk snooped around Ruben’s house and Adaine was in his wizard’s tower, I think she studied everything she found and probably took some of his stuff too, perhaps his quill and Oisin certainly notice it missing and wonders how it got into Adaine’s backpack. He doesn’t take the quill back after seeing that Adaine likes using it.)

Adaine also would threaten Oisin to teach her how he created the spells inside ping pong balls all while making remarks about what he did.

Oisin carries Boggy around when the familiar doesn’t immediately follow Adaine. Adaine just assumes Boggy always follows her and Oisin secretly likes stealing Boggy, who is just happy to be here because he now has two parents.

I think Oisin’s crush on Adaine dissipates and only comes back 10x harder at the end of their quest when he sees how capable she is.

Here’s a fun one. Coming back after their adventure, a party at Seacaster Manor in anticipation for senior year.

Adaine gets drunk on bad baby milk and insists on playing beer pong with Oisin.

Ivy is teasing because Oisin actually cannot make a shot (for real, not on purpose).

The drunker Adaine gets the more careless she becomes and hurls the ping pong ball at Oisin and boy do they hurt.

Bickering starts and tbk and trg are no help until Ragh intervenes and puts them on time-out upstairs. Bad idea.

Probably for the first time, Adaine admits that she thought he was cute and bluntly asks him if it was all a ruse to undermine her party and WHY HE MESSAGED HER SORRY AT THE CAFETERIA he could have just not said anything and left her alone.

Oisin does admit that he did like her then and he still likes her now, but the rest of senior year is just Oisin groveling.

Adaine has many times placed ping pong balls with spells written in them in his locker so that when he opens it, his things just fly out and he has to clean it up (I rewatched the scene and Adaine’s really disappointed expression tells me she will not let this go). trg finds this absolutely hilarious and are the ones who kept telling her his locker combinations.

Oisin continues therapy sessions with Jawbone and they find each other there after school.

One time Adaine accidentally left Boggy in Jawbone’s office so Oisin comes to her after to return him.

And every single time after that, Adaine just leaves Boggy on purpose. Jawbone notices (because Boggy just stares at him with his big round eyes. Boggy knows what to do even when Adaine doesn't tell him) but doesn’t say a thing.

One time, tbk are outside on one of the benches when Oisin comes to return Boggy, Kristen’s like, "What’s going on are you co-parenting?"

There’s no formal conversation, just a mutual understanding that Adaine isn’t angry anymore and trusts Oisin to always bring Boggy back.

Do they talk during these interactions? Not at first. But after it became a routine, now they hang out in the library, in Mordred Manor, and of course at Basrar’s.

Some days, Adaine doesn’t leave Boggy at all and Oisin just knows to find her at the end of the day.

This might have been too long.

I cannot write romance for the life of me but I try. Perchance these would suffice because this is a crisis and we are in drought!

INKBLADE NATION WE MAY HAVE LOST THE BATTLE BUT WE STAY WINNING THE WAR!

[cottonlemonade]

All That Matters

word count: 1812 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: UniversityAU! Oikawa x chubby!Reader

genre: angst, pining, fake dating kinda

warnings: none, just good ol’ Oikawa angst

synopsis: You and Oikawa are friends. After an argument he saves you from some drunks.

> you never suspected Oikawa to have interest in you in any way other than platonically

> how could you when he rolled up to group hangouts with a new girl every couple of months

> the fact that his girlfriends always dumped him because he never had time for them or seemed distracted didn‘t occur to you, you just figured he may have become bored with them

> the fact that his eyes were only on you when you hugged and kissed your boyfriend after a game went completely unnoticed by you (but not by his girlfriends, leading to some of them lashing out at you without any context)

> you didn’t question that he came to every one of your games (often excusing himself from a date to do so)

> although, it wasn‘t as if Oikawa wasn‘t trying to make it work with every new girlfriend - it was just that … ultimately … none of them came close to you

> but he didn‘t allow himself to go after you - for one, you already had a boyfriend and for another, he knew he wouldn‘t be able to keep a relationship going for long and then what? He couldn‘t lose you. So rather than finding a healthy way to maybe reduce his insane training sessions and obsession with becoming the best allround player, he put on his signature smile and sweet voice to tease you instead.

> you’d been friends since his first week at university when you stood in front of the group of new applicants to the volleyball club, clipboard in hand, looking so unassuming with your soft and chubby figure and adorable smile that his jaw literally dropped when you spiked a ball right past him during the initiation match

> you looked out for everyone, making sure that they remembered their breaks and had given him a talking to more than once, when you first noticed him struggling and never hesitated to encourage him when he felt like he wasn’t good enough (which somehow you always immediately noticed, no matter how hard he tried to hide it)

> always kind, always sweet, always genuine… selfless and on top of that a talented volleyball player - he never had a chance to not fall for you

Today was a bad day for Oikawa.

Sure, he had gotten top marks for a paper and was greeted by another pile of love letters when he opened his dorm room door but his knee was acting up again and to top it all off you had a bit of trouble with your boyfriend.

The latter would typically give him nothing but private selfish joy but it was how you reacted to it that bothered him.

„Why do you let him get away with it?“, he asked, feeling his sweet manner slipping.

„Get away with what?“, you laugh, setting the ball for him to practise his spike, „It‘s no big deal. I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for it.“

„For hanging out with another girl when he says he can’t make it to training?“

„I trust him.“, you simply say with a shrug, „I‘ll hear him out first before jumping to conclusions. He should be here soon.“

Another set and his spike landed perfectly in the corner of the field.

„Nice! One more and then we‘ll cool down for today.“, you announce, letting the ball bounce once, twice before tossing it in the air to set.

„Don‘t you see he is just using you?“, Oikawa asks quietly. He hadn‘t meant to say it out loud. He knew it wasn‘t true. He didn’t actually think your boyfriend was cheating. He knew how devoted that idiot was to you but he hated how angry he was that you were in a loving relationship right in front of him. He felt so childish.

You caught the ball as it came down.

„Using me?“, you frowned, then laughed a little awkwardly, „Come on, Oikawa-Kun, you don‘t really believe that, do you?“

He really really didn‘t. Balling his fists he stared at the ground.

“Of course he is. He is just using you until someone better comes along.“

Your sharp intake of breath let him know he had gone too far.

He didn‘t dare to look at you. You just stood there, not knowing what to say, the silence between you slowly becoming deafening.

Then your boyfriend‘s voice suddenly called from the entrance, “Hey, is my love ready to go?“

“Yep, coming!”

With another glance at Oikawa, you walked to the bleachers to grab your bag.

Then you came back over to where he was still standing as if rooted to the spot. You handed him the gym keys.

“Please don’t stay much longer. Your knee needs some rest, alright? Make sure to cool it when you get home and have a proper dinner. No cup ramen tonight, okay?”

He only mumbled something in response and you walked to your boyfriend who took your bag and greeted you with a kiss.

A few days later you went out to dinner with some friends for some serious catching up. Your spirits soaring high and your tummy warm of friendship and good food you made your way to the underground station to wait for your train home.

It didn’t take long for a group of drunk men to spot you standing by yourself in the almost empty station. Your Japanese was pretty fluent but apparently not good enough to understand all their slurred remarks, although you had a pretty good idea from the few words you caught.

But not to worry, the train would be here soon. You only wished you hadn’t forgotten your headphones so you could drown them out.

The few other people on the platform didn’t react as the drunks kept on whistling and hollering and your annoyance turned to alarm when they kept on moving closer, pushing each other.

You tensed and, as if just wanting to read the schedule, walked further away from them to the bulletin board.

From the other side of the station, Oikawa walked down the stairs, hands in his pockets, tired and ready for bed after a long study session. He privately rolled his eyes when he heard the drunk men cheering and calling, almost deciding to head to the next station when he realized that they were seemingly harassing a woman.

His jaw tensed and he hurried down the last couple of steps determined to intervene - ready for anything. Except to see a familiar figure and the (h/c) hair of the girl they were gradually moving in on.

His heart pounding, he fell into a small jog.

You were tapping on your phone, thinking about calling your boyfriend to calm your nerves. The drunks were getting closer now, so close you could smell the smoke from their cigarettes and the alcohol on their breath. Your fingers began to shake when you heard hastened steps and closed your eyes, your legs ready to run or kick.

“There you are.”, a mercifully sweet, familiar voice said and you had never been so glad to see anyone in your entire life. You looked up into Oikawa‘s dark eyes.

He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and kissed your temple.

“I’m sorry it took so long, princess.”, he said, brushing your hair out of your face and smiling brightly, „Thank you for waiting.“

The drunks called another few things you didn’t understand, then muttered something and turned around to go back to the other end of the station.

“Oh my god, thank you so much.”, you said, hugging him, his heart stung when he felt you shaking. He laid one hand on the back of your head and tugged a little at your waist to pull you even closer. Of course only to keep up the charade that he was your boyfriend.

“Are you alright?”, he asked gently, lips brushing against your temple again, trying to keep in mind not to get too carried away.

You nodded against his chest.

Forcing himself to let you go, he laced his fingers with yours, his heart hammering against his ribs at the feeling of your warmth.

“I’m… I’m sorry I missed training yesterday.”, he said, his voice so faint you barely heard it.

“That’s okay… I was just worried that I did something wrong.”

His eyes widened slightly and he shook his head, “No! Nono, you didn’t do anything.”

You relaxed further, even giving a small laugh at his urgency.

“It had nothing to do with you, it was… my … thing.”

You furrowed your brow.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Oikawa shook his head and, wanting to underline the boyfriend aspect again, raised your fingers to his mouth, throwing a careful glance over his shoulder.

His lips didn’t touch your skin, but you were close enough to feel the heat radiating from his face and from afar it would look convincing.

“So, what brings you here on this fine night?”, he asked conversationally, wanting very badly to change the topic.

He was a little disappointed when the train finally arrived, realizing how much he had missed talking to you even only for those few days and was about to say goodbye when two of the drunks were boarding the cart as well.

Seeing the look on your face and the uncomfortable shift in your seat, Oikawa slipped through the doors as they were closing and took the seat next to you. For good measure he draped his arm around your shoulder, leaning his cheek on the top of your head.

“Sorry, this must be so weird for you.”, he whispered and you chuckled.

“Thank you, though.”

He smiled and didn’t let you go until you were at the right stop.

Later when he was home in bed, thinking about what happened, Oikawa rolled over to the side and thought about you and your boyfriend again.

You were together. You were happy together.

And really, you weren’t that great. For example, it was so annoying how you… or when you…

He was pathetic.

For the next half an hour he tried his hardest to make a mental list of reasons why you and him shouldn't be together. In the end there was exactly one reason. Groaning in frustration he turned on some music to drown out the list of reasons why you would be great together - why he wanted, no, needed you so badly.

Why did he have so many love songs in his playlists?!

He jumped when he got a text from you. It was not like you were doing this on purpose. He stared at the short Thank You message for minutes, his gaze drawn to the little yellow heart at the end of it, reminding himself over and over that you were happy with the idiot. And in the end, that was all that mattered. That you were happy.

art: Oikawa himself tbf

✨@rinnndoll 👋🏻 ✨

[magicshopaholic]

A Night of Firsts

Summary: Yoongi spends the night in the studio with the last person he wants to be with. Seokjin prepares for an important dinner.

Pairing: Seokjin x OC, Yoongi x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Best friends, coworkers; mild humour, banter, awkwardness, tension, angst

Word count: 12.8 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, smoking, mentions of pregnancy and sex

A/N: Tried something here (read: this isn't regular angst; it's cool angst). Takes place a couple of months after New Year’s Eve Eve. Banner by the lovely @hobeemin - thank you, Beezy <3

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive @faearchives @margopinkerton @dreaming-with-happiness @confessionsofamarshlily @purpleseoul7

Listen to: "black sun" by death cab for cutie

seokjin masterlist | yoongi masterlist | main masterlist

“That was good.”

Yoongi’s voice takes on an encouraging lilt that sounds rather unfamiliar - to Miso at least. She turns and gives him a blank look, just enough to convey her acknowledgement of his tone.  

The young idol in the recording booth stutters a thank you, while Yoongi returns Miso’s glance with a slight raise of the eyebrows.

Miso struggles not to roll her eyes and speaks into the mic, pausing the track. “Yeah - but try it again, a little calmer and relaxed this time?”

The idol - his name escapes her - nods and repeats the line, his clear soprano ringing through the speakers. “How was that?” he asks expectantly.

She forces a smile onto her face with remarkable ease. “So good.” Keeping the expression frozen on her face, she turns off the mic and tilts her head towards Yoongi. “You see that was exactly the same as before, right?” she mutters.

Yoongi purses his lips to suppress a smile; once in a while, when Miso’s snark and sarcasm isn’t directed at him, she can actually be funny.

“He just needs some time,” he replies and turns on the mic again. “That was better, Jungwon,” he says to the idol, whose eyes seem to mist over at the compliment. “Let’s do one more take for comparison. This time, can you go a little higher at the end? It’ll sound more playful, natural. Yeah? Okay, let’s go.”

Jungwon sings the same line again, and even Miso can’t help but raise her eyebrows at the improvement. 

“Damn,” she mutters, giving him a thumbs up from behind the plexiglass. “What superpower is that?”

“Practical feedback,” supplies Yoongi, giving Jungwon a rare smile of approval. “You tell them what to do instead of what you want. Makes a world of difference.”

“Huh.” Miso nods, apparently impressed. “Guess it’s a good thing I got assigned to you. You may have a lot to teach me.”

“I don’t think this assignment is going to last that long,” he quips, giving her an innocent shrug as she smiles widely in response to his sarcasm.

“Um, hyung,” stutters Jungwon from inside. “I’m - I’m getting a call from my manager, so can I - can I -”

“Yeah, of course.” Yoongi shakes his head slightly as the door to the studio swings shut. “He needs to relax,” he mutters.

“That was the feedback I gave him. Wasn’t applicable enough, apparently,” adds Miso, swinging slightly in her chair. “Shall we listen to what we have so far?”

Yoongi motions for her to play it and leans back in his swivelling chair, crossing his fingers on his stomach and closing his eyes. The audio plays, nearly three hours worth of Jungwon’s hard work and almost a day’s of their own in production. Miso is equally silent until the track ends and for a few moments after, until Yoongi winces slightly.

“It’s not our best work,” he admits, sighing. “Maybe it’ll be better once we get that bridge arrangement from Donghyuk. He should send it over in a bit.”

“Can’t we just ask him how long it’ll take?” she asks, already reaching for her phone. “If it’s going to take all night, the least we can do is get some sleep before working on it in the morning.” She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “God, I hope it takes all night.”

“You would think,” he says, stretching and rolling his chair closer to the controls, “but we need to mix the whole thing tonight. Marketing wants a sample in the morning so they can decide whether or not it can go in the soundtrack package of the group’s video game.”

Miso is quiet for a moment. “In that case, it can’t get done fast enough. I’m going to go next door and follow up with Donghyuk.” 

“Be my guest,” he mutters, putting on a pair of headphones.

She’s about to leave when she stops and turns, the door half open. “Maybe we can sweet talk Marketing into giving us an extension. What was that manager’s name again? Seulgi?”

—

“Wait, what’s his girlfriend’s name again? Seulgi?”

Nari shrugs noncommittally as the elevator pings and opens up on Seokjin’s floor. They step out into the dim lighting, Nari’s heart jerking uncomfortably with every beat. The closer she gets to this dinner, the more it feels like a terrible idea. 

But Seokjin proposed it - a double date - and she had no choice, especially when he offered it at a high school reunion, surrounded by their hometown and their old friends. It was Seokjin’s way of extending an olive branch. That far away from their everyday lives, it felt easier to talk to each other again, even forget for a moment how messed up everything was between them. It was a glimpse of their old friendship and Nari did what was necessary to hold on to it, which included saying yes to dinner with Seokjin and his new girlfriend.

A few feet away from his apartment, she halts. “Jason,” she begins, turning to him. Tall and freshly showered, in a black button-down with the sleeves folded halfway up his forearms, it occurs to her suddenly just how much she owes him for accompanying her tonight.

He tilts his head slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just… thank you for this. I know it’s probably a little awkward because it’s technically a double date and you and I aren’t…” She trails off and is relieved to see him shrug easily. “But I’m glad you’re here. I owe you.” She doesn’t know how to word the fact that she’s glad there will be one person in her corner tonight, but from the knowing nod he gives her, he might just know.

Jason squints for a moment and pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It’s no big deal. Honestly, from what you’re telling me, I may be the only person for whom this night won’t be awkward,” he points out. “And besides, anything to get out of the hospital tonight. If I have to listen to Heejin brag one more time about the cool bone graft surgery she stole from me, I might throw a shoe at her head.”

Nari pauses. “So… you’re saying I’m doing you a favour as much as you’re doing me one?”

“Probably not as big, but, yeah.”

“Works for me.” Exhaling and forcing a smile, she begins walking again, this time not stopping until she’s actually in front of Seokjin’s door. She rings the doorbell, when Jason suddenly swears under his breath. “What?”

“Damn it, I forgot my inhaler in the car.” He pats his pockets. “I’ll be back in one minute, okay?” Patting her shoulder and ignoring her frantic shaking of the head, he jogs down the corridor and presses the elevator button, stepping in just as the front door opens.

“Hey.” Seokjin gives her a small smile and steps aside, motioning for her to enter. Nari steps inside, the familiarity of the hall making her nervous. “Where’s Jason?”

“Um, he forgot something in the car. He should be up in a minute.”

“Oh. Okay.” Seokjin shuts the door, their shoulders brushing momentarily. He’s in black, too, the collar of his shirt open and the hollow of his neck exposed. He’s in slacks, though, and barefoot, something oddly and heartbreakingly domestic about it.

Nari slips off her shoes and follows him inside, somewhat regretting her decision to wear make-up tonight and trying to remember the last time she was in this house. It looks exactly the same, except for minor differences. She sets her bag inside by one of the chairs and is about to sit on the sofa out of habit, but stops herself at the last minute.

“This is for you,” she says, suddenly remembering. Retrieving a bottle of red wine from her tote bag, she hands it to him.

“Wow, thank you.” Seokjin nods and briefly skims the label. “That’s really nice.” He walks over to the open kitchen and places the bottle on the island where plates, cutlery and napkins are neatly stacked, ready for use. Pausing, he turns to her again.

“Do you want a drink?”

“I’m on call.”

Seokjin falls silent and nods. It occurs to Nari that he may have wanted a drink, but was trying to be polite. She considers asking for a glass of wine anyway when he speaks.

“Is Jason alright?”

“What? Yeah, I guess.” She shrugs. “We parked a little way down the street. Where’s, uh…”

Seokjin’s eyes shutter over slightly. “Seulgi.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Stuck in traffic. She should be here any minute.”

Silence again. Nari half-wishes she’d declined this dinner - or accepted the drink. Neither of those options would even come close to fixing anything, but they might have made this particular moment less unpleasant or completely non-existent.

“Thanks for coming.” Seokjin tries again. “I was a little afraid you might decide not to.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

There’s a moment where they hold each other’s gaze and she thinks he’s about to retort. She almost wants him to, not wanting to be the only one making this night uncomfortable. But then he simply nods once and looks away, slipping his hands in his pocket.

Nari swallows, already feeling a trickle of shame creeping up her throat at that jab. “The food smells great,” she ventures, and the smell wafting from the kitchen instantly seems stronger.

Seokjin cracks a smile. “Thanks. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, definitely. Kind of skipped lunch, so…”

He looks like he’s about to ask, but visibly changes tacks. “It’s bulgogi and japchae,” he states.

“Sounds good.” The awkward silence this time feels like a physical attack so she continues with reckless abandon. “By the way, you didn’t - you didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” she stammers, gesturing to the kitchen. “We could’ve just ordered in.”

“Oh, it was no problem,” he says immediately, shaking his head. “Unless… do you want to order in? We - we can, if you want -”

“No, no, of course not -”

“It’s really okay -”

Mercifully, the doorbell rings just then and both Seokjin and Nari break off abruptly. Exchanging a gaze of pure panic and a mutual relief, Seokjin moves past her to get to the door.

—

Meanwhile, Yoongi is hanging on to his last vestiges of patience. 

“Jungwon,” he says deliberately into the mic, “it’s not a contest. Okay? It’s a song about freedom. You’re not a trainee anymore and you’re not going to get cut at the end of the night.” Giving him an encouraging nod, he takes his finger off the button and sits back in the chair. 

“Trainwreck,” mutters Miso, sounding as annoyed as he feels. 

“Don’t,” he warns her quietly. “We can’t have him getting discouraged right now. He needs to finish recording this tonight.”

“Discouraged?” She frowns at him, looking slightly incredulous. “I think we passed discouraged a while ago. He looks like he’s about to burst into tears. You have maybe… twenty minutes before that bomb goes off.”

She’s right, Yoongi realises with some dread. “Jungwon!” he calls into the mic. “You’re doing great!”

Next to him, Miso snorts. “Dude, that convinced no one.”

“Not helping,” he hisses. “You know what, Jungwon? Take five. Go get a coffee and come back, and we’ll take it from the top.”

The young idol lowers his head, looking crestfallen, and slowly trudges out of the studio. 

Yoongi watches him leave before turning to Miso. “You know, you could try and help him through this.”

She raises her eyebrows. “And what is this exactly?”

“The - the process. Encourage him a little bit, make him feel like he belongs here. He’s just a kid.”

“A - he’s twenty-two,” she corrects him, looking unimpressed. “And I’m sorry, okay? I’m not his therapist - it’s not my job to hold his hand. My job was to mix the instrumentals and come up with a complete arrangement, which is what I spent all day doing,” she reminds him. “I gave you six options and at least one of them is decent.”

Unfortunately, Yoongi cannot argue with this, for she did provide him with a range of choices for the final mixing session. They’re better than decent; in fact, he’s having trouble choosing between two of them. She’s not a prodigy, but she’s talented - and is coming alarmingly close to churning out the kind of music he genuinely approves of.

But he isn’t about to admit any of this to her. Compliments with Miso are like navigating a field of landmines: take one wrong step and the dynamic between them is instantly changed.

“Working with the singer is also part of this job,” he tells her instead. “So is encouraging them and getting the best out of them. Or they’ll do a subpar job of it and your precious arrangements won’t matter because the finished song will suck.”

Miso sighs. “Fine. Let him come back and I’ll try to coddle him through the process. Just… stop pretending he’s a child.”

“You have no idea what he’s had to go through to get here,” he argues. “He was a trainee for four years. It’s absolute hell. The ones who are lucky enough to debut come out with more armour than you’ll know.”

“Seriously? Armour?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond, his cheeks heating up slightly. It’s something he never realised he did, saying things that sounded more dramatic than he intended. But Miso noticed, and picked up on it. It was one of many quirks in each other that they noted and leveraged, and this one annoyed him just as much as the others.

“Yes, armour,” he repeats, opening up one of Miso’s arrangement files from earlier today.

“Is it armour that’s keeping him here -” She checks her phone, “- three hours longer than he was meant to be?”

“It is, actually. It’s called hard work and sacrifice.”

The insult in his tone doesn’t escape her. “And obviously, I have no concept of either of those things,” she says sarcastically.

“Your words, not mine.”

“So that is what you’re saying.”

Yoongi finally turns to her, giving her a look. “Wasn’t that a limited edition Range Rover I saw dropping you off this morning?”

It’s Miso’s turn to flush, but she doesn’t look away. “I fail to see what business that is of yours,” she says coldly.

“People who get dropped off to work in their father’s fancy cars aren’t known for things like sacrifice, is all.” He adjusts a few settings and plays the track again but at low volume. It’s the third option Miso sent him earlier today; he overlays the audio on it and they listen to Jungwon’s latest attempt.

They’re silent for a minute and a half while the music plays, possibly the longest ninety seconds of Yoongi’s life.

“Well,” says Miso finally, when the track ends abruptly, “I think that’s enough sacrifice for one night. I think I need a smoke. You know, to let all of that armoured talent wash over my privileged self,” she adds dryly, getting up. “If you can take a break from Jungwon’s masterpiece for a minute, you’re welcome to join me.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer her, staring sullenly at the rubbish recording they have so far. It’s going to be a long night, and his options right now are attempting to salvage a second-rate audio sample or hanging out one on one with Kang Miso.

The answer comes surprisingly simply to him.

“Hey, wait up,” he says a moment later, pushing his chair back and standing up, feeling his knees stretch. “I could use a smoke, too.”

—

It’s only been an hour and yet, it feels like one of the longest nights of Seokjin’s life. He can’t tell exactly what’s wrong, though - other than everything. 

Seulgi and Jason arrived together, giving him and Nari some respite from the painful awkwardness that seems to have replaced two decades of friendship. After the initial ten minutes which consisted of introductions, typical small talk and serving of drinks, he was forced to acknowledge the lack of talking points in common between two doctors and two people in entertainment.

Jason, for his part, seems to be the only person keeping the conversation going with ease. Seokjin suspects Nari would have filled him in somewhat on the situation, but he can’t imagine what she would have said exactly. My best friend that you met that I slept with and told my mom was a no-go from the dating angle but still asked if he had feelings for me and got upset when he lied and then had a pregnancy scare with followed by months of tense conversation is inviting us to dinner with the girlfriend he met when he was supposed to meet me at a party?

It seems far too wordy, even for Nari. She seems to be cordial enough to Seulgi, though, whom Seokjin can’t thank enough for being so graceful even after a long day of arguing with producers, only to end the day having dinner with her boyfriend and the best friend he hooked up with.

“Oh, Jason,” she says, after a brief recalling of the discussion she had earlier today with Yoongi and his abrasive assistant producer, “your glass is empty. Do you want a refill?”

“Sure, thanks,” he replies, smiling and moving to stand up from his place on the sofa. But Seulgi motions for him to stay, already gliding towards the kitchen island where the opened bottle of wine is placed and bringing it back. “Thank you,” he repeats when she pours him a generous serving.

“You’re welcome. Nari?” She looks over at Nari, who’s said about eight words in the last hour. “Are you sure I can’t get you a drink? Even a small one?”

Nari pauses for a moment before answering, her facial muscles moving in what could be the beginning of a forced smile, but doesn’t reach all the way. “Like I said, I’m on call,” she says. Then, in a slightly lower voice, she adds, “Just like I was twenty minutes ago.”

Seulgi pokes her tongue into her cheek and her gaze falls slightly. She looks like she’s about to say something but finally decides not to, straightening up and placing the bottle on a coaster on the coffee table. 

Seokjin stares at Nari. “It can be non-alcoholic. Ginger ale or… lemonade or something?”

She gives him the briefest of glances. “I’m really okay.”

There’s another terse silence during which Seokjin resists the urge to close his eyes and sigh. He stares into his own glass of wine, the same one he’d started the night with. Much as he’d like to drown his annoyance in alcohol, he’s honestly a little afraid of what he might say if he drinks too much, and the last thing he needs is for this night to become any more uncomfortable.

“Uh, Seokjin,” begins Jason, making him look up. “Nari tells me you cook. The food smells great, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” he responds, nodding a little too hard. “In fact - shall we eat? If everyone’s hungry?”

There’s an awkward chorus of yeses and of courses as everyone gets to their feet and shuffles towards the dining table, a simple and elegant eight-seater adjacent to the kitchen. Seokjin stops at the kitchen and begins gathering the various serving dishes when someone approaches him.

“Need a hand?” Jason offers good-naturedly.

“Uh… yeah, sure. Thanks.”

They begin assembling cutlery and Seokjin turns on the stove for a few seconds to heat the food. It occurs to him that Nari and Seulgi are alone at the table; it makes him vaguely anxious.

Almost as if Jason is reading his mind, he speaks, forcing Seokjin out of his reverie.

“By the way, thanks for having us over.” He waits until Seokjin looks at him. “Obviously, the food looks amazing and… Seulgi seems great.”

“Thanks.” Seokjin nods, feeling an unexpected gratitude towards him. “She is. And… glad you guys could make it. I know you work a lot.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Nari’s best friend, right?” He half-chuckles, sounding a bit uncomfortable now. “Also, she’s not… she - she’s been working really long hours lately. Lost a patient yesterday… I’m guessing she hasn’t got a lot of sleep.”

It takes Seokjin a moment to realise this information is meant to be an explanation for Nari’s behaviour tonight, meaning he isn’t imagining it. He turns off the stove but doesn’t move, wondering how he’s supposed to respond to this. He gives Jason a sideways glance.

When he’d invited Nari to dinner, he hadn’t quite known what the status of her relationship with Jason was. In an effort to not pry, he’d simply said you can bring Jason, too, if you want. Evidently, she did, and while Seokjin can’t help but be glad about it, it still gives him no indication as to whether they’re actually together, although it seems fairly likely.

He wonders if he’ll ever be able to ask Nari about it, before remembering it’s none of his business.

Seokjin clears his throat. “It’s… it’s okay. I get it.”

Jason nods, looking rather like he wants to ask something but apparently thinks the better of it. “Nice shirt,” he remarks, a joking lilt to his tone.

Seokjin looks down to look at his black shirt before noticing Jason wearing the exact same thing. He cracks a smile, a real smile, and his face feels slightly better.

“You, too.”

When they arrive at the table, it’s to see Nari and Seulgi on opposite seats at the table, the head left conspicuously vacant. Nari is on her phone, while Seulgi seems to be nursing what’s left of her drink, gulping down the last sip when she sees him and Jason.

“Oh, thank God! I mean… looks great.”

Seokjin catches her eye and they share a look of amusement at her slip of tongue. He and Jason set the food on the table and take their seats next to their respective dates. 

“I think we can serve ourselves,” says Seulgi, picking up the bowl of beef and offering it to Jason. “Nari, do you want to start with the meat?”

“I’ll start with the noodles,” she says instead, barely looking at Seulgi and reaching straight for the bowl filled to the brim with noodles.

“I’ll have the meat,” murmurs Seokjin, taking the bowl from his girlfriend. He touches her hand meaningfully as she passes it to him and ladles some into her bowl before moving to his own.

Everyone serves themselves in relative silence, with only mutters about passing dishes around. 

“Oh, wow!” Jason exclaims and everyone jumps slightly. He points enthusiastically to the food with his chopsticks and nods at Seokjin appreciatively. “This is excellent.”

Seokjin smiles back and nods. “Thanks, I’m glad you like it. Are the scallions chopped appropriately this time?” he asks Seulgi, a little teasingly, referring to an inside joke.

She laughs and pats his shoulder. “They’re perfect.”

He grins and looks diagonally across at Nari, who’s sweeping a mouthful of japchae into her mouth. “Nari?” he prompts after a moment.

Nari waits to swallow before looking up at him, her face slowly relaxing into the first genuine smile of the night. “It’s really good,” she agrees softly.

His chest suddenly feeling lighter, Seokjin smiles back and nods. Maybe Jason was right - maybe she was actually just tired and hungry, for now that she’s eating, she seems to be marginally more participative. It’s still Seulgi and Jason carrying the conversation like champions, with Seokjin joining in occasionally, but Nari is at least listening and chuckling on cue, which is a decided improvement from where they began.

Maybe it’s his imagination, but the entire mood of the night improves after that. Jason seems relieved as well; he responds to Nari encouragingly and - Seokjin notes with a twinge of envy he didn’t expect - with an indulgence that can only come with extensive familiarity.

In theory, it increases the likelihood of them being a couple. However - and Seokjin has absolutely no way to back this up except that he knows Nari - he doesn’t think they actually are together. There’s smiling, quiet laughing, shared looks and amused nodding, all of which could indicate a relationship but could also be signs of a really good friendship, for weren’t all of these things that he and Nari did as well, for years?

“Hey.” Seulgi nudges him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says immediately, squeezing her knee. He tries not to read too much into the lingering look she gives him before turning away, and resolves to focus on more appropriate topics.

It works for a while; Jason tells them all about a fellow resident who irritates the life out of him, complete with a mimicry of her which, if Nari’s reaction is anything to go by, is completely accurate.

“She sounds like a nightmare,” comments Seulgi, shaking her head sympathetically.

“She’s actually not that bad,” disagrees Nari, slapping Jason’s shoulder lightly. “You made her look bad in the skills lab last week when she was just trying to ask a question.”

“And I apologised,” he reminds her. “I let her get a full night’s sleep, even when the ER was flooded with all those pesky, cool surgeries,” he adds with a straight face.

Nari snorts while Seokjin lets out a low whistle. “Wow. You guys are cutthroat.”

Jason shrugs. “Part of the job. I’m sure your jobs are, too, no? Dealing with fame can’t be easy - I would presume,” he adds quickly.

“Not as much as you’d think. Seulgi actually deals with artists and producers,” he tells them, gesturing to her. “That’s cutthroat.”

Seulgi chuckles. “I wouldn’t say cutthroat, but some of them can be a pain for sure.”

“Oh, hey, how did your meeting with Yoongi and his team go?”

“Oh, that.” She sighs and shakes her head. “They managed to talk themselves into a day’s extension for one of the demos.”

“Yoongi asked for an extension?”

“No, his assistant producer did. Kang Chanel,” she states with another sigh. “It’s literally impossible to win a negotiation with her. The last time we tried, that meeting got extended by hours - and we still couldn’t come to a compromise.”

“Damn,” remarks Jason, nodding. “Can’t imagine that. Negotiation is my worst fear - well, Nari’s worst fear for sure,” he adds with a grin at her.

“Yeah, that wasn’t a great night. But it looked up a little after that,” adds Seulgi, smiling at Seokjin. “Remember? It was raining and traffic was backed up fully on the route to my apartment so I came over here? He made me homemade jajjangmyeon,” she tells them. “It was the first thing I’d eaten in - what, twelve hours? And it actually felt like coming home. I mean, you know now that he’s pretty good in the kitchen,” she adds, gesturing to the food on the table.

It takes Seokjin a second to realise that Nari’s gaze is on him; when he looks up and meets her eyes, it’s like being hit by a bus. There’s more meaning in that one look than she’s acknowledged all night and even though she looks away after a moment, her gaze falling to her lap, Seokjin can hear the word echoing between them like a chant. Jajjangmyeon.

Jason laughs at Seulgi’s anecdote, and Seokjin is too preoccupied to realise that Seulgi doesn’t quite respond to it. He’s still looking at Nari, who seems to be done with dinner.

“Um,” she murmurs, taking the napkin off her lap and placing it on her table. “Do you mind if I use the ladies’ room?” Barely waiting for his nod from the corner of her eye, she stands up and walks away. There’s a moment when she’s about to enter his bedroom, presumably out of habit, before abruptly changing directions and going down the hall.

“Actually, I really need to check on this patient, too,” says Jason apologetically. “Do you mind if I -” He picks up his phone.

“No, not at all.” Seokjin watches him leave the dining area and head into the balcony, sliding the door shut behind him.

“Okay, what is going on?” Seulgi asks immediately, her voice low and level.

“What?”

“Something is happening,” she elaborates, twisting in her chair slightly to face him. “There’s a vibe, from… everyone,” she explains, and Seokjin suspects she’s diplomatically avoided using Nari’s name. “It’s like something has happened or is happening… and everybody is in on it but me.”

Seokjin shakes his head slowly. “I - no. I mean, yeah, it was awkward in the beginning -” He looks back surreptitiously in the direction of the guest bathroom to make sure there’s no one there. “But it’s getting better, right?”

Seulgi observes him, a slight frown on her forehead. “What happened between you and Nari?” she asks plainly.

He shrugs. “Nothing. I mean - apart from what I told you.”

“You hooked up.”

“Yeah.”

She continues looking at him, but he can’t detect any suspicion in her tone. “That’s it? You didn’t date?”

“God, no,” he answers immediately. “Never even came close. We - we hooked up a couple of times but… we never really ventured down the dating territory,” he clarifies, realising a moment later that he’s not even lying.

She sighs, biting her lip. “Then what is it? Did I say something? Does she have a problem with me?” she asks, dropping all attempts at keeping her concerns general. “I don’t - I can’t tell. Or is it Jason?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, although he does have an inkling. But it’s too conceited a possibility for him to entertain. “You haven’t done anything,” he assures her.

Seulgi nods slowly. “You’re absolutely sure nothing else happened between you two? Are you guys fighting?”

“We -” Seokjin sighs, for it’s the question of the hour. “I have no idea. It’s a bit awkward right now, I know. It’s complicated.” He pauses, wondering where to begin. “We hooked up, it was fine for a while, then that party happened where you lent me the wrist brace… oh, then I snapped at her at my brother’s wedding - but we resolved that…” He’s just thinking out loud at this point, frowning and pressing a finger to his mouth. “Then we had that pregnancy scare and then I was supposed to meet her at this fundraiser - I guess she’s still mad about that… but we were fine at the reunion last month, too, so I don’t -”

“Wait. Back up.” Seulgi interrupts him. “You guys had a pregnancy scare?”

“Um, yeah,” he answers, a little uneasily. “It was… we were stupid - but I swear, it’s the only time I’ve ever not used a condom, if that’s what you’re -”

“And it was after your brother’s wedding? Didn’t your brother get married, like… six months ago?”

Seokjin hesitates. “Uh… something like that.” When she doesn’t say anything, just frowns deeper as though just realising something, he feels his heart start to race uncomfortably. “Seulgi, what -”

“You thought she was pregnant?”

“But she wasn’t,” he clarifies, still sure he’s missing something. “It was genuinely just a scare.” 

“Pregnancy scares aren’t just scares,” she disagrees, looking a bit incredulous now. “They’re - they’re terrifying. And you two -” She touches her fingers to her temples. “Oh, my God,” she whispers. “You thought she was pregnant…”

“Seulgi -”

But before Seokjin can continue, the balcony door slides open with a sound and Jason returns. A second later, the bathroom door unlocks and Nari appears, running a hand through her hair.

Seokjin chances a glance at Seulgi, who’s staring at her plate, still looking troubled. With his heart sinking slightly, he looks around the table and forces a smile.

“Dessert, anyone?”

—

“Wow.” Yoongi sits back and raises his eyebrows.  

“I know.” Miso nods, albeit sounding less surprised. “That was actually good. Tonight may not be a complete waste after all.”

“Was that better?” Minji, the featured artist, asks from inside the recording booth. Next to her, Jungwon looks daringly hopeful.

“Much better,” says Yoongi into the mic, giving them a thumbs up. 

“Great.” Minji gives them a satisfied smile and hooks her headphones on the mic. Next to her Jungwon follows suit. “Does that mean we can take five?”

“Sure,” says Yoongi, too relieved to deny them anything right now. “Come back quick, though. I want to listen to the last version together and make any changes, if needed.”

Both the artists nod and duck out, leaving him alone with Miso.

“Thank God,” he sighs, stretching in his chair and running his hands over his face. “I think I could cry,” he adds dryly.

Miso frowns, looking amused. “It wasn’t that good. But a definite improvement. We can work with it now, at least.”

Yoongi nods as she rolls her chair closer to the controls and starts layering the recording over the instrumentals. “Try starting it half a second after the beat,” he advises, watching as she nods and obliges. They listen to it in silence and she turns briefly to give him an appreciative nod.

“Sounds good.”

“Thanks.” He checks his watch. “Jesus, it’s eleven pm. Can you think how much sooner we could’ve had this track if we’d scheduled Minji to come in earlier?”

“Wouldn’t matter because Donghyuk is still going to take all night,” she reminds him, her eyes focused on the laptop screen.

“Yeah, but we could’ve had more time to experiment with the track.” He shakes his head. “Anyway. Lesson learnt. Minji is our secret weapon to get the talent out of Jungwon.”

To his surprise, Miso chuckles. “Is she ever.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“What?” When he doesn’t answer, Miso twists her shoulders to look at him. “Wait, are you serious?”

Yoongi starts to feel a familiar annoyance brewing at her superior tone but tries to keep it at bay, at least until they’re done with their work. He frowns mildly back at her, as though he doesn’t quite care what she’s getting at.

“Serious about what?”

“Minji, Min Suga. You think she inspired some hidden talent out of Jungwon? In the recording booth?” She chuckles again and turns back to the laptop. “Dude, they’re totally screwing.”

Yoongi stays frozen in his chair for a few moments while Miso continues mixing the track, with disjointed sounds emanating from the speakers every few seconds.

“Okay,” she says, sitting back slightly. “I think we have a rudimentary version at least for Donghyuk.”

“What do you mean they’re screwing?”

Miso turns around blankly, as though already having forgotten what they were talking about.

“They’re… having relations?” she ventures, before shrugging and going back to the laptop. “I don’t know, what do you think screwing means?”

“They’re - no.” Yoongi scoffs but it comes out more like a choke. “You have no way of knowing that.”

“Really? You think Minji tutored Jungwon out of the goodness of her heart?”

“Yes,” he says forcefully. “She debuted five years before him. And we all mentor our juniors.”

“And sometimes, some of you sleep with them, too.” Miso shakes her head, still adjusting the track. “What’s the big deal, anyway? It wouldn’t be the first time someone hooked up with a coworker.”

“Yeah, but -“ Yoongi breaks off, for she’s right, but he’d sooner dunk his laptop into a fountain than admit that to her. “I still don’t think so. They were singing a love song; they were meant to sound like they were in love.”

Miso snickers. “I didn’t say anything about love,” she reminds him wryly, before tilting her head at the screen. “Can we try adding a synth kind of sound in this segment here?”

“Uh, sure, go for it,” he says distractedly. “I think you’re wrong, though. I don’t think they’re hooking up.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t look at him. “I’m pretty sure they are. I could tell by the way they were looking at each other.”

Yoongi squints at her. “You could tell by a look?” he asks incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am. That’s how I figured out my mother was sleeping with my twenty-two year old maths tutor.” When he doesn’t respond, she turns to him. “What?”

“You know, a lot of your stories would be more impactful with fewer details,” he informs her, just as the door to the studio opens and Jungwon and Minji enter, holding cups of coffee and looking fresh and energetic.

Yoongi chalks it down to caffeine. “Okay,” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Are we ready to work on the track?” Without waiting for a response, he pulls the laptop to him and clicks on Miso’s completed version. “Listen carefully and tell me what you think,” he tells them.

“Sure,” says Minji, scooching a bit on the sofa so Jungwon can join her. “Hit it.”

Pointedly ignoring Miso’s knowing look, Yoongi plays the track. Both their voices flow out of the speakers, filling the recording booth for everyone to listen and provide their feedback. As the session goes on and Minji stops him here and there to give her inputs, Jungwon adds on to it, Yoongi discusses it and Miso silently observes and speaks only when spoken to, Yoongi feels his mood start to sour slightly.

An hour and forty minutes later, after several rounds of inputs and rough editing, Minji and Jungwon take their leave. With much more work in front of them, Yoongi watches them pack up a little sullenly, sighing deeply when the door closes.

“I hate this,” he mutters, before dropping his head back and groaning.

“Why?” Miso frowns. “That was actually productive. Minji had some good thoughts.”

“No, I hate that - that you’re right,” he says tightly, before sighing again. “They’re definitely hooking up.”

It takes her a moment to realise what he’s said and she laughs quietly. “What convinced you?”

“Just… the way they were around each other. He’s hanging on to her every word,” he adds, disgruntled. 

“Yeah, it’s nauseating to watch. But she’s making him more of a collaborator than just a puppet who sings,” she points out fairly.

Yoongi glances sideways at Miso, the irony of this statement not lost on him. 

“What?”

“You weren’t much of a collaborator right now, if we’re really going there.”

Miso stares at him, her face betraying nothing. “What are you talking about?”

“Please,” he mutters, turning back to his laptop but not really looking at anything. “You said maybe five words that whole session.”

“I was taking notes. And I’ll be translating every single one of them into edits. The good ones anyway,” she adds wryly.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, more patiently than he feels, for not only is this his job, it might just be the hardest part of his job. 

She swivels her chair around to face him. “What do you mean, Min Suga?”

He doesn’t take the bait. “There’s more to being a producer than just mixing good tracks. You’re the creator of the song - you’re literally producing it. Collaborating with the artists is part of that process.”

Miso’s eyes flicker and she looks down at her lap, her jaw hardening slightly. “Is it so hard for you to pay me a compliment without tacking on a bunch of things I’m doing wrong?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “What?”

“You can just say my track was good. It won’t kill you.”

It might, he thinks. “Fine. Your track was good,” he admits honestly. “It was like something I would’ve made a few years into my role as a producer. You have an experimental mindset.”

She looks a little taken aback, as though she hadn’t quite expected him to be so blunt about it. The corner of her mouth twitches and she looks at her lap again before looking up. 

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Jesus. No.”

She pauses before nodding stiffly. “Thank you,” she says nonchalantly, turning her chair back around to face the laptop.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows, staring at her side profile. Her skin, already pale, looks translucent under the white light from the recording booth. He sees her glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

“And… point taken on the other thing.”

It’s as good as it’s going to get, he decides. He shifts in his chair to get into a more comfortable position as she starts editing the music. 

“We’re going to have to bring in Jungwon to redo this whole section,” states Yoongi a little while later, shaking his head at the same fifteen second segment they’ve been playing over and over again. “He sounds like he’s drugged.”

Miso chortles. “You may have to bring in his girlfriend, too, if you want anything useful to come out of him.”

He clicks his tongue in disgust. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, lighten up. They’re young, they’re working all the time,” she reasons. “It’s natural.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“Really? You’ve never hooked up with a coworker?” she asks sceptically.

“Not that it’s any of your business but no, I haven’t. Not as a senior and definitely not as a rookie,” he adds, shaking his head. “He needs to focus on his work.”

Miso frowns. “Weren’t you the one that was on my case a little while ago about being too hard on him? And now you’re doing a one-eighty over something that, honestly, is none of your business.”

“How is it not my business?” he argues. “He’s underperforming unless she’s around, they took two very unnecessary breaks in the middle of our editing session, and they left before actually listening to the finished version,” he lists, holding up his fingers. “This is Jungwon’s first solo, in his first year of debut. It’s ridiculous.”

Yoongi can sense her curiosity at his outburst and he wishes he’d kept his mouth shut. But it’s late, the food they’ve ordered is still on its way, and Donghyuk doesn’t seem to be any closer to finishing his arrangement so they can call it a night.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little uptight?”

He bristles. “No. I don’t. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, of course not, because I have no concept of professionalism,” she says sarcastically. “Let me just add that to the list of things I lack.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Way to make this about you.”

“Aren’t you making Jungwon’s personal life about you?”

He flushes again but rallies, giving her an extremely unimpressed look. “Everybody’s entitled to a personal life. Just don’t mix it with a professional one.”

“Interesting,” she says, finally leaning away from the laptop and he feels an instant sense of foreboding. “That lady from Marketing that we had a meeting with today, Seulgi - isn’t she dating an idol? I’m pretty sure I know his name,” she says, frowning deeply and snapping her fingers, pretending to remember before her forehead clears. “But I definitely know what group he’s in.”

A faint smirk flashes across her face, and Yoongi finds it insufferable. “Seokjin and Seulgi don’t actually work together. And his dating life is none of my business.”

“But wouldn’t that make you a hypocrite? What?” she asks when he groans loudly. “Afraid you’re losing an argument?”

“No,” he states forcefully, glaring at her. “I’m just pissed that it becomes an argument! Why can’t a conversation with you ever be easy? Why can’t it just be a conversation instead of turning into a fucking argument every time?”

“It takes two to turn something into an argument,” she points out, her eyes narrowed.

“Sure. But all due respect,” he caveats, “and no offence - I still have friends and allies in this company who are capable of small talk without constantly exerting their brains and superiority, which leads me to believe that you might be the problem here. And you know what?” he continues, cutting her off. “If I’m that argumentative, why don’t you just switch to another producer?”

“Because I got assigned to you, Min Suga,” she retorts. “That’s how it works. And as long as we’re talking about friends and allies - has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want friends who can’t make small talk without exerting their brains?” She huffs and turns back to the laptop. “It might explain why you’re the only person here I actually talk to.”

“Oh, that’s by choice?”

“Shocking, isn’t it?” When Yoongi doesn’t respond, she lets out a half-chuckle without humour. “What? Nothing to say to that?”

“No,” he answers, a little uncomfortable at this sudden change in direction. “Except… well, this might be the first compliment you’ve ever paid me.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go throwing any parades about it.”

A terse silence follows, broken only by the sound of the laptop keys and the random clips from the song. Yoongi glances at her with a mixture of confusion, inadequacy and frustration, her lips pursed and her eyes darting around the screen. The navy blue sleeves of her long-sleeved t-shirt almost reach her knuckles, her wrists thin and fragile against the table. 

Yoongi wonders how she’s surviving wearing it despite the heat in the studio, especially with a grey t-shirt over it, unless it’s her way of winning one over the heat.

He decides to chalk down this awkward end to their conversation to hunger. Still, it feels odd not to reciprocate it. He clears his throat, noting how the sound doesn’t make her flinch at all.

“You are not… unintelligent,” he ventures cautiously.

“I know that,” she replies casually, and Yoongi gives up. They continue working in silence for a few minutes, the silence still awkward but less tense. Something continues to bother him, though, their dialogue having come to a rather abrupt and unsatisfying end.

“I don’t actually care if they’re hooking up,” he says after a moment, in a low voice. “You’re right; it’s none of my business.”

Miso doesn’t respond, but spares him the briefest of glances, which tells him she’s listening.

“I was living paycheck to paycheck,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “I was delivering food and battling privileged rappers wearing designer crap at night to make money. Then I started training and the company I was training with had no money. Me and the guys, including Seulgi’s boyfriend, worked our arses off to debut and grow the company…” 

Yoongi trails off when the silence suddenly feels a little louder, and he realises he can no longer hear the keyboard of the laptop.

“Anyway,” he says flatly. “Call me conceited but I’m attached to this company. I feel I was part of building it and I feel like I’m a part of growing it. I don’t like people getting in the way of that,” he finishes in a murmur, a little embarrassed at his confession.

Miso doesn’t respond immediately, eventually exhaling softly. “You could’ve just told me that. You wouldn’t have had to exert your brain at all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

—

“Nari, hang on a minute.”

For a moment, Seokjin thinks she’s going to ignore him, but at the last moment she slowly halts just outside his front door. Jason, a few paces ahead of her, also stops, but something on Seokjin’s face seems to tip him off about what’s coming and he clears his throat.

“I’ll go bring the car around,” he tells Nari, before turning to him. “Thanks for having us over. Dinner was great.”

“Thanks. Glad you could make it.” They shake hands and Jason leaves. Seokjin waits until the elevator door closes before turning to Nari, but she beats him to it.

“Are you?” she asks wryly. “Glad he could make it?”

“Yes,” he answers honestly, not elaborating, for Jason remained the least stressful person all night, himself included. But he doesn’t feel the need to explain this to her. She raises her eyebrows expectantly, arms folded across her chest, and Seokjin pauses. There is a lot he wants to say but he needs to play this just right, or it can go down an unnecessary rabbit hole he’s not sure he has the energy for right now.

“Nari,” he begins, then pauses again. “Do you… do you have something you want to say to me?” 

He tries his best to make it sound as less confrontational as he can, keeping his voice calm, hearing the genuine underlying desperation that he didn’t even need to consciously add. By the way Nari’s eyes flicker slightly, he can tell she’s caught it, too.

She hitches her handbag higher on her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Anything you want to say. Anything you want to ask. Anything you want to talk about, or - or clear up…” He purses his lip. “I can still tell when you’re upset. And I don’t want you to be.”

“I’m not upset,” she says automatically. “And it isn’t your problem, even if I am.”

Seokjin bites his lip and nods slowly. “You’re not upset,” he repeats for confirmation.

“No. Do I have any reason to be?”

“I don’t know. But if you’re not, then I don’t understand why you’ve been so annoyed all night,” he points out. “You barely spoke, you barely ate, you didn’t even touch the dessert that Seulgi brought -”

“I’m sorry if I hurt her feelings by not eating the store-bought dessert she picked up on her way back from work.”

Something jolts in Seokjin’s heart; for a moment, the woman in front of him is unrecognisable as Nari. “She was trying to be nice,” he says softly but firmly. “She’s been nice to you all night but you haven’t returned any of it.”

Nari scoffs. “She wasn’t being nice. She was reminding me - very subtly, I might add - where she stands and where I stand.”

He blinks. “I’m sorry - what? What does any of that mean?”

“She’s your girlfriend,” she explains slowly, like she’s doing so to a child, “and I’m not. I am a girl, though. But she’s your girlfriend. And she was reminding me of that. Not at first,” she admits. “But during dinner? And especially after dessert? That’s what she  was doing.”

Seokjin finds himself lost for words. The fact that the tension hit an all-time high after dessert is beyond dispute; everyone apart from Jason seemed to have given up any semblance of remaining diplomacy, with sentences becoming shorter and words getting more clipped, until a stretch of three-minute silence passed and Jason suggested he and Nari make a move.

Seulgi had definitely run out of patience by this point, choosing to speak much more sparingly. There were uncomfortable silences and lingering looks and sideways glances, all in response to statements that seemed completely innocuous. But he can’t imagine he would’ve missed something this blatant.

Suddenly feeling terribly tired, he shakes his head. “She wasn’t - I mean, why would she do that?”

Nari observes him for a moment, as though trying to work out whether he’s faking ignorance. Finally, she shrugs. “I don’t know. But I know women better than you do.”

Seokjin senses this discussion is getting away from him. “I - okay. Honestly, I have no idea what to say to that. I thought she was just being nice - and you admitted it, too, that she was being nice in the beginning.”

“I guess.”

“But you weren’t being nice to her at all,” he points out. “Can you blame her for giving up eventually? She was being welcoming because she knows you’re my best friend,” he says, noting the shadow that crosses her face at those words. “But you gave her nothing. Why? What did she ever do to you?”

Nari looks at the ground again and taps the toe of her shoe on the ground, and for a moment Seokjin wonders if he’s made a breakthrough. “Nothing, I suppose,” she admits in a small voice. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be taking it out on her.”

Seokjin almost sighs in relief; now they’re getting somewhere. “Taking what out on her? Nari, are you angry with me? If you are, just tell me. We’ll talk about it, fight about it -” He breaks off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry about the night of the fundraiser. I really am - I should’ve called or - or -”

She’s looking up at him now and it’s impossible to decipher what she’s thinking. Seokjin is faced with the sudden urge to hold her by the shoulders and make her continue meeting his gaze. He slips his hands into his pockets for good measure.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “But… come on, if you’re angry about something, is this really the way to go about it? Passive-aggressive digs at dinner?”

Nari shakes her head, a bit disbelieving. “Did you really think a dinner would solve all our problems?”

“I’m not even sure what our problems are!” he exclaims in frustration. “That’s why I wanted to talk about them! And for the record, I didn’t think a single dinner would solve anything, but I thought it would be a good start. I thought we could make it through one night - or at very least, fake it like grown ups,” he mutters, disappointed in everything, including himself.

She swallows and takes a step back, and it feels like a chasm. “Guess I’m not grown up enough for that yet,” she says finally, meeting his gaze with seeming difficulty. “But I’m glad you found someone who is.”

“Don’t make this about her.” He tries to firm but it sounds more pleading than anything. “If you have a problem with me, tell me. Or there’s no point to any of this.”

“That’s the thing, though,” she says, and there’s an air of finality to it. “There’s no point talking about the problem because it’s not going to change anything.”

Seokjin has nothing to say to that. Instead, he watches Nari turn around and leave, his heart sinking.

Nari doesn’t stop until she’s out of the building and inside Jason’s car. He’s parked across the street, tactfully keeping his distance, no doubt due to the heart-to-heart he thinks she’s having with her best friend.

Best friend. The words feel like rote; she doesn’t know if they’re quite true right now, but she knows for sure that they’re not untrue. It’s both sad and comforting.

“Everything okay?” Jason asks lightly as she straps herself in.

“Totally,” she mutters, busying herself with the buckle, her hair covering most of her face. “Are you going back to the hospital?”

“Well, no one’s called me. I was thinking about taking advantage of it,” he tells her. “Stay in. Catch up on some sleep.” He starts the car. “Do you want to head back or pick some ice cream on the way? You didn’t eat dessert,” he reminds her, his tone still light.

Nari nods absently. It’s starting to drizzle slightly; just a light spray, not even enough to warrant the wipers. She glances up at Seokjin’s building, at the lights in the apartments on the top floor. 

She’s not sure if one of them is his, or if his apartment even faces this side of the street. But she pictures him anyway, silent and annoyed at her, cleaning up his kitchen along with Seulgi. 

Her throat burns a little and she recognises the onset of her emotions finally creeping up on her - starting with shame.

She can’t afford it, though. There’s only one thing she does when this happens, when she’s overwhelmed, when it’s all just too much. There’s only one place she goes, one place she’s ever gone. But that place is no longer available to her.

Swallowing everything before it has a chance to hit the surface, she turns to Jason.

“Actually,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear, “can we go back to your place?”

—

Seokjin trudges back into his apartment once it’s clear Nari isn’t coming back. He’s not sure what he was hoping for; perhaps a change of heart, or her annoyance getting the better of her - anything to move this painful stalemate along.

He rubs his eyes and heads to the dining area to help Seulgi, who’s putting the wine away.

“That went well,” he says tiredly, leaning backwards against the table. He needs sleep.

“Didn’t it?” Seulgi mutters in reply.

Seokjin frowns a little belatedly, wondering if he’s imagining the bite in her response. He tries again. “Do you need some help?”

“I got it.”

“Okay, hang on,” he says, unable to believe it. “Are you angry with me, too?”

She starts folding the placemats, not meeting his gaze. “Why would you say that?”

He scoffs loudly. “Seriously? How did I manage to piss both of you off tonight?”

Seulgi chucks an unfolded placemat on the table and finally looks up at him, glaring with a hand on her hip. “Not that I don’t love being lumped together with your… ex… sex friend, but I was doing my best.”

“I know! That’s what I was -”

“But you ambushed me!” she interrupts, looking upset. “With your - with all your history together. You told me about it in the middle of dinner with her - God, Seokjin, what the hell was that?”

“What are you talking about?” he exclaims. “I told you we hooked up, before I ever invited her to dinner.”

“Yeah, and the way you said it made it sound like you made out once when you were twenty,” she snaps. “Not that it was happening recently enough for it to still be awkward. Not to mention a pregnancy scare that happened less than a year ago?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Seulgi opens her mouth but then closes it, as though unable to decide what to say. Eventually she closes her eyes and turns away slightly.

“I’m sorry if you felt ambushed,” he ventures uneasily. “But that wasn’t my intention. I just didn’t want to get into something that wasn’t relevant to this -“

“But how is it not relevant?” she interrupts him again. “She’s your lifelong best friend, but not a completely platonic one. And then you invite her over, she’s totally weird with me the whole time, and that’s when you choose to tell me you guys slept together? Of course I felt ambushed, Seokjin! And then I got defensive and - God, I was such a bitch,” she mutters, dropping her face into her hands.

This is unexpected. “Wait, what? No, you weren’t.”

“Yes, I was. Towards the end, I totally was,” she insists. “I was taken off guard, I was on edge and I went into fight or flight mode. Or… girlfriend-faced-with-boyfriend’s-ex-fling mode,” she finishes, shaking her head and looking embarrassed.

Seokjin wracks his brain, wondering if two glasses of wine were possibly enough for him to not notice something both Nari and Seulgi seemed to have observed and reacted to.

“She was never a fling,” he says weakly, but Seulgi doesn’t even seem to hear him.

“And then you tell me there was a pregnancy scare,” she continues after a moment. “In the middle of dinner, just when we’re -“

“What is it with you and the pregnancy scare?” he exclaims in frustration. “It was eighteen hours of tension and that’s it! It lasted less time than a flu!”

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “What did you do when you thought she was pregnant?”

“I freaked out,” he says immediately. “A lot.”

“That’s not - okay, what did you say to her when you thought she was pregnant?” Seulgi amends, sounding as though it’s taking everything in her to remain patient.

“I…” Seokjin hesitates; this isn’t a situation he wants to relive. “I told her I’d be there for her. Of course I did, Seulgi,” he says quickly when she doesn’t respond. “It was the decent thing to do - you can’t be mad at me for trying to be a good guy.”

But Seulgi shakes her head slightly, and it’s clear that this isn’t her problem. She isn’t meeting his eyes; her gaze is somewhere near his elbow. 

“You can’t… intend honestly to be there for her for the rest of her life,” she begins slowly, as though choosing every word carefully, “and then the next day, just… not feel that anymore.”

There’s a few moments of silence while Seokjin processes this. He can’t fathom how this evening got so far away from him, and he has absolutely no idea where it can possibly end.

“Look, that situation was… it was very stressful, okay? For both of us,” he explains, taking a step closer. “I don’t - I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done. I did mean what I said to her then. But it doesn’t have a bearing on how I feel now, for you.”

Seulgi gives him a small nod, still not looking at him.

“I know it’s awkward between Nari and me now and - and I need to figure that out. But if you’re worried that there’s something going on with us - there isn’t.”

She exhales and after what feels like many, many moment, she drags her gaze to meet his. “She’s your best friend,” she states softly.

“Yeah. And you’re my girlfriend.”

“That… doesn’t matter,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head and looking at the floor again. He’s sure he wasn’t meant to hear that but he did, and his heart sinks. “Not in the way that you think,” she adds, slightly louder now.

Seokjin has no response to this. He feels exhausted, cornered and frustrated all at once and he sighs, rubbing his eyes and leaning backwards against a chair.

“I can’t change the past, Seulgi,” he says tiredly. “I don’t know what you want me to do right now.”

“Nothing,” she answers, sounding slightly surprised at this question. “I know you can’t change anything. I just wish you’d told me,” she says after a moment. “Before I sat down to dinner with her.”

He nods, but words of apology don’t come to him at the moment. “Can we just head to - where are you going?” He follows her to the living room where she picks up her handbag, the designer logo glinting dimly. 

“I’m going back to my apartment,” she murmurs, shuffling past him to get to her shoes: sleek high heels. Even after a whole day, she looks perfectly presentable, as though ready for a meeting. 

“I thought -“ But Seokjin doesn’t finish the sentence.

“I know,” she murmurs, sounding a bit apologetic for the first time. “But I just need to… I need to go home. Take a shower, go to bed.”

He nods silently, placing his hands on his hips and looking at the ground. He’s suddenly aware of how huge his apartment is for one person only.

“The bulgogi was great,” she says after a moment. She waits until he glances at her, nodding once more. When he doesn’t say anything, she turns around and opens the door, stepping out and leaving him alone.

—

When the elevator pings and the doors open, there’s a moment when neither of them make a move to enter first. Yoongi opens his mouth but Miso beats him to it.

“Don’t say ‘ladies first’,” she warns him.

He freezes before rolling his eyes. “I was going to say ‘elders first’,” he says, a little smug. He expects her to take offence but she chuckles instead, sounding a bit surprised.

“You don’t care a jot that I’m older than you,” she says dryly, stepping in with him right behind her, and pressing the button.

“On the contrary.” Yoongi leans against the back of the elevator as the doors close. “You’re the one who told me on your first day that under no circumstances was I to call you noona.”

“I also didn’t ask you to call me Miso.”

“No, you asked me to call you Chanel,” he remembers, a little wondrously. It feels a little strange to believe that was less than a year ago; it feels like forever that she’s been in his orbit, the frequent and regular dose of unexpected conflict he never asked for.

“That’s right, Min Suga.”

“You still want to be credited as Kang Chanel?”

“Just Chanel. No Kang.”

Yoongi nods as the elevator begins moving smoothly. They don’t say anything for a few seconds, standing a couple of feet away from each other. Miso isn’t leaning, though; she’s slouching slightly, and her bony shoulders are visible through her t-shirt. A jacket hangs on the strap of her bag, the Burberry tag visibly at the back of the neck.

“Will I -” She stops abruptly. She turns slightly to look at him, a bit nervously before looking back ahead. “Are you sure I’ll be credited?”

Yoongi frowns. “Why wouldn’t you?”

She shrugs nonchalantly, but her slender fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. “You know. In case there’s a conflict of interest or something?”

“Right.” His eyes flicker to the designer tag on her hoodie again. It was on the sofa in the studio, he remembers, discarded casually with her bag placed on top of it. He watches her run a hand through her shoulder-length hair, not even seeming like she cares about the answer.

“Your dad’s a shareholder,” he says. She doesn’t turn, but he notices her stiffen, her dark eyes darting in his direction. “And you’re an employee of the same company. There’s no conflict of interest. It doesn’t matter how you got the job,” he adds after a moment.

Miso simply nods and says nothing. Yoongi tries to look away, but he can’t. There’s something different in the way she asked him that question, something almost doubtful, or hesitant. It makes him uncomfortable, the feeling of his resentment and annoyance with her wavering. It feels as though she’s disturbed the dynamic, and this is not a side of her he wanted revealed ever.

All of a sudden, the elevator jerks and the lights flicker before turning off, leaving them in pitch darkness.

“What the hell -”

“Don’t panic.” Yoongi hears himself say the words without realising it. He feels a movement next to him and immediately reaches out and grabs something, hearing her gasp just as the lights flicker back on. He notices his fingers grasping her forearm and lets go at once, feeling his face heat up.

Just as abruptly as the elevator had stopped, it begins descending again, quiet and smooth. Yoongi can hear his heartbeat in his teeth but he isn’t sure why; darkness has never been something that scared him. 

“Oh, the button -” Miso points at the pane, where all the buttons seem to have reset when the power went out. Both of them reach for it together and when Yoongi retrieves his hand, he feels a tug and realises the edge of her sleeve has caught on his watch.

“Sorry, I’ll just -”

“No, it’s okay -”

She tugs her hand back the same moment that he slips his watch out of the loose thread it’s stuck on and in the split second that her sleeve gets pulled back, Yoongi catches a glimpse of something on her wrist before she pushes it back down.

It’s only a flash but it stands out against her pale skin, a discoloured mark of some kind. For a moment he thinks it could be a bracelet, but there’s no indent visible through her sleeve.

“Donghyuk really came through, huh?” Miso says, but it sounds slightly forced.

Yoongi hesitates but then clears his throat. “Yeah. This way we get the entire morning off. We don’t need to be in by… two, at least.”

“Are you sure? I can come earlier, too, if you want. Maybe Donghyuk could use the help.”

“He’ll manage. Take the time,” he suggests, stretching his neck. “Rejuvenate.”

She waves a hand. “Overrated. I really don’t mind, though.”

“Noted. But Donghyuk will be fine.”

“I’m just saying -”

“My God, I have literally never had to convince anybody this hard to take a day off,” he interrupts, the tiredness of the day finally catching up to him. “Can’t you just…?”

“Fine. Just offering.”

The elevator doors open and Yoongi waits a moment for her to step out before following her. They head out outside the building into the chilly air; he exhales and wonders if he can risk a cigarette right now.

“Don’t.” Miso’s voice almost blends in with the wind. She’s giving him a knowing look while pulling on her hoodie, her bag placed on the ground by her feet. “You almost got caught smoking outside once.”

He really hates it when she’s right. “It’s one-thirty in the morning,” he argues instead.

She shrugs. “Your call. But if you smoke, you’ll have to share.”

“I don’t mind sharing.” As if to prove it, he slips his pack out of his pocket and offers one to her along with the lighter. They light their cigarettes one by one and smoke in silence, in a rare moment of peace together.

He notices the cigarette in between her long, pale fingers. The sleeves of her t-shirt and hoodie cover her knuckles, making the remaining part of her hand look white against the dark hoodie. 

“Good work today,” he says after a minute, when he’s almost done with his cigarette. 

The muscles in Miso’s face seem to relax a bit, but she still doesn’t smile.

“You’re giving me a compliment?”

“Only if you take it without a fuss.”

“Such a low opinion of me,” she laments, dropping the butt of her cigarette on the ground and crushing it. She looks up to see Yoongi raising his eyebrows and holds his gaze for a moment before picking up the stub and throwing it in a bin behind her.

“By the way,” she begins, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “that thing I told you about my mom earlier? I was - I was joking. You know that right?”

Yoongi struggles for a moment to remember what she’s talking about, rewinding the night back to their argument about Jungwon and Minji. His gaze locks on her slowly once he remembers, but he makes no other motion.

“I mean… I made that up. To make a point.” She bites her lip before shrugging. “It’s just… she’s a socialite and the last thing I need is for some false rumour about her to start spreading.” She crosses her arms across her chest.

He doesn’t respond for a few moments but eventually nods. “M-hm.” He waits until she looks away before putting out his stub and throwing it in the same bin.

They step out of the courtyard after that and out of the Big Hit gates, the air cold and the streets deserted. Yoongi shivers slightly and spots his car in the building parking lot next door. 

“Well… goodnight, then.” Miso loosens her fingers from the strap of her bag in a gesture of farewell and turns around when Yoongi remembers something.

“Do you need a ride home?”

She turns around, looking far more surprised than he thinks is necessary. “Um… no. Why?”

He shrugs, thinking privately that he’s never quite had to justify this question to a girl before. “It’s the middle of the night? And I know where you live.”

“Oh.” She pauses but then shakes her head. “That’s okay, though. Thanks.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him to ask again. “Are you sure? My car isn’t a limited edition Range Rover; it’s just a regular Range Rover, but it’s not bad.”

Miso cracks a smile and it takes him a bit by surprise. “Thanks, but… my car is here.” She points with her hand in a pocket of her hoodie to the handful of cars parked at the end of the street. To be sure, he spots a sleek black hood, rather similar to his own, at the beginning of the row.

“You called your driver at one-thirty?” He tries to keep the judgement out of his voice. “Wait, when did you even call him?”

“I didn’t. He’s been here since nine pm.” She looks away awkwardly, presumably guessing where his mind is at. 

“He’s been here almost five hours?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes flicker up to meet his. “My dad… prefers to know my whereabouts,” she confesses slowly. “So the car waits for as long as I need.”

The wind seems louder somehow. Yoongi brings up Kang Jaesung’s face in his mind from months ago, in the midst of suited men in a lounge in his sprawling mansion, scotch in hand and a sharp, chiselled face. He glances at the limited edition Range Rover again, noting the tinted windows this time.

“Anyway.” Miso breaks the silence. “Goodnight, Min Suga.”

“Yeah,” he mutters as she walks away. He waits until her driver opens the door for her, she steps in and the car drives away, before turning around and heading to the parking lot.

—

Yoongi reaches the dorm at five minutes past two. There’s silence when he opens the front door, which he appreciates, but when he enters the living room he sees he’s not alone.

“Darkness, please.” Seokjin groans, muffled by a cushion on his face, lying along the length of the sofa with one leg dangling off.

“Jesus,” mutters Yoongi, a bit startled. “Hyung, what - what are you doing?”

Seokjin groans again and slowly sits up, wincing like an old man before slouching again and closing his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious, Yoongi?” He gestures vaguely at his surroundings, including an almost empty bottle of wine on the centre table. When Yoongi simply shrugs, he clicks his tongue impatiently. “I’m wallowing.”

Yoongi nods after a moment, dropping his bag on a chair and joining him on the sofa. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad.” Seokjin pauses. “You look happy.”

He stares. “I do?”

“Well, satisfied,” amends Seokjin. “Like you do when you’ve made some significant progress.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I did. What about you?” He changes the subject. “I thought you had some big night planned at your place.”

Seokjin scoffs but it comes out more like a choke. “Oh, yeah. My best friend and my girlfriend are both mad at me for opposite reasons. And also sort of the same reason,” he adds, frowning. “Who knows right now. Anyway, it was too depressing staying there tonight. And the kids and I have a shoot tomorrow morning anyway, so…” He shakes his head and falls silent.

Yoongi nods, knowing he’s not required to say anything. 

A few moments later, Seokjin speaks again. “I brought some bulgogi and japchae. It’s in the kitchen.”

Not needing to be told twice, Yoongi immediately makes a beeline for the kitchen and returns a few minutes later with a microwaved plate of food and two sets of chopsticks. “I’m good,” mutters Seokjin, waving a hand when Yoongi offers him some.

They don’t speak again until after he’s done eating, wolfing down the food with scarcely a breath in between.

“Wow,” comments Seokjin. “It wasn’t that good.”

“Guess I was hungrier than I thought,” he replies, placing the plate on the coffee table and leaning back on the sofa, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. “Thanks, hyung.”

“You’re welcome.” 

There’s a few more moments of comfortable silence. Yoongi considers asking Seokjin if he wants to talk but stops himself, knowing he will if he wants to. 

“Did you finish the track then?”

Eyes still closed, he raises his eyebrows. “No, not yet. Donghyuk’s going to mix the final version and we’ll check it out tomorrow.”

“You haven’t finished it?” Seokjin sounds confused. “I thought you said you’d made progress.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to realise what he’s talking about. “Oh… I did. It got a lot farther than I anticipated. It’s been a while since I’ve worked with a rookie,” he says, and Seokjin nods knowingly. “But I think Miso and I got most of it done.”

“Kang Miso.” Seokjin half-chuckles. “I heard she gave Seulgi a bit of a hard time today.”

“Sorry about that,” he says automatically, wondering a moment later why he’s apologising on her behalf but then remembering she is his assistant producer. “She can be a bit of a pill. But I think we’re coming to a middle ground of sorts, hopefully.”

“Sounds like progress to me. Quite the opposite of my night.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond, his thoughts drifting. Miso’s face right before she’d left swims to the forefront of his mind. Thin and pale, with the thick open hoodie engulfing her, there was something that had changed in her body language. He’d thought about it the whole drive, unable to put his finger on it. 

He thinks about the flash of colour he’d seen on her wrist, her strangely uncomfortable way of asking if she would be credited on the song she’d worked on with him every step of the way.

Something clicks but he isn’t sure what it is. Maybe it’s progress, but he doesn’t overthink it. Reaching for his phone automatically, he opens their chat and types on instinct.

Min Yoongi [02:25] Just remembered. Need to create a demo for the remixes. Should start ASAP - studio, 10 am tomorrow.

Her response comes a short while later, just as Yoongi is getting ready for bed.

Kang Chanel [02:40] As you command, Min Suga. See you then.

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

[autumnmobile12]

Ghost Hunt x My Hero Academia Crossover

So I've wanted to explore the concept of Mai Taniyama's abilities in Ghost Hunt as as Quirk in My Hero Academia for awhile now because, frankly, she has the groundwork for an interesting one: Through clairvoyant dreams, Mai has the ability to witness past events, communicate with the dreams of other people, and even pass along small objects in dreams. She's also incredibly intuitive and has been able to rely on gut feelings in past investigations. (This last one may or may not be a Quirk thing.)

There's a few applications here. Firstly, the retrocognition would be a useful Quirk since it's primary function in Ghost Hunt's canon is showing Mai exactly how a person died. In the My Hero 'verse, this would allow her to determine if an unnatural death was accidental or a homicide, and in a missing person case, the astral projection side of her abilities can allow her to locate victims and determine what condition they're in and maybe find where they are.

The major drawback to this ability, though, is it would be a hellish Quirk to cope with as the way her dreams work, she is often compelled to relive the death as though it were hers. Not exactly the key to a healthy state of mind experiencing the last thoughts and feelings of a person who's died, and possibly violently at that.

...

Realistically, not the flashiest of powers, so she would definitely be on the more obscure side of the Pro-Hero popularity spectrum, probably somebody only Deku has heard about with any real know-how on who she is and what she can do. For comparative purposes, her career path would align closer with Aizawa's in that she can't rely on her Quirk to fight and therefore has to resort to alternative methods to handle a crisis. Abilities speaking, she's definitely geared more toward reconnaissance, stealth, and investigation, which is how she operates in Ghost Hunt anyway and why I went with a darker color scheme for her costume.

I want to incorporate her Nine Cuts somehow, but I haven't settled on a way to do that quite yet.

The name Epimetheia comes from the Greek Titan Epimetheus. I could have gone with some feminine form of Morpheus, the god of dreams, but I really think Mai's retrocognition is the core trait the of her power. Epimetheus is the titan god of hindsight. He 'knew all that came before.'

...

As always for Ghost Hunt, I tend to write Mai as a young adult, so she is not a student in this. Actually, for this crossover, she is much older than the main cast. She's in her twenties in the fanart shown here, but this is decades before the actual timeline.

And with that, here's a brief, un-edited snippet of something I've been playing with:

...

“We’ve actually met once before,”  Hawks said abruptly.

“Have we?”  Taniyama turned to him, confused.  Her expression brightened somehow and the tired, hollowness of her eyes was gone.

“Yep.  I was just a little kid then, so I don’t blame you for not remembering.”  It was so long ago that he barely remembered it.  “It was at the zoo.  I’d heard they were letting kids in for free that day, so I found a chance to get away from my mom and headed out.  I always wanted to see a real elephant.”

Her lips curled into a warm smile. “And did you?”

“Sure did.”  He bobbed his head in brief nod.  “I was standing in front of their enclosure and someone knocked into me with a stroller or something and I dropped my plushie.  As I was trying to get it back, all these people kept kicking it out of the way or stepping on it.  And then it landed by your feet and you picked it up.”

Taniyama was silent.

“I remember you crouched down to give it back to me and you had the biggest smile on your face.  You asked if it was mine.  Thing is, though…I think you noticed how dirty I was.  You asked if I was okay and where my mom was.  You even asked if you could buy me a pair of shoes.”  He hadn’t let her.  If he’d returned home with a brand new pair of shoes instead of the secondhand ones that were falling apart, his dad would have beaten him and demanded to know where he’d gotten them.  Or he would have taken and pawned them for cash the first chance he got.  Or both.  But the hero Epimetheia must’ve suspected that much when he kept refusing her offers to help him with his silence and his nervous shaking head.  “And then your smile became sad and you asked me…

“Do you need help?”

“You were so warm and kind, and I'm sad to say I think that scared me a bit. I wasn't used to that from adults and so I ran away. But even after the Commission took me in, I hoped I would see you again.”  He turned to face her and was horrified to see her eyes running with tears.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!  What’s wrong?  Why are you crying?” Shit, I made an old woman cry!  She’s not that old, but I made her cry!

Taniyama placed a scarred hand over her mouth.  “All these years, I wondered what happened to that little boy I saw at the zoo.”

...

[pencil-peach]

G Witch Onscreen Text: Episode 10

Wow! If you're reading this, you've reached Part "Eleven" ("Onze" in Portuguese, "Ju ichi (十一)" in Japanese) of my attempt to document and transcribe all the onscreen text in G Witch! (Although at this point, it's more like an episode by episode analysis of the series as well...)

<< Click Here to go to Part Ten! (Dez) (Ju)

Sit back, grab a drink, and join me under the cut! Because...after all..

Delling is going to die.

There's actually not any legible text for a good bit of the episode's opening, so I thought I'd take some time to talk about an interesting Text Related Thing !

For a long time, I was trying to figure out if there was any method to the naming convention behind Asticassia's Student IDs. After I spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about it, I realized I had never actually gone through the official website to check... and as it turns out, the convention is in fact stated right there !

The ID has 3 parts to it: The Student's year of admission, their department, and their personal id number.

Year of Admission: "K" denotes a Third-year student "L" denotes a Second-year "M" denotes a First Year

Department: "P" denotes the Piloting department. "M" denotes the Mechanical department "S" denotes the Management Strategy Department

Personal ID: It's a bit tough to denote exactly what the website means when it says "The personal number is determined by the hierarchy of the recommending companies," but my best guess is that it has to do with the rank of the company that submitted the student. (But is also probably affected by, like, the order of admission...)

So, for example, Miorine's ID is LS001. So: L - Second Year S - Management Strategy Student 001 - Considering her dad is President of the Entire Group, it makes sense that her personal number is 001.

Guel - KP001: K - Third Year P - Piloting Department Student 001 - As we discussed before, Jeturk Heavy Machinery was ranked #1 in the group when the story starts, so again, it makes sense that Guel's personal number is also 001. (This also shows that Personal Numbers aren't strictly unique across the whole student body, but within the combinations of Admission Year + Department)

Interestingly, Elan Ceres is KP002 and Shaddiq is KP003, despite how when the story starts, Grassley is rank 2 and Peil is rank 3 within the group. This could mean that maybe the companies were swapped when the two were admitted and ID's can't be changed, or that Elan was just admitted before Shaddiq.

Lauda is KP013, but since he was also definitely admitted by Jeturk, he might have just been admitted a little bit after Guel for some reason, maybe? Don't think too hard about it.

But knowing this tells us some other interesting things too!

For example, with the exception of Lilique, Suletta, and Chuchu, all the Earth House students have ID numbers in the 200s. (Except for Norea and Sophie but they don't count) Martin: KS229 Aliya: KM237 Till: KM231 Nika: LM236 Nuno: LM238 Ojelo: LM232 Suletta: LP041 Lilique: MS119 Chuchu: MP039

If I may make an assumption, this might be because a lot of the Earthian students didn't enroll with the recommendation of a company. (Aliya mentions in the 1st Drama CD that she and her family didn't know much of anything about Asticassia, and she enrolled to the school on her own.)

Running with this assumption, Chuchu might be so high up (at 039) because we do know for a fact that the people that sent her to the school are Mobile Craft Operators. She might have used the mobile craft company her family works for as her recommendation.

Lilique is unknowable. Forgive me.

On the board at Earth House, we can see the to do list Lilique has written for business to take care of. TEXT: This week's online meeting schedule New applicants for investments Prepare budget sheet Final Adjustment of GUND prosthetics by operation test AERIAL repair status Ideas for increasing PV views

As we can see in the scene, the students are actually hard at work taking care of the things on the list. Lilique is in an online VOICE ONLY meeting, Aliya and Martin are working on the budget sheet, Ojelo, Chuchu, Nika, Suletta, and Nuno are working on the operation test, and Till and Miorine are checking on AERIAL (among other things)

Another cute touch is that before the founding of the company, the symbol on the back of the board was the Earth House Emblem, and now it's the GUND-ARM logo

God help me I don't know why of all the colors on god's green earth that they chose a light ass blue on white ass legs but Kaori Seki (Monitor/Graphics Designer) gives their toughest text to their silliest warrior. (me) My BEST Guess for what this says is: GUND MONITORING SYSTEM 01

I'm reasonably confident in GUND, SYSTEM, and 01, but i can only make out about half of "Monitoring." Considering the nature of the tests they're running on the legs, and how Ojelo says he's established a connection with them, I'm gonna go ahead with believing that I'm reasonably accurate with my reading.

The Tilting Tables also say GUND PROSTHETIC LEG MONITORING SYSTEM (and also READY.) So I think I'm right.

The tables' displays also change to 100%: NO ABNORMALITY when Suletta steps on them.

TEXT: WISH: 005 - EAT LUNCH WITH FRIENDS WISH: 006 - MEET UP WITH FRIENDS TO GO TO SCHOOL WISH: 007 - EXCHANGE CONTACT INFO WISH: 008 - TELL A JOKE AND MAKE EVERYONE LAUGH WISH: 009 - SHARE MATCHING ACCESSORIES AND KEYCHAINS WITH FRIENDS WISH: 010 - CALL FRIENDS BY NICKNAMES

Here we get a peak at Suletta's wish list. Do your best to fill it all out Suletta...! We also see that, accurately, "Share accessories" is in fact after "Tell a joke"

Off topic, but something that's only funny to me is that, when Suletta shows Nika the Cool-san and Hot-san Keychains, the word she says is (accurately) translated as "Keychains," but the word she actually says is "キーホルダー" (Kii Horudaa) which literally translates to "Key Holder"

Suletta is called The Key to unlocking the door for Aerial, and she's also the Holder at Asticassia. She's literally a Key Holder herself! Ho Ho Ho!

Something we hear about every so often but never really get a broader look into is how Grassley appears to be swamped in a succession race, most likely because Sarius is concerned he might die soon and needs to leave the company to a worthy heir when that happens. Shaddiq was leading that race, and that's most likely why the position of Acting CEO fell to him when Sarius "disappeared."

Also there's something about how everything at Plant Quetta only happened because Sarius erroneously told his son about Jeturk's plan because he thought he could trust him.

I will do my best to also document all of Norea's drawings that we see. I...think this one is a dead moth...? M....Maybe....? (Please correct me)

TEXT: GUEST: MIORINE REMBRAN GUND-ARM INC. COMPANY REPRESENTATVE What she says during this interview is as follows: "One strength of GUND treatment is that it can extract the user's intentions from comprehensive biological data. Thanks to this strength, we believe we can enable you to physically adapt to the space environment."

Okay now it's time to talk about this fucking scene. I think about this fucking scene all the time.

Okay so first of all, it's an intentional allusion to El4n's habit of silently appearing out of nowhere. But something is very immediately and tangibly off about it this time. Firstly, whenever El4n would appear, he would always be approaching Suletta when he makes himself known. He never just stood and waited for her to show up.

Secondly, whenever El4n would appear, his appearance would swiftly be accompanied with the track Tell Me More About You, which is a calming piano piece that leads with El4n's main motif.

(Funnily enough, "Tell Me More About You" plays more often for El4n's appearances in the show than his actual theme, aptly titled "Elan Ceres." From what I can tell, this song only plays when Suletta brings Elan out of the destroyed Pharact and they have their moment.)

The song usually starts playing almost immediately as soon as El4n appears on screen, if not before. (It even plays when Original Elan is pretending to be him at the Incubation Party.) But in 5lan's initial confrontation with Suletta, there is NO music. NONE. There's not even background ambiance. It is DEAD silent for a MINUTE.

Up until Suletta tells El4n she can't date him because of Miorine, to which he responds that it's okay because "that's all a lie, isn't it?" At Which the song My Depression cuts in, which is a distorted, unsettling arrangement of El4n's motif.

AND THEN, when 5lan continues to come onto her and she shoves him and runs away, we cut to a shot of Original Elan talking to one of the Peil Witches (Nugen) about "That new enhanced person," stating out loud that the Elan we just saw ISN'T El4n.

This scene literally drives me crazy because it is utterly perfect in its execution but it feels like it came directly from an alternate version of the story where we as the audience didn't ALREADY KNOW El4n had been killed. LIKE, AM I CRAZY??????

Anyway, we are shown the same data sheet for 5lan that we saw for El4n in Episode 6. Not much to be said here, the DECISION CRITERIA is Rank A, the graph is empty, and his test results all show "NO ABNORMALITY" , presumably because 5lan hasn't piloted the Pharact yet. We unfortunately don't get a closer look at the EEG section in this shot either.

Not text, but we can see that on the greenhouse monitor, Miorine is looking at a mockup of the Prosthetic Legs. She's probably looking over the results of the operation test from earlier. And thus, we have reached the end. My final gift to you:

In a scene where Miorine is unintentionally hurting someone she loves by emulating her father's worst traits, it's fitting that she's physically copying him as well, hm?

Episode 11. >>

Masterpost.

[yourbestpalpercy]

“Applicant 10,038…do you really think you’ll be able to escape? I watched over your tests, I saw how you cheated. You may be smart in some regards but you could barely beat some tests that weren’t even intended to be hard! What makes you think you’ll be able to escape?” Commander Tartar’s voice bellowed over the loudspeaker as 38 ran through the various, terrible chambers. Tartar sounded like it was currently enjoying 38’s struggle. She had just barely managed to crawl her way past the Villi and Belly Phases. She was here now though…at the Intestinal Phase, able to take a moment and catch her poor breath at last.

Her heart was absolutely racing. 38 could barely, just barely catch her breath as she sat against the wall, hand on her heart. 38’s hands shook. She had been almost caught one too many times in the Coccyx phase and almost killed too many times in the Villi and Belly Phase but- but here she was. All she needed to do was get out of this phase and maybe, just maybe, the exit was on the other side. What was her plan for getting back to Octo Valley? Honestly, she didn’t know. Her mind buzzed like a million, angry bees in a jar right now. A jar that was constantly being shaken again and again every minute or two. Sh-She would figure it out though!

38 finally took aim at the button and shot at it, seeing the door open to- …lasers. So..so.. so many lasers. 38 felt her heart sink immediately down to her toes. The lasers weren’t moving but with how many little gaps and places to mess up there were, 38 immediately felt that there was no way she was getting out of this place.

The loudspeaker crackled overhead once more, making 38 realize that it had never been turned off. A new voice spoke as 38 went back to the old checkpoint to see just how many attempts she had to get past this phase, “Tartar, if I could pipe up with my own idea for a moment…” Tartar didn’t respond but 38 heard a shuffling; no doubt it was from him moving in his chair to look at the second voice, “I could try to hunt down Applicant 38, maybe? I’m fairly good at platforming and getting around I’d say.”

Another shuffle; Tartar probably moving to face the microphone again, “Everest, no, you cannot go through and hunt down Applicant 10,038, I will not allow it. You’re far too fragile for how dangerous my security system is. It would be impossible for you to even get to the Intestinal Phase with how little platforming experience you have considering you’ve only done about 12 out of the 80 tests there are. I can’t have you getting hurt or sanitized, Polar Bear. I’d know better than anyone just how easy it is to harm a precious human like you. That’s not to mention the new tests that are being added with a whole new plethora of new kinds of challenges,” The new voice apparently was either named Everest or Polar Bear.

Admittedly, 38 thought the first name was fairly pretty which, if 38 was thinking of the right person, was very fitting. Polar Bear, however, was very dopey and didn’t match the assumed human’s beauty whatsoever. 38 remembered fighting her in one of the tests and she knew enough about her to know that Everest was Commander Tartar’s little saint that they adored like a 12,005 Polémon DX Deloxys Gold Star Holo Rarequeazea card (a card 38 actually had at home by the way). 38 could only roll her eyes as Commander Tartar proceeded to continue to act like Everest was a little fragile butterfly over the loudspeaker for everyone in the facility to hear.

“...Tartar…” Everest groaned (38 could tell that Everest was rolling her eyes too), “The loudspeaker is still on. Everyone can hear you,” A sharp screech shot through the speakers, causing 38 to squeal and cover her ears as best as she could to keep the noise out. The noise was accompanied very shortly after by, “I AM!? UH-! Everyone in the facility- please ignore that-! Just get Applicant 10,038! Do not let them escape! Btw,” Oh my Zapfish, he unironically said btw out loud, 38 almost died of cringe on the spot, “I highly doubt that Applicant 10,038 will be making it past the Intestinal Phase so, 1,869 and Elite, please make your way down to the Intestinal Phase. Oh, and 7, you go too. Get ready to collect Applicant 10,038 when she inevitably fails…” Tartar’s voice became much crueler as it spoke the final word. The loudspeaker shut up quickly after and 38 sat there for an extra second, her body still shaking from the noise.

38 didn’t even realize that she was still standing on the checkpoint, revealing she had 5 attempts. When she did though, she looked up at the status above the checkpoint and saw the 5 attempts she had. You’d expect relief to fill her, that was exactly what she needed right now to get past this segment hopefully. …But instead, 38’s eyes locked onto one of her other statuses.

Slightly sanitized.

That…that didn’t make any sense! When- 38 shook her head. She couldn’t waste time being stressed about being possibly sanitized. The checkpoint had to be broken, time had clearly worn down the checkpoint after all. That status condition had to be the result of someone else who nearly escaped.

38 stared ahead at the lasers before her and aimed her splattershot, beginning to shoot out light blue ink to coat the ground before her and the ground on the other side of the lasers. She turned into her octopus form to regain ink before continuing to coat more ground on the other side of the lasers.

All it took was a small, reckless brush up…

38 respawned back at the checkpoint, the door closed once more. Her ink was still on the ground and her total attempt count had been brought down to 4. Her status now read ‘Partly Sanitized’. 38 grew worried and noticed that up to her wrists and ankles had gone from her mocha skin to sickly, pale, puss-colored green skin. 38 let a shudder run down her back before she charged the door again and opened it with a single shot of her blue ink.

38 let out a determined huff and turned back into her octopus form, swerving through the ink and ducking under the first laser grid without harm this time. Admittedly though, she was very tempted to jump over the bottom laser. 38 popped back out of the ink and turned back to the first laser grid. That bottom laser looked like it was jumpable…right?

38 stared at the laser for a long time before shaking her head and focusing on the second laser grid which was just a singular laser pressed rather close to the ground. She could still swim under that, right? …Right? 38 stared at the laser for a while, longer than the first laser grid, before she shot a large puddle of ink out of her splattershot, making sure that both sides were coated. Again, she swerved through the ink and attempted to dart right under the laser.

Pain shot through her pain for just a second before she respawned, yet again at the checkpoint with the door closed yet again. 38 felt a defeated feeling rising up in her chest before she let out a rough huff and shot the button with blue ink and opened it once more. 38 didn’t even bother checking her status this time. A status that ominously read ‘Moderately Sanitized’. 38 didn’t even notice how her arms and legs, up to her knees and elbows were now that same, pale green that her ankles and wrists were before. One of her eyes were partially red and the ends of her lighter blue tentacles were now a much more visible lime green which had already started to fade into deep blue. 38’s body felt colder now as well.

38 transformed back into her octopus form and jumped over the first laser grid. One of 38’s tentacles got too close to the laser for comfort, nearly causing her to respawn a third time. When the second laser grid came up, 38 jumped over it this time and swerved into the wall. ‘Ouch!’ was the only thought that 38 heard as she emerged from the ink, holding her head weakly in her hands.

Whoops-!

38 stumbled back and fell backwards onto the second laser.

…38’s grip on her splattershot tightened to the extreme as she let out a rough hiss of pure anger. She threw her splattershot to the ground and kicked it at the door. The scraping and the collision noise filled 38’s ears. She looked up at her status again, noticing this time just how cold her body felt along with how green her skin now was. There were only a few, flick traces of her mocha colored skin and her status now read ‘Mostly Sanitized’. 38’s anger was replaced with a dread-filled, heavy, sickly feeling that swiftly started creating a large pit in her stomach.

38 couldn’t afford having any dumb mistakes anymore. She did not want to be a part of Commander Tartar’s mind controlled army. She did not want to share her cousin, Karaage’s, fate (or, as he insisted on being called now, Elite). 38 swam through the ink and quickly picked up her splattershot once more. She shot another spray of blue ink at the button and completely locked in.

38 swam under the first laser with ease, trying to ignore her newly strange thoughts that asked why she was doing this and why she was trying to run from Denewiah (thoughts she attempted to silence with ‘I’m trying to help it with improving its security system’). She jumped over the second laser just as easily. She was much more careful this time. 38 didn’t swerve through the ink and she didn’t slam her head into the wall this time.

She emerged from the ink quickly and took a moment to catch her breath. Immediately after, 38 took aim with her splattershot once more and coated the ground ahead of her and after the third laser grid with more of her light blue ink. If she could just get past this, she could hopefully make it out of this hellhole and back to her parents to tell them that she found her cousin, Karaage.

38 took a calming breath, deeply worried. The thoughts about Commander Tartar still flooded her mind before she leapt through the third grid. For a moment there, she worried she wouldn’t make it. She- she did though! She might actually get through here!

38 fired at the wall, creating a line of ink she could swim up. She slipped through the grate…and immediately was filled with even more dread as she saw the next lasers. ‘There’s more of them!? Are you SQUIDDING me!?’ Her arms dropped to her sides before she groaned sharply…and then heard the door downstairs open up. ‘Crap, he’s here! I gotta hurry up! Wait, why? Commander Tartar is my boss- SHUT UP!’ 38 spotted another checkpoint right in front of her and eagerly activated it. Looking up, 38 found that her status condition still read ‘Mostly Sanitized’. …Guess she really was that close to being sanitized. Her attempt count didn’t go up one either, leaving her at 1 attempt left still.

38 frowned at the sight and looked back at the grate downstairs. Two sanitized octolings in their octopus forms were rapidly shooting through the hallway. AH! 38 sprayed another line of ink in front of her and swam directly in between the first 2 moving lasers, just as they closed, almost causing her final death in the process. Of course those octolings wouldn’t be affected by the lasers, they were already sanitized!

38 then saw the second pair of moving lasers, having almost charged right into them while trying to escape the sanitized octolings. This set was only one laser, moving up and down slowly. A movement that filled 38 with dread just as she heard, echoing from behind, “There she is!” 38 looked back and saw only one familiar face, Karaage.

38 scrambled to fire at the second one and managed to duck under the laser before it came down on her. Karaage wouldn’t let her splat him that easily though, the best 38 could do was keep running.

And believe me, she did. Right now was probably the most focused 38 had ever been! Karaage wasn’t too far behind and every time he got close, he would attempt to grab 38 only to miss as she ducked under his hand and managed to place a kick directly into his stomach. Karaage screamed and fell back into the sanitized laser and was shot backwards by the force of it as well. There. That should hold him for…eh, a few extra seconds. 38 spun back to the final grid of lasers for this part.

There were two, moving up and down rather quickly.

38 felt that large pit form in her stomach once more, a pit made worse by Karaage’s laugh, “You know you won’t be able to get past that! You should just give up! You might end up not being blended if you do,” Karaage pulled himself up off the ground, still nursing his head a little.

38 stared at Karaage. His words sunk into 38’s skin worse than ever. She now stared at her own self. Karaage…was right. 38 knew she couldn’t get past this final laser. A final octoling sprang up from the grate leading back to the first floor. It wasn’t that second octoling Tartar named. She looked different, having blue eyes instead of the red, evil ones that 38 had seen on every sanitized octoling so far.

Karaage met her eyes before turning back to look at the new octoling, “Oh! Finally! About damn time, 7. Clam it all! You’re so clam slow!” Karaage hissed at the new octoling. A death glare formed on Karaage’s face. 38 had never seen it before.

“I’m no slower than you, shuckface! I was just pulled into a conversation randomly, so sorry for not showing up until now!” The octoling flipped him the bird, with an expression of pure hatred twisted across her face, her eyes burning with rage.

38 felt a spike of worry run through her just as she swung back to the lasers-

Everything instantly went black and the last thing 38 felt was a sharp, burning feeling that contrasted with how cold she felt at the same time. 38 had been too close to the laser…

She only heard one last thing; Karaage. “Damn you, 7! I missed my dumbass cousin running into that laser!” He sounded like he was growing increasingly more frustrated.

***

…38’s coldness got worse and worse. She felt dead, very, very dead.

“Good job, Elite,” That was Commander Tartar…

“Ah, you know I could do it. I shoved her face into the laser myself! I watched as she became sanitized in my own hands! You should’ve been there! It was exhilarating!” Elite. 38 didn’t even know his face, how did she know his name?

“Elite, shut up, she FELL into the laser, you’re the one who got pushed into the laser. Stop making up meaningless bullshrip.” 7. How did she…? 38 didn’t even know 7 either, but yet… she knew her name…

“You shut up! You weren’t even paying attention! How would you know what happened!?” Elite screamed at 7 suddenly and Denewiah let out a rough sigh before shoving them apart, “Enough fighting with 7, Elite, and stop making up lies. Even if she did fall into the laser and you were the idiot to get shoved, I’m still congratulating you two for even getting her back to the infirmary. …2…uh, where’s 1,869?” Commander Tartar asked just as 38 opened her eyes. She felt dopey… “Oh, she’s awake faster than most. Interesting.”

38 lifted her head only to set it back down immediately and decided to just look from where she currently was. She was in a bright room and was lying in a bed. To her left was 7 and to her right, much farther away of course, was Elite who seemed amused by her even waking up. And, just in front of her, was the android she had somehow managed to outsmart.

Its eyes narrowed a little at the sight of 38, tucking its hands behind its back, “Applicant 10,038, can you tell me what 9 + 10 is?” 38 stared at Commander Tartar and carefully sat up in her bed, “Uhm…21?”

Denewiah groaned, “You’re stupid. Great. Exactly what I needed right now,” Commander Tartar rubbed his temples before spinning around and starting to leave the room, “Whatever, you can be a guard, can’t be too hard. 7, Elite, show our newest recruit around the Kamabo Labs please…”

Elite looked at 7 with a disapproving look again and once Commander Tartar was far enough away, he said, “Yeah no. I’m not being stuck with either of you again,” Elite crossed his arms before approaching 38, a smirk coming onto his face. 38 couldn’t hide the worry coming onto her own face.

“Welcome to Commander Denewiah Tartarus’s army, Nakji…”

[lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers]

Apparently, on twitter, there are some people still unaware of the massive teacher shortage in England and Wales. It does affect some subjects and some geographic areas more than others, so let’s talk about it and the impact on kids and the impact on wider society.

And you can see here, teacher recruitment in 2022 was down on every measure: https://explore-education-statistics.service.gov.uk/find-statistics/initial-teacher-training-census

Teacher retention is also in a dire state- according to the DfE, nearly 20% of new teachers quit within just 2 years, whilst nearly half leave within 10 years. Meanwhile, NEU surveys show 44% of all teachers are considering leaving the profession in the next 5 years- see here: https://neu.org.uk/press-releases/state-education-profession

These surveys also show more and more schools having unfilled vacancies for teaching or support staff.

What does this actually mean in practice in the classroom?

In 2019, pre-pandemic, I was looking for a new science teaching job. I went to a few interviews, and found a job relatively easily, but all of the interviews I went to had a good field of applicants, and it didn’t seem like vacancies were going unfilled.

Last year, I worked in a school who had a vacancy for a science teacher. We advertised throughout the year, and it took 2 terms to find a suitable applicant. I left my job at that school, and got a new one on the first interview I went to (this is not because I’m amazing, I was the best of a bad bunch, as it were). My job, unfortunately, was not filled for September. Colleagues teaching maths and MFL (among others) also left at the same time and their jobs weren’t filled. Another vacancy was filled with an ECT who would be moving to the area but she couldn’t take up the post due to not being able to find anywhere to rent!

There will be areas of the country where teachers read this, and think actually, it doesn’t look so bad!

I know schools in my county and in the city where I used to work who now have no qualified physics teachers in the school. I know schools making timetable adjustments to ensure all students get time with a qualified science or maths teacher. I know of PE, English, History teachers teaching science or maths. I know of schools where I’d estimate 10% of the workforce is long term supply (who, btw, can just walk out one day and not come back). I know trainees being offered jobs in November of their training year for the following September.

Out of curiosity I keep an eye on teacher vacancies in my county- I’m seeing the same ones being advertised over and over since September. There’s currently over 20 vacancies being advertised for “as soon as possible” starts.

And certainly forget about finding maternity cover for a lot of subjects- teachers have no need to take temporary contracts at the moment!

So, what does this look like for the kids?

It means they get a string of supply teachers, who may change week on week. It means not being taught by subject specialists. It means if their teacher leaves part way through the year (and teachers do) there is almost no chance of that teacher being replaced, and no spare capacity to juggle. Schools try their best to “protect” exam classes, but it doesn’t always happen.

These kids get poorer quality lessons, often little marking/feedback, and run the risk of missing bits of the exam syllabus. Often, they don’t get to do practical work in relevant subjects, or the practical work they do will be more limited. HoDs are stressed sorting cover, and their own classes get neglected. Teachers go off sick with stress, and the class gets a few weeks of cover (or maybe more if things are really bad).

It also means that kids go without form tutors- that first point of pastoral contact- and they might end up feeling like there’s no-one they can go to if they have a problem at school. (I know some kids feel like this anyway, but not having a form tutor or regular teachers can make things feel worse).

In primary schools, it can look like classes being covered by unqualfied TAs. I don’t want to criticise TAs at all, they are amazing BUT they do not have the training a teacher has, and they are paid much less, so usually won’t do planning or marking in the same way- which I don’t think ends up being great for the kids.

Ultimately, teacher shortages are at their very worst in subjects like science and maths, although they are also bad in MFL, Geography and increasingly English. I am not one of those STEM > everything people, but we do need engineers, doctors, HCPs, biomedical scientists, chemists, environmental scientists, and so on. These are the people who build our infrastructure, take care of us when we are ill and develop new treatments, and ultimately make our lives better. If we don’t have good education in these areas, it is a major problem for the country.

Anyway, this is a very long post to say “things are crap in schools right now, and this is why teachers are striking”.

[sleepyfallboy]

fem!ranpoe one-shot

It wasn’t new for Ranpo to decide she wanted to drag her girlfriend out around the town. It was usually under the excuse that she didn’t know her way around. After all, it’s hard for anyone to tell her no when she uses that as an excuse. Sure, eventually, she always ends up either where she wants or needs to be, it may just take a while. Walking is easier than the trains, but it takes longer. Though, she rarely has to argue with Poe for too much of anything for anything. It’s almost embarrassing how readily the older woman gives her attention, wants her attention in return. It can be overwhelming sometimes. While Ranpo knows she never fades into the background of scenes, it can be easy to especially when she shuts up and listens. When she’s quiet, she’s observing; when she’s observing, she takes a background role. Everything gets so overwhelming otherwise.

Yet, right now, sitting on the train beside the taller American woman, Ranpo found it easy to relax. Her head was resting on Poe’s shoulder, listening to her voice as she read aloud. Sure, Ranpo has already figured out the plot, but Poe’s voice is calming and easy to focus on. Maybe it’s because Poe tends to speak quietly, so it can be hard to hear her on the train, but Ranpo was focused purely on her. She slowly opened her eyes to look at the words as Poe read, her eyes following along. Poe didn’t need to, they both know it, but Ranpo still felt her adjust to let her see the book easier. It made her chest tighten in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

“I don’t need to see it,” she said softly when Poe took a break at the beginning of the next chapter.

“I know,” came the soft reply from the older woman. “But you’re trying to find something visually to focus on. That’s why you keep shutting your eyes after looking around.” Ranpo nodded a little, sighing. She was unable to deny it. The world gets so overwhelming. There’s so many colors and sounds, too many people with all their subconscious habits that they don’t even know what it means that they do. There’s so many tells. Like the man across from them who lied on some important application and now has to do a meeting on a topic that he knows nothing about, or the woman two seats down from them who’s in the early stages of a pregnancy but worried what her family will think, which means it’s either out of wedlock or from a man her family may not approve of. The light four seats down from them has such a subtle flicker that Ranpo is feeling her eye twitch every time it flickers, provided her eyes aren’t immediately drawn to it. Her head is pounding. So yes, maybe, she’s trying to find one thing to focus her attention onto. “Do you want me to continue?” Poe’s voice broke her thoughts. Her tone was a little exasperated. That’s the tone Fukuzawa takes when she’s had to repeat something a few times. That’s how she recognizes it.

“Is your voice hurting?” Ranpo asked quietly as opposed to giving an answer.

“It’s manageable, I’ll drink water when we get off.”

“Please…” She said it so pathetically, so pitifully. It grated her nerves. But Poe didn’t question. She never does. She just resumed reading. A soft sigh left Ranpo’s lips, forcing her eyes to stay glued to the book, following the words that Poe was reading. It’s so hard to narrow her focus to one thing, but she was trying. Perhaps, Poe can read her better than she originally thought as Poe lowers her voice a little more, making Ranpo furrow her brows. It takes Ranpo a moment to concentrate on Poe’s voice once again. Slowly, the rest of the train began to fade into nothingness. It was physically relaxing, having it all disappear. Logically, she knew she was still on a busy train with dozens of strangers, loud noises, and the intercom and whatever else. But her mind was almost able to trick itself. Her eyes remain locked onto the book. Though she doesn’t know if she was actually seeing any of the words or if they were also blurry in her gaze.

The only noise getting to her was Poe���s quiet voice, each word leaving her lips as easily as breathing. The occasional soft sigh of content and slight gasp as she read something she couldn’t believe left her too. Those small reactions, Ranpo wished she could understand them. It’s hard to react like that to the novel. She wished it wasn’t so easy for her to figure out the plot of the novel just from a few sentences, sometimes even less than that. She sighed softly, letting her eyes shut once again. Maybe she wanted to try to live through Poe’s reactions a little. Feel each slight gasp or listen as she trailed off each time that she had to reread a sentence to confirm that she did in fact read what she thought she read. Sometimes, Ranpo wishes she could have those reactions. But no, the best she can do, is try to close her eyes and experience them through the woman next to her. Maybe it was a little infuriating. Maybe she wasn’t as mature about the topic as she thought she was. She isn’t fourteen anymore, yet sometimes, those thoughts of how different she is come creeping back in.

Navigating Together - sleepyfallboy - 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs [Archive of Our Own]

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #27

I'm more than a little dejected today. A new trailer of your upcoming game was shown to us today. In it, they painted you as this evil, horrible person. Some people in my world talk about you as though you were rotten and awful from the time you were born. Some people in my world say that you've been so abused by the world that you are now broken beyond hope of recovery. Still others say that, because of the way you were made and how you were raised, you're so different from and alien to everyone else that there's no possible hope of you ever belonging anywhere.

…The end result of all these thoughts, naturally, is that many people in my world think that the best thing that can happen to you is for you to be "put out of your misery" as though you're nothing more than a rabid animal, as though there is nothing more to you than the mistakes you've made, as though you (and others in my world who are similar to you) are not a sentient, thinking, feeling being, capable of being spoken to or reasoned with. Having empathy for you is VERY unpopular here, and it is a great way to become further ostracized, even amongst those who may or may not also consider themselves misfits.

I feel heartbroken about this sort of thing. Even if you were absolutely devoid of empathy (and you've shown time and time again that you are very much NOT devoid of empathy!), that's still not an issue of morality - that is a brain wiring issue. Some people really are born with problems in the parts of their brain responsible for empathy; it is not their fault. When that happens, it requires proper supports to be put in place so that they can thrive without hurting others despite their condition, not judgment, persecution, and demonization. Anything less is ableism. And I live in a world rife with ableism, and lots of other very unpleasant "-isms" and "-phobias" that prevent certain kinds of humans from being treated like actual people.

Sadly, it is also the case that I live in a world where, when people make mistakes, especially if they think the person should have known better than to make a mistake, people tend prefer the metallic, sanguine taste of retribution and punishment over the sweetness of mercy and restoration. It's for this reason that the cycle of pain continues ad nauseam in this ridiculous and terrifying place.

I'm scared that I'm going to have to prepare myself to watch you die a second time. I don't really know what else to do to help you, so in the trailer that was shown, I put a small wish for good things. Good things upon Cloud and his friends. Good things upon your world. Good things upon you, especially.

…People laughed at me. One of them said something to try to make me feel small, stupid, and worthless. For whatever reason, they seem to lack the necessary empathy and critical thinking skills required to understand that the way stories are told in my world ends up weaving the fabric of society and influencing how humans view and therefore treat each other and themselves. Stories, by and large, are thought experiments that people then apply to the real world as moral templates and as patterns of speech and behavior.

What this person failed to see, as well, is that real people in my world are already treated in much the same way that you are treated in yours. While the way you are treated is broadly applicable to any human who is "othered" in my society, when I look at you and consider the way you think, speak, move, and behave… when I consider your mannerisms and general way of being, you look very similar to neurodivergent people in my world. In particular, your general existence seems to have a lot in common with autistic people. Or, rather… I am autistic, and a lot of your behaviors, mannerisms, speech patterns, movements, and general way of holding and carrying yourself look a LOT like mine. To an almost eerie extent, even.

…And… I know for sure… If I had spent a week straight not eating, sleeping, or hydrating in favor of reading wildly inaccurate books (this is called hyperfocus; it's an autism/ADHD thing)… I also would have taken everything I read at face value (literal interpretation of information and assuming by default that what's being said or written is true is another autism thing). If I had taken everything at face value… spent my life being used, abused, and exploited by people (we have that in common), been led to believe that humans are why there are no more people like me in the world, been led to believe that my mother (we know Jenova is not your mother) is being held captive somewhere and subject to cruel experiments… watching in despair as those who call themselves my "friends" witness me struggling without trying at all to help, looking at all of the people around me who are complicit in this kind of horror…

Sephiroth, if the old version of me had your phenomenal power, and was subject to your exact same circumstances, I… I don't think I would have been able to make a better choice than the one you made. I don't like the choice you made. It was terrible and inexcusable, and I'm sure you regret it very much at this point. But I still don't think I would have been able to choose differently than you. I would have been too angry, too full of despair, too emotionally unstable from being starved, dehydrated, and sleep deprived to control my thoughts and impulses… we are all at our worst when we are in states like that. And for a person who was taught that compassion is weakness, that violence is the answer, and that directly asking for help and support is not an option (we have this in common, too; I've since unlearned this nonsense), it's almost impossible to make kind, merciful, loving choices when we're at our worst. It's almost impossible to simply walk away.

…Truth be told though, I'm not 1000% convinced that the place wasn't already on fire before you walked out of the library. I saw what Shinra did to Banora, just because Genesis had gone over there. To get rid of anything that might make Shinra look bad, they firebombed the whole place, razing it to the ground, and killing everyone there, whether they were involved with the madness or not. It wouldn't surprise me at all if Shinra had decided to firebomb Nibelheim, just because they knew you were digging around in their secret archives. It wouldn't surprise me at all if you came out of the library either just before they finished or just after they finished, and it wouldn't surprise me at all if people saw you in the middle of the wreckage, assumed you did it, and then tried to attack you for it; I've got a couple memories of trying to clean up something my stepbrother broke, only to be discovered partway through, being accused of having been the one who did it, being accused of only trying to clean it up because I wanna try to hide what I did, my explanations and protests being taken as lies, and getting punished accordingly for it, while my stepbrother laughs in the background. Circumstances are different, but the mechanics are the same, if it was the case that Nibelheim was firebombed by Shinra.

You might be asking how any of this relates to my world. And the answer to that is simple:

People tend to assume the worst of intentions when it comes to anyone who is "othered" by society. Marginalized people catch flack for doing the same exact things that "normal" people do. When "normal" people scrounge food from an abandoned, wrecked store after a storm, it's called "finding resources". When black people do the same thing, it's called "looting". When "normal" people bring up a similar personal experience to show another person that they understand what they're saying, it's called "empathy". When autistic people do it, it's called "making it all about themselves". When a father brings home pizza for his children, it's called "being a fun dad". When a mother does the same thing, it's called "being a lazy parent who feeds their children junk food". I could list so many more examples, but the main point is this: if you are in any way different from what society at large considers "standard", people will tend to interpret everything you do as either hostile, manipulative, lazy, or some variation thereof, no matter what your actual intentions are. And then when you try to explain your intentions, people will think, "you doth protest too much" and dismiss your explanations as "excuses" or outright lies.

And you are very different from that which is considered "standard". You're very tall. You seem to have hypomelanosis. Your long hair removes you from presenting as "traditionally masculine". You're intellectually gifted. You're very physically and magically capable. You present as someone who is very much not allistic. You're a survivor of horrific abuse. You were raised as an orphan. With these and so many more things, you stand out.

So then, of course nobody pays attention to the fact that you don't judge what people are capable of by their sex/gender or age; they paint that as "ruthless" instead of as "unprejudiced". Of course when you encourage Angeal and Genesis to take the title of "hero" from you by besting you in a friendly sparring match, they accuse you of being arrogant. Of course when you act shy and socially awkward, people instead interpret "aloof and cold" (we very much have this thing in common). Of course when you demonstrate how amazingly capable you are, people aren't going to see someone who is trying his best to help; they're going to instead see a showoff who is full of himself (we have this in common, too). People overlook the fact that without hesitation, you offered yourself for Genesis's transfusion. They overlook the smile on your face and the love in your eyes as you recount some of your memories to Zack. When you're a human that is classified as "other", your goodness, no matter how large it is, gets overlooked in favor of focusing like a laser on your flaws, no matter how microscopic they may be.

And the opposite holds true as well - If you're "normal", your flaws get minimized while your good aspects get magnified. It's why people love Rufus Shinra and the Turks, despite the fact that they are responsible for FAR more deaths than you, either directly or indirectly, and even though they threw some ACTUAL HUMAN TRAFFICKING (we saw this in Before Crisis) into the mix, just for funsies. Somehow, even though you did your things to try to build a world in which no one else should have to suffer in the same way you did, and they did their things solely for the sake of profits and for maintaining an economic chokehold on your planet, they do not see Rufus or the Turks as evil. Even though the siphoning of Mako would kill the planet just as surely as Meteor, they still don't see Shinra and the Turks as evil. Or if they do, it's not nearly to the same extent that they see you as such. And this would baffle me, if not for the fact that these people are wealthy (in Rufus's case anyhow), allistic-presenting, possessing of a "normal" skin tone, and looking far more "traditionally masculine" than you do. It's very frustrating.

I understand the mechanics of why people get "othered", and I understand the mechanics of why people think it's okay to be harsh and cruel and dehumanizing to "othered" people. But I don't have the energy right now to articulate these things. Maybe I'll get into it in some other letter to you, but for now, I'd end up writing a book (I might have basically turned today's letter into a book by accident anyhow…), and I'm a bit too tired for that.

So, suffice to say: I know why people are so mean. I really, truly do. But at the same time… why in hell are people so goddamn mean all the fucking time??? Why does "I wanna tttyfck Tifa's bewbs" get all the loves and supports and likes, but "Let's wish for good things upon everybody" gets indifference, derision, or hate??? How does that even work???

I'm tired and I want to go home. I'm tired of the trope that is, "abuse survivors are ticking time bombs, liable to snap anytime without reason or warning". I'm tired of the trope that is, "some people are damaged beyond repair, so it's foolish to even bother trying to help them". I'm tired of the trope that is, "autistic people are evil, emotionless robots devoid of empathy". I'm tired of the trope that is, "people who make mistakes deserve punishment and death". If they write your story a second time in a way that ends with you being slaughtered again, it will simply reinforce these tropes, and reinforce broader cultural trends that influence how people like me get treated in this world.

And… I'm tired of being laughed at for wishing compassion and mercy upon other people. I'm tired of screaming love into the void only to receive indifference, revulsion, and derision from others. I'm tired of my kindness being viewed with suspicion and mistrust. I am tired of being branded as insincere, dishonest, or "too-good-to-be-true". I'm tired of all the subtle and not-so-subtle ways that this world and most of the people in it tell me that I don't belong and that I'm not wanted and that I should just disappear so that nobody has to deal with me anymore. I'm tired of all the ways that people seem to enjoy hurting me and others, meanwhile I'm always supposed to be the bigger person and neither fight back, nor give tit for tat. I'm tired of, "we can fix this" being met with doubt, cynicism, and churlishness - part of the reason we can't seem to do anything about the looming climate crisis and the endless wars and the continued oppression of "non-standard" people is that nobody wants to listen to the people who know how to fix these problems. And from this… I'm tired of seeing my friends and my loved ones struggle and get hurt while trying to live in a world that is actively hostile to most living things. I try really hard to keep my chin up and be good all the time because I've lived through horror and know how I don't want to be, but… I'm still only human.

That being said… as much as I wish I could disappear, as much as I wish, every night before I go to bed, that something will happen in my sleep that makes it so that I don't wake up again in the morning, I'm still not done here yet. I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do while I'm here - even when people do ask me for help, they tend not to listen to anything I say because I do not live in the kind of body that most people are willing to take seriously (because I am "othered" in a variety of ways), and when I do kind things, people generally wonder what my ulterior motives are (spoiler alert: I have none). My hands and my voice feel bound almost all the time. And so I kind of just wander around, aimlessly and directionless, wondering what my existence is even supposed to be for. But I do know that I've not yet met all the people who I will make smile. I have not yet met all of the starfish that I must try to toss back into the sea, like the boy who walks along the shore in that one story. I have not met all of those people who, seeing me dried and stranded on the shore, will try to pick me up and toss me back into the sea.

I can't succumb to the pull of the quicksand yet, tempting as that thought sometimes is. So when I get like this, the only thing I know to do is to try to reach out to someone else who might understand and know what to do. I try to hydrate. I try to eat. I try to rest. When things seem hopeless, tending to myself and trying to connect with the safe people around me sometimes helps. When things seem hopeless, sometimes I write to you, even though I know you will probably never see any of this.

There are far fewer safe people in the world than there are borderline (or outright) violent ones. But still, safe people are everywhere if you keep an eye out for them. I just gotta try to focus on that knowledge. After all, the Horse from the story about the Boy and all his animal friends has very good advice: "When the big things feel out of control, focus on what you love, right under your nose."

I'm scared for you. Scared for me. Scared for the people I love. Scared for my world at large. There are just so many things going on. But I'll keep going; what other choice have I got? I can't go around leaving Lumine-shaped holes in the hearts and souls of the people who care about me by exiting this place prematurely, right?

You can't go around leaving Sephiroth-shaped holes in the hearts and souls of the people who love you, either, got it? Promise me. Please.

I already had an epic sandwich today, but maybe I'll get me some mac-and-cheese, too. Mac-and-cheese fixes most things, at least temporarily. I hope someday that you'll be able to sit someplace comfortable and eat a warm, delicious bowl full of mac-and cheese; it's good for the soul, even if it's bad for your arteries, hahaha!

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[felmonth]

Hey I was wondering can you teach me to draw I'm trying but I always get frustrated and give up and stop for awhile I'm okie with drawing a sketch book but I wanna get better on draw on my phone sorry I don't exactly have a fancy set up.....

[There is no pressure I truly understand if you can not but thank you for being inspiring artist to me]

Hi!!

Lately I have received questions, sorry for the delay in responding, I barely use the networks....

First of all, it is a canonical event to get frustrated, cry, give up, in drawing, it is completely normal, we all go through that process, I still go through that process of frustration and I want to cry about it but hey, you have to take things. calmly….

It is normal to feel this way because what we have in mind does not come out or we rush into the facts that we will draw like professionals the first time but no… things in drawing are with constant practice (I will not lie to you I never practiced anatomy…or I practiced something specifically, but if you watch videos and draw sketches daily, believe me you will give some improvement in the drawing, you can have a better line).

As for the emotions when drawing, maybe… you need a break from drawing. In my case, when I go through these frustrating things and give up drawing, I always give myself a lot of time to come back or even watch a series that makes me draw again. I watched an anime called "New Game" that deals with drawing in some chapters and I must say that it motivated me a little to want to draw, or also play a game that interests you, read a story, dance to your favorite music or listen to your music list, do something different from drawing to clear your mind of everything and when you are ready, try it again but more calmly since otherwise you may get frustrated to the point of wanting to abandon drawing and we don't want that…

Secondly, you don't need a very expensive or "fancy" device or setup, it doesn't matter, you can draw on paper, draw on cardboard, on the phone, on a PC with a mouse, draw on walls… I don't. I know… it's not necessary to have technological equipment or something big to draw great.

I don't know if I can help you in this aspect but since you said that you want to draw more on the phone, I recommend what many use and that is… "IbisPaint X" to draw, it can be very useful, watch tutorials either on YouTube or Tiktok , there will always be a person willing to teach you the basics.

Thirdly, taking advantage of the fact that you draw more in notebooks, use your own sketches to learn to draw on the phone.

Take pictures of your drawings and transfer them to the drawing app to draw better, it can be relaxing and not so frustrating. EVEN IF you don't trace drawings from the internet…or if you do…give credit, if the creator of that drawing is not there, don't upload it, keep it as something personal without uploading it to a social network, keep it as drawing practice for you.

Another tip, if you don't want to use your sketches from the notebook to transfer them to the app, then on the phone screen (I assume you draw with your finger) makes crazy lines, be they curved, straight, it just makes scratches on the app canvas of drawing and if you manage to make a small drawing, better, because you learn little by little, I never learned to draw on the phone so I admire you and I wish you good luck in it, I would like to see how you progress in this sense with the drawings from your phone but I will have to wait for your progress perhaps in the future when you feel confident.

And I leave this as an extra… I must say that I honestly don't know how to draw with structured anatomy because I actually draw directly through shaky lines but for some occasions, in this case… to draw my Oc Tom, I need this type of structures For this I use geometric figures, circles, cubes, squares… so yes! I leave this to you to guide you so that you can at least draw your own character, I highly recommend Pinterest, that application will inspire you (although be warned, you will get addicted to the ideas so be careful haha, you can stay there for hours)

And…..yes, the hand I made in the drawing looks like a box of potato chips haha, that was the idea…

(I repeat that I am not the right person to explain these things because I don't know how to explain myself well and I tend to be very negative and demotivating but I hope I have helped you in some way… -cries- …)

Bye! take care of yourself!

Drink water and eat well, neighbor, good luck with your drawings, I hope it goes well for you and I hope to see your art in the future.

[java-dragon]

Bookbinding for Beginners by a Beginner Part 3

*braces self on a door frame* Right there's a lot of information I still need to cover so lets get into it.

I don't recall if I told everyone to set up the document to be booklet type or not but here's how to do that (I'm not re-reading what I wrote my brain stopped working at some point)

But Layout Tab, Page Layout, hit the little arrow pointing towards the document:

I have the sheets per booklet set to 32, but this site is helpful for helping you get the exact number of signatures (a portion of the fic you are printing it is one section of the book, whereas a text block is the whole thing together)

That's if you want to print through the program you're type facing (the text within the pages all of the formatting and indents and everything we started covering in part 2 is type facing). I have totally done printing through the word processor but there is a different option that I will cover later down this post.

For now I'm going to try and remember all of the extra stuff I need to cover. A lot of this is trial an error and fiddling, farting, and sometimes sobbing your way through this.

OH! Right if the fic you're type facing has a fake email. Like.... I don't know "lighthousekeeper@email.com" Word will sensor it automatically when you paste it onto the document. The only work around I have is to have the OG link to the fic you're working on, and try your best to locate the email copy it, and find it within the text of the document using the headers to skip to the chapter in question and scan for the brackets with [Email redacted] or some such, it's usually blue text with "[ ]" going on.

I can't truly think of anything else at this time pertaining to my tips and tricks for Word. There is more I may know but my mind is fizzling out I may circle back to this but I think I'll move on towards downloading and uploading fonts to use in your bookbinding adventures and some Canva stuff.

DaFont and 1001 Free Fonts work

Dafont:

1001:

I'll be using these two Fonts as my examples cause... well I actually quite like them.

Hit "Download"

This will pop up on your screen hit "OK"

Go to your Downloads or where you put your downloads,

Right click on the file in question and hit "Extract All"

Hit Extract.

Click on the folder post extraction. The file type you're looking for is "Open Type Font File" Right Click, "Install" or "Install for all Users" works as well and the font will be available to anyone that has a User key for the computer you're on.

Sometimes the file will look like this:

The Greyed out one? That's the type file.

There will be a pop up that says "Installing Font" give it a few seconds and it will disappear.

You will now be able to open up your word processor and go to the font section and be able to find your newly downloaded font

Enjoy your new found power in getting fancy pants fonts on your word documents!

Now... Canva...

You can download it for free like I said. I have it on my phone and on my computer as a software application:

So I don't accidentally doxx myself this is all you really need to see- you can do much much more than bookcovers, I've done bookmarks, and logos and a few other things.

but for our purposes we'll open up a document and make a few pages:

At the very tippy top that I did not show there's "create Design" I usually hit either "Bookcover" or "ebook cover".

There will be a document with some template examples and you can scroll and see if you like any of those. OR You can just go down to "Elements" and start playing and toying around with that.

You can also grab screen captures of decorative lines to replace the "***" on your document.

How to do this- in elements there should be a search bar type in "decorative lines" and you can refine it "Decorative Rainbow" "brush stroke" "ornate" then open up the application on your computer that allows for screen shots Snip and Sketch for Windows, I don't know for Mac. Sorry.

Select something you like and when it appears on the document click outside of it.

open up your screen grab and grab the line in question

Here's my example.

Now in your word document feel free to go into the Pages tab of the Navigation bar and find whatever the author has used to break up the text. Highlight, right click, hit "search" There will be a pop up on the right hand of word hit the tab that says "Search this document/file" you can see how many times "***" or the equivalent has been used. I would suggest opening this link and reading all of the other tips and tricks since they break it down better than I ever could.

Edit as of November 18th 2023: But the root gist of it all is to highlight the "***" or equivalent divider on the document. Right click, "Search" there will be a prompt that opens on the right hand side of Word hit the "In this Document" and it will bring up every instance of what you have highlighted.

Have the image you intend to replace "***" with right click "Copy". Back in Word, hit "Replace" there will be a box that pops up with "Replace with" Type: ^C . What this does is take the image you've just copied and will override the highlighted "***" Hit "Replace all". You may have to scrub through the document to center it properly but thankfully it's easier to find especially with the Navigation Bar on the "Pages" tab open.

End Edit

Though you can just scroll and find the breaks highlight and drag and drop the image to break up the text if you so choose. Do what works for you.

Now you can also do the same thing with decorative chapter headers, just choose or fiddle and make something that works for the fic in question. Remember when I made you do all of those "Next Page" breaks for the fic? Well on the top of that page with the chapter, double click the header insert an image and "warp image" to "Behind text" and you are free to resize and move the image around.

Just so you know whatever is next to the image will repeat with this example it's the author's name, it will appear no matter the page number odd or even. I don't know the work around and it doesn't bother me much at the end of the day. At this point I'm just trying to pull all of the tips and tricks I've learned over time out of my ass to help people out.

Back to Canva. You can make your Covers if you'd like in this and you can do decorative cover pages. Just go to the page that you want the title page on, insert an image, and warp image to "In front of text" You will be free to stretch and fill the page as much as you please. I do the same thing with my logo placement for the logo page.

Now... if you're still with me... Congratulations I'm not sure I'm still with me or not.

So I'll move on to the "OK I like how this all looks and I've saved everything I've done"

GREAT you can calculate the right number of signatures and print from here OR you can take a few extra steps.

Hit File, Export, hit Create PDF/XPS. I hope you have at least a free Acrobat or PDF reader. Wait. Don't panic if it looks like the processor is freezing up on you. there should be a pop up of a PDF after that minor heart attack.

Now. With your new PDF you're going to go to Bookbinder JS

Upload the pdf file you've created and I'll walk you through the steps.

Letter 612 x 792 is your standard 8.5 x 11 paper.

Printer type- Duplex I hope you have a duplex printer. You'll need it or else you will be manually flipping the pages to make this book bind.

Folio- That is just 8.5 x 11 paper folded in half to make 8.5 x 5.5 booklets. Keep these numbers in mind.

Signature format- there you can select "Perfect bound" AKA Paperback. Or Standard signature. Here I select 20 page signatures. Keep in mind that there will be four pages per one sheet of paper.

Preview output ALWAYS preview output because it will tell you how many signatures will be with the upload. For example:

What this means: Total pages of the file uploaded, since the fic I'm type facing is 300+k words I divided the chapters up.

so you know what a 100+k word fic looks like printed folded and the air compressed (I will cover this as well) Keep this in mind this was Celestial Navigation now add similarly stacked pages atop of what's here. 100+k fics it's wisest and best to split this in half. Keep in mind your wrists. 500-600 pages is comfortable holding. You can get to around 800 pages but if it's 900+ pages I would think about dividing the document up.

After you are happy with the number of everything. Hit "Generate Output" wait for the popup for the save file to appear and hit "Save" this will be in a zip file as well. Head over to your Downloads and hit extract, open up the file and some terminology that will help with this:

Aggregate book means "the whole damn thing" Signature 0 is the first signature.

To spare the wrath and protest of my printer- I print one signature at a time and fold it since I don't have to worry about getting the page numbers to line up.

Take however much time you please. Next post. Folding signatures, pressing signatures, stitching, gluing end bands and ribbons.

aka- welcome to the world little fic. We hope you enjoy your stay. You're going to be a real book soon.

If I wasn't running out of steam I would cover Quartos. But if you wanted to print a smaller fic know this- increase the text size through out the whole document, these things are SMALL. 4.5x5.5 all said and done. I would go to TikTok and Youtube and look up "Quarto Book bind" if you want to see the smallest, cutest most pain in your ass book you've ever wanted to try and make.

I've done those as experiments as well... they can be fun but my god I'm bad at mathing at times.

[kleenex-tissues]

Yours Truly (12)

AO3 here

Ch. 12: Everything’s Coming Up Marinette

When Marinette initially received the commission from Tim Drake, CEO extraordinaire, she expected they would call, have him take some measurements for her, send it in, and an on-site tailor would adjust any issues. That’s what she usually did for overseas clients, but most of her clients were not known for being as eccentric as Tim. She really shouldn’t have been surprised when she received a call from an American number.

Most of the time, she’d ignore unknown callers, but she was on a kick lately for doing things she wouldn’t normally expect and answered the call anyway. She swallowed nervously and drew the phone to her ear, letting out a quiet, “Hello?”

“Ah, yes. Is this Marinette Dupain-Cheng I am speaking to?” English, of course. It was garbled, presumably due to the long-distance, but it was recognizably not her native French. No time like the present to practice. After all, Alya said that real-world application was her best bet to improve her English.

“Yes, this is her. May I ask who’s calling?”

A pause. Then, the voice replied, “This is Tim Drake. I believe I commissioned you for my new suit. I was hoping to set up an in-person appointment for the measurements at your earliest convenience.”

Marinette sat up ram-rod straight. Tim Drake was calling her. THE Tim Drake. He has her number? No, that was definitely listed on her commission page, so this is normal. Wait, did he say in-person? Her back ran cold with sweat.

“In-person, you said?”

She heard a small chuckle on Tim’s end. “Yes, if that is possible. It just so happens that I am taking a few weeks vacation to Paris on holiday. I hoped this way we could do the adjustments in person, as well.”

There was absolutely no way that this was happening. Sure, she worked with celebrities like Jagged Stone and Adrien, but they just so happened to be in her sphere of influence. It wasn’t like they had randomly approached her because they really liked her designs and are traveling over 5,000 kilometers just so she would make them a suit that would be used once. Marinette knew she unconsciously drew celebrities to her, but this was a whole new level. She used to be able to attribute that to a little Ladybug luck, but this? She didn’t think Tikki could affect her luck to this extent.

Marinette hadn’t realized she forgot to answer Tim. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that it took some serious prodding from Tikki to bring her back to the present.

“Oui, oui! Um, yes. That would definitely work. When will you be arriving? We can try to plan your appointment at the beginning of your trip to make sure the adjustment day will fit in before you leave.” Totally nailed that.

Despite their medium of communication, Marinette swore she could see Tim tapping his finger against his chin before consulting his calendar. He was definitely the kind of guy to use a desk calendar.

“My plane lands Friday afternoon,” he said, taking a moment to think over his words. “How does Saturday morning sound?”

“That’s perfect,” she responded with a little too much excitement. After realizing her mistake, she corrected herself. “Sorry, I mean, that would work well.”

Tim laughed. Laughed.

Kwamis, Tim Drake was laughing at Marinette Dupain-Cheng. This day simply could not get any more insane. How did she find herself in these situations?

“Will 10 o’clock work,” Tim asked, a little breathless from his laugh.

Marinette nodded before remembering he couldn’t actually see her. “Yes,” she stumbled. “Can we meet at my home? All my materials are there, so it will probably be easiest. I live above Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie Patisserie on 12 Rue Gotlib. I can send you the address through email if that’s alright.”

“Yes, I would appreciate that. I’ll meet you there at 10 o’clock sharp. Thank you, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

“Thank you for commissioning me! I will send you that email and see you tomorrow morning.”

“Great. See you then.”

The call ended from Tim’s side with a simple click, and Marinette slid from her desk chair to the floor. Grabbing the nearest piece of fabric, she shoved her face into it and squealed. This was an opportunity that had been beyond her imagination. Not only would this boost her credibility as a designer if Tim liked it, but she would also get to say she knew a celebrity in a whole other country. It felt nowhere near as real as it was. It didn’t even matter if he was as awful as Damian said. She’d surely dress worse people when her company finally kicked off.

The only thing that could possibly make this day better would be for Agreste Designs to finally announce the finalists of the design competition. She had patiently waited the month that had been estimated on the application, but there was only radio silence. Not even Adrien knew what was taking so long, and he lived with the CEO.

She knew Gabriel had been shutting himself away much more often, thus allowing Adrien easier access for sneaking out and landing on her roof clothed in his Chat Noir attire for a late night snack. She found him up there a lot, lounging on her chairs and eating the sweets she often left out for him. The company was nice after a long day. She just wished the circumstances surrounding the visits were better.

There were rumors Gabriel was sick, but with no one ever able to see the hermit of a man, there was little basis for the piece of gossip. Whatever it was that was forcing the man to keep holed up in his office, she just hoped it did not interfere with the contest. She would just wait another week, and then the results would certainly be announced.

Tikki’s giggles brought Marinette back to the present. The kwami found much amusement when her chosen fell into the instances. Plus, this was going to be life changing for Marinette, and Tikki couldn’t be more pleased at her success as a designer. Not just anyone can catch the attention of so many famous clients.

Marinette quickly leaned up to press Tikki into a hug. “This is the best news I have heard all week, Tikki! Really, could this day get any better?”

“I have a feeling you should check your inbox,” Tikki suggested mischievously.

Marinette looked at her kwami with suspicion before standing and moving back into her previous place at her desk chair. She had been so distracted with the call with Tim that she hadn’t noticed the red dot on her mail icon indicating that she had a message waiting for her.

She opened it with the practiced ease of having spoken to Damian so often lately, but she couldn’t help the butterflies dancing in the pit of her stomach as she read the email.

To: maridesigns@xxxxx.net From: d.w.redbird@xxxxx.net Subject: Moving Forward on Communication

Hello Marinette,

It would seem that my efforts at keeping my brothers from seeing our conversations have become ineffectual. Moving forward, perhaps we could seek a new form of communication.

I have never lent my phone number to anyone outside of my immediate family prior to this, but I believe it will be our best chance at avoiding any further snooping on my brothers’ part.

Please let me know if this works for you. Here is my phone number if you would like to begin ‘texting.’

xxx-xxx-xxxx

With hope, Damian

Marinette fainted from the excitement.

–

Three days later, Marinette was waiting rather impatiently by the back door of the bakery. She had sent all the information on where and how to meet her in an email to Tim, and now she just needed him to arrive. It was 9:59 am. Their measurement appointment was at 10, and she was vibrating with nervousness.

She wiped her hands on the slacks she was wearing, hoping that the sweat would simply disappear. She wanted to look as professional as possible, so she dug out some of the best business attire she had sewn in hopes of impressing Tim. Black slacks, a lavender blouse with a fabric tie around her neck, and matching flats. Each piece was designed to look like it would be worn to a formal event, but they were designed for comfort and mobility. Being Ladybug, there was no telling when she would have to jump into action, formal event or not.

Just as the clock on her phone turned to read 10:00, a car pulled up beside the door she stood by. The driver door opened and out came Tim, wearing a t-shirt and basketball shorts and smiling brighter than the morning sun.

“Good morning, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he sung cheerfully, moving to greet her. “10 o’clock sharp, just like I said.”

‘Kwamis, what is he wearing? No wonder he needs a stylist,’ Marinette wanted to say. In actuality, she welcomed him with a kiss to both cheeks and responded, “Good morning to you, as well. I appreciate a client who values punctuality like you.”

Tim beamed at her, and she led him inside and up the stairs to her apartment. He had no shortage of small talk; telling her about his flight, his hotel room, and the gala he needed this suit for, all the while she brought him through the apartment door and the hatch leading to her room. In all his talkative excitement, he didn’t seem to notice that he was now standing in the middle of her bedroom as she rummaged through her sewing box. After retrieving her measuring tape, she prodded his arms up into the air.

Tim happily obliged, but continued his rambling. He started talking about Gotham, and how Marinette should visit over the Summer. He has a little brother that’s Marinette’s age, but his favorite is actually his older brother, Jason. They had a bit of a rough patch when Tim was first adopted, but they had grown pretty close in recent years. The best sibling, however, was his sister, Cass, he said. She communicated mostly in sign language, but her laugh lit up a room.

Marinette was entranced by the one-sided conversation, even having to re-measure Tim a few times because she forgot what she was supposed to be writing down. It wasn’t often she met somebody who could hold their own in a conversation like he did. She tried to bring her focus back to the reason Tim stood in her bedroom in the first place.

Shoulder width. Arm length. Hip and waist. In-seam. Every possible place she could measure was measured. She scratched down the results beside the mock design she had made. It was a simple but elegant design on paper, but there were many minute details she wanted to include in the final product. She had to make sure she got this right. The stitching alone would be a feat, so if she could get as close as possible to the proper fit without sacrificing any part of the pattern she envisioned, it would make the process slightly easier.

“Do you have any siblings, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

She tuned back into what Tim was saying, and her pen tripped over the notes she was writing.

“Ah, no. Just me. I have lots of cousins, though, so I never had to worry about being lonely when they came to visit,” she spoke sincerely, but began stumbling a bit as she continued. “And you can just call me Mari. That’s what all my friends do.”

Tim couldn’t help but smile again. Did he do anything other than smile? That’s probably why he was so well-loved in America. Americans always swooned over a good smile.

“I would love that, Mari,” Tim cheered.

His kindness warmed her heart, and she couldn’t help but return the friendly gesture. She then turned back to her desk to pull out her test swatches. Both held similar embroidery patterns, but the colors varied. One was a silk navy fabric with a pale yellow stitching, and the other was red with black stitching.

It was an attempt at mimicking Gotham, Tim’s home and the location of the gala the suit was needed for. Gotham was known for the vigilantes that protected the city’s nightscape. Navy for the deep sky they flew through and pale yellow to match the dancing stars in their domain. The red and black was meant more to be an homage to the various Robins who had served their term.

Marinette held the swatches up to Tim, giving him the chance to view it but also to help her decide which combination would compliment him best. The red did wonders for his skin tone, but the navy brought out the color of his eyes. The decision would have to go to Tim, ultimately.

“What do you think,” she asked politely, moving to the side so he could view the swatches beside him in the mirror.

Tim took a few minutes to consider the decision, posing a few times for added effect. His thinking face brought her a little humor, and she held back her laugh. Finally, he grinned and turned to her, saying, “Definitely the navy. It’s the very essence of Gotham.”

They shared a smile once more before Marinette placed the swatches back on the table. Tim caught her off guard when he spoke again. His voice sounded like he had learned something great as he exclaimed, “I think this is about to be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

[multifandumbmeg]

Random update per my fics:

Sorry I haven't updated in the last few days. I usually try to write some every day, but I took a day off to plan Golden Glint and then finished the mini fic (Reckoning of Mike Carrera) I started before it because that's what I wanted to write and I wanted to finish it.

On the topic of all my in-progress fics, my writing just isn't consistent right now. I mentioned a while ago that I'm going through AO3 author's curse and would eventually expand on that, so since I'm extremely frustrated and paralyzed from being productive today I'll do that now.

Starting from winter/late fall of 2022 I got sick and basically never got better. I was having illness after illness that meds weren't solving, and my headaches just got more and more frequent until they were every day for at least three months. By the time I came home from Korea, I was having full-blown debilitating migraines every day and attacks where I would almost pass out and couldn't breathe. It took me a couple months but I got on insurance, started a new job, and managed to convince my parents to let me focus on getting my health together this year.

It's been extremely difficult and frustrating because US healthcare, but I found out I do not in fact have ANY allergies despite doctors telling me I do, literally putting me on allergy shots for a year, and telling me that was the cause of migraines, inability to breathe, and constant illness, none of which were true. I had to prove this to them by fighting to see an actual allergist and getting re-tested which costs me hundreds of dollars out of pocket, but at least the allergist was a good dude who wrote a SCATHING letter to my primary care demanding I be sent to the proper specialists for my symptoms. Several blood tests and medications later, we have whammy number two:

The hypoglycemia I was diagnosed with as a teenager was not in fact random. Instead, I have hyperthyroidism caused by Graves Disease. Except I ALSO have Hashimoto's Disease, because I am just so special like that. Basically, rather than allergies like I was always told, I have been getting every single sickness that rolled by for the past several decades and because I was so used to being sick and so criminally gaslit about it, I didn't even know I was ill and just kept going. Thyroid also has tumors on it. I may also have other autoimmune disorders, or thyroid cancer, but I won't know until I finally see an endocrinologist an hour away later this month.

Though my daily migraines stopped last summer, I still get frequent headaches and now extremely bad ones (or migraines) every time it rains. Generally, there seems to be some kind of inflammation issue where my body over-reacts to literally everything by swelling up and causing more problems.

Possibly tied to that, I was in pain every single day at work. Considering my age, there is no normal reason I should be crippled by joint pain but that is yet to be solved. I now only work two days a week, which has helped significantly, but I am still consistently in a ton of pain two days a week, sometimes three as a rebound.

In January, before I had gotten any diagnoses, my parents gave me an ultimatum that they were kicking me out in May. I had to beg them to go part-time because I simply could not keep up with job applications while I was so constantly tired and pain. After sobbing for two straight days about the inevitability of becoming homeless because I can't afford to or logistically live on my own, my mom convinced my dad to let me go part time on the condition that I continue to pay the same rent Ive been paying to live in one of their empty spare rooms.

In February, I went in for the first appointment toward getting an Autism screening. The therapist suggested I get an ADHD test and recommended me for the official autism screening, saying I have a solid case for suspecting. After a little computer game and another talking appointment, slightly to my own surprise (especially because of how easy it was) I was clinically diagnosed with ADHD. I recently started meds for that and it has made basic tasks and job applications infinitely easier to the extent it's insane, plus my final Autism screening is next week and based on my results every step of the process so far diagnosis seems likely.

All that said, the job search process has been soul-destroyingly frustrating. I have a masters degree in a specialized field, backed up by a Bachelor's in a relevant field, years of study abroad and work abroad (which is relevant to my career path) and a track record of excellent academic achievement. I also speak French and Korean near-fluently and am conversational in Romanian and Russian, as well as knowing a fair few phrases in a number of other languages. Every job I've had has stressed me out to the point of quitting by around a year (hello Autism), but also none were related to what I studied at all, highly customer service oriented, and still every one would tell you I was one of the best employees they ever had and begged me to stay. Even with this track record, after literally HUNDREDS AND HUNDREDS of applications (which in my field almost always require a cover letter, often questionnaires and lengthy short answers, or even writing samples in addition) I have had ONE interview in four years. ONE. And I was so heinously underqualified for that hail-Mary I'm 99% certain they only interviewed me to meet a quota. As you can imagine, for someone with highly probable AuDHD, doing the same thing over and over for 4 years with a 100% failure rate is enough to make me want to dive into a lake with a pile of bricks chained to my back.

I'm still months out from seeing a neurologist about my headaches and general constant pain, I don't have a plan of action for my buck-wild medical anomaly thyroid, and I don't know if my parents are kicking me out next month. They haven't brought it up so maybe with my recent headway on the Peace Corps application (was told I stand a very good chance, but that's another contract job overseas, further pushing back my ability to find a stable, long term career job) and slew of diagnoses and medications, my dad is cooling off a bit. I don't know.

All that to say my body is crumbling out from under me, my job is stressful, and despite being extremely qualified and putting in so much effort, I have zero long-term life prospects. Sometimes, that results in me diving whole-hog into writing for fun and as an outlet, other times I'm too tired or need to bury myself in mindless content consumption or days of spending every spare moment staring at my ceiling in silence until I maybe fall asleep. Did I also mention the crippling lifelong insomnia which my ADHD meds (along with rapid weight loss I'm desperately trying to curb because I'm already borderline underweight due to my thyroid) are exacerbating?

Anywyay. Point is I'm very tired and stressed so my writing is going to be much less consistent than in the past. Hope you understand. Also just an update for my online friends. TMI but I needed to rant and put it out there for those wondering to lower expectations.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Just after the July full moon when they were both still sleepy, sore werewolves. LOCATION: UMWR, Chemistry Building PARTIES: @lithium-argon-wo-l-f & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Alex was feeling a little foggy on that week's material, so she went to see Gael during office hours only to pick up on their shared nature.

The days that followed the full moon had always felt especially long. Though her body wasn’t filled with the same muscles and aches she’d grown familiar with when she was younger, Alex had a busy schedule that didn’t allow for a day of sleep after a sleepless night of devouring whatever forest critters Andy put in the bunker with her. She did her best to counteract the lethargy with cold brew coffees. They helped a little bit, but even the caffeine couldn’t counteract that she chose to listen for Kaden’s breathing rather than taking her usual morning nap. So it didn’t come as a huge surprise when she still found her mind was somewhat in a haze during her last chemistry lecture and now the homework looked like it may as well have been in Greek.

While Alex did make a point to visit her professors during office hours, she usually likes to show up with more abstract questions about application— questions that made her look smart and left the professor with a good impression of her. She desperately craved the approval in the form of external validation that only a parent-aged adult could provide. Her own parents never seemed impressed no matter how hard she tried and the pleased look from instructors would never change that, but they sure as hell softened the blow— gave her something more achievable to strive towards.

So, Alex wasn’t too happy about having her first trip to Professor Cordova be filled with questions that just made it look like she wasn’t paying attention in class. If she wanted to understand the material and pass the class, it was a necessity, especially considering she was exploring other science to potentially minor in. As she weaved through the brick buildings of the campus, she rehearsed what she was going to say in her mind. When she reached the chemistry building, she was finally feeling better about the prospect of asking seemingly basic questions he had already answered in class. When she reached his office, she lightly rapped on the door. With confirmation she could enter, she peeked her head in through the crack in the door and waved, “Hi, Professor Cordova.”

The office smelled strange as she entered it. Not bad, but familiar. Various chemicals were present in the air, so she couldn’t quite place her finger on it. As curious as she was, she wasn’t trying to look like a lunatic sniffing about the professor’s office like some sort of bloodhound. “I had some questions about some stuff on this week’s homework assignment,” she started. Damn, that was not how she had rehearsed it in her head. Stupid super nose. “Sorry,” she blurted, “I’m not asking for answers to the homework. I have my actual notes on the concepts I’m struggling with. I just wasn’t feeling great last class so most of it went over my head.” 

— He just wanted to sleep. The past weekend had been uncharacteristically rough for Gael, between the visit with Monty, whatever the hell happened with Leticia and even the… he wasn’t even sure what it was called with Elias. His body was sore, that wasn’t new, but the nightmare and the lingering feeling of nausea certainly was. What else was new was that for the first time in a long time, he fell asleep during his lunch break. Fortunately, there were fewer classes in the summer so he was afforded more time to spend by himself. With his thoughts. So that’s what he was doing right now, having completely and accidentally fallen forward on his desk, still holding a pen as it drooped in his hand with its loosening grip. Gael hadn’t reached REM yet, fortunately, and he was cognizant enough to hear someone knocking on his door where he jerked awake, the pen gently flinging out of his hand. “Yes?” He managed to call coherently as he blinked blearily, trying to wake up quickly as he heard a voice accompanied with a small wave out of his peripheral vision. Reaching up to adjust his hair really quick as it’d since flopped onto his forehead messily, Gael turned his gaze to the young, fiery-haired girl that entered his office and he offered a warm smile that easily reached his eyes. “Of course.” He replied lightly, slowly getting to his feet and placing a hand on his back as he did so, doing his best not to let the brief pained grimace paint his face. “Between you and me, I should’ve worded some of the lecture better; I’ve been a little out of sorts, too, so I apologize for not being more coherent.” He examined her face for a moment, tilting his head slightly. “You’re… Alex Bennett, right?” He asked, motioning for her to take a seat if she preferred.

There was some sense of ease to be found in the fact the professor had seemed like her presence had shaken him awake. Maybe it didn’t bolster her with the kind of confidence that would make her stop scavenging for scraps of validation, but it was something. Alex felt the nervous tension in her shoulders dissipate as she offered an easy smile. “Guess we both are having a bit of a week, then.” 

A small sense of solidarity that she could easily mirror. It helped when it wasn’t entirely forced, though Alex wasn’t about to tread any deeper than that. She put on a good show— so good that it made adults feel inclined to check in on her as if she wasn’t the monster that she knew she was. Relaxed was the way to play this, which was much easier now that she didn’t feel quite as self conscious. 

“Yep, I’m Alex,” she smiled. She’d always preferred the nickname to Alexandra. Somewhere in the mix of her grief, it felt like a small victory that legally her name was just Alex now. Not that she’d ever let herself say or even realize as much. Instead, she was caught by something in the air, something familiar. She froze in her place, not wanting to obviously sniff the office, but it was becoming increasingly overwhelming. It was animalistic like her— like Alan. Her heart was going rapidfire in her chest and she had to remind herself, Alan was okay. This werewolf could be okay, too. He was just her chemistry professor for crying out loud. Still, she studied him with a worried gaze. She’d put off getting to know others like her for so long and now that she was opening herself up to the idea, it felt like trying to slip on a pair of boots that didn’t quite fit. Because she didn’t fit. 

“Are you picking up on that,” Alex asked with an arched brow, hoping to not have to elaborate further because she wasn’t sure if she could.

She seemed to relax slightly at first which was good for Gael - he could try all he wanted but he didn’t think he had the mental fortitude or required eloquence to have a functional conversation with a student who was going to be strictly professional and uptight. Not that he minded those kids, of course, but there was something unifying he felt when she confirmed that it wasn’t the day insomuch as it was the week. And he wasn’t sure what her reasoning was, though he also remembered being a college kid once and he often lost track of the days when he was out partying and still managing to find time to study and do well in school. He looked back on those days and started to wonder how he did it when the answer came to him a second or two later and he no longer wondered. He was here today though and he needed to stop thinking about the past. Normally he didn’t but he was still waking up, he figured. “It’s nice to meet you outside of class, Alex.” Gael nodded his head, leaning against his desk in that way teachers and professors did as he kept his dark eyes on her. …And then Gael noticed that she was giving him an expression, one that he didn’t think was entirely positive. Her body language was incredibly stiff and now that he was paying attention, his own gaze dropped, lidding his eyes as he heard something. It sounded like… her heartbeat, pulsing in her chest and much too high for it to be normal. His own expression grew with concern though it was partially hidden behind his mop of hair and the beard he’d grown in a shockingly small amount of time. “Picking up on what?” Gael asked before licking his lower lip. “Is everything okay?”

“You too, Professor Córdova,” Alex responded with a practiced easy smile. Even if she had opened herself up to the idea of letting Alan be part of her life, there was still hesitation there. She didn’t like that he killed hunters– or anyone for that. Still, some small part of her longed for his approval despite that. Opening herself up to the idea of getting to know other werewolves, or even other supernatural beings, was still new to her. It still didn’t feel entirely natural yet and having a werewolf as a chemistry professor hadn’t been something she was anticipating. It wasn’t bad. If she could try to find a mentor of sorts in Alan, she could work with her instructor being a werewolf.

That was, until Alex noticed the puzzled expression on his face and the way he studied her. The way his answer to her question had essentially been more questions. The can of vienna sausages she had eaten for lunch was no longer sitting quite so well. He was a werewolf who didn’t realize he was a werewolf, which made him a danger to others. But how was she supposed to fix that? How was she even supposed to broach the subject without her professor thinking she was absolutely insane? 

“The…,” Alex trailed off, at a complete loss of how to answer that question. Her eyes scanned the books on his shelves, repeating the titles in her mind until she felt the rapid pace of her heart begin to slow. “The full moon just passed. You’re not feeling good after it, right? Maybe don’t fully even remember it?” 

It was hardly the smoothest line of questioning, but Alex needed to gauge how much he knew before she dove into her questions on chemistry, which suddenly seemed largely unimportant if her teacher didn’t realize what he was and the danger he was putting others in by simply existing without that knowledge. “Sorry, maybe not the most appropriate thing to ask.” 

Gael wasn’t sure what line was crossed without him knowing it as her demeanor changed a little more to reflect that previous anxiety that she seemed to have when she first walked in. His eyes followed her as she looked at the full shelves instead of at him and he wondered if that was what she did to cope with stress, which he still wasn’t sure what he’d done to work her up. Then she brought up the full moon, the feelings, the memory loss and Gael felt something knot unpleasantly in his throat for a moment. Did word get out that he was a chronic sleepwalker? He’d gotten very lucky with the schools administration and dean, allowing him accommodations for the problem and while he had assumed that it was something to do with the pressure in the air caused by the lunar cycle, he didn’t think much more on it than that. Or perhaps it didn’t get out that he was a sleepwalker; should Gael place his burdens on this young girl? She was asking him, true, but he didn’t feel like it was his place to overshare his personal life with her. “No no, you’re fine.” He cleared his throat, trying to recover from the thoughts that got away from him for a moment. “I, uh…” He faltered; perhaps… Was she similar to him? Is that why she was asking. “Is that how you feel right now?” He decided to ask her first, gauge her reaction to see how much information he felt appropriate to indulge to her. “Would you like to take a seat?”

Sometimes, Alex wished she had been born knowing nothing about the supernatural and that she could just exist without having that awareness always above her head. All she had wanted to do was get some clarity on some concepts that were coming up in the homework that she wasn’t feeling so confident on. Maybe have some easy conversation about science and stuff going on around campus as a nice little exchange of pleasantries like a normal fucking student. But she knew better, knew what they were both capable of if they weren’t careful. Yet here he was right in front of her with kind eyes, that despite the dark circles that lingered under them, were laced with a hint of worry. How was she supposed to reconcile that? How was she supposed to force this world on him when she herself wanted so desperately to be anything other than what she was?

And this was on her. This couldn’t be yet another problem that Andy had to take care of. Alex knew she had her plate full with whatever this other hunter was up to. Which made her being anywhere near her professor dangerous. She placed a hand down on her knee, heavily, forcing the turmoil that was brewing to keep a more stagnant outward appearance. She looked back to her professor. “Thanks,” she offered, half-heartedly. He was still confused, but in some of that confusion, maybe he was connecting some dots. She really hoped she was connecting even a singular fucking dot.

“Yeah,” Alex answered, “Have been most of my life. Can kind of tell when others…” How did she put it? Hey prof, not to sound like I have absolutely zero grip on reality, but you smell like a canine. Not exactly the most flattering thing in the world to say. There had to be another way to frame it, some other aspect of lycanthropy she could use to clue him in, let him know that there’s help. She had to make sure he was somewhere safe before the next full moon. 

It clicked. Alex stood up and squared her shoulders to give some illusion of confidence. “Close your eyes and listen,” she explained, “It sounds weird and I know you don’t actually know me, but just– please try it?” There was a certain hint of desperation in her voice. If she couldn’t even help protect people when there wasn’t the threat of a fight, what good was she? She did a quick round of jumping jacks to get her heart racing at a pace more rapid than Professor Córdova’s. She stopped her movement completely when she could hear clearly the asynchronicity in their heartbeats. “Listen closely,” she whispered, backing towards the opposite side of the office with light footsteps, “You can hear it, right? Your heartbeat and mine— perfectly even though we’re not in close enough proximity for that to be possible?” 

Gael wasn’t sure what was going on. Was Alex sent there to keep tabs on him? Was she someone that Emilio sent because of some conversation they had online? Or maybe Alan sent her - he had found another sleepwalker and was pushing for this unity in what they were? …What were they? Why was Gael thinking about this now? He needed to keep himself calm despite his soreness and the questions and other things Alex was now telling him; something was clearly riling her up, adding to the exhaustion on her young features but he wasn’t sure what he could do. He thought she was here to talk about chemistry but instead she was stressing out about something. There was something that gave him pause when the student said that she’d been dealing with it for most of her life and his heart hurt for her - he’d only been dealing with it for about a year now… he couldn’t imagine the stress it must’ve placed on her. They didn’t know each other but Gael wanted to already offer her a hand in a comforting gesture, perhaps a cup of tea and some words of assurance but he he didn’t want to come off too strongly so instead, he just stood there and started to hold up his hand in an attempt to maybe calm them both down when she suddenly had a different idea, one that seemed to shift her demeanor. He looked at her earnestly and though there was some hesitation behind her asking him to close his eyes, he heard the pleading in her voice and he gave her a small nod. “Okay.” So he did. Gael closed his eyes and they darted under their eyelids as he wondered what her impromptu exercise was, both figuratively and literally as it sounded like she was doing something not online jumping jacks. The longer his eyes stayed closed, however, the more he could feel something else, something different - his other senses were compensating for his lack of sight whether he asked them to or not. She told him to listen closely but he didn’t get to choose that as he could hear his heartbeat, but also… the professor tilted his head in the direction she had quietly stepped as he did hear it. Her heartbeat. Gael gulped, his eyes still closed. She whispered to him, something else he shouldn’t have been able to hear. Alan was the same way when they sat on the bench, the things Monty would say under his breath, the things Elias would say under his when they thought other people couldn’t hear. The way Gael could hear a heartbeat or a lack thereof. Recognizing a scent before his vision could. “Are you… like me?” He asked just as quietly. “Are you a sleepwalker too?” It was a bold question and he was putting himself out there, not sure if that was the purpose of the exercise but if she wasn’t, she could just dismiss him as crazy. He figured he had to have been nowadays between the things he’d been told and the brain injury he’d sustained, the defect in his mind that gave him strange abilities yet stripped agency and control from him every now and then as compensation.

Even if he didn’t understand, Gael was kind enough to go along with her request. Part of her was embarrassed. Alex knew she must have looked sleep-deprived and somewhat crazed to her professor, someone she desperately wanted to like her, but this was too important to ignore. It wasn’t just the human lives on the line— it was his. This was the only class she was taking this summer and with this hunter recognizing Andy, it was only a matter of time before he found her. Or some other hunter catching him because he wasn’t taking the necessary precautions. There was too much at risk and this little exercise was a desperate attempt to mitigate some of it. 

There was a certain relief when he asked if she was like him. Even if he didn’t know what like him meant, it was a start. An important one. Alex nodded as she tried to figure out the right words to say. Correcting him on the sleepwalker thing with werewolf probably wasn’t the move, even if it was the truth. If he thought it was sleepwalking, this must still be fairly new to him, that he hadn’t start to remember what he did in the nights just yet. Or maybe he thought they were simply dreams, but did he not wake up covered in blood? Seemed unlikely. 

“I am,” Alex answered, “I’m a sleepwalker, it… lines up with the lunar cycle. Heightens our senses.” If she could explain it like a sickness, maybe it would be easier for him to understand. She wasn’t quite sure how that would work for getting him to lock himself up during the full moon go… especially not in a bunker with her and a bunch of small critters, but she’d talk to Alan, Andy, and Kaden. She’d figure something out. She had to. “That’s how you could hear me… and how I can smell that we’re the same.” 

She wished she could simply take this off his plate. Alex had a hard enough time with reckoning with what she was and she grew up knowing werewolves existed. Her professor had no knowledge of this stuff, he could have gone the rest of his life without having the burden of supernatural sitting on his shoulders, but that had been taken from him. It made her sad for him. “It gets easier,” she finally said, “Doesn’t hurt as much after a while and you start to remember more.” Not that she was sure remembering was all it cracked up to be. Even if it was only forest critters, Alex didn’t love remembering the ways she ferociously ripped them apart or how their blood felt as it coated her skin the following morning. 

“I can help,” she explained, “My sister has gotten really good at taking care of me through all of it… and I know someone else like us, too. It can be dangerous if you don’t— It’s more dangerous than normal sleepwalking. Will you please let me help?” 

Gael opened his eyes again slowly as Alex explained some of the things that his mind had been trying to rationalize for months now, things that he was very recently coming around to. Smelling things that might not’ve been there… or who had been there before, recalling that he could tell where Elias had lingered in the house the longest, been able to hear an argument down the street or the heartbeat of a student who was stressed about something even though it was impossible. He attributed these strange new sensations to something in his head getting screwed up during that animal attack. His expression shifted and Gael couldn’t keep it from subtly morphing from kind, if somewhat confused curiosity into further concern and more empathy for the girl’s plight, how she’d dealt with this for most of her life and when she said it got easier, that it would hurt less and he’d remember more, his breath caught in his throat without him even realizing it. It was his turn for his heartbeat to accelerate, though he didn’t know why as an animal part of his brain activated for a moment. While he would’ve loved the pain to subside, wishing that his back could go back to before the accident, he felt something tugging on his brain. He… wasn’t sure if he wanted to remember. There was a beautiful ignorance to Gael right now, a simple explanation that he’d grown accustomed to using ever since. He didn’t remember whatever it was, he just wake up. Sometimes he was out in the middle of nowhere covered in animal blood as though he were part of some ritualistic sacrifice that he wasn’t privy to, sometimes he was in his bathroom that was torn up beyond recognition, his towel ripped to shreds, blood from an unidentified source smeared on the wall. Sometimes with fur that he attributed to his bath mat that was made of similar material and every single time with an implacable, yet overwhelming vice grip of pain that made him feel like he’d been completely torn apart and shoddily rearranged. A plaything for whatever compelled him on those nights where he was agitated and disoriented, buzzing with energy that came from nowhere. At least, that’s how it was until a few nights ago. Gael didn’t want to think of the nightmare he had, the shadowed figure that stood on two legs. He didn’t want to think about the animals he killed, the people he couldn’t explain why he did the things he did aside from “it’s a brain injury” and to apologize profusely for what he did. He was thankful that he didn’t have enough shame to be lastingly embarrassed for being woken up completely au naturale in places that he should’ve been, along with being thankful that he never got put on any lists or sent to jail for being bloody. Then Alex said she wanted to help. The professor looked at her, his eyes partially lidded and brow knitted in the middle, his dark-ringed eyes meeting her own and Gael didn’t understand why, but he could tell that whatever this affliction was, she didn’t know him and yet felt so strongly about this that it managed to pierce through his reservations. “...Okay.” He relinquished it with a small nod to reinforce what he said. “Yes– yes, of course you can help.” He inhaled and licked his lower lip, looking down at his desk as he affirmed his answer, now feeling his heart beating anxiously in his chest cavity.

For as long as she could remember, Alex had been observant. It was a learned defense mechanism that stuck with her through the years and it was in full swing as she watched Gael process what she had proposed. Her eyes, while kind and offering sympathy, were discerning. She listened to every beat of his heart and noted the way the pace picked up. It was an indication that he knew something serious was wrong even if he didn’t quite understand it. This was overwhelming for him and she couldn’t fault him for that. It had been thirteen years and she still grappled with the reality of what she was despite the fact she’d grown up knowing about werewolves. The supernatural had always been a reality for her and that made it easier in some ways. 

Her professor didn’t have that same background and was going into this whole experience blind. Alex wasn’t sure the best way to help him, but she would find a way. He seemed… caring and so normal. The word monster was starting to carry less weight than it used to, but it still sat like a weight on her shoulders. It was a weight that demanded she do what she could to mitigate any potential harm and she needed to make it work. 

“Thank you,” she said softly, “I’ll figure out some ideas before the next full moon.” Getting her professor to agree to nights locked in a bunker seemed less than likely, but maybe deep woods camping with Alan? She’d figure something out. She had to. “I’ll come back tomorrow about the chemistry questions,” she started, “With coffee. Think we’ll both have a clearer head then anyway.” And maybe by then she’d have some ideas to run by him. 

[tanadrin]

I’m not well-read enough in the relevant fields to argue this point convincingly, or even to be all that confident about it, but I certainly have the impression that the modern approach to syntax has, in a way, distorted understanding of language in the context of computing, and projects like language models. By that I mean: language is an emergent phenomenon that arises out of a diverse set of cognitive faculties, some of which are very old in our evolutionary line, and some of which are much newer. (I think the whole “language organ” concept is pretty useless and misleading.) But a focus on studying the structure of language as a set of, like, minimal rules meant to produce things that look like well-formed language--and onto which it is easy for us to interpolate meaning because they use symbols familiar to us--or using elaborate tools for statistical prediction, seems like it is always going to run into a great deal of difficulty when trying to apply language to specific purposes.

For example: it’s not so crazy to me that training a language model on literally the entire accessible Internet, or some other huge corpus of data, will, with sufficiently advanced techniques, produce a system you can ask “what is the current political situation in Djibouti,” and which can then summarize the contents of a bunch of news articles. It’s impressive as a computational task, but disappointing as an exercise in language modeling: while I think the poverty of the stimulus argument is overrated, it’s definitely true that humans don’t have to consume nearly as much training data as a computer to produce a well-formed sentence in their native language, much less to talk about current events in a country they may know little about. I know that “computers aren’t yet as smart as people at most tasks” isn’t exactly a blistering-hot take, but it does make me pretty skeptical that all the new AI technologies we currently have are going to have much in the way of meaningful practical applications. If you ask a human a question they don’t have a good answer to, they can say, “I’m not sure, but I think...” or “I don’t know.” GPT-style bots can’t even do that.

(In fact, I suspect one reason they seem so impressive is that they will always produce some output for a given prompt, and as a user we cannot see how well that answer is actually supported by the training data, and we are often blind to our own ability to paper over discontinuities or lacunae in the apparent meaning with our own tendency to supply context. Even famously content-less nonsense sentences like “colorless green ideas sleep furiously” can be very evocative to humans, because we will supply meaning where we cannot discover it. Our brains are optimized for identifying patterns, not falsifying them.)

Tasks like summarizing a book or complex information seem like the kind of task that might require, or at least greatly benefit from, not just a minimal programmatic or statistical treatment of language that can be brute-forced with a sufficiently large corpus, but an engagement with other cognitive faculties that human language is built on. But we still don’t understand most of those faculties very well; much of the basic architecture of our minds is still a mystery to us. The Chomsky-style approach to language seems to have convinced a generation of people studying language, and trying to get computers to produce language, that language is a pretty highly restricted or narrowly focused set of abilities in the human brain, and that it can be cracked (more or less) without understand more about deeper neural architecture. I’m very skeptical of that idea. And I suspect that the current methods will hit their limits in the not too distant future, and when that happens, and they prove not to be a useful path to other, more sophisticated kinds of artificial intelligence, some people are going to be a lot more surprised than they should be.