#and i managed to create my first bags and berets

[dracimexidae]

What better workout for my arms than working this beast of a thread right here 🥵

[hongism]

liquorice and ivories - k.hongjoong

➻ pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader ➻ wc: 16.5k ➻ genre: smut, tad angsty, fluff, e2l, pianist!hongjoong, pianist!reader ➻ rating: M, 18+ ➻ warnings: public sex, semi-public sex, explicit smut, oral sex: m & f, fingering, handjobs, choking, lowkey hate sex at first, sex on a piano, degradation, praise, marking, biting, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing, creampie, unprotected sex ➻ summary: you and hongjoong are competitors, of course. two people, one dream - there’s never room for two in this industry. neither of you care who you have to step on to get to the top.

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Your fingers hit the ivories with a thud. The sound echoes through the practice room, reverberating against the walls and sending the sickeningly sweet sounds to the ears of all the people in the room. You sit back, satisfied with the performance, and glance over at your small audience. The professor is the first to clap, and he sends a small smile your way before standing up. Five of your classmates mimic his movements, but the sixth remains stony and cold, unmoving except for the slight curl of his lips that echoes his disgust with your performance.

Kim Hongjoong.

The two of you have never cared for each other; both are so competitive that you can’t stand to be around one another for more than five seconds. You are arrogant to a degree, but only because you think about how far you’ve come and how much you’ve developed over the years. Hongjoong, on the other hand, is just arrogant. There’s no need to beat around the bush and think harder about it. You’ve known the man for about two years now – you both joined the university at the same time and now are in your junior years together. Given the minimal size of your program though, it means that you have to share every single class with Hongjoong.

When you started your journey in the program, you didn’t notice Hongjoong. He’s a short-statured man – still taller than you yes, but small compared to your other male classmate – and he was relatively quiet during the first year of school. A fashionable student, even with the awkward uniform you’re all required to wear, but he always manages to style it in a way like no one else. Whether it’s a beret on his head or a sudden change of hair color, Hongjoong always adds a new flair to his outfits. Once he even had a mullet, which you had never seen before in person, but as much as you hate to admit it, it actually suited him quite nicely. Now, however, his hair is bright blue and parted right down the middle. His bangs frame his forehead, exposing just enough skin to entice, and if you didn’t hate his guts so much, you would understand why all the girls at this school want to get in his pants.

As you said, you didn’t notice him during your first year at university because he was so quiet and kept to himself. That all flipped during the second year though. Hongjoong became bold all of a sudden; the bright-eyed boy of freshman year was long gone and replaced by a cynical man who sought to tear everyone down. You became his primary target of attack. You weren’t sure why at first, but it became glaringly obvious once your professor admitted that you and Hongjoong were the top two students of your generation. It is a competition, in which you are his biggest competitor.

Exchanged insults, glares and scowls sent in each other’s direction, attempts to outdo one another in practices and recitals and competitions. You fight each other tooth and nail. Your professor seems totally unbothered by the hatred you bear for one another; he claims that it’s a healthy way to challenge each other, even though everyone knows that it is the opposite of healthy.

All that to say – you are not surprised in the slightest to see his disdain. Your professor on the other hand cannot stop grinning after your performance.

“Fantastic job, Y/N. Really stunning. I think you’re doing better than ever with this piece. I have no doubt that you can win the next competition if you continue practicing hard and performing at this level.”

You push the piano bench back just enough to step out, bowing to your professor at his kind words.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Mr. Kim, you’re up next.” Hongjoong stands as he’s called forward. The two of you pass without sparing so much as a glance in the other’s direction. You take his now empty seat, one leg crossing over the other as you lean against the back. Hongjoong sits on the bench, fiddling with the adjustments and distance from the keys a bit. “Remind me of your piece?”

“Chopin’s Nocturne, Opus 48, number 1.”

“Ah yes. Start whenever you’re ready.”

As soon as Hongjoong’s fingers hit the keys, you’re reminded of why you hate the man so much. It’s not because he’s arrogant and egotistical for no reason. No, he’s sickenly good at playing the piano. That infuriates you even more. If he was bad and full of ungodly rage, you might be able to rectify his attitude, but no. He’s the best pianist you’ve ever met, ever heard, better than some professionals that you’ve gone and seen in concert. He plays the piano as though it’s an extension of himself. The ivories are like his muscle and bone, he treats each one like it’s a part of him, and he knows how to recreate a piece of music in a way that is so authentically original yet completely his own. Yea, you fucking despise it.

Over the years, the biggest complaint you’ve received from teachers and judges is that you cannot properly express the music. You can play it perfectly, recreate the notes as they were written, and copy them to perfection. But that’s not what the judges or teachers want. They want you to be unique and diverse. They don’t want a perfect replica. They want you to take the piece of music and make it your own, create something flawless and make it even better by putting your own heart and soul into the notes. Hongjoong does that with such ease that he makes it look effortless.

This piece he plays now gives him the perfect playing ground to do that again. The way his fingers dance across the keys, a feather-light touch that brings the slightest notes out and the hard-hitting chords that resound in your ears. His performance is as flawless as ever, he has no trouble making the song his own. You hate it. The perfection under his fingers nearly makes you sick to your stomach because the player behind the keys is nothing but a self-righteous asshole.

You honestly want to smack some sense into Hongjoong, maybe rough him up a little and try to make him less of an asshole, but you doubt that would work. You settle for glaring at the side of his head throughout the performance, despising each perfect note he plays until he finishes the song. You return the favor of not clapping when he finishes the piece, six long minutes of torture, but everyone else in the room applauds his performance with fervor. He stands up and steps around the piano bench, bowing to the professor then turning to look right at you. A smug smile spreads across his lips. He knows how well he did, and he knows how much you enjoyed the piece. You don’t give him the pleasure of returning the glare any longer and glance away to stare at the floor instead.

“Fantastic job, Mr. Kim. Near perfection, I would say. Be sure to watch the tempo as you play. Otherwise, I have no advice for you.”

“Thank you, professor.” Hongjoong’s voice mimics the sickly sweet tone of his playing, a melodious sound that grates against your ears despite how pretty it is. He rubs at his wrists as he pulls away from the piano, and his expression is blank when you look back up at his face.

“Alright, that’s all for today. You all did well with your performances. Be sure to keep practicing. I’ll see you at the competition on Saturday. Watch your emails as I’ll be sending out information about the bus ride to the concert hall. Dismissed!”

You waste no time in standing up, snatching up the bag at your feet and slinging it over your shoulder without thinking twice. You’re out the door within seconds. It would be a wise idea to drop by a practice room and work on your piece some more seeing as there are only a few days left until the competition, but too much rage boils in your gut. You want nothing more than to go home and stew in fury on the couch while watching some awful drama. So, that’s exactly what you do.

The bus ride back to your apartment is quick and easy, as is the walk up the stairs to your room. When you step inside, a small black cat darts out from under the couch to greet you. You stoop down to scratch at his chin, cooing as he rubs against you with a happy purr.

“Hi, Victor. Did you have a good day?” The response you get is a quiet meow. “Yea, I had a good day up until practice. Fucking Kim Hongjoong.”

You step around the small cat to plop down on the couch, dropping your bag to the floor with a thud. Digging around in your pockets, you pull your phone out to find a littering of texts across the screen as well as two missed calls. With a sigh, you tap the screen to return the call, immediately greeted with a loud scream in your ear.

“Y/N!”

“Yea, hi, Woo. Why’d you call?”

“I can’t just call my best friend out of nowhere?”

“No, because you never call unless you want something,” you sigh into the receiver. Wooyoung replies with a dissatisfied click of his tongue.

“Wow, I see how it is. I get absolutely no respect. None! You hear that, Seonghwa? No respect!” You hear Wooyoung’s roommate hum quietly over the phone, and Wooyoung grumbles at his nonchalant response. “Anyways, you’re right. I called because I want something.”

“I fucking knew it.” You sit straight on the couch, elbows coming to rest against your knees. “What is it this time? Calculus homework? You know I’m not a math major…”

“No! No, if I wanted help with Calculus, I would just ask Hwa.”

“Okay, so what is it?”

“I’m having a party tonight and–”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear me out!”

“The answer is no.”

“Come on, Y/N! You never go out!”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s a chill party!”

“You say that every time then the cops get called and suddenly it’s no longer a ‘chill party’.”

“Okay, but this time it really is.”

“How so?”

“It’s small. Only seven or eight people are coming. Including you, maybe?”

“More always end up showing up, Woo.”

“Not this time. I’ve limited it. Mingi and San are not allowed to bring anyone over, I’ve made it glaringly clear. So please? Pretty please? Seonghwa and I will buy you dinner for a whole week!”

“Um, when did I agree to that?” Seonghwa’s voice carries over the phone against, his tone full of protest as Wooyoung makes the offer.

“Make it two weeks and you have a deal,” you respond, voice flat.

“What? No! That’s way too much. One week.”

“One and a half.”

“I’ll give you one week and Hwa will buy a whole bag of cat food for Victor.”

“Deal.”

“What?” Seonghwa’s shout of protest resounds again. “I did not agree to this!”

“Too bad, so sad, Hwa! She’s coming!” Wooyoung cheers, voice quieter as he pulls away from the phone for a moment. He comes back right after to talk to you again. “Okay, be here by eight. That’s when people will start showing up. Seonghwa’s getting us some good good alcohol so we’re really going to have fun. I promise!”

Wooyoung doesn’t give you the opportunity to respond; instead, he hangs up the phone and leaves you in silence again. You drop the phone to the couch with a sigh, glancing over at where Victor is now perched on the armrest.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

He meows back at you, amber eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yea, that’s what I thought.”

…

The house is already booming with music when you arrive at the front door. Wooyoung is lucky to live with Seonghwa because the man is filthy rich and can afford to rent out a whole house to live in for the school year. It allows for loud parties like these, although the house is relatively small and the other houses around it are very close, they can at least have the luxury of not sharing a whole apartment building with hundreds of other people.

You don’t bother knocking, twisting the knob and stepping into the noise. Wooyoung is there to greet you at the door, two cups in hand, and he grins when he sees you.

“Y/N! Let’s get this shit started! Rum and coke?”

“Yea, yea.” You snatch one of the cups from his hand and start sipping at it without a second thought.

“Hey, that was mine!”

“Well, it’s mine now!”

“You little shit.” Wooyoung scrunches his nose up, then drops a hand to your back. “Okay almost everyone is here. San is in the middle of dragging Jongho over by the ear, then we’re gonna be in full party mode.”

“I can’t wait to make a speedy getaway.”

“You say that every time. Then you stay all night. Make up your mind, woman.” Wooyoung elbows you in the side. He catches sight of Seonghwa a moment later, rushing off to go stand with the older man. You watch him go with a small shake of your head. As much as Wooyoung doesn’t want to admit it, he is absolutely infatuated with his roommate. Every time they have a party like this, Wooyoung ends up in Seonghwa’s bed, and they wake up as though nothing happened. Part of you wishes you could have a relationship like that – fuck and move on without a care in the world. The two won’t admit that it’s something exclusive but you know Wooyoung wouldn’t dare sleep with anyone else, and Seonghwa doesn’t bring anyone to the house or spend the night elsewhere. They have an unspoken agreement, an undefined relationship. Still, it bothers Wooyoung that Seonghwa won’t speak up about his feelings, and you’ve had to console the man through drunk tears on occasion. The only action you get, on the other hand, is hearing Wooyoung’s stories about how they fucked and getting gross details of all the positions Seonghwa put him in throughout the night.

You shake your head at the thought, downing some more of your drink to expel the image from your mind. You glance around the living room, searching the faces of the people who are already here. Wooyoung was at least telling the truth, and there are only three people talking in a small circle. All are faces you recognize: Wooyoung’s friend Mingi, Seonghwa’s old flame and best friend Yeosang, and Yeosang’s current boyfriend Yunho. All people you know well enough to be friends with, so you approach them without any hesitation. It’s only when you step past Mingi’s outrageously tall form that you catch sight of a much smaller form, one with bright blue hair that you recognize in an instant.

“He fucking didn’t…” You mutter to yourself as you drag your gaze over the man’s form. “Jung Wooyoung, I swear…”

You spin on your heel just before going to where the group is standing. You make a beeline for Seonghwa and Wooyoung, catching the younger man by surprise when you grab hold of his shoulder and yank him back.

“Woah! What? What happened?”

“You fucking invited Kim Hongjoong?” You ask, tone incredulous as you glare at your best friend.

“I-I – oh shit. I forgot! I forgot you weren’t friends!”

“How did you fucking forget, Wooyoung? I tell you how much I had him on the daily!”

“Mingi asked if he could bring his roommate! I didn’t know that his roommate was Hongjoong, I swear. I’ve never met him before, I just assumed it was some random person. Please don’t hit me!” Wooyoung flinches away from you as you raise a hand to smack him across the back of the head.

“I can’t believe you,” you grumble as Wooyoung yelps. Seonghwa laughs at your exchange with Wooyoung, eyes forming soft crescents as he smiles. “You didn’t think to ask?”

“Why would I need to ask? We’re friends, I just assumed his roommate would be chill like he is!”

“No, it’s Kim fucking Hongjoong, the least chill person in the fucking universe. I’m leaving.”

“Woah, woah, woah! Please don’t, Y/N. You just got here, come on. Stay for just a little bit. You don’t even have to talk to him, okay? Just stay with me or Seonghwa. Or San when he gets here! I know you like him!”

“Shut up!” You turn away at the accusation, cheeks heating up as he points out your minor crush.

“I’m just stating facts,” Wooyoung huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest and sticks his tongue out at you.

“I’ll stay as long as I don’t have to breathe near Hongjoong.” You send a glare at the blue-haired man’s back even though he can’t see you. You don’t even know if he’s seen you yet; he’s still glued to Mingi’s side without a care in the world.

“What’s the deal with you two anyway?” Seonghwa asks as he brings his drink up to his lips.

“He’s a self-righteous fucking asshole who tears people down so he can feel better about himself,” you grumble back. Seonghwa’s eyebrows shoot up, and Wooyoung shakes his head.

“Competition. They’re both good at piano. Thus… they’re competition to each other.”

“Yea, yea… it would help if he wasn’t such a fuckwad.”

“Ooh, fuckwad. That’s a new one. Hey, Hwa, how kinky would it be to call you fuckwad during sex?”

“I – what?”

“Please spare me! I did not come here to hear about that again.”

“Oh, fuckwad, harder!” Wooyoung cries out, leaning closer to you. You try to swat him away with weak hands.

“Not as kinky or hot as you think,” Seonghwa chimes in, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Maybe we can try it tonight and see if I change your mind.”

“I hate it here,” you chime in, trying to hide behind your drink.

“Sure you do.”

“No, I really hate it here. This is disgusting, I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I mean, you can watch if you want–”

“No! Oh my god, no. Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung cackles as he pulls away from the two of you, moving over to where the others stand with their drinks, and leaves you and Seonghwa to stand at the edge of the kitchen.

“What am I going to do with him?” Seonghwa asks as he watches the short brunette walk away.

“Marry him?”

Seonghwa releases a small laugh. “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

You smile at the taller man, glancing at his love-stricken expression out the corner of your eye before downing the rest of your drink. Casting another glance over at Hongjoong’s back, you spin on your heel and enter the kitchen to make yourself another drink. The amount of rum you put in is almost shameful, and it’s a good thing that your recital is on Saturday and not tomorrow because you know you will end up absolutely wasted before the night is over. You don’t even bother to put soda in this time either, just leaving the liquor and a few cubes of ice.

The alcohol burns as it sears down your throat. Seonghwa has moved forward to join Wooyoung with the others. You know you’re going to have to go over there eventually, but Hongjoong’s lurking form is deterring you from doing so for now. Just your luck too because the doorbell rings as you step out of the kitchen.

“I’ll get it!” You call out over your shoulder, making your way over to the door. You already have an inkling as to who it might be, and that is only confirmed when you crack the door open. San and Jongho stand behind it, bright smiles on both their faces. You bite down hard on your lower lip at the sight of the former and try not to let your gaze rake over his body as he steps over the threshold.

“Oh, Y/N! I didn’t know you were going to come too. What a pleasant surprise!” San says. His hand finds your waist as he pulls you in for a warm hug. Your heart does small cartwheels as he presses against you, and you feel the need to down a whole bottle of rum to expel the feelings.

“Yea, I-I, uh, Wooyoung convinced me to come,” you stammer out, glancing away from San’s face. Jongho smiles at you but says nothing, and he looks a lot less excited to be here than San. You understand the feeling at least and pass a sympathetic smile in his direction.

“I’m glad he did. I don’t see you nearly enough.”

“Oh shut up. You’re just one building over, you can always visit me in the practice rooms.”

“And risk seeing asshole supreme? I’ll pass.” San laughs as he shuts the front door, and you know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Don’t speak too soon. He’s here with Mingi.”

“Oh fuck. Where’s the alcohol? I’m gonna need it.”

“Kitchen.”

“Bless you.”

“Mhm,” you hum over the rim of your cup. Your eyes shift back over to where the others are standing. Your heart plummets in an instant as you see Hongjoong’s gaze on your form. That familiar hatred is lingering in his stare, and you return it immediately with an equal amount of fury. Rather than staying any longer to see him, you move to follow San into the kitchen, downing a good amount of alcohol along the way.

“You know, I should’ve brought my girlfriend with me,” San says as you step into the kitchen. You freeze in your tracks, mouth falling agape as your brain processes the words. It’s almost a physical pain that spreads across your chest when you realize what he’s saying. You don’t let it show on your face though; the pain is covered with a shaky smile and laugh.

“W-What do you mean?”

“You’re always the only girl at these parties. It must suck to not, I don’t know, have another girl to talk to, you know?” San brings a cup to his lips, sipping at it quietly as he looks at you. You swallow roughly.

“Right, yea. Of course. I… Honestly, I barely notice. I have Wooyoung.”

“Good point, good point. I’ll be sure to bring her to the next one though. I think the two of you would get along! Hell, you might even know her. She’s in the piano program.”

“O-Oh, wow! Wow. Wow. What a coincidence!”

“I know right? Her name is Minnie if you talk to her at all.”

You nearly choke on your drink as San says the name. Not only do you know the girl in question, she is one of your closest friends – if not your closest friend in the piano program. Not once did she ever let it slip that she was dating your crush. The crush you have mentioned to her on multiple occasions. Nice. Fuck, this nice just keeps getting better and better.

“I-I, no. No, uh, I’ve not talked to her too much!” You lie with another weak smile. “But I’ll be sure to introduce myself soon. I’d love to chat with her about music and stuff.”

“Yea, absolutely. I can give you her number if you’d like?”

“No, no! It’s okay! I’ll see her tomorrow in class. You don’t need to do that.”

“Oh yea, I forgot you guys have practice together every day. She speaks highly of your playing, by the way.”

Your smile is beginning to hurt your cheeks as you strain to keep it going.

“Oh please, I’m not that good. Nothing special.”

“Humble words for the best in the program,” San replies with a lilt to his tone. Your cheeks feel like they might collapse if you maintain the grin any longer. Thankfully, San steps away from the counter and motions towards the living room a moment later.

“I’m gonna go say hi to the others.”

“Yea, go ahead. I’m just gonna get a refill on my drink!” You don’t need another refill, you still have half a cup left. You throw it back when San disappears though in the hopes that it’ll take the sting in the corners of your eyes away. It wasn’t even a straight-up rejection. Still, you’ve spent months pining after San and trying to get close to him, only for this to happen. One of your closest friends to up and date him behind your back? Yea, that hurts a lot more than you’d like to admit. Once the alcohol is fully down, you drop your cup to the counter and begin to pour another glass of straight rum. You don’t even notice when someone else steps into the kitchen with a drink in hand.

“Even at a random party, you manage to annoy me.”

Hongjoong. As though your night couldn’t get any worse, he decides to come and bother you. How perfect. You should’ve said no to Wooyoung.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” You slam the bottle of rum against the counter and bring your cup back to your lips. Hongjoong comes closer to the counter, shaking his head at your behavior.

“Such a model student you are.”

“You’re one to fucking talk.”

“The mouth on you is absolutely foul.”

“I didn’t realize we weren’t allowed to cuss.”

“It’s not pretty for a lady to cuss.”

You nearly toss your drink in his face but somehow you manage to hold back from doing so.

“My patience is already minimal.”

“Rejection ruin your night?” Hongjoong reaches across the counter to pick up the bottle of alcohol. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you think you’ll draw blood. “Everyone in class knows that Minnie’s dating San. How did you manage to miss that? Especially seeing as you’re the one who talks with her the most?”

“She neglected to tell me.”

“Probably didn’t want to crush your dreams.”

Your grip on the cup in your hand tightens. Hongjoong’s words shouldn’t get to you – they normally don’t, but right now you’re already in a bit of a fragile mindstate, so the stinging in the corners of your eyes returns in a rush. You inhale sharply. Hongjoong glances up at you as he hears the sound. His fingers pause on the bottle of rum.

“Are you crying?” He asks. You squeeze your eyes shut as though it will hide the evidence of your tears, but it only serves to cause them to run down your cheeks. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry. I di-didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hongjoong’s apology is quite the shocker. You half-expected him to laugh in your face and call you all sorts of names. When you glance over at him again, his expression is one full of regret and guilt. You wipe furiously at your cheeks with one hand, keeping the other on your cup of alcohol.

“Shut the fuck up,” you say again, albeit with a much shakier tone this time. All the remorse on Hongjoong’s expression melts away in an instant. He glares at you in response and returns to pouring himself another cup of alcohol. You turn away and move towards one of the counters, hopping up on it and mulling over your drink in silence.

“You’re really going to sit there and mope all night? I should’ve known you were boring as fuck just from hearing your performance quality.”

It didn’t even take a minute for Hongjoong to return to insulting you. The temptation of chucking your drink at him returns, but once again you manage not to do that.

“What do you get out of being mean to me? Does it make you feel better? Is that it?”

“No. You’re just so easy to rile up. Makes you worse at playing the piano too, which means it makes me that much better than you. Eliminating the competition, love. That’s all.”

“Don’t fucking call me ‘love’.”

“Why? Does it get you going?”

“I hate you so much, I swear. Don’t you have a line of girls you can fuck around with whenever you’re bored?” You hiss the question at Hongjoong. He laughs a little, one corner of his lips curling up as he takes in your questions. He hums and pushes the bottle of alcohol away again, then brings his cup up to his lips. After a long and slow drag of the drink, he pushes it back down to the counter. You watch his movements with wary eyes as he steps around the counter and moves closer to where you’re perched.

“What’s the fun in that?” He asks, head tilting to the side as he draws closer to you. “Why not play a little game of cat and mouse? Tease, poke fun, see how much it takes for someone to give in. That’s real fun.”

“So I’m a game to you?” You spit out as Hongjoong closes in on you. He pauses in his tracks, only a few feet away from you now.

“A game? You aren’t the game itself. You’re just a piece in the game. The true game is getting under your skin.”

Hongjoong continues to move forward until he hits your knees. Despite his short stature, he’s just tall enough to be eye level with you at this angle. You lean back, head thudding against the cabinet behind you. There’s nowhere for you to go, and you stare back at Hongjoong with narrowed eyes. You bring your cup up, effectively blocking him from coming any closer, and down some more alcohol in the hopes that it’ll drive away the sudden warmth in your gut that arises when Hongjoong grins at you.

“Cat got your tongue all of a sudden, princess?”

“No,” you rush to answer. Hongjoong’s smile persists, and he places his hands down on the counter. They close you in, dropped on either side of your form. He’s putting an awful amount of trust that you won’t knee him in the balls like this, because you’re at the perfect angle to do so.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Hongjoong says. Your breath catches in your throat when you hear his words, and you panic, shoulders tensing up in an instant. Hongjoong hesitates, watching your movements with careful eyes. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

“N-No, I… I…” You can’t finish the sentence. Your gaze travels down the slope of Hongjoong’s nose to his plush lips, their dark red color enticing you to lean forward. It’s the alcohol in your system, it really must be, because otherwise you wouldn’t even dream of kissing him. Hongjoong leans even closer, his breath mixing with yours. It smells like alcohol, and as he gets closer, you can see a faint blush across his nose and cheeks. He must be feeling the effects of the drinks as well, which should be a sign for you to stop and know that you’ll regret this in the morning. Hell, you aren’t even drunk yet. You’re barely tipsy. So why the fuck do you want to Hongjoong to pin you to the bed and fuck you senseless?

You don’t think any longer than that. You drape your arms around Hongjoong’s neck and close the distance between your lips. His lips are soft and warm when they hit yours, slotting together like puzzle pieces. He sighs into the kiss. He pushes against you as his hands shift to grip your hips. Despite the smell of alcohol on his breath, his lips taste sickenly sweet, almost like liquorice candy. Strangely, you can’t get enough of you. His tongue prods at your lower lips, swiping across the skin in a way that causes shivers to run down your spine.

A slight gasp escapes you, and Hongjoong uses that to his advantage. He presses his tongue between your lips with ease. It hits yours in an instant battle for dominance, and that sweet liquorice taste is on his tongue as well as though he’s been eating the candy for hours.

He pulls back for a moment, letting the two of you catch your breath. Your eyelids flutter as he moves, and your head falls back against the cabinet behind you. Hongjoong takes advantage of the motion. He leans forward and presses his lips to the column of your throat, tongue dragging over the skin there. Small gasps of air leave you as he sucks gently at the skin as well, and you know you should stop him because he’ll leave marks. Marks that won’t be gone within two days for the competition. Yet you don’t mind it too much ask his tongue lavishes your neck. What you do mind is the fact that the two of you are still in the kitchen. Which has no doors. So anyone could walk in and see the two of you going at it like this at any second.

You nudge Hongjoong’s shoulder, and he pulls off within an instant.

“What’s up?” He asks in the most nonchalant and casual tone ever.

“Upstairs bedroom. First door on the left. I’ll meet you up there in five minutes,” you say through a series of gasps. Hongjoong arches a brow, your confident tone catching him off-guard as well as the confirmation that the two of you are taking this further. He pulls away from you. His hands slide down your thighs as he moves in a teasing manner, and the gleam in his eyes tells you that he knows exactly what he is doing. You wait until he’s completely gone from the kitchen to release the breath you were holding, eyes falling shut. You take another chug of alcohol and finish off the rest of your glass. It’s just enough liquid courage for you to hop off the counter and pace around the kitchen, hands pressed together as though in prayer.

Now that Hongjoong is gone, you’re suddenly second-guessing this whole… situation. The two of you hate each other, that fact hasn’t changed in the slightest, you know that he still hates you as much as you hate him. It’s just the alcohol. It’s just the alcohol, it has to be. You’re still thinking straight and clearly though. It’s the arousal in your gut then. That was not there before Hongjoong kissed you or when you pulled him into said kiss. Then… perhaps the rejection that wasn’t really rejection from San. Maybe it’s that. Surely it’s that. Or maybe the two of you just need to fuck this out of your systems and carry on with hating each other.

Thinking is getting you nowhere. You don’t wait any longer, dipping out of the kitchen and taking the stairs up to the second floor without a second thought. The door you mentioned to Hongjoong belongs to Wooyoung, and he may not be happy about you using his bedroom to fuck your sworn enemy, but he’ll be wasted and distracted with Seonghwa within an hour anyway. You push into the bedroom with a sudden burst of confidence, but that dissipates the second you step in and lay your eyes on Hongjoong.

He’s stripped the leather jacket he was wearing off, leaving him in black pants that are far too tight, and a tucked-in tee that looks so effortlessly good on him that you hate it. You hate how damn perfect he is without even trying. He barely gives you time to shut the door before he’s approaching you, pressing you up against the wood. Your lips find each other again, and you moan out of surprise. The sound spurs Hongjoong on; he grabs hold of one of your legs and hikes it around his waist. The show of strength sends a surge of arousal to your core. He presses his tongue between your lips again, and you eat that sickly sweet taste of liquorice up as though starved.

“Are you sure?” Hongjoong asks, pulling away for a brief moment to look you in the eye.

“Yes,” you respond without any hesitation. “Yes, so fuck me.”

“Fuck…” Hongjoong mutters. He pulls you off the wall, and you press your other leg around his waist as he moves for the bed. You’re glad Wooyoung at least didn’t leave his room a complete mess otherwise Hongjoong would be tripping over clothes and shoes. He makes it to the bed with ease, however, dropping you to the mattress. The air leaves your lungs in a huff. You sit up on your elbows. Hongjoong stays back for a few moments, tugging at his belt until it’s completely gone, then his shirt follows quickly. You barely noticed the obvious tent in his pants prior to this but in all honesty, your eyes were looking anywhere except for his groin. His stripping encourages you to do the same, pulling at your own t-shirt and discarding of it on Wooyoung’s floor. Your shorts are harder to inch off, but as you tug at the zipper, Hongjoong’s hands land on your hips.

He doesn’t say a word, yanking your pants down with such ease that you nearly melt at the sight. Now he’s the one overdressed though, tight pants still clinging to his form, while you’re left in the black set of lingerie that you wore without thinking you were going to end up like this. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to mind one bit, bending down over you and dropping his hands on either side of your body. You welcome him with a kiss full of teeth and saliva.

“Fuck you’re hot,” Hongjoong says as he pulls off your lips for a second. He reaches around your torso and unhooks your bra, yanking it off you. Cold air hits your chest, and you suddenly feel very embarrassed at the exposure. Hongjoong’s eyes rake over you. He brings a hand to drag over your chest, pinching your nipple without warning. You gasp at the sensation, and your back arches off the bed under his fingers. Your reaction encourages him to repeat the motion, and he dips down to latch around your other nipple with his lips. You cry out from the sudden stimulation, Hongjoong’s teeth grazing over your breast lightly, and your hands reach down to find purchase in his bright blue hair.

He doesn’t waste much time though, lips quickly leaving your breast and trailing wet kisses down your bare abdomen until he reaches the band of your underwear. A grin spreads across his lips, eyes twinkling with mischief as he snags the material with his fingers and pulls it down with ease. You don’t even have time to think before he reaches between your folds and flattens his tongue against your clit. Another startled yelp escapes your, legs jerking, and Hongjoong hooks his arm around your leg and grasps at your opposite hip with the same hand. The other hand lingers at your core, teasing your dripping folds while his tongue goes to work at your clit.

“Fuck, you taste so good, princess,” Hongjoong purrs against your lower lips. You glance down at him, making eye contact as he drags his tongue through your arousal. You can see your juices on his lips. The dirty sight causes you to writhe against him. He stills you by pressing two fingers into your heat.

“Ah! Ho-Hongjoong, oh my god,” you stammer out as he immediately curls those two fingers inside you and nips gently at your sensitive bud. “F-Fuck, fuck.”

“Such a dirty mouth for a dirty little slut, huh?” You can’t respond with words this time, but his statement draws a high-pitched whine out of you and your walls tighten around his fingers. Hongjoong teases the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue. “Dirty talk then? Or degradation?”

You answer by squeezing around his fingers again, and the sensation is so tight that Hongjoong grits his teeth.

“You’re gonna be so good around my cock,” he hisses out. He squeezes a third finger into your heat, scissoring you open with relative ease. That damn tongue continues to tease your clit. He flicks over the small bead and draws small circles around it. It edges you closer and closer to an orgasm, but Hongjoong senses that and pulls away within an instant. He drags his tongue lower instead and pushes the wet muscle into your heat with his fingers. The added stimulation makes you cry out, and your hand grips Hongjoong’s hair and tugs at the strands. He nearly growls, the vibrations of the sound reverberating through your core in just the right way. It causes your orgasm to hit all of a sudden, back arching off the bed and body going slack as the intense waves wash over you.

Hongjoong guides you through the orgasm, fingers still curled inside you as he pulls his tongue back to lick the juices off his lips.

“Ready to take my cock in that dirty little cunt?”

“Yes, fuck – fuck, yes. Please fuck me.”

“Since you asked so nicely, I suppose I can do that.”

Hongjoong pulls back from your core, hands going straight to his pants. He has to stand up to tug them down, and he yanks his underwear down in the same motion. You’re surprised by his size in all honesty. He’s rather short compared to the other men you’ve been with so you weren’t expecting much in that department, but he’s much larger than you expected him to be. He doesn’t give you time to gape any longer though, kneeling back on the bed and pulling your legs up around his waist. He guides his member to your entrance. You swallow in anticipation and watch him slowly enter you. He continues moving forward until he bottoms out, a low groan leaving his lips when you instinctively clench around his cock.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he grunts out, leaning down over you again.

“Just fuck me already,” you say in response. You curl your fingers around his neck and bring his head down to yours. Your lips connect as he pulls out, and the sharp thrust of his hips against the back of your thighs breaks the kiss. You throw your head back at the sensation, the curve of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot at just the right angle. You can’t keep the moans from slipping out; the feeling is far too good for you to keep quiet, and it spurs Hongjoong to thrust faster. He picks up a relentless pace, hips slamming against your thighs at an almost bruising pace.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans. You tilt your head to the side and press your lips against your bicep, biting down on the flesh in attempts to quiet your moans. Hongjoong must not like that because his fingers close around the base of your throat. “Eyes on me.”

You follow the order without thinking twice, snapping your head back to look Hongjoong in the eye. Your quick obedience brings a stutter to his thrusts. He dips down to capture your lips in his own. Despite the fact that you just hit one orgasm, the drag of his member inside your walls is already spurring you to another one in a short amount of time. Your sporadic clenches around Hongjoong’s cock signal that oncoming orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum again, slut?” He growls against your lips. You nod a few times, tongue darting out to taste his liquorice tasting ones. He pulls just out of your reach and leans back. “Do it yourself.” His words draw a surprised gasp from your mouth. You can’t tell whether he’s being serious or not until he pulls his still hard member out of your heat. You swallow roughly, eyes trailing over him in disbelief, before pulling yourself up to be eye level with him again.

“T-Then let me ride you,” you say. Hongjoong arches a brow and bites his lower lip. Still, he doesn’t move. You blink at him. You don’t know what he’s wanting you to do or expecting you to do, so you do the only thing you can think of. Pin him down against the bed, throw a leg over his hips, and grip his member by the base. He groans at the action, watching you guide his cock back to your drenched folds with a cocky grin. You wipe the smile off his lips with a sudden drop of your hips. You take his whole length in again and don’t waste any time in picking up your pace until it matches his previous one. Even as you bounce on his member, he doesn’t grip your hips or guide your movements, just laying back and watching you do all the work. It reminds you of how much you hate the man, even in the throes of pleasure, he’s still an arrogant and self-righteous asshole. That thought doesn’t keep your orgasm from approaching quickly. Your bounces slow down as you grow ever closer to your high. When it hits, you release a loud cry, freezing on top of him with pulsing walls as the strength leaves your body. You stay like that for a few seconds, unable to move because of the intense orgasm, then pull off slowly.

He watches you with a narrowed gaze as you lower your mouth to his cock. You lap at his member, collecting the juices and precum from it, then take half of him into your mouth. He nearly bucks up into your mouth. You have to comb a few strands of hair back when they fall over his member. Hongjoong releases a wanton moan. You bob your head up and down along his cock in efforts to make him cum faster, and the plan works in your favor. Moments later, he is spilling hot cum down your throat. You swallow every last drop. When you pull off his softening member, you wipe at your lower lip with a satisfied grin.

“You fuck better than I thought,” Hongjoong says through a deep sigh.

“You’re not half bad yourself,” you answer as you fall back against the bed. Your whole body aches and burns from the sex, but you feel extremely satisfied as well. Hongjoong moves with you, head hitting the pillow at the same time yours does.

The two of you refuse to look at each other even in the afterglow of your sex. You don’t know what to say to him, or if you should say anything for that matter. All you can do is stare at the ceiling. Based on the noise that resounds from across the hall, Seonghwa and Wooyoung are already getting down to business. If you hadn’t just fucked Hongjoong, you might find this predicament awkward.

“I’m going to shower,” Hongjoong announces after the silence drags on for a few minutes.

“Y-Yea, yea, go ahead. Help yourself to a towel and stuff. Wooyoung won’t mind.” You watch the man get up and head into the bathroom. The awkwardness is now setting in, and you aren’t sure what this means for the two of you. Perhaps it was just hate sex, but it certainly wasn’t drunk sex because the two of you were surprisingly sober before you even started fucking. It shouldn’t change anything at all.

At least, that’s what you have to keep telling yourself. As Hongjoong passes you on his way out of the bathroom, he doesn’t even spare you so much as a glance. You take a shower of your own in complete and utter silence, mostly spending your time staring at the wall with a blank stare. It’s only when you step out of the shower and look at yourself in the mirror that you say something

“God, how fucking dumb can you be, Y/N?” You towel your body dry and reach down to snatch one of Wooyoung’s spare shirts off the floor, not caring that it might be dirty as you tug it over your head.

When you step back into the bedroom, Hongjoong is long gone. You shouldn’t be surprised. You really shouldn’t. You knew he wasn’t going to stay, and you knew that this was nothing more than a quick fuck for him. However, you are not the type to just have a quick fuck and go. So when you slide under the covers of Wooyoung’s bed, you only feel cold and dejected. Sleeps doesn’t come for quite some time, and you refuse to admit that there were tears on your cheeks at any point in the night. It was just a quick fuck and nothing more. You really have to keep reminding yourself of that fact.

…

“Come on, ladies! Quit moving so slowly! We’re on a schedule.”

You release a huff. The bus seat under your ass is wildly uncomfortable, and even though two days have passed, you aren’t any less sore from your little sex escapade with Hongjoong the other night. It’s the morning of the piano competition now, and you have managed to fully avoid Hongjoong in every way up until now. Because for some unknown and dumb reason, your professor decided that he needed a seating chart for the bus. And he thus decided that putting you and Hongjoong next to each other was a brilliant idea. You can only be glad that you arrived before he did, taking the window seat and pressing your headphones in so that you don’t even have to interact with him in the slightest.

It feels like some bad karma is against you at the moment, the same bad karma that perhaps caused you to fuck Hongjoong in the first place. Being forced to sit next to him is a punch in the gut. You thumb through your music on your phone to find the piece you’ll be playing for the competition today, letting the chords and notes resound through your ears and take over your thoughts. You don’t even notice when Hongjoong climbs onto the bus and sits down beside you, but the sudden lurching of the vehicle causes your eyes to snap open. You glance around in surprise, the music completely distracting you from what was going on around you. When your eyes fall on Hongjoong, you taste liquorice on your tongue. More than that, you fucking smell the candy.

You understand why after a moment, Hongjoong’s fingers toying with a small cube of the black candy. He pops it between his lips, tongue darting out to drag over his lips and collect the rest of the sweet treat’s taste. Then, he glances at you out the corner of his eye and catches your lingering stare.

“What the fuck do you want?”

You were right about one thing. Nothing has changed between the two of you. You opt not to respond and turn away from him with a huff. You return to your music, trying your best to only focus on the notes and all the notes you got from your professor over the past few weeks. Thankfully, Hongjoong doesn’t bother you any longer and actually lets you have some damn peace and quiet. However, you blame him for the fact that your mind keeps drifting back to him, thinking about everything from his body to the way he fucked you the other night and how good it felt. With each intruding thought, you crank your volume up higher and higher. It does nothing to expel the thoughts but at least it gives you some peace of mind.

That is, until Hongjoong elbows you harshly in the side. You yank one of your earbuds out and whip to look at him.

“What?” You spit out with venom in your tone.

“Turn your fucking music down. I can barely think with how loud it is.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“It’s your damn music,” Hongjoong hisses back with an equal amount of anger to his voice.

“Fucking deal with it.”

Hongjoong’s hand darts out and closes around your thigh. You choke on your saliva, coughing as he squeezes your leg. His fingers are dangerously close to your core, and due to your surprise, you pressed your thighs together and effectively trapped his hand between your legs. Hongjoong leans closer to you, and you pull away in response.

“Turn your damn music down.”

You can smell the candy on his breath, and it reminds you of the taste of his tongue and feel of his lips. You almost want to lean in and revisit the taste, but you resist that burning urge. Instead, you manage to plug your earbud back in and turn the volume down a few notches. It’s enough to satiate Hongjoong for the time being. His grip on your thigh disappears, giving you a chance to breathe again but it’s much harder to breathe now that he’s gotten you a bit worked up like this. You curl further against the window and glare at the passing scenery as the music continues to play in your ears. At some point, you fall asleep to the rhythmic beats of your piece. You don’t even realize it, head still pressed to the cool glass of the window as the bus rumbles onto your destination.

You wake up once the bus comes to a halt, and you wake up with a jolt. However, it’s not because of the bus’ sudden stop; no, it’s because your head has somehow managed to come to rest on Hongjoong’s shoulder as you were sleeping. How that happened, you have absolutely no clue because you were angled towards the window and you’ve never been one to move much in your sleep. Hongjoong must have fallen asleep as well, because as soon as you jolt upwards, your head smacks against his and he wakes with a start.

“What the fuck?” He cusses, bringing a hand to rub at his temple where you hit him. You rub at the sleep in your eyes in attempts to hide the evidence of your tiredness before your professor catches sight.

“Wake up, shithead,” you mutter as you shove his shoulder. “I need to get past.”

“Your fault for choosing the damn window seat.”

“And it’s your fault for falling asleep.”

“Were you not just sleeping yourself?”

“I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Hongjoong spits back, eyes narrowed at you. He gets up regardless and steps away, and you take the chance to leave the bus with your bag in tow.

The one thing you hate the most about these recitals and competitions is the fact that you have to dress up nicely for them. It would be nice to show up and perform just the music, hell maybe even just play behind a curtain. But no, the judges need to see you and you have to be immaculate in every way. It’s not cheap in the slightest, but you’ve opted to reuse one of your previous recital dresses in the hopes that none of the judges will be faces you recognize.

Your professor leads the way into the concert hall, and you linger at Minnie’s side, as ironic as it is. Despite still being madly angry at her for not telling you that she was fucking dating Choi San behind your fucking back, she is still your closest friend in the program. That and she can’t seem to shut up about some movie she watched the other day. Her noise at least distracts you for the time being, especially as Hongjoong slips past you and runs a hand through his blue locks. The action is far too enticing and attractive for your liking. Again you’re left to blame it on horniness.

As you walk through the concert hall, those familiar gnawings of anxiety bite at your heels. Minnie is chattering away in your ear but you can’t hear a word she’s saying. Your hands grow cold quickly, and you tighten your grasp on your bag. You only relax a little once you get backstage and settle into a small dressing room.

“Alright, get ready quickly! Y/N, you’re the opener for the competition so you should get ready first.”

You respond with a few shaky nods before ducking into one of the bathrooms in the room. You change with haste, tugging the dark blue dress over your form until it rests comfortably on your body. You took care of your hair and makeup before coming; that was the first thing you did in the morning. All that’s left it to put on your shoes and get warmed up for the performance.

“Y/N, the room across the hall is where you can warm up,” your professor says when you step back out of the bathroom. You answer with another set of nods, moving for your bag to put your casual clothes back inside and replace your shoes.

“You’re gonna kill it!” Minnie drops a hand to your shoulder, squeezing you tightly.

“Thanks,” you mutter back as you fasten the straps of your shoes. When you stand up, you catch sight of Hongjoong staring at you. Your immediate response is to glare at him, which he returns just as quickly. “What?”

“Don’t fuck up too much. I don’t wanna have to clean up our reputation for you.”

You puff your cheeks full of air and stomp out of the room, not bothering to fight back at Hongjoong’s insult. You head straight for the practice room across the hall. It takes a few adjustments of the bench and your shoes, but you manage to get seated comfortably at the piano.

“Emotions. You need to show the emotions, Y/N,” you murmur to yourself as your fingers touch the ivories. It isn’t even the real thing, you should just be warming up and practicing the parts you had troubles with, but you still put your all into it as though it is the real thing. By the time you conclude the last notes of the song, you aren't even sure that you did what you needed to do. You can’t hear the emotion in the notes, you can only play them and hope for the best.

How Hongjoong does it is a mystery to you. He plays each note like it’s his very blood and bones, his life story laid bare before the keys. For someone so full of hatred and anger, it seems even more confusing to you, and as much as you try to reconcile it, you can’t.

“L/N Y/N to the stage. L/N Y/N to the stage.” You glance up with a start, eyeing the small speaker in the corner of the room. There’s a growing lump in your throat, and it only grows larger as you walk out of the room. Your professor is waiting there for you, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder as the two of you begin to walk towards the stage.

“Remember the time signature and tempo. Watch your crescendos. And emotion! Put feeling into it!” He says as you walk ever closer to the front. You can’t respond due to the lump in your throat. Your attempts to swallow it down and dispel it do nothing either. As you reach the curtains, you catch sight of a certain blue-haired man at the edge of the stage. Your gaze hardens on him. Hongjoong never comes to stand by the stage and watch you perform. He’s toying with another black liquorice candy when you walk up to him, popping the candy between his lips before dropping his hand to mess with his cufflinks.

“Our first performer of the day, Miss Y/N L/N. She will be performing Franz Liszt’s Etude Opus 161, Number 3, La Campenella,” the announcer says, his voice booming through the hall. You don’t have time to think before your professor is pushing you forward onto the stage, and you nearly suffer the embarrassment of tripping over your feet on the way to the piano.

You reach the instrument without any issue, by luck of a miracle. The lump in your throat subsides as you sink onto the piano bench, and your fingers dance over the knobs on the bench to adjust it to your liking. Lift your left hand high, right one at the ready on the keys for the cue from your left. You drop your left hand to the keyboard and begin playing your piece to the best of your ability.

All your focus becomes consumed by the keys and music in your ears. You can’t even glance up to watch your professor or Hongjoong’s expression, too enraptured with your playing to think about anything other than the piano. Your whole body follows the tempo of the piece. You sway back and forth, following the movements of your hands as they dance across the ivory keys, and your heart leaps a little in your chest with each successful chord and note. Even if you aren’t able to fully capture the emotions behind a song, you can at least perform. And performing is what you do best. Replicating the notes, decrescendos, crescendos, chords, octaves and leaps, your runs and arpeggios all executed to absolute perfection. The entire performance is full of the excitement in the piece up until your last note after the five and a half minutes of playing.

Your fingers hover over that final note, letting it ring out and coat the ears of your listeners, and when you pull back, your foot slips off the pedal to let the music die out into silence. Applause greets you as you rise from the bench and bow towards the judges. You leave the stage the way you came, joining your professor and Hongjoong at the edge just behind the curtains.

“That was better than ever!” Your teacher cheers as you reach his side. He beams from ear to ear, eyes hidden behind the smile of his eyelids, but you don’t pay him any attention. Rather you look to Hongjoong in attempts to gauge his expression. If he’s impressed in the slightest, he does well to conceal it.

“Following Miss Y/N L/N, we have Mr. Kim Hongjoong, playing Chopin’s Nocturne, Opus 48, number 1.” The announcer’s voice rings out again, calling Hongjoong onto the stage. He glances away from you as he steps out from behind the curtain.

“They put us back to back?” You mutter the question to your professor, who just looks down at you with a glint in his dark eyes.

“The judges requested that you two play back to back,” he explains, maintaining his grin.

“Oh…” You exhale and turn back to watch Hongjoong sit down at the piano. His performance is always a thing of beauty, but you know exactly why the judges would want the two of you back to back. Whilst you exude perfection in every note, Hongjoong does more. More with the piece, he plays with the rhythms and tempos, creating music that sounds wholly his. He plays as though he is the sole creator of the piece and no one else. Each piano he plays becomes part of him. You are polar opposites when it comes to performing. And that’s what they want to see. They want to see the two of your challenge each other with your differing play styles.

The lump in your throat returns as Hongjoong begins to play. Something feels off in the very first note. A spring of anxiety pops up in your gut as you hear it. It isn’t the same as usual, something in the way Hongjoong’s fingers glide over the ivories is not right. The professor still looks quite pleased though, almost like he doesn’t even notice the difference. When you glance out over the panel of judges, they bear similar expressions. It’s a mystery to you how they don’t notice the difference because in your ears, it is so stark and unable to be missed.

The next six minutes carry on with that same vibe. You can’t place what is going wrong until Hongjoong presses his fingers to the final note. The wrong note.

You lurch forward. Hongjoong freezes. The chord echoes through the whole hall, the glaringly obvious mistake resounding without stop even as Hongjoong pulls his fingers off the keys. He stands. Bows to the judges. Heads back towards where you’re standing without a word. It’s not like Hongjoong to make a mistake, not like him at all. You don’t think he’s ever made a mistake, even in practices he is always meticulous and perfect.

Hongjoong’s hands are trembling when he comes off stage. He strides past you without sparing you a glance. He doesn’t look at anything in fact, his eyes are unfocused as he moves forward. You can only stay rooted to the spot and watch him move away without a word. It happens in a millisecond, and if you blinked you would have missed it for certain. Hongjoong’s legs give out and he begins to collapse. Your professor rushes to his side as fast as possible. He grips the blue-haired man’s arm and pulls him back up, draping his arm over a shoulder and rushing down the hall. He’s calling for a medic and an ambulance, and as soon as those words process in your head, you choke on air.

Your feet move before your thoughts do. You chase after the pair, hiking your dress up a bit as you run. The old man carries Hongjoong back to your shared dressing room. Your fellow students dash out of the room as he brings Hongjoong in. You pause in the door frame, watching the scene unfold before you with a plummeting heart. An emergency nurse pushes past you to get in and effectively blocks your line of sight. All you can see is the blue strands of hair atop Hongjoong’s head and nothing more.

Someone catches hold of your arm. It’s Minnie, and she tugs on your wrist as she spews words in your direction. However, you don’t hear a thing. Your ears still ring with that final wrong note Hongjoong played, eyes unfocused as you try to look at Minnie. She’s pulling you to the aside, away from the hustle of bustle of the other people in the hall, and trying to catch your attention. You refuse to look at her, however, and opt to stare back at the room where Hongjoong is with wide eyes. The shock hasn’t drifted from your bones in the slightest.

You don’t get any form of relief until the emergency nurses file out of the dressing room. They don’t carry Hongjoong out on a gurney which is a small relief in and of itself. Your professor appears in the doorway next, sweat on his brow and glasses in one hand. The other runs through his hair – the minimal amount that’s left, that is – and he addresses the other students first.

“You all are to wait at the stage for your performances. You can go into that room across the hall if you need some more practice time, but you are not to enter the dressing room again until the end of the competition. Understood?”

You watch the students share a chorus on nods. Minnie releases your arm to move away with the rest of the students, but she sends one final look your way, one that seeks answers you do not have. Once all your classmates have filed away, you are left to stand across from your professor with bated breath. He doesn’t say anything at first, and neither do you, so the two of you just exchange forlorn stares without speaking. The silence drags on for so long that you think you might pass out; you’ve been holding your breath the entire time as well and it’s really starting to make you feel a bit lightheaded.

“What happened to him, professor?” You ask when the silence grows unbearable.

“He’s fine. Just a small accident.” The answer is spoken with haste, and his tone is flat. The way he says it almost implies that the words are rehearsed.

“A small accident wouldn’t warrant such a reaction from you though,” you reason, lifting a hand to scratch at your scalp.

“I need to go up to the stage to be with the other students, Miss L/N.” Your professor speaks with such finality that you don’t dare press the subject any further. Instead, you watch him walk back to the edge of the stage, waiting until he’s completely out of sight before pressing into the dressing room where Hongjoong is yourself.

You don’t see him immediately, which surprises you to a certain extent, but then you notice that the unisex bathroom in the back corner has an open door and the lights are on. Hongjoong must be in there, but it seems odd for him to have left the door open when anyone could walk in. You’re tempted to call out to him and ask if he’s alright. Something prevents you from doing so, however, and you merely creep closer to the room with quiet steps.

Whatever you might have been expecting goes out the window as you catch sight of Hongjoong’s blue head of hair. He is hunched over the toilet, an awful retching sound leaving his form every few seconds, and you can’t believe that the nurses and your professor dared to leave him alone in a state like this. Hongjoong hasn’t caught sight of you yet, but you certainly make your presence known as you stumble back. Your heel catches on the short train of your dress, you throw your hands back to brace yourself for a fall, but instead catch hold of a table and manage to stay on your feet.

Hongjoong whips his head towards you as you stumble, however, and all of his attention is suddenly directed at you. There is a small excess of vomit lingering on the corner of his mouth, and he wipes at it with the back of his hand as he looks towards you. There’s no explanation that would be suitable enough to explain what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, because frankly, you don’t even understand why yourself. That fact alone is slightly more terrifying than you would like to admit.

“What the hell do you want?” Hongjoong spits out. He slowly stands up straight, legs a bit wobbly as he moves, and moves for the sink to wash his hands and face. “Come to see me suffer? Does that get you going?”

Your jaw stutters as you fumble to come up with some sort of response. Nothing comes out for a few seconds and you’re left to just stare dumbly at Hongjoong with nothing but a blank expression.

“Figures…” Hongjoong mutters. He leaves the bathroom and heads for his small travel bag. You watch him move without saying anything, eyes tracking each of his movements with scrutiny. As he bends down to open the bag, Hongjoong winces. His arms jerk, back straightening for a brief moment, then his body returns to normal as though nothing happened. Hongjoong hisses, teeth gritted as he continues to push down and get whatever he was looking for. When he stands back up, you catch sight of a toothbrush and toothpaste in his hands. It’s strange, because those aren’t items he would typically bring to a competition like this one which lasts less than a day. The behavior makes it seem like he almost knew that this was going to happen.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask out of the blue. Hongjoong all but ignores you in favor of walking towards the bathroom again, this time with toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. “I mean – what happened to you?”

“You’re going to have to elaborate because there’s plenty wrong with me.”

“On the stage, Hongjoong. You fucked up and missed the last note. You never do that.”

“Yea, well, I did this time. What do you want me to say?”

“You collapsed as soon as you were backstage. Something is obviously bothering you now since you puked. What the hell is going on with you?”

“Why do you care all of a sudden? Wanna know why your competition is getting worse? Get used to it.”

“No…” You trail off, unsure of what to say next. Hongjoong brushes his teeth with ferocity, and his gaze remains on the mirror rather than looking to you while you speak. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

You aren’t sure where the desire came from. It’s foreign to you, as it the worry that bubbles in your gut as you look over Hongjoong’s form. He seems frail all of a sudden, and that’s just so unlike him in every way that you can’t get past it. He doesn’t respond right away – probably due to the fact that his currently scrapping his toothbrush over the expanse of his tongue. You wait for a reply in silence for two minutes, then Hongjoong spits in the sink and washes his mouth out again.

“Parsonage-Turner Syndrome,” he says. His eyes find yours, still as void of emotion as ever, but you blink back in shock. “Do you know what that is?”

“N-No, I’ve never heard of it,” you answer honestly. Hongjoong sighs and returns to his duffel bag, pushing his toothbrush and toothpaste back inside. He digs around a bit more in the bag before standing up straight again. A small wrapped candy lingers between his fingers. He undoes the wrapper with quick motions, then pops the black liquorice between his lips.

“Idiopathic brachial plexopathy or neuralgic amyotrophy,” Hongjoong recites the words as though he’s heard them thousands of times. You don’t doubt that he has based upon the look in his eyes. “A rare disorder consisting of a complex constellation of symptoms with abrupt onset of shoulder pain, followed by progressive neurologic deficits of motor weakness, dysesthesias, and numbness.”

Hongjoong pauses and purses his lips. He looks away from you, but the way his eyes well up with crystalline tears doesn’t escape your notice. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek in silence. If there’s anything to be said, you certainly don’t know what it is.

“In short, I’m losing the function of my arms. Eventually, I won’t be able to use them at all. The more I play the piano, the bigger risk I run of destroying them further. How ironic, huh?” Hongjoong releases a dry laugh, but the humor is gone from his tone. As his words sink it, your heart sinks further and further. You dare to glance up at his face from across the room. The tears in his eyes have fallen down his cheeks. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen Hongjoong, but you also can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him. “How fucking ironic…”

Hongjoong’s voice dies off a little, cracking as he finishes his sentence. A moment of silence passes. You debate saying something but every time you try to speak, your voice dies in your throat. A scream of anguish leaves Hongjoong’s throat. He swings for the wall with his left hand, fingers clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles are white. He hits the wall with such force that the sound echoes in your ears, and you flinch away from the table you’re leaning against. Hongjoong sinks to the floor, knees hitting the ground with a thud. His fist never quits its rhythm against the wall; he continues slamming his hand at the surface. You’re frozen in place, watching his fist hit the wall over and over until red flecks begin to spread across the pristine surface of the wall.

“Hongjoong–” You start towards him, a sudden urgency rushes to your bones, and you hurry to keep him from abusing his hand any more than he already has. “Hongjoong, stop. Stop it, Hongjoong, stop.”

You snatch him by the wrist, and he relaxes into your touch within an instant. He slumps forward until his forehead hits the wall. It takes a few seconds of silence, then a strangled sob escapes his slacked body. You catch him before he completely falls over and drag his weight in your direction instead. He doesn’t even complain, fingers finding the material of your dress and balling around it without a word. He cries against you. You can’t imagine how long he’s been holding it in, how long he’s known that this was his fate, that the thing he loves the most will lead to his destruction. It’s heartbreaking and horrible to think about. The fear of even spraining a finger haunts you sometimes, but Hongjoong has to live with the knowledge that his fate is to lose his ability to play forever.

“It’s okay, Hongjoong,” you mutter against his hairline. A laugh leaves his lips, but it’s wet and full of mucus. He nearly chokes as he continues to laugh.

“How the fuck is this okay? In what world is this okay? Answer me that.”

“I-I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Everyone is always fucking sorry. Yea, come say sorry again when you have your only passion stolen from you.”

“Ho-Hongjoong. No, I-I – stop. It’s not been taken away from you yet. You still have tim–”

“How much time? How long until I fuck my arms up to the point of no return?”

“Can’t they do anything?” Your question is spoken in such a quiet tone that you fear that Hongjoong might not hear it.

“There’s no cure. Just fucking physical therapy and acupuncture to slow the muscle denervation. Electrotherapy. Nothing that fixes it.”

“But it would slow it?”

“For a time.”

“Isn’t that worth it then? Even to just… try? The hope that maybe it will fix things enough to let you play is worth it isn’t it?”

“Worth it to what? I’ll never be able to play at the level I want to. I’ll never get to achieve my dreams, not in this condition. Not with this disease. I’m doomed no matter what. Physical therapy won’t do shit. If I’m gonna lose my arms, then I’m gonna do what I love until I can’t anymore.”

Hongjoong’s resolve is strong, even through the weakness he’s showing right now, and you can’t blame him. His behavior makes sense now. The hatred and disdain for you, the ego and arrogant nature about him, the flaunting of his skills – it was all just an attempt to hide the fact that he was breaking inside.

“Then you’re robbing yourself of an opportunity… you never know if something is going to work unless you try, Hongjoong. Even if you’re not a miracle patient who gets cured out of the blue, just trying could give you the ability to play longer. Not because you need to be the best or play better than everyone else or even play at a high level. But because it’s something that you love. And at least having the ability to do something you love is better than losing it altogether.”

Hongjoong doesn’t respond to your words. His tears aren’t slowing down, and you wonder if he’s in any pain in this very moment. His shoulders tremble but because of the sobs that wrack his hunched form. As you cradle him against your chest, you can’t help but look down at your own hands. Your fingers are trembling against Hongjoong’s back. In that brief moment, you imagine yourself in his shoes.

The first sear of pain through your arms. The continued abuse over weeks. Finally going to see a doctor. Being told that it’s a disease. That the longer you play, the worse it will get. That eventually you’ll lose the use of your arms completely. The dream you’ve had since you were a child – you wonder if it was Hongjoong’s dream too, before he was given the news. You wonder if Hongjoong had the same bright eyes and hopeful dreams of becoming something great, someone great. You imagine that dream being wrenched from your grasps. It hurts. Just the thought of it hurts more than a thousand knives in your chest.

All you can do is pull Hongjoong closer. There is nothing to say, nothing you can say or do that would make this any easier or better. You settle for this and press your cheek against his head.

…

The time has escaped you yet again, and you glance up from the keyboard to see that the clock reads six o’clock already. You wanted to get some rest in your apartment before nightfall hit because Wooyoung somehow managed to drag your ass out for another party even after what happened last time.

You push the bench back and close the lid of the keyboard. Your fingers linger on the wood, however, and you look at the instrument with a strange tightness in your chest.

It’s been three weeks since that competition. Three weeks since you’ve seen Hongjoong. He hasn’t attended class, you haven’t seen him in the practice hall or rooms at any point in time, it’s almost as though he disappeared off the face of the planet. You hate it. Class is too silent. It’s boring. Without Hongjoong, you have nothing to do except think about when the class is going to be over. It’s almost funny how only now that he’s gone do you realize how much time you spent slaving over the mere thought of him.

During the first week, you watched the door and waited for Hongjoong’s blue head of hair to step through. You always had your snide remark at the ready: “Late for class? At least you bothered to show up this time.” Hongjoong never came though.

The second week you guessed where he might be. Thought about what happened in the aftermath of his meltdown at the competition. They took him to the hospital, forcibly prying him from your arms, and that was the last you saw of him.

And then the third week passed by, and you began to wonder if the damage to his arms had already been done. Even now as your thoughts are occupied by the thought of him and him alone, you wonder if that’s the case.

As you get to your feet, the door behind you slides open. The sound is almost silent, and if you had still been playing you wouldn’t have heard a thing. You whip around to face the intruder. You nearly don’t recognize the form standing before you. Formerly blue hair has been replaced with a bright red, and it’s only when you look at the man’s features that you recognize him. Your darting gaze flits down to his left hand. It’s wrapped in a white gauze, fingers loose and flexing in the wrap. A good sign, perhaps. At least the damage isn’t fully done yet.

“Ew, it’s you,” you say, trying to contain the smile that threatens to overtake your lips when you see Hongjoong.

“Wow.” Hongjoong glances around the practice room. There is something sad and longing in his eyes as he looks around. You open your mouth to say more, but he continues speaking without you having to ask. “I, uh, I dropped out.”

“You what?” You just about fall over upon hearing the news. It catches you so off-guard that you choke on the saliva lingering on the back of your tongue.

“I dropped out of the program.”

“Yo-You – but, but the program – you were one, you were one of the only ones to get – what?”

“I thought about what you said. I, um… Yea, I dropped out. Started doing general studies instead. Think I’m gonna go for a teaching degree. Maybe try to be a piano teacher one day.”

“Why?” You aren’t being very eloquent, but the shock is too strong for you to even think about putting together a coherent thought.

“I kept thinking about what you said. Robbing myself of an opportunity… losing something I love. I love the piano, and I love playing the piano more than anything. I can’t lose the ability to play it. That’s – That’s taking away a part of me I can’t lose. Without piano… I would be nothing. I’m not ready to lose it because of some stupid fucking disease that can kiss my ass.”

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s the last thing you expected to hear from Hongjoong, especially since he resolve to be the best regardless of what happens to him was so strong. He saves you the trouble of coming up with a reply.

“I started going to physical therapy. They started me out on some acupuncture treatments, then worked me up to doing strengthening exercises and range of motion exercises. We’re going to try some electrotherapy next but the doctor said I’m making really good progress.”

“R-Really? Hongjoong, that’s amazing. Honestly. That’s truly incredible. I’m so ha–”

“Thank you,” he interrupts. His gaze is on the floor, fist clenching here and there, and his tone is quiet. “Thank you for giving me my dream back.”

You don’t have time to think before Hongjoong is walking towards you. He catches you by surprise, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you against his chest without hesitation.

“You don’t need to thank me,” you murmur in response. Your arms drape over him, and hesitance fills your motions unlike his hasty ones. He is warm and soft under your touch, so unlike how he was that day of the competition – cold and stiff.

“I do. Please, I-I…”

Hongjoong doesn’t need to finish the thought, but you don’t need him to. You can guess what he might be trying to say. You aren’t sure you need to hear it or if you can handle it. Instead, you settle for this comfortable embrace. Hongjoong’s breath is hot against your throat, and curse you for thinking about it because it leads your thoughts in a bad direction. Hongjoong shifts his head closer to your neck, lips caressing the skin there that barely peaks out from under your collar.

“C-Can I…?”

“Yes,” you exhale when Hongjoong inches closer to your lips. He brushes over your skin with such a gentle touch that you wonder if it is actually real. He deepens the kiss a moment later, however, and presses against you with more fervor. Your lips slot together, warm filling your chest and gut. He guides you backwards as his hands find your hips. You gasp into Hongjoong’s mouth when your ass hits the lid of the piano. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to mind though. He uses it as an opportunity to press his tongue between your lips. That familiar taste of liquorice lingers there, and you smile into the kiss.

You let him take over, his tongue exploring your mouth with a newfound interest. It’s so different from your first time together; that time was filled with fervor and passion and arousal. This is slow, gentle, almost romantic. You can’t get enough of it. Each kiss leaves you wanting more, each lingering touch makes you want to take more, and when Hongjoong’s fingers hook around the back of your thighs, you moan into his open mouth. He lifts you with ease although you do worry for a split second about straining his arms. He dispels that worry with haste, propping you up on the lid of the piano without a care in the world.

His lips attack your neck next, pulling away from your mouth to leave a saccharine trail down your skin until he stops at the base of your throat. You bring a hand to his freshly red locks as he sucks at the skin there and roll your head to the side to give him better access. Your gaze flits down to the door he entered through, and the lock on the handle isn’t turned. You should be worried because being caught having sex on a damn Steinway would be atrocious, but Hongjoong pushes that to the side as well. Deft fingers work the buttons on your blouse apart and push the material back until you’re stripped of the shirt. He pops the clasp of your bra next and drops the lingerie to the floor. You bare your chest to him, ready for him to dive in and mark up your breasts in a similar manner but he doesn’t.

His hands instead go to the waistband of your skirt. He unhooks that button and zipper, tugging the material off of you as quickly as possible. All of a sudden you’re left only in your underwear. Hongjoong doesn’t let you stay nearly naked alone for long. He leans back to tug his own shirt off, then his pants are quick to follow. As the material drops, you catch sight of the prominent bulge in his underwear. Without thinking, you reach out and grab hold of his constrained member. He groans into your touch, hips automatically bucking forward from even the slightest touch. You don’t wait to dip your hand past the band of the underwear and take hold of his semihard member.

“Y-You’re the devil,” Hongjoong hisses out as you pump his cock ever so slowly. In response, you drag your thumb over his slit, collecting the precum there and using it to help you pump his cock with more ease. You release a small laugh as his hips thrust into your touch. The laugh is cut short when Hongjoong presses the palm of his hand against your core. “Something funny, princess?”

You can do nothing except gasp in response, back arching off the lip of the piano. Hongjoong must enjoy the sight before him because a low moan slips through. His free hand darts around your back and collapses the music stand atop the piano. He seems ready to move you up even higher on the piano, but you stop him with your hand.

“N-No, wait – I just, I want you to fuck me. That’s all.” Your hand slides across Hongjoong’s bare chest, leaving goosebumps in your wake, and Hongjoong nearly shivers. Your words seem incentive enough for him, however, and he dips down between your legs to tug your underwear off. His follow soon after; hardened cock finding freedom at last. You slide a bit further down the lid of the piano in efforts to get more comfortable. Hongjoong braces your hip with his left hand and the other goes to your dripping folds. You’re nearly wet enough to drip all over the floor, positioned carefully so that you don’t sully the piano any more than you are already.

He works you open with deft fingers, two pushing into with ease thanks to your wetness. He uses those fingers to scissor your heat open and stretch you. You moan under the touch. The loudness of your moans is a bit worrisome considering you’re still in public, so you try to conceal them at least with the back of your hand. The moment you try to cover your lips however, Hongjoong reaches up and tugs your hand back down to the piano. He covers your lips with his. The position lets you moan freely into his mouth until his fingers disappear from your heat altogether.

“F-Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” Hongjoong hisses. He uses the juices of your arousal on his fingers to pump his cock a few more times before lining up with your tight hole. The stretch isn’t painful; quite the opposite really, but a high-pitched whine breaches your lips. Hongjoong hesitates halfway, eyes tracking your expression for any sign of discomfort. He only moves again when you nod. Once he’s completely buried in you, you expect hasty thrusts but they never come. You blink at Hongjoong, eyes wide in expectation.

He stares back at you with an unreadable expression. His brow has furrowed and he almost squints as he looks into your eyes. You open your mouth to ask if something is wrong, but he speaks before you get the chance.

“I wanna try… us.”

“You want to what?” You ask, taken aback by the sudden statement. It’s hardly a proper time to bring up a serious subject, but maybe it’s the best timing in the world. How are you supposed to know? It’s not as though you fuck people on the daily in a practice room atop a piano like this.

“I wanna take you out. Spend time with you. Go on dates. Be in a relationship. With you and only you.”

“You’re asking after you’ve fucked me twice now?”

“Haven’t fucked you the second time yet, actually.” Hongjoong winks at you, a smirk curling across his lips. “Is that a yes or no?”

“It’s a ‘ask me again after you’ve fucked me senseless’.”

“I’d rather have your senses intact when I ask you.”

“Yes, Kim Hongjoong. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a bit more than interested in you.”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell when I was… you know, in you.”

“Shut up and fuck me already!” You protest, slapping his chest with the back of your hand. Hongjoong pulls his hips back and snaps them back against you without warning. You release a strangled moan that quickly evolves into a whine at the sudden thrust.

“I’ll make the rules, princess.”

You nod hastily in reply and brace yourself against the pillow for Hongjoong’s next thrust. He goes slower this time though, taking his time with each thrust, and you know he’s only doing it to rile you up because of the cheeky grin on his face. You want to either kiss or slap it off him, but he makes you choose the former by pushing forward. Your lips slot together with ease. It’s comfortable, easy, relaxed – like you’ve done it a thousand times and will do it a thousand more.

His thrusts do pick up in pace after that, his tongue entering the mix as well as he pries your lips open with the wet muscle. You allow yourself just let go under Hongjoong’s touch. You drape an arm over Hongjoong’s shoulder, nails raking down his back as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The angle is near magical because each thrust seems to hit deeper than the last, and your moans are borderline shouts of pleasure. Hongjoong doesn’t let up once. You’re glad for it because you’re pretty certain that if he does stop, you’ll slip off the piano entirely.  

Your head falls back, lips disconnecting from Hongjoong’s, and you struggle to stay upright with the way his cock rams against your sensitive g-spot. An orgasm is approaching quickly. You can’t manage to get any words out, but Hongjoong seems to understand when you drag a hand to his shoulder and squeeze tightly. Your walls clench around his member without warning. Hongjoong’s thrusts stutter as you squeeze his cock, then he reaches up to pull your face back to his.

“Ca-Can I cum in you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes. Please. Please, Hongjoong.” The man presses his lips against yours after you get the words out. You can’t hold the orgasm back any longer, and it washes over you with a sudden intensity that leaves you trembling in Hongjoong’s arms. He joins you not long after, hot seed spilling into you, and you moan at the sensation of his cum filling you up. He hunches forward and his head hits your shoulder. Both your chests heave from the exertion; you can’t seem to get enough air in your lungs. Gently you bring a hand to Hongjoong’s hair again and comb through the red locks with light fingers. Hongjoong sighs into the touch, shivering as your nails brush over his scalp.

“So… is this when I take you to dinner or?” Hongjoong lifts his chin to look you in the eye. You roll your eyes ever so slightly as he grins. The hand in his hair moves to smack him upside the head.

“You’re supposed to do that before you fuck me.”

“Eh, I’ve never been one to do things in order like that.”

“Good thing you can fuck well then or else I might not want a date at all.” Hongjoong’s smirk morphs into a wide smile, and his nose scrunches up as he looks at you. You smile back at him then press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll take that date now though.”

“One specialty Kim Hongjoong date coming right up. Though you better be prepared to stay up late tonight.”

“And you better be able to keep up with me. Hopefully all those exercises they’re making you do can help.”

Hongjoong grumbles at your comment, pulling back from you with a pout on his lips.

“I’ve got great stamina, thank you very much.” Hongjoong pauses his sulking for a moment to wear a serious expression on his features. “I’m serious about this, you know. You aren’t just some… some quick fuck to me. You didn’t have to be nice to me or give me a chance or anything, especially with the way I’ve been treating you over the past two years. So, uh, yea. Yea, I’m serious.”

You cup Hongjoong’s cheek gently and pass him a small smile before leaning your forehead against his.

“I believe you. And it’s not like I was any kinder to you. But if this is a chance to make things right, then let’s do it.”

“Y-Yea, yea, you’re right.”

“Now let’s get dressed before someone walks in on us like this. Then you can take me to dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hongjoong pulls away with a grin still on his lips. For a moment, you just sit there on the lid of the keyboard and watch him move around collecting articles of clothing. The warmth in your chest is foreign and unknown, but comfortable nonetheless. You never would have expected things to play out the way they did, but it was a happy accident and you want to bask in it for as long as possible. You slip off the lid of the ivories. The taste of liquorice is still on your tongue.

​​​☽     ☾

➻ requested by: @atinyinwonderland ➻ prompts:

“Ew, it’s you.” “Wow.”

“Eyes on me.”

this highkey turned into a Thing and idek how that happened but here we are aosidjfosijdfo also i did some research into PTS (parsonage-tanser syndrome) and it’s a rather rare disease apparently but this kinda issue with no longer being able to play piano and being forced to give up your dream kinda stemmed from my personal life and my sister and how i saw it impact her so it’s very real emotions and reader’s thoughts about being in hongjoong’s shoes are thoughts i’ve had myself and it truly is hard for me to even think about especially since music means so much to me but yea i cried while writing this, i hope you all enjoyed im going through it imma head out

[nathavenpd]

Detective Kyara Torthevi {Book 1}

fc: Zendaya Coleman

Personal

Name: Kyara Torthevi

Name Pronunciation: KEE-ara TOR-theh-vee

Age: 29

Date of Birth: January 17th

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn (Aquarius cusp)

Height: 5’8.5”

Hair: Deep red hair cut into a bob (ala Zendaya’s Joan of Arc Met Gala look)

Eyes: Light green

Relationships: 

Rebecca Torthevi (mother; positively developing relationship) 

“Rook” Torthevi (father; deceased) 

Unnamed paternal aunt (presumed deceased)

Natalie Sewell (romantic interest)

Tina Poname (best friend)

Solomon Verda (good friend)

Bobby Marks (ex-lover)

Sexuality: Lesbian (masculine/stud)

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Home: A minimalist apartment with minimal decor and furniture

Unit Bravo: {AS OF BOOK 2} Romantic relationship with Nat; Respected teammates with Ava; Friendly teammates with Farah; Close teammates with Morgan

Personality

Charming: 39% | Intimidating: 61%

Impulsive: 49% | Cautious: 51%

Sarcastic: 47% | Genuine: 53%

Friendly: 51% | Stoic: 49%

Easygoing: 43% | Stubborn: 57%

Traits

Heart: 58% | Mind: 42%

Optimist: 72% | Pessimist: 28% (I...don’t know how this happened lol)

Team Player: 66% | Independent: 34%

Professional

Job Title: Wayhaven PD Detective / Agency Human Liason

Skills

People/Psychology: 47%

Combat/Physical: 45% (in my head this is way higher xD)

Science/Technology: 67% (I also don’t know how this happened lmao)

Deduction/Knowledge: 38%

By the Book: 63% | Bend the Rules: 37%

Bio

Born to Rebecca and “Rook” Torthevi, Kyara seemed predestined to fall into the law enforcement profession. With a father that passed when she was two and a primarily absent mother, Kyara was raised by a woman whom Kyara assumed was a good friend of her mother. 

Kyara was born and raised in Wayhaven until she graduated from high school. She traveled out of state for college and graduated at 19 with a bachelor’s degree in History and a minor in Criminology. At first, she intended to become a historian, but she quickly felt a surprising pull to enlist in the United States Army. After three years, she qualified for the U.S. Army Special Forces and served as a Green Beret for another two years.

During her first deployment overseas as a Green Beret, her troupe was suddenly attacked, and Kyara was forced to defend herself. She and most of her team survived the encounter, but the near-death experience traumatized Kyara more than she anticipated. She ended up discharged from the U.S. Army after a military doctor diagnosed her with PTSD. She returned home soon after, no longer the bright-eyed recruit she was when she initially left for basic training.

Kyara spent some of the next year in intensive therapy. She learned how to re-acclimate to society and its demands, as well as manage her triggers. The only profession she could see herself joining was the police force, so she packed her bags again and began attending at the nearest police academy. After graduating, she promptly started work at the Wayhaven Police Department. After about 4 years of service, she was put through a speedy promotion and is now Detective, a title she wears with pride and determination. She wants to protect the people of Wayhaven more than anything; she feels it gives her purpose and a reason to wake up every morning. If she didn’t protect her town, who would?

Notes

- Part of her coping strategy involved creating a workout regiment. Even years later, she still sticks to it. It’s incredibly intense, but she loves it. 

- Kyara is left handed.

- Her triggers are sand in her clothes, the smell of char/things burning, and screaming.

- She knows her languages very well and is fluent in Spanish and French, among others.

- She actively detests wearing anything feminine. She only purchases clothes from men’s sections and gets them tailored to her body.

- She initially butted heads with Ava due to how similar they are in personality.

- Her attraction to Nat was pretty much immediate lol

[alicederauge-blog]

The Siren ~ Alice DeRauge

Hello hello!!! I’m Jolie and I am honestly so excited to be here and create some amazing connections with you all, as well as read about and learn about all the amazing characters you have created. Below is some information about my girl Alice, who is also known as The Siren. I’m always here for plots, interactions and creating interesting connections!

A young woman leans against the slightly rusted rails of the small, Parisian apartment, the cigarettes drawn to her ruby red lips as she stares at the world passing by below her, watching as the ash falls from the tip of the cigarette and down to the earth below, the smoke billow up above her as she is caught in the middle of it all. The faint shouts of her parents an echoing reminding behind as she brings the cigarette to her lips once more. If a girl falls in the city, and no one sees; did she really fall?

Alice DeRauge was the only child born to two Parisian artists, them claiming that little Alice was merely a manifestation of their love and their art brought together. She was truly like something from an artists mind, with her pouted lips and wide dark eyes- she was like something from a dream state even as a child.

Despite her parents being passionate people, they did very little to provide for Alice growing up. Their art very rarely selling for a high enough price for them to live contently. The small family of three living in a two bedroom apartment in the heart of Paris where it was always too hot during the summer and too cold during the winter nights. Despite having a small child to care for, they still very much lived under the starving artist mentality. There was always never enough food in the cupboards and empty wine bottles littering the apartment.

Despite the hardships that were faced, Alice was a relatively happy child. The cobblestone streets of Paris becoming her playground, finding kindred spirits among the other children who the world seemed to have left behind. They would run through the streets well into the late evening, stealing candy from corner stores and cigarettes from their parents. They were content with the small lives they had created for themselves but young Alice always craved something more.

As she get older, Alice fell into darker habits. Sharing beds with men twice her age after spending the day drinking two bottles of red wine. The pills were always readily available and she indulged in this small escape, knowing she could get away with it, her parents having a complete disregard for what their daughter truly got up to in the evenings.

Alice was a mere seventeen years old when her mother declared that she was finally leaving her father for good, forced Alice to pack a small duffel bag and shoving a one-way ticket to America in her slightly, hungover face. The brief hug she shared with her father being the last time she saw him as Alice’s mother made promises of a brand new life for both of them.

It didn’t take long for Alice to adjust to American culture. Enjoying the wild parties that were thrown every weekend, the drugs that were happily supplied to her and the various males and females who showed a physical interest in her. She indulged in the popularity she had as being the exotic French girl and everything that was given to her with ease.

She was eighteen when she had first rehab stint, it was the average eight week program that introduced Alice to the twelve steps but really, it just taught her how to be more sneaky about her habits and the things she did when no one was looking for her.

Despite all the issues and the need for rebellion, Alice always managed to get good grades- something that helped her get accepted into St. Etinne on financial assistance, majoring in classic literature and wanting to live like the authors she worshiped growing up. The likes of Jake Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and the likes of the rest of the beat generation who opposed everything around them.

It was halfway through her second semester when she was sent to rehab once more after a harrowing incident where she was found unresponsive at a frat party. It was there that she met Daisey, the two girls becoming fast friends and confiding deeply in one another about everything they had been through and what they hoped to achieve in life.

What Alice didn’t expect was to return to school and find Daisey acting as if the two were strangers, that they hadn’t spent sleepless nights sneaking cigarettes and talking about everything Alice had never spoken of before; missing her father, missing Paris, her resentment towards her mother- things she would never dare say aloud without the comfort of darkness.

Though Alice merely pushed it aside and acted as if Daisey were nothing more than the spoiled, entitled child everyone else viewed her as. Keeping their stint in rehab together a dark secret, though she would often catch the female eyeing her when she thought Alice wasn’t looking yet no words were ever exchanged between them. The two clearly being from two separate worlds.

The night the incident with Daisey occurred, Alice had reluctantly been attending the party, sneaking outside for a cigarette when she saw a car speeding away and then the commotion from inside. She then spent the next eight hours at the police station with no coffee or cigarette breaks, something that annoyed her greatly.

Down the rabbit hole:

Is very much a hopeless romantic but also a very big cynic due to being jilted in the past, though her heart often overrules her head.

Very much tries hard to live the beatnik lifestyle, resenting modern trends and pretending to despise the use of social media. Dreams of living a wild life like her favorite authors.

Her mother has recently become engaged to a man, something that Alice resents her deeply for. Since moving to America their relationship has become very strained.

Likes to play the role of the femme fatale but often ends up falling for the person she is seducing.

Very much pansexual and open about her attraction to all people.

Has never been able to hold down a steady relationship; either she is too distant for the person or ends up cheating on them or vice versa. Tends to fall into very toxic relationships with people.

Is a popular student yet no one truly knows her. Keeps things very close to her chest.

Rarely seen without a cigarette hanging from her mouth and a glass of cheap red wine.

Often seen wearing a red beret; considers it her trademark.

Misses her father deeply but has not been able to get in contact with him since she left Paris.

Always wanting something more. Never content with what she has.

Is a sucker for a good foreign film and obscure art expeditions.

Is honestly just an overall hot darn mess.

[curiousdamage]

A Bit of Wonderful.

Day 23 of the writing challenge.  For @dream-beyond-the-fantasy who wanted to see more about Cara Kreese’s family and how she found out she was pregnant.

Karate Kid Fandom- A Careless Man’s Careful Daughter.

I own nothing.

Cara’s big brother visits her camp in Viet Nam.  (Michael’s face grab is Tim Ryan who played Colleen’s love interest, Natch but for purposes of this story, he’s Michael Sullivan.)

Cara sat on the beach staring out at the waves. Her mind moving too fast to come to any conclusion. She was still no closer to deciding what to do. She heard the helicopter overhead and turn to look up at it. Listening for the call of ‘wounded’. When it didn't sound, she looked back at the waves. Lost in thought, she didn't notice someone sitting down next to her until he spoke.

“Penny for your thoughts?"

“Jesus, Michael!" She jumped, then punched her brother in the arm. "You scared the daylights out of me."

“Sorry," he laughed. “To be fair, though, I did call your name from back there." He pointed back to the path to the beach. "KC told me you were down here. What’s up? You look a million miles away.”

“That was you?" she pointed up to the sky. He was a helicopter pilot. "You didn’t bring me any customers today?"

"Nope brought you some supplies. Quit changing the subject,” he replied. Why are you sitting out here looking like you're trying to figure out the meaning of life? Or at least how two of Colonel Kelly Sullivan’s children

ended up in this hellhole. Has Army never heard of nepotism before? We should be sitting on some Stateside base with cushy office jobs being pains in the asses of those who actually worked to get there."

“I volunteered and you would hate being grounded," she replied, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Probably true," he nodded. “Come on. Tell me what's got you so morose?"

"Good word," she replied.

"Yeah, Mom got me a word of the day calendar. She hopes it will make me sound smarter. You know she's still pushing for all five of us to be officers. Did it work?"

"Until you kept speaking," she laughed, despite how awful she felt, "Oh, Mikey, Mom’s going to kill me."

“What have you done to incur Mom’s wrath?" he asked.

"I'm pregnant," she finally spilled.

Michael was silent for a long moment, then, "Damn, Sis. Are you sure?”

“I've got all the signs," she replied. "Fatigue, morning sickness, all the girlie things you'll say 'EW' about, irritability…,”

"Well, if you're going by irritability, you've been pregnant since you were twelve," he teased.

She shoved him sideways with a small laugh. "I'm serious."

"Look, all jokes aside," he put his arm around her. “Couldn't all that stuff be caused by stress, because I hate to break it to you, Sis, but you're living in an inferno, doing probably the most stressful job a woman can have right now on less sleep a week than most people get a night."

"Are you saying I'm stressed out?" she rolled her eyes.

“That’s what I'm saying."

She laughed again. "It’s more than that, Mikey. " She paused, then decided they were both adults and she could confide in him. "It hasn't been that time of the month for over two months now.”

"Sis!" He looked at her with alarm. "And you're just saying something now?!" 

"I'm just accepting it myself now," she replied.

“Have you told John?"

She shook her head.

"Should you tell John?" he asked, cautiously.

"Yes!" She cried indignantly when she realized his implication. "I just wanted to make sure there was something to tell first.”

"Just wanted to make sure I'm punching out the right guy," he teased, "So, are you still not sure?”

“Not medically. No," she replied.

“What are you waiting on?” He asked.

“I can’t just go ask for a pregnancy test,” she said.  “It’ll go in my medical file.  Besides…,”

“What?”

“I’m scared, Mikey,” she admitted.  “You know what will happen if I am.”

He nodded somberly.  “A one-way ticket Stateside.”

“And probably a discharge,” she said.  “I can’t…, this is all I know.  This is awful.”

“Awful?” He raised an eyebrow.  “Cara Marie, this, this is the total opposite of awful. This is wonderful!  This is…, beautiful.  Hell, I might even like this kid!”  He patted her stomach, then got to his feet.  “Give me an hour okay?  Then I’ll have you a way to find out that won’t go in your file.”

“How are you going to do that?” she scoffed.

“Please.  A magician never reveals his secrets,” he replied, heading back up the beach.

“KC?! You told KC?! That was your big plan, Master Magician?” She sputtered as he led her to the other woman’s quarters.  

“Well, I figured a woman in her profession would have a way, you know?” he shrugged.  “And she owes me a favor for something I might have smuggled out for her.  She won’t tell.  And no, it wasn’t drugs.”

KC smiled at her like the cat who ate the canary when she entered the room.  “Well, Sullivan.  I knew you were screwing that Green Beret, but I figured you’d be smart enough to use protection. I didn’t think I’d have to have the birds and bees talk with you like I do the Donut Dollies.”

Cara glared at Michael before turning back to KC.  “For your information, I was using protection. It doesn’t always work.  Something you should keep in mind.”

“Maybe so.” She sauntered over to her foot locker and pulled out a pregnancy test surprisingly like the ones they kept at the hospital for the local women needing care.

“Where did you get this?” Cara asked, taking the box.  

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer too,” KC replied.  “Now, go get the necessary ingredient.  I’ll get it set up.”

“Wait, here?” Cara asked.  She’d hoped to do it in private.

“Unless you want to go over to the clinic, where else?” KC answered.   “Um…, my tent.  By myself.” “Too late.  I’m involved now,” KC replied, examining her nails. “I can help with whatever.”

“I’m a nurse.  I know how it works,” she replied but seeing she wasn’t going to win, took the specimen cup and stomped out, returning a few minutes later.

True to her word, KC had all the chemicals in the kit ready to go.  Cara added her part.

She put her hands over her face, muttering, “Please don’t change. Please don’t change.”

“Sorry, Toots,” KC said, examining the petri dish.  “You’ve got a little Cobra on board.”

“Alright!” Michael smiled, more for Cara’s benefit than his own. “I’m going to be Uncle Mikey!”

“We already have three nieces and two nephews,” she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, but like I said, I’m actually going to like this one,” he smirked.

“Look, Sis.  I know it’s a lot and it wasn’t what you wanted, or planned, but think of this.  You managed to create something beautiful and wonderful in this hell we live in.  That must mean something, right?  I’m mean, this kid…, this kid is a miracle.”  He pulled her into a hug.  “You’ll get through this, okay?”

She nodded.  “I hope you’re right, Mikey.”

Two weeks later, Mikey was waiting for her as she prepared to leave. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.  She was being sent Stateside, but she hadn’t been made to resign her commission, being sent to a VA rehab instead.  Maybe having high ranking officers as parents was useful after all.

John still wasn’t back in base.  It had been over a month since the Cobra Kai unit had left out on a mission.  One he couldn’t tell her about and one he had no idea when or if he’d return from.  She couldn’t even tell him in person.

“I guess this it,” she said, standing near the plane that would take her home.

“Take care, Sis,” he said, hugging her.  Then he knelt so that he was near her stomach.  “Okay, Kid.  Listen up.  This is Uncle Mikey.  And when I get home, we’re going to be great friends.  But until then I’ll make you a little deal.  You take care of your mommy and I’ll take care of your Daddy. I’ll make sure he comes home safe and sound.  You make sure she doesn’t miss him too much, okay?  Is it a deal?  It’s a deal.” He rubbed her still flat stomach again, before standing back up.  “Give Mom and Dad a hug and kiss from me, okay?”

She nodded and wiped her eyes.  “Take care of yourself too.”

“Always,” he replied.

“Mikey? I know you’ll see John again. Give him this for me?” She pulled a plain white envelope out of her bag.  

“Of course,” he agreed.  “But I may not run into him for a while.  I’m not always in camp when he is.”

“I left a copy with KC too,” she confided.  “But I would rather you be the one to make sure he gets it.”

“Will do,” he nodded, solemnly, stashing the envelope in his uniform pocket.   He hugged her again.  “Bye, Sis.  Send me lots of pictures.”

“Will do,” she repeated, hugging him.  “I love you, Michael.”

“Love you, too, Cara.”

She boarded the plane, taking her window seat, and waved until she couldn’t see the ground, much less Michael anymore.

[veritas-alice-blog]

The Siren - Alice DeRauge

Hello hello!!! I’m Jolie and I am honestly so excited to be here and create some amazing connections with you all, as well as read about and learn about all the amazing characters you have created. Below is some information about my girl Alice, who is also known as The Siren. I’m always here for plots, interactions and creating interesting connections!

A young woman leans against the slightly rusted rails of the small, Parisian apartment, the cigarettes drawn to her ruby red lips as she stares at the world passing by below her, watching as the ash falls from the tip of the cigarette and down to the earth below, the smoke billow up above her as she is caught in the middle of it all. The faint shouts of her parents an echoing reminding behind as she brings the cigarette to her lips once more. If a girl falls in the city, and no one sees; did she really fall?

Alice DeRauge was the only child born to two Parisian artists, them claiming that little Alice was merely a manifestation of their love and their art brought together. She was truly like something from an artists mind, with her pouted lips and wide dark eyes- she was like something from a dream state even as a child.

Despite her parents being passionate people, they did very little to provide for Alice growing up. Their art very rarely selling for a high enough price for them to live contently. The small family of three living in a two bedroom apartment in the heart of Paris where it was always too hot during the summer and too cold during the winter nights. Despite having a small child to care for, they still very much lived under the starving artist mentality. There was always never enough food in the cupboards and empty wine bottles littering the apartment.

Despite the hardships that were faced, Alice was a relatively happy child. The cobblestone streets of Paris becoming her playground, finding kindred spirits among the other children who the world seemed to have left behind. They would run through the streets well into the late evening, stealing candy from corner stores and cigarettes from their parents. They were content with the small lives they had created for themselves but young Alice always craved something more.

As she get older, Alice fell into darker habits. Sharing beds with men twice her age after spending the day drinking two bottles of red wine. The pills were always readily available and she indulged in this small escape, knowing she could get away with it, her parents having a complete disregard for what their daughter truly got up to in the evenings.

Alice was a mere seventeen years old when her father declared that she was finally leaving her mother for good, forced Alice to pack a small duffel bag and shoving a one-way ticket to America in her slightly, hungover face. The brief hug she shared with her mother being the last time she saw her as Alice’s father made promises of a brand new life for both of them.

It didn’t take long for Alice to adjust to American culture. Enjoying the wild parties that were thrown every weekend, the drugs that were happily supplied to her and the various males and females who showed a physical interest in her. She indulged in the popularity she had as being the exotic French girl and everything that was given to her with ease.

She was eighteen when she had first rehab stint, it was the average eight week program that introduced Alice to the twelve steps but really, it just taught her how to be more sneaky about her habits and the things she did when no one was looking for her.

Despite all the issues and the need for rebellion, Alice always managed to get good grades- something that helped her get accepted into St. Etinne on financial assistance, majoring in classic literature and wanting to live like the authors she worshiped growing up. The likes of Jake Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and the likes of the rest of the beat generation who opposed everything around them.

It was around her first year of college when her father announced that he engaged to be married to a woman, something that shocked Alice but begrudgingly accepted especially with an introduction of a step-brother into the mix though she believes as far as step-siblings go, he isn’t too bad.

It was halfway through her second semester when she was sent to rehab once more after a harrowing incident where she was found unresponsive at a frat party. It was there that she met Daisey, the two girls becoming fast friends and confiding deeply in one another about everything they had been through and what they hoped to achieve in life.

What Alice didn’t expect was to return to school and find Daisey acting as if the two were strangers, that they hadn’t spent sleepless nights sneaking cigarettes and talking about everything Alice had never spoken of before; missing her father, missing Paris, her resentment towards her mother- things she would never dare say aloud without the comfort of darkness.

Though Alice merely pushed it aside and acted as if Daisey were nothing more than the spoiled, entitled child everyone else viewed her as. Keeping their stint in rehab together a dark secret, though she would often catch the female eyeing her when she thought Alice wasn’t looking yet no words were ever exchanged between them. The two clearly being from two separate worlds.

The night the incident with Daisey occurred, Alice had reluctantly been attending the party, sneaking outside for a cigarette when she saw a car speeding away and then the commotion from inside. She then spent the next eight hours at the police station with no coffee or cigarette breaks, something that annoyed her greatly.

Down the rabbit hole:

Is very much a hopeless romantic but also a very big cynic due to being jilted in the past, though her heart often overrules her head.

Very much tries hard to live the beatnik lifestyle, resenting modern trends and pretending to despise the use of social media. Dreams of living a wild life like her favorite authors.

Likes to play the role of the femme fatale but often ends up falling for the person she is seducing.

Very much pansexual and open about her attraction to all people.

Has never been able to hold down a steady relationship; either she is too distant for the person or ends up cheating on them or vice versa. Tends to fall into very toxic relationships with people.

Is a popular student yet no one truly knows her. Keeps things very close to her chest.

Has a slightly strained relationship with her step-mother and father especially after her second rehab stint. Though she does tried to keep the peace as best as someone like Alice can.

Rarely seen without a cigarette hanging from her mouth and a glass of cheap red wine.

Often seen wearing a red beret; considers it her trademark.

Misses her mother deeply but has not been able to get in contact with her since she left Paris. Can you scream mommy issues??

Always wanting something more. Never content with what she has.

Is a sucker for a good foreign film and obscure art expeditions.

Is honestly just an overall hot darn mess.

[cielpurrple]

MAKE ME 17.3

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Word count: 5167 Warnings: 2406

As the vehicle stopped in front of the gate of his grandmother’s house which you call ‘home’, he looked at you with a cute, expression.

“I’m very disappointed to say that though I tried driving as slow as I could, we’re already here.” He pouted.

You just gave him a satisfied smile and unfastened your seatbelt while he took your luggage out.

“You’re not coming inside?” you asked hoping that he would.

“I wanted to but, I have to go. I have some things to do today.”

“Oh, okay, I understand. Drive safely.” You approached him to take your luggage but instead, he pulled you closer to him and gave you a peck on the lips.

“I will, I’ll message you okay?” he ruffled your hair before he hopped in the van. He waved at you and you did the same and as he drive away, you entered the house.

 “Hmm, what shall I do now with this time that I got?” you asked aloud as soon as you stepped inside the empty house. It seems that the house was maintained cleaned by one of Jimin’s grandmother because the floor’s very shiny and the curtains was changed.

You went to your room only to find another set of gifts waiting for you, from his grandmother.

You blushed and smiled as she addressed you as ‘my future daughter – in – law.”

There are a variety of gifts from his grandmother – from socks to coats that you suspect of high price. You called her and told her that you really appreciate the gifts.

You’re quite happy when you went downstairs and straight to the kitchen, there’s more than enough supplies for you. You began brewing coffee when your phone rang, and it’s Taehyung.

“Yes?” you greeted him.

[You home yet? Let’s go somewhere.] He replied.

“I’m home, about twenty? Thirty minutes now. Where are we going?”

[I dunno yet, but I’m picking you up. Give me around thirty minutes.]

“Okay.” you ended the call.

As you wait for him, you texted Jimin that Taehyung invited you to hang out with him. He replied in an instant.

[From: Jimin

Okay. Take care and have fun but, don’t get too close to that idiot.]

You replied, assuring him that you’ll be mindful of your actions around him.

When Taehyung arrived, he greeted you with  a tight hug, and you hugged him back.

You noticed how good he looked while wearing a beret and glasses.

“Wow Tae, you look good in those.” You looked at him from his head to his chin for a couple of times.

“Really now? Thanks. But don’t compliment me too much Y/N-ah, or Jimin hyung will get jealous.” Taehyung teased.

“It’s just an honest opinion though.” You pouted.

“I know, anyway, let’s go.” He chuckled and went to the driver’s side while you hopped in the passenger’s side.

Jimin knew that Taehyung will pick you up because he asked permission first just like before. Not that he mind but he appreciates that he always ask permission first (unless you and him had a misunderstanding), he also appreciates whatever his friends do so you wouldn’t feel alone and bored all the time on that house.

When he reached his grandmother’s house, he parked the car properly and went to the garden where she usually spends her time. This house, was the house built for her by her beloved husband before they became husband and wife. The house that you live in, was the family house when she was still a lady.

The snow was neatly pushed on both sides, creating a nice pathway for anyone who’d like to stroll on the garden. He immediately spotted the Madam’s curly hair as she touches her dormant flowering plants.

A gentle breeze greeted Jimin, making him shiver.

“It’s so cold here, don’t you want to stay inside, Gram?” he asked the old lady.

She turned around, and gave him a warm, loving smile.

“Oooh, back with that grandpa hair again, aren’t we?” she noticed.

Jimin slightly chuckled, and approached her to give her a hug.

“You noticed? Yes, I like this color right now.” He said in a whisper – like manner as he embrace his grandmother.

“Come on, let’s have some breakfast.” She cling her arm to one of his and walked to the beautiful outdoor table, with different kinds of food prepared just for him.

As they sit down, they began choosing whatever food they like. Half way to their meal, the old lady spoke.

“What do you want for Christmas, darling?” she sad as she pours a cup of tea on both of their glasses.

“I don’t want anything Gram.” He replied.

“Come on now son, I know you wanted something.” She insisted.

Jimin stopped slicing the ham on his plate and cleared his throat.

“Well I actually got one of my wishes last Christmas though.” He said in a very sweet manner.

“And that is?” his grandmother asked.

“Y/N being my girlfriend.” He smiled.

His grandmother noticed the way he blushed as he say your name which made her smile wider than him.

“Oooooh, yes, yes, I am so happy you finally managed to ask her. I like that girl very much. So, how are her parents?” she asked further.

Jimin shared every details that he knew, while his grandmother listened to him, giving comments which occasionally made them smile at each other until she was back in asking again the question earlier.

“You said you got one of your wishes came true. Now, let’s make another one of your wishes come true,” she stopped eating and looked at her grandson.

Jimin stopped eating. And as he cleared his throat, he hoped that whatever he will say out loud will convince his grandmother.

“Well, I was just wondering if Y/N and I move in, In my house” he tried to sound as firm as he could but his voice cracked a bit.

He expected that his grandmother would react even just a facial expression of some sort, but she didn’t, as if she knew that he’ll ask this.

“I know one of these days you’ll ask me that” --- she said as she leaned in, ---“well, I cannot stop a man that is in love,” she agreed.

As Jimin heard his grandmother, his eyes widened, with the hopes that what he heard was right.

“Are you saying ‘yes’ to my plan, Gram?”  

“Yes, yes I am.” She smiled.

“But of course, I have three conditions”--- she said as she began counting by her hand ---“one; she will not move in unless you graduated, two; you better ask her parents first personally of your plans.” She stopped.

“And the third one, Gram?”

“Lastly, you will have to work on your father’s company. If you really want to be with her then, you have to be responsible, mature, and stable,” she said.

Upon hearing the third condition, Jimin’s face became serious. She really is a clever woman.

“I’ve already asked her parents, they agreed,” he said nonchalantly.

“I am glad that her parents agreed already. They put so much trust on you my dear, meaning they really want you. Do they know who you really are?” she probed.

Jimin shooked his head.

The old lady sighed and looked at him, “maybe it’s not the time, but evetntually, you have to tell her who you really are and what you’re bound to do,”

“Gram, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter to her parents wether I’m rich or not. They look at what’s inside”--- he pointed his at his heart ---“when they accepted me, I felt like I have parents too. Her father always asked me what I’m doing, her mother keeps on reminding me that I should take a rest and eat, they are kind people, Gram.”

“And as for the third condition, I will do it after I finish the contract that I signed with Kim Logistics.

She smiled warmly, as if she’s accepted defeat.

“See? As I have said, I cannot stop a man that is in love,” she teased.

“So, are you saying ‘yes’?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She replied.

And they both let out a hearty laugh. He stayed for a little bit more and when it’s time for him to leave, he hugged and thank his grandmother and left. 

“We’re back!” Taehyung announced to whoever’s in the house.

The two of you strolled for a bit but you both agreed to just stay at his house.

“What do you mean we--- oh, hi, future Mrs. Park.” Jungkook teased.

When you heard what he called you, you became as red as your scarf.

“Shut up, Kookie,” you replied to him.

“Sit beside me, let’s watch something,” he said.

You sat beside him while he plugged in his earphones and shared it with you. Not five minutes has passed and the two of you are both laughing when Jin and Yoongi came in, both carrying several bags.

“It’s nice to see you here, Y/N,” Jin greeted you.

You greeted him politely as well as Yoongi who sat lazily on the single seater sofa.

Jungkook got bored from watching and witched into playing video games. You noticed Yoongi’s looking at you.

“You need something, Yoongi?”

Yoongi, who seemed to be in a daze was pulled back to reality when he heard his name. You could see a tinge of pink on his face but he quickly recovered and responded.

“None, as of the moment Y/N,” he replied with a slight smirk on his face.

“Okay,” you replied to him and excused yourself to help in whatever the others are doing upstairs.

“IT’S SO COLD!”

You said to yourself as you stepped into the snow-covered flooring of Taehyung’s garden. You approached him and Jin as they busily set up the barbeque grill.

“We’re having barbeque in this weather?”

“Quite so,” Jin muttered.

“Can I help? It’s boring downstairs.” You asked.

“Boring or awkward?--- he smiled at you as he pulled some items from the shopping bag ---“I caught a glimpse of Yoongi staring at you.”

“Well yeah, there’s that,” you admitted.

The three of you started to cook with the guidance of Jin. You do admire his skills in cooking.

He asked you to peel some potatoes and carrots so you went back downstairs to do so when Jimin announced his presence.

He was greeted by Jungkook and Yoongi and he quickly relaxed as he now take over the second controller that’s resting on your spot before.

“Just so you know hyung, your future Mrs. is upstairs,” he said with his eyes fixed on the TV screen.

“I see, no worries,” he replied as he choose a character. He’s about to focus when he saw you pass by, carrying a bowl with you.

“Let me help you with that,” he stood up and approached you.

“I can carry it myself, go ahead and play,” you declined.

“Just let me help you,” he insisted.

“Jimin, Jungkook’s waiting. Now, stay here, while we do the preparations upstairs,” you argued.

“HYUNG, LET’S PLAY OR I’LL PLAY SOLO!”

“Coming!” Jimin replied.

When you’re back upstairs, Jin skillfully chopped the vegetables in sticks. Taehyung announced that the grill’s ready anytime.

After some time, you managed to make several side dishes including mojos, fries, and salad.

Taehung called everybody upstairs and all of you shared a wonderful meal together. You spent a couple more hours there with occasional teasing from the boys, you’re glad to spend this day with them.

It’s almost dark when you and Jimin decided to go you thanked Taehyung for inviting you to hang out left.

“I don’t want to take you home yet,” Jimin announced as he hold your hand while he began driving.

“So where are we going then?” you looked at him.

“I don’t know, somewhere nice and quiet?” he suggested.

“I don’t know, maybe at the park?”

“That’ll be great, let’s go,” he speeds up.

After a few minutes of silence, you noticed the signs directing you to the Arboretum you once visited with Jungkook and Taehyung. The entrance is decorated with Christmas lights plus ornaments that compliments the place. There are a few visitors together with you, but it’s not that crowded.

You and Jim walked while holding hands, spending some time staring at some trees that are decorated.

A staff from the arboretum offered you to engrave your initials on a piece of a tree’s bark and so you did, with a little painting of a magnolia flower on the side.

“I like it.” you said as you touch the treated branch, tracing the carved letters of Jimin’s name.

“I like you too,” he whispered to your ear.

You couldn’t help but to smack him on the arm due to embarrassment.

“Let’s sit for a bit, shall we?” he said and you pulled him into one of the cute, empty benches.

“Well, I brought you here to talk about something, honestly,” he started.

You looked at him, trying to hide the worry that’s starts to build into your system.

“Earlier today, your father and I talked remember?”--- he waited for you to respond and when you nod, he continued ---“before that, I went to your house to ask permission so you can move in with me.”

You didn’t respond but let him continue.

“They were a bit hesitant but in the end, your father said yes. I’m so happy,” he smiled at you.

You smiled back.

“That’s great news isn’t it?” you asked.

“Yes, but this morning, I asked gram the same thing. Well, she said yes too but there’s one condition,” he paused.

“Tell me,” you replied.

“We have to wait until my graduation before you move in. Are you okay with that?”

You gave him a small laugh, which made him a bit annoyed.

“Of course, I am! Silly, we’ve been like this since I came back and you haven’t adjusted to it yet? It’s just  a few months time Jimin, don’t worry.” You assured him.

“I’m excited to see you almost every second, princess.” He pulled your hand gently and kissed it.

“Me too.” you smiled at him.

As the two of you sat down and do sweet things, there are a pair of eyes watching your every move.

“You think this’ll be a happily ever after? Think again, Y/N Y/L/N.” That person whispered and left.

A/N

Heya it’s me!

Who is that person who wanted to stop Y/N and Jimin to be happy!?

This story has only a few chapters left so I wish you’ll be around until the end. 

Thank you~

[ruthdemoofins]

Cor Tutor - Chapter 3 - Perc’ahlia modern college AU

Read the first two chapters on AO3: (X)

Thank you all for the support, like honestly, it makes me teary eyed and smiley and dfisdjfsdjfod. As usual, I checked this over on my own, so please let me know if there are any ugly mistakes or let me know what you thought! :)

My semester has started up again so I'm afraid my updates won't be quite so speedy. Thanks for putting up with me!

Percival had known many odd days in his life, many days that had him questioning if he was truly awake and alive, or rather, if he was simply in a some kind of horrible, twisted nightmare.

He’d felt that way, at least, at eighteen, as he stood in front of a roaring, invasive monster of a fire that had consumed his home and the majority of his family. He could still hear the screams of his sister as she struggled in his arms to break free, as though she could put it out with her own with her own tears and fists. Cassandra had always been braver than him and he wouldn’t doubt that now, she could put out a fire with her bare fists if needed. Back then, however, she had been small and fragile, shaking in his arms like a leaf. Percival could still feel the smoke furling into the back of his throat, making a home there deep within his flesh as he let out a raw, enraged roar.

This evening, however, had been different from those fiendish memories.

The rest of his stay in the library had involved him attentively listening to Keyleth vent about Vax and how horribly hard it was to read him. The majority of the time, Percival sat in silence as she wildly gestured into the air, offering what little advice he could when she gave a pause (it wasn’t good advice, though. He hadn’t much experience in terms of “dating.”)

As unconfident as he’d felt in his advice, Keyleth had seemed to feel a bit better and thus, he felt bit better too. It was hard to come across people like Keyleth, who were perfectly content with sitting in a comfortable silence and brimmed life and enthusiasm. They were opposites, he knew, but it took a negative and a positive charge to connect, didn’t it?

He’d left to pick up dinner for him and Cassandra at Jarret’s Exotic Foods (the amount of spice that man used was nearly a travesty. Nearly. His innate ability to level out spices to the point of nearly being unbearable and both addictively wonderful was still unfathomable to him) and made his merry way to their apartment.

Percy had happily been within his own thoughts, as he usually was, when he noticed a young woman and man stopped in their tracks ahead of him, the man earnestly speaking towards her while her posture seemed to be as rigid as a well-supported beam.

Before he could speculate further, the woman caught sight of him and briskly turned towards him. He’s sworn he’s seen her around campus before, one of the many faces that are vaguely familiar to him. Her eyes attract his immediate attention as she comes towards him, nearly aggressively. Aggressively enough that he almost trips on the uneven sidewalk as he slides one of his boots back to evade her charge.

Her eyes, though. They’re sharp, immensely sharp. It’s funny, really, he thinks, that he’s so focused on the way they seem. Most men notice a woman’s eyes for being ‘strikingly blue’ or ’warmly brown,’ but he’s standing here noticing the way of them. She’s confident. Her lips tug in a sudden smirk that unnerves him completely, like she already owns him without even knowing him, like he’s just putty in her hands.

It’s nothing like Dr. Anna Ripley, nothing like Delilah Briarwood. He thinks of their faces, meticulously pinned upon the wall in the back of his closet, from newspapers, from the images he’s located online. Their smiles curve in a way that would make one feel as though they owned them and intended upon crushing them, scorching their fleshy muscles from their body, and whittling their bones into small toothpicks to pick their flesh from their grinning, white teeth, but this…this is different.

“Darling,” she’d cooed at him, like she wholly adored him. If only she knew the rampant, dark, horrible thoughts in his head! If only she knew what he’d do if he had Anders, Ripley, Delilah or Silas before him in that moment.

The entire exchange had been horribly awkward, resulting in theft of his takeout.

Percival had been entirely sure to glare as hard as humanly possible at her as he saw the thought upon her face, something along the lines of: “Ah, this appears to be takeout, and by the significant, spicy smell, Jarett’s takeout, no less. I think I’ll be taking this, thank-you-very-much.”

And she had.

He could’ve stopped her, but he didn’t.

He’d only stood there, watching the stranger happily strut away, bag swaying in her clawed grip, noting that the other stranger, the man, had disappeared.

Percival hastily returned to Jarett’s, re-ordering and seating himself at one of the tables with his fingers steepled as he brooded over his misfortune.

“Come now, chum, turn that frown upside down, ay?”

Percy jerked his head up to eye a rather short young man with a charming smile (though not as bewitching as the takout-thief’s) and a rather dashing maroon beret.

“I..?” he gave the man a confused look before noting the bag extended towards him. Ah. “Ahem…Thank you,” he murmured, taking the bag and entirely disregarding the previous comment made. Chum?

By the time he’d arrived home, or rather, in the flat he and Cassandra shared a few minutes off of campus, it was dark.

Cassandra, of course, was seated at their kitchen table, her face pinched in concentration as she meticulously underlined a passage in the heavy book open atop the table.

Percy patiently stood in silence before the table, waiting for her to finish underlining before placing the bag down before her.

“It’s nearly seven, Percival,” she shot him a severe glare over the top of the takeout bag before slowly reaching in to locate her dinner.

“I apologize,” he gave a curt nod, sighing heavily, “I-ah…had quite the time getting this back,” he hoped she wouldn’t pry. It seemed wholly pathetic to be robbed of takeout, especially by a woman wearing an oversized shirt with a bear face printed upon it (the “I hate Mondays” beneath said bear face hadn’t helped the ridiculousness of the situation).

“Well, it’s still warm, at least,” Cassandra brushed a brown and gray-imbrued lock of hair from her face as she opened her container, giving a contented breath. “Still, thank you. You haven’t a clue how hungry I am.”

“Hungry work?” Percy questioned as he reached in the bag for his Styrofoam takeout box, nodding to her book.

“I only need to memorize fifty fleshy judiciary laws for tomorrow,” she disgustedly swept her gaze down upon her open textbook before digging into her curry.

For a moment, he’s unsure if he should try to inspire her with “brotherly advice,” but self-loathing immediately diminishes the thought. What good are you? You couldn’t even save her from those years with the Briarwoods. Why would she want your input? You can hardly manage yourself. The back of his throat ached and he realized that his takeout box was squeaking under his grip.

“I…” he slowly glanced from his hand to Cassandra, looking to him with a confused furrow of her brow. “I’m going to eat,” he says, his chest twisting with guilt as she musters a weak smile and nod for him.

Wanting to evade any further fucking up, Percy quickly made his way towards the hall.

“Oh, and Percy?”

His steps halted entirely, Percival glancing back to Cassandra.  

“Do refrain from staying up all night trying to find more links, won’t you? You’ve squeezed everything as dry as it can be. Sleep will help you more, at this point.”

More self-loathing flooded his chest, weighing it down and making it hard to breathe for a moment. He was pathetic. He should be the one telling Cassandra to take care, his younger sister, but she’s the one telling him to take care.

Weakly, he clears his throat, “I’ll try. You do the same,” his anxiety diminishes a bit as she manages an honest smile, nodding.

“I know us both well enough to know there’s a good chance we won’t listen to each other, but it’s worth a shot.”

She’s right, unbearably so, and he wishes he could tell her he loves her, but he can’t bring himself to do so. She doesn’t deserve such a pathetic love from him, nor does he deserve it. All he’s brought upon the poor girl was stress

Percy resumed his walk to his room, carefully closing the door behind him before moving to his closet.

He pushed his hanging clothes (a lovely mixture of obscure band t-shirts, heavy coats, and sweaters; the entirety of his wardrobe either black or a dark navy blue) to the side so he could properly view the mass of information on the back wall.

Articles upon articles, pictures upon pictures, all pinned and covered in yarn lines, meticulously linked together.

The plethora of string all led to the center of the wall, creating a macabre sort of sun. Upon the center, a newspaper clipping was carefully pinned to the wall. “Tragic Fire Wipes Out Majority of de Rolo Family.”

Percy steps closer, touches the picture included with the article of a nearly-grown boy with harrowed, wide-eyed stare standing next to a younger girl with the same, shell-shaken expression upon her face. Behind them, he could faintly make out the smoke lifting from the remains of their home, even in black-and-white.

He wishes he could go back in time to them, wishes he could snatch them both away from the incoming social workers, the long discussions with adults who either looked upon them with sadness or with greed. He still remembers standing on the street as the Briarwoods drove away with Cassandra. Her hair had still been brown, then.

He had been alone, he had been alone with money, but he was alone and the people who he knew had something to do with the murder of his family had his sister.

“I know I expected it, but this doesn’t look like ‘taking it easy’ to me.”

He startled and jerked up, looking to his side to find Cassandra, giving him a cool, skeptical stare.

“I-erm…was only thinking,” he lamely excused, sighing a bit as the excuse fluttered aimlessly in the air above her head, completely ignored.

Cassandra extended a hand, disdain on her face as she offered him the box of cigarettes he’d forgotten to bring with school to him that day.

But still, she provided them to him. She understood his necessary darkness.

“Thank you,” he curtly nodded to her with a solemn gaze as he took the pack.

“Please rest tonight, Percival. I promise we’ll have our day, but don’t lose your mind to insomnia beforehand. And do eat your food before it goes cold?” she worriedly looks over him and her expression is enough to spur him into placing a hand upon her shoulder.

“Yes, mother,” he sighs heavily for effect, a bit contented to see her manage another smile.

“You’d be a wreck without me here to dawdle behind you,” Cassandra lifts a brow before taking a step back. “At least eat before you worry yourself to sleep,” he doesn’t miss her soft sigh after requesting this.

“I will,” he vows and waits for her to slowly make her leave before tapping a cigarette from the box she’d passed him.

Percival sat upon his bed for a long while, inhaling and exhaling smoke as his eyes glared towards the mass of information upon his closet wall.

Fuck.

He snapped from his near-trance as he recalled he had a student to tutor, scrambling to locate his phone and write a cordial text to Vex’ahlia, the potential asshole.

Pleased with his sent text, Percy reached over for his takeout, recalling Cassandra’s stern expression with a faint smile before delving in.

He was certain between studies for mechanical engineering and pouring over his closet like he could find some hidden code within the papers he’s read over-and-over, he wouldn’t be sleeping much that night.  

-----

“You.”

Percy was the first to speak, after taking in the way her surprised expression literally “slipped into something more comfortable,” or rather, slipped into a calm, challenging smirk.

His voice was a hiss and his eyes his eyes accusatory, finger crooked out towards her from his seat.

At worst, he expected that, perhaps, the student he would be helping would be completely, irrationally stubborn, or perhaps rude, or perhaps an asshole.

He didn’t expect them to be the very vexingly (now literally Vexing) attractive asshole who’d stolen his dinner the previous night.

“Yes, me, ‘darling’,” she was ridiculously cool about this entire situation, even with his obviously pissed stance. Vex’ahlia whipped her braid over her shoulder before dumping her bag onto the table he occupied, sinking into the seat adjacent to him. Percy ridiculed the entire thing, the way she slouched down in her seat and crossed her legs, twiddled with the end of her braid, chewed rather aggressively on her gum.

He would’ve admired her lacks of shits given in a different situation, but right now, he was entirely sour about his lost takeout. Vex’ahlia lifted her sharp gaze to his and immediately rolled her eyes (at his expression, perhaps). “Oh, stop it,” she swatted at the air in front of him dismissively, “The stomach wants what the stomach wants, can you blame me? It was Jarett’s!”

She did have him there; Jarett’s food was masterfully crafted, even for quick takeout. The spice of it all…snap out of it, man! She’d entirely wooed him again already, hadn’t she? Speaking to him so fluidly, as though they were good friends!

Not that he would mind that.

“I do blame you. You stole it,” he slowly replied after a heavy, outraged huff.

“Ugh,” Vex’ahlia rolled her eyes again and dropped her cheek to rest upon her fist, looking at him with-was that interest?

“Fine. I’ll buy you some fucking dinner. I’m not one to give my money to anyone, so you’d better understand how lucky you are,” she snapped her gum, crinkling her nose.

Percival tried to pry his thoughts from how ridiculously sweet her face looked with her nose crinkled-you’ve only just met her for the…first…second time and you’re already bewitched-and managed a very good scoff in reply, “How lucky am I that a thief is going to refund me? Would you like me to pay for shipping and handling as well?” he primly questioned with a quirk of his brow.

Percy visibly startled a bit as she let out a loud guffaw, followed by a boisterous laugh that made his insides writhe in delight that he’d said something that was, in her opinion, funny.

“Fine, freaking fine,” she reached out with the hand that wasn’t propping her cheek aloft and slowly, he took it, pleased by her firm, businessmen’s shake. “Obviously, I’m your student-thief, thief-student, whichever you’d prefer, but call me Vex, yeah?”

“Vex,” he repeated with a slow nod. “My name is Pervical Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third-“

Vex smiled inwardly, softly muttering: “-and you killed my father, prepare to die,” and Percy barely contained a proper laugh of his own. She caught this, a smug grin on her lips as she slowly drug herself into a proper sitting position. “So, Percy, shall we?” she motioned to the statistics book, his old statistics book, sitting in front of him.

He was about to object to the nickname, but he knew she’d only charm that off of him too.

It almost felt a little invasive, how quickly Vex’ah-Vex was whittling her way into his brain, plucking his ire, his personal nickname, and even his wits from him.

Gods. She was entirely quick on her feet, entirely maddening, entirely bewitching, entirely attractive, and a bit of a nerd.

He was entirely fucked.  

As fucked as he was, though, he did manage to aid Vex’ahlia in her homework for that week. Professor Hydris did love her extensive statistics programming, so most of their session was spent sitting side-by-side in front of Vex’ahlia’s very large laptop.

Percival forced his mind not to reflect on how very close they were to one another, nor did he let himself nervously tap his foot, afraid he’d bump her leg. He did, however, note the scent of her, unlike any other. There was a hint of spice to it, along with the scent of pine needles and freshly chopped hickory. It wasn’t like Keyleth, who usually, unintentionally whipped his face with her long, fiery mane when turning to tell him something. Keyleth smelled of flowers and earth, Vex smelled of secrets and woodlands.

As expected,  she was stubborn. Many times she’d stretch her arms out across the table and land her forehead against it with a thunk, like an ornery toddler, other times she’d moan and groan about until he pointedly jostled her back to attention. She listened though, well, most of the time, she did. At some points her eyes would wander, or she’d find something of interest in her hair, but he’d clear his throat and she’d be back with him.

After an hour, Percival decided, despite the initial theft, she wasn’t an asshole.

They’d only just gotten past the programming assignment before Vex’s phone buzzed from her phone. “Sorry, sorry,” she rolled her eyes as she caught his lifted, skeptical eyebrow. Snorting softly, she flipped open her phone. Percy watched her silently mouth the text as she read, suddenly alarmed as her expression broke into complete panic.

“I…fuck, I…I need to…” she stood up so abruptly that her chair flipped back, grabbing her bacg and looking around wildly. “Fuck!” she spat, slapping a hand to her brow, “Vax has the fucking bike I…”

Percival blinked a few times, wondering if there was merely another “Vax” in their university or if this was Keyleth’s “Vax.” No, no, no. This wasn’t the time to think of such things; she seemed to be in absolute shambles.

“Percy,” she whipped her gaze to him, a hopeful, relieved smile on her face that made him feel all too much.  She was looking at him like he was a goddamned miracle, like her life depended upon him and it felt like too much. “Do you have a bike, darling?” she squeezed her hands together, Percival startled to see them shaking.

“Ah…yes, I do,” he didn’t always feel like walking to class, after all, especially when he’d spent most of the night awake, pouring over old information in his closet. “Do you intend upon stealing it too?” he added, despite himself.

“No! I mean…maybe? Could you do me a huge favor? I mean I know we’ve only really just met but I really need a ride to the forest, like, right now,” she literally bounced on her feet, like a dog that really needed to relieve itself. “It’s an absolute emergency, could we..?”

“Say no more,” he said, surprised at how even his voice sounded. Percival quickly threw his long jacket on and threw his bag over his shoulder before leading the way from the library.

Luckily, his bike was chained up nearby. After Percy seated himself he paused, glancing over to Vex, who seemed to be taking in the bike with awe. He’d spent many, many hours on the bike, gathering pieces from various junkyards across town to create a brassy, vintage bike compiled of all styles of piping. It wasn’t sleek, nor was it conventionally beautiful, but he adored it.

“It was project,” he explained, clearing his throat as he patted the rear-rack behind him. “Hop on. I’ll need to know where we’re headed.”

He was entirely thankful that he could face away as she daintily sat side-saddle on the rear-rack, for the moment she slipped her thin arms around his waist, his cheeks flushed. He should be better mannered than this, more suave, but here he is, blushing like a schoolboy.

“Can we go?” Vex’s irritated voice brought him to the present and he bobbed his head.

“O-Of course. Where did you say we were headed?”

“The forest.”

And so he pedaled.

[tomhasson-blog]

Equal Rights By Peter Tosh: Revisiting The Masterpiece 35 Years On

Originally published on The Quietus - April 2012

35 years on from its release in April 1977, what was Peter Tosh addressing with his Equal Rights album, asks Thomas Hasson, and what, if anything, has changed since?

In response to the Jamaican government’s refusal to allow Black Power supporter Dr Walter Rodney permission to re-enter Jamaica after his trip to a black writers conference in Montreal, The Rodney Riots began on the 16th October 1968.

Concerned about the effect this Guyanese civil rights thinker would have in Jamaica, the government declared Rodney, a lecturer in African History at the University of the West Indies, to be an undesirable person.

But the very move the government made "to save the nation" (as The Gleaner, a Jamaican daily broadsheet, put it) was the very thing that sparked chaos.

Taking part that day in the demonstrations and looting was one Winston Hubert McIntosh, known to most as Peter Tosh. He placed himself behind the wheel of a coach, drove it towards a local shopping precinct and rammed it through a glass storefront. All around him people piled in to loot what they could before climbing on board the coach as Tosh backed out and ferried them all back to Trench Town.

Both the police and army were dispatched to quell the violence that was spewing out onto the streets of Kingston, causing millions of dollars in property damage. People were killed and many were injured.

These random acts of violence and destruction had the government spooked. But scarier still was that protesting alongside Tosh and the Trench Town activists were middle class students. This was unprecedented. Between them they had been heard to chant slogans pertaining to Black Power, a movement that was causing ripples not just in Kingston, but across the world.

On the very morning that the Rodney Riots began, 1,500 miles away, African American athletes and Olympic medal winners Tommie Smith and John Carlos were to be seen giving the Black Power Salute as the U.S. anthem played at Mexico City’s Olympic Stadium.

This silent gesture was one of the strongest political statements in the history of the Games. It was not, however, a welcome gesture. The athletes were booed as they stood down from the podium and subsequently ejected from the US Olympic team.

Peter Tosh may have been imprudent in his method of protest, but all around him, signs pointed towards something indisputable. Things were not equal. They were not right.

The anger inside of Peter Tosh had been building for many years; as a child he was asked to sing at his local church a hymn that included the lyrics; “Lord wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.” He was nine years old and it filled him with disgust.

Personal, national and international events had conspired together to create anger and frustration within Tosh about these iniquities.

"The truth has been branded, outlawed and [made] illegal. It is dangerous to have the truth in your possession. You can be found guilty and sentenced to death." Peter Tosh.

In 1977 Peter Tosh released Equal Rights, a rallying cry against what he called the ‘shitstem’, his declaration of rage against the injustices he had seen all around him.

It was his finest studio album, cementing his position as one of the most outspoken artists of the 70s. And although he’d suffered at the hands of the ‘shitstem’ many times before, the album notably called not for revenge but for justice. Revenge is personal, justice is political.

Setting out his stall with a version of 'Get Up, Stand Up', Tosh makes it clear that equal rights will not come without a fight. He follows this call to arms with 'Downpressor Man', a warning to any and all oppressors of him and his brethren. “You can run but you can’t hide” Tosh sings, ominously.

At no point does this record relent from its militant message. “Don’t underestimate my ability,” he sings on 'I Am That I Am'. And on 'Stepping Razor' (the Joe Higgs song Tosh claimed as his own before a legal battle forced him to credit Higgs) he lets it be known in no uncertain terms just how dangerous he is.

He sings on the title track of the album that he doesn’t want peace, but that he needs “equal rights and justice”. It’s here that he asserts his message most powerfully. By dismissing peace so easily, he maintains that what’s needed won’t come without a fight.

What Tosh hopes to achieve is made clear in the album artwork. Six identical images of Tosh’s face, head turned and wearing a beret and his trademark goggles, are repeated on the cover of the record, calling to mind both propaganda posters during wartime and those of political leaders fighting for office. Look closer and you see that the edges of each image are perforated like a sheet of stamps; the idea of CBS designer Andy Engel.

Those whose images grace postal stamps generally are not singers, they are typically the leaders of countries. It would appear that this is where Tosh saw himself; as a leader of people, leading the fight for equal rights.

But as much as the album is informed by Tosh’s struggle for justice, it is influenced equally by his faith. Tosh had been exposed to the teachings and way of life of the Rastafari as far back as 1963, and by the time he released Equal Rights he was a convert. Both 'African' and 'Jah Guide' make music of his beliefs. Dealing with identity in the former track, Tosh makes clear that to be black is be African; one of Marcus Garvey’s key teachings. In 'Jah Guide' Tosh delivers a rousing justification for the upcoming fight for equal rights: “Jah guide I through this valley.” His path was righteous.

“Every form of victimisation is universal, not only in Jamaica.” Peter Tosh

Herbie Miller, Tosh’s then-manager and production coordinator has said that the struggle to liberate southern Africa (Zimbabwe, Namibia, South Africa) was a key influence on the album: “The theme of this whole record is to do with that particular struggle, of the Africans in Africa, and the Africans outside Africa.” He said that Tosh had wanted to document this particular struggle with “machine-gun lyrics in a suite tying together songs that all related to those both within and without Africa.”

The final track of Equal Rights, 'Apartheid', opens with the sound of gunshots. Eight years before the Artists United Against Apartheid were put together by Steven Van Zandt, Peter Tosh was singing that there were "certain place in Africa, black man get no recognition. You got to fight against apartheid”.

Peter Tosh was murdered in 1987. He didn’t live to see the ending of enforced racial segregation in South Africa, nor Nelson Mandela’s election as the country’s first ever black president in 1994.

Thirty-five years have passed since Tosh called for equal rights and justice. During that time an African American has become President of the United States, Desmond Tutu has won the Nobel Peace Prize for his outspoken criticism of the apartheid regime, and closer to Tosh’s home, an organization called Jamaicans For Justice (JFJ) has been established. Since 1999 JFJ have fought for respect, freedom and the right to a peaceful existence for citizens of Jamaica.

However, just last month in Florida, USA, an unarmed black teenager named Trayvon Martin was shot dead by George Zimmerman, a non-black vigilante, because he “looked suspicious”. Trayvon was walking home to his family carrying a bag of sweets. The case is reminiscent of the 1993 murder of Stephen Lawrence whose death sparked an inquiry that exposed institutional racism in the UK.

Equal Rights is passionate and critical of the world Tosh saw around him, with observations that resonate to this day. Self-produced and recorded with a team of musicians including the rhythm-section powerhouse of Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare who credit their international career to their work on Equal Rights and the subsequent tour to support the album. It is Tosh’s masterpiece.

When recording his Red X tapes, which were intended to form the basis of a never completed autobiography, Peter Tosh said: “I am here to play the music and to communicate with the Father spiritually so I can be inspired to make music to awaken the slumbering mentality of people.”

Equal Rights does just that.

[thecoroutfitters]

Some of you are surely thinking, “Cache is writing about kites … he’s lost it for sure this time!”

But don’t give up reading because you might miss some lifesaving tricks.  There are environments where traditional ‘last mile’ signal devices are less-effective.

Briefly:

Traditional ‘last mile’ signals can be impossible to see through a forest canopy or in a small watercraft in rough seas.

Kites are easy to make from supplies you probably have in your survival kit.

MRE heaters are a source of hydrogen gas and can be used to turn a lightweight bivvy sack into a signal balloon.

Disclaimer – Like many survival projects, this one can be dangerous. Specifically, it involves pointy objects, MRE heaters (scalding hot water) and hydrogen gas, which is both caustic and explosive. So, if you decide to construct the balloon, please use sound judgement and keep it away from any sources of flame. So, sorry … no smoking. And do not mix the hot-air and hydrogen balloon designs or you may pay dearly for the oversight.

Jungle, Tropical and Coastal Rainforest Environments

On my last trip to Brazil, I noticed that many traditional “last mile” visual signaling devices, such as signal mirrors, would not have worked well under the jungle canopy even if you climbed a tree or managed to find a clearing. Climbing a hill would be about your only shot with a mirror, but there are multiple problems with that.

First, you cannot see hills and mountains easily in dense jungle, so you do not know if you are walking up a hill or a mountain. Second, traveling uphill contravenes traditional survival wisdom unless you have a working radio.

3 Second SEAL Test Will Tell You If You’ll Survive A SHTF Situation

Lastly, even if you are successful, unless you are signaling to aircraft or someone who is somehow not underneath the canopy, nobody will be able to see your signals!

Maritime Environment

Last spring, I had the privilege of interviewing Jose Salvador Alvarenga, who survived adrift at sea for an incredible 428 days. Salvador drifted from the west coast of Mexico to the Marshall Islands, North of Australia.

During his drift, he saw many container ships as he drifted through shipping lanes, but with only a mirror, he could not attract their attention. On one maddening occasion, be was close enough to see them fishing off the back of the container vessel and he tried to get their attention, but they just waved, kept on fishing and motored right on by.

Visual signals do not work well in rough seas where rafts and small boats that lack a tall mast or superstructures are only momentarily visible as they crest a wave and then disappear back into a trough.

Another issue with craft that are low to the water is that the distance at which they fall below the horizon is much shorter than it would be for a taller craft.

In a maritime environment, a kite or balloon flying high above your raft could be seen at far greater distances, which is a key advantage when you are trying to be found and communicate that you are in distress in the vast expanse of the ocean.

In any case, when lost at sea, constructing a radar reflector and getting it up as high as you can is time and resources well spent since so many vessels have radar. If you do not have a radar reflector, one can be constructed by creating three slotted, Mylar-covered wire or cardboard frames, one for each dimension, and assembling them to radiate from a central point along each axis.

Kites

A kite flown in the middle of the nowhere is going to create the same curiosity factor as a balloon and one that is signal orange is immediately identifiable as a distress signal. Write SOS on it in large, contrasting letters and your message will be clear.

About all you could do from here is to add some retroreflective or IR-reflective tape to it or a small strobe such as an APALS. Just keep in mind that a wet string could conduct electricity from a lightening strike. All you need is a breeze and someone to see the kite and you are in business.

A kite can be flow for many hours and is reusable and field-repairable.

How to Build a Kite

Building a kite is easy.

Form a lower-case letter ‘t’ with two lightweight sticks or similar suitable material. The central stick or spine should be 1/5th longer than the crossmember. Lash them together securely in the ‘t’-shape.

Run cordage between the members to create the characteristic ‘diamond’ shape of a kite, notching the ends of the sticks so the thread stays put.

Lay the kite shape on a signal orange emergency blanket and draw a diamond shape a couple inches larger than the kite in each direction.

Fold the sides around the frame and secure them with 100 MPH tape so that the blanket is taught on the frame.

Attach a line to the intersection of the two sticks. Poke a small hole in the material and pass the line through the hole. The line should match the length of the crossmember. Run thread from the top and both sides of the ‘t’ to the tip of that string. This point is where the line will be attached.

Cut a strip of fabric or Mylar for the tail that is 6x that length of the spine. Feed the tail between the fabric and spine at the bottom of the kite and tie it at the mid-point forming a double tail. If all you have is Mylar and the tail is too light, add length and tie bows in it to create more drag.

Write ‘SOS’ on the kite is bold, block letters.

Attach the line.

Supplies Useful for Building a Kite – I am going to stick to supplies carried in survival kits or which can likely be procured from the environment.

Signal Orange Emergency Blanket – I prefer to carry aluminized polyethylene emergency blankets because Mylar is noisier and more fragile, but this is an application where Mylar may be superior since it is extremely light weight. If you do not have an emergency blanket, a lightweight trash bag or emergency poncho would probably also work.

Two Lightweight Sticks – To form the frame of the kite.

Kevlar Thread, 60-80 Lbs Test – This will be used to tie the kite to the framework and as a kite line. I carry Olive Kevlar thread in this test range because is so multiuse, but an inner nylon strand of para cord would work as well. Unfortunately, a long length of para cord takes up more space than survivalists are willing to commit to pocket survival kit, so you may have to tie multiple inner stands together if para cord is what you prefer to carry.

Sharpie Mini – A sharpie mini is small, but can draw large block letters with little effort and the felt tip is easier on the paper-thin material the kite is made of.

Knife or Scissors – To cut the fabric, string, sticks and tail and notch the sticks.

100 MPH Tape – To secure the fabric to itself when stretched tight across the frame.

Balloons

Unless you are in a part of the world that floats balloons in the middle of nowhere, balloons can be effective signals. Sure, they are not effective in windy weather, but kites are as long as the wind is not blowing too hard and anything out of the ordinary draws curiosity … especially out in the middle of nowhere.

I have stumbled upon a couple of crashed balloons in my adventures. They turned out to have been lifted by school kids, but even on the ground, on both occasions, the reflective Mylar caught my eye and made me curious enough to hike out to them and send the tags back to the kids.

I imagine they were surprised

Surface-to-Air Recovery System (STARS) and Skyhook

Balloons and the military have a long and storied history. From artillery observation balloons to signaling balloons to surface-to-air recovery systems.

One of my mentors in survival was Lt. Colonel Charles ‘Chuck’ Jurgensen who served with 1st SFOD Delta (Delta Force). I imagine he was also a CIA operative, judging by where he was and details of some of the many war stories he related to me over the years, but he never suggested that he worked for the CIA.

The man operated in some far-flung parts of the world and did some crazy things and one of them was using a surface to air recovery system.

The system was called the Fulton Surface-To-Air Recovery System (STARS) in development and named Skyhook once it was ready for operational use and sounds like something right out of a James Bond film. In fact, Skyhook was featured in Thunderball, The Green Berets and Black Knight.

A rescue package is air dropped to the operator, who dons a harness and sends a line up into the air on a helium balloon. Then a specially-outfitted C-130 with a V-shaped yoke on the font of the plane, snags the line which is anchored to the plane and fed into to a winch.

The cargo, in case Chuck, attached to the line, is yanked up into the air and reeled into the back of the aircraft as it flies over. It takes 5-6 minutes to reel you in as you are dragged through the air behind the plane at 125mph. Chuck said it was a wild ride.

Well, his actual words were more along the lines of, “You couldn’t have driven a toothpick up my @$$ with a sledge hammer!”

Commercial Products

BCB – I have seen a couple of commercial signaling balloons over the years. One is the commercially-available BCB product called the Location Marker Balloon (LMB). The LMB was designed for military operations in jungle terrain and weighs less than 2 pounds, which seems heavy for a balloon, but that is military gear for you.

This may be hard for some of my younger readers to appreciate, but it is nice to have signal devices that do not rely on batteries. The balloon is over a meter across and is radar reflective. It is inflated with an included helium cylinder and can carry chemical light sticks, of which two are included.

The LMB can be seen from 10 miles, and is visible at night if IR chemlights and night vision goggles are used. Since it floats above the jungle canopy, it should not be visible to enemy ground forces without the aid of air support. The balloon can also lift a radio antenna of up to 80 grams above the canopy.

Rescue Me Balloon – It appears a company is trying to bring a product to market that incorporates a signal strobe called the Rescue Me Balloon, but I see that crowdfunding attempts have not been successful yet. Perhaps they will be for sale in the future.

Field Expedient Signal Balloons

When I was a kid, I built a balloon out of a paper plate, some birthday candles, pins, string and tape.

Even though I launched in Arizona, where it can be difficult to get lift with only hot air, it gained altitude to about double the height of the power lines and made a little over half a block distance before it crashed into a power line, caught fire and fell into a neighbor’s yard … not necessarily in that order.

While the design we affectionately named the ‘Hindenburg’ was not a success on all accounts, it definitely attracted some attention, which is the point of signaling. You could build this design if that is all you had materials for, but I am going to test another design that will hopefully be more reusable and stay aloft a lot longer.

I intend to use materials I carry in my survival kit, like the kite design, so I’ll see if I can’t fill an orange bivvy sack with hydrogen gas. To generate the hydrogen, I’ll use MRE heaters.

If I can manage to capture the hydrogen without capturing too much water vapor, it should float, but we’ll see. In theory, it should work because a single MRE heater can put out up to 10 liters of hydrogen. I have never heard of anyone attempting this, but I would like to put it to the test.

Survival is the king of all DIY pursuits so there is only one way to find out.

Signal balloons should be tethered so they can indicate your location. An improvised balloon may not indicate your location for a long time, but many solutions to survival problems are less than ideal, but still end up getting the job done.

Survival Kit Supplies Useful for Building an Improvised Signal Balloon

Signal Orange Bivvy Sack –

Candles – Heat source. Some folks carry ‘trick’ wind-resistant birthday candles in survival kits. I carry small candles that are only slightly larger than birthday candles and made of beeswax, which has many survival-related uses.

I also carry a multi-wick candle in a tin in cold weather, which I will use to heat the air inside the bag before launch. This way, the smaller candles only need to keep the air hot. I will experiment with heating the air and reusing the balloon versus sending up a heat source.

Aluminum Sheeting– Aluminum foil will serve as a lightweight basket to carry the candles which will be our heat source. I carry thick aluminum sheeting to fold into a pot, use as a reflector and many other uses, but will use heavy duty aluminum foil here since it is cheaper and lighter.

Leader Wire – A loop of thin wire or light grass may be useful to hold the wall of the balloon away from the heat source. I carry 60 Lbs test, 7-strand, stainless steel, knot-able, coated leader wire, but any lightweight wire that can hold a shape would work.

Kevlar Thread, 60-80 Lbs Test – This will be used as a guy line to guide the balloon past branches and suspend the basket from the balloon.

Sharpie Mini – As noted under kites.

100 MPH Tape – 100 MPH tape will attach threads to the balloon to suspend the basket.

Paper – Include a note on water-resistant paper and include the date, your position, name and contact information. Balloons are typically a one-shot deal and sometimes are not found for a long time, so you would not want to trigger a search long after you have been found or recovered yourself on your own if the guy line breaks or gets burned through.

MRE Heaters – Helium is not the only lighter than air gas out there and since MRE heaters produce hydrogen gas and I carry one in my survival kit for a number of reasons, I will see how many I would need to float a balloon.

Surgical Tubing – As predicted, not only was steam was a problem, but so was the heat generated by the MRE Heaters, so I had to capture the hydrogen in a drum liner attached to the bivvy with surgical tubing, which I pinched off until the contents of the trash bag was sufficiently cool that the water vapor condensed back into water, after which, I un-pinched the tubing and transferred the gas.

I used Aluminum foil to protect the drum liner from the MRE heaters and to introduce the water to the MRE heaters without any gas escaping, I sealed an MRE hot beverage bag inside the drum liner and introduced the water after evacuating the air and sealing everything up tight!

I carry surgical tubing to access water in crevices, attach it to my pen to make a bellows tube so I don’t inhale smoke when stoking my fire, to propel my fling spear, to drive otter boards, as a backup tourniquet, pressure dressing and many other uses.

Drum Liner – See above. Common survival kit item with near-unlimited uses.

MRE Hot Beverage Bag – See above. I modify MRE hot beverage bags with 100 MPH tape and grommets and use them for treating water by various methods, carrying water, as waterproof wound dressings, floats, bobbers, hot water bottles and much more.

Aluminum Foil – See above or and in the section on kites.

  from Survivopedia Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

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Beret (Similar) | Boring Jumper | Name Necklace

Well didn’t that come around quickly? 2018 is here and I tell you what, I can’t wait to get stuck in! I know it is oh so cliche but I have a really good feeling about this year. It’s an even number for starters and I had a really epic New Years Eve, the best in a long time, so ya know, it all looks pretty good from here.

This post is going to be filed under a new little category for Just A Uniform, called “My Thoughts On Life.” A category that I intend to develop throughout 2018, I want you to get to know me a bit better and vice versa. But before I get carried away with what’s to come, I just want to say 2017 was epic. I feel like it was the year that I really found my feet with Just A Uniform. It was a year of discovery, a year of growth and the year of laying solid foundations.The last month of 2017 was particularly phenomenal. I hosted a Facebook Live for HQ hair and Uni Days, was featured in Blogosphere Magazine by the ever so lovely Emma Mumford and took part in a live Style Panel, a la Blogosphere magazine also. Oh, and after what felt like I had been campaigning to become Prime minister, I hit 10k on Instagram. A goal I had secretly set my self at the beginning of 2017 and one I seriously couldn’t have met without you lovely lot. I was absolutely overwhelmed by the features on your social media channels and it made me realise what an amazing community I had grown during 2017. So thank you so so much for all your support, you truly rock!

Right so let’s go for it, twenty eighteen, what do I have planned?

justauniform dot com – It seems only fitting to start with justauniform.com. A new website is coming your way with a rebrand, well, with actual branding that you will associate with Just A Uniform. The past couple of years have been building up to this, I didn’t want to rush in to the branding of Just A Uniform till I truly knew what Just A Uniform was. I have been playing around with ideas throughout 2017 and I now know what Just A Uniform represents. Of course it is going to be bold and colourful, what you have come to expect from this part of the internet, but it is also going to be whole lot more profesh (as she says by writing a made up word). There is going to be a brand new website, which my amazing husband is in the process of building, it will more user friendly, allowing you to enjoy all my content in one place. It is also going to be a really fun place to be. I’m not going to let any more cats out of the bag on the design front, but you know I’ll be screaming about it from the rooftops as soon as it ready to go live.

Content wise for justauniform.com I am getting a whole lot more organised, a theme you will see running throughout this post. I’ll speak more about that in a bit. There will be 2 posts a week, a regular fashion post on a Saturday, then a post pretty much about anything and everything on a Thursday. This could range from beauty, to travel, to a post just like this about my thoughts on life. I can’t wait to create more content right here, justauniform.com is the only part of the web that is 100 percent mine. I love love love reading blogs, each day throughout 2018 I am going to read a blog a day, so keep leaving your links on my posts.

YouTube – 2018 is the year I up my YouTube game. During 2017 I dabbled in the weekly vlog and I blamin’ loved it. Creating videos makes me so happy, it’s a place where my personality can shine through and a place where you can get to know me better. I think some content is better on video. It appears that I may have lost the plot as I have planned to vlog every day in February, vlogbury as it will be known. Two of my favourite events happen at this time of year, my birthday and fashion week so it should be full of fun.

 For the rest of the year expect to see the continuation of the weekly vlog, this will be on a Wednesday and then there will be another video on a Sunday too. The Sunday video will alternated between sit-down videos on a whole caboodle of topics and LookBooks. I really want to push style onto my channel, so stay tuned.

Presenting and Working with Brands – At the end of 2017 I started presenting for other brands on their social channels, and although being rather nerve racking to start with, I really loved it. I have always loved presenting and I am still convinced I would make an epic Children’s TV presenter. So yes, I would love to do more of this please universe. I’m really eager to do regular Instagram Lives on my channel too, collaborating with other influencers discussing subjects we’re both passionate about. I also dream of being on a TV advert for a brand. I’m just putting that out there, you know, in case you’re looking for someone?

Social Media and building a Community – So much has changed over the past year in terms of social media, I’m sure a word beginning with A has been the most typed word of 2017. Wind the clock back to this time last year, I was posting to Instagram daily and pretty much having heart palpitations if I missed a day. I no longer feel that way and I now aim to post 3 to 4 times a week. This year is quality over quantity on the ‘gram. And by quality I don’t just mean quality photos, I also mean quality time. Quality time engaging with you guys, taking time to reply to your comments / messages and to also taking time to check out your content too. Because let’s face facts, it’s not very social if it’s all one sided. Last year I aimed to interact on Twitter more, and I did, however I feel I can be even more interactive over there during 2018. It’s a great place to be involved in discussions, if you have any fab chats that you could recommend, do let me know. This year I have eradicated the dreaded number of followers target I have set myself in the past. As long as I am growing, my content is improving and you lovely lot are enjoying what you see, I will be one happy lady.

Jeans | Boots (similar)

New Ventures, Managing Time and FOMO – This year myself and the hubster (Jay) have set up our own social media management and website design company, which means there are now going to be two businesses on the go. I am soooo excited for this as it means I will get to work with Jay more and become the absolute dream team that I just know that we are. It will also be amazing to share Jay’s talents with the world and share my experience of social media with others. This business will also involve organising events with brands and influencers, particularly in Kent. In December I organised our first Kent influencer event for Iconic jewellery shop in Canterbury. It was a huge success for the brand but also for the Kent influencers. I am forever scouring the #kentblogger hashtag to find local influencers to be involved, so please do send me a mail if you’d like to be included. Equally if you’re a local business that needs help with your website or social media, we’re here… hello!!

So with all this going on of course I am going to have to manage my time better, there is a schedule and everything. To be honest I’m pretty good at working from home, I always get up early and go to my office as if I would if I worked in an actual office. The part that messes this up completely is my inability to say NO. I have complete fear of missing out, something my Dad highlighted a couple of months ago. So this year I only have time for ONE day a week for events, no more London 3 times a week. I assure you I am going to struggle with this, but there just aren’t enough days in the week.

Our Home – A few years ago we were lucky enough to build our house in the Kent Countryside. Due to time and my love of going on holiday A LOT, (sorry Jay) we haven’t got round to finishing it. Well 2018 is the year that this is going to happen! I will be documenting the progress along the way, with a interiors element to Just A Uniform, all I have to say right now is pink tiles.

Travel  -Because of our house plans, travel is now on hold, well abroad anyway. I am a huge lover of travel, so to have a year off is going to require some severe will power. To ease the pain I plan to do the staycation Just A Uniform Style, visiting all of the colourful spots in the UK. I’m thinking cities, country retreats, seaside splendour, festivals, spas, basically if it’s in the U.K I want to know about it. This will also be an added section to justauniform.com and the YouTube. I’d love to know where you think I should go? I plan to make my first stop in Glasgow, I was born there and I have been desperate to go back. Expect to see a Glasgow Colour guide very soon.

Health – Nope this isn’t about loosing weight or getting back to the gym, new year, new me style. This is about looking after myself. You may be aware that in 2014 I got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes and ever since I’ve been up and down with how well I have been managing it. My current HbA1c (google it) levels are too high and well, they need to be better, that’s me being matter of fact about the whole thing. Basically I need to stop eating all the bad carbs, in fact, I could probably do with cutting most carbs out all together for a while. Health is never really something I talk about with you guys, as I don’t want diabetes to define me or stop me doing life. I am interested though to find out if you would like me to share my daily goings on with my health, maybe you have type 1 diabetes or maybe you’d like just to learn more. Anyhow let me know and I’ll see what I can do.Making Time for Offline – Here it is, the one that can be measured, the one that sort of is a New Years Resolution and the one I am failing at miserable so far. The problem with having a job that you love and therefor a job that never feels like a job is…… I AM ALWAYS WORKING, even if I don’t actually realise it. Yes that’s right, from the moment I wake up, to when I go to bed, actually normally when I’m in bed too, I am doing work. I am actually convinced the main reason I love baths so much is, you guessed it, because I can work from the bath. Oh and obviously because Lush bath bombs are what they say, the bomb. In 2018 I need to set some boundaries, have some time when you know, I don’t have a screen in my face. I’m considering having a day a week without said screen, yeah I have all the crazy ideas but I am pretty sure it is the right thing to do.

So there you have it 2018 (Okay 2006) words on what I hope 2018 will look like.

This time last year I left you with some quotes that I then lived my life by throughout 2017

They were:

1.Your vibe attracts your tribe.

2.Be a radiator, not a drain.

3.You only get what you give.

This year I am adding this to it:

Be everything to someone, not something to everyone.

Right, well I suppose I better get on, I’ve got rather a lot to do.

BIG LOVE,

Siobhan

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    2018 It’s Going to be Anything but Boring Well didn't that come around quickly? 2018 is here and I tell you what, I can’t wait to get stuck in!