#and i'm not quite sure how jo fits in now

[allsassnoclass]

prompt number 24 for the kiss prompts? whatever pairing you vibe with it! -megs 💙

@igarbagecannoteven okay! wlw in space! come meet two of my ocs a few months after their actual story finishes

Arima/Jo: 'It was the closest body part to me' kiss in an odd location

Arima has been balanced precariously on a stepladder for the past hour, elbow deep in the mess of wires and metal that makes up the secondary engine. It hasn't worked right since they crashed on New Paradiso months ago, but fixing it has been low on the priority list. The ship still functions well enough without it, and there were… other concerns.

Now, though, the aftermath from New Paradiso has been mostly taken care of. The political fallout after her father's untimely death was catastrophic, especially with the lack of infrastructure he left behind. Even once they left the planet, his shadow has followed them, making entrance into intergalactic ports a hassle and limiting options for recovery and relocation for Jo's old crew. Still, after a few tense, extremely crowded months, the ship has mostly emptied of extra passengers. Arima's sparse crew are the only ones left, which means Arima can shirk her duties for a while and hide in the engine room, tinkering away while Pip coordinates restocking supplies and trading information at the port until they're inevitably run off world again.

Arima never thought she'd miss the anonymity that came with not knowing her birth parents and operating on a skeleton crew with a revolving door of passengers. A certain degree of notoriety is useful in her line of business, and she used to constantly lament to Pip about how potential business partners refused to take her seriously due to her age and lack of history behind her. She spent her earliest years trying to make a name for herself, and she only recently attained the right balance between infamy and obscurity: enough that her reputation precedes her, but not enough to be immediately recognized by the wrong people. Now, however, they've veered in the opposite direction. Word of the events at New Paradiso spread through the galaxy faster than light, leaving a wary edge to all of their interactions that is going to be an issue if she doesn't get it under control soon.

Arima sighs and stretches out her neck, forcing her thoughts back to the mess of wires, plates, and connectors in front of her. They can't even consider taking the fast-pace business she used to prefer if she can't get the second engine back online. One issue at a time.

She sticks the wrench she'd been using back in her pocket and sets down the flashlight she needs with the ship's power cut, leaning her arms against the top of her stepladder to give them a break. She already repaired the damage to the outer engine at their last port docking, but it still didn't work during the next flight. She's been systematically going through the inner mechanics now that the main engine is off, but it's slow going, and she doubts she'll be able to find the issue before they're forced to leave again.

Pip wants her to go to an official mechanic, but Arima practically built this ship with her bare hands. She doesn't want anyone else messing with it, least of all an inner-world mechanic who is going to overcharge them or someone feeling the aftershocks of New Paradiso's upheaval who could sabotage them worse.

Arima wipes her brow, resisting the urge to rub at her eyes with the amount of grease and oil smeared on her fingertips.

She can fix the engine herself. She just needs a bit more time, maybe a nap. She hasn't been sleeping well since… everything. Pip offered to clear a space in his quarters for her the fifth time he caught her wandering the ship during sleeping hours, but she doesn't want to wake him up with her nightmares if his presence alone isn't enough to sooth her. As long as she can check that he's still alive and here, she's fine.

"Hey," a voice says, breaking her from her thoughts. She twists around to find Jo standing in the doorway, the smallest smile gracing her lips. Her blonde hair is tied up, although stray strands have escaped the tie and the whole thing seems to be a stiff breeze away from falling apart. She's wearing one of the outfits Arima scrounged up for her when they first met, complete with her brother's jacket, but everything looks well-worn and comfortable now. Jo has grown into the hand-me-down outfit the same way she grew into a spot on this ship: slowly and steadily, without Arima noticing.

Arima checks on her late at night as often as she checks on Pip, although Jo rarely features in her nightmares. She was in danger of losing them both, but Pip almost died, beaten bloody as used as leverage against her. If she had lost Jo, it would've meant watching her walk away, reunited with her old crew. That was always the main goal, so Arima had been preparing for it. She told herself that she would be able to handle the hurt.

It's a good thing she never has to find out if she was lying.

"Hey yourself," she says, repositioning herself on the ladder but not stepping down from it. She intends to return to the task, getting as much productivity out of this port stop as possible. She refuses to be distracted, not even by tall, pretty girls who know how to perform a Mallaney pinch twister with half the engine power cut.

"Pip wanted me to tell you that everyone is done restocking, but we haven't been run off yet. He's letting everyone stay out longer. I think Ji-eun and T are going to try to catch a show," Jo says, wandering further into the engine room. Normally Arima would bristle at anyone besides her or Pip being in here, but Jo almost looks right surrounded by the bleeding insides of her craft. If she can fly the ship as well as she does, surely she can be trusted to stand in her heart and not ruin everything.

"That's good," Arima says. "Maybe I can actually fix the second engine by the time they're done."

Jo's smile takes on a distinctly amused tilt.

"He also said to tell you that you need to take a break, and if you're not in the mess getting something to eat or out in the market getting sun in 15 minutes he's going to come in here and remove you himself."

"He can't do that," Arima snorts. "I'm the captain. That's not how this works and he knows it."

It's also a very amusing image. Pip is well versed in coaxing Arima to take a break when he thinks she needs it, usually with infinite patience. He once sat in the cockpit with her for over an hour holding a sandwich while he waited for her to finish making sense of a new set of maps when a part of the Nazaka-Cora system was colonized. He never, not once in his life, has tried to physically force her anywhere.

"Arima," Jo says, stepping close enough that Arima has to tilt her head to look down at her. It's a reversal to their usual height difference, and Arima likes being able to look down at her more than she thought she would. Jo's eyes are deep and dark in the shadows of the engine room, her eyelashes fanning out to frame them enticingly. The dark circles that were ever-present since the moment they met have faded slightly. A weight has lifted from her, one that hasn't returned despite the aftermath of New Paradiso. Arima wants to reach out and rub her thumb against the soft underside of her eye.

"Arima," Jo repeats. She's laughing at her, light and happy. Arima is suddenly extremely grateful that her dark complexion hides blushes.

"What?" she asks, voice as steady as she can make it.

"Come and get something to eat in the market. You can keep fixing the engine after."

Arima grimaces.

"It's probably already fixed, you just haven't tested it," Jo says, voice light and coaxing.

"No," Arima says, valiantly holding firm. "If I leave now, I'm going to spend the rest of our break planet side and this will never get done."

"Okay," Jo says. Arima narrows her eyes. Jo blinks up at her, a picture of innocence, then darts forward. Arima is too tall from her place on the ladder to reach anywhere normal, so her lips press against Arima's bicep, there and gone in less than a second. Arima's face feels like it's on fire.

They haven't talked about the other kiss yet, the big one, just like they haven't talked about the fact that Jo chose to stay on the ship instead of leaving with her family. It, like the second engine, fell to the side in the midst of everything imploding around them.

"I'll come back in fifteen minutes," Jo says, taking a step back. Her cheeks might be tinged red, too, but there are too many shadows in the room to tell.

"Okay?" Arima manages to say, inhaling sharply because somehow she forgot to breathe.

"Fifteen minutes," Jo repeats. "Then we're leaving the ship. I'll help you fix the engine after, just find a pause point now."

"But--"

"Fifteen minutes," Jo sings, sauntering towards the door. "If you're not out there, I'll come get you, and I'm not nearly as patient as Pip."

She slips out of the engine room with a wink over her shoulder. Arima stares after her, wondering what just happened. After a full minute, she still has no clue.

Oh well. Arima gets her wrench out and turns to the panel she's in the middle of deconstructing. The engine needs to be repaired, whether her crew wants her to fix it or not.

Besides, she wouldn't mind if Jo comes back to drag her out.

[itskattkm]

Multiverse

Based on a request: Could you do a fanfic where all of JOs characters meet and R has to explain they're all characters in movies and shows and how they're acted by R's gf, Jenna Ortega?

Characters would preferably be the following: Wednesday, Tara, Vada, Camila, Phoebe, Lorraine, Mabel, Ellie and Cairo (Even tho that movie isn't out yet)

If you don't want to use all the characters thats fine lol. I'm too lazy to write this myself.

JO Characters X Fem Reader

A/N: I’m so sorry that it took me so long. I wasn’t sure what end I wanted to choose. So I decided to not overthink to much and keep it short so the end is pretty shit haha. Hope you can still enjoy anon :)

————————

It’s been one of those rare summer days where the clouds were turning into a coal grey way and turning the whole light that fell onto the earth in a mix of yellow light and dark highlites. I saw just seconds ago a light struck in the corner of my eyes as I turned my head towards the window in the living room trying to say “there was a lightning it mus-“ and then there was it.

A growl. Something that sounded like a crisp crash high in the distance but still like it was happening right next to you. Thunder.

I chuckled to myself. Before I could end my own sentence the thunder had spoken for itself.

I walked towards the window. Watching rain falling down in an immense amount, feeling glad that I was in my apartment and didn’t had to walk through that wild mess.

“Rain... Rain is like a heavy mood. It is sad but it has a beautiful way of calming you down at the same time. Rain can make you cry but it can also make you calm"

I heard the familiar voice of my girlfriend. But kept watching the rain without turning around and smiled.

"You know... Rain can also be a bit spooky. Rain makes the shadows darker. Rain makes the dark even darker. Rain makes mystery even more mysterious."

I chuckled saying “wow that one turned a bit dark I guess…” I was turning around Expecting to see her soaked in the rain. Seeing already in front of my eyes how her bangs were probably all wet and sticking on her forehead. But when my eyes met hers, i was quite confused and a light laugh escaped me.

“Why do you look like Wednesday Addams?” I asked her. Walking a step towards her. It was almost like she became one with the shadows in the room. Wearing a big black coat. Covering what she was wearing under it. Her also black doc martens being pretty visible.

Her hair was darker then it was before she left to meet Enrique and prepare things for the upcoming met gala. I looked at her with a tilted head.

“I thought that people stopped asking stupid questions but here you are… another example for our current lost generation” she said monotone.

I looked even more confused feeling like there were tons of gears moving in my head and that she could see them “I’m confused…” I barely whispered.

“I often have that affect on people…”

She said and looked with an almost disgusted gaze at me. Scanning me from head to toe making me feel some kinda way uneasy. Even though I really loved the way Jenna played Wednesday Addams… that type of character was defiantly to much to handle. I found enough courage despise the mixed feelings I had and was about to say something when I recognized another figure beside me. My eyes landing on dark brown eyes, Emphasized with dark eyeliner wich Jenna rarely wore.

My mouth opened slight. Looking even more confused by now if this was possible.

My eyes scanning her figure within seconds. Seeing her wearing some short hot pants with a thin top and a congnac brown leather jacket. The fit feeling pretty familiar to me.

She was wearing eye makeup but the rest of her face was all clean. Wich made her freckles more present than usual. A smile with also slight confusion covered her face “wow you look pretty emo…” was what she said. But she didn’t said it to me.

“Some would consider I’m the definition of emo” said the one who looked like Wednesday.

I felt my heart running faster looking between the both of them.

“You see her too?” I asked Jenna beside me. But I wasn’t sure if it was actually Jenna.

“Yeah I do… by the way what’s your name?”

She answered giving me that big smile that showed her dimples and made me feel a bit flustered. That smile always had an effect on me.

But I was way to overwhelmed to actually tell her my name since there were two people that looked like Jenna so I asked

“Who are you?”

“Mabel…” she said and gave me a very knees weakening look, combined with that smile.

“Mabel… Wednesday…” I whispered looking between the both of you.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked more myself than both of them.

And right when the last few words left my mouth there was another person appearing in the living room. But the person seemed to be way to focused on my bookshelves.

All three of us watched the person.

She was wearing a white dress, showing her curves and long legs wich were wearing knee high brown boots. A tiny bag was hanging over her shoulders as her tiny but also gentle looking hands touched the backs of the books. Reading in silence the title names. Her hair was falling over her back in beautiful waves. The little light in the living room falling on it and showing a mixture of brown and red highlites.

“Y/N I don't think you have real books here... you have a Harry Potter book.. that's not a real book” She scrunches up her face “I'm sorry but it's the truth” She picks up a book and checks the title “Ugh... It's called a touch of darkness and it's about Persephone and Hades in a version of a Greek world in our time? *She shrugs it off*”

I felt a bit offended but also didn’t knew what to say.

Wednesday said “if you like Greek mythology you at least could’ve read the real tales. Like the ilias or oddysey” I nodded slightly ashamed and my gaze met Mabel’s she whispered “I only watched Percy Jackson once so don’t look at me for help…”

I took a deep breath and looked back at the woman beside my shelves. She had turned around by now and was lightning up a cigarette. I could see the amount of rings on her other hand and that cheeky but also dangerous smile on her dark bordo lips.

“Cairo Sweet?” I asked speechless.

“Wow well that’s a …unique name” said Mabel with a chuckled.

“I would say being called after a weekday is more unusual then being called as a well know city with history…” said Cairo and gave Wednesday a look.

My eyes widened feeling like Cairo was about to die.

“ I’m named after a nursery rhyme containing the line “Wednesday's child is full of woe.” The poem, which assigns personalities to children based on the day they were born, dates back to at least 1838. Cairo-Sweet. What kinda name is that, anyway? Sounds like the kind they'd use in a very bad written fanfiction” Wednesday glares at Cairo for daring to question the legitimacy of her name and gives her a dead stare.

I looked at both of them excited now and chuckled saying “as a writer you should have know that Cairo… you better not mess with Wednesday. She’s a writer and she could kill you if she wants”

Mabel beside me just whispered quite “okay this is getting very interesting here”

Wednesday and Cairo were throwing glares at each other when another person moved to my side and said “what kind of fever dream is that?”

I laughed and shaked my head looking at my right side to see another version of my girlfriend, wearing basketball shorts and an oversized shirt. I felt like nothing could surprise me anymore at this point so I smiled friendly and held my hand out saying “your Vada right? Nice to meet you I’m Y/N”

Vada smiled and shook my hand. I was explaining to her what was currently happening and introduced the others to her. Vadas hand rested on my shoulder now as she said “it’s like the most weirdest names I’ve ever seen…” an awkward smile appearing on her lips.

“You’re not surprised about the fact that you all look exact the same? Just different?”

Suddenly there was a Laugh “Yeah, there's a glitch in the system or something. It's just kind of...” said the 5.1 Latina beside me and shrugged. I looked speechless at Tara fucking Carpenter. Not sure if I was in a fan girl mode or going right into the simp mode.

“Tara Carpenter… holy shit” I whispered and looked at her stunned. Not sure how to process this all. She gave me a friendly smile and my head felt like exploding.

“She good?” Asked another version of Jenna’s Characters. Sitting on the armchair with her sunglasses and smoothie as she held a tiny book in her hands. Ellie from you I assumed.

My eyes kept jumping between all those people in my living room. Noticing even more of them.

“10 dollars she’s gonna pass out” said Wednesday cold as Cairo agreed and jumped in the bet. In my living room we’re around six characters that my girlfriend had played and it was way to hard to understand what the hell was going on.

No matter in what direction I looked. They were everywhere. Talking, arguing, connecting.

I took a deep breath and sat down on my couch. “What the hell is going on?” I asked louder and everyone became silent.

They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

“I have to admit this is weird… for real why do we all look like the same person?” Asked now Vada pointing out her hands at everyone.

Everyone looked around, till all gazes fell on me. Tara walked towards me saying “you seem to know every one of us… so you may enlighten us?” I nodded in an almost trance like mode and got up. Standing in the center while all of them were standing around me like in a circle.

“Okay… maybe this is some weird multiverse thing? A Paradoxon? Or I’m dreaming… dead… I don’t know but!” I said looked at all of you.

I shrugged my shoulders

“Well what can I say you all are movie characters…”

“ Y/N are you feeling alright? Or are the fumes from the glue factory getting to you?”Wednesday gives me a cold stare “Or do you need to sit down? Do you need a hit with the shovel so the bad thoughts go away?”

I looked at her serious saying

“What?! No! Listen…” I said and reached for my phone. I typed in Wednesday in Netflix and showed it to her and the others.

Cairo Looks at me with confusion “What a nerd, knowing all the facts about movie characters and who plays them. Like, who cares? I’ve got better things to do all day long than waste my time on silly little facts of the past, and I don’t even want to waste my time being in the same room as a loser like you!” She glares at me, showing clear signs of aggression.

“Okay you are defiantly meaner as you seem in your movie…” I said slight offended and looked over at Tara who was my fav character. Seeking for some comfort

She Shrugs “Oh don’t let her bother you, she’s... Anyways, did you guys want to talk about anything specific or are we going to all go to our separate corners and just stare at each other? I mean, that sounds kind of odd if I say it outloud...”

I laughed nervous “I would like to know why you guys even are here in the first place… this is against all rules. How is this even possible?”

“You’ll find a lot of things hard to explain away with logic, you know? Especially a certain someone who likes to hang out with a bunch of fictional characters” said Wednesday monotone and gave me another cold, intimidating stare “beside that you better stop trying to convince us that we are only movie characters. I’ll be good for you, if you drop the topic”

“Why? After all you all just appeared out of nowhere in my Apartment!..” I said a bit angry. Starting to feel like I was the bad one here suddenly.

Mabel looked around while playing with her moving her hands in the back of her pockets “So, what should we talk about then?” She asks awkwardly.

Vada was sitting in the corner and stares at the floor then says “I feel like the most... average one here....”

Tara Looks at Vada awkwardly “Don't say that... you're just as special as all of us. You're not average. Don't ever think that!”

“Yeah she’s right. You are special and we love you… what you’ve been through was awful” I said reassuring and hugged her. Since I knew what Vada had been through cause I watched the movie obviously, I had a soft spot for her.

“Uh... Thanks y/n......” She awkwardly hugged me back and blushed a little bit, looking down and covering her face. “How did you know?.....” She looked up at me a bit more, curious than before.

“Because you’re a movie character and I saw your story… that’s what I’m trying to explain to you guys” I sighed and looked at Tara.

“Tara you have a sister called Sam. You two had been survivors of a ghostface attack two times. You have several stab wounds in your abdomen and shoulder and on your hand as well. Sam ist the daughter of the origin Ghostface killer, Billy Loomies “ I explained “Your form the movie called Scream, your character was introduced in the fifth and sixth movie… my fav ones” I added with a shy smile.

Tara looked around impressed “How do you even know all these facts?” She whispered and realized that I knew all the names without even asking any one of you “It’s like, magic or something?” She asked.

I looked at Cairo and said “And your form one of the current movies my girlfriend made. It’s called millers girl. And yeah. I know what you did. Accusing your teacher for something he did not really do but I’m on your side tho. But it’s not cool to kiss and blackmail your best friend Winnie. Your dangerous Cairo. But I still feel mesmerized by you… somehow” I explained and shrugged.

Cairo rolled her Eyes “Wow, just wow. Who cares? I didn't ask for your input so keep it to yourself please and thank you” She turns her cigarette off and crosses her arms, giving me a pissed look.

“You are really mean... You seemed so nice at the beginning of your movie” i said almost disappointed. “Yeah well I turned out to be different and that's too bad for you” She continues to glare at me with aggressive eyes.

I sighed again and looked at Mabel.

“Mabel. You’re from the movie finestkind. You’re dating some fisher guy. It’s about crime and drugs. Your character is only a side character but you’re cool. Pretty bold and flirty. You had some spicy scenes respect for that…”

“Wow you really do know a lot-“ She was cut off by Wednesday, who started making an unimpressed sound.

I turned to her “And then the one and only Wednesday Addams. You are the currently new portrayed version of that character. You have your own tv show. You attend a dark Academy and solve crimes and murderes… second season will come out soon and by the way… people ship you pretty hard with Enid”

Wednesday looked me dead in the eyes “I do not appreciate your tone of delivery at all. I’m going to have to ask you to watch it a little, or else… that’s the nicest I can make” She gives me a scary look of disapproval and anger.

“Hey I didn’t wanted to be harsh or something… I’m just trying to telling you guys about the movies you all are from. I don’t know how you made it to my universe but you are all not real in this one…”

“Its your fault we're all here in the first place, so it’s best if you don’t go around with a mouth that likes to spill every detail about us that you possibly can, hmm?” Wednesday gave me a threatening look, daring me to break eye contact first.

I felt a bit hurt and said quite

“Sorry… but I really don’t how all of you came here” I looked around “You all just appeared suddenly” I said softly.

“it’s time for you to make us all disappear” Wednesday looked at me with cold, empty, soulless eyes.

“I don’t know how” exhausted I looked in the eyes of all of them.

“Look guys, let’s not make things too hard on her. She didn't even do anything, all of us just suddenly appeared and its not her fault! “ said Tara and stands up for me. I felt so relived when Tara stand up for me, making me fall for her even harder. Okay focus y/n Jenna is your girlfriend. But yeah… I also love all characters she plays… nevermind.

“I must say, you are very pretty y/n...” said randomly Mabel with a smile.

“Th-thank you” I said blushing hard and looked down.

Vadas eyes fell on me “Yeah, Tara’s right though. She didn’t have anything to do with why we’re here, did she?” Glances at Wednesday and Cairo, looking suspicious.

Cairo Shrugs “I’ve been trying to find out but so far I haven’t got a clue...” Her eyes narrow as she looks at her surroundings “We need to figure this out as soon as possible...”

„Well as soon as possible isn’t quick enough for me, I’m not going to sit around here forever just to wait this all out“ Wednesday added.

„You guys can do what ever you want.

I don’t know how all of you became real. Just know that in this universe none of you is supposed to be real“ I said and sat down on the couch exhausted

Wednesday Shrugs „Well we didn't do it on purpose. It's just something crazy I guess...

What if we never make our way back...“ She looks at everyone with a cold, intimidating stare. It’s clear she’s trying to hold her anger in check for the moment.

„Come on, don't even talk like that Wednesday... we'll find our way back, one way or another...“ Tara said.

„Yeah right? We're not stuck here with her forever!“ Cairo shudders at the thought.

„Ouch?“ I said not sure if I should feel offended.

„You should feel offended. We are going to find a way out of here and when we do, I am making sure I stay the hell away from you“ She glares at me again.

I gave Cairo a thumbs up and looked at Tara speechless saying

„I can’t believe I actually had a crush when I watched her movie back then“

Vada shrugged „Well I'm glad you changed your mind“

„Why? What kind of crush did you have on me?“ asked Cairo, not letting her anger die down yet.

„None“ I said trying to end the conversation. „Come on, you can tell me. Please?“ She leans forward with puppy eyes, but they look a little bit sinister.

„Just for the record since my girlfriend plays all your characters I do have a thing for all of you for sure“

„What do you mean your girlfriend plays all of us?“ Wednesday gives me a suspicious look, leaning in closer and giving a scary look again. „My girlfriend. The actress. Who portrays all your characters in this universe“

Mabel stares at me for a while. Her eyes narrow even more than before* What's her name?”

“I don’t buy it” Wednesday scoffed

“What's that supposed to mean, Wednesday?” I asked

“That was an act, you’re not just now realizing that y/n’s girlfriend is the one who plays all of us. I think she’s trying to hide something”

“I’m telling the truth you can google it” I said louder

Wednesday Takes me by the collar and glares at me with a cold, intimidating look “Okay then, Y/N. I want the truth and I want to know now. What’s your play here?”

Some part of me felt scared and turned on. It took me some time to answer. “I swear nothing. I was just enjoying my day off and suddenly all of you were here”

“And nothing at all happened before that?” Wednesdays voice was getting more and more sinister as each second passed.

“A storm came up. Thunder… lightning” I explained. “Hm... a storm...” She let go of my collar and turned her back on me. She began pacing around the room silently.

“Maybe it has to do with the storm then? Some Paradoxon?” I said

Wednesday looked st me “Is that really all you know? You have no other secrets you’re holding back?”

“Nothing. I’m the most boring person right here” I said quite

“Boring?” She looked back at me and smirked, and turned back around again “If you think your life isn’t interesting, then you’d better make your peace with this life being all you’ll ever be. You have no purpose here. You have nothing to contribute to this world” She stopped her pacing and turned back around again “This is it for you. This is all your life is worth” She let me take that in for a while before speaking again “So do not call yourself boring ever again. You hear me?”

I nodded feeling touched.

“Good” She sat down next to me, and put her hand on my shoulder. After a while of silence, she finally broke the tension “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have done that” She looked down at her feet, ashamed.

“Thank you… i really appreciate your apology” I whispered feeling better now.

“Okay since we all don’t know why you’re here and I’m tired of explaining and arguing… Wanne watch a movie together?”

[thehopelessexception]

is it just me?

i've been observing a tendency surrounding women —mostly between 20 and 26— where we can't find anything close to love (from men). women are not dating, nor living a normal life, developing a femcel-like point of view. and im saying this because i want to be loved just like anyone else, but are we the problem? or is there something wrong with boys? i mean, ofc there's something wrong with boys; but every year pass by and every time is harder and harder to find someone willing to put the effort to make you feel loved and understood. was it like this 50 years ago? 100 years ago? i am very much aware that our mothers and grandmothers suffered in the world they lived in, generally with sexist husbands and mandatory tradwife lifestyle. but i am also sure that there was some exceptions, way too many more than today.

and we tend to romanticize the past, probably there's something to do with our generation. nor millennials or gen z, the ones in the middle. the girls who grew up with enough technology but not so much. the ones that went crazy over boybands and fanfiction and hung up posters in our walls. the ones that went crazy in 2018-2020 with deranged feminism just to realise, later on, nobody really cared and it maybe was a little over the top. the ones that filled our beds with stuffed animals repeatedly every time we woke up just to throw them on the floor at night so we could sleep. the girls who spent their teenage years on tumblr writing code (before men took that away from us) and making playlists of marina lana and the 1975 so everyone on the internet could see how cool we wanted to look like. probably the ones that suffered some kind of bullying in highschool or some health problem related to how we didn't fit in or how bad we looked at ourselves in the mirror (yk what i mean). we weren't the cool kids in real life or it was just me?

now i'm observing how hard it is to adapt that teenager to adult years. and maybe it's me but i don't feel like an adult. i am a tiny ball of anxiety. i suffer too much stress. i am trying to finish my degree but i don't know if im worthy of anything because i dont have money, and i don't have time to work and study at the same time because i spend too many time thinking about it and feeling a fraud and a failure.

i don't know how to talk to boys either —nor girls, in that way—. and until some days ago i was quite sure i was willing and capable of spending my whole life alone. i've given up to anything because i felt it imposible to be loved. but lately my mind goes up and down with that scene of jo monologue in little women by gretta gerwig. and it also goes with the hot priest monologue of fleabag. and today i rewatched the classic he's just not that into you. are we condemned to be the tedious rule? am i?

i've seen all of my girlfriends suffering the same mysery. and i've seen the extremes. women giving up the love they deserve —because they accepted the fate of being the rule— by dating a jerk just because they are afraid of loneliness. and i've also seen women giving up everything else just because they are not willing to give up love. those are us. hopeless romantics who watched way too many romantic comedies and somehow still expect to find someone willing to die for us just like dicaprio in romeo + juliet. —or at least a patrick verona—.

what i've never seen was actual love. all the couples i met... they don't look happy. they don't look in love. they don't look like they enjoy their own company even. they look exactly like a picture of instagram. they exist just to make us feel miserable even when it's obvious they are not gonna last. i've seen couples of what? 7 years? gone. broken up. they grew tired of each other and of course they never looked like they had anything close to sparkles in their eyes. chemistry? none. and maybe it is my anxiety speaking but i don't want that. i refuse to have that. i want all or nothing. i want always and forever. i want everyone to look at us and think "if i don't have that i'll kms". i want family —even tho im not sure i want to get pregnant, what am i a childbride?—. i don't want to change anything to fit in with the standards of a boy. i want marriage even tho im not sure i want to be legally married. i want the posibility, the future. i want the emotions surpassing myself. i want to not know me anymore and then knowing me again. i want to doubt myself. i want my heart beating so fast i could kill someone for them. i want to believe god exists. i want to laugh of happiness without they making a joke. i want my sundays to not be deppresing because i can hang out with the love of my life and have fun. i want to be the "and yet" of someone willingly enough to fall for me every single day even if i am kinda insane all the time. i want someone who cares. someone who fantasizes with spending the rest of their lives with me and is going to put the effort to get to know every single thing about me and stay because he's blown away. and aparently that's setting the bar "too high" because we are the rule and not the exception.

people always assume that by being a romantic i expect flowers every day and cheesy comments about how beautiful i look; and that would actually make me want to puke because i can do that myself. i am confortable with myself, i like myself, i love myself, i have the ego. i am not really asking for that much i just want someone to love me with every single thing that's probably wrong with me. what i want is someone curious and smart. someone who pays enough attention or wants to. i want the chemistry off the roof.

and contrary to anyone's beliefs the bar is too low about everything else. every single girl probably wants the same thing. is it that hard for men to understand that women want to feel loved?

lately —worldwide— it's all a competition of genres as if humanity doesn't need us to interact to survive. it's a loop that opened up in 2013? with the tumblr-4chan gate and right now got translated to the real world because pick-mes are back and being a man is cool. and suddenly that's how nature works!! because apparently women are boring and just a hole. maybe they all need to go all alexander the great. but it's getting boring. and we as women deserve love as much as respect.

[chrollo-lucilfers-chains]

Chrollo x fem!reader

Sleeping Beauty

Warnings: planned assault (it's not Chrollo though)

The Musik from the other room sounds loudly in Chrollo's fine ears.

Personally, he thinks it's too loud so he's left the room of the actual party to get some peace and quiet. His target for tonight is neither to be seen anywhere in the original room nor in the dimly lit conservatory he's in.

Instead there is a woman sitting on his lap and he's pretty sure she's about to fall asleep any minute, if it's not already happened. The little light from the street seeps into the window close to them, mixing with colourful ones, coming from the other room, where the party is still going.

He danced with her to fit in with the other people and somehow they ended up on this couch. With somehow he means that he subtly directed them here, occasionally serving her further drinks until they landed in the perfect spot to observe the entire room as well as the entrance outside the window.

His usual cover as an art collector from York New City, has been enough to avoid suspicion so far but people talking to him are always a risk so having a sleeping girl in his lap is an easy way to avoid that. His one arm is wound securely around her waist in a way that might look protective and loving to bystanders but is actually just to keep her from falling off. It would look bad if she did...

She's really quite pretty and the way she's snuggling into his chest is doing wonders in keeping away the usual cold temperature of Chrollo's body. It's really quite comfortable like this, he admits to himself.

Chrollo looks up, noticing a presence enter the room. His sharp, grey eyes settle on the source of his disturbance and the corner of his mouth pulls almost unnotably downwards.

The guy notices Chrollo much later than the criminal noticed him. Definitely unable to use nen... The aura may be incredibly weak but it is quite the uncomfortable, dark one. This is a guy with bad intentions and little skills of hiding it.

Having apparently found what he was looking for, the man's gaze settles upon you. He licks his lips.

Chrollo's arm tightens just the slightest bit but you still seem to have noticed it in your half slumber. Your squirming and the small noise of protest you let out makes Chrollo loosen his embrace the slightest bit again as you cuddle even further into his chest than before.

Your head is now laying on his chest and he can smell the parfume you're wearing without needing to bend down. Chrollo's face changes from the stone-faced mask to something rather pleased with this development of your position, as the smell of your shampoo and the parfume mixing together is very much to his liking. It resembles something sweet and familiar, he thinks. There's a hint of vanilla and sandalwood with an undertone of grapefruit, which secretly delights him.

The guy, however, seems to dislike this as his snake-like eyes form into slits. Then he pulls himself together and widens his eyes again, putting on a friendly face as he strides over.

"Jo man, I thought I saw you two leave together. You hiding from the party?"

He strikes up a conversation.

Chrollo strokes your side with his thumb unconsciously.

"I suppose so. All the noise back there was rather annoying. Along with more... unpleasant company I'd rather avoid."

The guy either doesn't notice or straight up ignores the hint and keeps talking.

"I feel you man, I do!" Chrollo thinks he'd disagree. "Look dude, here's how it is..."

He pauses.

"I'm friends with that girl and I kinda wanna go home now" Liar, Chrollo thinks. The guy's entire body language shows it.

"So I'm going to take her home and take care of her. She said she wanted me to. Before the party, you know?". The spider's leader raises an eyebrow. As if anybody would buy that...

He'd seen the disgusting looks the man had sent her way all evening and to be honest, he was rather disinclined to let go of his alibi any time soon.

"No, I think I won't." He says, quietly but calmly and the hand continues it's movements on your hip. The guy tenses.

"It's not like I'm some creep, okay?! We know each other!" The guy justifies, although his nervous demeanor says otherwise.

Noticing how your breathing slows down again with his slow strokes, indicating you drifting off, Chrollo pulls you closer and smiles.

"What's the matter man?! I said I know her!" The guy seems to be getting mad.

"Just let me take her! What's the big deal?!"

"The deal is that I don't believe you."

Chrollo's voice is as harsh and cold as if he'd thrown a knife. The guy seems to finally notice Chrollo's aura.

"And unless you want me to slice that lying tongue from your mouth I suggest you stop your shouting now, before she wakes up and I decide it's easier to just remove it from your body entirely."

Even though it's spoken quietly, the truth in his threat is clearly noticeable. The guy seems to think so too as he swallows and decides his plan is not worth getting killed by this scary guy.

"What the fuck are you talking about, freak?!" He asks aggressively, fear clearly underlying his question.

"Leave", Chrollo commands, "or you will find out." His presence works even more than the words.

The guy turns around and hastily leaves the room.

When he's finally gone, Chrollo's attention shifts back to the girl resting in his lap.

With her head nestled on his chest and cushioned on his shoulder, he can feel your breathing. Your breaths fan over his chest and he shivers with the warm puffs of air so close to his skin.

He lifts his hand from your legs and lets them rest against the couch. With his now free hand he cradles your head, lifting it up to rest more comfortably on his shoulder.

You're snuggled right into his neck like this and he finds himself admiring your sleepy state.

You're so defenseless like this... Would you trust everybody this much, or is he special? His eyebrows furrow. The idea of you cuddling like this with anybody else makes him a little mad.

It's fascinating to him how quickly he feels possessive. The need to have, to possess. It's nothing strange or novel to Chrollo. This possessive side of his is sort of like an old friend. An important characteristic for a person growing up in Meteor City.

If you had nothing, you were nothing. If you had something you became a target. To have something always indicated the ability to protect it from others back then.

It's one of the reasons he became a thief in the first place and the source of his abilities.

So this feeling of possessiveness was old news for him. However, to feel it directed at another person was much more seldom. The spider, or at least the inner core of the spiders. They were the only people Chrollo felt some need to protect. And they did not need his protection much so this side of him wasn't seen very often.

He doubts you could protect yourself if matters came to worse..

His thoughts are interrupted by you shifting on top of him. Looking down, he notices your furrowed eyebrows, narrowing his eyes at the goosebumps that have appeared on your arm.

Careful to not disturb you too much, he reaches beside him and grabs his jacket, which he'd taken off earlier. After all, it had been quite warm in the other room and the jacket is more of an accessory to convey his cover than actually necessary anyways.

Chrollo's body has built a strong resistance to temperatures so he hadn't even thought that your glittery but short top might not be enough for you. Compared to him ordinary people were so... fragile.

He shushes your drowsy noise of protest at the movement and carefully drapes the jacket over you.

You sigh happily when the jacket covers you fully, wrapping you up in its warmth.

"Mghn", you murmur contently and the tiniest hint of a smile appears on Chrollo's face.

Inside of him arises the strange need to kiss you. He's sure you're too far gone to really notice much anyways but a kiss on the lips feels inappropriate. So he strokes your hair and presses a kiss to the top of your head instead.

With the way you're laying in his arms now he can smell a hint of the raspberry lillet he'd bought you earlier and pineapple from one of the cocktails. The party's host had presented an entire array of drinks and beverages for the guests to enjoy, which Chrollo had promptly taken advantage of.

He silently admires your sleeping face, caressing its side with his hand.

And he continues sitting there for the rest of the evening pondering, as you snore away in his embrace.

[themuse-if]

A polycule with all the Rebel Rejects?! Say no more I may feint from joy! jokes aside that would be cool, BUT as I've come to learn writing and coding PolyRoms can be insane and taxing so while yeah cool and desired I can enjoy this game 100% without it. Since I'm here I'd love to get the RO's reacts from being gifted a self made teddy plush (or whatever their fav animal is) from the MC.

Anyways I hope you're doing well, sending good vibes and well wishes your way.

Hey! Yeah I'm sure it'll be quite the task, but I think it'll be a really fun path to write even if it is pretty challenging. Everyone is so excited about it which just makes me want to write it that much more! Ok moving on to this super cute scenario! Let's say that they are already official and this is the first gift MC is giving them while dating. And they're just hanging out in MC's dorm room.

Roxanne/Robbie: *MC hands Ro a handmade wolf plushie* Aren't you just as sweet as can be. *grabs MC's chin and places a soft kiss on MC's lips* Thank you. *looks deep into MC's eyes* This is one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me.

Joleen/Johnny: *MC hands Jo a handmade dog plushie* Oh! Oh wow it's so cute. You're... just...how're you so great? *gives MC a sweet kiss on the cheek*

Delphine/Desmond: *MC hands De a handmade turtle plushie* This is so adorable, just like you. Now I need to give you something. Are you hungry? *MC says yeah and tells De what they're craving* Ok let's go to the store I'm making you dinner. *grabs MC's hand as they head out*

Rina/Ren: *MC hands R a handmade tarantula plushie* Thanks. It's really...*cracks a smile* creepy cute. *MC asks if they like it* What do you mean? *tackles MC, and looks down at them* Of course I like it. Plus you made it with your own hands, which just makes it that much more special. *gets shy and scrambles off of MC*

Everly/Everett: *MC hands Eve a handmade dog plushie* A token of your affection, handmade just for me. *wipes a faux tear* I am in awe and truly touched. *MC cracks up laughing* I really do love it though. I'm going to take it everywhere and make sure everyone knows that it was made just for me by MC. *gives MC a lingering kiss*

Karla: *MC hands Karla a handmade cat plushie* Thanks babe. *cheesy grin* It's so cute, you're so cute. How did I get so lucky? *sighs, and traces thumb over MC's lips* You're just...never-mind I don't want to get to sappy.

Faye: *MC hands Faye a handmade chinchilla plushie* OH MY GOD! This is so freaking cute! You made this? Oh my God. *gets teary eyed* Thank you...so much. Sorry I don't want to make this weird, it's just rare that people do things for me... *Hugs MC super tightly, pulls back and tries to laugh of the serious moment* You're too sweet. *boops MC on the nose*

Sebastien: *MC hands Seb a handmade lion plushie* Mon cœur ne supporte pas autant de soleil. You continue to amaze me. *pulls MC in for a sweet, but firm kiss* Let's go out you, me and notre petit lion. Suddenly I'm in the mood for something sweet, my treat of course. (roughly translates to my heart can't handle that much sunshine and our little lion)

Maxine: *MC hands Max a handmade hedgehog plushie* I love it! The perfect addition to my little collection. How many have you made me now? One for every birthday since you learned how...so this is 4. I will continue the theme of naming them after famous actors. There's Helena Hedgeman Harter, Halle Hedgeberry, Hugh Hedgeman, and this one will be Heath Hedger. *MC and Max erupt into a fit of laughter*

Silas: *MC hands Silas a handmade dog plushie* Thank you MC. *pats MC on the head* This is very sweet, I'll put it somewhere safe. *MC asks Silas what he means* What do I mean? I mean I really love it, I just can't let anyone see it, not yet. I don't want anyone asking questions, ending up with us getting caught. I really like you, we just have to stay under the radar until you're no longer my advisee. *pulls MC close and give them a soft kiss, and sighs* Thank you for being so understanding.

[kindred-sims]

"Whoa there, Nellie! Whoa Bailey!"

Caleb pulled the buggy to a stop, finally putting an end to the long, quiet ride from the chapel. Neither he or Jo had spoken much since reciting their vows, neither quite sure what to say or do since. He dismounted from his seat first, before offering his new wife assistance.

"Here we are. Welcome home, Mrs. Wakefield."

Jo shielded her eyes as she looked upon the farmhouse, somewhat in disbelief, somewhat in wonder. It appeared far nicer than how her father had described, as the distasteful way he'd spoken of Caleb had made it sounded like it was a rundown cabin on a lone plot of land. Even then, she still couldn't believe that she was truly here.

Home.

This was going to be her home, for the rest of her life.

"Would you like me to carry your bags for you?" Caleb was asking, snapping her from her thoughts.

"Oh...no. No thank you, I'm sure I can manage." she replied, ducking her head. He seemed to take notice and only responded with a slow nod.

"Very well then."

He walked ahead of her, and she followed a short moment after, nervously clutching her suitcase the entire time.

"I erm...I hope that you'll be comfortable here," Caleb said, as they walked inside. "I tried to tidy up best I could before your arrival, but unfortunately I'm not as precise as my mother was when it came to these things. This place has really been suffering without a woman's touch, I'm afraid it hasn't had one since she passed."

"In any case, feel free to do as you see fit with it. It is your home as well as mine now," he continued. "If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to ask me."

"Yes...thank you, I appreciate that."

He left her after that, excusing himself to go tend to the horses. Jo took a moment to survey her surroundings, unwilling to move much further than where she stood now. It was a sense of fear that held her back, and she worried should she take one more step, she would lose herself.

She finally managed to make it to the bedroom, convincing herself that she'd feel better once she started to unpack. But as soon as she sat her suitcase down, all the emotions she'd been fighting back busted loose from their dam, and she dropped to the bed, struggling to fight back her tears.

[raccoonfallsharder]

Chapter 6/20 - Window Across the Galaxy

girl falls first; raccoon falls harder.

"Gamora can take my room, and Pete, you and Drax can take the two with the Murphy beds. I don’t think Groot will fit anywhere -“ “The folding beds?” Rocket interrupts. He still can’t stop grinning. “I know you haven’t met the guy yet, Jo, but there’s no way Drax is fitting on one of them. He’s twice as wide as Quip here.” The Terran in question looks like he thinks he’s been insulted, but isn’t sure how. “Quill,” he corrects, and Rocket waves a dismissive paw. She hums. “Then have Drax take my room for now. Pete, you know where the clean sheets are, right? Get everyone set up? And just ask Drax not to touch my equipment till I get a chance to clear it out for him.”  Why the fuck does Quill know where the sheets are? Rocket thinks, but doesn’t ask. 

Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units. in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course.

whomp whomp. i have nothing to say about this chapter except it's too much dialogue and rocket's on the strugglebus. also, there's the brief mention of gun violence in schools. nothing explicit though

Please see behind the cut for a more general summary/notes/links to preceding chapters/a brief preview to Chapter VII. I'm Here. (which will actually have some fuckin plot for once).

General Summary~

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best raccoon

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship. Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron. Chapter III. A Kindness. in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last. Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food. Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave. Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units. in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course. Coming Soon: Chapter VII. I'm Here. in which we visit Knowhere.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slooowww burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies). elements of hurt/comfort because rocket is the saddest-angriest boy. rating will go up and tags will be added to as needed.

[thatamatuerauthor]

My Fair Luna

Chapter 8

If Emma had known the sheer amount of work that was waiting for her at this new job, she would've thought twice.

But she still would have taken it, if she was honest.

So the grounds needed work, and tasks needed delegating…and room assignments completed and gardening to oversee and meal planning to go over and a new row of houses needed to go up so supplies needed to be ordered and patches of trees felled and kids activities to plan and…

Oh boy

A lot of work needed to be done. It had Emma wondering just what was so important that the boss man and his family had to leave. Because she was starting to feel like they had left all these people high and dry.

Or they had more faith in Rex and Luke than was appropriate. Sorry guys.

Either way, by the time Sunday had rolled around, the time for her to phone in to her parents, Emma was surprised to find herself smack dab in the middle of a construction site as people began directing all their questions towards her about what to do.

It was Luna this and Luna that. Honestly she didn't know what to think about that nickname at first. It didn't really seem to fit in with the whole wolf theme. Until she realized it meant moon, and wolves howl at the moon, and right now all these people were 'howling' at her expecting her to know and/or fix everything.

And here I thought it was because I was pasty white…she grumbled internally.

The first time someone had called her that, she can't quite remember who now that everyone does it, Faye and Jade had practically glared holes into the poor soul's head. She wasn't sure what the big deal was. After all, having a nickname means she's one of them now, right?

When she said it was ok to call her that, everyone relaxed and seemed so happy about it. Further making her feel like she was missing some vital peice if the puzzle that was Camp Lobo. But Jade and Faye seemed particularly thrilled and called her Luna often. She was coming to really enjoy their company.

A tune began playing softly from her pocket, catching several people's attention. Emma pulled her phone from her jeans and answered it without looking. She knew who it was based on the song.

"Hey dad," She greeted, unknowingly perking interest around her as sensitive ears listened in. "What's up?"

"Nothing much, Jo and I were just waiting on your call."

Emma paused. "Right, sorry." She blew out a breath and motioned to the foreman that she was stepping away. "Everything's been so hectic since day one I haven't had a chance to do much but eat and sleep."

"So I take it you got the job?"

"Yeah, that very day in fact." Emma figured her dad would pick up on the oddities like she had. Only he'd understand them better.

"That day?"

"On the spot." Emma smiled as a few workers carrying insulation passed her. "You could tell he was in over his head."

"Bossman was that desperate?"

"He's actually acting boss." That was the kicker, and she knew her dad was thinking the same thing she has because he let out a long hum.

"Did he get permission from Bossman?"

Emma blew out a breath. "Not that I know of."

Her dad hummed again. "You do realize that could make you temporary hire."

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you like it there?"

"I love it, it's absolutely gorgeous. I'll take some pictures of the grounds when I get the chance. You and mom would love it here." She gushed, not realizing the people around her were smiling.

"Ok, camp rat. How's the food? Is it as good as your mom's?"

"Some is, some isn't. But I don't think anyone's gonna top her homemade bread."

"True-"

"Luna can you-" Just as the worker interrupt her a few of the workers around her shushed him.

"Someone calling you?" Her dad asked.

"Yeah, I'm literally in the middle of putting up the inner walls of the new building."

"Oh?"

"Hey man, I'm only overseeing the project and helping the foreman stay on task. Everybody already knows what they're doing."

"Alright, if you need any help give me a call."

"I will. Love you dad." She had already thought of calling him since he was a painter/contractor but the workers here had everything handled.

"Love you too-"

"LOVE YOU BABY!" Her mom yelled into her dad's ear. Not that it bothered him, he's half deaf. But it blared across her phone speaker.

"Love you too mom." Emma lightly rolled her eyes.

"Hey, before you go just…be careful and try not to step on any toes."

"That's the plan." She sighed again.

"Alright, love you baby."

"Love you too, bye."

"Bye."

Line Break

Fay and Jade stood aside and watched as Luna Emma spoke to her parents. The week had gone a lot smoother than they could've hoped. Except for the fact that everyone knows…

Faye was not the only one to apparently recognize her for what she is. On one hand, this made her transition into the pack rather smooth, on the other…they were never going to hear the end of it from Matt when he gets back.

"I think it happened this way for reason." Jade, like Faye, didn't take her eyes off of their Luna.

"And why is that?" Faye asked.

"Think about it. Not only did she come when we needed her the most, but do you think if Alpha Matt had met her earlier that Alpha and Luna would have accepted her?"

Faye frowned. "Why wouldn't they? She is our next Luna. Everyone can tell."

"Strange isn't it?" Jade continued. "That we would be able to recognize her?" Faye glanced at Jade. "You knowing is understandable. But the rest of us should just see a human. So why are we connecting with her so easily?"

Fay had no answers. Now that she thought about it too…it was more than odd. It was unheard of. But there had to be a reason.

"And then there's the timing." Jade pointed out. "She came when we needed her. Almost as if she's proving herself without the pressure of being ridiculed by those in power because she is the highest rank among us."

"You think Alpha Derek and Luna Mae would have rejected her." Faye swallowed thickly, she didn't like the thought.

"Undoubtedly." Jade didn't hesitate to answer.

[supersapphical]

oooh 49, 34, 35 and 29 for the fic writer ask game! especially 29, I love fic playlists

Answering fic writer questions

Okay this got SO long so I'm putting it under a cut. I guess the lesson is don't ask a writer to talk about their writing because we won't shut up 😂

29.

The only fic playlist I've shared with people is the one for Faith Undone. That's one of my favorite playlists of all time because basically every song is about being gay and/or defying god.

And now @roublardise has me thinking about a playlist for In the Wake and I am REALLY excited about the possibilities there so I think I'll make a full playlist for that.

I'm also working on an Alex playlist based on my series of Alex centric one-shots that includes Sleep by My Chemical Romance, Creep by Radiohead (but I'll probably use Haley Reinhart's version) and New Dawn Fades by Joy Division.

I've tried a couple times to make an amarabillie playlist since they're one of my favorite pairings ever but to me When Creation Was Young by Joy Williams, Cosmic Love by Florence + the Machine and I Was Made For Loving You by Queen of Japan are the only songs that REALLY seem to fit their vibes.

34. What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

I mean. All the gay stuff, for sure. But seriously this is an interesting question because it's hard for me to come up with things I wrote that DIDN'T have some small part of me in them. If I'm writing a fic, it's usually because I've glommed on to that character and I'm writing them with a little bit of me in there. Whether it's Layla growing up religious or Mary feeling out of place in her own life or Alex struggling with depression or Cassie's intense curiosity and drive, all my fics have something of my life in them.

35. What aspects of your writing are completely unlike your real life?

The easy answer is all the supernatural stuff. 😂 But, somewhat bizarrely, I've also written quite a few fics where two characters have an almost instant connection/attraction. I'm aspec so that has literally never happened to me irl, ever and, frankly, I wouldn't want it to. The idea of looking at someone and suddenly just being attracted to them seems so silly to me but it IS fun to write (especially because I'm usually incorporating some supernatural element into the instant attraction).

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

The fourth chapter of my current multi-chapter fic In the Wake of the Winchesters doesn't go up until next Monday so I've been messing around with a couple simpler one shots this week because I'm stupid busy at work so I don't want to do anything too complicated but I still have spn brainrot.

I started outlining another Alex fic exploring how she decided to choose nursing as a career. It is SO fascinating to me that she was so against having anything to do with hunting but she chose to go into a high stress career where she would absolutely be surrounded by gory injuries. I simply must get inside her head.

I also started messing around with a concept that @mrcowboydeanwinchester gave me about Jo wearing boxer briefs. It's just a short exploration of her trying to find herself in small ways. The sorts of tiny personal choices we make in our lives that can affect us in huge emotional ways.

[stalemateserial]

48

How dare she be bored.

How dare she be bored.

"Ruth, you've been staring at the wall for two hours now."

"Yeah, well, you've been staring at me staring at the wall for two hours for two hours, and you've been keeping time."

"No, I've been showering. You know it takes a long time."

"Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me today."

"We're both up and down, it seems like. Can't think of any extenuating circumstances that would make it so."

"Mm."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ruth did not so much want to; she needed to talk, and with the pretense of permission, she was off and running. "Judy, how the hell can I be bored? I'm in a floating death tube above the Earth's atmosphere, playing chess off a piece of paper with my coworker. You move your pawn to A3, I move my pawn to A5, not much to think about there. I can't even sulk," and she whips a section of her hair fighting against the elastic band she's imprisoned it in, "because the gravity is off up here, and all I can think about is how much I'd like to just go see a movie or something."

"I'd like to, as well."

Maybe Ruth had been hoping for something more resembling a discussion. Or to be confronted, or comforted, or something other than Judy knowing just how she felt. She let out a sigh, the wind taken out of her sails. "It'd be nice."

"What would we see?"

"I dunno what's come out since I joined the Programme."

"Well, who do you like?"

"Carry Snodgrass was good in Diary of a Mad Housewife."

"I think it's Snodgress, and yeah, I like her too. I'll always have a soft spot for Audrey Hepburn, though."

"Have you seen any of Katherine Hepburn's movies?"

"Wasn't she in… Little Women? That was it, right?

"I'm pretty sure she was, yeah. The black and white movie? I think it played on CBS one night." Ruth's face lit up as she remembered something long forgotten. "That's right, she played Jo."

Judy was smiling as well. "It was on Southern for me."

"Well, I think I'd want to see a nice, calm movie. Something that didn't have a lot of drama."

"We'd see it together, wouldn't we?"

"I wouldn't dream of going without you."

"Well, what would it be about?"

"Hmm… I think it would be about a young woman." Ruth was letting her mind run away with her now. "She lives in a shared house with a few other bachelorettes, and they always go dancing at the club down the street. But the landlord keeps raising rent, trying to drive out the owners. The landlord doesn't like the way they use the club, says it's deviant. That girl and her friends don't like that one bit, so they come up with a plan to raise the money to buy the landlord out. They put on a big show in the park and get the patrons to invite everyone they can, rehearse all these musical numbers and build these big sets, and they end up getting this eccentric benefactor to donate the money. Then she starts coming to the club to sing with the band every so often."

"How wonderful for them."

"It won't get any awards for best screenplay or anything, but they get one for costume design and best actress in a supporting role."

Judy's actually laughing now. It's a welcome sound, but one that Ruth hasn't heard in quite a few days. It's an infectious thing that finds its way into Ruth's chest, and the simple humor of seeing someone's breath being taken away by laughter sends both of them into greater fits. And for just a moment, the station is not a prison.

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Chapter 29-30

XXIX.

CALLS.

"Come, Jo, it's time."

"For what?"

"You don't mean to say you have forgotten that you promised to make half a dozen calls with me to-day?"

"I've done a good many rash and foolish things in my life, but I don't think I ever was mad enough to say I'd make six calls in one day, when a single one upsets me for a week."

"Yes, you did; it was a bargain between us. I was to finish the crayon of Beth for you, and you were to go properly with me, and return our neighbors' visits."

"If it was fair—that was in the bond; and I stand to the letter of my bond, Shylock. There is a pile of clouds in the east; it's not fair, and I don't go."

"Now, that's shirking. It's a lovely day, no prospect of rain, and you pride yourself on keeping promises; so be honorable; come and do your duty, and then be at peace for another six months."

351 At that minute Jo was particularly absorbed in dressmaking; for she was mantua-maker general to the family, and took especial credit to herself because she could use a needle as well as a pen. It was very provoking to be arrested in the act of a first trying-on, and ordered out to make calls in her best array, on a warm July day. She hated calls of the formal sort, and never made any till Amy compelled her with a bargain, bribe, or promise. In the present instance, there was no escape; and having clashed her scissors rebelliously, while protesting that she smelt thunder, she gave in, put away her work, and taking up her hat and gloves with an air of resignation, told Amy the victim was ready.

"Jo March, you are perverse enough to provoke a saint! You don't intend to make calls in that state, I hope," cried Amy, surveying her with amazement.

"Why not? I'm neat and cool and comfortable; quite proper for a dusty walk on a warm day. If people care more for my clothes than they do for me, I don't wish to see them. You can dress for both, and be as elegant as you please: it pays for you to be fine; it doesn't for me, and furbelows only worry me."

"Oh dear!" sighed Amy; "now she's in a contrary fit, and will drive me distracted before I can get her properly ready. I'm sure it's no pleasure to me to go to-day, but it's a debt we owe society, and there's no one to pay it but you and me. I'll do anything for you, Jo, if you'll only dress yourself nicely, and come and help me do the civil. You can talk so well, look so aristocratic in your best things, and behave so beautifully, if you try, that I'm proud of you. I'm afraid to go alone; do come and take care of me."

"You're an artful little puss to flatter and wheedle your cross old sister in that way. The idea of my being aristocratic and well-bred, and your being afraid to go anywhere alone! I don't know which is the most absurd. Well, I'll go if I must, and do my best. You shall be commander of the expedition, and I'll obey blindly; will that satisfy you?" said Jo, with a sudden change from perversity to lamb-like submission.

"You're a perfect cherub! Now put on all your best things, and I'll tell you how to behave at each place, so that you will make a 352 good impression. I want people to like you, and they would if you'd only try to be a little more agreeable. Do your hair the pretty way, and put the pink rose in your bonnet; it's becoming, and you look too sober in your plain suit. Take your light gloves and the embroidered handkerchief. We'll stop at Meg's, and borrow her white sunshade, and then you can have my dove-colored one."

While Amy dressed, she issued her orders, and Jo obeyed them; not without entering her protest, however, for she sighed as she rustled into her new organdie, frowned darkly at herself as she tied her bonnet strings in an irreproachable bow, wrestled viciously with pins as she put on her collar, wrinkled up her features generally as she shook out the handkerchief, whose embroidery was as irritating to her nose as the present mission was to her feelings; and when she had squeezed her hands into tight gloves with three buttons and a tassel, as the last touch of elegance, she turned to Amy with an imbecile expression of countenance, saying meekly,—

"I'm perfectly miserable; but if you consider me presentable, I die happy."

"You are highly satisfactory; turn slowly round, and let me get a careful view." Jo revolved, and Amy gave a touch here and there, then fell back, with her head on one side, observing graciously, "Yes, you'll do; your head is all I could ask, for that white bonnet with the rose is quite ravishing. Hold back your shoulders, and carry your hands easily, no matter if your gloves do pinch. There's one thing you can do well, Jo, that is, wear a shawl—I can't; but it's very nice to see you, and I'm so glad Aunt March gave you that lovely one; it's simple, but handsome, and those folds over the arm are really artistic. Is the point of my mantle in the middle, and have I looped my dress evenly? I like to show my boots, for my feet are pretty, though my nose isn't."

"You are a thing of beauty and a joy forever," said Jo, looking through her hand with the air of a connoisseur at the blue feather against the gold hair. "Am I to drag my best dress through the dust, or loop it up, please, ma'am?"

"Hold it up when you walk, but drop it in the house; the sweeping style suits you best, and you must learn to trail your skirts gracefully. 353 You haven't half buttoned one cuff; do it at once. You'll never look finished if you are not careful about the little details, for they make up the pleasing whole."

Jo sighed, and proceeded to burst the buttons off her glove, in doing up her cuff; but at last both were ready, and sailed away, looking as "pretty as picters," Hannah said, as she hung out of the upper window to watch them.

"Now, Jo dear, the Chesters consider themselves very elegant people, so I want you to put on your best deportment. Don't make any of your abrupt remarks, or do anything odd, will you? Just be calm, cool, and quiet,—that's safe and ladylike; and you can easily do it for fifteen minutes," said Amy, as they approached the first place, having borrowed the white parasol and been inspected by Meg, with a baby on each arm.

"Let me see. 'Calm, cool, and quiet,'—yes, I think I can promise that. I've played the part of a prim young lady on the stage, and I'll try it off. My powers are great, as you shall see; so be easy in your mind, my child."

Amy looked relieved, but naughty Jo took her at her word; for, during the first call, she sat with every limb gracefully composed, every fold correctly draped, calm as a summer sea, cool as a snow-bank, and as silent as a sphinx. In vain Mrs. Chester alluded to her "charming novel," and the Misses Chester introduced parties, picnics, the opera, and the fashions; each and all were answered by a smile, a bow, and a demure "Yes" or "No," with the chill on. In vain Amy telegraphed the word "Talk," tried to draw her out, and administered covert pokes with her foot. Jo sat as if blandly unconscious of it all, with deportment like Maud's face, "icily regular, splendidly null."

"What a haughty, uninteresting creature that oldest Miss March is!" was the unfortunately audible remark of one of the ladies, as the door closed upon their guests. Jo laughed noiselessly all through the hall, but Amy looked disgusted at the failure of her instructions, and very naturally laid the blame upon Jo.

"How could you mistake me so? I merely meant you to be properly dignified and composed, and you made yourself a perfect 354 stock and stone. Try to be sociable at the Lambs', gossip as other girls do, and be interested in dress and flirtations and whatever nonsense comes up. They move in the best society, are valuable persons for us to know, and I wouldn't fail to make a good impression there for anything."

"I'll be agreeable; I'll gossip and giggle, and have horrors and raptures over any trifle you like. I rather enjoy this, and now I'll imitate what is called 'a charming girl;' I can do it, for I have May Chester as a model, and I'll improve upon her. See if the Lambs don't say, 'What a lively, nice creature that Jo March is!'"

Amy felt anxious, as well she might, for when Jo turned freakish there was no knowing where she would stop. Amy's face was a study when she saw her sister skim into the next drawing-room, kiss all the young ladies with effusion, beam graciously upon the young gentlemen, and join in the chat with a spirit which amazed the beholder. Amy was taken possession of by Mrs. Lamb, with whom she was a favorite, and forced to hear a long account of Lucretia's last attack, while three delightful young gentlemen hovered near, waiting for a pause when they might rush in and rescue her. So situated, she was powerless to check Jo, who seemed possessed by a spirit of mischief, and talked away as volubly as the old lady. A knot of heads gathered about her, and Amy strained her ears to hear what was going on; for broken sentences filled her with alarm, round eyes and uplifted hands tormented her with curiosity, and frequent peals of laughter made her wild to share the fun. One may imagine her suffering on overhearing fragments of this sort of conversation:—

"She rides splendidly,—who taught her?"

"No one; she used to practise mounting, holding the reins, and sitting straight on an old saddle in a tree. Now she rides anything, for she doesn't know what fear is, and the stable-man lets her have horses cheap, because she trains them to carry ladies so well. She has such a passion for it, I often tell her if everything else fails she can be a horse-breaker, and get her living so."

At this awful speech Amy contained herself with difficulty, for the impression was being given that she was rather a fast young lady, which was her especial aversion. But what could she do? for the 355 old lady was in the middle of her story, and long before it was done Jo was off again, making more droll revelations, and committing still more fearful blunders.

"Yes, Amy was in despair that day, for all the good beasts were gone, and of three left, one was lame, one blind, and the other so balky that you had to put dirt in his mouth before he would start. Nice animal for a pleasure party, wasn't it?"

"Which did she choose?" asked one of the laughing gentlemen, who enjoyed the subject.

"None of them; she heard of a young horse at the farmhouse over the river, and, though a lady had never ridden him, she resolved to try, because he was handsome and spirited. Her struggles were really pathetic; there was no one to bring the horse to the saddle, so she took the saddle to the horse. My dear creature, she actually rowed it over the river, put it on her head, and marched up to the barn to the utter amazement of the old man!"

"Did she ride the horse?"

356 "Of course she did, and had a capital time. I expected to see her brought home in fragments, but she managed him perfectly, and was the life of the party."

"Well, I call that plucky!" and young Mr. Lamb turned an approving glance upon Amy, wondering what his mother could be saying to make the girl look so red and uncomfortable.

She was still redder and more uncomfortable a moment after, when a sudden turn in the conversation introduced the subject of dress. One of the young ladies asked Jo where she got the pretty drab hat she wore to the picnic; and stupid Jo, instead of mentioning the place where it was bought two years ago, must needs answer, with unnecessary frankness, "Oh, Amy painted it; you can't buy those soft shades, so we paint ours any color we like. It's a great comfort to have an artistic sister."

"Isn't that an original idea?" cried Miss Lamb, who found Jo great fun.

"That's nothing compared to some of her brilliant performances. There's nothing the child can't do. Why, she wanted a pair of blue boots for Sallie's party, so she just painted her soiled white ones the loveliest shade of sky-blue you ever saw, and they looked exactly like satin," added Jo, with an air of pride in her sister's accomplishments that exasperated Amy till she felt that it would be a relief to throw her card-case at her.

"We read a story of yours the other day, and enjoyed it very much," observed the elder Miss Lamb, wishing to compliment the literary lady, who did not look the character just then, it must be confessed.

Any mention of her "works" always had a bad effect upon Jo, who either grew rigid and looked offended, or changed the subject with a brusque remark, as now. "Sorry you could find nothing better to read. I write that rubbish because it sells, and ordinary people like it. Are you going to New York this winter?"

As Miss Lamb had "enjoyed" the story, this speech was not exactly grateful or complimentary. The minute it was made Jo saw her mistake; but, fearing to make the matter worse, suddenly remembered that it was for her to make the first move toward departure, and did so with an abruptness that left three people with half-finished sentences in their mouths.

357 "Amy, we must go. Good-by, dear; do come and see us; we are pining for a visit. I don't dare to ask you, Mr. Lamb; but if you should come, I don't think I shall have the heart to send you away."

Jo said this with such a droll imitation of May Chester's gushing style that Amy got out of the room as rapidly as possible, feeling a strong desire to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Didn't I do that well?" asked Jo, with a satisfied air, as they walked away.

"Nothing could have been worse," was Amy's crushing reply. "What possessed you to tell those stories about my saddle, and the hats and boots, and all the rest of it?"

"Why, it's funny, and amuses people. They know we are poor, so it's no use pretending that we have grooms, buy three or four hats a season, and have things as easy and fine as they do."

"You needn't go and tell them all our little shifts, and expose our poverty in that perfectly unnecessary way. You haven't a bit of proper pride, and never will learn when to hold your tongue and when to speak," said Amy despairingly.

Poor Jo looked abashed, and silently chafed the end of her nose with the stiff handkerchief, as if performing a penance for her misdemeanors.

"How shall I behave here?" she asked, as they approached the third mansion.

"Just as you please; I wash my hands of you," was Amy's short answer.

"Then I'll enjoy myself. The boys are at home, and we'll have a comfortable time. Goodness knows I need a little change, for elegance has a bad effect upon my constitution," returned Jo gruffly, being disturbed by her failures to suit.

An enthusiastic welcome from three big boys and several pretty children speedily soothed her ruffled feelings; and, leaving Amy to entertain the hostess and Mr. Tudor, who happened to be calling likewise, Jo devoted herself to the young folks, and found the change refreshing. She listened to college stories with deep interest, caressed pointers and poodles without a murmur, agreed heartily that "Tom Brown was a brick," regardless of the improper form of praise; and 358 when one lad proposed a visit to his turtle-tank, she went with an alacrity which caused mamma to smile upon her, as that motherly lady settled the cap which was left in a ruinous condition by filial hugs, bear-like but affectionate, and dearer to her than the most faultless coiffure from the hands of an inspired Frenchwoman.

Leaving her sister to her own devices, Amy proceeded to enjoy herself to her heart's content. Mr. Tudor's uncle had married an English lady who was third cousin to a living lord, and Amy regarded the whole family with great respect; for, in spite of her American birth and breeding, she possessed that reverence for titles which haunts the best of us,—that unacknowledged loyalty to the early faith in kings which set the most democratic nation under the sun in a ferment at the coming of a royal yellow-haired laddie, some years ago, and which still has something to do with the love the young country bears the old, like that of a big son for an imperious little mother, who held him while she could, and let him go with a farewell scolding when he rebelled. But even the satisfaction of talking with a distant connection of the British nobility did not render Amy forgetful of time; and when the proper number of minutes had passed, she reluctantly tore herself from this aristocratic society, and looked about for Jo, fervently hoping that her incorrigible sister would not be found in any position which should bring disgrace upon the name of March.

It might have been worse, but Amy considered it bad; for Jo sat on the grass, with an encampment of boys about her, and a dirty-footed dog reposing on the skirt of her state and festival dress, as she related one of Laurie's pranks to her admiring audience. One small child was poking turtles with Amy's cherished parasol, a second was eating gingerbread over Jo's best bonnet, and a third playing ball with her gloves. But all were enjoying themselves; and when Jo collected her damaged property to go, her escort accompanied her, begging her to come again, "it was such fun to hear about Laurie's larks."

"Capital boys, aren't they? I feel quite young and brisk again after that," said Jo, strolling along with her hands behind her, partly from habit, partly to conceal the bespattered parasol.

"Why do you always avoid Mr. Tudor?" asked Amy, wisely refraining from any comment upon Jo's dilapidated appearance.

359 "Don't like him; he puts on airs, snubs his sisters, worries his father, and doesn't speak respectfully of his mother. Laurie says he is fast, and I don't consider him a desirable acquaintance; so I let him alone."

"You might treat him civilly, at least. You gave him a cool nod; and just now you bowed and smiled in the politest way to Tommy Chamberlain, whose father keeps a grocery store. If you had just reversed the nod and the bow, it would have been right," said Amy reprovingly.

"No, it wouldn't," returned perverse Jo; "I neither like, respect, nor admire Tudor, though his grandfather's uncle's nephew's niece was third cousin to a lord. Tommy is poor and bashful and good and very clever; I think well of him, and like to show that I do, for he is a gentleman in spite of the brown-paper parcels."

"It's no use trying to argue with you," began Amy.

"Not the least, my dear," interrupted Jo; "so let us look amiable, and drop a card here, as the Kings are evidently out, for which I'm deeply grateful."

The family card-case having done its duty, the girls walked on, and Jo uttered another thanksgiving on reaching the fifth house, and being told that the young ladies were engaged.

360 "Now let us go home, and never mind Aunt March to-day. We can run down there any time, and it's really a pity to trail through the dust in our best bibs and tuckers, when we are tired and cross."

"Speak for yourself, if you please. Aunt likes to have us pay her the compliment of coming in style, and making a formal call; it's a little thing to do, but it gives her pleasure, and I don't believe it will hurt your things half so much as letting dirty dogs and clumping boys spoil them. Stoop down, and let me take the crumbs off of your bonnet."

"What a good girl you are, Amy!" said Jo, with a repentant glance from her own damaged costume to that of her sister, which was fresh and spotless still. "I wish it was as easy for me to do little things to please people as it is for you. I think of them, but it takes too much time to do them; so I wait for a chance to confer a great favor, and let the small ones slip; but they tell best in the end, I fancy."

Amy smiled, and was mollified at once, saying with a maternal air,—

"Women should learn to be agreeable, particularly poor ones; for they have no other way of repaying the kindnesses they receive. If you'd remember that, and practise it, you'd be better liked than I am, because there is more of you."

"I'm a crotchety old thing, and always shall be, but I'm willing to own that you are right; only it's easier for me to risk my life for a person than to be pleasant to him when I don't feel like it. It's a great misfortune to have such strong likes and dislikes, isn't it?"

"It's a greater not to be able to hide them. I don't mind saying that I don't approve of Tudor any more than you do; but I'm not called upon to tell him so; neither are you, and there is no use in making yourself disagreeable because he is."

"But I think girls ought to show when they disapprove of young men; and how can they do it except by their manners? Preaching does not do any good, as I know to my sorrow, since I've had Teddy to manage; but there are many little ways in which I can influence him without a word, and I say we ought to do it to others if we can."

"Teddy is a remarkable boy, and can't be taken as a sample of other boys," said Amy, in a tone of solemn conviction, which would 361 have convulsed the "remarkable boy," if he had heard it. "If we were belles, or women of wealth and position, we might do something, perhaps; but for us to frown at one set of young gentlemen because we don't approve of them, and smile upon another set because we do, wouldn't have a particle of effect, and we should only be considered odd and puritanical."

"So we are to countenance things and people which we detest, merely because we are not belles and millionaires, are we? That's a nice sort of morality."

"I can't argue about it, I only know that it's the way of the world; and people who set themselves against it only get laughed at for their pains. I don't like reformers, and I hope you will never try to be one."

"I do like them, and I shall be one if I can; for in spite of the laughing, the world would never get on without them. We can't agree about that, for you belong to the old set, and I to the new: you will get on the best, but I shall have the liveliest time of it. I should rather enjoy the brickbats and hooting, I think."

"Well, compose yourself now, and don't worry aunt with your new ideas."

"I'll try not to, but I'm always possessed to burst out with some particularly blunt speech or revolutionary sentiment before her; it's my doom, and I can't help it."

They found Aunt Carrol with the old lady, both absorbed in some very interesting subject; but they dropped it as the girls came in, with a conscious look which betrayed that they had been talking about their nieces. Jo was not in a good humor, and the perverse fit returned; but Amy, who had virtuously done her duty, kept her temper, and pleased everybody, was in a most angelic frame of mind. This amiable spirit was felt at once, and both the aunts "my deared" her affectionately, looking what they afterwards said emphatically,—"That child improves every day."

"Are you going to help about the fair, dear?" asked Mrs. Carrol, as Amy sat down beside her with the confiding air elderly people like so well in the young.

"Yes, aunt. Mrs. Chester asked me if I would, and I offered to tend a table, as I have nothing but my time to give."

362 "I'm not," put in Jo decidedly. "I hate to be patronized, and the Chesters think it's a great favor to allow us to help with their highly connected fair. I wonder you consented, Amy: they only want you to work."

"I am willing to work: it's for the freedmen as well as the Chesters, and I think it very kind of them to let me share the labor and the fun. Patronage does not trouble me when it is well meant."

"Quite right and proper. I like your grateful spirit, my dear; it's a pleasure to help people who appreciate our efforts: some do not, and that is trying," observed Aunt March, looking over her spectacles at Jo, who sat apart, rocking herself, with a somewhat morose expression.

If Jo had only known what a great happiness was wavering in the balance for one of them, she would have turned dovelike in a minute; but, unfortunately, we don't have windows in our breasts, and cannot see what goes on in the minds of our friends; better for us that we cannot as a general thing, but now and then it would be such a comfort, such a saving of time and temper. By her next speech, Jo deprived herself of several years of pleasure, and received a timely lesson in the art of holding her tongue.

363 "I don't like favors; they oppress and make me feel like a slave. I'd rather do everything for myself, and be perfectly independent."

"Ahem!" coughed Aunt Carrol softly, with a look at Aunt March.

"I told you so," said Aunt March, with a decided nod to Aunt Carrol.

Mercifully unconscious of what she had done, Jo sat with her nose in the air, and a revolutionary aspect which was anything but inviting.

"Do you speak French, dear?" asked Mrs. Carrol, laying her hand on Amy's.

"Pretty well, thanks to Aunt March, who lets Esther talk to me as often as I like," replied Amy, with a grateful look, which caused the old lady to smile affably.

"How are you about languages?" asked Mrs. Carrol of Jo.

"Don't know a word; I'm very stupid about studying anything; can't bear French, it's such a slippery, silly sort of language," was the brusque reply.

Another look passed between the ladies, and Aunt March said to Amy, "You are quite strong and well, now, dear, I believe? Eyes don't trouble you any more, do they?"

"Not at all, thank you, ma'am. I'm very well, and mean to do great things next winter, so that I may be ready for Rome, whenever that joyful time arrives."

"Good girl! You deserve to go, and I'm sure you will some day," said Aunt March, with an approving pat on the head, as Amy picked up her ball for her.

"Cross-patch, draw the latch,

Sit by the fire and spin,"

squalled Polly, bending down from his perch on the back of her chair to peep into Jo's face, with such a comical air of impertinent inquiry that it was impossible to help laughing.

"Most observing bird," said the old lady.

"Come and take a walk, my dear?" cried Polly, hopping toward the china-closet, with a look suggestive of lump-sugar.

"Thank you, I will. Come, Amy;" and Jo brought the visit to an end, feeling more strongly than ever that calls did have a bad effect 364 upon her constitution. She shook hands in a gentlemanly manner, but Amy kissed both the aunts, and the girls departed, leaving behind them the impression of shadow and sunshine; which impression caused Aunt March to say, as they vanished,—

"You'd better do it, Mary; I'll supply the money," and Aunt Carrol to reply decidedly, "I certainly will, if her father and mother consent."

XXX. Consequences.

365

XXX.

CONSEQUENCES.

Mrs. Chester's fair was so very elegant and select that it was considered a great honor by the young ladies of the neighborhood to be invited to take a table, and every one was much interested in the matter. Amy was asked, but Jo was not, which was fortunate for all parties, as her elbows were decidedly akimbo at this period of her life, and it took a good many hard knocks to teach her how to get on easily. The "haughty, uninteresting creature" was let severely alone; but Amy's talent and taste were duly complimented by the offer of the art-table, and she exerted herself to prepare and secure appropriate and valuable contributions to it.

Everything went on smoothly till the day before the fair opened; then there occurred one of the little skirmishes which it is almost impossible 366 to avoid, when some five and twenty women, old and young, with all their private piques and prejudices, try to work together.

May Chester was rather jealous of Amy because the latter was a greater favorite than herself, and, just at this time, several trifling circumstances occurred to increase the feeling. Amy's dainty pen-and-ink work entirely eclipsed May's painted vases,—that was one thorn; then the all-conquering Tudor had danced four times with Amy, at a late party, and only once with May,—that was thorn number two; but the chief grievance that rankled in her soul, and gave her an excuse for her unfriendly conduct, was a rumor which some obliging gossip had whispered to her, that the March girls had made fun of her at the Lambs'. All the blame of this should have fallen upon Jo, for her naughty imitation had been too lifelike to escape detection, and the frolicsome Lambs had permitted the joke to escape. No hint of this had reached the culprits, however, and Amy's dismay can be imagined, when, the very evening before the fair, as she was putting the last touches to her pretty table, Mrs. Chester, who, of course, resented the supposed ridicule of her daughter, said, in a bland tone, but with a cold look,—

"I find, dear, that there is some feeling among the young ladies about my giving this table to any one but my girls. As this is the most prominent, and some say the most attractive table of all, and they are the chief getters-up of the fair, it is thought best for them to take this place. I'm sorry, but I know you are too sincerely interested in the cause to mind a little personal disappointment, and you shall have another table if you like."

Mrs. Chester had fancied beforehand that it would be easy to deliver this little speech; but when the time came, she found it rather difficult to utter it naturally, with Amy's unsuspicious eyes looking straight at her, full of surprise and trouble.

Amy felt that there was something behind this, but could not guess what, and said quietly, feeling hurt, and showing that she did,—

"Perhaps you had rather I took no table at all?"

"Now, my dear, don't have any ill feeling, I beg; it's merely a matter of expediency, you see; my girls will naturally take the lead, and this table is considered their proper place. I think it very appropriate 367 to you, and feel very grateful for your efforts to make it so pretty; but we must give up our private wishes, of course, and I will see that you have a good place elsewhere. Wouldn't you like the flower-table? The little girls undertook it, but they are discouraged. You could make a charming thing of it, and the flower-table is always attractive, you know."

"Especially to gentlemen," added May, with a look which enlightened Amy as to one cause of her sudden fall from favor. She colored angrily, but took no other notice of that girlish sarcasm, and answered, with unexpected amiability,—

"It shall be as you please, Mrs. Chester. I'll give up my place here at once, and attend to the flowers, if you like."

"You can put your own things on your own table, if you prefer," began May, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as she looked at the pretty racks, the painted shells, and quaint illuminations Amy had so carefully made and so gracefully arranged. She meant it kindly, but Amy mistook her meaning, and said quickly,—

"Oh, certainly, if they are in your way;" and sweeping her contributions into her apron, pell-mell, she walked off, feeling that herself and her works of art had been insulted past forgiveness.

"Now she's mad. Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't asked you to speak, mamma," said May, looking disconsolately at the empty spaces on her table.

"Girls' quarrels are soon over," returned her mother, feeling a trifle ashamed of her own part in this one, as well she might.

The little girls hailed Amy and her treasures with delight, which cordial reception somewhat soothed her perturbed spirit, and she fell to work, determined to succeed florally, if she could not artistically. But everything seemed against her: it was late, and she was tired; every one was too busy with their own affairs to help her; and the little girls were only hindrances, for the dears fussed and chattered like so many magpies, making a great deal of confusion in their artless efforts to preserve the most perfect order. The evergreen arch wouldn't stay firm after she got it up, but wiggled and threatened to tumble down on her head when the hanging baskets were filled; her best tile got a splash of water, which left a sepia tear on the Cupid's 368 cheek; she bruised her hands with hammering, and got cold working in a draught, which last affliction filled her with apprehensions for the morrow. Any girl-reader who has suffered like afflictions will sympathize with poor Amy, and wish her well through with her task.

There was great indignation at home when she told her story that evening. Her mother said it was a shame, but told her she had done right; Beth declared she wouldn't go to the fair at all; and Jo demanded why she didn't take all her pretty things and leave those mean people to get on without her.

"Because they are mean is no reason why I should be. I hate such things, and though I think I've a right to be hurt, I don't intend to show it. They will feel that more than angry speeches or huffy actions, won't they, Marmee?"

"That's the right spirit, my dear; a kiss for a blow is always best, though it's not very easy to give it sometimes," said her mother, with the air of one who had learned the difference between preaching and practising.

In spite of various very natural temptations to resent and retaliate, Amy adhered to her resolution all the next day, bent on conquering her enemy by kindness. She began well, thanks to a silent reminder that came to her unexpectedly, but most opportunely. As she arranged her table that morning, while the little girls were in an ante-room filling the baskets, she took up her pet production,—a little book, the antique cover of which her father had found among his treasures, and in which, on leaves of vellum, she had beautifully illuminated different texts. As she turned the pages, rich in dainty devices, with very pardonable pride, her eye fell upon one verse that made her stop and think. Framed in a brilliant scroll-work of scarlet, blue, and gold, with little spirits of good-will helping one another up and down among the thorns and flowers, were the words, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."

"I ought, but I don't," thought Amy, as her eye went from the bright page to May's discontented face behind the big vases, that could not hide the vacancies her pretty work had once filled. Amy stood a minute, turning the leaves in her hand, reading on each some sweet rebuke for all heart-burnings and uncharitableness of spirit. 369 Many wise and true sermons are preached us every day by unconscious ministers in street, school, office, or home; even a fair-table may become a pulpit, if it can offer the good and helpful words which are never out of season. Amy's conscience preached her a little sermon from that text, then and there; and she did what many of us do not always do,—took the sermon to heart, and straightway put it in practice.

A group of girls were standing about May's table, admiring the pretty things, and talking over the change of saleswomen. They dropped their voices, but Amy knew they were speaking of her, hearing one side of the story, and judging accordingly. It was not pleasant, but a better spirit had come over her, and presently a chance offered for proving it. She heard May say sorrowfully,—

"It's too bad, for there is no time to make other things, and I don't want to fill up with odds and ends. The table was just complete then: now it's spoilt."

"I dare say she'd put them back if you asked her," suggested some one.

"How could I after all the fuss?" began May, but she did not finish, for Amy's voice came across the hall, saying pleasantly,—

"You may have them, and welcome, without asking, if you want them. I was just thinking I'd offer to put them back, for they belong to your table rather than mine. Here they are; please take them, and forgive me if I was hasty in carrying them away last night."

As she spoke, Amy returned her contribution, with a nod and a smile, and hurried away again, feeling that it was easier to do a friendly thing than it was to stay and be thanked for it.

"Now, I call that lovely of her, don't you?" cried one girl.

May's answer was inaudible; but another young lady, whose temper was evidently a little soured by making lemonade, added, with a disagreeable laugh, "Very lovely; for she knew she wouldn't sell them at her own table."

Now, that was hard; when we make little sacrifices we like to have them appreciated, at least; and for a minute Amy was sorry she had done it, feeling that virtue was not always its own reward. But it is,—as she presently discovered; for her spirits began to rise, and 370 her table to blossom under her skilful hands; the girls were very kind, and that one little act seemed to have cleared the atmosphere amazingly.

It was a very long day, and a hard one to Amy, as she sat behind her table, often quite alone, for the little girls deserted very soon: few cared to buy flowers in summer, and her bouquets began to droop long before night.

The art-table was the most attractive in the room; there was a crowd about it all day long, and the tenders were constantly flying to and fro with important faces and rattling money-boxes. Amy often looked wistfully across, longing to be there, where she felt at home and happy, instead of in a corner with nothing to do. It might seem no hardship to some of us; but to a pretty, blithe young girl, it was not only tedious, but very trying; and the thought of being found there in the evening by her family, and Laurie and his friends, made it a real martyrdom.

She did not go home till night, and then she looked so pale and quiet that they knew the day had been a hard one, though she made no complaint, and did not even tell what she had done. Her mother gave her an extra cordial cup of tea, Beth helped her dress, and made a charming little wreath for her hair, while Jo astonished her family by getting herself up with unusual care, and hinting darkly that the tables were about to be turned.

"Don't do anything rude, pray, Jo. I won't have any fuss made, so let it all pass, and behave yourself," begged Amy, as she departed early, hoping to find a reinforcement of flowers to refresh her poor little table.

"I merely intend to make myself entrancingly agreeable to every one I know, and to keep them in your corner as long as possible. Teddy and his boys will lend a hand, and we'll have a good time yet," returned Jo, leaning over the gate to watch for Laurie. Presently the familiar tramp was heard in the dusk, and she ran out to meet him.

"Is that my boy?"

"As sure as this is my girl!" and Laurie tucked her hand under his arm, with the air of a man whose every wish was gratified.

371 "O Teddy, such doings!" and Jo told Amy's wrongs with sisterly zeal.

"A flock of our fellows are going to drive over by and by, and I'll be hanged if I don't make them buy every flower she's got, and camp down before her table afterward," said Laurie, espousing her cause with warmth.

"The flowers are not at all nice, Amy says, and the fresh ones may not arrive in time. I don't wish to be unjust or suspicious, but I shouldn't wonder if they never came at all. When people do one mean thing they are very likely to do another," observed Jo, in a disgusted tone.

"Didn't Hayes give you the best out of our gardens? I told him to."

"I didn't know that; he forgot, I suppose; and, as your grandpa was poorly, I didn't like to worry him by asking, though I did want some."

"Now, Jo, how could you think there was any need of asking! They are just as much yours as mine. Don't we always go halves in everything?" began Laurie, in the tone that always made Jo turn thorny.

"Gracious, I hope not! half of some of your things wouldn't suit me at all. But we mustn't stand philandering here; I've got to help Amy, so you go and make yourself splendid; and if you'll be so very kind as to let Hayes take a few nice flowers up to the Hall, I'll bless you forever."

"Couldn't you do it now?" asked Laurie, so suggestively that Jo shut the gate in his face with inhospitable haste, and called through the bars, "Go away, Teddy; I'm busy."

Thanks to the conspirators, the tables were turned that night; for Hayes sent up a wilderness of flowers, with a lovely basket, arranged in his best manner, for a centre-piece; then the March family turned out en masse, and Jo exerted herself to some purpose, for people not only came, but stayed, laughing at her nonsense, admiring Amy's taste, and apparently enjoying themselves very much. Laurie and his friends gallantly threw themselves into the breach, bought up the bouquets, encamped before the table, and made that corner the liveliest 372 spot in the room. Amy was in her element now, and, out of gratitude, if nothing more, was as sprightly and gracious as possible,—coming to the conclusion, about that time, that virtue was its own reward, after all.

Jo behaved herself with exemplary propriety; and when Amy was happily surrounded by her guard of honor, Jo circulated about the hall, picking up various bits of gossip, which enlightened her upon the subject of the Chester change of base. She reproached herself for her share of the ill-feeling, and resolved to exonerate Amy as soon as possible; she also discovered what Amy had done about the things in the morning, and considered her a model of magnanimity. As she passed the art-table, she glanced over it for her sister's things, but saw no signs of them. "Tucked away out of sight, I dare say," thought Jo, who could forgive her own wrongs, but hotly resented any insult offered to her family.

"Good evening, Miss Jo. How does Amy get on?" asked May, with a conciliatory air, for she wanted to show that she also could be generous.

373 "She has sold everything she had that was worth selling, and now she is enjoying herself. The flower-table is always attractive, you know, 'especially to gentlemen.'"

Jo couldn't resist giving that little slap, but May took it so meekly she regretted it a minute after, and fell to praising the great vases, which still remained unsold.

"Is Amy's illumination anywhere about? I took a fancy to buy that for father," said Jo, very anxious to learn the fate of her sister's work.

"Everything of Amy's sold long ago; I took care that the right people saw them, and they made a nice little sum of money for us," returned May, who had overcome sundry small temptations, as well as Amy, that day.

Much gratified, Jo rushed back to tell the good news; and Amy looked both touched and surprised by the report of May's words and manner.

"Now, gentlemen, I want you to go and do your duty by the other tables as generously as you have by mine—especially the art-table," she said, ordering out "Teddy's Own," as the girls called the college friends.

"'Charge, Chester, charge!' is the motto for that table; but do your duty like men, and you'll get your money's worth of art in every sense of the word," said the irrepressible Jo, as the devoted phalanx prepared to take the field.

"To hear is to obey, but March is fairer far than May," said little Parker, making a frantic effort to be both witty and tender, and getting promptly quenched by Laurie, who said, "Very well, my son, for a small boy!" and walked him off, with a paternal pat on the head.

"Buy the vases," whispered Amy to Laurie, as a final heaping of coals of fire on her enemy's head.

To May's great delight, Mr. Laurence not only bought the vases, but pervaded the hall with one under each arm. The other gentlemen speculated with equal rashness in all sorts of frail trifles, and wandered helplessly about afterward, burdened with wax flowers, painted fans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and appropriate purchases.

374 Aunt Carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, and said something to Mrs. March in a corner, which made the latter lady beam with satisfaction, and watch Amy with a face full of mingled pride and anxiety, though she did not betray the cause of her pleasure till several days later.

The fair was pronounced a success; and when May bade Amy good night, she did not "gush" as usual, but gave her an affectionate kiss, and a look which said, "Forgive and forget." That satisfied Amy; and when she got home she found the vases paraded on the parlor chimney-piece, with a great bouquet in each. "The reward of merit for a magnanimous March," as Laurie announced with a flourish.

"You've a deal more principle and generosity and nobleness of character than I ever gave you credit for, Amy. You've behaved sweetly, and I respect you with all my heart," said Jo warmly, as they brushed their hair together late that night.

"Yes, we all do, and love her for being so ready to forgive. It must have been dreadfully hard, after working so long, and setting your heart on selling your own pretty things. I don't believe I could have done it as kindly as you did," added Beth from her pillow.

"Why, girls, you needn't praise me so; I only did as I'd be done by. You laugh at me when I say I want to be a lady, but I mean a true gentlewoman in mind and manners, and I try to do it as far as I know how. I can't explain exactly, but I want to be above the little meannesses and follies and faults that spoil so many women. I'm far from it now, but I do my best, and hope in time to be what mother is."

Amy spoke earnestly, and Jo said, with a cordial hug,—

"I understand now what you mean, and I'll never laugh at you again. You are getting on faster than you think, and I'll take lessons of you in true politeness, for you've learned the secret, I believe. Try away, deary; you'll get your reward some day, and no one will be more delighted than I shall."

A week later Amy did get her reward, and poor Jo found it hard to be delighted. A letter came from Aunt Carrol, and Mrs. March's face was illuminated to such a degree, when she read it, that Jo and Beth, who were with her, demanded what the glad tidings were.

375 "Aunt Carrol is going abroad next month, and wants—"

"Me to go with her!" burst in Jo, flying out of her chair in an uncontrollable rapture.

"No, dear, not you; it's Amy."

"O mother! she's too young; it's my turn first. I've wanted it so long—it would do me so much good, and be so altogether splendid—I must go."

"I'm afraid it's impossible, Jo. Aunt says Amy, decidedly, and it is not for us to dictate when she offers such a favor."

"It's always so. Amy has all the fun and I have all the work. It isn't fair, oh, it isn't fair!" cried Jo passionately.

"I'm afraid it is partly your own fault, dear. When Aunt spoke to me the other day, she regretted your blunt manners and too independent spirit; and here she writes, as if quoting something you had said,—'I planned at first to ask Jo; but as "favors burden her," and she "hates French," I think I won't venture to invite her. Amy is more docile, will make a good companion for Flo, and receive gratefully any help the trip may give her.'"

"Oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue! why can't I learn to keep it quiet?" groaned Jo, remembering words which had been her undoing. When she had heard the explanation of the quoted phrases, Mrs. March said sorrowfully,—

"I wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it this time; so try to bear it cheerfully, and don't sadden Amy's pleasure by reproaches or regrets."

"I'll try," said Jo, winking hard, as she knelt down to pick up the basket she had joyfully upset. "I'll take a leaf out of her book, and try not only to seem glad, but to be so, and not grudge her one minute of happiness; but it won't be easy, for it is a dreadful disappointment;" and poor Jo bedewed the little fat pincushion she held with several very bitter tears.

"Jo, dear, I'm very selfish, but I couldn't spare you, and I'm glad you are not going quite yet," whispered Beth, embracing her, basket and all, with such a clinging touch and loving face, that Jo felt comforted in spite of the sharp regret that made her want to box her own ears, and humbly beg Aunt Carrol to burden her with this favor, and see how gratefully she would bear it.

376 By the time Amy came in, Jo was able to take her part in the family jubilation; not quite as heartily as usual, perhaps, but without repinings at Amy's good fortune. The young lady herself received the news as tidings of great joy, went about in a solemn sort of rapture, and began to sort her colors and pack her pencils that evening, leaving such trifles as clothes, money, and passports to those less absorbed in visions of art than herself.

"It isn't a mere pleasure trip to me, girls," she said impressively, as she scraped her best palette. "It will decide my career; for if I have any genius, I shall find it out in Rome, and will do something to prove it."

"Suppose you haven't?" said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes, at the new collars which were to be handed over to Amy.

"Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living," replied the aspirant for fame, with philosophic composure; but she made a wry face at the prospect, and scratched away at her palette as if bent on vigorous measures before she gave up her hopes.

"No, you won't; you hate hard work, and you'll marry some rich man, and come home to sit in the lap of luxury all your days," said Jo.

"Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but I don't believe that one will. I'm sure I wish it would, for if I can't be an artist myself, I should like to be able to help those who are," said Amy, smiling, as if the part of Lady Bountiful would suit her better than that of a poor drawing-teacher.

"Hum!" said Jo, with a sigh; "if you wish it you'll have it, for your wishes are always granted—mine never."

"Would you like to go?" asked Amy, thoughtfully patting her nose with her knife.

"Rather!"

"Well, in a year or two I'll send for you, and we'll dig in the Forum for relics, and carry out all the plans we've made so many times."

"Thank you; I'll remind you of your promise when that joyful day comes, if it ever does," returned Jo, accepting the vague but magnificent offer as gratefully as she could.

377 There was not much time for preparation, and the house was in a ferment till Amy was off. Jo bore up very well till the last flutter of blue ribbon vanished, when she retired to her refuge, the garret, and cried till she couldn't cry any more. Amy likewise bore up stoutly till the steamer sailed; then, just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it suddenly came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between her and those who loved her best, and she clung to Laurie, the last lingerer, saying with a sob,—

"Oh, take care of them for me; and if anything should happen—"

"I will, dear, I will; and if anything happens, I'll come and comfort you," whispered Laurie, little dreaming that he would be called upon to keep his word.

So Amy sailed away to find the old world, which is always new and beautiful to young eyes, while her father and friend watched her from the shore, fervently hoping that none but gentle fortunes would befall the happy-hearted girl, who waved her hand to them till they could see nothing but the summer sunshine dazzling on the sea.

[pamzn]

WARNING!!! This is NOT a spoilers free review so you have two options here:

Read the chapter first cause it's so DAMN GOOD!!!!

Click here and you can check the other review i made

i advice option 1, you won't regret it, belive me on this one💕

Here it comes 😮‍💨 SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS below the cut!!! I'm not kidding.

You whine, shuffling your feet unhappily. “But Tae,” you say - okay, you whine. “If my roommate is a guy, then I have to wear a bra in the apartment, like, all the time.”

BEST LINE EVER, MY BRA IS ITCHING RITH NOW, YES TAE FREE THE BOOBIES!

You won’t talk about how when he’d said, “You know, you could stay with me,” in that deep, comforting voice of his, your heart had run wild. 

The trouble begins

Lin has raised you ever since you lost your grandmother, who had taken care of you before that. Your grandmother and Lin are the only parental figures you can really remember, but Lin’s technically only ten years your senior and has always felt more like a big sister than a mother. You can’t fault her for it; she was still quite young when she took over raising you. She certainly didn’t have to take you in, but she had, and she’d done her best.

no no no Jo no no no no, are you serious??? can you make it more sad???? :((( this is the part where i freaked out?? LOL. Give your OC a break PLEASE, let´´s cuddle someone!!!!!!

[11:58 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: 🙄 this is why i asked YOU what time

You press the top of your phone into your forehead, closing your eyes. Letting yourself pretend, for just a second, that he could mean it the way you do.

STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!! I know what you are doing 🥺🥺🥺

Taehyung shows up in the morning - at ten, not nine-thirty, but he has an iced coffee for you in his car, so you let him live. 

The sun shines brightly down on you as you and Taehyung sing and groove your way through the drive, and you feel… so content, so sure that this is right, that you’re meant to be next to him, like this, forever. Like everything in the universe just clicked together to give you the perfect snapshot of how things are meant to be. 

Sometimes, moments like now, you just can’t fathom how he doesn’t feel it too. 

calling it 👀that bitch knows

You really do love this apartment. Through the open space - past the kitchen and through the living room - sunlight streams in through the large front windows that overlook the city block below. You can already see in your mind where you’ll put plants on low tables, or hanging from the ceiling.

yes, what a nice view ***the future***

“Taehyung,” you call tantalizingly. “Come feel it.”

🤤🤤🤤🤤 it's hurting

“Don’t pout,” he says, and there’s something apologetic in his tone. “I just have to do some stuff today. And I really need to shower, this got me all sweaty.”

what ssssstuff bestie? 😒😒😒

You notice a few things right away. He’s tall - taller than Taehyung, and you don’t see that often. His eyes are absolutely striking - there’s sharpness to them, something that makes you want to see the world how he does, something that makes you want to keep looking, something that makes you curious about how he’d see you. 

When he smiles, each cheek dimples, the perfect size for the pad of your index finger.

MELTINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!! PLEASE LET HER PUT HER FINGER ON THAT DIMPLE AT LEAST ONCE

“I have some stuff we can put here, if you want?” he asks, his tone a little uncertain. “Specifically, I have a couch and coffee table, plus a TV and a console to put it on. It should all fit.”

You can just bring your ass over here and we'll be good

“Definitely,” you tell him, tearing your eyes away from Taehyung’s back. There’s something knowing in Namjoon’s face as he watches you, and you flush, feeling weirdly caught.

owwww :((( he knows too

“I don’t have a ton,” you admit, pointing to the two boxes - not very big ones - that you’ve left on the kitchen counter. “If you’ve got more, that’s probably good. I don’t cook that often, to be honest. I’m not very good at it.”

Namjoon smiles at you, leaning over a little like he’s letting you in on a secret. “I can barely boil water,” he admits. “So you’re all good.”

Hi Team We Don't Cook Shit! Nice to meet you

“Should we…” he pauses, adjusts his glasses. “Should we exchange numbers?”

“Only boring people get bored,” Taehyung says sagely, holding up one finger like a wizened philosopher. Then he comes to hug you goodbye, pulling you into a sweet embrace. You want to live there, in the spot between his arms. 

OMG YES MOM!! I don't hate him, I just know he is going to hurt me

The rest of the apartment is lit only by the yellow glow coming from your bedroom, plus the thin, white light that filters in from the streetlight below the living room windows. You hurry into the kitchen and turn on the light over the sink, which vanishes some of the bad feeling for you. You pour your glass of water and lean heavily on the counter, looking out at your empty living room, and the dark doorway of Namjoon’s untouched room. You wish Taehyung had come back over, or that some of your university friends had moved back into the area sooner.

i swear to God that ghosts exist at night and they are waiting for you to go get some water

There’s a guy on the floor surrounded by furniture pieces, a screwdriver, and a packet of instructions in his hands. You can hear a lot of shouting, bumping, and cursing floating in from the stairwell down the hall. 

MY WEAKNESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! F*CK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“JayKay!” you call happily. “Welcome to my house!”

OMG i was SO SO SO happy reading the "JayKay" my heart was bursting

“Notice who’s not here helping,” Jungkook grumbles.

WHERE IS HE!?

“In his defense,” you say, and Jungkook snorts, as if it’s so typical that you’d defend Taehyung, which… it might be, “he did a lot for me yesterday. We had his car packed with my stuff.”

Everyone knows, sweetie

You peek into his bedroom - he’s left the door all the way open, which feels nice, like he trusts you, and you make a mental note that you should probably do the same.

or you could share a room, that's nice too

The bedframe is put together, the boxspring and mattress leaning against the far wall. He’s also got a tall chest of drawers, a wicker hamper, and in the corner, a desk. Namjoon’s furniture is a lot more modern looking than yours, sleek and matching. You bet he didn’t get half of his from the thrift store. 

For real, you're describing every detail, it's insane, so good at making a mental picture, i love that

“I hear what you’re saying, and I respect your opinion,” a flat voice responds that you think might belong to Yoongi. “It’s just that you’re wrong.”

SHUT UP LMFAO!!!!!!!!!!!! MIN YOONGI!!!!💀💀💀

“No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I’m just… a jumpy person. You’ll get used to it.”

JUMP HIS BONES!!!💀💀💀

“Do you want to order with us?” you ask Namjoon mildly as you scroll through the local delivery app. “I was thinking pizza.”

Roomie wants you all to himself

“--on vacation with his parents,” Namjoon finishes agreeably, “so he’s off the hook. Where was Jimin?”

“Where do you think Jimin was?” Taehyung scoffs, reaching down and touching the rug absently.

“Sleeping,” you and Namjoon say at the same time, both of your voices wry. You smile at him, and he looks away. 

baby can sleep all he wants, he is tired

You stay like that until nearly midnight, talking occasionally but mostly just happily coexisting in your own little bubbles. At some point, Namjoon finishes the bookshelf and wanders into his bedroom, pausing to look at you two on the couch before disappearing. He pushes his door almost shut, leaving it open a few inches. You hear the subtle sounds of music playing from behind the door, but not loud enough to discern what it is. 

owww that door is like a moody lamp

“Thanks for helping me,” you murmur into his chest. Sometimes the only time you can get Taehyung to be serious for a conversation is when you’re like this; in each other’s arms, your walls come down - in his case, deflecting with humor and sarcasm, brushing off everything like it’s a big joke. In yours, saying what you really mean, and not a more delicate version of it.

IT HURTSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!💔💔💔

Once he leaves, you deadbolt the front door and head to the kitchen to wash the plates and cups you’d used for pizza. Behind you, you hear the squeak of door hinges, and Namjoon pads into the kitchen behind you. He pauses, scanning the cupboards.

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺💕

“So…” Namjoon says between sips of juice. “You two are pretty close, huh?”

F*CK! THE F*CKING PAIN!!!!!!!!

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging easily. “He’s my best friend.”

Namjoon hums, nods, purses his lips thoughtfully. If you knew him better, you’d push - ask him what that face means, or why he’d asked in the first place. 

GILR!!!! YOU KNOW WHY!!!

Taehyung definitely sleeps around, but he’s surprisingly tight-lipped with you about it. You’re not sure if he’s sparing you, or he’s actually just a gentleman. Could go either way. But when Taehyung considers dating someone - rare, to say the least - he always has you vet them first. You never like any of them, surprise surprise. 

This gif is for @kookstempo

Your friendship is precious to you, sacred. It sometimes feels like the only thing you have, in a life where you generally don’t have much. Your family is Lin - that’s it, end of the road. Your girlfriends are nice, but Penny was the closest you had and she’s across the country now. You only have Taehyung. And what you have with him, as special as it is, it’s also precarious. 

If you lose him, it isn’t just that you’ll lose him - and trust, that would be devastating - it’s also that you would be deeply alone. 

Namjoon murmurs goodnight, but you feel his calculating gaze on your back until you close your door softly behind you.

let him in :(( open the door (and the door to your heart too, bestie)

You know what? it's even sadder the second read🤡🤡🤡 yeah i was right for yelling at you...WTF!? I feel empty and excited for the next one

I. My Wild-Running Heart || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

When your roommate bails last-second and leaves you completely in a bind for the new school year, your best friend Taehyung mentions that his friend Namjoon needs a place off-campus, too.

Section Warnings: language

WC: 7k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Friday August 28 

“Please, no,” you beg. “Please tell me this is a joke. I can’t live with a man. Do you know what men are like?”

Taehyung, quite a specimen of man last time you checked, cocks an eyebrow at you. “Y/N,” he says flatly. “You’re doing it again.”

It meaning being dramatic, and you resent that implication.

You whine, shuffling your feet unhappily. “But Tae,” you say - okay, you whine. “If my roommate is a guy, then I have to wear a bra in the apartment, like, all the time.”

“Oh my god,” he says, throwing his hands in the air, completely over you. “Do you want my help or not? What are your other options right now?”

How nice of him to ask. 

You’d been so excited to lease an apartment off-campus for your final year of university, even more excited to share it with a girl in your writing program named Penny. You hadn’t thought twice about putting the lease in only your own name, but when Penny texted you - the audacity of her to not even call - to say she wasn’t going to return in the fall after all, you were stuck with the responsibility.

So, since Taehyung asked, your options are this: pay the entire rent by yourself (impossible), or find a roommate, fast. 

“Namjoon’s a really good friend of mine,” Taehyung tries again. “I am personally vouching for him that he’s not a weirdo or a creep. His building flooded and he’s in a bind - just like you. He’s nice, he’s smart, and he’s normal.”

“What about clean?” you prod. 

Taehyung shrugs. “Cleaner than me.”

You sigh. You know Taehyung is right - you need someone quickly, and at this rate you’re bound to only find creeps. At least this guy - even though he’s a guy, which is your main issue - has been vetted.

“You’re not very clean,” you tell your best friend.

He grins at you, guilty as charged. 

“Could we talk first?” you suggest, nerves churning. “Like, can I meet him?”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at you. “Did you think I was going to drop the key off at his place and say ‘okay, have fun!’?”

“Maybe!” you cry, feeling a little hysterical. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes at you. “Want me to see if he can swing by the place tomorrow?”

The plan for the next day was originally for you two to load up your car through the morning, grab lunch somewhere, and then start moving your stuff into the apartment after you ate. 

“Yeah,” you answered. “That actually sounds like a good plan. Then he can see the apartment, too. And you’ll be there with me.”

“Actually a good plan,” Taehyung parrots with a scoff. “Please.”

After your lunch date, Taehyung drops you back home so you can finish packing. You’d packed a lot already - all of your big pieces of furniture were there already, your bedroom now just a mess of random piles of clothing and your bare mattress on the ground. A lot of what you still had were things you knew you’d need to use again during the days you were starting to pack - toiletries, electronics, that kind of thing. With a sigh, you turn on some music and start pulling hangers out of your closet. 

You think about your situation as you work. You’re disappointed about Penny - you’ve lost a roommate and a good friend, somehow. You’re nervous about meeting Taehyung’s friend Namjoon. You’re somehow both excited for and dreading the academic year starting - your final year, complete with a senior thesis course you’ll have to pass in June. And you’re excited for the apartment - your first one that isn’t an on-campus dorm. 

No campus security knocking on the doors, no RA going through your fridge for forbidden liquor bottles, no shared hallway bathrooms. With your own bedroom in the apartment, you’re guaranteed a space that is just yours, a sanctuary where you can have the quiet you crave and aesthetic you want, your own four walls that are completely your own. 

Taehyung’s apartment, which he shares with two friends, isn’t far from your new one - walking distance, actually. He’d offered you his couch there when Penny first bailed. But even if you took his offer, you’d be charged for breaking your lease, and you’d still have to find something more permanent - which would mean another security deposit, not to mention rent. As long as you kept the optimism that you’d successfully secure and keep a roommate, staying was the cheaper option.

You won’t talk about how you wish Taehyung would offer more than his couch.

You won’t talk about how when he’d said, “You know, you could stay with me,” in that deep, comforting voice of his, your heart had run wild. 

Then he’d continued, “That couch isn’t too bad to sleep on, I’ve done it before. And the guys wouldn’t mind. Then you’d have time to find something new, maybe something you can afford alone?”

And your wild-running heart had stuttered, stumbled, caught its footing, stood still. 

You can’t even get mad at him. He’s trying to help. It’s not his fault - at all - that he doesn’t know that your imagination leapt off a cliff at his words, was already picturing snuggling in his bed, those strong arms tight around your middle, was already picturing waking up to his sleepy smile. 

You don’t pretend for even a second that it’s anyone’s fault but your own. 

--

Around ten pm your Aunt Lin comes and knocks on your open door, looking down at the scene before her: you, sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, surrounded by half-closed boxes, miscellaneous items strewn around the floor around you, clothing piled up like mountains around you.

“You don’t look very ready,” she remarks.

“That’s helpful, thank you,” you say. 

Lin has raised you ever since you lost your grandmother, who had taken care of you before that. Your grandmother and Lin are the only parental figures you can really remember, but Lin’s technically only ten years your senior and has always felt more like a big sister than a mother. You can’t fault her for it; she was still quite young when she took over raising you. She certainly didn’t have to take you in, but she had, and she’d done her best. 

Lin chuckles. “Why isn’t Taehyung here helping?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s my friend, not my servant. He’s helping me move all this in tomorrow, that’s plenty.”

Lin shrugs, already disinterested. “Okay,” she says lightly. “Well, I wanted to say good luck with the move, and good luck with school this year. Let me know if you need anything.”

You look up from your packing and take in her appearance. She’s in scrubs, a huge thermos of coffee in her hand. She’s got work tonight, then, and won’t be here in the morning when Taehyung picks you up. You should have figured. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

She shifts, looking down the hall instead of at you, suddenly. Lin’s not great with emotions; it’s where you get it from.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll see you for winter break? If not before?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah. Definitely by then.”

She nods, tells you goodbye, and heads down the hallway. You hear the front door close, and you’re alone with your boxes. That’s about as mushy as it gets with Lin.

[11:44 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: what time tmrw?

[11:45 PM] You: you drive the car, you tell me

[11:51 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: 10?

[11:54 PM] You: you think that’s enough time to pack up the car and drive there before lunch?

[11:58 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: 🙄 this is why i asked YOU what time

[12:01 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: 😤

[12:02 AM] You: 9:30 

[12:03 AM] You: and bring me iced coffee 🤗 plsssss???

[12:06 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

[12:08 AM] You: love u tete

[12:11 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: yeah yeah love you too 

You press the top of your phone into your forehead, closing your eyes. Letting yourself pretend, for just a second, that he could mean it the way you do.

Saturday August 29

Taehyung shows up in the morning - at ten, not nine-thirty, but he has an iced coffee for you in his car, so you let him live. 

It takes you over an hour to load up the car, the boxes and suitcases and garbage bags squished together, shoved impossibly tight, the world’s most desperate game of tetris. Taehyung declares it impossible no less than five times, bemoaning that he’ll have to make the hour drive a second time in order to fit all of your shit. 

In the end, you make it happen. It just takes a little determination. 

The drive to your university is around an hour, depending on traffic. You and Taehyung both don big, goofy aviators and blast music as you sail down the highway, the backseat loaded floor to ceiling. The car is so stuffed, you even have boxes between your feet and on your lap. 

The sun shines brightly down on you as you and Taehyung sing and groove your way through the drive, and you feel… so content, so sure that this is right, that you’re meant to be next to him, like this, forever. Like everything in the universe just clicked together to give you the perfect snapshot of how things are meant to be. 

What if you said it? What if you told him? 

Sometimes, moments like now, you just can’t fathom how he doesn’t feel it too. 

But you know better. You know he doesn’t - doesn’t want to. Something deep inside you tells you to tread carefully with this best friend of yours. Something instinctual tells you that the dysfunctional friendship you’ve crafted together is a Jenga tower and if you so much as nudge the wrong brick, it’s all coming down. 

You eat lunch at a table out in front of a cafe, people watching and basking in the sunlight. It’s the last, trickling days of August, but today’s breezy and cooler. It’ll warm up again before fall comes in full force, you’re sure, but you appreciate the reprieve from the scorching heat, since you’re about to spend several hours hauling boxes up a stairwell.

After lunch, Taehyung drives to your new neighborhood and finds a street-parking spot close to the front entrance of the tall, brick building.

“Okay,” he says. “Now the fun part.”

You giggle. “Have I told you yet that I appreciate you?”

“Elaborate, please,” he says, which is so typical for him. He looks over at you, sunglasses low on his nose.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I appreciate you helping me move in. I appreciate you driving me. I appreciate the afternoon you’re about to spend carrying boxes and shit.”

“You’re forgetting something,” he tells you sagely.

You want to whack him in the belly for being so obnoxious, but you can’t risk him dumping all your stuff on the sidewalk and fucking off to let you deal with the stairs on your own. 

“I appreciate you finding me a roommate so I don’t have to sleep on your couch,” you add.

“There we go.” Satisfied, he unbuckles, and you both get out and examine the backseat for whichever Tetris piece seems like it could be removed easiest. Arms full of boxes, you make your way up the steps to the little lobby that houses a wall of mail slots, and then up a second set of stairs to your second-floor apartment.

You set down the box you were carrying and dig out the key, opening the door to your new home.

You really do love this apartment. Through the open space - past the kitchen and through the living room - sunlight streams in through the large front windows that overlook the city block below. You can already see in your mind where you’ll put plants on low tables, or hanging from the ceiling.

You had done the big stuff days ago, with both Lin and Taehyung’s help; Lin had rented a little moving van and you’d loaded up the big furniture. From Lin’s house, you’d taken your bedframe and boxspring, leaving just the mattress in your old bedroom at Lin’s house. You’d also loaded up your low dresser, a nightstand, and two bookshelves. You’d gotten a few pieces from a local repurposing store - a desk to work at and a little swiveling chair to go with it. Your final splurge was an expensive mattress; the one in the store had felt like damn clouds. It was set to be delivered sometime this afternoon. 

You’re already looking forward to going to sleep later.

You and Taehyung try to just put boxes where they’re meant to go. Two boxes end up in your bathroom, another two in the kitchen. You split the books between your bedroom and the living room, where a lone bookshelf is the only current piece of furniture. You heave bags of clothes and linens into your closet, determined to deal with them later. 

The mattress delivery goes smoothly, the truck arriving as you and Taehyung are about halfway done unloading the car. You leave the building’s front door and your apartment door propped open and both teams do their thing: the delivery guys carrying the mattress up the steps, you and Taehyung behind them with garbage bags full of your clothes or boxes of books. 

“You,” Taehyung pants, “have way too much stuff.”

You grin sheepishly, as in the other room your new mattress is removed from its plastic wrap and placed atop your awaiting boxspring. You’re itching to dig out your linens and make the bed; that’s always what makes a room feel ready to you, even back when you were just setting up a little dorm. Once the bed was made, everything else slowly fell into place. 

Once the delivery truck rolls away, you throw yourself bodily onto the mattress, letting out a series of happy groans as you let the pillowy goodness envelop you. 

“Taehyung,” you call tantalizingly. “Come feel it.”

You hear him drop a box in the living room with an audible oof - it must have been more books - and then he comes into your new bedroom and flops sideways across the bed next to you, the mattress jumping and settling again under his weight.

“Wow,” he says, rolling on his back and then turning to look at you, his legs bending to touch the floor. “This is nice. Let’s trade, I’ll bring mine over.”

“Nope,” you say, smiling. “I bought this one with my hard-earned summer money. It’s just for me.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice wry, “for you and your guests.”

Now you do whack him in the belly. He grunts, hands covering the spot, then lays still again.

“That wasn’t nice,” he comments mildly. “No hitting.”

“What guests?” you pout. “I haven’t had a guest since–”

“Ah, spare me the Great Drought of 2022 story,” he begs. He sits up, reaching into his pocket. As his hand retracts, you realize his phone is buzzing with an incoming call.

“Bro,” he says as a greeting, and then listens. “Yeah, we’re here now. That’s fine. Sounds good. Okay.”

He taps to hang up and looks at you. “Namjoon is almost here. That’s fine, right?”

“I was right here,” you huff. “Yes, it’s fine, but you literally could have asked me.”

Taehyung ignores you. “There’s one more box. I’ll go get it, and then I’ll stay while you meet with Joon, and then I’m gonna go, okay?”

“Oh,” you say, heart sinking a little bit. You’d kind of hoped he’d stick around, just hang out and goof off while you unpacked boxes and organized your stuff. “Sure.”

He reads you like a book; he always does.

“Don’t pout,” he says, and there’s something apologetic in his tone. “I just have to do some stuff today. And I really need to shower, this got me all sweaty.”

Well, you don’t need that mental image. Luckily, you’re saved from yourself by a knock at the front door. This strikes you as so polite, because not only is Namjoon going to literally live here, but also because the door is still propped wide open.

You sit up, fixing your hair from where you laid on it. Taehyung has already made his way through the living room and is giving a one-handed bro-hug to the guy at the door. You make your way over, heart thumping. 

You notice a few things right away. He’s tall - taller than Taehyung, and you don’t see that often. His eyes are absolutely striking - there’s sharpness to them, something that makes you want to see the world how he does, something that makes you want to keep looking, something that makes you curious about how he’d see you. 

When he smiles, each cheek dimples, the perfect size for the pad of your index finger. He’s all in browns except for a pair of light-wash jeans. He’s got a dark brown beanie tugged low on his head, and even his thin, wire-frame glasses seem to be chosen for the vibe above all else.

“Hi,” you say, sounding a little shy even to your own ears. Taehyung moves out of the way and you reach to shake Namjoon’s hand. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. Taehyung promised me you’re normal.”

The guy lets out one big laugh, surprised. “He told me the same,” he says conspiratorially, “but really, that’s such a subjective thing.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, and you step back to let Namjoon in, preparing to show him around. 

“Kitchen and living room are here,” you say unnecessarily, since he can see for himself. “Your bedroom would be on this side.” You push open the door and Namjoon sticks his head in. The room is completely bare, the empty closet door standing open. 

“You get your own bathroom,” Taehyung points out. Namjoon nods appreciatively, still looking silently back and forth across the room that would be his as soon as you pass him a key.

“Is it okay?” you ask, suddenly feeling nervous. If this guy backs out, you’ll be back at square one, and now with less time to solve the problem.

“Oh,” he says, as if remembering he should communicate. “Yeah! It’s great.” He turns and peers at the living room, which is empty but for your lone bookshelf and several boxes of books, unopened.

“I have some stuff we can put here, if you want?” he asks, his tone a little uncertain. “Specifically, I have a couch and coffee table, plus a TV and a console to put it on. It should all fit.”

“That would be great,” you say enthusiastically. “I was already stressing out about saving up enough for a couch.”

He nods easily, looking around the room thoughtfully. Taehyung has wandered over to the large windows and is looking up at the tree that stands right outside, the branches waving lightly in the afternoon breeze. With the sunlight coming in, he looks like a painting. 

“I have a rug, too,” Namjoon muses. “Would you be interested in that?”

“Definitely,” you tell him, tearing your eyes away from Taehyung’s back. There’s something knowing in Namjoon’s face as he watches you, and you flush, feeling weirdly caught.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll bring it. What about kitchen stuff?”

“I don’t have a ton,” you admit, pointing to the two boxes - not very big ones - that you’ve left on the kitchen counter. “If you’ve got more, that’s probably good. I don’t cook that often, to be honest. I’m not very good at it.”

Namjoon smiles at you, leaning over a little like he’s letting you in on a secret. “I can barely boil water,” he admits. “So you’re all good.”

You stand together as you discuss how you’ll be splitting the monthly costs for the utilities, not to mention the high-speed wifi that’s getting set up in two days. That leaves you to work out the rent, what day it’s due and how you want to handle paying it. In the end, you decide that he’ll electronically pay you, and you’ll pay the landlord, since it’s your name on the lease. He pays you right there on the spot, and you pass him the key that was meant for Penny.

“Is it okay if I start moving my things tomorrow?” he asks you.

You shrug. “This place is yours now, too,” you say easily. “You can honestly do what you want.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll probably start in the morning then?”

“I can’t promise I’ll be up,” you laugh, “but don’t let that stop you!”

“Should we…” he pauses, adjusts his glasses. “Should we exchange numbers?”

Taehyung makes a face you know well; it’s the face he makes when he wants to laugh or make fun of something, and he’s doing the Good Person Thing by keeping the thought to himself, but he wants to make sure you know by his face that he is holding it in. He wants credit for doing the Good Person Thing.

You honestly hate him sometimes. It’s the only thing keeping you from tipping straight into insanity. Sometimes, I really hate Taehyung. 

“Yes, we probably should,” you say, because someone in this room needs to act like they aren’t twelve years old, and it’s not going to be Kim Taehyung, apparently.

You do, and then Namjoon tells you both goodbye, making his way back out to the hallway and down the steps. You can hear his footsteps fall away into nothing. 

Taehyung looks at you, smiles angelically. “See?” he says. “I told you he was nice.”

He reaches for his keys on your kitchen counter. You frown, detecting his imminent departure. 

“Will you come over tomorrow?” you ask, a little pitifully. 

He considers this, and nods. “For dinner?” he suggests. 

“Yeah,” you say. “We still won’t have wifi yet. We’ll be bored.”

“Only boring people get bored,” Taehyung says sagely, holding up one finger like a wizened philosopher. Then he comes to hug you goodbye, pulling you into a sweet embrace. You want to live there, in the spot between his arms. 

Once he’s gone, you look around your new home. Alone, you decide to put on music and start tackling boxes. You start in the bathroom, finding towels so you’ll be able to shower in the morning, unpacking all your toiletries, setting up your toothbrush just so. You do the kitchen second; the sun sets outside as you find places for your battered pots and pans. 

You stop for dinner, getting take-out from a place nearby that delivers. Then you dive back in, setting up your bedroom. It feels cozy already, once the bed is made and you’ve plugged in your little lamps. Calmer, you start folding clothes to put into dresser drawers. At one point you wander out of your room to get some water and you freeze in your bedroom doorway, struck by how lonely it feels. 

The rest of the apartment is lit only by the yellow glow coming from your bedroom, plus the thin, white light that filters in from the streetlight below the living room windows. You hurry into the kitchen and turn on the light over the sink, which vanishes some of the bad feeling for you. You pour your glass of water and lean heavily on the counter, looking out at your empty living room, and the dark doorway of Namjoon’s untouched room. You wish Taehyung had come back over, or that some of your university friends had moved back into the area sooner.

You rinse your glass and head back into your room, ready to distract yourself with more unpacking until you’re tired enough to sleep.

Sunday September 30

Bumps and crashes wake you in the morning. It takes you a few minutes to figure out where you are - ah, the cloud bed, in your new room. The morning sunlight is strong; apparently the windows on the front of the apartment face the east. You make a mental note to shop for some good blackout curtains, and check your phone. Not much waiting for you - Lin texted around 1 am asking if you got settled okay, probably while she was on a quick break. You answer her, check your socials, and then lay back, just looking around. 

You got a lot done yesterday, but you still have more unpacking to do. It also occurs to you that not only is there no coffee waiting for you in the kitchen, there’s no food of any kind in the whole place, unless you count your container of leftover takeout from last night. 

You shower and get dressed, figuring it's best to stay out of the way - you can hear the grunts and huffs and loud bumps that indicate Namjoon’s got some friends helping him move things in. But eventually, the growling in your stomach and your body’s clamoring for caffeine send you out into the living room.

The low entertainment center is in place across the room from you, a flatscreen tv situated on top. There are now two stools tucked beneath the breakfast bar in the kitchen, and a pretty, wooden coffee table sits in the center of the living room.

There’s a guy on the floor surrounded by furniture pieces, a screwdriver, and a packet of instructions in his hands. You can hear a lot of shouting, bumping, and cursing floating in from the stairwell down the hall. 

“Hey,” the guy on the floor says. “You’re Y/N? I’m Namjoon’s friend, Yoongi.”

“Hi,” you say, a little bewildered. “What are you… building?”

He sighs, squinting at the paper in his hand. “It’s supposed to be a bookshelf. Eventually.”

You’re about to respond to this when the noise from outside the open door gets infinitely louder. You see Namjoon’s expansive back as he shuffles backwards through the doorway, one end of a faded, grey couch in his hands. 

“Okay, you have to turn,” he coaches whoever is on the other side.

The couch makes it through the door, and you’re surprised to see that you know the other person carrying the couch. He’s one of Taehyung’s best friends, and you’ve hung out together as a group plenty of times over the last three years.

“JayKay!” you call happily. “Welcome to my house!”

He laughs, nose scrunching with delight. “Y/N,” he crows. “Where should I put the couch?”

“Across from the tv,” Namjoon answers for you, sounding a little breathless. They shuffle through the room, and you notice for the first time that they’ve already put the rug in place, covering most of the warped, wooden floor of the living room. The couch settles over top of it, and Namjoon slides the coffee table to a more centered position.

One more guy comes through your doorway, carrying a nightstand and a lamp. He’s got quite possibly the widest shoulders you’ve ever seen. He disappears into Namjoon’s bedroom, and you hear the quiet thump as he sets the nightstand down in there.

“Wow,” you say. “You’ve got a whole moving crew.”

“Notice who’s not here helping,” Jungkook grumbles.

You smile to yourself. If you know him at all, you’ll guess Taehyung isn’t even out of bed yet. 

“In his defense,” you say, and Jungkook snorts, as if it’s so typical that you’d defend Taehyung, which… it might be, “he did a lot for me yesterday. We had his car packed with my stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook mutters and turns to - presumably - get more stuff from downstairs.

“You have a lot left?” you ask Namjoon, who seems to be catching his breath for a minute, perched on the arm of the couch. “I’d offer to help, but I was just about to go get groceries - there’s very literally no food here.”

“We’re about done with the heavier stuff,” he says, looking at the open door, like he’ll find an inventory there that he can reference. “But still plenty of assembling left.”

“Hooray,” Yoongi deadpans from the floor, holding the instruction packet up in the air like a different angle will help him decipher the directions.

You find your little foldable cart and make your way to the grocery store a few blocks away. By the time you’re done scouring the aisles, you’ve loaded the cart to the top and still have to carry some of the bags. But at least now you’ll have food to eat, things to drink besides tap water. 

Getting up the stairs with your groceries sucks, but you make it, panting like crazy as you finally unlock the front door and let yourself in.

You’re greeted with silence; it’s clear the guys are all gone. The living room looks completely different than twenty-four hours ago. The couch and table look great, and it seems like Yoongi’s bookshelf is mostly complete - it’s upright, just missing a few shelves near the top. You set the groceries down in the kitchen next to three unopened boxes - it seems like Namjoon’s gameplan was the same as yours yesterday: get the boxes into the appropriate rooms, do the rest later. 

You peek into his bedroom - he’s left the door all the way open, which feels nice, like he trusts you, and you make a mental note that you should probably do the same. You notice that it looks like the furniture is all in place there, too. It doesn’t differ much from yours, actually. The bedframe is put together, the boxspring and mattress leaning against the far wall. He’s also got a tall chest of drawers, a wicker hamper, and in the corner, a desk. Namjoon’s furniture is a lot more modern looking than yours, sleek and matching. You bet he didn’t get half of his from the thrift store. 

You put the groceries away and make yourself a small lunch, eating it on the couch in the quiet of the apartment. You’ve got about twenty-four hours to go until there’s wifi and you can stream shows when you’re home alone. You’re just cleaning up your lunch when you hear a key in the lock, and then the cacophony of boys’ voices as they reenter the apartment. 

“-far superior, I’m telling you,” Jungkook is saying emphatically. The smell of greasy burgers and fries hits you in the kitchen along with the sound of his voice.

“I hear what you’re saying, and I respect your opinion,” a flat voice responds that you think might belong to Yoongi. “It’s just that you’re wrong.”

“Hey,” Namjoon says, noticing you standing in the kitchen. The guys pass through, heading into the living room, Jungkook already digging in the bag. They surround the coffee table, handing out burgers and fries, filling the room with delicious smells and noisy chatter.

You take this opportunity to head back into your room, sitting on your bedroom floor and opening one of your boxes of books, starting to put them on the small shelf beneath your window. You pop in your airpods and turn on music, losing yourself in the monotonous movement of digging out a new book, then turning to place it on the shelf. Rinse, and repeat.

When you finish, you move into your closet. You put your little wire shoe rack back together and locate your box of shoes, lining them up neatly. Then, you tackle another garbage bag full of clothes that go on hangers, flapping each shirt or dress to relieve it of wrinkles before hanging it up. After that, you find a box of miscellaneous dresser items - jewelry boxes, perfume bottles, headbands - and put those where you want them, too.

By the time you decide you need to sit down and take a break, it’s nearly evening, the light outside reaching that golden hour. You really do love the natural lighting in this place. 

You take out your airpods and set them to charge, listening carefully. You’ve had your bedroom door open this whole time, but the guys had left you alone and you’d minded your own business. Now, the apartment is filled with silence again. They must be gone.

You text Taehyung for the first time that day, which strikes you as weird. He must have been busy today, too. It’s odd for you two to make it until almost dinner without speaking.

“Dinner?” you text, and then wander out into the living room. 

“Hey,” a voice says from near the floor, and you practically leap out of your skin. You startle so violently that your phone slips from your hands and clatters to the floor.

“Holy crap,” you breathe when you realize Namjoon is sitting on the floor next to his newly assembled bookshelf, an open box of books before him. He seems to be sorting them into piles before putting any on the shelf.

“Sorry,” he says, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to--”

“No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I’m just… a jumpy person. You’ll get used to it.”

You watch him sort books for a minute, then eye your own empty bookshelf, your boxes still closed on the ground next to it. You decide if it’s Bookshelf Hours, you might as well, right? You set your phone on the coffee table and settle in, opening your first box and starting to place books on the bottommost shelf.

“So,” you say, because it feels weird to be sitting four feet from your new roommate and not speaking, “Taehyung said you’re a grad student at the university?”

Namjoon nods wordlessly, eyes on the books he’s sorting. “Yep,” he says finally. “And you’re a senior?”

“Mhm,” you confirm. 

After that scintillating conversation, you both lapse into silence as you work. You continue like that for some time - long enough to reach the middle shelf - before you realize you hear your phone buzzing on the table. You stretch to reach for it, missing how Namjoon glances sideways at you, at how an inch of your stomach is revealed as you lean over. 

“Hi,” you say, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Took you long enough to answer,” Taehyung gripes.

“Sorry,” you say. “We were putting books away.”

Taehyung’s silence is just one beat too long. “We, huh?”

You laugh, once. “I mean? That’s what each of us is doing? So? Yeah?” From his spot a few feet away, Namjoon glances over his shoulder, frowning slightly.

“Anyway,” you say, “dinner? Do you want to come over?” 

“Yes,” he says decisively. “Order us something and I’ll head over?”

“Sure,” you say, already hanging up. You don’t need to ask what he wants; no matter where you order from, you know what he likes. 

“Do you want to order with us?” you ask Namjoon mildly as you scroll through the local delivery app. “I was thinking pizza.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says slowly, like he was deep in thought and has to process what you’d said to him. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

The place you’d order from back when you lived in the dorms is actually closer to this apartment than campus, which is the most beautiful, serendipitous thing that’s ever happened in your life. You place the order for delivery and continue putting your books away. Once all the books are on shelves, you’re essentially done - finally, after two days - unpacking. 

This gives you exactly one whole day to relax before you have to start going to classes again.

Taehyung arrives before the pizza, knocking on the door in a silly rhythm. You pound back on your side of the door, echoing his rhythm, before opening it, greeting him with a big smile. You’d missed him; of course you had.

“Wow,” he says, genuinely impressed, as he peers around you. “It looks so much different in here.”

“Right?” you ask, filled with joy. Taehyung pokes his head into the kitchen, which is arguably the least “ready” room, as aside from putting your things into drawers and cupboards, neither you nor Namjoon had really done much to it. No hand-towels hanging by the sink, no magnets on the fridge, even the counters were empty, save for the two sets of keys resting there. Taehyung adds his own to the key pile and moves into the living room, which is much more impressive.

“Hey, man,” Namjoon says from the floor. It seems like he’s done sorting his books into piles and has started actually putting them on shelves now. “Looks good, right?”

“It does,” Taehyung answers from the doorway of Namjoon’s room, where he's peeking nosily. “The guys helped you?”

“Everyone except you and Jimin,” Namjoon says innocently. 

Taehyung smiles guiltily. “I helped Y/N the entire day before, just the two of us,” he argues. “And what about Hobi? He’s on--”

“--on vacation with his parents,” Namjoon finishes agreeably, “so he’s off the hook. Where was Jimin?”

“Where do you think Jimin was?” Taehyung scoffs, reaching down and touching the rug absently.

“Sleeping,” you and Namjoon say at the same time, both of your voices wry. You smile at him, and he looks away. 

The pizza arrives and you all sit around the coffee table to eat. Conversation flows better with Taehyung in the mix; he talks so much, it almost doesn’t matter if anyone else does. 

“I was thinking of making a list of things we need for the apartment that wouldn’t necessarily belong to either of us - cleaning supplies, stuff like that,” Namjoon says to you. “I thought I could buy it and we could split the cost?”

“Buy the cheap stuff,” Taehyung advises. “Y/N’s summer money is gonna go fast, especially the way she orders out instead of cooking.”

“Thank you, Taehyung,” you say flatly, shooting him a look. “I start work in like two days. I can handle it.”

After the pizza’s done, Namjoon goes back to working on his bookshelf, obviously wanting to clear the floorspace of his book piles sooner rather than later. You and Taehyung sprawl across the couch opposite each other, his feet resting near your elbow, both of you on your phones. 

You stay like that until nearly midnight, talking occasionally but mostly just happily coexisting in your own little bubbles. At some point, Namjoon finishes the bookshelf and wanders into his bedroom, pausing to look at you two on the couch before disappearing. He pushes his door almost shut, leaving it open a few inches. You hear the subtle sounds of music playing from behind the door, but not loud enough to discern what it is. 

Taehyung hugs you before leaving, and you snuggle into the embrace, body exhausted from the moving process. He rests his chin on top of your head, swaying you around a little bit. 

“Thanks for helping me,” you murmur into his chest. Sometimes the only time you can get Taehyung to be serious for a conversation is when you’re like this; in each other’s arms, your walls come down - in his case, deflecting with humor and sarcasm, brushing off everything like it’s a big joke. In yours, saying what you really mean, and not a more delicate version of it.

“You’re welcome,” he answers, squeezing you a little. “I’m glad everything worked out. It really does look good in here. And I think you guys will get along.” 

Once he leaves, you deadbolt the front door and head to the kitchen to wash the plates and cups you’d used for pizza. Behind you, you hear the squeak of door hinges, and Namjoon pads into the kitchen behind you. He pauses, scanning the cupboards.

“I don’t remember which one I put my cups in,” he laughs a little, and then starts opening each one until he finds what he needs. Once he has a glass, he rummages in the fridge, taking out a juice carton and filling his glass about halfway. You finish washing the last plate and turn the water off, rummaging through a drawer for a dish towel to dry everything.  

“So…” Namjoon says between sips of juice. “You two are pretty close, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging easily. “He’s my best friend.”

Namjoon hums, nods, purses his lips thoughtfully. If you knew him better, you’d push - ask him what that face means, or why he’d asked in the first place. 

But, you don’t need to. You know already. You’re used to being interrogated by others about your relationship with Taehyung. Sometimes people are trying to see if you’re a threat in their quest to worm their way into Taehyung’s heart (or pants) - and in your own weird way, you kind of are, at least for the former. 

Taehyung definitely sleeps around, but he’s surprisingly tight-lipped with you about it. You’re not sure if he’s sparing you, or he’s actually just a gentleman. Could go either way. But when Taehyung considers dating someone - rare, to say the least - he always has you vet them first. You never like any of them, surprise surprise. 

You’re used to girls approaching you in bathrooms, sometimes aggressively, sometimes meekly, to ask if Taehyung’s your boyfriend. You’ve had girls come apologize, saying they “didn’t know about you”. Once you’d had a girl nearly shove you down a staircase for talking to “her man”, but luckily, said man was walking next to you and helped shut the whole thing down. (You two had had a serious talk after that one about communicating with his partners about his relationship status. Things have never gone that far again, to date.)

Less frequently, you’ll get asked about Taehyung by guys who are interested in you, who are trying to figure out how much of a lost cause it is. That one’s a little trickier. How do you tell the cute guy at the coffee shop that no, you’re not dating Taehyung, but you are secretly so in love with him that it really isn’t worth their time? 

Anyway, usually you just tell guys that you’re not dating Taehyung but that you’re not interested in dating anyone. It usually does the trick. It’s not that far from the truth, either.

That leaves the last category of people who ask about you two, and this is where you feel Namjoon falls: the people who watch your weird, boundary-pushing friendship and are just genuinely curious how it could possibly work. 

And you get it, you really do. You know how this looks from the outside. Hell, you’re sure that from the outside it’s fairly obvious how gone you are for him. Is it just as obvious to the outside that he sees you more like a sister than anything datable? 

Probably.

You’ve had friends ask you what keeps you around. You always say the same thing - regardless of your feelings for him, he’s also your absolute best friend.

Your friendship is precious to you, sacred. It sometimes feels like the only thing you have, in a life where you generally don’t have much. Your family is Lin - that’s it, end of the road. Your girlfriends are nice, but Penny was the closest you had and she’s across the country now. You only have Taehyung. And what you have with him, as special as it is, it’s also precarious. 

If you lose him, it isn’t just that you’ll lose him - and trust, that would be devastating - it’s also that you would be deeply alone. 

Finished with the dishes, you bid Namjoon goodnight and head back into your room for the night, planning to change into pajamas and wait for Taehyung to text you that he made it home safely, wait for Taehyung to text you goodnight. Namjoon murmurs goodnight, but you feel his calculating gaze on your back until you close your door softly behind you.

Thank you so much for reading! I started writing this in August, it feels amazing to finally postttttt. Please consider some type of feedback - I'd love to hear anything you want to share! Section II will post on Friday, January 27th - hope to see you there!

[mercurygray]

@shoshiwrites started this really lovely 'the war ended and we went camping to be together again after the unit broke up' AU and I wanted to hum a few bars. Her OC Jo Brandt appears here by kind permission of the author.

It was quiet, on the beach - Marj took a deep breath and dug her bare toes into the sand a little deeper, hugging her sweater around her shoulders and poking the dying embers of the fire with a stick. There was something beautiful about the quiet - the sound of birds starting to fill the air, swallows dipping and diving over the lake looking for bugs, cicadas singing in the trees and grasshoppers along the shore. It reminded her of home, a little, and not the apartment she shared with Jo and the others. How long's it been since you were near a lake? Last time you went north would have been, what, 40? Or was it 41. You and Dave and Frankie and -

Marj shivered. Yeah, and him too. It would be getting colder, soon, but she wasn't quite ready to go inside yet - not while Jo and Joe were down by the shore skipping rocks and trading secrets.

You can joke all you want about being the responsible one but someone's got to chaperone.

Someone cleared his throat behind her, and she turned away from the fire for a moment. It was the broad-shouldered one, the one they all only called his last name out of habit. Lipton.

"This seat taken?"

She moved over a little on the log to make room. "All yours."

He sat down and made himself comfortable for a moment, staring at the fire and then out at the shore, a half-drunk bottle of beer loose in his hand. "So how did you two meet?" He asked, nodding to Jo as she tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear.

What to say? The truth seemed like a good choice. Lipton seemed like a man who could tell when you were lying. "I was in England, for nine months, with a WAC company - Jo covered my unit, and we got along really well, and we kept up, afterwards, and ran into each other before I was shipped back to the states. I'd…had some changes, in my life, and knew I wasn't going home, at least straight after, and she had a roommate moving out to get married, so…I came home with her and started looking for work."

Lipton nodded. He had one of those easy, placid faces, kind and serious all at once. "That fits. The WACs, I mean - now that you've said it, you just…you fit, with it. The way you stand." It was a compliment, the way he said it - there was a measure of…admiration, in his voice, and not an empty one. Marj allowed herself a little smile. He looked at her, his eyes observant. "Why didn't you say?"

A good question."I don't…usually mention it, around…guys who served. I was just doing a job, same as everyone else. But not everyone sees it that way." It was the truth, even if she didn't like it. And why should she bring it up? Most of these guys wanted to leave their wars behind them. "And you? How'd you end up with these jokers?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Fifty dollars of extra jump pay," Lipton said with a rueful smile. "We all volunteered, and it turns out we all got along really well. Joe and Bill were real close, before…" he ran a hand over his knee. "And Bill and Babe grew up three blocks away from each other, so after the business with Babe's fiance, they decided we needed to get out of town for a bit. I'm between semesters, so Don and I hopped a couple of trains and got in the car so we could drive out here."

"They seem like a real nice bunch."

"Best group of guys I could have found, anywhere. You miss your unit?"

The smile appeared without thinking. "Every day. Got me through some of the worst times of my life." She meant that, but there was something…self conscious, about saying it aloud. "Nothing like what you've seen, I'm sure."

"I don't know," LIpton said with a generous smile. "What's the worst?"

Remember what you just said about lying, Marjorie Gordon. "Getting dumped by letter from two thousand miles away."

Lipton scoffed. "We have that in common, then." He raised his beer bottle as if to toast, and she raised her hand to return his salute. Now, just who the hell would have dumped you, Carwood Lipton? You're about the nicest person I think I've ever met. "Here, you're cold." He shrugged off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, the canvas soft from years of use. It smelled like him, aftershave and woodsmoke and comfort, and Marj wilted, a little, under the weight of it, the warmth of the gesture. God, he's really just...like that, isn't he? When was the last time someone had done something like that for her? Come on, girl, you're allowed to get nice things, she thought to herself, watching Jo and Joe again by the shore, the rock skipping mostly forgotten. They fit together, nicely, swaying in a kind of half-dance near the water's edge in a way that made Marj's heart ache a little. And you're allowed to want them, too.

[ravenadottir]

s2 islanders as gods? ex: noah as the god of knowledge/books or something like that :p

now, i'm not quite certain if you refer to pre-existent gods or just a fun little list, so i'm mixing and matching and seeing where it goes lol

bobby. he loves pranks and amusing himself in the process, more than he likes making people around him laugh, so he's definitely a trickster.

carl. god of the workers. being a workaholic himself there's no way i'm wasting the opportunity of giving him this title.

chelsea. goddess of organizing. are you spring cleaning? light up a candle to her, she'll help you out when your battery runs out.

elisa. goddess of disguise (no, i'm not implying makeup is a disguise). and i bet she has a really cool background story, like her scream shatters people's faces, that would be so damn cool, (since she yells i'M aN iNfLuEnCeR a couple of times).

gary. god of engineering. the one that protects manual workers all around, the one they pray to if a beam falls and they could be sued. nah, just kidding, but for sure of engineering, he's very resourceful and deals quite well with tools and building things.

hannah. goddess of flowers. is it about the aesthetic we've been establishing for her in the fandom? yes. is it canon? no, but it doesn't have to be, she's the embodiment of cottage core and that's it.

henrik. god of the wilderness. many cultures have their own myth, legend or god that protects the woods, animals and nature in general. to us, fandom clowns, that's him.

hope. goddess of wisdom. she's canonically a teacher's pet and i think her streets smarts make her very wise.

ibrahim. god of sports. golf player, works out every single day (how dare he?) and is in great shape. the in-universe olympic games has his statue in every event.

jakub, not a god, just a minotaur. that barks.

jo. goddess of the clowns. no elaboration needed.

kassam. god of music. did he write and released a song about ducks? yes, yes he did. does it matter? not really, apparently the song slaps so the music gopd title has to go to him.

lottie. goddess of the night. no, i'm not talking about evil, i'm talking about her being the goddess that protects and defends helpless women at night. it's to her our prayers go to.

lucas. god of sex. no, i will not elaborate it at this time.

marisol. goddess of judgement, she weights out your sins and fucking kills you painfully if you were a bad person.

noah. i like your suggestion about books/knowledge, but if i may interject, perhaps noah as the god of indecision would fit with his arc better. whenever you face a hard decision you pray to him, the ULTIMATE indecisive.

priya. goddess of beauty. i mean, am i wrong????

[sanstropfremir]

i vaguely remember this when i was younger where jyp said that he told his male idols to "look at how a female dances and study their moves." (not sure if this was verbatim but something along those lines.) and the reason is because they are more fluid. this popped in my head when i saw a comment that said jyp groups, overall, have better dancers than the other big companies and sm groups have the worst dancers. e.g. although kai is widely known to be one of the best dancers from 3rd gen, exo are not good dancers (baekhyun, chanyeol, and d.o. struggling to keep up during debut). the same is said about taemin and shinee members (jonghyun and onew are not good dancers).

what are ur thoughts? i'm not entirely sure if the newer generation of jyp male groups were taught this (got7 + skz) because jyp himself wasn't as involved as he was with bi rain + 2pm. i don't follow got7 + skz to develop an opinion but definitely when i look at bi rain and 2pm, i feel like they're very strong dancers. bi rain - well, yeah. dude influenced a whole generation of male idols. and for 2pm, wooyoung is a really good dancer. acrobatics were 2pm's main selling point but as they progressed in their careers and their dances became less focused on that, his skills stand out.

i hate that you made me publicly admit that jyp was right about something but unfortunately, he does have a point. to be a good dancer means that you have to be fluid in your movements, but also that you have have the utmost control over all types of movements too. which does mean letting go of the more 'gendered' stereotypes that come with kpop choreographies. so yea, telling guys to watch how women move is great advice, because women historically have functioned under a lot of pressure to be fluid and graceful in their movements, regardless of if dance is involved.

and yes i broadly agree that jype groups are collectively the best dancers and sm groups are the worst, but i think it comes from the companies having two different methodologies when it comes to how they cast trainees and who even auditions in the first place. sm collectively has weaker dancers despite being a very prominent company because yes they are known for vocals, but this isn't the whole of it: sm tends to look for people who are standout in one specific area, be it in vocals, dance, or visuals. that's why sm has a lot of 'dozens', but at the same time some of the top tier standout idols in particular fields. and because they have the longest history and those outstanding idols, they attract the types of auditionees that fit that model. yes baekhyun and kyungsoo and jonghyun and jinki are not good dancers, but they quite handily some of the best vocals on the scene. and when you pair that with the best dancers on the scene, the lows don't matter because the highs are so high.

jype on the other hand, both looks for more well rounded talent and also tends to attract dancers because of rain. and yes i would say that both got7 and skz have very strong dance bases. got7 i would argue has probably the best collective dance skills of any third gen group and they also continued the tricking legacy started by 2pm; there's a viral 2x speed dance of if you do (from when they were basically still rookies) and they have three main/lead dancers: yugyeom, jaebeom, and jackson. some poor insane soul put together a carrd of the history of every boy at jype, which shows just how many of the core dancers in boy groups passed through at some point: jo kwon, shownu (who trained with got7), kino (pentagon main dancer), jhope (auditioned but didn't pass), seyong (myname main dancer), dongwoo (infinite main dancer), sungjun (boys republic main dancer), hansol (former toppdogg lead dancer and now an actual choreographer), byeongkwan and yuchan (a.c.e), u (onf main dancer), all the members of highlight, and all the members of ab6ix, just to name a few.

i don't know that either strategy is better or worse; they've both produced results that are good in technical skill and in popularity, i think it just depends on fans' personal opinions.

[negans-lucille-tblr]

Winchester sister is the kind of character whom you can ship with anyone. Sure she doesn't exist but you can ship her with anyone. Since, she doesn't exist we can write her character however we want. I wonder how it would have been if she actually existed and how would the actor react to her getting shipped with any character including her brothers 😅😅

Ps, I'm currently obsessing with Jo Harvelle x Winchester Reader

The same anon who sent winchester reader one

Also good thing french mistake exist. I also ship her with Jensen Ackles 😁😁

Exactly, because she doesn’t exist you can morph her in your mind to kinda fit in with anyone you want. I sometimes think about what a Winchester sister would look like and my only conclusions are - fucking hot. Hahaha 

Oh now Dean x sister!reader x Jo is quite the mood 👀😏

Also I’ve either read or it’s one of my WIP ideas (lol that I forget at this point) that reader had always had a thing for her brother, but didn’t wanna admit it, ends up in real world, Jensen is in love with actress who plays her but actress is in a relationship, Jensen and sister Winchester get it on. Please can someone link me if that’s already a fic????