#anyway sends asks to advertise your fics and or art

[sifloop]

Sifloop my beloved

[19burstraat]

ketterdam dashboard simulator

goedmedbridge420

who up boeking they canal

10,345 notes

drydens follow

I can't believe some of you log on here and thirstpost about barrel vagrants. it makes me so sick. these men are the very pits of society and have never honoured ghezen a day in their lives. there are so many other young men who make their living in a reverent way. have some dignity.

#ghezen #inghezenssight #ghezenhonouring #churchofghezen #handofghezen

2 notes

kooperomno1fan

lionsroar12 follow

omg HOW is kaz brekker winning this he's SO problematic he's not even good for the economy he killed members of his own gang and kidnapped councilman van eck's son

dregsundrained

cranky coz your gang fell apart aren't you

17,860 notes

oskervoexchange follow

guys is this a mandela effect or what bc I SWEAR this painting used to be in the university district art museum, I literally saw it this week??? but I went today and it was GONE?????? there wasn't even a plaque?? guys pls I'm so confused why is everyone acting like this is normal for ketterdam? do priceless antiques just VANISH? am I being gaslit?

450 notes

stadhall-clerking

guys I'm so sorry I've been MIA :( I found out that my landlord was using my rent on the staves rather than fixing my black mould problem so I pushed him out the window and told the stadwatch he must have fallen and died because he wasn't honouring ghezen and got away with it. anyway I think maybe the black mould explains the dirtyhands/sturmhond fic I was writing sorry :( but I WILL finish my fairy queen of istamere meta post once I've moved into my new lodging

670 notes

dregsconfessions follow

SUBMISSION: sometimes I lie awake thinking about the time I fell down an entire flight of stairs at the slat when kaz was at the bottom, and he just stared at me (still lying on the floor), and then asked if I'd changed the beer kegs at the silver six yet. GIRL NO?!?!?!

#submission #dregs #dirtyhands #admin comment: laughed so loud my upstairs neighbour threatened to shoot me

546 notes

dregsconfessions follow

ADMIN NOTE: if the razorgulls don't fucking stop sending anon hate to this blog we'll tell dirtyhands n he'll send you your own IP address back

#see what happens you hack job seagulls

500 notes

kerchtourismboard

it's us, the real kerch tourism board, here to tell you what we're putting in the new summer season pamphlet. we got 1) three pages all about kaz brekker that end up being more of an advertisement than a deterrent 2) list of slipperiest spots in the barrel where you will fall over and get a concussion when ur drunk 3) top 10 ways to get your wallet stolen by a child in broad daylight 4) paintings of the komedie brute 5) advert for sten's stockpot 6) map of public toilets

570 notes

kerchtourismboardreal follow

we are not affiliated with any degenerate impersonator accounts who claim to be us. we are the only real kerch tourism account.

23 notes

kerchtourismboard-real follow

grafcanal smells like piss and you should bite everyone you see wearing the mister crimson costume

450 notes

stensstockpot follow

it's all 'fuck sten's stockpot' and 'I got food poisoning from the special at sten's stockpot' until you realise you don't have the money for cilla's fry, and then you come CRAWLING back to the loving arms of sten's stockpot and our special. you fucking traitors. you'll be back! you'll all be back

canaljumpings follow

what's in the special sten's stockpot

stensstockpot follow

it's a surprise ;)

bertskerch follow

nah I thought this was the real stens lmao

stensstockpot follow

bert smit you still have 45 kruge to pay on your tab and if you don't cough up we'll send our debtors to break your legs

230 notes

exchangingbabey follow

my grisha girlfriend who still wears a kefta and says things like 'nikolai lantsov is a bastard': ugh they're still debating whether or not the council of tides should be able to control kerch shipping, I hate inter-country politics

me: I think I hauve the queen's lady

4500 notes

(insp) (insp)

[lastoneout]

how do u grow ur tumblr acc is it like twitter

Genuinely I have no idea. Most popular blogs I see either are creators of some kind, so artists or writers or people who just write interesting posts about what they think or stuff they like, "tumblr funnymen" who post a lot of memes and jokes, and educational blogs.

Though tbh, having a lot of followers doesn't really like...do anything for you here? Like that's kinda just not the point. No one can see your follow count anyway so it doesn't get you clout, and being too popular kinda just leads to a lot of anon hate and drama, plus follower count doesn't guarantee engagement anyway. Tumblr values quality over quantity in terms of followers and mutuals, so it's less about getting more followers and more about making good connections with people who share your interests.

And in my experience, the best way to go about "growing" your blog is to engage with people!

(Well, first what you REALLY need to do is change your pfp, header, and blog description so people don't think you're a bot. I'd say pick something relevant to what you're gonna be posting about, like your art if you're an artist, or screenshots from movies or anime you like, and just drop something about yourself/what you're interested in in your description!)

But yeah, engagement is best! Follow people who post art or fics or original content that you like and reblog their posts, and don't be afraid to add kind comments in the tags or replies, that kind of thing really stands out to creators(most of us joke about recognizing urls of people who come back time and time again to like our stuff, and leaving comments/replies makes you stand out even more and might get someone to follow you back). Send asks too, a lot of my longest mutuals I've made bcs we shared a fandom and started talking through asks :D

Aside from that, really just posting is your best bet. Reblogs are good, some people follow other people just bcs they reblog good stuff, but also post original stuff too! Even if it's just you screaming about how much you like an album or a picture of your cat, posting stuff and tagging it(as there's no real algorithm) is how people will find you and tbh I've seen plenty of blogs get big just bcs people like to hear what they have to say about random things or want to see more pictures of their cats.

(You can also use tumblr blaze to advertise yourself if you want to, I've seen people use it to share a post with some of their art like "hey I draw this stuff follow if you like it" or something like that, it's an option, though it does cost money so there's that.)

So yeah, engage with others, reblog posts, and make your own posts! That's all there really is to it. Tumblr is really more about making connections and having fun and less about "being popular", so don't worry too much about it if you don't get tons of followers right away or ever. Just post what you want, talk to people, and have a good time :D

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Paint the Devil on the Wall

80s New York City art scene AU, Coming November 7th!

My Steddie Big Bang project has a posting date! The first of five chapters will be uploaded to AO3 on November 7th! I can't wait to share this story that I've been working on since January. It's the longest I've ever worked on a fic and also the longest in terms of length. We'll probably be clocking in at around 60k and it will be rated E. The fic will be accompanied by art from @melonalemonade and @dreaminginpencil which I could not be happier about! I've seen a little sneak peak of one of the pieces and it's so insanely gorgeous, you're gonna love it so so much <333 Below is a little excerpt from the intro...

***

The first artwork Eddie ever falls in love with is a piece of graffiti on the dumpster behind the church. He’s ten, maybe eleven and his mother pushes him across the parking lot on Sunday morning. They’re running late and pretending not to be, but the Indiana sun soaks sweat through his mother’s nicest blouse. A telltale sign of rushing and cheap polyester. 

Would you look at that, she tuts anyway, like judging other people will guard her from nasty looks from the right side of the picket fence. Her yellowed nails hook into his shoulders. I bet it’s those Peterson boys again. 

So Eddie looks. 

It’s a corner of town he’s seen a hundred times, but just like that it’s new again. Angry blue and black lines swoop across the metal into bold letters spelling out SOON. Loud like advertising, enticing like early morning cartoons. Messy, but on purpose.

His mother must see the crease between his brows, maybe the longing in his eyes because she adds you don’t draw on things that aren’t yours, baby.

Inside, with his knees on the hardwood and his eyes closed, those bright letters light up the inside of his eyelids like a promise. Soon. He doesn’t know what, or where or how, but he thinks it’s coming. 

Later that night he scratches the same swooping letters into his bedside table with a ballpoint and a vision. Pushes so hard the plywood dents in the shape of his marks and learns how good it feels. How a room can be a canvas. How he gets to pick the colors.

His stepdad smacks him over the head for it when his mother finds out so he figures nothing in his bedroom is really his. But maybe he knew that already. 

It’s a decade later now, and Hawkins, Indiana is over seven hundred miles away. He doesn’t believe in God anymore, maybe never did, and he no longer believes in Art. But he believes in Soon like nobody’s business. Gets the word tattooed over his wrist his first week in New York and never looks back. The money. The boys and the white, chalky lines across every black surface he can find. Everything. Soon.

It’s coming.

All of which is to say that this is not a love story.  At least, not yet.

(If you have any questions you can always send me an ask, I've been absolutely DYING to talk about this story since January) (And also thanks so much to all the moderators who've been running this big bang!)

[c-is-for-circinate]

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

[lagaans]

Hey Girlies <3

So I wrote (am writing?) some scenes from little nooreva university au that I concocted because...I'm in university lmao and I love to read these. Anyways context: Noora is the program director for the campus radio station/club and Eva is a second/third year who has never joined any clubs and finally decides to find a new interest and maybe some friends (other than her roommate). This is just a random short scene from the middle of this completely unwritten fic but I really liked it so it's below the cut bc now this is getting long :)

Noora radio: hi hi

Eva: hello

Noora radio: i found this cool playlist, thought it might fit the vibe of your show :)

i listened last week and it was really good! you’re definitely getting the hang of it

Eva: oh thank u so much i’ll check it out

and i’m glad u liked it tbh was not expecting anyone to listen since i didn’t advertise it at all 😅now i really have to make sure its good

Noora radio: don’t worry too much about who’s listening, plus it’s kind of cool if i’m your only listener then it’s just like we’re hanging out

Eva: Speaking of music & hanging out...are you free on thursday? I kind of want to check out this new place downtown that has live music but i don’t want to go by myself 😬

Noora: cutie that sounds fun let me just look at my calendar

completely free that day i’m all yours babe

Eva: nice! It’s a date then

Noora: hahaha

Eva: oh wait did i just make that sound like we’re going on a date?

I totally did make it sound like that didn’t I oh god

“Shit.”

Fuck. Epic fucking job she’s just done. She shouldn’t have said anything and now she’s said too much in her failed attempt at backpedaling. People say ‘it’s a date’ all the time and she shouldn’t have said anything because maybe Noora hadn’t taken it that way and now Eva looks supremely uncool. This is worse than having a naked exam day dream, worse than being called out in 10th year spanish class, she’s going to have to quit the radio club, avoid Noora on campus, drop out of school even.

Bzz. 1 New Message.

She’s going to be ill.

She clicks on the notification.

Noora: and what if I don’t mind how it sounds?

Eva let’s out a high-pitched scream as she throws her phone on the carpet floor of her bedroom before clapping her hand over her mouth in shock. She stands there motionless for 5 seconds before snapping out of it and yelling again. A half-hearted “You good?” drifts over from the other bedroom. Eva sprints over and slams open the door.

“Dude I think Noora just asked me out on a date?” — “Or I asked her on a date...it doesn’t matter either way I’m going apeshit just look at this.” Eva chucks her phone at Ana who finally looks from where she had been hanging upside down off her bed playing doodle jump.

“Oh word? Lemme see”, Ana picks up Eva’s phone off the bed, scrolling through the most recent messages, eyes getting progressively wider. Then she bursts out laughing.

“Dude this is awesome! I can’t believe you finally asked her out and it was by accident, oh my god.”

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me, you cunt! I was just flipping out for like, ten whole minutes in my room.”

“Sorry,” Ana’s almost crying of laughter at this point, “This is just so classic I can’t even believe.”

She looks back down at the phone, “Wait. Eva you have to message her back, you haven’t answered her last message!” Eva groans.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I don’t even know!”

“Say something kind of flirting but like, confirming that it’s a date for real this time.” Ana launches the phone back over to her.

“Shit, ok, ok, so ….” she starts typing and muttering, “‘don’t mind’?....sad emoji…..you..really...know...the...way...to a girl’s...heart...how does that sound?”

Ana looks up again from her own phone, “flirty, provocative…” she pauses, “I like it, full send.”

“Ok, fuck fuck fuck, ok I sent it.”

“Yes bitch!”

Eva: “don’t mind” 😔 you really know the way to a girl’s heart

Noora: Hahaha ok I retract my statement, eva i would very much like it to be a date on friday

Eva: well i’m powerless to deny that so i guess it’s a date for real this time

Meet at 17:30 by the art building?

Noora: i’ll see u there :)

[gukyi]

for you, anything | ksj

summary: in the popular online multiplayer game, kingdom, you are the top-ranked knight with money, fame, and power. in real life, you’re a graphic design geek who’s got a very unsubtle crush on her gorgeous coworker, kim seokjin. but when you’re suddenly dethroned from the first place spot in your game, you and your kingdom character embark on a journey to reclaim your title, and learn on the way that things are not always as they seem. 

{friends to lovers!au, enemies to lovers!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, fantasy word count: 21k warnings: alcohol mention, brief and non-graphic descriptions of violence, this is basically two fics in one so you get double the fun and double the word count!! a/n: once again, a massive, massive thank you to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me!! you can find her on twitter as well under @btspresso_!! she’s the genius behind this enemies to lovers and friends to lovers seokjin fic wrapped up into a nice package just in time for the holidays!! you ever seen a fic with e2l and f2l together? that’s right, i didn’t think so. enjoy!!!

check out the post-script drabble here!

♚ HERE ♚

“Oh, shit!”

From twelve feet away comes the sound of these three things in this order: fingers furiously mashing keyboard keys, wheels of an office chair swiveling angrily on the linoleum floor, and a war cry. All of which could either belong to a video game world championships in a big-city stadium or your simple, office of two-floors in a more-than-one-hundred-stories skyscraper based in graphic design and media for small start-up companies. 

“I can’t tell if Photoshop crashed again or if you’re playing that weird online multiplayer game again,” Yoongi grumbles from across the way, where he’s gnawing on a Clif bar in one hand as he mindlessly taps his mouse with the other. 

“Please,” Jimin says, carelessly waving a hand. “Don’t act like I haven’t caught you watching My Hero Academia multiple times this year while we were supposed to be doing work, you absolute piece of toast. But if you must know, I was in fact playing Kingdom.”

“I’m going to tell Namjoon,” Yoongi says with zero emphasis, because everybody knows that Namjoon’s got dirt on everybody in the office anyway (including Yoongi) and that if you try to expose somebody else to him, he’ll expose you back. It’s colleague culture. 

“And what’s Namjoon gonna do? He already knows you carry a flash drive of illegally-downloaded animes with you wherever you go,” Jimin retorts casually. He’s not wrong, and you can confirm that Yoongi indeed carts around a USB drive in the shape of a pineapple that has 64GB of anime. 

“What do I know?”

Namjoon comes trotting into view from the corridor that leads to the gender-neutral bathrooms with glasses hanging from the collar of his sweater vest, a clipboard with nothing attached to it in his right hand, and a steaming cup of jasmine tea (he hates coffee and declares this publicly at least three times a day) in his left. 

“You know that Yoongi—”

“Has been doing his work the whole time you were in the bathroom so you don’t need to worry about him,” Yoongi interrupts quickly. 

Namjoon shoots both Jimin and Yoongi a suspicious glare, but moves on. He’s got enough blackmail on the both of them to bury them into the next calendar year, but he’s wise, and he only uses it when absolutely necessary. “Just doing checkups on you guys before Boss Man calls me back into his office and gives me a pile of over one hundred hours of work I’m supposed to do in a forty-hour work week.” It’s been obvious from the moment you were hired that Namjoon does the most work out of anybody in this office, including your boss, and gets very, very little from it. 

“You don’t even have any paper attached to your clipboard,” Taehyung points out rather unhelpfully, from where he’s been drawing hearts on the cheeks of the Surprised Pikachu meme he’s taped up on the wall his desk is pushed up against. 

Namjoon looks down at his clipboard like it just spit mad fire at him, furrows his brows, and lets out a sigh equivalent to three years worth of pent-up aggression. “Shit.”

Jimin cackles from his computer. 

“Whatever, I’m still going to do checkups.” Namjoon takes the pen from behind his ear and writes himself a note, presumably to get paper for his clipboard later. “Jimin, you’re still working on that website layout for the art critic and photographer. Yoongi’s on coding for that search engine that we all know is never taking off but is still paying us. Taehyung’s on marketing because he’s got the most charming voice and Hoseok and Jungkook are on media production for the indie movie company. Y/N and Seokjin, you guys are on clientele and coding. Everybody good before I go get more paper?”

“Yes, Tiny but Large Boss Man,” Jimin says, and it’s enough of a confirmation to send Namjoon scurrying down the corridor again in search of paper as everyone else returns to their prior business. 

“Y/N?”

You turn around from the font website you’ve been browsing for about half an hour to find Seokjin standing behind you, an earpiece in his ear and that charming smile on his face. It’s the same smile he gave you on your first day on the job when he was introducing himself, same smile he gives when he meets clients in person, same smile he gives Namjoon whenever the man is about to have a breakdown. It’s a friendly, personable-but-universal kind of smile. The kind models need. The kind that Seokjin has mastered. 

“Hey, Seokjin,” you say, only just then coming to realize that Seokjin is much closer to you than his voice originally implied. You’ve rotated 180 degrees in your office chair and he is hardly a foot away from where your feet are. It’s a lot. Seokjin is always a lot. In the best sort of way. “Is anything the matter?”

“No, just wanted to check in and see how the project was going for that one guy that wanted a nice advertisement to put on Angie’s List,” Seokjin says, leaning down to look at what you’ve been doing. 

“Oh, well I’ve been browsing this font website for ages and I still can’t find a nice one for the sub-heading. All of these are too flashy or difficult to read,” you say, beginning to scroll as you and Seokjin both look for one that you like. 

“Hmm, I see what you mean,” his voice sounds like honey and if you had any less dignity you’d let the chills send shivers down your spine. Luckily, you know how to maintain your composure in an office setting. And you also know that Yoongi and Jungkook would never let you hear the end of it, ever. “Oh, how about that one?”

“This one? Rose Quartz?” You ask, pointing to it. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin says. “It has a nice flair that matches with the font for the business name, but it’s still easy to read. It would probably look really nice with a crisp shadow behind it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you’re onto something,” you say, clicking to read the fair use and copyright. 

“Couldn’t have done it without all the hard work you’ve put into this,” Seokjin says, standing up and shooting you another one of his famous smiles. “You’re the best partner anybody in this tiny media production and design company could ask for.”

He leaves without bidding you farewell, but it’s enough to have you staring blankly at your computer, contemplating existence itself. Sometimes, a little part of you wonders if Seokjin only treats you like this and none of your other coworkers, but then you immediately remember that Seokjin is naturally charming and that he probably speaks to newborn babies in the same way.

Yoongi wheels over to your desk from where his is, smirk lacing his features as he chews on another, different-colored Clif bar. 

“Ever heard of a personal bubble?” You ask snarkily, because you already know why he’s over here, and so does he.

“Why aren’t you asking the same question to Seokjin, hmm?” Yoongi taunts. He’s know about your dumb crush on your coworker (of all people, your coworker! A fellow employee!) for months now. He isn’t being any more helpful whatsoever. 

“Go watch your pirated anime,” you grunt out, too overwhelmed with the way Seokjin smiles at you to really give Yoongi your full attention. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Sure, but I’m not Seokjin,” Yoongi says. Then he wheels away and you’re left staring at the Rose Quartz font, whose sample text reads: This was meant to be. 

At least Namjoon doesn’t know.

It’s midnight on a Tuesday, and you’re just about to turn off the lamp on your bedside table and get some well deserved weekday-night shut eye when your phone begins to blare, a disgustingly ugly picture of Jungkook’s face appearing on the screen.

You stare at your phone like it’s personally offending you (which, if Jungkook’s face is anything to go by, it definitely is) before you turn off your ringer and close your eyes. Jungkook can wait. Very seldom is he at the top of your list of priorities.

Barely five seconds after you’ve put your head on your pillow, your phone begins to vibrate, this time even angrier than the last. Aggravated and a little concerned—because Jungkook never, ever calls twice—you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Something crazy just happened!”

“I hope so, otherwise you wouldn’t be calling me at midnight on a work night,” you grumble into the phone, monotonous voice a stark contrast to Jungkook’s easily excitable one.

“Have you been on Kingdom recently?!” Jungkook asks, and you practically see his eyes bulging out of his head in front of you. One of your youngest coworkers, it’s moments like these that remind you why he bears a striking resemblance to a university student—up late playing video games even on a work night—despite having a couple years in the workforce under his belt. He keeps telling you that he wants to go back to school and get a Masters in something, but he isn’t sure what yet. 

“No,” you tell him like it’s obvious, because it is. You typically begin to wind down your night around ten, which means that anything that’s happened on Kingdom in the past two hours you are thoroughly unaware of. “Can’t this wait? Kingdom’s fun and all, but I really do need to sleep.”

“But Y/N,” Jungkook says with a whine, insisting that you stay on the line, “someone beat you! You’re rank two, now.”

If Jungkook’s loud voice and jumpy attitude didn’t wake you before, you’re certainly wide awake now.

“What?” You ask, shocked. “Just now?”

“Yeah, like fifteen minutes ago! I don’t know what happened,” Jungkook says sadly, lost. “I was dueling with another knight when the horns and banners appeared on the screen and said there was a new top player. You’ve been dethroned!” He cries out like it’s him who’s lost their place. 

You’re fumbling out of bed, making a beeline for your desktop computer across your bedroom. Normally, you’d be ashamed about how high-school you’re behaving around a video game, but you’ve invested an embarrassing amount of time and energy into Kingdom, and you’ll be damned if you think someone else can outdo you. 

As you’re logging onto the game, Jungkook continues to wail into the phone. “I don’t even know who this person is, I feel like I’ve never seen them before! I mean, they must be really good since they practically appeared out of nowhere, but still! I’m a decent player so we must have crossed paths. Maybe I just don’t remember…”

Sure enough, the moment you open your screen the horns blare and the banners appear, congratulating a different player on achieving the top rank. You watch helplessly as the celebration fades on your computer before the leaderboard appears in the top left corner, your name a sad second place. 

“Who’s JK0901?” You shout into the phone, earning an exasperated sigh from Jungkook on the other end. You scowl at the name that’s knocked you off your pedestal, before narrowing your eyes to look at it more closely. “JK? Is that you, Jungkook? Are you just calling me to make fun of me for beating me? Don’t disrespect your elders, Jungkook.”

Jungkook gasps like he’s been accused of murder. For people that take Kingdom as seriously as you and Jungkook, it may as well be. “No! What the heck, Y/N, you know that my username is KookieMonster97, for God’s sake. Accusing me of being the best, how could you?”

“You should have just taken the compliment,” you frown into the phone, “Now all the girls are gonna know you aren’t, in fact, the number one Kingdom player.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Jungkook mutters. “But it’s not me, I swear. You would have received a very different phone call from me if it was. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have even told you and then ruined your day in the office tomorrow. So it’s not me.”

“I can’t tell if I’d be more or less angry if it was you,” you admit.

“Why, because I’d finally have something to hold over your head other than my unwavering youth?” Jungkook taunts. Definitely still a university student at heart. 

“No, because it means I’d have to hear the entire office praise you for a day, and I’d rather permanently pop my eardrums,” you tell him informatively. Jungkook has enough of a head. You actively try to not do anything to enlarge it unless he wholeheartedly deserves it. 

“I love our coworker chats, you know,” Jungkook says. “Whoever this person is though, I bet they’re receiving bucketloads of praise for knocking you off the top spot. You’ve had it for like, three months now, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you tell him through gritted teeth. “I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into this game and look how it’s repaying me,” you grumble, staring down the Kingdom home screen. 

“JK0901 probably did a ritual sacrifice to beat you,” Jungkook supplies unhelpfully. 

You sigh. Whoever they are, they proved that they are just as good at Kingdom as you are, a veteran player with an embarrassing several years of experience under your belt. In fact, they proved that they’re better than you. 

♚ THERE ♚

It’s cloudy today, which means that more of the market stalls are out on the main street. You pass by them on your way to the castle, vendors calling out to you with promises of apples, jewelry, and perfumes. 

You’ve got money to burn and your responsibilities can wait a couple of minutes, so you indulge one of the stalls and purchase a couple of apples. One should give you a bit of energy now, and the rest can be roasted later for a better meal. 

“Miss Y/N, off to the palace?” The vendor asks. From how much you frequent this part of the kingdom, every artisan, farmer, and merchant alike knows your name. That, and the fact that you’ve amassed quite a group of followers from your daily knightly escapades. 

“Of course,” you respond happily, paying the merchant with a couple of silver coins and then some, just as a thanks. The extra money helps the farmers raise the quality of their crops and allows them to earn more for their efforts. It also boosts your standing amongst the townsfolk. “His Majesty requested my presence for further instructions on fortification, most likely. But I’m just honored to be recognized.”

“As you should!” The man responds dutifully. “You are our best knight, after all.”

“Please, you flatter me. When the work day is done, go home and feed your children well, alright?” You ask, giving a firm nod to the merchant before you’re on your way. As you stroll down the stone-paved path, other vendors call out to you, hoping that you, too, will indulge in their finest clothes and trinkets on your way to the castle. 

Maybe another day. 

You take a hearty bite of the apple as you head towards the palace, a satisfying crunch ringing through your ears as the townsfolk nod and bow to you. It’s easy to figure out that you’re the top-ranked knight in the kingdom, with badges of honor pinned to your torso, ink black armor clinging tightly to your body, and red sashes tied around the black ones on your wrist, signifying approval from the highest ranking military official in the kingdom: the king himself. 

The guards at the palace gates step aside as you nod to each other, bowing courteously. You repeat this process several more times as you slowly proceed towards the throne room, where the King (and maybe the Queen) are likely to be waiting for you. They had increased their security at every door frame after an attempted assassination several months ago, which you (with the help of other high-ranking knights and castle officials) discovered was a plot orchestrated by Their Majesty’s second-most-trusted advisor. 

Finally, you reach the golden arches that signify that you’ve arrived at the most expensive room in the entire palace (save for Her Majesty’s bathroom, which, though you have never been inside, is rumored to have a golden bathtub and sacred water from the River Blancheur, over two thousand miles away. But you cannot confirm nor deny.), threatening red doors slowly creaking open as the King and Queen come into view. 

They’re sitting on their thrones, as per usual, but they aren’t the only ones in the room like they normally are. Instead, there’s another knight, as equally decked out as you, standing before them, arms crossed behind their back. 

“We hope that you can wear these honors proudly and do your duties with pride,” the King says regally, deep, thick voice echoing throughout the room. 

“I will stop at nothing to ensure this kingdom’s greatness,” the knight says back, just as formal. The knight gives a long bow, red sashes around their wrist dangling towards the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were being replaced. But of course, that’s not the case. 

“Oh, Y/N,” the Queen says happily, noticing your waiting right in front of the closed doors to the throne room. “Prudent, as always.”

“I aspire to please,” you say with a bow. The King gives you a warm smile, one you’re willing to bet that this other knight isn’t often on the receiving end of. 

“Your timing is impeccable,” the King says, ushering for you to come forward. You do so, taking calculated steps along the red carpet, woven nearly two centuries ago and maintained ever since. “We were just congratulating Sir JK on his recent accomplishments in the Black Forest.”

“Of course,” you say with a nod, refusing to turn to your left so you can stare down this Sir JK for yourself. “The military made groundbreaking strides for our kingdom there.”

“You are the first person to know this, other than him, of course, but we’ve decided to appoint him as the Head of the Royal Knights of the Kingdom of Kalar,” the King says proudly. 

It takes everything in your willpower not to let your mouth drop open. You blink rapidly, making sure that you aren’t in a daze nor still asleep. Sure enough, you’re wide awake and your ears and eyes seem to be working perfectly. The knight next to you is taking over the highest position a knight can hold in your kingdom, one that even you haven’t been given. 

You’ve been replaced. 

“What an incredible honor,” you say, body stiff. You can practically feel the ego of the knight next to you radiating off of him. It makes your nerves twitch. 

“I think so as well,” the King says proudly. He has, luckily, not picked up on your sudden mood change. “So, I’ve called you here to appoint you as his second-in-command.”

You bow graciously at his words, ensuring that, despite your bitter attitude, you are still thankful for this opportunity. Mostly. You are mostly thankful for this opportunity. 

“I’m honored and grateful, Your Majesties,” you say, head facing the carpet. “I would rather die than let down my kingdom.”

“You two are to work together closely,” the Queen advises, words that make your ears bleed. Oh, wonderful, now you have to work hand-in-hand with the person that stole your favor with the royal household right from underneath your feet? You can think of nothing more enjoyable. “Your cooperation alone will ensure the utmost safety and security of this kingdom.”

“We shall do better than our best,” the knight beside you says. His words make your eyes roll back into your head, but you’ve been a bigger brownnoser in your past. You can forgive that, even if the man next to you radiates an energy you’d rather not surround yourself with. 

“I’m pleased to hear it. Your training and work together begins now, so do not hesitate to get to know each other.”

You and him take one baited breath each before turning to each other. You both bow out of obligatory respect, which satisfies the King and Queen well enough. And as you come up, you catch a glimpse of each other’s eyes. His are dark, rounded pupils. They’re hiding something. 

You’re determined to figure out what it is. 

“Call me J,” the knight says the moment you’ve stepped foot outside of the palace. The setting sun shines dimly on the main road, and many of the vendors are beginning to pack up their belongings in order to head home. 

“Okay, J,” you say suspiciously. Everything about him unsettles you slightly. Perhaps it’s the fact that behind the armor and the mask and the badges, he’s extremely good-looking. Or maybe it’s the fact that he swiped the top-ranking knight position right from your fingertips. It must be that. “It’s baffling to me that we haven’t met yet. If you’ve been in such high favor with the King and Queen, then I must have seen you somewhere.” You wonder if he can hear the bitterness lacing your features. You sure hope that he can. 

“I guess our paths just never crossed,” J says, taking a bite out of a peach he just purchased from a farmer’s daughter, who was watching over the stall as her father haggled with another vendor. You watched as he winked to the girl as she gave him two peaches for the price of one. “I’m more on the ground than you are, am I not? You spend much of your time strategizing in the castle.”

“You don’t know what I do,” you huff out. He finishes the peach and wraps up the pip in a piece of cloth from his pocket before tucking it away. There is no place to dispose of it on the main street anyway. 

“Don’t I?” J says with a sly grin, one that makes you want to kick him in the shin and push him into the grass. “Everyone knows what you do, Y/N. You were the King and Queen’s favorite.”

The way he uses the past tense doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“But, as it seems, being on the battlefield outweighs directing it from above,” J says. He keeps his eyes off of you and his head held high while your gaze focuses in on him out of pure fury, just another way to hold his newfound superiority over your head. Five minutes next to him and he already seems to know how to push every single one of your buttons. 

“So it seems,” you say bitterly. 

“You and I really must get along, Y/N,” J says casually as you begin to stray from the hustle of the main street. Neither of you seem to have a particularly clear destination in mind, only a path that must be taken for the sake of the greater good. It’s only the prospect that if you do well enough, you’ll impress the King and Queen and regain your favor with them that’s keeping you from socking J in the face and dashing off, taking his second peach with you. “We’ll be spending lots of time together.”

“Doesn’t that sound like the bee’s knees,” you mutter to yourself. For the greater good. 

“Should it not?” J asks innocently. It makes you want to wipe that smirk right off of his face, that knowing tone in his voice. “I certainly don’t have a problem with you, Y/N. Do you happen to have one with me?”

He asks it because he knows that whatever you say will incriminate you. He knows that if you say no, you’re a goddamn liar, and that if you say yes, you’re weak. Weak because you’re admitting that you can’t handle spending time with him even though you have to. Weak because you’re showing him that he has power over you. 

“No, of course not,” you say, plastering the fakest smile on your face. Two can play at this game. “In fact, would it be alright if I had that other peach? I’m absolutely starving.” You can be civil. If he can, at least.

“Sure thing,” J says, unwrapping the peach from the woven napkin the farmer’s daughter gave him.

You reach out to take it from him, but in the blink of an eye his hand dangles it over your head, too far out of reach for you to grab without losing all of your dignity in the process. 

“What do we say, Y/N?” He asks sweetly, like a parent disciplining their child. God, everything he does absolutely aggravates you. 

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. Perhaps you aren’t on the front lines as often as he is, but you sure know how to fight. Maybe now is a good time to remind him that you received the same training he did. 

“Please?” You ask, just as saccharine. 

“As you request, Y/N,” J says with a bow, finally handing it over. 

If this is what the next several months have in store for you, you wonder if maybe sinking down to a lower ranking might be worth it after all, especially if it means you’ll never have to see him and his bouncy hair and dark eyes again. 

You take a bite into the peach. It’s sour. 

Just your luck. 

♚ HERE ♚

When you walk into work the next day, a hush falls over the room. 

It’s not even as if the entire office has been quiet so far this workday, not as if the clock struck nine o’clock and everyone decided to start a competition to see who could shut up for the longest amount of time. 

(For the record, if anyone were to win that competition, it would be Yoongi, who usually only speaks either 1) when spoken to or 2) to let someone know when they’re being dumb via insult. The first person to lose would be Namjoon, because his job description is to boss people around. And he’s awfully good at it.)

The elevator door dinged on the twenty-third floor and you could hear Hoseok’s loud gasps and Jungkook’s cackled laugh even through the glass door that separates your office from the rest of the companies that take up residence in this particular city skyscraper. And then, as your loafers tapped on the hard linoleum floor and the glass door creaked open, the entire office fell silent. 

Quickly, you wonder if you’ve forgotten someone's birthday or if anybody’s due for a celebration of some sort. But nobody’s come to mind and the lights aren’t off, which means that this isn’t the kind of sudden silence that precedes a surprise party. 

This is the kind of sudden silence that makes everybody go, “Oh shit.”

It feels like you’re walking on eggshells as you make your way over to your desk. You’re a couple minutes late due to oversleeping (for reasons that start with J and end with -ungkook) so everybody’s already here, and the office should be as boisterous and rowdy as always. And yet, something’s different. 

You’re left entirely in the dark in concern with what the reasoning is, so you just decide that you’d rather not be the one to break the tense quiet that’s befallen your office and settle down, logging into your work desktop and checking today’s assignments on Slack. 

Five minutes pass and you can’t help but think that, of the many, many days you’ve spent in this office with these people, this has got to be the most awkward by an overwhelmingly long shot. Not even the time Namjoon showed up with his hair dyed purple and traces of a sharpie drawing with a certain phallic design on his cheek was more awkward than this. 

It seems that even Namjoon’s picked up on the vibe of your workspace today, walking in and out without a word. He wheels in a portable whiteboard from one of your meeting rooms and writes down everybody’s assignments on the board in his handwriting, which makes his O’s look like D’s. 

Ten minutes in and this is the quietest your office has ever been in the history of mankind, probably. You’re almost convinced that genuinely no one will speak to each other until five o’clock, when Jimin’s end-of-work alarm goes off and you all pack up and go home, and that today’s workday is an exercise in meditation and peace, two things that are seldom available in your usual office environment. 

And then, out of nowhere, 

“Oh my God, I can’t take it anymore,” Hoseok says loudly, letting out a breath you didn’t even realize he had been holding. It’s highly unlikely that Hoseok spent the past ten minutes holding his breath because he wasn’t allowed to talk under your office’s societal norm of silence, but you honestly can’t put it past him. Speaking is essentially the equivalent of breathing to him. “I’ve been wanting to bother Jimin for not responding to my email from yesterday for the past five minutes. I don’t even know why we’re doing this, it’s clear that Y/N doesn’t care at all about what happened.”

“What don’t I care about?” You blurt out, equally as curious as everyone else also seems to release their baited breaths. 

Hoseok and Jimin immediately begin to argue about appropriate email-response time between coworkers and Yoongi rolls a couple of feet over from his own desk to enlighten you. 

“Jungkook told everyone that you had been docked from your top rank in Kingdom, and the whole office seems to have taken it very seriously,” Yoongi mutters into your ear, making you scrunch up your nose in exasperation. Is he kidding? 

“That’s why everyone was so quiet? Because they didn’t want to bring it up?” 

“I guess so, but I was just quiet because it was nice to have the whole office shut up for a few minutes in the morning,” Yoongi says with a shrug before wheeling back to his own desk, where an anime you vaguely recognize as Haikyuu!! is playing on his monitor. 

Immediately, you whip around to meet eyes with Jungkook, who looks like he’s been expecting your furious glare all morning. He smiles guiltily and can offer you literally nothing other than a mouthed sorry because you two are in a workplace environment where shouting is, generally, socially unacceptable. 

Despite your standing on the game, it’s easy to argue and even easier to prove that your coworkers care much more about Kingdom than you do. The loading screen of the castle in Monet’s art style is Hoseok’s desktop background. Jungkook has a little sword decoration next to his computer, and a couple of his pens are official Kingdom merch that you’re pretty sure he purchased from Hot Topic. Taehyung and Jimin play during their lunch break, the only time in the workday where shouting is socially acceptable, and the both of them came to last year’s Halloween party dressed as knights. Even Namjoon’s in on the game, though he rarely has time to play and usually has no idea what everyone else is referencing when they talk about Kingdom. 

Contrastingly, you enjoy the game but very seldom do you actually broadcast that affection in public. You need to have at least some semblance of personal dignity in this absolute free-for-all of a place of employment. 

So really, it’s no wonder that all of your coworkers acted like it was the end of the world when you got knocked from first place. To them, that would be like having a winning lottery ticket only to drop it onto train tracks and watch as the public transportation system has a field day with it. 

“We’re really sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung says as he comes over and hands you a Tootsie Roll from the stash he keeps in one of his desk drawers for bad days. Apparently, this is a bad day. “Jungkook told us and we didn’t want to put salt in the wound.”

Even if their methodology was weird and slightly unsettling, the sentiment was there. “Thanks guys,” you tell Taehyung with a smile, “but I think you guys took it harder than I did.”

“Of course we did!” Jungkook says with a cry. He is objectively the most torn up out of the lot of you. “We had the top player in Kingdom in our very office, and now what! You were famous, Y/N! Whoever that bozo is who took your place is gonna feel the wrath of Jeon Jungkook and company.”

“Who’s feeling the wrath of Jeon Jungkook and company?” Seokjin asks as he strolls into the office, even later than you. To be fair, it’s looking like he’s got a box of a dozen Dunkin’ Donuts, which is enough for anyone to forgive him, even your hard headed boss. “Is it Jimin? Did he steal your Post-Its again? I saw he had a new pack.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen for barely a second before they narrow in on Jimin, who is already skirting away to find Namjoon so he can use him as a human shield. Jimin has quite the history of taking Jungkook’s office supplies only for a second and then failing to return it. 

“No, but I’m gonna deal with him later,” Jungkook says, fishing through his office supplies on the hunt for his Post-it notes, which may or may not be currently in his possession. “We were just talking about how Y/N got knocked from the top spot in Kingdom by some asshat none of us have ever heard of, and now he’s going to feel the wrath. Of us. Specifically me, but also us.”

“What wrath?” Taehyung jokes. “You’re fresh out of college. You’re practically as intimidating as a baby bunny.”

Jungkook growls just for emphasis, and it only proves Taehyung’s point more. He’s always had a baby face.  

“Well, I brought doughnuts to cheer everyone up,” Seokjin says, opening the box to reveal a dozen doughnuts of varying kinds that is likely to be finished within the next thirty seconds. 

“Oh my God, Kim Seokjin, I love you,” Hoseok says before immediately taking one and a half and bouncing off. 

“Save the pink-frosted one for me, will you? It’s my favorite,” Seokjin requests. He’s not even monitoring the box, too busy putting all his stuff away and getting settled at his desk. He’s basically asking to be robbed. 

“Aw, I wanted that one,” you joke sadly, already going for the chocolate-frosted one with rainbow sprinkles. The box is nearly three-fourths empty. Even Namjoon’s materialized out of nowhere to take the glazed one to eat while he completes the next fifty-four things on his to-do list. 

“Then let’s split it,” Seokjin says without missing a beat. Your heart does the exact opposite. 

“Jimin, you wanna split one with me?” Taehyung asks. 

“Ew, gross, no way, I want a whole one to myself,” Jimin immediately rejects. 

“I’ll go and grab it,” Seokjin says, standing up to nab the doughnut for some evil being (by the name of Jimin) takes it for himself. He plucks it from the box and takes two napkins, too, walking over to your desk as he splits the doughnut in half. 

“For you,” he says casually, like it isn’t making your heart beat out of your chest. 

“Thank you, kind sir,” you say jokingly, taking the doughnut and placing it on the napkin he hands to you. 

“Tell me about this Kingdom thing? You got knocked from first place?” Seokjin asks, making conversation as he lingers by your desk. It’s obvious that nobody’s going to be getting any work done. 

“Yeah, but it’s really nothing special. Everyone was making a huge deal out of it, which you should be very glad you missed, because the first ten minutes of this workday were absolutely silent and it was awful in every way that something can be awful,” you tell him. 

Seokjin laughs, and it warms you from the inside out. “Then I’m glad that I came late,” he says with a chuckle. “I couldn’t imagine a day where Jimin and Taehyung were silent for more than two minutes.”

“I lived through it,” you say, smiling. “Anyway, everyone seems to have gotten over the fact that I’m no longer the top-ranked Kingdom player. I’m kind of down about it myself, just because I worked really hard, but whoever it is that took over, I’m glad for them. I mean, it’s just a game.”

“That it is,” Seokjin says. “How about a toast to your Kingdom-playing skills, and to whoever it is that beat you.”

“Cheers,” you say, holding out your half of the doughnut. 

“Cheers,” Seokjin echoes. 

The two of you clink doughnuts, and they squish together awkwardly. 

“You should bring doughnuts more often,” You muse.

“If it means we don’t have to work and can just talk like this, then I will,” Seokjin says as he takes a bite, already heading back over to his own desk. He waves goodbye with a smile, and only then do you finally indulge. 

Sweet. As always. 

♚ THERE ♚

When you were moved to the Military Tactics Unit, the King and Queen pulled you out of military training in favor of you spending more time working on strategies for the Kingdom’s armies rather than sparring with fellow Knights. It was a wise move on the part of Their Royal Highnesses, who feared losing you to a rebel group or warring kingdom, and you didn’t mind not having to engage in the physicality of training with those that would be spending more time on the battlefield. 

And at the time, you saw it as a much-needed break from hand-to-hand combat training for years on end when you hadn’t set foot on the front lines in months. But now, that decision has decided to come back and bite you where it hurts. 

Because as second-in-command to the Head of the Knights, you (and J, both luckily and unluckily) are tasked with the important duty of supervising the military training of the new recruits. This spells doom in various ways, some of which include (and are not limited to):

Having to spend more time with J. 

Having to spend more time with J without letting all of the recruits know you both vastly dislike each other. 

Having to spend more time with J in a scenario in which there is constant hand-to-hand combat. 

Having to spend more time with J without being able to make up an excuse about needing to attend to urgent military business in order to leave. 

Having to spend more time with J. 

Attempting to remember how to spar.

So, in essence, you’re screwed. 

This is the mindset with which you walk into your very first training session in over six months, a few minutes late, of course. Recently you’ve been attempting to calculate the maximum amount of time you can spend either being tardy or leaving early from events that involve J without you facing any repercussions. So far it’s been working out well. 

When you walk in the door, before you can greet any of the recruits or even offer J a slightly sarcastic wave, he says, “Look who’s finally shown up,” loud enough for all of the recruits to turn to look as you stroll in tardy. 

“I got held up by a vendor on the main road, my apologies,” you lie like a liar. It’s obvious that J does not believe you whatsoever, but it satisfies the recruits, who return to their business as usual. 

“Well, you’re just in time for warm-up,” J says, false positivity radiating throughout every single word. 

You walk up to where he stands at the front of the room, wearing much less of his official armor than he normally is. Right now, he stands in front of you in a plain tan cotton shirt and training pants, similar to the rest of the recruits. It’s really quite jarring, to see him dressed so differently from what he usually wears—dark armor and scarlet red sashes. It makes him seem… almost softer. 

“Thought you might have bailed on me,” J mutters into your ear as the recruits begin to stretch. 

“Have a little more faith in me, for God’s sake,” you grumble in return. You may not like him, but you aren’t about to abandon your responsibilities just because of a little bit of distaste. 

“Do you wanna take warm-up, or should I?” He offers, motioning to the recruits. They all look so nervous, so desperate to prove themselves on the first day of training. It reminds you of yourself, like you’re looking into a mirror and a time machine all at once. 

“You’re the boss,” you say, unabashedly letting the bitterness seep through your tone. “You choose.”

Unsurprisingly, J decides to let you handle the warm-up session, something that is just a precursor to the main event and therefore, not as important. He takes a couple of steps back and follows your instructions as you go through stretches and basic movements in combat, allowing all of the recruits to get a feel for what knighthood is really like in the Kingdom of Kalar. Warm-up was always your least favorite part during training, so boring in comparison to the sparring and hand-to-hand combat that you would engage in soon after. Sure, it was necessary, but when you were a wide-eyed, overeager trainee, you were willing to risk a pulled muscle if it meant you could beat someone up sooner. 

With this in mind, you wrap up the session in a fairly timely manner, letting the recruits do their own stretching after everything absolutely necessary has been covered. It also means that you can sit back and let J do most of the heavy lifting, which, while you’re bitter about him getting all of the attention, is better than having to do it yourself based solely upon memory. You remember combat well enough to handle yourself in the battlefield, but the technicalities of training have completely slipped your memory by now. 

J and everything else about him may leave a sour taste in your mouth, but you have to admit that he’s a good teacher and an even better morale booster. This must come from his experience out in the field, on the front lines, where raising his troops’ spirits came as a necessary quality to develop when times were tough. 

He speaks slowly, explains everything in enough detail to cover all of the bases without losing attention, and frequently opens up the floor for questions. And as per usual, the recruits already begin to cling to him like vines, desperate to soak up every ounce of knowledge that he doles out. 

J doesn’t need the ego boost, that’s for certain. 

“Now that I’ve gone through everything, I believe that the best way to learn how to spar is just to start doing it, even if you haven’t the slightest clue what you’re doing. Despite what you may think about me, experience is the best teacher,” he says with a smile, earning a laugh from the crowd. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Um, sir?” A timid recruit raises her hand, her body curled in on herself. You take one look at her, and know that she’ll come out of her shell soon enough. 

“Yes, a question?” J asks. 

“Would you mind giving a demonstration? Just so we can watch. So we, well, don’t injure ourselves or each other while we’re sparring.”

A demonstration? You blink, having awoken from the trance you had placed yourself in one J stepped up to take over the training session. Doesn’t a demonstration mean… well, you and him?

J seems to come to this realization at the same time that you do, and grins wildly, giddy. He knows exactly how much you’ll hate doing this, which is all the more reason to say yes. “Of course, we’d be happy to. Y/N?”

You hold in the sigh you’ve been wanting to let out for about five minutes now, taking a deep exhale as you turn to face J. You’ve been in close proximity to him before, but you are about to get a whole lot closer. 

“If you say so,” you say with a shrug, trying to keep this as lighthearted and casual as possible. Though, both of those things are likely to be tossed out the window now that you’re about to spar with your worst enemy. 

J grabs a mat from the side of the room to lay down on the floor in front of you, and the two of you step onto it. Instantly, you’re transported back to when you were still in training, bouncing up and down on your feet with your fists raised in front of you, ready to take on the next recruit. You had always been quite good at sparring, back then. 

Now is a completely different story. 

“Are you ready?” J asks as you face each other in front of a crowd of recruits, all of whom are watching you with hawk-like intensity. 

“Guess I can’t say ‘no’, can I?” You joke, though if J offers you a way out of this, you’d gladly take it, shame and dignity be damned. 

“Well then, do your worst.”

He’s an open target. You’ve never been given an opportunity to sock him in the face before now, and you’d absolutely love to take it, but this is a sparring session, not a revenge session. That can be saved for a later date. Instead, you bounce on your feet like a nervous, excitable recruit, and aim for his neck. 

He easily dodges, but you expected that, and counter his attack with your leg. It goes back and forth like this, as your muscle memory kicks in and you remember exactly what sparring was like back in your training sessions. For a few seconds in the middle of it, you genuinely think you and him are on a pretty level playing field. 

And then—

One punch gone wrong and he’s got you lifted up off of the ground and onto his back, having grabbed your wrist at the perfect time to hoist you over his shoulder. You gasp in shock, body not necessarily remembering this part, and then—

He slams the both of you down onto the mat, your back hitting the cushion with a thud as the breathe gets knocked from your lungs. You definitely haven’t done this part in a while. 

You know the recruits are all watching you intently, but you refuse to lose like this, even if this is normally the part where the person pinned underneath the other one surrenders. With both of your arms and all of your force, you attempt to shove J off of you by using your elbow to punch him in the chest. If you go down (which you most certainly will), you will go down with a fight. 

He sees your move coming from a mile away, and immediately pins both of your arms above your head with a simple swish of his hand. The other one is holding up his body by your head as you both stare at each other, breathing heavily. His leg sits in between both of yours, resting up against your thigh, and his head hovers a very dangerous less-than-three inches away from your own. If a particularly near-sighted person were to stumble upon the both of you, you’d be absolutely screwed. 

The both of you gaze into each other’s eyes for a second, the wind knocked out of you. You never quite realized what his face looks like up close. His cheeks are bright red. But it’s a second too long because the recruits have gone silent, refusing to applaud or do anything else to signal that the sparring match is over. 

And then, it feels like a million years pass as J slowly removes himself from on top of your body, standing up and dusting his hands off before leaning down and offering his hand to help you up. Too floored and absolutely speechless to reject his extended palm like you normally would, you grab onto his hand and let him hoist you up, unable to speak. 

“How was that for a demonstration?” J asks the recruits, who are all blinking like they’ve just witnessed something far too shocking for their liking. 

Another trainee, a boisterous young man who walked into today’s session with his energy fully up and his eyes on the prize, raises his hand. “Could you show us again?”

You and J take one look at each other. 

No. Way. 

♚ HERE ♚

Because your office is both tightly knit and also uncannily resembles a cast of grown adults playing various high school stereotypes in a Hallmark movie, every year you do Office Superlatives. Office superlatives are basically an excuse for everyone to come up with a way to insult each other 1) while getting paid to do so and 2) without facing any repercussions whatsoever. 

For three years in a row, your office has designated you as “Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Really Important”, a superlative that came about because on your very first day, you spilled your coffee on the one and only Kim Namjoon, who you then mistook as your boss, and thus ensued the most embarrassing one minute and thirteen seconds of your entire life in front of a bunch of colleagues you would have to see every weekday for the foreseeable future. 

Thankfully, you haven’t spilled your coffee on anyone important since then, even if you do regularly knock over your pencil cup and send every pastel-colored highlighter flying across the hardwood floor. It became such a frequent occurrence that, for April Fool’s Day last year, Taehyung and Jimin taped every single thing on your desk to your desk to see how long it would take you to notice. 

(It took you over three weeks, but that’s besides the point.)

“I know that the saying is ‘the customer is always right’, but this client I’m working with right now is literally wrong,” Taehyung says with a sigh. He collapses back in his office chair, mindlessly playing with the fur of the stuffed Pomeranian dog he keeps on his desk, staring down the email on his desktop. “Like, I’m not Squarespace or Wix. Either you pay me to design your website entirely, or you do it yourself. I’m not a drag-and-drop of a person, and I don’t get paid to be consulted on every font choice.”

“Didn’t you write on your resume that you can identify every standard Microsoft font without being told the name?” Yoongi asks with a frown from across the office. He’s making the most of his gigantic desktop computer, and has a tab open with One Punch Man right next to a Photoshop logo design he’s working on. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to do it,” Taehyung says with a frown. “I need someone who knows how to let people down easily.”

“Jimin?” Hoseok pipes up unhelpfully, earning an eraser to the face from Jimin, who is notorious for going on a bunch of first dates and very, very seldom going on a second one. You don’t even think that for the entire time you’ve known him, he’s ever gone a third date with someone. Ever. 

“Do not make fun of my lifestyle choices!” Jimin shouts out defensively. “I just like meeting new people.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says like a white girl in a Disney Channel Original Movie, “and then never meeting them again.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” Jimin tells him pointedly, already beginning to stand up from his office chair to attempt to further convince him that serial-first-dating isn’t all that bad. “Two weeks ago, I saw this guy that I had gone on a date with last year and he told me that his friend was starting up a small pet barbershop business and needed help with the graphic design for his company. Now I’m designing this guy’s logo and backsplash for his wall.” He says matter-of-factly. 

Hoseok frowns. “So, what I’m hearing is that you saw a guy you had gone on a date with last year, and what you got out of it, was more work.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something else, but he flounders. Hoseok cackles to himself, shaking his head because Jimin’s just proved his point further. 

“I’ll ask Seokjin,” Taehyung says with a sigh. “He could tell me that I’ve lost my job and that I’m getting evicted from my apartment and I would thank him.”

Amen. 

“Hey, where is Seokjin?” Jungkook asks, spinning around in his office chair for the most efficient way to scan the entire office in search of the man. “He was just here watching One Punch Man with Yoongi.”

“I didn’t even notice he had gotten up,” Yoongi says, turning to the empty spot next to him where Seokjin once was. 

“I’ll go look for him, I need to grab something from the printer, anyway,” you volunteer, pushing your chair back, standing up, and avoiding the gazes of anybody in the office who happens to have knowledge of your not-so-secret secret crush. This means that you are staring down at the lines of the wooden planks in the floor as you walk over to the back hallway, because every single person in the room currently has at least… well… some insight. 

“He’s all yours, Y/N,” Taehyung wolf whistles, making you roll your eyes as you head down the hallway.  

Too busy counting the planks that make up the hardwood floor and hoping that you’ll maybe be able to identify Seokjin by the shoes he’s wearing rather than anything else, you don’t look at where you’re going as you make a beeline for the printing room. That is, you make a beeline for the printing room until you crash right into an unsuspecting colleague. 

“Oh, shit!” Said colleague cries out.

Oh God. 

You look up to find Seokjin standing in front of you, a nearly-empty cup of low-grade office coffee in his hand, and a growing brown stain on his pale blue dress shirt. One look on the floor and there’s a puddle of coffee gathered at your feet, wet splotches on your flats and his loafers. 

“Y/N, are you alright?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide and apologetic as he immediately searches for some place to put down his coffee to avoid any more casualties. He looks right at you, making you want to curl in on yourself, before his eyes train down to your torso.

Only then do you realize he’s not shamelessly staring at your chest, but rather at the massive brown stain on the front of your blouse, quickly seeping into the fabric, the scalding temperature of the coffee having gone right over your head the moment you realized who exactly it was that you crashed into. 

“Uh…” you stammer, brain crashing as everything that’s just happened in the past thirty seconds catches up to you all at once. 

“Oh my God, I’m such a mess,” Seokjin says, fumbling awkwardly as he finally finds a trash can to toss his sad lump of a coffee cup into.

No you’re not, you want to tell him, but the words don’t come out and you’re left standing there, looking sort of like you blame him for everything, when in reality, you just have no idea how to function in front of him. 

“Coffee stains,” Seokjin says, hands fishing through his seemingly bottomless pants pockets (he could probably fit an entire Nintendo Switch and its dock in there) until he pulls out this measly little thing that vaguely resembles your orange highlighter. “Here, I have a Tide To-Go pen.”

Before you can tell him that you can just deal with the stain and wash it in the privacy of your own home where you don’t look like a bumbling idiot, he grabs your hand and pulls you into the gender neutral bathroom nearby, locking the door as the light flickers on. 

“Here, do you need help?” Seokjin asks, holding out his Tide To-Go pen as he wets a paper towel made of entirely recycled materials and begins fruitlessly dabbing at his shirt. 

“I’m alright, really,” you insist, staring into the mirror and trying desperately to avoid the fact that Seokjin’s shirt becomes transparent when it’s wet. Maybe quitting your job and moving to another city doesn’t sound unappealing after all. “I can just get it out with OxiClean at my apartment, Seokjin, seriously.”

“Are you sure? That’s what the Tide To-Go pen is for,” Seokjin says, holding it out towards you again as a final attempt to get you to use it. 

“No offense, Seokjin, but I don’t know if the Tide To-Go pen is even going to make a dent in the stain on my shirt,” you chuckle, the only thing you can think of to get him to stop offering the thing to you. The Tide To-Go pen is meant for when you accidentally get a bit of ketchup onto your jeans as you move the french fry from your plate to your mouth. Not when you’ve got a giant coffee stain on the front of your shirt. 

“God, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Seokjin says, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt to try and get a better grip on the fabric as he relentlessly scrubs at it. God help you. He may as well take the whole thing off at this point—though you really, really hope that he doesn’t. “I’m such a klutz.”

“No, it’s my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you tell him. You still know that you passed by 107 wooden planks before you crashed into him, because that is what you do when you don’t want to look anyone in the eye. 

“Seriously, though, I had the cup of coffee. I feel really bad, I could pay to get it dry cleaned for you?” He offers, eyes wide and in search of some way to make it up to you. 

“No, no, that’s not necessary. I’m can handle a stain, Seokjin. I’m an adult. I live in my own apartment and everything,” you say firmly, refusing to accept anything else from him. God, if he paid for your dry-cleaning, you’d never be able to live that down. “Maybe I’ll finally stop being voted Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Important,” you joke, trying to make light of the fact that you’re standing in the tiny gender-neutral bathroom together, Seokjin’s practically got half of his transparent dress shirt unbuttoned, and you both have massive and very conspicuous brown stains on your tops. All wonderful, wonderful things. 

At this point, Seokjin stares down at his shirt and, quite frankly, just gives up, smoothing out his shirt as best as he can and tossing the poor, now-coffee-colored paper towel away. 

“I suppose it’s high time we give you a break for always knocking over that pencil cup of yours,” Seokjin jokes back as he opens the door, motioning for you to leave first. 

“We should invest in some Velcro for it,” you suggest, making Seokjin chuckle as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Uh… what the fuck?” 

The two of you are stopped in your tracks by a particularly suspicious Taehyung, who just witnessed the two of you walk out of the same bathroom with both of your clothes fairly askew. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” you immediately tell him, eyes wide. Count on him to get the wrong idea. 

“Okay,” Taehyung says, eyes narrowed. “Sure.”

“Taehyung, come on, I spilled coffee on the both of us,” Seokjin attempts, but Taehyung is absolutely not having it. 

“That’s what they all say,” he says cryptically, nodding as he heads to the printer room with his eyes still narrowed. He glares at the both of you until he rounds the corner, out of sight, and by then your cheeks have heated up so badly you think you might actually start sweating.

“Now the whole office is going to think we’re dating,” you say, somewhat jokingly but also somewhat seriously. There’s no way Taehyung’s going to be able to keep his mouth shut for any longer than the next five minutes. 

Seokjin laughs, looking at you and shrugging. “There are worse things, right?”

Are there?

♚ THERE ♚

“Oh, Y/N!”

You inhale. 

Of all of the places in the Kingdom that J has not yet infiltrated and ruined for you, the small cafe on the edge of the kingdom borders has to have been the last one. You discovered it while you were on night watch as a baby knight, a task given to those too dedicated to the job to release but not yet prepared enough to fight on the front lines. It’s a quiet place, open more hours of the day than closed, owned by an old lady with no other family to take care of the business. You’ve already promised her that after she passes, you will immediately begin funding the cafe yourself, too much money on your hands and not enough wonderful places like this to spend it on.

When days are loud and hectic, when the King and Queen and all of their military advisors are stressed and have been snapping at you all day, this is where you come. The old lady keeps her door open especially for you (at least that’s what she tells you), always with a steaming cup of jasmine tea and a wise old story to tell you. Sometimes, you’ll get to tell a story back, and you exchange words of wisdom from a knight at the highest ranking in the kingdom and an elder with many years of experience in the kingdom behind her. She always tells you, “keep your eyes wide and your heart open, because things can only enter it if you’re looking out for them.”

You’ve held those words close to your soul ever since the first time you heard them. 

But when your eyes are wide and staring down a certain knight in the kingdom who seems to have stumbled upon your one sacred place, you’re a little bothered, to say the least.

You exhale.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say sourly, the scalding tea burning your tongue as you take a sip. 

“I’ve never seen this place before,” J admits helplessly, already bowing to the old lady who runs the place. He introduces himself handsomely, and much like everyone else bewitched by his good looks and unrealistically charismatic personality, she immediately warms up to him. 

“I wish it could stay that way,” you mumble to yourself, far too quiet for anyone except you and your tea to hear. “It’s far away,” you say to him as the lady ushers him to the seat next to yours, already promising him tea on the house. You sigh. “Wouldn’t expect you to go hunting for a nice tea place when there are so many wonderful places in the city.”

“I guess it’s nice to branch out,” J says with a shrug. “I have to say that I don’t really go out to cafes all that often. Too busy.”

“You know I understand how that goes,” you tell him honestly. For once, it’s something you can actually relate to. “But I think that it’s important to take a break from our duties and just relax. We don’t have much time to do that, you know.”

The lady brings over tea, and J insists he pay her for it despite her insistence for him not to. She shuffles off into the back before he can even get out some coins.

“Tell me, where can I leave this? I feel terrible not paying,” J asks you. It catches you off guard, really, mostly because he seems to be the kind of person who walks around the center square winking at every vendor in the hopes of receiving free merchandise. 

“Oh,” you say, embarrassingly speechless. “Well, I suppose I could take it and give it to her. If we left rather soon then we could simply leave it on the counter for her to find. It’s likely that she won’t come back out for a while, since I have company.”

“Am I your company, Y/N?” J asks, almost teasingly. It makes you want to chuck your cup of jasmine tea into his face. 

“Don’t think too much of it,” you advise him, a warning to tell him to knock it off. “We’re just here together.”

“Lucky us,” J says, holding up his cup of tea for a toast. You indulge him (begrudgingly so), letting your glasses clink together as you both finish a much needed warm drink on a chilly afternoon. 

Too soon, the respite of the cafe is broken by a knock at the door. You both turn to find a messenger waiting patiently outside the cafe, motioning for J to come and speak to him. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” J says, scooting back his chair and heading over, shutting the door behind him. 

The moment the door closes, the old lady reappears from the back of the room, collecting your finished cups as you both listen intently to the murmuring outside. 

“That young man mentioned that the two of you spend lots of time together,” the muses, cleaning the cups with a wet rag. She’s got a knowing look in her eye, like she’s picked up on something the both of you seem to have overlooked. 

“We’re both knights,” you correct. It’s important to you that she knows that you don’t spend time together out of personal preference. It’s merely obligation. “So we see each other quite often.”

“I’ve never seen him around before,” she says pointedly, “but he seems to know quite a lot about you.”

“Oh, not really,” you insist. How could he? You’ve barely known him a month. Still, it’s clear that the lady doesn’t believe you. 

“As you say,” she says, skeptical. 

You’re about to open your mouth and reject her notions further, but then the door opens up again, and J looks terribly apologetic as he walks inside, joining your side. “We’ve been called in.”

As per usual, the Kingdom appears with impeccable timing to ruin the rest of your afternoon. It has a striking tendency to do that. 

“For what?” You ask, exasperated. J doesn’t look much happier. 

“Criminal hearings,” J says, and the words make you you toss your head back and sigh. 

Criminal hearings and its many, many procedures are quite possibly your least favorite part of being a top-ranked royal knight. With your knowledge of the ins and outs of the military and the kingdom’s inner workings, as well as with you being an advisor to the generals and the King and Queen, you are often obligated to attend these, just in case there is a desperate need for the technicalities of military crimes that no one else can provide. It is, admittedly, extremely boring, since you can’t really offer any sort of insight or opinion on the actual criminal and their crime at hand. 

“Fine,” you say, suddenly much less energized than you were approximately thirty seconds ago. “I suppose that we’ll have to be on our way.”

“Ma’am,” J says, attracting the attention of the old lady behind the counter. He holds out some coins, palm facing up. “Please accept this from me. I couldn’t leave without paying you for your wonderful tea and service.”

“Oh, pish posh,” the lady says with a shake of her hand. “Any friend of Y/N’s is well-deserving of some tea. You both work very hard. You should take any opportunity that presents itself to relax, and enjoy being young.”

“Please,” J insists, placing the coins in her hand, “a token of my gratitude. We shall return soon, right Y/N?” He gives your shoulder a nudge, making you look up at him. Return? You’d be blessed if J forgot about this place entirely, though you know that he’s bound to come back soon. 

Perhaps there are worse things than losing your favorite cafe to him. Perhaps, you can simply learn to enjoy his company, instead. 

“Of course, how could I resist?” You say, waving goodbye to the lady at the counter. “We really must be going, but I shall see you soon.”

“Take care of yourselves, the both of you!” She sees you off with a smile and a wink directed right at you for a cause you aren’t too keen on picking up. Old ladies are always so vague. 

When you walk outside, you’re surprised to find yourselves alone. “Where’s the messenger guard?” You ask, looking around to see if he’s found a tree to take respite from the sun under. 

J laughs, warm and hearty. “I sent him off, told him we would be able to make it ourselves.”

“Oh, alright,” you say with a shrug, already beginning to trudge the familiar path towards the castle. 

You take six steps before realizing that J is neither next to you nor following you, still standing on the porch of the cafe as the sun makes his hair glimmer a dark caramel in the light. 

“Aren’t you coming?” You turn around to ask, an eyebrow raised as you tap your foot on the cobblestone road. 

“Have you ever skipped a criminal hearing before, Y/N?” J asks, and the very notion of bailing makes your eyes go wide. 

“Skipped?” You clarify. 

“That’s what I said,” J confirms. 

“No…” You trail off, feeling more and more like the try hard you once were while training, wide-eyed and eager to prove yourself. Standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on your toes and twiddling your fingers as he steps off of the porch, taking long strides to reach you, makes you feel so nervous. With every step he takes closer to you, your heart begins to beat faster, faster, faster. 

“Well,” J says, reaching out his hand to take hold of your own. “Would you like to start?”

When you were stationed on the Kingdom’s borders, you thought you had explored every nook and cranny of Kala. You had wandered through forests, across rivers, and into small edge villages with goods you had never even heard of before. You thought you had seen it all. 

Clearly, you were mistaken. 

J pulls you off of the cobblestone path and immediately takes you into the woods that surround the cafe, weaving past trees and ferns and grass alike. This time of year, the forest is ripe with greenery, right when summer is coming to an end but the leaves have yet to begin to fade to brown. Even without landmarks or a path to guide him, J seems to know exactly where the two of you are going, like he’s taken this road a million times before. And still, you had never seen him before this. 

It’s a wonder that the two of you missed each other for so long. 

“Where are we going, J?” You ask, laughing as the exhilaration of skipping your duties in favor of a fun day in the forest begins to flow through your veins. You’ve never done this before. 

“Just wait, you’ll see,” he says cryptically, taking you down a large hill. You must be out of the Kingdom borders by now, with how far you’ve been going, and yet, no one had ever thought to place guards in this area. 

Five more minutes of travelling and you’re near convinced that J is about to take you to some cave in the floor of the forest and murder you, when he tugs you up a hill to reveal—

It’s a clearing with grass so green you’d almost think it was enchanted. The leaves of the trees whisper to each other, voices flowing with the wind that breezes by each and every one, saying hello to the branches as they rustle. Tall grass and ferns grow on the edge of the forest, disguising the clearing to anyone who wouldn’t bother to keep looking, make their way through the overgrowth and into the oasis. 

Never in a million years would you have been able to find this place on your own. 

“What do you think?” J asks excitedly as he pulls you into the middle of the clearing, where the leaves of the trees have left an opening for the sun to shine through, a halo in the middle of the forest. 

“I—I’m speechless,” you say, eyes wandering from every piece of bark to every blade of grass. You’ve always loved your Kingdom and its beauty, from the extravagant castle to the little shacks on the border, but this is more than that. This isn’t just beauty—it’s magic. “How did you find this place?”

“Strayed from the pack during military training outside,” he says guiltily. Clearly, skipping out on responsibilities has become a habit of J’s. 

“Unbelievable,” you say, fingers tracing along the wildflowers growing close to the forest floor. You take a seat in the middle of it all, letting the sun stream through the leaves as the flowers open their petals at your touch. It’s as if every single living thing has been enchanted—like none of this could exist naturally. 

“Do you like it?” J asks, taking a seat on the stone next to you. He reaches down to run his fingers through the grass, letting the soft dirt gather on his skin. 

“I don’t think I have the words,” you tell him. You thought you had found a hidden respite from the hustle and bustle, but he has found not just a respite. He’s found a home. “Why would you show me this place?”

“What do you mean?” J asks. He finds a small yellow flower, a buttercup, and plucks it from the ground, twirling it between his fingers.

“I mean, why would you bring me here? Wouldn’t you want to keep this place all for yourself?” You inquire, curious. Certainly, that’s what you would do. 

J pauses for a moment, staring down at the buttercup in his hands. Wordlessly, he hands it to you, watches as your fingers touch his own, taking the buttercup from him. You twirl it between your fingers, and wonder what all of this means. 

“No,” he eventually answers. “Because a place like this deserves to be shared with the people that deserve to see it.”

♚ HERE ♚

[You have 5 unread messages]

Jungkook (5:53PM): Is it still acceptable to talk about Kingdom at company dinners? Jungkook (5:53PM): Is the ban that Yoongi instated last company dinner still going? Do you think he’ll be mad if I talk about how I just got a bunch of gold from solving the mystery of the time capsule?

Yoongi (5:55PM): If I have to sit through another company dinner where everyone is talking about Kingdom and nobody is talking about anime or my dog Holly I will lose it

Taehyung (5:57PM): You’re coming, right? You mentioned having a thing that ended pretty late this evening so you weren’t sure you’d make it

Seokjin (6:03PM): Excited to see you tonight! Promise I won’t spill anything on you tonight haha

Your office’s annual company dinner is the one and only opportunity you, as employees, get per year to talk about whatever you like in front of your colleagues, all while getting a meal paid for by your wonderfully unassuming, hardheaded boss. It is both a celebration of camaraderie and, of course, being employed, and a chance for your personal group to talk about Kingdom for two hours straight without repercussions. 

Needless to say, many of you are looking forward to it. 

To Jungkook (6:07PM): Yes, but only if we get to talk about how I’m still the best at the game out of everyone To Jungkook (6:07PM): Also, don’t forget to talk to Yoongi about My Hero Academia I know that you secretly love it

To Yoongi (6:08PM): Bring earplugs? Or maybe a manga book to get the conversation going?

To Taehyung (6:08PM): Yeah, I’ll be there To Taehyung (6:08PM): Probably be late though To Taehyung (6:09PM): Save me a seat!

To Seokjin (6:10PM): Not sure if I can promise the same thing! Fingers crossed we make it out tonight unscathed by scalding hot liquids

The company dinner starts at 6:30, which means that it really starts at 7:00 by the time everyone arrives, but even still, you’ll probably be late because you are actually doing last-minute laundry, and not attending a special event like you had told Taehyung. Sue you. Your clothes were dirty. 

Standing in the middle of your apartment wearing the slouchiest clothes you own, you wonder if it’s even worth going when you know that you will probably 1) be late and 2) have to endure two hours worth of Kingdom talk and other things that leave you thoroughly embarrassed, like your nonexistent love life. 

You’ve never skipped out on a company dinner before, but then again, never have all of your colleagues been so on top of you about your very insignificant, not at all soul-crushing, extremely minimal, super unimportant, tiny little infatuation with a certain coworker, so there’s that to consider. 

Not to mention the fact that your entire office genuinely believes that the two of you hooked up in the gender neutral bathroom during the middle of the workday, which is a circumstance so improbable you have no idea how Taehyung managed to convince everybody that that was actually what happened. It’s not as if your coworkers didn’t see the ridiculous brown stains on the front of your and Seokjin’s shirts, or didn’t smell the office coffee stench all over the both of you. 

So, for once in your life, you are genuinely considering just staying at home, finishing your laundry, and eating the frozen veggie burritos you bought from Costco two weeks ago. It sounds very tempting.

This thought is immediately combated by the fact that you usually have some of the most fun during the year at this company dinner, and a free meal at a nice, upscale restaurant is something that you would normally never pass up. But then again, Seokjin will be there and he will be dressed very nicely, and the rest of your coworkers will also be there, and they will be relentless. 

Jungkook (6:33PM): Tae said you’d be late but please come soon! We can’t talk about Kingdom without the best player present!!!! Jungkook (6:33PM): Oh no Namjoon sees me with my phone

And out of every possible text you could have received that night, that one is the one that convinces you to pull out the same dress you’ve worn to the company dinner (it’s not as if anyone else will remember) every other year, tug it on, and head out. Your Costco veggie burritos will have to wait for another stay-at-home night. 

You arrive fashionably late as always, walking into the restaurant and just asking for directions to where the “big group of loud office workers” is, a term easily identifiable by the scrambled hostess with fifteen different tables to seat all at once. She points you to the back room, where you can already hear Hoseok’s laughter from outside in the main dining area. 

“You guys are loud,” you say in lieu of a greeting, everyone letting out cries of “Y/N!” and “You made it!” as you look around for the last empty seat. 

“Here, saved you a spot right next to me,” Seokjin volunteers helpfully, motioning to the empty velvet chair next to him. In the seat next to that sits Taehyung, who is grinning guiltily, like he didn’t just dupe you into thinking he had saved you a seat next to him and someone else other than the person you were hoping not to embarrass yourself in front of. 

“Thinking of me when I’m not even here, how thoughtful,” you say, walking over and sending a glare Taehyung’s way as you take your seat, the glass at the top right corner of your placemat already filled. 

“How could we forget about you?” Seokjin reasons, and he says it so casually but it makes your heart flutter all the same. 

When Seokjin’s finally started talking to Hoseok and Jimin on his other side, the two of them attempting to explain the inner workings of Kingdom to him (to little avail, as per usual), you round on Taehyung, who is every bit the best wingman and the worst friend in the entire world. 

“How could you do this to me?” You hiss at him, trying not to attract the attention of the man sitting on the opposite side of you. 

“I said I had saved you a seat!” Taehyung says defensively, clearly enjoying himself way too much. 

“This was not what I had in mind,” you tell him pointedly. 

“Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have hidden it from you,” Taehyung says. He motions to Seokjin, who’s laughing at something that Jimin’s just said, eyes crinkled into half moons as the waiter places the cocktail he’s ordered down in front of him. “You know, it’s not so bad having a crush on him, right?”

“He is our coworker and way out of my league, of course it is,” you remind Taehyung. 

Taehyung shrugs you off with a wave of his hand. “Give yourself some credit, Y/N. You’re hot. Embrace it.”

“I will not, thank you very much. This conversation makes me want to hurl,” you say as normally as possible, blinking to show your discomfort to Taehyung. 

“You need to stop being so afraid of what might actually come out of this,” Taehyung says, a reassuring hand on your arm. “You never know what might happen.”

“What’s definitely going to happen is that I’m going to feel too cold from the vent above my head, and we’re going to switch seats,” you say. You immediately make to stand up, but Taehyung grabs onto your wrist and looks up at you like a child begging for candy in a supermarket. 

“Please, Y/N? Just give it a try, and if you hate it by the time the entree comes around, we can switch. Alright?” He asks, a simple compromise to get you to sit back down. 

You sigh. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to shoot your shot, no matter how terrible your aim is. 

“I didn’t order any soup, so hopefully we can last through this dinner without ruining more of our clothes,” Seokjin says, an icebreaker to ease the obvious tension between the two of you. He breaks down your walls so easily, carves out a path in the side of it to waltz right through. 

“I don’t know,” you say sarcastically,” you better finish that cocktail soon or we might both be in big trouble.”

Seokjin chuckles, warm and full, and takes another sip of the fruity drink for good measure. “Don’t know how you keep getting crowned Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Important when I’m here, a walking coffee volcano.”

“When the superlatives roll around, I’ll petition the court and see if we can crown you instead,” you promise. 

“I’m honored. I’ll cherish that title for as long as I live,” Seokjin jokes, bowing to you just for good measure. “This is nice, you know.”

“What is?” You ask, peering down at the large group menu. Everything looks awfully delicious and awfully expensive, so you just go for a classic pasta dish and hope that Taehyung orders something different, so you can try each other’s. 

“Sitting next to you,” Seokjin says like it’s obvious, making you blink at your menu like it’s just offended your entire family ancestry. “I don’t think we’ve ever been paired up like this at a company dinner.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” You ask hopefully. 

“It’s nice,” Seokjin says. “I feel like we don’t get to talk very much at work.”

“You said you’d bring more doughnuts,” you remind him. Seokjin has held up on his promise, actually, and since the first round of doughnuts, he’s brought on two more occasions to brighten up everybody’s day. 

“I think I need a better excuse than doughnuts,” Seokjin says to himself. “I can’t keep going to Dunkin’ right before work, pretty soon all of the workers will know me by name and that is a level that I’m not sure I’d like to reach yet.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you tell him, a hand instinctively coming to rest on his shoulder as comfort. “Some of the Costco employees recognize me even when I’m wearing my sunglasses inside.”

“You wear your sunglasses inside Costco?” Seokjin asks with a laugh. 

“Sometimes I just forget to take them off when I walk from my car into the store!” You say defensively. “It’s really bright in there, sue me.”

“No, no, I think it’s cute,” Seokjin assures you. “Maybe being recognized by the Dunkin’ employees won’t be that bad. At least they probably wouldn’t know who I was if I had my sunglasses on.”

“I’m being attacked, I’m pretty sure,” you say pointedly. 

“Only affectionately. You’re still ridiculously endearing.” Seokjin says with a chuckle, smiling at you as Jungkook calls your name to tell him something about Kingdom that he’s forgotten. But even as Seokjin gets tugged into another conversation and you get pulled into your own, your brain can’t help but replay the sound of his voice in your head, over and over. 

You’re still ridiculously endearing.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jimin asks over a mouthful of complimentary bread with olive oil. “Did you ever figure out who knocked Y/N from the top spot in Kingdom?”

“No,” Jungkook cries out, suddenly thirsty for justice. “It makes me so mad that I don’t know who they are, especially since they’re getting all the in-game brand deals and Y/N gets nothing,” he says pointedly as he motions to you, clearly exasperated for a cause that wasn’t even his to begin with. 

“Jungkook, it’s not a big deal, it’s just a game,” you remind him, the table too wide to reach over and pat his hand comfortingly. “I still get a lot of things in second place.”

“What’s Jungkook talking about?” Seokjin asks, motioning to where Jungkook seems to be on a rampage as Jimin and Namjoon listen in. 

“Oh, Kingdom, like always,” you say fondly. “He’s determined to figure out the name of the person who dethroned me.”

“Is that so?” Seokjin asks with a laugh. “He’s got his work cut out for him. How many people play Kingdom?”

“Hundreds of thousands, probably,” you say. “Maybe millions.”

“Millions of people, and somehow we ended up with the second-best player in the game right at this table,” Seokjin says with a grin. “We should be honored.”

“It’s just a game,” you remind him, even though the sentiment is awfully sweet. “I think I much prefer the real world, don’t you?”

Seokjin smiles at you as the waiter comes around to offer him another cocktail. 

“Another one, sir?”

Seokjin looks down at the cocktail, then at your unstained clothes, and he shakes his head, laughing to himself. “No, I’m alright, thank you.” The waiter nods, taking his empty glass and moving onto another coworker. He looks at you, and his eyes are swimming in stars. “I think that I do, too.”

Dinner ends with Hoseok and Jungkook gobbling down everybody’s leftovers, your boss paying the bill without even glancing at the check, and you laughing alongside Seokjin, who keeps your end of the table entertained with fantastic stories about his past job at a luxury department store and less-than-fantastic dad jokes that he prides himself for coming up with on the spot. 

Taehyung had nudged you when the entrees had come around, motioning to the vent above your head, but you hadn’t even noticed the cold. 

“Ugh,” Jimin says with a groan as the group of you head outside once everyone is finished, the chilly night air hitting your skin as you open the door. “I hate that we could only schedule this for a Wednesday, because it means we have to come into work again tomorrow.”

“When else are we supposed to schedule it for?” Yoongi asks with a frown. “Did you even look at the When2Meet? Nobody had any free time for the rest of the month.”

“Well, if everyone’s cleared their schedules just for this dinner, anyone want to keep the celebration going at my apartment? I just bought a box of wine from Trader Joe’s,” Jimin asks. 

“On a Wednesday?” Yoongi says, nose scrunched up in disapproval. 

“Yeah, when else would you drink boxed Trader Joe’s wine?” Jimin responds like it’s obvious. 

Everyone begins to either disperse back to their cars or get Jimin’s address so they can get wine drunk on a Wednesday like you’re supposed to, leaving you and Seokjin out of the crowd. 

“Are you heading over to Jimin’s?” He asks you as you begin to walk towards your cars, taking a step every five seconds as you watch Jimin tell everybody his exact address, loudly and slowly enough for any burglars and axe-wielding murderers within a three-mile radius to also hear him. 

“No, I think I’ll just head home for the night,” you say, checking the time on your phone. It’s nearly ten, already. Where did the time go?

“Ah, then I guess I will, too,” Seokjin says. “Oh, here’s my car.”

“You parked close,” you comment. 

“I thought that I’d be late because I arrived at 6:45, but I was the second one here,” Seokjin tells you, making you laugh. 

“Sounds like our office, doesn’t it?”

“I guess. We’ll have to do this again sometime just to see how late everyone shows up,” Seokjin says. 

“Promise I’ll be early next time,” you say. 

“Next time, then?” Seokjin asks, already opening his car door and beginning to step inside. You stand on the sidewalk in front of him, watching as he pulls the door shut and waves to you through the windshield. A next time sounds awfully nice. 

“Next time.”

♚ THERE ♚

The King and Queen never do find out about your truancy, though you have to admit, you were never really worried about that in the first place. Not when J was grinning as he told you he had sent the messenger guard off, laughing as he dragged you through the forest, smiling as he twirled a buttercup between his fingers. He had done it before and he’ll do it again, and look where that’s gotten him. 

Maybe you could learn a thing or two from him. 

Still, despite your high ranks, the two of you can’t avoid your responsibilities forever. Eventually, you will always have to report back to the castle, get a new assignment, and start the cycle all over again. 

“At least they’re letting us go together,” J reasons as the two of you nod to the knights standing guard at the border of the kingdom, by the main forest that leads directly to a kingdom with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong. No wars have broken out between your two lands in years, but never has stability been one-hundred percent earned, which means that both kingdoms must be on high alert. You never know when a rebel group will attempt to invade the land. 

“Like I’d want to spend any more time with you,” you joke, giving J a nudge in the side as you stroll along the forest edge. In the middle of the day with the sun high above your heads, neither of you are particularly worried about being attacked. It would be foolish for an enemy group to do so, especially at a time when the kingdom’s guards are the most awake. 

“Am I really such awful company?” J asks, and he’s smiling but he asks in such a way, it’s almost as if he means it. The two of you have never been on the best of terms, but you’ve found yourself growing out of the competition-fueled rage you once always found yourself in whenever you were near him. No longer is regaining your first place your most important priority. Rather, it’s doing your job and doing it correctly, upholding the duties that the kingdom has entrusted you with, regardless of who’s by your side. 

(Though, even if you’d never admit it, J makes quite good company, most of the time.)

“No,” you insist, a hand reaching out to rub comfortingly at his forearm. “You aren’t.”

“You think so?” J says with a laugh, almost bitter. “I must say, you’ve never been that fond of me.”

“You may have charmed your way into the rest of the kingdom’s hearts, but I needed some convincing,” you remind him, reminiscent of how he would tease you constantly, dangle his promotion right above your head like a trophy you’d never be able to reach. 

“Did I do a good job, then?” J asks, hands in his pockets. It’s a quiet day, today. Even the birds have begun to murmur. 

“You did quite alright,” you say, nudging him. “Though I must say, I absolutely hate how all of the vendor’s daughters fawn all over you and give you free items like fruit, and jewelry. I’m never given that treatment.”

“You just don’t have my naturally charming, handsome, soft looks,” J says, posing in front of you as the two of you walk. The obnoxiousness of it all makes you almost want to chuck the apple you’re about to eat right at his face. 

“What do you mean? I can be charming,” you say with a pout. You pretend to flip your hair, just for emphasis. 

“You and I are different types of charming,” J says casually. “You’re strong. You speak loudly and clearly and you don’t ever flounder. You always know exactly what you want, and know the best way to get it. You aren’t afraid of anything, and are always willing to take on any challenge that comes your way. It’s… it’s different.”

And even if he thinks you never flounder, never stumble over your words or stutter, for once, you can’t think of anything to say. You’re walking along the forest’s edge with a knight you had convinced yourself that you would never befriend, and he’s just told you all of these wonderful things about yourself you never would have known he’d thought otherwise. 

J’s right. It is different. This is different. And you can hardly remember when it started to be like this. Only one day, it was just like this, and it never stopped. 

“Do you really think all of those things about me?” You ask, staring down at your boots as you walk along the dirt path, kicking small pebbles as you go. They go flying off into the grass, never to be seen again. But sometimes, you come across one you had kicked a few steps back, and you try again, earnestly hoping to see how far it will go with you by its side. 

“I mean, well…” J says, stumbling. “I don’t just think those things about you, you know? They’re facts, aren’t they? Those are things that, well, I suppose, everyone would think about you. Right?”

“You know what I think?” You ask, looking up at him. His dark hair shimmers in the light, like reflects of gold have been sprinkled amongst the ink black. “We are different types of charming. You’re charismatic and friendly, always willing to listen. You accept things graciously and are always grateful for what you receive. You pay people back whatever they’ve given you, even if it’s not the same item, even if it’s just the thought that counts. You always want to do better, and then you do. You work hard for each thing you get, and you never take it for granted.”

J grins down at you. “But you don’t actually think that, do you?”

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “Just facts.”

“Just facts,” he echoes. 

When did talking to him become so easy? When did it all start coming to you naturally?

“Did you ever hate me?” He asks you, curious. He knows, he must, that that’s not the case anymore. 

“No,” you admit, perhaps more to yourself than to him. “I think that I just hated that you were better than me. But… like you said, it’s different now. Now, I don’t care if you’re better than me. That sort of competition makes me a better soldier. You make me a better soldier.”

“Really?” J wonders, genuine. His eyes are wide in surprise, shocked at such a candid admission coming from you. To be honest, you’re surprised with yourself, as well. “I had no idea.”

“Keep it up, then. You know—”

A taut string let go. 

The wind stopping in its tracks. 

And an arrow headed right for your heart. 

“Oh my God!” You shout quickly, unable to do much except alert the man next to you that the two of you are in imminent danger. 

Before you can even blink, close your eyes and wait for the tip to pierce your heart, J is pushing you out of the way, sending you flying to the forest floor and he pulls his bow from his back, sending a steel arrow flying in the direction of the woods. You both wait there, only a second but it’s a second too long, until you hear a thud on the ground, a final breath, and then—

Silence. 

The moment you’re both positive the assailant is dead, J turns to you, eyes wide. “Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m alright,” you assure him, telling him (and yourself) over and over as he pulls you up from the ground. Your heart is racing and you can’t quite seem to catch your breath, but you’re alive and so is he, and that’s all that matters. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he immediately says. “As long as you are.”

You look behind him to find an arrow stuck in a tree, but what alarms you more is the sight of blood on the tip. Immediately, you turn back to J, only to find the side of his arm covered in blood, bleeding right through his armor.

“Oh my God, J, you’re hurt,” you cry out, fumbling for something to stop the flow.

“I’m alright, Y/N, really,” he insists, placing a hand on top of your own, rubbing the back of it with his thumb for good measure. “It’s just a graze. I’ll be fine.”

“We have to take you back to the kingdom,” you push, already beginning to head back towards the gate. 

“I’ve suffered worse injuries, Y/N, seriously,” he tells you, hoping to ease the pit of worry in your stomach. “I’m a top-ranked knight who prefers the battlefield over anything else. I’ve broken bones, gotten stabbed, and nearly died. This? It’s nothing. Really. Please, don’t worry.”

“We still have to get you back to the Kingdom and patch you up,” you insist firmly. “Even if you say you’re alright.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Y/N.” J goes with you obligingly, lets you walk him back to the kingdom gates. 

You urge him into the local medical practitioner, sit him down on the bench and watch as the doctor bandages his wound, reminds him not to engage in any strenuous activity while it’s healing. He sits patiently, glaring at you slightly and rolling his eyes any time the doctor speaks, which is fairly frequently. It’s clear only one of you wants to be here right now, and it’s the one of you without a scratch on your body. 

When the doctor leaves to tend to another patient, you get up from where you’re seated and sit down next to him on the bench, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Working for the Kingdom makes you stronger. Sitting in the cafe makes you think. But being with him, standing by his side, it makes you wonder. It makes your heart race and your mind clear. It makes you feel safe. 

“I think you saved my life,” you whisper softly, clutching onto him like a lifeline, like if you let go, one of you will drown. 

But that’s not the case. Neither of you will let go. Not without the other. Never without the other. 

“Really?” He asks. He already knows the answer. 

“No, I know you did,” you tell him. Things are different now, but maybe they’ve always been like this. You just never noticed. “Because in a heartbeat, I would do the same for you.”

♚ HERE ♚

“I have not seen Seokjin all day,” Jimin comments loudly one day, making everyone immediately turn to Seokjins’ desk, which looks practically untouched. His computer is asleep, his chair is pushed in, and his desktop is empty. The only thing that suggests that the man is even here in the first place is the messenger bag resting against the desk drawers, though it doesn’t look like it’s even been opened today. 

“Probably too busy avoiding you,” Yoongi deadpans, earning a “zing!” from Hoseok that makes you feel even more like you’re standing in the middle of a high school movie made by people who don’t know what high school is like. 

“Is he even in today?” 

“He is,” you pipe up. “His bag is here.”

“Of course you would know!” Taehyung teases, and he earns a highlighter to the face for his trouble. 

“He’s probably just trying to get his work done in a place that doesn’t consist of screaming and constant insults being hurled across the room,” Jimin says with a sigh, turning back to his work. It’s a fair statement, especially when the environment in your office is most often distracting, loud, and not at all an ideal work environment. It’s an absolute wonder that any of you manage to get your work done while you’re here. 

“Y/N, wanna go hunt him down?” Taehyung suggests, sending a wink your way as your eyes widen. 

“No, absolutely not, no way. I will not be tricked by you again,” you say, very reminiscent of the last time you went to go look for Seokjin and ended up with a coffee-stained shirt and a group of coworkers who thinks the two of you hooked up that one time. 

“If you say so…” Taehyung says, voice trailing off as he turns back to his work. 

But for once in your life, Seokjin’s absence is more noticeable than ever. He’s become a fixture in your everyday office life, always stopping by your desk with a second cup of low-grade office coffee for you (with a lid, of course), sending you emails complaining about Jimin and Hoseok when they’re being loud, asking you for help on every one of his difficult font decisions for logo designs, drafting emails to clients with you. It’s a sort of closeness that you never really had before—sure, you worked together and often got paired up for projects, but it’s different now. Like you jumped ship on being just colleagues but instead of drowning, you began to float.

Five more minutes pass and you pretty much resign yourself to getting back to your work, knowing that Seokjin’s probably just grabbed his laptop and found a place where he can work in peace and quiet without Hoseok’s shrill voice interrupting his thoughts. You’ll have to ask him what place he’s discovered. 

When there are four minutes left in the workweek and you are finally beginning to close out of the fifteen thousand tabs open on your Google Chrome window, the door busts open. 

It doesn’t actually bust open, so much as Seokjin comes flying through it and it slowly goes to rest on the padded door frame like it’s been designed to. His tie is loose around his neck like he’s been tugging on it all afternoon, his laptop is clenched carefully between his arm and his torso, and he’s got a flurry of papers freeballing it in a stack in his hands. 

“Oh my God, what tornado did you come from?” Jimin asks as Seokjin rushes over to his desk, cramming everything into his tiny messenger bag that definitely isn’t meant to fit a laptop and a stack of papers that thick. 

“Sehun just dumped an entire project on me that’s due on Sunday at noon with no warning, and now I have to pull together fragments of a crumbling magazine label before their final review on Sunday afternoon,” he says, terribly out of breath. He’s scrambling to gather his belongings, crashing into anything within a two-foot radius of him. 

“Dude, what the heck? I’m gonna tell Namjoon to kick Sehun’s ass,” Hoseok says with a frown, nose scrunched up. “Do you need help?”

“No, no, I’m alright, I can do it,” Seokjin insists, rubbing a hand through his hair as he leaves before the clock has even struck five. 

“Are you sure? You look like you want to jump out of the window,” Hoseok asks again, just for clarification. He’s not wrong. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Seokjin become so stressed in such a short period of time before. “At least let one of us help you get settled back into your apartment.”

To your right, Taehyung whispers into Jungkook’s ear, who then does this sort of weird hand movement to Hoseok, who nods understandingly. It looks suspiciously like they just plotted someone’s murder. 

“I can’t,” Jungkook says with an obnoxiously fake yawn, suddenly speaking much slower than usual, “I’m deadbeat tired.”

“Me neither,” Taehyung says, coughing in the way people do when they just want to get out of something. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

You whip your head around as everyone besides Yoongi comes up with an absolutely bullshit excuse not to accompany Seokjin to his apartment—Jimin says he has a date right after work and Hoseok says he needs to feed his puppy before he gets too hungry, leaving only you and a Yoongi that hasn’t been listening to the conversation whatsoever to vie for the spot. 

“Yoongi?” You ask, somewhat desperate not to be the one to accompany Seokjin to his apartment. You turn to your head to glare at Taehyung, who shamelessly coughs again when he meets your eyes, smiling guiltily. 

“Huh?” He asks, turning around. 

“Fine, you know what? I can come with,” you say with a sigh, already grabbing your belongings as Taehyung and Jungkook high-five next to you. 

“Oh, really? You’re a lifesaver, Y/N, you know that?” Seokjin says, and even when he’s stressed it’s like the weight has been lifted off of his shoulders once you volunteer, and you suppose that there are worse things that can happen than accompanying Seokjin to his apartment for ten minutes. 

Seokjin gives you the address of his place so that you can drive to it yourself, the both of you pulling into the parking garage underneath his apartment complex at the same time, waving to each other from adjacent parking spaces. 

“I really, really appreciate this, Y/N,” Seokjin says with a smile as he brings you into his apartment complex, nodding a friendly hello to the security officer in the lobby. “I know that it’s a Friday night and everything as well. You’d probably want to be doing something else.”

“Ah, yes, you know me, I frequent all of the clubs and bars in this city,” you say sarcastically as you walk into the elevator. Seokjin hits the button for the seventh floor and laughs. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. It was a dick move of Sehun to drop this on you when it’s due in, like, thirty-six hours.”

“Tell me about it,” Seokjin says, exasperated as he leans back against the steel walls of the elevator. “I thought I would just get to go home this Friday night, pull up Netflix, and have a one-man movie night, but now I have to spend the next thirty-six hours doing this.”

“Well, you know all of us are just looking out for you, wanted to make sure you didn’t injure yourself from stress before you got back to your apartment,” you say as the elevator door dings. Seokjin leads you down the hallway to his door, sticking his key in and jiggling it until the door pops open. 

Admittedly, you have never been in Seokjin’s apartment, but you it was like you had already painted a picture of it in your head from his personality traits alone. You thought it would be fairly minimalistic, clean and neat, not too many flashy colors or kitschy items but things like photographs and magnets to make it feel like an office and more like a home. Pictured it as a sort of very simple, modern home, like the ones that celebrities live in because they can afford to keep their belongings clean all the time, because Seokjin looks exactly like a celebrity, gorgeous and put-together. 

Instead, Seokjin’s apartment is almost a hodgepodge of everything he could think to find to decorate, a stack of photobooks on his coffee table, slouchy leather couches wrinkled from wear, various kitchen supplies splayed all over his countertops. It’s the kind of place you can imagine him being in, existing in. You can see him standing behind his kitchen island with all of the ingredients and supplies for this wonderful dish he’s making littered across the counters. You can see him curled up on the couch, leaning against the corner of it to find that perfect spot, watching television. 

There’s a difference between owning a place, and living in it. Living in it makes it feels like a home, like it’s real, and not just for show. 

“Wow, your place is—”

“It’s really messy right now, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting guests,” Seokjin says, letting his messenger bag plop down on the ground as he scrambles to make his living space nicer for you. 

“No, I was going to say it’s lovely,” you tell him. “It feels exactly like you.”

“Does it?” Seokjin asks genuinely, a soft smile lacing his features. “Well then, thank you.”

You wait around in his apartment awkwardly, not really sure if stepping past the front of his couch is socially acceptable since you’re just “visiting” and he hasn’t officially invited you inside yet. The main objective of accompanying him to his apartment has already been accomplished: you made sure he got home safely and that he can do his work in peace. Finished. But even still, you’re hanging around, wondering when he’s going to kick you out for being a weird, unknown fixture in his home. 

“Um, would you like to stay for dinner? I made soup last night and I have way too much for me to eat on my own,” he offers, opening up his fridge and taking out an enormous pot. It clinks as it hits his countertop, the metal sound echoing throughout his apartment. 

“No, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say, taking this as your cue to remove yourself from the situation before you do anything else to make an absolute fool of yourself. 

“I insist, please,” Seokjin says, stopping you in your tracks. “I may have a whole project to finish by Sunday, but we should at least spend this Friday night together, right?”

You look down at your shoes before looking up at him, meeting his eyes from where he stands behind his counter island. 

“Then I will,” you say, removing your flats and padding over to where he stands, coming to a stop on the other side of the counter island. “But only if you let me help you with the project, too. It was asshole-y of Sehun to dump it all on you. At least let me handle some of the graphic aspects.”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching his hand out over the counter, “you have a deal.”

This deal mainly consists of you eating some of Seokjin’s homemade soup on his couches, your laptops on his coffee table and that ridiculously thick stack of papers spread out amongst you. Seokjin already has a fair bit of information about the project at hand, but he still has absolutely zero progress since he received the assignment four minutes before the end of the workweek. 

“So, basically, what we have to do is re-organize the magazine’s overall design and aesthetic before their final review on Sunday, because if they don’t appeal to the publisher, they’re getting tanked,” Seokjin says, paging through the papers in search of a sketch. 

“So we’re their last hope,” you summarize. 

Seokjin nods. “We’re their last hope.”

“Great,” you say, not at all enthused. “No pressure at all.”

“I know. I’m so relaxed right now,” Seokjin says, clearly not relaxed. 

“You know what’s making me relaxed? This soup,” you say, finishing the last of what’s in your bowl. “It’s delicious. I didn’t know you cooked.”

“It’s just a hobby of mine,” Seokjin says with a shrug. “I picked it up when I moved to college and didn’t know how to make anything except toast.”

“You’re a very fast learner, then,” you say. “I’d pay you to make all of my meals, honestly.”

“Would you like more? I have a ton, so we can eat it all if you’d like,” he asks, already standing up and reaching his hand out for your bowl. 

You hand it over, shaking your head as he makes his way back to his little kitchen, ladling more soup into both of your bowls. “You’re too nice, Seokjin. Seriously. How am I supposed to pay back this kindness?”

Seokjin lets out a warm chuckle as he warms up your next serving in the microwave. “Believe me, Y/N, volunteering to take on this project with me with a due date in less than thirty-six hours is more than enough. You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

“No,” you tell him. “I want to. You deserve someone who’s willing to help you with big things like this. You shouldn’t have to deal with it all on your own.”

Seokjin grins as he returns, handing you your bowl of soup as you get back to work. “I don’t deserve you, Y/N.”

What was supposed to be a couple of hours spent grinding out a project over a shared pot of soup turns into a night’s worth of work, scribbles on paper and the redoing of the same logo fifteen different times on your computer’s much slower, less-updated version of Photoshop. The application crashes on three different occasions, causing you to nearly slam it into the wall, but you just try to look on the bright side. Find the silver lining. Of which there are none. 

Seokjin doesn’t seem to be faring any better than you are. You’ve never seen the man under such pressure before, not in the office and certainly not while you’re out of the office. He’s tugged on a crewneck sweater over his dress shirt and paces around his apartment in bright pink slippers, brainstorming aloud as you bounce ideas off of each other in a panic. 

“What if we rebranded them?” Seokjin suggests wildly. When you turn to look at the digital clock underneath his television, it says 11:17PM. You’re surprised he hasn’t collapsed underneath the pile of work he’s got on his plate. 

“What do you mean? Do we even have the authorization to rebrand them?” You ask, pulling up a new tab on magazine marketing techniques. 

“The project description says requests for anything that will keep them afloat,” Seokjin says. He immediately opens an old photobook, buried underneath your laptops, sketches, and papers, flipping through before he sits down right next to you on his slouchy leather couch. “What if we gave them more of a minimalist kind of style? They’re trying to jump off of this super quirky, very basic Urban Outfitters kind of aesthetic, but I think it makes the magazine too young, you know?” Seokjin suggests. “We could do something more grown-up, attract their market audience.”

“Are we allowed to do that?” You ask, thoroughly interested. Maybe Seokjin’s onto something. 

“Who says we can’t?” Seokjin responds, and it’s good enough for you to hop on board. 

Sitting in his apartment like this, brainstorming different ideas and collaborating on logo designs, magazine layout, and website design together, you are more productive than you’ve been in a very, very long time. Even as the night stretches on into the early hours of the morning, as you watch the clock turn from 1:00AM to 2:00AM to 3:00AM, the two of you are wide awake, the only things illuminating his apartment being a floor lamp by his television and the blue light of your laptop screens. 

“It’s…” Seokjin yawns when it’s nearly four in the morning, pen slipping from his fingers, “so late.”

“I know,” you say back, feeling your eyelids beginning to sink. “I’m surprised we’ve even stayed up this long.”

“Haven’t been up this late since college,” Seokjin says, smiling hazily at past memories. “Always had code to finish for my class the next morning.”

“At least we get to sleep in now,” you joke. Even if you still have to finish putting together a brand new image for this magazine that’s about to go under, tomorrow is still a Saturday. 

“Thank God,” Seokjin says, resting his head on the back of the couch cushion, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I feel like we did a lot tonight.”

“We were very productive,” you agree.

He yawns. “We work well together, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?” You ask, leaning over to move your computer from your lap to the coffee table, exchanging it for a sketchpad to keep brainstorming. 

“I think,” Seokjin begins, and it must be just the sleepy haze his brain has entered rather than anything else that could spur him to express this, that makes him say, “that you and I make a perfect pair.”

You sit up straight at this, looking over at Seokjin as the pencil in between your fingers falls onto the sketchpad before rolling onto the floor. It looks like he’s fallen asleep, exhaustion finally overcoming him as all of the work he’s done catches up to him. In the dead of night, the only sound in the room is his soft breathing, chest rising and falling slowly as his mind begins to wander. You watch him, eyelids heavy, and think that he couldn’t have possibly thought that. No way would he say such a thing to you if he was perfectly cognizant, wide awake. After all, you’re the one with a crush on him, not the other way around. 

You lean back, pondering why a man like Seokjin would ever invite you into his home, offer you soup, and shower you with subtle compliments that couldn’t just be friends being friends, and before you know it, your eyes fall shut. 

It is nearly one in the afternoon by the time you wake up, the sunlight streaming in from the side of his apartment. It forces you to finally open your eyes, groaning as your blurry vision begins to clear. 

That is when you register these four things in this order:

This is Seokjin’s apartment.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, in which you worked on a project with him last night.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, and you fell asleep on his couch. 

This is Seokjin’s apartment, and he thinks that you’d make the perfect pair. 

You hear a clink from across the room, and turn to find Seokjin, still wearing the same thing he was wearing last night, standing in his kitchen, pouring two glasses of orange juice. 

“Morning,” Seokjin says. He pauses, then corrects himself. “Afternoon, actually.” He walks over to you, handing you a glass of orange juice as you rub your eyes, waking yourself up.

“How long have you been up?” You ask him, too tired to thank him out loud for the glass of orange juice. 

“About an hour,” he says, checking the time. “I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful.”

“I feel awful, I didn’t mean to intrude on your apartment for, like, an entire night,” you say, rubbing your forehead as you try to smooth out your hair, make yourself look less like you fell asleep at four in the morning in your gorgeous crush’s apartment. 

“No, it’s alright, really,” Seokjin insists. “It was nice having company, for once. And I think we got a lot done.”

“I still feel bad, I didn’t mean to stay so long,” you say, looking around for your belongings as you try to gather your bearings. 

“It’s fine,” Seokjin reassures you, sitting down on the couch next to you as he begins to clean up the absolute mess of the coffee table. “But your phone has been ringing nonstop, so someone must have missed you.”

You fumble around for your phone before finding it having slid in between the couch cushions, pulling it up to see three missed calls from Taehyung and two missed calls from Jungkook, as well as a slew of texts from the both of them. 

“Oh, it’s just Taehyung and Jungkook,” you say with a shrug, deciding that now is not the time to bring them into the conversation. A quick scan of the texts gives you a rough summary of what you would have heard if you had answered their calls instead. 

Taehyung (9:35AM): Y/N Taehyung (9:35AM): HELLO Taehyung (9:35AM): ARE YOU ALIVE??? Taehyung (9:36AM): YOU NEVER SLEEP THIS LATE ARE YOU OKAY??? Taehyung (10:03AM): I WENT BY YOUR APARTMENT AND YOU DIDN’T ANSWER IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT Taehyung (10:04AM): TEXT ME 1 IF EVERYTHING IS OKAY AND 2 IF EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY Taehyung (10:05AM): LAST TIME I SAW YOU YOU WERE GOING HOME WITH SEOKJIN DID HE MURDER YOU??????? Taehyung (10:18AM): oh Taehyung (10:18AM): oh wait Taehyung (10:19AM): OHHHHHHHHH Taehyung (10:20AM): ;)

Jungkook (12:18PM): Kingdom just started a new event! Get online with me and let’s crush this thing pleaseeeee

“Just want me to play Kingdom with them,” you say, ignoring Taehyung’s text messages and pretending like they don’t exist.

“You really like that game, don’t you?” Seokjin asks. 

“Oh, they like it more than I do, really, I just try and keep the obsession to a minimum,” you say casually. 

“But they always talk about how good you are,” Seokjin adds. “You’re ranked second, aren’t you? That’s a big accomplishment.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that exciting. I mean, it’s just a game,” you shrug it off. 

“But you like it, which means that’s important,” Seokjin says. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of the things you like. They matter to you.”

“You think so?” You ask, smiling at him. 

“I know so. Tell me about Kingdom,” he urges, nudging your side. “Please? I’d love to know.”

And for once, you don’t just shrug it off and brand it as a game you play occasionally. You let yourself love that game, for all it’s done for you and your friends (even if you aren’t the best anymore) and your happiness, and you tell Seokjin about it. About how you started playing it when you were bored one day during work and saw a forum on it. How you got the rest of the office hooked on it as well, even if they were much more obnoxious about it than you are. How you go home after a long day of work and log on, letting yourself relax as you weave your way through the rankings and quests, finding solace in the familiarity of it all. You tell him why you love it, and why you probably won’t stop playing it for a long time, no matter what becomes of your ranking. 

“It was nice being ranked first, but I actually don’t mind whoever it is that’s taken over,” you tell Seokjin honestly. “Jungkook wants to hunt them down, but I think that, whoever they are, they deserve that spot. You know, I used to hate them because the top-ranked player gets all of the best rewards, but our characters have recently started to spend so much time together that I feel like they’d probably have fallen in love by now.” You chuckle to yourself. If life were a movie, everything would always work out perfectly.

“You do?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide. 

“Yeah, of course,” you say. “They spend so much time together. Who wouldn’t, right?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Seokjin says, smiling. “I also have something to tell you.”

You shake your head. “Don’t tell me you’re obsessed with anime, please. That is where I draw the line.”

“Don’t shame us,” Seokjin says, a hand on his heart like he’s been personally offended. Your eyes widen. “I’m kidding,” he says, laughing as you exhale, relieved. “I actually play Kingdom, too. I just wanted to ask you about it.”

“Seriously? All this time and you just pretended like you had no idea what it was?” you say in disbelief. He’s been hiding this from you for how long? God, the rest of your office is going to have a field day with this information. 

“I just wanted you to tell me about it,” Seokjin admits sheepishly. 

You shake your head. “You could have talked to me about other stuff, you know.”

“I know, but you never talked about Kingdom and I could always see how much you loved it. It was nice, listening to you tell me about it,” he says. 

“I’ve been betrayed,” you say dramatically, opening up your laptop to pull up the game. “What’s your ID? We can add each other.”

This is where Seokjin goes silent. “Actually, I think you might already know who I am. I’m above you in the rankings.”

Your mouth drops open. 

“You’re JK0901? Are you kidding me?” You ask, absolutely floored. All this time and you had no idea that Kim Seokjin was a Kingdom expert. “What does JK stand for? I was convinced it was Jungkook and he was just lying to my face, but in reality, it was you who was lying to me!”

Seokjin lets out a chuckle. “Jin Kim. I’m surprised you guys didn’t figure it out earlier.”

“I can’t believe this,” you say, practically speechless. “How long have you been playing?” 

“Not that long,” Seokjin shrugs. “I picked it up because I wanted to impress a girl I liked.”

“Really? All this effort for a girl you like?” You ask, still in disbelief. You suck up the way your heart is sinking at the thought of him liking another person, but then you remember that it wasn’t like you had ever made a move on him anyway. Smiling, you ask, “Will you at least humor me and tell me who it is?”

Then, Seokjin looks you dead in the eye, and says, “You.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he wraps a hand around your torso and pulls you into him, pressing his lips firmly on yours as you gasp into his mouth, body tensing up before you melt into his touch. 

It’s a quick kiss, nothing too crazy, but it overwhelms you nonetheless, leaves you gasping for air like you’ve been underwater this whole time and have finally surfaced. When you part, you look up into his eyes only to find that they’ve turned into crescents. He’s grinning down at you like he’s finally gotten it right. 

“You did all of that for me?” You ask. “How did you even know?”

Seokjin looks particularly guilty. “You’re not necessarily… that discreet, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, the heat already flaring in your cheeks. “Oh God, you knew?”

“It was fairly easy to figure out,” Seokjin admits. “But the good news is: I felt the same way. So, no harm done.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” you say, curling into his chest so you don’t have to look him in the eye. 

“You’re incredible, Y/N, you know that?” He asks, pulling you away from him just so he can get a better look at you. He’s standing in front of you, looking at you like this is what he’s been waiting for. Like all this time, he’s been waiting for you. “I’d do it all over again if it meant I could end up with you.”

“You would?” You ask, pulling him in for another kiss. There’s plenty more where those came from, but you’re already feeling greedy. Why wouldn’t you? If life was a movie, then wouldn’t this be the happy ending? 

“In a heartbeat.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

[bigskydreaming]

Scott “I am an alpha! You have no idea what I can do!” McCall is not a victim of his peers and he doesn’t have a low self-esteem, lol. In fact, Scott actively mocks, uses, violates, and dehumanizes others and assaults his peers out of jealousy in the actual show. Stop trying to paint Scott as some sort of poor mistreated wooby who’s too good and kind for his evil ungrateful friends please

Hey thanks for the spite-writing session, y’know, that thing I told you last time was literally the only thing I had to say to you about anything ever.....the way you just....inspire me to write TW fic about what I like and not cater to your obsessive need to fight over your staggeringly dishonest takes, because lololol you really just do not matter?

Anyway, so here’s what I just wrote for the next chapter of my fic WWTA, that I’ve been struggling to get back into, so thanks for the motivation! I think this chapter has like, three more scenes in it, in case you’ve got any more pointless annoying messages you want to send me, to like, help me out with the energy to write those too! 

*****

Chapter Five

Freshmen were kind of adorable, Allison decided a week into the mentoring program. At least that was something.

The way Liam lit up as she and her friends made their way to the freshmen down the hall was particularly endearing. She had to keep her glare from surfacing and pinning Brett against the lockers he leaned against, right beside Liam, Mason, Garrett and Violet. What had begun as a way to repay the debt she felt to Scott while still doing her duty had quickly graduated to true protective instincts for the young teenagers. A slight shudder ran through her body as she remembered the gashes across Scott’s chest and the defeat in his eyes -

- none of us wanted this, but it happened and we’re stuck now -

No. That would not be happening to Liam and his friends. Not on her watch.

“Hello children. And how is everyone this morning?”

Lydia made even her casual greetings a regal proclamation. It was with no small amount of amusement that Allison watched the freshmen war between their instinctive reaction to being labeled ‘children’ and their awe at being on first names basis with the undisputed queen of Beacon Hills High. This was all wildly against the natural order of things. Her eyes drifted in Brett’s direction to find his narrowed at her, and her good humor evaporated. Ugh. Why couldn’t she ever have nice things?

“Everyone’s coming to my place after school, right? Your first archery lessons!” Allison cut in before any of the freshmen could muster a response to Lydia.  Brett flinched, and a dangerous grin worked its way across her lips. She might not be the only predator interested in these kids, but she could damn well make sure her competition knew she was bringing claws of her own to the fight.

“For sure!” Liam enthused. “I still can’t believe you know how to shoot a bow and arrow. And your parents are really cool with you teaching us?”

“Oh yeah, no big deal,” Allison shrugged. In truth, it hadn’t been. Even if her father might have had slight reservations, Grandpa Gerard had practically salivated at the notion of her starting a How To Kill Werewolves 101 course for local teens. He was already planning how to use this to start recruiting new hunters from Allison’s handpicked group. She wasn’t about to let things get that far, but Brett didn’t need to know that. Let him worry.

“I still don’t think Allison’s parents are the only ones who should have been informed of this little extracurricular,” Danny said. “Isn’t this the kind of thing that should require signed consent forms from everyone’s parents?”

“Oh, live a little Danny,” Allison said. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“No, but the sharp pointy sticks might hurt their kids, and then there are these things called lawsuits…”

“Don’t be such a Danny Downer,” Stiles said. He clapped their friend on the back, but his eyes were on her. “I’m sure Allison knows exactly what she’s doing.”

She smirked back.

“I can’t make it,” Brett spoke up at last, sparking cries of complaint from his ‘friends.’

“What the hell man, I thought we were all gonna do this?”

As much as Allison hated to admit it, she wasn’t sure she did know what she was doing though. She had her work cut out for her in trying to drive a wedge between Liam and Brett. The younger boy had latched onto the sophomore as a confidant before they’d gotten their mentoring program up and running, and Brett’s claws were already in deep. Liam idolized the kid, and it didn’t help that whatever she might know about the pack’s true nature, to everyone else they were simply the cool, mysterious bad-asses that everyone secretly wanted to know more about.

“Got stuff to deal with at home,” was all the taller boy said, deliberately vague. She considered that. Was he just trying to get out of going to a hunter’s house - not that she’d ever expected he’d show, really - or was that code for the pack would be up to something later?

“Family stuff?” Allison asked casually.

“More like chores at the group home I live at. My family’s dead,” Brett retorted. She wondered if anyone else picked up on the bitter menace underscoring his calm tone.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“How could you? It’s not like peoples’ families being murdered by burning their houses down around them is an everyday thing. Who would ever think that was a thing that happened as often as it does?”

“Jesus,” Mason whispered in horror. The other freshmen looked as sick as she felt suddenly, and she felt her own friends shuffle uncomfortably behind her. That hadn’t come up in her research at all, but she didn’t doubt for a second that the werewolf was being truthful. The naked pain in his eyes was entirely too human for that.

“I didn’t know,” Allison repeated again. It wasn’t an excuse, it was just all she had. He snorted.

“Whatever. I’ve gotta go. Be careful with them, yeah?”

She bit her lip and nodded, wondering how much he really knew about what she was doing. Had Scott clued in any of his pack about her plans? He’d seemed protective of Brett, and the younger boy seemed to be one of the ones who followed his lead over Cora’s, but who knew how pack politics really worked…god, could she just have five complete moments to feel on top of things and not totally in over her head?

“Damn,” Violet said once Brett had disappeared around a corner in the hall. “I mean, I knew he was an orphan too, but I didn’t know he had…shit.”

“Well, he probably doesn’t advertise because he doesn’t want people gossiping about it,” Allison said. Jackson and Danny nodded in agreement, the freshmen looking thoughtful, but Lydia and Stiles were both just watching her, the same as they’d been through she and Brett’s entire little tété-a-tété. Feeling an abrupt need to be elsewhere, she chose the better part of valor and fled. “Look, I gotta get going too, but you all have directions, right? See you after school!”

Weak, Allison.

She circled the school, doing a lap across the quad and around the outer edges of the buildings to calm herself. Almost predictably at this point, her efforts were thwarted by the appearance of one Scott McCall sitting cross-legged on the grass behind the Liberal Arts building.

[luminara]

Soukoku

A Love Like War by psychncislover (37,883 - ongoing)

The city of Yokohama was maintained by two Mafia Families. When an enemy targets the Nakahara Family, they find their only hopes lies in an alliance... with their greatest enemy, the Tsushima Family. But their help comes with a price - a marriage between the two heirs! Will both sides survive not only this enemy, but each other?

Only Human by TheGeatCatsby (62,143 - complete)

Shortly after the defeat of Mimic, Dazai Osamu leaves the Port Mafia. Wanting to take advantage of the situation, the government sends Nakahara Chuuya to gain his trust.

carve your love into my skin by Dont_Wake_The_Writer (64,820 - ongoing)

Chuuya looks underneath Dazai's bandages without his permission. What he finds underneath changes everything.

can the city forgive by erytheia (27,658 - ongoing)

Chuuya knows he’s so so close, fingertips just barely brushing the possibilities between them. But Dazai’s the one calling the shots again, and he’s yanking it away, out of Chuuya’s grasp, taking absolute control before Chuuya even knows he’s given it up. Every single facet of their relationship is one-sided, both of them too blind and too stubborn to stop for a second and consider what’s on the other side of the wall between them before they try to tear their way through it.

A Dandy In The Underworld by idontevenlogic (72,606 - ongoing)

Dazai presented the white candle with one hand and stretched his other hand out towards Chuuya. “My life to defend until your bitter end! Through the fire and iron of Hell, I order you to walk with me! I name you—”

Dazai’s eyes fluttered open as a tired smile spread across his lips at the sight of Chuuya’s impossibly stormy eyes widening with the realization of what specific spell the executive was performing. Nearly falling, the Wellspring altered his course in an attempt to flee from the range of the spell, but the power of the sigil’s pull had already latched onto him like a noose and began to pull him back towards Dazai, despite his wounded hollering and ceaseless writhing.

“—I name you, Nakahara Chuuya, my familiar!”

* * *

Or: Nakahara Chuuya returns to Yokohama and is forced into aiding the Port Mafia in helping them capture a mysterious, dangerous hacker from a checkered past. Along the way, he has to adjust to his new life as the familiar to the most infamous warlock in all of Yokohama: the one and only Dazai Osamu.

of bells, coffees, and love in between by KyuBaisu (40,398 - complete)

Chuuya just wants to eat with his sister, but he ends up wearing a gown, make-up, and high-heels in a fake wedding.

Dazai just wants to see the girl from the advertisement he did years ago, the girl with the ginger hair, blue eyes, and a never disappearing annoyed expression.

A Collision of Fates by dgalerab (83,603 - complete)

Dazai Osamu has always known his fate - to become the vessel of the Hollow God, a god hellbent on reuniting with Its lover, the Tainted God, and wreaking havoc on the world.

But that doesn't mean he can't try going on a last ditch effort of a quest trying to stop it from happening.

hide the truth by writingfromtheshadows (24,611 - complete)

When Chuuya wakes up in the middle of an ongoing fight without any memory of how he got there or what happened to him, he ends up turning to someone saved as 'bandage-waster' in his phone. Somehow, it just feels like the right decision.

Gifted by TheGreatCatsby (28,863 - ongoing)

The government's experiments with genetics to induce "gifts" in children is a well-kept secret. Dazai is sent to infiltrate one of the facilities and gather information. He is assigned to be the nurse of one of the facility's oldest and most successful experiments.

Message Received by hellosweetie17 (26,579 - ongoing)

Late for work, Chuuya collides with a stranger on the sidewalk. A stranger who happens to be annoying, frustrating, flirtatious, and even worse—gorgeous. Thanks to a tricky sleight of hand, their encounter leads to Chuuya texting the wrong number.

Dazai Osamu begrudgingly finds happiness (It's a long road) by BlueFlameSakura (34,810 - ongoing)

Dazai Osamu had never even dreamt  about this happening to him, not even his worst nightmares could compare to this. To being married off to some stupid alpha prince as a mockery of a peace offering.

North- and South-Yokohama had been at war for several centuries now, and as much as the brunette would like a bit more of the tranquility peace between their nations would provide, couldn't it have been done with someone else? Or in another few decades?

Well, apparently not.

How to Hornswoggle Death by SecretlyACatLady (20,544 - ongoing)

This wasn't what Chuuya had in mind when he hoped for a big haul. ----- In which Chuuya is a fisherman with an adventurous past and Dazai is a merman who tries to bully Chuuya into killing him.

keep you alive, set you on fire by flyby (23,574 - complete)

Dazai steps out in a dress and heels for a mission, since the gown won't fit Yosano. He's only supposed to spend an hour or so leading their targets on a dance around a charity gala, but the unexpected arrival of a certain Port Mafia Executive threatens to disrupt all his plans. And when he and Chuuya find themselves finally face to face, they end up entwined in a tense game of mutual provocation...

bad enough for you by Maristella (28,555 - complete)

There are two reasons why Chuuya tolerates Dazai: 1.) The god inside Chuuya hates him; 2.) Chuuya definitely hates the god more than the stinking demon mackerel.

Or, alternatively, that one time Dazai and Chuuya swaps abilities, and Arahabaki was never the same.

360 degrees by setosdarkness (11,060 - complete)

Chuuya gets cursed by an Ability that forces him to eternally live out his biggest regret. Unlike the other victims who end up killing themselves or hurting others, Chuuya goes into a coma.

For his biggest regret is—

[groundhog day AU with a twist, where Chuuya relives the day Dazai leaves the Port Mafia over and over and over and over]

black /// reciprocity set by setosdarkness (3,363 - complete)

Soulmate AU where your soulmate mark will only appear on your skin once you’ve fallen in love with your soulmate.

Chuuya has Dazai’s name on his neck while Dazai’s skin is bare of any names.

partners by setosdarkness (27,746 - ongoing)

Chuuya realizes that he’s been married to Dazai since they’re 15: The Fic.

Featuring: wedding fairs, faked marriage registries, angry calls to newspaper agencies for unsolvable crosswords, fake leather couches, love epiphanies and falling in love, not necessarily in that order.

This Way Lies Madness by setosdarkness (41,338 - ongoing)

It’s supposed to be simple. Go in, hand over the questionnaires, wait a few minutes, take the answered questionnaires, get the fuck out. Chuuya should have known, with his shitty luck, that nothing’s ever going to be simple for him.

(—the one where Chuuya inadvertently catches the attention of quite possibly the worst serial killer in history, Dazai) (—police-trainee!Chuuya, inmate!Dazai)

our hearts steeped in hate by setosdarkness (10,202 - ongoing)

Needing to kiss your soulmate to stay alive sounds romantic in context, but absolutely shitty in reality if you’re bound to someone you despise with all your heart and soul.

The act of being human by purplesan (31,457 - complete)

‘This is Chuuya Nakahara, your new caretaker.’ his mother stated. Dazai’s eyes only widened in shock.

‘A robot?’

‘Kind of a degrading term, but yes; a robot.’

Dazai’s glaring only intensified. ‘I don’t need some pathetic excuse of a toy as a caretaker. No one can replace Odasaku anyway. Couldn't you have gotten me a pet instead?’

Chuuya didn’t seem to be affected by Dazai’s insults, which only showed how very non-human he actually was.

‘Stop behaving like a spoiled brat! We could have sent you to a clinic the moment you decided to behave like this, but instead we spent a lot of money on getting you this expensive solution.’

‘You could have spent more money on getting protection for Odasaku.’

(In which all 7 year-old Dazai really wants is to get back Odasaku, but gets Chuuya instead. Though in the end, perhaps the hatrack isn't all that terrible)

chuuya is red hot and dazai is so not by toriosaurus (12,040 - complete)

Dazai couldn't wrap his brain around it. How could the student population think that Chuuya Nakahara was more attractive than him? And, alright, sure, maybe professors shouldn't get caught up in petty drama. But to Dazai, this wasn't just drama. This was war. A war in which he was not going to lose.

The wooing art by holdinglucy (20,940 - complete)

The one where Dazai ended up with more tattoos than he intended to. Or:

Dazai's attempts at wooing the very hot, very dangerous tattoo artist he's just met.

Wrapped up in You by quinnlocke (100,935 - complete)

Chuuya just wants to get through his day as a reptile expert, but there's a bandaged lunatic in his reptile house trying to get murdered by his snakes.

Saving the man's life is a courtesy, taking him home is just asking for trouble.

still still still by toriosaurus (112,578 - complete)

Finally, Chuuya eloquently said, “I don’t want to date you.” Dazai huffed. “Yeah, well, I’m not too thrilled at the idea of having a crazy rockstar boyfriend. But you got us into this mess, you need to help us get out of it.” Had Dazai gone insane? Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu, dating? Had Chuuya not made it clear through the dozens of direct and indirect meetings that he despised Dazai with every fiber in his body.

Featuring: drunk tweets, falling in love, horrendous song writing, cheesy interviews, learning how to "fake it," and Chuuya getting over the headache that is Dazai. Not necessarily in that order.

where your loyalties lie by writingfromtheshadows (163,126 - complete)

Loyalty is the foundation of the yakuza code, something that was drilled into Chuuya at an early age. However, his lessons did not cover how to manage a political marriage with his organization's oldest rival.

color theory by setosdarkness (2,469 - complete)

Soulmate AU where your heart glows whenever you’re with your soulmate. The color of the glow depends on your feelings for them.

(the one where Chuuya and Dazai make sure to wear layers and layers of clothes and/or bandages just so they can hide their feelings.)

A Heat of Convenience /// A Mark of Inconvenience by dgalerab (19,902 - complete)

PART 1: Yosano won't give Dazai suppressants unless he can prove he's having a healthy amount of heats. Dazai tries to outsmart her. He fails. Chuuya picks up the slack.

PART 2: Dazai gets used to his new arrangement with Chuuya as his heat partner by forcing Chuuya to claim him. It works both better and worse than he expected.

centrifugal/centripetal by TopHat69 (154,138 - ongoing)

[No Summary Available] A/B/O Dynamics

A Catspaw in the Wolf Court by dgalerab (58,357 - complete)

Prince Dazai, a single werecat in a court of wolves, is to be married off to Prince Chuuya, a fox in the kingdom that accepts everyone. He's given one instruction: bring back a defector to the wolves and topple Chuuya's kingdom from the inside.

Things, of course, get more complicated than that.

Counting the Days by Neiro Gin (Neiroa) (23,575 - complete)

How will a certain bandage-wearing ex-Mafioso detective react to hearing that his former partner-who-is-definitely-not-more-than-that has…

…a girlfriend?

“He has been all lovey-dovey with her ever since they came back together!”

“No way! How could any girl fall for that short hat rack?”

“I heard she’s glued to him every single minute of the day. He seems to really like her as well! I’ve never seen him so sweet to anybody!”

“Even if—and that’s a BIG if—she loves him, he’s not the type to just fall in love after only knowing someone for a short amount of time.”

“She’s French.”

“…”

“D-Dazai-san? Dazai-san?!”

Countdown by setosdarkness (31,175 - ongoing)

Eternally-single Chuuya is dared by his friends to date someone. Chuuya eventually agrees, but adds a condition: if the guy he chooses breaks up with him within 10 days, it will suffice as proof that Chuuya’s not meant for dating and therefore his friends will stop nagging at him about his non-existent lovelife.

Thinking that it’s an easy win, Chuuya chooses to date Dazai, his asshole childhood friend who’s known to be a serial womanizer.

Chuuya... is very wrong.

don't you ever tame your demons by writingfromtheshadows (108,592 - complete)

Every year, a handful of children are born with the ability to command supernatural powers. Thousands of dollars and dozens of trained specialists are tasked with identifying, tracking down, and labeling each one as Deviant. Once identified, they have no rights other than those that are permitted to them, and disobedience is a crime punishable by death.

Chuuya has never known a life outside of the routine he's forced to follow, but when the boss of Yokohama's Port Mafia offers him a chance of freedom, Chuuya is not prepared for the rebellion he's stumbling into.

Chuuya Nakahara and the Falling Camelia by Anonymous (12,628 - ongoing)

A new year begins at Hogwarts, and between a nervous wreck of a first year Chuuya met over the summer managing to become Akutagawa's arch enemy upon their first meeting, a pair of second year's younger sisters' complicating things, and leftover tension with Tachihara, Chuuya is in for a hectic term.

Things take a turn for the worse, however when there are rumors about a man eating were tiger, Dementors -- unspeakable creatures who bring back horrible memories and can steal your very soul -- surrounding Hogwarts as wardens and watchmen, and a murderer breaks out of Azkaban, a high security prison in the wizarding world.

Especially when that murderer is dead set on getting his hands on Dazai.

Chuuya Nakahara and the Chambers of Draconia by Anonymous (51,820 - complete)

After a first year full of questions, Chuuya barely gets a moment to breathe before his second year proves the last to be gentle in comparison. With tension among friends and the looming threat of an unknown danger, he'll need all of the clues he can get -- not just for the safety of the school, but for the strength of his friendships.

Madder Aubrieta by hypermoyashi (21,790 - ongoing)

Flowers bloomed, rain fell, and the whims of nature dictated all. This was the status quo that Chuuya knew, and it was a surprisingly delicate order. Change came in the form of a mysterious man he found, woken from an ageless sleep by none other than Chuuya himself.

Margin of Error /// Scale of Success by izanyas (31,416 - complete)

PART 1: After a failed assassination attempt on his person, Dazai finds himself recovering in an unfamiliar place: a hospital where criminals abound, staff and patients alike, and Dazai's own doctor is a little too attractive.

PART 2: Dazai makes due on his promise. Chuuya has to revise his.

[abri-chan]

I'm only in a few discords and don't even share fanfics in servers anymore: it wasn't worth the return of time spent since I'd mostly get readers on ao3 and from advertising on Tumblr and Twitter. But it proves my point that a lot of threads and posts people share about supporting writers is just lip service, and a way to pat ourselves in the back that we're good fandom citizens and do care.

The fact that fandom writers came to attack me, a fandom writer, when I just pointed out that maybe if fans don't treat us with respect we should treat each other with respect, and maybe we as writers read from our fellow writers and boost. That there's a problem with writers themselves that we care more to kiss up to artists than interact with fellow writers, and this exacerbates the problem of fandom already seeing us as second class citizens. That writers also fall prey to the same behaviors we criticize when consuming fics: we don't promote fics or writers we like, we don't read outside of our comfort zone (maybe if you read ships then read gen, or vice versa), etc. And sometimes we even shun other writers, even in fandom circles or servers meant for writers only.

But somewhat what fellow writers got from my thread (now deleted on Twitter, but you may find it somewhere on Tumblr) was me being salty that people don't read my gen fics, and "sorry people in the servers aren't pissing themselves to read your works or pander to you", and maybe I should shut up bc these servers are there to help writers and I'm talking shit.

All the while, earlier that day, tags and threads on how writers need to be treated better were shared around Twitter, and by other writers too presumably. You say writers should be free to talk about their experiences, but when you don't like what we say, when we say something that you can't relate to, it's suddenly okay to ridicule us and claim that we are entitled. So which is it? Are we entitled or undervalued? And yes, so much for writer solidarity, bc writers also attack other writers that disagree with them.

"Readers should explore more fics and not see reading as commitment when compared to consuming art."

"Hell yeah!"

"Writers should also do the same when it comes to exploring the work of fellow writers."

"Wow, how dare you! Are you going to assign us summer reads? Shut up, no one gives a shit other writers were mean to you."

These were more or less comments I actually got (not verbatim bc I don't remember the exact phrasing).

Anyways, you don't have to give a shit about what I write. I may not write what is popular but I know I'm good. And I write to get better at telling the stories I want to tell. I write to explore, so that one day I can be at the right stage to publish original work. And even then I will write bc there are stories I want to tell. And I will keep pushing the ways I can tell these stories.

Yes, I like sharing my stories with others, but I'm not deluded that I can force anyone to read if they don't want to. To paraphrase Saitama in One Punch Man: I don't ask for fans, but it would be nice if someone noticed what I've been doing. I can't lie that it's not nice to get validation or get people excited over my stories. But I can't force people to validate me.

Every writer knows they can't draw validation out of people. So I felt really hurt that I trusted I could share my experiences and pinpoint problems I may not have solutions to, but at least I'm shedding light on them. Only to be attacked by popular/older fic writers; good for you--you keep clutching that popularity tight and let me write on characters no one gives a shit about. I wasn't even attacked on merit or talent at this point; just on having had experiences in general. You sure showed me writers don't shun or antagonize other writers but doing exactly that.

***

If anyone wants to share their experiences, writer or not, my asks are open.

I will only delete if you send hate, bc I don't want to extend my energy to that. Keep screaming into the void.

[not-poignant]

As series go on, they always tend to get a fewer amount of readers, with the rare exceptions of like,, game of thrones and stuff. Like you said, tip requires a LOT of background reading. You’re on entirely new characters than where you started and for a lot of people looking to get into the series by seeing TIP (which is what they will see, because that’s what you’re updating) the sheer amount of work they’ll have to read through to then get to TIP will be overwhelming, especially because (1/2)

they’ll see there’s an entire change in main characters and think ‘that’s too much’, and even more so because Game Theory has a very very different tone to TIP. I’m sure these are things you already know but this is just my take on it - this decreases in interaction is (heartbreakingly) natural, and if it’s not sustainable for you then it’s not sustainable, and the fans that ARE here and have read everything will be upset, but you have to do what’s best for you. Stay strong, Pia 💕      

           It’s a lot of effort and a relatively daunting task I know, but if you really want to increase the Fae Tales readers then maybe you could promo it? Make a photo advertising either Game Theory or TIP, send it to writing accounts asking them to share it, maybe even pay promo it on Instagram etc etc. People will tend to jump on an adult dark fantasy series because there just aren’t enough of them, especially one with such amazing representation. Just some ideas (:                 

Another idea (I’m so sorry if I’m overstepping my hounds here by the way, I’d just really love to help): a lot of people that read your work really, really care about it. If you ask, they will promo for you - posting on their own various accounts about Fae Tales etc Because a good portion of your users want to see this series survive because they love FT and have invested so much into it emotionally. I know a lot of people think it’s tacky to ask fans for support, but u gotta do what u gotta do            

*

I mean yes, I literally said this myself in my post about it:

(and tbh, The Ice Plague requiring so much early reading re: GT and COFT means it’s almost completely inaccessible to new readers anyway)

So I am aware. That being said, the drop in engagement is across all of my fics, including things like The Spoils of the Spoiled which requires literally zero background reading to leap straight into, and even Eversion (it may be my highest performer right now, but engagement is still dropping). It’s also been across oneshots / smaller offerings too etc.

Like, trust me, if it was only The Ice Plague, it’d be understandable. It’s been my lowest performing serial that I’ve ever written and that’s been true from the beginning. Some people have made it clear to me that they’re not really rooting for Mosk and Eran, and they miss Gwyn and Augus, and so even though Eran and Mosk have fans, it’s like...I know where I’m at. It’s also a place I’ve been before, when I left RotG to write Augus/Gwyn in the first place. A lot of those people vanished/disappeared ages ago, when I started TIP, or even before, since it took me so long to start writing it after finishing COFT.

But it’s not only The Ice Plague. I am considering this across multiple points, believe me, and when I say engagement is dropping, I don’t just mean ‘engagement is dropping on the one thing that is actually really hard for a lot of people to read.’

Unfortunately Game Theory is too dark to promo on many sites, because most of its content is against the TOS of many sites. While I’m sure lots of people ‘get away’ with doing that anyway, I’ve never been one to knowingly flaunt TOS, and Game Theory literally starts with ‘rape as titillation’ and doesn’t get much better from there.

Re: the last part, I just don’t think you can reasonably say ‘a good portion of your users want to see this series survive.’ Imho, I don’t think that’s true. I think there is a proportion of readers who enjoy the series and do want it to survive but I don’t think it’s the majority, who probably just read it and move onto the next thing, and I think the engaged people are already doing the best that they can. Those are the people who are commenting, sending asks, already engaging etc. For the people who literally can’t muster the energy to engage more, they’re not in a position to promo. (To say nothing of the fact that promotion on Tumblr right now, given Tumblr has lost at least 30% of its userbase, is kind of a wash.)

On top of that, people who do think it’s worth reading do encourage others to read it, but as I’ve heard time and time again over the years, the story goes a lot like this: ‘I would love to rec this but unfortunately it’s just too dark for a lot of the people I know / but I’ve asked several of my friends to read it!’ which is the most generous thing, but also is realistic.

It IS too dark for a lot of people to read, and one of the luxuries of the anonymity of Tumblr (and one of the reasons I’m not on Facebook or even Twitter with this stuff) is precisely because a lot of people don’t want to associate their ‘real’ work or family identities with Fae Tales and the content I write specifically. I’m really sensitive to that, I’m the first to say that FT is hard to rec. As a result of that, very few people actually post broad-scale recommendations. It’s completely understandable. It’s not like I’m marketing a regular romance here. (Which would be easy to do, but is not what I want to write, lol).

Even with all of that in mind, it still doesn’t explain the sudden 8 month downswing. Nor, even, does me writing The Ice Plague, since I’ve been writing that for a decent amount of time, enough to see an upward swing in the first year and a decent plateau of engagement during the first Ice Plague installment.

Like, a lot of your suggestions seem to imply that it should be the readers who should work harder, or that there’s this huge invisible userbase who want FT to survive and could do more, and I just...don’t think that’s true. I generally know the people invested in FT pretty well, as usernames on Tumblr, as commenters, as people who have diligently left kudos on nearly everything I’ve written over the years. I wouldn’t say that a single one of them hasn’t done their best to love the writing and show their appreciation for it.

And then outside of that, the vast bulk of the readers, objectively, will be people who aren’t that invested, and aren’t here on Tumblr, will never see this post (or any preceding it), and just leave a like (if I’m lucky) and move on. Which is normal.

It may be that things plateau. It may be that antis have really changed the way people are reading now. It may be that things continue on this downswing for years. It may be that things look up (though I expect after being honest about it, there will be a bump in activity for about a week or two before it crashes again). I’m not making any firm decisions now, but over the past 8 months I have looked at (and brainstormed) a ton of different options and even actioned some of them. I’ve also done a lot of pros/cons lists for different writing patterns (i.e. do I go book only, do I stay hybrid, do I keep going like this for another year, do I add in art, do I write less / more etc.)

It is possible that new projects may bring some new energy, but I’m in two minds about whether that’s true. And I certainly can’t privilege writing fanfiction over original fiction anyway (because...income). I’m just going to wait and see for a while. I really appreciate the thoughts/suggestions, and I wish I could say I think that’ll be the thing that makes the difference, but I see people reccing my stuff on Twitter - and they have been over the past few months. I see it happening on Tumblr sometimes. People do try their absolute hardest because they care about the writing. This isn’t on them.

There’s something else going on, something systemic that’s external, and something about my writing, regardless of the project, and that’s just...how I see it.

[youknowmymethods]

Content Creator Interview #2

In this week’s interview, fandom friends @lilsherlockian1975 and @mrsmcrieff talk about whether they found Sherlock hot or not at first sight, how publicly sharing their work changed their writing, and the hardest thing about writing smutfic (pun fully intended).

And for those who don’t know, today is Lillian’s Birthday, so m’dear, Many Happy Returns!!!!

Hey, so Lilsherlockian1975 and myself, MrsMCrieff, have decided to interview each other for Aine’s challenge. We’re going to try to answer each other’s questions but there is always the danger of us going massively off piste. Our conversations in the past have been eclectic and very wide-ranging not to mention M rated.

 Anyway, I thought we could start by saying how we came into the fandom and more than that writing in the fandom. Lil, do you want to start?

Lil: All right, my sister on another continent, here’s how it went: As I’ve explained about finding The Full House on Pinterest, let’s explore what came before that moment, then just after... I was working third shift at a hotel (I had to as Mr Lil and I didn’t really have any childcare options at the time, so we just worked opposite shifts). The hotel was in a very small town - we were never busy, some nights we sold maybe 2 rooms - I usually spent my time watching Netflix. After making my way through Doctor Who, Star Trek Next Gen, Voyager then (God help me) DS9, Farscape and Firefly, I’d finally run out of anything to watch. You’d be surprised how quickly you can burn through a series binge watching for 8 hours at a time (and getting paid for it!).

 Then… then I found Sherlock. Well, that changed things… a bit.

 “Good Lord, who is the Cumberstud chap and why won’t he have all the sex with me!?” was my first thought, my second was, “Maybe I have a chance with the dishy DI?” and third? “Oh… what fresh hell is this ‘Mycroft’? Yummy!” Then finally, “Ahh, did the casting director somehow read my diary? Creepy but… all right.” To my defense, it was late and I usually worked on very little sleep. Also, I’m a kinky bitch.

 I’d never been involved in a ‘fandom proper’, I suppose. That’s not to say that I wasn’t a fangirl. I am and always have been. I was hugely into the Kevin Smith movies, going as far as visiting the Quick Stop and RST Video in Lenardo, NJ, respectively, as well as The Secret Stash, in Red Bank. I was a comic book geek in my youth, Marvel mostly, but some DC as well.

 After reading The Full House, I desperately needed MORE Sherlock and luckily enough, there was more to be found.

 At first I was just reading, then I wrote and posted a couple of (horrible) fics and met this fellow writer named MrsMCrieff (I might have had a little ‘writing crush’ on you, Mrs!). We chatted on FF.net and struck up a friendship.

 So, for me, writing came before fandom. Mrs was doing some betaing for me, but I didn’t ask for help often; I hated bothering her all the time for the multitude of stories I was turning out. At some point around here, I got an elusive invite to AO3 from sherlockian87, bless her soul, because I kept trying to join and couldn’t get a blessed invitation. Also around this time, I had written a prompt and got a PM from MizJoely asking if she could fix some of my mistakes (she was very sweet about it, even though I totally flipped - half fangirling, half losing my shit because ‘Crap, I screwed up so bad, here was The MizJoely asking if she could edit out my mistakes!’) but she wasn’t being critical at all, of course, just helpful as I soon found out. Shortly after, now having formed a friendship with MIz, she suggested that I start a Tumblr blog. And that’s how it all started.

Yes, sorry… I, um, tend to be a tad loquacious. Writing out my answers doesn’t help one little bit.

 Okay, Mrs, right back atcha!

 Mrs: OK, shall I try to be more concise? I’ll probably fail as I’m terrible as writing short fics they always seem to end up spread over multiple chapters.

 I’m another one who had always been a fangirl, Doctor Who, Buffy, Twilight, vampire Diaries (yeah, I love my vampires) but I’d also been a Sherlock Holmes fan. I’d read all the books in my teens, watched the Basil Rathbone and Jeremy Brett adaptations and even stayed at the Sherlock Holmes hotel on Baker St so when a new series was advertised it was an easy sale.

 I was late to the cumberobsession though. I have to admit watching the first two series as they came out and I remember thinking I like them but it’s a shame Sherlock isn’t that hot. I know, I know, I’m embarrassed even as I write that.

 It all changed after watching season 3 and I blame the Sherlolly kiss 100%. I watched the series, DELETED the records!! And then realised I was spending a lot of time thinking about Sherlock and Benedict...that turned into looking him up online and from there it was a short step to reading Sherlolly fics on fanfic (I was already reading fics for other shipping obsessions). Anyway, it didn’t take long before Sherlolly took over all my other ships and Benedict was my number one hottie.

 As for writing, I hadn’t written anything fiction based since school and school was a long time ago...almost thirty years. But one day I was looking for a specific fic, I wanted to read about Sherlock and Molly having to share body heat and I just couldn’t find anything that satisfied me. I’m not sure why but in that moment I decided to write it myself and in half an hour I’d written Frozen...my first ever fic. It took another couple of hours to pluck up the courage to post it and I clearly remember feeling a bit sick and my hand shaking as I pressed the final button to post.

 Thankfully, I almost immediately started to receive positive reviews and feedback and it wasn’t long before I started to write more...the rest as they say is history. Lil got in touch soon after and it was fun chatting to another writer just starting out. We soon found we were not dissimilar in age and both had two sons and the friendship started there.

 We’ve been through quite a lot over the last few years Lil and written some fab stories. Wouldn’t you agree?

 (I should let on that we are now faffing about trying to find the original list of questions...we are trying to be professional).

 Ok Lil, so I’ve looked at Aine’s questions and they look really hard. Any preferences on which ones you want to answer :).

 Lil: I think a great follow up to that first one is this: How did posting your first story change your process of writing? So I’m shooting it back to you, Mrs, and you can send me that one or select a new one for me. Tag, you’re it!

 Mrs: I can tell you quite simply how it changed my process of writing...given that it was my first piece of writing in 30 years I was starting from scratch when it came to any process. One thing that I started with that’s held true for me ever since is that my stories are fully mapped out and written before I even start posting the first chapter. I will edit and make refinements but the bones of the story are there.

 I know lots of people post a chapter and then write the next chapter but that would put me under too much pressure. The downside is that if someone gives me a prompt they could be waiting months before they see it posted. The upside is if I’ve started posting a fic you will get the end of it as it’s already been written.

 There have only been two exceptions to this method: Sherlock Holmes, Vampire which I worked on over a year or so posting four chapters every so often as I wrote them...it was stressful. And the other is Never Have I Ever which was/is more of a collection of one shots woven together into a fic.

 How about you Lil? How did it change for you?

 Lil: So, I’d been writing little stories and whatnot for years and years but, having no idea that there was such a thing as ff.net or AO3, I had no place to put them. Writing was always a very, very distant dream of mine. I have loads of notebooks filled with stories, story ideas and my own personal ramblings (unfortunately, my Tumblr followers now have to read the ‘ramblings business’). I stopped for many years after my roommate/best friend since childhood found some of my writing in college that I’d carefully hidden under my bed. I came home to find her in my room, sat on the floor, on the phone with our Art History professor (whom she was sleeping with), as she read him my story and laughed hysterically at its awfulness.

 I was devastated and vowed never to write again.

 But that changed, of course. Those first maybe ten stories were just me letting my mind go and getting out what I wanted to say (aided by liberal amounts of wine). Since then, however, my ‘process’ has changed drastically. I don’t always write an outline (never for one shots, which I write often) but I generally do for long fics. If not, it’s easy for me to get lost and miss critical points. My writing has become more about ‘layering’ for lack of a better word.

 I found after those first few posted fics, that in going back and re-reading them I wanted to make changes. I didn’t re-edit them (because I’m lazy), but it made me realize that my writing required more time and proofing before posting; that first draft is just the start for me - a thin layer of primer paint on a canvas, if you will. I then read over it and add more details and more and more until I get the desired effect. Again, much like oil painting, I have to build things up, layer by layer. This works for me; I have no idea if it’s a proper method of writing. So, posting my first fic(s) helped me learn that I shouldn’t be so trigger happy about posting if the story wasn’t ready.

 Okay, Mrs, this one is geared specifically towards you. I don’t think anyone would argue with me about your supernatural ability to write ‘case fics’, so let me ask: Which do you prefer writing, case fics or fluffy smut-filled romps? And why?

 Mrs: Oh God, ask me something easy why don’t you. Both, I like writing both. I love the depth of a case fic, the idea, the research, plotting it out and working out the characters and detail but it’s so time consuming and I often write a bit, leave it, come back to it etc. etc. so a detailed case fic can take six months.

 Fluff on the other hand is less satisfying but quicker (my minds already in the gutter with an analogy).

 Woohoo I kept is fairly short for once. So, here’s one that’s good for you. I’m endlessly envious of how easily you make friends and how you know so many people in the fandom whereas I’m the introverted hermit. Which other authors are you friends with, and how have they help you become a better writer?

 Lil: Goodness! You make me sound like a social butterfly (Mr Lil calls me that all the time!). I like people, plain and simple. Other than you, I am close to MizJoely and Darnedchild, that’s no secret, so I’ll talk about them first (you included, because you’ve made me a better writer, I’m sure of it - have actual proof!)

 I cannot count the ways Miz has helped me improve my writing. She figuratively took me by the ear and said “okay, you don’t suck but do you even know what a comma is used for?” No, not those actual words, she was much kinder about it, but I got the hidden meaning and I needed it, trust me. She also challenges me and is not afraid to be honest with me when I’ve written something that isn’t good or perhaps doesn’t fit. I know I’ve improved since she started betaing for me, like a 1000%. And Child… When I volunteered to beta for the Big Bang Challenge, I had no idea what I was getting into, but man… she’d written and enormous fic. Good, amazing really, but it was longer than anything I’d ever worked on before. It scared the shit out of me but I really think it was exactly what I needed. Betaing someone else’s work can really make you see your own mistakes from a new perspective. I feel like I jumped ahead after working on the BBC with Child. As for you, MrsMCrieff, just the other day I had The Best compliment… someone actually thought I was British! Yes, that happened. I can only attribute that little feat to you, my friend. You’ve taught me when to add a ‘u’, when not to zed and about many different terms like pavement, taps, hob, loo, trousers (we really don’t say that here!). Not to mention the fact that most European men aren’t circumcised. Who knew?! It’s pretty common in the US.

 But that’s just a few. I cannot count the number of fandom friends who have helped me and all the ways that they’ve done so. That doesn’t mean I won’t try…

 There’s likingthistoomuch who always listens to my ideas and encouraged me to post my first Harry Potter fic. OhAine has been a true friend from the very beginning, always insightful and supportive. Mellovesall who is just too sweet for words and always helps with edits, no matter what’s going on in her life. Kendrapendragon who let me bounce ideas for my Mirror Has Two Faces AU off of her for like a whole day! the-sapphiresky who has helped me with this historical AU that may or may not ever see the light of day. Allthebellsinvenice who answered about a dozen questions (over two years!) for Dig Down Deep when I’d panic about some D/s situation I’d written myself into. o0katiekins0o who backs me up when I’m in the middle of a sensitive subject. I can always depend on her to help me when I’m afraid I’m crossing a line. Broomclosetkink, Lord help me! She’s pinch hit for me when I’ve written a fic for Miz or if I just need a good laugh. She’s the best. Sweets… it’s very hard to talk about sweet-sweet-escape. I still cannot even bring myself read her stories or the ones I wrote for her without breaking down, but no one was more supportive or kind to me than Sweets. I miss her so much.

 Then there’s all the love and support I received from everyone during The Fic That Shall Not Be Named debacle. That’s when I knew how much this fandom (well, this ship, really) had my back! I will never forget how much love and support I received. Bless you all!

 I’m forgetting people and I hate that. But I really do love all my fandom friends as if I see them and hang out with them every day. I mean that.

 Okay, Mrs, here’s one for you (I’m going back to the list for this one because I like it and I think it’s interesting): What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters of the opposite sex?

 Mrs: See, see I said you knew loads of people!

 As for your question that’s easy to answer...knowing what it feels like when they get aroused and orgasm. I’m more than happy being female but it would be kind of interesting just to be a guy for one day. It would improve my writing no end.

 On a wider note when it comes to writing characters I don’t think any of us made it easy on ourselves when we decided to try to write being a high functioning sociopathic genius. I think I can speak for most of us when I say he’s not the easiest person to try to write authentically. I just wish I had half his knowledge then I wouldn’t feel like such an idiot when I’m writing him.

 I gave my youngest son the option of any number between 1 and 40. He chose 7 so does writing energise or exhaust you?

 Lil: It absolutely energises me! I do get frustrated trying to find time to write, but actually writing does amazing things for my mental and physical self. I find that I’m much more productive around the house when I’m in the middle of a writing jag. I’ll sit and write for a while, then get up and pound out some chores (usually more quickly as to get back to my computer). Somehow, this works for me. Frankly, it’s probably got to do with my ADHD. I’m the kind of person who needs to do multiple things at once. I’m the same at work; I cannot just stand behind the registrar for 8 hours. I practically beg my managers for extra work, which they’re happy to give me.

 I have an original question for you, love: How does a bad review affect you?

 Mrs: I’ll be honest I don’t react well to a bad review but it does depend on whether I think it’s valid or not. You probably know each and every time I’ve had one because I will probably have sent you a screen shot and asked your opinion. Thankfully they have been few and far between, occasionally they have made me think...especially if I’m being accused of using a tired old trope and I’ve made the effort to up my game in future fics but often they are just being nasty for the sake of it.

 Writing is such a personal thing though, we give a piece of ourselves in each and every fic so it’s hard to not take criticism very personally.

 Same question to you Lil.

 Lil: Oh, I’m a giant baby about a bad review and have been known to take it very personally. At first I brood… like really hard, thinking on the entire thing much longer than necessary. I suppose it depends on the nature and tone, for the most part though. If it’s attacking and spiteful, I’ll attack right back but if it’s coming from a ‘goodish’ place, I do try to look at my writing a bit more objectively (I don’t always succeed). Anonymous bad reviews get to me the most. The fact that I cannot reply drives me up the wall!

 Okay, we’re wrapping this up (else we could go on forever!) Thanks so much and a big thanks to Aine for organizing this as well!

 Mrs & Lil

Next Week:

Posting on Friday 01 March it’s @ohaine ‘s turn (eek!) to interview @ashockinglackofsatin

[afteriwake]

The Detectives And The Hound (2/?)

So I posted chapter 1 ages ago when I first decided to finish this fic for WIPBB and let me tell you, this fic, in particular, has been a struggle since “The Hound Of Baskerville” is one of my least fave Sherlock episodes. It was supposed to be finished by last week but it’s been a mess. However, today I added three new chapters and it’s almost to the last scene in the moors so there’s that. But it does have lovely art now! Twisted_Slinky has both pieces of art up at AO3 here if you want to leave them some love. But anyway, here’s chapter 2 and hopefully, fingers crossed, I will finish this later today.

The Detectives And The Hound - Sherlock and John get given a case from Henry Knight, who believes his father was killed years prior by a hound in the moors. But what starts as a much needed break from the tedium that Sherlock is experiencing turns into a case that has him questioning many things and feeling something he has not felt in a long time: the type of fear that leaves you with a chill in your bones.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 2 | SERIES PAGE | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI?

The trip to Mycroft’s office was perhaps the most tedious part of the afternoon. The urge to smoke was completely gone, he realized, as the thrill of the case overtook him. But it all hinged on Baskerville and for that, he needed his brother’s cooperation.

And if not that, then his identification.

Fortunately, Mycroft was in a giving mood, and they had secured a tour of the base for the next day. He knew there would need to be a distraction of some sort to see the real purpose of the base out there in the moors, because the guided tour was only going to show what they allowed; Mycroft might have his fingers in many pies but he himself did not, and his own personal clearance level only gave him so much information.

As soon as they secured the visit, they returned to their respective homes and packed. He was sure he could solve the case in two days, especially if he could worm his way inside the more Top Secret areas of Baskerville. But still, he packed for a few more days out of habit, knowing Amelia would take any opportunity to tease if she had to send him clothing. The red pants he only wore on special occasions may be included, and if he had to share a room with John in Dartmoor he did not want his best friend to see them. Some things were best left between him and his wife.

They met again at the train station and took the first train to the north that they could, getting there mid-afternoon. It was time to find an inn, but first, John was complaining of hunger and that was something that would need to be rectified. The inn was attached to a local vegetarian restaurant, and it was easier to kill three birds with one stone and eat there, lodge there and interview the locals as well.

On their way to the inn, John tapped his shoulder. “Look, Sherlock. Henry’s hound.”

Sherlock turned to where John was pointing, seeing a youngish man there handing out fliers for the tour of “The Horrendous Hound of the Moors.” Curious as to why the hound would be a tourist attraction if it was so hideous and scary and, as Henry had intimated, deadly, they went and got one of the fliers.

“I give the best tour in the parts,” the man said. “Close enough to see the beast.”

“Hopefully not close enough that any of your customers get mauled,” Sherlock said, not looking up from the flier.

“I’ll have you know, there are things to repel its presence and everyone on my tour is equipped with them.”

“So what do you do? Have a projector set out thereabouts?” Sherlock asked, still not looking up as another man came over.

“Leave the visitors be,” the man said, clapping the local guide on the shoulders. “I’m Gary. I run The Cross Keys Inn. You need a place to stay for the night? One room, perhaps?” Sherlock looked up and he looked surprised. “You’re the bloke married to that model, what’s her name...”

“Amelia Pond,” Sherlock said, folding the flier and tucking it into the pocket of his Belstaff. “Amelia Holmes when it doesn’t pertain to her modeling.”

“You’re Sherlock Holmes!” another man said, coming out of the inn. There was a shared look between the innkeeper and the new man, one that seemed they might be nervous about something, and he made it a point to investigate them further to satisfy his own curiosity. He doubted it had much to do with Baskerville, but still. “I’m Billy. I run the inn and the restaurant with my partner here. Come in! We’ll get you both rooms and set you up with a good meal.”

Sherlock let the two men lead him and John into the inn, trailing behind them. “They seem nervous about something.”

“Well, you’re something of a celebrity, though maybe not as big as your wife is,” John reminded him. “Maybe there aren’t many celebrities who come up this way.”

“Why would they? It’s Dartmoor,” he said. “Still...let’s look into them before we meet with Henry.”

John nodded and went to go chat up the two innkeepers as Sherlock listened. John may have his faults but eliciting information out of people through casual conversation was one of his strengths, and while he had the feeling the two men were, indeed, up to something, he was convinced it was trivial in the matter of the hound. The real meat of the matter was Baskerville.

They eventually got settled into adjoining rooms and Sherlock went over to John’s room while he was on his mobile. It appeared the conversation was between him and Lorna and had had the potential to be more intimate before Sherlock had made himself known. Having been a bit of a prat to John earlier, he would have left almost immediately to give him some privacy but John waved him to sit in the chair in the room.

Sherlock sat and he finished his conversation quickly before hanging up. “So perhaps this trip was a good thing. Lorna arranged for us to take a week off together in a tropical locale.”

“I think that will do you both some good,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Especially after spending time in as dismal a place as Dartmoor.”

John nodded as well. “I’ll say. This place feels like the underbelly of the Arctic shelf.” He motioned to his laptop. “Did we want to look into Gary and Billy before we pay a visit to Henry?”

“Actually, I think we should get the lay of the land in daylight, and then pop into Baskerville.”

John frowned. “The tour isn’t until tomorrow.”

“But I need the information today,” he said.

“Give your brother one less headache and it may pay off in the end. I already know I’m here to cause a distraction so you could dig deeper.”

Sherlock gave him a shrewd look and then an approving nod. “You grow more perceptive by the day. The conversation you led the innkeepers in was genius. I think they’re connected to something regarding the hound, but not Henry’s Hound.”

“Probably boosting the tourism trade, not that I blame them. Aside from vegan classic literature fanatics, there isn’t much of a market to advertise this place to.”

“But a hound that you can get close enough to see? That could bring in quite a bit of money.” He pulled the flier out of his coat and then showed it to John. “But this drawing, crude as it is, does not match up with Henry’s depiction of the Hound in the DVD.”

John looked at it and nodded. “So there are two hounds in Dartmoor?” he asked.

“The only way we’ll know is to get the lay of the land now,” he said. “So I suppose Baskerville can wait until tomorrow. As they say, the game is afoot, and so are we.”

John shook his head. “Let me get something warmer on and then we can go,” he said, stowing his laptop under one of his pillows and standing up. “Night is going to fall faster than we want.”

Sherlock nodded and waited patiently. John had made some salient points, and if they were, indeed, going to solve this case quickly, perhaps it was best to listen to them.

For now.

[rosyredlipstick]

bodyguard au and teacher au!! i love ur fics, ur one of my favorite writers!!

This is longer than I meant but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Thanks for sending in another ask to specify what couple! Hope you enjoy!

Bodyguard AU/Teacher AU fusion AU

Will is the son of a Very Important Man, Apollo of Sun Banking who serves as the CEO of the company, which means Will grew up very….sheltered. Not many opportunities to make friends, at least. 

When Will is around 28 years old, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and teaching Biology at the local private boarding school, his father starts receiving very detailed threats involving his oldest surviving son (Michael and Lee’s death, years prior, only makes Apollo more protective. At a distance, of course).

Apollo has the amazing idea of hiring his children each their own protection. Not a problem for the already guarded younger kids, but Will and his few older sisters are completely unprotected.

And wouldn’t you know it, Apollo’s been recently recommended Underworld Protection Services, who agree to track down the problem and take care of it.

While also providing bodyguards.

Nico di Angelo is one of the successful guards in the entire company, and of course, Apollo insists on the best.

Will is….not happy. He’s a teacher for Christ’s sake, he can’t just have someone following in his step every moment of the day, He has meetings. He has tutoring hours. He has a classroom guinea pig to take care of. He cannot drag along a random threatening figure to any of these.

Nico absolutely does not care about any of this. He has a job, and he’s the best for a reason and that reason is not because he lets his clients go off gods-know-where at any hours of the day.

Nico also insists on moving into Will’s tiny apartment until the threat has been neutralized. Which. Is that really necessary? Who knows.

((it’s not))

Anyway. 

Will is definitely not pleased towards Nico’s company at all, and yes, he’s fully aware how petty he’s being considering it’s not Nico’s fault at all but still. Not pleased.

And his coworkers and school officers were briefed on the situation. It’s not something they’re exactly advertising, considering the number of pre-teens and teens surrounding them, but all of them are expecting Nico. Some even somewhat befriend him, mostly through the lunch hour fast food runs (Nico prefers the #2 from the local McDonalds, and the #9 from the Wendy’s, the receptionist quickly learn)

And Will is still incredibly frustrated with Nico. He’s always there.

In the mornings, they wake together (Nico even insists they share a room although he uses the fold-out cot)

They make coffee and sip it until their eyes are fully open (although the one time they heard a crash on the fire escape, a bird they later learned, Nico had woken fully in half a second and had Will pushed behind him and his weapon drawn in the next)

They go into the school together (where Nico sits, bored, through Will’s lectures although always follows directions if Will asks him to be his lab assistant)

They eat lunch together (usually packed by Will nowadays because he refuses to watch Nico eat fast-food every day, and Nico always gets salami and swiss just like he likes it)

They go home (the afternoon traffic is a bitch, but Will lets Nico plays his own spotify and it’s kind-of-sort-of hilarious to watch his tough (and incredibly fit, he has to add) bodyguard let loose to an 80s playlist he swears his old roommates made him)

They eat dinner (Nico usually cooks because he likes to and Will is mostly useless when to comes to something other than eggs and assembling sandwiches)

And they watch TV (Will is showing Nico Game of Thrones and the Red Wedding is coming up and Will is dying to see Nico’s reaction)

Then it’s bedtime (brushing their teeth next to each other, making faces in the mirror, and talking until Will realizes what time it is and forces them to be quiet until morning so they aren’t snoozing on their morning alarm)

And Will is completely frustrated with Nico always being there until he realizes that he really, really isn’t anymore.

So. Queue freakout.

And here’s the part of the fic Will goes distant, starts making up excuses and stops talking to him and maybe they even stop watching their shows together. It’s just Nico’s job, after all, and once the threat is taken care of he’ll leave and Will’s going to be alone in his tiny apartment that will never have felt so big and empty.

And all of this comes together one night, before some big school event that the parents are coming up for, that Will is up late preparing for. Nico had already gone to bed, alone because they’re not talking until 2 am anymore, and Will had insisted he would think better alone (he doesn’t)

Going over all his supplies and notes, Will realizes he’s out of paperboard for the welcome sign to his classroom. And he needs a welcome sign. Needs one.

And Nico’s already asleep, has been for a few hours now. And the 24-hour drugstore on the corner has a small arts and crafts section he knows has an array of colors.

It’s a 15, maybe 20-minute trip, max.

There’s no need to wake Nico up, right? Will’s going to be on his own soon enough anyway. He’s a 28-year-old man, he can make a trip to the store on his own despite how pissed Nico will be about it in the morning. 

So Will goes, in pajama pants and a flip flops, and almost makes it to the store. He can see the glowing lights from where he’s walking.

But. Almost.

You see, the reason why Nico’s one of the best bodyguards is because he’s known for never leaving his clients sides. And in a fight, he’s sure to win. Not many people want to go against him, and there are always easier targets.  

Seeing a di Angelo client alone is like catching gold from the sky. And Will’s always had horrible luck.

He doesn’t even see the black-covered figures until they’re in front of him, darker weapons weighing down their hands, and all Will has on him are his keys, his wallet, and an empty pack of gum.

He doesn’t even notice them until one of them has a gun shoved in his face.

God, he thinks, I can’t believe I’m dying for a welcome sign.

Except, of course he’s not. Because Nico wouldn’t be the best if he also wasn’t an extremely light sleeper, who was jerking up in bed just as the door clicked shut. He was a few minutes behind, but he’s there and he’s got the element of surprise.

When Will’s been pushed aside, and Nico’s gun has gone hot and heated, and they are surrounded by blood and huddled figures Nico took out with talent, timing, and luck, they look to each other, wide-eyed. A bit unbelieving. Until -

“You fucking idiot,” Nico snarls, grabbing onto Will’s shoulder and resisting the urge to shake him like a rag doll. “You could have been killed!”

And for a moment, Will forgets about the bodies around them, surely bleeding out for the last time, and he forgets that this is only Nico’s job, and about the threat, and about what almost happened, and he completely forgets about that fucking paperboard.

And as Nico’s hands grip his shoulders, Will does the only thing he can do and pushes his face up for a hard, twisting crush of their lips.

It’s heated and hot and a bit too dry from Nico’s sleeping-breath. It’s messy. It’s perfect.

And Nico jerks away suddenly, taking a few steps back, and Will can’t help the rock of dread that fills his stomach. Until -

“Your apartment,” Nico pants out, fumbling for Will’s hand and gripping it. “Let’s finish this at home.”

Will never does pick up that welcome sign.

[mindthetarget]

I’m sorry for this...

I don’t have enough money for rent.

I lost my job months ago and have been job-hunting daily. Years ago, I dropped out of college for several reasons. I was struggling to pay for medications and needed to work more in order to do so, my dad was deteriorating under a cancer not yet diagnosed and the family business had collapsed, and I wanted to make sure that my two little sisters, the only children I will ever have, were going to be able to afford to get through college if I couldn’t.

I have worked at least three jobs at any given time ever since. I worked my way up from the bottom. Until a few months ago, I was working 5 jobs. I was working full time (50+ hours a week) at one job that paid enough for me to afford an apartment, medical bills, and life, part time at another (10-20 hours a week) that pays less than living wage, doing petsitting and dogwalking on the side, making jewelry to sell when I had time, and intermittently tutoring English composition. And whenever possible, I was volunteering my time to young victims of sexual assault and violence.

Then my full time job’s boss fired me and almost everyone else there in the span of a week, without warning, and has made it next to impossible for many of us to get jobs. He is not a good person. But we aren’t going to talk about that.

I can’t get more hours at my part time job; everyone else needs hours too, and though my coworkers there have been extraordinarily kind about giving me shifts whenever they can, I still make less than $500 a month there.

My petsitting/dogwalking dries up in August every year, for some reason. I haven’t had a call since July. I’m out of resin for making jewelry and the “season” in which my jewelry sells best has passed for the year as well. I haven’t gotten any tutoring calls lately either.

I’ve been jobhunting every day. I am not slacking off. I am trying so damn hard. But, as I said, I don’t have a degree. Surprising no one here, I’m sure, over and over again I’ve heard, “We are only accepting applications from people with a degree,” and “Sorry, this job is no longer available for hire.”

And I’ve used up all my savings. I still have to pay rent on September 1st, and the utilities bills, and medical bills, and for groceries, and for cat food, and it’s not going to happen. I’ve canceled subscriptions and begged for leniency on bills. It’s not going to be enough.

I’ve made a lot of posts advertising that I’m open for commissions, that I’m open to donations, that I need help, help, help, please.

Several beautiful people have stepped up to commission me, have reblogged my posts begging for help, have signal boosted and been encouraging in the tags when they couldn’t do anything else.

One lovely person donated $10 on seeing one of those posts, expecting nothing in return.

And I hate to say it, but it isn’t going to be enough.

I have no hope left. I am, at this point, 100% certain that I’m not going to be able to pay my rent on the 1st, or a payment on my medical bills. It’s become a fact of my reality. I am speaking to my landlord later today to ask for a little more time if I can give them partial payment, and to be let out of my lease if I can’t find a job soon. And then I’ll have to find something that costs less than $500 a month, in an area where the average rent for a studio apartment is $1200 (there are cheaper, and I am looking, but it is a saturated housing market here), and still find a way to pay for eggs and rice to eat every day for the foreseeable future.

I know everyone is broke.

I know Texas, my home state where most of my family still lives, is drowning.

I know Sierra Leone has been entombed and pushed aside by mud and media.

I know Nazis are fucking assholes and we should grind them to dust with whatever little power a penny given to the right organizations can manage.

I know I am not worth more than anyone else.

But I am still a person, afraid and without family who can help—until I lost that job, I was the only person in my family with a full time job—and my friends have done all they can, and I am asking you for help.

I just want a job. I just want to work. I am a hard worker—I am a ferociously hard worker.

But until that happens, I have to rely on the kindness of others. Please, please, help me.

So yes, I am still open for commissions. If you don’t see what you want there, or you can’t afford it, contact me anyway! We can work something out on your budget. Or if you want something but can’t afford it, consider making a “downpayment” on a future commission instead. Here’s a link to my art on mindthetarget, and my art on kerosenekate. Want a print of something that’s already been done? Cool, send me a message!

I will write you a paragraph ficlet for $1, for the characters of your choice. Two paragraphs for $2. Three paragraphs for $3. You get the idea. And they will not be short cop-out paragraphs, I swear.

I will sketch you a quick fanart portrait or your OC if you have reference, or I’ll photomanip you an avatar, or some other small artsy bauble, for $10.

I’ll beta your fics. I’ll design a book/fanfic cover or header. I’ll do so many things, if you’ll just message me your idea and we figure out what you can pay and what I can do for you.

Here’s my Paypal if that works for you. You can use Google Wallet to send money to kateny.creates@gmail.com. If you only have $1 to spare, then that’s $1 that I will sing your praises for.

And when this is over, when I get my feet under me again, I will take a survey on what charitable organization(s) or relief effort(s) you all would like me to send whatever leftover money I still have to. I will work hard and I will donate money even if I have none leftover from this.

I am embarrassed, I feel guilty, scared, and exhausted, but I am thankful for you all. Please, help.

Again, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

[bosstoaster]

About and FAQ

So who even is this douchebag, anyway?

Hey, I’m Bosstoaster, also known as Boss, BT, and to some, Chao.  I have been in many fandoms over the past 15+ years of geekery, but most recently has been Voltron.  That’s probably why you’re here.  I am a bonafide adult who pays bills and has a job, and both of those things suck but here we are.  Cis / She/her pronouns / mid-20s / Aro / Bi

Down to business

Age Headcanons?

If you go through my writing, especially Spectrum, in one fast sitting, you can see the progression of my thoughts on this (as the age discourse rose and fell).

I think it’s the intentions of the writers that they’re all in the teenage bracket, because that’s the protagonist demographic that appeals to young children (like the show wants to do) and to older audiences.  I’m almost certain that’s a top-down decision as well.  If I had to put a nail on what they’re supposed to be in the show, it would be 17-18 for H/K/L, 15-ish for Pidge and 19-20 for Shiro (and maybe Allura).  This matches the show’s timeline and their interactions, and since none of the staff seem to have discussed this, it’s a nebulous topic to begin with.

How I treat/write them is that Pidge is 16-17 (old enough to be trusted to drive a goddamn car), H/L/K is 19-20 (old enough to be going to a school that teaches you how to fly a spaceship/be proper military academy as is implied), and Shiro is 23 (based on the math of when Shiro had to be born given the dates of the show).  Allura would be 21-ish on this scale.  To me, this makes the most sense given the world building and dynamics of the show, and at this point I don’t care anymore.

But don’t you know that-?

[World’s longest fart noise]

Discourse?

Ship and let ship. While there’s some ships I won’t hide my distaste for (The Pairing That Shall Not Be Named specifically), it’s never going to be for any bullshit Woke Points nonsense.  I don’t tend to be interested in Pidge ships either, mostly because none of them stand out to me.  Once in awhile I do let my salt get the best of me (please stop sending me ‘I hate woobie Lance’ posts or painful examples of ‘Lance deserves to be the Black Paladin!!’ posts, I want to live my life, let me be), but I try to keep that to a minimum.  Mostly, just do what you want, and don’t be an ass.  If you’re a salty asshole spreading negativity and hate, I block you.  End of story.  If you’re too negative, I unfollow you.  If you’re yelling in my inbox, you’re instablocked.  End of story.

Can I translate one of your fics?

Yes!  Please send me a link when you’re done.

Can I make art/edits/photosets/podcasts for your fics?

Yes!  Please send me a link and link back to the fic in question

Can I send you prompts?

Yes!  You always can.  I have a backlog of them in my inbox, and so they tend to get filled slowly as I have time.  I’m also picky, so sending it is no guarantee of it being filled.  These are for funzies for me.  NSFW is also equally accepted!

Is it okay if my prompt involves [violence, abuse, something triggering]?

Yes!  However, these are also subject to my whims, and they’ll a) be heavily tagged and b) aren’t always something I’ll fill.

Can I send you a list to a post?

Is it a salt post?  Please don’t.  Please don’t.  Please do not.  I’m really sick of that.

Is it a fun post about sci-fi or something funny or puppies?  Send away!

I’m trying to promote X event/post, will you reblog it?

Not if you ask me to. I might if I find it myself and get interested, but this is not an advertising or promotional blog.  This is my personal tumblr that just happens to be Voltron-focused.  If you want me to advertise for you, pay me like my day job.

Will you write Lance-centric/Langst fics?

No.  I will not.  Do not send me prompts of this.  If you want something like this, please go to the front page and take your goddamn pick.  You don’t need this from me.  There’s plenty of it.  If you want this prompt filled, please go ask it of one of the hundreds of Lance-stans furiously churning out works that make Lance cry big woobie tears.  I won’t be part of it, and I won’t invite them to my door.

TL;DR: I would rather gnaw off my wrists than write Lance-centric works.

Are you continuing X?

If it’s a series like Spectrum Adjacent or Ten Years On?  Probably.  If it’s a oneshot?  Feel free to ask, but prooobably not.

When Rome’s in Ruins is officially discontinued.

Can I message you?

Sure!  I talk to a ton of people, especially on Tumblr Messenger.  But be aware that I’m often on during work and that I have a queue going.  I may seem to be on when I’m not, or I just might not be able to talk to you at the moment.  Please ask before sending anything NSFW.