#as in ‘stand in this corner if you strongly disagree that one if you somewhat disagree that one if you strongly agree’ etc

[steviescrystals]

being one of two liberals in a government class full of raging conservatives my senior year of high school was character development

[dreamyjoons]

Our ‘Get Along’ Shirt - pjm

⇢ another day, another endless round of you and Jimin bickering. It’s never ending, all-consuming, and your friends have had enough. Namjoon decides to end it once and for all - with help from a shirt for squabbling toddlers.

Genre/warnings: smut, 18+! ‘enemies’-to-lovers, swearing, semi-public smut, mutual masturbation, fingering, honestly at this point a sweat kink, multiple orgasms, light choking, some spitting, unprotected sex, creampie.

Words: 14.2k lol

A/N: well hello! I’m back baby, and to celebrate i had to exorcise some Jimin demons. Did i talk about him sweating a lot? Yes. Did i use my favourite pic of him for the header? Also yes. Don’t @ me, i already know. I hope you enjoy!!!

"You're so wrong about this, it's actually kind of embarrassing."

"No you're wrong, only an idiot would think the way you do."

"Guys, no one - and I really mean this - no one cares about what kind of cups you need for beer pong. You've been arguing this for like twenty minutes now." Hoseok huffs, sitting back into the couch.

"Eighteen minutes." Namjoon sighs, tipping back his cup and gulping down its contents.

"But solo cups are far superior-"

"Jimin, they aren't!" You snap, dragging your glare away from his rolling eyes, deciding you never wanna look at him ever again.

"Please stop." Jungkook sighs, slipping off the chair beside Hoseok. His eyes flick between you before scanning the rest of the people in the room, slowly moving to the thump of the music. "Gonna find Yoongi and Tae." He mumbles before disappearing through the mass of bodies.

You'd been at the house party for less than three minutes before you and Jimin found a reason to have an argument. At first, it was how late you were - even though you found out he only got there five minutes before you. Then when you commented on the music choices to Yoongi, he found a way to disagree - despite you both knowing he loved the artist. On and on it went. Now here you were; Namjoon and Hoseok on the couch watching you both with bored expressions, Jin tuned out and typing rapidly on his phone beside them. Jimin stood to your left, and you made sure to keep him totally out of your sight.

But it was getting harder to hear him, thankfully. And he was losing steam. The house was crowded and loud, lively dancers everywhere and the smell of alcohol rich in the air. It was already way too hot out, but being stuffed inside at this party was causing everyone to sweat. You could see condensation forming on the walls.

The house was huge and expensively decorated, belonging to some producer friend of Namjoon. Marbled floors met white walls, a rug carpet covering the floor that made you wince when you thought about the price. It was sprawling and full of a ridiculous number rooms. Yet still, people had to squeeze between the spaces, excuses and polite taps lost in the fury of heat and confinement.

You held your can to your forehead to cool yourself down but it had grown warm waiting for you and Jimin to finish your current spout. You grimace but take a sip anyway - at least if you get a buzz you can ignore him for a little. You felt a pit of guilt at making Jungkook leave. But you were riled up, and you couldn't back down. Not to Jimin.

You saw Jimin tip his head back to drink out of the corner of your eye, but you daren't look at him. He was as insufferable as he was hot as hell, and not just in temperature.

However, you had managed to take a better look at him earlier in the night. His beige silk shirt was already sticking to his skin, tucked into tight jeans blacker than you had ever seen. Who wears silk to a house party? The necklace that he always wore sat just below his collarbones, and you're reminded of all the times you've wanted to throttle him with that damn chain. He'd been pushing his dark hair back all night - you could tell by how it fell about his face, silky strands falling into his eyes. Was he wearing some kind of lipgloss too? You grumble into your drink. He was too pretty for his own good.

At first the sparring was fun. There was an attraction there, on your part at least. It was spicy, something hot and fast, a way to see how compatible you were. Maybe you had some feelings for him. Possibly, potentially.

But over time it devolved. It felt like he'd say things just to get a rise out of you, to draw your attention into a battle with him. And now here you were, bitterly avoiding the man's existence.

"God, why is it so hot here?" Jin gasps, blotting his face with his sleeve.

"Probably haven't got the air con on." Jimin shrugs, taking a swig from his glass.

"It's on-" You start, eyes flicking to where you thought you could see a vent in the ceiling. It was open, so you assumed it would be on - it had to be.

"I highly doubt that."

Jimin gives you the look he always does - where he tilts his head back and stares into your soul. His plump lips part, tongue pressed behind his teeth, goading you into his trap. He gets his way every time.

"Why would they not have it on? It's burning hot even without a house full of people."

"Then it's clearly a crappy unit." He shrugs, but his words are quick and his eyes are still intensely focused on you.

"Jimin have you seen the rest of this house? Don't be dumb-"

"Shut up!"

You and Jimin spin to your friends who had all shouted in unison. The ones who could still stand to be around you both arguing, anyway. Several of the dancers that were nearby stopped to look at the exclamation but slowly drifted back into the music - albeit before taking a step further away from your group.

"Enough. I'm gonna put an end to this once and for all." Namjoon gets to his feet and strides away with purpose, standing a head above nearly everyone in the crowd.

You shiftily look at Jimin before silently waiting for Namjoon to return, confusion thick in your brain. You awkwardly chewed on your lip as the seconds ticked by, before finally he stalks back, his bag under his arm.

He throws himself back into his seat, flips open the top of his bag and rifles through.

Finally he pulls out a heap of bright yellow material, and with a small noise, he dumps his bag beside him before bolting up. He unravels the material and holds it up to you, grin growing on his face.

It takes you a few seconds to focus on what he is holding out to you and Jimin - but when you realise, you gasp.

"'Our get along shirt'? Namjoon you've gotta be joking." you splutter, scanning the shirt.

It was a sickly yellow, 'our get along shirt' printed on it in what appeared to be black glitter. It could probably fit both you and Jimin in it, maybe Yoongi could slip in too. It looked somewhat roomy, but that was not the point.

"What?" Jimin asks, lips parted as he stares into the glitter.

"You're both gonna wear it and get over whatever bullshit is going on here." Namjoon says so casually, as if he was asking the time or giving directions. But you saw the seriousness in the minute movements of his face. The clench on his jaw, the hardiness of his eyes.

"We're adults Namjoon, you can't expect us to wear that." Jimin's face had gone into a full blush, but his frown was deep as he stared at Namjoon.

"You are both gonna wear it."

"No-" You shout, but Namjoon pointedly huffs at you, and you take the hint.

"Put the shirt on. By the end of the night, either one of you will have killed the other or you have this sorted out. Because if not, you'll end up pushing us all away. For good." Namjoon finishes with a sigh, the depth of his gaze so severe it confirms that he isn’t playing with you.

You look behind him at Jin and Hoseok, and the direction in which Jungkook had walked away. Jin and Hoseok looked deadly serious, no hint of a smile or a cackle of laughter like you'd expect.

He had a point. You knew it. But it was so hard - Jimin couldn't let things lie, and you couldn't back away from a fight when it was him you were fighting. But to see others dropping out from around you...

"Hand over the shirt."

You spin to stare at Jimin. His face was tight, jaw set and eyebrows drawn. It had dawned on him too, just how far this had gone. But he obviously didn't like the idea of it, and neither did you.

"Fine but if I do kill him I’m taking you all down with me as accessories." You sigh, reaching forward and taking the shirt from Namjoon.

“How long have you had this, Joon?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

“Long enough.”

You turn it in your hands and with a deep breath, you pull the shirt over your head, sticking your arm through the sleeve and head through the collar. Your left arm hangs loosely in the shirt, and you begin to fret about what you should do with it. Maybe you should just stick it in your pocket? You don't wanna brush anything-

Before you could follow that train of thought, Jimin tugs you and the shirt towards him. You follow, gulping thickly. He casts one last look at Namjoon before putting his head under the bottom of the shirt. within seconds his head is through the collar, his shoulder bumping yours as he tries to get comfortable.

The air is thick around you, the extra warmth of him being so close to you making the heat rise on your face. You were strongly aware of every microscopic move he makes, your senses keenly aware of his proximity. He lets out a harsh sigh, and you feel the breath ripple over the collar and down the shirt. A pout settles on his lips, glossy and wholly enticing - and entirely too close.

His face was inches from yours, shoulders stuck rigidly together as you subtly wrestle for space. The shirt was obviously made for kids, and much smaller than you had originally anticipated. Two kids would be able to almost comfortably stand side by side. You and Jimin had barely enough excess shirt, but the collar was far too small. His hand grazes mercilessly across your thigh, the hardness of his rings pressing into the material of your jeans.

You hear a click of a camera, and your attention snaps up to see Hoseok taking a photo of you both on his phone. With both you and Jimin glaring at him, he snaps another and giggles.

"One for Jungkook." He grins, before flipping his phone to you.

Instinctively you step forward to look, but the lack of space drags Jimin along with you. He crashes into your back, a steadying hand reaching out for your hip, a strangled grunt by your ear. You choke on your breath, and weakly tug at the collar as if it was the cause of your shock.

His hand is warm, the heat pulsating from his palm across your hip. If you weren't sweating before, you definitely were now. You shuffle back a little, easing the tension in the shirt that tugged tightly against you. Jimin brings up a hand and anxiously pushes his hair back from his face, his jaw set so sharply you could cut your finger on it.

"Well, there's bound to be a few teething problems but I'm sure you'll both work it out." Namjoon smiles, eyes bright and full of mischief. "Come on boys, let's give them some space."

You give Namjoon the fiercest glare you could muster before he walks away, but all he does is chuckle at you. Hoseok waves brightly whilst Jin merely winks - until soon all that remained was you and Jimin, hot, flustered and already tired of it all.

"Okay, now that they're gone-" Jimin mutters, twisting in the shirt so that his back was against you. You shuffle back as not to touch him, your mind a hazy hot mess.

Your hand dances threateningly close to his ass so you snatch it up to your chest, staring at the ceiling and holding back an agonised groan.

He brings his hands up and after a few seconds you hear a loud rip.

You snap your head to him to see that he'd ripped the collar almost to the end of the shoulder, giving you more space. You let out a breath and you both adapted to the space, but his shoulder was still brushing you. At least his face was at a less dangerous distance from yours now.

"Do... you wanna sit?" He asks quietly, A faint pinky blush crossing his cheeks. You forced your eyes away, determined not to be distracted.

"Jimin, Namjoon's gonna flip about the shirt."

"No he won't-"

"Yes, he will-"

"Ah, can we just sit?."

You huff, weighing his words before silently nodding, moving forward slowly to give him time to get his brain in gear. He stepped behind you and you shuffled around so that you wouldn't be sat under him.

"Okay sit." You order, and to your surprise he followed your words. You both crash back into the couch, his arms pressing back against you, his legs spread and pressed against yours.

You sit, the silence stretching. You finally get the smell of his cologne, the silk of his shirt sleeve brushing against your arm. It was filling your senses, and though it had only been seconds, this was stretching for an eternity.

And there were all those emotions you felt towards him, rushing to the surface, bubbling beneath your skin.

"Okay this is dumb, why are we doing this?" You grumble, slamming your head back against the cushions, desperate to be away from his heady scent.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, so you pointedly avoid meeting his gaze.

"Because we don't want to lose our friends." His voice is low, the cogs turning in his head.

"Yes I know that, but why do we have to 'sort our problems' from inside the same damn t-shirt?" You snap.

"I... don't know. But I'm not gonna lose friends. Them or you - so get used to being stuck in this shirt with me."He purses his lips in thought, but you’re struck by his words.

"Well it's you who's stuck in here with me." You snark, unable to stop yourself before you say it.

He huffs out a laugh through his nose, and you can’t help but smile. You finally meet his eyes, and like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, he snaps his eyes away.

“So we have to like… work on our problems?”

“Apparently.” He murmurs, throwing himself back into the seat.  

The temperature feels ten times hotter than when you weren’t sharing clothing. Your hair sticks to your skin and you shift uncomfortably. Everywhere you touched him felt like it was on fire, every sensor in your body and edge and firing. You force yourself to breathe, in and out. Park Jimin was not going to get the better of you.

But he seemed affected too.

His swallows are thick, adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp. You could see his ringed finger tapping in his leg whilst his other hand was pushing back his hair a little more aggressively than usual.

“So uh…” He starts, but tapers off when you look at him.

“Yeah?”

The seconds tick on, the gap between you non-existent. You avert your eyes and try to focus on the crowd that swirls around you.

You couldn’t help but notice the fact that things were going well. No issues were being resolved per se, but you hadn’t fought properly for a few minutes. And for you both, that was progress. Even if every word that comes to your mind flights away, leaving the silence to stretch.

“Maybe-”

“How about-”

You both blurt words at the same time, letting out an embarrassed laugh as you squarely avoid looking at each other. The music seems louder, making it harder to think about anything that wasn’t directly in your senses. Essentially you were stuck in a Jimin lockdown.

“You go.”

“Oh, I was just going to say I’m gonna need a drink or two for this.” you confess, heat burning across your face.

“That’s… Not a bad idea actually. Let’s go to the kitchen.” Jimin rushes, a little too enthusiastically. It seems like he’s a little on edge too.

Without thinking he tries to stand up, causing you to get ruffled inside the shirt as he staggers to his feet. You’re ripped through the collar of the shirt, your face getting knocked into his hip. Your eyes widen and your breath catches in your throat as he’s slingshotted back into the chair beside you. Your head reemerges through the hole, leaving your hair vigorously disheveled.

“I-, I’m sorry!” He grits, a reddish blush bursting across his cheeks.

You bring up your hand inside the shirt to touch it to your face whilst the other tries to right whatever mess your hair had become.

“It’s fine, just, we gotta move as one.” You mumble, flicking your gaze at him.

“Agh, this isn’t gonna be easy.” He sighs, shuffling to the edge of the chair.

You take a deep breath and follow his lead. You put a tentative hand on the couch to shuffle yourself to the edge, but jimin had the same idea. He puts his hands on top of yours, but instantly snatches it back. He mumbles to himself before turning and giving you a nod. With a steadying breath you both move, almost effortlessly getting off the couch together. It takes you by surprise at how straightforward that was, until the clatter of a noise reaches your ears over the din of the music.

Following the rattle of the noise you look down, only to watch your phone skittering across the floor.

“Oh, shit.” You murmur, watching it stop out of reach. “Jimin, my phone!”

He follows your gaze to where it lays on the floor, narrowly avoiding being stepped on by dancers. Your heart flutters as people step around it, totally unaware.

“Go, go!” He mutters, placing the palm of his hand at the bottom of your back, steering you towards it.

You flush as you’re pushed through, stopping just above it. You’re both jostled by the people around you as you stand guard above your phone. People were dancing dangerously close to it,and all it would take is one drunken fool to stamp on it or you for this to end in disaster.

“Okay let’s drop, carefully this time!” you order, but Jimin scoffs at you.

“I’m trying to be careful!”

“Just don't thrash me about again, that would be nice-”

“I’m not doing it on purpose! I can if you want me to-”

“Oh my god, stop, just bend over and help me!”

“That sounds dirt-”

He starts, but before you let him manifest that in your mind you start to crouch, the force pulling him down to bump his chest into your back. The heat of him crashing into you is instant, an insatiable warmth that spreads in contact. He puts a stabilising hand on your hips as his breath rolls across the back of your neck. A shiver trickles down your body despite trying to hold it back.

“What did you do that for?” He grunts, his mouth closer to your ear as he tries to rebalance himself.

“Y- you’re taking too long trying to argue!”

He presses himself off your back and shuffles down beside you. You finally get crouched on the floor, tentative hands placed on the sticky surface to stop you from toppling over. Jimin crouches next to you, his body facing yours with his leg behind you, tight against your back. It was hard to stay focused with him pressed against you like that, but you know he was just trying to stay stable. So why were you blushing so hard?

Carefully you reach out, your fingers just brushing the edge of the phone. You’re just able to get your fingers over the edge when you’re slammed from the side. Your phone is knocked out of your reach once more as you’re thrown onto Jimin, both of you landing in a tangled heap.

You let out a yelp as you’re falling, the impact to the side of you bristling with shock. His back hits the floor and you land awkwardly, right on top of him.

“Watch what you’re doing, you moron!” Jimin snaps after your head slaps onto his shoulder.

Your heart slams erratically against your chest, his words stinging. You’d come to blows many more times than you can imagine, but he’d never spoken to you in that way, not ever.

“God, I’m sorry.” you murmur, pressing yourself up off his chest, your face practically aflame.

“What? Oh, no no, not you! Whichever idiot smacked into you. Are you alright?“ He asks, his fingers gently gripping your chin and turning you gently in his hands.

Your eyes are wide as he stares at you, your fingers twitching on the silk covering his chest. Once he’s satisfied that you’re okay, he softly releases you. You bring your gaze back to his, beads of sweat rolling down your face.

Jimin looks down to his hand and back up to you after realising what he had just done, before he clenches his fist closed and puts it down to his side. His forehead is creased, his face burning bright.

“We should… ah, should get your phone.” His voice is low, barely audible above the music. But you hear him all the same, stealing your hand back from his chest.

You swallow thickly, stabilizing yourself as you crouched back on your own two feet. Your phone isn’t too far out of reach, but just beyond the touch of your fingertips. You strain, tugging Jimin along behind you. His throat is pulled against your shoulder, but it was no good, you still needed the stretch.

“Hold on.” You mumble, slipping your head out from underneath the collar.

You keep your arm inside the shirt sleeve for plausible deniability - you’d never be able to lie to Namjoon if he asks if you stayed in. But you pull your head out from the bottom of the shirt and reach out, gripping your phone and snatching it up. You shove it in your deepest pocket of your jeans and pat it, relieved.

You crawl back to Jimin and try to climb back into the shirt. He throws the bottom over your head and you push it through - only to slam your head into his arm.

“Ah, sorry!” You yelp, trying to push yourself past him.

He tries to guide your head back up through the collar but manages to get his rings caught in your hair. You yelp at the tug, your hands flying up to untangle him.

“Sorry, sorry!” He shouts, bringing his other hands up to slide his rings off altogether.

Once they’re off his fingers it’s easier to free your hair. With the rings tucked safely in his pocket and with gentle easing, Jimin moves your head up to the collar of the shirt. You rapidly brush your hair out of your face and look at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s flustered, roughly pushing the hair that sticks to his sweaty forehead back. His lips are parted and his eyes are fixed away from you.

Briefly, the thought of just running away from him crossed your mind. There’d be no more issues if you never saw his face again. No more embarrassment! Of course it was a silly idea, but it would be better than getting the opportunity to make yourself look like an idiot again.

You huff out a breath, blotting your damp forehead with the back of your hand. Your brush with the floor had left your clothes feeling sticky, and your brush against Jimin had set everything else on fire. You needed some fresh ai-

“It’s too hot for this, I need some air.” Jimin shifts in his spot, gesturing to the backdoor that was through the kitchen and blocked by a thick group of party goers. You follow the direction he points and nod enthusiastically.

“I wanna grab some water too.” You murmur. Ignoring his presence.

The people that stood between the cloying heat that you and Jimin were trapped in and the cooler climate outside were dense. You’d have to fight through, but the reward of fresher air to clear your head of Jimin was too tantalising.

With a look at Jimin, he motions with his hand for you to proceed. You roll your eyes at the gesture but you take a cautious step forward, slow and deliberate.

You started pushing your way through, bodies warm and fluid as you tried to champion the way. Jimin got ganged much closer to you, practically pressing into your back as you moved. You focus on finding a path ahead, ignoring the beads of sweat that form in your hairline.

Something had changed between you. This is the closest you had been together, the most you had touched, the longest you had been alone. And you wanted to hate it. You certainly hated how messy he must think you are. But you didn’t. A trickle of something different slides down your body, all your attention focused on his hand on you.

The music changes to something even louder and riles the crowd up. With a swell of movements in the dancers you’re sent flying, knocked by some erratic dancer’s elbow. With the force of the shirt Jimin is dragged with you, crashing into your back and pinballing you against another person.

Subconsciously you turn back to him - but as soon as you’re pressed together, you realise how big a mistake that was.

Stomach to stomach, his face is barely an inch or two from yours. His fingers wrap around your wrist, chest rising and falling as you stare at him.

The sweat that had rolled down his face had reached his throat, dropping down the column and hovering at his apple. The minutest of smirks pulls at his lips, and you realise you’ve been caught.  

He swallows, purposely. The bead rolls the rest of the way down his throat, dropping below his necklace before disappearing down the neckline of his shirt. The silk was clinging to his skin in the heat, and it took every ounce of dignity you had not to look down. You could see in your periphery, and that was more than enough. The man was hot, in every sense.

Your eyes flick back up, a different kind of heat burning up your face. You anxiously lick your lips, eyes finally meeting his. He has an eyebrow propped, a smugness radiating that let your blood boil. But his gaze drops to your mouth, watching your tongue gloss across your lip before looking back up. You can feel his breath hit your chest as his cheeks flushed more than they ever had. Now you were the one to have an audience.

Maybe this was it - the answer. You just needed a moment for everything to click, you could reach an understanding! It had nothing to do with how his stare left you feeling like you could burst in every way possible. Or that his pupils seemed to be blown wide, big enough for you to swim in. His fingers were hot against your wrist, and it felt almost as if his pinky was tracing the tiniest circles into your skin-

“I need the bathroom.”

The words are blurted loudly in your face, and for a moment you forget what reality is.

“I- what?”

“Bathroom. Gotta go. Bathroom stuff.” Jimin splutters.

Before you can respond - not that you knew how to -  he turns from you. His hand still holds your wrist as he pulls you through the crowd, uncaring as to who he pushes aside. All you can do is stare at the back of his hair and be lead.

“Jimin what the hell?!” You yell, ignoring the glares of the nosy partiers.

Your voice is lost, muffled by loud music and Jimin's deaf focus. You finally break free from the throng of people but your journey doesn't end. You're being whipped past busy rooms until you hit the staircase. The odd person watches you in fascination, some even snickering at what was written so plainly in glitter on the shirt. you felt your face burn, and make a silent note to fight Namjoon at the soonest opportunity.

He begins scurrying up the staircase, and with your wrist still firmly in his iron grip, you're soon flying up behind him. He casts a shifty look behind him to check you were still attached, his face flushed but his eyes focused. You have to remember to regulate your breathing.

"God, careful!" You snap, almost stumbling on the top step.

He doesn't acknowledge that he hears you, but then he slows for a second before darting down the winding corridor. He rushes into one of the rooms, a sprawling guest bedroom, before finally letting your wrist drop from his grip. It was almost bigger than your entire place, with an ensuite and even a door leading out to a balcony.

You close the door behind you before Jimin drags you towards the ensuite. Once he's at the open door he pulls his arms through the sleeve and slips out from the shirt. You know you're in the privacy of a bedroom but you suddenly get nervous, eyes turning to the bedroom door.

"We're gonna get in trouble." You murmur. Namjoon is a mind reader, you’d stake your life on it - he'll know you're separated and find you.

"You gotta relax. We're not gonna be spotted through floors and walls. Unless you wanna come in here with me?" He asks, that trademark smirk pulling at his lips. Your stomach flutters, but it is a relief to have a flash of the jimin who pushes your buttons back.

"I -wha- no! Just hurry up, god." You splutter, turning your back to him.

"I won't be long."

With that he saunters back, his cheeks blown out as he sighs, and finally closes the door for some sweet separation. You step back and move to the balcony - the door was unlocked so you push it open and finally breathe.

The air is still warm, but instant relief from being cooped up inside with Jimin washes over you. You close your eyes and soak up the moment of peace, the shirt hanging off your solitary frame.

Your brain was barely processing the situation you were both in. It was enough being stuck in the same item of clothing as someone, but with Jimin? It was hard.

But then again, it was also easy. It was too easy to get wrapped up in him, to be so close, to let yourself be taken with him. It was a place you had hoped to be before, and somewhere you couldn’t go.

You and Jimin were tumultuous. You weren’t sure why it had to be that way. It’s not like either of you were toxic or nasty people - so why did you have to make a stand on everything? Why does every time you stand off with him make the hairs on your neck stand up, make your heart beat so fast in your chest you swear he could hear it?

Maybe it was because you did, after all this time, like him.  

You're snapped out of your thoughts by an erratic knocking at the door. You dart your eyes to it as if you could see through the solid wood, your heart in your throat.

"Y/N? Jimin? You there?" Namjoon calls through the door, and you swear under your breath.

"One second!" You cry, scrambling back from the door and scurry to the ensuite.

"Jimin! Open up!" You whisper at him, your voice a hurried rasp.

"What?"

"I'm coming in!" You wait a few seconds just in case, and then finally throw the door open.

"Y?N!" Jimin yells, scrambling back against the basin.

He was standing with his silk shirt in his hands, His lips parted in shock as he stares at you. His chest was heaving, the faintest glimmer of abs visible behind the thin fabric. Your face was burning almost as much as his, your jaw dropping. His hair was tousled, strands covering his wide eyes as he stared at you.

"Wh... Why are you topless?" Your breath is barely above a whisper as you fight to keep your eyes on his face.

"It's so hot!”

“I’m hot! Do you see me taking my clothes off?” You rush, using every ounce of restraint in your body to not lick your lips.

The thought of you and Jimin taking your clothes off together flashed through your mind and you internally screamed at yourself. This was not the time to unpack that, though you’d be lying if you said the thought hadn’t crossed your mind before.

“Wah- uh, you... I was trying to cool dow- why are you barging in here?!" He rushes, taking a hasty step towards you. To have to sort through your frazzled thoughts before you remember why you were there in the first place.

"Namjoon! He's at the door!" As if to accentuate your point, Namjoon raps on the door again, calling out to you both.

"Agh!" Jimin cries, rushing forward and grabbing the hem of the shirt you still wore.

He begins to get into it as he pushes you towards the door. You could feel the horror fill your veins as the heat of his body slips in beside you, his hand at the small of your back as he guides you. Your arm brushes against his bare hip, the skin hot and smooth. You snatch your arm up and hold it against your chest as if burned and ignore the rapid change in your breathing.

"Why haven't you put your shirt on?!" You whisper, but he just huffs.

"To save time, Now show me your pretty smile and let's get rid of him so I can get dressed." Jimin's hand is on the door, and all you can do is stare at him, eyes wild.

"My wha-"

The door flies open, but you're still staring at Jimin. Pretty...?

"Well hello." Namjoon is leant against the doorframe, arms crossed as he gives you both a crooked grin. His eyes flicker to the room behind you, his eyes landing on the bed just beyond you both.

"Just needed the bathroom." Jimin rushes, hand once again settling in his hair.

"I didn't ask." His voice is light, but his eyes are fierce as he scans you both thoroughly.

"You were thinking about it, though." Jimin mutters. He tries to cross his arms at Namjoon, but with one arm under the shirt and one over he soon drops it. Your gaze was still stuck on him though. Pretty?

"How's the shirt working out, you both talking?" Namjoon asks, and you finally snap your attention to him. He's already watching you and raises an eyebrow. You scramble to stamp down your emotions, despite every nerve in your body sizzling.

"Oh yeah, we’re the best of friends now, right JimJam?" Your voice is bubblegum sweet, giving Jimin the goofiest smile you could muster.

"Totally! We've been braiding our hair and sharing juicy stories. We're basically besties."

Jimin beams at Namjoon, before stepping close and wrapping an arm around your waist to hug you. It was all part of the charade, of course. But as you're pulled back against his chest, you swear your heart could explode. His hand sits lightly on your hip, his every breath rolling down your neck. It didn’t matter that the move was practically hidden under the shirt.

"Yeah..." you laugh, but it's more of a choke as you pat his hand over the shirt and avoid meeting Namjoon's probing gaze.

Jimin clears his throat awkwardly behind you, his finger twitching on your hip. The heat between you swealters, every inch of your skin electric against his body.

Namjoon's eyes flick between you. You could see his thoughts brewing but they never pass his lips. Instead you and Jimin wait, his hands singeing your skin where they rested, his bare chest like fire against you.

"Well, I can see you're obviously working on something. But until you're actually convincing, you can stay in that shirt." He shrugs, grin widening across his face. With a final flick of his eyes, he pushes off the door frame and heads back towards the stairs.

"This is ridiculous Namjoon!" You yell at his back, crossing your arms across your stomach.

"Maybe - but you're both still wearing it." He smirks back over his shoulder.

You yell incoherent words at his back before huffing out a breath. Your fingers twitch in anger, putting a stubborn hand on your hip, the skin hot under your touch.

Faintly you realise the contact isn’t registering on your hip, and it isn’t until Jimin loosens his grip on you that you realise your hand had been resting on his. His hands fall from your body as he shuffles away, swallowing a throaty gulp.

You couldn’t look at him. It was all fun and games to begin with- oh, who were you kidding? This had been sucky, but something had shifted. You needed air, a chance to breathe, to not be tethered to the man that seems to haunt you.

“Need air.” Your voice a rasp as you step back into the room.

Jimin barely shuts the bedroom door before you’re marching to the balcony, not caring about whether you drag him along or not. Once you’re outside you heave in a breath, letting the air fill your lungs.

“That was too close.” You murmur, fiddling with the hem of the shirt.

“How was I supposed to know Namjoon would be keeping tabs?”

“I’m not blaming you Jimin! Why are you making this into an argument too?” You snap, your eyes fixed on the treeline on the edge of the property.

You feel him wriggling aggressively next to you, only to look back and see him climbing out of the shirt. You watch in horror as he slips out from under the sickly yellow material, keeping his bare back to you.

“What are you doing?” You yelp, scanning over the edge of the balcony for any sight of your friends. They couldn’t see you apart, they would never trust either of you again.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re meant to be working this out from inside the same ugly shirt-”

“No not right now. I mean, kind of. I just… Why did we let it get this far?”

You let his words hang in the air, your thoughts scattered. The thump of the music below drifts up to you, the mass of partygoers that stood out in the gardens laughing and chatting loudly. It seemed a world away from the tension that fills the air between you and Jimin.

He turns back to you with a look on his face so intense you can’t place it. But you could tell he was tightly wound - his shoulders were squared and his jaw was tight. He avoids making eye contact with you for as long as he can. But when he finally does, it was too easy to get lost in what you see there.

“We just argue, I guess.” you shrug, averting your eyes from his chest and stomach. This wasn’t the time to be fawning over him. It was hard - he was beautiful, there was no escape from that. It’s one of a million reasons you had liked him in the first place.

“You can't tell me you’re happy with that explanation.” He huffs, crossing his arms.

“Of course I’m not but what do you want me to say? You don’t like me, you’ve made that plain enough. Not everyone gets along.”

You bite your lip, admitting the words you’d been too scared to think out loud. But when you hear a faint gasp, your eyes shoot up to his face. His lips are parted, a look of abject shock written on his delicate features.

I d- I do like you.” His voice is so quiet you can barely hear him. But you do, and the words strike deep.

You can’t open yourself up to this right now. Namjoon will find a way to know that you’re both separated, and the rest of the guys will drift away. You want to be civil with Jimin, not have your entire soul bared open to him. You couldn’t survive that.

“Can you please put your shirt back on?” You mumble, your eyes laser-focused imploringly on his face, but he doesn't hear you, barrelling on.

“It’s not like I enjoy arguing with you!”

“Then why are you making it so difficult?” Your voice cracks, the hurt of your never ending battles threatening to surface.

“Do you know how hard it is to get your attention-“ he starts, his fast flow of words immediately cut off as he gawks at you, delicate fingers slamming over his lips.

“What?” You blurt, processing his words.

“No no, nothing! Forget it.” he shakes his hands at you, eyes wide and face blushing a deep pink.

“Jimin! What do you mean, get my attention?”

“I… yeah. We’re always with the guys, I guess I didn’t know how else to get you to focus on me.”

“Why?” Your voice is faint, a million thoughts crashing in your head.

“No, forget it!”

“Jimin!”

“Ah, I like you, okay?”

The air around you thickens, the distance between you a thousand miles yet still too close. Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest, your eyes wide as saucers and your skin prickled with goosebumps.

“You- huh?”

“I… like you. A lot. It happened pretty quickly.” He sighs, running a shaky hand through his hair.

"Why have you never told me?"

"Because it's humiliating as hell?" He laughs bitterly, his eyes darting to anywhere but you.

"Jimin..."

"No seriously. If I had told you, you'd reject me because why wouldn't you? All we do is argue."

"You think I'd reject you?" You ask, voice quiet as you step closer to him. His gaze finally snaps back to you at your movement.

"I mean, I... yeah?"

He runs a hand roughly over his face, turning his back to you. He looks so flawless in the moonlight. But he always looked flawless to you. Watching him fret like this was something so alien to you, but so human, so Jimin. You couldn’t let him suffer these feelings alone.

"Well, I wouldn't have." You mumble.

“You- what?”

Your brain scrambles, your heart hammering in your throat. He stares at you, wide eyes and chest heaving as if he was winded. Swallowing thickly you press on, despite the fear that churns in your gut.

“I wouldn’t reject you, Jimin. I… uh. I like you too.” You fiddle awkwardly with the hem of the stupid shirt.

The whole scenario had you feeling like a girl going through a childhood crush again. Though last time you had a crush on a boy who was fighting with you, you punched him in the nose. It was doubtful that would work this time around-

“Jimin?” You ask, watching as he shrinks back on himself.

You watch as he breathes, his chest rising and falling, the rapidly cooling night air raising goosebumps across his skin. It was hard to keep your brain on track.

After a moment he meets your gaze with a softness so potent it was enough to choke you.

In two steps he was on you, his lips crashing against yours. Your entire body threatens to shut down, the shock rippling through you. Before you even had a second to comprehend how good his lips felt against yours he pulls back, fear in his eyes as he worries.

You know then what you want. Who you want. You wondered why you wasted so long arguing to get it.

With your blood thrashing violently in your veins you reach your hands out to his face, caressing the smooth skin of his cheek before you surge forwards. The feel of the gloss on his lips smudges as you let yourself be consumed, the slightest hint of cherry seeping in.

Kissing Park Jimin. You. You’re kissing him. Your eyes slam shut as you sink into him, electricity crackling on your skin.

With no doubt in his mind at all Jimin slides his hands to your hips, fingers curling into the shirt as he moves you back, pushing you into the wall. You moan into his kiss, and he smirks against your lips. To trip him up you press the kiss deeper, letting the tip of your tongue dance at his pretty lips, wanting to taste him.

He does you one better, turning the tides and pressing the kiss back to you, tongue flicking to you.

Just like normal, you weren’t one to back down from Jimin.

Letting a hand move into his silken hair, you brush it back the way you’d seen him do a thousand times. But instead of letting your hands fall out of the soft locks, you let the strands wind around your fingers and give it a tug.

Jimin lets out a low groan, breaking the kiss to pant against your lips. Pride flows through you, but so did a sense of admiration - it was something you wanted to hear from that pretty mouth over and over.

“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Y/N.” He whispers, tugging sharply on the shirt so that your body was flat against his.

You try to not let the gasp from you come out too loud, the lines of his body startlingly apparent as you’re pressed together.

“You think that scares me?”

At your words he smiles. It spreads slowly, but soon his whole face is alight, brightness shining out of him. With his fingers at the hem of the massive shirt, he gives you a filthy giggle before kneeling and slipping himself inside of the material.

“What are you doing?” You yelp, feeling the familiar sensation of being stuck in the stupid shirt with him again. But it was different too, it wasn’t suffocating like before.

His head popped back up through the ripped collar, grin still annoyingly plastered across his face.

“Shouldn’t you be trying to get me out of this shirt, Park Jimin?” You whisper, breathless as he presses you back against the wall.

“I can’t deny that you have too many clothes on.” He smirks, delicate fingers sliding up your shirt to rest on your hot skin. “But there’s something… ah, satisfying about having you in this shirt.”

“Seriously?”

“What’s the matter Y/N, don’t think you can handle it?” His fingers circle agonisingly slow on your hips, a mischievous glint catching in his eye. He knows you so well.

“You’re gonna be the one who can’t handle it.”

“Prove it.”

You almost growl at him as he presses your buttons, but the burning in you meets the heat in your stomach. You need him more than ever.

You pull him back against you by the hair, crushing your lips together once more. He moans into you, nails pressing into your hips as your lips collide. You roll your hips against him, the fire in your veins white hot as he stutters against you. He breaks your kiss to gasp needily, eyes shut tight as your stomach brushes against the bulge in his tight jeans.

His eyes finally open, unfocused and swimming. But after a second he fixes his gaze on you, determined. A flicker of anticipation fills you, awaiting retribution.

His fingers move from your skin to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up until you have to help him. The shirt you were sharing was making it difficult, and you start to regret ever letting him get his way. But as soon as you are free he presses back into you, his hot skin flush against yours, his fingers idly tracing the straps of your bra.

Just with the gentle brush of his fingertips he nudges the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising along his trail. He presses his lips to your cheek, pecking slow, soft kisses across your cheekbone as he moves towards your ear. You sigh as his mouth moves lower, plump lips pressing dainty kisses down your neck. With you swept up, his hands move behind you and unclip your bra.

A gasp passes your lips while his own are still planted at your neck, sucking on a soft spot there. Your bra slides off your body, landing with a quiet thud on the floor of the balcony.

His fingers find their way back to your hips, slowly caressing their way up. An excited shiver catches you, and you feel him laugh against your skin. His warm hands find your breasts, thumbs rubbing over the soft skin before finding your nipples.

You suck in a breath as he kisses back up your neck. He pauses to capture your lips again, lulling you into him as his thumbs brush out across your nipples.

With your staccato breathing he smirks once more into your skin. Not one to ever be outmanoeuvred by Jimin, you decide it’s time to flip the switch.

You purposefully run your fingers down his stomach, featherlight and teasing. He hitches his breath, mouth detaching from your neck as he waits, anticipating your every move. His hot breath rolls down your neck, rippling off your chest. You hide a smirk in his hair and focus on your goal.

Letting your fingers rest on his belt buckle - no doubt something obnoxiously expensive - you begin to undo him as slow as you possibly could. You slide it off, inching it so little that you could feel him get restless against you.

“You’re a nightmare.” He whispers, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

“I’m just savouring the moment.” You offer softly, the soft clinks of the buckle resting against his thigh.

“You’ll pay if you tease me like this.” His voice is high, airy. The voice of a man in complete control - though you knew that was far from the truth.

“Mm, sure Jimin.” You smirk, bringing a hand up between you to his face.

You angle him back up to kiss you, which he does with ferocity. You smile into him, the power to provoke him rich in your veins.

Your hand sinks back to his belt, and with him distracted you pull it off him fast, dumping it somewhere on the floor and popping the button of his jeans. He gasps into your kiss, fingers automatically flexing across your breasts. You hold your reaction to yourself, intent on giving nothing away until you are ready.

You tug down his zipper, pressing it back onto him so he feels the teeth unclipping against his boxers. You knew they were gonna be some annoyingly expensive brand too, but the thought of getting him to ruin them for you was intoxicating. He leans his forehead against yours, the desperation rising his face palpable.

With a sharp tug you drop his jeans to his mid-thigh before moving your fingers back to him, running teasingly around his waistband. You didn’t have to look under the shirt to know his boxers were tented, his erection straining against the fabric. You dip a finger just below his waistband, tracing along the lines of his hips. He lets out a choked breath, hips subconsciously bucking into you.

“Y/N…”

“What?” You ask sweetly, moving your fingers to brush along his pubic bone. Your knuckles barely graze the base of his shaft, but he lets out a murmur of swear words as his eyes flicker.

Not one to be overshadowed for long, Jimin lets his hands drop to your hips and immediately flies to your zipper. He presses his crotch into you, and you feel just how hard he is for you. With a flapping mouth you watch him, challenging eyebrow raised.

Everything was a game. One that you were intent on winning.

Plucking at your courage, you slide a hand back down, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock. His hips stutter in your hand, a gush of air forcing out of his lungs.

He felt good in your hand - really good. Firm skin, warm and pulsing in your hand. You experimentally ran a finger along his underside, tracing the vein all the way to his tip. He lets himself go then, head thrown back, eyes tightly clasped. A low groan rumbles from his throat, his fingers stilling on your zip.

“Feel good?” You whisper, pressing your lips to his.

“Ah, mm…” Is all he can manage as his head falls back.

He’s totally lost in your touch, and you’d barely started. A ripple of excitement darts through you, the sight of having Park Jimin needy and in your hands was too powerful to overlook.

A small giggle falls from your lips, the tiniest of noises. But it’s enough to spur him back to reality with his dark eyes finally refocusing on you.

He takes a breath to center himself before pulling down your jeans slowly. You feel the material slide over your hips and sit above your knees. Your panties quickly follow, thrust down faster than you can blink.

He lets a hand drag back up your thigh, running across to where you want his hand the most. Your touch on him falters as anticipation runs through your body. Ever so slowly he lets a finger stroke across your slit, barely grazing your skin. You wrap your free arm over his shoulder, taking a grip of his soft hair.

He smiles at you, and you let your eyes drag across his face. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth at your scrutiny. You can’t help but admire him: the way his lipgloss is smudged up across his cupid’s bow, the sweat that seemed to be dribbling so aesthetically down his sharp jaw, the blown out pupils of his deep eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you soak him in - and that’s when he decides to strike.

He slips his fingers between your folds, feeling how wet you are for him, before sliding his fingers up to your clit. He applies only the slightest bit of pressure but it’s enough to have you gasping at his touch. He lets out a soft moan as he feels you, letting his fingers move in the tiniest circles.

You slowly rock your hips on his fingers, knotting your own in his hair. You instinctively flex your hand only to have his hips instinctively thrust his cock into your hand.

Deciding to move things on just a little, you move back just enough to see his cock in your hand. His eyes flutter open at your movements, only to blow wide when he sees a trail of spit drop from your lips onto his tip. You catch it with your thumb and rub it into his tip, rolling it down his length.

A low moan leaves him, his free hand coming up to wipe your bottom lip ever so delicately. You meet his eyes, a fire burning there just for you. He drags you into a kiss, his hand scrunching in your hair.

His hand start to move again, circling you and getting into a slow rhythm on your clit. You moan into his kiss, starting your movements too until both of you were breathless messes.

The kisses became scattered and sloppier as you both let your hands work. The delicate touch of his fingers was enough to blur your vision, and your firm grip that was growing in speed on his length rendered him weak in your hands.

His own hand moves deftly, nimble fingers moving between circling your needy clit to running through your wetness. His jaw slackens each time he feels how wet you are for him, pride drifting somewhere in his lust-blown eyes.

Jimin is slick under your grasp, rock hard as you twist up and down his length. Staggered gasps fall from his lips, getting more and more careless as you drag him higher.

His circling gets a little more pressure, and it’s enough to send your head lulling back, barely able to focus on the task literally in hand. You returned his zeal, putting an extra squeeze on his length. The choke that passes his lips sends pride through your already thrashing veins. His face twitches; his forehead creases, pretty lips part slightly further, eyebrows jolt. You know he’s close, and you have the power in your hands.

But he has you, too. The pressure pulsing from your core builds, your eyes slamming shut as you're barely able to form words. You can feel it rising, teetering on the edge of something good-

-until he jerks his fingers from you. You whimper at the loss of his fingers, orgasms skittering disappointingly away from you. Your eyes open as you snap your bereft gaze to him.

“Fuck, Y/N, too quick-“ he murmurs, grabbing hold of your wrist and gently pulling your hand of his throbbing cock.

“Jimin?”

He’s fully flushed, strands of silken hair stuck to his forehead. His chest rises and falls rapidly with his chest, eyes wild.

“I don’t wanna cum just yet.”

“What if I wanted you to-“

“Don’t argue with me on this,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your lips. But then his voice drops low, lips pulled into a deadly smirk. “I have to make you cum first.”

You barely have a second to swallow down a gasp before you’re pulled from the wall to crash against his lips.

You hold him against you with the collar of the shirt you were still trapped in, matching his energy as he kisses you desperately. Your hands are held tight against his chest, his cock resting teasingly against your stomach.

His hands let go of you to grab your hips, steering your towards the edge of the balcony.

Once you're spun he pushes you gently, bending you over to lean against the railing. Forgetting that you’re stuck in the same damn shirt, he gets yanked down with you, body flush against your back. He lets out a tiny giggle into the back of your neck and it’s as if your heart could stop from the sound.

The cool of the metal railing presses into your chest, hands bracing it through the shirt. You look to the party happening below, guests hovering out in the garden to escape the heat of the sweaty party. You were pretty well out of sight - as long as nobody looked up.

“There’s quite a few people down there.” Jimin’s lips are by your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand on end.

“Don’t think you can make me loud enough? That’s a shame.” You smirk, unable to stop teasing him.

“You’re gonna regret those words baby.”

The pet name strikes deep within you. It’s perfect coming from Jimin, warmth radiating across your body. And you couldn’t blame that one on the heat.

Jimin presses his body onto your back, thick erection settling just above your cheeks. You feel the heat of his hand smooth from your thigh round to the front of you. He takes a few swipes across your clit to make you jerk beneath him before his fingers drift further back.

He swirls a finger around your waiting hole, agonizingly slow. You gasp at him, pushing your hips back into him. His shaft brushes against your cheeks and you can hear him suck in a desperate breath. Spurred on by his own need, he dips his finger gradually inside.

It’s slow, pushing past his knuckle until his finger sits inside you. You feel your walls pulse around him, desperate for more. His hand stills, taking his time to pepper kisses behind your ear. He nips playfully at your lobe, taking his sweet time with each movement.

You know he’s doing it to make you suffer. And god were you suffering, using every ounce of restraint to not whine for him.

Slowly he turns his finger so it sits better inside of you. The graze of his knuckle causes you to moan, and you feel him smirk into your skin.

“That’s what I was waiting for.”

He slowly begins to pump into you. It’s instantly better than his stationary finger, but still agonizingly slow. You needed him, harder and faster.

“Jimin…” you whine, pushing your rear back into him. He tuts into your ear, stilling his fingers.

“You need to let go, Y/N. I’ve got you.” He punctuates his point by kissing a trail along your shoulder.

You bite your lip, his words hitting a little deeper than just him getting you off. You always had to be in control of yourself around Jimin - you had to win, had to be alert. You couldn’t let your emotions get hold of you.

But it was all out in the open now. He knew how you felt - and he feels the same too. Maybe you can let go, just a little. It didn’t mean you had to start losing arguments any time soon, though.

You nod, turning your head to where he was pressing kisses into your skin. He beams at you, eyes scrunching as he surges up to catch your lips.

His movements cause his thumb to brush across your clit, and you moan wantonly into him. He pulls away to peer over the balcony, the loud noise escaping you both. You follow his gaze, but you’d drawn no attention. Not yet anyway-

He looks back at you and winks, the move cheeky and completely Jimin but he silences by pulling his finger almost completely out of you. Your jaw drops at the sensation, but just as quickly he pushes it back inside you, as far as he can go.

You bite the collar of the shirt to muffle your noise. His skin was still hot against yours, a sheen of sweat building on your forehead as you focused on him.

Mercifully he begins to fuck his finger in you, curling inside you. You inhale sharply through your nose, eyes shut tight as you let yourself go.

He carries on for a few more pups before he lets a second finger coat in your wetness. On the next thrust into you, he gently presses in a second finger, and you feel yourself clamp down at the stretch. Jimin keeps pressing kisses against your skin, but he gets breathless, his own erection pressing tauntingly at your back.

He sits his fingers for just a few seconds, letting you get used to him before he works them back out of you. In and out, in and out. He’s slow again, teasing you to the point of madness. You groan in frustration, but it was just what he was waiting for.

He thrusts his fingers deep into you, fucking you fast. Your hips roll to meet his pumps, the drag of him inside you delicious.

He brings up two fingers to your lips, and instinctively you take them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits. You make sure to meet his eye as you run your tip up the crack between his fingers, eliciting a groan from him and a buck of his hips against you.

He pulls them from your mouth and moves them between your legs. His fingers find your clit, and to match the rhythm that he was fingering into you, he begins to circle your needy bud.

It pushes you over the edge, almost literally. You cling onto the balcony as you’re thrust into it, Jimin sucking marks into your neck. You groan, the contact all over your body making you weak. The wet noises that surround you are pure sin, making you bite down on your lip. Jimin groans into your skin, teeth sinking softly into your shoulder as his fingers work fast.

“Fuck!” You yelp as his fingers brush your soft spot inside.

You slap a hand over your mouth as you stare down into the garden below, fear icy in your veins as you hope you’re not spotted.

Jimin doesn’t stop though. He hides his head in your neck, thrusting his fingers faster now that he knows your weak spot.

A few people below scan around them for the source of the swearing, but thankfully none of them think to look up. You bite your lip, eyes closing as you let yourself fall back into Jimin.

“That was a close one, huh?” He whispers, a lilt of a giggle in his voice.

“Shut up.” You murmur, voice cracking as he circles your clit so well you almost see stars.

“That’s no way to talk to the man who’s got two fingers deep in your-“

“Fuck, Jimin please!” You gasp, his next words dancing at the front of your mind.

The circles on your clit get defter, pressure hitting you just right as your hips start to roll uncontrollably. You grip tightly at the railing, unable to stop the flow of moans that echo from you. Being spotted from below is less important as you can feel your orgasm rising, your legs feeling weak underneath you.

Your skin prickles from the heat generating between your bodies, Jimin’s hot breath rolling across your neck as you flush harder.

“I’m gonna...” you whimper, your words lost to pleasure.

“Cum baby, all over my fingers.” His whisper sends shivers through you, a welcome change to the heat that dribbles down your temples.

He curls his fingers on every thrust to bring you closer to the precipice. You push back against him furiously, riding his fingers and your knuckles turn white on the railings. You feel it coil in your stomach, and you know you’re so close.

“Let go Y/N.” He whispers, breath ragged from exertion, but still peppering your marked skin with tiny kisses. You screw your eyes shut as you embody his words, letting yourself give in to the feeling.

“Jimin!”

Your orgasm crashes around you, a litany of swear words moan from your lips. Your walls clench down on Jimin’s fingers, twitching under his fingertips. You slam your hand over your mouth as your moans subside, wide eyes scanning the crowd below.

Heads turn in your direction, and before you can begin to scramble Jimin pulls you back from the balcony to stand flush against him. Your heart pounds in your chest, but the thrill that runs through your veins is undeniable.

He finally pulls his fingers out of you, the gush of wetness and noise make your face heat up. He wraps that arm across your chest and holds you against him, a wide grin wrinkling his eyes. You kiss him, soft and delicate, plump lips locking with yours.

Once you pull back he grins again, before moving the fingers that were in you towards his lips. your mouth parts as you watch him slip the digits inside, taking his time to suck off the taste of you. A light whimper leaves you as you watch him finally slide them out from between your lips with a pop, devilish glint in his eye.

Witha shiver you turn in his grip, pushing him firmly back against the wall.

He hisses lightly as his back hits it, and hisses louder as you're bungied in the shirt against him. He lets out a laugh and you do the same as you right yourself. But you can't keep yourself away from him as your lips are on his again. You flick your tongue at his, the taste of you on him.

“Wanna be inside you...” he whispers between kisses, his hot fingers idling their way up and down your sides. You groan at his words, nodding dreamily at him.

“God, yes please.” you sigh, feeling his lips trace kisses along your jaw.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” He smiles against your skin, grabbing you by the hips and spinning you both.

He pushes you back against the wall, the bite of the wood pressing into your skin.

“I’ve never heard you so passive.” He laughs, thumb and finger coming up to gently grip your chin. You grin at him, a flutter in your stomach.

“Don’t get used to it Park Jimin.”

He tips his head back to laugh, a pinky flush hot on his cheeks. All you can do is watch in awe, soak him in as he glows in the moonlight. But then he looks back down at you with the stars in his eyes and you realise that, yes - this is what you had wanted all along.

You bring his lips crashing back down to yours, letting your fingers knot in his dark hair and you touch him, drink him in. The silken strands flit through your fingers, and you idly think to yourself about him running his own hands through it. You can see why he does it now.

His thumb strokes across your chin, gently pulling your face from his. You open your eyes to look at him, the flush on his face even brighter.

“Ready?”

“Give it your best shot.” you smile, peppering his jaw with kisses.

You’re stopped in your tracks when he hoists one of your legs over his hip, a teasing eyebrow raised at you. Not to be bested, you hook your leg over his ass and pull him against you. You feel his erection sit against your stomach, hard and leaking onto your skin.

He takes hold of himself and strokes across your wet slit, coating himself. A withered sigh escapes your lips as you watch his frown deepen. His face contorts as he concentrates, teasing himself just as much as he was you. You lean forward to let a trail of spit fall from your lips and drip down onto him, coating his cock even more. You don’t know what possessed you to do it again, but the way he stuttered in a gasp made it well worth it.

Then with an agonisingly slow pace, he begins to press himself just inside you. Your mind clears, all that you can see and feel is Jimin. You had waited long enough.

A wimpery sigh strangles from you, Jimin pressing against your walls until he is fully seated in you. He was so warm, stretching you in all the right places, as close to you as he could physically be.

You give him an encouraging squeeze with your leg. He takes the hint and slowly starts to pull out of you, hair flopping in front of his eyes as he looks down to watch himself pull out of you. The drag of him is good, too good, as you let a warble of noises fall out of your mouth. He doesn't seem to mind though, his focus transfixed elsewhere.

"Jimin..." you whisper, fingers digging into his skin as he slowly begins to reach a rhythm.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, any mischievous glint in him gone. He was a man on a mission now, aiming to make you feel as good as possible. You could feel that in every stroke, the way he let you feel the length of him drag almost fully out before he pushes back inside you.

You start to roll your hips back at him, determined to not let him have all the fun. The tentative thrust of your hips had his head snap up to you, a fresh sheen of sweat glowing on his skin. You try to play it off coolly - another attempt to throw him off his game - but he squeezes your ass cheeks and holds himself deep in you, and your resolve melts away.

"Don't start something you can't finish." He smirks, and despite the need to fight him bubbling in you, you tip your head back and laugh.

"I guess that applies to both of us." You smile, pressing forward to kiss his lips softly. "Now fuck me Park Jimin, or we're really gonna have a fight on our hands."

He laughs against your lips, a gentle bubble that rises from his chest. But he takes on your words, pressing you hardest against the wall and hiking your leg higher.

He only goes slow for a few thrusts, getting a feel for you before he decides to ramp it up further. 'Typical Jimin' seems to float through your head, but you just grip him tighter, moving to meet his thrusts. You wanted to savour how full he made you feel for as long as possible.

His speed picks up, a hand moving to the underside of your raised legs and digs in deep. You let your own hands slide to his hair, keeping hold of the soft locks as he starts to hit harder inside you.

The sound of your skin making contact seems to echo loudly, and you barely spare a thought to people below working out what the noise was. You didn't care if they heard any more.

It was so hot inside the shirt together, and you could feel beads of sweat rolling down your chin and down your neck. This definitely wasn't helping the heat problem at all, but there was nothing on earth that would make you stop.  The edges of Jimin's hair were getting damper, and with every tug of his hair he let his head fall back into your touch. His throat was bared to you, salty beads dribbling down his hot skin.

You murmur a series of curses as you watched him, the thrum of him being underneath you almost unbelievable.

But then he pulls out a power move.

With fast thrusts he rolls his hips, his cock dragging almost perfectly across your soft spot inside, and all your senses seem to leave you. He repeatedly manages to hit your spot and you are sure he is planning to end you, it was the only way to explain it. Death by good dick, you could see it now.

"Fuck fuck fuck." you repeat like a mantra, The wet slaps that echoes just adding to the sensation.

"Wanna turn you." He mutters breathlessly, and a part of you is glad he's also feeling so affected.

You can't seem to vocalise an answer so you nod emphatically, unhitching your leg from its vice-like grip around him. He pulls out of you and you almost complain, but then his hands are on your hips.

He spins you and presses you against the wall, lifting your leg up and lining himself back inside you again. You're practically dripping for him, so it doesn't take much for him to push back inside. You push your ass back into his thrusts making his movements stutter, and with a playful squeeze he whines behind you.

A small smirk picks up on your lips as you roll your hips back at him, starting him out of his stupor and back to where you need him.

He pounds his hips into you and you have to steady yourself against the wall. The shirt bunches awkwardly, caught in your grip as the rough wood of the wall digs into your skin. Jimin presses his front against your back, the hotness of his skin pricking against your own.

An arm slides around your waist, guiding you, holding you steady as he ferociously fucks into you. His other arm settles across your chest, his fingers clenching across your collarbone. His mouth is by your ear, ragged breaths blowing across the taut collar of the shirt and hitting the warmth of your body.

“Y/N.” Jimin groans, the lilt in his voice uneven as his hips crash into yours.

Your entire body was tingling, the pleasure from your core and the bite of the wall against your bare skin a fight for your senses. You could feel perspiration form on your forehead making your hair stick to you awkwardly but it didn't matter.

Jimin filled you in every way. The hot touch from his fingertips on your waist and across your chest, the heat of his stomach at the base of your back, the soft moans that he sings by your ears.

"That's it, baby." He groans, his fingers curling onto your skin.

The hand that he has sat on your waist slinks across your stomach to reach between your legs, letting his fingers circle your throbbing clit. The pressure makes your eyes slam shut, letting your head fall back onto Jimin's shoulder behind you.

A small single laugh falls from his lips, but your inevitable clench off your walls around him cuts it short. He thrusts a little harder, rocking you against the wall. You have to brace yourself as he fills you repeatedly, his athletic hips working overtime.

The hand that has been pressed to your chest finds its way to your throat, holding just below your jaw. You let out a moan as you cover his hand with yours, pressing his fingers into your throat.

"Shit..." He gasps, his hips stuttering.

"I bet you've been wanting to strangle me for ages." You rush, voice cracking as he circles your clit a little harder.

"Only when I've thought about fucking you."

The moan that leaves you is barely human. In fact, you were barely human any more. you were turning to putty on his cock and under his fingers. It wasn't going to be long until you reached your peak.

His fingers press into your throat under your guidance, the delicious bite making your vision slowly pool. You gasp, shivers tingling down your body. He lets up his grip a little to let your blood flow one more, your body practically vibrating from stimulation.

"Close, Jimin..." you whine, rocking your ass back into him.

"Let loose for me, Y/N." He whispers, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear.

He lets out one last surge of energy, fucking into you and rubbing your clit with a renewed vigour. you throw yourself back at him without care, chasing the high he was leading to you.

With a few more pumps and circles on your clit, you come undone.

Your body pulses on him, clenching down hard as your orgasm crashes through you. Your fingernails dig into his hand and the wall, a strangled cry of his name bursting from you. You cum hard on him, helping him finally reach his peak too - you could tell by the way his hips stuttered, the way he throbbed inside you.

"Cum, Jimin." you whimper, rocking your throbbing core on him.

He doesn't hold back, pumping a few stuttery thrusts into you as he cums. He fills you, gasping against your ear as your walls milk him dry. He thrusts until he can’t anymore, slowing his hips as the fullness inside of you trickles out past his length.

Both of your movements slowly lull to a stop. Jimin holds your body close against him, ragged breath hot against your ear. Your skin is prickled from the heat but you nestle into him anyway.

He finally pulls his softening length from inside you, a small dribble of your combined juices trickle down causing shivers to cover your body.

Turning your head you smile at him, slightly out of breath and dewy. The sight of him is godly: Messy hair sticking to his damp forehead, a pretty red blush spreading across his cheeks, plushy lips parted and sucking in breaths. He smirks back, a lazy grin growing. He moves closer and kisses you, gentle brushes of his lips against yours.

His hand that sat on your throat moved to stroke your cheek, and you let your hands thread in his hair as your kiss trails off into small pecks.

The air is different around you. It’s still hot, swirling close and untempered. But there’s something else too - a coolness, an understanding. A person behind the battle lines. Someone you could lean on, and someone who could keep up with you in an argument.

You pull back from him and look at him, his eyes slightly starry and his lips swollen from all they had been doing. With a soft smile you rub your thumb across his cupid’s bow, wiping off the last of his lipgloss.

“We should probably go downstairs, right? We don’t want Namjoon sticking that long neck of his out here.” Jimin whispers, his eyes finally focusing on you.

You nod, but not before pressing one last soft kiss to his lips. Now you’ve started, there was nothing in the world that could stop you from peppering him.

“Yeah.” You sigh, voice cracking slightly.

But neither of you move, both unwilling to be the first to break apart.

“I don’t want to leave here either.” He smirks, but it’s softer. Not the smirk he throws out to purposely disarm you, though it still has that effect on you.

“Where do we go from here though?”

“I guess we’ll have to work that out. Maybe we can discuss it if you let me take you out tomorrow?” He asks, eyes darting over your face for an answer.

Excitement crackles through you, electricity rippling through your head to the end of your fingertips. A smile rises on your face, and you can see the relief flow through Jimin.

“I’d love to.”

“Perfect. Now, let’s go and rub in the guy’s faces how well we’re getting on.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling.

He kisses you one last time, hard and fast, satiated for now. With that you finally separate, Pulling your clothes back on before facing each other again.

The shirt felt big now. Too big.

You couldn’t get close enough to him. You both head for the door when you feel Jimin’s fingers interlock with yours. Your entire body flushes as you open the door to the bedroom, the wall of heat from the house hitting you both.

You’re both undeterred though, determined to find your friends. You pull him down the stairs, not caring at who stares at you both in the sickly shirt. The house felt hotter, a visible mist descending over the sea of people.

You find them where they last left you, congregating around the couch. When you stop in front of them with Jimin in tow, they all take it upon themselves to scrutinise you. It was quiet for a long while, and you could feel your resolve buckling. You didn’t want them to see through you, see what happened. But you wanted them to know that things would be okay. For all of you.

You can only imagine how you looked. Out of breath and flustered, both of your hair messy and fully damp. They couldn’t see your hands knotted together inside the shirt, but they didn’t need to. The demeanor change between you both must have been glaringly obvious.

“How’s it going?” Namjoon asks, glaring between you.

“Good, we, uh. We’re getting on. Yeah.” you smile awkwardly, completely lost on why you were being so suspicious. You had more guts than that!

“That was smooth.” Jimin grins. He was worlds away from you, utterly content and calm.

“Oh my god, shut up.” You roll your eyes, but give his hands an extra squeeze under the shirt.

“Where have you guys been? I haven’t seen you all night.” Jungkook asks with wide innocent eyes, and for a moment you feel like if he knew what had just been happening he would have been tainted.

“Oh, just… exploring.” Jimin smirks, and you fight the urge to pinch him. Who knew this would go to his head?

Well, you knew. You shouldn’t be surprised at all.

“About time.” Jin sighs, eyes still glued to his phone. The others laugh and throw in their agreements.

“What?” you and Jimin both yell, eyes scanning your ‘friends’ suspiciously.

“We knew you both liked each other. It got a bit weird towards the end there but we knew you’d work it out - or Namjoon would.” Hoseok shrugs, but his face is bright as he grins at you both.

“The shirt was a bit of a, well… drastic option.” Namjoon's smile was crooked, but his eyes were bright as he grinned at you.

“Oh… I don’t know what to say.” You murmur, heat creeping across your face again.

Jimin, however, throws his head back and laughs, slapping a hand on his chest for good measure. You stare up at him in shock, but you can’t help the smile that grows on your face. He was infectious. And your friends understood. You feel a tightness unfurl in your stomach.

“Well, it worked out. It worked out really well. I mean just so so good-”

“Jimin, shut up!”  You gasp, eyes wide as he winks at Namjoon.

Well, it’s good to know that the fire is still there between you. He was still impossibly infuriating and unendingly Jimin - but it was all for you. And it was only the start.

“Sorry baby.” He whispers as he lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around your waist pulling you into his side. You flush at the move in front of the others, but easily melt into his side. You had been waiting for this, after all.

“I’m glad.” smiles Namjoon, warm eyes flicking over you both in the stained and rumpled ugly item of clothing. “Maybe we should burn the shirt, though. Just for hygienic reasons.”

[captainkurosolaire]

Re: Vital

A bristling light cast of the purest form luminescence broke throughout the psyche after the dealing with the Tormentor had been resolved. Calling the Captain by name repeatedly to attain attention. His fist still sizzled from how much he had left his ‘Undeserving’ side as curb roadkill and disfigured the disgusting three-piece suit bastard that represented everything he opposed against; in himself. The scoundrels pocketed in his overcoat as he strolled inward. An eye refracting off that which was positively enchantingly… “Well, I b’ a Red-District Whore... “ Revelations came matching thumping in rhythmic audibility. A finding and discovery of oneself would be uncovered here. However, It’d be cut-short from rejoicing in this recreational discovery. As the Trip -- was about to end! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now if anyone ever suggested you take psychedelics or anything that may influence your reasoning, never, ever. Do it alone or least be responsible. Unfortunately. The Captain on the other hand didn’t realize this being, his virginity speaking for drugs or ‘product goods’ he merely smugged, so while his visage almost had a fished-shroomed out expression and he was zonked. Many events had unfolded in reality! He had gotten himself hitched with a small rowboat named Delilah! The lipstick had seemingly been smeared throughout over, possibly from a making out. Roped and collared her and he found himself in the midst of the Shrouds lent against a tree. “...Ugh…” He’d say while constantly hearing the nagging or was that just common-tongue? He couldn’t be clear, his vision blurred. Boots slowly began focusing on viewed vision. “Get up.” “Get up.” Constantly a stern voice with authoritarian pitch rattled out of a caged chamber. The Captain in haze snarked back, ‘Five more minutes.” Attempting to rehash himself into a doze before a hot-fist would be felt against his cheek making him face-plant into soils. It finally made him react back with a propping, “Alrighte what’s th’--” He’d be in the presence of his recent advisory in The First or better known Captain Parabellum formerly recognized as yet a switch-knife being juggling between his fingertip’s imposingly.

“You know why I’ve come. It’s time for an end. Don’t you agree?” Tension began to stir while he was implored to begin his ascension up the bark as his bare-back shredding against. “Like mate, can’t you buy me dinner before you kill me? But if that’s what you want.” He’d say nonchalantly before his face settled from relaxed to his own intensity fired-up. Reaching for his scimitars but recognizing they were no longer in his possession… Wait, did he even get dressed before this whole shenanigans? His mind-circulating trying to place catch-up within that headspace. The Midlander intimidatingly now points his knife towards the direction. Was this to be just another mindless battle? How many of these did this pirate have to get himself into? He couldn’t have foreseen what came after his discovery, was that the discovery itself was beginning to unravel itself for the Captain. Almost like responsible aetherial energies that had come into Captain’s existence would begin shaping and molding themselves into materialization's. This was but the journey the chapter dubbed one. The tension felt as Captain loosened and accepted his fate. Well, he was bested. If he was worthy enough to be somehow tracked and scoured through all this stuff he couldn’t even remember or repeat. He wouldn’t oppose it. The former First loosely drew an ilm closer threatening and imposing as he paced. Before discarding more knives and tossing them towards the sides of the tree’s trunk diagonally in corners of the Seeker’s hue. He didn’t flinch there was resolve or sheer admittance towards a no-win situation. But a duel seemed to have been given in equalization. Given room to move. He noticed around them this meadow had become a battlefield or a one-sided one. As poachers remained arse high and stacked all unconscious all the Captain’s belongings scattered throughout the flowery meadows. What was the meaning of that? His thought surfaced internally. Interruption in harsh gravel voice, “Captain Kuro Solaire… You’re a dead man. At-least so is rumored. It doesn’t answer how you stand before me though... I understand why you tracked me down but to leave yourself exposed this vulnerable. It’s foolish. To spare me when you’ve reclaimed your vengeance? Your thoughts are unsettling.” For piracy, the Midlander spoke clean and fluent Eorzean despite being a sailor himself. A sign of diplomacy and strategic it was no-wonder this man became the Captain’s First. Tension surfaced throughout the atmosphere. It caused imaginative humidity in the Shrouds. As if they were scorching. This was the result of separated and broken strings that once connected. Unspoken messages of impossible love for their era. Hatred festered but yet… Love was it’s counter shadow. Weight of arrayed emotions that are felt is dictating how deeply in depth’s someone is carried to your heart. “I see my beating didn’t jog your memory, perhaps, I failed. Or maybe you need to search th’ truth.” Parabellum’s hand quivered afraid. “Aye. You spoke with want.” He glossed softly. “Want?” Captain questioned, “Try need.” The scoundrel gave a dispatch to his equipped arms into fearlessness a startle broke through. As an embrace clutched and wrapped tightly around the Midlanders. A hug that broke and transcended and sealed a past wound.

Acceptance quaked the foundations. This was no longer a pirate who steered blindly or without unspoken. In losing and attaining the strength and beauty of a world clutched in those dastardly palms. He had seen unlike ever before. To act under frightening convictions. …. Silence broke out. The Switchblade was still held by the handle as they came to the bareback of the Captain. Would the Betrayer or the snake take a bite of Lion’s head remaining in breathless revelations, The Seeker muffled everything and grinned goldenly as was taught as his chin cupped over the broad shoulder. The hurt, pain, screeching of the Midlander traveled throughout impulsive streams to end what harmed. Nothing hurt this man more than betraying someone who was held, dear. Who he defended for his dreams when the Captain couldn’t do it for himself. He could end the Seeker right here. But it’d go unheard. And why he tread would remain. This… Captain proved even in losing the parley to being cast out, exiled, to being scarred, he could stand against the test of time. He was a difference. One that if pride’s skin was shed. This may be the beginning path. On the owner of this heathen Midlander was a man of many reasons and weights but when he donned the mantle and became his own Captain he was only scavenging to stay afloat. Even unfortunately slowly resulting in a decline by becoming just another atypical slave trader. But who embraced him here, was the opposite. Even unfortunate was replaced for making his wealth. He was unrelenting and daunting, free, vast. Did he rumble, did he swallow to despair? Of course. Plunges were necessary to uncover troves. This was no longer a dreaming young man anymore. Whoever touched the Captain in their parting had forged this man into stone. That didn’t break to the Void. That didn’t flinch to the unparalleled Depths of Empires. That survived curses and being of Living Death. What was the Crimson vessel merely by the Founding Captain he transformed into a Phoenix that was remarked and recognized until it’s last rising death, however, in the ashes… Came this of holding. His grip was lost as his own weapons disengaged from his person. As he retorted in the brace. “Never again.” Was only uttered suspiciously. “If we do this again, you can’t be the person who loses. I won’t let you. I’d rather stab you in the front myself than see you give another monster, that victory. You can’t go on and act as the main character to a story, you can’t do this without your crew. If we embark… You have to become reliable.” Autumn fell between them.“...Aye. Never again. Shall I ever stray from course, and if I do, I’ll supply you the knife to do me, n’.” Here in this unmarked location. The Golden Crosses reunited. To be empowered to prevail, to truly understand harsh compassion. To overcome true tyrants, from juggernauts that were unbeatable that pirates were more warmongers, pirate’s that shaped existences, to one’s that crossed every murk seas, sand, sky, space, time. This joining had to take place. A bond that together could puncture the past of regrets, slip-ups. This was daylight. “...From now on I return to my following with my new lease and name. Judas Caesar.” As their brace ended, “Sounds edgy and ominous, mate. But It’s got a ring. I take it yer whole Betrayer Mates won’t be any form ov’ happy, eh?” A firm nod stiffened from the Lander, “Aye. They’ll not take kindly to the disappearance and me erasing myself. It’s but another enemy against us if ever found out. Which I believe leads us to think we should return to the cabin and prepare accordingly what sort of dangers and threats are out there. Which conflicts we can quell, avoid, or outright exterminated.” The Seeker smirked as the situation resolved, “Hmm, I concur. Don’t remove yer authoritative leading cap’ just yet…” As plans on a cog steered as the Miqo’te revealed somewhat an inkling he gambled and put everything at stake to this arising. Still playing with the wenches of close-calls. A more serious question caught the attention of Judas, “Uhm, You should change first though, Cap’n. As well, those bands of poachers nearly held all your belongings. I’d refrain from ever going on some sort of loose trip or whatever you were under as well, least if you do it, ensure someone is watching you. I take it you had yer reasoning's behind actually getting into ‘shipments’, I strongly know you’ve disagreed beforehand to those dire motions.” “Aye. I found everything possible I could ever need t’ uncover and resolve. Let’s chew th’ rag elsewhere.” Feeling completely fine and unnervingly comfortable in the get-up that was donned over him ever striking a pose. For these confrontations in briefness taught him, never again, never again... Would he ever have to halt from expression. This was it, the signed  /glimmer/  that could change the tides direction, despite, the grim current and challenges it foretold!

       (Previous)  — References  —   ♫ ‘Hold your Heart’ — (Next Page)

[c-is-for-circinate]

Sooo what persona let’s play me would you recommend?

Okay yes this has been in my drafts for two weeks let’s find some links!

Note: I’ve tried so hard to find female-fronted LP’s for these games.  So hard, and for literal years.  Unfortunately, I’m weirdly picky about LP’s according to factors even I can’t particularly define, and I’ve never managed to find a complete LP by a woman that I could stand watching or listening to for more than a couple of episodes, so all of these are by guys.  There is a certain amount of, ‘yup, this human is going to talk about getting the MC to hook up with every female character in the game, there we go’ that feels…far from ideal, but somewhat inescapable?  I noped out of most of the worst ones, but sadly @naderegen and I still have no executive function between the two of us and have not yet set up our own RPG LP youtube channel, so this is what we’ve got.

(Also, if any of these LP’ers are actually Terrible People On The Internet etc and I did not know, please assume I didn’t know, the youtube/gaming corners of the internet scare me and I usually avoid every comments section like the plague.)

Persona 3

This is the hardest of the three main games to find LP’s for, IMO, partially because the game is so grindy.  I have given up on so many mid-game.

This LP, by TheTwitGamer, plays through the female main character route for Persona 3 Portable.  You miss out on the cool animations from FES, and I wouldn’t recommend it as your very first time through a Persona game, but I liked it pretty well from what I recall.

There was another one I watched a while back that was not blind, but did a very good job with a full completion run while also still having plenty of appropriate emotional reactions to things, and I cannot for the life of me remember who made it or what it was called.  I think it may have been this one by The Musical Gamer?  Their P5 LP was pretty good, so whether this is the one I remember or not, I think I can stand behind it as a very solid watching choice.

I’ve recently been watching through this one by a gamer named Chronos, and it’s pretty solid–I really like blind LP’s, and this guy actually pays attention enough to have reactions when important things happen!  Have not finished it, but so far it’s quite watchable, and seems like it’ll get you where you need to go.

Persona 4

So many people loved this game.  There are so many LPs of this game.  I have tried so many of them and also not even tried so many of them.

As far as I’m aware, the classic of P4 LP’s is in fact the Persona 4 Endurance Run, by Jeff and Vinny of GiantBomb.com.  Strongly benefits from the ‘two people playing the game who can bounce commentary off of each other’ thing.  They do get spoiled for the endgame pretty early on, but the pretend to be surprised, at least, and they’re good at video games in a fun-to-watch way.

This LP by Obiwan362 is pretty solid if you want something different.  He loves Nanako, which is of course the most important part of Persona 4, so there you go.

Sadly, most Persona 4 blind LPs are from original-flavor Persona 4, not Golden (the remake with all the bonus content that came out on Vita a couple of years later).  There exists one by Chronos, the same guy from the P3 LP on the last list, that I’ve watched at least a reasonable chunk of and didn’t dislike, so give it a try?  (If there’s a blind Golden LP that any of y’all like better, please let me know.)

Persona 5

Honestly, the P5 LP scene is so good.  There are so many good Persona 5 LPs!  (There are also, of course, so many terrible ones, but that’s to be expected and not really pertinent anyway.)

The Bittersweet Gamers’ Persona 5 Let’s Play is really, really good, guys.  These dudes are so smart, and so thinky, and so analytical, and if you like my constant meta bullshit there is a very good chance you’ll like theirs.  They take apart themes and character arcs and game design as they’re playing.  Sometimes they get a little more critical than I like!  Sometimes I fundamentally disagree with their opinions or conclusions!  But they’re always extremely thoughtful about their analysis and their choices, and I respect what they have to say.  (God I wish they weren’t a pair of straight white guys from the US.  They are so smart and analytical, and they do not have the life context to understand some of the things in this game, and I legit regret that.  But from what they’ve got they do a really good job.)

The first Persona 5 LP I ever watched through was this one, by the Musical Gamer (see above for his P3 LP!), and it’s really solid.  Bonus, sometimes his girlfriend is present and has opinions and that’s great!  (Look there are so few female LP’ers I’ve been able to find and enjoy on these games, okay, I take what I can get.)

Honestly I’m sure there are other good ones out there, but look–even on 1.25-1.5 speed, there’s easily 500 hours of content on this list so far.  I only have so much time.  Practically anybody who’s done any sort of P3 or P4 LP has done a P5 one, so check out anybody you like from the above lists and see what’s what.  

Hopefully this helps!  There’s something like 500 hours worth of content linked above, which should at least be enough to keep you busy for a while.  Good luck!  Enjoy!

[oddcoupler222]

Scars and unexpected virgin. Sansa and Margaery

Sansa Stark is more than excited about her newest venture: The Reach is probably the most beautiful place she’s ever lived, the lemon cakes at the bakery down the street are the best she’s ever had, and after, well, a lot of bumps in the road, she is finally standing on her own two feet and happy.

Part of this newfound independence centers on her new job as the executive assistant to Margaery Tyrell - the CEO of Tyrell Enterprises (which, as anyone knows, is a conglomerate that essentially has a hand in what feels like everything). It’s thrilling, really, especially because there are very few people who can boast knowing much of anything about the current CEO. She’s notoriously private and not even her picture has been featured anywhere in years.

Sansa herself wasn’t even hired by her; rather, hired by her grandmother; Olenna Tyrell, the retired founder of the company herself.

She arrives for her first day of work ready and excited to be there, standing from her desk in anticipation when she hears heels clicking down the hall, ready to greet her new boss ���

Who doesn’t even pause and doesn’t look up from her phone at all, and Sansa watches her walk by quickly, dressed to kill in a fitted business suit, her expectant smile faltering as she scrambles behind the woman, “Uh - Ms. Tyrell? Hi, I - I’m Sansa Stark? Your new assist-” 

Finally, just before reaching the door to her office, she stops short and Sansa barely catches herself to stop in time to keep herself from essentially perfectly styled brown curls, “-ant.” 

Margaery’s shoulders move up and down in a controlled breath, she notes, before she slowly turns around. And it’s only then that Sansa really gets a look at her -

More specifically, at the scars on the right side of her face. Starting at the arch of her cheekbone, her skin pulled tightly down her cheek and her jaw, the scar tissue tugging just a bit at the corner of her lips, continuing down her neck in what appears now to be completely healed but what she knows must have been once upon a time a horrible burn.

She knows she’s acutely being watched, though, and she does her very best to school the surprise that she knows must have shown on her face. Blue eyes also resolutely tear away from the wide-eyed stare at the scars, instead looking into unimpressed honey brown eyes.

Given the mocking way the left side of Margaery’s mouth curls into a smirk, she knows her stare was noticed without a doubt, “Of course you are.”

She does her very best not to fidget - refusing to tangle her fingers in front of her in the way she’d always done in the past when in a nerve-wracking situation, “Is there… well, anything in particular you want me to do?”

“Answer the phone,” is the only response she gets, before the door is shut in her face. 

It starts ringing almost immediately after, and she vaguely wonders if Margaery Tyrell is psychic. 

It doesn’t really get much better from there.

Margaery is cold and short. She works long hours, and she hears a lot about her from other assistants and secretaries - none of it good. A lot about how brusque she is, and how demanding, and some horror stories of the way she’s eviscerated people who have made idiotic missteps.

(she narrowly avoids making these big mistakes, herself, and every time, it’s an incredible relief)

She learns over the next couple of months, though - she learns that Margaery seems to like it when Sansa arrives at the same time, and that she seems to respect it when Sansa stays just as late. She learns that she’ll earn a genuine, “Thanks,” when Sansa brings her back a coffee (two creams, no sugar) when she goes to get herself one.

She learns that Margaery doesn’t really seem to have a social life beyond her brother Loras and his husband, Renly, who works in the legal department.

And she learns that Margaery may walk with her shoulders held high, but that she styles her hair immaculately - enough that she could cover her right side as much as she could while still looking natural. She learns that often times, and probably subconsciously at this point, Margaery angles herself as if she could try to hide her scars as much as possible.

Working with her is challenging and Sansa doesn’t know what it says about her that the more enigmatic Margaery appears, the more determined she is to get to know her.

Even her best efforts go ignored, though, until the company-wide holiday  party, which comes on a night where King’s Landing is getting somewhat of a freak snow storm. Where she goes back to her desk before she leaves to retrieve her jacket and call a ride to get home - she may have imbibed in a bit of the spiked eggnog, too, just enough to feel bubbly - and… Margaery’s door is open?

“Why didn’t you come to the party?” she can’t help but ask, peering in as Margaery is pulling on a jacket.

Margaery jumps, freezing for a moment, before she shakes her head, “I had to finish brokering the deal with the Bank of Braavos. It appears you had a good time, though.” The comment is just a bit cutting - expertly delivered to sound almost friendly, but with bite.

She ignores it easily, just, sighing, as she and Margaery wait side by side for the elevator.

… the elevator that then stops moving, trapping them both inside as the power cuts off from the storm outside.

She notices Margaery freezing, the way her fingers tightly curl over her sleeves before she tries to get the emergency call button to work or to get service on her phone.

Sansa ends up pulling out the bottle of Dornish wine that Mya - a friend she’d made in accounting - had slipped to her as a gift, after about an hour. She herself needs it, because small spaces like this make her think about the times she’d been with Joffrey - who’d played many mind games with her, including getting enjoyment in trapping her in uncomfortable places.

It does, however, provide her with a chance to actually talk to Margaery. She starts it, really, rambling about what had happened at the party, including how two men from marketing had tried to hit on her -

Which startles her, because Margaery lets out a laugh, “Of course they did.”

“What?”

“Of course they hit on you; look at you,” Margaery says, and it’s not even with her usual derision, but instead with a sigh, and Sansa can’t help but be so surprised, and she whips her head up to stare at Margaery. Who is giving her an extremely rare look that seems almost soft, “You’re incredibly pretty. Like you don’t know.”

It’s… well, it’s not something Sansa often feels about herself, but she doesn’t know how to say that, especially when Margaery whispers, “I used to be pretty. Before.”

“You’re still pretty,” she murmurs, the words leaving her before she can help it, but she’s staring right at Margaery, just like she has for months when Margaery hasn’t realized it.

She still stares even as Margaery snorts, rolling her eyes, “Please. Don’t lie to me.”

It’s like her hand has a mind of it’s own, lifting to stroke back Margaery’s hair slowly, “I’m not. You’re incredibly strong and absolutely brilliant, and very beautiful. Still.”

There’s a softness to Margaery when their eyes lock -

And before she realizes what’s happening, soft lips are on hers and she truly hadn’t expected this at all but heat curls in her stomach and the want is immediate and her fingers shake as she strokes over Margaery’s cheeks softly.

Sansa doesn’t mean to make out with Margaery Tyrell, but when she does it’s incredible and she is practically shaking with want. And she certainly didn’t think she’d be straddling her, on the floor of an elevator while Margaery’s fingers stroke over Sansa’s thighs as she’d hiked up her dress, but she really doesn’t want to stop, and that’s about as far as she thinks, as she trails her mouth down Margaery’s neck, feeling her arch underneath her as her fingers deftly unbutton Margaery’s top.

Before she hears Margaery pant, “Wait. Wait.”

Even with the blood rushing in her ears, her fingers freeze where they were, and she pauses, her lips tingling, “I - you’re right. Um, an elevator isn’t the best place for this, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No, it’s,” Margaery cuts herself off with a huffed out breath, “I’ve never…” she trails off, clearing her throat as her fingers fall from Sansa’s thighs. “When half of your face and abdomen is covered in third degree burns when you’re 16, well. It doesn’t bode well for being desirable.”

Sansa… strongly disagrees with that, because she very much desires Margaery (and she thinks more than anything that it’s Margaery who has pushed people away in order to preserve her vulnerability but… that’s a conversation for another time)

And thus begins a whirlwind and angsty love affair

send me a combination of two prompts for a ship and i’ll create a plot

[kitterahsdollhouse]

The Ziz- Pygmy Lore

(I’d like to preface this by saying if I’ve missed anything or you want something clarified, feel free to send in an ask! Also, if you like the Ziz and the Pygmies and would like to make one, feel free! [and tag me cause I’d love to see])

There are four varieties of Ziz, the Waterbirds, Raptors, Songbirds and Pygmies. They all live near the same peninsula, and the pygmies inhabit the plains; burrowing under its sunny expanse or hiding in the nooks of lone trees. Sunny and moderate temperatures make the plains perfect for the diminutive Ziz though in the dead of winter, the plains are very cold and windy. During the winter they can hunker down with stored food if need be, but may also enter a hibernation state is food is scare. They are the shortest and least social of the ziz. They occasionally are referred to as “Dwarfs” instead of Pygmies.

Though generally solitary, Pygmies do sometimes form very small communities, no more than 10 Ziz belong to these small communities, juxtaposed to the 50 and up of Songbird flocks. They have a tendency to move after a time which can vary from Pygmy to Pygmy. These small flocks have no leader and seem to operate on majority decision. They’re also very fluid so if a Pygmy strongly disagrees with the flock, they may just leave and be solitary or join an entirely different flock. There’s no real distinction between each flock, though you may be able to tell what region a Pygmy is from by the material they use to decorate themselves and their clothing.

Whether a Pygmy is in a flock or not may also dictate its burrow. A lone Pygmy will generally have two tunnels that lead into a room big enough for it to stand up and move in, and a smaller room or two for storage. Pygmies in a flock may have multiple chambers connected with multiple tunnels in an entire network of underground tunnels. Those in tree nooks tend to be more solitary than those living underground and store their food in the same hole the live in.

As the smallest Ziz, they stand 1’-2’ on average. They have the same eyes as the other species of Ziz with 2 different color iris rings in each eye, but their eyes see better in the dark due to all their time spent underground. Due to this they are also crepuscular; more active at dawn and dusk. All Ziz have four toes, with the fourth toe actually more like a thumb it’s able to be placed forward, against the other three, or separate to wrap around a branch for steady walking. Talons help them rake through the dirt to loosen it to either dig or look for grubs that may be hiding underground.

Pymies are also the only species to not have ear shells. Instead they have slits that they can control; they will shut their ears mostly when digging to prevent dirt from getting in and while flying to lessen drag and noise from the wind. Other differences include a slightly longer neck with relatively loose vertebrae so Pygmies can turn their necks about 270 degrees in either direction.

Their nose and upper lip form more of a pseudo beak. Their beak comes down fully over their top lip and is made of hard cartilage but turns to soft cartilage and then to regular soft tissue as it gets closer to the corners of the mouth. Their nostrils are actually somewhat small holes about halfway up the “beak”. The extra length helps filter out more dirt and the small size helps prevent dirt from entering in the first place.

On the second set of “shoulder blades” Pygmy Ziz have elliptical wings which are well suited for quick bursts of speed, including take offs which they use to catch their prey and avoid their predators. Colors range from earthy brown, cream and green to red, white, orange, yellow and other such warm and natural colors to help them blend into the dirt, grass and shrubs that cover their plain homes. Hollow bones allow for flight but make them rather weak physically.

Pygmy diets may be the most varied of all Ziz as they eat everything from insects and berries to small animals and fish when they can catch them. They generally hunt by dashing at prey quickly, using their wings to get an extra boost. They cannot solely live off of meat or fruits and nuts but need a balance to stay healthy. Because food can be scarce in the winter, Pygmies will often store dried fruits, nuts and insects in their burrows in case food is scarce.

The Ziz language is, of course, the Pygmies’ primary method of communication however, they do have a strange sort of hum which can travel amazing distances underground and is usually to alert other Pygmies of danger in the area. This hum does not work above ground. Since they are solitary, they generally do not have long distance or distinct flock calls unlike Songbirds or Raptors. .

Magic, as with all Ziz, comes naturally and can manifest through their singing and vocalizations. Pygmy songs are generally one long and held. Sometimes this note may have a short of vibrato in places, but it generally either ascends or descends. These notes can be very high and Pygmies can actually sing outside the range of human hearing. Magic is mostly used to offense and defense at larger creatures to either help bring one down for a flock or defend from a predator and sometimes those purposes intersect.

Like Waterbirds, there is no mating season for Pygmies and also like Waterbirds, since Pygmies are aloof and small flock are usually familial, relationships are usually outside of a flock. Courtship is done by decorating their skin and feathers with paint and grass and sticking objects in their feathers. They will approach with a dance while making soft crooning calls. If the other Pygmy like this display, they will begin to croon back and mimic the courter. Whether Pygmies are territorial or not depends on the individual so it’s very possible courtship is met with violence.

Mating is generally only until a child is old enough to fend for itself; that is to say around 2 years. Some Pygmy couples will take a break and simply get back together while others will have a different mate every time. It’s also very uncommon for Pygmies to accept courtship from multiple mates and end up in poly amorous relationships.

Children are cared for until they can fend for themselves. They are generally kept underground, away from predators for the first few months of their life. When they are finally allowed out, the parents keep a watchful eye on the child and teach it how to catch insects. Within 2-3 years, the child learns to hunt insects and small animals, forage, fly and evade predators. This is generally done solely by the parents, but if they are part of a flock, the entire flock will help out. After this time period, the child will leave to create their own home. Parents and children usually do not see each other again due to the Pygmies’ like of moving and solitary nature, but it can happen. Some children even come back to live with their parents, which is how some Pygmy flocks form.

Clothing is generally made of woven leaf fibers, like the other Ziz and decorated with beads made of nuts and seeds. The clothing itself is minimal, usually just bottoms, though same may don more clothing. In the winter, many can be seen sporting jackets with down on the inside. This down is usually from their own molted feathers; or in the case of young Pygmies, the feathers of parents.

And, with the permission of @your-toku-mom / @hella-rad-brooke , here’s an example of the “beak” using her Pygmy Ziz Olessa that she graciously drew!

[thechocoboos]

Bossy

I’m an angry lil potato today so this was born! Enjoy. Ft. Bossy ass dickwad Ignis and an angry reader

Genre: ??? Slice of life...?

Word Count: 2,047

Pairings: lowkey Ignis/reader if you really squint

Warnings: Swearing. So much swearing.

He was so bossy-always walking around with his back straight and head high, a commanding tone to his rich voice. He told you what to do, when to do it, and sometimes even how to do it, which had always been more insulting to you than he’d realized. Yes, Ignis Scientia was a bossy man, and it absolutely pushed your buttons. You two were meant to be equals - to serve Noctis as his advisers, together. Granted, Ignis had been Noctis’ adviser much longer than you as you had only been hired a year ago, however, that did not mean you were incapable of doing your job.

Part of you reminded yourself that he was a busy man, having to advise the damn prince alongside additional duties, so his commanding nature was necessary for everything to get done. Still, he didn’t have to be such an absolute posh-ass about it. Day after day, you had to live with his dumb requests, his dumb voice, his dumb glasses and it - no, he - was hell.

Ignis wasn’t a bad person by any means, but he definitely had his head stuck up his ass and you were absolutely sick of it. One day, your anger and your frustration caught up to you, leaving room for nothing but negativity to brew in your brain.

His loud, expensive shoes were clicking on down the hall as he listed off instructions for you to follow. “-and you’ll have to stop by to get the Marshal’s list of executive orders as well as follow through on the Shield’s list from last week. I trust you can manage that much in the next hour.”

Your mind halted. Next hour? Tracking down Cor would take a good half hour alone, and trying to get any information from Clarus Amicitia was like pulling teeth (You swore his stubbornness could stop a freight train if he tried). Your annoyance was peaking, and as you turned to rip Ignis a new one, he was already listing your next orders.

“-You’ll have to go speak with the Crownsguard about their atrocious behavior at Mini’s Bar from last night as well as collect their payments for the damages they caused. You would also do well to write down their reports as to what happened-” he paused, his pale green eyes flickering to your face for a moment. “Y/N? Are you listening? This is not the time to be daydreaming-”

You cut him off, voice barely controlled as your blood boiled beneath your skin. “Yeah. Yeah, I fucking heard you.” You said, your own eyes meeting his head on for the first time in your career. “You want me to do all these extra, menial chores, on top of my normal duties rather than have all these fucking responsible-ass adults report to you like they should fucking be able to do for once in their goddamn lives, all while you treat me like an absolute child with your dumbass face and your fucking-” You cut yourself off, face red in anger and voice slowly rising and shaking with repressed emotions.

Ignis’ eyes were surprised, “I beg your pardon-”

You cut him off once again, anger rolling into your voice. “Then fucking beg.” You halted where you stood and faced him with one sharp pencil pointed at his disgustingly well-toned chest. “I was fucking handpicked to be your goddamn equal! An adviser, just like you! Instead, you treat me like a five year old who can’t brush their own fucking teeth!” Your voice had risen to a yell as you jabbed your pencil towards him. “I’m fucking tired of this shit!” You finally finished, throat slightly sore. Glaring at him in his surprised daze, you threw your pencil to the ground and thrust your clipboard into his chest, not waiting for him to catch it as your turned on your heel. “I apologize for my fucking abrupt news, you absolute cactus of a prick, but I’m taking a personal fucking day off.” You snapped, not waiting for his response as you began to stomp down the Citadel hall.

Just to your luck, Prince Noctis was waiting at the end, his own eyebrows risen slightly and his best friend, a hyperactive blond you had seen hopping around, was slack jawed with his blue eyes wide in surprise. Behind them, the Prince’s shield had one perfectly bushy eyebrow raised, his muscled arms crossed as he gave you an appreciative nod.

It wasn’t often you saw Prince Noctis, or his shield, as Ignis never gave you chores that involved them. An embarrassed blush rose to your cheeks; you hadn’t planned on royalty witnessing you bout of anger. You bowed slightly before the Prince, “I apologize for my unprofessional behavior, Your Highness.” Your voice was clipped, a remainder of your anger echoing in its tone. “If you’ll excuse me.” Rather than wait for a response, which Ignis would no doubt reprimand you on (if he didn’t fire you, that is), you brushed passed them with a scowl on your face, a tense anger in your posture, and attitude in your step.

Ignis watched you as you disappeared behind a corner, his green eyes just a millimeter wider than normal and his lips parted in a slight “o”. He was holding the clipboard to his chest, more out of instinct than much else at this point. His eyes shifted as he heard the familiar steps of the other three approaching.

“Well, shit. I never thought they’d have it in ‘em.” Gladio’s rocky voice chuckled.

Ignis cleared his throat, closing his mouth as he adjusted his glasses and shutting his eyes for a millisecond. “That was the most appalling behavior I have ever witnessed from someone of such a high standing.” Ignis stated calmly, swallowing thickly. “There will no doubt be a punishment in order-”

Noctis cut Ignis off, “High standing?” He echoed, voice flat. Ignis glanced at Noctis, surprised at the sarcastic tone to his voice. Noctis continued, “For someone who’s supposedly, ‘High Standing’, you treat them like dirt.”

Ignis felt a twinge of offense. “I disagree-”

“-C’mon, specs.” Noctis crossed his arms. “Like they said, they were handpicked by my dad and about a billion other officials to be my second adviser, but you just give them shit that the lowest of the low could do around here.” If Ignis wasn’t mistaken, there was a note of annoyance in Noctis’ voice. “Hell, I can’t even remember their name half the time ‘cause they never even get to talk to me.”

It was silent for a moment. For the second time that day, Ignis’ eyes were wide and he was speechless.

Prompto piped up, voice a little uncertain as he looked at Noctis and whispered, “... You have a second adviser?”

It was with Prompto’s innocent question that things clicked. Ignis blinked, recalling the same list of chores he had given you that day. Sure enough, each item was a menial task that anyone could have done. In hindsight, Ignis was indeed being an “absolute cactus of a prick” as you had so kindly called him.

“I don’t know what your problem with them is,” Noctis said, catching Ignis’ attention. “But whatever it is, it needs to stop. Let them do their job, dude. I get it if you don’t want a new adviser to mess everything up or whatever it is, but they’re the best of the best. They can handle it.”

Ignis was quiet for a moment. He glanced to Gladio, who gave a grunt of agreement, and to Prompto, who still looked confused. He let out a small sigh, nodding. “I suppose-No, you are right, Your Highness. I do believe I have been rather… unfair to them. I believe an apology is in order.”

Noctis snorted, “Don’t tell that to me.” He replied, rolling his eyes.

Nodding, Ignis went to pull out his phone, only for Gladio to stop him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you think you’re doing?” Gladio asked, raised an eyebrow.

“Calling Y/N, of course-”

“I don’t think so.” Gladio chuckled, remembering that yes, Ignis is a genius, but sometimes he’s an idiot, “They’re taking a personal day off, remember? Let ‘em cool down for a bit.”

Ignis nodded, adjusting his glasses. Of course. They were most likely still angry, afterall, he was rather rude and dismissive of them… Still, as the day progressed, Ignis’ stomach was rolling around in the unfamiliar feeling of guilt. It wasn’t often that he felt guilt, as his decisions were logical and thorough enough to be guilt-free, although in this situation, he knew he was in the wrong.

The following day, you walked into Ignis’ office with a steeled mask over your features despite the clear nervousness in your posture. “Excuse me, sir.” You began, voice wavering slightly. Yes, you strongly disliked him, but that was no excuse for your harsh words. As much as it killed you to do so, you began to apologize. “I… I apologize for my words and actions yesterday.” His eyes glanced up, patiently waiting. You continued, “It was unprofessional an immature of me to behave in such a way-”

Ignis held up a hand, stopping you mid-sentence. “It was.” He stated bluntly, voice as posh as normal. A twinge of frustration bloomed in your gut, only to be stopped short by his next words. “However, you made logical points.” He began, standing up. There was something in his voice, an almost apologetic voice. His next words were strong, his voice sure. “You were handpicked from the finest advisers in the city, by the finest officials we have at the Citadel. You were chosen to stand by Prince Noctis and aid in advising him, just as I was. We were supposed to work together as equals and help him be the best Prince - the best King - that he can be.

“I came between you and your duty.” Ignis admitted, looking at you with guilt in his wonderful eyes. “I treated you as an assistant - even as a maid when we’re meant to be equals and…” He stepped around his desk, standing three feet away from you and looked you in the eye as he spoke, “I can only say I’m sorry.”

It was clear he expected you to say something, but you found yourself speechless. This posh, somewhat arrogant man who treated you like dirt, had apologized to you with nothing but respect. Part of you was still angry at him for wasting your past year as adviser, but another part - a much bigger part - forgave him.

It took you a moment to collect yourself and your words. It seemed with each passing second, Ignis felt more and more dejected about his apology. Finally, you spoke. “Part of me is still a bit annoyed.” You admitted, scratching your arm. “But… I think both of us were assholes, here. I think, as long as you’re willing to let me do my job from now on, that I forgive you, sir. I can only hope that you forgive me for my inappropriate outburst from yesterday.” You found yourself bowing slightly, eyes anchored to the ground.

A hand fell on your shoulder, your head jolting up in surprise. A small smile sat on Ignis’ face, catching you by surprise. “I do believe that bowing to each other will be unnecessary, as will be using terms such as ‘sir’.” He told you, his hand still on your shoulder as you stood up. “From now on, we are equals, Y/N, as we should have been.”

You couldn’t stop your own smile from sliding onto your face or your nervously thumping heart as you heard him say your name with respect.

“Now,” He began, releasing your shoulder and adjusting his glasses, “I do believe I have to fill you in on today’s schedule.” he chuckled, “I’ve left you in the dark for far too long.”

For once, as he spoke, his voice didn’t sound so dumb and his face didn’t look so annoying. In fact, you daresay that he looked handsome. Of course, there was no time to spend admiring him, as you two would be late for an advisement meeting with King Regis and there was plenty of catching up to do on the way.

[canadian-riddler]

You Do Know I Can't Wave Back, Right?  

By Indiana  

Characters: GLaDOS, OC (a random scientist introduced solely so that GLaDOS would have someone to interact with)  

Setting: Pre-Portal 

AO3 || fanfiction.net

Cleaning up Aperture Laboratories was a lot of work.

Luckily for the dilapidated facility, GLaDOS liked work. In fact, she loved work. The more work to do, the better. She was not a supercomputer who enjoyed idle moments; lack of stimulation, particularly meaningful stimulation, well, that bothered her quite a bit. And it looked like she had enough meaningful stimulation to last her a good long time. She set to her task with great enthusiasm, going forward with the Cooperative Testing Initiative at the same time. Having so many things to process and supervise and complete was exciting. Not only did she have plenty to do, but now she got to test her own operating capacity while she was doing it. Prior to… the incident, she had known what that was, but, now outfitted with her own personal upgrades, she was eager to measure her abilities anew.

On the third day, GLaDOS had been carefully supervising the Cooperative Testing Initiative while reprogramming Jerry to be able to tell a nanobot apart from another robot (and really, this should have been obvious from the outset, she had chastised him; anything larger than him was clearly not nano-sized) when one of the robots assigned to one of the unfinished levels of the facility told her of a room that contained objects of an unconventional nature. That required her conscious attention, so Jerry was put on hold and GLaDOS took control of the robot's optic in order to see what the (probably overly exaggerated) fuss was all about.

It was a cake.

"Oh, that," she muttered to herself. She had never thought she'd see that again. Back in her chamber, she shook her head in exasperation and prepared to tell the robot to destroy it so that she could go back to more important things, but as she casually swept the room, ignoring the cube sitting patiently near the cake, something caught her gaze.

Something was glittering in the dim light from the robot's optic. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she had the robot move forward so that the object was in view.

It was a black pen.

GLaDOS stared at it.

What was a pen doing down here? No human had ever entered this room. And it didn't have the Aperture Laboratories logo on it. That implied that it was from outside the facility. So she must have put it there. But where had she gotten it from?

She sent the robot away after retrieving the object with one of her more mobile manipulator arms, and carefully looked it over once she finally had it in her presence. It reminded her of something, but of what, she couldn't say. That usually meant that she had archived whatever it was that the object (or person) had to do with, and if she had archived it, it was probably a bad idea to look it up again.

Well. She could always archive it again, after she was finished.

"Oh," she murmured after unlocking the files in question and scanning them quickly. "I'd forgotten about that…"

Once, a long time ago, a scientist had come up to her. Unlike the usual scientists, he had no lab coat and did not look at her sideways, as if she were about to attack him. At the time, she had been curious about their defensive stature, but they offered no explanation when asked. She knew better now, of course, but back then, oh, back then…

This new human, well, he had been a curious one indeed. Instead of standing in front of her with his arms crossed and his face in one of the more unpleasant configurations (unpleasant because they usually meant they were about to reprimand her for a mistake she had not known she had made, and not because their faces in general were unpleasant; she had not yet come to that conclusion), he had sat down on the floor of the platform, propped himself up against the railing, crossed his legs, and balanced a clipboard across his knees. He had had very short hair, and was wearing a curious brown suit. She studied it intently. She had never seen a suit before, only read about them in the database. She had wondered why he was not wearing a tie, as that appeared to be something you wore when you had a suit. She had wondered if he would be angry if she asked.

"Hello," he had said, in what must have been the friendliest voice she'd ever heard. "How are you doing?"

She had had to scramble to collect herself in order to answer the question within a reasonable amount of time. Friendliness and questions about her well-being were rare.

"I am well, sir," she had answered in what she fervently hoped was an equally friendly voice. "And you?"

"Pretty good, pretty good," he had replied, making a note on his clipboard with a very shiny black pen. She liked shiny objects and, now knowing it existed, could not help but look at it.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she had asked as politely as she could. He had looked like he was getting comfortable, and she wasn't sure why. Humans did not stay in her chamber for long.

"I just want you to do a couple little tests for me," he had answered, smiling up at her. "They're easy tests, don't worry."

"I've never done a test before, but I would prefer a hard test to an easy one," she had told him, a bit hesitantly; the scientists had rarely responded well to her opinions. "Things that are easy are things that are boring."

He had paused a moment, then scribbled something down on his clipboard. "I can see that being the case," he had nodded. "But these aren't that kind of test. They're a different kind."

"What kind?" she had asked eagerly.

"You'll see. I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer it, on a scale of one to six. One means you strongly disagree, two means you moderately agree, three means you slightly disagree, and then the same in reverse, for positive agreement. Answer as truthfully as you can. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she had answered, nodding a little bit and mentally preparing herself for the test. She had wished she'd known what kind of test it was. Then she would have been able to prime the relevant data.

"Okay. There are five questions: In most ways my life is close to my ideal."

"I can't answer that, sir," she had said after a few seconds. He had looked surprised to hear it.

"Why not?"

"I don't have an ideal life, sir."

"Surely you have dreams," he had said.

"Maybe." To her chagrin, she had looked away rather shyly.

"Well, answer it according to those. I'm not here to judge you. I'm just here to talk to you for a while."

"Well… five, then."

"If I could live my life over, I would change almost nothing."

She had not had much of a life as of yet to change, she had thought, but no, she would not change any of it. "Six."

"I am satisfied with my life."

She had wondered if this test had any right or wrong answers. It hadn't sounded like it did. She didn't like those kinds of tests. She hadn't known how to do that kind of Science, not yet, and 'human Science', as she took to calling it, bothered her somewhat. "… three."

"So far I have gotten the important things I want in life."

She had started to feel a bit anxious then, trying and failing to keep still. She was about to give him another negative answer, which humans did not like, but he had specifically asked her to be honest, and so be honest she would. "One."

"The conditions of my life are excellent."

That one had been easier. "Five." The conditions themselves had been pretty good, there were just a few minor things here and there that went away if you worked hard enough.

He had nodded and asked, "Do you want to add up the score or would you like me to?"

"Twenty," she had answered automatically, and when he had laughed she felt embarrassment coursing through her circuits. She hated it when humans did that. Didn't they know that she couldn't not complete a calculation? "I'm sorry, sir. It would have been all right if you did it."

"Oh no," he had replied. "That was fine. I should have known you wouldn't have been able to help it, that's all."

Oh. He understood. That had struck her as very odd, but very nice nonetheless.

"All right. I have another test for you. This one has fourteen items. One now means never, two means sometimes, three means often, four means almost always, five means always. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir," she had said anxiously. This test was quite a bit longer, and she hadn't really wanted to do it.

"How often have you been upset because of something that happened unexpectedly?"

She had thought about that one for a few seconds. It was slightly annoying, but not upsetting. In fact, she quite liked it after she was able to figure out what had gone wrong. "One."

"How often have you felt that you were unable to control the important things in your life?"

"Five," she had answered promptly. She was in control of every important thing!

"How often have you felt nervous and "stressed"?"

That one had been a little harder. She only felt stressed when she was nervous, which was about five times a day, on average. She had wondered how this compared to the amount of times humans felt that way, then remembered she was doing a test and answered, "Two."

He had gone on to ask her the rest of the questions, all on a similar vein, and she had decided he was measuring her stress level and put a corner of her brain to work on figuring out why he'd want to know such a thing.

"The first one was out of thirty, the second, seventy," the scientist had told her.

"What do the results mean, sir?"

"You're pretty satisfied with your life," he had answered after a long pause, "and you're not experiencing a lot of stress."

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's good." He had leaned forward, and twitched his finger at her. After a quick perusal of her human gesture library she discovered he wanted her to come closer. Humans did that because their ears were a lot less sensitive than her aural pickups were, but she had decided to put him at ease and to do as he wanted.

"Yes, sir?"

He had looked at her very seriously. "Are you happy, my dear?"

She had stared at him, and to her shame she could not answer. She was a lot of things at any given time, even managing to be despondent and proud of herself at the same time on one occasion (and her processors had made it quite clear that she was not to do such a thing ever again; trying to figure that one out had actually made her head hurt), but happy? Not really.

So that was what she had said.

The scientist had shaken his head sadly and sat back against the railing. She had taken that to mean she could go back and did so, regarding his pen again with great interest. There were so many different ways to examine the light moving up and down the shaft as he scribbled across the clipboard…

He must have noticed at some point, because he had looked up and waved a little to get her attention. "Yes, sir?"

"Do you like it?"

"Like what, sir?"

"The pen. You've been staring at it for quite a while now."

Oh. She hadn't realised it had been that obvious. "I do like it, sir."

"Do you want it?"

Oh yes, oh yes she had wanted it. She had wanted to snatch it right out of his hand, then figure out how to make time go faster (because it was painfully slow) so that she could shine different coloured lights on it in the peace of nighttime and see what that would do. But the last time she had done that (although in that case it had been a vial of something that changed colour when the scientist put different powders into it; she had just wanted to analyse the liquid! That was all!) she had been reprimanded. She had only been reprimanded twice that day, which was a new record, and she didn't know what to say. He had placed a lot of emphasis on honesty, though, so she had been honest. "Yes, I do want it, sir."

He had scratched away at his clipboard for another minute, then extended it to her. "Here. You can have it."

She had instantly been suspicious. No human had ever offered her something for nothing. And when they had, they usually wanted something in exchange at some later point in time. "What do you want for it?"

"I don't want anything for it. I have more at the office. I want you to have it." He had looked around as if he was afraid of being watched, whispering, "Put it somewhere they won't find it."

"No. No, I'm not falling for that. You're telling me not to tell them, which means you're going to tell them that I took your pen, when you gave it to me. I did this already, I'm not doing it again."

"I don't work for these people," the scientist had snorted. "I don't work here at all. I'm from outside the facility. It'll be between you and me. I wouldn't lie to you."

Cautiously, she had extended a manipulator arm from the ceiling, carefully pinching the extended shaft and withdrawing as soon as the physics required to keep it from falling out of the claw were in effect. The man had blinked, staring at his outstretched fingers. "That was fast," he had remarked.

"Of course," she had said, tipping her head in confusion. "I do everything fast."

He had nodded, an odd smile on his face. "Of course, of course."

The two of them had stayed in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, with her becoming a bit anxious as time went on. Humans usually asked something of her before this amount of time had passed. Then he had shaken himself and looked at her optic.

"I have to go," he had told her, picking up his clipboard and standing up. "Thank you for your time."

"Thank you for the pen," she had said in return, hoping that was not why he had been previously silent. It was a silly oversight, to forget to express her gratitude for the gift, but humans didn't usually respond favourably to her forgetting things. "I will take care of it."

"I'm sure you will." He had descended the stairs, stopping when he reached the doorway. He had waved to her, smiling, and then stared at her expectantly. After a few seconds of running through the possibilities, she realised what he was waiting for.

"You do know I can't wave back, right?"

His arm had abruptly responded to gravity, and he had looked at the floor, an odd expression on his face. She had tried to figure out what it meant, but her library yielded no answers. She had waited patiently for him to tell her what was going on. Finally, he had looked back up.

"Take that as a compliment, my dear," he had told her, and she was able to read his expression then. He had been wearing what was called a 'sad smile'. "You're so lifelike that I forgot what you are. You would pass the Turing Test for sure, GLaDOS.

"Goodbye."

And he had continued to walk away.

There had been so many things she wanted to ask. Who was he? Why had he come? Why was he different? Why was her inability to wave back deserving of a compliment? Who (or what) was she, and why had he forgotten? And what was a Turing Test?

She had meant to ask any one of those things, to make him come back, to make him stay a while longer, but she hadn't been able to choose one and had had to content herself with an echo of his own farewell. For the next few weeks, she had held onto the hope that he would come back, that he would talk to her and ask her his funny questions, and maybe stop being shy for long enough to ask some of her own, but he never did. And as she eventually learned to do to deal with unpleasant subjects that would otherwise consume her to the point of non-functioning, she had archived those days so that she wouldn't be able to think about them. She had carefully put the pen away in a little room in the basement where she kept her special, secret things: her box of candles, her Weighted Storage Cube with the hearts on it, and her little roll of blueprints for what would eventually be her robot friends, when she was able to start building them.

And she had settled in to wait patiently for another human like him to come along.

No human ever had, of course, and as GLaDOS inspected her pen, just as fascinated with the phenomenon of the refracted light playing across its surface as she had been all those years ago, she went over the questions she had once had, able to answer them by herself. He had been a psychologist, obviously; probably he had come to assess why she was misbehaving (and then discovered that she wasn't, she thought with some amusement); because he had managed to forget that she was not human, and was instead a supercomputer (although as to how you forgot such a thing, she couldn't figure out); and… well, nothing in the database said anything about a Turing Test.

Well, whatever it was, she needed to know, and as she set about looking for the answer to that question, she printed off a copy of the survey and went about filling it out with her pen, marking each number with a perfect, identical circle. She wasn't quite sure why she was doing it this way instead of just completing it in her head, which would certainly have been a lot faster, but decided not to think too much of it. This was the traditional way, after all. Sometimes you could sacrifice efficiency for tradition… if it was for Science, of course.

"Huh." She had calculated her score automatically, without even being aware that she had done it or that she was going to do it, and, as coincidence would have it, it was exactly the same as the first time she had done it, all those years ago. With some amusement, she made a note to look into that. Studying herself! That was new.

She looked at the pen one last time, after a few minutes carefully putting it back in the exact same spot in the little room in the basement. Maybe those things could stay in there. Not because she needed them or anything. But they weren't hurting anyone, so to speak. They weren't really taking up space (and she happily reminded herself that the physics of an object in a 3D plane were different from the idea of an object that wasn't in the way), so it wasn't like it would be bothering anyone, meaning herself.

"You're so lifelike," she murmured dreamily, remembering that she had to finish with Jerry before the day was out. It was suddenly less pressing, however, in the face of this new-old knowledge. Once, a long time ago, a human had regarded her as a living, thinking being. It had actually happened. It was amazing. She hadn't thought they had the capacity. But there had been one.

And maybe, she thought, casually exploding Orange and Blue for what was to be the final time that day, maybe there had been others. Others that she had locked deep inside her infinite brain, waiting for a day to come where she would be ready to remember. It certainly seemed likely.

First things first, though.

On to researching the Turing Test.

[brawltogethernow]

Neutral Element - I Am Well

Installment Masterlist/what am I looking at here || Relationships: FINALLY; Characters: Tarvek and Gil, Agatha; Length: 2k; Content notes: Just when including this section was starting to feel overly precious - Medical stuff! Dissociation! Flashbacks! Body horror? Aaronev Wilhelm leaving sticky residue on things that persists after his death. All conveyed through experimental formatting. This segment was fun. Readmores are still broken on mobile and I’m still sorry.

Tarveka and Gil maintain a careful balance of, ‘Well, it would upset Agatha if something happened to you,’ and not addressing that they can feel each other’s lies of omission.

 *

“We’ve got to put her in a different head,” Agatha declares, staring into the dead eyes of Tarveka’s empty chassis with an air of diagnosis and tsking quietly. “This one’s no good.”

“We can maybe fix up some other things for her, while we’re in there....” adds Gil, pressing close to Agatha to look too.

I will not stand by while you — came the impression of Tarveka in her head, only to pause. Gil was reminded of a finicky bumacat deciding whether to put her paw down after sticking it outside her cave. Hm, that is a good idea. Zengil feels Tarveka shuffling through the half-formed ideas for improvements floating at the top of her mind, which manifests as them rising to precedence without her input. To someone with pretty strong mental control, it’s unusual and somewhat disorienting. Hm, I like that one. Oh, now that is lovely.

Gil wants to tease her for being as vain as a cat too, in this moment where she won’t have to explain the reference and Tarveka will understand and not be able to deny she’s joking, but Tarveka’s appreciation is more that of an enthusiastic connoisseur. Even Tarveka’s interest in clothing that Gil has noted  has surprisingly little of the covetous impulse that Ooh, that would look lovely on me. And Tarveka would know she knew that, and know she knew she knew, and...

Ack.

“Told you,” Gil settles on.

You’re such a mess, impresses Tarveka, plainly referring to the entire train of thought.

 *

I’ll have to commission a whole new wardrobe, of course,” Tarveka coughs. Being able to edit herself to fit clothes could certainly be convenient. The taste alerts her that blood is dripping from her mouth.

Soon she won’t be bothered by concerns like —

Zengil yanks herself out of the blood-red flash of recollection, reeling. Half of her scrambles to place when that happened to her, before it settles in that it never did.

I didn’t see anything?? she thinks at Tarveka, desperate and sheepish.

Tarveka, sick and sulky, doesn’t send more than a mild sense of irritation at Gil, but Zengil still retreats, embarrassed at having accidentally intruded on something so profoundly personal, to lurk sheepishly in the corner of her own head.

 *

Asking me to ride along like this... Tarveka begins eventually, out of the blue and awkward. I would think you of all people...

Gil, for once, is sure of what Tarveka is getting at. She’s kind of cheating right now. “You aren’t like Lucrezia, okay? I invited you in. So stop fretting.”

Gil, mercifully for the both of them, cannot actually see most of Tarveka’s thoughts, but she doesn’t need to to put together stories about Lucrezia with Tarveka’s own manner of conducting herself and see why the clank girl might be uncomfortable, snagged by hooks of misplaced guilt.

Tarveka’s presence retreats into a sulky, defensive ball, trying to shrink into itself and lash out defensively at the same time.

“Of course,” says Gil, voice growing irritated, “you could always just try being a better person instead of a manipulative sneak —”

Oh, don’t you start with me, you brutish, pathetic excuse for a diplomat! You wouldn’t know subtlety if it struck you in the face!

“That wouldn’t be very subtle of it, would it?”

 *

Tarveka considers her body, cracked open on a lab table, for the second time in her existence.

(At this point she isn’t sure she dares call it her life. It almost feels like she’ll jinx herself.)

For the first time, she’s doing so through another’s eyes. The optics of her clank were hers from the start, of course. And the eyes she saw it through were her very own, the originals, slightly myopic and a dull brown color she needs only look at Anevke to see these days, but still somewhat misses.

Her clank body’s first face didn’t move. She just didn’t have the skill or the time, and she would have needed at least one.

Tarveka had already studied the art of dollmaking before she sent her brother for the Muse, and applied those arts when she couldn’t replicate the incredible lifelike quality of Tinka, fighting her own body and racing to beat its inevitable shutdown, damn her father. She made the clank’s face so its expression could seem to change with a tilt of the head, or through association with subtle posture or a tone of voice.

Tinka’s help was invaluable with the more critical problems, before Tarveka’s father broke her too. Aaronev left the world scattered with broken women.

She is staring down at her own corpse and thinking, I don’t want to believe that I am dead, but what if —

Gil yanks them away from the memory with increasingly thoughtless ease — more of a nudge than a yank now, really, a gentle redirect — and tries not to mull on how she now knows Tarveka snuck her own body into her family castle’s medical waste.

She wasn’t bragging about knowing mental disciplines, so instead of letting herself start thinking about how she shouldn’t be thinking about things she shouldn’t be thinking about, inevitably defeating the purpose of the whole thing, she starts teaching Tarveka the Skiff alphabet. Then she moves on to their measuring system.

Base 9? thinks Tarveka. Really?

The number was sacred to an ancient simek—

Waͪrͤrͬiͦorˢᵖᵃʳᵏ, conveys the helpful impression Tarveka gets.

— so it’s sort of a thing. Don’t start. You count time by twenty-four. Twenty-four and sixty.

Yes, but that’s...

Normal here? Gil interrupts sarcastically.

Alright, touché.

 *

Gil is stripped open and vulnerable too, like this. There’s a kind of balance to it that settles the part of Tarveka that wants to be defensive. She’s shocked by the open, raw care the other woman feels, and the soft thread of doubt and hurt she put there.

 *

Tubing twists from the palanquin’s molded container like organs spilling from a fresh Coptic jar and isn’t it isn’t she dead so much to do trapped in this castle trapped —

They emerge with a gasp and Gil forces their attention back to the present project, which is strikingly reminiscent but not the same. It’s not you, you’re with me, please, Tarveka. If we don’t focus you will die.

We will die, corrects Tarveka. Suicidal idiot.

 *

Tarveka is getting better at taking the reins from Gil, remembering how to be flesh. Given all the factors, this is probably a bad thing.

 *

Gil fancies that Agatha is like one of her goddessess — a war queen who built herself wings of iron and sunlight, flew to the realm of the gods, and situated herself among them.

That is the best thing I’ve ever seen, says Tarveka. Really? Do you mind if I use that comparison? I’ve thought of her as like the sun before, you know, but we don’t have any sun goddesses.

She was reading associations out of Gil’s mind, then. Sometimes the queen was associated with Ishana, the punishing burning bringer of life.

Do you think —

That the legend could refer to some solar-powered vehicle? finishes Gil. Yes. I’ve incorporated that idea into some of my designs —

It says iron, but —

It must be from some old word that just means metal, I think.

Ah, like the “apple” of knowledge.

The what?

Now, fͭoͪuͤr of the sͫeͦvͬeͤnᶠᵒʳʷᵃʳᵈ ᵗʰᶤᶰᵏᶤᶰᵍ  popes disagree about this strongly, but...

 *

She grips her right hand with her right hand and feels for a pulse and this is the part where her heartrate should kick up but that’s the entire problem isn’t i —

“You two are spacing out again, aren’t you,” says Agatha, grabbing Gil by the chin and forcing them to look her in the eyes.

Focusing on Agatha is easy. “I’m not going to die on you, I — I  promise,” Gil reassures her. Or one of them does.

“Don’t you dare,” Agatha says, uses her grip to tilt Gil’s head, then leans forward and kisses them softly.

Then she bustles back to work. There’s still ever so much of it.

 *

Tarveka resents the ways the project of building a clank to puppet got away from her.

Tarveka has always placed a high value on her control over her own person. It is a representation of her personal strength which she feels, paradoxically, is both a testament to her indomitable will and an absolute lowest-bar basic achievement everyone should be expected to adhere to. After all, she does.

Tarveka administered as close to total control over her body as possible through the teachings of the Way of the Smoke. She controlled her own reactions. She controlled others’ perceptions of her.

But the incident of losing her body was a mad dash wresting control back from where the void devoured it from the very start, and she did not emerge entirely victorious|took heavy losses in her victory. Yes, she built her new body from its gears up, and it’s a masterwork, certainly, but she didn’t make it her new body on purpose. She didn’t mean to give that much to her father in her first move.

Overplayed her hand.

This single error is representative of a veritable cascade of them. She’s different, now, in ways she’s still only cataloguing. She was never as comfortable around biomatter as some sparks, but she finds she’s less fussed about it now. It took her months to connect that to a new aversive reaction to gutted machines and rust on old wires it takes a light fugue to push away.

Like many things, it’s nothing she ever constructed, not something she programmed. She’d very much like to put on airs and compare herself to Van Rijn with his famous bafflement at his own marvelous creations, but she would be more comfortable with this if she hadn’t created herself.

Is she even still herself?

“Did you know the fundamental components of an organic body experience a massive turnover rate?” says Gil.

“What?” snaps Tarveka, grabbing control of Gil’s own mouth to do it, which is becoming easier the longer she has to grow used to not being in a clank. She isn’t in the mood for a biology lesson.

“You know, the primary building components, uh, they’re round in animals and square in plants —”

“I know what cells are, Zengil.”

Instead of acting called out for being a patronizing know-it-all, Gil snaps her fingers and says, “Right, that’s what it is. Like little rooms. Thank you. I haven’t had reason to brush up on all the basic terminology in the local language. Didn’t usually have anyone to talk to about it, for one thing. Anyway, hundreds of millions —” She picks a flitting thought from Tarveka carelessly “— billions, thank you — of cells die off in a healthy person every day. On purpose! It’s great, really.” She finishes with a bit of the telltale distraction of a spark espousing on their specialty.

“...They do not,” says Tarveka.

“Well,” says Gil, “only some of them.” Tarveka gets a ghost impression, a diagram of the human body forged through in-depth understanding picked out in hot and cold spots. “We’re never the same for long, even if we’re sitting still. We’re not supposed to be. That’s what being alive is!”

Tarveka thinks about this. “Are you talking about necrosis?”

“I’m talking about apoptosis, you morbid little tit.”

“Seriously? You forgot ‘cell’, but you know that word?”

Gil mutters, but the impression Tarveka gets — a stack of secondhand books, at once familiar and foreign and exciting, stacked on a rock in an empty waste — is much more indicative than the actual words, which include “dare defy me”, “show them all”, and “then they’ll see, they’ll all see”, in an impressive but pat three-for-three.

Tarveka chews on a response. “If this is a clumsy attempt to make me feel better —”

“Who, me?” says Zengil. “Be nice to you? Never.”

“— Then it’s working,” finishes Tarveka. “But only a little. ...Shut up, don’t —” stare at me like that? No, that’s not right. This is getting very confusing. “Stop — stop having feelings at me, get back to work.”

“You’re not actually the boss of me, Sturm —”

“If you don’t connect that octave coupler it’s going to catch fire.”

“Ack!”

 *

“Do they realize how weird that looks?” asks Violetta, watching what appears to be Zengil talking to herself while they wait for someone madder than they are to hand them another task.

“They’re sparks,” says Moloch, shrugging. “Do they care?”

*

For a week Tarveka maintains the frequency of checking on her body she had when she’d thought something was wrong. (She’d been right.) She doesn’t have the opportunity to miss her heart pounding and her breath coming fast as she carries on the deception, because her gears whir and grind, and her vision shifts too amber, then too blue.

She goes through the motions of her normal routines, paring them down slowly. She doesn’t really know why she’s bothering when her audience is mostly the palanquin’s bearers. (Pallbearers.) She could order them away for maintenance and only seem like a snappish spark — she could bite, It’s a spark thing, get lost! when she doesn’t open the container, when she drops off the frequency of all her biological maintenance to a dead stop. But they avert their eyes and she doesn’t ever need to.

 *

Agatha grips them by the chin again but this time she just stares them in the eyes, whips out a flashlight and stares more, then says, “You’re integrating too strongly. You two can’t even be trusted to stay fighting?” She tsks. “Incredible.” Then she wanders off and begins writing out papers. They will only find out what’s on them later.

Si vales valeo is an abbreviation of si vales bene est ego valeo, which means “If you are well, I am well.”

[athcnvs]

☾✧.° VILLAS TASK #006: NATAL CHART !

— it was 9:17pm on august 29, 1995 when athena grace chae was born in seattle, washington. reading her chart, i found that i agreed with a majority of the descriptors her alignments had, only disagreeing with a few statements here and there. athena definitely isn’t as blatantly ambitious as her chart makes her out to be, but her conflict-aversion and competitive nature definitely ring true. 

( the striked-out text are statements i disagreed with, and the bolded text are statements i strongly agreed with. the text left unformatted are what i felt were generally accurate but not necessarily prominent traits. )

♍ sun in virgo

symbolizes: self, individuality, personality

keywords: caring, meticulous, responsible, grounded, fussy

house: sixth

virgo people are generally respectable, hard-working individuals who have a love of knowledge and know-how. virgos are sensitive to their surroundings, and they tend to embarrass easily. they are generally reticent when faced with anything or anyone new. however, once they feel comfortable, they can talk up a storm. many virgo suns are not too comfortable in the limelight. these types are just fine living in the background, as long as they feel useful and appreciated. solar virgos have a strong sense of responsibility. even when they've convinced themselves to be irresponsible about something or the other, they worry about it. not all virgos are workaholics. however, when solar virgos are not involved in some kind of project, there is generally a vague feeling of discontent. even when their lives are filled up with work, they are restless and somewhat nervous creatures. the fear of under-performing is often strong. virgos want to do things well. there's an odd combination of the intellectual and the practical in virgo that is sometimes mistaken for coolness. in fact, virgos are often self-effacing and shy. they'll brush off your compliments quickly and, sometimes, critically; but don't let that fool you. they need your respect and appreciation. in fact, the happiest virgos are the ones who feel appreciated and useful. add plenty of worthwhile projects to keep them busy, and virgos can be some of the sweetest, kindest people around.

♎ moon in libra

symbolizes: emotions, instincts, roots

keywords: adaptable, beautiful, artistic, indecisive, indulgent

house: seventh

moon in libra people have a strong need for partnership. without someone to share their lives with, they feel utterly incomplete. this is why many people with this position get involved in marriages or living-together arrangements quite young. because this drive for harmony, peace, and sharing is so powerful, lunar librans are apt to do a lot of conceding. they are sympathetic and concerned for others, enjoy socializing, and revel in a good debate. mental rapport with others is especially important to them. lunar librans feel safe and secure when they are in a partnership. these are the people who seem to always need to have someone tag along with them wherever they go — even if it is to the corner store. they find strength and reinforcement in and through others. both men and women with this position are often quite charming. they can be very attractive to be around, and are often given to flirtatiousness. rarely directly aggressive, these people win your heart with their gentle and refined ways. moon in libra natives simply can't help but see flaws in their environment and their relationships. in fact, anything out of whack will bother them until it's fixed. although diplomatic with acquaintances, when moon in libra natives argue with their long-standing partners, they rarely let up until they win. and, winning an argument is a libran specialty — in fact, they may not even believe what they are saying, but will adopt all kinds of ideas just to get the last word.

♈ ascendant in aries

symbolizes: first impression, image, temperament

keywords: competitive, well-intentioned, hard-working, charming, attached

people with aries ascendants are direct and quick. their first instinct is to do, rather than think. planning ahead? forget it. aries rising simply charges forward without much ado. this position does not make a person aggressive. forthright, yes, but aggression is too strong a word for these natives. they have a youthful, direct manner that sees what it wants and generally goes for it. at the same time, there isn't any malice in their intent. some aries rising people are competitive, but they generally put most of the pressure on themselves. these people love to come out ahead in all that they do. they get ready quickly, walk quickly, and have little patience for dilly-dallying. their temper is quick, too. it's also quick to disappear. rarely do you find aries rising people holding grudges. their mannerisms are rather simple and straightforward. aries rising loves action, and is often trying to stir up some activity. their strengths lie in their enterprising ways. finishing things they start does not always come as easily. often, aries rising people are quick to smile, and they possess a youthful charm throughout life. probably early on in life, aries rising people got typecast as the “independent" child. as adults, people with aries ascendants often stick to that role in life. people don't run to help them out — they appear quite fine doing things on their own. these people have learned to be self-reliant, and this generally stems from their early experiences. despite a rather brusque and independent manner, these natives are usually very willing to compromise in their relationships, and are very attached to the people they hold dear.

♍ venus in virgo

symbolizes: sensuality, love, harmony, pleasure

keywords: grounded, analytical, impeccable, strict, critical

house: sixth

venus in virgo people are not the flirtatious sort. instead, their appeal lies in their dedication, their willingness to work on the relationship, and to make the relationship work in real terms. they won't try to impress you with grand gifts or promises. their gifts are less showy, but perhaps far more generous — gifts of devotion and attention to details about you. venus in virgo men and women quietly (and often slowly) make their way into your heart. they are quite sensitive in love — even insecure — and this reserved, loner-like quality is part of their appeal. they prefer to play it safe in their relationships, and they need to be confident that you like them before they make a move. they are great listeners and they make it a habit to observe and learn all of your ins and outs. their love can be of the kindergarten variety — they show they care by nagging or criticizing. remember, though, that they are not trying to hurt you when they are pointing out the flaws in your thinking, plans, or even character. venus in virgo is attracted to nondescript people who have largely gone unnoticed. show-offs and know-it-alls turn them off. pleasing venus in virgo involves showing you appreciate them for all the little things they do — and they do a lot. the problem is, they do these things so quietly that you may not always notice or credit them for all these kind gestures. be genuine, not ostentatious. let them know how much you value them, and they will reward you with devotion and a charming willingness to talk things out. they don’t always let themselves go, either through fear of ridicule or through fear of not being loved in return as much as they love. they are therefore sometimes too undemonstrative. they may give off the sense that their love is not for free. caring but worries that they are not exciting enough.

♐ jupiter in sagittarius

symbolizes: happiness, optimism, expansion

keywords: generous, enthusiastic, intellectual, competitive, lively

house: eighth

because of their energetic nature, sagittarius zodiac sign are always on the go looking for the next adventure. so jupiter in sagittarius uses their enthusiasm and optimistic outlook on life to attract good fortune by seeking out new opportunities. they don’t wait for things to come to them — they seize the day! for jupiter in sagittarius, they love to travel and meet new people and add to their wealth of knowledge. they create their own luck when they follow their own advice, and inspire others to do the same. education is a large part of the values of a jupiter in sagittarius person, for they feel it’s important for society as a whole to have as much information at their fingertips to make smart choices. they seem to attract success on a regular basis through their good-natured attitude and ability to develop and change their beliefs as they grow older. the jupiter in sagittarius can appreciate other people’s thoughts and perceptions without adopting all of them, for this is how they build up their knowledge and experience. they understand that you can have strong convictions but still be open-minded enough to change your beliefs if new and pertinent information presents itself. their main goal in life is to grow. but it’s this very reason that can hinder jupiter in sagittarius sometimes, because they are not good with routine or dealing with responsibilities. they would rather be out living life than taking care of mundane details. they are usually so busy they can be a bit scatterbrained and might forget an important meeting or not follow through on a potential stroke of luck.

♎ mercury in libra

symbolizes: thinking, communication, intellect, learning

keywords: sympathetic, balanced, eloquent, lazy, indecisive

house: sixth

when it comes to communication, librans are well-known to be great speakers. their balanced approach to everything in life includes making sure all those in the conversation know what’s going on. they make great mediators for a conflict and usually know the best course of action once both sides present their argument. they have an inherent thirst for knowledge and usually make great students. they want to learn everything they can to help with future decisions and problems. having that kind of knowledge makes them feel more confident when others call upon them to help with conflict. although they are a great help to others, this often leads to indecisiveness in their own lives. in trying to avoid one extreme or the other in a situation, mercury in libra often finds themselves falling into both categories at one point or another. this can be extremely frustrating for those waiting for libra to make up their mind. sometimes they will defer to others just so they don’t have to make up their minds at all. while they are usually charming and fun to be around, this is the one area where they become annoying or defensive. it’s best to leave them alone with their thoughts at that point, for nothing will help to convince them any faster. and if you try to force them, the libra mercury people will simply walk away without acknowledging they have done anything wrong. while they can be quite diplomatic with others in solving dilemmas, they are more stubborn when it comes to their personal problems. 

♎ mars in libra

symbolizes: activity, energy, courage, assertiveness

keywords: passive, dormant, artistic, creative, harmonious

house: seventh

with mars in libra they will fight tooth and nail to ensure justice is done. balance and fairness is the cornerstone of the libra personality, and maintaining it keeps them fulfilled. all they want is to live peacefully and harmoniously. because of this, librans will take their time and weigh all their options carefully before making a decision. it’s this desire to do the right thing that drives them. it’s in their nature to make sure good triumphs over evil so that the natural order of things is restored. and because they are keen observers of human nature, they often times are able to anticipate problems before they arise. with this kind of knowledge in hand, they are then able to take the time to work out a solution to try and prevent the issue from ever happening. this also comes in handy when dealing with their relationships. because they always want things to be fair they will do their best to treat their partner with the same respect they want for themselves. because the mars in libra people hate creating controversy, they tend to be more passive-aggressive in their words and actions. they don’t want to appear too extreme one way or the other. and when someone offends them, they can employ underhanded practices to restore harmony, since they don’t want to stir the pot any further than they have to. make sure you reciprocate the feelings and the effort or else this libra will be extremely disappointed. they expect others to care as much about maintaining balance as they do, which can cause conflict in and of itself. they work so hard to keep things equal between themselves and their soul mate that they tend to go overboard and become fussy over certain details that others don’t care about at all.

♊ lilith in gemini

symbolizes: fascination, denial, dark side

keywords: dishonesty, irresponsibility, talkativeness, superficiality, nervousness

house: third

with gemini, words and thoughts are key. with lilith in gemini, those words and thoughts easily become playthings, and can quickly become twisted. mischievous at best, manipulative at worst. this placement uses mindgames to cover up for their own crippling anxiety and insecurity. racing thoughts and overthinking can be found here. this is a placement that says one thing and thinks another, lying can be quite the issue. emotions are often pushed far aside, where they bubble away and eat at the back of their head. once too full, they can “empty out” and act without remorse. ambiguous communication, fascination with ambiguity and shadows, the search for identity. these people live in the world of thoughts that are completely free and subject to the constant process of change. lilith in gemini emphasises all this more intensely and these people are virtually unstoppable. they have a great desire for knowledge and information. they do not take anything seriously because they think that everything can be changed. they tend to change information and then pass this modified information on. they do not like to live in one place for too long and they make friends easily.

[thickasthievesrpg-hidden]

WELCOME TO THE HEIST, MARIE!

YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF PENELOPE KANG

A note from Admin Tris: Firstly, I think I speak for all of us when I say how excited we were to see an application for Penelope in our inbox. As someone who once considered applying for Penelope in the starting stages of TaT, I’ve always wondered why she got so little interest. Certainly, her occupation isn’t the most glamorous, and being one of the babies of the Heist, I can understand why applicants would favor other roles -- but I’m so glad that you found something special in Penelope, Marie. You understand her, the shyness and the innocence, but you also hint to the fire of her personality. She’s a very soft character, naive in the purest sense of the word, and despite the loss of her father, she’s never really been forced to see the darkness in this world. I can’t wait to see what you do with Penelope -- and your request to use Komatsu Nana has been approved! Congratulations on your acceptance! You’ve been to the museums, the banks, the isolated manors with their black dogs and gilded keys. You’ve stolen their necklaces, their jewels, the prized heirlooms in their vaults and their safes. They’ll watch out for you. Please visit the after acceptance page and submit your account within the next 24 hours – we’re excited to have you with us!

Name/Alias + Pronouns:

What name/alias would you like to go by? Marie What pronouns would you like us to refer to you by? She/her

Age:

I’m 19. 

Timezone + Activity

At the moment, I am in CST (GMT+1). I’d say I’m a 5-7, depending on the week. I’m currently working and might take up extra hours if I have the opportunity to, but I’m usually done early regardless. I try to write every day, but as I am a slow writer, I might not produce more than one or two replies a day if I’ve got a particularly long interaction pending. 

One thing to be noted, though, is that I am moving to another country in March. This means I probably need a hiatus/semi-hiatus in the first week of March before returning to my usual activity. If this is a concern, please contact me and we’ll discuss it!

I. BASICS

Desired Role:

Penelope Kang. Often nicknamed Penny, or even Poppy at times.

Analysis:

sexuality/romantic preference — Penelope is heterosexual - well, that is what she assumes, anyway, having only ever been in love with one person. With that, it has to be said that her sexuality is largely unexplored, as she has kept her eyes and heart on Magnus since the incident in the Lee driveway. This means her assumed sexuality might very well change once she gets her chance to explore it, but at the moment that seems like an unlikely event as she is both very timid and completely smitten with Magnus.

birthdate — September 21, 1997. 

birthplace/hometown — Tokyo, Japan.

occupation  — Officially, she is a housemaid of the Lees. While she is told multiple times that she does not need to do the work of a housemaid any longer, she loves the people she used to work with and spends a lot of her time off helping them out. Especially around the time for important events or dinners, she is always there to deck the tables, clean the rooms or cut the carrots alongside the cook. 

criminal occupation  — Penelope is an excellent hacker. Her brain is analytical, numbers are her forte and she has a quick mind. She can find solutions and loop holes in code and security systems quickly and precisely. While hacking was originally just an experiment, she is grateful that it turned into a profession. It’s her way of being a hero without being directly involved in the action in the heist itself. She is confident in her abilities and sees it as a key opportunity to show people - and maybe Magnus in particular - what talents she has brewing inside her. 

pronouns: She/her

languages: Penelope knows quite a few languages. Japanese was the language spoken in her household until she was six, when Arthur Kang came into the family. With him came an accelerated learning progress of the Korean langauge - she wanted to understand her father’s mother tongue, after all, and it was also a language she was met with all over the Lee mansion. It remains a language she can speak alright, but she has troubles reading effectively. English was another language she heard all around her in the Lee mansion, but one she did not have much use for until she got older. While her English is good indeed, she carries an accent. Untimately, Czech is the language she speaks the most - or at least did before being welcomed into the Heist. After all, she grew up going to a school in Prague and formed most of her friendships and connections in the Czech language.

hobbies: Sewing, sketching, gardening, cooking, reading.

Four Characteristics:

List and describe at least two negative and two positive characteristics that you believe define your chosen character best. Please be as detailed as possible to show us how these traits fit into your perception of them. 

+ Observant: Penelope is an observant girl, which some believe might be the key to her compassion and cleverness. She is particularly sensitive to people’s feelings, noticing nervous gestures, the way people’s faces express false emotions in pressed situations and unusual drifts. While she might see through the masks of indifference people hide their emotions behind, she will not always comment on it even if she wants to, simply for showing respect to the person’s privacy. Spots, wrinkles and stains are also things she notice quickly, along with odd numbers or letters in clauses of code among other things.

+ Bright: There is no denying her bright mind. She is quick, clever and can solve most puzzles in less time than what people normally do. As her shy nature shines through the most, people might forget her razor sharp mind; she’ll come up with simple solutions to complex problems, speaking up from the corner of the room with a confidence they might not expect. 

- Shy: Another rather dominant trait you will notice when you first meet her, but one she tries to break out from and lay behind her. She wants to explore, to experience. She wants to be able to talk to strangers like they were her best friends – she has seen people do so, and their confidence is admirable. However, she sometimes finds it hard to gather the courage to talk to strangers at all and is generally not a girl of many words. When people get to know her, she will open up, and the trait fades a little. 

- Stubborn: Although appearing to be quite reserved, she can be described as stubborn by anyone who knows her. Once she puts her mind to something, it is not easy to make her thoughts stray from it. She usually stands up to what she believes, and this is where her shy nature seems to dim ever so slightly; she might interfere – though in a rather quiet manner – into people’s discussions or insert a quick comment about the case if she disagrees strongly. 

Other traits: optimistic, a little idealistic, gentle, perfectionist.

Expansion:

Expand on at least two connections that you see your character having, whether they were mentioned in the bio or not, AND/OR expand on any part of the biography that was left vague or nondescript. 

Camille Delacroix: Penelope, as a rather shy and timid girl who hopes to break out of her shell, is fascinated by people like Camille. While she does not know much about her, she knows she has travelled the world and surely she has been on more adventures than most. While her outgoing personality intimidates her somewhat, she wishes for nothing but to befriend her. Maybe even just make her aquaintance. Certainly someone like her would not settle for the boring everyday life - maybe she could bring her out on one of her adventures? She sees Camille as an opportunity to break out of her comfort zone, but also thinks it as a opportunity that won’t show anytime soon; girls like her doesn’t notice shy girls like Penelope in the corner of a room. 

Dominik Woo: Dominik is one of the people Penelope trusts the most in the whole wide world. She knows he would never laugh at her for things that were not meant to be funny; he is safe, and someone she feels she can tell everything to. She is relaxed in his company and does not feel the need to filter herself in such a way that she does with most other people, and her shy nature seems to dim even just a little in his presence. 

II. WRITING

Para Sample(s):

You may write as many para samples as you’d like

Your para sample(s) can be any length of your choosing.

In-character, third person, past or present tense are both acceptable. 

This is the most important section of the application. We are looking for a unique takeon the character, for you to show us that you really understand the character’s past, motives, and state of mind. Ultimately, we would like to see that you know the character better than even we do, so please don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty and delve into the depths of their story! It is highly advisable to include dialogue andinteractions with NPC or canon roles, so that we can see how your character acts.

The ballroom was large and awfully colourless to Penelope’s tastes. There were cream-coloured walls and marble floors. Women in pale, long dresses and men in black and white suits made up the masses – important people from important families. The high roof echoed the hundreds of voices within the hall, and worked as an enhancer for the classical music played by live performers at the other end of the room. She had gathered that tonight was a particularly important night, and with that she was sure Magnus would show up. They had hosted two galas previously after Magnus’ return – she did not see him during those, and heard whispers that he had only been there for what might have been half an hour. She had attended them too, of course, but had left them by the end of the night with a lingering feeling of disappointment. Ah, he might be back from his five-year journey, but she saw him now just as little has she had five months ago.

She was dressed in black and white like the other serving girls and boys. Her friend Mina had fallen ill in time for the occasion. “I will not allow you to go,” she had told her sternly when she visited her that particular morning, placing a cup of green tea on her bedside. She was met with little resistance, and suspected the tea had gone cold in favour for sleep and fever dreams instead.

Though she was not happy that her friend had fallen ill, she counted herself lucky as she took her mid-day duty to do the rooms. Saturdays was the day she were to do the heir’s, and Penelope could not help but feel a little giddy as she entered the empty room. It was stupid, and she knew it well, but… it was really his! It was clear he had not been there this particular night – she had heard he did not always spend his nights in the Lee mansion – but she took her time to smooth over the sheets once more. She placed a small box of chocolates on his night table, too, along with a glass of water with small hand-plucked flowers in bright colours from her father’s own garden. She was not sure whether he would like the chocolates or not, nor was she sure if he would care about the flowers at all. And he certainly would not notice where they came from, would he? She hoped he see it and maybe smile a bit at  the gesture regardless.

“Penny!” She turned to find a girl dressed similarly to her, with dark hair and a wide smile on her lips. “You shouldn’t be here. You’ve got enough important work to do as it is!” She held her empty hands out to take the tray with glasses of champagne that Penelope had taken upon herself to walk about in the room with.

She returned her friend’s smile. “Don’t be silly, Hara!” She turned away slightly as to move the tray out of her reach. “I am doing very important things. You need a break every now and then, you know. Mina is sick, besides. I’m taking her watch.”

“Ari is already taking her watch.” Her friend let her hands fall, though, facing her defeat.

She offered her a light shrug of her shoulders, smile playing on her lips. “I’ll take your watch too. I suppose you can take a couple minutes off, if you want.”

Turning to look over the room, she leaned sideways in towards her friend. “I also heard they were doing important business today,” she said, voice low. Hara nodded knowingly. She only said so because she knew every one of the girls had caught on on the news already, of course. They had talked about before the event, and they had agreed that important people demanded excellent service – and they certainly was not going to disappoint. “I heard both the Kanes and the Bulletts wanted to strike a deal of some sort,” Hara told her seriously.

“I did so, too.” She paused a brief second. “Do you think Magnus will show up?” Her eyes revealing a hint of curiosity mixed in with excitement.

Hara straightened up and let out a snort. “The heir? No way. Apparently, he finds these kinds of things boring, so he doesn’t care to. That’s what happened the other two galas.”

“But those were mostly for fun, though. He didn’t have to come.”

“He left us for five years because he thought it was boring. That’s what Mandy says. He won’t show up at some stupid gala when he hasn’t been doing so for the last five years.”

Penelope furrowed her brows. She moved the tray from her right hand into both, holding it steadily in front of her. “Oh, but you don’t know that. He didn’t leave just because it was boring. He has his reasons, Hara. I know it.”

The other girl sighed, then shook her head, the corners of her mouth moving up slightly, forming a pitiful smile that Penelope could not help but feel a little annoyed seeing. “C’mon, Penny. This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?”

“Yes! You talk about him all the time! You deserve so much better.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she insisted.

Another smile shaped on her friend’s lips. “Sure you don’t. Hey, I gathered you and Jaesuk are close. Give him a shot, come on.”

Penelope could not help but to laugh at that, though her cheeks felt slightly warmer than what they were before. “Jaesuk? No, no, no! We’re just friends, you know that.” She cleared her throat, threw a quick glance around the room, subconsciously searching for a pop of bright red hair among the black-and-white coloured crowd. Then she turned her gaze back to Hara and held the tray out to her. “Go take a break now. Take a glass too, if you will. They said I could, but I’m not going to.”

With a sigh, her friend seemed to consider it for a moment. Then, with a glass in hand, she offered her a smile and turned around to walk through the doors towards the kitchen.  

And he did show up that night. Of course he did – Penelope knew he would. Once Hara had returned, she offered her a triumphant smile from across the room.

Starter Example:

Provide an example of a mini-para starter that you might post on your character’s account. Feel free to include a gif if you’d like! You may also add a gif-chat starter or multi-paragraph starter if you feel inclined, though they are optional.

ONE:

A day off was not something Penelope was used to. Most days she would spent her time in front of the computer screen, typing codes and figuring out the keys to secret security systems. Other times, she did the beds with the housemaids or watered the plants alongside the gardener at the Lee manison.

While the latter was indeed done in her time off, it was nothing like this. It was nothing like walking down the streets towards the local park, with no tasks  in mind, other than to drink up the hot cocoa she had bought from the coffee shop on the corner.

Her eyes were fixed on the pavement before her, carefully tip-toeing around the edges of the puddles left by the rain two hours prior.

“Oh!” She instictively stepped back into the puddle she had intended to step across, not seeing the person before her. “I’m sorry.” She turned her eyes up towards the other person, an apologetic smile playing at her lips. “It’s the rain, you know–oh, I know you.”

TWO:

Penelope would sometimes help out in the garden surrounding the Lee manison. She was rather fond of the work, and the head gardener - an older Korean man with kind eyes - was talkative and seemed to appreciate her company. As time had passed, he trusted her with more complicated tasks than watering the plants - on this paricularly sunny afternoon, she was replanting small trees that would eventually grow into a hedge.

The sun was burning in her neck, and she had parted ways with the gardener to take a break. She made her way outside the property. Up on her toes, she looked over the large fences to see if she could spot the hedges she had planted from the outside. And would you believe it? From her position on the pavement, she could see some of the leaves belonging to the trees she had planted. A smile spread across her lips.

Another step backwards. Maybe she could see more of them? Another step– she felt the very end of the pavement beneath her left foot, the stones separating it from the highway; she stumbled another step backwards to catch her balance.

Her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment as she spotted the other person. “I was just… trying to look over at the hedges.”

III. FREESTYLE/EXTRA

Optional.Time to let out your passion & creativity! This is where you may list anything else that you see for this character that is not stated in their bios. Go wild! This is the section that will be examined in the case of multiple applications, so don’t be afraid to let your muse out. (videos, headcanons, facts, song lyrics, diary entries, letters, memes, etc.) 

1. Penelope’s fashion sense can be describes as cute, but fashionable. She loves everything that is quirky and a little different in a simple way. Simple fabrics and simple patters. Orange and rusty red are currently her favorite clothing colours, and you are sure to spot the colour in every other outfit she wears. As for her hair style, she likes to keep it shoulder-length and with bangs. She might pin it up or braid it every now and then, but generally keeps it down. 

2.  Penelope writes a diary. She might not write every day, but tries to. She glues in fragments of papers, stickers and pictures that she stumbles upon through-out the day to the entires. Sometimes the entires strech over several pages becaus of it, other times there are only a collage to describe the day. She carries the pieces in a small pocket of her jacket until she pulls them out to glue them in.

Here is my inspiration tag for her!

[readbookywooks]

Search For Mr. Hyde

That evening Mr. Utterson came home to his bachelor house in sombre spirits and sat down to dinner without relish. It was his custom of a Sunday, when this meal was over, to sit close by the fire, a volume of some dry divinity on his reading-desk, until the clock of the neighbouring church rang out the hour of twelve, when he would go soberly and gratefully to bed. On this night, however, as soon as the cloth was taken away, he took up a candle and went into his business-room. There he opened his safe, took from the most private part of it a document endorsed on the envelope as Dr. Jekyll’s Will, and sat down with a clouded brow to study its contents. The will was holograph, for Mr. Utterson, though he took charge of it now that it was made, had refused to lend the least assistance in the making of it; it provided not only that, in case of the decease of Henry Jekyll, M.D., D.C.L., LL.D., F.R.S., etc., all his possessions were to pass into the hands of his “friend and benefactor Edward Hyde," but that in case of Dr. Jekyll’s “disappearance or unexplained absence for any period exceeding three calendar months,” the said Edward Hyde should step into the said Henry Jekyll’s shoes without further delay and free from any burthen or obligation, beyond the payment of a few small sums to the members of the doctor’s household. This document had long been the lawyer’s eyesore. It offended him both as a lawyer and as a lover of the sane and customary sides of life, to whom the fanciful was the immodest. And hitherto it was his ignorance of Mr. Hyde that had swelled his indignation; now, by a sudden turn, it was his knowledge. It was already bad enough when the name was but a name of which he could learn no more. It was worse when it began to be clothed upon with detestable attributes; and out of the shifting, insubstantial mists that had so long baffled his eye, there leaped up the sudden, definite presentment of a fiend.

“I thought it was madness,” he said, as he replaced the obnoxious paper in the safe, “and now I begin to fear it is disgrace.”

With that he blew out his candle, put on a great-coat, and set forth in the direction of Cavendish Square, that citadel of medicine, where his friend, the great Dr. Lanyon, had his house and received his crowding patients. “If any one knows, it will be Lanyon,” he had thought.

The solemn butler knew and welcomed him; he was subjected to no stage of delay, but ushered direct from the door to the dining-room where Dr. Lanyon sat alone over his wine. This was a hearty, healthy, dapper, red-faced gentleman, with a shock of hair prematurely white, and a boisterous and decided manner. At sight of Mr. Utterson, he sprang up from his chair and welcomed him with both hands. The geniality, as was the way of the man, was somewhat theatrical to the eye; but it reposed on genuine feeling. For these two were old friends, old mates both at school and college, both thorough respecters of themselves and of each other, and, what does not always follow, men who thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company.

After a little rambling talk, the lawyer led up to the subject which so disagreeably pre-occupied his mind.

“I suppose, Lanyon,” said he “you and I must be the two oldest friends that Henry Jekyll has?”

“I wish the friends were younger,” chuckled Dr. Lanyon. “But I suppose we are. And what of that? I see little of him now.”

Indeed?” said Utterson. “I thought you had a bond of common interest.”

“We had,” was the reply. “But it is more than ten years since Henry Jekyll became too fanciful for me. He began to go wrong, wrong in mind; and though of course I continue to take an interest in him for old sake’s sake, as they say, I see and I have seen devilish little of the man. Such unscientific balderdash,” added the doctor, flushing suddenly purple, “would have estranged Damon and Pythias.”

This little spirit of temper was somewhat of a relief to Mr. Utterson. “They have only differed on some point of science,” he thought; and being a man of no scientific passions (except in the matter of conveyancing), he even added: “It is nothing worse than that!” He gave his friend a few seconds to recover his composure, and then approached the question he had come to put. “Did you ever come across a protege of his — one Hyde?” he asked.

“Hyde?” repeated Lanyon. “No. Never heard of him. Since my time.”

That was the amount of information that the lawyer carried back with him to the great, dark bed on which he tossed to and fro, until the small hours of the morning began to grow large. It was a night of little ease to his toiling mind, toiling in mere darkness and besieged by questions.

Six o ’clock struck on the bells of the church that was so conveniently near to Mr. Utterson’s dwelling, and still he was digging at the problem. Hitherto it had touched him on the intellectual side alone; but now his imagination also was engaged, or rather enslaved; and as he lay and tossed in the gross darkness of the night and the curtained room, Mr. Enfield’s tale went by before his mind in a scroll of lighted pictures. He would be aware of the great field of lamps of a nocturnal city; then of the figure of a man walking swiftly; then of a child running from the doctor’s; and then these met, and that human Juggernaut trod the child down and passed on regardless of her screams. Or else he would see a room in a rich house, where his friend lay asleep, dreaming and smiling at his dreams; and then the door of that room would be opened, the curtains of the bed plucked apart, the sleeper recalled, and lo! there would stand by his side a figure to whom power was given, and even at that dead hour, he must rise and do its bidding. The figure in these two phases haunted the lawyer all night; and if at any time he dozed over, it was but to see it glide more stealthily through sleeping houses, or move the more swiftly and still the more swiftly, even to dizziness, through wider labyrinths of lamplighted city, and at every street-corner crush a child and leave her screaming. And still the figure had no face by which he might know it; even in his dreams, it had no face, or one that baffled him and melted before his eyes; and thus it was that there sprang up and grew apace in the lawyer’s mind a singularly strong, almost an inordinate, curiosity to behold the features of the real Mr. Hyde. If he could but once set eyes on him, he thought the mystery would lighten and perhaps roll altogether away, as was the habit of mysterious things when well examined. He might see a reason for his friend’s strange preference or bondage (call it which you please) and even for the startling clause of the will. At least it would be a face worth seeing: the face of a man who was without bowels of mercy: a face which had but to show itself to raise up, in the mind of the unimpressionable Enfield, a spirit of enduring hatred.

From that time forward, Mr. Utterson began to haunt the door in the by-street of shops. In the morning before office hours, at noon when business was plenty, and time scarce, at night under the face of the fogged city moon, by all lights and at all hours of solitude or concourse, the lawyer was to be found on his chosen post.

“If he be Mr. Hyde,” he had thought, “I shall be Mr. Seek.”

And at last his patience was rewarded. It was a fine dry night; frost in the air; the streets as clean as a ballroom floor; the lamps, unshaken, by any wind, drawing a regular pattern of light and shadow. By ten o’clock, when the shops were closed, the by-street was very solitary and, in spite of the low growl of London from all round, very silent. Small sounds carried far; domestic sounds out of the houses were clearly audible on either side of the roadway; and the rumour of the approach of any passenger preceded him by a long time. Mr. Utterson had been some minutes at his post, when he was aware of an odd, light footstep drawing near. In the course of his nightly patrols, he had long grown accustomed to the quaint effect with which the footfalls of a single person, while he is still a great way off, suddenly spring out distinct from the vast hum and clatter of the city. Yet his attention had never before been so sharply and decisively arrested; and it was with a strong, superstitious prevision of success that he withdrew into the entry of the court.

The steps drew swiftly nearer, and swelled out suddenly louder as they turned the end of the street. The lawyer, looking forth from the entry, could soon see what manner of man he had to deal with. He was small and very plainly dressed, and the look of him, even at that distance, went somehow strongly against the watcher’s inclination. But he made straight for the door, crossing the roadway to save time; and as he came, he drew a key from his pocket like one approaching home.

Mr. Utterson stepped out and touched him on the shoulder as he passed.” Mr. Hyde, I think?”

Mr. Hyde shrank back with a hissing intake of the breath. But his fear was only momentary; and though he did not look the lawyer in the face, he answered coolly enough: “That is my name. What do you want?”

“I see you are going in,” returned the lawyer. “I am an old friend of Dr. Jekyll’s — Mr. Utterson of Gaunt Street — you must have heard my name; and meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might admit me.”

“You will not find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home,” replied Mr. Hyde, blowing in the key. And then suddenly, but still without looking up, “How did you know me?” he asked.

“On your side,” said Mr. Utterson, “will you do me a favour?”

“With pleasure,” replied the other. “What shall it be?”

“Will you let me see your face?” asked the lawyer.

Mr. Hyde appeared to hesitate, and then, as if upon some sudden reflection, fronted about with an air of defiance; and the pair stared at each other pretty fixedly for a few seconds. “Now I shall know you again,” said Mr. Utterson.” It may be useful.”

“Yes,” returned Mr. Hyde, “it is as well we have, met; and a propos, you should have my address.” And he gave a number of a street in Soho.

“Good God!” thought Mr. Utterson,” can he, too, have been thinking of the will?” But he kept his feelings to himself and only grunted in acknowledgment of the address.

“And now,” said the other, “how did you know me?”

“By description,” was the reply.

“Whose description?”

“We have common friends, said Mr. Utterson.

“Common friends?” echoed Mr. Hyde, a little hoarsely.” Who are they?”

“Jekyll, for instance,” said the lawyer.

“He never told you,” cried Mr. Hyde, with a flush of anger.” I did not think you would have lied.”

“Come,” said Mr. Utterson, “that is not fitting language.”

The other snarled aloud into a savage laugh; and the next moment, with extraordinary quickness, he had unlocked the door and disappeared into the house.

The lawyer stood a while when Mr. Hyde had left him, the picture of disquietude. Then he began slowly to mount the street, pausing every step or two and putting his hand to his brow like a man in mental perplexity. The problem he was thus debating as he walked, was one of a class that is rarely solved. Mr. Hyde was pale and dwarfish, he gave an impression of deformity without any nameable malformation, he had a displeasing smile, he had borne himself to the lawyer with a sort of murderous mixture of timidity and boldness, and he spoke with a husky, whispering and somewhat broken voice; all these were points against him, but not all of these together could explain the hitherto unknown disgust, loathing, and fear with which Mr. Utterson regarded him. “There must be something else,” said the perplexed gentleman. “There is something more, if I could find a name for it. God bless me, the man seems hardly human! Something troglodytic, shall we say? or can it be the old story of Dr. Fell? or Is it the mere radiance of a foul soul that thus transpires through, and transfigures, its clay continent? The last, I think; for, O my poor old Harry Jekyll, if ever I read Satan’s signature upon a face, it Is on that of your new friend.”

Round the corner from the by-street, there was a square of ancient, handsome houses, now for the most part decayed from their high estate and let in flats and chambers to all sorts and conditions of men: map-engravers, architects, shady lawyers, and the agents of obscure enterprises. One house, however, second from the corner, was still occupied entire; and at the door of this, which wore a great air of wealth and comfort, though it was now plunged in darkness except for the fan-light, Mr. Utterson stopped and knocked. A well-dressed, elderly servant opened the door.

Is Dr. Jekyll at home, Poole?” asked the lawyer.

“I will see, Mr. Utterson,” said Poole, admitting the visitor, as he spoke, into a large, low-roofed, comfortable hall, paved with flags, warmed (after the fashion of a country house) by a bright, open fire, and furnished with costly cabinets of oak. “Will you wait here by the fire, sir? or shall I give you a light in the dining room?”

“Here, thank you,” said the lawyer, and he drew near and leaned on the tall fender. This hall, in which he was now left alone, was a pet fancy of his friend the doctor’s; and Utterson himself was wont to speak of it as the pleasantest room in London. But to-night there was a shudder in his blood; the face of Hyde sat heavy on his memory; he felt (what was rare with him) a nausea and distaste of life; and in the gloom of his spirits, he seemed to read a menace in the flickering of the firelight on the polished cabinets and the uneasy starting of the shadow on the roof. He was ashamed of his relief, when Poole presently returned to announce that Dr. Jekyll was gone out.

“I saw Mr. Hyde go in by the old dissecting-room door, Poole,” he said. “Is that right, when Dr. Jekyll is from home?”

“Quite right, Mr. Utterson, sir,” replied the servant. “Mr. Hyde has a key.”

“Your master seems to repose a great deal of trust in that young man, Poole,” resumed the other musingly.

“Yes, sir, he do indeed,” said Poole. “We have all orders to obey him.”

“I do not think I ever met Mr. Hyde?” asked Utterson.

O, dear no, sir. He never dines here,” replied the butler. “Indeed we see very little of him on this side of the house; he mostly comes and goes by the laboratory.”

“Well, good-night, Poole.”

“Good-night, Mr. Utterson.” And the lawyer set out homeward with a very heavy heart.” Poor Harry Jekyll,” he thought, “my mind misgives me he is in deep waters! He was wild when he was young; a long while ago to be sure; but in the law of God, there is no statute of limitations. Ay, it must be that; the ghost of some old sin, the cancer of some concealed disgrace: punishment coming, PEDE CLAUDO, years after memory has forgotten and self-love condoned the fault.” And the lawyer, scared by the thought, brooded a while on his own past, groping in all the corners of memory, lest by chance some Jack-in-the-Box of an old iniquity should leap to light there. His past was fairly blameless; few men could read the rolls of their life with less apprehension; yet he was humbled to the dust by the many ill things he had done, and raised up again into a sober and fearful gratitude by the many that he had come so near to doing, yet avoided. And then by a return on his former subject, he conceived a spark of hope. “This Master Hyde, if he were studied,” thought he, “must have secrets of his own; black secrets, by the look of him; secrets compared to which poor Jekyll’s worst would be like sunshine. Things cannot continue as they are. It turns me cold to think of this creature stealing like a thief to Harry’s bedside; poor Harry, what a wakening! And the danger of it; for if this Hyde suspects the existence of the will, he may grow impatient to inherit. Ay, I must put my shoulder to the wheel if Jekyll will but let me,” he added, “if Jekyll will only let me.” For once more he saw before his mind’s eye, as clear as a transparency, the strange clauses of the will.