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lunarfly · 4 years ago

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Essay: Harry and Hermione’s chemistry

We all know that Emma and Daniel had excellent chemistry so Harry and Hermione naturally had great chemistry in the movies. It was quite obviously visible. But many book readers have claimed that Harry and Hermione’s chemistry only exists in the movies and they felt they lacked chemistry in the books. It can be quite tricky at first since the book scenes are only imagined in our heads and we can’t see the author’s imagination and her views on the scenes and interactions. But, luckily, canon has provided us with plenty of evidence that Harry and Hermione had excellent chemistry, visible to many people around them. Let’s take a look:

“That was a really horrible trick of Hermione Granger’s,” said Cho fiercely. “She should have told us she’d jinxed that list —”

“I think it was a brilliant idea,” said Harry coldly. Cho flushed and her eyes grew brighter.

“Oh yes, I forgot — of course, if it was darling Hermione’s idea —”

“Don’t start crying again,” said Harry warningly.

It’s very obvious that Cho has noticed how close Harry and Hermione are and she’s jealous, even suspicious that there’s something going on between them. It’s clear that whatever interaction between Harry and Hermione Cho has witnessed, they had chemistry.

If this was all of our evidence of H/Hr’s chemistry, I’d ignore it and assume Cho was only jealous because of their disastrous date when Harry left Cho to see Hermione. Perhaps most of her jealousy came from that scene. But this isn’t all of our evidence. We see even more people being jealous and getting suspicious about H/Hr’s relationship:

When at last they had reached a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the Beauxbatons horses’ paddock, Krum stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to face Harry.

“I vant to know,” he said, glowering, “vot there is between you and Hermyown-ninny.”

Harry, who from Krum’s secretive manner had expected something much more serious than this, stared up at Krum in amazement.

“Nothing,” he said. But Krum glowered at him, and Harry, somehow struck anew by how tall Krum was, elaborated.

“We’re friends. She’s not my girlfriend and she never has been. It’s just that Skeeter woman making things up.”

“Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often,” said Krum, looking suspiciously at Harry.

“Yeah,” said Harry, “because we’re friends.”

He couldn’t quite believe he was having this conversation with Viktor Krum, the famous International Quidditch player. It was as though the eighteen-year-old Krum thought he, Harry, was an equal — a real rival —

Very interesting indeed. Not only is Krum so jealous that he’s “glowering” (”have an angry or sullen look on one's face; scowl”) at Harry, he also doesn’t believe Harry that he’s just friends with Hermione, even after he explained it very clearly. He still adds how much Hermione talks about Harry, he’s looking suspicious and feels the need of a reconfirmation that H/Hr are not dating. It’s possible that Rita Skeeter’s articles are influencing his thoughts and sure, Hermione talks about Harry a lot (already indicating that she’s very passionate about Harry, we talk about things we like, or feel strong emotions about) and that could be the only thing that makes Krum “suspicious” about H/Hr but would he really still be that jealous if there was absolutely no chemistry between Harry and Hermione? This is definitely a clue on Harry and Hermione’s chemistry in the books.

Another extremely interesting detail is that Harry is enjoying this. He likes the idea of Krum being his equal, a rival! This has nothing to do with their chemistry, of course, but it’s definitely suspicious...

Still think there’s no chemistry between them? Here’s another person who noticed that Harry and Hermione were very close, a little too close:

Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.

So Colin Creevey noticed how much time they spend together, but I just can’t believe that’s the only thing making him believe they’re in love! There has to be some noticeable chemistry between them to come to this conclusion.

I know it’s Rita Skeeter assuming that H/Hr are so close only because they’re dating, but Colin probably told her more than it’s written here. Would Rita believe Colin that Harry and Hermione are boyfriend and girlfriend merely because he said they hang out often? I don’t think so. I think Colin elaborated on his suspicions of H/Hr. But maybe it was just one of Rita Skeeter’s exaggerations. Either way, there’s more proof of their chemistry:

“Are you going to tell us — ?”

Hermione shook her head warningly and glanced at Mrs. Weasley.

“Hello, Hermione,” said Mrs. Weasley, much more stiffly than usual.

“Hello,” said Hermione, her smile faltering at the cold expression on Mrs. Weasley’s face.

Harry looked between them, then said, “Mrs. Weasley, you didn’t believe that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote in Witch Weekly, did you? Because Hermione’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Weasley. “No — of course I didn’t!”

But she became considerably warmer toward Hermione after that.

So even Molly believed that Harry and Hermione were boyfriend and girlfriend (and Hermione had ‘broken Harry’s heart’)? Come on, their chemistry was so noticeable that even Molly thought it was believable enough. ...Although Molly does believe everything that newspapers and magazines say. And maybe she didn’t know them well enough because she assumed Hermione could break Harry’s heart.

Still don’t believe that Harry and Hermione had lots of chemistry in the books? Maybe you’re right, we need to actually see the chemistry, not just have others notice it. And guess what? We do get to see their chemistry. This often happens when Ron becomes suspicious of a possible H/Hr relationship. Ron, their closest friend who knows basically everything about them, suspects that Harry and Hermione are secretly in love. And he is quite rightly suspicious of them when we have moments like these demonstrating their perfect chemistry in the books:

“We’ll go down after Quidditch,” Harry assured her. He too was missing Hagrid, although like Ron he thought that they were better off without Grawp in their lives. “But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied.” He felt slightly nervous at confronting the first hurdle of his Captaincy. “I dunno why the team’s this popular all of a sudden.”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.”

Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry.

“Everyone knows you’ve been telling the truth now, don’t they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they’re calling you ‘the Chosen One’ — well, come on, can’t you see why people are fascinated by you?”

Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy.

“And you’ve been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway. . . .”

“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look,” said Ron, shaking back his sleeves.

“And it doesn’t hurt that you’ve grown about a foot over the summer either,” Hermione finished, ignoring Ron.

“I’m tall,” said Ron inconsequentially.

Wow. Hermione really made up a whole monologue about Harry being fanciable and attractive! If this conversation doesn’t convince you that there was chemistry between them, probably nothing will. Let’s analyze this scene:

Hermione starts talking about Harry and how fanciable he is, how interesting he is, how attractive looks and qualities he has, going on and on... Hermione is clearly showing her interest in Harry and basically flirting with him. But what interests me is this moment:

Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy.

He’s actually blushing. Hermione’s compliments have a very obvious effect on him. But something that fascinates me more is the way this is written. He isn’t just blushing, no. Harry never said something like:

Harry was feeling his face growing very hot all of a sudden.

Instead, we have the Great Hall going “very hot”. It isn’t just his face and his blush, it’s the whole hall. This indicates clear tension between Harry and Hermione.

You could say that all of these compliments that Hermione is giving Harry are just facts and reasons why other girls find him attractive. But this isn’t the case. There’s obvious romantic tension between them.

Another thing to note is Ron’s jealousy. He “gags on a large piece of kipper” and he keeps interrupting Hermione, saying and showing why he is fanciable too. The chemistry is undeniable at this point.

You could argue that Hermione was complimenting Harry to make Ron jealous, that his suspicions were expected and intended. And it does seem so at first sight: Hermione compliments Harry in front of Ron, also being very impatient as if she had been planning this conversation, as well as pointing out lots of “fanciable” things that apply to Ron as well (the scars, the height), ignoring Ron to make him more jealous. You may be tricked into thinking so. But this isn’t the case.

First of all, if she wanted to make Ron jealous, don’t you think Hermione would’ve been enjoying the reaction? Why is she giving him these “looks of disdain”(note that this isn’t the first time she has given him nasty looks)? Wouldn’t she be looking away from him, smiling to herself? At least looking a little pleased?

And if she really wanted to make Ron jealous, why would she use Harry of everyone? Maybe because he and Ron had a lot of similarities that could be convenient for making him jealous? But this isn’t like Hermione at all. This isn’t her technique of making people jealous.

“What’s happened to you?” asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil’s Snare.

“Oh, I’ve just escaped — I mean, I’ve just left Cormac,” she said. “Under the mistletoe,” she added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.

“Serves you right for coming with him,” he told her severely.

“I thought he’d annoy Ron most,” said Hermione dispassionately. “I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —”

“You considered Smith?” said Harry, revolted.

“Yes, I did, and I’m starting to wish I’d chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look a gentleman. Let’s go this way, we’ll be able to see him coming, he’s so tall. . . .”

Hermione picks the people Ron despises the most to make him jealous - like Cormac McLaggen and Zacharias Smith. Hermione had no reason to use Harry to make Ron jealous. She had no reason to make Ron jealous at all. So that argument is definitely debunked.

Could Hermione have told Harry all of these things because she really didn’t mean them and was just pointing them out from a different teenage girl’s point of view? That just can’t be the case. Otherwise she would’ve been complimenting Ron too. If the only purpose for this speech was to show Harry his attractive traits, she would’ve laughed at Ron’s remarks and agreed that he was fanciable too in other girls’ eyes because he had many of the same “fanciable” traits.

So Hermione was definitely showing her attraction towards Harry which is also made obvious by Harry’s reaction to it and the romantic tension between them that even Ron couldn’t deny.

Believe it or not, this isn’t the only moment when Harry and Hermione are literally flirting. Take a look at another scene of Ron third wheeling Harry and Hermione and looking suspicious:

As they came into the castle they spotted Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricocheted off the frame on the first attempt. Ron merely guffawed gloatingly and strode off into the Hall after him, but Harry caught Hermione’s arm and held her back.

“What?” said Hermione defensively.

“If you ask me,” said Harry quietly, “McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting.” Hermione blushed.

“Oh, all right then, I did it,” she whispered. “But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he’s got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn’t get in — you wouldn’t have wanted someone like that on the team.”

“No,” said Harry. “No, I suppose that’s true. But wasn’t that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you’re a prefect, aren’t you?”

“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped, as he smirked.

“What are you two doing?” demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway to the Great Hall and looking suspicious.

“Nothing,” said Harry and Hermione together, and they hurried after Ron. The smell of roast beef made Harry’s stomach ache with hunger, but they had barely taken three steps toward the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path.

Try denying their chemistry here.

Just imagine two (straight) friends of the opposite gender, the boy grabbing the girl’s arm and turning her around (the tension!!!) and her acting all defensive, and then the boy telling her something that makes her blush and admit something while whispering. Then the boy jokingly teasing her about it and smirking while the girl tells him to be quiet playfully. Yeah, that’s called flirting and they have extremely obvious chemistry.

The funnier part is Ron noticing this and suspiciously confronting Harry and Hermione while they quickly say “nothing” at the same time and catch up with him.

I don’t think an explanation is even necessary, anyone who denies their chemistry in this scene is basically lying to themselves and is willingly blinding themselves.

Here’s another interesting scene from HBP with Ron getting jealous of H/Hr’s chemistry once again:

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, “Did you really tell him I’m the best in the year? Oh, Harry!”

“Well, what’s so impressive about that?” whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. “You are the best in the year — I’d’ve told him so if he’d asked me!”

Hermione smiled but made a “shhing” gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.

Here Harry and Hermione’s chemistry isn’t really made clear but just look at the way Hermione turns to Harry. He literally sees her expression as “radiant” (this adjective has also been used to describe Ginny’s smile) and Hermione looks simply delighted. They were clearly having a great moment here, so good, in fact, that Ron becomes jealous and annoyed and tries to pretend Harry’s compliment wasn’t a big deal. He compliments Hermione the same way as Harry did but she doesn’t have such a “radiant” smile this time, does she? Instead she shushes him(poor Ron just wanted attention from his future wife!). Ron has every right to be disgruntled in this scene.

This is the third time in HBP that Ron is third-wheeling Harry and Hermione. Whether anti-H/Hrs want to admit it or not, Ron is a third-wheel to Harry and Hermione very often and becomes very jealous of their chemistry. JKR, it really isn’t funny, where are the R/Hr flirting moments? They’re supposed to be the endgame couple, aren’t they? Why do you have so many moments between Harry and Hermione when they’re clearly flirting and demonstrating what excellent chemistry looks like?

Apparently, Harry and Hermione have had such chemistry in the past that, even when they’re not flirting, Ron still becomes suspicious of Harry and Hermione’s ‘possible secret relationship’:

“Because she was crying,” Harry continued heavily.

“Oh,” said Ron, his smile fading slightly. “Are you that bad at kissing?”

“Dunno,” said Harry, who hadn’t considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. “Maybe I am.”

“Of course you’re not,” said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter.

“How do you know?” said Ron in a sharp voice.

“Because Cho spends half her time crying these days,” said Hermione vaguely. “She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.”

Ron suspected that Harry and Hermione had kissed before. His suspects are quite obvious, judging from the tone of his voice. No matter how insecure Ron is, he is still their best friend, he should know that they’re not interested into each other romantically. But it seems like it’s so apparent to everyone that Harry and Hermione have something going on.

Here’s another moment showing us Harry and Hermione’s chemistry:

“Harry!” Hermione cried.

“I know!” Harry shouted. Unable to contain himself, he punched the air; it was more than he had dared to hope for. He strode up and down the tent, feeling that he could have run a mile; he did not even feel hungry anymore. Hermione was squashing Phineas Nigellus’s portrait back into the beaded bag; when she had fastened the clasp she threw the bag aside and raised a shining face to Harry.

“The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthen them — Harry, that sword’s impregnated with basilisk venom!”

“And Dumbledore didn’t give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket —”

“— and he must have realized they wouldn’t let you have it if he put it in his will —”

“— so he made a copy —”

“— and put a fake in the glass case —”

“— and he left the real one — where?”

They gazed at each other; Harry felt that the answer was dangling invisibly in the air above them, tantalizingly close. Why hadn’t Dumbledore told him? Or had he, in fact, told Harry, but Harry had not realized it at the time?

“Think!” whispered Hermione. “Think! Where would he have left it?”

“Not at Hogwarts,” said Harry, resuming his pacing.

“Somewhere in Hogsmeade?” suggested Hermione.

“The Shrieking Shack?” said Harry. “Nobody ever goes in there.”

“But Snape knows how to get in, wouldn’t that be a bit risky?”

“Dumbledore trusted Snape,” Harry reminded her.

“Not enough to tell him that he had swapped the swords,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, you’re right!” said Harry, and he felt even more cheered at the thought that Dumbledore had had some reservations, however faint, about Snape’s trustworthiness. “So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade, then? What d’you reckon, Ron? Ron?”

Harry looked around. For one bewildered moment he thought that Ron had left the tent, then realized that Ron was lying in the shadow of a lower bunk, looking stony.

Just look at the intensity of this scene!

Firstly, when Harry and Hermione find out exciting news, they figure it out themselves and alone, they didn’t even think of Ron. Then look at how happy Harry and Hermione are feeling, their hopes high, their spirits lifted, their excitement causing the tension! Hermione’s face is “shining”!

Then they start discussing, knowing what the other is thinking and finishing each other’s sentences! The way they interact is precious, they’re “gazing” at each other, feeling something “tantalizingly close.” They start whispering. It’s so intense and full of tension and chemistry. They’re so excited. They even completely forgot about Ron(I feel so bad for him), Harry even thought that he had left.

This is one of the strongest Harmione scenes ever, the chemistry between them is incomparable to anyone else’s. Just imagine being Ron right now, watching the love of your life have this intense conversation with your and her best friend, sharing this exciting moment, experiencing all of this without you. And you just sit there and watch. Just watch. Ron’s jealousy, intensified by the horcrux, was the one thing that made him leave Harry and Hermione in the tent. And Ron did have a reason to be jealous.

So they do have chemistry in the books, everyone sees it, including Harry and Hermione’s dates, their closest friend, their “families”, their fans. Everyone except for anti-Harmiones. I tried making up excuses for why others assume Harry and Hermione are together, that maybe I’m misinterpreting something and it’s not because of their chemistry. But when you put everything together, it should become obvious. You have to be insanely biased and willingly ignore everything to come to the conclusion that they don’t have any chemistry.

I’m not even going in detail about physical contact between them. It would take too long. They grab each other’s hand/arm, they hold onto each other for strength and protect each other, they’re very comfortable with hugs and kisses and their physical connection is another piece of proof of their undeniable chemistry.

Even JKR has admitted that they had some “charged moments” in DH in the tent, which is her way of saying that they had intense chemistry:

[Kloves] felt a certain pulll between them at that point. And I think he's right. There are moments when [Harry and Hermione] touch, which are charged moments. One when she touches his hair as he sits on the hiltop reading about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and [two] the moment when they walk out of the graveyard with their arms around each other. Now the fact is that Hermione shares moments with Harry that Ron will never be able to participate in. He walked out. She shared something very intense with Harry. So I think it could have gone that way.

In conclusion, Harry and Hermione have excellent chemistry in the books, even better and stronger than in the movies. None of the movie scenes showed their chemistry with this intensity. Their romantic tension was much better in the books. Harry and Hermione have chemistry.

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natewriteslol · 3 years ago

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The Wonders of Magic Pt. 1

Non magical!Twisted Boys x Witch!Reader

A/N: This has been sitting in my brain for a while since I have Little Witch Academia brainrot and I love snooty rich boys asdfljsfaj

Characters: Keep reading to find out!!

Warnings: Language and Y/N goes by she/her pronouns

Summary: Dealing with magical adventures and society deeming magic as “flashy but worthless” doesn’t deter Y/N L/N from reaching her goal of becoming a powerful witch. However, what will she do when she has to find a way to stop the selling Calypso Academy?

~~~

All your life you had dreamed of being a witch, however there was a slight problem. You weren't a magic user.

And as magic use had started to become more oppressed and scarce, magic schools were starting to open their doors to all walks of life. Making the most elite schools fall to their knees.

Either you lose your elite status or fall into debt.

So this was good opportunity for you, you managed to make it into one of the most renowned magic schools in the country, Calypso Academy. But it wasn't all peaches and cream, you weren't exactly accepted among your peers. Your family weren't magic users, nor were they wealthy. Yet you still pursued magic, there was a fire burning in your heart that just drew you in all your life. And you couldn't let your dream go just because of some mean girls. But this is the story of how you met some of your greatest obstacles.

~~~

It was the night of the great Ball, Calypso academy was having it's 350th anniversary. And you unlucky for you, you still didn’t know how to ride a broom since you were learning from the ground up.

So there you were, by yourself, in one of the open fields of your campus. Trying to make this broom fly.

And in your flight teacher Ms. Flint’s words, “If the broom doesn’t leave the ground, you can’t step a foot in the ball.” And so far, your feet have been stuck on the ground.

You felt horrible. I mean, what witch doesn’t know how to fly a broom? And while you were incredibly dejected

from your failures, you knew you couldn’t just let it go.

‘The trick it to be determined, yet feel as light as a feather. Be one with the broom’ your manifestation teacher, Mrs. Fairi had softly advised. You had to do this for for her, she already put so much faith in you, she would be so disappointed if she didn’t see you at the ball.

“Nubes Volant ro!” You casted, pushing your leg to lift. Expecting your legs to come back down and for your shoes to hit the softness of the grass... but it never came.

You opened your eyes and there you were, suspended in air.

Your excitement was indescribable, but you needed to be skilled enough to meet the requirements for Ms. Flint. So you tried and tried again, and while a little shaky you still managed to fly and do a stable landing!

“I did it! Screw everyone in this academy who doubted me!” You squealed a little loud, doing a little dance. You heard footsteps and chuckling, but you brushed it off as some of your classmates. Too excited to care, you grabbed your things and ran off to show Ms. Flint. But there was one problem, the entire point of this celebration was to both celebrate the anniversary but... it was begging as well. It was no secret that Calypso was losing money to pay taxes, but they were being pressured to give it all up. So to persuade the buyers, they had invited their son's to be enriched in witch culture and tradition. To prove them wrong and show that magic has value. However the students of the academy weren't aware of the true intentions behind the invites of the son's of these rich men. Many whispered in the halls about the upcoming ceremony. Talking about how handsome the young men attending were. But the day of the party was finally here! The banquet was absolutely incredible with 25 foot tables of food on both sides of the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers with floating candles illuminating and creating a heavenly golden light. And the great ancient tapestries that surrounded the room. There was no way that anything could mess up your night.

But then, you heard a shout from a classmate in the crowd. "The nobles sons! They're here!" You stopped stuffing your face for a moment. Everyone cleared the way for the grand wooden doors as they opened, a red carpet elegantly draping the piece of floor it laid on. Designer shoes clicked as they touched the ground. Every girl eyes followed as they walked, you snuck past some trying to get a glimpse of their features. They were five of them being escorted by one older gentleman, all incredibly handsome young men. One had a bright smile that was genuine and waving at some of the girls in the crowd. While the other had a smirk not paying anyone any mind, as if he was calculating something. One held a solemn expression, yet was incredibly poised and graceful. The last two however wore scowls, one that showed he most definitely didn’t want to be here while the other just looked strict.

They sat down in their seats in the front table that awaited them. Each seat was just as fancy as a king’s throne, with gold embellishments and velvet seats.

It was a cookie cut scene, they were made for this life of luxury.

~~~

It was an hour into the ceremony, showcasing tricks and theatrical dances from every witch culture from around the globe. But it was almost as though nothing was satisfying them, besides the one with white hair. While he adorned a smile, there was something behind his eyes, as though he was doing some critical thinking.

Nothing was enough for them.

But it was toward the end and the noble’s sons were promised a tour. Every witch in the school was made to study up on knowledge of the campus. So that if you were the “lucky winner” you wouldn’t look like a complete fool.

As you snacked on your chocolate filled croissant, Ms. Flint with her booming voice had called everyone’s attention to the center of the stage. Raising her wand, a split of golden light had displayed random names.

Knowing your luck, you knew you wouldn’t be picked. I mean this was probably a tactic to get people to study the school’s magical history. It did work, as if there was a slight chance you were chosen you wouldn’t want to make a fool out of yourself in front of people like you usually did. But, Principal Hendrix wouldn’t be so irresponsible as to let a random student represent the school, right?

Exactly. But even then, you sure did feel sorry for whoever was to give the tour-

“Y/N L/N!”

...

Remember what you said about shitty luck?

Shocked was an understatement. Even though you had your two best and only friends Silva and Miete patting you on the back telling you congrats and to do your best, the hammering of your heart was too heavy for you to handle.

Whispers broke out for a moment, a lot of girls were incredibly disappointed but cleared the way for you to go up the stairs and talk to Ms. Flint and Principal Hendrix.

“Good job, Y/N. Now if you wouldn’t mind, please give these young men a tour of Calypso, would you?” Principle Hendrix said gently with a smile.

“Ha, ha, of course! But surely there’s been a mistake, I mean Lydia could probably recite the information without having to read a single book-”

“No way, L/N. You were chosen, now do the tour please, the latest you can be back is at 9pm,” Ms. Flint replied, cutting you off sharply.

“You’re an incredibly charismatic student, Y/N. Just keep them entertained,” Principle Hendrix whispered as you walked toward the table.

Be charismatic, not awkward! Got it!

“Alrighty then! Who’s ready for a tour?” you said, almost giving finger guns as a mechanism.

“Oh, I am!”

“Yes, I’ve been wanting to see the range of this property in person.”

“Yes, I would like to get this over with. I have an appointment tomorrow and I would not like to miss it.”

Other than that, all you received was a nod and an eye roll. But it’s better not to pry and ask for more from them.

Each getting out of their seats, you walked outside. Hearing cheers from the crowd and the occasional “Vil! I love you!” which made you a little embarrassed.

Feeling the night breeze and seeing the stars poke through calmed you down slightly, it was 7:45 and all you had to do was blabber at them about the school until 9.

Easy task, Y/N. Easy!

~~~

Once you got outside, the tour had been running smoothly for only a couple of minutes. But you couldn’t help but feel as though they started scanning you, as if they saw you from somewhere. Until unfortunately, the sunshine of the group’s lightbulb had went off.

“Oh! You’re the girl with the broomstick towards the front of the school! You looked so happy practicing.”

“There must be a mistake-”

“Are you sure? If so then I guess you have a doppelganger” the boy with glasses teased.

“Didn’t you say, ‘Screw everyone at this academy’?” the short, red head questioned, persecuting your behavior.

“Well some people here aren’t exactly the nicest. It was just an excitement of the moment thing, sorry,” You said, trying to get Mr. Non-Rule Breaker off your back.

~~~

So... you had accidently overshared about your adventures on campus.

It had all started when one of the boys looked shocked that the ancient Willow tree was thriving and looking beautiful as ever. When he looked at it from pictures given to him, it was completely lifeless and grey.

“This tree, it looks completely different? It’s been sickly for years! How is this possible?” He asked, as his main piece of evidence the white haired boy gave to his father to buy this property was foiled.

“Oh, that was me. They had willow worms in the roots that were ready to hatch and I accidently brought them out,” you said, a little prideful, yet it was quickly stomped out.

“That is highly irresponsible, you should’ve had a professional complete that task, not an inexperienced student,” the red haired boy scoffed, it seemed as though he didn’t respect this school at all. Yet the boy with grey hair and glasses paid him no mind, still incredibly astonished, but it was quickly wiped from his face and replaced with a somewhat of a sour look. As though you beat him at some game he was playing.

“...Interesting. I never knew magic could do something of that caliber,” he remarked, pushing up his glasses.

“Magic is incredibly useful, Mr...”

Shit. You didn’t get their names...

“My apologies, I didn’t catch your guy’s names,” you said, placing a hand behind your head.

You had never in your life seen a group of people get so surprised, besides the other white haired boy, who was happy to tell you his name.

“I’m Kalim, Kalim-Al-Asim!” he said, shaking your hand with a vigor, “It’s a little funny that you don’t know who we are, but I like that about you!”

How was it funny? You’ve never seen these people in your entire life? The blonde man was especially offended as you glanced at him for his name.

“Vil Schoenheit. Actor, singer, dancer, beauty influenc-”

“Hmmm, Vil I can’t help but feel that you’re angry at Ms. L/N for not knowing who you are,” the boy with glasses remarked before taking your hand, “Azul Ashengrotto, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Riddle Rosehearts,” the short red-haired boy said.

“...Leona Kingscholar.”

“Alright, I’m glad I got your names! Let’s get a move on! I have got to show you some more stuff!” you said before moving along, gaining more confidence as you talked to them.

Maybe this tour wasn’t so bad after all!

~~~

Coming up:

“How did you not know who the noble’s sons are?!” Miette yelled, but her soft voice wasn’t exactly giving the shocking boom to emphasize her feelings.

“I’m sorry! Everything was completely fine after that, if this whole tour was such a big deal then I would’ve studied them more instead of the school,” you said, completely pooped out from last night.

So much pressure on you made you very tired out, and all of these new details coming out made you feel even more guilty for your half-assed tour.

155 notes · View notes

sketchguk · 5 years ago

Text

lover to lean on; pjm

➳ pairing: neighbor!jimin x florist!reader

➳ genre: neighbor AU, flower shop AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 20k

➳ synopsis: for months, you can hear your no face neighbor and his ‘girlfriend’ singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. above all, you can hear their bed banging against your shared wall, and they won’t ever let you sleep. you’d much rather stay up at night worrying about your own problems, like the weight of an unrequited crush, so of course you’re bitterly single. but one day, the apartment is radio silent. and one day slowly turns into one week and then into an immeasurable amount of time since you’ve heard his laugh. so on valentine’s day, when you’re missing it the most, you beg your neighbor to open up to you with cookies in one hand and two broken hearts in the other.

➳ warnings: explicit language, pining, unrequited love 🤔, accidental voyeurism, unhealthy eating/sleeping habits, praise kink, body worship, nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjobs, penetration, fluffy sex

➳ a/n: oops, I uploaded this later than I expected because the word count really got me. anyways, this fic is inspired by the song call me by keshi x rainlord. go give it a listen!

Wake up and smell the roses.

That would be a great philosophy for life if you didn’t have to wake up to the sound of sex at 2 in the goddamn morning.

Perhaps it’s your fault for not checking on the thickness of the drywall prior to moving in, but it wasn’t exactly the first concern that came to mind when touring the flat. Now, it’s more of a personal problem than anything: you being bitter about not having sex while your neighbor and his girlfriend are going at it like rabbits 5 feet away from you. It’s not a very valid complaint to bring up to your landlord. He’d probably tell you to suck it up and get laid.

And he’s right.

Besides, it’s not so bad most days. You hardly even notice the sound of running water through the rusty pipelines every morning or the whizzing of the ancient radiator on cold nights. In fact, you welcome it. It’s become part of the rustic building’s old-school, pre-historic charm.

That, you can get behind.

But one thing is for sure. You’re never going to learn to appreciate the strangled garble of a morning blowjob in the steamy showers or the banging of the bedpost against the paper thin walls when you’re in desperate need of some beauty sleep, well deep in a state of REM.

It’s anything but charming.

The 3 inch thick divider between you and your not-so-considerate neighbor does absolutely nothing to drown out the soft moans and hard grunts. You can hear them loud and clear through the dead of night as if they’re right beside you.

“My god,” you sigh, rolling around your bed restlessly. Your hand blindly palms at the sheets in search of the pillow that rests beside you, placing it over your face and sandwiching yourself between the cushions. If you can’t kill your neighbor, you might as well suffocate yourself first to avoid incrimination, shamefully persecuted for third degree murder.

A frustrated groan falls from your lips, but it’s stifled against the buffer. The banging stops almost immediately.

“Shit,” you hear from the other side.

Did he come? Is it over?

You pray, hold your breath, and lie still as if you’re the one caught red-handed. But you’re not a voyeur. At least not on purpose.

It isn’t your fault for being a light sleeper because the only thing to blame is the flimsy partition your landlord dare considers a wall. If you could have it any other way, you would. This is far from ideal granted that you didn’t even ask for any of this, but it’s far too late to get a refund.

Lately, you’ve been spending your nights muting out vulgar dirty talk, the occasional squelches, and the obscene skin slapping on skin. Over time, you’ve come to know your neighbor on a much more intimate level than you would have liked despite never seeing him around. Like the fact that he thrives off of edge play and praise kinks. Yeah, it’s probably for the best that his identity is kept a secret otherwise you wouldn’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again with the knowledge that you have stowed away in the crevasses of your brainー knowledge you would prefer to forget. You don’t even know his name, but you’re long past the point of being acquainted with one another, so it would pretty be awkward to ask for it now. All you know is that he’s stuck in his own bubble, too blinded by love and lust to even consider his poor neighbor.

Most nights, you even make the effort to stumble through your cluttered, moonlit studio apartment in search of your cheap headphones that usually dangle precariously over the edge of your desk. You’ve made a mental note to invest in some earplugs and a more effective set of headphones too.

Truly, you’re not the type to invade one’s privacy. You have nothing to be sorry about because you respect your neighbor, his girlfriend, and their sexy time. If anything, they should be the ones apologizing for keeping you awake for three consecutive nights. No less on a Tuesday.

But perhaps the act is already done and you can let bygones be bygones. Maybe he’s already come, and as unfortunate as that may be for his girlfriend, the chances are he's low on stamina tonight. The vivace metronomic thuds against your shared wall would suggest he was going pretty hard at it too. Not that it’s any of your business. You’re happy that your neighbor is so in love, and that he can have sex all day, all night and fall into the comfort of his lover’s arms, unlike you. You’re not bitter.

Not at all.

You don’t mean to get invested in his relationship, but it’s just that tonight, he finished rather early as opposed to the hour it usually takes him to climaxー foreplay and edge play and all. You don’t keep track of the time per se. That’d be a little creepy, but it’s hard not to do so when you’re losing out on a precious hour of sleep each night. Especially when you’re stuck in your own overactive imagination, wondering how good his stroke game is and what type of lingerie he’s intoー

“Sorry!”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Then the realization hits you momentarily.

He’s talking to you.

They must have heard you groaning through the stupid, thin walls, and therefore, you’re responsible for this very awkward exchange.

Your grip on the pillow loosens as you lift it over your head.

“It’s okay!” Your voice cracks with a heightened tone, “Just make sure you use protection!” The cringe settles into the pit of your stomach as soon as you respond. You squeeze your eyes shut and mentally facepalm yourself. You should have left it alone, but your cursed mouth moves way faster than your thoughts.

The couple whispers to one another, but it’s hushed and hurried. Faint and hard to decipher. Angry, even. The wall must be really selective on what it chooses to mute out which is absolutely perfect when you actually want to know what’s happening on the other side.

However, moments after, you can still hear the rustle of sheets and the patter of footstepsー two pairs. Even the harsh close of the door and the soft turning of the deadbolt, a resounding click that could be heard if you were to listen close enough.

Once again, there’s a shuffle of feet that skid across the hardwoodー one pair. A few creaks echo from the aged floorboards. And then there’s a squeak from the bed slat, a heavy mass pressing on the mattress.

You sit in silence with eyes wide open as you trap air into your lungs in fear of breathing out. Correction, in fear of your neighbor making comments on your rude interruption. If you could pretend that you’re asleep, maybe the problem will disappear into the night.

But it doesn’t because it never works that way.

Moonlight filters through the pane glass windows, right between the cracks of your curtain. It illuminates your face and keeps you awake longer than you need to be. You manage to let out the breath you’ve been holding when something else breaks the silence.

You can hear it faintly. The soft hum of an unfamiliar tune before the soft outbreak of vocals. The song is bitter, but the voice is sweet.

Your neighbor has gotten into the habit of singing whether it be at dawn or dusk, yet you can never complain given his velvety voice. Sometimes it’s accompanied by the strum of an acoustic guitar or the tap of an electronic keyboard. But one thing that never changes is his love for the same old bubble gum pop music that’s rinsed and repeated on the radio. Nothing but love on the brain. Mushy lyrics that bear no meaning to you, and frankly, to anyone who’s painfully single and/or heartbroken.

You would have expected nothing less from this man though. His taste in music is a given. Most days, you can physically feel his warmth and kindness based on the dulcet timbre of his voice. Although you’ll never care to admit it to him, it helps you fall asleep on nights when you’re drained from work. They’re comforting songs that warm your heart, especially because he’s singing such sincere lyrics about his girlfriend.

His love for her is pure, and it’s disgustingly cute.

No matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you’re happy for the lovely couple while internally cringing during their late night endeavors, you’re wondering if you’re subconsciously longing for a relationship just like theirs.

But you’d be crazy not to dream about that kind of love story. One in which the guy cooks a meal for you at the end of every night, served alongside a hot cup of peppermint tea to help you sleep better. In which he runs a bath for you, flower petals, candles, soap suds, and the whole shebang, only to hop right in behind you. Someone to keep you company while giving you a back massage, working on the hard-to-reach knots that line your shoulder blade after a hard work day. Of course at his own volition, never having to be asked to do so.

Perhaps you’re more invested in your neighbor’s picture perfect relationship than you thought, knowing all these little, intimate details no one else should know. But once again, the thin wall is to blame. You’re not an eavesdropper. You’re just a hopelessly hopeless romantic who needs to wake up and smell the damn roses.

Because apparently, not every relationship is as perfect as it seems.

“Everything okay?” You don’t know why you open your mouth, but you do, and you can’t take it back. He’s long since stopped singing, but the residual silence is louder than the gentle voice that once filled the space.

He sighs deeply. The frustration is unmistakable, and you regret ever saying anything.

“Yeah… Just trouble in paradise.” He chuckles dryly, but there’s a tinge of sadness to it.

The room is quiet again. You debate with yourself, wondering if you should hash it out with him or go to fucking bed knowing that you have a 7 am shift tomorrow.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The kindness of your heart outweighs all else, but you cross your fingers and secretly hope that his answer is no just so you can finally get some shut-eye.

“Uhm… I wouldn’t want to bother you.” His voice wavers. He sounds tired, but maybe it’s the exhaustion from navigating the rocky waters of a relationship. You’ve been there before.

Everyone’s been there before.

Your eyes are closed, and just when you think you can go back to bed, your mind and heart betray you.

“I wouldn’t be bothered,” you tell him, “I’m already awake too.”

His chest rumbles with a true chuckle this time. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m probably gonna invest in some ear plugs tomorrow,” you quip, waving it off.

“You really don’t have to,” he deadpans. There’s a pregnant pause, and you’re left confused. He continues with a shaky breath, “I’m not sure we’ll be back together after this.”

Now you’re even more confused. Were they not just ravaging one another moments ago?

“Valentine's Day is coming up next Friday…” you muse. “You could still win her back, you know?”

The radiator whirs in the background. It’s silent.

“Do you love her?” You query, thumbing the pilled edges of your blanket.

“That’s a loaded question.”

Now it’s your turn to stay silent.

“I think I do,” he starts. His voice is rough. “Love her— I mean.” He falters in uncertainty. “Sorry, I’ve never admitted it to myself before.”

“That’s okay.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but the situation is totally out of your hands. You don’t even know the full picture, yet it somehow feels like you’re on the other side of the breakup even though you’re just sitting in the audience, watching, or rather hearing, the drama unfold.

Your fingers interlock with one another, resting over your chest as you lie flat on your back. The heavy weight of your heart sinks lower into your stomach. Maybe love isn’t real, or maybe it’s not meant for people like you and him. Or is it just some misconstrued concept jumbled up in your brain? Some romanticized notion you’ve only ever dreamed about or seen in movies and read in fanfiction?

You gulp, pondering over how things could possibly go wrong in their seemingly perfect relationship. Well, there are millions of reasons, but maybe you’ve only ever heard the good times roll. Days when they’re frolicking in a meadow of sunshine and nights when they’re singing and dancing and laughing, head over heels in love, and everything is just peachy perfect. Maybe the bad and the dirty have yet to expose itself to you, still hidden behind an extra layer of stucco drywall and eggshell paint coatings. No matter how many times you bitch about them, the innermost part of you is still rooting for the couple you’ve had the displeasure of listening to have sex every night. But it’s always worth it, or so you think, for the sake of them being in a good place. To be undoubtedly quote unquote in love—

“Have you ever been in love?” It surprises you that he’s the one asking instead of the other way around.

You stare blankly at the ceiling with a racing heart. Biting your lip, you speculate whether or not you should reveal such intimate details about your life to a total stranger.

“Nope,” you shake your head. He can’t see you, but you hope that your response is convincing enough.

“Would you want to?”

You can’t help but scoff. “Yeah, what kind of question is that?”

“You’re right, it was stupid.” He chuckles. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you warn him, “You don’t have to.”

“Sorr—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll personally come over and flick you on the forehead,” you say, reprimanding him.

His laughter is even sweeter than his voice. “Harsh. But nice? I guess?”

That’s the perfect description for someone who works in the service industry, which unfortunately, you do.

“It’s for your own good,” you suggest, nodding your head in self indulgent pleasure. Kind of like how avoiding love is for your own good.

The silence quickly settles in, as does the existential dread. Your eyes shift around to the empty apartment before you, and you soon realize that you’re painfully alone.

The radiator goes off again and the clock ticks perpetually. The moment escapes you.

His voice fills up the room. “Can I ask how you’re doing?”

The corner of your lips curl up in a fond smile. You exhale a deep sigh, one of contemplation. “I’m okay… Just... learning how to deal with unrequited love.”

“Harsh,” he echoes back.

“Yeah.” You curl up on your side, sighing and reaching for a pillow to spoon.

“Want to talk about it?”

You gnaw on your lip. It’s a bad habit to have. “There’s not much to talk about. It’s just some guy who always walks in at work. We make small talk, flirt a little bit, and then he leaves until the next day.” A highlight reel flashes before you, and you tug on your blanket, nuzzling into the warm fabric that offers you some semblance of comfort against the outside world as you dig your nose into the soft linen.

“How do you know he doesn’t like you?”

You shrug to yourself. “It’s just a feeling.”

You think the conversation is over at this point. Moments go by until your ears perk up at the faint sound of his voice. “You should ask him out.”

Your neighbor surely seems to enjoy making a fool out of you. It’s a nice thought to have though. To think that you have the confidence to ask a guy out. The guy you’re crushing on, no less.

You satiate your neighbor anyways just to entertain the idea a little longer and give him a little push towards his own love story. “Only if you make amends with your girlfriend though.”

“Girlfriend? Oh— no, she’s not my girlfriend,” he says in defense.

You’re perplexed. “Wh-? She’s not?”

“No... uh, just friends with benefits,” he confesses with a cough.

Flashbacks start to go off in your head as you try to connect the dots like some mathematical formula. Is love actually an illusion? Maybe love knows no labels, but a small part of you still wants to believe that they’re wholeheartedly in love and on the verge of marriage or something. But that delusion instantaneously bursts into dust and ashes, confirmed by none other.

“Hey, I’m kind of tired, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I’ll make it right with her so long you talk to the guy.” He lets out a huff. “Don’t let him miss out on a good thing because of the what ifs.”

Comfort washes over you at the sound of his advice. In a way, he’s right. Maybe it’s time that you put yourself out there in spite of the possibilities. Even if it’s utterly terrifying.

“Goodnight,” you mumble back, wrapping your arms securely around the pillow.

He hears you loud and clear, “Goodnight. Thanks for the talk.”

He knocks out soon after that, but it’s hard for you to sleep when you’ve got nothing but love on the brain.

Waking up is hell, especially when you’re running on nothing but 0 hours of sleep and a single cup of black coffee. The only thing that makes the fatigue worth it is the peaceful lull at sunrise and the absence of your noisy neighbor’s daily blowjob. It’s as if some higher power read your mind and decided that you’re worth the divine intervention just for that one fleeting moment of jubilation.

But just like the law of gravity, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and your contract with the universe calls for some cosmic karma. It’s like you’re being punished because you can never seem to catch a break.

Work is unusually hectic, but with Valentine’s Day around the corner, it’s expected. If Black Friday is the worst nightmare for every retail worker, one can imagine a florist’s week leading up to Single’s Awareness Day, or much less commonly referred to as “A Shallow, Capitalistic Attempt to Buy Affection Day.”

Despite owning a flower shop, you still stand firmly against Valentine’s Day and all that it represents. Maybe you’re spiteful because you’re pitifully single and surrounded by lovey dovey mush at every single corner. But as of right now, it has more to do with the extra workload that lies at your feet.

Not only do you have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to open shop and prepare for the deliveries, but you also have to cut and process flowers, organize dozens of overnight orders, and arrange bouquets for the day’s purchases, all before 9am. The to-do list is endless, and not to mention, the number of calls you’ve picked up in the last hour alone has already backed you up on a number of orders. It’s stressful and incredibly time consuming to say the least.

By 10am, you’re ready to call it quits, but you constantly remind yourself that this job is your only source of income, and therefore, you have to barrel through with a bright and shining customer service smile on your face.

At this point, you really wish you did smother yourself with your pillow last night.

But the only thing that keeps your sanity in tact after the morning rush is the chance to make arrangements for the front display. It’s therapeutic to pick and choose foliage, sprucing them into beautiful pieces of art for passersby to enjoy. You’re grateful for the scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath which is remedial to your burgeoning headache. Even the sight of your favorite carnation is enough to ease the pounding pain against your skull.

However, making arrangements isn’t all sunshine and flowers despite popular belief. The worst part about it is the heavy lifting. It’s labor intensive to pick up large plants like the full sized leatherleaf fern in the back room, which is now carefully lodged into a concoction of gardening soil, compost, mulch, and active charcoal. But if nobody else is going to do it, you’re going to have to do it alone.

Lifting the hefty plant isn’t difficult to begin with, but it progressively becomes taxing when you have to carry it to the front of the store. As you emerge from the back door, the bell of the entrance chimes, signifying a customer’s presence.

You can hear him before you can even see him.

“Good morning!”

You nearly jolt at the sound of his chipper voice. Of course Jimin had to walk in at the peak moment of you struggling, looking like a disheveled mess with soil accumulated in your hair like a burrowed nest. You just hope and pray that it’s not smeared across your forehead like Simba.

Out of pure embarrassment, you hold the pot higher to hide your burning cheeks behind the plant despite your arms giving out. Would all of your problems disappear if you act like you’re not there? Once again, of course not, because he spots you in an instant, and you’re just not fated to have the good things in life.

He calls out your name before stopping to place his things down at the table and rushing over to you, “Here, let me help you with that.”

You have an ironclad grip on that ceramic pot, holding on to it as if it’s life or death. “No, it’s okay, I got it,” you say out of pure, frantic determination.

“Don’t be silly, let me.” He reaches for the bottom of the earthenware. His hand grazes over yours before you can pull away, shifting the responsibility onto him.

You offer him a grateful smile that extends your eyes, and he sends one back your way.

“Where do you want it?” He asks. You can’t even get a word in before he turns on his heels and makes space for you through the narrow aisle.

Leading the way, you show him the spot you’ve marked for the fern to hopefully reside for the next 24 hours. “Here’s good,” you tell him, pointing to the empty tile.

Jimin bends down and gently places the plant into its new home. Then he reaches into his messenger bag, pulling out a packet of tissues before gravitating towards the spray bottle.

“I’m a big girl, you know? I could do it myself,” you whine with a slight pout.

He grips on your right shoulder, and you’re locked in place. “I know, but I want to help,” he says with the utmost care, “And you can ask me for help whenever you need it, you know?” Jimin smiles at you, and his eyes lower into crescent moon shapes, the corners slightly creasing. Before you know it, there’s a cool sensation on your forehead. The tissue in his hand is thoroughly saturated and now damp against your skin. You recoil on contact and reach for Jimin’s wrist, ready to yell at him for the lack of warning.

“Hey!”

“Stay still, you have soil on you,” he alerts with sharp eyes.

You let go of his wrist and give in to his kind gesture, murmuring out a “fine”.

While he concentrates on cleaning you up, you can’t help but look up and lock your eyes on his. You swear you could spontaneously combust and astral project from the intensity of his stare. His close proximity makes you heat up, so you’re forced to avert your eyes elsewhere out of pure intimidation. Your line of sight meets his lips, and you’re stuck in place, staring at them. They’re so pink and plush, and his tongue even pokes out a little like a sleepy kitten with slack jaw. Most of all, they’re right there in front of you, and if you could just lean in a little more, you’d be this closeー

“All clean!” He says with cheer, tapping your shoulder.

He turns around in search of the dustbin, and you shake yourself out of your own daydream before he can catch sight of you.

You laugh it off and offer him a toothy smile, “If you really want to help, you could have gotten me a cup of coffee.”

“You’re making demands now, huh?” He asks.

“It’s more like a suggestion than anything,” you teasingly yell from the back room, grabbing the remaining flowers for the display. Meanwhile, Jimin lingers behind in the main room, admiring the freshly cut flowers laid out on the counter ready to be made into floral arrangements.

You manage to recompose yourself from that one moment of weakness by taking a glance over at the cute doodles of artwork that line your office wall. They’re little bits of happiness that keep you calm and remind you that there’s light in your life, and he’s standing in the other room waiting for you to pop a very important question.

Upon grabbing the necessary items, you make your way back into the store. You stop immediately in your tracks, nearly colliding into a solid figure at the sharp turn of the doorway. Your heart almost stops, but you shudder away before you could tip yourself over.

Jimin stands in front of you with his hand extended out, clenching onto a steaming, white paper cup.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of me and coffee now,” he laughs, reaching out once again, “Only one of us bites.”

“That’s for me?” You ask incredulously.

He nods his head, “Yeah, of course, silly.”

You take the drink from his hands, and before you can thank him, he chimes in. “It’s just how you like it. Black and full of caffeine.”

You press your lips up against the cup, taking a sip and humming in satisfaction at the drops of heaven. “Thanks, but why? And how’d you know my coffee order? Don’t get me wrong, this is really nice, but…”

“I saw how dead you looked yesterday,” he justifies cutting you off before you can ramble on. Honest, but harsh.

You put the cup back on the counter and continue with your task at hand, and he trails behind you.

“Thanks, that’s what every girl wants to hear,” you banter with all the sarcasm you can muster, pulling at the flower stems despite them already being placed exactly where you want them.

“Girls like it when guys pay attention to the little details, don’t they?” He asks with a gleam in his irises.

You look up at him briefly before averting his eyes and wiping clean the leaves on a near fiddle leaf tree, spraying food soil at its roots.

“Love it,” you gulp wryly.

Jimin takes note of how seemingly busy you are, so he walks around the shop, examining the new inventory of flowers. After making your round through the store, watering all the plants that need to be watered, you return to the disembodied zinnia on the counter, waiting to be arranged.

The silence is refreshing until it isn’t.

“Is the coffee good?” He queries.

“Huh?” You stop what you’re doing to casually glance his way. His back is turned to you, but he seems overly invested in the rose display.

“The coffee,” he repeats, back still turned.

You look at the untouched cup at the edge of the table and smile to yourself. You didn’t notice it before, but there’s a red doodle that contrasts against the white paper cup, no doubt customized by Jimin himself. It’s hard to pick out what it is exactly, but you’d recognize the flowers of God any day. The ruffled petals and thin, straight stem are simply unmistakable.

“Oh, yeah. It’s good,” you answer politely.

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?” He asks curiously as if he’s playing a game of 21 questions. It’s a question you’ve answered numerous times before, but facts like these can easily slip through someone’s mind.

“Easy, carnations,” you respond without any hesitation, pointing at the display in the right corner of the store when he turns around to look at you. He makes his way to the stand, eyeing the flowers.

“They’re pretty,” he comments, pulling out one of the bouquets to examine as if he didn’t already know.

You hum, and maybe the exhaustion is evident in your voice and your oddly scarce exchange of pleasantries.

Jimin carries on with the small talk anyways. “You’ve been sleeping okay?”

You snip away at the hard, green stems, tossing them into the trash beside you. Shrugging, you mindlessly answer. “Yeah, as much as a florist can during Valentine’s week.” You snicker with good spirit.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rest well,” he scolds you all in good faith, eyes now scanning the small assortment of cards. You hum in affirmation.

If anything, he should be telling that to your noisy neighbor who refuses to let you get a wink of sleep.

A creak rings through the air as Jimin rotates the card stand, thumbing through the variety. “Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day by the way?”

You can feel your hands clam up as they stop fiddling with the lemon leaves. Your heartbeat picks up, and you’re left winded by the question. You hide behind the hesitation, nervous as to where this may lead. How could you possibly play it cool when your crush asks you whether or not you’re busy on arguably the most romantic holiday of the year?

Play it cool because remember, you loathe Valentine’s Day.

Your hands fumble as you pick up the lemon leaves again, snipping at the branches nonchalantly. “Uh, no, not really, you?” you gulp. Your eyes are distracted, too fixed on the greenery.

But you look up the moment Jimin approaches the counter with flowers in one hand and a card in another.

“Oh, who are these for?” you feign innocence in your voice as you reach for the brown kraft paper and the roll of red ribbon.

Jimin scratches the back of his neck, hesitating. “My girlfriend,” he mumbles, but it’s loud and clear, audible enough for you to apprehend like an echo in you ear.

“I don’t have much planned yet, but we’re probably going to grab dinner on Friday,” he shrugs with hands burrowed in his pockets. He shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, eyes focused on the gray specks of the ceramic tiles beneath him. “Something casual. I’m not really huge on the whole Valentine’s Day thing.”

It seems like every man in your life paints you like a giant fool destined for humiliation. Of course the hopelessly hopeless romantic within you deluded yourself into believing that some Prince Charming would visit your flower shop in anticipation of seeing you. Of course the flowers that he buys everyday has to go somewhere, you just never expected that each and every morning at the crack of dawn, the flowers you carefully hand-pick and wrap with unconditional love would be sent off to his girlfriend.

Of course you’re a huge idiot who isn’t destined for love.

It almost hurts to plaster the tight lipped smile on your face when your heart is prickled with thorns like the roses in your hands.

You lick your lips and painfully gulp the spit down your dry throat before you open your mouth again.

“Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

You pause. “You can’t give these to your girlfriend”

His eyebrows furrow and his hands run through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“They’re white roses.”

“So? She likes white flowers.” He doesn’t seem to get the point.

You almost chuckle in his face, and you would have if your heart didn’t hurt so damn much. So you refrain. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that white flowers are meant for funerals?”

His cheeks are dusted with a pink blush. He shakes his head no. “Uh, what do you suggest I give her then?”

You sigh, looking at the hopeless man in front of you. “Do you love her?” Not even a second goes by before you ramble, not very eager to hear the answer. “You could uh- give her that fern you helped me carry earlier.” You walk back to the front display, keeping a safe distance to hide your woe, extending your arms out like a game show host revealing what’s hidden behind door #1. (Hint: it’s your heart).

“Call it your love fern?” you shrug, laughing it off.

“I think a bouquet is fine.” Jimin staggers behind you, checking out the other flower displays, opting for door #2. “How about the carnations you mentioned?” He pulls out a bouquet of variegated carnations painted with pink and red tips. “These are nice, don’t you think?” He looks at you curiously with doe eyes in await of your approval.

Your mouth opens to interject, ready to digress into another lesson on the history of variegated carnations, but you bite your tongue back.

Jimin spots your reluctance, but quickly puts it to rest. “Look, I don’t think she really cares about the meaning behind the flowers. You said these are your favorite, and you’re the expert right?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice. “Mhmm.” Even your hum cracks. “But uh, maybe the deep red ones would be more appropriate?” You cock your head to the side and quirk your eyebrow.

“It’s fine, I swear” he reassures you, placing the bouquet on the counter before putting the white roses back in its stand.

Your feet refuse to move as if they’re cemented to the ground, but Jimin stands there in front of you with rosy eyes, awaiting for you to wrap up the object of his affection in a pretty red bow. So how could you refuse?

You walk past the carnation display on the way to the counter, and pick up another bouquet. Pink and red variegated. “Here, these are a little more fresh. The buds are tighter, so in a few days, you’ll see them nice and big.” You smile, closed lipped. “Just in time for Valentine’s Day.”

Jimin’s jaw loosens and his lips part. He knits his brow in a frown. “Uh, these aren’t actually meant for Valentine’s Day,” he says, running his hand through his perfectly imperfect raven hair. “She’s kind of mad at me right now,” he gives a mirthless chuckle while playing with his hands, “so I’m hoping I can make it up to her with this.”

Ah, your favorite flowers are reduced to nothing but a gift of pity.

“She’d be crazy not to accept your apology,” you say in a soft voice, gritting your teeth behind your tense jaw, eyes fixated on the little nursling in your hold. With a soft hand, you unravel the kraft paper and delicately wrap it around the bouquet. The very one you picked up this morning and arranged the hour prior, wondering if you’ll be able to send it off to a loving home.

Now you know for a fact that it’ll be in good hands.

“Do you think she’d like it?” Jimin chirps in.

It feels like your heart is on the threshold of bleeding out as he sends another prickle to the soft organ. Your concentration doesn’t even falter as you snip the ribbon.

“I know she will.”

You tie the fabric into the prettiest bow you can muster and slide the gift of love across the glass counter. Jimin looks down at the beautifully wrapped flowers with an ear to ear smile on his face. “Thank you so much for the help, I really appreciate it.”

“Just doing my job,” you remind him with a counterfeit smile, scanning the barcode at the back of the card. It’s a really cute card too. Sometimes I wonder how you put up with me then I remember I put up with you. So we’re even ❤️

You hate yourself for the fond smile you almost crack, masked behind the pained one you send his way.

Jimin passes you a $20 bill and grabs his merchandise from the table.

“She’s really lucky to have you,” you lament honestly with glistening eyes as he walks out the front door.

He doesn’t catch a word you say, but he manages to shout back a “thank you!” and a “see you tomorrow!” before speeding out, setting off the bell at the top of the door without ever looking back at your dejected figured.

You’re left alone to finish the rest of the work day, surrounded by none other than the sickly, sweet scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath, all while taking in the putrid sight of variegated carnations.

They say that you are your worst enemy, and they are 110% correct on the matter. You don’t know why you would think that you’d have a good day on the basis of your neighbor having a crummy one. It’s not like there’s some kind of transfer of energy. It’s been proven to you time and time again that divine intervention and karmic justice just aren’t real, and apparently, neither is science. Otherwise, by that logic, you’d have a superb day.

You would have slept through last night and woken up to a pretty pink sunrise painted across the sky— nothing but peace. To the chirping of birds in the distance and to the passing of cars on an empty street. You would have had enough time to prepare a proper breakfast— pancakes, eggs, bacon, and maybe even a nice cup of hot chocolate. Not a measly cup of black coffee to keep you awake for the rest of the busy day. You would have had a nice chat with Jimin at the flower shop about the capitalistic corruption of Valentine’s Day while he’d try to convince you otherwise. He’d prove you wrong, and you would have walked home with a blooming garden in your heart.

But science is bullshit and the transfer of energy is a complete lie— photosynthesis being the only exception. The only thing you got out of today was a huge migraine and a withering blossom in your chest.

So just when you think that the day could not get any worse, it absolutely does.

You can probably blame the poor mindset you boxed yourself in— having a cynical outlook on love and life because of the dreaded upcoming holiday. Maybe it was because your crush just stomped all over your garden and plucked the flowers to give to some other girl. Or, you can put the blame on past you, the big freaking idiot who previously stripped off her bed sheets at 6:30 in the morning in hopes of being productive by doing weeks of piled up laundry. At this point, all you want to do is curl up in a warm bed, too exhausted by the trials and tribulations of life, but you can’t even give yourself the satisfaction of that because you thought you were some kind of changed woman who could manage her stupid laundry.

Newsflash, you’re not.

The naked mattress in the corner of your apartment mocks you, so grudgingly, you take your laundry basket down to the laundry room for your most hated chore. With heavy steps, you trudge through the cold, cement basement. It’s dark and dingy down there. A little scary too, given the flickering lightbulb at the end of the hallway. Nevertheless, you march through the doors and into the rumbling alcove.

What you find in there is startling, yet you can’t say that you’re surprised seeing that this occurrence is far from rare. You almost consider walking back upstairs and knocking on your floormate’s door, asking him if he’d be willing to do your laundry in exchange for $5 just so you don’t have to sit there, listening to some couple make out in the back corner.

Apparently, everyone in the world is foolishly in love except for you.

You crank up the volume a little louder so your cheap headphones can drown out the sound of them locking lips with one another, but the poor quality does absolutely nothing for your abused ears. The boisterous public display of affection is deafening over the sound of your “Wallowing in Self Pity” playlist.

You’re only capable of catching a brief glance in their direction before gagging and veering off. She’s sitting atop of the washing machine as he stands between her parted legs. They’re so lost in their own world that they don’t even notice your presence.

Out of respect for yourself and the horny couple, you choose to occupy a washing machine at the opposite corner of the laundry room. But perhaps you can save yourself the irritation as well as the $5 in your wallet because you can hear their hushed whispers. They’ve separated themselves long enough for the guy to convince her to move to a more private location. Although she still leeches herself onto his neck, he’s attentive enough to know that they aren’t alone. He picks her up and drags her out of the laundry room with her legs wrapped around his waist, unwilling to part from him as if holding his hand simply isn’t enough.

You roll your eyes, thankful for the quietude and the money you’ve saved yourself, but as you sit alone in the drafty basement, doing the chore you hate the most, you can’t help but think how much better it would be to do it with someone else at your side.

Somehow you’re convinced that crossing paths with Jeongguk in the hallway is fated after thinking about him moments prior. Because it’s very uncommon for that boy to leave his apartment, cooping up all day long with his video games, only to catch a breath of fresh air for his nightly gym sessions. When you see him locking up his apartment door, you offer him $5 anyways just out of the kindness of your heart. He could probably use the money more than you anyways.

Although you didn’t have any intention of doing a good deed today, karma still finds a way to punish you. As always, it’s bullshit.

Upon entering your empty apartment, the space is already filled with the sonorous sounds of orchestral music. Violins, violas, cellos, flutes, oboes, and harps all performing in perfect harmony. It’s played through the walls, coming from none other than the speakers of your beloved neighbor. You wouldn’t mind the soothing classical melodies to cure your migraine so long it’s accompanied by white noise. But your neighbor’s laughter rings above the music as you can hear him count “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3” in a triple metre.

You know that he’s not alone because there’s also another voice laughing alongside him. The same one you’ve grown accustomed to over the months. Her high pitched squeals are unmistakable as they greatly resemble other sounds you’ve heard come from her mouth on many unfortunate nights. So you can safely assume that your neighbor and his not-girlfriend made up with one another already—

“Look at me, not at your feet!”

“I don’t know where to put them!”

“You’re stepping on my toes!”

“Sorry!”

“Oh yeah, you’ll be sorry!”

It’s hard to picture what’s happening behind the wall when you don’t have faces to match with the voices. But you don’t really need it when their bed slat creaks beneath their weight and their headboard slams against your shared wall. Not when her yelps erupt as a result of the tickle fest they’re currently immersed in. The sounds are vivid enough for you to know much more than you need to know. It almost feels like you’re intruding on an intimate moment that’s not meant for your eyes, let alone your ears.

Meanwhile, as you struggle to tuck the fitted sheets beneath the four corners of your mattress, you wonder whether it’s worth it to leave the apartment again after such a hard day. Of course for the sole purpose of avoiding a home made porn video being filmed in the process.

Maybe it’s not too late, and you can still catch up to Jeongguk. You could head to the gym and snatch back the $5 you generously handed him because the more you think about it, the more you believe that someone owes you for your miserable time spent in this apartment complex. But you can’t take your anger out on the poor boy from down the hall when he doesn’t deserve it.

The sanctuary of your bed calls your name like a siren, so instead, you do what you’re forced to always do— plug in your cheap headphones, blare out some music, and move on with your day.

And it works for the most part.

You’re able to successfully put on your bed sheets after struggling to play a big game of tug of war with your mattress. Despite the internal push and pull, you also will yourself to do adult things like tidying up the studio, making the space somewhat habitable for humans. By 9pm, you can finally sit down and enjoy a nice, hot meal. However, you’re forced to keep your headphones on because your neighbor’s not-girlfriend decided that she couldn’t go a single day without her not-boyfriend’s dick in her mouth.

You swear you’re going to ask him tonight why he hasn’t made it official because it’s clear as day that they’re in love with one another. You know that you definitely would be if someone offered you oral every single day. Unfortunately, nobody’s offering. Thus, you’re forced to live vicariously.

So as midnight approaches, and the moon reaches its apex, you settle into bed with a book in hand, ready to suffer through the night. It’s difficult to concentrate on the text when your music is blasting, but you suppose it’s better to listen to lo-fi hip hop beats as opposed to the scream of “daddy” over and over and over…

Although you applaud her for her shamelessness, you would still prefer if she could keep to herself.

Thankfully, these moments are only temporary.

With your eyes squeezed shut, you let out a lethargic yawn. Looking over at your nightstand, you spot your ticking alarm clock. It’s nearing 1 in the morning, and you decide that you’re exhausted. Well, you’ve decided that long ago, but going to bed before midnight is admitting defeat against your own body. Nevertheless, no matter how tired you are, you know in the back of your mind that there’s no way you could have dozed off with your neighbors going on a Netflix binge with speakers fully blaring audio from The Office. It’s as if they don’t know what headphones are.

But after “one more episode” and a disgustingly long makeout session, you can hear the shuffle of feet across the floor boards and the turning of the lock.

It’s nearly 2 am, and the radiator hisses. It’s quiet.

But then that’s when you hear it like clockwork. The delicate hum before the pleasant tune. Tonight, it’s not a song you’re familiar with. Something about the universe moving and happiness that’s meant to be. Mentions of penicillium and a calico cat? There’s lots of talk about letting someone love you, and that’s when it really hits you in the gut. You’re not so sure about the song, but as always, it sounds pretty. It’s not typical to call a guy’s voice beautiful, but it is what it is. It’s serene, and it’s the promise of tomorrow. It’s something you wish that would never stop.

But of course all good things come to an end.

There’s a purposeful knock against the wall which startles you. “Hey, I know you’re up. How’d your day go?” Your neighbor asks, breaking the silence and dragging your attention towards his voice once again.

You tug your headphones off and walk to the other side of the apartment to lay your book down on the desk, gracefully avoiding anything in your wake because your apartment is finally clean.

“You know, sometimes I wish you would catch me on my good days so I wouldn’t have to tell you such sad stories.” A wary smile surfaces your lips.

“Why, what happened today?” He asks with concern laced in every syllable. “Did you take my advice?”

You climb back into bed, pulling your covers over your torso. Sometimes you feel bad about how many silent complaints you have about your neighbor when he’s actually a really nice guy. He just lacks the proper etiquette knowing that the walls are paper thin.

“IIIIIII tried to.” You drag out the vowel, hesitant to recall the embarrassing story.

“Yeah, and how’d it go?”

“He doesn’t like me back,” you say plainly after a moment’s reflection.

Your neighbor scoffs. “He’s an idiot then.”

You try to fight back the smile because as untrue as it is, Jimin is anything but an idiot. But it’s comforting to know that someone has your back, defending you in all your honor.

This time, you genuinely chuckle. “It’s not that.... He uh, actually has a girlfriend.” It hurts to admit it out loud. “And I’m sure she’s lovely if he likes her that much.”

“Like I said, he’s an idiot for losing out on the best thing in his life.”

It’s impossible for you to fight back this bashful smile because it makes your heart flutter. This may be the first time you’ve felt good about yourself this whole day.

“Thanks, but I don’t know about that though—”

He interrupts you, “Come on, don’t say that. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

You shake your head in disbelief, “You’ve never even met me, and you don’t even know what I look like.” You roll your eyes, but a chuckle unintentionally falls from your lips.

“It’s not about what’s on the outside, okay? I already know you’re beautiful because that’s what you are on the inside.”

“Shut up, that’s so cheesy.” You flip over on your bed and dig your face into the pillow, flustered by his kind words. There’s absolutely no way people this nice exist in this world. “I could be a troll or a vampire or something for all you know.”

“Vampires are kinda hot. Haven’t you seen Twilight?” He banters. “And I’m sure this guy isn’t even all that great. Like, tell me something you hate about him.”

Your hands cover your mouth, stifling a laugh. “I’m not gonna hate on him because he doesn’t like me back. It’s just the reality of it. Besides, he’s perfect.” You roll your eyes, annoyed by how flawless Jimin is in your eyes.

Your neighbor prods at you. “I reaaallly doubt that. There has to be something. Not even a pet peeve? Maybe he’s chronically late to everything? Sings out loud in a quiet place? Has a super annoying laugh?”

“Yes, yes, and no.” You flip your pillow over to the cold side and settle in to lie in a more comfortable position, slipping your hand beneath the cushion. “I can excuse the lateness,” you lick your chapped lips. “He also sings like an angel, and his laugh is really endearing. He does this thing where he laughs with his whole body, and he falls over every time. I like it because I know he’s at his happiest then,” you remember zealously.

“Damn, I guess I’m just projecting my own flaws now, huh?” You can hear him snort from laughter, rolling his neck and cracking the joints in his body, and then the click of his knuckles, 10 of them, one after another.

“Ugh,” you scrunch your nose, “Don’t do that. He does it too, and I guess that’s the only thing he does that really gets to me.”

Your neighbor cracks another joint somewhere on his body just to annoy you, and you cringe. “See, now we’re talking.”

“I was gonna tell you that you sing well too and that I like your laugh, but maybe I’ll have to reconsider,” you taunt. “But still, you shouldn’t put yourself down for the things that show off your happiness.”

The bed creaks from the other side. He must have switched positions for that to happen. “Thanks,” he offers. His voice is muffled, face most likely pressed up against his own pillow. “How about you tell me about the things you like about him?”

“What? Are you trying to wound me?” You ask, slightly hurt.

He scoffs, “No, I’m trying to prove a point here. So, tell me.” He implores like this is some kind of couple’s therapy session. Apparently, without your other half.

As moonlight filters through your curtains and the cars whiz by on the empty street below you, you consider all the things you love and appreciate about Jimin.

“I love how selfless he is. He’s caring and attentive... He’ll know when I’m tired and he’ll offer me coffee. He also scolds me for sleeping late and he lifts my burdens for me, even when I don’t ask him to.” You close your eyes in retrospect of Jimin and all the good things in life that he embodies. “It’s not even the things that he does for me that make me like him.”

Your neighbor hums, letting you continue.

“I guess it’s the principle that’s important.” You play with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, pulling on the edges to give yourself some comfort. “There are people in this world who aren’t… the nicest? I guess. And… he’s one of the purest people I know. It’s like he goes the extra mile to make sure I’m happy… and healthy.” You take a deep sigh before your mind wanders to the darker parts of your brain. “But I also know he treats everyone else like that too. Because he’s that nice. So... I guess I should have seen it coming that I wasn’t so special anyways,” you recall with tears welling up in the brim of your eyes and a knot tightening in your throat.

“Don’t say that, you’re one of a kind,” he assures you sternly, “What’s his name? I’ll go beat him up right now.”

You give a bitter laugh, wiping away at your eyes with the back of your hands.

“My point is that there are other guys out there who are just as caring. And they should make you feel special because you are, and it’s what you deserve. So if the next guy who comes along doesn’t treat you that way, I will beat his ass, okay?” He says in the most nonthreatening voice ever.

You chortle, “Okay, yeah, sure.” You’re not totally convinced of that.

“You’re probably right, I don’t want to fight and embarrass myself after promising you that,” he giggles.

“I appreciate the sentiment though.” Earnestly, you do. You don’t know many guys who are this nice, Jimin being the exception. “How ‘bout you though? It sounds like you made up with your not-girlfriend? I hope that wasn’t you in the laundry room earlier,” you tease, deflecting the attention away from you with a raised voice.

He gladly takes the bait. “Oh shit, that was you? I’m so sorry.” He rolls around the bed in a fit of sweet laughter, and the slat creaks. “And yeah, we did,” he breathes out with a shallow huff after regaining composure. He sounds nonchalant about it.

“You don’t sound very happy?”

“No, I am,” he deadpans.

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Can you tell me what it is that you like about her?” You ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately like you’d expect, but he’s dwelling on the answer.

“I love how kind hearted she is,” he thinks out loud. “She’s a natural nurturer.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, and you can’t help but reciprocate because of how pure that is.

“Like... she’s always so bright, and…” he stops. “I just don’t know how to explain it. You’d have to meet her to know what I mean.”

“Yeah you should invite me over so I can meet her.” You both chuckle knowing that you should meet one another before meeting his fuck buddy.

“I think you’d like her actually. She has this beautiful soul… I- I don’t even know. She just sees the best in everyone. I know that she probably has her own struggles, but I don’t think she’ll ever let anyone know about them,” he mulls over, going on a tangent.

“Why’s that?” You curl up on your side, hugging your pillow like you do during every conversation with him. It’s as if he’s recalling a bedtime story for you. You let out another yawn, and although you’re on the verge of falling asleep, you stay up a little longer just to hear him talk.

“I’m not so sure why… I guess I love her and hate her for this...” He reflects.

You hum, acknowledging him while urging him to continue his train of thought.

“I don’t know... but she’s the type to suffer in silence for the sake of seeing other people around her smile. And… I don’t think she’ll ever admit when she’s hurt or when she needs help. She puts others before herself. Like, she’s so hellbent on putting on a happy face so that others can be happy too.”

You nod to yourself, understanding what he means with every word.

“And It’s not like she fakes her happiness or anything,” he continues as if clarification is needed. “She’s just… such a joy to be around. She makes everyone feel welcomed… and comfortable… And when she’s really happy, like genuinely happy, it feels like everything is right in the world.”

You can tell he has a big, doting smile on his face. One simply cannot talk about a love like this and not smile.

“I only wish that she’d be vulnerable with me so I can make her world a little brighter too.”

“That’s really sweet, and also, I lowkey feel attacked right now,” you let out a dry chuckle.

“Sorry,” he laughs. “But I think that’s why you two would get along well.”

“Set up a date, and I’ll come over,” you joke with raised brows.

“Hmm… I’ll have to think about it,” he teases. “Oh, but uhm... if we’re still on the conversation of what I like about her, physically, I love her smile. I swear to God I stopped in my tracks the first time I saw her… and it still happens every time.”

“That’s cute,” you smile fondly.

“When she looks at me, I think the whole world stops for a second because I can actually feel myself get vertigo,” he giggles innocently. “And she’s also got this super adorable snort-laugh that never fails to bring out the best in me. God, it’s beyond cute, you don’t even know.”

“It sounds like you’re in love,” you suggest, curling up tighter into a ball, squeezing at your pillow. “I don’t see why you haven’t made it official yet.”

The pause is filled by the whirring of the radiator and the ticking of the clock.

“Yeah… I don’t know either.”

Waking up, you find out that going to bed with a broken heart is a little easier than going to bed with a hopeful one. Perhaps it’s the emotional exhaustion that puts you to rest, but it doesn’t mean you’re any less fatigued. All your efforts are put into your work, and in a way, tending to flowers has served as a distraction from the wilting ones that reside in your chest.

When in reality, you should find a way to revive those instead.

But as Jimin stands before you, you can’t resist the shriveled petals that land in the pit of your stomach like cherry blossoms in the midst of spring. You really don’t know how you manage to bear discourse about Valentine’s Day when he’s unknowingly sitting there with wide eyes, listening to you talk about unreciprocated love that’s so obviously directed towards him.

“You mean to tell me that you read romance novels and watch rom-coms, but you hate the most romantic holiday of the year?”

“Exactly,” you nod as if it’s indisputable.

He gives you a questioning look with a crease on his forehead and lips pressed together in a straight line. “Make it make sense,” he challenges.

You finish chewing on the forkful of salad you popped into your mouth before answering. “Can I rant about it?”

Jimin gives you the go ahead and you continue, “I don’t think you understand how much of a die-hard hopeless romantic I am.”

“Actually, I think I do,” he scoffs and raises his shoulders confidently with eyes closed as if it’s a matter of fact. “That doesn’t prove your point though,” he counters.

You put your hand up, motioning him to stop interrupting, “Let me finish.”

Jimin shrugs and grins from across the counter, allowing you to proceed.

“When I love something, I put my heart and soul into it. I believe in passion, chivalry, and true love.” He hums in agreement as you count down each item with your fingers as if it’s an unofficial list of all the things that encompass a hopeless romantic. “And for me, Valentine’s Day is a poor excuse to spend money and show off all the things you’ve received from your significant other.”

“That’s valid,” Jimin nods, agreeing while munching on his fries.

“Like, why spoil someone on this particular day? What happens during the other 364 days?” You spew.

Jimin mouths “365,” correcting you on the technicalities of a leap year.

You click your tongue, moving on to the point. “Are they not cherished for the rest of the year? I would hope that my boyfriend makes me feel special for more than a single night.” Your forehead creases, too livid at this point to even realize how sadly single you sound.

You’re too busy ranting, accidentally speaking over Jimin to hear him reassure you that you are special. “Also there’s just so much pressure to make the night special, as if they have to plan something, otherwise they’re not the ‘perfect couple’ or the ‘perfect man.’” You emphasize with air quotes.

“I felt that one,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“You see my point now?” You acknowledge him sullenly. There’s a tug on your heartstrings at the mention of his girlfriend, but you drive your point forward in hopes of changing the direction of topics. You don’t even want to think about whether or not he’s made plans with his girlfriend yet.

“And what’s the deal with chocolates?” You yell, completely frustrated, throwing your arms up. “They’re totally overpriced. And cards? Cheesy and terrible. My Instagram feed? Flooded with PDA, and it's a big stab at singles like me.” You enunciate angrily, driving your fork harshly into your salad once again.

He laughs and nearly falls off the stool he’s sat on top of before swiftly catching himself. You snicker at his unadulterated cuteness.

“How ‘bout flowers?” He questions with ketchup lingering on the corner of his mouth.

Picking up a napkin from the edge of the counter, you mindlessly reach across to wipe at his lips, still in the process of ranting. “Don’t get me started on flowers,” you shake your head, folding up the napkin on the table. Jimin smiles at you as your eyes train on the fork that digs through your salad, stabbing into the poor vegetables. “Florists overcharge for them, and I hate it because I didn’t get into this business for the purpose of cheating people out of their money.” At this point, you’re rolling your eyes, seething at the thought of Valentine’s Day.

“Why’d you get into the business then?” He asks, silently offering his fries to you, the ones you’ve been eyeing ever since he revealed his lunch.

“Because I love flowers,” you say plain as day, reaching to grab a fry. “Because they make me happy, and when I send them off to someone, I know it’ll make their day a little brighter too.”

You wave the fry around in the air before sticking it in your mouth. Capping off your empty bowl of salad, you don’t seem to notice how Jimin looks at you and the understated beauty you exude.

“It’s cheesy, I know! You don’t have to look at me like I’m crazy,” you whine, briefly looking up at him with round eyes, turning around to toss your garbage.

Jimin flashes you a big, toothy smile, “No, you’re not crazy. You’re just... exactly what I thought you were.” His voice is low, almost as if he’s thinking to himself. As if they’re words you’re not meant to hear.

“Thanks? I think,” you giggle, unsure what he means. “Are you saying I’m predictable?” You inquire.

“I meant refreshing.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes form as he grins. “I’m just trying to figure out why you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day.”

“First of all, I don’t need a date,” you say in defense, teasingly offended.

“I know that, and you know what I mean. But you deserve to be treated like you’re speー”

“Second of all, I do have one.”

“Oh. You do?” He asks, creasing his brows and biting his plush lips.

“Yeah, with myself,” you jest with a smile, elbows resting on the counter with hands cupping your face.

Jimin’s chest deflates with an exhale, finally letting out the breath he’s been holding. “What, are you gonna watch The Notebook until you cry?” He pokes at your shoulder like a tease.

“I’m not that predictable,” you eye him with a gleam in your iris, fully knowing that it is the case. “But maybe,” you affirm with a sly smirk, “after I close up the shop at midnight though.”

“Knew it,” he scoffs. “But why are you closing so late? You should go home early so you can cry and watch The Notebook.”

“Mmm.” You hum, standing up from your stool and turning to hide the downturn of your lips. Running a rag underneath the faucet, you turn to wipe down the counter free of any crumbs. Jimin lifts his elbow up as you glide the cloth across the glass until it’s squeaky clean. “Let’s not forget that it’s Valentine’s Day, and I run a flower shop, Jimin. People are going to come by for a bouquet until the last second.” You exasperate, shaking your head in disapproval of all the last minute shoppers.

“You can’t get anyone else to lock up?” He suggests.

“They’ll hate me forever if I force them to work until midnight,” you reason, “Besides, it’s not like they’re single, so it’s fine. I can do it myself.”

“I really think you should be resting though. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, right?” He asks with concern in his intonation.

“I can take care of myself, I promise. I’m gonna treat myself after work anyways.” You do a little dance that consists of shimmying your shoulders and bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet.

He smiles at you endearingly with wide eyes, “I don’t think crying to The Notebook is a form of treating yourself.” He repeats as if the joke will never die.

You shake your head and click your tongue exclaiming, “If you must know, I’m gonna bake cookies.”

“Are you gonna share with me?” He pleads.

Your tongue pokes at your inner cheek as if you’re thinking about it. “Hmm, I don’t know. I might eat them all in one night.” Your lips purse in a taunt.

His mouth forms a pout, and you’re forced to give in to him and his bright puppy dog eyes.

“Ugh, fine, but only because you asked so nicely, I guess I can make some extras,” you groan, pressing your lips together straight like an arrow. You nudge his shoulder with your own despite the squeeze at your heart and the softening of your eyes, “For you and your girlfriend.”

It’s not like you had to mention it. But it’s been on your mind since yesterday, and you’re sure that the only way to fix a broken heart is to learn to accept it. Even if it means plucking out the thorns that are lodged in your heart until it feels numb. Empty and devoid of life.

“Girlfrie- oh, right, right. That’d be nice,” he sputters out, body stiffening, “Butー”

“Maybe I can bake them Thursday night?” You offer. “So you can pick them up on Friday if you buy flowers for her?” Your eyes blink in a failed attempt to wink.

Jimin stifles a laugh at your pitiful endeavor. It’s really pathetic how hard you try, pretending that you’re not hurt right in front of the guy who stormed into your garden.

But you suppose flowers can’t grow without a little bit of downpour.

He licks his lips, and his smile falters. “Riiight, but it’s okay, you should enjoy your cookies on Friday night because I’m not sure I’ll be around to buy flowers that day anyways.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, perplexed, head cocked to the side.

“Uh, don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, brushing it off before taking a look at his watch. “I have to head back to work though, my break is almost ending.” You watch him carefully with narrowing eyes as he collects his belongings, scrambling to head out the door. With the exit half opened, he turns around to bid you goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

The bell chimes and he’s out of sight.

You can’t even process his words because you’re too busy staring at the exit trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Adulthood is just an endless cycle of sleeping and working, but it seems like you’re lacking in the former activity seeing that all you do is work. In the final stretch of Valentine’s Day, with a few more days to go, you’re just about ready to crash and burn.

Upon entering your quiet apartment tonight, you fail to do anything productive. You nose dive into bed and curl up into a cocoon at the strike of 10 pm. Somehow, you don’t even care enough to tug off your jeans or remove your smudged makeup. You’re ready to accept the consequences of bad skin and a stained pillowcase because the only thing that matters is that you knock out the moment your head hits the soft linen. There’s no time to replay the events of today or plan for tomorrow when your eyelids weigh you down into a deep slumber.

There’s not a single thing that can spur you. Not even the shining of the moonlight over your profile or the rhythmic whizzing of cars on the empty street beneath you. Even when there’s a police siren ringing in the distance or a rumble from a descending airplane in the atmosphere above you, you don’t bat an eye. You can’t even hear the hum of the rusty pipelines when your neighbor hops into the shower at the breach of dawn. Even the whirring radiator and the ticking clock blurs into nothing but white noise.

They’re all there to keep you company as you lie down in a bed of withered roses. To offer you comfort in your barren Renaissance garden.

You can’t seem to put your finger on it, but you wake up feeling like it’s the best night of rest you’ve gotten in the last week despite it being a short lived slumber. It’s definitely the most consistent night of sleep you’ve had in a while. And even though you went to bed without dinner, it didn’t hinder your sleep whatsoever. It only means that you can eat a full breakfast to power through the day.

And powering through is what you do best.

Apparently, the world is up against you because you can’t remember the last time you even got to sit down. You’re constantly on your feet, attending to customers and fulfilling orders. There’s no time to breathe even when you’re literally enclosed in a greenhouse. There’s always something to do, and stopping to take a break means slowing down the process. It’s not an option you want to take.

At the end of each day, you’re wobbling back home with sore muscles and blurred vision. Your ability to function is beyond your own imagination. Your definition of “functioning” has diminished to standing on your own two feet although that still bears a challenge for you.

The sustenance in your body is nearly nonexistent, especially because you’ve been neglecting your self-care. Typically, you don’t think about eating on the job. It’s honestly not on your mind because there are only two things that occupy your brain space: (1) Work and (2) Jimin.

Somehow, Jimin takes better care of you than you do yourself. And without him around, you’re a walking corpse. He’s always providing you with lunch and snacks, leaving you sticky notes with reminders to hydrate yourself. You didn’t realize that you needed him this much to remind you of the simple tasks like drinking or eating or… smiling.

Sometimes he draws cute flowers or scribbles plant puns on the post-it notes, sticking them onto obscure places that are hard for you to find. Your favorite one being the time he wrote “I love it when you call me big poppy.”

He claims that the notes are designed to make you laugh, even for the few that are not very funny. They definitely do brighten your day, especially when you have the ephemeral chance to glance at them hanging up above your desk in the back office. Smiling at the itty-bitty illustrations has become second nature to you. When you’re going through a rough day, aka everyday, and you’re in need of a breather, you wander into the back room to pace around, only to come face to face with a kaleidoscope of doodled butterflies spanned across a string of rainbow post it notes.

He once drew a sunflower and said something cheesy about how your laughter is the embodiment of sunshine— how it would be a crime against the flora population if you were to go a day without laughter.

It was corny and far from being right, but it was so perfectly Jimin.

When he does stupid shit like that, it makes you feel like the biggest lovesick idiot in the world. In your naive past, you thought that the smiles he sent your way were ones reserved for you and only you. You were convinced that the shameless flirting was a silent mechanism used to express his inclination towards you. You assumed that the daily visits to your flower shop were formidable attempts to get to know you better. A little part of you hoped that the songs he shared with you equated to sharing a piece of his heart.

You absolutely were sharing. You just didn’t realize that you’d be sharing with someone else.

So when Jimin consigns adorable puns that melt your heart, and he stops by with a cup of coffee, just know that they’re acts of friendship. When he spends his lunch breaks at the flower shop and sings songs that remind him of you, he’s coming from a place of kindness, not attraction.

It is true that Jimin’s your sunshine, but it’s also a fundamental principle to botanists that too much of something is bad enough, and too much of nothing is just as tough. And deceiving yourself into believing that he was all that you needed had scorched up all the flowers in your garden.

The drought he put you in didn’t prepare you enough for the brewing storm.

It pains you to say that you need him more than he needs you because even if he isn’t romantically interested in you, you would have hoped that he’d stick around as a friend. His waning presence leads you to believe that he’s simply not interested.

Maybe you were too invested in what could have been between the two of you, you failed to see what was right there in plain sight.

Somehow, you still wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. And it’s pathetic granted you’re incredibly busy with work and your own crippling health. Yet thoughts of him still pop up throughout the day more than you would like. No matter how much you want to forget about your infatuation, you simply can’t will him away because of how often his beautiful face flashes before your eyes. You want to push him to the back of your mind, but whether you’re in need of a breather during your hectic schedule, admiring his stupid puns and butterfly mosaics, or you’re in need of some company in your eerily quiet apartment, doing laundry or having a meal all to yourself, you still can’t get the sound of his sweet laughter out of your head.

You don’t know how it’s possible, but you manage to close up shop long before midnight. It’s a blessing and a curse because you are absolutely wiped out. Not only are you mentally checked out, but ironically, your flower shop is destitute of flowers, completely sold out from the holiday. As you clean up the barren space, you can’t help but feel as if a big weight has been lifted off your shoulders. The stress of Valentine’s Day is over, and you can finally go home, lie in bed with a tray of cookies, and enjoy the beauty that is Ryan Gosling.

You even consider closing the store all of tomorrow because you need the day off to recharge. So as you print out and paste your notice on the glass door, you’re dumbfounded to come across a sliver of paper that’s already attached on the other side. Opening up the door and letting in a gust of cold air breeze by you, you remove the sticky note that’s been unknowingly attached to your entrance.

Not a daisy goes by that I don’t think of you.

The smile that tugs on your lips grapples against the ache in your heart. Quickly, the fond smile melts into one of hurt and disappointment. Your left hand balls into a tight fist, marring crescent moon shapes into your palms. Meanwhile, your right hand delicately fiddles with the tiny square between your fingers, debating whether or not you should crumple up the paper and toss it away to be long forgotten. You’ve never been so confused about your feelings until Park Jimin came into your life, but you tuck the little daisy doodle into the pocket of your coat with a sigh.

With every passing year, Valentine’s Day becomes a little more bearable than the previous. Tonight feels like any other night, but better. You’ve come to accept that if there isn’t someone who can make you feel special, you might as well do it yourself.

Making a meal for you that doesn’t consist of ramen or 5 minute rice while dimming the lights and sparking up some candles is undeniably part of the healing process. And that’s what tonight mainly consists of. It’s all about love and self-care.

With your laptop perched on top of your dinner table and your Netflix queue lined up, you mindlessly mix at your wet and dry ingredients with a wooden spoon. Nothing has made you feel more at ease than the comfort of watching your favorite movie on repeat and the sweet taste of raw cookie dough on your tongue. Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that can put a smile on your face.

As you wait for your cookies to bake, you settle into bed with your legs crossed and back pressed against the headboard. Laughter from the speakers of your laptop fill the space, and you can’t help but laugh along with the characters, disrupting the peaceful ambiance of your apartment complex. The rumble of your laughter subsides, and the movie rolls on from scene to scene.

Your ears perk up like Pavlov’s dog when the oven goes off. You turn your head so quickly you nearly get whiplash, but it’s all worth it for the love of chocolate chip cookies. The aroma of sugar is enough to will yourself out of bed and conveniently press pause on Ryan Gosling’s charming face.

Pulling on your oven mitts to retrieve the hot platter, your body begins to sway around to the sudden echo of music. The soft guitar strums reverberate through the walls and against the vacant space of your studio. Your body stops moving to the acoustics when you realize where the noise is coming from. Looking up, your eyes bore into the eggshell walls as if you can see through it. But you soon space out, focusing on the vibrations of the nylon strings instead.

The song fades out and the quietude breaks you out of your reverie. You blink in confusion, trying to remember the last time you heard from your neighbor. Although you haven’t spent much time in your apartment in the past week, you miss the late night chats with him. Lately, you’ve been knocking out as soon as your head hits the pillow for some much needed rest. You haven’t heard his voice in forever, and especially not his angelic singing voice. Even tonight he refrains from singing in place of just practicing his guitar.

It’s a bit out of the ordinary.

His side of the wall is surprisingly quiet tonight. You would have expected him to be out and about with his girlfriend, but at this point of the night, they would have been jumping at each other's bones. Yet the gentle patter of footsteps and the lack of banging would suggest that he’s flying solo tonight.

Despite your curiosity, you’re not sure whether or not you’d want to bring it up in case it reopens some wounds. You think it’s best to leave it alone for the time being until he’s ready to come to you instead.

So as you proceed with bingeing your movies, there’s something in the back of your mind that still distracts you. It’s literally a crime that you’ve sat through 2 hours of The Notebook, yet you haven’t shed a single tear because you’re not even focused on the film in front of you. Rather, you’re thinking long and hard about the last time you heard your neighbor laugh in sincerity.

You really couldn’t care any less about the end credits that roll in front of you. Rather, with your chin propped up in the palm of your hands, you listen intently to what’s happening on the other side of the wall. It’s bizarrely quiet, aside from the sad symphony of string instruments that ring in the background of the ending credits.

When your screen turns black, you shut off your laptop and stow it away, knowing in your heart that you’re no longer in the mood for a romantic movie marathon. You make your way into your kitchen and reach for the cookies that have cooled off by now. But somehow, it feels wrong to sit here in enjoyment of your own company. Yet at the same time, this batch of cookies was the only thing you were looking forward to all week.

Nothing seems to satisfy you.

The only desire that creeps upon you is the desire to spend the night with someone else by your side. Frankly, it’s stupid because you know that you don’t need a man, and even the whole world knows that you don’t need one. Especially not on Valentine’s Day because you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate February 14th with every fibre of your being.

However, the idea of having a friend at your side doesn’t seem so bad at this point.

You transfer all the cookies from the tray onto a smaller plate, arranging the delectable morsels into a presentable fashion.

With your slippers on, you make your way out of your apartment, letting the door close softly behind you. Standing in front of your neighbor’s abode, you nervously shift your weight on the heels of your feet. Midnight is approaching, and you wouldn’t want to disrupt his night like this, but it just feels right to knock on his door and offer your company. Just to check up on him because perhaps he’s in need of some companionship just like you. And who wouldn’t want some chocolate chip cookies? Baked with 80% sugar and 100% love.

Mustering up all the courage in your body, your hand comes up in a tight fist, knocking at the wooden door. You wait a moment, but to your dismay, there’s no evidence of movement on the other side of the partition. You would have heard his footsteps by now, and perhaps the turning of the deadbolt, but it’s dead silent.

Perhaps he didn’t hear you, so you knock a little harder this time.

Nothing.

As you stand outside, lost in naivety, you wonder whether you should try to make a fool of yourself and knock again. It’s been a good 5 minutes of you debating between speaking up to get his attention or giving up and retreating to your studio in embarrassment. Then you mentally facepalm yourself remembering that it’s incredibly rude of you to drop by without any kind of warning.

But still, you had his best interests in mind.

You think that the third time’s the charm, so in a last attempt, you knock with full force.

“Uhh, hey!” Your voice shakes and cracks. Blame it on the nerves. “I made some cookies, and I thought I’d share some!” You semi-yell in hopes of catching his attention.

“One second!” Oh, thank God. You can hear the bed frame creak on the other side and the skid of footsteps across the floor boards.

Your heartbeat weirdly picks up because of the fact that this is quite literally the first time you’ve come face to face with your neighbor. The late night chats with him have always made you feel comfortable, but there’s a certain nuance to meeting him that shakes your nerves.

You brace yourself as you hear the lock turn, eyes casting down towards the plate in front of you.

“I didn’t know that today’d be the day we meet like thiー” He says as the door swings open.

You look up expecting to greet him with a smile, but the one you had prepared falters from your lips.

“What’re youー”

“Y- You liveー”

You stutter over one another, lost in confusion. Staring into the very familiar set of brown eyes in front of you, you’re confounded by your new discovery.

Jimin stands before you, running his hand through his black locks as he opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you through.

“Hey, neighbor?” He sounds disoriented, untrusting of his voice.

You’re stood frozen at the foot of the entrance, unsure as to how you could possibly process all of this.

“I heard you made cookies?” He asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Here, come in.” He gently tugs on your sleeve, coddling you because of the state of shock you’re in.

You nod your head, barely cognizant of what’s being said. But your feet still shuffle through the entryway, and you slide off your slippers at the front door.

“This is so crazy,” he says, taking the plate of cookies off your hands. You’re both surprised that you have yet to drop them. He places the plate onto his coffee table, and his back is turned to you as you stand to the side, playing with the sleeves of your sweater.

How much weirder can this situation possibly get?

“You mean to tell me that we’ve been neighbors all this time and we didn’t even know?” You ask, sucking your lips inward, cocking your head to the side. Your words are a jumbled mess, but Jimin has become a master at deciphering your incoherent words through the thin walls many nights in a row.

“I’m just as surprised as you! I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots?” He exclaims in dismay, patting the seat beside him on the couch as an invitation to you.

Your brain feels as if it’s lost all of its cells because you have so many questions, yet you can’t seem to articulate them. As you sit down, you close your eyes and rub at your temples, praying that you’d wake up from this odd dream.

“There’s no way I could have connected the dots,” you sputter in collection of your thoughts, completely exasperated. “I just don’t understand.”

You fiddle with your fingers, and Jimin takes your hand in his. His touch is soft, and as much as you want to pull away, you give into him because there’s no way you’d ever deny him, especially not when he looks at you with those big round eyes.

“I have so many questions,” you admit, rubbing at your eyelids.

“Shoot.”

“Uhm,” your head shakes wildly. “I don’t even know where to begin?” Your eyes widen, shocked by how nonchalant he’s acting. As if he didn’t just lead you on and ghost you days on end, pretending that everything’s okay now.

“Take your time,” he chuckles reassuringly, offering you a calming smile.

“Uhm… How are you? I guess? Th- that’s kind of the first thing I wanted to ask you before… I- you know.”

Your heart gallops because he’s looking at you, biting his lip. And you, you are completely weak for the man who holds all of your affection in the palm of his hands, yet you can’t handle his smoldering stare, so you avert your eyes elsewhere. This is downright cruel and unusual punishment.

You continue, “Because I haven’t spoken to you much lately, you know?”

“You wanted to check up on me?”

You blink away, eyes now focused on the vase of wilting flowers on the coffee table. Pink and red variegated carnations. You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself and regulate your breath. Your body stiffens and your shoulders tense. Even your jaw tightens, but you manage to nod your head.

“I’ve been better,” he admits sullenly.

Your hand lets go of his, pulling back to seek comfort at your side. It just doesn’t feel right to hold his hand so intimately when he’s made a mess of your head and your heart. You just can’t do it to yourself, and you can’t do it to him or his girlfriend. Especially not when his heart belongs to her.

You open your mouth as if you have another question to ask, but none of them are coherent enough to utter. There’s plenty of noise ringing in your head, but it’s all nonsense.

Jimin gently rests his hand on the ball of your knee, almost like a graze, but his touch is hot, and you brush him off with the recoil of your leg.

His shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. His hands retract to his lap, respecting your wishes. He gulps, and noticeably the lump in his throat goes down in a swallow.

“Hey, it’s just me, okay? You don’t need to be scared.” He displays his palms out to you as a peace offering. A symbol of vulnerability. The tension in the air is palpable, but you still manage to keep your guard down in front of him.

Because this is Jimin. The guy you’ve come to know and unfortunately love. But it’s just that you’ve never seen Jimin like this.

“Yeah and that’s kind of the problem,” you breathe out. Your brows knit into a frown, and he looks at you in bewilderment, with wide eyes, parted lips, and stress tousled hair. “I- I don’t know if you’re Jimin the mysterious neighbor who’s been nothing but nice to me, or Jimin the guy from the flower shop who pretty much made it loud and clear he doesn’t want to see me,” you scoff.

“B- butー What do you mean? We’re the same person.” His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head subtly trying to convince you. He fiddles with his fingers, cracking his knuckles out of bad habit. Shifting his body so his knees are pointed towards yours, nearly in contact, he refrains from the much needed skinship. The heat radiating from his body is something you’re familiar with, and although it once brought you comfort, you can only feel resentment.

“Of course I want to see you? Iー I?” He’s a stuttering mess, shaking his head from side to side as if you’ve got it all wrong, but you interject because you have so much to say, yet you haven’t expressed yourself to your liking just yet.

“I don’t know about that!” Your hands clench up at your sides until your knuckles turn sharp. “Because neighbor Jimin is telling me he has a fuck buddy he thinks he’s in love with, and flower shop Jimin has a girlfriend he doesn’t want to talk about. So what is it? I’m hearing a lot about mixed feelings for this one person, and… if you’re involved with someone, I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” you spit out more harshly than expected, inching further and further away to the edge of the couch with your arms crossed over your chest. You gulp down a thick glob of spit in hopes of washing down the acidic sting in your throat, but it’s like bile just sits there on your tongue.

“Let me explain, okay?” He begs of you.

You sit there in sullen silence, staring at the carnations in your peripherals, ready to have him break your heart all over again. You nod, but you don’t even bother turning to face him, unsure whether or not you’d be able to hear him talk about how he’s in some complicated relationship with someone else.

“Please, look at me?” he pleads with a sniffle, “I need to know if you’re okay.” His voice cracks, and you finally look his way. You’re far from okay, but seeing him with glossy eyes, you also know that he isn’t either.

He licks his lips, and his hand comes up in desperate need of tucking the stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face. But he decides against it in fear of rejection, and he rests his hand on the ball of his knee instead. Your line of sight falls to his shaking leg. You hesitantly reach across to close your hand softly around his in comfort. His movement stops instantly as he lets out a huff.

Licking your lips, your eyes gaze towards your hands, and you can’t help but imagine how they’d slot into one another so perfectlyー

“_____?” Your eyes shift to lock with his and there are tears that brim at his corners, but they’re kept at bay, refusing to fall.

“I-” He exhales.

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, and you don’t know if it’s more for yourself or for him, but it gives him the strength to continue on.

“Look, that girl and I? We weren’t in a relationship. I promise you. I told you that we were friends with benefits because that’s what we were.” He insists, hoping the message gets across to you, but your heart drops lower into your stomach at his admission. You don’t even want to picture him with some other girl, yet you know way more about their relationship than you would have ever wanted.

Hell, you were even convinced that they were in love. A highlight reel of the last few months spent in your apartment flashes before your eyes, and your grip on his hand loosens. You think back to the days when Jimin was just some faceless guy, dancing around with his supposed girlfriend, having pillow fights, running warm baths, making out beneath the stars, and fucking around with her like they were in love.

But he continues in hopes that you’d understand his point of view. “It was easier to tell you the truth because you didn’t know who I was, and you wouldn’t have judged me for it. So I was an idiot, and at the flower shop, I told you she was my girlfriend because it would have been easier to explain this complicated mess.” A single tear cascades down his cheek, and he wipes it away with the crook of his elbow.

“I mean, she wanted it to be serious, but there was just something pulling me back. And do you know what that was?”

You shake your head no and pull away, unsure how much more of this you can take.

He looks you dead in the eyes, but you can’t even look at him for another second because the wilting carnations are sitting there, mocking you.

“_____, you asked me the other day what I liked about her, and I was wracking my brain trying to come up with an answer... It wasn’t easy because you were the only person I thought about.”

A sudden tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, unbelieving, but you compel yourself to look back at his visage, checking for any tells of a lie. He doesn’t even falter.

“She and I? We fought so much because she was convinced I had feelings for someone else. And you know?” He shakes his head, “…It’s true. I couldn’t think about the things I liked about her, but then when I thought of you. My god, it was just so much easier to talk about the things I loved about you because you’re the one I like. I didn’t know how to express that, okay? The songs that I wrote? The ones you hear me sing day and night? Fuck…” He rubs at his eyes, and they’re evidently red from all the tears welled up. “They’re all about you, and you didn’t even know,” he sobs out. The first drop of tears came out steadily, but as you examine his face in total shock, the tears begin to cascade down his face.

You wrap your arms around his neck, now understanding where he’s coming from. It’s all a little more clear to you, and there’s no need to continue on if he’s in hysteria like this. His arms instinctively squeeze around your waist, holding on tight, too afraid that he’d lose you if he were to let go.

“I didn’t have my feelings sorted out because I was comfortable with where I was, but it’s not like it made me happy,” he confesses. You hush him, running your fingers through his hair and caressing his slumped back. Sitting in silence, you can only hear the sound of your breathing falling into sync with his. Occasionally, the radiator would go off and a car would drive by on the street beneath you.

You tell him that it’s all okay and that all is forgiven, but he still continues in justification of himself. “And I was convinced that you’d think I was a horrible person for liking someone else when I’ve got a complicated relationship going on, okay? Because that’s how I felt about myself, and I swear we broke it off, but I was too embarrassed to come to you because I didn’t know how to explain the mess I got myself into. It’s all my fault, and I’m so so so sorry, you have no idea.”

He’s wracked with sobs, but you hum, listening intently to his every word. They’re coherent enough for you to realize that you’ve both made mistakes because of a huge misunderstanding.

The Jimin that you know and love is right here in your arms, and there’s nothing you can do but forgive and forget.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he cries out with a hiccup. “I promise you that you’re the only person I care about.”

You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, hoping that he calms down because there’s really nothing to apologize for. “What did I say? You don’t have to be sorry, okay?” You remind him.

He lets out a breathy exhale, “I messed up,” he hiccups, “I don’t deserve this. You.”

Your hands rest on his shoulder, gently pulling back from him, but he clings on tighter to your waist. Looking down at the sweet man beneath you, you smile to yourself.

“Jimin,” you murmur.

“Hm?”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You shake your head, and a soft chuckle vibrates through your chest. Still, you keep him in your embrace because although it may seem like Jimin is the one in need of a hug, you need it just as much as he does.

“Can I tell you a story?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tickling the skin at your sternum.

“I think I caught feelings for you the first time we met. Do you remember that?” He hums as you reminisce on the memory. “It was some random Sunday, and you walked in looking for a bouquet for your mom, but you realized you didn’t have enough cash on youー”

Jimin laughs beneath you, and it’s the way that he laughs that makes you realize you need that in your life. A cheshire grin spreads across your lips, and that’s when you know you can’t go a single day without hearing his laugh again.

“You didn’t have enough cash, so you pulled out a post it note and scribbled an IOU.” You can barely get the sentence out without chuckling to yourself. Jimin has stopped sobbing at this point, being reduced to a few sniffles here and there. You deem it as the right moment to pull back from his embrace so you can look him in the eyes.

“You drew a little daisy for me and that’s when I knew you were really something else.”

You cup his cheeks, and a grin tugs on his lips, matching the one on your face. His eyes shine in the dim light, just like how the sun radiates in the day time. A single tear trickles down his plush cheeks, and you wipe it away with the pad of your thumb.

“Look, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, and I have to admit that it hurt me when you said you had a girlfriend, but it really hurt me when you left without saying anything.”

His eyes cast downwards as if he’s ashamed, but you place your hand beneath his chin, bringing his attention back up.

“Know that I’d never judge you for the decisions you make and for the relationships you have, okay? And I don’t think you’re horribleー”

“You don’t?” He cuts you off with his big pleading eyes.

“No, far from it,” you beam, “I still think you’re the most selfless person I know.”

Jimin’s face drops at your confession, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you’re not special, because to me, you’re the most extraordinary person in this world.”

He cups your face, noticing that your eyes are starting to well. Drops of tears roll down your face, and Jimin’s quick to dry them away, pressing his lips against your cheeks to collect the drops of salt water. As you smile, another stream of tears pour from your ducts. Soft pecks are trailed against your skin, and you think you’ve successfully washed away all the pain.

You can feel the flowers in your heart slowly starting to bloom in preparation for spring.

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, opening up your eyes. He’s merely a few inches away from you, stuck in a daze.

His eyes can’t decide whether they want to look at the gleam in your irises or at the curvature of your lips, flickering between the two.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Your whimper is hardly loud enough for your own ears, but he hears you loud and clear.

His hands rest at the sides of your neck as his thumbs run over your cheeks, grazing over the flesh of your lips. “Can I show you how special you are to me?”

You nod your head, and Jimin is overcome with the urge to kiss you, inching closer with puckered lips. They’re soft against your own, plush and pillowy. You melt into his touch as if he’s the light of your life. You think you could cry again from the sheer amount of euphoria built up in your little heart. Having him in your arms is all you could ever ask for.

He pulls back slightly in need of a breath, and you take the opportunity to climb into his lap, with knees settled on either side of his taut thighs.

“Missed you,” you whimper against the column of his neck, nosing at the sensitive skin.

Jimin’s breath hitches as he bites back a moan, “Missed you more.”

“Not possible,” you trail gentle kisses against his collarbones, pulling back on the cotton of his t-shirt to expose more of his neck.

His hands rest on your outer thighs thighs, squeezing tight on the muscles. You reach behind you to grab at his forearms, urging him to move his hands higher onto your body. He takes the hint immediately and experimentally squeezes at your ass. Your lips part from his neck, and Jimin takes the opportunity to latch his mouth back onto yours.

His lips are gentle in contrast to the firm grip he has on you. But with your weight resting on top of him, core pressed up against his crotch, you can feel how hard he is beneath you. In need of some release, you start to move your hips back and forth, grinding over his hard on.

Jimin gives you a lingering kiss on your lips, pulling back with a harsh groan. You offer a teasing smile, and he leans forward. He supports your weight at the bottom of your ass as your legs wrap around his waist. You nearly yelp when he stands, holding you up in his arms.

“I got you,” he reassures, pressing his lips firmly against yours, walking towards his unmade bed space. He lays you down gently on top of the messy covers, climbing between your legs. You whine upon the release of his lips, but his mouth leaves hot kisses down the column of your throat, causing you to gasp.

“Is it okay if we take this off?” He asks, thumbing at the hem of your sweater.

You nod sitting up, and he tugs the material off for you, tossing it to the edge of the bed. Upon sight of your bare chest, he molds into you, lips suctioning around your pebbled nipple. His other hand massages at your unattended breast, squeezing at the supple flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” he hums against your body.

You’re easily affected by his words as your back arches and your legs hook around his torso. Canting your hips upward, you signal to Jimin with a whine that you’re desperate for his touch.

“There’s no need to rush, baby, we have the whole night,” he warns you, leaving a kiss between the valley of your breasts.

You cry out in frustration, but it soon subsides when he satiates your needs. You relax when his hand lowers into your sweatpants, cupping at your heat. His middle finger traces at your entrance, running it up and down your panty clad slit. Your hips lurch once again, but Jimin presses your hips down, flush against the mattress.

As his tongue circles around your sensitive nipple, his fingers decide to dip into your underwear. The obscene sound of your juices squelching can be heard when he presses his finger into your tight hole. Inserting a finger in, you can feel your walls stretch around him. A cry falls from your lips as he begins to rub at your clit with the pad of his thumb.

Jimin inserts another finger, and your cunt feels so hot with the amount of friction. Pumping two fingers in and out, there’s a pleasurable burn that ripples throughout your body. Beads of sweat form on your hairline, and you wipe them away with the back of your hand. You can practically feel your heart beating out of your chest.

“Tell me how it feels, okay?” He asks, switching over to your other breast.

“You feel so good,” you mewl. He hums against your nipple in affirmation, biting lightly at the perky bud.

“Jimin?” You call out for him.

He parts from your chest to look into your eyes, fingers still pumping in and out of you with flexing biceps.

“I think it’d feel better if you’d fuck me,” you admit, no filter needed.

“Shit,” he groans, slowing down the pace. “I want to eat you out first though.”

He retracts his hand, and you feel empty without him inside. Your sweatpants and panties are tugged off in one swift motion, casted to the side along with your sweatshirt. Looking up with stars in your eyes, you can see that Jimin is still fully dressed. You open your mouth to tell him about your wishes, but he must have read your mind because he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it with no regard.

Beneath his clothing, he reveals to you his robust body. You’re dripping with lust, and it must be so obvious from the way you stare at his abdominals. Everything about him is so well-built, and you curse the talented dancer in front of you.

“Like what you see?” He teases, winking at you as he descends down your body.

“Love it,” you moan.

His breath is hot against your wet pussy. With juices dripping down your ass, you ruin the linen sheets beneath you. His fingers play with your core, spreading your swollen lips to reveal your flower, admiring how pretty your cunt is.

Sitting up with elbows propped, you look down in frustration between your bent legs to see Jimin licking his lips, staring at your heat like he’s ready to devour you. He kisses at the long, dark lines of stretch marks that reside on your inner thighs before his tongue presses softly against your wet clit, kitten licking at the bud. Reaching out, your hand balls around the white comforter to anchor yourself down. As you spread your legs wider, Jimin’s hands hook around your limbs to rest at your thighs. He presses them down, restricting your movement.

His tongue laps at your heat with no mercy, licking a stripe up your sex and tracing letters onto your clit, sending your nerves aflame. Your breaths are shallow as you pant, melding yourself to the mattress. He flicks his tongue, prodding it against your hole and delving in and out. He massages your tight walls as it clenches around his tongue.

There’s a knot in your stomach that forms embarrassingly fast, but you can’t help it when his plush lips give your cunt so much attention, sucking harshly on your clitoris. He looks over at your features, taking notice of your reactions, licking over and over the parts that make you squirm the most.

Your face scrunches in pleasure, nearly toppling over the edge. But you’re not ready to come. Not yet at least. Not without having Jimin’s hard cock inside of you.

Jimin is relentless against your pussy, but he doesn’t even let up when you call his name out. Your grip around the comforter loosens in favor of digging your fingers into Jimin’s luscious black locks.

“Jimiiiin,” you whine, tugging lightly at his roots. “I need you, please, please,” you beg.

He leaves a kiss at your bud, and you shudder in response. Jimin climbs up your body, and you shiver at the loss of contact.

“You need me, huh?” He teases, “You want to come?” You nod your head ardently when he presses his red, swollen lips against yours. He grapples with your mouth in a bruising, passionate kiss. With clicking teeth and suckling tongues, you can taste yourself off of his plush lips, completely drenched in your arousal.

Trailing your hand down Jimin’s sturdy body, you can’t resist running your hands over his perfectly sculpted abs. But on your descent, you pull on the strings of his heather gray sweatpants, loosening the elastic around his waist.

Your palm slides beneath the band, tucking beneath his boxer briefs. His eyebrows scrunch, and he gasps against your mouth when you wrap your hand around his hot, veiny cock, stroking at his erection. His cheeks flush as you swipe your thumb over the head, collecting beads of precum on your fingers.

He shudders at your touch. “Oh my God, I might die if you keep doing that,” he nearly cries.

You smile against the skin of his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Meanwhile, Jimin reaches over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom. He nearly falls off the bed, losing balance on his knee when you stroke his cock a little faster.

As Jimin sits up, trying to open up the packaging, you careen forward to pull off his sweats. You can hardly pull it down below his thick ass given the position he’s sitting in. But it’s enough for you to pull his dick out and wrap your hand around his girth in all its glory.

While waiting for Jimin to take out the condom, you decide to tease him like he deserves. Switching positions, you lie down on your stomach in front of him. With a glob of saliva built up in your mouth, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching it drip down the shaft and onto his balls. You glide your hand up and down to spread the saliva, making sure he’s nice and wet. His balls tighten the moment you suckle your lips around his slit.

You look up at Jimin with wide eyes in hope of some praise.

His eyes stare into yours, but he quickly throws his head back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m not gonna last, please, I know your mouth is like heaven, but I want to be inside you,” he rambles.

He tucks your hair behind your ears and rests his hand beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. His lips meet your forehead in a sweet kiss before you lie back down on the bed, spreading your legs wide open as an invitation.

Jimin ungracefully pulls off his pants down the rest of his legs. He pumps his thick cock in his hands before sliding on the condom and lining himself up at your entrance. You groan, reaching out for his wrists as he glides his length up and down your folds, making sure you're nice and wet for him, fully prepped.

The callous on his thumb is rough against your clit as he rubs down on it, easing the discomfort of penetration. Your velvety walls stretch around his member as he sinks into you inch by inch.

You’re gasping for air as he sheaths himself inside you, but you remain calm because Jimin peppers kisses all across your face.

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned.

“Mhmm,” you hum, “Might need a second.”

His nose nudges at your cheek, “Take all the time you need, baby.”

Moments go by until you’re comfortable with the stretch. You don’t know how Jimin has so much patience with you when you can literally feel his dick twitch inside your pussy, impossibly harder than he was moments prior. But like the angel he is, he still waits for your go-ahead.

“Jimin, you can move,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and offering a butterfly kiss.

His mouth finds his way to yours, and he kisses you with so much fervor. You’re too distracted by the kiss to notice him slide out of you.

But your lips part slightly, letting out a gasp when he drives his dick back into you, setting a moderate pace. Your hands reach for the skin of his back, latching your nails onto the smooth surface. The slap of skin on skin is obscene as his hips meet yours, pumping himself inside of you. The delicious burn has you digging your nails into his shoulder blades, scratching at his taut muscles.

You weren’t wrong to say that you can’t go another day without hearing Jimin’s laughter, but at the time, you were not privileged enough to hear his moans against the shell of your ear. That is the one thing you don’t want to ever live without, too spoiled by the sensual man above you.

Jimin fucks into you deeply, changing his angle as he shifts his weight onto his knees. His calculated thrusts to your g-spot sends you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes focus on your pussy, watching his dick disappear inside of you like an addiction. With a firm grasp on your hips, he lifts you higher to help you reach your orgasm.

“Jimin, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, gripping your walls tightly around his length.

“I know, baby, you can come.” He lowers himself onto his elbows so he can come face to face with you. His hands reach down between your bodies, and he rubs harsh figure eights on your swollen clit. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body trembles beneath him, moaning his name like a vice.

Jimin rides out your high, pumping into your tight hole until your legs nearly give out. He doesn’t dare pull away, continuing to circle your clit until you’ve nearly reached your limits. Your walls pulse around his cock, squeezing around his shaft until he’s nearly at his edge. His hair is matted to his forehead, slicked by sweat. You brush away the loose strands with the tips of your fingers.

“Are you close?” You breathe out, hush and quiet, cupping his jaw with the palm of your hands.

“Mhmm,” he gulps, rutting into you, pumping your cum in and out as it sheaths his shaft.

His pace falters as he approaches his orgasm, hips stuttering against yours. Jimin nearly collapses on top of you as he spills himself into the condom, moaning into the cusp of your ear. His chest presses up against yours as he attempts to catch his breath.

You trace soothing circles onto his back as he basks in the afterglow of post orgasmic sex.

His breathing soon evens out, and it’s comfortably quiet, that is with the exception of the radiator hissing in the corner of the studio.

“Wow.” He kisses your temple before pulling out, letting the remains of your cum flow out of you. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“So on a scale of 1-10, how special would you say you feel right about now?” A smug smirk tugs on his lips, and you playfully smack his pecks.

“Does this answer your question?” You ask, peppering 10 kisses onto his lips.

“Mmm, no, I didn’t quite hear your answer” he says, leaning in for another kiss, “Tell me one more time?”

And as Jimin kisses you goodnight, you know in your heart that the heartache and the loss of $5 are all worth it in the end if it means you get to wake up and smell the roses with Jimin at your bedside.

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malfoys-demigod · 4 years ago

Text

Tutor, Tea, and Truth

draco malfoy x reader

summary: Reader spends her Saturday mornings tutoring lower classmen by the library. Draco was intrigued with your enthusiasm and love for tutoring that he began watching you. When you finally noticed, he tried lying, saying that he never had the guts to ask you for help in the subjects he was having trouble with. Knowing that he was the second smartest wizard of your year, you didn’t buy his lie, catching him off guard. Being defeated, Draco begins a conversation with you and eventually asks you on a date.

a/n: i was really planning to continue this, and finally i have!

word count: 6.1k

tag list: @the--queen-of-hell @bbeauttyybbx

If there was one thing you could do effortlessly, it was giving a hand to help others. It could be through any way and it would still be considered helping someone out.

Whether it be the simple things such as lending an extra quill, picking up the things that a person has dropped in the corridor, to much more complex things that required more will power such as being a third-wheeler at a date at Hogsmeade, walking someone back to the common room at night, and your favorite favorite thing which was tutoring.

The act of tutoring either your batchmates or lowerclassmen was the most favorite thing of all the things you could do as help. There were so many advantages of being a tutor to students. It could help gain you more friendships with people around year-levels and houses, train your brain to remember new and old information, and strengthen your reputation as a helpful person.

With these many advantages, your favorite reason was the idea of being able to see the smiles of people at the end of the session or seeing them come back to you, thanking you that they raised their scores, giving you all the credit when you tell them that it was them, that did it all.

Helping other people made you the happiest person in Hogwarts. You were a smart wizard of your year, certainly not levelling Hermione Granger, but enough to help other people out. It didn’t bother you that there was the possibility of getting drowned with your own work because you could use this advantage and call on other students from your year to form a study group with you, doing the work together and helping each other.

If they declined the offer due to many reasonable excuses, you still used this advantage to finish the work as quick as possible, with quality of course, so that when your classmates finally have the time to do their work, they can come to you and you could teach them what you learned, helping your brain remember more of what you had recently taught yourself.

It was a way of boosting your knowledge and grades, making you one successful student.

Tutoring was something you had gotten from former upperclassmen when you were still in your first year. As a newcomer to Hogwarts, you were very much nervous of failing classes at such a prestigious school.

So one day at the end of your first week of classes as a first year, you decided to head to the library, hoping to seek a quiet time to celebrate that classes of your first week had ended. But what you arrived at was a study group led by seventh years.

Not being intimidated by large and older students, you walked towards them, asking them if they could help you with school work. They surprisingly agreed to help you, also giving you the idea of becoming a tutor just like them. They showed you the ropes and shaped you into the person you were today. You were very thankful for them.

Years later, you became a respectful tutor, just like the seventh years in your first year.

From starting a group only for students in your year, you built your reputation over the years as word passed by, telling other students of lower years that you were a tutor that could be of service for all lowerclassmen.

Having word passed by from some students of their year, lowerclassmen were more encouraged to find the famous you, and grab seats in the library to circle around you. With more students now coming to see you on a daily basis, you started to treat them like friends rather than pretend clients who you were offering your services to.

Today was the first week back from the winter holidays.

Everyone was still acting as if they'd forgotten to switch off their mindsets from “Vacation Mode”, as all they could think and talk about was the holidays. This year’s holidays were somehow excellent for almost everyone where they were spending it in Hogwarts or outside of the castle. Wherever you went, people were smiling, daydreaming about possibly what gifts they received, which meals they enjoyed, and everything you could name.

The fact that people were still thinking of the holidays meant that it was hard to return focusing on academics. People were so used to waking up late and doing anything they pleased during the holidays that it was quite difficult for them to continue keeping up their grades in school. Worse, if they were taught by the teachers who planned on giving them tests and quizzes a week or two after their first week back, to jog up their memories on the things they have learned from the month before the break.

You yourself may have had a slight relatable feeling with most of the students at Hogwarts, but you were more lucky than them as you still managed to read a book or two about lessons you were had recently learned and lessons you will be learning when the holiday ended. This action wasn’t done frequently during the break but it was enough to feel more confident when it came to returning to school after the holidays ended. Your little tutoring business would also be booming as others would beg for your time, asking if you could help teach them the things they’ve forgotten and need to remember.

Usually, people spent their Friday’s after classes anywhere but the library. It was their way of removing their mindset of school and into their weekend freedom. For you on the other hand, your next place right after your last class was the library, the place you happily held your tutoring sessions. You didn’t need to be asked if you could spare time for people as they assumed that you would already be there in the library, waiting for people to come and be helped.

Their assumptions today were right. You had finished setting up your things by one of the long tables at the library, opening your notebook and bringing out your quill when all of a sudden, a massive group of second years were quietly rushing around your table, huffing and puffing tiredness.

“Hello, Y/N!”

“Good afternoon, Y/N!”

“Good to see you, Y/N!”

Were some of the small greetings that your second year students greeted you as they were relieved to see you. You waved at them, giving them a warm smile as you greeted them back. You fixed your posture, straightening your back as you made yourself ready to teach them.

“Now, my dear little friends,” you spoke, “What are we learning today?”

“History of Magic,” they all groaned, looking so distressed.

You giggled, trying to show a sympathetic pout at them, “Ah, yes, let me guess,” you placed a finger on your chin, “Binns expected you to study over the break, which you all didn’t, and announced a test next week?”

“Exactly!” One complained, “The mad ghost is holding it on Monday, Monday! Can you believe him?”

You nodded, smiling at the memories when you were required to take History of Magic, “I do, that’s how Binns handles his classes,” you sighed, “But not to worry, when you’re older, his class wouldn’t be required any longer, you could choose something else if you’d like.”

“What did you choose, Y/N?” They all asked, giving curious eyes.

“I chose to have a free period,” you admitted, watching them gasp with big eyes, “I know, a ‘smart’ cookie like me should be taking up the extra classes for the sake of landing that dream job or simply showing that you're an excellent student, right? But the classes I’m taking already have me set with the many choices I have with whatever dream jobs I have in mind to be honest. Besides, there are many things I could do during my free time, such as studying and doing my schoolwork so I could use this time to help you desperate kids in need. Now come on, let’s head onto the most vile lessons in your class,” you said, encouraging them to open their books.

—

“The last breach you should remember was in 1790 when an American witch named Dorcus Twelvetrees made a serious breach when she confided secret information to a muggle, or what Americans call it, a ‘No-Maj’ named Bartholomew Barebone. She told him not only about the existence of MACUSA and the International Confederation of Wizards, but also the location of their wizarding school named Ilvermorny School. Barebone stole her wand and showed it off to the press and called for No-Maj persecution of magical folks like us. Due to this, President Emily Rappaport of MACUSA instated “Rappaport's Law” which completely segregated witches and wizards from the No-Majs, and remained the law of the land until repealed in 1965.”

All your second year students were slightly dazed, looking as if their brains had stopped processing the information you had been teaching them. Understanding what they’re going through, you closed their books with the use of your wand, closing yours and using the magic to pack up. “Alright, you kiddos,” you said, “It’s time for you to rethink about the things I’ve taught you today, I wish you luck in your test next week, and advise you to possibly not pick this subject as an elective when you’re older,” you joked.

“She’s right,” said a new voice, “I completely welcome you to pick Astronomy or Potions. As a successful student from those classes, think of it as a recommendation from another top student like me.”

You looked to your left, seeing that Draco Malfoy was nonchalantly leaning by the bookshelves, crossing his arms with a smirk on his face.

“Was it just a coincidence that you overheard the conversation and used the opportunity to lure my second years into your favorite subjects? Or were you here the whole time I tutored them and waited for the right timing to give us a grand entrance, because you look like you’ve been here for quite some time,” you asked, imitating your batchmate by crossing your arms out of curiosity.

Catching Draco off guard, he tried recovering by placing a hand on his chest, appearing so offended by your words, “Heavens, Y/L/N, big with questions aren’t you?” he slightly chuckled, walking towards your table, “On you go kiddos, time to relax from all this young lady has been bombarding you with!” he joked, earning a laugh from the second years who were not aware of you, rolling your eyes at Draco.

Draco shrugged, playing innocent as he dropped his sling bag as he pulled a seat, sitting down casually. He interlocked both his hands, placing them on the table as he gave you a small wink, “Y/L/N,” he formally greeted, nodding at you, “You come here often?”

“Of course I do, Malfoy, everyone should know by now that I tutor people here,” you said, standing up from your table, “Shouldn’t you be elsewhere spending your Friday afternoon?”

Draco may or may have not been lurking around the library, waiting for you to end your tutoring session for the day. He had been waiting ever since classes ended for him and had been wandering around the library in order to be caught stalking you endlessly for the entire hour as you taught your second years.

During the last twenty minutes of your session, he positioned himself by the nearest bookshelf on the other side in order not to be seen, as he was pulling out some books, peeping and watching you happily teach second years.

When people passed by, Draco pretended to open the book he pulled, seeming ‘curious’ with the contents he was reading and if some gave him suspicious looks, he would quietly snap the book in front of them, eyeing them coldly and twitching his nose in a scary manner, causing them to walk away, looking anywhere but at Draco.

“Is there something wrong with me being here, Y/N?” Draco asked, sounding so innocent, “It’s not like you own the place, dear.” he taunted, tilting his head for approval.

“You’re right, I don’t but it’s just highly unlikely for me to see you here, that’s all.”

“Would it be highly unlikely of me to ask if you could perhaps tutor me?”

You shook your head slightly in amusement, looking at Draco who seemed so casual with the question he had just asked you. “You?” you pointed at him, “You need a tutor?”

“Is there something wrong with that?” he wondered.

“Well, yes,” you replied, “You’re a top student of our year, for Merlin’s sake, I doubt I’m even smarter than you!” you exclaimed, raising your hands in amusement. “You really have to be kidding me if you wanted a tutor.”

“What if I’m not kidding?”

“Okay, then, what do you need help with, Malfoy?”

Draco paused for a slight second, surprised he got far with this, a lightbulb went up quickly, so did his eyes when he looked at you and quickly said, “History of Magic!”

“Uh-huh, just like my second years?”, you asked, as he nodded in response.

“I don’t remember you taking Binn’s class this year?”

Draco clenched his hands as his heart started beating quickly, “And who are you to say that? I don’t suppose you’re in his class as well? Correct me if I’m wrong but I remember hearing you advise your second years not to take his class.”

“Right,” you said, with a raised eyebrow. He was correct, and you couldn’t say he wasn’t in Binn’s class, you wouldn’t know since you weren’t in his class. So you sat back down, placing your bag on the table as you removed your old History of Magic book and opened it. “So, what do you need help with?”

“Erm, Giant wars?” he asked, hoping to himself that was something people were learning this year.

“Oh, okay, well you’re in luck because I happened to be reading that out of curiosity during the break. And well, my friends who were doing advance reading for his class were telling me all about it this week.” you said, looking for the page that had giant wars.

When you found the page, you pointed at the chapter, “Ah, there we are, let’s start, shall we?”

“We shall,” he replied.

“And remember, the conflicts between the giants and the wizards that had historical significance took place around the nineteenth century, alright?”

Draco calmly nodded, using his quill to write down the last thing he needed to remember for his class. Finished, he placed his parchment back in his bag and extended his hand, “Lovely,” he said, as you extended your hand, shaking his, “You truly are the best and by the way-

“Y/N!” said a new voice.

Both you and Draco turned to the side of the open hall of the library to see Neville and Luna waving at you with beaming smiles. As Draco groaned to himself, Neville and Luna walked towards you, seeing that Draco was there as well.

“Tutoring him?” Neville asked, looking at Draco who wanted to be elsewhere.

“Surprisingly, yes,” you nodded, “Apparently he needs help with History of Magic and that’s understandable. It would have been more beneficial if you two were here with me, you could have taught him too considering that you three are in the same class.”

Neville looked at Luna with a puzzled look, then to Draco with a highly raised eyebrow. “That would have been beneficial indeed,” Neville said, as Draco gulped with a hint of fear, “If he actually took the class.”

“W-what do you mean?” you confusingly chuckled, looking now at Draco for reassurance, “Are you not taking History of Magic, Malfoy?”

“Nonsense,” he quickly replied, tightening his tie, “You’re confused, I’m probably in another period of Binn’s class, Longbottom.”

“There is no other class,” Luna innocently added, “Since there were only a few left interested in his class, we could only manage to create one class.”

You crossed your arms, giving Draco an open mouth, “Right,” you said, “Excuse us Neville and Luna, I think I can handle the interrogation from here.”

“Alright, see ya Y/N!” Neville said as Luna warmly waved goodbye, walking away from the scene to leave you, looking at Draco who was nervously chuckling to himself as he started packing up his things.

Before he could stand up, you stopped him with a raise of your hand, commanding him to sit, “Don’t think you can just leave so quickly, Malfoy.”

He turned back to you, giving a small quick smile, “Right, I suppose you’re expecting a couple of galleons for your service.” He began getting coins from his bag, only for you to zip it shut with the wave of your wand.

“Was there a reason for you to lie and waste, let’s see,” you looked at your pocket watch, “Hm, an hour of my time?”

He shrugged, smiling guiltily, “I don’t suppose it’s a waste of time, especially when you’re with me,” he said, trying to display a smirk in his mouth, which ended up looking as if he was giving his all for it.

“Nice try, Malfoy, but really, why would you go all out and pretend you took Binn’s class?”

Draco exhaled, giving up the act of lying as he let out a small laugh, feeling ever so humiliated with himself as he looked at you and said, “Maybe I had something planned and things went too far that I wasn’t able to go back to the right track.” he shrugged, waiting for your response.

Clueless yet interested, you leaned forward and asked, “Care to explain what your plans were?”

Malfoy smiled at himself, nervous yet ready to tell you the truth.

“My initial plan was to wait till you were finished tutoring those little gits and ask you on a date, after all, I have been wanting to for awhile, figured it was time to make a move. I might have gone off script and used the opportunity of your tutoring sessions to… spend time with me.”

You were vastly staggered as it was news to hear that Draco Lucius Malfoy was first, waiting for you in the library for Merlin knows how long, second, planning to ask you on a date, and third, has been wanting to ask you on a date! It wasn’t like you were head over heels for with such passion, but it filled your heart, discovering that one of the most outstanding students of your year was highly interested in you. Why you of all people?

Still staring into the unknown, Draco’s spirits slightly started falling down as he had not received an answer yet from you. He wanted to make sure you had an answer, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make himself feel bad if he pressured you with time into giving him one.

“You’re going to have to answer me verbally dear, contrary to popular belief, I can’t read minds.” he joked.

You snapped back from all your lingering thoughts, chuckling to yourself out of embarrassment, as you saw that Draco gave you a faint smile. “Right,” you spoke, “I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?” he said, probing.

“Yes, uhm, first of all, my second years are not gits,” you said, pointing at him, then you looked back down, placing a hand on your chest, “Second, I’m flattered, and third-”

“You’re going to reject me?” he suggested, feeling defeat in his voice.

You shot him a worried look, shaking your head, “Goodness no,” you opposed as you waved your hands in front of him, “I’m extremely flattered because I never thought you’d be interested in me, actually.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, walking around the table to come closer to you.

“I always thought you were too good for me.” you laughed at yourself, looking down at the ground.

Draco placed his hands on your shoulders, rubbing you sympathetically as he gave a small, exalted smile, “You have no right to say that, Y/L/N for I should be the one saying that.” he removed his hands from you, straightening his robe and announced, “This time, I offer you my time as I’d like you to spend tomorrow with me at Hogsmeade. We will have the most excellent first date, should you choose to accept.” he confidently said.

You slung your back onto your shoulder, smiling at the invitation you were given. “Alright, Malfoy, you got yourself a date tomorrow. Should I feel free to dress to impress?”

He shrugged, appearing as if it didn’t matter, “To me, you’d look ravishing with or without the need to do that. But if you wish,” he said, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, “See you, Malfoy,” waving him goodbye as you left the scene.

You were waiting outside by the gates of the castle, sitting down on the stairs, patiently and calmly waiting for Draco, who happened to be your surprising date as you were still processing the fact you were about to go on a date with him.

You hadn’t really thought about the possibility of dating Draco. You were just a simple girl in Hogwarts, being always on the sidelines of everyone’s story. To you, you were always someone not worthy of a demanding person such as Draco.

Why would someone important like him want to go out with you? That was something you would have to find out sooner or later in your life, and maybe this date would be the perfect opportunity to ask Draco about this, hopefully he would answer truthfully.

All of a sudden, the doors behind you opened slowly, causing you to turn around and stand up as you saw your date, eyeing you with a smile. “Y/N, for a minute there, I thought you were going to bail. Looks like I was wrong,” he said, still smiling.

You let out a small laugh, “Now why would I do that?”

“I was waiting for you by your dorm room, like the gentleman I am, until when the doors opened, I was greeted by your roommate, who seemed very flustered by my gesture.”

“What gesture?”

Draco confidently pulled up a bouquet of flowers from his back, presenting it to you with such pride in his face, “Then I asked where you were, and she said you weren’t there, leaving me to think, ‘Did she either bail, or was she already outside?’ so here I am.”

Still presenting the bouquet, you received it, smelling the freshness of the flowers with a smile on your face, “Gosh, you’re one kind of gentleman. Thank you for the flowers.”

“A pretty girl should always have a pretty bouquet.”

You grinned, hoping your blush wasn’t evident. Draco placed his arm up, “Now, shall we?”

“We shall,” you agreed, taking his arm as you started walking away from Hogwarts.

To your surprise, Draco brought you to Madam Pudifoot’s Tea Shop. It was the place people brought their dates to, for a more intimate time with them. This was your first time inside the place, and you now understood why it was a place for intimate dates.

The teashop was a very quiet and tranquil place that had walls and floors of pink shades, screaming ‘Love,’ in the air as the different scents of teas gave a relaxing aura around the shop. Aside from a serene and silent touch to the shop, there were barely people inside, making things more private and affectionate for dates.

Draco again to your surprise, held your hand as he made his way to an exact table, which Madam Pudifoot reserved for the two of you. It seemed as if Draco already made reservations beforehand, and it was weird because you haven’t really recalled establishments in Hogsmeade accepting reservations.

When the two of you sat down, Draco surprisingly gave a warm smile to Madam Pudifoot, who handed the two of you her menus. “Take all the time you need, lovebirds.” she chuckled, then turned around, leaving Draco with a flustered you.

“Um, Draco?” you brought down your menu to give your attention to Draco, who had his menu up, as he was still scanning for the right tea.

“Ready to order already, Y/N?” he asked in a nervous yet playful tone which made him chuckle after, “I thought this was your first time here!”

“No, actually I haven’t even looked at the menu,” you admitted embarrassingly, “I was just curious.”

“About?” His face was still covered by the menu, but fortunately, he seemed interested in what you had to bring up.

“Why do I have the feeling that you secretly went all out with this date and got the chance to persuade Madam Pudifoot a table for us?” you blurted everything out awkwardly, which made you feel like jumping off a cliff.

Draco pulled the menu down from his face, flashing a smirk, chuckling, “Because it’s true?”

You laughed in relief for not feeling like the craziest person in the entire town of Hogsmeade, “Oh, brilliant,” you replied. Then you shook your head, but still smiling cheekily, “But why?”

Draco tilted his head with a raised eyebrow, “Why what?”

“Why would you go all out for me?”

Draco narrowed his eyes and mouth, trying to contain his laughter, “Darling, have you not heard of Draco Lucius Malfoy? I’d go all out for you.”

You scoffed, playing with the fabric of the table’s smooth cloth. “I think we barely know each other though. This is clearly our first time actually interacting with each other properly.”

After clasping his hands, he pulled his hands away, tilting his palms to face each other, “Alright, why don’t we get to know each other then?” he suggested. You nodded, which made him speak again, “Okay, let me start.”

“What do you want to know, Draco?”

“What do you want to do after Hogwarts?” he prompted.

Your eyes drifted away from the boy in front of you as you pondered on the many occupational choices when Hogwarts ended.

“Either a Hit-Witch or an Auror,” you shrugged, “I haven’t given much thought about it but the last time I did, I was looking into those two.”

“Intriguing,” he acknowledged, sounding highly surprised and in awe, “I never imagined you as either of those, but I know you’d be one of the best that I can feel safe at night.”

“Oh, please,” you waved off the flattery in embarrassment, “Neither did I see myself as one of those jobs. But, their job descriptions really do call me. What about you, Draco?”

Draco shrugged as well, “Possibly an Auror as well. Father thinks I can make my way to the top easily and become the Minister of Magic later on.”

“Right, and then I can TOTALLY feel safe at night with you as Minister.” you teased, earning a grin from his face.

“Oh, shut it, Y/N, you better take that back or else when I become Minister, I’d gladly remove you from your job.”

“Has your mother ever taught you how to threaten a lady?”

“Now, now, Y/N, we mustn’t go there,” he playfully warned you.

“You’re right, we actually should order something before Madam Pudifoot thinks we’re using her place just to have a thrilling conversation.”

Draco scoffed, smiling cheekily at himself as he enjoyed being with you. After taking a quick look from the menu, he raised his hand, signaling Madam Pudifoot to come by your table. Once she saw Draco’s hand, she quickly hurried by.

“I was suspecting to think you two lovelies were having a good time and forgot about the tea,” she teased the two of you.

Draco smirked, looking at her confidently, “What can I say?” he shrugged, “Once you enjoy the company of someone as enthralling as her, you just forget that time passes by. I could spend the whole day talking to her, and I wouldn’t take notice of time going by. What do you think, Y/N?” he now looked at you, grinning.

Madam Pudifoot, interested by the action going on between you two, looked rapidly to you now, wanting to know what you’d say.

“I think we should order,” you pointed out the obvious sarcastically, to hold yourself from melting over Draco’s words.

“Hiding how you feel now, are we?” he checked on you, still grinning with pleasure.

You playfully rolled your eyes, finally in defeat, “Okay, so I agree with what you say,” you replied and shrugged, “And I possibly have a mindfulness of you as a wholebeing. Now, can we order?”

Draco opened his mouth in agreement, his mouth was open, but it was with a big smile, “Ah,” he said, pointing at you, “Careful darling, you’re starting to sound as if you care. It would be... unwise, of you to lead on, something such as I.”

“Alright,” you sarcastically shrugged. You now looked up to Madam Pudifoot, who seemed to be gushing over what she was witnessing. You ended her gushing by deciding to order, “Okay, Madam, I’ll have a warm chamomile tea. And you, Draco?” you asked, now looking back at Draco.

“I think I’ll have the same,” he nodded at her.

“Excellent!” Madam Pudifoot said, closing her notepad, which had her magical quill inside it, “Right away, you two!” then she turned around, briskly walking away.

This left you and Draco once again, together alone. He leaned onto the table, placing his folded hands on the edge of the table as he let his body lean over to you slightly. “So,” he whispered, “So you do like me?”

“I think I said I possibly have a mindfulness of you.” you smirked.

“It’s another way of saying that you care for me, and thus, that leads to liking me.” he reasoned out.

“Pansy and Daphne care for you, but do they like you?” you pointed that fact out. He shook his head, rolling his eyes, “That’s different. They’re not here with me on a date, are they?”

“True,” you said, eyeing and receiving the tea that Madam Pudifoot had given the two of you just now. “I guess I’m the lucky girl who's about to take sudden interest in me,” you half-jokingly said.

Draco beamed, silently sipping from his warm cup of tea. After a good sip, he shook his head, patting a cloth of napkin on his lips softly, as his eyes were back onto you. “I’m afraid you’re far too late my dear, you already have me thoroughly captivated.”

Your eyes smiled affectedly, highlighting the sudden blush you had on your face. It felt as if you skipped a heartbeat, surprised with his words as you gulped the sip you were about to swallow. After swallowing carefully, you slowly placed the cup back on the table, leaving the warmth from your fingers.

Chuckling lightly at yourself, you said, “That fast?”

“Don’t think you had me captivated just today, dear Y/N,” he pointed out, “I may or may not have had eyes for you for quite some time.”

“You couldn’t have possibly, Draco,” you narrowed your eyebrows, light-heartedly denying his statement.

“Oh, but I have!” he admitted confidently. He fixed his sitting position, causing him to enthusiastically lean towards you, “You my darling, are one unique girl.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve never met another girl who could be so patient and loving to tutor anyone. I would be vastly impatient and non-committal to such things. I couldn’t possibly handle dealing with those… children. And of course the low-brains of our year.”

You were extremely flattered by what Draco had said, causing you to simply flash a warm smile at him, bringing back the tea in your hands as you started sipping your chamomile tea once again.

The date you had at Madam Puddifoot had unfortunately come to an end. Once the teacups were empty and your stomachs were full, Draco had paid for the expenses of the teas like the gentleman he was and pulled you up from your seat, waving goodbye to a happy Madam Pudifoot.

Now, you and Draco were walking together around Hogsmeade. While you were looking around the shops passing by you, Draco’s eyes were taking a few glances at his hand and yours, wishing he had the courage to hold your hand.

Somewhere under his nervous thoughts, his confident aura had started picking up again, reminding him of the smooth person he had in himself. There was a small smirk in his face as he perfectly knew what to do.

“Y/N?” he asked, sounding curious.

“Yes, Draco?” you asked, looking at him now.

“It came to my attention that it seems your hand looks heavy.”

“Heavy?”

“Yes, in fact, would you like me to hold it for you?” he nonchalantly asked, giving himself an innocent tone to such a smooth question. This leads you to widen your eyes with such flattery in your face. Aside from blushing madly, you chuckled in embarrassment, feeling so unprepared with words to reply to him.

“Oh,” was all you could say at first, “I’d love that, they do awfully look heavy don’t they?”

“Indeed, I’m surprised myself. Lucky for you I’m here to address the issue.”

“What if you weren’t, though?”

“From now on, expect me to always be around. I doubt there would be another soul at school who could point out that issue. They’re too blind to see the little things such as that.”

You smiled at yourself, taking in the compliment that Draco had bestowed upon you, waving your hand with his, back and forth merrily.

“Draco?”

“Yes, Y/N?” he asked, imitating your voice from earlier, causing you to roll your eyes playfully.

“Did you really mean it back at the tea shop?”

“Mean what?” He asked, stopping you and him from walking any further.

“How you were captivated by me? Have you really been fancying me for some time?”

“I know it sounds bizarre, you know, for me to come out suddenly to tell you how I feel but I do, I do have fancied you for some time. I-I like you.”

“That’s good then,” you truthfully told him, “Because I like you too.” you courageously admitted to him.

Draco flashed the biggest smile he had ever shown in his facial expression. This smile may have had a smirk in his mouth, but it was also filled with genuine happiness, something he rarely felt and gave out.

Without hesitating, he grabbed you by the face, cupping your soft, smooth face with his hands as he shot a kiss on your lips. It was a short but whole-hearted kiss, which he had been dreaming about ever since he took interest in you. You were a little surprised that it was a short one, this was because he felt that he might have been overstepping his ‘first date boundaries’, so he was making his way on ending the kiss by slowly pulling himself from you.

It was like you instantly read his mind, knowing that he was scared of overstepping his boundaries, but you answered his issue by pulling him back in, finishing the kiss with a much longer time given. Once you were done, the two of you synchronously pulled away from each other, looking at each other with such care in your eyes.

Your eyes widened with realization, “Merlin’s beard!” you exclaimed, causing Draco to feel terror in his body.

“W-what? Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No! I did!”

Draco frowned, assuming you felt the kiss was a mistake. “Oh, I see,” he said, only for you to wave your hands in front of him.

“Heavens no! I mean, I should have kissed you first!”

Draco raised an eyebrow, deeply confused, “You? Why? That’s not the right way to go, it should be the gentleman first.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter if I could have got you back with a pick up line!”

Draco laughed, exhaling a wave of relief to hear your explanation, “Bloody hell, Y/N, all for a pick up line?”

“Yes! I thought of a good one which came well with the situation right now!”

“Alright,” Draco chuckled, “Let’s have a go with it, then.”

You composed yourself, breathing in to say, “Draco, do these smiles come with kisses?”

Draco nodding in agreement that your pick up line was a good one said, “Of course they do. Would you like them now?”

“Without a doubt,” you replied, knowing that Draco was about to lean in and kiss you.

#Draco Malfoy #Draco Malfoy x Reader #Draco Malfoy Imagines #Harry Potter #Harry Potter x Reader #Harry Potter Imagines #Tom Felton x Reader #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #ron weasley x reader #cedric diggory x reader

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mcmusing · 3 years ago

Text

Even over twenty years, three television adaptations, and more films than the franchise deserves, X-Men the animated series reigns supreme as the most faithful interpretation of the persecuted comic books. The dynamic between Professor X snd Magneto alone is so-

Hey, darlin', watcha doin?

ATG. Oh. Come. ON! Forget it, Wolverine. I don't care if Stan Lee was Hugh Jackman's goddaddy. You are NOT horning in on my X-Turf.

Wolverine: Cool your claws, Tiger gal. Just needed somewhere to lay low to regroup.

ATG: Seriously, that Stryker dude is still after you?

Wolverine: Ha, I wish. Bunch of hormonal fangirls tryin to get me with Sabretooth. While he's my brother.

ATG: Ooookay, say no more. Please.

Wolverine: Go on ahead with your little show and tell project. Make like I'm not even here.

ATG: That is how I got through xma.

Anyway, Professor X and-

*Wolverine hurls back a considerable distance*

ATG: Cyclops??

Wolverine: Awww, missed you, too, slim.

Cyclops: Sit down and shut up. As for you, Princess, no.

ATG: Nooo?

Cyclops: Noooo, you're not doing yet another post on the Professor and his megalomaniac sidekick. Not when you've pushed our post back 4 or 5 times already.

ATG: Shoot, you're right. Sorry but give me a break. These ideas keep swarming my head. It's hard to decide which to do next. Sometimes I want to do one in the middle of another.

Wolverine: Wild. Who'd have thunk that spendin' four years focusin' on everything but your powers would cause the dam to burst....

ATG: I thought you were supposed to shut up.

Cyclops: Wolverine is right. And don't make me have to repeat that any time soon.

ATG: Everything was so insane. It's not like I just gave up.

Cyclops: Admirable but you can't bandage a major illness and expect it to go away. I can't just shut my eyes and pretend my powers aren't there. Wolverine can't ignore his anger issues and stay in control of himself.

ATG: My 'gift' is different. It's not like the computer will blow up if I don't write.

Cyclops: No but you certainly will. Writing preceded reading for you. Like it or not, difficult or not, ideas and inspirations will never just leave you alone. I should know.

ATG: Your secondary mutation is muse magic?

Cyclops: I mean because I never left you. Try to remember. Before James McAvoy came along and absorbed all of the goodness in the world, it was me, Rogue, and Professor X you cared about in the first movies.

ATG: Right. Then they just did all three of you guys dirty.

Cyclops: The last stand killing us- Rogue being made to feel ashamed for wanting the cure yet receiving no emotional support.

ATG: Because they took you and the Professor away.

Cyclops: That stab wound didn't end until you saw First Class. Only for the sequels to rip it back open and add further injury.

ATG: I'm sorry I forgot you for Charles.

Cyclops: You didn't. I know because you're one of the few who don't think my worth begins and ends as Wolverine's punching bag.

ATG: Yeah, the movies got your rivalry all wrong. Way too exaggerated.

Wolverine: Yeah, I remember us making a heck of a team in the 90s.

ATG: And they were reasonable arguments. Not everything was about Jean. Wolverine could even get super loyal and protective toward you. You were great in X-Men Evolution.

Cyclops: My peak, actually. And then.... That other show.

ATG: That Gifted thing?

Cyclops: No, the animated one after Evolution.

ATG: ??

Wolverine: That one you never reference.

ATG: Oh right.... Wolverine and the X-Men. Magneto with his three kids and.... I remember no scene beyond them.

Cyclops: Consider yourself fortunate.

Wolverine: Who in the unholy he-

Cyclops: Wolverine.

Wolverine: Right- we're in the brain that Jesus built. Whose bright idea was it to make me leader?!

ATG: And that title. I'm still waiting on the new Justice League, Batman and his Amazing Friends.

Cyclops: You have certain stunted Y chromosomes of your generation to thank for making me more of a wookiee than a Cyclops. You walked away from the 90s show with an appreciation for the entire team. But some little boys turned Marvel writers deemed me the pimply hall monitor to Wolverine's leather clad quarterback.

Wolverine: Yeah, next thing I knew they casted some rugged pretty boy and slapped my name on him. Shoot, on everything.

ATG: At least Hugh Jackman can act.

Wolverine: Oh yeah, his musicals leave my heart a-flutter.

ATG: And James Marsden was terrific in the movies. Famke Janssen and Halle Berry got pushed up... How exactly?

Wolverine: Same way those Hollywood snucks thought that between mutant politics and possible war, the X-Men had time for love triangle crap that'd make the cast of Dawson's Creek puke.

Cyclops: It's time for you to set the record straight, Princess.

ATG: What makes you think I can do you justice? Wolverine fanboys can get so ridiculous.

Cyclops: Norm Spencer.

ATG: ..... Your voice actor.

Cyclops: He wasn't Chadwick Boseman, therefore unimportant. But you still cared. You still acknowledged him. I know it wasn't easy for you.

ATG: I don't want to think of you as dead. You *are* Cyclops.

Cyclops: And I'm right here. The actor's gone, but you can still hear the voice. You are like the Professor. Like me. People find towing the straight and narrow weak and boring. They have no idea how hard it is to be this pinnacle of perfection. Our hangup isn't mutation. It's remembering we're only human.

ATG: Been hearing that a lot lately.

Cyclops: Try heeding it. Now, you writing or is this your day off?

ATG: 😊

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threewaysdivided · 5 years ago

Note

I saw your conversation about Sam Manson. I was talking to Imekitty about this, but I’ve noticed a few things that (sort of) make Sam’s relationship with her parents seem more like teen-drama than actual hardship. If you look closely, she’s got a lot in common with them: outspoken political-activism, possible shared-interest in vintage clothes, and no shame in saying they don’t like certain people. Also, after the Fentons, they were the first to volunteer to use the Ecto-Skeleton, risks and all.

(In reference to this post.)

It’s been a little while since I rewatched DP so I’m not well-placed to do a detail-analysis implication-breakdown right now, but yeah - that fits with the overall impression I remember getting. To me they came across as being sort of old fashioned set-in-their-ways conservative and snooty, and maybe a bit too Pleasantville - but more often in the way of parents who do genuinely want good things for her and to be able to be proud of her despite not really understanding her interests, choices or friends and being very bad at expressing it. Plus she seems to have her grandmother fully in her corner a lot of the time.

I really wish that the writers had committed to one or the other; either making it clear that Sam’s martyr/ persecution complex is mostly just regular self-inflicted teen-drama BS and giving her an arc addressing it, OR fleshing out the idea that she faces a lot of judgement/ pressure/ control/ nonacceptance in her home life and that her negative traits are a bi-product of defensive/ coping mechanisms resulting from that strained dynamic, rather treating things with Roger Rabbit Rules.

(Which isn’t to say that a person can’t have similar interests/ personality traits to, and positive interactions with, their parents while still having a strained, broken or even abusive relationship with them on a deeper level, but the show never really goes hard enough in either direction to make it work.)

As mentioned the last post, this is kind of a consistent pattern across DP - the writers tend go with the low-effort first answer for whatever is Funny or Awesome or Convenient in the moment rather than putting in the work to find a solution that’s consistent with the characterisation, themes and world-lore overall. There’s enough internal contradiction in the show that I don’t think it’s actually possible to take every canon detail as canon without fundamentally breaking things. And in some ways that’s kind of cool; it makes the series more open to interpretation, and trying to distinguish authorial intent from authorial incompetence and come up with theories that account for as many pieces of canon as possible is really satisfying. But, you know, it’s also kind of bad writing in general.

I think the thing that bothers me about Sam’s characterisation in particular is that - where it tends to be more obviously out-of-character when it shows up in other places - there’s a pattern to the inconsistency with how the writers handle Sam:

Throughout the series there’s a double standard in how Sam sees herself/ seems to expects others to act, compared to her own behaviour:

Despite being pro-pacifism she’s okay with smacking Tucker and encouraging Danny to destroy the trucks she doesn’t like

Sam values self-expression and is a feminist, but derides other girls for wanting to express themselves in a conventionally feminine way

Sam doesn’t like being forced to conform to others’ values but is okay with forcing others to conform to hers

Despite being anti-consumerist she shows very little discomfort at, or awareness of, her lavish home life and material belongings

She encourages Danny to take the moral high ground towards his bullies but has no problem antagonising and getting into petty verbal spats with Paulina herself

Sam stalks Danny and his love interest out of jealousy/ protectiveness but threatens to end their friendship when he does the same

In Mystery Meat, when Danny tries to express his discomfort/ anxiety, Sam hijacks the conversation to complain about her own parents instead of listening.

In One of a Kind Sam photographs Danny and Tucker hugging in their sleep, without their knowledge, with the stated intent of putting it in the yearbook, then uses it to blackmail them into silence.

Side note: this joke is also tacky on a meta-level because it boils down to “male intimacy ha ha toxic masculinity no homo amiright?“ Would have been nice if show didn’t use low-key sexist humour as much as it did.

Instead of expressing that she’s hurt by Danny’s “pretty girls” comment in Parental Bonding, Sam retaliates by pushing him to ask Paulina out - a move she knows will most likely result in him getting publicly shut down and humiliated.

Then, after getting the result she wanted, she comes over to gloat and insults Paulina, rather than dropping it now that her point’s been made, which is what ultimately sets off the episode’s subplot.

In Memory Blank Sam permanently physically alters Phantom’s appearance to better suit her tastes while he’s not in a position to understand or give informed consent, then lies when Danny notices and asks about it later.

To be clear this definitely isn’t the be-all-and-end-all of her character and it’s not there 100% of the time - there are plenty of moments when she is loyal and generous and helpful and sincerely kind and where her stubbornness comes in handy. But it’s the aggregate pattern of all these small instances that drives a crack through the foundation of her character integrity; producing this insidious undercurrent alternate-reading of Sam as someone who, at a deep level, just doesn’t respect or recognise that the emotional needs, pains, opinions, autonomy and boundaries of others are as real and valid as her own, and who responds to criticism with passive-aggressive hostility.

Again, I think that’s why people are so quick to point out that line from Phantom Planet, even though we all know the episode was a complete mess. None of the examples above are particularly bad in isolation - you can’t really point at any one of them and say “oh no, bad girl” without sounding like you’re making a mountain out of molehill and irrationally hating on her just to hate on her. It’s an uncomfortable slowburn pattern of subtle micro-transgressions that accumulates across the series - a “you might not notice it but your brain did”. And it makes sense that it would be the worst-written episode that amplifies and brings that regular bad-writing undercurrent close enough to the surface for people to consciously recognise and use it to articulate those frustrations.

To wit: Not because it’s most telling of her character but because it’s most telling of the specific bad writing that regularly hurts her character.

And again, from a storytelling point of view, it’s okay for Sam to have flaws. She’s a teenager! She’s learning. She’s allowed to be egocentric and self-important and do things that aren’t the best at times. It’s okay if these are her character weaknesses and a source of conflict with the rest of the cast. But again, for that to be satisfying something really should have come of it. It would have been nice if the writers were willing to have any self-awareness about these flaws being flaws that a person should recognise and grow past in order to have healthy relationships with others. But they didn’t - because it’s easier to keep her as she is - to the point that they’ll actively bend the narrative to roll back or skip over moments that would have necessitated that growth. So, even though they call attention to her flaws, the writers end up rewarding and enabling them instead of letting her learn.

And again, this isn’t meant to hate on Sam. Hanlon’s Razor in full effect: it’s clearly a result of authorial/editorial incompetence rather than deliberate malice. I know this isn’t the intended interpretation.

My preferred reading of Sam Manson is that she’s a Rosa Hubermann/ Hermione Granger/ YJS1 Artemis Crock-type character. Someone who’s passionate and forceful and maybe a bit abrasive and hard to love at a glance, but whose core nature is compassionate and sincerely kind and loyal-to-the-death for the people they value. I wish I could 100% like her without caveats; to be able to say that even if I don’t agree with her flaws I can at least understand that they’re a valid product of the life she lives, that they make her who she is and that she’s trying her best to be a good person who will get better despite them.

But I can’t because the writers don’t give her that. They’re always prioritising other things over the integrity of her character. They don’t give her background enough time and context to make her negative traits feel resonant with it (because that would take time away from the Wicked Cool Radical Ghost-Fighting Superhero Action™) and the framing and plotting doesn’t give her chances to recognise or grow past them (because that would mean character development and those negative traits are an easy source of cheap conflict). The writers just don’t seem to care all that much about Sam - her actual character, who she is, how she came to be that way, what she wants or how her negative traits would actually play against Danny and the others.

And that sucks. Because she has a lot of potential to be a well-rounded and great character. I’ve seen plenty of fics that seize that potential and roll with those gaps and the result is very good. I wish I could like her canon depiction without feeling like I have to actively ignore a bunch of latent behavioural red flags as the price of entry.

She deserved better.

#Danny Phantom #Sam Manson #Character Writing #Character Analysis #I'm also going to cop to the fact that this part of Sam gets to me personally #because it mimics some of my experiences with emotionally abusive relatives #feeling really uneasy and uncomfortable and upset but not being able to articulate what they're doing that makes you feel that way #and wondering if maybe it's your fault and you're just reading into things too much and you're bad for not defending them #until they do something really egregious and suddenly it's like 'oh' 'OH' 'OH SH*T THAT'S NOT OKAY'#And then you look back and see all the little red flags and from then on you can never un-see them #One of the reasons I only like fanon!AmethystOcean is I can see how badly things are likely to go when Danny's flaws meet these problems #Danny's canon flaws are ones that make him particularly susceptible to emotional abuse #and they accidentally wrote canon!Sam with a lot of latent proto-abusive red flags #they both need character development to work as a couple #but this is Danny Phantom and I guess we're chumps from expecting that #anonymous #3WD answers

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slytherpuff9 · 5 years ago

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Things I Cannot And Will Not Believe Anymore

1.People are inherently evil.

2.People deserve the apocalypse/hell.

3. Women are responsible for the sexual impulses of men/can control the sexual impulses of men.

4. Men deserve authority over women.

5. Doubt is the devil using my spiritual gifts against me.

6.I owe sex to my husband/other forms of submission or obedience to my husband.

7. LGBTQIA+ are confused/evil/led astray -- their orientation/identification is wrong or invalid and forcing them to change/deny this about themselves will be good for them.

8. Women should not be in positions of leadership/roles that are considered to be traditionally masculine. Certainly not over men.

9. Jesus is the only absolution you need for sins that hurt other people.

10. Self-worth is pride/arrogance/vanity.

11. Religious values should dictate secular laws/civil rights.

12. Intimacy (psychological OR physical) that I share with men I love before I meet/marry my husband cheats my husband out of elements of my sexuality/liberties upon my body to which he is entitled.

13. Mental illness is merely a soul crying out for God and professional help is a scam to steal your money and lead you away from God.

14. People in unfortunate situations must have done something to deserve it/bring it upon themselves.

15. Women who have abortions want to kill their babies/hate children/are cruel and callous and loose/would choose murder over living with consequences of their presumed promiscuous lifestyle/believe abortion is the only form of birth control.

16. Men cannot and should not be expected to control their sexual impulses toward others on their own. (see #3)

17. Evidence supporting scientific/medical/psychological advancements that clash with a literal interpretation of the biblical account should be ignored, boycotted, banned, and impeded or even outlawed.

18. Sexual confidence (real or perceived) cheapens one’s worth as a person or invalidates one’s spirituality.

19. Teens cannot be trusted with an actual education in safe sex. In fact, I should deliberately mislead my daughter about birth control until FOUR MONTHS BEFORE HER WEDDING. There’s no way that could backfire spectacularly, cause damage to her health, her marriage, or even my ambitions to have grandchildren one day. (NOT ON YOUR LIFE, NOT FOR MANY, MANY YEARS!!!)

20. People who are not “with” me -- who believe what I do without question -- are “against” me -- militantly attacking me personally. The people “out there” are out to get me. They want to tear down my faith and send me and my children to hell.

21. Teens and unmarried women cannot be trusted with freely available contraception. If we make contraception available, they will do ALL the sex! O.O *gasp! horror! clutches pearls!*

22. It is okay and an expression of Christ-like love to demand that other people forsake their lifestyle, religion, and worldview, but feel personally persecuted and threatened when they question mine.

23. Teens cannot be trusted.

24. Women cannot be trusted.

25. Men cannot be trusted.

26. Doubt is selfish/dangerous/a slippery slope and means I’m not really sincere in my faith, or my faith is weak, or can grieve the Holy Spirit and take away my faith completely.

27. The Bible can and should be used to enforce anti-immigration policy. (see #11)

28. The Bible can and should be used to shame/denigrate victims of police brutality.

29. Unfortunate accidents/hardships that happen to me or my family can and should be seen as signs that God is punishing or testing me.

30. Disobedience -- even psychological disobedience (i.e. skepticism) -- casts into question or completely invalidates my morality.

31. It is okay to rail against affordable healthcare, actively impede it in the polls, then slander health organizations like Planned Parenthood and shame those who accept their help ... all without providing a viable alternative but claiming that the church can do it better.

32. “You just need to have faith”, “It’s a mystery”, “That’s a good/hard question, I’ll get back to you” (but he never DID), or “That’s the Old Testament Law, Jesus freed us from that” (when so many other O.T. laws are quoted and used to define sin, just sayin’ ...) are ACCEPTABLE and SATISFACTORY answers to questions about the 100% literal, true, God-breathed verses explicitly prescribing stoning or marrying rape survivors to their rapists ...

10/10 FELT SO SAFE AS A TEENAGE AND YOUNG ADULT CHRISTIAN WOMAN!

33. People who reject the evangelical message are just butt-hurt, pouty, selfish, petulant liberals who don’t want to face hard truths.

34. People who believe differently or celebrate different religious holidays in winter should be forced to use my seasonal religious greeting and failure to do so indicates a vitriolic antagonism to everything I stand for. But it is unreasonable to expect me to extend the same consideration to them.

35. It is okay to deny/limit/discourage my child’s access to the level of education required to succeed in the world we live in (even with the caveat that it clashes with my beliefs/worldview and I believe it to be false) because I do not trust my child to discern my interpretation of the Bible in the face of a single chapter in their no doubt riveting 10th grade biology textbook. I’m sure they’ll just breeze through that in college.

36. Children are also not to be trusted with intellectual/psychological/spiritual autonomy.

37. Not a single word of this book could possibly have been mistranslated, misinterpreted, metaphorical, made obsolete with time, or simply penned by a woefully misguided human being. (see #32)

38. If I open my mind enough to really understand the person I am trying to reach, my brain will fall out.

39. To seriously question these things is to deny my faith/attack that of others.

40. It is okay to train a child to be a soldier in my culture war.

41. It’s okay -- virtuous and caring, even -- to tell someone who is struggling or grieving that this life is meant to be a trial and their lot will improve drastically after they die.

42. There was a point in human history when water covered Everest by 22 feet of water, and scientists are actively hiding the geological evidence because they are in league with Satan and want me to go to hell.

43. Obedience = protection. “If you just follow God’s plan, nothing bad will ever happen to you.” The Bible is Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth and if you just do what it says, you’ll live a long and successful and fulfilling life.

44. Bad things happen to good people because omniscient God has reason to question/test their devotion. They are just being petulant or are deluded about their secret sin/doubt/disobedience, and if they search themslves and the Bible, they will see that God is well within His rights to hurt their families/hurt them/cause this hardship. (see #1,2,5,10,14,18,20,26,29,30)

45. It is okay -- advisable, even -- to tell someone who is struggling that they are being prideful/sinful/selfish, and they need to “die to self”. That can in no way be interpreted as a message of “just get over yourself or die already.”

46. In fact, just the whole ANY death imagery should be considered kind and appropriate dialogue with a human being who might be thinking of suicide. They should just know that isn’t what I mean at this turbulent point in their life. I have no responsibility to consider any other interpretation of my words or the biblical jargon/verses I use. I have no responsibility to examine what those words/jargon/verses really even say.

47. A survivor of abuse or assault has a civic duty to come forward to keep me and my daughters/children safe, but I have NO civic duty to believe/accept their account if:

a. I know the perpetrator.

b. They know the perpetrator.

c. They wear clothes I disapprove of.

d. It’s been a certain period of time.

e. They behave in a way that I disapprove of.

f. They are “sex-crazed/rebellious” teenagers or unmarried young adults.

g. The perpetrator is a public figure I approve of.

h. They “allowed” themselves to be alone with the perpetrator/somehow “put themselves” in this situation.

i. They continued a relationship with the perpetrator.

j. They are married/related to the perpetrator.

k. I am THE authority on what is abuse/assault, and believe their account does not qualify.

48. Not only do I NOT have a civic duty to believe/accept the accounts of abuse/assault survivors, I have the right to slander them publicly when I don’t. To shame them. To question the veracity of their account in the same breath that I demand why they didn’t jump at the chance to defend the women I actually care about in the wake of their trauma. They are the problem here.

49. It is impossible to have a fulfilling spiritual experience/personal contentment in life if I do not believe all of the things on this list.

50. It is certainly impossible to have a fulfilling spiritual experience/relationship with compassionate and unconditionally loving Christ if I do not believe all of the things on this list.

51. I have a spiritual and civic duty to force society worldwide to conform to my specific beliefs. (see #11)

52. It is okay to tell an underage girl that her clothing is distracting grown men in the congregation, but NOT tell the grown men in the congregation presumably raising these complaints that their “distracting” sexual thoughts are predatory and constitute pedophilia, or even incest in some cases. Similarly, it is okay to tell these girls that their clothing is distracting boys their age, but NOT tell these boys that their “distracting” sexual thoughts are predatory and sexually objectifying their sisters in Christ. It is okay to put the onus of males’ sexual sin/distraction on underage girls who presumably have better things to do (like stress about their skirt and posture and bra straps) than listen to the sermon the men are blissfully enjoying.That isn’t at all distracting or distressing to the underage girls, who need the message ... less?

Will add more as they occur to me. If you feel personally attacked by any of these things I no longer believe, please know that was not my intention, but perhaps you ought to bring that to God and find out why it is so offensive to you that I do not believe it. I was taught all of these “values” in a church by wonderful people who know not what their doctrine really says to the children they are raising and the people they are trying to reach.

#exvangelical #exfundie #statement of disbelief

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scripttorture · 6 years ago

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Torture in Fiction: Black Butler, Season 1, Episode 20

My first impression of this anime was that uh- the writer has some odd ideas about Victorian England. It makes the show a little bit strange for me; there are so many things about the way the period is portrayed that are just… wrong. For me that made the episodes I watched very jarring and distracted from the carefully constructed undercurrent of menace that runs through most episodes.

I didn’t dislike it. But I love history. I know my history. And watching this felt a little like watching an updated period propaganda piece that wasn’t written by a Brit. It’s bizarre.

But I’m not here to talk about how other cultures are depicted in Japanese media. I’m rating the depiction and use of torture, not the anime itself. I’m trying to take into account realism (regardless of fantasy or sci fi elements), presence of any apologist arguments, stereotypes and the narrative treatment of victims and torturers.

The central idea in Black Butler is that the Earl of Phantonhime, a 12-13 year old boy called Ciel, has a contract with a demon, Sebastian, who acts as his butler. Sebastian has agreed to serve Ciel in any way he desires in exchange (eventually) for Ciel’s soul.

Ciel has used this power to fight crime in the Victorian underworld and try to protect the interests of the Queen as well as get revenge on the people who murdered his family.

I haven’t watched the whole series, so I might well miss some points as we go into this. The episode I’m focusing on is 20, which is close to the end of the first season. I’m aware that part of Ciel’s backstory is child abuse, but I couldn’t find a clear indication of which episodes actually covered this. So I choose to stick to the episode that inarguably depicts torture.

Ciel is being framed for drug smuggling. The officer arresting him states that a Lord can’t be tortured but no such rules apply to butlers. Ciel orders Sebastian to show no resistance but to reveal his power only when Ciel calls for him.

Ciel is taken to- what I presume is meant to be a police station it’s never made clear. Sebastian is taken to the Tower of London and a set up that looks like it predates the Tower. The camera pans over instruments from Anglo-Saxon times and the Tudor period.

The torturer (who also looks like he pre-dates the Tower) seems excited to have someone to hurt. He comments on Sebastian’s beauty and talks about cutting out Sebastian’s eyes as he judges these to be Sebastian’s best feature. He then decides to ‘save the best til last’ and approaches Sebastian with a set of metal pincers instead.

Up to this point the torture appears to be aimed at forcing a confession from Sebastian that will incriminate Ciel.

Some time later an angel (and recurring adversary for Ciel and Sebastian) comes into the cell. She comments on how humiliating this must be for Sebastian, dwelling on the fact he’s allowed himself to be injured in the course of fulfilling his contract. She then wonders how long it has been since Sebastian consumed a human soul and how long he’s waited to consume Ciel’s. She says he must be ‘starving’ and offers him all the souls he can eat if he surrenders Ciel’s to her.

Sebastian refuses and the angel whips him. She doesn’t question him or ask for a confession but spouts some very Spanish Inquisition-like guff about repentance and cleansing souls by fire.

In the mean time a police officer takes pity on Ciel. He thinks Ciel is being framed and seems to see Ciel as an innocent child in need of protection. He allows Ciel to escape.

Ciel finds one of the men responsible for framing him, breaks into the man’s carriage and holds a gun to his head. He demands to know the truth. The man he threatens tells him everything.

I was honestly unsure how to rate this because, while there are some elements of torture apologia here, the most unrealistic element throughout is historical: the portrayal of torture in these episodes does not match the era or the culture. I’m inclined to rate that as a ‘bad’ point, it’s unrealistic, but at the same time it’s nowhere near as serious as excusing or condoning torture.

Fiction shouldn’t have to be entirely historically accurate.

At the same time the way the author chose to use torture in this plot and the way in which she chose to divert from history don’t sit well with me. I’ve changed the review format slightly in order to accommodate some discussion of why that is.

In the end I decided to give it 2/10

Elements that are not Historically Accurate

The Tower of London was not used as a prison during the Victorian era. By this time most of the institutions the Tower had housed had been moved elsewhere and the building was in a state of disrepair. As far as I can tell for most of the Victorian period the Tower was being rebuilt.

Use of burning tortures, pincers and threats to remove eyes would all have been illegal for a few hundred years by this point. They were typical of Anglo-Saxon tortures but this pre-dates the Tower and regular use of the Tower as a prison. I’m unsure if any of these tortures were routinely carried out in the Tower but they certainly weren’t common practice anywhere in Britain during this era.

The visual choices for the depiction of the torture chamber and the torturer are- well to me they’re utterly ridiculous and out of the place. It’s a Tudor structure and stereotype, beside Anglo-Saxon instruments, menacing a Victorian butler.

The religious bent that the scenario takes when the angel starts torturing Sebastian is really not typical of torture in Britain at any period. The idea of torture cleansing souls and torture primarily motivated by religion owes more to the Spanish Inquisition then the Tower. Religious minorities were tortured and persecuted in Britain but as far as I can tell from the sources I have this was much more about prejudice and politics then religion. It wasn’t about ‘repenting’ and full confessions to save souls. Both of these ideas were rooted in Catholic Christianity and by the Victorian times Britain had been Protestant for a considerable period.

The ideas that Lords were, at any period of British history, exempt from torture is ludicrous. The titled gentry were tortured, both as punishment and to extract confessions. Sometimes they were tortured just because the current monarch didn’t like them that much. So far as I can tell the only punishment titled gentry were exempt from was hanging, drawing and quartering: the gentry were beheaded instead.

Underlying this there seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding of the way the British class system functions. It stands out because the scenario is so focused on the divide between classes: the entire plot relies on toying with the unequal relationship between master and servant.

The Good

The artwork highlights a lot of Sebastian’s injuries, avoiding any suggestion that torture is harmless.

Sebastian doesn’t give either of his torturers what they want. He doesn’t incriminate Ciel, he doesn’t confess and he doesn’t repent.

The Bad

Ciel getting accurate, useful information from an enemy at gunpoint isn’t possible and it’s an idea that’s rooted in torture apologia. It suggests that if you make someone afraid or cause them pain they’ll be forced to tell the truth. That isn’t how the human brain works.

Torture doesn’t have a lasting impact on this story. It’s here to keep Sebastian away from Ciel for a narratively convenient period of time. It could be replaced with a huge range of things without having any impact on the plot.

The choice of older historical tortures in this context doesn’t sit well with me because it’s choosing to show scarring tortures instead of the clean ‘non-scarring’ tortures typical of the time. To me this suggests that the author only considers scarring tortures to be ‘proper’ tortures and believes the audience will feel the same.

Sebastian is unmoved by torture and doesn’t give in to his torturers’ demands. But the story leaves it ambiguous as to whether this is because torture doesn’t work or because as a demon Sebastian is immune. It’s very easy to watch this and walk away with the impression that Sebastian is the exception, not the rule.

Even without a clear idea what happened to Ciel he doesn’t really show any of the symptoms I’d expect from a survivor. Let alone a child survivor. There’s also no indication he’s been through any kind of recovery process and improved.

Miscellaneous

While I don’t think the story suggests torture is harmless Sebastian doesn’t really show pain. Usually I would put this down as a bad point because it downplays the damage torture does. But in this case it seems to be linked heavily to the fact Sebastian isn’t human, it’s linked to his supernatural abilities. And as a result I’m not sure how to categorise it because it’s not clear if is showing victims are unaffected by torture or that Sebastian as a demon isn’t.

Overall

While I don’t think this is a bad series, on balance I do think this is a bad use of torture.

There is some apologia here although unusually it isn’t the main focus and much of it is down to interpretation rather than what the narrative states or shows.

But the choice of anachronistic tortures isn’t neutral here. It’s feeding into a large popular misconception that the only abuses that ‘really’ cause pain also leave physical scars.

Most tortures now leave no obvious physical marks and this misconception puts survivors in a position where they’re asked to ‘prove’ they suffered enough to count.

On top of that the use of torture here seems unnecessary. The only function it’s serving is keeping Sebastian out of the main plot for a while. There’s no lasting impact on the plot or the characters and the result is that torture here is rather toothless.

Combined with the narrative use of threats to extract accurate information and Ciel’s lack of symptoms the result is a repeated suggestion that abuse doesn’t have a lasting impact and only scarring abuse ‘counts’.

That suggestion probably isn’t intentional but it comes from ignorance of the subject the author is trying to depict. It also comes from using abuse as a narrative short cut rather than trying to engage with the topic.

In the end I think the problem with Black Butler’s use of torture comes down to this: the author could easily have replaced it with something else. And when that’s the case the writer does both torture and the narrative a disservice.

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#tw torture #tw child abuse #torture in fiction #Black Butler #tw scars #scarring torture #clean torture #historical torture #historical prisons #fantasy #torture apologia

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astral-prxjection · 7 years ago

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Intertwined

A/N: So I haven’t written in a while but I was suddenly inspired. This is me first song fic inspired by the song intertwined by Dodie Clark, usually 70s/80s punk is more my style but this song is honestly beautiful!

Hope ye enjoy, this can be platonic or romantic it kind of works for either?

Sanctuary - refuge or safety from pursuit, persecution, or other danger.

—————————————————————

You opened your eyes as you heard the window close and the floor beneath it creak, he was breathing heavily as if he had ran all the way over here. He kicked off his shoes and you closed your eyes again as he made his way over to the bed.

“Fuck!” He whisper shouted, hitting his toe against something in the pitch black of your room.

It took a lot of you not to burst out laughing at the sound him cussing quietly under his breath, insulting anything and everything he knew you kept in your room. He stopped once he got to the edge of your bed, you pulled the blanket up to your mouth to hide the smile that was forming from your amusement. The bed dipped under his weight as he lay down in the space beside you, he took off his glasses and placed them on the bedside table before pulling the blanket over himself.

Skin

Heat

Your single bed allowed little space for the two of you so you ended up pressed against each other, you shivered.

“Richie you’re freezing” despite it being summer, Derry always got cold at night. You shifted closer to him, taking both of his hands between yours and rubbing them.

“If you wanted to hold me so bad you should have just said so Y/N” he whispered, chuckling

“I will kick you out of this bed, asshole” you looked him sternly in the eye, the streak of light from the street lamps that peaked between the spaces in your curtains allowed you a glimpse of his unmagnified brown eyes.

Hair in your mouth

Feet touching feet

He warmed up rather quickly and you now lay on your designated sides of the bed, your eyes were closed but his were wide awake and staring at the window he had climbed through earlier. His thoughts were consumed by the events that had unfolded so far that summer, from the happy times he had shared with losers club at the quarry and then to the living nightmare you had all experienced in the Neibolt house and then of course; to It.

He had abandoned his best friend, dragging you with him to his bike and rode as far away from that house as he could, he felt bad when he thought about Bill and Bev standing there in the street watching you two ride off but he was scared, scared of It and what It could do to him and his friends. His thoughts were interrupted by your sleepy sigh and the brushing of your bare feet against his sock clad ones. His eyes went back to you, he watched you pull the piece of hair from the corner of your mouth.

Oh you

And I

Your gaze met his when you woke again for the second time that night, he smiled slightly and you felt your own tug at your lips.

Safe from the world

Though the world will try

You felt safe here with him, under the blankets. It felt like you were small again and the shadows of your belongings created the outline of monsters and bogeymen in the already dark abyss of your bedroom, your blanket and it’s warmth protecting you from their wrath. As you got older you started to laugh at the stories that used to scare you as a child but then you had seen the real bogeyman, and your blankets couldn’t stop It. You were only two kids, stuck in this small shitty town, with the weight of the world on your shoulders and this was only your poster-covered bedroom, you knew the four walls couldn’t stop It but when you two were lying here together, nothing else existed beyond these four walls; no nightmares, no murdered kids, no shitty parents, it was just the two of you. And your sanctuary.

Oh, I'm afraid of the things in my brain

But we can stay here

Richie had been coming here and climbing through your window since you met, he used to spend his nights binging junk food and slurpees down at the arcade where he would tap away at the games until the early hours of the morning and he got kicked out for it to close. He’d avoid going back home for as long as he could even if that meant wandering around town for hours. You used to wonder what his parents thought of that but you soon realised his mom couldn’t tell the difference between when he was and wasn’t there, in fact she barely took even glanced at her son.

Your parents time was consumed with work, they spoiled you with materialistic items in a sad attempt to fill the void that their lack of attention left behind. You didn’t want their gifts, not that you were ungrateful, their money just couldn’t buy you their affection. On the rare chance they did glance your way, it was with a critical eye; they expected the best and no matter how hard you worked and how high you got your grades, you felt like you couldn’t give it them.

You and Richie always shrugged these things off when they were brought up, you always said that you didn’t care for the opinions of your parents, Richie always said that yours could “go fuck themselves because their missing out on a great kid” and when needed you would repeat this phrase back to him. You were two sides of the same coin; Richie made up for his neglect with obnoxious jokes and loud remarks, that more often than not got him in to trouble, whereas you decided to use your frustration as the drive behind everything you did out of spite, out of the thought that one day you could get far away. As a middle finger to the world for placing you in this situation.

And laugh away the fear

Despite this you wished you could confide in them, that they pulled their gazes away from their files and numbers for a minute, to actually look at their kid. To take her in, the dark circles under her eyes; the light of youth long gone despite her age. The genuine fear she constantly felt no matter where she went because of that thing she felt, she knew was always watching.

“Hey Y/N” Richie whispered again

“What is it?”

“You know what you and this summer have in common?”

You raised an eyebrow “what?”

“Your both hot and making me sweaty” he raised his hands to block you as you went to slap him.

“Oh my god” you cringed but couldn’t help giggle at his horrible jokes.

“I’m serious” he laughed, trying to stay quiet as you continued to slap him and attempted weakly to push him out of the bed “look at me, I’m getting a tan just lying here with you”

You rolled your eyes.

Numb

Fine

He continued cracking jokes and doing his awful impressions, leaving you in fits of laughter that you hoped wouldn’t travel to your parents room. And in return you would ask the weird questions that your brain only came up with at such ungodly hours of the morning.

You create a rarity of my genuine smile

“I hate you Tozier” you said between laugher at his Pancho Vanilla voice.

So breathe

Breathe with me

You both took deep breathes as your laughter died down to a giggle then to silence. You looked at each other, chests rising and small smiles plastered each others faces.

Can you drink all my thoughts?

'Cause I can't stand them

Your late night leading in to early morning conversations distracted you from what was going on outside your blanket sanctuary. You appreciated the distraction, because it seemed like every other moment was spent worrying about what was lurking in the sewers. Richie always had that effect on you, his jokes and one liners came at the most inappropriate times but they helped, they helped take your mind away from the the constant fear that you tried to keep out of your head but you couldn’t. The fear never stopped, and It thrived on it.

You lived for these moments when your mind could go to anywhere and anything, when it wasn’t consumed by those constant thoughts, the ones you had when you were lying in your bed alone

Seeing those same outlines you hadn’t seen in so long that now kept you awake and alert (you hated those thoughts). But then he came and climbed in to the bed next to you and all he had to do was make a stupid joke and try another god awful impression that sounded like his own voice again,then you didn’t feel scared anymore, not with him there.

Intertwined

Free

The laughter made everything seem almost normal again, made you feel like everything could be normal again. When you and Richie shared you single bed, that was just about big enough for the two of you, you could talk about anything. In your sanctuary you weren’t stuck in Derry, Maine. Another pawn in Its game, another fly caught in its web of terror it had spun all over this town, you talked about cities with bright lights and buildings that were new and full of people and life. Of places you would like to visit one day that would make you feel alive and where you wouldn’t feel this constant weight on your heart. With your feet tangled together; you talked about where you would go once you were old enough to leave all this fear behind and run from this town.

I've pinned each and every hope on you

I hope that you don't bleed with me

Richie was too good for this town, all of the losers were. Derry was where the shittiest of people lived, he was better than that. You hoped he would keep that need to make people laugh well in to his later years. That he wouldn’t turn out like you, he wouldn’t lose that energy he had that you loved so much despite how obnoxious he could be and beatings he ended up receiving from Henry Bowers. That he would realise that he was worth so much more than the hurt and the neglect and the fear that Derry instilled on him.

I'm afraid of the things in my brain

But we can stay here

And laugh away the fear

“You know what you would look good in?” Richie murmured sleepily

“What?” You yawned

“My arms” he cracked a smile, his eyes closing

You shoved him lightly, getting comfortable and making sure you both had a fair share of the blanket.

Hmm, hmm

Hmhmm

You fell asleep that night; goofy smiles in place and legs intertwined. Safe in your sanctuary.

#richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #it 2017 #the losers club #the loser club imagine #it imagine #it 2017 imagine #writing #drabble #song fic #my writing #it film #it 2017 film #it 2017 fic #astral prxjections writes #astral prxjections #i write shit

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mirceakitsune · 4 years ago

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To those who think they have enslaved me today

Congratulations humanity: Today (20 January 2021) the American circus known as the inauguration of tooootally legit president Joe Biden took place. Behind tanks and military walls, Biden committed the political equivalent of masturbation by inaugurating himself to himself... with a little help from a few "important" people who were also there, but since they all wore Covidist masks my brain could only make out the NPC ID's rather than names and traits distinguishing them as individuals. A bunch of flags were shoved into the ground where millions of people would normally sit: The citizens by and for which he was allegedly elected couldn't be there for his inauguration, partly after it was discovered they're not citizens at all but mobs of insurrectionists who are invading their own selves! The empty streets and barbwire fences holding that pesky population back did a great job portraying the inauguration of a president voted by the majority... you could clearly see how loved by the people and legitimately elected he was! My only regret is that Lady Gaga was involved in this spectacle: They should have brought in 50 Cent or Justin Bieber, which would have done an even better job portraying the seriousness of the event and the lucidity of the people who rule us. Biden himself broke a new record, being able to read a speech from his laptop for 10 minutes straight without ever stopping and asking "wait... where am I, who are you people".

At this point the ones who radicalized society and sparked a silent civil war are close to gaining absolute power and becoming an American CCP. I'm well aware of what their next step is: They will harass and terrorize everyone who doesn't bow to their ideology and way of life, by painting them as racist Nazi extremists or a danger in other ways, inoculating systematic fear toward them to the masses. That's how over the past years the Democrat party turned most Americans against its political opponents: Obsessively associating Trump with hate while creating a cult of social justice worship which infiltrated every fiber of society. People happily bought it, even most beings I know are affected by this without even realizing something is up. The ruling elite now has a system of radicalization that works perfectly, ready to be used to program the remote-controlled masses against anyone on command.

As of 2020 the existing system is backed by an imaginary deadly pandemic, which now has an imaginary vaccine to accompany it. The infamous virus story was used to double down on what was started using social (in)justice over the last 4 years, further radicalizing people through fear using a new excuse via a secondary system. This one's more convenient since while you can't tell who is a Trump or Biden supporter just by looking at their face, those of us who don't dress up in cult uniforms (A.K.A. wear a mask) can be easily identified as ideological enemies and targeted for dissent... obviously under the cover of esoteric microscopic shenanigans used to proclaim invisible danger, it's definitely not an ideological dangers they truly fear. We're now divided between those who worship COVID-19 (or rather fear of it) and those who are fighting against ruthless slavery and savage efforts to take our lives away from us. We're about to be divided between "the plagued" and "the vaccinated" soon; I have no doubt that those of us who won't respond to the advances of the medical rapists chasing us with syringes are in for a new wave of persecution, applied brutally and systematically in hope of making us break, until we choose to let ourselves be injected with whatever poison those psychopaths created in their labs.

Now do you think it's just pro Trump people, or those who refuse to wear the muzzle made of cloth, who they will come after in the end? To every niche community who is reading this... furries, bronies, vore, etc... never forget those words: Their system will turn on you too! Once they're seen as an obstacle, they'll infiltrate those communities to "correct" them next... or if they can't or it's not worth it, they'll use fear to convince the majority they're evil and must be exterminated for the greater good. What the hell do you think I kept trying to prevent!? Do you imagine their "great empire" of obedient and socially responsible workers has any place for those like us in it?! Look at what Furaffinity, a furry art site that was infiltrated by Antifa and has its TOS written by its extremists, is now doing to artists who draw not just "socially unjust porn" but even stuff like political art under the lie of fighting hate! No... it's not "just them", no community or individual is safe from their control I assure you.

Many of us will resist until the end: They can put 100 Bidens in power... they are nothing to me, they ceased impressing me long ago; My mind has been prepared since an early age for dealing with this sort of thing, I'm a veteran when it comes to this shit! I lived the last years of my childhood waiting to be kidnapped and taken to a reeducation clinic by everyone around me, where I expected to be tied up and subjected to electroshock conversion "therapy" to have my identity erased. Especially once I realized in what danger I was for imagining thoughts forbidden to people under the age of 18 from my young age... were society able to read my mind and notice, I would have been locked away in a mental institute and injected with drugs until I'd be a vegetable today. But I was smart enough to stay silent and escape, they couldn't access my thoughts to know who I am. The same people who couldn't "purge" my identity when I was young are now back in a far more hideous and demented form, coming after us even as adults to do the same thing: Reprogram us to be ideal members of the glorious society they have planned.

All humanity had to do was simple: Put an end to all doctrines and create a neutral and disinterested government, leading to a world that would keep its nose to the pavement and not care about any social issues any more. Why do you think I supported Trump... because I have any love for that conservative fool? I sided with him because he was going to maintain a safe ignorance... no morals, no empathy, no more being forcefully "protected" by disgusting strangers who allegedly care for you or know better than you, no laws censoring people under the pretext of fighting harm, everyone kept in ignorance so we could be safe from their feelings and assumptions. That's why I waited for the army to arrest Biden today and hold a military trial instead of that silly inauguration... sadly they received a new order, he was allowed to carry on with his sham inauguration for reasons beyond me. Now I have a new desire: I'd like to see Trump arrested! For failing to contain the moral plague enslaving society and destroying our freedom, after he promised us the deep state and its social justice would be exposed live for the world to see what they did. He failed to contain humanity's stupid values and protect us from morality... he is of no use to me either, he could not bring us true freedom.

Just one question for the actual tyrant lovers, who will soon flock and regroup under Biden in their attempt to amalgamate us into their responsible world: How's living the socially responsible life really going? Do you enjoy your slavery? Your blind dedication to "muh fellow man"? This self-sacrifice bullshit, a life free of any joy in the name of safety and protection? You have what you wanted: A world where any dream of being happy is demonized because it's dangerous, where certain thoughts are carefully restricted to certain people, where you're the slaves of "experts" who will inform you what you think and feel without you even having to bother to checking your own mind! How long until it will be YOU that breaks? How much servitude can you take before you too will have had it? Or maybe you're so dedicated that you'll slave away until the end... never snapping, not stopping to wonder how sad and boring this life is and how pointless any sacrifice. What would happen if you knew the technology to give you a perfect and safe life exists, while all significant issues society still faces today are man made, most of the time intentionally? I see more violence and crime on the news: People are finally going nuts and losing it, from being locked up and having masks forced onto their faces! How much until it's finally enough, how much pain must they accumulate, how much damage must they cause, how much until the mainstream finally admits it drove everyone there by forcing its madness on us?

I know they want to see me suffer for resisting them, all their governments and secret services do. But the fun thing is, their followers are suffering far more in the end! For I am the one still sitting here up on my throne, from which they couldn't take me down and make me "socially responsible adult" like them nor involve me in their scary fantasies. I live in the real world: A world that has no issues other than some poverty, where racism is a thing of the ancient past and a joke to worry about today, where viruses are a microscopic fantasy... a modern life where anyone can do whatever the hell they want! Just what we would all have if only everyone simply minded their own business and didn't make a big deal about anything. Now that's reality... the reality they renounced in order to worship fear, for no reason other than getting sick of being too happy! I'm laughing at their burden and all the efforts they make for nothing, fighting against things that don't exist... a burden they could let go of anytime, if only they refused to keep accepting all them responsibilities and demand it. How does it feel like to be the fools in the end, just when you thought I was your victim forever? Because while you pull that mask tightly on your little face to protect "your fellow man" from something that's all in your mind, I piss on it all and still live life freely and happily, the life you allowed taken away from you for no reason! Do you hate me for outsmarting you? I definitely don't mind if you do: Hate is all I have left to feed on in a world like this. And I enjoy it even more knowing no one will ever know nor even be able to comprehend the true reasons why I do this.

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thephoenixiaproject · 4 years ago

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Entry 01 (04/01/2020): Beginnings!

Introduction:

Hi there!! Welcome to what is hopefully the start of something cool! It genuinely feels daunting to be taking the first steps in this project, whatever this may turn out to be.

And it may turn out to be nothing at all! But a big part of why I’m doing this is to push out my comfort zone and try something new, and even if this doesn’t end up going anywhere, I’ll be happy that I tried, and hey, hopefully I’ll have learned some new skills and made something cool on the way! :D

There’s gonna be a lot of rambling explanation for the rest of this post so I apologise in advance, but I hope I explain who I am, and my plans for this project, as best as I can!

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Who are you, and how did you get in here!?

My name is Ben Moss (he/they), I’m a Bri’ish musician, actor and performer with an unexplainable obsession for dubstep and things that go vroom.

(Photo credit - Phyllida Joyce Hickish 2020 / @phyllidahickish on Instagram)

I’m currently studying creative music technology at university, with the aim of becoming a film/TV/game/VR composer (and maybe sound designer)! I’m also a massive fan of electronic music, audiovisual performances, virtual reality experiences, all that kind of stuff!

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Why does this project exist?

I’ve had it pretty clear in my mind at this point that I really want to do film/TV/game composition professionally: if I can help bring out a director’s message or intentions for a piece of work with the music that I make, and help create immersion into the world and characters they’ve made, then that’s what I’m here for, and I love doing it!

I so badly want to be part of a team that helps make and tell awesome stories that can educate and inspire as well as entertain, that immerse people in incredible new worlds and help people find themselves, or feel seen, or just make you feel good for a little while! Watching the behind the scenes development of films and TV shows I love just blows my mind and inspires me so much, and I’d love to be part of projects like that one day!

However, when it comes to personal music I make for myself, I’ve always felt slightly lost: I find it really hard to make my own music and see it through to the end because I don’t know why I’m making it or who/what for yet. The non-professional music I’ve made so far has been remakes of work I love, tributes to artists I love, or just playing around with different styles and improv-ing a little bit!

This has led to big problems though: making music is the only way to make better music, but being a massive perfectionist, and also massively afraid of failure and disappointing others, I’ve always stalled myself on progressing on anything that isn’t work, telling myself that I’m wasting time by not working. Combine this with the fact that I’ve always had the view that as long as people are impressed with the work I do, or as long as it fits the criteria or mark scheme, then I’m ok, regardless of whether I feel like what I made was bad or I could’ve done better.

I know I have a LOT to improve on in pretty much every area of music, but I’m not going to make progress on this skill (or ANY of the loads of skills I really want to learn how to do) by mentally blocking myself and convincing myself that making my own projects, either ones with a serious intention (hopefully like this one) or just musically goofing around for fun, aren’t worth it, because if I want to make good music/work for other people that BOTH I AND THEY feel proud of and happy with, I need to develop my skills away from assignments, or I’ll go nowhere.

I’ve only recently learned thanks to a short time of therapy that “because it makes me happy” IS a valid reason to do or make something. So I want to have some fun trying new and scary things to me -

Trying to create a story of my own.

Possibly learning to create some visuals, either as storyboards, or perhaps going into animation, or 3D modelling and animation?? Maybe virtual reality might come into it? I have no idea!

To make music that I’m happy with!

To develop and work on my existing skillset, and have a go at some new ones.

To accept that I’m going to make stuff that won’t work, and that’s ok and a natural part of the creative process, and not something to be afraid or ashamed of. Hell, this whole project might not work, and that’s also fine!! I just hope that I (and anyone else who might work on this) have some fun and get some valuable experiences from it! :D

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What is this project?

On October 6th 2014, a scientific study titled ‘AWARE - AWAreness during REsuscitation’ was published online, documenting the mental experiences of people who had suffered cardiac arrest and were successfully resuscitated. The study examined 2060 patients from fifteen hospitals across the United States, United Kingdom and Austria across a four-year timespan, 140 of whom were able to take part in structured interviews.

“46% had memories with 7 major cognitive themes: fear; animals/plants; bright light; violence/persecution; deja-vu; family; recalling events post-CA (cardiac arrest) and 9% had NDEs (near-death experiences), while 2% described awareness with explicit recall of 'seeing' and 'hearing' actual events related to their resuscitation. One had a verifiable period of conscious awareness during which time cerebral function was not expected. CA survivors commonly experience a broad range of cognitive themes, with 2% exhibiting full awareness.

This supports other recent studies that have indicated consciousness may be present despite clinically undetectable consciousness.” - https://www.resuscitationjournal.com/article/S0300-9572(14)00739-4/fulltext

Since then, more studies have taken place in the same field, panels have been held by some of the world’s leading scientists on the subject, and the field is still being very actively researched. The aim of these studies have been to try and draw conclusions on how resuscitation can be improved, to progress towards a higher success rate of resuscitation with little to no long-term consequences to the brain’s cognitive functions.

This project, however, intends to focus on another set of findings that this and subsequent studies revealed - there is a short period of consciousness after clinical death.

Whether the length is 20-30 seconds, as early studies suggested, or perhaps longer as is now being investigated, this seems to be something that we will all experience one day when we die. Depending on the person, these experiences may massively vary.

What might these final moments of consciousness be like?

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Current Plan (working idea):

The project will show the post-death conscious moments of around 7-8 characters, each with their own experiences. These will be presented in completely different ways format-wise depending on each character’s life, culture, interests and experiences! (Could be presented in virtual reality, a cartoon, a visual novel, a musical EP or album, an audio drama/podcast, whatever best represents each character!)

Some may have known or met each other, some may have had barely any association with the others, but though these different experiences, which may shed light on different life experiences, mentalities, cultures, and experiences of final consciousness, each story or experience is linked in some way, however small, which may tell another story of its own!

The characters who’s consciousness we are viewing/experiencing will all definitely die (i.e. we aren’t being told the story from the perspective of someone who has been resuscitated and is relaying the story to us. This doesn’t inhibit a story being told in the past tense/first person as a narrative device though!!)

This project won’t focus on the concept of an afterlife or resuscitation, this just deals with our very final conscious moments! (This does not rule out religion as something to be shown, for example, if one of the characters is of a certain faith!)

This project will NEVER become a bandwagon for trying to ‘disprove’ or bash religions and faiths of ANY kind. The day that happens is the day this project ends.

The name ‘Phoenixia’ (and its general black-and-white branding/logo/aesthetic) is very much a temporary working title - I’ve had it as a producing alias for a while, but it’s never had meaning attached to it. I have a couple of other ideas for working titles which more strongly link to the themes of the project which I’ll share in a later entry! (Because right now my research notes are a m e s s)

There’s a LOT of different opinions on how long consciousness actually lasts after clinical death - 20-30 seconds, three minutes, a couple of hours, all these are lengths of time associated with it. Some scientists have stated that as the brain is shutting down our consciousness ‘increases’ - in terms of representation within the project and lengths of time, it may result in a longer perceived experience? For example, 20-30 seconds of consciousness may be represented as 20-30 minutes of audio/video? (”The precise point beyond which the brain is no longer "living", a threshold which remains unidentified, is perhaps less definite than has been historically assumed.” -Persinger, Michael A., et al. "When Is the Brain Dead? Living-Like Electrophysiological Responses and Photon Emissions from Applications of Neurotransmitters in Fixed Post-Mortem Human Brains." PLoS ONE, vol. 11, no. 12, 2016, p. e0167231. Gale OneFile: Health and Medicine.)

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Conclusion:

And that’s it for the first entry!! I hope that wasn’t too much rambling!

The next month or so is going to be SUPER hectic for me due to university deadlines and working on this as much as possible, but I’ll do my best to keep regular updates!

#phoenixia #the phoenixia project #dev blog

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livingmybestfictionallife · 7 years ago

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“It Never Works...It Never Will”

(1/2) Anon Request: “It never works for us, and it never will.” Because reader is Muslim and Muslim women can't marry non Muslim men but she really does love Sebastian and doesn't know what to do. (2/2) Anon Request: can you do a imagine with the reader telling Seb this "back then, I lied when I told I didn't love you. you needed to move on from me- I needed to protect you from me."?

Warnings: sad, angst

Tags: @bubblyanarocks3, @broken-pieces, @yessy2012, @panic-to-thepilots, @ellisaday

She was unique and beautiful and Sebastian loved her for all she was worth. Having been an immigrant, he understood the looks of confusion, the obvious judgement, and the all too occasionally frequent persecution that comes from being anything other than the cookie-cutter norm of American expectations. Sure friends and family made the awkwardness endured in public less awkward, but when you’re alone and, say in a hijab, like (Y/N) was at the time of their first encounter, it’s harder to ignore the strange looks. Sometimes she could figure out whether people were staring in judgement or in admiration in her and her faith, but Sebastian was different. His eyes didn’t leave her face, nor did they hold looks of discrimination. Admiration didn’t begin to describe the look he held in his eyes and the feeling in his heart.

Taken would be the best word to sum up the feelings he had upon seeing (Y/N) for the first time, and, ever since then, he was wrapped up in her. Of course he had hurried over to her to insist he wasn’t staring for a negative reason, rather he expelled his breath and inquisitions to her. He wanted to know her story, her heritage, what made her laugh, what caused her smile, and how he could know her more intimately.

At first, (Y/N) couldn’t believe Sebastian was paying attention to her, let alone entertain the possibility that she was the sole recipient of his attention. Before she could see the relationship form, she found herself stuck in the middle of it. Things fell together so naturally with Sebastian. The pair seemed to click in ways neither individual had in previous relationships before and they had never been happier and they didn’t have many disagreements, but there was a fear within (Y/N)’s heart that caused her to keep an arm’s length of distance between where she was in her relationship with Sebastian and where she wanted to be with him. Getting too close would only hurt. Getting too attached would only cause a greater hole in her heart.

(Y/N) knew she loved Sebastian before she would have liked to admit it. Her heart had fallen before her mind could figure out what was happening and her mouth spat out words before her brain could form an adequate sentence. “You mean a lot to me Sebastian, but I don’t think I can love you the way you love me.”

Those words would echo through (Y/N)’s head for weeks. She regretted every bit of what was said, but she knew it was for the best. There was no way for them to entertain the fantasy of their relationship. Everything was too real for (Y/N). The smiles, the joy, his hug, the love, it was all too close for comfort. Their relationship was the most pure thing in each of their lives and yet, for her, it was poison. She loved him, that much was evident, but they had no future together. She couldn’t allow herself to love him because their relationship could never progress from casual dating and she knew she’d want it to. She could see herself marrying this man, having a family with him, but he didn’t share her beliefs. Her faith and her heritage was important and, as a Muslim woman, she couldn’t marry a man outside of the Muslim faith; unfortunately, Sebastian fell into this category.

She had kept her distance from him for a matter of weeks before accidentally running into him outside her favorite bookstore. He looked disheveled and saddened as he stood on the curb smoking a cigarette, something he hadn’t done in years. Rather than turning into the store as she had planned, (Y/N) tried to duck her head and hide from Sebastian’s line of sight, knowing her attempt would end in failure.

“(Y/N)?” he asked as he gingerly stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Hi,” she said sheepishly as the pair stepped aside to create room for people passing by on the street. Hesitantly, he stood before her and removed his hand from her arm, unsure of how he should be interacting with her.

“I...how have you been?” he asked her while shifting his weight between one foot and the other. With a lump in her throat, (Y/N) gazed at the man in front of her and anxiously bit her lip.

“Seb,” she said softly while gazing into his eyes. He maintained the faux expression of composure that held his features captive but behind the thin veil, he was breaking. “We don’t have to do this.”

“We’re adults; we can be cordial,” he hurried. She could tell he was desperate for interaction, communication, anything to show that they still had semblance of friendship. As (Y/N) shifted uncomfortably, Sebastian’s face revealed the depths of his despair as he begged, “will you tell me what went wrong with us?” Shamed, (Y/N) tried to hide the sorrow and guilt in her face as she looked past the breaking blue eyes and into the sea of strangers behind Sebastian.

“Nothing went wrong,” she admitted with a small voice. “You’re a great guy and a truly amazing person.”

“(Y/N),” he sighed as he read through her outward appearance. “After months do you think I don’t know when you’re lying?”

“I’m not lying,” she quickly protested and stared deep into Sebastian’s eyes. “What we have is...it-it’s complicated.”

“It’s not complicated to be honest,” he said while unknowingly tracing his fingertips along her shoulder and down to her elbow.

“You want honesty?” she asked while straightening her posture and trying to enough find confidence to add more fuel to the flame of inevitable heartache she was trying to spare herself and Sebastian from. “If I’m being honest, then you need to know that back then, I lied when I told I didn't love you. You needed to move on from me--I needed to protect you from me. I’ve thought through this a million times in a million different ways and this,” she said while gesturing between the man standing before her and herself, “it never works for us, and it never will.”

“Why won’t it?” he asked in a lowered tone as he gazed down into her eyes, making her attempt at officially breaking ties even more impossibly difficult.

“Because I’m Muslim,” she blurted, unable to find any other words to explain their situation.

“(Y/N),” he said while taking her into his arms as he saw the small, nearly inexistent tear roll down her cheek. “You know our difference in faith had never been an issue for me.”

“But it is for me,” she protested while finding herself being pulled closer into Sebastian’s chest.

“I don’t understand,” he said against the cloth of her hijab as it covered her hair. He could smell the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with laundry detergent as it drifted around his nostrils. “Are you uncomfortable with my beliefs toward religion?”

“No,” she said while shaking her head against is arms and looking up at him. “I care about you Sebastian--I love you; you’ve made me see so many things about myself that I would have never come to value had you not shown me how, but this can’t work. I can’t continue to love someone I can never be with and I can’t sit around letting you fall for me knowing that, if things ever were to become serious, we could never be more than two people caring for one another outside the boundaries of marriage.” As Sebastian’s face fell into disappointment and confusion, (Y/N) took his hand gently. “I love you too much to let you suffer in loving me. We can never be,” she sighed while slipping from his touch and leaving him alone on the street corner as she hurried down the street, carefully wiping the tears from her eyes and forcing herself to look at the ground rather than turn back to see the pain stricken face of the man she had just broken.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian x reader #anon request #sentence starters #muslim!reader #seb stan #seb stan fanfiction #seb stan fanfic

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paradisobound · 8 years ago

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Forever the One

Summary: When Omega Dan is of age, he is told by his father that he will be sold off to find an Alpha mate. Cue, Alpha Phil. Alpha Phil is in desperate need for a mate, and although Phil is only a few years older than Dan, he holds a reasoning behind why he needs a mate so quickly. When secrets are revealed that give up why Phil needed a mate, this story may not have a happy ending.

Chaptered Work: This is chapter 7 of 16.

Warnings: Mentions of running away and vivid mentions of not owning your own body.

Word Count: 1,739

Authors Note: In a few chapters is going to be pure smut, so I’m gonna try and whip these two chapters out fast so you’re not waiting too long. I know how much you guys love sin ;). So take what you will with this one and hope that I can get the next chapter out in a timely manner so you’re not suffering! Happy reading! :)

*Masterlist*

The next morning, I had trouble not falling back into my routine where I went and grabbed my pill bottle and took my pill. My body is feeling a lot different today. I feel more vulnerable, and I'm sure that my scent is thicker and heavier now that it’s not being masked.

Phil has even taken a notice because I’ve seen how he scented me in the afternoon, without meaning to, and left us both feeling quite aroused. I wasn’t used to feeling this way, but without my suppressants, I felt this way constantly. But now, my heat will due in just a few weeks. I know this because I read up online that once you stop suppressants, it takes two weeks for your body to accept the sudden change. But since I was already feeling the change, I was scared of it happening sooner.

While Phil went to college for the day, like I’ve gotten used to him doing, I stayed back in his room and did some research on what it was like to go through a heat as an Omega. I remembered what my first ever heat was like but they say the first isn’t anything like the rest.

I googled the topic, embarrassingly so, and clicked on the first source I saw. I read through the descriptions they gave of Alphas and Omegas and I found myself smiling when I read that they described Omegas as:

Strong “lower class” males and females who have the amazing ability to carry and reproduce children at the sad beck and call of their mates.

Yep, that was pretty much it but at least they described me as strong which made me think that the writer of this article was also an Omega who faces persecution like myself. I have trouble walking through town because most Alpha’s, especially those who are unmated, will smell an unmated Omega like myself and nearly force us into submission. And sadly, no one ever stops it. Whenever I had to go into town, my family always went with me just to be sure. My father made sure no one ever touched me, not even when my heat was strong enough to release pheromones down our road which lured in unmated Alpha’s looking for a quick knot.

I scrolled down the page and found a helpful section labeled:

I just went off my suppressants: now what?

So you were just told by your Alpha that you need to get off suppressants, or maybe you’re making a personal choice and going off from them because you want to. Now, what do you expect? Expect a strong heat within two weeks to one month after stopping your pills. This is because your body had gotten used to being controlled by the pills and now it has freedom to do what it biologically wants to. In addition, your first heat following the stopping of suppressants will be strong and you’ll be more fertile than ever before.

I stopped reading for a minute. I’ll be extremely fertile? What? But I don’t want a baby and I’m not gonna have the correct mindset to stop Phil from knotting me. Plus, I’m not going to want him to stop. Knotting is an intimate thing and my brain will want that even if I try and refuse.

This is why I recommend you get an over the counter birth control and begin taking it immediately following your stopping of suppressants. It will not stop your heat but it will stop a possible pregnancy that could be very much unwanted. No Omega deserves to have a child they don’t think they will be able to take care of, even if that’s the case nowadays.

I can’t just take birth control though. I thought it over in my head again and quickly shook that thought from my head. Phil will know if I take birth control and I don’t want that. I know that Phil didn’t entirely want me off my suppressants but he had reasons why I need to become pregnant.

But he won’t explain it to me.

Naturally.

I looked back at the article.

Now, when your heat begins, you are definitely going to feel it. Within 24-48 hours prior to your heat actually happening, you’re going to feel hot. You skin may even feel like it’s burning, and you might even produce little amounts of slick. This is completely normal. The morning, or night, that your heat finally hits will be hard on you. You’re going to produce more slick than usual and your body is going to ache with need. You’re going to need help getting through this grueling week long process, but with the right Alpha or the right caregiver, it is definitely doable.

But don’t worry. This is the only heat that will be like this. Your following heats should return back to normal. Think of the first one as your bodies way of hating you for stopping it’s natural process. Just let it run it’s course and have help through it.

You’re going to be okay.

I closed the article and shut the top of my laptop—it was technically Phil’s old one—and laid down on the bed, feeling drained.

I was not ready to go through this at all. I was terrified of having to experience this. I rolled over on the bed and breathed in Phil’s scent from his pillow, instantly feeling calmed from it.

Within seconds, I had a text from asking if I was okay. I smiled to myself, because I knew that his Alpha senses were going off that he had a distressed Omega at home. I texted him and told him I was going to be fine.

And then I ended up falling asleep again on his bed.

Phil still wasn’t back from college when Omega Lester came home and began to make us dinner. Alpha Lester had a late shift but Mrs. Lester was more than happy to still make dinner for just her and I.

We were standing in the kitchen and she was showing me how to cook basic things like vegetables in a frying pan. I didn’t know much about how to cook because my parent’s never taught me, but I knew it was a basic skill that all Omega’s needed.

“You’ll need to know for when you and Phil own your own house one day,” she said with a sad smile.

“Do you think we will?” I asked curiously, “I mean, do you think we will in the near future?”

She turned to me and smiled, nodding her head, “Most definitely. We just wanted to make sure that Phil was going to get along with you. And now that we see you two are completely smitten with each other, we are okay with letting you guys live alone.”

“When are we moving out?” I asked before adding quickly, “Not that I’m trying to push us out, I’m just curious.”

She shook her head and chuckled, “I know what you meant, sweetie,” she said turning back to her cooking and no longer facing me, “Once the first baby arrives.”

I stood back and felt my body tense. I furrowed my brows and finally spoke, “When the first baby arrives?” I repeated in the form of a question. She nodded, “You’ll be bearing a child soon, Dan. And once the baby has arrived, then you will move.”

I took a deep breath, “What if I don’t want a child?” I asked crossing my arms over my chest, “I’m only sixteen and Phil is only 20. Maybe I just take birth control instead.”

She suddenly turned and shook her head, “You will need to be pregnant following your next week.”

“But why?”

“Dan,” she said sternly but softly, “We need you to be pregnant after your heat.” I sighed and rubbed my hands over my face, feeling like I might cry, “Is my own body mine anymore?” I suddenly exclaimed, “Can I not control what I want to do with it anymore?”

“This is the agreement you make when you mate with an Alpha,” She said softly, “Your body is now his.”

I ended up leaving the kitchen following this, despite hearing the sadness in Omega Lester’s voice as she tried her best to keep me calm over the news. But I wasn’t.

How could one be calm when they are just told that they no longer have control over their own body? How could one be calm when they are just told that they need to become pregnant?

How could one be calm!

I was sitting up in Phil’s room when the thoughts began again. I looked at the window and sighed. I could jump out this window and try to run. Maybe I’d get far, maybe I wouldn’t. I would probably be caught and arrested. Or worse yet, my heat will hit and I’ll be forcibly knotted by a random Alpha on the street. I got up and stood, looking out the window and down at the backyard of Phil’s house. I haven't even been outside since I’ve came here and that’s something that I’m just now realizing.

I wonder if I even could walk outside if I wanted to get fresh air. I haven’t even thought.

Deciding that my thoughts were completely ridiculous, I sat down on the bed again. I was about to lay back down when I saw the door creep open and Phil squeeze his body through the small opening.

I laughed to myself, because he could have just opened the door. He crept in and walked over to the bed, when he sat down next to me and looked at me. I looked at him back and sighed, feeling tears brim my eyes, “Why do you need me to have a baby?” I asked softly.

He sighed as well, “My mother just told me of your conversation, and I’m really sorry that you have to go through this,” he said, “I really wish we could wait.”

“But why can’t we?”

“It’s so complicated Dan!”

I groaned in frustration and laid down on the bed next to him. He laid down as well, “Why is everything so complicated?”

He rolled over and pulled me in his arms, “I’ll tell you one day.”

I let go of a deep breath and curled into him,

“One day better be soon,” I mumbled.

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#phanfic #phanfiction #phan fic #phan ficition #phan smut #phan fluff #phan omegverse #phan omega #phan alpha #alpha!phil #omega!dan #omegaverse #bottom!dan #top!phil #health issues #first time #mpreg

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imagine-hamilfluff · 8 years ago

Text

If I Had My Choice: Part 7

Alexander x Female Reader

Part One

Previous Part | Next Part

Masterlist

Word Count: 4121

Warning: Cussing

A/N: Extra words to make up for last time. These crazy kids. Straight back to fighting. (Also, a sector is basically a country in this universe, just not as defined, if that makes sense.) (Also also, I am now also posting this fic on AO3 here)

Tags: @yehummno @robotic-space

There were traditions you had to follow that you flat out hated. There were traditions you had to follow that you didn’t particularly mind. And then there were the traditions you had to follow that you thought you didn’t mind, but now were in the position of hating.

“Y/N, it’s been three months since Alexander moved in. Can’t you at least talk to him?” Bethany asked, sprawled out on your bed. You could feel her eyes staring at you intently though your back was turned to her sitting at your desk.

You tried to ignore the question as if you were too engrossed in your paperwork to notice. But you were glad you’re back was to Bethany. Then she wouldn’t be able to see the light blush that was now painted on your cheeks. Because as misfortune hadn’t hit you hard enough the day you managed to find your way home, the next day you had realized Bethany was not yet old enough to marry her Choice.

And as tradition states, this meant Alexander had to begin living in your household: specifically, two doors down the hall from you.

Growing up, you never questioned having the Chosen assimilate to the household until the girl reached the age of seventeen. You found yourself questioning the moral behind the tradition a lot, however, these days. It certainly did nothing for your friendship with Alexander.

You couldn’t be in the same room as him. You couldn’t look him in the eye. And you couldn’t concentrate when you were around him. Which posed a problem as he was 100 yards from you almost constantly.

You had been trying to play it off as you were back to being indifferent, and he did the same. But every now and then, you would catch him looking at you, and you could feel it.

“Pretentious bitch.”

Cringing and gritting your teeth, you pushed the thought from your mind. You had let yourself shrink too far inside yourself to try to come out now. Neither of you could be the people you were in the cell anymore. Especially not with your mother around.

“Y/N?” Bethany asked, a little more impatiently this time. Her voice pulled you from your thoughts and you hummed absentmindedly in response. “Y/N, I’m being serious. You guys escaped certain death together, and now you’re acting like you hate each other.”

“Bethany,” you sighed, controlling your expression into a tired look, and then turning to face her. As expected, she was now pouting. “Why don’t you talk to Alexander about this? He’s your Choice, right?”

To your surprise, Bethany’s eyes flared in anger. Quickly, she scooted off the bed and stood indignantly. “Is that what this is about? That I Chose Alexander?” she demanded. You fought the heat rising to your face, but she took it as a confirmation and gritted her teeth in disbelief. “Y/N, I cannot- He is my Choice. And I know you think I’m too young and he’s not right for me, but part of me hoped you would set aside your petty feelings of annoyance towards him long enough to support me. Remind me to never hope for anything from you again.”

Tears brimmed your eyes, but you held your stone cold expression. Having Bethany upset with you for hating her Choice was hard. But having Bethany upset with you for liking her Choice would be harder. You could tell this frustration had been building up since you returned, and she had tried hard not to address it due to your homecoming. But this was as hard as it would get, you told yourself. Eventually you wouldn’t like Alexander anymore, and this whole nightmare would end.

You watched as Bethany angrily marched out your door, but she stopped right before she slammed it shut and stared you dead in the eye. “And for the record, I do talk about it with Alexander because he is my Choice and the person I will spend the rest of my life with. But I was talking about it with you because you’re my sister and I’ve already spent my entire life with you.” And tears streaming down her face, she dutifully slammed the door behind her as she walked out.

The confrontation left you feeling nauseous. Slowly, you stood from your chair and curled up in your bed. You released the tears slowly, trying not to overreact too much to Bethany’s words. She just didn’t know any better. But it just felt like even when you were protecting her, you couldn’t.

You weren’t sure when the tears soothed you to sleep, but you woke up disoriented and in the dark, as the sun had gone down. As you groggily sat up, you heard a knock at the door, and realized that must have been what woke you up. Slowly, you scooted off the bed and shuffled your feet to the door.

You weren’t awake enough to deal with who greeted you on the other side.

“Bethany’s forcing us to eat dinner together,” Alexander stated blandly as soon as you opened the door. You paused for a moment, allowing your brain to catch up with the events happening, and then shut the door. You began breathing heavily, and after a few moments, you opened the door again.

A very indignant Alexander stood before you. “Seriously? We’ve regressed that much?” he asked angrily.

In your still groggy state, you couldn’t stop your next words from emitting your mouth. “Regressed from what, Alexander?” you questioned, looking at him pointedly. To your surprise, his eyes avoided yours. After a beat of silence, you mumbled, “That’s what I thought.”

The two of you stood in awkward silence. You could feel his thoughts radiating off on you. It’s not like you were subtle about your feelings. And he had always technically been with Bethany. Who falls for their younger sister’s potential Choice?

Pretentious bitches, that’s who.

You shook your head and sighed loudly. Then your eyes met Alexander’s. “I’m only attending dinner with you because I already pissed Bethany off once today,” you clarified as you pushed past Alexander into the hallway.

Your eyes met his again, and he was smirking. “I know. I heard all about it,” he commented jokingly. But you glared back at him, which wiped the smirk off his face.

You wished you could have laughed. You wished you could have playfully commented back. You wish you could have been the girl who got to do that with Alexander. But you weren’t. Bethany was. Three months ago you had told yourself it would only take a month to move on; you still couldn’t trust yourself to smile at his jokes.

Both of you remained silent and tense for the rest of the walk to the kitchen.

Bethany must have told the cooks to expect you, as two settings were already prepared. It was only now you were able to check the clock and realize how long you had actually slept. Family dinner had happened two hours ago.

For the most part, the two of you ate in silence. You tried not to allow your memories float back to when you would eat your bread together on the floor of your cell, but eventually, you couldn’t stop the memories. You stopped eating and more rearranged the food on your plate with your fork.

Bethany’s words from this afternoon rang in your head. All she wanted was for you to speak to Alexander. You could do that. You managed to do it when you hated him, forgetting the fact that most of your conversations with Alexander back then usually ended up in fighting.

“So what do you think of living here?” you asked quietly. He looked up at you, startled you were engaging in conversation. Your eyes avoided his by staring intently at the chicken that was now shredded on your plate.

“I think it’s cruel I have to be with Bethany, but live down the hall from you, when it’s you I have feelings for,” the imaginary Alexander inside your head responded. You laughed silently to yourself as the real Alexander finally came to terms with the fact you asked him a question.

“It’s fine,” he stated simply. You peeked your eyes up at him curiously to find him studying you intently. It took all your effort to keep your cheeks from burning.

“Just fine?” you asked, struggling to hold on to the conversation.

Alexander sighed, and looked at you. “Y/N, we were friends once, right?” he asked. He sounded tired. Like he actually wasn’t sure whether or not you had been friends or not and had spent many hours pondering it. You shifted uncomfortably.

“Sure,” you finally answered quietly.

“Then can you pretend I’m your friend again for the next five minutes?” he demanded.

You stared at him open mouthed. You wanted to say no and walk out because you didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. Mostly because you didn’t know what he was going to say. “Sure,” you found yourself strangling out, forcing your panic down.

Alexander took a deep breath. “I’ve been here for three months, and here’s what I’ve learned: you’re a sell out,” he said steadily. “I understand you want to keep yourself safe in this household, but the way you readily agree with your mother on everything is honestly horrifying.”

Your skin prickled at his words and you gritted your teeth. “That’s what a friend would say to me?” you asked defensively. “My mother had me kidnapped and almost killed.”

“You mother has people kidnapped and killed everyday,” Alexander deadpanned.

You slammed your hands on the table, feeling a range of emotions from helplessness to fury. “Exactly! And you want me to, what? Backtalk her?” you asked incredulously.

“I want you to speak up for yourself and the others your mother is persecuting,” Alexander shot back frustrated. “Why don’t you speak up?”

“Because me speaking up won’t stop her, Alexander!” you exclaimed, becoming more angry. “That’s not how this works.”

“So just because you think it won’t change anything, you’re better off not doing anything at all?” Alexander asked, challenging you. Your entire body flared at the insinuation.

“That’s not what I said,” you growled.

Alexander gave you a pointed look. “Okay, then name one thing you’ve done to stop your mother if speaking up won’t work,” he demanded. You clenched your jaw shut and avoided eye contact. Alexander stood from his chair. “How do you sleep at night?” he asked after a couple beats of silence. He almost sounded like he was disappointed, like he had had hope in you.

“I don’t,” you mumbled quietly. You looked up at him defeated, and your eyes met. Alexander took you in for a long moment, and then silently turned and left the room.

You took a shuddering breath. Maybe it wasn’t possible to have a conversation with Alexander without fighting. And maybe that was for the better.

Alexander refused to speak to you for the next three days to Bethany’s dismay. She kept trying to get out of you what happened at the dinner, but you also refused to talk about it, which frustrated Bethany to no end. But to your surprise, she let it go. Apparently she found you arguing with Alexander better than you avoiding him out of spite.

On the first of the month, the household was in a bustle as it usually was on the day of the monthly sector meeting. As your household was the head of your sector, each surrounding Lady and their advisors met and spent the night in the spare rooms the first of every month. The first Ladies were set to arrive at any time, and you were putting the last minute touches on the agenda for the day, glad your mother was avoiding you more than usual the past three months.

“Y/N! Did you hear?” Bethany called out from down the hall as you were walking the agenda to the meeting room. You looked up dryly to greet her and then inquired what she was talking about.

“Alexander asked if he could sit in on the meeting as one of mother’s advisors, and she approved!” she stated proudly. Your stomach flipped.

“He can’t be in there,” you desperately tried to reason with Bethany. Her face fell. But you didn’t have time to worry about her thoughts or her pride. You knew exactly what Alexander would try to do in the meeting.

To your surprise, Bethany didn’t wait for your side of the argument and placed her hands on her hips. “Well, he’s going to be and you better get over it,” she stated angrily, and then stalked away. You stood there stunned as your skin became clammy.

You were a mess of nerves for the next hours. Before the meeting began, you tried to pull Alexander aside, but he swerved around Lady Trellaine to avoid you. And so now you had to wait.

You couldn’t concentrate throughout the meeting. Alexander was seated directly next to you, but thankfully Philip was directly across, as usual. It was quite lucky Philip was one of Lady Schuyler’s most trusted advisors. He always made these meetings more bearable. Especially today.

You noticed all the eyes at the table were turned to you, and you turned and realized your mother had said your name. This was it. This was the only part of the meeting your mother allowed you to introduce: the last part of the program. You stood shaking and took a deep breath.

“As usual, there have been a number of magic sightings across our sector in the past month. We have managed to capture six of our mage perpetrators: twin brothers by the name of Daviss, a lady by the name Redine, and a family of three by the name Leroy. Even their six year old daughter has been found tainted by the dark art.” The words came up slowly and calculated, just as you had practiced over and over again. When you were finished introducing, you quickly sat down before you could become choked up.

As you sat down, Alexander’s eyes burned into you incredulously, as if he wasn’t sure if he quite believed you said what you said. But you knew the worst was still to come. Your mother stood up and you stiffened and stared straight ahead.

“These monsters need to be cleansed,” your mother began. You clenched your jaw, even though you should already be immune to this speech. “If the Great Spirit were with them, they would gladly give up their lives for the good of the rest of us. We must help them find this peace. They shall hang tomorrow morning, and we will pray they find peace and purity in their next life.” Everyone at the table besides you, Philip and Alexander nodded solemnly in agreement. Your thoughts wandered to the six year old girl, and you steeled yourself against your tears.

“Lady Aremine,” Alexander’s voice rang out in an almost growl beside you. You stiffened and begged for Alexander not to do what he was about to do. Without asking it to, your hand instinctively and inconspicuously reached to your side and clenched Alexander’s hand in an attempt to hold him back. But he merely removed his hand from yours and stood up calmly. “Don’t you think this isn’t the right treatment for these people? This punishment does not fit the crime.”

Your eyes searched Philip’s desperately, but he merely stared at Alexander stunned. Nobody in the room was breathing. The tension was visible on everyone’s face. Every muscle in your body screamed for you to run. Get out.

But you stayed stoic in your seat.

“Alexander,” you mother began patiently, “such interesting foresight.” The words came out like venom. “What would you have me do instead?”

It was a trap. You knew it was a trap. But if you warned Alexander, your mother would think you were a part of this. She would think you put him up to this. And so you stayed silent.

“Well, for starters, you could not hang these people,” Alexander demanded angrily. Your eyes flicked to Philip’s with fear, and he met yours.

Your mother smiled her cruel smile. “Alright then,” she said pleasantly. “Fahlar?” The man who oversaw all the executions in your sector looked up at your mother with a mockingly happy face. “Cancel the hangings tomorrow.” Fahlar nodded and you felt Alexander relax beside you. “Instead, we’re going to do something that ‘fits the crime’, as my future son-in-law has suggested.” Her eyes met Fahlar, as if they both shared a joke and knew the punchline coming next. “Burn them. In their cells. Tonight.”

And with that, your mother picked up her papers and executively left the room.

Your entire body fell slack, and you sat trying not to concentrate on the tears. Alexander sat down defeated and in disbelief beside you. As the rest of the Ladies and advisors left the room, he numbly stood up with them and left a little slower. Philip was already out the door with Lady Schuyler. And so you were alone.

And then you were angry.

You stood and marched to the door Alexander was exiting. The rest of the meeting goers were too far ahead for what you were about to do to cause a scene.

“I told you to leave it alone!” you shouted at him, halfway across the room. He froze in the doorway. “I told you!” Now the tears were beginning to stain your face as you came upon him.

Slowly he turned around and looked at you regretfully. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to-”

“It doesn’t matter!” you screamed again. You were becoming hysterical, but you allowed it for the moment. You hands started shoving him. “I told you not to challenge her! I told you it doesn’t work!” By now your hands were constantly hitting his chest with as much force as you could put into them. He silently took all the blows with flinches and no protest. “They’ll burn because of you!” And you could see it in his eyes. You had broken him. But you weren’t done taking your aggression out on him.

Suddenly two arms wrapped around you and forcibly removed you from Alexander, kicking and screaming. The hands shoved you against and pinned you to a wall.

“He was just trying to help, Y/N,” Philip said in a low voice to you. But you still struggled against his grip.

“It was reckless!” you cried out, the tears still streaming. “I told him to leave it alone.” By now, you were more tears than fury, so Philip let go of your shoulders and wrapped you in a tight hug instead.

Eventually, Philip pulled back and looked at you intently. “Alexander knows of your powers, right?” he asked carefully. You hesitated but nodded slowly. Philip formed his lips into a tight line. “I think he did it for you,” Philip admitted softly. “He looked as if you presenting was his final breaking point. Honestly, I’ve wished several times to have as much courage as that. Maybe he was stupid. Or maybe he cares about you. But Y/N, don’t persecute him for this. Go easier on the guy.”

You tried not to dwell too much on Philip’s words. “But, those people. They’ll-”

Philip shook his head and shushed you. “He didn’t change anything but move the plan up.” You nodded numbly. “It’s late, Y/N,” Philip comforted. “Get some sleep.”

You nodded again, and began walking back to your room. When you looked up, you half expected Alexander to still be standing there, but to your relief, he must have escaped when Philip pulled you off of him.

The next day you ran across Alexander in the library. Which shouldn’t have necessarily surprised you as you and Alexander were the only two in the household to ever use the library. But what did surprise you was he wasn’t reading.

Instead his hands floated across the keys of the piano creating a soothing melody.

You stopped from the side and studied him carefully. Telling from the bags under his eyes, he didn’t sleep last night. Slowly you took in his features one by one. The long, disheveled hair that blew across his face outside at his stand. The lips that quirked into an amused smile whenever anyone does anything mildly funny. The long soft fingers that once held yours, but now expertly found their path on the ebony keys. And those beautiful eyes. The ones that comforted you, and aggravated you, and made you feel an undeniable calm.

“Maybe he cares about you.”

Philip’s words rang in your head, and you tried to push them out. Without realizing it, however, you sighed out loud, startling Alexander.

As soon as he realized it was you, he began sputtering, “Listen, Y/N, I am so sorry. I didn’t-”

You shook your head and cut him off. “Alexander, it’s okay. You didn’t change anything. She’s just trying to get in your head.”

He didn’t accept this response. “That doesn’t make it okay. And I have some fault in it. And I just- I don’t want you to deal with this. It’s awful,” he finished lamely. You were both silent for a moment, before he burst out again. “And those people!” This time tears began building in his eyes, but you quickly went to comfort him, joining him on the bench.

“Hey, it’s- it’s okay. They, um,” you paused, unsure if you wanted to continue what you were saying. But looking into Alexander’s desperate eyes, you felt compelled. “You can’t repeat any of this to anyone. But… there were no bodies found in the ruin of the cell. We think they manage to escape before they were burned. But as far as my mother knows, they’re dead. So we need to keep it that way,” you disclosed, giving Alexander a pointed look. His eyes widened at the information, and soon you found yourself wrapped in a hug. Your body was a mess of wanting to pull away and wanting to stay forever.

Eventually however, Alexander pulled away, still crying. He laughed in relief, and you gave a small smile. But then he soon became solemn again.

“Y/N, I miss having you as a friend,” he said quietly. You felt a slight heat rise to your face as you tried to keep a straight expression.

You looked up at him and gave a strained smile. “Bethany is lucky to have Chosen you,” you commented. But then realizing what you said, you quickly averted your eyes from his. Alexander merely smiled softly.

“I’m the one who should feel lucky,” he responded softly. This time you looked up at him, and he had a soft glow in his eye.

“You really love her, don’t you?” you asked carefully.

His eyes met yours in surprise before he gave another smile. “I promised I would, didn’t I?” he asked. His eyes searched yours, but you weren’t sure for what, so you merely nodded. “And what about you?” he asked quietly. “Any word on John?”

You gritted your teeth and forced another smile up at Alexander. This time however, a tear escaped your eye. “Did you know that you only get a letter from someone at war when they die? It’s not supposed to be like that, but it doesn’t take long to figure out the pattern,” you explained mumbling. Alexander looked as if he was going to say something, but you cut him off. “I didn’t get out of bed for two days when I got a letter from John,” you admitted, avoiding eye contact.

Alexander was silent for a long moment.

“How long ago?” he asked solemnly.

You shrugged your shoulders. “About two years ago,” you confessed. You felt Alexander stiffen beside you. And you looked up with tears in your eyes. “Bethany was so worried about me, but I couldn’t tell her. She had grown to love John as a brother, and she would refuse to believe Mother hadn’t told us he had died. I had to protect her. So I didn’t tell anyone,” you continued. Then you gave Alexander a long look. “Bethany is my entire life. And I know she’s angry at me most of the time, but that’s because I’m protecting her. Can you do that? Can you hide things from her to protect her?”

Alexander considered your words carefully and once again was searching your expression for something you couldn’t pin. Finally, he swallowed thickly, averted his eyes from yours, and responded.

“Of course.”

#iihmc #if i had my choice #hamilfluff #alexander x reader #alexander hamilton x reader #alex x reader #ham x reader #hamilton x reader #hamilton fanfic #alexander hamilton imagine #hamilton oneshot

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