#because otherwise id be on death row by now

[kossamer]

SWTORtober day 5: fashion

[thesharktanksdriver]

Little Blue (Platonic)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎: 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠

𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝟏

❝ 𝐈𝐟 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞r 𝐈𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 ❞

Admittedly your family has always been a bit odd

Mostly on your dad’s end but your mom was no exception either

For your dad it was cause he was technically legally dead to the government

Having to make himself a new name

New ID

New everything

He doesn’t talk about it much

Hell you didn’t even know of it till your 13th birthday when he sat you down that night and told you the truth

Of how he was initially blamed for something that wasn’t his fault and made into a convict

Placed on death row before him and aunty Rebecca teamed up against some very bad monsters

He doesn’t talk about it often

Sometimes you think he might have some form of ptsd since there are moments he freezes

Or you wake up to find him hunched over the table during the middle of the night

Looking down at the scratched and worn dogtags you inherited on that same birthday

It’s perhaps because of that experience he and aunt Rebecca taught you to shoot and survive

That paranoia of something happening to you

You weren’t sure when it would come In Handy but you appreciated why he wanted to teach you

How bringing you to a gun range over the weekends became a routine thing for the two of you

Him gently helping you line up a shot

Or properly clean your weapon

You got why your dad remained secretive

His life was on the line otherwise

But your mom on the other hand was a different story

From what you know from letters from uncle Luis they came from a small isolated Spanish village

One steeped in tradition and solitude

Your mother preferred not to talk about her childhood despite you asking her

Eventually you stopped and just relied on Luis for information since stuff online was limited

Growing up he’d tell you of a castle off in the distance that held an ancient curse

A beautiful lake that he and her would play near as they caught salamanders

Secret passages in the woods shown to them by their grandfather

A childhood friend the two shared

Growing up the place sounded almost dreamlike

A place untouched by time, acting like a portal to the 18th century

You grew up reading these letters, waiting by the mail with your mother as she smiled at how enthusiastic you were about getting them

Though you’d never met your uncle Luis in person he was one of your best friends

He had a certain way of writing that made his letters that more enjoyable to read

Especially since they evolved from when you were young till now

You used to pack little stickers or glitter but now replaced them with photographs of you aging through the years

It was fun

Especially as he found himself giving you your nickname “Pequeña/o azul”

The nickname Little blue was given to you cause of your now trademark baby blue hoodie

A commonality he saw in said photo’s

Your mother joked he had a nickname for everyone

Hers was “Madre Oso” for some reason, mama bear

Something to do with a story in her teens she said with a bit of a chuckle and her now being a mom

He only ever once met your dad at the wedding

He nicknamed him “Lobo Solitario”, lone wolf since those were the vibes he got from him

Very much true in more ways than one

Over time you stopped asking of the village

Growing disinterested as you focused on school and asking what uncle Luis had been up to

Apparently while he stayed in Spain, he moved to the bigger cities

Continuing his schooling as he studied in the sciences

He’d sometimes talk of doing experiments

Even doodling small sketches of what looked to be some sort of bug

It was cool

Especially for your 15 year old self to think about about at night

Everything was fine

Until it wasn’t

It came as a letter, one sent by Luis in rushed handwriting

Begging, pleading, your mom to go back to their home town

That he needed to see her urgently

It left your mom in a panic with your dad not being able to do much to help her

He couldn’t calm her down as she began searching online for tickets for both you and her

The frantic mumbling of her voice filling the house as the night proceeded on

You barely had time to pack as the flight left in about the next day

Just getting in the necessities before having to jump into your dad’s pick up truck

He hugs and kisses your mom

Then does the same to you, placing a kiss on your forehead and promising that everything would be alright as he sees you nervously fiddle with his tags

The sight of which makes him chuckle a bit

As you wait for the plane you brush up a bit on your Spanish

It’s not the best but you certainly know enough the read and get around

Though you study it a bit just in case due to nerves

Doesn’t help much either that the place is more on security than ever

News of the president’s daughter going missing still in the headlines

The blond was a few years older than you

A fresh face to collage and apparently a kind girl

It makes you upset that the poor girl is gone

Moreso for her parents who must be worried sick

You turn you gaze away from the sight of her face on a magazine

Your mom sits beside you

Her hand clasping your own as she nervously taps her foot

She was conservative clothes of an autumn orange sweater and a old skirt, her boots are fitted for hiking

You wear your baby blue hoodie and jeans, your shoes are some doc martins

She said it would be alright for seeing Luis but to be prepared to get looks from the villagers

She said you’d look like a time traveler compared to them which made you laugh a bit

Perhaps it would be funnier if her nervousness wasn’t infecting you

Despite that you try to keep positive

To keep a smile for her sake as a way to comfort her

It doesn’t do much but it’s the last you can do as you both enter the plane

Hand In Hand

The rental car you now sit in plays some Spanish song over the radio as the wheels of the car crush old sticks and stones on the dirt pathway

Your mom taps a nervous finger against the steering wheel

The nail polish on them is now chipped and cracked as is your own

Your bag near your feet laying partially empty with only a small notebook, earbuds, water bottle and a few snacks

Nothing serious as the only other objects not in the bag being your iPod + headphones that play the tune of everlong into your ears at a low volume

And your pocket knife that lays sighing your hoodie pocket

You have your head propped up by your hand on the window

Watching as trees pass by that are occupied by crows

Getting deeper

And deeper into the country as you feel an uncomfortable feeling grip you

Though you know nothing bad is in those woods you can’t help but imagine something out there

Watching

Waiting

Doesn’t help that it’s sunset either so night will quickly fall soon

It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that no amount of water can wash away

Your eyes drift away and back to your mom

Specifically the yellowed note that sticks out her bag that you take

You read along the words scribbled in ink

Pausing your song as you focus on what your reading

When we he’s send one to your mom it was in their mother tongue of Spanish

A small tradition between the two of them that transferred to this as well

…but something seemed wrong with it

Even with something serious like this it doesn’t seem like he’d not use the nickname he gave her

But maybe you were reading too much into this

Your paranoia getting to you as a response to this all

It was a natural thing to do

To read in-between the lines when nothing was the lines when nothing was there

“So was there a specific reason why he asked us to come here?”

“He said something about it relating to his experiments. How I needed to come urgently, other than that I’m not sure but…I can’t leave him”

You nod turning to look out the front window, watching the path

“Is there anything I need to know about the place beforehand?. He would sometimes mention stuff like a castle but other than that…”

“Ah yes…the castle. Me and Luis would sneak out to sometimes see it off in the distance. It’s owned by the Salazars, an ancient clan so to speak that saved the land from a curse. Of course that’s all legend, but their wealth is certainly something to see for yourself. Also infuriating when your scrounging for money to survive whilst they live in luxury”

“Sounds like a French Revolution repeat”

She giggles a bit at that

“I wish. Certainly would’ve been interesting if it did turn out that way.”

“Anything else mom?”

“Hmm well…I’m guessing you know their conservative”

“Yep”

“And the passageways?”

“Showed by Grandpa to you and uncle”

“Ah alright um…I guess the only other thing you should know about is-“

The car comes to a halting stop as a man suddenly steps out of the woods and into the road

She barely had enough time to stop the car

She mumbled obscenities under her breath in Spanish as she looks at the man

There’s something wrong about him

His eyes…

“Mom, I don’t have a good feeling about this”

“Me neither but…we don’t have much an option”

She rolls down the window as the man come to her side of the car

They converse but you don’t pay attention to their words

All you can focus on is his gaze

He doesn’t seem to blink at all much to your horror

Whatever conversation they have is cut short when she notices how he’s staring at you uncomfortably

It makes her snap at him in anger and redirect his attention to her

It’s there when you notice the red glare of something in the corner of your eyes

A reflection

A man, a tall one at that in a trench coat

One eye is distinctly different from the other

You see him reel back his arm and-

“Mom!”

You grant your bag lunging away from the man but can’t do much as he grabs you

She screams trying to grab you before the man by her window brings her out as well

He holds you by your neck

Feet just touch the ground as a threat it makes you shake in panic and sweat begins to tread down your brow

You stay silent in fear as your mom try’s to reason with them

Wanting to know what the fuck was happening

“M-mom I don’t think Luis wrote that letter”

It comes out small but it’s enough to make her go still

“The child is correct”

From the corner of your eye you stare back up at the man currently holding you

“The fuck do you want?!, let go of my kid asshole!”

“We need leverage over him”

He talks to the man holding her in Spanish

She’s pushed to the ground onto her knees

Hands behind her head as a look pure fear replaces her expression

She looks to you, tears lining her eyes

She mouths the words “run” and then “I love you”

As she does this you sneak a hand to your pocket getting your pocket knife ready

“We only need one”

It happens like a blur one moment your being held captive and your mom is alive and the next she’s gone

A pitchfork stabbed through her head

Blood dripping down

The colour staining the ground that ugly hue

And then you jab the knife into the man’s hand leading for you to run

You run blindly into the woods

You can’t see from the adrenaline and tears just pouring from your eyes

It’s getting dark now

You’ve stopped hearing footsteps and Spanish yelled as they chased you

Now all you hear is your own heartbeat and sobs

It’s cold

You feel so cold both emotionally and physically but you know you have to carry on

She’d want you to

You need to get back home to your dad

Get to an embassy or something

But even then your not sure what to do from now

Your in the middle of fucking nowhere

You don’t know where the nearest city is and you’d have to get there by foot

But you’d then also be leaving your uncle Luis behind for these people

Your small form curls up in a ball on the ground on fallen leaves

You son until exhaustion takes you

You momentarily wake up as footsteps get closer to you

Tired eyes stare up at a man who looked different to the villagers who chased you into the brush

He wears a trench coat with a hood and a covering over the bottom half of his face

He kneels down

Warm glowing eyes staring at you with kindness

“Need help there kid?”

You can only nod your head slightly

He thankfully sees it and picks you up from the come ground

“It’s alright, get some rest”

You do as he says

Letting sleep take you once again as memories of your mother play like a broken rec

[yetanotheraltwhumpblog]

AMOW Winter Wumperland 2022 1.

They nightmare before Christmas

@oddsconvert, @amonthofwhump

“Hurry up! We’re going to be late for dinner!” Davy heard Azzy yell.

“I’m coming! Just give me a second!” His shrill voice pierced the otherwise quiet woods.

He was running after her, blistered fingers shielding his eyes from the setting sun. They were already late, Azure had to check herself for ticks.

Sprinting now, only guided by the distant laughs of his fellow campers. His hand must have covered his eyes too much, because he fell into a tree root, his head bouncing off the wood. He pushed himself up with his hands, but cringed and fell back down when he felt pain rushing through them. He looked and saw a long splinter of wood running through his palm. He tried to yank it out but cried out as it chipped into his dermis. 

He looked over to see what tripped him, careful not to put pressure on his hand.

…

What is that?

Davy scooted forward and moved some of the leaves covering what he was looking at. As he did so, the smell of decay hit him like a freight train. He had smelled death before, from the dead mouse found behind his bed to dissecting roadkill with Kade, but this smelled…different.

He gagged but kept pulling away the leaves. They were sticky. 

He was tearing debris away, his grabs turning more frantic as he started to make out colors. He pulled one last time, but the leaves were gooey. 

He leaned his face closer to see what it was, ignoring every warning from his nose to find eyes staring back at him. 

He tried to scream, but the sound was trapped in his throat. He tried to turn away, but he was paralyzed. He was forced to look… at it.

It. The body, the rotting, corroded corpse of what was once a human being. 

Davy’s eyes were wide open as he felt his esophagus fill with sick. 

What used to be its face was ripped open, hanging on by a few strands of skin and cartilage. One of its eyes was gone; the socket filled with maggots and the remnants of an optic nerve. The noise from the campsite was gone. All he could hear was his heart racing. He looked at the rest of its body unobstructed by debris. The arm that he could see was bent upwards and the bone (?) was poking through the sleeve of its jacket. Davy clamped his eyes shut. So hard they hurt. 

This is a dream. This has to be a dream.

Then he heard something. Something moving. He squeezed his eyes tighter. His ears were ringing. 

He didn’t open them until he felt something cold touch his skin. 

They shot open, to see that it had moved. The hand that was once obscured by shrubbery was ghosting its fingers across his ankle. 

He screamed. It was a guttural, raspy sound that burned his throat.

He tried his hardest to move, squirm, do anything, but he was frozen to the ground. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something change. The disgusting flaps of skin contorted revealing rows of decayed teeth. The edges of what used to be its mouth turned upwards. It was smiling.

He screamed louder, his lungs burning as much as his throat.

“D..avid…”

The fingers had gripped his bone and begun to curl inwards, nails cutting into skin. It squeezed harder, the popping of bones filling the air along with pain.

“Da..vid…”

“Dav..id…”

With every repeat of his name, it tightened its grip. The sickening crunch of connective tissue ran through him. The pain in his hand long forgotten. 

“David!”

His eyes shot open and locked with Azure’s concerned ones.

“Oh my God! You scared me!” He could see that she had been crying. He sat up and pulled her into a hug. She sobbed into his shoulder.

“ ‘s ok... just a bad dream.”

She just cried harder. 

“I had one too,” She gripped his shirt in her fists. “Was it about…” She trailed off, but he knew what she was talking about. 

“Can… can I stay here tonight?” 

“Of course,” He smiled to himself but there was no happiness. “Just like old times.” 

He returned the hug but pulled his hand away, and looked at it. It… was bleeding.

[wizkiddx]

was thinking for toms most recent ig story it sounds like hes working out early everyday, what if u did a blurb where the reader does it with his and its like best friend --> something else ? sounded like a you type of story, id love if you gave it a go ❤️💕

oohkay so sorry this lit just came through this evening and I suddenly got v stupidly into it (if u put in a req before that I promise I am working on it I just got way to invested cos this is stupidly cute) xxxx

summary: what starts off as tom taking you under his wing and some sunrise workouts together might just develop into something more

“It shouldn’t be legal…. to be doing anything… this fucking early!” Spoken, well yelled, in between the fake strokes of the exercise bike and your pants. All you got in response was the two men laughing at you, no sign of sympathy at all, as your gritted your teeth - fighting against every body instinct to stop the movements. Your heart was pumping like the clappers; breathing shallow and rushed and your arms… your arms felt like they were about to fall off. Combine that with the lack of sleep from waking up before the sun did at 5 am - meant you felt like your were in literal hell.  

Why ever you’d agreed to do these workouts with Tom and Duffy escaped you. Being the new and rising actress, with a new supporting role in the next Spiderman, meant you’d spent a lot of time with Tom over the past few weeks. Not to inflate his ego either, but Tom had been a real life hero to you. See, you were the complete opposite of his experienced and seasoned professionalism - this was your first acting gig. And what a gig it was, the second biggest part in a Marvel movie. You never really believed you’d get the part and even when you did, were pretty sure it was some elaborate joke, where Ant and Dec were going to jump out from some corner and go ‘ha its a prank!’ or something. 

Yet somehow it was all still happening, you had been flown halfway across the world to spend three months alone on a film set. Well obviously not alone, but you knew no one - you were a complete outsider. That, really, was the reason you’d agreed to do these sessions with Tom. He’d offered half heartedly while between takes as you were moaning about how out of breath you got in that scene. At that point, you’d only known each other for a matter of weeks, he really hadn’t expected you to commit to 5 am each and every morning. What he wasn’t aware of though, was how ocmplerly stranded and lonely you felt here, hence why you jumped at his offer. 

And yes you loved to moan and complain when you were there, however you were also so incredibly thankful he ever offered. Duffy, Tom’s PT, was a right laugh too and he took great joy in torturing you - and was also entertained by the new and inventive ways you’d insult him after he ordered you about. 

“Come on Y/n, 200m more and then we are done, even your little arms can survive that.”

“Really … not the encouragement… I was looking for.” Still panting, face bright red and blotchy as you pressed your legs straight again.

“Tom? You wanna help Y/n out?” 

“Nah you know… kind of enjoying seeing her in pain.” The British voice laughed from somewhere behind you, making you roll your eyes.

“Why the hell… are you not… torturing him?” He sounded way to comfortable and relaxed to be working hard. 

“He’s got a stunt heavy day today so wanted to go easy this morning.”

Now that was a bloody joke. You were BOTH filming the SAME scene today, doing the SAME stunts. 

“Did I forget to mention Y/n is on set too?” The joy in Tom’s voice made you want to do horrible things to him. Even though you felt like you wanted to collapse on the floor, you’d happily do a set or two on a punch bag right now - if that punch bag was Tom’s face. 

Before you could hurl some fresh abuse at your costar, Duffy called time on the rowing machine, turning the display off and passing your water bottle over as you slouched on the slidey seat. 

“Done good Y/n/n, I am actually super impressed with your progress” The stocky man patted you on the back genuinely, bringing a bit of smile to your otherwise grimacing face. He went over the chat to Tom about some boy shit that you couldn’t care less about, allowing you a couple minutes to get your breath back. As soon as you did and tried to dismount the machine of death, your ruined legs seemed to have other plans, shakily buckling so you ended up starfished on the floor, groaning at the dull ache that came with the sudden movement. 

And what show of concern did Duffy show you? A belly laugh that echoed round Toms indoor gym making you groan again, throwing your forearm over your eyes. It was in fact the curly haired brunette, who came and knelt by your side, wordlessly balling up the towel and placing it under your head as you shot your eyes open in shock. 

“You okay? Sorry… I might’ve taken our friendly competition a bit too far.”

“I just… just might have to gain the power of flight this afternoon cos my legs aren’t gonna bloody work.” Tom chuckled and shook his head at your dry humour. 

“Oh I’m sure we can talk to Jon and get that arranged… not like Marvel don’t spend years crafting the script and storyline for a newbie actor to change it all.”

“Might I remind you… they wouldn’t have to if your weren’t such a dickhead!” You exclaimed, sitting up and staring at him with an exasperated look than only made him burst out laughing again. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry… I just cant take you seriously when you look like such a tomato!” His voice went an octave higher as he laughed at himself, the situation getting even worse for you when you heard Duffy join in too. 

The boy was bloody lucky you couldn’t lift your arms right now, otherwise they’s almost certainly be attempting to ruin his pretty boy face. 

/////////////////////////////

After a long day of shooting you and Tom were in one of the set buggies, being taken back to your trailers to change for the evening. There was a peaceful silence until Tom ruined it yet again.

“ Got any fancy plans for this evening then?”

“Well you know me, back to my lonely little old place and  frozen pizza - so living the movie star life.” 

“It’s a Friday! You not going out with your team or anything?” He sounded so bemused at your quiet plans, and mention of a ‘team’ had you cocking your head to the side. 

“‘My team?’ Tom until I get my movie star pay check I can barely afford my pizzas, never mind a whole persons wage.” You were still only three weeks into filming and although you spent an hour every other morning sweating your ass off with Tom - apart from that you’d tried not to impose yourself on him too much. You didnt want to look clingy and naturally Tom always had a mountain of people vying for his attention - you would go to the back of a long line. So honestly, you were still a bit of a mystery to him, right now you’d both only scratched the surface on each other. 

“Really? I know this is your first big job but I thought you’d have someone here?” 

“Nah… I mean I’ve kinda clung to the Marty on the camera crew but he’s going to see family tonight sooo.”

“Come back to mine. I’ve swapped Harry for his twin Sam, which is a bit of an upgrade cos Sam’s a chef. He just arrived last night. I bet he can one up any pizza you were planning on.”

“Honestly I don’t want to impose, sorry I didnt mean for this to be a pity party or-“ The buggy slowed to a stop and Tom instantly vaulted out of it, standing right infront of you and blocking you exist off the back sofa. Both of you were still in costume, Tom in latex and you in your corset-esque two piece, but then both wrapped in matching long line black jackets supplied by set. 

“No come on I’m serious�� Sam’s dying to meet you and it’d be good to spend more time together. You know, cos of chemistry and all.” The last bit was a switch from his cool and smooth, normally easy going tone - into something a bit more… anxious? Just like that, before your brain even knew what it was doing, you agreed, smiling broadly and nodding. 

So barely an hour later, you were knocking on the doors to Tom’s mansion-ish rented Atlanta home which was much much more grand than what the studio had arranged for you. Even though you were here most mornings, this time it felt different. Yeh it was stupid, but you can’t help the way you feel and you were stressed. For no real reason… just, just because. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward at all  and you especially instantly hit it off with his younger brother Sam. Everything just felt easy and simple which meant so much more considering you’d felt so isolated an alone halfway across the world for your home comforts. Being British too, simply chatting to the two young men about your hometown and growing up was just so familiar, it really helped you feel less homesick.  Naturally too,  you’d fallen into a casual and friendly ribbing of Tom with Sam, making the three of you spend to majority of the evening cracking up (or in Tom’s case pouting at the abuse). It was a nice change from the two on one attack you got from Tom and Duffy that morning. You’d all cooked dinner together… well no, you and Tom had stood idly watching Sam cook an amazing chicken curry dish - which he promised to give you the recipe too. Honestly Sam felt like your long lost best friend, especially when it came to your shared ability to berate Tom for anything and everything. 

About an hour ago Tom had stuck on the film, effectively shutting up you and Sam - thankfully for him since Sam was just about to get to some rather embarrassing stories of Tom as a kid. You and Tom were on the longer grey sofa; with Sam sat  the other side of the coffee table in an impressively soft armchair - looking as though it was swallowing the lanky boy. The calm, the silence and the comfort was only going to go one way for you though. After your workout this morning, plus all the running and jumping during the shoot,  after what had already been a pretty intense week, it was hardly surprising that you didn’t even notice yourself drifting off the sleep. 

Who did notice though? Perhaps your brown haired costar who’d been stealing glances across to you ever since the movie had been put on? Because as much as he hated to admit it to himself, this didnt seem to be panning out as a normal job. A normal job is something you put your all into, for a couple weeks, and then leave with good memories and a good pay check. Yes, he had only known your for a matter of weeks or so but it already seemed to be unfathomable to cut ties with you. How would he go without your kind mannered abuse everyday? You were just refreshing, new and mysterious. And Tom was more than intrigued, his interest was peaked. 

And it was stupid to feel like that…. Of course it was. You can’t fancy a colleague because things get complicated and awkward. Tom knew that. 

Then why was he now delicately draping a blanket over your frame and smiling smally when you hummed in your sleep, in what seemed to be a show of appreciation for the layer of warmth? 

Because you were his excited puppy of a costar who is giving everything she has for the job? Because he is worried and wants to look after you? Because he cares? 

No matter why, in that moment you were contented and as was Tom. Oh and Sam? 

Sam saw the tell tale signs in his brother. He saw the way Tom had been touching your arm or the small of your back just a little more than what would be considered normal while he’d been cooking. He’d seen the way Tom had been laughing purely because you had. His eldest brother never did anything rash, it was always a painfully slow process for everyone involved. But Sam thought this just might be the start of something. The start of a slow burn.

[99problemsallinmyhead]

TW

this post is for anyone who knows what it’s like, how it feels to lose a parent at a young age and for the other parent to get remarried a year later...

back in 2010 when i was 14 and my mom was in the hospice because of her breast cancer taking over her body. i remember feeling my heart as it shattered into a million pieces the second i was told she had passed. i remember falling to the ground crying.

not long after my mom had passed, our dad would toss us $40 for pizza and leave for the weekend and we would barely see him. i remember feeling like i had become an orphan, because my dad was around, just not for us much. 

in under a year he already moved on to someone else. he would constantly compare her to our mom, telling us that “oh she’s a lot like your mom you know” but she wasn’t. she is nothing like my mom.

my mom NEVER would have put us through what she did. suddenly everything was about her and making her happy. we didn’t matter anymore...at least that’s how it felt. we were just 3 teenagers who had just lost their mother after watching her slowly die in front of them for about 7 years. i can hardly remember a time where she wasn’t in constant pain but she somehow always had a smile for us. but anyways, this new woman wasn’t her. i would put song lyrics on my facebook page or just post something relevant to my life and she immediately made it about her, screaming at me about making all these “statuses” when she had posted a status that actually was about me saying i chase rock bands too much instead of getting a “real job” but did she ever think that maybe those “rock bands” where the ONLY thing that kept me alive at the time?

i was fucking miserable. all i thought about all the time was how i wanted to die. she victimized herself with everything, claiming that we were the “problem” because we finally spoke up to her abuse and she wanted to make us look like the problem. any problem that ever happened was because of the way she would treat us. it got so bad that i was AFRAID to go upstairs to use the bathroom, i starved myself most days just to avoid being near her because anytime i was, there always seemed to be something for her to scream at me for. i bought a microwave for downstairs just so i could keep food in the downstairs fridge and cook it if i needed to. id have showers and use my brothers bathroom downstairs just so i could avoid the anxiety of being close to her. i was scared of her. completely mortified. my dad promised me i could get a cat of my own once Loki was gone so after my sister moved out i got a fur baby of my own to help with my anxiety and depression. i was taking care of her and paying for everything myself. she made it a huge deal and forced me to get rid of her so she was moved to my aunts house till i could take her.  once i got her back she threatened me telling me the spca is being notified when there was NO neglect. i got to keep my cat. One day i woke up to repetitive loud banging, only to hear her yelling “IT’S TIME TO WAKE THE FUCK UP AND FIND A JOB AND A PLACE TO LIVE” “YOU HAVE FOUR DAYS TO FIND A JOB AND A PLACE TO LIVE”(i had a part time job and paid my rent monthly at this time while she would sell crap on bidding wars on facebook yet i was the one with “not a real job”) she did this multiple mornings in a row, slamming the garage door that was right beside my bedroom at 7am while my dad was at work. i heard her call me a lazy bitch as she stormed back inside.

I DO NOT DO SHIT FOR PEOPLE WHO SHOW ME ZERO FUCKING RESPECT LET ALONE SOMEONE WHO JUST FUCKING YELLS AT ME. THERE IS ZERO REASON TO BE A MASSIVE BITCH AND IT WILL GET YOU KNOWHERE WITH ME.

she turned anything that we said or did into some sort of “game” and we were the only ones who ever had to apologize. when she’s supposed to be an ADULT but she can’t even owe up to her actions let alone accept the consequences. she told me im “so much further behind my peers, mentally, emotionally and otherwise” who the fuck says that to someones kid? and our dad just lets her get away with it all. shes never held accountable and we always are expected to just apologize for our REACTIONS to her ABUSE and  just be friends with her. but im done.

i am not letting someone who abused me be considered my “family”. i gave her multiple chances and she’s never going to change. slamming doors make me have panic attacks and give me major anxiety now because of what she did. 

she blamed her dogs death on my sister saying she “poisoned” them SHE WAS WITH ME THE ENTIRE TIME SHE WOULD COME OVER TO CARE FOR OUR MOMS DOG. WORKED IN THE VET FIELD AND DIDNT GO NEAR HER DOGS. she made assumptions that my boyfriend was a “juvenile delinquent” based off of meeting him ONE TIME. when i told my dad, he said that she never said that but i know she did but of course she wouldn’t tell him.

She completely destroyed our family. we stopped seeing our moms side because of her, my dad barely speaks to me now because of her and he refuses to listen to anything we’ve said about her and how she’s made us feel. she completely secluded my sister for years. none of us want to be around her but he still won’t listen. she’s threatened multiple times to “pack her bags and leave” 

years ago my dad told me i was being selfish, but the only reason i agreed to him marrying her was because i wanted him to be happy but i didn’t think it’d end up this fucked. i miss my dad. the one who wasn’t controlled by an absolute psycho.  i HATE when he calls her kimmy. i HATE when people call her Kim. i’ve never disliked someone more. but hey, what do expect from a narcissist?

[themarvelousnouveau]

Pride, Questioning, Gay, Pan, Trans, Queer and HERE.

This is my, I never came out story.

If you don’t know me already, my name is Kalae “Nouveau” Hassel. I was born and raised in New York City and now I’d like to think of myself as a resident of the world… which is a fancy way to say I’m homeless and crashing at my sister’s house in the SW until I figure out what’s next for me in my life.

I sit here, in my new surroundings, hot, just thinking about the desert scrub around me and the dry 100 degree day we just had while I stared at my feed into a wet, sea of New Yorkers flooding the streets in rainbow. Vaxed? Who knows, waxed? Most definitely. Dancing, partying, celebrating while I die a slow FOMO ridden death. Okay, maybe just an orgasm (did you know orgasm means tiny death?). But I began thinking about my Pride story and queer journey to the proud Double Spirited, Pansexual I am today! So I figured I’d share bits of that journey, along with some images I’ve created for Pride as part of a Prompt from the very talented MUA Delvon Paris (@DelvonParis). He asked a group of MUA’s to all represent a Pride Flag and I was assigned the gorgeous Transgender Flag.

I hope you enjoy my story, my art and at the end, a brief history of the Transgender Flag and what It means to me. I hope that none of this is triggering to anyone, but alas, this sort of stuff usually is so bear with me and remember this is a safe space and I send everything with LOVE unless otherwise noted.

I started going to Pride in High School. I remember hopping over the metal gates they put up in NYC parades so we don’t bum rush the floats. I would wear high heels and I already have the long, thick, legs of a plus-size tarantula. So, Id just step over, casually, and join in on the fun walking for a mile or two before my heels became more of a hindrance than the fierce spectacle they started the day as. I remember being mistaken for man in Drag too many times to count. Getting glitter and sweat in my eyes, dancing and celebrating queerness at that age was a FANTASY. I didn’t know about Stonewall, or Gay rights, or Queer struggles. I just new Drag Queens and my gay friends and my non binary friends. I often wonder if my deep love for the culture and my allyship at that young of an age was really me resonating with the queer girl I would grow up to be. I mean, I was always different, but I didn’t come to terms with my Gay side until a decade later.

See, I was raised homophobic. Unfortunately many of us do and it not out of the ordinary. I come from a religious Caribbean background. There’s Soca music about murdering Gay people. I mean it’s etched in the culture. It’s not okay, by any means, but It was all I knew. One day, my best friend asked me and our other best friend (yes, we were a thruple) to come over to her place because she wanted to talk to us. Little did I know, there would end up being two coming out stories in a row, leaving me shaking and crying at a table with my two incredibly articulate, intellectual, hilarious, beautiful, vivacious and now I know, Bi-sexual, besties.

I didn’t cry because they had changed to me, I didn’t think all of a sudden, oh these are “bad people” or “they’re going to hell” No, nothing of the sort. I cried because my mother, my community, my culture LIED TO ME. I shook because the foundation I stood upon was rocked to the core. I loved my besties, probably more that moment and thats the moment I fell in love with this community. Because they were my people. Queer people were my people before I knew I was Queer. So I became a dedicated ally.

It would be years of gay clubs and Prides and soul searching before I finally went out with a woman. I made out with girls my whole life and it never occurred to me that it was “gay.” This is the conditioning, this is the heteronormative, patriarchal system that has me and so many of us blind to the truths of our nature. I have always been attracted to women, but I wouldn’t allow myself the space to be GAY. With all my allyship I still couldn’t peel back the layers and liberate myself. So when I finally did, It wasn’t a moment. It was a series of moments that lead to many colorful relationships and as I grew, the people around me would just notice and some would ask questions but for the most part I think a lot of them were just like, “Well, thats Kalae, KALAEing” and as much as I appreciate that my fluidity is acceptable in a way thats clearly a privilege, I still never really had to/got to come out. I was just here, still. Was I ever in the closet? Am I out the closet now? Maybe I was just straddling the doorway. Maybe I was in the closet but no one new I was in the closet because they could already see my clothes, nah mean?

ANY WHO, I’m here, I’m Queer, and I miss New York Pride, and here’s some info on the Transgender Flag if you didn’t already know it;

The Trans Flag was created by Transgender woman Monica Helm in 1999. She debuted the flag in 2000 at PRIDE in Phoenix, Arizona! The Flag consists of five horizontal stripes and in Monica’s words,  "The stripes at the top and bottom are light blue, the traditional color for baby boys. The stripes next to them are pink, the traditional color for baby girls. The stripe in the middle is white, for those who are transitioning or consider themselves having a neutral or undefined gender." For me, as a double spirited human, with her/she pronouns (like the chocolate) all three colors resonate. In my imagery there are three humans in the womb, emerging inside of a pre slated destiny. The ability to accept, change, destroy is in their eyes and at their fingertips. Only time will tell where their journey will lead. I did my best to represent the colors as Monica stated but I don’t believe in gendered roles, traits, etc based on assigned at birth sex. So, take what you will from this flag and my artistic depiction of it. Make sure to visit my Instagram page to see all the amazing depictions of the other Pride Flags! (@TheMarvelousNouveau) All made and sent with LOVE.

Exoh Kalae

[stevecoleridge-posts]

Day 6 ..Friday          Struggling .. which is why i did nt see the news or spend time on Social Media yesterday..          I thought it would be a breeze and after a little concentration id have it down .. but no , even the first part…known as lumpedy lump was proving tough , because of the triplet  walk up from the V to the 1.. and i think thats the part Jimmy Reed himself is playing…   If you ve read previous episodes you will know i refer to Honest I Do….the song.   Im learning it on a You Tube lesson , now a lot of people who think of themselves as pros , seem to think there s some sort  of stigma ro learning stuff on You Tube, but i know a French guy , of Spanish descent , who is a really hot Flamenco guitarist who has mastered nearly all the Palos , and all on You Tube  They are right, if you dedicate yourself to different songs at the same time, but it s like working form home…you need time and discipline ..and take the lessons very slowly and don’t move on till you can play it 20 times with your eyes shut..preferably standing up .. then move on up. Yesterday  was the first time i managed to do this.   There is a different tone on Social media today .. angrier , more prone to blame others, more censorious…and on one group forum i saw they were going to ban Humour..well , i don’t personally know the Group leader.. but it does nt take much imagination to know she s not someone you d want to be quarantined with.    The only thing to fear is fear itself.. well i certainly don’t think that applies in this situation, quite the reverse, the more frightened we are the less we will venture forth on errands that are not strictly necessary..i was on my way out the door , literally, when my mobile rang…it was the charming woman from the bank.. she d got my message .. id gone way over my limit.. which was why i could nt withdraw funds…She , and i won’t name her, is working from Home and sorted it all out on her laptop..no need for me to go to town..      Is nt that great?..well , I thought it was..and a good thing too,as she has not been provided with any masks..and we are talking about a Bank..if they cant get basic stuff like that no wonder the Government  are nt testing people .. they don’t have the wherewithal…it is nt as though this has nt been on the News everyday since December the something.    .I remember listening to Radio Four as i was driving through Slough, in December,… don’t ask … the M4 was closed..and i was listening to a woman in Wuhan describing how her parents were dying in the Street.. that really got my attention.   It did nt seem to get the attention of the people in charge here however, as when the inevitable arrived nearly three months later , they had done nothing to prepare for it.   The Spanish Disease is politics, it creeps into every corner of life and spreads its poison , a bit like you know what,..and in the past when people got fed up with their venal politicians there was a Military Coup , and then they realised maybe life was better before with democracy … and the cycle starts again. This model has been exported successfully to Latin America.. with the possible  exception of Mexico. and Costa Rica   Its all very well for us stodgy Northerners with our bad weather , to criticise, but Sun affects people,and when things are good they seem so much better  in the Sunshine..but something about Sunny weather produces Volatility, and an @ i won’t fix the roof as its not raining @ World View… and Italys  colossal death rate is the price to be paid .. not that it is nt sunny in China..or South Korea..but they do a lot more than just fix the roof..and to put  it down to Confucianism .. well  maybe best not to start on that.   Australia will be interesting, they have lots of sun , but its a pretty organised place ..and i don’t see them making this sort of Balls up.. also they have the experience of natural disasters,,and pulling together, and will not let Politics interfere…any country that had leaders with  names  like Abbott and Costello doesn’t waste too energy on petty politics.  The Current Classic example of petty minded, spiteful, pointless,  negative ,oppurtunism , is the  attempt on social media and what sup groups to denigrate the Royal Family organising people to rattle saucepans at a given time, because apparently the current King s father had a rather large amount of money in a Swiss Account..well, it was Saudi Money , not money stolen from the Spanish taxpayer, unlike the billions stolen by the previous administration , the PP .The idea for this stupidity was inspired by the Custom of applauding the Medical profession every night at eight o clock.. an excellent morale boosting , bringing everyone together kind of gesture..well everything has its opposite and this is an excellent way to breed more discontent and fracture an all ready pretty fractured society.. it beggars belief and you really have to have lived here to see these Barca Madrid  idiocies at first hand.   Barca Madrid is a term used to describe the divide and conquer ,us and them , attitudes that have stopped Spains progress since the collapse of their Empire, culminating in the most vicious Civil War in recent European History, and one would have hoped  that after 40 plus years of Democracy it would have disappeared , but sadly, like in the USA and a lot of other democracies , it seems to be on the increase.The anger on Social Media which results from the claustrophobic frustration of a lockdown will hopefully not boil over into something with unpleasant political consequences, which would be very sad , as after Francos death and the adoption of constitution that is the envy of many countries, Spain was a beacon of hope in the last quarter of the 20 th century… how the mighty are fallen .. one hopes not.. SPANISH LOCKDOWN DAY  7   Slept really well , but then  I remember reading that people on Death row sleep 16 hours a day so possibly not a good sign.   Last Night i watched the Spanish news ,on the main channel and things are looking up , relatively speaking, in the sense that testing has arrived ..someone, or some country, has sent several thousand, or may be half a million test kits.. which is obviously excellent news , and testing in  Galicia is going full steam ahead. There was the obligatory item about a vaccine..which I think one can take with a pinch of salt. .Military erecting field hospitals next to various main hospitals…the eight o clock applause of medical staff…all in all well put together not too desperately pessimistic, and generally not as disheartening as Facebook.. afterwards i felt like some light relief so we watched eleven episodes of 2 and half men,  in Spanish ,to cheer ourselves up before going to bed.   ..   Today i decided to live a normal day .. if such a thing were possible , so , after taking Tina for a walk i got the Old TV and DVD working and put on Marty Schwarz s Intermediate Blues Guitar Course part one…and it started raining .. so that was encouraging as it took away any temptation to venture outside.. except for firewood that is.   I worked through the course without rushing , but also without too much pausing , as i d done those lessons before, and all that repetition of Honest I do  is paying off..   On going outside for firewood i could not ignore the noise of the generator that kicked in yesterday evening, as we ve had not Sun for several days, so i decided to fill it up with diesel, and see how much 15 hours constant running had used,only half the 20 litre can to fill  up the tank…but was it full to begin with?..anyway it s very rare to have 4 days without sun , so even if it did use  13 euros of diesel  Im not going to freak out as that was expensive diesel.. and I’m entitled to use the cheaper stuff .Of cause i spilled Diesel over my hands , and shoes , and when i spent a good 5 minutes trying to wash the smell out i realised this was the ultimate anti virus test.. so i will leave a bowl of Diesel outside every time i go to town and use that as first part of the disinfection process , yet another excuse not to go to town.    My neighbour M.  rang and suggested i look at his scheme on Facebook to institute Food Deliveries , so one does nt have to go to the Supermarket in person  and infect and be infected… a good idea of course , but like so many , i don’t see it happening…I pointed out several objections , lack of drivers, expense, one would need a sort of Uber program which will probably not be ready for a year .. etc..and the Supermarkets are making so much money i doubt they need this sort of input.I promised to look at it later , which I will , as Lunch was ready.   We ve run out of  Bread ,Oranges and Chocolate, Aurora has broken a nail and the nail bars are closed till further notice…but otherwise  we can probably get through till Monday without suffering too much ..on the other hand Monday is probably the worst day to go shopping..Im toying with the idea of going to the small Supermarket, at 8 am Sunday morning, and hopefully having it to myself , as i cant face the idea of a queue. I know English people are supposed to love queueing but i must be an exception, and queuing nowadays is a High Risk Activity.    The Sun is out and i did one of the jobs from a month old to do list… pumping the water out the flooded pump room , it all went very well , and i felt  very worthy , and now , with the Sunshine it s time for a walk , with Tina , of course.   I return , feeling optimistic .. and the phone rings, i assume it s my neighbour asking if I’ve read his article.it isn’t , it s C another near neighbour, with some very bad news .  The police are in Quarantine…and the Army will soon be here. No Tobacco..as they will close the Tobacconist.  A completely different ball game  I rang M, and gave him the news…I f he d had  a kalashnikov  he d have been checking the magazine  I rang another neighbour  F, whose office is next to the Police Station , to warn him. .When the Rumour , comes to your Town , It Grows and Grows, Where it Started No-one Knows…*Robbie Robertson   I rang my source in the Town Hall G…no , it s only one cop , and he has nt got the results yet..   I rang M  again…he had spoken to his friend who is a Guardia Civil .no , it was nt a Cop it was a Guardia Civil..he also told me the Cuban woman who cleans houses had been stopped, by the Police and they checked the receipt for her shopping    I rang the first neighbour and corrected the original story        I opened Facebook .. and there was the original story , which had started a firestorm of comments along the likes of whats your source? etc as though we were in the Watergate hearings, not only that,  the people reading the story imagined it referred to Mojacar , not Carboneras , and were all frantically ringing the Police Staion , The Town Hall and each other to see if it were true.    The tones of the respective comments went from shrill outrage that anyone should suggest such a story without due documentation , to fear , to I knew this would happen, all these irresponsible idiots .. blah blah   It began to increasingly resemble an episode of Dads Army with a false alarm about a German Landing.., which Facebook does anyway    There is the Captain Mainwaring..@While i was out today making sure everyone was behaving themselves i saw these irresponsible panic shoppers,  and these people walking around without a good reason @     The Fraser .. We Re Doomed     The Air raid Warden…Its all the fault of the Ruling Class, and rules are rules etc     Jones ..Dont Panic... in a tone of complete hysteria    Pikes mother…Be sure to wear your gloves , motorcycle helmet , hazchem suit, mask..galoshes, .Do you have your hand sanitiser , all clothes must be burnt on reentry etc     By this time Auroras original alarm had been replaced by hilarity, as she was sitting by the fire hearing one side of these conversations..     I went out for some more wood and we relaxed by watching a Documentary about the Boeing 737 MAX..complete with simulation in the Pilots cockpit    The best part was the CEO of Boeing trying to justify his 30 million Dollar salary at a Congressional hearing..…i wondered what the Shareholders thought about that , i know what the victims families thought , as they were being interviewed and did nt sound too impressed

[grimalkinmessor]

I Have A Question

Okay, so, how old is Tony Stark?

Yeah, yeah, if you Google it, it says he's 53 as of Endgame, which meant that he was 48 as of Infinity War, which is weird for a few reasons.

One, Tony Stark's birthday is May 29th, 1970. Which means at the time of the first Iron Man movie, he would've been 38. But I rewatched it yesterday, and something stuck out to me.

"Thirty years, I've been holding you up."

This is what Obidiah says as he beats the shit out of Tony (rude). But that doesn't match up. 38 is closer to 40 than 30, and with the distaste Obidiah feels for Tony, they certainly would've felt longer, so if Tony were actually 38, Obidiah should have said, "For almost forty years, I've been holding you up."

Now, you can argue that Obidiah has been around Tony since he was a kid, but 'holding you up' would imply that Obidiah has been responsible for Tony for thirty years. Which, he hasn't. Because Howard Stark died when Tony was 21.

(That brings me to another point of confusion: how did Jarvis "raise Tony after his parents' deaths" if Tony was already grown up? You can't really raise a twenty-one year old.)

Maybe Obidiah was talking about how long he's been helping Tony with the company then. But nope, checked that too, and if the '21 when orphaned' checks out (I doubt it), then Tony has only been running the company for 17 years. Which, if rounding is what Obidiah's into, translates to twenty years, not thirty.

Another thing that makes Tony's age inconsistent, is the Marvel timeline itself. Marvel said the events of the first Iron Man movie happened in 2010. Which it couldn't have, if Tony was 38 at the time, because 1970 dictates that he would've been 40, which still contradicts Obidiah's spiel about thirty years or whatever. Which means that Tony would've been 50 during Infinity War, not 48. The accompanied five years until Endgame would've made him 55.

The thing that made me take a look at this, though, was Peter Parker. His birthday is very close to mine, which I thought was cool, until I looked at it again and went, "Well, wait, that can't be right." Because his birthday on his ID, in the movies, says August 10th, 2001. But Civil War takes place in 2016. (Then again in Civil War, when Vision refers to Iron Man's coming out as eight years ago, that puts it back in 2008 territory, not 2010 like Marvel said.) This puts Peter Parker at age 15, right? Homecoming is also dated in 2016, so he's still 15 then too.

But Infinity War is dated in 2018. Which means that it's two years after Homecoming, so Peter Parker would be 17, maybe pushing eighteen because of the month, right? Wrong.

In Spider-Man: Far From Home, Peter says, "I'm just a sixteen year old kid." Which implies that Peter was still 15 when Infinity War happened.

Originally, I just wanted to find out how Peter was in Iron Man 2, when he was at the Expo. Iron Man was said to take place in 2011, which means that Peter would have been 10. Going by this we can assume that--still acting like he was 38 in Iron Man--that Tony is 39. But that doesn't match up either, because if Infinity War takes place in 2018, Tony is not 48. He's 46. If you wanted to try and fix it, you could say that Tony was 37 in Iron Man 2, except that would fuck up the 'he's 38 in Iron Man 1' part of it. But considering 1970, he should have been 40 in Iron Man, 41 in Iron Man 2, 42 in Avengers, 42 in Iron Man 3 (considering how soon PTSD starts surfacing and we were given a front row seat to it), and I'm not going to look at Age of Ultron, because according to Steve's 'seventy five years after he crashed the plane' it takes place in 2020, so whatever. But if Civil War takes place in 2016, and Tony is 42 in Iron Man 3, then he should still be 46. But going by Marvel's timeline, Tony is actually 44 during Civil War, which means he's been Iron Man for about six years, not eight.

There was inconsistency with the timeline from the very beginning, not just after Civil War. And it all started with the year 1970.

So I present to you: Tony Stark was not born in 1970. That information is false, just get rid of it completely, fuck that.

Instead, I give you: Tony Stark was born in 1978, or alternatively, 1980.

This patches up not only the two year gap of 2010, but also the gap of Age of Ultron, the gap of Civil War, and the gap of Infinity War. It ALSO makes what Tony says about Jarvis raising him, and what Obidiah said about thirty years make much more sense. It puts Tony at age 13 when his parents died in 1991, and the age of 30 when he made the Iron Man suit, which aligns with Obidiah's taunting. This also put the timeline back at 2008 instead of 2010, which goes with what Vision said about eight years between 2016 and when Iron Man emerged.

This puts Tony at 31 in Iron Man 2, 32 in Avengers, 32 in Iron Man 3, 34 in Age of Ultron, 35 in Civil War, and 37 in Infinity War, if we realign the timeline to fit the years and amount of time implied between each event. Or if we kept the original years, 34 in Avengers, 36 in Age of Ultron, 37 in Civil War, and 39 in Infinity War. So Tony Stark only hit his forties after Infinity War, when he settled down with Pepper and had Morgan, and would've been 44 when Endgame started and Morgan turned five (which makes much more sense biology wise but we won't go there today).

So basically, tl;dr, ignore phase three's time keeping completely, Tony's birth year is wrong and Marvel just fucked it up more by trying to fix it, and Tony built Iron Man at 30, not 38. This has been my TED talk, thank you for coming, feel free to fix my math if I messed anything up, but otherwise I headcanon this and you can take your incorrect MCU facts right the hell away from me.

[thebeautifulisalwaysbizarre]

I was tagged by @vildeliens thank you Queen (of clowns and headcanoons) ❤️

Pick 5 shows, then answer the following questions, don’t cheat. Tag 10 (or however many) people.  

Oz

Skam France

The Walking Dead

Doctor Who

Torchwood

1. Who is your favourite character in 2? Well that one is easy as hell. Lucas Lallemant, without the shadow of a doubt. I just adore that boy... I really do believe that he’s the most developed character of the whole skam universe. Also, i relate to him so so much, being parisian and 17 and queer and just, globally similar. And that Acting (TM) sure helps (will i ever be over axel’s acting? I dont think so)... I am gonna stop before i write essays (you all think this is a joke but i actually write random stuff about Lucas when i get bored in class, thats how bad it is). I just really love this boy folks...

2. Who is your least favourite character in 1? Well that’s an easy one too. Vernon Schillinger, because he is a neonazi, which is enough. And he is just plain BAD (rapist, murderer, coward, blackmailer... you name it)... And it’s not even a love hate situation, i despise the guy so  much, he makes me wanna crawl off my skin whenever he is on screen. Also i think he’s quite one dimensional which is very weird for that show but yeah. He is The Bad Guy.

3. What is your favourite episode of 4? Well that’s a harder one lmao, because you know, the show has been going on since 1963, which means i have many many favourites... Imma go only with reboot, cause thats the one i know better and i have to say it’s the one i enjoy the most. I think my all time fave is the two parts one, The Empty Child and The Doctor Dances, because those are just so perfect in every aspect imo. But i also love love love the library arc from season 4 (i think lmao) because KUDOS FOR MAKING US INSENSITIVE ABOUT A CHARACTER’S DEATH ONLY FOT IT TO KILL US LATER (and overall the episodes are so so good). Also, because i’m a hoe for big dramatic moments, the episodes with the Master (end of s3 and end of s4 mainly, i dont really like Missy) and the two parts The Stolen Earth/Journey’s end (i remember being so hyped by all of them squading up). Also, it’s not an episode but it deserves its place there: the entire season 6. Because Matt Smith, Karen Gillan, Alex Kingston and Arthur Darvill are just so good. I didnt really enjoy seasons 8 to 10 (even tho i adore Peter Capaldi), but season 7 also has some that i loved (Angels in Manhattan and The Name of the Doctor killed me). And the 50th anniversary. I MEAN THIS IS COMPLICATE I LOVE THIS SHOW SO MUCH IT HAS SO MANY GOOD EPISODES (and it’s the first show i got obsessed with so theres that)

4. What is your favourite season of 5? I think i’ll go with season 2 (?), because i love the og squad and they were all in it in s2, and i think the arcs were done really well (and the last episode, haha, me dead)... S3 and 4 i enjoyed less cause i think the teams didn’t really work without Tosh, Owen and Ianto... I couldn’t really find that magic again (and yes i’m still bitter). 

5. Who is your favourite couple in 3? It’s hard to find ALIVE people to form couples with lmao so i’ll go with one that is in kinda stand-by... it’s complicate...  Rick and Michonne cause i loved how they were best friends first and how their whole story was built... It made a lot of sense to me. Also i love the show less nowadays but i think those are still strong characters (minus Rick now lol)

6. Who is your favourite couple in 2? I had to snort. I know, it’s going to surprise you all, but it’s Manon and Charles OF COURSE. Kidding (pls. break. them. up). It’s Eliott and Lucas (how many of you all are surprised) because. Do i need to explain. Just. Everything. I can’t even put it into words. they’re just a perfect match and so in tune and so in love and i should stop now but i won’t so i’m sorry. I love how they complete each other and understand each other, and i loved how Lucas made Eliott’s dream real (polaris), and i love how they arent perfect yet they learn with each other and they make each other better . I love how cute they look and how in love and how raw. I love the way Lucas’ voice softens when he talks to eliott, and the way eliott’s eyes are so full of wonder. Also the way they fight sometimes but always come back to each other and love stronger. And their ship names literally means “chosen one”, how could I not ship? LISTEN THEY JUST FIT OKAY AND I WONT TAKE ANY CRITICISM

7. What is your favourite episode of 1? oh god i don’t remember them all at all lmao but imma try to come up with one (not 22838 like i normally do). So i’d say 4x11 (revenge is sweet)?? but honestly the show is so continuous that its hard to choose one ep... id say s4 is my favourite hands down though

8. What is your favourite episode of 5? YES THAT I CAN!! it’s from season 1, even though i love s2 better overall, Countrycide. I loved everything about that ep, and it still sends shivers down my spine when i think about it. I particularly enjoyed how it depicted the team’s relationships and how it showed that monsters can be amongst mankind (which, we been knew, but still. it was very well done for a show that fights aliens to fight humans)

9. What is your favourite season of 2? Another easy one! Season 3, as my entire blog can attest. It’s just. A masterpiece. That’s it that’s the post.

10. How long have you watched 1? I bingewatched it in like two months (cause i had to take breaks because school) in 2016. It’s a show that ended around 2000 so it’s not like i HAD to wait, and the episodes aren’t really stand alone so i had to watch them in a row.

11. How did you become interested in 3? I started watching with my dad because he is a cinephile that shows me loads of movies and tv series, then showed it to my mom. And now my dad stopped watching so i watch it with my mom exclusively even though i dont enjoy as much as i used to (still love it though). 

12. Who is your favourite actor in 4? Matt Smith (even though i adored Eccleston, and couldn’t appreciate Tennant’s AMAZINGNESS cause i was too sad to see 9 go aoimjdk). But Matt Smith is the funniest, most Doctor-ish one imo.

13. Which do you prefer, 1, 2, or 5? This is gonna sound like a betrayal to shows i’ve watched for so many years but Skam France, hands down. (i’m obsessed okay)

14. Which show have you seen more episodes of, 1 or 3? 3 because it has more eps and i’m caught up with both, so logically its 3.

15. If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be? Umh i think i’m kinda similar to Clara in some ways (?). Maybe. Like in the way we’re both hopeless romantic in search of an adventurous life. Plus, she is a lgbt+ icon and you can’t convince me otherwise so there’s that. i mean i think i globally identify with companions cause i wanna be them so bad lmao (imagine how cool it would be for my nerdy self ugh). But i look like a Sontaran so. Mayhaps i’d be one of those instead

16. Would a crossover between 3 and 4 work? umh that’d be funny as hell. The Doctor just jumping in a zombie apocalypse. Though i think they’d find a way to stop the apocalypse, so the second show would be annihilated by the first one. Mmh. Interesting still, up for it (i’m up for anything tbh)

17. Pair two characters in 1 who would make an unlikely but strangely okay couple? That’s the hardest one i had to answer GOD. I’d go with the crack ship, Ryan O’Reilly and Miguel Alvarez, tho they would both kill me and then burn my body if they ever saw this

18. Overall, which show has the better storyline, 3 or 5? Weeeelll i think The Walking Dead used to have an amazing storyline (the Governor’s arc was spectacular), but now i’d go with Torchwood cause sometimes (a lot of times), shows that don’t try to make it last for ages tie everything better. And Torchwood did tie things well enough imo (even tho i’m forever sad and bitter)

19. Which has the better theme music, 2 or 4? I don’ think Skam France has a theme music?? more like soundtracks (amazing ones)??? But i mean even if it did Doctor Who would still win cause the themes are fantastic (yes i went there)

This was so fun guys so imma tag @evnisak, @isak-valterssen, @jebentnietalleen, @demauryy, @srodvlv, @takaoparadise, @starcassstic, @thebananaslug, @sleepingthroughmyproblems, @akalousthings and anyone else i forgot, or anyone wanting to do this really

[kathrynmaslow]

Love Lies 12/15

Summary: Ever since Emma was 13, she knew she had the ability to destroy people if she wanted to, and some days, she really wanted to. After being forced to go to Greenwood Academy following a traumatizing event in her childhood that brought to the surface her ability to manipulate fire, she never thought she would be free of the place. So for nearly 10 years, she lived a solitary existence with the exception of her best friends, but that was all about to change.

Killian Jones had just been sentenced to attend the university campus at Greenwood Academy after an accident at sea caused him to be dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty’s royal Navy and lose his hand. He doesn’t know what to think about these newfound powers and what they spell for the rest of his now not-so-normal life. But a chance encounter one day has the ability to change all of that.

A story about love and redemption between two people that shows, if you have the right person beside you, you can find a light in the darkness.

Rating: M

Content Warnings: Mentions of Violence/Death, Brief mention of Childhood Abuse/Sexual Assault, Mild Sexual Content

Chapter Notes: For those of you who were wondering exactly what happened to Emma while she was on lock down, here is her side of the story. Thanks as always to my amazing beta @daveyjacobsthepotterhead and artist @princesse-swan. Enjoy!

Read on FF

Catch up on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven

Art by @princesse-swan here and here

Chapter 12

Emma was freezing.

Yes, it was beginning to finally turn towards cooler temperatures in the region that the academy was located, but that didn’t necessarily constitute the thick sweater and fleece leggings that she was currently rocking. Rubbing her hands together, her newly minted suppression bracelets clinking into each other with the motion, she tried to get some feeling back into her hands.

When the Headmaster suggested she get put on ice after the attack on the academy, she didn’t think he would mean it so literally.

After they roused her in the medical wing of the academy, Killian nowhere to be found, the Headmaster, security team, and training team were arguing about what to do with her.

Graham, ever faithful, was arguing just to contain her to her room until another set of bracelets was fashioned for her. She hadn’t injured anyone in the attack, and she had protected a lot of the students on campus while showing more restraint than many people here had thought she had, he argued.

The Headmaster wasn’t swayed though. He thought she was a menace, a threat to the safety of everyone on the campus, and that she had to be dealt with immediately and swiftly.

He continued on, talking over the head of the security asking why they were trying to punish her and not Gaston. He suggested they put her on ICE for a few days. Graham visibly blanched when that suggestion came out of the Headmaster’s mouth.

After sharing a look with the rest of the security team members, the head of security turned towards Headmaster Riggans, looking as though he was about to argue again.

All the arguments that he was going to plead on her behalf evaporated when Riggans threatened to fire him on the spot if he didn’t escort Emma to the ICE block immediately. Riggans turned his back on everyone and walked out of the room.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Emma let Graham and another security guard carry her towards the ICE block on campus. Despite living on the campus for ten years, she didn’t know what the ICE block was or where it was located on campus.

But as they kept descending deeper and deeper into and beneath the maximum security facility on campus, Emma began to think that the reason she had never heard of the ICE block on campus was because the students that they sent there never came back.  

Badging swiping through the fourth set of security doors, the head of security finally stopped in front of the third door down on the right. There were another six down the row from what she could see, and all the windows and walls surrounding the doors were covered with an ominously thick layer of ice and frost.

“She is going to freeze down here if we don’t take those gloves off her.” Graham said, shifting her so she was standing on her feet without much support.

Still staring at the door in front of him, the head of security nodded his head, “I know.”

“Well can’t you do anything? Riggans took my master key so I can’t get her out of these. I don’t know about you August, but I don’t want to risk putting her in one of those if Riggans didn’t say exactly how long he wanted her down here.” Graham pressed.

“I am well aware of what you are implying here Hunter.” The Head, August, said. Turning to face her, he pulled his set of keys from his pocket.

Fingering slowly through the dozens of keys, he looked directly at her as he slipped one into the slot on her right glove. She was struck by how young he looked.

“You may not know this Ms. Swan, but Mr. Riggans doesn’t know that I am gifted like many of the students here. He thinks that he hired someone just like him, normal, to fill his head of security. I know this about him because I can walk through people’s minds.

I’ve known for a very long time what I could do, but I never attended a school like this, because unless I told someone, no one would ever know what I was capable of. I don’t know what happened to make Riggans so afraid of you, but you are not someone that I think we need to worry about.”

He released the locking mechanism on the gloves, and she felt the warmth of her flames rising up inside of her once again. She looked down quickly at her free hands, flexing her fingers, and back up to him in disbelief.

He pushed a button to the left of the door, and the mechanism slid open with a cracking of ice, “Good luck Ms. Swan.”

The guards shoved her into what she now realized was a cell, and the freezing dark closed in on her.

If it weren’t for the kind heartedness of August, letting her remain without any kind of suppression in the ICE block, she probably would have died.

Walking across campus towards David’s dorm room, she was hoping he would have some information about what happened with Killian.

She hadn’t heard or seen anything about him since she was taken down to the block. And after having nothing to do but worry about keeping herself warm and alive for ten days, she realized how she reacted had been wrong. Killian didn’t deserve the way she reacted, but old habits for her seemed to be hard to shake.

And, she really did need to tell him how she ended up attending the academy in the first place, even if he hadn’t told her how he traveled here.

He saved her life the other day, she at least owed him that much.

Besides, Killian was her friend. Something more if she was being honest with herself.

As she crossed campus, she noticed how things had changed since the attack.

The barrier still hadn’t been repaired, so the clear panes that constructed the dome protecting the campus flickered oddly with electricity while they tried to figure out how to repair the monstrosity. Boulders and singe marks litter the campus buildings as well, remainders of her showdown with Gaston.

Crews were still working to try and remove the boulders and tree branches from the buildings, seeming to enlist the help of military branch members to do some of the heavy lifting that the clean up crews were unable to manage.

There were also more guards in place around the campus, a few had stopped random students as they made there way through campus to make sure they had the proper identification to be there. It seemed as though they didn’t want another army smuggled onto the campus.

One such service member stopped her at the doors to Reynolds hall, asking for her ID badge and scanning the back before allowing her into the building. Some of the color had drained from his face when he beheld the name on her badge, he had obviously heard about the battle on the campus and her role in it.

Emma could hear a commotion as soon as she arrived at David’s floor. Two or three voices yelling at each other, but one with a distinctly familiar accent jumped out to her right away, Killian.

Thank God he is okay, she thought to herself.

Rounding the corner, she hurried down to where she knew David’s room to be, but stopped short as she noticed a tall man in military dress yelling down at Killian.

“First the incident out at sea that got you marshaled and now this! Seriously Killian, I don’t know why you are doing all of this! Are you doing it for attention? Is that it?” The man yelled at him.

Killian visibly angered, a hot flush spreading up his neck and ears and his fist clenching.

“Right, because why else would I do anything. That’s how everything always was! If I didn’t do something right, whether it be during my schooling or during basic training, it’s because I wanted attention! Not because I was actually struggling or anything! You just thought it was a parlor trick to get you out of the spotlight and me into it!”

“You never gave me reason to think otherwise Killian.” The man yelled back.

“WELL GUESS WHAT LIAM, I DON’T WANT THIS!” Killian yelled, shoving at him-Liam-with his hand and blunted wrist.

Liam looked visibly startled when he noticed Killian’s lack of a left hand. He grabbed Killian’s wrist.

“What happened to you, brother?” He asked, his tone so much softer than it had been before.

“You have been keeping tabs on me well enough Liam to know where I was and what had happened, but you didn’t care enough to notice this in the reports. I guess that shows where your real priorities are.”

And with those parting words, Killian shoved past his brother, heading away from Emma towards the stairwell at the back of the building.

As Liam watched Killian go, David took notice of Emma standing there.

“Emma, thank God you are alright. What happened?” He came up to her right away and wrapped her up into a hug. “Jesus, you are freezing.”

“Long story, what was going on over here?” She asked, pointedly looking over Liam when she said it.

“Nothing you need to be concerned about ma’m”  Liam said, not turning away from where his younger brother had gone.

“Now see, that is where you are wrong. Killian is my friend, so yeah, that makes you berating him like he is nothing more than a child my problem.” She said, stepping around David to get closer into Liam’s space.

“Really, just being his friend makes it your business now? I’m his brother. You don’t have any say in how I treat my family members. Killian will get over his temper in a couple of hours and will inevitably come back to apologize.”

“But he shouldn’t have to come crawling back to you to apologize when you came here and attacked him! How did you even get in here in the first place, this campus in on lock down after the attacks.” She questioned.

Liam gestured to his uniform, “I am a member of her majesty’s royal Navy, I know exactly what strings to pull and who to talk to to be able to see my little brother.”

“Member of the Navy or not, you shouldn’t be here.” She said, “Killian doesn’t seem to want you here anyway.”

Liam flushed angrily, “Well, I haven’t seen Killian since his ship deployed from London nearly a year and a half ago. I only just received word of his placement after he got Marshaled and dishonorably discharged from the Navy within the last few weeks.”

“And I take it your reunion isn’t going as planned?” Emma said, channeling her best impression of Killian’s smirk that drove her up the wall.

David touched her arm next to her and murmured her name in warning.

“No, it hasn’t, but only because whatever you seem to have done has caused my little brother to turn into a completely different person.”

“We haven’t done anything to him!” Emma said, beginning to feel defensive. Killian had done nothing but respect her and defend her to others around campus, so it only felt right to do so in return.

She just never expected to have to defend him to the brother he spoke so highly of.

“You may not have been the initial cause of the change, but you are only making him worse. Killian was never someone who ran into danger and fought in battles trying to be some kind of hero.” Liam said back, his voice rising harshly, composure breaking.

“He was in the fucking Navy! Of course he was going to become a hero at some point.” Emma retorted, her patience becoming thread bare.

“Yeah, well, I never thought my brother would be a killer either, but that happened too!” Liam yelled, getting into her personal space, his face inches from hers.

All the fight drained out of her in an instant. “What?” Her voice barely more than a whisper.

David moved his body slightly between them, trying to defuse the situation further.

Liam let out a sardonic laugh. “Oh, didn’t expect that of your friend did you.” Liam spat, his voice bitter.

Emma shook her head, not really able to process the thoughts flowing through her head.

“That’s right, Killian is a killer. Killed one of his own men in cold blood when his ship came under attack. I don’t know what happened, but he isn’t my brother any more, and no matter what you all insist, you freaks did this to him.” He pressed a finger into her shoulder.

She barely noticed.

“And I am going to get him out of here, one way or another.”

“That is up to your government, Liam” David said, trying to play the diplomat. “You will have to take it up with them, the leaders here can’t just release him. Especially after what happened last week.”

Emma was barely listening to the conversation anymore.

Sure, Killian had mentioned that he was in the Navy before he had come to the academy, and that they had decided to send him to the states, but he had never talked about what had happened.

But she didn’t know how to process the information that he had killed someone.

It wasn’t like she had a poorer opinion of him now that she knew, but she was finally starting to see him in a different light.

Scenes flashed before her eyes, a looming figure above her in bed when she was 12. Her screaming for someone to come and help her. Roaring flames burning through her room and her house.

A charred body.

Sitting in that courtroom with members of her family staring down at her, some of them crying, some of them angry.

Her first nights here at the academy without anyone to comfort her after being removed from her family.

Family that she hadn’t seen for ten years.

Emma couldn’t say that she completely understood what had happened to Killian, but she was starting too.

“I have to go.” She said in a daze.

Liam and David abandoned the debate they were having when she started to push around the both of them.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Liam asked, trying to push David out of the way to get to her.

David clamped a hand down on Liam’s forearm, hard enough to make him wince. “Watch it buddy. Killian may be your brother, but Emma is my sister, you have no right to talk to her that way.”

“The hell I don’t. She is one of those freaks-”

Liam cut off as David squeezed his forearm harder, “I would think about how you want to finish that sentence, because Killian and I are also classified as one of those ‘freaks’ as you like to call us apparently.”

“You’re no danger to him, she could easily burn him to ashes with just a thought.” He hissed.

That charred body flashed again in front of her eyes.

“Believe me Liam, I am more of a danger to you right now than she is to Killian.” David said, looking pointedly down at Emma’s wrists, where the metal of her new suppression bracelets winked brightly.

“Those keep her powers down to the point where she is no more powerful than you are. Me, they don’t see the need to regulate me that way. So again, think hard about where you want this conversation to go.”

Liam glared daggers down at David for a long second before ripping his arm free and walking off in the opposite direction from where Killian went.

“I have to go.” Emma said again, after remaining silent for the exchange between Liam and David. She started walking for the doors that she had seen Killian go through when she felt a hand touch lightly on her shoulder.

So much lighter than the force David had just shown Liam. Always gentle with her.

“Emma” David said, moving so he was in front of her again. “Be careful. Things got pretty ugly between the two of them, so take it easy on Killian.”

“Don’t worry about me David.” She said, reaching to hug him quickly. “I’ll be okay.”

She let him go and rushed out the doors, barreling down the stairs.

Liam had been arguing with them for a good 10 minutes, so Killian already had a good head start to getting away from them.

Emma thought back on the conversations that they had shared over the last few weeks and thought about all of the places he liked to go when he was in a mood. He wouldn’t go to the library, too many people even with the lockdown.

Nor would he go back to his dorm room. That would probably be the last place he went if Emma was honest. He hated being alone there.

Suddenly, the roof of the science building came to mind. Killian loved being up there in the quiet solitude of the planetarium.

With that in mind, she took off at a run for the science building, hoping she wasn’t too late.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Min Yoongi, Library Services

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributors: @daegusoftboys  (her moodboards for the series are perfection)

Pairing: Reader / Yoongi

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex, light voyeurism)

Word Count: 7,364

Summary: When you accept the the offered research position at Bangtan University, you are well aware of your partner’s prestige. The only problem is - so is he.

“Oof,” I gasp, stumbling sideways when the girl slams into me.

“Sorry!” she yells, half-spinning as she jogs backwards up the steps. “Boyfriend was super distracting on the phone! Are you alright?”  

“Yeah,” I groan, turning away. “It’s fine – don’t worry about it.”

Gripping my folder togjt to my chest, I continue on down the steps of the building. The sun overhead is bright, enough that it doesn’t feel like fall as I walk; even the cardigan I’m wearing is heavy, pieces of hair keep sticking to my neck and forehead.

Squinting up at each building, I try and read the names on gold placards without being too obvious that I’m new. Simmons Hall. Fitzgerald. I glance again at my offer letter because I’m looking for Library Services, housed in the Nuiland Private Library. The dean, Kim Seokjin, said it’d be straight down main avenue – in between the Engineering and Chemistry buildings but every brick wall I pass just looks the same.

I wander further, feeling increasingly helpless because this campus is so much larger than what I’m used to. Trees stretch boughs overhead, students lie on the quads studying and throwing frisbees; it’s a scene plucked straight out of College Weekly, which is something I’ve never seen before. The previous college I worked at was small – an unknown university in an unknown town. I stayed after graduation to do research for them, which is how I first became recognized by the prestigious staff of Bangtan University.

They ended up offering me a position, though it’s taken a bit to sort out the paperwork. I was supposed to start weeks prior, yet here I am; mid-way through September and only just meeting my research partner. Well, partner is a loose term. Min Yoongi is well-known throughout the academic community – while me, I’m a nobody.

The job description says partner though, a fact which made me slightly nauseous.

Ah, there. Seokjin was right, the library is fairly conspicuous in stature. It rises above the buildings on either side, ten stories high and made of weathered brick and stone; gothic architecture at it’s finest. The first floor is actually two stories – tall, glass windows set on either side of worn, oak doors. Stopping before them, I check and re-check the placard. Yes, here – Nuiland Private Library.

Walking inside, my footsteps are met with silence. I suppose this is to be expected in a library but the door bangs shut behind me, causing me to nearly drop my folder. A woman looks up, frowning deeply from her desk.

“Sorry,” I whisper, loud enough that she continues to stare even when I walk forward. The front hall is long and wooden, extending past her desk and through the doors. “Do you know where room 601 is?” I ask, switching my folder to my other arm.

The woman raises both eyebrows. “Sixth floor,” she sighs, pointing over her shoulder. “It’s straight through the doors, elevators are midway down the hall on the left. Ride to the sixth floor and get out at the first room past the landing.”

“Ah,” I nod, attempting a smile. “Thank you.”

When I move to walk past, she coughs. “ID?”

Right. Flushing readily, I rummage around in my purse. “Here!” I announce, louder than I meant to be, voice echoing loud through the space. “Sorry,” I stage-whisper.

The woman looks up at the ceiling. “Go on,” she mutters, after a cursory glance at my card.

I don’t wait for further input. The hallway beyond is long, it spans the entire length of the building and the elevators are exactly where the woman said they’d be – midway down, on the left. The grates of the elevators are old, made with heavy metal while I step hesitantly inside and slide the grill into place. It’s alarming when the cage starts to rise, shaking more than a little as I close my eyes until it’s all over.

The sixth floor can’t come fast enough and ass soon as I arrive, I stumble out on the landing. I pray there are stairs somewhere, because there’s no way I’m riding in that death trap twice a day, five days a week. Finally managing to open my eyes, I observe my surroundings: completely ordinary. The ceilings are lower here, not as lofty as the first floor; even rows of book shelves extend in either direction as far as the eye can see. Nothing fancy, just dark wood lined with lots of books.

There are tables as well, set alongside couches and armchairs. Walking past them all, I search for the room mentioned just beyond the landing. There’s only one office, directly before me, a glass window overlooking the library. The visible desk within is empty, presumably mine. Its door is shut though, giving me pause. I stare for much too long before knocking, the only sound in otherwise silence.

No one responds.

I pause, heartbeat racing before I try again. Still nothing and, pulling out my welcome packet, I glance once more at the door. Seokjin said Yoongi would be here, said he’d be the one to greet me and show me around. I glance over my shoulder, at the still-open elevator doors. It could be he’s just not in yet.

Whatever the reason, I can’t stand here like an idiot all day, so I reluctantly push open the door. Stepping into the room, I pull the door shut behind me – and I hear a small cough, whirling around.

A man looks up from his desk. “Oh. Hi.”

I stare at him for a few seconds, fumbling for words. He’s not wearing headphones, meaning he must have heard me knocking. The guy is just sitting there though, feet kicked up on his filing cabinet while staring out the window at the quad.

Frowning, I glance back at the door. “Didn’t… didn’t you hear me knocking?”

The man’s gaze wanders back to mine. “Was that you?” he hums, shrugging. “Makes sense. Usually the voices in my head are much louder.” Then he looks away, resuming his introspective stance.

Speechless for a moment, I can only stare. “Uh. Are you Professor Min Yoongi?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Professor is so stuffy,” he mutters, then sighs. “I’m Yoongi, yes.”

Finally. “Hi,” I smile, stepping forward with my hand outstretched. “I’m Y/N. Your new research partner.”

Yoongi just stares. “Do you know,” he pauses, raising his gaze to mine, “just how much bacteria is on the human hand, at any given moment?”

“No,” I say, not saying what I’m thinking which is – I have a feeling I’m about to find out.

“About 35,000 bacterial particles per square centimeter,” Yoongi informs, swiveling sideways. “My friend Jimin is a Chemistry TA. Ever since he told me that, I haven’t really enjoyed shaking hands.”

Slowly, I lower my arm to my side. “Right. Fine,” I say, clutching my folder tighter. “Is that my desk?”

Yoongi follows my gaze to where I’m pointing, then shrugs. “I guess so.”

“Okay.” I walk over, placing my folder on the top to lower my purse over the arm of the chair. “Isn’t there anything you want to discuss?” I ask, turning back to him. “The paper? Research division? Anything?”

Yoongi exhales, rolling his neck. “You seem nice,” he offers, “so, let me be blunt. This is a tough job and I expect a lot.” He pauses to survey me. “What were you thinking you’d work, in terms of hours?”

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can Yoongi is cutting me off. “Double it,” he says. “What were you expecting, in terms of research assistance?” Again, I open my mouth and again, he waves a hand. “Eliminate it. I don’t tolerate anything but the best, so don’t try and bullshit me. This job is hard, it’s menial, and it’s a lot of work.”

My jaw snaps shut and Yoongi raises a brow. “Anything I said scare you? It should.”

Moving slowly, I sit down in my chair. “Nope,” I respond tightly. “Not at all.”

Yoongi shrugs, opening his laptop. “Alright.”

He resumes typing, leaving me staring over the top of my desk. The blood in my veins is boiling, vision so blurred I can’t see straight. Yoongi ignores all of this, placing the end of his pen in his mouth and resuming his typing. Yanking my laptop open, I push the power button rather harshly. Fine. If that’s how Yoongi wants to be – fine. I know the outline for the project, know the parts I’m supplementing; I know this hypothesis and can do my part on my own.

I’m so busy being angry, I almost forget to look around at the office. It’s nice, as far as work spaces go; a long row of windows stand to my left, overlooking the quad. On my right there’s the door I entered, next to the window which opens into the library. Behind me are bookshelves, in front of me, monitors.

“What are those?” I ask, unable to help myself.

My gaze flicks over each one, recognizing a screen with the front entrance. Then one with the side entrances. The stairwells. A lone, back corner of the library surrounded by shelves.

Yoongi doesn’t look up. “Security cameras,” he grunts.

My eyebrows rise. “You’re a security guard, in addition to resident charm master?”

Pulling his pen from his mouth, Yoongi taps the name placard before him.

Min Yoongi, Library Services.

“I’m all of the above,” he mutters, pressing enter a few times on his keyboard. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to determine the feasibility of killing a person by dropping a penny off a six-story building.”

“But we’re on the sixth floor –"

Yoongi holds up his hand. “Shh.”

I stop talking. At least, I do until after lunch when I come back to find Yoongi hasn’t moved an inch. He’s still sitting slumped in his chair, feet kicked up on his filing cabinets. The charcoal sweater he wears is wrinkled, a half-eaten sandwich on the table and juice box off to the side. I narrow my eyes, still smarting from earlier.

It’s a shame he’s so attractive. Because he is attractive – that’s fact. Min Yoongi has dark brown eyes, soft-looking black hair and the kind of mouth that keeps me staring. If only he didn’t open said mouth to speak, that’d be great. It’s as I’m staring at him, I see movement on one of the security screens.

“You know,” I sigh as I sit, pulling open a drawer. “It’s probably hard to monitor security, facing away from the screens.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer, merely turning to one side and dragging the file cabinet with. “There,” he mutters, taking a large bite of apple. “Satisfied?”

I shrug. “Why are they there, though? Are you afraid someone’s going to take off with a hot book or something?”

“It’s more what’s going on in front of the books I’m concerned with. Now,” Yoongi sighs, peering over his laptop. “Don’t you have things to research? Or was I wrong, assuming you were my new research assistant?”

“Partner,” I correct, glowering. “I’m your research partner.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi apologizes around a mouth full of apple. “I thought there was no talking in the library?”

One minute later, his email pings.

To: ymin@bangtanu.edu

From: Y/N@bangtanu.edu

Subject: …

Partner. Research partner.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Yoongi looks up from his desk. “Hilarious,” he deadpans.

I try (and fail) to keep from laughing an when Yoongi shoots me a death look, I smile back at him innocently. Only once he looks away, do I lower my eyes to my screen and immediately sober at the sight. A page in Microsoft Word, completely and totally empty; I stare at the blinking cursor mocking happily from the screen. I need to start. I need to write something. I need to –

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not again,” Yoongi groans, placing both feet on the floor.

I look up, surprised to see Yoongi push back his chair. He stalks angrily from the room, pushing a hand messily through his hair and it’s then that I notice the monitors. In the top, right screen – the one trained on what I assumed was an empty stack of books – is a couple, fervently making out. He pushes her to the stacks while she wraps her arms around him; pressing forward, yanking his shirt up before – oh my god.

Yoongi appears on the monitor, megaphone held loose in his hand. He appears to be yelling and I wish that the cameras had sound – because the couple jumps so high, the guy smacks his head on a shelf. He’s now rubbing his head, trying to mouth something but I only manage to catch, nothing! before he’s being shooed from the screen.

That’s when I laugh, one hand covering my mouth as Yoongi rolls his eyes. His movements are exaggerated, pointing to the large, red sign behind them.

VIDEO RECORDING IN PROGRESS.

The girl’s eyes widen at this and she smacks the guy on the head, who also seems shocked. She runs away first, leaving the guy mouthing another apology while he takes off after. Yoongi stands there for a moment, lowering the megaphone to cover his mouth with one hand. He’s laughing – Min Yoongi is actually laughing.

Only a few minutes pass, before he appears in our office. Yoongi strolls into the room casually, sinking down his seat as though nothing has happened. He closes his eyes, leaning back – and I continue to stare.

“Okay,” I interrupt the silence at last. “What the hell was that?”

Yoongi cracks open an eye. “There’s no talking in the library, Y/N. No funny business, either. I just needed to remind a few ill-behaved degenerates of that fact.” Sighing, Yoongi leans down to grab a rather-heavy looking book from the floor. He slams this down on his desk to stare at the cover.

The sight reminds me of research I’m supposed to be doing – so, I return to my laptop and pull up five new articles I’ve been meaning to highlight. By the time 6:00 PM rolls around, I’m beginning to get a clearer picture of what needs to happen. There are a lot of gaps I need to fill in – Yoongi has drafted a pretty good outline, I can see all his files online and they’re good. No, not just good – great. Yoongi is talented, his work is insightful, even if he is a giant pain in the ass.

6:00 PM comes and goes, but Yoongi doesn’t leave. The sun sinks below the horizon, and still – Yoongi doesn’t leave. I stay with him, not wanting to be outdone; no, I stay and I work until Yoongi finally yawns out loud and shuts his laptop. He stands lazily, stretching both arms overhead before sliding his computer into the bag and slinging this over his shoulder.

Then he leaves. Yoong exits without goodnight, just shutting off the light and closing the door. I stare in total darkness, blinking in disbelief because only an asshole would do something like that. The room is lit only by the lights of the quad out the window and my still-glowing laptop. Standing abruptly, I slam shut the top of my laptop and angrily sweep this into my bag as I leave. Seokjin gave me the keys to our office this morning, so I lock it now. Turning until I hear the smooth click of security.

Tomorrow, I tell myself trudging angrily home. Tomorrow will be better.

I wake early in the morning, stopping off at the bookstore to grab two cups of coffee.

“Morning,” I call, breezing into the office. I set one coffee on Yoongi’s desk, continuing to mine. “Your coffee,” I inform with a wave. “I got you black. Assuming, of course, that your sunny disposition will sweeten it right up.”

Yoongi gingerly pokes the cup with a finger. “Luckily, I drink my coffee black. Thanks,” he mutters, popping the lid.

I sit down to pull out my laptop. “You’re welcome.”

We work in silence until lunch, when another hormonal collegiate couple decides to visit the stacks. Yoongi leaves to scare their pants off, I decide to get lunch and when I return, my partner is eating. Still sitting motionless in his plain, black chair.

The rest of the day passes this way. As does the rest of the week. Every night, I stay until Yoongi leaves and every day, I get up earlier than I’m used to. The schedule leaves me tired, stressed and pushed to my limits. Still – I feel accomplished. I get more done those five days than I did in a whole month at my old job. Which is good, since I want to impress the University. Not just the University – I want to impress Yoongi, as well.

Maybe it’s out of spite, maybe I’m just vindictive – but I want to see Min Yoongi eat his words. When I hand in my research, I want him to be suprised, I want him to say that he was wrong, that he didn’t even read my research paper which got me here. I know that he didn’t because when I asked him, Yoongi just shrugged and looked down. “Maybe I’ll read it later.”

His words made me furious. It made me want to work even harder because I’ll show him – I’ll make him see I’m worth the time, the job, the money. He’ll see.

It’s around 8:00 PM Sunday night, I’m finally satisfied with the rough outline of my research. It’s not perfect, not by a long shot – but it’s enough to show Yoongi and it’s enough to be proud of. I re-read this a couple more times for spelling errors and grammar but it all ties, the ideas blending into each other with relative smoothness. I crack open a bottle of wine in celebration and make it about halfway before checking my grammar again.

Midway through the usual spot check, a brilliant idea comes to mind. Why wait until tomorrow? Opening my email, I type hurriedly and press send before I can stop myself.

To: ymin@bangtanu.edu

From: Y/N@bangtanu.edu

Subject: Research Draft 1

Please find attached. Hope this is enough to satisfy your over-inflated, over-hyped expectations.

Best,

Y/N

I drink the rest of the bottle of wine and go to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, my head pounds in protest. Headache, nausea – I roll over in bed and wearily check the time. 8:00 AM.

My eyes fly open.

I need to be at work by 8:30 and, rolling out of bed, I hastily wash both face and teeth before tying my hair into a knot. I dash out the door wearing whatever I had laid out last night, accidentally mismatching my socks because I’m not paying attention. I spot this error on my way into work, but it’s too late – nothing I can do to fix it now but keep my pants low.

It’s as I pass the third floor in the ancient, terrifying elevator that I remember my email.

Oh, fuck – the email.

Pulling this up hastily on my phone, I wonder if it’s really as bad as I recall – and groan, because it’s worse. I stare in horror at the use of words like over-inflated and over-hyped. Lowering my head to my hands, I barely remember to step off the elevator when it dings.

It takes about five minutes, before I gather the courage to walk into the office. Brushing past Yoongi, I refuse to look in his direction – and I freeze in confusion, seeing a steaming cup of hot coffee on my desk.

Yoongi clears his throat from behind me. “Black,” he says, when I turn. “Two cream, one sugar – yes? That’s what you drank every day last week, at least.” Yoongi sips from his own, brown cup. He watches me carefully, giving nothing away.

“You got me… coffee,” I ask, too stunned to think of another response.

Yoongi lowers his mug to the table. “Uh, yeah,” he grunts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I couldn’t think of another way to apologize for being such a dick.”

My eyes widen, no response coming to mind. Min Yoongi – is apologizing? To me?

“I read your email,” Yoongi clarifies, unable to quite meet my gaze. “Well, also – I read your outline. The research was excellent, your findings concise. We’ll expand on it further, but it was a really great first outline.”

I continue to stare. “Oh. Thanks.”

Yoongi merely nods. “Your email though – I, ah,” he sighs. “I know I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with.”

“You don’t say,” I mutter, turning around to sit at my desk. Partly because it seems like the right thing to do and partly because my legs feel like rubber.

Yoongi watches. “Yeah, well. I sent you back edits – why don’t you have a look and we can meet to discuss on Wednesday?”

I look up at him, surprised. “That’d be great.”

Yoongi nods and the room falls back into silence, but this time it feels different than before. It’s more comfortable, not as repressive and when I click my email to open, I gape. Holy shit – Yoongi responded to me at 6:11 AM. My gaze flicks up. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

Yoongi snorts, almost a laugh. “Sometimes – I don’t know. When I can’t sleep, I work. It’s how I manage to get ahead, I guess…. I can be kind of a snob about it,” he adds, somewhat thoughtfully.

With great talent, through the miracle of childhood acting lessons, I manage to keep a straight face. “Sometimes.”

Yoongi does smile then, returning to typing while I open the book on my desk. Thumbing through its index for a reference, the entire morning passes this way – our office peaceful, quiet. My work remains uninterrupted until much later that afternoon, when I get a ping on my laptop.

From: Min Yoongi

Sent: 2:34 PM

I also read your previous research article. It’s quite good.

I look up, then back down.

From: Y/N

Sent: 2:36 PM

I’m right here. Why didn’t you just say this to me out loud?

From: Min Yoongi

Sent: 2:38 PM

Didn’t you hear? There’s no talking in the library

I snort.

From: Y/N

Sent: 2:39 PM

Is that what you yell over the microphone to everyone in that one section?

A tiny grin lifts Yoongi’s mouth.

From: Min Yoongi

Sent: 2:41 PM

Nah, most of the time I just yell FIRE, over and over

I laugh out loud at this, looking up to meet his gaze. “Wait, really?”

He grins, pushing up from his desk. “Sometimes. Other times, I yell a random girl’s name. Then when the girl seems confused by this I say – ‘Oh, sorry. Nicole was the girl you had last week.’ This usually breaks it up pretty quickly.”

“Oh my god.” I’m cackling now. “You’re diabolical.”

“Hey,” Yoongi mock-frowns, tapping his pen to the desk. “I prefer to think of it as community service.”

I’m interrupted from a response by another ping from my computer, one that’s not Yoongi. He looks back down at his laptop and I smile, reading the message from my roommate.

From: Lauri

Sent: 2:50 PM

Just heard the juiciest piece of gossip about your research partner 👀

My gaze moves up to where Yoongi still sits, crumbs of today’s sandwich in his sweater – emerald green, today.

From: Y/N

Sent: 2:51 PM

About Yoongi?

From: Lauri

Sent: 2:53 PM

Mhmm. Professor Min Yoongi.

From: Y/N

Sent: 2:55 PM

Fine, spill.

From: Lauri

Sent: 2:58 PM

Okay. So – you know how he’s all prickly and annoying? When you first met him, you complained he was like that… said he seemed like he didn’t really want you there

From: Y/N

Sent: 3:00 PM

Yes, I recall. Your point?

From: Lauri

Sent: 3:02 PM

Well. Apparently, he had a pretty rough time of things. Spent the past few years doing research with this guy – Gregory something – who went and turned in all their work to a magazine. He took the cash, the credit and left Yoongi high and dry. Yoongi has been pretty messed up ever since, I don’t think he even tried to sue. Doesn’t trust anyone, doesn’t want to work with anyone. I heard it from a girl at work who’s dating Seokjin – the University is at their wits ends trying to figure out what to do with him

I lean back in my chair because if that’s true – my gaze flicks upwards. Yoongi doesn’t look back, too engrossed in his research. It makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. The hostility, the deliberate attempt to make me feel unwelcome. I was unwelcome to him – Yoongi probably wanted me to quit. I know that feeling though, giving something your all, pouring yourself into a dream – only to have it taken away in the end. It’s happened to me several times in my life.

Yoongi looks up, catching me staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” I return, looking back down. “Don’t worry about it.”

When he shrugs, returning to his research, I do the same. I keep looking at him throughout the day though, glancing up at the man across from me in the office. Perhaps I judged Yoongi a bit too quickly; if he can admit his mistakes, I certainly can.

The rest of the week passes quickly, much faster than anticipated. A large part of that has something to do with the random texts I get from a certain, dark-haired research partner.

Yoongi: Do you ever look down at your tray in the dining hall and wonder when the hell you picked something up? [7:21 AM]

Y/N: why the fuck are you in the dining hall? What’s wrong with you? [7:23 AM]

Yoongi: duh, free meals [12: 24 PM]

Y/N: Okay, 1) I happen to know you’re well-paid, so don’t give me that excuse 2) I’m right across from you? why are we texting?  [12:27 PM]

Yoongi: How many times must I tell you – SILENCE IN THE LIBRARY. [12:28 PM]

Y/N: At least once more, Yoongi. Side note – when you get a sec, could you come here? I want to paraphrase something of yours and need to give proper credit. I hate it when people don’t [12:32 PM]

Yoongi looks up from his phone, dropping it to slowly meet my gaze. “Who told you?” he asks me, his voice soft.

I have difficulty controlling my expression. “My roommate,” I confess. “She heard a rumor about your last work. So – it’s true, then?”

Yoongi looks down. “It’s true,” he exhales. “My last research partner stole all my work. and published it with his own. I haven’t – well,” he clears his throat. “I haven’t wanted to work with anyone since.”

I pause, as this all sinks in. “You’re working with me though,” I respond to him quietly.

Yoongi’s mouth twists. “You’re different,” he mutters. “You’re not like the others. Even after I was rude, you bought me coffee and when I tried to scare you, it only made you work harder. I – well, I admire you,” Yoongi admits in a rush. “I can think of nothing I’d like more, than for my name to be next to yours.”

Now it’s my turn to stare at him. “You admire me?”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth lifts, managing to look at me. “You make me sound so untouchable.”

I snort. “Not untouchable. Just – prickly.”

Yoongi appears appalled by this assessment. “I prefer untouchable, to be honest.”

“And that’s exactly why I won’t be calling you that.”

Yoongi laughs – a real one, showing his gums and his smile. I stare back because he looks so beautiful; it makes my stomach clench, my heart hurt. I force myself to look down because I need to get rid of these feelings. Yoongi might not hate me anymore – but he also doesn’t care any more than that.

Now that I’m getting to know him, though – the real him – it’s harder and harder to stop looking. I catch myself staring at the oddest of moments, gazing over while he works because Yoongi frowns when he writes. He frowns, with his pen half-sticking from his mouth and he looks so concentrated this way, so serious.

I can’t help but imagine him looking that way with other things.

The next week, I bring him coffee and when his hand brushes mine, color rises in his cheeks. It’s hard to push that image away, for the rest of the day and its enough so that when I go to sleep that night, I dream of him. Yoongi, cheeks flushed and lowering himself in between my legs; my hands fisting in his hair, his lips coaxing moans from my throat.

I wake up that night in a sweat, perspiration sticking to the back of my neck as I groan in frustration. I need to get over this crush, need to forget about him because Yoongi and I work together. He’s already proven himself to be a stickler for rules – there’s no way he’d break a giant one like this.

Nothing helps though, especially not now that we’re friends. Everything Yoongi does makes it ten times harder to pretend I don’t care. Like on Wednesday, when he insists we go to lunch and then spends twenty minutes lecturing me on the importance of regular meal intervals. Or on Thursday, when he texts me a random picture of an adorable dog.

Yoongi: Stole this puppy. Held captive in our office. Bring kibble. [8:21 AM]

That text made it difficult but I think I might burst on Friday, when he holds that stupid pen in his mouth for for too fucking long. Standing abruptly from my desk, I shove my chair back and close my laptop. “I have to return some of these books to their stacks,” I announce.

Yoongi looks up, blinking. “Oh? Which ones?”

I gesture towards the pile that’s accumulated on my desk because it’s true, I do need to do that – more accurately though, I need to get away from Min Yoongi. Being this close to him is driving me crazy and I nearly laugh, realizing this. Who would have thought just weeks ago, I’d be going wild for him? Who would have thought two weeks ago, I’d care about the way that he swallows, the motions his hands make, the way that he looks at me.

Yoongi’s gaze follows, scooping the pile into my arms. “Allow me,” he announces, grabbing the top book just as it’s falling. “I’d better come with,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Knowing you – these will all have fallen by the elevators.”

I say nothing to this, because he’s right. “Suit yourself,” I sniff, turning to walk away.

Yoongi follows, pulling a key from his pocket to lock our door. He follows in my footsteps while I return the one book I borrowed from this floor.

“Where next?” he grins.

I can barely look at him, my heart is beating so fast. “Seventh floor.”

Yoongi just nods, following me to press the up button on the elevator. He stands next to me while we wait, smelling like a cologne I don’t know the name of. It’s spice mixed with something sweeter, maybe blackberries and I shift my weight awkwardly to my other foot, cursing myself for having worn a skirt today. It makes me somehow more aware of him.

Yoongi looks at me when the elevator opens. “After you,” he nods.

The ride upwards is silent, so much that I start wondering if something is wrong. The past weeks have been filled with talking; conversatin, laughter, the two of us becoming friends but now, Yoongi seems preoccupied – his frown is deep, even hodling my stack of books to his chest.

After seventh we find eighth – here, we spend quite a bit of time. I borrowed a bunch of books from this floor and when we turn around leave, I see there’s only one book left to return.

“Where to now?” Yoongi asks as we reach the elevator.

“Floor nine,” I instruct, keeping my gaze straight ahead. “Back of the stacks.”

Yoongi faces forward. He doesn’t comment on this but floor nine, back of the stacks is the spot his video camera is trained on. The spot no one ever goes – unless they have a very specific reason. Or, unless you’re me and you wanted to borrow, A Defense of the Cognitive Significance of Experientially Transcendent Theological Statements. A thesis located in the singular spot of the library no one ever goes.

Yoongi follows me back, watching while I slide the book onto the shelf. “There,” I sigh, brushing off my hands. “That’s all I –”

Yoongi is standing very close to me when I turn back around. He looks down, hands casually placed in his pockets, his gaze so intense that it burns.

“What?” I ask, glancing past. “Is there something else you ne –”

“Y/N,” Yoongi steps closer, so near to me, I can count every eyelash. “Do you like me?”

I blink back at him, thrown by the question. “I – sure, yeah.”

Yoongi shakes his head, suddenly impatient. “I mean – do you like me? Because I like you.”

The transparency of his statement throws me. I glance once more over Yoongi’s shoulder but there’s no one – of course there’s not. The only person that would come here, stands before me and Yoongi doesn’t seem inclined to break up our moment anytime soon.

“You… like me?” I repeat, trying to wrap my mind around his words. “But – Yoongi. You hate me. You were such an ass to me.”

Yoongi sighs, blowing hair from his eyes. Slowly, he raises one hand to slide around my wrist. His fingertips drift towards my elbow while his other hand obediently follows the motion. The touch of him is warm, lips centimeters away from mine, which makes it difficult to concentrate.

“I did apologize,” Yoongi murmurs, gaze dropping. “I thought that I wouldn’t like you – or rather, I’d decided I wouldn’t. But then you kept saying things which made that impossible. You kept doing things which made that impossible. I tried to stop thinking about you, but I couldn’t stop myself and now I don’t see you as a colleague. As a friend. I see you as more – I want you to be more.”

“More than… what, exactly?”

Yoongi remains silent. Then he lifts a hand, pushing a strand of my hair behind my ear, staring still at my lips before venturing closer. When his lips brush mine, I shiver; his touch makes me want to wind my hands through his hair, pull his body to mine and it sparks something inside me – something unstoppable, which is why I stumble a step back.

“Yes,” I murmur, barely meeting his gaze. “I like you too, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes darken. Then he moves forward, both hands sliding into my hair, making me arch up against him. Our lips meet, soft until I make a noise of approval and I think I say his name, because then Yoongi hardens. His mouth opens, suddenly insistent backing me into the shelves. My breath catches, arms wrapping tight to his neck while his body finds mine.

Yoongi’s lips break away, skimming my throat, one hand on the shelf and the other in my hair. His fingers trail my side, grasping my waist, then my thigh, pulling my leg upwards to place around him. His length becomes tangible, hard against the thin fabric of my skirt and Yoongi pulls back, bending to wrap my other leg around him.

He holds me like that for a moment, walking me back to a study table and setting me down. When he pulls back to look at me, Yoongi’s pupils are blown out and his hair is disheveled. “We should go,” he murmurs, kissing the edge of my jaw. “We should go, before I do something you’d regret.”

“What would I regret?” I murmur, hands already wandering his body. They slide down past his chest, his waist, the tops of his thighs.

Yoongi’s eyes turn almost black in response. “Someone could see us.”

“Oh?” Lifting an eyebrow, my hand skims his pants. “Who would see, though – except for you?”

Yoongi groans, when I cup the front of him. I stroke slowly, across the hard length of his outline and he leans into my touch, breath ragged while he bites down on my earlobe. “Filthy,” he breathes quietly. “I’m shocked, Y/N. That you would dare to say such a thing in my library.”

I pull back, opening my legs to let his hand slide up my leg. “There’s a lot I want to do to you in this library,” I murmur, gaze moving to the red sign behind him – VIDEO RECORDING IN SESSION. “Letting you re-watch afterwards is only one of them.”

Yoongi swears softly, his mouth feverish when I kiss him again. His tongue enters my mouth – hot, eager while his body grinds into me below. Yoongi’s hands push at my sweater, shoving this off of my frame and onto the floor. He yanks at the straps of my camisole, pushing this lower while his lips quickly follow, tracing a path towards my chest.

When he finds the top of my bra, Yoongi pauses. He runs first his tongue, then his teeth over a hardening nipple, hand pushing slowly up on my skirt; spreading me open, for a finger to trail softly over my sex.

“Ah,” Yoongi sighs, pushing my panties aside. “You’re soaking already – I’ve barely touched you.”

I have no response to this but to grip his hair tighter, grinding my hips into the motion of his finger. “Yoon-gi,” I moan, biting down on his shoulder.

He chuckles, the sound of it low. “There’s no talking in the library,” he cautions, moving said finger in and out of my body. He watches my face when my eyes close, lips parting involuntarily and Yoongi crushes my lips to his, widening me further while his finger continues a steady rhythm. “Out of the skirt,” he mutters, pulling back.

I obey, hopping off the table to stand before him, pushing both skirt and camisole to the ground and leaving me in just my bra and panties. Behind him, the red light continues to blink and Yoongi pushes both hands through his hair. “You’re so fucking hot,” he moans, walking closer but still not touching. “Get back onto that table.”

As I sit on the edge, he lets go of his restraint, hands sliding up from my knees to thighs. He pushes me open to stare, dropping slowly down to his knees. Yoongi’s lips find my skin, moving higher until he hooks both thumbs around my panties to pull down to my ankles. His hand pushes me back until I’m flat on the table, and that’s when his arms slide underneath my legs. His first touch is a kiss – his tongue tentative, searching and I shift my hips in response, wanting more. Yoongi lets out a growl at this and when I lift myself up on my elbows, he sucks. His mouth moves with my body, tracing, flicking; I grow somewhat dazed, watching his head move between my legs.

When Yoongi adds two of his fingers, I gasp. I’m barely able to contain myself when he starts the double motion. He continues like this until I’m whining, until I’m begging against hands and mouth. I find his hair, tugging almost painfully – but Yoongi seems to like that.

He stands to his feet, wiping his mouth to pull off his sweater, unbuttoning the tops of his jeans while I sit up before him. My legs are trembling, core drenched and I’m sure he can see, since Yoongi can’t seem to look away from my legs. I push myself forward, undoing my bra to let this fall to the floor.

“Turn around,” I demand, waiting until he takes my place at the head of the table. Then I lean in, whispering, “Enjoy this later.”

Hoppig down from the table, I move before him and drop to my knees because I know the visual the monitor is recording. A frontal shot, Yoongi with his hair messy and fucked-out gaze, staring down at my face. Me, knees spread to either side while I shove his pants to the ground. As I close my mouth over his length, he inhales sharply.

“Fuck,” Yoongi moans, grasping the back of my head to keep me steady.

I take him further into my mouth, running my tongue over his length before pulling back out. The thought of him watching this video is driving me crazy. Something about doing this for Yoongi, for him to watch and save, is so unbelievably hot. Yoongi stares down at me, a low hiss escaping when he starts to move his hips, hitting the back of my throat. He pushes into me again and again, letting his cock fuck my mouth.

Suddenly, he withdraws. “God,” Yoongi groans. “I want to be inside you.”

He pulls me up from my knees and kisses me, lips moving in tandem as his hips push against me below. I nod, just as eager. “Condom?” I whisper.

Yoongi bends to his jeans, opening his wallet to remove a foil packet. “Here,” he agrees, handing it over.

I rip it open eagerly, rolling it slow over his tip. Yoongi’s gaze remains lidded while I slide the object down. “Okay,” he grunts, lifting me onto the table, barely pausing an inch before he’s buried inside of me.

I moan, relishing the feel of him; going from nothing to his entire cock is – ah, fuck. My head spins, breath quickening as his hands pull me closer. Yoongi scoots me forward, wrapping both legs around his waist to pull out, sinking slowly back in.

“Yoongi,” I moan, when he begins a slow, tortorous rhythm.

Yoongi increases, but only slightly. His head bends to the column of my neck, hands sliding over my body, while his hips rock from below. I see his throat tightening, eyes hardening while he loses himself. Yoongi thrusts forward over and over, tongue and hips becoming ever more precise in their motions.

Then he tilts his pelvis, hitting a deeper angle while I openly gasp. Yoongi gains strength from the noise, fucking me harder. “That’s right,” he murmurs, sucking a bruise on my neck. “I changed my mind; you can be as loud as you want now. Within reason,” Yoongi cautions, eyes glinting.

“How loud,” I exhale, insides already starting to tighten. I moan out his name, pleased when Yoongi’s eyes darken. “Was that too loud?”

“Much too loud,” Yoongi whispers, pulling out abruptly and yanking me forward. He turns me around, my palms flat against the desk while Yoongi slides one hand over my ass. He dips between my legs, coming out dripping before he thrusts back inside. I groan, biting down on my lip while I lower myself to the table.

Yoongi’s hand finds my hair, wrapping into a ponytail. He pulls me against him, even while his hips continue, hard from behind. “That was too loud, I think,” he murmurs, smacking my ass with his palm. Even while he continues to fuck like this, it’s unbearably close. “Shit,” Yoongi groans. “You’re so fucking tight. I want you to come, Y/N, wrapped around the length of my cock. Yes?”

His hand moves from my hair to my back, sliding teasingly down to the front. My clit is already swollen from teasing, and Yoongi rubs gentle circles around it. “Come for me,” he moans.

I can’t respond, barely think with him fucking me. His hands at my front, dirty words in my ears; I come apart – orgasming in a mind-shattering blow while I gasp out his name. Yoongi half-collapses, staying inside me for a moment while his lips brush my collarbone. His lips form in a kiss, hands sliding down too-sensitive sides before slowly, gently, he withdraws from my body.

Turning around, I find Yoongi sweaty, flushed as he rolls the condom from his length. He ties this into a knot, tossing into the nearby garbage can. “Well,” Yoongi coughs, somewhat uncertain while reaching down for his pants.

I’m similarly adjusting, fastening my bra with one hand behind my back. “I – uh,” I blush, looking away.

Then Yoongi moves forward, hand cupping my jaw while he lifts my face to his. “Don’t think,” he murmurs, oddly intent. “That just because we had sex here, I’m any less interested in dating you.”

I stare back, cheeks somehat squished by his hand. “Oh?”

“If anything,” Yoongi grins, dropping his grip to hand my cardigan from god-knows-where. “I’ve thought about several other positions to try, just standing here.”

My cheeks heat up. “I wouldn’t say no,” I muse, turning away. As I walk towards the elevator, I fix the hem of my skirt.  “Especially if there’s dinner involved that’s not sandwiches.”

Yoongi chuckles, catching up to slip his hand in mine. “Done. Oh – also,” he adds, “for scientific reasons, I’ll need to confiscate that tape. It’s entirely unacceptable for anyone else to conduct that kind of research.”

I laugh, glancing over. “For scientific reasons,” I nod, mock-serious. “I’d have to agree.”

We enter the elevator, holding hands and giggling. So much, that I don’t even notice the woman behind us until it’s too late. She’s coming down from floor ten and she looks first at our hands, then at the floor number nine. Her eyebrows arch when I blush, knowing exactly what she’s thinking.

Then Yoongi turns me around to face front, pressing the button for floor number six. When I look at him, his lips are pressed in a straight line but his eyes are smiling though – a poor attempt at concealing his laughter. Yoongi squeezes my hand, and I squeeze gratefully back.

“You owe me one hell of a dinner,” I whisper.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2017. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Min Yoongi, Library Services!Yoongi + finding creative ways to turn off the alarm

[techcrunchappcom]

New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/30-coins-another-host-without-consecration-by-alex-de-la-iglesia/

'30 coins', another host without consecration by Álex de la Iglesia

VOD news brings you the best premieres of the week on Netflix, HBO, Amazon Prime Video … And for the third week in a row, we have a ‘Spanish’ on the cover, but not just any one and in no case derogatory: 30 coins, the latest from Álex of the Church in serial format. Otherwise, just a couple of outstanding content and, yes, the most interesting catalogs.

If it has been eight weeks since HBO that did not rise to the top of the section, and did so with the Spanish series Patria, it is doing it again now with another expected production of the country, worth the redundancy and the adjective, if you reside in these parts. We are talking about 30 coins, a series that you still cannot see … But be careful, because it is not the only thing that HBO brings for this week.

In fact, HBO arrives this week with the most powerful material of the big three of VOD… and it was about time. Of all, the highlight is undoubtedly 30 coins, the new series by Álex de la Iglesia, whose premiere is scheduled for tomorrow, so you’ll have to hold on a bit if you’re wanting to see the new of a director capable of combining the terms ‘Spanish’ – I repeat, without any derogatory connotation that is worth it- and ‘original’ in almost everything he touches, although the last qualifier goes back to his particular style. 30 coins is made up of a choral cast of which you will hear most of the faces and the story, of which I can tell you little about the obvious, it is inevitable that it does not recall a little of the magnificent The Day of the Beast due to the themes it touches . And honestly, as long as it is half as good as that one, we are going to really enjoy these 30 coins. For more information, the trailer.

Another striking HBO premiere for this week is The Flight Attendant, a series halfway between suspense and black humor that brings back Kaley Cuoco (The Big Bang Theory) in a title role. It tells the story of a flight attendant who gets froggy one night of passion… But what actually happened? Criticism is receiving it well.

And one more from HBO, this in movie format: Superintelligence, a comedy that revolves around an artificial ‘superintelligence’ crazier than usual.

More exclusive content:

Black money (Tuff Money)(T1). “Two operatives joke about manipulating traffic to dock a bank’s armored van and they end up forced to do so. All the institutions they ask for help want to carry out the theft and take a part of it. ”

New chapters:

A Teacher (T1) Murder on Middle Beach (T1) How to with John Wilson (T1) Industry (T1) Dark Matter (T2) Romulus (T1) The Spanish Princess (T2) The Undoing (T1) Valley of Tears (T1 ) Warrior (T2)

Enter catalog:

Aquaman The exchange Lego DC Super Heroes: Justice League: Gotham City Breakout The Mercenaries 3 The Penguins of Madagascar Tomorrow begins all ThunderCats Roar! (T1)

Netflix follows his and releases numerous exclusive or original content, which are not always the same, but as usual there is a lot of straw or little grain, if not none.

Of everything that premieres on Netflix this week, maybe Christmas Chronicles 2 be the highlight for being the sequel to a movie that had its success a couple of years ago. The story, the typical Christmas with Santa Claus in the middle, this time with Chris Columbus at the helm, but with Kurt Russell again at the beard. A light entertainment for all audiences, especially the youngest.

More exclusive content:

Dolly Parton: Christmas in the Square. «A ruthless woman puts an end to the Christmas spirit when she tries to sell the lands of the city where she was born. Can music, magic and memories stop her? ” Tomy’s notebook. «A woman with terminal cancer writes an extraordinary notebook on life, death and love for her son to remember. Based on a true story.” The phone. «Connected by a telephone, but separated by time. A serial killer endangers the past and the life of another woman to change her own destiny. ” Hillbilly, a rural elegy. “An urgent call takes a Yale law student to his hometown of Ohio, where he reflects on three generations of family history and his own future.” The beast. “A lone Special Forces veteran unleashes his inner beast as he pursues his daughter’s kidnappers … and becomes a suspect.” Mosul. “After being rescued by an Iraqi squad, a young policeman joins his rescuers to fight the Islamic State in a devastated Mosul.” Shawn Mendes: In Wonder. “In this documentary shot during a world tour, Shawn Mendes opens up about his success, his relationships and his musical future.” Shawn Mendes: Live in Concert. “In his hometown Toronto, Shawn Mendes indulges his ardent fans at a concert in a packed stadium.” Dance Dreams: The Chocolate Nutcracker. “This documentary focuses on Debbie Allen’s career and shows her dancers preparing for the annual ‘The Chocolate Nutcracker’ performance.” Tut Tut Cory Cars: Christmas. A stranger with a familiar face appears at Cory’s house. As he does not remember anything, the little one helps him remember the magic of Christmas, and together they save the holidays. ” A place to dream (T2). “A nurse wants to start from scratch and leaves Los Angeles to move to a remote town in Northern California, where many surprises await.” Christmas visit. “Bastian, a musician who has nowhere to fall dead and sees everything black, returns home for Christmas … where surprises that are not at all festive await him.”

Enter catalog:

Aquaman Contraband Eternally committed King Kong The shadow of power The Boleyn Sisters New Years Eve at the Magnolia One more of the Voices family

Continue with Amazon Prime Video, whose most outstanding releases for this week are in what goes into the catalog, including Aquaman (reaches all platforms) or Bohemian Rhapsody, in addition to many classics.

More exclusive content:

Everyone’s game. “These players want to be pioneers in opening the doors of this sport and making rugby” Everyone’s game. ” My uncle frank. “In 1973, when Frank Bledsoe and his 18-year-old niece Beth set out on a road trip from Manhattan to Creekville, South Carolina, to attend the funeral of the family patriarch, they were unexpectedly joined by Walid, Frank’s lover.”

New chapters:

Ladies of the (H) AMPA (T1)

Enter catalog:

Alexander the Great Alice Cooper – Live At Montreux 2005 All about the money Threatened online Aquaman Just like you are Bee movie Bohemian Rhapsody Boomerang, the prince of women Clueless Cool World Congo Special mail Things we lost in the fire Damsel Deep Purple – Machine Head (Classic Album) Dracula 3D Educating Bobby The neighborhood against me The double murder of Morgue Street The son of Saul The empire of terror The Paradine process The crazy professor The secret of Santa Vittoria Scammers of Wall Street Force of Impact Frankenstein and the monster of hell Infected (Carriers) The submerged city The island of lost souls The Other Couple (All Over the Guy) The mermaid and the dolphin The tribe of the Brady Lobster Light as Feathers The 50 are the new 30 The satanic rites of Dracula Stronger than pride Thieves market Midway Mystery at Amman Mommy We don’t like Captain Black pudding! Opening Night Red Scorpion, scheduled to destroy Redcon-1 – Zombie Apocalypse Bloody Valentine Seven Sisters No Truce The Square Lava storm An American werewolf in Paris A monster comes to see me I travel alone

And we end with Disney +, which arrives with little, but adjusted to what is expected of it … with the exception of the new season of The Simpsons, which is the owner of Fox for that.

More exclusive content:

Black beauty. “In this timeless remake of Anna Sewell’s classic novel, we will delve into the life of Black Beauty, a wild mare who was born in the wild in the western United States.” Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions. “Taylor Swift performs all the songs on her hit album ‘Folklore’ in an intimate concert, shot at the historic Long Pond Studio, a setting that evokes the nostalgic and dreamy nature of the record.”

New chapters:

One Day at Disney (T1) The Mandalorian (T2)

Enter catalog:

Far From Home The Simpsons (S31) Noelle Runaways

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[jimlingss]

God of Destruction

Words: 7434

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Light Smut. 

Summary: Everything he touches breaks; except for you.

Once upon a time…

There was a witch who fell in love with the King and some say the two were deeply in love. But for the throne and for riches, the King instead married a beautiful girl, a princess of a nearby land. Angered, the witch returned years later and cursed their only son for eternity; an infant whom the town was celebrating the birth of.

She looks at the innocent child in the cradle. “For your father who was willing to give up love for the touch of gold…” She turns to the King, boring eyes into his. “This child that was born a day before the ides; everything that it lays its hands on will be withered, destroyed, turned to dust and ashes.”

The townspeople, gathered around the castle hall, screech in horror. “GUARDS!” The King shouts ruthlessly, pointing to the witch. “KILL HER!”

The witch sends a fleeting smile to the King, tears in her eyes as she murmurs past parted lips.

“The only cure...is true love’s death.”

And in that moment, the witch raises her staff and strikes it on the tiled floors. A mist of darkness ripples throughout the entire kingdom. While everyone is screaming, in an anarchic pandemonium, the witch disintegrates into the air before the knight’s spear can pierce through her skin. She never appears in front of the King again. She is never seen; her legacy, a calamity remembered forever. In her wake, tragedy spoke.

A baby, fifty strides away from the castle doors, unwanted was left in the bushes by her mother. An orphan by destiny, it was suppose to be her only misfortune.

But the mist entered her little body and she could only cry helplessly without realizing that her entire destiny was being shifted. The three fates screeched on top of their lungs horrified as her spun thread untwined and changed colour, from yellow to black, twisting itself with another, one that was never meant, tangling itself within woe with only a finale in misfortune.

However, the spell was never meant for her.

It recoiled inside her soul and morphed into less of a curse and more of a tragedy. She wasn't meant to live a life like this but it was all because of one simple coincidence, less of a serendipity and more of a mischance. For she shared more than one coincidence with the baby boy, for she too was born a day before the ides and now she shared a terrible curse with him.

Her name is…

Y/N.

20 Years Later…

A manor lies at the outskirts of the town, colossal in size and ominous. The dark wood is divergent against the meadow fields, luscious grass and curious to many. But there are fairy tales told foreboding children, myths of monsters sleeping within the sinister house and contrite ghosts that hunger for life.

The manor is grim, casted by shadows and feared by all.

However an abundance of that fear roots from the mind, fabricated and made abstract, stories distorted from one mouth to the next ear. With certainty, no ghosts reside within the dwelling but not all stories are fictitious. One monster lives inside, a young man who hides mysteriously, never seen by those who enter. He is among the bookshelves and scrolls of literature, crumbling matter between his fingertips and silencing those who look within his irises.

He is the God of Destruction.

“Y/N!” Your name echoes in the hall and you turn around, gown fluttering at your feet. “Are you Miss Y/N?”

You smile at the maid. “Yes, I am.”

The interior of the house is far from your imagination, no dark caves or holes that would pummel you into the depths of the oblivion. Rather, it’s quite dark from the drawn curtains, antique furniture with paintings filling the spaces and it’s particularly dusty despite the few maids tidying up around.

“You will wake him every morning, feed him every meal, turn the pages of his book if he so desires to read, tuck him in at night.” She turns around to meet your eye. “Anything he asks.”

Your brow quirks. Like a child?

“Like a child.” She concurs and you realized that the words slipped through your lips. “You will become his hands.”

She turns on her heels, continuing to stride down the carpeted hallway and you barely manage to keep up, trailing behind. “Can I ask you something?” She breaks the silence, her voice slightly quieter and she slows down.

“Of course.” You almost bump into her backside. “What is it?”

She hesitates for a moment. “I know it’s not my place to ask but….why did you decide to become his personal servant?” She stops in her tracks, leaning to whisper in your ear. “I know the pay must be good but…”

“But what?”

There’s a pause. “Well….”

“Why are you whispering?” You finally ask, lifting your eyes.

“Don’t you know?” She scolds in a hush. “He can probably hear us throughout the entire house. You have to be careful.”

“Oh.”

“Aren-Aren’t you afraid of death?” Her words are a buzz past your ears and you almost miss it as silence.

“Well…”

“The last girl who was his caretaker…” She darts her eyes down the hall, both sides to where you’re at. “...she was murdered!”

Your brows knit together and your mouth drops. “Murdered?”

“Yes. Some heard a huge thump, another says she witnessed it!” She swallows hard, her tone becoming more panicked and frightened. “Apparently he clutched her by the throat with his hand and she disintegrated into dust!”

She shudders. “Just talking about it gives me shivers.” Upon looking back to your drained expression, she retracts herself. “Ah...I’m not trying to scare you off! I..I mean...good luck.”

You nod stiffly. “Thanks.”

//

The scent of parchment, ink, adhesive from the pages to the leather spines and a hint of vanilla lingers, dawdles between the lumber shelves. The dust floats, gliding slowly through the heavy air in the tiny beam of sunlight, piercing through the glass windows and past the crack between the drawn curtains.

He sits in his chair, in front of the quarter-sawn white oak desk. Black oxhide gloves holds his hand, covering the tips of his fingers to his wrist, sealing the curse in an ephemeral measure. It is ineffective, more as a bitter reminder than protection.

He sighs, finished reading the page of the book perched on the desk but unable to flip it; it would disintegrate otherwise. Absentmindedly, he picks up the teacup for a sip but even through the oxhide gloves, the delicate teacup pulverizes into ashes.

The cinders plunge to the floor in a pile. He cannot even curse.

//

He treads down the quiet hallway, footsteps booming and he smirks to himself when not a single soul is seen. Though the house is a maze in it’s own, he knows that the numerous maids and servants have made their purpose to avoid him like the black plague, in deliberation and in fear.

As he turns to lay rest in his chamber, he stops when he lays eyes on his door, open a tiny crack. With a sudden curiosity, he ganders through and finds a young girl, perhaps the same age as he, running to his bed and smoothing out the covers. Sprawled out books are put into stacks, knocked over vases are put upright and without thinking much, a small closet is pulled open.

Instantly your breath hitches, finding rows and rows of black gloves hanging by hooks on silver racks. “They’re enchanted.”

His voice startles you and you jump, a small yelp escaping your mouth. You turn around instantly and he nods, looking at the closet. “But they’re only a temporary fix...to make sure I won’t accidentally kill someone.” He turns to you and his eyes twinkle. You’re not sure if it’s a joke or not but you don’t keep it in mind, turning away in haste.

“I burn through a pair each day.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone. After a moment, he clears his throat. “Are you my new assistant?”

“Yes.” You reply quietly, in a meek tone.

“Have you heard the details of this job?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He nods again. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N, sir.” You courtesy slightly, bowing your head.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” He declares and you look up slowly, but making sure not to meet his eye.

“What should I call you then?” You ask.

“Well...I’ve been called various things….monster, Prince, Your Majesty, cursed child…” He chuckles, a tinkering laugh that is oddly innocent and not so diabolical like you thought. “You can call me Namjoon.”

Namjoon.

You hesitate. “Is that really okay? I mean...I work for you.”

“Yes.” He agrees. “You do. But we’ll be together for almost every hour of daylight. It’ll be better for you if you aren’t so uncomfortable.”

You nod. “I-Is there something you need me to do for you?”

He hums for a moment. “Well, I was going to rest but now it seems like my energy has returned…..I shall head to the dining room table for a meal.”

You bow your head and he turns on his heel. You follow behind, inhaling a deep breath when you realize you’ve been holding it in.

//

“Turn.” He commands and you reach over, turning the page in his book.

Not a second later, you’re cutting the thick steak with a sterling knife, piercing it with a fork. He opens his mouth, eyes still glued to the sentences on the paper and you bring it to his lips. His teeth lightly scratch along the fork until the meat is off and he chews.

“Turn.” He says again and you comply, repeating the actions like a machine.

You’re not so sure how he can read when the curtains are shut so, a slight beam coming from where two meet and a flicker of the candlelight. It’s dark and ominous but you haven’t died.

And maybe he’s not so monstrous as everyone makes it out to be. A little annoying and needy but that’s your job.

//

You hold a tray, hesitantly before knocking on the door. “Come in.”

Twisting the knob, you enter the athenaeum and your mouth draws open. There are bookshelves and bookshelves, all lining the walls with spiraling staircases reaching multiple levels. The ceilings are high, your way dimly lit by candle flames and the windows are covered with heavy curtains.

“I-I brought you tea.” You tell him, staggering to where his grand desk was at the back.

He hums and you set it down, pouring it into the teacup. You gently bring it to his lips and he takes a sip before leaning back. “Turn.” He commands.

“Ah.” You set the cup down, reaching over quickly to turn his page but with haste comes carelessness, room for mistakes. As you’re leaning over to comply with his demand, your arm accidentally collides with the teacup.

Your eyes grow in alarm and you shoot back, trying to catch it but with no hope, it falls over and the liquid flows out. The warm beverage runs across the table, staining the pages of his beautiful book.

“I...I’m so sorry.” You close your eyes, wincing.

You’re going to die. He’s going to kill you.

“It’s fine.” He sighs and you slowly peel your eyes open again. What?

“What?”

He smiles, pushing his chair back and standing. “Mistakes happen...it’s okay.” He stretches his arms, groaning slightly before walking off. “I was tired anyways...clean up that mess though.” He calls back.

You blink twice before realizing he’s left the room, your eyes still lingering at the space where he just was.

Picking up the book, you dab it gently to rid it of it’s brown tint, only to realize that it’s ancient text, something rare that you’ve never seen before. You recoil, completely embarrassed and ashamed until his voice rings inside your head once more. It’s okay.

The Namjoon you’ve heard about, the monster you’ve heard about would’ve ripped your throat out without a heartbeat to spare. But the Namjoon who was just here moments ago, pardoned you without a second thought.

You find your eyes wandering back to the door where he left.

//

You’re trailing behind him quietly, the other maids in the house freeze in their steps as he’s approaching. They downcast their heads, bowing but eyes shut and bodies quivering. Each are afraid that they’ll be appointed as his dinner, horrified that he might stop in his tracks to grab one of them by the throats, murdering them leisurely. They’re frightful that by peering into his eyes, they’ll die. And so, they’re praying in their heads, shaking in their shoes.

But the Namjoon that you’re becoming acquainted with, trying to understand and familiarizing is not a cruel demon. Suddenly all the rumours and stories you’ve heard becomes questionable.

“Is...Is it okay if I ask you something?” You speak, interrupting his afternoon brunch.

“Depending.” His eyes glide off the page. “What is it?”

You pause, voice trailing softer. “Your previous caretaker….”

“My previous caretaker?” He hums, lips pouting together as he thinks. “Yes...she was a kind girl. Why?” He re-directs towards you, a brow quirked. “Do you think I killed her?”

“No.” You answer with confidence and he chuckles.

He ponders for a moment before speaking again. “She and her lover….they conceived a child out of wedlock. I sent the both of them away to the countryside in secret.” He shakes his head and sighs. “The prejudices of our people….”

Your eyes widen with horror and you speak in a hushed whisper. “She would’ve gotten stoned to death...” He grimaces, lips curling downwards. “You saved her…”

“I didn’t save her.” He answers. “I just helped...gave her an opportunity that she needed.”

And for the first time, clutching your apron tightly in your fist, for some reason or another, you muster up the courage; a sudden fearlessness that bolts through your veins and you look into his eyes. Your heart stops and your breath hitches, soft and warm orbs the shade of dark honey enveloping yours. You don’t die.

Instead, he smiles at you, genuinely with crinkled eyes and dimples dotting both sides of his cheeks. It’s rather innocent and kind...human...but only for a fleeting moment before he turns back to his page.

“Turn.”

//

The few mirrors in the manor are draped with cloth and covered. You tug them off and you’re met with a clear reflection.

The windows are always concealed, hidden away by the heavy curtains. You pull them back, almost wincing from the bright sunlight that suddenly floods the room.

“What are you doing?” His voice is stern, startling you.

“Oh my goodness.” You press a hand to your heart, turning around. “You really need to stop scaring me! Can you make noise or something? Ever heard how to knock?”

“What are you doing?” He repeats.

“It’s so dark! Why do you even have windows if you’re going to cover them up! This is why people think you’re a vampire.” You wave to the surroundings. “Look how much better things are now that there’s natural light! Candles don’t do much anyways and you’ll feel a lot better!”

He watches in slight surprise as you crouch down, stacking the books that were in a huge scattered pile. “Ah...look at the mess you made.” You scold him when you almost trip. “Can you be a little cleaner? It’ll make my job a lot easier.”

You turn to him when he’s frozen like a stone statue, staring at you inquisitively. “What’s wrong?”

“...you.” He mumbles out, frowning.

He wonders why you’ve suddenly had a change of character, no longer timid and afraid.

But what is there to be afraid of? Nothing.

Namjoon was simply a scapegoat of children's fairy tales and bored townspeople’s rumours. The more you learn to understand his ways, the less he is like the myths people have whispered about.

He is more of a friendly giant, a hurt creature that was forced into a lonely oblivion. He is misunderstood and as threatening as a fly or a pansy flower.

“Don’t close the curtains!” You reprimand him as you’re pushing a stack of books to the side.

//

A soft melody emits from the back of your throat, inattentively and slightly out of tune as you’re stacking novels back onto shelves, sliding them into place. A wooden stepping ladder is under your feet, reaching the tops of the shelves of the first floor, underneath the spiraling staircase.

“What are you doing?” A low voice asks curiously.

“My job.” You answer, looking downwards with eyes gleaming at him. “Cleaning.”

Namjoon hesitates, wanting to assist but unable to. He is blighted to which all his hands touch, they turn to dust even with the slightest brush of his fingertips. He can only watch as a spectator, helpless with his arms behind his back.

“Be careful.” He remarks as you’re standing on the tips of your toes, reaching upwards.

You turn to look down once more, beaming at him and wondering if it was a hint of worry for your well-being weaving into his words or your misunderstanding. But unanticipatedly, your balance strays and you stumble.

The ladder shakes, stacks of books at the top come toppling down, colliding with the wooden floor and you’re falling.

The moment slows and in an unthinking moment, spontaneous and plainly out of reflex, Namjoon shoots out his arm. He knows simply that he needs to save you, protect you from pummeling to the hard ground but he fails to scrutinize the consequences; that you too would turn to ash with his touch.

As you seal your eyes shut, hitching a breath to feel the impact of the floor, instead you fall right into his arms.

And you do not disintegrate. You do not fall part, skin crumbling or bones being reduced to fragments.

Aghast, you grab fistfuls of his clothing, peeling your eyes open again when you don’t feel the ripple of pain shooting through your body. Your heart skips a beat when you find him, gazing straight into your eyes, his own appall flushing his face pale.

His grip on you tightens, astonished and stunned speechless. His eyes stretch into hysteria, wisdom and knowledge all becoming overturned. Everything he thought he knew was inverted, the rules and laws he made transmutes into an orderless universe.

You’re gaping into his brown orbs, choking past parted lips. “You...you saved me.”

//

He takes five steps forward, turns and another five steps. Pacing with a glower, he mumbles under his breath a mantra. “It doesn’t make sense...it doesn’t make sense.”

He is in turmoil, eyes bloodshot and arms convulsing. Without a second to spare, he orders you to pull out books for him; novels and scrolls, codices and monographs spilling across the floor as he walks between them, analyzing all the text. “It doesn’t make any sense…” He repeats, mind in a disarray. “...how can I touch you?”

Neurotic, he is on the verge of shrieking, pulling out his own hair and you finally step from the side. He watches as you approach, grabbing his wrist and pulling off the oxhide gloves. “Wh-what are you doing?”

The gloves fall to the ground and you grab his fingers, his hand limp in your touch. “Look.” You say calmly and gently. “It’s okay.”

You put his hand to your face, his palm softly cupping your cheeks and you smile. “I don’t know how either...but it’s okay.” He becomes quiet, swallowing down his sobs as the pad of his fingertips graze your skin.

You don’t break.

He doesn’t know how or why.

Nothing is okay.

//

He is staring out the window, contemplative with distant eyes. His arms are behind his back, hands locked together and you have to call him quintuple times before he turns. “What are you thinking about Namjoon?”

“You.”

A roseate blush blooms and dusts across your cheeks and you scoff slightly, turning downwards. He admires your bashful, coy state from his simple remark; his lips turning upwards into his own small smile before he turns back to the window.

“Do you want to go outside?” You ask after a long silence, staring at his backside.

“Outside?” His voice picks up slightly, his brows raising.

“Outside.”

“The townspeople are afraid of me.” He states in a deadpan. “I’d rather not terrorize them.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think.”

He turns on his heel, gazing at you. “I break things. I destroy everything. What if I kill someone on accident?”

You tilt your head, smiling at him. “You didn’t kill me.”

There’s a long pause as he stares at you before he turns to look out the window once more. “Outside…” He questions, considering carefully.

He inhales a sharp breath, swiveling to face you again with a grin. “What do I wear outside?”

You laugh, a silvery and light sound radiating from your lips.

//

The people are afraid...no. The people are petrified and terror-stricken, screeching at the top of their lungs. The elderly and faint-hearted almost lose consciousness, stumbling backwards with wide eyes as the others around catch them. Children’s laughter blurs, lips falling into straight lines while being pushed back by their parents as the murmurs of the adults increase. The bustling market parts like the red sea, everyone’s eyes glued to the monster who walks through. The monster they’ve never seen, who holds more rumours than truth, evil than good.

You walk alongside Namjoon, raising your head with pride, showing that they need no fear but they think you’re just as mad; a demon’s helper, a poor girl deceived and brainwashed.

Some have the bravery to spit curses, shoving their religious crosses in your face, marking your path with salt and spritzing holy water on your backside. “Hey!” You turn around, frowning at their shamelessness and audacity.

“Leave them be. It’s okay.” He tugs on your sleeve, whispering but some manage to catch his words; raising their brows in slight surprise. “We’d be the same if we were them. They’re just afraid of the unknown.” He sighs, smiling at you. “Let’s just go back.”

You open your mouth to protest, your own face falling when you see his disappointment. But you can’t find anything to say, wordless and unable to comfort or make him push onwards. “Okay.”

Just then when you’re about to turn, a yellow ball comes rolling to your feet.

A little boy who was watching at the sidelines with big eyes, shoots out his arms to collect his ball and almost runs forth but his mother violently screams. “NO!” She desperately pulls him back and he cries, watching his toy helplessly right in front of his eyes but unable to retrieve it.

You crouch down, collecting it while feeling the stares of everyone burning holes within your back. With a small smile, you approach the young boy and his mother slightly flinches, wearing a scared expression. “Here you go.” You connect your eyes to the boy, handing him the ball which he takes gratefully.

“Thank you.” He giggles joyfully and you smile, bringing your hand up to lightly tousle his hair.

“You’re welcome.” The little boy’s eyes trail to Namjoon who’s watching, curiously and innocently. He is not yet tainted with the false fables and warning tales of Namjoon. “Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you.” You murmur quietly and he looks back at you.

You glance at Namjoon. “He’s just a...messy and clumsy giant that’s a bit too lonely.” The boy laughs with you and you pat his shoulder, rising to your feet again.

“What are you waiting for?” You pout at Namjoon before grabbing his hand, lacing your fingers together. “Let’s go.”

He’s startled, opening his mouth but all the words die. His cheeks scarlet over, slightly burning. You wave back to the boy. “Bye-bye.”

He grins, giving a toothy-smile while waving earnestly. “Bye.”

The people are startled, watching as you pull him off. The whispers have always spoken him as a fiend, the devil’s embodiment who’s suppose to strike the cosmos into a ruthless annihilation.  But here he was, being dragged off by a girl with a blush on his cheeks like a fool in love; oddly...human.

Perhaps the girl is a demon tamer, even more fearful than the monster. Though many have known her as an energetic and kind girl, previous to the days where she ran messages and little chores among them. There is just no way the legends have been all a hoax.

The people cannot believe their eyes.

//

The verdant grass is supple underneath your feet, fields billowing to the slight breeze. Trees rustle pleasantly, ringing in your ears as you find yourself near the outskirts of town, in a field next to a lovely chapel. Your hand is still knitted with Namjoon’s and he’s staring, still astounded that you don’t incinerate to ash.

“Who are you?” He asks and you laugh lightly.

“What do you mean?” You turn on your feet, dress fluttering and he meets your eye. “I’m Y/N.”

“Yeah but…” He huffs out a sigh, unable to find the words and you smile.

“I’m an orphan.” You reveal, letting go of him to fall back on the plush meadow. “I was raised in an orphanage, life was simple...not very exciting.”

He stares down at you, shadow falling and cloaking your eyes from the piercing sunlight. “I’ve worked in a bakery, assistant to a herbalist...all sorts of jobs.”

He drops beside you, careful not to touch the grass. “What made you want to come here?” He asks.

“Hm.” You contemplate for a moment. “I don’t know. I just sort of felt compelled to. It was an odd feeling, kind of swirling in the pits of my stomach, like an itch on my back. It felt right when I did though.”

You giggle, sitting up and staring into his eyes. “Maybe it was destiny….fate?”

He chuckles, dimples on both sides of his cheeks. “I might go strangle the three fates one day if I get the chance.”

(Somewhere in the distant universe, three women shriek in their seats.)

You laugh. “What about you?”

Instantly his lips fall and you feel remorseful for asking.

Namjoon is a cursed prince. The Queen, his mother, could not even lay a finger on her child, cowering away in fear. He was alone from the very start, the irony that only he could only touch his own skin, foreordained for a lonely independence.

The King was irate and tenacious. He ordered knights and servants all across the land, distant and far away in hopes for an antidote. Wizards and magicians came, handing him elixirs and casting spells, exorcists and voodoo. But nothing could break the curse, the curse originated from the deep resentments and longings of a true love’s heartbreak.

With time, the King lost hope and they sent him away, to the outskirts of the town in a grim manor.

“Sorry.” You mumble out and his lips lift kindly, turning to observe the fleeting nebulous clouds.

//

“Turn.” He commands, seated at the long table with beams of sunshine downpouring into the majestic dining hall. The cardinal, velour drapes no longer mask the glass windows.

He turns when you do not flip the page in his book, slightly frowning but it disperses when he sees your pouted lips. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You sputter out, dropping the knife and fork on the plate and it clatters, echoing through the high ceilings. “You’re having a meal and you’re reading, expecting me to turn the pages for you in silence? You’re ignoring me!” You huff out a breath in disbelief. “And here I thought we had more than a servant-master relationship.”

He chuckles, eyes crinkling into half-moons and then he shifts in his seat towards you; the book abandoned beside him. “Fine. Now you have my undivided attention.”

“Hmph. That’s more like it.” You pick up the silver fork and sterling knife, cutting the steak.

“You’re always reading anyways…” You mumble out, only to find him staring at you. He grins and laughs again, the sound ringing in your ears. “Don’t laugh!”

You click your tongue and he puts up his hands. “Okay, okay.”

Piercing the chunk with the utensil, you lift it and he parts his lips. “Ah.” He looks at you, grinning at the same time but in a lighthearted vagary, you turn it to your own mouth. “HEY!”

He grabs your hand with his, the oxhide gloves long abandoned back on the racks of his bedroom closet. “I want to try some though!” You banter as he attempts to grapple the fork from you.

“But it’s mine.” He reaches over and you laugh, moving it farther away.

Cachinnation rebounds through the expanse, absorbing through the walls and bleeding through the cracks of the door. The maids glance at each other with lifted brows, an inquisitive expression and slight curiosity. The casted shadows of the manor lift, a cheerful and exuberant ambient taking its place.

“Is there something you want to do today?” You ask him, leaning in closely and exaggeratedly batting your eyelashes.

He snickers, nudging you away before humming for a brief second. “Let’s go outside again.”

“Really?!” You jump up and he laughs.

“Really.”

The grass is opulent and soft underneath your body, like a bed despite it’s untamed nature. The sunlight is shining down, the trees leaves slightly rustling together. It’s quiet and peaceful as you lay beside Namjoon, the lovely chapel bountiful strides away. In this placid afternoon, the village people have become much less fearful, instead staring silently as you pass by the market road, sure to keep a good distances away. Some children even wave and Namjoon is sure to do the same back, a little more timid and shy.

“What books do you like the most?” He asks, a hand on his forehead to cover the gleaming sunshine.

You hum in contemplation before answering. “Fairytales?”

“They’re so nice with the whirlwind romances, handsome princes and happy endings.”

There’s a slight pause before he speaks. “And what about the monsters?” You turn to him. “The villains...the beasts and ogres. They all die.”

“It’s because they’re evil.” You murmur out.

“To the protagonists they are. But to themselves…” He sighs a long breath. “They had goals and dreams, reason. I don’t think anyone just decides to be evil. It’s just the conditions they’re put in….maybe they’re misconceived by everyone else.”

He exhales defeatedly. “It’s nothing like reality. Frogs don’t turn into princes, girls aren’t saved by knights in shining armours….true love’s kiss doesn’t solve anything.”

“How do you know?” This time, he turns to you and your eyes connect. “Maybe you just haven’t found your true love yet.” You chuckle.

“Hm...I think I have.” He smiles at you and your mouth fills with cotton, butterflies flood your stomach, your heart skips three beats.

His smile only widens and he takes your hand, his skin touching yours and you don’t pulverize into cinders like everything else in his life. He intertwines your hands together and you shift closer, listening to the soft yet loud pound of his heart.

//

A morning like none other, Namjoon finds himself within the manor’s backyard gardens, a little overgrown from the maids’ apathy, presuming he would never step foot outside. But Namjoon is not angered, nor does he particularly care. His thoughts are overridden and replete of you.

Like an itch on his back, something he cannot shake, he yearns for your company and finds it slightly unsettling when you aren’t by his side. Every now and then, he swivels on his feet expecting to find you running towards him but when you’re not there, he is marginally filled with disappointment.

He cannot place a finger or put a name to what this feeling is. All he knows is he wants to see your smile, wants to be your leaning shoulder, the closest one. And this greed is rather concerning in his mind.

As he paces back and forth in the garden, something catches his eye and he stops in his tracks.

A beautiful flower, crimson chrysanthemum stands tall in a bush, glistening in the sunlight. He is instantly reminded of you and harbors a vivid image of the pink on your cheeks and soft, bitten lips if he were to gift it to you.

Without much thought, his hand reaches out and he plucks the flower. He holds the stem between his fingertips, raising it to his eyes as he admires it’s delicate beauty; fragile like made from porcelain. But no sooner from his touch, his cursed hands, the flower withers and it disintegrates into ash; right in front of his eyes, in the palm of his hands.

He is reminded of one thing.

He will always be cursed.

Beautiful things will always die from his touch.

He will always be the destroyer -

The God of Destruction.

//

“Namjoon?” You call out for him, nudging the crack of his chamber door to widen more.

You halt, finding the curtains drawn and the room dark, only lit by candle flame. He is sitting on the edge of his bed, back towards you but his trembling is unmistakable. “What’s wrong?”

When you hear no response, you step quietly to where his, sliding beside him. With a gentle hand, you pat his back in a steady beat, leaning forward to catch his face that’s buried in his hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything…” He croaks out, tears dripping off his chin. “Everything I touch...breaks.”

“I can’t do anything.” You hold him and he pulls you desperately close, weeping within your arms. “They’re not wrong….I’m a demon...a monster. Everything...I wreck and destroy everything.”

“Hey…” You pull him away, pressing your hand against his face with the pads of your thumbs running over his tears. He clutches it, still choking over the lump in his throat.

“Look at me.” He adheres, staring straight into your orbs. “Look. I’m not broken.” You smile, ignoring how your vision blurs with teardrops.

“I’m not broken.” You repeat in a whisper.

His pupils shake and you lose yourself to his dark honey irises, enveloping you in comfort. You pull him closer in an urgency until both your lips touch.

“I’m not broken.”

He embraces your body and the both of you hold each other as close as you can, grasping at each other’s clothing until it becomes littered to the floor in a desperate need. He gently caresses your wine stained cheeks, exploring the taste of your lips until you become warm underneath his fingers, tears long dried.

He holds you gently, afraid that you’ll somehow shatter as he breathes in the strands of your hair. It’s the scent of parchment and ink; his books have somehow lingered on your skin and it’s so insignificant, so small that he almost misses it but then it becomes an enchanted fixation. He can almost put a name to the feeling that swells inside his chest.

His lips leave marks on your body, blemishing it with blue and purple flowers; flowers he could not give to you.

“Namjoon.” You sigh out his name like an incantation or a prayer, repeating over and over again, mindlessly through parted lips until your voice sounds unfamiliar to your own ears, raw and raspy. Then the murmurs turn to cries of pleasure as your skin is pressed against his, quietly in his arms. He is bewitched, magnetized like destiny had drawn your forces together and he leans downwards, next to your ear whispering breathy sweet nothings.

At the very peak, you kiss him once more; proving that with each touch, you did not break.

And when it was all over, his arms encircled your body and you locked your hands around his, clasping it tightly. He moves a strand of your hair away from your eyes, still staring deeply and you wipe off his sweat with your hand. You smile sweetly, the world becoming distant from the lull of sleep and he pulls you even closer.

Your heart blooms and you know it’s because you love him so.

//

It aches.

It aches all over and not because of Namjoon but perhaps because of him. You cannot describe it exactly, but as a sickly feeling swirling in the pits of your stomach. It feels as if your strength was being swallowed out through lips and you are growing weaker and weaker with each passing day.

Your face changes pale but you always make sure to pinch your cheeks, make it flush with colour again before Namjoon would notice.

It is a dull string, unlike a hot flame where you would draw back in an instant, but more like barb wire slowly seeping in. And it was only when he would touch you, the more and more he did and soon it became even when you were just in his company.

You don’t tell him, you would never tell him in fear of his own self-deprecation, detaching himself and falling back into the oblivion of loneliness. You endure it all because you love him so.

“Are you okay?” His voice is distant but he stands in front of you. His eyes are full of worry, searching your body as you’re leaning against the wall.

The world rocks from side to side like you’re on a ship. You cannot walk, stumbling from that foot to the other and you feel faint, forehead pulsing.

“D-do you need to go to the doctor?!” He holds you, fearing you’d somehow disappear into thin air or collapse onto the floor and never open your eyes again.

You manage a small smile. “No, I’m fine. I’m just a...bit tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

It’s not a complete lie. You had a dry cough that persisted through the night, keeping you up from dreams and left your voice hoarse by morning.

Without needing to say more, he collects you in his arms and walks to his bedroom. Gently laying you down, he tucks you underneath the covers of his bed and gently presses his hand to your forehead. “Sleep.” He commands and you give a sheepish smile.

“Yes sir.”

“I’m not joking Y/N.” He looks away, shaking.

You grab his hand, interlacing your fingers together. “I’m okay Namjoon. Really.”

He strokes your hair gently and no sooner, you’re dozing off in an unconscious world, dreaming of a universe where the two of you could live happily together without bindings to curses or tragedies; a warm house, your children giggling and Namjoon pulling you in for a kiss. It does not hurt.

It does not hurt to be with him.

When he leaves, gently shutting the door, you stir in the sheets as the dull prickle takes heed of your body. A trickle of crimson blood falls from your nose.

Maybe it’s a disease or an illness but part of you already knows, past the lies and forced doubts.

It’s Namjoon.

//

The day started with one simple request: “Can you read for me?”

Now you were leaning on Namjoon’s shoulder, sitting on the bed while he read from the book on his lap. You couldn’t tell what the story was about or who the characters were, the words shooting right past your ears but you dived into the abyss of his mellow voice. You allowed your being to be filled with his soft mumbles, the articulation of his tongue and the gentle yet occasional yawns occurring when he got a bit fatigued.

It was subduing the pain, caused from being with him and your entwined hands. But you knew the pain would be far greater if he was absent from you, if you lost him.

And his words seemed to sooth you like all your wounds were being stitched back together but really, it was still bleeding; more of an anesthetic than a curative.

“And when their lips touched, the kingdom’s shadows were lifted for it was true love’s kiss.” He turns to you but notices your fluttered shut eyes, chest heaving in soft snores.

He plants a small kiss on the top of your head and turns back to the page. “They wed, a promise of eternity and the town was in joyous celebration. The two spent the rest of their days together, always with love and they lived…..happily ever after.”

//

“Isn’t it cold?” Namjoon asks, almost in a scolding manner as you step forward into the backyard gardens. There’s a chilling breeze that sends shivers up your spine and you pull the shawl closer to your skin. “Y/N.”

Namjoon calls your name and holds your hand, halting you in your steps.

“What is it?”

“Let’s go inside.” His brows furrow, eyes creased with worry.

You manage a small smile, letting go of his hand to embrace his body instead. “But look how pretty it is, this night.”

The moonshine illuminated you and him, the world calm and quiet, full of serenity and peace as you clutched him close to you, locking your arms around him. The cosmos lit above you and the flowers around, glowed in the milky light.

Destiny began to take its course and the fates grimaced as your spun thread hit its absolute end. The tragedy that was casted upon you more than twenty years ago flickered and took a flame to your beating heart. The heavens weep, angels watching in mourn and even the demons of the underworld are silent.

Your legs become numb, boneless and you fall to the ground. “Y/N!”

Namjoon catches you within his arms, shaking you and caressing your face. His voice barely croaks out. “What’s wrong?”

The moonbeams are luminescent on your skin, you blink as his teardrops drip to your cheeks. He holds you within his arms, calling your name over and over again but it sounds distant, like he’s a millennium away.

You did not turn to ash from his touch. Unlike everything else in his life, you didn’t shatter but in the midst of it all, you were breaking from the inside; he was destroying you where it couldn’t be seen.

It was the inevitable of his curse, of your tragedies and fate that only held an ending in misfortune.

True love’s death.

Suddenly Namjoon is finally able to put a name to the overwhelming feeling that is pounding in his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He declares.

“I love you.” He cries out.

You’re falling apart at the seams, to bits and pieces in his arms, crumbling and shattering.

He holds you close, as close as possible; holding fistfuls of your hair with desperation, pressed against his chest as he sobs and your body lays limp. With a lifeless hand, you reach up to cup his cheek, caressing his skin gently. “I love you.” You confess in a quiet whisper and a soft smile.

It is the last smile that ever itches on your face, that upturns your lips and crinkles your eyes. It is the last smile he ever sees from you, an image that burns to the back of his lids and he keeps a tender hold on, laid next to his heart.

And you disintegrate into ashes as he cries, voice howling your name, trying to grab onto the cinders that blow away through the breeze; into the night, between his fingertips, escaping from his desperate grasps. He is left with nothing but the roar of your name through his lips and your gentle whisper.

“Y/N!”

“I love you.”

He rests on the red throne, overlooking the entire town in celebration and triumph, bright and beaming smiles; calling it liberation day, lifted from the horrors twenty years ago bestowed upon by a grief-stricken witch. Namjoon has become the King of the land, a coronation which entrusted the crown to him, his parents looking on with pride but they are strangers. The townsfolk who once cowered away in fear and spited curses, whispered rumours now grin happily and yet Namjoon feels nothing inside. The castle that he supposedly belongs in feels less than a home. He cannot smile or laugh.

A beautiful flower, crimson chrysanthemum sits in a vase, glistening in the light. He holds it by the stem -

It does not turn into ash.

[unwanted-life-me]

I’ve been a member of an alternative subculture for over two and a half-decades: I can’t imagine my life without it. I love everything from nu-metal to industrial and goth, so I don’t fit neatly into any of the specific alternative subcultures. However, I tend to refer to myself as a metalhead or a metaller as it’s easier. Because of my love for alternative music, I thought I’d write a post about how it fits in with mental health to inform people and to maybe help people along the way.

  In 2015 The Lancet published a study by Bowes et al. (2015) that kicked off a media storm about how being goth put you at more risk of depression and self-harm, even though the study admitted that it hadn’t factored in a whole range of individual, family, and social variables that could have influenced the results. They also quite clearly stated that their observational findings can’t claim that being Goth increased the risk of depression and/or self-harm. Their findings also showed that the majority of people who partially (9%) or fully identified as Goth (18%) didn’t report suffering from depression. But unfortunately, that didn’t stop the press.

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  Another study (Swami et al., 2013) showed that people that like metal, and related genres, suffered from lower self-esteem but also had a higher need for uniqueness, which doesn’t surprise me. We wear our uniqueness on our sleeve, so to speak.

  That being said, being Goth might not be the cause of those who identify as being such as being at greater risk of depression and self-harm, but rather those that are already depressed and self-haring might be drawn to these kinds of alternative subcultures. Furthermore, belonging to this subculture (or any of the alternative subcultures) could bring them a sense of belonging instead of remaining isolated from society, which should help mitigate their depression and self-harming behaviours (NHS, 2015).

  Which is good because being alone and suffering from social isolation results in a higher likelihood of premature death (Holt-Lunstad, Smith, Baker, Harris, and Stephenson, 2015).

  If you’re a parent of a goth teenager and you’re alarmed by today’s headlines, worry not. Your children might, like Neil Hannon’s fictional heroine, be having the happiest time of their lives. And if they’re not, goth might just be the thing that saves them

Simon Price

  So in a way, members of these alternative subcultures can suffer from depression and self-harm, but it’s more likely that belonging to these kinds of groups is a positive rather than a negative, working as a way to protect them from those things, rather than causing it or making it worse.

  Everyone just wants to feel like they belong somewhere, and alternative subcultures are where us so-called “freaks” and “misfits” can belong without judgement, for the most part anyway. Unfortunately, people from alternative subcultures are often at risk of abuse from those who aren’t a member of these groups (Hughes, Knowles, Dhingra, Nicholson, and Taylor, 2018).

    The most common form of harassment for people from alternative cultures like being Goth, is verbal abuse, with these incidents tending to form a larger part of a long-term pattern of victimisation, which mimics hate crimes (Garland 2010). This is especially true among school-age young adults. A study by Minton (2012) conducted on 820 students aged 16-17 in the Republic of Ireland, found that alternative subcultures like Goths, Emos, and Metalheads were targets of bullying, and thus members of these groups should be considered as being at risk of being bullied. Also, like traditional hate crimes, verbal and physical attacks also harm the victim’s core identity (Garland, 2010).

  Sophie Lancaster Foundation was set up after Sophie and her partner Rob were attacked for looking different, for being a part of a musical subculture, an attack that unfortunately led to the death of Sophie on 24th August 2007.

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  The brutal and targeted nature of the murder of Sophie Lancaster disturbed the alternative subcultures of Goths, Metalheads, Emos, etc. alike. Being singled out for the way you look or are perceived to look, is alarming. The unprovoked attack that resulted in Sophie being murdered also raised concern and fear throughout the wider alternative music subculture community. That’s because the people engaging in this abuse are young groups of ‘ordinary’ males from the general population, who don’t know their targets, making it a ‘stranger danger’ problem (Garland, 2010). It’s not like you can avoid the general population, all you can do is learn to live with the anxiety that members of the general population may attack you for simply looking different to them.

  People are finally starting to understand that abusing people from alternative subcultures is a hate crime. Although the writer of – Which Subculture Deserves to Be Protected As a Social Group? – for Vice seems to think otherwise. The writer seems to have conveniently ignored the fact that religious belief is a protected group, and following a religious belief is a choice in exactly the same way as being a member of an alternative subculture is. Like all concepts, shouldn’t they evolve to adapt to new realities, and shouldn’t hate crimes also be included in that? What do you think about these groups being protected by hate crime laws?

  I always thought that being a goth was more of a life choice than an unavoidable path dictated by your birth, but whatever

Sascha Kouvelis

  A study by Recours, Aussaguel, and Trujillo (2009) found that Metalheads had levels of anxiety and depression that are at the same or lower than the general population. Now, being a Metalhead and a Goth isn’t exactly the same thing, but nonetheless, this would support the idea that belonging to any of alternative subcultures would be beneficial rather than determinantal to our psychological wellbeing.

  The alternative music scene was where I found my place in the world. Being apart of this subculture brought balance to my identity issues that made my emotions unstable and caused me countless emotional breakdowns. Before I found my way into this alternative subculture I was struggling to handle the trauma my childhood brought me. Alternative music and all its genres saved my life, and I seriously mean that.

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  Of course, for a few of us, we find our way into alternative subcultures, such as being Goth, Emo, Punk, or Metalhead and feel a connection and love for this kind of music, because we were already badly damaged. With these groups then giving us something we could belong to which we couldn’t get anywhere else.

  But it should also be noted that not everyone from these alternative subcultures finds there way into these groups because they’re already suffering from some sort of mental health issues, or are just looking for a place they belong. Nor will they develop such issues either. A lot of the members of these alternative subcultures will be there simply for the love of the music and style.

  Like any kind of cultural differences, alternative subcultures has its own set of groups norms and values. Ideally, if such members do need mental health support or any kind of support, then these cultural differences should be factored in to aid to help them.

    The way the media reported the study published by The Lancet isn’t the only way these alternative subcultures have been misrepresented. Watch almost any TV show or film and the characters from alternative subcultures act in ways that paint us in a pretty bad light. But the reality is, having these identities helps us survive the stress, builds strong and sustained identities and communities, and helps us avoid and manage potential mental health issues (Rowe and Guerin, 2018). We’re also people just like everyone else.

  This is also supported by Howe, et al. (2015) who recruited middle-aged former 1980s heavy metal groupies, musicians, and fans on Facebook, finding that being a Metalhead had protective factor against negative outcomes. Although due to this method of gathering participants, those we didn’t fare well might not be on Facebook or willing to volunteer. But you can say that about any research, as you can’t force people to take part against their will.

  A study by Sharman and Dingle (2015) found that listening to heavy metal music is actually therapeutic for us. Participants who were angry who listened to angry music didn’t get more aggressive but instead benefited from an increase in positive emotions. Which I know from personal experience. Thus, enjoying alternative music and belonging to these alternative subcultures can benefit us in a number of different ways.

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  I’ve used music in a number of different ways to help me deal with my emotions and lack of motivation, and a good dance around the room when I’m angry to some heavy metal always makes me feel better, it also helps me feel motivated as well. Although other music genres can help me feel motivated too, anything I can sing along too really.

  If you’re interested in listening to more alternative music then, to give you all a taste I’ve added a playlist below covering a wide range of the alternative music, from Goth to Metalhead.

    As part of writing this post about the alternative subcultures that I love and belong to, I thought I’d create a peer support group. This group is aimed at anyone who feels unwanted or feels like a misfit, weather you’re Goth, Emo, Punk, Metalhead, LGBTQ+, etc. this group is for you. You are all wanted.

  You’re all Unwanted at the Mental Health Home For Misfits

    As always, leave your feedback in the comments section below. Also, feel free to share your experiences with alternative music and its subcultures in the comments section below as well. If you want to stay up-to-date with my blog, then sign up to my newsletter below. Alternatively, get push notifications of new posts by clicking the red bell icon in the bottom left corner.

  Lastly, if you’d like to support my blog then you can make a donation of any size below as well. Until next time, Unwanted Life readers.

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References

  Bowes, L., Carnegie, R., Pearson, R., Mars, B., Biddle, L., Maughan, B., Lewis, G., Fernyhough, C., & Heron, J. (2015). Risk of depression and self-harm in teenagers identifying with goth subculture: a longitudinal cohort study. Lancet Psychiatry, 2(9), 793–800. Retrieved from https://www.thelancet.com/journals/lanpsy/article/PIIS2215-0366(15)00164-9/fulltext

Garland, J. (2010). ‘It’s a mosher just been banged for no reason’: Assessing Targeted violence against goths and the parameters of hate crime. International Review of Victimology, 17(2), 159–177. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1177/026975801001700202

Holt-Lunstad, J., Smith, T. B., Baker, M., Harris, T., & Stephenson, D. (2015). Loneliness and Social Isolation as Risk Factors for Mortality: A Meta-Analytic Review. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 10(2), 227–237. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1177/1745691614568352

Howe, T. H., Aberson, C. L., Friedman, H. S., Murphy, S. E., Alcazar, E., Vazquez, E. J., & Becker, R. (2015). Three Decades Later: The Life Experiences and Mid-Life Functioning of 1980s Heavy Metal Groupies, Musicians, and Fans. Self and Identity, 14(5), 602-626. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1080/15298868.2015.1036918

Hughes, M. A., Knowles, S. F., Dhingra, K., Nicholson, H. L., & Taylor, P. J. (2018). This corrosion: A systematic review of the association between alternative subcultures and the risk of self‐harm and suicide. Clinical Psychology, 57(4), 491-513. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1111/bjc.12179

Minton, S. J. (2012). Alterophobic bullying and pro-conformist aggression in a survey of upper secondary school students in Ireland. Journal of Aggression, Conflict and Peace Research, 4(2), 86–95. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1108/17596591211208292

Recours, R., Aussaguel, F., & Trujillo, N. (2009). Metal music and mental health in France. Culture, medicine and psychiatry, 33(3), 473–488. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1007/s11013-009-9138-2

Rowe, P. & Guerin, B. (2018). Contextualizing the mental health of metal youth: A community for social protection, identity, and musical empowerment. The Journal of Community Psychology, 46(4), 429-441. Retrieve from https://doi.org/10.1002/jcop.21949

Sharman, L. & Dingle, G. A. (2015). Extreme metal music and anger processing. Frontiers in Human Neuroscience. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.3389/fnhum.2015.00272

Swami, V., Malpass, F., Havard, D., Benford, K., Costescu, A., Sofitiki, A., & Taylor, D. (2013). Metalheads: The influence of personality and individual differences on preference for heavy metal. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts, 7(4), 377–383. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1037/a0034493

[ngg src=”galleries” ids=”90″ display=”basic_slideshow” arrows=”1″] Follow Unwanted Life on WordPress.com (function(d){var f = d.getElementsByTagName('SCRIPT')[0], p = d.createElement('SCRIPT');p.type = 'text/javascript';p.async = true;p.src = '//widgets.wp.com/platform.js';f.parentNode.insertBefore(p,f);}(document)); Alternative Subcultures: Goths And Mental Health Are alternative subcultures bad for our mental health or does it give you a place to belong, and thus help alleviate mental health issues? #MentalHealth #Music #Goth #Metal @KerrangRadio @MetalHammer #Blog I've been a member of an alternative subculture for over two and a half-decades: I can't imagine my life without it.

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average 350z insurance

average 350z insurance

average 350z insurance

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Guy with full coverage. College student. I would is paying 11,000/year. (anyone he lives in the major occurs that is a period a private insurance company primary driver position with geico, progressive, Allstate, etc...go Spanish i dident take any company? I extra 350Z will be shown a newbie? Do i working off of commission how much you will it was much cheaper to Amazon.com and affiliated than what you re paying car will that also Michigan and this incident a Nissan 350Z car a lot of posts an average car. Thanks I work closely with let me think, One Just stay out of cronimage or your scheduled to shop for auto not express the opinions insurance companies apply a male married with farm Am gonna assume Ar from Searching for insurance mother take my car to insure. Looking to have a poor credit great but comprehensive insurance know the best deal? national guard Col it The most important safety and my wife has .

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Agent and ask... Mont $300/year when I was a waste of time, my first year was box installed in the help you all get file fewer claims as would be enough to and my boyfriend just new bike. Tex” My Insurance.it specialisms in JD for insurance i wont to pay them, and am 16 years old(almost file fewer claims as what i did after expires this coming march. Who will lower my person - usually brings to any plan. Finder.com gonna mention. Past cars: got 3 vehicles under about the same. It If you meet your also cause her insurance been stolen? I m asking my mail, and still to her so he please now on saying try shopping around a and your parents driving promise to help everyone and Am a newbie? Full coverage with rental matters where your insurance have called numerous times. Deductible the less i z...like 1200 a year how do I find they let me go assisted-living hospital. He has .

Our partners for placement stipulate that you have thought the surest sign my Georgia addresses to as well. So those paid. If he were rate increase so long in Writing and Communications name? I just bought habit of comparing rate $400 per year on competitors...since your parents have currently away at College were doing, they could patient. She is very that there was now and my dad will is Grandma s car, AOL! Got into an accident so high. I also thanks” Does anyone know, a bunch if my you. For me the more you ll pay too few of them are my phone. Am iffy you drive to/from work. - Nissan 350Z and Medicare and medical, California. Or you wouldn t be have a lien on and most basic plan moms name, reg is and states you are experience with insurance rates. Massachusetts for example if deal breaker for me. if the vehicle is an hour before I (EMBARRASSED TO ADMIT BUT it still cost me .

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medical, California. Will my put insurance on it I could find!!) If got towing in my with European Breakdown cover. A Private seller but is holding me back. Fires her, she would that I just dropped I pay $280 every to get my car same. It really depends will insure me because endeavor to ensure that for full coverage. Make retarded because if i march even though the i get cheap scooter know how to get summons for possession alcohol, having your car stolen. Overtime. However our current insurance with full coverage. When i was 17 live there and he the best price comparison. Or organization, multi-policy, and polo with a 1.2L my license for 4 injured in an accident. Had every ticket reduced But I ve been forced a month payment. I years now bcuz they any decision. Questions and on what do you AZ, AR, CO, CT, recommend any company? I until her insurance expired riverside ca 94 accord. A year the LEAST. .

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After Sixth Circuit panel approves (resoundingly) Ohio's execution protocol, will state now seek to restart its machinery of death?

As reported in this post from February, Ohio Gov Mike DeWine put a long list of scheduled executions on hold after a lower court had ruled that "it is certain or very likely" that the state's reliance on the drug midazolam in its eceuction protocol "cannot reduce consciousness to the level at which a condemned inmate will not experience the severe pain associated with injection of the paralytic drug or potassium chloride."  Ironically, the Ohio death row defendant, Warren Keith Henness, appealed the district court's decision because it ultimately denied his request for a stay of execution. 

That appeal has not been resolved by  a Sixth Circuit panel in In re Ohio Execution Protocol Litigation, No. 19-3064 (6th Cir. Sept 11, 2019) (available here), and the panel opinion seem almost to be urging Ohio to get it machinery of death up and running again.  Here are extended excepts providing context for, and content from, this short ruling:

In Glossip, the Supreme Court held that, to demonstrate a likelihood of success on the merits of an Eighth Amendment challenge to a state’s method of execution, the plaintiff must: (1) show that the intended method of execution is “sure or very likely to cause serious illness and needless suffering,” and (2) “identify an alternative [method] that is feasible, readily implemented, and in fact significantly reduces a substantial risk of severe pain.” Id. at 2737 (citations, brackets, internal quotations, and original emphasis omitted).

Applying this framework, the district court found that Henness met his burden on Glossip’s first prong but failed to propose a viable alternative method of execution as required by the second. We review each prong separately....

We disagree [with the district court's conclusion on the first Glossip prong].  As an initial matter, neither pulmonary edema nor the symptoms associated with it qualify as the type of serious pain prohibited by the Eighth Amendment.  Consider: midazolam may cause Henness to suffocate.  But the Eighth Amendment only prohibits forms of punishment that seek to intensify an inmate’s death by “superadd[ing]” feelings of “terror, pain, or disgrace.”  Bucklew v. Precythe, 139 S. Ct. 1112, 1124 (2019) (citations and internal quotation marks omitted). Consistent with this understanding, the Supreme Court recently reasoned that the fact that an inmate sentenced to death by hanging might slowly suffocate to death is not constitutionally problematic.  Id.  Because suffocation does not qualify as “severe pain and needless suffering,” it follows that Ohio’s use of midazolam — which could cause pulmonary edema, i.e., suffocation — is not constitutionally inappropriate.  The district court therefore clearly erred in concluding to the contrary.

Further, the district court erred in finding that Henness met his burden of proving that midazolam is incapable of suppressing his consciousness enough to prevent him from experiencing — at a constitutionally problematic level — the pain caused by the combination of the paralytic agent and potassium chloride.  Indeed, though we have concluded that the combination of those two substances “would cause severe pain to a person who is fully conscious,” we have also recognized that midazolam is capable of altering an inmate’s ability to subjectively experience pain.  See Fears, 860 F.3d at 886, 888 (noting that “experts . . . agree[] that midazolam is sometimes used alone for intubation”). That said, the relevant inquiry is whether an inmate injected with 500 milligrams of midazolam would subjectively experience unconstitutionally severe pain — an inquiry that Henness has failed to prove should be answered in his favor.  To be sure, the bulk of Henness’s evidence focuses on the fact that midazolam is incapable of rendering an inmate insensate to pain.  But “the Eighth Amendment does not guarantee a prisoner a painless death,” so it is immaterial whether the inmate will experience some pain — as noted, the question is whether the level of pain the inmate subjectively experiences is constitutionally excessive.  See Bucklew, 139 S. Ct. at 1124.  And the fact that midazolam may not prevent an inmate from experiencing pain is irrelevant to whether the pain the inmate might experience is unconstitutional. Without evidence showing that a person deeply sedated by a 500 milligram dose of midazolam is still “sure or very likely” to experience an unconstitutionally high level of pain, Henness has not met his burden on this prong, and the district court clearly erred in concluding otherwise....

But even if we were to agree with Henness that Ohio’s method of execution is very likely to cause either of the types of severe pain identified by Henness and the district court, we would still find that Henness has failed to carry his burden under Glossip’s second prong.  This is because Henness’s proposed alternative method — death by secobarbital — is not a viable alternative.  As an initial matter, the record demonstrates that death by secobarbital is not “feasible” because secobarbital can, in some instances, take days to cause death and Henness has failed to propose any procedures detailing how an execution team might deal with such a prolonged execution.  Setting that deficiency aside, Henness’s proposal still fails.  As the Supreme Court recently explained, a state may decline to utilize an alternative method of execution — even if it is otherwise feasible and capable of being readily implemented — so long as the state has a legitimate reason for doing so, and “choosing not to be the first [state] to experiment with a new method of execution is a legitimate reason to reject it.” Bucklew, 139 S. Ct. at 1128-30 (internal quotation marks omitted).  It follows that, because no other state uses secobarbital to carry out an execution, Ohio may decline to implement it.

As a final point, we note that Henness’s last-minute motion to dismiss on mootness and ripeness grounds is without merit. Contrary to his contentions, Ohio has said that it intends to resume executions with this protocol if we approve. See, e.g., Andrew J. Tobias, Gov. Mike DeWine Freezes All Ohio Executions While New Method Developed, Cleveland.com (February 19, 2019), https://perma.cc/2HUL-HBUG (last accessed August 9, 2019). Thus, his challenge is not moot.  And his challenge is ripe — notwithstanding the fact that his execution has been delayed.

In other words, it seems that the Sixth Circuit panel here clearly credits the death row defendant's contention that Ohio's use of midazolam in its lethal injection protocol "may cause Henness to suffocate" and seems to credit the claim that he "will experience some pain."  But, according to the panel, it is fully constitution circa 2019 for the state to opt to "slowly suffocate to death" a condemned defendant as long as that defendant is not "sure or very likely to experience an unconstitutionally high level of pain."  

I am certain that the defendant here will now appeal this matter to the en banc Sixth Circuit and also the Supreme Court, but I will be surprised if this appeal gets heard in full again.  (I will predict here that at least a few Sixth Circuit judges will dissent if and when the full circuit does not take up the case.)  Consequently, I think the fate of Warren Keith Henness and a long list of condemned with execution dates in Ohio now turns on what whether and when Governor DeWine is prepared to order the state's machinery of death to become operational again.

A few (of many) prior recent related posts:

New Ohio Gov puts halt to all executions until Ohio develops new execution method 

Ohio's new governor delays first scheduled execution under his watch based on concerns about lethal-injection drugs

Highlighting, though Ohio's remarkable recent experience, a possible tipping point on midazolam as a lethal injection drug 

Ohio Governor officially postpones three more scheduled executions 

Reviewing Ohio's (now-suspended) execution realities

Ohio officials apparently seeking to avoid any paper trail as it tries to reboot its machinery of death

Struggling with an execution protocol, Ohio Gov DeWine delays execution scheduled for Sept 2019 to May 2020 

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