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idiopath-fic-smile · 4 years

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hey hi I've been trying to write something, anything, and what came out is like 3k of an extremely stupid supervillain/superhero story that I’d been kicking around in some form like over ten years ago. it doesn’t map onto any kind of an AU so I guess it’s original fiction? enjoy?

Cityton Chronicles, part 1

The problem with carrying out an evil scheme, thought Edmund, was the scheme part.

Anyone could nurse a sinister thought or two; it wasn't that hard to shake one's fist at the sky and murmur, “You'll pay for this. With God as my witness, oh, you will pay” and then maybe cackle a little. That much was child's play. (Literal child's play; he had witnessed more than a few dire pronouncements from his classmates at Hawthorne Grimmsbury's Academy for Ominous Boys, especially when recess was threatened.)

Actually going through with a plan was a whole different story. There were logistics to manage. There were people to manipulate, details to babysit, hypotheticals to anticipate. The nitty-gritty, as it were.

Edmund was not destined for the nitty-gritty.

Although, wasn't that what useless people always said? “I'm more of a big-picture person.” Maybe he was useless. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe Edmund Malarkey, heir to Malarkey Industries, was simply not cut out for masterminding.

Case in point, he had a terrible feeling he was about to make a complete hash of the Ritual.

The parameters were clear enough: full moon—check. Chalk for pentagrams—check. One hundred lit candles—check. (Some were scented; the store hadn't had enough plain tapers in stock, but the text of the Ritual had been written well before the notion of pumpkin spice was a cozy twinkle in some godless marketer's eye, and so Edmund figured this would probably not disqualify him.) Thirteen hooded figures, all in black...

This was where things got dicey.

The first sign of the trouble to come was when Carl showed up in navy fucking blue.

Edmund pinched at the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly, breath crystalline in the late November air. The invitations had been so specific.

“It looked pretty dark online,” Carl offered as the wind whipped at them atop the roof of the Cityton Natural History Museum.

“Pretty dark? Pretty dark? Did it look like the blackest black?” said Edmund. “Did it look like Anish Kapur's most haunting nightmare? Did it look like a raven's wing in shadow at the stroke of midnight, Carl?” Carl stuck out his chin. “It's almost black.”

“Yes, and bananas and humans share about sixty percent of their DNA, we're almost cousins,” Edmund told him, dangerously quiet, “but fortunately for you, I'm not going to peel you and eat you in a fruit salad, you buffoonish optimist.”

Edmund should never have relied upon his father's former henchpeople. They were loyal to his father; they looked upon him with bemused tolerance. He should've just gone ahead and recruited all of the necessary twelve people from Craigslist. He'd held off due to a suspicion that anyone he found on the internet would assume the Ritual was fundamentally a weird sex thing, but at least a bunch of kinksters would have probably taken the rules seriously.

He sighed. “Carl, there's a bodega down on the corner. Go buy two black trash bags and make yourself a garbage-robe.” Carl frowned. “Is there time?”

Edmund checked his phone. Eleven fifty-three. “Hurry. And save the receipt.”

Another gust of wind kicked up. Edmund shivered. He'd been smart enough to request a fabric swatch ahead of time from the Etsy store where he'd custom-ordered his own set of hooded black robes. He hadn't stopped to consider how warm—or not—a single layer of said fabric would feel well into autumn, completely unshielded by the elements. Theoretically, he could've crammed a coat under the robes, like a child wearing a Halloween costume in an unseasonably cold October, but no, he hadn't wanted to look bulky.

He checked the candles again, for want of anything better to do.

“Boss,” said a hesitant voice behind him.

“What is it, Stephanie,” said Edmund.

Stephanie had clearly repurposed her teenager's old Hermione costume as her robes, but she had bothered to remove the Hogwarts branding, which was something, at least. Beyond the fact that Edmund didn't feel like giving a repellent transphobe any extra attention, there might have been copyright issues.

“Is that thing about bananas really true?”

“Yeah,” said Edmund. He had read it many years ago, in a book titled 2002 MORE WACKY FACTS TO BLOW YOUR MIND AND AMAZE YOUR FRIENDS, which didn't seem especially pertinent. He did a quick headcount. Even without Carl, they only numbered eleven. “Where's Donna?”

“You should call her,” said Stephanie. “Donna never answers her texts.”

Edmund had been halfway through tapping out a text. Ugh, Boomers. Calling was for emergencies only; everyone knew that. Unfortunately, this qualified. He gritted his teeth and dialed.

Donna answered on the fourth ring. “What?” She sounded groggy.

“Did you,” said Edmund, still through gritted teeth, “forget what night the Ritual was?”

“Oh shit,” mumbled Donna. “Are you sure? I thought it was at noon tomorrow. Carl told me twelve o'clock.”

“At night,” said Edmund. “Twelve o'clock at night, this is a dark incantation to a primordial god, it does not overlap with daytime television.”

Just then, Edmund's phone beeped with another call. “Can you hold, Donna,” he hissed.

“Hey boss,” said Carl, “the bodega only has white or green trash bags, what's my next step?”

“HOLD,” Edmund shouted, switching calls again. “Donna, can you grab an extremely dark-colored robe and be here immediately?”

“Like a bathrobe?” said Donna, sounding lost.

Of course Carl had not bothered to relay the dress code. Of course he hadn't even managed to hand her the painstakingly crafted invitation. Edmund had used the nicest card stock available to him, not that it mattered.

“Uh, boss?” Leroy called over the roar of the wind. Edmund flexed his stiffening fingers.

“One second, Donna,” said Edmund.

“How much longer is this gonna be?” said Leroy. “Because I was gonna catch the late show tonight—”

“Watch it on YouTube the next day like a normal person!” Edmund snapped. “Donna—”

“I can be there by 12:40,” said Donna through the tinny phone speaker. “There's some errands I wanna run first.”

“It's the middle of the night, what errands!” said Edmund. “Donna, hold—” He switched back to Carl. “Listen, are you sure there aren't any black trash bags?”

“White or green only,” Carl affirmed. “Some of them are scented, do you think that would make a difference?”

“Boss,” said Frank from the other side of the roof, “we lost the chalk?”

“Hold on, Carl,” said Edmund. “What?”

“It was here a second ago!” “Did you secure the chalk against the wind?”

“What?” said Frank.

“The chalk, it's cylindrical!” Edmund managed to shout. “Did you do anything so it wouldn't just roll straight off the roof?”

Somewhere above the din of wind came the sound of a half dozen pieces of sidewalk chalk landing on the street five stories below and shattering.

Edmund buried his (cold) face in his (frozen) hands.

“Uh boss,” said Stephanie. “It's 12:01.”

Edmund sighed. The primordial god K'h'gg'ragel might have allowed for some creative interpretations on Ritual-adjacent matters, but everyone knew K'h'gg'ragel was a stickler for punctuality.

“Alright,” said Edmund, pitching his voice to carry. “Pack it in, we'll try again next full moon.”

“Phew,” said Leroy, who was wearing a thick downy jacket over his robes, and a hat with earflaps, and mittens. “It's cold out.”

“I FOUND A BLUE ONE!” Carl shouted from the speaker. “IS THAT ANY BETTER?”

Edmund turned his phone off.

Lighting and strategically placing one hundred candles had been something of an undertaking. Blowing them all out alone and stuffing them back into a series of duffel bags was somehow worse. Edmund was about half-done when he heard a distinct whirring buzz. He looked up.

It was Dragonfly. Of course it was Dragonfly, heading right for him.

Great. Edmund's first-ever showdown was going to be a one-on-one against a superhero armed with a jetpack, one hell of a punch, and electrified darts. Edmund was going to get flattened, and all before he even got the chance to point out that the darts and for that matter the punching didn't fit with the overall insect theme.

“Hey man,” said Dragonfly, dropping effortlessly down to the roof of the museum. “I saw the lights from the sky, thought I'd investigate.”

They weren't fighting yet. Why weren't they fighting? Edmund's whole body fizzed with adrenaline. Also, cold. Either way, he was shaking a little, and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“And what, strike another heroic blow against the terror that is a bunch of sweater-themed Yankee Candles?” said Edmund.

Dragonfly shrugged. His costume included a bottle-green moto jacket and gloves. It looked warm, in a way that made Edmund feel even colder. “Sweater candles? What, like burning wool?” he said.

Privately, Edmund had wondered about that too. This, he decided obscurely, was another strike against Dragonfly.

“Maybe burning wool smells phenomenal,” said Edmund instead, rocking forward. “There's no way you could possibly know, unless you're here to tell me you've lit a sheep on fire, which seems well outside your whole—” he waved his hands vaguely “—moral compass.”

“Word travels fast,” said Dragonfly gravely. “I am foursquare against sheep-burning. Always have been.”

Edmund squared his shoulders. “So, are we doing this, or what?”

From behind his signature oversized goggles, Dragonfly's brow seemed to furrow slightly. “Doing what?”

“Fighting,” said Edmund. He had to grind his teeth together to keep them from chattering.

“Ah,” said Dragonfly after a pause. “Oh. Um. Okay. Here's the thing?” He steepled his fingers. “You seem unarmed. You're not hurting anyone. You're also not committing any crimes.” Edmund opened his mouth to protest, and Dragonfly continued, “Or, okay, you're trespassing on the museum, I guess, technically, but it's not like you're even trying to sneak into an exhibit without paying.”

“I am here,” said Edmund firmly, “to perform a terrible and arcane Ritual which will summon—”

“Yeah?” said Dragonfly. “Where's your followers? Where's your summoning chalk? It's well past midnight and the only sign of any occult activity I can see is the candles, but for all I know, you were just up here trying to have a little me-time, which, like, on some level I get, you know?”

“So,” said Edmund blankly, “what now?” He had given up on trying to tense his jaw. His upper and lower teeth clacked rhythmically against each other.

“I give you a stern verbal warning about what's probably a minor fire hazard and recommend that you enjoy the museum from the inside, during business hours, with a ticket,” said Dragonfly. “I hear they have a great exhibit on prehistoric mammals. In the meantime, get somewhere warm, okay? Your lips are turning blue.” “Fuck off,” Edmund more or less managed to say through his shivers.

Dragonfly spread his hands, placating. “Fair enough.” He began to walk away. At the edge of the roof, he hesitated. “Uh, do you have a way down?”

“Obviously,” said Edmund.

“Yeah,” said Dragonfly. “Uh, okay.” They regarded each other. “What is it?” said Dragonfly after a few seconds.

Edmund froze. Or well, he was already half-frozen. Edmund stopped moving, was the point.

Apparently interpreting Edmund's silence as helplessness, Dragonfly offered dubiously, “I could carry you down?”

“How,” said Edmund, flat. It was the wrong thing to say, in that it wasn't 'No,' or 'Fuck off' again, something sensible like that, but damn it, he was freezing, and if he gave up the way he'd gotten everyone onto the roof, then this whole fucking evening was going to be a wash. He had tried so hard. It wasn't fair.

Dragonfly took a step closer. “Fireman or bridal?”

Edmund tried and failed to parse this three separate times in his cold-fuzzed brain. “Is that a meme?” he settled on finally.

“Do you,” said Dragonfly, “have a preference on how I carry you.”

“We haven't even established that you're going to,” Edmund said. Clackity clackity clack went his traitorous teeth.

Dragonfly sighed. “I can't leave you up here,” he said. “One, if I let you keep hanging out on the roof of the history museum, then technically I'm kinda aiding and abetting your whole trespassing situation. Two, it is really fucking chilly up here, and if you freeze to death, then that's on me. Which is also not, like, great for my conscience.”

“So I don't have a choice,” Edmund spat.

“You totally have a choice,” said Dragonfly. He tilted his head to the side. “Hell, you could do me a solid and just exit using whatever secret method you entered with, but I have a feeling mum's the word on that particular angle.”

This Dragonfly character was smarter than he looked. Of course, he was a grown man who fought crime dressed as a giant insect. The bar was not particularly high.

“Mum's the word?” Edmund echoed. “What are you, ninety?”

“I'm an old fucking soul, dude,” said Dragonfly. “Point being, you don't trust me not to watch you leave the roof. Which is hurtful, frankly. I'm not sure I trust you not to stay up here out of pure stubbornness. If I give you a quick boost down, then it's problem solved and we can both go about our nights. Crime-fighting for me, and for you hopefully a pile of blankets and whatever warm food rich people eat. Mashed potatoes? With...caviar?”

This clearly did not merit a response. Dragonfly knew who Edmund was, apparently. Most people did.

“What if you drop me?” said Edmund.

Dragonfly laughed. He had a nice laugh. It was yet another point against him, somehow. “Don't you think that might go against my whole—” he gestured with both hands “moral compass?”

Edmund recognized his own words being used against him. On the other hand, the thought of a hot meal and, moreover, central heating beckoned.

“I don't care,” Edmund said at last.

“What?” said Dragonfly.

“Bridal or fireman's carry,” said Edmund. “I don't care.”

Dragonfly nodded sagely. “Let's get this over with, then,” he said. “Hey, d’you want help with your candles?”

Did he? He didn't want to want help with his candles, but that was another question. On the other hand, if Edmund accepted Dragonfly's aid, it would shave off valuable minutes of this excruciating headache. The backs of Edmund's knees were cold. It was absurd.

“Fine,” said Edmund.

“Huh,” said Dragonfly several minutes later. “This one's rain-scented, and this one's Ocean Spray, and yet they smell nothing alike.”

Dragonfly had without fail commented on every single scented candle in the bunch. Edmund looked up from his umpteenth taper candle, momentarily distracted from the knifelike chill.

“Rain and ocean are two completely different things,” said Edmund. “The surrounding environment, the vibe, the salt content.”

“The vibe, I grant you,” said Dragonfly. “But salt, really? Have you ever smelled salt before?”

“The ocean has a smell,” Edmund insisted. His family had summered on the coast every year before—well. Before last year. He mostly remembered the sea as having a whiff of fish about it, which didn't sound promising for a candle, but it was the principle of the thing.

Dragonfly shrugged. “You've got me there,” he said. “Never been.” Cityton was only about an hour's drive from the beach. Edmund wasn't sure he knew anyone who had never visited at least once, for a long weekend at least. Of course, it wasn't like Edmund knew Dragonfly. He didn't even know what Dragonfly's eyes looked like.

Edmund blew out another few tapers.

“This one's just called Singing Carols,” Dragonfly announced. “Guess what it smells like, I dare you.”

And so on.

In the end, Dragonfly carried Edmund off the roof of the Natural History Museum scooped under the armpits, the way you might hold a cat if you were engaging in some light cat-related horseplay. The mechanical dragonfly wings were well-made, Edmund could admit that much; Dragonfly didn't seem to have any issue bearing Edmund's weight or the combined weight of the candles, and their feet gently touched the ground after only a few seconds. It was already slightly warmer—or at least slightly less freezing—on street-level.

Dragonfly let go and stepped back immediately. This close, Edmund could see that his lips were pretty badly chapped. It made sense that someone who donated all their time to—again—flitting around town trying to right every minuscule so-called wrong while dressed like a bug wouldn't be experienced enough with self-care to be acquainted with a good lip balm, but the thought made Edmund weirdly a little sad.

His sense of deeply ingrained politeness warred against the equally powerful urge to be a real bastard about the whole thing. In the end, politeness won out, by the very skin of its mannerly little teeth.

“Thank you for not dropping me to my almost certain death,” Edmund gritted out with extreme reluctance. He stared over Dragonfly's shoulder as he said it.

Nevertheless, for some awful reason, for just that moment, it felt a little like the end of a date.

“Right,” said Dragonfly. “Right. Well then. Happy trails.” He seemed to consider this. “Or you know, if doing crimes is what makes you happy, then for the sake of Cityton, let's say, mediocre trails. Do you wanna borrow my gloves?”

“Why,” said Edmund flatly.

Even though the goggles completely obscured much of the upper half of Dragonfly's face, Edmund had the distinct sense that a disbelieving stare was being leveled at him.

“For your hands? You know, the traditional office of gloves?”

As the scion of Malarkey Industries, Edmund was long accustomed to being hated for who he was. Hated, feared, not-too-secretly envied. And lately: mocked, dismissed, his family name transmuted into a juicy, low-hanging punchline for lazy late night writers.

He wasn't sure he'd ever been pitied before. It did not sit well.

“I'll warm my hands on the fires of hell while I plot your demise, you miserable fool,” growled Edmund.

“Yikes,” said Dragonfly easily. “Well, I'm off.” And with that, he took to the sky.

Edmund curled his fingers into the sleeves of his stupid, summer-weight summoner's robes and started back towards what remained of his home.

#original fiction #cityton chronicles #I'm sure that in some obscure way the fact that I'm thinking about this now is due to mainlining The Untamed #but this is definitely. not that.#warning for an extremely brief mention of transphobia that the main character condemns #also apparently there is a dragonfly-themed superhero in a 2008 superhero spoof movie?#let's say that movie exists in this world too and Dragonfly has taken a lot of shit for it #that sounds about right

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joheun-saram · 4 years

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To Make A Power Couple (knj) | 05

Chapter 5: 30 under 30

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Summary- After a bout of long distance our couple reunites for a weekend where they are both invited to the Forbes 30 under 30 celebration.

word count- 13k 😅

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- R

genre- series, slow burn, fluff, smut, strangers2lovers, angst (😱)

warnings- alcohol consumption, softdom!Joon, oral sex (f. receiving), orgasm denial, explicit sex, hints towards depressive mindset, overworking

a.n- new chapter? NEW CHAPTER! AND THERE’S ANGST?! I would like to point out that the Namjoon’s struggles in this chapter are in no way meant to reflect the real Namjoon’s thoughts. This is a fictional character. I use writing as an outlet to work through my own issues so the only headspace they accurately reflect is my own at times. If you relate, or need someone to talk to you, my messages are open - I’m here for you!

Thank you so much for the love you all have given this series so far! I’m loving writing this! Also, I’m still simping for this couple and writing the last two scenes was heartbreaking.

s/o to @moccahobi for beta reading! ily!

Feedback much appreciated! 💕

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @sscheherazadee, @rjsmochii, @jinjccns, @joyful-jimin @sideblogger @agustdpeach @diamonddia-mond

“So how much do I have to bribe Sejin to let us be in the same room for the Forbes thing?” You settled in bed, wearing one of your boyfriend’s t-shirts, as you Facetimed him a few countries away, his scent making you feel closer to him. To say his comeback had him busy was an understatement. Since the night you two had agreed on labeling your relationship, you only had a few weeks together to cuddle, visit your favorite places, and argue philosophies of the books you were reading, before being thrown into a long-distance relationship. First, your investor meetings had you traveling from San Francisco to Seoul every few weeks and then he set out on the Asian leg of his promotions and mini-tour. The days that you were in the same city were spent staying in bed and ordering take-out (mostly jjajangmyeon to satisfy Namjoon’s cravings), alternating between his apartment and yours.

“Literally nothing? Obviously we’re in the same room! He’s not gonna stop me from staying with my girlfriend who I haven’t seen in like two months.” He looked tired, his brows creased as he massaged his shoulder. Your heart panged wishing you could be there to massage it for him.

“Oh. But what if we get caught?” This was not a new concern. Since day one, you had to ensure that all your dates were private, pretending you both were single at events you were obligated to attend. He had an image to portray and although it sometimes weighed on you that you always had a group of friends with you whenever you went out in public and that you couldn’t hold hands during your outings, you respected him too much to tarnish his career.

“By who? The room service guy?” He rolled his eyes as he now started to punch his shoulders.

“Yes, or fans who hack the security system. I remember some One Direction fans doing that.” You pretended as if some of those fans were not your old university friends. You don’t talk to them anymore, but you have to admit it was hilarious seeing a group of coders hunched over their computers to get access to grainy pictures of Harry Styles walking in the hallways.

“You are so paranoid. We’ll be fine, baby. Trust me.” He dismissed you with a huff as he finally let go of his shoulders and moved on to removing his makeup.

“Also, I didn’t know you told your company.” You both had decided to wait to tell BigHit about your relationship until you were done with this long-distance leg, opting to go in together to announce it. Neither of you wanted to go public so you assumed the meeting was going to be quick and painless.

“I told people who needed to know. Hyung included.” He shrugged.

“Aww, I was looking forward to sneaking around some more!” You joked as he carried his phone to the bathroom to wash his face.

“You’re annoying.” He whined as he put on copious amounts of skincare before dropping on his hotel bed like a brick. Looking at his bare face, his dark circles and tired eyes were much more evident. Tonight’s show must have been really hard on him.

“Aw, do you miss me, baby?” You cooed, hoping to make him laugh. You wanted to hug him, cuddle with him as the little spoon as you usually did when he had a hard day, but all you could do at the moment was make jokes and hope that was enough. Shit, you missed him.

“I always miss you. Phone sex sucks.” He sighed, making himself comfortable among the pillows.

“I knew it! You only like me for the sex.” Just give me one laugh Namjoon, come on. A chuckle, anything!

“Yes and your sexy brain, pretty girl.” He laughed lightly as he stared at you through the screen, the longing in his eyes mirroring yours.

“Hey! That’s my line!” You giggled, relieved to see the crease between his brows finally disappear.

“Fuck! Three more days!” He said excitedly, shaking the phone in his hand making him look more like a crazed anime character with his new pink hair and lopsided glasses than your boyfriend.

“Three more days!” you squealed.

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Your body ached from the thirteen-hour flight as you walked through the lobby of the Metropolitan Detroit hotel with Siwon. Grateful for how organized Namjoon’s company was, you seamlessly checked in and made your way to your suite, dropping off your stuff before meeting Siwon at his to go over the weekend itinerary. Even though you knew he was still in the air since the boys and his flight wasn’t due to land for another five hours, you texted him your safe arrival.

Over the past four months since the gala, Jiyoung’s hard work had started to pay off. You were no longer an unknown entity controlling a company; you were now an “influencer entrepreneur”. Your personal social media, now closely tied to the company, showcasing not only usual photos of you at museums and galleries (courtesy of Namjoon’s camera) but photos of you in boardrooms and speaking at events (courtesy of Siwon’s camera). You had significantly surpassed your corporate accounts in followers over a month ago, with a steady stream coming in after your interview in a fashion magazine of all things (apparently your “street style” was deemed a breath of fresh air for businesswomen) and another stream coming in when you were invited to this year’s class of Forbes 30 under 30.

Although you usually didn’t care for flashy awards such as this, Jiyoung had worked overtime on your nomination and the fact that you were one of the ten people invited from Korea made you pretty happy. The coverage and clout that came with your invite had made you a role model for young female entrepreneurs and that was something you were actually proud of. When you started out there were barely any female mentors and you wanted to change that, give back to other young women running their own ventures. You were excited to meet women around your age who you could relate to this weekend. This was one of the first years that there were this many women invited, making up almost 40%, and your extroverted self was buzzing. Of course, an added bonus was that out of the ten winners from Korea, one was your boyfriend and six were his bandmates, who were slowly but surely becoming your close friends as well. You had been looking forward to this weekend since it was announced a month ago.

Arriving at Siwon’s room you ordered some lunch and planned out the weekend. Tonight was a free night where you could explore the city and the pre-festival activities, although to be honest after almost two months apart, the only thing you’d be exploring tonight was your boyfriend. Tomorrow would be a brunch meet for all the winners followed by a gala in the evening filled with dancing, dinner, and drinks. Then the next day was the festival, which you were still undecided about wanting to attend or not.

“Honestly, it’s up to you. It seems pretty useless to attend if you want to hang out with Namjoon instead.” Siwon offered as you both started on a pro-con list for reasons to attend.

“I don’t know. What if there are some big clients we could get?” Although you missed him dearly, there was no way you could forgive yourself if you let your heart cloud your judgment.

“Yes, we can definitely teach Detroit some English.” Siwon rolled his eyes. “Most of the companies here are tech companies, too small for our caliber. Take a break. This month’s been tough.”

As much as you wanted to disagree with Siwon, he wasn’t wrong. This past month has probably been the toughest month for you in terms of deadlines and stress in the past two years. With the added pressure of maintaining a public persona, your days at the office had stretched from the usual ten hours to sixteen. Most of the time you would be holed up at your desk going through proposals or stuck in meetings with your board as you planned strategies after strategies for expansion into Japan only to get shut down and asked to reassess by one or multiple of them. On top of that, your evenings were booked with conferences where you were invited to speak, given your new spotlight. Most times when you reached home you barely had the energy to change as you fell into bed, falling asleep under ten minutes, usually with Namjoon on the phone as he went through similar motions. You were stressed. Even this short trip was cutting into your time and although you had made good use of the plane’s wifi to work, there was still one proposal that you would have to finish sometime this weekend. Suddenly, the idea of not going to the festival was looking better, so you relent to Siwon as you bid him goodbye and make your way back to your room.

After a quick shower, you decided to work on the proposal before Namjoon arrived but soon as you sat on the desk typing away, the exhaustion of the day caught up with you, and with your head on the table, you drifted to a dreamless sleep.

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Namjoon hadn’t been this excited in a long while. He could barely focus on the conversation in the car as he followed the little blue dot on his phone that was showing the way to the hotel. He had texted you as soon as he landed but you hadn’t responded and he was getting a bit antsy.

“Namjoon! Are you paying attention? Hey! I’m talking to you!” He begrudgingly looked up from his phone to see Jin pouting at him annoyed that he missed his comment. He rolled his eyes at him as he launched into a rant about him never listening to his stories. How Jin had this much energy after a twelve-hour flight was lost on him.

“Let him be. He’s just excited to see Y/N.” Yoongi spoke, not even bothering to open his eyes. Although Namjoon was glad that Yoongi had his back, he wished he hadn’t said anything because suddenly everyone forgot about their long flight and started cooing. He felt himself get annoyed as their teasing increased but he couldn’t help the goofy grin that made its way to his face. He couldn’t be mad at them, they all had people at home they were missing, and he was lucky that unlike them he could get a break from missing you and actually hold you in his arms. He wouldn’t tell you but initially, his company had decided to send in their regrets for this event but he may or may not have convinced them to move the shoot for their new music video that was taking place in Los Angeles to next week so they could be here this weekend. If he had to just see you through his screen for another month he was going to go crazy. If it was up to him he would not leave your side at all the next three days.

Namjoon had to restrain himself from sprinting to his room as soon as he was handed the key card. He barely noticed a few of his members following him as he opened the door to spy you hunched over the desk in the corner of the large room, your laptop displaying multiple pictures of your friends and the both of you together. He figured you were asleep but he couldn’t wait to gently wake you up as he usually did, instead opting for screaming a loud “baby” and running to hug your sleeping form.

What he didn’t expect was for you to wake up so startled that you scream and elbow him in the ribs making him stumble backward till his butt met the floor, much to the entertainment of Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook who were cackling in the background.

“Oh my god! Joon?” He could see your face go from confusion to recognition and then into one of the most beautiful smiles he had seen as your puffy eyes go wide. “Joonie!”

You launched yourself from your chair into his arms as you collapsed on top of him in something between a hug and a cuddle as both of you fell to the floor erupting in giggles. Your scent enveloped him and he could feel himself getting delirious. He didn’t know whether it was the long flight or the long-distance but his heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest. He hadn’t been this happy in a long while.

“I missed you!” He exclaimed as he peppered aggressive pecks on top of your head, his arms around your shoulders tightening, making you squirm and laugh. Above you the maknaes squealed a chorus of “cute!”, cooing loudly.

“I missed you more!” You countered, grinning into his chest, before attempting to get up only to be pulled in tighter after Namjoon’s whine. “Babe, we have the whole weekend!”

“Hey! We missed her too! I want a hug!” Jimin mock yelled at Namjoon, who was now sitting up with you on his lap, still not letting you go.

“No. Get your own Y/N.” He pouts, placing a kiss to your shoulder as you giggle. You hadn’t seen this cute clingy side before and you were sure you had heart eyes. Ignoring his whining you managed to wriggle yourself out of his grip and stood up, greeting the boys. You barely talked for five minutes before Namjoon got impatient again and suggested “as their leader” they go rest after the long flight. You all made plans to meet up for dinner and drinks later that night to properly catch up.

You waved bye to the boys as Namjoon pushed them out the door, ignoring their groans. As soon as the door was closed, he grabbed you by the waist, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss was hungry, all tongues, teeth, and desperation. Your arms went around his neck, fingers pulling at his hair as his hands moved lower, groping your ass in an attempt to pull you even closer, grinding against you and making you moan into the kiss. Soon Namjoon was pinning you against the wall, his hands roaming all over your body as yours do on his.

“Missed my pretty girl,” Namjoon says after a few minutes, beaming and panting, his forehead against yours, his hand caressing your sides. Hearing your favorite nickname makes you melt. Even though his heart is beating a mile a minute, heat encasing his body, he hasn’t felt this relaxed in months. Just being in your presence puts him at ease.

“I really missed you.” You reach up to kiss him again, slower this time allowing yourself to relish him after being deprived for so long. He returns the kiss just as tenderly, making your heart melt in your chest as he cups your face, thumbs running over your cheeks. Even though things had started heated, this is what you truly missed, just being in each other's presence.

When you break the kiss, he lifts you up bridal style as you squeal, your arms automatically going around his neck. He grins at you, making you feel the same butterflies you had when you first met him as you poke his dimples, and he carries you to the bed, gently placing you among the pillows before kissing you again.

He was on top of you as you kissed, and you had almost forgotten what it felt to have him there with you as your tongues wrestled, his weight cushioning you to the mattress. Your hands reached the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards till he sat on his knees to remove it, looking at you with his signature smirk as you ran your hands up his body, feeling the contours of his muscles, enjoying the way his chest flexed under them. That is until his smirk turned into one of the biggest yawns you had ever witnessed.

“Am I boring you, Joonie?” You saw his face flush as he looked at you sheepishly before leaning back over you and kissing your lips before moving on to your jaw.

“I read somewhere that yawns are just your brain's way of getting more oxygen” He whispered while gently kissing your neck, making you moan, as his hands moved under your shirt, roaming over your chest. “And all my blood’s somewhere else now so it makes sense” He kissed your ear, making you giggle.

“Wow your dirty talk sure has gotten scientific.” You couldn’t hold back your laughter as you processed what he had just said, your moans turning into cackles. He nipped at your ear as he leaned up to look at you, a goofy grin on his face.

“I’m out of practice!” He shrugged and pretended to glare at you but it only lasted a few seconds before he started laughing again because this time it was you who was yawning. Somehow the earlier sexual tension fades into comfort as you both get caught into a yawn loop.

“Maybe we should just nap first” you suggest pulling him back to you as you peck his lips.

“I do feel like I do better when I’m well-rested.” He lays on his side pulling you into him, one arm under your head and one around your waist. You hum in approval as you cozy up into him. You kiss as you slowly doze off, the adrenaline of your reunion wearing off into a soft glow of contentment.

--------------------------------

“Y/N! You have to call me oppa. We’re close enough! Stop calling me Mr. Seokjin!” You rolled your eyes as Jin yelled from the couch across from you. You had hung out with him quite a few times and every time he got drunk he insisted on making you call him by the term of endearment. You didn’t mind the term, in fact you called all your older male friends by it since moving to Korea, but riling up Jin till he started rapping was too funny an opportunity to pass up.

“I can just call you Jin instead if you hate Mr Seokjin?” you smirked as the room around you burst into giggles. You were sitting on the couch in Hoseok’s room, leaning into Namjoon, his arm around your shoulders as he sipped his beer, shaking his head at your antics. After you and Namjoon had become official, you had made it a goal of yours to get to know most of his friends, as he had with yours. Before being separated, you would go out for dinners with your combined friends, and hearing them say they missed you warmed your heart.

The first time you had had drinks together you had introduced them to King’s cup, one of your favorite drinking games from university, and their penchant for petty competitiveness and gross punishments made the game and you a regular occurrence whenever a few of you had free time together. In fact, Jungkook was so into it that he brought a deck of cards on tour to carry on the tradition, even though you had shown him multiple apps that could do the same. The same deck of cards was the one sprawled around the cup filled with Taehyung’s strawberry daiquiri, Siwon’s IPA, and Yoongi’s whiskey on the coffee table. No one was looking forward to pulling the next king card.

The room was a bit crowded, filled with people. Although dinner was just you and the boys catching up, everyone had decided to invite the boys’ stylists and managers, as well as Siwon, for drinks. Hoseok had lost the game of rock, paper, scissors so he was made the begrudging host.

“I’m older than you. You can’t call me just Jin!” he pouted, red cheeks puffed and arms crossed across his chest.

“Yeah by five months!” This is how this argument always went. It was pretty much scripted at this point, as evident by Taehyung who was gleefully mouthing the words before they even came out of your mouths. He’ll argue that Yoongi still called him hyung, you’d retort that’s because Jin forced him and that he was dumb for following through, Yoongi would then interrupt saying that he was still one month older than you and you’d rile up Jin more by calling Yoongi oppa the rest of the night while he would complain about you disrespecting Korean culture and you’d annoy him by telling him that he was disrespecting Canadian culture by not letting you use just his first name. You’d finally relent after seeing him stew only to pick up the same argument the next time you all drank together.

“Stop arguing and pick a card!” Hoseok whined, his sweet demeanor slowly phasing into his zombie persona with each sip of his drink. You loved hanging out with him but the man could not handle his alcohol. Namjoon kind of felt bad that Hobi was the host. He would normally offer him his bed once he inevitably passed out but Namjoon had other plans for his bed once this party was over.

Jin obliged as he picked up a card, careful not to break the circle lest he was forced to down his concoction of mini bar liquor and fruit punch. He picks up a jack, requiring him to start a game of Never Have I Ever.

“Alright, never have I ever disrespected Kim Seokjin.” He said smugly, looking straight at you egging you on to drink. You oblige by raising your glass to him before sipping your drink. To Jin’s annoyance, almost everyone else did that same thing, causing him to grumble.

“Okay that was a boring waste of a question,” Jimin states, rolling his eyes, already drunk sitting on the couch’s arm next to Namjoon. “Let’s make the couples here uncomfortable. Never have I ever had sex in public.”

Surprisingly, Namjoon, you and a stylist are the only ones that drink, making Jimin scream a loud “Kinky!” and prompting Sejin to start his lecture on being careful in the public eye since you were pretty known now and the press would have a field day. Before he can get into the full swing of his chiding, you decide to save you and Namjoon by protesting that you didn’t even hold his hand in public, let alone do anything else, and suddenly the whole atmosphere in the room changed. All eyes went from Namjoon to the stylist, with him glaring at Jimin and her awkwardly downing her drink before leaving. Confused and drunk, you don’t hesitate to ask what’s wrong in the silence that ensues, till it finally dawns on you. That’s the ex he worked with. Oh.

Namjoon could see the gears turning in your head as you put two and two together. He was going to kill Jimin and then himself. Why didn’t he think before taking a sip? He wanted tonight to end with you in his arms, not with you mad at him over something that happened two years ago. However, before he could think of how to make it up to you - maybe he could get you flowers or that whiskey you really like - you laugh, breaking the tension in the room.

“It’s okay guys, everyone has exes!” Still giggling you sip your drink while Jimin apologizes, waving him off. “Why would I get mad at this?”

That caused the room to return back to normal, people resuming the game and enjoying their drinks, but Namjoon was still confused. He knew you were a pretty rational person, but he had just told the whole room of your friends that he fucked his ex in public when you confirmed that he wouldn’t even hold your hand. Surely, he wasn’t wrong to assume that you would be at least a little peeved, but here you were laughing along at Jungkook’s stupid jokes without batting an eyelid. Before he could dwell too long on it, it was your turn to pull a card - pulling a king and effectively ending the game.

“Ewwww. I hate this. Ugh. Is this punishment for introducing you all to this game?” You scrunch your nose sniffing the liquid in the cup as the whole group chants “chug!”. Before you can put it to your lips, Namjoon grabs the cup from you.

“Allow me.” He says as he chugs the drink, almost in one shot, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and barely concealing the shiver that runs through him at the disgusting taste. Half the crowd boos as the other half coos at the chivalrous gesture. You can’t help smiling sweetly at him as he grimaces, and putting your arms around his waist pulling him in an embrace, exclaiming an overly exaggerated “My hero!”.

“Anything for my girl!” He says as he returns your hug and cups your face. “But you gotta suffer the taste with me!”

You’re not one for public displays of affection but you let him pull you into a sloppy kiss, almost forgetting your surroundings as he deepens it, his hand gripping your waist, his tongue tasting mostly of fake strawberry flavoring. Before you can get too carried away, you are interrupted by Yoongi, poking you both and wedging himself between you when you separate.

“Stop being gross! Some of us are single!” He says, making himself comfortable with an annoyed look on his face.

“Awww hyung! They are so cute! Let them be gross!” A drunk Taehyung exclaims, clapping gleefully from the floor where he’s laying in Jungkook’s lap.

“Yeah! Rapmon hyung and Y/N noona are OTP!” Jungkook says as he sips his wine, almost dribbling it down his chin.

“Nobody says OTP anymore, kid.” Yoongi drawls but refuses to move from his position. “Plus I’m the one responsible for this okay? Your OTP would be nothing without me.” He looks smug as he finishes his sentence, sipping his drink and shrugging his shoulders. Namjoon and you exchange a smirk at his remark and proceed to hug your grumpy friend tightly from both sides much to his over the top protests. Namjoon was truly grateful Yoongi had given him the courage to speak to you that night. He can’t even begin to explain the impact you have made on his life. As he looked at you tipsy and giggling, now arguing with Yoongi over which Kanye album was the best, he felt his heart blossom. You were beautiful and he was in love with you. He was sure you weren’t there yet but he promised himself that before this trip was over he was going to tell you without chickening out at the last moment like the last four times.

The party comes to an end soon after. Hoseok almost passes out after his third nursed drink and Sejin has the right mind to kick everyone out while Namjoon and Jimin help Hoseok to his bed, your heart warming as your equally drunk boyfriend forces him to brush his teeth and get into bed. Once Hoseok is firmly tucked in, Namjoon turns to you and squats.

“Get on!” He smiles looking at your direction.

“Joon we’re like two doors down. Get up!” You giggle tipsily at his offer to piggyback you.

“I wanna carry you!” He pouts against your protests, finally giving up on the piggyback after asking three times and instead draping you over his shoulder as you squeal.

“You’re gonna hurt your shoulder!” You scream but your protests go unheard, even as you take the opportunity to smack his butt from your position, a smack that he returns with a warning to behave, but you’re feeling drunk and cheeky as you continue to smack him, even going so far to rap to the beat that you’re making as he unlocks the door to your room.

He tosses you on the bed, pinning your arms above your head before you can wrap them around him and smirks at you, his eyes full of mischief.

“See, I was going to apologize for my ex but you had to go and be a brat.” He kisses you breathless as he takes both your hands in one of his while the other moves under your shirt, raising goosebumps where it caresses your stomach.

“Apologize for what?” You pant as he breaks the kiss, and he can see the confusion on your face.

“You’re not mad?” Now it’s his turn to be confused. He was sure you were mad. He would’ve been mad. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t still thinking about it since the awkward incident.

“That you had sex with your ex-girlfriend while you were dating her?” You do a dramatic gasp as you giggle at his dumbfounded expression.

“Yeah… and told our friends about it.” He looks at you sheepishly, his earlier dominant persona fading into your soft boyfriend. His hand loosens its grip on yours as he searches your eyes for any signs of hurt, his eyebrows scrunched.

“Joon you fuck too good to have been a virgin when we met.” You lift one hand to poke at the crease between his brows as you laugh and he holds your wrist, still gauging your expression.

“You’re not mad? Or… jealous?”

“Pfft. I know I fucking rock your world better than she ever did.” You try your best to do a hair flip from where you lay under him, failing miserably and making him laugh, his head coming to rest on your shoulder.

“That you do, baby. That you do.” He pecks your shoulder as he moves to your neck, kissing up to your jaw before crashing his lips onto yours. As your hands go to his hair, he brings them back over your head, breaking your kiss but not before pulling your lower lip with his teeth, coaxing a moan from you. “But you’re still getting spanked for being a brat.”

You feel his deep voice reverberate through to your core as you look at the lust in his eyes and feel yourself getting wetter. He kisses you again, his arm hooking under your waist as he sits up pulling you with him, making you gasp at the sudden movement, your arms going around his neck. Your heart’s beating a mile a minute as you make out in his lap, grinding slowly. Even after months of being together you still can’t get used to how easily his switch to this persona turns you to putty. You whimper as his hands find your ass, his fingers groping the muscle hard enough to bruise.

“Get naked.” If you were wet before, you’re dripping now as he moves you off his lap, sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs spread and leaning on his elbows. You decide to make a show of it, jumping off the bed and slowly peeling off the layers. You smile over your shoulder as you rid yourself of your bra, watching him smile, eyes hooded, from where he watches relaxed. Your hands find the waistband of your jeans, slowly unbuttoning them and shimmying out of them, swaying your hips as you do. You’re sure you would find this strip tease embarrassing if it weren’t for how his hungry eyes drink in every expanse of new skin exposed. You bend down to give him a view of your ass as you pull your panties off, a thread of your slick following them as they reach the floor, making him groan loudly. “Fuck. I love your ass.”

You drape yourself on his lap, the material of his jeans on your bare skin making you shiver in excitement as he gently caresses your behind. “Since you love rapping so much, how about you rap that song from earlier, hmm?” he says as he lands a loud smack without warning making you jump at the contact. The sharp pain quickly ebbs into pleasure as he soothes the heated skin under his big palm. “What’s your safeword?”

“Rap monster.” That is not your safeword, but your drunk self thinks it’s the funniest joke as you giggle looking up at him to see his face crack into the smallest of smiles before reverting back to a stern look as he glares at you.

“Seems like someone doesn’t want to cum tonight.” He smacks you again, harder this time making you gasp before you’re apologizing at his threat. Namjoon watches your skin bloom red as he tries to maintain his composure. Trust you to make jokes even when he’s spanking you, and trust him for finding it funny.

“Sunflower! It’s sunflower!” you yell as his hand lands yet again on your ass.

“Good girl. Let’s hear that rap then.” You’re not even sure what song you’re mumbling as his hand rains on your behind, each spank making you wetter till you’re dripping down your thighs and whimpering in his hold.

“Fuck so wet for me.” He hisses as his fingers trace your swollen folds making you jump and mewl as he lightly caresses your throbbing clit. He leans down to kiss your red cheeks as he guides you off his lap and on to the bed and lies on top of you, smiling brightly as he cups your face to kiss you, slow and deep. “You did so well, baby. You’re really into ASAP nowadays aren’t you?”

“You really need some variation in the playlists you send me.” You quip, chuckling as you gently guide his face back to yours, kissing him again, his tongue intertwining with yours. As he leans on one elbow, his other hand makes its way down your body, stopping briefly to tweak each nipple and making you moan before he reaches the apex of your thighs. His fingers dip in you slightly gathering your arousal before starting to circle your clit as he starts kissing your neck, suckling the spot he knows makes you go crazy. It’s like your whole body’s on fire as he finds a rhythm, driving you quickly towards the edge, your mind turning blank as eyes squeeze shut and your lips moan his name. You’re so close and he can feel it by how your nails dig into his shoulders, making him hiss, but before you can cum he moves his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips to clean them as he watches you glare at him with a whine.

“You really think I’ll forget your little joke earlier?” He whispers in your ear, his voice deeper than usual, as he nips on it before sitting up between your legs and unceremoniously stripping himself of his shirt and jeans. The sight of the bulge in his boxers makes your walls clench around nothing as you stare at him open-mouthed. Enjoying your reaction, he places one of your legs on his shoulders, the back of your knee fitting perfectly next to his neck as he moves back towards you, his clothed length pressing against your core as he kisses you again roughly, making you whimper as his hands dig into your sides. Your leg burns as he licks and kisses down your jaw towards your chest, his lips taking a nipple and rolling it around with his tongue. You’re sure he can feel your wetness seep through his boxers as he grinds into you agonizingly slow. He nips at your chest and you moan as your back arches off the bed into him.

He continues his slow kisses down your body turning you into a writhing mess under him. You think you’re going to lose your mind by the time he gets past your hip bone and places a chaste kiss on the top of your mound before moving on to your thigh, nibbling at the sensitive skin and paying no attention to your dripping core making a mess of the sheets.

“Joon please…” you beg, rolling your hips to entice him as he pays you no mind, placing an arm over your hips to halt your motion and continues to mark your other thigh. When he’s fully satisfied by his work, he places his forearms under your thighs and pulls to close to his face, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted; your earlier orgasm picking back up as your back arches off the bed, the moan emitting from you barely sounding like yourself. You clasp a hand over your mouth in shock as he continues licking you, his tongue expertly flicking at your clit before he adds two fingers inside you, the digits slipping in easily, making your walls clench around them. He hooks his fingers and you try to grind against him to no success as his arm pushes your hips into the bed. He relishes your moans as your hand moves from your mouth to grasp at the sheets, the sensation too overwhelming as your eyes close shut.

“Are you close baby? You’re not allowed to cum till I tell you.” He feels your walls tighten around his fingers as he thrusts faster and a chant of please rolls off your tongue, your hand twisting in your hair. It’s like every cell in your body is alight from your toes to your scalp, tingling as you get closer, your eyes welling up with pleasure. But once again before you can come undone, his fingers slow down to a snail’s pace, his mouth moving away. The frustration builds in you as a few tears escape and your fists punch the mattress.

He chuckles lightly as he sees you pout under him as, your hair a mess, your lips swollen and red from where you’ve bitten them. God, even glaring at him like you’re gonna kill him, you look adorable. Deciding he’s taught you a lesson, he pulls his dick out of his boxers, his tip swollen and weeping with precum, and lines it towards your entrance, teasing you further and gathering your juices.

Your eyes roll back with pleasure as he replaces his fingers with his cock, filling you to the hilt in one swift motion. The stretch combined with his teasing makes your head hazy and you can hear him groan above you as he puts both your legs in the air together, holding them against his chest with one arm as he thrusts into you slow and hard. You feel so much tighter in this position and he has to bite his lip to ensure he doesn’t cum immediately. You can feel every vein and ridge as he moves slowly and deliberately and even at this pace you are getting close.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck Joonie… please can I cum? Please I’m so close!” You don’t care that you’re yelling, you’re desperate for release, the earlier tension returning tenfold. You vow to break up with him if he denies you one more time. Fortunately for your relationship, he increases his pace, making you see stars.

“Hold it just a little bit longer baby.” His pace doesn’t falter and you’re writhing against him, a babble of incoherent pleas escaping your lips as your hands try to grab on to his forearm. Your legs are shaking and he can feel your walls tighten harder around him. He increases his speed as your pleas get louder.

“Okay baby. Cum for me.” At his command, your vision goes black and it’s like your body is one big nerve ending, pleasure zipping through you making you cry out his name as you spasm in his hold. He fucks you through your orgasm, pace not faltering, till you go limp, your breath coming out in loud pants as he praises you. “That’s my girl. Good job, baby.”

Without changing his speed, he releases your legs, pushing them to your chest as he leans down and kisses you. The new angle hitting your g-spot as you whine in his mouth at the oversensitivity, but instead of slowing down, he picks up his pace yet again, his fingers coming to trace your sensitive clit, making your head buzz with the overwhelming sensation.

“I can’t… Joon,” you whine as he fucks you hard, panting above you and you can tell he’s close.

“Do you want to use your safeword?” He looks at you with concern, slowing down and closely reading your expression. As you tell him no his hips snap into you again, his fingers working faster on your clit as the pain morphs to pleasure. He’s chasing his release, his movements becoming sloppy.

“Cum again baby. I know you can do it. Come on, that’s it” And soon you’re cumming again, screaming as tears fall down your face and your walls clench around him coaxing him to orgasm. He grunts loudly, moaning your name multiple times, as he cums, painting your walls with his seed. His breath is heavy as he pulls out and watches his cum dribble out of you, using two fingers to push it back in before he collapses on the bed next to you.

He brings his fingers up to your lips and you happily suck on them before he pulls them out and kisses you gently, his hand smoothing your hair. He then puts his arm under your head as he cuddles you into his chest, his other arm pulling your waist into him and his legs over yours. You’ve never felt safer or more comfortable than you do tangled up in him.

“Are you okay?” He asks as he gently caresses your cheek, wiping your runny mascara with his thumb, kissing you once again.

“Holy fuck. That was-” Your voice is hoarse from your screaming and you have to clear your throat a couple of times before you can speak clearly. “That was amazing.”

“Phew! The suspense was killing me!” He laughs as you playfully swat at his chest before pulling his lips on yours again. “Shower?”

“Yes. But this time you really have to carry me.” You raise your hands grabbing at the air as he stands up.

“I got you, pretty girl.” He grins widely, his eyes scrunched together, as he kisses your forehead, picking you off the bed and carrying you to the bathroom.

--------------------------------

Namjoon looked at you from across the room as you chatted with a group of women with a cup of coffee, your breakfast untouched, totally distracted from the guy who was telling him about some app he had made for producers to make it easier to find samples. He rarely got to see you in your professional element. In fact, the only time he had seen you was during the gala and he felt an unparalleled surge of pride. The way you carried yourself was so different than when you were with him. It wasn’t that you weren’t relaxed, it was just effortless - the way you seemed to answer each question with confident authority, the way you gave advice to people who were probably much older than you, and especially the way you tried to engage the quieter people of the group in conversations. It reminded him of why you had caught his eye the first time he met you, and why he was so unbelievably whipped for you. Your duality of being goofy and sexy when you were alone to being this serious vat of knowledge and experience when networking made him weak in the knees.

“So do you think you would use it?” The founder of the sampling app, Lee Seungmin, asked Namjoon. Seungmin was one of the other people invited from Korea, and seemed pretty adamant on selling his product to Namjoon. It took all of his energy to rip his gaze away from you.

“I’m sorry I missed that. What did you ask?” Namjoon asked politely, looking at the shorter, much chubbier man dressed in slacks and a shirt with his company logo on it.

“Wouldn’t blame you. She’s really hot, eh?” Seungmin jokes, making Namjoon choke on his coffee. Although he knows that this guy isn’t privy to your relationship, it makes him a little annoyed at his comment. Who was he to dare objectify you?

“Yes, but I don’t think they invite people here for their looks.” He couldn’t help how curt his tone was effectively shutting him up and making him move away to talk to someone else at the table. Namjoon would feel bad if he didn’t overhear him start the conversation about you with the next guy. Rolling his eyes, he went back to his lunch, talking to Hoseok and Yoongi instead, wishing this brunch went by faster than it did. He was getting sick of people trying to suck up to him or sell him something. Someone even had the audacity to ask him to pose with their product so they could put it on their website. He politely declined, but the thinly veiled attempts at using him and his members for clout were starting to get on his nerves. He could feel himself getting stressed, much like he did when he had to pretend to be perfect for the media, and falling back into the headspace of last month - cloudy, annoyed, and frustrated.

He was relieved when you both arrived back at the room. You held his arm for support as you leaned down to take off your heels, sighing in relief as your feet met the flat ground.

“God, I hate heels!” You exclaimed as you walked over, dropping your blazer on the ground and plopped on the couch, stretching your feet. Namjoon picked your jacket off the floor, draping it on one of the chairs as he situated himself on the other end of the sofa, putting your legs on his lap.

“Since when do you wear heels?” He asks, as he gently runs his hands over your legs, covered with a pair of navy pants.

“Too often nowadays.” You sigh with your eyes closed, and he can’t help frowning at how tired you looked, even though it’s barely past 2 pm.

“You okay, babe? Want a foot massage?” He doesn’t wait for your answer as he starts massaging your feet, smiling as you relax further into the couch.

“Shit. That feels good!” You moan as you relax. “You know they don’t give Grammys for best boyfriends, right?”

“I’m offended you think I’m doing this for something as dumb as a Grammy.” He chuckles, but he knows you well enough to know that you’re avoiding the topic. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just stressed about work. Don’t worry about it.” At that you pull your legs from under his hands, walking over to grab your laptop before sitting on the couch again to start working, eyebrows furrowed as soon as you open the your laptop. Namjoon knows he shouldn’t take your dismissal to heart, but he can’t help be taken aback by your lack of openness. You always told him what was on your mind and he felt his heart ache that you didn’t want to share what was wrong. He couldn’t fully blame you. He hadn’t told you about his stresses this past month either, but unlike him, you hadn’t even noticed he was stressed. It made him a little wary, bringing his thoughts back to last night and your reaction, or lack thereof, to meeting his ex. As much as it hurt him, maybe he was right after all. You didn’t love him yet. He sighed as he got up to grab his book, hoping that he could change that before leaving you tomorrow night.

After a few hours of work, you started to feel bad for ignoring Namjoon. He had been nothing but doting this whole trip and you hated yourself for having to finish this proposal this weekend. Feeling your brain turn to mush anyways, you stretched as you walked over to your suitcase, watching your boyfriend who seemed to be engrossed in his book. You felt guilty for avoiding his questions earlier but you could see how stressed he had been from work - in fact, Jungkook had told you as much over text last week when he shared that Namjoon had collapsed during rehearsals. You knew how empathetic he was, he would do everything in his power to make sure you were feeling good, so how could you burden him with your stresses when he had so many of his own. Sure this last month had been hell and you were barely functioning but if you told him that, you know he would worry about you, and you would rather bottle everything up than have him worry.

Reaching into your suitcase, you took out his favorite packet of ramen, hiding it behind your back as you moved over to stand in front of him.

“I got you a present.” You bent down till you were face to face as he looked up at you with a smile and kissed him gently.

“I think you’ve already given me this present.” He said as he cupped your face and kissed you again, lingering longer.

You laugh as you straighten up and pull the ramen from behind your back, watching his eyes go wide in excitement as he grabs it, his dimples poking his cheeks as he hugs you. You knew he always missed home when on tour even if it was just an Asian tour, and his ramen cravings were the top priority when he arrived back to Korea. You hoped this would cheer him up as you grabbed the packet and walked over to the kettle, starting the water.

“Speaking of presents, I was saving this for tomorrow, but now I’m excited.” He says before grabbing the slim velvet box from his bag and walking over to you, wrapping you in a back hug as you pour the seasoning from the packet into the cup of dry ramen. He puts the box in front you and opens it, making it now your turn to go wide-eyed.

Inside the box is a necklace with the most delicate gold chain holding a pendant shaped like a gold slice of pizza with pepperoni made of small rubies. It would seem tacky if it didn’t look so intricate. No one had given you a gift that was so you, and it made you speechless.

“I know it’s cheesy but I saw it in Tokyo and it reminded me of our first date, but if you don’t like it I can take it back and I’m sure I can return it, I mean they gave me a gift receipt and everything.” Namjoon knew he was rambling but you were eerily quiet and the fact that he couldn’t see your face made him uneasy.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper as you turn around, your eyes glistening as you wrap your arms around his neck. He was alarmed. You never got emotional, even when you both watched Up together you barely showed any signs of being moved while he was sobbing.

“It was meant to be for our 100 day anniversary next week but I thought I’d give it early.” He pressed his forehead to yours, drinking in your smile as he held you tighter.

“I’m literally the worst girlfriend. I forgot about that.” You frowned as you looked away before you looked back at him, your eyes wide. “Oh my god! I only got you ramen! What the fuck is wrong with me?!”

“Y/N… Relax. I didn’t get you a present for you to get me one. Plus I know you’re nothing without your calendar app. I swear you’d forget to eat without it.” He laughed trying to reassure you as he kissed your frown away. “If anything it’s Siwon’s fault for not programming it in there.”

“I don’t deserve you.” You sigh as you hug him tightly, making Namjoon’s heart swoon as you ask him to put the necklace on you. He does so, kissing the nape of your neck where he clasps it and telling you that you deserve the world. You wanted to tell him you loved him before you chickened out again but before the words could make it out of your lips his were against them.

Later that night, he feels even happier as he sees you wear it to the gala. Even though he knows he can’t hold your hand, the fact that you have a symbol of his love for you around your neck makes him giddy.

--------------------------------

“Joon, seriously. I have to get this done.” You giggle as he kisses your neck, moving the strap of your tank to the side as he continues lavishing you in kisses. Namjoon was impatient. He had spent the whole night watching you from afar. He’d be damned if he had to wait any longer to have you in his arms. Work can go to hell.

To say that Namjoon hated the gala would be an understatement. First, you and Yoongi ended up unintentionally matching, and he found himself irrationally jealous at the fact that his stylist didn’t choose the Louis Vitton outfit for him so he could match with you. Second, even though all the attendees were placed on tables according to country, you had decided to sit next to none other than Lee Seungmin, the creep checking you out at brunch, who wasted no opportunity to shamelessly flirt with you, even going so far as to put his hand on your thigh a couple of times. The number of times you politely rejected him for him not to get the hint made Namjoon’s blood boil, so much so that Jin had to poke him to relax his face lest the photographers captured his reaction. And lastly, when he had to watch you dance with some old men as you were too polite to refuse, while they leered at you. Through it all, Namjoon could just watch helplessly as you seemed more uncomfortable. Now that you were both back to your room and in your pajamas, he just wanted to hold you before all the jealousy and insecurity of the night caught up with him. He knew if he kissed your neck enough, you’d soon comply.

“Do it later. We only have till tomorrow. Let’s watch a movie together?” He gives you another kiss that makes your breath hitch, a soft moan escaping your lips. Before you can get too carried away, you move his head away from you, sighing and gathering all your self-control. If you didn’t finish this proposal today you’d be in big trouble - like losing a multimillion-dollar contract big trouble. As much as you wanted to just forget work existed, you had to take a two-hour reality check on this trip.

“I can’t do that. Please understand.” You looked at him softly, but Namjoon couldn’t help getting annoyed. Didn’t you yearn for him like he did at that gala? Were you happy to be hit on by those creeps?

“Are you seriously being like this right now?” He scoffed, pulling away from you, eyebrows knitted together. Namjoon couldn’t understand why you had to work right now. You had been apart for so long, didn’t you want to spend as much time with him as he wanted to with you?

“Like what? I told you I need to have this done by tomorrow.” He could hear the familiar edge in your voice. You were starting to get annoyed.

“Do you know how much groveling I had to do to get this weekend together and you’re going to waste it on stupid work?” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. You didn’t know he “groveled”, as far as you were aware this was part of his schedule. Why was he being so difficult all of a sudden? It’s not like you had a choice. Does he think you would seriously spend time away from him if you didn’t have to?

“Are you seriously mad at me for taking two hours, two hours, out of three days to finish some work?”

“Yes because these three days are all we get together for the next month.” Namjoon knew he was being stupid, two hours were not a big deal, but at the moment he couldn’t help but feel abandoned like somehow the scales in the relationship had tipped where the balance of affection was off. He cared so much for you, why couldn’t you feel the same?

“Oh don’t be dramatic. I will be done soon.” You snapped, your attention turning back to the screen. If Namjoon was going to throw a tantrum there was no reason for you to indulge him.

“Don’t dismiss me like that. You’re the boss, just tell the people to wait. Or delay it.” He walked closer to you, shutting your laptop, standing with his arms crossed. He wanted your full attention, and he was going to demand it. He hated how condescending you were being.

“Are you kidding me? I can’t do that. This is for a client.” You stand up facing him, anger flowing through you, indignation plastered on your features. Even though he was significantly taller than you, your glare could have made anyone feel small.

“Just do it later and apologize.” Namjoon knew he was being stubborn, but the reason for the fight was forgotten, he just wanted you to admit that you were wrong. As childish as it seemed, he wanted to win.

“What the fuck? I have a whole company that I need to pay, I can’t just skip shit.”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit. Missing one deadline won’t make you miss payroll - you’re not a struggling small company anymore.” That hit a nerve, he could see it in your eyes as they flared with anger. He would feel bad for making you angry if he weren’t so happy to get a reaction.

“The fucking hypocrisy. Sure Namjoon, have RM miss a concert. It’s okay you’re not a struggling small band anymore!” You poked him in the chest as you moved closer. He hadn’t seen this side of you before. You had never been angry with him before. You had never fought like this before. Your anger only seemed to fuel his. He had no control over his schedule, you did. Why couldn’t you understand that fundamental difference?

“That is not the same thing. You are overworking yourself for no reason.” He was talking with his hands, you knew he only acted like that when he was pissed, but you were not going to have any of this petty behavior. For all his bull and bluster about being a feminist, he’s going to pull this shit on you? His job is great and not stressful or busy but when it comes to you he’s going to pull the overworking card? When he literally collapsed during rehearsal last week and hid it from you? You were livid.

“You’re going to talk to me about overworking?” You laughed sarcastically, your eyes burning. “Oh is it not the same thing because it's my job and not yours?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Whatever. Fuck this. Enjoy writing your proposal!” Namjoon couldn’t argue anymore. He felt his anger rising to a point where he knew he was going to say something he regretted if he hadn’t already. Using his one remaining rational brain cell, he walked out of the room, not before maliciously slamming the door behind him.

“I will!” you screamed into the empty room, panting with anger as you picked up the water bottle on your desk and threw it across the room, tears in your eyes.

--------------------------------------

Y/N: Have you seen Namjoon? He’s not responding.

Yoongi: Isn’t he with you?

Y/N: No.

Yoongi: What happened?

Y/N: Nothing, we just had an argument and I haven’t seen him. It’s been two hours.

Yoongi: Okay don’t worry. We’ll find him.

Y/N: Thanks Yoongs

Yoongi: Where are you?

Yoongi: Hello?

Yoongi: Namjoon. Answer your phone.

Yoongi: Y/N is really worried about you

Yoongi: Listen Namjoon if you don’t answer in the next five minutes, I’m reporting you missing

Yoongi: Enjoy that press

Namjoon: Stop calling me. I’m fine.

Yoongi: No. Where the fuck are you?

Namjoon: I’m just on the roof.

Namjoon: Please don’t come here. I just want to be alone.

Yoongi: Are you okay? Y/N told me you guys had a fight

Namjoon: I’ll be fine. Don’t tell her where I am.

Yoongi: Okay. Text me if you need a friend.

Namjoon: Thanks hyung.

Yoongi: He’s on the roof. He said he’s fine, but not to tell you.

Y/N: Thanks friend

Yoongi: You should go find him

Y/N: He doesn’t want me, there he made that clear

Yoongi: I’ve known him and lived with him for a decade, trust me. He needs you.

Y/N: Okay, but if we break up it’s on you.

Yoongi: Just go find him Y/N.

--------------------------------------

Namjoon rubbed his face as he sat on the rooftop of the hotel, his back against the railing. Replying to Yoongi he tossed his phone aside. He’d been sitting here for the past couple of hours his anger dissipating into guilt far too quick. Dried tears streaked his face as he tried to gather the courage to go back to the room.

He was scared. The image of your angry face as he dismissed your work popping in his head. He didn’t know why he did that. He respected what you did, but he felt like a hypocrite. All his exes he dismissed when they asked him to take care of himself and not overwork. All the times they came to his studio to force him to leave, only to have the same look of anger that you gave him. He laughed bitterly as he pulled his legs to his chest.

At the edge of the guilt, he could feel it again, the same feeling he’d had since the comeback started, a sort of brain slush. Like a haze shackling him in place. He had felt it many times before but it was never this strong, this force of unproductivity, making him want to forget everything and hide. The stress of this comeback wasn’t any different than other ones. He always made it a priority to write new music in between promotions and shows but his creative block from four months ago was back and nastier. He could feel it gnaw at his neurons, forcing him to stay awake for hours after he should be in bed staring at a blank Ableton file. Usually, he could trick his mind out of this fog by working harder, but lately, it was like it was getting thicker seeping into every aspect of his life, painting his vision sepia, making every movement robotic.

He remembers when encouraging messages from ARMY would make him happy, excited to make more music for them but nowadays it just made him feel guilty. He wasn’t doing enough for them, he couldn’t even string together a series of 808s without it sounding like a gimmick or worse like plagiarism. Last week he had fucked up so bad that his body shook from the memory. He had stayed up all night in some sick form of self-harm, scrolling through hate comments on Twitter then Reddit. He was never sadder to know multiple languages because even if the characters were different the messages were the same. He was a shitty musician, too overhyped by fans, his awards were bought by his company, his dances sucked, he tried too hard, and of course that he was too ugly to be an idol. His rational side would argue that these messages were meant to hurt him, his friends and you would comfort him by telling him they were lies, but he never told anyone about this habit, and his rational side often lost out. If anyone asked why he did this he would say to fuel another song, but he knew the real reason - he just couldn’t stop. So he stayed up all night till his eyes were dry and scratchy from staring at the screen, and had three espresso shots before the show even though he hated espresso, his body eventually giving out during rehearsals. He got quite a few lectures about that. A leader’s job is to set a good example. You have been doing this for so long, be a professional play in your limits. But there were no limits, not when it literally took a mantra of just “power through it” to get out of bed and shower.

He had been hoping this weekend would solve everything - that seeing you would solve everything. As he sat on the roof, the first few drops of rain falling on him, he curled in further into himself. It wasn’t your responsibility to make him happy, clear the fog, but you had done it the first day. His mind felt clear but it was gone too soon. He didn’t know when it happened but he could see it after a while that you didn’t feel the same way he did. You didn’t crave to be next to him like he did, speaking affirmations in his ear as he did in yours. Hell, even when you saw his ex for the first time, you barely reacted. Maybe it was the way you were so adamant that he not leave any marks because you might not be able to cover them this weekend, or the way you made sure to not sit next to him at the gala even when you were seated on the same table by some stroke of luck. You didn’t love him like he did, and he would be happy with scraps, but he couldn’t afford to miss you more than he did. He laughed again, cackling maniacally, as he realized where he was: a rooftop in the middle of a downpour, just because you once said rooftops had magical healing powers. There was nothing healing about being alone looking at lights shining in offices no one was in - it was lonely.

He was so desperate to feel anything other than this fog that even anger was a better option. Maybe he wanted you to put him out of his misery, leave him as he was sure you would eventually before he burdened you with more of his fucked up life before he relied on you further just to have his legs cut out from under him. He sighed, shivering even though the rain was warm, resting his head on his knees. Could he survive if you left him tonight, justly so?

“Joon…?” You call out as you reach the rooftop, searching for him through the rain.

“I told hyung not to tell you. I wanna be alone” You barely hear him mumble from the corner and you make your way over to the dark figure. He’s hunched in on himself, his arms around his knees, his face in his hands and it breaks your heart. Your boyfriend is a tall, broad man who can easily throw you across the room if he wants to, but at this moment, he looks small, almost tiny. It takes everything in you to not just go and wrap him in your arms.

“Namjoon, what are you doing?” You squat in front of him, resting your hands on his arms. You wouldn’t usually push him like this when he seems distraught, you knew he didn’t respond too well to direct conflict but you needed him to let you in, your inherent need to fix going into hyperdrive. When he refuses to look at you, you cup his face and pull it up firmly to look into his eyes. He looks like he’s been crying and it makes your eyes well up. “Look at me. Why are you driving me away?”

With nowhere to run, all he can see is your face, your eyes puffy, red-rimmed and glassy, your nose a dusty pink. He made you cry. He made the person he was supposed to take care of cry because he got pissy over something she couldn’t control, something he was guilty of as well. All his guilt bit at his chest again and he hated himself. You didn’t deserve this. You should leave him. Why were you here in the rain trying to comfort him when he was such a useless asshole?

“Fuck... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice sounded hoarse and broken, and he knew all the apologies in the world wouldn’t make him worthy of forgiveness. He wished you’d just leave and let him wallow in the rain by himself - he deserved that. Tears filled his eyes and he hoped the rain would ensure they were invisible.

“Hey, hey. Baby, it’s okay.” You kissed him on the forehead, settling on your knees in front of him. His eyes were wide as he looked at you, his hands on top of yours, gripping your hands a little too tight.

“I… don’t know why I picked a fight.” He averted his gaze, not having the courage to look at you.

“It’s okay.” You move your hands to the back of his neck as he places his on your shoulders, opening his legs wide enough for you to move closer, your forehead against his as you caress the hair on his nape.

“No, it’s not. Fuck! It’s like when I saw you yesterday I could finally breathe! I’ve felt so numb these few months but when I saw you, it’s like I could finally be happy.” He cups your face. He knows he needs to be honest but he doesn't know where to start.

“Joonie…”

“And then I could feel it escape again. I felt it. My head getting cloudy like I was slowly going underwater, and I don’t know… I just… I can’t ask you to be responsible for my happiness. It’s not fair to you. I can’t. I can’t.” He knows he’s not making any sense but his chest feels tight and he can’t fight his tears anymore as they mix with the raindrops on his cheeks. He can feel himself hyperventilating. He doesn’t know why he can’t tell you this without breaking down. What was wrong with him? Maybe that’s why you didn’t love him. Maybe that’s why you never got jealous because you knew he wasn’t worth it. How could he support you when he could barely stand by himself. He was so fucked up.

“Joonie. It’s okay. Just breathe, okay? You’re okay.” You cradle his head against your chest, kissing the top of his head.

“I can’t lose you Y/N. I can’t be the jealous idiot that I always am and lose you.” He’s clawing at your sweater, pulling you closer than you are, making your eyes well up at his desperation. Why does he think he’s going to lose you? As far as you knew you had never given him any indication of that. You loved him and you couldn’t imagine a future without him.

“Namjoon. Look at me. It’s going to take more than a stupid fight to drive me away.” You pull his face away from your sweater and hold his gaze, his eyes red and still full of tears. The image breaks your heart but you hope you can convey your honesty to him.

“No, but you shouldn’t be with me. I’m fucked up, you know. You deserve better.” His actions speak otherwise as he holds your upper arms in both his hands tight enough to bruise as if you would disappear if he let go.

“Where is this coming from? Namjoon you’re not fucked up, you’re human. I don’t care how fucked up you think you are. I love you.” You look deep into his eyes, urging him to believe you. You had been trying to tell him you loved him all day but you always chickened out, but not now. You needed him to know that you were here for him. You were dying to know what started this, why he felt this way, but you needed him to realize that you had no plans of leaving.

“You… love me?” His voice was almost inaudible as his bottom lip quivered.

“Of course I love you. I love you - good parts and bad parts. I love 100% of you.” You kissed him gently, wiping at his face with your thumbs.

“Why?”

“Cause you’re you. You make me happy, even when you make me mad you make me happy.” You put your forehead against his again as the rain picked up, pelting the both of you. “Just don’t run away from me, please?”

“I don't deserve you. Fuck. I love you so much it scares me.” He kisses you at that, rough and full of yearning. It’s like the first kiss you shared this weekend and it makes your heart ache. Did he feel this way when he saw you again yesterday? Like he didn’t deserve you? You wished you could go into his head and learn all his worries - this did not seem like only work stress to you.

“Hey. I’m scared too okay? It just means it’s real.”

“How do you do that? How do you sound so sure all the time?” His head is on your shoulder as you caress his hair. It seems as if all the energy has been drained from his body as his grip on you loosens and you feel his weight lean on you.

“Because I believe in us. We’re Rapmon hyung and Y/N noona. We’re OTP, remember?” You lift his face and smile at him as he musters a small one of his own, as you kiss him again. “Let’s get out of the rain, okay baby?”

You both are drenched from the rain when you get back to your room, and you lead Namjoon to the bathroom. He just stands there, eyes glassy as you start a bath and grab a towel, drying the rain on his body. Once the bath is full and bubbly, you undress him and guide him in, discarding your own own clothes before climbing in behind him.

“I always sit behind you when we bathe.” He says, voice barely audible.

“Let me wash your hair, is that okay?” you say tentatively, kissing the back of his neck as he nods.

Suddenly, his head snaps up as he speaks loudly, a slight panic in his voice. “I have to use the special shampoo so the colour doesn’t fade.”

“Yeah. I have it right here.” You smile as he relaxes and you foam the shampoo on his pink hair, massaging his scalp gently. You take your time, washing it out before moving onto the conditioner, letting it sit as you massage his shoulders. You hear him sniff as you work at the knots. As you’re washing the conditioner off his hair, he turns at the waist, bringing one hand to your cheek as he looks at you. You realize he was still crying as your own eyes threaten to fill with tears.

“Thank you, Y/N. I… I know I don’t deserve this. Thank you.”

“Shh… I love you Joonie. You deserve this and more.” You kiss him gently on each cheek and then on the lips. You are not sure how to make him believe this but you hope he can see how much you love him as you wipe his tears. Namjoon’s never been this vulnerable with you, never given up this much control, and if you’re being honest it scares you seeing him this way. In a way, you feel helpless. You’re a fixer and there’s just no immediate way to make him feel better, you just have to make sure he knows you’re here for him.

After you get dressed, he lays in bed as you do his skincare routine for him, running your fingers over his face gently. Namjoon hasn’t felt this way with someone before, so raw but soothed at the same time. He never shows his negative emotions to anyone. Right now it feels like his emotions are a livewire, but the way you gently tap the serums on to his skin, making sure not to miss a spot, he realizes how wrong he was. All the ways he convinced himself you didn’t love him were wrong. You don’t show love through jealousy or possession or even words. This is how you show love - in the quiet of your room making sure that he doesn’t go to sleep drenched from the rain, or skip his eye cream so his eyes aren't too puffy in the morning or at breakfast when you always cut the crust off his bread because he once mentioned he doesn’t like it. He opens his eyes as you say all done and sees you smiling softly at him, some of his confidence coming back. He smiles at you even though it’s difficult, and pulls you to his chest. As you lay on his bare chest for a while, feeling how tightly his arms wrap around you, an idea pops into your head.

“I want to come with you to LA.” You usually don’t make such impulsive decisions, but you could feel that he was not ready to be separated and you were definitely not ready to leave him, but you didn’t want to make him feel like he didn't have a choice so you add, “Is that okay?”

“What about your work?” He asks softly and you can hear his heart beat faster as he awaits an answer.

“I work from home all the time. It’ll be fine.” You rise up slightly to look at him, your chin resting on his chest, making sure to look him in the eyes. “I want to be with you.”

For the first time that night, you see him smile wide enough that his dimples poke through his cheeks and you’re sure you’ve made the right decision.

“I love you, Y/N. Thank you.” He pulls you further so you are fully lying on top of him and as you tell him you love him again, you feel his breath even out, both of you falling into a much need sleep.

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sicparvismorrigan · 3 years

Text

Long Last - Chapter 9

Friends. Foes. Lost treasure. One Samuel Drake.

The librarian is in too deep to back out now, and higher stakes means further to fall.

Uncharted/Sam Drake/Post-U4

Viewpoint: 3rd person female OC

Warnings: as usual, language. Big swears. Charlie says c***

Word count: ~14.6k (9 Chapters) [incomplete]

Read on Ao3

Chapter 8 | Chapter 10

“That’s- that’s-…” Georgia stuttered. The words just wouldn’t come. Finally there was something to show for all their efforts.

“Come on, you can do it.” Sam was smirking again, enjoying her being tongue-tied. “I believe in you.”

“That’s a Fabergé egg!” She looked around the table at everyone else. “Yes?”

The egg itself couldn’t be more than 4 inches tall, crafted in a mix of deep purple-red, green and white. Even in the dim light of the pokey hotel room the diamonds coating the outside still sparkled, not dulled after being hidden in a wall. Georgia couldn’t decide if it was beautiful or gaudy, maybe even tacky, but it was a fine line.

“You would be correct.” Chloe said, picking it up and just tossing it from hand to hand like it was a tennis ball, instead a of ridiculously expensive, not to mention very old Romanov heirloom. “More specifically, this is the Mauve Fabergé Egg, made for Tsar Nicholas in 1897. Lost for years, until about, oh…11.42 last night when we freed it from its prison in the Kremlin wall.”

“Your hunch checked out, Peachy-keen.” Sam said.

She wasn’t listening. Georgia felt her preservation-of-all-that-is-old-and-delicate instincts kick in, her eyes following the egg wherever it went, flinching every time Chloe threw it again.

“That- uh…oh God…that needs to be in a museum somewhere.”

“Soon.” Chloe promised. “We’re borrowing it for a little while first.”

“It’s-ah, stealing…no?” Jesus, put it down.

Chloe finally stopped and narrowed her eyes at Georgia. “Let me just clear something up, real quick. This egg is presumed missing. It’s lost, buried deep. Nobody knows we have it, except Volkova. Nobody’s gonna miss it for a few more days. It’s fine, okay?”

“And then what?” Georgia kept pushing, even though the voice in her head was telling her just to drop it.

Chloe’s eyes flicked towards Sam. “And then after that we’ll see.”

The egg was unbearably valuable. More money than she’d ever have in her bank account in 10 lifetimes. It would fetch a dizzying price in the private market, but that wasn’t where it belonged. She didn’t like the look that Chloe and Sam had exchanged and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be ending up in a museum, but what could she do? She wasn’t calling the shots here.

“Just out of interest, which tower along the wall was it in?”

Nadine started. “It was on the East-“

“Wait, don’t tell her!” Sam said. “I want to see her work it out. Ah, ah, ah-“ Georgia was shaking her head fervently. She didn’t want to try and explain anything in front of the experts. “Don’t give me that shit! I know you did your research! You wouldn’t have been able to help yourself.”

“Sam, it’s late-“ Chloe protested.

“Yeah, I know, just- humour me.” Georgia knew Sam meant well, he was giving her a platform, a chance. Prove you know your stuff.

Georgia sighed. “Okay, fine. Not Tsarskaya.”

“Why?” Sam demanded explanation.

“Too obvious.”

“That’s it, too obvious?”

“Well, yes. It’s like a big neon sign. Tsar’s Tower, right here. And we know ou- your clue hider prefers the metaphorical over the literal.”

“Okay, so there’s 3 more to choose from? Keep talkin’.”

“Either Spasskaya or Konstantino-Eleninskaya.”

“Why? Details, Peach.”

“Nice pronunciation by the way.” Cutter said quietly.

“Uh, thanks…Charlie. They were built by an Italian architect, Solari. The other wasn’t, I forget the name of it. Naba-something.” Georgia waffled.

“So which one?”

“Got to be Spasskaya. After Tsar Nicholas lost power in 1917 the icon above the gate was removed. The name of the icon translates into ’Saviour Not Made by Hands’, more commonly known by the Greek ’Acheiropoieta’. Spasskaya represents the 3 civilizations of interest involved in the library: Russian, Italian and Greek.”

“Wrong.” Sam said, shaking his head sadly.

She scowled at him. “What the bloody- you let me ramble on-“

“Just kidding. Of course you’re right. Couldn’t have put it better. These two ladies-“ Sam pointed. “Figured out exactly the same, and off they went. D’ya know whoever hid the egg had a funny sense of humour?”

“How come?”

“He or she picked the tower they used to show respect for the Tsar, in Imperial times you were supposed to doff your hat when you passed through the tower gate.” Nadine elaborated.

“Yeah, hiding the egg there would be pretty much a giant middle finger to the Bolsheviks. I like their style.” said Chloe. “It backs up our theory that the Romanovs were involved with the Golden Library.”

“Do we think Rasputin had that sense of humour?” Georgia asked quietly. She was remembering the conversation between Sam, Sully and herself back in her apartment. The Mad Monk had potentially known the final resting place of the Golden Library. “Maybe?”

“I don’t know about that darling, general consensus is that Rasputin was responsible for a lot of animosity towards the Romanovs, which prompted the Bolsheviks to step in at the end.” Cutter answered.

“But history is written by the winners, as we very well know.” Sam argued. “And Rasputin definitely sounds like the middle-finger type. I’d love to take him out for a drink.”

“Would be a pretty one-sided conversation in his current state…” Georgia mumbled.

“Anyway, no sooner had we liberated this little beauty than all hell broke loose. Volkova snuck up on us. Tried to get away, couldn’t. Bang bang. Sullivan gets a cap in his, well…cap. Which is why-“ Chloe fixed Georgia with a stern look. “-we might be needing to reimburse a certain friend for his trouble.”

Georgia looked downwards and changed the subject. “So who is this Volkova weirdo, exactly?”

“A spoiled brat with a God complex.” Nadine answered bitterly. “Thinks she’s untouchable, has a tantrum whenever things don’t go her way.”

“We’ve known a few of those.” Sam couldn’t look Nadine in the eye.

“Ja. Too many.”

“There’s some history here?” Georgia pried carefully. “What exactly happened in…Ubar, did she say?”

“You’d have to ask my brother. I guess he’s the only one left who really knows for sure.”

Only one left. Oh dear.

“What is Ubar anyway?”

“Iram of the Pillars? Atlantis of the Sands?” Charlie elaborated. “An ancient lost city. T.E Lawrence wrote about it.”

“As in Lawrence of Arabia?” Georgia delved into her book knowledge.

“Yes! God in Heaven, tell me you’ve seen it?”

“My dad loves that film.” The battered VHS was played on the odd Sunday afternoon when Georgia was growing up. She could just about remember some of it. ”’Big things have small beginnings, sir!’ Right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Sam said softly. He was looking at her, in a way that made her want to squirm. She wondered if the rest could feel the heat radiating from her.

Georgia remembered when he told her what the Drake family motto meant on the Ponti di Rialto, in the moonlight, not even a couple of days before. She hadn’t meant to use that particular quote from Lawrence of Arabia, but her whole life seemed to be coming back around to sic parvis magna recently.

Cutter continued. “Myself, Sullivan, Chloe and Nathan, Sam’s brother, had a run-in with Volkova’s auntie a few years back. One Katherine Marlowe, real piece of work. She was part of a Hermetic secret society established by Queen Lizzy the First. Imaginatively called The Order. The sole purpose of which was to find Ubar, which funnily enough we were after too.”

“In short, it got a bit messy. Lost city found and subsequently destroyed, Marlowe died, Nate survived. Charlie broke his leg along the way. And now Volkova has an eternal grudge against anyone who associates with the Drake brothers.” Chloe fiddled with a loose strand of hair. “Powerful enemy to have.”

“Volkova told me she was working for the UK government for this job-“ Georgia added.

“Oh, so you do remember something!” Chloe said. “Thank God for that.”

“Yeah, they’ve always been cosy with the government. Now Ubar’s been destroyed, they have a new goal. Again with the bloody libraries…” Cutter shook his head.

“So Volkova is now the head of this Order?” Georgia asked.

“Not quite. She’s pretty high up, but gunning for a promotion. If she finds the Golden Library, for whatever purpose, they’ll probably put her all the way to the top. That’s how big of a deal this is. We’ve got to beat them to it, we have no idea what they want with the contents of that library.” Sam said, tapping his lighter on the armrest of his chair.

Chloe took over. “The really scary thing about the Order is they’ve got muscle, sure. But how they operate is through intimidation; psychological torture and drugging their victims.”

Georgia’s hand flew to her neck. Charlie twitched his head like there was a fly buzzing right next to him.

“Their modus operandi is to mess with you so bad you don’t know what’s what.” Chloe finished.

“Which is why they’re so dangerous, and we need to come up with a plan to deal with them when they show up again.” Nadine said with a grimace.

“Not if, when?” Georgia questioned.

“Oh yeah, they’re right on our tail. Pretty sure she’s a vampire too, that psycho cunt never seems to sleep.” Cutter complained.

“Still, even the Hydra’s heads don’t grow back if you burn the wound fast enough.” Nadine said. “The library’s a good score, but taking down the Order while we’re at it? I’d like that. Oh ja. I want a go at Volkova, just me and her-“

“Wishful thinking, love.” Chloe said, patting her shoulder. “But we can dream. Speaking of which, I’m officially done for the night, I don’t know about anyone else-“

Uh-oh. Time to sort out who sleeps where.

***

Thanks for reading!

Ugh I’m back to working 3 jobs (1 of which is full time) and its so frustrating to know what you need to write but not having enough time anymore…I’ll do my best though, this story is getting finished Hell or high water.

Full notes on copyright etc. yadda yadda yadda are at the end of Chapter 1, I’m not going to put them in every chapter

#heckin finally #im working 3 jobs again got no heckin time for anything #uncharted #naughty dog #sam drake #chloe frazer #nadine ross #charlie cutter #my writing #my fanfiction #the golden library #long last #uncharted fanfiction #sam drake fanfiction #sam drake x female oc #sam drake x oc

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years

Text

Feel More Alive

Word Count: 1,503 Warnings: language & (gag) mention of William A/N: The second that I saw this piece of artwork, I heard I Can’t Stand It by VHS Collection in my head, so the title comes from that song.

(ARTIST APPRECIATION SUBMISSION)

Happy Friday everyone! I know it’s been a little while since I posted one of these, and since there has been so much amazing art lately, I thought I would get back to it. This one made me gasp aloud when I first saw it, even though I KNEW it would be incredible from the second I sent the request in. @pheedraws literally never disappoints and always delivers absolutely stunning portraits and drawings, and this one was no exception.

Phoebe! How do you do it? How do you manage to get so much emotion and expression in your art? How do you fit so much detail and light and life into these pieces? You are an art enchantress... an ARTchantress, and I never cease to be amazed at the magic you create.

So from me to you, THANK YOU so much for sharing your talent with all of us. You are fabulous, you are appreciated, you are a frickin gem.

He should not be allowed to look that good in purple aubergine and yet...

The wide expanse of the city spread out before him as he took his seat across from the solid plate glass wall. The hotel bar that he was in offered one of the most stunning views available of Singapore at night, and while he’d been to the city countless times before on business due to the island-nation’s favorable international tax rates, he couldn’t remember the last time he had visited purely for pleasure. When was the last trip I took where I wasn’t working? He couldn’t remember that either, only able to recall the various times he’d been in the room where he sat now. Outside, the lotus shaped structure of the ArtScience museum went from orange to violet as the lights changed, the reflections bouncing off the water below and coming through the window to tint Logan’s cheeks. Maybe one’a these days I’ll get down there, check it out. I bet-

A server came by then to deliver two tall, slender champagne flutes, and Logan let his thoughts trail off as the woman smiled. “Is there anything else I can do for you right now, Mr. Delos?” She tucked her small round tray beneath her arm, the fingers of her free hand skimming the bottom hem of her dress where it sat almost plastered to her thighs before trailing those same fingertips over the table top. Subtle.

It wasn’t her fault. He knew that the staff here had been instructed to cater to whatever requests their high profile visitors might have. In the past he would have taken her up on her offer, but this trip, while still business related, was different for a few reasons. Logan returned her smile, undoing the button on his jacket and leaning back in his seat. “No, thank you, I’m all set for now.”

She let her tongue slip out from between her lips before giving him another slowly spreading smile and bringing her hand up to innocently toy with one of her dangling earrings. “Well, if anything changes, I’d be happy to-”

I’m sure you would. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” He lifted his glass to her, cocking one eyebrow as he did, then brought it to his mouth and took a large gulp. The woman nodded and turned to head back to the bar, but Logan caught her throw one last glance over her shoulder at him as she did.

I should talk to the manager, tell ‘em that they can stop tellin’ the staff to do that with me. He let his eyes scan the room then, flitting over the faces of the people at the other booths in search of one face in particular. He laughed to himself as he brought his glass back down to the table. They’d probably look at me like I had six fuckin’ heads.

It had been a few years since he’d chosen this location as a meeting place for a business contact, mainly because of the way things had unfolded after his last meeting there. Last time I sat in this booth I… He looked down and to his right at the empty cushion beside him. On Logan’s last visit, that space had been occupied by an attractive young man with captivating eyes with whom he’d planned to leave the hotel bar, had the Argos Initiative representatives he was meeting-if I can really call them that now that I know- not shown. He ran his palm over the dark leather upholstery. Can’t remember his name. Maybe I never even… It wouldn’t have been the first time Logan had gone to bed with someone without knowing what to call them. But I didn’t, not that night, not with him anyway. He closed his eyes and drew his hand back to the table, pointer and middle finger running up and down the stem of his glass before turning his head to the left, an involuntary frown forming as his eyes landed in the spot where William had sat on that last trip.

He closed his eyes and turned his attention back to the floor to ceiling windows before opening them again, the golden lights of the lounge’s chandeliers joining the countless others in his field of vision. He’s gone now, no use in… Though Logan had already run though every single second of his trip to the park with his former brother in law, chastizing himself for not taking control of the situation sooner- If I’d have just fuckin’ shot her, if I’d have dragged his ass home- he hadn’t gone back further than that in his “what ifs”. But now, sitting here where it all began, he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had William not called it a night so early, had he been in the room with Logan when just a twitch of Angela’s finger had frozen the entire assembly of Hosts. He’d had to have seen it then. They’re not real, they’re...they’re not alive, they… With a sigh he trained his eyes on his glass as a string of tiny bubbles rose to the surface. If he’d have seen what I saw, felt what I felt, there’s no way he would have… I’d at least have seen it sooner, seen it before I brought him to the park and…

Fuck. He hadn’t wanted to think about that time, or the initial meeting with Argos. This trip was different not only because of what Logan had gone through since the last time he’d set foot in Singapore, but because of who he had with him this time- you. He’d been hesitant to bring you with him on this trip, not because he wasn’t sure of how he felt about you or because he wanted to take the lounge’s servers up on their offers to take care of whatever he needed, but because he wasn’t sure what being back in that place would be like for him, what feelings it might bring up. While this was a business trip, and you were a contracted Delos employee, that’s not all that this trip was, and he didn’t want it to be shrouded in the pain of his past. You knew everything that had happened, so it wasn’t that he wanted to keep anything from you. I just don’t want her to have to deal with this now. She shouldn’t. She deserves...she makes me...

His thoughts dropped off again as the face he’d been looking for finally emerged from the hall that led to the restrooms, and he felt his chest expand as he took a breath in through his nose, his mouth dropping open to let it back out. Damn. Teeth snapping back together as you moved toward him through the crowded room, Logan watched the amethyst and orange reflections from the city lights paint swatches of color across your white dress. The rush he got just from looking at you made him feel more alive than any Host could, no matter how lifelike they were, and your smile as you noticed him noticing you was enough to banish all thoughts of his last visit to the lounge.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to take so long there was,” you rolled your eyes. “Some poor girl was crying in the bathroom mirror so I,” you twirled your hand as you sunk into the seat next to him, your knee brushing his. “I talked to her for a minute and-”

But Logan didn’t hear the rest of your sentence, instead swallowing it with a kiss as one arm wound behind your back to pull you even closer to him. “Don’t be sorry,” he spoke against your lips before pulling back to look into your eyes. “Just don’t go anywhere else.”

Your cheeks lifted into another smile as you brought one hand up to rake your fingers through his thick hair. Damn that’s… “That can be arranged, Logan.” You leaned in then, biting down gently on his earlobe and making him suck in a breath. “Unless,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his skin and raising goosebumps, “unless you wanna come with me.”

Oh she has no idea what she just… “Now there’s an idea.” He picked up his glass, emptying it down his throat as you winked and did the same, then grabbed for your hand. “C’mon.” He pulled you to your feet and then with another tug, dragged you into his side. “Lemme show you the rooftop. ‘F I’m gonna buy this place, I should at least give you a private tour.”

You hummed, a spark igniting in your eye as you rose on your toes to kiss him sweet and slow, drawing it out and making his heart race like no one else ever could. As the two of you made your way out of the lounge and into the elevator, Logan realized that his past wouldn’t haunt him anymore; that there was no longer any reason for him to hold on to the ghosts when there was so much life right in front of him.

Thank you a million times to all you fabulous artists! If you are an artist in the Ben Barnes fandom, or if you want to surprise an artist with a quick drabble, send me a message or link me to the piece of artwork that you would like me to write about. Let’s show these talented folks how much we appreciate them and the things that they create!

And if you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please feel free to drop a line!

General Tags: @something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @malionnes @thesumofmychoices @gollyderek @pheedraws @beautifuldesastre @alraedesigns @dearmarii @fific7 @traeumerinwitzhelden @obscurilicious @luminex3 @bisexual-space-slut @vetseras Logan Tags: @valkblue @belladonnarey @ymariejp @drinix @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @nananananananananananabatman @qhostboyyy @ofgeneticperfection @delosdoll

#ben barnes fanart appreciation #ben barnes fan art #ben barnes fandom #pheedraws #the-blind-assassin-12 #logan delos fanart #logan delos fanfic #logan delos x you #logan delos x reader #logan delos westworld #westworld fanart #logan delos deserved better and pheedraws said HE SURE DOES

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leverage-ot3 · 4 years

Text

notable moments from The Homecoming Job

leverage 1.02

Dr. LeRoque: Pardon me, Mr. uh?

Nate: Oh, uh, Nathan Ford. You’re Dr. LeRoque?

Dr. LeRoque: Can I talk to you outside?

Perry: Doc, he’s cool, I found him on the internet.

Dr. LeRoque: Yes, that never goes badly. (to Nate) With me.

Nate: Uh… I’ll be in touch.

(Perry hands him the flash drive and Nate follows the doctor out of the room)

okay but big mood “I found him on the Internet” “that never goes badly”

but also,,, bruh we NEED to know how their clients found them,,, like ??? H O W

- - - - -

Dr. LeRoque: You can’t just come in here and get his hopes up!

Nate: I’m just here to provide options.

Dr. LeRoque: There are no options.

Nate: The Veteran’s hospital …

Dr. LeRoque: Is 400 miles away and has a five month waiting list. Everybody in that rehab room is a reservist. When reservists get out they get sent home no matter where home is or how far it is from the treatment they need. Nobody thought this through. We’re not a rich hospital, I cashed in every favor I had to take care of these kids for as long as I could but I have to go back in there and tell Perry we can’t treat him anymore. I have to do that. Run your scam on somebody with money.

Nate: It’s not a scam. I’m here to help.

Dr. LeRoque: People don’t just show up to help. That’s not the way the world works.

leverage really called out the us government’s negligence and neglect for veterans in episode TWO and we stan them so hard for it

leverage said “go big or go home” from the VERY beginning

- - - - -

[Audition Room]

Sophie: Why? Why? I can’t live like this anymore. With the lies and the filth. No. Help me. I want to be clean. I want to be clean.

(two directors watching are overwhelmed by just how awful Sophie is)

Rogers: Yeah, you understand this is a soap commercial, right?

Sophie: Uh huh. When I thought about Peggy I came up with this idea that the dirt was really this giant metaphor, for sin.

(Sophie’s cell rings, she glances at her purse)

Rogers: You should take that. No, no you should take that.

Sophie: Oh. (answers phone) Hello? When? (hangs up) Peggy killed her first husband.

Rogers: Thank you

I literally scream every time I LOVE SOPHIE S O MUCH WHAT THE FUCK

- - - - -

[Parking Lot]

(one man is laying on the hood of a car and another falls on top of him. Eliot turns away from the car as the last man pulls a gun on him. They stare at each other for a moment, then a phone rings)

Eliot: That you or me?

(man seems unsure as the phone continues to ring)

Eliot: Could be important. Does your mama have your number?

(man looks down and Eliot grabs the gun, punching the man in the neck. The man goes down, choking. Eliot unloads the gun and tosses it away before pulling out his phone and answering it)

Eliot: Yeah? Nothing, why?

“nothing”? I’m-

- - - - -

(guard walks by a painting hanging in a museum gallery. He looks away for a moment, and when he looks back a rope is dangling where the painting had been. A cell phone rings)

Parker: Parker. Shh. No, I wasn’t shushing you.

I love her, your honor

- - - - -

(Parker, Eliot and Sophie come around the corner and head down the hall)

Parker: From the first job?

Eliot: Yeah.

Parker: I put all that money in a Swiss bank account.

Eliot: Millions of dollars and you didn’t buy anything?

Parker: I don’t like stuff, I like money.

Sophie: I bought a little retirement home, an island.

Eliot: Nice.

Sophie: In Dubai. And Tokyo.

Parker: What about you?

(they reach the door which has a small envelope with Sophie’s name written on it. Sophie takes it off the door and opens it)

Eliot: Yeah, I’m not about to tell two known thieves what I did with a multi-million dollar payout.

Sophie: Don’t you trust us?

(Eliot doesn’t answer.)

- - - - -

Hardison: This is our new cover story. Welcome to Leverage Consulting and Associates, founded in 1913 by the great Harland Leverage the Third.

(Hardison points to a painting on the wall of an older man that greatly resembles Nate)

Sophie: I’m sorry. Nate is going to kill you.

Eliot: Did you paint that?

Hardison: I’m gifted.

Eliot: That’s weird

HARLAND LEVERAGE THE THIRD

- - - - -

Hardison: Now Leverage Consulting Inc. is squeaky clean, all corporate taxes on record as being paid for the last ninety years. (He gives them each a cell and a folder) All your identities as partners, your payroll taxes are paid, you guys have pension plans and dental, those are employment records, case files and company newsletters.

(the group walks the halls of the Leverage offices as they discuss the files)

Parker: In 1998 I won the sack race at the 4th of July picnic. Cool.

Hardison: Now these, these are your offices. Now you can bring something like a photo, you know what, a plant! I’m a big supporter of dandelions.

hardison goes hardcore when coming up with backstories

- - - - -

(Hardison opens doors to a conference room that holds a long table with many chairs around it. One wall is dedicated to large TV screens)

Sophie: Nice.

Eliot: My man.

Hardison: Long version or the short version?

Sophie: Short.

Eliot: Short version.

Parker: Shortest.

(Hardison hits a remote the TV screens illustrate his explanation)

Hardison: Photo and video forensics programs, back doors into every electronic banking system in the world, running heuristic data crawls all over the news sites to find our clients, oh also!

Parker: This is the short version?

Hardison: Facial recognition database tied into CIA, NSA and the FBI. But, the real pièce de résistance (changes screens to sports games) DirectTV HD Total Sports Package. NFL, NBA and I threw in a little bit of hockey ‘cause I know you people like that.

Eliot: Hockey.

hardison nests SO HARD

like, bring in all the highest tech into your cozy new office you designed for you and your fellow adopted criminals? heck yeah

- - - - -

Nate: Our client is the cameraman. Corporal Robert Perry. He says that the Castleman contractors spooked and started firing.

Eliot: 5.56 NATO rounds mixed in with some 9 mils from the sub-machine guns. Insurgents would have used AK-47s with 7.62 ammo. It has more of a... (hits the back of his hand to his palm) crack. Contractors shot 'em up all right.

Parker: You ID’d the weapon from the gunshot sound?

Eliot: It has a very distinctive sound

D I S T I N C T I V E

- - - - -

Nate: Yes, and lobbyists in every office in Washington, DC. The problem with a cover-up is all the paperwork it takes to keep the lies straight.

Hardison: Internal emails, memos.

Nate: Exactly.

- - - - -

[Roof]

[Hardison and Parker are wearing black and connected to repelling gear)

Hardison: I gotta go back to the office I just remembered something.

Parker (adjusting Hardison’s harness): What?

Hardison: I just remembered gravity and the squishiness of all my manly bits.

Parker: I designed this rig myself. The line is carbon fiber. Five point harness. Weight support here, here, and here. Auto-breaking resistance on the main pulley back here.

Hardison: Okay cool, so it’s tested?

Parker: Not yet.

Hardison: Not yet? When the hell was you gonna test it?

(Parker pushes Hardison off the roof. She smiles, he screams)

Parker: Big baby.

(she jumps after him. Hardison screams until he stops upside down. Parker lowers herself to his side)

Hardison: Seriously? Seriously

hardison’s first time rappelling decidedly Did Not Go Well

- - - - -

Sophie: My company’s focused on meeting senators, but I’m thinking congressmen.

DuFort: You know the great thing about congressmen? Fifty, a hundred grand well spent will get one elected, but then once they’re in the incumbency rate is over 95 percent so you can get an average 18, 20 years’ use out of one of them. In these uncertain times buying a United States congressman is one of the best investments a corporation can make.

[DuFort’s Office]

Hardison: Oh I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. I’m a professional criminal and I find that disturbing

they’re going at america’s THROAT in this one and I love it. thank you john rogers

- - - - -

(while DuFort is distracted Sophie pulls out his wallet and removes the RFID card with her teeth. DuFort takes off his coat to look at the stain)

I am but a simple gay and this was Hot™

- - - - -

the phones hardison gave the team have six main buttons: internet, text, files, to-do, id scan, and mail

- - - - -

Nate: Parker, what’s the status of the voicelock?

[DuFort’s Office]

Parker: Uh, I’ve been sampling DuFort’s speech but I still need a few more sounds.

[Private Party]

Nate: How many?

[DuFort’s Office]

Parker: Well I only need the sounds puh, tuh, oo, ah, eh, oh, ah, ke, a, ef.

[Private Party]

Nate: Ah, only those. Eliot.

(Eliot walks by carrying two trays of appetizers)

Eliot: I’m on it. Pardon. (approaches Sophie and DuFort) Hello.

Sophie: Ooh. Mmm.

Eliot: (to DuFort) Appetizer, sir?

DuFort: Sure, what do you got?

Eliot: I’ve got the pâté d’escargot avec bière d'Argentine and (looks at second tray and grimaces) what looks like old duck, kind of greasy.

DuFort: I guess I’ll have the first one.

Eliot: Of course.

(Eliot offers him the second tray and Dufort looks at him expectantly)

DuFort: Well? May I have some?

Eliot: The greasy duck?

Sophie: Oh, no, no, no, I wouldn’t have the greasy duck.

Eliot: No I wouldn’t suggest it.

DuFort: No, the other one.

(Eliot pretends confusion)

DuFort: The the pâté d’escargot with the bière d'Argentine!

Eliot: Excellent choice sir (gives DuFort the first tray).

DuFort: (takes food) Who is this clown?

[DuFort’s Office]

Parker: Pretty good. Got most of them. Okay, now all I need is ef, uh and kuh.

[Private Party]

(DuFort spits out the appetizer he has taken)

DuFort: This is shrimp!

Eliot: Very good then. (walks away)

DuFort: It’s shrimp you stupid F----!

[DuFort’s Office]

Parker: Oh, there they are. Really loud too

parker being so competent and knowledgeable about voice activation codes? amazing. iconic.

and the whole scene with eliot and the food? hilarious.

also there already another meta post about this but this scene shows just how SMART eliot is,,, like coming up with that on spot??? don’t get me wrong, hardison is “the smartest man [any of them know]” but damn

- - - - -

continuing list of non-weapon objects eliot uses as weapons:

an IV stand

+ bonus

nate: the defibrillator/AED

- - - - -

Perry: Mr. Ford!

(Perry pushes a defibrillator towards Nate, who grabs the paddles. The first man runs toward Eliot with a knife, but Eliot grabs his arm and pushes him toward Nate)

Nate: Hello.

(Nate hits the man in the chest with the defibrillator paddles and he flies backward, unconscious)

eliot looking Impressed™ at nate for that

- - - - -

Eliot: Play time’s over Nate, it’s only a matter of time before they come after us. The tall one, the way he used a knife, ex-Marine, probably Force Recon.

Hardison: You ID’d a guy off his knife-fighting style?

Eliot: It’s a very distinctive style.

two distinctives in one episode

- - - - -

Hardison: I didn’t sign up for any of this. What I did before, nobody got hurt.

Sophie: I stole paintings for a living.

Parker: I never hurt anybody.

Eliot: I actually hurt people, so…

LMFAO eliot but also- notice that sophie never said that she never hurt people, she just said she stole paintings for a living

- - - - -

Sophie: Nate, if anything had happened to this kid--

Nate: You know you guys called on me. You remember? You begged me to run the crew, agreed to play by my rules. Now walk out if you have a problem with that. Walk out any day if you have a problem with that. It’s simple.

(everyone looks hesitant)

Eliot: We finish this one.

Parker: Just one

PSH like any of y’all believe that

- - - - -

Hardison: How do we hit ‘em?

Sophie: Congressman Jenkins, he’s our in. Looked me straight in the eye and told me he’d never even heard of the shooting.

Parker: So?

Sophie: Looked me in the eye? When men are telling me the truth they’re not looking me in the eye. A man only ever looks a woman in the eye when he’s making the effort to lie to her.

Eliot: ...Well you can’t argue with that.

Hardison: Noted and filed

LMFAO

- - - - -

Nate: All right, Jenkins is DuFort’s pet congressman, let’s see if we can get him to bite. The best way to get two people to reveal a secret, get ‘em to turn on each other.

- - - - -

Sophie: You should look out for the signs congressman. Missed phone calls, no more little favors.

Jenkins: Those are the same signs that your wife is cheating on you.

Sophie: That’s right.

Jenkins: What am I supposed to do when that happens?

Sophie (hands him her card): Play the field

- - - - -

Hardison: Congressman Jenkins is very careful. No direct bribes but he’s renovating his house and so far he’s received over $600,000 worth of work for a little over fifty grand.

(Hardison brings up pictures of Jenkins’ house on the screens)

Eliot: Castleman owns the contracting company, huh?

Hardison: I mean, he’s going through like three shell companies but yeah. And this man loves his house. Just check out his web browsing habits.

(Hardison changes the image to a website for wood panels)

Hardison: Look here, see the man spent three weeks picking out the perfect mahogany wood panels. This site is like wood porn.

Eliot: Is his house finished?

Hardison: Not even close.

Eliot: Can I borrow your phone?

Hardison takes out his phone, dials for Eliot and hands it to him.

Eliot (on phone): Hello? Yes, I’d like to cancel delivery on some mahogany wood paneling. Please.

(Hardison tries to help, Eliot walks away)

Eliot: The Jenkins house. Yeah, you know what, do me a favor man, just go ahead and cancel the whole order. Yes sir.

(Eliot leaves the room as Nate enters with a bowl of popcorn and two beers)

Nate: What’s he doing?

Hardison: Yanking the congressman’s chain

I love chaotic (pre)boyfriends

plus at one point it high hey looked like they were holding hands

and eliot’s SMILE at hardison ,,, you soft man, you never stood a chance

- - - - -

Hardison: A woo--whoa, whoa! A wood-- a wooden box?

Nate: A wooden box.

Hardison: Wood? Well, we can put a man on the moon but all our laws go into a wooden box.

- - - - -

Hardison: I mean, break a law, everybody’s done that, my mama’s done that but steal a law. Oh, she’s gonna be a legend baby.

(on screen, C-SPAN news shows the Senate floor where Parker is walking to “The Hopper”. She waves at the camera and puts the fake bill into box.

Parker: The eagle has landed.

Nate: It’s in!

Hardison: Uhn! Go ahead girl! Sexyness! Unh. Rrrnnn.

Nate: Might want to ease up on that a little bit.

Hardison: Just saying.

Nate: Yeah.

Hardison: Between me and you. Between me and you.

Nate: Never leaves the room.

adorable “the eagle has landed” parker + already-gone-for-her hardison ,,, I love it here

- - - - -

(also, again I am reminded that there is a 250 text block limit so imma have to make a part two and apparently this is my life now)

#leverage #leverage 1.02 #leverage 1x02 #the homecoming job #notable moments #mine #leverage season 1 #season 1

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in-tua-deep · 5 years

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I saw your other ask and I do wonder if an actual 13 yr old Five will pop up after they stop the apocalypse. It’s so interesting to have both Fives in the same place! And to see the stark contrast between what he was without the apocalypse. How does his older self feel (and does he still look 13 too?!). And how do his siblings react realizing how much the apocalypse and the Commission took from their brother! I love this idea and your blog!!

okay a solid half of me is like “wow there’s so much potential for angst and having Five confront the fact that he lowkey hates himself and what he’s become alone with feeling redundant alongside a younger version of himself that does match up to what his siblings remember instead of being the broken old assassin he actually is”

and the other half is like “but also consider the CHAOTIC GOOD TIMES” and at heart I’m a not so secret softie so that is the louder side at the moment

SO they stop the apocalypse. They’re all trying to figure out what happens now. Five is home alone (Allison flew home for a week to see Claire/figure out her situation, Vanya is at her apartment packing some things up to move back into the mansion for a while, Diego took Grace out shopping, Luther and Klaus went to grab groceries and are probably going to come back with so much sugar because Luther is still being a pushover trying to make up for his whole ‘locked Vanya away’ debacle)

Five is sitting on the front steps of the house (it’s too empty and too quiet inside and he may or may not be coming down from a panic attack) and that’s when there’s a blue flash down the street and Five freezes. Because down the street there’s a boy turning with a puzzled look and they both catch one another’s eye and it’s like looking in a mirror because they’re the same person

So of course they go inside to figure out what the fuck and Five has no patience left for baby Five and pretty much gives it to him straight: he time traveled to April 3rd, 2019, where there was supposed to be an apocalypse. They may or may not fight when baby Five doesn’t believe him and he is convinced when Five beats him easy - thank you assassin training. There’s an hour more of incredulity and explanations as they both loudly theorize about the potential world breaking-ness of them both existing in a paradox

but hey it doesn’t seem like the world is ending and they already touched each other during the fight and nothing weird happened so,, they just both exist?

They’re sitting there quietly contemplating what next and waiting for the others to come back when baby Five, with his wonderful childish sense of mischief, looks at Five and asks a simple question: “Hey, how long do you think it would take for the others to realize there’s two of us?”

(they already had the breakdown where baby Five tried to go back in time and failed and Five smacked him because he worked really damn hard for this version of reality to exist thank you and basically informs baby Five that if he goes back the world could literally end and that’s kind of that. baby five is stuck.)

and look,,, Five is a grumpy old man assassin but he never did lose his sense of mischief - though it’s been somewhat buried over the years and especially so the last week or so. So he may or may not perk up at the suggestion with intrigue, and baby Five knows himself and knows that means he’s in so -

(Baby Five kind of feels guilty for being a little relieved he doesn’t have to go back in time actually. He wants his siblings desperately, but Reginald is dead here. No more training. No more private lessons. Freedom. And - and technically his siblings are right here, right? They’re free as well? If he jumped back in time wouldn’t that be putting them all back under Reginald’s thumb? He isn’t sure if he could do that to them... but is that just a justification to himself?)

and cue the absolute shenanigans that exist as Five and baby Five pretend that there is only one (1) of them in this timeline.

also cue some very confused siblings because there are some serious differences between the two Five’s.

Vanya is confused when she offers ‘Five’ some coffee and he wrinkles his nose and declines like he thinks coffee is gross. Which can’t be right, right? She literally saw Five chugging coffee straight from the pot yesterday?

Luther wonders if there’s something off with Five when he doesn’t seem to remember the conversation they had earlier about going to the local history museum with the rest of the family. He seemed excited earlier but now just looks put out?

(”We can’t both go to the history museum!” Five hisses at baby Five, who is rolling his eyes.

“Dude, you’re practically a dinosaur why would you even want to go to a history museum?” Baby Five points out, “Didn’t you see enough history with your little assassin job?”

Five scowls, “Maybe I just think it’s interesting considering my ‘little assassin job’ you sanctimonious child. Maybe I like museums.”

“You’re so transparent! You just want to spend time with our family.” Baby Five teases, fully aware that he’s probably going to have to dodge a knife in a second but continuing to push buttons anyway. It’s what he does. “Or - if it’s really just about all the wonderful history then we can always go again without the rest of the family.”

Five scowls as baby Five bats his eyelashes but doesn’t say anything, which means baby Five totally won the conversation, ha!)

the brilliant thing is that thanks to Five’s powers, no one thinks anything of it when they see Five downstairs and then head upstairs and see him doing something up there so even though a lot of the siblings get suspicious they probably attribute anything really off to Five’s glaring PTSD and trauma

the first one to catch on is Klaus. Well. Not really. Actually Ben is the first one to realize that he’s seeing double and tells Klaus

(”Well well well.” Klaus interrupts, making both boys on the bed jump where they had their heads bent over some mathematical textbook. Klaus is going full drama, draping himself in the open doorway like he’s a bad movie villain. “It looks like someone has been keeping secrets from your darling family.”

“Don’t tell the others!” One of them blurts, while at the same time the other growls out, “Tell the others and I kill you.”

Klaus claps his hands together, absolutely delighted. “So you aren’t the same person! Well, go on, introduce me. Is this your slightly less evil twin?”

They both exchange glances. There’s an short nonverbal conversation consisting of vague gestures and shrugs before one Five rolls his eyes and turns away, clearly done with this whole situation. The remaining Five smiles brightly and waves, “Hey Klaus! Long time no see, almost seventeen years now right?”

There’s a second of processing before Klaus gets it - or maybe Ben gets it and relays the information it’s unclear - and his hands fly to his face as he gasps loudly. “You’re a baby! A child! Under our rooftop!”

“I’m thirteen.” Baby Five protests while Five snickers under his breath. Age is a point of contention between the duo.

“What which one of you did I offer alcohol to the other day?” Klaus demands.

Baby Five raises his hand.

“I knew there was something off about you saying no to booze!” Klaus declared, pointing dramatically. Then he blinked. “Wait I offered alcohol to a minor!”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Baby Five rolls his eyes again, “Like a week before I came here I had to half carry you to your room you were so wasted and you were thirteen.”

“He has a point.” Klaus muses to the air, probably commenting to Ben. “But I’m still not seeing a way that you two aren’t gonna get your butts totally whupped by the others when they find out about this little charade.” He says charade with a fancy french accent that hopelessly mangles the word.

The two share a look again, and again it’s baby Five who takes the lead. It may or may not be that he’s the better of the two with people considering he didn’t spend forty some years in isolation.

He grins at Klaus with bright eyes, “Aw, c’mon Klaus. It’s just a game! Besides, isn’t it more fun to be in on it?”

“Hmm.” Klaus hums, making a show of thinking it over. All three of them know exactly what the outcome is going to be, though.

“Please Klaus!” Baby Five demands, still grinning, and he suddenly looks so young and unburdened that there isn’t even a question about whether Klaus is going to be in on it or not.)

It’s not that the two don’t fight. They do. Because Five doesn’t understand how he could ever be so naive and reckless and impulsive (even though he really should expect it considering he jumped through time in the first place) and Five doesn’t understand how he got so grouchy and old and weird about so many things

but they usually solve it by shoving it down and getting along through bribery basically

(”...want to learn how to use a sniper rifle?” Five offers into the tense silence.

There’s a solid pause where baby Five is clearly mulling that over before he finally turns in the chair to face his twin. “...Griddy’s on the way home?”

“Deal.”)

It takes an alarmingly long time for the ruse to fall apart, and it 100% happens because both Five’s show up at the same time due to a miscommunication where they immediately devolve into a yelling match about how it was totally their turn downstairs and the other is an idiot and they’re literally spatial jumping after one another around the room before Diego throws two knives and manages to pin both of the arms of their uniforms to the wall and make both stop

“What the fuck is this?” Diego demands, gesturing between the two Five’s wildly.

“It’s his fault!” Both Five’s point at the other

but the ruse is up and the duo are able to hop down whenever they like and torment the family.

This au is full of healing and baby Five teaching old Five how to be a kid again and more of less rubbing off on Five and dragging him into games and appealing to his sense of mischief and drama and also making the rest of the family go to like,, the zoo or laser tag or a water park

baby Five is still holding out for disney world, personally

and they are a ferocious team up,, like literal terror twins they are fully capable of terrifying the pants off of the rest of the family and then turning around and laughing and looking innocent enough that it was difficult to say no because they’re kids and are fully capable of bringing out the rest of the family’s protective instincts

even if they know intellectually that one of that duo is an assassin who could kill them in the same breath it took to tell them what idiots they were being because he could protect himself

I dunno I just want actual kid!Five dragging grumpy old man!Five into shenanigans that Five complains about but secretly likes going along with them because lets be real who doesn’t like doing impulsive childish shit from time to time and he has an excuse because he has to stop baby Five from getting himself killed, right?

after all, as Five will defend himself, he isn’t sure if his younger self’s untimely death will also kill him, right? As a future version? Kind of like the whole “you can’t kill your grandmother” argument or whatever, right? Time is weird shush

(even though they’re both pretty sure that old Five is actually from an alternate dimension vs. time travel and that this is actually baby Five’s universe, but their worlds didn’t diverge until old Five popped in eight days before the apocalypse so technically baby Five’s death probably wouldn’t have any effect on old man Five but

hey, better safe than sorry, right?)

Baby Five feels kind of indebted to old Five for,, you know,,, saving his siblings by preventing the apocalypse and preventing him from a fate worse than death with not having to deal with isolation and the apocalypse?? so he’s more patient than old Five probably deserves

and old Five feels kind of responsible for baby Five because they both know baby Five can’t go back in time and unravel everything with how delicate it is and so baby Five still lost the equivalent of his entire family since he doesn’t exactly know these older version anymore and

hey, who knows the other better than themselves, right? Baby Five understands old Five’s motivations and shares history, knows exactly how far he would go for his family when pushed

so yes now they’re essentially twins and 100% pretend to be one another constantly and get on the others nerves and help each other heal and that’s the tea on that

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tlbodine · 5 years

Text

A Plea for Some Non-Cringe Native American Representation

There’s something that has bothered me for a real long time, and I haven’t said anything because it didn’t really feel like my place to say it. But if pasty white folks across the country will insist on continuing to make these books and comics and movies, then I guess this pasty white girl can make a plea to do it better.

So. Here’s the deal. Native American representation in fiction sucks.

We’re going to talk about why, and then talk about some ways you can do it better. And it’s going to take a while, so join me under the cut.

PROBLEM #1: Erasure

The first problem with First Nations people being represented in fiction is that it, uh...doesn’t happen very often. It’s pretty rare for a show or movie or book to have a Native character, and even rarer for that character to exist without being a vehicle/mouthpiece for some kind of hamfisted message.

And, of course, Native characters who do show up in movies are sometimes played by non-Native actors, which is just. Um.

somebody fucking kill me I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.

PROBLEM #2: The Same Stock Character Over and Over and Over

There’s this weird thing where TV shows have A Very Special Native American Episode(tm) where a Native American character shows up in a storyline designed to, idk, provide a tidy outlet for the viewer’s white guilt or something. I see this a lot in superhero stories for...some reason:

Batman and Chief Screaming Eagle (ok, it was the 1960s, surely things have gotten better right? oh...) who’s butting heads with a villain over a bad contract for, uh, the chief’s ancestral lands

There was the Buffy episode “Pangs” where a Chumash vengeance spirit is the villain-of-the day after being disturbed by some construction (and this is honestly one of the better treatments of the premise, at least the episode is well-written)

There was the Smallville episode with Kyla Willowbrook, the Kawatche Skinwalker (I know, I know) who for bonus points dies tragically in Clark’s arms (I KNOW) and who was deeply concerned with...with some construction...disturbing her sacred homesite...(this is starting to sound familiar)

And then there was The Flash episode where Barry is forced to fight with the complicated-yet-tragically-evil Native American activist woman whose crimes involve stealing cultural artifacts that belong to to the museum (yes I’m screaming) and also murdering people...y’know, for vengeance and stuff.

I could keep going but I really don’t think I have to. When your only representation of a culture is a character (frequently a smoking-hot member of the opposite sex to the hero) who is an ambiguous villain who is motivated by vengeance and/or justice over having their land/cultural artifacts disturbed, and who has a valid claim but is really going about it in the wrong way and whose tragic death and/or defeat really gives the white character something complex to think about for two seconds.... well. That’s more than a little racist.

PROBLEM #3: These Are Not Your Stories to Tell

You know what white people love doing?

They love appropriating Native culture! Seriously! They love it! And who can blame them, really? Native people have so much rich symbolism and mythology and cool clothes and neat aesthetics. Painted war ponies and buckskin dresses and shapeshifters and monsters, oh my! Indian burial grounds and vengeful spirits (oh for fuck sake enough with the vengeful Indian trope)

But here’s the deal:

The mythology you’re borrowing from belongs to a group of people who are still alive and sometimes practicing the religion you’re liberally reinterpreting

There is no such thing as a “Native American” myth. You’re talking about literally hundreds of different tribes who are culturally distinct from one another and have their own complex histories of interaction, diplomacy, war, friendship, etc. with one another for centuries before white folk got here. You erase all of that when you treat Native culture as a grab-bag of cool things you can mix and match to your liking.

Maybe, just a thought, stop it with the oppression narratives about activists and/or vengeful spirits who are real threatened by white people disturbing their homes? It’s not that there isn’t a lot to unpack in that -- I mean, white people really did conduct mass genocide against a race of people, for starters -- it’s just that this isn’t really your oppression narrative to tell.

It seems to me that folks writing about Native Americans don’t actually have any idea what Native people are like? They either think of them as anachronistic figures, an extinct and ancient group, or they think of them as people really hung up on their cultural past. Because maybe people can’t think of anything to do with a Native character other than use it as a vocal mouthpiece of one very specific part of their cultural oppression.

But please. Please stop. That is every bit as stupid and racist as making a Black character who only talks about slavery, or a Jewish character who only talks about the Holocaust, or giving all of your gay characters AIDS.

So what do you do instead?

Writing Native Characters in a Way That Does Not Suck - A Quick Primer

I can’t write a definitive guide on writing good Native representation, because there is no such guide, and if there were it would take a whole book probably, and I am not in any way even remotely an authority.

But I can give you some pointers that will help you.

(And to be honest, Native representation is so awful that the bar here is really super low, even just attempting a tiny bit is a really welcome breath of fresh air)

Choose a Tribe

Step one: Figure out what kind of Native people you’re writing about.

Because, as previously noted, Native People Are Not A Monoculture.

How do you pick a tribe? Well, start with geography. Where do you want the story to take place? Obviously people move around, so you can find folks outside of their ancestral lands, but they all started someplace, and a lot of people live where their parents and grandparents and cousins all live.

So where does your story take place? Pick a spot. Then find out what tribes live in that region. It’s not a secret. There are maps:

(Source: http://www.emersonkent.com/map_archive/native_american_tribes_map.htm)

Or maybe you want to go about this in a different way. Maybe you have a specific story idea in mind and you want to write it in a way that would be accurate and respectful. Cool! A good first step on that is to figure out what tribe actually does the thing you’re wanting to write about.

Skinwalkers, for example, originate in the Navajo Nation (Dine` people), although there are related myths from surrounding tribes in the area.

If you’re writing a story about Wendigo, then you should know those myths originate with the Algonquin people of Quebec and Ontario.

If you’re writing something with spiritually significant buffalo, you should probably choose a culture that actually interacted with buffalo -- ie, a Plains Indian tribe like the Lakota-Sioux people.

And so on and so forth.

(Note that this is only the first step. You still have to do a lot of research after this to be sure you’re doing everything properly and respectfully. And, y’know, maybe reconsider if you actually want to tell a story respecting that mythology, or if you just want to sound cool and exotic)

Also, personal preference: Please don’t make your characters Cherokee if you’re just going for “character with Native ancestry.” Please choose a different tribe. For a lot of complicated (and sometimes surprisingly racist) reasons, white people have been claiming Cherokee heritage for a long time, and even when it’s true, it feels cheap and cringey in fiction. If you want to tell a story about the Trail of Tears or something set in Tahlequa, Oklahoma, great! Write Cherokee characters! But if you just want a Native American character for other reasons...pick a different tribe.

Choose a Name

Fun fact: Modern Native people that you meet out on the street don’t have names like “Stands With Fists” or “Running Bear.”

If you have an impulse to name your character any kind of descriptive “adjective + animal” name...just don’t. Please. And don’t go to BehindTheName or some other random site to pick out something that “sounds” Native.

Names in other cultures are tricky. Some (but not all!) Native people may have a cultural tradition of having multiple names, including naming ceremonies (often as a rite of passage in adolescence). Some tribes have clan names. Everybody’s different. But these special names are culturally sensitive, often sacred, and are not a thing readily accessible to white people. White folks spent centuries trying to wipe out Indigenous people’s belief systems; they deserve to have some things kept private and sacred.

So what I’m getting at here is that white writers really, really should not touch on the “Indian naming ceremony” trope at all if they can help it, because it’s gonna be real hard to get the details right, and getting the details wrong is going to make you sound like an ignorant racist. And most of the time, it’s not really that important to a story.

Most contemporary Native people have regular English names. They may also have tribal names and clan names (that they may or may not share with outsiders). But lots of tribal members don’t, and that doesn’t make them any less Native.

My recommendation for naming your Native characters? Find real people from the time period, tribe, and region you’re writing in. Find a phone book or newspaper from a town on or near a reservation for your chosen tribe. Look at names of participants in powwows. Look at the sports rosters for Native schools. Look at historical records like census data from the year you’re writing about. Don’t just make things up.

** One Note: You know how “black” names are a thing? You encounter a similar sort of thing in some contemporary Native Americans. I grew up with a lot of kids who had “weird” names like Kirby, Sheriden, Baskerville, Sterling and Precious. (and by “weird” I mean “names middle-class white people don’t tend to use”). There’s also a lot of black-sounding names in Native populations. There’s some complex reasons behind this, and a lot of sociology of naming, and I won’t spend too much time on it right now but just...so you know. It’s a thing.

Write a Human Being

This really is the biggest thing, and it’s true of every writing you do, all the time, no matter what: Write a real person and not a caricature.

Native people are people first. Their cultural heritage affects them the way anyone else’s culture does. The things they eat, wear, do, believe, the stories they know, etc. are all affected. But Native people don’t have a responsibility to be walking representatives of their tribes. And they definitely shouldn’t be a vessel for white guilt.

(Fun fact: “Iron Eyes Cody,” maybe best known for the “Crying Indian” role in a commercial about pollution, was an Italian-American born Espera Oscar de Corti)

Here’s a really, really good article I found while working on this rant that might be of interest to you as wellas you set out on this quest: https://mashable.com/2015/03/24/american-indians-tv/

I still have so much to say on this topic, and maybe I’ll write more in the future, but this is already very long so I’ll stop. I hope this has been at least a little bit helpful for y’all. Go forth and write non-terrible characters, I beg of you.

*Disclaimer: I am not a Native person and do not claim any special knowledge or ownership of Native culture, and I beg you to please listen to Native voices when possible in your creative endeavors. I’m just a gal who happened to have spent most of my life living near reservations and growing up around Native people and having Native friends and being taught about historical cultures by my mother who has a degree in Southwest Studies and has done a lot of formal and informal research due to her own interests in the topic.

If you found this article helpful at all, please consider dropping a tip in my tip jar.

I also have a book coming out! You can pre-order it now! It features a main character of mixed heritage, New Mexico reservation border towns, and zombies trying to get by like everybody else.

Pre-Order now on B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/river-of-souls-t-l-bodine/1131956124

Or on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/River-Souls-T-L-Bodine/dp/1950305015

Or from the publisher: http://journalstone.com/bookstore/river-of-souls/?fbclid=IwAR14Qna5tMgWBV0We2uGSLreBkmyvZ5SoDAzPQpTKeFn4JR4PWSyKGl0VEo

Or add it to your Goodreads library: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46183381-river-of-souls

#how to write #writing advice #native americans #cultural appropriation #representation #long post #but please do read it #I worked on this all day

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keelywolfe · 5 years

Text

FIC: Bedside Stories ch.3 (baon)

Summary: Edge is finally home, ready for a week of relaxation and healing! Yeah, about that...

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury,

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

So, thing was, Stretch loved Edge. Like, really loved him. It was hard to believe a few years ago if he’d stumbled across Edge drowning in a lake, he probably would have offered him a nice glass of ice water. To be honest, Stretch didn’t even like to think about those days because it had a lot less to do with Edge and a hell of a lot more to do with him being a raging dick, but eh, it happened, they’d worked through the hedge maze of their issues, and the prize at the center was finding the love of his life.

A few bumps in the road didn’t change that, a little stupidity shared on both sides. He loved Edge, Edge loved him and that was a fact.

So it was kinda nostalgic, in a way, how much Stretch wanted to murder him.

Okay, not really, but he might’ve considered a little light maiming, if Edge already being maimed wasn’t the main issue at hand.

Literally zero people ever would be surprised that Captain Control Issues was a very shitty patient. Stretch liked to think that he personally raised annoying doctors until they cut him loose to a new artform, destined for museums and private galleries alike. But Edge, ah, he didn’t argue with doctors or nurses or brothers or husbands or whoever took the time to wander into his life to give some much needed medical advice, no sir.

What he did was politely allow them to state their piece and then completely ignore it and do whatever he decided was the best course of action instead, and if that ended up with him passed out on the bathroom floor that one time after a nasty bout of Monster flu, welp, next time he’d probably just try harder not to get caught.

The irony of him demanding to be able to take care of, oh, everyone and not allowing anyone to give back the favor was bitterly delicious.

Getting Edge to promise to behave was a pretty good first move, but that had problems of its own. To begin with, Edge tended not to give promises the weight that Stretch thought they deserved, and he didn’t much feel guilty if he decided it was in everyone’s best interest to break it.

Two, even if he was keeping to the letter of the promise that did not mean he couldn’t be an asshole about it.

Stretch could admit he’d probably been setting himself up for a fail by asking Blue to give them a ride home from the hospital. His reasoning for doing it made sense at the time; Blue was feeling a little left out by his big bro, so while Andy could’ve done it and would’ve probably rejoiced to be asked, Blue had been freaking ecstatic.

Problem was, there was only so much ecstasy to go around and Blue took up all the best shares.

The drive home was like getting served up a nice, rare slice of hell, with Blue chattering nonstop about how Edge needed to follow the doc’s directions and that he needed to listen to Papy, and that he’d be happy to come over and help out with chores and he could clean the kitchen, do laundry, whatever they needed, they only had to ask and Blue would be there in a flash, starry-eyed and ready to work!

Edge’s noncommittal grunts morphed into strained silence, then to something very nearly a subsonic growl of restrained murder, especially when Blue mentioned touching the kitchen. Stretch could only desperately go for the diversions, not an easy task when he was origamied into the tiny backseat, prying his knee out of his mouth long enough to change topics.

He’d felt like a batter at a baseball game filled with maniacal clowns that’d tied one hand behind his back so he was stuck desperately swinging at any ball that got hurled in his direction on the off chance he’d get the miracle of a home run.

The straw that finally broke his wounded camel’s back was Blue innocently asked if Edge had scheduled his mental health assessment yet, and that was interesting for two reasons; one, that he obviously hadn’t and two, that Stretch didn’t know about it, which was a little bit of bullshit. There was already one person in this relationship who liked to lie by omission, they didn’t need two.

“you need to get an assessment?” Stretch asked, cautiously, because he could read a room, thanks, “for what?”

After a long moment of deafening silence, Edge said, “Everyone involved in the incident is required before they return to work, and, no, I haven’t scheduled it yet.”

Stretch got the nuance in that right quick, he was pretty damn familiar with his baby’s quirks, and the growl layered under his voice meant, ‘I do not want to talk about this, so I cordially request you stop, lest I am forced to do something awful that I will feel guilty about for days.’

Shame Blue wasn’t fluent in Edge-ese, since he immediately started in, “Oh, but you should, it’s wonderful! I stayed for a few hours just to chat and--”

“I will get around to it!”

That snarl was loud enough to echo in the car and Stretch cringed as Blue fell silent. This...this sucked, this was awful, a parody of all the times Blue interceded when he and Edge were still at each other’s throats, only Stretch wasn’t nearly as damn good at it, he didn’t want his husband and his brother fighting, but anxiety was choking him as he tried to think of what to say to take things down a notch.

Blue beat him to it, saying with easy mildness, “All right.”

He snapped on the radio, and that he chose an easy listening channel that Edge was fond of was a pretty nice concession in Stretch’s opinion.

He wasn’t so sure Edge agreed. The car had barely stopped when Edge was out the door, simmering gently while he waited for Stretch unfold himself from the backseat and get his crutches out of the trunk. Stretch only offered them silently, watching as his husband bumped his way up to the porch, balancing awkwardly on one leg to unlock the door, which he shut firmly behind him.

Okay, yeah, got that loud and clear.

Seemed like Blue wasn’t as oblivious to the early stages of homicide in the air as Stretch thought, because he didn’t follow, only left the car running as he got out. It was so frustrating, Blue’s heart was always in the right place and damn if there was anything Stretch could think to do about the sadness in his smile as he said, “Why don’t I just bring over a casserole later?”

“that’d be great, bro,” Stretch said honestly, even as he waffled helplessly. He knelt and pulled him in for a hug, holding on tight. That Blue snuggled in happily made him feel a little better, and he whispered against the side of his brother’s skull, “keep me from trying to burn down the kitchen making dinner.”

Blue nodded, his chin digging into Stretch’s shoulder. “Tell Edge I hope he feels better soon? And if you do need anything, please call.”

“i will,” Stretch promised, then lingering outside to watch his brother drive away. Only then did he go in and that was when the real battle began.

Here he was, ready and willing to give his baby anything and everything he could possibly need to help him heal and what the survey was coming back with was that what Edge wanted was absolutely nothing.

Help getting into the shower? Nope. Help propping his leg up on the precise stack of pillows he’d insisted on making himself? Nada. Food at least he took with grudging thanks, eating it with sharp, precise bites while he sat glaring at either the television or his phone. Stretch almost told him if he didn’t pay attention, he was gonna bite off a finger, but eh, there were times when it didn’t pay to test your luck.

Three days in and about the only thing Stretch could be grateful for was that they didn’t have any hair because both of them would’ve been ripping it out in handfuls by now. If Edge was going stir-crazy in slow increments, then Stretch was just plain going nuts. He was sick of watching the news, sick and sickened, all the debates back and forth about the responsibility of Monsters for what’d happened. Two Humans died in the explosion, but no Monsters had and somehow people were adding two plus none and getting bullshit because conspiracy theories were sprouting up like daisies over that. Even worse, since the trip hadn’t been advertised all the junk blogs were howling about deception and plots. Like any other ambassador for any other country went on the press junket before they went out of town?

It was all so stupid and Edge was working on jittering his way to bonkers because he wasn’t allowed to do anything about it. Normally Edge didn’t need much in the way of sleep, but that didn’t apply so much when his body was trying to heal. He should be getting plenty of rest, snoozing away in their bed with Stretch cozied in next to him or sprawled out on the sofa, his leg safely propped up while some ancient black and white movie rambled on in the background. Instead, he was staying up way too late watching the damn news, and if Stretch had known Edge was going to be laser focused it, he would have blocked the stupid channels. Shadows were starting to show under his sockets, faint reddish stains and yeah, he was keeping off his feet, but it wasn’t like the doc knew he was supposed to order Edge to sleep. His fault for assuming the Director of Operations for the Monster Embassy had the common sense of a baby moldsmal.

The fourth day was kicker.

Stretch’s pitiful cooking skills were getting one hell of a workout since he didn’t want Edge to have to live on casseroles and frozen leftovers the whole time he was convalescing. Grilled cheese at least he could manage, he’d helped Edge make it often enough, and he forced himself to stay right by the stove while it was cooking, no wandering off for one second, no quick check of his twitter. He stared that toasting bread down until he was golden perfection. Okay, yeah, the cheese was sort of oozing out of the sides but close enough. That along with some of Edge’s homemade tomato soup was a pretty good lunch and Stretch carefully put it all on a tray to take it out to the living room.

Edge was sitting exactly where he’d been for the past three days, in the corner of the sofa with his cast propped up on a very precisely placed stack of pillows. The side table next to him was filled with pens and notebooks alongside scatterings of post-it notes. He was watching something on the tv with painful intensity, scribbling furiously.

It was hard not to snap at him that he wasn’t supposed to be working, especially since he technically wasn’t because nothing he was doing was getting to any of the folks at the Embassy. Frankly that only made it more irritating, all this stress was for nothing.

“hey, it’s about that time,” Stretch said with forced cheer, carrying the tray over.

“I’m not hungry,” Edge said curtly. He didn’t look up, still writing furiously.

“except you should be, because you barely ate this morning,” Stretch said, calling on reserves of patience that he’d been storing up since he heard Edge would need to stay home for a week.

That only got him a scowl add-in, free of charge, “I don’t want them, I’m fine.”

Stretch gritted his teeth and breathed out through them. “except for how you’re totally not fine. you have a leg that is barely healed from being broken and you need to eat something so you can take your meds.”

“I’m not hungry and I don’t need them right now,” Edge repeated, sharper. “I’m trying to listen to this.”

For fuck’s sake, it reminded him of Blue when he was a toddler and didn’t want to stop playing even for lunch, but the brief mental picture of Red trying to deal with a stubborn babybones Edge wasn’t enough to calm Stretch’s growing irritation. “except you don’t need to listen to it, you’re off the clock. what you do need is to eat something and take your pills per the doctor’s instructions because you told me you would. you promised me.”

Intellectually, Stretch knew what came next was an accident. Edge was only gesturing, a sudden, fierce sweep of his arm filled with all his frustrations that was supposed to punctuate a snarl of what he thought about doctors and promises, and fuckall else that was bringing him down. He didn’t mean to clip the side of the tray, sending soup and sandwiches flying. Totally an accident and that was the truth.

That didn’t stop Stretch from yelping in surprise as he was promptly covered from brow bone to crotch with soup. It didn’t hurt or anything, it wasn’t that hot, but he could only stand there, stunned, blinking at Edge who looked equally shocked through a dripping curtain of tomato.

Okay, yeah, looked like here was a good place for a time out.

Silently, Stretch turned on heel and went right back into the kitchen, ignoring Edge calling his name. He snagged a dish towel and wiped off his soupy face, then tried the same with his sweatshirt and pants as much as he could.

Through the door, he could hear the thump and bump of a skeleton on crutches, Edge would be coming through it any second now.

Stretch didn’t wait around for it. He shortcutted out, even though that was a surefire guarantee that he’d never get the damn stains out of his sweatshirt; apparently a trip through the void made it a lot harder to shout it out.

He only went as far as the porch, dusting the tiny drift of snow off the steps to sit down as he pulled out a pack of smokes. He lit one, inhaling deeply and letting the soothing nicotine wash over him, easing the low simmer of his temper. He couldn’t help being a little amused that it tasted a bit like tomato soup.

The cigarette was nearly burned down to the filter by the time the front door opened. Stretch didn’t look up as Edge limped out, standing behind him, leaning heavily on his crutches as he said softly, “I’m sorry.”

Stretch exhaled a cloud of smoke and said, “gonna need more specifics than that. sorry for redecorating my shirt? sorry for being a shit? sorry for working your ass off when you’re supposed to be resting?”

There was a long silence, the crutches creaking as Edge shifted his weight. “Am I allowed to choose all of the above?”

Wasn’t possible to hide his smile and Stretch could nearly feel the tension easing in the air, “sure. can you come down here?”

“Yes, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to get back up.”

Carefully, Edge eased his way down, his casted foot stretched out in front of him as he settled on the stairs next to Stretch. Not that they stayed next to each other for long, Stretch went ahead and curled around him from the side angle, one leg across his lap and the other knee braced against Edge’s spine. Made it easy to wrap his arms around his baby and pull him in close, pressing a kiss against the side of his skull.

He cupped a hand at the back of Edge’s skull, smoothing along the curve with his thumb. “babe, i know you’re trying to help, but you really need to take care of yourself first. you’re supposed to let me help you, you know?”

Edge leaned into his touch, but his words were firm as he said, “I need to do this.”

“why?”

“I need New New Home to be safe, I need you to be safe.” It almost sounded like a confession and Stretch wondered what was going on in his husband’s beautiful, battered skull. How much he was beating himself up for what happened, because, what, he couldn’t predict the future?

“baby, i need you to be safe, too. safe and healthy and taken care of, no,” Stretch insisted when Edge tried to interrupt. “listen to me now. i let you run a little wild with the protectiveness because i know it’s something you need, okay, but, we’re married, full partnership. that means sometimes i protect you and take care of you, i don’t give a shit what nonsense red’s pounded into your skull. it’s my turn now.”

He waited until Edge nodded, reluctantly but it was there. “and i get that you need to see what’s going on with the embassy, but you aren’t going to be any good to them if you go back exhausted. you need to take care of yourself. let me help. turn off the tv for the day, hide your phone in your desk, and get some rest.

For a long moment there was nothing but the hush that came with lightly falling snow, then Edge sighed heavily, “Okay. “ He swallowed hard and the dregs of shame in his voice made an ache rise in Stretch’s soul as he said, softly, “I feel like I’m doing everything wrong for you lately.”

Stretch pressed a rough kiss against the side of Edge’s skull, breathed in hard the scent of his magic faintly tainted with tomato. “might feel that way, but you’re not, babe. i promise. come on, let’s try something different, yeah?

He helped Edge wobble to his feet and followed him inside, biting back a couple choice words when he saw Edge’d already cleaned up the soup disaster. Not worth an argument and Edge did let him help to get settled on the sofa, his cast propped up on its pillow nest.

“comfortable? in any pain?” For once he wasn’t going to fuss about the pain meds.

“Yes and no, in that order.

“Great.” And without preamble, Stretch pulled his sweatshirt over his head, then pushed his track pants down to puddle at his feet. Didn’t bother to try for seductive, there wasn’t much need, anyway. Edge was usually seduced by him breathing, proved it by staring with wide sockets as Stretch sauntered over. “think you could use a distraction, don’t you?”

“I...yes. Yes.” The word shifted closer to a moan as Stretch straddled him, and he could say with a good amount of smug pride that very soon, Edge was pretty damn distracted.

Afterward, while Edge was sleeping peacefully on the sofa, Stretch went upstairs for some fresh clothes, taking a second to scrub the last dregs of tomato off his bones, ugh, used soup wasn’t much of an aphrodisiac, but he’d made do. Letting it linger like the world’s worst perfume was out of the question, though, people downwind would think he was Sans. He scribbled a quick note to leave on the coffee table and paused, looking down at his husband.

The blanket rose and fell with every breath, and beneath it, Edge was still bare to his bones. His sockets were finally closed in sleep, all the tight stress-lines on his face eased, making him seem oddly young, or maybe just his age. Looking at him, Stretch felt a surge of love so strong it made tears sting. He leaned down and pressed the lightest kiss against Edge’s forehead, the softest touch. He didn’t stir, days of exhaustion catching up to him, although Stretch liked to think it had something to do with the last pleasant hour, too.

He left Edge sleeping and headed out to the bus stop, settling into his seat as the bus droned on to Ebott. There was someone who owed him a favor and Stretch was about to call it in.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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alyseofwonderland · 5 years

Text

Alyse Reads The Goldfinch, Part 2

What follows is my best attempt at liveblogging. I had the books as an audiobook in hopes that I could keep it from taking even more of my life from me. This was perhaps a mistake. I think I broke Siri trying to make notes. The notes that are rambly are the ones I dictated.

I entirely blame @rollono for my suffering. But I am also aware that it seems to give her joy.

Every time I reference Tara, I am talking about @wellntruly who’s own live blog of the book was the only roadmap I had to follow in this waterlogged wasteland of a novel.

Part 1

I thought Tara was making up the Camel-hair coat bit but APPARENTLY NOT.

Architecture has that much to do with the city and or northern Europe, really? I mean, “whitewash” doesn't everybody do that?

Nina ( @proud-librarian ) is going to have a lot to say about their descriptions of the Netherlands and Amsterdam in this book. like oh my God!

Theo Deckard doesn't understand how thermostats work.

This isn't satire? I don't understand we're like three minutes in and it has to be satire. right. right?

Who the hell says my mother and I didn't like my father much? like what.... what is this? what am I reading? what is happening? what.... I don't understand.... okay maybe fine whatever

This feels like it should be... I don't know.... satire is the word I'm looking for again. I don't want to just repeat what Tara, said but Jesus. the start of the story is he is rich enough to have a Doorman but not rich enough to afford the fancy private school, and him and his friends break into vacation homes in the Hamptons. what is this? what is this? I just... just.... just write a Jane Austen or Lord Byron novel if that's what you want to do just do that. do that.

My audiobook app just turned itself off in the middle of a passage because it decided I didn't need to listen to Theo talk about whatever he was talking about.

Curse you, Donna Tartt, for also being in the "all things coconut smell like suntan lotion" club. I did not want to have this in common with you.

I am laughing so hard it turns silent into my steering wheel because the audiobook reader makes Tom Cable sound like a surfer dude from the 70s, and I. cannot. handle. that.

"I like to think of myself as a perceptive person" is basically the way that I know that Theo has about Harry Potter level skills of observation when it comes to the people around him.

Y'all this book would be so much better if Theo actually thought like a 13-year-old that he is supposed to be in the intro part. That would just be peak comedy, which is really what I'm looking for.

Audrey Decker and the Laura Moon from American gods are now the two people that I have ever known to call men "puppy" which I still find alarming, in both cases. Surprisingly they also both die, so I guess more things they have in common.

The longer this book goes on the more clear it is that I am not bougie enough for its contents. ( timestamp 30 minutes)

(GIF BY @rollono BY MY REQUEST FOR EVERY TIME THIS BOOK MAKES ME FEEL POOR)

I just can't suspend my disbelief enough to think that a 13-year-old would know this much about their parent's job and be able to ask questions. I'm trying to think of what my dad was doing when I was 13, and I mean I know where he worked, and I know who his boss was, but if you tried to ask me daily issues or me giving advice... oh my gosh. I just can't. nobody talks like this.

I’m making a face akin to Kermit the frog.

I threw up in my mouth a little at the description of Pippa walking past in the museum.

Did we just describe a 12-year-old girl's arms as marble? is that what just happened? did I just have to listen to that?

Theo has given me a lot of like “Golden State killer” vibes right now with his desire to poke around through all these people's homes and stuff. like this is clearly the Visalia ransacker's motivation in the 70s. I know too much about true crime, that's what's happening right now.

The true-crime serial killer alarms keep going off in my brain.

I know Tara already mentioned how ridiculous the Murphys bed story is but it really is incredibly ridiculous and breaks the tension of the entire scene that is occurring at the time (laughed uncontrollably to the point that Siri typed nonsense)

I get it, Donna, you know things. You do not have list every fire truck to prove it.

Let's take a child to a dinner at 3 am. Really Donna?

Why does Donna insist on giving me the text of signs around whats going on? Why did I just listen to the smoothie specials while an emotional scene is occurring?

Donna, did you just call Mrs. Barough a weasel? [afronted gasp]

OI! (me shouting when Donna says that Andy was weird for being lactose intolerant.)

Pukes in my mouth a little at the term 'high verbal'. I get it, Donna, you think you are smarter than all of us stop being a dick.

Donna Tartt would make it to r/iamverysmart in like a minute if she understood how the internet worked.

WHO TAUGHT HER ABOUT FMA?

Okay, so either Donna Tartt knows someone who lost a parent and basing this off them or like went through it herself because I am white-knuckling through the grief bits trying not to have my own trauma response to the situation. Or she wrote Theo with like the exact grief I had. Her incessant need to list things in a room is the only thing between me and a spiral of remembering my dad's death.

ANDY IS A RAY OF LIGHT AND DOES NOT DESERVE TO BE IN THIS FAMILY OR IN THIS BOOK!

Five whole hours before the first sight of Hobie. Like Jesus.

I miss Terry Pratchett.

Hobie thank you for making this book interesting again.

Hobie is now my main squeeze and I won't hear a word against him.

POE DIDN'T INVENT SCIENCE FICTION FUCKING MARY SHELLY DID. DONNA WHAT THE FUCK.

The Hobie part of the story just makes me more sure that a version of the movie should have been without the Baroughers (sp?) and only included Hobie and Pippa.

Any is a murderino. I love this baby boy.

Aw, I love Hobie so so much.

Donna if you call Andy annoying one more time you are gonna catch my hands. (She just referred to his voice as annoying twice in a conversation and I swear to god I will rip this character out of her snobbish clutches she doesn't deserve him.)

Theo on this we agree, I too enjoy Hobie.

Hobie is the only person who belongs in this novel and he's a god damn delight.

SEVEN HOURS AND THE PAINTING HAS COME UP AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LITERAL HOURS.

Theo straight up using Spanish to fuck over his father is just *chef's kiss.

I can see how much contempt Donna has for Xandra is longer and deeper than this book will ever be.

I am going to suplex Larry Decker I swear to god. (i have a very particular trigger to spouses bad-mouthing the dead one due to personal experience.)

Necco wafers are no one's favorite candy Donna. You can't just say shit like that and expect anyone to believe you.

I have just realized that Donna Tartt has never been to a public library. How do I know? Witchcraft books are never on the shelves. Ask any librarian. They are stolen pretty much the moment we buy them.

I am standing dead in the tea aisle at the store because Theo just thought it would be “gay” to tell the doormen he has known almost his whole life he is gonna miss them. (hours later I realize this is her backtracking in edits going "shit shit shit I have to add the repression in somewhere for those dumb readers that don't understand art" and I hate it more.)

Mrs. B is ready to physically fight Larry and I would pay real money to see it.

WHY DOES DONNA KNOW ABOUT DRAGON BALL Z?!? Step away from the things I love Donna I don't trust you near my media. (Also why she does reference it she clearly has NO concept of what DBZ hair would even look like to expect me to believe any child could achieve it.)

oh my god, Boris. I'm so happy to see you.

I am happy to report the audiobook narrator does not do an Australian accent for Boris. Thank the lord.

I knew I was going to love Boris but like a few minutes in I adore him.

It's interesting to me that Theo and Boris seem to have received similar amounts of attention/affection from non-parent adults, but while Theo finds it uncomfortable Boris soaks it in.

The Australian part of Boris's accent seems impossible.

*sobbing audibly into my keyboard* Popchyck

Boris you sweet like socialist.

Comrade Boris we need you in this election.

I'm sad he (Boris) doesn't get to go to college and like piss off every yuppie and hippie, and just make Philosophy 100 and Government 250 absolute hell for everyone.

Drunk Boris at Thanksgiving is a gift.

Me listening to this book before Boris: half paying attention, fucking around on my computer, doing chores. Me after Boris shows up: staring at the middle distance determined to listen to every fucking word because this prison sentence of a novel is finally interesting.

James: you said the author is a snob and you aren't enjoying the main character. Me: yeah James: then stop reading it. Me: No, then Donna and her Anna Wintour knock off hair cut will win. James, frowning and backing out of the room: k sweetie.

6:30 am is too early to hear Theo Decker describe his bed as "our bed"

I WAS RIGHT. Boris belongs in college making every American white kid absolutely furious in every Poli-sci.

Larry Decker calling Theo and Boris his "kids" made my heart skip a beat.

So the nurse notices they don't have vitamins and smell but doesn't call child services. I mean I know that I learned that school nurses are less likely to call CFS on white kids than they are on black kids but like god damn.

The sheer salt of Theo refusing to learn the name of Boris’s girlfriend is so hilarious.

Now *this* is gay.

The truth is Theo is ready to cut a bitch.

Fellas is it gay to do shots while your boyfriend talks about his girlfriend?

Theo trying to set up Boris with like a nice polite girl who won't fuck him is fucking hilarious. This poor baby gay.

Theo (and Donna cuz she writes him) have never heard of learning disabilities and I will legit throw down.

LARRY IS A SCORPIO IN CANON?! I thought that was something from the fan fics. omg Ally hates this.

No one wears white sport coats Donna stop trying to make it happen.

Boris totally knows what's going on with Larry and he's just trying to look out for Theo because he loves Theo but oh my gosh Boris why do you make me feel so many feelings!

Please, Donna, I am begging you to stop telling me what the light from the sun looks like at different times of the day. I just can't take it anymore. Every scene of Theo in Xandra's house does not need the qualifier of what type of sunlight he is seeing. Some times fine. But every time?

My entire stomach just dropped when I realized what Boris has done, and I'm just I'm so sad. this is not how I wanna start my commute to work today.

I have just had my first moments of being very proud of Donna's writing, because long long time ago, in the same chapter, she had the bit about how Xandra will say "apparently" when she's being bitchy with Theo and now in a conversation where Theo isn't paying attention to her she says "apparently" to Larry and I just had to stop and say this, this is the writing I'm looking for Donna. This is clever and interesting and I LIKED IT. Stop making lists and do more of this.

Friendship ended with Book Boris, Movie Boris is my best friend now.

I don't understand how the director and the screenwriter of the film could move who said those lines and then not make it gay. Like, commit to your choice.

My mom: You finish that book yet? Me, angrily: No. My mom slightly worried: do you like it? Me: unclear.

NEW CHAPTER!

Theo, I need you calm all the way down when you are looking at Pippa.

Love this lawyer. I want to be his friend.

God poor Pippa. All the shit she goes through and she still has to put up with Theo's weird obsession.

Theo, you slid right back into the serial killer habits in a second and I want you to stop it.

Oh god, I feel that in my soul. Like "no sir you have it wrong I look more like the parent I like best." (also I do look more like my dad. like way more like him)

I am begging someone to get Theo some kind of hobby or help or something so he stops acting like a victorian ghost.

I am gonna have to get the actual book so I can see what weird spelling is going on with the text messages. I just know its weird. The narrator does it in such a weird voice.

We spent so much time dealing with emotional issues and other whatnot that going back to the bit about the painting feels like a huge tonal shift in the book. I'm like staggering around confused.

Literally no one uses strawberry shampoo.

Love that Theo ‘s final plan is the one Andy purposed an eon ago.

Salty that Theo is getting the cool college experience that Boris would have crushed. I would have paid good money to watch him make the philosophy department cry.

[kermit in the car gif]

Yo! Theo struggling to deal with school is like exactly my semester after my dad died.

The adults attempting to force him into different living arrangements is so what we dealt with post my dad’s death.

Grisha! (Russians the only people I trust atm)

Tara was right, Andy's death comes off like a joke!

I gotta say, Crime Theo is my favorite Theo so far.

I don't know which serial killer Donna was channeling to write the parts about Theo being obsessed with Pippa, but it is just so intensely a serial killer vibe I cannot even begin to describe the look on my face; the feelings I'm having. I'm just like this man is going to kill someone. he's going to kill a lot of people. not only that it's going to be a lot of women because he doesn't view them as people. that's what I'm getting from this it's. Theo doesn't think women are people.

If Theo was on reddit he would be part of r/niceguys and r/iamverysmart.

If I have to listen to him drone on about his fantasies of Pippa for one more minute I will kill myself in the baking aisle of Aldis.

HES HOARDING HER HAIR?! HER UNWASHED CLOTHES?!? Please someone put him in jail.

[the sound of me throwing up in the frozen food section as Theo describes Kitsey]

Donna don’t try to act like you didn’t add that foreshadowing yourself about Andy. You crack me up you relentlessly snob.

How is Theo just The Worst all the time?

Theo freaking out because two gay guys know what’s up with him is just *chef’s kiss

Me having seen only the movie: Theo and Boris should get redemption and a romance run away. Me now: [ gif of “Ive had enough of this guy” from IASIP]

I mean I understand that John Crawley was a coward in so many of his directorial choices, but the fact that he didn't put the second meeting of Theo and this Lucius guy into a crowded weird restaurant where they're both getting hit by the waiters as they go past is just the weakest move you could've made. because this makes it so much funnier.

I'm with Hobie.

honestly this book should've just been 20 hours of art crime and like to shave off a good 10 hours of LISTS because that's what 10 hours is. give me 20 hours of art crime. I would love to watch each sale happen that would've been riveting to read but instead.... this.

Bish, you like those earrings or I will cut you.

Theo salty, while Kitsey picks out new china, is so fucking hilarious.

him just like "why are we buying new plates when my job is literally to find plates that were made by craftsmen?!?!” but being too fucking repressed in his bullshit to say anything, so he just making some poor sales lady suffer.

my friend Ally: “Theo’s repression makes everyone suffer is a good summary of the book.”

Alternative version of this book that would have been 8 million times better: Theo gets into art crimes but is also a serial killer. We don't know the second bit but it begins to start dawning on us as women seem to disappear from his social circles and weird hints of thoughts about blood and rivers. Bonus points if it ends with him on the run from the law with his only vaguely criminal (by comparison to serial killer Theo) boyfriend. We are left to wonder if they will be gunned down in the chase or if perhaps there will be one more body to great the river.

Theo's textbook serial killer nonsense is only comparable to the sheer petty gay energy he gives off.

The power trip he gets from being like "hahaha yes I have bagged the ice princess who wanted nothing to do with me when we were kids" is just so gross and hilarious.

Theo realizing he is not the only sociopath in the room is just *chef's kiss.

Boris, did you really send some guy to just watch your ex?

Boris, I am begging you. You have made Grisha so upset.

Donna shying away from describing Boris comes off, if you don't know who we are talking about, as weird and slightly racist.

You have the internet Theo, you can look up when movies are going to start. You are not living on the moors.

HOW IS THIS BOOK NOT A SATIRE OF AMERICAN PYSCHO FOR PEOPLE THAT HAVE BONERS FOR ANTIQUES?!?

Boris returns. I have almost forgiven him for what he put me through.

Maybe "fuck you" can be our always.

*tries not to cry when I realize that Boris' friends have heard about Theo

bless Aneurin for everything he did for this reunion in the movie.

Why is Boris such a slut? Why will I forgive him for anything?

Is it gay to think about the guy you used to jack off as handsome when you meet each other again?

Genetics means those kids can't be Boris' unless his mother was blonde. (Theo kind of agrees.)

My soul has left my body at the concept of Boris having a wife and kids.

I'm not saying I endorse crime, I'm just saying a mobster front with a pun in the name is really on-brand for me.

Knowing what I Know. That Boris thinks Theo is gonna try to kill him when they go for the "surprise" just makes the whole thing so tragic and sad.

Boris and his dog REUNITED AT LAST. I'm not crying. I'm fine.

Interesting that the next story we hear is about Gyuri's dead "brother" right after Boris says that Theo is "blood of his heart, his brother". Like. I might not be the biggest history buff in the world but I know gay code when I see it.

I mean I knew this was gonna happen, but I can't help but feel personally betrayed by Boris once again.

Donna, stay away from stuff about computers. Your attempts to use them make me, a technology expert, cringe.

Boris like "you don't deserve this dog. I deserve this dog."

"Babe I get that you are a WASP at heart but I need you to fight with me like a Russian now." - Boris to his disaster husband

"Did I lie?" "YES" (me laughing so hard I'm practically crying)

why does no one in this book appear to exchange numbers or like airdrop contact info.

Does Donna think that people only have iPhones?

Ally who is CTRL F reading this book "'Every few hundred pages she's like 'oh yeah, it's modern times...they're texting and there's emojis!' Seriously, there was the mention of emoji's and my soul escaped my body for a minute because it had no tether to time or space" @aces-low

Off the top of my head, the name that Donna is not saying for this Horace to guy is Volkswagen.

Instead of being in the mob Boris should run an animal shelter.

Boris being Bitchy and jelly when Theo is talking to the German guy is just so cute. You two deserve each other with your weird shit.

If Donna wasn't a coward this book would have had Theo just getting eyeballs deep in art crime with Boris and his associates.

Adding a sin for making me listen to whatever that just was.

Things Donna forgot to list in "girl food": chicken wings, bread, rolls, other types of bread, garlic bread, a bit more bread, maybe cookies, eight more cookies, 20 more cookies, every type of chocolate humanly imaginable, jam, and barbecue ribs.

What do ankles have to do with being attractive?!?!?! this isn't the Victorian age!

(from Ally re this comment: “I'm now convinced that every day Donna sat down to write this book she spun a wheel with different years on it, and that's the year the book was set that day”)

I didn't mind Kitsey cheating on Theo, because he doesn't even really like her. Until just now, when I realized that Mrs. B knows about it and she's keeping it from Theo, and my heart broke into 1 trillion pieces. she is the closest thing he has to a mother and he realized that she kept it from him, and I should not be crying in my car before my special Valentine night dinner.

James just walked in during a part describing Pippa and goes "Men writing women, huh?" and I had to pause the book, turn to him and say "a woman wrote this" and he just looks at me like 0_0

Mrs. B clutching Theo's hand so he won't leave her alone with Smalltalk-old-man is honestly the cutest thing in this entire book.

Hobie being able to be spotted from a distance at all times! I have a friend who is 6'5" and we can find him in crowds so easily!

Perhaps the funniest moment of this book is Theo saying "if girls loved assholes then Pippa would love me". buddy I'm going to post this entire book to r/niceguys

I WANT MORE ART CRIME! Why did you make me listen to 15 hours of boring nonsense when we could have had ART CRIME!

I deeply enjoy Boris's commitment to being a dramatic goofball, falling to his knees just be annoying.

Movie Boris appears in a dramatic way. Book Boris is just like there and also shoving food in his face and walking out of the party still eating all the food he just put in his cheeks like a chipmunk.

Hobie just like "if you want to run off with your gay love i'll cover."

Theodor Decker you get back in there and make sure that thief stays away from Nicole Kidman she has been through enough already!

Theo, I know that you don't actually have brains for anything besides drugs, crimes, being weird about women, and your own ass, but you could at least listen when people speak.

Theo is such a mess. He doesn't belong in modern times. He deserves to be Jack the Ripper.

I know the narrator is saying croissant the "correct" way. But every single time it happens I'm so fucking confused because who just leans into a french accent that hard for a single word?

Theo offers an actual good idea that Boris is going to use later and they all look at him like he's crazy.

I know "my brand" is "man holding gun" but listening to Boris assemble a gun I'm like "oh goodness I need to lay down". *fans self

Theo suddenly "I have made a huge mistake"

It's interesting to me how reluctant Boris is to make Theo a larger part of the heist. Theo reads it as frustrating but I read it like a kind of care and affection. He doesn't want his friend mixed up in something he can't handle, despite the fact that he wants Theo close so he can get him the painting back.

I see now why the heist in the movie was so fucking confusing. You need the Horst stuff and like a bunch of other nonsense that does not translate well to screen unless you re-write all the connections, which John Crowley was not willing to do.

Really love the "women drop their mark the first time" bit.

me: Theo I swear to god stop being high and sick in your room and go get some actual clothes and medication or at least don't make me listen to so much of it

this book is not 30 hours long. its 15 hours of a book and 15 hours of Donna going "gotta get that word count up or people with think I'm weak". Please, Donna. I don't need to hear this one thing happen for so long. It adds nothing to the tone, the themes, the plot, or the ambiance. You are just writing words for words sake.

The first suicide note was so well crafted that I honestly want Theo to kill himself now. If he can manage to write the others pretty okay I will be happy with this ending.

Don’t think I didn’t notice that the ghost of a dead loved one appeared on Christmas Eve.

I'm sorry who doesn't respond to "didn't you get my text?" with "my phone was dead" instantly?

me listening to Theo throw a tantrum at Boris because neither of them is capable of explaining themselves and like speaking as normal humans do: "It would have been better if Theo died"

Why must I be forced to listen to Donna make these scenes longer because these people don't talk like people?

Thud by Terry Pratchett does a much much better job of asking the question "can we trust our hearts and be the person we want to be?" And it honestly gives a better answer. And has you know, clever writing.

I thought it was like Over. I did. I was like "oh this is it wrapping up" ONLY THERE IS 30 MORE MINUTES AND I WANT TO SCREAM!

Me certain the book is over: i mean maybe this is a good ending

Me seeing i still have 30 more minutes: this is the worst book ever

This book held me fucking captive for over a week and all it left me with was like a few good lines, burning hatred for the main character, and the desire to go into Donna's home and rearrange all her stuff.

also, I now hate antiques. out of spite.

don't read The Goldfinch. it's not worth it y’all.

#jabberwockytalkies #words #donna tartt i just wanna talk #the goldfinch #alyse watches stupid movies #theodore decker #boris pavlikovsky #larry decker #xandra #donna tartt #this book beat me up and took my money and my will to put up with men

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andrina-the-amazingsupergenius · 4 years

Text

No Mourners || Rowdy N Randy

Summary: Andrina and Rob Triton blow this Popsicle stand-- see ya later, suckers.

@n0ttinghamshad0w

ROB Rob got a text from an unknown number. It was three words. It changed everything. We got him. He knew immediately it was Joan. That Joan was talkin’ about Fakhir. That somehow — somehow — they’d gotten Fakhir out of prison. Whether the money Rob had wired ‘em had sponsored a lawyer or somehow busted him out. Where, Rob texted back. The next answer was coordinates. A date. All in a code that they’d made up long ago. Rob committed it to memory. He needed to leave town. He was overdue to leave town. He’d gotten comfortable here, settled. This text was a jolt. A reminder that he wasn’t ever supposed to be in Swynlake that long. He needed to do something about it. He needed to leave. He filed that thought away and went to dinner with the Triton family. After that pretty uneventful dinner — and the very eventful aftermath — Rob lay on the mattress he called a bed, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, smokin’ a cigarette. He thought of the text. He turned to Andrina who was sitting besides him, shifting so he was on his side. “Hey, I need to get out of town,” he said. “Soon as possible, actually. And I can’t come back. Not for a long time at least.” He paused. “Wanna come?” Even after the fight, he thought she might say no. She did have her family here, after all, and family bonds ran deep. Asking her to pick up everything she’d ever known and never come back was somethin’ big. Well, not that she couldn’t come back. But he couldn’t. Not for a long time at least. If he had doubt, though, it didn’t show on his face, as he smiled and took another drag.

ANDRINA Andrina was going to leave Swynlake.

The anger that fueled her throughout her confrontation with Tina hadn’t left yet. Instead, it tunneled ever deeper through her, becoming a permanent part of Andrina Triton. Because with the anger came freedom. She had realized as she stalked home-- well, to Rob’s place-- that if she truly no longer gave a fuck about her sisters’ feelings, there was nothing that she couldn’t do. She could quit her job at Whosits and Whatsits, which she only did to make Daddy happy. She could move out of her apartment and crash with Rob, because she spent enough time with him anyway. She could refuse to come to family dinners every single fucking day of the week. No more checking in, more more ‘reporting for duty, mister!’, no more movie nights where her sisters squabble for literally a half hour over someone’s choice. She didn’t have to, not anymore. Would her sisters hate her? Maybe. But hey, not giving a fuck, remember! There was a new Andrina here, one waiting to burst forth from her cocoon after so many years of suffocating. What did an Andrina who was not beholden to the Tritons look like? Did she get more shit done? Did she laugh more? Was she happier? Andy got to find out. So actually what Andy was doing while in Rob’s bed was looking at cruises online. She’d never been on a cruise before, but it sounded like the kind of thing that was up her alley. What better way to fuck off from Swynlake for a week or two and come back rejuvenated? Attina hated her little Blackpool stunt? Well how about a little jaunt through the Caribbean! Rob would come with her. They’d dance and fuck and steal the left earrings off all the rich ladies. They’d eat an unlimited supply of frozen yogurt. Maybe they’d stay on the islands, who knows! Then Rob, like he was reading her mind, propositioned her before she could proposition him. Her eyebrows raised. “Are you cheating off me?” Andy said and, giggling, she playfully moved her phone against her chest as if she was hiding her answers. “I was literally just looking for some way to fuck off. Granted, I was thinking more of the honeymoon variety but…” she tossed her phone to the edge of the bed and then clambered onto his lap, her thighs on either side. “Whatcha thinking?” She pressed the pad of her thumb in the middle of Rob’s sexy, bushy brows. “You have your plotting face on. Is it illegal?” Rob “Nah,” said Rob after he’d laughed and let out a little sigh of relief he didn’t even know he had in him. He rested his hands on Andrina’s legs, lookin’ up at her, his back against the wall. “Well. Okay, we wouldn’t be doin’ anything illegal.” Yet. Actually I don’t know all the details, but long story short, one of my mates was in prison and now he’s not and the whole gang’s finally in a place where we can meet up. Well not the whole gang…” This was more about his life than he’d ever divulged. If Andrina was gonna skip town with him and meet Fakhir and Joan and Martin, then, well, he might as well tell her. “Most of ‘em except Tuck, who’s studyin’ to be a priest or somethin’ — but the rest of ‘em are my crew from back in the day.” His fingers danced up her thigh, fiddling with the hem of her shorts, findin’ somethin’ to do so he didn’t feel as… exposed as he did. “But it’s Joan and Martin and Fakhir — he’s the one outta prison. Which wasn’t a stealin’ things thing so much as it was a wrong place, wrong time thing.” He chuckled, “But yeah, always meant to use this place as a pit stop before we all got back together to pull off more jobs. And if you’re comin’ along we can dream a little bigger.” He sat up a little straighter, leaning towards her, almost like he was gonna kiss her. “I always wanted to rob a private museum. Or a billionaire with a fancy security system. Need a full team for that, though.” He caught her lip between his teeth, pullin’ her closer. “First step’s gettin’ to bloody Croatia though. So y’know, actually a pretty lovely honeymoon destination.”

ANDRINA Andrina had never heard any of these names before. They belonged to pre-Rob-Triton. To a pre-Rob-in-Swynlake, even. This was him before, the man who Andrina had only ever glimpsed. The mystery of that Rob had absolutely been part of not only his appeal, but the appeal of the different skills he offered her. Learning how to pickpocket, to pick locks, to plan a robbery--these were all roads into his mystery. Andrina didn’t actually want to know, by the way, the answer. But she liked being part of the mystery as it unraveled or got more complicated. And this was definitely a handful of new clues. Look at all the people who knew her husband undoubtedly better than Andrina herself. She wanted to meet them. Actually, she wanted them to meet her. She imagined wiggling her fingers and flashing that ring at their faces. She imagined pulling out her laptop and showing them what she could do. Would there be a place for her? It sounded like maybe there could be, if only temporarily. And in Croatia too. She’d never been there. Andrina tilted her head. Her hands trailed down Rob’s neck, brushed over his collarbone. She gripped his shoulders. They had sex like this often, Andrina fucking Rob into this grimy little mattress, watching him watch her. “I could get behind Croatia,” she said. One of her flirtiest smiles flashed across her face and she teased a little playful pout into her voice as she took on the role of silly girlfriend. “Did you tell them about me at all? D’you think they’d like me?”

ROB “They know about you,” said Rob, “though the ring’s gonna be a surprise.” He had, actually, told Joan and the lot about Andrina, though he hadn’t mentioned a name, just that there was a girl and she could get into any security system she wanted. That had been enough to impress the gang, though Rob was certain Joan’d think Andrina was hot. “May’ve been talkin’ you up for a time,” he admitted, kissin’ her on the neck. “Dinnit mention a name, though, security hazard an’ all. But you’re our key to steppin’ up to the next level — if you’re interested.” He still spoke a little cautiously, somethin’ deep inside of him afraid she’d laugh and tell him thanks, but no thanks. That he’d been a fun little adventure for a while, but now she was goin’ to get back to the things that really mattered to her. But she didn’t seem to want to back off. Andrina’s eyes glimmered. She looked interested. She looked — she looked like she was going to stay with him. For now. That was all that mattered, really. “But they’ll like you. If I like you, they’ll like you,” he said, kissin’ her on the mouth now. “We’ve, er, just got to leave as soon as we possibly can in order to make it to our rendezvous point on the specified date. Like within a day.

ANDRINA Well, Andrina liked to be the talk of the town. Or the talk of the Tritons. Or the talk of a criminal gang. She smirked, heart fluttering like a girl with a silly playground crush, as Rob kissed her cheek and stroked her hair and flattered her. She’d be more embarrassed about how easy it was to butter her up if it didn’t feel so good-- and if Andrina didn’t think she deserved it. And you know what? There was no place for her, her talents, her interests here in Swynlake. She’d known that practically since her mum died. Year after year, she tried to ignore it on behalf of her sisters. Year after year, she enrolled in a Pride U class under the guise of taking her life seriously. Year after year, she dropped out, failed to turn in an assignment, took a pass/fail. She’d accumulated a hodgepodge of credits she didn’t care about and wasted so much of Daddy’s money on a big pile of nothing. The only class she’d never failed was this school of hard knocks, so to speak. Maybe she had an unfair advantage, being a princess with a credit card and nothing to lose. Maybe it wasn’t a perfect fit either because of that but-- Why’d she feel more like herself with Rob than anywhere else, if that was true? She was starting to think this prank-marriage was going to stick. It wasn’t a prank at all. Or maybe it was a prank on herself-- surprise Andrina! You love something. Maybe not the boy, but you love this life. She leaned down and kissed Rob full on the mouth and the line between those two things blurred. She didn’t need to pull it apart and define it. She had something better-- and that was Rob’s respect. “I’m in,” she said against his lips. She leaned away and leaned back to unhook her bra. “We have time for a shag first, right, Mr. Triton?” She flashed a teasing smile as she peeled her own bra off and then held it out to the side, let it dangle there for a second, before she dropped it.

ROB Now really, Rob dinnit know how he’d got here. Swynlake was supposed to be a one and done. But he’d stayed. Now he was married. It had all been a joke. Hadn’t it? Just for shits and giggles and they went along with it all and now his name was officially Rob Triton on a document somewhere and here was his wife takin’ off her bra and tellin’ him she’d run away with him. Rob had known long ago that a life of a family and kids and a white picket fence would never be in the cards for him. He’d go mad, even if there was something nice about it. But there was no way he could do what he did best and also have that. But he had somethin’ better. He looked at Andrina and he kissed her on the mouth and he thought, well, maybe this was somethin’ This was more than something. This — Andrina — was the best thing. He wanted her to come along. He’d been bracin’ himself for the no. But she was coming with him. The intensity of the relief shocked him. He dinnit want to go anywhere without this woman. He didn’t know if one day he’d wake up and feel differently — or if she would — but for now, he was gonna take that feelin’ and ride with it. Because there wasn’t anyone else in this world who’d not only ride with him, but pull him along too. Rob knotted a hand in Andrina’s hair, kissing at her jawline. “For you?” he chuckled, running his free hand up her side. “Always time.”

#para #rowdy and randy #UGH MY BABY ALL GROWN UP AND ROBBIN PEOPLE #goodbye my dear

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velvetgons · 6 years

Text

hyunsuk as your boyfriend

word count; 3.3k i’m sorry

warnings; hmm i don’t think anything but possibly swearing i can’t be sure!!

requested; no uwu i’m a new blog :)

(also to gif makers; if you don’t want me to use your gif for any reason please just tell me and i’ll remove it!! apologies in advance if that’s the case!!)

gif credit; bggon on tumblr!! please tell me if you’d like it removed :)

ok so uh let’s just give it a lil background

you decide to go out n get some new clothes bc u know. u got some extra money to spend why not

and you take some of your friends!! and you’re shopping and having a good time and everything is great

until you see this cute lil blue dress and you’re like ‘that’s The One, i need that dress……very necessary to my daily life’

so you tell your friends that you’re just gonna go find your size and they’re all “yes!! get the cute dress!! we’ll see you at the check-out!!”

so you’re about to grab the dress when you see,, the exact same dress except this time! it’s in red

so now you’re completely torn obviously because :// do you want the blue one or the red one,, they’re both cute,, but what’s gonna look nicer on you,,

and you’re just kinda stood there staring at them both because it turns out both colours have your size and now you don’t know what to do with urself

n just as your about to pout and go find one of your friends to help you pick you hear a Boy VoiceTM

and it’s just a quiet lil, “you should get the red one!”

but it makes you turn around because whom said that to you

and you see….a cute boy….just kinda smiling at you while he looks at a shirt or something,, and he smiles even bigger when you look at him and just kinda shrugs before saying, “it’s a prettier colour!!”

part of you is like ?? i’m not gonna get the red one just because a random stranger thinks it’s a cool colour

but the other part of you wins because it’s like “:) you’re right red is a rlly cute colour :) i’ll get this one thank u fashion advice stranger”

and he smiles back at you before he turns back to the clothes he’s looking at and you know you’re supposed to just grab the dress and go now

but. you,, want the cute boy stranger to turn around again,, so u grab another random two articles of clothing and tap him on the back to be like “what about out of these two??”

and you just. keep doing it. and he keeps answering,, to the point where he doesn’t even turn around anymore because he’s giving you all his Focus

so now you have an armful of clothes that ur not gonna buy and he’s offering to carry some for u while u get them checked out and ur like “haha! of course! this is a great idea!”

and like. he isn’t dumb he knows what ur doing so he’s like. hyping himself up in his head like ‘come on!!! she’s clearly into you!! you’ve got this!! just…ask her out and if she says no! it’s all good! we’ve got this bro!’

so he takes a deep ass breath (n u think for a second that you’ve done something wrong) n is like “or…u could like idk man just…idk get the cute red dress and wear it…when i pick you up for a date…maybe like…tomorrow or something…” and in his head it sounds really smooth n nonchalant

but in reality it’s just a jumble of incoherence but you heard date and tomorrow so you’re like “yes!!!!!!!!!! yes this is Very Good i am free tomorrow pls do that” n give him your phone to save his number in

and he’d save it as ‘fashion god (a.k.a hyunsuk)’ with like fifty hearts next to it

((also as a side note you’d have to text him ur own name because he wouldn’t even ask for it in the store…… a charismatic king))

and that would be the story you’d have to give to your kids one day about how you met their dad :) very romantic

anyway! with that being said! let’s get into actually dating him

hyunsuk is a Loud Boy and is most of the time a Happy Boy

and he would constantly try and make sure that you’re feeling equally as happy as him because!! he really just hates the idea of you being upset or down

he hates it so much when your upset because of something outside of his control (like school, work, college) because he just doesn’t know how to fix it?? and he’d resort to doing really dumb stuff to get you to smile at him !! because seeing you :( makes his heart physically hurt

honestly he would melt if you did the same thing for him…..like….if you showed clear concern for him or hyped him up in anything he does the babey smile you know the one loll and feels his heart go zooooooom

i don’t think he’d actively go out of his way to show affection in public but it would definitely just happen

like. sometimes he’s just walking and the next thing he knows he’s tangling his hand with yours and giving your knuckles each a lil kiss

or you’re standing in front of him and his arms just kinda outstretch and pull you really close to him and he’s burying his face into the crook of your neck

or you’re just stood next to him minding your business when you’re tugged into his side and feel him leaving lil kisses on your cheeks while he calls you cute

all of his friends are Disgusted and beg him to not do that right in front of them 24/7 but like. he genuinely doesn’t notice until he’s already done it

however! if you initiated affection (in public) he,,,, blushes,,

in private you two are always attached somehow so it’s more unusual for you two not to be touching

his favourite form of affection would be when you were cuddling and you snuggled your face into his chest ! he’d literally go blank for a second before he’d yell something abt u being cute

i also personally see hyunsuk as someone who would wanna talk about so much all the time??? like…his mind is just buzzing with stuff all the time and he’d love having someone to share that with

and you’d have to do this late at night a lot (because of his schedule) but when he’d come to yours and if you were still awake, you’d both kinda just lay facing each other in bed with ur pinkies linked really loosely while you talked about a bunch of different stuff

they’d be long conversations too!!! you wouldn’t need to ask each other what you’d been up to that day because you’d be talking pretty much all day oof

so you’d be talking to each other about random stuff you thought of!! he’ll ask you about your views on stuff like ghosts and aliens and conspiracy theories, and you’ll get to hear his, and he’ll talk to you about his favourite songs and why they’re his favourites and he’ll really want you to explain yours too, he’d also ask dumb stuff like “do u think fish can see water” and would want a genuine answer

but overall those would go on for hours and you’d only know he was ready to finally sleep when he curled an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him

speaking of cuddling!! hyunsuk would go between being the little spoon or having you lie on his chest to sleep

he loves being the little spoon because,, it’s such a warm experience,, so safe,, and bundled up,, and he’d definitely wrap himself up in a blanket before doing it for Maximum Comfort

but! he also loves having you sleep on his chest because “you’re my baby!! you’re so small it’s where you belong!!” (even if you’re taller than him hyunsuk what) he just,, loves how close you feel to him when he knows you can hear his heartbeat and he can feel how warm you are and he can see you falling asleep and it makes him feel so !! warm inside

he’d definitely introduce you to his friends really quick into dating you lol because?? what if you guys don’t get along?? they literally mean The World to him??

but of course you would i mean. what’s not to like

and they’d tell you embarrassing stories about him (seunghun would go into immense detail of how hyunsuk talked about your first date, including an oscar worthy rendition of hyunsuk talking about your first kiss)

you’d probably tell hyunsuk that you were scared of byounggon and hyunsuk would CACKLE

he’d be like “him?? he?? he’s a Baby! he’s the Sweetest Boy!” and then place all of his efforts into getting you and byounggon to be certified best friends

and like. it would work but more because you and byounggon had to bond over who would take care of him in his chaotic inventive ways to get you and byounggon to talk and communicate (including: accidentally locking you two in the practice room so you’d talk through ‘your issues with one another’ which would literally end up with you showing byounggon dumb pictures you had of hyunsuk on your phone and him giving you music recommendations)

[a/n; using that as a way to talk about something else,, writer of the year :)] we all obviously know that hyunsuk is very music orientated as a person!!! and he wouldn’t hesitate to share that with you through either his performances, his producing, or just music he likes

he’d make multiple playlists for you that would be for different things! (songs he wants to show you, songs that remind him of you, songs he wants to you to listen to and tell him whether performing them would be a good idea etc.)

he’d also love for you to show him your favourite music because he’d personally see music sharing as something very intimate and special!!! and if you ever told him about songs that reminded you of him he might actually have a heart palpitation

but i think in general he’d wanna be involved with something you’re interested in because you supported him so much in his passion!! if you were into art, he’d wanna know all about what you were drawing/painting and he’d find cute museums to go to together! if you were into writing, he’d wanna know what you were writing about and he’d wanna find you cool notebooks and stationary to use for it! he’d just wanna involve himself in any way possible to let u know he cared about it too!!

now onto his other Big Hobby

he…is now your personal stylist…a fashion king…he will not let you change his name in your phone…

he wants to go shopping to find cool clothes all the time! and now he has someone else to take with him! and someone else to try and dress!

i know there’s like the dumb Boyfriend Trope of ‘no :( you can’t wear that because it’s revealing :(‘ but like………hyunsuk wouldn’t care lmao

he sees something he thinks you’d look cute in?? he immediately jumps to get you to try it on for him!! it’s not a weird thing he’s just a fashion king and needs everyone to know that you two are the Best Dressed Couple

speaking of which! dating hyunsuk would be such a healthy thing !

he’d be a lil heavy-handed at first just because he’s not 100% on what he’s actually supposed to be doing

but once he figures out how dating actually works, it’s over for literally everyone else

like, at first, he might get jealous quite a lot because :(( what if u find someone better :(( but then he’d kinda re-evaluate and be like ‘i could…literally talk about this…what’s stopping me…’

and then you’d have a conversation about it where you’d reassure him that he’s your man!! you like Love him and stuff!!

from then on i think dealing with issues that came up in your relationship would just,,, get easy to him??

like, you’re jealous over someone else? that’s okay, you guys can talk about it and work it out!! he’s stressed and tired and just wants alone time? he’ll explain it to you in a calm n rational way without snapping at you!! you snap at him because you’re stressed and tired and just want alone time? he understands, but he tells you to tell him next time!!

he just can’t comprehend that any of the things you two work through are actually genuine problems for other couples because?? he finds them so easy to avoid

that’s not to say you two wouldn’t argue, because like, everyone does. but arguments would just,, end so quickly because

first of all: he hates there being tension between you two, and hates the idea of upsetting you even more

and second of all: he’d calm down quick enough to talk things through calmly and discuss a good way for both of you to fix your problems

and ! the relationship would never ever feel one-sided

you’d support him so much!! you’d remind him to get sleep, and to eat and drink regularly, and to not take the criticisms too harshly because he knows how good he is

((a side note: you’d probably Go Off at some point about yg and how gross he is for being so mean and never complimenting hyunsuk because you knew it upset him and you’d be ranting and gesturing around with your hands and probably yelling a lil bit and hyunsuk would just be looking at you like (✿╹◡╹) because his heart is so warm while you’re talking about burning the yg building down for him))

and he’d support you just as much!! he’d remind you to not overthink things, and to take breaks if you had studying to do, and would call you at least once a day if his schedule was packed just to get a quick run-down on how your day was going

also, on the topic of phone calls, sometimes he’d just call you and leave the call going while he did other stuff

most of the time it’d be while he did writing or producing

but if he wanted you to ‘be there’ during his dance practices he’d facetime and just kinda,,, leave it going while him and everyone else did their routine

and you’d either be doing other stuff or watching but either way you’d hype them all up for how well they were doing

and hyunsuk is（￣ε￣ʃƪ）because oh boy!! he loves you a whole bunch

onto another topic but he’d really wanna have you meet his family only after he knew it was gonna be serious with you two !

and he’d already know his family would love you so he wasn’t stressed (you definitely were, but he was just like “no!!! they’ll love you because they love me!!!”) and from then he’d really love for you to be close to his family

but oh boy meeting your family. he’d have a heart-attack

what if they didn’t like him?? what if they thought he was a bad influence?? he couldn’t handle that

(you’d go to meet them and you’d be calming him down because “you’re literally the cutest sweetest most charming boy i have ever met?? how could anyone ever hate you??”) and he’d still be super nervous but. two minutes into being through the door he has it! he’s got ur whole family just as whipped for him as you are by the time he leaves

he’s like the meme of ‘your mum asked me to ask if you wanted to come to dinner with us at your house tonight :)’

hyunsuk is also definitely the type to wanna get you guys a couple item!! and he’d try and find something really ugly because he’d think it was funny to see your reactions to the cringy couple shirts and hoodies

but then one day he’d come over n be like “hello i have done it again!!”

and ur like “oh no. why. what did you do. i’m too young to go to prison hyunsuk pls”

and he’s all “:) no silly we finally have a couple item”

and ur immediately like. “no. i won’t have it. take it back! no more micky and minnie mouse matching hoodies!! i won’t do it and you can’t make me!!!”

but he’s like “no i promise it’s a good one this time :( please”

so u allow him one chance…..just one….to prove himself…..

and boy! does he do it!

he gets out a cute lil box n he’s chanting like a lil kid when he gives it to you and he’s like, “open it open it open it!!”

and you do and :(( it’s this cute lil locket and you look up at him like :O

and he’s grinning so big and nodding for you to open it and when you do there’s your favourite picture of him in it and you’re !! so happy that you don’t know what to do with yourself

but then he’s like “wait! that isn’t even the best part!” and he shuffles about for a second and wham! he’s wearing a matching one

and ur like :O this is the cutest thing in the entire whole wide world

but ! he opens it up and he’s grinning at u n he looks like he knows something you don’t and there!! is a picture of you where you’re in a shirt of his and the lighting’s kinda bad because you’re kinda sat up in ur bed and ur grinning real big at something

and ur like “:/ hyunsuk that is the ugliest picture of me”

he would be. genuinely offended. he would pop off ! he would be gesturing around with his hands and rambling about how “that’s so dumb??? u look so happy?? and so cute??? and it’s my favourite picture of you ever???”

from that day obviously you wouldn’t take yours off because uhm that’s so cute

but like you just think he’ll wear his when it fits in with whatever the current days LookTM is

but………he wears it All the time…..(but he does take it off to sleep n shower because he’s scared to damage it!!!)

also i firmly believe hyunsuk isn’t the type to get jealous very easily anyway, but as i said earlier he wouldn’t find talking about it difficult

like,, if there was a situation where someone was being too touchy with you and it made him uncomfortable then he’d wait until later and then tell you kinda like, “hi idk what u think of this but it just made me kinda uncomfy :// can we talk abt it” and you would !! and you’d find something that worked for both of you !!

i mean hyunsuk really is like. that boyfriend

i know this is super long already so i’m gonna go into a quick fire bit;

he would completely and totally buy you chapsticks whenever he saw any !! like now he just buys two of each as a natural reaction to seeing them

leaves u notes if he has to leave early however they’re not like ‘ily see u later mwah’ they’re more like dumb jokes he thinks of or drawings of weird animal combinations he thinks of

totally accidentally steals the covers in the night if you guys move away from each so he buys you the cutest most fluffy blanket he can find as an apology

also!! his kisses would be the best ever?? he loves giving you lil cheek and forehead kisses 24/7

has to give you one (1) kiss every time you have to leave and one (1) kiss every time he sees you

but he gives you two (2) kisses every single time you compliment him!!!

overall! i think hyunsuk would be one of the most relaxed and easy-going ((and best but you didn’t hear that from me)) boyfriends anyone could ever have

thank you for coming to my ted-talk

#this was just something to get started if anyone sees it lol #ygtb scenarios #ygtb imagines #yg treasure box scenarios #yg treasure box imagines #ygtb reactions #yg treasure box reactions #:)) uwu thank you if you read it #writings//

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