#but i forfeited my time to get creative and now i just gotta do it normally

[smartichokes]

going fucking crazy because i procrastinated and i cant find a good instrumental song for the short film i have to edit before class tomorrow

[thatbloodymuggle]

the one with the almost

Tongue Tied (jj maybank) 8/?

masterlist

word count: 3.5k

warnings: the usual

playlist

-

"That bread had mold on it three days ago."

"I'll just pull off the bad parts. Plus, mold is good for you. It's just a...natural..organism."

After their escape from the graveyard, the gang headed straight for the Chateau, eager to find out what was inside of the conspicuous package. So there they were. JJ making a moldy sandwich, Pope criticizing it, and Kiara, Rosie, and John B all gathered around the FedEx package. After the sandwich debacle, Pope and JJ joined the group surrounding John B as he ripped open the envelope.

He pulled out a piece of folded paper which, as it was opened, revealed itself to be a map. But not just any map; a map with the location of the Royal Merchant marked.

"Holy shit."

John B proceeded to pull a black, rectangular device from the package.

"What's that?" the mold-eater asked.

"Tape recorder. Dumbass," Rosie mumbled, eyes trained on the map on the table.

Pope, JJ, Kiara, and Rosie watched as John B hit the play button.

Dear Bird,

"Who's Bird?" JJ interrupted

John B replied, not looking up from the device, "It's what my dad called me."

I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so. And you doubted your old man. I suspect at this moment you're filled with guilt and self-loathing over our last fight but don't kill yourself just yet, kid. I didn't expect to find the merchant either...

Rosie could only count the stitches on her hand as the voice of John B's father filled the room. She wasn't able to bring her gaze up to him, or anyone else because she knew how painful it was for him. She knew like no one else did. The silence after the end of the recording was deafening. No one knew what to say or do.

John B bolted out of his chair and ran towards the door, falling against the frame. JJ called after him excitedly, but was quickly shushed by Kiara. Kie went tried to comfort John B, who was now crying, and Rosie found it even harder to look up from the stitches. His pain pained her almost more than her own. Because at least she had closure. At least she got to say goodbye, and at least she wasn't left wondering.

Slowly, Rosie forced her eyes away from the stitches. She pad over to her friend's sobbing frame. Kie met her eye. The two girls had a silent exchange before Kie gave John B one last squeeze and left him with Rosie.

Rosie was quick to wrap her arms around the boy. He buried his head in the crook of her neck soaking her shirt with tears and racking her body with sobs, but she didn't mind.

"I know," she barely whispered.

She didn't need to say anything else. John B understood. Rosie and John B had never actually opened up to each other about the loss of their parents; about how they were both essentially orphans. With her refusal to confront her loss and John B's denial of his, they'd never come around to the topic. But now, as they stood there in each other's embrace, they realized how long overdue the conversation was. They shared a connection like none of the others.

Kiara, JJ, and Pope watched in awe at their friends' moment. Other than JJ, they'd never seen Rosie talk about, or even slightly hint at the loss of her mom. Nor had they seen John B break down over his dad.

Kiara led JJ and Pope outside to give Rosie and John B some space. Rosie and John B stood like this for a while longer, but eventually his cries subsided. Once they had died down into occasional sniffles, he pulled away from her. His eyes were red and puffy, but nothing Rosie hadn't seen before.

"Thank you," he sighed with a real, genuine smile.

"You don't need to thank me. Seriously," she smiled back.

Rosie led him outside to join the rest of their friends. While they were inside, JJ, Kiara, and Pope had situated themselves at the end of the dock. Rosie leaned against the rail inbetween JJ and Pope, while John B took the spot beside Kiara. Kie strummed her ukulele as they joined their friends. The sound was the perfect background noise to the chirping birds and soft waves. Rosie and John B exchanged one last meaningful glance before the silence was broken.

"How much was it again?" JJ asked as he skipped a rock along the water.

"Four hundred mil."

"All right let's talk the split," JJ hopped off from his spot on the railing. "Now, before we say 'evenly', may I remind you that I am the only one that can properly defend us," he pulled out the gun from his pocket that he never seemed to go anywhere without anymore.

JJ and Pope quickly broke out into an argument; Pope denying his request and JJ pushing it even more, until his voice fell on death ears.

"What are you gonna do with your 100 mil, Pope?" Kie changed the subject.

"Pay for college in advance," he didn't hesitate to answer, "And also textbooks. Those are expensive."

"What about you, Kie?" JJ turned the question on her.

"Yeah, what does a socialist do when she's rich?" Pope laughed.

She shrugged, "Just wanna make a double album. About OBX, the Pogues. Record it at Marley Studio, Peter Tosh producing--"

"Peter Tosh is--"

"Dead. I know that, Pope. Spirit of Peter Tosh will never die."

"I know what I'm gonna do," JJ interjected, "I'm gonna get a big ass house on Figure Eight and go full Kook. Gonna get a marble statue of myself, and them I'm gonna get a koi pond."

The Pogues all laughed. No matter how hard Rosie tried, she couldn't imagine JJ in any Kook setting. Ever.

"What about you, Rosie?"

Rosie took a moment before answering, "I honestly don't know. Probably save it, not spend it all at once, you know? I want a big family, lots of kids and stuff. Save it for them, probably."

Kie smiled softly at her friend's genuine answer.

"What are you gonna do, JB?"

He turned from the water to face his friends. Slowly, a grin made its way onto his face as he spoke for the first time since his breakdown.

"To going full Kook."

The teenagers wore matching grins and clinked their beers together.

"To going full Kook!"

About a couple of beers in, the group had moved to the firepit outside of the Chateau. Pope and John B, who had only had half a beer each, started a fire. The warmth of the flames felt like heaven against Rosie's skin in her dazed state.

"Kie! Play me a song," she giggled and leaned her head onto the other girl's shoulder. Kiara laughed at Rosie's tipsy state, but positioned her ukulele and strummed a series of chords nevertheless.

"Pope! Sing," Rosie instructed while raising her can of beer to her lips.

"Yeah, Pope, sing!" JJ egged him on. Kiara's strumming picked up in beat.

The boy shook his head frantically, "You know I would, but JB here's rumoured to have the voice of an angel."

John B didn't hesitate to break out into some Christmas tune, though Rosie couldn't tell which, to the beat of Kiara's ukulele. Rosie clapped along with a dopey grin spread across her face. The combination of John B's singing and Rosie's state sent the entire group into a fit of laughter.

"Rosie, you're drunk," Kiara stated the obvious.

"What? No I'm not, I'm only threeish drinks in," she held up her left hand to form a three. "Just a little bit tipsy."

"If you're just a little bit tipsy than I'm just a little bit poor," JJ laughed while popping open another can of beer.

"Let's play a game!" the shorter girl exclaimed, ignoring the blond's comment. "What's a good game?"

"Never Have I Ever?" Kiara suggested.

"Nah, that one's no fun. We already know everything we have and haven't done," Pope shot her down.

"What about Truth or Dare?" John B suggested.

"But if you forfeit, you shotgun a can," JJ added.

"Are you trying to get us all shitfaced?" Kie laughed at JJ's addition to the game.

The blond shrugged with a smirk, "Only if you forfeit."

Rosie picked up a piece of bark and chucked it at Pope's head across the firepit. Granted, she wasn't sober so she missed by at least a foot.

"Pope! Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Rosie tapped her finger to her chin in contemplation until an idea hit her, "Ooh! Would you rather only drink water for the rest of your life or drink whatever you want, but it always has to have a little bit of pee in it?"

Kiara laughed at her friend's ridiculous question, which also sent Rosie into a fit of giggles

"Water. Water's great. No pee," Pope was quick to respond, rejecting Rosie's question.

"What? Come on, man. A little bit of pee isn't gonna kill you!" JJ laughed and nudged his uptight friend.

"Yeah, have some creativity, bro!" John B joined in.

Before Pope could initiate a never-ending arguement over drinking pee, Rosie threw another piece of bark at him. This time it hit him in the chest, but only out of pure luck.

"Popey, it's your turn!"

He picked up the piece of bark, and threw it at John B. "JB, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

Pope grinned deviously, "Ok. You've gotta give me a foot massage until your next turn."

"That's it?" John B asked, waiting for the catch.

"Hey, I'm just playing the game!" Pope laughed.

John B picked up the piece of bark and chucked it across to JJ.

"Dare," the blond spoke before John B even asked the question.

John B grinned as he massaged Pope's feet, "Sit on Rosie's lap until your next turn."

Rosie giggled and pat her lap to invite him on.

"Dude, I'm gonna crush her!" JJ pointed out the obvious. He was a good foot taller than the short girl.

"No! I'm strong. Look at this muscle," Rosie flexed her biceps, pushing up the skin with her other hand to make it appear bulging.

"You heard her," John B laughed.

JJ shrugged, and plopped himself onto the bouncing girl. She grunted and tried to continue laughing, but his weight was too much. John B gave him permission to slide down and sit inbeween her legs instead.

JJ tossed the piece of bark to Kiara, who had moved to sit beside Pope.

"Truth," she caught it in the air.

"Hmm, oh, I know! Who's the last person you kissed," JJ shot her an evil grin as he sipped from his beer.

Rosie's eyes widened at this and she tried to slap the beer from his hand but hit him in the face instead. "JJ, noo! You can't ask her that!"

She tried to whisper in his ear, but in her drunken state, it came out as a breathy yell. Kiara and John B's faces immediately turned red, while Pope stared at his friends, completely lost.

"Toss me a beer," Kiara glared at the smug blond, taking the forfeit. JJ and Rosie cheered her on as she chugged the can and threw it to the ground, marking her second beer. She then tossed the bark to Rosie, who failed miserably at catching it.

"Truth! No, dare! Truth!"

Kiara rolled her eyes at Rosie, but couldn't fight back her laugh.

"Well while we're on the topic of kissing, Rosie, who do you wanna kiss right now?"

Rosie gasped and widened her cloudy eyes. She shook her head frantically.

"I can't answer that!"

Rosie knew her answer, but even in a drunken state, she wasn't dumb enough to give it away. But she wasn't exactly smart enough to lie either.

"Beer me!" JJ held out a hand. Pope tossed a new can to him, which he stabbed a hole in with the edge of his keys. He handed it up to Rosie, who didn't hesitate the chug the whole can, letting out a loud burp afterwards.

The game continued on like this for a while with laughs shared, shotguns completed, and the piece of bark being tossed around the fire. These were the moments Rosie treasured most. The ones where they weren't doing anything particularly exciting--just lounging idly around a fire playing a childhood game. About three rounds in, Pope and Kiara had switched clothes, John B was balancing a can of beer on his nose, and JJ was yet to move from his spot inbetween Rosie's legs. The shortest girl reached for her can of beer, but was stopped by the blond beneath her.

"You're cut off," he laughed at the whining girl.

She was drunk, but not so drunk she was unaware of her actions. Rosie was in that blissful state of drunkedness. Although, JJ was right. If she continued drinking, she'd soon be vomiting and wake up in a trainwreck of regret.

"It's 2 AM, guys. I need to head back before my dad kills me," Kiara sighed reluctantly.

"Yeah, me too," Pope added.

Kiara went to stand, but stumbled slightly. She was fairly drunk, and Pope was tipsy himself.

"Let me give you guys a ride," John B stood with them. He'd had the least to drink with only one beer.

Rosie frowned and JJ protested, "Oh, come on! It's only 2!"

"Goodnight, guys! Sleep tight!" Kiara giggled and followed John B and Pope to the van. Rosie and JJ watched as the old car pulled out of the driveway, and drove out of sight.

"And then there were two," JJ sighed, leaning back against the log so his head was against Rosie's stomach. The pair watched the flames of the fire flicker for a few minutes in silence. Rosie subconciously thread her fingers through JJ's messy locks, causing him to lean further into her.

"I wanna lay down," Rosie sighed and pat JJ's head. "Let's move to the hammock"

He groaned, but complied. The pair of teenagers stumbled towards the hammock in the trees, occasionally bumping into each other with a laugh.

JJ held the swing steady and spoke with an exaggerated British accent, "Ladies first!"

"Why thank you, kind sir!" Rosie giggled, playing along.

She hopped into the large hammock, and JJ quickly followed. She giggled as they swung back and forth. With both side views obstructed, the only thing Rosie and JJ could see was the sky above and each other. They lay side by side, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the stars.

"Isn't this the part where you point out all the constellations?" Rosie nudged the blond with a sly grin.

JJ cleared his throat, "Well above us we've got the big spoon thing. And then to the right I think that's supposed to be a dude with a belt but I don't see it," he lazily pointed out.

Rosie's relentless giggles were infectious, and soon JJ was in a fit of laughter as well. The hammock swung underneath them. Eventually their laughter died down, and the hammock stilled. Rosie and JJ were reaching the 'lazy drunk' stage. The one where you just want to lay down and talk about nothing for hours.

"Do you think we're actually gonna find all that gold?" Rosie turned her head towards JJ, who continued to look at the sky above.

He paused before answering, "Yeah. We have to."

"It's all a little far-fetched though, don't you think? 400 mil in gold sitting underwater for over a century?" she sighed.

JJ shrugged, "Sounds crazy. But I've got a feeling that something's out there."

Rosie hummed and turned her head so she was facing the sky again. A light breeze blew in, rocking the hammock back and forth.

"Why don't you ever talk about your mom?" JJ mumbled.

This time he turned to face her, and she continued staring at the stars. Rosie sighed and shifted under his stare.

"Because if I start I won't be able to stop."

The pair laid side-by-side in silence as JJ processed her answer. A minute or so later, he sucked in a breath, indicating he was about to start talking again.

"Vulnerability isn't weakness, Rosie."

Rosie sighed and turned her head to face JJ. His blue eyes were darker than usual.

"I know," she breathed so quietly, she was surprised he heard.

Both teenagers turned back to face the starry sky above.

"Why do you think we fight so much?" Rosie changed the subject

JJ laughed at this, shaking the hammock slightly.

"Why do you think we do?" he turned the question on her.

Rosie grinned, "I asked you first!"

The blond shrugged. She could feel him thinking hard as he tried to formulate an anwer. One that extended beyond him breaking her arm and her breaking his nose.

"I think we're more similar than we want to admit sometimes."

Rosie scrunched up her nose at this. Never in her life had she considered herself to be anything like JJ. She'd always viewed them as worlds-apart different.

"I think you're just as impulsive as me. You just do a better job of hiding it. I get mad when you do dumb, impulsive shit 'cause I know your process--it's the same as mine. And I wish it wasn't. I'm already a fuckin' lost cause and I don't want you self-destructing into one too."

Rosie's mind spun as JJ spoke. She watched his lips move and the crease between his brows shift. She wanted to say something, but nothing would come out. Her throat was dry, and her vocal chords were pulled tight. Rosie tried to read the expression on JJ's face, but she couldn't make it out in the dim light.

"Your turn," he breathed.

Unable to speak, she whispered.

"I don't like feeling."

JJ still wouldn't look at her, but Rosie could tell he was listening.

"Happiness and anger are easy. I've been feeling those emotions my whole life. But when I feel anything else, anything deeper, it's like my body rejects it. Grief, guilt, sadness," she continued with a shaky voice, "You pull this--this thing out of me and I don't know what it is, so I just replace it with anger. I hate you because you make me feel."

JJ finally turned to face Rosie. Her eyes were wide, almost as if she was scared of her own words. One stray tear leaked from the corner of her eye and trailed down her face. Instead of hiding for once, she let JJ cautiously wipe it away with his thumb. They subconciously inched closer to each other, their noses just millimeters apart.

"What do I make you feel?" he whispered.

Rosie didn't reply. Instead, she leaned into JJ until their noses bumped. The proximity of his breaths made goosebumps erupt all over. She let her eyes flutter shut. He nudged his nose against hers again. It was just them. No beating waves, no chirping crickets, no swaying hammock. Just JJ and Rosie. And then slowly, her lips just barely grazed against his, as if to say, I'm scared. His brushed against hers a little harder; I'm here.

Just as they came together, they were torn apart. An almost.

"JJ, Rosie! You comin' in?"

The pair jumped apart, rolling off the hammock in surprise. John B laughed at the two teenagers groaning in the dirt.

"Oops!"

"Shithead," JJ groaned.

"Well I'm beat. See you in the morning," John B called out to his friends before entering the house and heading to his room.

The pair had already sobered up some, but the shock of the fall brought them back completely. They pulled themselves from the ground and followed John B inside the Chateau. There was a newfound tension between Rosie and JJ that made the usually comfortable silence almost unbearable.

"Well, uh, I'll take the couch," the blond scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"I've got guest room, I guess," Rosie sent him a tight-lipped smile and a sharp nod.

She spun on her heels and headed for the room in the back of the shack, ignoring the burning desire to stay with him on the couch. The further she walked from JJ and the closer she got to the guest room, the stronger the desire grew. But instead of giving in, Rosie did what she did best. She pushed it away, suffocated it in hopes it would die--or at least, leave her alone for now.

But as Rosie closed the door of the guest room behind her and changed into one of John B's t-shirts, she couldn't avoid the questions.

Were they really about to kiss?

Was it just the alcohol talking?

What would've happened if John B hadn't shown up?

Rosie's mind was reeling with the events of just minutes before. As she crawled underneath the covers, she tried to distract herself. She thought about her shift at The Wreck the next day, and the Royal Merchant. But no matter what she tried, a pair of baby blues would always cloud her mind. Rosie wasn't sure how long she stayed up tossing and turning. She longed to be on the couch with JJ, and her body wouldn't let her sleep because of it. Her heartrate wouldn't slow, eyes wouldn't close, breaths wouldn't even out. But she wasn't about to give into her desire.

So Rosie lay there, drifting in and out of the conciousness for hours, thinking only of her almost.

-

taglist:

@tangledinsparkles @lovelymaybankk @my--heroine @thelonelyumbrella @floretsoleil @flick24 @books-netflix-and-pizza @dad-ee-drea @dolanfivsosxox​ @anahgiedd @love-bean​ @maleriefay @mrs-maybank @shawnssongs​ @downbytheouterbanks​ @lostwnoah @2410slb​ @daygiowvibe​ @thesailbells​

-

hehe don’t kill me

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 1

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

---

Thursday

Strictly speaking, shouting- even of a profane nature- coming from her boss’s office was not particularly unusual or noteworthy.  Malcolm Tucker was a passionate individual, who had no issue with speaking his mind and a talent for doing so creatively.

She was long since immune to his acid tongue, never blinking no matter the volume or count of profanity – it helped that he was wise enough to never turn on her, the woman who ruled his life and calendar.  She’d come a long way since she first started fresh out of uni, an absolutely terrified twenty-two-year-old who had been talked into accepting a temporary job as her best friend’s father’s assistant until she figured out what she wanted.

That had been eight years ago.

“Rose!”

Sighing, she slipped her feet back into her pumps and stood, smoothing her dress before grabbing her tablet and stylus.  Rapping perfunctorily on his office door before pushing it open, she entered to find him standing at the window with his hands on his hips, staring out at the London skyline.  Taking a moment to appreciate the spectacular view herself, she drew closer.

When he didn’t move, seemingly paralyzed, she coughed discreetly, finally sparking him back to life.

Shoulders slumping Malcolm turned to her, a familiar expression of frustration that eased slightly at the sight of her, tired eyes brightening.  “Yes?”

Rose raised an eyebrow, curious now at what had him so rattled he’d forgotten he’d called for her in the time it took her to enter.  “You shouted?”

“Right.”  He ran fingers through his hair, and she idly noted that he’d need a haircut soon.  The salt and pepper curls were growing wild and fearsome, much as the rest of him, and while the look personally suited him, it did not befit the Executive Director of a non-profit.  “Sorry. Erm- can you get my attorney on the phone?”

“Dave or Alex?”  She blinked innocently at him, his answer telling about whatever the problem was, praying it would be Dave.  The recent level of profanity suggested it would not be, though, his answer confirming her fear.

“Alex.”

Shit.  What now?  Alexander McHenry specialized in family law, and had been Malcolm’s lawyer since his divorce from Clara’s mum more than twenty-five years earlier.  Missy, the once Mrs. Tucker, showed up often enough to cause trouble that after all this time, the lawyer was still on speed dial.  “Two minutes.”

“Thanks.”  He moved towards his desk chair as Rose headed for the door, stopping her just before she exited.  “Hang on- tell him it’s not about Missy.  This is an inheritance matter.  Me inheriting, I mean, not Clara’s trust or anything.”

“Okay.”  She waited a beat, before offering, “If you want to give me more detail-”

Malcolm’s lips twitched into what, for him, was a smile.  “No, I don’t think so.  Not yet. I need to talk to him first.”

With a sharp nod she left, pulling the door mostly shut behind her before sinking into her desk chair, taking a moment to stare at a framed picture sat next to her desk phone.  It was from a few Christmases before, and showed her, Clara, and Malcolm smiling and laughing in front of the office holiday tree during the annual holiday party.  It was her favorite non-family picture, due in part to the genuine happiness radiating off of her in it.

Dialing the number from memory, she waited for Alex’s assistant to answer the phone.  “Lisa?  Rose. Yeah, does he have a few minutes? Malcolm has an inheritance question- no, nothing with her this time, thankfully, at least at the moment.  Yeah, I’ll hold.”

-

Eight years earlier

“So, what are you going to do now?” Clara asked, passing the champagne bottle over.  Now officially graduated, it would be their last time lying on the roof of their rented flat and watching the world pass.

“Fuck if I know.”  Rose took a generous swig, staring up at the dark sky.  Small lights twinkled overhead, a few airplanes mixing with the multitude of stars, and she tried to lose herself in the peaceful, black abyss as she had so many times before.  “My dad said I can come work for him, if I don’t find anything better.”

Clara hummed, taking back the bottle and sipping at it.  “I’m going to travel until classes for my masters start up.  You could come with me?”

Rose made a face only the night sky could see.  “Thanks, but no.  I need some time without you.”  She nudged her friend, turning her head to wink, and they both burst into giggles.  “I just can’t believe it’s over.  Uni is supposed to be 'the best years of our lives’.  I don’t really feel that way though; do you?”

“Nope.”  The raven-haired girl shrugged, sighing.  “We had fun though, didn’t we?”

“Absolutely.”

They sat in silence, passing the bottle back and forth, Clara draining the last drops before venturing, “You know, my Dad’s assistant Jo is retiring – he needs someone to take over.  What about you?”

“I don’t know if my future lies in being a PA though; no offense, but that’s not what I went to Cambridge for.”

“No, you went for French and Art History.  Have you changed your mind about that job at the Louvre?”

“No.”

“Then what good is it doing you?  Working for my dad’s gotta be at least a little less embarrassing than working for your own.  C’mon, it’ll be a temp thing, just until you find something better.  Give it a try?  For me?”

Rose groaned, easing herself upright, careful of both the alcohol in her system and the sloped roof they lay on.  “Fine.”

“Yay!”  Clara bolted upright, and they watched with wide eyes as the empty champagne bottle rolled right off the roof onto the pavement below, the shattering loud in the otherwise silent night.  “Oops.  Brilliant, so, first thing Monday, like eight- I know, I know, you and mornings- you’ll be great.”

It took Rose’s soused brain a few seconds longer than usual to understand her friend’s meaning.  “Hang on, did you already agree to this for me?”

“Yep!  Don’t worry, it’ll be fun!  And it’s only temporary, you’ll see.”

-

“Rose?”

She yelped, startled out of the memory, and looked up to find Malcolm standing beside her desk, watching her with a concerned expression.  “Hi!”

“All right?”

Rose nodded, tucking hair behind her ears and giving him a bright smile.  “Just thinking.  What’s up?” Biting her lip, she glanced him over and saw his backpack, a sure sign he was leaving for the day.  “Heading out?”

“Can’t get anything by you,” he joked, winking.  “I’m going to Alex’s office to go over a few things, then dinner with Clara tonight.  Do I have the restaurant address?”

“Graham does,” she said, referencing his personal driver, “and I’ll text you half an hour before just to be safe.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Malcolm offered, just as he had every day since the dinner had been arranged a week earlier.  “Come hear about her travels.  She wants you to come too, you know.”  His open expression made it clear both Tuckers would welcome her presence, not that she doubted his sincerity.  In fact, his eyes bordered on pleading, which only served to amuse her.

Rose smiled, shaking her head fondly.  “Thanks, but no.  I’m seeing her Saturday for a girl’s night, I’ll hear all about it then.  Tonight, I am going home, ordering takeaway, and vegging.  It’s been such a week with the upcoming gala, I need a break.”  All of which was technically true, but not the real reason; Missy had a tendency to crash these types of dinners, and Rose went out of her way to avoid the woman whenever possible.  She’d heard enough stories from Malcolm and Clara over the years to give a clear picture of the woman behind the sweet and charming mask Rose saw.  Never mind she’d always had a gut instinct about her.  Sparring with Missy tonight?  No thank you.

Her boss narrowed his eyes, but accepted that.  “Fine, suit yourself. The samples should arrive this afternoon, right?  Bring them by on your way home.  Or stop by later tonight for ice cream sundaes; I bought all the favorites.”

Rose laughed.  “You mean I ordered all the ‘favorites’.  You didn’t do shit.”

“The fuck I didn’t!” he protested.  “I gave you a list!  And my credit card.”

“You’re going to be late.  Get lost,” she ordered, pointing towards the lift.  “I have a lot of work to do, and can’t until you’re gone.  Now shoo.”

“Yes ma’am,” Malcolm mocked, saluting as he backed away.  “As you wish. Have a good night.”

Shaking her head, Rose watched him go until he turned the corner and vanished out of sight, his whistling echoing back to her from the lift bank.

“Blimey, these Tuckers tucker me out!”

And, chortling to herself at the lame pun, she picked up the phone to order her lunch, kicking off her heels in favor of flats.

When the boss is away, the mice will play.

-

Malcolm paced Alex’s office, running his hands over his face and through his hair as he tried to think.  Why would he do this?  What was the point?  “Is this even legal?”

“I’m afraid so,” his old friend said sympathetically, calm and unruffled behind his own desk.  His view out the window wasn’t quite as nice as Malcolm’s, but decent nonetheless, Hyde Park in the distance.  “If you don’t meet the requirements within thirty days of today, then you forfeit the estate and it goes to the Government.  Those are the terms of the will.”

“It’s ludicrous,” he argued, settling his hands on his hips and glaring at the lawyer.  “That money should go directly to the foundation!  I don’t even want it!”

It hadn’t been a secret that his uncle was dying; eighty-five and riddled with cancer, it had only been a matter of time. Malcolm and Clara visited him when they could; even Rose had, on occasion, once they’d been forced to move him to a home, a live-in nurse no longer sufficient.  Apparently, she made quite the impression.  As his only heir, and the administrator of the charity Wallace had set up fifty years earlier, The Thistle Foundation, Malcolm had reasonably expected to be the beneficiary of the estate.  What he hadn’t expected were the strings.  What’re you trying to pull, old man?

“What do I do?”

“Talk to her?” Alex suggested unhelpfully.  “What could it hurt?”

Malcolm threw him a nasty look, before resuming his pacing.  “I can’t do that.  Could I- No.  Shit.”  For a moment, just a moment, he tried to picture that conversation.  Every scenario ended with her either laughing, quitting, or slapping him and then quitting.  “Rose- I can’t lose her,” he confessed, a bit more honestly than he intended.  “I mean- she’s a brilliant assistant.  I don’t have the time or patience to train a new one.”

“All your funding comes from the estate, doesn’t it?” Alex asked quietly, and the horrifying implications of that were enough to make Malcolm sink into a chair.

“Yeah.”  If the estate goes to the government, so does all the money.  The Foundation would dry up in six months, maybe less.  Only thirty percent of our funding comes from outside sources, and Vitex and the Tylers are half of that alone.  “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice,” the other man shrugged, “but practically speaking, no, you don’t.  Not if you don’t want to have to go job hunting, or worse, woo new investors.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What’s the timing on this?”

“You have thirty days from today to sign on the dotted line, and need to give notice two weeks before that.  So you need to decide if you’re going to… meet the terms, then you have to do that no later than then days from tomorrow, just to be safe.”

Malcolm hung his head in his hands, wondering if he dared broach the subject with Clara first.  Maybe she can tell Rose?  “And how long-”

“Five years.”

“For fuck’s sake, Alex!”

His friend snorted, coming around the desk to pat his shoulder comfortably.  “I didn’t write the will, you know.  Look, take a few days, think it over, then we can talk again.  All right?”

“Yeah.”  Checking his watch, he realized if he didn’t leave then, he would be late for dinner.  “I’ve got plans with my daughter, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you soon.”

Trudging out of the office and down to his waiting car, Malcolm lost himself in his thoughts.

What am I going to do?

[nautiscarader]

Hiccstrid - 16

I have no excuse why did it took so long, I’m just a trash.

() (ao3) (next>>)

—————————————————–

Flying in the rain was one of the many difficulties a dragon rider had to be prepared for, but as the raindrops bombarded their faces, Astrid was glad that Hiccup who was riding Toothless, as she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to maintain that relatively balanced flight. Wind, water and lightning seemed to be against the three, as they continue to fly above the stormy sea, often just a few feet above the raging waves.

- We gotta land!

Though she was clinging onto Hiccup, she could barely hear him with the wind blowing around the two, and only the sudden jerky move of his shoulder attracted her attention to the lonely, pillar-shaped island on the horizon. As the three approached it, it showed a multitude of holes and caves, making it look even less structurally stable than it was when they saw it for the first time. Toothless flew around it for good five minutes, before they spotted a cave large enough and finally landed in one of the upper grottos, forfeiting the largest one at the base in favour of not drowning when the high tide would arrive.

But even though they were now on relatively dry land, they were not letting their guard down. Astrid reached for Hiccup’s flaming sword and lit it, brushing Toothless’ head so his purple blast would help them not only light the cave, but also potentially alert them of any creatures that made the complicated system of caves their home. Half an hour later, they were still soaked and cold, but at least they were reasonably sure they won’t be interrupted by any inhabitants of the caves. One more flight to the rocky beach later, the two humans and one dragon were coiling around a provisional campfire, from a few pieces of wood that weren’t completely wet or rotten.  

- We’re not gonna go the Dragon’s Edge any time soon… - Hiccup stated leaning towards the cave’s entrance and cowled when a spray of water hit his face.- Nope. - Astrid spoke, trying to get comfortable on Toothless’ harness that doubled as makeshift pillows.

She leaned onto his shoulder, listening to the monotonous sound of rain outside, that soon was mixed with the familiar, scratching noise of pencil against paper.

- Surprised that didn’t get wet. - Astrid murmured, watching her boyfriend draw more pages of his map. - Just some more layers of leather…

Though his book was interesting, he couldn’t help but throw quick glances at Astrid, undoing her soaked clothes to lay them around their makeshift campfire. Some of her leathery harness stayed on, though as the minutes went by, he found it harder and harder to concentrate. Without much sun to do any measuring, Hiccup’s work quickly became pointless anyway, and soon the two curled against Toothless’s warm body, talking and giggling, while they enjoyed their shared embrace.

- So that’s why Tuffnut never wants to take care of the young threadtails. - Hiccup snorted - I understand why he never told us about this accident.- And you understand completely why Ruffnut told me.

She giggled and closed her arms around his neck, bringing her lips against his in a long kiss.

- Just make sure you don’t make the same mistake.- Hey, I always wear pads all around my body. - Hiccup protested - If he doesn’t want to have all working parts, that’s his problem, but I don’t think Gobber would be able to fix *that* as easily as a leg. - I don’t know…

Astrid grabbed his shoulders and slid herself against him, covering his body, watching as his eyes grow wide. Her leg slipped between his and stayed there for quite a while.

- Sometimes it feel as if Gobber gave you an extra piece of metal…- Woah, Astrid. - Hiccup looked back at his snoring dragon - Now?- I feel I should be offended that your first choice of entertainment was a book, frankly.

She smirked, tracing her hands across his chest.

- Let’s-let’s go further down the cave, you know how-- Yeah, yeah, I don’t like if Stormfly’s around as well.

The two left the snoring dragon and ran down the cave, leaving the distant light of the campfire behind them. But as soon as they found a relatively flat spot, they no longer needed it, as their hands and mouths gave them enough information about their bodies that quickly became covered in less and less pieces of clothing. Already half-naked Astrid had much more difficult task, as it was Hiccup, who designed his own suit, full of buckles and finicky parts difficult to disassemble. It was no wonder he usually was the first to make a move, and when she was still doing his shoulder pads, his mouth was already between her naked breasts.

- Hiccup!

Astrid moaned, just as a distant thunder rolled and shone light at the two for a split of second, revealing their twisted position and hungry sensual stares. Their remaining clothes, especially Hiccup’s, created a much needed barrier between the rough ground, and it was Astrid who brought her boyfriend to the ground, from his already kneeling position. The lack of light gave the two an extra layer of intimacy, as they could only vaguely know what will be their partner’s choice of moves. Astrid’s mouth dealt the last of strings tying Hiccup’s pants, and a moment later he felt her hot breath around his cock, tingling with the few droplets already present on his head.

- As I said… hot metal… - Astrid whispered into his ear, wrapping her hand around his cock and giving it a few strokes.

His kiss silenced her moan when his fingers found their way to her sex, wet not just from the torrential rain outside, and only now he realised why Astrid was so keen on getting back to the Edge even in such terrible weather. he slipped his finger inside, while Astrid continued to spill her voice into his mouth, but after just a few minutes of gentle caresses, she forcibly pulled him out.

- Sorry, Hiccup, I need something more substantial. Every sword needs a sheath…

Hiccup didn’t need her warning, as just a moment later he felt her wetness around his head and then around him, when the feisty warrior impaled herself on him, once again filling the cave with needy, primal moans.

- You alright? - she babbled, as she got comfortable in his laps. - Couldn’t be better milady. - he replied - Well, I suppose I can, but…- I was asking if feel any rocks that might prick your bum, cos it’s gonna be bumpy flight…

And just as she promised, Astrid pressed her hands against Hiccup’s chest, rising up and down on him in short, but not at all shallow moves. Another thunder tore the skies, and a series of lightnings showed Hiccup his aggressive partner in a series of flashing images, making his cock seem to appear and disappear inside her completely. The needy Viking soon leaned on his body, allowing his hands to help with the thrusts, while her mouth looked for much soothing kisses that could cool her down.

But in turn, that only made them more ravenous and impatient, despite the amount of time they had. He wished he could roll her underneath him, but with the cramped space, he knew he’d have to get a bit creative. And soon, Astrid shrieked when she was pulled upright again, into a half-sitting position, giving her chance to close her legs behind Hiccup’s back. His arms and hips worked in sync now, moving her body back and forth, as they both tried to reach their peaks in the uncomfortable, and yet romantic spot.

She could feel his quickened breath on her neck, as he tried to say something, though only mangled parts of words kept reaching her ears.

- Astrid, I’m gonna…!

In a split of a second, Astrid’s short nails dug into his neck, as she brought his lips to hers, ceasing his warning.

Suddenly, the cave was filled with deafening noises, and the two lovers went blind. The thunder that struck a tree on the cliff was only partially responsible for it, as Astrid and Hiccup contributed equally to it, crying each other’s name into their hungry mouths. Hiccup bucked his hips in disorganised, erratic manner, as he tried containing the writhing, wriggling body of Astrid underneath him. With each pulse of his cum filling her, Astrid seemed to be climaxing anew, milking for his essence, demanding more with each, weakening thrust.

Hiccup ultimately lost his battle as Astrid rolled their joined bodies to their side, and climbed on top of him, only to impale herself onto his cock one last time and then collapse on his naked chest, unable to move.  

- How long will this storm last? - Hiccup looked back, at the sky outside their cave, dark either from the clouds, or the lack of sun that has set.- I don’t know. - Astrid replied. - But I don’t think we need to go the edge anymore, so it can last as long as it wants to…

Their eyes met again a long, knowing stare, before Hiccup’s hands grabbed her thighs in a futile attempt to restore his dominant position, but Astrid has already pinned him to the sand and began her ride anew.

With each thunder that tore the sky, the storm seemed to be getting more and more severe, and with each lightning, the two were in a different position, locked in a constant battle of dominance, illuminated every few seconds. Just when the two felt they were too heated up, the cold wind cooled them down, readying for another round of love-making. And as the two went on, genuinely wondering if they themselves were providing rhythm for the rampaging weather outside, as for a few moments, thunders seemed to coincide with Astrid’s bounces or Hiccup’s thrusts.

As if to prove this, as soon as the tired lovers collapsed, feeling properly exhausted and drained of energy, the storm began to die down, and first rays of moonlight peeked through the dark clouds, filling the cave with soothing, pleasant light. When Hiccup rolled to his side, completely spent, Astrid was gonna fall asleep as well, but she felt the familiar, tingling, and somewhat unpleasant sensation between her thighs. She reached for the ripped wrappings and spread her legs, watching as Hiccup’s cum slowly drips from her twitching lips in thick, languorous globs. The once-dry piece of cloth quickly became damp, as orgasm after orgasm of her boyfriend was sipping into it, proving his virility and passion, as if Astrid needed that.

- You are so damn lucky it wasn’t my time of the month. - Astrid spoke.- What did you sa-Ah!

Hiccup jumped to his feet when the sticky, damp piece of cloth was put on his face, and he ran to the cave’s entrance to wash it off, hoping he won’t wake Toothles up.

- Now you know how I feel…

Astrid listened to her boyfriend gasping from air and muttering complaints, and almost subconsciously, she reached between her legs, dipper her finger in the pool of milky warmth and brought it to her lips, enjoying the familiar, musky taste and smell of her boyfriend, whose real warmth next to her soon brought her to sleep.  

[supersugatrash]

Welcome. First Time With BTS?

A/N: Annyeong! Alright, here we are. The long overdue chapter 15. This one was really hard to write and not necessarily because of the plot itself, but because I was somewhat terrified of the reactions this could get. I know, it’s dumb, but we all have our own demons. Then, like a miracle, recently something happened to me that really got me out of my funk, so I started up Word and finally got to writing again. Again, I cannot promise I’ll post more regularly from now on, but I still intend to post whenever I feel the creative juices flowing. I have not given up on writing and myself and I hope neither will you. If you want to keep up with what I’m doing, you can always check out my Twitter @/Supersugatrash where I post a bit more frequently and give a lot more insight on where I am with my stories and even post some random blurbs every now and then. /unnecessary ramble over. I hope this will answer all the questions you’ve had after the last chapter! Enjoy. :)

Story Summary: You wish your life was normal again, but you know it will never be the same. Not with what you’ve experienced since joining one of the most dangerous Gangs in Seoul: Bangtan.

Genre: Gang/Mafia!AU

Word Count: 6,741

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

Drabble #01

Warnings: Strong Language, Violence (towards every character, including reader), Major Character Death? (Gotta find out for yourself lmao) – You have been warned.

Part 15

Tick. Tick. Tick. As the clock struck midnight, it seemed like time came to a halt. An excruciating halt that captured your pain. One, two, three tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked at Hoseok, the sound of the heart monitor producing a never-ending, heart wrenchingly sharp tone that filled the room. This was far from right; he wasn't supposed to die. He was going to wake up any minute now, glaring at and blaming you for getting the two of you into danger. Any second now, he was going to curse you out. Any moment now he was going to jump out of bed, put on his spiky mask and get as far away from you as possible. You were sure of it.  

Everything, absolutely everything, felt surreal to you. Like this moment didn’t happen; like it was never supposed to happen. Yet here you were, standing in front of Hoseok’s bed, staring at his lifeless body as you hoped for a miracle. You gently grabbed his wrist and tried to feel for a pulse, but there was nothing. Not a twitch, not a bump, just… nothing. You placed your fingers on his soft neck, but it was just more of the same. The brutal reality of it all was hopeless and grim and it felt like a slap across your face when you finally admitted it to yourself: Hoseok was dead. 

Namjoon was still sitting in the other room, clueless of what was happening only a few feet away from him, and you didn't have it in you to tell him. Not yet. How could you? The shock still hadn’t quite set in with you and you had only met him a few weeks ago. Just thinking of the suffocating pain in Namjoon’s eyes when he would learn about this news made your heart ache once more. You lost someone you wanted to call a friend, he had just lost a part of his family and if someone knew that agony all too well, it was you. No, you really couldn’t tell him. 

You quietly sat next to Hoseok and couldn’t tear your eyes away from his face. He looked at peace, as if he was finally free from all the pain he had endured in his life. Once again you took his hand in yours and cried. You cried for a few seconds, which turned into minutes and then into hours, thinking about the time you had wasted not getting to know him better. 

Jung Hoseok was a good man, no matter how much he had tried to mask it. He was willing to forfeit his own life to save yours, even though he had always made sure to let you know how much he had resented you. Seeing him lying there in front of you, it was difficult. Difficult because you felt guilty. Guilty, because you had cheated death numerous times in the past few weeks alone; so why couldn’t he?  

At three in the morning, when you thought there were no more tears left, the door to the room opened and you couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. 

“Hey, Y/N, I saw your light was still on and just wanted to check in with you before –“ Namjoon stopped in his tracks as he looked at you sitting next to his brother. You never dared to look at him, terrified of the look in his eyes, but you didn’t need to. Namjoon knew exactly what your silence meant. He slowly approached the two of you with a quiet step, as if any sound he would make could cause more harm to the situation.  

Namjoon sat down next to you and took one of Hoseok’s hands in his. It was as if both of them had frozen in time as Namjoon kept that pose for what felt like hours until a single tear rolled down Namjoon’s cheek while he kept looking at the friend he had just lost. You had never seen him cry, especially not since you had joined Bangtan. He had always been the strong leader that would keep his cool and would reassure everyone that everything would turn out just fine with his presence alone. But not this time. This time just believing in a miracle was simply hopeless. “Why are you being so selfish, Hoseok-ah?” he whispered with a sombre voice as he clenched a fist with his free hand. Suddenly, he stood up and out of nowhere punched Hoseok square in the face. “Are you really leaving at a time like this?” he paused for just a second before he added a quick “Fuck you.” Another one of Namjoon’s hits landed on his deceased friend’s face. Namjoon was ready to unleash more of his rage on him, but before he could continue, you did the only thing you could in that situation. 

You didn’t fear getting in Namjoon’s way as you quietly hugged him from behind, your face burrowed in between his sharp shoulder blades and your arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He was in the middle of another swing when he noticed you holding him as he abruptly stopped his movements. His entire body tensed up at your touch, before he finally dismissed his irrational anger and let his sorrow unfold. He stood there like a helpless child, his arms and head hanging low in defeat. After a few minutes, he turned around to you and pulled you into a wistful embrace as he buried his head in your shoulder for comfort and cried. “This isn’t fair.” Namjoon whispered under his soft sobs. He cried for his lost brother, for lost time, for lost sacrifices and for lost memories. Namjoon truly cared about every single one of Bangtan’s members as if they really were his family, but he seemed to have had a special connection with Hoseok. A connection that would now be one-sided. 

--- 

You couldn’t fathom how quickly a week had passed, it was as if in the blink of an eye you had skipped multiple days at once with a hazy recap of everybody else getting involved in the preparations for Hoseok’s funeral. It was… truly heart-breaking seeing their spirits so low. Nobody laughed, everybody only spoke the bare-minimum and Namjoon had locked himself up for most of it in his apartment. Everyone was, simply put, completely miserable. It felt as if when Hoseok left this world, he took everyone’s hope with him. 

Eventually, the seven of you had gathered in the loft of The Slaughterhouse, after finally having received Hoseok’s ashes. All of you were sitting around a table, drinks were poured even in the early hours of the day as you blankly stared at the urn centre piece. 

“So,” Seokjin suddenly broke the silence, “what are we going to do with him?” He looked into the round and was only met with more silence and cluelessness in everyone’s eyes. 

“We could spread his ashes.” You said. Having Hoseok’s urn sit around the loft and collecting dust wasn’t what he deserved. 

“But where?” Jimin asked. 

“It should be at his cabin.” Namjoon chimed in with determination written all over his face. “He hated it here,” Namjoon chuckled lightly, “and he would haunt us until the end of time if we left him anywhere other than his home.” Everyone, including yourself, smiled at his words. They knew he was right and you had seen Hoseok hold a never-ending grudge first hand. For what it was worth, you thought it felt fitting for someone that seemingly preferred his own company over others. And so, all of you decided to meet up at his cabin that evening. 

--- 

A few hours later you were sitting in a car with Yoongi, Seokjin and Namjoon on your way to the last place you thought you’d ever be again: Hoseok’s home. On the lonely country road, you were overcome with emotions and memories, as if they had just happened yesterday. You clearly remembered your first trip with Jimin to meet Hoseok and how nervous you were to stand up to him. You remembered how he taught you to use a gun. You remembered sharing a meal with him. You remembered finding out about his past and you remembered him finally letting down his walls. And still, after everything that has happened, you felt guilty. 

You looked over to Namjoon as he quietly stared out the window, his elbow casually propped on the armrest of the door and his head resting on his palm. He looked lost, as if the death of his friend had rid him of his purpose. You silently took his hand in yours, mimicked his pose and stared out the window. You wanted him to know you were there for him, even if he didn’t ask for it. Both of you needed comfort on this tragic day. He squeezed your hand lightly in return and tightly held onto it for the rest of the drive. 

When you finally arrived at your destination, everyone just… sat there for a while. Nobody wanted to leave the car, nobody wanted to take a step into his home knowing he won’t be there to greet you or curse you out or close the door on you. Everybody knew this was most likely the last time they’d come here and then this would be just another abandoned shack in the middle of the woods. 

“I need some fresh air.” Yoongi muttered as he hurriedly left the car and immediately lit a cigarette as soon as he had closed the door behind him, before he walked off and far away from everyone else. Ever since you had left the warehouse, he had distanced himself from you and with Hoseok’s passing it just seemed to have gotten worse. Was there something going on he wasn’t telling you? 

“I’ll go check on Yoongi.” Seokjin excused himself as well. And so, you were left alone with Namjoon. 

“You don’t have to stay with me.” You almost missed Namjoon’s words when he finally spoke. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you, though?” you asked, almost just as quietly as you unbuckled your seatbelt and turned towards him. “We barely saw you this past week. I know you’re in pain, but we need you, Namjoon. We need our leader.” 

He looked at you and blinked once, twice, as your words set in. “We need our leader?” he smirked. He didn’t even bother trying to hide his pride, he was simply happy you finally saw yourself as one of them. Until he pointed it out to you, you hadn’t realised it yourself. But you truly were one of Bangtan. You finally wanted to be one of them. It felt like this was what it had to come to for you to accept your destiny. 

“Oh geez, don’t make such a big deal out of it.” You blushed a little, but it was true and it felt right. 

“You know what, though? You’re right.” Even if he wanted to, this was not the time for teasing. He slapped his hands on his legs, filled with determination. “Hoseok would hate to see his family go down like this. We’re fighters, so let’s continue fighting on.” You smiled from ear to ear at his encouraging words, even if you weren’t sure this really was his final resolve. 

When it was eventually starting to get dark outside, everyone had finally gathered all their courage to come together around a cosy campfire behind the rundown cabin to start the final journey of Hoseok’s life at his last resting place. Everyone was standing in a circle while the fire crackled into the night and Namjoon firmly held onto the urn. “First off, I’d like to thank everyone for coming.” He let out a heavy sigh as he started his speech. 

“I know this is hard for all of us and I’m sure this is the last place any one of us saw themselves be. Hoseok wasn’t just any ordinary guy and I was actually sure he’d outlive all of us out of pure spite.” Namjoon chuckled wistfully. “But alas, here we are. Saying our final goodbyes to our beloved brother, who gave his own life to protect his family. I’m sure all of you have something to say about him, so I will stop my rambling here and whoever wants to go next can have the spotlight.” He looked expectantly into the group and as you followed his mourning gaze, you saw a sweet memory spark up behind everyone’s eyes as they remembered the man of the day. 

“I will go first, then.” Seokjin cleared his throat before he began his sweet anecdote and everyone quietly took a seat on the long wooden logs behind them. 

One after another they had a special story to share about Hoseok. About his kindness that he would never show to anyone other than his brothers. How he was always there when you needed him, no matter the time or day and no matter how big or small the favour was. They spoke about how humble he was, never asking for anything other than to be part of a family. 

By the time everyone had finished, it was already pitch black around you, but nobody cared how long it took to spill their hearts out. And then all eyes suddenly landed on you. 

“What about you, Y/N?” Jimin asked, “Anything you want to say?” 

“Oh, uhm…” You were taken aback. Did you really have the right to speak about him after only knowing him for such a short amount of time? But you quickly earned an answer as Namjoon gave you a quick nudge, as if had read the question was clearly written all over your face. “I may not have been able to get to know him better, but the last day I got to spend with him really showed what an amazing person Hoseok-ssi was.” You looked at everyone in the group. Some of them had tears in their eyes, if it was because of their own speeches they held a few minutes before you or because they were touched you were saying a few words of your own about him, you didn’t know. Some of them looked at you with hope and a caring smile as you spoke. But one of them averted his gaze from you all together and it pained you that it had to be him.  

Yoongi was fixated on the beer bottle in his hand, rubbing off the paper label as his defined jawline clenched up with every word you spoke. “I don’t think I can ever repay what he did for me that night and I am so grateful for his forgiveness of the mistakes I’ve made in the past. I wish there was more that I could have done for him and I wish I would have made more of an effort to get to know the Hoseok you all loved so much –” 

“Bullshit.” Yoongi scoffed as he looked at you with an ice cold glare. ”This is all your fault and you know it.” Even though you were on the same level, he was clearly looking down on you as he tilted his head, taunting your very presence at this gathering that was supposed to be an intimate moment among family. “If you wouldn’t have joined us, he’d still be here with us.” 

“Come on, Yoongi. I think you’ve had enough.” Seokjin tried to make an effort to take the beer bottle out of his hand, but Yoongi quickly avoided him, accidentally knocked over the five other bottles that were piling up next to him and held onto it tightly. 

“No, you guys are just being fucking delusional here.” He continued his outburst. “Ever since she’s been with us, we’ve had nothing but trouble. People are getting stabbed or shot, we’re being followed everywhere we go and now one of us is dead, for fuck’s sake! She’s jinxing us! We’ve been doing this for years without any major hiccups, but now shit is hitting the fan all at once. Don’t you think that’s even just a little fucking weird?” Yoongi stood up from his seat, “I’m sick and tired of this shit.” And with that, he left the fire and went inside Hoseok’s cabin. 

Tears were running down your cheeks as you blankly stared into the crackling fire, unable to move or say anything. What could you say to that? He was right. And, deep down, everybody knew it, even though none of them wanted to admit it. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry, he’s just drunk.” Jimin sat next to you and put an arm around your shoulders. 

“That doesn’t give him the right to speak like this to one of our own.” Namjoon glared in the direction of the cabin, as if he was trying to reach Yoongi through the walls with his piercing gaze. 

“I’m so sorry.” You said through your sobs and sunk your head into your hands. And with that, everyone’s mood had reached a new low. 

--- 

A few hours later, you had calmed down and were once again chatting with the others, still sitting around the fire and reminiscing about every memorable moment they had spent with Hoseok. The stories just kept on coming, mainly because everyone knew once they stopped, this would really mean saying goodbye to their beloved friend and none of them were ready for that. Not yet. His urn was still sitting next to Namjoon, and they knew they had to spread his ashes eventually, but not until everyone was present. 

“What time is it?” Namjoon asked into the round. 

“Uhm, let me check.” Taehyung held up his index finger as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Five minutes to twelve.” 

“I think someone should go get him.” Namjoon didn’t dare to say Yoongi’s name, still too angry about the way he left the fire. But he didn’t need to. Everyone around the fire suddenly felt tense thinking about what had happened only a few hours ago.

“I’ll do it.” Seokjin stood up from his seat and walked towards the cabin. He knew, as the eldest and Namjoon’s right hand, it was his responsibility to keep a level head when their leader could not.

Only a minute had passed since he went inside, when you suddenly heard both men yelling at each other and everyone hurriedly ran to see what was going on, including yourself. But when you finally reached the entrance, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. 

Yoongi was sitting in Hoseok’s armchair, his eyes wide with a mixture of anger and insanity behind them as he pointed his gun at Seokjin. “Don’t you see, hyung? She’s ruining us from the inside.” Yoongi spoke in a menacing tone when he realised everyone had gathered around the broad-shouldered man. 

“Woah, Yoongi hyung, calm down!” Jimin was trying to calm the situation down and slowly made his way towards the armed man. Inch by inch he closed the distance, until he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“Don’t fucking take another step closer.” Yoongi pointed his gun at Jimin’s feet and sent out a warning shot just in front of him within a split second. 

“This is going too far. Put the gun down, Yoongi.” Seokjin held his hands up and spoke in a composed manner to keep the situation from escalating further. 

“The fuck I –“ Yoongi never got to finish his sentence. The next thing you heard was another gunshot that landed right between his eyes. You let out a terrified and pained scream that felt like your heart was ripped out of your chest, before you ran up to Yoongi and held him in your arms as the blood started streaming over his face and coloured your shirt a crimson red. “Yoongi…” you whispered, your tears dripping down on his lifeless body as you slowly started rocking him back and forth and closed your eyes, hoping this was all just a bad dream.

“What the –“ everyone simultaneously spun around and saw the smoking barrel that was attached to Namjoon’s weapon. “We don’t need any more liabilities in our family.” He said, unfazed by what he had just done and with a complete lack of remorse in his eyes.

And then the old grandfather clock in the living room let out its toll that echoed through the night. The world around you came to a halt and everything and everyone froze in their place. 

--- 

Tick. Tick. Tick. You opened your eyes again and you were back in the practice, cold sweat running down your forehead as you frantically looked around and spotted Hoseok lying in his bed, strapped up to all the machinery. This was when you felt a cruel sense of déjà vu. Hasn’t this happened before? And if it did, why did time turn back to exactly one week ago? It was as if you had gotten a glimpse into a dark and painful future. Or maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. But maybe, just maybe, this was a second chance to save him. The echo of the machine was drowned out by your pained wails as you sunk next to Hoseok onto the bed and tightly grabbed a hold of his gown. Why did you have to go through this again? Was this some kind of sick joke the universe played on you? 

That's when you noticed it; the smallest movement of his finger. No, it couldn't have been real. You told yourself you only wanted to see him move to ease the pain as you anxiously checked the machines. You looked over everything again and again as you swore the twitching in his digits continued. Maybe it was even getting stronger? Lastly, you inspected the clip on his finger and to your surprise you realised it was no longer attached to him. His steady movements had shaken it off as he fought for his consciousness to return back to reality. A shocked and hopeful gasp escaped your lips, before you repositioned it on his hand and waited for just a second. A second so painfully drawn out it felt like time was standing still again as you held your breath and tightly onto his free hand.   

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Hoseok-ssi…" It was a reflex as natural as breathing, you whispered his name like it was a word you couldn’t live without.  

The sound of the machine filled the room once again as you quietly sat with him. He was so close, yet so far away. Trapped in his own mind, light-years from reality. “I believe in you.” You lightly squeezed his hand, your words casting a comforting and protective shield around him as the warmth of his being projected a similar sensation in your palm. You owed your life to him and this time, you were ready to protect him as well. 

--- 

The following morning you were woken up by a faint knock and you found yourself lying right next to Hoseok, who was still in his unchanged state, as the door to your room opened carefully. “Knock knock.” You saw Namjoon step inside with a cup of coffee in each hand. “I hope I did it right this time?” he smiled coyly. As you propped yourself up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, he sat down on the chair next to you with a sheepishness in his eyes that caused a sense of nostalgia within you. You remembered this smile well. Whenever you had a big fight, he would look at you this way. It was his way of feeling the air between the two of you as he waited for a reaction. “How is he?” he asked to break the ice as he handed you one of the cups which you immediately encased with both of your hands.

Well, that was a tough one to answer. On one hand, he seemed to start regaining his consciousness, which obviously was a good thing. On the other hand, was this even reality? “I… I think he’s… doing okay…” you answered cautiously. In case this was really happening, you didn’t want to jinx anything.

Namjoon nodded, a hint of disappointment visible on his face. But there was something else. He was clearly gathering his courage as he struggled to find the words for a few minutes, so both of you sipped on your coffee in silence. “Listen, about our conversation yesterday…” he finally spoke up.

“You were right.” You quickly interrupted him as you looked down and fiddled with your thumbs. It pained you to admit it. Not because of the defeat itself, but because you had trusted Taehyung so much you were willing to pick a fight over it with someone you used to be so close to. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Namjoon gently placed his hand on yours, encasing it entirely. Maybe you had been wrong about him, too? He had given you so much support, during what could have only been described as the worst of times, yet you only focussed on the negatives. 

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” You sighed, still avoiding his eyes. “If anything, I should be the one apologising to you.” You wanted to say more. You wanted to do more. You felt a deep remorse as you thought about all the times you should have apologised to him. But he wouldn’t let you. 

“How about neither one of us apologises and we reset everything. Again.” You suddenly looked at him. The kind smile his lips had curled up to, the forgiving look he gave you, his charming dimples; You couldn’t help but smile back. “I’d like that very much.” 

“So,” he quickly changed the topic, “how are you holding up?” His voice was calm and the concern in his eyes showed his true emotions. It wasn’t just a simple and awkward conversation starter. With everything that had happened and with how you had been acting those past couple of days, he really wanted to know more.  

“I…” but how were you really doing? Ever since you had started spending time with Taehyung, you tried your best to forget about everything and your feelings were nothing but a jumbled mess. “I don’t really know, to be completely honest.” You sighed. “I haven’t really thought about it lately. A lot happened at once, but everything suddenly calmed down as quickly as it started. It kind of feels somewhat… unreal?” 

“Like the calm before the storm.” He finished your thought and looked as if he was reminiscing about a painful memory. As if he knew that same exact feeling too well.  

Whenever you had gotten a break like this, something worse was always lurking just around the corner. Hell, you still hadn’t had enough time to come to terms with the death of your parents because of all the other problems that started piling up. “I feel like no matter how quiet it is right now, it won’t last. And before I know it, somebody else gets hurt.” With Namjoon right by your side, you finally had someone you could talk to about everything. He still knew you the best after all. You blankly stared at your coffee, deep in thought and contemplating telling him about the events of the previous night, but quickly decided against it to protect him. And because you actually weren’t sure what really happened last night. It was a trance that could only be broken by his words. 

“This might sound odd, but it’s a good thing you feel that way.” Confusion was written all over your face when you looked at him, as if he was speaking an entirely different language. “In our world, danger, pain and betrayal are constantly lingering somewhere in the darkness. You might think you can trust these quiet moments, but it will always come back to haunt you.” He took a deep breath, before he slowly unbuttoned his white shirt and revealed a long deep scar across his chest. It seemed to have healed up years ago, but that didn’t make it any less scary. 

“How did –“ your words came out as a whisper, but the shock behind them was loud and clear. 

“This is the reason I’ve formed Bangtan.” He said just as quietly, but there was a hint of anger in his otherwise sad tone. “When my old gang decided to walk down the wrong path and turn against one another, Seokjin was the only one I could rely on. This is a constant reminder that you can’t trust anyone. Even if you think they are family.” You reflexively moved your hand closer to the scar, as if you were drawn to it like a moth to a flame. You could sense the physical and mental pain he had endured just by looking at it. As your fingertips slowly reached his chest, his body suddenly tensed up for just a second, as if your touch alone was hurting an open wound, and he quickly held onto your hand with his, seemingly to stop it from opening up any further. 

This tender moment finally made you realise something: You might have known everything about Kim Namjoon, but you knew absolutely nothing about the man in front of you. The two were no longer one and the same. He had led his own life since he had left, he had endured his own hardships and happiness. All this time you had compared him to the boy he once was, without ever recognising him as the person he had become. Seokjin’s words were echoing in your head and you had to admit he was right. You were still living in the past, but you decided you finally wanted to spend your life in the present.

As you felt his heartbeat with your fingertips and his large hand on yours, you felt as if you were burning up inside, as if every moment you spent not looking in his eyes was pure torture to you. When his gentle gaze fell upon yours, the tension between you started to feel unbearable. He looked at you as if he had just fallen head over heels for you and he was suddenly in awe. His plump lips parted ever so slightly as he stared into your eyes and you were pulled towards them as if you were under his spell. The distance between you was closed inch by inch and, for the first time in a while, it felt like the stars had finally aligned for the two of you.

There suddenly were no more thoughts about the past, no resentment and no what ifs. It was just you and him, sitting across one another. You were merely inches away from him, but you were closer than you had ever been. Now that you finally saw him for who he had become, you realised how stupid the grudge you had held onto for so long really was. Namjoon was gentle and kind, even after whatever it was he had endured. He was considerate of your feelings, considerate of the time and space you needed to process everything and, most importantly, he was protective of the people he loved, which he had proven a number of times included you.  

You could feel his warm breath against your skin as you closed the distance between you. It was as if a window opened after you had closed the door on your relationship, as if there really could be something between you again and all you needed to do was give him a chance. It was finally your time and your lips were about to touch as the long-awaited drumroll kicked in.

But, as life would have it, that never happened. You were unexpectedly interrupted when his phone started ringing and both of you let out an annoyed sigh. You hurriedly pulled back and your cheeks turned a bright shade of pink as he picked up the call. “What is it?” he said, slightly out of breath. 

You phased out the entire conversation as you regained your composure and fell in deep thought. It felt right, but that didn’t mean it was. Was this really what you wanted? Maybe. But was this really what you needed? Were you just trying to fill a void in your heart? No matter how you looked at it, you needed more information before you could decide. 

"I'm sorry, that was Jungkook." His eyes fell back on yours as he spoke. The conversation apparently ended much quicker than you had anticipated. "Looks like work is picking up early today." Even though he gently smiled at you and lovingly stroked your cheek, the tension between you felt unresolved. You were looking around the room as he buttoned up his shirt again, trying your hardest to avoid any awkward conversations about what just happened, when you noticed the calendar next to the door.  

"The wedding!" You suddenly exclaimed, a little louder than you had intended.  

"Huh?" Namjoon looked at you, confusion written all over his face when he stopped in his tracks.  

"Minseo-ah's wedding is next weekend!" You had completely forgotten about it because of the events of the previous weeks when your mood quickly dropped. You used to long for a normal life, and this might have been your only chance of ever getting it back. A normal life. Those days seemed so close, yet so far away. Was it even still possible? 

"If…" Namjoon paused, struggling to find the words as he nervously scratched the back of his head. "If you want to, we can still go together. Maybe. But only if you really want to. Don't feel like you have to say yes. No pressure. I just thought you might –" he stammered, before you kindly put a stop to it.  

“Oh, this is awkward…” you said, hiding a big grin as his shoulders sunk in defeat, “My high school sweetheart already asked me a while back. Sooo…” Who said you couldn’t crack a joke every now and then? You could feel the sigh of relief he let out when he realised what was going on. 

"I would love to." You smiled brightly at him when you finally gave him a proper answer. Maybe this was exactly what you needed to find your answers. You hadn't gotten to know him – the real him – very well in the little time you had spent with him since you had been reunited, this would be the perfect opportunity to do so.  

He grinned from ear to ear at your words, a dorky smile you hadn't seen since he had first asked you out years ago, before he continued his way towards the door. "Yes! Okay. Great! Cool. I mean… uh… I will see you later then." Namjoon finger gunned backwards and accidentally walked against the closed door before he hurriedly left the room in embarrassment. Maybe there still was a bit of the old Namjoon left inside him after all? 

--- 

Your day was already off to a great start. You were feeling confident in yourself and your decisions again for the first time since the incident with Hoseok and you were filled with energy. So, you decided to go for a run in the park in front of the practice. Nothing too intense, just enough to get a good sweat in so you could get back into the swing of working out again. Ever since you had left the warehouse, you had let your exercise slip and you started to notice it. But now, with Hoseok’s state taking a turn for the better, you finally felt at ease again. There was still hope. For you. For Hoseok. For Bangtan.

You happily changed into something comfortable, put on some sneakers and plugged your earphones into your phone before you descended down the elevator and took in the fresh daytime air. This was great. You were focussed, smiling and completely feeling yourself listening to music that continuously pushed you on. Every time you passed a stranger that happened to look at you, you gave them a friendly nod and a big grin as you ran and shared all of your positive vibes with the rest of the world. And when you eventually returned to the practice and were about to go for a shower, there was one more surprise fate had up its sleeve. 

"Wh-Where… Am… I…?" The voice was quiet and in rough shape, his throat had completely dried out, but you recognised it immediately and let out a surprised gasp. 

"Hoseok-ssi!" You almost screamed his name in excitement as you immediately sprinted towards him and gave him a long overdue hug. 

"Oof!" He exhaled deeply as you crashed into him, a tender smile resting on his face. "C-Care…ful, please." 

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!” you hurriedly let go of him as you continued rambling on. “I'm just so excited you're awake and –" 

"Wa…ter…" He slowly reached out his hand towards the bottle on your nightstand. 

"Yes, of course!" You quickly retrieved the bottle and a glass and filled it for him, before you carefully started helping him drink every last drop. 

It took about half an hour to get him into a condition where he could speak freely again and another thirty minutes to help him go to the bathroom after he refused to let you continue babying him - as he put it - but eventually you were both in a place where you could finally talk about everything that had happened. 

"You know, being in a coma is an experience I can't recommend." He chuckled, an awkward attempt to lighten the mood when he saw the tears that were welling up in your eyes as you looked at him, filled with hope. "You can hear everything that's going on, but nobody can hear you yelling at them to leave you alone." 

"E-Everything?!" You repeated, your face turning hot pink as you remembered every conversation you've had in this very room while Hoseok was lying in his bed.

"Look, whatever is going on between you and Yoongi hyung… or you and Taehyung-ah… or you and Namjoon-ah is none of my business. But maybe take your conversations somewhere else if someone is in the room with you from now on. Even if you think he's unconscious." He smiled, visibly enjoying teasing you. 

"I am so sorry, Hoseok-ssi…" You didn't dare looking at him once as he listed off all the men in your life that were causing you a major headache. 

"But, in all seriousness," he gently took your hand in his as he spoke and his eyes looked almost apologetic when you finally looked at him again, "thank you for saving me. I know this wasn't easy on you either, but I appreciate you believing in me when I needed you the most."

That was… Unexpected. A genuine Thank You was the last thing you saw coming from someone that had, until recently, only shown you resentment and anger. "Hoseok-ssi… You don't have to –"

"But I do." he quickly interrupted you. "All I did was being rude to you and that wasn't fair. You were already going through a lot and my comments were unnecessary." 

"You've saved my life, too, Hoseok-ssi." You smiled brightly at him, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. "I'm just so happy you are alive and well." You tried to wipe away all of your tears with your sleeve, but to no avail, they just kept on coming and when you eventually gave up and looked back up, you saw something you had never expected to see in your life. Hoseok was looking at you, crying – just like you were – as he finally showed his true self to you for the first time since you've met. This was the real Hoseok he was hiding behind that spiky mask. Raw and uncut. He hated seeing you cry, even if they were happy tears, and couldn't hold his own emotions back any longer when he eventually pulled you in for a tight embrace that both of you needed in that moment. You did, because the heavy weight you had carried was finally lifted off your shoulders. He did, for reasons he wouldn't reveal to you until a much later point in time.

[coolhandluke]

Twenty Years Ago

Twenty years ago today, Cool Hand Luke played their very first show at Cafe Express in Mt. Juliet, TN. It was pretty dumb.

We had only been a band for maybe two or three months. We had only practiced a handful of times, and we had only written one or two finished songs. But Brandon and Jason knew the owner of Cafe Express, which was a Christian venue outside of Nashville. They had been telling the owner they had a punk band called Cool Hand Luke, even before they had found a drummer (me). The owner called Brandon up and said they had a last minute booking for Ghoti Hook and they needed an opener. Brandon told her we’d do it. 

There are a few things that you’ve got to understand about our adolescent minds at the time. First of all, I had not grown up listening to Christian music and I basically knew nothing about it. In fact, a year prior, I hadn’t even known that there was Christian punk or hard core or anything like that. So, I based everything off what Brandon and Jason told me. Punk wasn’t my favorite kind of music at the time, but I had been really into punk in high school. But I only knew the secular bands that I liked: The Descendents, NOFX, Bad Religions, etc. Since I was now in a Christian punk band, I started trying to get into the bands that Jason and Brandon liked: Squad Five-O, Slick Shoes, MXPX, etc. Most of the bands were on Tooth and Nail Records. Tooth and Nail was the pinnacle of what a Christian band doing undergroundish kind of music could do. At least that’s how we perceived it. 

So when we got the offer to open for a band on Tooth and Nail, we thought this was our ticket to the big time. I’m pretty sure we literally had conversations about how we’d open for Ghoti Hook, they would love us, and they would call Tooth and Nail up and say, “You’ve gotta sign Cool Hand Luke!” If you’ve been in a touring band, or if you’re not an idiot, you know that this is not how it works. Also, we imagined that any band on Tooth and Nail must be pretty huge and they were making a living doing music and living the rock and roll/Christian dream. Also a huge misconception. 

So, here were the facts: We were barely a band. We didn’t have close to enough songs to fill a set. We had a week to rehearse, write songs, and get in top form so that we could impress Ghoti Hook, get signed to Tooth and Nail, and head straight to our rock and roll destiny—you know, all for the glory of God. 

There were two problems. One was that I was working my first full time job. I was a temp at Toyota Motor Credit Corporation Lexus Financial Services. Yes, I had to say that every time I answered the phone. So, we could only practice at night. And I lived in Nashville, an hour away from Murfreesboro where Brandon and Jason lived and where we practiced. The other problem was that we needed to practice every single night for a week. But I had third row tickets to see Smashing Pumpkins at a rare acoustic performance at the Grand Ole Opry on August 5, two nights before our show. It was a dilemma: Do I go see one of my favorite bands at a cool venue from the third row? Or, do I forfeit those tickets so that I can take the step necessary to be the cool band that everyone wants to see? The answer was clear: we only had one shot to wow a Tooth and Nail band and live our dreams—I sold my ticket so that we could practice. And was it worth it? I’ll let you decide.

If you know anything about touring, you know that booking a headline show a week or two in advance is never going to be that good of a situation, unless you happen to be in U2 or something like that. (So, U2, if you’re reading this, it doesn’t apply to you.) In the 1998 pre-social media days and the infantile days of internet there weren’t many ways to promote a show with only a week. So, the turnout was less than stellar. And by that I mean, I think literally everyone at the show was our friends and family. So, probably about 25 people, none of which were actually there to see the headliner. And Cafe Express, at the time, was in a big ole warehouse. So 25 people felt like 5 people. 

We were the only opener, so all our gear was on stage. We had set up hours before and “soundchecked.” I put that in quotes because we had no idea what we were doing. We thought playing on stage would sound exactly like it did in our small practice space when we were all facing each other. So when the sound guy asked, “Do you need anything in your monitor?” I said no. I’m not sure I even knew what a monitor was. This fact would be crucial later. 

We took the stage at around 7 and started our set. I think we probably played 5 songs. One or two of them were songs we had worked on prior to our marathon rehearsal sessions, so they sounded sort of like real songs with words. In those days, Brandon played bass and sang, Jason played guitar, and I played drums. I sang harmonies on a few songs but Brandon was the front man. What I didn’t realize until later when I saw the VHS tape of the show (which I still have) was that Brandon had not had time to write lyrics for the new songs…or melodies. So, he just kind of yelled nonsense for most of them. I mean, it was pretty punk rock, but it wasn’t good. We were definitely not tight. We had only played together a handful of times, we were playing songs we barely knew, and we couldn’t hear each other. Also, our “stage presence” was a bit awkward. I looked like a dork trying to be cool. Jason, stood with his legs far apart and did not move the entire set. Brandon actually looked the coolest of us (after all he had a lip ring, which was super punk), but it was diminished by the fact that he was yelling nonsense syllables. 

The highlight of the show was our cover of The Beach Boys’ “Kokomo.” Yes, that was my idea. And I know what you’re wondering, “Did you speed it up and make it a ska version?” Yes. Yes, we did. If you recall, there is a glorious saxophone solo in “Kokomo,” so we thought it would be a good idea to have our friend Robin do a kazoo solo. So, yeah, that happened. Try to hear it in your head: “Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya,” but sped up with upbeats on guitar and of course I lifted the hi-hat on those upbeats. Never had there been such a perfect melding of genres, such creativity, song craft, and pure punk good times. 

Then the unthinkable happened: Brandon broke a bass string. He later told us he had never broken a string before. So, he didn’t know what to do. Naturally, he quit playing. When Jason realized that Brandon had quit playing, he quit playing also. Remember how I didn’t ask for anything in my monitor and I couldn’t hear anything except for the sound of my own drums bouncing all around this warehouse? Well, when Brandon and Jason quit playing, it sounded exactly the same to me. So, I finished the last double chorus of “Kokomo” all by myself. Just those dumb upbeats and my spirited high harmonies carried us through to the end. 

Afterward, Ghoti Hook was so impressed by our inventiveness and my perseverance that they immediately called Brandon Ebel (on a pay phone because no one had cell phones back then) and said, “You’ve gotta sign Cool Hand Luke!” Nope. I feel confident that we may have been the worst band they ever played with and that may have been the worst show they ever played. I’m not exaggerating. Years later we were touring through California and we stayed with the bass player of Ghoti Hook. He said he remembered that show and remember us because we were so terrible. Later, we’d come to know what nights like those were like from the perspective of a touring band. Lord, bless them for not just packing up and driving off right after our first song. 

So, am I glad I chose to arrange a ska cover of “Kokomo” rather than see Smashing Pumpkins? Not at all. But I am so thankful that God let me cross paths with Brandon and Jason and that we had some kind of fire under us for a week to start writing together. I have no idea what the trajectory of Cool Hand Luke would have been if we hadn’t chosen to play a show way before we were actually ready. But, I know the trajectory it sent us on. For a few years, it became our collective passion and our sense of purpose. Cool Hand Luke is how I met many of my best friends. It’s how I met my wife and how Jason met his. It’s how I learned who Jesus really is and how I learned to communicate the gospel. It’s how I learned to sing. It’s how I learned to play piano. It’s how I learned some painful, painful lessons about my pride, my idols, and my weaknesses. I’m still honored to be a part of it. I consider it a privilege every time I get to play music. I consider it a profound compliment if you’ve ever listened to it. Life is complex, and I have many plates to spin, but I am so glad that twenty years later Cool Hand Luke is still one of them. It has always been a complete labor of love. Soli Deo Gloria. 

[radio-silents]

Hello! Sorry to bother you but I just wanted to say that I love your art, you're amazingly talented! Also, I was wondering, do you have any tips you could share for amateur artists? I would love to hear if you have any, but if not thank you anyway xx

oh my goodness, thank you so much! It’s no bother at all, I’m honored. I’d love to give a few tips from stuff that I’ve learned (and also stuff I’m still trying to learn now).

make friends with other artists! I struggled with this one for a while cause I was kind of angrily competitive (which was motivation to improve but exhausting and lonely and depressing) but it’s so much more fun to have artist friends willing to help you, plus networking is HUGE. 

also make friends with writers because writers are amazing and also probably magicians and have intensively creative brains and I love them (also literally the more networking the better. never enough networking)

draw things that make you happy! Especially while practicing. Practice is gonna be boring and painful so do whatever you can to make it more enjoyable. Find a way to make it interesting to you!

everyone says it, but practice all the time. Seriously.

Find other artists you like and read their tutorials. Watch their speedpaints. Figure out the technical reasons you like their work and see how it can influence your own!

Take breaks. I used to struggle really hard with this.

If you’re looking to eventually become a professional, be ready for rejection and criticism. It hurts. I use my rejections as motivation to come back and do better the next time. Criticism from people you respect is always worth considering, and 99% of the time they’re probably right.

Also if you’re looking to go professional, take some time to consider what that means in terms of lifestyle. I’m currently having an eternal panic attack about future health insurance and rent, not to mention funds for con travel and also food?? You’ve gotta think about working freelance (owning your own business, sales tax, filing income taxes) or working for a studio doing work for hire (forfeiting the rights to the work you create while working for them). The arts are intensely competitive. There’s not a lot of money out there for creative works. I don’t want to scare anyone away, but this is honestly the problem I’ve been grappling with for months and it’s awful and I just want to make sure you consider it before committing! 

I hope these help!! Sorry for getting real and gritty there at the end, I’m just a constant walking ball of dread right now. Being a professional is stressful. I’m tired. Basically, try and draw for yourself every chance you get, listen to your body, and do things that make you happy!!

[evajellion]

Part 4, where things get really dumb

Hey, wanna see a team-up and rivalry that makes zero sense as I continue this riff?

Because you’re going to get one.

A/N: You guys want it? You got it. The Samus and Luigi and Dante and Nariko chapter. Enjoy.

That means this was someone’s fan suggestion, which I checked the reviews to confirm.

Richie didn’t plan all of this ahead of time that means, which is… kind of a bad decision, unless you really, really know what you’re doing. Richie of course, does not. He could have benefitted from planning all of the rivalries, and how each scenario would play out so they aren’t ridiculous and one-sided.

Luigi was exploring Haunted Mansions where he hear some footsteps behind him. Taking out his Poltergust 3000, he turns to the footsteps nervously.

Bolding the hilarious typo, I should be on the look out for these more often.

I know it’s a simple mistake and I do it to, but that’s why I ask for friends to help me in case my proofreading doesn’t catch everything.

Then Zero Suit Samus came around the corner. Luigi panicked and ducked under a piano. Samus approached him.

"Luigi! It's me, Samus!" She said banging on the piano top.

Luigi crawled out of the piano. "Oh… it's you, Samus. Why are you here?"

"I came here to find you. There been some recent activity going on. It seem that the Hands are back, being controlled by an unknown being" Samus said.

"What?! W-W-W-Why do you need my help?" Luigi asked.

"Because Mario is with Link at the moment and there been some merge with the other world too, now come along" Samus snarled as she dragged Luigi out.

"But what if the ghosts begin rampaging about?" Luigi cried.

"Then you can stop them later" Samus said. And they set off towards their destination.

Alright, now while the intro is creative, I still gotta ask, why this partnership?

Especially when the rivals they face have nothing in common. Also, Samus is a little too snippy here for my liking. I can understand not having the highest patience, but she should try to understand Luigi’s uncertainty about the situation.

Granted, I dunno much about Metroid to begin with, so eh.

"Oh wow. Some of those fighters-a are pretty scary" Luigi said scared as he and Samus walked by another.

"Courage, Luigi. It won't be far now. We're very close soon" Samus said.

"Soon? Soon it would be already too late" said a voice behind them. They turned to see Dante behind them pointing his twin pistols at Luigi.

"AAARRGGH! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!" Luigi pleaded.

OOC Counter: 11

Calm the fuck down Luigi, this is really out there for him. He would probably more likely just hide behind Samus.

Samus ran up to help him but Nariko blocked her path with her sword.

"You two should not be here. Leave now or face the power of my sword" said Nariko.

"OK. I choose… face the power of your sword" Samus said as she took out her whip-gun and clanged against Nariko's sword. Luigi ran away from Dante as Nariko joins Dante's side and Luigi joins Samus.

"Your friend here is a coward little girl" Dante smirked as he take out his rebellion sword "You two should forfeit when you have the chance."

"Don't count us out just yet. Luigi! Stop being afraid. Give them everything we got!" Samus ordered.

Luigi swallowed what most of his courage left and takes out his Poltergust 3000. "Alright, Samus. I'm ready."

Why are Nariko and Dont-- excuse me, Dante, antagonizing them? Dante is a jerk, but Nariko has no reason to. She would question them first on what they are doing there, then tell them that they should walk away from the situation at hand.

OOC Counter: 12

Generic scene where Master Hand begs for help, nothing new other than repetitive wording. Yawn.

Arriving back outside the mansion, Luigi turned to Samus.

"Tell-a me, Samus. Did Mario sent you to try to teach me how to be-a brave?" Luigi asked.

"He did. About time you noticed" Samus said "He wanted you to be more courageous to teach King Boo a lesson. Also, from our journey, you helped us save the universe."

"You're-a welcome" Luigi said as he prepared to head towards the mansion. "Thanks to you, I'm more prepared for any ghost, Boos or anything-a else that the mansions throw at me."

Samus and Luigi glowed blue. "That's more like it. Mission accomplished" Samus said.

This would be a nice scene you know, if there was any build-up to it.

Mainly in the rival scene, and against Polygon Man. Also, bolded the obvious typo.

--

… Ironically, I think their team-up, while nonsensical, is better than Nariko and Dante’s.

Dante was once again fighting demons as usual, till he received an surprising guest.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the 'princess'. What do you want, sweetheart?" Dante said as he held his rebellion high.

"I came not to have a quarrel with you" Nariko said "I still need to find a way to master this sword. But I came to ask for your assistance."

"Oh really? Well I fight alone, thank you very much" Dante said.

"Hear me out. The huge purple head has returned and seem to be merging worlds together, and soon, ours will be next" Nariko said.

"What? That huge purple bozo?" Dante smirked. "Alright... and it seem these other worlds has demons too right? This could be fun."

"I hope you feel like talking with your sword" Nariko said as she and Dante begin their journey together "cause there are opponents whom we have not crossed before."

Someone doesn’t know how Heavenly Sword ends, I bet you…

Why would Nariko ask a douche-y demon hunter to help her master her own sword? If she said “the worlds are being threatened, and I cannot go after King Bohan until I make sure that power hungry deity is gone for good”… that would be way more in her character, for one.

OOC Counter: 13

On that note, there are better options for Nariko to choose from. I don’t think she would have picked the demon hunter who she got into a pretty hostile fight with. The other opponents who were much friendlier, but just as skilled, would have been a much more reasonable choice.

And it’s obviously not because the characters were rivals in PSASBR, so they have to team up. Toro and Sackboy weren’t rivals, and later down the road, we have Heihachi and Zeus, along with Colonel Radec and Evil Cole (that chapter, I’m going to love tearing apart…)

Anyway, the rivalry scene is just copied from both Nariko and Dante’s. There’s nothing interesting, so I won’t paste it.

"If it ain't the sword wielding duo" Polygon Man said "Have you come to get beaten by me again?"

Polygon Man I think would be a bit more “high and mighty” when addressing former enemies. Here, he says “ain’t”… like he isn’t serious about this at all. Yeah, that isn’t something I could ever imagine Polygon Man using in a sentence.

Pretty clear Polygon Man is just a generic villain to Richie, thus why we had nothing interesting written about him, because he can’t do anything creative with our favorite, rejected mascot.

OOC Counter: 14

"It's not the sword, it's me. I have the power to control this sword" Nariko said.

No.

Fucking.

Shit.

This was already gone over in Nariko’s own scenario. If this takes place after her story in Arcade Mode, which is before the ending of Heavenly Sword. Why do you feel the need to repeat all of this, Richie?

This whole chapter proved that outside of a silly partnership, Richie didn’t know what to do with all four of these characters. Luigi and Samus are ridiculous, and have no reason to be fighting the two All-Stars… while Nariko and Dante here are just boring.

A/N: Now I'm gonna do a Villain chapter next with Bowser and Ganondorf and Zeus and Heihachi, and then place whom you wanna see next. Yeah, I beginning swapping partners so Heihachi will be with Zeus and Big Daddy will be with another character. So stayed tuned.

You should have planned this ahead of time then! Goddammit Richie, this isn’t hard! Go back and edit the intro then! Discuss with others what you should do!

Big Daddy never shows up anyway since Richie canned the fan-fic after 9-10 chapters, so there isn’t even a real loss… 

Anyway, how can we improve this? Because I certainly have a bunch of pressing issues here.

And this one isn’t short either. This chapter? I made it go through a whole fucking rewrite, just so it made a lick of sense for my own satisfaction. Something I know I shouldn’t be doing probably, but fuck it!

Revoke having Luigi there, and make it normal Samus instead of the Zero Suit one. Instead, Samus decides to drag out Roy for the adventure, with the cooperation just as bizarre, but at least slightly sensible. Roy doesn’t get why Samus wants his help, when there were several options to choose from, but accompanies her willingly, and courageously.

Revoke Dante being there, and replace him with Isaac Clarke, to present a more interesting scenario. Isaac accidentally lands in her world, and Nariko says he would be able to return to his era possibly if they defeat Polygon Man. Isaac suddenly gets a headache with a vision, and Nariko says that his “strange power” could play a hand in locating Polygon Man. Isaac doesn’t know what he should do, other than help Nariko for now.

In the rival scene for the All-Star side, Isaac Clarke keeps questioning all the stuff that happens. He has constant visions about a pair of white gloves, being controlled by Polygon Man. Before he and Nariko go any further, they’re stopped by Samus and Roy, who heard what they had to say. Questioning the two All-Stars, Isaac is about to tell them what’s going on to avoid a fight, but Nariko tells them that its “their enemy”, so Roy and Samus have no business in it, thus leading to their battle.

In the alternate rival scene for the Smash side, Samus and Roy see the two All-Stars talking to each other. Samus questions if Issac is with the Galactic Federation, which Isaac denies, saying he’s just an engineer, one that’s been through “a lot”. Roy meanwhile, shows concern over the blade that Nariko wields, noting how it appears to be a powerful, legendary weapon. Nariko informs him that she’s a on a path that she cannot take back so easily. Roy learns that she means to exchange her life for using the sword. In order to “save them” from the madness they’ve gone through, Samus and Roy hope to make Nariko and Isaac turn back from the path they’re on.

Change the endings. On the Smash side, Samus and Roy are confused about what had happened, but believe that both worlds are at least at peace now, and they hope that the ones they faced are still alive. For the All-Star side, Isaac Clarke returns to his era, and Nariko is prepared to give up her life soon, something that Isaac tries to convince her not to do. It’s too late though, as she leaves to fight Bohan’s army one last time.

Whew… yeah, this won’t be the uh, last time I have to rewrite the whole damn rivalry that Richie made. Like this one, some of them are a complete mess. Granted, I’ve never played an FE game, so I doubt I’d do Roy any justice if I had to rewrite this.

The next chapter… will be easy for me at least. I’m not gonna have to change much.

[ihavecolorfuldreams]

How to be More Prolific Than Van Gogh on Viagra

The word “prolific” comes from the Latin prolificus, which means, “to make offspring.” Which, if you think about it, is exactly what you do all day: Give birth to your creative brainchildren. The cool part is, the more prolific you are: The more profit you earn. The more love you spread. The more gravity you defy. The more legacy you leave. The more people you touch. The more purpose you fulfill. The more change you inspire. The more wisdom you amass. The more worlds you conquer. The more fans you accumulate. The more significance you realize. What did you create today? Whether you’re an entrepreneur, writer or ad agency art director, here’s a list of how to be more prolific than you ever thought possible:

1. Whatever you want to become, you can start being that thing (today!) by creating as much as you possibly can, as fast as you possibly can. Otherwise, if you put off being prolific until the right people stamp your creative passport, you’ll consign yourself to burning in the purgatory of wannabe. Remember: Being prolific beings with the mindset that you already are what you want to become. Are you acting as if? 2. Metabolize your life. That’s the singular source for informing your art. As Anne Lamout, author of Bird By Bird once said, “Art is whatever remains after the fire.” My question is: Does your life burn? If so, you’ll be more prolific than you ever imagined. As long as you focus on translating all that you experience into something more expressive. After all, art is nothing but the residue of a life fully lived. Screw being a great artist – focus on being a great human first. Bring all of who you are to your creative work and trust that the art will come. 3. Right isn’t as important as right direction.  Either way, when it comes to being prolific, what matters is that you simply get something down – every day. Maybe it sucks. Maybe it rocks. Maybe it’s just okay. Fine. Awesome. Perfect. All you need to remember is: When you put pen to paper, you have the power. When you put finger to keyboard, brush to canvas, blade to clay or reed to mouth, you have the power. Just begin with what is – you can make something beautiful out of it later. Are you willing to plunge forward planless? 4. Extend literary latitude.  That’s what prolific people practice: You don’t have to like something to learn from it; and you don’t have to get it to get something out of it. Sometimes bad work is exactly what you need to inspire good work. Your mission is experience what you experience with a posture of openness and possibility. Because if you give yourself permission, you can become inspired by everything in sight. And that’s when you start to crank out volumes of work that matters. Are you a mental omnivore? 5. Be a brilliant fixer. Whenever I’m reading, I’m writing. In my experience, it’s just too hard to separate the two. For example, when I’m not underlining passages, jotting down transient ideas, documenting adjacent thoughts or questioning the author’s arguments – I’m fixing. The cool part is, many of my best ideas came from something as simple as changing or adding a single word to an existing sentence. Examples: “A mind is a terrible thing to chase,” “A penny saved is an opportunity burned” and “All the world’s a page.” Your challenge is to incorporate some form fixing into your own creative process. You’ll find that it’s fun, challenging, energizing and the raging river of raw material never stops flowing. How are you improving on everything that’s wrong with everything else on the shelves? 6. Be careful not to slide into complacency. Yes, remember your victory dance. Yes, take pride in your creative victories. But don’t over celebrate.  Never trust the prosperity that accompanies prolificacy. Instead, regularly reinstate your humility with the birth of every new brainchild. As Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz reminds us, “Seek to renew yourself, even when you’re hitting homeruns.” Remember: The arrogance of past victory is the aerosol of future failures. 7. Get good at recognizing beginnings. The reason prolific professionals are masters at starting, progressing and executing their projects – is because they’ve perfected the art of seed spotting. They estimate movement value early. They see everything with the eyes of the future. And they take action on those concepts without delay. That’s the mark of prolificacy: Lots of irons in lots of fires. Working on multiple projects simultaneously. Doing so helps you create thought bridges, subconscious connections and unexpected integrations between (seemingly) unrelated ideas. As a result, you will automatically notice natural relationships and structures in your work. What’s more, your creative efforts are more productively deployed when you start multiple projects simultaneously. Yes, it requires considerable self-regulation to pursue multiple projects concurrently. But by shifting between ideas as circumstances dictate, you never get burned out and always execute without remorse. What did you start today? 8. Become a master of your disinclination. In the documentary I’m Your Man, songwriter and poetry legend Leonard Cohen reminds us, “You gotta go to work everyday, knowing that you’re not going to get it everyday.” The secret is cultivating an acute sense of when disinclination is around the corner. Personally, if I don’t get anything good after about an hour – I go back to bed. Sometimes for twenty minutes, sometimes for three hours. I’ve followed this rule for eight years and have never, ever failed to come back to the page refreshed and reenergized. What’s more, I almost always go on to pound out something amazing. Lesson learned: Discover what frustrates your ambitions. Know when you’ve got it, known when you’ve lost it, know when there’s no way in hell you’re going to get it, and know when you’re going to have to take measures to get it back. Hey, it happens. Resistance can be a feisty little bitch. Don’t be afraid to let her win every once in a while. Create around the constraint. It demonstrates humility for the process and motivates you to return with strength. What’s your policy for managing compositional paralysis? 9. Let less happen. Increasing your capacity to execute isn’t just about what you do – it’s also about what you avoid, what you stop doing and what you stop thinking. , I began thinking about my own ratio. And it occurred to me that one of the reasons I’m so prolific is because ninety-eight percent of the work I do every day, matters. No wonder I just finished my eleventh book at the age of thirty: Distractions are at an all-time low; execution is at an all time high. Better enjoy it now while it lasts. Lesson learned: Excise every ounce of fat from your process. Discard the irrelevant. Then throw your shoulder into the work that matters. Be lean or be left behind. Is what you’re doing – right now – contributing to your body of work or your ulcer? 10. Keep the reservoir full. Whether you’re a painter, entrepreneur, wood carver or throbbing-member-trashy-novelist, prolificacy – that is, cranking out killer work consistently – is a function of volume. As a writer, for example, I built my own content management system. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s certainly more sophisticated than a box of colored folders filled with ideas scribbled on cocktail napkins or random scraps of paper. Currently clocking in at about 75,000 items, my creative inventory is meticulously organized by topic, date, use, audience, etc. And every single day, I add more water to the reservoir. Some days more than others. But I do it every day, without fail. Which means my inventory is indepletable. And that’s the secret behind building your reservoir, regardless of the medium in which you work: It equips your daily practice with creative rations long before the artistic famine strikes. And when I say famine, I’m referring common distractions such as: Resistance, boredom, disinclination, laziness or that annoying fluffball Westie from next door who does nothing but yap-yap-yap all day long. How much water did you add to your creative reservoir today? 11. Insulate yourself from interruptions. Tolerate nothing. Even if you have to put a sign on your door reading, “Quiet. The art is coming.” Whatever it takes. This is your creative time, and it deserves to be approached as sacrosanct. Resist the temptation to be squeezed by your surroundings. Otherwise you become muddied by triviality, swept into the undertow of inconsequentiality. And that’s a surefire recipe for low productivity. The hard part is stockpiling enough self-control to be able to look at your most seductive interruptions – square in the eye – and say, “Nice try. But I’ve got work to do. Peace out.” Email is the worst. You have to close the window down or else you’ll never execute anything that matters. What interruptions are you afraid to ignore? 12. Never lose your ear for what’s happening around you. If being prolific has historically been hard for you, I’ve got some bad news: You problem isn’t writer’s block – it’s hearing damage. That’s all creativity is, anyway: Active listening. And it’s easy to screw up. Like Voltaire said, “Never let temptation pass lightly by – it may never come again.” Lesson learned: People who are prolific listen. And they do so with their ears, eyes, minds, hearts or whatever other body part is available. Lose that skill and you forfeit the entire game. Keep it healthy and you’ll never stop creating. What did you hear today? FINAL THOUGHT: Let’s turn to Cicero, philosopher and uber-prolific writer. In his book, On the Good Life, he explained the following: “Philosophers must not be judged by individual utterances they may choose to offer. They must be judged, instead, by all their different statements put together and by the degree of consistency and coherence with this whole body of doctrine displays.” KEY WORD: Whole body. Because you’re not just creating one piece. Or one song. Or one book. Or one project. Or one website. Or one piece of art. You’re contributing to an ongoing, smokin’ hot body of work. Because that’s what prolifics do. With or without Viagra. LET ME ASK YA THIS… How prolific are you? * * * * Scott Ginsberg