#but i’ve yet to make the trip to get it bc i’d have to go with someone whose car is way bigger than mine

[figuerockfaeth]

oh the horrors*? i’m familiar

*the dirty clothes on my bedroom floor

[libido]

RAAAHH my ankle is killing me how dare you betray me body

i am looking forward to some things:

I bought some cute decor, phone/airpod cases off of aliexpress and i’m excited to decorate! i plan on getting a new bedframe on amazon prime day bc this ones getting pretty dated and im trying to be more minimalistic. I hope to get a deal on this one i want to get, but, if there isn’t i’ll get it anyways and see what deals there are

my mom is finally talking about my eventual japan trip~ we plan to go to tokyo and then china to visit the great wall. My late grandmother and I as a child always talked about visiting the great wall. She passed in December of 2023, it’s been very hard dealing with her passing and it’s been very hard on my mother and I. I want to honor her by making it to the Great Wall and walking the whole thing.

Even if life right now is mainly sleeping, battling depression like Battle Royale and bitching about my job where it feels like I’m telling them what issues are going on but to them I’m speaking Hungarian or something. My workplace is uhh.. very backwards. Since childhood we were always told to work hard and we’ll succeed in life but at my job, it’s the complete opposite! I know I may have a lowly job as a warehouse worker, yet, hard work there just gets you even more work and being bad at your job gets you pampered. Today it was busy and after last week management sending 30 people to a building across the street due to low volume— being surprised that we, a team of less people and majority of our seasonals being quite incompetent — that things get behind and that the few core people that didn’t get to go; we’re expected to basically answer every beck and call no matter how tired we are. (supervisors and leads just get to sit all day yet they expect us to run all over the building, whilst working a very psychically demanding job of walking for 12 hours…)

Grr.. supervisors and leads, you guys get to be sedentary on your computer watching us work and yet not knowing anything about the psychical demand, favoritism and mistreatment, being very overly expecting of you yet others get a “get out of jail card” when they are just as capable.

I mainly only have stayed here because of the pay, hours and I’m good at what I do; no matter how much I hate the place. The benefits as well are extremely good as well as the PTO, I don’t know if I’d have the same luxuries at another occupation as of now.

I’ve been struggling with depression and battling it with regaining my ability to art and write.. do more tasks and make plans, do things. I don’t even have the motivation to scroll through indeed. Ahhh… it could be worse, I could be at the other building where it’s candles and mists… that’d be way too heavy for me..

ah tumblrland save meee.. i love coming to my beautiful gothic lolita art deco slash nouveau literature palace … i will stay up and sleep soon though, just had many thoughts and wanted to get them out— be it frustration or just my idyllic daydreams.

[vacantgodling]

🖋️,❤️, and😭 !! Don't have a specific wip in mind, so you get to decide !!

thank youuuuu 🥺💛 i can talk about the liminal space series for these lol :3

🖋️"what inspired you to write your WIPs?"

donut wip was inspired by my frustration at not being able to finish a story, and i thought if i just plotted out an easy, straight to the point, horror novel (cuz whoops donut wip is straight horror p much) that i’d be able to finish it. i wrote like 15 chapters in 2 weeks and then burned myself out when i started a new job in 2021 BUT as i was thinking about it, more and more could i see it fitting into the universe that already existed in jenna the reaper. but… there was no bridge from point a (college horror) to point b (high school supernatural horror literally across the country)

this is where the inspo for noi, alone came in. i’d had noi as a character in some form, for about as many years as i’ve had jenna but i never knew what to DO with them. but it seemed so perfect to make them the bridge between juls and jenna’s stories, even if they must also go through the horrors 😔 them having a demon entity thing in their eye was always a thing so that makes the transition even better (well, worse for them but better for plot)

and then jenna… tbh i never “had” inspiration for jenna. i was literally chilling at my ex’s house in hs when all of a sudden jenna just knocked on the door of my brain like “hey yeah i’m here now.” with all her plot already figured out LMAO. 💀💀 so in case you were wondering she’s always been like this. all i’ve really done is just tweak it and fit it better into the world with the other two wips, and add stuff on etc etc.

mason at the airport sort of came about from me wanting to take a slightly different direction with liminal spaces, like explore different kinds?? so mason’s story, while it’s in the universe it is Slightly different than the rest of them just cuz i wanted to try something new and LESS horrific lmao

❤️"what are your favorite scenes from your WIPs?"

donut wip (gasp that i’m actually willing to talk about Some spoilers lol):

the donut sharing scene is the most important scene To Me

the elevator flashback that talks about juls’s past & trauma around elevators

when juls and joaquin kiss (even tho the poly is alive and well in my head, this relationship is kind of the only one that gets enough time but it’s something i wanna change when i try to write draft 2)

also a particular scene involving news anchors that i don’t wanna spoil but i LOVE it

noi, alone:

tbh i haven’t plotted this one out that well but when noi meets seph is gonna be soooooo funny bc they’re lowkey attracted to him Immediately and lilly loves making fun of them about it. secondly, when the three of them break into the dorm i want it to be kind of messy

jenna the reaper / jenna the witch king:

the scene where noi reveals their demon

the scene with vega that is sad……. ough……

the scene where jenna tells carlos about frankenstein, i actually have that written out lol

the scene where jenna and yehna merge is gonna be OOF

mason at the airport:

i also don’t have much planned yet but i’m excited to write the beginning when mason realizes that there’s something Wrong with the airport and that he’s Alone (or is he)

😭"what are the biggest challenges writing your WIPs?"

honestly for all of these wips it’s just attention span. i enjoy all these stories but sitting down and writing them since 2021 and i burned myself out on donut wip has been a challenge. i’m hoping i can come back around to wanting to write them, but it’s probably gonna be a Long while (cuz i’m projecting in terms of original projects, i’ll write paramour then vampires don’t take road trips and then perhaps after i’ll come back to these)

[bellysoupset]

SOUP HIII! okay so i’ve been a bit MIA bc school and finals kicked my ass BUT i’ve still been reading everything‼️ (and omfg luke is GOING THRU IT poor baby (he’s so real for everything he’s feeling UGH)) but anyways i’m flying back home rn and something that happens when i fly to and from home is ofc i always get REALLY bored and also i crave reading fics soooo much, but there’s no internet so i can never read anything ever 😭 soooo pulled the #problemsolving skills; i literally just spent 20 min screen recording all my fav fics of yours so that i’m able to read them during the flight💀 which i believe is a bit of a desperate move but it’s also really funny🤭

anywaysss on that note, one of my all time faves (believe it or not it’s not wen/vin centric!!!) is and will always be sicily part 6 😩🫶🏽 everything is so perfect about it but top 3 things are 1. the ANGST ofc, 2. Ma being the absolute queen iconic caretaker that she is, and 3. the type and intensity and level of sickness is my absolute FAVORITE‼️ sick enough that it’s genuinely concerning and worrisome (DELIRIOUS BABIES ARE ALWAYS SO TOP TIER) but not enough to warrant a trip to the ER quite yet and AHHHH i’m OBSSESSED

SOOO anyways basically i was rereading this fic today, and i was wondering if there’s any chance we could get a similar type of fic but w wen as the sickie? given vin and her are supposed to be over there for the holidays (i think? my sleep deprived brain may have made this up tbh LMAO) i think this is the perfect opportunity? similar level of sickness would be ideal 🤭 but yeah ugh Ma taking care of wendy is something i NEED, and if you manage to also make it angsty ,,, OOF i’d be on my knees unable to get up till like next year frfr 😭

but ANYWAY no pressure if it doesn’t work w the story or the way you’ve got things planned out‼️ just thought i’d ask bc RAH i’d eat this uppppp!!

🦦

DAAArling, I know you've read it already, but just for the sake of organizing my inbox, here's the fic: Sick Wendy + Vin's fam

[osp-originals]

Requests??? Okay, but like actually prompt/suggestion (if you'd like one):

Someone's sick with something and they wake up with a headache. They tell their friends to try to cancel out on a plan citing that they're 'tired and not feeling the best', but their friends are like "I'm sure you're fine" and "You can sleep in the car," etc. Cause they've been planning whatever trip for months.

Then the sick person is like "💪 Yeah! I can definitely do this!" So they get up and don't actually tell their friends that they actually feel horrible and sick. At wherever they went, after a bit the sick person is like "oh, maybe I can't do this" then decide to tough it out anyways.

Then they end up passing out because their headache turned into a migraine and uh oh pain dizzy. Then just to add insult to injury, their friends don't understand that it's a *migraine* at first. When they wake up to the bright lights of one of them checking for a concussion or something, they end up getting sick from the pain.

That was way more then I actually planned on writing, but I like my stupid descriptors. Also your writing is so fun and cool :D

∆

Omg thank you! I’m using my new film crew characters for this bc I put it off so long lol

TW: fainting and emeto, of course

———

Lucas woke up with a banging headache. He also felt tired and a bit off in a way he couldn’t place. He figured out he was probably sick.

And to make this all the more inconvenient, Lucas knew he always gets dizzy or lightheaded in response to severe or prolonged pain. It had always happened since he hit puberty, and there was basically nothing he could do about it except try to mitigate the pain. It hadn’t kicked in yet, but he would have to keep it in mind.

Today was not a great day for that (not that any day is). Today was the first day of shooting for Penelope’s short film. He really couldn’t miss that.

Still, he didn’t want to expose his friends to any illness if they didn’t want to risk it. He laid in bed for a minute, trying to decide what to do, and eventually decided to call Penelope.

“Hey, Luke!” she answered almost immediately. “Are you on your way over?”

“No, I-“ he stuttered, confused.

He propped himself up in bed and looked at his clock.

9:30 already?

“I actually just woke up,” he admitted.

“What!?”

“I must have forgotten to set an alarm. Anyway, I’ve got a bit of a headache and I think I might be sick.”

“Oh, no,” she replied. “Are you still up for the shoot?”

“Oh, I thought you wouldn’t want me to come.”

“Well, I want you on camera. If you’re really not feeling good I’m sure me or Armando could do it, but I’d like to have you.”

“Alright, then yeah. I’ll just grab breakfast. I’ll probably be ready in about 30 minutes.”

“Okay, nice! See you there. And make sure to take care of yourself. I don’t want to have to bug you about that all day.”

“I will, I will. See you soon!”

“Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Alright.”

Lucas hung up the call.

He popped an ibuprofen, ate some cereal and brushed his teeth as quickly as he could, then headed out the door.

•••

“Hi Luke!” said Regan when they saw him.

“Hey,” he said to everyone with a wave.

“There you are!” Armando called out. “Of course you get here after we’re done setting everything up.”

Lucas gave a half-hearted chuckle. He knew he was joking because Lucas was usually one of the first people to arrive on set, second only to Armando and sometimes Penelope.

Regan and Jessica were in front of the camera and Armando was behind it, getting them into focus. Magnus was having his makeup done by Vio. Raj was holding the boom mic. Thomas was wandering around aimlessly. Penelope was watching the pop-up screen connected to the camera to see what Armando’s shot looked like.

“Have you started shooting yet?” Lucas asked Penelope.

“No, but we’re ready to,” she answered.

“Alright, let’s get going then!”

•••

Lucas had hoped that his duties as camera operator and director of photography would keep his mind off of how he felt, but they didn’t. He had to constantly fight to stay focused on the camera.

Armando was the AD, as usual, because telling people to pick up the pace came naturally to him. He was doing a fine job, but Lucas was making his job difficult. Armando kept having to tell Lucas to focus and listen.

Vio noticed Lucas’ slightly paler than normal complexion, frequent rubbing of his nose bridge and temples and lack of focus and energy early on. They were always observant about that sort of thing. They started asking him if he was okay every once in a while and making sure he drank water.

As time went on, Lucas’s headache grew worse. He asked Penelope for painkillers, but she didn’t have any. She told him to drink water. He did, and it didn’t seem to make any difference.

He started noticing how dizzy he was right around lunch time. Fortunately it was well-timed, because he could sit down while he ate a slice of the pizza they got delivered. He hoped that nutrition would help with his lightheadedness. He felt a bit better after sitting for a while, but alas, they had to continue shooting.

He did his best to get good shots and keep up the pace, but he kept feeling worse and worse. The greasy pizza became heavy in his stomach and he felt it churning around every time he moved. The dizziness kept getting stronger as well.

During a take, a wave of dizziness and lightheadedness hit him so hard he was sure he would pass out if he didn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t let that happen. If he passed out, he would drop the camera.

He squatted down and set the camera gently on the tile floor. He heard a couple of confused voices around him, probably Armando’s and Vio’s, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. They sounded muffled and distorted.

He leaned his head down, breathed deeply and covered his eyes, blocking out the light.

He felt a hand on his back, then another one. The voices sounded worried and like they were asking questions. He wished he could answer them.

“I’m sorry, I just got really dizzy for a second,” Lucas explained.

He wondered if that even came out coherently.

Someone lifted his chin and took his hands away from his eyes. He tried to open his eyes to see who it was, but the light was just too bright. The dizziness only got worse. He started to feel weak.

The next thing he knew, he woke up laying on the floor.

As he regained consciousness, a bright light shone directly into his face. It felt like the light was stabbing through his eyeballs and into his brain.

The pain made everything spin and his stomach throw itself around before he could even react.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block the light with his hand, but his arms were too weak to lift.

“Oh, god!” he exclaimed.

Muffled voices chattered around him again. The light shut off, but the stabbing pain lingered. His stomach couldn’t take it.

“I’m gonna puke, I’m gonna puke, I’m gonna puke,” he repeated urgently.

Someone rolled him over onto his left side just in time for his abs to clench, forcing greasy pizza mush mixed with stomach acid out onto the floor.

He groaned and finally opened his eyes. Luckily, now, people were standing over him, blocking the overhead lights.

“Was that it or are you going to puke again?” Vio asked, holding a trash can.

“I don’t know,” Lucas breathed heavily.

“Do you think you can sit up?” they asked him.

“No,” he said frankly.

“Oh. Should we- should we call an ambulance?” Vio said to Penelope.

“No, don’t,” Lucas objected.

“Are you sure? Passing out and then throwing up is really bad,” Vio opined.

“Yeah. I just have a really bad headache,” he said.

“Oh, could it be a migraine?” Penelope asked.

“It probably is,” he told her.

“That explains it,” she said.

“Really?” Vio questioned. “I know people throw up from migraines, but they don’t usually pass out.”

“Lucas always gets dizzy when he’s in, like, a lot of pain,” Penelope explained. “I’ve seen him pass out from it before, when he broke his butt.”

“What?” Vio questioned.

“He broke his ass bone and then passed out,” Armando said. “It was hilarious.”

“Yeah, it was pretty funny,” Lucas said with a chuckle.

“Oh, okay then,” Vio said. “You’ll have to tell me that story later. But for now, are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” he assured them, propping himself up on his elbow. “I’ll just take a break.”

“Of course,” Penelope said. “Armando, you can do camera. I’m sorry for even asking you to come in today, Lucas.”

“It’s okay,” he told her. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known.”

“It’s okay. You go take a break,” said Penelope, gesturing toward a bench down the hall. “We need to keep shooting.”

“Alright.”

Lucas slowly and carefully stood up. Vio steadied him with their hand on his shoulder, even though when standing, he was much taller than them.

He walked down the hallway, stumbling a few times. He was glad Vio was there to catch him.

They reached the bench and he sat down, then leaned his head down and covered his eyes like he did before.

He heard a sound that was undoubtedly a trash can being placed in front of him, then someone sitting down next to him on the bench.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No problem,” said Vio.

Vio stayed with him as much as they could. They would occasionally get called over to help fix a costume or answer a question about the production design, but they were by Lucas’ side for most of the time.

Eventually the migraine subsided and Lucas drove himself home.

[pinkspiraling]

tw suicide

i’m home from my vacation and it was fine. ngl i just had a lot of social anxiety the whole time and i felt like the freak or the weird one or the dumb one in every situation. it also made me realize how crazy and not normal my tolerance is and also that other people LIKE to pace themselves! meanwhile i have never figured out how to. i feel like i’m more suicidal now than i was before the trip which is saying a lot and idfk. i’m disappointed but never surprised. i always think that new experiences and places and people might help me find a reason to live or like if i could just have one really good day i could find some sort of motivation to live. i just don’t fucking feel things anymore like i go on vacations and go “yeah…i think it was fun…i guess it was fun” like i truly am not sure if anything’s fun cause “fun” just isn’t really something i experience anymore and there is no joy or excitement i just…feel nothing but shame and a desire to die. i just kept thinking about it, i felt so out of place it made me feel like dying is truly my only option. it’s the only escape and i fucking hate the world and nothing feels important or beautiful to me anymore. things that used to be good are now just bland and disappointing and i was soooo fucked up all weekend and ig i thought that would help me have a good time but it’s like nothing was enough no matter how much i had. and i had A LOT. i feel like i get deeper and deeper into this even when i’m trying to look for ways out. it just pulls me deeper and i lose more hope and strength. i’m tired of being suicidal and i wish that meant tired in a way where i will try to live but instead it’s past that, it’s tired in a way where i’m just begging for it to be over. i’ll be in a “happy” moment with people i really love, celebrating things that are really important for them and i’ll still feel like “yeah but i’d still rather be dead” like i’m only here for other people yk and i will try to celebrate their lives and make them happy but it’s not bc i feel all that much joy for them. i feel nothing and it’s like i feel love for them but i don’t feel love back anymore. i know it’s probably still there but fuck i just don’t fucking feel it anymore. i don’t cry often but i’m sober asf and just got home so ofc i’m crying bc i just had an insane bender, but also another thing to “look forward to” is gone and i am so so so tired of living and i am tired of the emptiness and the loneliness that never leaves no matter how far away i try to get. i can’t do this anymore and i say that all the time and i feel like i get closer to the end but i also say THAT all the time. so who knows. maybe i’ll suffer like this for ten more years and pull the trigger when i feel like i’ve tried for everyone for long enough. i don’t feel like i deserve anything, i don’t even feel like i deserve the relief of death. like i haven’t earned it yet. but fuck i wanna die and i’m so stuck there is no way out

[puppy-phum]

✨the tag game✨

thank you so much for tagging me @leonpob​ ♥ a perfect way to avoid my responsibilities haha

THREE SHIPS 🚢 i have a whole army of ships but the current ones i feel strongly about are puentalay, waikorn (waitalay????), and waantul. i place more importance on ships when they wake up my writer mind and insist on me writing them, so i also have a huge group of pairings i enjoy just seeing around (current fave trio would probably be palmnuengdiao, chopperben, and jimwen)

FIRST SHIP 🚢 my first bl ship - that i could consider a proper ship on my own standards - was probably kornknock from together with me. the first non-canon ship from any media ever was most likely either dom/brian from fast & furious or maybe luka/yuki from the manga series betrayal knows my name (uragiri boku no namae wa shitteiru) - who i guess can be considered canon tho, at least in the manga? the anime series didn’t get that far. (it was one of the first animes i ever watched and is still very dear to me)

LAST SONG 🎧 am currently listening to music on shuffle from the playlist that just contains everything i’ve liked from 2016 onwards so am just going to mention the song i most recently put on my current obsessions playlist which is:

Catch - Epik High ft Hwa Sa (from their new ep Strawberry)

LAST MOVIE 🍿 also the BTS Yet To Come in Cinemas ♥ it was a blast! 

CURRENTLY READING 📖 mostly fics but i also have matt haig’s the comfort book to read. was planning on taking myself on a date on valentine’s day and go to a nice café to eat something sweet and to read some of that ♥ am hoping it won’t make me cry in public tho

CURRENTLY WATCHING 👀 the list has recently grown shorter with the shows that finished airing (Between Us, 10YT, the other Midnight Series shows) but it’s still long! am currently following these dramas as the new episodes air:

Moonlight Chicken Never Let Me Go GAP The Series (am one ep behind tho) HIStory 5: Love in the Future A League of Nobleman

and otherwise am watching The Blood of Youth rn. am probably finishing that this weekend... and then am hopefully starting My School President and either Who Rules The World or When We Meet (both cdramas). 

CURRENTLY CONSUMING 👄 the blood of youth episodes and chocolate. it is always chocolate. that is my only comfort while i try surviving work and studies lol 

CURRENTLY CRAVING 🫦 instead of any food - bc i ate just now - i’d say a holiday trip to thailand. i’ve been to thailand before but not to that many places there and it would be nice to travel more around the country. i’d also love to appreciate the culture better now that i’m an adult and not only focusing on playing at the pool lol. and i would, of course, also love to go see my boys there haha 

ONWARD TAGS 🏷️ sending this to these wonderful ppl: @i-am-just-a-kiddo @wanderlust-in-my-soul @seanwhites @dimpledpran @stormyoceans @ardentlytess @nongnaos @thanawins @pannakorn @liyazaki ♥ i hope you’re all having an amazing weekend!

[booksbydlwhite]

Bookcast Epi 83: Who do you write for, and are they reading your books?

Welcome back to the Bookcast, my platform for sharing short fiction and updates on what I'm reading and writing.

In this episode, I provide insights into my writing progress, current reads, author branding and the challenges of marketing while maintaining brand authenticity. I shared  book and podcast recommends, and wax on about the the Friends-to-Lovers romance  trope. I'm prepping for a  work trip, so I've outlined my plans for writing amidst a busy schedule and tease plot developments in my current novel.

it’s #INDIEAPRIL! To celebrate, I have a few books on sale:

Grab the audiobooks for Dinner at Sam’s and Brunch at Ruby’s on CHIRP - sale ends in 8 days!

Grab the ebooks and audiobooks for Brunch at Ruby’s and Dinner at Sam’s at my website store for a CHOOSE YOUR OWN PRICE- min price $.99!

Listen to the show here (grab a transcript here!)

BOOK REPORT

READ - 6

The Way You Tempt Me (Pure Talent, #1) by Elle Wright

She's Not Sorry by Mary Kubica

Double Lives by Mary Monroe

Take It (On the Clock #1) by Shae Sanders

The Replacements: A Grumpy Boss Romance by Shae Sanders

Happy Hour Hoe (On the Clock #2) by Shae Sanders

READING -3

Invasion of Privacy by Imani Jay

Work Song by Danielle Allen

Some Kind of Love: Prelude by Elle Wright

PUT DOWN -0!

Recommended Listening:

Recommends: THE STACKS POD - Traci asks a question that absolutely blows my mind, to the point of not remembering what the answer was. “Who is your audience and are those the people reading your book?“ Is the best question I have ever heard in my life. The Stacks is my fave Wednesday and occasional Friday bonus epi listen… it’s pinned to the TOP of my podcast list so it always plays first. Give Traci a listen and join us in the Stacks Pack.

Ep. 314 Being Chesty with Andrew Boryga

Traci asked me why I love this question. My response- Authors (who aren't white) have the added hurdle of WANTING to write to a siloed audience but publishing wanting to be more broad and vast (read: white readers) which makes it hard to reach your target audience bc the marketing approach is different. Asking this q especially to a debut author gives us insight into whether they see what efforts their agent/publisher marketing dept are making toward their books, and is that at the expense of the people you're trying to reach? It's also about some of the conversations authors are having about book covers. Slapping those cute illustrated covers on a steamy romance or a lit fiction book works against us because cover branding is a promise to the reader. If I write a steamy romance but my cover looks like a funny romcom, am I reaching the audience that wants to read steamy romance? And if I hit romcom and get 2 star reviews for all the sex and profanity bc they didn't expect that, is it hurting me?

My second rec ties into my first and it was kismet that it played right after that episode. I listen to a long list of writing, author, publishing pods and one of my faves is the Wish I'd Known Then podcast. Authors Jami Albright and Sara Rosett interview self-published authors about how they found success as well as lessons they've learned. This week’s episode is on author branding and is worth a listen or two. I’m definitely going to run it back.

How to Find Your Author Brand - Wish I'd Known Then For Writers

Both episodes echo conversations that writers have been having about cover, about voice, about standing out but blending in. Both episodes are great and I highly recommend them!

WRITING UPDATE

My last reported word count was 63,523 words. Today I’m’ at 70,559 words. And I am not done. I’ll definitely have to cut some back, but I’m not worried about it yet. YET. Listen to today’s episode and stress out with me about it.

Thank you so much for joining me for today's chat! I truly enjoy having you here and welcome any comments or feedback at booksbydlwhite.com/bookcast. Don’t forget to share the podcast if you enjoyed this episode and if you listen on Apple Podcasts or Spotify, give a girl a rating! I’d really appreciate it. Do not forget that you can support this podcast with your book purchases, by spreading the good word, or by throwing some coins in the hat at bookcast.buzzsprout.com. Every little bit helps.

I'll be back on Saturday April 20th. We’ll talk about how much writing I didn’t get done (LOL), and what books I got into whilst on my trip. Please enjoy this weekend, have a superlative week and we'll chat again soon. 

Support this show with a recurring gift at bookcast.buzzsprout.com. Buy books by DL White at https://BooksbyDLWhite.com/books. Buy Merch by DLWhite at https://payhip.com/BooksbyDLWhite/collection/merch Find the Bookcast on booksbydlwhite.com/bookcast or your fave podcast app: Apple Podcasts | Spotify |Overcast | Podlink| Youtube

[ironunderstands]

I’ve had more thoughts be afraid.

Here’s the less nuanced take:

it actually is the literal translation because this is just how Ratio expresses his concern, in a rude tone, but he doesn’t mean the ruder interpretation of the phrase

Now I have no knowledge of Chinese or how it functions which is why I’m calling it the less nuanced take, but Ratio is the kinda guy to gently bandage your arm while insulting you so I don’t necessarily think a meaner tone means you should use the meaner version of what those characters mean bc that’s kinda just, in character for him

More nuanced take (it’s basically a ramble forgive me):

Ratio’s kinda known for his emotionally constipated dumbass being unable to express his emotions very well, and he believes the best way to help people is to provide them with the necessary tools to succeed, but ultimately leave them to be the ones to help themselves, as that’s the only way people can truly improve, it has to come from themselves. I think this, combined with the fact that Aventurine seem like he would be very receptive to/comfortable with genuine care, his and Acheron’s conversation in front of the black hole felt like the first time Aventurine could really get his feelings off his chest and just talk to someone in years, and that’s with no witnesses and may be the last time Aven gets to talk to someone in years, which makes me come up with a weird 3rd interpretation of the line.

A continuation of their banter, which they mostly did for Sunday’s benefit (although there were some genuine moments in there, it’s complicated for other reasons), but one lacing some genuine concern in there. Ratio outright telling Aventurine to take care of himself probably wouldn’t go over well, Ratio only lets his walls down in the black hole scene for Aven when that kinda concern is warranted. But in the other scenes with Aven, even if he is clearly concerned he’s still rude, a) bc Sunday is probably watching that man is a stalker b) because it would probably throw Aventurine way the hell off. Ratio is kinda known for having a stick up his ass so random genuine concern would probably make Aventurine more uncomfortable than anything else.

Moreover, although I’d argue they are definitely friends and have been so for a while, you don’t give a random coworker a dedicated nickname or feel comfortable enough to banter with them that harshly. If Ratio seriously didn’t like him or even didn’t care he probably wouldn’t entertain Aventurines inquiries, they weren’t that vital to the task at hand. Aven has a spine, and even if his glaring insecurities clearly weren’t fully ok with the banter (ie him questioning if it was genuine or not, to be fair he was tripping off of harmony juice so deep seated doubts are naturally gonna arise), if he was genuinely hurt he would he would say so. Although likely in his “I’m not really upset” kinda way, a “lighten up doc” or two and then he stares at the camera miserably kinda way, as they don’t exactly have time to talk it out.

As for Ratio, he would probably recognize the deep seated fears and insecurities in his friend. And realize the proper treatment for him wouldn’t be to treat him differently than he would any other “patient” of his because Aventurine wouldn’t respond well to a shift in his behavior. I feel like they are friends but haven’t really had any heart to hearts with each other yet which puts them both in this weird middle ground in which they care but can’t exactly state it outright yet, which already adds to their previous character traits which makes emotional honesty with each other hard.

His “about self” line also implies it’s just his approach in general. Being standoffish causes a person to stop looking for answers from you and find them itself. And implying that he only reveals his true colors, aka stripping away of the banter and the rudeness to just plain help someone when he’s clear that won’t be helpful, is only for dire situations (like the vial/note!). “It’s usually counterproductive” probably means that doing so might throw the person off whose already used to his rough attitude, and being that honest with people you don’t really know can be an issue, especially for someone like Ratio (This line could be mistranslated I would have no idea). Basically triple this sentiment for Aventurine and you get what I think is going on here.

That’s a lot of yapping to really just say that with a more correct (or supposedly correct idk Chinese and I tend to read Ratio as a lot kinder than most other ppl bc of the Screwllum convo + his character stories + I just like interpreting characters as being the best versions of themselves) translation, I feel like this like is Ratio masking his concern behind his typical banter with Aven because that’s the only way Aventurine could actually heed his advice and take care of himself rather than focus his attention on Ratio, even in a teasing manner.

Cause like, we know they care about each other, quite literally putting their lives in one another’s hands + the note Ratio gives him. I feel like reading this line as purely banter kinda does a disservice to that

Aventurine is one of the few people Ratio genuinely respects/thinks highly of, especially with his voice line about Aven in which he noticed how much Aven downplays his own intelligence and skill by chalking it up to luck, and muses that if Aven and his “audience” think he is going to fail it might become an inevitability, ie Aven should stop doubting himself because it only puts him in danger. And you are valuable and smart actually you stupid idiot.

This hurts all the more with Aventurines voiceline in which he doubts Ratio thinks he is smart or valuable AND GODDDDD. The miscommunication trope is cooking 😭😭😭 RATIOOOOOOOOO

Welp that’s all the thoughts I have for now I hope u were afraid. Ratio pls let your walls down it won’t be counterproductive this time

regarding dr ratio's team join voiceline with aventurine

idk where it originated from but i've been seeing this notion that the ENG voiceline is horribly mistranslated and ratio is much more caring and friendly in the original CN. THIS IS LITERALLY NOT TRUE HE IS JUST AS BITCHY IN BOTH LANGUAGES

as a native chinese speaker i actually really love hsr's localisation and i would like to clarify the misconception + explain the cultural nuance/context behind this particular voiceline

i think this tweet might've been the original source for this misconception? op's translation of the CN line is very literal and completely lacking in cultural nuance. while the sentence 管好你自己 does literally translate to "take care of yourself", it lacks the automatic positive connotation that this sentence has in ENG. CN is a high context language -- aka the meaning of a sentence can be totally different based on context clues like tone, body language, etc.

ratio's tone in this line is not the tone of someone who is concerned for a friend. it's standoffish. when said in this kind of tone, the meaning of 管好你自己 is closer to "mind your own business", making the ENG "keep to yourself" a more accurate localisation.

in addition, the word 管 has connotations of controlling/managing something -- directly translating this to "take care of yourself" means it's missing a lot of important nuance.

granted, the second half of the line is a bit unnecessarily aggressive in ENG. the CN is more like "I have no need for your concern", and explicitly saying that he believes aven's concern to be "false" in ENG is definitely a lot ruder than the original line.

However. in my opinion it's not Too far off base. the way he emphasises the second half of that voiceline in CN carries an implication that he actually disdains aven's concern; we can extrapolate from context clues that he feels this way because aven's concern is just an act. tldr; eng line explicitly saying "false display" does make it ruder than CN but it didn't just come from nowhere -- the implication is already there in CN

this is not to say that ratio doesn't care about aven or see him as a friend. imo the reason ratio is so standoffish in this line is because any display of concern from aven here has the clear intention of teasing ratio. they both know ratio can take care of himself perfectly well. this is just how their dynamic works -- aven makes silly playful comments and ratio deflects them by acting cold.

in conclusion: ENG voiceline is not a mistranslation. hsr localisation is definitely not perfect but in this particular case i feel they've done a fairly good job of conveying the original meaning. thank you for coming to my ted talk

[tenderlyrenjun]

hi! i love your fics alot honestly i have no idea why your getting sm hate

and abt writing being used as a coping mechanism it is COMPLETELY okay its YOUR writing not theirs your doing this for YOUR enjoyment! and your using it to help YOUR mental state. having your emotions bleed into your writing is honestly so so good it lets me as the reader truly understand what your feeling and i feel good when i see it bcs it feels nice knowing someone understands how i feel!

i love you and your works 😋 dont listen to the haters theyre all poopoo heads and assholes for real.

btw can i be 🪸 anon??

oh, it’s not really anon hate. It used to be worse, but I have this rule where I block empty/inactive blogs, so it’s gotten better - people don’t like this rule, but it exists; I used to get more criticism about my blog boundaries than anything, but I go inactive for long periods of time, so I think people move on, which is fine; no one owes me anything.

the whole anon criticism started most prominently back during the time out prequel when it wouldn’t show in the tags, so I had to make, like, little “ad” posts where I’d just copy-paste the summary and a smut scene to get people to read it. And then someone told me that my fic was okay but not great because it was more tell than show, and I said they were wrong, but really, I should’ve been more grateful that someone actually read my fic (it’s too long). And then, for another fic, someone rated it on a scale of 1-10, and it felt … awful, on my end; and I responded to it when I had, like, a high anxiety moment (I should’ve stepped away from my phone), but the person has their own mental problems and that’s how they categorize things and I should’ve considered their feelings more, really. I’m not, like, a good person, sorry; I don’t want to trick you or guilt trip you into anything. The reality is that I actually deserve it. No one owes me anything, and I should be grateful for any feedback because I’m just hung up on external validation, really. It just stresses me out, like, personally, but that’s no one else’s fault except my own.

sorry, I know how this reads; I’m not trying to be a pick-me or guilt trip you or anything, and I know that this sounds so, like, self-focused. It’s all deserved, really, sorry. But thank you for liking my fics ^^ hopefully, I can post something good soon; I’ve been working on the baseball au lately, but I scrapped the idea, so something should be in the works later. I have a jealousy reaction that I’m thinking about, so if I dedicate a couple minutes, I might be able to post it soon, or something, idk yet ._.

[hausofmamadas]

Uhhhhhhhhh this is like legit one of the best fics I’ve ever read okay? Okay like you have no idea the strength it took, everything in me, not to respond to this line-for-line

═

✸ ‘Keep looking, carnal,’ he’d say, ‘there’s got to be life here somewhere, right?’

NOOOOOSKKSSKSKSKSNS OKAY BC SJSJS so bc you’d told me you like baked in a sneaky plotline that you thought I’d catch early on, I was hunting for it immediately and in my over-enthusiasm(is that even a word? let’s pretend it is) I had the dumbest thought of like :woahdeeby: did mj pull a 2001 Space Odyssey and set this story on the moon or somethinfkdjdjdbs like idk why but the “there’s got to be life here somewhere, right?” had me frantically and conspiratorially setting this on the moon for like a half second

✸ Right now, it’s a three-walled structure, with half a roof and enough shade to make it look like a haven.

“and enough shade to look like a haven.” And enough poetry to make me mad at you not 5 seconds into reading this shit you’re welcome and thank you and you’re welcome

✸ It’s probably because he knows that you’d ignore him if he did, or tell him he can go back to the busted vehicle and drink the gas from the tank. Light yourself while you’re at it, cabrón.

PFFTTTTTJSJDD Light yourself while you’re at it, cabrón is close to something I have said to more than one person in my life and it’s makin me cackle thinking about it y no digamos ya que me hace sentir muy visto

✸ Sitting down feels like dying, in a way, it takes everything out of you to do it slowly, and somewhat carefully. If you didn’t put actual effort into avoiding it, you probably would’ve dropped hard enough to break something, right on the tailbone.

UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHJOOOOOOOKAY a couple of things here, 1) “Sitting down feels like dying” something about the way this is phrased ??????? makes me???????? feel like dying???? bc like IT SLAPT ME THAT FUCKING HARD. YES, HARD ENOUGH TO KILL ME. CONGRATS ON EARNING YOUR 00 LICENSE, YOU MONSTER 2) the way I actually like felt my own tailbone crack reading that last sentence, like I physically reacted to it so causing me both mental and physical anguish. I know it’s Whumpril but damn, you gotta kick me when I’m down too?

✸ Long enough in the shade, that it feels like sticking your head in the drinks fridge at Safeway.

AT THE SAFEWAYSJSJSJSJSJSJS NO YOU DONT EVEN ACTUALLY UNDERSTANDISJSJD bc when you asked me for the name of an American like grocery store, I was gonna name like the big National ones but then I was trying to think about like what’s a kind of janky mid-level one that has smaller stores that are almost more like convenience stores like at a gas station, so I said Safeway. No knowledge whatsoever of the fic but the fact that like they get broken down in the middle of a desert, presumably on some kind of road trip or long drive, like Safeway makes such absolute sense and I’m just marveling st our magic shared braincell

✸ He groans again, getting comfortable, because he’s a man of that age and that’s all they do. ‘You should have stayed when I told you to, carnal.’

Idk what exactly it is about “he’s a man of that age and that’s all they do,” that feels like simultaneously charmed by him and lightly mocking at the same time but there’s liek such an underlying tone of fondness too??? I’m sure I’m rambling and making no fucking sense but like im just saying I felt a thing reading it and even though I do not yet understand the thing that I felt, I felt it deeply skskskssksksjsbw

✸ ‘Come on,’ he croons, ‘we have fun, no?’

Had, past tense. You turn your head to look at him. ‘If we survive, I’m killing you before anyone else.’

PAST TENSEv?v??????.???????vaskwhwhwhwhevevwjwh PASTTEEEEEENSEvvvvvvv?vvvvvvvvvvv?????? WHYYY SHOULD THAT BE PAST TENSE MJ????????? WHOOOOOOOO, WHIIIICH ONE OF THEM IS FUCKING DEAD MJ????????????? i say as if I don’t already know :KEKW: BC I CANT TELL BC YOU KEEP SWITCHING BETWEEN LIKE “I” OR “WE GOTTA GET OUTTA THIS MESS” LIKE THE GOTDAMN VISIONARY YOU ARE SO I CANT TELL WHOS DEAD JESUS MAYBE THEYRE STILL ON THE MOON FUCK

✸ As if he’d go that easy, as if he’d even let you get close enough to try. The only thing that would kill him is—

‘But, I thought you were done with killing,’ he says, and it feels like he’s laughing at you now, not with you. ‘Ya no es divertido, Lalo,’ he mocks, doing the worst impression of your voice that he possibly could. ‘What happened to that, hm?’

Aaaaaaaaand here we are now with the unhinged copy/pasting of a whole ass fuckin paragrapht but likkkweeeeeeeee the fact that you’ve never written for lalo before and you’ve managed to SO PERFECTLY, FLAWLESSLY, INCREDIBLY CAPTURE WHAT HE SOUNDS LIKE AND THE ENTIRE PURE ESSENCE OF HIS BEING AS IF HE WAS LIKE YOUR OC THAT YOU THOUGHT UP ENTIRELY FROM SCRATCH is ~~not surprising simultaneously remarkable and uhhhhhhhh???? Enraging??? Yeah, enraging like this LIT👏🏽RAL👏🏽LY👏🏽 MAKES ME WANT TO SET SHIT ON FIRE AND BLOW THINGS UP, COMMIT ACTS OF DOMESTIC TERRORISM BC IM SO MAD, ITS THAT GOOD. I mean HE CROONS????????? BC YES, ACTUALLT THATS EXACTLY WHAT HE DOES, THIS MAN IS A CROONER WITH THE BEST OF THEM. I MEAN HE IMITATES READER BADLY BUT LIKE ITS STILL SOMEHOW CHARMING AND ANNOYINGLY FUNNY AT THE SAME TIME???????? BC YES, THIS IS THAT MAN someone give me a Xanax, bc I fucking can’t anymore

✸ You happened, you want to say, you and all your charm and all the bullshit it comes with. ‘The same thing that always happens, Lalo, money.’

Okay and can we fucking talk about this little thiiiing you’ve been doing here with like thinking one response, and then saying something else out loud sometimes entirely contradictory to what was thought like you’ve done this in other fics but not as much as this one and the way its such just FUCJING SETTING THE VIBE OKAY???????????2?2)27833)3$37

✸ The cold is helping, you think, making things seem real again. Sharpening the mirage.

*shakes head wearily, slumps head forward, pinches bridge of nose* Sharpening the mirage. Sharpening the mirage??? Sharpening the FUCKING MIRAGE. I MEASNSHSJSJSJSBWARE YOU FUCJING KIIIIIIIIIIIIIDDING ME??????? Sharpening the mirage. Like I can’t even do anything right now except repeat that sentence hoping like I can actual make some semblance of sense of its brilliance except I FUCKING CANT. SHARPENING THE FUCKING MIR— I DONT SUSHEVWHWVKAHSIWJEVE EANWNksoqowiwjbeiaaisishwbwjqpaodownwnwoqn *sprints to other room to scream into pillow*

✸ ‘I think you were the worst thing to ever happen to me.’

You know that he’s grinning. He would be. ‘Is there a prize? I’ve got the perfect place for a trophy.’

And now, as you jnow, I’m contractually obligated to do it. The gif is just burning a hole in my pocket ?camera roll?

Bc this is the exact face that I’m picturing while he says this AND THE FACT YOUR WRITING IS CONJURING FUCKING GIFS ALREADY BC YOU HAVE THIS MAN NAILED DOWN TO A GODDAMN TEE

✸ As if the contents of his trunk excuses the rest of the shit this chingamadre has put you through, as if it wasn’t his fault that you crashed out in the first place.

Tipping my fedora like the tru fuckboi I am at this ACTUAL FLAWLESS use and placement of chingamadre or if you’re me in my weird half Nica, half norteño accent, ssssshhingamadre

✸ His eyebrows go up at your alarm, face coming alive with false offence. ‘What? I can’t be smart like that? Soy un hombre del mundo, ya sabes.’ He pauses. ‘Y chulo, sí me sientes.’

GODDDDKDJSJ but I can see this so vividly too, the mock offense sjsjsjs and him being all, “look, okay. I know I’m a delicious, undeniable snack-and-a-half, es obvio pero siempre no soy un huevon, corazón” like once again, how you have this man in your bones already is just so fucking clear

✸ He laughs. ‘Y, no seré yo, verdad?’

You nod. It’s not going to be him.

ITS NOT GOING TO BE HIMSNSJSJSJWHWHWJSJSJSBBAWHHWYWHWHWHWHYYYYYTTT IS IT JOT GOING TO BE HIM MJ????????,,,,,,????cVw WHUHAPPPPUNNNNNNNN lo digo como si no lo supiera ya :KEKW:

✸ What matters, is you made it back to the crash site. To the car, exactly as you left it, but no longer on its side.

THE CRASH SIIIIIITE????????????????? WHO IS DEAD MJ??????????????? DÍGAMELO YA!!!!!

✸ The smoking from the engine has stopped, and it doesn’t appear to have burst into flames the way you thought it might. No exploded gas tank, no shrapnel, metal and flesh alike.

OJAY TODO EL MUNDO SÍ CALLATE ALAVERGA YA PORQUE HAY UN RAZON POR LA QUE TUVE LEER TANTAS VECES. I HAD TO READ THIS MORE THAN THRICE BC I JNEW I WAS GONNA PICK UP ON SOME SNEAKY SHIT THAT I DIDNT AT DIRST AND THIS RIGHT HERE IS ONE OF THOSE THINGS “...no shrapnel, metal and flesh alike” okay, firstly, the prospect of flesh also being a form of shrapnel is so visually evocative that if I wasn’t already dead, I’d have earned my 00 license bc I would’ve murdered you for your brilliance. Secondly, the inclusion of flesh IS YET ANOTHER CLUE TO THE BIG TWIST THAT I ABSOLUTELY KNOW TOTALLY DONT KNOW ABOUT THAT I HADNT CAUGHT THE FIRST TOME BC YOU OUT HERE LAYERING THAT SHIT LIKE ITS A 7 LAYER CAKE ON THE GREAT BRITISH BAKE-OFF sorry, I had to do it, I had to make that british joke, imsosorry

✸ You put your thighs to the tailgate, leaning all your weight onto it, because stationary and upright isn’t a thing you can manage right now, and begin digging in the contents of the trunk.

Not me sksjsb giggling to myself bc stationary and upright isn’t a thing I can manage after liek 20 minutes of waiting in line at the DMV meanwhile Reader’s like fucking trapped in the middle of the Chihuahua desert

✸ The guy drives around like a cartoon villain, and for what? None of this shit can help him now.

LIKENSJSJSHSBW W A CARTOONSSIJB VILLAIN NO ASJSJHS YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HOW NUCH IN ACTUALLT FICKING SCREAMIN AT THE MENTAL IMAGE OF LOKE LALO AS AN ACME CARTOON VILLAIN LIKE IM PICTURING LALO LIKE THE ROADRUNNER WITH A LITTLE MUSTACHE JUST *MEEP MEEP* FUCKING WITH THE TASMANIAN DEVIL OR WHOEVER TF

✸ You’re too tired to call a bastard, a bastard, even when he’s sitting right there in the driver’s seat.

Too tired to call a bastard, a bastard: yet another incredible candidate to add to the list of Titles for My Memoirs and/or Phrases That Could and Should Go On My Gravestone

✸ You bend, pick up the phone, check the screen—full battery—and laugh. Fuck, it was worth it, then. Coming back here. He was smart enough to carry a phone that could survive the desert when nothing else did.

NOOOOOOOSJSWJBW THE WAY THIS FUCKING HURTSMESO bc like desert!hallucination!Lalo is gone bc real!Lalo is there AND HES FUCKINF DEAD but also the way he’d totally be laughing right along with Reader IF HE WASNT IS ACRUALFJDJT T E LIKE I REALLY— I JUST—

✸ Dead from his injuries before he could finish the job himself.

NOOOSSOLLOOOOOIISIIII BUTLIKE I REALLY— YOU JUST— I MEAN YOUHAVE BEEN ON ONE FOR THIS WHOLE ASS FIC, FUCJING RELENTLESS AND WHAT IS ACTUALKY WRONG WITH YOU

✸ He doesn’t answer. You can’t pretend that he does, either, when he’s slumped against the window like that. Chin on his chest, blood over his eyes. He doesn’t spring to life in your imagination like he had done before.

LIKE I THINK I CAN MAKE A VERY GOOD CASE THAT THIS SHOULD BE TURNED INTO EVIDENCE FOR THE INEVITABLE TRIAL FOR MY MURDER. THE ONLY QUESTION REMAINING IS MOTIVE, BC NO ONE WILL UNDERSTAND WHY YOU WOULD WANT TO KILL ME IN SUCH AN UNDERHANDED WAY WHEN IVE DONE NOTHING BUT OFFER YOU FRIENDHSIP, I MEANNNN PUEDES VERLO COMO ME HAS DESENREDADO ????? QUE SHINGADAS, MI COMPA ??????? EXPLÍCAMELO POR EL PUTA AMOR DE PUTA DIOS

✸ It’s shame, really, because you were just starting to get attached.

YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU MF TERRORIST, YOU ACTUAL FUCKING TERRORIST, LIKE YOU DON’T EVEN JNOW WHAT YOUVE DONE???????? ARE YOU AWARE ????? THAT YOURE NOW CONTRACTUALLY OBLIGATED UPON PUBKICATION OF THIS REVLOG TO SUPPLY ME WITH ANY AND ALL LALO CONTENT I DESIRE??????? BC YOU ARE. I DESERVE THAT AT THE VERY LEAST FOR THIS LEGITIMATE WMOTIONAL DAMAGE AND SUFFERING YOUVE SUBJECTED ME TO, GODDAMMIT. But like in all honesty, I’m dead-ass serious this is one of my absolute, absolute, tip-top favorite things you’ve ever written, and like top 3 favorite fanfics of all time currently prolly tied for first with Ash’s Víctor/Barrón exchange gift I was amused. I was confused. I was disoriented. I was upset. I didn’t know what was going on. Are we on the moon? Wait, who’s dead? What’s happening? Except that I was SO ALONG FOR THE FUCKING RIDE. You did that. You did that shit okay. Godd, I need to take a 40 year nap now

the last stretch

lalo salamanca & gn!reader, whump, 18+, 1588 words

warnings for major character death, descriptions of blood & injuries

for day 8 of whumpril : dehydration

a/n: just a short one today, and tbh it feels more similar in style to my original fiction vs. my fanfic, so i hope u enjoy! are they friends? enemies? who knows!

tagging: @hausofmamadas @drabbles-mc​ @cositapreciosa​

You’ve been walking for hours, a day, maybe, or two, without getting anywhere at all. As far as you could bare to endure in one direction, and then back to the car, then as far as you could manage the opposite way. Never straying far from the crash site, never letting it out of your view on the horizon. You couldn’t. Lalo wouldn’t let you.

No matter how tired you got, no matter how chapped your lips, how sore your heels, how sharp the headache—it was the same, over and over. ‘Keep looking, carnal,’ he’d say, ‘there’s got to be life here somewhere, right?’

Keep reading

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

[friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn]

For the OT3 ask game: 4, 5, 8, 9, 14, 15, 17 and 19 :D <3

Hi Timi! Thanks for the ask <3

As I mentioned in the tags, I’m gonna be answering this for DC’s lovely Timberkon because I’ve been trying to write a fic about them for a week and it is not going. So maybe this helps

4. Which two got together first? Or did they all start dating each other at once?

I’m gonna say Tim and Kon got together first simply because they’ve known each other longer

5. Who do people usually think is the third wheel?

Bernard, but only because he’s blond. Like, you’ve got Tim and Conner who are both the dark-haired, slightly mysterious type, and then there’s Bernard who at first glance might as well be a Golden Retriever

8. Who’s the biggest drama queen?

Definitely Tim. Only about small things, though, in situations where most people would naturally get a little dramatic, he’s just perfectly calm

9. Who’s the most responsible?

I’d say Kon but he would probably accidentally do something stupid bc no one told him that that is not a thing humans tend to survive lol. And then there’s Bernard and the whole cult thing…

So surprisingly, it’s Tim. Somehow. Coffee-addict, routinely goes 72+ hours without sleep, dressed up in tights to fight crime every night, Timothy Drake-Wayne. No one knows why

14. Who ends up clinging to one or both of their partners in their sleep?

Mostly Kon and Tim, to each other or to Bernard. Bernard is a little less likely to do so, but it happens occasionally, usually when he’s having a bad dream

15. Who’s the shortest?

Tim. Pretty sure that’s canon too

17. Who is the responsible adult at the grocery store?

Bernard. It’s the only occasion where he’s considered the responsible one lmao

19. Who is forced to drive while the other two make out on the back seat on road trips?

Tim and Bernard take turns driving (Conner was literally born as a 16-year-old, I refuse to believe the Kent’s feel comfortable with letting him drive yet lol).

Occasionally, though, Tim will steal the Batmobile and put it on automatic pilot lol

[yoonpobs]

Omg requests are open AAAHHH

may i request an oblivious oc and tsundere yoongi who likes holding oc's hands and idk like maybe oc thinks it's bc his hands are cold and his friends make fun of him and oc only realizes yoongi likes her when they spill his secret

as a yoongi stan, this is my guilty pleasure and this absolutely KILLED ME ily for asking this 🤣and double update today???? who am I????? 

hope you enjoy this v fluffy and v yoongi piece <3

pairing: tsundere!yoongi x oblivious&clumsy!oc

genre: FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF

warnings: lots of squealing into ur pillow moments. taehyung, jimin & jin being the saviours tbh

words: 3, 136

Yoongi is staring at you like you spilt milk over his favourite pair of sneakers and you have no idea what to make of it.

“Uh …” You drag, blinking up at him with wide eyes when all he does is level you with a blank stare.

You can hear the distinct chatter of your friends in the background, likely already having their go skating around the rink. They always left you and Yoongi alone, for whatever reason it may be. But you weren’t complaining, you wanted to give him your gift in private!

But when Yoongi only stares at the mass of knit in your palms as you hold it out to him, you can only feel your ears flush an embarrassing shade of red at the subtle gesture of rejection. 

Yoongi was by no means a malicious person, but he was very clear-cut. He was straightforward and it was definitely one of his qualities that you admired the most about him. His ability to mitigate any situation, or look at things objectively was something that you struggled with for the most part of your life. Which is why some people would mistake him for cold or uncaring, but you knew better. 

“Do you … do you not like it?” You ask meekly, eyes darting everywhere but his as they continue to stare you down.

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. Instead, he grabs your hands with his larger palm where your gift lays and observes it, scrutinises it as if he’s there to pick apart any stray strand of yarn. His hand, despite his exterior, is soft and gentle when he holds you; and your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds when he traces a thumb over your knuckles.

“It’s cute.” He shrugs.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Your eyes dart down to your hands and somehow you find them in a familiar position. His fingers intertwined with yours and his palm engulfing yours entirely.

“T-Then why don’t you—” You try to pull away, making an effort to dangle your hand-woven mittens in front of him in hopes of attracting his appeal towards it.

But he doesn’t even bat an eye, just sighs and squeezes your hand tighter.

“I’m holding your hand.” He says pointedly, shooting you a serious stare.

You stutter for a response, and despite the chill in the air you hope he can allude to the redness of your cheeks a result of the wind that blows past you and not the flustered state you find yourself in when he tugs your body closer to his.

You suppose you found a bad spot to give him the mittens because you nearly stumble into his chest at how wobbly you are on skates. You planned his gift for weeks, fully aware that your group of friends was intending on coming to ice-skate. 

“I’m really bad at ice-skating. I’ll just slow you down.” You huff with a frown, still attempting to tug your hand away.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “I literally don’t care.”

You gape at his bluntness and scowl when he only offers you a lazy smirk. His hand is still tightly wrapped around your own, and you sigh, knowing that it was hopeless to fight against Yoongi when he was far stronger than you were.

“I can skate with Tae or something, he and I are pretty much—“

“No.” Yoongi blinks.

You splutter, “E-Excuse—?”

He snatches the mittens from your other hand and shoves them into his pocket. The action is so quick that you can barely register the way Yoongi is tugging your forehead as you flounder on your feet, already feeling unstable at the way the ice is set on making you fall.

But Yoongi is there like he always is, and he rests a gentle palm on your waist and shoots you a rare and soft smile that makes your heart weak.

“I’ll teach you.” He says it like it’s obvious, “Just hold my hand.”

“Yoongi, I really don’t think—” You weakly protest when he pulls you closer until you’re nestled comfortably by his side, his face set forward as he blatantly ignores you.

“Stop being so stubborn and hold on tight.” He scolds, squeezing your hand when he feels your fingers loosen its grip.

You pout, your other hand patting your cheek in hopes of easing the burning of your cheeks.

.

Lest to say, you are horrid at ice-skating and you wished you stayed home.

Your two left feet was probably the least interesting thing about you, yet it was the one thing that left a lasting impression on the people you’ve met. Whether it be because you tripped up a flight of stairs as you rushed to your next lecture, or if you accidentally torpedoed into a bush while you were attempting to penny

“How are you even real?” He huffs, fingers intertwined tightly with your own. You’re grateful he has a lethal grip on you because you don’t think you’re ready to be doused in ice, even if it was at your own accord.

“I’m sorry!” You whine, hand still clasped with his.

Yoongi doesn’t let go, even if you’re stable on your feet. He never does. He only holds your hand tighter, grumbling something about your clumsiness as he uses his spare hand to adjust the strap of his bag over his shoulders. When he shoots you a look, you feel very much like a scolded child as you pout up at his narrowed eyes.

“What would you do if I wasn’t holding your hand, huh?” He laments, eyes rolling while he tugs you towards the direction of your friends who have somehow all gathered at the corner of the rink.

You stare at your feet, tittering to keep up with his long strides as he keeps the hold on your hand firm. 

“Look, I don’t ask to be swept away—!” You retort petulantly, but Yoongi completely ignores you as he squeezes your hand in response, right as he stops in front of your friends.

You’re still sulking when Yoongi doesn’t let go, shooting you a look that has you pursing your lips shut. 

“Lovely for the two of you to join us,” Jimin snorts.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you miss the lethal glare he shoots at your mutual friend.

“I’m sorry that my skating skills can’t keep up with you,” You huff.

You see Jin’s eyes dart down to your intertwined hands, before looking up; a knowing smirk on his face that you can’t decipher.

“Seems like Yoongi has it all settled.” He snickers, nudging Jimin by the side.

You can feel Yoongi roll his eyes next to you, even if you pout at Jin’s words.

“At this rate, I think you’re basically joined by the hands,” Jimin says smugly.

You blink.

“She’ll fall,” Yoongi says blankly.

“Look, I said I’d skate with Tae but he’s so adamant!” You cry.

Yoongi shoots you a dry glare, before briefly releasing your hand. You splutter for a second, surprised at the sudden coldness that engulfs your grip and the emptiness that you feel when he no longer has his fingers intertwined with your own.

“What—?” You furrow your brows but Yoongi pats you on the hand to ease your confusion.

“I’m getting you hot chocolate. Your hands are freezing.” He murmurs, and to prove his point; he grabs your fingers and rubs soothing circles on your knuckles to provide you with any warmth he could.

If your hands weren’t warm, then your cheeks definitely were. You couldn’t hold eye contact with Yoongi because he was staring at you so intently that you may have been the one to melt into a puddle on the ice.

“But the mittens—!” You call, but he’s already skating away to the confectionary stand where they sell hot chocolate.

You sigh, dejected as you frown. Did he really hate the mittens that much?

“You are so stupid.” Jin gawks at you with a shake of his head.

You turn your head so fast that you nearly fall over, but Jimin’s grip on your wrist prevents you from doing so.

“And clumsy, God, no wonder hyung won’t let you go.” He scolds.

You frown, “Hey! What the hell is up with the slander?” You whine.

Taehyung stumbles into the conversation, quite literally almost smashing his body against the divider but he manages to balance himself by gripping the hell out of Jin’s shoulders.

“You deserve it,” He sticks his tongue out as you gape at him.

“What?! Why?” You hiss, “You literally just entered the conversation!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “And I’ve had to see you and hyung doddle around each other for ages so spare me the fucking brain cells because clearly, you need it more than I do.”

“What—?” You splutter.

“You are literally the densest person on this planet.” Jin blinks.

“What are you guys even talking about?” You cry.

Jimin shoots you a dry look, willing the God’s above to give you a semblance of rationality or logic to put two and two together.

“The hand-holding? The constant going out of his way to do things for you? The fact that you’re the only person he’ll ever smile at even if you do the dumbest shit ever?” Taehyung exasperates.

You blink.

“It’s winter and his fingers get really cold—!”

Jin groans, tugging at his hair in frustration.

“No, you idiot! Yoongi literally doesn’t get cold. He’s the human equivalent of a furnace! He literally doesn’t give a shit if he freezes to death. The only reason why he ever holds your hand is that he wants to!” He yells, grabbing you by the shoulder as he shakes your body while you stare up at him with wide eyes.

Does that mean—?

“He hates the mittens?” You cry, face crumbling.

You see Taehyung, Jimin and Jin’s face fall as they all share a look of disbelief.

“I’m sorry but I have no way to defend you.” Jimin blinks.

“I just wanted to do something nice for him! He’s always taking care of me and I thought knitting him a pair of mittens would help with the cold …” You mumble, eyes darting down to your feet as your voice trails off into a whisper.

“Okay, I know I promised hyung I wouldn’t say anything until she figured it out herself but I can’t take it anymore.” Taehyung seethes to the other boys.

Your eyes dart up, furrowing in confusion as Jimin and Jin’s eyes widen at Taehyung’s statement.

“Figured what—?”

“Dude, Yoongi is going to kill you,” Jin warns.

Taehyung scoffs, “Like I give a shit. I’m losing brain cells listening to her speak so this is an act of self-preservation. He’s going to thank me and so are you.”

“What are you—?” You huff.

“Yoongi likes you!” He exasperates, throwing his hands into his air.

The silence is overwhelming, as the four of you simply blink at each other. Your brain is processing his words, but it doesn’t really make sense. You’re confused as you attempt to deduce the meaning behind it until you come to a conclusion—

You look over at Jimin, “Are the two of you—?”

Jimin wants to scream.

“No, oh my God! Yoongi likes you! You!” He shakes you so hard that your head spins, “He likes you so much it’s disgusting and cute so you better do something about it and not accustom us to this torture anymore, okay?!”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blink up, and you see Yoongi offering you a cup of hot chocolate, eyeing the rest of the boys weirdly as they stand there with tightened expressions.

“Here you go,” He says softly, helping you blow onto the steaming cup before gently placing it into your hand.

It warms you up immediately, and you only then managed to piece together what Taehyung and Jimin just told you. The realisation dawns upon you as a scandalised expression makes its way onto your face. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, observing the odd behaviour of the four of you as the three boys ignore his pointed gaze.

“L-Let’s go take a seat,” You stutter, pushing on his chest with your free hand as you attempt to skate away from the wandering eyes. The pressure was too much.

“Hey, hold on, you’ll fall.” He gently chides, doing what comes as second nature to him as he grabs your other hand, giving you a squeeze of reassurance.

As the two of you skate away, you miss the sighs that leave the three boys’ lips.

“So, is there a reason why you tried to skate away like you were an Olympian?” Yoongi asks when the two of you managed to settle down in a small bench outside of the rink, tucked a decent distance away.

You look down at your palms, squeezing around the hot chocolate as you pay attention to the steam that escapes the surface.

The words from Jimin was essentially still haunting you, and you wondered if this was some sick joke of his to get back at you for mixing up his toothpaste with his shampoo a few months back. You sulk because this was a really mean joke and your feelings were about to get really hurt if he was lying to you.

“Hey,” Yoongi murmurs, hand reaching out to tilt your chin up to look at him. His stare is so intense that you find yourself cowering away, cheeks red and embarrassed. “Look at me.”

You can’t.

“I-I … there’s nothing wrong!” You squeak, eyes travelling and landing on different people that wasn’t Yoongi. Anyone that wouldn’t cause your insides to melt with just his gaze alone.

Yoongi purses his lips in disapproval, sighing before he sets his hot chocolate by the table next to the bench and turns to face you. You knew that you had no place to run, especially when Yoongi essentially traps you with his eyes, observing your every move.

“You’re shaking.” He points out.

And only then do you realise that you were shaking, and your hands were basically vibrating with the hot chocolate. You cursed at yourself, and the cold.

“I-I’m cold.” You chatter.

Yoongi frowns, reaching out his hand to immediately grab your own to warm them up. But when you spot his hands, you squeak, immediately retracting them as if he was about to bite them off. 

You realise how it looks, and you notice the slight drop in Yoongi’s expression when you reacted the way you did.

“Are you—?” He begins to ask, slow and tentative.

“Not my hands!” You blurt out.

Yoongi pauses for a second before he relaxes his posture and raises a brow at you in questioning.

“Okay …?” He drags, “Where are you cold? Do you need my jacket?” He asks.

You curse at yourself because you didn’t know how to get yourself out of this situation. Especially now that Yoongi was patiently waiting for your response. Your thighs were essentially brushed up against each other, and his body was leaned over ever so slightly that you catch every strand of eyelashes on his eyes.

You were so weak.

“N-No, I … you can keep your jacket.” You stutter, shaking your head as you pat his puffer down when he goes to shrug it off.

Yoongi’s frown deepens, “Well, can you tell me where so I can help—?”

“My lips!” You declare, voice high pitched and loud enough that it attracts a few stares from bystanders.

Yoongi just stares at you, and you’re mortified when you realise what you said, but you can’t seem to stop now that you’ve already dug a hole for yourself.

“My … lips … they’re ... cold,” You clear your throat, blinking up at him with a false sense of determination in hopes of shielding the way your face is undoubtedly on fire right now.

“Your lips … are cold?” He articulates each world tentatively as he observes your face for any reaction.

You nod.

“Yeah. Cold.” You say.

Oh my God, shut up!

Before you can even run away, and it’s as if Yoongi expects you to flee, he pins your hands down with his own and draws closer to your face so quickly that you can barely even catch his next move.

And kisses you.

Smack on the lips.

He pulls away too fast for your liking, and you’re gaping at him like a fish out of the water when you realise what he did.

“You—” You croak, pointing a finger at him.

But Yoongi leans in once more, pressing a firmer kiss to your lips, one that sends your brain into overdrive as you feel yourself melt into his hold. If you were cold, you definitely weren’t anymore. Not when Yoongi is pressed against you like a warm lover by the fireplace.

He pulls away first, again, and you notice the tip of his ears turning red before he offers you that charming smile of his.

“Took you long enough,” He sighs, reaching out to cradle your jaw in his palm. And only then do you realise that Jimin was right, his hand is warm.

“W-What?”

He rolls his eyes fondly, ignoring the way you stare up at him with confused and wide eyes; likely still absorbing what just happened.

“Just hold my hand,” He tuts, reaching in between the both of you to intertwine your fingers together once more as he rests your combined hands on his lap.

“Does this mean …?” You ask shyly, head ducking away from his eyes.

He smiles at you, and you notice that it’s the same look he’s always had whenever he speaks to you.

He brings the back of your hand to his lips and presses a gentle peck to it, causing heat to rise to your cheeks all over again.

“You warm now, cutie?” He murmurs.

You melt, “Oh my God! Don’t—just—I’m literally going to die!” You whine, shoving your face into his puffer as you scream at his suaveness.

He chuckles, low and deep as he unlocks your hands to wrap an arm around your body, tugging you closer until you’re practically glued to his hip like a koala.

“Don’t die on me now,” He sighs, “Just got you to myself.”

“I hate you so much.” Your complaint is muffled into his puffer, but you can feel his grin on the top of your forehead when he presses a warm kiss to it.

“That’s disappointing. I like you very much,” He returns.

You blush, but you don’t push him away when he laughs into your hair, the sound making you melt further into his arms.

You liked him, too.

[pomarrillo]

HIIIIIIIII 2022 art summary and rambling be upon ye

ok so i usually make and post these for my deviantart but then dA started supporting... a-🤢🤢ai-🤢ai GENERATION BASED ON THE STABLE DIFFUSION MODEL 🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

i ended up deactivating my account so now im just gonna dump these here every december :) anyway art summary be upon ye

(i just wrote over my one from 2020 bc i was too lazy to make an og format LOL)

yeah!! i feel like I made good progress in regards to the goals i made last year (better composition, stronger colors, etc. etc.)... the pieces i made this year are definitely more busier-looking than my 2021 and 2020 summaries. howeverrr theres a drop in quality from August to October tho bc I went on a trip to the Philippines with my mom and only had my ipad lol 😭 I’m not too good with procreate yet

hmm but yuh im p satisfied with the stuff I’ve made. i’m still trying to figure out my rendering style but I like where it’s going so far! esp with my november pieces (ty so much for the 1k on that souyo art btw i was so giddy drawing it and was really excited to post it 🥺so real)...

for goals, i’d like to work more on drawing complex bgs that are more urban/interior, better framing and dynamic perspective, varied color palettes, and more expressive character movement! that last one was one of my goals from last year too and while i think i did improve, it still has this stiffness i gotta hammer out. gotta keep on that anatomy study grinddd, its the only way

also i graduated from hs this year and im getting ready for spring semester college in a month 🥺 im majoring in design and im so excited to take actual art classes for the first time!! the workfield im trying to get into isn’t really related to illustration at all but im hyped to apply the stuff i learn in those classes into my fanart art hobby LOL.... I GOT MY PRIORITIES STRAIGHT FOR REALLLL ✊✊

but yeah besides all that i effed up a lot this year and did a lot of stuff im ashamed of but im still gonna try and be better. i was so bitter about everything in my personal life and i just can’t be like that anymore. i write this stuff for me to reflect and look back on but tysm if you read it too 🥺 this blog has been such a great outlet for me to let it go and im so thankful to have people look at the stuff ive made... im fully aware i dont know anyone here personally and im just making art content but that small connection of liking the same things means so much to me already. any like, any tag, any thought... just!!! thank u!! fuck it we ball 2023!!

also look at my dogs slappable bald ass head

[lesless]

My skin is looking happy & I’m trying hard to grin & bear it when it comes to improving my attitude about certain things I logically think I’m wrong about but emotionally very pissy about.

Look I get it was my fault I didn’t travel when I wanted to back when my partner was working his ass off & couldn’t go on trips. Yea I should’ve just gone without him, but he was so stressed & I was doing my best to pick up slack around the house in addition to just wanting to travel new places with him. No he didn’t ask me to do any of that.

& yes I was & am in support of him taking this time between real-world big-boy jobs, with enough savings not to fret, to travel & reset before getting back to the grind.

& it is true that that shouldn’t come at the cost of me being mad about it. But I am mad about it. I can’t help it I just have to feel it. I’m mad at the injustice of his being able to travel all over during his early 20’s & not having to work to support himself through that or college & being able to keep doing that now when I never had that ability. I’m mad he had 1 big boy job & has gotten skyrocketed to offers that will make him good money, even if that will probably benefit me in the future. I am mad that I was so focused on seeing the world when I met him, I’d just gotten back from Iceland & I really reeled that back when we met & went on cool road-trips instead bc he is irresponsible & didn’t have an up to date passport. I don’t regret that I had fun. But I’m mad at myself for doing what I was raised to do, compromise my own wants to serve the US better.

& I don’t logically feel like I have any right to be so mad & bitter when life is so good to me. But I am still so very deeply angry at how the world treated me & my young single mother & all the opportunities we missed by simply being chronically ill with a shit ass family & a shit ass lot in life.

It’s fine. It really is, I’m luckier than most. I admit that freely & I’m so so so so grateful. I’ve carved a comfortable life out of stone & I have the tools to prove it but it still tastes bitter when my partner gets to go on yet another Caribbean vacation to a leadership retreat with all expenses paid bc they want to hire him. I am trying my best to be excited for his opportunity despite all my shortcomings.