#but nope fuck you. logistics be upon ye.

[pyromance]

the difficulty with packing up your room a week before you have to leave your dorm is that in that week you're probably going to use a lot of the stuff. i realized this several days ago but i guess i was hoping the problem at the core here would just stop existing

[nincompoopydoo]

LOVE IS STRANGE

PAIRING: Poe Dameron x reader WORD COUNT: 1.9k SUMMARY: The union of Ireca and Mohash may seem a typical cliche of love in comparison to your depressingly lonely state, but when a certain poster boy pilot emerges during the celebration, you wonder if love works in other underlying ways. A/N: I found this in my google docs, first written about a year ago. so, wohoo i present to you my first ever poe dameron content, i think? he's so charming and carelessly beautiful. please leave a comment and tell me what you think or what else you'll like to see from me 💖 gif by @john-seed from this gifst WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, space swearing. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

Love is strange. Delicate yet fierce. So forceful that it manages to seep through the cracks created by bombs and gunfire of war. Unexpected at times, appearing out of nowhere. Yet, it’s beautiful because it brings those with beautiful hearts and minds together, entangled in the constant dance of intimacy and devotion.

It’s what Ireca and Mohash have.

Ireca was from the Logistic division, a mechanic herself and your colleague. She was to be married to her long-time lover, Mohash, a flight engineer for the Cobalt Squadron. As far as cliches go, wartime love falls along the lines of a romance cliche. Yet, war was all you’ve known. It’s what everyone has ever known. It’s common to develop some kind of a feeling other than the constant emotions during battle—fondness, the feeling of falling in love with someone. It’s truly what we stay alive for.

Maybe that’s why you hate it so much. The absence of the feeling that everyone describes as so fucking amazing that it completes you. You feel empty most of the time. It’s definitely the reason why you put all your effort into fixing things you can rather than complicated problems and issues that continue to reside in your mind, especially in the wake of midnight.

You find yourself sitting by the makeshift bar, tucked away from the crowd of friends and colleagues. There’s music playing, the sound of drums, and the seven-string hallikset reminds you of your brief visit to Naboo three cycles ago. You’re nursing a warm cup of something that tastes closer to acid water than alcohol.

Ireca emerges from the crowd with flowers in her braided hair. She approaches you with a bright smile and calls out your name wistfully. You shoot a strained smile her way, feeling the bags under your eyes weigh a little more. “What are you doing here all by yourself, huh?” she asks, leaning against the bar with a gentle pat on your shoulder.

“I’m just really tired. Last night was rough. Plus, I’m behind schedule.” you sighed heavily, running your fingers through your hair. She flashed you a smile of sympathy as you continued, “I’m sorry, Ireca. Don’t let me ruin your night. Go, have fun.”

She raises an eyebrow as you take another sip from your cup.

"Go. I'm sure you don't want to miss Mohash's special performance." You gesture to a drunk Mohash, who seemed to be searching for the woman. Ireca merely laughed. "Oh, it sure is going to be special." With a gentle touch to your back and wave, you watch her make her way into the swarm of bodies. You're left alone once again.

You’re still trying to figure out how Mohash even got hold of any sort of alcohol and managed to smuggle it into the base. Someone must have nicked it during one of the previous missions in the Mid Rim.

You rub your eyes, half-awake at this point; your cup is placed beside you as you rest your head against your folded arms on the table. Your mind is in a daze and incapable of irrational thought, deciding it would be best to just camp out here, by the makeshift bar, for the night. You were too tired to drag yourself all the way to your quarters, which felt like miles away, in the first place.

As sleep began to weigh heavy upon your eyelids, you suddenly felt a sharp tap on your shoulder. A soft groan escaped your lips as you shifted your head, still resting on your arms, just enough to peek at your sleep intruder.

It’s Poe Dameron. Commander and Black Leader. Incredibly talented, confident, and effortlessly handsome.

Ugh, you hate this guy.

Yet, you don’t feel so tired anymore.

“Are you drunk?” There’s amusement in his voice with a tinge of mockery. It made you realize the stun you were pulling. Classic Dameron. It was supposed to be a happy ceremony, but it was truly Ireca’s fault for manipulating you into coming tonight. Parties, events, and social gatherings were never right up your alley. You prefer spending time with machinery and your greasy hands.

Poe’s eyes are gleaming under the fluorescent lights, filled with concern, but you spot the smugness in his emerging smile. A flash of a thought, you kind of want to feel his lips on yours. The image immediately stings. You want to gag.

Poe is irritating, arrogant, and careless. Not charming. Nope, definitely not charming.

You straighten yourself, trying to shake off the burning image, shoving it to the back of your head. You lift your head, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on the heel of your hand. “You actually think I’ll even touch that bantha shit?”

Tearing your eyes away from Poe, you reach for your cup only to realize it was empty. He casts you a look. Your eyes shoot daggers with an extended pointer finger his way, “Don’t you dare say anything, flyboy.”

Poe raises his palms in defense, lips pursing. “Wasn’t going to.”

You catch a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, one hand discreetly reaching under his tawny leather jacket. Then, a bottle of Corellian whiskey emerges, shining under the lights of the Resistance hangar. Your face lights up at the recognition of the bottle, memories of your rare trips to Corellia, sharing whiskey drinks with your colleagues. It was the only planet you’d been to ever since you joined the Resistance.

You’ve only tasted Corellian whiskey once because of how expensive it is. You’ll happily get drunk to that in a heartbeat. Drink the worry and sorrow away with the lingering taste of frankly exorbitant whiskey.

Like a child with grabby hands, you reach for the bottle, but as your fingers brush his, Poe quickly lifts it to the air and away from you. He smacks your hand away. You whine, feeling a little lightheaded. The contents of the mysterious drink are starting to kick in.

What the blinkin' mradhe muck was in that drink?

“What do you want from me? It’s not like I have a drinking problem.”

He’s giving you that look like he’s judging you, but with a hint of amusement at the slight tug of the corner of his mouth. “You definitely have a drinking problem, but... i'll let you drink this on one condition.”

“For kriff’s sake,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, glancing away. “I’m not doing any weird wacky favors for you, Dameron.”

He scoffs, expression bewildered. “Hey, I don’t ask for weird wacky favors,” He articulates his words with a defensive tone, index finger stretched to your face. You simply smack it away as Poe clicks his tongue and continues to clarify his proposition. “All I’m asking is for you to fix my ship.”

Your wide-eyed gaze flies to him, shaking your head furiously. “Oh, no, no. No. Never in a million cycles. Never in a million millennials. Nuh-uh—”

“Hey, quit being dramatic. It’s a simple job.”

Your eyes grow even wider, voice raising. “A simple job? You fly that ship of yours like we have hundreds of spare ones. I’m not putting all my time and effort into fixing a lost cause.”

“But you haven’t even—”

“No. I’m not fixing your ship, and that’s final.”

Poe blinks and you’re back to fussing over your empty cup. The chatter of the crowd grows louder as a group of pilots of the Cobalt Squadron began rendering verses of an unknown traditional drinking song to your ears. You steal a look to only find Ireca and Mohash amidst a dance, tangled in each other's arms.

He eyes closely, noticing the turn of your lips, trained eyes deem melancholy. He knows the face of a loner very well—usually recruits with lost family and homes. They enlist in a mass community of freedom fighters for the restoration of good in the universe, and to finally feel a sense of familiarity and belonging. He doesn’t know much about you but he knows you don’t truly have anyone to depend on but yourself. It’s the reason why you’re constantly fierce.

Poe clears his throat, shifting closer to you as he watches the way you carry your gradual gaze to hold his. They then flit to the space between the two of you, raised eyebrows acknowledging the weird close proximity of his presence to yours.

“Look, you’re the best mechanic there ever was and probably ever will be. So, fix my ship, and you get to have this Corellian beauty. All of it.” He sways the bottle in the air, but you don’t look at it.

“You know, that’s bribery.”

“Yes, and it’s working.”

You scoff. “No, it isn’t.”

Poe laughs. “Yes, it is. I can see it in your eyes.”

Another scoff, you look fully aggravated. “How dense do you think I am?”

“Oh, very, but let’s not get into that.”

Bickering was the only language the two of you spoke fluently when you found yourselves tangled in a conversation with one another. Thrown insults were spoken lies—saying you hate each other when you know that isn’t true. Well, at least you don’t mean it and you hoped Poe didn’t either.

You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. For once, kindness and acceptance seem to be the easiest route.

A sigh passes your lips as you blink up to the ceiling, sending a silent prayer for blessings from the Maker above. “You’re right. I am dense. Truly dense. So, yeah. Okay. I’ll fix that stupid X-Wing of yours.”

Poe blinks, dumbfounded. “Wait, really?”

With a roll of your eyes, they meet his very own wide ones. “Yes, really. Only because you complimented me. Now, hand me that Corellian whiskey before I change my mind.”

He then makes a sound that resonates between a cough and a pleasantly surprised laugh, eyes crinkling with delight. Poe happily and absentmindedly passes the whiskey to you, still reacting like your agreement is some sort of object of ridicule in the best way possible.

“Wow—Maker, you have no idea what kind of trouble you’re saving me from. If the General ever found out—man, pfft. Thank you. Thank you so much—”

A swift and unexpected motion, he is reaching you, palms clasp and either side of your face, and plants a quick peck on the side of your left temple.

Poe isn’t thinking straight.

There you are, mid-swig, lips so close to the rim of the bottle with eyes so wide. You steal a steady glance at the pilot whose expression seems to reflect yours. His hands are still on your cheeks. He’s unbelievably close to you and he’s staring with that stupid look of his.

‘Maker, preserve me.’

A cheer erupts from the crowd from across the space and just like that, the moment is gone. Whatever the moment even was. His touch is no longer on yours and his gaze shifting away.

The tension, however, is still very present.

You finally take a swig of the whiskey, wanting to ease the sudden tightness in your chest. You hum at the stinging sensation on your tongue. You catch a glimpse of Poe from the corner of your eye who busies himself with tapping his fingers nervously against the surface of the bar.

Then, in an awkward motion, you stretch your arm to him, offering the drink.

A beat. His gaze shifts between you and your hand. When he finally gives in, a smile curves upon his lips, fingers brushing against yours. They’re delicate and you smile at him. It's small, but it makes his heart skip a beat and you wonder to yourself about the strangeness of love.

[ollie-ollie-oxenfreee]

then came the morning (aka: the post - canon cuddle fic)

The work in progress is finally done! I’ve been chipping away at it for the past couple weeks now, and it’s gone through many drafts / iterations, but I think I’m finally happy with it. :)

Title from an album by the Lone Bellow. 

The first time the two of them “shared a bed” was about as awkward as one might imagine. The initiating circumstances were hardly any better.

 The heating apparatus in their quarters had given out a week or so back in a spectacular fit of dust - laden wheezing. The engineering crew called in to inspect it informed them that it couldn’t be fixed until they could pick up the right parts at the nearest trading post (which was naturally thousands of klicks away on the ragged edge of nowhere). With the ambient heat from the nearby engine room seeping through the wall, the conditions were deemed “unpleasant but survivable.” They were issued two extra threadbare blankets and told in tersely formal military - speak to deal with it. 

 And they’d dealt with it really well for a while! They grit their teeth and carried on like a couple of champs: Harrow, having been thoroughly warned against using her magic too frequently, layering on spare cloaks and sweaters until she almost disappeared under a mountain of black fabric; Gideon curling up close to the engine room wall and wincing when the cold sent spiteful twinges shooting through her still-very-busted knee. 

 But then one night their grand flagship of the revolution chugged through a particularly empty sprawl of space and began to slow down. The heat from the engine room guttered like a candle flame. Frost spiderwebbed across the thin plex of their window. Harrow’s breath showed in thin wisps of vapor as she huffed, glaring down at the pages of her book like she wanted to reprimand the cold for daring to interrupt her studies. 

 Gideon had half a mind to encourage her to try (that glare could stop a full - fledged Lyctor in their tracks, who knew what other horrifying powers it possessed?), but thought better of it when she saw the genuine exhaustion in the other girl’s eyes.

 “You doing alright over there, my vulturine vicar?” she asked. “I know it takes some time to absorb all that good bone knowledge, but you haven’t turned a page in like half an hour.”

 The thunderous look on Harrow’s face darkened further as she set her book aside with an exasperated thump. “This is ridiculous. I studied in the depths of Drearburh for years without any issue, and yet here I am struggling to focus like a novice. It isn’t even that cold.” She bit her lip as a shiver ran through her at the words. 

 “Evidence seems to suggest otherwise, o mistress of melancholy. Do you want me to go ask that guy in the supply room for another blanket? He still owes me for his son’s fencing lesson.”

 Supply room guy didn’t really owe her anything, but she knew that mentioning it would make Harrow feel better. If she could believe that the nice things Gideon did for her were actually for Totally Self - Serving, Debt - Settling reasons, she could accept them without feeling guilty.

 (Guilt had haunted Harrow more than ever upon returning to her own body, making it hard to breathe on good days and leaving her shaking with sobs on bad ones. 

It was one of those fun little things they had in common.)

 From the way Harrow’s shoulders stiffened, though, it seemed that Gideon Nav’s patented Guilt Workaround wasn’t going to be as effective as usual. She shook her head - a stiff little gesture that made her earrings rattle - then sighed. 

 “No. Thank you, though, it’s kind of you to offer.” 

 The thank you was sincere, and that was admittedly pretty nice, but all the sincerity in the world wouldn’t change the fact that Harrow was still  very obviously shivering. She looked miserable beneath her usual mask of face paint and stoicism. The dark red bead of blood-sweat trailing down her temple indicated that she'd probably tried using some kind of homeostasis theorem, but it wasn't working well enough. 

 There had to be a solution to this problem somewhere. Harrow's stubborn pride meant that she wouldn't accept help outright - she would sooner set her books on fire than admit what she thought of as a weakness - but if Gideon could play it just right, maybe she wouldn't have to. It would need to be done carefully - too sappy and she'd be uncomfortable, too straightforward and she'd balk.  Casual, Gideon decided. Nice and casual was the way to go. It would just be a matter of execution.

 "Soooo," she said at length, leaning back against the wall all cool and easy. (She folded her arms up behind her head as an afterthought, appreciating the way it made her still-atrophied-but-getting-there muscles stand out through the thin fabric of her shirt. Confidence boosts were going to be scarce and sorely needed in the conversation to come - she’d take them where she could get them.)

 Naturally, Harrow did not appreciate the change in tack or the cool-and-easy-ness. She did, however, manage to muster up a look so steeped in wary disapproval that it cut through her earlier frustration like a hot knife through bone marrow. “So.”

 “You sure about that blanket? Because really, it would only take me a second -”

 “I’m sure. Thank you.”

 “Then, um, did you want to borrow mine?”

 Harrow blinked. “You need yours.”

 “Yeah, I know! I meant that we could maybe - share. Pool our resources.” She patted the edge of her bunk gamely, then instantly regretted it when Harrow’s eyes narrowed even further. 

 “You want us to sleep together?”

 "No? I mean, technically, but no. In the literal way. Not the other way.” Well maybe the other way sometime if you wanted to but that’s a whole other weird conversation that we probably shouldn't touch with a ten foot pole or we might explode. 

 "How exactly would that work?" The caution was still heavy in Harrow's voice, but some of the disapproval had ebbed away. 

 "I mean. We'd probably need to use my bed, since my sheets aren't covered in gross bone gobbets, but you could bring your blankets over and layer 'em over mine and then we'd have twice the blankets! And, you know, body heat. Which has its perks." Even Gideon's cool-and- easy-ness faltered at that, but she bravely soldiered on. "The point is, we'd both be warm."

 "And it won't - make things weird?" 

 "Nope! Not weird. All perfectly chill, my shivering scion."

 Harrow paused for a moment, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'll get ready for bed," she said at last, clipped and decisive. "And I'll think about it."

 "Take your time. I'll be here."

 Moments later, after the shivering scion had swept grandly out of the room, Gideon's Thinking Brain crashed unceremoniously into her Talking Brain. Things were not, in fact, going to be perfectly chill. There were going to be some logistical problems with this arrangement. Big logistical problems.

 Big logistical problems namely revolving around the mutually exclusive facts that the midnight monarch was not especially comfortable with touch, and Gideon Nav, space - bee slayer and resurrected badass, was a sleep cuddler.

 Or, well, she was in theory. She didn’t have much (any) “real world” experience to go on, but she’d woken up many, many times back on the Ninth with a bundle of blankets wrapped up in her arms or nestled close to her chest. The habit had never really embarrassed her back then - she actually kind of liked it. She felt warmer and less lonely when she had something to hold, even in the frigid emptiness of her cell. 

 But that was back then. Things were different in the here - and - now. Harrow was in the here - and - now, and Gideon would never forgive herself if she ruined things with Harrow right when their relationship was on the upswing. They were actually talking, slowly figuring out how to work together again. The furious, tearful intensity between them in the wake of their reunion had calmed and warmed into something almost like real friendship. 

 After all that had happened - everything that had gone wrong over the past year and a half - they’d found a fragile sort of peace. There was no way in Hell she was going to ruin that peace now.

 So while Harrow swished about getting ready for bed, Gideon leveled with herself and laid down some ground rules. Don’t make this weird, Nav. Make sure she’s comfortable, give her her space, and don’t think about cuddling with her. 

 ...even though it would probably be warmer, and she has shitty necro circulation and essentially no body mass so she needs all the warmth she can get, and she gets that kinda soft peaceful look on her face when - no, fuck, see? You’re doing it already. Even if she did like you like that, which she absolutely doesn’t because she’s got a good old-fashioned frostbite girl back home, that’s not what you’re here for. You’re her cav. Her sworn sword. You’re here to do your job and make sure she doesn’t get her thumbs bitten off again. That’s it.

 “You’re staring.”

 Harrow’s voice cut sharp as a bone shard through Gideon’s nervous thought - spiral. Having apparently completed her grim evening rituals, she’d settled lightly on the far edge of the to - be - shared bed, countless dark layers poofing out around her like the feathers of a posturing crow. Her face was flecked with dots of gray from scrubbing off her paint, and her short hair stuck up in messy licks of black fluff despite her increasingly irritated attempts to smooth it flat. 

 It shouldn’t have been endearing. It really, really shouldn’t have. 

 It was.

 Gideon was so screwed.

 “Shit,” she muttered, scrubbing a hand over her face to ground herself. She glanced over to meet Harrow’s eyes (and wow, was that a mistake, they were as mesmerizing a swirl of black and gold as ever), then forced a smile like she wasn’t screaming internally. “Sorry. Zoned out a little. You good to go?”

 The wryly exasperated glint in Harrow’s eyes made them glow even brighter in the dim light. “Yes, I’m ‘good to go,’ thank you. Are you, though? You look … troubled.” 

 Shit. Shit. Shit. Think nice, normal thoughts. Don’t let her know. She cannot know. 

 “I’m always good, my chthonic countess,” she lied, smooth as could be, throwing in a roguish wink for good measure. That was distractingly stupid enough, it was bound to work.  

 Harrow frowned. “Why are you blinking like that?”

 The roguish wink apparently had not worked. 

 “No reason! Just dust. In my eye. Lots of very rude dust landing right in my eye. Anyway. How are we doing this?”

 A flicker of genuine, anxious concern ghosted over Harrow’s face as her frown deepened. 

 “Gideon,” she began, in that slow, reluctant way of hers that heralded Incoming Indignity. “I know that you were the one to suggest this, but I want to impress upon you that if you aren’t - certain about it, there is another possible solution.”

 She cast around the room for a moment and reached for a massive, dusty tome at the top of a nearby stack, flipping determinedly through the pages. “I've had the idea for some time, but I only just managed to convince our commanding officer that I could use theorems 'responsibly' without their constant supervision, so I haven't been able to test it until now. Small - scale thanergetic fission reactions produce sparks of flame that, if handled extremely carefully, could give off enough heat - "

 “Wait.” Gideon held up a hand, her own anxious brain jolting back online at the word flame. “Wait, wait, wait. Harrow. Seriously? The concern is sweet, don’t get me wrong, but your other solution is death - fire?”

 “I said that it was a possibility,” she snapped back, that old brittle defensiveness calcifying over the vulnerability in her voice. Her posture straightened with a great rustling of robes: shoulders back, chin high, eyes gleaming with disdainful pride as the bones scattered about their room twitched to life. Looking for all the world like she had when they were ten - twelve - fourteen - sixteen, bitter and vicious and spoiling for a fight. 

 She seemed to realize it right when Gideon did. Her eyes widened, then closed. The bowstring tension in her shoulders slowly ebbed away as her half - formed constructs clattered to the floor. “Sorry,” she said at last, her voice a threadbare murmur. “I’m sorry. That was - uncalled for.”

 “It’s a reflex. I get it.” And she did - she’d done the same thing countless times, had a hand on her sword and a barbed insult on her tongue without even thinking about it. 

 Another one of those fucked up things they had in common. 

 An uneasy silence settled between them, broken only by the rumbling hum of the engines, the thud of footsteps in the hall. 

 “I meant it, you know,” Harrow said, after a long moment. “About other options. It was a half - baked and immature attempt, but I wanted to give you an out if you were uncomfortable.”

 “Yeah, I know, my sepulchral sage. I appreciate it. Half - baked immaturity and all.” She bumped her shoulder gently against Harrow’s, then flopped back on the bunk to stare up at the low ceiling. “Are we, like, committing to honesty hour tonight? How deep into feelings do you want to get?”

 “As deep as is comfortable.”

 “That’s what she said.”

 “It’s a reasonable thing for her to say.”

 Another hush fell over them, marginally more comfortable than the last, as Gideon worried her lip between her teeth and counted the cracks in the ceiling above her. There were nine of them in total. Go fucking figure.

 A bony finger poked her in the side after a few cycles of counting. “Were you going to elaborate, or was that all just a set - up for one of your charming jokes?”

 “I can’t believe it took you eighteen years to finally admit that they’re charming, but no, that’s not why I said it. I’ll lay bare my tender squishy heart for you, penumbral lady. Because you asked so nicely.” 

  Because I think you might already have it. 

 No avoiding it now. Might as well bite the bullet and dive in. 

 “I was on board with the cuddle thing from the beginning, but I felt like you wouldn’t be, and I panicked. You probably already knew that because you’re way more creepily observant than you have any right to be, but there it is. Out in the open.” 

 She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could just run away and hide from the other girl’s piercing gaze. “I just don’t want to fuck things up with you, Harrow. I feel like we’ve got a kind of good thing going now. You haven’t called me a useless halfwit in forever, and I haven’t called you a heinous bitch in forever, and I haven’t wanted to. That’s unheard of for us. I don’t want it to go away.”

 Her voice cracked, and the most damning words burst forth like flowers through concrete: “I don’t want to give you a reason to shut me out again.”

 The memories of those nine months flashed in fragmented mosaic through her mind - the slick stone walls of the well, the freezing churn of the water, the burn in her muscles as she desperately thrashed up toward the surface and reached for someone who didn’t even know she was there. The gut - wrenching loneliness that defined her entire fucking life coalescing in that pit of brackish darkness. The chant rattling on loop in her mind as the water pulled her under: Harrow, what happened, what did you do, why the fuck did you leave me here, I had a purpose, I threw myself on that goddamned rail for a reason, was that not enough for you? 

 Was I not enough for you?

 A cool, fine - boned hand laced with hers and squeezed, just once. The memories blurred. 

 “Gideon,” the voice that had haunted her all that time said. “You know - you have to know that isn’t why I did it.”

 “Why did you, then?”

 A tiny hitch of breath. A soft, almost incredulous laugh. Then:

 “Because I loved you.”

 The words hung heavy in the frozen air. 

 “You - what?”

 “I loved you.” She said it so simply. Like it was something she’d come to terms with long ago. “I loved you beyond reason, and for once in my life I wanted to do right by you and keep you safe as you did me. The motivation doesn’t justify a moment of it, I won’t pretend it does, and I can’t even begin to erase the hurt it caused you. But I need you to understand that it was never because of something you did wrong. You are good, darling. Good to the core. You always have been.”

 Bright spots bloomed before Gideon’s eyes as her reeling mind fought to catch up. Three thoughts sprang unbidden to the forefront:

 Mmf.

 And: Darling?

 And:

“Loved. You said ‘loved.’ Why the past tense?”

 She sat there, staring blankly up at the ceiling, half - expecting a don’t be presumptuous, Griddle or something even remotely normal, at least. What she got instead was another laugh, halting and shaky and suddenly deeply bitter. The hand in hers went rigid and drew away. 

 “I came to my senses. I remembered the countless awful things I’ve done. Saw myself for the leech that I am. I’ve taken and taken and taken from you, over and over again, torn away at your life like a scavenger, I can’t steal anything more  - “

 “Who said anything about stealing?”

 For the first time since the grand awkward commencement of honesty hour Gideon felt a genuine smile bloom across her face. “Come on, Nonagesimus, give me some credit. You honestly think I would have stuck around this long if I didn’t know what I was giving you? If I wasn’t getting something out of it too?”

 “What could you possibly be getting out of it?”

 “You. I like you. Like, a lot. More than I ever thought I would. And I know the brain weasels are going to start yammering about how that’s impossible, and you don't deserve it, and we've still got a mountain of baggage left to work through, but I’ve thought about it a lot and I really mean it. Having you with me has made this whole shitty thing infinitely less shitty."

 With a surge of sudden bravery and dizzy emotion, she reached out to take Harrow's hand again and, giving her ample time to pull away, pressed a feather - light kiss to the back. “If you want me here too, sunshine - as your cav or your friend or something else - then I'm not going anywhere."

 Harrow closed her eyes, took a deep shuddering breath, and - smiled. A real one, slow and hesitantly sweet, lighting up her careworn face. "I need to think about it - we both should think about it. But I do want you here, in whatever way you want to be."

 "Yeah? Cool."

 "Cool."

 Silence settled upon them for the third time that night, but this time it was different. It was soft and tentative, fragile and new, like budding grave - flowers reaching for the sun. First flowers, the both of them, clawing up out of the grit and finding a way to bloom.

 "Should we go to sleep now?" Harrow asked at last, her rasping voice low and quiet. "It's getting late."

 "We probably should. Cam and Pal are gonna kill us if we're not up by 6:00 tomorrow. Are you still up for this, though? Like, the whole 'two girls, chilling in a military bunk, zero feet apart 'cause they're freezing and also maybe like each other' thing?"

 "Yes. On one condition."

 "Anything."

 "This might be difficult for you."

 "Seriously, Harrow, just tell me. Name it and it's done."

 "No sex jokes."

 She heaved a sigh, mock - exasperated and so stupidly fond. "As you wish, my dearest darling death omen. As you wish."

 It took a while to get comfortable - with Harrow's knobby elbows jabbing Gideon in the stomach, Gideon's clunky knee brace getting tangled in the sheets, the blankets collectively giving up and puddling on the floor at least ten times - but eventually, like everything else, they made it work. They fumbled through the sleep - cuddling confession with an admirable lack of panic on both sides, culminating in a firm agreement that they would let each other know the moment they were at all uncomfortable and an "I trust you" from Harrow so pure in its sincerity that it would be ringing through Gideon's mind for at least a myriad.

 Harrow was the first to fall asleep, curled up tight in a cocoon of black fabric, the dark crown of her head just barely brushing the sunburst scar on Gideon's chest. Her shallow breaths fell into an even, steady rhythm, interspersed with whistling snores that Gideon was definitely going to tease her about when her heart was less of a melted puddle of goo. 

 The minutes slipped by warm and slow as drops of honey as her own eyes grew heavier, fluttering closed. She gave her necromancer - her Lyctor - her beautiful baneful bone empress one last sleepy smile, and drifted off.

 (When Camilla went to shake her sparring partner awake the next morning, she found the two of them still sound asleep, wrapped up in each other's arms and looking more peaceful than she'd ever seen them. She huffed a laugh, muttered "finally," and let them be.)

[touchmycoat]

Mmmmmmmm delicious mmf dp overstim! Would laugh at Airplane's chapter summary except it's perfectly succinct and exactly what I wanted. 10/10 would recommend. So HOT! LBH and LQG on a competitive mission to give SY orgasms over and over? *chef's kiss* Also love that SY transmigrated into a body that matched her identity and am absolutely psyched that you have a ton of backstory you might share later!

oh ff i almost missed this, THANK YOU DARLING i'm so glad you liked it!!!!! the prompt was SO good ;; multiple orgasms + overstim is a lifestyle and it is one i pursue and one i highly recommendlj nldkjfnlaksjdnf

and yeah i got a little obsessed with the idea of trans woman!SY and trans man!SJ!!! I love the idea of them flip-flopping into bodies they prefer and having a sense of solidarity with each other bc of that lolol, at least from SY to SJ....SJ's a grumpy pants

so these are discarded drafts, not really backstories TTTT The original plan was to set this in the water prison, but that turned out to necessitate a little too much backstory. Then I tried to make it a bingge vs. bingmei thing but stopped when the logistics got too much. Second-to-last attempt was a "inviting LQG in for the first time" post-canon concept but then the fucking FEELINGS took over so i just figured Nope, stop writing plot & backstory, it's Pussy Hours Only.

Anyways, here are the scrapped drafts. There's some stuff I really do like in there:

(also the fic in question)

The Water Prison Ver.

Getting wife-plot’d into abject horniness only satiable by upwards of two men was a pain and embarrassing, yes, but if Shen Qingqiu really stepped back and thought about it, it was a fairly minor price to pay for this body. How wild it had been at first to think she’d woken up in yet another man’s body, only to discover small soft tits and an honest-to-god cunt and feeling like all her dreams had come true, that the ancestors were smiling down upon her as if to say okay yes, we did fuck up on the body assignment upon your reincarnation, so here’s the body you were always meant for twenty-something years late haha happy birthday!

Then the elation had quickly taken a backseat to having to deal with PIDW’s “plot.” Worst of all were the OOC restrictions, which had Shen Qingqiu binding her breasts every morning because the original goods was a man—argh, goddamn System! Of course Shen Qingqiu wanted to support her trans brother but wasn’t this her body now? Perhaps the original goods was enjoying her old body in the modern day somewhere and yeah, it may come with several incurable and chronically painful conditions, but it also came with a dick! Surely if the original goods was allowed to enjoy Shen Qingqiu’s old penis then Shen Qingqiu was allowed to enjoy hisold breasts?!

Fast-forward now to post-OOC restriction unlocking, when she very well could have come out to Luo Binghe—to anybody, really. She didn’t, however, for several reasons, the primary of which was the simple fact that no opportunity really came up. Look, Shen Qingqiu just hated making a fuss, okay? She really wasn’t the type to call for a gathering, either solemn or celebratory, to tell people capital-N-News, nor was she so eager to unbalance the logic of the entire PIDW world (insofar as a mess of cheap tropes and shitty characterization restrictions could be called a literary “world”) with a sudden gender reveal. Or maybe it would actually help her?? The original goods had been portrayed as a man up until the moment of his awful death, but maybe, by stallion novel rules, Shen Qingqiu’s life could be saved if Luo Binghe should get his revenge by BEEP BEEP and then getting her to BEEEEEEP—?

…Well she wanted that even less!! What kind of crapsack universe where women only existed for every flavor of papapa with the protag!! There was also the fact that Luo Binghe was just her student right now. She refused to think about having sex with him in any way—and so the question of coming out to her little white lotus got completely backshelved just like that. Forget it! Shen Qingqiu would just play the immortals-are-immortals-gender-roles-aren’t-important card for now and worry about it when the time came.

(Besides, after a few Shizun is my ideal man! comments and a few why do you say man? Are behaviors you wish to emulate strictly delineated by gender?lectures, Luo Binghe seemed to get the idea. Her bright little Bing stopped calling her a man completely, so everyone was the winner!)

The only person Shen Qingqiu did end up coming out to was Liu Qingge, and that was more a product of circumstance. Having anticipated that Madam Meiyin would be a solo mission, Shen Qingqiu had left her binder off in the inn that morning, which meant that the subsequent plunge into the pool of icy water…

She had not anticipated Liu Qingge passing out from the shock of it all. Really, Qin-gege, after cutting your way through the veritable orgy of much bigger, rounder, and symmetrical tits, thesewere going to knock you out? That spoke more to the nature of the shock than anything else, she supposed, and forced down some amount of wariness when he woke up. How would he react? It wouldn’t really do any harm if he were to force the issue, she supposed, since she was perfectly fine with telling the rest of Cang Qiong that she was actually a woman, but had it not been her here, instead the original goods—? Then she would really have to reassess her opinion of Liu Qingge??

But turned out, she’d worried for nothing. Liu Qingge did not accuse her of being a liar, nor did he demand she fix this deception right away. Instead, he just kind of sprang to his feet, walked into a tree, and then came and sat back down. He asked why, of course, which necessitated a quick little non-lie (growing up, presenting male was always safer, and I suppose I’ve never gotten around to switching back). Then Liu Qingge’s expression was blazing with a sudden intensity Shen Qingqiu didn’t quite understand, but after that it was all over. Liu Qingge declared he’d keep her secret (which was not necessary, but thank you, Shidi), and that was that.

…Until a year or so later, during the whole Luo Binghe-was-back-for-revenge leg of things.

Apparently Liu Qingge vowing to keep Shen Qingqiu’s secret was directly correlated to him kicking up the hugest fuss at Jinlan City until Huan Hua was forced to tie him up too and escort him to the water prison alongside Shen Qingqiu. Ah, how kind and chivalrous of Liu-dage to keep such a close eye on her and her honor! Even though she thought there was little chance her “secret” would be exposed (and ignoring the fact that it didn’t even need to be a secret at all), it was still nice to have the company and backup in case of any emergencies. So despite Luo Binghe’s increasingly stormy expression (had Liu Qingge thrown a spanner into a plan of his?), Shen Qingqiu offered Liu Qingge a little nod of gratitude as they were packed away in the transport.

Then the Little Palace Mistress visited, and things got a little more…wack. Okay first of all, why would the ingredients to a wife plot show up here and now?! The thorny steel whip was excessive and aesthetically incoherent, but surely the little packet of exploding fuck-or-die powder “that only affected women” was beyond contrived?! Why had Shen Qingqiu been so thoroughly profiled and why was Big Data feeding him such obnoxiously specific “small scenarios”—?!

Credit where credit was due, Liu Qingge actually reacted faster to the threat than Shen Qingqiu herself did, blocking Shen Qingqiu from Luo Binghe’s sight and muttering a terse, don’t let him see! before launching himself forward to drive Luo Binghe away. He was talking about the thrumming discomfort building under her skin, Shen Qingqiu realized. And he had immediately warned her to keep this from Luo Binghe because—

“Shizun?”

—dammit, sorry Liu Qingge, this shit was just too painful! Was this what an honest-to-god period felt like?! Holy shit Shen Qingqiu might honestly contemplate taking her dick back if having ovaries meant dealing with this every month!

“Leave,” Liu Qingge snarled at Luo Binghe, but it was too late now. The papapa-poison (that the Little Palace Mistress had been planning on coercing Luo Binghe into bed with?? Holy shit, Shen Qingqiu was actually kind of glad she took the dose now) was making itself known and Shen Qingqiu kind of had a choice to make.

And when she called for Liu Qingge, Luo Binghe went as white as a sheet before he blew up an entire stone wall.

“I. I.” As furious as Luo Binghe sounded, Shen Qingqiu could just see past the spray of dust and mist how hurt his body language was, how small. It made an altogether different kind of pain squeeze inside Shen Qingqiu’s chest. “I thought that there used to be a time when Shizun entrusted me with everything, and that it was my blood that changed things. Turns out, even back then Shizun had her secrets.”

That was too much. That was way too much.

“Binghe!” That was her I-am-your-Shizun-and-I-am-angry tone, and it was somewhat gratifying to see Luo Binghe instinctively straighten to hear her lecture. “This was not a secret I needed to tell, much less owed anyone!”

Luo Binghe pressed his lips together until they went pale, but he said nothing in response. Breathing through the drumming pain, Shen Qingqiu forced herself to calm a bit before continuing.

“But I did think of telling you, for what it’s worth. I did tell you.”

That last bit slipped out thanks to a combination of the poison and feeling kind of wronged. Fine, so she’d never outright uttered the words hello Luo Skywalker, I am a woman, but Binghe had seemed to get her hints just fine! How could Binghe pretend that she’d, she’d proudly masqueraded as a man in front of him or something, how could Binghe act like he never had any idea?

Feeling even more petulant as a result, Shen Qingqiu added, “I didn’t even tell Liu-shidi. He found out on accident.”

“Shen Qingqiu!” Liu Qingge sounded offended for some reason. Luo Binghe’s eyes flashed.

“Then is Shizun and Liu-shibo not—?”

“Not what?” The pain was getting so uncomfortable now that Shen Qingqiu was having a hard time staying upright, much less concentrate. She had to lean heavily on Liu Qingge’s torso behind her to not slump onto the floor, and the body warmth there was…tempting. So tempting.

“Not cultivation partners.”

“What? No—!”

Before Shen Qingqiu could even work up the wherewithal to be properly shocked by the accusation, Luo Binghe had already blasted Liu Qingge about six feet away, holding Shen Qingqiu upright in his own arms.

“Then Liu-shibo takes too many liberties, touching Shizun like that,” Luo Binghe said coldly. Liu Qingge got up across the stone platform, thankfully acid-free and still in possession of all his limbs, looking furious. “Shouldn’t Liu-shibo know better about respecting women?”

Respecting—hold on, Binghe?! Don’t make this into some fake feminism discourse when Liu Qingge was only trying to help! When Shen Qingqiu had been the one nuzzling up against that firm, firm chest!

“Then you should know better about respect for your Shizun!” Liu Qingge shot back, managing to strike no less an imposing figure despite having his upper body bound up in ropes and his spiritual energy sealed away. This was probably somebody’s peak sexual fantasy, Shen Qingqiu thought, a beautiful man, tied up and vaguely damp, but staunchly unwilling to bow to his captor. Wow, it was hard to believe Airplane wasted a perfectly good character like Liu Qingge, killing him offscreen nonetheless. “Disciples shouldn’t foster inappropriate desires for their teachers. Put her down.”

Inappropriate—what. What. What in the world was all of this, some symptom of Airplane’s inconsistent writing and wilted plot developments? Why was the conversation jumping to so many inexplicable places? Was Shen Qingqiu really meant to believe that A) Luo Binghe’s hatred and grudge towards her dissipated and morphed into sexual attraction just like that simply because she was a woman, and that B) Liu Qingge was the first person to recognize and accept that? Neither of those statements made scientific sense! Please, call the System and straighten out this bullshit!

[Bling bling! The System is at your service 24 hours a day! How can we—]

Before the System’s awful, trauma-triggering voice could continue any further and before Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe could kick each other’s lights out, Shen Qingqiu tossed her head back with a yell of pain. Then, she cut herself out by biting down on the closest thing within reach—Luo Binghe’s bicep.

[—happy to provide dialogue options. Please select from A, I would rather die than be disgraced by demon scum, Luo Binghe, B, as if your frigid Liu-shibo could have helped me in the first place, or C—]

No, no, no, cancel! What the fuck were these awful options, was she just fated to die by this stupid loin-boiling poison right here right now after pissing off one or both of the men who could help? Why in the world would she risk angering either of them when Luo Binghe could go look for a cure outside and when Liu Qingge could, could pass her spiritual energy to ease the pain?!

[Because there is no cure except BEEP! Please select from A, I would rather die than—]

Shitty story, shitty system! You know what? Shen Qingqiu refused to choose, she simply refused. The dialogue options gave away one crucial detail, which seemed to be that if she chose one of either Luo Binghe or Liu Qingge, the other was to be alienated beyond reasonable reparations, and hadn’t she already done this song and dance with the Abyss? Considering how uncomfortably terrified she was of her once-white lotus now, had it been worth it?

[User Warning: failure to select from dialogue options will result in a Grade D punishment phase—]

“I don’t care,” Shen Qingqiu declared out loud, “I don’t care! I’m not choosing!”

Both Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge froze where they stood before turning to look at her.

The Bingge vs. Bingmei ver.

As Shen Qingqiu fled her little cottage home to protect her life, honor, and probably continence, she decided to have words with Airplane-bro. Several of them, in this order:

Fuck you and your absurd, unscientific, bullshit wife plots that pop up everywhere like goddamn mushrooms! Like mold spores! Like maggots!

Actually, fuck words. She was just going to throw hands, because what in actual hell was this situation—

“Liu Qingge!” she howled at the sky. No, it wasn’t because she thought her Binghe needed help beating off that menacing Bingge asshole, but since her good Shidi happened to be in the area after visiting yesterday, what was the harm in getting Binghe some backup? The faster they got rid of Bingge this time around, the better.

The battle dogging her heels arrived at about the same time as Liu Qingge, who descended from the sky in all his war god glory. Shen Qingqiu drew Xiu Ya to intercept him at once, because as pretty much expected, he barely spared the situation a furrowed brow before indiscriminately attacking both Luo Binghes. Catching Cheng Luan in a parry, Shen Qingqiu quickly hissed for Shidi to focus, please, do not attack my husband before you drive off the intruder.

Except, as Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu’s Luo Binghe ganged up on the original goods-Luo Binghe, Bingge smiled menacingly across the clearing at Shen Qingqiu.

“I’d think twice before banishing me,” he declared, spitting aside a mouthful of blood. “Not if you want Shen Qingqiu to survive.”

Right on cue, a stabbing pain in the base of Shen Qingqiu’s stomach sent her to her knees.

“Shizun!”

“Shen Qingqiu!”

“What,” Bingmei asked through gritted teeth, “did you do to her?”

“Banish him,” Shen Qingqiu gasped, clutching at her abdomen. Ouch, ouch, ouch, was this what an honest-to-god period felt like? She really thought she’d been freed from chronic pain and her dick when she got dumped in the original goods’ body, but turned out she was just forfeiting to a lifetime of torment from this bloody Great Auntie?? “Do it, Binghe. Don’t worry, I know the cure.”

“You do not,” Bingge said sharply. “That is a custom poison mixed—”

“—by the Glacier Fox Demon Liu Chuan in the Great Western Tundra?” Shen Qingqiu scoffed. Despite the cold sweat beading her forehead, she still found the wherewithal to smirk. “Like I said, I know.”

“What’s the cure?” Liu Qingge barked, impatient as always. Shen Qingqiu flapped a weak hand at him.

“I’ll tell you later. Just banish him al—”

The poison chose that moment to ball up all her insides in a steely grip and twisting. She choked down blood and a scream both, and Luo Binghe jumped into action.

“Yes, Shizun,” he gritted out, Xin Mo unsealed in his hands. In front of him, Bingge’s identical face twisted up into a snarl.

“No, even if you know the cure, it’s too late now. Look at you. Shizun, you can’t even talk anymore, can you?”

“Shut your mouth,” Luo Binghe demanded. Shen Qingqiu could hear Xin Mo swinging into the offensive, and she wanted very badly to tell Binghe to stop, to keep her husband from needing to take such risks with his psyche anymore.“Shizun says she’s fine! So—”

“Luo Binghe!”

That was Liu Qingge, and there was all of a sudden body heat and a firm chest right beside Shen Qingqiu’s head. Through the cloud of excruciating pain, something was telling Shen Qingqiu to get closer, closer, that was it, that was it.

“What is the cure?” Liu Qingge demanded to know. At the same time, he sat Shen Qingqiu up in his arms, and Shen Qingqiu whined. The single sound, soft and needy, cut across the whole forest clearing and brought with it silence.

“The cure,” Bingge said, voice dangerous and silken, “is intensive dual cultivation. Only, since she’s already at the state where a single partner won’t be enough. Delay any longer and she’ll die.”

The last thing Shen Qingqiu consciously saw was Liu Qingge and her Binghe trading a single glance across the clearing, before Luo Binghe knocked his evil counterpart out and hoisting Bingge into his arms.

//

Th next time Shen Qingqiu woke, she felt significantly better, and there were two cocks inside of her. The first thing she saw upon waking was Liu Qingge’s eyes widening before his whole face went violently red and he flung himself away.

The by-now-familiar sensation of dick inside her cunt went with him, so Shen Qingqiu felt fairly certain in the deduction that it had been Liu Qingge’s dick inside of her, placed there while she was passed out, presumably to save her life.

“Shizun!” came Luo Binghe’s familiar voice behind her, tense with anxiety, and that was, oh, mhm, that was Luo Binghe’s heavenly pillar inside her ass alright. She too knew this sensation from indulging her needy husband’s perversions far too many times. “Shizun, I’m so, so sorry, but—”

“Binghe doesn’t have to apologize,” Shen Qingqiu cut him off immediately. Oh gods, her voice sounded so rough from strain, that couldn’t possibly be pleasant to listen to. Still though, when Luo Binghe shifted inside her, all she could seem to do was roll her hips and moan some more in that gravelly timbre. “Neither does Liu-shidi. Where’s…?”

“Right here, Shizun. Ready to be at your service.”

Her Luo Binghe’s grip tightened around her hip, and Shen Qingqiu petted blindly behind her for his head.

“Binghe didn’t banish him like Shizun ordered, this disciple is useless,” Luo Binghe mumbled. What else could Shen Qingqiu do but drag his head over her shoulder for a sloppy kiss on the cheek?

The "Help LQG is Pining" ver.

Liu Qingge had never, ever imagined the feeling of Shen Qingqiu’s cunt around him, and that was the absolute truth. This wasn’t a topic that came up often in his personal life—he didn’t really let it, actively dissuading any and all improper and vulgar conversation about Shen Qingqiu with a drawn sword or ready fist, especially after Shen Qingqiu’s newly revealed status as a woman—but on the rare occasions that it did (thanks mostly to shameless martial siblings and family members), nobody seemed to really believe him.

Not that it mattered now, because he no longer had to imagine it. He knew for a fact how tight Shen Qingqiu could squeeze around him, yet how vulnerably she could open up. First around his head, then down his shaft, lips fluttering as she kept herself from jerking back up and off. He also knew how red Shen Qingqiu’s face got and how desperately Shen Qingqiu avoided eye contact when she worked to sit down on a cock. He knew where she placed her slim fingers to brace herself (one on the bed and one shakily over his abs) and how her thigh muscles looked flexed on either side of his pelvis.

Liu Qingge also had the distinct displeasure of knowing what Luo Binghe would have to say about all this.

“Do not come.”

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu immediately scolded. She’d been more than accommodating toward Liu Qingge during this entire process because, for some reason, she believed this was himdoing her a favor. If Liu Qingge were less busy mentally punching himself for taking advantage of her dire situation, he’d tell her that being asked to save her life was his distinct privilege. (But maybe not. He was no good with words.) “Don’t talk to your Shibo like that.”

“I’m only reminding him to control himself,” Luo Binghe protested, shooting Liu Qingge a glare over Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder which Liu Qingge returned. “This will all be for nothing if he climaxes too early, and I don’t believe he’s ever done this before!”

“It won’t,” Liu Qingge said through gritted teeth, “be a problem.” His fingers were embedded stony and white-knuckled in the bedding beneath him and right above them were Shen Qingqiu’s hips. Still, despite the point of most intimate contact between them, every muscle in Liu Qingge’s body was flexed to keep himself at some semblance of a polite distance. This was because Shen Qingqiu was doing the same thing, braced like a bridge on top of him. “Will you get on with it already?”

“See? He’s rushing me,” Luo Binghe complained darkly. Liu Qingge did his best to keep his entire attention on the half-demon’s sour expression and not on his hand, pumping in and out of Shen Qingqiu’s back passage. “I have no confidence in him, Shizun. We should just try again on our own. I’ll try circling more yang qi this ti—”

“We,” Shen Qingqiu cut him off, “have tried everything, Binghe, and so far no alternative method’s worked. This is the only surefire cure we knowand lucky for us, Liu-shidi was gracious enough to help, so won’t Binghe please hurry up and put it inside already.”

Liu Qingge’s eyes went wide, and Luo Binghe’s face too was the strangest blend of chastised and aroused as he snapped to attention.

“Yes, Shizun.”

And before Shen Qingqiu was even done huffing, everything suddenly squeezed blindinglytight around Liu Qingge—Liu Qingge’s cock and Liu Qingge’s hair, into which one of Shen Qingqiu’s hands had apparently wandered and was now holding on for dear life.

Because Luo Binghe was pushing into her. Liu Qingge couldn’t see it but he sure could feel it, first through the spasms of Shen Qingqiu’s walls, then throughShen Qingqiu’s walls; apparently, Luo Binghe’s cock was just so damn huge that Liu Qingge thought he could feel the head of it skim up his own length in a strangely intimate caress.

When Luo Binghe stopped moving, Shen Qingqiu collapsed gasping into Liu Qingge’s arms. Liu Qingge braced but didn’t hold her, steadily facing down Luo Binghe’s glower.

As much as Liu Qingge resolutely did not hate the position he was in, he’d also come in with a clear understanding aboutthe stakes. Shen Qingqiu was suffering a poisoning, he’d been told, one that required more than one cultivator and more than a few orgasms to properly cure. She’d been in discomfort for weeks, and they’d exhausted every dual cultivation option at their disposal before bringing him in.

Liu Qingge was here to ease her pain, pure and simple, the same way he had done once a month every month for Without a Cure. As much as he hated the isolation that Luo Binghe was imposing upon her with their marriage, he wasn’t here to break them up.

He’d try tokeep his hands to himself.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe was murmuring. At least when he wasn’t busy glaring at Liu Qingge, he did seem very attentive to his wife. “Is this okay? There’s still a little more to go, shall I use more oil?”

Shen Qingqiu made a weak noise of assent into Liu Qingge’s collar, and Liu Qingge looked away when Luo Binghe began combing her hair to one side and kissing the back of her neck. In the corner of his vision he saw Luo Binghe blindly patting for the bottle of oil, and silently nudged it into his hold.

Between his stomach and Shen Qingqiu’s, Liu Qingge could feel heat begin to build as Luo Binghe resumed his work of burying himself entirely inside his wife’s back passage. Liu Qingge’s muscles twitched, but he did not move. He didn’t move because Shen Qingqiu didn’t move, and even if Shen Qingqiu did decide to move, things might still just be a dance between her and Luo Binghe anyways. Liu Qingge might just keep lying here, stiff in every way and cycling his spiritual energy until Shen Qingqiu got off enough and was cured.

[jaehyun-eclipsed]

Before I Met You | Seventeen

Updates: Sundays

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Author’s Note: Hi! Thank you so much for reading this far! This is definitely a long read so I am very grateful for your patience and willingness to continue following along with me. With this being the last chapter for Jaemin’s story, Johnny’s story should be starting next Sunday. However, I have a few things going on in the next couple weeks and so Johnny’s story will begin on 8/16. Additionally, if you have any feedback - what you like, what could be improved, etc. - please let me know! I am looking to make this story better! But anyway, without further ado, please enjoy the final installment of Jaemin’s story. 

Before I Met You Masterlist

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“He just went downstairs. Should I do it?”

The hallway window on the other side of the house can be seen from my room. I watch Jaemin’s figure as he rounds the corner and heads downstairs towards the kitchen. 

“It’s up to you,” my dad responds.

“Okay, I’ll call you back.”

I hang up the phone and grab my nearly full water bottle to go down to the kitchen. Booming thunder makes me jump as I grab the doorknob. The sky is gray – gloomy from the intermittent rain all Sunday morning. My heart begins pounding.  

Come on, Y/N, it’s going to be fine. It’s just a question. You’re not even asking him out. You just want to find out how he feels… And if it goes well, THEN maybe we’ll ask him out.

Jaemin is filling up his water bottle. He’s wearing an over-sized t-shirt and basketball shorts and his hair looks a bit disheveled as if he woke up not too long ago. He obviously didn’t have any plans to go out today.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

His gaze drops down to my lower body, scanning up and down my legs. My body freezes halfway to the water dispenser, breath hitching in my throat as I open my mouth to say something. The seconds have slowed down. The individual drops from the occasionally leaky kitchen faucet splash against the sink. The turning of textbook pages echoes from the dining room. My mouth has gone dry.  

Do it.

“I think we should do it this way,” Jia says from the neighboring room.

Never mind, don’t do it.

Jaemin looks right past me and walks away without another word.

I let out a sigh of relief and take a large gulp of water, mentally kicking myself for being such a wimp.

Well so much for that.

“You chickened out,” Dad says immediately upon answering my second call.

“I can’t… I can’t do it,” I say in between laughs. “I couldn’t do it! And also, Jia is downstairs!”

To my surprise, he imitates how the brief exchange occurred exactly.

“Yeah, that’s basically what happened! I said, ‘hi!’ and then I felt my heart pounding in my chest and thought, ‘Just say hey and ask him.’ Then I thought, ‘No! Don’t do it!’” I continue nervously laughing. “This must be terrifying for guys!” I exclaim.

“Yes. That’s why a lot of these things happen. They intend to do it, but fear overcomes them,” he responds.

“Okay, we’ll have to try again later. I thought about going outside to ask him, but he doesn’t have his keys…”

“And be in the rain?”

I pause for a moment. “That sounds so dramatic, but yeah! If he doesn’t have his keys and something goes badly, and I leave first, he’s going to get locked out. Then I’ll have to go out and say, ‘Sorry, didn’t mean for you to get locked out.’”

“Right. ‘Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to lock you out just because you said ‘no,’” he says sarcastically.

“Exactly! Now I’m thinking about how Lucas did it because he was probably like, ‘One, two, three, go!’”

“Right, but he didn’t have to say anything.”

“True, but it still could have been a rejection.”

“That’s true, but it’s still a little bit easier.”

All Lucas had to do was see how I reacted to him taking my hand. Granted, it would’ve been a little bit more difficult for me to turn him down given that grabbing my hand didn’t exactly give me too many options unless I wanted to cause a scene.

A flash of lightning adds a brief hint of silvery blue to the gray sky. Within a few seconds, rain starts pelting against the window.

“It’s raining again,” I eventually remark. “There aren’t many people around, it seems.”

“It seems like it would be a good day to do it then. Few people are around.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s in his room by himself. Do you think this is a good idea?”

“It’s up to you.”

“I honestly have nothing to lose.”

“You’re right. You don’t.”

“And if I don’t ask, then I lose out on ever knowing.”

“Okay, I’m going to get off the phone so that I don’t influence you either way.”

“Wait!”

“Bye!”

“Wait, I –”  

Great, now what do I do? I should just do it. This is ridiculous.

I begin pacing throughout my room and bathroom, occasionally looking in the mirror to repeat words of encouragement to myself.

“You can do this.”

No, you can’t. You can’t do this.  

Oh my God, yes, you can! This is dumb, Y/N. You have nothing to lose.  

Yes, you do. You guys are decent friends now. If you do this and he says ‘no,’ he might not talk to you anymore.  

Oh, who cares? He’s probably moving into an apartment. It’s not like we’re going to talk much next year anyway. I may not even see him.

I look at the clock as a wave of nausea washes over me. It’s fifteen minutes past two.

“Okay, you’re going to do it in five minutes.”

Oh my God, what are you doing?

My breathing increases until I start to hyperventilate. A jumble of panicked and incomplete thoughts runs through my head, quickly jumping from optimism to pessimism in the same sentence. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. He’s going to say – don’t worry about that – maybe he wo – he’s going to say “no.” My heart races and I run into the bathroom, opening the toilet seat as I fear I might actually throw up.  

Holy shit. I didn’t realize that people were actually serious when they say that they’re so nervous they could throw up. They didn’t make that up.  

In a surprising moment of clarity, my facial expression changes to one of displeasure as I am feeling slightly scornful of my behavior. 

What are you freaking out about? It’s nothing.

“Forget it,” I mumble to myself.

I open the door and begin making confident strides towards Jaemin’s room. The soft strumming of a guitar makes me feel somewhat at ease. Okay, he’s not busy. He’s playing the guitar so he’s probably relaxed. Taking a deep breath, I lift my hand and just as my fist is about to come into contact with his door...

Ha! Nope!

I’m light on my toes as I run back to my room. I press my back against my door and slowly slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, huffing as I chastise myself for being so scared.

“Holy shit. Why are you such a chicken?” I say between gritted teeth.

I resume the nervous pacing and mental swearing of how ridiculous the whole situation is. You’ve been preparing for this for two weeks! You’re not even asking him out! You’re just asking him what’s going on! A disappointed sigh escapes my lips as I think back to being so ready to do this and now that it’s finally time, I am chickening out. But in the back of my mind, I know that I’ll really kick myself this summer if I don’t do it. Jaemin and I don’t text as casual friends so the likelihood that we would text during the summer is basically zero.

I want to know.

I have to know.  

I need an ending.  

But what if he says ‘no’?  

Who cares if he says, ‘no’? Frankly, I don’t really care what the answer is. Obviously it would be better if he says ‘yes’, but if he says ‘no,’ at least I’ll know. It will be over and I can move on with my life. He’s probably going to say ‘no’ anyway.  

The thoughts become a bit more demeaning and I begin picturing a pro wrestler screaming profanities at me in an attempt to use reverse psychology to get me to do something.

Y/N, stop being such a wuss. You’re not weak. 

Fuck it.

For the umpteenth time, I open my door and march down the hall. With one last deep breath, I gently knock on the door three times. The sound of the guitar suddenly stops and I wait.  

And wait.

And wait.

What the fuck?

There’s a small voice, almost like someone is saying, “Hello?”

Did he just say, “hello?” to someone possibly knocking on his door? Jaemin, do you expect people to shout through the door? Can’t you just get up and open it?

I cross my arms and frown when I hear the guitar starting up again.

Dude, what the hell? I know you heard me knocking!

Suddenly, the nervousness that so desperately wanted to initiate my flight response has been replaced with annoyance. Perhaps the annoyance is still out of nervousness, but I digress. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy and I had to work up a lot of courage to do it. However, I did not expect to have this obstacle – which is really more of a logistical obstacle than a practical one.

I knock again.  

After another moment, someone begins fumbling around inside and the door is cracked open, revealing a confused Jaemin.  

Finally.

“Uh, hi,” he says.

I forgo the greeting and look at him blankly.

“Did you knock twice?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I said ‘hello’ like three times.”

What the hell? Who does that?

“Oh, well I didn’t hear you,” I say. 

I ball my hand into a fist, pressing my nails into the flesh to help distract me from my nervousness. “Are you alone?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah…” he responds slowly.

I press my lips together. “I need to ask you something.”

“Okay…” he says, waiting expectantly.

“Can I come in for a second?”

“Sure.”

He pulls open the door and I step inside, reaching behind my back with an arm to grab the doorknob and step backwards to use my entire body to push the door closed.

Their room is a mess. A dirty knife balanced on top of an open peanut butter jar, clothes strewn over the bed posts, unmade beds – it’s definitely a boys’ room.

“Um…” I shift my gaze to the floor, knowing he’s watching me, anticipating what I’m going to say – likely something about me confessing my love for him.  

I sigh and swallow my fear.

“So…” I begin, “Have we just been dancing around in circles or… do you actually want to dance with me?”

He looks blankly at me. “What…?”

Jesus.

“Uh – I – I –”

God, I have to clarify?!

I try to rephrase the question without directly mentioning what I’m really trying to ask. Ha. I guess I’m the one dancing around now.

“Have we just been dancing around the issue or…?”

“Um… what are you asking exactly?” he asks, his forehead creasing.

Shit. Do I have to straight up ask you if you like me? I don’t wanna do that. How do you not understand my question?  

“Do you not understand my question?” I ask.  

That was a stupid question.

“No, like… dancing…? What do you mean?” he asks.

“It’s metaphorical,” I remark.  

Seriously, Y/N? “It’s metaphorical?” That’s what you tell him?

“For what?”

For what? What do you mean “for what?” Jaemin, I know you’re not this stupid. You might be slow, but you’re not stupid.

I sigh again. “Um… I don’t know what’s been going on for the past –”

“Oh!” His eyes widen as if he’s suddenly come to the realization of what I’ve been trying to ask. “I thought we were just friends at that point…” he says slowly. “I’m just a friendly person…”

The fuck?

“Oh.” My mouth is agape, trying to process what he just said. “Okay…”

“Yeah, I’m just a friendly guy. So feel free to be friendly…” he says, making nervous hand gestures to the air.  

I feel like I was just hit with a brick. You were just being “friendly,” huh? You really might want to rethink what the definition of “friendly” is.

“Okay, I just needed to know,” I say, my tone level due to shock and inability to comprehend the present scene.

“Okay, yeah, that’s cool.” He presses his lips together and nods to himself a few times. “So I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, sorry,” I say as I grab the door handle and smile with a slightly embarrassed look on my face.

“It’s okay.”

My back slams against my door with a loud thud and my heart is still pounding from the residual adrenaline. I run my hands over my face and let out a loud sigh.  

“I can’t believe I just did that.”

My mind begins replaying the scene over and over again – Jaemin’s facial expressions, his weird hand gestures to defend his stance, his relative calmness despite my clear interrogation. The word “friendly” plays like a broken record.

Friendly? No one does that when they’re just being “friendly.” Jaemin, do I have to throw a dictionary at your head? Friendly means affable... cordial… genial… NICE. Friendly does not mean flirting. Friendly does not mean making sexual innuendos and holding a girl from behind to help her shoot pool. Actually, you work in C++, don’t you, Jaemin? I can put it in code for you!

Friendly == being nice, giving me a stamp to mail a letter that one time because I didn’t have one

Friendly != flirting, thigh touching, anything Jaemin does

There! No, that is obviously not how you write code – because I don’t know how to write code – but I know the equality operators so you should too!

There are a couple things that I am fairly confident of now. First, Jaemin now realizes that I thought that he liked me. And second, even though I didn’t explicitly say anything, he knows I like him. So there goes my dignity.

But both of those things should have been known by him months ago – given his character. He’s smart, quick-witted, and very observant. Or at least, he’s supposed to be – though I’m guessing he was just playing stupid. There’s no way he didn’t know he was flirting.

I send a 911 text to Mark and within five minutes, he’s calling me.

“He said what?!” Mark exclaims.

“He said, ‘I thought we were just friends at that point… I was just being friendly because I’m a friendly guy… So feel free to be friendly.’ And then he did this weird thing with his hands, like pushing them out like he was presenting something.”

“Yo! Why does he sound so defensive? He keeps repeating himself. ‘I was just being friendly.’ ‘I’m a friendly guy.’”

“That didn’t even occur to me. But you’re right. He used that word like four times within twenty seconds.”

“I knew this guy was trash! But he’s totally lying to you.”

The answer doesn’t make any logical sense. It explains absolutely nothing. It can’t explain any of the behavior – staring, offering physics help, asking me for physics help when I’m the one who needs it, teaching me how to play pool, Jeno’s teasing when I was around...

“Because if it were me,” Mark continues, “and I didn’t actually like you, I wouldn’t say it like that. I’d probably say something like, ‘I’m so sorry if my actions came off that way, but I don’t like you like that.’”

Mark makes a good point and it irks me more than I realized. I didn’t get a straightforward “no.” Obviously I can infer what “just being friendly” means. It means “no.”  But why can’t you just say that? If I had received a straight “no,” it still wouldn’t have made any sense and I’d still agree with Mark and think Jaemin was lying. But at least it wouldn’t be an even more confusing excuse.

“But I also wouldn’t be trying to touch you and make dirty jokes either… ‘cause that’d be weird if I didn’t like you.”

I chuckle. “Thank you, Mark. I know I can always count on you to provide some logic.”

“Anytime.”

“I think you’re right though… I don’t believe him either. His answer doesn’t line up with his actions.”

“I’m sorry that happened, Y/N. Are you okay though?”

It’s funny. I was so busy trying to do a bunch of mental gymnastics to figure out the Jaemin puzzle that I hadn’t even thought about my own feelings.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Technically, I got rejected, but I’m not devastated or anything. I guess I’m just irritated and confused. It’s like when you’re doing a jigsaw puzzle and you have one more piece, but you happened to get one of the defective puzzles so the last piece doesn’t fit.”

“Yeah… I just wanted to check. I know you’re not that outwardly emotional, but I know that doesn’t mean you don’t experience them. But still, I’d be mad if I were you.”

“Well, if there was any possibility of Jaemin and me remaining friends during the rest of college, I think I just threw that out the window,” I say with a nervous laugh.

“He doesn’t deserve your friendship anyway,” Mark responds bitterly. “Didn’t you say that Jeno defended you or something?”

“Um, I could only assume he was.”

“Do you think that Jeno might like you?”

Jeno’s voice rings through my ears. From the time he sounded like he confronted Jaemin to that warning when I was writing a letter in the next room.

“Are you just leading her on? She’s a nice girl, Jaemin.”

“You know that she’s right over there, right?”

“It – it crossed my mind, but I didn’t really consider it too seriously.”

“Why else would he bother defending you if he didn’t?”

“Because he disagrees with his roommate’s sense of morality?” I ask half-sarcastically.

“Ha!” Mark begins laughing. “You really think he thinks about that?”

“Hey! I think about that kind of stuff!”

“Yeah, but most people aren’t you, Y/N! And you still chose to hang out with the guy even though you knew he had a girlfriend.”

I put my hands up in defense even though Mark can’t see me. “In my defense, I was not the one doing anything.”

“My point is, it’s an iffy line. But anyway, that would also explain the staring. Maybe he likes you, but he knows you and Jaemin like each other, so he’s not going to do anything. But if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have said any that stuff anyway.”

Jeno’s purpose for staring at me was still a mystery. My instinct was telling me that Mark might be right, but I’ll never find out.

Well, I suppose I could ask Jeno, but I’m not about to put myself through that again.

It’s times like these where I wish I could read minds. I want to know what both of them have been thinking. But I know one thing for sure: Jaemin won’t be forgetting me any time soon.  

I just hope I don’t get written off as a psychopath like Jisu. While I didn’t sit outside his room to wait to talk to him, what I did wasn’t exactly any better. Granted, I’m not his ex.

“Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I misread his –”

“No, no, I’m cutting you off right there,” Mark interjects. “There’s no way you misread any of that. And didn’t he like you before you had any real interest in him? You only started to like him because of what he was doing.”

“Hm, you’re right. I didn’t have any feelings at the beginning. Nothing to cloud my mind.”

“Trust yourself, Y/N. I know your intuition is top notch.”

For the next few days, I was wracking my brain, going over the problem many times from many different perspectives to see if any of them could make a logical and coherent story. Unfortunately, they didn’t. I hadn’t run into Jaemin since my little confrontation, but I also hadn’t been spending as much time downstairs studying, choosing to stay in my room at night.

Jaemin was actively avoiding me. I’d seen him on the edge of campus a couple times and each time, he’d realize I was there and walk to the next block to cross the street instead. My best guess is that he’s embarrassed, which is understandable. There’s no doubt that any future interaction with him is going to be awkward. I certainly feel awkward at the prospect of even having to say hi to him, but surprisingly, my dignity is pretty intact.

As soon as Jaemin gave me his answer, I just dropped him. I stopped trying to listen in on his conversations. I stopped trying to be in places where he would conveniently see me. I just stopped because there was no reason to put in anymore effort. He gave me his answer and even though it didn’t make any sense, that was that. There was nothing else left to do. It was done.

After a week of evading every possible chance to run into me, Jaemin started waving to greet me again. He wouldn’t come up to talk to me, but he wasn’t going out of his way to avoid me either.

Finals were approaching and I returned to my normal spot in the dining room. And just when I thought I could live my life peacefully with the bare minimum for interacting, Jaemin decides to throw in another wrench.  

Jaemin is talking to one of the other residents when I walk into the kitchen to get some water. He looks at me and waves. I offer him a polite nod in return.  

“Did you watch?”

I jump in surprise upon realizing Jaemin is talking to me.

Watch? Watch what? Oh… He’s talking about The Flash.

“Oh. No, I haven’t.”

“You find out his secret identity.”

“Oh! Who is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you!”

“Fine, I’ll just go online and read about it.”

“What the…?” he says in disbelief.  

“I gotta study for chemistry! Barry can wait!”

He exchanges a few more words with the other resident and then walks over to me. “You have to watch the episode. It’s the best one of the season!”

Oh so we’re cool now? And you’re just going to act like nothing happened?

“I’ll see about checking it out later. I gotta finish up some things first.”

He nods in agreement and before stepping out of the room he says, “Yeah, me too. But let me know when you watch it. I wanna know what you think!”

There’s a weird expression on my face as I watch him leave. I knew we weren’t going to be friends and honestly, if he decided never to talk to me ever again, I probably wouldn’t have cared. Leaving it at a polite wave would’ve been fine! In fact, saying nothing is much easier! And now he wants to act like nothing happened and essentially gave me an invitation to start up another conversation with him. Jaemin! Make up your mind!

I stand alone in my room; it’s bare, with the exception of the provided furnishings. Jia had moved out a day earlier after finishing her finals. A nostalgic sigh falls from my lips as I reflect on the year. Despite it not having the ending I wanted, it was good. I had started to feel a little more comfortable being away from home, classes were better, I made more friends, and to top it all off, I was a lot more confident than I thought.

After checking for any last items, I slowly close my door for the final time of my sophomore year. A small smile creeps onto my face as I walk down the hall, still grateful for the experiences I had in this house. At the very least, Jaemin’s story will be a good one for the books.

Right as I walk by Jaemin’s room, the door flies open and Jaemin is standing there in the doorway. I casually greet him and continue on my way to my car. He returns my greeting and I hear him shut his door and start to follow me down the stairs.

You’ve got to be kidding me.  

I look up at the ceiling and roll my eyes.

Whoever you are up there, what are you doing? What kind of fucking timing is this?

In an effort to break the very likely awkward silence as we walk down the stairs, I decide to say something of no consequence. 

“You have a final?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” he responds. “Are you finished with finals?” 

“Yeah, I’m actually moving out right now.”

“Oh, are you going home?”

“No, I’m going home on Sunday.”

“Oh, so where are you moving to?”

And you care… why?

“Uh…” I hesitate. “Do you mean next year?”

“No, where are you moving into now?”

“Oh! I’m going to a relative’s house right now.”

“Oh okay.” He turns to head in the other direction, but looks over his shoulder and offers a small smile. “I’ll see you later.”  

Seriously? I wasn’t going to say anything to you before leaving and just my luck, we walk out together.  

I had waited and planned in order to get my defined ending so that I could finally stop. Except it wasn’t defined. It was the exact opposite and I didn’t really believe him. And as I watch him walk towards campus, I realize how bittersweet the ending actually is.  

Jaemin was my last goodbye of my sophomore year.

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Before I Met You Masterlist Masterlist

[jimlingss]

Jungle Park [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

➜ Words: 6.4k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

➜ Warnings: swearing

The stack of applications sits on the edge of his desk untouched.   Hoseok’s been up to his neck in work, dealing with files that have accumulated and clients that come in screaming about the latest crazy thing their soon-to-be-ex spouse did. In all honesty, he completely forgot about hiring an HR person and he let himself forget since frankly, he couldn’t care less about the entire ordeal. That is...until his partner comes stomping into his office.   “You haven’t hired anyone yet?!”   “What?” Hoseok looks up from his computer. “Hire who?”   “Oh my god. You one brain celled man!” Jimin laments dramatically before flopping down in the seat across from Hoseok’s own chair. He lugs his stack of paper onto his desk, dropping his briefcase and sighing tiredly. “I told you to hire someone for HR, remember?”   “Oh, right, that,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth, closing the document he was working on and hopping to another.   “Yes, that.” Jimin takes the stack of applications that are piled on top of the other folders and he flips through them. “You’re supposed to pick someone, remember? You even interviewed them.”   “Uh-huh.” Hoseok turns several pages, eyes burning at the tiny black text and slivers of white between them. “Haven’t had the time to think about it. It’s not a priority.”   “Well it should be.” Jimin purses his lips and skims the résumé from the top. “How about this person? Kwon Suwoong? Graduated in 2013 with a masters in psychology and he’s worked in an HR position before.”   “I don’t like his personality,” Hoseok says from the corner of his mouth. “Seems flaky to me.”   “Okay. What about this person? Park Jihyo. Straight out of university and looks like she has a ton of volunteer experiences.” The younger man nods with a hum. “She went abroad for a year building schools and houses.”   “She’s too idealistic,” Hoseok notes. “Too energetic, too many ideas, gives me a headache.”   Jimin sighs and files through the stack of applications, ignoring some as well. It seems like his partner has a complaint about every single person and it’s only until he lands on a specific one that seems to warrant no protests. “How about Y/N?”   Hoseok looks up from his papers, away from his computer. Jimin’s lips are pouted as he reads your paper. “Solid education, a lot of odd previous jobs…..” His pupils flicker to the male across from him when he hears no whining. “What do you think?”   “She’s….weird.”   His brow lifts in curiosity. “What do you mean?”   “I don’t know.” Hoseok doesn’t try to explain himself. “I feel like she’ll give me a headache too.”   The corner of Jimin’s lips tug and he puts the stack down before settling into the seat. “Is there anyone who won’t give you a headache? If you can’t pick anyone, then I choose this person. Give her a call and let her know she got the job, alright?”   “Ugh.” He leans back in his swivel chair, staring at the ceiling. “Can’t you call instead?”   “Nope.” Jimin pops the last syllable with a massive grin, getting up and before he slips out the room, his head still pokes through the doorway. “You call. And also, make sure to train her, show her around and introduce her to everyone. We want to make our new HR manager feel welcome, don’t we?”   The lawyer behind the desk pinches the bridge of his nose, already feeling the thumps at his temples, the onset sign of a new headache coming to welcome his day.

An entire week passed.   You accepted reality — you just weren’t going to get the job. And you even went to the public library to print another stack of résumés to continue your job hunt. But when you get the phone call, the very same one you had been dreaming of, while you were walking to the sad strip mall, you quite literally screamed.   Hoseok scowled, peeling the phone away from his ear, and you apologized profusely.   The very next day, you went back to the firm with freshly ironed clothes.   “Welcome to the team.” The handsome dark-haired male greets you at the front with a slight smile and nod. Your hands are shaking, but instead of nervousness, this time it’s from sheer excitement. He exhales and glances at his watch. “I’ll show you around and help you get settled.”   “That would be great, thank you.” Immediately, he begins without a breath to spare. You try your best to keep up with his wide strides, quickening your steps as you trail after his shadow, heels already beginning to pinch your toes.   “As you know we’re a divorce law firm that’s been running for four years,” he tells you as he makes his way down the hall and you nod, having done your research beforehand. “Jimin and I are partners. I am the primary litigator and I take care of running the logistics of the firm while Jimin is in charge of mediation which we get more cases for. So, you’ll probably see me go to court more often. The rest of this office is split between supporting either me or Jimin.”   “O-okay.” You’re not used to such a fast pace and your mind is already swirling with information.   Hoseok approaches the first set of cubicles on the floor. “This is our legal assistants which is the same thing as a paralegal, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Kang Seulgi, and….where’s Sebin?”   A blonde man pushes his seat back so his face is seen past the high cubicle wall. He’s strikingly handsome, full cheeks and rounded eyes. “She went to go mail something for Jimin.” His pupils flicker up and down to you, a smile pulling on his pink plump lips. “And who is this?”   “This is your new HR representative,” Hoseok introduces with an impassive tone.   “Hello.” You bow your head and shake hands with the brunette male closer to you. He pushes his rounded spectacles up, dimples pressed cutely on both sides of his cheeks. “My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you.”   The girl sitting across from him, hidden behind a giant stack of boxes moves until you see her. “Jin, can you not be greasy towards the new girl? It’s kind of really disgusting.” She turns towards you with her arm extended. Her monolid eyes are cat-like, but they crinkle cutely when you shake her hand. “I’m Seulgi, nice to meet you. Trust me, you’ll want to steer clear of all the men here.”   “Hey! What did I ever do?!” The blonde whines in a higher pitch tone. “I literally just said hi!”   “Yeah, but you were all like ‘who is this’?” She mimics his tone, dropping a pitch, extending the syllables and sounding purposely sleazy. You have to hold back a laugh, put more at ease when they’re bickering back and forth like this.   “I did not sound like that!” Jin defends himself.   Namjoon sighs and puts down his glasses. “Can we not start this? It’s not even ten o’clock yet.”   But your nervousness isn’t completely dispelled, not when Hoseok is already beginning to nudge you in a different direction. “Alright, alright. Get back to work before we fire you. You can do more in-depth meet and greet later. Namjoon, the draft to opposing counsel should be on my desk in the next half-hour.”   You can barely bid goodbye before you’re led to the next cubicle, weaving between high stacks of boxes of files and papers. Hoseok gestures towards three different people. “This is our accountants, Hyuk and Inyoung. And Jungkook here is our articling student. He’s a lawyer in training and should officially join the team in a few months.”   They’re a more shy bunch than the legal assistants. The dark-haired boy seems the youngest of the entire group, giving you a slight nod and smile. His doe eyes are big, almost reminding you of a deer in headlights. On the other hand, the woman sitting across from him in the cubicle set tucks her light hair behind her ear, greeting you happily and the man beside her seems to stare at you for an extra long time, his eyes flickering up and down your frame that makes you feel slightly uncomfortable.   Hoseok doesn’t pay any attention to the little introductions and then he continues to parade you around, pointing to the kitchen and the bathroom and a few of the offices. He walks down the hall and then lets out a loud ‘ahem’ when he notices the crowd at the water cooler.   He crosses his arms and makes himself known. “Is there not any work to do?”   “Oh come on, Hoseok.” An older lady turns around, wrinkles around her face creased when she grins at him. She brushes a loose curl from her updo away from her face, blazer hugging her curves, red-stained lips curling at the sight of you. “We’re just curious about the new hire. And this must be her?”   “I’m Y/N.” You smile at the four of them. “Nice to meet you.”   “Thank god, you’re here.” A younger girl approaches you, abandoning her cup of water on top of the cooler, and she grasps your hands while her eyes glimmer. “We need you here so badly.”   “Let her breathe, Sunyi.” A short man with black hair narrows his eyes onto you before they soften in curiosity. His cheeks puff out, lips naturally pouted. “You’re too goddamn suffocating.”   “Okay, fuck you, Yoongi.” She spins around on her heel, cussing him out.   “Hey!” The man standing next to Yoongi with caramel hair takes a few steps closer to you. “That’s no way to speak in front of such a gorgeous lady. You’re so uncultured.” His boxy grin appears as he suavely shakes your hand, making you lose your breath. “I’m Kim Taehyung, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.”   “Ew.” Sunyi shoves him out of the way, bumping shoulders with the man. “You’re worse than Jin is. I’m Lee Sunyi, slave of Hoseok and Jimin. Also known as one of the lawyers here.”   “You’re so dramatic.” The person lingering behind her rolls her eyes. “I’m Min Yoongi. Lawyer. We’re all lawyers here. Nice to meet you.”   The other woman introduces herself as Kye Naul. The group seems to take interest in you, about to ask where you’re from or what you’ll be doing here, but Hoseok takes a glance at his watch, sighs, and pushes them out of the way. “Okay, get back to work. We have business to attend to. You can ask what you want later.”   “You should loosen up,” Taehyung notes before dashing off.   “I’ll loosen up when we get work done,” he grumbles back to the other. Naul saunters off, Taehyung tosses a wink and Sunyi a sweet smile. Hoseok continues to walk down the hall and your mind is dizzy with names and introductions, not sure you can remember it all. It’s overwhelming to say the least and doesn’t help when your boss continues—   “Including Jimin and I, there are fifteen people here in total. Two receptionists, four legal assistants, five lawyers counting Jungkook, and two accountants. Jimin’s out right now but you can meet him later. He’ll probably swing by.”   Hoseok pushes open the last door in the corner of where the two halls meet and you’re met with a tiny room. There’s one small window at the back covered by broken blinds, one cramped desk and one metal drawer unit. The door itself is slim and the walls are gray, space minuscule, making it seem like a…   “This was originally a storage closet,” the lawyer states. “We emptied it out for you. It’s your office now.”   “Oh..okay…” You nod, taking it all in even when there’s not much to take in. It’s a bit disheartening to know you’ll be operating in a place that used to be a closet, but the more you look at it, the more you consider it’s not too terrible. You’ve worked in worse conditions.   Hoseok glances at his watch. “I should go now.”   “Um-” You quickly turn around, catching his attention. When he stares at you intensely, you feel yourself grow small, muttering out the words, “Is there something you’d like me to do?”   “Something to do?” He frowns and his lips part as if searching for an answer. “Get yourself settled in first.”   “Alright.” You nod, mouth pulling into a smile. “Thank y—”   “No problem,” Hoseok says before you can interrupt and he’s off like he has better places to be. You’re left standing in the small space, staring at his backside until it gets smaller. Then you turn towards your closet office, exhaling tiredly and wondering where to even begin.   //   When left to your own devices, the first thing you do is clean. You manage to find a few rags under the kitchen sink and you go to town. Every surface is scrubbed with cleaning solution or water. You get rid of the grime in all the closet corners, cleaning the cobwebs that accumulate near the ceiling, bidding farewell to dust bunnies. With the strength you’ve accumulated from going to the gym once every year, you pull the wooden desk and all its wires to the corner so it faces the open door. You also tug the cabinet beside it, creating an open space for others to enter.   Once you sit down in the swivel chair, turning on the computer you were given, you realize there’s nothing for you to do. You lean back, deciding to rest a bit, pondering how your clothes became this wrinkly and how you’re going to salvage your sweaty face. But then you realize how awfully plain this room is.   There are grey walls.   And it’s empty.   You’re not sure if you’re just free to leave or if you’ll get deducted pay. Taking a peek around, you find Jimin’s office empty and Hoseok’s door is shut tight, a visible sign that he shouldn’t be disturbed. Debating if you need to ask for permission, you end up deciding to just fuck it.   During lunch, you slip out of the office, walking down the street to a few shopping centers.   By the end of the day, you have a new teal rug, light yellow curtains on the windows, a high school poster of encouragement stuck on the wall along with a vibrant calendar, picture frames on your desk that are yet to be filled, and a cute plant on the corner of your desk. More importantly, you place a welcome sign on the door and under it lays a welcome mat.   Your pocket hurts, but one look around tells you it’s all worth it.   This will become your second home after all.   //   The atmosphere of the office is tense. By the time everyone’s arrived, the sound of working fills the area — photocopier whirring, coffee machine running nonstop, phones ringing, the sound of keys typing echoing off the walls, papers being flipped, one or two murmurs spoken before it’s silenced down. No one seems to notice your presence at all. You could slip out all day if you wanted to, like yesterday, but you have a job to do.   And you’re going to make sure you do it goddamn well.   “Is that….cookies?” Seokjin stops in his tracks and pops his head through your door, his nose sniffing the air. His eyes immediately land on the two plates on your desk and how they’re still steaming.   “Yeah, I woke up early this morning and had some time, so I did some baking…”   Jin nods and clears his throat. “Uh, is it okay if I, um, have one?’”   “Yes! Of course!” You gesture towards your bait. “Feel free! I made them for people to enjoy!”   Exactly according to plan, he nods with a smile and enters your office to take a cookie. He bites and then his eyes light up. “Wow, this is really, really good. Can I have one more?”   “Sure.” You smile. “I wouldn’t know what to do with the leftovers anyways. Feel free to sit down.” The blonde man innocently plops down in the seat across from you and he swallows a mouthful as you watch him attentively, hands folded underneath your chin. “Is everything going okay?”   “Yeah, not bad,” he says.   “It is always this busy?” You casually ask with a smile, still amazed with the amount of productivity around here, despite the tense atmosphere.   “Yeah.” Jin laughs. “We can be swamped up to our chins in work. Sometimes, I even forget to have lunch, it gets so bad.”   Your brows raise and there’s a note of surprise in your voice. “Really?”   He pauses from taking another bite. “Wait. I’m not going to get in trouble, right?”   “What do you mean?”   Jin leans closer to you from across the desk, dropping down to a whisper as his pupils flicker outside for a moment. “I mean, I think you’re really nice, Y/N. I also think it’s awesome that you’re here and a part of our team. But there are...some people who don’t like gossip or anyone talking badly about the office.”   Your expression washes over until it’s indignant. “You mean Hoseok?”   That would also explain why everyone around here seems to be wary of you. The receptionists were whispering in the kitchen when you went to get coffee and you hadn’t gotten any visitors yesterday or this morning until you pulled out the cookies. You wonder if people are afraid of Hoseok or just respect him too much….probably a mix of both.   Seokjin puts his palms up and gives a small, squeaky giggle. “You said it, not me.”   “You won’t get into any trouble,” you reassure him with the utmost confidence. “Everything you say to me is confidential….unless you have plans to do something illegal.”   “I don't.” He grins at your smile and then adds, “not yet.”   “Good.” You laugh, easing the person across from you. “My door is always open and you can talk to me about anything you’d like, any problem you might have with the office or anyone in it. Any issue you have, I’ll make sure it becomes addressed. It’s what I’m being paid for after all.”   Jin quirks his head to one side, hand slipping on top of your desk towards another chocolate chip cookie as if you wouldn’t notice his sly movements. “Thanks, Y/N. I really appreciate that. It’s nice to know someone has our backs.”   “You’re welcome.”   It’s taking a bit of time for you to become adjusted to your job and truly understand the dynamics of this place. But it’s not long before you receive another knock and there’s someone else at your doorway.   “Hey…” Another legal assistant makes her way inside your office with a bit of hesitancy. You remember her from her unique and pretty eyes, Seulgi. She’s fairly cute as well, her skirt and blouse ensemble matching, and her brunette hair slightly waved. “I heard your door was open?”   “It is.” You switch off the monitor of your computer to give your full attention to your new guest. “Welcome!”   “Oh my god, I love what you did with the place.” She notices a snow globe on top of the cabinet that you had taken from home. The girl ogles at the posters and calendars, observing the difference in curtains as well and how it lets in a lot more sunlight. “It’s cute, looks a lot better than how it used to. Doesn’t even look like a storage closet anymore.”   “Thanks. Had to spend a fortune, but I think it was worth it. I also nabbed a lot of things on sale, like I replenished my washi tape supply.” You tug open your drawer, dumping it a handful on your desk. Seulgi gasps and falls into the seat across from you.   “These are so adorable!” She holds up a pink lace washi tape and you mentally cheer for noticing her cute stationary when you were introduced to her yesterday. “I can never find cheap good ones like these. Where did you get them?”   “The store down the avenue.” You smile at her enthusiasm. “You want to have them?”   “What? Are you sure?” Seulgi stares at you with giant eyes and you tell her to go ahead since it’s not like you have much use for them. She murmurs something about only taking five of them and begins to go through the pile, abandoning a stack of files on the other chair as she chooses.   “Is there anything that you’d like me to do for you?” you ask her as she’s preoccupied. “Any way you’d like me to improve the office?”   The female hums and sits straight, her thin lips pressing together. She seems to consider if she should open up to you or not, but then she looks at your earnest expression and the washi tape, and decides why not. “Well, sometimes Hoseok can be…..I don’t know. He’s a great boss and all and good at his job, but there are times he makes us stay late and doesn’t tell us until an hour beforehand.”   “Oh, I see…”   “And there are times he calls us on the weekend and I get that it’s a tough job and he needs help, but it’s the weekend.” She rolls her eyes and doesn’t even bother to keep quiet as her blood begins to boil. “He just tells us we should get there in an hour! So I have to drop everything and go and he doesn’t even say ‘thank you’ when it’s done! My god!”   It’s progress. If no one will give you work, you’ll find work.   More people come through your office, sitting down, chatting, getting to know you and you getting to know who they are. Lots of people are apprehensive, not sure if they can trust you. But you ease them and have a fun time learning who they are.   And then there are some people who don’t require any coaxings at all.   “Y/N?” Another woman you recognize as Sunyi knocks on your door. She’s in her coat, handbag slung on her shoulder and other arm holding onto a thick file folder. “Do you have a second?”   “Yes, of course,” you give a warm welcome to your new visitor.   The lawyer sighs and heaves her folder on your desk, falling into the chair across from yours lifelessly. “I thought I’d stop by before going to lunch. Oh, cookies, nice!” She grabs one and chews thoughtfully before sending an approving look.   Little do people know, you just used premade cookie batter.   Your hands fold on top of the smooth surface of your desk. “What can I do for you?”   “A lot,” she laughs genuinely. “I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. This is probably the best decision Jung and Park have ever made.”   You laugh as well, nodding. “Well, feel free. I have a lot of time on my hands right now.”   “Where to start, where to start,” she mutters underneath her breath before sighing, putting down the rest of her cookie and dusting off her hands. “Okay, if it’s possible, I’d like to file an official complaint about Min Yoongi. He’s a prick. He chews really loudly when others are trying to work. Like, he brings in carrots with dip and potato chips into meetings and it’s highly distracting. Also, there are problems with his hygiene. The man doesn’t shower and thinks axe body spray is enough to cover his stench! News flash — this isn’t high school! He smells like a bag of rotten eggs left in the sun.”   You don’t have any complaint forms yet, so you grab sticky notes, frantically writing down her complaints which are endless. She grieves on and on about Yoongi’s working habits, eating habits, breathing habits. And as amused as you become listening to her stories, you find she is more relaxed as she continues her rant.   “Oh and Hoseok.” Sunyi slumps over your desk, groaning into her palms. “Can he please stop calling me one minute before five o’clock? It’s time for me to leave, but he always drags me in for another long ass meeting and I don’t get to leave until six. He’s so goddamn uptight.”   “I know right,” you agree with a laugh. “I think he makes everyone anxious around here.”   “Right?!” She snaps her fingers, lighting up when the words come out of your mouth. “Finally, someone understands me!”   Even if Hoseok doesn’t give you the warmest welcome, everyone else does. By the time lunchtime is over, there are people entering your office, requesting your help with their problems. You don’t even get a chance to sit down or breathe. But you really wouldn’t have it any other way. You thrive on face-to-face interaction with others, of hearing their stories and listening to what they have to say. It’s not only interesting, but you like to help and feel needed.   “It’s not even the second day yet.” There’s a grumble from a tall dark-haired male. He sips on his coffee, eyes pierced past the white rim and glaring into your office from down the hall. From where he stands, in front of his own office, he can catch the corner of your room, mainly where your desk and computer is. “People are already wasting their time gossiping.”   “Lighten up, Hope.” Jimin pats his friend’s back, utilizing the old nickname with a squeaky giggle and cheeky smile, eyes crinkled into half moons. “Why so serious? Where did the hyper ball of sunshine go?”   “This is a professional setting,” Hoseok reminds his partner. “I’m just trying to do my job and the others should too.”   “It’s not like you’re getting any work done either.” The shorter man slips away, shooting a tiny wink. “Maybe you should go over there and talk to her instead of staring all day.”   If possible, Hoseok’s frown becomes deeper.   Right as you get a chance to collect yourself and organize all the sticky notes you have, there’s yet another knock on your door. You whip your head up, but it’s one of the last people you were expecting. Immediately, you rise to your feet, chair shifting back, hands gripping the hem of your blazer. “Good afternoon, Mr. Park.”   “Oh please, sit.” He gestures and takes a seat across from you as well, throwing one leg over the other. Though you’ve yet to officially meet your other boss, in passing and through pictures, he always seems to be the kinder one of the two. Even now, the man had a warm smile and cute eyes directed towards you, running a hand through the brown mess of hair. “And call me Jimin. It sounds too formal to call me by my last name. Same thing with Hoseok. Mr. Jung is his dad, not him. If he tells you to call him that, then tattle to me and I’ll make sure to punch him.”   “Okay.” You nod, feeling calm from his soft-spoken words and returning his smile.   “How are you settling down?” His hands are clasped and Jimin takes one sweep of your office with his eyes. “I love what you did with the place. It’s cozy. Nothing’s been too hard, right?”   “No.” You shake your head. “Honestly, everything’s been great. I like everyone here, just getting used to things a bit more.”   The lawyer hums and then takes a peek outside, finding that his partner has disappeared. “Did Hoseok help you with introductions and orientation?”   “Yeah, well...umm..” You twiddle with your fingers. “He did, but I was wondering if there was something specific that you’d like me to do? If...there are official conflict forms you’d like me to fill out or if there are any binders I should have on office safety.”   His brows raise. “Did he give you none of that?”   “No, not really.” You give a sheepish smile, momentarily looking at your stack of sticky notes that have a bunch of scribbles on them. All Hoseok did was briefly pass names around and then he threw you in this closet with an old computer.   “Well, ask him again.” Jimin nods. “Hoseok acts as our office manager as well, so if there are forms you need, he’ll have them or can find some and help you print it out. It’s actually great that you’re here since you can help him out. Aside from that, I know you’ll be doing a lot of conflict resolution — it’s one of the main reasons why we hired you, since there’s so much conflict in this office. Any other specifics about your job, ask Hoseok.”   “Alright.”   “To be frank.” Jimin leans in closer with a mischievous smile. “You’re my white knight.”   The corner of your mouth tugs. “What do you mean?”   “You’re saving me,” your supposed boss tells you and in this moment, he feels more like a friend sharing a secret than anything. “You’re doing the job I don’t want to do. I got tired of handling problems around here, so I made Hoseok hire someone.”   “Well I’m glad to save the day then.” You laugh before hesitating on the next thing you want to admit as well. “But….”   “What?”   You lean in closer, exchanging your own whispers. “Hoseok doesn’t like me, right?”   The man across from you leans back in his chair in giggles, laughing and covering his mouth with the palm of his hand. “Why would you think that?”   “I can just tell.” Your shoulders shrug. “He keeps glaring at me.”   Jimin grins. “He’ll warm up to you.”   You smile sheepishly. “Probably.”   //   With what Jimin said in mind, you scrape up enough courage to finally stand up and knock on the door down the hall. It’s nerve wracking and simply rapping your knuckles on the wooden surface has all cells in your body screaming. It would be best if you were to stay far, far away from Hoseok. He not only intimidates the hell out of you, but makes you nervous beyond belief.   Still, you grow some balls and go for it.   “Who is it?”   You crack open the door, pushing your nose and one eye through the sliver. Hoseok is at his desk, a swamp of boxes and papers and files surrounding him. He’s tapping on the keys of his computer and scribbling something on a notepad at the same time. Never once does he look at you.   “Um, is now a good time?”   “It’s never a good time,” he says with a sigh. “What do you need?”   “I just..uh...wanted to ask a few things.” You slide into the room quietly, watching how he’s hard at work. His hair is in a disarray, tie loosened, black blazer abandoned at the back of his chair, white dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. You feel pride blooming in your chest, for someone you once knew who became so successful. Oddly enough, you feel proud of him.   “What is it?” Hoseok breaks you out of your trance and you clear your throat.   “Um, I think I’m missing a few forms and a few binders…? Also, I was wondering if I could get my nameplate. It’s obviously not important, but I thought I’d just ask.” Your voice trails off until it becomes quiet and you cringe at how you always lose your composure in front of him. “And I wanted to know if you have any specific tasks for me.”   “Ask the legal assistants and they can help you find whatever forms you want. There aren’t any binders since we’ve never had an HR department before, but there might be something from when this place opened up. Check the cabinet drawers at accounting. Tell reception to order a nameplate for you and…”   Hoseok finally lifts his chin and he frowns, thinking hard. “Why don’t you write a staff handbook?”   It’s as if you’re a child and he’s making up things for you to do, so you can just leave him alone.   “A staff handbook?”   “Yes,” he says and it’s like he’s talking to himself. Hoseok nods a few times. “We don’t have anything for our employees and new ones like you. It would be nice to have something that states our firm’s policies, mission statements, our culture and procedures.”   “Uh…” You wonder how you’re going to write something like that when you have no idea what this firm stands for. But you decide to not say anything in case you upset him. All you manage is an��� “okay…”   “Alright. Sounds good.” He returns back to his work, expecting you to waltz out here, satisfied.   Except, you linger.   He feels his headache worsen, but pretends not to see you. Maybe if he concentrates hard enough, you’ll just vanish into thin air and leave him in peace. But of course, that would be irrational.   “Uh…” You take a step closer to his desk, hesitating, but never once backing down. “One more thing.”   “What.”   “I would like to conduct a survey.” There’s a pause and you decide to spit the rest out while you have a chance. “I just would really like to know what everyone’s thoughts are. It would be a simple survey, asking how they feel about their safety and their comfort levels and the environment. I could see what improvements or adjustments to make. It would just help and could benefit all parties involved. It would only take five minutes tops. It’s really quick…..…..please?”   If looks could kill, Jung Hoseok would have you buried six feet under by five o’clock today.   //   Everyone is actually delighted. Instead of getting started on work that’ll last for the next eight hours, the first thing they get to do this morning is join you in the conference room. It’s your first real meeting, thirteen people gathered around the table and staring at you. But you reassure yourself and begin handing out the surveys and the pencils, letting everyone know to take their time and that every submission will be confidential.   They’re pretty happy to sip on their morning brew and write smack about each other, on the firm, and on Hoseok for you to read.   “We’re losing control,” said man mutters from the corner of his mouth towards his partner. His arms are crossed and eyes are narrowed past the glass of the conference room, glaring at each person who has a smile on their face.   “You’re too dramatic.” Jimin laughs and takes a drink of his coffee. “We’re not losing control. You’re just learning to micromanage less. Plus, doesn’t this shake things up a bit? It’s fun and different. Maybe I should fill a survey out too.”   “You’re the boss of this place too, idiot.” The corner of Hoseok’s lips tug, unable to help his tiny smile that breaks the serious exterior.   The shorter man only smacks his lips several times, savouring the bitter taste on his tongue and feeling more awake as time ticks by. “Well, I obviously don’t wear the pants of this place.”   “These pants are being set on fire...” Hoseok nudges his chin over to where you’re standing in front of the room, helping Namjoon who’s probably clarifying one of the questions. “...by that HR girl.”   “Her name is Y/N,” Jimin chides with a mischievous smile.   Hoseok sighs.   //   When you see the results of the survey, you sigh as well….several times...enough for your lungs to probably burst.   “What’s going on?” If the productivity of the firm was measured, this would’ve hit an all time low. Everybody was currently gathered outside of Hoseok’s office, unable to take a peek in when the blinds are drawn. There seems to be bickering and yelling seeping from the crack of the door and even Jimin is standing next to Yoongi, an amused smile on his face while the rest are either snickering, shocked or entertained.   The sound of work ceases to exist.   “Y/N is arguing with Hoseok,” Naul tells Seulgi with a few cackles of her own. “That girl got steel balls on her.”   “Oh my god.” Seulgi presses her ear to the wall. “No way…”   Inside, you’re absolutely exasperated and Hoseok is ready to hurl you out the window.   “These are terrible results!” You can’t believe it and the absurdness of it all is making you hysterical. “Where are the safety requirements of this office? Does it even exist? And you know you can’t overwork these people! There are no vacation times and their pay is low!”   “Low?!” He scoffs and knocks back his head. “If you think it’s low then what I make is low too! If someone has a problem with their pay, then they should directly come talk to me and we’ll deal with it!”   “Obviously everyone feels too threatened to come and talk to you!”   “We run a business, not a charity.” He gets up, hands on his hips and he turns towards the city view windows before spinning back on his heel to face you. It’s not like him to lose composure like this and he’s not sure how you can get under his skin so easily. “I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it. They’re using this as leverage to complain and whine and not do any work.”   “These are legitimate concerns.” You slap the results of the survey on his desk, refusing to waver or become intimidated. “If you care about these people, then you’d care about this too. I’m just trying to do my job.”   “And I’m trying to do mine!”   “But you listen to no one but yourself.”   “I can’t do this anymore.” Hoseok shakes his head and shouts for his partner’s help— “Jimin!”   “Fine.” You throw your hands up. “If you want to be this way, let’s talk with someone who’s more rational. Jimin!”

The screams of Jimin’s name and oncoming steps makes said man run in the opposite direction. Jimin sprints down the hall, darting past cubicles and offices, sliding right through the elevators doors that were beginning to close. Gone.

[withastolenlantern]

Santomas sat on a formed plastic bench before an enormous control console, not dissimilar from the one in his office in Wales. “This is the main control center,” the engineer explained as he powered on the terminal and the various holos flickered to life. “The various sub-systems are routed to the main process PLCs here, and then up to the comms array on the roof. I can supervise the entire production queue from this terminal, manually interface with individual machines, et cetera. It’s really fascinating when you think about it, how the automation protocols have advanced in the last thirty years...” 

“While the facility tour has been highly interesting,” Chatham interrupted, “I might remind you that we’re here to investigate a possible crime.”.

“Right, right, we’re getting to it.” He keyed several commands into the console, and a process flow diagram appeared on the holoscreen. 

The detective wasn’t sure what she was looking at. “Help me understand what I’m seeing here.”

“Well, for starters, clearly the status link is working.”

“I could see that the moment we walked in,” she countered.

“Right, but that’s the thing. The external command status for this entire fab is set to shutdown. It basically terminated all line operations and told all the machinery to power down. Nothing’s supposed to be running, which is why we were seeing the red flag back in my office. But somehow the production queue got restarted; I don’t know… how... but the lines are obviously running. And, well,” Santomas scratched at the back of his head, a sheepish look on his face. “We never really planned for a conflict like this.”

“How so?”

“Just because I can control things from this terminal doesn’t mean we ever intended to. The status flag fed back to the office is strictly report-only. Once the line starts up it closes the contact on an output relay which sends the status signal out. So there’s a conflict: the last external value was set for shutdown, which its reporting. But I don’t think anyone ever anticipated a scenario where the fab would still also be running production, so we’re getting both statuses. The system didn’t know what to report, so it just reported everything.” 

Chatham closed in behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder, as she lowered her face in towards the holo. “I thought you said the batch files-”

“Recipes.”

“Right, the recipes, are only uploaded over your secure link,” she finished.

The engineer nodded in assent. “Correct.”

“Well can you determine who uploaded this particular recipe file?” Chatham asked.

“Should be able to. Hold on,” Santomas said, typing furiously at the terminal. The holo flashed as he cycled through the screens and windows. He frowned, flipping his glasses up onto his forehead as he narrowed his eyes at the projection. “Okay, now, that’s real weird.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense Mister Santomas,” the detective demanded.

“So, I can’t figure out who ran this recipe,” he said. Chatham’s eyebrows raised in concern, but he waved her off. “That’s not even the weirdest part.”

She cocked her head slightly in frustration, rolling her eyes as she motioned him on. 

“I’m looking at the execution instructions for this recipe and it’s missing the authorization code.” 

“English, please,” she pleaded. “We haven’t all day here.”

He pointed toward the holo. “You see here, at the top of this recipe file? This is the program header: it’s not really any different from your average code file, where the programmer will put a bunch of identifying information. Revision number, code author, notes, etc. Well, in the case of our recipe files, there’s also supposed to be an authorization code - when the recipe goes into execution, the first thing the PLCs are supposed to do is confirm the authorization code. We, by which I mean, The Consortium, add it to every recipe. It’s part of our regulatory review process, and it also prevents user recipes from running without our knowledge.” 

He paused, as if for dramatic effect, and gestured for him to continue with a stern glare.

“Each activation code is tied to a specific Consortium user, so it would ID who approved it.”

The detective digested this for a moment, following his logic to its inevitable conclusion. “So you’re telling me that not only do you know why the facility is running, but also who started it?”

“Evidently not,” Santomas replied through clenched teeth, one hand resting on his temple as he continued to stare into the holographic interface. 

“Is it possible the recipe was somehow executed from here in this command station, overriding the authorization?” Chatham posited.

“Nope. Has to be over the remote link. Otherwise anybody could break in here, hard as it might be, and run whatever they wanted. I’d say that’s mainly for security reasons but honestly the higher-ups wanted it to make sure the maintenance guys couldn’t run some kind of black market operations without anyone knowing,” he explained.

“And that link protocol is…”

“Uncrackable, yes. Or at least, so we thought.” Santomas slid back into the bench in defeat. “I just… this shouldn’t be possible.”  

“Alright, well,” Chatham said, mustering as much reassurance as she could manner, “we don’t know who is doing this, or how. Can we at least find out what they’re up to?”

The engineer perked back up slightly. “That, madame detective, we can do. Let me pull up the production orders.” 

He toggled the holo back to the process flow diagram they had seen earlier, and after some additional keystrokes and a few seconds of loading, an exploded view of several manufacturing assemblies replaced it. The images that appeared was instantly recognizable, and Santomas slid his glasses back down onto his nose as he leaned in. “Well, that’s… fuck.”

Before them stood schematics for a veritable armory’s worth of equipment- assault rifles, attack drones, launch tubes for explosives, and body armor.  

They both paused, taking in the enormity of the discovery, until Santomas let out a low whistle to break the tension. “I guess we know why we couldn’t find the activation code.”

“Quite.” Chatham leaned in close, grasping the back of the bench in her hands as she surveyed the plans. “But what’s that?” she said, pointing towards what appeared to be a chemical formula quietly tucked into the corner of the display.

The engineer enlarged that particular schematic, a sequence of lines and symbols stacked upon each other in a gridlike arrangement. “It’s… some kind of MEMS device, I think?”

“I’m not familiar.”

“Right, okay. MEMS is an acronym. Micro-electromechanical systems. They’re like... “ he paused, searching for an analogy. “Tiny robots, I guess? Think like, incredibly small simple machines. On the order of microns, or smaller. They’re typically used in stuff like electronics. I don’t really know what this one is, though. I’m not a materials guy. I’d have to ask one of the manufacturing engineers back in the office.”

The detective took out her mobile and enabled the video capture feed from her glasses. She wanted a record of what they were looking at, both to further the investigation, and to convince the Earl that something was indeed going on within the Consortium. “I plan to do just that. But these items are actively in production, are they not? Can we perhaps go take a look at the finished products?”

“Yes ma’am. The final products are shunted down to the lower level where the Logistics freighters pull up.” He shut down the interface to the console and stood from the bench, beckoning her to follow him.

They descended from the control tower back down onto the main production floor. Chatham passed drone trolleys carrying semi-finished assemblies that now, with the benefit of hindsight, she clearly recognized as components for various weapons: machined barrels, molded hand grips, polymer-ceramic plates for body armor. The automatons labored on, blissfully unaware of the dangerous repercussions their efforts implied; in this age of great upheaval in the global economy when an under-employed populace had little room for moral judgment with regard to their job prospects, some might still think twice about contributing toward a runaway military industrial complex. These automated foundries, freed from the constraints of ethical consideration, had no compunctions or considerations toward the fruits of their labors. They couldn’t be bargained with, or reasoned with; they felt not pity, not remorse, nor fear, and they absolutely would not stop, ever, until their jobs were complete or they were commanded otherwise.

As they wound their way through the fab, Chatham wondered what it would be like to have such a drive, independent of any ethics or human hesitancies. She sometimes felt almost mechanical in her hunt for justice, as if some command line deep inside her been hacked that adolescent evening, over-writing any other directives she might have grown to contemplate. But even then a choice had been made, whether by her own volition or not. She was not a form bound to its function, like these mindless machines, never deviating from their pre-programmed routines. She too had her governance, but within those constraints she was still free to act with some personal will; free to pursue her justice her own way, in direct contravention of orders if and when required, much to her superiors’ irritation. It was a comforting thought, here in this enormous monument to man’s drive to commercial advancement; the almighty pound sterling might still reign supreme, but the detective still got to decide how to spend hers. For now, at least.

Davis broke her from her reverie as he opened a large freight elevator that carried them down to the lower level. “This is a lot to take in, huh?” he asked as they descended. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really worried about what’s happening here.”

Chatham smiled reassuringly. “I’m afraid I don’t have the luxury of anxiety, Mister Santomas,” she lied. “Only a dangerous mix of curiosity and determination.”

The elevator doors parted, and they exited out into a loading dock. It was piled high with crates, each emblazoned with the Ross logo. The detective hunched down below one, prying futilely at the top, but it was nailed shut tight. Davis appeared behind her with a crowbar, and with a concerted effort they lifted the lid off, sending it crashing to the floor with a loud clang.

“What the hell was that?” a voice called from somewhere down the dock.

[purplesurveys]

249

Have you ever been to Las Vegas? No. Doesn’t seem all that appealing to me anyway. What did you have for breakfast this morning? I didn’t eat breakfast which is a stupid idea considering I drank quite a bit last night...I did have a small piece of chocolate Pop-Tarts from at Gabie’s place this morning to mask my breath when I came home. Do you have any loose change in your pocket? I don’t have pockets on me right now. Do you like Taylor Swift? Her past singles were catchy, but that’s all I’ll give her. Everything I’ve heard about her attitude has just yelled petty to me. What’s your favorite Disney Channel movie? Strictly Disney Channel? High School Musical or Tw*tches.

If you met your favorite celebrity, would you be calm or starstruck? LOL I would probably cry if faced with Kristen Stewart. I’ll be starstruck in a calm way (so to answer your question, I’ll be both) and just maybe pull her in for a huge hug because I love her so much. Are there any lights on in the room you’re in? Yeah we have lights in the dining room but it’s daytime so the natural lighting from the sun is enough for now. What’s your favorite subject in school? I was always the teacher’s pet in history. I’m in college now though and have different classes per semester; my favorite class in the last sem would have to be art studies.  What’s your favorite holiday? Halloween, even though I hate referring to it as a holiday because it’s not. I just pick that because I hate every other holiday. Do you ever have to do yard work? No. Sounds like something I’ll always put off haha. Do you think Bad Romance is a catchy song or an annoying one? Catchy. Whether played in 2009 or 2018, best believe I’ll sing along and even slightly dance to it. Do you use perfect grammar online? If perfect = formal then no. Are you currently using a laptop? Yep. Do you have any live versions of songs in your music software? Music software? Damn. Anyway, no I don’t really like live editions of songs, no matter how much I love the artist or no matter how good it is. Did you or do you listen to Britney Spears songs? I never did voluntarily, even as a kid in the 2000′s. I remember her songs were everywhere though - in kid’s parties, at the mall, on TV, everywhere. Is it a windy day? It has been today, actually! The nicest surprise I’ve had all day so far. In the past week, have you ridden in a taxi? No, I never ride taxis because the drivers here are creepy and even be kidnappers. I’d much rather book an Uber or Grab, which is an alternative to Uber but in Southeast Asia. Do you ever wish on stars at night? Not really. I would if I chance upon a shooting star, but those never happen in my area. What color are your eyes? Dark brown. What album is the current song you’re listening to off of? I’m not listening to music at the moment. What’re you doing after you finish this? Move upstairs and either take a nap or another survey. What song’s the most overplayed right now? There is another song by The fucking Vamps called Personal and as usual they are bugging the living shit out of me. It literally plays in three different radio stations within five minutes and it drives me nuts when I’m driving. They are the actual worst. Please break up. Are you in a band? No. How clean is your bedroom? Super tidy. Is there a pen within reaching distance of you? No, there isn’t. Are you sitting at a desk? No. I’m at the dining table but moving to my bed after. Does your favorite band have a male or female lead singer? [continued after taking a nap three hours ago] Female singer from an awesome band that rhymes with ‘paramour’! Do you normally shut your bedroom door before you go to sleep? Yes, absolutely yes. Rest assured I will not fall asleep if it’s ajar even the slightest bit; it has to be shut all the way through. I can’t sleep with any light around, so. Have you seen the movie Moulin Rouge? No. I know Gab has a physical DVD but I’ve never seen the movie. Would you ever dye your hair a different color? Of course. It’s just a matter of when I’ll do it, because right now I’m still pretty indecisive about which color I’ll be getting, bitching about how expensive and high-maintenance it’s going to be, and worrying about everything having to do with bleach. Are there any framed pictures in the room you’re in? Yeah. My kindergarten grad photo is framed, and my high school clique’s photo is also in a frame on my bedside drawer. Have you ever been to a Broadway show? Nope. Not really my thing, but it’s the sort of thing I’d surprise my girlfriend with since she’s all about Broadway. What’s your favorite movie soundtrack? I don’t have one. I’ll just stick with my default answer Carol. Do you prefer group or individual work? Really depends on what kind of work we’re talking. Anything with creatives or logistics, I would much rather be in a group since I cannot for the life of me be creative, or even be forced to be creative. I can be helpful in other ways when it comes to that; but every other work outside of that–say a research paper, or a chapter report, or an investigatory project, I’m okay with doing on my own. Do you have a key to anything besides your house? Just my car. Are you wearing anything with stripes? Oooh I am. My top is black and white striped. It was actually the top I wore to the high school batch reunion last night, but it’s a little comfy so I haven’t changed out of it yet. What time did you go to sleep last night? Er around 1 or 2 AM, not really sure. I just instantly passed out on Gab’s bed and don’t remember anything since I was waaaay too tired. Did anyone tell you that you were beautiful today? Yep. What show did you last watch? RuPaul’s Drag Race, which I watched with Katreen and Gabie when we were at the former’s house last Thursday. I initially groaned when Katreen suggested it cos I thought the show was going to be too loud and fast-paced for my taste, but thEN OH MY GOD EVERYTHING IS PINK AND BRIGHT AND FABULOUS. We ended up watching a second episode. Do you think you’ll do anymore surveys today? I hope so. I’m kinda disappointed with myself for taking very few surveys during my break, when I said I was excited to finally spam my own blog with them after the last sem practically ate me up and never gave me time. I go back to school Tuesday and I probably took like 10-15 surveys total in four weeks, yuck @ self. What’s your favorite ice cream flavor? Cookies and cream. I also really liked queso real in my early teens. When was the last time you stayed home from school sick? 6th grade. Eight years ago. Insane. Could you ever complete a 500-piece puzzle? I could try! My girlfriend actually has a 1000- or 1500-piece puzzle of a painting that we tried to finish with her little sister during a sleepover, but I was boring and fell asleep by 2 AM. It’d be nice to try it again. If you could run a red light and not get caught, would you? No. Thing is, so many Filipino drivers do that already; hence why we are one of the most terrible on the road. I’ve seen enough videos to not want to even try it. Do any bands flat-out annoy you? I would say yes but it’s an insult to the word ‘band’ if I referred to The Vamps as one, because they’re my sole annoyance. Do you have a mirror in your bedroom? I had before my mom got it removed ugh. Was today a birthday for any of your friends? It’s Reggy’s birthday, who’s a girl I went to grade school and high school with. I wouldn’t consider her a friend. When was the last time you rode in a limo? I’ve never done it. Do you take naps daily? Hahaha yeah almost everyday. That’s gonna stop when I go back to school. Do you still make Christmas lists? No. I think I made it for one or two years before I finally called bullshit on Santa. Do you watch the show Dexter? Yes, mainly because they said it was like Breaking Bad and because CM Punk watched it. Didn’t like the first episode, haven’t tried rewatching it since. Have you ever been to any sort of convention? No. Which song did you last listen to on repeat? Probably Tessellate by Alt-J. < Good choice. I’m now super garbage compared to that, because mine is Bruno Mars’s Finesse collab with Cardi B hahaha. Where do you want to live when you grow up? Just in the city where all the hurly-burly is. It gets boring living in a suburban ish environment. Are you currently using a blanket? Nope. Are there any songs that make you cry? Yeah sometimes, there are instances I’ll sing along to a certain song and feel them more than usual. I’ve cried to When It Rains by Paramore on my bad days. How many siblings do you have? Two, both younger. What’re you doing this weekend? Binge-watching Black Mirror and enjoying the final days of my Christmas break. Do you prefer swimming at the beach or in a pool? Beach. The chlorine in the pool turns me away from it, plus with so many kids swimming in pools you never know if you’re already swimming in wee. When was the last time you had a haircut? Some time in November. Which musical instrument do you think sounds the prettiest? PIANO. Without a shadow of a doubt. Do you know what you want for Christmas? I didn’t want anything for Christmas for the first time in my life. That’s a little sad, innit? I got the 2018 Starbucks planner, which I was more than happy about. Gabie got me all sorts of jewelry, a blanket, and a sparkly pink tumbler and I loved each gift; and my sister got me a doggy pencil case and made personalized stickers for me. I loved all of them. Do you watch fireworks on New Year’s Eve? Yes, that’s a family tradition. Not going out to watch them just feels foreign and empty to me, since we’ve done it all my life. Is your birthday within the next three months? Yup. *silent panicking* How long is the song you’re listening to? Three and a half minutes. Are you anticipating anything this week? Yeah I am pretty excited to attend my new set of classes. It’s my first sem to have four majors too, so that’s another thing I’m waiting to experience. Will I be okay? Will it kill me? Will I have nervous breakdowns? Who knows. Is your mom or dad the older parent? They were born in the same year, but my dad is older by eight months. Do you watch anything on E!? Just Keeping Up. Are you going to get off the computer now that you’ve finished this? No, I might take another one.