#but... deadlines and things are coming up and i suppose something is better than nothing

[englishisaboutconfidence]

Jealousy, I Know your Name

"Ahyeon, Ahyeon, Ahyeon!" Snapping out of her trance, Ahyeon finally turned to the person trying to get her attention.

"You've been distracted all day. What has your brain all tied up?"

"Nothing Ruka Unnie"

"Are you sure Ahyeon? It seems that ever since we met the new employees, you've been somewhere else".

"Sorry, just a lot on my mind with the project deadline coming up."

"Hmmm, normally I would accept that except for some crazy reason, your eyes keep drifting in a certain direction…"

Trying to act not nonchalant, Ahyeon responded "I have no clue what you're talking about Unnie".

"Are you sure Ahyeon? Because it seems that every time, we get a new coworker who happens to be a woman our age, your mind seems to wander somewhere else and your eyes seem to magically keep an eye on a certain someone…"

Accepting that lunch in the work cafeteria wasn't the right place to have this conversation, Ruka accepted her answer. "We don't have to talk about this now, but we are going to talk about this tonight when we get drinks Ahyeon".

"Fine Unnie"

--- A few hours later ---

"So Ahyeon, are you going to finally tell me the truth because we both know that I know you better than anyone else. We have been friends for almost a decade"

Knocking back a shot of shot, Ahyeon sighed and started to answer: "Okay okay, I guess its been long enough that officially telling you won't be the worst thing in the world. Yes, I was thinking about Y/N… and maybe making sure that he wasn't getting too friendly with any of the new hires…"

Ruka responded with a simple raise of her eyebrows and a tilt of her head.

"… Yes like I always do. IDK, I just don't like when new hires get too friendly with Y/N too early. While he has a bit of a killer instinct when it comes to his coworkers and upward momentum in the work place, he is also Y/N. I still see him as the sweet, cute, nerdy guy I met in the middle school. I know he can handle male coworkers who want to snake him; but when it comes to girls our age, he can be too kind for his own good and I want to make sure that non of these skanks take advantage of him".

Hearing Ahyeon call their female coworkers caused Ruka to smirk, but Ahyeon didn't notice as she was too engrossed in her little tirade.

"I mean come on, remember Sullyoon,I mean all she did was touch his arm a little bit and flutter her lashes, and suddenly he was helping her whenever she asked. Don't even get me started on that bitch Julie, I mean how much sluttier can you dress. We are professionals and she wears the tightest skirts possible and the lowest hanging tops that whenever she just so happens to lean over my Y/N's desk, her tits are nearly falling out."

Hearing this, Ruka started to giggle.

"Don't start Unnie. You are nearly as bad. I mean you know how I feel and yet you constantly are talking to Y/N at his desk and while walking to meetings".

Sensing the change in Ahyeon, Ruka decided to cut off Ahyeon before she said something she might regret.

"Ahyeon, relax. I know how you feel about Y/N, but you need to remember that I am his sunbae just like I am yours and I have known him just as long as you have."

"Sorry Unnie, I know, I just get so worked up about Y/N and I don't know why"

"Well it doesn't help that you've been in love with him since you two were in the 8th grade. Plus you went to middle school together then high school then college and now work together… and you still haven't confessed…"

"He's supposed to! He's the guy Unnie!"

"Ahyeon, you've liked him for over a decade, I think this is equally if not more on you. You also haven't done anything to make it obvious to him and you know Y/N is completely oblivious to anything when it comes to romance. He's only dated 1 girl and that was barely for 3 months when he has been liked by multiple girls between 7th grade and now…"

Staring at Ahyeon, Ruka continued "Oh wait, I forgot something seemed to happen anytime a girl showed any interest in Y/N. Any interest was suddenly dropped. It was almost like someone either scared them off or made sure that every girl knew that Y/N was taken".

Ahyeon simple crossed her arms and muttered "It's not my fault that those girls needed to know that he's mine."

Raising her voice, "They don't understand him like I do and they would've broken up eventually too. Y/N is too in love with me to date anyone long term".

Sighing, Ruka responded to her delusional but well meaning junior "you two are somehow a combination of infuriating, delusional, and the cutest couple ever. Sometimes I regret telling you that Y/N has had a crush on you since the 7th grade as well."

Hearing the word couple, instantly brought a smile to Ahyeon's face. Seeing this, Ruka just sighed and said "God, you and Y/N are the worst. We should probably get going, it's already 10pm and we have a long day tomorrow."

---- The Next Day ---

Walking into the cafeteria, Ruka looks around for Ahyeon so they could sit together and instead she found someone who looked like they were planning a murder.

Approaching her junior, Ruka cleared her throat to try to get Ahyeon's attention before finally speaking "I don't think you are supposed to just stab the salad."

"It's better I stab this salad than that bitch Sian. God she's such a pick me. 'Oh Y/N could you help me print this doc. Oh Y/N you're so good at excel. Oh Y/N you're such a kind and caring sunbae'. Such a phony bitch. I had to sit there grinding away on our project while that whore practically offered herself as a public fuck toy for my Y/N."

Sighing, Ruka tried to calm down her junior "Ahyeon. I love you but I am sure you're overreacting."

"Unnie, I know I normally do; but trust me, this is different. You'll see tonight at the team dinner. That bitch is practically throwing herself at Y/N thinking that she will be able to get him to do all her work and the worst part is that it'll probably work."

"Well if she starts giving him her work or asks for too much help, I'll step in as team lead and make sure she asks someone else for help or does it herself if it's within her abilities".

"Thanks Unnie; but Sian gets too friendly tonight, I have to take things into my own hands"

Hearing this, Ruka just shook her head; but secretly, she hoped that Sian would flirt with Y/N because this decade of mutual pining has taken a toll on her.

--- A few hours and a few drinks later ---

The team had been dropped off by a couple of the companies vans earlier that night and the drinks had started flowing the second they stepped into the restaurant for the monthly team dinner. Most of the team would indulge in a few drinks at these dinners, but the younger employees always seemed to find a way to elevate the celebration to a point where it was almost an HR hazard to keep having them. The team would naturally split into the respective age/hire groups with the older team members huddling together spectating their younger colleagues while the newer and newest hires would often rope in the 2-3 year tenured employees into joining them in indulging in as many free drinks as possible. Each of the new hires had seemingly grabbed a slightly older sunbae to cling on to throughout the night and Sian had decided that Y/N was hers for the night. Ever since they had clocked out, Sian had been inseparable from Y/N. She literally grabbed hold of him on the way out of the building and had not let go of him since. Ahyeon of course instantly noticed this but had done a remarkable job of holding herself back; but that resolve was quickly fading. Ruka could practically see the steam coming out of Ahyeon's ears and decided that it was best for the team (while also being a wing woman for her best friend) to distract Sian for a bit. Walking up to Sian and Y/N, Ruka could see the mixture of happiness and also pure terror in Y/N's eyes from the proximity and amount of physical touch he was having with Sian. "Sian, come chat with me and Asa, we want to hear more about you outside of work. You can hang out with boring old Y/N anytime." "Okay Sunbae, bye Y/N" Sian said before giving a quick peck to Y/N's cheek and following Ruka to talk with Asa.

Giving a sigh of relief after finally getting some separation from your good meaning but clingy junior, you looked around to see what everyone else was doing. You saw your sunbaes gathered as far as possible from you and your fellow young coworkers. Your sunbaes always loved to chat amongst themselves while also spectating their drunk juniors. You also saw a few other teams who had also decided to come here for their monthly team dinner. Finally, your eyes landed on the girl who had lived rent free in your head for almost if not over a decade long, Jung Ahyeon.

She was your middle school, high school, college, and now work crush. You two had first met when you transferred into her middle school in 7th grade and had been smitten ever since. She was the class president so she gave you the tour of their building; but you had to keep asking her simple questions because you couldn't focus due to her beauty and charisma. That crush had stuck with you throughout their schooling and had even intensified when they got to college. Being the beauty and kind hearted person she was, Ahyeon had dozens of guys who were interested and her and all of them were far better than you, so you had never even thought about actually asking her out. Throughout the years, your friends had asked you who he were interested in or who your dream girl was and the answer was always Ahyeon. One night during your Junior year of college, Ruka, who was a year older than you and Ahyeon and who you had also known for a decade, asked you who you were interested in. Being a little more than tipsy, you answered her truthfully and said Ahyeon. Ruka asked why and you started going into detail about how beautiful, kind, etc. Ahyeon was and after 15 minutes of you showing how you had been practically obsessing over Ahyeon, Ruka finally laughed and told you to shut up. The next day, you had woken up in a panic and called Ruka to beg her to not tell Ahyeon about any of what you had said. Ruka told you not to worry about it and after a few days of treading lightly whenever you saw Ahyeon or Ruka, you were finally able to start acting normal again, trusting that Ruka hadn't told Ahyeon about your embarrassing and somewhat obsessive confession.

That was four years ago now. After graduating college, you and Ahyeon had actually joined the same company and team as Ruka. Being the only 2 new hires for that year in the team, you two had gotten closer while still not being super close. You had gone from people who go to school together to close work colleagues or even potentially work friends, although your relationship still hadn't moved past talking in the office or hanging out with each other at work events; but when your eyes landed on her after finally getting some space from Sian, you could tell something was wrong… mostly because it looked like Ahyeon was trying to melt a hole through you. Confused as to what you did wrong, you started to wrack your brain for any fuck ups you had at work that day or if you had taken any of the meat Ahyeon liked while eating dinner; but you couldn't for the life of you figure it out. Suddenly Ahyeon started marching at you like someone ready to start a fight. You were then grabbed by your t-shirt and roughly pulled into the hallway then supply closet of the restaurant.

"Ahyeon, I don't think we are supposed to be in here"

"I don't care Y/N. What the fuck is up with you and little miss princess Sian?"

"Uh, nothing? She's just a coworker."

"Really? Then why has she been holding onto you like a life craft and why are you practically doing her job for her?"

"Woah woah woah Ahyeon. She's just new and hasn't gotten close to anyone. She asked me a question yesterday and after helping her out, she has just had me as her go to person."

"Are you sure its not because you're fucking her? Are you seriously already fucking her? God, why do you fall for the eye fluttering and flirty touches of every woman who works with us. You are such a spineless coward. Falling for anyone who shows you any attention. You know what, screw you Y/N. I can't believe I've been in love with you all these years"

Looking shell shocked, you just stared at your crush of over a decade.

"What Y/N? Too scared to confess that you've been fucking the new hire. She's practically a fetus. Still fresh out of college. She hasn't even been out of school for 6 months".

Not hearing a word she said, you just stared at her like an idiot and said "You're in love with me?"

Clearly annoyed at you, Ahyeon stared at you dumbfounded "Is that seriously all you heard Y/N? Or are you just playing dumb?"

Still not hearing a word she said, you just repeated "You're in love with me?"

Practically ready to blow, Ahyeon spat at you "No, I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU. I thought you were cute when I gave you that tour in 7th grade and the more I saw you and got to know you throughout the years, that infatuation turned into love; but now it's gone because you can't keep your dick in your pants and you are a pathetic simp".

Not hearing half of what she said, you just looked at Ahyeon and were completely captivated by her beauty. Not sure whether it was the soju or a sudden surge in confidence, you, not thinking, softly raised your hand to her face to cup it. Stunned by your sudden touch, Ahyeon paused her tirade and looked like she was short circuiting. Still moving without an ounce of thought, you moved your other hand to her waist and brought her close before capturing her lips with yours. After breaking out of her stupor, Ahyeon pulled you even closer and responded to your kiss tenfold. Needing to break for air, you and Ahyeon finally separated after what felt like eternity. Still holding her by the waist, you gazed lovingly into Ahyeon's eyes before saying "I love you". Hearing that caused Ahyeon to blush and she started to pull away, but you weren't about to fuck up this opportunity of a life time. Pulling her flush against you, you raised her face so her eyes met yours and said it again "I love you Ahyeon". Seeing your sincerity and the love behind your eyes, Ahyeon took a second before responding "You're an asshole". Confused you loosened your grip on her, sensing this, Ahyeon grabbed your face and smashed her lips against yours again. Stunned, you barely were able to reciprocate before she broke away again. Grabbing your hand, she led you out of the supply closet, through the hallway, past your team, and out of the restaurant.

Still not saying a word to you, but muttering to herself, Ahyeon continued to lead you by the hand through the streets of Seoul before finally coming to an apartment building which she scanned in and led you through the lobby and into one of the elevators. Once the doors closed, Ahyeon was on you like a lion. Pushing you against one of the walls, she practically mounted you while capturing your lips with hers. Trying your best to match her fervor, you put both of your hands on her waist and pulled her closer. Deciding this wasn't enough for her, Ahyeon moved your hands from her waist to her ass and made sure that you had firm grasp of it before letting you take hold alone. After making out for a bit, the elevator finally signaled that it had arrived at her floor. Hearing the noise, Ahyeon let you off the wall, but made sure to grab one of your hands so she could lead you to here apartment. When you two finally arrived at her door, she made sure that you had both your hands on her waist before punching in her code. After inputting the code, she turned and gave you a quick peck before pulling you into her apartment. Letting her lead the way, you walked through her apartment before stopping in her living room. Turning around, Ahyeon looked at you with a mixture of happiness and fear. Sensing that she needed some more reassurance, you grabbed her again by the waist and captured her lips once again with yours. Not wanting this to turn into a full on makeout session, Ahyeon separated from you after a few seconds. Taking a second to look at her in her eyes, you see the fear and happiness melting away and being replaced with something else… lust.

Feeling a renewed sense of purpose and anger, Ahyeon once again grabbed you by your shirt and dragged you into her bedroom before shoving you onto her bed. Landing on her bed, you are then met with the sight of a lust filled Ahyeon. This along with the previous makeout sessions caused your dick to start to harden. Seeing this, Ahyeon smirked before sitting on your lap and straddling you. This only caused you to harden more and you released a slight moan. This caused Ahyeon to start to grind herself on top of you. Deciding that you need take back some control, you flipped yourself and Ahyeon so now she was on her back. Taking a second to truly take in the sight of her, you noticed what she had been wearing the entire night. While not inappropriate, it was borderline non work attire. She wore a small black skirt that at the right angle would reveal the bottom of her ass and a tight white button down with a black tie that was begging to be ripped off. Seeing your loss of focus, Ahyeon thrust her clothed core to meet your hardened dick which once again caused you to moan. Deciding you truly had had enough, you ripped off your shirt and pants before starting to strip Ahyeon. Seeing how excited she was for you to do so, you chose to taunt her a bit by slowly dragging down her skirt inch by inch.

"Y/N just take it fucking off"

"Language Ahyeon. I don't want to fuck a foul mouthed whore"

"Listen Y/N, if you don't hurry the fuck up. I will tie you to this bed and will ride you until you can't even think of getting your dick hard".

"Now Ahyeon, how is that supposed to dissuade me". "Fuck you" she replied. "That's the plan babe".

"How about this. The faster I get naked, the faster you get to bury your cock inside of me and the faster you get to see my naked tits. Don't pretend like I haven't caught you staring at my tits or my ass throughout the year… oh and, the faster you get to find out how much of a whore I am for your cock. Maybe I'll even let you fuck my ass tonight".

Hearing this certainly motivated you and you practically tore of her skirt and shirt before actually tearing her panties before struggling with her bra. Seeing you struggle, Ahyeon decided to help you out and unclasped it for you. Seeing her bra drop and her tits barren in front of you, you hovered over her practically panting. Seeing you frozen, Ahyeon rose up enough to meet your ear before whispering "You can suck them you know." Hearing that, you dove face first into her tits before capturing one of her nipples with your mouth and groping the other tit with your hand. Swapping back and forth, you feasted on her tits before finally she had to physically tear you off of them. Annoyed at being separated from your prize, your head was then shoved down past her delectable abs and in front of her neatly shaven cunt. Realizing what she wanted, you slowly moved towards your next feast. Slowly licking down from her abs, you gave her inner thighs some much needed attention before diving in. After a few minutes of burying your head in her cunt, you sensed that her orgasm was approaching. Ahyeon started to pant your name "Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, please" Tearing yourself away from her glorious cunt, you raised your head and said "What babe, what do want". "Please Y/N." "Please what Ahyeon" "Please just fucking make me come" Hearing this you dove back in and started to truly feast on her, burying your tongue so deep that you felt her nearly come from any movement. Coyly moving your right hand in front of her puckered hole, you inserted one finger into her ass right when you captured her clit with your mouth. Feeling this Ahyeon, instantly came and showered your face in her cum. After making sure to lap up her entire orgasm, you removed your finger from her ass and met her face to face. Seeing her dazed, you softly grabbed her face and kiss her, making sure she got a tase of her own release.

After recovering, Ahyeon then slapped your shoulder before kissing you again. "Yah, I didn't say anything about putting a finger in my ass"

"Really? Oh well, because it certainly seemed like you liked it Ahyeon" you cockily responded.

"Whatever Y/N. You're lucky I like you".

"Love honey. Love me"

"Shut up Y/N. Swap spots with me so I can return the favor."

Not wanting to look a gift blowjob in the mouth, you quickly swapped with Ahyeon so now you were laying on your back and she was on top of you. After pulling off your shirt, Ahyeon gave you soft kisses down your chest before hovering over your lap. She then tore your pants off before slowly sliding your underwear off revealing your bare cock which had been hard since you two had made it to the bedroom. Like the little minx she was, she then gave slow, long licks along your hardened shaft causing you to moan like a little bitch. Hearing this caused a smirk to come over her face. "Ahyeon" you groaned. "Ahyeon what, Y/N?" "Ugh, you know what babe" Giving another long lick and cupping your balls, Ahyeon asked you again "What Y/N?" "Fuck you" you angrily spat. "Just say it Y/N" "Fine… please Ahyeon please blow me" you begged. Hearing you final beg, Ahyeon started to take your cock inch by inch. Each inch caused you to moan even louder causing Ahyeon to smirk even more before you finally bottomed out. Ahyeon gave you a second to relax before she fucking her throat on your cock, drooling and letting spit leak out of her mouth. Feeling your orgasm approaching, you gave Ahyeon a warning about your upcoming climax; but hearing this only caused Ahyeon to fuck her throat with your cock even more before finally your orgasm overwhelmed you and you fill Ahyeon’s throat with your cum. Ahyeon, being the good little slut she was, took your entire load drinking it without abandon before letting your cock pop out of her mouth and then opening her mouth to show you that she had swallowed your entire load.

Ahyeon then straddle you and lowered her face right over yours before saying "Don't even think about passing out on me Y/N. I have wanted too damn long for this and I am getting what I deserve". She then captured your lips in a kiss that was filled with both lust and love. You then flipped yourself and Ahyeon again so she was on her back and you were above her. You then softly placed your hand on her check and were about to speak before she beat you to the punch. "Y/N, I love you; but will you for God's sake, stop being a gooey romantic and just bury your cock in my aching cunt". Hearing this along with her grabbing your cock and giving you a handjob got you hard once again. You then positioned your dick in front of her entrance before looking at her for one last bit of reassurance which she gave you by whispering in your ear "Y/N, want to know a secret. You're going to be my first" This got you even harder than you thought possible. She continued "Think about it Y/N. You are going to be the first and only person to fuck Jung Ahyeon. Think about your tight I am going to be then imagine burying yourself in there night after night filling me with your seed. Breeding me over and over again until all I can think about is your cock. And then after you have filled me with so much of your seed that I am leaking, then you get to fuck my ass. That tight little ass that looks so good in mini skirts and leggings. Don't you want to breed my greedy little cunt. Don't you want to fuck my puckered little hole." Finally breaking your resolve, you slowly slid in inch by inch into Ahyeon's waiting cunt, giving her time to adjust to each inch before you finally were fully sheathed in her cocksleeve. Looking at her for reassurance, Ahyeon pulled your face closer to hers saying "Fuck me Y/N. Give my aching cunt your seed and breed me" and capturing your lips with hers. Hearing this, you start to hammer into her waiting cunt like a piston with each thrust causing Ahyeon to moan more and more into your mouth, moving your hands to grab her ass as you fuck her cunt like a madman. After a few minutes, you begging to feel your second orgasm nearing. Sensing this too, Ahyeon wrapped her legs around you to lock in you place and make sure that you couldn't pull out. She then whispered again in your ear "Breed me. Fill your cock slut with your seed and mark me as yours". Hearing that triggered your release and you began to fill Ahyeon's pussy with spurt after spurt of your load. This along with your finger which you had once again sneakily buried in her puckered hole triggered Ahyeon's second release as well. Finally after both of you had the felt the last moments of your respective orgasm leave you, you both glanced down at your combined loads leaking out of Ahyeon's pussy which caused your dick your dick to twitch which Ahyeon immediately felt causing her to moan as well. Finally raising your eyes to meet hers again, you gave Ahyeon once last soft kiss on her lips before you flipped you two over once last time and passed out with your cock in the warmth of her pussy.

--- The Next Day ---

Waking up after a night of intense fucking was nothing like you imagined especially with the girl of your dreams with you. After a few seconds of your blinking your eyes and regaining your awareness, you then become aware again of where you were, what you had done last night, and who you did it with… and also who you were still buried inside. Realizing the situation you were in, you slowly tried to pull your cock out of the tight embrace of Ahyeon's cunt. Feeling the loss of you, Ahyeon's legs were instantly wrapped around you and she once again leg locked you so your cock would remain buried inside of her. Feeling the tight embrace of her pussy once again, your cock started to harden. You then shifted your eyes towards Ahyeon's waiting and annoyed face. "What were you trying to do Y/N? she angrily asked. Stuttering, you respond to her "I was trying to pull out because I was still inside you and I thought that it would be impolite to" You started to say before Ahyeon cut you off. "Y/N, I begged you to not only fuck me but to also breed me multiple times last night. I leg locked you so you wouldn't be able to pull out and then I made sure you were buried inside of me before we passed out… since you clearly are terrible at picking up even the most obvious signs, I want your cock to be buried inside me like the good little cocksleeve I am as often as possible". This statement caused your cock to once again stand at full attention, although this was a little hard being buried in Ahyeon's warmth. Feeling you once again ready, Ahyeon pulled you close to her once again, whispering "Now am I going to need to tell you what to do again or are you finally going to pick up on my signals and take some fucking action". Capturing her lips with yours, you started to makeout with her once again. Tearing her lips away from yours, Ahyeon looked at your angrily and once about to start lecturing you; but before she could, you began to fuck her without abandon and all thoughts left her brain with you two spending the rest of the morning trying your best to catch up on lost time.

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

[deathbxnny]

Hi! I really love your fic. Could you write oneshot reader x Viktor that reader has imposter syndrome and they blame themselves for little mistakes. How would Viktor comfort them?

The failed overachiever. | Viktor x Gn!Reader

I'm feeling a little better again healthwise, so I hope this is good, Anon! Thank you for your request and enjoy!<3

Content: Imposter syndrome, pre season 2 viktor, some angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Reader is a genius, established romantic relationship, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

"Ah no, no, no! This just won't do!" You hiss out as you toss another paper filled with prototype scribbles in the trash. Working on your latest projects was already a painful drag, but it certainly didn't help that you just couldn't make up your mind. The equations you have come up with also seemed wrong. And the deadline to the showcasing was coming closer and closer!

Sleep was rare to find these days, mainly as you were stuck trying to chase a perfection you just simply never have found yet in your lifetime. An impossible feat you were unwilling to give up on no matter what. The many endless achievements that littered the walls of your laboratory were a clear statement to your deep desperation. You were practically renowned for your genius innovation and philosophies, but they never reached your mind. To you, they felt undeserving as in every one you could only see the flaws and mistakes you've made.

You couldn't escape the cycle of self hate you've trapped yourself in for years now... but that didn't mean that your dear boyfriend Viktor wasn't going to try and help you anyway.

Viktor narrowly dodged an incoming crumbled paper when he entered your laboratory late into the night. You hadn't left it in days now, and whilst it may have very well been hypocritical of him, he had come to bring you to bed. You used to do this often to him as well, way before the obsession for a flawless project had taken over you, but ever since you've been asked to present your latest projects at a inventors gala, things changed for the worst. He was already familiar with your rather self-destructive behaviors and was deeply concerned by them, another form of hypocrisy on his part, he supposed.

Tilting his head at your hunched over form, he carefully approached you, the sound of his cane making you hum weakly in acknowledgment. "Rough night?" He joked, although you found less amusement in it as you shook your head in disappointment. "I am simply enraged by everything! Every draft is worse than the last, and the deadline is in two weeks, and I have yet to finish a thing, and, and-" You let out a frustrated string of curses, before near swiping everything off your work desk. "I'm just... such a failure... nothing I do is good enough. Every mistake is a testament to how little I deserve my position as a scientist and professor."

Viktor frowned gently at your clear defeat, the tears in your eyes making his heart ache. He knew that feeling all too well. And he never wanted you to feel it, too. You were a genius beyond every measure. People followed your inventions like they were religion, always so eager for the latest news. Yet you never saw that part of your success. In fact, not an ounce of you believed you were successful by your own volition either. Every achievement and reward was just dumb luck to you.

"I don't think that's true." He started as he leaned down with great difficulty to grab some papers you had thrown away in rage. "And no one else does either. You're this generations genius. Everyone knows this... but you. And that's sad, my love." His words were soft and warm, the sweetness making you turn to look at him, whilst he sat down in a chair and flipped through your work intently like he always did. Patting his good leg, he invited you to sit in his lap, something that always made you nervous despite him making it clear that it didn't hurt him. Yet you indulged him this time without protest, desperate for some comfort.

He chuckled when you quickly hid your face in his neck, not wanting to embarrass yourself with the tears that were burning in your eyes. Pulling you close with his unoccupied hand, he pressed a kiss to your head and looked over your notes with a prideful glint in his eyes. "Your work moves and inspires thousands. Everyone knows of it and praises it like its gospel. You should be more kind to yourself... which may be hypocritical of me to say, but it's true nonetheless. Your work is perfection." "I don't think it is. The mistakes are so foolish that they are unforgivable." "Hardly." Leaning away, he made enough room to make you see the papers. "This is a flawless equation, and the design is impressive... may I watch you work on it? It would be an honor, my love." The man hummed, making you blink in surprise before you collected your ego and jumped up with a determined, yet flustered look on your face. "Well! If you really think that, then I suppose you can! But don't expect me to slow down for you!" You huffed out, making his smile widen. There you were. The prideful scholar he fell in love with so many years ago.

You began picking and setting things back up, your head turned away from him as you spoke. "... Thank you, by the way. I really needed to hear that." Viktor's eyes glowed with a warm, loving glow as he watched you, his heart full at watching you do what you loved the most.

"No need to thank me. I'll always be there for you."

[study-diaries]

How to do group projects? (If you're selected as the leader of the group)

I hate group projects, it's not necessarily the project rather, the people are not cooperative enough so here's some tips I use when I was chosen to do a PPT and a damn play with 13 members.

(Pictures aren't mine!)

Take phone numbers

Even though my teacher discouraged the idea of it, I still took the numbers of all the members and saved it on the same day the project was given even though the deadline was a month later. You should make sure that you have the necessary means of communication to every member.

Plan and outline within 3 days!

Make an outline of what needs to be done, plan out who's going to do what, how they'll do it, when will they complete it etc etc. The reason i do it within 3 days is because you'll get the base of how you'll do it because generally in group projects, by the time everyone completes the work and gives it to you, it would take atleast a week or two, if you start early, you'll complete earlier than everyone else

No group chats!

I personally don't prefer this because one i realised everyone just didn't reply expecting others to reply, especially when your group is big! So... Dms!! Just send the instructions personally, yes, it takes alot of time but it makes up for the energy wasted in group chats that involve unnecessary talks and questions.

Both face to face and text reminders!

When you've assigned work to every member, make sure they actually do it because you'll be the one responsible. Not gonna lie but reminders help especially when the deadlines are closer. Just a message like "Hey, friendly reminder about the XYZ project."

Save your own name!

This is something I'm really careful about. The accusation that you're being biased and assigning easier work to friends and people I'm close with. So, i figured that the best way to avoid it is to write all the work and the names of members in alphabetical order and assign accordingly. If the member can't do it, then I'll discuss and swap. It saves a hell lot of drama and actually results to better outcomes.

Back up

Make sure that there's always a second in command. This was a mistake I did, on the day of the 2nd project (the play), I was in one of the competitions and our teacher had started with our group first... I didn't exactly tell anyone that everything about the characters assigned to members and the narrations were in my bag so they had to scramble alittle but in the end, our group did the best play despite the situation so that's what you're aiming at. Your group needs to manage without you.

Flexibility

Do not, under any circumstances, expect everything to go well! You need to expect hindrances, like gurl, come on. A mistake I made in the PPT project, i made the PPT and told 4-5 people to explain it because that's how it was supposed to be done but in the end, ALL THE 4-5 PEOPLE HAD TO BE IN SPORTS PRACTICE so we ended up changing plans last minute. But nevertheless, we got an A-. Tell everyone to prepare accordingly.

Be a little lenient

Personally, when the teacher asked me to give the list of work everyone had done, i did'nt just write nothing for the members who didn't, i have even the smallest contribution because in the end, even one person's scores matters. It affects the whole damn group so be careful when you take out anger and frustration on the members when giving the list of contributions or even while doing the project. The last thing you need is drama.

Contact!

Make sure your members are comfortable enough to clear any questions or misunderstandings with you. If you don't know what's going in the group, you can't maintain the group. Be very clear that they can reach you any time.

Demo!!!

This is really important! Decide on a day and keep a demonstration of how your project is going to be presented. Do exactly as how you're going to do it infront of the teacher. Exchange some points on how to do better during the demo and discuss! It helps you to correct your mistakes.

Hope this helps! :)

[aelinad]

Tangled Strings Of Fate

Chapter 06 - The Party Pt. 2

~~ Namjoon's POV (a couple of days ago)~~

"And that's the final track done. Everything seems ready for the listening party this Saturday. Any last-minute tweaks, or should I send it through?" Hwan-seok asked, pulling off his headphones.

We were in the production room, wrapping up Indigo for its final check before the listening party. Tonight was the deadline to submit the tracklist for production, and the albums would start printing soon. It was almost midnight; Hwan and I had been here for six hours, perfecting every detail. Somewhere along the way, Hana texted back, replying to the list of things to do in Seoul I'd sent her. Keeping track of places to visit was just something I did, so putting it together for her wasn't a big deal. What was a big deal, though, was the fact that I'd texted her at all.

After so many people had tried to exploit me for attention, part of me worried she'd do the same. Had I been arrogant, assuming she didn't know who I was? If she did, she never gave it away, and there hadn't been any hint of our encounter in the media, no matter how much I searched. Maybe that's why I texted her—to test if she was genuinely different from everyone else in my life lately. Worst case, I'd change my number again, something I'd gotten used to by now. But then she sent a sweet, inviting reply halfway through our listen of the album, and I panicked, replying back coldly to keep my distance. I regretted it immediately. I knew better than to let my insecurities mess things up.

Then, as we reached the final track, she messaged me again. Unexpected. She invited me to a gallery exhibition—something from the list I'd sent her, something I'd wanted to check out myself. Lost in thought, I barely noticed Hwan talking to me again.

"Bro, are you even listening? What's up with you tonight? Something on your mind?" Hwan looked at me with concern.

I sighed heavily. "There's this girl..."

Hwan's eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward, listening as I told him about meeting Hana. I explained how, for the first time, I felt normal around someone new. How I wanted to keep talking to her, to get to know her, but ended up messing it all up by overthinking. Now, I didn't know if meeting her at the gallery was a good idea.

"Damn, man. Didn't see that coming," he smirked. "You sound kinda whipped, Dimples."

I shot him a glare, but he raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning.

"Hear me out," he said. "You're overthinking it. Yeah, you're famous, but that doesn't mean everyone's out to use you. Maybe she genuinely likes you—wants to know you for you?"

I shifted in my chair, staring down at the console. "You don't get it, Hwan. I don't have the luxury of taking that risk anymore. Every time I let someone in, it backfires. How am I supposed to know she's different?"

Hwan shook his head. "You're focused on what could go wrong. But what about what could go right? You said it felt... normal, right?"

Reluctantly, I nodded, recalling the ease of walking beside her, laughing over the simplest things. "Yeah. It was... nice. Different."

"Then what's the harm in trying?" Hwan leaned in, his tone serious. "You deserve that. I get it, you've been through a lot. But you can't hide behind walls forever."

His words began to sink in, loosening the knots I'd twisted in my mind. "And if it's just another mistake?"

"Then it's a mistake, and you deal with it," he said simply. "The company can spin it, and people will forget in no time. But at least you'll have tried. Don't let past bad experiences—okay, maybe a lot of them—keep you from meeting someone genuine."

I mulled it over, thinking about her gallery invitation. Nothing flashy, just a simple exhibit. Something I could easily arrange to go to quietly without the media or general public catching on. It was the sort of thing I'd attend with a friend anyway.

"You don't have to decide now," Hwan suggested. "Sleep on it. See how you feel tomorrow. If you're still curious, text her back about the gallery. Just see what happens."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "You think that's a good idea?"

"Honestly? Yeah, I do," he replied, shrugging. "And if it goes well, maybe invite her to the listening party. She'd be around people who already know you—no hiding, no pretence. You could just be yourself and see how she handles it."

I hesitated, picturing it. It felt almost too simple. "I don't know if I'm ready for her to meet everyone."

"Hey, it's just a thought," Hwan said, hands raised again. "But if you're that worried, having her meet you in your element could be a good test. You'd know quickly if she's the real deal."

He was right. It would be a chance to see if Hana was truly different. Even with doubts tugging at me, something about the idea felt right.

~~ Hana's POV (present) ~~

After our conversation in the kitchen, Jungkook and I made our way back to the party. I spotted Selina right where I left her initially, seated on the couch, chatting with her friend's cousin. The room buzzed with activity; people were scattered around, some sitting, some standing, while others were lost in the music, dancing to the rhythm of Namjoon's new songs.

As we walked, I noticed Taehyung talking with a group standing around the couch, while Jimin sat on the opposite side, occasionally glancing over at Selina with an expression I couldn't quite read. It made me wonder if there was more to their interactions than met the eye. I'd have to remember to ask her about it later.

"Are you gonna go and talk to Namjoon after the songs finish?" Jungkook's voice came from just behind me, a gentle reminder of the conversation waiting to happen.

"Yes," I replied with a slight nod. "I think it's only fair to finish what we started."

My eyes drifted to the back of the room, where Namjoon stood near the DJ, a quiet presence amidst the crowd. Then, as the song faded out, he took the microphone, and his deep voice filled the space.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," he began, and the room quieted. "This album, Indigo, has been a journey. A way for me to speak in silence, to express myself truthfully without causing confusion." His gaze swept over the crowd, his words carrying a depth that felt almost like a confession. "I think of Indigo as the last archive of my twenties, a blend of rock, pop, hip-hop, and funk that captures who I am, in this moment."

As he spoke, I could see how much this project meant to him, the way his emotions came through in every word. I was so captivated that I forgot I was supposed to make my way back to Selina. Just as I took a step back, my gaze accidentally met his, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as though he was speaking only to me. But then, a familiar jolt as I stumbled—again, nearly tripping over who I believe was the same guy who had bumped into me earlier.

As I stumbled, expecting to hit the ground, Jungkook's arm slipped around me, his hand resting at the small of my back. He pulled me close, steadying me with an ease that felt natural, almost instinctive. His hand lingered there, warm and grounding, and for a moment, it was as if we'd stepped out of the noisy party and into our own quiet space. I looked up, and his eyes met mine with a hint of a smile, something soft and unguarded. My heart fluttered, betraying me completely, and suddenly I was all too aware of how close we were.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, the words just between us.

"Yeah," I managed, barely above a whisper. "Thanks for... catching me.Maybe we should get back before I fall again. Have I mentioned I'm clumsy?"

"You didn't need to. I just saw it firsthand," he teased, his eyes sparkling.

"Whatever you say, Ian," I replied, throwing him a look, which only made him laugh.

"You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

Feigning innocence, I smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

After what felt like a small eternity, we reached the couch. Selina stood up, her eyes scanning my face as though reading every detail.

"Are you alright? I saw you almost falling back there," she asked, her tone laced with concern.

"I'm fine! Jungkook caught me before I could break anything."

"Good." She shot him a grateful smile. "So...are you two...you know, okay now?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I think we're fine."

"And what about Namjoon?"

I glanced over to where Namjoon had returned to the crowd. "Haven't had the chance to talk to him yet, but I'll probably catch him when things calm down."

We sat back down, sinking into the plush cushions. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Jimin and Jungkook chatting in Korean, discussing the new album's release and what they each liked about it. I picked up bits and pieces, though my understanding of Korean was still shaky. I let my mind drift, replaying the night's events over and over.

I must have zoned out, because I didn't notice when someone seated across from me started talking until Selina nudged me lightly.

"Oh! Sorry, yes?" I stammered, snapping back to reality. Standing in front of me was none other than Jin from BTS, a warm smile lighting up his face.

"Nice to meet you," he said, his tone friendly. "Hana, right? Jungkook mentioned that you know Namjoon, too."

"That's me," I replied, glancing at Jungkook, who gave me a small, encouraging smile.

Jin turned to Jungkook, his eyebrows raised slightly. "Geu saram-eun uri-ga nugunji ara?" he asked, and I caught enough to understand: Does she know who we are?

I couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I know exactly who you all are. You're Jin from BTS. Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Worldwide Handsome." The title earned a laugh from the guys around us—I guess my quick Google search hadn't been for nothing.

Jin looked momentarily taken aback, clearly not expecting me to understand. "Do you speak Korean?" he asked, obviously impressed.

"Not fluently yet, but I'm getting there," I admitted, laughing a little.

Still grinning, he turned back to Jungkook. "Na-neun i-geos-eul jo-ahanda," he said with a nod—I like this one.

***

The other members—J-Hope and Yoongi—came over to greet me as well, their smiles as warm and welcoming as they were on screen. Each one of them had a unique vibe, but there was an undeniable kindness to all of them that put me at ease. It felt surreal standing among them, sharing laughs and small talk.

Selina, meanwhile, had settled in with Taehyung and J-Hope, who were already laughing and swapping jokes like they'd known each other for years. I watched as she let loose, leaning into her natural friendliness. She seemed right at home, giggling along with them like they were old friends.

After a moment, I let my eyes wander across the room, scanning for Namjoon. I finally spotted him toward the back, standing by the equipment table, quietly helping pack up some cables and speakers now that the main listening session had ended.

I took a deep breath. This was my moment; he was finally alone. I glanced at Jungkook as I got up, who gave me a reassuring nod, as if he already knew what I was about to do. With a small smile, I left the comfort of the group and made my way through the crowd.

As I approached, I felt a strange mix of anticipation and nerves. The night had already been full of surprises, but this conversation felt like the most important one. Namjoon was so focused he didn't notice me at first. When he finally looked up and saw me, he gave a soft smile, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

"Hana," he greeted, his voice warm but cautious. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be here."

"I, um, thought I'd stay," I said, trying to sound casual but feeling the weight of the moment. "I wanted to congratulate you on Indigo. It's... it's really incredible, Namjoon. You can feel every part of you in it."

Namjoon's face softened, and he set down the equipment he was holding. "Thank you. That means a lot." He glanced away for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. "This album... It's different from anything I've done before. It's my way of being real with myself, you know?"

I nodded, feeling the honesty in his words. "You can tell. There's a rawness to it, like you're letting everyone in on pieces of yourself you've kept hidden."

He looked at me, his gaze intense but kind. "That was the hardest part. Letting people see beyond the image, into... well, the mess that is me." He laughed softly, the sound a little self-conscious.

"It doesn't feel like a mess, though," I replied, finding the courage to meet his gaze. "It feels honest. It feels... real."

We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of his words settling between us. It felt like I was seeing him as he truly was, beyond the leader, beyond the idol. Just Namjoon, with all his thoughts and vulnerabilities laid bare.

"Thank you for saying that, Hana," he finally said, his voice a little quieter. "So... I guess you probably have a lot of questions," he said, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to mine. "About why I kept my identity hidden, and why I invited you tonight without telling you much about... well, any of this."

I chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. "You mean why you didn't just say, 'Hey, I'm Namjoon from BTS, want to come to an album release party?'"

A grin broke across his face, and he shook his head, a hint of embarrassment in his eyes. "Yeah, I guess that's exactly what I should've done." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I didn't want it to feel... different with you. It sounds strange, but it's rare to meet someone who just sees you as a regular person. That's how I felt with you, and I wanted to hold onto it a little longer."

I took a moment to let that sink in, feeling the warmth of his words settle over me. "I get it," I said softly. "It's a lot to put out there, I mean... I can't imagine what it's like for you to meet new people who already have an idea of who you are. Or think they do."

He nodded, a shadow of thought crossing his face. "Exactly. And I think that's why I didn't say much about who would be here tonight either. I figured if I told you, it might... I don't know, make you not want to come or make you feel like you have to act a certain way, or say certain things." He hesitated, then continued, "I just wanted you to come as you are. To be you, not someone reacting to 'RM' or the idea of what it means to be at this kind of party."

I could feel the honesty in his words, the vulnerability in admitting that he'd wanted something real—something uncomplicated. "Well," I said, giving him a reassuring smile, "I think you got what you wanted. Although," I added with a playful grin, "I could've used a bit of warning. You know, like, 'Hey, Hana, you might be casually bumping into some of the world's biggest idols tonight.'"

Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. "I should've known. But to be honest... I didn't expect you to stay. When you first figured it out, I thought... well, I thought you'd be overwhelmed and just... leave."

I looked down for a moment, then back up, meeting his gaze. "It was overwhelming," I admitted, "and honestly, I almost did leave. But... I realised I wanted to stay. Not just because of the music or the people here, but because... well, because you invited me. I trusted that you wanted me here."

He held my gaze, a flicker of surprise, then something softer in his eyes. "I'm glad you did. Because I wanted you to see this side of me too—not just the polished, rehearsed version."

There was a moment of silence between us, charged with unspoken understanding. Here was Namjoon, stripped of the usual layers, standing in front of me not as a global superstar, but as someone who simply wanted to be known, genuinely, by someone else.

"Thank you for letting me see that," I said softly. "I know how important this night is for you, and I don't take it lightly that you wanted me to be part of it. It means... a lot."

He smiled, this time more relaxed, his shoulders easing. "It means a lot to me, too," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "More than you know."

"Hana! How's the party treating you?" It was Hwan, Namjoon's friend, grinning as he joined us, clearly picking up on the comfortable energy between us. "And what do you think of the songs? Pretty incredible, right?"

I blinked, caught a little off guard by the sudden change in conversation, but I quickly smiled back at him. "Oh, it's been amazing," I replied, glancing at Namjoon. "The music was really beautiful and I love how every song feels like its own story."

Namjoon gave me a quiet, appreciative smile, and Hwan nodded enthusiastically. "That's exactly what he was going for. I've known this guy for years, and I think Indigo's probably the most Namjoon thing he's ever put out." He chuckled, giving Namjoon a friendly pat on the back. "He was a little nervous about it, but I told him people would understand, just like you did."

Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. "Thanks, Hwan. Always the hype man." Then he looked back at me, a softness in his expression that made me feel like we'd shared something meaningful in those last few moments.

"Well, I guess I'd better make the rounds," Hwan said with a grin, giving Namjoon a knowing look before heading back into the crowd. "It was great to meet you, Hana. Take care of this one—he can be a bit much sometimes!"

I laughed, and Namjoon rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of fondness in his reaction. As Hwan wandered back into the party, I realised it was getting late and the room had thinned out; only a few small groups lingered, laughing and chatting quietly as the evening wound down.

Just then, Selina approached. "Hey, Hana," she said softly. "I think it's probably time for us to head out." She glanced at Namjoon, then back at me, a knowing sparkle in her eyes.

I turned to Namjoon, feeling the weight of the night settle over me. "Thank you for tonight. For inviting us, and for... everything," I said, my voice soft but sincere.

Namjoon gave a gentle nod, his gaze warm. "Thank you for staying. It means a lot." He hesitated, as though he wanted to say something more, but then he simply offered a small, almost shy smile. "Take care, Hana. I hope this won't be the last time we see each other."

"Me too," I replied, feeling my heart flutter at his words. "Goodnight, Namjoon."

With a final, shared smile, I turned and joined Selina, who was already waving goodbye to the others. I spotted Jungkook standing a few feet away, watching us with a soft smile. He approached, hands in his pockets, looking a bit more like the "Ian" I knew in that moment.

"So, heading out?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost reluctant.

"Yeah, I think it's time," I replied, smiling back at him. "It's been... quite a night."

Jungkook chuckled, glancing down before meeting my gaze again. "I'm glad we got a chance to clear everything up, Hana. I know the whole 'Ian' thing was... a lot." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. "I never meant for it to be that complicated."

I laughed softly. "Honestly, I think I'll always remember it as the most interesting introduction I've ever had." I reached out and gave his arm a light squeeze. "Thank you for being... well, for being you. Ian or Jungkook, I'm happy to know you."

Before either of us could say more, Taehyung and Jimin sidled up, grins plastered on their faces clearly a bit tipsy from the night as they looked between us. Taehyung leaned in, feigning a dramatic whisper to Jungkook. "Aww, our little Ian has found himself a lady friend," he teased, giving me a playful wink.

Jimin snickered, nudging Jungkook's shoulder. "Didn't you tell her you're an international heartbreaker, Jungkook? Or was that just 'Ian'?"

Jungkook rolled his eyes, though a blush crept up his cheeks. "Guys, come on. We're just saying goodbye."

But Jimin wasn't done. He turned to me, feigning seriousness. "Hana, just so you know, this guy"—he pointed at Jungkook—"is notorious for stealing hearts, so... be careful."

I laughed, playing along. "I'll keep that in mind, Jimin. Thanks for the warning." Then I looked back at Jungkook, letting the teasing slip away to something more genuine. He hesitated, as though he wanted to say more, but instead he simply held my gaze, his eyes warm with sincerity.

Taehyung let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Alright, alright, enough with the lingering eye contact. It's getting way too sappy here." He gave Jungkook a nudge. "Let the lady go, man, before you make her go home late."

Jungkook laughed, but he stepped back with a small, reluctant smile. "Guess they're right," he said. "But I'll see you again, Hana."

I nodded, feeling a bit of bittersweetness settle in. "Yeah."

As Selina and I finally made our way out, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin stood by the doorway, calling out playful goodbyes. Selina, still giggling at their antics, hooked her arm around mine, giving me a teasing look as we stepped into the night.

As we strolled through the quiet streets back to our place, Selina couldn't help but give me a sly grin. "So... any thoughts on who's the main lead here? Dimples or Mr. Fate Guy?" she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide a smile. "Selina, it's not like that. We're just friends... I think... you know, that's it."

"Uh-huh." She gave me a knowing look, crossing her arms with a playful smirk. "Good friends who invite you to private album parties and stare at you like you're the only person in the room?"

"Stop it," I laughed, nudging her. "It's not like that. They're idols, Selina. They're not going to be interested in something more. And honestly..." I trailed off, glancing at the night sky as if searching for words. "I'm just... happy to know them. To share moments like tonight."

Selina's smile softened as she took my hand. "I get it, Hana. But don't be so quick to put people on unreachable pedestals, okay? Who knows what could happen?" She winked, adding in a whisper, "Just know I'm kinda leaning towards team Dimples... though Ian has that whole fate-and-mystery thing going for him."

I laughed again, shaking my head as we continued on. In the silence that followed, I let her words linger, but not too deeply. For now, friendship was enough. ***

"What do you mean you went to the same party as BTS last night?!" Aera whispered, half-screaming as she nearly dropped the plate she was holding. Selina had just casually let it slip, and now Aera's eyes were wide with shock.

It was Sunday afternoon, and Nabi's family had invited all of us over for lunch at their beautiful, secluded home. According to Selina, a lot of influential people lived in this quiet neighbourhood, which made sense given how well-off Nabi's family was. The house, nestled behind high walls and lush greenery, was cosy and filled with warmth. Besides Nabi and her brother, only her parents lived here now; her sister had already moved out with her partner, who were both set to join us later.

In the kitchen, Aera, Nabi, Seon-Jae, Selina, and I were setting up plates and catching up on the latest news. Seon-Jae had started the conversation after mentioning that his cousin texted him last night, saying one of his friends had been at a work party with some "big names." One thing led to another, and Selina finally told everyone that the two guys I'd met during my trip so far turned out to be none other than two members of BTS.

"Wait," Nabi chimed in, pausing with a spoon in her hand, "are you telling us Ian and Joon were... Jungkook and Namjoon? As in the Jungkook and Namjoon?"

I bit my lip, glancing at Selina, who looked far too amused by the commotion. "Yes," I admitted, sighing. "I had no idea at first! They just introduced themselves as Ian and Joon. I only found out last night at Namjoon's album party."

Aera's jaw dropped. "So, you were hanging out with BTS this whole time, and you didn't even know?"

"Trust me, if I'd known, I would have freaked out ages ago!" I laughed, feeling the secondhand shock from her expression.

Selina shook her head, chuckling. "Oh, it was gold. You should've seen Hana when she figured it out. I think she turned every shade of red!"

Seon-Jae raised his eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. "So, now that you know...are things different? Did you say goodbye to them properly, or...?"

Before I could answer, Selina stepped in, teasing, "Well, let's just say Hana's caught between 'Mister Fate' and 'Dimples.'"

Everyone burst out laughing, and I felt my cheeks heat up again. But I couldn't help smiling at the thought of Jungkook and Namjoon. Our relations had been so genuine, so effortless, that it almost felt unreal now knowing who they really were.

"Well," I shrugged, attempting nonchalance, "we said our goodbyes. But they're just friends, you know? They have their lives, and I have mine."

Nabi nodded thoughtfully. "True, but if you could pick between the two?"

I laughed nervously, shaking my head. "No way. That's not even on my radar right now."

The doorbell chimed just then, and Nabi's mom called out to let us know the rest of the family had arrived. As we headed to the dining room, Aera whispered to me, "You know, even if they're idols, that doesn't mean you can't keep in touch. Friends are friends, no matter who they are."

I smiled, touched by her words. She wasn't wrong, and I couldn't deny that, deep down, I hoped our paths might cross again someday. I had restrained myself from contacting them after last night, a bit afraid that I'd come across as opportunistic or bothersome given their schedule. I had to leave it to them to see if they wanted me to still be around.

When we went to the table to set the last plates, Nabi's sister Yeri and her partner walked in followed by Nabi's brother who was out when we arrived. The dining room was buzzing with laughter as we settled around the table for lunch. Nabi's family had set out a spread of delicious dishes, and their warmth was infectious. Nabi's mom, a university professor, had taken a particular interest in Selina and me since the moment we'd arrived. It was like being welcomed into a family we'd known for years.

As we began to eat, Nabi's mom looked over at me with a curious, friendly smile. "So, Hana," she said, "Nabi tells me you're working on a PhD in neuroscience. That's quite impressive. Do you have plans for what you'd like to do after you finish?"

I swallowed a bite of food, feeling the weight of everyone's attention shift to me. "Thank you," I replied, smiling. "I'm still deciding, actually. I might stay in research, or maybe go into teaching. But I've always loved the idea of working in neurorehabilitation, something that would have a direct impact on patients' lives."

Her face lit up with approval. "That's wonderful, Hana. You'd make a real difference in people's lives." She took a sip of water, then added, "Though I do wonder if you have any time for yourself with such a busy schedule. You must be very focused, or perhaps...you are already seeing someone special?"

The question caught me slightly off guard. "Oh, uh, no, I'm not seeing anyone," I said, chuckling nervously. "I've just been so focused on my studies and travelling lately."

Nabi's mom nodded thoughtfully, glancing over at her older son, Sun-bin, who was quietly enjoying his meal at the far end of the table. "You remind me of my Sun-bin here," she said, almost to herself. "He's also so focused on his career...too busy to date, in fact."

Nabi cleared her throat. "Eomma, not this again..."

Her mother gave her a look, half amused, half chiding. "Oh, I'm just saying. When I see such a smart, accomplished young woman like Hana, I can't help but wonder." She smiled warmly at me, her suggestion as subtle as it was kind.

I smiled, feeling a little embarrassed but touched. "Thank you, that's really sweet."

Before she could say anything else Sun-bin interfered: "Eomma, geumanhaseyo..." Stop please.

Just then, as I reached for my glass, my phone buzzed on the table. I glanced at the screen and saw it was a text from Jungkook.

Kook - Bam's new owner: Hey! I'm picking Bam up from the centre this evening. Wanna join? Bam would love the surprise!

A rush of excitement coursed through me when I received his text, but it was quickly followed by a wave of worry. We didn't have any concrete plans for the rest of the day, aside from maybe grabbing a drink later with Selina's friends. I could still go if I wanted to meet up with him, but I was quite far from home and Seon-Jae had given us a lift, so it would take some time to get back. But would it be okay to see him? What if someone saw us? I didn't want any rumours to start that could cause problems for him.

Hana - Bam's previous owner: I'd love to, but I'm actually a bit far from my place right now, so it might take me a while. Not sure I can make it in time.

His response was almost immediate.

Kook - Bam's new owner: No problem! I can pick you up, and we can go together if you're up for it. Just text me the address.

Hana - Bam's previous owner:Are you sure? It might be...um, a bit risky?

He replied with a laughing emoji.

Kook - Bam's new owner: Don't worry. I can handle everything else. Just say yes!

I looked up at Selina, who had noticed my slight distraction and was watching me with a knowing smile. I texted her under the table:

Hana: Jungkook wants to pick me up to go get Bam... should I go? I don't want to be rude to Nabi's family by just ditching either.

Selina: Yes! Go, obviously! We're meant to leave the house around 16:30 to downtown either way so maybe go then?

I nodded and typed out my response to Jungkook.

Hana - Bam's previous owner: Alright, yes. Is 16:30 a good time to pick me up though? I am currently over a friend's family for lunch and we are not meant to leave till then.

Kook - Bam's new owner: Yeah that's perfect. The care centre does not close till 8pm so no need to rush.

Hana - Bam's previous owner: I'll just wait for you outside the place I sent you then!

Kook - Bam's new owner: Deal! I'll see you then.

As lunch wrapped up, everyone began saying their goodbyes. Nabi's family insisted on sending us off with warm hugs and promises to meet again soon.

"Are you sure you don't want us to wait with you?" Selina asked as Seon-Jae went to get his car out of the parking spot.

I shook my head, smiling. "No, go ahead. Don't want you guys to be late. I'll be fine."

Aera nudged her, winking at me. "Alright, alright. But we'll expect details later!"

Nabi rolled her eyes but gave me a quick hug. "Have fun, Hana," she whispered with a grin. "Hopefully Mister Fate guy doesn't keep you waiting too long."

With that, they piled into Seon-Jae's car, and I waved as they drove off, leaving me outside the house's gate.

I watched them drive off, and did not realise when Sun-bin appeared beside me, hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced down the street. "Didn't leave with the rest of the group?" he asked, an easy smile playing on his lips.

"Oh," I replied, a little caught off guard. "No, I actually have a friend coming to pick me up soon."

"Lucky friend," he said with a soft chuckle. "My mom's subtle, isn't she?" He scratched his neck, looking a little embarrassed but mostly amused. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, it's alright!" I laughed, trying to play it off. "She's really sweet. It's nice to feel so welcomed. Plus, we all had a bit to drink, so no harm done."

Sun-bin gave a slow nod, studying me intently. "Well, if you're ever interested in the 'suggestion' she was hinting at..." he paused, his voice dipping into a more confident tone, "I'd be more than happy to give it a shot."

The statement caught me completely off guard, and my mind went blank as he took a small step closer, his hand brushing against my arm, an innocent touch that felt both casual and undeniably intentional. Was this the result of some liquid courage, or was he being genuine? I felt myself tense, unsure of how to respond, when the sudden slam of a car door jolted us both back to reality.

"Hey, Hana!" Jungkook's familiar voice rang out, a little louder and sharper than usual.

I turned, relief washing over me as I saw Jungkook walking toward us. "Oh, Jungkook, you're here!" I called out, maybe a bit too eagerly. The look on his face was serious, almost possessive, and I suddenly felt the tension rise another notch.

Sun-bin's hand dropped away from my arm as Jungkook approached, and the two of them locked eyes in a way that made the air between them feel... charged. I could almost feel the unspoken challenge radiating between them, and I cleared my throat, thinking introductions might break the tension.

"Uh, Jungkook, this is Sun-bin. Sun-bin, this is Jungkook," I said, glancing between them.

They shook hands, each holding the other's gaze a moment longer than necessary. Jungkook's grip looked firm, and Sun-bin didn't budge. Sun-bin's gaze shifted down to Jungkook's hand, his eyes lingering on the tattoos on his hand and the piercings on his face before a faint smirk tugged at his lips. A conservative at heart, he clearly wasn't a big fan of such self-expression.

"Well," Sun-bin said, his voice smooth with a slightly amused edge, "an... interesting choice for a friend, Hana." He shot Jungkook a look, his tone light but loaded with implication.

Jungkook's jaw tightened, but he returned Sun-bin's look with an easy, confident smile.

I could feel the tension brewing, and it was the kind that didn't feel like it would diffuse anytime soon. Clearing my throat, I turned to Sun-bin with a polite smile, hoping to wrap this up.

"Thanks again for lunch, Sun-bin. Please tell your mom I said thank you again for having us over," I said, adding, "but Jungkook and I really should get going."

Sun-bin didn't seem fazed, his eyes still lingering on me as he smiled. "Of course. But, Hana," he said, leaning just close enough for his voice to dip lower, "don't forget what I said. Once you're done with your... friend here, think about my suggestion. You know where to find me."

I swallowed, feeling Jungkook's gaze on us as Sun-bin held my gaze a moment longer, his expression both playful and completely serious. Then, with a slight nod toward Jungkook, he stepped back and gave me a final smile before heading toward the house.

As soon as Sun-bin was out of earshot, I could sense Jungkook's annoyance radiating off him. He frowned, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he watched Sun-bin retreat. "So, Sun-bin, huh? What was that all about?" he asked, his voice low and slightly edged.

I took a breath, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm sorry; that was so weird and unexpected. He caught me off guard with how forward he was. His mom was hinting at us dating over lunch, but I never thought he would actually make a move."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, scepticism lining his features. "So, do you want him to make a move?" His tone was light, but I could sense an underlying seriousness in his question.

"Oh god, no!" I replied, shaking my head firmly. "Sun-bin and I couldn't be more wrong for each other."

His expression softened a fraction as he processed my words, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Okay, if you say so." He paused, then added, "Just seemed like he was trying pretty hard to impress you."

I shrugged, forcing a smile. "Maybe he was, but I'm not interested. Honestly, I didn't even think he'd do something like that."

Jungkook nodded, a hint of relief now in his eyes. "Good to know." He glanced toward the car, shifting the subject. "Ready to go see Bam?"

"Definitely," I replied, feeling a wave of excitement wash over me at the thought of reuniting with the puppy.

As we walked back to the car, I couldn't resist the urge to tease him a bit. "You know, for someone labelled as an international heartbreaker, you sure were acting a little defensive back there."

Jungkook rolled his eyes, brushing off my comment as he opened the car door for me. "I wasn't being defensive. Just... observant," he shot back, his voice low, attempting to sound casual, but the slight tightening of his jaw revealed irritation simmering beneath the surface.

"Uh-huh, sure. Observant," I said, suppressing a grin as I slid into the passenger seat. "Didn't strike me as the jealous type, Kook."

"Please," he scoffed, pretending to adjust his seatbelt while pointedly avoiding my gaze. "It's just annoying when guys don't know when to back off."

"Right..." I teased, letting my voice drop to a playful whisper. The atmosphere shifted as he finally turned to me, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "So I'm Kook now, huh?"

The nickname had slipped out accidentally, but after the whole 'Ian' incident, it felt more intimate. I had even changed his contact name on my phone. Jungkook was too formal, but Kook was softer, warmer.

"Well, unless you want me to call you Ian?" I shot back, giving him an innocent questioning look, my heart racing as I met his gaze, the playful challenge hanging in the air.

"Nah, Kook is fine. Should've introduced me to Sun-bin like that, too," he replied, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Ha, funny. Although I kind of regret giving him your full name. Sun-bin isn't the type to keep up with celebrities, so I feel a bit at ease—he probably has no idea who you are."

"I don't mind if he knows. Maybe that'll teach him for being all cocky."

"Sorry about that," I said, glancing down at my hands resting on my lap, suddenly self-conscious. "Not sure if it makes a difference, but I think your tattoos and piercings really suit you. Don't mind him, he's just a bit conservative." My gaze lingered on his lip piercing, and I felt my cheeks warm as the words slipped out.

"Thanks, but I'm sure Sun-bin's opinion doesn't matter to me." Jungkook chuckled, the tension between us easing a bit, yet there was an intensity in his gaze that made my pulse quicken. He shifted into gear and pulled out onto the street, a grin breaking through as he added, "Let's go surprise Bam."

"Yeah, let's go!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ <- Previous | Series Masterlist

[icanbeyourgenie]

“What did you just say?” – Malachai to Hyacinth

“I asked you if you could please lose your next fight.” She repeated.

Malachai raised a perplexe eyebrow. “And who are you?”

Hyacinth supposed this question was fair, given that she didn't even introduce herself. She slipped in the fighters lockers when she knew he'd be alone, and simply asked him to lose as a greeting. Normally she would not forget to be polite, but she knew they only had a few minutes before they would be interrupted.

“Well, Hyacinth, you have the wrong guy. I never loose.”

“I know. I have been watching you for the last few days. You have not lost one fight. Which is why everyone is betting on you. Now if you lose, imagine what kind of money would someone that bet on your opponent gain?”

“Are you asking me to cheat?”

“I am. But since you are fighting just for entertainment I think cheating is not above your moral code, is it? ”

Malachai paused and took a moment to soak in the bizarre scene that was happening, with that stranger storming in his locker and asking him to cheat for money. Hyacinth gave him the time to think it over. She knew her current clothes didn't scream "Desperate for money", since she was still in her opera dress, but she was in fact desperate for money. The deadline for the Academy appliance was tomorrow. She needed that money now.

She was about the push a bit harder when Malachai spoke again.

“Why would a lady need that much money?”

“I'm not a lady.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“Look.” She started, coming closer to him. He was definitely grumpier that she had planned. “I would love to chat with you but we don't have much time. I really need that money. Are you in or not?”

“What's in it for me?”

Now Hyacinth couldn't help but smile. If he began negociating, it meant there was a chance he'd accept and she could finally enter that school. Her luck was beginning to turn for the better. Malachai kept his face neutral though, almost frowning, so she knew she'd have to be convincing.

“I'll give you 30% of the money.”

“Wow, not even 50%? I'm the one taking a beating.”

“35%. Final offer. I've calculated the odds and this represents a fine sum of money.”

“Mh. I'd say it is a generous offer but it's not. Anyway, I'm not fighting for the money.”

Hyacinth chuckled. “Yeah, I figured.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“That you seem the type to fight because you enjoy to fight. But I have something else to offer you.”

The thing is, she really did watch Malachai for the last few days. He was stronger and faster than his opponents, but his true strength resided in his flawless technique. He made fighting beautiful, almost a choreography, putting all his focus, all his emotions in it. He reminded Hyacinth of the children of Ares and she could almost bet on the fact that he was one. And she had met enough fighters to know how to appeal to them.

She removed a thin bracelet representing a snake from her wrist. A truly beautiful piece, but nothing that would be in any interest to the man, until she stroked it and it turned into a magnificent spear.

Malachai's eyes widened just as Hyacinth's smile. She did love that weapon. She received it as a gift from a daughter of Hephaestus she used to date. A very aesthetically pleasing piece, and the weaponry was genius. Concealed until you needed it, unbreakable and light as a feather.

The only problem was that weapons were not her forte. She did try to train with the spear, but the exercice almost cause her heart to finally give up on her. And she tried to sell the bracelet but the money she would gain from it would not be enough to cover the Academy fees.

She gave it to Malachai for inspection and she could see in his eyes that he understood how precious it was.

“How is it so light?”

“Win me that money handsome, and I'll tell you everything you want.” She knew flirt would work on Malachai, but being flirty was like a second nature to her so she barely realized her change of tone.

“How did you get this weapon?”

“Questions, questions, but do we have a deal or not? Time is running out.”

He looked at her, pondering for a moment. Then he gave her back the spear. She put it back as a bracelet and feared for a second that it meant no — was his ego that big?? — but then he held his hand out.

“I loose, you get your money, and I get your bracelet.”

Hyacinth tried and failed to contain her smile as she shook his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Before letting go of his hands, she added. “Don't forget to protect your skull.”

She managed to sneak out just before someone entered. She knew if someone saw them together before the fight they'd accuse her of cheating. She'd have enough trouble collecting money from men with their bruised ego after the fight without adding an accusation of treachery (even if it was deserved).

After securing her deal, Hyacinth went to place her bet. Her choice of fighter made the other men laugh about how "women should not be allowed to bet. Poor girl, she will end up broke." But she knew that her betting would convince even more men to bet on Malachai, just to do the opposite of a woman, so it meant more money for her. Well, only if Malachai actually lost. Otherwise, she'd have to run really, really fast.

So she went to the balustrade and watched as the game was about to start, praying that Malachai valued his word more than his ego.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Had a very shitty day where nothing went right.

So worried about missing when the contractor was coming to fix the eternally flushing toilet, and not being a morning person, had about 3 hours sleep caught in flashes of panicked staring at my alarm over 8 hours fml.

thought about calling in dead

then you get to work knowing things are always a shitshow, understaffed, massive caseloads, heaps f Important Reports that MUST be done by deadline but most of the matters are new to you so it makes it super hard (mass changeover of all caseloads and roles recently, which fucked with everything)

and you find the head boss has straight up broadcast to all the agencies ours works with and several technical clients that we're all too stupid to manage (specific task per month) and started to arrange them on our behalf in consultation with the other agencies

not asking anyone on our side, though.

do you know how fucked your calendar gets when someone just Decides that you're going to do X on Day 43 of the month because that suits the other agency. But you have an immovable meeting or another visit on that day, so that's fucked.

That discounts emergencies, court work, meetings you already negotiated with other agencies, etc. all of whom take it personally if you change a meeting you agreed to.

You can't jsut go 'welp, the head honcho thinks we're all fucking children who can't manage our stuff and now we're being directed to do something.' you're supposed to be a skiled professional practitioner in a structured hierarchy for support re decision making.

how can any of these agencies or clients trust us if our head boss is portraying us as idiots to them wholesale. it was a slap in the face first up monday fucking morning.

this is not the first time something of this nature has happened. everytime, we have to claw and scrabble our dignity back and it never comes back the same. we're supposed to be considered people intervening in the lives of others with specialised skills to be the catalyst for change and a better future etc. who would trust someone that needs the top boss constantly acting like you are in fact a bunch of unruly children.

and i got paired up with someone from another agency who is super hostile to me despite us having like one non-work interaction because they for some reason think im in love with their gf? it's called friendship, fuckwit. sometimes there are injokes and the big multiperson chat group that you're both in has a funny name.

I wish I could feel fucking love and attraction, id steal her just on principle at this time (not really, has a younger cousin vibe to her, you wanna help but also like, they're not super close)

and then the postie decided my leave without signature package should be whisked away to a Collection Point. But has not provided any address or documentation for the Collection Point because fuck me right

and a case matter ive worked on for 12-18 months, that everyone was in agreement with, has blown up. Basically, rather than push through the uncomfortable few weeks of change and homesickness, it's easier to run to the head boss and cry to them that they were forced to do this. As if there isn't over a year of documented concerns and work on this

so, without asking the person who worked to set it all up at the request of the people, the head honcho waded in and threw their authority around with the clients in the email trail.

I'm so fucking angry and done. Every matter we have right now is an 8/10 minimum, no one can get to the mundane tasks, and if there's a HINT that something may not be perfect yours is the worker tier that gets raked over the coals. Even if the decision makers, the next tier up, approved it and pushed for it

that's fine. wanna know why there's a revolving door of workers?

no one is able to leave before fucking 7pm each day and still, it doesn't make a dent in the work. the court system was restructured to be ffairer to certain clients but its so black and white it makes your job way harder. sometimes, extended family doesn't want to be involved. they don't fucking care. you can give them entire trees of paperwork and they will tell you to fuck off. but still the court requires you take whole days to drive to locations and hand the paper in person. because you're not busy at all.

family pushing to find a new job but you lose your housing if you do. its like having a gun to your head and one of the chambers is full, you're just not sure which one. workplace rents it and you sublet.

savings depleted since last year's incident where you had to rebuy your life. would have to give up heaps to afford rent around here, the place is a shithole but the rentals are obscenely priced (shitty shacks are over $1000/wk and you're like absolutely not).

what are you even good at right now anyway? if laying in bed and slowly letting the universe take you was something that paid, that could be fun

sometimes you get tired of the 'funny jokes' people make about you. even when you aren't tired or overworked, its grating to have assumptions made simply because you push back on some things. you're actually Great with children, and the 'you'd be a weird / terrible mum' jokes are painful. do i have a burning desire for a child? no. Would I be alright at it if it happened? sure. there's not much a child can do to me that i haven't managed with family or client children.

unlike those fuckers, thee were times when friends would just hand their babies over and be like 'thanks' and leave me to it. no idea why this came from or why its funny.

and the whole 'well the worst part of our team is you', which is meant to be endearing because when people want information or to talk through a matter, they come to the experienced worker and sometimes you get a blunt answer. its also apparently about the dumb puns and jokes you make, so apparently its fun in the moment but no one wants you around otherwise.

the only days off you ever get are heavily negotiated, taken off you at the last moment, and often for medical reasons. other people get to go out on stress leave with no notice, why do I have to submit a request for one day off to see a doctor four months in advance and then have to beg the whole team to approve of it? only one who wasn't allowed a flexible working arrangment. didn't want one, just dont like being singled out

can't be that fucking terrible of a practitioner after all these years, and so many success stories, but recently with the whole health and wellbeing vibe in the office you get the feeling they want you Gone. you're a fat ugly little anomaly amongst the older practitioners with their kids (acceptable any size) and lovely petite pretty things that make up the rest of the group.

in the name of wellbeing, there keep being 'weight loss competitions' in the office. last one involved forfeiting a certain amount of money and losing a small percentage in a month, if you did you shared form the pot... if not? no money. If you're a tiny thing that does 5am gym every day of the month, that's like 500g or something. for fat jabba the hutt types, its kilos and impossible.

but when you turn it down there's pointed 'but this would be good for you fatass' vibes sent your way

makes you feel like shit when you didn't exercise for 3 days, out of exhaustion and a sense of 'what's the fucking point anyway?' and now you regained a whole kilo which furthers the whole 'why bother' thing

not to mention the whole work smarter not harder rhetoric. that just means that if things aren't working you're failing. not the system. you specifically. that's how its packaged to us. no amount of affirmations on the walls and dunny doors are gonna fix the problem.

one of the only non-partnered, non-parents in the office. small towns Notice and they Assume there's something wrong with you at this age. The really young ones in the office don't count of course because they're Young and Figuring it Out and in country fashion will find nice lads to settle with.

[if I have to hear one more fucking word out of a certain religious person's mouth about just needing someone, or the blatantly homophobic shit she goes on with (bookended with 'no offence' the no homo of the christians) about how what's the point of two women together if they use a strap on (in the lunch room no loess) and why not just be with a man and how SHE'D never understood it.

Like... you managed 3yrs as a married person decades ago. You're not the expert on the matter, go pray to your god about it. She was only saying it because she was being rude to several queer people in the room.

She thinks you can't be happy without a partner (male) or children. And when you're already feeling flat, she's grating. One of the main gossips in the office, you have to be careful what she hears, and what you say. This incident was a while ago, but it still rankles].

forgot to get cat food, have just enough to last tomorrow morning. furious with myself for not just sucking it up and going shopping.

made way too much of a certain meal to freeze, fucked it up, and now the sight and scent of it makes you ill but there's enough for an eight person family so you're stuck with it.

none of the new meds to fix your fucked up everything are working, but the dematologist refuses to allow access to what yo uoriginally asked for, until you try the pills. but they're undoing your progress by making you fat and fucking up your skin.

no one else gets how much effor you have to put in to look normal enough, but make up doesn't cover everything and its clear you're Off to them. and youre always hyper aware of your body and your flaws.

and you keep wondering why you ended up broken, when its so fucking easy for everyone else to do what you want to want, but apparently cant. and the therapist just sends little factsheets but won't listen and costs a fortune but this time you really tried to work through it. but what's the point if they don't hear what the problem is before railroading you?

there's so much wrong with me, its frustrating. like someone wanted to roll all the worst things they could think about a person into one body, and now you're stuck like this no matter what. even if your skin gets better, you're fat. even if you get thinner, there's the pcos issues. even if they finally get under control, your teeth are ugly. and if you could afford braces and the other dental stuff you probs need, your eyes are weird and your hair and your hands and your tits and who ever wants that.

and it just runs through your head constantly. its not even loud, its just There in your own internal narrative voice, just reminding that you're Broken and incapable of being anything more than the fat but of the joke, constantly.

everytime you think you've made a good friend recently, its backfired horrifically or they just wanted something. it was so easy before, there was a network and friends of friends of friends all over, and they atrophied when everyone dispersed over the country for work and life and uni etc.

now there's othing but waiting for death to finally arrive, in some distant future where you're alone in either a state run nursing home or an alley somewhere because lets be real rental prices aren't going down and who can own anything anymore? i mean, i was going to make a housing subscription service payment joke but thats literally rent. isnt it

the last of your family, and the state buries you under a little cheap plaque because whose going to visit the grave of some rando. tombstones are expensive.

the things i normally enjoy and want to do, like writing, cause distress and then frustration now. its why theres unhinged little ficlets and headcanons while full on stories languish in mydrive begging me to finish them. and i want to finish them, but my brain won't let me.

and no matter what you do someone calls you childish or is patronising about your achievements, because they don't align with The Right Hobbies or their perception of adulthood. why read superhero comics at your age (and gender)? why sew unless you do X, Y,Z the accepted kinds around here, for the local show where people just about kill for top prize and the people judging are so Angry they want you dead for breathing near them

the first comment i got in months was just to ask what reference was made in a certain fic. not even a comment about if they liked it or not.

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

nothing has any meaning anymore.

everything is a nasty little shitshow that just keeps exploding in the weirdest of ways. there's no winning.

everyone wants help and advice and support, but will turn around and be rude to your face because its funny. is this how shrek felt?

you didn't ask to be hideous and incapable of love, but you'd think that this many years of consistent work and good outcomes would be enough to be seen as a decent professional. everyone's happy when you do fun little competitions and surprise events, but fuck you otherwise.

there's not a single person around that I would consider more than a work friend, and you can't help but yearn for the non-superficial friendships you had that died on the altar of adulthood.

to have someone to confide to and flop all over, because some conversations have to be held with you sitting on the furniture in a weird fucking way, or flat on the floor with your legs on an armchair, you know the feeling... the casual touches and closeness and the bitchiing about things you worry about, and they care. And you care about the things worrying them.

but that's gone forever. where the fuck do you even find that in adulthood? theres no clubs here, nothing but generic girl sport and boy sport and parent stuff

what will get better in the next six months let alone 50 years?

its all so fleeting and useless, and trying to explain it to family causes them stress, so... ultimately, you live in your own head. the guilt of your own hobbies and timewasting eats you alive and nothing brings joy.

but you were, until today, under the impression you were at least useful. now though? you can see you're disposable again.

funny how they can switch from 'you should apply for (leadership role)' to assuming you're too stupid to make a phonecall and mange your own calendar.

what's the point of going to work anymore? its bad enough clients occasionally explode at us and you just weather that and show sympathy and try to be kind in the face of being a (put any words you can imagine together and a threat) and such, but to be so degraded by coworkers and managment.

they've given permission, indirectly, for us to be plucked apart by the other agencies if we dare not to align with their wants. its happened before, ive seen it. every joint visit has the chance to flip on you until its then 2-3:1 around a table as the agency sides with the clients. which also has happened before.

is there something vitally wrong with you for this to keep happening?

can the universe not just let up for five fucking minutes (shrek meme)?

no access to fucking dopamine or serotonin. machine broken.

whats the point? money to feed the cats I guess. but there's never enough.

when you can have all this boiling in your head and have a neutral expression, or smile and laugh and do what is expected. is everyone like this? is it just you? how the fuck would you know, no one ever wants to have deep discussions or friendships.

the best you have are online people you've been in contact with for over a decade. everyone else is gone or dead.

[yasmiralotta]

If I had a nickel for every time someone designed more “animation friendly “ versions of the characters and actually made them more complex and gave them more little details I would be so rich. Also hot take but the characters aren’t that complex like Charlie and Vaggie are super simple. Yeah Charlie’s suit has a collar, buttons, and a tie but so does fucking SpongeBob? Even when characters have like “pin stripes” it’s like three or four because they are ya know simplified.

Exactly! Some of the re-designs I have seen from certain antis (That they of course think are SOOOOO MUCH BETTER than anything Viv could come up with 🙄) would cost a small fortune to animate. They make the designs so buzy and complicated, plus, you can't even tell who the character were supposed to be anymore! And some of the color choices are eugh...Not good 🤢 There is a reason Viv's characters has garnered so many fans over the years and even more so with the intruduction of the shows. And her Hazbin characters were litterly made to be more animation friendly when the show aired. Like, making Charlie's hair more consistent, taking away alot of smaller details on Husk's and Vaggie's designs and keeping with a more consistent color palette. Though to be fair, Helluva boss can get away with certain things, because it's a more independent project with no set deadline, so the animators can take their time with it. So, naturally, that show can make more advanced designs, like Queen Bee for example. But, I digress. And honestly, if you ask me, alot of her characters look so much better than the original designs she drew years ago (at least with the premise that the shows have now) or their pilot versions. Like, for example: Stella. Stella's pilot design was actually quite cute and elegant in her own way. But, it's nothing compared to the iconic look she has now. She just screams spoiled princess brat, and I love it.

(I Tried to make it look like they were having tea with eachother lol)

(My answer to the ask ends here. But, I have somenother things I talk about down below, if you are intrested. It's more of the same thing, really 🤷‍♀️)

⚠️Warning, rant going slightly of topic ahead. Read if you want⚠️: Character design is all about prefrances. And, honestly, the way a character looks, is in my opinion not even that big of a deal to begin with. As long as they are not offensive, stolen from someone else or racist. Who really cares (I mean, if you do care, that's okay) what they actually look like. As long as the animation is doing it's job in telling the story and the characters are recognisable enough. I mean, as an example, I still love the 1987 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. And they look identical, except for their masks, wrappings, weapon of choice and belt buckles with their initials on. If they would take all of that off, stop speaking and start using the same weapon, you wouldn't be able to tell them apart anymore.

It's their voices, character and personalites that makes that show so good (And the villans and side characters of course. But the turtles themselves stands out on their own, despite how simalar they look.) Bottom line is, you could have the most badass CHARACTER DESIGN, but the most blandass CHARACTER. And since Hazbin and Helluva is as popular as it is, Viv and her team must be doing something right 💁‍♀️ ⚠️Rant over⚠️

Phew! I went off there. Became a bit of a rant. Just tired of people complaining about the character designs when there is fundementaly nothing wrong with them outside of their own prefrences. And talking about it not being animation friendly, when the shows has already aired and alot of animators on the show has said that the designs aren't as complicated to animate as the antis think. There is so much more to say about this, but, I save that for another post. And this ask is getting long enough as it is 😅

Thank you for your ask and sorry for such a long answer 🫣❤️ (Sorry it took so long, ...again. My asks keeps getting burried in the drafts nowadays 🥲)

[dcforts]

[Steve and I]

5.9k. S09E06 fanfiction gap but Cas has a flat. Domestic, light angst. theirprofoundbond - thank you for all the work that you've done to help me with this one and all the kind words and you gifted me with. Read on ao3

Steve signed the lease a little over a month ago. It’s a second-story one-bedroom, in a building that is just two narrow flights of stairs, flickering ceiling lights and dirty carpets.

Cas doesn’t tell Dean that, he just gives him directions and points to a parking space out front. When the Impala quiets down, Dean doesn’t ask any questions and Cas is grateful for that. He fishes his keys from his pocket and leads him inside.

He says, “It’s a good neighborhood,” as they climb up, because that’s what you’re supposed to say. It’s what his landlady said when she led him up the first time, maybe to distract him from the cracks in the walls and the smell of laundry detergents coming from the laundromat next door.

He says that, even if Dean knows better than anyone that you can’t really be safe, no matter where you are, and even if it wouldn’t really make a difference for Cas who, grace or not, could still kill a man in the blink of an eye.

Dean follows him inside, past the little entryway and into the living room.

Cas turns on the lights and walks across the dusty carpet and around the coffee table to get to the window and open it. The cold evening air brings in noises from the street and allows him to breathe more easily. For a moment, in the dark and the musty air, it felt like being underwater.

Dean says, “Hey, it’s not bad,” only a beat too late. He looks around, nodding to himself. “Yeah. Nice, uh, couch.”

It’s a simply distributed space; if one drew it from above, it would resemble a square, divided up into uneven boxes facing each other in pairs. On one side the living room and the bedroom, and on the opposite one, the kitchen and the bathroom. Dean could tour the whole thing in fifteen steps or fewer if he so wished.

It seems even smaller with him in it now.

“Everything here came with the apartment,” Cas says.

It’s not exactly true. In the kitchen, on the wall just behind the fridge, there’s a complimentary calendar that he got from a shipment of energy drinks. Cas brought it home and hung it there, because Steve needs to pay attention to what month it is and what day it is—he has rent to pay, shifts at work, bills and deadlines.

Cas painted wards and sigils on walls and floors; Steve covered them up with dull paintings and soft carpets.

Nora gave Steve a succulent that sits on the windowsill of his bedroom. Cas only remembers to check on it when he is in bed, and he turns on his side. Most of the time, he’s too tired to get up again, says to himself he’ll do it in the morning, then he forgets again.

Cas doesn’t care about furniture; he doesn’t care about things. About the old couch that groans when you sit on it, about the low batteries in the TV remote. He doesn’t care about the dust in the empty flower vase on the shelf or the light in the bathroom that goes out sometimes.

Steve does. When he comes home after a ten-hour shift, the couch does not help his stiff and aching back. When he gets up at night to go to the bathroom, he has to be careful not to trip over things in the dark. Steve minds about furniture, about having hot water, a working washing machine and a window that opens all the way.

Cas doesn’t care about having a home, but Steve does, so now Cas has an address and a mailbox.

Steve needs so many things, some days Cas can barely keep up.

Dean is still standing there and seems unsure what to do. Cas can’t bear the sight of him in the apartment. This wasn’t something he’d ever planned on seeing, but nothing had gone according to his plans today.

He puts down the keys he realizes he’s still clenching and goes back toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” he says, because that’s what you’re supposed to say when you have people over at your apartment. He’s seen it on TV plenty of times.

He stands in front of the open fridge and scans the shelves—the carton of eggs, the half-eaten burrito, the jar of grape jelly—and says, “I only have water.”

“Water is fine,” Dean says, his voice a little strained.

This entire situation must make him as uncomfortable as Cas is. He’d followed him to the threshold of the kitchen and it looks like he’s feeling larger than he is, one shoulder pressing against the door frame. His gaze wanders over the surroundings: the beige walls, the bowl of bananas and oranges on the table and the teaspoon on the edge of the sink. 

That morning Steve had used it to stir his coffee and then forgot to wash it. He was distracted because he was checking his mail. He collects it at night, but sometimes he’s too tired to look at it before bed and he leaves it for the morning.

Dean doesn’t comment on any of it. “Are you alright?” he asks, as Cas hands him a tall glass with his bandaged hand.

“It’s just a cut.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Dean says.

Cas walks past him. “I’m fine.”

He goes back to the entryway to take off his shoes and put them away and he feels Dean watching him from around the corner. He senses that he has no intention of letting go of the conversation.

“That angel—he came for you, didn’t he?”

Cas sucks in a breath. He’d known the question was coming; he’d spent the silent journey over dreading it and wondering how much Dean had heard of his conversation with Ephraim. He really doesn’t want to talk about what he said; he doesn’t even want to think about it.

“Because you’re in pain,” Dean adds.

Cas keeps his eyes on the ground and wonders if Dean is thinking about that night not that long ago, when he’d confessed how much guilt he was carrying. I might kill myself.

“He was mistaken.”

Dean doesn’t buy it. “So you’re fine. We’re gonna leave it at that?” he insists.

Cas fixes his eyes on the pea-green wallpaper in front of him. “Ephraim is gone and I’m tired. I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean says, sounding weird again. He shifts on the spot, looks down at his water. “I should, uh—” 

Cas doesn’t meet his eyes but he says, “You can stay. The couch is a pull-out.”

Dean says okay, then, even though there’s a motel room already paid for with all his stuff in it. He says okay, even though the living room window doesn’t have blinds or curtains to keep the light out and Cas has no spare pillow.

Cas goes over to the couch and starts removing the cushions. 

“You don’t need to do that,” Dean says, but Cas doesn’t stop maneuvering the coffee table out of the way.

“You have a long drive tomorrow.”

And there’s that.

There’s a big blinking neon sign on the other side of the street that paints Cas’ bedroom walls in red and pink and purple. Cas rarely bothers with turning on the lights in this room. The landlady promised to get Steve some heavy curtains, but she hasn’t come back yet. Cas doesn’t mind. One night the sign was down for maintenance, and he had trouble falling asleep without its constant shifting colors.

He’s looking for clean sheets while Dean uses his little bathroom, and then all of a sudden he’s standing in the doorway, as if hesitant to come in for some reason. He’s only in his jeans.

“Do you have a T-shirt I could borrow?”

Cas goes to the dresser where Steve keeps his T-shirts—he’d paid ten dollars for a pack of three—and picks a dark one for Dean. He smells of the shower gel with the tropical fruit on the bottle.

Cas got it because the ads say it will nourish and soften his skin and Steve’s skin gets dry when it’s windy. He also has shaving cream in the cabinet, a razor, a toothbrush, a box of bandaids. Sometimes Cas stops and looks at Steve in the mirror and asks himself if he’ll ever get used to it, to being this, just this. Sometimes he lies in bed and watches the ceiling change colors and wonders how long he will need to wait before he stops feeling fragile.

“Do you want me to take a look at that?” Dean asks, gesturing with his chin to his bandaged hand.

“I’ll do it,” Cas says and he knows this rejection will unnerve Dean more than his refusal to talk. He reminds Cas of a bug bumping against a window, but Cas isn’t ready for him to take a look inside yet, let alone come in. 

Dean clenches his jaw for just a moment, then lets it go. Cas follows him to the living room with clean sheets in his arms and makes the pull-out bed while Dean pokes around in his kitchen, with the excuse of getting another glass of water. Cas hears him open cabinets and pull out drawers. It seems like it didn’t take him long to make himself at home.

Cas isn’t sure he likes that.

Maybe it’s because it still hurts. When he got to the bunker, he’d thought that he had nothing to worry about anymore, and what he had gone through since the fall had just been a rocky journey to get back home. He wasn’t alone, he had simply been misplaced, but now he could rest.

He’d been naive. Dean had made it clear that he didn’t belong there, and it was a confusing truth he had to learn to accept. And yet, it still hurts. He’d thought it didn’t anymore; he’d thought the bitterness had left him but maybe it doesn’t happen like that. Maybe it lingers and lingers. You think it’s gone, but it’s not. Maybe he won’t ever be rid of it.

Cas thought he had been hurt before. For sure, he had felt sorrow and disappointment.

But the open wound inside his chest is a crater, and it’s swallowed him, and he has to make his way back out and he’s not sure he’s there yet.

He’s exhausted though, especially tonight, with the things Ephraim said still ringing, true and inevitable, in his ears.

Dean pops his head through the kitchen door. “Do you cook?”

“Occasionally.”

“Really?” He sounds surprised. “What d’you make?”

“Eggs.”

Steve likes eggs in the morning, with coffee—two sugars. But not orange juice. It makes his stomach burn for hours. He breaks and scrambles one egg in a pan with butter and pepper. Some days, Steve is so tired the eggshell breaks in small pieces and the kitchen gets dirty, and sometimes he wakes up late and rushes through the door. He eats a donut at work—but only the pink kind. The chocolate ones have a weird aftertaste.

“That it?”

“I have lunch at work, and I buy something for dinner on the way home.”

And if he’s too tired to stand in line or doesn’t feel like eating anything, there’s always peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Dean nods thoughtfully.

Cas thinks he’s passed some sort of test, but maybe not with the highest of grades, because Dean adds, “You— I mean, you’re eating enough, right?”

Oh, so he does worry.

Cas thinks of that time he’d had expired food and stayed awake the whole night:  his stomach cramping, face pressed against the cool surface of his bathroom tiles, dreading the next wave of nausea, thinking he was going to die, his thumb hovering over Dean’s name in his contacts more times than he feels comfortable remembering. Wishing to hear his voice.

Not calling.

“I think so,” Cas says.

Dean slips out of his jeans and sits on the edge of the bed that groans under his weight.

Cas should go and take care of his hand. Steve needs to sleep; he has tomorrow’s opening shift. New products to shelve and customers to serve. Usually at this time of night, Steve has already turned in.

But when he starts for the bathroom, Dean says, “Hey, wait,” and Cas has no choice but to stop, because Dean is here now, in the middle of his living room, and Dean unbalances everything.

“You don’t wanna talk about it—that’s fine. I just wanna say that whatever Ephraim told you, you don’t need to listen to him. You got a good thing going here. You got a job, you got a place for yourself. You got a chance to get out. Like, really get out.”

Something colors Dean’s voice that makes Cas suspicious. He doesn’t want to start a conversation, but he can recognize when Dean’s trying to say something without saying it.

“I have a responsibility toward my kind. Even if I can’t do much, I should try.”

“I know,” he says, but he’s fidgeting. “It’s just too dangerous out there right now. You said it yourself: after what happened with Metatron, angels are all over, looking for you.”

Cas holds his gaze and doesn’t say anything. Dean blinks one too many times. There’s something he’s not telling him, Cas knows.

“I’m just saying,” he starts again, and goes on as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “I get that you want to make things right, but maybe you can wait a little longer?”

His words hang in the air. Cas studies the way Dean’s eyebrows arch over his eyes, the tight lines around his mouth. He’s still convinced he can hide things from Cas, maybe now more than ever, but Cas sees him. Dean always forgets that.

“What is it?” Cas finally asks, fixing his gaze on Dean.

That’s all it takes. Dean sighs and it’s as much as a confession.

“Crowley said there’s no reversing the spell,” he says then, and he looks like he’s bracing himself for Cas’ reaction.

Somehow though, it doesn’t come as a blow. It doesn’t hurt him, it doesn’t shake his world. Cas registers Dean’s words and he surprises himself by thinking that he’s not broken by them.

He never expected that it would be easy for things to go back to they were.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t go back,” he reasons. “We can still find a way.”

“So you wanna go back.”

Cas is taken by surprise, not so much by his words, but by the way Dean blurts them out, almost as if they had escaped before he could control them—urgent, as if he could be directly affected by his choice. Cas can’t understand what difference it makes to Dean if Cas is on Earth or not, when he’s the one who sent him away in the first place.

“I don’t want to be trapped,” he says, a kind way out of a reply, and he feels his good hand close in a fist. This is not where he was supposed to be, where he was born to be.

Of course, he doesn’t want to leave Earth—not forever. Even back when he’d thought he was closing the Gates of Heaven, he was leaving because he had no other choice, and coming to terms with that was one of the hardest things Cas had ever done.

Dean acts as if he doesn’t know that, and maybe he really doesn’t. But Cas is still in pain and won’t clear that up for him; he won’t show himself needy of his company and his time.

“Yeah, no, I get that,” Dean says, but he sounds like he got the opposite of what Cas was trying to say. Cas won’t correct his misunderstandings. Not tonight. He’s feeling weak enough.

Cas leaves the room; there is not much else to say.

The springs of the mattress Dean is sleeping on groan whenever he moves.

Cas hears him from his bedroom. They groan and groan and groan. It makes it impossible for Cas to relax enough to fall asleep, even though he’s exhausted and the wound on his hand has started throbbing again.

He’d disinfected it and wrapped it in clean bandages, but he doesn’t have any painkillers, so he grinds his teeth and hopes it’ll be morning before he realizes.

The mattress groans and groans and then, when Cas resigns himself to the fact that he won’t get any sleep, the sound suddenly stops. Dean could have managed to fall asleep but somehow Cas doesn’t think that’s the case. The hair on the back of his neck stands up when he hears Dean’s footsteps coming toward his bedroom.

There’s a moment of silence and Cas doesn’t dare turn around. Then the bathroom door shuts and he lets out a breath.

The toilet flushes a few moments later, the door opens, and again, silence.

Cas frowns, rolls onto his back to find Dean standing there, just a dark silhouette in the door in the purple light—still behind that invisible wall that won’t let him cross the threshold.

“Dean?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, “Sorry, uh, I can’t sleep on that bed so…”

The neon blinks in pink and Cas notices Dean’s wearing his jeans again. The thought of him slipping into the night, and Cas finding nothing but an empty apartment in the morning, has his heart pounding in his chest.

“You can sleep in here,” he says, and his voice sounds broken and loud.

“Uh, you don’t ha— I’ll be fine on the floor with just an extra blanket or something.”

The color in the room changes again. Dean wasn’t going to leave. Cas is confused by his emotions; his heart won’t behave, his ears start ringing, his insides burning. He didn’t want him here in the first place, so why does the thought of him going away hurt so much?

“I don’t have an extra blanket,” he says in the end, and then scoots over and gives him his back. “It’s late,” he adds and hopes it’s enough to end the conversation.

“Alright,” comes Dean’s voice, and then there is the sound of footsteps, his jeans hitting the floor and then the comforter is lifting, the mattress sinking.

Cas still can’t relax. Not when he can feel the tension in the room, Dean’s body rigid on the bed and his intakes of breath telling him that he’s getting ready to speak.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Cas?” 

Cas had thought he wanted an apology from Dean more than anything.

He thought about it at night, imagined what he would say if he called, if he wrote it in a text message, if he showed up at his door. But when Dean says, “I’m sorry,” right there and then, Cas realizes he doesn’t need it anymore. He has forgiven him already.

“I know I let you down,” Dean says, “I should be here for you.”

And Cas had thought about what to say to him a million times. To make him feel worse, to spike his guilt, to reject him completely.

He can’t do it. He’s never wanted to be one of the things Dean blames himself for. He won’t be one of them tonight, either.

There’s an open wound inside his chest, but telling Dean how much he’d hurt him would only make it deeper.

He says the only thing that feels true. He says, “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not okay though, are you?”

Cas doesn’t know if he can find the right words to explain how he feels. 

He rolls onto his back, fixes his eyes on the ceiling and watches it as it changes: red, purple, pink, and red again.

He tries, “I’m not myself.”

Dean shifts on his spot and now he’s looking at him. Cas can feel his gaze and knows Dean is frowning.

“What do you mean?” It comes as a whisper, worry bracketing each of his words.

“I don’t know who I am.”

“You’re Cas,” Dean says with a familiar high note of stubbornness and confusion.

That’s probably what does it. Cas’ lips start trembling, his eyes prickling. There’s a sudden lump in his throat, his chest starts hurting, and then there are hot tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, rolling down his temples and disappearing into his hair. The tickling sensation on his skin and in his nose is not entirely unpleasant, but he has to keep swallowing and can’t bring himself to talk.

Dean sees all of it. He stays absolutely still but when he speaks, every word is soaked in a softness that makes him feel even closer than he is.

“You’re still an angel. Without grace, okay, but that doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change who you are,” he says, and he sounds like he knows for sure.

Cas knows this is hard on Dean. To see his tears and to know that this time he can’t say what he usually says: I’ll take care of it, I’ll figure something out, Let me handle this. Because tomorrow he’ll be gone. He’ll hop in his car and drive away, and nothing will change that. So he can’t take Cas' burden now, like he always tries to do, like he does with everyone else.

“You’re still you,” he keeps going. “And you know, I really meant what I said earlier. You are doing one hell of a job, managing all this on your own. Being human sucks. Like, truly, sucks. Of course you hate it.”

Dean’s words have a tentative lightness to them and Cas knows he’s trying to cheer him up so he makes an effort to smile. He takes a deep breath and glances at him.

“I don’t hate it,” he says, his voice still a little broken. “I just…  want my grace back. I want to feel like myself again.”

Cas doesn’t look away from him and doesn’t move a muscle, not even when Dean says, “Okay,” and reaches out with one hand to rub away a tear on his temple. The touch is unexpected, and Cas eyes’ close on their own for a moment. Dean is serious now. “We’ll get it back.”

In Dean’s eyes Cas finds something that, incredibly, resembles understanding. Does he understand? Is he comparing Cas’ grace being ripped from him with the bite of the Hellhounds tearing him apart? Is he thinking of Hell consuming his soul? Is he thinking of losing Sam?

Cas doesn’t know, but somehow the understanding is there, and there’s no need for him to say more. 

“I’ll start looking as soon as I get back, okay?” Dean says.

Cas nods and his tears are replaced with a calm certainty: that Dean is here, that he himself is not completely lost, that there’s a possibility to feel whole again. He doesn’t even remember how he could have thought everything was so hopeless.

“Okay,” he says, and worries that he will feel silly and ashamed once Dean turns around again, and the moment will be gone. But Dean stays where he is. He settles down on his side with his head on his arm because the only pillow is too small for the both of them.

“You’ll be alright,” he says, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing once. Next to Dean, Cas believes it.

Slowly, Dean’s breathing evens out. The rhythm is so familiar that Cas' body relaxes to it. He has lost count of how many hours he spent in a dark room with this sound, back when he used to watch over him while he slept.

Cas lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes. Then he feels it—a touch on his shoulder again, Dean’s fingertips on the fabric of his sleeve, then the same featherlight touch of a knee against his bare thigh, right below the hem of his boxer shorts. No real pressure, just a light contact, but it starts a gentle prickle that travels through Cas’ body and fills his chest and limbs. He’s never felt anything like it.

Cas keeps his eyes closed and his body still and he falls asleep like that, thinking that Dean has never been close to him like this before. Whether it’s chemistry or instinct, maybe it’s now and it’s here, because somehow humanity makes him more accessible, more recognizable to Dean: the warmth of his skin, the smell of his body, the beating of his heart.

And so maybe there is, at last, something Cas can be grateful to Steve for.

It’s not quite morning when Cas wakes up. He doesn’t need an alarm. Even when Steve gets a day off, Cas still wakes up very early.

He doesn’t like lingering in bed for too long, because his mind gets busy with thoughts and memories, and he has to occupy his hands to make them go away. But Steve needs his rest on his days off, so Cas stays under the blanket until his bladder or his stomach start complaining.

This morning, his limbs feel heavy and his nose is stuffy, and he can’t remember why. 

He reaches out to grab his phone and check the time, and it’s the hand with the bandage that reminds him what happened the day before.

It reminds him that this morning is nothing like every other morning, that there’s someone lying next to him, and that someone is Dean. He can feel the heat of his body warming his back.

He sits up on his side of the bed and only then dares to look over his shoulder. Yes, Dean is still there, asleep on his stomach, one arm bent under his head, Cas’ shirt stretched over his shoulders.

Dean probably senses his gaze, because he opens his eyes and looks back at him, his signature morning pout on his lips.

Cas thinks he must make quite a sight; with the window behind his back, he must be just a silhouette against the weak morning light, his hair sticking up, his clothes wrinkled.

He wants to speak, but he’s forgotten the first thing people usually say to each other in the morning.

Dean’s brain must still be foggy because he doesn’t comment on the fact that Cas is just staring at him. After a moment, he blinks and yawns and lets out a mumbled “You got a really nice bed,” as if it isn’t just a mattress and a metal frame.

“Thank you,” Cas says, and only then remembers that what he was supposed to say was, Good morning.

It’s too late now, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

“What time is it?”

“Five-thirty.”

Dean smiles in bliss. His eyes are glassy. “I haven’t slept six hours in a long time.” He yawns again. “You getting up?”

“Yes, but you can stay longer,” Cas says. “I’m going to get dressed.”

Dean nods and rubs his face and then follows Cas with his gaze while he gathers things around the room.

“I’ll be up in a sec. I’m gonna make you eggs,” he says.

He’s pulled Steve’s pillow to his side and made himself comfortable again, stretching his legs and taking up space. Cas can’t resist turning to watch him from the door. He looks like a dream in the early morning light.

Dean’s eyes are still on him and Cas suddenly feels exposed, with his bare thighs and calves. He’s seen Dean in various states of undress plenty of times, but he’s not sure Dean’s ever seen him, and he doesn’t know what it means that he’s watching.

“Okay,” Cas agrees. After last night, it’s an easy concession to make. The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks up, and Cas feels himself mirroring him. 

Dean is a great cook. Cas has heard him boast about it in the past, but this is the first time that he’s tried his cooking.

His eggs are good, more savory and less runny than his, and they come with toast.

“I never have toast with my eggs,” Cas comments.

“What’s with all the bread, then?”

“It’s for PB&J.”

That makes Dean snort a laugh. He’d moved the bowl with the fruit to the counter next to the sink and poured coffee into two mismatched mugs. Now, he sits across from him and digs into his plate. 

He’s already dressed, shoes on too. Cas doesn’t mention that he’s still wearing the T-shirt he borrowed. He’s pretty sure the black one he had on before is still where he left it, on the hook behind his bathroom door, and he wants to keep it that way.

The time is running out and he doesn’t know how to convince himself there’s no point in wishing it could stop.

“You can use bread to do lots of things,” Dean is saying. “Ever had French toast?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Alright, I’ll make you some next time.”

“Next time?” Cas repeats, almost losing his grip on the mug he’s bringing to his lips.

Dean puts down his fork, picks it up again, avoids his gaze. “I just thought— It’s not that I want to bring the bad guys to your door, obviously, but maybe I could slip out here sometimes. I’d be careful.”

Cas' face must be asking, Why?, because Dean rushes to add, “Just, you know, to see how you’re doing.” He massages one of his thighs out of nervousness, then in a light tone, he says, “First thing, I’m buying you groceries, replacing that couch, and fixing the light in the bathroom.”

Cas puts down his coffee mug, anger rising in his chest. “No.”

Dean hadn’t expected that. His face crumbles all at once, showing hurt and confusion. “Wh—?”

“You can come here, but as a friend. I don’t want a caretaker.”

“What?” he exclaims in disbelief. “I didn’t say that.” 

“I’m serious, Dean.” Cas clenches his jaw; this is the last thing he wanted. “I don’t need your pity and I don’t need you to parent me.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “That’s not what I meant!” he says, raising his voice. He gets up and circles around his chair, taking a moment to calm down. “Jesus, Cas, I don’t wanna be your parent. I know you don’t need me, I just—” He sighs, frustrated, shakes his head. “I— I didn’t mean that,” he says, looking up at him like he does sometimes when he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

Cas knows that look. It takes all the fight out of him. Without the anger, all that’s left is the knowledge that Dean might come back and this might not be the only morning they spend in this kitchen. It’s an unbearable thought, difficult to grasp—almost as difficult as it had been to imagine Dean here before yesterday. “Well then, in that case, it’s fine, I’d like that,” Cas says, and Dean deflates in front of him like a balloon. 

Cas takes the dishes to the sink, gives them a quick wash. He wonders what happens now.

“Are you leaving right away?” he asks, sneaking a glance over his shoulder.

“Nah, I can give you a ride to work,” Dean says casually. And then, in a different tone, he adds, “Go on, go brush your teeth and get your jacket.”

Cas throws him a look, his mouth already open in protest, but Dean is grinning at him. “Just kidding.”

Cas rolls his eyes.

The ride is quiet and the closer they get, the sadder Cas feels.

It’s a dull pain that presses down the corners of his mouth and makes him clench a fist, irrationally resenting green lights and empty roads, pedestrians that wait on the sidewalk instead of crossing and slowing them down.

Dean talks about getting Cas a car and doesn’t seem to mind or notice that Cas barely responds. He’s probably just doing it to fill the silence. He stops in front of the entrance, and Cas doesn’t expect him to, but he turns off the engine and gets out to say goodbye.

He lingers in front of Cas, his eyes wandering from him to the Gas-n-Sip windows, to the gas pump, down to the asphalt, up to Cas again.

Cas is no fool; he knows that it could be a long time before they see each other again.

“Let me know if you see any of the angels,” Cas says to stop that line of thought. “They may despise me, but they know we need to work together.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says, a wrinkle in between his eyebrows.

“Say hello to Sam for me.”

Dean sets his jaw and doesn’t say anything, and Cas feels there’s something there he doesn’t know. But they’ve run out of time. He takes a step forward and hugs him.

Hugging him as a human is different. It’s warmer, for one thing. Cas feels his own breath pushing his chest against Dean’s, his heart picking up the pace. And then there’s the scent of him. Cas can’t resist leaning his head into the crook of Dean’s neck, to feel his warm skin against his cheek, breathe him in.

Dean’s hands come up after only a moment to rest under his shoulder blades. He lets Cas hold him for longer than he thought he would.

“Hey,” he says then. “You can call me anytime—you know that, right?”

Cas nods, takes a breath, and steps away.

Dean seems sad now. He flashes a smile, but it’s not genuine. He looks like he’s about to say I’m sorry again. Cas wishes he wouldn’t, and thankfully he doesn’t. 

Instead he says, “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Cas tries to smile, too, but he thinks it comes out all wrong. “I’ll see you soon.”

"Yeah,” Dean says, now walking backward. “Buy me a pillow, will you?” He points and flashes another of his fake smiles. He gets to the car door. “Toothbrush, too.”

“Okay,” Cas says.

The door opens with a creak.

Dean looks at him over the roof.

“Have a good day at work.”

“Have a safe drive.”

Dean gets in and Cas bends to look at him through the passenger window.

Dean’s not smiling anymore. He’s sighing, and when he notices Cas, he leans over to roll the window down.

“I’ll be back.”

Cas knows Dean believes it. “You know where I live.”

Dean’s lips stretch in a grin that doesn’t show in his eyes.

The Impala starts rumbling and vibrating under Cas’ fingers still on the window frame. He holds up one hand in an aborted wave, Dean does the same. Cas lets go of the car and the wheels start rolling.

In a moment, he’s gone.

And Cas would stand there to watch the car disappear from his view, but Steve needs to open the store, turn on the cash register, make a few calls, start the coffee machine.

And on any other day, Steve would do that without thinking about Dean. Steve wouldn’t ache for him, wouldn’t long for him.

Cas isn’t sure he can do that anymore—shut himself away. As he wipes the counter and organizes the coins, he almost doesn’t remember how he did it before. 

He knows then that there is no going back, because Cas and Steve have something in common now.

They’re both in love with Dean.

[redinthefaceandcheeks]

THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES #N/A – Self Reflection

Statement of James Penn, regarding an encounter with a book briefly in his possession during March 2014. Statement begins. I want to thank the institute for both allowing me to come in to give my statement. I know that the staff offer transcribing of verbal reports, but I don’t want anyone else to be here as I tell my story, and besides…. I feel much more comfortable with a pen.

I am sure you do not need to tell you who I am. Even before all of this, I spent the past two decades working my way to become one of England’s most popular modern day authors. I also do not need to tell you how difficult professional writing can be as a career, both getting in as well as staying relevant within the public’s consciousness. I have seen many aspiring writers who could not clear the barrier of entry, and even more who could not produce enough works to stay successful in the ever changing marketplace. People just do not read like they used to.

I was always proud of myself that I was able to cut my teeth and push myself to pump out book after book. From that, I was able to make it to the ‘big times’ with a successful book series while producing a few extra on the side. I garnered enough writing fame to warrant book tours and an interview or two for every new publication. At one point, I even had three working contracts with the BBC and a few American production companies to adapt some of my works. Yet with all of that fame came the continued stress and expectation to maintain relevance while writing more books with tighter and tighter deadlines. With all of that, I … developed some unhealthy coping skills to deal with the pressure and to get everything done on time. It was no surprise that I turned to drugs. I don't need to give you the names and details because… let's just say at some point, tea and coffee just could not cut it anymore. At first, things were great, better than great. I was able to pound out more critically acclaimed books, juggle all of my other obligations, and attend all those networking parties. I never felt better about myself. But nothing like that lasts forever, eventually something slips. I believe it was one of my books not selling as much as the company initially projected. That was a blow to my ego and threw everything out of whack, and it all started tumbling down. The problem with using drugs as a solution to problems in your life is that when things go bad, that’s the first thing you turn to, even when it does not work.

My usage increased dramatically, and I began mixing substances. I reasoned that once I got back on the ball again, I could learn from my mistake and stay there. Yet the thing with writing while high is that despite being able to write more, your quality tanks. The next book was heavily panned by critics, and the publishers decided not to green-light the sequel.

Things stayed bad when I had a very public falling out between me and the writer's room for the big movie adaptation that was supposed to set me up for life. From there, I ran face first into a writer’s block, completely killing my creativity.

That was when I spiralled. I missed all my other deadlines, I stopped hanging out with my friends, and I cut out my family. 

My publicist kept hounding me for work. He did try to help by referring me to counselors and support groups, but I pushed back on every attempt. I do not know if he was trying to be my friend or if he was doing it out of work obligations. Nonetheless, I saw that the company was making moves to use a clause in my contract to dump me if I could not produce anything of worth by the end of the week. 

I was on borrowed time and I spent that time high out of my mind wandering the city late into the night in a vain attempt to find that writing spark or just to give myself a break.

I think that was when I found it.

I say ‘think’ because honestly, all of my memories of that time were a garbled mess. I do know that I woke up on the living room couch, it was lying on the coffee table. At first glance, it looked like just a plain old book.

I remembered how peculiar it was when I locked eyes on it. Even though I blacked out, I know that I did not buy it. At that point, I was not in the habit of spending money on anything other than the bare necessities to keep the lights on and to get my next fix.

I slowly got up and moved to further examine. It had a bone white hardcover and was no bigger than a journal, with the only defining detail being the words, “A Reflection of Self” typed in a neat yellow type font across the front.

It was such an odd addition to the table that I naturally picked it up and began flipping through the pages. Even with my bleary and bloodshot eyes, I could tell right away what it was. It was one of those stupid self-help books that plague every bookstore’s “wellness” and “self-improvement” section. You know the ones, all advertised to help you improve your life by ’refocusing yourself’ by taking your ‘big dreams’ and breaking them down into ‘smaller wins’. In reality, it’s just a book of prompts with plenty of blank space for the reader to actually do the writing. And if you were lucky, it might have a chapter or two of the bare bones notes of the psychology class the author once sat in on. Needless to say, I was not a fan of that stuff, even back then. If you were going to go through the effort of writing a book, do it yourself. Don’t pay someone for an empty book and a set of instructions. Despite my contempt, the drug-addled version of me from last night decided to pick it up. I might have thought that I could use this as a way to jumpstart my writer’s block. So I tucked the book under my arm and went to the kitchen. I downed some headache pills and chased it down with some old coffee before I went to my now neglected writing desk.

The desk was a gift I got for myself with the paycheck from my first published book. It was a large vintage writing desk, made of carved wood. It was my pride and joy, my sacred space. I used to spend so much time just sitting there, writing up a storm. After the turns in my life, it became a place of shame.

I set down the book, fished out my favorite pen from the drawer, and cracked open the book proper. The first page was blank, except for a single line for a name. I distinctly remembered scoffing at that and hastily scribbled my signature before I moved on. The next page continued to ask for more information about me, the typical ‘get to know me’ drek like: age, birthday, height, eye color, tea or coffee, favorite book… You know, that sort of thing. I turned the page and just had the prompt at the top of the page with the rest as space to reply to. The question was simply, “What was your favorite memory?” I do not know why, but that question struck something inside of me. It caused me to pause and really think about that Christmas day while I absentmindedly clicked away with my pen.

It was far enough back before any of the cracks in my family’s relationships were present. I was seven years old, coming down the stairs in my new pajamas. Outside the window, the world was blanketed in pristine white as big, fluffy clumps of snow fell down. My sister was asleep in her crib as I was unwrapping the bicycle that I had begged my parents for months. I remembered how much the metal frame caught and reflected the Christmas tree lights. I did not care that it was the middle of winter, it was mine, and I could not have been happier. The memory was so potent and filled me with such nostalgia that I almost overlooked how good it felt to get that all out. Once I was done reminiscing, I continued the momentum and moved on. The next one had more benign childhood questions like: “What school did you go to?” “What was your favorite class?” “Did you have recess before or after lunch?”

“What was your favorite playground game?” I answered all of those with ease. When I turned the page that I was faced with another writing prompt: “What was the first time you used drugs?” This one took me by surprise, mostly because most of the generic self-help books don’t touch this type of subject and the ones that do are clearly advertised as much. I was also taken aback by how brazenly this question was asked. I had to blink my groggy eyes and give it another read, yet the question remained the same, clearly typed on the page. Yet as I stared at the question, my mind started to drift back to that day. It was in secondary school, just after the Christmas holiday break. It was when the Christmas spirit came and left, leaving only the bitter cold winter and roads covered with the grey slush of old snow and car exhaust. It was during that first week back when I walked into the boys' bathroom and stumbled upon Clive and his mates. Clive was the school’s notorious loudmouth delinquent, constantly getting in trouble and getting sent to detention. Even though I was still friendless after the sudden move I was wise enough to always try to avoid him. I remembered pushing open the boys' bathroom and walking into the cloud of tobacco smoke before I could recognize the smell. I saw him and his little crew startle as they all whipped their heads to see who just walked in. They were all at the far end of the bathroom, underneath the only window. Clive was holding the remaining half of a cigarette that they must have been all sharing. From the looks of the cigarette, it looked like Clive had only smuggled in the single stick in with him. Clive would always brag about how easy he could get them from his old man whenever he passed out in his easy chair. The ambient sound of the school hallway was cut off when the door closed behind me. There was a tense standoff between me and them, as we all tried to figure out how to respond in this situation.

I had my eyes on Clive, waiting to see what he would do. After a tense moment, he extended his arm and silently offered me the cigarette.

Not knowing what else to do I crossed the bathroom and hesitantly took the crumpled loose stick and brought it to my lips. I remembered how putrid the smoke tasted on my tongue as I took my first inhale. 

I went right into a coughing fit as it reached my lungs and quickly handed it back as I covered my mouth with my other arm.

Clive took it back with an expression of slight respect on his face, while the others laughed at the sight. Yet from the tone of their laughter and the way they acted afterwards it was obvious that this was their first time smoking as well. The memory faded away from my mind with its conclusion as I brought my focus back to the present. Sure that was my first time smoking, but one awkward puff of a loose cigarette hardly counts, especially considering all the other drugs I would use later in my life. When I looked back down at the page, my heart stopped. As I looked back down at the page, my heart stopped. The entire description of the memory was right there despite me never actually putting pen to paper. It just appeared there, written in my handwriting with the same ink of the pen that was in my hand.

My first thought was that it was just a lingering side effect of the cocktails of drugs I was using for the past few days. I forced my eyes closed and opened them back up to reexamine the page, but no, it was all there, right on the page, as clear as it was before. I even saw the glisten of the jet black ink gel begin to fade on the words of the last line. 

At this point I was properly spooked enough to snap me out of my hungover daze. I just kept staring in disbelief at that page. As I did I became aware that the book was staring right back at me, just waiting for me to continue. It was here when the more logical part of my brain came in, sounding the alarms that everything about this was not normal. I tried to close the book and walked away but I just couldn’t. I partly blame myself, with the writing I developed over the decades, I could never leave a project unfinished. Besides, I was so eager for more.

I could only sit there and watch the only action I could take as my trembling hand went over to turn the page. I think the book knew that it had me in it’s grasps, because it dropped all other pretense and ask a series invasive questions:

“What was the moment you wanted to be an author?” “What was the first story you wanted to write?”

“What year did you graduate?” “When was the first time you got drunk?” “What was the first story that you actually wrote?” “When did you realise that writing was not as glamorous as you thought it to be?” I was forced to remember each one and afterwards the answer would appear next to each one in my handwriting. The page after had another full page with a writing prompt that could not be asked or answered by anyone except me: “What was your first time using actual hard drugs to hit a deadline?” Just like before, the memory came floating up from my mind in such crystal clear detail that it was like I was relieving each one all over again.

It was back when I was just starting to make a name for myself. A bunch of urgent personal obligations popped up and prevented me from getting any writing done. 

My book’s deadlines were right around the corner and I still had an impossible amount of work to get to the big finale that I had planned in my head since the beginning. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, since this would be the first time I would have missed a deadline.

The actual start took place Thursday afternoon at a coffee shop where I was venting to one of my author friends, Dorothy, about it. They listened and then offered me their ‘ace in the hole’ for times like these. They rummaged in their tote bag and slid me a small plastic baggie of white pills. Despite my hesitation they assured me that the amount would be more than enough to take over the weekend to get the job done. And it did.

It cost me my normal sleep schedule and I had a massive crash come Monday morning but I was able to turn it in on time. Not only that but I was able to go back to add so much more to the transcript that I cut from the draft. Most importantly, my publicist loved it. I hate to admit it, especially now, but it felt good looking at the wall of text and reminiscing about both the high and all the writing I could do back then.

The sense of twisted pride was short lived when I ‘finished’ the page and moved to face the next prompt:

“What was the first work meeting you attended hungover?” I don’t need to say that one was a particular painful memory to relive again but not as painful as the one that followed:

“What was the most important event that you missed because of your drug use?” I… don’t want to write about it again but it was the last chance I had to save my relationship with my fiance. The book continued with it’s ruthless targeted questions as it pried into all of my failings: 

“What was the most depraved thing you did when you were on drugs?” “When did you know you were addicted?” “How long until you finally admitted it to yourself?” “When you ran out of money, what family heirloom did you sell off to get your next hit?” Like before, it was like I was transported back there to relive every one of them but now tinged with the sorrow of seeing all those choices with the perfect definition of hindsight. I stayed at that desk for hours, going through page after page, having the book squeeze every shameful detail out of me and drinking it up between its empty lines.

At the time I thought that the scariest thing was that I was stuck at the desk, being forced to relive a collection of my lowest points. Then the book started asking me about the things I did when I was high to remember. There is a special type of horror of having your most drug induced actions being shown to you for the first time in such clarity. I wish I could deny them but I know that it was the truth… because I remembered each and every one of them.

The book kept going, overturning every private and shameful moment of my life over the years. It kept going right up to the night I found the book on the street when I was stumbling around the city. It was only after I described how I threw up in the bathroom sink before collapsing on the living room couch did the book let go of its iron grasp on me. Once I was able to regain control of my aching body, I snatched the book and threw it to the far corner of the flat before I fled back into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I spent four days there by quietly suffering the drug withdrawals while being forced to grapple with the man I became.

I wanted to call for help or even my dealer for a hit but in my haste, I left my phone on my desk and… I was too scared to leave the safety of my bedroom. I wish I could say I was surprised that no one came over to check in on me but after witnessing my life, I really wasn’t.

Eventually I had to force myself to do something or face actual starvation. After hours of deliberating I decided that the lesser of the two evils was to go back to my desk, grab my phone and then retreat back to the small safety of my bed.

The walk from my bedroom across the living room to my desk felt like miles. As I crept along, my eyes kept darting to the corner where I threw the book both trying to get a glimpse of it and trying not to catch its attention again.

Nothing happened and I was able to grab my phone and fall back to my bedroom. As I expected, the phone’s battery was dead but thankfully I had an old charger on my night stand. The wait between physically plugging in my phone and it having enough juice to power up was the most tense moment of my life. Eventually the screen lit up and I practically cried with joy. After punching in my pin and allowing it to finish booting up I saw the little symbol that told me that it had service. Once my phone was online I was bombarded with notifications, mostly advertising emails, general push notifications, and a few messages from my dealer. Within the barrage I saw dozens of texts, emails, and missed phone calls from my publicist. The part was not surprising, I did miss the final deadline and been completely off the grid since then. The surprising thing was one of the preview messages in the notification bar, “Just got word from higher up, They loved…”

My face furrowed at that and I went to open up the text message to read through everything that he sent me. “Just got word from higher up, They loved it! It’s greenlit and is going to head straight to production!”

Confusion overtook me and compelled me to read through the rest of the messages he sent me. Apparently on the last day of the deadline, while I was locked away in my room, my publicist received a transcript from me. It was raw and powerful. I was congratulated with the avant garde delivery. It was a hit with everyone who looked over it and they all gave no notes, claiming that it would be wrong to change anything.

My publicist reported he was already tapping their marketing and PR experts to coordinate a big, yet respectful, advertising blitz for its release. My company was also going to spring for a social media consultant to help me get my profiles ready for the new image I was apparently committed to. He apologized for everything and congratulated me on the first step of recovery.

That was when my blood ran cold and terror took me. I burst out of my bedroom and sprinted towards the corner where I threw that terrible book. I overturned everything in that area and then frantically searched every square inch of that flat over and over again. It was nowhere to be found. After searching everywhere it could have possibly got to, I went back to my phone and finally replied to my publicist. I made some half baked excuse of my absence and asked him what was the title they were going to go with. You guys don’t need me to tell you what it was. I also do not have to tell you of the instant success once it hits the shelves.

It became a number one best seller and the critics showered me with praises and accolades for being brave enough to share my story in this way. For the press release I have been paraded all around the country, been invited on all the major morning talk shows and interviewed with countless newspapers and magazines. I was even flown out to the states to do some in person interviews there. 

In all of those interviews, I was forced to talk pleasantries and answer the same volley of soft ball questions of the dirtiest secrets of my addiction for their eager audiences. 

All I could do was smile to give the same canned responses about how bad my addiction has been. I could not lie about any of it, because it was all easily fact checked right there in the book. Because I know how to play the PR game, I also had to give lip service to all the great support I received as well as the progress I made in counseling. I had to come up with exactly why I ‘decided’ to write it all out now while not sounding like a complete loon. I decided to just say ‘because I was compelled to tell my story by a higher power’, which is not completely untrue. With every speaking engagement, I was forced to be accompanied by ‘my’ book, propped up on display. “Out of respect for my original design,” the publicist kept the book cover the same, save for one change. Now under the title “A Reflection of Self” is my signature, scribbled right under it.

During the media blitz I did my own research trying to find out where that book came from, to see if there was any record of that self help book, I even tried asking my publicist about it.

There were no results, everyone was under the impression that I created the entire format by myself as ‘an writer’s attempt to convey the struggle of substance use through the lens of a common self help book’. For months I was terrified that someone, somewhere in the world was going to expose me as the fraud that I am, but it never happened.

The book was not all well received, once my sister heard about what I sold to get my fix, she practically disowned me.

The worst part of it is the people, now everyone looks up to me as a recovered addict. I am forever at a disadvantage with everyone I meet going forward. It does not matter if it’s a TV host or some random person stopping in the street. 

The moment I look into their eyes, I know that they know everything about the worst years of my life and I can feel them try to pry just a bit more out of me.  I can see them dissecting and shifting through my words to find a nugget of information about my life that was not ‘written’ down.

I want to go back to my regular private life, but this has been the most successful I have ever been both socially and financially. I have almost cleared off all of my debts and am going to be moving into a new house.  I am also in the process of negotiating selling the rights of my book to make a big budget movie adaptation.

I have practically retired from writing, I have decided to just cruise on this wave and be a ‘public inspiration’ ‘media head’. If I’m smart with my money, I’m set for life.

But the worst part about all of this, besides not being able to tell the truth about the origins of this book, even to my therapist, is that I still crave the drugs. 

For PR reasons I have given up on all drugs save for ‘a strong cup of earl grey’. Yet every day I wake up wanting nothing more than to take another hit of… anything. 

The true reason why I have stayed sober is because I am terrified that if I relapse, that book will come back and expose me all over again. I guess that’s why I came to your institute, to get this story out of me in such a way that it will never get back to the public. So take this document and lock it up so no one can ever see it. I will say, it is nice to actually write again.

Statement ends. *** If you enjoyed this story consider supporting me on Patreon! For five dollars a month, you’ll get access to the Author’s Notes on this post and others. At ten dollars a month, you’ll get access to exclusive member polls, to suggest and shape my monthly suggested story. The link: https://www.patreon.com/RiTFaC

[strayingawayy]

no omg pls dont worry about the royal au han jisung fic for the time being. your health is ALWAYS more important!! and wtf SEIZURES?? ARE YOU BETTER NOW??? is it like a recurring thing??? please dont worry about writing for now omgg im so so worried about you i really hope things look up for you from here on:') im so sorry if i made you feel like you HAVE to write the fic, that really wasnt my intention. theres NO deadlines and we'll always be waiting for you here so please dont worry abt releasing new fics. and i saw you mentioning family issues but i felt like id be overstepping if i mentioned it, but i really really hope you get away from that place and find yourself a better environment cuz NOBODY deserves that:((

since im yapping anyways, i can relate to the daddy issues part SOOO MUCH. it fucking sucks tbh(ESPECIALLY when you see all your friends living such amazing lives w supportive parents and you feel super envious looking at them. AND THEN YOU FEEL HORRIBLE FOR FEELING THAT WAY). i think thats the reason i even found the fanfiction community in the first place, cuz i wanted an escape from this horrible reality that we have to suffer through. this is sort of a coping mechanism for me too tbh. all this to say, i understand and can sympathize with you a lot more than you think SO PLEASE PUT YOURSELF FIRST and i wish, from the bottom of my heart, that everything gets better for you. writers like you are my(and many others') safe space and i genuinely wish nothing but the absolute best for you<333 -same anon for the 3rd time:P (maybe i should assign myself an emoji lol)

hello, sweet anon <3

hfkskdkd no im genuinely sorry. i can't believe i forgot. I have a few thoughts written after you sent me that ask so i'll be working on it soon enough too. hopefully. just give me a few more days and don't worry at all, sweetheart. i don't feel compelled to write it, i genuinely want to. and knowing that someone wants to read it gives me a bit more of a push to do it :))

as for the seizure, they're not exactly sure as to why it happened. i collapsed in the middle of a lecture and began seizing. i have no recollection of the ordeal but a couple days at the hospital and constant medication probably means it was...a wee bit miserable i suppose. my doctor also told me yesterday that im going to be on meds for maybe another two years and im absolutely fucking devastated because this stuff causes serious tiredness, brain fog and real emotional instability so ive already warned my friends to not come too close if i look like they killed my wife or something fhfjsjdkx.

im so sorry that you're going through something similar w/ family :(( it's not my entire family tbh, just a few people who've been absent for most of my life and when shit got real (aka the seizure) they took it as an opportunity to invite themselves back into my life and tell me how to live it. and dw hahahaha i live w/ friends so usually away from the mess of it. i truly, truly hope things get better for you too <333 hope your day is going well ❤️‍🩹

thank you so much for allowing me and other writers to be your safe space. i hope i do all i can to bring you happiness and comfort 💕 also definitely, would like if you chose an emoji. i had a few emoji anons a while back too. hope they're well in case they happen to read this.

have a beautiful day <333

[lynaferns]

I have been thinking for a while that I'm not made to do commissions. Or work as an artist in general.

I said at the start of the year that "I'll open commissions soon" and then never did. I had the sheets of prices and examples ready since then but never dared to post them. One of the reasons being that I have poor time management and deadlines kill me. I also have trouble with communication (you already know this) and if the other person doesn't do the bare minimum to specify me what they want I can't do anything. I'm supposed to draw something for you, it has to be to your liking, I can't do the job if you don't explain to me what you want.

This is still a hobby anyways, I only draw whatever I feel like drawing and if there is something I don't want to draw I don't do it.

But I see people saying stuff like "if people are interested in my art I should sell it (as in making prints, stickers and such)". Once I read people saying that they get mad when they see a talented artist with no print shop nor Patreon, or ko-fi, or whatever platform they could be making a profit of, because of that same reason: they could be gaining money from something they like that they are good at, and people could donate to them to support them, but they don't have anything set for that.

Most teachers and counselors I had, one of the first things they told me when they saw my art was that "I should work from this" "I should get a job that involves art" to "use my talent" "I can't just do nothing with the talent I have" "I have to use it for something", and while I know all of this comes from a good place, it only makes me feel pressured, like I have to do it, as if me being talented at art meant that I must use it for profit.

(I perfectly know the quality of my art, I know it would be perfect for selling, especially if it's fanart. I don't brag often about it because, no, like ????? Maybe if I'm especially proud of something specific but I'm more proud of my neat signature tbh. I don't complain much about my art either because honestly, most people won't notice the mistakes if I don't say what is wrong with my art, and it would become a toxic habit that'd send me into a bad mental state)

People have shown interest in my art before, I know there are people who would like to buy a print from me, but the thought of selling stress me out. Being the one who's in charge of making the merch, searching for a way of sending it to the person, setting prices, solving any problem that may come with- the whole thing that involves selling your stuff. I don't see myself managing any of that.

Making a Patreon comes with having something every month to post there for the people that are paying to see exclusive art that I won't be posting publicly until some time later. Ko-fi would be more suitable since it seems to be made for donations and you can set up a shop there, which is cool but I feel like I'd have it closed all the time. Idk. If I get artblock and I don't draw for a while I wouldn't feel good having any way of donation open.

If I end up selling my art it would be more to the fact that I know there will be people excited to have a print of my art in their hands rather than because of the money I'll make of it. But there is another problem that comes to it that I already talked about in the past: I don't want to sell one (1) sticker for 30 fucking EUR/USD. If you are in Europe there wouldn't be (much of) a problem, but to ship to America it would cost 30€ of fee.

I want to design stickers sometime, or pins. And if I end up making merch of my art I want to make money from it I guess, but idk...

I think I'd be better off working from something that doesn't require too much mental and/or physical strength from me so I can leave art as just a hobby. But that's another problem of its own.

[gageblackwood]

So, many folks with ADD have found that they have trouble doing chores for themselves (Hi, I'm talking about me) but have an easier time doing them for someone else. I have found this to be true as I've helped out a family friend with dog sitting and then various chores like laundry. I cannot do laundry reliably for myself, but it's somehow easy to do it for them.

For quite awhile this was actually relaxing! Like, I was helping someone out, I was getting things done. It helped to have a list, written out by someone else and an external deadline (since deadlines I set myself rarely work for me), and it felt good. Even if I was just sitting on my computer, I was doing it while waiting on the washer, so I didn't feel like I was wasting time.

Sadly, it turns out that this relaxation and feeling good only really works if I'm alone in the house, to be able to complete the list on my own terms and timetable.

When someone is in the house, my brain insists I'm being judged, to say nothing of the way my social battery is drained. Being at the house with just the dog, who as an old boy doesn't require much more than someone to sit beside him while he naps, is a vastly different experience than being there while someone is there. And is also a different experience to when the person I'm doing chores for is there!

Like, one day I was supposed to take the trash out, but the appointment that said family friend was going to go to was canceled so they were there too. And that's fine, it's their house! But then they started gathering up trash and bagging it, and I felt judged.

Because now it wasn't enough that it was done by the time they got back. Now it felt like everything on the list needed to be done right away, or I was slacking. Even if, as before, I was waiting on the washer to finish!

I have no idea how to end this really. Maybe it's just that it's frustrating to find something that works only to have circumstances change, maybe it's how stupid ADD feels sometimes, maybe it's even just a tip that could help someone else get things done if the setup is just right. But getting it typed out has helped me come to grips with it better and to relax a bit again, so if nothing else there is that.

Lastly a picture of the sleepy boy himself, just cause I feel like it:

Yes, he did fall asleep with a greenie in his mouth.

[silverhallow]

To help your muse

27-"I fucking love you."

This is set in the WWWY Universe.

And sort of uses the “to help your muse” as the theme.

Hope you enjoy it

Artists block.

There were few things Benedict hated more than when he hit a wall with his art. It made him feel like he was stuck in quicksand and unable to move, unable to focus on anything but the sinking feeling of failure.

He’d cancelled everything, he’d called Sophie and told her not to come over as he had to get this piece finished before his deadline on Monday. He’d kicked Henry out of the flat and sent him to see Phillip in Cambridge, determined that he would have no distractions whilst he finished it.

But he’d just… not done anything.

He’d stared at the blank canvas. He’d thrown out his first attempt, he had no idea why he was struggling with this. Henry had nailed his attempt in class, but Benedict had just found it uncomfortable looking at another naked woman, feeling like he was cheating on Sophie just by looking at her, had struggled.

He’d drawn something that was probably the worst attempt at art he’d ever done, it was so bad he was sure that even Anthony would have done better and so when he’d taken it home to finish, he’d thrown it out and decided to start anew but he was struggling.

And this was worth 20% of his mark for the year, failing or not completing this module would almost guarantee that he would fail the year and have to do resits which would affect his plans with Sophie and mean he wouldn’t get to graduate with Henry in the summer and would result in him not being able to go to Cambridge in the new term to do his masters… which was not an option.

So he was determined, he’d done everything he could to make sure that he wasn’t interrupted.

Henry had left rolling his eyes saying he just needed the “right inspiration” but Benedict was not really listening to him.

Benedict hadn’t even realised Henry had left as he had been staring at the blank canvas for several hours when he heard the doorbell go.

He ignored it.

It went again.

“Henry, can you get the door?!” he called out, annoyed that his roommate hadn’t answered it the first time. It went again “HENRY!” he yelled once more but there was no response.

Grumpy and annoyed he got up from his seat, ready to yell at whoever was at the door, he’d texted everyone to tell them to leave him alone, he needed to work, despite the fact he wanted to be with Sophie and spending time with her and not staring at a white canvas wondering how he was supposed to draw the female form.

The door went again, it was still a gentle ring, whoever was on the other side of the door clearly wasn’t as annoyed as he was and he was about to launch into an angry tirade as he opened the door to yell at whoever it was at the door when as the door swung open, his mouth opened to yell, he realised it was “Soph?! What are you doing here? I told you I had to work…” he said blinking in shock.

“You did, Henry got to ours a while ago and said you were struggling with your piece for this project and that you needed some proper inspiration…” Sophie said, her cheeks bright red in a way he’d rarely seen from her.

“Okay… what… I… wait what time is it?” he asked

“Nearly 9pm…” Sophie said her hands were fidgeting with her coat.

“Shit… I've got… nothing… I just… What does he mean by proper inspiration?”

“Well he told me what the piece was… a study of the female form” Sophie said “look can you let me in, it’s a bit cold out here…” she said

Benedict frowned, she had a big trench coat on but he moved and let her in, it was only fair after she’d driven all the way over here to see him, “it is but I just… I can’t use the images from class, it just… doesn’t feel right…”

“I get that… it’s why i’ve come… to help” she said coyly as she walked into his living room, and Benedict noticed that she was wearing heels, and looked at her confused

“Thanks Fee but you…” his mouth fell open as Sophie turned around and removed her coat.

Revealing her to be in nothing but a pair of heels “Holllllly fuck! Did you drive over here like that?”

Sophie giggled, feeling better now she was inside “I did… now… as long as you promise not to draw my face… how about we get your painting done like a good boy, then if you are a very good boy, then i’ll let you paint… well me” she smirked turning around and walking off to his room where she knew he’d be sitting and deliberately walked with a sashay in her hips.

Benedict let out a groan as he felt all the blood leave his brain and rush straight to his cock and he felt like the luckiest man in the world watching her bare arse disappeared into his room “I fucking love you” he said as he ran after her.

It took him 45 minutes, 45 agonising minutes with a raging and ever growing erection to get his painting done, before he was able to launch himself at her and thoroughly show his appreciation, thanking her for being an incredible girlfriend and the best muse a man could hope for.

[glowingmeadow]

It's been a hot minute!

I'm back to vent, so you know things are getting back! I only come on here anymore to vent when things are getting significantly more difficult than normally; and right now, I'm sick. I've been sick for almost a week now, it's been really bad since wednesday, got so much better yesterday and I thought I was finally gonna be fine and then my nose decided to get stuffy and I haven't been able to breathe normally. I haven't slept much either, I fell asleep at around 5am and I woke up at 10am so I'm not really up for anything today and would rather just not be today. I've ended up sitting in bed, I'll try to do some work on my pc and read some from my books for literature class. I genuinely hope I can be ok for theater class this week cause we're gonna talk about physicality and it interests me so much so I'd rather not miss that class. I've been meaning to work on some poems in roder to submit them to my uni's magazine since the deadline is in a few days now, but I haven't been able to finish them. I mean I suppose they are but I feel like something is missing from them and they feel sort of void. I also only have two that I've recently worked on that I consider sending through, I have nothing else I've written. I'm feeling very unsatisfied with them. I still do feel that urge to write but lately it has been feeling different in nature; it somehow feels like there is a rhythm that needs to be expressed but the words don't fit the music and choreography of my thoughts. I don't know if that makes sense but somehow my writing has been feeling too static and that's not how it manifests itself in my mind. I think there is a translation barrier between the way things present themselves in my mind and how they appear whenever I type them out. Apart from that, I also think I've lost a few things I've written. I'm sure there has been more but I can't seem to find them, I've been quite the unorganised person this year.

[nel-world]

Establishing Audition Context INT. AUDITION ROOM – DAY

ANITA: (nervously) "You got this, Nick. Just remember, be yourself."

NICK: (adjusting his clothes) "Easier said than done. What if they don’t like me?"

CASTING DIRECTOR (off-screen): "Next, please!"

ANITA: (squeezing his shoulder) "Break a leg!"

Backstory and Musical Relevance INT. ANITA’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

ANITA: (scribbling on a notepad, frustrated) "This musical has to be more than just a project. It needs to reflect where I am now."

ANITA: (glancing at a framed photo) "I remember how hopeful I was back then. I need to capture that same hope now."

ANITA: (looking out the window, contemplative) "The song about hope—it’s not just a theme. It’s my life."

Audition Scene with Maria Reynolds INT. THEATER – DAY

MARIA REYNOLDS: (after Nick’s audition) "Thank you, Nick. We’ll be in touch."

NICK: (disappointed) "Yeah, thanks. I’ll be waiting."

NICK: (to himself, exiting the room) "I really thought I nailed it. Guess not."

Time Gap and Meeting Arrangement INT. COFFEE SHOP – DAY

NICK: "So, how did the appointment go?"

ANITA: "It was just a routine check-up. Nothing to worry about."

NICK: "I’m glad to hear that. I was hoping we could catch up."

ANITA: "Me too. It’s nice to hang out outside of the rehearsal."

Filming the Clip INT. PARK – DAY

ANITA: "That was great! Let’s check the footage."

NICK: (laughing) "I can’t believe we just did that."

ANITA: "Yeah, we’ve got some work to do. Let’s tighten up the dialogue."

NICK: "Agreed. I think we can make it even better."

Backstory Reveal through Dialogue INT. ANITA’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

ANITA: "You know, I’ve always felt like I’m on the edge of something big, but never quite getting there."

NICK: "I get that. I’m constantly battling to prove myself. It’s exhausting."

ANITA: "It’s like this musical is my chance to break through, but sometimes it feels like I’m stuck."

NICK: "We’re in this together. Let’s make it count."

Romantic Tension Development INT. ART GALLERY – DAY

NICK: "What do you see in that painting?"

ANITA: "Hope. It’s the same thing I’m trying to capture in the musical."

NICK: "I see it now. It’s beautiful."

ANITA: "It’s like we’re both searching for something. Maybe that’s why this project means so much."

NICK: "Yeah, maybe it is."

Conflict Over Musical Vision INT. THEATER – DAY

NICK: "What if we add more props? It could make the scenes pop."

ANITA: "But that’s not what this story is about. It’s supposed to be personal, not just flashy."

NICK: "I just think it needs a bit more to stand out."

ANITA: "It’s already powerful. We need to stay true to the message."

Anita’s Distraction INT. DANCE STUDIO – DAY

ANITA: (checking her phone anxiously) "Come on, come on. Please let this be good news."

INSTRUCTOR: "Everything okay, Anita?"

ANITA: "Yeah, just waiting for some important news."

INSTRUCTOR: "I hope it’s good news."

ANITA: "Me too."

Nick’s Struggle and Romantic Tension INT. NICK’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

NICK: (rehearsing lines, frustrated) "I need to get this right. Anita’s counting on me."

NICK: (pauses, thinking) "This is harder than I thought. Why did I think I could handle this?"

NICK: (phone buzzes with a message from Anita) "Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m not cut out for this."

Musical Deadline and High Stakes INT. ANITA’S APARTMENT – DAY

ANITA: "We have to finish this. It’s our chance to prove ourselves."

NICK: "I know, but we can’t just rush it. We need to get it right."

ANITA: "The deadline’s approaching fast. We need to focus and get it done."

NICK: "Alright, let’s put everything we’ve got into it."

The Big Reveal INT. COFFEE SHOP – NIGHT

NICK: "I need to tell you something. It’s about my past. I made a huge mistake involving someone from college."

ANITA: (shocked) "What kind of mistake?"

NICK: "I was cruel to someone who didn’t deserve it. I regret it deeply."

ANITA: "That’s a serious thing. I need to process this."

NICK: "I understand. I’m really sorry."

Scene of Growth and Conflict INT. THEATER – DAY

NICK: "I didn’t mean to step on your toes. I just want this to be perfect."

ANITA: "I get that, but we need to communicate better. We can’t keep clashing like this."

NICK: "You’re right. I’ll work on it. Let’s find a way to make this work."

ANITA: "We can. We just need to understand each other better."