#do i have a personality for that? can ine of the weirdos in this brain act right fbhdnddnjd

[alchemiclee]

when you really want to talk to someone about something that you find fun and exciting and interesting, but you feel like you're being the most obnoxious person alive.....even if they're nice about it.

[heavenunderthemoon]

can we please get more jj and daughter!reader? it’s genuinely such an amazing series and i’d love to read more about them :)

JJ x daughter!reader content!

Move-Ins and All-Nighters

"There's a boy in my bed."

You turned over, sleep clawing at your eyes.

There, in your bed, clad in an old and fading FBI t-shirt and holiday pajama pants (even though it was mid-may) laid your mother. Her eyes were settled onto the ceiling, your fan creaking and shuttering as it ran. It always did that, some kind of screw loose that made it clatter the way it did and the sound soothed you to sleep, thankfully, because god knows the image of your mother with any kind of tool to fix it in her hand simply did not fit.

The images of your dream, Harry Potter singing opera at a talent show, were fleeting and you groaned, shoving your face into your pillow with a 'humph'.

Will had moved in that day- or yesterday? You were too tired to check the clock but judging on the darkness you could only assume it was well into the early morning, your mother too jittered from the sudden moving in of her boyfriend to sleep. She had been practically bouncing all morning, the pregnancy, sudden and shocking, had made the couple move far faster than they had planned. Will had agreed to move in with the two girls and JJ had practically been flying ever since, making way for the man in their tiny three-bedroom house.

"He doesn't snore, he just breathes really loud. Like, really loud. I think he has asthma or something, and there was a tiny lull for like two minutes where I thought he was dead but I think-"

You groaned again, this time flipping onto your back and joining your mother in watching your creaky, shaky ceiling fan shudder and moan as it whirred in circles. "You're killing me, smalls." Your voice was a tired whisper, but it wasn't irritated. No, you couldn't be irritated because you knew just how stressed your mother was.

Your mother was stressed because of the new baby, her hand constantly flying to the non-existent bump throughout the day, throughout the night, throughout the morning, as if checking to make sure the baby was still in there. She was stressed because of Will, of what the baby meant for them, of what it meant for you and her. The two of you had only ever had the two of you. The two of you, which had been incredibly difficult and terrifying for her when she was just a pregnant teenager leaving her small town home for the first time, a baby in her belly and a father that wanted nothing to do with her. Difficult when she was the only one on diaper duty or school drop-offs, or first days of school. But had become her favorite thing in the world because you were something that she had never planned for but everything she was thankful for. A good kid, a great kid, a best friend who knew her and that she knew like the back of her hand. Someone she could climb into bed with at four in the morning because her...boyfriend? Baby daddy? Her Will, was snoring and she had never had someone stay in her house, sleep in her bed, and promise to be there to take half of the diaper duty, school drop offs, or first days. She had never had someone who said they would be there unless it was you and the idea of an outsider joining the Jareau girls was too foreign for her mind to understand alone and so here she was, in your bed.

"He cooked chicken." Your mother said absentmindedly, hand flying down to rub her belly.

You wondered if it would be a boy or a girl. You and Penelope had bets, she bet that it ws a boy, but you bet it was a girl. Honestly, it was just hope that it was a girl because you had no idea how to be a big sister to a boy. Although, you also had no idea how to be a big sister to a girl, in fairness, but you were a girl, so you figured the learning curve was a bit smaller.

"He did." You agreed. "Little spicy for my taste, but I'll get used to it." Your mind flitted back to dinner, the sight of Will Lamontagne in your kitchen, using your stove, searing chicken not something you had ever imagined. To be fair, you hadn't imagined him doing a lot of things in your kitchen, partly because your mother and you hardly ever used your kitchen. She couldn't cook for the life of her unless it was microwavable or instant pot and that was one of the many things you had inherited.

"He washed dishes- he took out the trash." She continued absently.

You nodded with a sigh. "Mhm."

"My bathroom smells like boy. Like boy soap and boy shampoo-"

"Ah, well at least he uses different bottles. If he used the three in ones I would've had to tell you to kick him out, that's a non-negotiable."

Your mother remained in her trance, her thoughts raging about her brain like a balloon deflating.

The fan teetered on.

"He put a book on his nightstand, in case he can't fall asleep. You know what genre he reads? Non-fiction. It was about WW2. Who reads about World War 2 when they're trying to fall asleep?"

"Well, to be fair, history class provides me a pretty good nap time and I wouldn't say that it's too bold of an assumption to claim that the content serves as an effective lullaby."

She turned, a puff of air being released as she did so. With as dark as it was in the room you could hardly see her, in fact you couldn't. Not really. Only the outline of her, but your memory filled in the blanks. Your memories filled in her face, her eyes which were probably wide as saucers, lips turned into a frown, one that turned down more with stress, eyebrows knitted, a face of panic, of terror, of uncertainty.

"I finally get what Penelope means when she says she doesn't like change."        

You nodded. This change was...weird. Will had come to your house before this. He had visited on weekends, showed up to soccer games, even grabbed you from school a couple of times. He was nice and reliable and...strange. Strange, because, suddenly, you weren't all your mother had. Sure, she had the BAU, she had always had her team. The team that had watched you grow up. Spencer who helped with your homework and told you bedtime stories- stories that you forced him to make up because you knew that he could recite every book he's ever read in its entirety without breaking a sweat and you told him that that was 'cheating'. Bedtime stories had to be made up, you had told him, and he obliged because he was Spencer. Or Morgan who showed up to your games when he could and had gotten kicked out on multiple occasions for yelling at the refs. Penelope who played Princess with you and saved every single drawing you had ever made her, or Hotch who had let you dance on his feet. Elle who sang to you when you had begged her, or Emily who made it her life's purpose to show you all the good music and movies. Your mother had a village, but she had never had a single person.

A person for her. A person who you watched her slowly trust. Trust to grab you from school, or go to your games, or sear chicken in your kitchen. You watched her make room in her closet for him, and clear out underwear drawers, and you knew that he was there. He was there and he was good. 

"This change is good, though." Your hand went down to grab hers. "When I was growing up, I had you, and I had you all to myself, and that was pretty amazing. But this baby is gonna get to have you and Will, and Will is...well, he's a dork."

Your mother chuckled.

"He likes to read history before bed and sings along to the radio when he drives. He likes strawberry ice cream over chocolate, and his favorite Christmas movie is Die Hard. He's a weirdo, Mom, but he's good, he's here, and he's willing to put up with us, that's a pretty hard sell, if you ask me."

Her hand squeezed yours, a lessening of the tension and you knew that whatever you were doing was working because when she next spoke it wasn't as stressed. "We're not that bad."

You snorted. "We talk through every movie, go through four tubs of ice cream in a week, and last week, for three days straight, we spoke only in transatlantic accents just to see what it would be like. We are annoying and if he didn't run within the first two minutes of living with us, then he's not going anywhere."

The pillow case ruffled as she nodded, and you gave a tired smile at the tiny victory. "Now, go be a big girl and sleep in your own bed, I have a Geometry test in five hours."

[disneylanddilettante]

The Disney Renaissance Killed the Disneyland Star

This post has been brewing and stewing in my brain for some time.

We here in the Disney theme park fandom are prone to lament the modern attraction design philosophy that says everything must be based on a movie. Aside from spectacularly clueless comments about “a random mountain in India or whatever” and misuse of the term “barrier to entry,” the reason behind it seems to boil down to: That’s what guests want. On the one hand, this is very clearly an excuse to do what Marketing wants (because film IPs are proprietary in a way that broad concepts are not, and can be merchandised accordingly), but on the other hand…it seems to be…kind of…true? The vast majority of the public, in my experience, does think of Disneyland (which I am going to use as synecdoche for all Disney parks, because it’s the one I grew up with, it’s easy to say, and because I can) as a place where you see Disney characters walking around as if they were real, and go on rides based on Disney movies, and anything else there is just to, idk, fill space until they can think of a cool movie makeover for it.

I have spoken to people online who quite enjoy Disneyland, but also think the Enchanted Tiki Room should become a Moana attraction, Tom Sawyer Island should be something to do with The Princess and the Frog, and the Matterhorn should be turned into Frozen. When I challenged them as to why, they didn’t seem to understand the question—what did I mean, “why?” Isn’t it self-evident? A couple years ago, one of the Super Carlin Brothers (I don’t remember which one; anyway I couldn’t tell them apart if you put a gun to my head) made a video expressing bafflement over the use of Figment as a mascot in Epcot because “He’s not from anything.” As if a ride in that very parkwere nothing.

So there is something to the assertion that film IP tie-ins are what regular guests expect and want. But the question remains as to why they want that—after all, it didn’t used to be that way. Costumed characters and rides based on movies have always been part of Disneyland, of course, but in past decades, the most elaborate and promoted attractions were the ones based on unique concepts that had nothing to do with the movies. The reasons to love Disneyland were things like the Haunted Mansion and the Mark Twain and Space Mountain…not so much the chance to meet Mickey Mouse. So what gave the public the idea that it was all about movies and characters? I’m sure there are several reasons, but I’m going to focus on one that I don’t see brought up that often.

I’m going to blame the Disney Renaissance.

Let me give you some personal background. I’m a young Gen-Xer, born in 1977. I was a child of the 80s…and in the 80s, Disney wasn’t doing so hot. Feature Animation had dropped to a cinematic release about once every four years, the live-action division was even less productive, and the corporate raiders were pawing at the door. In those days, when I saw a Disney movie in theaters, probably four times out of five it was a re-release of an older classic. (Anyone else remember when that was a thing?) There wasn’t much new at Disneyland either. The biggest thing to happen in the first half of the decade was the remodel of Fantasyland, which added one new ride—based on Pinocchio, a 43-year-old film—and otherwise just rearranged and refined what had always been there. On the other hand, the big Imagineering projects of the 60s and 70s were mostly still going strong.

The upshot is that if you were a Disney fan in those days (there weren’t many of us, even in my age cohort), you were a fan of the older movies and/or the parks. And for all its genuine quality, that stuff was showing its age. It was made in decades past, and there was a corniness and a quaintness to much of it. Most of the kids my age considered Disney “baby stuff” and were eager to put it behind them. It seems to have been a widespread phenomenon, because I don’t remember the park being very crowded when I was a young kid. Queues for even the roller coasters tended to top out around 45 minutes and it was very rare that we didn’t have time to do everything we wanted on a given visit.

And then, the year I turned 12—the year my age bracket hit puberty and could definitively be said to have outgrown cartoons altogether (except for the weirdos like me)—The Little Mermaid hit theaters.

Two years later, we got Beauty and the Beast.

And the hits kept coming. Suddenly, Disney was the hottest thing in entertainment again. Not just kids—by this time the generation that would come to be known as Millennials—but their parents watched these movies and went wow, this is really good. Disney is better than I thought. Maybe we should rent some of those older movies that I remember from when I was a kid. Maybe we should go to Disneyland… Unlike in the past, when families went to Disneyland because it was advertised and known as a family destination, families went to Disneyland because the kids were going gaga over the new Disney movies and the parents wanted to make them happy.

So a whole new generation of fans flocked to the parks, most probably never having been before, or not recently. They didn’t know what to expect. They just knew they loved these new movies with their endearing lead characters (so much more full of personality than Snow White or Alice or Pinocchio) and their big bombastic Broadway-style musical numbers (so much more in line with current musical tastes than the Tin Pan Alley ditties from Cinderella or Peter Pan or The Jungle Book). That’s what they wanted from Disney, whether they were paying six bucks a head plus popcorn, or fifty bucks a head plus lodging.

And that would have been fine but for the fact that endearing characters and big bombastic musical numbers are really hard to build traditional dark rides around. What you can do, though, for people who want to meet their favorite characters, is build dedicated character meet-and-greet spots. What you can do for people who want to sing along with Academy Award-winning songs is create huge colorful parades and stage shows that feature those songs. Best of all, if you are certain people who shall go unnamed, these sorts of things are much cheaper to create and operate than rides. Corporate was more than happy to meet, rather than try to exceed, the expectations of this new wave of fans.

The newer guests got used to seeing more-or-less verbatim (condensed) film content in the form of these shows and parades. The classic dark rides began to look decidedly odd to them—why are the movie events out of order? Why doesn’t the main character show up more? Why don’t we get to hear all the songs? And no one was there to explain it to them, because the older generations of fans had largely drifted away and the internet wasn’t quite a household staple yet. Rides that weren’t even based on a movie seemed even odder—what does a Wild West roller coaster have to do with Disney? What does a submarine ride have to do with Disney? I thought this park was supposed to be for kids, but my kids don’t recognize this stuff! They should build a Lion King ride! They should build a Toy Story ride! That Snow White ride isn’t suitable for kids; they should do something about that! I didn’t pay all this money to stand in line for an hour and a half and go on a ride that my kids don’t get!

The pattern was set. IP tie-ins were what the people wanted, and they closer they hewed to their source material, the more guest approval they got, simply because people didn’t know any different. And it has snowballed from there. The Disney Renaissance was amazing for the art of animation, but I think it was a net negative for the art of theme parks.

Tl;dr The Disney Renaissance changed guest expectations for Disney entertainment products in ways that were incompatible with classic Imagineering principles.

[hanniiesuckle17]

Getting to First Base

A/n: just a little something. i need more seungmin on my masterlist anyway and i would do anything for my babies so! (not thoroughly edited)

Requested by: @pixielix 

Tag List: @distrikt9 @mini-meanhoe @poeticallyspaghetti @hanstagrams​ @desertofdessert @hoes4hoseok @yangomangos @jeonqqin​ @geminirules​ @crscendoforsung​ @mrsunshine999​  @multi-net​

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: cheeky seungmin that's about it i think

Summary: Kim Seungmin is the star of Cheongdam High. His grades are top-notch and he is the star pitcher of the school’s baseball team. Every girl wants date him and every guy wants to be friends with him. But, little does Y/n know he only has eyes for her. All it takes is one night and one extra private practice for things to change for both of them.

Genre: romance, fluff, non-idol!au, baseball player!seungmin, softball player!reader, highschool!au, popular kid!seungmin

◈

An ominous buzz filled the lunchroom. Not the kind attached to any flying pest. This was the sound of gossip seeping from every table in the cafeteria. Despite the conformity inspired by our school uniforms, clear, distinct borders were made in the large room. 

 Near the window, were the candidates for valedictorian and their study groups. Their trays always lay untouched and books took their focus. In the right corner were the Netizens and resident fan-girls and boys alike. They were mostly harmless unless it was comeback season. Across the way in the left corner was the ‘cool’ kids. Cool meaning the guys smoked behind the schools and the girls cut their skirts to short and glared at anyone who looked their way. Towards the back were your general outcasts and weirdos. They usually kept to themselves, but if you were caught sitting with them it was the social equivalent of suicide. 

The center. The center was where everyone wanted to be. The focal point of the cafeteria was the two circular tables that housed the school’s pride and joy. The baseball and softball teams. And at the heart of it all, seemingly lit by a ray of sunshine, was Kim Seungmin. Star pitcher of Cheongdam’s baseball team. 

Seungmin sat atop the lunch table, his shaggy brown hair falling across his forehead. His tie was loose and hanging lower than it should be and the silver bracelet he always wore dangled over his tan wrist as he waved over another member of his team. 

It was no secret I liked Seungmin. Almost every girl in our school had a crush on Seungmin. Girls flocked to give him gifts before games and they waited for him before and after practice. I watched from the girls’ field as they lined up at the fence and cheered for him as he pitched inning after inning. 

My less than white sneakers squeaked over the white tiles as I carried my lunch tray to the softball table. “Y/n!” My friend Jia waved me over, a bright smile illuminating her face. At the sound of my name, Seungmin’s head popped up like a meerkat and searched the cafeteria. His eyes met mine and I gave him a smile before sliding into my seat. 

The cold metal of the cheap tables chilled the bare skin on my legs. “Did you hear about Miyoung?” Jia said twirling the aluminum chopsticks in her hand before stabbing them into a sausage. I nervously laughed at her exhibition of violence towards the innocent piece of meat. 

“No. What about her?”

“Apparently she’s failing a class. Her mom is pulling her from the team.” 

My jaw dropped, halfway full of food. Without looking she pushed it up, prompting me to finish chewing. “But we have Sectionals-” Jia nodded stabbed yet another sausage. “She’s our star pitcher-” I could hear the meat squealing in pain at her unhindered violence. I noticed some of the boys at the next table staring at her with terrified eyes. When she turned they looked away, hands hiding her next possible sausage target.

“I’m going to take these away from you.” My hands reached for her saucer but an animal like growl escaped her throat so I left her be. 

Jia sighed looking at our team around the table. “I just really wanted to win Sectionals this year.” We ate the rest of our meal in silence, waiting for the bell to ring. The hall was flooded with students. The sea of blue jackets made it hard to weave my way into Room B23. 

Class droned on for the next hour. Just as my eyes started to droop, I was hit in the back of the head by a paper projectile. The ball of notebook paper landed on the floor at my feet. My eyes fell on a familiar shaggy head of brown hair. With happy puppy eyes, he pointed towards the paper, eyeing the teacher warily. 

Why Seungmin felt the need to throw the paper at me I had no clue. He sat right beside me. The teacher seemed preoccupied with scolding a student about using their phone so I reached down and picked up the note. I smiled seeing Seungmin’s handwriting. 

Do you have practice today? 

He was asking if I had practice? Did he suddenly drop every brain cell in that big head of his? It was a known fact that the baseball and softball schedule was practically identical. Every day he had practice and every day I had mine. That’s why the school invested in a second field for the softball team.

Of course. Same as you. Why?

My hand moved across the paper, making every letter neat and in beautiful handwriting. Quitely folding the note, I slipped it between two fingers and held it down by my side, staring at the board. I desperately tried not to withdraw feeling Seungmin’s fingers brushed mine as he took the parchment.

Quietly he unfolded the paper and I listened to his pen scrawl across it more than I did read the lessons from my textbook. My hand stayed ready to receive his message but it was once again tossed onto my desk. Rolling my eyes I opened his message.

I like knowing things. 

Not bothering to write anything back I crumpled the sheet and tossed it at his head. Seungmin laughed, our teacher’s head shooting up and sending us a stern glare. 

That was such a Seungmin answer. He always loved being the smartest person in the room. Putting the weird interaction in the back of my mind, I focused back on my work and waited for the school day to be over.

◈

I stood in line with the rest of the now twelve girls of Cheongdam’s softball team. The sound of the boys’ practice was carrying over the chainlink fence onto our field. Our coach walked the line, clipboard in hand.

“I’m sure you all are aware Miyoung has dropped from the team.” Most of the girls nodded, several gasped and turned to the others looking for confirmation. “With Sectionals coming up we need an immediate replacement for our pitcher.” His eyes scanned down the line, holding a stare with every single girl. “L/n. Congratulations, you are our new pitcher.”

“But- I’m just a shortstop?”

“Not anymore.” He tossed me a mitt and called for everyone to take their positions. A heavy weight landed on my shoulders as I stood atop the pitcher’s mound. I felt all eyes on me as the first girl stepped up to the plate. 

The ball was familiar in my hands. I stared at the girl waiting to bat. With as much aim and accuracy as I could muster I threw the ball. It sailed over the plate before connecting with the wooden bat with a loud crack. 

The rest of our practice seemed to last an eternity. The coach yelled at me more than anyone else on the team. By now everyone had left. The floodlights had been shut off and I stood in the dark on the pitcher's mound. The ball felt heavy in my hand.

Staring down the makeshift target I created at home plate, I wiped the sweat off my brow. The ball flew from my hand missing the target by just an inch. Sighing, I collapsed onto the ground head in my hands. Cold sweat lay on the back of my neck, becoming freezing as the night breeze blew over it.

“Shouldn’t you have left already?”

Looking up I saw Seungmin walking towards me with a long stride. A duffle bag hung loosely over his right shoulder and he smiled at me from the gate entrance. His hair was messy and I could see the sleeve of his uniform hanging out of the bag.

“I heard you’re the new pitcher. How is that going?”

“As you can tell, not so great.” Setting down his bag Seungmin grabbed onto a basket full of softballs and dragged it over to the mound. He placed on in my hand before standing back and watching expectantly. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged, scuffing his shoe in the tan dirt. “Helping you. Obviously.” Nudging my shoulder he pointed to the target. “Let me see what you’ve got.” Pitching in front of Cheongdam High’s star player. This was certainly not how I imagined this night to go.

Taking a deep breath, I aimed my stare towards the target. Seungmin watched me with an analytic gaze as the ball left my hand. The round projectile grazed the second most outer ring of the target. He shrugged as I turned back to him.

“It’s not bad. I’ve seen worse.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence.” Seungmin shrugged once more and watched me pick up another softball. “Here. Why don’t you show me how it’s done then. A smirk played at his lips as I tossed him the ball.

He listed his head, playing with the spherical object. “You do realize, pitching a baseball and pitching a softball are technically different.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes as I stepped back from the top of the mound and motioned for him to step up.  With perfect form, he let loose the ball, long fingers seeming to extend as it flew towards the target. A large thunk could be heard and all that was left was a dent smack dab in the center of the target.

“Want me to teach you?” Slowly I nodded and walked over to him. His fingers brushed mine as he handed me another ball from the basket. “Try inhaling when you prep and exhaling as you let loose the ball.” 

Following his instructions, I took a deep breath and let go as the ball flew past my fingertips. Seungmin burst out laughing when the softball bounced off of the target’s corner. “You’re supposed to be teaching, not laughing dumbass!” 

“I can’t help it,” Seungmin gasped, doubling over in laughter. “That was too cute!” My body froze involuntarily and I prayed that he assumed the blush on my cheeks was from the cold. His eyes raked over my face clearly noticing the heat flooding over my skin. “Try again?” Seungmin proposed picking up another ball. 

Knowing my only chance of a scream-free practice tomorrow was standing next to me I turned back towards the plate, the ball passing between my hand and the mitt. Hearing Seungmin’s sharp intake of breath had me turning to wait for criticism. To my surprise, I felt his hands on my waist and his chest brushed against my back. Again I froze, choosing to look anywhere but the boy behind me. 

“Is something wrong?”

He shook his head, breath fanning over the back of my neck. With a gentle touch, his hands turned my hips parallel to his. “Try angling your hips this way. IT might help-” Seungmin stopped and stared seeing my eyes dragging over his lips. Ghosting over the corner of his mouth was a smirk that would make the Chesire cat proud. “Your staring.”

“Well...you were talking.”

“Please, you were practically undressing me with your eyes.”

“When did I-”

He laughed, keeping his hands on my waist. “I’m just kidding, Y/n.” Embarrassed, I stared down at my shoes. “Though...if you did want to kiss me, you should just do it. I’m very tired of waiting.”

“You’re tired of waiting? What about me?” I asked turning around, crossing my arms. The rough leather of the mitt was tucked under my arm in an awkward way, but I ignored it. “Why do you think I always buy an extra banana milk on Fridays? I know you’re going to ask for one at study group.” 

Seungmin laughed as I lightly swatted his shoulder, dropping the softball on the field and letting it roll away from the pitcher's mound. “Why do you think I go to study group? My grades are fine.” 

“Well...I-”

Before I could come up with an answer, Seungmin leaned down and pressed his lips against mine before pulling away hands behind his back. “You what?”

“I-.....uh...well-”

Again, Seungmin leaned down and pecked my lips. “Yes?”

“Kim Seungmin would you stop for one second!”

“So, you don’t want me to kiss you?”

“Yes. Wait- no. Wait.....what?”

His eyes crinkled and he pulled me towards his chest, kissing me deeply this time. It was a kiss that made me weak in the knees. Still not entirely processing that Seungmin was in fact kissing me, my hands hung by my side. “I’m doing all the work here. Are you going to kiss back or what?” Seungmin said with a laugh. Shaking myself out of the confused trance I grabbed his cheeks and pulled him back down to my lips. 

Wrapping my arms around his neck I kissed Seungmin with every part of my being. He smiled, holding me as close as possible. Suddenly a blinding light flashed over us. “Hey! What are you kids still doing here?” The voice of one of the security guards yelled. 

Seungmin and I shared a look before dropping the mitts and running towards the gate hand in hand. Grabbing our bags, Seungmin pushed me through the gate as we ran from the school guards. “Run!” I screamed dragging him through the looming iron gates that bordered the school grounds. 

The two of us laughed as we ran down the dimly lit street. “So, can I tell people you are actually my girlfriend now? We can officially be the best team in the sports department.” Leaning up I kissed his cheek before pulling him around a corner towards my house. 

“Yes. Why would I turn down a boyfriend when he comes with free pitching lessons?” I joked making him roll his eyes and ruffle my hair.

◈

Requests are Temporarily Closed!

Masterlist

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 6: “Who Brings a Gun to a Cemetery?”

For Day 6: Cemetery Boys

Rating: General Audiences; Ship: Pre-Destiel; WC: 3,219

POV Outsider (Original Male Character); full tags on AO3 or below the cut.

Summary: Jerry Wallace has seen a lot of satanic rituals. A lot. Candles and daggers, pentagrams, hoods and chanting; you name it, he’s seen it. As the head of security — and only guard — of Sullivan Cemetery, he’s bound to have run into the occasional devil worshipper. It doesn’t even faze him anymore. There’s not much Jerry Wallace hasn’t seen.

In which: Jerry Wallace encounters Dean Winchester, supposed Satanist.

On AO3 Here (or read under the cut!)

Full Tags: POV Outsider, This poor cemetery guard doesn't know what to do about Dean Winchester, Dean seems insane, BAMF Castiel, Early Seasons Dean and Cas, Pre-Relationship Dean and Cas, Pre-Friendship Dean and Cas, somehow they still manage to flirt though, POV Character is briefly threatened by Dean Winchester but it all ends OK,Humor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jerry Wallace has seen a lot of satanic rituals. A Iot. Candles and daggers, pentagrams, hoods and chanting; you name it, he’s seen it. As the head of security — and only guard — of Sullivan Cemetery, he’s bound to have run into the occasional devil worshipper (and worse. People dig up graves for really unsavory reasons). It doesn’t even faze him anymore. There’s not much Jerry Wallace hasn’t seen.

But tonight, as he sweeps his flashlight back and forth across the dewy grass, making his rounds and sipping on his steaming coffee, something stops him short. He narrows his eyes and cocks his head to listen. There’s a scuffling sound up ahead, from just outside the Bennett mausoleum. It sounds too big to be any of the usual animals. Humans, then. Jerry sighs. He was hoping for a quiet night, so he could make himself comfortable under the lamp at the cemetery entrance and read the book his teenage son, Andrew, had lent him. Cemetery Boys, it’s called. Jerry finds it fitting.

A man’s rough voice rings out from around the corner of the mausoleum. “Dammit, Sam, you can’t give me any hints?”

Jerry blinks at the audacity. Who sneaks into a cemetery at night and doesn’t even try to be quiet about it? He decides to give these particular satanists a little scare, just to teach them a lesson. He switches off his flashlight and gently sets his precious cup of coffee on top of the nearest headstone. Time to have some fun.

He sneaks on silent feet across the grass, clutching his flashlight tight in hand and deciding which tactic he wants to use. The reliable old jump scare? Flashlight beam to the face and an earsplitting yell — it’s worked well on thrill-seeking teenagers in the past. Or the more tricky option, creeping around and making ghostly sounds to unnerve the trespassers so thoroughly that they leave? More time investment, but also more amusing in the long run — Jerry decides on Option Two.

The wall of the mausoleum gives him excellent cover to start his performance. He sidles up along it, to the very edge. The intruders are just around the corner, and it sounds like one of them’s rummaging around in a bag of some sort. Jerry rolls his eyes. Probably some weirdos with spray paint, here to deface the walls of the mausoleum with symbols that take ages to wash off. Jerry opens his mouth and is about to emit his first long, ghostly moan, when the same voice as before pipes up again.

“Picking the lock didn’t work, Sam, I’m telling you, it’s gonna take longer. You gotta hold her off.”

The other person — Sam — doesn’t reply, though. Jerry furrows his brow. Who’s being held off? He decides to get a better picture of the scene before initiating his plan. Very slowly, he pokes just the right side of his face around the corner. The front of the small white building is washed in moonlight, the nearest lamp a ways down the path.

There’s a man crouched outside the mausoleum, maybe in his late twenties, from what Jerry can tell in the low light. He’s wearing an oversized leather jacket over a patterned shirt, with jeans and sturdy-looking boots. His short hair is spiked a bit in the front.

He doesn’t look like a satanist. Jerry stays very still, breathing shallowly and watching.

The man has both hands in a medium-sized duffel bag, rooting around. The contents of the bag are clanging and thudding. With a triumphant exhale, the man stands up, crowbar in hand. Jerry balks. This is already a step beyond chanting and spray paint. Again, nothing he hasn’t seen before, though.

What Jerry couldn’t see while the man was crouched, that now makes itself clear, is that he has a mobile phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. As the man advances on the door with the crowbar, he barks into the phone, “Update, Sammy. You still kicking?”

Jerry can’t make out Sam’s muffled response, but it obviously displeases the man, because he whacks the crowbar against the mausoleum door with a frustrated growl. “Watch your back. Figure out what the hell I’m supposed to burn!” He flips the phone shut and stuffs it into his jacket pocket.

This is getting stranger and stranger. Jerry watches as the man goes to town on the mausoleum door, an offense that Jerry would usually be more inclined to stop from happening. Something about this man, though, about the way he carries himself and the way he talks, is holding Jerry back.

He’s very glad about his decision to stay put about ten seconds later, when the man drops the crowbar to the ground with a clang and pulls a gun out of his jacket. Jerry doesn’t even carry a gun. His heart starts beating and his palms prickle with sweat. He didn’t sign up for this. Who brings a gun to a cemetery?

The man steps back a couple feet, points the handgun at the lock, hunches his shoulders, and fires. Jerry barely has the wherewithal to throw himself back around the corner and press his hands over his ears before the shot goes off. He feels it reverberate through the wall, twice, as the man fires again. Fully out of sight now, Jerry gingerly lowers the zipper on his jacket and reaches into his chest pocket for his radio. He needs to call this in. This is way above his pay grade.

“Dammit!” the man yells. The gun must’ve been ineffective. Jerry mentally pats himself on the shoulder. He requested upgrades to all mausoleum locks after a series of break ins last year, and it looks like the security company came through.

Jerry hears the keypad of the mobile phone beeping as the man punches in a number, then there’s muffled ringing. Jerry uses the sound as cover to pull his radio out and to inch his face around the corner again so he has a visual of the scene.

The man’s phone rings and rings. With another frustrated yell, the man slaps it shut and paces back and forth in front of the door, one hand running through his hair, the other still holding his gun. After a few moments, he stops in his tracks. He’s facing Jerry’s direction, silvery moonlight throwing his cheekbones in sharp relief. He looks like a respectable young man, really. Jerry wonders where he lost his way.

There’s a set of complicated emotions working their way across the man’s face. His eyebrows are pinched in concentration, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving as if he’s talking to himself. This lasts about ten seconds before he throws up his hands and glares at the sky.

“Oh, come on!” he shouts. “Get your harp-toting ass down here! Castiel!”

Jerry, who prides himself on never swearing, thinks: What the fuck.

The man is obviously disturbed. He needs a doctor. Jerry glances down at the radio in his hand, and presses the emergency button. He can’t afford a conversation with dispatch; the man will overhear. This will at least get someone out here.

When Jerry looks back up, he twitches. There are now two men in front of the mausoleum. The newcomer is wearing a long trenchcoat and standing stiffly. He’s facing away from Jerry, looking at the gunman, sensible shoes planted hip-width apart. His messy dark hair blends into the shadows.

Where on earth did he come from? Jerry darts his eyes around. The mausoleum is on a slightly raised part of the cemetery, visibility clear in all directions. Even if the trenchcoat man had approached from the opposite side of the building, Jerry would have seen him.

“Cas,” the gunman says, voice heavy with something like — relief, perhaps? His tense posture relaxes slightly and he claps the trenchcoat man on the shoulder. “You took your time,” he accuses. “Can you open those doors?”

The trenchcoat man, Cas — is this Castiel? Jerry cannot keep up — turns slightly to regard the doors.

“This is why you prayed to me?” Cas’ voice is deeper than the gunman’s, rougher. He speaks like a robot. “Heaven is at war, Dean. You call me to help you break down a door?”

Jerry’s brain is spinning. Are these… actors? Cosplayers? He learned about cosplayers from Andrew. Some of them do have very elaborate costumes. Jerry squints at Cas’ back. This doesn’t look like a costume, though. Cas looks like a tax accountant. Like he should be at home with his family at this time of night.

“Sam’s in trouble,” Dean’s saying, an ever-so-slight pleading edge to the words. “I gotta get in here, Cas, or he’s gonna meet a real bad end. I know you’ve got the mojo, come on!”

“I do not exist to do your bidding,” Cas replies. He strides over to the doors, though, trenchcoat flapping around his calves. “I do not serve you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re a warrior.” Dean’s hovering at Cas’ shoulder. “Can you blast ‘em?”

Cas lays a hand on the doors, long fingers splayed against the metal. Jerry glances down at his radio again. The red button is flashing, indicating that he’d called for help, but he can’t hear any sirens yet. He hopes they send enough officers for two grave-desecrating weirdos.

“Stand back,” Cas says. “And tell the man behind the wall to stand back, too.”

“What?” Dean’s head whips around.

Jerry hastily pulls his head out of sight, heart racing. Oh, no. He’s seen enough. He can ID these two for the cops later. He doesn’t need to be on the scene.

He turns heel to run, but makes it only two steps before a hand grabs his collar and yanks him back. The air is knocked out of him and he yelps, feet scrabbling on the pavement as a strong arm drags him around the corner. He lands on his butt in front of the doors, palms scraping on the ground. He quickly raises one over his head in surrender.

“Please— please, I have a family!” He keeps his eyes averted. Dean’s boots are inches away from his legs. “Don’t hurt me, I won’t say a word, I promise!”

“You the guard?” Dean crouches down in front of him. Oh, lord, the gun is trained on Jerry’s face. He whimpers and nods.

“Great. Give me the keys to the doors. Stat.” A palm appears in front of Jerry’s chest, held out in expectation. He hesitates. Isn’t that aiding and abetting?

No way. He’s at gunpoint. He nods again, fervently, and fumbles in his pocket for his ring of keys. His hand shakes violently as he drops them onto Dean’s outstretched palm. He sneaks a peek up at the men.

“Cas,” Dean says, tossing the keys to the trenchcoat man. “Figure out which one it is. I’ll deal with him.”

Cas catches the keys. “So, you do not want me to break the doors?”

“No— just—” Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lips pressed together. “Just unlock them.” Cas scowls, but begins slotting the various keys into the mausoleum lock.

Dean turns back to Jerry and waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey,” he snaps. Jerry meets his eyes, conscious that he must look utterly terrified. He hopes it’ll appeal to any sense of humanity in this gun-toting lunatic.

“Whatever you think I am, I’m not,” Dean says, quickly and gruffly. “I’m not some pervert tryin’ to get my rocks off with Sleeping Beauty in there. I haven’t got time to ease you in slow, so here it is: ghosts are real. There’s one after my brother. I can gank it, but I gotta burn some hair or somethin’, something keepin’ it here. That’s all. Once Cas opens the doors, I’ll be in and out. We don’t have to get nasty. I’m even saving your doors from gettin’ blasted, as a favor. ”

Jerry picks and chooses what to process of that. “You have a gun pointed at me.”

Dean glances at the gun, like he’s just now realizing he still has it trained on Jerry. He lowers it. “Sorry. Had to let you know I’m serious. You gonna let me do my thing, or we gonna have a problem?”

The police will be here soon, Jerry thinks. It’s not my responsibility to stop this maniac.

“No problem,” he says. Dean nods once, satisfied, and in that moment, the lock clicks. The doors swing open heavily. Dean springs to his feet and races toward the mausoleum.

“Awesome, Cas!” he shouts, slapping a palm against Cas’ chest as he passes. Cas looks after him, a bemused expression on his face.

“I don’t know what to burn!” Dean hollers from inside.

Jerry is so far past trying to understand any of this. He nurses his scraped palms, huddling on the cold pavement and thinking of the book Andrew gave him. He wanted to finish a few chapters tonight so they could talk about them over breakfast tomorrow. He hopes he gets the chance.

Jerry is tough, but his eyes sting a little as he thinks about it.

“Dean is a good man,” Cas suddenly says, in that mechanical way of his. “Righteous. He won’t harm a human.”

Jerry stares at him in disbelief. There’s nothing he can say to that, beyond “Okay.” Cas just nods, and turns to gaze into the darkness of the mausoleum. There’s a lot of scraping and clattering echoing from the room inside, as if Dean is dismantling the place. He probably is, Jerry thinks miserably as the sound of breaking glass reaches his ears.

Dean comes storming back out of the room, assorted items piled in his arms. Jerry recognizes the doll that’s usually propped up behind the glass of the Bennett daughter’s crypt, and a locket that hangs behind the mother’s. A whole array of other personal effects that Jerry spends his nights guarding also end up on the pavement at Dean’s feet. Dean dives into his duffel bag, pulling out a can of gasoline. He douses the whole pile in the acrid-smelling stuff — Jerry’s nostrils sting and he coughs, scrabbling a little farther away. Dean pulls a lighter out of pocket and flicks it several times, cursing when it doesn’t ignite.

“Allow me,” Cas says, stepping forward. He pauses. “Close your eyes.”

Jerry throws an arm over his eyes without a second thought, just catching sight of Dean doing the same. His jacket sleeve does very little, though, to shield his eyes from the brilliant blue-white light that rips through the darkness. It feels like a bonfire, there one moment and gone the next, leaving the tips of Jerry’s hair singed. He cowers, eyes pressed shut, heaving huge breaths.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean says, voice tinged with awe. “Thanks for the assist.”

Jerry lowers his (slightly smoking) arm and peers at where the pile of belongings once lay. It’s completely gone, reduced to ash, just smoldering dust on the pavement. How on Earth—

In that moment, Dean’s mobile phone rings. He frantically plunges a hand into his jacket and rips it out, flipping it open.

“Sammy?” he asks sharply, pressing the phone to his ear. The voice on the other end mumbles something and Dean sags in relief, dragging a hand over his face. “Close call, huh? Yeah, glad it worked.”

Jerry tunes out the rest of Dean and Sam’s conversation. His eyes travel from the smoking pile of dust, to Cas (who’s standing motionless, staring at Dean), to the open mausoleum door, to his own hands, trembling in his lap. A light catches his eye off to the side and he follows it, realizing it’s his radio, abandoned on the pavement, red emergency light still blinking steadily. He gazes at it like a lifeline.

“Is that— Did you—” Dean’s voice is suddenly closer, right next to Jerry, and he quickly looks up. Dean’s looking at the radio, too. His phone is closed in his hand; he must be done talking to his brother.

“The cops coming?” Dean demands, gesturing at the radio. Jerry doesn’t want to let on, he doesn’t, but faced with this strange, complicated, definitely violent person, he can’t hold out. He nods.

“Dammit,” Dean mutters. Just then, the first siren wails in the distance, growing louder by the second.

Finally.

Dean groans and rushes over to his duffel bag, throwing the can of gasoline back in and grabbing the crowbar off the ground to toss that in, too. “Leave the keys, Cas,” he snaps at the trenchcoat man, who still has Jerry’s key ring dangling from his fingers. Cas drops the keys on the ground.

“Can you zap me to my car?” Dean hoists the duffel over his shoulder and faces Cas. “I won’t make it if I run.”

Cas steps closer to Dean, until he’s right in front of him. Their noses are just a few inches apart. Jerry, with nothing else to do but wait for his rescuers, watches them. Dean takes what looks like a shaky breath. His eyes flick down to Cas’ mouth. “You gonna stare, or you gonna help?” he asks, but it comes out small, a weak attempt at bravado.

Cas reaches out and places his hand over Dean’s left shoulder. “I’ll go with you,” he says, deep and measured, and in the next second, they’re gone. Just gone.

Jerry could swear he heard the flapping of wings. He sits there, numb, staring at the spot where they vanished.

Eventually, the yellow beams of flashlights dart across the front of the mausoleum and voices break through the fog in Jerry’s brain. A hand lands on his shoulder. “Sir, are you all right?”

He’s saved.

There’s a lot of questions from the responding officers, a lot of Jerry having to recount what he saw, picking and choosing details — which of course renders his story utterly implausible — and a lot of nobody believing him; there’s a breathalizer test — humiliating — that of course comes back clean (whether that’s better or worse for him, Jerry’s not so sure), and a round of paperwork, and finally, finally, Jerry is allowed to go.

He stumbles down the cemetery path in a daze, passing his long-cold cup of coffee, still perched on its headstone. He snags it and throws it away in the trash can at the cemetery gates. The officers said they would lock the mausoleum and the security station; Jerry was supposed to go home. He stops briefly at his station, though, to grab Andrew’s book.

He’s not quite ready to go home yet. He’s not sure what to say.

Jerry makes himself comfortable in the front seat of his car, overhead light on, and cracks open his book. He starts to read.

[bitchnuggettt]

Emergency BNHA AU

welcome to the au i lovingly crafted but will never actually finish, if anyone at all wants to pick it up or do drabbles or do anything at all with it, please feel free, i’m a novice writer at best and i’d really love for this au to flourish

Eijirou’s a probationary firefighter, he’s been assigned to a high-risk district and couldn’t be more excited. (Captain is Fatgum, Tamaki is there, and so is Sero)The days go by so quickly, and there’s always shit to do around the station. He essentially gets to LIVE there, but he’s got money set aside monthly to pay for the open room in Denki’s apartment, always. He crashes there whenever he has downtime, and if he’s lucky, he gets invited out for drinks with possibly the hottest, grumpiest resident he’s ever laid eyes on.

Bakugou’s a 1st year resident, in training to become a neurosurgeon. He’s an asshole who picks fights with his attending constantly and treats patients with a furious passion. He was destined to be a surgeon. But then buff red-headed ‘I’m-great-with-kids-dogs-fire-and-people’ comes in covered in soot to check up on someone he’d saved and just HAS to be best friends with the idiot he’s rooming with. Fucking superb. (you already know that Aizawa is his attending)

Izuku’s an EMT, It’s a far cry from the glamour of six figure paychecks and reliable shifts - Izuku’s equipment never works, his mom worries about him constantly, and he can just barely afford the studio he’s renting, but he’s first in line to save lives and he couldn’t ask for more.

Todoroki’s a 1st year resident, in training to become a trauma surgeon. Coming from a long line of brain surgeons, the decision to stick to trauma was his own. It’s his own personal fuck-you to a wealthy, power-hungry control freak of a father who owns the hospital, and several surrounding medical schools in the area. He has the technical know-how to become a brain surgeon, but he’d rather extend his efforts to crisis-scenarios that would benefit from his involvement more, and he’d also ideally like to be as far away from Todoroki Enji as humanly possible. He works long, grating shifts, visits his mother as frequently as he can, and donates huge portions of his small salary to her facility.

Mina’s a probationary firefighter in the same unit as Kirishima, loving what she does always, she has a fuckton of routines she has to do to keep herself in shape; but everyone in the station loves her to pieces and she’s always up for a challenge. She’s the one who turns everything into a game as long as it’s safe, and it’s hard to put her in a bad mood.

Denki’s a radiologist assistant, in training to become a full-fledged radiology tech. He’s a precious cute boi. Got hit with lightning once, has a cool scar on his back to prove it. A hit with ladies and their kids, loves making silly voices from behind the MRI scanning room. There’s a little microphone in place so he can talk to the patients he scans. He’s so happy to be in this field, so happy to be doing what he loves and be tinkering with technology. He breaks dress code a LOT though, just cause he likes being comfy on the job.

Shinsou’s an animal assisted therapist - He’s still in training. He’s closing in on a degree in psychology but still needs a few more months of experience under his belt before he can graduate. He’s shadowing an occupational therapist in the meantime. He keeps having run-ins with a shit-eating resident who lives and breathes instigation. He’s so interested in this fucking loud obnoxious weirdo. He wants to figure out what his complex is. Tbh it starts off as a funny side project while he interns, but it spirals into a straight up obsession. Cue Shinsou buying him coffees every time their lunch breaks line up just so he can hear him talk. (It’s Monoma, of fucking course, just spends his time in the hospital laughing at Bakugou’s fuck-ups. Shinsou’s end-of-the-year study ends up being about him. it gets him formally recognized as an alumni and everything)

Uraraka’s a part-time EMT, she spends every other second of her life and downtime studying. She’s behind on her medical studies (pediatric surgeon) because of financial aid backing issues that pushed her back a couple months. It’s fucking devastating and beyond frustrating for her but what else is she supposed to do? (enter sugar daddy Yoayorozo, ‘she buys me coffee every morning after my shifts end and bought me one my required textbooks complete with color and everything, I TOLD HER OFFHANDEDLY WHAT MY FAVORITE CANDY WAS AND SHE WENT OFF AND BOUGHT OUT THE ENTIRE VENDING MACHINE AND GAVE THEM TO ME IN A JAR WHAT DO I DOOOOOOO’ - marry her, sweetie.)

Bonuses if Jirou’s a 9-1-1 operator

[extrology]

Baekhyun. Struggles & Talents

Saturn Dominant

among all Baekhyun���s faces there’s this hidden serious and wise side

powerful concentration on goals (remember his motto 'Life is Only a Path Full of Efforts'?)

overall this guy loves to work. And he works hard

saturn also makes him honest and straightforward

most likely rebellious youth

the second part of his life should be easier and more fulfilling

(probably difficult trainee days, struggles with finding career path and “superstar” ego)

saturn prompts him to seek the essential, security and longevity (makes him even a bigger materialist. Maybe 4th time mentioning it. sigh)

saturnians deep down hide a golden heart ♥

strong aspects who gift him with great social skills counteract and fix the struggles your average saturnian has. He’s left with all the positives, lucky one

So saturn gives him some trouble in the earlier stages of life but teaches structure, wisdom, honesty and inspires to work hard.

People say it’s an awful planet to have as a dominant as you usually have terrible pre 25es but Saturn teaches so much that life becomes incredibly easy and smooth sailing after that

Other prominent planet in his chart is Mercury (planet of logic, communication and brains).

Saturn and Mercury as two most dominant planets make him a very smart, logical, social, straightforward, reliable and hard worker with a golden heart. If you combine with the charms of the rest of the chart you get the most perfect being alive. How is this even possible? Does he really have such few flaws? Does he exist. even.

Aquarius & Capricorn as dominant signs.

Aquarius gifts Baekhyun with originality, geniusness (is that a word?), to the point of eccentricity

makes him likeable and impassive

tremendously sexy and charming in public ;)

tends to get in trouble for his nontraditional behavior

but honestly, people might simply label him as “strange” “extra” if he shows his true colors

doesn’t open up on a personal basis but he tends to do so easily in public (you know those people who are awkward when you get alone with them but otherwise are the star of the party. yup, that’s him)

despite nice and sociable character possibly frustrates many people in private

because he finds it impossible to show deep and warm affection, emotions or tears one-on-one

(so he’ll give you advice and will try to be a good friend but he would feel pretty tense alone with somebody. It would get awkward real fast if you started crying. He would be such a lost puppy. He would hug you but then would be at a loss of words. He wants to be a good friend and help you but at the same time doesn’t know how to do that and overthinks everything. Probably with Aries Mercury would say how he’d beat up everybody who hurt you and how they all will pay for it. Such a break of character, but it’s pretty common. I know several people who act this way. Prefers being in a group overall )

Aspect Patterns

Earth Grand Trine (all aspects are very strong)

blesses Baekhyun with exceptionally good looks (i lost count how many times I wrote that already. we get it universe. he’s born to be handsome)

surprisingly lucky when it comes to his career

can achieve anything by working hard (remember Aikido, Rock band, relationships, popularity in school? I’m not even talking about EXO. If he sets his mind on it, he can make it big)

Baekhyun was popular all his life. And I can’t imagine it being otherwise with this planet placement.

T-Cross shows a very serious problem (common in businessmen and famous figures). People usually know where the problem is and are able to fix it.

Baekhyun’s problems lie in relationships with people

needs friends in order to feel safe and secure (this usually comes from low self esteem, in his case he has a huge Aquarius ego that needs to be petted)

(Baekhyun is the type to ask friends to go even to the convenience store with him)

really selective when it comes to friends (conceited)

prefers people several years older

doesn’t know how to be personal with people (social butterfly/class clown, awkward when one-on-one)

Huge “I want to be original, weird and myself but I also want to fit in and be loved” struggle

saturn here makes it harder, so every time he shows his true self people laugh and make fun of it

(by true self I don’t mean active and outgoing, I mean that “extra” guy we sometimes see on stage, the guy who walks in on other members showering, undresses other members on stage and embarrasses everybody around him overall)

saturn is here to teach him to detach from his hurt ego and not to take what others say personally

(when he would let go of himself and start doing weird things or shared his dance videos, his friends would make fun of him. It probably hurt him far more than we can imagine)

he probably had to pretend to be normal and act by the social norms (Baek was one of the most popular kids in school after all)

by doing so he fed his ego but with fake love as he never showed the real him

and Aquarius wants to be recognized for his true original self so he was never actually happy (I believe he tried expressing himself by joining a band and with other hobbies)

People like Baekhyun need a lot of praise and recognition from strangers

as they feel like it’s fake when it comes from their friends

and they know they have to deserve the praise.

in their head they’re always thinking

“I don’t deserve the attention, I need to be perfect to earn it”

“I have to become stronger, smarter, more courageous and well rounded”

overworks himself for it

but then the T-Cross points that the solution is in romance and entertainment

as relationships are crucial at forming his personality, I believe that love transformed him.

In relationships there’s nowhere to hide, he had to be alone with his girlfriend however uncomfortable it was.

This is where he learned how to be more personal, show warmth and affection.

He probably became more confident and not so reliant on others as well.

(He said he reads “how to be a good boyfriend” books on his free time. I mean he probably knows it’s his problem area)

work in entertainment industry is probably helping him a lot with dealing with his “weird but want to fit in and be liked” personality.

Fans give him a lot of support and it probably makes it easier for him to finally accept himself for the quirky weirdo he is. (I honestly hate those people who said that Baek should wear makeup as he looks ugly without it. Poor baby was so close to fully accepting himself and then... little shits)

(it’s probably no secret that Baekhyun values friendship very very much. And whatever problems he had concerning it in his early life he’s probably solving them right now)

Bonus

Baek has 3 quintiles. It’s rare for a person to have one quintile (straight off a talent or a lovable quirk). But this guy has 3 of them

is great at experimenting, creativity, having fun, tasks that ask for individuality but also great at sacrificing his ego for the sake of common cause.

Free and open expression of feelings, instinctive over-acting and self-dramatization but everybody loves it (it’s his charm)

By the way I describe him, you may think he is soo damn conceited when it comes to making friends but I’ll just explain it here

Friendship is something SO SO important to him. We already know he’s the best kind of friend to have. And because he values friendship so highly, gives so much love and attention to his friends, he doesn’t feel like throwing it around and letting everybody in.

if he’s willing to become friends with you, you two are going to stick together for life, you just need to prove you’re worth the trust and absolute loyalty. ^^

Now about the materialism. I say it a lot. But what I mean is that he likes to be surrounded by nice things. Have good headphones, nice car, apartment, a nice phone, suit. It’s not his main goal but he just feels good surrounded by beauty and it gives him comfort. Who doesn’t have this side to them? His is just a tiny bit stronger

I know this post was kinda dry, but I gotta find out all ins and outs of the personality to make correct assumptions later on. ^^; The next post is going to be all about Love & Relationships though *smirk*

So in the middle of writing this post I started questioning my morals. Am I invading his privacy by doing this and making it public? Am I an awful human being? So I cut out the more personal chunk and I doubt I’ll write something as serious about other members. It’s way more fun to read and write casual posts about crushes, hobbies and everyday topics anyway~ ^^

[batwynn]

Invitation For Two