#hopefully not actually visible at this resolution

[todaysdocument]

Women’s Army Corps Cpl. Barbara Fenster (left) and Cpl. Genevieve E. Guethlein secure information from German prisoner of war Pvt. Frederick Bonk, captured in Tunisia. September 7, 1943, at Hampton Roads Port of Embarkation.

Record Group 336: Records of the Office of the Chief of Transportation

Series: Photographic Albums of Prints of Hampton Roads Port of Embarkation

Image description: Inside a tent, a young man in a German uniform with “AFRIKAKORPS” on his sleeve stands to the side of a desk. Seated at the desk are two women in Women’s Army Corps uniforms, who are writing. In the background are more desks and more German prisoners of war. 

[thealias0]

I might have came up with alternate resolutions for both The Giggle and Empire of Death in the shower

I think that those resolutions are both really underwhelming and deserved more. So, let's start what i came up with The Giggle.

Originally, The Toymaker was defeated by him just messing up. No clever play from anyone. 14 and 15 haven't displayed one of their biggest traits, which is their Time Lord super intelligence. They only displayed their ability to play catch, which is just such a waste imo. My proposal: Game of catch goes just like it did in the episode, but eventually 14 and 15 look at each other in understanding. They have cooked a plan. 14 catches the ball and throws it to 15, but he misses and ball falls off the edge of the rooftop. Both act shocked and 15 immediately sprints into the building. Toymaker looks at what just transpired and laughs and screams. "Go ahead, run if you wanna play hide and seek next. You will not escape me anyways." Turns to 14. "Are you proud? Your next incarnation revealed himself to be a coward! I expect many things from you, Doctor, but that sure surprised me. Now, you lost the game, so now's time for me to collect my reward." 14 smirks. "I wouldn't be so sure, as I believe... it is still falling" The moment he said that, the ball hurling from the entrance to the building hits The Toymaker and falls to the ground. In the way stands none other than 15 visibly exhausted from running and expression of relief on his face. Toymaker visibly angry, scared and confused asks: "Wh- What?! How did you... No... don't tell me-" "That's right, Toymaker" 15 expeled. "There are no rules forbidding the usage of time machines" 14 finished the thought. Then the flashback plays out showing the whole thing from 15's perspective. He runs as fast as he can straight to the TARDIS passing himself on the way, travels to the time and place where the ball is supposed to land, catches it, travels back and runs back to the rooftop passing himself on the way back. The rest transpires as it did in the original. I'm not claiming it's the best, great or even good alternate ending, but i think it would be more satisfying than what we got.

The resolution for Empire of Death is one of the most disappointing events I've ever seen in Doctor Who. It made Sutekth into a complete joke. Are you really telling me that the supposed most powerful being in existence. A god so powerful and terrifying that even The Toymaker ran in terror, wasn't able to handle a fucking rope? I don't care if it's a "smart rope" whatever that means. Toymaker was able to turn bullets into confetti, people into bunch of bouncy balls and implied he could turn galaxies into figet spinners or whatever. Sutekth is supposed to be more powerful than that and he couldn't do anything about it? Sutekth deserves much better than this. So this is what i came up with. It isn't nearly as detailed as the toymaker stuff, but i hope you'll enjoy the concept. So, i decided to actually use the spoon to save the universe in hopefully interesting way. I didn't think of any good scenario yet, but here's my idea for the concept itself. What if Doctor defeated Sutekh by using his power against him using the spoon. By that i mean that The Doctor could psychologically manipulate Sutekh into believing that the spoon through some classic Doctor Who technobabble, power of love and fairy tale salt spilling mumbo jumbo became an actual weapon capable of defeating him. Sutekh being a god and having power over reality itself could subconsciously make that story a reality and unknowingly empowering the spoon with his own power, which then Doctor could use to defeat him.

So that's what i came up. I am not a writer, so i apologize if that's an unbearable slop of a read. I'm not claiming that the dialogue i wrote is any good, as im just not experienced in writing. All i did here was not very thought through and only served the purpose of conveying my core ideas about the alternate resolutions for those stories. Hope you enjoyed and have a nice day

[barbthebuilder]

New Year's resolutions!

There are some changes I have wanted to make on my blog and there is no better time to do that than in a freshly baked 2024!

I want to stick to my resolutions so I've decided to make them public. You can all laugh at me when I fail.

Make more of my own posts - this includes memes, comics, shitposts, pools etc.

Promote queer creators such as other bolgs, artists, youtubers, authors etc.

Share more of my personal experience. I hope some of you can relate to my struggles and sucesses :)

Catch up with queer media. Not only lgbtqia+ related but also media about disabilities, neurodivergent experiences, POC and mentaly ill people. I intend on making reviews on them as well to promote those wonderful works.

Do more research and educate myself. Also gonna share my findings if I stumble across something interesting/important.

Celebrate queer visibility days! That includes other important days and celebrations.

I may or may not make a separate blog for some of this stuff since I want the focus of Genderfluid Affirmations to be, well... genderfluid affirmations haha ;) But there are so many other things I care about and this blog proved I can make a change in the world. This may be worth a shot.

Hope y'all lile the changes and hopefully I will actually stick to them haha! Anyways, see y'all in New Year ^^

Thank you for reading!

[maddoc05]

Bait followed him around everywhere now. It took a little longer for Callum himself to catch on, but then again, there were only so many times you could accidentally nearly trip over the same glow toad. Granted, half his vision was also still a little hazy from where he’d been decked in the face.

But still.

After the sixth time, Callum gave in. Lifting Bait up, he placed the glow toad next to him on the bed.

The sun had long since set some time ago. He'd said goodnight to the rest of them, taking the room furthest away from Finnegrin's quarters as he possibly could. It was quieter here too. But he couldn't relax. He occupied his mind with thoughts of what acquiring the ocean arcanum now meant for him, and tried very hard not to think of what it cost to get there. 

Callum couldn't sleep.

His breathing became slightly stilted. Drawing the air into his lungs hurt as much as the memory did. 

He let Bait play with the scarf as he hooked two fingers inside his collar and cautiously peeled away the cloth from his neck. It stung. His fingernails came away with dried flakes of blood. He realised his hands were shaking as well. His thoughts slipped for just a moment, and he gingerly touched his throat, tracing the indent of skin, the sore bruises. 

He thought of his reflection in the glass, eyes black as night. The precious seconds it cost him to wait for it to subside.

He nearly jolted when Bait scrambled up on his lap. The glow toad had changed colour as well, glowing muted and pained. “It probably just looks worse than it actually is.” Callum was quick to reassure, forcing his voice to sound upbeat. “How about you, Bait? You were almost leviathan food today.”

Bait showed his visible displeasure with being stuffed inside a cage. 

“Yeah. It sucks, doesn’t it.”

Bait dug his stubby toes into Callum’s outfit - and ignoring his complained ‘hey, ow, ow, Bait what- ’ -  rested his head against Callum’s shoulder, as the toad mimicked what he had seen Ezran do so many times before. The mage stilled for a moment. Then, gently, his right hand came to rest against Bait’s side, the other supporting him from beneath and making it easier to cling on. 

“You and Zym, um, saw all that huh.” Callum murmured, his voice stuttering. 

Bait let out a mournful trill, and then stuck out his tongue to lick the cut on Callum’s face. 

“It’s not that bad.” Callum said. He chuckled nervously. “I think most of it is mostly internal anyway.”

Bait scoffed. 

As if on cue, there was a scratching at the door. Callum’s heart sped up, just before that sound was accompanied by a familiar whine. A relieved sigh was drawn out of him as he stood and opened the door, discreetly looking around. Zym bounded in, almost a blur, with a pleased chirp as the dragon wove through Callum’s legs to nudge the door shut again. 

The dragon prince spat something on the ground, then looked up expectantly. It took a moment for Callum to realise what he was looking at, and his breath caught.

It was the metal snakes that he had turned his chains into. 

It lay unmoving now before him. Thoroughly zapped into submission.

“Zym!” The shame was nothing new. The ooze of the crushed slug. The acrid taste of his own guilt and resolution. “Zym, I know what I did, I had to, I- I-” - would do it again in a heartbeat - “Did- Did anybody else see you bring it here?”

Zym huffed, a cross look scrunching his features. He zapped Callum’s arm lightly, then looked apologetic when Callum flinched. Bait grumbled in warning, then leapt from his perch on Callum to land on the bed so that he was at eye-level with the dragon. The two stared unblinkingly at each other for a long time.

“O-kay.” Callum said, “I’m just going to-” His voice trailed off as he picked up the snake-chains, opened the port window, and tossed it into the sea where it would hopefully stay buried in its depths forever. The sea air was colder at night.

Zym rumbled disapprovingly. But other than clambering up next to Bait, he didn’t seem all that bothered. That was a good sign, hopefully.

“So…” Callum tried. “You’re not going to tell Ezran, right?”

Zym yawned. Bait grumbled. 

“It’s getting late.”

Neither budged.

Callum sighed, then raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright then.” He did his best to avoid squishing either of them by accident, gingerly laying at the far side of the bed. He closed his eyes, feeling the boat rock and sway beneath him. Perhaps it was a side-effect from connecting to its arcanum, but Callum could almost swear that he could feel the ocean call to him. 

He opened his eyes a moment later, when something soft scratched against the side of his arm. Bait blinked at him slowly, half the scarf in the glow toad’s mouth and the other half draped over Callum as if a very tiny blanket. Not to be outdone, Zym shuffled closer, and slid inconspicuously in between. His claws curled inwards, one wing tucked close and the other nestled against Callum’s chest. The warmth seemed to relax him. 

Callum softened. “Goodnight, Bait. Goodnight, Zym.”

“Manus. Pluma. Volantus.” He murmured as softly as he could, and watched the runes tattooed into his arms glow in the dark, the second before soft downy feathers sprouted from his skin. Bait turned orange, grunting in appreciation as he settled in for the night. Zym lay his head on Callum’s shoulder, nuzzling the underside of the mage’s chin. 

It took a long time for him to drift off to sleep, but when he did-

He still dreamt of salt and brine.

[incirrata]

years ago, when I was in my mbti personality types phase, I read an article that suggested my personality type should make "impossible" new year's resolutions: goals you're very unlikely to actually achieve but that will motivate you to work towards them. of course, mbti types aren't real, but the idea stuck with me. "do x every day sort of resolutions" historically are better at making me feel bad about myself than achieving personal growth, so I liked the idea of setting myself up to fail so failure wasn't such a downer.

last year, I decided on a varation of this: setting goals which were definitely doable but not entirely within my control, so that I would still have to judge myself based on the effort I put into them rather than the outcome. my 2023 resolutions were:

READ A BOOK THAT CHANGES MY LIFE: The idea behind this one was that I wanted to read more, but what I really wanted was to have a book deeply affect me. Each book I read was another possibility for this to happen. This one I think I did manage to meet. Life-changing-ness was a vague goal, but for one example: the Terra Ignota series, beyond just being incredibly enjoyable, made me think about gender and consciousness in some new ways, permanently changed my goals for my own writing, and indirectly had weird effects on my music taste.

HAVE GAY SEX: This one was very carefully selected, actually, because it pushed me to think of a variety of things that are hard for me to do but good for me long-term (e.g. meeting new people, going to social events, opening myself up for rejection, thinking of myself as sexually desirable) as necessary steps along the way to something I definitely wanted (...having gay sex). I did not have gay sex this year but this resolution did cause me to make many decisions that were good for me. And my social life is better than it was last year by an incredible amount!

after what I view as a lot of success last year, I have decided on this year's resolutions. they're not as fun-sounding but hopefully they will motivate me in the ways I want them to. in 2024 I will:

GET BUFF: This one's pretty straightforward. It's hard for me to put on muscle and I know that, so the real goal is to exercise more which is, unfortunately, good for my physical and mental health like everyone says it is. But it'd be nice to be more visibly muscular, and that's more enjoyable to think about than "are you doing the thing that's good for you regularly?"

BECOME A BETTER-THAN-AVERAGE DRIVER: I do not have my driver's license and I would like to get it this year. The process will mostly be about overcoming various anxieties so that I will actually practice driving instead of avoiding it, because, as much as I hate driving, the ability to drive will open up a lot of opportunities for where I can live and work as an adult. As better motivation, my goal is not only to be legally capable of driving but to be better than the average driver, so that, at least when I am driving in a situation where someone else would be driving me if I didn't have a license, I will likely be reducing harm by being a safer driver than that someone else.

happy new year's eve, everyone! wishing the best in the new year, whether or not you make any resolutions, to all of the lovely people I refer to as "internet friends" when I want to bring up something interesting you've posted in a conversation, even if we've never actually talked.

[mariska]

hi i would like to share a recent personal experience (with a surprisingly positive resolution) about challenging hate speech in online video games that have chat features as an extremely socially anxious autistic person + also some thoughts i've held for a very long time regarding the need for folks who are privileged enough to not be targets of constant harassment in video game social environments to use that privilege by speaking up when witnessing hate speech for those of us who can't safely do so

(this ended up being a super long post i'm sorry, i tried to split it into separated paragraphs to make it a bit more accessible to read but i needed to get this whole train of thought written outside of my brain before i unintentionally move on to some other point of focus and forget all of this)

i dont usually like posting about bad online video game interactions since thats a Bummer, but. i wanted to make a post to share a brief interaction i was a part of in the text chat of an online team game last night that actually had a positive resolution even just for the sake of being able to say that i've witnessed a bad video game interaction involving me as a target end up with a positive resolution. i'm gonna put the rest of this whole thing under a 'read more' so that it hopefully doesn't clog anyone's dash up with long-scrolling text wall:

i was playing 'versus' mode in Left 4 Dead 2 on my computer last night, which for anyone not familiar with that gamemode, is where one team of 4 people play as the human survivors and the other team of 4 people play as the game's 'Special Infected' zombies (Boomer, Hunter, Tank, etc. on a randomized respawn rotation). its very fun and chaotic but because of the chaotic rapid respawn nature of the zombie side and the fact that you don't usually play as the special infected zombies in the regular 'campaign', its not uncommon to be put in matches with ppl who have no patience for anyone who isnt super experienced or skilled or whatever as every special infected on the zombie team and people start arguments in the chat pretty often. im not a fan of ppl acting out like that but usually its just Annoying and i ignore it and carry on,

last night though, someone on the opposite team of mine (mine was currently the zombies; the game goes back and forth to let each team do their best at surviving the same levels on both sides; one team gets as far as they can as humans and then the other tries to match that score or do better if they can and so on) was getting increasingly frustrated that whenever their team was playing as the survivors they weren't quite making it as far towards the map end goals as my team was, because my team was doing slightly better at teaming up as the special infected zombies to get bigger scores and hold them away from their goal.

eventually he got so visibly upset in the text chat that he went "ok. r*tarded but ok', and then followed up quickly with something along the lines of "yall know you're a bunch of fkin r*tards right" (i censored it here, he did not originally) and that immediately crossed a boundary line for me because i'm autistic, and once was already too much, but twice in a row made me very uncomfortable. i didn't know or care if he was saying it to us (his enemy team), or his own team for having a slightly lower score as the survivors, but nobody else in the game had shown any text or voice chat signs of being unsafe people or angry people, so i felt safe enough to go in the text chat (i usually do not do this because i usually do not feel safe enough to do so in groups of strangers online)

i said something like "learn a new word to use, maybe?", just to kind of be like, 'hey, nobody else in this game is talking the way you are, don't be That Guy' you know? he said "why? its not like its a big deal", which was kinda sad to read 'cause it gave me the impression that this person probably spends a good amount of time (willingly or unwillingly) around people who commonly use slurs because its 'not a big deal'; again, nobody else in the match was getting involved verbally or textually, and we all continued to play the game while this happened, so i decided that i was going to stick up for myself since i don't often feel like i have the opportunity to do that in the text chat of games without feeling humiliated or thrown under the bus by my teammates or whatever.

while i was typing the guy added "i wasnt even saying it to you anyways" (does not matter to me, obviously). i finished the response i had been typing to his message about 'its not a big deal' and said "it is a big deal, actually!". by this point, his character had been eliminated entirely and his team had one or two human survivors running to their end goal map exit for the round, so he had more free time to type and he replied to me and said "whatever, you do you i guess". i said "well. i'm autistic, so." and meant to say 'i guess i will' in response to 'you do you', but the round ended after i sent that reply and the loading screen popped up for the survivor/zombie team switch

when it did, he wrote "fair 'nuff." in the chat like a minute or so into the very start of the round when both teams were getting set up and everything, and i was honestly fine with that as a general resolution to the whole thing, because the minute or so of time in between my last message and the non-aggressive bluntness of it made me feel like he probably felt at least a little guilty realizing that he was casually tossing around a slur that is very commonly used against autistic people to An Actual Autistic Person in the same game as him, and that worked for me.

the game went on as it regularly had been for like five or so more minutes, and then he suddenly sent another final and honestly unexpected message in the group chat that said, in no response to any other messages that had been typed by anyone since his last one, "alright i'm sorry i used that word in chat mariska" (my name/username). which was actually wild for me to see because i am very much not used to getting actual apologies from strangers who say bad stuff in game chats, and i genuinely appreciated that he either hadn't stopped thinking about it and felt bad about acting out, or maybe some of his own teammates had prompted him to apologize in their respective team chat or something; either way, i gave a genuine "thank you." in the chat to let him know the gesture was appreciated, and for the rest of the maybe 30 or so mins that the whole match lasted, there was no more aggressiveness or slurs or toxicity at all in the chat from either team's side. when the game ended all together, he was one of the first people to type "gg" (good game) in the chat, as did myself and almost all of the other folks in the match, and after that i stopped playing for the night.

sorry for the big long text post, but i wanted to share this somewhere other than just that isolated game match chat between 8 people, because i very often see a lot of people (on pretty much any social media but mostly on here tbh) make posts regarding this exact kind of video game or general online text chat community experience where the person writing the post encourages others who also commonly witness it, or are the target of slurs, harassment, threats etc, to speak up (if it is safe to do so, imo 'speaking up' or 'calling out' people you dont know especially in aggressive game communities should be the responsibility of allies/friends/non-targeted folks more often than those of us who are being harassed or threatened or talked down to ourselves since it is inherently more dangerous for us to defend ourselves unfortunately and it can take a very serious turn against us very fast, think 'swatting' or doxxing, as a few examples off the top of my head) against the language/slurs/bigotry/harassment that aggressive, angry, frustrated strangers commonly spew in text and/or voice game chats, and as someone who plays a lot of team based online games regularly and has played online games in general since the mid-2000's, i couldn't agree more with the people i've seen writing posts or game journalism articles encouraging people to refuse to allow that kind of behavior to be validated by others in an online match, or to only ignore it when there is a safe opportunity to make it known that at least one person refuses to tolerate whatever behavior the aggressor is displaying.

anyways, to make an accidentally way too long story short; more often than not, in online video game chat circles, it's unfortunately just not going to be super productive to call out casual hate speech & harassment because there are typically (in my personal experiences at least) more people in a group of strangers that either enjoy seeing targets of harassment get upset and will join in with the original aggressor to humiliate whoever speaks against it, or who behave the same way as the aggressor and validate their own patterns of hate speech as being acceptable and common by defending their behavior/siding with them in larger numbers.

but! in situations where you're watching that happen, to yourself or others, and everyone else is either silent or doesn't seem to agree/enjoy watching someone have a bigoted hissy fit in a video game chat, it absolutely can be worth it to be the person who makes it clear to that person that they are the problem. unless you personally know every individual person who is playing in the same match group as you, there is no 100% way to know exactly who all the other players are outside of their characters or personas they're represented by in-game. people who tend to be commonly perceived as pretty emotionally mature in general, in any part of online or offline life, can and do absolutely come across as temporary social role models/behavioral leaders to the other real human beings around them in the moment, regardless of whether that's intentional on their end or not.

i'm not quite sure if the term 'peer pressure' is exactly what i'm looking for as terminology right now since that term is typically applied in negative behavior patterns, but that concept is very real in any gathering of multiple people - it can (and again, in SAFE settings, should) be utilized in a positive, constructive way to prompt someone to think before they speak/type, and to make a point to everyone present in the moment that we are all allowed to openly bring attention to harassment and hate speech. that point is an especially important realization for people who may hold generally higher positions of privilege than those of us who speak against it, since they are the ones that really need to be doing this kind of thing more often and in larger majorities than those of us who are put in danger when we bring attention to hateful behavior simply by existing as oppressed people of any kind.

i guess the whole main train of thought i'm attempting to explain with all of this is, like. before that one person started typing out a slur two times in a row that has been used against me so many times in my life that my brain went into auto-pilot and refused to let him feel comfortable saying it again, nobody was typing anything like 'gg' or 'gr' (good round, when a game isn't totally finished yet) at all, which was fine that's not like a requirement, but when that next round ended after the guy apologized and i said thank you, everyone else started saying 'gr' until the match ended and there were a bunch of 'gg's instead, like i mentioned above.

in all honesty, if i hadn't been so exhausted last night from having a really difficult day earlier that involved a lot of unintentional trauma triggers, panic attacks and anti-anxiety medication, i probably would have just left the game or not said anything when that happened, because i am terrified of confrontation and i am very used to it resulting in bad outcomes for me so i try very hard to have self-control and not potentially feed into trolls online, but i had a really really bad day, and that was my late night comfort special interest activity, and it pissed me off that i couldn't avoid traumatic triggers even in that short distraction before attempting to get some sleep. i was acting totally on emotionally charged impulse which is something that i try so hard not to do with strangers in video games of all places.

but i mention that specifically because it still made a difference in that one match, and because of that we were all able to have fun playing a video game the way it was meant to be played for friendly competitive enjoyment. i will probably never interact or maybe even just run into any of those people in a game lobby again, so obviously there's no way for me to know if the person who typed the slur messages will just continue to do that in other games anyways or if getting called-out on hateful behavior had any kind of impact on how he might think a few seconds longer before saying something like that to strangers online again in the future, but like. i don't know. that's kind of the point, i think? he seemed at the very least pretty embarrassed that nobody wanted to defend him or feed into the whole 'its not a big deal' thing, to the point that he actually apologized appropriately to me directly in a social setting where 6 other people saw it, so maybe that was a feeling of temporary guilt or shame or just being humbled a bit that he needed to experience to learn something from.

some people really are just not worth the mental or emotional effort to respond to because they are so set and fixed in their ways, and they're a stranger, and it's not our responsibility to fix that, especially in video games, that's why i usually. Dont Bother. but also sometimes people are so self-centered or uncaring or maybe even projecting self-hatred of how they think of themselves onto strangers because they don't view those strangers as fully realized human beings that continue living their lives after exiting out of a video game, who knows, i don't and i really don't care to, but i truly think there are a large amount of people in this kind of situation that just repeat whatever they've learned and heard around them for however long, and think of it as 'no big deal', and they suddenly feel very embarrassed and ashamed and small when one of the usernames they view as just a username on a screen talks back and they are faced with the realization that they said something awful to a real person, not an npc, not a left 4 dead 2 zombie character, and the other 6 real people there say nothing to defend them, because what they said sucked, and we're all trying to have fun playing a silly game, and they deserved to be embarrassed about it.

i think that's maybe my Big Concluding Thought on this whole thing. not necessarily 'everyone join me in Bringing Peace And Harmony To Left 4 Dead 2 Online Text Chat', but like...your words mean things to people you don't know when you say things to them in a place like a video game chat, and the largest majority of people playing most games just wanna play the game, so like. maybe think for a second or two before you just say stuff that sucks. especially if it sucks because it is literal hate speech? but also in general when it just sucks because its just a mean unwanted and unhelpful comment. and maybe ask yourself, if you're someone who jokes about wishing you werent 'so toxic when i play but i cant help it' or if you say things just to say things because 'its no big deal', why? why are you like that? you literally do not have to be. you don't know the lives and experiences of the people you're spending a very small amount of time with together in a game online and when you do this kind of stuff, when you're mean and 'toxic' and you call people slurs when they don't get as many high little numbers next to your digital team's fake video game scoreboard as you want them to get, the only impression or memory they will ever have of you is that they don't like you and you made a lighthearted experience suck for 7 people. that is all you get to be to that person forever.

idk, maybe other people don't think that's sad and maybe it doesn't bother them, but if that was the most common impression i left on a bunch of different groups of strangers that i wont get to interact with again afterwards i would feel pretty sad and ashamed about it.

anyways. i need to partake in tasks that do not involve rambling on my phone now but if you read this that is cool thank you, if you didnt that is fine i understand this became a ridiculously long post out of nowhere i do not blame u, and. i hope you have a good day. ok goodbye

[fourseasonsfigs]

Firefighter Huo Yan

This brave little fireman is the third in this series of Gong Jun figs - I posted about Ice Cream Cutie and Cute Nezha before.

Huo Yan is the character that he played in The Flaming Heart. Have some wonderful behind the scenes photos of Gong Jun in this uniform:

I put this shot first because I love it so much. This is just gorgeous. The pose, the angle - never would I think a firefighting uniform could look so much like high fashion. Spectacular.

Living in fire-prone Southern California has made me incredibly grateful for the unbelievably brave firefighters there and all across the US. True heroes indeed. That being said, I've never been into the actual fire uniform look, although I know plenty of folks that are. I will say Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan's firefighting shows have made me see the error of my ways.

I don't know how I was wrong about so many things before I fell into this fandom, but it has opened my mind! Dog and cat attributes on figs/dolls/art, bright colorful patterned clothing, all kinds of clothing and styling, etc etc. It's nice to be wrong sometimes, and then suddenly be gifted with a whole new world of things to enjoy out there. It would be like me going through life thinking lilikoi is just not something I'm into eating, and then trying it, and then suddenly the whole world of passionfruit flavors is opened up to me! Incredible. (Except maybe passionfruit-flavored coffee, we all know that's just not two combinations that go together well)

Like the other two figs, our brave little toaster arrived snuggly packed in a protective polystyrene cut out box.

This time Gong Jun's patented Very Serious Model Face is now the Very Serious Firefighting Business Face, and I respect it!

Love this fig angle! He looks so stern and resolute! The Very Serious Firefighting Business Face has now taken on distinct characteristics of I'm Saving That Cat No Matter What, Sir

I'm really enjoying the cowlick of hair in the back of his head. This is a nice angle to see the details on his gloves too, which is not visible in the tunnel pics above but is visible in the pic of him with his coffee on his phone.

Lot of lines going on in this top with the reflective bands and the belt. This angle always distorts lines (like how I pin that on the angle and not on my rudimentary photography skills?), so you'll see in the next picture how the factory actually did a pretty good job of keeping it all fairly clean.

See what I mean? The lines look great here. They also actually modeled the belt to be 3-D and slightly bigger than the jacket, which is a great detail. Same with the jacket sleeves being larger than his gloves.

His little arms are so cute here. I really like when the fig makers model detailed little hands with fingers, but I'm also weak for more stylized hands too. You know it.

SPEAKING of cute, I just now noticed the little smiley face on his right shoulder badge. AHHHH! I had to go back and zoom in to the badge on his other shoulder to see if it was the same, and it is. Too cute!

You can see in this pic and the one above that he has the Fig Forward Lean going on, which helps to offset the weight of the head so the fig can stand up well. He does stand securely - it also helps that his legs and boots are close together, which actually forms one solid and more stable unit.

Which you can see better here. I upped the exposure on this so you can hopefully see the adorable fact that his helmet is hollow in the interior! The over-bright exposure does wash out the deep black of his uniform, but the little helmet detail is too cute to miss. It's clearly way too small of a helmet to fit on his big ol' serious head, so it must be for the Jiangxi cat he's rescuing.

Hehe, I like the suggestion the slightly spiky-topped hair Gong Jun has here. Always delighted by the way fig makers render the many, many varieties of short hair for both Zhehan and Junjun.

Adorable art here on the box card, which matches the box here - yes, it's the same box on all three of these figs so far!

I will note for those following this post from the other two figs in this series, that despite significant effort combing Xianyu over the last week, I still have seen not a single fig that could be anything approaching that Pokéball Jun there on the side of that box. I still can't believe I had no idea that this existed and I MUST HAVE IT. It's adorable!

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 253

Scene Count: 18

Rating: Someone needs to stop climbing trees!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[gentlenekomata]

The rumours were way too juicy for Sakura to just let down her expectations: she heard of an incredible creature living in the school underground, but not just an imaginary monster, but a truly living myth that the petite princess has already met during her extravagant readings about histories of her homeland – a golem. It was something that she always dreamed to see, especially due to the fact that she read many legends and stories about such creature, depicted as a very tall and terrific human-like monster with odd appearance and very dangerous weapons to attack any possible intruders.

But, despite those horrible descriptions, she decided to take the chance to partner up with another student apparently interested in discovering what those creepy corridors of the crypt hide beneath the pavements of the monastery. The decision was taken now and with eager eyes and controlled pace, the couple descended the crypt, allowing themselves to soon discover the truth behind that secretive place.

“Look out!!” she just managed to exclaimed as she suddenly found in front of the huge creature, “Sir Raven, we must escape!”

They were in the middle of the long corridor, quite large actually, maybe projected for the creature to be fit in and easily passed through: Raven, the gentle and resolute student who agreed to escort her inside the tunnels, quickly managed to pass before her and he shielded Sakura with his axe; a swift and powerful shot, the  surface of the gold armour dented and the monster suddenly drew back little, due to the severe hit.

A quick glance’s exchange and a sudden grasp of hands was enough for the couple to be on their way again, this time on the opposite side, since the other way was blocked by the creature; leading the way was Raven, quickly followed by Sakura and her Torch Staff, illuminating the long hallway with a feeble but persistent light. After moments that seemed like an eternity, the two of them found a crossroads and following the right way (the way from where they had come was unbelievably blocked now by a large landslide), they eventually found themselves in front of a wooden door with some iron decoration, but definitely a very old door, since the scratches and the absence of the handle was clearly visible.

“We have no choice” she said, noticing the hands still holding with a firm grip, “Let’s try this room, maybe there’s another way to flee!” she tried to reassured her partner, cheering for him until he managed to pry open the door: it was a very large room, with some chairs, a table with strange instruments collocated on it and a little camp bed.

“Is this…a prison cell?” the petite priestess sketched a naïve question, already looking around for any clues: as she walked closer to the table, she recognised some tools as crafting tools, such as a hammer, some nails and a cup with some residual liquid similar to water. Maybe someone lived there long time ago? She pondered many questions in her head, but the clear tremor of the ground immediately made her realize that their main worry now was escaping the creature.

“We should look around...maybe there’s another way to escape from here” and she started to look at the ceiling and the walls, seemingly quite solid and blocked, but certainly with a hidden passage –or rather, hopefully with a hidden passage.

Is That Fucking Mothman?

[diadraws]

what program do you use to do animations? ive been wanting to get into it but im not sure how and i know you draw in photoshop which i do too. thanks!!!

it really depends!! for longer stuff, i use adobe animate, just because photoshop tends to start chugging if i do animations longer than like, 20-ish frames. I do all the compositing and tweening for my animation memes in animate as well.

in addition to roughing frame-by frame stuff for my animation memes, (such as tirona's dance for the fortnite one haha) i like to do sketching/doodly animations, like this lil kitty, in photoshop, since it feels most organic drawing-wise to me. BUT, photoshop animation is a bit tricky, and deff opaque to anyone whos never done it before. heres a basic guide, under a cut cuz it got long LOL

create a new canvas. you can do whatever resolution you want but keep in mind, larger canvases will lag more. i do 1920x1080. if you select window>timeline, a new menu will pop up at the bottom of the photoshop interface

you'll notice a dropdown menu, that has two options: "create video timeline" and "create frame animation". i use create frame animation , just because it's more fitting for what i do.

selecting that option will give you a timeline with frames and everything! each frame's delay can be chosen individually. during playback in photoshop, it will play a little slower than the actual speed when exported as a gif, so keep that in mind

i would advise you to think of layers (or layer groups, if you plan on cleaning up and coloring) as frames for this. a layer's position, visibility, and style can change from frame to frame.

pay attention to these following options, they will appear over your layers menu on the far right once you create an animation timeline.

Unify: can be applied to position, visibility, and layer effects. it will change all the other frames to match what the layer is like in your currently selected frame.

Propogate frame 1: if this box is checked, any position, style, or visibility changes made to a layer on frame 1 will be applied to all the frames. unchecking it disables this.

editing a layer with the eraser or brush (or any other tool) will apply the changes to every single frame. so to create the next pose, you will have to go to the next frame, hide the first layer, and draw the next pose on a new layer. I've colored the layers in 2 different colors here for clarity.

the blue is layer 1, and the red is layer 2. on the first frame, i will make layer 2 (the red pose) invisible and leave layer 1 (the blue pose) visible, and then on the second frame i do the reverse. You kind of have to do this manually for every single frame, so it gets a bit arduous if you have more than like 7 or 8 poses.

AND, exporting as a gif is also ridiculously silly and opaque too. go to file > export > save for web (legacy)

that will bring up this menu that is super complicated. the only stuff you really need to pay attention to is near the bottom, as everything else will work just fine on default settings (i've never messed with them in the 9-10 years ive been animating in photoshop, lol)

down towards the bottom you can change the export size, which is useful if you drew it on a big canvas but dont want the gif file to be enormous. also, you can choose how many times it loops. i usually just keep it on "forever", so i can watch it over and over again lol

and finally, make sure you click "save" and NOT "done". if you click done.. it does not export the file. i will not tell u how many times ive been in speed mode and click "done" and then get frustrated when the file dosnt appear in my folder. i am not smart.

anyways hopefully this is helpful.. ive been using ps so long i have extreme tunnel vision re: mentally filtering out all the useless extra stuff in photoshop's interface so i have no idea if this is confusing or not to someone who's never done it before. if you have more questions just let me know!!

[laulink]

Nuts and Dolts wedding

A.N : SO, after the FUCKING HEARTBREAK that was V8C5 and ESPECIALLY its end, I was in pain. So much pain. For Penny, for Pietro, for Ruby, for EVERYTHING. Then I saw a post in which people wondered if Pietro and/or Penny would survive this clusterfuck and the person who had reblogged put in the tags something like “yes they will both survive and Pietro will live to walk Penny down the aisle” and I needed that so much. I didn’t even know but I needed that SO MUCH. So I decided to put it into a fic to (hopefully) alleviate some of the pain of my fellow fans. Enjoy !

    On a sunny spring day, a red-headed woman sat in a house in the middle of the woods, twiddling her fingers while watching the hands of the clock advance, inexorable, not knowing whether she wished time would stop or advance faster.

    It was the first time she’d ever felt like this. She could only guess the cause of her torment : Penny was nervous. She didn’t even know why ! This day had been planned very carefully, Weiss, Yang, Winter and even Nora, in her own way, had helped iron out every little detail and made sure everything would go well. And she had no reason to worry about Ruby either ! She knew her fiancée looked forward to this day just as much as her, she wouldn’t change her mind at the last minute.

    Penny pinched her cheeks in a -vain- attempt at calming her nerves. Everything would go well. She had no reason to be-

 “Hey ! Don’t mess with your make up !”

    Weiss’ hands slapped at her wrist to get her to let go of her cheeks. Penny held her hands up in a show of surrender, a small, apologetic smile accompanying them.

 “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realise.

- Nervous ?” Winter asked, still focused on braiding Penny’s hair.

- A little,” Penny gave a small smile to hide her growing unrest. “I don’t know why though !

- Don’t worry, it’s normal,” reassured Weiss while picking up a brush and some make-up to fix the spots Penny had messed up. “This is a big day for you and Ruby. I wish I could say “the most important”, but considering, well…

- The actual war you two took a part in,” supplied Winter.

- … yeah, that. Anyway, this is the day you’ve waited for for months, years even, so of course your nerves would act up. Being nervous, excited and anticipating what it will be like is perfectly normal.”

    Done with her task, Weiss set down the brush and make-up and went around Penny to help Winter give her hair the final touches. At the same time they finished and told Penny to look at herself in the mirror, the door to the room opened-

 “Hell-”

    -and was slammed shut in the visitor’s face.

 “Weiss !” Penny exclaimed, surprised at her friend’s sudden violence. The young woman crossed her arms, but the glyph holding the door in place didn’t disappear.

 “What ? We can’t risk it being Yang, or Nora, or Ruby !

- I understand why Ruby can’t see me since Winter told me about wedding traditions, but what about Yang and Nora ?

- Those two wouldn’t hesitate to take a picture to show Ruby. They would think it a smart way to bend tradition.

- Come now, you’re being a bit unfair,” Winter admonished her. “Let’s start by seeing who this guest is.”

    The two sisters went to the door, Weiss grumbling about Yang and Nora absolutely being this ridiculous. Carefully, Weiss opened the door just a crack to see who was on the other side.

 “Oh, it’s just you.”

    Then she opened the door wider, enough to let her brother Whitley come into the room. He was massaging his nose, which appeared to be a bit red.

 “Just you ?! Is that really all you have to say to the brother you nearly disfigured ? On the day of a wedding no less ?!

- What about it, you’re not the one getting married.

- You little- !”

    Whitley balled and raised his fists, as if to fight Weiss, something they’d grown to do regularly since their reconciliation after the war, but he didn’t make another move, just looking angrily at his sister and gritting his teeth while Weiss gave him a smug grin. Penny giggled as she realised Whitley had stopped himself because he didn’t want to mess up the maid of honour’s appearance.

    The sound grabbed Whitley’s attention who turned his head toward Penny. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped, leaving his mouth slightly open. Winter smiled at his reaction and asked him :

 “So, what do you think, brother ? Is Penny ready to get married ?”

    Whitley nodded eagerly, a big smile breaking over his face.

 “Definitely ! Ruby is one lucky woman, that’s for sure !”

    Penny blushed at her friend’s comment. It still felt a little weird, having people genuinely compliment her on her appearance. The military had designed her to be “cute” and “friendly-looking”, since she was supposed to be a protector for all of humanity and make people feel at ease around her, but she had almost never heard anyone compliment her looks before meeting Ruby -her father being an outlier and therefore not counted- and the comments she had heard had not always been very kind. Some of them had been uttered by the Schnee siblings’ very own father, “Jackass” as Yang liked to call him, so she had been a little anxious the first few times she had interacted with Whitley, the only one of the three who she hadn’t met before her first meeting with Jacques. Luckily, he was nothing like his father, contrary to the rumours she had heard about him, and they soon grew close and became friends.

 “Not that I doubt you, but I would appreciate looking at our Princess of the day myself.”

    Penny’s smile widened as she heard the familiar voice. Whitley smiled too while jumping out of the way to let Pietro Polendina enter the room and gaze upon his daughter.

 *********************************

    Pietro had always been a bit of an utopist, certainly a big optimist, yet even him wouldn’t have believed, 5 years ago, that he would one day see his biggest dream come true : seeing his daughter, radiating happiness in her wedding dress, about to go get married to the love of her life.

    Even if he had, his imagination could have never created something as perfect as the picture he had before him : his baby girl, now a beautiful woman, in a green, sleeveless dress, holding a bouquet of red roses similar to the ones adorning her hair that had been braided into a crown, her usual pink ribbon attached to it and falling down her back, green earrings completing her outfit. It made her look like a Fairy Queen right out of one of those old stories he used to hear as a child.

 “Dad ? Is something wrong ?” Penny asked, visibly worried.

    Pietro shook his head, only now realising he was crying. He wiped off his eyes and smiled at his daughter.

 “Nothing’s wrong, darling. I am just so, so happy for you.”

    Penny’s smile returned, fond, accompanied by a small blush.

 “Thanks, Dad.”

    An alarm started right next to him, coming from Winter. She took her scroll to shut it and told them :

 “It’s time.”

    Pietro nodded, then turned to Penny and extended his hand toward her.

 “Ready ?”

    Penny took a deep breath, then gave a resolute nod as she put her hand in his.

 “As I’ll ever be.”

 ********************************************

    The clearing Penny and Ruby had chosen to hold their wedding looked like it had been brought right out of a fairy tale. It was just a normal clearing on Patch, but Weiss, Yang and Nora had completely transformed it in just a few days ; beautiful patches of flowers on the edges, flowery arches leading up to the altar, elegant wooden benches on each side of the aisle and an impressive gazebo on the far end to hold the party after the ceremony.

    As Pietro and Penny approached, the band started playing the wedding march. Pietro could see Ruby tense up near the altar and turn her head toward them so fast he feared she would tear a muscle. Thankfully, she seemed to be fine… or too entranced by the sight of Penny to notice anything else, not even her sister and maid of honour poking at her side. Sneaking a glance at his daughter, Pietro noticed she was in much the same state : though all their friends and family members had gathered to witness their union, Penny didn’t spare them even a glance, entirely focused on her bride to be. It felt as though the two of them had locked themselves in their own little world where no one else existed, like they so often did. Still, Penny had no problem walking toward the altar and her future wife with him, advancing to the rhythm of the music.

    It was only hitting him now : he was walking his daughter down the aisle, on her wedding day, toward the person she had chosen to be her wife, to build a family with. Pietro felt the tears rise to his eyes again, but he held them back ; he didn’t want to miss a single second of this moment.

    After a minute that had felt endless and, at the same time, much too short, they stopped before the altar. Penny and Ruby’s gazes were locked together, love plain in their eyes, almost overwhelming, even for an onlooker. Pietro took a second to notice and appreciate that Ruby had chosen to wear a pink bow-tie, the Polendinas’ unofficial emblem, with her black, red and white suit to mark her entrance into their family, much like the red roses in Penny’s hair were a sign of her entrance into the Rose family. Then, he took Ruby’s hand, startling her, and placed Penny’s in it. Both women smiled warmly at him and he squeezed their joined hands between his own.

 “I am so happy for you two. That you found each other. That you supported each other through everything the world threw your way. And that you will now get to spend the rest of your hopefully long lives together.”

    There was so much more he wanted to say, but he figured he should keep some of it for his toast at the party. Ruby and Penny seemed to understand his feelings though, as their smiles widened and they bent down to hug him.

    The moment ended as Winter cleared her throat from behind the altar, the position from which she would officiate the ceremony, then looked at them expectantly. Pietro chuckled and let go of his girls, squeezing their hands one last time before going to take his seat and let the ceremony begin.

*************************************

    Later that night, as the band started playing the music of the first dance, Pietro took the measure of the blessing this day had been. Everything had gone perfectly ; the ceremony had been beautiful ; Penny and Ruby’s smiles as they pronounced their vows had almost blinded him ; their friends’ toasts had made everyone cry tears of laughter and happiness ; no one had burned anything down (though the night was still young, so he didn’t want to get too ahead of himself with this one) ; and now, his daughter was dancing in the arms of her new wife, moving to the sound of the soft music in the middle of the flowers, right under the moonlight.

    Everything was perfect.

    … or so he thought until he noticed small, vibrant green lights ignite in the air around the newlyweds. Everyone started murmuring as the lights multiplied, gliding along invisible waves, their light reflecting off the couple’s wedding rings and giving the scene an ethereal feel.

    Ruby and Penny noticed the small lights and smiled at each other, visibly delighted. And then it dawned on him.

    Fireflies.

    He never knew why, but the small bioluminescent bugs seemed to hold a special place in the hearts of the young couple. Whatever memories were already associated with them for Ruby and Penny, Pietro had no doubt this one would be among their dearest.

    The two women’s new life together was off to a great start already and, as they kissed, surrounded by the light of the fireflies, Pietro made a wish that the rest of their existence continue to be filled with love and happiness.

    That was his new biggest dream for the two of them.

[brief-candle]

ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ - Sakamaki brothers

request summary: songfic of “come little children” with parental maid reader and yandere sakamakis. karlheinz is an asshole, like usual, and stuff happens.

series: diabolik lovers.

notes: yandere (meant to be platonic but idk if i succeeded), heavily implied violence.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

"Come little children,

I'll take thee away

into a land of enchantment."

There was no land of enchantment on this green Earth. Not for the Sakamaki brothers; such a thing had never existed for the entirety of their long existence. This had been a fact that they'd had to face from an early age. There was no land of enchantment that their mothers' nor father would let them escape to, and the latter would not let them do so for as long as he drew breath.

Or not, considering they were vampires and all, but you get the gist.

Even so, that didn't stop them listening to her stories that she spun, the songs that drifted from her lips like a cool breeze on a stifling summer's day. Even Kanato, who was ever so difficult to please and temperamental as a day's long, seemed to ease into a calm, placid state of being whenever she made the slightest of noises. Ayato wouldn't interrupt, Subaru wouldn't fly into a white-hot rage and Shuu would even pay attention. It was as if each word was akin to the Holy Grail, from the way that no one could pry their attention from her as she started to speak.

No matter how much they aged or how horrible they became, they would still go at her beck and call to listen to her. They would still beg for her lullabies before she left for other duties, and sometimes in between. And no matter when or where they asked, she would always comply.

It was perhaps the only time that the boys were docile.

"Come little children,

the time's come to play

here in my garden of shadows."

Even with their father, on the very rare occasions that he visited, they were hardly docile. Barely even scraping polite, with acid words and sneering faces. Apart from Reiji, ever the model son, determined to leave the others hiding in his shadow of prestige. Always polite, pristine and perfect. She marvelled at it, really, and would often remark that he was one-upping her, the actual servant. It was never his intent to one-up her, though he one-upped everyone, really, so it was hard to make an exception to her.

The boys' father did not expect to see those he brought up broken to act so cordially with another, not making a move to harm nor threaten her in the slightest. She did not look uncomfortable in the slightest, either. It was a surprise, really, considering how they acted with everyone else around them. To think that they would treat some low-ranked, rather weak demon with a higher level of respect than the literal king of demons was certainly not to be expected by any means.

Though, in a way, it was a pleasant surprise. Not that Karlheinz finds many surprises unpleasant. In fact, he can hardy tell the difference; if he finds something unpleasant than he'll either fix it or throw it away. Fortunately for her, he did not find this unpleasant.

Unfortunately, he found it intriguing.

"Follow sweet children,

I'll show thee the way

through all the pain and sorrows."

With intrigue naturally came experimentation. He had a hypothesis to test, and would observe the results accordingly. It took little planning (Karlheinz has little reason for thoroughly planning every little thing) until he put everything into action. And he did so swiftly, with little time wasted.

They hadn't noticed at first; she could guess how they'd react, and so covered up the evidence of what he'd done immediately. However he noticed just as quickly as she'd hid them, and so made it much more obvious. Evidence appeared in places she could not hide, and so had to wear them on display to those who cared for her most.

It went about as well as one could expect, really, with Subaru's temper flaring most of all. All of their tempers rose, really, though the youngest's was the most volatile and obvious through his destruction of the house. Kanato became eerily silent, perhaps more eerie than he usually was; Ayato shared many of Subaru's traits of anger, though without as much as the destructive nature; Reiji and Shuu were difficult to read, with both of them going silent and putting on a neutrally silent (though Shuu was normally of very few words) facade; Laito tried to keep up his cheery and playful act, though his voice subconsciously lost the lilt that it often had.

"Weep not, poor children,

life is this way,

murdering beauty and passion."

When they stood, obviously heading to leave the room, she stopped them at once. For once her words didn't seem to hold weight with these boys, and so she had to physically block them from doing something they may have regretted. No matter how much they asked- demanded- her to move, she did not move a muscle. She did not forget her place as a servant to their family, however she would not allow them to get themselves hurt. However she didn't phrase it that way, lest it only breed more anger and fury; as she was bound to obey their father above all, she could not allow him to be hurt. Though they certainly weren't the happiest with that, they had little choice but to listen, as it was obvious that she would not move until they had all calmed down.

If their reason had left them, then she would step back in to provide such a voice. As she often had done, when their mothers had not. She did not blame them, with what had been inflicted upon them, however she often stepped in for them when they shirked all motherly duties. And such a thing happened much more frequently than she was fond of thinking about. 

But there was no way that they could step in now to act as mothers. Unless they had a way of bringing themselves back from ancient graves. And even then, Cordelia had no chance of returning. Not in this moment.

Not that such a thing was necessarily a bad thing, really, but a little help would have been appreciated. Especially when the silence was this thick, this heavy and ominous, rolling in like fog that showed no signs of clearing up anytime soon.

That said, she managed to get them all to sit down once more, even if they were disgruntled with the mere thought of being that close with one another. It was a sad sight to see, considering how they could have easily been so close. However there was no point in dwelling on such a thing.

"Hush now, dear children,

it must be this way,

too weary of life and deceptions."

They were at breaking point to just rush out and find their father. It was visible, from their tense postures and impatient faces. They were easier to read for her than they thought they were. If it wasn't for the situation at hand, she was sure that she'd have found it rather amusing. But this was not a time for amusements, or playing games or acting like children. She knew that as well as they did.

And so, instead of trying to reason with them when she knew such a thing was futile, she began to hum instead. They would not listen to her words on the subject; they would listen to no one's words on the subject. For they were certain that they knew best. Not to mention their obvious anger, which would make them even more unreasonable than their rash behaviour already made them.

So instead, perhaps a distraction would prove more useful. It would delay the- most likely messy- resolution of this situation, and would also give them a chance to letter their anger simmer into something more manageable. Something that would let their heads clear more easily, and let them make proper judgement that isn't drove by blind rage.

"Rest now, my children,

for soon we'll away

into the calm and the quiet."

Vampires don't need sleep. This is a rather well-known fact amongst those which are aware of their existence. That isn't to say that they don't sleep, however, and the maid's lullabies often lulled them into a sleepy state. Often it was unintentional, considering they'd ask her sometimes in the middle of the night, when they are meant to be most active. This time it was not. If they fell asleep then she'd probably have a few more hours in which they could (hopefully) calm down. Or she'd have to try and hold them back to cool off again in a few hours.

She felt bad in a way, having manipulated them in a way for them to sleep. So, as she left the room, she decided to try to make it up to them later in the best way that she could.

It was a lovely sight that she had to leave behind, with the boys resting on each other as they slept. That said, it wasn't as peaceful as it looked with Ayato's snoring. Even as she shut the door and continued down the hall to do other tasks, it never relented.

Barely ten minutes later, they were all on their feet.

"Come little children,

I'll take thee away

into a land of enchantment."

There was no land of enchantment, not in this prison of ground, sea and sky. Not in this cell where they were born and raised. Not while their father continued to mess with anyone whenever he saw fit.

He'd made the mistake, really; he'd brought this whole thing upon himself. If he wanted death so badly, then they saw it fit to deliver. After all, it's what he wanted, no? Their father had seen how much they cared for and appreciated the maid, and took it upon himself to injure her on a whim. To see how they'd all react as he looked upon them like one would an insect.

No matter what they'd had to endure at his hands, they had never directly lashed out upon him before. After all, he was anything but forgiving. Breaking a vase landed you in the middle of the ocean, so the risks were definitely quite high, to say the least. But that didn't bother them. At least not in this moment of white-hot rage that disallowed them from thinking properly.

Besides, if they were to die then there wouldn't be reason to harm her anymore, would there?

It was unlikely that they'd die, considering that their purpose had not yet been fulfilled. However it brought some twisted sense of comfort to them, so that they could fight their all with no regrets.

"Come little children,

the time's come to play

here in my garden of shadows."

[localbizlift]

Best of Whiteboard Friday 2021: 21 Smart Google SEO Tips

Our top Whiteboard Friday episode of the year was originally published all the way back at the beginning of January! So much has happened in the marketing industry since then, but Cyrus’s 21 SEO tips for the year are still definitely smart, and these go way beyond the SEO basics. He's also included a bunch of helpful resources for your reference in the transcription below! How many of these were you able to implement throughout the past 12 months? Let us know on Twitter @Moz, and we’ll see you in 2022 with brand new episodes!

Click on the whiteboard image above to open a high resolution version in a new tab!

Video Transcription

Howdy, Moz fans. Welcome to another edition of Whiteboard Friday. I'm Cyrus Shepard. Today, so glad that you can join us. We are talking about 21 smart Google SEO tips for 2021. We're getting ready for a new year, a new year of SEO strategies. These are 21 practical tips that you can implement that should, hopefully, move the needle on your organic traffic. 

These are some of the best tips that I've collected over the past year. Many of them that I'm going to use myself in my own SEO strategies. 

Now we have four categories: increasing clicks, content/on-page SEO tips, technical SEO, and a little bit of link building. There are 21 of these. These are going to go fast. We're trying to do 10 to 12 minutes, so we don't get to spend a lot of time on each one. But don't fret. We're going to link to appropriate resources in the transcript below so that we can keep along and explore a little bit more. All right. Ready to dive in? 

Increasing clicks

Let's start with clicks, specifically earning more clicks from Google without actually ranking higher, because that's one of the great things about SEO. You don't actually have to rank higher to get more traffic if you can get more clicks from the rankings that you already have. So let's talk about some specific strategies for getting more clicks without increasing rankings. 

1. Favicon optimization

First, favicon optimization.

Now I'm surprised more people haven't talked about this in 2020. Google displays favicons in mobile search results, and they can influence your click-through rate if they're high contrast, if they're visible or not visible. Having a good favicon can make a few percentage points difference, very minor, but it does make a difference if you can get it right. Aaron Wall, SEO Book, wrote one of the very few posts about that. 

2. Breadcrumb optimization

While we're optimizing our favicons, let's take a look at breadcrumb optimization. Google displays breadcrumbs in both desktop and mobile search results. They can be keyword-rich breadcrumbs, which can influence your click-through rate. Now Google gets their breadcrumbs from a lot of places. That can be your URL, your schema markup, your actual breadcrumbs on the page.

What you want to do is make sure Google is displaying the breadcrumbs that you want them to display, using those keywords that you choose. The best way to do that, make sure that you have breadcrumbs actually on your page with links, that you're using schema markup. Ideally, it would match your URL structure, but that isn't always necessary. So a great breadcrumb optimization audit. 

3. Meta descriptions

Let's optimize those meta descriptions. This is so old-school SEO. But a recent study shows that 30% of websites don't even use meta descriptions. Now that's understandable because another study shows that 70% of the time, Google will rewrite the meta description, usually because it's not using the keywords that the user is searching for. But if we write a well-crafted meta description, it can compel users to click, and that means using keyword-rich descriptions that people are actually searching for, so when Google does use your meta description, it's encouraging those clicks and acting as marketing copy for your website.

4. Numbers in titles

Along with meta descriptions, titles. Just shared a study recently showing that dates added to titles increased rankings for a particular brand. Numbers are generally one thing that I always test in title tags that usually produce pretty consistent results. Specifically, dates in title tags are often a winner, January 2021.

Don't be spammy about it. Don't include it if it doesn't make sense and don't fake it. But if you can include a number, it will often increase your click-through rate for any given query. 

5. <Title> boilerplate

How about doing a boilerplate audit for your title tag? Tip number five. What's boilerplate? Boilerplate are the parts of your title tag that repeat every single time.

For example, here at Moz, we put "Moz," our brand name at the end of every title tag. We used to put "Whiteboard Friday" at the end of every Whiteboard Friday until we tested it and found out that we actually got more clicks and higher rankings when we removed it. So boilerplate, you want your titles to be unique, provide unique value. So I would encourage you to experiment with your boilerplate and see if removing it actually increases your rankings.

Sometimes it's not going to. Sometimes you need that boilerplate. But do the test to find out. 

6. FAQ and how-to schema

Tip number six: schema, specifically FAQ and how-to schema. Google gave us a huge gift when they introduced these in search results. FAQ schema gives you a lot of SERP real estate. You can't always win it, and you can't always win the how-to schema, but when you do, that can definitely increase or influence people to click on your result, expand those FAQ schemas out.

It's not appropriate for every page. You want to make sure that you actually have those FAQs on your pages. But it is one way, in appropriate situations, that you can increase clicks without increasing your actual Google ranking. All right. 

Content/on-page SEO

Let's move on to some content and on-page tips. 

7. Relaunch top content

All right, number seven. This is the year I want you to look into relaunching your top content.

Content can go stale after a few years. So we launch content. You have a blog, you launch it, and you share it on social media. Most people forget about it after that. So go back, look at your top content over the last two to five years or even 10 years, if you want to go back that far, and see what you can relaunch by updating it, keeping it on the same URL. In some cases, you can see gains of 500% to 1,000% just by relaunching some of your old content with some updates.

So do a relaunch audit in 2021. 

8. Increase internal linking

Number eight: increasing internal linking. Now a lot of top SEO agencies, when they need to quickly increase rankings for clients, there are generally two things that they know are the easiest levers to pull. First, title tags and meta descriptions, what's getting more clicks, but second is increasing the internal linking.

You know that you can increase internal links on your site, and there are probably some opportunities there that you just haven't explored. So let's talk about a couple easy ways to do that without having too much work. 

9. Update old content with new links

Number nine is updating your old content with new links. This is a step that we see people skip time and time again. When you publish a new blog post, publish a new piece of content, make sure you're going back and updating your old content with those new links.

So you're looking at the top keyword that you want to rank for, and going in Google Search Console or checking tools like Keyword Explorer to see what other pages on your site rank for that keyword, and then adding links to the new content to those pages. I find when I do this, time and time again, it lowers the bounce rate. So you're not only updating your old page with fresh content and fresh links and adding relevance. You're adding links to your new content. So make sure, when you publish new content, you're updating your old content with those new links. 

10. Remove unnecessary links

Number 10, remove unnecessary links from your content. Now this is a form of PageRank sculpting. PageRank sculpting is a dirty word in SEO, but actually it works to a certain extent. It's not nofollow link page sculpting.

It is removing unnecessary links. Do you really need a link to your team page on every page of your website? Do you need a link to your contact form on every page of your website? In many cases, you don't. Sometimes you do. But if you remove the unnecessary links, you can pass more link equity through the links that actually count, and those links are a major Google ranking signal.

11. Mobile link parity audit

Number 11, need you to do a mobile link parity audit. What is that? What is a mobile link parity audit? That is ensuring that the links on your mobile site are the same as the links on your desktop site. Why is that important? Well, the last couple of years Google has moved to a mobile first index, meaning what they see on your mobile site, that's your website.

That's what counts. So a lot of sites, they have a desktop site, and then they reduce it to their mobile site and they're missing links. They get rid of header navigation, footer links, and things like that. A recent study showed that the average desktop page has 61 links and the average mobile page has 54 links. That means on the web as a whole there are seven fewer links on mobile pages than desktop pages, meaning a lot of link equity is being lost.

So do a study on your own website. Make sure you have mobile link parity between your desktop and your mobile site so you're not losing that equity. 

12. Invest in long-form content

Number 12: need you to invest in long-form content. Now I am not saying that content length is a ranking factor. It is not. Short-form content can rank perfectly well. The reason I want you to invest in long-form content is because consistently, time and time again, when we study this, long-form content earns more links and shares.

It also generally tends to rank higher in Google search results. Nothing against short-form content. Love short-form content. But long-form content generally gives you more bang for your buck in terms of SEO ranking potential. 

13. Use more headers

When you're doing that long-form content, make sure you do number 13: use more headers. I'm talking about H2 and H3 tags.

Break up your content with good, keyword-rich header tags. Why? Well, we have research from A.J. Ghergich that shows that the more header tags you have, generally you rank for more featured snippets. Sites with 12-13, which seems like a lot of header tags, rank for the most featured snippets of anything that they looked at in their most recent study.

So make sure you're breaking up your content with header tags. It adds a little contextual relevance. It's a great way to add some ranking potential to your content. 

14. Leverage topic clusters

Number 14, leverage topic clusters. Don't just launch one piece of content. Make sure you write about multiple pieces of content around the same subject and link those together. When you do that and you link them intelligently, you can increase engagement because people are reading the different articles.

You can add the right contextual inner links. I have a great case study that I want to show you in the transcript below, where someone did this and produced amazing results. So look into topic clusters for 2021. 

15. Bring content out of tabs

Finally, bring your content out of tabs. If you have content that is in accordions or drop-downs or you have to click to reveal the content, study after study after study shows that content that's brought out of tabs and brought into the main body, so people don't have to click to see, generally performs better than content that's hidden in tabs.

Now to be clear, I don't believe that Google discriminates content in tabs. They seem to be able to index and rank it just fine. But I think people generally engage with content when it's out of tabs, and maybe some of those signals help those pages to rank a little better. 

Technical SEO

All right. Just a very few technical SEO tips. We're going fast.

16. Core Web Vitals

Number 16: this is the year to invest in Core Web Vitals. These are some of the page experience signals that Google is bringing to the forefront in 2021. It's going to be an actual ranking factor very soon. We're talking about cumulative shift layout, hard word to say. Generally, we're talking about site speed and delivering great page experience. Now some of these things are very technical, and Google has some tools, like Lighthouse, to try to help you to figure them out.

One tip I like to share, if you are on WordPress, I highly recommend using Cloudflare, in particular their APO for WordPress. It's a great way to speed up your WordPress website and help you score better for some of these Core Web Vitals. It's very low cost, it's easy to implement, and it's a great way to speed up your WordPress website.

17. Limit sitemaps to 10,000

Number 17: sitemaps. Sitemaps, you're allowed to have 50,000 URLs per sitemap. This is always a question in every SEO quiz. How many URLs per sitemap are you allowed? Instead, if you have a large site and you have indexing issues, tip number 17, limit your sitemaps to 10,000 URLs. You don't have to use all 50,000.

We have some evidence that using smaller sitemaps, compressing those into a limited URL set can actually improve your crawlability of those. It's kind of like Google might prioritize those in some way. The data seems to support it. You also get a little bit better data out of Google Search Console. You can see what's being indexed and what's not.

18. Leverage dynamic sitemaps

Also, leverage dynamic sitemaps. Our friend Oliver Mason shows — that I'll link to in the transcript below — that a dynamic sitemap is a sitemap that changes based upon what you want Google to crawl. So if you have a large corpus of URLs that you want Google to crawl, put the high priority ones in their own special sitemap.

Maybe you limit it to one thousand URLs. As Google crawls and discovers those, remove them and put in additional high priority URLs that you want Google to discover. Keep the sitemap small and tight, and let Google know that those are the ones that you want them to pay attention to. 

Link building

Let's quickly talk about link building tips for 2021, because everybody loves link building.

No, kidding. Everybody hates link building. Link building is so hard. There are some professionals and there are some great people in the industry who do love it, who are great at it. Personally, I'm not that great at link building, but I still am able to build a lot of links. 

19. Passive link acquisition

One way that I'm able to do that is number 19: passive link acquisition. What passive link acquisition means is creating content that passively earns links as people discover it in the SERPs.

It means I don't have to outreach to people. It means that when they find it, when journalists find it, when bloggers find it, they naturally want to link to it. You do that by creating the types of content that journalists and bloggers and web creators are looking for. These are generally data, guides, definitions, how to, such as this video. When you create that kind of content, it generally earns a lot of links as people find it. Passive link building is one of the most sustainable ways to earn links over time. 

20. Page-level link intersect

Number 20, page-level link intersect. When you do have to do outreach, you want to do outreach to the pages most likely to link to you. Now we've known for a long time one of the top SEO tips for link building is find websites that link to your competitors but not to you.

I like to make that a little more specific and find web pages that link to at least two of my competitors but not to me. That means that they are generally a resource page, if they're linking to multiple competitors but not to me, and more likely to link to me if I ask them. We have a great tool here at Moz, Link Explorer, that does page-level link intersect. I think it's the best tool for this specific task in the SEO industry, not because I'm biased, because I actually use it.

21. Be the last click

Tip number 21 for 2021, be the last click. What do I mean by that? I mean satisfy your users. Once you earn the first click, you want to get that first click that people click, but you also want to be the last click. That means they found what they are looking for. User satisfaction is ranking signal number one. Your goal with all of this is to satisfy the user, to give them what they search for.

That's the magic of SEO. They're searching for something, and you're delivering it to them at the exact moment they search for it. When you can be the last click, you're almost guaranteed to rise in rankings and get the traffic that you deserve. 

All right, those are 21 tips. That's your roadmap for 2021. Hope you enjoyed it. Please share this video and share your tips for 2021 in the commen

[littlespaceporgs]

The Captain and The Medic

Leah!!!!!!!!!! Congrats on 50 followers; you deserve it 💕💕💕 Could I possibly request 9 and 20 from the prompt list with Rex? (p.s. ily)

HEY look at this I did a thing! I haven’t actually written for Rex before, and I think I may have gotten a little carried away but its fine, I hope you enjoy my love <3 (p.s. i love u too)

Want to Request? See here.

Prompts:  #9 - kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing and #20 - “how did you get in here?”

Tags for my lovelies: @peacelandbread​ @cherieboba​ @valkyrieofthehighfae​ @thwippeter​ @kaminobiwan​ @cptnrex501​ @captainrexstan​ @catsnkooks​ @obirain​

Pairing: Rex x Reader Word Count: ~950 i think Description: A medic’s job is already hard, but for whatever reason, those with ranks are intent on making it harder.

As a field medic, you tend to pride yourself on your ingenuity and creativity. It means that during a battle, you’re the first to see the injuries, the worst of it if you will. It means that you have to think very quickly, to be able to prioritise injuries and determine the best course of treatment. This has led to a certain strength of mind, focus and determination that others lacked. As the field medic to the 501st however, you had to be especially good at keeping track of your patients and being *ahem* strong-willed enough to keep said patients where they needed to be.

General Skywalker was the worst for it, he quite plainly would not show up in the medbay at all, not until you had dragged him back there yourself. Commander Tano would show up to the medbay, usually at the hands of Skywalker or the Captain, but would somehow find a way to leave shortly thereafter. You suspect that Jedi mind-tricks may have something to do with it. Karking Jedi and their stupid abilities. Captain Rex had once been very diligent and much like Tano when it came to the medbay, however as you’ve discovered, he was very quickly becoming like kriffing Skywalker.

Which leads us to now, where you’d found yourself wondering the halls of The Resolute searching for said Captain. You’d think being in a relationship with the man would make him come and see you a little easier but evidently not.

As you strode into the mess, heads were swivelling towards the storm that is a medic. Silence fell over most of the hall, except for the whispers wondering who had done what to be deserving of a medic’s wrath. At the back, you could see one table that was looking in every direction that you weren’t in. Well, there’s a good place to start.

As you approached, all three of them tried their very hardest to avoid your gaze as you narrowed in on them. Fives continually changed where he was looking, turning around to look at nothing and finding the roof rather interesting. Jesse started to push food around his plate while Tup stared intently at his twiddling thumbs on the table.

“Are any of you going to tell me where he is?” Once more, they all avoided your venomous glare and you were met with silence. Fine. With a resounding slap, your hands whacked the edge of the table.

“HE’S IN MEETING ROOM 2!” Tup flinched away as he squawked out his response, and for a second you felt bad but quickly recovered. The other two di’kut’s present merely slumped their heads as Fives gave Tup a betrayed look. The resolve to find Rex came back, because of course he went to the one place that medics couldn’t get into without a code.

“Code?” you hissed. Jesse sighed heavily before murmuring the 4 numbers. Nodding once, you spun on your heel and back into the hall to find the meeting room, leaving to the sound of Fives yelling about Rex getting his revenge.

                                                           *~*~*

The door to the meeting room slid open once you entered the code that Jesse had given to you. Sure enough, there he was, standing and leaning over a table staring at some holomaps. By the look of concentration on his face, he hadn’t seen you enter yet either.

“Rex? Riddur?” When he didn’t respond you sighed softly to yourself. Walking up behind him, you wrapped your arms around his middle and rested your cheek on his shoulder plate. The di’kut still hadn’t even changed out of his armour. The only acknowledgement he gave you was a small pat on your arm.

“My love, you need to stop working and rest.” You said gently, hoping to coax him away from the table. He only sighed and shook his head slightly. Starting at his shoulder, you began pressing gentle kisses up towards his face. When you reached his neck, where the armour ended and his skin was visible, his head began to tilt the slightest bit to the side so you’d have better access. Pressing one last gentle kiss to his jawline, you then managed to slide your way under his arm so you were now hugging him from the front. Leaning up, and crossing the few inches, you kissed him softly. He didn’t respond for a second, but then you felt him breathe out through his nose. His right hand came up to your cheek to hold you in place and the other wrapped around your waist to pull you impossibly closer. His shoulders slumped into you and he relaxed all over shortly after.

Just as quickly as he relaxed, he pulled back and looked you in the eye and smiled gently, brushing the strands of hair behind your ear.

“Cyar’ika, what are you doing in here?” he asked softly. His voice was slightly husky with exhaustion. Grinning at him, you pressed another kiss to his jaw.

“Distracting you, hopefully so I can lure you away from all,” you gestured widely at the holomap, “this.” He sighed again and shook his head.

“I can’t, I need to-” you cut him off by kissing him again. Despite the hum of contentment that vibrated in his chest, he pulled away from you again. He seemed to do a double-take when he saw the door. “Wait – How did you get in here?” Grinning proudly, you grabbed his hands and started to pull him to the door.

“I spoke to Fives, Tup and Jesse. However, I think I scared Tup a little bit.”

“Poor thing, you probably traumatised the man,” with a mock scandalised look on your face, you spun and gently slapped his arm, “I’m not getting out of this one am I?”

“No you’re not! Be thankful I’m not going to drag you to the medbay, we’re going straight back to my room so you can rest.” The man behind you breathed out a laugh before holding your hand tighter, seemingly allowing you to pull him to your room.

“Alright cyare,” sighing again he continued, “you win this time.” You spun and pressed another kiss on the corner of his lips, before smirking to yourself.

“Y’know my love, if you keep sighing like that I’m going to have to start calling you General Kenobi!”

[entitynumber5]

hurt never meant

Chapter 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723250/chapters/73101963

Summary: Jon and Martin enter a battle of wits regarding the hiding of injuries.

Content warnings: paranoia, blood, injury, canon-typical worm mentions, descriptions of wounds and scars, stitches, needles, internalised ableism, swearing, arguments, toxic work environment, nausea, food mention.

It was very fun to write Martin being petty and stubborn but my god, having Not!Sasha in this fic was PAINFUL!!!!!! Hopefully the second chapter will be finished soon. Full text below the line. I hope everyone’s having a great day <3

The Tube is choking with artificial heat, pumped unregulated through the vents so that inside in late November, cocooned in coats, the passengers shift and sweat and mumble in discomfort. Martin tries to remember the mundane cycle of complaints and platitudes he follows in circles every morning: the air is drying out my contact lenses. At least it’s not summer. I wish I wasn’t wearing a coat. You’ll be grateful when you get outside.

Each circle is broken, just before he completes it and begins again, by the sensation of heat crawling beneath his skin, a tingling upwards motion. It ripples across his face, inducing a drowsiness like fingers dragging his eyes closed, before the prickling across his scalp sends him spiralling into discomfort once again.

He tries to force himself back to his commuter’s hymn, but the heat feels internal, spreading outwards as if attempting to meet the warm air of the Tube. It’s different from the normal unpleasantness. It’s too distracting. He shifts his weight between bursts of dizziness—he gave up his seat three stops ago for a person with a tiny baby strapped to them, and now he is squeezed against the door by the passengers who have joined him since—and a fresh wave of stars burst across his vision at the sharp slice of pain through his left foot.

Martin clings tighter to the bar as the pain wraps around his ankle and flares up the outside of his calf. For a moment, he thinks his whole leg might collapse beneath him and he is almost grateful for the way they are all shoulder-to-shoulder in the compartment.

Perhaps he should have called Rosie and told her. But a deep-rooted part of him cannot bear to take time off, remembers the times he had dragged himself to work feeling much worse—smiling from behind the till even during a bout of flu that made his entire body ache, carrying plants to cars at the garden centre a few days after he dislocated his shoulder helping his mother up after a fall. At least, at the Institute, he has a desk and a chair and very few opportunities for heavy lifting. Given time to take some weight off the injury before lunch, he is sure no one will even notice. And by tomorrow, he will be fine.

The next stop is his. Outside, the cold air takes some of the unbearable flush from his cheeks and he walks the rest of the journey with his coat open to counteract the heat of the train. He resolutely ignores the throbbing in his left leg as he joins of the parade of commuters, bustling in tandem along narrow pavements. The Institute isn’t far.

Martin fights the instinct to immediately make Jon a cup of tea. He knows it takes Jon a while to warm up to him each day, withdrawn and nearly always absent in the mornings. By the afternoon, Jon is slightly more receptive after enough time co-existing without incident, slightly more willing to drink the tea offered to him even if he always smells it beforehand. Morning tea is fed to the plants; afternoon tea, Jon tolerates.

He should stop by the staff room, anyway. The first aid kit inside is well-stocked. He knows this because he did it himself, spreading the task out with extensive research on the empty, boring workdays before Jon and Tim had returned from their leave. There are painkillers inside and the sort of durable bandages Martin doesn’t have at home. But the urge to sit down drags him past the door and straight to his desk.

“Morning, Sasha,” Martin says, supressing a loud exhale of relief when he lowers himself into his desk chair.

Sasha glances up distractedly from her computer and pulls out one of her earbuds. “What was that, Martin?”

Martin tries to fight an unfamiliar nervousness, an old friend from his early days in the Archives where he wasn’t sure where he stood with Tim and Sasha. “I was just saying good morning.”

“Of course.” Sasha smiles, although her expression is blank, almost cold. “Good morning to you, too.”

Martin gives her a tight-lipped smile in return. Sasha pops the earbud back in and returns to whatever work she is doing on the computer. He wonders if she can hear the noise of the repeated error notification over her music, wonders what she is doing to make the computer so combative.

Before Prentiss, he has a vague memory of there being a radio on Sasha’s desk. She wouldn’t turn it on everyday—sometimes, she could only get work done if she was wearing noise-cancelled headphones—but whenever she did, she and Tim would sing along to cheesy ’80s hits. He thinks he remembers them dancing together, the middle of the open plan office becoming a makeshift dance floor, but he cannot hold the entire picture in his mind. It’s like a reverse polaroid, fading out of view rather than in. Perhaps he only dreamt it.

He shakes himself out of the fuzziness filling his mind and tries to focus on checking his emails. He left leg throbs dully beneath his desk, but the pain becomes peripheral as each email dredges up the irritation he tries to avoid indulging on weekends. Elias has sent a motivational Monday email about the importance of teamwork and rallying together, especially after a difficult few months for all of us. Rosie has forwarded a fundraising form from his old supervisor in the library, who is apparently raising money for Dementia UK. He tries not to think about how difficult it had been to explain to the aforementioned supervisor why he needed time off to help his mother settle into the care home in Devon. And there is no email at all from Tim, who has stopped bothering to even send his apologies for being late with each new blow to his and Jon’s relationship.

“Martin.” Jon’s voice, slightly raised to catch his attention.

Martin looks up. Jon’s door is open just a crack. Before he can reply, Jon adds stiffly: “My office. Five minutes.” And then he closes his office door firmly once again.

Martin resists the urge to groan and lower his head to his desk. While he’s glad that telling Jon about his faked CV seems to have been a small but significant turning point, he isn’t sure he can manage another complicated conversation dredging up old anxieties today. He doesn’t want to reveal each shameful, painful secret he has in a futile attempt to make Jon trust him.

He can’t concentrate for the next five minutes. He alternates between watching the second hand on the clock across the office and refreshing his emails. He resigns himself to giving a fiver to the library fundraiser and eating the leftover takeaway in the fridge for lunch rather than getting a meal deal. He tries not to think about where Tim might be or what sort of mood he will be in when he finally arrives.

As soon as five minutes have passed, Martin stands. But with his stomach twisting in anxiety and his thoughts spiralling, he has managed to relegate the pain in his leg to the bottom of his mental priority list. Now that he’s standing, it’s demanding first place again. He has to grab the edge of his desk, almost sending his nearly-dead office plant and pot of pens flying across the floor. His monitor, still displaying emails, wobbles dangerously with the desk. He stands completely still for a moment, trying to breathe around the wave of nausea induced by the pain.

The prickling hotness is back. He hopes his face isn’t red when he finally plucks up the courage—and energy—to knock on the door of Jon’s office. It wouldn’t be the first time, he supposes. No matter how hard he tries, he finds himself blushing quite often whenever it is just him and Jon in the latter’s office.

“Come in,” Jon mumbles from behind the door.

Martin creaks open the door carefully and steps inside, trying very hard to make himself smaller, non-threatening. Jon sits behind his desk, staring at his computer screen. He doesn’t look away, but he waves Martin into the spare chair opposite him.

Martin has a feeling that sitting down would be a dangerous decision. He clears his throat. “Actually, I’ll—I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

This finally draws Jon’s eyes away from his monitor. “Alright. Although I can assure you that, unlike some of its brethren in Artefact Storage, that chair doesn’t bite.”

Martin tries to smile. Jon has been doing this more since the confrontation and subsequent reveal over his CV—trying to make jokes, or some approximation. An attempt to diffuse the tension, even when Jon’s body language is nearly always screaming: I see you as a threat.

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Martin replies, “But I, um—I was just reading this article about the impacts of sitting at a desk.”

“A productive start to your workday, then,” Jon mutters.

“And so I’m gonna try standing up a bit more,” Martin continues, deliberately ignoring Jon’s comment, “Around the office.”

“Around the entire office or my office specifically?”

Martin can feel the irritation—stirred by the emails, deflated initially by Jon’s joke—rising inside of him again. “Does it matter?”

Jon sighs. “I suppose not.”

“So, what did you, um, what did you need from me?” Martin asks, trying not to shift with nerves. He knows it will aggravate his leg.  

“Sasha still appears to be having difficulty with her computer, so I was hoping to delegate the task of digitising the disproved statements from 1995 to 2000 to you,” Jon says.

Martin tries not to visibly bristle. Jon has been doing this a lot lately, too—far more frequently, in fact, than the half-formed jokes. He hoards the statements that won’t record digitally, combs them again and again for details rather than delegating this task to any of his Assistants, and only asks for very vague follow-ups.

But Sasha had volunteered to digitise the disproved statements. She said she liked the clear structure it gave to her day, always able to take a full hour for lunch to visit her new boyfriend, and how it led her to different places within the Archives. Besides, she has a transcribing qualification, although she had asked Martin the other day how to insert line numbers into a document. Brain fog, she had explained with that same thin smile.

Martin is quite happy to do whatever minuscule tasks Jon would sporadically trust him with, as long as it meant he had some idea of what Jon was currently putting all of his energy into. He doesn’t want to digitise statements from the ’90s.

“Will that be a problem?” Jon asks after the silence drags on.

“Nope. Not at all,” Martin lies, “It’s just that…”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I thought I could perhaps… do some follow-ups on the statements you’ve been reading.”

Jon sighs again. Distractedly, he lifts his left arm, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, and scratches at the slightly-raw but almost-healed wound along his forearm. The stitches have dissolved, but Martin can see the pink scarring where they were placed across the wound, which is raised in comparison to the flat worm scars surrounding it.

“Don’t scratch it,” Martin tuts, “You’ll reopen the wound.”

“Martin,” Jon replies, exasperated, “It’s almost completely healed.”

“Completely healed? It’s not—it’s never going to be—you needed five stitches!”

“Yes, as you keep reminding me.”

“Because I—” Martin splutters, trying to find the words. “Because I worry about you.”

“Your worry is entirely unnecessary.”

“Is it? Because I think you’ve given me more than enough reasons to be worried about you lately.”

Jon’s jaw twitches angrily, but his expression is level when he forces his eyes to Martin’s. “I didn’t call you in here to have yet another pointless conversation about my mental or physical health.”

“Of course not. You called me in here to…” To do a completely meaningless task because you don’t trust me with anything else. He takes a deep breath and knows he cannot say that. “Digitise the 1995-2000 disproved statements.”

“Well remembered.”

Martin manages not to roll his eyes. “I’ll get started right away.”

Martin turns to leave. The first step is easy. The pain arrives on the second, taking him surprise, a direct strike to his ankle. He stumbles and has to steady himself again, this time against the chair Jon had offered him at the start.

“Martin,” Jon says, a hint of something like surprise—or worry—in his voice. He is half-standing from his own chair when Martin looks over his shoulder at him.

“I’m fine,” Martin insists.

“You’re clearly not fine. Are you injured?”

Martin leans into the chair so he can turn to face Jon again. At this angle, Martin catches only a glimpse of the healing wound where it snakes behind Jon’s wrist. But even with a limited view, the memory of the first time he had seen it grips him.

It had been near the end of the day. Martin went to use the toilet before he headed home, but the moment he was inside, all he could smell was blood. And for a moment, all he could think was the worms, they must have missed some of the worms, where did I last see Tim, oh, god, Jon hasn’t left for the day yet, is Sasha still in the office, the worms, worms again, always worms, it was only a matter of time. It was like walking through the Archives after the siege to give his statement: the musty smell of the worm carcases and the metallic hint of blood beneath. Jon and Tim’s blood.

He had lifted his sleeve to his nose to block out the smell and tried to gather some semblance of calm. The blood was in the sink. One of the bathroom stall doors was closed but not locked, a shadow just visible underneath. When Martin called out a cautious hello, the door creaked open at the behest of the occupant’s foot and Jon stood sheepishly inside, pressing a wad of red-stained tissues against his arm.

“Ah. Hello, Martin,” Jon had said. And then, “Heading home?”

Martin had shouted. He can’t remember what. His voice was always higher than it was loud when he was upset. After that, it had been a blur of the same lies. “I’m fine,” as Martin tried to apply pressure to the wound. “I don’t need stitches,” when Martin insisted on taking him to A&E. “It’s really not that bad,” while the doctor was injecting the anaesthetic and stitching the wound. “Why would I lie, Martin? For the last time, I cut myself on a bread knife,” repeated in the days after, again and again, no matter how much Martin pushed.

“Martin,” Jon says again, interrupting his train of thought, “Are you injured?”

Jon is lying to him. Jon is playing a game. Perhaps unintentional, perhaps well-meant, but nonetheless—two can play and Martin has thrown his hat into the ring. The irritation scratching against his ribcage is replaced with a petty sense of satisfaction.

“I sprained my ankle on the way to work. Tripped while I was getting off the Tube,” Martin tells him, “You know me. Clumsy as anything. It’s nothing serious.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like nothing,” Jon snaps.

“It’s fine.” Martin smiles. “I’m sure it will clear up on its own,” he adds, since Jon had something to that effect to him while bleeding profusely in the bathroom stall.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be digitising the statements, after all,” Jon murmurs, almost to himself, “Sasha hasn’t yet transferred them to the office and the boxes can be rather heavy.”

“Honestly, Jon, I can manage,” Martin interjects. The satisfaction has faded slightly, replaced with that desperate urge to prove himself, to show he doesn’t need time off work. He won’t go home. And he won’t be a liability while he’s here. “Besides, what else is there for me to do? Unless you want me to follow up on that statement?”

Jon looks down at his desk. A flash of panic crosses his face when he realises the statement folder is open and Martin, at any time, could have read it. He closes it, deliberately slow, as if trying to hide the reason why. “I’m sure I can find you something else to do at your desk.”

Martin knows this has become a different point of pride now. A dangerous point of pride. He doesn’t want Jon to fuss over him. He doesn’t want to be handled. He will do his job as usual and no one will know he is in pain, no one needs to assume he is anything other than fine.

“I’ll digitise the statements,” Martin says, “In fact, I’ll get started right away.”

“Martin, I—”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Then…” Jon hesitates. “Have a good day, Martin.”

Martin almost folds at the softness in Jon’s voice. For a moment, he considers taking it back—the stubbornness, the bitterness, the insistence that he’s fine. Would it hurt to give in, for a day, to the urge for rest? But it would. He knows it would.

“You too, Jon,” Martin murmurs, dismissing himself from Jon’s office and managing to make it out of the door without flinching every time he puts weight on his left leg.

*

Jon refreshes his emails. He deletes Elias’s aggressively positive bulletin before panicking that he will somehow know and transferring it back to his inbox. He flips through the statement on his desk. He makes sure the pages are in order, properly aligned. He takes the tape recorder from the drawer. He takes a sip from the sealed water bottle he keeps in the same locked drawer as the tape recorder. He lifts his thumb, letting it hover above the button to start recording.

Martin, he thinks. And he can’t begin the statement.

Martin is not fine. Jon is going to prove it. He had decided this before the emails, the statement, the water. But at the crossroads of burying himself in work or investigating Martin’s denial, he realises that it was never really a choice. He needs to know.

Perhaps Martin is hiding an injury related to Jon’s clandestine investigation. The tunnels are dark and, in places, littered with debris. A person visiting without the right equipment—or, at the very least, without a torch—could easily hurt themselves. Or likewise, if the tables had somehow turned, Martin could have lost his balance in the station while following Jon. The best lies always held some element of truth.

The worry eating at him is for this scenario, Jon tells himself. Not for Martin. He is not worried for Martin.

Jon props his door open slightly with his shoe. Now that he has taken to working in his office, door closed, he no longer worries so much about working in only his socks. He never liked the feel of his firm work loafers, and it’s easier to sit comfortably in his chair when his feet aren’t covered. He checks to see if any of them have noticed him, but in the bullpen, Sasha doesn’t look away from her malfunctioning computer, earbuds in. Tim has yet to arrive. And Martin’s desk is empty.

He goes back to his own desk and sits down. From this angle, he can see through the small gap where his shoe is holding the door open. A direct view towards Martin’s desk. He will know when Martin comes and goes, will be able to examine his reaction to movement and pain. Jon begins a timer on his phone—he should keep a record of how long Martin takes, that might give him an idea of the extent of the injury—and then throws himself into scouring the evidence that Basira left the last time she visited.

Jon keeps stopping to check the timer. At fifteen minutes. At eighteen. At twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-four. Martin has been gone for far longer than Jon had expected.

At thirty-seven minutes, Jon steps out of his office.

Sasha gives him a brief wave as he passes, but the other two desks are still empty. Jon feels himself frowning. He checks the staff room, but it’s empty and the kettle is cold when he touches his fingers to it. Next, he forces himself to walk slowly to the stacks where the original statements, even disproved, are stored. It is light and temperature controlled here, adjacent to the room where Martin had once stayed for months while they waited for Jane Prentiss’s attack. Because he knows now that was what they were doing: waiting.

Jon keeps his pace slow and measured. He realises he’s still not wearing shoes, which makes it easier to walk quietly along the stacks looking for the right dates. 1980-1985. He’s getting closer. He stops just before 1995-2000, listening for any clue Martin is there.

The first thing he hears is heavy breathing, every other inhalation hitching in pain. Jon grips the shelf behind him, digging his fingers into the wood, focusing on the sensation of the grain. He grounds himself, refuses the first and overwhelming urge to check on Martin. And then, shifting his weight very carefully, he leans forward so he can see through a small gap in the shelving.

Martin is sitting on one of the wheeled, plastic stools used for reaching the higher shelves. His left leg, the one he couldn’t put weight on earlier, is extended in front of him. The hem of his left trouser leg has hitched up slightly, revealing Martin’s sock—covered in tiny dinosaurs and padded as if hiding bandages beneath. His body trembles, almost like a slight blurring around the edges. He is gripping his thighs tightly, digging his nails in as he squeezes is eyes shut.

Jon’s heart clenches. He knew, in his office, that Martin was injured. But this is something else entirely. Beneath the sickly lighting, Martin is pale, almost grey, his skin shinning with a thin layer of sweat. Jon recognises the tightness at the edges of his mouth, the way his throat works against a rising nausea.

“Martin,” Jon says, stepping into view before he can think about what he’s doing.

Martin leaps off the stool, but the motion sends him immediately careening into the opposite shelf when his left leg won’t hold his weight. He catches himself before he falls fully, but he lets out a breathless “shit” that Jon attributes to both the pain and the shock. He tries to pull himself back up to his full height, but Jon can see the toll the sudden movement has taken on him.

“Christ, Jon,” Martin gasps, struggling to regain his breath.

“You’re lying to me,” Jon says. He stops himself before he adds: again.

Martin’s eyes widen slightly in alarm, a look of panic washing out his features further. “Jon, I—I thought we—I’m not—”

“About your injury.”

“Oh.” Martin deflates. “Oh. That.”

Jon is so angry he doesn’t have energy to spare on being embarrassed by his lack of subtlety. “Martin, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” Martin mutters.

“You should take the day off, at the very least.”

“Jon, I’m grateful for your concern, I really am, but—”

“If you say you’re fine again, I swear I will—”

“It’s a sprain,” Martin interrupts, insistent, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Jon sighs. His anger leaves him, replaced with a sort of sadness he can’t quite place. Nothing I can’t handle. That sentence implies a comparison, a time before that hurts Jon to think about. “Let me get the boxes, at least.”

“No,” Martin says quickly.

“Martin, you clearly—”

“I’ll get them,” Martin insists, “Your arm—”

“Is almost healed. The same cannot be said for your allegedly sprained ankle.”

Martin rolls his eyes. “Allegedly?”

Jon doesn’t dignify his echo with an answer. “My physical therapist says I’m ready to start—”

“No, see, that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here!”

“I know my limits, Martin. You, apparently, do not.”

Martin laughs humourlessly. “Oh, for gods—”

“What?” Jon bristles. “I attended physical therapy, didn’t I?”

“Because I texted you every day to make sure you went. Because I sent you home when you tried to come back into work too soon.”

“I am more than capable of looking after myself.”

“You stabbed yourself with a bread knife!”

For a moment, a rebuttal sits on the edge of Jon’s tongue. He almost reveals the truth—the door, the blade of Michael’s finger tearing through his flesh when he tried to go after Helen. But no, that would be too much. That would be giving Martin exactly what he wants.

“So you finally believe me,” Jon says calmly.

“I’m finally starting to believe you’re never going to tell me the truth,” Martin replies.

“I’ve already told you the truth.”

“And so have I.” Martin looks him in the eye, unwavering. “I sprained my ankle. I’m fine. I can do this.”

Jon sighs. He rubs at his eyes, wishing he had gotten more sleep for the past—well, the past year. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Jon echoes, although he has no idea why, and leaves before Martin can question him.

Back in his office, he paces. He checks the timer on his phone. It’s been an hour. He sits down, glancing between his computer and the door, the computer and the door, the computer and the door. Eventually, he hears Martin drop a large box of case files on his desk, far louder than he would ever usually allow himself to be. Jon sighs again. He is not sure what battle they are locked in, but he knows it is going to be long and hard-won.

Jon goes back to scrutinising Basira’s evidence. A collection of statements taken from people in the vicinity of the Institute during Jane Prentiss’s attack. A profile on some of the employees who had frequent contact with Gertrude, including Martin’s old supervisor in the library. He had sent a reference of thinly-veiled insults across with Martin’s employee record and, for some reason, Jon had never liked him since.

He is disturbed by conversation outside.

“Afternoon, Tim,” Martin says.

“Afternoon, is it?” Tim replies bitterly. “I didn’t realise.”

Only then does Jon realise it is after midday and Martin still hasn’t badgered him about getting lunch.

“Can I get you anything?” Martin asks, his tone much softer. “A cup of tea, maybe?”

“Thanks, but I prefer coffee these days.”

Martin laughs, a small, quickly fading sound. “Believe it or not, I do also know how to make coffee.”

“I guess I…” A loud, exhausted sigh from Tim. Then, in a smaller, kinder voice: “A coffee would be great. Thanks, Martin.”

Through the half-open door, Jon watches as Martin grips his desk and uses it to leverage himself up. The change of elevation clearly makes him dizzy and he stands for a moment, breathing deeply while he reaches an equilibrium. But when he walks, he is mostly managing to mask the pain, at least until he leaves Jon’s field of vision.

Jon listens. He hears the familiar squeak of the staff room door swinging closed. After a fortifying breath, he forces himself out into the main office. Sasha’s desk is empty; she’s probably on her lunch break with the boyfriend who works at the wax museum. Tim is sitting in his chair, hands in his lap, staring blankly at his computer. The screen isn’t on.

Tim blinks. Pulls his dull gaze away from the computer. The shadows beneath his eyes are deep and purple, and he doesn’t even attempt to smile. “Can I help you with something, boss? Must be big if you’re willing to leave that office of yours.”

“Have you noticed Martin behaving strangely at all?”

“Oh, bloody hell, Jon, not this again,” Tim hisses, “I’m not helping you spy on—”

“No, no, not that,” Jon interrupts, “I believe Martin injured himself on his way to work, but he won’t tell me how severe it is.”

“Wow. Sounds kind of like someone else I know.”

“Tim.”

“I suppose he learnt from the best.”

“Tim,” Jon snaps, “Did you notice anything?”

“No.” Tim sighs. “No, I was a bit distracted, to be honest. I was sort of hoping Sasha would be here. I, uh, I need to talk to her about something.”

“Will you keep an eye on him?”

“I already told you, I’m not—”

“It’s not spying.”

“It’s as good as!”

“It is not.”

“You would know.”

“Tim,” Jon says, lowering his voice for impact, “If you are not going to do any work, at least—”

The staff room door whines open. Martin walks out backwards, holding the door open with his shoulder as he shuffles into the office a mug in each hand. One is the novelty mug with a celebrity and slogan on it that Jon doesn’t recognise, no matter how many times Tim has tried to explain; the other is the plain, sunny yellow one Martin always gives to Jon.

“Oh,” Martin says, pausing when he sees them both, “Is… everything alright?”

“Fine,” Tim replies, “Jon was just interrogating me about why I was late. And I was just telling him how I was passing by London Zoo when I heard a scream and I immediately began running—”

“Alright,” Jon interrupts, “I’ve heard enough.”

Martin lifts the hand holding the yellow mug slightly. “I made you tea.”

Jon tries to push away the warm feeling that unfurls in his chest, every time Martin says this. “Thank you, Martin. Let me take those from you.” He adds, firmly, “Both of them,” for good measure.

With some manoeuvring, Jon manages to relinquish Martin of both the mugs. He places Tim’s down on his desk, receiving a mumbled thanks, before walking the distance back towards his office door. Martin lingers in the doorway to the staff room, looking casually at Jon, but there is a stubborn set to his shoulders.

“How are the files?” Jon asks.

“Terrible,” Martin replies with a slight pout, “I’ve already read five statements about three separate Oasis concerts.”

Jon shudders. “I never liked the ’90s.”

Martin chuckles. “Yeah, well, at least they weren’t getting up to anything actually spooky.”

Jon hesitates. He knows, if he moves first, he will have lost this particular battle. But the war is still all to play for. He assesses the determination on Martin’s face and decides that, on his occasion, he will concede. Just this once.

“Well,” Jon says, clearing his throat, “Good luck with the rest.”

“What, you’re not going to make him put a quid in the jar for saying ‘spooky’?” Tim interjects.

Jon startles. He had almost forgotten him and Martin were not alone. “It’s a first offense.”

“It is not,” Tim calls after him, but there’s something playful in his tone, at least, “That’s preferential treatment!”

Jon goes back into his office without replying. He keeps the door open.

For the rest of the afternoon, Tim doesn’t exactly keep his word, but he does do everything in his power to prevent Martin from getting any work done. Tim isn’t subtle about it, but Martin tries to resist. He only plays two rounds of online Battleships with Tim before insisting on returning to the disproven statements. Tim then attempts to throw pens from his pot into Martin’s, scattering most of them around the office. When Sasha comes back, he quietens slightly and they all fall into some semblance of productivity. Jon does catch Tim playing solitaire when he passes his desk on the way to the bathroom, though.

Sasha is the first to go home. She leaves without stopping by Jon’s office and the absence scratches at his consciousness, some long-buried sense of rejection that he soothes and smothers with the knowledge that this is what he wants. He wants space to work. He wants to snap the lines of connection that might lead him towards betrayal.

Less than twenty minutes later, Tim is next. And he tries to take Martin with him.

“Come on,” Tim whines, his voice carrying through the barely-open door to Jon’s office, “Just one round. On me.”

“Tim,” Martin replies, his voice gentle but holding his position, “I really can’t. Not tonight.”

“We could grab something to eat instead? I’ve been meaning to try this sushi place right near—”

“I can’t eat—”

“Oh, right.” Tim clicks his fingers in remembrance. “You’re allergic to fish.”

“Not all fish,” Martin adds, like an apology.

“Not all fish,” Tim echoes, “But no sushi, just to be on the safe side.”

“Yep.” Martin sighs. “Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologise.”

From his office, Jon can hear Tim shifting slightly. The floors are hardwood, carefully maintained over the years, and despite taking some damage during Prentiss’s attack, Elias insists on keeping them. They creak. He remembers Martin mentioning it once in passing, when he was staying in the Archives, how sometimes he thought Jon was there even on the nights when he left before it got dark.

“At least let me walk you home,” is Tim’s last attempt, “A sprain is definitely not nothing. I sprained my wrist years ago climbing and it still plays up sometimes. Especially when I’m caving, actually, but that’s a story for another time.”

“Well, um… I won’t go climbing any time soon, then?”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” Tim says in his most flirtatious voice.

Martin laughs. “I appreciate it, Tim. But I’m—I just want to finish this off. Before I leave.”

Through the crack in the door, Jon sees Tim raise his hands in surrender. “Well, I tried.”

“I’ll be alright,” Martin adds, almost guiltily.

“You better be.” Tim hesitates again. Jon watches him pat the pockets of his coat, searching for his phone or perhaps his keys. “You got my link? The NHS website one about strains?”

“I did. Thank you.”

“And you know about calling 111?”

“Also yes.”

“And you can call me if you need me?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Tim says, resigned, “Just—take care of yourself.”

“You too, Tim,” Martin replies softly.

Tim heads off, again without stopping by Jon’s office. And it’s habit, by now, it’s not unusual for Tim to do this, but Jon taps the desk lightly with his fingers to try and dispel the feeling of wrongness sitting on his chest. He watches Martin go back to the computer, a tension around his eyes that suggests at a headache and the same pallid, nauseous look visible even in profile.

Jon considers the work he has left. The work he knows, realistically, he will never quite finish because every statement, every piece of footage, every lead, only stirs up more questions. He could stay. He could push himself on into the night, as he has done so many times before. He could find another reason to go into the tunnels. But deep down, he is exhausted—by the need to know, by the itch at the edge of his knowledge where uncertainty lingers and festers. He wants to rest and he thinks if he leaves now, Martin might, too.

Jon gathers his things, stuffing a few statements inside his messenger bag before shrugging on his coat, his scarf, his gloves and his hat. The cold air hurts his scars and dries out his skin until they become tight, small movements made increasingly uncomfortable without intervention, so he’s resorted to wearing more layers. Finally, he puts his shoes back on, retrieving the left one from the door and then closing it behind him when he steps out into the main office.

Martin glances away from his computer. “Heading home?”

“Yes,” Jon replies, as casually he can, “I thought I would call it an early night. Would you—I thought—perhaps you would like to join me?”

Jon tries not to notice Martin’s cheeks flushing pink. “Oh, um, I—I was actually—I think I should stay. Just for another half an hour or so. It’s just, I’m nearly finished with October to December 1999 and I know it will bother me if I leave it.”

Jon quirks an eyebrow. “That interesting?”

“Hmm.” Martin shrugs. “Mostly just a lot of people worried about the turn of the millennium.”

“Ah. I remember that.” Jon doesn’t let on that he spent October to December 1999 researching that very phenomenon obsessively, walking the line between intense curiosity and deep dread at the possibility of catastrophe. There are some things—many things—Martin doesn’t need to know about him.

Martin smiles. “Well, I… I better get on.”

“Martin,” Jon says, trying to keep his voice measured. He feels like he is wavering between an offering and an argument. “I know I stressed the importance of digitising those files this morning, but there is no reason to spend overtime on—”

“There is, though,” Martin interrupts, “A reason.”

“Oh?”

Martin looks him in the eye and almost smiles. “I want to.”

“Right,” Jon sighs.

“Right,” Martin echoes.

“I suppose I’ll—I’ll be going, then,” Jon murmurs, tapping Martin’s desk just once in deference to the slight tremble in his body, the way he isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. “See you tomorrow, Martin.”

Martin smiles, this time. A full smile. “Bye, Jon.”

Jon turns. He begins to walk away. In his mind, he sees an alternative: going back, asking Martin to walk with him to the station, an offer he knows will, at least, make Martin think again. The both of them squeezed among commuters, hands stuffed into the pockets of their coats because of the cold, elbows knocking against each other every so often as the crowd tightens and expands. The awkward, protracted moment of goodbye when they part to separate platforms, the glimpse of the other walking away and the pang of sadness that comes with it.

It’s manipulative to ask, a cruel trick, and yet—is it? Is it, if that is something Jon wants, too?

Jon doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, even though he knows—somewhere deep and hidden and insistent—that he will regret it.

[moonscriptsx]

The Pros and Cons of Falling in Love (M)

SUMMARY: World renowned bestselling author, Kim Namjoon, has always been praised on his philosophical outlook on the many trials and tribulations of life, but when he decides to tackle a certain topic, he finds himself in a rut full of writer’s block. As a last minute decision, he decides to take up his best friend’s, Kim Seokjin, offer and agreed to speak to his writing class about the ups and downs that come along with writing. While helping out his friend, he managed to find the resolution for his writer’s block; falling in love.

GENRE/WARNINGS: Author!Namjoon, College!AU; Fluff, angst, and smut all in one, with an inexperienced!Joon and a (somewhat) fem!dom.

WORD COUNT: 18.7k.

A/N: I’m baaaaaaack! *throws confetti* After a few months and whatever-the-fuck happened to my old blog, I’ve resurrected from the deleted blog grave and have come back. I will be slowly (but surely) re-uploading more of my works as time goes on! This is the first of many. Enjoy loves!

There was a moment in time when Kim Namjoon was on top of his game; he was able to sit in front of his computer and write like there was no tomorrow, marking down every idea and thought he had dwelling in his mind. He pumped out three novels, all bestsellers, and was adored by the general public for his genius visions and elaborate words that managed to capture the feelings of the person reading the book. He was labeled as a prodigy, considering he had only been nineteen years old when he had published his first novel, and though he’ll deny it, that had been the reason for his constant stress. Living up to the expectations that other authors and the public had put on him caused a strain, ultimately leading up to his lack of inspiration and writer’s block.

It’s been two years since he’s published something else and as the days pile up, the stress upon the man builds even more. Countless nights and days are filled with him staring blankly at the blank document occupying his screen, his brain completely empty of anything he could remotely use as an idea to run with. His methods of writing have seemed to fail him this time around, and now he’s stuck with nothing -- and he hates it. The more he stares at the blank screen the more he becomes frustrated, the now twenty-three year old feeling as if he’s never going to be able to write anything else. The constant pressure has him medicating in ways he probably shouldn’t, bottles of alcohol and packs of cigarettes littered next to his desk has his friends worrying for his health, though they have yet to say anything. When Namjoon is stressed, he doesn’t take lightly to those who try to help him. His words become blunt and striking, venom laced in his tone as he curses at them, thus leaving him to push away those who had reached out to help.

There was another downfall, however, one that Namjoon has acknowledged as his weakness; Namjoon had never been in love.

While many authors or writers have a muse by their side, encouraging them and supporting them consistently, Namjoon had no one. All of his life he had his nose buried in books, the man opting to study up on writing techniques and broadening his craft as opposed to going out with his friends and experiencing the things most kids his age would have. Sure, he’s kissed a few people, but that’s the extent of any form of intimate contact he’s come encountered with. In college he was too busy writing his novels to let any sort of romantic relationship happen, though he did have a few dates who had struck his interest -- but he couldn’t find a spark with any of them when the time had come to actually getting to know them. He was a man who sought out someone who could give him the mental stimulation, someone he could actually hold an intelligent conversation with, and while those he went out on dates with weren’t exactly not intelligent, they still lacked what he had been looking for.

The loneliness stacked upon the stress and frustration was making Namjoon start to regret choosing this field of work, and he was desperate to get out of the funk that plagued his life for far too long -- so he decided to change it. Starting from now he’s going to scan through any and every piece of literature, he’s going to look around him and turn to the world to find the inspiration he lacked -- but his plans seemed to take a different turn when he had reluctantly agreed to host a seminar at his Alma Mater for inspiring authors and writers like himself, and he found himself inching closer to the source of his inspiration.

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you huff in annoyance as you weave in and out of the students who cluttered around the lecture hall, silently cursing at those who stood in the way of your seat. It had been a rough morning; your alarm decided to ring twenty minutes later than you had set it, causing you to clamber around clumsily while you tried to gather everything you needed. You left your dorm with sopping wet hair and - if it hadn’t been for your roommate who called you out on it - you would’ve left with mismatched shoes. A large cup of coffee and another twenty minutes later, you had managed to make it to class on time, but even that doesn’t diminish your visible annoyance and irritation for the unfolding day.

Plopping your bag onto your desk, you lean back into your seat and rub your temples, the oncoming headache making you dread the day even more. A small snicker from beside you doesn’t falter your attitude, not even when your friend leaned over to place a concerned hand on your back.

“You alright, (Y/N)?”

Hana’s soft voice filled your ears as she rubbed your back soothingly, aware of your - very - irritated stature. Your gaze landed on her soft features, a small smile painted across your lips as you shrugged your shoulders.

“I will be, hopefully,” you admitted. “It’s been a rough morning.”

Hana nodded, the girl silently understanding your annoyance.

“You’ll be fine,” she smiled. “We’ve got a guest speaker coming today so we won’t have to do much work, thank god.”

Her words set you at ease, your shoulders slumping back into relaxation when you realize that you were able to sit back and enjoy today’s class without having to scribble endless nothings onto paper like usual. Hana giggles as she watched you sink back, her head shaking as she turns back towards the front.

“I feel you on that one, (Y/N).”

Your gaze scans around the room, eyes falling on the different pairs and groups that littered around the class as they talked amongst themselves. It was always fascinating to you when it came to observing others; you took note of their different mannerisms and gestures towards others, making mental notes of the people who have confident body language and those who consider themselves superior to others.

You snap out of your daze when the professor strolls happily into class, his hands clapping as he gains the students’ attention. The idle conversations fizzle into the air as everyone piles into their respective seats, the patient professor looking more than excited as he leaned against the edge of his desk. A pleasant smile is painted across his lips as his gaze swept over his students before he’s opening up to speak.

“As you all know, we have a special guest coming today,” he said happily. “Not only is he a bestselling author, but he also happens to be a very good friend of mine, so I expect you all to give him a respectful and warm greeting when I bring him in, though you’re all adults so I wouldn’t expect anything less, honestly. I’m going to go fetch him from the hallway, so talk amongst yourselves.”

And with that, he exits.

Namjoon is nervous -- no, scratch that; he’s fucking terrified.

It’s not that he’s nervous speaking in front of crowds, he had always been comfortable talking to those who were genuinely interested in his craft, it’s that he feels like he’s lying to these students. His friend had whole-heartedly invited him to drop knowledge and tips for his aspiring students in hopes that they would follow the path Namjoon did, but the latter felt like he was putting up a front. How was he supposed to give pep talks to a bunch of people who are trying to get to where he’s at in his life when he can’t even bring himself to write another fucking novel? How was it fair that he pretends he’s been busy working on more books when that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

Namjoon could feel his hands shaking as he watches his friend emerge from the classroom, the bright eyed professor grinning happily at his friend as he claps him on the back.

“You ready, Joon?” He asked, making Namjoon suck in a harsh breath.

“Truthfully?” He sighed. “No.”

The man’s face falls at that, his head cocked to the side as he shot his friend a concerned look.

“What do you mean ‘no’, Joon?”

“I feel like I’m lying to them, Seokjin,” Namjoon huffed. “I’ve have writer’s block for the past year, I haven’t been able to write anything -- and you want me to give an inspiring speech to these kids who could probably teach me a thing or two.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes at his friend’s words, the man shaking his head as he gripped Namjoon’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, Joon,” he said, his gaze piercing. “I don’t want you to think that you have to preach that the world of writing and becoming an author is easy or that it’s a breeze. I invited you here because I know that you’re the one person who will inform them of, not only the good things, but the struggles as well. Writer’s block is something that everyone will come across at least once or twice in their lives, Joon, and I want them to realize that that’s okay. I want you to be honest with them, I want you to not hold back.”

Namjoon pursed his lips, still hesitant.

“Isn’t that kind of discouraging them?”

Seokjin shook his head.

“Absolutely not,” he denied. “It’s setting them up for the reality of the situation. You can’t expect to just pump out novels constantly - there’s a lot of work that goes into it, and sometimes it isn’t pretty. I don’t want them to go in with high expectations only to end up disappointed.”

You mean like I did... Namjoon thinks to himself.

Letting out another sigh, Namjoon’s shoulders slump in defeat, a moment of silence slipping past the pair before the author nodded his head, reluctantly agreeing to go through with the lecture. Seokjin beamed with delight before he gives his friend an encouraging pat on his back.

“You’re gonna be great, Namjoon,” Seokjin affirmed. “I’ll be by your side if you need me to fill in anything you can’t.”

Opening the door to the classroom, Seokjin gestured for Namjoon to walk in first before he followed his friend inside. The daunting number of students has Namjoon swallowing the lump that formed in his throat as he tries to hurriedly collect himself. Seokjin plops down comfortably onto his chair, his eyes motioning for the author to take his place at the front, before Namjoon slowly treaded to the front. The curious glances of the students doesn’t help his cause as he anxiously taps his fingers against the desk.

“Hello everyone,” he said, voice slightly unsteady. “Some of you may know me, others may not, but I go by the name of Kim Namjoon. I’m not sure what my friend, Seokjin, might have said about me beforehand but I’m a published author. I’ve written three novels, all bestsellers -- not that that matters or anything.”

A nervous chuckle escaped the author as his gaze shifted around the room, a sheepish hand rubbing the back of his neck as he cleared his throat.

“You know -- not too long ago, I was in the same position as you. I was nineteen when my first novel was published, and I can honestly say that it was the best time of my life. When you spend most days and nights working on something consistently, it’s always nice to have your efforts acknowledged, right? To say I was over the moon when my book got picked up would be an understatement -- but I’m not here to talk about my own personal accomplishments.”

Taking a step closer to the students, Namjoon’s gaze turns fierce, his posture straightening as he glanced around the room.

“As you all know, it’s not easy to come up with a firm idea or plot to run with all the way through. If any of you are like me, you’ll most likely trash any kind of idea that you think isn’t good enough or that won’t capture an audience -- and while that is what you have to take into consideration, I want to make it clear that, at the end of the day, it’s what you want when it comes to your writing. Sure, the public’s opinion matters and sure the critics can make your break you, but you will never get anywhere unless you fail at least once.”

The clearing of a throat echoed around the room and Namjoon’s gaze falls on a burly student with his hand half raised.

“Have you ever failed, sir?” He asked, making Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. “I mean -- no offense to you or anything --”

“None taken,” the author chuckled. “If I’m being honest… It took me quite some time to get my first novel published. Like I said, I was nineteen when someone finally decided to pick it up, but I finished it when I was eighteen, barely done my first year of college. Not many publishers want to take a chance on young kids who think they’re the next best thing.”

A hollow laugh escaped the man as he shook his head.

“I was lucky enough to have someone take the chance on me, but that’s only because I was headstrong, not willing to give up -- and that’s what I want to stress to all of you. Just because someone turns you down or tells you that you’re not good enough, I want all of you to keep pushing. Perseverance is something that is imminent in a field like this; if you really want it, prove it.”

The student nods in acknowledgement, silently appreciative of the man’s advice as he sunk back into his seat, intent on listening.

“I’m not here to preach, honestly, nor am I here to try and discourage you from evolving and moving up the ladder to becoming a published author. I’m just a firm believer in tough love, I don’t want any of you going in with these unrealistic expectations of the writing world, thinking that it’s easy breezy, when - in fact - it’s the hardest industry to crack.”

Seokjin nodded in silent agreement from behind the desk, his gaze locked on his friend as he ushered the author to go on.

“There are so many factors that go into writing something, let alone a novel. Not only do you have to be inspired to write something, you have to take into account how the flow of the message is, how the readers are going to relate to the characters, and how the whole plot is going to play out. You can have a beginning, middle, and end, but it’s how it’s delivered that really makes the story. Sometimes there are people who put too much in the middle and end up cramming nothing but nonsense in the end, or there are people who don’t exactly specify anything from the beginning to the climax of the book and it just gets so confusing and complicated that it makes readers lose interest. It’s really a tedious job, but I’m going to lie -- it’s stressful.”

As Namjoon drawled on about the pros and cons of the writing world, you can’t help but find yourself completely enthralled by him. The way he spoke, the way he worded his lecture, the intelligence that rolled off of him was inspiring in itself, and you were hooked from the first word he uttered. Your gaze scanned along his face, your eyes drinking in every detail and feature on it, silently memorizing it as he walked around the front of the room. From beside you, Hana gently nudged your side, your gaze curiously landing on hers as she smirked.

“He’s quite the looker, isn’t he?” She giggled quietly, making you nod.

“That’s for sure,” you murmured.

Almost as if he had heard your voice, his gaze landed on your face and you felt your breath hitch momentarily. A small silence falls over the classroom as the author holds your gaze, an eyebrow quirking in question, before he’s opening his arms and gesturing towards the whole class.

“Any questions?” He asked. “I’m willing to answer anything.”

As if someone had pressed a button to activate the students, dozens of hands rose up high into the air, Namjoon chuckling at the response before he starts calling on people.

You sit quietly in your chair, listening to the different questions being asked, and while you had some of your own, you opted to stay quiet.

Being an aspiring author, it certainly was a bit discouraging. While you had many ideas and plots brewing within the back of your mind, you never knew how to start them or even had a clue on how to bring them to life on paper. Professor Kim had always praised your papers in class, admiring your thought process and the way you had laid out your ideas and rebuttals for term papers, research papers, and essays. Those had all come naturally to you, it was when you had to come up with a plot or idea yourself that you didn’t know where to begin. There were so many things that you had wanted to say but trying to find the words was the hardest part.

You were constantly inspired -- but you didn’t know how to act on it.

As Namjoon spoke, Seokjin (who was perched behind his friend at the desk), leaned forward to gain the author’s attention.

“Joon,” he called out, making the other man turn around to look at him. “The other day one of my students, (Y/N), was asking about writer’s block…”

You felt your breath hitch at the sound of your name, all of your classmates eyes finding your face and you suddenly felt the urge to slide down and hide.

“Is there anything you could touch on about that?”

Namjoon stands still for a moment, his teeth gently tugging at the flesh of his lip as he tries to find the right words to say.

“Writer’s block…” He murmured, turning back to the class. “Like I said before, it’s inevitable to not come across it at least once in your lives. For me -- that period of time is right now. For the past year, I’ve been trying to find that spark of inspiration that can help me write another novel… And while it’s taking me quite a long time, I’m certain that my muse will come to me eventually. It’s nothing to fret over, though it is a pain in the ass, but it will all work out in the end.”

Seokjin nodded, content with his friend’s answer.

As the class drew to a close, the professor stood up to take stand next to his best friend. A gentle, friendly hand is placed on the author’s shoulder which makes Namjoon turn towards his friend.

“Thank you for coming in today, Namjoon,” Seokjin grinned. “Both my students and I appreciate it.”

Despite his anxious start, Namjoon was now at ease, a warm smile painted across his plump lips as he gazed around the room. The looks on the students’ faces made him feel more relaxed, especially knowing that they had feared the same things he had when he was in their position. It was endearing, really, especially when they had all personally thanked him after class.

As the group filed out one by one, Seokjin’s eyes followed each and every one before they landed on the one person he wanted to pull aside personally -- you.

“(Y/N),” he called out, making you freeze momentarily. “Can you come here please?”

Hana glances cautiously at the scene before she pats you reassuringly on your back and walks out. Despite the instant panic that flared up inside of you, you made your way towards where your professor stood with his friend. Adjusting the bag on your shoulder, you stand in front of the pair, a slight feeling of intimidation emitting off of them as Seokjin smiled warmly.

“Namjoon, this is (Y/N),” he introduced, making the authors gaze fall on you. “While I personally don’t like to single out students because I think they’re all brilliant, I will admit that (Y/N) has something special when it comes to her writing.”

Your face flushed at his words, Namjoon’s eyebrows shooting upwards as an impressed look crossed his features.

“Oh really?” He asked.

“Absolutely,” Seokjin affirmed. “I haven’t read anything that’s moved me in a while but her writing managed to do that. I have a few of her essays and papers if you would like to read some?”

Shock crossed your features at your professor's words, your jaw clenching as you fight to let it drop open.

“You really don’t have to, profess --”

“Oh, I insist, (Y/N),” Seokjin waved his hand dismissively before turning towards his friend. “You won’t be disappointed, Joon. I promise.”

Your face is flushed bright red as you watch your professor walk to his desk to scramble around to find your papers. The muted sound of rummaging around becomes static noise as your gaze falls on Namjoon, your heart speeding up when you met his eyes. His plump lips are parted as he scanned your face, a glint of intrigue hinting that he wanted to say something, and you held your breath as he spoke.

“This might come off pretentious,” he said, sheepishly. “But have you read my novels?”

Biting down on your lip, you guiltily look down at the ground as you shake your head.

“I actually haven’t gotten around to that yet,” you admitted. “I’ve been so preoccupied with getting my things done for school that I haven’t gotten to read anything new since I started college.”

Namjoon nodded, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping him.

“I understand,” he smiled. “It’s hard to be able to do anything remotely on your own will when you’re swarmed with work and papers.”

At that moment Seokjin pops up from the desk, a handful of papers in his hands as he smiled brightly.

“Found them!”

Both you and Namjoon turned to see your professor scrambling to his feet before he’s handing the stack of papers to his friend, which the author graciously takes from him.

“I’ll make sure to read through these tonight,” the author grinned, his gaze falling back onto you. “Hopefully we can talk again soon?”

You flush once again, your head nodding as you try to find your words.

“Y-yeah,” you agreed. “We’ll talk soon.”

Offering you a wide, dimpled grin, Namjoon nodded before he said goodbye, your eyes following his stature all the way out the door as your mind tries to comprehend what in the hell just happened.

“Wait, he gave him your papers?!”

Hana’s mouth is slacked in shock as she stared, completely flabbergasted, as you recall the events to her. A humble shrug of your shoulders makes her let out a squeal of excitement, her hand reaching over the table to grab yours as she grips it happily.

“(Y/N) that’s awesome!” She said, grinning widely. “That means a bestselling author is going to read your stuff! Do you understand how many doors this could open for you?!”

You scoffed at that, the cynical side of you coming to light as you deny any sort of recognition that you could gain from this.

“I highly doubt that, Han,” you retorted. “If anything, he’s going to put them aside and never read them. I mean, would you want to read someone’s papers who has yet to read your own novels?”

Hana rolled her eyes at your words.

“Not everyone is able to read every single novel that’s published, (Y/N), and you said yourself that he understood --”

“He could’ve just been saying that,” you said, cutting her off. “He probably didn’t want to be rude.”

Hana shook her head as she leaned back against the booth, her hand leaving yours as she gripped her coffee cup.

“I’m just saying,” she began. “Anyone who’s actually willing to take the papers and offers to read them instead of blatantly turning them down speaks volumes to me.”

Hana smirked then, her gaze turning smug as she glanced at you.

“Besides,” she chuckled. “He’s not exactly the most horrible looking guy, (Y/N). Maybe he thought you were cute.”

A loud laugh escaped you, your head tilting back as you registered her words. That definitely was not a possibility in your case. What successful author would want anything to do with a college student who is barely scraping by?

“You’re funny, Han,” you laughed. “That would never happen.”

Hana whined, a pout crossing her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“It is possible!” She cried. “I mean -- look at you! You’re fucking beautiful!”

Shaking your head, you dismiss her words as you reach for your coffee cup to take a sip, the conversation between the two of you dropping completely.

The harsh burn of whiskey runs down the column of Namjoon’s throat as he downs the rest of his glass, his eyes burning holes into the screen in front of him. A blank document stares back at him, the blinking cursor taunting him each time it animates. It’s half past one in the morning and Namjoon can feel the frustration begin to overflow as he growled lowly before slamming the lid of the laptop down.

This was his nightly routine lately; staring angrily at the blank document that taunted and tortured him, cackling that he can’t write anything. Every time he thought he had something, the moment he would begin to type, the thought was gone and replaced with the block that has been invading his brain for the past year. It’s frustrating, it’s annoying, and Namjoon has had enough of it.

Reaching to the side of his desk, he grabs the bottle of whiskey and fills his glass back up, the buzz from the alcohol making the man’s body begin to heat up as he chugs down another glass. The silence in his apartment is heavy, a loneliness basking from it as he looks around the dimly lit study. Papers are scattered around him, some crumpled and balled up while others are torn, and Namjoon makes a mental note to find the will to clean up soon. His eyes cast towards the other papers littered next to his laptop, curiosity getting the best of him when he sees a name scribbled at the top of one of the papers; (Y/N).

Pushing his books to the side, he reaches for the papers given to him earlier, the man completely intrigued by the writing his best friend had recommended for him to read. The perfect marks at the top tells him that Seokjin really did appreciate this piece, that it was good enough to receive not only an A+ but also his friend’s approval -- which was hard to come by. Seokjin was tough on his students, he wanted them to be the best they could be, so he wasn’t going to give just anyone a remarkable grade.

Namjoon plucks through the different titles; a term paper, a research paper on the fundamentals of writing, another term paper, and a story -- but it piques the author’s interest.

The Pros and Cons of Falling In Love.

Tossing the other papers to the side, Namjoon’s gaze falls on the cover page of the story, his eyebrow quirking in question as he scanned the page. There were several paged attached - 250 to be exact - and he couldn’t deny the curiosity that swirled within him as he opened to the first page.

Pro #1: The electric shock of the first meeting.

It’s the feeling of one electric current surging through another. It’s the butterflies that erupt in the pit of your stomach the moment skin to skin contact is initiated, the fastening of one’s heartbeat the moment their eyes meet the other’s. It’s a mutual attraction, a sudden nervousness that you’re going to fuck up as soon as you open your mouth -- but then the calmness steps in. The easiness of talking to someone, of getting to know the stranger that you had only met moments before. The attraction is locked in and ready to move to the second step, or in this case…

Pro #2: The pure excitement and nervousness of the first date.

He swore that he was only going to read a little bit of it, but by the third paragraph, Namjoon was completely hooked. His eyes drink in the words, his heart feels the emotions poured into the characters, and by the time he reaches the climax of the story, there’s tears streaming down his face as the love story unfolds before his eyes. He can feel the love between them, the pain of heartbreak, the desperation of not wanting to lose the other person -- he’s moved, so incredibly moved, and he’s sobbing by the last page. The vulnerability that’s portrayed from both sides is almost too much for him, the raw emotion from the words scattered on the page has Namjoon applauding the efforts of your writing.

It’s half past three in the morning when he finally falls asleep, tears dried on his cheeks as his empty glass sits next to him, your story still embedded in his mind as he’s lulled off to sleep.

Wednesday mornings were always uneventful for Seokjin. His classes didn’t start until the late afternoon which left him some much relaxation time in the early morning hours. Although he didn’t have to be in his classroom until about eleven, he still made a point to show up between eight and nine, opting to use that time to grade papers that he had left until last minute. In the solstice of his classroom he lets himself get swept up with the soft hum of his stereo, the music calming him down as he marked paper after paper. But today seemed to be a different day compared to the others.

As Seokjin was wafting through the different essays, the door to his classroom burst open and he’s met with a disheveled Namjoon, the former’s eyes widening in alarm as he straightens up in his seat while his friend walks towards him. Seokjin opens his mouth to say something when Namjoon plops down a paper in front of him, his gaze falling on the large stack before he catches sight of the title. A small smirk formed on the man’s lips as he casted a knowing glance towards his friend, amusement clouding his features as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“So you read it, huh?”

There’s a fierce look in Namjoon’s eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line as he points at the stack.

“She needs to publish this,” he breathed. “I -- I honestly have no words as to how fucking incredible this is.”

Seokjin chuckled at his friend’s state, the man completely amused at his reaction.

“I’ve been telling her that for months, Joon. She won’t do it.”

“Why not?!” He asked incredulously. “This isn’t just writing, Seokjin, this is fucking art! I don’t think I’ve ever read a story that has made me feel this way in such a long time.”

Seokjin stayed quiet, instead opting to watch his friend frantically speak and drone on about your paper, his amusement never faltering.

“Honestly, I can’t believe that a college student wrote this. It’s beautifully written, you can feel the emotions from the characters, and it leaves you wanting more with every god damned chapter! How does she not want to publish this?!”

“She doesn’t think it’s good enough.”

Namjoon blanched at that, his mouth falling open as his eyes widened in disbelief.

“What?!” He shouted. “How in the hell does she not think it’s good enough?! I mean -- there are a few minor things that can be fixed but other than that it’s pure perfection!”

Seokjin’s smirk widened as he leaned back into his chair, another chuckle escaping him as he shook his head at his friend.

“Then tell her that, not me.”

Namjoon frowned, his pacing coming to a stop.

“I don’t know where she is or how I can reach her -- and besides, isn’t it a little weird if a complete stranger is looking for her?”

“You’re not a complete stranger,” Seokjin dismissed. “She already knows that you were supposed to read her stuff, so isn’t it fair to her that you tell her directly what you think of her writing? Don’t you think she deserves that?”

“I mean -- I guess --”

“She works in the school library every Wednesday, I’m sure she’s there now.”

Seokjin didn’t even time to blink before Namjoon was out the door, his head shaking with amusement at his friend, all-the-while hiding his secret knowing grin.

The quiet solstice of the library is something that always seemed to relax you, the aura sending an almost euphoric feeling aflame inside of you -- though that could just be because you’re surrounded by the plethora of books, which was another form of relaxation for you. It was the feeling of having a book in your hands, the smell of the pages, the mental stimulation sending you into a euphoric bliss. Each and every book that lined the shelves were different; though some had similar plotlines, the story contained within the pages were completely different -- and that is what set them apart from everything else in your life. You lived a predictable life, every move or thought that someone made or had was something that you could point out before they had even done it. With books, every page had you itching to know more. You clung to every tidbit of information, forming hypotheses and ideas that could possibly come next as you turn the page. It kept you on the edge of your seat -- and you loved it.

The tips of your fingertips run along the spine of the books littered along the bookshelves, your gaze falling on every title as you searched for a new book to read. As the second semester dwindled down and Christmas break approaches, you can feel the stress begin to simmer, your free time opening up right before your eyes. As you begin to lose yourself in your thoughts, your subconscious had seemingly taken you towards the ‘K’ section of the books -- low and behold, your fingers had landed on the author of the books you had never gotten around to read.

Kim Namjoon.

Curiosity mixed with genuine interest runs through you as you reached up to grab the first book that had his name on it; The Fundamentals of Life. Chuckling quietly to yourself, you turn the book over to read the synopsis on the back cover, your eyebrows raising in surprise at the topic of the book.

From the ages of five to twenty-five we’re taught to go to school, to find something that speaks out to us, to reach for the stars and achieve that goal we’ve kept hidden away for so long. Life is one big lottery game to some, a challenge for others, but it’s what keeps us going, and like everything else in this world, it’s got some rules and regulations that we’ve somehow adapted into our everyday lives -- and those rules are called ‘The Fundamentals of Life’.

You were so wrapped up reading the synopsis that you didn’t realize the presence that stood by until you saw a pair of black boots standing next to you, your head snapping up to catch sight of the smiling face of the author of the book himself. His wide dimpled smile made your face flush slightly, more-so because of the fact that you were reading about his book, and you bashfully slide the book back onto the shelf before you’re turning back towards the man.

“Sorry,” you apologized, grinning sheepishly. “Can I help you with something?”

Namjoon nodded, the smile never faltering from his face.

“Yes, actually,” he rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze fell everywhere but on you. “I was wondering if we could talk about ‘The Pros and Cons of Falling in Love’?”

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach at his words, panic beginning to rush through you as you try to find the words to say.

He hated my story… Oh shit, am I ready for this criticism?

“I-- I, uh, yeah --” You stuttered out, deflecting around him as you went to find a table to sit down at. “We can sit here.”

Namjoon followed quietly, your story still clutched tightly in his hands as he watched you sit down at one of the tables in the back corner of the room. Much to your surprise, you took the seat next to you instead of across from you -- though that might have been because he didn’t want to talk too loud and disturb the others who were studying for their finals.

As he sets your paper down onto the table, you can’t help but let the apprehension grow, your hands nervously twisting in your lap as your gaze dropped to the floor, not daring to look at him.

“So, uh -- what did you thi --”

“I think you’re brilliant.”

Your head snapped up at that.

“W- what?!”

Namjoon’s smile transitioned into a wide grin when he catches sight of your shocked expression, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he nodded.

“You’re brilliant, (Y/N),” he reaffirmed. “I was just speaking to Seokjin about this but I honestly, genuinely, haven’t read anything that has had the affect on me like your story has in a long time. The way you depict the character’s emotions, the way you write -- it’s fucking beautiful, (Y/N).”

Your mouth had fallen open slightly by this point, your mind completely flabbergasted that a fucking bestselling author was praising your work.

“I -- wow,” you breathed out. “Thank you.”

“No -- thank you, (Y/N),” Namjoon said, gently placing a hand on your arm. “You opened my eyes to a completely new world, something that I - myself - have yet to, uh, experience.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, confusion swirling across your features as your head cocks to the side.

“What do you mean?” You asked quietly.

“While I did come here to tell you how much I enjoyed your book, I also came here to ask you a -- um -- rather personal question…”

You stayed silent, nodding for him to go on.

“I’ve never been in love,” he confessed. “And from the sound of your story, it seems as if you have… And I was wondering if you could -- uh -- teach me or tell me what it’s like when you are in love?”

Another wave of shock crosses you as Namjoon looked down towards the floor, subtle shame and embarrassment running through the man as he avoided your eyes. Your eyes scanned over him as he looked away from you, your gaze drinking him in, before you’re letting out a quiet sigh.

“I’ll do it,” you murmured, making Namjoon instantly lift his head, a bright smile painted across his plump lips as he looked at you.

“Really?” He asked, making you nod.

“It’s a tricky subject,” you pursed your lips. “But everyone deserves to experience -- or at least get to know -- what real love is.”

Namjoon had never been more grateful.

Pro #1: The Electric Shock of the First Meeting

You could’ve never been prepared for the loud shriek that had escaped Hana the moment you told her what was going on, the bubbly blonde all but tackling you with a hug out of happiness.

“That’s amazing!” She squealed, making you groan.

“Han, you’re gonna pop my eardrum --”

“I can’t believe you and the hottie author are going to be seeing each other!”

“Don’t say it like that, it sounds like we’re dating --”

“But you practically are!” She squealed once again, making you wince with pain. “He asked you about love, (Y/N)! Of all things -- love!”

You inwardly groaned at her words, your hands coming up so you can rub your temples out of frustration.

“He’s never experienced it before, Han. He deserves to at least know about it.”

The wide grin on the blonde’s face doesn’t falter as she plops down onto the grass next to you.

“But still!” She beamed. “He asked you!”

You shook your head, denying any romantic affiliation she had conjured up in her brain as you laid down, your back against the crisp grass as you gazed up at the clear blue sky. Your mind was racing as Hana’s words finally registered in your head, the damage of the whole situation finally beginning to settle within you.

What if I fall for him during this whole thing? You thought to yourself. What if he falls for me? Is this considered a date? Why do Hana’s words keep getting the best of me, god dammit.

Closing your eyes, you cleared your mind of all the thoughts that added to your stress, all-the-while secretly hoping that at least one of them comes true…

Pro #2: The Pure Excitement and Nervousness of the First Date.

Your fingers tap against the cover of the coffee cup, nervousness filled your body as your gaze scanned the quaint shop. You were supposed to meet Namjoon here, the first telling of the story being today, but he was ten minutes late. You weren’t anxious about him not showing up, in fact you had secretly hoped that he would forget about it -- not that you didn’t want to help with… whatever this was, it was just… Namjoon is a published author. He’s received more awards for his works than you could ever dream of, he’s highly intelligent, and he just reeks of supremacy of this field. Not to mention he wasn’t bad looking -- and by that you meant you had to keep yourself from swooning over him every god damned time he walked through that door.

Before you had personally met him, you could recall a few times when Professor Kim had brought up the author in one of his lectures. He always talked about his friend with such respect and admiration, it was almost cute, honestly. There was a special brotherhood bond between the two of them that you couldn’t help but admire. You had always assumed that Seokjin had just hyped him up, that he really wasn’t as great as he was made out to be, but the moment he opened his mouth and spoke that day in class, you were proven to be wrong -- he was more.

While you hadn’t known him that long -- keep in mind, it’s only been a few days -- there are just certain people who come into your life and make a strong impact in such a small amount of time; and Namjoon is one of them.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed the chair in front of you being pulled out from the table, the bleached blonde man smiling brightly at you from across the table. It wasn’t until he was snapping his fingers in front of your face did you finally snap out of it, a deep red blush flushing across your cheeks as your gaze settled on him.

“Sorry,” you apologized. “I was caught up in my thoughts…”

Namjoon hummed softly, his own coffee cup nestled between his hands as he sent you a curious glance.

“What were you thinking about?”

You.

“Just about the things I should tell you,” you lied, deflecting your gaze downwards towards the table before you’re lifting your coffee cup to your lips. The burn of the drink serves as punishment for your lie.

“We don’t have to get into that right away, you know,” he mused. “I’d like for us to get to know each other first -- just so we can get a fair judgment on each other’s character.”

You quirked an eyebrow at his words, somewhat surprised by his forwardness.

“We could definitely do that,” you agreed. “Would you like to go first?”

Namjoon grinned, his long slender fingers tapping against his cup in an unknown rhythm.

“Well, as you know, my name is Kim Namjoon,” he began. “I was born in Ilsan, I grew up with my mother. My father died when I was young so I don’t really have much recollection of him. For as long as I could remember, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. My mother would always read books to me when I was younger so I’ve constantly had different pieces of literature in my life, which is probably what sparked my love for reading in general. I was too preoccupied in school to actually pay attention to those around me, meaning I’ve pretty much lived a life of solitude -- apart from Seokjin, of course. I met him when I was a freshman in high school and haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”

A deep chuckle escaped the author as he shook his head at the thought of his friend.

“I wouldn’t have it any either way, though. Aside from my mother, he’s been an incredible support system for me. But, anyways -- my favorite color is black, my favorite food is meat - literally any and all kinds - and, this may be shocking to you, but I’m a fan of rap music.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, your eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise as you grinned widely.

“Rap music, huh?” You asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, why is that?”

Namjoon shrugged nonchalantly as he lifted his cup to his lips to take a sip.

“Much like books, rap - to me - tells a story. Granted, most mainstream rap isn’t exactly the most, uh, literary based, but there certainly are a handful of rappers who really know how to tell their own personal story through their lyrics. To me, there is nothing better than listening to someone who has passion within the field they work in, and most rappers definitely accentuate that with their words -- which I find quite commendable.”

An impressed look flashes on your features as he speaks, your head nodding in acknowledgement as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Wow,” you said quietly. “That’s actually quite impressive, if I’m being honest.”

The grin never leaves Namjoon’s face as he leans forward to rest his arms on the table, his gaze locked on yours as he nods towards you.

“Your turn.”

You blink as you stared at him, the proximity of him making your breath hitch in your throat and you’re positive that he’s well aware of the affect he has on you -- especially when you can feel your cheeks begin to heat up.

“I -- uh, well I’m (Y/N),” you stuttered. “There really isn’t much to me, if I’m being honest. I grew up just like everyone else -- though, like you, I’ve taken a liking to books much more than other people have. My parents were always busy so they didn’t really have the time to read me books but that didn’t stop me from reading them myself. My grandfather actually bought me my first book -- The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He told me that that was his favorite book growing up and he passed it down to me in hopes that I would like it as much as he did, needless to say, I was pretty much obsessed with it.”

A quiet laugh escaped you at the recollection of the memory.

“I carried that book everywhere; at school, at the store, to family parties. It never left my sight,” you paused, your gaze dropping to look down at the table as you hooked a piece of your hair behind your ear. “He passed away about a year before I started college, but before he did, he told me to pursue the one thing that made me the happiest it could. When I was younger, I had a journal -- but I wouldn’t write diary entries or anything like that, the book was actually for me to be able to write down poems. My mother is actually a published author, she has had many of her poems published and has also won a few awards for it, as well. I guess it runs in my family but I believe that my love for writing stems from my own inspirations and genuine intrigue for the field. And - I guess - I would like to be a published author one day but as for right now, I enjoy writing for me.”

Namjoon let a smile grace his lips, a bright twinkle in his eye as he looked at you.

“That’s what makes you special,” he muttered. “When you’re able to write for yourself, you know that this field was made for you.”

“You think so?” You asked quietly, making Namjoon nod.

“Absolutely,” he affirmed. “It takes a whole lot to be able to write for someone else, but when it comes to writing for yourself, that’s true passion.”

Silence falls between the pair of you as you both divert your gazes towards something else, not having the courage to look into one another’s eyes. You can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest, Namjoon’s words beginning to resonate in your brain, and the blush from earlier begins to cascade along your cheeks once again as you silently lift your cup to take a sip. The warmth of the coffee shop helps set you at ease, the faint smell of the coffee beans almost making you feel at home, and you can’t help but look around at the other customers.

Namjoon, on the other hand, was lost in his thoughts.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can spot the distant look on the author’s face. His plump lips are pressed into a thin line, gaze casted downwards towards the floor, and his fingers are fumbling with the cardboard surrounding his cup. He’s quiet, almost too quiet, and you’re certain that he’s going to say something -- and he does.

“You know,” he began quietly, eyes still focused on the ground. “I’ve been on a few dates before. I’ve been in the company of quite a few people, but none of them ever really stood out to me.”

You stay quiet, your silence urging him to go on.

“I think my main problem is that I crave too much mental stimulation,” he admitted. “I know everyone bases their ideal types on looks and such, but I honestly couldn’t care less about that. All I want is to have someone who can understand how I’m feeling and to be able to talk about the things I love most. Sure, it’s nice to just have someone by your side, but I’m the type of person who needs to be able to have an intelligent conversation with a partner.”

You nodded in agreement, a heavy sigh falling from your lips.

“I’m the same way,” you said quietly. “My last boyfriend, Jace -- the one who I wrote the story about, he was fun -- not that there’s anything wrong with that. But the more I spent time with him, the more I realized that we were two completely different people. He was more about living the adventures of life; not being one to deal with responsibilities, not having a care in the world, always making impulsive decisions. He was a free spirit. For the majority of the time, he brought me out of my shell and showed me so many things that I had missed out on, but at the end of the day, he wasn’t the one for me. We went our separate ways after high school but there was a moment in time when I was in love with him. I don’t regret any of it, to be honest, I just wish I had known that he wasn’t the one for me earlier on… That way it wouldn’t have hurt as much as it did when we parted ways.”

Namjoon hummed softly, his gaze finally lifting from the ground to shyly meet yours.

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to experience love?”

You don’t hesitate to answer.

“Absolutely.”

Whenever someone is called to see the professor after class, the worst is always assumed. While you knew that you were one of his favorite students, you still couldn’t help but worry when Professor Kim called your name before you could walk out of the door after class, a striking fear of being in trouble and losing your scholarship a prominent thought in your mind. But Seokjin didn’t harbor any sign of being mad; in fact, he wore a bright grin on his face as he sat comfortably in his chair.

“Miss (Y/N),” he greeted brightly. “How are you doing, is everything going well?”

Adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you nodded curtly.

“Yes, everything is fine,” you said meekly. Seokjin chuckled at the tone of your voice, his hand gesturing towards one of the seats.

“Don’t worry, dear, you’re not in trouble. Have a seat, I want to talk to you about something.”

Timidly you shuffle to the seat he pointed towards, your bag falling to the ground as you nervously twiddle your thumbs in your lap. Seokjin’s smile never faltered as he leaned forward in his desk, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Namjoon came to me yesterday looking for you,” you sucked in a breath, awaiting his next words. “Did you speak to him?”

You nodded. “Yes, he met me in the library.”

Seokjin beamed.

“Good, good!” He said happily. “He was genuinely moved by your story, (Y/N). I don’t think I’ve seen him that happy about a piece of literature in a long while, it was definitely a sight to see.”

A wave of heat rushes to your cheeks at his words as you bashfully looked down at the desk.

“Thank you, sir,” you murmured, causing Seokjin to laugh.

“Call me Seokjin, dear. After class is over, the formalities are over and done with,” a smug smirk formed on his lips then. “Besides, I think you’ve made my friend quite happy, and any friend of his is a friend of mine.”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of your throat before giving him another curt nod. The mischievous glint doesn’t escape Seokjin’s eyes as he lets out a soft chuckle, his finger pointing towards you.

“You know,” he mused. “I think both you and Namjoon would make a great pair. There are certain traits that the two of you share, and though it might just be my wishful thinking, I think you could both benefit something from one another.”

His words stunned you to silence; you blink once, twice, a third time, before you’re sputtering nonsense.

“I -- Sir --”

“It’s alright, (Y/N),” he grinned. “Things like this take time so you can’t deny anything yet. But if the two of you keep hanging out at that coffee shop --” he paused, sending you a knowing smile. “Something great can come of it.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, even as he dismissed you the words he had said still resonated deep within your brain. You didn’t believe him, hell -- you had just met the guy! -- but you also couldn’t dismiss the way your heart sped up at the thought of it.

Heaving a deep sigh, you make your way out of the building, Seokjin’s words still rumbling about in your mind.

“So do you have writer’s block too?”

Your gaze lands on Namjoon who’s sat across from you, his coffee cup between his hands as he takes a sip. You shook your head, brushing a piece of hair out of your face as you lean back.

“Actually, I don’t,” you laughed quietly. “I think I have reverse writer’s block, to be honest.”

The man’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

“Reverse writer’s block…?”

“I have ideas and a bunch of inspiration to write something but as soon as I got to type, I can’t figure out how to word it. I try and try again but nothing is ever good enough for me.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “So you know what you want to write about but you can’t find a way to bring it to life?”

“Exactly.”

Namjoon pursed his lips, his fingers idly drumming against the table as he wracked his brain for any advice he could give.

“Have you ever tried to actually think about the plot?”

Your head cocked to side, trying to decipher what he meant.

“Meaning…?”

“When I wrote my first novel, I played out the whole story in my head. It’s sort of like a movie; you imagine the characters coming to life and you watch them act out every scene you have plotted. That way you can figure out what you want to put in the beginning, the turning point, and the ending.”

You stared blankly at him, your hand idly clutching your cup as you begin to nod.

“That’s… brilliant actually.”

Namjoon grinned, a sheepish shrug of his shoulders turning the man bashful.

“It’s just something that helps me,” he admitted. “I don’t suppose you’d know any advice for writer’s block?”

“I probably know as much as you do,” you laughed. “But we’ll find something that’ll inspire you. I’m sure of it.”

You watch as he sighs, your eyes raking over his face as he lifts the coffee cup to his lips, Seokjin’s words suddenly floating back into your mind as you look at the author. Just the sight of him was enough to get your heart racing, the organ pumping loudly in your ears as it beats rapidly. The increase in speed has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your mind not ready to admit any sort of attraction you had towards this man. Instead you take a hasty sip of your coffee, silently hoping this damned feeling goes away.

Con #3: Denial of Feelings

“This is so exciting!”

Hana’s squeals make you instinctively cover your ears as you grimaced at the high pitched noise.

“Han please --”

“No, I will not quiet down, (Y/N)!” She shrieked. “He’s so smitten with you! How are you not freaking out right now?!”

You shrugged, even though you felt your heart leap at her words.

“It’s not like that,” you deadpanned. “It’s strictly professional between us.”

Hana scoffed at your words, her eyes rolling as she sends you a look of disbelief.

“Bullshit!” She laughed. “What the two of you talk about - dating and such - is certainly not professional. Especially when he’s opening up to about his ex flames or whatever they are. He likes you, (Y/N). Just face it.”

Running a hand over your face, you can’t help but let out a groan as you faceplant onto your bed. You could already feel a headache coming on - whether that was from thinking about the situation you were currently in or from the high volume of Hana’s shrieks, you weren’t quite sure, but you knew you needed to sleep.

“(Y/N), if his best friend is literally pushing you in his direction and openly voicing his opinion that you’d make a great pair, it’s meant to be.”

You can’t help but snort at that, your head lifting from the bed as you shoot her a dismissive look.

“That tells me nothing, Han. One person’s opinion doesn’t determine fate’s course.”

Hana shrugs, the bubbly blonde sending you a knowing look as she climbs into her own bed.

“I’m just saying,” she mused. “You’ll see it eventually.”

Rolling your eyes, you drop your head back down onto your pillow.

“Whatever, Han.”

Pro #4: Getting to Know the Person on a Deeper Level

As the months droned on, you found yourself growing closer and closer with the author. The more you hung out with Namjoon, the more Seokjin’s words stuck in your mind. Every single look or gentle brush of a hand ignited something inside of you; you suppressed it, however, not making it known or noticeable to the author in fear that the feelings were not reciprocated -- and that was something you had always feared when it came to expressing your feelings. The worst thing in the world is having someone you deeply care about not give two shits about you.

You tried to keep your distance. Even when he had decided to invite you over to his place (which was, despite the mess, fucking beautiful) you kept your distance from him. Instead you focused your attention on the empty bottles of whiskey and crumpled up pieces of paper scattered around the living area. While others might have depicted this type of lifestyle as toxic, dangerous almost, you understood where the man was coming from. When you spend your life doing something that you genuinely love and cherish, all the while spending every waking minute working on something just as precious to you and that inspiration stops -- it’s not a fun feeling.

Those on the outside wouldn’t understand what it’s like to sit and wait for something to spark that inspiration back up, to sit and wait for what seems like a useless cause. Writer’s block is something that could make or break someone; you either keep going and try to find something to pique your interest or you give up on it entirely. Namjoon had mentioned in his lecture that what you need the most in an industry like the writing field is perseverance -- and he’s not wrong.

He’s never wrong...

The crisp autumn air whips past you as you quickly follow Namjoon down the path he had led you, your body shivering underneath the light jacket you had stupidly chosen to wear, all-the-while mentally cursing the author out for leading you to a place that nowhere near being heated. Dead leaves crunch beneath your feet as he reaches behind to grab your hand, successfully pulling you up to get to the spot that he had wanted to show you.

‘It’s my secret spot,’ he had said. ‘I go there when I’m at a loss for inspiration.’

You felt honored that he had wanted to take you there, especially since you had a spot of your own back home -- but not even that could’ve prepared you for the beauty that was placed in front of you.

As you reach the spot, you couldn’t help but inhale the salty air, the melodic sounds of the waves crashing against the shore instantly putting your mind at ease. The sand crunches soundly beneath your feet as you walk across the beach, your gaze set on the rising sun across the horizon. It was breathtakingly beautiful; the way the dark blue early morning sky ignites into vibrant pink and orange hues, almost as if the sky was on fire. It was calming, a serene sight to witness, and you can’t help but plop down onto the sand as you stare at the beauty unfold.

Namjoon lets out a quiet chuckle as he watched you sit on the sand, the author not far behind you. He rests his elbows on his legs as he stares ahead, a comfortable silence drifting between the pair of you as you stare at the colorful horizon. The colors reflected off of the crisp blue ocean, the three hues intermixing and creating one big colorful hue. It certainly was a sight to see.

“I found this place when I was writing my first novel,” Namjoon began quietly, eyes still trained on the horizon. “It was this exact spot that inspired me to write it; the story about a young boy finding his way through this crazy thing we called life. He often took it for granted, thinking that he was so much bigger than world, that he was destined for things greater than everyone else. Well… he was certainly proved wrong when he was able to witness something as magnificent as this.”

You hummed softly, shifting your position in order to find a more comfortable spot.

“I need to read that book,” you murmur, distracted by the view. Namjoon chuckled.

“Actually, it wasn’t the book I was talking about. That boy was me.”

You turned towards him at that, an eyebrow quirked upwards in question.

“But you just said --”

“I said this view is what inspired me to write, but what I said about the boy… The one I wrote about -- that was me.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to go on.

“In my twenty-three years of living, there were so many things I had taken for granted. When I was younger, I thought I was the next best thing when it came to writing. I was beyond my years, as my teachers put it, and I let all of the praise and admiration get to my head. I was fueled by everyone’s fascination with -- not just me -- but my writing as well. I constantly attempted to outdo myself and, nine times out of ten, I managed to… But the more I locked myself up in my room and typed away at my laptop, the more I realized how fucked up it was that I let people get to me like that. Writing isn’t supposed to be a chore or a job, you’re not supposed to write because people or waiting and anticipating your next piece of work. Writing is supposed to be for yourself -- it’s supposed to be because you love it.”

Namjoon continues to stare ahead, his fingers twisting together as he lets out a humorless laugh.

“When I discovered this place, I realized that I had been doing it all for the wrong reasons. Sitting here on this beach, getting lost in my thoughts, it’s therapeutic to me. The serene setting, the peace and quiet… I always feel so inspired here -- and nowadays, it’s starting to feel like I’ve used up all of the magic it’s offered to me.”

“What makes you think that?” You asked quietly. Namjoon shrugged.

“I’ve been coming back here since the beginning of the year, which was when the writer’s block first happened. Each time I come I think that maybe - just maybe - this time it’ll lift, that I’ll be able to find that spark again. But it doesn’t happen.”

“That doesn’t mean this place has lost its magic, Joon,” you murmured. “Maybe you’ve grown used to this kind of inspiration. Maybe you need to find a new place, something that can offer you an entirely different scenario.”

Namjoon hums softly.

“Maybe…”

Another silence drifts through the air and you can’t help but lean over to him, your chin resting on his shoulder as you look up at his face. Namjoon peered down at you, a small smile gracing his lips - dimples prominent in his cheeks - and he lifts his arm so he can wrap it around your shoulders, effectively bringing you in closer towards him.

“You’ll find inspiration soon, Joonie. I’m sure of it.”

“Whatever you say, (Y/N).”

Con #1: Waiting Around for the Person to Call or Text

The next week was full of nothing but stress; day after day you were swarmed in books, empty coffee cups, and crumpled up pieces of paper as you try to cram for your midterms. Six finals, one term paper, and the urge to pull each strand of your hair out was enough to make your roommate schedule an intervention -- though you had heavily protested the idea of the moment she had brought it up. But here you were, sitting cross-legged on your bed with a carton of ice cream while The First Wives Club plays on the television.

Hana sits on the other side of the room on her bed, her eyes every so often shifting from the TV to you, a playful smirk painted on her lips as she leaned back against the headboard of her bed.

“How’s Namjoon?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow. You shrugged in response while shoving another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “Haven’t talked to him in a while.”

Hana looked at you incredulously, all-the-while shaking her head.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

It does...

You frowned and turned your head to look at her, feigning a confused look.

“No..?” Your voice was soft, the fake confusion never faltering. “Why should it bother me? He’s busy.”

“But you guys are pretty much dating…” Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at her words.

“We’re not dating, Han,” you countered. “We’re just friends -- and even that is putting it loosely.”

Hana’s expression is unreadable, though her eyes tell another story.

“You do realize that he pretty much asked you to show him how to fall in love,” she pointed out. “Which means that, along the way, he’s going to end up falling in love with you.”

Her words make you choke on your ice cream, your eyes widening in shock as you look at her like she’s gone crazy.

“Woah, woah,” you coughed out. “That’s definitely not what I’m doing!”

Hana shook her head at you, a quiet laugh escaping her.

“Sure it’s not,” she replied sarcastically. “All I’m saying is that when you’re in situations like this, it’s very much likely for one person to fall for another.”

Yeah, I fell for him...

“And I’m saying that he’s definitely not going to fall for me, Han,” you retorted. “If anything, he’s already got someone in mind that he wants to fall in love with.”

“Yeah,” she paused. “It’s you,” she chuckled.

Rolling your eyes at her remark, you opened your mouth to defend yourself once more when the buzzing of your phone pulled your attention, your gaze locking on the screen as Namjoon’s name flashed.

“Speak of the devil,” you muttered, making Hana’s eyes widen as she clambered off of her bed and onto yours.

“See!” She shrieked, playfully hitting your arm. “Answer it!”

There’s always a moment of hesitance when it comes to answering phone-calls. It’s the nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach that automatically ignites whenever your ringtone goes off, a moment of panic that triggers in your brain because what the fuck am I supposed to say? But then it’s as if something clears out all of that negative energy and substitutes the panic for impulse -- which is what makes you press the green answer button.

“Hello?”

There’s a brief silence on the other line, but then Namjoon’s voice is filling your ears and you can feel your body relax immensely.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he chimed. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

You smiled at his polite demeanor, all-the-while pushing an overly excited Hana away from you as you push yourself up from the bed.

“Not at all,” you replied. “I’m actually taking a brief break from burning out my brain with all this studying.”

Namjoon chuckled, the sound making your heartbeat increase and you subconsciously yell at it to stop.

“Ah, I understand all about that,” you can already picture those damned dimples protruding from his cheeks. “Well, anyways, I was calling to see if you wanted to hang out or something? I’m not exactly in the writing mood tonight and I’ve been dying to go out for a drink or something…?”

You inhale sharply through your nose as you sneak a peek towards Hana -- who, by the way, was furiously nodding towards you in encouragement.

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “I’ll come out.”

You can practically see the grin on Namjoon’s face as his voice filled your ears once more, a harsh blush coating your cheeks as you run a hand over your face.

“Perfect!” He cheered. “I’ll meet you soon, yeah? At the pub?”

You nodded, regardless of whether or not he could see it.

“Sounds good.”

The moment you hang up the phone, Hana doesn’t waste any time in pouncing on you, her cheers filling the dorm room as you groaned loudly.

“Please let me do your makeup!” She begged. “I wanna pick out your outfit too, (Y/N)!”

“Han --”

“Please!” She begged again. “I just want you to go out looking nice!”

Sighing in defeat, you collapse into her grip and reluctantly let her take the reigns.

“Fine…”

And yet again, you were nearly deafened by the high pitched shriek emitting from your friend.

Con #2: Experiencing Jealousy Over Someone Who Isn’t Yours (Yet)

Pro #6: The Realization of the Intense Feelings

It had been a while since Namjoon had drank in a place that wasn’t his apartment. While he did enjoy the comforting four walls of his place, he had to admit that actually going out for a drink with others was far more fun than staring at a fucking blank screen. It gave him more opportunities to find the inspiration he was lacking, something that he was determined to finally put to rest. As he makes his way into the bar, he can’t help but feel at home within the company of the quiet bar. For a Thursday night it was fairly packed, but there’s definitely not as many people as there would be during the weekend -- which Namjoon is incredibly grateful for.

Taking a seat at the bar, he doesn’t hesitate to order himself a drink -- whiskey on the rocks -- while he waits for you. It had been a whirlwind of events since the day he met you and he has yet to entirely process the way he feels about you. Sure, he’s convinced there’s at least some kind of spark between the two of you, but Namjoon hasn’t ever experienced the true meaning of feelings; he’s confused as to what is going on inside of him, perplexed by the complexity of the emotions that he had always heard Seokjin drone on about.

When his friend would boast about the girls he was with, Namjoon was always half-heartedly listening. Most of the time it would go through one ear and out the other, but he always paid attention to the important details. Though you hadn’t exactly touched on the basis of what it was to be in love, he definitely heard enough about it from Seokjin to know that it’s supposed to feel like you’re the only two people on earth, that nothing else matters except the person who holds the true reign of your heart. Namjoon, though he would never admit it out loud, subconsciously seemed to yearn for that kind of love, a love that was so intense and fulfilling that it consumed him.

But at the same time, he was afraid.

He feared the vulnerability that came along with falling in love, let alone expressing his own feelings. Most of it is due to the fact that - once again - he has yet to experience such a thing, but he’s not really one to open up to others easily. But with you, it felt different for him. The common interests and similar mindsets between the two of you has seemed to put him at ease, the author finding a sense of comfort whenever he’s in your presence. He’s open minded and the feelings or fears that he would usually keep away would roll off of his tongue without a second thought, and even though that scared him - he would much rather express them to you than to anyone else. Even Seokjin.

As Namjoon sips on his drink, his gaze fell on the door to the bar, a wide dimpled grin forming on his lips when he catches sight of you walking through the entryway -- and fucking christ, have you always looked this beautiful? You were dressed in all black - something of which he did not mind one bit - the silk dress clinging to your upper body while the black tights clung to your legs, chunky heeled ankle booties adorning your feet and elongating your legs to the point where Namjoon had no idea where they began and where they ended. You looked stunning, and the author takes note that you - in fact - had always been this beautiful.

You catch his gaze the moment you walk through the door, the bleach blonde author looking more than handsome as he leisurely leaned against the bar. Adorned in a black and white checkered button down and black skinny jeans, his hair was pushed off of his forehead and styled back, and you swore that he had gotten more handsome since the last time you saw him. Offering the author a small smile, you take a seat next to him at the bar and rest your elbows on the counter. Namjoon’s gaze makes a small wave of heat appear on your cheeks and you have to break your gaze from his, not wanting him to catch sight of the blush coating your cheeks.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he greeted, grinning widely. You smiled towards the ground.

“Hey, Namjoon,” you said politely. “Did you order a drink?”

The author nodded, his slender finger pointing towards his glass.

“Sure did,” he chimed. “I was going to order yours but I wasn’t sure what you liked…”

You sent him a small smile, your head nodding towards him in acknowledgement.

“It’s alright,” you brushed off. “We hadn’t really discussed what kind of alcohol we preferred. Although… assuming from the amount of empty whiskey bottles in your apartment, I’m going to take a wild guess and say that that’s your drink of choice?”

Your teasing tone makes Namjoon chuckle, the man bashfully looking towards the ground before his gaze rests on you once more. You, on the other hand, turned towards the bartender to order yourself a drink.

“Cherry vodka and sprite, please.”

You can faintly hear the deep chuckle resonate from Namjoon, your curious gaze falling on his dimpled grin as he looks at you. Raising an eyebrow towards him, you can’t help but let a small smile grace your lips.

“What?” You asked, making Namjoon shake his head.

“Nothing, nothing,” he grinned. “I just didn’t peg you as a vodka girl.”

You mirrored his grin at that, a quiet laugh escaping you as you shrugged.

“It tastes good,” you admitted. “I’m not a fan of really hard liquor. I like the sweet and fruity stuff.”

“That makes sense,” he hummed softly. “Most people like drinks that resemble themselves.”

You give him a look mixed between surprise and confusion.

“Are you saying that I’m sweet, Mr. Kim?”

Namjoon smirked, his body leaning closer towards yours.

“Possibly,” he mused.

You can feel your heartbeat increase at the close proximity of him, the smell of his cologne hitting your nose, and you can feel yourself melting into his ways. For someone who had zero experience with girls, he was surely confident when it came to flirting. Then again, there was a mutual comfort between the two of you. It was natural, almost like you had known him for years, and you certainly weren’t complaining about it.

Gripping the cherry in your drink, you hold it out to him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Want it?” You asked, making Namjoon reach out and take it.

“Do you not like cherries?”

“Eh, not really a fan,” you admitted.

Namjoon feigned shock.

“Perposterous!”

The two of you laughed at his antics while you idly stirred your straw around to mix the drink, another blush coating your cheeks as you take a sip of the drink. The natural air between the two of you sets your mind at ease, a breath of relief coming from you when you realize that you don’t have to pretend with him. When you were with Jace, you felt like you had to act like a completely different person whenever you hung out with him. He was the outspoken type and you thought that you had to stoop to his level of immaturity and obnoxious nature in order for him to notice you -- and while it did end up catching his attention, you weren’t comfortable pretending to be someone you weren’t.

The more time you spent with the author, the more you began to realize the similarities between both yours and his personalities. He understood you in ways no one else ever could, the strong passion and admiration for the field that both of you work in sealed the deal.

Casting a glance towards the man, you can’t help but examine his features. Sure, you had noticed the obvious things like his dimples and his plump lips but you never took the time out to actually look at him. You can feel your brain internally memorizing every curvature and point marked on the man; his slightly puffed out cheeks, the subtle point at the tip of his nose, his sharp jawline. He really was handsome, that you will admit. But aside from his looks, it was his intellectual nature that drew you in. The pure intelligence that was buried within the author’s brain never failed to impress you; he was smarter than most (a fact he had revealed to you whilst talking at the coffee shop), and he always managed to pay attention to the small details within everyday things.

He was brilliant, he was kind, and he was yours.

...Wait -- what?!

The feeling of panic rushed through you within that moment and you tore your gaze away from Namjoon’s face, the sound of your heart pounding wildly in your ears as your brain goes into overdrive. Namjoon definitely was not yours -- nor did you want him to be. You were just helping him out, teaching him the ways of how love works and what it feels like when you’re with that person. Under no circumstances are you - or him, for that matter - supposed to feel any sort of romantic feeling towards one another. You were simply friends helping one another out.

You were so caught up in your inner turmoil that you hadn’t noticed Namjoon looking at you with a curious gaze, his head cocked to the side as he gently places a hand on your arm.

“Are you alright?”

His deep, velvety voice that filled your ears only fueled the chaos within your brain, your heart beating rapidly now as you turn back to face him. Plastering a fake smile on your lips you nodded your head furiously.

“Y-yeah!” You choked out. “Why wouldn’t I be?!”

Namjoon sends you an unsure look, the author - no doubt - knowing you’re lying. But before he could open his mouth, another voice beat him to speaking first.

“Hey there, handsome.”

Both yours and Namjoon’s eyes focused on an older woman standing next to him, a sickly feeling rushing through your stomach as she eyes the author up and down. Namjoon, who doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, smiled politely at the woman as he nods in acknowledgement.

“Hello,” he greeted.

You can practically feel her undressing him with her eyes and you bite back a scoff as you turn back to your drink, irritation filling you up as you gulp down the alcohol.

“I saw you from across the bar and I couldn’t help but come over here and tell you how incredibly handsome you are,” her voice is sickly sweet, the sound churning your stomach even more. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Namjoon chuckled.

“Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink?”

You gritted your teeth at their exchange, your gaze shooting deadly daggers towards the woman as she places a hand on his arm.

“You’re too sweet --”

“Too bad he’s here with me,” you shoot back, plastering a fake smile on your lips. The woman gives you a look of disdain, her nose turning up into the air.

“I see,” she replied curtly. “Are you his girlfriend?”

“She’s not my --”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” Namjoon’s eyes widened at your words, the man’s body turning towards you as he looked at you completely flabbergasted. “So I would appreciate it if you left my boyfriend alone, thanks.”

The woman sends you one last dirty look before she finally drops her hand from Namjoon’s shoulder and walks away, a string of curses being muttered under her breath while you smirk in satisfaction. An uncomfortable silence shifts between the two of you as you down the last of your drink, your blood pumping loudly in your ears as you feel the anger begin to dissipate, devastation in its wake as you reach to grab your jacket.

“I think I’m going to head out,” you muttered, making Namjoon look at you.

“What?” He asked, following you as soon as you stood up.

Sending him a small smile, you slip your jacket on and grab your purse.

“I’ll see you later, Joon.”

The man can’t utter one more word before you’re out the door, the chilly winter breeze serving as a punishment for the lack of control you had over your feelings. Your brain is screaming at you for the stunt you pulled in there, the devastation of the events beginning to unfold, and you can’t help but mutter under your breath. Your heart, on the other hand, is commending you for standing up for your feelings. Despite the willpower to conceal them, your heart overtook your brain in that particular moment and you were torn on how to feel about it -- either Namjoon could totally hate your guts right now for killing his flirting game or he could be thankful…

...It seemed to be the latter because not even a minute later, you could hear your name being called.

Namjoon was breathless by the time he made it by your side, his eyes wide and plump lips parted as he panted for air. Your heart seemed to awaken again at the sight of him and you cursed the organ for contradicting your feelings, not wanting them to show anymore.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, still slightly breathless. “Did I do something?”

You let out a humorless laugh, your head shaking as you shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket.

“Not at all, Joon,” you affirmed. “I’m just tired. All of the studying for finals has me completely wiped out.”

Namjoon frowned at that, his eyes searching for something -- anything.

“Then why did you agree to come out tonight?”

You fell silent at that -- though you did have your doubts about coming out with him tonight and it was heavily influenced by Hana, there was a part of you that was aching to be around him. It’s funny how fast feelings that you’ve suppressed can come into light, the subconscious thoughts of your mind ruling out any good judgment that you had possessed earlier. You wanted to be around him, you wanted to be with him -- but the cynic inside of you ruined any chance of you actually going for it.

Bottling up your emotions, you sucked in a deep breath before holding your head up high and offering him a small smile.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

You had barely managed to walk a step away from him before his footsteps could be heard, the harsh crunching of leaves beneath his feet echoing around the silent air.

“(Y/N)!”

His hand wrapped around your arm before he stands next to you, his steps gradually falling into place with yours.

“At least let me walk you home,” he begged, his deep brown eyes pleading. “It’s not safe for you to walk around at night by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, Namjoon --”

“Please.”

His voice fell to a quiet tone and you could feel your heart clench as your gaze lifted to meet his, a heartbeat passing between the folds of silence before you’re slowly nodding your head.

“Okay…”

There’s a tension between the two of you as you walk side by side, Namjoon’s arm brushing yours with every step of the way. You can feel your heart racing at an uncomfortable speed just by having his presence near, the annoying butterflies fluttering wildly in the pit of your stomach as you try to calm yourself down. Namjoon is silent the whole way to your dorm, the man not daring to look in your direction. His hands are shoved within the pockets of his leather jacket, eyes straight forward ahead, and you can feel your heart crumble at the crestfallen expression on his face.

As you approach your dorm, you stop in front of Namjoon and turn towards him to send him a small smile.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you said quietly, making Namjoon nod.

“No problem,” he smiled back. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“I appreciate that,” you murmured. “Goodnight, Joon.”

As you turn towards the door, you can still feel his presence from behind you, the light clearing of his throat making you turn back to look at him as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Are you sure there wasn’t any particular reason as to why you came out with me tonight?” He asked quietly. “Or as to why you jumped down that woman’s throat?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line at his questions, your heart screaming to tell him the truth -- but you couldn’t. The intense feelings you held for the man in front of you were something beyond anything you felt for anyone before - even Jace - and honestly… it scared you. It scared you that you had managed to fall hard and fast for a man you’ve only known for few months, that he had managed to wiggle his way into your sealed shut heart. So you pushed away your feelings and put on a fake smile.

“I came out because I like hanging out with you,” that wasn’t necessarily a lie… “And that woman was up to no good, Joon. She wasn’t looking to have an intellectual conversation with you, she was looking for more… intimate things.”

Namjoon blinks, but he doesn’t say anything. You give him one last pained smile before you’re waving at him.

“Goodnight, Joon. Get home safe.”

...Yet you still hadn’t managed to move inside.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

The hand you had on the doorknob froze as he spoke, your heartbeat speeding up immensely as Namjoon steps closer to you. You don’t move and inch, not even when you feel his hand on top of yours, the warmth creating an electric shock that wracks your body. He’s quiet, lips not uttering one word, but you can feel his hot breath cascading along your neck, the sensation emitting goosebumps to flare up on your flesh. A shiver knocks through you and you can’t help but let your lips part when you feel the plump flesh of Namjoon’s lips brush against your skin.

“(Y/N),” he whispered, an arm loosely wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into him. “Please… Be honest with me…”

You can feel your self restraint beginning to break, the emotions that you had fought off for months were free now, the wall you had put up completely crumbling into pieces as you sink into his touch.

“I feel it,” you breathed out, eyes closing as you relish in him. “God, Joon, I’ve felt it for months.”

That was all he needed to hear.

Turning you around in his arms, Namjoon cups your face and pulls you up to him, his lips crashing onto yours without a second thought. The frustration and denial you had tried to convey towards your feelings were gone, completely diminished by the pure, raw emotions you felt towards this man. Your lips move against his in a slow, languid dance, and surprisingly - or at least for someone who lacks experience - he’s magnificent. His lips are softer than you imagined they would be, but there’s a hidden passion behind his kiss. He’s taking his time, almost like he’s mapping out every movement you make, trying to decide his own move.

You can feel your breath hitch when you feel your back press against your door, Namjoon’s hands moving from your face to rest on your waist. You’re lost in him, completely mesmerized by the man, and you can feel the oxygen leaving your lungs -- but you don’t care. He’s addictive, his pillow soft lips calling out to you in more ways than one. But you pull away, a ragged breath escaping you as you pant quietly, fighting to catch your breath. Namjoon, on the other hand, takes it as his cue to move his kisses elsewhere. While you rested against the door, his lips found purchase along your jaw, his tongue sweeping along your skin, the sensation making you shiver beneath him as you lace your fingers through his blonde locks. He’s mouthing at your flesh, sucking softly on your skin, and you’re crumbling even more - your body completely craving his touch, each and every part of you calling out for more.

Tugging softly at his tresses, you let out a quiet whimper when he reaches your neck, his mouth suckling on a spot that has you arching into him.

“Joon,” you murmured. “If you don’t stop now, I’m going to end up dragging you into my room.”

Your words have Namjoon smirking against your neck, his tongue swiping along your collarbone before he nips at it playfully, earning himself a quiet yelp from you.

“What if I don’t want to stop?” He asked, making you draw back from him.

“Joon seriously --”

“I am being serious, (Y/N).”

Lifting his head from your neck, Namjoon has a dangerous glint in his eyes as he gazed down at you, his hands moving up to cup your face once more.

“I like you,” he reiterates. “I want you, I want to be with you.”

You sigh softly as you relish in the touch of his hands.

“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of you…”

“How are you taking advantage of me when I want it to happen?”

“We’ve had drinks, Joon --”

“So?” He chuckled. “I’m not obliterated, (Y/N).” Gripping your face, he pulls you closer towards him. “I want you to show me what it feels like to be loved, I want you to show me what it’s like to feel wanted…”

His mouth reattaches itself back to yours as soon as he finishes speaking, only this time it’s not closed. The tip of his tongue prods against your lips and you hesitate momentarily, wondering if what you were doing is right; but then he’s murmuring sweet nothings against your lips, his hand gently caressing your cheek, and you melted instantly.

Reaching out a blind hand, you fumble with the doorknob before the two of you are stumbling into the room. Pulling away from his lips you call out for Hana, only semi-aware of her absence as Namjoon mouths hotly at your neck, his hands unzipping your jacket until he’s sliding it down your arms. Reattaching your mouth back to his, you’re pulling him towards your bed whilst helping him shed off his jacket. The moment Namjoon is pressed against the bed, you’re breaking your mouth from his and attaching your lips to his neck, the man beneath you instantly pressing you closer to his body.

Your tongue runs along the skin connected to his neck and collarbone, the spot seeming to be a sensitive one for the author considering the moment your mouth latched onto it he lets out a deep growl. You smirked against his flesh, his sounds egging you on as you continue to nip at the skin. You can feel him begin to harden beneath you, a low whimper escaping the man when he feels your hands run underneath his shirt, his hips bucking up into your touch as you press a kiss to the column of his throat.

“(Y/N) please,” he murmured. “I want more.”

Peering up at him through your eyelashes, you begin to unbutton his shirt, your lips attaching to each newly revealed part of his chest until you’re moving down his body, your tongue dipping along the indents of his abdomen as you slip the shirt off of him. He may not be the most muscular man around but it was nothing less of beautiful, his tan skin glinting in the moonlight, the faint shadows of the small hint of muscle was just as impressive as one who held a more muscular build. Namjoon was truly beautiful -- inside and out.

As your mouth reaches the hem of his jeans, Namjoon lets out a small groan, the feeling of your fingers making the man crave so much more than what you’re giving him - but he knows that you’re showing him what it’s truly like to feel appreciated. So he stays rooted to the bed, his hooded gaze locked on your form as you unbutton his jeans and slide them down his long, lean legs. The feeling of your hands on his bare skin has him squirming, the anticipation bubbling up within his body. He’s already beginning to sweat, the man on edge as he anxiously awaits for you to continue.

A small hiss of pleasure escapes him when he feels your nails gently rake against his skin as you slide up between his legs, a teasing smirk playing on your lips as you place a kiss on his hipbone. If it was up to you, you would be leaving marks upon marks upon marks on the man’s skin -- but you decided to save that for another time. This time around, the first time (for him at least), you were determined to show him what it meant to be adored.

“Joonie,” you cooed softly, peering up at him. “You’re doing so well, baby.”

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, hips rising from the bed when he felt your fingers play with the hem of his briefs. “Keep talking to me, (Y/N).”

Your smirk grew wider at his pleading and you tug the briefs teasingly slow down his legs until they crumple into a ball on the floor, your hands ghosting along his honey thighs as you position yourself comfortably onto the bed. Your eyes are trained on him, gaze locked on his, and you send him a flirty smile as your hands reach his inner thighs.

“Tell me how you feel, baby,” you murmured, before leaning down to press your lips to the flesh of his thigh.

Namjoon whimpers, his hands reaching out to clench at the bedsheets as he digs his teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip.

“I feel fucking amazing, (Y/N),” he moaned. “You make me feel amazing.”

Half listening to him, you gently grab his cock in your hands before letting the tips of your fingers glide along his length, the action earning you the sweetest groan to emit from the man’s lips. Sinking down further onto the bed, you dip your head down and teasingly lick a stripe to the underside of his cock.

“Oh fuck --!”

The hiss of pleasure is all you needed to hear before you’re completely enveloping the head of his cock into your mouth, your tongue swirling around it as your hand wraps around whatever wasn’t being touched. Namjoon is writhing beneath your ministrations, the man’s hips bucking upwards off of the bed as cries of pleasure are falling from his lips, his breath falling in short pants as you take more of him into your mouth. He’s putty in your hands - and he knows it too - and god, he’s so glad he waited for this until he actually developed the feelings he has for you. His passion towards you only fuels the pleasure for himself, all he sees is you and he’s crashing down fast - almost embarrassingly fast - but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Inhaling sharply through your nose, you take as much of him as you can into your mouth, your hand gliding along the rest that doesn’t fit, before you take a deep breath and swallow around him. The action has Namjoon keening loudly, his hands moving from the sheets to rest in the locks of your hair, nimble fingers tugging harshly at your tresses as he bucks his hips into your mouth. You choke slightly, but you power through it as you drop your hand from his shaft. Swallowing once more around him, you glide your mouth down the rest of his length until the tip of your nose presses against his pelvis, a string of curses falling from Namjoon’s mouth when he realizes you’ve managed to take all of him.

He’s reaching his brink quickly, the man feeling his body beginning to coil and his balls tighten, his release building faster and faster with every flick of your tongue - and before you know it, he’s letting out a loud cry of your name as he comes undone. His thighs tremble with the aftershocks of his release, your tongue happily lapping up every last drop of him as a growl rips through his chest. Slowly you’re drawing back from his cock, your tongue running over your lips as you swallow what’s left of his release, a playful smirk on your face as you slither back up his body. Namjoon’s hands clutched you tightly to him, his lips surging up to find yours as he kisses you sloppily.

“Please let me touch you, baby,” he pleaded against your mouth, his fingers sneaking underneath the hem of your dress. “I want to make you feel good too.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” You asked, teasingly. Another growl rips from Namjoon as he drops his hands to your thighs, the man rolling you over without hesitation.

“I’ve watched enough porn to know how to treat a woman,” he purred, making you scoff.

“Porn isn’t reality, Joonie --”

“But it still taught me how to find a woman’s spot.”

He wastes no time in ripping your dress off of you, the article of clothing being carelessly discarded as he reaches behind you to clumsily fumble with your bra, the pesky lingerie finally coming undone after the fourth attempt. It was endearing, honestly. Namjoon’s movements are precise yet clumsy, the man far too eager to even begin to slow down his pace -- not that you were complaining anyways.

When his mouth attaches to your now revealed breasts, you can’t help but mewl with pleasure, his warm tongue soothing your flesh in soft circles. His fingertips are dancing along your stomach, the pads gently tapping an unknown rhythm as his tongue strokes your pert nipple softly. The slow ministrations sends your body into overdrive, the craving for him growing to an excessive want as his mouth unlatches itself from your breast and trails down your body.

He’s carelessly pulling down your tights, your panties soon following, and you open your eyes fast enough to catch the glimpse of him licking his lips in anticipation. This time you’re molding to the bed as his warm hands part your thighs, his blunt nails softly digging into your flesh as he faces your dripping core. Reaching down, you give him an encouraging tug on his locks, a nod of your head soon following before Namjoon leans in and attaches his plump lips to your folds.

“Shit…”

The hiss falls brokenly from your lips as he mouths at your core, his tongue running along your folds every now and again. He’s definitely watched some sort of pussy eating porn because the moment he wraps his mouth around your clit and sucks, you’re shameless bucking your hips into his face, a cry of his name falling from your lips. You reaction makes the man smirk, a devious glint in his eyes as he peered up at you from his eyelashes, Namjoon gaining pleasure from just watching you relish in the touch of him.

He can feel his cock twitch as he laps at your core, every once in awhile sucking at the sensitive bud, but he’s never been more satisfied. From between watching you writhe with pleasure and all but grind down onto his tongue, he’s relishing in everything that’s you. He may not be as experienced as the guys you’ve had before, but he’s a damn fast learner and he’s determined to make you feel even half - if not more - of the pleasure you’ve felt when you were with others.

Experimentally he’s running the tip of his finger along your folds, the action only adding to your pleasure, and you reach down to grab his wrist to push him more against your core - a sign that it was okay to do what he had planned. Slowly he’s running the digit along your slick folds, coating it thoroughly before he’s pushing it inside of you. Instantly mewling at the contact, you swivel your hips to rock against the touch, silently guiding him to build up a rhythm with his fingers. He takes the reigns, however, curling the digit inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion, the length of his finger brushing further inside of you as he begins to pump it in and out.

You’re feeling yourself begin to falter, your release building slowly in the pit of your stomach, and although you loved to relish in the feeling he’s giving you, you didn’t want to cum this way. So instead you’re gently pushing him off of you and sitting up, Namjoon’s eyes widening at your actions as he licks your juices off of his lips.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, slightly panicked. “Did I do something -- oof!”

Namjoon’s words were cut short when you gripped his forearms and pulled him onto the bed, sneakily grabbing a condom from your bedside drawer before your legs are placed on either side of his legs as you settle comfortably onto his thighs. A dirty smirk is painted on your lips as you run your nails along the skin of his back, your nose gently pressing against his cheek.

“You were perfect, baby,” you praised. “I just didn’t want to cum like that.”

Scrunching his eyebrows in confusion Namjoon opens his mouth to ask what you meant when a loud groan emits from him, a soft giggle falling from your lips as you slip the condom onto his length and align yourself up with him. With one arm looped around his neck and the other placed gently on his thigh, you slowly slide down onto his length, gasps of relief escaping from both yours and Namjoon’s mouths as he fills you up to the hilt.

Namjoon is gritting his teeth, the man not used to having his cock be completely enveloped in a tight warmth. You stay still for that reason, patiently waiting for him to control himself so he doesn’t blow right then and there. It’s only when Namjoon whimpers softly, his hips gently twisting against you, do you finally begin to swivel your hips. The slow rhythm is enough for you to hold onto him tightly, your nose pressing against his as the two of you rock gently into one another. Namjoon’s lips seek out to find yours, a messy kiss being exchanged as you begin to fasten the tempo of your hips.

You’ve been with your fair share of lovers, some worse than others, but you can confidently say that none of them were at all like the man in front of you. The intimacy shared between the two of you was like none other; it wasn’t hasty, it wasn’t rushed. It was raw, it was pure, and it was real. You could feel yourself become overwhelmed within the situation, your lips parting in pure pleasure as Namjoon rocked against you, your nails gently raking against the skin of his flesh as you angled your hips to make him surge deeper within you.

You clench around him, the sensation making Namjoon growl against your skin, his teeth biting into the skin on your shoulder as you reach to grab his wrist. Placing his hand between your interlinked bodies, you urge him to press his thumb against your clit, the man doing so without any sort of hesitation. You’re rocking roughly against him now, the feeling of him inside of you mixed with the rough circles being rubbed on your clit making your delayed release begin to build again. Namjoon isn’t far behind you, either, the man inching closer and closer to his own release as the rhythm begins to grow sloppy.

White hot pleasure is illuminating between your bodies as you clench once more around him, Namjoon coming with a low groan against your skin, his teeth softly nibbling at your flesh as he trembles beneath you, the rough circles on your clit and the soft brush of the tip of Namjoon’s cock brushing against your sensitive spot has you soon following, your hips grinding down onto him as you ride out your release.

Sweaty bodies are molded together, neither you or Namjoon wanting to break the contact as you unwind from your highs. The gentle nibbles of his teeth on your skin transition into soft pecks, his tongue running along the marks he had bitten into your skin until he’s making his way up your jaw and to your mouth. Lips tangle within a passionate kiss, soft flicks of his tongue against yours making you mewl quietly, the sound reverberating into his own.

Slowly he’s bringing you back towards the comforter, your sweaty skin sticking to the blankets as he throws them over your bodies. His fingers lace with yours as he finally draws back from your mouth, his nose gently grazing against yours as a blissful, dimpled grin forms on his lips.

“Thank you,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against yours. “For finally showing me what it feels like to be in love.”

Mirroring his grin, you lean in to place a soft kiss against his lips.

“And thank you for showing me how to love again.”

A loud shriek of happiness echoes within the hallway, your hands instantly covering your ears as Hana bounces excitedly.

“I told you so!” She cheered, clapping her hands happily, making you roll your eyes as you bite back a grin.

“Shut up, Han,” you laughed.

She’s beaming with pride, the bubbly blonde wrapping her arms around you as she squeezes you tightly in a hug.

“I knew it from the beginning, (Y/N)! You two are most definitely meant for each other!”

Not even being able to bite back the grin this time, you let it consume your lips as you beam at her.

“I think we are,” you agreed. “Thank you for opening my eyes, Han. I appreciate you.”

She gives you another tight squeeze, the blonde bouncing on her heels as she pulls away from you. Nodding her head in the direction behind you, her grin slips into a wide smirk as she nudged you playfully.

“Your boyfriend is here,” she teased.

Quickling bidding you goodbye, you watch her bounce away before a pair of arms wrap around your waist, soft, plump lips gently pressing to the skin on your neck.

“Hello, beautiful,” Namjoon’s deep voice fills your ears as you turn around to lock your arms around his neck.

“Hi, handsome,” you grinned. “How was your morning?”

“It was uneventful,” he pouted. “I didn’t have my beautiful girl with me.”

Rolling your eyes at his cheesiness, you lean in to peck his lips softly.

“Well I’m here now,” you murmured against his mouth.

“And that’s all I need.”

“I thought that I would never be able to fall in love. I thought that my career would essentially leave me lonely; no one by my side, no one to help me get through this rough patch. I was swarmed with an empty mind, no creative outlet allowing me access from within. It was hard, I’ll admit. Endless nights of me drinking myself into oblivion, hoping that somehow my drunken stupor could bring me at least one idea or spark my inspiration once again. I was drowning in nothingness, falling into a black hole filled with nothing but regret -- and then it happened. An angel from above came down to save me from my stupidity and rash behavior. She taught me everything I needed to know; from learning how to get past the writer’s block that plagued me to learning what the true meaning of love meant. She is my savior, my angel, my muse -- and her name is (Y/N).”

-- Kim Namjoon, The Angel of Love (Release Date: Coming Soon)

[whetstonefires]

don't even know how likely it is that you'd write something like this anymore but. a fic where zack didn't actually think genesis died (DUDE HE CAN FLY HE'S NOT GONNA FALL TO DEATH!!) and at the very least postpone angeal's death by convincing him to help genesis who is presumably lying at the bottom of some abyss beneath an underground warehouse being very unconscious, probably out of exhaustion. then somehow the world's NOT ending by sephiroth maybe because there'd be actual FRIENDSHIP DEVELOPMENT?? (not cool that you robbed me of that in cc, squeenix) and they can go viva la revolution and dismantle shinra. or something. kunsel can help he has the brain cell

I had the hardest time answering this ask in a way that made sense to talk to you with but would be comprehensible to any followers who gave a damn as;dlfkjsdk.

Okay so I would probably write something like that, busted lmao, altho you’re right I got most of the SOLDIER trio feels out of my system already. But I feel like the obstacle would be...well it’s like two obstacles, wound together like indecent snakes.

So the obstacle is, Angeal’s motivations. In-universe, getting him to not die so he can come help the guy he wants to die because of and whom he imo expresses the sentiment that he should have personally killed is...tricky.

It’s not impossible because Zack is persuasive and Angeal is obviously still weak to Genesis in spite of everything or he would have killed him ages ago. But it’s tricky.

And on a metanarrative level it’s rendered much trickier by having so little to work with. How do you maneuver a couple of characters (specifically designed to fall apart no less) through a rapprochement when most of the estrangement happened offscreen?

We don’t know what Genesis said to Angeal to get him to defect, other than that it probably involved Project G. We don’t know how they got into the level of argument they were already in when Zack reaches Banora, whatever level exactly that was, other than that it presumably involved Angeal objecting to the Copies and the extermination of his hometown, but somehow left him feeling so conflicted and hopeless and helpless he didn’t do anything about those objections.

It’s really hard to do any concrete development of Angeal’s mental state at this point in the story, especially to put in the footholds for diverting his course from its predestined end point at the last minute, without those things to build on! And of course it’s even harder for my consistent PSP existence failure. 😔😔😔 i’m fake fan what can i do.

Anyway yeah I’d have to make up so much stuff, like their entire relationship arc, that’s the main/only reason I would probably not write this. I like to have slightly more footing in canon. Even when I’m doing things slightly less difficult than trying to sell a positive resolution to a tragic relationship arc.

Well, that and I’d have to put my heart behind the notion of saving Genesis as a good reason for doing anything, at this stage in the game. I’m not sure I could. Let him stay in the hole.

Stay in the hole Genesis! You stayed in your hole while Sephiroth was ending the world, didn’t you? Stay now! Be quiet! Cease to make trouble!

(Angeal’s temptation to take him out while he was down if they did find him unconscious would be a great drama scene because you know what, I bet he still couldn’t.

That might actually work...Zack brings up ‘actually having taken 15 minutes to think about it i don’t think he’s dead’ and Angeal postpones dying until the currently more dangerous monster is fully taken care of but then they get there and he. Can’t. Fucking do it. As much as he objectively knows it’s the Right Thing To Do. Cue more visible and hopefully more productive breakdown than the one he’s been continually having for most of the game, roll plot.

This still requires some way of detoxifying Genesis enough to live with but hey I’m not actually writing this thing.)

I keep doing these AUs and then folding out before they actually overthrow Shinra tho, because there are only so many ways to do that, and all the non-awful ones are super complicated. 😆 Maybe ending one with ‘and then SOLDIER Kunsel founded a shadow government’ would make a nice change.