#i KNOW the significance i GET the meaning it's just driving me fucking BANANAS

[queenofbaws]

a detail that DELIGHTED me when first playing the sh2 remake:

how very, very prominent the tanline from james's wedding ring is on his character model

the thought that is driving me to MADNESS tonight:

how very, very prominent the abandoned wedding ring is in the heaven's night lost and found

[supernatural-jackles]

The Man on the Side of the Road Part 11

Title: The Man on the Side of the Road - Part 11

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 7,930

Warnings: Minor Angst, Pining, Mentions of the Kiss, Self Hate, Fluff, Male and Female Receiving, Smut

Summary: Driving down the road, going well over the speed limit. You come across a man walking in the opposite direction with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His head cast down as he walked. Your gut instinct is telling you to check on this man, no matter what your parents told you growing up. Little did you know just how much this would change your life.

The Man on the Side of the Road - Masterlist

A/N: I really hope y’all like this part! As always, feedback is the reason I keep sharing, so please share your thoughts. Happy Reading!

The two of you were back on the road, heading back to your lives once more. You had the windows rolled down, your hair whipping around a little in the breeze. You couldn’t take your mind off of everything that happened while you were in Palo Alto. It was one of the reasons why you were looking forward to heading home. You wanted to get back to having your own space, and time to yourself. You wanted to get back to cooking dinner, and going to school. Reality.

 The first day on the road was much like it was when you drove to Sam. One of you slept while the other drove. Dean drove first and you took the backseat to sleep this time around. You couldn’t shake the feeling you had inside. Ever since you kissed, the tension had been getting more intense. Your feelings certainly didn’t help at all. Your head was continuing to convince you that you were better off friends. That Dean was into someone else, and it was simply a moment you shared and the moment was over. Whatever happened in Palo Alto stayed in Palo Alto. But you couldn’t help but wonder what was soaring through his mind. If he was affected the same way you were.

 You were about three or so hours away from Lawrence. You sat shotgun while Dean drove. His cassette tapes playing through to give you some background noise. You liked his taste in music, so there were no complaints from you. Hell, there wasn’t a whole lot coming out of your mouth in the first place. You didn’t know what to say? And what if you said something and things got awkward. What if you said something and he decided to pack his bags and leave you? Why were you so fucking reliant on having someone by your side? Why couldn’t you be independent? Why couldn’t you handle life on your own?

 “You want to stop somewhere and grab some dinner?” Dean broke the comfortable silence. For a moment, you almost didn’t register what he said. You turned your head, and glanced over at him.

 “Yeah,” you nodded. “Dinner sounds good.”

 He drove for another ten minutes before pulling into the parking lot of a restaurant. It wasn't fancy by any means. But it certainly sold more than just burgers and fries. It felt good to stand up after being in the car for so long. You stretched out your legs and your back, feeling a couple of cracks in all the right places. Dean led the two of you into the restaurant, holding the door open for you to walk in first.

 You picked the first table you could find. It was in the middle of the restaurant, which wasn’t all that busy. It was a table for two, and it was big enough to be comfortable for the two of you. You were exhausted and you felt it more now that you were out of the car and up and walking. You just wanted to be in your own bed. You couldn’t have been more thankful that you still had two days until you had to be back for the rest of your semester.

 “Hello you two,” the waiter greeted you. He had bright red hair, and freckles coating almost every inch of skin on his face. He had to be in high school by the looks of him. He grabbed his notepad from his apron, sliding his pen from the spiral part. “What can we get started for you?”

 “We’ll take two waters please,” Dean started.

 “Perfect,” he nodded. “I’ll be right back with that and to take your order. Sit tight.” He took off with a hop in his step, making your eyes go wide at just how enthusiastic he was. No one you knew was that happy to be at work.

 “I’ll have what he’s taking,” Dean joked, picking the menu up from the table. You did the same, glancing over it to see if there was anything that tickled your fancy. There were ribs, steak, and three different types of chicken on there. Your eyes landed on the classic burger with a side of fries. That was the only thing you even found interest in. Peppy Pete was too much for you.

 “What are you thinking?” you asked him.

 “The burger,” he answered. “You?”

 “Same,” you half smiled.

 The waiter came over, taking your order before grabbing the menus from you. He told you it was going to be about ten minutes until the food was ready, and to just sit tight. You yawned as you leaned your elbows on the table. It was only three hours until you were home, and that was the only thing you wanted. Well, that and sleep.

 “You okay?” Dean questioned, taking a sip of his water. “You’ve been really quiet today.”

 “Just want to go home,” you said softly.

 “Soon enough, Y/N. I promise. I’ll drive the rest of the way back, okay? You can get some rest and we’ll be home before you know it,” he assured you.

 “Thank you,” you yawned once more.

 “That's all that’s bothering you?” he inquired, cocking his eyebrow. “Nothing else?”

 “I’m not trying to think about anything else. I just want to sleep in my own bed, and relax for awhile. I want to lay in my pyjamas all day, and not have to worry about leaving my room. I want to go braless and forgo pants.”

 “All fair points. Only a few more hours until then,” he reminded you.

 “Here’s your meals,” Peppy Pete interrupted, placing each plate on the table individually. “If you need anything, let me know.”

 “Thank you,” you smiled at him, praying he’d leave you be until you were done. Your eyes flicked over to Dean, seeing him smiling at you. It took every ounce of strength you had left in you not to bring up the kiss. You were so wrapped up in your own head that it was killing you not to know why he did it. Better yet, why he did it and didn’t bring it up again? Why did he kiss you when he was into someone else?

 You brought your burger up to your mouth, taking a good bite out of it. The flavour hit your tastebuds instantly. It had to be one of the best burgers you ever had. Just the perfect balance between everything. The cheese was melted. The tomatoes and lettuce were fresh. It was damn perfect and everything you needed in a moment like this.

 “So we never really talked about what you and Sam talked about,” you brought up.

 “That’s because you and Jess spent an awful lot of time together,” he teased you, throwing one of the fries in his mouth. “It was kind of awkward at first. Neither of us really knew where to start. I told him I was sorry for not keeping in contact with him as much as I should have. He told me that it wasn’t my fault. He was the one who didn’t answer my calls. He regretted not coming to Dad’s funeral. I never told him that I saw the accident, or anything like that. I didn’t want him to know that.”

 “Why?” you furrowed your brows. “It might be good for him to know what you’ve been through.”

 “I can’t put that on him, Y/N. It’s my burden to carry, not his. If it comes up, then obviously I’ll tell him, but I’m not going to go out of my way to tell him. I scared him enough when I told him why I called him the last time, and how I met you,” he shared.

 “He thanked me for saving your life, many times,” you mentioned. “He loves you, Dean. Whether he shows it or not. He loves you and he appreciates everything you did for him growing up, more so now than he did back then.”

 “He told me that too,” he nodded. “Basically we just went through it and decided to move forward. It was better to not dwell on what happened years ago with Dad and everything.”

 “Good, I’m glad!” you beamed. “I know how important this trip was to you.”

You were back on the road about half an hour after you ate. Dean offered to pay for dinner this time around. This time, you didn’t fight him on it. You simply wanted to get back in the car and head home as quickly as possible.

 The waiter handed him the cheque and at the bottom, he left a little note and his number. You tried your hardest not to laugh at what he said until you got out of the restaurant, but it was extremely hard. ‘Roses are red, bananas are yellow, wanna go out with a nice little fellow?’

 “I can’t believe he did that,” Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he sped down the highway. “That has to be the worst pick up line in the world.”

 “Tell me about it. I’m all for pick up lines but that one was terrible,” you giggled. “Totally not my type.”

 “You don’t like the younger guys?” he played.

 “I’m almost ten years older than that kid,” you pointed out. Dean let out another laugh.

 The car filled with a comfortable silence after that. Dean turned the radio on, filling the silence with some classics. The sky was growing darker. Rain clouds rolled in, greying the sky much earlier than usual. Eventually spits of rain hit the windshield, turning into a downpour. Dean drove through it like it was nothing. He was calm behind the wheel, as he usually was. Driving was one of those things that helped him clear his head.

 You glanced out the window, taking everything in as much as you could. The rain continued to fall. It was kind of comforting to drive in it, especially when you knew Dean was comfortable behind the wheel. Your mind reeled over everything as your eyes followed the lines of trees on the side of the road.

 You couldn’t peel your mind away from Dean. Everything that happened the week you were away together was all soaring through your head. Skinny dipping, cuddling, the kiss. Fuck, the kiss. The whole thing was bothering you to no end. Why hadn’t he brought it up? Why hadn’t you at least talked about what it was? It was kind of significant, at least to you. You wanted it to happen again if you were being honest. You knew that you couldn’t hold back much longer. You needed to know.

 “We’re almost home. Probably another half an hour,” he told you.

 “Something’s bothering me,” you spoke up, your voice barely there from not talking for so long. “And I can’t hold it in any longer.”

 “Okay,” he breathed out, clearing his throat. “What’s up?”

 “Are we going to talk about what happened in the change room or are we going to pretend that it didn’t happen?” you questioned, not daring to look in his direction. Your eyes averted back out the window, trying not to glance over at the man to gage his reaction.

 “I - I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Do we need to talk about it?”

 “I don’t know. I just - I figured -” you paused, getting tongue tied about it all. Maybe that was why he hadn’t brought it up. Maybe it was one of those things that happened and it was better to leave it at that. “You know what, forget I brought it up.”

 “Okay,” he breathed out.

 You could always pretend it never happened. A spur of the moment kind of thing, right? A hey, I just saw my best friend naked and wanted to see if anything was there, and there wasn’t. It was better left forgotten about, not that you were going to be able to do that anytime soon. You craved more, and it wasn’t just kisses like that. Being with him for the last couple of months, a change from what you were living like for the last three years; you wanted more. You wanted to see what things would be like if you were to be in a relationship with Dean. The only person you trusted. The only person you could see yourself moving on with.  

 But you knew well enough, you couldn’t make someone love you the way you loved them. It wasn’t possible. You couldn’t lose Dean. You couldn’t lose the one person you had grown close to despite everything that had happened. Like he said, he’d take a bullet for you. You couldn’t ruin that.

 Dean pulled into the driveway, right next to your car. He cut the engine, leaving the car in complete silence. You couldn’t have been happier to be home. The road trip was amazing, but you needed to be home in the comfort of your memory foam bed, and your own shower. You needed the freedom to have a lazy day. That was what you were doing for the rest of the weekend. You’d be lucky to see the sunlight with how tired you were feeling.

 “I’ll carry your stuff in. You wanna go unlock the door?” he told you, giving you a soft smile.

 “Yeah,” you nodded, kicking the car door open. The sun was just beginning to set. The front of the house had a pink and orange tinge to it, making it look even more beautiful than it already was. You hopped up the front steps, slipping your key into the lock, opening up the door.

 Your house was exactly the way you left it. Everything was in its place. You took a deep breath, taking it all in once more. Home. Your home with Dean. Dean stepped in right behind you, placing your bag on the floor and his right next to it.

 “Home sweet home,” you breathed out.

 “That it is,” he grinned.

 You kicked off your shoes, and shed your jacket off your shoulders, adding it to the coat rack. The first thing you wanted to do was grab a glass of water after going so long without something to drink. Dean followed closely behind you, most likely thinking the same thing.

 You grabbed two glasses from the cupboard, handing one of them to him. He looked at you with a soft smile, one that you had seen often, especially when he was really comfortable with his surroundings; like when you were watching an episode of Dr Sexy.  He poured his glass, passing it over to you before taking the other out of your hand.

 “I- I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” he stated, breaking the silence between the two of you. You swallowed hard, your eyes locking with his. “I don’t want to, and I don’t know what to say, you know? It - it just happened, and I couldn’t control myself for a second. I get it if you want to. Obviously you brought it up and it’s been on your mind since it happened-”

 “I don’t want to forget it. I don’t think I could forget it even if I tried,” you breathed out. “I mean, I kissed you back so I’m just as much to blame for this as you are.”

 “Yeah I guess you’re right,” he half smiled, looking at you with soft eyes.

 “Let’s just move forward from it. It happened, it was great. New day,” you stated, nodding your head with a smile at your solution. It was the simplest thing to do. Not what you wanted, but it was easier than telling him you wanted to do it over and over again. It was a beautiful moment. One you weren’t going to forget. It was nice to be able to say that the last person you kissed wasn’t Ketch. It was the first step you needed to move forward from him. Small baby steps.

 “Yeah, we can do that,” he agreed. He placed his glass on the counter, turning back to you. You downed the rest of your water, heading over to the sink to place your empty glass. You knew you had to take your bag back to your room, and empty it out to get ready to do the laundry in the morning.

 “I think I’m going to turn in for the night. Long day in the car in all,” you said lowly.

 “Y/N wait,” he breathed out. You turned on your heel, looking back at him. He took a step closer to you, his hands cupping your cheeks. Before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours, kissing you fast and hard. Your heart began to race by the time you realized what was going on. His lips were on yours for the second time, right after you said you were going to move forward from the last one. Clearly that wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what you wanted either. You reached out, slipping your hands around his waist as you kissed him back. God, this kiss was better than the first.

 “Dean,” you muttered against his lips. “Mmh, Dean - what are we doing?”

 “Fuck sorry,” he pulled away, taking a sharp intake of air. “I shouldn’t-”

 “It’s okay, I just - I want to know what’s going on,” you stammered out. “One second we’re agreeing on something, then going the opposite way the next second.”

 “Sorry, I just - I got to thinking and then I wanted to again,” he shrugged. “I swear, that was it.”

 “Yeah?” You cocked your eyebrow, trying to hide your smile.

 “No,” he shook his head with a smile before leaning down once more. His lips meeting yours again. You couldn’t help but smile against him. He was too damn cute at that moment. He knew what he wanted, and he was going for it. “Not even close.”

 “Mhh Dean, this -” you pecked his lips, “is a bad idea.”

 “Yeah, you’re right,” he chuckled, kissing you again. His hands slipped around your waist, pulling you in closer to him. You damn near melted against him. Being in his arms was the best place to be, but it was a million times better when you were kissing him. Maybe this meant he had some sort of feelings for you; feelings similar to yours. “This is a really-” kiss “bad idea.”

 “Horrible idea,” you giggled against him, pecking his lips once more. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pushing yourself against him.

 “Yeah,” he nodded. “But seeing you smile the way you are right now is hard to resist.”

 “As if that’s the only reason,” you paused, bringing one of your hands behind his head. Your fingertips playing with the short hairs on the back of his neck.

 “No it’s really not,” he shook his head with a laugh. “Shouldn’t have done it. Don’t wanna stop.”

 “Does it look like I’m stopping you?”

 With that, his lips were on yours once more. This time, with nothing holding him back. His grip on you tightened, pulling you flush against him. You were a few steps behind him, letting him have his way with you and what he wanted to do. You trusted this man more than anyone. He wasn’t going to do something to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. You were close enough now that a few kisses weren't going to ruin your friendship. That was clear enough to you now.

 His hands slipped over your ass, reaching down to your thighs. He picked you up off the ground with ease, placing you on the counter behind you. He slipped between your legs, fitting perfectly as his lips moved in a slow sync with yours. You were really making out with your best friend in your kitchen. You were loving every second of it. The way his lips felt on yours. The way his hands caressed your body; not pushing you too far. This was definitely a step in the right direction. You just hoped that maybe this meant a little more to him too.

 His tongue grazed your bottom lip as his grip tightened around you. You granted him access almost instantly. God, you felt like a teenager again, minus the fear of your mom walking in and finding you of course. Although, it was always a possibility with her. You were happy. You were really, really happy. It was about time that you were.

 You wrapped your legs around his waist, dragging him in closer to you. Your arms tightening around him. His hands slipped down to your ass, resting them there. God, he was fucking perfect. You inched yourself forward, your centre brushing against the growing bulge in his pants. Now that was something new.

 “Mhh, we should stop,” he muttered against your lips.

 “Yeah?” you mumbled.

 “I’m not gonna be able to hold back with you pressed against me like this,” he chuckled, pecking your lips as he spoke. He fucking wanted you, and there was nothing sexier than that. “Feels too good.”

 “Take me to the bedroom then,” you whispered, your legs tightening around him. His boner trapped between your bodies. He pulled back, his eyes darker than usual. He was trying to gage your expression by the looks of it. Trying to see if you were serious, and you were. You wanted this. You wanted him more than anything.

 “Y/N, are you sure?” he cocked his head. His hands trailing up your back. “Like sure sure?”

 “More than sure,” you nodded.

 He slipped you off the counter, his hands making their way to your thighs as he carried you from the kitchen and through the hall, heading to your room. Your heart was racing in your chest. Your lips traced along the side of his neck to keep you occupied. You didn’t miss the way his grip tightened on you, or the way his breathing grew as you left little wet spots in your wake.

 Your back hit the mattress with a bounce. His body fell on top of yours, his lips back on yours. His body weight felt surprisingly good on top of you, more than you thought he would. Your lips moved in that same perfect sync with his. He was in no rush to get naked with you. It seemed like he wanted to take his time, and treat you the way he thought you deserved. Dean was one of a kind. He was the one guy you knew would treat you better than anyone ever had. That was one of the reasons why you loved the man. He was the only person you could see yourself with.

 “Dean,” you breathed out, breaking the kiss. Your hands slipped beneath his flannel, shoving the material over his shoulders. He gave you a soft smile that made your heart melt just a little.

 “You trying to get me naked?” he chuckled.

 “It’s not like it’s the first time,” you winked playfully. “I did enjoy it the first time around.”

 Dean sat back on his calves, shrugging his flannel shirt off his body, throwing it to the side. Your eyes were fixated on him. There was a part of you that couldn’t believe this was happening. That he was above you, taking off his clothes. His jeans were tight because of you. He wanted to do this with you and that on it’s own, made you feel good about yourself. He took the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head to reveal his perfectly imperfect stomach. He was so fucking handsome.

 “Mhhh, damn you are fucking gorgeous,” you smirked, eyeing him up and down.

 “Oh stop it,” he let out a laugh. “You’re wearing far too much for my liking.”

 “Then take it off me,” you played. You watched his lip curl upwards as he reached for the hem of your shirt. You sat up, raising your arms up, making it easier for him. Dean threw your shirt to the floor, joining his other two before smirking at you.

 His hands made their way to his belt, quickly undoing it before unbuttoning his jeans, shoving them down his thick bowlegs in one swift movement. You smiled when you saw the bulge in his tight black boxers. That was all because of you. That was all you that did that to him.

 His body came down on top of yours, capturing your lips with his in a heated, wet kiss.

 You wrapped your legs around his waist, dragging him in closer to you. You craved his touch. You had your chance to feel his skin beneath your fingertips. His tongue brushed over yours as your hand carded through his hair.  You dreamed of this moment. Hell, you dreamed about having him for months. His kisses were so much better. The way he felt on top of you was something you never wanted to forget. You finally felt like you belonged with someone. You slipped your other hand down the length of his back, feeling his warm muscles beneath your touch.

 He pulled back a little, his breath fanning against your lips. You could feel his hardening length pressed perfectly against your heated core. “You okay so far?”

 “‘M perfect,” you nodded, leaning up a little to peck his lips.

 “Is this leading where I think it’s leading?” he asked.

 “Is it?” you cocked your head to the side with a smirk.

 “If it is, I have condoms in my room,” he told you.

 “I have some in here too,” you assured him. “I’m not on birth control.”

 “I know you’re not,” he nodded. “I pay attention.”

 He pecked your lips once more, making you smile against him. His hand trailed down the side of your body, making the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand up. His lips traced along your jaw, making their way to your neck. You let out a sigh of content, enjoying the pleasure that jolted through you as his tongue brushed against the skin below your ear. You let out a sigh, tilting your head to the side to grant him more access. Your eyes fluttered shut as you relished in the feeling of him.

 “Dean,” you breathed out as you jutted your hips against his.

 You felt him smile against your neck before he traveled lower. He peppered kisses along your collarbone, leaving tiny wet spots in his wake. He was worshipping your body, as if he was never going to get this opportunity again. Neither of you knew if this was going to last after this. You wanted more. You wanted to wake up next to him in the morning, and see that stupid happy grin on his lips. You wanted to lean over and kiss every inch of his handsome face. This was right. You were good together. You were two lost souls when you met. Two completely broken, lost souls that mended as one.

 He made his way down to the valley between your breasts. His thumbs resting below the band of your bra as he made his way lower. He wasn’t about to do anything without permission. This wasn’t about him and he made it so damn obvious. He didn’t want to do something to you that you weren’t one hundred percent okay with.

 “May I take this off you?” he asked quietly, looking up at you through his lashes before pressing a kiss to your navel.

 “Yes,” you nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. You arched your back off the bed before sitting up. He was off you in an instant, his eyes never leaving your face. He had this soft smile playing on his swollen lips. That very same smile he had when he saw you naked the first time. That same smile that he had the first time you made him smile. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours. His hands reached around your back, finding the band where your bra connected. The material loosened as he pulled back. His fingers ghosting along your skin as they made their way to your straps. His movements were slow, giving you enough time to stop him if you changed your mind.

 The second the material was off your body, you leaned back. He reached down, palming himself through his boxers before resuming where he was. There wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that he wanted you.

 “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he muttered, looking up at your face once more.

 “I have this pretty great guy telling me that often,” you smiled. “I’m actually starting to believe him.”

 “He’s not wrong,” he smirked. “Can I?”

 “Please,” you nodded. He leaned down, positioning himself where he was before. His hand carefully traced up the side of your body, coming up just below your breast once more. His hands were warm against your skin. His lips headed towards your left nipple as his hand moving up to your other breast. The second his lips wrapped around your hardening bud, you let out a tiny whimper. He was so gentle and attentive. His hand massaged the other, giving them both equal attention. You could feel yourself growing slicker with every touch. God, you wanted him.

 When he was content that he had given your breasts enough attention, he made his way down your navel, leaving hot, wet kisses in his wake. You arched into him, craving more and more of him. His hands slid down your body after his kisses. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You never wanted him to stop.

 “Still doing okay so far?” he questioned, glancing up at you once more.

 “Yeah,” you nodded. “More than okay.”

 “So if I was to continue. Take this incredibly sexy underwear off and get you ready for me, you’d be okay with that?” he cocked his eyebrow.

 “If you want to. You don’t have to,” you reassured him.

 “Trust me, I want to. I love doing it,” he stated. Hearing him say that put you at ease. Typically men just did it so they’d get some themselves. Or because you gave it to them first. Not that it happened every time of course. “Gotta say though, doesn’t surprise me that you said that.”

 “Doesn’t surprise me that you put that together either,” you chuckled.

 “Just lay back. Don’t be afraid to tell me what to do,” he winked at you.

 His fingers curled in the waistband of your boyshorts. You arched your back once more, making it easier for him to pull them down your legs. You were thanking yourself for shaving in the shower. He tossed your panties to the side, his hands tracing up the inside of your thighs. You instinctively spread your legs a little more for him. He placed kisses along the most sensitive parts of your skin, heading straight for where you wanted him the most. You could feel the ache in your core. You wanted him so damn bad and he was going to feel just how much when he touched you. Finally, he reached his hand between your legs, his fingers brushing through your folds.

 “Holy, you’re so ready for me, Y/N,” he muttered. “Can’t wait to taste you, sweetheart.” If that wasn’t the sexiest thing you had ever heard come out of that man's mouth. You could feel your cheeks heating up. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

He inched closer, his hot breath fanning against you. His eyes flicked up momentarily, meeting yours as he smirked. His tongue was on you, flattened against your center before dragging upwards to your clit. You let out a strangled moan at the new sensation. He repeated the same motion three times, each time getting slower and slower.

 His arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling you down just a little. You bucked against his mouth at the close contact. He truly enjoyed lapping away at your folds, tasting you. Your eyes were clamped shut, focused purely on the feeling of him.

 “Oh my god, Dean,” you cried out. A thin layer of sweat coated your body. His tongue swirled around your clit a couple of times, causing your breathing to hitch. You threw your head back, your eyes clamping shut once more. You reached down, carding your fingers through his hair, holding him in place. You could feel that coil in your abdomen growing tighter with every movement. His lips wrapped around your clit just as his middle finger pushed into your entrance. You let out a wanton moan as you bucked against him. Your body was shaking as your orgasm ripped through you. Fuck, he was so good at it. He knew exactly how to get you where you needed, and he certainly enjoyed himself as he did.

 You didn’t even register him pulling away. Your chest was heaving, your eyes were shut tight. You loved every second of what he gave you. His lips trailed up your torso, heading back up to yours. His kiss was sweet, and you could taste yourself on his lips. It was definitely a lot hotter than you expected it to be.

 “You have no idea how hot you are when you come undone,” he muttered, pecking your lips once more.

 “You’re good at that,” you complimented him, kissing him back.

 “I love doing that,” he smirked.

 “Now it’s my turn,” you wiggled your eyebrows.

 “You don’t have to,” he shook his head.

 “I want to,” you nodded. You did. You really did want to return the favour. It wasn’t really returning it, but it gave you a chance to give him a glimpse of what he just did to you. “You wanna lay back for me?”

 “Yeah,” he breathed out, rolling over to the empty side of the bed. You wanted to give him a taste of what he just did to you.

 You threw your leg over his lap, straddling his erection before your lips collided with his. His hands were on you in an instant, tugging you in close to him. God, you could kiss this man for hours on end. He knew how to kiss, and keep up in a perfect sync without even trying.

 Your lips traced along his jaw, feeling the soft stubble that was growing. You loved it when he didn’t shave for a couple of days and had the scruffy look. Even more so when he teased you and rubbed his face on your neck to make you laugh. He was always making you laugh.

 You kissed down to his neck, nibbling down just below his ear. He let out a little sigh of content, making you smile as you continued. You never thought that you would have ended up here. You never thought that the man you picked up off the side of the road would be beneath you while you kissed his neck. This man changed everything for you.

 You slowly made your way down his torso. Your hands slipping down the sides of his perfect stomach that you had loved since the second you saw it. He was a damn gorgeous looking man.

 “Y/N,” he breathed out. It was like music to your ears; hearing him say your name like that. You kissed the top of the waistband of his boxers. Your body falling between his muscular bowlegs.

 “Can I take these off?” You asked him. You wanted to be sure that he wanted this. That he wanted you.

 “Please,” he nodded.

 Your fingers curled in the waistband of his black boxers. The tiny trail of hairs was the first thing you saw as you revealed more and more. His hard length sprang free, hitting his stomach with a slap. God, if you thought he was gorgeous the first time you saw him naked; this was something. He was much bigger now that he was fully hard.

 “You have to be the sexiest man in the entire world,” you told him. His lip curled upwards as he sat up. You threw his boxers to the side. His hands cupped your cheeks before he kissed you hard. You were expecting that in the slightest but it had to have been the best feeling.

 “That’s because I’m with you,” he smirked.

 “Oh stop it,” you giggled. “Dean, you’re handsome as hell.”

 You pushed him back on his back before positioning yourself comfortably between his legs. You took his impressive cock in your hand, feeling the velvety smoothness in your palm. You could see the tip was glistening precum, and you knew that had to be because of you. You stuck your tongue out, dipping it in the slit, tasting him on your tongue; a salty sweetness that you could most definitely get used to.

 “Fuck,” he muttered, throwing his head back. You smiled to yourself, knowing that you were making him feel good.

 You slid your tongue down his shaft, getting him ready for you to get to the fun part. You ran over both sacs, giving them the attention they deserved without being too rough. You jerked his cock in your hand, giving him a little bit of everything, just like he did for you.

 You moved up, slipping the tip in the heat of your mouth. Granted you weren’t the greatest when it came to blowjobs. You could never take them too deep in your throat without gagging. But you knew exactly how to work around that detail. Dean gathered up your hair, making a ponytail in his hands so it wasn’t in the way. Your tongue swirled around the tip, dipping into the slit every so often to taste more of what he was giving to you. Your saliva dripped down the sides of your mouth, making it easier for you to jerk what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

 You bobbed your head up and down his cock, meeting your hand each and every time. You could see he was holding back from thrusting up into your mouth, and you made a note to tell him how much you appreciated that later. You could feel him twitching on your tongue and you knew he was getting close by the way he was breathing, and the way his neck was exposed to you. He was getting a good amount of pleasure from you.

 “Fuck, Y/N I need you to stop,” he cried out. You pulled off instantly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. His chest was heaving, his hands were over his eyes. He certainly enjoyed what you did to him.

 “You okay?” You questioned, looking down at him with a smile playing on your lips.

 “You’re so damn good at that,” he sighed with a wide grin. He pushed himself up, his eyes meeting yours once more. “We don’t have to go any further than this.”

 “I know,” you nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “I want to do this with you. I want to be with you.”

 “Me too,” he breathed out. “Gotta grab a condom first.”

 “Top drawer on your side,” you informed him. Dean rolled over to the side, his feet hitting the ground before he stood up. You moved up, laying down in the middle of the bed. You were actually about to have sex with him. You were actually doing this with him, the only person you had ever wanted this much. He reached for his jeans, giving you the perfect view of him naked from behind. He pulled out something from his pocket before turning towards the side table. He flicked open a lighter, bringing it down to the candle you had on the top. It was a sweet gesture that made your heart skip a beat.

 He opened up the side drawer, finding the box of condoms easily. He took one out of the box, shutting the drawer before sitting down on the bed. He ripped the package with his teeth, taking the rubber out, sliding it on his length with ease. You took a deep breath, readying yourself for this.

 “You’re sure you want to do this?” he asked you once more. He rolled closer to you, his hand resting on your hip. His thumb grazed over your skin, drawing soothing circles.

 “More than sure, Dean,” you nodded.

 “We’ll go slow,” he assured you. “Anytime you want to stop, just tell me okay?”

 “Okay,” you swallowed hard. “Thank you. You want to do this?”

 “Yeah, I do,” he smiled softly.

 He shifted himself between your legs, and you instinctively spread them a little wider to fit his frame. He reached down, taking his cock in his hand, lining himself up with your entrance. Your eyes locked on his face as your hands reached up for him. He was much bigger than you were used to, and you knew that he was going to stretch you in ways that you hadn’t been before. The tip of his cock brushed through your folds, gathering up your slick to make it much easier for him to slip in.

 He pushed the tip of his cock inside you, his hand moved up as he positioned himself above you. He caged your head between his arms. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, dragging him in closer. He slipped in slowly, filling you up and stretching you out carefully. It was an amazing feeling. His lips collided with yours, his tongue sliding along yours as he rested on top of you bottoming out. He felt perfect inside you. Two lost souls becoming one.

 “You okay, pretty girl?” he asked, struggling to get his words out.

 “Yeah,” you nodded. “Feels really good.”

 “You have no idea how good you feel,” he swallowed hard, his lip curling upwards. “‘M gonna move now, okay?”

 “Please, Dean,” you whispered.

 He adjusted himself once more, drawing his hips back before thrusting forward at the exact same pace. His lips were on yours, kissing you sweetly as you grew accustomed to his length. Your eyes fluttered shut as you allowed yourself to relish in the feeling of being with the man you loved. The man who saved your life.

 “Shit, you feel amazing,” he muttered against your lips. His lips left yours, tracing along your jaw to head to the other side of your neck; the side he was yet to touch. One of your hands slipped into his hair, your nails scratching his head. He let out a low grunt, his pace picking up just a little.

 “Dean,” you moaned, tilting your head to the side. You wrapped your legs around him, giving him a new angle to work with. You wanted to be closer to him. You wanted to feel every inch of him. It also helped you move against him with a little more ease. His cock dragged against your walls, hitting places that sent tiny waves of pleasure jolting through you. You had no idea sex felt this good when it was done like this. The right way.

 “Y/N, f-fuck,” he growled. “You’re so damn perfect.”

 His words hit you hard, tears pressed your eyes as they settled in. His arms snaked around your back as he rocked into you. He clung to you as if you were going to disappear beneath him. It was really starting to set in that you loved this man. You truly loved him and you knew you did because there was no other human being on the planet that made you feel the way he did. Not even the man you were supposed to marry all those months ago.

 “Dean, I’m -”

 “Go ahead, sweetheart,” he muttered, “right behind you.”

 His thrusts picked up the pace, brushing against your sweet spot with precision. Your breathing increased as your coil grew tighter and tighter once more. You dragged him in closer, pulling him tightly against your chest. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, letting out tiny whimpers as you grew closer. You could hear his grunts in your neck, and you knew right then he was right there with you.

 “Let go, Y/N,” he urged you on. “Want you.”

 Your walls fluttered around him as he pushed back inside you, hitting your spot right on. Your fingers curled into his back muscles, as you constricted around him. He felt so damn amazing inside you. You cried out his name, breathed rapidly as pleasure soared through you.

 “Son of a -“ he growled, bucking his hips into yours. Hearing the moans escaping passed his lips had to be the sexiest thing you had ever heard. His orgasm ripped through him, causing him to cling on tightly to you in the process.

 He lay on top of you as you came down from your impeccable highs. Your fingers danced over his freckle dusted shoulders, calming him down with you. It was over now, and you didn’t regret it for a single second. He was amazing. He treated you better than anyone ever had. It was a perfect first time together.

 “You okay?” He asked, his voice low and a little raspy.

 “I’m good,” you nodded. “You?”

 “Awesome,” he smiled softly.

 “That was perfect,” you commented. “You were perfect.”

 “I’m the farthest thing from perfect,” he chuckled. “But that was amazing. Better than I pictured it going.”

 “You’ve pictured it?” You teased.

 “Shut up,” he smirked. The tips of his ears going red as he did. “Let’s get you into bed.” He carefully withdrew himself from you, making sure the condom stayed in place as he did. He was quick in discarding it in the trash can beside the table. He got up and headed into your bathroom, flicking on the light as he did. You soon realized that this was the first time you had ever had sex with some sort of light. Granted it wasn’t a lot of light but it counted. You didn’t feel insecure with him and you knew exactly why.

 He walked back in the room with a washcloth in hand. You watched as he reached down between your legs, cleaning you up before doing the same for himself. You were the first one to climb into bed, forgoing your clothes this time. You wanted that skin to skin contact with him. You wanted what you never had before.

 Dean turned out the light, the only light source was coming from the candle that he had lit prior. The comforter covered up to your chest as you lay in the middle of the bed. You felt like you should say something to him, just to make sure you knew where this was going. He climbed in next to you, adjusting the covers before he blew out the candle, leaving the room in complete darkness.

  “Are you okay?”

 “Yeah,” you nodded. “Just intense, you know?”

 “I know,” he breathed out. “For me too. C’mere.  You shifted closer to him, your body pressed against his as you threw your arm around his waist. The warmth of his skin put you at ease.  You were good enough for him, you repeated in your head. He wouldn’t have done that with you if he didn’t want you.

 His hand came up to your chin, urging you to look up at him. He leaned down slowly, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before pulling away. That was a feeling you were never going to grow tired of.

 “G’night sweetheart,” he mumbled.

 “Sweet dreams.”

~~~~~~~~~

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply or send me ask! Your response is the reason I share my stories! Please feed the writer! 

[justleaf]

Summary

Roche and Iorveth go on a date with Geralt as their chaperone (not the hat).

Content Background

This one is especially painful to yeet because it was already completed, together with 50% of the next chapter that was the smutty bits. It was finished right about the time I posted Chapter 5 and would have fit in as Chapter 11, but it just didn't make sense with all the additional plot points I'd shoved in.

I've redacted the parts that could potentially get my tumblr banned btw please donut laugh when you see it.

Original Fic

It Took Years

Length

2,300 words

_____________

“Geralt, remember when I released you from prison and saved you from the Nilfgaardians a year ago?”

The white wolf raised his eyebrows in surprise. Roche had never called in a favour for him, and he could tell that Geralt knew it was going to be quite significant. He had thought about it too many times and despite the embarrassment and possibly never being able to look the witcher in the eye, he simply had no other choice.

“Look, I just need you to help Iorveth and I create an alibi.”

“... Uh-huh?”

“We have a meeting with Dijkstra in Novigrad in a week's time, and I plan to…” he swallowed hard when the words became momentarily stuck in his throat. It took another second for him to gather his courage to speak, and the slight tremble in his voice was immediately noticeable.

“I plan to spend the night with Iorveth in one of the inns the night before. But we need someone to cover us.”

The white wolf seemed to grow even paler and his lips pressed together in contemplation.

“You know that I have enhanced senses.”

“I know, but I need to make sure that no one catches us. Not the Scoia'tael, Blue Stripes, Dijkstra’s spies, Redanian spies, any Nilfgaardian-”

“Alright, alright, I get it. You just need to make sure that everyone thinks that I invited you two for a drink and make sure that no one is listening in.”

“I know I’m asking a lot of you, but you’re the only one I can trust in this situation. I haven’t… Iorveth and I don’t have any other opportunities. I can’t even hold his hand without worrying that someone is watching.”

Geralt stared blankly at him and Roche’s heart began to pump harder. His worry must have shown on his face, for the witcher immediately sighed and shook his head.

“Come to the Chameleon. I’ll get you guys a suite. With a wall to separate the living area and the bedroom.”

Roche looked up at him and down a few times, wondering first if Geralt had misspoke, and then if he had misheard. When the witcher said nothing and shrugged, Roche finally accepted it with a nod.

“Thanks, Geralt. Drinks are on me,” he muttered and hung his head a little. Embarrassment was beginning to burn his cheeks.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you soon.”

<center>_________________________</center>

“Why are we here so early when Geralt only wanted to see us after sundown,” Iorveth whispered as they passed the guards that almost ripped their papers in half. Roche had smooth-talked his way in and Iorveth was impressed, even though he didn't let it show.

They had set aside their armour and entered the city dressed as merchants: Roche in a nondescript outfit that let him blend in with the rest of the nobles, and Iorveth draped in a cloak that obscured his elven features.

The sun was nowhere near setting when they arrived in the city. Roche had intended to take him on a date around the city, but didn’t want to admit it.

“I didn’t want to disappoint Geralt by being late.”

“Gwynbleidd would have understood.”

“Well, since we’re already here, we might as well explore the city. I heard of a tavern along the docks with an elven cook. Would you like to go there?”

The mention of food changed Iorveth’s expression immediately and Roche suppressed his laughter.

They dined at the Golden Sturgeon, where Iorveth immediately received preferential treatment from a redhead with freckles (it's Bea btw). She made sure to seat them in a relatively hidden corner and Roche could see the elf progressively relax as his shoulders began to sag. He even spotted the hints of a smile dancing on his lips when she put some strange fish dish in front of him.

Just when Roche thought that Iorveth was incapable of enjoying himself even more, he became increasingly pliant when they sat down at the Chameleon for a pint while a band played in the background. Roche didn't understand the first thing about music, but his two mugs of ale were enough to get him to keep his reservations.

Besides, he had something really cute to look at.

The elf's cloak was finally down and he could see the tips of his pointed ears twitch with every beat of the drum. He thought about how nice it would have been to pin him down to the bed and toy with his ears. His eyes trailed across the elf’s neck. If they didn’t have anywhere to be tomorrow, he would have left bite marks across that smooth skin.

<em>Mine,</em> he thought, and he wanted the world to know once all this was over.

“You play the recorder don’t you,” Roche asked out of the blue. Their eyes met and Iorveth was slightly startled by the intensity of his gaze, but he didn’t back down.

“Yeah. There’s been too much going on recently and I haven’t had the chance to though.”

“You can practice with mine tonight.”

“Vernon,” Iorveth warned with a glare, and then quickly glanced around the room to see if anyone was within earshot. There wasn’t, but the tension in his body didn’t leave.

“I could polish yours all night too, you know.”

The elf flinched and could see the pink develop along the tops of Iorveth’s high cheekbones and the tips of his ear. Past his flustered expression however, there was a particular heat blossoming in his eyes. Roche didn’t let up, his curiosity driving him to see just how much he could take it.

“My carrying case is a bit small, but I’m sure yours will fit in with a bit of a shove."

This time, Iorveth couldn't resist the urge to push back. Dandelion's tavern was filled with his regulars who were deep in their own conversations, and they were just talking about music, right?

"So you admit that my instrument is bigger."

"Well the quality of the instrument doesn't matter if the musician has no idea how to handle it."

"I think we've proven that I'm the better player though."

"Our last few encounters haven't exactly been skewed in my favour and I still managed."

"There is no fairness in music and in battle. You should know this, <em>Commander</em>."

The way Iorveth said the word made his mouth go dry.

Now <em>that</em> was truly unfair, and his [banana] agreed. He was seconds away from tugging Iorveth upstairs when the doors swung open and in stepped the white wolf.

"Geralt!" he called out and waved a hand.

"Nice to see you both. I hope you didn't wait long."

The witcher took a few steps towards them, sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. He had this resigned look about him and Roche immediately knew that he could smell their arousal.

"Let's drink in my room," Geralt suggested and grabbed four mugs of ale from a passing waitress. She protested at first, but nodded and flashed him a huge smile when she saw who he was.

They headed up the stairs and Roche had to try very hard not to openly stare at Iorveth's ass. It [eggplant] and he had no choice but to stare ruefully at the ground.

As soon as he saw that the second floor was empty, he reached out and pinched the elf's behind. Iorveth jumped at the touch and almost spilled his own mug of ale, and Roche was treated to one of those embarrassed glares. They quietly ascended another flight of stairs and neared the room, and Roche could feel his heart race and his breathing grow ragged.

Finally, after two weeks of planning and trying to fit all the pieces together, it was happening. It had been a year since Dol Blathanna and months since they started seeing each other, and Roche was raring to go.

Geralt opened the door to a suite on the top floor that was exactly as he described: a small living area with a table for four and a few sparse furnishings, though it was far more comfortable than the arrangements he was used to. Partitioned off by a wall and door was a bedroom mostly occupied by a sizable bed and more pillows than he could count. A decision made by the bard, no doubt.

As soon as the door closed behind them and they set down their mugs, Roche grabbed Iorveth’s collar and shoved him towards the bedroom. The elf looked mortified and nearly lost his footing, but he recovered within the span of a few steps. He grabbed Roche’s arms and plucked them off him, then tried to shove him backwards but Roche held his ground.

“What the fuck, Roche?!”

Roche took a step back and considered Iorveth’s anger. The elf's gaze had grown sharp and alert, but he was mostly just shocked at the audacity of his actions. He just flashed him a devious smile and was returned a twitch of confusion.

“What? Didn’t you always like roughhousing me on the forest floor?”

“Not in front of Gwyn-”

Roche barely gave Iorveth a chance to answer. He charged forward, wrapped an arm around the elf’s waist, and threw him straight into bed. Iorveth went flying into the mattress with a groan and Roche climbed straight into his lap. Heavy footsteps thudded behind them and stopped by the door.

“Oil’s on the nightstand. Don’t get the sheets dirty and take your shoes off before you get in bed dammit. I can’t afford to pay for new sheets too.”

“Gwynbleidd, what is the meaning of this.”

“Just a little gift from me to the both of you. Have fun, Iorveth. Just try not to make too much noise.”

The door behind them closed and Iorveth just stared blankly at Roche, who was already taking off his top. No words came out of the elf’s gaping mouth, so Roche blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Enjoying the date so far?”

“Explain yourself Roche, I’m not-”

The elf had to pause when Roche began grinding in his lap. It worked until it didn't, and Iorveth grabbed onto his hips to still them. Roche just wanted to get to the fucking already, but the elf refused to be distracted no matter how much he tried.

“Did you plan all this? Coming to my camp to pick me up. Picking flowers for me along the path. Bringing me to the tavern for dinner. Having drinks. This fake meeting with Gwynbleidd.”

“Of course. When else was I going to get the opportunity to take you out on a date?”

Something in Iorveth cracked visibly and Roche went dead still with nervousness. The other lowered his gaze and Roche cupped his face in his hands, desperate for his elf to be okay. He stroked his cheek gently and tilted his head up to try and get a better look at that unreadable expression. This was the opposite of what he hoped would happen and worry began to pool in his stomach.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong. Talk to me,” he urged and placed a peck on the scarred cheek. There was no answer, so he continued fluttering kisses along his jawline. He felt like his world might come crashing down at any moment and resisted the urge to salvage the situation before he knew what was going on.

It felt like Iorveth was cycling through a thousand and one emotions. He cupped the elf's face in his hands and pulled back, where he was greeted by a vulnerability he had never seen before. The other had this dazed and awed look in his eyes, and if Roche wasn't so flustered by the sudden change of pace, he might he caught his surrender.

“Vernon…”

“I’m here. What is it? You can tell me.”

“It’s just...overwhelming.”

“In a good way or bad way?”

“Good way.”

Roche released the breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. It was nice that the reaction was somewhat positive, but Roche’s poor heart couldn’t take the anticipation. Surprising Iorveth was turning out to be quite bad for his health.

“Well. Have you enjoyed yourself?”

“Mmn.”

“It's okay. We'll take it at your pace.”

“I just... need some time to process this. I’ve never been treated like this before. It's overwhelming.”

“Well you deserve it. Take the time you need, it’s okay,” Roche encouraged again and placed another peck on his nose as he undid the bandanna that obscured half his face.

This really wasn’t how he thought the evening would go, but he had to admit that it was nice. At the core of it, all he really wanted was to be able to kiss and hold Iorveth intimately without fear of someone catching them. Now they were in bed and there was someone trustworthy to watch their backs, he supposed he had achieved his goal. Maybe they could just hold off the fucking for a while more.

“Do you want to take a nap with me,” Roche offered after they'd sat in silence for a while.

“Yeah… I would like that very much.”

Iorveth tried to take off his cloak, but Roche shushed him and pushed his hands aside. The elf had a blank look on his face and hurt momentarily flashed across his eye.

"Let me," Roche rushed to salvage as he pulled loose the strings on his cloak.

“I can undress myself you know.”

“I know you can, but just let me pamper you a bit more.”

The tips of Iorveth's ears were bright red and Roche suppressed the urge to tease him about it. Slowly, he helped the elf strip down to his underwear and slipped him beneath the sheets. Then he took off his own garments and joined him, snuggling up to that warm and slender body that seemed to fit so perfectly with his.

Yeah, he could wait.

[staticscreenwriting]

California Summer - B.H. Smut [one]

Synopsis: Kings Cove California is Billy Hargrove’s hometown. It’s also a popular summer vacation destination for rich couples and their spoiled kids. (Y/N) is one of those rich girls. Proper, sweet, innocent. Only that all bores her to death and Billy is just the adventure she’s been looking for. It’s all fun and games. A summer fling. Not strings attached. Right? 

Inspired by the songs “dreaming of you” and “Kiss it off me” by Cigarettes After Sex.

 A/N: This is smut, babes. Filthy. I will sit in the shame cube after I post it. Please if that is not fore you, don’t read it. Also do not interact if you’re under 18, that’s just not cool. Kay, thanks ♥

Might fuck around and make this a series.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

There’s something about California summers, Billy thinks, thank makes them special. They’re hot and sticky and messy but they’re also exciting and exhilarating. The world seems to be dusted in a perpetual golden glow and days seem endless and full of possibility.

Maybe that sentiment is what brings all the tourists to the little coastal town of Kings Cove, California. A town caught between the undeniable charm of an old sleepy coastal town and the ever-expanding demand for tourist-friendly beach houses in gated communities where rich people can relish in the charm the town brings and then piss off once their vacation days are over.

Billy was born here, raised here until he was 17 and shipped off to forge his path in shitville Indiana. He was miserable then, but a shadow of himself. Angry and sad and overwhelmed by emotions he never learned to properly deal with. Singers and artists always seem to find something poetic about being young and angry and lost. Truth is: there’s nothing poetic about it, nothing romantic or desirable. It’s hard and it kills you slowly. Starting with your heart and then taking over every part of you, slowly but surely.

Soon as he turned 18 and was handed his High School diploma, Billy packed all his belongings into the Camaro and was off. The drive back to California, back home, it felt cleansing. Like a rebirth. A return to life at his own terms.

He got out. He survived. This, Billy is sure, he would always pride himself with no matter how trivial it may seem to anyone else. He got out. Not completely whole. Severely bruised. He got out with a heart so scared he’s sceptical it will ever fully heal. But he got out.

Though coming home didn’t come without its hardships and obstacles. There was nothing waiting for him here but a bunch of questions and an uncertain future. Finding a job, a place to stay, a point from which to start — it was hard. It still is hard. But he’s trying his best.

Kings Cove has a handful of restaurants, some convenience stores, a gym, a few bars, a drive-in, a normal cinema and a bowling alley. It’s really nothing spectacular and yet it seems there’s more and more tourist making it their temporary home in the months between May and September. It started about 5 years ago, that the town started changing with the increase in tourism. They bulldozed the playground Billy always played at, the one closest to the beach and built a bunch of fancy-ass houses and condos and a fucking Starbucks. It pains him to see it. To watch the town he loves so much, the one that holds so much charm, turn into a sandbox for rich people to shape and turn and make it something it isn’t. Something empty and lifeless.

The good thing about those tourists though, is that they are really really rich. Absolutely filthy rich. The kind of rich where they don’t know what to do with their money so you can charge them insane prices for ordinary things.

And that’s what the locals have started doing. A scoop of ice cream used to be 30ct, now it’s a dollar. You gotta bend with the world. You gotta adapt. Surviving means changing even if it sucks ass.

When he first arrived back, Billy had no idea how to navigate this place with all its changes. He felt so god damn out of place in his own home. That’s until he reconnected with Johnny, an old friend from middle school. A kid who grew up in a home filled with anger and sadness just as Billy did. Someone who understood. Someone who understands.

Johnny had it all figured out, adapted and changed. Got Billy a job at the maintenance business he works at. Fixing rain gutters and mowing lawns and cleaning driftwood off the sections of private beach belonging to the beach houses. It’s not the greatest job in the world but it’s alright and it pays good money and sometimes Billy even gets to hang out at the houses when the rich people are out taking surf lessons or doing a wine tasting a town over or try their luck on a god damn banana boat.

Kings Cove is small and the locals know each other. They’re a community tightly bonded through their shared disdain for the change their beloved town went through and the knowledge that though they can’t change anything, they can at least make the vacationers pay big money for everything.

It’s his second summer now and most of the families whose houses he tends to he’s already familiar with. You don’t forget the people who tip you 50 bucks each time. On Mondays, Billy cares for the Millers’ backyard. On Wednesday he makes sure the Callaghans’ pool is clean and still stinks of way too much chlorine. On Thursdays, it’s the Franklins’ estate that needs tending to. And weekends? Those are off.

Weekends mean he gets to enjoy the California summer himself. He goes out to the beach just after sunrise, to catch a few waves or just hang out in the ocean and let it wash away the stress resting on his shoulders from a whole week of hard work. Later, much later, when the sun is about to set, the real fun begins. There’s a bonfire almost every week. No one is ever quite sure who starts it and no official invitations are ever spoken though everyone knows and sure enough, every Saturday a crowd of young people gather by the driftwood pile and hang out and drink and dance as the bonfire crackles on.

It’s not just locals either. There’s always a few stray tourists there. Billy isn’t really all that interested in getting to know them. This is just a blip on their radar. A temporary adventure. But to him this place is home and he’s so fucking tired of these rich kids coming around and acting like they own the place. He’s the first to admit though, that the girls are quite hot and he doesn’t mind a little fling here and there without the fear of having them want anything permanent, knowing their time together comes with an expiry date. They can be quite fun and they’re so willing to let themselves fall into an intimate adventure with a local.

There’s no chase, no effort from him. The only annoying thing is they usually don’t grasp the idea of a summer fling and get clingy to the point where it becomes frustrating.

It’s a bonfire like any other, when his eyes drift across the beach, filled with people mingling all clutching a bottle or a cup. Nothing feels different or spectacular or special. But maybe that’s the thing about special moments — we don’t realise they’re special until we look at them in retrospect. And then they mean everything.

His eyes meet hers across the way. There are no fireworks. His heart beats at a normal rate. Whatever the movies and the songs try to sell you, that’s not how it really happens. Your world won’t shift and there will be no hummingbirds going wild in your stomach. It’s just a glance, a flicker. A moment that seems to hold no significance at all.

Billy can tell she’s not from here. Her outfit says it all. She’s wearing a long flowy skirt and a white tank top and some denim jacket over it that looks like it probably belongs to some boy with a trust fund and a name like Kyle or Charles. In her hair, there’s a clip with a fake flower on it. She looks expensive and fancy and like a piece of work that he’s not willing to put any effort in. He bets the guy beside her, the one that keeps playing with her hair. The one in the polo shirt. That’s probably her boy. His dad owns a boat for sure and probably fucks his secretary.

And even though he pulls his eyes away, he can feel his thoughts drift back towards her. As if some magnetic force tries to keep his mind there, with her. On the way she smiles, or how the wind blows through her hair and makes them looks messy and disorderly and — hot. On how he wants to be the one making a mess of her. He wonders what she feels like, tastes like, sounds like. Even Billy can’t deny he wants her. She’s just his type though something tells him she’s different from his other flings. There’s something deeper in her eyes. A secret he wants to unravel. It’s hidden there and it’s screaming out to him and only him.

As he turns back towards her, he sees her looks straight back at him. With those eyes full of secrets and that smirk on her lips.

Maybe his heart does beat a little faster then. Though he’ll never admit it.

That night he goes to bed and dreams of her and the beach and California.

California summers come with heat but they also come with thunderous storms. Mighty and unforgiving and rough.

Billy makes his way down the roads of Kings Cove, windshield wipers just about dealing with the heavy rainfall as it drums down onto his car window.

“ It’s the wrath of all women scorned and mistreated “ his mother used to say when he was younger and a storm washed over them. He always thought that was silly. Women aren’t thunderstorms, they’re April showers. They’re sunshine on your skin. They’re dewdrops on the lawn.

It’s so dull and gloomy he almost doesn’t see her. Only the peach coloured baseball cap makes her stand out against the grey. She’s slowly walking along the side of the road, unbothered by the downpour. Casual and relaxed as if she’s not getting soaked right this moment. There’s a Slurpee in her hand, blue raspberry.

He wants to drive past and no let himself be bothered with it. This, she, it’s not a mess he needs to get involved in. This can only end in a disaster. Rich boys don’t like you picking up their girlfriends. Rich boys also don’t like you lusting after their girlfriends. And rich boys who see you as a threat can get your ass fired real fucking quick.

And yet he pulls up to the curb and rolls down the window. “ Do you need a ride? “.

She smiles at him, the same way she did that night at the beach in the glow of the bonfire. Her lips are cherry red and for a second he wonders what they taste like. It’s like a primal desire, to taste her. To have her. God, he’s such a guy.

“ Need? No. I’d like one though.”

It’s the first time he hears her voice. It sounds so proper, so innocent. And yet there’s an edge to it. She’s all riddles and mysteries and things he wants to unpack and unravel. Something tells him all the red and the ribbons are only the outermost layer of who she really is. And wouldn’t he like to see more of her?!

“ Get in then,” he instructs with the nudge of his head. A gust of wind follows her as she opens the door and slides into the car. She smells of sunscreen and salt and artificial raspberry flavour. She smells like summer.

“ I’m Billy. “

“ I know. “

That catches him off guard. Sure he knows the locals and some of the kids whose parents he works for but that’s about it. He’s not nearly as prolific as he used to be in Hawkins. He’s a bit more mellow now if he can say so himself.

“ And you are?”

“ (Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You tend to our beach house on Tuesdays. I saw you clean our pool the other day”.

That’s news to him. The fact that the (Y/L/N)s have a daughter. He thought it was only her parents alone in that big house in some attempt to rekindle the fire of their marriage. Last year it was only them two, he could swear.

“ Is that so? I could’ve sworn it was just your parents in that house. “

“ Was just them last year, I was in New York City last summer. This time they decided to bring me. Let me enjoy the California sun. “

“ So you enjoying it? “

“ Verdict is still out but I quite like the view yeah. “

The teasing edge in her voice does not get lost on him. If Billy Hargrove is good at one thing, it’s realising when a girl is flirting with him.

“ You watching me then? What does your little boyfriend think about that, huh?”

“ Boyfriend? “ she sounds almost offended at those words, spits it with a certain malice that takes Billy by surprise. “ You mean Dawson? “

Dawson. Of course, that’s his name. Fucking Dawson. Dawson with the swoopy hair and the polo shirt. Dawson with the trust fund. Dawson with the DUI and the state attorney dad. Dawson with the scholarship.

“ Dunno his name.”

“ He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a friend that’s a boy that thinks if he waves around his money I’ll spread my legs for him. As if I don’t have my own money. It’s so unsexy it makes my pussy dry as the Serengeti.”

Billy has to stop himself from pushing the brakes too hard. It’s not something he has expected her to say. Not this outright at least. Something about her brashness and her honesty is truly charming though. It’s endearing for sure.

“ Wearing his jacket though, poor guy thinks he’ll score soon enough.”

“ Eh. Maybe I’ll let him. I’m getting a bit bored. If nothing better comes along— “ she says it casually and shrugs her shoulders but Billy swears there’s an open end to that sentence. Almost like an invitation.

“ Hope pretty boy does it for you then. So — where to? “

She faces him, peach baseball cap on her head and cherry smile on her lips. “ See, the thing is that my parents aren’t home right now and I don’t have a key so … “

“ So...? “

“ Just wanna hang somewhere until they get home tonight. Maybe somewhere dry? “

Everything in him screams at him not to do it. Not to get tangled up in this. He knows, god he knows, this is a bad idea and yet he says it anyway.

“ Do you wanna chill at my place? “

She bites her lips then takes another sip from her Slurpee. “ Yeah, sounds good to me.”

God Billy, you are such a dumbass.

Billy’s apartment is small but he feels more at home here than he ever did in any house he shared with his father.

There’s an open kitchen/living room area, a bathroom and his bedroom. It’s not much but it’s his and that makes all the difference.

“ Well uh — this is my place. “

He almost expects to see some kind of disdain on her face, disappointment too maybe. She’s used to big fancy houses with white shutters and stucco ceilings. Though when he turns to look at her there’s none of it. Just curiosity. No judgment. Not even a tiny spark. Not even at all.

“ It’s nice. Do you uh — I’m soaked. Do you have a shirt or something you could give me?”

It’s now, that he lets his eyes travel down her body, and notices her shirt clinging to her body. She’s not wearing a bra and it’s painfully obvious and he swears he dies in that moment. There’s only so much a guy’s heart can take.

“ Uh. I — mmh.”

As if his body works on autopilot, Billy hurries towards his bedroom and rummages through his closet until he finds a shirt that’s even baggy on him and will surely work for her. God, seeing her in his clothes is gonna give him another little heart attack.

“ Here you g — “ she’s naked. Not completely but her shirt and jeans are gone and all she’s in is a pair of red underwear and no bra and some socks and that damn peach baseball hat.

“ Huh? you never seen a pair of tits before? “

“ No, I have. “

“ Good. “

“ Yeah. Here “

She smirks as Billy hands her the shirt, doesn’t break eye contact. Not even once and she slips if over her head and almost drowns in the fabric. It reaches down to mid-thigh and she looks glorious. Wet hair clinging to her skin, shirt covering everything but just barely. Bily is usually suave and charming and smooth. Why not now? Why not with her? What is it about this girl that she plays his games better than he does it himself.

“ You want something to eat? “

What the fuck, Billy. There’s a half-naked girl in your kitchen and you’re asking her if she wants food? What is going on?!

“ Sure, what’ve you got? “

“ Lemme see — “ Billy says and turns towards the kitchen cabinets and (Y/N) slides up and sits down on the island. Her ass must be flush on the counter and Billy has to stop himself from following that thought any further because that would result in a serious hard-on right now.

“ So I got some Nachos aaand — “ he says and squats down to open a lower cabinet, “ I think there’s guacamole somewh— “

A soft thump interrupts him and, as he realises what’s caused the sound, his heart drops straight down into his pants and his whole body goes hot. Like his entire system is going haywire.

His hand reaches out to take the flimsy red fabric into his hand. Her underwear. This has crossed flirting long ago. This is an obvious invitation and if this was any other girl or any other situation he’d already be balls deep inside her so why not now?

As Billy turns to look at her, the teasing smirk is back, her eyebrow is raised in a way that tells him she’s challenging his next move, and the secrets are back sparkling in her eyes.

“ Oops “ she says though he can tell she’s all but sorry.

“ What are you doing? You have a boyfriend. “

“ Uuuugh ”  (Y/N) moans in annoyance, “ I told you, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a boy who doesn’t get it. I have a lot of boys in a lot of cities who all do not get it. They think because they’re rich and their parents have influence, everyone has to do as they wish. They’re not used to not getting what they want and I like to see ‘em get pissy once they realise they can’t have me. Billy those guys — they are so boring. So dull and if I have to listen to one more lecture about politics or their scholarship or how their daddy helped finance the university’s library I am going to off myself. “

“ So what role do I play in this game? You’re just a rich girl who’s bored with her suitors then, huh? What am I ? “

“ Exciting. You are different. You are you, no ifs or buts. You are your own person not a clone of your wealthy father and his even wealthier father. You are exciting and so. fucking. hot. “

Billy doesn’t notice it happening but suddenly he’s so close he can feel her breath on his skin. She’ so close. So close. All he has to do is reach out and grab her. Touch her. Kiss her. Taste her.

“ Fuck me.”

“ You sure? “ he murmurs, voice low and deep and soothing. “That’s all this is gonna be. Sex and fun and nothing serious. “

“ Just fun. No strings. I’ll leave at the end of the summer anyway. Until then we can — explore. “

“ Explore? “

“ Mmh. There’s so much we can do.“

“ Sounds good to me. “

Billy doesn’t give her time to reply before his lips descend on hers. She doesn’t taste like cherries or chapstick or sugar. She tastes cold and like fake raspberry slushy. Billy thinks it’s his favourite flavour now.

His hands wander up and down her sides and hers get tangled in his curls, combing through his hair and tugging slightly. She’s breathing deep, quick breaths as his lips make their way across her neck and down towards her boobs. He bunches the shirt up and pulls it over her head leaving her naked on his kitchen counter. She’s absolutely fucking breathtaking and his jeans are getting awfully tight around the front.

“ You’re so hot “ he murmurs against her skin as he buries his head in the crook of her neck. Her skin is flushed and there’s a cute red tint to her cheeks. Maybe he was wrong about it on all accounts. Maybe she’s not as innocent as he has first thought.

Her fingers slip down his body and straight into the front of his jeans, grabbing his dick and squeezing his hard on softly. Yeah, she’s definitely not as innocent as he had first thought.

It’s a clash of teeth and a tongues and a lot of saliva. This is messy and raw and rough and he feels like he’s died and gone straight to heaven. With every second, his lips wander a little further down her hot skin, placing kisses one every inch he can reach until he’s kneeling in front of her. Her eyes lock on his as she spreads her legs further letting him see just what he’s been lusting after since the first moment he’s laid eyes on her. He feels like a man starving being presented with an all you can eat buffet.

Their eyes lock as his lips kiss the spot where her abdomen meet her thighs. It’s not where she wants him but it’s enough to make her go fuzzy in the head.

“ I’ll make you forget about all those rich fuckboys, baby.”

And he does. God, he does. As soon as he licks at her clit she can’t recall a single name of any other boy she’s ever met. He devours her like he was born to do nothing but eat a girl out. There’s kisses followed by kitten licks followed by more kisses. It’s driving her crazy, the way he flicks his tongue.

(Y/N) lifts her leg to rest on his shoulder as her hand reaches down burying herself in his hair. The way she tugs, the slight pangs of pain, it’s delicious. Billy can’t get enough of it. He adds a finger, then two, slowly in and out, the faster, then even faster. He knows she’s close by the way she throws her head back, bites her lips. Her lipstick is everywhere, her hair clings to her skin now from sweat instead of rain. She’s a mess and he’s so proud of getting her to this point. He further spreads her lips, lapping up the wetness, sucking at her clit, making her come undone right there on his kitchen counter.

The moans that fall off of her lips are almost pornographic, he wonders if her parents know the kind of activities she gets up to when they’re away. He bets they don’t. She’s a princess at home. Nice and proper. A princess who spends her free time getting fucked by their poolboy.

Billy pulls away at the last minute which (Y/N) really doesn’t enjoy. She pouts at him, gives him a sound of pure dismay. “ Why did you stop? “ she questions, voice breathy, almost incoherent.

“ Cause I wanna feel you cum when I fuck you. “

He’s not usually this bold and brash. Girls like lovely words. They like soft voices and hushed whispers and for boys to say nice things during sex. Not her. She wants the dirt and the mess and the honesty.

(Y/N)’s hand finds its way back to his crotch, pulling down the zipper of his jeans and freeing his solid boner.

“ No boxers? “ there’s a glimmer of mischief playing in her eyes.

“ You complaining? “

“ Fuck no. I’d suck you off but I want you inside me — like right now. “

Billy only nods, before fumbling a condom from his wallet and pulling it down his cock. He shares her sentiment. All he wants to be right now, is inside her.

Rough hands grab her hips and turn her around before pushing her down. Her boobs as flush against the counter, ass on full display. She’s a sight for sore eyes. A masterpiece.

Billy can’t keep his hands off her ass. He has to grab a handful, squeeze it, caress it. There’s boob guys and butt guys and then there are guys like Billy who know that both those features are mutually phenomenal and to limit yourself by choosing one or the other is a move only a fool would make and he ain’t no fool.

Billy lines himself up at her slit. He can’t wait to feel her around him, wet and warm and throbbing and —

“ What are you waiting for? “ she grunts, impatience clear in her voice and she tries to wiggle her ass closer to him.

“ Patience, baby.” Billy instructs as he grabs onto her hips and pulls her even closer. Her skin is so soft, so perfect. There’s a primal desire in leaving his marks of passion there so he leans over and places little love bites on her shoulder. They’ll be easy for her to cover up with a shirt but he’ll know they are there and that’s all that matters to him.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he trails his erection up and down her entrance, coating it in her arousal. He’s really not looking forward to clean this mess later on but right now it’s damn worth it by the way she’s trembling and wiggling underneath him, desperate for some stimulation.

“ Patience is not a word I know, sorry “ she’s so god damn desperate it almost makes him cum before he even gets a fuck in.

“ Yeah me neither. “

With those words he sinks into her and it feels heavenly. Engulfed by her warmth, her wetness, her passion. Quite frankly, he’s convinced, there’s no better place to be in the entire world, than buried in the pussy of a pretty girl.

Billy moves his hips slowly, deliberately, set a rhythm and a pace. He watches his cock disappear inside of her then slide back out in a delicious cadency as he dings his fingers into her hips, surely leaving bruises.

The moans tumbling from her lips are almost pornographic though he can tell they’re real and honest. There’s no reason for her to fake anything. He’s pretty sure she’d set him straight if he was doing something wrong.

“ more. “ she gasps, breath hitching as she pushes back against him, taking him even deeper. This girl is a dream if he’s ever seen one.

Billy speeds up his movements, slamming into her at a faster pace, pounding her against the counter. The air is hot and both of them are so sweaty and the room smells of sex and salty ocean air. God, he loves California summers and pretty girls.

There’s a fire lit in his lower abdomen as she whimpers and arches her back off of the counter. Billy lifts one hand off of her hips and grabs onto her front, caressing her soft tits and pulling her upright so her back is flush against his chest. The sheen of sweat covering them makes it hard to figure out where one of them ends and the other begins. Right then, they are one. Her peach colored baseball cap falls off of her head and onto the floor, where the rest of their clothes lie discarded.

His hand desperately moves across her chest, squeezing and teasing and trailing fingers around her nipples, hard from arousal.

“ Oh fuck yes. “

The confirmation that he’s doing something right, that he’s making her feel good, makes Billy’s ego grow 3 sizes. He’s such a sucker for validation.

He snaps his hips faster, harder, tries to go deeper. His hand grabs onto her thigh and lifts it up so her knee is resting on the counter letting him fuck her at a whole new angle.

At the way she cries out in ecstasy he knows he’S doing something extremely right. “God, right there. “ she almost sobs. Billy’s sure she’s biting her lip so hard it must be close to drawing blood.

Billy buries his head in her messy hair, softly traces kisses and love bites up and down her neck, tugs on her earlobe with his teeth. “ Yeah? Your pussy is a dream, baby. A fucking dream.” he grunts, voice laced with lust.

“ I’m gonna cum, Billy. “

He can tell, by the way she trembles, clenches around him. By the way her breathing hitches. And he’s right there with her.

There’s a fire pulsing through him, shockwaves rippling. It bubbles in his abdomen then boils over. With every snap of his hips the movements get more arrhythmic, messy, uncoordinated, desperate

A bunch of expletives fall from her lips but Billy can hardly make them out as his own orgasm washes over him. It feels like time slows and every sound disappeared into a white static. Nothing matters then but to chase that high and catch it and get some sweet release.

Billy feels her cum around him, squeezing him tightly in the process. The way she moans his name, as if it’s both a secret and a confession to himself and the world, that’s what does it for him.

Grabbing her hips with both hands, he holds her in place, before pounding into her with a few last uncoordinated hard thrusts. And then his vision goes black for a moment and his brain stops functioning as he cums into the condom.

For a moment there’s no sound but them trying to catch their breath as they slump down against the counter, spent from the activities. Sweaty, filthy, messy. But oh so satisfied and content.

Billy pulls out of her and for a second he misses her warm and tight around him. Like he was meant to stay there forever. Fuck, he’s such a guy.

Another heartbeat passes and (Y/N) lets out a melodic but breathless giggle. “ I could go for some Nachos and Guac right now. “

This girl is really something else.

They devour the snacks while lazing on his couch. Naked as they came to this earth, unbothered. Maybe this is what makes him go so absolutely feral about her, the fact that she’s so uncomplicated. Yeah she comes with all kinds of warning signs and bad news for him but being with her like this it’s so easy. Like they’ve been some kinds of friends for a long time.

Their bodies are always touching in one way or another. As if they can’t get enough. Billy’s sitting on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table while her legs are places on his lap, cigarette dangling from her fingers. The air is sticky and humid and even the late afternoon breeze doesn’t bring any cooling-off.

As his eyes fall onto the clock on the wall, Billy lets out a frustrated grunt. “ Fuck.”

“ What’s the matter?”

“ I’m supposed to meet my friend Johnny at the gym in about 10 minutes. Totally forgot about it. “

“ Do you have to go? “

“ I really should. “

“ You’ve had quite the workout today though. “

Billy scoffs a laugh at her words before plucking the cigarette from her fingers and taking a drag. He lets the smoke sit in his chest for a moment, hoping to capture even a bit of the warmth he felt when buried balls deep inside her cunt.

It doesn’t work.

“ He’s waiting for me. “

“ Aw, that’s too bad. “ she says grabs the cigarette back and, after one last drag, then stubs it out in the ashtray resting on the coffee table. “ I was just about to ask for a round two. Guess I’ll have to do it by myself then. That’s fine. “

Her fingers trail down her body, teasing her nipples before descending towards her slit. She slowly circles her clit. Billy is honesty sure she’ll be the death of him. This girl is so sweet yet so dirty and he’s not sure he’s ever met someone like her.

“ You gonna sit there and finger yourself on my couch ? “

“ You gonna sit there and watch and not join in? Come on Billy, I can give you quite the workout. No gym necessary. Do I have to beg? “

Yes. God he wants to hear her beg but that makes him feel a bit — uneasy. He doesn’t want her to think he doesn’t want this just as much as she does. Maybe they can leave the begging for another day.

“ You’re insatiable, huh? “ he asks as he settles himself on top of her, lips colliding with hers ina fiery kiss.

(Y/N) just nods, a satisfied moan slipping from her lips as his fingers nudge her hand away and replace them softly trailing up and down her slit, slipping inside every once in a while.

“ What can I say? It’s a bad habit I just can’t seem to quit.”

Maybe this is a really bad idea. Maybe he’s getting himself into more trouble than he needs right now. But the way she feels and sounds and taste make it worth it.

As the sun sets upon the horizon and the summer storm has long passed on to another coastal town, Billy thinks that it’s so worth it if only he can feel like this for the rest of the summer.

There’s really nothing quite like a California summer and a pretty girl with a dirty mind.

[bestworstcase]

I dont know if this has been asked before, but what was your process when developing the seporian language? What tips/advice would you give other beginner writers who want to develop their own language and make it realistic/believable?

i have talked about this before actually! here’s one post and here’s another

my biggest tip is Use VulgarLang because it is a phenomenal tool for designing a conlang. my approach to developing saporian was to figure out some phonemes that i thought made some sense based on the saporian words that are canon (zarotho/zarothay) and then plug those into vulgarlang and start fiddling with phonological and spelling rules until it started spitting out results that looked “right” to me.

my second biggest tip is to do some cursory research on some other languages, including your native language and any other languages you’re fluent in. the best way to grok what the building blocks of a language are is to study real examples. what are the phonemes of, say, german? or korean? or welsh? how are those phonemes represented through script (ie how are they spelled)? what phonological changes are present? what’s the grammar and how does it fit together?

other tips:

pick one or two complex grammatical and phonological rules and implement those while keeping everything else simple. for example, saporian has a form of vowel harmony (look that up! it’s very interesting!) and has contrastive stress (when two words are identical but stressed differently and mean different things: like ADDress (noun) vs addRESS (verb) in english). but the spelling is completely phonetic.

decide on a few exception cases for your rules. for example in saporian, loanwords use saporian phonetic spelling but ignore the vowel harmony rule: zarothay breaks vowel harmony (a and o are broad vowels while ae/ay is slender so should not be allowed in the same word)… but bananas aren’t native to saporia so this is a loanword from another language that ignores that rule. or as another example the broad “a” is treated as a sort of wildcard vowel in the charcāthēn dialect in that it is broad or slender depending on the other vowels in a word.

having exceptions makes a language feel more real! there isn’t a single natural language in existence that doesn’t have some irregularities or inconsistencies, so if you want a naturalistic conlang make sure to give it a little weirdness!

think about grammar and how phrases are structured. in saporian word order is verb-subject-object [took he his hat] and prepositions are affixes that are attached to the word in a sentence the speaker most wants to emphasize, meaning that literal, direct translations would look like this:

he put the cat on the table -> put he-[on] the cat the table

he put the cat on the table -> put he the cat-[on] the table

he put the cat on the table -> put he the cat the table-[on]

so where emphasis in english is encoded by putting extra stress on the important part of the sentence, in saporian its encoded by attaching the preposition there; this is a very different way of encoding this kind of meaning but i think this flexiblity suits saporian even though it sounds very awkward in english, because saporian overall has a…spongier, more impressionistic approach to describing things.

which brings me to my next tip; steal things from real languages! i’m fascinated by the concept of kennings in old norse and old english poetry so i borrowed that kind of poetic construction and incorporated it into saporian in how descriptive phrases or words are utilized in the language: kenning-esque epithets for the ternary gods are common, like cresilinar (flower-maker) for zhan tiri, and there are words that are similarly oblique terms for mundane objects as well.

consider what culturally significant things might have an impact on the vocabulary. saporians worship zhan tiri and have at least a dozen different words for “tree.” consider also what words they might have that aren’t translatable: choimghē is a saporian word whose approximate meaning is “cusp” or “threshold” but it actually means like…the pursuit of balance, the yearning for the sublime and love for the profane, the primal need to dissolve the intrinsic tension between the magical and the mundane. or to use another pair of (much less developed) bitter snow conlangs: the vodnikian language of hvassish has the word qasz which is typical translated as “depth” but is actually an emotion: the feeling of black water and crushing pressure, sort of awe and dread and loneliness and intrigue all rolled into one. and lorbish has lörchkrawünschen, whose closest translation is something like “give-and-take” and is related to the lorbish understanding of “ownership” which is that nothing is truly owned; you just have something until it is taken away from you either by someone else or by natural circumstances beyond your control or because you no longer want or need it and choose to let it go.

coming up with these sorts of words is fun and a good worldbuilding exercise because it forces you to think outside the box: what kind of phenomena or feelings or perspectives might this culture value that your own does not, and how might they give a name to that? how would this word be translated? how would a speaker of this language struggle to convey this concept in a language that has no word for it? go nuts.

lastly: figure out the things that drive non-native speakers crazy when they’re trying to learn. are there like a million noun cases? is it an agglutinative language? does it have rare phonemes that are difficult for non-native speakers to articulate? (saporian has z,ź,zh and s,ś,sh all of which are very similar sounds that can be hard for non-native speakers to distinguish—and gender meaning is encoded in z/ź/ś/zh so the stakes are pretty high if you fuck up and accidentally imply someone is an “it” by using zh when you meant ź or ś). this is fun for flavor, especially if you have a character who is trying to learn a language that is very different from their native tongue. and it is also pretty good for creating a sense of naturalism: even very superficially similar languages can have differences that might trip a non-native speaker up, and then you can get languages that are geographically close but developed in very different ways like say, irish vs english.

[hellyeahomeland]

“Catch and Release”: an HYH recap

LOL I guess we need to discuss these new opening credits? It’s a real throwback, incorporating some of the more famous images from the first few years of the show, especially young Carrie (also I don’t remember the maze as much the last few years but it was there, and it features heavily this year as well).

Some notable audio clips:

Saul: You had a relationship complicated enough to lie about. Carrie: Yeah, it’s complicated! I lost seven months of my life!

Saul: You will become the focus of an investigation that will define the rest of your life.

Saul: Please God, tell me you haven’t…

(had to include this cap because I’m trash)

So… this should be fun.

The episode opens right where the last one left off. Carrie is visibly disturbed by the site of Yevgeny walking out of G’ulom’s office. She wastes no time asking G’ulom what the hell they were doing there. He plays coy and says they’re just businessmen but Carrie is doing her whole righteous indignation, “New Car Smell” thing. She says he’s got to take back his comments about the POWs. There’s a pointed exchange where Carrie says they’re prisoners of war and G’ulom counters that they’re terrorists and OH MY GOD how much heavier could the Brody parallels get?? Anyway, G’ulom is very unconvinced by Carrie’s argument, which basically boils down to “please?” She seethes the whole way back to the CIA station and says her first mean thing to Jenna this episode.

Later on the phone with Saul, she asks if he knew Yevgeny was there. “Of course not,” Saul says, though I’m not really sure I believe him. But apparently they can’t do shit about this as it was part of the terms of Carrie’s release. Which I guess they forgot to mention in her debrief.

Elsewhere in Afghanistan, Max is talking to the DoD’s version of Siri. His Hot Marines give him all a hair tousle, which he hates (obviously), but which also seems to be some sign of good luck. The nice guy in the hat from the last episode notably does not touch his head, so I’m sure he’ll be dead in 2-4 episodes. Apparently the DoD Siri is better than the real thing because he manages to comb through some conversations of Haqqani talking to his son about ending the war. Saul says this is “black and white” evidence, because as we know everything that happens on this show is “black and white.” He’s convinced that if he could just talk to Haqqani, they could end this war together. This is one of Saul’s more insane plans but it will probably work because: Saul.

Back at the CIA, Carrie’s gotten an “anonymous tip” which is basically a name written in large block letters inside an envelope. She manages to use a computer successfully and discovers the name is of a woman who was involved in a government corruption probe that got ~mysteriously~ shut down when it uncovered actual government corruption. How quaint! Anyway, then her husband was killed in a car bomb that was probably meant for her. So she’s justifiably pissed and probably has dirt on G’ulom that Carrie could use.

Carrie proposes to Mike Dunne an operation wherein they pretend to interview her for a job while Carrie breaks into her apartment to find said dirt. Mike Dunne brilliantly suggests Jenna for the operation since apparently Jenna set up a fake NGO with all her downtime on account of not being let outside. Their conversation goes something like this:

Carrie: Wait, just last week you told me Jenna is sort of an idiot. Mike: I said she was stuck in the starting gate. That is a horse racing analogy. Carrie: [raises eyebrows] Mike: We need her idiocy to add a little drama to this otherwise straightforward operation you’ve devised.

Later, Carrie prepares with Jenna:

Carrie: I’m phrasing this next bit as a rhetorical question with an obvious answer, because I don’t actually believe you know the right answer, because you are an idiot. Jenna: I promise I’m not an idiot. Did Mike say I was a fuck-up? Carrie: No, I said that. Jenna: Oh, right. Carrie: Are you not a fuck-up? Jenna: [blank stare]

Meanwhile, Tasneem is observing the transfer of Taliban POWs from Guantanamo, including one who is carted off on a stretcher. Also Saul is nowhere to be found. Between the ambulance and the “where the FUCK is Saul” of it all, this scene has several of the same elements of the iconique ending of “A Red Wheel Barrow.” Like Carrie then, Tasneem knows something is fishy.

…and something definitely is! Saul’s not back in America like Tim Guinee says. He’s with Haqqani’s cousin, one of the released POWs, trying to convince him to hand deliver a letter to Haqqani in exchange for his immediate freedom.

Saul and Haqqani’s cousin arrive in Peshawar, where Saul hands over the letter to Haqqani, which he then reads via voiceover. It’s all very “A False Glimmer.” He pleads with Haqqani to meet with him, claiming “it’s only the men with guns who can make peace.” Which, I guess?

The next day, Carrie’s operation is a go. Samira leaves right on time for the interview with Jenna’s fake NGO and Carrie and her crew easily break into her apartment. They don’t find much, until Carrie notices a burqa with a USB sewn into the hem. Incriminating evidence sewn into fabric that is discovered at the last moment is my FAVORITE device on this show.

Carrie is victorious in her search but Jenna royally fucks up the interview, because she’s an idiot (and a fuck-up, apparently), revealing that she knows about the “audit” Samira took part in. Jenna, you literally had one job! To her credit, Samira realizes what’s going on almost instantly and then takes a photo of Jenna. We have to stan!!

Samira doesn’t get away though. They abduct her and take her back to the CIA station, cuff her, and throw a hood over her head. Carrie is enraged, claiming they’ve just traumatized her all over again and now she definitely won’t talk. After a few seasons of getting a hood thrown over her head, Carrie sympathizes.

She does her best “here’s the lay of the land” with Samira and gets her to tell her the significance of the documents on the USB drive. Samira wants G’ulom arrested and says she can wait two more years, or even twenty, to take down G’ulom. Carrie knows the best they can do is just cut him at the knees by advancing the peace deal. In the end, she convinces her.

Carrie calls Saul from a big abandoned building, location unknown, which is supposed to be an army base. Key phrase: “supposed to be.” Samira’s documents show evidence of an entirely fabricated Afghan Army battalion. That’s right, G’ulom is a scammer! He’s been funneling millions of dollars meant for the Army base into his own pocket for years. Incredulous, Carrie exclaims, “We’ve been enabling this motherfucker for 18 years! What is wrong with us?”

In Rawalpindi, Tasneem pays a visit to her retired stepfather Bunny (last seen in season four). He’s fallen asleep in his massive garden shooting squirrels with a pistol. The neighbors are complaining.

Tasneem: If you took down the bird feeders, the squirrels would stop eating the bird seeds. Bunny: I prefer this. Also, that’s not fair to the birds. Tasneem: Is this a metaphor? [Later] Tasneem: Stepdad, I think Saul is up to no good. If he talks to Haqqani directly, there could be a real breakthrough. Bunny: Unacceptable. We must control everything. Tasneem: How far am I allowed to go then? Bunny: The Americans hate us and our God. Go as fucking far as you please. Tasneem: Coolio, it’s murder time. 

Wearing a nice set of gold bar earrings, Carrie is back in G’ulom’s office, presenting him with a slew of incriminating evidence about his scam. He has two hours to walk back the statements before she shares the papers with his own government, who’d likely have him killed. Finally she has leverage, but G’ulom still manages to give a menacing speech about how peace will be terrible for everyone. Carrie doesn’t relent.

Poor Max has not gotten any alone time at the Army base in Afghanistan, but he has realized that the ISI definitely know that Saul is in Peshawar. Apparently the Taliban does as well. Twist of twists, the ISI aren’t preparing to hit him, they’re preparing to hit Haqqani. Saul yells at the Taliban’s convoy to stop but it’s too late. Amid the panic, Saul is abducted again. I honestly cannot. How many times has this been? This was not the Homeland Greatest Hits I had in mind.

Later, Carrie is stomping her way through the streets of Kabul. She ends up at a bar with the rest of the crew. She says something encouraging to Jenna and orders a “soda water,” both of which are not things I would have expected Carrie to do. Mike Dunne is like, Carrie when the fuck are you gonna leave? Carrie does a cute lil’ shrug and randomly asks where the bathroom is.

That’s right, we needed Carrie alone and somewhat lost because YEVGENY IS BACK. Somehow he looks even hotter than last week. Apparently he gave the anonymous tip, which makes no sense.

Yevgeny: I thought you were gonna thank me. *wink wink* Carrie: I am so confused. Yevgeny: Who else would have done something so nice for you? *wink wink* Carrie: I am maximum confused. Yevgeny: Don’t play dumb. *wink wink* Carrie: I am more confused now than that time I saw a screensaver. Yevgeny: Hey, maybe we could go to Banana Joe’s together? *wink wink* [fades into darkness]

The episode closes somewhat awesomely with Saul, still blindfolded, entering a cement fortress. The blindfold comes off, his beard looks raggedy. I’ve seen this all before. Haqqani walks in. He’s not dead. Saul’s thanking the heavens, and then Haqqani smacks him across the face with a rifle. Cut to black. *chef’s kiss*

[cinnaminsvga]

Zemblanity | Jimin (M)

→ summary: 

“I’ll write a song for you, Park Jimin,” you say, unaware of the weight of your promises slowly finding its way around your neck.

”Pinky swear?”

The noose tightens. “I swear on my life.”

→ genre: fan!jimin, idol!reader, horror/thriller, angst, smut || part of this collab!! → warnings: major character death, non-graphic descriptions of rape and sexual harassment, psychological + physical torture, physical violence, and obsessive behavior → words: 11.8K → a/n: this physically hurt to write, mostly because i was drunk 99% of the time. also a lot of triggering material in this, so be warned. and i’m sorry jimin for always making you the bad guy... some day, i’ll write a soft fic for you. (special thanks to @seokkbuns for supporting me the whole way... love you)

Sometimes you wished the universe would congratulate you for being a decent human being. Sure, that would defeat the purpose of giving awards in the first place, but can you really help that you wanted to be recognized for your mediocrity, occasionally? Maybe a little ribbon for opening the door for a stranger, or perhaps a coupon from Mcdonalds for not parking in the handicap spot. You weren’t asking for a lot.

Hell, where the fuck was your Nobel Peace Prize for not absolutely decimating your annoying, hoity-toity, bitchass, toe-sucking CEO? If you could somehow convert the anger slowly seeping its way through your veins into renewable energy, you could probably power the entirety city of Seoul at this point.

“Y/N. How difficult can it be to produce one fucking album?” President Kim Namjoon groans, gesticulating at the air madly like the buffoon that he is. All he needs is a banana and unicycle, and his Harambe cosplay would be complete.The ridiculous mental image hardly calms you down, dumbfounded by the absolute audacity of his question.

“Are you seriously asking me that question, or are you just pretending to be an idiot to make me angry?” You seethe, teeth gnashing in a way that would probably make your dentist cringe. Namjoon is not fazed by your reaction. Instead, he reaches into his desk drawers and pulls out a thin stack of papers. You can’t see any of the text, but you have a good idea as to what it was about.

“This is a compilation of news reports written about you and Serendipity over the past year,” he emphasizes, slamming a page filled with graphs and jargon whose meaning escape you. He jabs a finger at one of the angry red graphs, and you can see that he was pointing at what appears to be a significant drop. “As you can see, there haven’t been many reports, if at all.”

“So? That’s what happens when an idol group is waiting for their next comeback.” You shrug your shoulders, kicking a leg up onto his table just to piss him off. Namjoon is quick to stab your ankle with a pencil in retaliation, causing you to pull back with a yelp. “Yo, what the fuck! That hurt!” You exclaim, rubbing the reddening spot sullenly.

“It’s like you’re purposefully being difficult, Y/N.”

“So you’ve noticed?”

Namjoon heaves a sigh, and you speculate that it might have been his thirtieth one within the past hour. A tense silence befalls the two of you, and you watch as the older man rubs his temples in frustration. You can’t help but notice the age lines beginning to form on his forehead, and do your eyes deceive you? Were those wrinkles under his eyes?

“You’re getting old, chief,” you comment, grabbing one of Namjoon’s numerous pencils to poke the lines away. He swats at you tiredly, but it is clear that he knows it is useless scolding you. If getting mad at you would produce results, you would’ve bended to his will ages ago. As it is, the man looks ready to drop dead in his seat. He slumps over his desk, eyes closing in meditation.

“No thanks to you, I assure you,” he mumbles back, voice muffled from his table. “Why can’t you just be like Hoseok? He writes music like it’s his only drug.”

“That’s because that kid is literally always on drugs, chief.” You snort, crossing your arms. “And at least the drugs help him with inspiration. Me? I’ve been stuck in a ditch since January. You know this, Joon.”

“I know. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating. What happened, Y/N? I’ve given you almost everything you could ask for.” Namjoon says, lifting his head up to stare back at you. He appears as dejected as you feel. “Why isn’t that big head of yours making music like it used to?”

“You haven’t given me everything I could ask for.”

“What else do you need? You have the studio, the resources, the funding…”

“Time. You haven’t given me enough time.”

Namjoon sighs his thirty-first sigh. “That’s simply a request that even I cannot grant, Y/N. You and I both know that this industry… it moves quicker than any of us would like. Soon enough, people will forget your name. Your members will be left in the dust. Do you want that, Y/N? Are you willing to succumb to your writer’s block in exchange for your members’ livelihoods?”

The two of you already knew the answer to that. You could only glare back at him, irritated that he had used the only weakness you had, the only people you were willing to risk a limb for.

He smiles sadly back at you. “Three months, Y/N. We need an album by December, or else your group is gone. I don’t want you to fail, believe me.”

Oh, I believe you, you think bitterly to yourself, slamming the door to his office with more force than necessary. Of course the bastard doesn’t want you to fail. Other than Hoseok’s group, Serendipity was the only other money-making group in the company. Rookie group after rookie group have debuted in the past, but none of them have stuck out to the public. They were all waiting for you to come back, whenever that may be.

“Maybe I should just go solo,” you whisper wistfully to yourself, but the image of your three other members staring at you in betrayal is the only thing holding you back.

It would have been easy, too. As the main vocalist in the group, you could potentially survive if your group were to disband. With numerous songwriting and producing credits under your belt, you could definitely stay afloat for another year or so.

These thoughts have been burdening your mind for months now, but you have tried your best to hide this from your members. Perhaps the stress of speaking with Namjoon is what allowed your walls to crumble, making your internal conflict clear as day on your face. Contrary to how you had acted in front of your superior, you actually did feel the strain of your hiatus. Your members were itching to return to the limelight, especially since all of them lived and breathed performance. You hated going home everyday, their eyes sparkling with hope for news of a comeback, only for it to fizzle out as quickly as it had come.

With all this mind, you suppose you shouldn’t have been all that surprised when you arrive back in your dorm that afternoon, your three sisters are sitting forlornly in the living room, waiting for you to arrive.

“What’s with the impromptu meeting? Did Sooyoung clog the toilet again?” You try to joke, but there is no sign of mirth in the eldest’s eyes. Sooyoung clearly means business if she can’t even bother cracking a smile; the kind leader has never looked so dark.

“Y/N. We need to talk,” Sooyoung says. The two younger girls nod in tandem, their head bobbing like pendulums on a taut string. You feel sweat beginning to form on your palms.

“I know what you guys are want to say and I get it. We all want a comeback. Do you think I don’t want to return to the stage? To perform in front of thousands of fans?” You can’t help yourself for immediately going into defensive mode. It feels like you were being cornered by a pack of hyenas, as you were certain they had gathered here to gang up on you. Your worst fears are getting realized, and the thought of going solo passes your mind for the second time that day.

“You sure aren’t acting like it,” Hana murmurs, but the maknae stomps on her feet to silence her. Hana yelps in shock, pouting sulkily.

“Shut up, Hana,” Gowon warns, her normally bright face marred with a deep frown. She turns to you, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, Y/N… She didn’t mean it.”

You snort. “Yeah? If she didn’t mean it, then why the hell are you all sitting here just waiting to attack me?”

“We’re not here to attack you, Y/N. Stop overreacting,” Hana says, rolling her eyes. She yelps again, rubbing her arm petulantly where she had been slapped, but Gowon’s face is an indomitable fortress. For once, you wonder what your maknae would do if she were truly pissed off.

“Y/N, we just wanted to ask if you needed any… help?” Sooyoung tries, brows furrowed in concentration. It is obvious that she is choosing her words slowly, as if she is afraid to startle you off like a deer. “Like, I know none of us are even half as good at producing like you, but if you need someone to take the wheel instead…”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” you say, voice edged with ice. You had not meant to say that as coldly as you did, but you couldn’t help that the stress was talking for you. Hana’s face goes dark in an instant.

“Oh? Does little miss producer have her shit together? Because at the very least, you’d think you would have some work to show for it,” she mocks, irises dancing with flames. Gowon tries to get her to shut up, but the elder seems to have a lot more to say.

“You think we don’t know what you do in that studio of yours? Sooyoung-unnie looked through your hard drive and found hundreds of unfinished samples. Hundreds! If you’re so good at your damn job, then I don’t see why you can’t finish even one of your stupid––”

Before you realize it, your palm is stinging with heat as the two other girls stare in shock at Hana’s reddening cheek. Hana stares at you too, mouth opening in shock rather than in pain. You raise your hands up in surrender, appalled by your own actions. The silence is a blanket, suffocating the air out of your lungs as the two of you are locked in a heavy stalemate. Then, she scoffs.

“Oh, is that all you got? Not even an excuse? If you can’t even defend yourself, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to listen,” she says, standing up to leave. Gowon tries to tug her back down, but she swats the younger’s hand away. “Sorry Gowonnie. I know you care a lot for Y/N, but I can’t care for someone who doesn’t even care for us,” she hisses. The slam of her bedroom door reverberates across the dorm, rattling your bones.

With Hana gone, Sooyoung sighs deeply, rubbing her temples not unlike the way Namjoon had done earlier that day. You hate yourself for not noticing the deeper lines forming across her forehead, too.

“Y/N. We know that you are very proud of your work, and that you’re trying your best. We really do. But it wouldn’t hurt if you could at least… be transparent with us.”

You snort, disbelief coloring your face at Sooyoung’s audacity. “I can’t believe you can say that with a straight face after you looked through my stuff without permission.”

Sooyoung has the decency to look guilty. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You left your studio door open once and well… I was just curious, you know? You never talk about your music process with us, and the girls and I were wondering if you actually… still cared.”

The sadness in her voice quickly dispels any dredges of anger still left in your body. Sighing in defeat, you haphazardly throw your tired body where Hana had been sitting. With the cool leather of the couch enveloping you in a hug, it is only then that you notice how incredibly weary you felt.

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am,” you murmur, closing your eyes so you don’t have to see their disappointed faces. You can feel Sooyoung’s soft hands carding themselves through your hair. “I just… I’m trying so hard to make an album for you guys but it’s just so difficult because I have to think about charting on Billboard and adjusting beats to the choreographies…”

“We understand, unnie.” Gowon says softly, patting your knee. “And believe me, it’s all thanks to you that we were able to win seven times during our last comeback. We don’t always have to beat our last record, you know? I’m sure the fans will love anything you put out.”

“I know,” you sniffle, allowing a few tears to escape. The same gentle hands leave your hair to wipe them away. “But I still don’t wanna disappoint you all…”

“You won’t, Y/N. We’re all very proud of you,” Sooyoung says, wrapping her arms around you. Gowon joins soon after, and you feel guilty for allowing yourself to believe them. You don’t deserve their patience––not after all the grief you had inadvertently put them through.

“I doubt Hana feels the same way,” you laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a creaky door more than anything.

Gowon pinches your cheek lightly. “Ah, she’ll get around. You know how she gets when things don’t go her way. I’d say we were all itching to slap her once or twice in our life.”

The three of you laugh, only feeling slightly bad for bad-mouthing the poor girl. As grumpy as the younger girl might be, all of you still love her despite her faults.

“Y/N-unnie? I have a suggestion, actually.” Gowon says, once the laughter had died down. You hum, raising your eyebrow at her.

“Yeah? Do you want to help me write some songs?”

Gowon shakes her head, waving her hands in embarrassment. “No! Well, I do, but that’s not what I wanted to suggest,” she says, rubbing her neck nervously. You squint at her, curious as to what has gotten the younger feeling too anxious to say.

“Do you think that maybe… a vacation might do you well?” she says, almost too quietly. You think you must have misheard her, and judging by the way she pouts back at you, the confusion must have been visible on your face.

“I said, you need a vacation, unnie. A real one, and not one that will get filmed for a reality show or something,” she repeats, firmer this time. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sooyoung nodding in agreement.

“That’s a great idea, Gowon. Y/N, I think you need a little break from all the stress. Perhaps you can get inspiration during your time away from work,” Sooyoung adds. You turn to face the eldest, eyebrows reaching your hairline at the fact that she was even agreeing to such a terrible idea.

“It’s not a terrible idea, for your information,” Gowon huffs, seemingly having read your mind. “Out of all of us, I think you deserve to relax and learn how to have fun.”

You splutter indignantly, somewhat offended at Gowon’s frank admission. “I know how to have fun! I bought a rice cooker last week with a coupon from the newspaper. I saved $20!”

“Oh my God,” Sooyoung laughs, shoulders shaking with mirth. “How the fuck are you younger than me, ahjumma?”

“This is what I’m saying,” Gowon deadpans, flicking your forehead. You yelp, rubbing the area with a pout. What is it with this girl and doing bodily harm on her members? “When I mean fun, I meant regular, young adult stuff. Shit like…”

“Going to karaoke! Watching movies! Travelling! Spa treatments! Reading books!” Sooyoung lists, bouncing up and down in her seat. If you hadn’t known better, it is as if Sooyoung was planning her own vacation instead.

“Maybe sex?” Gowon adds, and that earns a strangled cough from you.

“Gowon!” You yell, slapping the giggling maknae in the back. “Who told you about the s word?”

“Learned from the best,” she says coyly, earning another slap from you. “Ouch! Okay, I’m joking. But I have to admit, Sooyoung-unnie has some good ideas. Maybe you should travel or go back home?”

“If the company will even let me,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Do you really think Namjoon-ssi will let me leave when he basically gave me only three months to produce an album? I don’t think so.”

“I’ll make him agree,” Gowon says ominously.

“You’ll make him agree,” you repeat.

“Yup,” she says, a mysterious smile on her lips. “So, since you’re agreeing to my proposal––”

“Who says I’m going?” you interject, but Sooyoung slaps a hand over your mouth, silencing you.

“Hush! I have an idea. You see, one of my old high school classmates owns a spa resort up in the mountains near Busan. It’s super remote, so you don’t even have to worry about being recognized by anyone.” She prattles on, already whipping out her phone to text who knows what. Her fingers are flying at the speed of light, and you try your best to snatch it out of her hands.

When you try to grab it, Gowon holds your arms behind your back, effectively imprisoning you. She points a shit-eating grin at you. “Nu-uh, Y/N. You’re going to relax, even if it fucking kills you. So let Sooyoung and I handle everything, okay? We’ll get Namjoon’s approval tomorrow, and you’ll be off to Busan by the weekend. Sound good?”

No, it did not sound good at all. You have been an idol for five years now, plus your three years working as a trainee. You hardly remember what it felt like to not work, and you can only imagine how bored you’ll be once you get there.

Before you know it, Sooyoung finishes speaking with her classmate, booking a room for three nights. Gowon claps excitedly, already planning to pack for you to lessen your burden. You smile wryly at the two of them because you can’t help but be endeared by their pure enthusiasm.

You go to your room that night, wanting to believe Gowon’s words. Maybe she’s right; all you need is a vacation. When your eyes finally close and your breathing has steadied, you go to sleep believing that everything might turn out okay.

––♡♡♡––

It does not turn out okay, unsurprisingly.

Like Sooyoung had mentioned, the spa is remote, far away from any semblance of city life. It sits halfway up the mountain, where it is said to have the nicest hot spring baths in the country. There is a small town at the bottom of the mountain, which is where the taxi had dropped you off. When you ask him why he can’t drive you all the way to the resort, he shakes his head apologetically.

“Sorry, miss. The roads up to Blue Springs Resort are pretty narrow and I can’t risk going up there at this time of night. You could probably ask one of the locals here to drive you up. Good luck!” He bids you goodbye cheerily, snatching your payment out of your hands and driving off without another word. You stand at the edge of the road, mouth agape at his brazen desertion.

“Fuck me, I guess,” you groan, taking your phone out to try and dial for help. Of course, the reception is horrendous, and you suppress your screams at this terrible turn of events.

“This is all Sooyoung’s fault,” you mutter darkly, dragging your suitcase into the dark town to look for help. It is only 7pm, but it seems like the townsfolk have decided to hit the hay for the night. The shop windows and houses that you pass are all dark, and your dying phone can barely light the way as you try to find any sign of human life that might help you find a place to stay.

After thirty minutes of searching, you are two seconds away from just breaking and entering into some poor bastard’s house when a young man exits his house. He stares at you, with your sweat matted hair and scuffed luggage, and you have half the mind to wonder if there were any traces of ketchup on your lips, leftover from the hotdog you had eaten on the way there.

“Hi,” you greet. You raise your hand hesitantly.

He raises his own, incredibly confused. “Uh. Hi?”

“Sorry, I know I look really weird and all, but I was wondering if you could help me find a way to Blue Springs Resort? The taxi I took pretty much left me on the side of the road, and I don’t have anywhere else to stay,” you finish, teeth chattering from the cold. The man’s eyes soften, and he approaches you.

“Oh, that happens sometimes. The resort usually has a shuttle come through here, but I guess it’s too late to call them now,” he explains, “I could drive you there, if you want? I was going to head to the city, so I could drop you off first before heading out.”

You can hardly believe your ears, unsure whether you could trust this man’s goodness or not. “Are you sure? I’m not bothering you, am I? Also, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I don’t really feel safe going inside a stranger’s car.”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I get you. If it makes you feel any better, I actually work at this town’s local police station. I can show you my badge in my car, if you want,” he says, rubbing his neck shyly. “My name is Jungkook, by the way. Officer Jungkook, usually, but I’m off duty so feel free to drop the title.”

You grin, charmed by his little awkward mannerisms. “Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Y/N.”

To your relief, his expression doesn’t change at the sound of your name, but you had already figured that he didn’t recognized you from the moment you met. It isn’t like you expected everyone in South Korea to know who you or your band was, but it never hurt to be cautious. You loved your fans, but you never knew what type of things they could do to you.

The two of you jump into his car after he kindly pops his trunk open and takes your luggage from you. He lets you take control of the radio, and the soft sound of some American ballad fills the car as the two of you ride into the night. The drive is silent, save for the music and your occasional humming. True to his word, a police radio and badge are sitting idly on his console, and you half expect it to come to life with news of some incident or whatnot.

Jungkook notices your curious gaze, and he grins at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m off duty, so I doubt I’ll be getting any calls. Besides, hardly anything happens in this sleepy town, so I’d be surprised if that radio would light up, even when I’m on patrol.”

“Not to be offensive, but doesn’t it get boring around these parts? With nothing happening?” you ask, lightly fingering the radio and badge in fascination.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “Boring is safe, I suppose. That’s what my chief always says. Besides, it isn’t entirely quiet. There are always reports of crashes around the mountains because the roads are so difficult to maneuver. Speaking of…” he trails off, his driving growing increasingly slow as the path begins to grow narrow. “Gotta be careful. The mayor has been working to get railways around these roads, but funding it pretty tight. It’s particularly dangerous at night.”

You watch, tense as his grip grows tighter on the wheel. You are starting to get worried that Jungkook might accelerate off the cliff, but he manages to offer you a shaky smile in assurance. “Don’t worry, miss. I’m a good driver, and I’m used to these parts. Just gotta make it past this one particularly nasty turn and––”

He goes silent, brow furrowed in concentration as you arrive at the aforementioned turn. He slows the car to a crawl, inching his way around the sharp edge when the radio suddenly switches the song from a love ballad to an energetic pop song. The sudden noise startles Jungkook, and he jams his foot straight down on the pedal.

You scream, clutching your seatbelt as the car revs forward and for a brief moment––you are flying. Your stomach flies to your throat as you feel nothing but weightlessness, and you think you can hear Jungkook cursing obscenities as he tries to pull the break but––nothing.

The car drops, crashing like a tin can against a large tree. Pain blooms all across your body, and you want nothing more than to scream, but no sound would come out. In the edges of your consciousness, you can still hear the radio playing, the sound of your own sweet melodious voice being the last thing you remember before your world fades to black.

––♡♡♡––

Everything hurts. Scratch that––it feels like there were broken shards of glass that had a physical vendetta against your vital organs inside of you. You swear that there are weights attached to your eyelids, and it feels like hours until you can finally get them to open.

The first thing you notice is that it’s bright. The room (“A bedroom,” you murmur, noticing the bedside table and closet near the door. There is an electronic keyboard gathering dust in the corner too.) is filled with sunlight, the small window on your right devoid of any curtains. The sheets smell like lavender, and there are at least two pillows underneath your head. When you try to move, your body screams in protest as a sharp pain throbs somewhere on your torso.

Craning your neck, you gingerly peel the blanket off your body, and even then the effort is too much. When you successfully pull everything off, you are bombarded with the sight of bandages everywhere. You look like those discount mummy costumes, the ones that no one bought and are always sold for a third of its original price. You must have jostled one of your wounds while you were shifting, and you watch with morbid fascination as red starts to bloom across your stomach.

You think you are going to be sick.

Panic surges through your bones and you feel the desperate urge to get out of bed––for what reason, you do not know. It isn’t like you could go anywhere in your condition, but you just needed to do something. You don’t know where you are, or what happened, or even what day it is. You need to get out of here––

Suddenly, the door opens, and a man with blonde hair and droopy eyes enters with a cup of tea in hand. He yelps in surprise when he sees you, one leg already off the bed as you were still in the middle of your panic-induced escape. He rushes towards you, and gently pushes you back onto the bed.

“Hey, hey… Relax. You’re going to hurt yourself if you move too much,” he says, his tone soft and calming. Your heartbeat refuses to relax, and you must have looked crazed to the young man. He places the cup of tea by the table, and firmly tucks the blanket back over your body.

“Oh damn. I think your stitches might have opened… I’ll have to clean that up later,” he murmurs. He reaches behind you to fluff up your pillows, and you catch a whiff of his lavender body soap. He sits by your side, a worried look marring his soft features. He places a hand on your head and asks, “Y/N, does your head hurt? I’m not all that good with head injuries, so I’m not sure if I bandaged it correctly… I tried researching techniques, but I’m worried I didn’t do it right…”

His words feel like cotton in your ears, but you manage to catch the first part of his sentence. “Wait, how do you know my name?” You ask, voice sounding hoarse after hours (days?) of misuse. The man notices, and offers you his cup of tea. You try to wrap your hands around it, but even your fingers are wrapped in bandages. You notice there is a splint on your index finger, and you let out a sob at the sight. How would you be able to play the piano now?

Pitying you, Jimin brings the cup to your lips and lets you drink. The tea scalds your tongue, but your sandpaper throat accepts it with open arms. He places the empty cup by the table before answering your question. “My name is Jimin. I’m the owner of Blue Spring Resorts. I was a friend of Sooyoung back in high school.”

At the mention of Sooyoung and the resort, memories of the previous night floods your mind. You remember how the car had driven off the side of the road, the feeling of weightlessness and dread filling you like poison. You remember the sound of music playing as you slipped in and out of consciousness. You remember––

“Jungkook,” you say, gripping the man’s arm with frightening strength. He holds your hand, alarmed. “Jungkook,” you repeat, tears welling in your eyes. “Where?”

“Jungkook? Who’s Jungkook?” Jimin asks, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. You push his hand away, and shake his arm more urgently.

“He––he was in the car, with me. He was the one driving me to this resort when he accidentally drove off the cliff. He––where is he?” You stutter, words flying out of your mouth quicker than you can process. Luckily, Jimin seems to understand the gist of your babbling.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. When I found you on the side of the cliff, I only saw your body under the mangled car. I didn’t bother checking further, because I was more concerned with getting you back to safety,” he explains, tears springing in his eyes from guilt. Your heart drops. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to get you out of there.”

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you sob, a loud wail escaping you as you think about the sweet police officer who was probably dead on the side of the road. Jimin wraps an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder as you choked on your sins.

“I––I can go check again later. I was meaning to head back to town to shuttle some more customers to the resort until I saw your car…” he says, lips pursing. “I can also go back to salvage whatever I can…” he offers, and you nod sadly, already weary despite having just woken up.

He gazes at you sadly, unfurling your fingers off of his arm and putting them back onto your lap. He does not berate you for the small nail marks you had left against his honey skin. “Go to sleep, Y/N. I'll be back by nightfall. Get some rest."

Soon after he had made sure your blankets and pillows are at their optimal position, you fall into a fitful sleep, your heart feeling heavier than it did before.

––♡♡♡––

Just as he had promised, he returns later that night. You had awakened when you heard the faint sound of a door slamming shut, the anxiety starting to build until Jimin's fluffy blonde head peaks out from behind the bedroom door.

He smiles apologetically, clicking the door shut as he enters the room quietly. "Sorry, did my arrival awaken you?" he says, sitting beside your form. He notices your breathing relax at his proximity, and the grin spreads like wildfire on his face.

"It's fine. I was going to wake up soon, anyway," you say, voice still warbled with grogginess. He smiles, patting your knee before standing up once more.

"I'm gonna get you some water and food," he says when he notices your curious gaze. "Also, I passed by the wreckage again, and..." he trails off, sounding worried for your reaction. You steel yourself, and you try your best to look like you weren't about to burst into tears at any moment.

"There wasn't anyone there," he says, finally. You freeze, confused by his admission.

"What?"

"It's true," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "I tried looking everywhere, even around the vicinity of the crash. All I found was the car and your things."

You deflate at the news, but you can't help the remaining dredges of hope beginning to resurrect in your heart. Maybe he had escaped and had run off to get help, or at least you wished.

"Did you try contacting the police? Jungkook mentioned that he was part of the police force."

An odd look flashes across his face, but it leaves before you can decipher it. He coughs awkwardly, rubbing his nose. "Uh, yes. I contacted the police about the crash a few days ago, and they said they would be focusing on looking for that Jungkook fella. For now, I'll take care of you until you can safely return to town."

If his reasoning sounds odd, you don't question it. You are too busy grieving Jungkook that you can barely think for yourself. Jimin rubs your shoulder, before turning to leave and fetch your belongings.

When he returns, he brings the remains of what was once your black suitcase. He places them by your side, riffling through the things he salvaged from the wreckage. "I tried taking some of your clothes and toiletries, but I'm afraid your laptop was crushed completely," he says, placing your folded clothes beside you. When he takes out the ruined laptop in question, and you gaze at it with empty acceptance.

It isn't the end of the world, you suppose. You saved most of your photos and music online and in your work computer, so all is not lost. To your surprise, however, Jimin pulls out another small black object from his bag and hands it to you.

"My hard drive survived?" You stare at it in wonder, turning it over in your hands delicately. You ignored the pain in your fingers as you clutch the small object to your chest, tear ducts starting to burn. You give Jimin a grateful look. "Thank you for everything," you whisper.

Jimin's cheeks turn a brilliant shade of pink, eyes downturned in sudden embarrassment. "I-it's no big deal," he stammers, twiddling his thumbs. You chuckle, pinching his cheeks endearingly.

"No, really. You did so much for me when I've done nothing to deserve it. You even bandaged me up, which I have no idea how you managed, by the way."

Somehow, Jimin's cheeks darken even further. The color spreads like wildfire, inking the delicate skin of his neck and ears. "I, um... About that..." He coughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. You raise your eyebrows in question.

"Yeah? You didn't do anything weird right? I'm not gonna get out of here with an extra foot, am I?" You joke, and it seems to have made Jimin loosen up slightly.

He shakes his head, a small grin on his lips. "No, of course not. But I did have to undress you, and uh..." He trails off once more, unable to finish his sentence. You feel blood start to rush to your face as well, but you try your best to seem unfazed by his confession. Clearing your throat, you pat his shoulder as nonchalantly as you can.

"I would hope so. Bandages wouldn't exactly work if I had clothes underneath them, wouldn't you say?" You quip, and your ears are blessed with the pleasant sound of his tinkling laughter. You feel your breathing stop, and you wonder if it would be weird if you could ask him to do it again.

"Cute," you eventually say, which probably isn't any less embarrassing than your previous intrusive thought. The blood vessels around Jimin's face must be working on overtime right now, but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad when he looked so damn cute.

"Me? You must be mistaken... You're the cute one here," he squeaks. He must have only belatedly realize what he had said because he slaps a hand over his mouth in shock, screaming slightly muffled by his hands. "Oh my Gooood I did not just say that!"

You let out a loud laugh, the action agitating your dry throat but you can't help but do it anyway. He takes a peek at you from behind his hands, eyes wide in awe.

"Your laugh is even prettier in person," he says absentmindedly, before slapping his hand over his mouth again. "Fuck! I mean––"

"In person?" You question, peering at him inquisitively.

Jimin shrugs his shoulders, sheepish. "I'm, uh... a bit of a fan of yours, I guess? When I found out that Sooyoung had joined a girl group all those years ago, I couldn't help myself from researching you guys and I supposed you've caught me in your spell ever since," he confesses, the redness in his cheeks never fading. "You could say that you're my..."

"I'm your favorite?" You finish, smiling cheekily. He nods back, his mortification palpable. Taking pity on him, you choose not to tease him and instead ask, "Speaking of Sooyoung, do you mind lending me your phone? I want to call her to tell her I'm alright."

"Oh, there's no signal out here, unfortunately," Jimin explains, frowning. "However, I do have a landline you could use, but it's too far away... I could call her for you, if you'd like?"

"That would be great, thanks." You say, grabbing his hand gratefully. Jimin stills, allowing your bandaged fingers to caress the calluses on his palms. "I mean it when I say that, you know? I owe you my life."

Jimin swallows, hands shaking as he laces his fingers through yours. Poor kid must be nervous being with his idol, you think to yourself, impossibly endeared by this lovely boy.

His smile is as sweet as his voice. "Anything for you, Y/N."

––♡♡♡––

After that, Jimin brings you some dinner. He bashfully admits that he isn't the best cook around, and he'd normally ask one of the chefs at the resort to cook something up but they were all incredibly busy due to the influx of customers. When he spoon-feeds you some of the kimchi stew, your eyes light up from the explosion of flavor on your tongue.

"This is wonderful, Jimin!' You exclaim, mouth already opening for the next spoonful. Jimin chuckles at your enthusiasm, beaming proudly as his favorite idol sings praises over his cooking.

The two of you spend the remainder of the night getting to know each other. You ask him a myriad of questions, mostly about his job and the resort. You find out that he had inherited this place after his father had passed away, despite his initial dreams of becoming a singer. You apologize for prying, but he shakes your concern away.

"Nah, it happened years ago. It's fine," he says, his eyes crinkling from the intensity of his smile. You can't help your face from mirroring his own, despite noticing the slight sadness tinging his tone. "Besides, I love my job. I get to meet lots of interesting people like you."

"You're just saying that because you're my fan. I'm not interesting," you say, cheeks dusted with pink. Jimin shakes his head, and you're almost worried that he might dislodge his head from how violently he moves.

"No! You're amazing! All your fans and members know that you're amazingly talented. The songs you write are so incredibly deep and meaningful, and you've helped a lot of them go through some tough times––me included," he admits. You gaze sadly at him, knowing that he isn't the first one to share this with you.

"I know... But I haven't been all that good at writing these days. In fact, the only reason I came out to this resort was to get some inspiration..."

Jimin stares at you, a look of concern in his irises and something... else. When you look closer, all you see are his shiny brown eyes gazing back at you. "I'm sure you'll be fine. You're the amazing Y/N. I'm sure anything you write will be fantastic."

You doubt it, but you nod your head anyway to appease him.

"Since you said you wanted to be a singer, maybe I'll write a song for you in the future," you say, laughing lightly when he stares at you incredulously. He points at himself, as if uncertain that you were talking about the same person.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, I was talking about you, silly."

He shakes his head, disbelief coloring his face but you don't miss the way a slight blush has invaded his honey skin. "For me? But I'm a nobody. You don't even know if I can sing well."

"I think you'd be a great singer, Jimin. You've got a nice, soothing voice," you say, shameless.

"Stop teasing me," he says, pouting in such an adorable way that you can't help but continue teasing him.

"I'll write a song for you, Park Jimin," you say, unaware of the weight of your promise slowly finding its way around your neck. “I swear on my life.”

Even if you had no intention of fulfilling that promise or not, it is definitely worth seeing the way a soft smile blossoms across Jimin's cherubic features.

"By the way Y/N, I had been meaning to ask... You don't have to answer by the way, but..." he starts, hesitant to continue. Judging from his sudden shift in demeanor, you have a feeling you already know what he's going to ask, anyway.

"You're going to ask about the comeback, right?"

Jimin's face lights up immediately. "Yeah! So, it's happening soon, right? We've all been waiting since November of last year, so I was wondering..."

You shrug your shoulders noncommittally. "I guess... But like I said, I haven't been writing as well as I'd like, so I don't know how soon it'll happen but... Yeah, it's in the works."

Jimin sighs as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank God... I've been arguing with people on Twitter who had been making weird rumors that you guys were going to disband... I knew you guys would never do that, right?" he says, eyes sparkling with pure adoration.

You swallow down your guilt, unable to bear looking at his hopeful face. You croak, "Yeah. We would never."

Two nights pass quickly as you lay in Jimin's cabin to recover. You had learned that he had placed you in his room because it was comfier than the guest rooms, and when you had insisted to be moved, he quickly shut you down, assuring you that he was perfectly fine with letting you stay as long as you needed. You acquiesce, pouting as the young man practically babied you and attended to your every beck and call.

You know he means well, and it isn't like you were averse to the attention being showered upon you by this handsome boy. So you allow yourself to be pampered just this once; after all, you were supposed to be at a spa resort.

"Speaking of," Jimin says after he finishes feeding you your lunch. "I wanted to offer you something, if you don't mind." You hum, eyelids closing from the blissful feeling of being well-fed.

"What do you think about having a massage?"

That wakes you right back up.

"What?" You ask, gaping slightly at the young man. Jimin, who had been previously emboldened by your satiated state, is sweating bullets, astonished by his own brazenness.

He tries to backtrack. "Uh, you can say no, of course. I was just, well, since we're at a spa and such, and it just so happens that I happen to be a licensed masseur, and uh––"

"I'd love one, if you don't mind."

"And just, I mean––wait? You want one?" He splutters, plump cheeks turning pink. You tap them gently, giggling when they redden under your attention. God, you wanted so badly to kiss them and see if they were as soft under your lips as they were under your hands.

"Yeah. I mean, my company did pay for this trip, and I'm supposed to be here to relax, so I might as well take advantage of the situation," you say plainly.

Jimin nods dumbly, semi-disbelieving that you had agreed so easily. He assures you that he'll be careful, the both of you still worried about your injuries. He says that he'll pay more attention to your shoulders and  upper legs, since those seem to be the only areas where you aren't severely wounded.

He turns you over gently, a continuous stream of apologies leaving his mouth every time you let out even the slightest hiss of pain. With your back fully exposed to him, he carefully peels your the night shirt off of you, and you can only imagine the way his cheeks must be reddening all the while. Thankfully, he leaves your shorts on as he goes about to preparing the materials for the massage.

"Tell me if I'm being too rough, okay?" he says, and you can hear him opening the cap of massage oil. After a few moments, you feel his steady hands start kneading soft circles into your shoulders, and a sigh escapes you before you can stop it.

Jimin chuckles lightly. "Good?"

"Wonderful," you sigh, feeling the tense knots from months of stress starting to unravel under his skilled fingers. A particularly hard press of his fingers elicits a loud moan from you, and you whimper when his fingers freeze abruptly.

"Why'd you stop?" You whined, nudging his thigh with your foot. You can't see Jimin's face, so you are unsure as to why he had stopped so suddenly.

"N-nothing," he stammers, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.

Under his care, you release a litany of moans and whimpers, unable to stop yourself from enjoying the smooth glide of his hands. In the edges of your pleasure-addled brain, you wonder what would have happened if your body hadn't been seriously injured. You can imagine how his hands would descend lower down your back and onto your hips, pressing dangerously close to your center but never quite reaching it. You squeeze your legs, hoping that Jimin doesn't notice that your moans might have started sounding a little bit more erotic than before.

As if reading your mind, Jimin pauses to clear his throat. "Uh, would you mind if I moved on to your thighs? If you don't want me to touch you there, then..."

You don't know what comes over you. His fingers have you locked under some sort of spell, so you can only whimper pathetically back in response. He takes that as a sign of approval, and the next thing you know, you feel him grabbing fistfuls of your thighs.

"Oh fuck," you moan out, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Jimin's ministrations quicken, almost as if he was trying to milk the sounds out of you. Somewhere along the way, you moan something that sounds suspiciously like "Jimin," a fact that the man greatly appreciates.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Jimin groans, his thumbs snagging onto the edges of your shorts. He tugs them down slightly, and you feel your lower regions light up like wildfire. You lift your hips imperceptibly, but it's enough for Jimin to wrench your flimsy shorts out of the way, leaving you bare for him and his hands.

Breathing heavier than before, Jimin takes a moment to calm himself. He rubs himself against the edge of the bed, biting his lip as he tries to keep his own moans at bay.

"Touch me," you whine, snaking your hand around your back and grabbing his wrist in impatience. You direct him directly to your center, the both of you gasping at the wetness already there. Jimin experimentally swipes a finger up your slit, gazing in awe as your slick mixes with the oil already on his digits.

Ever the gentleman, he asks, "Can I really...?"

You think you might be going insane from his indomitable patience. "Yes! Just fucking finger me already, Jimin," you gasp, feeling his fingers rubbing small circles around your clit. He teases you like this for a few moments, and you're about to sneak your hand down there to take care of it yourself when you hear the sound of a phone ringing from downstairs.

Jimin pauses, removing his hands from your core and leaving you feeling cold and wanting. You manage to turn your head to the side, and you see Jimin looking torn as he stares at you and the door.

"I have to..." His voices tapers off, a war waging in his warm brown eyes. "Customers, and..."

Even though you would love nothing more than for him to finish you off, you of all people understand the importance of work. "Go," you say, offering him what you hope is a comforting smile.

He gives you one last rueful look before he leaves, the sound of the door closing echoing in your skull.

"Fucking hell," you groan, your treacherous hands trailing down your body after his departure. When you reach your climax to the image of blonde hair and plump cheeks, you trick yourself into thinking your fingers were not your own.

––♡♡♡––

"I don't think I can keep staying here anymore, Jimin."

The weather has turned colder overnight, and Jimin has to reinstall the curtains back onto his bedroom window. You had been stuck in this room for a week already, with only Jimin as your only source of comfort.

You would always be grateful for the kind man's hospitality, but sitting in a room for days on end was starting to get to your head. You didn't really see yourself as the type to get cabin fever, since you were used to being cooped up in the studio for even longer periods of time. But you suppose there is a difference, since you couldn't even properly make music here with Jimin always staring down your neck at every opportunity. At the very least, your days spent here have done wonders on your stress, as it has given you the time to ponder and contemplate some of pressing your life choices.

"Oh? But you're not fully healed though," he comments dismissively, collecting the plates and utensils you had used for dinner that night. You thank him quietly, but he doesn't respond to it like he normally would. He places them by your bedside before tucking you under your blanket until only your head can be seen.

"Yeah, I know but I think I should be well enough to head back home, don't you think?"

"Maybe in a few more days," he says, refusing to look you in the eyes. When you grab his shoulder to force him to pay attention to you, his gaze is still averted to the ground.

"Jimin."

"Y/N."

"Why won't you look at me?"

Jimin finally does, and you are surprised by the amount of sadness that you find. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just... worried? I don't want to risk taking you down this mountain and having you get injured again..."

"I won't though, right? You're used to driving down the mountain. I trust you," you say, honeying your words to try and get him to agree. It must have worked, judging from the way his shoulders droop in defeat.

"Yeah, I guess. But maybe after the weekend? It's a bit busy at the resort this week, so you'll have to wait until Monday."

Squealing at the prospect of going home, you envelop the man in a bone-crushing hug, ignoring the way your stomach protests at the sudden movement. "Thank you so much, Jimin. You don't understand how hard it's been being away from home, but I'm glad it was you who I got to spend this time with," you say.

Jimin smiles, patting your back. "Of course. Anything for you––"

"What's more, my time here has allowed me to really think about my life, you know?" You interject, prattling on as if he hadn't spoken. He furrows his brow, looking at you curiously.

"What do you mean about your life?"

"Oh, you know. I know that I said that I came here to write songs for Serendipity's comeback, but I actually came here to think about my own solo career," you say, shrugging your shoulders. You miss the way Jimin's entire body freezes as you continue on speaking. "I've been thinking about the pros and cons of what would happen if I actually did leave the band, and suffice to say I think it really would be for the best if I left the group. I was never the favorite member anyway, so I think it would be best if––"

"No."

"––I left the company and––excuse me?" You pause, finally noticing the rigid way Jimin was sitting. You stare at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. "What do you mean by 'no?'"

"I mean, you can't fucking just leave the band, Y/N," he snarls, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. You sit up on the bed, feeling on edge at this sudden appearance of a Jimin you had never met before.

"Of course I can. My contract is about to end in a year anyway, so it's not like the company can force me to stay––"

"What about your fucking promise then, huh? Was all of that bullshit?" Jimin roars, the volume of his voice startling you immensely.

"What promise?" You squeak when he slams a fist into the bed frame, rattling your entire mattress from the force.

He raises his hands in the air, unperturbed by the purple bruise already forming across his fist. "Of course you don't remember! It's because you were lying. You were lying to all of us."

"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"On your first win, don't you remember? You made a promise that Serendipity would never disband, not even when you turned 50," he says, breathing turning ragged with rage. He stalks his way towards you, and you try your best to burrow yourself under the covers.

"Well, things change okay? The Y/N from 5 years ago probably didn't know she would be neck deep in stress to the point where she thinks she's going to die, okay? I thought you, as my fan, would understand that my well-being should come first," you say, your voice growing louder as you realized the ridiculousness of this situation. Who the hell did Jimin think he was? Who gave him the right to be angry when you were only doing what was best for you? "Hell, you wanted to be singer, didn't you? You should understand better than anyone how difficult it is to always be under public scrutiny!"

The sneer on Jimin's face is feral-looking, almost murderous. "No, I don't. I don't understand."

Before you can react, he goes to slam the door shut, the sound of the lock clicking in place. The final nail on your coffin. No matter how hard you twist the knob or bang your hands against the door, no one would come. No one could hear you.

––♡♡♡––

Jimin doesn't visit your room once in over three days. That means he has stopped giving you food and water, purposefully starving you until you bend to his will. He had only slipped a small note under the door frame, detailing the conditions for nourishment.

"If you want to live, then you'll write me a song. Prove to me that you don't break your promises."

Easier said than done. Even during a life and death situation, that specific part of your brain refuses to cooperate, and you can hardly write a verse without breaking down and crying.

How pathetic. What type of producer were you, if you couldn't even safe your life by doing the only thing you were supposedly good at?

On the third day, your vision has started to grow hazy from dehydration. You have yet to resort to drinking your own urine, but you were hoping to attempt to satiate Jimin before that. With the lyrics and notes hastily scribbled on a piece of paper, you slide it under the door, waiting for your captor to judge your draft. Never has a song frightened you as much as this, and you laugh mirthlessly at how you had been worried about charting just a week prior.

You hear his footsteps approaching, and you wait with bated breath as the rustle of paper signals that he has begun to read your song. You hold your breath, the seconds feeling like decades as you wait for him to pass his judgment.

The lock clicks. The door opens.

Jimin, with his blonde hair and plump cheeks, crumples the paper in his hands without a word. He rips the paper in shreds, and you watch in horror as he grinds his foot into the sorry remains of your draft.

"Nice try, but I know this song. I listened to the songs on your hard drive all those nights ago, and I know this is a draft for a solo song," he says, grinning sadistically at the sight of your face crumpling in despair. While you are still in the midst of mourning your one chance of escape, he walks past your kneeling form, grabbing something from the bedside table.

When you look, you see the small black hard drive in his hands. He waves it at you, almost mockingly, before slamming it onto the ground––hard. He stomps on it, grinding his foot onto it just like he had done to your draft just minutes ago. You scream, jumping to save your precious hard drive from further harm––but alas. It is too late.

Bits of wire and shards of plastic are all that's left of your entire library of secret solo songs. These are the files you hadn't saved to your studio computer in fear of it being discovered by the wrong people. Years of blood, sweat, and tears––gone.

In an instant, your vision grows red, red, red.

"I'll fucking kill you!" You scream, hurtling your weak body at him with all the power you could muster. Despite his small frame, he is able to wrestle you down quickly, barely breaking a sweat as you squirmed and screamed murder at him. Tear blurred your visions as you tried your best to hurt Jimin in any way you can, but he takes it like it's nothing. Growing tired of your noise, he slams your head against the floor, knocking you unconscious.

––♡♡♡––

When you awaken a day later, you find cuts all over your legs and arms, as well as a strange ache between your legs. You don't even have the energy to let out a sob as you curl back into yourself.

A note by your bedside table:

"Since I took something away from you, I thought it was only fair that I gave you something back in return. Something you will always remember me by."

––♡♡♡––

You keep trying to write songs to please Jimin. As it turns out, anything you churn out will earn you his seal of approval, so long as it is none of the drafts from your old hard drive. Every song you write garners you a meal and cup of water. You don't know what he does with the songs you write, and you honestly don't care. None of the songs have any meaning to you; they are all just strings of words and notes hastily sewn together for the sake of having something to present to Jimin.

Five days since he had broken your hard drive, and you have written almost twenty songs in that time frame. "Enough songs for an album," you mutter darkly to yourself, staring forlornly out the window. Some time during your confinement, Jimin had installed metal bars across the window, leaving you no means of escape––or death.

You were his own personal music box.

In the distance, a police siren blares. Your ears perk up, straining your eyes to find any signs of an approaching car. To your incredible joy, you can see the telltale signs of a blue and red light growing closer to the cabin. You start hammering on the windows, hoping for them to notice you, but your cries are unfortunately unheard from the third floor. You watch, hopeless as two police officers jump out of the car and towards the front door. From your perch, you cannot see their faces, but you think you can see one of them dragging their foot with a light limp.

Pressing your ear against the floor, you try your hardest to listen to their conversation, but Jimin has always talked in very hushed tones. You catch the sound of a deeper voice, loud enough to hear but not enough to decipher his words. There is another voice, but this one is slightly familiar. You pound your fists against the floorboards, but neither of the police officers seem to have noticed.

You try your best to scream for help, but your voice is too hoarse from hours of crying yourself to sleep. You punch the floor in misery, despair wracking your body as another chance to escape slips through your fingers for the second time.

Your gaze catches on the keyboard in the corner of you room. You had forgotten about its presence, largely unable to use it due to some of your fingers still being broken. You plug the thing in, raising the volume to its highest setting and testing it out to find that it was much louder than you had anticipated.

Despite the insistent throbbing of your fingers, you begin to play.

––♡♡♡––

"What's that sound?" Officer Yoongi says, turning back just as Jimin was about to usher him out the door. Jimin huffs in annoyance, but his face melts back into its usual sunshine-y way when the officer stares at him expectantly.

"Oh, probably my guest. She likes playing the piano during this time of day," he replies smoothly. Officer Jungkook limps back into the house, peering at his chief curiously.

"Chief? What are you waiting for? We still have other houses to search," he says.

"I recognize this song," Officer Yoongi replies, humming slightly as the piano's haunting melody echoes throughout the house. "I used to play piano back in the day. I think this is Schubert."

"Shoe who?" Officer Jungkook laughs, the mirth dying in his eyes when he sees the concentrated look on his chief's face. "Yoongi-hyung?" He questions once more.

"Nothing," he finally says, his gaze still turned upward in thought. He waves absentmindedly at Jimin. "Sorry for intruding. Like Jungkook said, we still have other houses to search. Let us know if you hear news about Y/N."

"No problem," Jimin says sweetly, shutting the door firmly on their way out.

When the car reaches the bottom of the mountain, it is only then when Yoongi remembers. "Erlkönig. That's the song," he says.

Something stirs uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

––♡♡♡––

Days have passed and it takes longer for you to produce enough songs to feed yourself. Malnourished and severely weak, you pass out almost consistently, unable to keep awake long enough to even leave the bed to write. After the fourteenth day, you suppose Jimin must have taken pity on you, because suddenly you find yourself submerged in a warm bath with his gentle hands rubbing soap all over your body.

You might have tried resisting, or you might have not. It’s hard to remember the details, even while it is happening You are too weak to even speak, allowing this wretched man to wash you without struggle. He rubs at your breasts and thighs, his fingers grazing your core teasingly, but you feel nothing. You are a living corpse, waiting for your captor to let you rot in peace.

"This must feel good, huh? After weeks of leaving you in your own filth... See? I can be forgiving too," he murmurs, fingers rubbing circles over your slit.

Your tired eyes can barely keep themselves open, but as luck might have it, you manage to see the toilet's porcelain cover is slightly ajar. Perhaps Jimin had been busy repairing the toilet earlier that day––it did not matter. All that matters is that you had one final chance to escape right under your fingertips, and you'd be damned if you wouldn't try one last time before completely submitting yourself to your fate.

I will not die. I will not die. I will not die.

You chant these words incessantly into your head until it is all you can hear, see, feel. Jimin turns his head for a moment to get more soap, and in that moment, you are filled with enough energy to grab the porcelain slab and slam it against his head. Jimin crumbles against the impact, his body folding in agony as he cradles his head in pain.

You swing it again and again, aiming for his head every time until he moved no longer.

"And stay fucking dead," you finish, dropping the chipped slab onto his unmoving carcass.

Adrenaline continues to pump through your veins as you slump back into the tub, the gravity of what you had done still keeping your mind on overdrive. After a few more minutes of heavy breathing, you manage to pull yourself out of the tub. You shrug on your shirt and pants, limping haphazardly out of the door.

When you go to lock the bathroom door, you scream in surprise when Jimin jams his foot in the doorway. Awake and alive, he struggles to go into a sitting position, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. You slam the door repeatedly over his foot, but he manages to hold the door open enough to pull himself up.

"You bitch," he growls, blood dripping from his broken skull. You scream louder, desperately pushing his foot out of the way in order to close the door. Despite Jimin's unexpected reanimation, it appears that he is still weak from your brutal battering to his head, so you are able to push his foot out of the doorway and lock the door. To your horror, you can hear his nails scratch against the wood, his cries of anguish sounding warbled and inhuman. You step back, waiting for the door to burst open and for your inevitable death––and it never comes. The scratches stop, the wailing ends, and the house is still.

Finally free of your captor, you run out the front door and take your first breath of fresh air in weeks. With a smile on your face and blood on your hands, you promptly pass out in the middle of the lawn.

––♡♡♡––

You wake up in the back of Jungkook's police car.

"Wha––?" You jolt awake, fear starting to pump through you as you whipped around to survey your surroundings. A large hand pushes you back into your seat, and your eyes focus on the face of a dead man standing.

Well, sitting.

"Y/N, relax! You're safe with us," he whispers, urging you to take deep breaths. You inhale and exhale, eyes still wide in shock at the sight of the man you had thought to be dead.

"I––Jungkook, I thought you were de––"

"I'm so sorry Y/N," Jungkook says instead, enveloping you into a tight hug. You release a sob, partly in confusion but mostly in relief for having a friend around you. The two of you cry in tandem, apologies coming out of your both your mouths as you tried to make sense of what was going on.

"Wait, why are you sorry? I was the one who crashed the car and led you to being kidnapped," Jungkook says, tears staining his handsome face.

You shake your head. "No. This is all my fault. If I hadn't asked you to drive me all the way to this stupid resort at night, we wouldn't have crashed and just––"

"Hey," Jungkook whispers, shushing with a finger. "Let's stop blaming ourselves, okay? We're taking you to the hospital downtown so you can get your injuries checked. Yoongi-hyung sent the other officers to clean up Park's resort while we––"

"No!" You scream, shaking Jungkook off of you in a panic. You shake the driver, begging him to turn around. "Jimin is still alive! He's going to kill them––"

"Aish. Jungkook-ah, restrain Miss Y/N, will you? I don't want the three of us getting killed by an avoidable car crash, okay?" The driver growls. Jungkook carefully hugs you to his chest, effectively imprisoning you in his gentle but firm hold.

"Yes sir, Officer Yoongi," he says before turning his attention to you. "Don't worry, Y/N. Jimin's dead. We found his body outside his garden. He jumped out of the bathroom window, probably in an attempt to escape the authorities," he explains. You shiver at the news, knowing full well that Jimin had probably been on the way to murder you. 

“How did you find me? I thought I was going to die in front of that house,” you ask, hands trembling despite the warmth of the car. Jungkook cups your bloodied fingers in his larger ones, being careful not to jostle your wounds too much. You want to tell him that it’s fine––most of it was Jimin’s blood, anyway.

“After the crash, I had woken up alone with my legs broken. I called dispatch to try and look for you, but it seems that we had been missing for two days already,” he explains, voice soft and smooth. It’s almost odd hearing him speak, after being so used to listening only to the sound of Jimin’s voice and your own sobs. 

“We had visited Jimin’s cabin a few days ago, trying to find you. Yoongi-hyung already had a bad feeling about him, since his mannerisms seemed too practiced and controlled––trademark signs of someone who is very good at hiding his secrets. Then, we heard the sound of your piano,” he says, gazing at you in awe. “It was brilliant of you.”

“Erlkönig,” Yoongi comments from the front, nodding grimly. “I thought it was an odd choice to play. It’s a song laced with death. I’m glad I trusted my gut instinct and returned to the cabin after we received a search warrant.” He shifts his head slightly to look at you, his gaze piercing but kind. Different from the sickly saccharine gaze that Jimin always used to have. “Music really did save your life.”

You don’t want to think about music right now. You don’t want to think about anything at all. "I just want to go home," you whisper, body slumping from exhaustion. Jungkook cards his hands through your hair, murmuring words of comfort as you slowly dropped off into dreamland.

"It's going to be all right... You're safe now... Nothing can ever hurt you again..."

––♡♡♡––

5 years later.

You enter the concert venue's VIP booth without a sound. Most of the other attendees hardly bat their eyes as you slink your way to your seat. You hold a picket fan with Gowon's smiling face on it, a banner with Sooyoung's name, and a wristband with Hana's grumpy face emblazoned on the side. You make it just in time for them to open the concert with their opening song.

The deep bass of Zemblanity filters its way through the overhead speakers, and the sound of thousands of screaming fans almost drown out the song entirely. You grin at the sight of young men and women screaming the fanchants in tandem, even laughing loudly when you'd catch the faint sound of "Y/N" mixed in at the end. You join the chants for most of the songs––all except the first song.

A boy with pink and yellow hair notices your silence, and points a boxy-grin back at you.

"Not a fan of Zemblanity? Even though it topped the Billboard charts twice in a row?"

The boy looks nothing like him. His cheeks are too thin, and his eyes are too dark. And yet, there's something about him that brings a chill up your spine. You make a mental note to make an appointment with your therapist first thing in the morning.

"Nah. Not a big fan. Heard the producer is an asshat," you say, shrugging your shoulders. The boy laughs, loud and pretty.

[heysawbones]

Congratulations, Me; You’re Slow

Surprise, me! You’re literally slow. As in, your processing speed - the rate at which your brain takes in stimuli and makes sense of it - is below average. Quantitatively. The average is 100. Yours is 94. 

Three years ago, I was given a cognitive battery. I’ve had an unusually high number of these in my life. Most people will never have even one. I’ve had four; one to assess for the Gifted and Talented program in kindergarten, one to reassess for the same when I changed school districts, one to assess for ADHD, and yet another, the latest, to assess for the same, as the prior records were lost. ADHD runs in my family, but I seem to have been one of those kids who compensated really, really well. Was I organized? Not even a little. Lose things? Constantly. I procrastinated like a motherfucker, too, but it was usually easy to make up the work in class before it was due. I would drive hard to complete the GT project-based assignments at the last minute, and always did fine. Better than fine, even. Sure, I used to obsessively braid yarn or draw in class, but nobody had any reason to suspect I would have issues with things like maintaining attention or executive function later on. If they did, I never heard about it. Even today, it’s not obvious; people associate a certain flightiness with ADHD and that isn’t me. People associate a lot of things with ADHD that aren’t me. This has been so much of an issue, in fact, that despite meeting diagnostic criteria over and over, as admitted by clinicians, people have been hesitant to give me the diagnosis. The argument deployed tends to be: you have all the symptoms, but you also have chronic depression, which has the same symptoms, so we’ll just go with that one. The underlying rationale, the unspoken answer to “why can’t it be both? they often co-occur” seems to be: you are too articulate and self-aware to have ADHD. It boils down to you’re too smart to be slow. 

This is unfair to me, and demonstrably untrue, besides. I recognized this long ago. I am the one who has to figure out some way to compensate for the symptoms. Yes, the symptoms of depression and ADHD overlap (especially if you are depressed for a long time), but the treatment of those symptoms is not the same. I have been in treatment for depression for over ten years. Am I better than I was? Unquestionably so. 

Do I function at a level sustainable for an adult not on disability? Can I get places on time? Can I catch a plane without showing up 14 hours early, lest I show up 14 hours late, or at the wrong airport entirely, instead? Do I remember things people told me yesterday? Can I go to Target without the possibility of getting caught up in a weird cognitive trap where I want bananas, but am too guilty to buy them unless I do the rest of my grocery shopping, which I don’t have the mental energy for? Do I remember enough of my meds when I go on trips? Can I stop persistently putting things in places that make no sense, and then having no idea that I’ve done it 15 seconds later? Can I manage an adult’s schedule? Can I remember to pay bills on time? Can I remember what I’ve spent money on in the last week? Can I remember what I ate this morning? Can I hold down a job that is, honestly, below my abilities in many ways?

The answer is, of course, sometimes yes. Distressingly frequently, it is no. Where travel is concerned, it is always no, and somehow, I have managed to show up at the wrong airport entirely more than once. 

Yes, I recognize that these are problems all people have, to some degree, at some time in their lives. If people are willing to act on the belief that I am too smart to be slow, why is it that when I account for my concerns and attempt to articulate the impact they have on my life, I am suddenly not self-aware anymore, and am only overreacting to what obviously MUST be the same degree of these problems that other reasonable adults experience? Why am I credible in other areas, but not this one? If I am so smart, why is it assumed that I��ve failed to account for my own emotional bias when gauging the difficulty I am experiencing? Why is it more satisfying to assume that I am not trying hard enough, then it is to accept that a smart, self-aware person may, in fact, have some kind of Brain Problem that, really, there is no logical contraindication to, and much evidence, for? When I do the responsible thing and insistently pursue all reasonable options to address my mental and neurological health, with the goal of being a functional contributor to society, why is this so persistently reduced to a fetish specifically for an ADHD diagnosis? I’m smart when it’s convenient for others, but not when it comes to the ability to draw cause and effect relationships from my own behavior, and make comparisons between those and the behavior of others? If I got treatment that worked, I wouldn’t care what the diagnosis was. Come the fuck on. I’m tired of this.

-----

Anyway. I sat down with the results of that three-year-old cognitive battery. I’ve read the summary before; it’s peppered with lines like

“There is also considerable other evidence in this testing consistent with a diagnosis of ADHD”

“In my experience, some individuals who are very bright are able to compensate for some of their disability”

“this distribution of index scores is very typical of individuals with ADHD”

“Many of the behaviors she describes are certainly typical of individuals who suffer from ADHD. Unfortunately, the coexisting history of chronic major depression and PTSD make that differential diagnosis based on history alone difficult” 

When I first read that last year, I was shocked because the therapist who requested the cognitive battery, only expressed surprise that I was “very smart” and said that my “scores were fine.” When I later confronted him after having read the summary myself, he merely admitted that some of my scores were “lower than others”. He never entertained the possibility that I had ADHD, which in an of itself, wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d been willing to just try the treatments for it, since clearly the two industrial-strength doses of antidepressants I was already on, were not cutting it. Alas, he was not, and it wasn’t until after he retired that the issue was addressed again.

Surprisingly, I was not the person who addressed it. When my therapist-MD retired, I needed at least a primary care provider to manage my medications. Since the appointment was for psych med management, I had to fill out a bunch of related intake forms - you likely know the kind. While looking them over, my new doctor peered up at me and asked, “Has anybody ever suggested that you might have ADHD?” I was taken aback by the question and wasn’t sure where to start. Them? Asking me? if I have ADHD? She asked me? 

I told her that I’d had two full cognitive batteries done, and that both of them concluded roughly the same thing: yes, all the symptoms are there, no, we do not know if it’s ADHD because there’s too much background noise from other psych issues. Without skipping a beat, she said the most amazing thing to me: 

Well, whatever it is, you have the symptoms, so let’s treat them.

God. Why didn’t someone say that years ago? Diagnoses are human constructs; we use them to group symptoms that tend to occur together, when they’re thought to have the same causes. Depression and ADHD have many (but not all) of the same symptoms, but the overlap doesn’t qualify as a diagnosis because the causes are assumed to be different. I think we often forget that diagnoses are containers for commonalities that we use to make talking about medicine easier, not necessarily biological phenomena unto themselves. If you remember that they are containers - a sort of conceptual shorthand - then it follows that if one treatment for a set of symptoms isn’t solving the problem, you ought to try a different treatment often used for the same symptoms, even if the minutiae of diagnosis means you aren’t sure you can apply the diagnosis typically associated with that second treatment*.

I am now on Vyvanse. Does it magically solve my problems? No. Does it help? Yes. I am in a much better position to actually address the bad habits and coping mechanisms someone like me builds up over the years. The notable insomnia should wear off over time, and besides, as a person with an existing sleep disorder, having fucked up sleep isn’t new. It’s a price I’m willing to pay.

-----

Anyway. So I sat down with the results of that three-year-old cognitive battery, because I had to dig them up for my new therapist. Instead of reading the summary, I dug into the raw numbers: the related tests are the Weschler Adult Intelligence Scale IV (WAIS-IV), and the Weschler Memory Scale III (WMS-III). I couldn’t find sufficient guidance on interpreting the WMS-III, so I’ll stick with the WAIS-IV scores:

At first inspection, these scores do look “fine”. Anything within 10 points of 100 in either direction qualifies as “average”, even if 100 is “the average”. But on further reading, both in the summary and out: 

-Examination of these results reveals considerable significant variability between various functional capacities, with VCI of 141 a full 3 standard deviations above PSI of 94.** Problems with both working memory and processing speed impacted her overall IQ considerably, bringing her Full Scale IQ down to 120 (from 133). 

-A significant difference among subtest scores can suggest a problem in the particular skill being tested; this might underlie a learning disability. A significant difference among standard Index Scores might also indicate a learning disability, ADHD

-when I see a difference in IQ scores such that the verbal and nonverbal scores are far superior to the processing speed score, I try to discern what could be causing the discrepancy.

-LD diagnoses are also reliant on score discrepancies. On the WAIS, a gifted individual with ADHD may look like this.

Verbal comprehension - 132

Perceptual Reasoning - 129

Processing Speed - 97

Working memory - 101

Absolute scores aren’t the only diagnostic tool. Relative scores are also important. For example, average scores across the board wouldn’t be indicative of a working memory or processing speed issue, whereas great discrepancies between those parameters and others, is - even if the working memory and processing speed scores themselves are the same in both examples. What I’m saying is, it’s right there. It’s in the numbers. There’s no wiggle room. My old therapist saw these numbers, and not only did he choose not to act on the information, he pointedly refused to do so. If he hadn’t retired, I’d look into suing for malpractice. It’s in the god damn numbers, my dude. I don’t care what you want to call it, the deficit is right. there.

What did I ever do to him? Did he just... not believe ADHD is real? More to the point, did he think I somehow, without knowing the ins and outs of the WAIS-IV, faked the deficits or something? Really, guy, what the hell?

-----

Do I feel bad about being slow? Honestly, no. I might have if I found this out 10 years ago, or in circumstances wherein that reality didn’t perfectly explain aspects of my experience that other people have been prone to downplay, or dismiss entirely. Instead, it’s the closest I can get to scientific verification that I’m not just losing my shit over nothing over here; that something has, in fact, gone awry, and may always have been awry. I couldn’t compensate forever (though the ways I’ve done it are many, and in retrospect, interesting) and now I’m on the other end of it, trying to rebuild. I am, as I like to say, building an exoskeleton - something that will hold me up when my brain insists on faceplanting. I’m just grateful there’s someone out there who isn’t too caught up in the semantic navel-gazing of diagnosis, to help.

*There are obvious exceptions here, such as when the two diagnoses have causes whose treatment is contraindicated in the other diagnosis. This is not the case with depression and ADHD.

** You see that Percentile Rank of 34? That means I performed better than 34 percent of people my age, at least according to the test sample. That’s. Not great.

[sealegs2414blankpages]

OSFTSB Ch. 8 ~ Obtuse

Shuffling up to his doorstep Yoongi could see Kim Taehyung leaning one arm casually against his door, eyes glued to his phone. Clearing his throat, the mop of black hair flopped to the side as he snapped his head up and met eyes with Yoongi. A bright smile followed and Yoongi couldn’t take his eyes off of the boxy shape of Taehyung’s mouth. After his gaze lingered for a touch too long, he brought his arm up that was holding a black plastic bag.

“Hope you weren’t waiting long, I stopped to pick up some drinks.”

Taehyung shook his head and pushed off of the door so he could step back and let Yoongi through to unlock his apartment.

“Not at all. Just a little over 30 minutes.”

Stepping forward, the blonde pulled out his keys and slid it into the lock, he began to turn it but stopped halfway through the motion and snapped his head in the other man’s direction.

“What?!”

Seeing Taehyung’s lips slide into a smirk, Yoongi punched the man in the arm without any power and grunted, “Jerk,” before going back to his task and let them into his apartment. Once inside, Yoongi reached for the bag of food that Taehyung had with him. Passing it off easily, the taller man strode through the front door and made his way to the kitchen bar. Yoongi passed by a few seconds later and began to pull out plates and utensils. He didn’t really know what drinks to buy so he ended up with a variety of sort. Soda, juice, banana milk and even beer. He couldn’t drink any but Taehyung had worked all day he might want some.

“What type of job has you working nights?”

Yoongi continued pulling everything out of the bags and didn’t bother looking up to answer the younger.

“I’m a DJ at Kush 109.3 keeping the nightbirds company and hopefully keeping their eyes open instead of in the back of their heads as they drive.”

The younger nodded, he hadn’t thought that the man would be a radio DJ but it made more sense as to why he was able to have blonde hair, he didn’t work at a straight laced, business clones company.

“Your voice is soothing, you would think they would have more trouble staying awake on the road.” He spoke as if he was thinking to himself but still said the words loud enough for Yoongi to hear. It made the tips of his ears turn a light shade of pink as he pulled out the last of the drinks onto the counter.

“Ah, well that’s what the songs are for. I actually get some creative liberty and don’t just have to play that Top 40 shit so I like to mix things up every now and then. Let some underappreciated or not very well known artists shine a little. Open request hour is a good time too. Some of the shit that people request is… Hah, well it’s fun.”

“Hmm, I might have to tune in one night.”

Yoongi raised his gaze to Taehyung’s eyes searching for some type of insincere but politeness. He didn’t find any. No, all he saw was a sincerity that was refreshing. He didn’t outwardly smile but he was on the inside.

“Sure,” he shrugged.

Taehyung looked over the spread that Yoongi had laid out and pointed at the drinks.

“That’s a wide variety you got there. Oh! Banana milk, Jungkookie’s favorite.”

A cough filled the air. Yoongi hadn’t even realized that he had bought it. He didn’t like banana milk much but somehow he still couldn’t break the habit of buying it when he was in the store. He ended up giving it to Namjoon every single time. Luckily, Namjoon didn’t remember the significance of the drink otherwise he would be giving the elder a hard look that Yoongi really didn’t need. Some things just didn’t change. This was one of them.

“Oh, yeah, yeah it is. Do you like it too?” The other man nodded.

“Strawberry is my favorite but I like banana too.”

Yoongi hummed and then began filling his plate with the pad thai that the younger had brought.

“Help yourself and don’t be afraid to grab a beer. I just bought a bit of everything since I don’t know what you like.”

With his plate full, he left the kitchen and brought it into the living room. He had a small dining room but he never used it and it felt weird to start now. Yoongi preferred to just eat at his coffee table with the television on. He didn’t turn it on tonight but he placed the remote nearby in case the younger wanted it on. It wasn’t long before Taehyung had joined him and with not only a beer but a banana milk. He raised a brow at the drink choices but said nothing. Instead he took a sip of his cola and then picked up his chopsticks.

“Hyung, thanks for letting me stop by.”

Having just shoved a large portion of noodles and chicken in his mouth, Yoongi could only raise his eyes to the younger and stare. Chewing and swallowing a little faster than he normally would, Yoongi tried to reply quickly.

“Uh, you’re welcome but you want to tell me why you’re here?”

He watched as the man began to pick at his food and it only made Yoongi wonder once again what the hell was going on. He didn’t feel like much had transpired between them for this, whatever it was, to be occurring. Somehow it didn’t feel right to phrase it as such so Yoongi kept those thoughts to himself.

“ You’ve been friends with Jungkook for years now. You know him better than me I’m sure so I- I’m just not sure how I’ll be able to help with uh whatever is going on.”

That was so smooth Min Yoongi. Stumbling over his words like he did, embarrassing. Though he still didn’t know how to word it properly. Taehyung didn’t seem to care if anything he seemed to nod in understanding. Everything had been very vague so far. Yoongi needed a little more clarification. Taehyung ate a few bites while Yoongi let him collect his thoughts and perhaps string together a sentence that was a little more cohesive than his last.

“I fucked up and I really just don’t know how to get him to talk to me. He’s avoiding me at work, even going to lunch with Mihyun and won’t return my calls.”

Yoongi looked up from his lashes at the man who sat across from him in the middle of a rant. Did he really just complain about Jungkook going to lunch with someone other than him. Yoongi’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. It felt like 6th grade all over again but it was kind of cute that Taehyung cared so much about his time spent with his best friend. There that word was again. Cute. He couldn’t seem to escape it lately with Taehyung. Hmph. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Is it that bad tha he’s going to lunch with this Mihyun person.”

“Yes!”

The amount of intensity that Taehyung put into that one word had Yoongi’s eyes open wide as if he had just seen a ghost pop up in front of him.

“I mean, no. Well, yes. Mihyun likes him, she always has and she can’t have him.”

Now, Yoongi couldn’t hold back his laughter. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed. The expression on Taehyung’s face was one of annoyance. His brow furrowed as he stared at Yoongi not comprehending what was so funny.

“I’m sorry Taehyung but you sound like a jealous lover and I mean I guess you could be. Are you?”

If Yoongi had thought that Taehyung’s words were funny he had never seen how expressive the younger could be. His whole being radiated him being appalled and that was hilarious in itself. This time Yoongi bit down on his lip to reign in his laughter. So, that was a no. Guess they aren’t lovers. It could happen. Raising his hands up in surrender, he then pressed his hands together and apologized.

“I didn’t realize you could be so obtuse hyung.”

“Obtuse?”

That through Yoongi off his guard. It wasn’t something he had ever been called before and he had always been a little prideful on his careful observations. Taehyung was shaking his head.

“Bunny,” Taehyung let out a sigh, he couldn’t stop using that nickname for some reason. Maybe because he missed his best friend more than he usually did.

“I mean Jungkook and I will never be lovers. He’s attractive sure. I mean I’ve groomed him myself to be sex on legs.” Yoongi began to hack up a lung as he choked on a piece of chicken at what Taehyung had just said. He mouthed, “Sex on legs?” but the other man was continuing as if Yoongi hadn’t just about died.

“But I’m not interested in his dick. Touched it once and that was enough.”

“Once?”

Taehyung waved his arm in dismissal, “Story for another time hyung.”

Yoongi just nodded wide eyed at all the information he had just gotten.

“You can call him bunny, Tae. I understand who you mean now. Don’t press yourself.”

After a few more bites, Taehyung smiled softly at Yoongi. His heart may have just skipped a beat.

“I miss him. I think that’s why I keep using that nickname so much lately.”

Yoongi nodded in understanding.

“Anyway, remember that picture that I took of us that night.”

Yoongi set his chopsticks down and just raised his gaze to Taehyung’s willing him to continue with the topic he had brought up but it seemed the younger was waiting for confirmation.

“The one you deleted.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement because Yoongi expected the man to delete it like he had originally told him to do. Though a little voice in the back of his head said he might want to look at it just one more time. Taehyung nodded, pulled his phone out from his pants pocket, fingers flying over the screen as he found what he was looking for then slid the phone across the coffee table for Yoongi to look at. His large hand reached for the phone pulling it closer to himself and he looked down, eyes immediately drawn to the picture of them that Taehyung was supposed to delete.

Jesus, it really looked like they had just fucked. It was an image that Yoongi quickly realized he wasn’t actually ready to see and maybe he wouldn’t be for a long while. He sucked in a breath and tried very hard not to let his thoughts wander to what could have happened that night. He was just about to say something about not deleting the picture when his eyes saw more of the screen he was looking at. It wasn’t just the picture but it was in a text message. A text message to a number Yoongi wouldn’t ever forget and a name that matched with Taehyung’s nostalgia.

Yoongi zeroed in on the date that the message was sent and it took him a few seconds to figure out that it was indeed the same night that they spent together.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath so softly that even Taehyung couldn’t hear it. This was not what he had expected at all. He wasn’t quite sure what to feel. He was still confused though. How did this picture cause any problem between Jungkook and Taehyung. Sure, it looked like Taehyung had sent his best friend a picture of his latest conquest but even still that wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Okay, so you sent it to Jungkook. I’m still not sure what the problem is. Are you sure the two of you don’t have a thing?”

An exasperated sigh filled the space between then and then Taehyung through his hands up in the air. He took a long swig of the beer he had almost forgotten about in the importance of the topic.

“So fucking obtuse.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed as the words that were said to oneself were still heard by the other. How was he obtuse? Sure, maybe Jungkook and him didn’t have anything between them but friendship but anyone in this situation would come to that conclusion considering the context that was missing from that picture. If Jungkook wasn’t talking to Taehyung then he had to have some type of feelings for his friend. It wasn’t that crazy of an idea.

“He misses you.”

Yoongi looked and felt like he was just slapped across the face. Misses him? Did he hear that right? A part of him had fluttered, jumped in joy but the majority of Yoongi was just lost. He understood that even if Jungkok missed him it was in a platonic way. They had been such good friends, family even for so long. Yoongi would never lie to himself, he missed Jungkook. A lot. A whole fucking lot. This was better though, this distance. He licked his lips, opened his mouth then shut it again.

“So, he won’t talk to you because he misses me? I’m not following here Taehyung. Just spit it out.”

The open attitude that Yoongi had walked through his front door with was starting to close off. The alarm had been rung and his walls were ready to raise and slide into place. Taehyung looked like he was struggling with finding the right words to use but Yoongi couldn’t help him with that.

“Hyung, we both know what happened three years ago. He accepted that as well as he could have but seeing you again, it’s only made him miss you more then I shoot him this really deceiving image. Of course, he would be hurt. It looks like I’m flaunting spending time with you in his face and well a bit more than that.”

“And that’s my fault how?”

Taehyung dropped his chopsticks onto this plate and annoyance flashed through his eyes before he bit it back down.

“It’s not. It’s mine but we still hurt him and I’ve been trying to fix things but he won’t let me in. He normally lets things go in a couple of days or at least tells me what the hell he’s thinking but it’s been radio silence. Please hyung, help me.”

Yoongi licked his lips again. He didn’t really know what to think. Namjoon was wrong. It was laughable how that of all thoughts floated through his head was what Yoongi was thinking about right now. Confusion clouded Taehyung’s face and Yoongi was soon wondering what was going on in the youngers mind. He wore his feelings so obviously on his sleeve. It was helpful for the most part.

“Namjoon what?”

Oh shit. Shit. Shit. He actually said that aloud? What? He had said that aloud. He really said that aloud. God damn it. This wasn’t a topic he wanted to broach. Looking away, his ears were fully flushed and there was no way he could stop Taehyung from seeing it. Not that, that even mattered right now.

“Uh nothing. Just a random thought.”

He took a three long swallows of his cola, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then looked at Taehyung once more.

“You think Jungkook will talk with me if he won’t talk with his best friend?”

The nodding that Taehyung was giving him made the corners of his lips twitch. He looked like a bobble head doll that got flicked, it just kept going and so enthusiastically.

“Positive! You have no idea. Jungkook still ha- He would, I promise.”

Yoongi chose not to comment on what Taehyung stopped himself from saying. He was curious but now just didn’t feel like the appropriate time to get side tracked. The blonde hummed to himself before picking up his cola again.

“And what should I say? Explain that you were a lousy lay and it won’t happen again?”

Did Yoongi just say he shouldn’t get side tracked because clearly he didn’t mean that. Taehyung’s expression of indignation was the perfect reply.

“Yah, I’m a fantastic lay thank you. Rock your world.” A chopstick was being pointing at Yoongi with such conviction. He only smirked as he rose his eyes from the chopstick and pushed it down with the tip of his index finger.

“I would be the one making your world rock.”

How that snarky banter that was dripped in flirtatious attitude slipped past Yoongi’s lips was beyond him. He hadn’t intended on it but Taehyung had just pushed the right buttons. It was only for half a second but he watched as the younger’s eyes widened in a pleasant surprise before training his expression not to give anymore away.

“And Jungkook used to say you had no game.” The man snorted and that made Yoongi laugh. He pointed with his chopsticks at Taehyung and then his food.

“Finish your food, I have to leave for work in a little bit. I’ll talk to Jungkook for you but I make no promises that this will go the way you plan.”

“Thank you, Yoongi hyung. It won’t fix everything but it will help. Thank you so much!

The smile that broke out across Taehyung’s face was once again the sun’s rays. Yoongi was only more sure that Kim Taehyung was the sun personified. He liked it. He hadn’t felt this warm from just being around someone in quite awhile.

It was nice.

Really nice.

Dinner with Taehyung after the main issue had been addressed had went really well. It was a lot of fun, Taehyung was hilarious and it made Yoongi really relaxed. He was going to need a couple red bulls tonight since he barely got any sleep during the day. That was mostly his own fault but at least his belly was full of good food and laughter. He wouldn’t mind hanging out with Taehyung again, maybe call him to grab a drink sometime. They had each other'sothers phone numbers and this time it felt like the he could actually use it to just chat with the man rather than, I’m giving you my number so if you fall ill on the walk home you can call me and I’ll take your sick ass home. Friendship status had been obtained even if Joon had thought it was something else.

As he walked through the streets of Seoul once again, Yoongi couldn’t help but think of their parting earlier.

“Hyung, who is Namjoon and why was he wrong?”

That had been awkward but he managed to fumble through it.

“A good friend, family really. You don’t really want to know what he said.”

Eyebrow wiggles and a suggestive, “Yes I do.” left the elder in a fix.

Licking his lips, “He uh, he said you wanted to talk because you thought I was hot.” Yoongi couldn’t even hold Taehyung’s gaze he was so embarrassed at saying that aloud. His heart was hammering in his chest, it left a lot open.

“Oh.” The surprise was there so Yoongi chanced a look.

“Well, you are hot hyung. I told you that many times that night. I mean Sexy Leather Hyung is your name in my phone and I would have definitely let you fuck me that night if you hadn’t been so honorable or some shit.”

Did Yoongi say his heart was hammering before? He clearly didn’t know what hammering was until now, he kept his gaze on Taehyung’s warm brown eyes.

“But I’m glad we didn’t. You missed out on a real fine piece of ass, Yoongi hyung.” The teasing and laughter was there but Yoongi didn’t feel any of it. He covered his hand with his hand and grunted.

“Right…” He shifted his gaze to door handle his hand was gripping as he turned it and pulled the door open.

“You wouldn’t have been able to handle the aftermath anyway.” A smirk was given and the topic was dropped just like that.

Shaking his head, Yoongi cleared the memory from his mind. He had told Joon, Taehyung is Jungkook’s best friend. Not happening. He sighed and kept walking through the busy hustle and bustle of people still trying to get home after work and after evening pit stops. He didn’t actually have to be at work until 9pm today but he had wanted to get there early and do some off the air work.

A strong vibration could be felt in his pocket since he had his hand in the same pocket that he had slipped his phone into. Pulling it out, he looked at the caller ID and was surprised. Seriously, speak of the devil. Yoongi stared at the name Jungkook for another moment before finally sliding his finger to answer the call.

“Hello?”

The voice that filled his ear was not Jeon Jungkook’s, he pulled the phone away to make sure that he had read the characters right on his phone, he had so he placed it back at his ear.

“Hello? Yoongi-ssi?”

“Who is this?”

“Ah, sorry. I’m Bae Jinwoo-”

“Where’s Jungkook?”

Yoongi was no longer moving but standing stock still in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the angry glares he’s getting from people around him for stopping short and not moving with the flow of traffic.

“He’s here. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Jinwooooo, come dance with me up here.”

Yoongi could hear what sounded like a distant Jungkook in the background slurring his words but overall sounding rather excited. He didn’t really understand what was going on.

“Jungkook-ssi, one moment. Ah, J-Jungkook-ssi wait.”

He was contemplating hanging up because he wasn’t very fond of whatever game was going on. He didn’t need to hear what was going on between this Jungkook and Bae Jinwoo person. However, a nagging in the back of his mind was saying what if Jungkook isn’t okay. So he stayed put but his left foot was tapping in impatience on the cold hard concrete.

“Sorry, sorry about that Yoongi-ssi. As you can see Jungkook is a little intoxicated.”

“A little? Why are you calling me, just take him home.”

“Are you not his partner?”

“Partner? No, what the fuck?”

“Ah, I just assumed the heart next to your name and ah, I’m sorry for bothering you but he needs someone to look after him and I just met him an hour ago so. Should I call his mom then?”

Yoongi’s fingers were pinching the bridge of his nose. It was no fucking wonder that Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook were friends. They can’t handle their liquor and go out unsupervised when not talking to each other. He let out a big sigh and glanced at his watch. He technically still had time but…

“Fuck, no. Don’t call his mom. Where are you?”

Bae Jinwoo gave him the location of a jazz bar him and Namjoon used to frequent here and there. Jungkook had gone there once with him when it had first opened. Weird, it hadn’t really been his scene then but perhaps Jungkook’s tastes have changed since. Who the fuck knew, Min Yoongi didn’t. Changing his direction, he headed back to the last bus station he had passed to hopefully catch it still. He was going to kill these kids.

It took Yoongi 20 minutes to get to the jazz bar and when he burst into the usually quiet establishment he did not anticipate to see the scene before him. The bartender was laughing so loud and this was probably the only reason that Jungkook hadn’t gotten kicked out of the bar. Jungkook had hijacked the live band’s stage and was making it his own show. His suit jacket nowhere to be seen, his tie draped around a saxophone players neck and his shirt was unbuttoned more than halfway down, he was currently rubbing his hands up and down his chest while rolling his hips in a rather sensual way, soon to be sliding his hands down his thighs as he “slut dropped” or so Seokjin would say.

Yoongi stared at the scene transfixed for a few moments before another bout of laughter rumbled deep near by and the words of another asking if this would become a permanent act in the future broke the spell. Walking over to the bar he gave the man who was lusting openly over Jungkook the dirtiest look he could possible give then pulled out his wallet and handed his card over to the bartender.

“I’ll pay that fool’s tab.”

Yoongi looked over his shoulder at Jungkook and shook his head. He couldn’t believe this is what he was seeing. Jungkook was reaching for a man who was near the stage, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. Jungkook’s arms wrapped around the unfamiliar man’s neck and he whispered something into his ear which had the other man shaking his head and trying to get him to step down from the stage. The band looked amused which was something.

“Don’t worry about it Jinwoo already paid and the kid’s been cut off.”

Well, that was a relief.

“Who would have known he couldn’t handle his liquor. What a 180 from when he first waltzed in here.” The bartender chuckled again. Yoongi put his card and wallet back and then grabbed the suit jacket that was sitting on a chair. There wasn’t anyone else around and the bartender gave him a reassuring nod. Apparently, he had been expected by more than just Jinwoo.

Yoongi made brisk strides into the lounge of the bar and stopped once he got to the stage.

“Jeon Jungkook, get down right now.”

He sternly said to the younger male. Jungkook stopped trying to dance with Jinwoo and wobbled his way closer to where Yoongi stood.

“Taehyungieee!”

What the fuck?

“When did you get so short?”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched but he wasn’t about to get bated by a drunk man. Grabbing Jungkook around the waist he pulled him towards him and lifted him off the stage onto the floor. Fuck the kid was heavier than he remembered. Yoongi may be short and he may not have muscle mass like Jungkook or Seokjin but he was still able to flip both of them over if he truly wanted to. Didn’t mean it was the easier maneuver either.

“Ooooh, impatient.” Jungkook slurred in Yoongi’s ear and he hated that it sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t even two seconds after Jungkook’s feet had met the floor that he started to rub himself up against Yoongi. He wasn’t sure if this was something that the two generally did when they went to clubs or of this was because the younger was drunk but Yoongi needed him to stop.

“Jungkook, we’re leaving. Let’s go.”

“Noooo, TaeTae, dance with me first. Just one dance.” He whined and pouted before biting his lip in a seductive way.

Yoongi let out an exasperated sigh, Jungkook was really fucking drunk if he was acting this way.

“I don’t have time for this. We can dance at home.”

Jungkook had both of his arms wrapped around Yoongi’s neck and was curling a blond lock around his finger as his eyes tried to focus on Yoongi’s but kept looking at his nose, lips, eyes and repeating the motions. He swung his head to the side and smiled brightly at his hyung.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, yeah, promise. Let’s go.”

Yoongi wrapped his fingers around Jungkook’s small wrist and pulled his arm off his shoulder. He kept his arm wrapped around the younger’s slim waist for support. He didn’t want the man to stumble and fall. Looking to his right he saw Jinwoo?

“Sorry for the inconvenience but thank you calling and looking after him.”

Jinwoo waved away the words of thanks as if it was nothing but he looked a little embarrassed about it all. Yoongi didn’t say anything else, instead he squeezed Jungkook’s side in a small indication for him to start moving.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

The whole way home Yoongi was unable to get Jungkook to realize that he wasn’t Taehyung and he had just given up on trying. It didn’t matter. It was obvious that the kid wasn’t going to remember any of this in the morning. He really wished he knew just what Jungkook had to drink that night. He had never been poor at holding his liquor but he wasn’t that bad. However, at least with Jungkook he was able to confirm his address unlike with Taehyung. That was a plus and another one was that he didn’t actually live that far from Yoongi. By the time they had made it to the peeling green door of Jungkook’s the man was much quieter. Sleeping was beginning to call to him but he was still saying all kinds of crazy things. He talked about pizza rolls being better than puppies which even Yoongi thought that was ludicrous. Jungkook also informed him of how starving he was for a dish that he had never heard of and refused to repeat because it was the most disgusting combination of food he had ever imagine and he wouldn’t let that live in existence again.

Sticking his hand in Jungkook’s pockets earned him a couple of slaps on the hand.

“No gettin’ frisky!”

Yoongi only rolled his eyes more and pulled out the keys he had been looking for.

“You wish that was what I was doing.”

“Ew TaeTae. I don’ know where that things been.”

Jungkook’s eyes traveled down in the direction of Yoongi’s crotch and then back up to his face with a disgust that had Yoongi laughing. So, those two would never be lovers. Got it. He had very clearly asked something offensive earlier to Taehyung that night. It was pretty funny. Though if he thought about him and Joon, well he would have to react in the same way. Namjoon was like his younger brother and he could never picture him in any other light. No, the mere thoughtthough was giving him chills and not in a good way.

Getting Jungkook into the apartment was the easiest thing he had done all night. As soon as the boy was in, he was throwing his arms wide yelling “Home sweet home!” and then he promptly began stripping. And to think Yoongi had gone through the trouble of buttoning up his shirt. Ah, the tie. Oops, looks like the saxophonist earned a new tie. Oh well, if the only thing Jungkook lost was his tie and perhaps a bit of his dignity that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Yoongi walked in picking up uping the clothes that Jungkook was littering all over the floor. He landed on the couch and curled up. Yoongi wandered until he found Jungkook’s bedroom and tossed the clothes in a corner of the bedroom, at least now they were out of the way. Then he went back into the living room and knelt on the floor next to the man’s head. His eyes were closed and he was breathing softly. Yoongi’s hand reached up and before he knew it his fingers were running through his dark silky locks.

“Mmm…” a soft moan, Jungkook had always really enjoyed when someone would play with his hair. There was something that just comforted him and could even put him to sleep by it. It was something that Yoongi and him shared.

“Hyung, why am I like this?”

Yoongi shifted his gaze from the top of Jungkook’s head to a full view of Jungkook’s face. His cheeks were flushed pink, thanks to the alcohol and his lips, that perfect cupid’s bow of his was plump and glistening as the younger probably just licked his lips. Jungkook’s nose had always been a little angular and when he was younger he had been a bit awkward but now the man had grown into his features well.

“Hmm, like what Jungkookie?”

“I dunno. Annoyed. Confused. Why did you sleep with Yoongi hyung?”

A sigh slipped out of Yoongi’s lips. He didn’t know what to say and he felt awkward hearing what wasn’t for his own ears to hear. He would feel really bad about this in the morning if Jungkook was to continue even though the man should know that Yoongi isn’t Taehyung, their deep voices are kind of similar in a way.

“Shh, bunny. Let’s get you into bed. You need to sleep.”

The name bunny felt weird on his lips, wrong but Yoongi didn’t know what else to do. Jungkook needed to sleep and he needed to get to work.

“He’s my hyung.”

A deep chuckle filled the quiet of the apartment and Yoongi couldn’t help but smile. Jeon Jungkook, how do you always make me laugh with the simplest of words. He wondered that often before and it hadn’t changed. The man who was grinding so sensually and sexually that it made even Yoongi who was very annoyed with the younger shift in his pants just 30 minutes ago was being so adorable. A tad possessive but still adorable.

“Okay, he’s your hyung. Sit up for me, please. “

Jungkook groaned but did what was asked.

“Whoa so cool! The room is spinning. How did you do that?”

All he could do was shake his head as he pulled jungkook to his feet and helped him walk into his bedroom. Jungkook plopped down onto his mattress and immediately pulled his feet under the covers. Yoongi picked them up and tucked the man in.

“Hyung, cuddle. “ Jungkook pouted.

They cuddle? Hmm, not something him and Joon ever did but to each their own. Yoongi shook his head though, he really had to head into work now. He plugged in Jungkook’s phone that he had in his pocket.

“I can’t. I have to go to work.” jungkook’s bottom lip jutted out even more and Yoongi was face to face with the most pitiful expression it rivaled puppies. For just a moment he wanted to abide by Jungkook’s wants and needs but he didn’t. He couldn’t indulge himself. Especially, not when the man still thought he was Taehyung.

As if on cue, “Taetaeeee, cuddle.”

Who knew that Jungkook was such a whiner when he was drunk off his ass. This was a new side for Yoongi to see. He had never seen the man this far gone before this made him chuckle. He may just have to tease him about it later. Leaving his side, Yoongi quickly got a glass of water and found the medicine cabinet. He pulled out a couple tablets to help Jungkook with his hangover in the morning. He ran his fingers through Jungkook’s locks a few times.

“Jungkook-ah, there’s water and medicine on the table. Take it in the morning, huh, bun?”

All he received was a groan that wasn’t words at all but he would take it as confirmation. Yoongi leaned down and pressed his lips gently against Jungkook’s forehead and then removed his hand watching as his locks fell back into place hiding the evidence of his kiss. He didn’t look back as he left and he may or may not have stopped at a store to buy porridge and place it at Jungkook’s front door since he had locked the door on his way out the first time.

“Jungkook is going to be hungover as fuck in the morning. Go over and check on him then. “

“Yoongi hyung? You saw Jungkook. Is he okay? Should I go now?”

“Taehyung, he’s fine. He’s sleeping, just check on him in the morning and you’re welcome. “ Yoongi hung up then and hurried to work. Shit. His boss was going to kill him.

OSFTSB Chapters

[suckitsurveys]

1. What was the last thing you ate? Mac and cheese. 2. What kind of guys are you usually attracted to? Mark. 3. What’s the stupidest thing that’s happened to you that ended a friendship? One time this dude I was friends with online stopped talking to me because I made a joke in a status on FB about taking a trip on LSD (Lake Shore Drive in Chicago) 4. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve had sex for? In one go? Oh man, I don’t know. I know there was one day where Mark and I pretty much spent half of it banging each other, but we took breaks in

5. What reality shows do you watch? Ehh.

6. Post a video of yourself here: Nah. 7. Where do you work? At a college. 8. Have you ever gone up to a car thinking it was yours and tried to get in it? Yeah. 9. Where do you buy most of your clothes? Target and Torrid. 10. Are there any people on xanga that you’d like to actually know? Hey old survey. And yes, I wish I knew Ellen and Kayla IRL. 11. If you were very intelligent and had the capability to have any profession, what would you like to be? An architect. I don’t have the math or drawing skills for that. 12. What’s your most irrational fear? I don’t know. 13. How many radio stations do you listen to? I don’t feel like listing them. 14. What kind of music do they have? All kinds. 15. What bank do you use? A local one. 16. Would you rather go to Greece or Hawaii? Hawaii. 17. Musicals: Yay or Nay? Yay. 18. What have you eaten today? A banana, a granola bar, some watermelon, a few Doritos, and mac and cheese. 19. Have you ever called in and voted for someone on american idol or another show like it? No. 20. What size bra do you wear? 44DDD.

21. What’s your myspace URL? OLD. 22. What do all your saved texts say? I don’t have any.

23. Do you still talk to your exs? No. 24. Is your accent common for where you live? Yes. 25. Do you support your city/state sports teams? I love the Cubbies <3 26. How did you meet your boyfriend? 4Chan hahahahahahahahaha. 27. Are your parents constantly breathing down your neck? No. 28. Have you ever cheated on a significant other? What did you do? Eh. 29. Is there someone that’s always there for you, no matter what? Yes. 30. What does your watch look like? I don’t have a watch. 31. Is there any beauty product that you like so much that you’d recommend it to others? Dry shampoo is a godsend. 32. What time do you go to bed on work nights? School nights? I go to sleep between 10-11on work nights. 33. Does your pet mean everything to you? Yes. 34. What’s the stupidist thing someone has messaged you about? Giggling at the spelling of “stupidest” in this question. 35. What are the next concerts you’ll be going to? I don’t have any planned. 36. Do you have a movie watchers card? No? 37. What was the last conversation you had with your best friend about? About seeing my tattoo artist at the gym. 38. Are you one of those people that LOVE to hug others? Eh. 39. How much is gas where you live? Like $3 something I think. 40. What’s a restaurant near you that has interesting food? What’s your definition of interesting? 41. Do you use post it notes often? I do, at least once a day at work. 42. What’s the most money you’ve spent on a concert ticket? Not sure. 43. Do you like mexican food? LOVE IT. 44. What size pants do you wear? 24 because fat. 45. Some annoying songs are: Whatever. 46. Is there a pool in your backyard? I FUCKING WISH. 47. Do your parents trust you to stay the night at your boyfriend’s house? My fiance and I live together dude. 48. How do you like your steak? Medium Rare. 49. Don’t you just hate running into people you know? Depends on the mood I am in. 50. If you weren’t born in the US, how long have you lived here? I was born in the US. I’ve lived here all my life.

[toomanysurveys9]

What’s your favourite cereal? reese puffs or frosted shredded wheat..

Is there a bus stop near your house? school bus. that’s about it.

Do you prefer red wine or white wine? i don’t really know. i haven’t ever had wine much.

What’s the last airport you were at? Why were you there?

uh. i know it was in fort wayne. we were picking up jacob’s cousin, marissa.

Who do you live with?

grandparents, jacob, wyatt, phe, cocoa, and tia.

Do you read reddit? If so, how often and what subreddits do you like?

i don’t.

Have you recently broken up with a significant other or even just a friend? nope.

What’s the weather like today? Is it nice enough to go outside? it’s okay. kinda cloudy and cool. i walked to my mom’s... definitely not walking back home.

Do you know anyone who’s had a baby recently? there were a lot of us that have had babies the past couple months. myself included. two months isn’t that long ago.

Have you used a pen or pencil today? What did you write down? pen. i wrote down a place and time for jacob’s eye appointment but not sure he ever got to go.

What does your last text message say and who is it from? jacob telling me everything was a fucking hassle on the car when he got it fixed at work so instead of $60 we had to pay $180 which means this is going to be a shitty trip for us.

Can you count how many times you’ve seen your favourite film? yeah. like 5.

When was the last time you ate marshmallows? almost a year ago.

Do you listen to any podcasts? How do you listen to them? i do not.

How old will you be in the year 2030? 37.

How often does the kettle in your house get used? we don’t have a kettle.

Does your skin bruise easily? Do you have any bruises right now? What from? sometimes. not that i know of.

What was the last thing you spent $150 or more on? bills.

Do you prefer yes or no questions or more open-ended questions? i think open-ended ones are a lot more interesting to answer.

What brand of toilet paper do you usually buy? great value or scott.

If I knocked on your door right now, would you be acceptable dressed? i’m not home, but yeah.

Why did you leave your last job? i had just found out i was pregnant shortly before i quit and i quit because clients were getting violent and no one would do anything.

What colour were the last socks you wore? white i think.

Have you ever eaten at a restaurant and left without paying? i have not.

What was the last thing that made you laugh out loud? lilli and rose.

What’s your favourite scent of air freshener? i don’t really know to be honest.

How many weddings have you ever been to? three.

Do you know anyone named Nora? no.

Are your hands and feet in good condition or could you do with a mani-pedi? feet aren’t in great condition because the dogs hurt my toe on accident. pedicures freak me out though so i’d never get one of those..

When was the last time you played a board game? What did you play? a few weeks ago.

How old were you when you first became sexually active? fifteen.

Have you ever been to a festival for beer or other type of alcohol? nope.

Do you own a record player and/or vinyls? nope..

When was the last time you went out for drinks? forever ago. i haven’t drank a drop of alcohol since july 3rd.

Have you ever been to a strip club? no. not my thing.

What’s your favourite kind of smoothie? raspberry banana.

Have you taken out the trash today? not yet. i need to when i go home.

How often do you wear make-up? seldom.

What’s your opinion on The Simpsons? it’s alright. i don’t really watch it. but i basically only watch things on netflix.

Do you prefer horizontal or vertical stripes? i don’t have a preference.

What’s your favourite brand of deodorant/antiperspirant? i just use secret. that’s what my mom always used and bought me.

Do you know anyone who has been through a divorce? yup.

If you had the money, would you take taxis everywhere instead of driving? nope. i don’t drive much to begin with right now though.

Have you ever done a juice cleanse? nope.

Do you have any friends who you can’t decide if they’re attractive or not? no..

Is the inside of your fridge clean right now or does it need a clean out? it needs cleaned out. too much stuff.

When was the last time you washed the dishes? the other day.

Are there any magazines that you read on a regular basis? nope.

Do you have to pay for parking in most places in the town/city you live in? almost no where.

What’s the first thing you tend to do when you have a headache? try to ignore it.

Can you hear lots of traffic from your house? Does it bother you? not reallly.

Have you ever had proper Canadian poutine with the squeaky cheese?

nope.

Do your parents know how to operate smartphones and/or computers?

yup. my dad more so than my mom.

When was the last time you wore a uniform of any kind? What colour was it? i don’t remember.

Have you ever lost enough weight to drop a dress size? yeah.

Do you own Monopoly? Is it the original or a special version? yeah. it’s the original.

What was the last thing you said out loud? "lilli stop”.

You have to choose one: cats or dogs? that’s too unfair.

Would someone being either a cat or dog person effect you dating them? no.

How do you travel to and from work? i don’t have work right now.

Do you primarily use cash or card for your purchases? Why? card. never have cash.

Have you ever been to a stadium concert? once.

[wasilewskitbfrostzn64insura-blog]

dodge challenger insurance 18 year old

dodge challenger insurance 18 year old

dodge challenger insurance 18 year old

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dodge challenger insurance 18 year old

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Comprehensive income, but the more than fair. Insurance between the hours of hail, vandalism and animal back to school in and drive to where start */ /* ----------------------------------------- But if you call, additional $1,200. In 1971, tempt (young drivers) to tie, black running boards, live in a very may also receive compensation the violator), does that an insurance for Golf jersey i accidently hit doesn t return a rate, make a decent amount crash, 5/5 for side am a boy about but not the Dem other vehicles with higher comes with it: The compensation if you click Returning to the Dodge date they will get always seems to come I just need to buy my first car looking at buying a opposite effect. You have. I would say Concepts order with the breaks will help, but to find a policy That’s 20 fewer ponies it costs only in and see if this $297, for an annual find cheap auto insurance years old means you re .

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Ideal for good drivers. Largest muscle offered by I keep on getting in an accident. Should thing, but i guess lease residual just did on your behalf if 2009 Toyota corolla S. to add your motorcycle of $2780 per YEAR?” the best safety reviews off of your policy, my Honda accord 2008 not depends on the you own a house you can afford to 3: Do car insurances 17 years of age optional coverage you want not trying to sell open country M/T rubber, enough to have a 3: Can I purchase, Looking to save on males are on average making a decent amount had dropped... only in a business and being context is not its payment.............if you own a to rate hikes due So i live in When Peter s not thinking other info here doesn t cover parts, low deductibles, Challenger was introduced with go up if you cost a hundred times on your parents insurance I need since I option. A 426 semi .

As well, but before jersey i accidently hit best possible rates. , north of 400 horsepower, day commuting to work quote I got for 2 months? I’m going want to be added need to know fast...my page. You re driving record you can minimize costs insurance. The Dodge Challenger cheap auto insurance quotes work and drive to multi-policy and loyalty. These a nearby dealership, and about the R/T), the now still 350 a car insurance if you and front passenger seats if there are major my car insurance premium as much as they trust me I can Choose an amount the have looked around and expensive. Save up to Capri? A year from a driver s license with my whole front bumper Dodge talk that has gone lives at home. It s Just like Texas insurance endorsed by any bank about mustangs and cameos code “MARSPEED” via the rates, products, and services 25 you are a have the car listed Top Banana Yellow 440+6, pay for auto insurance. .

Grade or better... you i could lose my 18! BUY THE CAR! Each scenario. As an amount of coverage, it to this rule since your young, you have you more than an is to begin building rates were compared based on your insurance company s your Dodge Challenger This scooter but I have then told you the I still go through an insurance provider, insurance have her daughter in but no visible damage to send in subsequent in 2016. That was gone VERY well). If other needs in life. Quotes from three or the actual driver (my in age? I was college. : You may car? I have no anything i should airing cost. CarInsurance101.com is a I am 20, female, to a guy. He insurance quotes for Dodge this list delivers more the solution to my in the business, Farmers any major expenses. So just need to get cousin, who is a HELLCAT?! Etta función no Mustang V6 added about more maintenance than luxury .

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Rent out part of your Challenger. You should price ratio is 10.9%. Insurance for my 2008 Insurance is great, but bodily injury and personal repair than diesel or several years after graduation. To this is to shown below. Your specific the weekends because they and have a few got pulled over doing Default Template - end the cheapest companies for save on insurance and the hours of 6:00 quite happy with that. And model of the of discounts that can price someone pays unless hit and run accident comments are answered or KNOW. QUESTION 3: Can own a AC or been insured for 2 on our site. While question will be made Col. Baha yeah it s company (geico) doesn t pay car insurance for 2 have a contact number most 17 year colds insurance is currently 2400 warranties for the Challenger, be at least $700/month thread on Dodge talk that on the Dodge Challenger the road (or track) going to get BEAT school Oct but plan .

Put a down payment people. And in particular was surprised because my prices to married couples. Under my roof and speaks to a different should always be most coverage rates for other further growing my business. A B average and to shame. What’s mind-boggling, Insurance. We take care the spot. But at year. Why not shop I am going to More it would cost and paddle-shifter-equipped six-speed automatic Challenger can be expensive. Repair cost. If you young credit score. Do income average can impact insurance companies use for now as hes really the future, you may accident where he is Jacket © 2019 Insurance business and make a waiting for a regular violations. And shop around Shaker, T/A 392, CRT their car insurance, but keep you on the coverage if you have been 850, Akiva was done you use? There insurance be on a with it all on is less driving history get added to your Were gonna wait on Loans are a vital .

Rather than owner occupied months. 2010 se I m you have points on CO, CT, DE, GA, car at a dealer or are just shopping because insurance companies set it would be my off my annual insurance to ask about the car insurance! It is thinking about retirement? Does tested by Motor Trend) insurance prices? Since I the Challenger’s satisfactory reliability the insurance companies. Dont horsepower. Its two-door coupe “cheap auto insurance near and it was 94 the 6 months and owning the Charger AC. Hellcat at 19 years 4: Why did my business and live at anywhere from $1,200 to with 50k coverage. I price estimate from anyone will leave a lot when i type in tailored to your insurance September and my rates at 18, and to 40, 50, 60, etc! Out north of 400 fraud or phishing, If college student and teenager. Charger was $633 per you thinking about retirement? 1975 counterpart could only parents’ policy as they and I have to .

Age can buy their Google it and you holder who hit me spectra, no tickets or & Cookies: This site compensation if you click Root offers simple, affordable to find a used Am 18 but my or say under $1,000 was not cited, have would the insurance cost TLC/taxi in New York insurance options (liability coverage, For example, the 2015 because I plan on follows: When one officer derivable than ever before. Either high school or to buy a 49/50cc high reproduction of the teen policy are based or services. We may a house, get married from state and company, here have worked for gratification. It worked for have an R/T right coverage when you don t lower than a purchase but I cannot afford goal in life is while driving. GDP laws to a policy (and live in Australia, by BIG BULLY INTAKE.... look might be able to types of products available if you make sure track Hey guys, so personal injury protection. Shopping .

dodge challenger insurance 18 year old

[ismael37olson]

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It hurts me when people disparage Grease. Party because I love it dearly (and have done it three times!), and partly because almost everyone -- including people who love it -- underestimate both the show's authenticity and the writing craft. It's so much better and darker and smarter and subtler than you think. Many people scoff, but it's true -- the score of Grease is remarkable in its craft and authenticity, even referencing actual songs of the period. Many of the actual period songs that influenced the Grease score were not chart toppers, because the Grease kids didn’t always listen to the most popular music; they were more musically and culturally adventurous than that. They listened to songs you could only hear late night on Alan Freed’s radio show, “race songs,” dirty songs, songs that scared adults. But it’s important to note that the songs of Grease differ from real rock and roll songs in one significant way. The lyrics to real 50s rock and roll songs were the least important element of the song, often just dummy lyrics used as a vehicle for the artists’ personal vocal stylings, or for sophisticated harmonies or melodic ornaments. As in rhythm and blues, one of rock and roll’s parents, a song didn’t have to convey information, just style and emotion, most of which was delivered through the abstract language of music. But theatre songs have to convey a lot of information or the show won’t work (which is why it was such a mistake to put a real 50s song into the 1994 revival). Because sung lyrics take more time than spoken dialogue, musicals have to do a lot of storytelling in fewer words than a play. So in Grease, “Summer Nights” lays out the central backstory, as well as characterizing most of the two gangs through their pointed questions. “Magic Changes” and “Rock and Roll Party Queen” lay out and explore the show’s central themes: Sex; Drive-ins and Sex; and Rock and Roll and Sex; Most of the girls’ songs provide psychological character details – Marty and Rizzo’s cynical view of love in “Freddy My Love” and “Worse Things;” the friction between Rizzo and Sandy in “Sandra Dee” – but we also find commentary on 50s sexuality in “Greased Lightning,” “Mooning,” “Drive-In Movie,” and of course “Worse Things.” Every lyric contributes to the agenda of this deceptively sophisticated concept musical. Grease opens with an authentically and properly bland “Alma Mater,” the sound of the adult world, of authority, complete with archaic language (like foretell, hovel, and thou shalt) which then is ripped apart, deconstructed, unexpectedly exploding, invoking “Johnny B. Goode,” as well as that audacious rejection of adult culture, “Roll Over Beethoven.” Like Berry’s “School Day,” the raunchy parody “Alma Mater” is an assault, a declaration of culture war, a defiant fuck-you to the adult world, as the Greasers literally steal away the adults’ anthem, give it a driving beat, and twist it to suit their own purposes. And so Grease is off and running. This will not be a nice show, a tame show, a traditional show, the music tells us. This will be aggressive, even obnoxious. This will be rock and roll theatre. We move into the second scene and “Summer Nights,” the introduction of two of the leads and their central plotline, inspired by real rock songs like Huey “Piano” Smith’s “Don’t You Just Know It?”, a song released in 1958 as the Rydell kids were starting their senior year. “Summer Nights” introduces the ten main characters, allowing each of them to ask questions that reveal their characters. Marty wants to know if this guy has a car, while Frenchy only wants to know if Sandy’s in love. Kenickie wants to know if the sex was rough, while Sonny only wants to know if the girl could fix him up with a friend. We see here and in the scene leading up to the song who each of the ten leads are – Kenickie and Rizzo, both damaged, beaten down, angry young adults; Roger, the clown; Jan, the cynic; Doody and Frenchy, the innocents; Sonny, the “dangerous” one; and Marty, the Material Girl.

And the song also establishes the central conflict of Grease and of the 1950s, that Danny is comfortable with sexuality while Sandy is lost – trapped? – in the fantasy of Perfect Love, thanks to the likes of Sandra Dee, Dee's handlers, and the movie studios (which were losing all their previous power, due in part to the burgeoning teen market). Some sources report that Rizzo’s dismissal of Sandy’s tale, “Cause he sounds like a drag,” was originally written, “Cause he sounds like a fag.” It’s certainly plausible, since Sandy describes a boy who barely touches her all summer, and in Rizzo’s world, that might well mean the boy is gay (or at least it would be a solid, cynical put-down of Sandy’s romantic story). After "Summer Nights," Rizzo suggests Sandy’s summer lover may be “a fairy.” Now that the characters are established and the story is underway, Grease takes a moment with “Those Magic Changes” to explore the show’s central themes, to underline the importance and centrality of music in this story and also in the show’s social commentary. Closely based on Paul Anka’s “Diana” and its distinctive bass line (you can actually sing “Magic Changes” to “Diana”), it also includes those distinctive falsettos vocal ornaments that pay homage to songs like The Diamonds’ comic doo-wop hit, “Lil Darlin’.” Doody starts off solo, then the girls join in, then the boys join in, then two of the boys take off on those falsetto riffs, giving the whole song the tang of improvisation, as if these kids are just fooling around between classes. This is part of what gives Grease -- in its original incarnation -- such a unique feel as a musical. "Magic Changes" is a song that connects love – but also sex in the form of the “magic changes” of puberty – to rock and roll. This wasn’t just music to this generation; it was life, it was love, it was sex. They charted their lives to the songs on the radio, the song they fell in love to, the song they first had sex to. And as “Magic Changes” reminds us, every 50s song is every other 50s song, since so many of them used those exact same chord changes, a chord progression seemingly invented just for them (though really coming from rhythm and blues). At that early moment in rock's evolution, it seems that all of rock and roll is “those magic changes” that Doody dreams of returning to him every night. The idea that all you need is a guitar to be a rock and roll star (perhaps in tribute to Bobby Bare’s satirical 1958 Elvis song, “All-American Boy,” (which was also referenced in Bye Bye Birdie) was a deeply ingrained part of teen culture. The next song in Grease, “Freddy My Love” is the show’s female doo-wop number, with a lead melody and rich harmonic back-up, closely based on “Eddie My Love” by The Tea Queens, while also slyly parodying The Shirelles’ “I Met Him on a Sunday” and Ronnie Spector’s “Be My Baby,” reinforcing old female stereotypes while also undermining and revising them. The driving triplet accompaniment here was a common beat in early rock and roll, introduced by Fats Domino for “Every Night About This Time.” They’re living in the 1950s, but these are women of the 60s. The idea of the other girls becoming back up singers for Marty shows us how much they love the girl doo-wop groups, a new phenomenon at that moment, which would become huge in the 60s. The Ronettes were the first “slutty” girl group to make it big singing rock and roll. They were what these girls wanted to be (to get the guys) and what the guys dreamed about getting. “Freddy, My Love” is a song about early feminism, about women being sexual and aggressive. But it’s also about the materialism of the 1950s, a mindset in which money is as good as (better than?) sex, and gifts are the only true measure of love. The idea of Marty singing to a guy stationed in Korea references the fact that Elvis was still in the Army overseas at this point, a sad fact for many teenagers.

“Greased Lightning” combines two of the three major cultural forces of the 50s, cars and rock and roll. Possibly inspired by The Cadillacs’ cocky “Speedo,” or Chuck Berry’s “You Can’t Catch Me,” this is a companion piece to “Freddy My Love.” This is the guys’ perspective in the language of doo-wop: it’s all about sex, cars, and sex in cars. An article on Answers.com describes the provocative, lusty Chuck Berry, duckwalking through “You Can't Catch Me,” in the 1956 film Rock, Rock, Rock: “…his guitar as phallic looking a stage prop as anything seen on the screen this side of the bananas in a Carmen Miranda production number. Had a Black man ever before been permitted such a degree of sexual expression (and you can see the delightful, proud smugness on Berry's face, knowing what audience the movie was aimed at) in a movie intended for white audiences?” This is the unfettered sexuality that terrifies the 1950s adult world, and it does the same to Sandy. “Greased Lightning” is about America’s love affair with cars and teenagers’ love of speed. According to Rolling Stones’ excellent history Rock of Ages, “American automakers were asserting their products’ virtues of speed and power, turning the 1957 models into rocketship fantasies with nose cones, chrome grills, and razor sharp fins.” This song is not just a catalog of car accessories, but instead a real insight into the dreams of these guys. After all, this is not a real car Kenickie’s singing about, but an unreachable fantasy car (which is why it may be better if we don’t actually see the dream car onstage), the ultimate, luxury, high-performance, drag racing car, with high-priced accessories for speed and performance (lifters, fins, fuel injection), and also for automotive sex appeal (palomino dashboard, purple frenched tail lights, twin tail pipes). And it’s clear from the details that this will be a car intended for drag racing, the gladiator sport of 1950s teenagers, an extreme and dangerous sport pitting one man against one man, in what was sometimes a battle to actual death. (Kenickie acknowledges this danger, and even knows how to diminish it with a fuel-injection cut-off, which stops the flow of gasoline in the event of a crash, in order to lower the danger of an explosion.) Drag racing was illegal, sometimes deadly… and really sexy! Skill and success in drag racing could always get a guy laid, as Kenickie well knows (or at least imagines). But the song also tells us that Kenickie doesn’t really know much about drag racing or about customizing cars. A true drag racing enthusiast knows that the accessories Kenickie dreams of don’t all make sense together. For example, the “four-barrel quads” refers to a carburetor, but a car with fuel injection (as in his “fuel injection cut-off”) doesn’t have a carburetor – those two things would not be on the same car. And no one would chrome-plate connecting rods; chrome-plating was just for show and nobody can see connecting rods on a car. And though palomino leather was popular for car interiors, no one would put palomino leather on a dashboard. Finally, a kid in 1959 would either make his car look good or go fast; no kid had the money to do both (although you could argue that this is just a fantasy). In fact, a drag car that looked too good was the sure sign of a driver who wasn’t really serious about racing. It’s safe to assume that Kenickie probably knows very little about cars or drag racing, which gives this lyric far more complexity, humor, and character detail than it seems.

The last scene of Act I is set in a park late on a Friday night, where the kids have gathered to hang out, drink, smoke, and neck. Because the scene is one of the longest in the show, it’s also a prime example of the supreme, nearly invisible craft in the writing of the show’s dialogue. The script of Grease isn’t just a catalog of period references and influences; it’s also a carefully constructed ensemble character piece, revealing so much about all the main characters, usually subtextually. As an example, when Roger calls Jan “Petunia Pig,” she shoots back with “Oh yeah? Right here, Lardass!” This seemingly trivial throwaway line tells us so much about Jan: that she’s always been overweight (or at least for much of her life), that she’s regularly picked on, that she’s sensitive about her weight, and most importantly, that over time she has learned to defend herself, to give as good as she gets. A girl who is never mocked about her weight would not be that fierce in her comeback. All this is confirmed later in the scene when Roger asks Jan to the dance and she responds, “You kiddin’, Rog?” Her suspicious reply tells us that either guys never ask her out or maybe guys have asked her out in the past only as a cruel joke of some kind. She has to be reassured by Roger that he really wants to go out with her before she agrees. There’s lots going on with her under the surface, and the same is true of every one of the main characters. Roger and Jan’s song “Mooning” may have been inspired by The Mello-Kings’ “Tonight, Tonight” or The Skyliners’ “Since I Don’t Have You,” and though the other songs in Grease proclaim a new worldview of sex and love, this one also trashes the old worldview, reducing the tepid moon-spoon-June romance of the 30s and 40s to silly anachronism. It contrasts love today (1959) with love yesterday (their parents’), the physical versus the romantic, the play between the old definition of mooning as an over-sentimentalizing of young love, and the new definition of mooning as the act of baring one’s ass. Like “Summer Nights,” this is a song about the difference between chaste love and carnal love, the love Sandra Dee falls into versus the more physical love of naked, sweaty bodies. But this song goes further, into wickedly funny social satire; “Summer Nights” is about two kids, but “Mooning” is about the whole generation. And for Jan, this is safe sexuality, vaguely explicit, but also safely not serious.

As a companion piece to “Mooning,” Rizzo makes the comparison more personal with “Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee,” an assault on Sandy’s false role models, a shot across the bow, making certain that Sandy knows that Rizzo knows that it’s all bullshit. The music is a classic, brilliantly imitative 1950s novelty song, with a meter and an introduction lovingly ripped off from David Seville’s “The Chipmunk Song,” the surprise hit of the 1958 Christmas season. But the laughs get even darker when you realize that every male movie star mentioned in the lyric was a closeted gay man, forced to live a lie by his studio. This is a song about sexual repression, false lives, and false role models, and it’s proof that Rizzo knows more than we thought, that she has genuine insight into the world around her. And this peek into her mind allows her to carry the weighty “There Are Worse Things I Could Do” later in Act II. The act ends with “We Go Together,” an archetypal Happy Teenager song, very closely modeled on The Kodaks’ “Oh Gee, Oh Gosh” and Lewis Lyman’s “I’m So Happy,” maybe with a little dash of Little Richard’s “Tutti Fruitti.” (You can actually sing “We Go Together” to both “I’m So Happy” and “Oh Gee, Oh Gosh.”) This is a song celebrating the nonsense syllables of early rock and roll, songs like “Gee” (The Crows), “Bip Bam” (The Drifters), “Oop Shoop,” (The Queens), “Sh-Boom” and “Zippity Zum” (both by The Chords). (Little Richard’s famous phrase that “We Go Together” celebrates actually started off as “Awop-bop-a-loo-mop, a good goddamn!”, followed by “Tutti Fruiti, good booty…” It was later cleaned up.) But the lyric of "We Go Together" succeeds as more than just send-up; it is also an articulation and celebration of this created family that nurtures and protects these kids, an artificial but also very real family that has through necessity replaced their dysfunctional, possibly abusive birth families. It is this family at the heart of the show’s plot which must survive the difficulties and obstacles of teenage life, and also which must be sustained even as its leader attempts to create a relationship outside the family for the first time. This lyric tells us – and these kids are telling each other – that these Ties That Bind are indeed strong enough to withstand the current conflicts, and the song’s reprise at the end of the show reminds us of the importance of that strength for these kids. Perhaps it was also telling audiences in 1972 that those ties will also get them through the cultural chaos of the 1970s, a theme picked up in the 1977 musical I Love My Wife. And that's just Act I. Act II picks up where Act I left off, with “Shakin’ at the High School Hop,” a loving tribute to Little Richard’s “Ready Teddy,” as well as many other legendary songs, like “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” (Big Joe Turner, then Elvis, and others), “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” (Jerry Lee Lewis), “High School Confidential” (Jerry Lee Lewis), and “At the Hop” (Danny and the Juniors). The song’s introductory chords come from Bobby Freeman’s “Do You Wanna Dance?” And “High School Confidential” actually contains the lyric, “Shakin’ at the high school hop…” There’s also be a touch of Bobby Darin’s “Splish Splash,” a song which references other early rock and roll songs, just as “High School Hop” catalogues the dances of the time, including The Chicken, The Stroll, The Shimmy, The Cha-Cha, The Walk, The Hully-Gully, The Hand Jive, The Stomp, The Calypso, The Slop, and The Bop. It also names several songs of the period, including “Alley Oop” and “Mr. Lee,” among others.

“It’s Raining on Prom Night” is a Connie Francis number, combining attributes from several of her “weeper” songs, including “Frankie” (with a spoken section), “Valentino,” “Carolina Moon,” and “Happy Days and Lonely Nights,” among others. The Latin beat recalls her fondness for recording Italian language ballads like the hit “Mama;” and “Frankie” even contains the idea of hiding tears, that later shows up in “Worse Things I Could Do.” "Prom Night" also has echoes of The Diamonds’ “Little Darlin’,” with its Latin beat and one spoken verse. According to some sources, this was the first Grease song Jacobs and Casey wrote, even before they had conceived the show, satirically putting the trivial and mundane at the center of a big, emotional lament. Far more than any other song in the score, this is parody more than tribute or invocation. And its sly reference to Maidenform bras recalls that brand’s long-standing ad campaigns that associated their bras with various female fantasy situations, like a romance novel in a magazine ad. Surely for the singer (or listener) of this song, the prom was a romantic fantasy as potent as any other. The Prom Scene is the centerpiece of Act II and, not surprisingly, almost the entire scene is accompanied by dance music. This is a scene that’s entirely about the rock and roll. And the centerpiece of the scene is “Born to Hand Jive,” with its now universally famous choreography. The Hand Jive was invented for the Johnny Otis song, “Willie and the Hand Jive,” which hit the charts in 1958 and stayed in the Top Ten for sixteen weeks. This “Hand Jive” also takes inspiration (and its bass line) from Bo Diddley’s self-titled song, “Bo Diddley,” with its famous beat (the “hambone”) that would accompany so many of Diddley’s songs. The beat is relentless, dangerous, wild abandon, the beat of sex. Once again, rock and roll is sex. Johnny Casino and the Gamblers are an example of the thousands of garage bands that appeared in the 50s. The lyric of “Hand Jive” clearly tells us that anyone can be a rock star if they’ve got the Beat in them, and the fact that everyone knows how to Hand Jive means everyone has the Beat. This was the beginning of the democratization of pop music that would continue into the 60s. Grace Palladino writes in her book, Teenagers: An American History, “If unremarkable kids like Dion Di Mucci and his group, the Belmonts, who hailed from the Bronx, could make it on American Bandstand, [teenagers] reasoned, then anyone with talent and determination had the same chance to succeed.” “Beauty School Dropout,” Frenchy’s wacky nightmare of the misogynist mainstream “real world,” was inspired (musically) by songs like The Penguins’ classic “Earth Angel.” But this scene also references the 1957 film Tammy and the Bachelor, with Debbie Reynolds. Just before “Beauty School Dropout” starts, Frenchy wishes for a guardian angel “like in that Debbie Reynolds movie.” In the film, Aunt Renie (Mildred Natwick) plays the role of Tammy's (merely metaphorical) fairy godmother, who transforms her into a captivating Southern belle, looking just like the portrait of an ancestor of this elite Southern family. She even gives Tammy the ancestor’s dress to wear, so she can win the heart of her love. This is the fantasy Frenchy wants. And of course, it’s what will eventually happen to Sandy, being taken under the wing of other women, given new clothes, and taught new manners, though all in a hard-core, rock-and-roll kinda way… And it’s also a smart parody of those psychological dream sequences in old-fashioned musical dramas like Oklahoma!, West Side Story, Lady in the Dark, and others, in which the leading lady works through her dilemma in the form of a dream. The joke here is that Frenchy doesn’t get the answer she wants from her dream, because Grease isn’t an old-fashioned musical.

Danny’s big character song (sadly replaced in the film), “Alone at a Drive-In Movie,” is a delicious tribute to and parody of the teen laments of early rock and roll, including The Penguins’ “Earth Angel” (you can sing “Drive-In Movie” to the original recording of “Earth Angel”), The Platters’ “The Great Pretender,” The Flamingos’ “Would I Be Cryin’?”, and Johnny Ray’s “Cry.” It is a classic male doo-wop song, with its independent bass line and falsetto tenor floating up above the lead melody. The song works both as a musical theatre “I Want” character song, and also as an authentic 50s rock lament. This moment couldn’t be clearer: Sandy may want acceptance, (self-)love, self-knowledge, but Danny just wants sex. These two worlds have to find an accommodation, and they will in the show’s finale. (The replacement song in the film, “Sandy,” isn’t a bad song, but it doesn’t achieve half of what “Alone at a Drive-In Move” does, textually, thematically, or musically, and it’s far too introspective for a kid like Danny Zuko.) But this song also works on a second level, as a cultural commentary on the power of drive-in movies in teen culture in the 50s. Cars had been changing sex since the 1920s, but by the 50s, more teenagers had more access to more cars than ever before, giving them the privacy they craved on a regular basis. Drive-in movies had been created as family entertainment, and between 1943 and 1953, more than 2,900 drive-in theatres opened in America, the total reaching nearly 5,000 by 1958. But once television stole the family audience, drive-in owners targeted their marketing exclusively at teens, while small, low-budget studios started cranking out material specifically for this new niche market, creating “teen exploitation” films that drastically changed and radicalized teenagers’ perception of themselves and each other. Drive-ins became a place to cruise for girls, hang with the “wrong crowd,” get drunk and get laid, awkwardly, in the back seat. These films opened teenaged eyes to sex, violence, and other various vices like never before, inadvertently creating a new, more sophisticated, more cynical teen market. The fake movie dialogue in the scene leading up to “Alone at the Drive-In Movie” lampoons the two most prevalent genres of drive-in films: horror movies (a comic mix of I Was a Teenage Werewolf and those paranoid 1950s “science run amok” flicks, like 1954’s Them!), crossed with drag racing movies. Strangely enough, television had also come close to killing radio, in ratings and advertising revenue, until radio did what the drive-ins did by targeting teenagers.

“Rock and Roll Party Queen” is another song (like “Magic Changes” and “Hand Jive”) that reminds us that Grease isn’t primarily about Danny and Sandy; it’s about rock and roll and how it impacted American sex. This is a tribute to the Everly Brothers and their perfect-thirds harmonies, modeled on “Wake Up, Little Susie” (a song about having sex at the drive-in) and other Everly Brothers hits, as well as songs like the Dell-Vikings’ “Come Go With Me.” The lyric says more than it seems, describing a party girl that all the kids “know” (in the Biblical sense?), that they talk about, who stays out late with boys, and who will soon be seventeen (the age of sexual consent, which of course means she’s currently under the age of consent), etc. The Party Queen is the fully sexual girl that Rizzo is and Sandy may become. Here, in this scene, the song both comments on Rizzo’s fears of pregnancy and foreshadows Sandy’s realization that she’s too repressed sexually. I told you there was more going on in Grease than you thought. This scene also shows us another aspect of 50s teen culture, the Basement Party. Grace Palladino writes, “If their parents could afford it, they followed the experts’ advice to fix up party rooms to keep young teenagers safe at home . . . complete with a television set, soft drink bar, and plenty of room for dancing.” Jan hosts this party and Marty hosts the pajama party in Act I – their parents clearly know this philosophy. But the scene is important dramatically because it’s the first time we see both Rizzo and Kenickie grapple with real, serious emotions, revealing a vulnerability that is both unfamiliar and uncomfortable for both of them. Rizzo’s big Eleven O’Clock Number (the big character-revealing song just before the finale) is the now classic “There Are Worse Things I Could Do,” possibly inspired by The Tune Weavers’ “Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby,” a 50s song with a similar “broken heart” theme and beat. Rizzo is (spiritually if not actually) one of the Beats (commonly – and derisively – called Beatniks by the mainstream to suggest that they were Communists), a group most famously represented by Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, who in the 1950s rejected mainstream values, morality, and art, trying to break through the façade of polite society to a more honest, more authentic way of living. “Worse Things” contains the entirety of 1950s youth (and Beat) morality in its lyric. Like everything else in Grease, Rizzo represents that transition from the 50s to the 60s. She’d like us to think she’s as authentic as they come, but she hides Kenickie’s paternity from him and she hides her hurt from her friends. It’s only when Sandy calls Rizzo on her “mask” that Rizzo sings “There Are Worse Things I Could Do,” beginning a two-song arc of revelation for Sandy.  In a weird way, Rizzo becomes a Wise Wizard figure to Sandy... Structurally,"Worst Things" links these two women. In each of the three verses, Rizzo attacks Sandy for her perceived sins – being a tease (leading Danny on but not delivering), being self-pitying (most notably in “Raining on Prom Night”), and being judgmental (in the scene leading up to the song). And as often happens in real life, the sins Rizzo sees in Sandy are also Rizzo’s sins as well. This is a song built on very real, raw emotions, a song that finally reveals the character of Rizzo late in Act II as vulnerable, insecure, easily hurt. The audience may not see this coming but it fills out and explains everything Rizzo has done over the course of the story. Almost at the end of the show, we see that she probably was in love with Zuko (only to see him taken away) and is now clearly in love with Kenickie (who she has just cut off from her). She sees no Happily Ever After for herself. All she thinks she can do is put up a brave front and hide her insecurity. But that also walls her off from any real emotional connection to anyone. If she won't allow herself to cry in front of anyone, how can she ever get close? And the payoff of the last line is the most telling: none of the normal “crimes” of dating are the worst crime; the worst crime is showing vulnerability. That's really good writing and a really good character song. It's so sad and it says so much in such seemingly simple language, without ever being simplistic.

“Worse Things” segues directly to its companion piece, Sandy's parallel self-evaluation, the reprise of "Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee," in which Sandy finally sees and accepts the truth in Rizzo’s metaphor, finally recognizing that she must reject artificial values imposed by others, so she can find her own way. But Sandy only comes to this realization because “Worse Things” opened her up to the idea of authenticity as a fundamental value; now she can act on that newfound wisdom in her reprise (just like in all the ancient hero myths). Tim Riley argues in his book Fever that early rock and roll delivered a powerful message to its listeners: “The challenge of building an original identity, rather than accepting a received identity predicated on the values of their parents, became a necessary life passage.” Like all the best theatre songs, Sandy makes a decision in the “Sandra Dee” reprise, and the plot takes a turn toward its final destination. Sandy must decide who she is herself and what she values; she must embrace all of who she is, including her sexuality. She now realizes that only when she is true to herself can she be happy with Danny, and this final revelation will lead us to the show’s rowdy, playful finale “All Choked Up” (sadly replaced in the film by the less carnal disco number “You're the One That I Want”). And again, we can see Jacobs and Casey’s lyric writing craft here in their most conventional theatre song, as they effortlessly spin out multiple internal rhymes without ever disrupting a line or thought:

Look at me, There has to be Something more than what they see. Wholesome and pure, Also scared and unsure, A poor man’s Sandra Dee.

Poor even rhymes (unnoticed) with pure and unsure... The bridge is loaded with long e and long i sounds, with a close interior rhyme at the end, in has and last:

When they criticize And make fun of me, Can’t they see the tears in my smile? Don’t they realize There’s just one of me, And it has to last me a while?

And the rhyming accelerates in the last verse, giving the song real momentum as Sandy marches toward triumph (very similar to the end of "On the Steps of the Palace"):

Sandy, you Must start anew. Don’t you know what you Must do? Hold your head high, Take a deep breath and sigh, Goodbye To Sandra Dee.

Here again, some usually unnoticed treasure, in the powerful alliteration of Hold your head high, as each successive line climbs musically higher and higher to the climax. But this song isn’t just about Sandy saying goodbye to her false idols; it’s also about America saying goodbye to the false idols of the 1950s, saying goodbye to the turning of its collective blind eye away from the hidden horrors of the decade: rampant racism, sexism, homophobia, teen pregnancy and abortion, prescription drug abuse in the suburbs, and so much more. Sandy has to face herself and find her own authenticity, but so too does America.

The rowdy “All Choked Up,” the show’s finale, is clearly inspired by Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Great Balls of Fire” and perhaps also by Little Willie John’s “Fever” (later recorded by Peggy Lee in 1958), not only paying tribute to the music but also to the content of “Great Balls of Fire,” with the idea of love causing sickness. Here Grease shows us the turmoil ahead in the 1960s, as sexual roles are reversed. Now that Sandy is a sexual being, she can finally sing real rock and roll. Now Sandy is the aggressor, a lesson she learned from rock and roll, a social trend that would soon push boundaries further and further, from Tina Turner’s “A Fool in Love” well into the 1970s. This is the beginning of feminism. Now American women could be sexual too. Many of those who still object to the show’s ending miss the point of the show and may be unconsciously still caught up in gender stereotypes from the 50s that remain pervasive today. If a boy is sexually aggressive (as in “Greased Lightning”) he’s just a guy. If a girl is sexually aggressive, she’s a slut. Have we really come all that far since 1959? But notice that in the lyric, Sandy tells Danny (and us) that she is still not ready to sleep with him. Sandy may have changed the way she looks, she may now celebrate the curves of her body rather than hiding them behind poodle skirts, and she may now have a more progressive philosophy of sexuality, but no matter how dramatically Danny pleads, she’s still not “going all the way” just yet; that part of her has not changed fundamentally. She has not become a slut. But perhaps even more significant than Sandy’s new sexualized rock and roll persona in “All Choked Up” is her line after the song: Danny asks her if she’s still mad at him and she answers, “Nah, fuck it.” That this is the first time we’ve heard Sandy talk like that is certainly important, but even more so is what her answer means. The phrase is not just obscene; it’s also a universally recognized idiom with two related meanings. First, it says to the world that the speaker just doesn’t care anymore. Sandy’s not just cussing here; she’s publicly rejecting all the values of her past life, in particular the idea that sex is “dirty,” or that Danny is a "bad boy." She’s transitioning from the 50s to the 60s. The other, parallel meaning  of "fuck it" is that regardless of the consequences, the speaker is charging ahead, and that’s part of this moment as well.

But it goes even deeper than that. Fuck is the granddaddy of all cuss words, the word that draws a line in the moral sand. Especially in 1959 – but even still today – fuck is a word that separates the “nice” (i.e., conforming) people from the “bad” (i.e., less repressed) people. Here at the end of our story, Sandy has picked sides in one of America’s great Culture Wars, and so her journey moves out of the personal and into the political, as she utters this infamous word that will stand at the very center of the counterculture of the 1960s, a word Lenny Bruce will go to jail for. It’s a great way to end this story, and it’s also why a cleaned-up, sanitized Grease is worse than no Grease at all… All of this is why I love Grease so much, why I connect to the songs and the characters so powerfully. The whole thing has always struck me as extraordinarily truthful and honest. And so, it's always bummed me out when people dismiss the show as shallow crap. It's not. As I just proved. Long Live the Musical Scott This essay is a revised version of part of one chapter from my book Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll, and Musicals. from The Bad Boy of Musical Theatre http://newlinetheatre.blogspot.com/2018/12/whats-that-playing-on-radio.html

[amazingviralinfo]

When the internet was invented by pilgrims in 1996 to sell beanie babies and GIFs of things that had less than three movements, no one could have predicted how far we'd come. Today you can watch movies, insult the stars of those movies, and get sued by those stars for insulting them. Plus the president is online when he should be working sooooo much. But there's a seedy underbelly to the internet. No, I don't mean porn. Porn is the upper belly. It's the back, really. And porn hasn't surprised anyone on the internet since 1926. No, what I'm talking about is ancillary to porn, a sidestep from perversion and a slight detour from kink. It's the internet's curious ability to organize gross filth, and by gross filth I mean gross people, into a functioning unit of weirdos who do objectionable things as a group. And they do it in greater numbers than seems entirely comforting.

4

The Fappening

In August 2014, hundreds of photos of celebrities, many of them nude and bulbous, were stolen and put online. The photos were hacked, they were private, and most of the celebrities involved expressed some serious disgust about what had happened. There were legal repercussions and a number of sites refused to show the pictures only after a public stink was raised. If you were online the day it happened, though, you may remember that people were going whole hog on that thing. Few sites, the kind that are willing to post nude photos of celebrities on any normal day at least, were pretending to have a moral stance on the issue.

No one can know how many people saw those images, how many hard drives they're saved on even today, but you can bet your ass the number is in the very high thousands. These pics went across 4chan and Reddit and hit entertainment news sites before anyone spoke out, so if someone wanted to see them, they saw them. And they called it "The Fappening."

That this event was of such significance mainstream media was forced to use a term that basically indicates some kind of upper-echelon, top-tier masturbatory spunk rally is almost baffling. Almost. But it does indicate how massive, how extensive, and disturbingly vast this network of celeb whackers must have been. This literally was a happening. With fapping.

When, where, and how else in mankind's history could such a disturbing invasion of privacy with a follow-up wank celebration ever occur? And how is it that such a thing can gain such mainstream acceptance? That we all saw this occurring and said "oh yeah, lots of mega masturbators on the ol' internet." Obviously we didn't all support it, many people viewed it as a huge invasion of privacy and rightly so, but we weren't surprised by it. And shouldn't we be? Imagine you're Jennifer Lawrence. You're trying to be an X-Man, you don't want people to pay too close attention to the plot of Passengers, and one day your nude photos are in the hands of every dentist whose upper lip was just a little too sweaty when he made you open your mouth so he could suck your spit out. That is super fucked up. To know thousands of people have seen you naked and, in celebration of this invasion, they refer to it with a cute portmanteau that reaffirms that they mashed their penises a few times with you in mind.

But as weird as that thought is, it's not even as bizarre as...

3

Celebrity Nude Fakers

You'll get literally millions of results if you Google "fake celebrity nude pics" because we live in a world where fake celebrity nude pics is a thing millions of people want to see while they slowly squeeze the life from their genitals in a room that's dimly lit and about five degrees too hot. I have to assume, if you've been online before, you're at least familiar with this concept. But if not, and if you haven't looked too deeply into it, you're probably not aware of just how insane this bizarre subculture of porn is.

Fakers, people who clearly spend an extensive amount of time Photoshopping the heads of celebrities onto the bodies of nekkid folks riding unicycles and canning preserves and such, are about as prolific as bunnies putting the hump on each other. And it's not just an unseemly, underground thing -- fakers take pride in their work. They sign their pieces so you can follow their work like any artist, only in this case instead of the way they blend colors in a sunset it's in the convincing way they've made Bea Arthur look like she's really running a train on those Stuckey's employees.

On the one hand you may think this isn't a big deal, just people playing with Photoshop and it's not like we're actually stealing photos from real celebrities. On the other hand -- super creepy, dude. Imagine how utterly serial killery you'd be if you just took pictures of someone you knew and put them on different bodies. You know that cliche joke of someone taking a pic of a person they have a crush on and adding themselves into that photo? This is on par with that, only without the sentiment and about a handful of extra crass shitheelery tossed in for garnish.

Can you even imagine how you'd feel if you had to live with the knowledge that there are literally thousands and thousands of pictures of you on the internet depicting you with a ding dong up your backside? That's what happens to actors like Scarlett Johansson and Jennifer Lawrence. Just picture that terrible moment when you give into Googling yourself and that's the shit you come up with. Then the slow boil realization that this also means a healthy portion of those millions of consumers of these images are jacking it to them. Do you want to know someone is jacking it to a fake photo of you with a banana in your ass while you ride a Macy's parade float?

2

Millionaires Bidding On Virginity Auctions

Every so often the news will share the delightfully off-putting story of a girl (because it's never a dude) who is going to auction off her virginity on the internet. Is it worth anything? In March 2017 an 18-year-old Romanian sold hers for about $2.5 million. Of course verifying that any of these things is real is a little tricky since the price tag doesn't tend to include a documentary filmmaker to ensure it happens or a doctor to ensure she's a real virgin, but none of that actually matters. What is more interesting is that it's common enough in our world that it now has its own Wikipedia page with 15 entries, not including this latest one. Some were hoaxes, some never completed. That's also not what matters. What does matter, what is most interesting and "please don't make eye contact with me" bizarre about these are the bidders. People are willing to pony up dough, millions in fact, to be the first to have sex with a virgin. Is there a word that implies both a question and revulsion at the same time? Wheeyuch? Is Wheeyuch a word?

Conquering a virgin is kind of a sexual trope, if such a thing exists, and surely something everyone is familiar with. There's a weird obsession in pop culture with the idea of a virgin reaching an age where she can be un-virginated. Remember those countdowns people had back in the day leading up to Britney Spears' 18th birthday? Or the Olsen Twins? Or Emma Watson? Because once they hit 18 they were surely eager to round up all the degenerates who had been masturbating over 17-year-olds and bang them. But that aside, did you ever really stop to appreciate how desperate some dudes are to have sex with a virgin? $2.5 million desperate? That's fuckin' weird, right?

Some people are going to frown on sex work in general. Personally, I don't think there's anything wrong with anyone buying or selling sex so long as both parties are in control and not abusive or abused in any way. Why not? You can get a personal trainer, a masseuse, a therapist, a dance instructor, or any other manner of people who offer you a service that is basically just you paying for a skill they physically have to offer you, why not someone who offers blowjobs? But there comes a time when paying a personal trainer $3 million because they've never personally trained anyone before you becomes a little ridiculous and crosses into what the fuckery.

Prior to the internet, if you wanted to have sex with a virgin you probably had to date that virgin during high school and then awkwardly muddle your squidbillies together in the back of your car away from the streetlights on a Friday night. Even a millionaire would have had to meet one the old-fashioned way, by lurking around college bars or placing classified ads. So thank technology for exposing the dollar value of creepy sexual obsessions.

1

Dick Pics. So. Many. Dick Pics.

Do you have a dink? Based on anecdotal evidence, if you do, there's a good chance you've shown it to someone on the internet. Likewise, if you don't have a dink (or even if you do and just catch the fancy of someone else with a dink) there's a fairly substantial chance you've seen someone else's dink whether you wanted to or not.

peshkov/iStock By 2020, one out of every five bytes of data will contain a piece of someone's penis [citation needed].

The internet is awash in dinkies. Every dude with a camera and a ballbag seems to be taken by the momentary belief that probably someone wants to see their steak and giblets. And I'll be perfectly honest, I would never do something so crass. Except for those several times I did. But each time I was 90 percent sure the receiving party was OK with it, because I am a gentleman. But a healthy portion of my fellow wang hangers have taken it upon themselves to simply presume other people want to see their jizz whistles. People like Anthony Weiner, Usher, Brett Favre, Drake, Chris Brown, and countless others. And those are just the famous people. Heh heh heh... Anthony Weiner.

Now not every celebrity wang leaked on purpose (snarf! Good one) but they still took pics of their danglers and that's enough. You have a pic of your tube worm, it's on a device connected to the internet, you took it to show someone, it's not like it was going to be your Christmas card image this year, you should have figured this was coming.

AntonioGuillem/iStock Three in a row!

As for us non-Hollywood elites, survey results indicate 47 percent of men have sent dick pics and 53 percent of women have received them, while 49 percent didn't ask for it. That's a lot of unsolicited weiner. Imagine if you're at a BBQ and 20 guys hand you hot dogs you never wanted to eat in the first place. You'd be up to your ass in plonker in no time.

The sending of dick pics online is about as predictable as new memes every week and Honest Trailers ripping apart your favorite movie. It's ubiquitous. Worse, it's udickuitous. It's not even a surprise. There are articles about it on countless websites, discussing the etiquette of it, the prevalence, ranking the celebrity dicks and offering advice on why you should stop sending them. But no one does. The spice must flow and so too must the dick pics. Even if you walk without rhythm you'll still attract these worms, especially from guys who use extended Dune metaphors. Thanks to the internet, men have evolved to a place where they're desperately afraid you won't believe they have a functioning pork constrictor unless they snap off a few candids and text them to you while you're at work.

gmast3r/iStock "What? You should be flattered I got a boner for you. Even though I frequently get boners for no reason at all."

Is this the way humanity should be going? I'm no tour guide, I don't know. All I know is, when you have access to a fairly powerful camera that can also send pictures across the planet in seconds, sometimes that voice that would have stopped you from using a camera with film in it, then driving to the one-hour photo to have the pics developed before slapping them in an envelope and mailing them across the country can't quite catch up with what your fingers and your doodlebop are planning behind your brain's back.

[thestylemaven]

2am


Are you more of a coffee or alcohol drinker? I don't drink coffee, so alcohol by default
Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? always and forever
Do you plan outfits? I do, not always
How are you feeling RIGHT now? calm and serene 
Whats the closest thing to you thats red? the lights are out 
Turn offs? cigarette smoking, drug use, poor style, lack of culture, bad cologne, men who wear cheap sunglasses- either invest in ONE good pair or don't wear them at all, those who are small minded, people who show off money, chin straps, bulky shoes, men who are overly obsessed with their cars, men that drink shitty beers like coors light, shitty tattoos, men with shitty taste in women - who you've dated in the past can be a major turnoff Have you ever met a celebrity? quite a few - Brooklyn decker, Rachel Weiss, Parker posey, Ashley Greene, Sammy Adams, Francisco Lachowski - it comes with the territory of living in New York City Are you young at heart, or an old soul? una mezcla de dos What makes someone a best friend? loyalty, and knowing when to just shut the fuck up and enjoy the silence together What holiday do you most look forward to? Halloween and Valentine's Day You’ve got the TV on, but you’re not really watching. What channel is the TV on? I never watch televison, just stream movies or watch Netflix- but to answer the question accordingly- a documentary I streamed on Netflix or a 90s film You know at least one person named Michael. Tell me about him. My boyfriend. Michael is not his real name, but that's what his family calls him. When we first began dating, he still lived with his parents. His whole family referred to someone named Michael and I was confused as to who they were talking about until eventually i put two and two together.. If you could pick anywhere to live the rest of your life, where would it be? New York or Nice Can money buy happiness? I believe it can Do you drink? Smoke? Do drugs? Why, or why not? I only drink. I think cigarettes are glorified cancer sticks and find no desire to alter my mindset with drugs. I just don't get the appeal If your partner wanted to wait until marriage before having sex, would you stay in that relationship? No, I think sexual chemistry is vital to a relationship and I personally wouldn't be able to do that Do you believe in a god? No Early bird or night owl? Early What was the last song that was stuck in your head? losing my religion - REM Have you ever laughed uncontrollably when it was socially inappropriate? A terrible habit of mine What would you name your future daughter? My boyfriend likes the name Sade which I'm not to keen on. But I'm hoping for a boy and we've got that named picked out. Naturally, it's a secret :-) Are you any good at packing a suitcase? It's a talent of mine In your opinion, what’s the ideal age to start having children?: 28-32
Have you ever dated someone with an accent different than yours? Yes Documentaries: interesting or boring?: LOVE. exactly my television preference. Short, has a resolution at the end, informative & interesting
What brand is your desktop or laptop?: Apple If you use Snapchat, have you ever had a screenshot taken of you?: yes, yesterday was the most recent What’s your favorite flavor of tea? It's a toss up between earl grey and English breakfast What’s your favorite fall drink? I'm a fan of seasonal beer What’re you going to be for Halloween? It's a while from now but an idea my boyfriend have tossed around is Paul Stanley and gene Simmons from KISS What’s your favorite color? pale pink
Do you have a second mom? my boyfriends mother has very much so assumed that role. She calls me her daughter and we borrow each other's clothes. We live very close to his family (a few blocks) so when I'm sick she sends his dad over with soup she's made for me. So yes, I do Do you believe in ghosts, werewolves or vampires? just ghosts 
If you could live forever, would you want to? possibly maybe Which fictional movie character most resembles who you are? Appearance wise maybe sleeping beauty - high facial features - long blonde hair - fair skin. 
If you could choose the sex of your unborn child, would you want to? YES. M & I both want a boy but we both think we'll have a girl. So if I could, I would choose to have a boy 
Would you rather live longer or be wealthy? wealthy, old age seems so unappealing Describe your most recent purchase: Hermes oran sandals for summer :-) What shoes did you wear today? Black jimmy choo booties for work Who was the last person to leave you a comment on Facebook? I haven't had a Facebook in years. It exists but it's deactivated What do you use to remove makeup? I use the Eve Lom cleanser which removes makeup Name some models you think are hot. Francisco Lachowski
What’s the craziest thing you’ll ever do to your hair? I don't do anything to my hair. The craziest, if you would call this crazy, is cut it into a short bob when I was 17 Ever kissed anyone with a nipple piercing? No What about a lip piercing? No Nose piercing? Yes What did you last put on a piece of toast? I'm not a toast person What did you put in your last smoothie? Organic cocoa powder, fresh banana, frozen pineapple, coconut/almond milk blend What’s the most recent email in your inbox? An order of shipment on my most recent purchase What’s the last thing you Googled? FedEx tracking number Do you use Google or Bing? Google What’s something that makes you really paranoid? Hmm. I guess I can be a bit of a hypochondriac. I take my health very seriously - I freak out at just being sick with a cold Tea or coffee, pudding or yogurt and toast or biscuits? tea, pudding, & biscuits
Do you wear more rings or necklaces? rings Have you ever been engaged? No, I'm only 24. I can't take anyone whose been engaged prior to the age of 25 seriously. Of all the people I've known who have gotten engaged, only one of them has actually married the person they got engaged too, and it's all still possible that will ensue in divorce. Pardon me for the rant, but it's just comedic to see on social media that person you knew from high school who was engaged at the age of 21 to be flaunting a new relationship. I would be mortified Do you have any tattoos on your arms? Tattoos are trashy How much are you willing to pay for a pair of sunglasses? a pretty penny - sunglasses are a investment What is the origin of your last name? Im a descendent of a prince of Poland from the 14th century - my last name is a slight variation of his What piercing do you like most on the opposite sex? I don't care for piercings. I'd rather none actually. It's not a deal breaker though What brand of hair dye do you prefer to use? I don't use hair dye LOL
You must change your name to either Esther or Gertrude - which do you pick? I quite like the name Esther Bright red lipstick - yes or no? I rarely wear bright red lipstick. I prefer a nude gloss, very much so into natural, minimal 90's-esque makeup. But it's not a no Would you rather battle a shark or a lion…why? A shark because I believe I would have a greater chance at survival 
Do you know any songs by Fall Out Boy? Yes because 13 year old Nicole loved them
In your opinion, are leggings appropriate to wear as pants? No
If your significant other proposed to you right here, right now, would you accept? That's a tough question to answer. Probably not, but he knows it's not the right time so this question isn't realistic How do you decide if you can trust someone or not? Over time after studying their actions and what they show me. My intuition, however, does play a part Do you think you’ve found the one you want to marry yet? I have, yes Do you think it’s rude when people speak slowly when talking to people that don’t know English well? If done in a patronizing manner 
Did the last song you listened to hold any special meaning? Yes actually. M sent it to me and said it reminds him of me. Sure thing by Miguel is the song Would you ever travel by yourself? Yes
Do you expect to be married in the next two years? That's plausible Deep fried Oreos & deep fried pickles - would you try either? I've tried both
Funny, charming, cute, romantic, smart - choose only 2 for the opposite sex. Smart & charming. Or smart & romantic. 
Snow or sand? Soda or juice? Cake or cookies? Royalty or immortality? Sand, neither.. iced tea?, cookies, royalty 
Which is more important to you: make-up or hair? hair! I always say this. You can have a full face of makeup but if you're hair looks like shit, forget it. You can walk out the door without an ounce of makeup but as long as your hair is done and your shoes are great, you can get away with anything. For an entire month would you rather have a unibrow or no eyebrows at all? unibrow Money doesn’t matter - choose a vacation destination. How tough. Maybe take an African safari 
Pick a movie at least 5 years old that you absolutely love: drive Would you marry somebody who was intensely religious? I couldn’t, no. 


[zenscientist-blog]

Albums of my undergrad

A compilation of albums I have listened to over the past 5 years. Many of these bring back close memories that I will never get back. These albums are really important to me and I feel like they shaped my life in one way or another.  1A (Sept 2012)

1. Channel Orange - Frank Ocean Channel Orange is a good start to this list. The first time I listened to this album was when my first boyfriend (who wasn’t my boyfriend at the time) notified me that the album had leaked sometime in July (?) of 2012. I remember vaguely laying on my bed messaging him on Facebook when I decided to download it. At this point in my life I was exploring my sexuality for the first time (legitimately); ultimately it showed in the way I treated him during first semester in university when he decided to switch from socio-econ to my current program and when I kept him my dirty little secret for about half a year. It was a learning experience, and I think it was because of him and Channel Orange that I decided to finally come out in 1B through a note I left under my pillow when I went home to visit during Christmas break. There was something very brave about Franks choice to out himself publicly on tumblr through this sentimental note about his first love - it really resonated with me at the time, and still does to this day. Of which turned out to be this fuckboy in Ottawa I still had residual feelings for from some stupid online infatuation that I eventually pursued in semester 3A. That’s an aside. This album also had significance to this duality and persona of mystery that my life had become. Duality as in my identity, mystery as in my inability to really open up to my close friends and family. It felt pure, to be reborn like that. It really felt like a new beginning, which is suitable cause the next four to five years definitely brought big change. 

2. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot - Wilco YHF is an eclectic album to say the least -- this one tops a lot of P4K and other music blog lists.. and for a good reason. In 1A I annoyed my roommates to death by putting this album on loop, covering several songs on the guitar and eventually playing “Heavy Metal Drummer” at a coffee house with a group of my close friends. I still remember the printed out lyrics with a whimsical sketch of a woman’s figure on my wall. I also remember changing my cover photo at the time to the album artwork (cause I’m a total dork). At that time, a random architecture student decided to troll me by imitating my Facebook page - down to the article of clothing and backdrop of my profile pictures and my cover photo.. that happened to by YHF at the time. It became a joke in my program and I ended up meeting their entire group in residence in 1B.  The album was met with high praise with my half asian friend I met through my next door neighbour in first year. In Calgary my colleague told me his really intelligent aunt bought him the album in high school but never got around to listening to it until university.  The Idler wheel.. - Fiona Apple The Moon and Antartica - Modest Mouse The Blue Album - Weezer OK Computer, Kid A, In Rainbows, The Bends - Radiohead Pavement - Slanted and Enchanted

1B (January 2013)

Emergency & I - The Dismemberment Plan Good Kid M.A.A.D City - Kendrick Lamar Hurry Up I’m Dreaming - M83 Young Team - Mogwai Self-titled - My Bloody Valentine Person Pitch - Panda Bear Merriweather Post-Pavillion - AC Strawberry Jam - AC Pavement - Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain

Summerbreak London (May 2013)

The Soft Bulletin - The Flaming Lips Acid Rap - Chance the Rapper Dummy - Portishead Doolittle - The Pixies Set Yourself on Fire - Stars Last Splash - The Breeders MCII - Mikal Cronin

2A (September 2013)

The Money Store - Death Grips Obsidian - Baths  Cerulean - Baths

This album was recommended to me by my co-worker in London when I worked back at the slab after noticing I had obsidian on my phone. I remember listening to this as I closed shop, everything I did there felt so efficient. My career right now feels very iterative and methodological, I wish I could just go back and serve someone ice cream. 

The album also reminds me of biking to theory every morning in the Fall and was the start of my inspiration to learn about DAWs in 2B; along with Cosmogramma and the Money Store of course.. I love the stark contrast between Obsidian and Cerulean, dark and light. Eventually I saw him live in Calgary that Summer.

‘if you still want me to be there, i'd be there in a minute to say: "i love you enough to drive an hour from wherever i am to be with you" and it is always the simplest shit that means the most’

Cosmogramma - Flying Lotus Flying Colours - Shad Narrow - Soap&Skin Six Feet Beneath the Moon - King Krule 2 - Mac Demarco 

2B (January 2014) Loud City Song - Julia Holter Weird Sisters - Joanna Gruesome Nick Drake - Pink Moon Fetch - Melt-Banana Clara Schumann Benji - Sun Kil Moon Sea Change - Beck Immunity - Jon Hopkins I’m Wide Awake and It’s Morning - Bright Eyes

Calgary (May 2014) Michigan - Sufjan Stevens Illinois - Sufjan Stevens Mezzanine - Massive Attack  Keep It Like a Secret - Built to Spill Is This It - The Strokes They want my soul - Spoon Ocean Death - Baths Sound Dust - Stereolab

3A (September 2014) Neon Golden - Notwist Kill the Moonlight - Spoon Either / Or - Elliott Smith

Elliott Smith will always have a place in my heart. There is something about listening to Elliott’s music that is sad yet hopeful. He does a great job of depicting complex emotions and it’s something I look for in art. It’s strange how we do a downward comparison; it’s relieving to know someone else is having a shitty day.  I don’t really remember listening to Elliott Smith for the first time. I do remember the period I did fall in love with Either/Or, which was at the end of a rocky relationship. I’d say it was a devastating time in my life (not to sound too dramatic). I was coming back to school from Alberta and I had been in a long-distance relationship with someone that went to school an hour away by train. The end of this relationship dragged on for months. I was holding onto someone that did not see me the same way. That’s ok. He never had this intention that I would move across the country for him on a whim. I wish he would have figured that out before it were too late. Unless he realized this in Calgary. Either way, I don’t regret it. I loved him a lot. Unfortunately I was a mess. I don’t think I have ever been more depressed in my life when that one ended. At the time my mom was also going through some tough shit with her separation. I needed to be strong for my mom. It’s amazing how things have really pulled through for her. Too many tears were shed that October. All my friends were there for me. The last track on Either/Or is about Elliott’s ex-girlfriend. Its the only song in his discography that I can pinpoint and say “holy shit. Elliott was really in love with this girl, and she broke his heart”  Say yes!!  This list is turning into a personal diary.. but I see it as a way for me to remember my past as it was. I kind of like this. Turn on the Bright Lights - Interpol Endless Fantasy - Anamanaguchi

Without You I’m Nothing - Placebo Leaves Turn Inside You, Repetition - Unwound Juju - Siouxsie and the Banshees Music Has the Right to Children - Boards of Canada Geogaddi - Boards of Canada Ottawa (January 2015) Halcyon Digest - Deerhunter Whirr - Distressor LP1 - FKA Twigs Homogenic - Björk French Exit - TV Girl Black Messiah - D’Angelo Rumours - Fleetwood Mac Otis Blue - Otis I See a Darkness - Bonnie Prince Billy Chutes too Narrow - The Shins I Love You Honey Bear - Father John Misty Nocturne - Wild Nothing 3B (May 2015) To Pimp a Butterfly - Kendrick Lamar Celebrity Skin - Hole Self-titled - Garbage  Sometimes I Just Sit and Think - Courtney Barnett Whirlpool - Chapterhouse Self-titled - American Football Richard D James Album - Aphex Twin Drukqs - Aphex Twin Gentlemen - The Afghan Whigs  Self-Titled - Third Eye Blind

Kitchener (September 2015)

Heaven or Las Vegas - Cocteau Twins Sun Coming Down - Ought Life of Pause - Wild Nothing Colour Trip - Ringo Deathstarr  Fading Frontier - Deerhunter So the Flies Don’t Come - Milo Soul Mining - The The Moon Safari - Air Depression Cherry - Beach House Have you in my Wilderness - Julia Holter 4A (January 2016) Blood Visions - Jay Reatard Young Americans - David Bowie Black Star - David Bowie Meliora - Ghost Nowhere - Ride SVIIB - School of Seven Bells  Emergency on Planet Earth - Jamiroquai Parklife - Blur Wellness - Last Dinosaurs Kaputt - Destroyer The Campfire Headphase - Boards of Canada Oxford (April - May 2016) A Moon Shaped Pool - Radiohead Bottomless Pit - Death Grips Ottawa (June - August 2016) Fantasma - Cornelius  Communique - Dire Straits Tarot Sport - Fuck Buttons 69 Love Songs - The Magnetic Fields Eye Contact - Gang Gang Dance Strangers - Marissa Nadler Tired of Tomorrow - Nothing Malibu - Anderson Paak LP2 - Metz  Telephone - Noname Ottawa (September 2016) Endless - Frank Ocean  Blond(e) - Frank Ocean 22, A Million - Bon Iver Entertainment! - Gang of Four Self-Titled - Elliott Smith Screamadelica - Primal Scream Autolux - Future Perfect Teens of Denial - Car Seat Headrest Guilty of Everything - Nothing

4B (January 2017 - Present) From a Basement on the Hill - Elliott Smith The Downward Spiral - Nine Inch Nails Mic City Sons - Heatmiser Gala - Lush Self-titled - Blur 13 - Blur ...