#i do not cook in a way that lends into writing down recipes

[reitziluz]

orange soup

there are only two soups, Red Soup and Orange Soup. both are a loose collection of Soup Thoughts that materialize into a giant pot of soup when i zone out and listen to a podcast for an hour or a few. this time i remembered to jot some notes down only a day after making the soup.

if you like the idea of being able to eat pumpkin pie filling for dinner, but want it still to be a savory meal, you'll like this soup.

ingredience

equal amounts of butternut squash and sweet potatoes, roasted

about a quarter of that in onions and carrots

more oil than you think. more.

just a bit of starchy potato for texture

fresh ginger and garlic, measured by heart

chili of your choice, to your tolerance

orange spices, e.g. coriander, cumin, turmeric

stock

miso paste

soy sauce, mirin, and rice vinegar (the delicious triad)

coconut cream

method

main notes: i did most of the chopping while i was waiting for other stuff to cook. i chopped everything way tinier than was strictly necessary because i wanted to keep the cooking times as short as possible. you want everything done and the flavors to mingle and mellow, but longer cooking times eventually obliterate garlic and ginger.

get your squash and sweet potato cut up to chunks, oiled, and roasted in the oven for about half an hour at around 225°C. they should be on a single layer on the tray, do multiple batches if necessary. it's okay if they burn a little at the edges. you want them properly roasted and sweet.

if you have an electric kettle, fill it up and get yourself some boiling water for later.

put a pot on medium heat. coat the bottom of your pot with oil. be generous about it.

finely chopped onion goes in. you could caramelize it, but it's enough to get it very translucent and with some color.

finely chopped carrots go in. cook until softened.

garlic, ginger, and chili go in. push the onions and carrots to the sides to give them a clearing in the middle of the pot. add some more oil for them to cook in. do not let them burn or even brown.

orange spices go in. let them toast in the oil for a bit.

once things smell good OR you notice you're risking burning something, add your hot water. remember to leave space for the rest of the ingredients. vigorously stir and scrape the bottom so that nothing is left stuck.

slap in your stock cube or powder or what have you.

add your potatoes (this assumes you have chopped them down to the size of half a matchstick. this is feasible, as i only used three smallish medium potatoes for a combined 3kg of squash and sweet potato.)

either finish roasting your squash and sweet potatoes, or clean up a little while you let the potatoes cook for a sec.

then add the squash and sweet potatoes. if they're not straight from the oven, crank up the heat a little to keep things simmering.

add miso paste, soy sauce, mirin, rice vinegar, and coconut cream basically to taste.*

lower the heat and let everything cook for a bit so everything is at gently simmering temp and the flavors mingle. taste it and add seasonings if you feel like it's missing something. i added more of all of my orange spices and some dried ginger and garlic too.

i recommend adding more grated fresh ginger at the end for a really zingy soup.

take the pot off the heat and attack the soup with a stick blender. if it ends up too thick, add more liquid to it. but you do want it thick.

cover with a lid and let it rest** while you tidy up and finish preparing any sides.

serve garnished with e.g. chili flakes, scallions, herbs, crushed nuts, drizzle of oil or sour cream or something, along a protein (i fried tofu slices) and some dunking bread.

bone apple tea!

*i think cooking wine and apple cider or other vinegar could work well too, i just have mirin and rice vinegar because i cook a lot of vaguely japanese food. nut creams or plain ol' dairy cream would work too, cream cheese even. **DO NOT let a Soup Volcano happen. the soup volcano happens if you put the soup back on the hob you used for cooking. even if you turned it off before taking the soup off for blending, it will not have had enough time to cool. the soup will be hot and thick enough so a pot-sized bubble will burst through and then you'll have to wipe soup globs from your walls and ceiling. you can put the soup on a new hob and turn that on very low heat to keep it warm while you finish up. this might not be an issue on a gas stove, but be careful anyway.

[thoselethalarts]

𝓚𝓪𝔃𝓾𝓸 𝓖𝓾𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓻𝓸 - 𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂

(SR) Ceremony Robes (Part 1): “I Won’t Let You Down!”

(Savanaclaw Dorm: Lounge)

Ruggie: Ngaaahhh, I can’t BELIEVE he left me with all this to figure out on my own. Ruggie: First I have to decide on what we’re even going to serve, and then I have to wrangle all the students needed to even make it happen. This is way too much for me to handle my myself~

Kazuo: Huh? What’s wrong, Ruggie? Did something happen?

Ruggie: Oh Kaz! Perfect timing~ Maybe you can help me with my little dilemma~ Ruggie: Leona strapped me with figuring out all the dining arrangements for the night of the entrance ceremony, and I don’t know what I’m gonna do for it at all. Ruggie: If you’d be willing to lend me a hand, it’d take a hell of a weight off my shoulders~

Kazuo: Oh! Well, sure, I can help with that! I don’t really have anything I need to do for the ceremony, and it sounds like it’ll be a lot of fun! Kazuo: So, where are you at with everything? Do we have any kind of menu limitations or a budget to stick to?

Ruggie: Not really to both. Leona just said, “Make a list of whatever you need, and I’ll get it for you. Just as long as it’s not something stupid or gross.” Ruggie: His pockets run pretty deep, so I doubt he’ll care what we get as long as we have enough food for everyone. Ruggie: Usually for special occasions we pull out the barbeques so we have plenty of cooking space to make things real fast, if that gives you any ideas for things we could be cooking.

Kazuo: Hmm… So we need a lot of food so that everyone can have something to eat, and a lotta guys in this dorm eat a lot too because they’re athletes that are constantly burning energy. Kazuo: …Oh! What if we made some tamales?

Ruggie: Tam-all-ehs? What’s that?

Kazuo: You don’t know what a tamale is? I woulda thought for sure that you would have! Kazuo: You make this paste - kind of like a dough - out of corn flour, stuff it with meat, cheese, or whatever else you want, and then wrap them up in corn husks and steam them in a big pot. Kazuo: They’re really good! But they’re super labor intensive, so we usually only make them for special occasions. Kazuo: The whole family gets involved with spreading the dough, stuffing it, then twisting it up in the husks and getting them ready to steam.

Ruggie: Ohh! We have something like that at home! We just call them something else~ Ruggie: Me and my grandma would make that too for special occasions, but only whenever we’re able to get our hands on the ingredients~

Kazuo: Oh, sweet! Then you understand how to make them too! Kazuo: I have a lot of recipes on my phone that my parents and grandparents taught me how to make. We can double or triple the recipes to make lots of food for everyone! Kazuo: I’m thinking tamales might be a good start, though if we’re gonna make a lot of them then we’ll need a lot of extra people to help with putting them together… Two people definitely won’t be enough for the whole dorm.

Ruggie: I can talk to some of the upperclassmen about helping out with that part, so that’s no biggie. But we’re gonna need more than just that to make everyone happy.

Kazuo: For sure, for sure. Hmm, what else… Ah, lemmie actually see what recipes I have written down on my phone. That’ll help give me some ideas... Kazuo: …Ah, what? I guess I forgot to write down some of my mom’s recipes, all I have is stuff from my dad and abuela. Dang it.

Ruggie: Ah, man. That sucks, but I guess that narrows things down, right?

Kazuo: Yeah… Oh! But I do have abuela’s recipe for pozole! It’s really good, so we can make a big batch of that too! Kazuo: Could maybe make some carne asada or some carnitas and have a big table where people could make some tacos or burritos, too. Then people can have something that lets them put whatever they want in it. Kazuo: Oh, and having some barbequed veggies might be nice too, so people that don’t eat meat can have stuff too. We could do some zucchini, maybe some skillet potatoes, asparagus… Kazuo: Hey, you don’t think this is too much, do you?

Ruggie: Nahh, the more the merrier! The more we make, the more likely we’ll get to have leftovers, too!

Kazuo: Oh, true that! Kazuo: Alright then, I think that should be enough! If we can double or triple some of these recipes I have written on my phone, I think we’ll be set. Kazuo: Now, the question is how are we gonna cook it all…? Not to put too little faith into our dormmates, but I don’t exactly trust most of the guys here with cooking at least half of these recipes, let alone handle a knife…

Ruggie: Leave all of that to me~ I know everyone in the dorm that knows their way around a kitchen, so I can throw everyone around, no problem. Ruggie: Sounds like you know your way around a kitchen, so you and I can handle the more intensive stuff.

Kazuo: Alright, sweet! Then all that’s left to do is get all our ingredients and get prepping. Kazuo: Some of this stuff is gonna need to marinate for at least a day, so the sooner we can get started on that, the better. Kazuo: You think anyone’s available to help us carry things back? With how much we’re gonna be getting, I don’t think the two of us are gonna be able to carry it all.

Ruggie: Dunno, but if nothing else we could always borrow a cart from the Magift field or something.

Kazuo: Good idea! Alright, then let’s go get what we need and get to work!

Ruggie: And now I don’t have to do all the heavy lifting on my own! You’re a lifesaver, Kaz~ Shishishishi~

/ To be Continued…

[doobnnoob-tf2]

hey!! i just recently found your blog, and i really love it! the way your write the mercs is so interesting, and i'm def gonna be coming back to read your fics when i have the chance 👀 it's also so cute that you name your anons?? it creates a sense of community in a way that's really fun <3

that's all i really wanted to say, but if you're up for it, i'm curious to know how you think each of the mercs having to cook for the rest of the team would go? like, if they were on a sort of "so-and-so makes dinner today" calendar instead of just fending for themselves? who would put the most effort in, who actually enjoys it, who would cause a fire/hurt themselves, who would be banned from cooking? do any of them ever share recipes from their youth/cultural recipes, or is it just kinda whatever? chdkaksnfk sorry for such a complicated question about food, i just really enjoy cooking for friends/family and would love to see how you think the mercs would take to it <3 - 🍜

(i'd like to be called soup if i may, unless you have another name in mind! for those warm cozy vibes, and also bc my first ask is food-related cksbskdnfk)

you may absolutely be called Soup!

to start: I personally headcanon that it’s more uncommon that they all fend for themselves.  in the beginning when everyone was still new to each other and figuring things out they would’ve left everyone to their own devices.  but one thing led to another and dinner became a part of the chore list, with whoever was up to it lending a hand to whoever’s night it is to cook.  so recipes are shared constantly between all of them!  now onto the list..

Scout: he’s never scheduled to make dinner, but that’s because he’ll sometimes make breakfast.  and he can make some killer breakfast foods.  he helped his Ma a lot growing up because he was the only one who didn’t find helping make breakfast in the morning a chore.  he usually only takes on making breakfast when he’s feeling homesick

Soldier: credit where credit’s due, he’s actually pretty good at grilling / smoking foods.  he’s the reason why they even got a smoker in the first place, and no one’s come to regret that after he made an entire meal out of it one summer

Pyro: if they’re cooking, then it’s gonna be spicy.  they love spicy foods and will do everything they can to crank up the heat.  it was unexpected at first, they weren’t thinking and all but two of their teammates (Engineer and Sniper) were doing whatever they could to kill the heat.  after everyone laughed it off, Pyro dialed it down for future dinners and started making a side dish that would help kill it as well for those who need it

Demoman: he goes all out when he cooks.  his dinners usually require the most hands to help out since there’s a lot to it, so it’s not uncommon to see half the base in the kitchen, having beers and helping cook.  it almost becomes a party on those nights!  he likes to gather ideas from everyone and experiment a lot when cooking to try and somehow make a little bit of everything for everyone

Heavy: he grew up helping his Mama cook, and while they usually cooked bear meat he’s found substitutes that work just as well.  he makes a lot of comfort foods and loves having someone help him since cooking with someone else is what he’s used to.  he’s always much more talkative when he’s cooking, and will happily explain to whoever is helping what he’s doing and why

Engineer: he’d cook every night if he could, he finds it to be one of the most relaxing things he can do after a long day.  and he loves seeing people enjoy his cooking. he’ll go all out on his nights, and everyone knows they’ll be in a food coma the moment they get to their rooms.  he’ll let whoever wants to help join in, he loves sharing recipes and having the others taste and give suggestions on how to make it even better

Medic: he’s the only one who is banned from cooking.  he’s just no good in the kitchen.  he knows how to cook one thing and that is it.  beyond that, there’s a “No Medics Allowed” sign on the kitchen door

Sniper: more often than not, he’s never scheduled to cook dinner.  the reason being he almost always helps out with cooking the meats for everyone.  it is VERY rare for him to have the dinner chore scheduled to him, and if it is then it’s because he volunteered after discovering a recipe he really wants to try

Spy: he’s a pescatarian, so everyone knows when it’s his night to cook they better be in the mood for fish or else they’re on their own.  despite this he always makes an effort to try a bite of everyone else’s dishes on their dinner nights, but his night, his rules.  no one ever complains, he is an incredible cook and the base genuinely gets hyped when it’s his turn.  he will choose who helps him that night, and it’s not a request - they WILL help him and no one else is allowed

also I got your other ask and I really, really appreciate it.  things are still hit or miss some days, but I think they’re finally gonna get better.  I’m starting to do more things to take care of me and my mental health first instead of trying to put people who’ve hurt me first.  so it was rather nice I’d get to answer a cozy lil headcanon ask like this right now!

[ddarker-dreams]

Beyond The Veil. Yan Hu Tao x Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes and minor character death.  Word count: 1.3k.

“My my, if it isn’t my favorite person in the flesh!”

Hu Tao’s legs swing in an irregular rhythm over Wuwang Hill, which overlooks Liyue’s radiant night scenery. She inclines her head back just enough to take in your approaching silhouette, the features of your face growing clearer as you step out into the open, both your hands held behind your back. Later this evening, she’ll take ink to parchment to compose sonnets dedicated to your ethereal beauty. There is no shortage of such works in her possession. Written words can’t quite compare to the real thing — your many charms too otherworldly — she much prefers this over scrolls describing you.

“I thought I might find you here,” you admit, foliage crunching underneath your boots as you approach. She pats the dewy grass by her thigh and you sit by her side, much to her delight.  

Hu Tao sniffs the air, the bright smile on her face widening when she catches a particular scent. “Whatcha got there?”

You reach into your parcel and pull out a homemade dessert. “Mint jelly. It’s a recipe from Mondstadt. I, um, wanted to do a little something to thank you, so here.”

She leans down to admire the gelatinous creation, tucking away the tidbit of information you’ve given away for later. Gratitude, hm? Hu Tao supposes it’s natural you’d feel that way. Lending assistance to people that catch her eye is nothing new, yet the lengths she’s gone to for you are different. More deeply rooted, more personal. She takes it as a good sign that you’re doing little things for her and plans to enjoy the harvest of her hard work.

Shooting you a mischievous wink, she parts her lips and makes a gentle “ah” sound.

“Really?” You roll your eyes at the childlike behavior, not that it’s any different from her usual antics. While you were tasting this earlier, you learned using chopsticks to pick up jello was a tad tricky, so at least your newly obtained skill in the area will be put to good use. Pulling the chopsticks you brought along out, you take off a section of the jelly and lift it to her face.

She takes a bite and mimics a deep, pensive expression, bringing a hand to her chin. “It’s decided! I officially prefer your cooking over Xiangling’s. Maybe you can collaborate with the Funeral Parlor? Oh, that’s a good idea for a special promotion, let me write that down…”

The mood shifts ever so slightly when she mentions the funeral parlor. Hu Tao halts her speaking in favor of studying how you clasp your hands in your lap, committing everything to memory. Ah, even when you’re troubled, your beauty remains consistent as ever. Still, she’s unsure what could’ve set you off. Seeing how much you’ve come to trust her, it’ll just be a matter of time until you expound on it.

“I still don’t get it,” your voice is airy and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “I don’t want to feel like… like this anymore. I want to go back, to be able to laugh and joke with you again, but I…”

She envelopes you in her warmth.

Hu Tao has seen people break down and cry too many times to count. She knew her place during funeral ceremonies, it was her job to make sure the dead were properly sent off and the living attended to, but that never meant comforting the grieving people left behind. Despite that, a natural instinct to hold you kicks in before she can control it. She isn’t certain if this is the best way to help, but when your shaky arms return her embrace, it feels like she’s in a free fall from how her stomach twists.

“You’ll get where you want to be eventually,” she strokes your back reassuringly, her eyelids fluttering shut to fully savor the intimate moment.

“They’re calling me cursed, you know,” you sniffle against her shoulder, not having many tears left to cry. A humorless laugh leaves your lips at the mere notion. “Cursed. You once said stuff like that almost never happens, didn’t you? Lately, I wonder if maybe they’re right.”

Hu Tao shakes her head even though you can’t see her. “You’re not cursed. I’d be able to tell if you were, wouldn’t I?”

“W-well, yeah, but—”

“Nope! No ifs or buts. Promise me you won’t believe that silly stuff or I’m gonna pinch your cheeks.”

You sigh in defeat, knowing this is a topic she’s incredibly stubborn on. “I’ll try.”

“Not good enough. I want a promise and nothing else will suffice.”

“Alright, I give, I give. You have my word.”

Hu Tao, satisfied by this development, rests her chin atop your head. “People try to rationalize what they can not understand. Maybe it’s easier to make up takes of wicked curses and vengeful spirits. Us though — we don’t need stuff like that! I know the truth, and now, you do too.”

You don’t respond, but given how your mood is stabilizing, she assumes her words resonated. It’s lonely to know the truth, she muses, eyes flickering above your shoulder. Isn’t it?

When you eventually pull back, she finds herself missing your touch. You lift your hands to try and smudge away the tear stains that remain on your face.

“I wasn’t expecting the impromptu crying session,” you joke, smiling weakly. “This was supposed to be me thanking you and I ended up making it all about myself.”

Hu Tao wriggles her finger in front of your face and clicks her tongue. “The previous threat still remains if you’re hard on yourself. C’mon now, if you wanted me to pinch your cheeks so badly, you should’ve just said so.”

“I surrender,” you get your belongings in order and stand up. “Anyways, it’s getting pretty late, I should start heading back. I hope you enjoy the jello.”

She waves with both her arms enthusiastically. “Expect a full review in the morning!”

“I’d expect nothing less,” you reply, heading back from where you came.

Once Hu Tao knows for certain that you’re gone, she sighs, stretching her arms above her head. It’ll be a pain to try and eat your considerate gift in this current setting. Hu Tao safely stashes it away, humming as she gets up.

With an uncharacteristic frown on her face, she assesses her surroundings with a tilt of her head. They’re still not letting up?

“Hm, what a pain,” Hu Tao murmurs.

Materializing around her are groaning apparitions, their wispy hands grasping at Hu Tao’s ankles to no avail. She sidesteps another’s attempt to grab her hair and crosses her arms. Who all is here tonight? Time for roll-call! Ah, yeah, that’s your ex-boyfriend to the left. His appearance is the most ghastly of them all, given the gruesome death he faced. Then there’s a Liyue merchant who tried hitting on you, whoops, he’s struggling to remain present on this plane. One more, one more… squinting to take in the spirit’s features, she’s hit with a realization. That’s who that is! It was on the tip of her tongue for the longest time. That girl who confessed to you a few years back.

Hu Tao already forgot what her name was, not that it matters.

She swats away at another outstretched hand, skipping off to find a better place to eat in peace. They moan and groan her name in broken-up syllables, some mourning, others driven by abhorrence. Sooner or later they’ll move on just like the others, though it’s a thorn in her side until then. Her chipper mood from having interacted with you can’t be sullied by any outside influence, that just won’t do.

Hu Tao swerves around on her heels to face the slow-moving phantoms.

“Really now. You guys were great for business and all, but...” Hu Tao gives a smile cold enough to make them stop their movements. “Isn’t it time to just give it a break?”

[coinandcandle]

Are You too Tired for Yule Tide?

Let's face it, holidays are tough, no matter what religion or belief system you follow. We don't always feel up to a full-blown celebration or ritual. So what can you do?

Read to find out!

This post will focus on the solstice and Yule since they are part of open practices/religions.

(photo credit: Jessica Lynn)

Here are a few ways to celebrate the pagan holiday season that are low-energy or low-cost.

Questions about the Yule or the Solstice? You may find your answers here on my other post about the holidays.

1. Divination

Whether it's tarot, runes, or through meditation, do some divination this holiday season to see what the world has to say to you!

This could mean asking about how the coming year will go, what advice the world has for you, or even connection to your ancestors/deities/spirit guides, the world is your oyster!

2. Set an Intention

For the coming year, the holiday season, or just for today, set an intention and allow yourself to be filled with the power and energy of it.

You can use physical means to do this, such as writing it down, carving it into a candle, or you can just use visualization to set your intention.

3. Make or redecorate an altar

This might seem like it would take a lot of energy, but an altar doesn't have to be an elaborate space set up all by itself on a shelf or table somewhere. And it doesn't have to stay for long either!

Set up an altar by placing a few candles, holiday-relevant decoration, some herbs, and whatever else you want all together. It doesn't have to take up a lot of space, a side table somewhere or any available space can do.

(Some people even do online altars, while I have not dug into this concept yet, it sounds like a great idea for broom closet witches and those who don't have the space, time, or energy to create a physical altar space!)

4. Cleanse your space

Regardless if it's your whole house, bedroom, witchy workspace, or just yourself, cleansing is always a good way to celebrate a solstice. Imagine you are cleansing the old energy from the area and welcoming in the new beginnings that the world has in store for you.

5. Make something

Baking, cooking, drawing, painting, any type of creation is a goo way to celebrate the solstice and holiday seasons! We're stuck inside more often this time of year so why not make the most of our time and do a little crafting?

There are many religious and culturally significant holidays around this year, and with them many recipes! Get your festive aprons out (optional) and start making something delicious! Imbuing your food with intention for the holidays welcoming energy is a great way to celebrate.

This may take a bit more energy or resources but don't stress! You don't have to paint the Mona Lisa or cook an entire feast, even a doodle or making a grilled cheese will do~

Mixing holiday-specific drinks (alcoholic or no) is always a wonderful and easy way to make something for this holiday season.

Bonus: Consider setting out your creations for your ancestors/deities/spirit guides to take part in. Some cultures have the tradition of setting food out for any wandering souls who are in need of a meal or some festive spirit this time of year.

6. If possible, donate your time or money to charity organizations

I know this is a low-cost low-energy focused post, but hear me out:

This time of year is hard on everyone for one reason or another, so if you aren't able to lend out a hand or money for charities there is no shame in that!

However, if you're in a good spot to do so, donate to those in need. Many charities also take donations of canned/boxed food, sanitary items, blankets, and clothes.

-----

There you go, some easy or cheap ways to celebrate the solstice and yule! If you have anything to add or other ways people can celebrate that don't cost a lot of money or energy then please let me know :)

[glowinggator]

Domestic Headcanons

Summary: Domestic headcanons with everyone’s favorite ogre! (Oni?)

Pairing: Loathsome Leonard/Reader (Established Relationship) 

Content Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1142

[A/N: I can’t fucking believe I wrote 1k words for a single character headcanon. girl i don’t even simp for him what the fuck. and i wanted to write even MORE but it was getting too long. leonard simps this one’s for you <3]

Danny’s Here // Mickey’s Here 

When you’re such a well-known, prolific criminal - especially in his specific line of work - it’s hard to really settle down into a domestic life. He wants to, he really does. But when the cops are constantly on your tail, moving around is simply a fact of life. And crime has always been a part of his life: it’s not something he can just drop and move on from. But he tries his best to make each place feel a little bit less like a safehouse and more like a home. And at the end of the day, home truly is with the people you love. Nothing can replace that. Although he does dream of defecting from Mama’s rule, taking the money for you guys and the rest of the crew and finding the dream life, it isn’t exactly feasible. He knows she’d catch onto his plan, likely before he even initiated it. But he can dream, right? Maybe someday he’ll save up enough of his earnings to find a little home for you two.

If you have a home top-side though… ecstatic doesn’t even begin to describe it. He’s not real obvious about it, of course, but you can tell that he’s happy to finally have a place that he can feel safe in. And better yet, it’s with you.

He’s a very good mechanic. Pretty good handyman in general, actually! You’ll never have to call the repair guy again. He almost never uses a measuring tape, but fortunately he’s damn good at eyeballing shit.

Gets kind of freaked out if you guys don’t have a garage? He’s a little paranoid about it, especially because he does NOT want his bike stolen. He’ll start pawning stuff he finds in the Hidden City to afford a garage if he has to, honestly. Fortunately, that ALSO means you guys can start piling stuff in there. Free hangout spot.

He spends at least an hour on his hair most mornings. He uses clay instead of gel, so it usually takes less time on the second day. He’ll still mess with it throughout the day, though. He’s got an image to keep up, babe!

Never wears his cloaking necklace in the house. You’re waiting for the day that the FBI or Scotland Yard or something fucking break into your house for hiding a demon.

In another life, he could have worked as a chef, no joke. He can make pretty much anything, honestly. He’s not one to follow recipes to the T, but that’s what makes his food so good. And his barbeque is the best!! If you guys are top-side, it’s really funny to look out the window and see him cooking because you never fucking recognize him. It’s weird seeing him in… not yokai form. If you’re not, though? Fuck yeah, brother. 

He hates soybeans so much, it’s unreal. Like, he’d rather die than eat them. He has no other reasoning than “they suck.” Sorry if you like tofu, but he’s not gonna touch that shit with a 30 foot pole.

His voice is very rumbly in the morning, it’s nice.

Local plant killer. He’ll find a way to kill a cactus without even trying. Very impressed if you have a green thumb, though.

He likes to order out a lot. If he finds something he likes he tends to stick with it, but he’s not opposed to trying new places. He’s not picky, but he does like to give you shit <3

He sucks at decorating. Like, he has no eye for it at all.

Always the first to put away the dishes! He’s very fast at it as well. 

He’s really good about making coffee at night, or when he wakes up in the morning. If you’re not awake yet, he’ll always make your drink of choice just before you wake up. He’s good about that sort of thing. Also, he likes to pretend that he drinks his coffee black, but he actually pours a fuck ton of maple syrup in it when nobody’s looking. In the same vein, he takes his tea black. If anything, he’ll add a bit of milk to it, but that’s rare. He likes spiced teas the most, but he’s not insanely picky. Hates chamomile, though.

There’s a lot of temporary shelters that you guys hide out in the Hidden City when you’re unable to leave, and the heat gets too hot to handle, with a few semi-permanent places. His favorite hideout is a little farm way out in the countryside. If he had to choose a place to live forever, that would be his dream home. The trees out that way grow tall, with deep green trunks that reflect cobalt blue light at night. The megafauna roams freely, creatures the size of skyscrapers soaring slowly through the air, or sending rumbles through the ground with their colossal hooves in the late afternoon. And yet, they always go around the home. Magically warded, perhaps? Or are they intelligent enough to avoid a dwelling? Neither of you are sure, but he knows that he’d love to live his life here, with you. Something about it just feels right.

King of bonfires. It happens at least once every two weeks. The flames dance high, changing colors every few seconds. Something about the wood makes the flames dance and change hue, unlike the wood from your own world. It’s nothing new to him, but it’s absolutely magical to you. You two will happily spend the night out there, watching the flames dance and the megafauna roam. Your laughter echoes through the land, and you truly feel at home in this little cabin.

Yes, the guys absolutely come over often if you aren’t hiding out with them. Come on, they’re family.

He’s pretty good at Mortal Kombat! Expect game nights every now and then. Also he absolutely lost his mind over the new Mortal Kombat movie. No cap, he’d fuck Liu Kang. He’s very excited for the next movie, but tbh he hates Johnny Cage. Okay I’ll stop talking about mortal kombat now i prommy

He’s not super big into gaming, but he’s happy to watch you if you are. Little bit of a backseat gamer, but just kiss him. It’ll either keep him quiet or prompt more quips,  but at least you get kisses.

He really wants a dog. He can’t exactly have one at the moment, but he’d really like one. He’s a fan of most kinds of dogs, but he’d like one that’s fairly strong. His ideal dog would be a Cane Corso!

Loves action movies and horror movies. Come on, have you seen his line of work?

Honestly, 10/10 husband. The life he leads isn’t one to lend itself to domesticity, but he’s never been one to take “no” for an answer. And he’s gonna do everything he can to make a life for the both of you, no matter what.

[blubberquark]

Excel, Word, Access, Outlook

Previously on computer literacy: A Test For Computer Literacy

If you’re a computer programmer, you sometimes hear other programmers complain about Excel, because it mixes data and code, or about Word, because it mixes text and formatting, and nobody ever uses Word and Excel properly.

If you’re a computer programmer, you frequently hear UX experts praise the way Excel allows non-programmers to write whole applications without help from the IT department. Excel is a great tool for normal people and power users, I often hear.

I have never seen anybody who wasn’t already versed in a real programming language write a complex application in an Excel spreadsheet. I have never seen anybody who was not a programmer or trained in Excel fill in a spreadsheet and send it back correctly.

Computer programmers complain about the inaccessibility of Excel, the lack of discoverability, the mixing of code and data in documents that makes versioning applications a proper nightmare, the influence of the cell structure on code structure, and the destructive automatic casting of cell data into datatypes.

UX experts praise Excel for giving power to non-programmers, but I never met a non-programmer who used Excel “properly”, never mind developed an application in it. I met non-programmers who used SPSS, Mathematica, or Matlab properly a handful of times, but even these people are getting rarer and rarer in the age of Julia, NumPy, SymPy, Octave, and R. Myself, I have actually had to learn how to use Excel in school, in seventh grade. I suspect that half of the “basic computer usage” curriculum was the result of a lobbying campaign by Microsoft’s German branch, because we had to learn about certain features in Word, Excel, and PowerPoint on Windows 95, and non-Microsoft applications were conspicuously absent.

Visual Basic and VBS seemed like a natural choice to give power to end users in the 90s. People who had already used a home computer during the 8-bit/16-bit era (or even an IBM-compatible PC) were familiar with BASIC because that was how end-users were originally supposed to interact with their computers. BASIC was for end users, and machine code/compiled languages were for “real programmers” - BASIC was documented in the manual that came with your home computer, machine code was documented in MOS data sheets. From today’s point of view, programming in BASIC is real programming. Calling Visual Basic or .Net scripting in Excel “not programming“ misrepresents what modern programmers do, and what GUI users have come to expect after the year 2000.

Excel is not very intuitive or beginner-friendly. The “basic computer usage” curriculum was scrapped shortly after I took it, so I had many opportunities to observe people who were two years younger than me try to use Excel by experimenting with the GUI alone.

The same goes fro Microsoft Word. A friend of mine insists that nobody ever uses Word properly, because Word can do ligatures and good typesetting now, as well as footnotes, chapters, outline note taking, and so on. You just need to configure it right. If people used Word properly, they wouldn’t need LaTeX or Markdown. That friend is already a programmer. All the people I know who use Word use WYSIWYG text styling, fonts, alignment, tables, that sort of thing. In order to use Word “properly“, you’d have to use footnotes, chapter marks, and style sheets. The most “power user” thing I have ever seen an end user do was when my father bought a CD in 1995 with 300 Word templates for all sorts of occasions - birthday party invitation, employee of the month certificate, marathon completion certificate, time table, cooking recipe, invoice, cover letter - to fill in and print out.

Unlike Excel, nobody even claims that non-programmer end users do great things in Word. Word is almost never the right program when you have email, calendars, wikis, to-do lists/Kanban/note taking, DTP, vector graphics, mind mapping/outline editors, programmer’s plain text editors, dedicated novelist/screenwriting software, and typesetting/document preparation systems like LaTeX. Nobody disputes that plain text, a wiki, or a virtual Kanban board is often preferable to a .doc or .docx file in a shared folder. Word is still ubiquitous, but so are browsers.

Word is not seen as a liberating tool that enables end-user computing, but as a program you need to have but rarely use, except when you write a letter you have to print out, or when you need to collaborate with people who insist on e-mailing documents back and forth.

I never met an end user who actually liked Outlook enough to use it for personal correspondence. It was always mandated by an institution or an employer, maintained by an IT department, and they either provided training or assumed you already had had training. Outlook has all these features, but neither IT departments nor end users seemed to like them. Outlook is top-down mandated legibility and uniformity.

Lastly, there is Microsoft Access. Sometimes people confused Excel and Access because both have tables, so at some point Microsoft caved in and made Excel understand SQL queries, but Excel is still not a database. Access is a database product, designed to compete with products like dBase, Cornerstone, and FileMaker. It has an integrated editor for the database schema and a GUI builder to create forms and reports. It is not a networked database, but it can be used to run SQL queries on a local database, and multiple users can open the same database file if it is on a shared SMB folder. It is not something you can pick up on one afternoon to code your company’s billing and invoicing system. You could probably use it to catalogue your Funko-Pop collection, or to keep track of the inventory, lending and book returns of a municipal library, as long as the database is only kept on one computer. As soon as you want to manage a mobile library or multiple branches, you would have to ditch Access for a real SQL RDBMS.

Microsoft Access was marketed as a tool for end-user computing, but nobody really believed it. To me, Access was SQL with training wheels in computer science class, before we graduated to MySQL and then later to Postgres and DB2. UX experts never tout Access as a big success story in end-user computing - yet they do so for Excel.

The narrative around Excel is quite different from the narrative around Yahoo Pipes, IFTTT, AppleScript, HyperCard, Processing, or LabView. The narrative goes like this: “Excel empowers users in big, bureaucratic organisations, and allows them to write limited applications to solve business problems, and share them with co-workers.”

Excel is not a good tool for finance, simulations, genetics, or psychology research, but it is most likely installed on every PC in your organisation already. You’re not allowed to share .exe files, but you are allowed to share spreadsheets. Excel is an exchange format for applications. Excel files are not centrally controlled, like Outlook servers or ERP systems, and they are not legible to management. Excel is ubiquitous. Excel is a ubiquitous runtime and development environment that allows end-users to create small applications to perform simple calculations for their jobs.

Excel is a tool for office workers to write applications to calculate things, but not without programming, but without involving the IT department. The IT department would like all forms to be running on some central platform, all data to be in the data warehouse/OLAP platform/ERP system - not because they want to make the data legible and accessible, but because they want to minimise the number of business-critical machines and points of failure, because important applications should either run on servers in a server rack, or be distributed to workstations by IT.

Management wants all knowledge to be formalised so the next guy can pick up where you left off when you quit. For this reason, wikis, slack, tickets and kanban boards are preferable to Word documents in shared folders. The IT department calls end-user computing “rogue servers“ or “shadow IT“. They want all IT to have version control, unit tests, backups, monitoring, and a handbook. Accounting/controlling thinks end-user computing is a compliance nightmare. They want all software to be documented, secured, and budgeted for. Upper management wants all IT to be run by the IT department, and all information integrated into their reporting solution that generates these colourful graphs. Middle management wants their people to get some work done.

Somebody somewhere in the C-suite is always viewing IT as a cost centre, trying to fire IT people and to scale down the server room. This looks great on paper, because the savings in servers, admins, and tech support are externalised to other departments in the form of increased paperwork, time wasted on help hotlines, and

Excel is dominating end-user computing because of social reasons and workplace politics. Excel is not dominating end-user computing because it is actually easy to pick up for end-users.

Excel is dominating end-user computing neither because it is actually easy to pick up for non-programmers nor easy to use for end-users.

This is rather obvious to all the people who teach human-computer interaction at universities, to the people who write books about usability, and the people who work in IT departments. Maybe it is not quite as obvious to people who use Excel. Excel is not easy to use. It’s not obvious when you read a book on human-computer interaction (HCI), industrial design, or user experience (UX). Excel is always used as the go-to example of end-user computing, an example of a tool that “empowers users”. If you read between the lines, you know that the experts know that Excel is not actually a good role model you should try to emulate.

Excel is often called a “no code“ tool to make “small applications“, but that is also not true. “No Code” tools usually require users to write code, but they use point-and-click, drag-and-drop, natural language programming, or connecting boxes by drawing lines to avoid the syntax of programming languages. Excel avoids complex syntax by breaking everything up into small cells. Excel avoids iteration or recursion by letting users copy-paste formulas into cells and filling formulas in adjacent cells automatically. Excel does not have a debugger, but shows you intermediate results by showing the numbers/values in the cells by default, and the code in the cells only if you click.

All this makes Excel more like GameMaker or ClickTeam Fusion than like Twine. Excel is a tool that doesn’t scare users away with text editors, but that’s not why people use it. It that were the reason, we would be writing business tools and productivity software in GameMaker.

The next time you read or hear about the amazing usability of Excel, take it with a grain of salt! It’s just barely usable enough.

[i-cant-handle-change]

Hiroki Mamoru was a person Bakugou last expected to enter Izuku’s life.

It seemed that after that day he told Izuku to take a swan dive and he'd been avoiding him at all costs. Not that Bakugou would complain, just one more day of not having to face Deku was like a blessing to him.

But what he didn't expect was for Izuku to change all of a sudden.

His backpack filled with hero memorabilia was now thin and lighter than it was before. With a new notebook, he began writing down cooking recipes out of all things. Desserts and sweets are labeled and detailed down to their core on what made them sweet to the naked eye.

Again, the blond chose to ignore the strange career change while he worked himself over to get himself into UA.

The only time he had ever met with Hiroki was when he was invited into the Midoriya household. While his parents talked with auntie, he took the time to explore a bit, see what and what didn't change.

The apartment was the same no less than the few moving furniture here and there. The only shock the teenager got was when he went into Izuku’s room and not one step was taken before he had to step back.

It was completely blank, nearly empty apart from the furniture.

Any mention of All Might was completely erased from the nerd’s room. No posters, no curtains, no figures, no anything. Taking a moment longer to look at it, Izuku didn't even have the All Might plaque with his name on it on the door either.

Izuku then took up the opportunity to explain the situation to his childhood friend, Hiroki being next to him as he gave his explanation.

“I-uh-sold it, I wasn’t going to use them for benefit anymore, it all just seemed like a waste.”

Izuku looked away bashfully, it wasn't until Hiroki placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder to put him at ease.

“They weren't important anyway, besides, it’s your money now, you can do what you want with it. The future is bright the way I see it with what we’re going for!”

Izuku nodded, his blush slightly getting deeper as he held the hand that was on his shoulder. He didn't seem to realize the look Hiroki gave to Bakugou, his eyes glowing an unnatural orange.

It didn't take long before Bakugou felt himself feeling uneasy under the gaze of the other teenager. He made a move to get out of the room but Hiroki was quick to make his move first.

“Hey, I know I’m coming out of nowhere with this, but I just wanted to properly introduce myself.”

He lends out his hand, Bakugou only shaking it when the teenager mutters for him to do so. The action alone was not by consent, the blond only stopping when he got out of the haze.

“I’m Hiroki Mamoru, it’s a pleasure to meet you!”

[bonvoyagenoona]

The Road to You (M) | 07: Ordeals, Rewards, and Resurrection

The Road to You | Masterpost

Word Count: 17,432 | read on ao3

Rating: 18+ / Explicit / Mature

Pairing: Jin x Reader

Summary

Armed with your quick wit, creative passion, talent for storytelling, and innate understanding of your fanbase, you have met every challenge, surpassed every goal, and achieved the unimaginable. Despite the earth shifting erratically under your firmly planted feet, you’ve always had a plan. You’ve made peace with the sacrifices you’ve had to make, and you’ve long forgotten the rejections and heartbreaks that came as a result. Your agent keeps reminding you that you’re at the precipice of something new, that your audience is waiting for your next project with bated breath. This is usually when you thrive. So why do you feel so lost? And who can you count on from your past to help you find your way?

Chapter Excerpt

A tall, arrestingly captivating man walks in. He’s clearly at the beginning of his career, but he’s already got a movie-star look and quality about him. You wonder if you’re staring at a hologram because he seems to have no pores. He’s probably one of those people who’s been told all his life that he’s made for the screen.

Minji’s eyes widen, and she grabs your wrist.

“Oh shit,” she mutters under her breath.

You shake her off.

As Hye gives him some instructions on what to do, Minji reaches for her notepad and quickly jots down a note for you.

It reads: I said, “Oh shit.”

I got it the first time, you write back.

He’s definitely hunky, Minji replies.

But can he act? you ask, winking at her.

“You’ve got your sides?” Hye asks the actor.

He smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”

Hye grins. “Alright. In your own time.”

Seokjin looks at the three of you. Then, he clears his throat, and he starts reciting the sides, which he looks to have memorized.

“I know in your heart that you love me, and if you’re not ready, then you certainly won’t be ready for how long I’m willing to wait.” His eyes soften, while also taking on an increasingly creepy air. “How patient I’m going to be. How ever-present. How I’ll strike the minute you’ve forgotten about me. And whenever I strike, I kill.”

Content Warnings: Soft and hard smut, divorce, anxiety, infertility

Taglist 💜: permanent @purpleheartsfortae​ @btseditsworld​ | the road to you @aliceollormusic​ @tangledsparkles​ @daydreamqueenjaycee​ (reply here if you want to be added!)

07: Ordeals, Rewards, and Resurrection

You nudge the last napkin in place, and you re-light the last candle on the table that seemed to have gone out in your wake as you rushed to turn off the oven. 

You’re a terrible cook in the sense that you don’t know the basic preparatory steps for any kind of food, and you certainly don’t know any recipes by heart. But you can follow directions. So, you decided to try to make something easy, and something easily replaceable if things turned out to be a complete disaster.

When Sejin arrives, you pull him into your apartment and wrap your arms around each other so tightly that you start making choked-off noises with your throats. Your hug is so enthusiastic that you end up tangling your feet up, and falling down onto the entryway together. 

You laugh, and after Sejin gets to his feet, he lends you a hand to help you get up on your own.

He hangs his jacket in your closet and follows you into the kitchen. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes. God, I’ve missed you,” he says fondly, his eyes smiling at you from behind his round, thin glasses.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you say truthfully. And then you smirk at him. “It’s been weird not having you bark your orders at me all day while I was trying to write.”

He looks at you a moment. “It explains a lot that you consider reminders about appointments and hygiene to be ‘orders’. I knew you operated best on negative reinforcement schedules, but I didn’t know it extended to basic human functions.”

“Listen to yourself. Negative reinforcement schedules? Doing things to preemptively get you off my back isn’t exactly the healthiest pattern for me to have,” you say with a laugh. You’re kind of serious, though.

Sejin nods and understands. “That’s why I didn’t pester you this time around.” He looks at you softly. “I’m sorry for every time that I contributed to the chaos.”

“No need to apologize,” you say cheerfully. “You balance things out.”

“I do?”

“You always help me clean up afterwards,” you say, glancing at the still-spotless kitchen. 

Sejin takes your hand in yours and squeezes it tight. You smile at him, and you squeeze back. You both linger for just a second, wanting to share this moment completely and presently. 

His eyes fall to the huge plank of wood with a great selection of ham, bacon, prosciutto, an assortment of bread, crackers, and dips, plus figs, dates, walnuts, and an adorable, tiny jar of honey, with its own tiny honeycomb. You smiled to yourself and thought of Hobi when you picked it out at the store.

“When’s Minji getting here?” Sejin asks, sitting down at one of three places that you’ve set at the table. “I’m starving.”

“Go ahead and dig in,” you say, leaning back on the kitchen counter. “I don’t think Minji would care.”

You playfully squabble about whether it’s proper manners to wait to eat for all your guests to arrive. You break it down by scenario and context: the rules are different for dinner parties versus casual get-togethers versus big events. Sejin prefers waiting, and a fixed schedule. Either way, you don’t have to wait long. Minji arrives just a few moments later, and she swoons at how you look. You’re only wearing your usual jeans and a sweater, so you don’t understand why she’s so happy at first. 

But then it hits you.

“I must have been in really bad shape when I was deep in it, huh?” you ask them both.

Sejin looks over to Minji, who decides to avert her eyes.

“Tell me,” you say, placing your hands on your hips. “I want to know. That’s why we’re doing this.”

“I thought we were doing dinner,” Minji says, eager to change the subject. She looks down at the table at the impressive spread. “And I thought you said you were going to cook?”

Yes, the appetizer is a charcuterie board that you picked up at the store. And the main course of lamb chops, roasted brussel sprouts, and mashed potatoes are deliveries from Minji’s favorite restaurant.

“But I did cook one thing,” you explain, opening the door to the oven and showing them.

Sitting on the middle rack is a medium-sized pan of completely non-descript, regular-ass chocolate brownies made from a mix in a box. 

Minji and Sejin still look legitimately impressed. They tell you that they figured you hadn’t so much as looked at your oven door since you’d moved in, let alone opened it. 

But you have one more secret. 

You grin. 

“They’re edibles!”

“Oh shit, well, we’ve obviously gotta start with those,” Sejin says excitedly, getting up from the table and reaching into the oven, even though you protest that they still need to cool.

You watch fondly as Minji and Sejin hilariously fight over how many brownies to cut. 

You’ve missed seeing them and talking with them, really talking with them. That all goes without saying. But you’ve also missed how everything sounds. The sound of Minji and Sejin laughing. The sound of footsteps scurrying back and forth between the kitchen, living room, and bathroom. The sound of your fridge and cupboards being opened and closed by people who already know where everything is. 

This is something you’ve missed for a long time. Your apartment had been so empty for so long. You forgot what it was like to see life inside of it. You blamed the end of the show for the end of your social gatherings, but now you’re starting to wonder if there’s more to it than that. If you have more of a hand in letting those things wither.

By the end of Sejin and Minji’s squabble, you’re all huddled on the floor, passing the pan of brownies back and forth and eating forkfuls of it instead of cutting it into pieces.

“Look, I’m not complaining, but why’d you make weed brownies?” Minji asks, handing the pan to you.

“To relax,” you shrug. “To have fun. And to get some different perspectives on my writing.” You smile to yourself, thinking of Yoongi and missing him so badly that you almost text him right there and then.

“Just checking,” Minji says happily, but absent-mindedly.

“Checking?” you ask.

Sejin digs into the pan, and Minji scrunches up her lips.

“Checking what?” you push.

“If you were going to mention your anxiety,” Sejin admits, setting the pan and the potholder down on his lap. “Sometimes, you’d smoke to try and take your mind off things. But when you were in the depths of it, you’d get more anxious and paranoid.”

As you listen to him, you try to remember those moments. You’ve blocked so much of it out. Maybe you haven’t processed any of it to begin with.

“Did it catch you off-guard?” you ask. “Did you see it coming?”

“I don’t know if we anticipated how hard you’d take the end,” Minji replies. “But we weren’t surprised when you crashed.” She looks over at Sejin. “I know I wasn’t.”

“I wasn’t either,” Sejin adds. “You were going through so much.”

You sigh.

You reach up for the journal, which you’ve set next to the box of brownie mix.

You hand it to Minji, who sighs.

She opens the front cover, and she sees the polaroid of Jin that you’d taped to the inside of the front cover. He’s in the conference room that you were using as an audition room, and would eventually use as a dressing room to shoot the pilot. You still hadn’t cast one of your main characters, and Jin came in as a complete surprise. 

“Maybe if I hadn’t taken this picture, you wouldn’t have had to go through all of that,” Minji says thoughtfully, running her fingers along the edge of the photograph.

“No,” you say defiantly. “None of that. I’m the one who does all the self-deprecating around here, so you leave that to me.”

Sejin grumbles that you really shouldn’t be so self-deprecating, and Minji laughs and nudges your foot. 

“Everyone worries about that,” you say, seriously. “But I’m not trying to root out whose fault it was. None of this is anyone’s fault. I just have such a narrow view of everything. All I have are my memories and these notes. I want to know more. Get more context. Understand what it was like to actually see me go through this. Continue to map out my blind spots are. Share them. Fix them for next time.”

“It wasn’t your blind spots that needed to be mapped out,” Minji says meaningfully.

She hands the journal to Sejin, who starts flipping through the pages. “You’re seeing him tomorrow?” he asks.

You nod. “At his place.”

Sejin flips another page. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Do me a favor?” Sejin asks.

“Sure.”

Sejin furrows his brow and shuts the journal. He hands it back to you. 

“Ask him if it did.”

“I just don’t think any of these actors are right,” Minji complains, as you and your casting director, Hye, look at the most recent batch of photographs from local talent agencies trying to look for a win.

“They’re all handsome,” Hye offers.

“Yeah, but none of them really capture the duality of what I’m trying to go for here,” you explain.

“Ready for the next group, then?” Hye asks.

“Yes, Hye, thank you,” Minji replies.

Hye nods and steps into the hallway, coordinating with the PA and taking a glance down the rows of chairs filled with people reading your script.

Minji grins, enjoying this moment alone with you. “Look at you, stepping into a leadership role. Saying things like ‘duality’.”

“Well, I mean, the character is literally based on two people,” you say.

“Oh, yeah?” Minji asks. “I don’t think I know the full backstory of all this. Who are the two people that Hyunki’s based on?”

You smile and think of Yoongi and Jungkook. “Two of my boyfriends from college. One’s a writer, and the other’s a director.”

“Ugh, I can just see it now,” Minji swoons, clutching her chest. “Dorm rooms. Hoodies. Staying up late and sharing your super deep, passionate thoughts that you think only the two of you have come up with, but in truth, you just hadn’t seen anything by Fellini yet.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. “Yeah. That’s basically it.”

“Well, don’t forget, Hyunki also has to be hunky,” Minji replies, stretching. “We can’t have a complete uggo be our leading man.”

“First of all, that’s incredibly reductive and insensitive,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Second of all, are you suggesting that my boyfriends weren’t ridiculously hot?”

“Writer nerds usually aren’t. Except for the two of us, of course,” Minji says in a playful voice, flipping her hair.

You make a mental note to dig out pictures of Jungkook and Yoongi. You don’t know it yet, but when you show her the pictures of you, Jungkook, Yoongi, Dae, and a bunch of others, her jaw drops, and she asks you what the hell was in the water supply at your college.

Hye returns with a grin. “Next batch coming in,” she replies, as she takes her seat. 

You see actor after actor try to portray Yoongi’s confidence with Jungkook’s exuberance, but you feel like they’re just coming across as cocky assholes. Which they’re not completely wrong about. But there was something underpinning those traits in both of them. An uncanny way of being vulnerable, and daring you to be vulnerable, too. Not for sadist sport, or to expose weakness. But to push boundaries. To learn. 

“Next actor is Kim Seokjin,” says the PA helping you with these appointments. She quickly places a headshot and resume on the table in front of you. She looks a little nervous, especially given that she’s working with Hye, a major casting director in the business, and someone you worked with on your and Minji’s previous show. 

Hye notices, and she smiles warmly at her. 

“Anything else I can get you before we start?” the PA asks.

“No, just wanted to say that you’re doing an amazing job, and I’ll bet I’ll see you around again.”

The PA grins. You’ve been where she’s been. She’s hoping that her work today will get her a job on your crew, maybe even translate into taking on more responsibility to help her build her profile. You appreciate and note Hye’s gentle guidance and encouragement. That’s what you want this project to be about. Honoring the way people can come together and create something.

The PA leaves, and you all reach for your notepads to scribble down your thoughts. 

A tall, arrestingly captivating walks in. He’s clearly at the beginning of his career, but he’s already got a movie-star look and quality about him. You wonder if you’re staring at a hologram because he seems to have no pores. He’s probably one of those people who’s been told all his life that he’s made for the screen.

Minji’s eyes widen, and she grabs your wrist.

“Oh shit,” she mutters under her breath.

You shake her off.

As Hye gives him some instructions on what to do, Minji reaches for her notepad and quickly jots down a note for you. 

It reads: I said, “Oh shit.”

I got it the first time, you write back.

He’s definitely hunky, Minji replies.

But can he act? you ask, winking at her. 

“You’ve got your sides?” Hye asks the actor.

He smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”

Hye grins. “Alright. In your own time.”

Seokjin looks at the three of you. Then, he clears his throat, and he starts reciting the sides, which he looks to have memorized. 

“I know in your heart that you love me, and if you’re not ready, then you certainly won’t be ready for how long I’m willing to wait.” His eyes soften, while also taking on an increasingly creepy air. “How patient I’m going to be. How ever-present. How I’ll strike the minute you’ve forgotten about me. And whenever I strike, I kill.”

The three of you swoon at his incredible performance.

“That was wonderful,” Minji says quickly. “You displayed some key traits that this character needs to have. You were intense. Daring. Romantic.”

“R-romantic?” he replies, startled. 

“Yeah,” Hye agrees, looking over at the two of you for confirmation. “Even in just a few short lines, you’ve captured a lot of essential traits.”

“Uh, thanks?” he says, unsure.

Then Hye looks over at the two of you again, and you both shrug. It seems you’re all a little confused.

“Some quick questions, though,” Hye says. “Why the creepiness? And what sides were you reading?”

He shrugs. “The prepared ones? I got them from my agent a week ago.”

Hye furrows her brow. “Let me see?”

He steps forward, and you realize that he’s even taller than you thought he was. He towers over, his broad shoulders sweeping, standing against the backdrop of the room like he’s a giant.

“Yeah, these aren’t our sides,” Hye replies.

He puffs out his cheeks and pouts. “So this isn’t the audition for Love Me to Death?”

The three of you exchange glances and laugh a little at the cheesy, B-movie title.

“No, this is for an upcoming pilot,” Hye says.

He puffs his cheeks out again, his eyes going blank. He’s going through where the mix-up happened. Did he get the date wrong? The time wrong? The address wrong? And then he says, “Well, I guess I’m definitely not getting the role of Murderer #2.”

You all laugh again, and he grins at you. “You all seemed to be into what I had to offer, at least, so… can I try again with whatever this audition’s for?”

The three of you exchange glances, and you completely crack up. You appreciate some honest-to-goodness screwball comedy.

“Is this a bit that you do?” you ask.

His eyes fall on you, and he grins. “A bit?”

“Yeah, you know, your hook,” you say, genuinely impressed. “Come in with the shock factor and then play up the comedy.”

“Oh, no, I’m not a comedian. I’m strictly a dramatic actor,” he says, and the three of you laugh again.

He nervously laughs along, and though you can tell that he’s having a terribly disorienting, almost out-of-body experience with this audition, he also seems to be having fun throwing caution to the wind.

“OK,” you say, leaning forward and feeling game. “Read these sides. I’ll read along with you.”

Minji and Hye exchange excited looks. You hate wasting time. They know that when you start to get involved in a process, it means that your gears are turning, and you’re getting somewhere. 

“Cool,” he says. “And what is this show for?”

“It’s a slice-of-life sitcom about writers,” you say. “Your character is giving my character a pep talk.”

“Wonderful,” he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. And then he catches himself. “I mean, uh, no, really, that’s… that’s wonderful and… not… trite… at all.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. You’ve never been in an audition where an actor so boldly disparages a show that he knows nothing about during an audition that he never meant to have while simultaneously missing the original audition he intended to book. If that doesn’t portray a special mix of Yoongi and Jungkook, then you don’t know what does.

He grins at you, taken with how you aren’t taking yourself so seriously as to snipe back.

He looks over the sides, and Minji circles the word “hunky” over and over again on your legal pad.

“OK, I think I’m ready,” he replies, taking his original mark for the camera.

“In your own time,” you say, as Minji and Hye look on.

He takes a breath, and then he settles his face into the expression that he’s going for. Where all the others choose to look angry and impatient, he looks concerned and genuinely curious.

“Dig deeper, Missy. What is the show about?” he reads to you.

“Fuck,” you read back, “I don’t know anymore.”

“Yes, you do.” When he says it, he grins with a knowing expression, one that says he knows what you’re capable of, and he can’t wait until you realize it, too. Just like Yoongi would.

Together, you read, “Every story is about you,” and he softly chuckles at the tail of it, trailing off. You’re impressed that he locks eyes with you when he says it, and he somehow even knows to make his voice deeper. He’s picking up the pace of the lines very quickly.

“OK then,” you read on, “It’s about me. It’s about my insecurities. It’s about my...”

You trail off, as written. All the other actors took their readings a bit too fast. He actually lets the silence exist.

“...About your what?” he finally asks, and it feels like less of a reading and more of him just talking to you.

“My fears,” you read, but you’re starting to feel the pull into him. He’s so present that you’re overwhelmed with a tantalizing temptation to ignore the sides completely and just have a conversation together. 

“About what?” he asks. In reality, it’s such a loaded question, but it feels so simple as it comes out of his mouth.

“About not belonging in the writer’s room in the first place.”

“Are you writing?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He smiles and shrugs. 

“Then you’re a writer. You belong.” And then he grins. “But you can’t walk around this set with your shoulders all slumped like that, babe. If you lose sight of the fact that you belong, I’m here to help you remember.”

The way he says it. It feels right. It’s the most intimate and meaningful thing, taking on the burden to be somebody’s cheerleader and confidante. But you believe that he wants to.

You catch yourself mirroring the beam that he’s sending your way, and then you force yourself back into your professional role.

“Nice job, uh...” you say, reaching for his resume.

“Kim Seokjin,” he answers. “But I usually go by Jin.”

“Jin,” you repeat, softer. 

“Nice job, indeed,” Minji adds dramatically, leaning forward and looking at you, reminding you both that there are two other people in the room.

Jin’s ears turn red, and you immediately want to giggle and squeal about how cute that is.

“Cool, well… this---” He looks at the top of the page. “This Missy character.” He looks right at you. “Why does she need a pep talk? And what makes---” He glances at his sheet again. “---Hyunki the right guy to give it to her?” 

You grin. “Guess you’ll have to watch our wonderful, not-trite show to find out,” you say pointedly.

“Or you could just cast me here and now and tell me everything,” he suggests with a smirk.

You laugh. He even looks like Jungkook when he says it.

Minji lets out a tiny, barely audible squeal, and Hye is trying to contain her laughter.

“We’ll be in touch,” you reply diplomatically. 

Jin smiles. He looks intrigued.

He walks over and sets the lines down in front of you.

And then Minji says, “Actually, before you go, can I take a quick picture of you? Costuming and what not.”

He nods. “Sure.”

She stands, picks up her Polaroid camera and snaps a picture. As she takes the picture, he glances at you. 

The picture prints out, but he doesn’t even ask to see it. He just smiles again, gives a friendly wave, and heads into the hallway.

As the PA brings the next headshot and resume, Minji sits and shakes the picture as it develops.

“Why’d you take the picture?” Hye laughs. “We’ve got this camera rolling.”

“Can’t hurt to have extra documentation for the actors we’re really interested in,” Minji says, looking at you knowingly. “Right?”

You can’t help but blush, and you’re thankful that Minji is sitting between you and Hye so that Hye can’t see. 

“Well, how’d it come out?” Hye asks.

You, Minji, and Hye gather around as she shows you the picture. His hair is a little windswept, and he’s doing a casual, closed-lipped smile in the photo. 

The three of you smile, and you listen as Minji and Hye start talking about the looks that they could play around with, noting that he seems so versatile. He did just come in thinking he was going to be a murderer, and he left as a leading man. Your costume department could really get a chance to play with him.

But for you, it’s more than just that. You genuinely have a good feeling about him. Like he’ll be fun to work with. And like he understands Hyunki in a way that makes him leap off the page and into the room with you.

It’s like you’ve gotten a little piece of Yoongi and Jungkook back. 

A piece of you back.

You still keep the polaroid of Jin in your desk drawer, buried under a copy of the terms of your contract with the network. When you placed it there, you wondered what Hobi might think of you, secretly crushing on your leading man. But then again, Hobi had all but disappeared.

You still can’t believe how quickly you had gotten a pilot greenlit, shot, submitted, and ordered for a full season. Things moved so fast during that first year that you worried that you’d bitten off more than you can chew. And you probably did.

But now that you’ve got an entire season under your belt, and you’re about to wrap up your second season, you feel a bit more adept and handling things. Even though you lost big at the awards earlier that year, people still consider you to be the little show destined for great things. You believe that to be true, too. You hadn’t even expected to be nominated for anything, and you’re chugging into the next awards season at full steam.

It certainly helps that Jin is so game for everything that you loop him in on. 

You watch his playful nature on the monitor in your office as he’s filming a scene with the actress who plays your main character, Missy. Yoongi couldn’t stop laughing when he learned about the name. His last text from a few months ago tells you so. He tells you that she even looks like you. So, he’s confused as to why you went with someone who looked so different than him. You smiled to yourself when you read his text, and you considered sending him a picture of Jungkook. It’s been so long since you’ve talked to Jungkook. You wonder if Jungkook sees the resemblance. 

Minji knocks on your door, and she rolls her eyes when you shut your desk drawer quickly.

“Are you staring at that thing again?” she asks.

You blush.

She closes your door and lies down on your couch. She hugs her laptop to her chest.

“You are such a mess when it comes to him.”

“No, I’m not!” 

“You’re so fucking awkward when you’re around him, dribbling all over yourself or tripping over your own feet whenever you walk and talk with him, and then you come back to your office and stare at that stupid picture like some lovesick puppy.”

You huff. “That’s not even remotely true.”

“Everybody knows you like each other,” she tells you. “Ever since his audition, the two of you have been doing your little dance. Your little inside jokes. Your incessant teasing. Your banter. He comes over to you, charms you, you write it into a script, and everyone falls in love all over again. You might as well just start dating already.”

“Dating?” you ask. “Isn’t that, like…” You search for the word, but it doesn’t come to you. “Illegal?”

Minji cracks up. “Illegal?”

“You know what I mean,” you say sheepishly. 

Minji laughs again. “Sometimes I forget how green you really are.” She looks over to you. “You’d just have to let HR know. And honestly, that’s not even really required? Think about this industry. Haven’t you heard of casting couches? Do you think you’d be the first person to sleep with an actor?” 

“I don’t want this to be compared to a casting couch scenario, and I don’t really know what you’re insinuating about actors,” you say resentfully. “Besides, I’m not talking about sleeping with him!” 

“But you’ve thought about it.”

“No, I haven’t!”

Your body betrays you by summoning all the blood that you have to your cheeks.

Minji smiles defiantly. 

You sigh and pull the hood of your hoodie over your head and pull the drawstrings tight so that only your nose is showing. “Why did you come in here, anyway?” you ask, your voice slightly muffled.

“The season finale. You assigned me Missy and Hunky’s final scene,” Minji replies.

“Yes, and please don’t call him that.”

“What? Everyone else calls him Hunky.”

“They do?”

“Yeah. And I don’t just mean the cast and crew. I mean all the entertainment channels. All the TV personalities. Y’know. With the veneers.” She taps her teeth.

You laugh. You never really were into the entertainment channels and tabloids. “God. That’s asinine.” 

“It’s catchy,” Minji reflects. “He is very hunky. In fact, I bet you’ve probably written pages and pages about how hunky he is in your journal---”

“What about the scene?” you ask, burying your head in your arms on your desk and desperate to keep your talk focused on work.

“I don’t think I can write it,” Minji admits, setting her laptop down on the couch. She stands and pulls your head up by your hood. She stretches out the fabric framing your face and peels your hood back to uncover your head. “Listen to me. I don’t have experience in this department.” 

You look up at her. “You’re a head writer and executive producer. And you said you wanted a challenge.”

“But I suck at the romantic stuff.”

You laugh. “Minji, literally everything about you is romantic. You’re always doing glamorous things with glamorous people, telling glamorous stories about your glamorous experiences.”

She blinks and looks at you. And then you realize what she’s trying to say. What she actually means when she tells you that she doesn’t have experience in this department.

“Those experiences stop at the end of the night,” she says quietly. And then she smirks. “Or in the morning.”

You roll your eyes, and you’re glad that she’s opening up to you like this, even though she feels the need to bookend it with humor.

“Hyunki and Missy have a different kind of romance,” Minji goes on. “I may live romantically and glamorously, but I do it out loud. This stuff? It’s all buried in the subtext. You really do that so well. So, I think that you should write the season finale. And the writers agree with me.”

Your show has had tons of plotlines over the past two years. In the pilot, a ragtag writing team was ushered in by a frantic showrunner when the head writers quit over unsuccessful salary negotiations. Over the first season, Missy goes from being the new kid on the block to the leader of the pack. A server malfunction makes them lose their bank of scripts, so Missy turns the team’s need to recreate everything from memory into a 24-hour video race. Actors squabble and pester the writing team for more screen time, so Missy arranges for a secret writers-only trip to a beach house. Producers keep making budget cuts, so Missy proposes an idea for an episode that takes place during a blackout. And despite solid ratings and reviews, studio execs initially hated the direction that the new writers took. But the season one finale brings everyone together when the team wins an award for Best Comedy. 

The second season is picking up the clues that you’d laid throughout about Hyunki and Missy’s intensifying bond. In season one, they keep having little golden moments together. Hyunki’s pep talk from the first episode. Hyunki and Missy pairing up to get the 24-hour video race, the beach house visit, and the blackout episode done. And Hyunki and Missy hugging each other backstage at the awards ceremony, their eyes lingering on each other as they pull away. 

Your audience already knows where they’re headed. The season two finale will end with a kiss.

You go home that night and go through what Minji has written so far. The main plot lines are covered. The writers are trying to meet a deadline. Missy is out of the office with a terrible cold, and Hyunki is bending over backwards to make sure things go off without a hitch. Minji doesn’t know where to take it from there. But you know exactly what to do.

The filming schedule usually runs a few weeks behind your table read schedule, but your table reads set the tone for what to anticipate as you work through the season. The season finale table read is always a little more nerve-wracking. You tell yourself that that’s why your stomach is doing flips as Minji finishes setting up everyone’s place cards and scripts.

You tell yourself that it definitely has nothing to do with watching Jin do what he’s about to do. What he’s about to say. What you’ve written.

“Morning,” Jin greets you, as he sidles up next to you at the coffee station.

“Morning,” you say, your voice coming out higher-pitched than you would have liked.

Jin starts to prepare a plate of snacks to bring back to the table with him. “Hey, so, are you going to Hye’s daughter’s birthday thing this weekend?” he asks. “I already told her I’d go, but it doesn’t sound like anyone else from work is going.”

“I’m going,” you say. “So are Sejin and Minji.”

Jin nods. “Are you bringing a plus one?”

“Oh, well,” you say, suddenly flustered, “um, I didn’t, I’m not, I-I mean I hadn’t---”

You knock over your cup, spilling coffee onto your pants.

“...Shit.”

“Oh god, are you OK?” he asks, his eyes widening in concern.

“Totally,” you laugh, feeling completely stupid.

Jin just chuckles. “You sure? That coffee’s gotta be scalding hot!”

“Nah.” You fear third-degree burns on your thighs, but for some reason, you choose to power through it. 

“You’re super clumsy,” he observes fondly.

You’re not. Not really. You just can’t think or act straight whenever you’re around Jin.

“Tell me about it,” you laugh.

Jin chuckles again. “I just did. You’re super clumsy.”

“Right.”

You pour another cup, but as you tear open your sugar packets, Jin says, “So, big day today. What’s in store for us? Are Hyunki and Missy finally going to fuck?”

Sugar flies everywhere.

Jin laughs, helping you brush some sugar off your shirt. He shakes some off of his shoulders, and you catch a glimpse of his toned torso as his shirt raises. His eyes catch yours, and you feel caught. You think you might pass out.

You mumble something evasive, along the lines of “I don’t know”, and you reach for more sugar packets.

“Well, it’s high time that they do,” Jin says pointedly, and though you don’t look at him, he notices happily that you can’t help but grin.

You head back to the table, and you see that Minji has again placed you next to Jin. Usually, you have a bit of spare time to adjust her decision, replacing your card with whoever Minji has placed next to her. But this time, Jin distracted you, and everyone’s already coming to the table.

You flash Minji an angry look, and she throws her head back with a silent laugh.

Jin brightens when he sees your name next to his. 

“Fun! I haven’t sat next to you at a table red before.”

“No kidding,” you say flatly, as you take your seat.

You’re dreading this because you usually take on the role of reading the non-dialogue parts of the script. Knowing what you know about what’s going to happen, you also know that this week’s read will be especially tortuous. 

He sits down and casually rests his arm on the back of your chair. He looks up at you and smiles. “Well?”

You tamp down the impulse to squee.

You stiffly sit down on the edge of your chair and lean forward on the table.

“Alright everybody,” you say, your voice wavering. “Ready to get started?”

Everyone greets you excitedly. 

Minji is dying.

You warm everybody up  with a good morning, a thank-you for how amazing the season has been, and how exciting it is to be reading the season two finale with everyone. You open the floor for any additional remarks that people may have, and a few of your cast and crew echo how fun and fantastic it has been to get another year on the project. You briefly recap where you are with things now as far as the production schedule, and some of your teammates ask some questions about any additional things to consider as you wrap up. You’re still waiting on some decisions as far as renewal and any word on awards, but things are looking pretty positive.

And then you begin.

You guide the team as you read the sluglines and action blocks. Your crew makes note of the different lighting, spaces, blocking, and sets that you’ll need. Your production manager asks for a couple of holds when trickier things come up, and you greatly appreciate how dedicated your team is at getting things right the first time. Your cast takes over on the dialogue, and their brilliant performances make you all laugh and sigh happily throughout the long day. 

You get to the last scene, and you start to get nervous again.

“Interior. Writer’s room. Late night,” you read. “Missy is still delirious with fever, and the writers are still buzzing around, trying to meet all of her demands. But Hyunki has done a great job of finding a balance between what Missy is telling them, and what actually needs to be done to close out the episode. Hyunki and Missy are sitting alone in the writer’s room, and Missy is finally starting to get comfortable, lying down on the couch. Hyunki smiles at her, watching from his seat at the table.”

“Feeling better?” Jin reads.

Sena, the actress who plays Missy, is sitting on the other side of Jin. She plays Missy extremely well, very sweet and down-to-earth. But in reality, Sena is brash and outlandish, a child actress who has grown up to be a starlet in her own right. She’s played the deliriously feverish Missy to great laughs all day, never failing to act as if she has a stuffy nose. Her intermittent sniffles. Pronouncing her Ms as Bs. 

Sena smiles and reads, “Yes. Thank you. I’b so cobfy,” and you all feel warm inside at how adorable she is, and how happy she makes Missy seem.

Jin nudges you, and you chuckle. “Right. Sorry. You’re just so fun to watch, Sena,” you reply, making everyone laugh. 

You look back at your script and read on. 

“Hyunki looks at the pile of coats that everyone’s stacked onto Missy to serve as makeshift blankets. He gets out of his chair, walks over to her, and adjusts one of the coats to keep it from falling. And then he sits on the ground next to her, fondly watching her. Even though her eyes are closed, they chat.”

“You look like Sleeping Beauty,” Jin reads. His voice is soft and low, a feather gently falling to the ground.

“Are you saying that I’m beautiful?” Sena reads playfully.

“Only if you think that I’m charming,” Jin reads, eliciting laughs from the group.

“That’s Cinderella, you dweeb,” Sena reads.

“Either way, I think I acted like a real prince today,” Jin reads proudly. 

The script goes on to the next page, and you love hearing everybody turning in unison, the combined lifting of stacks of paper and the slick, crisp whish! sound that everybody’s pages make as paper slides over paper. 

Jin reads on. “Took care of you. Took care of the team. Took care of the show. I feel like a kiss from me could do more than wake up a princess.”

“Can it cure this cold?” Sena reads with a joking lilt.

The group murmurs excitedly.

“Probably,” Jin reads confidently.

The group murmurs even more.

“Hyunki moves some hair from Missy’s face, and Missy opens her eyes,” you read. “They lock eyes. Then, Missy smiles.”

“Let’s try it, then,” Sena reads, softly.

You don’t have to read this action block. Jin’s eyes widen. He blinks quickly. Everyone laughs at his expression.

“I’ve tried literally everything else,” Sena reads on. “Couldn’t hurt.”

“Hyunki smiles back,” you read.

“It definitely won’t hurt,” Jin reads, adding a new element to his voice. Smokiness. Huskiness. Seduction.

Everyone looks at you.

“Hyunki leans forward, and he and Missy kiss,” you read.

Everyone starts clapping and drumming their hands on the table. It’s a collective release from a group that has been watching and painstakingly creating this tension from day one. 

Though everyone is clapping, you know that Jin isn’t. One of his hands is holding his script.

The other is just resting on the table, making the slightest contact with your pinky.

Hye’s daughter greets you at the door with a gigantic smile.

“Well, happy birthday!” you tell her.

“Thanks!” she exclaims. “I’m turning four!” She’s dressed as a penguin, and you couldn’t find her more adorable.

“That’s a very exciting age,” you tell her. 

“I know! My mom says I can order off the adult menu at restaurants now.”

“Is that so?”

Hye’s daughter extends her flipper, and you take her hand in yours. She leads you through the house. “This is where all the grownups are,” she says, dropping you off. “I’m playing with the rest of the kids, but we can hang out later, OK?”

You laugh. “Thank you. Go have fun!”

She runs away, giggling.

“How is she so mature?” you ask Hye, setting your gift bag down next to the others.

“No clue,” Hye laughs blissfully. “When I was four, I buzzed all our dog’s hair off with my dad’s electric shaver.”

You look at the other adults sitting in the living room. They have at least three things in common. They’re all stalwarts in the industry, they all have a drink in their hands, and they all have a huge smile on their faces. Minji and Sejin greet you with hugs and kisses, and you join them on the couch.

“No one else from work really showed up, huh?” you ask.

Hye laughs. “Please, I see those lame-os every day.” She sighs. “Honestly, the rest of the crew and cast is so young. I know they don’t want to go to some kid’s birthday party. I only really invited you four.”

“Four?” Sejin asks, already buzzed.

“Jin’s the only one who hasn’t shown up,” Hye replies, winking at you.

You frown. You look over at Sejin and Minji, who are cracking up.

You turn back to Hye. “Not you, too,” you groan.

“Oh please,” Hye says. “You belong together. Take it from me. I’m a goddamn casting director.”

After a little while, the doorbell rings, and you hear Hye’s daughter scampering down the stairs to collect her next visitor. She talks about her cake as she leads Jin into the living room. Your eyes sparkle when you see him carrying her and tickling her tummy, wishing her a happy birthday and asking for a high-five.

He sets her down, and she points over to a spot next to you.

“Go sit with the other adults, and I’ll come back to hang out, OK?” she asks.

Jin can’t get enough of how adorable she is.

She scampers off, and he places his gift on the gift table. Then, he finds you again, and he makes a beeline right for you.

“Where’s Hye?” he asks, sitting down.

“Ice run,” you explain. You smile at him. “Beer? Last cold one for a little while.” 

You nudge the bottle toward him, and he grins.

“Thanks,” he says, opening the bottle and taking a swig. “So,” he says, leaning into you. “Do we know anybody else here?”

You smile at the word “we”, and the thought that you’re somehow here together.

“Minji went with Hye to get the ice. And you’ve met my manager and friend Sejin,” you say.

“Oh yeah, he’s fun!” 

“He’s out back keeping Hye’s husband company as he grills some burgers, if you want to join them,” you offer.

“Hmm. Seems like the party’s right here. I’d rather stay and hang with you, if that’s OK,” he tells you with a smile.

You blush, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you know you would have stumbled and fallen at the comment.

Hye’s daughter marches back into the living room.

“Is anyone here an actor?” she demands.

The rest of the crowd laughs and says no. They’re all behind-the-scenes people. Writers. Managers and agents. Directors and cinematographers. Editors, musicians, and other post-production legends. 

“But that guy is an actor,” one of the more prominent cinematographers says, gesturing to Jin. “He’s on TV all the time.”

“Great!” Hye’s daughter cheers, and she marches over to him.

She gives him her flipper. 

“I need two,” she says, looking at you. “I guess you’re the best I’ve got.”

You look at Jin and feign pride. “Did you hear that, Jin?” you ask, fake-flattered. “She said she guesses that I’m the best she’s got.”

Jin laughs, and Hye’s daughter, who is so much like Hye, leads you both to her playroom upstairs. In that playroom is the future of your industry, professionals who will hopefully hire you once your voices start becoming obsolete. They’re dressed in all kinds of animal costumes. You see a bear, a swan, a unicorn, an elephant, and a Christmas elf.

The elephant and unicorn are standing awkwardly next to each other.

“We’re writing a story, and we’re gonna perform it for you later,” Hye’s daughter explains. “They need to kiss, but they’ve never done it before.”

“Well, did you ask first if, uh, Elephant here and, um, Unicorn here want to kiss each other?” you ask.

“Of course I did,” Hye’s daughter sighs, exasperated. “We filled out all the forms.” 

She gestures to a stack of construction paper with scribbles on them. 

“My only condition is no nudity,” Unicorn says.

“We’re fine with the kiss,” Elephant replies, glaring at Unicorn. “We’re not sure how to do it. We watched a couple of clips on the internet, but they all have tongues in them, and that’s gross.” 

You and Jin exchange worried glances. 

“Why don’t you just hug?” you ask.

“Are you trying to censor our art?” Swan asks.

“No!” you exclaim. “Uh, never. I-I’m sorry.”

“How about, um, why don’t you kiss each other on the cheek?” Jin asks, kneeling down to get eye-level with the kids. “You know how you kiss your parents on the cheek before you go to school? Or before you go to bed?”

The kids stare blankly at you.

“I just hug my night nanny before I go to bed,” the Bear replies.

Jin stands again. “Yikes,” he whispers under his breath to you, his eyes wide. 

“We tried doing it with Doll and Soldier, but it doesn’t translate any emotion to the screen,” Hye’s daughter replies passionately. “They just smile and bump teeth.”

She shows you her two dolls, and she mashes their faces into one another, their plastic smiles colliding.

“Aren’t you all, like, four years old?” you ask, incredulously.

“I’m four-and-a-half,” Bear says.

“Can’t you just kiss each other on the cheeks and show us how?” Christmas Elf asks. “The party ends in a couple of hours, and we still haven’t gotten the scene right.”

“Sure,” Jin says, as you say, “Absolutely not.”

“Just pretend you’re Soldier and Doll,” Hye’s daughter pleads, her adorable eyes taking up the entire top half of her tiny head.

You’re melting.

Jin looks at you, smirking.

You go rigid and try not to hyperventilate. If you technically don’t do anything to encourage or deny what’s about to happen, maybe Hye’s daughter won’t hate you.

“Line?” Jin asks.

“You’re the best, Elephant,” Swan tells you, looking over some scribbles on another sheet of construction paper.

“Can I switch it to Doll? Y’know, to help me get into character?” Jin asks.

“Sure,” Swan tells him.

You know that for as much as you’re hating this, he’s loving it.

He turns to you and smiles. “You’re the best, Doll,” he says earnestly. And then he leans forward and kisses you on the cheek. 

It’s a chaste, sweet kiss. But you still feel something.

The kids study you with great focus.

“I like how red she turns,” Swan observes. Swan swivels around to the rest of their cast. “Elephant, do you think you can do that?”

“I can try,” Elephant nods, determined.

“Great. Let’s take a quick five, and then we’re back in rehearsals,” Hye’s daughter tells the others, shooing you and Jin out of her playroom.

You stand in the hallway as the door to the playroom closes.

You turn to each other, hearing the rest of the adults cheering Hye and Minji’s return, their drunken conversations floating up the stairs.

Jin smiles at you. He opens his mouth. It hangs open. He looks like he wants to say something. But too many things come to his mind. He wants to gush about how cute that whole thing with the kids was. He wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all is. He wants to tell you about how much he loved the final scene that you wrote. 

You raise your eyebrows expectantly, wondering which thought will topple out first.

And then his face softens. He’s gazing at you.

“You really are the best,” he tells you. Then he smiles. “Doll.”

And then he kisses you, full, and warm, and meaningful.

The brownies are hitting you now. Between them, and the warm and fuzzy memories you have of the beginning, you, Sejin, and Minji are really enjoying yourselves. You’re sitting at the table now, digging ravenously into all of your food and rehashing the things you’d observed with Jin. You’re giving more color to the journal entry about Hye’s daughter’s birthday, the day that kickstarted your relationship, and Sejin and Minji are melting just like you did.

“Jin is really sweet,” Minji admits.

“He is.” You sigh. “I know I’m still hurt and angry, but is it really fair to put all the blame on him?” you ask. 

“Rose-colored glasses,” Sejin tuts. “He could be a real jerk sometimes.”

“Definitely,” you confess, “but, I mean, given the opportunities that were in front of him by the end, I might have chosen the same thing.” You look around the table. “Wouldn’t we all have chosen the same thing?”

“I think there were other ways to expand his career without leaving people hanging like that,” Minji points out, polishing off her lamb chops. “Look at you. You found a way to do it.”

“Yeah, why the sudden need for empathy again?” Sejin asks.

You grin. These people. Your people. The kind of people who truly will go to bat for you, and only for you, always for you. 

“If I’m going to write about him, I need to be able to empathize with him,” you remind him.

Sejin nods. “Right. That makes sense.” He clicks his teeth. “But, in this case, it’s just so hard to remove the objective from the personal.”

“You’re missing the point, Sejin. You can’t separate them. It’s all part of it,” Minji says. She gestures at him with her fork. “This is why you aren’t a writer.”

“I’m not a writer because I can’t write,” Sejin replies, taking a sip of his wine.

“And that’s why you can’t write,” Minji goes on. She looks at you, and you grin. A wine-fueled rant is bubbling up in her. You love it when Minji waxes drunkenly poetic about her craft.

“That’s what fuels us,” she says, gesturing to the two of you. “The fact that it’s all so… so…” She tries to gather something in her hands, just hovering in front of her chest.

“Tormenting?” Sejin offers, rolling his eyes. “Like you? Right now?”

“Yes!” Minji exclaims. “Tormenting! Joyful! Unthinkable! All the extremes! The real things! And you, with your Bachelor’s degree in risk aversion---”

“It��s an MBA, so technically, Master’s degree in risk aversion,” Sejin corrects.

“---makes you ill-tempered for the noble art of truth-finding,” Minji concludes.

“I don’t think it’s as dramatic as all that,” Sejin says dismissively, holding his wine glass forward as Minji pours more wine into her glass. 

She narrows her eyes playfully at him and hands him the bottle instead.

You and Sejin laugh. He accepts the bottle and tops his own glass up before automatically reaching over to fill yours. “I meant nothing by the dramatic comment. I just mean that I don’t think he deserves to be redeemed.”

Minji nods. “Well, that goes without saying, obviously.”

“...But he does,” you reply.

They turn to you, aghast. How could you be saying that? You were the one who was hurt. Sejin was merely the one who found you in your bathroom, weeping, barely able to get up. And Minji was merely the one who stayed with you for a solid week, taking time out of her own schedule to focus on you. She helped make sure you ate and slept properly. She helped make sure you didn’t lean on your vices to get you through. It was like you were in mourning. It was like someone had died. It felt like a part of you had been lost forever. They knew this was haunting you.

“All those months in your isolation? Your squalor?” Sejin asks. 

Minji shakes her head. “It wasn’t right. If he could have seen you. God.”

Sejin agrees. “What exactly makes you think he’s redeemable?” 

You fiddle with your fork a bit, and you share that important detail. 

“He was the one who reached out to reconnect. Not me.”

“How did he propose?” you ask.

Though you talk to a bunch of different people, you kind of get the same answer each time. 

Hye beams and tells you her story as the two of you watch the crew setting up for the next shot. 

“It was so romantic,” she says. “We had been dating for a couple of years, and we were dirt poor, still making our names in the business. But he had saved enough to take us on a yacht for an evening. He packed some food in a picnic basket, and we sailed away from shore. He hid the ring with the cookies he brought for dessert. He told me that he had already reached out to our families to get their blessings. And he even got some cards and messages from our families wishing us well. I still have them tucked away somewhere. That’s one of my favorite memories ever.”

Minji smirks and tells you her story as she sits in your office and works on her part of the season three opener. 

“Yeah, I’ve been proposed to, once. He and I were good friends before we started adding benefits into the equation. Oh, god, the sex was…” 

She gets a faraway look in her eyes as she thinks about it. 

“...amazing,” she continues, coming back to the room to your soft giggles. “And the proposal was amazing. He took me up in a hot air balloon at sunrise and asked me then. He got down on one knee, while our guide, who had to have been, like, a million years old, watched. People ask me all the time why I rejected my friend. But I don’t have any other reason than just not wanting to marry him. And should I have any other reason? I mean, think about it. We were in that balloon with nowhere to escape to, and I still picked sitting there for hours, awkwardly trying not to make eye contact with him or our guide, rather than just accepting his proposal on the spot.”

You schedule lunch with Dae when she’s in town for work, and you mention how Yoongi once told you that he bumped into her at the airport. 

“Yes!” Dae exclaims. “Aw, I had forgotten about that! Yoongi noticed my ring and asked me the same thing. My husband surprised me with concert tickets for my favorite band, and as we were slam-dancing in the mosh pit, the song started to morph into the intro of my favorite song of theirs. I got so, so excited. I reached out for my husband, and he hugged me really tight. He looked up at the lead singer, and I guess that was some sort of signal? Because the lead singer started singing my favorite song, but he had changed the lyrics to make it into a proposal. It was like we were in a movie. People cleared the floor a bit to give us some space, and as the band was playing, my husband got done on one knee and sang along to the part where they put, ‘Will you marry me?’” 

Dae grins and shows you her engagement band, which is nestled next to her wedding ring, and you think of Yoongi. 

“We’ll have been together for five years this year, married for three.” She tucks her now shoulder-length asymmetrical lob behind her ears and leans forward. “Who knew I’d be so goddamn conventional?”

Of course, you were there for Youngho’s proposal. You were in on the secret. In fact, you had helped him organize everything. Youngho and Yun met in college, and he had planned a day trip there for a fun getaway for the two of them. However, what Yun didn’t know was that both of your immediate families would also be there. Youngho planned a bit of a walk down memory lane at one of their favorite spots on campus, a little garden that always had cute frogs, toads, squirrels, and other critters rambling about. Youngho and Yun often went there to study, or just hang out. It’s where they met, where they had their first kiss, and where they told each other they loved each other for the first time. And you, your parents, and Yun’s parents hid in different spots in the garden, with little poems that Youngho had written for you all to recite about the importance of those spots. Yun cried at each spot, and in the end, Youngho gathered you all together, and he proposed by their favorite bench. You hate to admit it, but even you shed a little tear, overwhelmed at how much love you felt between them that day.

But your favorite proposal story, by far, was your parents’ story. Your mother had been pestering your father about getting married for years. For their sixth anniversary, they had dinner at one of their favorite restaurants, a place that’s fancy enough to commemorate something special, but not so fancy that it felt ridiculous. They sat in their favorite booth, and your father brought marriage up, constantly questioning it, making your mother so upset that she spoke in quick daggers of sentences punctuated by the sharp sound of the tines of her fork hitting the china.

Your father really isn’t one who cares much for labels or conventions. And neither is your mother. But for some reason that your father still couldn’t figure out, marriage seemed to mean something particularly important to your mother. 

“Just help me understand why it is so important to you,” your father pleaded. “The wedding is just a party. The marriage is just our relationship. The ring is just some jewelry.”

“The wedding is a special day with everyone we love. The marriage is not just a mere continuation but an evolution. And the ring is a symbol of our undying love and devotion, you absolute fucking dolt,” your mother sniped, stabbing at a stubborn cherry tomato.

Your father kept pushing her to weigh the pros and cons with him, which, amazingly, she did. 

“Gender roles. The patriarchy. We hate this stuff. Should I ask your father for his permission? Should I be expecting a dowry as well?” your father complained.

“If you were really a feminist, you’d actually hear me when I say I don’t give a shit about all that. I just care about you and me, and this is something that I want,” your mother explained for the millionth time. “Honestly, sometimes, I wonder why I even bother with you. You’re never going to change.”

As annoyed as she was, she stuck to her guns. For four straight hours.

The waiters were clearing their desserts when your father asked, “What happens if it doesn’t last?” 

“Then we get divorced, like everybody else we know,” your mother replied, gritting her teeth. “But at least we’ll know that we gave it everything. At least we can say that we tried. And I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want to try.”

She locked eyes with your father at this point. If she were any other woman, she would have had tears in her eyes by then. But she didn’t. She had dollar signs.

“You’ve gotten so used to me taking care of you, on top of my own career, which I actually get paid for,” she rightly pointed out. “So, if you’re not going to marry me, then let me go right now, or at least start paying me a decent wage.”

“Fine.” 

Your father pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and started rifling through the billfold, and your mother prepared a screech and a string of filthy curses so impious that if she had actually let them out of her mouth, both of them would have been kicked out of that restaurant, and possibly all of civil society, for good.

And then he pulled out the diamond ring from the billfold. 

“Decent enough for you?”

Your mother is a spitfire, and to see her grow so quiet after a four-hour-long tease like that was everything your father wanted and more. 

“You’d better be done with all the jokes,” she said testily. 

“Can’t promise that,” your father answered, beaming. “But I’ll try.”

Finally, your mother smirked. Her eyes softened. And that smirk turned into a genuine, romantic smile.

Unlike almost all of their friends, they were still very much in love and happily married.

And that was your favorite proposal story.

Until Jin changed everything.

The day starts like any other. It was a Friday. Season three shoots had just started. Rehearsals are running long, partly because you’re all adjusting to the rhythm of the new season and its storylines, and partly because you all keep cracking up and messing up takes. 

During a break, when the crew is setting up for the next shot, you and Jin are huddled together on set, running lines here and there, but mostly just laughing and chatting to pass the time. You wonder how your amazing and patient crew puts up with your ridiculously talented and hilarious cast. 

Jin tells you that it’s about being part of a family.

By 2 AM, you and the rest of the senior staff are the last ones there, doing as much prep as you can to hit the ground running after the weekend is done. 

You head out to your car, already trying to come up with ways to apologize to Jin for not calling him before bed. You’re a terrible cook, so making him a meal is never an option, but you always think of it first for some reason. Maybe it’s because you think it’s the most comforting thing, cooking for your loved ones. But instead of the hearth, your power lies in your wallet. You hadn’t gotten him a present in a while, and you think of a shirt that he was eyeing the last time you went window shopping. Then again, presents take on such different meaning now that the show is doing well, and now that your entire team is finally starting to see a handsome reward. 

You think you’re alone, so you startle when you see someone’s feet. But then your eyes lift to see Jin leaning against your car. He’s framed so classically, his bold outline softened by a halo of the fluorescent parking lot lights. His hair is slightly tousled and pushed back, framing his immaculate forehead and eternally youthful face. He’s leaning back so coolly. His jacket hangs slightly off of his shoulders. And his eyes sparkle when he sees you. He’s a 50s greaser, a 60s bad boy, a 70s wild child, an 80s dreamboat, a 90s heartthrob, and a 2000s hipster, all wrapped up in one. He’s so effortlessly and timelessly photogenic.

“What are you still doing here?” you ask as you walk toward him, grinning like a fool.

Jin shrugs, his hands still in his jacket pockets. “Knew you’d be late. Wanted to see you.” His cheeks are slightly rosy, and there’s a small cloud of condensation where his breath hangs in the air. 

You chuckle. “Well, you’d better not catch a cold over it. Get in. It’s chilly.”

Both of you pile into the car, and as you start the engine, Jin blasts the heat. You reach out for the vent on your side to aim it closer to you, and Jin reaches out for your hand. He rubs it between his two hands, trying to get you warm, and peppering little kisses on your fingertips.

“You’re such a sap,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but feeling so loved.

He clasps your hand as you drive to your apartment, and he doesn’t let go of it, even when you’re fumbling for the keys to your front door.

“I’m right-handed, Jin.”

He smiles happily. “I know.”

“Well, so, can I have my right hand to unlock the door?”

“Oh, right,” Jin says, embarrassed, letting go of your hand and making you laugh. He raises his eyebrows shyly, covering his face as he goes down a bit of a spiral in which he relives the moment over and over in his mind.

You scrape together some leftovers for dinner, which you eat cold. You could have eaten anything. You were getting warm and full on how, whenever Jin happens to turn his head away from you, his eyes seem to be the last things to go. 

You wash up, and you notice that Jin looks so at home in your bathroom, talking to you with his back against the sink while you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, slathering on your lotion.

And then you get into bed together.

Jin’s already closing his eyes, but he pouts his lips outward, blindly looking for you to connect with him. You laugh and take his cheeks in your hands, and he opens his eyes happily to see you. You pull his face towards you, and you kiss him sweetly. Softly. Slowly.

“Remember the day we kissed?” Jin asks you, almost purring.

You laugh. “Yes.” You sink a little and gather the covers around you. “How fucked up is that bunch of kids going to be?”

“Completely,” Jin agrees, looking hopeless for a moment before his trademark smile is plastered across his face. “But aren’t we all completely fucked up by something at some point?”

Jin is such an interesting figure to you, somehow the most cynical yet also the most optimistic person you’ve ever met. 

“Let’s have some of our own,” Jin whispers, leaning into you for another kiss.

You giggle, but instead of sounding light, you sound worried. You’d been hiding this fact from him while you’ve been dating. You weren’t even sure if this was going to turn into something, but you feel like it kind of is. You wonder if you should have told him sooner, but it doesn’t matter now. He’s put it on the table.

“Jin,” you say quietly, causing him to pull away and inspect your worried face.

“What is it?” he whispers.

“I can’t… It’s not… I found out that…” You shake all the false starts out of you. “I need to talk to you. About something important.”

Jin just watches you, and it takes you a couple of beats to realize that he’s waiting for you to go on.

“Do you want kids?” you ask carefully.

Jin seems like he isn’t sure how to react. “Yes?” he asks.

“Are you sure?” 

“Well, I’ve always kind of wanted them. But not in any specific way.” He looks at you, concerned. “Right now, I’m not sure about anything other than that I don’t want you to feel so anxious. We don’t have to talk about it.”

You smile uncomfortably. “No, it’s just…” You take a deep breath. You were always going to have to do it. And you’re going to have to do it now. “It’s just… I had a serious boyfriend a few years ago… and we tried. But it turns out that I, well, I just… I can’t… have them.”

Jin’s eyes trace your expression. They hug the curve of your cheek. They stroke your clenched jaw. They hang onto your quivering lips.

“I got really depressed about it,” you say, your voice breaking. “And I wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn’t even know if that was in the cards for us, and maybe you were just joking just now when you brought kids up---”

He reaches forward to wipe your tears before they’ve even fallen out of your eyes. 

You smile. You laugh sheepishly. But then more tears come.

“Hey,” Jin whispers soothingly, bringing you into him and holding you close.

You don’t know how long you sit there, quietly crying, your breaths ragged and your voice so feeble. He’s never seen you like this before. And you’d always worried that when he finally did, whatever triggered it would be embarrassingly trivial. So, in a way, you’re thankful. You’re thankful that you’d saved the inevitable breakdown for something that mattered to you. And you’re thankful that Jin is holding you, letting you cry on his shoulder, like Yoongi had, and like you wish Namjoon had.

Though he isn’t saying anything just yet.

You start to wonder what’s going on in his mind. 

You decide that instead of wondering, you should ask. 

“So?” 

Jin keeps stroking your back, his fingers sliding softly from your hair, to the skin on the back of your neck, to the fabric of the back of your shirt, and back up to your hair again. You close your eyes at the feeling.

“So we’ll adopt,” he says gently.

You pull away so that you can face him. He smiles, wiping your tears again with his sleeve. And you do the same, because there are tears brimming in his eyes as well. You look at him questioningly, touched by his empathy.

“I hate that you have had to deal with this,” Jin says, shaking his head. “But it’s not the end of the world. I love you. I want you. Yeah, I like the idea of having kids, but the only reason I brought it up now is because I can see them with you. It’s all because I want you. I want you like this, right now. I want you as you are.”

You lose your breath, and you seek to find it in his lips, the very things that spoke the words that made you lose it in the first place. 

He pulls you in closer. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you say, hushed, and rushed, eager to move past the talking and into the showing. You want to show him how good it feels for someone to accept you so wholeheartedly and unconditionally like this. How rare it feels. How you don’t think you can keep living a life with someone that doesn’t have that kind of love front and center.

You roll on top of him, and before you scoop down to kiss him again, you wipe the remaining tears from his eyes with your thumbs. He kisses each of your hands, and then he raises them. You stretch your arms up, and he raises your shirt, placing his hands at your waist and dragging them up the sides of your body until he reaches your shoulders. You duck your head down so that he can pull your shirt over your head, and then you bend as he pulls your sleeves off of your arms. 

He tosses your shirt to the floor beside the bed, and he smiles at your bare breasts, kissing them both sweetly. He starts to run his hands across them as he reconnects with your lips, and as his hands grab more and more of you, you grind harder and harder into his lap. He sits up straighter, and then he leans forward, bending you back as he kisses you down your neck and chest, one of his hands slipping into the waistband of your shorts and underneath your ass, and the other wrapped around you, grasping your shoulder, holding you in place.

Supporting you.

His tongue snakes around each of your nipples, making you whimper, and breathe harder, and start to sweat. His mouth hangs open a little as he sucks, and he whispers little things as he goes. How good you feel. How good you taste. How good he wants to be for you.

You know that his passion is nearing its high, feeling his length throbbing between your folds. You start to move again, and he moans, taking a moment to pull away from your lips and bite his own. He shuts his eyes and sucks in air through his teeth.

“Everything OK?” you ask.

“Keep going,” he tells you in a simper, bending you back and resting his cheek against your rib cage.

You ride him, slowly and fully at first, but then evolving and shifting as he continues to kiss you. You play with being direct. Coy. Fast, and rhythmic, and in one direction. And then, plodding, aimless, and searching, using your hips to follow each tingle as it comes.

He’s full now, but still wants so much more of you. 

You pull his shirt off of him, and you both groan at the feel of your bare skin touching. You rub your entire body against him, kissing him deeply, moving so well that you hear him starting to pant.

He leans back against the headboard and slides his hands into your waistband. You get on your knees, and he whimpers when your hips rise from his lap. But then he drags his hands down your thighs, and he whimpers differently when he sees your wet pussy, dripping with your desire for him.

He helps you slide each of your legs out of your clothes, as he rubs your warm and wet flesh, teasing you in some strokes, and pleasing you with others. When he feels you start to shiver, he slides his middle finger into you, followed by his index finger, and eventually, his ring finger.

As you kiss, you ride his hand, making sure that your pussy makes ample contact as it glides along the shaft of his fully erect cock, still trapped in his sweatpants but already so wet. He pulls his other hand into your hair, stroking you as you move.

And then, you bite your lip and pull away.

“I want you, too,” you moan, hugging him close. “I need it.”

You lean your pussy against his stomach as he shuffles down and slides out of his sweatpants. He sits back up, back straight against the headboard, his legs stretching out underneath him. You sink down onto him, and he lets out a long groan, almost as if he already can’t take it anymore.

But when he opens his eyes, all you see is fire.

You lock gazes with him, admiring each nearly invisible pore, each luscious eyelash.

He holds you by your hips and pumps into you as hard as he can, just as you slam down onto him as hard as you can.

“Oh god,” you whine, shaking and grasping onto his shoulders and leaning your head in the bend of his neck.

“I’ve got you,” Jin whispers, easing a little bit, just to get the angle right, and then picking up where you’ve left off.

Your jaw hangs, drool spilling into the space between his neck and collar bone. And when he speeds up, you moan fiercely and unexpectedly, and you bite at his neck. He lets out a hiss, and he grabs your ass cheeks, spreading them apart a little, all the pinches of his fingers, and of your sensitive skin separating slightly, sending you into overdrive.

“There,” you cry. “Right there, right there, right there. Please.”

Jin grabs the nape of your neck in his hands. His forearms are crossed against your back, clasping you tightly against him. You moan into the headboard, your nose slightly grazing the fabric when you do.

Your pussy is on fire, and it’s starting to seize up. You feel it almost shutting down from the stimulation, overwhelmed by the combination of all the things that Jin had set in motion up until this point with his lips, his tongue, his fingers, his hands, his arms, and now his delicious cock pistoning in and out of you as if it were made to do nothing else. 

He hoists you up, and your body basically shuts down. All you can sense is the sweet release of your orgasm as it overtakes you. You go limp, and Jin hums lowly when you come, running his fingernails up and down your back as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Keep going,” you tell him, feeling something else spark inside of you.

You hug him inside of you tightly, pulsing your floor and walls as Jin starts to slam into you harder and faster, his hums getting higher and higher as he goes, and on his way to his orgasm, you come again. You shake against each other, limbs going spastic and rigid as you let it all take over you. 

And then it’s his turn to rest, leaning against the headboard, smiling you at you with a hazy look in his eyes. Where there was once a roaring wildfire, there now shines a humble campfire, providing you with light and warmth that makes you feel as if you can survive anything.

You kiss him deeply, and then you roll off of him, knowing that he’s exhausted. But then he pulls you closer than you thought he would have wanted you, given his tired state. You feel so wanted. You feel so loved.

And so does he.

“I like this.” He smiles and exhales happily. “Us.”

“I like us, too,” you reflect, sighing and looking up at the ceiling.

“We’re good,” Jin says. “Not perfect. Not tragic. Not overwhelming. Just… good.”

You nod. You understand what he means. The love you share is a lot like him, a very weird but balanced equation. You think briefly of the others who came before. They were so all-encompassing, save for maybe Hobi, who also had this interesting balance. You wonder if it has something to do with time. With, admittedly, age. The fervor of your younger loves, while beautiful and inspiring, just didn’t really have a place in your life anymore. 

“I’m not knocking things,” Jin clarifies.

“No, I get it,” you reflect. “Good is really hard to find.”

Jin smiles at you. “Good is really hard to find.” And then he says, “Oh, hey, I meant to say, I found this the other day.”

He rolls over and reaches for the nightstand on his side, rummaging in the drawer.

And then he holds something up to you.

A ring.

It’s just sitting there, delicately placed between his index finger and thumb.

It’s not a particularly showy ring. It doesn’t even have a diamond on it. Its simple, thin gold band houses a bright but deep purple amethyst. 

You stare at the ring. And then you stare at him. 

His hair is stretching out in every direction. He’s wrapped up in your covers. You see sweat at his temples. He pulls his lips into one of the cutest smiles that he’s ever flashed at you. His eyes are essentially two, thin, upside-down Us. You see just enough of his pupils to know that they’re shining as he’s focusing on your face. He could wait his entire life for your answer. He almost doesn’t care what your answer is. He’s excited to hear whatever it is that you’re going to say. Despite what you had just told him, his face is pure joy, plain and simple. He truly does want you, and he truly does want you as you are.

“Do you think it gets any better than this, Doll?” he asks.

You grin back at him. “I don’t.”

“I don’t either,” he sighs, blissful, pulling you into him to kiss you.

When you slip the ring onto your finger and kiss him, you don’t realize how ironic it all truly ends up being.

You, Minji, and Sejin have finished the last of your brownies. With all the food, wine, and weed in your system, the dinner has turned into a slumber party, and you and Minji are giggling at Sejin snoring on your couch, wearing a pair of your pink pajamas.

You and Minji are cuddled nearby on the floor, flipping through the journals, laughing about little things you’ve experienced on your trip. When you tell her about your nights with the guys, she asks for more sordid details. She sighs, and giggles, and drops her jaw open in all the right moments. When you tell her about your healing conversation with Namjoon, she even tears up a little bit. And she tells you that she’s so proud of the way you’ve been handling this opportunity for growth.

She shares some of her own trysts with you, too. How she’d slept with someone in every cast or crew she’d worked with, including some of your colleagues on the first show you worked together. How things led up to a proposal from one of them. And then, how there was one who got away. How she met him in college. How she still pines for him.

“Did you ever talk again?” you ask.

Minji shakes her head. “Maybe that’s why I still pine for him. It didn’t end disastrously, or even just slightly disappointingly. I guess it never ended. So I can still dream about how incredible he could have been.”

“I think that’s how I feel about Yoongi,” you say.

Minji sighs. “God, I think he’s my favorite out of the bunch,” she says, looking for his journal and clasping it to her chest when she finds it. “Your whole situation with him sounds so dreamy and romantic.”

You laugh and remind her about the time she had written Jungkook and Yoongi off, and she laughs along with you.

“Goes to show you where my blindspots are,” she says. “I fall too easily in love within my narrow worldview, and I love a writer who can get me to think bigger.” She reaches out and strokes your hair. “Maybe that’s why I love you so much.”

You half-smile, half-frown, so flattered by Minji’s comments, and so touched by her friendship.

“Don’t cry on me now,” Minji warns, but you scoop her up in a big hug anyway.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you,” you tell her.

She scoffs. “What did I do that needed to be thanked?” 

You pull back from her and stare at her. “When things got really bad. You were there.”

Sejin coughs in his sleep, never one to miss his cue, even if unconsciously.

You laugh and sigh, looking back at Minji. “You both were. But, y’know. What you did for me…”

“Those things don’t need to be thanked,” Minji clarifies. “That’s just what you do. Love, at its strongest, is service.”

You smile, and you think of Taehyung.

“What?” Minji asks, grinning along with you.

You dig through your suitcase and find the postcards. You smile at the messages that are scrawled on the back.

You hand them to Minji.

“We were focusing on the journals for so long that I almost forgot to tell you.”

You tell her about Taehyung. How you met. How you reconnected. How he so deeply cares for his grandmother. How he seems to care for you. How you left things so open when you started this journey. And how he has called you or texted you nearly every day, beating you to the punch every time, just because he wants to hear how you’re doing.

“He sounds like he has the patience of a god,” Minji remarks.

You grin and think about Ancient Greece.

“So, does that mean…” Minji looks at you and raises her eyebrows. “Are you with him?”

“We left things so open,” you say. “He said he had some things to think about.”

“And so do you, I guess,” Minji replies, setting the postcards down on top of the Jin journal. She purses her lips and looks down at them. “...Is that something you’re going to be telling Jin tomorrow night?”

You shrug. “As devastating as the end of that relationship was, I hadn’t really thought about what we’d talk about. Y’know, aside from Sejin’s question.”

Minji smiles. “He’s a better writer than he thinks he is.”

You chuckle.

Minji’s eyes soften, and she reaches for your hand.

“Well, whatever you share. Just be careful when you see him.”

You nod.

You have every intention of being careful. But that’s the thing that scares you. The lilt in his voice when he called you indicated that he still doesn’t understand. And he needs to understand. But you aren’t sure if you’ll be able to convey the destruction that he brought about.

Even with how happy you feel, and how good things between you are, the word “fiance” still hasn’t really made its way into your vocabulary. 

You just always refer to Jin by name.

Maybe it’s because everybody knows him now. And not just by the name Hyunki. Or Hunky, which is a nickname you outwardly hate but secretly love. 

Thanks to your critical darling of a show, his face, and more importantly, his full name, is everywhere. It’s on every magazine cover, every Man of the Year roundup, every TV channel, and every online platform. And so is Sena, as Missy. They pose together, in each other’s arms, staring into each others’ eyes, coy, funny, suggestive. People can’t get enough of their story. 

So, even though you’ve long begun season five pre-production, the end completely creeps up on you. 

For both the show and your relationship.

The end of the show comes first. You had agreed as a team to do five seasons, no more, no less. The story was written for five seasons, and you hate it when shows drag on longer than they should. It was supposed to be a merciful death aimed to help you shine bright instead of fade away.

But you start noticing little things.

“Why can’t we just stretch to one more season?” Jin asks you for the millionth time.

“Because we can’t,” you say, sighing.

Jin pouts. He always pouts when you say this, but a night of Jin pouting is easier to deal with than a night of going back and forth about it. About how your decision is affecting him. About how it feels unfair.

And you need to stave off that conversation. Right now, you’re heading to one of the biggest awards shows of the year, internationally televised, yet internally reviled by your television cast and crew. You all hate the dog-and-pony show. Or, at least, you used to.

Jin’s re-securing his cufflinks yet again, and you laugh a little.

“Nervous?” you ask, as your limo bumps along.

“Excited,” Jin says brightly, watching as you pull up to the venue. And as you get out of the car, he tells you, “I wish you’d let us do this forever.”

You remember thinking about a wall. A sturdy, well-built, immaculate wall. And then you see a teeny tiny crack in the paint, right dead in the center. 

That comment is that crack in the wall.

You sweep your categories, and each time your group gets up to accept an award, Jin hugs the actor or actress who announced your win before he hugs you, or anyone else in the cast.

Another crack in the wall.

As you begin your shooting schedule, Jin constantly asks for more opportunities to showcase acting skills that don’t make sense for the scenes. When Hyunki gets a flashback in which he plays a bike messenger, he insists on taking a month off to become a bike messenger full-time. For what is supposed to be a throwaway scene. In a week-long shoot. To go method .

Another crack.

Minji had warned you about this one day over coffee. “I’m happy for you, but it is tricky,” she had said. “He’s going to lean on you for things.” 

It was quite early on in your and Jin’s relationship, and the show was still happily chugging along in your cult status. 

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in a relationship?” you chuckle. “Lean on each other.”

“You know what I mean,” Minji says, taking a sip of her espresso. “More lines here. A bigger part there. Just be careful.”

You blink, not understanding what she’s trying to say.

“Be careful that he doesn’t consume you,” she says, earnestly.

You don’t think that he does, in any other way than a significant other should. But when Sena humbly comes to your office, asking why Missy’s not in a key episode, you’re stunned. You stare at her, dressed in her costume for that day’s shoot, wearing a hoodie that looks like it could be one of Yoongi’s. 

Missy was supposed to be the one at the center. 

And Missy is you.

Crack.

Finally, you’re mere months away from your wedding, which you have been planning for a little over a year. You’re at some crazy fancy shop that came highly recommended by your shiny new industry friends. You’re finalizing crystal and china patterns for your place settings at your rehearsal dinner, when the tiniest detail leads to the biggest crack of all.

“What is the show about?” you ask Jin, somewhat absent-mindedly.

Jin and the immaculately dressed fine china expert blink up at you, confused. 

“Huh?” Jin asks.

“The show,” you repeat.

Jin scoffs and wraps his arm around your waist. “Stop thinking about the show,” he whispers. “Let yourself have a break. Now, which of these two do you like better?”

You stare at the plates. They look exactly the same to you.

You give it a shot. You try to stay present. “We can only pick from these two?” you ask.

“No, but these are the two most fashionable designs right now,” the fine china expert replies. 

“So then yes,” Jin quips, making the fine china expert chortle.

Your eyes wander over to a different display case. “What about the designs over there?” you ask. “We haven’t looked at those yet.”

“Those are last season’s sets,” the fine china expert says. “I can pull the top choices from that season as well.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Jin replies, as you’re about to thank them.

“Why not?” you ask.

“Because we want the best,” Jin says simply.

“Oh, I assure you, all the pieces in these collections are stunning and high-quality,” the fine china expert replies. “I’d be happy to pull---”

“We want the best, and that means the best right now,” Jin replies, looking over to you, annoyed. “Right, Doll?”

In hindsight, it makes perfect sense why you’re seething in the backseat of your car, as your driver takes you back home. But in the moment, you have no idea where this rage is coming from.

“I can’t believe you embarrassed me like that,” Jin mutters under his breath.

You turn to him. You need to know.

“Are you going to be chasing this high even when the show is over?” you ask.

“What are you talking about?” Jin asks, with knitted brow.

“Are you always going to want the shiny, new thing?” you ask.

Jin rolls his eyes but takes your hand in his. “No, Doll. I meant it when I said I just want you, as you are, now.” 

But when he says it, he looks out the window.

You ponder his words for some time. They find you in weird moments. On set. At home. In line for a coffee. During a conversation with Sejin.

Right up until the show finale.

You and Jin had grown considerably distant in an alarmingly short amount of time, but no one was aware. You suspect Jin’s acting prowess should be thanked. Or blamed. Because even you thought things were on the upswing whenever he’d sneak a kiss onto your cheek while you were filming, or whenever he’d bring you lunch in your office.

You certainly didn’t know that on the day when Sena and Jin were shooting the last scene, saying their last lines as Missy and Hyunki, the wall that was filled with cracks, the wall that you had tried to paint and wallpaper over in your mind, was about to crumble to the ground.

The entire cast and crew were on the set. The show was ending with Missy and Hyunki starting their own show together. Breaking out on their own. Just like you did. 

Jin and Sena are sitting in the writer’s room, each of them on their own laptops. It’s a moment that mimics the first episode. One of doubt. The doubt that you felt when you started this show. The doubt that you feel as it’s ending.

Sena, as Missy, looks up at Jin, as Hyunki. 

“How do you know this is the right thing to do?” she asks.

“Because you want to do it,” he replies. “And I want you.”

They smile, lean in for a sweet kiss, and just like that, the show is done.

And as you’re all crying and hugging, and you’re announcing that it’s a series wrap on your two lead actors, and your cast and crew are saying their thank-yous and giving little speeches about what this show has meant to them, Jin stares at you from across the room, silently weeping, and smiling sadly at you.

You don’t remember much about your rehearsal dinner or your wedding. You watch the videos like they’re documentaries of someone else. You barely talk for the first few months that you’re married. Jin’s away and working on projects for the rest of your first year. He comes home after one project, and you have a pretty decent dinner together.

And then you wake up the next morning.

All of Jin’s things are gone. Jin is gone. And there’s a stack of divorce papers on the kitchen table. With a sticky note on top.

The sticky note now resides on the last page of the Jin journal. No date. No added context. Just the note.

I agreed to that movie. Will be gone for another few months. 

Let’s just call it, Doll.

The crack is so loud that all you can do is lie down on your couch. You don’t get up until Minji storms her way into your apartment. She stays with you, talking to you, even though you don’t say anything back. A couple of days in, she carries you into the bathroom. She strips you naked and sets you in the bath that she’s run for you. She washes you. She strokes your shampooed and conditioned hair, and she hums to you softly as she does it. 

And then you finally cry.

Even so, you thought you’d shake out of it. Somewhere inside of you, you really thought you’d pull it together. But you spent months and months like this. 

Until the day you drove back home to see Youngho and Yun.

The next morning, you hear the unmistakable sounds of Sejin and Minji arguing in the kitchen.

“Can’t you chop quieter? You’re going to wake her up, you twat!”

“No, I won’t. She sleeps like a fucking hibernating bear.”

“And you’re making the eggs over-easy!”

“Does she not eat her eggs over-easy?”

“Trust me. I’m the one who baptized her into the Brunch Girl Brotherhood. She prefers poached.”

“Brunch Girl Brother- hood? That doesn’t even make sense---”

“Morning,” you chirp, grinning at them.

Minji slaps Sejin on the shoulder. “I told you that you’d wake her!”

Sejin is about to complain, but you step between them and give Sejin a big hug. Then you turn to Minji and give her a big hug.

You eat breakfast all together, and then they wish you well. They tell you to call them if you need anything at all. 

And then all that’s left is to wait around until it’s time to get ready to see Jin.

You still have the voicemail that he left saved on your phone. “I’m back in town for a while. We should talk. I really want to see you.”

He’s got some place in the hills. You hate the drive up there. The views are pretty, but you prefer feeling a bit more grounded. 

You arrive at the address that he left for you, journal in tow. As you reach up to knock on his door, you catch sight of the gaudy door-knocker, a big moon with a swing underneath it, which you swing to hit the door.

After a few moments, Jin opens the door. His hair is a bit longer. His skin is irritatingly somehow more perfect than it was before. And he still looks like a dreamboat.

“Doll,” he breathes, his eyes turning into hearts at the sight of you.

It’s been so long since he’s looked at you like this that you almost fall in love with him all over again, right there, on the spot.

But you remember what Sejin said about rose-colored glasses, and what Minji said about blindspots.

He steps back, and you see that despite his ridiculous trappings, he’s wearing a pair of regular, old sweats. Ones that you’ve laundered multiple times. Ones that you scrubbed to get stains out of.

You walk inside, looking around the house. It feels so empty and cold. You wonder what Jin feels like living here.

“Massive, right?” Jin asks, raising his eyebrows. “But check out this view.”

You smirk, and you follow him through the living room and out to his balcony. 

It’s grand, made of marble, and you think you see glints of gold in the railing. As you suspected, the view is indescribable. But the scale of the scene makes no sense to you. Two people. All this space.

“Please say something,” Jin finally relents, looking at you curiously.

“Oh,” you say, not even realizing that you hadn’t spoken yet. You’d gotten so used to being silent around him. 

Jin pushes his lips out at you. “That’s it? Aren’t you a writer?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I should be screaming. You’re back from the dead.”

Jin nods. “That’s more like it. Equal parts devastating and poetic.”

“You know what?” you ask. “This was a bad idea. I’m gonna go.”

“No!” Jin exclaims, rushing to stop you in your tracks. “Don’t… don’t go. I… I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

“How can you lighten anything between us? I haven’t seen you in months! The last time I had any contact with you, it was when I was reading the divorce papers you left me!” you exclaim, the rage collecting and spiraling out of you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jin pleads, putting his shoulders on you. 

“What do you want, Jin?” you ask. “You called me here, I came all this way… Why?”

“To say exactly that,” he tells you. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I wanted to say I miss you. I wanted to say…”

He sighs and looks at you fondly.

“I wanted to say that I regret it. I don’t want to be divorced. I want you back.”

“Do you expect me to just take you back?” you ask. “Simply because you want me to?”

He frowns. “No,” he admits. “Honestly, I didn’t even think you’d come. After what I did to you.”

“How can you still make me feel so stupid?” you ask, instantly regretting entertaining his invitation.

Jin sighs and rubs at his temples.

“Look, all I wanted to do tonight was apologize. Start the process of trying to make it up to you. And maybe see if you’d be open to...”

“To what?” 

“To working towards it. Working towards getting back on track.”

You scowl at him and cross your arms.

“Why are you saying all this now?” you ask. “What happened?”

Jin sighs. 

“The movie,” he tells you.

“Let me guess. It sucked,” you say.

Jin shakes his head. “No. It’s… well, it got me this house.”

You roll your eyes. “So it’s worse. It sucked, but it’s tricked the masses into thinking it’s good.”

Jin exhales uncomfortably. “It’s not about the movie itself. It’s about what happened while we were shooting.”

You stare at him, and it takes him a couple of moments to realize that you’re waiting for him to go on.

“I just kept thinking about you,” Jin says. “Every shot. Every line of dialogue. I wondered what you’d think of them. What you’d do to make them better. What you thought about how I’d performed.”

“So you spent a whole shoot thinking about yourself. What’s new?”

“But I thought about you too,” he protests. “What you were working on. What new projects. What new themes you were unpacking. I missed talking to you. I missed sleeping next to you. I missed how you smell. How you taste.”

Your breath catches when he says it, and he leans into you, his face too close. But a good kind of too close.

“Doll, I missed everything about you. I need you.”

He kisses you, and you let him. It feels good to be wanted. Needed.

“Did you miss me?” he whispers, kissing you on the neck.

You automatically move your mouth to say yes, but then you feel his arms around your waist. You hear your journal fall to the floor, and then you snap out of the daze that you’re in.

Jin startles at the clatter, and he looks back at you. He bends down and picks up the journal. He hands it back to you.

“What’s this?” he asks.

You start to panic. You aren’t sure what reaction you want to go with. Do you go with the straightforward explanation of why you’ve accepted this invite? Do you launch into an explanation of your new show? Do you tell him about the visits you’ve had? Do you share with him that it was triggered by his icy exit? And, honestly, even with all your touting about this project not being revenge, do you tell him how you still cling to this show, and these journals, as evidence that you were blindsided by him? That it was all his fault?

“Nothing,” you say hurriedly, taking your journal back and thankfully saying none of that out loud. 

Jin watches you, letting you have a moment to calm yourself. He might have hurt you deeply, but the reason he was able to is because he knows you so well. Too well.

“How’s the gang?” he asks you quietly, venturing to safer territories.

“Good,” you say. You feel like you’re starting to gather some courage, thinking of your friends and family. “By the way, Sejin wanted to know if it did.”

Jin blinks. “Did what?”

“If things got any better ,” you mock, frowning.

Jin softens, and you try again to calm down. 

“Drinks?” Jin asks nervously.

You nod. It might help. But as you peek at Jin through the windows, mixing your cocktails, you wonder if you’ll be able to speak again, let alone ask him the big question: 

Why? 

Why did he leave so suddenly? So abruptly? Maybe he would ask you why you didn’t fight it. But why did he give you something to fight in the first place? 

And then your phone rings.

You eye Jin over by his bar cart, making your order.

“Birdie?” Taehyung sobs softly to you, his voice broken. “Um, are you busy?”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, concerned.

He sniffles. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening, I just---”

“Tae. What’s wrong?”

Taehyung nearly wails when he tells you. “It’s Grandma. She forgot who I was today.”

You fall silent as Jin returns.

You and Jin lock eyes.

Though you’re not looking at the journal, you remember the entry that you wrote about the night that Jin proposed.

January 18th

I didn’t think it would happen for me. I didn’t know I could be so consumed by a person. Especially the physicality of a person. So in awe of the way they look. The way they smell. The way they feel. The way they taste. It’s like my brain has re-wired. I’m down to one sense. Jin.

That first audition. Every season since then. Tonight. He’s one of those special people. One of those effortlessly incredible people who can fly. And who know they can fly.

I’ve had amazing loves. I’ve had lost loves. I’ve never had good loves. I wasn’t lying when I told Jin that I didn’t think things would get better than this. It’s so pure and willing. I can’t bear to think about what might happen if this doesn’t work.

And if there is another love that is somehow more pure, that is more willing, and that truly stands the test of time, then I actually hope this doesn’t work.

I want to fly.

And for the first time since Jin left you, you know exactly what to do.

← 06: Caves | 08: Elixir →

The Road to You | Masterpost

[fragileizywriting]

cooking together (part one)

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chat Noir hasn’t spoken to her since she’s woken up.

To be fair, she doesn’t blame him. She doesn’t blame him in the slightest. How stupid of her to fall asleep on top of one of the most famous, most deadliest demons in the world— sleeping on top of him like he’s nothing more than a pillow. The great Chat Noir reduced to nothing but a cuddle buddy— oh how stupid of her. She’d cried in front of him— she’s done it before to the point where there is nothing of guilt left within her whenever it happens, and he’s never said anything before but comfort her. But sleep on top of him, oh, Tikki— what should she do now? Where does she begin?

They had sat there on either side of their couch, completely silent, each with their faces hidden behind their hands within moments of her scrambling to get off of him. No doubt Chat Noir was absolutely groaning to himself internally about how unlucky he is for getting stuck with a summoner that is absolutely desperate for affection like she is— to the point where she even latches onto him even during her sleep— oh, embarrassing! So embarrassing!

He must hate her, or find her absolutely weird— hell, maybe even find her to be the most incredibly annoying human he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting— oh, Tikki— guide her in what to do next!

He’d slipped away from the couch after a moment or two of silence, changed out of his clothes for something more fitting of the chores to do around their farm life, and had washed up in the washroom— leaving the house while muttering something under his breath about going to go check up on the hens.

She’s only now just gotten ready herself. It’s been a year or so since she’s gotten regular help with lacing her stays— it’s definitely doable by herself, of course, since she’s done it her whole life on her own— but Chat Noir usually helps her, claiming it's his job as a familiar to help her.

It’s always so much easier to do with an extra pair of hands, and no matter how much or how well she ties her hair to the side, she always ends up catching part of her hair in the loops whenever she does it by herself— so she’s been accustomed to being helped in that way. But by herself, goodness— the sensation of lacing herself and tucking the spare bits of string under the stomacher is almost foreign nowadays.

She’s put on her petticoat, too— it’s almost in the shape of a full-body apron, it too snagged at some parts of her hair.

She forgets how easy things in her life are, now that Chat Noir is there to help.

At least putting on her actual dress is a breeze. She’s picked her favorite wine-colored one, the one with the front closures this time, knowing that Chat has made no signs of wanting to return into the house and help her close it in the back. She can dress herself— she doesn’t need a powerful demon for help getting dressed— he’s not a maid. Besides, it’s not as if she’s gotten used to the domesticity.

She sighs to herself in the kitchen, trying not to peek through the window as she hears him corralling the hens outside the coup so he can bring in eggs. Oh, he’s gentle with their chickens, even if it seems he’s out of his element when he does so— he’s learned to behave around them over the year and months they’ve known each other, which is definitely good news. It’s almost as if he wants to be loved by the hens. The thought shouldn’t warm her this much, but it does— oh goodness— she tries beating down the feeling with a little slap to her cheeks, whining pitifully behind her palms.

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid!

She needs to stop thinking about the concept of domesticity with him— oh, goodness, how she needs to stop— he’s a demon— and demons do not live in little, tiny cottages with their summoning witch. Demons do not live happily tending to hens and working on fencing a perimeter out the back of their land so that they can have horses and cows and sheep accessible as the years go on. Demons do not dream of coming home and placing kisses on their summoner’s cheeks and nuzzle with a purr. And demons definitely do not wish to talk about all the latest catch he and Luka got during their fishing escapades, bringing home barrels of fish hoisted onto a carriage so that they can sell and store!

Demons certainly do not entertain any notion of falling in love with a witch— goodness, of course they don’t— she’s certain that Chat Noir would be more excited to be doing actual demon work— whatever that may be— than to stay here and build up the posts for the fence. There is simply no way in hell that Chat Noir would rather be here.

She can stupidly dream and she can stupidly wish all she wants, but the moment that she brings back Adrien, Chat Noir will swallow her soul and disappear. She’s almost positive. After all, Ladybug she may be, but she’s nothing more than a witch that needs his help. A friend, sure— but— this is all just a transaction to him, is it not?

And yet, throughout all of this, she can’t stop herself from wishing. Wishing to wake up every morning in the same manner that she had today— pressed up against him, warm and safe, close enough to him that she could steal a kiss off of him— oh, she’s so silly, fantasizing about what she can’t have!

Maybe she can start with an apology gift— maybe he’ll talk to her then— he did say last night he wanted to try lover-honey cookies, after all.

It’s been years since she’s helped with the recipe, but she’s memorized it— even as she’d learned spells from her textbooks she’d bought off of traveling bookwagons, she also made sure to pay attention to her parents when they baked, just so that she knew how to make it in case they didn’t have any and she wanted to bring some for Adrien.

She’ll have to go into town to find a couple of things, they might be low on sugar— but it’ll be good for her to get out of the house— the more and more she stays inside the cottage, the more she’s bound to get cabin-fever from the amount of thinking that’s going on in her head.

Oh, but…

She leans on her elbows on the counter as she looks at the fire lily in the little vase she’s procured from the cabinets, sighing wistfully. The vase doesn’t do it justice, since it’s been such a long time since she’s decided to cut any flowers outside and bring some indoors— it is a little dusty and a little chipped, but that’s alright. The vase is far too wide to house just a single flower— it almost looks out of place without any surrounding foliage. Maybe she should go out in the backwoods and search for shrubbery or moss to accompany it, after making the cookies— something dark green, so it won’t take away from the flower.

It’s a beautiful lily— she’s never seen such a beautiful blossom before. Usually the lilies she’s seen and planted over the years have been spotted and freckled along the petals— very reminiscent of the freckles along her face— but this one is completely and totally unblemished, favoring instead just a beautiful gradient from orange to dark red at the tips.

It’s nothing like the trumpet-bell-shaped lilies she’s known to grow— this lily isn’t shy in the slightest in its bloom. It curls open, unafraid, desperate to attract bees and other pollinators to the honey-like smell of nectar— she sighs to herself as she continues to admire it.

It is lovely. So lovely.

She’s never received a flower before.

Oh, sure. She’s received many gifts before. Alix with her pocket watches that tick and tock so delicately they must simply be works of magic— Alya with her many books that she lends to her whenever she needs to learn new spells— Nino always buying their lunch or dinner whenever the two of them decide to get food together in town and Chat is off with another competition against Luka.

Oh, and sweet Luka, of course, with his snake oil bottles— with the pearl earrings he’s made for her, even if she can’t wear them because of the demonic seals tattooed onto her ears— the countless of songs he sings and writes for her when he’s finally on land.

But a flower?

How had Chat Noir known to give her one of her favorite flowers? A gorgeous fire lily— oh— if only she could keep it in this vase forever. Nothing compares to the honey scent that the fire lily produces— she smells it softly, bending down more onto the counter to smell the aromatics, taking note of the buds of pollen that are ripe to explode.

“Princess!”

She straightens her spine with a squeak, almost knocking over the vase in an attempt to stand up straight, looking out to the front door. “Yes? W-what’s wrong, kitty-cat?”

She takes to patting down her apron that lays flat across the slim boning of her stays, just to have something to do with her hands, trying not to look as nervous as she feels.

Chat Noir shoulders through the front door, a clucking brown ball under his arm, grinning like a fool. There are black smudges against his feet and pants already, as always, somehow finding a way to succeed every expectation and find a way to stain his clothes. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong— in fact— look! I found her with the other ladies— look— she’s even letting me hold her!”

Henrietta.

“My goodness, you’re right—” She pushes her braid back over her shoulder, making her way over to him and their hen. Henrietta is absolutely tame in his hands for a bird that is notorious for scampering the other way the moment Chat looks at her. Goodness, she’s so small— easily could fit through any crevice of any tree she’d found during the storm— no wonder she’d been impossible to spot during the storm last night after she’d slipped out of the coup.

Marinette takes Henrietta out of his arms once she’s close enough to reach for her, checking her over for signs of injury— but there’s absolutely nothing, sans the slight complaining she gives when transferring into another person’s arms. No feathers missing at the back of her neck, there’s no bleeding, there doesn’t even seem to be any scuffling on her feet or claws— her eyes look healthy and clean. Miraculously, the hen is perfectly fine— even clucking softly as she turns her over to check her undercarriage.

She could cry. “Oh, Chat, this is wonderful! She’s completely unharmed! Blessed be this little hen.”

“I told you she’d be okay,” Chat Noir’s ears twitch as he leans up against the doorframe.

She tucks Henrietta into her side just to have somewhere secure enough to place her. “Where did you find her?”

“She was on the other side of the fence, actually. She was trying to get back in but couldn’t figure out on how to jump the fence or get through the gap.” His smile comes out a little lopsided, diamond green eyes filled with joy.

“I’m so grateful that you found her, Chat. Oh thank Tikki she’s safe and sound,” She wipes at her cheek, trying to wipe away any tears that are threatening to form. Goodness, Henrietta is alright. What a miracle this is— she’d been so hard on herself the night before, wondering why she’d left the gate open— she’ll never do that again for sure. Definitely not, and definitely not during an active rainstorm no less. She’s learned her lesson.

“Oh.” He blinks slowly at her.

“What is it?”

“You—” Chat’s lips twitch on the side with a widening smile. He reaches to her to pet at her cheek with a clawed thumb, and she can’t help but follow his hand down to her cheek with widening eyes, biting her lip. “You have a stain on your cheek.”

“I do?”

He laughs. “Is it from the flower? You know, I’ve been told that it’s good fortune to be blemished by a lily.”

“I—” She can feel her cheeks heat. Oh, Tikki! “I— uh— I never knew that—”

He pauses, and something about his ears as they twitch downwards gives him the appearance of being apprehensive, but she can barely look away as she feels the heat of his hand up against her cheek— she’s so desperate to stop thinking about this being their new normal. What she would give to have mornings filled with loving touches— loving glances— loving moments such as this.

“Do you… not want me to touch you anymore?”

She blanches, feeling her heart sink into her socks. “What?”

“You’re kind of shying away—”

“No— please— I mean— I don’t mind you touching me— my— face. At all. Please.” Oh, Tikki. What did she do to deserve this? How does she make herself stop rambling? “Please continue— I—”

“Are you sure?” His lips thin, his voice quieting. “You… don’t look comfortable.”

“No, I promise, I’m very comfortable. So very comfortable.” She nods as well as she can without accidentally poking her eye out on the thumb that rests at her temple. It would just be her luck to be that careless. Her voice sounds almost weak as she continues to speak. “Extremely comfortable.”

“Are you lying? I don’t ever want to make you feel uncomfortable with me, Marinette.”

She squeaks when Henrietta decides to complain about being in her arms, trying to flap out of her grasp and try to fly onto the floor. “You don’t make me uncomfortable at all, Chat! Please don’t think that— I— you could never make me uncomfortable.”

“Here, let me—” He takes Henrietta out of her arms, tucking the little hen close to him.

“Oh, I—” She snaps her jaw shut. “You know, I have to leave.”

His eyes widen. She takes in the snap of his tail as he stands up straighter, his ears going ramrod straight, looking at her with such alarm that it almost shocks her herself— the tattoos on her ears start to burn as his magic flares. It flares more wide than tall, stretching to its limit, encompassing nearly everything around them, leaving her looking at him in awe at the actual expanse of his magic. Just how big of a reach does it actually have? Just how much of a range does Chat Noir’s magic go to? “Leave? Wait, where are you going?”

Oh, stupid! “I mean— I have to leave to go to the market to get more flowers. No— I mean— flour—”

“You’re leaving to get flowers?” He winces.

His magic continues to surge against hers, wider and wider, forcing hers to open up just as much in order to match his correctly. She can feel her magic stretch further than ever possible, trying to meet his from border to border, trying to push up against his in a perfect mirror. Is he… afraid? What is that feeling? She can’t place it at all. Why does her magic continue to try intertwining and swirling with his, trying to soothe him without her even directing it to?

“D-did you not like the lily?”

Oh, stupid little witch!

She takes a step back, noticing the way his eyes shine with sorrow she can’t place, and reaches for his arm. She can’t pull on it, not as he holds Henrietta, but she gives him a squeeze. “Oh, no, Chat, that’s not true at all. I loved the lily. My goodness, I’m in love— er, I mean, with the flower, of course— I’ve never gotten a flower before and I’m just so amazed that you ended up giving me my favorite flower— I just— please, Chat, it’s okay. Please don’t worry. It’s okay, kitty-cat. I love the gift too much to bear, almost.”

His ears flatten against his head. “Please don’t go.���

Sweet Tikki. At what point had her demon been convinced that she was taking back their demon seal agreements? After a full year of preparing for his help— why does Chat Noir believe that she doesn’t want him around for help anymore?

“I promise I’m not leaving, Chat, not permanently. I meant to say that I just need to go to the market to get flowder powder.” She scrunches her face, trying her hardest not to give herself another silly pat to the cheeks. “No— I mean— plowder flour. Oh, sweet Tikki. I need ingredients for the lover-honey cookie.”

“Powder flour,” His face relaxes, finally registering what she’s meant. She watches his relief spread across his entire body, starting from the way his ears sag slightly in a more comfortable position— his shoulders drop a smidge— his tail stops flicking— she can’t help but watch with a slack jaw as his magic starts to curl and coil its way back into shape, tugging at hers in a way that feels like he’s pulling her closer for a hug. She feels warm all over, giddy at having her magic being unfolded, matching his perfectly. She never knew she had so much of a range to her magic— what else is there about their connection that she doesn’t know about? “Do you mean a bag of flour?”

“Yes, flour,” She viciously nods her head, ignoring the curls in their magic as they push and pull against one another. “Do you— do you want to come with, so that you don’t feel like I’m leaving you?”

He perks up. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“Of course I do.” She wants him to stay with her forever.

“Ah. Actually, you know, it’s best if I finish up the post I was working on.” He looks upset at having to take it back, at least, giving Henrietta a loving brush with his claws from her neck down. “We don’t want the girls to keep escaping ever again, right?”

“Right. Yes. You’re completely right.” Oh, she could weep. How in the world did she manage this? “I’m going to go get our coin pouch, but I’ll be back from the market before you know it.”

“Right,” His ears twitch as he tries for a smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

-*-

“Stupid stupid stupid.” She tries not to kick up any of the dirt around her with her boots as she continues to walk down the path towards town. Oh, she’s miserable. Absolutely miserable. She never meant to hurt Chat Noir’s feelings in any way— her day dreams have made their interactions completely and totally awkward.

What is with her?

She needs to get her act together.

She has to.

Chat Noir doesn’t deserve her freaking out at every little touch and glance.

Oh, the way he looked at her, as if she were the one capable of burning him into a crisp, just by the way she had spoken about leaving. How could she ever do that to her Chat Noir? She wouldn’t dare even dream of it. Her earlobes burn at the sensation of having to pull away from Chat Noir’s magic— a curse, unfortunately, of having her soul bonded to the demon. It’s painful like a phantom pain— it’ll go away for a while just to come back and remind her that she’s too far away for their magic to reach and intermingle.

Although, now that she knows that his range can go much further, she’s tempted to believe that it must be psychosomatic. Maybe it’s her own worries being projected onto her own tattoos, but she’s not certain of it.

She stops to wipe at her eyes. Miserable. Absolutely miserable. She’s going to end up losing her friend this way, just because she couldn’t find it in herself to stop behaving like a lovesick girl batting and fanning her eyelashes at the first pretty boy she sees.

It doesn’t help that he’s pretty, either. With beautiful lashes and such a boyish smile that makes her heart rate go up and golden honey-colored hair and perfect green eyes— oh, Tikki! What should she do now?

She turns around, checking to see if she’s far away from the cottage to try to gauge if she can start screaming into her aprons without him hearing, only to see a black cat following along the dirt path with his tiny little paws. He meows at her, blinking slowly at her with green eyes, tilting his head just enough to imply that he’s asking a question.

She stares at him just a smidge.

“Oh. Did you decide you want to come with me?” She steps closer, infinitely grateful that she hadn’t started her desire to bury her face into the fabric of her dress.

Her magic curls against his on sheer instinct, but she registers something odd about it the moment their magic try to interlock. Usually it is nothing short of a perfect shape against each other, like their combined magic were made to fit together— but this feels like there are gaps. Where her magic should be filling in the gaps, instead, she finds her magic hesitating in some spots and areas, as if it is too shy to intermingle. She can’t find the edges to his magic at all, even as she tries stretching hers out manually and she wonders if he’s followed her because he’s afraid again.

Chat purrs when she picks him up. He’s a soft little thing, perfectly sweet and pliable in her arms as she turns him and pets along his chest, letting her hug him tight to her stays. She sighs into his forehead. The poor dear follows her to the market, truly concerned that she’s leaving… how can she ever allow herself to not tell him the truth, since the perfect moment is being presented to her now? “You know, I’ve never been considered a bold person, but I’m always willing to try if it’s for you.”

Chat’s tail flickers, giving her an indication that he’s listening.

“I’m sorry for hurting you today— it was never my intention to make you look so sad. Never in my life did I imagine that you would be upset at me leaving the house— I never want to see that face on you ever again, if we can avoid it.”

Her tattoos on her ears start to prickle at the words I want. After all, part of the rules of being her contracted demon is to take into account her wishes— however, she doesn’t want him to think she’s commanding him. Ever. He is always free to choose on what to do when she accidentally uses those words.

“I need to be honest with you.” She starts, desperate not to look down and attempt to gauge his reaction. “I do not want anything about our relationship to change, even after I say this— I understand. I really do. Please do not think you have to answer, or even give a response, I’d like for you to just listen for a little bit. It’s easier when you’re in this form for sure.”

Chat Noir chirps in her arms.

“I don’t want you to ever think that you make me uncomfortable, because that simply isn’t true. I understand that you want nothing to do with me in the same manner that I do with you— you will always be my familiar and my friend.” She feels giddy, being able to finally say it out loud. “My feelings for you are very strong. You’re my most valuable companion— and— and I— I thank Tikki every day for all the moments I can share with you.”

He butts her on her collarbone, nuzzling into her shoulder.

“The face you had made just moments before I’d left the house— your magic swelling up like a cloud, like it does now— I do not want that to ever happen again. You will never make me uncomfortable— and you never have. I value you so much. Too much. I care about you too deeply. I don’t need to cookies to know that I have feelings for you.”

Chat Noir stops moving.

And that says all.

She steels herself. “Do you think I’m playing a prank on you? Do you truly not believe me?”

He’s almost like stone in her arms.

“I— I would never do that to you. Please, don’t assume things like that. My words are pure.” She sighs to herself when his only response is to flick his tail. “Why don’t we go shopping for the bag of flower so I can make the cookies and prove to you my feelings?”

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[heyheydidjaknow]

It’s 200 words under my quota, but, in my defense, I don’t think it makes a ton of sense to make it longer for a variety of reasons. Also, y’all get it a day before the deadline. Please, god, let me write something to lighten up the gloom at some point.

Chapter 7

You were wondering before; yes, apparently it cracks, not splatters like you thought it would.

You are not sure how that is the only detail you remember about today. Some things happened before, you are sure. You do not remember those things, but you know there was more that happened.

As soon as the deed is done, you start climbing down the fire escape. You jump down the last story down onto your hands, wiping the blood off on your jeans as you sprint out into the street, running and busting through the front door. You scramble up the steps towards the front of the building, taking your bag and smashing it through a window to climb through. You hear the cries of combat above you as you grab Murakami by the ankle, crimson staining his skin as you swing him back onto solid ground. Electricity flows through your veins as you grab a shard of glass off the metal balcony, sawing at the rope and cutting him loose. You pull the gag out of his mouth, pulling him, staggering, to his feet as you both start back down the stairs.

He is saying something. You do not hear him, the sound of muffled screams and shattering bones ringing in your ears like a gong, his face tattooed onto your eyelids. A part of you notes how strange it is that you are not being followed; then again, it is not you they are after.

The walk is surprisingly short, you think. You push the door open for him as you both walk inside.

“Murakami?” You hear your voice call out to him.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Do you have a bathroom?” Why are you so quiet?

“Yes.” He walks behind the counter. “Right in the back.”

“Thank you, sir.” You walk to the back of the shop, pushing the appropriately labeled door open and walking to the sink. You start scrubbing the blood off your hands, scraping what had dried from under your fingernails as you look up at yourself in the mirror. You blink, perplexed by your expression. You look corpselike, the dim lights of the tiny bathroom casting long shadows across your features. You reach up, feeling the structure of your face. Your fingers gently pull your skin out of place to confirm that, yes, that is you.

Your digits are ice against your skin.

You remember more details than you wish you did about what transpired the minutes before. You remember how much he strained not to shake underneath you. You have muted memories of talking of some sort, but when you try to focus on the memory, your ears fill with static.

‘I must have dissociated or something,’ you reason to yourself, trying to cling to your own body as you relive that scene in your head.

You remember the sounds he made before you let go. You remember how his shirt was drenched with sweat as Leonardo tried reasoning with your enemy. You remember how he had squirmed underneath you, how odd you found that; he must have known that he would not be able to make it out of this unscathed, you are sure.

You feel your fingernails graze your now pale complexion. Paler than usual, anyways; you were never the observant type.

You remember securing your position with one foot against the edge of the building, your heartbeat irregular as you held him there, knuckles going white around his clothing and skin. You remember hearing what you thought was a laugh as you leaned forward. Oh, how he had tremored, eye to eye with his executioner.

“If you knew what was coming next,” you murmured into his ear, “you would thank me.”

You had promised yourself not to look over the edge when you dropped him. There was nothing you could do about the sound.

Your middle and ring fingers feel at the ledge of your eye sockets. They gently tug your eyelids apart, holding your eyes open as you stare yourself blankly in the eyes. A lump rises in your throat as your limbs tingle from the excess adrenaline.

‘I killed a man.’

You wipe your face off with your sleeve as you shut off the faucet. You flick your hands dry, wiping the excess on your pants as you walk back onto the main floor, collapsing in one of the stools and resting your head on the counter. Time is swirling together now. Is that normal? You do not know.

‘You solved a lot of problems.’ You close your eyes, replaying his last few moments on repeat. ‘If he survived, he’ll never be able to do ninjutsu again. Taking only Xever down will be a cakewalk by comparison, and Karai… there’s no way Shredder can get allies to the states that fast.’ You hug your sides. ‘The episodes after next, besides the Stockman ones, cannot happen, meaning I have more time to come up with a game plan regarding Karai’s arrival. I doubt he considers us much of a threat, even now, so as long as I can figure out how to get the guys to survive next—’

Your thoughts are interrupted by the ceramic thump of a bowl being placed in front of you.

“You must eat, my friend. Food heals the mind.” He smiles gently. “Your murmuring speaks to your distress.”

You look up at him, sitting up properly despite yourself. “Thank you, Murakami.” Your fingers wrap around the handle of the spoon. It shakes violently in your hand; you place your hands on the table, for now, not trusting yourself to not spill the broth over yourself.

“Would you like me to lend you my ears?”

You hum in discontent. “I’m alright.” You chuckle dryly. “You should probably sit down more than I should; you must be in quite a bit of shock after what happened.”

“That is true.” You watch him pour himself his bowl. “Yet I feel as if we’ve experienced equivalent amounts of pain over both of our lifetimes.”

That made you smile, if only weakly. “Hardly.” You fold your hands together, scratching at a piece of dried gore that you had apparently not gotten off the back of your hand. “You have quite a few years on me, sir. The stories you could probably tell would make my head spin.”

“My life has, thankfully, been rather peaceful.” He sets the bowl down next to you, sitting and starting to eat. “I came to New York when I was a young man, and I’ve run this shop since then.”

You hold your hand up to see if the shaking has lessened; it has, slightly. “And your family?”

“Thankful for my health and wellbeing.” He smiles. “I see them, still. They live farther downtown.”

“For your sake, I’m grateful.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure they will be quite excited by my story.”

You slow your breathing, taking a sip from the bowl and humming softly. “Did your mother teach you to cook?”

“She did, although,” he nods, “I must admit that her food will always be better than mine.”

“I feel that.” You smile shakily, taking another bite. The dryness of your throat does not lessen. “I’ve been trying to get some family recipes down for at least two months on my own, and every time it’s just not the same.”

He nods slowly. “As always is the case with these sorts of things, I’m sad to say. It doesn’t get better with age, I’m afraid.”

You rest your head in your hands, closing your eyes. You can still hear him. “That totally sucks.”

He laughs. “Yes, well,” he sighs, “that is the nature of getting older.”

He reminds you too much of people you knew for you not to smile at that. If nothing else, this conversation serves as a slight distraction, some sort of relief from the ringing in your head; you do not even know how you would talk to the Hamatos about this sort of thing. They may be the only friends you have right now, but they are hardly known for their tact or reassurance. You do not want their advice to let it go or to hear that this whole thing will pass. They cannot understand this, you do not think. “You know what?” You take another bite. “Getting old, from where I stand, seems completely and totally overrated.”

He smiles. “You remind me so much of my son; he used to say the same thing before he left for college.”

“And after?”

He clears his throat. “’It’s not totally overrated.’” He chuckles. “He has a wonderful little girl. She has the sweetest voice you’ll ever hear.”

“I guess that’s true.” You pause. “It just feels like, sometimes, I’m never going to be that old, you know? Never have kids or a life after high school.”

He nods. “I’ll tell you this right now: every adult you’ll ever meet has had that same thought. There’s no way around it; everyone has that sort of doubt.” He sighs. “But there are a lot of adults out there with kids and lives, so we must be doing something right.”

Maybe Murakami does not fully understand what you mean, but you feel better, talking to him. You might have talked to Yoshi about this, but you doubt you would want to; he seems too high up, almost, too important to bother with this sort of thing. “I guess that’s true.” You sigh. “It doesn’t make it seem any more possible, though.”

“Well, there isn’t anything I could say that could make that change.” He takes another bite. “But never forget that things, no matter how bad they are, have to get better eventually. Life comes in waves, and if you stand your ground against them, the calm will come.”

You pause, sigh. You reach into your bag, pulling a wallet out and placing a twenty onto the table. “Thank you, sir.” You finish your food, getting to your feet. “I’m sorry about roping you into all of this. Hopefully, at least, the others will be able to help you more and keep break-ins to a minimum.”

“You don’t have to pay.” He smiles. “You saved my life, after all.”

“I insist.” You rub the back of your neck. “Besides, the guys are probably going to come to see if you’re alright in a bit, and I don’t want them to raid your kitchen.”

He laughs. “For the young men that saved me? I owe them my life itself. Gyoza is the least I can provide.”

“Still.” You start towards the door, pulling it open. You look back at the man.

‘This is worth it.’

You wave back at him. “I’ll see you later, Murakami.”

“I look forward to when we meet again.”

You close the door behind you, starting up the street towards your apartment.

You feel sick.

Table of Contents

Chapter 6 part 1

Chapter 8

[captainseaweedbrains]

Prompt: this bag said it would keep my food cold for 3 hours, it lied.

Thanks for the prompt, friend! I hope you like it. It was a lot of fun to write! :D 

Can be read on Ao3: x

Katniss and the No Good, Lousy Rotten Day

Katniss was having a no good, lousy rotten day and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed with three bottles of wine and pretend that she didn’t get chewed out in front of her whole department and had her budget threatened. That her car didn’t die in the left-hand turn lane on the busiest intersection in town. And that she most definitely didn’t catch her no good, lousy rotten boyfriend cheating on her in the supply closet with one of the interns. Nope. None of it happened. Today was fine.

“Rough day?” Peeta asked when she limped in through the door, her hair disheveled and her pants soaked because—oh yeah, she fell in a puddle when her heel broke stepping out of her Lyft, twisting her ankle in the process. Such a great day all around.

Grunting, Katniss hobbled over to the kitchen table, the closest piece of furniture near her, and collapsed into a chair. Her ankle throbbed. Her ass was sore and wet. But most hurt was her pride. It had taken a beating like no other today.

No good, lousy rotten day.

“Rough day?” Peeta asked again from the couch, watching TV. From the sounds of it, he was watching some cooking challenge show. She threw her broken shoe at him because he sounded way too smug for someone who clearly had eyes. To make her day even worse, she missed him by a lot and hit the sole lamp in their living room, causing it to fall off the side table and crack in half. “Waita go, Everdeen,” he chuckled, shaking his head. She groaned in darkness now, the only light now coming from their TV. She couldn’t even aim right today, her one natural gift gone. Destroyed by the day’s shittiness.

No good, lousy rotten day. 

Peeta patted the spot next to him on the couch, his smile welcoming under the TV’s light. She considered hobbling off to her bed and telling him not to disturb her, but she really needed her best friend’s comfort after this hellhole day. His arms were open and she hobbled right into them, resting her head on his shoulder, his hand rubbing circles up and down her arm, like he always did when holding her like this. Her eyes closed at the touch, his hand bringing on a familiar warmth only Peeta seemed to emulate. He didn’t ask why she was wet or why she threw a shoe at him. Years of friendship didn’t require instant explanation. He knew she’d spill once she had calmed down enough to explain without getting super worked up again. Sometimes that took minutes, other times hours, but she always told him everything eventually. 

She was so lucky to have him here.

They sat together in darkness, their bodies pressed together as they watched TV. Katniss was right. He was watching a cooking show. It wasn’t the type of thing she’d pick for herself to watch, but watching Peeta watch it was something else entirely. He always denied doing it, but he liked to list back the recipes the contestants spoke of, like saying them aloud will help him commit it to memory, and critique certain techniques he didn’t agree with. Peeta was an intense Food TV junkie and it amused her to no end how seriously he took it.

Tonight as he parroted back the recipes, she focused on the way his deep voice reverberated, the way his free hand would motion to the TV in exasperation because a contestant thought it wise to use the microwave instead of setting a low flame. Her arms tightened around him, content. Nothing was better than familiarity on a no good, lousy rotten day and next to her family, she knew Peeta best. He was a constant in her life and she was so grateful for it. At least some men could be depended on. 

The show switched to commercials and he looked down at her at last, his eyes asking if she’s ready to talk. 

She was.   

Katniss extracted herself from his embrace, a bit reluctantly because her damp clothes caused a chill and Peeta was her infinite amount of warmth. “Why waste money on a heater when I have a Peeta?” she used to tease in college when they were living together in the world’s shittiest apartment, barely scraping by. Everything used to break down and both their families were tight on money to just loan out a couple hundred for repairs. They had to make do with what they had and most times in the winter, it meant huddling together in the same sleeping bag for warmth.

“So today…” Peeta started for her, twirling a bit of her braid around his fingers.

“...was the shittiest of shitty days to have ever shitted,” she finished sourly, always one with her words. 

His eyebrows knit together in concern, a frown tugging at his lips. His silent concern was enough to break the dam and she went on to explain how both Snow and Coin chewed her out in front of the whole department, questioning if she was even qualified to lead a group of its size. Then when she tried defending her reasoning, they casually mentioned budget restraints and perhaps cuts would have to be made for next fiscal year in order for the company to stay afloat. 

“And then my car died at Six Corner on my way back from their office,” Katniss continued, feeling more lousy as she went on. “I know you kept telling me it was a death trap on wheels and that I should have gotten a new car years ago, but please don’t tell me ‘I told you so’ because I don’t think I can handle that right now.” At this point, Peeta had retrieved her emergency stash of Ben & Jerry from the freezer and she was stuffing her face into the double-chocolate brownie goodness with agusto. 

“It was the worst,” she continued, mouth full of ice cream. “All these cars were blaring at me and flipping me the bird, like I purposely let my car die in the left-hand turn lane! Don’t say anything!” she snapped, pressing a sticky finger to his lips. His eyes widened at the touch, but he remained the good listener he always was, letting her blow off steam and stuff her sorrows with ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.

“But that’s not even the worst of it,” she sighed, blowing at her bangs that desperately needed a trim. “Cato cheated on me.” It was hard looking at him for that. Peeta warned her from day one not to get involved with Cato, saying he wreaked of sleazebag and booze, but she just shrugged his concerns off, wanting something entirely different from her failed relationship with Gale, and she was far too into the crazy sex they had to pull the plug. Cato was the rebound mistake she let linger for too long. And now she got hurt because of her own stubborn stupidity. 

“Katniss, I’m so sorry.” Much to her relief, it sounded like he truly meant it. His deep voice didn’t seem to carry any contempt toward her and he reached over for a hug, pulling her close. Her arms instinctively wrapped around him, her face pressing into the crook of his neck. Peeta gave the best hugs. His warm, strong arms easily encased her, reminding her of being wrapped in a really soft blanket, and he always smelled faintly of foods—sweet sugars or savory spices, it didn’t matter. He always smelled of it and she loved that about him. A little taste of home. 

His large hand rubbed circles on her back now, not saying anything else as she sat there in his arms, the cold from the ice cream container numbing her still damp pants. They sat like that for a while, his TV show returning and ending. Another episode started up, but Peeta didn’t push her away. He never did. Even when she dug her own grave, Peeta was climbing in next to her, offering a hand of support.

“It’s stupid,” she mumbled dejectedly into his shoulder, his shirt soft against her cheek. “I knew he was a jerk, but I didn’t think I’d care this much, you know? Why do I care this much?” 

“I think we naturally expect the good from people,” he said quietly, still rubbing her back. “It sucks when we’re proven wrong about them.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe she subconsciously expected Cato to be a semi-decent guy and not cheat on her. Was the bar really that low for her now? She tucked her head back into his neck, needing another moment of this before facing the reality that yeah, her standards in the past few years have really gone down.

“Hey, Katniss?” he asked after sitting like this for a while.

“Hm?” 

“Can we move your ice cream? I’m all here for your sweet fix and hugs, but it’s getting a bit cold down there.” And in true Peeta Mellark fashion, he was able to get her to laugh on one of the worst days she’s seen since moving back after her bad breakup with Gale. Teasing if he wanted her heating pad to warm him back up, she moved the melting ice cream on the coffee table and smiled at him. 

She was so lucky having him in her life. He’d been such a constant in her life, always caring about what was going on, offering his advice where he could. She’d done a lot of shitty things in the past, some even toward him, but Peeta never held it against her. Even when she rightfully deserved his anger, he was still there. After all these years. Ready to lend a helping hand.

This was why she loved him.

Wait, what? Her eyes widened in surprise. The thought had come so quickly, but it felt natural to think. Like it’d been sitting there, deep in her head, for a while. Of course she loved him. He was her best friend! She’d told him “I love you” countless times over the years, most being when she had food coming her way, but this felt different, staring at his white bluish face. This felt like the other love. That love. The one she remembered feeling with Gale and before him, Thom. 

She chewed at her thumbnail, her eyes darting away. 

This was bad. Really bad. This was how her and Gale had started and that went south fast. They weren’t friends anymore, the breakup was so bad. If something like that happened to her and Peeta… She wouldn’t know what she’d do without him. Without his kind words and affectionate gestures. The idea was hard to swallow. 

“Feeling better?” he asked, smiling a little, unbeknownst to the world shaking revelation happening in her head. His hand squeezed hers in good spirit.

Katniss looked at how his hand rested over hers, her tiny fingers peeking out. Her pulse quickened. Like the dam he helped open earlier, it felt like something else had broken inside her, flooding her with emotions she didn’t even realize she’d been feeling. His hand felt so nice resting over hers like that, and a small part of her wished he’d take it and press his lips to it. Like the gentlemen did in those silly period dramas he was always having her watch when it was his turn to pick a movie out. Would he be weirded out if she did that to him? Just picked up his hand and kissed it? 

Stop it! her mind screamed, resisting any urges of kissing her chapped lips over his hands. Friends are off limits. These things never end well. 

“Katniss?” he asked, that concern back in his voice and—okay, yeah. He really needed to stop talking so she could process this flood of emotions.

“Hmmm?” She looked up at him, her eyes still wide.

“Are you feeling better? Do you want me to order a pizza? I’ll even order your nasty pineapple pizza, if that will cheer you up.” God, could he please stop? He never let her put pineapple on their shared pizza unless she really needed the pick-me-up. He really was too much. 

“Mhm,” she smiled a bit too brightly. “Sounds good. Love pizza. You know how pizza makes me horny—I mean happy! Pizza makes me happy!” Now he was looking at her like she’d grown another head. “Pineapple pizza is perfect, Peeta,” she breathed. “Thank you.” 

He still looked at her strangely, but shook his head in amusement at her weirdness and shoved at her playfully before getting up to go order the pizza.

“Mind if I talk about the betrayal I felt today?” he asked from the kitchen, the sounds of drawers opening as he looked for a pizza coupon. 

“Bold word to use on a girl who found her boyfriend in the supply closet with the barely legal intern,” she said, her voice sounding high-pitched. “Can it top that?” 

“Absolutely.” His head popped out from the small service window dividing the kitchen from the living room, his phone pressed to his ear. “This bag”—He held up a purple lunch bag she recognized from his many online purchases—“said it would keep my food cold for three hours. It lied. It wasn’t even two hours and my smoothie felt like it’d been baking in the car. You can bet I gave them a strongly worded review and—hi! Yes, I’m calling to place an order.” He smiled that charming smile he always wore whenever they went out to eat somewhere, despite being on the phone, and god. She knew he was handsome, but how had she not noticed the dimples in his round stupid face before?  

Katniss leaned forward on the couch, her hands pressed to her forehead, and groaned. She was totally screwed.    

Stupid, no good, lousy rotten day.

[stygiantarot]

Winter Witchcraft

(Taught in @thealexandriarchives on 1/17/20)

Winter. The solid dark earth, bright swirling snow, prickling sharp ice, stark reaching branches, echoing warm silence. It can appear in a variety of different ways around the globe depending on the local season. I shall do my best in today’s class to give inspiration and tools that apply to as many persons as possible. I apologize in advance if this Midwest USA witch is a bit too used to intense winters and forgets to adjust as much for those in more temperate zones.

When it comes to the season of winter, it is most commonly associated with snow, ice, cold, all those Hallmark style holiday card scenes with snowmen, scarves, and white covered buildings. At it’s core however, winter is really just your area’s fallow period. It doesn’t have to involve cold or snow; just the time when things are not growing (or not growing as much). Locals may tend to be more inclined to stay indoors; regardless of the weather, and just be more lethargic and measured in their time.

When it comes to incorporating winter and it’s attributes and power into your witchcraft, the main ingredients you’ll want to work with are:

Dirt: Fallow dirt is mighty! Like a hibernating bear, it’s carefully collecting all those nutrients and minerals and saving them up for spring to share in full with local flora and fauna again! It is stable, strong, and patient. A good ingredient for spellwork involving breaking a habit, defensive protection (long term wards especially!), prosperity and abundance spells; especially slowly building ones like a long term money spell, spells or glamours relating to hiding or camouflage, encouraging a relationship to remain stable and grow, and many more. Though it should be strictly collected/harvested during the winter, you can store it year round and it retains it’s Winter attributes.

Snow/Ice: The most obvious winter witchcraft ingredient, this will mostly be used in a melted water form but some examples I’ll offer use solid snow and ice and the melting of it is part of the spell. It’s a good ingredient for: cleansing, freezing a person or problem, healing, banishing, creativity boosting (especially in physical crafts). Like with winter dirt, you can only collect during specific times but can store year round. You can even refreeze in your freeze if you have a spell that requires it to melt in some fashion that you want to cast in spring or summer.
Specific types of snow and ice correspondences: https://orriculum.tumblr.com/post/ 168151692633/winter-correspondences.
My own post on using snow in witchcraft: https://stygiantarot.tumblr.com/post/181955654194/ we-just-had-our-first-real-snow-here-in-ohio-and

Stones: Stones found in winter can have a special sort of power to them. Despite being unchanged physically year round (besides temperature), stones absorb energies readily. They are attuned to what is going on in the locale seasonally despite not directly changing themselves. It is because of this physical permanence that they are more easily able to be energetically sensitive. I like to use them especially in divination work (whether directly in creating runes or oracle sets or indirectly in boosting divination power and focus). They hold that deep quiet and patience of the season deeply under their hard surfaces. They also make excellent spellwork batteries and anchors for warding or enchanting.

Sticks/Pinceones/Flora castoffs: Those things that trees and shrubs drop are especially potent in winter as well. A weathered stick, a prickly pinecone, even some nuts and seeds are cast off during the fallow season and can be used in spellwork. These tend to be good for intentions relating to growth, protection, spirit work, psychic prowess boosting, and creativity as well as associations related to the plant it came from.

Cold weather Flora: Evergreens, hearty flowers like heather, and witch hazel, and early flowers like snowbells or daphne; there are still some plants that thrive even in chilly temps or fallow growing periods. Keep a sharp eye out in your local area for what remains or becomes vibrant during your winter and you can incorporate it into your spellwork. It would have the attributes of that plant, but “jazzed” up a bit during the season of winter when it remains strong amongst other flora that wait for spring or summer.

Citrus/Spices/Seasonal kitchentry: Despite it’s bright sun and summer associations, most citrus fruits are winter growing and this is an appropriate time to incorporate them into drinks and foods to bring some sun into your fallow period. It can help with healing (anti-depression especially), inspiration, solar magic, and creativity. There are also the warmer spices like those used in mulling ciders and wine that are good to use during this season to inject warmth and power into your spellwork. Take a look at what might grow or be commonly used in cooking during your area’s fallow period and incorporate them into your kitchen work in drinks, food, even baking!


Now to build spellwork and crafting ideas. The following are from my own grimoire that you may use or be inspired by!


Snowmen poppets: draw or write a taglock on a piece of paper and put it into a snowman! The intention of the spell takes effect on the target as the snowman melts.

Snow cleansing baths: put a bit of snow in your bath for a soothing ritual bath. Imagine all your worries falling away like a gentle snowfall drifting from the sky.

Winter Jar of Dirt: collect some winter dirt into a special jar, leave a bit of room at the top and put in scraps of paper that outline things you need to have growth or be more stable throughout the year. Feel free to double down by drawing some sigils on the jar for growth and stability.

Create a tool: use a winter stone or collection of them to create a tool for your practice. This can be a divination set, a spellcasting battery, an enchanted focus stone, even a painted offering, etc!


Use that crockpot or bake!: This is the time to do something warm and slow. A soup in a crockpot, a slow roasted dinner, those favorite cookies or brownies you remember from days of yore. You can also focus on a warm drink recipe; chocolate, cider, tea, coffee, wine, etc! They all can be made intentioned with spices and flavoring additions while they warm up to toasty soothing temps!

Room and floor sprays: use a bit of snow or ice, added to standard water, along with winter focused herbs and spices infused and put in a spray bottle for room spray or fl oor wash. You can focus the intentions as needs but a good one would be a pre-cleansing treatment for that “spring cleaning” physical cleaning many do! Or an energizing or inspiration spray to keep out seasonal blues and lethargy.

Enchant a blanket: Take a favorite blanket and enchant it with comfort, warmth, and peace for you to cuddle with during chilly evenings. You can do the same with a favorite towel for after warm baths or showers!


The methodology in creating crafting and spellwork ideas is to think about that fallow period and what you can “harvest” from it; whether it being something directly like snow or dirt. Or something indirectly, like the quiet, the introspection, or even the longer nights to do more lunar focused magic. Spirit work is another strong association in winter months. The slower and quieter season allows for easier connecting often to those not of physical form. Trying visiting a graveyard, park, or museum during your fallow season and seeing what you are able to sense.

Winter is also the time to take stock of your own life and spirituality- just like the earth does during its fallow period. Catalogue and cleanse your tools while you consider if there are any more you need or any you might pass along because you no longer use them. Clean and reorganize your storage and altars or shrines. Spend some time adding to your grimoire or journal those entries you’ve been putting off. Do some shadow work or divination. Write down some clear spiritual goals you’d like to focus on this year (good to put in your Jar of Dirt 😉 ) Do extra research on that area you’ve been debating on delving into.

However, don’t let yourself become too isolated. It’s normal to want some additional space in fallow periods, both personal and seasonal. But it’s important to still have some regular times that you get out of your own headspace. Set reminders for yourself to reach out to your favorite people to at least have a chat even if you don’t have the ability to get out of the house. Connect with online friends and community. Share ideas, thoughts, stories. Go see a movie or to a museum.

Letting winter into your bones doesn’t have to be chilling- it can be like that first breeze when you step outside. A surprise, maybe you gasp for a moment. But it’s exhilarating and revitalizing and reminds you of the beauty and wonder of nature. Even when nature is quiet and stark, she’s there. Just waiting for you to reach out and find her secrets and power to lend you. Go forth and Do the Magic.

Orriculum’s Winter correspondences: https://orriculum.tumblr.com/post/153243108238/winter- witchcraft


Some other Winter inspirations:
 https://ofcloudsandstars.tumblr.com/post/153908846876/゚-winter-witchy-things-to-do

[chilling-seavey]

Blurb on 1900s teenage Christian!! Happy 3 months to my favourite WW1 novel Passchendaele!! ❤️ ~T

I miss Passchendaele 🤍 And I especially miss 1910s era Christian. Sweet boy deserved better than what he was served...

Christian was a very complex character to write, although we didn’t see much of who he was before the war in the novel. Daniel was right in the sense that meeting his brother on the battlefields was like meeting a stranger…he could hardly recognize him. Christian was a young man who steered clear of conflict at all times and honestly he wouldn’t have dreamt of hurting a fly. He was patient and gentle and caring and incredibly sweet; vastly different from the cold hard demeanor of his father, pushing him to be more of a man. Whatever that meant.

He worked in the church where his father was the pastor, often used to dust the books or sweep the floors between services. He was expected to become a pastor himself when he got a bit older, but Christian was not interested in that career at all.

Tucked in the inside breast pocket of his jacket was a thin novel and when he was finally left alone in the church to sweep – his father busy with other jobs in the back – Christian would slink down to the floor between the pews out of sight, squished between the old wood, and read a chapter or two. He was only twenty and his head was too far in the clouds to care about his father’s expectations.

“Christian!”

He shoved the novel back in his pocket before rushing to his feet again, broom in hand. His father was coming out of the back room, eyes narrowed.

“What were you doing?”

“Sweeping, Father.” Christian answered plainly, continuing on like he hadn’t taken a break between the pews.

“Well, hurry up. There is no time to dawdle, it’s already half three. Things need to be finished.”

“Yes, Father.” Christian said plainly.

Jobs weren’t as easy to complete with his father in the same room, watching his every move and critiquing his ever action and more often than not it felt like it would never end.

Suddenly, the church doors burst open and two pairs of boots came stomping loudly into the hall, paired with youthful laughter. Christian glanced up to his two younger siblings as they ran over to him.

“There’s a new family of ducks in the pond, Chris! A Mother and three little fluffy babies!” Anna squealed, jumping up on one of the pews in her muddy boots to be closer to his height.

“Anna Grace!” their father scolded, making her frown and hop loudly to the ground again.

“You have to come see them. They’re so cute and tiny!” Daniel added.

“I cannot leave.” Christian mumbled, eyeing their father across the room. “Father is already upset with me today about a million different things. If we want to be permitted to go to the theatre tonight, I need to stay.”

“Aw, come on.” Anna pleaded.

“Children, stop distracting your brother while he is working. Go back outside and play.” their father ordered.

Daniel and Anna looked from their father back to their older brother with mirrored frowns. Christian nodded towards the door to get them to leave but still offered a small smile, just enough that his dimples pressed into his cheeks. The youngest two shuffled back outside, shutting the church doors behind them.

“I expect you to mop up that mud.”

“Yes, Father.”

Christian was often left to lock up at the end of the day’s work, his father leaving earlier to do whatever he did between work and home. Christian didn’t bother to ever ask.

With the broom put away and the keys in hand, Christian made his way down the front steps of the church and farther into town. It was late afternoon bordering on early evening and shops were just starting to close. Thankfully, he made it just in time to the florist stand in the town square and picked out a small bouquet for his last two pence in his pocket.

Their house was a little ways out of town, built in a row of others with front gardens and slightly smaller backyards. They weren’t a rich family but they weren’t poor either and so they lived comfortably for the working class. Having a father as the pastor also meant townspeople and neighbours were extra willing to lend a helping hand with anything just to get on the good side of the Lord…or whatever they expected to have happen.

Christian let himself into their small foyer, twisting around to close the door behind him, the smell of supper cooking already wafting through the house from the kitchen.

“I’m home!” he called out.

“In the kitchen, darling!” his mother replied form the back of the house. “I got my hands in the gravy!”

Christian made his way down the narrow hallway, setting the keys on the front table by the door before heading into the kitchen. His mother was busy working away, her apron stained in sauces and ingredients from years of wear and her dark hair was tied back around her head with pins. She sent him a sweet smile and he kissed her cheek.

“How are you, Mama?”

“Just lovely, dear.” she said, turning down the stove a little to focus on him. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Made a quick stop on the way home.” Christian set his bag beside the table to pull the wrapped bouquet of daisies from behind his back.

His mother smiled at him and took the flowers in one hand to smell before setting her other against his face, “My perfect darling boy. What did I do to deserve you? Thank you.”

Christian only grinned at her as he watched her take the flowers to the sink and fill a vase with water to set them in.

“I’ll trim them up after supper.”

“It smells amazing, Mama.” Christian praised gently.

“I am trying a new recipe so I am hesitant but your words make me confident.”

“Everything you make is wonderful.”

“Now you are just buttering me up.” she chuckled.

“Mama, I had a question.” Christian asked hesitantly.

“There it is.” she shot him a teasing smile as she turned back to the stove.

“I wanted to take Daniel and Anna to the theatre tonight, at 8:00, if you will permit us to go.”

“Of course, darling boy. You know I love when you want to broaden your knowledge and the theatre is always a perfect place to do so. Now go outside and play with your brother and sister before supper and I’ll call you in to wash up.”

Christian beamed at the offer – his mother knew him too well – and he rushed out the back door into the yard. Daniel and Anna were sitting on the ground in the backyard, ripping up handfuls of grass and throwing it at each other.

“Christian!” Anna shrieked excitedly as he approached.

“Are you two ever not bickering?” Christian laughed, joining them on the lawn.

“Only when he’s stuffing his face with food!” Anna threw herself onto her middle brother, knocking him backwards onto the grass with a gasp and she shoved a handful of grass into his face.

“Anna Grace!” Christian gasped, grabbing her around the waist to drag her off of Daniel. “Father will have a fit if he sees you acting so improper.”

“Since when do you care about what’s proper?” Daniel chuckled.

“Christian’s perfectly proper.” Anna said. “Just doesn’t like sweeping the church every weekend.”

“God forbid.” Christian agreed, sitting himself down on the grass with his siblings.

“Did you ask Mother about the theatre?” Daniel asked.

“Yes. She permitted us to go, although I doubt Father knows.” Christian said. “We will get ready right after supper and then leave when he has his brandy and cigar in the parlor.”

“That’s when he naps.” Anna giggled.

“Exactly.” Christian squished her cheek lovingly.

“I ironed my trousers myself today in preparation.” Daniel smiled proudly.

“You ironed? Wow, Dani, you’re going to be a swell wife to some lucky man before you know it.” Christian teased.

“Shut up.” Daniel threw a handful of grass at him.

When their mother called them in for supper and they were washed up, they helped her set the table and the family got settled. With their father at the head, he began the conversation, something about an article in the newspaper from that morning as the family stayed quiet and listened politely. Christian glanced to his right where Daniel was sat, his leg bouncing restlessly as he pushed the peas around his plate with his fork.

Christian look up at his parents and, when they were distracted, nudged his brother and dropped his open hand just under the table edge. Daniel sent him a small smile and carefully rolled a few peas off the side of his plate and into his older brother’s hand until his serving was gone and Christian casually poured them onto his own plate and took his fork to them.

The brothers shared cheeky smiles as they continued eating without another word.

Sure enough, after supper, their father retired to the parlour with a fresh cigar and a glass of brandy, giving the three children time to scurry upstairs to get changed into their Sunday best. Their mother ushered them out the door with kisses and a few extra coins for snacks before closing the door behind them, their father already asleep in his chair.

It was already dark by 7:30 but, left alone and free from their parents, the three siblings took off down the calm street, shouting with excitement and talking loudly about what show they were going to see. Daniel had received a pair of Christian’s old dress shoes as a hand-me-down and they were still a bit big so he kept tripping over his feet on the way, having to nearly cling onto his brother to keep himself standing as Anna rushed ahead of them to set the pace.

“First thing I’m gong to do when I become a well-paid playwright is buy you a pair of shoes of your very own.” Christian chuckled, pulling his fourteen-year-old brother along with an arm around his back.

“And a dress for me! You said you’d buy me a dress.” Anna spun around to face them.

“After Daniel’s shoes.” Christian said, catching Daniel as he tripped again and nearly fell on his face.

The theatre was busy when they arrived and Christian paid for their tickets at the door. The show that night was A Midsummers Night Dream and Christian was excited to see another Shakespeare play; they were always his favourites, and he brought his copy of the play with him to the theatre. They couldn’t afford close seats but the balcony seats allowed for a good view of the entire stage. Anna was on the edge of her seat the entire time, mostly in awe by the costumes and fairy tale aspect of it, while Daniel kept glancing at Christian to try and mirror his thinking face, clearly understanding more of the plot than he was.

It was almost 11pm when they arrived back home and the siblings walked quietly inside to avoid waking their parents. But they were already awake and waiting up in the parlour for their arrival. Their mother sent them a sympathetic glance as she herded the younger two upstairs for bed.

Daniel looked back at Christian as he ascended the stairs and Christian could barely muster a half smile in return. They both knew what was coming. It happened almost every time.

Christian met his father in the parlour, the fireplace still on and his face still set in a scowl. He stood in front of him, holding his book behind his back with both hands, waiting for his father to make the first move.

“Your mother said you were at the theatre again tonight.” his father spoke lowly.

“Yes. I took Daniel and Anna to see A Midsummers-“

“I do not care what you saw. I told you not to waste your time going to watch absurd acts of circus.”

“Father, with all due respect, it is literature. Going to see plays live only allows you to broaden your language and grasp a better understanding of-“

His father stood up from his chair, speaking loudly through the small parlour, “You are my son and I expect you to take on proper responsibilities that any man should. You are not permitted to meander about acting like a woman and dressing up to go see a show.”

Christian clenched his jaw and kept his eyes on the carpet.

“You are wasting valuable working time on something so trivial! Always with your damn nose in a storybook! You are expected to take on the family name and support your wife and children and reading and jumping around a stage like a sissy has no beneficial impacts to making a living!”

“You still have Daniel-“

“You are my eldest son!” their father boomed. “You are to follow in my footsteps and carry on the family legacy. How dare you drag your brother along to try and sway his personal values away from his own blossoming future? You are an utter disappointment to myself and your mother! Stop trying to give your brother the same fate! We have raised you to be responsible and have a sliver of compassion for all that we’ve done for you!”

Christian had many rebuttals he could have said but he stayed silent, never wanting to add fuel to the fire. He simply stood with his hands behind his back, fingernails digging into the cover of the book in his hand, and stared at the carpet.

“All you can do is purposely go against everything I ask of you! Dammit, Christian, you need to get your head out of the clouds and start acting like a man! How I wish there was a way for you to be straightened out with proper discipline. Look at me when I am speaking to you!”

Christian raised his head from the ground to stare back at his father, the two men about the same height as Christian had just turned twenty. His father’s dark blue eyes stared angrily into his own, his full cheeks red with emotion and the probable more than one brandy he had after supper.

“I expect all your books to be on the floor here by tomorrow morning and you will watch me burn each of them while you think about what you have put us through.” his father pointed to the rug in front of the fireplace.

Christian physically bit his tongue, feeling tears welling in his eyes and he swallowed them back the best he could. But the tears were shimmering over his blue eyes in the firelight and his father saw it.

“Are you crying?”

Christian took a breath and shook his head.

“No son of mine cries. Seavey men are not weak.” his father stood right in front of him, a finger pressed into his chest and his hot breath felt against his face, “Look what these ridiculous books are teaching you; that crying is okay. Shameful. Man up, Christian John. Pull yourself together, stop acting like a damn woman.”

There was a beat of heavy silence. His father glanced down at his hands behind his back and then back up at his son’s face. He grabbed his arm and tugged his hand around to reveal the book in his hand. Christian held tightly onto it the best he could in one hand, clutching it until his knuckles turned white as his father tried to pry it out of his hand. A few of the pages ripped as it was torn from his hand and Christian whimpered softly as his father tossed it into the fireplace, the flame engulfing the book right away and it flickered manically in front of Christian’s shimmering eyes. He didn’t put up a fight as he father snatched the torn few pages from his hand and tossed them in the fire again.

“Get yourself upstairs to bed and I do not want to see you tomorrow until you have fixed yourself. I want to look at my son tomorrow morning, not whatever the hell this is standing in front of me right now.”

Christian was shoved by the shoulder towards the stairs and he rushed up them two at a time, passing Daniel at the top who was sitting by the railing and listening to the argument. Christian didn’t even look at his brother as he fought back his tears and slammed their shared bedroom door behind him.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

The titles are in, and it’s time to vote!

First of all, thank you to everyone who sent in questions- those were a lot of fun to ask. I love when you guys ask hard ones and these were not easy! I quite enjoyed them! 

And to everyone that sent in a title (or several) for this little game, thank you guys too! This was a lot of fun and some of these submissions sparked some very interesting thoughts... while there are others that I am crossing my fingers do not get chosen. Yikes. 

I ended up with 16 potential ideas from the titles that you gave me, and I’ve decided to write a three-part miniseries for each of the the top three. But I don’t want to write three stories about the same character, so to narrow things down, there will be two rounds of voting. 

The first round starts NOW and ends on WEDNESDAY (10/21). Choose your favorite title in each character category. The title with the most votes for each character will move on to the second round. You can vote by commenting on this post, or sending an ask (just not on anon for this please!) Please vote using the numbers assigned to each title per character. I’ll tally up all the votes on Wednesday, and we’ll buckle up for round two.  

So here they are folks, pick your poison for each character please. choose carefully there are landmines :

Billy 

1- Whispers in the Dark 

Quick Summary: Billy counts on an old friend when he’s got nowhere else to go; someone he helped a long time ago and the only person he thinks might actually help him now. 

My thoughts: This has been hiding on my masterlist for far too long. If i’m being honest, the idea scares me a little. It’s not my top choice to write right now for this event, because the way that I want to write it will make it far longer than three parts and I do not want to short change it. 

Fun fact: this one will not be reader insert.

2- Damned if I Do

Quick Summary: How do you make a choice when you know that no matter what you choose there is no way for you to win? You try like hell to find a third option, and you hope beyond reason that it won’t be even worse. 

My thoughts: I really like this one. Like, a lot. My first instinct was to shy away from Billy for this. I actually first saw it being used with a Benjamin or Logan story. But then I was like bitch don’t do that to Billy. So here we are. 

Fun fact: If you like stealth suit Billy this is the one for you. 

3- Ace of Spades

Quick Summary: Billy doesn’t take threats lightly- especially when they’re about the thing he cares about most- Anvil. 

My thoughts: Writing cut-throat, ruthless Anvil CEO Billy is always fun. Especially when he gets to get his hands dirty, too. I’d rank this one as my second favorite out of the three. 

Fun fact: This would be all Billy. Sorry, reader, you’re not in it, nor are any OC love interests. 

Logan

1-Dressed for Revenge

Quick Summary: In this one, Juliet listens to Logan and doesn’t marry William. His true colors come to light and he’s kicked to the curb real quick. Logan heals up and takes a special trip back to the park. 

My thoughts: I think this has the potential to be quite fun… or at least it could start that way. It also has the potential to be serious. 

Fun fact: While I need a new Logan like I need a hole in the head, this would not be connected to any current stories.

2- Nice and Spice(d) 

Quick Summary: Logan Delos in a fancy suit. Spiced Holiday beverages. Mayhem. Definitely not the recipe for how to make the nice list… but who really cares amiright? 

My thoughts: Cocky, happy, healthy Logan at the Delos Holiday party. Yes please. This one is tied to SYiNY but a few years in the future. 

Fun Fact: There’s another midnight kiss and this one won’t leave anyone wanting. Also I really like writing winter in the desert.    

3- Sleep in the Fire

Quick Summary: Logan examines his relationship with his father and decides to give him one last chance to make amends for nearly 35 years of being cold, uncaring and absent. But does he really think Jim will show change? Does he even want him to? 

My thoughts: This one will hurt but probably not as bad as it could if that makes you feel any better. This one is a tie-in to Core Drive. 

Fun Fact: There isn’t one. 

Ryan

1-Arms of a Stranger 

Quick Summary: Hindsight always reveals things that we let hide just under the surface, doesn’t it? A closer look back at the biggest heartbreak of Ryan Brenner’s life...and how he gets through it. 

My thoughts: This makes my stomach squirm a little but I also really like the idea. I like writing about Ryan at different points of his life and thinking about how his experiences may have shaped him into who we know him to be. But I don’t like putting him through pain so there’s also that… But I do really want to write about Chloe again...but… 

Fun Fact: There’s at least one instance of a shirtless Ryan Brenner laying in the light of a stained glass sun catcher. 

2- What’s New Pussycat? 

Quick Summary: Ryan gets a job as a dishwasher for a few weeks at a retro diner where they play A LOT of the same songs and the french fries are somehow both oily and burnt… the upside? The friendly waitress who seems to know quite a lot about good music. 

My thoughts: At first I had no idea what to do with this title and it cycled through almost every character here. But I like where I landed with it. 

Fun fact: Still undecided if this will be connected to Passing Through Ryan. 

3- The Pierogi Incident 

Quick Summary: Cousin chaos. And Polish dumplings. And first impressions. Oh my. Remember that trip to Georgia, when Ryan kissed you in the ocean while his cousins teased him? More of that. But with food. 

My thoughts: It’s no surprise that I love writing about the cousins. This one is tied for the number 1 Ryan spot. 

Fun Fact: Aunt Holly isn’t the only one in Ryan’s family who can cook… and there are certainly some who shouldn’t. 

4- Swipe for Love

Quick Summary: After Ryan breaks things off with Jackie and leaves Utah, he starts getting strange texts only to find out that Lia has set him up with an online dating profile. (Look, even she can see that her mom doesn’t deserve Ryan) Ryan is just about to take it down, when something sparks his interest. 

My thoughts: you guys please don’t make me write awkward dating app interactions…

Fun fact: I honestly do not know how I would write this with any semblance of a straight face. 

Benjamin

1- The Blighted Violin 

Quick Summary: Remember that time Keiran just came for breakfast and to talk about young Seanjamin? And he mentioned that Benj was always writing stories? This is a look at one of B’s masterworks. 

My thoughts: Gonna be straight with you guys- even if this doesn’t get picked it's getting written eventually.  

Fun fact: Young Seanjamin was super dramatic. 

2- The Jilted Tourist

Quick Summary: Benjamin meets a young woman at a train station who has just had a fight with her boyfriend, whom she came to England to visit only to find him...visiting someone else. Benjamin, of course, is friendly and lends an ear while he waits for his train… and then the two go their separate ways. Simple...right?

My thoughts: Julia is a jealous fuckface. 

Fun Fact: Julia is also a big old meanie. 

3- Monsters

Quick Summary: Allie. Julia. Back to back blowups, and Benjamin is absolutely hell bent on not making it three in a row. He either needs to figure out what he needs to change, or get used to being alone again. 

My thoughts: I see this as sort of a precursor to TGTBT Benjamin and while it definitely wouldn’t be fun, it would explain why he’s more ready to be in a relationship with reader than he’s ever been before. 

Fun Fact: This involves a lot of yelling. And crying. And cursing. And throwing things. 

4- Let you Know

Quick Summary: A series of phone calls from different points of Benjamin’s life replay in his head, none of them pleasant. Until one day they don’t. 

My thoughts: Oh, Benj… if this one wins I’m sorry… but I’m also not. 

Fun Fact: Panicked Benjamin is not at all my favorite thing to write. 

Caspian

1- In A Grain of Sand

Quick Summary: Just a grain of sand is all it takes to tip a scale. A single grain slipping through an hourglass starts a countdown, or ends one. One grain at a time, the winds shift the desert landscape into something unrecognizable. 

My thoughts: Not my most fully fleshed out idea up here. Still a lot of plot to figure out for this one to be possible 

Fun fact: this one would feature a suntanned and sweaty king. 

2- The Last Dream

Quick Summary: How much of your last dream do you remember? And what would happen if it were to come true? 

My thoughts: My most far fetched idea yet? Maybe. 

Fun fact: Caspian has very vivid dreams. 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

So there they are in all their unwritten glory. I can’t wait to see which three I’ll be writing! 

[balkanradfem]

So I’ve been canning a LOT this summer, and I gifted one of my salsa jars to a fellow gardener to try it, because I felt I did a great job this year, in comparison to last year, and wanted to brag. She hated it. Told me I should have put more sugar in, some store-bought preservatives and ingredients, some kind of cooking powder I don’t even know what it is, and that if I didn’t do that, it would all spoil. (Old people always have to add threats to what would happen if you don’t listen, and they’re always ridiculous.)

Now she’s 70, so it makes sense my second-year-making-salsa skills would suck compared to what she can do, but I have no intention whatsoever to add store-bought stuff, so I just said “haha yeah” and silently decided to just enjoy my salsa on my own because I think it’s the best thing ever. But, it seems like she decided, based on my ‘lousy’ salsa, that I’m a bad cook, so she remedied that by lending me 2 basic cookbooks that are over 40 years old. I was very excited to have these in my hands! I’m interested in old cooking skills and how people used to eat and survive prior to capitalism getting this bad. I also hoped to find useful recipes for winter stash.

So I open this book and it’s all writing, no pictures, only instructions. So old timey. And first set of instructions are unreasonable: Only use new, unused pots for cooking the goods for canning. Did people 40 years ago have that kind of money? I suspiciously doubt it. I disregard this. Check the recipes. First, we have a recipe called “Peaches with spices”, and the first ingredient is.. vinegar. They put… peaches in vinegar.

These instructions are all short and vague, stuff like, “boil it a few times” without saying, how much time goes between boiling, do I wait for it to cool down? Also some sound irrelevant to me, like “don’t stir too fast, and don’t stir too slow” what difference does it make? “Leave it in water for few days but change the water sometimes” I need more info than this!

Here’s a sample of a cherry compot recipe:” Prepare 1kg cherries, 1/4kg sugar. Clean cherries, put them in jars, pour hot syrup all over them, can like it says in prior instructions.”

I mean.. that is how you make it, but.. it’s written for a person who already knows… to make this.

Here’s my favs: Banana jam (they add 1 apple and some lemon juice to it), marmalade from chestnuts (they put alcohol in it!), marmelade from dried strawberries (strawberries can be dried! I didn’t know), sugared orange and lemon peel candy (I was always curious about that! Unfortunately, all instructions I got were “cut the peels, blanch them, boil few times in syrup and roll into sugar”. I have so many questions.)

Here’s the strangest, most bizzare stuff I’d never dream of putting together: Apple+tomato jam, Pear+pumkin compot, apple+coffee marmelade, tomato+cantaloupe jam (are they serious???? Tomatoes in everything??), green walnut jam (?????), cantaloupes in vinegar (I would not do this).

If you ever tried any of these concoctions, please tell me what does that taste like. I can’t even imagine it.

As you can see, I didn’t even get to the vegetables recipes because I was so wrapped up in this mess, it is likely I will try maybe 3 things from this book, but that is good enough. Is it normal for cooking instructions to be this short or am I spoiled with the fact that I can watch a detailed youtube video with visual instructions and a person who scientifically explains for every single step why it’s done that way?

I’m astounded with how much sugar these people put in their sweet stash. I’m happy to know that people 40 years ago were wack and did weird shit, and I might test some of their wacky ideas. If any of the recipes I mentioned appeals to you, let me know and I’ll post the full recipes! (which are, sadly, few short sentences only. It’s what the people of the not-so-ancient past left for us.)