#i do think hes sort of lacking in the albums department

[lennon666]

Honestly it’s kinda sad that John’s solo music catalogue often got overshadowed by his martyrdom or controversy, bcs wow his solo musics are sooo interesting and soo ahead of its time, i could defo tell which modern artists are being influenced by it. Like cmon people!!this dude made REAL music!!

[myvirtuesuncounted]

my full review of ttpd (a month late, shhh)

tw opinions. if you like a song that i don't or vice versa or you don't agree with a comment i made, good for you! get it off your chest, get it off my desk!

fortnight

One of Taylor’s weaker openers, it’s a nice song, not much going on though

the production is boppy, not much going on once again

Interesting how Taylor sees her muse as living a good life without her and a nice domestic scene with his wife watering flowers but for her, her husband is cheating on her, implying she thinks she will never be happy, maybe because of how this relationship went or her general perception of relationships and her experiences with them. That is my interpretation of the song.

The outro with post and taylor's harmonies SLAPS

Like I said, this song feels a bit lacking of substance both thematically and technically, it doesn't do it for me, i don't hate listening to it, i just don't love it.

i think it might be a song that grows on me over time but it won't ever be a fave for me.

i also think in light of the music video, it's lost some of its spark for me, as that music video made no sense to me. i don't think it deserved to be a single.

the tortured poets department

“You left your typerwriter at my apartment, straight from the tortured poets department” implying that this thing of which she is now part had been introduced to her by the muse

The muse has probably compared them to poets like Dylan Thomas and Patti Smith and probably romanticised their relationship into the work of a tortured poet, but that’s not real life.

Taylor brings back to reality that now because of his self sabotage that brought both of them down in this relationship, he has lost the one who will decode him, hold him, know him

the above are just little analyses i like making as i listen to the song, they have nothing to do about whether i like the song or not, it's just me trying to make sense of it. you'll see that a lot.

i do not like the charlie puth line. at all. why is it there?

also don't like the tattooed golden retriever line, the image of a tattooed golden retriever is terrifying.

i was so off-guard about the namedropping in this song, sorry i had no idea who dylan thomas or patti smith were.

this song is trying too hard to be poetic, i think (which one could argue is the whole point of this song), but it doesn't stand out much to me. the themes are interesting though.

this is a pretty weak title track, personally. i feel like it doesn't encapsulate the essence of the album (which i am confused about tbh, ttpd has a lot of aesthetics going on for itself). it has nothing on little fearless and evermore.

my boy only breaks his favourite toys

so we all thought this song would be pretty petty, but i honestly don't think it is extremely so. there's a sort of pity for the muse, that the breaking of his 'favourite toys' is a form of self sabotage and that they could've had it all.

i love how it starts so defeated, "oh here we go again", which i think is in reference to the muse's self sabotage ruining her life

it also feels a bit reflective and nostalgic of the fact that it wasn't all bad, which i quite liked. i liked the contrast of feelings.

"once i fix me, he's gonna miss me" is a devastating line btw

so is "he saw forever so he smashed it up"

song is a bop, i like the lyricism, overall i enjoy this song :)

down bad

i enjoy the cunty synth here ahaha. for all the jokes the fandom makes about jack fucking around with the synth while taylor sings the most soulcrushing lyrics, it is so real especially for this song.

taylor has never sounded so good while swearing. "fuck it if i can't have us" is such an earworm.

i feel like this is the most petty song in the album, mainly because of the "teenage petulance" in the lyrics

the callback to new romantics in the bridge is so insane, i noticed it immediately.

the production is so mystical and giving space alien vibes, i enjoy it.

so long, london

the intro is giving big ben bells and/or wedding bells

the fast beat vs the slow melodies is such an interesting juxtaposition (to my lit teacher, i hope i used this word right XD). i think it really highlights the conflicting feelings this song explores ("i'm just mad as hell 'cause i loved this place") and also how taylor isn't able to keep up with how quickly the relationship is dying (the production) and she's still sifting through her feelings to find acceptance (the melody)

"how much sad did you think i had" something something "how long can we be a sad song" something something "don't want no other shade of blue but you"

the bridge is just the most devastating strike to my heart

"you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days" is one of my favourite lyrics on this album

track 5 is track 5ing

this song is a masterpiece, i genuinely love it so much

but daddy i love him

get this song out of my face, i hate it so much. blocked on spotify.

why did taylor have to waste good lyricism and production on such an awful premise and "fuck you" to her fans dishing valid criticism of her association with matty?

the baby line is hilarious though, because i did indeed fall for it the first time

like you can talk about taylor's agency all you want but everyone knows what the implications of this song are and i feel hurt and offended that this is the attitude both taylor and some swifties are taking.

"the most judgemental creeps" um, is this fucking play about us?

fresh out the slammer

her voice sounds beautiful in this

love the country twang in the production

it's giving getaway car thematically

i think it's interesting to see this song so soon after so long, london, where she says she was "going down with [the ship]" but she was literally dreaming about running into the arms of another man and was "[doing her] time". like ok girl!

vibey song but not for me. i don't have much to say on this.

florida!!!

IMMEDIATE FAVE, i had claimed this since day 1 and i was so right

cunty production, i can tell florence had a lot of influence. no more synths! bring out the drums!

at first, i had no idea what was happening in this song, but when taylor talked about it being about reinventing yourself, it made a lot more sense to me and i love that interpretation, it rings so true.

can i be honest and say that i thought it said "arms" not "home", like that doesn't even make sense 😭

florence's verse fucking slays, my only gripe is that her voice in the verse is kinda quiet compared to the instrumental. could've used some better mixing here.

"me and my ghosts had a hell of a time" is a banger of a line

the bridge is immaculate, has been in my head since i first listened to it.

this song is amazing, there is nothing like it, pure perfection. top song on the album.

guilty as sin?

obsessed with the beat

hedge maze = labyrinth = the mind, idk i just loved that connection

we have reached the ovulation song lmao

did you know it took me so long to realise the chorus was talking about masturbation? like i knew the song was horny, but i didn't realise it was THAT horny.

i think i called this a mature, sadder false god in my notes. that uncertain, sensual, desiring tone is probably what motivated that connection in my head.

WHAT IF HE'S WRITTEN MINE ON MY UPPER THIGH ONLY IN MY MIIIIIND

the bridge is so beautiful, i am a sucker for religious imagery.

overall i'm obsessed, beat good, lyricism good, i love it

who's afraid of little old me?

now i know this is the fan favourite, and i understand why. it gives an eery, angry vibe, and i also enjoy it. to some extent.

namely, the part i enjoy most is the circus imagery, i liked how she leaned into the circus animal metaphor to depict her struggles in fame and her relationships. it's like a badly behaved circus animal about to be put down absolutely losing it and raging about its plight, which i enjoy as a means of storytelling and expressing emotion. i also enjoy it as a callback to mirrorball and what happens when the mirrorball finally has had enough of shattering in a million pieces and performing for a largely uncaring crowd.

... which is why i don't like the asylum lyric. to me, it doesn't add in anything significant thematically when the rest of the song hardly has similar strains of discussion. not to mention the ableist overtones and trivialisation of the asylum experience but i just don't like this lyric. it weakens the premise of the song.

the production is also off in some places, it feels muted and underwhelming compared to the premise of the song.

it's an okay song, i 100% like the acoustic demo better that she came out with recently. some changes in production and the omission of that asylum lyric would put it higher up for me.

i can fix him (no really i can)

good thing this song is short because she couldn't fix him at all and i don't like this song.

"the jokes that he told across the bar were revolting and far too loud" euphemism for bigoted, taylor?

production is boring, the melody is also pretty boring. the lyrics are good, but not enough to save the song, in my humble opinion (it is after all my review here)

"good boy, that's right" taylor GET UP

the 'woah maybe i can't' is funny though, i'll give her that

loml

slayed, devoured, left no crumbs, left me emotionally devastated

the lyricism is absolutely beautiful, the sadness is tangible

the first time i listened to this, i was on the train, and i was so emotional, it was the perfect music to stare out the window to.

the impressionist painting line is also absolutely brilliant, took me out when i heard it. one of the best lyrics on the album.

the bridge and outro are the reasons i need therapy, destroyed me

loss of my life theorists won but at what cost.

i think some of taylor's simplest songs melodically have some of the most beautiful prose and emotional connection, i think she needs to tap into that more.

10/10 no notes.

i can do it with a broken heart

extreme whiplash hearing this after loml. similar whiplash to what taylor felt, i think, going on tour after such a heartbreak

someone pointed out that the almost metronomic beat and the faint counting in the background is like what taylor hears in her in-ear monitor on tour and i think that's really cool.

obsessed with this song so much

it has been stuck in my head since i first heard it

i never expected this to be the cuntiest song on the album but i am not disappointed at all.

"i cry a lot but i am so productive" is so mecore if i was actually productive

the ad libs at the end are also perfect

is it just me or can i hear crowd noises in the background?? am i imagining this??

i'm afraid the fandom is gravely misunderstanding this song. some are saying that taylor hates us because we were "shouting 'more!' " when she was feeling like this. some are saying that she doesn't resent us at all and that this song absolves us completely. those are both two extremes and my interpretation lies somewhere in the middle. this is not a callout to fans but also some factions of the fandom were (or are) being assholes demanding reputation tv and double albums all the time. acknowledge the nuance.

10/10 obsessed, fave song after florida!!!

the smallest man who ever lived

this song is good.

bridge of all time, indeed, she went OFF

the verses feel a bit meh to me but i love the chorus.

"you didn't measure up in any measure of a man" HAHA TAYLOR IT TOOK ME A SECOND TO GET THE DOUBLE ENTENDRE

this song is indeed petty, but it also feels defeated to me? like taylor just sounds tired of it all and quite hurt, that's what i got from it.

i also love the performance of this song on the eras tour. she is marching with an army and they keep taking hits throughout the song, until she eventually falls at the end. something something "the great war" something something "fighting with only your army, frontlines, don't you ignore me", etc.

the alchemy

i feel a little let down by this song? because from the name, i assumed this song would be using the concept of alchemy being a medieval science of turning things into gold or finding a universal cure as a metaphor for a broken/dying relationship.

also i don't understand how this is meant to be a love song, sounds really sad to me? like almost defeatist in terms of how the relationship.

why am i being bombarded by football metaphors?

i mean, it sort of plays on the idea of alchemy being a sort of magical transformation, but to me, it just feels like a synonym for chemistry.

" 'cause the sign on your heart says it's still reserved for me" is a cute lyric though.

it's quite formulaic as a song and there's not much going on for me. anyway.

clara bow

i really enjoy the concept of this song being the torch of fame being passed onto different women, from clara bow to stevie nicks to taylor swift to whoever's next.

once again, it's quite simple melodically, but this is where she shines! the typewriter while she was writing this must have been on fire!!

i also love how it plays on the concept of being put onto a pedestal as a famous woman and how you're only appealing until people decide you're not

"it's hell on earth to be heavenly" is such a perfect lyric.

the namedrop of herself GAGGED me on first listen, i was amazed.

it's a perfect closer to the first half, putting everything into the perspective of her fame and passing the torch onto something else because society has decided out with old, in with the new.

the black dog

the thing about the location settings makes me so ill, he didn't even think to turn it off for her. they probably shared locations to make sure they could check up on each other, and it was still on. it is such a tiny thing but so devastating.

the buildup on "old habits die screaming" ohhhhh this is amazing

the best laid plans... hoax...

"i still miss the smoke" people are making parallels to daylight but my first thought was lavender haze, like missing the lavender haze, you know?

the priest lyric is so devastating if you think about the fact that taylor thought she'd be meeting a priest about this relationship for a different, happier reason...

obsessed with this song, it's so beautiful.

the quietness of the verses and the loudness of the chorus, i am genuinely entranced, it is cinema.

imgonnagetyouback

do not ask me to compare this song with olivia rodrigo's "get him back", they're both on different levels thematically and tonally even though they use the same double entendre.

what narcotics did she put in this bridge XD

so boppy, and sensual, i adore it

i remember going on a long search for the literary device that is present in "i hear the whispers in your eyes", decided it was antithesis with the help of my followers. not at all relevant, but wanted to add it.

the albatross

i can make a lot of parallels to peace with this song.

it's so eery and mythical, i love it, treats taylor like a fable, an urban legend.

aaron dessner is a fucking legend, i am loving the production on the anthology

my folkmore girlie self is loving the anthology for real

i love the bait and switch to "fake news", exposing these rumours for simply that, and saying that she's not the dangerous one, the "jackals rais[ing] their hackles" are.

i am always a sucker for when taylor changes from third person to first person narration, it's so important to me. bait-and-switch, you are everything to me.

10/10 no notes.

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus

heartbreakingly beautiful. just a general melancholy around the breaking down of a relationship and is so so perfect.

the hologram lyric is not about cheating at all. the relationship is long gone, this is taylor envisioning her muse in a new relationship but she isn't there, hence the hologram. i've seen some people say it was about cheating, that interpretation doesn't make sense to me.

"you turned me into an idea of sorts" -> "the idea you had of me, who was she?"

random thought, but the lyricism on the anthology is so much better and natural as compared to the first half. i enjoy the bops on the first half but it also suffers from trying too much to be poetic (i think i said this about the title track especially). there are so many overloaded lyrical runs and random references that leave me confused and overwhelmed. the anthology however feels so much more quintessentially taylor.

don't have much to say on the song itself, i quite like it.

how did it end?

the intro literally makes me ascend!!

i really love how this song investigates and criticises the inherent curiosity people have around big news like a breakup, constantly probing for details.

once again, the simpler songs contain the best lyricism and melodies!!

this song both explains and expresses confusion about the end of the relationship, so i love the paradoxical nature of that.

"we learn the right steps to different dances" is such a devastating line and i think sums up the end of many relationships so succinctly.

the second chorus is giving right where you left me: "did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?" etc.

THE BRIDGE, TAYLOR HOW DO YOU DO IT

the d-y-i-n-g part is just so devastating. taylor uses the themes of death and haunting so well on this album.

i know i've said this like 10 times, but this is just so so beautiful.

so high school

the guitar in the background is giving hits different, it hits different when it's you!!

despite the happy tone and lyrics, i do feel the sad, anxious undertone, the key example being the marry, kiss, or kill me part (the echoed "kill me", "it's just a game but really")

the aristotle and grand theft auto line has been used countlessly to shit on taylor's songwriting, and personally, i don't like this line. just doesn't hit right for me. however, i think it's unfair to pick cringe lyrics and ignore all the beautiful, meaningful ones to shit on taylor.

i do love the imagery with high school games like truth or dare and spin the bottle, really cements the "so high school" of it all.

this song is okay to me, it feels too american for me to enjoy it more lmao.

i hate it here

i love the poet and finance guy line at the beginning, it expresses a sort of desperation to get to know this person, to uncover their insecurities, deepest secrets, and love them anyway. it may also be introspective of taylor herself, idk.

calling comfort a construct is so quietly sad. convincing yourself since you've never had it, it can't be real because it's better than being cursed or doomed to never have it (see the prophecy)

this song is so escapist, but also so cynical about the escapism, it clearly isn't a preferred option, like it's not just escaping into childhood and nostalgia for the sake of it, it's because the real world fucking sucks.

the chorus slays, and is quite relatable.

the use of the word "precocious" is so interesting to me. she used it also in "but daddy i love him" if i remember correctly. like she resonates a lot with the feeling of being stunted in childhood or having seemed to never grow up -> "i have this thing where i get older but just never wiser" -> "i never grew up, it's getting so old" -> "i hit my peak at seven", idk i find it an interesting recurring theme in taylor's discography.

the 1830s line, and just that entire first half of the verse. i know why it's there, i know what it's doing, i know it's not meant to be taken seriously. still i don't like it. it also feels weird that she is calling out racism as a staple of the 1830s or whatever when she has shown us she is perfectly fine with dating a racist. you can say i'm being overdramatic. you can say i don't get it. idc. i try to ignore this part because this is a very good song and i love its themes and production.

"nostalgia is a mind's trick" i really love this because the entire song is so nostalgic for childhood and escapism but then she's like "actually nostalgia sucks" or it's not what it seems. no, the past would not have been better.

production feels like seven. themes quite different however (thematically, it would be robin, i think.)

the bridge combats the cynicism of the second verse which is so interesting to me. i love how opposing views on nostalgia and escapism are presented, the nuance is there.

the bridge is so mecore, i feel it in my bones.

thanK you aIMee

i really enjoy the small town as a microcosm for the giant music industry and reducing kim to a bully in this analogy.

this song is so cathartic for me, i really enjoy it in the lens of a friendship breakup.

she's so funny in this song "and so i changed your name and any real defining clues" while clearly spelling out her name in the song title.

the bridge fucking slays, likely thing for taylor to do.

it's such a breath of fresh air to have such a cathartic moment in an album that's largely dealing with huge emotions in huge ways, it's so interesting here as an addition to the anthology.

i look in people's windows

it's such a beautiful song and it's criminal how short it is

her voice sounds heavenly, i love how breathy it is.

it's giving "the outside" which is why i love it so much, i think

i think this not only works as a song grieving the end of a relationship but expressing the feeling of being left out in a current one; i definitely relate to it in that sense.

"does it feel alright not to know me?" is so so heartwrenching, i cannot do this

the prophecy

i am a sucker for mythology references so i'm already drawn in with the title.

once again, the song itself sounds so beautiful.

"i got cursed like eve got bitten" except she didn't get bitten?? the curse came after she ate the forbidden fruit?? i'm a bit confused here

WAIT NVM IT'S THE FACT THAT SHE DIDN'T GET BITTEN THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT OF THE SIMILE, HEAR ME OUT

saying something so factually incorrect and comparing it to her own experience implies that the latter is ALSO incorrect. she didn't "get cursed", she cursed herself!! which also defies the notion of "the prophecy", ohhhhhh i find this so interesting.

i think the notion of "a greater woman" or "a lesser woman" speaks to the expectations placed around women in relationships, they mustn't appear too desperate for love because that's undesirable but if they are nonchalant, they are also undesirable, it is worth exploring in terms of this song.

this song is so so sad and sadly so so relatable, i definitely find some comfort and resonance in this and it makes me really sad :(

i love the references to mythology and folklore made here, "the pricked hand" very obviously referencing sleeping beauty.

i always love it when taylor repeats the first verse at the end of a song, i think it speaks to the cyclical, circular nature of this specific feeling, that no matter how much she begs and pleads, "the prophecy" will never change.

cassandra

another mythology reference!!!

this being after "the prophecy" is so so deliberate, godssss

the piano is giving "mad woman", which i think is so fitting

"so they killed cassandra first 'cause she feared the worst" that's not actually why cassandra was killed in mythology but go off queen

"they say what doesn't kill you makes you aware" is an unreal run

that being said, i love it when taylor takes common sayings and aphorisms and gives them a twist. she does it a lot in this album, one of my favourite examples being "old habits die screaming" as a twist on "old habits die hard"

"blood's thick but nothin' like a payroll" i am hooked completely oml

10/10 no notes

peter

more folklore references, let's go!!!!

this song is so hauntingly beautiful, the lyricism is so poetic and flows perfectly, genuinely this is what i love about taylor

as a folklore girlie, i am WINNING with the anthology

i can't get over the "jet stream" line here vs "jet stream" in "call it what you want" 🫠

once again, a bridge that fucking slays, how does she keep doing it

it's so interesting how taylor grapples with the concept of childhood and precociousness in this album with so many mentions and callbacks to childhood and feeling stunted as a child and now, it really is an ode to "you're stuck at the age you became famous" (which is sad in many aspects but also problematic in others)

the chorus is also just so perfect, everything about this song is perfect.

the bolter

obsessed does not even cover it

what a banger start to a song

the chorus reminds me a lot of "illicit affairs", i think, interesting connections can be made there

"as she was leaving, it felt like breathing" as in a sigh of relief that it's over, but also she does it so often it is quite literally as quotidian and simple as "breathing"

i love taylor's tendencies to make songs in the third person narrative voice, i think her best storytelling comes out like this.

"there's escape in escaping"- i think this is sort of a commentary on how the identity of "the bolter" is like a coping/defense mechanism to ensure that she doesn't get hurt in a relationship, in that there is an escape from her insecurities, her worries, and the eminent pain she will face in the relationship by quite literally escaping.

but there's also often the bait and switch ("then it was bought by me", "i'm the albatross, i swept in at the rescue") but i find it so interesting that this song does not do that, if only i can make a meaningful analysis there, but my running theory is that she deliberately chooses to distance herself from the identity of "the bolter", bc while she does dote on this character and is rather affectionate in how she tells the story, she doesn't feel like attaching herself to it, in that maybe it's an identity she no longer wants to hold or that, like she frequently says, she doesn't believe these songs or stories are about her anymore and that they take on new meaning..

anyway i am loving this song, 10/10

robin

WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THIS SONG, IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL

it's so sweet how she is consoling the child, ensuring them that they should enjoy this time they have now, and that they will be kept safe from their future.

but it's so sad in that regard, like, "we don't wanna hurt you so we're not telling you how this will pan out to protect your childhood innocence".

this once again cements my preoccupation with taylor's discussions around childhood and youth, she mentions frequently how that was taken away from her too soon and how she has felt "precocious" because of it. it's so important to understand and this song should NOT be overlooked.

i really like it.

the manuscript

this song is so heartbreaking, i want to punch the wall

i never thought about the fact how doing the atw short film would have rekindled these old memories and feelings, and this song is surely a direct result of that. not surprising, in hindsight, but it still compelled me when i first heard it.

once again, youth being taken too soon!! precociousness!!

someone needs to take the word "precocious" away from me

"but the story isn't mine anymore" HHHHHHHHH THIS IS THE WHOLE POINT

very nice song, beautiful closer to the anthology and the entire album as a whole, "these stories used to be about me but now they're about you".

overall thoughts

i hate to say it, but i think this album is in a desperate need of editing; there's so much going on, most of which is compelling and worth exploring, but everything is disjunct with each other and i know this work is meant to feel messy, don't start with me there, but it shouldn't be messy to the point where it's confusing and overwhelming. there are so many concepts and metaphors that are so intriguing and clearly important in taylor's music but the final products of those become half-baked in mediocre production or mixing. this album feels rushed and is soaked with questionable decisions. for example, i think "i can do it with a broken heart" should have been a single and title track because i think it's such a central part of her experiences recently and clearly something permeating the rest of this collection, and how she learns to move on and cope in light of heartbreak. there are several moments where the lyricism of the album feels overwhelming and overcompensating, as in trying too hard to contain meaning. the best lyrical moments on this album are seamless and subtle, and very prosodic as well. taylor tried to deviate from that formula quite a bit and it didn't always work out for the best in this album. she is not as adept at throwing in conversational lyrics as her peers, her strength is in prose and storytelling. the production is also getting a bit old, it's very sonically cohesive, almost to the point of it being boring, and i think taylor needs to get a bit more experimental sonically, and also ensure that the melody and production work together in more different ways, and that maybe the melody is not relying on the production but vice versa. the album is certainly not all lows, but the lows are particularly lower than in other instances of her discography.

that being said, the highs on this album are absolutely breathtaking. the majority of the anthology and quite a few songs on this album captured me instantly. this album is quite mellow, and could have benefitted from another bop or two, but the ones we received were astounding!! this album also had some really strong lyricism, especially in the anthology, and it was so intriguing seeing the many metaphors and situations she used to express her feelings. her storytelling in particular really shone in this album in songs like "the albatross", "the bolter", "clara bow", "cassandra", "the manuscript" among others. i love the themes and ideas that taylor explored in this album, and overall the premises really compelled me.

in terms of rankings, i've separated the two halves. the first half (ttpd) is second-last and the second half (the anthology) is 8th out of 12 (not 11 because ttpd is split in two).

if you've read this far, congratulations, have a treat of your choice. please be mindful and respect my opinion, thanks!

[skaterboyfriend]

Kent comforting angsty Sam? 👀👀

my goddd i think there is a lot to be said about just how much kent's absence really fucked up sam. sam seems to let nothing bother him- he's an older brother, he's the man of the house, he's working two jobs while keeping up with sebastian, abigail, and penny- he has this sort of emotional maturity a lot of people don't pick up on, rather dismissing him as some innocent boy who never learned to grow up. no- this is far from correct as sam had to grow up SO QUICKLY with his father gone overseas and the way he acts- his bright personality- it is a byproduct of him actively choosing to do good and be kind over and over again. this is a super long introduction but it sets the foundation that sam wasn't always like what we see in canon- he OF COURSE was an angsty little teen thinking the world was against him and took it out on whoever and whatever he could! more under the cut <3 thank you for this ask! i love talking about themmm <3

*naturally sam, with a lack of a father figure, had a tough time grasping certain concepts that jodi was unsure on how to tackle - sam c. 11 years, before vincent was born, living in the city with his mom that seemed to be so tired all the time- there was this bubbling anger that just festered within him and he couldn't place why. he'd act out in school, frequently get involved in fights- jodi begged kent to come home to support his family through this- sam was going through some major changes as he started to grasp the world around him, realizing that things just might not get better and he's going to be stuck as this little boy with mommy and daddy issues. kent obliged, and took a brief leave from duty, heading to the city to try and support his oldest- although he has not the slightest clue how to ...

*upon seeing kent home from wherever the FUCK he was, sam goes livid. he either completely ignores kent or jabs at him how he should go back to fighting the government's war - he and mom are doing just fine without him. and obviously, kent would BLOW UP too, barking that sam needs to learn some manners and treat him with respect! jodi frequently intervened, upset that they both are acting horribly and need to CALM DOWN!!! late nights with kent back home, the two would talk in hushed whispers in bed about how to help sam- his distrustful of authority figures and hates doing as he's told affecting his school and home life. what to do...

*one morning, kent rummages through the small garage, which is cluttered with the years, a layer of dust wrapped around various photo albums, old shoes, boxes with memorabilia jodi couldn't bear to toss. stumbling upon his father digging around, sam lingers, watching the soldier pull out a large irregularly shaped box... dust blows everywhere and the two sneeze- both have pretty bad allergies, a small smile shared between kent and sam upon seeing how they in the end are rather similar with their blonde hair, brown eyes, crazy bad allergies <3 kent pulls out a glossy red electric guitar- a few scratches on the side, the strings are all snapped apart- but sam's eyes widened as kent brought over the instrument towards him. bet you didn't know your old man was a pretty good player back in the day... how do you think i got your mom to fall for me?

*the two spend the day running around town, visiting music shop after thrift store after pawn shop, picking up a new set of strings, some picks, a nice guitar strap fitted for the young boy- kent teaches sam how to play some chords, the night ending with sam's honorable attempt at the obvious first-time song for beginners: stand by me! with his mother tearing up with how sam seemed to have stars in his eyes when playing the guitar. kent had to depart the next morning but not without sitting down with sam, a hand on his shoulder, a small smile: every time you lose it, every time it seems like there's no point- you've got to take that and turn it to hope for something better. i do it everyday, hoping that somehow someway, i'm protecting you and your mother. you know i love you. and i'm proud of you. and sam finally realizes just how much his father loves him- how it all was for sam, it always was! ever since, sam couldn't put down the guitar, working and working on it, practicing and getting better, turning his fear for the future to love for the present! <3

[harryskalechips]

Illicit affairs

A/N Hellooooo! I haven’t written in a while but enjoy this little sad piece inspired by Taylor Swift! Thank you for all the love! I hope you guys are doing well! Feel free to leave a kind message in my inbox ❤️

Y/N was a new intern at Colombia records when she met Harry Styles. Their relationship takes a turn however, when they start an affair.

Tw: Cheating

Thank you @harrysleftchelseaboot for letting me participate in your writing challenge! For any writers out there who want to give it a go make sure to check it out! I would love to read some new work. 

Prompts:

“Be a good girl and spread your legs for me.”

“I’d punch you, but that would ruin that pretty little face of yours.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Leave.”

Note: I do not condone cheating whatsoever! Please mind that this story is fictional! As much as it makes me sad to paint Harry as a cheater, it’s part of this storyline I thought of as I listened to Taylor’s album, Folklore.

Word count: 5k / Masterlist

Y/N never knew she was going to be in this type of predicament. Falling asleep every night in a man’s arms, only to wake up alone in her cold sheets at dawn. For some odd reason, his vanilla scent smothered her atmosphere every time, leaving her in a subspace-like condition. She found her thoughts easily shifting to him or feeling the need to touch him. She’s whipped but sadly also clingy. 

Does she have an excuse to feel this way? She was only 21 when she began working as an intern at this man’s record label. He was her first serious relationship and although he was married -there always seemed to be a weird tension between them.

It all started when she was assigned to follow Rob Stringer through his meetings in 2017...nonetheless she met Mr. Harry Styles. One of the members of the biggest boy band, One Direction. She knew exactly who he was, especially since he was sexualized by the media too often at an early stage of his career. She knew his first solo album was a hit and that in her job description, she had to be present at every interview he had. She also knew that the ring on his finger was a symbol of love for his wife that he married a year ago. 

Months on end, she barely spoke to him. She was shy -feeling as if her personality would bore Mr.Styles. One night however as the team went out to celebrate his last show for live on tour, he himself invited her. 

They were at a club in New York -A very private one to be exact when Harry found himself too interested in the quiet intern. To be honest, his life at home (when he was there) wasn’t what he planned for. His wife was too busy, only fighting him whenever he stepped foot inside. She barely had any more interests in his music or his life -and suddenly, it felt like two strangers living in that mansion. It wasn’t an excuse for him to keep glancing at the girl as she danced with her co-workers nor was it an excuse for him to buy her a drink. Funny enough, he always thought of himself as a hopeless romantic since he was waiting for that particular someone to love him back once again and save his marriage. But before he could stop himself, he was already walking towards the girls dancing on the floor and getting to know them.

After that night at the club, Y/N felt different towards Mr. Styles. Of course, she was still intimidated but she now knew him on a more personal level, leading her to call him Harry instead. That night as they sat in one the booth upstairs, she listened to his jokes and stories and it made her start to have a little crush on him. But hey, he was married and she would never want to ruin a relationship. 

As her days became busier at Columbia -sorting papers and running for Coffee, She always glanced at the elevator hoping Harry Styles would come out and was in need of a conversation with Rob in person. She knew he probably called her boss though the phone but her brain was rummaging for ideas why he would start appearing in her life once again. That was until one day she heard Gina and Louise in the staff room during break talking about Harry coming in tomorrow. Boy, did her heart began to beat fast. Maybe, it was manifestation but she was a bit too excited to see him again as it’s been a couple of months since she last saw him. 

~

“Y/N,” Rob calls out for her as he plays with a pen in his hand. “Meet me in the main conference room in five minutes. I need you to note down my meeting today.” He gives her a small smile and quickly walks off. She knew full well that this meeting was about Harry Styles. 

As she sat beside Rob at the long table, she realized that the whole table was filled with people from publicity and other departments. Right in front of her was the man she’s been thinking of, beside him was his manager. It’s not like she was deeply infatuated with him but she did love thinking about his pretty eyes. 

Matter of fact, as she first glanced at him, her eyes already met his. He was smiling and staying quiet as the meeting immediately began but his fingers played with his pen as he watched her. She was too focused on the shittier details of what they were discussing. He wanted to tell her so badly that she didn’t need to write some things down but he was having fun watching her bite her lip in stress. He wasn’t smooth though. Since she was already feeling his gaze burning through her. 

As the meeting went on, Harry became a bit more serious about why he came into the office. They were in the talks of his new second album and now, they had to plan publicity and tour. Some of the staff even asked how his trip to Japan was and although he was so excited to share his fantastic experiences, it was sad to mention how his wife didn’t even bother coming along. 

“Are you not going to say hi to me?” Harry teases Y/N as they’re the last ones to leave the conference room after their long meeting. She had to clean up the table while he chose to sit in his chair, pretending to do important things on his phone. When he waved bye to everyone as they left the room, he pointed at his phone, explaining he needed a few minutes to send “important emails” -he just wanted to catch up with his new friend, Y/N.

“Hi.” She tries her best to act normal and unaffected by his presence. “Sorry, I couldn’t say hi earlier. When Rob said five minutes, I didn’t know the meeting was already taking place.” Harry laughs at her apology since he wasn’t petty at all for her lack of greeting today. 

“I was just teasing. How are you?”

“I’ve been good.” She smiles back at him as she tosses the last remainder of paper cups in the bin. “I think the last time I saw you was last year. Where have you been?”

“Why did you miss me?” He raises his brow as he spins his chair a bit. He gives her a smirk as he watches her lean herself on the table. 

“Just a bit. I loved watching your interviews.” She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms against her chest. “At first I wanted to sleep through them but now I rather go through those back and forth instead of, filling random sheets out for Rob.”

“Heyy, I think I’m pretty interesting during interviews.”

“Oh no! Don’t get me wrong you are! It’s just you have such a raspy voice and you talk so slow! You can literally put me to bed anytime.”

“Am I talking slowly right now?”

“Just a bit. I haven’t seen you in a while. I kind of forgot!” She laughs. “ What else did you do other than Japan? Spent some time with your wife?” Y/N wasn’t going to lie… bringing up his wife kind of made her uncomfortable but she knew this was a good way to get to know him in a friendly way. 

Harry couldn’t help but give out a humourless scoff as he rests his head back on the chair. His eyes, however, meet her’s again. She couldn’t help but watch his adam’s apple bob up and down. 

“Marriage is hard you know. If I’m being honest with you, I haven’t spoken to her in a week. She’s been on vacation, travelling in Europe I think with her best friends.”

“She’s a model, right? She must have a lot of free time. I’m sure she can make space for you.” Harry slaps his knee in sarcastic humour as he shakes his head at Y/N’s innocent idea of who his wife truly is now. “I’m sorry. I guess it’s more complex than I thought. I haven’t really been in a relationship at least a long term one.”

“Are you free tonight?” Harry asks her out of the blue.

“Yes.” 

“Can I come over? We don’t need to do anything but I would love to hang out with you and I don’t know... forget I have all these responsibilities.”

“Sure.” What Y/N didn’t know that this night would forever change her relationship with Harry.

~

It was late in the night as Harry sat on Y/N’s couch talking to her about everything. His life, his career, his marriage. Usually, it wasn’t easy for him to open up so quickly to a stranger but for some odd feeling, his gut was telling him that he could trust this pretty girl beside him. It’s like he knew she was trustworthy and non-judgemental. 

Ever since he first noticed her during his meetings, he found himself involuntarily glancing at her. That was until he grew some balls and invited her to his after-party. Maybe, He did find her pretty and a bit too hot but even if his marriage is going through the rocks, he did not want to cheat. He didn’t want to be that type of guy. Yet during his time in Japan, he found himself thinking of what would happen if he was single right now? Would he actually make a move on her?

“What are you thinking of?” The same woman calls him out as she takes a swing of the wine bottle into her mouth. 

Yes, the found themselves enjoying Harry’s expensive red wine so now they’re passing the bottle. 

“You.” He was a bit tipsy and so was she but they were still sober enough to choose their words properly. 

“Me? Why me? Why not that hot model you call your wife.”

“She left my mind before I even met you.”

“Yet you’re still with her. Why?”

“I don’t know.” He looks at her as he takes a sip of wine. 

“Okay, so why are you thinking of me? Are you happy you have a new friend?” Her cheeks were very red at his confession but she was trying to make herself believe it was because of the alcohol. 

“I’m happy that I finally got to know the girl who sat quietly in the corner during my interviews.” He smirks at her as he watches her try to hide a smile. 

“I was intimidated by you!” 

“Why was that, love?” Y/N was not expecting him to call her that. She places the almost empty wine bottle on her coffee table and sits back in her same position as she’s wrapped in the same blanket Harry is.  

“You’re Harry Styles. Every woman is head over heels for you and Every man wants to be you.”

“Are you head over heels for me?” Harry squints his eyes as he says the first thing that comes out of his mouth. It wasn’t his intention to flirt with her but they both knew they had overpowering chemistry. The only thing holding them back is well… Harry’s marriage. 

“No.” She bluffs. He continues to look at her. “Fine, a bit but you’re married so I know how to control myself.” 

“What happens If I can’t?” his tone drops as he mumbles to himself. “I’m sorry what?” Y/N chokes as she looks at him. 

“I know I’m married fuck.” He sits up and rubs his face in frustration. “It’s just I never wanted a girl so bad after my marriage. I shouldn’t! I should be happily married but for some shit reason, I can’t get my mind off of you.”

“Harry, there’s consequences about what we’re talking about right now.” Y/N sits up as well as she watches him. Does it still count as cheating if his wife is barely in his life anymore? 

“I know. I’m sorry. I know you aren’t that type of girl. I would never disrespect you like this. I should leave.” He begins to stand up immediately. Y/N says nothing as she follows him to the front door of her apartment. 

“Thank you for coming, Harry.” She opens the door to let him out. He simply nods as he walks past her through the door. As she watches him walk down her hallway, she closes the door. How was she feeling? Well, she was trying her best to not feel regret but instead relief. She leans her body on the wooden surface, trying to make herself feel happy that nothing happened between them -Yet her heart was beating too fast for a guy she had just met.

The loud pounding on her door, however, makes her head shut up. She immediately opens it to find no one other than the curly-haired man who had just left her apartment a minute ago.

He immediately grasps her face into his hands as he kisses her eagerly, making her shut the door behind him. His body quickly pushing her’s against the wall, as his lips attack her jaw down to her neck. Her hands resting on his shoulders as she leans her head back to give him more area to leave his soft licks and kisses. 

“Shit Y/N. You’re making me go crazy.” 

“Harry.” She moans as he rubs himself against her centre. He whispers a command to her, making her jump and wrap her legs around his waist and he carries her to the first surface in his line of sight, which is her dining table. It was a dark wood wooden table that was meant only for eating purposes.

He helps her take off the sweater she was wearing as she throws it behind it her without a care. With her hand, she guides his mouth back to hers, making them both moan as this sexual tension is finally being relieved. Her nipples became hard in an instant as they felt the cold temperature. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” He pulls away as he’s unbuttoning his shirt. His mouth was open a little bit from their heated makeout and his lips were juicy pink after kissing her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

“You want to fuck me right here?” Y/N blurts. She wasn’t the type to have sex with a new partner for the first time on her dining table but her room was a mess and she was a bit shy letting him in there. 

“Are you that eager baby?” A smirk plays on his lips as he tosses his shirt. “Well If you’re that needy, why won’t you take off my pants?” Y/N’s cheeks turn red as she reaches forward to unbuckle his jeans. “You know, how fucking long I’ve been jerking off with my right hand?” Harry asks as his hand runs through her soft hair, letting his thumb rub against her pink plump lips. 

“For a long time, Daddy?” She murmurs against the pad of his thumb as she lets his thumb enter her wet mouth. 

“Look at you, you’re a little devil.” Harry pushes his pants off until they reach mid-thigh. He quickly helps her out of her tights, pulling them off her almost instantly that she had to hold onto him. “Should I get a condom?” He pants as his hands involuntarily run themselves against her soft thighs.

“I’m on the pill and I’m clean.”

“I’m clean too.” He looks down at her closed legs as he pumps himself a bit. “I promise.” Y/N nods as her hands guide his body back closer towards her.

 “Be a good girl and spread your legs for me.” He whispers as he watches her show him her wet needy sex. “Fuck, you look so good right now.” He leans in to kiss her more. His mouth going south as they reach her breast. His mouth sucks on her nipple as the other grabs and rolls her the other one.

“Fuck stop teasing me. I need you.”

“Beg for me, Y/N. I know you want to.”

“Harry please!” She feels his hand directing his wet cock to her centre. Teasing her and playfully slapping her entrance. “Daddy!” His eyes immediately stop looking down as he grabs her hair, making her look at him. 

“You okay with this love? Do you like it rough?” Y/N nods her head as she stares into his eyes. 

“I need you to use your words, baby.”

“Yes, I want it rough.” 

“What did you call me earlier?” A cheeky smile forms on his face as he watches this little girl about to crumble in his hand. 

“Daddy.”

“You’re going to keep calling me that or what?”

“Only if you want me-” Harry inserts himself in her, making her choke on her sentence. 

“What do you call me?” He leans a bit further downs so their bodies rub against each other as his arm supports her back while the other hand chokes her neck. 

“Daddy! Fuck, I call you daddy!” 

“I know I’ve been deprived of some good sex but you feel so fucking tight! Do guys not know how to fuck you?”

“Only you can.” Harry pulls his hand away from her neck and instead grasps her face so she can watch their centres connecting. 

“You like that view? Is it turning you on? You’re fucking clenching me, baby!”

“Harder, daddy.” Her arm wraps around his shoulder as he pulls away and turns around, making her bend on the table.

“You want it harder baby? I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll never be able to sit at this table without remembering how I fucked you so good.”

~ The day after their first time sleeping with each other scared Y/N. As much as she tried to avoid letting Harry see her messy room, they ended up in there anyway. They participated in a couple more rounds and a deep conversation too until they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. 

What Y/N was scared of was how Harry would react when he woke up in her sheets. Of course, they weren’t too drunk last night but the alcohol did give them a confidence boost. Now it’s the day time and they have to deal with this new boundary they had just crossed. 

“Good morning.” A raspy voice speaks up as she sets her head on her hand. Her elbow putting all its pressure on her pillow while she watches the man who’s laying on his stomach smile at her.

“Hi.” She gives a soft smile back. Harry immediately notices the hickeys on her neck, making him not guilty but a bit more proud.

“I marked you.” Y/N’s eyes widen as she sits up and wraps her hands around her neck. “Why you don’t like them?” Harry fixes his position too so he can rest his back against the headrest. He rubs his eyes for a few seconds before helping her straddle his waist. “What’s wrong, Baby?”

“You’re married.” Her finger mindlessly traces one of the sparrows on his chest. 

“I know.”

“You think she’ll get mad?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think she cares.”

~ Y/N and Harry’s affair went on for months that they even reached his tour and new album reveal. Although they never said the three most important words, Y/N already knew it was there.

What she loved the most these past months with Harry was their privacy.  The secret hookups in changing rooms, the knowing glances in a room full of strangers, and their affectionate touches when they had to pass things to one another in front of her boss. 

She knows he’s married and there was no doubt, they fought about his relationship status. But Harry explained that divorces in Hollywood were more complex than for a regular couple. And while Y/N pretended to understand, she truly didn’t. She didn’t understand why he had to keep up this act of being in a happy relationship when he can simply leave his wife -not for her benefit but for his own happiness. Still, every time this fight occurred, they chose to sweep it under the rug. Maybe it was because she wasn’t ready to lose him. He had always been so persistent on his reasoning why he’s been delaying that action. She was scared that he would leave her during another fight only to run back to his wife. What she didn’t know was that she may be a bit too right, after all, he wasn’t ready to admit that his marriage was over. 

“Hi, Baby!” Y/N opens her door to find her “boyfriend” with a bouquet of flowers. 

“Hi!” She wraps her arms around him in a hug as she lets him enter her apartment that they know too well. If she had to be truly honest... despite having so much alone time with Harry, she’s never been on a date with him but you know -that’s something she had to let go when she decided to get involved with a famous married man. Yet it still didn’t stop her heart from feeling envious when she would be in the restaurant with her friends watching a random couple have dinner together.

Harry takes his hood off and hands her the flowers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t text you this past couple of days. You know that woman who lives with me.” He sighs and gives her a kiss on the lips before continuing on, “We were having lunch together and she noticed I wasn’t wearing my ring anymore so we fought.”

“So you’re wearing it.” Y/N places the flowers on the table and crosses her arms.

“I have too.”

“No, you don’t Harry. She’s only wearing her’s for show. You’ve been cheating on her for seven months!” Y/N snaps at him. She hated it when he wore his ring. It was just a real sign that maybe he was lying to her during the times, he said he was over their marriage and he was going to leave her when things become less complicated.

“Baby, hey stop yelling.” He walks towards her so he can wrap his arms around her. “I’m sorry. You know I care so much about you. Please don’t cry.”

“I can’t stand that you’re married to another woman. Please leave her Harry.” Y/N pulls away as she holds onto his shoulders, begging him. “Please.”

“I’ll try.” He breathes out.

“You’ll try?” She pulls away immediately looking at him. “What do you mean? Have you not been trying to do that these past few months!” He rubs his face in frustration. 

“It’s hard Y/N. I told you countless times.” “I know it’s hard but what’s stopping you from doing it! You told me that you don’t want to lose me but for some odd reason, it seems like you don’t want to lose her!”

“She was my first love Goddammit!” He finally yells back at her. 

And that's the thing about illicit affairs

And clandestine meetings and stolen stares

They show their truth one single time

But they lie and they lie and they lie

A million little times

 They both found themselves caught off guard as the silence screamed in their ears. How could this safe space where they spent their nights rolling in the sheets feel so… indifferent? “Harry please be 100 percent honest with me.” Y/N backs away slowly as she reaches a few feet apart from Harry. “Do you want to leave her?” 

Silence.

“You told me you did? Did you change your mind?” Her eyes widen as she watches the man in front of her absolutely speechless. “I’d punch you, but that would ruin that pretty little face of yours.” She lets out a sarcastic laugh. 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”  He stares at the ground with his hands in his jeans. “Of course, I want to leave her! It’s just-”

“Leave.”

“What Baby no!” He quickly looks up and tries to make his way towards her. 

“Harry, stop. What we have is over! I’m not going to let you use me until your stupid sick marriage fixes itself!”

“Y/N that wasn’t my intention I swear! You know what marriage means to me! I can’t simply-”

“Fuck what you think of marriage! You don’t want to leave her but you rather continuously hide me while you go to awards with her -While you go on fucking dates with her!”

“It’s for publicity-”

“I don’t care!” She screams. “I realized that this isn’t working out and we should stop!” The pressure in her chest was making her hyperventilate. “We should have stopped months ago!”

“Fuck I don’t want to lose you, please. You’re the only thing that’s been making me so happy.” He reaches out to take her hands but she simply pulls away.

“Harry! Listen to yourself! You’re married! I’m starting to think you have a fear of having a failed marriage like your mom and dad! But please for the love of God, don’t drag me around because I won’t let you!” Harry’s faces change into anger as he gives her a cold look.

 “Well don’t drag my parents’ marriage into this! I told you that because I trusted you not so you can use it against me!”

“That’s not what I was trying to do!” Y/N pleads. “You won’t lever her Harry! You won’t!” 

“How do you think people will react!” He gestures with his hands. “ After three years of marriage, Harry Styles is getting divorced!” He mimics a random news reporter.

“So-” “I’m not going to let myself be categorized under Hollywood’s failed marriages!” “It was already failing before you met me! Can’t you see I just want you to be happy!”

“I am happy when you’re with me!”

“Well, I’m not!”

“You don’t mean that.” Harry scoffs as he runs his hand through his hair in frustration. 

“How can I not? I’m hearing stories every day about your fights at home. This isn’t even a relationship Harry! It’s an affair! An illicit one! And I-I’m a secret!”

“I don’t want to share you with the public! They will judge us and they’re going to ruin you as they ruined me!” He rambles on. “I’ve been stalked and judged for things I didn’t know matter!” 

“I would rather go through that with you -than to watch you from far away and only have you with me when we’re here inside this apartment.” She points at the floor. 

“I can’t Y/N. I can’t let that happen and I won’t.”

“Then this is over then.” She quickly wipes her tears as she notices Harry doing the same. The yelling seemed to die down as they finally realized that this problem they tried to ignore wasn’t going anywhere.

“You know… for some reason, you taught me a lot of things.” Harry clears his throat as he wipes his wet palms on his pants. “Despite only letting you have one half of me. You somehow took over my whole mind. God, I would love to fight for you Y/N.” He looks at her as he feels tears forming in his again. “I do - I truly would.” A pause happens before he continues, “ For you, I ‘d ruin myself a million times but I would never let you do the same.” He emphasizes to her. “ I don’t want to let you go but I know I should because even if I go get that divorce, I’d still want to keep you as my secret -and that’s not what you want.” 

“I-” Y/N stops herself. She wanted to tell him that she loves him but she knew it wouldn’t help them at all. “I’ll still see you for a while. After my internship though, I’ll be gone.”

“Do you think we’ll stay in touch.”

“I don’t think we should.” She blurts it out as her eyes glance at the fresh bouquet sitting on her table. 

“Alright. I guess that’s it.” Harry sniffles a bit before walking to the door. “I’ll see you.”

“Goodbye.”

And Y/N thought she wouldn’t have to see him again after her internship. Although her heart was broken, she found herself counting the days until she can find a new job. After their unexpected ending, she no longer found herself lonely in the mornings but during the nights too. 

The days he came by the office were more difficult than she thought. She would still feel his gaze on her during their meetings but he no longer greeted her nor gave her any attention. He would walk right past her desk when he visited the office but he would act as if he never knew her in the first place - Not a glance or a wave. 

And that was fine with Y/N, at least she tried her best to think it was. Until her meeting with Rob a week before Harry’s album release. 

~

“Y/N, I would love to offer you a job here at the company. I  will give you a position in Marketing for Harry Styles.” Rob hands her a manila folder across the table. “ You know a few months ago, he spoke about your hard work and how much potential you have and he’s right. This would look great on your resume and the pay will be better here than if you were to start off at another company.” 

Days of thinking and non-stop anxiety flooded Y/N’s mind. She knew her plan was to cut all ties with the pop star but the career that had just been handed to her had so much potential. Potentiality can help her with her student loans and give her a more comfortable life. She would be stupid if she passed the offer because of him. So with no more hesitation, she took her phone and called Rob.

“I’ll take the job offer.”

Part two here!!

[success-and-corruption]

Macabre Album Review

DEG's second album! Oh yeah!

Track 1: Deity

This first track is definitely very interesting. It starts with a sleigh bell and then quickly turns into ominous chanting of some sort. Very spooky but also very different from their previous work which shows how versatile these five musicians are. The chanting eventually stops and we're met with heavy guitars and bass with Shinya playing a steady beat and Kyo vocalizing with a woman’s voice eerily making sounds. It sounds like he's gasping for breath (see what I did there)? That section ends and a clean guitar is played for a few seconds before the song goes back to the heavy riff after the chanting but this time Kyo sings in Russian to the tune of Johannes Brahms' "Fifth Hungarian Dance." This song definitely feels very religious to me which I suppose fits because the case for Macabre has prayer (?) beads in it.

I think Deity showcases DEG’s experimental side and sets the foundation for the rest of the album and it shows that DEG took a very different turn and became a bit darker.

Track 2: Myaku

Is this track in 3/4? 4/4? 5/4? 6/4?

Yes to all of the above. In the booklet it's indicated that this song was written by DIR EN GREY so no individual member wrote it specifically but the band definitely had some fun with time signatures in this one. Myaku was released as a single which is a bit different from the album version but I'm not reviewing the single. This song definitely departs from their late 90s VK sound which in my opinion is a good thing as it showed that DEG wanted to become more serious musicians. Plus, this track has one of my favorite basslines but I never got around to learning how to play it. Myaku is a chaotic song but it fits very well with Macabre.

Track 3: Wake/Riyuu

My boy Die does it again. This song is one of my favorites on the album and despite it being written by a guitarist, Toshiya’s bass really drives this track but we can’t forget the soaring guitars in the beginning and in the chorus. Kyo’s vocals are also great. Fantastic rhythm, instruments that all work very well together, and Kyo’s clean vocals? What’s not to like? This song really gets me moving for some reason. Not nearly as chaotic as Myaku, but Wake/Riyuu provides a nice structure and a consistent time signature (4/4) which is good contrast in my opinion. 

Track 4: Egnirys Cimredopyh +) An Injection

Everyone probably knows this by now by  Egnirys Cimredopyh = hypodermic syringe backwards. Despite that, this song isn’t about intravenous drug use. Kyo references a “white powder” a lot in this song and in one part of the song he sings “I started to speak to the wall with my lower half” (of course he sings that in Japanese) so I think this song is about abusing a drug called kakuseizai and... ejaculating onto a wall? To my knowledge cocaine isn’t very popular in Japan and kakuseizai (roughly translated to “stimulant” in English) is a type of methamphetamine that is used to improve pleasure during sex. Anyway as the lyrics progress it’s clear that the person in the song is battling between his good and bad side. They’re aware that their drug use is stripping them of their sanity but can’t stop and eventually gives in and “kills” the good side. In regards to the musicality of the song, again I really like the bassline (probably because I play bass) but the solos in the song, both bass and guitar, are seriously lacking in substance for me. However the rest of the song is fun to move around to i.e. it has a nice rhythm. 

Track 5: Hydra

“I wanna be an anarchist”

“Dead born”

“Sid Vicious, suspicious”

What are those lyrics??? This song is another experimental one with electronic sounds throughout. It’s also fast-paced and has another chant near the end of the song that breaks it up nicely. Lyrically there’s not much I have to say but this song is definitely one of DEG’s most interesting sounding. I’m sorry that I don’t have more to say. 

Track 6: Hotarubi

Hotarubi... what a beautiful song. It was very clearly written by Shinya. This track is, in my opinion, one of DEG’s best ballads but I think it goes on for too long but that’s just a very minor complaint. The strings complement the rest of the instruments and the part from 2:40-3:42 is stunning, with a surprising violin solo and a woman breathily vocalizing. Everything in this song works so well together except for the loud buzzing halfway through and Hotarubi never fails to evoke an emotional response within me. If it weren’t too long for my liking I would listen to it on repeat. At a certain point I just get bored. Also I think this song would be better suited towards the end of the album where the songs become more melodic.

Track 7: 【KR】cube

I’m not sure what【KR】cube means but what a fun song. Toshiya starts it out with that funky bass that we all know and love and then it transforms into a fast-paced song with a very nice rhythm on the guitars and Kyo’s clean vocals come in which is always nice to hear. I like the speed and rhythm of this song as it offers a pleasant difference from Hotarubi which is a very slow song. The chorus is very catchy as well 

Kururi, furari, fuwari, kurari

Kururi, furari, fuwari, kurakurari

and so on. The music video is fun for this one. We love Hitman Die. 

Track 8: Berry

This song is easy to figure out from the beginning dialogue of an English girl apologizing but then promising to blow her parents’ head off like raspberry jam (spoiler: she does at the end of the song). This one has more of a punk vibe and it’s kind of a fun song. What I can say is that I’ve never heard a song that features parents yelling at a child as part of a breakdown. It’s a good song but in my opinion it doesn’t really fit with the Macabre sound.

Track 9: Macabre -Sanagi no Yume wa Ageha no Hane-  

WOW what a song this is. I believe that this eleven minute prog rock masterpiece was the first song I learned on the bass (go big or go home). I love Shinya’s drums in the beginning and as soon as the other instruments come in you just know you’re in for a journey. This song has a great composition with all of the instruments and vocal layers but I suppose I should get into the specifics. The beginning (after the drums) starts with guitars that, in my opinion, portray a certain sadness while the bass drives the the song. Kyo’s voice is great in this one and also portrays that same sadness. After the first two verses clean guitars come in which is a nice contrast from the beginning but this song truly comes alive during the instrumental breakdown where there’s a guitar playing a repeating riff while insects buzz and a church organ plays in the background. It then switches to Kaoru and Die playing the same notes but alternating between electric and acoustic guitars. The breakdown ends with a very beautiful solo and Kyo singing in a higher register and making slurping sounds which makes sense if you follow the lyrics. There’s a bass solo which is always nice to hear. 

I think I’ve written too much about this song so I’m going to go on to...

Track 10: Audrey

What exactly were they trying to accomplish here? Country rock? It doesn’t fit with the album and it doesn’t even fit with DEG’s sound in general. I never listen to this song so I don’t have much to say about it. 

Track 11: Rasetsukoku

This song fits much better with Macabre, but only marginally. It’s definitely more speed metal which at this point in DEG’s music career hasn’t really done. It’s fun to listen to but the composition is quite simple and it tends to be sort of repetitive. I do like the bass in the beginning but the guitars in this song are kind of boring to me.  Maybe I should give it more credit. 

Track 12: Zakuro

I have mixed feelings about this song. It’s very emotional but maybe too emotional. It starts out kind of slow but I like Kaoru and Die’s parts in the beginning because they harmonize very well. I think this song has one of the most beautiful guitar solos they’ve ever written and it conveys the sadness that is the central focus of this song. My problem with it (and it’s a minor one) is that it’s definitely better live. 

Track 13: Taiyou no Ao

Another favorite on this album. Once again there’s a great bassline and while the song itself sounds sort of like a pop song the lyrics are rather sad. The prominent bass complements the guitars and if Shinya wanted a workout routine he could play this song a few times and he would get pretty buff. Can you imagine a buff Shinya? Neither can I. It just seems like his drums never stop for almost the entire song. It’s a nice way to close the album because it contrasts with the very dark-sounding Deity and it leaves me feeling good, albeit a bit sad because of the lyrics.

So that’s it. Can you tell I got a bit tired near the end? All in all I give this album 7/10. It’s a great album but there are some real duds in my opinion but it’s not my least favorite by any stretch. I’ll be reviewing all ten albums so you’ll find out which one I like the least...

As always feel free to comment your thoughts! I would like to connect with my followers a bit more.

[wireddless]

Codeine Scene (Five H. x Reader) [2]

Codeine Scene Masterlist

Authors Note: Here this is! The rest of the story is in the works and hopefully will be finished in the next few weeks. I only expect this to be about 12-20 chapters long, depending on how much my friend and I edit this. This chapter mentions what it’s like to experience ADHD, as it’s not common within the writing community. I myself have struggled all my life with it, and only wish for it to be more represented in the writing community 💕

Summary: After getting settled into the Academy, Five and the Reader make a quick journey for some groceries. Things don’t go according to plan.

Warnings: Drug use (Marijuana), descriptions of mental disorder (ADHD), Mild gore (not terrible, you’ll know when you get there.)

Word Count: 2432

(Y/n)’s head rested on Klaus’s meditation floor pillow, the rest of her body on a pile of miscellaneous blankets from the linen closet. The high was really setting in, she was now feeling it in her body. Not half an hour after getting settled into the academy, Klaus offered to smoke (Y/n) out. And by god he did. 

(Y/n) never had stuff this good before, and certainly not out of a rose petal joint. She could expect something as extra as a rose petal joint from Klaus, but she didn’t. It was really fucking pretty though, she’d admit. Klaus was sitting against the reading pillow at the foot of his bed, laughing with (Y/n) about something said in The Twilight Zone that sounded outrageous when out of context. 

Mixed with the smoke of lavender incense, the remaining smoke from the weed lingered, allowing them to get higher without needing to smoke more. (Y/n) had taken an interest in how spiritual Klaus was. She herself was agnostic, but found Klaus’s overall method very tantalizing. 

A record played in the background, on a suitcase turntable Klaus bought from a department store like two years ago. The Moody Blues, if (Y/n) recalled correctly. The song was slow, and physically felt good. Like laying down, but in the air. Of course she was also extremely high. 

The song was reaching one of its many peaks, and (Y/n) swore she could feel the electric guitar supporting the vocals. Klaus filled his pipe with another bowl of weed and took a long, deep hit, before passing it to (Y/n).

“Mine already?” She gasped. The mere sight of the pipe being handed to her sent a euphoric feeling down her body. She sat up and took the pipe and grabbed a lighter from a bowl of them to her right. Inhaling, she held the flame over the bowl. The smoke felt terrible, but she held it in as long as she could. (Y/n) let out a long exhale, clouding up the room even more. She could feel someone at the door. 

“The house reeks of weed, just to let you know.” Five spoke, leaning on the doorframe. His harsh words earned a chuckle from Klaus. 

“It always does, stop trying to make (Y/n) feel bad.” Klaus took the bowl back from (Y/n) and took another hit. She ignored Five, and let the music in the background hold her attention. The song was called Nights in White Satin. She’s heard it before, but never appreciated it. 

“Klaus where do you get your vinyls? I haven’t found a Moody Blues album anywhere I’ve looked.”

“Oh, I just snag them from Luther’s room.” He started. “After he and Allison finally figured their shit out and fucked, they moved in together just outside The City. They didn’t have enough room for his entire collection, so he took a box of them and left the rest. It’s really convenient if you ask me.” 

“Seems like it.” (Y/n) hummed. She looked over at Five again and stared for a second. “You’ve time traveled right?” 

Five tilted his head like a confused dog. “Yeah, why?” 

(Y/n) spoke again, “Have you seen, firsthand, how large a dinosaur's cock is?”  Before Five could even begin to think of a reply, Klaus sat up and chimed in.  

“You know, that’s a really interesting question.” He complimented (Y/n)’s thought process. “Five, how large is a dinosaur’s dick?” 

“I have never seen a dinosaur‘s Penis!” Five spoke, flustered. 

(Y/n) hummed in response, amused. “Why do you think there aren’t like, fossils of dinosaur dicks? Like did scientists think it was inappropriate?” 

“Because it’s made of muscle and tissue, those don’t fossilize, bone does.” Five groaned. Klaus and (Y/n) snort, their bodies scrunching up in laughter. 

“Bone.” Klaus said in a pause between his giggles. Hearing the word makes both of them laugh even harder. 

“I live with children.” Five muttered and walked away. 

Klaus and (Y/n) continued to giggle like little children who stole their preschool teachers keys. 

The reek of weed slowly started to fade. Five definitely had a contact high, but he didn’t mind too much, as he was still beyond functional. In a quick blip, he found himself in the kitchen, looking to make himself a quick snack. Upon opening the cabinet, he found no bread.

“Damn it.” He released an angered sigh, holding back the urge to kick a hole in the cabinet. The air around him constricted, and in a blue flash, he was back in Klaus’s room. 

“Holy shit!” Klaus almost jumped out of his skin when Five blipped in front of him, and (Y/n) sat up quickly, not expecting him either. 

“We’re out of bread.” Five spoke immediately, not even waiting for the two in the room to adjust to his presence. “I’m headed to the store, do either of you want to come?”

“Oooh I can’t.“ Klaus frowned. “My stomach hurts. But (Y/n) can go!” He looked over at (Y/n). “You can go right?” She nodded, not minding Klaus speaking for her.  

“Yeah, it’s a little stuffy in here.” She lifted each hand up and down, keeping the heels of them on her leg. Five looked down at her and scoffed. 

“Well come on then.” He walked out of the room, not waiting for her to get up. (Y/n) scrambled up and followed after him. 

“See you in a bit, Klaus!” Her voice carried through the hallway as her feet hit each stair quickly. Five was a fast walker, she noticed, not taking any time to wait for her. Asshole. 

Five’s car was in the alleyway next to the house, hidden from the peering eye of those walking along the street. (Y/n) grabbed the passenger door handle, and as she was about to open it, Five spoke. 

“You might want to get in the back seat.”  His voice became muffled as he plopped into the driver’s seat. 

“What why-“ Before she could finish she caught sight of the tons of disposable coffee cups. “Ah.” She shut the door and got into the back instead. She awkwardly tapped her foot as Five put his car into gear and pulled out into the street. 

The drive to the market was quiet, except for the putter of the engine, and gentle taps of the rain landing on the roof. Five found a parking spot rather quickly, it being a cool weekend and all. 

“Just stay in the car, I’ll be right out.” Five grabbed his keys and slipped out of the car and walked through the parking lot to the market. With no music to focus on, (Y/n) tapped her foot quietly, trying to ignore the slight panic caused by the lack of stimulation. 

The rain only slightly calmed her, but it hardly did anything. Her hands came together and the snapping sound of her knuckles cracking filled the car momentarily, before falling silent. Her eyes darted around, looking at the soaked ground, then at the gray sky, then to the cars driving by on the freeway. 

(Y/n)’s ADHD had gone untreated for years. When her parents passed and she was placed in her aunt and uncle’s custody, they took her off all medications. She had become quite used to the inability to wear certain fabrics, the anxiety caused by lack of or overstimulation, always moving some part of her body, or the dirty looks she was given when she overspoke when trying to make friends. 

The sound of the door opening quickly shot her out of her thoughts. She was about to greet the person getting in, when she realized that it wasn’t Five. 

“Shit shit shit shit!” He spoke under his breath, clearly panicked. (Y/n) was completely still, except for her hand, slowly creeping to the big silver wrench next to her. She was losing time as he quickly attempted to pull the panel off of the area next to the ignition. 

Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the wrench, and she quickly pulled it towards her, trying to stay as quiet as possible. She inhaled as deeply and as quietly as she could, before speaking. 

“Hey asshole!” The man in the driver seat jumped, not expecting someone to be in the back seat. He turned and looked at her before reaching in his pocket to attempt to grab something. (Y/n) lunged forward, attempting to hit him with the wrench, missing him as he fell back against the door, his hands whipping out a gun of some sort. Fuck. 

She was lodged between the front and back seat, not able to move back in her panic. She was close to tears, but could hold them back. Her hands slowly raised, showing she wasn’t going to hit him. 

“Ok, n-now put the wrench down.” His gun was still pointed at her. She slowly lowered her hand with the wrench in it, earning his trust. But now was the time to think fast. Before she let go she aggressively grabbed the barrel of the gun and pushed it up, giving her an opening to swing the wrench at his face. 

A sickening crack and the loud scream of the man filled the car as she broke his nose. She wasn’t done though. She ripped the gun out of his hand, tossing it in the backseat before grabbing this man's head by the hair and slamming him into the steering wheel. A series of small honks from the car echoed in the nearly empty parking lot until she was done. Her hands were covered in the blood from his nose, a slight splatter on her shirt as well. 

“Oh my god.” He was unconscious. (Y/n)  managed to slip back into the backseat, no longer fearing for her life. She quickly stepped out and ran around the car to the driver's seat. “Oh my god.” She opened it and pulled the man's head back, resting it on the seats headrest. She had never really done anything like this before, so she was beyond skittish. Her heart and mind felt like they were going a million miles an hour, and she barely had a clue of what to do. “Oh my god what do I do?”

It took a moment before common sense truly hit her and she checked for breathing and pulse. Her first two fingers could pick up a heartbeat, a rather strong one as well. Her fingers moved to his Cupid’s bow, checking his breathing. She concluded that he was just knocked out, but she was still panicking. 

“Hey!” Five’s voice made her jump. She quickly peered over the car and saw Five walking towards her with a few bags. “I thought I told you to stay in the car.” 

“I know but something happened!” Five walked around the front and she stepped to the side, revealing the unconscious man below her. Fives eyes widened, surprised to say the least. 

“Now the question is; what happened?” Five looked at the man, and then her once again. 

“I-I was in the back of the car like you told me and this guy just got in and he tried to steal the car!” Her hand was shaking frantically. “He tried to-“ the word took a moment to process, her fingers showing that she was searching for the word. “Hotwire the car! He didn’t even see me and tried to rip the steering column cover off to get to the wires and everything!” (Y/n)’s voice shook. She was about to cry.

“Ok, ok, that’s a start. What did you do?” Five looked to her for more answers as he leaned down to check the man's vitals for himself.

“I grabbed the-the wrench and I tried to hit him with it but I missed and he pulled a gun out on me.” (Y/n)’s body slumped on the car, needing any support she could get as the adrenaline left her system.

“I don’t see a gun.” Five looked all over the man, not finding the weapon, before his gaze landed on it in the back seat. “Oh, go on.” He stood up and leaned on the vehicle as well. The grocery bags, now forgotten by his feet. 

“So I made him think I was putting the wrench down, and then I grabbed the gun and threw it in the back seat, and- and then I hit him in the nose with the wrench and it got his blood all over me,” She gestured to her messed up shirt. “And then I,” her voice broke, the weight of what just happened now settling on her. “I started hitting his head on the steering wheel, and- and I couldn’t stop.” She was full on panicking now. 

“Well you got the job done.” Five looked down at him again. “I think you broke his nose.” 

“Oh my god I did?” She started panicking more now. 

“Yeah, yeah but it’s fine, you didn’t kill him.” Five attempted to comfort her without pulling her into an embrace. He was awfully bad at it though. “Let’s just get him out of the car and go home.” 

“We can’t just leave him here!” (Y/n) glanced down at him. “That’s fucked up!” Five scoffed and replied. 

“Trying to steal a car is fucked up. He’ll be fine.” Five scooped his arms under the man and effortlessly pulled him out of the seat, dropping him on the ground next to the car, before grabbing the groceries and getting in himself. The groceries landed on the passenger seat with a plop before Five stuck his head out. “Get in the car.” 

“Fine.” (Y/n) took one last glimpse at the man she assaulted before getting in, slamming her door shut in unison with Five.

“You got blood on the steering wheel.” Five sighed and wiped it off with a tissue from the box he kept in the center console. As Five pulled the car back out onto the freeway, he spoke. “I didn’t know you had that in you, back there.” His Mazda came to the set speed, giving him the opportunity to glance at (Y/n) through his rearview. 

“I didn’t either.” (Y/n)’s voice was quiet, and shaky still. Brow furrowed, he spoke again. 

“Well, you did a good job.” He chuckled, knowing she’d be fine. “Klaus would be proud. Now let’s get you home so you can get cleaned up.”

[illfoandillfie]

can you pleaseee do a blurb with 80s!Roger and younger reader and maybe like it wasn't supposed to be serious but they've fallen in love and roger admits his feelings like during or after sex??? lol sorry if that's too descriptive but i NEED IT! adore your writing btw <3

okay this is such a soft concept and i wrote nearly 2.5k about it so enjoy!

Blurb advent: Day 5

warnings for smut (implied and a little more explicit) but nothing particularly kinky

You met Roger at the airport of all places, first class lounge as you waited to board. There’d been a mix up with your ticket, entirely the airlines fault so they’d bumped you up to first class, free of charge. You felt a little out of place and must have looked it too because before long you were approached by Roger who struck up a conversation, commenting that you looked a little lost. Later he told you it was because you looked nervous and he thought he could help you relax, but you suspect he was actually checking you hadn’t snuck in or something like that. Either way you got talking. Of course, you knew who he was but you managed to play it cool, answering his questions about where you were flying to with only minimal embarrassment. It turned out you were going to the same place, Montreux. Him to meet the rest of the band and begin work on a new album, you as part of a holiday that was taking you through Europe and into Asia. It was nice to have someone to while away the time with before the plane started boarding and then during the flight when Roger took residence in the spare seat beside yours as soon as the seatbelt light had turned off.

For the two or so hours you were in the air you didn’t stop talking, discussing the places you’d been on your trip so far, a lot of which Roger had seen himself over the course of various tours. He was sweet and funny and by the end of the flight you couldn’t remember what about him had made you nervous when he’d first introduced himself.

“So how long did you say you’d be in Montreux for?”

“Two weeks and then it’s on to Germany for a little while.”

“Well, if you need a guide for the next two weeks I’m your man. I’ve spent a lot of time in Montreux so I know it pretty well. I could show you around, make sure you get back to your hotel safe and sound,”

You laughed at the flirty suggestion in his tone, “Don’t you have a band that’ll notice if you’re not there?”

“Yes but they won’t arrive for another few days. I decided to come out early which now I think was definitely the right choice.”

“Alright then, you can be my guide. It’ll be nice to have someone with me, I got totally lost while I was in Greece and obviously I don’t speak a word of Greek so it was hard to get unlost,”

“Sounds like you definitely need me then,”

If you were being honestly, having someone familiar with the area to help you wasn’t your only motivation. Roger was hot, even if he was a little older than you and really, you’d have to be out of your mind to turn down a celebrity who was smart and attractive and openly flirting with you. Especially one with such dextrous fingers as his.

When the plane touched down in Geneva you sort of lost Roger in the chaos of disembarking and finding your luggage and leaving the airport but he found you outside and offered you a lift in the car he already had waiting. He recognised the name of your hotel, though he’d never stayed there himself, and passed it on to the driver as he opened the back door for you. When you arrived at the hotel he offered to help you with your suitcases so you let him walk you inside and wait as you checked in.

“Right well, I’ll pick you up in the morning, 10ish work for you?”

“Sounds great. Where are you going to take me?”

“Haven’t decided yet but it’ll be fun. So I’ll see you tomorrow,”

“Can’t wait.” You watched him leave and then headed up to your room to wash your face and organise your bags before heading off in search of some afternoon tea.

 Roger was true to his word and the next morning he was waiting in the hotel lobby for you. He’d decided to start with Lake Geneva itself, taking you to some historical sites around it and treating you to lunch at a café with a view of the area. You caught him watching you a few times but, aside from offering you his hand to help you over a particularly rocky area and a couple of comments that could be considered flirty, he didn’t make any sort of move. But he came back the next day with two tickets for the Chocolate Train which would take you to Gruyeres for the day. You watched the picturesque scenery roll by from your window, Roger sitting close beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders as he leaned forward and pointed out things you passed. When you turned your head to ask him a question he took the opportunity to kiss you, stealing your breath away in the process. When you arrived in Gruyeres you got to tour where they made the cheese they were famous for and their chocolate factory as well, complete with taste tests. After that you were free to explore the town and visit its shops. Roger took your hand in his as you explored the medieval streets until the train was set to depart again. When he dropped you back at the hotel you were left with an immovable smile and a tingly sensation all over.

Day three included more site seeing, including a vineyard during the day where you shared a bottle of wine with your meal and bought another to take back to the hotel, and the casino in the evening where you had dinner and watched a local jazz musician perform before a few rounds at the card tables. You kissed Roger in the car on the way back to the hotel but were left a little disappointed when he didn’t follow you up to your room. You didn’t have to wait much longer though. On the fourth day Roger once again met you in the morning, this time promising something really special. You weren’t sure what could beat romantic meals and scenic walks but you trusted him and knew you’d have a good time with him no matter what you were doing. He took you to the studio. You couldn’t say it was the most interesting thing you’d seen so far but it was nice to have an insight into his world. He squeezed your hand as he explained all the parts of the studio, animatedly telling you stories of recording there and their rooms at Duckingham Palace and the mischief they all got up to. You laughed a lot and found yourself entranced by the stories and especially by the man telling them. The way his eyes lit up and the excited air he had as he said he’d have to introduce you to the others when they all arrived made your heart skip and you couldn’t help but ask him questions about everything you saw, just to be able to keep listening to him speak. That afternoon he did follow you to your room, unable to keep his hands from you for longer than a minute.

The next morning you woke to find Roger, still naked, snoring peacefully beside you. You snuggled back into his arms and dozed off again, waking a few hours later to him brushing your hair aside. There was no site seeing that day, no fancy restaurants, no cute cafes. In fact, there was no leaving the hotel room at all. You didn’t leave the bed or put on clothes except for when your room service lunch arrived and even then you only put on a robe so you could sit on the balcony and eat, opening the bottle of wine you’d bought at the vineyard. After you’d eaten you returned to the bed for a nap and then picked up where you’d left off once you’d both woken again. Even while you were eating Roger’s hands were never far from you, always ready to pull your hand to his lips or twist a strand of your hair around his finger or else just feel you up. Roger stayed until late that night but reluctantly left when he remembered the others would be arriving in the morning. You spent a lot of the next day catching up on the sleep Roger had kept you from and then exploring the shops around the hotel. You were planning on a quiet night in with a book until you got a call to your room from Roger, asking if you were free for dinner. He took you to a nice restraint, your table illuminated by candlelight, and then accompanied you back to your room to once again fuck you into exhaustion.

It felt good being with Roger even though you both knew it would only be short lived. You weren’t going to be in Montreux forever and it was likely that after you left you wouldn’t see him again. But that was okay. It’d just be a holiday fling, nothing serious. Probably for the best considering the age gap and his work and everything else about you. So what if he made you laugh and made your heart flutter and made you think about introducing you to your friends back home? You pushed aside those thoughts whenever they popped into your head, distracting yourself with touristy attractions and shops and food. Most days you’d fill the time with exploring the area, seeing sites Roger hadn’t got around to showing you. Once or twice Roger was able to get away and spend the day with you, holding your hand and pulling you tight against his side, maybe squeezing your bum when he thought no one was watching. He was true to his word too, bringing you back to the studio to meet everyone else. You spent most of the day with them, chatting and watching them work, though of course Roger did sneak you into the back of his car for a quickie at one point. Generally though, you wouldn’t see him until the evening, sometimes for dinner, always for sex. It seemed he wanted to have you in every position he could think of before you left, as many times as he could physically manage. He ran out of condoms fairly quickly but you told him you were on the pill he kissed you until you were dizzy from lack of air as he took you raw. And so it went for the rest of your trip.

On your last day Roger made sure he was free to spend it with you. He took you around the area, making sure you’d seen everything you should have, never letting you get too far from his grasp. There was an almost melancholy feeling around him, though you thought that might just have been you projecting your own sadness at saying goodbye onto him. It was frustrating to feel that way, to feel unhappy about leaving. You had so many more places to see, experiences to have, and you’d always known that whatever it was you had with Roger would be short lived. And yet you couldn’t help but be sad it was coming to an end. When he was sure you’d seen as much of Montreux as you could, Roger took you back to the hotel for a proper goodbye. He stripped you slowly, kissing your lips and your neck as he went and let you do the same to him before settling you on the bed, shuffling down to kneel between your legs and worship you with his tongue. He’d eaten you out a couple of times before but usually it was a way to make sure you were wet enough to fuck comfortably, his mouth entirely focused on your clit as his fingers stretched you open. Not this time though. This time Roger went slow, his movements deliberate as he trailed his tongue through your slit, kissing your cunt, avoiding your clit until you were quivering with built up need. Only after you were whining for more did he give you his fingers and drop his lips to your clit, praising you between the wet sucking noises and encouraging you to let go. When you did finally cum he prolonged the orgasm for as long as he could, leaving you panting and speechless. He left you with marks too, love bites on your thighs and breasts, as if he were trying to stamp himself all over your body so you wouldn’t forget him. And when you rode him he left crescent shaped indents over your arse and thighs where he held you so tight his nails dug into your skin. You cherished every one, relishing the way he touched you, the way he sighed your name as you sank down on his cock, every rough breath and horse moan, the feeling of being so full of him.

It was late when you both finally accepted you were too exhausted for more. You let Roger wrap you up in his arms again, stroking you hair as he held you close, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as you could. He was quiet for a while, his breathing evening out, and for a moment you thought he’d fallen asleep. Suddenly he spoke.

“Y’know the others keep giving me shit for coming here every night. At best they think you’re just a pretty young toy to keep me busy and at worst the start of a midlife crisis. But you’re not. They don’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have really loved spending all this time with you for the last couple of weeks. Not just the sex, all of it. Taking you out, showing you sites, just spending time with you. You’re funny and bright and fun and I think I love you, which even as I say it sounds ridiculous because it’s only been two weeks but whatever I’m feeling definitely isn’t platonic and it’s definitely not just about the sex. I don’t know. Am I crazy to think there’s something here?”

You turned around to face him properly, studying his features for any signs on insincerity.

“Sorry, I’m being stupid.”

You leaned in to kiss him softly, immediately feeling him kiss back, “don’t apologise. You’re not crazy and you’re not stupid, I think I love you too.”

[teamhappyme]

a series of promising events (1/5)

aaron hotchner x female! reader

word count: 7.9k :)

a/n: hello hello hello! this is my first hotch fic, and the first of three parts (edit: it’s actually 5 now lolol). it’s going to cover 8 (maybe 9?) events over the course of several years, so it needed to be broken up in the most rational way possible. this is my baby, and has been in the editing process with my lazy brain since september. please, please, please, let me know if the timeline or anything is confusing to you! i have a tendency to under explain things (as my profs will testify to), and i don’t want y’all to be confused. i hope whoever stumbles across this enjoys!

also, big shoutout to @winterscaptain, you are a gift to the world, tali. i am in love with the ajf universe, and that shit inspired me to polish this piece up for the tumblr verse to see. 

alright friends, here we go.

link to part 2: here

**** 

June 2005

You wouldn’t forget your first day in the BAU for as long as you lived. It was forever ingrained in your memory, the good, bad, and embarrassing moments all stored away. Stored away that is until Derek Morgan decided to dredge it back up as you passed your six month mark on the job. 

Derek, Prentiss, Reid and yourself were finishing up paperwork in the bullpen after an unusually slow friday. You were usually the first one done, earning a groan from the doctor across from your desk. They all envied your English degree and professional writing skills. 

“Hey bobo,” The nickname Derek had assigned to you was named after your alma mater, and extremely annoying. “Remember your first day, when I tricked you into doing Prentiss and my paperwork for almost two weeks?” You shook your head, not having to look at Morgan to be able to hear the smirk in his voice. “Do you think I could trick you again?”

7:47. Thirteen minutes earlier than you needed to be. Yet the room full of agents you were supposed to join was already filled. You liked these people already, they were punctual and functioned in the morning. 

You pushed one of the glass doors open with your ballet flat, juggling your box of office supplies while keeping your crossbody balanced on your shoulder. The sound of fingers pounding on keyboards, phones ringing on loop welcomed you into the BAU. Along with a shove to your back, causing you to lunge forward. You felt something cold run down your back, cursing yourself for wearing a white blouse.

“Are you alright?” You looked up to find a tall mop of brown hair and big brown eyes looking down at you. “Well, I’m a little damp.”

He nodded while looking at your box full of sticky notes and pens. “You must be y/n l/n. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. We’ve been taking bets on what time you’d arrive. And you beat us all with your extreme punctuality.” You laughed. “Sorry to let you down. It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.” You extended your hand for him to shake, but he just stared at your extended limb.

“Yeah, he doesn’t do that sort of thing.” The new voice came into view, shaking your hand that was meant for Reid. He was tall like Spencer, but was lean with a smile on his face. Confident. “I’m Derek Morgan. When JJ told us the new recruit graduated with an english degree, I expected someone with tweed elbow patches and big round glasses.” 

“You’re an english major? Statistically speaking, only three percent of the agents that have been recruited for the BAU didn’t have any background in law enforcement or field experience.” This wasn’t the first time you’d been questioned at the FBI for being a liberal arts degree profiler. Your english degree and your fresh age of twenty five left many people to dismiss you through your time in the academy. But you got used to it. 

“Sorry to disappoint your stereotypical profile of an FBI agent,” You started, shifting your weight between your feet, now uncomfortable and a little embarrassed in front of your new co-workers. 

“Oh I didn’t mean it as an offense. I-” “He’s a genius, but he lacks some social cues. You’re the first girl he’s been around that’s his age in the workplace.” Morgan added and Reid elbowed his ribs. You covered the smile on your face as the two of them started to quietly bicker. 

“Let the poor woman go and settle in at least before you harass her.” A brunette woman in a black pant suit came walking toward you. She had a stern face while looking at the two men, but when she turned to you, her face softened into a smile. “Special Agent Emily Prentiss. You do not understand how happy I am to have another woman out in this bullpen.”

You laughed as she led you to the empty desk across from Dr. Reid’s. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thanks.” You placed your box down before taking the place in. “I’m supposed to meet with SSA Hotchner,”

“Agent l/n,” All heads turned to the man descending the stairs into the bullpen. He was taller than the other two, and that was saying a lot since they practically towered over you. He had a clean boys haircut, paired with a suit and tie. No question that this was the unit chief you were to report to. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. Welcome to the BAU.” He shook your hand before looking at the others. “JJ’s ready to debrief in the conference room.”

And just like that, the three agents sprung into action, leading the way to the board room. “We can go over the particulars when we get back from Nebraska. You ready for your first case?”

His face didn’t change, no change of tone in his voice. He lived and breathed for the BAU. Until you noticed the wedding band on his left hand. It was always the first thing you looked for when you met someone new. It was shallow and patriarchal, you knew, but it was instinct. And it put you at ease knowing there was someone out there he was doing this for. Someone he didn’t have to hold this demeanor around. 

“Ready.”

“Funny. But if you have any other insults to give, direct them to the head of the english department at Bowdoin. Mention that you’re talking about y/n l/n, with the 4.0 GPA.”

Prentiss led a slow clap as Derek shook his head. 

“I think that’s what the kids are calling a ‘mic drop’.” Spencer added and you couldn’t help your laugh. “Alright kid, why don’t you get out of here before we inevitably find ourselves back.”

You turned off the lamp on your desk and grabbed your crossbody and backpack. “Have a good weekend guys. And Reid,” He looked up, and you laughed as he pushed his hair out of his face. “Please recite the old testament for these two if they mock me while I’m gone.” He gave you a mock salute as Prentiss flipped you off on your way to Hotch’s office. 

In the six months you’d been here, these three people you shared the bullpen with had quickly become the siblings you never had. Morgan acted as your annoying older brother, constantly picking on you and Reid. Not only were you the newbie, but you were now the youngest, only a year behind Spencer. Emily Prentiss on the other hand, was the protective older sister you always dreamed of. She was confident and held her own against the male dominated team, but knew when to be soft spoken and caring with victims and the team when needed.

And then there was Dr. Spencer Reid. The smartest person on the planet, in your book. Sure, he was a little socially awkward and didn’t know when to stop listing off all the stats he knew, but you understood. He was consistently the youngest and smartest person in every classroom he walked into. There weren’t many people that wanted to get to know him without bullying him or picking apart his eidetic memory. Despite the problematic first encounter you shared, the two of you stuck together considering your combined intellect and young age. He taught you the ins and outs of the BAU, and helped you get accustomed to D.C. Although, Spencer himself hadn’t really ventured out into the city in the four years he’s been here. So the two of you tried to see as many things as you could in the rare weekends that you weren’t working a case. You worked your way through a third of the smithsonian's, and saw the Declaration of Independence. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a little emotional while looking at it. Spencer had called you a nerd, and you didn’t mind one bit. 

You walked up the steps to Hotch’s office, case reports in your hand from this week. The blinds were open, you could see him working through the stack of files on his desk. Despite the exhaustion written all over his face, his sport coat was still on, tie still impeccably tight around his neck. Even when he was in private he kept up the put together facade.

You knocked on the door, and heard a quiet ‘come in’ as you twisted the door knob. “L/n,” “I have my case reports from this week.” “Just place them on my desk.”

“How much longer are you here for?” He let out a sigh while closing the file in his hand. 

“Another hour or two.” You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to the punch. “And before you offer to stay and help me, I don’t need any help.”

“You just don’t want to listen to me singing Coldplay under my breath.” He huffed out a semblance of a laugh. A month into your bout here, Morgan had accosted you on the jet on the way home from Milwaukee. None of you had slept in three days, and you were currently enthralled in your new mp3 player and Coldplay's newest album ‘X&Y’. After the third song, a paper cup was thrown at the back of your head, followed by a ‘I’m trying to sleep, bobo’ from Derek. It was a habit of yours that you had yet to kick. 

“That’s part of the reason.” “I knew it.” He opened another file, and you took that as a cue to wrap up the conversation. You rummaged through your purse, looking for the blue envelope you sealed this morning. 

“Um, I also wanted to drop this off. It’s for Jack, you mentioned he was being Christened this weekend.” You placed the card on top of the pile of paperwork, your cursive handwriting on top. “I was going to get him a stuffed animal or some type of toy, but he’s only three months old and wouldn’t know the difference. This check may be the penny that helps you guys afford Harvard.”

A real laugh escaped his lips now, as he picked up the card. “Thank you, y/n. You didn’t have to do this.” You smiled. “I know, but I wanted to. He’s a cute kid.” 

He looked at the framed picture of Jack on his desk, then back up to you. No one else had mentioned the Christening after Hotch first brought it up. He was quiet, and only liked to talk about his family if he initiated the conversation. You could tell you were the only person who had reached out like this, with a simple gift. 

Hotch had been the hardest person to get to know in your time here. Despite Morgan saying there are no secrets kept among the team, you knew these people had their demons. And Hotch certainly had enough both professionally and personally. You didn’t want to push the professional boundaries, but you always wanted to be present in the lives of people that you shared time with. To let them know you were thinking of them, and cared for them. It was probably your most damaging personality trait.

“I’ll let you finish your work so you can get home at a reasonable hour. Tell Haley I said hi.” He nodded. “I will y/n. Have a nice weekend.”

****

December 2005

You pride yourself in the fact that you haven’t shot your weapon in the year you’ve spent with the BAU. It meant that you were successful at connecting to these people’s emotions, despite the asterisk next to their name labeling them as a serial killer or sadist. Guns were there to protect you, and they were always the last result. But as you pulled up to a log cabin in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, you had a feeling your record was going to be broken.

The team was working a case where six bodies, two adult males and four teenage males, were found mutilated, along with a cut from sternum to belly button. It was the first case you worked that had no female victims. A small victory, in your mind. But, it was also the first case you worked that the profile of the unsub fit a sixteen year old girl, who had most likely been assaulted as a young child. When children were involved, the team acted differently. They were failed by the people that were supposed to care for them, they were consistently hurt with no one to turn to. And as a result, they would spend the rest of their lives paying for it. 

You, Prentiss, and Hotch got out of the suburban, strapping the bullet proof vests onto your bodies. Thanks to Garcia, you had found the unsub’s location once she turned her cell phone back on. A cruiser pulled up behind you guys, two more cops falling out. 

“Prentiss, you take the two officers down with you to the exterior basement access. L/n and I will take the main floor.” Hotch ordered as he pulled his gun from his holster. 

You could feel the anxiety rising in your chest, but there was no time to calm it down. You barely had enough time to strap on your vest. 

“Ready?” Hotch looked at you before taking another step toward the cabin. You nodded, pulling your own gun from it’s holster. “Ready.”

You followed him up to the front porch, announcing yourselves before kicking the door in. You cleared the living room as Hotch cleared the dining room and bathroom, leaving you both to meet up in the kitchen. 

That was where you found her. You saw her first, hiding half of her face behind the rifle that she had pointed at you. She was trembling, dried tear streaks left on her cheeks. She was petrified. 

“Stephanie Moore?” Her grip on the gun tightened at the mention of her name as you heard Hotch’s footsteps get closer. “My name is Y/n L/n, I’m with the FBI. I don’t want to hurt you Stephanie, but I need you to put the gun down.”

Hotch joined you on your left, both of you directing your weapons toward the young girl. “I did what I had to do to survive. They took everything from me, every last shred of dignity I had. I wasn’t going to let them kill me.” You never thought it would be possible for your heart to break while listening to an unsub. But this tiny girl standing in front of you, with her whole life ahead of her, it just hit you too hard. 

“I know you did, Stephanie. You were so brave and so strong. Not many people could survive what you did.” She started to loosen her grip on the rifle, you were getting through to her. “I’m here to help you. I want to put an end to all of this.”

You glanced at Hotch and he gave the slightest nod, giving you the okay to take a step forward together. “I couldn’t let them get away with it.” Ever so slowly, the gun started to lower in her hands. 

“You’re doing great. Just a little lower and this will all be over.” Before she could completely lower her weapon, you heard the storm door to the basement slam shut. 

Stephanie jumped, raising her weapon back up in her hands.

“You said you were here to help me!” She exclaimed, the gun pointed at you as Hotch took another step forward. “I am Stephanie, but other members of my team are trying to help the boy you took.”

Fresh tears started to fall down her cheeks and you knew you were losing her. “Y/n,” 

He whispered to you and she moved the gun from your chest to Hotch’s. “Shutup!”

“Stephanie, hey, look at me,” She shook her head, continuing her stare at Hotch. “He’s in on it, he has to be!”

“He’s not! He’s my boss, trust me, Stephanie.” You heard the safety go off, and before her foot landed as she took her first step towards Hotch, you emptied two rounds into her chest. He rushed forward as she fell, kicking away her gun and checking her pulse. Nothing. 

You lowered your gun as your breathing increased, looking at the lifeless sixteen year old lying in front of you. A hand covered your mouth as you realized what you’d done. 

You killed her. 

You remembered what it felt like to be sixteen. Struggling to find your identity, wanting so desperately to be noticed by someone. For anyone to reach out and help you. 

But you took that away from her. You ended her life before it even began.

“Are you guys okay?” You heard Prentiss come up through the basement, but your eyes were closed as she entered the room. “We’re good. Y/n took the shot.”

Hotch stood up and dared a look at you, taking in your grief stricken state. “Did you find the boy?” 

“Yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”

Before Emily could greet you, you ran to the corner of the room, heaving up whatever was inside your almost empty stomach. Your throat burned as you threw up for a second time, vaguely registering two people calling your name.

“You’re okay, y/n,” Prentiss approached you, gently resting a hand on your back. You coughed a few more times before a towel was being rushed to your side. “It’s okay.”

The whirring of more sirens forced you to open your eyes and straighten up from your sick position. Prentiss had eyes filled with concern, not letting go of you until you gave her a slight nod. She handed you a water before she exited the house, letting two uniforms in. They went straight to Hotch, asking questions and looking over the body before their eyes landed on you. You felt exposed, like you were the one lying lifeless on the ground for all to see. You took a few deep breaths to get your breathing under control, and tore your gaze away from Stephanie. 

Hotch finished his conversation with the officers before walking over to you. “Hey,” He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but flinch. “It was a clean shot, but protocol states they have to take your gun and badge as well as give a statement to IA.” You nodded, taking your badge from your pocket. “They’re gonna take you back to the station and do an interview. This should all be wrapped up in a few hours. We’ll meet you back there, alright?”

You glanced up at his big brown eyes, warm as they bore into yours instead of their usual slanted nature. “Okay.”

The two officers escorted you to their patrol car, taking your badge and gun before you got in. You felt naked without them, like you were a nobody wandering the streets looking for someone to help, or looking for someone to help you.

It was a good thirty minute ride to the station from the cabin, and when you got there a detective from IA was already waiting for you. They led you into an interrogation room where they already had Section Chief Strauss hooked up through video call. Great. 

The questions they asked were pretty straight forward, nothing that couldn’t be answered by a crime scene report from the technicians. But the government insisted on interviewing cops involved in shootings, just in case it wasn’t legal. As if anyone wanted to deal with the psychological repercussions of taking another’s life. 

It took them nearly an hour and a half to get through the interrogation. In part due to you almost throwing up a third time as Strauss asked you to repeat the moment you shot Stephanie. They gave you a few minutes to regroup, some ginger ale and crackers from the vending machine to help settle your stomach. They took your fingerprints last, letting Strauss finish up with the bureaucratic discussion.

“That’s all for now Agent L/n. We’ll debrief tomorrow morning when you’re back in Quantico.” “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

They led you out of the interrogation room and back through the lobby leaving you at the conference room your team had been set up in the last three days.

The white boards were still littered with images of the victims, crime scenes, and the unsub. Piles of evidence were scattered along the table, and you tried to resist looking through them again. You knew if you went through the images of the mutilated boys again, you wouldn’t survive the emotional turmoil. But you needed to know that you made the right choice, the only choice to prevent more families from going through the same pain and suffering as the Corbins. 

You turned to the white board, glancing at the first victim. Connor Corbin was fifteen years old, on the varsity soccer team, and involved in musical theatre. He was cousins with the teenager that abused Stephanie. She targeted all the men in her abusers life, letting them know what he did to her. Wanting them to understand the pain she’d had to endure because of their ignorance.

You looked through the rest of the victims, the abusers two younger brothers, father and uncle were among those killed. The boys were only twelve years old. You brought a hand up to cover your mouth, remembering meeting their mother on the first day you were here. JJ was the one to speak to her, as the communications liaison, most people trusted her with being the most empathetic. That fact was up for debate, in your opinion. She was a wreck, and JJ needed help comforting her from Morgan. But you understood, boy had you understood. Her whole family was killed. 

“Y/n,” You jumped, startled by the new voices in the room. Hotch, Spencer, and JJ had arrived back at the station. “Did they clear you?”

You nodded as Spencer walked over to you. “Yeah, Strauss just wants to debrief again tomorrow morning.” “Of course she does.”

Section Chief Erin Strauss is a hardass and not the biggest fan of the BAU. “Did they give you your piece back?” Your hand immediately flew to your left hip, void of your gun and holster. “No, I completely forgot about it.” You went to move toward the door, but Spencer laid a hand on your forearm. “It’s okay, I’ll get it.” He gave your arm a comforting squeeze before leaving the conference room. 

You spared a glance at Hotch as you started cracking your knuckles. “JJ, why don’t you call the airstrip, tell them to get the jet ready.” “Yes sir.”

In an effort to keep your mind busy, you started to take down the pictures from the white board, erasing all Reid’s notes in his barely legible handwriting. The boy had three PhD’s, yet couldn’t figure out the concept of penmanship. 

“Are you alright?” “Fine.” You pulled an empty manila folder out, stuffing Connor’s pictures in. “You don’t have to clean this up for them.” “I know.”

He sighed. “Y/n, stop.” His voice was stern now and you dropped the files. “I asked if you were alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright, Hotch?” You crossed your arms over your chest, letting a breath out. “We found her, we saved her from hurting anyone else, and we brought closure to Mrs. Corbin. Case closed, the BAU gets to go home.”

Your eyes started to water but you refused to bring your hands up to wipe them away. You wouldn’t let them fall. “We’ve all been where you are right now.”

“I’m confident that you’ve never felt what I’m feeling before.”

“Try me.” He didn’t flinch, his hands remained in his pockets, stare heavy on your own. 

“When JJ presented this case to us, that two teenage boys and their fathers had been murdered, it was a no brainer for all of us to take it. Two twelve year old boys dead, two more teenagers missing, how could we not take it? But then we got here, and we met with the victims' families, we learned the boys' backgrounds, the unsub’s profile.” You scoffed, not sure who you were angered with at the moment. “This girl was raped by a seventeen year old boy and his father for two years, and we’re still supposed to treat her like a monster, like Tim Vogel?” You shook your head. “I’m not condoning what she did, but, can you blame her? And then we went in, and she had a gun raised at us. I would’ve been able to talk her down, I know I could’ve saved her if she didn’t have the gun.”

“But she had a gun.” You nodded. “She had a gun and it was raised at you. And I didn’t even flinch to take the shot. All it took was two seconds for me to forget her pain, her trauma, and reduce her to a sick serial killer.”

Even though that’s what Stephanie ultimately was, you didn’t want to accept it. Because she was a person before she went through all that pain, she was someone’s daughter, who was involved in gymnastics and softball, and had stuffed animals scattered across her bedroom. God, were you ever going to forget what she looked like?

“Feeling guilty about taking someone’s life is a good thing. It means your human, that you care.” Hotch freed his hands from his pockets, taking the file you packed out of your grip. “You’re not like them, y/n.”

You dared a glance at him as you felt more tears spring to the surface. Those big brown eyes could tell a story all on their own, and right now, they were pleading for you to believe him. You would try. 

“Got the goods.” Spencer came back in, your gun and credentials in hand. “They really had the audacity to I.D. me, as if we hadn’t just worked a case with them the last seventy two hours.” 

He got you to laugh, which served you enough cover to wipe your eyes dry. And out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a rare smile cross Hotch’s face. 

But Aaron knew there was more to your guilt than just this little girl. He was the leader of this team, it was his job to know the people he was in charge of like the back of his hand in order to keep them safe. And in the year that you’d been here, he noticed how reserved you were. Too reserved and too broken for a twenty-six year old. How you took on the giver persona to hide the fact that you were terribly closed off to others and your emotions. You would be the first to offer help, to be a listening ear, or lend your shoulder to cry on. But you never accepted it from anyone. Not that you had to, until today. 

When Hotch started to notice you and Spencer growing closer at the three month mark, he was excited. Proud, even. He knew you were struggling with the gruesome cases (he knew you threw up after every crime scene, despite your best efforts with barf bags and travel size mouthwash) and hoped you could share your burdens with the young doctor. But it seemed like they only grew in time, like the smile on your face. Hotch just hoped you knew your limits.

“Gather whatever else you guys need for Quantico. Wheels up in thirty.” Reid nodded for both of you as Hotch left the conference room, presumably to find JJ. 

“Everything okay in here?” He asked as you continued to empty the white boards, this time at a faster pace. Of course he had noticed the red rim on your waterline and the red tip on your nose. Spencer could read you better than anyone else, regardless of being a profiler or not.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just talked through the case.” His feet stayed nailed to the ground, yet his eyes continued to stick to the back of your head. You sighed and stopped moving, turning to face him. “Spencer, I can feel you boring holes into the back of my head.”

He had a sheepish smile and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. We have copies of all this back at the office, I already faxed it over to Garcia. Why don’t we spend the next twenty eight minutes searching for a good burger before the flight home.”

You smiled. “Okay. As long as I can get a vanilla shake, too.”

****

May 2006

Growing up, you always wanted an office job. A boring nine to five with your own cubicle, a script to follow when your phone rang and a customer needed help. You’d have a generic wall calendar pinned on the particle board, sticky notes littering your monitor screen, and maybe a few pictures of pets and future family. It was safe, predictable, and what you were constantly told all you would be capable of.

Now, as you’re sitting on the FBI owned jet with your six special agent coworkers, you can’t imagine living that life you once dreamt of. 

It was nearing two a.m., and you were two hours into the flight home from Los Angeles. Reid was passed out on the couch, Prentiss and JJ in the same state of mind in the cluster of four chairs, legs spread out. Morgan and Rossi were sitting across from one another, each listening to their own playlists. And by the way Rossi was tapping his fingers against the arm rest, you knew it was some genre of opera. 

This left you in the back of the jet, staring out the window as you passed over Nebraska. You always had the map up on your screen, wanting to know every state you passed over. No matter the case, you always looked forward to the plane ride. It calmed you, oddly enough. 

“Not tired?” Hotch took the seat across from you, handing you one of the two cups of tea. “Plane rides are too exciting for me to catch any sleep.”

You took a sip of the hot drink and your face scrunched out of instinct. You never liked tea, but you tried it again and again when people assured you that it would calm you down. It never worked. 

“You could just say no,” He added and you smiled. “I know. But my taste buds may change one of these times.”

He took a sip out of his own cup, no change of expression on his face. You couldn’t help the chuckle that left your lips and his eyes narrowed on you. 

“What?” 

“Well, you may enjoy the taste, but it seems like it’s calming chamomile effect has never worked on you, either.” “We’re not supposed to profile each other.” 

“Then don’t even think about rattling off excuses of why I’m not sleeping.”

He looked down at his cup, slowly nodding his head. “Well if you don’t want to talk about what’s really bothering you, because I know it’s not sleep, I can bore you with Jack’s sleep routine we have to stick to.” You smiled. “You know that I’m the only one on this team that would actually be interested in Jack’s sleeping routine. Hell, anything with that chubby little baby would interest me. Bring it on, Hotch.”

It was no secret that Jack Hotchner was your favorite person on the planet. Not only was he the chubbiest little nugget you’d ever seen, he was the result of two of the strongest people you knew. 

The first time you met Haley, she was six months pregnant with Jack, begging Hotch to leave the office early for a date night. You made the afternoon walk up to his office, dropping off some files for him to sign when you first saw her.

“Come on, Aaron. This baby is going to be here before we know it, and who knows the next time we’ll have any alone time will be.”

Before he could respond, you knocked on the open door. Both of their heads snapped over to you, and a red blush of embarrassment spread across your cheeks. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. Just dropping off some reports for you to sign off on.”

You smiled at the petite blonde woman while placing the files on the desk. “It’s okay l/n. This is my wife, Haley Hotchner. Haley, this is Agent y/n l/n, she started about a month ago.” She smiled back at you, extending a hand to shake. 

“It’s nice to meet you, y/n. I’ll leave the agent part out, it makes you sound like a robot.” She said and glared at her husband before placing her hand back on her growing belly. You laughed once you heard Hotch let out a breath, knowing he wasn’t offended with her joke. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” The smile only grew on your face as you looked at her, admiring her own belly. “Congratulations on the baby. It’s always exciting to bring a baby into the world.”

“Thank you. If only my husband thought going out with me was half as exciting, he would’ve been gone a half an hour ago.” “Haley!” He was more than surprised that she would speak so cavalierly while at the office, especially around someone he had barely gotten a chance to know yet. But the two girls only shared a laugh.

“Hotch, why don’t you go. I can hold things down around here.” “Y/n, it’s not your responsibility to. And quite frankly-” You dropped a file to the desk, boldly interrupting your bosses statement. You were only acting like this because you knew his wife deserved half the attention he gave to this place. “It’s a friday night, and your beautiful, pregnant wife is asking you to go to dinner with her. JJ and I will be here if anything comes up, I’ll even redirect your calls to my desk.”

“I like you.” Haley said with a smile, gently squeezing your shoulder. “She means business.”

Hotch let out a sigh, reluctantly grabbing his briefcase and punching a few buttons on his phone to make sure his calls went to you. “You or JJ call me immediately if I’m needed.”

“Promise. Now go have fun.” He gave you the smallest smile as he grabbed Haley’s extended hand to him. “Thank you, y/n. I owe you one.” Haley said as they exited his office. But you weren’t looking for a favor in return. You did this to make them happy, and you always felt better when those that surrounded you were at their best.

But Haley did end up paying you back. She asked you to babysit the first night her and Hotch went out after the baby was born. Apparently, she was impressed with your background in social services that Rossi had drunkenly let slip at the office christmas party. And only you would get excited to babysit a poopy baby, for free. And you continued to do it as many times as they needed you to.

You earned a smile from the reserved unit chief, and raised a fist in the air. “I’ll have to add that to the team tally sheet. I’m now tied with Reid for the lead in making you crack a human expression.” “Doesn’t matter who’s in the lead, you’re all behind Jack.” He quipped back and you returned his smile.

You looked back out the window of the jet, the view of any terrain was quite literally clouded. You could see the moon reflecting on the puffy clouds, and you knew then and there you could be converted to a night person if you could look at this view every night.

“I wanted to check in with you, about Randall Garner.” You looked back to your boss, eyes glued to your own, an earnest gaze in them. “With what happened last time-”

“Last time it was a sixteen year old girl. This time it was a psychotic father who was torturing his child. There’s a broad spectrum.”

“So you don’t feel guilty about taking his life?” The way your stomach flipped at the mention of your actions merely hours ago should have worried you more than it did. 

“Of course I feel guilty.” You quipped back, and quickly looked around to make sure you didn’t disturb anyone else. Hotch didn’t even flinch. “I didn’t take this job to play God. I wanted to help people, I wanted to stop people from getting hurt. To be on the other side of the heartbreak.”

Before transferring to Quantico, you worked as a social worker in Brooklyn for three years, straight out of college. You saw first hand the horrors and trauma that came with being in the foster system, and you wanted to help children going through the same situation you had. 

This became your life, even after you escaped it. And one day, it became too much. You needed a fresh start, to make a change and help people from a different platform. And with your degree in English, and minor in psychology, the BAU seemed to be a perfect fit for a new career. 

“Why did you leave DCFS?” It irked you to no end how his voice stayed so calm when he was clearly agitated. Especially since the silky smooth tone had talked you off an emotional ledge one too many times.

“Why are you interrogating me? Strauss said it was a clean shot, that she was proud to have a man like that dead and accounted for.” A direct quote from the ever emotionless section chief. If only she had any field experience, she would understand what this job was like. “Besides, I’ve been here for a year and half. You should have my file memorized by now.”

“Half of your file is sealed. Strauss must have a soft spot for you.” You actually laughed at that. Strauss most certainly did not have a soft spot for you. She was however under orders from the Attorney General of New York to keep my file sealed, no matter my employer. 

“My sealed file has nothing to do with the actions I took tonight.” You uncrossed your legs now and turned your body to face him. This conversation wasn’t ending any time soon. “If I needed help grieving this process, I would ask for it, Hotch. I’m fine.”

He wanted to believe you. More than anything else, he wanted to believe that you had found a routine that helped you forget the daily horrors you saw. But he knew that you were the last to leave the office every night, he knew you drove home with the light on in the backseat of your car every night. Deep down, he knew you weren’t fine. 

“We don’t ever truly know the people we work with. Despite the fact that we say there are no secrets in this unit, we all have our own demons we hold onto. I know you’re not fine, y/n.” You let out a strained laugh as you started tapping your foot anxiously against the ground. 

“I do though.” For the first time tonight, Hotch had no idea what you were talking about. His furrowed brow only made your throat tighten. “I know every single one of these people’s secrets. They confide in me because they know about my past with DCFS. Everything I knew was confidential, and it ate me up inside not being able to tell anybody the horrors these children go through.” You ran a hand through your hair; the flood gates were open. You feared there would be no turning back now. “It started out as me just wanting to get to know them. I wanted to be liked, and I wanted to trust my coworkers. And then overnight, I became Father l/n, sworn to secrecy by the Parish of the FBI. I’ve become a suggestion box, papers filling me up to the top and no one is coming to empty me out. 

“But I can’t even be mad at them,” I said as my eyes started to water, remembering what Spencer said to me two months into our friendship. “Spencer told me I’m the only person that’s ever listened to his problems without suggesting that he see someone to talk to. He said I was the only person that’s ever laughed at his stuffy jokes without making fun of him. I can’t be mad at them for confiding in me in their time of need. But I’m just,” You tried to smile as a tear rolled down your cheek. “I’m just really overflowing.”

Aaron Hotchner was lucky enough to have never experienced a heartbreak in his life. He met Haley his junior year of high school, she was his first and only girlfriend, hurling him into a life of love and happiness, sparing him any pain from loving someone too much. But as he watched you break in front of him, feeling so overwhelmed by the responsibility to be everyone’s rock, to be everyone’s source of light, he experienced his first heartbreak. And he was sure he never wanted to feel it again.

“So confide in me.” You didn’t think his tone could become any softer. His baritone voice had already been strained to keep from waking the others, and he somehow became even softer. But you shook your head, quickly bringing your hands up to wipe the tears that fell down your face. “Why not?”

“Because you’re the boss. You have all of us to worry about when we’re in the field. You have Strauss breathing down your neck, waiting for one of us to screw up.” He rested his elbows on his knees, slightly leaning toward you. “Most importantly, you have Haley and Jack that need you to be their confidante. That beautiful family needs you to be there when you’re not here.”

“Y/n, if you can’t come talk to me when you’re drowning in your own thoughts, I’ve failed you as a boss.” He sighed at your continued silence. “I can’t force you to open up. But I can’t watch you give and give and give without earning a reprieve of your own.”

So the two of you sat there, in a deafening silence, as you counted the seconds passing by. You were both too stubborn to pull away first, because that would be admitting defeat, and this conversation would end then and there. You counted to one hundred and eighty seconds, three minutes, when you finally got tired of staring into the endless brown eyes of Aaron Hotchner. 

You thought carefully about what you were going to say, what you would reveal in the magic that covered the two a.m. air. And no matter how hard you tried to in those one hundred and eighty seconds, you could not keep your eyes from watering.

“I grew up in foster care.” You started, scanning his face for any judgements. You weren’t going to find any. “The last, and most permanent foster parents I had were horrible. It was basic shit that happened to every kid in foster care, nothing scandalous enough to get them to be turned in. But their birth son,” You swallowed, trying to resist the urge to pick your fingernails. “He moved back in with them when I was fifteen. He was a loser, and he started to take a share of the subsidy checks. I heard him in the living room one night with Charlotte, one of the younger girls that lived there. She was only twelve, and I found him pinning her to the couch, a knife to her throat. And I just snapped. I lunged at him, knocking him off of her. It’s all blurry now, except for when I stabbed him in the throat.” My hand scratched at the side of my neck, subconsciously finding the spot I stabbed him. “He died before the ambulance got there. Charlotte and I both gave statements, and it was ruled as self defense. But the statement still lives in my file, and with some convincing, I got Strauss and DCFS to keep it sealed.”

In all honesty, Hotch didn’t know what to expect when you decided to open your mouth. But he never would’ve guessed this. Not from the doe eyed kid that never forgot a birthday, that got everyone a donut and coffee on Monday mornings. Not from the kindest person he worked with. 

“You know that took a lot of courage to get out, so it would be nice if you could say something.” You started to panic, wondering if he saw you as a monster, as a killer.

“You were the oldest one there, weren’t you?” Your eyes widened, how did he know that? “You grew up quick and took on the role of the parent for those younger kids. You wanted them to be safe, stay innocent for as long as they could.”

You finally tore yourself away from his gaze, starting to become too strong. Baby steps. 

“None of us had a family. I tried my hardest to shelter them from those people and make a family out of the five of us. And it worked. Because all four of them still reach out and tell me how successful they are.”

“But they don’t feel like your family.” You had a sad smile and looked back up at him. 

“Do you ever stop profiling?” He mirrored the smile you gave him. “No, they don’t. But I was old enough to understand that they needed each other more than I needed them. Besides, I found a pretty weird family to take me in.”

You earned another laugh from Hotch as you made a check mark in the air, referencing the team tally. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, searching through the cash and cards he had in there. 

“What are you doing?” He pulled out a thin wallet picture and turned it over to you. It was of him, Haley, and Jack on his first birthday. “You’ve got more than one weird family to belong to.”

He extended the picture to you, but you shook your head, the anxiety forming a pit in your stomach. “Hotch, this is your family. I can’t,”

“You can. And this family wouldn’t be half as happy as they are in this picture if it weren’t for you and everyone on this team.” You smiled down at the picture, Jack had frosting from his birthday cake all over his face. You reached out and took it between your fingers. “You’re a giver, y/n. You wear your heart on your sleeve and exude more empathy than we know what to do with.” You let out a laugh as you pulled out your own wallet now, tucking the picture in one of the plastic sleeves. “It’s time you learned how to accept the love you give.”

It was deep, too deep to be coming from your boss on the private jet at two in the morning. But he was more than just your boss, and they were more than just your team. And this job, boy this job was so much better than sitting in a cubicle, answering questions from a recited list.

****

[charmedseoull]

Interview with sugamins about her work House of Cards (Ao3′s second most hit English work and most hit BTS work)

Before You Read the Interview

Archive of Our Own Transcript

Reddit Transcript Part 1 / Part 2

House of Cards is documented within the Top 50 Most Hit BTS Works on Archive of Our Own Project, otherwise known as T50BTS, by Charmedseoul. It is the second most hit English work on the Archive of Our Own platform, most hit BTS work, and 16th most hit work overall. It centers around the internationally popular K-Pop idol group BTS (Bangtan Sonyeondan) with the main characters being Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook. This work is being documented for historical purposes for the Fanlore website with its own page. Charmedseoul is a BTS-focused anonymous historian who plans to eventually document each of the top 50 most hit BTS work on Ao3 as in depth as this one. If you are in contact with any of the authors of these works, please contact her on Twitter @charmedseoul or on Tumblr @charmedseoull.

Parts of this interview have been edited with links to Fanlore and Wikipedia pages for understanding. Any information in [brackets] serves for further clarity for readers and elaboration of information.

Disclaimers: This interview contains spoilers for the BTS Archive of Our Own work House of Cards. The story’s Archive of Our Own tags contain violence and gangster activity, along with discussion of prostitution and drug use. The full tag list is:

Alternate Universe - Gangsters

Gang Violence

Violence

Drugs

Drug Use

Explicit Sexual Content

Explicit Language

Blood and Gore

Blood and Torture

Gambling

Gunplay

Undercover

Disturbing Themes

Homophobic Language

Attempted Rape/Non-Con

Xenophobia

Dom/sub

Threesome - M/M/M

Drug Addiction

Dubious Consent

This interview discusses an 18+ mature work and Not Safe for Work topics. Please read this interview at your own discretion. You are responsible for the content you consume.

House of Cards by sugamins is a multi-chapter Archive of Our Own fanfiction that follows police officer Kim Taehyung’s undercover operation into the gangster world of Haedogje Pa. Jeon Jungkook, shrouded in an air of mystery and dubbed “The Boy,” is the heir to this crime empire. Park Jimin lives with him, acting as a lover of sorts in a high, pristine penthouse apartment. The story follows the three and their complicated relationship where sex, violence, and drugs surround them. Kim Taehyung tries to take down the empire as his moral lines of black and white begin blurring into gray. In this crime-ridden alternate reality to Seoul, everything from the structure of the gangster world to the trust between three lovers is as fragile as a house of cards.

Now presenting the interview with sugamins, author of Archive of Our Own’s second most hit English work and most hit BTS work, House of Cards:

How did you start writing?

How did you get into fanfiction?

How much writing experience did you have prior to House of Cards?

Do you have any literary or artistic inspirations? Any other authors or works that have inspired you to create anytime before or after House of Cards?

How did you become an ARMY [ARMY stands for Adorable Representative MC for the Youth. It is the fandom name for fans of BTS, otherwise known as Bangtan Sonyeondan]?

I started writing fanfiction in 2012. But before then, I used to enjoy writing stories as a child and young teenager. I used to write and illustrate my own stories. I even had a sketchbook filled with my own comic book, which was terrible! But I've always been creative. It started with art and then I moved onto writing when I discovered I was able to be much more creative with my words rather than my pencil.

I first got into fanfiction through my years spent on Tumblr. I had always known that it had existed, but I had never really gone looking for it because I hadn't belonged to a fandom at that point in my life. It was back in 2012 when I stumbled upon an EXO fanfic that a lot of people were talking about (Arbitrage, you can find it on Livejournal.) I read it and then thought...wow, so this is fanfiction! From that point, I started reading more and more, mostly Infinite fanfiction. And then I decided to start writing with the encouragement of an old online friend, and here I am!

In terms of writing experience, I have never formally received education. I stopped studying English Language and Literature when I was 16, instead focusing on Art, History, and Religious Education (purely because I wanted to learn about philosophy and quantum mechanics) for my final two years at high-school. The only experience I have is through writing fanfiction. I started back in 2012, and I've developed a lot since then. I started off small, writing horror short stories and little collections. Brotherhood was the first 'long fic' I created. I was shocked that it managed to get so big because I had never created a story of that size before. Writing helped me gain experience and figure out what worked and what didn't work, what I was good at writing, and where I was lacking and needed to learn. I don't think you can really experience an art form until you start doing it. You can learn all about the techniques and the conventions, but until you pick up a pen and start writing or drawing, you won't ever know what it means to create.

My literary inspiration has always been Stephen King. Which is funny, as he has described himself as 'having diarrhea of the typewriter.' I think that applies to me sometimes. I am a bit of a wordy writer, though I've started honing it down for certain stories. Sometimes, a story needs to be floral and descriptive, sometimes, it needs to be punchy and direct. So, King was my major inspiration, especially with horror. I also enjoy the works of Poe and Lovecraft (I acknowledge the problematic themes in the work of Lovercraft and seek not to praise him as a person. He was a terrible person for sure, but sadly, he had a way with cosmic horror that is hard to find.) I also enjoy Chuck Palahniuk and the dark, seedy and overall zany stories that he has created. I like his style a lot!

In terms of inspirations for House of Cards, I was obviously inspired by the films Infernal Affairs/The Departed. American Gangster and Training Day were also major inspirations (and also because I love Denzel Washington's performances in both films. I mean, who doesn't love him?) But I also drew inspiration from other sources that were less focused on gangs, more focused on the dark, nihilistic state of the world around us. I couldn't recommend the TV series True Detective hard enough. It is one of the best series I have ever watched. It handles dark and disturbing content so well, and its fractured, unreliable story-telling and philosophical musing is some of the best I've ever seen on screen. I highly recommend checking it out, but be sure to check the content warning and triggers because it certainly isn't suitable for younger audiences and those with triggers. In terms of real-life content, I think Ross Kemps' docu-series are very good. Particularly Extreme World and On Gangs. His docu-series show the dark and disturbing side of criminal activity, the drug trade and more. 

I became a fan of BTS [Bangtan Sonyeondan] back in 2013. I had already been a fan of K-Pop for some time by then, as I had started listening to various K-Pop and K-Rock artists back in 2009. I knew of their debut, but I had seen hundreds of new acts debut by the time that they broke into the scene, and so I didn't pay much heed. Someone I followed on Tumblr at the time kept posting about how much she loved them, especially Taehyung [BTS V/Kim Taehyung]. One day, I stumbled upon a gifset of Yoongi [BTS Suga/Min Yoongi] being sarcastic in one of their first interviews. I thought he was funny, so I decided to check them out. At the time, they had recently released We Are Bulletproof Pt. 2 [BTS’s second music video release with their debut album 2 Kool 4 Skool]. I followed them from that point, and their first comeback [A “comeback” refers to when a K-Pop idol group releases new music, usually done twice a year.] was also my first comeback. I liked their music [BTS released Boy In Luv and Just One Day in 2014, both music videos of songs from their Skool Luv Affair EP.], but I liked them even more as individuals. I loved watching their shows [Here is a link to BTS’s schedule during 2014 when they had their first comeback. You can find the shows and interviews they were on there.], even though they are incredibly embarrassing to look back on now. They just had so much energy and looked to be having so much fun that I was having fun just watching them. I was a fan, I liked a lot of their songs and followed their activities. But it wasn't until they released HYYH Part One [Hwa Yang Yeon Hwa Part 1 (Korean) = The Most Beautiful Moment in Life Pt. 1 (This is the title in English), released with the I Need U and Dope music videos.] that I really became a fan of their music. I had already created a couple of small horror stories for the fandom at that point. HYYH Part One [The Most Beautiful Moment in Life Pt. 1] inspired me so much that I created Brotherhood, my first 'long fic.' I joined AO3 [Archive of Our Own] and started posting there. I received so much support from fellow fans that I carried on writing, and the rest is history!

How has your experience being an ARMY [Adorable Representative MCs of the Youth, BTS’s global fan base name.] been? Did you ever leave the fandom then come back? How did you interact with others when you first got into the fandom and as you grew up?

How have you been since you wrote House of Cards? What have you been working on? 

Are you okay with talking about how old you are now and how old you were when you wrote House of Cards?

Before you even wrote House of Cards, what inspired it? Any TV shows? Music? Movies? Books? Ideas? It could be anything.

How did you start writing House of Cards? Did you finish the entire story then publish it or did you write it as you went? What was the writing process like?

Did you have any beta readers or editors? If you did, are you still in contact with them now? How did they feel about your work?

My experience being a fan has mostly been positive over the years. In the earlier days, back around when I first started writing for the fandom, it was certainly much more positive. I've received so much support over the years, not only in my writing but in my personal life from readers and fellow fans that being a fan of the boys [The members of BTS] really has changed my life. That's not an exaggeration. I doubt I would even be here now without those years having such a positive effect on my mental health. I've never really been the kind to interact with others and form cliques within the fandom, I just like being in my own space and interacting with everyone that comes my way, I guess?

These days, I'm not as active as a writer or in fandom spaces however. I feel like my time in the fandom has started to come up and I don't know how I feel about it just yet. I feel nostalgic for the time when I was first starting out in the fandom and I didn't really know much, but everything was fun. It doesn't feel so fun now, but I mostly contribute that to the effect that Twitter has had on shaping the fandom's growth. Twitter has never been a good place for creatives within fandoms because of issues with algorithms and such. Tumblr was always the better website for hosting artistic content for a variety of reasons. So, I think the fact that everything is on Twitter now has been partly responsible for my decline in engagement and overall enjoyment. I'm currently taking a break from Twitter. The next couple of months will be what makes me either stay or leave the fandom.

Since writing House of Cards, I've been an active writer in the fandom. Over the years, I've added quite a lot of stories to my AO3 accounts and various pseuds. My largest ongoing story is another gang story, set in the 1980s, called Valentino Summers. I actually started writing and publishing it on Ao3 just four or so months after I finished House of Cards—which is wild to think about. Finally finishing House of Cards seems like such a long time ago in my mind, and yet I'm still working on a story I created that same year! I like contributing horror stories to the fandom, especially in the Halloween period. I like publishing series in the month/upcoming weeks before Halloween—though I won't be doing so this year [2020].

When I started writing House of Cards, I would have just turned 22. It was inspired by the song 'Wires' by The Neighbourhood. I might be mistaken, but I believe that Jungkook [BTS Jungkook/Jeon Jungkook] posted a tweet with the song in it. [Jungkook did tweet about this song. Here is the English translation.] I had never heard of the band before, but my partner was a fan of their music. She sent the song to me and I was very interested in the lyrics, so I started discussing them with her. One thing led to the next, and then we had basically come up with the entire plot of the story. We just needed to create the characters. We spent a little while doing so, and then I started doing some research and started writing the story. There really isn't a grand backstory to House of Cards, it just happened so fast. We often come up with story ideas like that, and my partner is responsible for a huge amount of my stories. She has the creative visions, which I then turn into words. We make quite the team, haha~ The inspirations, I mentioned those in my previous answer regarding films and TV shows.

I published the story as I went, though I staggered the updates because I didn't want to post too frequently. I had the entire story planned out from the start——I didn't change a single aspect of the story no matter what I received in terms of feedback. I think a lot of readers assume that writers might tweak things if they sense the audience wants something to happen in terms of plot or relationships. Personally, I don't like doing that. I like sticking to my plans even if I know my vision might not be what the readers want. I think it's important for the story to be created the way I see it because my vision is what made me create it, if that makes sense.

The writing process was surprisingly smooth! You might not think it because the story is big and there are a lot of characters and plot threads to keep on top of, but it went smoothly for me. It flowed just as smoothly from start to finish as Brotherhood did. I never struggled once with writing the chapters, nor did I ever get stuck and wonder if I should change the content in order to make it easier to write. I'm surprised that I managed to complete it so easily because that's not the case with writing now! I tend to be a lot slower now, more deliberate and more open to changes in order to ease the process and the overall flow of the story. In a way, this change has been for the best. I do wonder what House of Cards would be like if I were to write it now, with my different approach to planning and writing. It would probably have a quicker flow, and the word count would either go down as a result of cuts, or go up because of additional scenes I would have likely included.

I didn't have any betas, which you can probably tell from the work. My stories are so big that I never wanted to put the burden of fixing them onto someone else. I know they are imperfect, oftentimes bloated things, but that's just what they are. I did try creating a story with another writer in the past, but it didn't go very well. She would often have conflicting opinions on things and would not have any leeway for anything I suggested, whereas I always had leeway to allow her to change things. Even to the point of completely changing the plot of the story that I had already started writing, and then allowing her to add graphic sexual content she didn't even want to be in the story. She actually stopped writing fanfiction randomly in the middle of us creating the story! She made a post about it being disgusting and nasty and then bowed out. I have no clue if she ever came back! So, my negative experience with attempting to work with someone else when creating a story kind of made me not want to have a beta. It's a wild story, I know!

House of Cards is praised for its realism and accuracy with weaponry, torture, sex, and violence. How did you research these things?

How did you come up with the gangster universe in House of Cards? How did you develop Haedogje Pa?

How did you name the original characters in House of Cards? Did any characters in particular take inspiration from existing characters in TV shows, anime, books, any type of media?

How did you decide on Vminkook as your main characters for the story? What do you see in their dynamic and them as characters?

Jimin is claimed to be one of the best written characters in the entire story. What was your thought process when characterizing him and developing him?

Taehyung is an especially dynamic character whose morals get tested time and time again in House of Cards. What was your thought process when characterizing him and developing him?

Jungkook is one of the characters that the readers spend the least amount of time getting a perspective from, but is incredibly well written in his character progression. What was your thought process when characterizing him and developing him?

When it came to various aspects in the story, I did do research. Most of it never really had an impact on the story itself. For example, I would be looking up gun models that are used by law enforcement agencies around the world and trying to find specs of them so I could learn how many bullets each gun held, or how much a magazine could hold. In action scenes, I didn't want my characters firing off 20+ bullets for a gun that—in reality—holds far less. That's a fact that doesn't really mean much to the average reader, but it meant something to me! I've always hated how many bullets fly through the air in action scenes in films and TV shows because I'm always wondering if it's possible with the firearms featured in the scene haha~ In terms of torture, I've come across the subject through various documentaries and TV shows about gangs, crime and serial killers. I didn't really do much additional research into the topic, beyond reading up on what I had come across to make sure it wasn't fictionalised for drama purposes. Obviously, there will be some lack of realism in my story because I couldn't possibly write a realistic portrayal of gang violence and torture when I have zero personal experience with it. My aim wasn't to give the story 'full' realism (I'll explain more about that in the next question) but to simply create a world that felt real, even if there were little aspects that had to be exaggerated for the sake of the story. Taehyung's behaviour when undercover certainly broke many procedures. The only thing working in his favour that allowed him to get away with it is that the crimes he committed couldn't be directly traced to him. But a real undercover agent would never do the things that he did on behalf of the gang. Basically, this means that the entire story is unrealistic! But of course, it wouldn't be very entertaining if Taehyung simply observed from the background and didn't dirty his hands. So, I had to bend and break the rules a little!

For the universe, I knew that I couldn't base it too much in reality. Because of basic Korean law, it would have been impossible for me to write the gang operating in the way they did in the story—especially with guns. Most Korean gangs tend to use other forms of violence and weapons in order to control their respective areas, rather than guns. My other story, Taste of Ink, has what I would consider a more realistic approach to gang activity—with the main weapons being knives, baseball bats, etc. and the main forms of violence being assault instead of flat-out murder. So, for the sake of allowing guns to appear in the story, I had to create a Neo-Seoul, so to speak. I took inspiration from Korean gangs, and mixed it with influences from other gang cultures in order to create 'Haedogje Pa.'

When it comes to naming original characters, I honestly don't put much thought into it. I like to use real names for inspiration. I often Google various Korean films I've watched and read the cast list in order to find interesting character and actor names. This is because I have a habit of reusing names sometimes. For example, readers of my stories might have come across a couple of Daesu and Goohee characters. Do you know where I got these names from? I picked Daesu from Oh Daesu - Choi Minsik's character in Oldboy. Goohee comes from the manhwa 'Let Dai' - he is the stubborn gang leader that actually has a good heart beneath his rough exterior. I ended up liking him the most by the end of the story, so his name is one that often comes to mind when I need to pick an original character name.

I never really consider real life dynamics when I'm writing because my stories are so detached from reality that it seems pointless including any inspiration from reality. I chose the three main characters simply because, at the time, they seemed to fit the character moulds the best. The other characters fit their respective characters so well (especially Namjoon [BTS RM/Kim Namjoon] and Yoongi) that I simply thought it was best to have Taehyung, Jimin [BTS Jimin/Park Jimin] and Jungkook as the three lead roles. I chose them more based on how I thought they could personally fit the characters, rather than focus on the dynamic. To use Taehyung as an example, I thought that he would fit the character of the informant in my story because in reality, he is intelligent and seemed like he would suit the role. For Jimin, I thought he would be a good choice for a character that some might think is vulnerable or even weak. He is actually very strong and the most important character for the plot progression. For Jungkook, I liked the thought of someone with such an innocent outer appearance hiding a dark secret.

I'm so glad that readers took to Jimin so positively on a whole. I know there are some that hated him, or that hated the fact I chose him for such a role (a 'negative' sex worker role). But Jimin is the most important character for the plot progression. It is through him that the entire plan finally culminates in the explosive finish. I wanted to treat him with care because I understood that his character could go very wrong if not handled correctly. It would have been easy for him to simply become nothing more than a sexual prop, should the story have focused too much on Taehyung and Jungkook as the key players. So, I decided to subvert it by giving Jimin the ultimate hand in the story and allowing him to have more control than Jungkook in the end. If Jimin had not decided to follow through with the plan, if he had decided to snitch or had simply refused to do his part in exposing the gang, the story would've ended drastically differently. But I also didn't want to write Jimin taking control of the entire situation at the end because it would've felt ingenuine. He is a character that has been deeply affected by a lifetime of trauma. I was worried that some might take my portrayal of his trauma the wrong way, and see him not as a character that has suffered immense mental damage but rather as an annoying, weak character that gets in the way of more 'interesting' dynamics. I'm sure there will be readers that think that. Mentally traumatized individuals are often seen in such negative light, be they fictional characters or real people. When writing his character, especially in the later scenes, I wanted to make sure the trauma he experienced would shape his behaviour. Writing the scene of him getting ready to leave, when he is taking his pills and he doesn't think he can do it, it was hard. It was hard getting into that headspace of feeling so powerless in the moment and knowing that freedom is in reach, but not knowing how to achieve it. He was a difficult character to write, but I think he turned out just right in the end.

Taehyung was probably the best character to write. I love characters that start off so morally upright and pristine, and by the end of the story, their backs are bending and close to breaking from the weight of their conscience and misdeeds. His character has many facets to him that made his perspectives so interesting to tackle. From his green days in the gang, where he is horrified by the violence he sees, to the changes in his psyche as he starts to become desensitized to it all. Fundamentally, Taehyung begins the story as a good man, a hero, but by the end, there is no black and white thinking. He has become grey, muddied from his time spent in the gang. Is he a hero for bringing them down? Would a hero do the things that he did in order to bring down the gang? He killed people. He tortured people. He threatened a man with a gun, a man he knew had a deepset fear of guns that would severely trigger him. I think it all depends on how the reader sees it. The hardest thing to write for his character was his troubled descent into the relationship between him, Jungkook and Jimin, and how it affects his thought processes and emotions. I didn't want House of Cards to be seen as a romantic story when I created it. If readers see it that way, they are more than entitled to their own interpretations. I cannot tell them how they can interpret my art, that is not my role as the creator. I don't know if I effectively portrayed the co-dependency between the three main characters as well as I would've liked. But I had never tackled such a story and themes before, and so it was all new to me.

I didn't know that Jungkook had the least perspective from the three main characters. Similarly, I never really put that much effort into creating and developing his character! Jungkook simply 'happened' in the moment. He would appear in the chapter, and then his character would basically take control of the scene. I never really knew what he was going to say or do beyond my rough plans for each scene. I just waited until he appeared and let the creative spirit flow through me. That's how he came to be! I've had that happen many times in the past with characters—they have a life of their own and I've no control over them. In my story, Brotherhood, Taehyung happened the same way. It was impossible to write his character in that story because he was so wild and free-spirited that it didn't feel right unless his behaviour was a total spur-of-the-moment reaction to the other characters and new plot points. But with Jungkook in House of Cards, I don't know why I didn't have him planned out like the others. It's interesting to think that he might've had a good progression when I never planned any of it in detail!

Were there any original characters you particularly liked writing or enjoyed?

When you wrote for the BTS hyung line, how did you determine their roles in the story and characterize each of them?

Is there a reason behind Namjoon saying “brother” or was it a consciously written character quirk?

When you handled more serious subject matter in House of Cards, how did you feel when writing it? Were you ever startled by your own work?

Was there any type of purposeful titling for the fanfiction chapters?

What was your reason for House of Cards’ open ending?

I liked writing Lim, the original informant that helped Taehyung join the gang. I like writing characters that come across as sleazy. In his case, the sleaze was all an act and wasn't true to his character; he was affecting it for the sake of creating a persona. But I enjoy writing absolute sleaze balls too—the kind of guys that have chest hair and wear gold chains and thick watches, who practically ooze oil. I just find them fun! Lim was a good teacher, even when he was rough around the edges. It was sad doing what I had to do to him for the sake of the plot. But I feel like Lim understood the game as well as everyone else, and so he knew he was running on borrowed time. 

Of course, I loved writing Bae Goohee too! He was an absolute bastard! I loved writing this figure that is spoken about throughout the story as a frightening man, one so brutal that the readers are already wary of him before he even appears in the story. I believe that Taehyung refers to him as a 'guard dog' at some point. I think Bae is the scariest character in the story for me because he is so ruthless and willing to do any order that the Jeon clan give to him. That kind of blind and unwavering devotion is frightening!

I also enjoyed writing Sungah and Jangmi. I think they're the only female characters in the story that have dialogue? Sungah has a great backstory that I unfortunately couldn't go into too much in the story, but it shaped her character a lot. I like how frank and intelligent she is—she holds her own even in a department filled with men that receive far more praise than she does simply because she is a woman. She also allowed me to add an angle about the unfair treatment of women in jobs that have power, drawing parallels with how Taehyung faces discrimination from his fellow officers when his sexuality is abruptly revealed during the investigation. As for Jangmi, I just liked writing about the wife of a mob boss! And not one that is simply a trophy wife, but actually has a lot of power and influence across the city. I wish I had been able to feature her more, alongside her husband, Jeon himself. But I like the scenes they appear in and I enjoyed writing them.

For the rest of the members, I had Namjoon and Hoseok [BTS J-Hope/Jung Hoseok]'s characters planned right from the start. I had also created plans for Yoongi and Seokjin [BTS Jin/Kim Seokjin], but I wasn't sure how much of a role they would play in the overall story. As I started writing them, I realised that Yoongi would play an important role in both Taehyung and Jimin's character development, and so he ended up featuring a lot more than I had expected. I planned their jobs and then let them influence how I would write them. Namjoon and Hoseok's characters came naturally. Yoongi's character completely took over his job role and basic description and became a really strong character that I'm proud of. Seokjin was a little trickier because he doesn't appear in too many scenes—but the scenes he does are integral to the plot. I needed to make sure that his character said everything he needed to in his limited scenes. He has quite the bombshell to drop after all! Seokjin was also tricky because I wanted him to have an air of mystery around him. I wanted him to be the kind of guy that not even Taehyung and his police connections would be able to unearth much about; a ghost in the system. I would've also liked for him to feature more in the story, but I feel like his character appeared in the essential scenes that the story needed. He was going to feature more in the planned sequel, being one of the first characters to appear alongside Yoongi. He was going to serve an important role, so I'm disappointed that I didn't get to show those scenes to readers.

With Namjoon, I wanted to portray him as a mature character, but not one that was conservative and stiff. I thought about having him say things like 'man' but that seemed too casual and didn't suit his character. 'Man' made him seem more like a surfer than a police officer. But when he said 'brother' in one of the scenes, I realised the word suited him better. It was fraternal, and it allowed him to show some affection towards the other characters without having to have physical contact with them. It's not the only Namjoon I've written that says 'brother' a lot. In Valentino Summers, Namjoon has experience with hippies in the neighbourhood that he lives in, so he also refers to other characters like Jimin as 'brother.' It just seems to suit him! I guess it's because I like creating Namjoon characters that are intelligent and mature, but still have a gentle and warm presence. I could picture him saying it in real life (I'm certain he already has!)

When writing serious subject matter, I'm surprised to admit that I was never shocked by what I was writing! I guess it's because I already knew that I was going to be handling dark themes. I wouldn't have tackled such subjects had I not felt comfortable doing so. Dark content isn't for everyone, and by that I don't simply mean consuming it. Creating it can be very difficult for some writers, and can even cause distress. It's not easy diving into a world that is filled with crime, pain and fear. It's even harder putting yourself into the shoes of a character that is suffering/has suffered. I was never writing in a desensitised state though. Far from it. I'm actually very sensitive to violence in reality. In fiction, it depends on the violence—but I'm usually not too affected by it. I've been a fan of horror since I was a child, and so I've seen a lot of nasty films filled with gore and 'shocking' deaths that never really had much of an effect on me. Unrealistic violence doesn't scare me. But when it comes to personal violence, that is always frightening to me. It's far scarier writing a scene where a character feels threatened by another character and doesn't know what is going to happen to them then, say, writing a scene of a character dying a bloody, ridiculous death in a horror story. Personal violence is much more realistic, therefore it is more unsettling to write. In House of Cards, the violence is very personal. It's in your face, it's inescapable for the characters that are involved in it. But at no point did I ever feel like I needed to stop writing because I was uncomfortable or scared by the content. If I had been uncomfortable, it would have been very reckless of me to continue writing the story.

My word of advice to fellow dark content writers: it's always important to recognise your own boundaries. There's nothing wrong with removing dark content from a story if you get a bad vibe or feel strange when writing/reviewing it. Always follow your gut instincts and never put out work that you don't like.

When writing stories, I vary between titling the chapters and leaving them blank. For House of Cards, I cannot remember the exact method for naming the chapters. Sometimes, the title comes to me when I am writing the plans and I have an idea that just suits the mood of the chapter. Other times, I have finished the entire chapter and I have to spend some time reviewing the content to decide that the title will be. In some cases, I have finished most of a whole story and I'm still not certain what to title it! I feel like with House of Cards, the titles came after the chapters were finished, or at least when they were works-in-progress.

There are some titles that really stand out to me. 'Nice Teeth' for example, is a really ridiculous title. Going into the chapter, I don't think many readers would've imagined what it could mean. 'Submachine Sodomy' is even funnier. I really can't believe I chose that as a title! I'll bet a lot of readers saw it and thought, "Oh no! Not another gunplay scene!" Luckily for them, it wasn't a reference to Jungkook's predilection for firearms in bed.

In terms of chapter titles that I really like: 'Delusions of Grandeur,' 'I Own This Fucking City,' 'Sleeping Dogs Bite' and 'Carpe-fucking-Diem.' I just feel like these titles are very well suited to the contents of the chapters. They are the kind of titles that have bite to them, that hint at action or an important plot point.

As for the open ending, there are a couple of reasons. First of all, I had planned to continue the story in a sequel that would pick up after the events of House of Cards, roughly a year on after the investigation. However, I did not pursue this sequel. I wanted House of Cards to end on an open note for the sequel to continue the story. When it comes to certain stories, I just feel that closed endings aren't always necessary. I often enjoy stories with open endings. With House of Cards, it didn't seem right just closing the book and saying it was over. There was still so much that needed to be explored. Unfortunately, I decided to not continue it. But I still think that House of Cards' ending fits the story.

Were there any scenes or moments or lines in House of Cards that you were particularly proud of or want to highlight?

If you were to write the Yoomin sequel to House of Cards, how would’ve that looked like?

How were readers’ reactions to your work in the beginning?

Did any reader comments stick with you in particular?

How did you take the criticisms and hatred towards House of Cards for its serious subject matter? When did those types of comments start appearing? Also, where did the hatred come from? Twitter? Tumblr? Ao3 comments? Did people harass you at all or hurt you? How did you heal from that?

House of Cards has a lot of scenes. I'm proud of most of them and I think I did the best I could when writing them. I do not really like the sex scenes, but that is because I wanted to write them in a dirty, sleazy way. If I could, I would change them. I like the action scenes, especially the Gold Monkey Casino and police raid scenes. Action scenes are hard to write! Fight scenes in particular are so tricky. I often sit there, choreographing the fights so I can describe them! I loved writing Yoongi's introduction to the story, when he walks into the scene wearing nothing but his underpants.

One scene that I really liked writing is the scene where Namjoon and Hoseok investigate the USB stick that Taehyung sends to them. I personally love Namjoon and Hoseok's characters. I always enjoyed writing them. In this scene, I liked getting to write them in a setting that was not the police department office. A scene where they got to relax and banter with each other, even though they were still working. They discover a horrifying crime ring in the city, but they are left with no choice but to keep it secret because they do not want to risk blowing Taehyung's cover. I do not know why I really like this scene, I just do.

In the sequel, which focused primarily on Jimin and Yoongi, the plans were to have them reunite through Seokjin—who has avoided jail time through a plea deal with the SMPA. They undergo a healing process together as they try to come to terms with what happened to them. Yoongi has a lot of unhealed trauma from his childhood, much like Jimin, which I only got to briefly touch upon in House of Cards. They grow closer from bonding over their traumatic experiences, and they become happier and healthier as a result. Taehyung and Seokjin were also going to be main characters, with Jungkook, Namjoon and Hoseok making supporting appearances over the duration of the story. It was going to be drastically different from House of Cards because it would be lacking in action and violence. It would have been much more intimate, with much more scenes of characters talking and discovering things about one another.

I cannot remember early reactions to the story, I just know they were positive. There was a lot of positive support from the start. As I updated and started to get more and more into the story, I received a lot of support on tumblr too. I started posting chapter previews there, as I used to get asks [On Tumblr, users are able to ask bloggers questions through an “Ask” function. This can be done anonymously or with their own blog username associated with the question.] requesting them. I got A LOT of asks on my original Tumblr from readers that wanted to discuss the characters and certain scenes. It was really interesting seeing just how much the readers were interested in the story, so much so that they wanted to learn even more about the characters and the universe I had created.

Through House of Cards, I have received comments and messages from readers that had addictions. They told me about how they recognised their own behaviors through Taehyung, and this helped them realise what was happening to them. Those comments stuck with me for obvious reasons. I have family members with addiction issues, and knowing that I could help some stranger I have never met before come to terms with their own addictive behaviours had a massive impact on me. Funnily enough, a negative comment stuck with me. It was not a bad comment, by no means meant to cause offence. It was a comment that was left on the story when I was posting the early chapters. I recall the reader asking when the story was going to pick up the pace because it was too slow. It stuck with me because, at this point in the story, Taehyung had already trained to become an undercover agent, had enrolled in the gang, had met and interacted with Jungkook, and had murdered a man. I was surprised that this amount of development had been seen as 'slow' by a reader, as I had thought the plot had been moving very fast.

I never really had any hate posted on the story when I was updating it. I got angry reactions when I had finished it. Because the story had not ended the way some readers had wanted, I think that was what caused the negative reactions. On my original Tumblr, I even got an ask about how an anon reader was going to write their own ending because my one was bad. I told them that I did not want them to take my story and change it like that. I have no idea if they ever posted the ending anywhere. The angry reactions were mostly from shippers, who were upset with the story not ending the way they had wanted. To them, I ask: what were you expecting from the story? I thought it was always obvious that Taehyung was going to do what he had set out to do from the start, so I do not think I misled readers at all. It was a story about an undercover agent taking down a gang—and that is what I wrote.

I know there was some animosity towards me on Twitter too. Twitter is a whirlpool of negativity, I am not surprised. Writing House of Cards made me appear problematic. My partner used to follow an author a long time back, who tweeted about me being problematic—despite having never interacted with me or admittedly read my stories. It was shocking to me that people were making assumptions of who I was as a person based on a story I created. I have never created stories with the aims of hurting or upsetting others. I am a very quiet and private person, and I hate the idea of hurting others. It was strange to me that people could assume me to be this cruel or even dangerous individual, intent on hurting others, because I created a fictional story. Do they think the same of script writers for television shows? Or film directors, who create films with dark subject matter? Do they think published authors are problematic people for writing dark and disturbing content? Do they think certain genres should not exist because they do not personally like them?

I do think it is strange that fan fiction writers are placed on these ridiculously high pedestals of moral absolutism. Fan fiction was created to be a space for creative outlet for marginalised individuals, particularly queer individuals. The heavy censorship of dark and unusual content is putting this entire ethos at danger. I understand not wanting to have certain topics included in stories because there is a risk that the content can be used for grooming or can be presented in a way that can negatively affect young consumers' perceptions (like pedophilia for example.) I certainly agree that there needs to be boundaries in place to stop the community from being flooded with such illegal content. But I think there is a difference between wanting to remove dangerous content, and wanting to get rid of content you do not like. Content can be problematic to you, but that does not make it dangerous, illegal, or bad. For some readers, the content they create is their way of dealing with trauma. Maybe this is not healthy for them. But that is their decision to make, not yours.

I orphaned the story because I did not want to handle the potential backlash. To put it simply, I do not handle negative criticism well. Not because I am stuck-up and think I am perfect, but because I am a very anxious person. Just reading angry comments makes me feel very uncomfortable, often nauseous. I know that House of Cards has received overwhelmingly positive feedback from readers, and for that I am thankful. But I had to distance myself for the sake of my own mental health. Since orphaning it, it exploded in popularity. I am thankful that I orphaned it because that amount of attention would frighten me a lot, haha~

What was your reaction to the fanfiction trailer by Sappiamur?

How did you come to the decision to reveal your real name in the end note of House of Cards?

How did you feel when you finished House of Cards?

How did you come to the decision to orphan House of Cards?

Did you ever anticipate the overwhelming fan reaction to House of Cards?

How do you feel knowing that House of Cards is one of the most read fanfictions on Ao3?

What do you want House of Cards to be remembered for?

What do you hope people take away from House of Cards?

Why do you think House of Cards became so popular?

I had to go back and watch it. It's been some time since I last have, and I'm still as amazed by it now as I was back then. The trailer is insane. I cannot imagine how much work went into making it. It's so good and it fits the vibes of the story to perfection. I think the first time I watched it, I was in shock. I must have repeated it at least 10 times in a row, just to make sure it was real and I wasn't imagining it. Then I think I screamed about it on my social media accounts, haha~ If you reading this have not watched the trailer, consider doing so. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Back when I first started posting fanfics, I used to get a lot of asks wanting to know my name, my pronouns, stuff like that. I thought by adding my name at the end of the stories, it would help cut down on these requests. But I also did so because I used to get a lot of asks referring to me as 'author-nim' and I didn't like being addressed by this honorific. I'm not Korean so I have no right to receive that honorific. So, I included my real name so readers could address me with it when sending me asks and interacting with me. I don't add my name at the end of my stories now, but my name is in my Twitter bio for those that want to know.

When I finished it, I felt relieved! I was so calm in the moment! Looking back on it, I can't remember much. But I do remember finishing House of Cards without any issues. The final chapters flowed smoothly, it all clicked into place, and I had a great time writing them.

I came to the decision to orphan the story after several nights of contemplation. I was considering deleting the story, along with a few others, but my partner and some friends told me I shouldn't do so. They suggested orphaning it instead. So, I did so. I didn't want to delete it in case readers that had started it had not gotten to finish it yet. I would've felt very mean robbing them of the opportunity to finish the story like that. I don't regret orphaning it instead of deleting it. I didn't want to destroy the story, I just needed some distance between me and the story.

I didn't anticipate it, and I still don't understand it! I'm shocked that House of Cards got the reaction that it received. Do I think it's a good story? Yes, I think that I worked hard to create a story that is enjoyable to read. But did I ever think it would get the reaction it did? Not in a million years! I thought that it would be one of my more popular stories because a) the pairings and b) the content. Gang stories usually tend to get a lot of attention because it's a popular genre in fanfiction. I just didn't expect it to reach such a vast amount of hits, kudos and comments.

I'm in shock that it is one of the most read stories on AO3. I don't think I will ever be able to create another story that will garner that kind of attention and feedback. It's a once in a lifetime thing, so I'm immensely proud of myself for achieving such a feat. But really, it's all because of the readers that it achieved such a goal. I'm so thankful for every single one of them.

I just want it to be remembered for being enjoyable, I think. I don't have any grand and lofty ambitions for the story. I think so long as the readers enjoyed it, that is all that matters.

I'm not sure what I would like readers to take away from House of Cards. I guess I want them to reflect on the idea of morality and that not everything is black-and-white. Good people can do bad things, and bad things can happen to good people. It's hard to answer this question because House of Cards isn't a story that I consider to have deep messages in it? There are no messages about acceptance and love and healthy relationships and such, like some of my other stories.

Honestly? I don't know what made it get so popular. I assume it's because of the pairings or the setting of the story. I know that a lot of readers say they love the story because of how well it's written, but I can't comment on that as the creator, haha~ I can't say my story is well-written as I'm not consuming it from an outside perspective. What I can say is that I do think I created a story that has a lot of twists and turns and betrayals, which I think adds to the enjoyment factor.

How are you now in 2020? Are you writing professionally in real life at all? 

How do you feel BTS fanfiction has changed over time? Since you’ve been writing for it for so long. 

Do you have any messages for people who may read this interview in the future?

I'm not writing professionally. I have self-published two books via Amazon and Lulu. One was a basic re-branding of my story babes in the woods. The other was a total rewrite of Brotherhood, which I called 'Brothers,' featuring a whole new setting and roster of characters. I published them as readers showed an interest in reading original stories. I have been considering rewriting House of Cards as an original work in the future, but I can't say for certain that I will do so.

Since I started writing, I think there's been a lot of changes in the fandom—not only in fanfiction but in general. There's been popular trends that have come and gone (I was around for the explosion of social media and text-based AUs, which I personally am not a fan of) but there's also been a lot of push for more inclusive content. I'm really happy by the amount of inclusive content that I see these days. Despite some pushback from non-queer fans that sometimes have an issue with queer subject matter (for example, trans characters) I think it's wonderful that artists of all colours, genders and sexualities are now proudly creating content they want to see, and not simply just what is 'in demand' from the fandom.

The message that I would like to share with readers of this interview is: stay healthy, stay happy, and most importantly, stay you. I also want to take this moment to tell them this - if you are considering becoming a creator, but you are worried about reception to your work, or that it might not be good enough, stop right now! Stop doubting yourself and just give it a shot! I was once like you, scared that my weird and niche interests and writing would be ignored or even mocked by the fandom because no one would like it. Had I not decided to take the plunge, my life would be so drastically different. I've made so many friends, fallen in love, and completely changed my life by creating fan content. It can be scary, but once you take the leap, you will find your feet coming down on solid earth without any danger.

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[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: My first video about Depeche Mode--and it’s about their first album! I think it’s pretty good, but a lot of people HATE it. Are you intrigued? Take a listen, or read the transcript, and see where you fall!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be looking at the somewhat rough start of one of the most iconic bands in the history of electronic music: Depeche Mode, and their 1981 debut, Speak & Spell. While Depeche Mode are certainly a beloved band, many of their fans actively revile Speak & Spell. What’s wrong with it? Well, it has songs that sound like this.

Music: “Just Can’t Get Enough”

“Just Can’t Get Enough” isn’t exactly the kind of song Depeche Mode are associated with--though it did make an entry in the charts, and remains fairly well known today, largely thanks to its use in advertising. The band’s “classic run,” spanning roughly from the mid-80s to the mid-90s, saw them achieve substantial mainstream adulation, as a pop act peddling dark and gothic themes, and maintaining a substantial electronic element to their music, without ever becoming inaccessible to rock listeners. They were even “rock and roll” enough to consistently break America, which is no small feat for, essentially, a synth-pop band from England. That synth-pop heritage dominates the sonic palate of Speak & Spell, and it’s hard to imagine a die-hard rock fan vibing with upbeat, almost saccharine pop ditties like “What’s Your Name?”

Music: “What’s Your Name?”

Of course, “What’s Your Name?” has another big problem besides favouring bright, chirping synth riffs over the guitar-based chug of tracks like “Personal Jesus.” Its seemingly homoerotic lyrics might be said to constitute the first instance of Depeche Mode engaging in what we might call musical “queer-baiting.” Thumbing their noses at norms of sexuality and gender presentation have earned the band a substantial queer following throughout their career, but it’s not such a smart move if you’re trying to attract macho rock listeners, and get yourself into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

Part of the reason why Depeche Mode were ultimately able to do those things, later in their career, is that they had a pretty handy scapegoat: Vince Clarke. Clarke was a founding member of the band, and as the chief songwriter for all but two tracks on Speak & Spell, he was unequivocally the creative force driving the album. Conveniently enough, Clarke not only departed from Depeche Mode immediately after this first album, but went on to serve as an integral member of two unequivocally poppy duos, Yazoo and Erasure. But as easy as it is to simply blame Vince Clarke’s interest in cheerful pop for the apparent failures of Speak & Spell, this hypothesis doesn’t hold up. Some Clarke-penned numbers, like “Puppets,” are at least as gloomy as anything from the mind of Martin L. Gore, who took over songwriting duties on every subsequent Depeche Mode LP.

Music: “Puppets”

“Puppets” is pretty far from a feel-good song. Those fairly bright synths remain, but here, they feel more like a tense crescendo of violins, as something goes poorly in a horror film, and a serrated synth stab answers them from below. Dave Gahan’s semi-whispered delivery of the vocals, which narrate the perspective of a manipulative and controlling partner, add even more to its sinister ambiance. Given only a minor aesthetic facelift, “Puppets” could fit just fine onto most other Depeche Mode albums, even if Clarke did write it. I actually think the softer, poppier touches this track DOES have serve it well, and make it feel a bit insidious--like a lover who seems loveable and charming at first, before revealing their abusive tendencies over time. Another track that really benefits from creating tension between pop fluff and things macabre is the striking “I Sometimes Wish I Was Dead.”

Music: “I Sometimes Wish I Was Dead”

“I Sometimes Wish I Was Dead” features an almost gratingly toylike synth riff, that reminds me a bit of those custom cell phone ringtones from the 00s. Its lyrics are also almost painfully chipper, at least at first, as is Gahan’s infantile delivery of them...but there seems to be some irony there. While that provocative title doesn’t actually appear, the song seems to be obliquely telling a story of someone dealing with a breakup, albeit cloaked in this eerily sunny music. International editions of *Speak & Spell* would remove this track in favour of the non-album A-side “Dreaming of Me,” presumably targeting it for its inflammatory title and short runtime of just over two minutes. “I Sometimes Wish I Was Dead” is a powerful reminder that just because something has a shiny pop veneer doesn’t mean it’s disposable, or that it lacks in artistic complexity.

Still, if you’re in the market for something that feels more like “classic” Depeche Mode, Speak & Spell can deliver on that front as well. Look no further than Gore’s contributions to the album, such as “Tora! Tora! Tora!” With its frantic refrain, and troubling themes of nuclear holocaust, “Tora! Tora! Tora!” feels more like Depeche Mode’s classic run than just about anything else on Speak & Spell, prefiguring iconic tracks like “Leave In Silence” and “People Are People” quite well.

Music: “Tora! Tora! Tora!”

Speak & Spell’s cover is certainly strange and a bit opaque, showing some sort of bird in its nest from a very low angle. The background is almost entirely a lurid, artificial-looking pinkish red, with no other recognizable figures to ground this landscape in reality. Between the chaotic textures of the nest, and the surreal emptiness of the scene, it comes across as a sort of nightmare world, albeit one populated by only this fairly non-threatening creature...that we know of. If we look closely at that bird, we can start to see what looks like a transparent veil covering its neck and head. I like to interpret this image as a representation of the natural world, destroyed by human callousness: an animal suffocates under a sheet of plastic, while the sky behind it glows red with bombs “raining from the sky,” as in “Tora! Tora! Tora!”

Despite the title, you won’t hear any samples of the titular toy on Speak & Spell--though Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark would famously incorporate some on their album Dazzle Ships, a few years later. The title “Speak & Spell” would seem to suggest the album’s light, playful tone, and sense of pop novelty. A Speak & Spell is, of course, a fun and entertaining toy, which repeats the same handful of things over and over, as a pop song might be played *ad infinitum* on the radio. Perhaps the way the songs sneak a darker emotional undercurrent past their listeners is parallel to how the toy covertly educates children in basic spelling, while also being amusing to fool around with.

After Speak & Spell, it took several more years for Depeche Mode to really find their footing, and launch into that classic period of theirs where they released most of their best-loved material. Despite the absence of Vince Clarke, their sophomore LP, A Broken Frame, is stylistically rather similar to Speak & Spell, and pairs somber tracks like “The Sun and the Rainfall” and “My Secret Garden” with some very upbeat ones like “The Meaning of Love.” If the fact that Clarke could write “Puppets” didn’t sell you on my assertion that he isn’t the singular problem with Speak & Spell, the fact that Martin Gore wrote “The Meaning of Love” should serve as proof that the desire to make catchy pop tunes didn’t rest solely on any one person’s shoulders.

Music: “The Meaning of Love”

My favourite track from Speak & Spell is the opener, “New Life.” “New Life” was also released as a single and made substantial headway in the charts, though it doesn’t seem quite as well remembered as “Just Can’t Get Enough.” Like “I Sometimes Wish I Was Dead,” “New Life” is almost disgustingly catchy and hooky, but hides some surprisingly dark lyrics. But I’ll freely admit that I don’t particularly have some sophisticated, intellectually justified reason for liking this song the most, besides just thinking it’s a real toe-tapper. While I’ve gone to great lengths to dispel the idea that Speak & Spell is nothing but cheerful pop, I’d also like to point out that simply being cheerful pop isn’t exactly a musical sin. Whether you like it or not, it’s certainly far from easy to write a great pop song that stands the test of time, the way tracks like “New Life” and “Just Can’t Get Enough” have, and simply pointing out that they’re not as morose as later Depeche Mode songs isn’t a worthwhile criticism of them. While I enjoy a lot of more gothic music myself, I think a work of art that elicits the emotion of joy has as much of a shot at being a Great Album as one that wants to make us angry, sad, or afraid. On that note, I’ve reached the end of my video--as always, thanks for listening.

Music: “New Life”

[coliverxxx]

#PleaseTreatChenleFairly

Summary: Exactly how it sounds like from the title.

Pairings: Chenle x Everyone, Chenle x Reader, Everyone x Reader

Angst: Angst, Comfort

Words: 4,209

Warnings: None, hopefully

A/N: A couple of days ago, this hashtag trended on Twitter and this was pretty much how I reacted to it and also how I wanted to react to it if I had the chance. I know I said Chenle x Reader but when I wrote this, I kind of wrote it like the Reader represents the NCTzens. Of course, we can’t all be that person but I’d like to think this is what everyone will do if they can had it happen to Chenle under their watch. Because Chenle doesn’t deserve to be treated differently and unfairly from the rest of the members. He works hard to bring us quality music and performance like the rest of them. He’s not even my bias and yet I feel so bad how they treated him that I even wrote some four thousand words because that’s how bad I felt and I needed to let it out.

Please Treat Chenle Fairly

Because of the nature of your work, you have worked for contracts and extended contracts with several entertainment companies and through luck or lack of it thereof (it was luck, you wouldn't really fool yourself) you met, worked with a lot of times, and became close with the kids of NCT. It hasn't always happened with everyone you worked with but they have managed to piqued your interest through their obvious talent, extraordinary bond, and boisterous laughter (especially when together) that unconsciously or not, you would join in. The way they laugh when huddled in the same room was probably what did it for you, especially when they were laughing at one another's individual strangeness (which sort of makes them human and that's probably what paved their way to your heart).

However, you were particularly soft with the babies from their youngest average age unit, especially after Mark left and they all seemed a little lost with no one among them to call "Yo, Dream!" anymore. It has always been engraved in your being to be a little more accommodating to their needs, a little more ready to extend a helping hand whatever they may need, and a little more protective. Sometimes, the older ones — Jungwoo, because that boy could always use a little more love and he'd have the extra space in his heart to take it all, and Ten, just because he liked pestering you, most of the time — would complain about you being a little more doting, a little more giving to Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin, Chenle, and Jisung but you knew they were all just empty complaints because they probably do more and would do more than you if needed.

That's how precious the Dreamies, all of them, were to you and the boys.

Which was why you couldn't help the fire that was burning inside of you, the tightening of your chest, the heaviness of your breathing, and the overall pissed-off frustration of your mind when you logged into Twitter to check the updates from fans about the boys' 'To You #3' but instead of Jaehyun trending about asking Taeil to be with him even until they were forty or fifty, you saw another hashtag that was trending that you never thought you'd see at around one or two in the morning.

#PleaseTreatChenleFairly

At first, you honestly thought it was something simple like letting Chenle be the ending fairy of their live performances or something. Of course, as much as you didn't want to lose anymore sleep, you couldn't stop your finger from clicking the trending hashtag and seeing what it was really about and what really happened because this was Chenle. If it was a hoax, that would probably be better. But if there was something that happened that made fans all over the world to trend that hashtag, you needed to know because Chenle — or any of them — does not deserve to be treated unfairly.

With curious eyes looking for answers and overly anxious fingers, you scrolled down the top tweets. You might not understand Chinese even if your life depended on it which regrettably was the reason why you could not understand the post of Chenle's biggest fan club but you could clearly see. You could clearly see the images from their album of a group shot that Chenle was stupidly cropped from.

Your mind was racing because you worked with Super Junior back when they have thirteen members. You still worked with the group even now that they have nine active members left. You worked with Girls' Generation when they both have nine and eight members. You even worked with groups from other agencies with significantly more members. Which was why you couldn't understand no matter how hard you try to think of an explanation why they could inadvertently crop Chenle out of this own group photo in his own group album.

They were six members! Six ridiculously good-looking and talented members. Six good people who has an average age of twenty years old bringing more smiles into this world than probably who you wanted to blame for this huge fucked up mess. Six members. Six.

You stared at the photo through your phone. As much as you were understandably mad at this, when you read the tweets of the fans, you were more sad than mad. Imagine being Chenle's fan ever since he was a child, five or six. This boy was a music protege, a naturally gifted young boy with a very beautiful voice, who came from China, trained for a few months, and debuted in a foreign country he could only speak a little at that point. Imagine how heartbreaking his fans felt when they saw the boy they loved purely with all their heart cropped out in his own fucking album. You wanted to cry and you also wanted to hunt down whoever was responsible for this and rip that person's head off (okay, figuratively, you weren't a murderer, but can that person at least be transferred in another department because he/she/they clearly wasn't/weren't cut out for this).

It was impossible to retrieve every single ordered album and replace it with a right one, one which didn't have such animosity of cropping Chenle out of the group picture. You tweeted and retweeted several tweets. You wanted to do more than that but it was two in the morning and you couldn't see the kids until at least the following night. You tried watching 'To You #3' again but you couldn't concentrate on Jaehyun's words for Taeil anymore and that wasn't right. You tried rewatching Dream and 127's reaction to 'Ridin' music video but it wasn't as fun as you first watched it. Because you couldn't keep Chenle out of your mind.

Then, you saw their uploaded 'The Stage' video. Somehow, with all the content since that afternoon until evening, you either completely missed that or delayed watching it for a better time. It's not like you could watch while doing your thing at the toilet or when you were chatting with a client once the videos were uploaded. (But then again, that would still depend.) You thought it was something to tear your mind off the unexpected but probably already timely hashtag because you understand the fans, especially Chenle's fans, have kept quite for so long. But it wasn't. You didn't even need to see it from the tweets (but you saw later when you checked again to torture yourself) when you shouted to yourself, "Where the fuck was Chenle's message to Jisung?"

No one could tell you it was already finished after Haechan's message to Chenle. No fucking way. Because Taeil said his message to Taeyong. Because that's how it was supposed to be. The last member was going to give his message to the first member. So what, all the first members now who would give their message don't deserve their own? "Are you kidding me?" you frustratedly wanted to throw your hands in the air but you stopped yourself because you would look ridiculous even to yourself and you would not stoop down to the level of these people who were doing this to Chenle. You would not, however, not do anything though. You tweeted a bit more and might have reached the maximum daily tweet capacity because #PleaseTreatChenleFairly deserved to be trending. Because if they could not treat Chenle fairly, they might as well be called out on it. You would not keep quiet. Hell no.

You weren't sure how you fell asleep that night (or morning, depends on how you look at it) but between reading through #PleaseTreatChenleFairly, another hashtag began trending which was #재민버블 (Jaemin bubble). You would not stand another unfair treatment or another slander involving your children. Surely, the company wouldn't appreciate something burning in front of its building at three in the morning. It was ironic because you were still frustrated with Chenle's unfair treatment. Knowing yourself, it would last long, depending on how the company treats Chenle from now on. It could last years. It was during times like this when you were grateful that you work with them but you don't work for them. Perhaps the only reason why you keep working on this goddamn company was because of the boys. Seeing Jaemin's message for their fans sort of slowed down your self-destructive process of committing arson and that lulled you to sleep.

It was strange how you could be affected negatively by some people (as indirectly as it may be because this wasn't Chenle's fault, certainly not, it was the damn company and the people who worked in that album photobook, you needed that cleared up) like their pain was also your pain, that cliche, and be calmed by the exact same people, like their happiness and achievement was also your happiness and achievement. What do they call that nowadays?

The first thing you did the following morning was check #PleaseTreatChenleFairly though and you wondered if your tweet capacity had replenished by then. It was still trending when you were having your breakfast, when you were getting ready for work, and when you were leaving your place.

Your work, you were glad, with how demanding and time-consuming it was, took most of your brain energy the entire day that you barely even glanced at your phone. You were finishing up something very late when you walked past the practice rooms and heard some shuffling in one of the rooms. You didn't need to hear clearly for you to know what song was blasting through because it was safe to say you'd probably hear 'Ridin' more than a working person could. (Well, you might not be checking your phone for messages, or tweets, for this matter, but you were streaming a lot. How could you not? The boys deserved the world. You knew how much hard work they put in their music and in their dance. This was just something you needed to do.)

You peeked inside, careful not to disturb anything that might be going on, and was not surprised when you see them practicing even at eleven in the evening. They were in the middle of promotions. Surely, the logical thing to do in their free time, as little as that may be, was to rest, but they were still practicing. You wanted to scold them, you wanted to call them out and tell them to pack up and go home, but you stopped when you saw Chenle dancing with such power and intensity and suddenly, you wanted to cry. You were an adult working in one of the biggest companies in the country at the moment, watching a group of boys with an average age of twenty-years old dance at almost midnight, and you were tearing up.

Crumbling, you forced yourself not to. You ran to the nearest vending machine and bought drinks enough for maybe, the whole twenty-one of them. You were desperately trying to distract yourself. When you came back, when it seemed like they have taken a little break, you took a deep breath and opened the door, showing yourself with the drinks.

They were stunned a moment when the door opened but recovered easily when they saw your face. Unsurprisingly, Haechan and Jaemin were instantly approaching and attaching themselves on you like glue but you expertly dodged them and went to Chenle who was sitting on the floor. He seemed a little surprised at first because whenever Haechan and Jaemin would glue themselves on you, it was almost impossible for the other members to hug you until you would literally tear them away when you needed to go already. You weren't sure how to keep your emotions in check but you have been with them for quite some time already and during these times, none of you really needed to say anything.

That's why you just hugged Chenle. That's why you just did the thing you wanted so badly to do since last night.

It was expected when he seemed startled at first but easily relaxed when he realized you were the one hugging him. And then, Chenle was the one who crumbled. You thought it was a blessing for when some people don't allow themselves to crumble and in a way, make room for those who were holding out for so long to do so. These people don't always have the luxury to go down, to feel bad, or even just to feel. (The luxury, and also the time.) And by disabling yourself from that chance, you were giving it to them. Chenle didn't cry or anything like that, he didn't even sob, but he held on to you like a baby koala would, tight and not letting you go until he was almost sitting on top of you, face hidden and buried on your shoulder, arms tight around you.

They weren't blind and they weren't holding their phones just for the sake of holding them. Of course, more times, there were a lot of things to ignore in the Internet, but when some things literally have your name in it, it was hard to ignore. Even if they wouldn't talk about, or comment on them, it didn't mean they never saw it or it wasn't affecting them. Most of the time, they don't exactly have a choice.

Your arms were as tight around Chenle as his arms were around you. You weren't surprised when you looked at the other members, none of them was speaking and was only looking at you and Chenle, but everything was crystal clear in their eyes. Renjun's eyes were frighteningly mad because he wanted to take action but knew he couldn't. Jeno was frozen and speechless because he probably didn't know what to do but god knows how much that boy wanted to do something, especially for his teammate, a brother. Haechan wanted to say something to lighten up the atmosphere but he didn't want to disturb the peace he knew all of them were desperately grasping for since last night. Jaemin's eyes were soft, so soft, because he wanted to hug Chenle and give him the same affirmation and console him just as much as you were doing and was just glad you were there to do it when he wouldn't receive it from them because he didn't want to worry anyone. And Jisung... a part of you wanted to tear yourself from Chenle to hug the youngest boy because he was sobbing. He was trying to keep it as quiet as he could but even when he was furiously trying to wipe the tears, it was obvious that the thing that happened to Chenle was affecting him just as much as the older boy. Actually, when you looked at them with their heads and shoulders down, you could say the same to all of them. If you could just multiply yourself and hug each one of them.

You closed your eyes and just tried focusing on holding Chenle for now because you knew he needed it the most right now. You didn't know how long you stayed like that but you opened your eyes when Haechan said, "Chenle, don't you think that hug's long enough?" It was light and was supposed to be cheeky but you looked up at Haechan and saw the exact expression he was holding a while ago. He was still worried. Actually, they were all worried.

Carefully, you moved a little to take a peek at Chenle's face, to see if he was listening but to your surprise, his eyes were flittering, his mouth was slightly open, and when you listened closely, his breathing wasn't hitched anymore like when you first hugged him. Close enough though, it broke your heart to see stray tears in the corner of his eyes. You turned to look at Haechan and the others and mouthed, "He's sleeping."

"Oh," Jeno softly said, suddenly moving to one of the lockers inside the practice room and coming back with a retrieved blanket. He easily draped it in Chenle, and you, since you and Chenle were basically tangled together, with a thin smile. "He finally slept, huh?"

You looked from him to the other members, waiting for an explanation. You knew comebacks were frustrating and exhausting but they could always sleep in the car, or in between schedules. It wasn't ideal but they need to make use of what was given to them no matter how small of a time that may be. Sadly, that's just the way it goes for them, and other idols, sometimes.

"He hasn't slept since yesterday," Renjun said, sighing, and sinking on the floor a couple of feet away from you.

"I was telling fans to sleep last night but it was actually for him, too," Jaemin continued, sitting across you with Jeno. He looked down at his hands and muttered, "He shouldn't have seen that."

Haechan sat on your other side but much closer than Renjun's distance. "But you can't blame the fans. They've had enough," he said to no one in particular but it was Jeno who sighed loudly, a little exasperatedly. "Someone please make Jisung stop crying," he added, scowling a little for effect but they all knew they were as affected as what was happening as their youngest. They just couldn't cry all at once for Chenle because what would you even do then?

"He always... worked so hard," Jisung croaked out in between his silent sobs, covering his entire face so no sound would come out. He didn't want to wake up Chenle but he couldn't stop the tears he was holding. He wouldn't say anything, he wouldn't tell them it was hurting, he would smile at them as if everything was fine because he didn't want them to worry and add to the stress they have because of their comeback, but they knew better. And yet, they couldn't do anything, and perhaps it was the reason why Jisung couldn't stop himself from crying.

They all looked pretty miserable and you wanted to tell them they all worked so hard, all of them, each one of them, but Chenle was still sleeping on your shoulder and you wouldn't want to wake him up, not after what you heard from the others.

Suddenly, Renjun was standing up and getting more blankets from the lockers. Alarmed, you looked at him as he was approaching back at your little party and mouthed, "What are you doing? You're not sleeping here."

"But Chenle's already sleeping though," Renjun answered in a quiet voice.

"I just want to let him sleep for a while," you tried explaining in hushed whispers, panic immediately rising to dangerous levels for you. "But you guys can't all sleep here. You need to go home and rest properly. I can drive Chenle home later."

You stared at them because they obviously weren't listening, already building their little circle around you, with no pillow, just blankets around themselves. It was almost like a sleepover. Jeno had the nerve to look at you for a while and asked considerately, "Do you need extra blanket? Are you warm enough?"

"Guys, I'm serious," you were already speaking at this point in your normal voice, but still careful not to wake Chenle up.

They weren't listening. As far as they were concerned, they were already in their sleeping positions around you and Chenle. You couldn't let them sleep here but you were not a ninja, you couldn't multiply yourself and drag each one of their tired asses home while sleeping cradling Chenle in between your arms. You gave up when Jisung gave you one last pointed look, as if making sure Chenle was still sleeping and alright and safe and no one was going to hurt him, and pulled the blanket above his head.

You stared at the bag of drinks you bought for them, untouched and losing their coldness, wondering how you would explain to their managers tomorrow why they ended up sleeping in the practice room with you. They would probably let it slide, since it was you, but you were more worried about their sleeping comfort and getting their much needed rest than explaining to the authorities. Explaining to the managers was one thing, explaining to the other older members were another (based on previous instances when you had a sleepover with Dream because you promised them you would as soon as they got their first win and talented babies as they were got it quickly). You could already hear Johnny's exaggerated questioning and Mark's excessive worrying (because he knew, you knew he knew, and he would probably be there with the lot of you if he didn't have his own hectic schedule), but this time, you wouldn't blame them. They all have pretty good reason as you knew if Dream had a good grasp of what happened, the older members had more than good grasp. They were probably trying their best to stop Taeyong or Doyoung or Mark from calling out their own company in their own ways.

You were lulled to sleep with the thought that you might never be enough to protect all of them, but they've also got one another's backs and that's pretty good coverage already.

Four hours later, Chenle felt something wet touching his finger and mildly stirred from his sleep, blinking his eyes several times to figure out why he was literally sleeping on you in the practice room. You looked like his make-shift bed that was warm and hugging him back and briefly, he wondered why couldn't you be his bed from now on because he didn't want another sleepless night. He looked at his finger and realized the drinks you brought them lost all moisture and have made a little pool beside you. He stared at your face, slightly opened mouth, and loose arms around him, wondering how someone could sleep sitting uncomfortably like that with a legal adult as big as him weighing on top of you.

As if on cue, you suddenly tightened your arms around him again, effectively crushing him in a hug, and whispering, "Don't worry, Chenle. We love you. We will always protect you." His face was crushed again in your shoulder and he knew you were sleeping when you said that but he bit his lips to keep himself from crying because he knew even when sleeping, you meant that. Why else would you sleep in such insufferable condition if not?

Probably being lulled to sleep again, your arms loosened around him and he was able to lift himself off you since his legs were beginning to numb being in the same position for a few hours. Your back was leaning against the wall, your body facing forward, that Chenle didn't expect what he saw when he turned around and realized it wasn't just the two of you who slept inside the practice room. On his right side was Haechan, bundled like a ball, on his left side was Renjun, sleeping soundly with his body facing the wall, on his back was Jeno without a blanket, Jaemin with two blankets, and Jisung with a blanket to his face. His mouth hanged when he saw everyone in such uncomfortable sleeping states when they could have gone home anytime, they could have woken him up, they could have told him to sleep at home (which he couldn't, he tried but there was no sleep when the world seemed to be telling you weren't worth anything, maybe even sleep), but they stayed.

They stayed, Chenle realized. Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin, Jisung, and you. He couldn't stop the helpless whimper that came out of his mouth, but it wasn't helpless like he didn't mean a thing, it was helpless because he knew he meant something and that you and the people sleeping around him was proof of it and thay you guys were going to prove to him over and over again.

You blinked your eyes and saw Chenle's back, his head hanging low, and you gently pulled him back into you and softly said, "Chenle, sleep some more. I'm going to drive you guys home later so your managers won't scold you."

Chenle dipped his head on your already drool-stained top because of him and you only hugged him tighter. He didn't say anything, he didn't need to, because he was shaking and probably biting his bottom lip to stop himself from crying the tears he probably thought he didn't deserve to cry. After a while, when you were almost dozing off again, he whispered in broken syllables, "Thank you."

You brought one hand to his head, gently patting his hair, before hugging him again, making sure he was comfortable, and saying, "You deserve the world."

You weren't sure why you said that but aside from hugging him, that's what you wanted to tell him the most since yesterday. It was unfair how someone who could make millions smile by his voice and his smile was being taken away his own smile. You knew he didn't deserve that. He deserved the world.

[thefloresgarden]

Sad tales of a 20 something.-Part: That one teacher

When I was a kid I wasn’t the most outgoing, nor the most charismatic and I was such a cry baby nobody wanted to be friends with me. Sure, I had some friends in kindergarten, you know how kids are they come and go, especially when Miss Cuqui made them sit with me, which was pretty cool, at least i had some people to be around with.

Then, elementary school. First grade and I was that chubby shy girl that was overly emotional (still am) that would STILL cry about everything. So needless to say I had no friends, until Miss Faby made a call (without me knowing) to a girl’s parents, she was as shy as me, but very friendly and had some more people around her. She became my friend as a favor from her parents to my teacher, and I didn’t even know about it until years later. I wanna thanks that teacher to let me meet one of my best friends in the world and teaming up with our parents behind our backs to make us friends.

Junior high, in my last year I was finally not overweight anymore. The first P.E class of the year was finally not going to be horrible when the teacher screamed my weight in front of everyone, even when i begged him with eyes full of tears to not do it. But I guess if it wasn’t me the most embarrassed he still had to do it to others anyway.

High school, I actually had more than a couple of teacher I really liked, starting with the history teacher. Super smart, satirical and as a fellow “former nerd” she gave no shit to the so-called cool kids(ew). She was so passionate about history that even made me want to consider majoring on it for a good half minute, then i remembered i actually hated that subject when she wasn’t my teacher. And I’m pretty sure she wasn’t going to be following me around to make sure I wasn’t slacking off my whole major, also she told me not to do it because I was either going to end up as a teacher or being poor, or as she said she was, “both”.

Another teacher in h.s. Was an english teacher, very young. She started when she was 18 and when I was 17 she was 24. She got married at 19 and went to live at my hometown with her then husband. She was bright, young, funny and a really great teacher. I always looked up to her and thought of her as a friend, or at least more approachable than regular teachers. I remember around mid semester she started to be a but grumpy and students were talking bad about her, I still defended her and still thought she was cool. Then we had a school trip which she wasn’t attending to the capital. I remember we all went to mall and it had a music shop where i saw a Brandon Flowers vinyl album and since I knew she loved him i decided to got her that. Simple as that. Never thought it was a big deal, so I never understood why she almost cried when I gave it to her. She left school a couple of weeks after that, she got a divorce and wanted to get back to her hometown.

Many years later, and to be honest not thinking much about her, I got a facebook messaged that still makes me emotional just by thinking about it. It was her, she said she was hesitant of sending me a message since she thought i wasn’t going to remember her (of course i did). She told me that she wanted me to know that the day I gave her that album she felt in one of her lowest points and receiving that from a student that just thought of her in a school trip really made her decide to turn her life back. She told me she still listen to the album and makes her feel like she wasn’t so bad, she told me I was one of the biggest reasons she still woke up and went teaching everyday. I never thought I had any sort of effect in anyone, less in someone I looked up to. I guess we need to cherish people more and show them we do.

Ever since that message if I think of someone by looking at something I just get it as a random gift, hopefully they don’t find it to intense of my part, but I just want people to know they matter to someone.

That makes me want to talk about someone too important to me, you know? THAT TEACHER.

This was kind of my second year of college, my first semester in my recently switched major. I wanted to have my best semester yet, I was doing my schedule and since I was new to the major I had a very shitty orderly turn to get it done, my most wanted class with my favorite teacher (and the one that made me switch majors) was completely filled. Oh my god, i literally cried because my semester was going to suck, I had to attend to Narrative structures with the new teacher nobody knew about. 

First day of class and I was early to the class and sit in the front, then this cool-ass redhead chick wearing a whole monochromatic outfit and dr martens was sitting in the teacher desk and I was already obsessed, I mean how could I not if the teacher of my most wanted class was wearing what is to this date my favorite thing to wear. 

The class started and me and everyone else in the classroom (except maybe for that kid “brian” who was obnoxious and kinda mean) were in awe with Lore, just fresh out of Tisch under a scholarship in the screenwriting department, looking like the smarter and even more enthusiastic version of Kimmy Schimdt. Telling us about her cool life in New York and her passion for screenwriting, maybe she doesn’t know this but she really got me to do that. Create, write and direct. We got this awesome but really hard group project for the semester, making a web series, my dream project. I had thought about it all summer before classes and I was going to do it. One problem though, my idea was bizarre and if you haven’t tell yet, besides lacking in melanin, I really lack in confidence. Back was the chubby kid too scared to raise her hand to answer questions or even going to the bathroom. But within that class, I felt powerful, I really felt worth it. She made us all feel like that, she encouraged us, never making us feel small, correcting us in what we needed to be corrected, excited in participating in creating. I think is the only class in college I didn’t want to miss for anything in the world. I had her in another class too, and to say i was excited is too little. This time my passion for witting was even bigger, and my admiration for her grew too. She helped me through so many times of fears and of doubts. She unstuck me from my own head and mentoring crossed in some friendship (wishful thinking).

When I had my worst semester, my big depression semester, her class was the only one I was attending, my best safe space. I told her I was taking the semester off while crying and making her cry too. What I didn’t tell her is that she really made a way to my brain and to my heart, maybe to her I was insignificant as Brandon Flowers album was for me, just something she had to do as a teacher. But to me, she really made me a bit stronger and made me enjoy parts of me I thought were weird, like my thick accent and weird wardrobe that she said she liked. She made me believe that is worth it to try in a men’s industry, to be creative, to not be confortable and to be vulnerable in what I write. I think she is one of the main reasons i write this blog-diary, to feel is to create and she thought me that.

And one of the things I am the most happy about her, is the she is actually doing it, making her first full length film in a country where is already hard to make films and to be a woman, but she is proving wrong in both. I might be a little intense but I really admire her and wish I made a little bit of an impact in her life since she really did change a big part of mine.

Sometimes some people are really destined to change lives ad I am very grateful for all of them and hope one day I can be that for someone too.

[eternaleve]

Watching A Broken Frame music videos for the first time!

Carrying on with my Depeche Mode video rewatch project with the vids for A Broken Frame (first post is found here https://eternaleve.tumblr.com/post/624649762286780416/ive-spent-the-course-of-covid-lockdown-cycling)

I looked through my vinyl and found I did not steal my mother’s Depeche Mode singles from this album (I only stole all her Elvis Costello and Joy Division and a bunch of Japan singles which I suspect she snuck to me in hopes of making me like them) but they are all mysteriously gone. My abusive stepdad recently moved out and I have thoughts about what property he took, but this just seems petty. 

Anyway, let’s talk about A Broken Frame! Vince Clarke left the band to go and be the Paul McCartney of 80s electronic music, forming Yazoo and Erasure. Apparently he did not like success and touring and stuff, which is far because it’s a lot of pressure, so he’s out and Alan Wilder is in after responding to an ad in Melody Maker. Remember music journalism? He joined as a tour keyboardist and appears in the videos for the album, but didn’t contribute to the album.

 A Broken Frame was released eleven months after Speak & Spell, which doesn’t seem to be enough time to me for a band to create another whole album's worth of material. It just seems that a band spends a few years perfecting their sound and a selection of songs, and then a record label says, ‘Great! Now do the same thing, but in a much shorter timeframe, under much more stress, and in snatched moments between being shuttled from gig venue to gig venue!’. I understand there’s a ~hype train~ that music acts have to follow, because bands can slip out of notice so fricking quickly, but the pressure does not seem set up to maintain the mental and emotional well-being of people. I’m sure nothing like that will happen in the history of this bad though!

This album cover is considered one of the world’s greatest photographs for a reason. It’s stark and beautiful and has echoes of socialist realism and is just a really striking image. I don’t know who has final say over art direction in the band but whoever does has a great eye for images. The picture is taken over by Duxford and as I’m from the Midlands I have been to Duxford on a hundred school trips (it has a big air centre with WW2 planes and things and bits of the Berlin Wall), so I’ve probably been past this field an uncountable number of times without even realising it.

See You (Jan 1982, No 6 UK charts)

I like how it looks like fuzzy felt. It feels very, very different from the singles art from the last album, I guess to indicate a clear difference in direction? Maybe? This is the first single for the band written by Martin Gore and starting his reign as songwriter.

All the music videos for this album were directed by Julien Temple and are Not Liked by the band. I generally quite like Julien Temple’s work and watched a lot of it as a teen (stepdad being hugely into the Pistols), so I am intrigued to say the least how these will turn out to be.

This does give me a bit of a nostalgia kick for an old-fashioned style train station. It’s pretty much what my home station used to look like before everything was privatised, bought out by Virgin, turned bright red and full of commuters. I like how the station sparks to the beat of the music and that someone okayed an actual spending budget for this time around.

YOU HAVE TO LEAVE THE STATION THE PHOTOBOOTH IS HAUNTED

Not going to lie, this looks 100% like my Dad’s first ever passport photo. I like the addition of the bowtie. It adds a real ‘First Communion’ vibe to the whole look. The nose stud… well, I had a nose stud at the exact same period of my life. Same age too, I think, only mine stayed around a lot longer when it definitely should not have done.

It was at that moment he knew he had made a grave mistake in confronting the ‘Telephone Box Killer’ on his own.

Insert a standard ‘Original Selfie’ joke here. The use of the photobooth gives a cute little through line in the video, as well as giving other band members a chance to be present. I remember using photobooths to take fun photos, before they started costing so much goddamned money and put them only in the most inconvenient places. I still have a bunch that I keep in my purse.

… And now everyone’s working an office job? To show the passage of time? Or because it’s now a bit with music, so we’re showing the use of keyboards through office equipment that sort of requires you to make similar hand movements?

Something, something, statement about technology? The photobooth theme was fine! It was cute! It said something about the regret and passage of time from teen to young adult romance! Why are there now a lot of calculators?

Just in case you forgot - the single’s out now. Wink, wink.

But let’s go back and check in with our corporate overlords. Bob, how are you doing on the spyware floor?

… is this Julien Temple? Is it a music video within a music video? Did he put himself in the video? Could this part not have been done by a member of the band? Like, y’know, that new one who was clearly added in partly through this video?

I like the main core storyline of the video - thinking about a past relationship and then happening to run into them again unexpectedly - but I can see why this is perhaps not well thought of. Next one!

The Meaning of Love (April 82, No 12 UK charts)

This reminds me a lot of the cover for the first Adrian Mole book which was published the same year. It does not match the first single at all or the album, but I guess the album art was yet to be done? Or maybe two different departments handled them, because I would have gone with a different single cover if I knew that one of the greatest photographs of all time was in the wings for the album.

Reader, my heart dropped. I knew we were in for some deeply 80s bullshit. And, like, not good 80s bullshit.

This is the lounge act in the cruiseship of my nightmares

Martin Gore there looking like 99% of the lesbians on the DIY punk scene.

What the fuck is going on?

What, and I must reiterate, the fuck is going on? Are those pies? Pie eyes? Pie eye glasses? What does it mean?

Now’s not the time for your science homework, it’s time to film a music video.

Great, I know what image will be repeating in my night terrors tonight. Martin Gore’s face earnestly singing at me from the depths of a paramecium.

THIS JUST GETS WORSE AND WORSE. THERE IS NO SITUATION ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET MADE BETTER WITH PUPPETS.

No, my night paralysis nightmare will be Dave Gahan’s face turning into a fucking pie over and over and over again.

Oh, I see, the Meaning of Love is that your wife will turn into a bitter harpy that won’t let you live your dream and also your life is ruined because she keeps letting the puppets sleep in the bed.

I guess the video has a sort of XTC vibe? It does remind me of the video of ‘Making Plans for Nigel’, which I do like, but also this video is fucking awful should be seen to be believed. I liked the band’s awkward choreography which was four men showing how much they did not want to be doing any of this.

Leave In Silence (August 82, No 18)

The font is nice. That’s about all there is to say for this. It doesn’t match the other two singles. I’m not saying everything has to be matchy-matchy, but it is nice to have visual similarity and consistency. This looks like the record label gave up on trying.

Okay, so we’ve got the album art sorted and starting out with a - I guess you could call it ‘low rural farming vocalisation’, and neither of these two things match the other singles or music videos, which have had a very poppy, teen girl, Smash Hits vibe. 

This week on The Generation Game, you could win a stainless steel bowl, a cuddly toy, and the lead singer of Depeche Mode!

This video started with a group of people vocalising while pouring out grain and looking very plaguecore, now we’re all playing around on a conveyor belt because I think Julien Temple has run out of ideas and is being artsy and surreal and weird to cover that up.

Ladies and gentleman, I’m sad to say that ‘The Fanciest Little Cowboy’ competition will not be running this year due to a lack of other contestants. This is a very fancy Little Cowboy though.

…. I…. what? 

I have seen many bad, bad, bad cursed images in my time, but this is going straight up to the top. What the fuck does this say about the song? The band? The image the record label is trying to project? This pointless weird imagery for the sake of being pointless and weird.

It’s okay, Jess. Bright Red Martin Gore can’t really hurt you. Only haunt you.

And now spacehoppers. Because of course spacehoppers!

The players from Pathologic show up to make a cameo appearance, matching nothing in the video, and seeming wildly out of place with everything else. Pick a theme or story, Julien! It is EITHER the Generation Game OR a terrifying children’s show OR guttural Soviet inspired plaguecore. You can pick one! Not all of them!

The Blue Man Group really had a rough start. The wheat is… just there. Because I guess Julien Temple couldn’t think of how to organically weave it an advertisement for the album. So there’s just a bundle of wheat for no good reason.

By this point, same, mate. That is the only reaction I am having.

These videos were… not great. I think ‘See You’ is the best and most cohesive - it tells a cute little story that ties in with the themes of the song and provides an emotional resonance. And then things just go off the bloody chain a bit. They get weird and experimental in a way that does not work in selling the band or the song. They seem pretty disconnected from what a music video should be and Julien Temple seemed to just run out of ideas by ‘Leave In Silence’. C- Mr Temple, must try harder.

And then onto Construction Time Again! ... well, when I get round to it. In a few days maybe.

[lokilickedme]

Because of "The Department", I am starting to become interested in Hozier. Are there any songs you would recommend for new listeners? Does he have anything romantic and sad?

Ohhhh my goodness.  Does he have anything romantic and sad…DOES HE HAVE ANYTHING ROMANTIC AND SAD?!  (sorry, I’m hyperventilating with excitement here)

Sit down honeypants, have I got a playlist for your listening pleasure.

First, you’re fortunate that he’s only got two officially released albums, two EPs, and a handful of covers and film tracks - because frankly the world couldn’t handle much more than what he’s given us so far.  We need time, we need to acclimate, we need to be strong enough to take it.  And for what he has given us thus far, we are thankful.  *amen*

I don’t even know where to start categorizing his songs individually, but since you specifically asked for “romantic” and “sad”, I’ll begin there:

ROMANTIC AND/OR SAD HOZIER SONGS TO PINE AND/OR YEARN TO:

Work Song - Gotta start here, for reasons.  This song is what I would call the epitome of romance.  It’s a nod to the field hymnals of the deep south, with the religious solemnity replaced by a mournful sort of romantic adoration for a lover who somehow saved him from a past he had all but lost himself to.  Sweet and gentle and worshipful, it fairly reeks of bad man redeemed by the love of a good woman.  He thanks the higher powers every day for the gift of his lover, whether the gods are listening or not, whether he is worthy of their attention or not - he no longer cares about that, because if there’s no eternal heaven for him, this moment on earth with his love is more than enough.  You are his deity now, his redeemer, his savior…and he’s at peace with his past because he knows you love him as much as he loves you.  Beautiful and hopeful, and almost painfully romantic.

Like Real People Do - Gah, I don’t even know where to start with this one.  It was inspired by Seamus Heaney’s series of poetic odes to the bog bodies discovered in the wilds of Ireland, which in itself doesn’t seem like a very ripe field to plow for romantic sentiment.  However, let me direct you to the following verse:

I will not ask you where you came fromI will not ask, and neither should youHoney just put your sweet lips on my lipsWe should just kiss like real people do

Yeah, we’re done here.  Basically it’s a vague fairy tale whose implications you’re free to ascertain for yourself.  Is it grave robbing?  Murder?  Some dark fae magic resurrecting an ancient being for some dark purpose he can’t recall? A lonely woman enlisting a disreputable spell to conjure a lover for herself from the long-dead bones of a forgotten victim?  Or was he simply buried by his grief/pain/sadness and “dug up” by the love and care of a stranger?  Whatever it is, it’s lovely.

To Be Alone -  Howling and intense, feral and wild, this is a tune to fuck to.  Romantically, of course.  The Celtic drums, the yowling chorus, the stomping that brings to mind a tribal Druid ceremony, untamed and darkly sexual in all its heathen glory…

Honey, when you kill the lightsAnd kiss my eyesI feel like a person for a moment of my life

Need I say more?  How about this:

To feel your weight in arms I’d never useIt’s the god that heroin prays to

Powerful, right?  And any song that has Feels good, god it feels good as a repetitive chorus can’t be anything but babymaking tunes.  Trust me.

Better Love - This is a film soundtrack song that appears on the ending credits of The Legend Of Tarzan.  Lush and frantically heartfelt and literally gushing with a profound romance that rises and rises until it hits a crescendo that you just gotta listen to on headphones with your eyes closed.  It’s a religious experience, the kind that’s easy to imagine yourself screaming OH GOD!! in the middle of.  Yeah, that kind.  The rising fury of the music, the piano, the horn section, his voice, is all very reminiscent of that kind of love.  Just beautiful, urgent, and will have you imagining yourself in a Victorian dress standing on the bank of a river somewhere waiting for your love to return from some distant place.

Dinner And Diatribes - Speaking of that kind of love, here we have a song that uses those very words to describe what loverboy wants and is asking for from you, his passionate yet momentarily bored significant other.  The two of you are stuck at some hideously stale social engagement and his soul is dying slowly with each dull conversation he has to participate in; his only reprieve is in staring at you from across the room and sending you subliminal messages about what he would very much like for you to do to him as soon as he gets you out of there.  Let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised, yeah that kind of love.  Romantic?  Not strictly, no, not on the face of it.  But really, what’s more romantic than knowing your partner well enough to know that one look from you across a crowded room will have them searching for a way to excuse themselves from the party so they can go home and absolutely rail you?

Scarcely can speak for my thinkingWhat you’d do to me tonightNow that the evening is slowingNow that the end is in sightHoney, it’s easier knowingWhat you’d do to me tonight 

 And we’re not even going to discuss the pounding Celtic tribal drums that set up a rhythm through the entire song that subtly mimics a headboard banging against the wall.  Rowdy loud romance at its pulse pounding best.

In A Week - Nothing says romance like two lovers decomposing in a field together, scaring the cows and slowly turning into food for the foxes and crows.  A beautiful tune, gorgeously sung as a duet with Karen Crowley.  He claims this was meant to be very tongue-in-cheek, and god I hope he’s not lying because I worry about the boy sometimes.

Nobody - My personal favorite, this one is a road song chronicling a love through comparison.  He tells his sweetheart how much he misses her, not with the actual words I miss you, but through a series of either/ors:

If I had the choice between hearing either noiseThe excitement of a thousand, or the soothing of your voiceAt first chance I’d take the bed warmed by the bodyI once warmed my hands over a burnin’ MaseratiStill I’ve had no love like your love

A cute love song full of playful devotion to an absent lover.  Just perfect.

Shrike -  I should have put this higher up on the list, I know.  You’ll understand what I mean when you listen to it.  A Shrike is a murderbird, btw.  Yeah, he’s comparing his powerful desire to express his love (after having tragically/stupidly missed a prior opportunity to do so) to a Shrike (him) impaling food on a thornbush (her).  Again, it’ll make sense when you listen to it.  A beautiful, haunting, lushly lyrical song about wistful longing.

Wasteland Baby -  This song, geezus.  The world is ending, it’s here, it’s happening, and he’s watching it all come down while sitting next to you, holding your hand, waiting for it to reach the pair of you as the flames lick the sky.  Neither of you are scared, just at peace, together, waiting for the end of it all to take you.  Oddly beautiful, and his voice - god, his voice.  Wasteland baby, I’m in love, I’m in love with you.

Movement - A love song to all the things you see in your lover that are lacking in yourself.  Poetic and poignant, coming from a towering giant with a tendency to trip over his own feet, singing about his lover being graceful and feeling moved by the way she moves.

NFWMB - Yes, it means what it looks like.  Nothing Fucks With My Baby, and yes he says that word every other line.  But the way he utters it with such dreamy conviction is just…ugh, it’s a horny song okay?  Just unabashedly horny.  And romantic, because he’s not making a bar room threat as in NOTHING fucks with my baby!!, he’s issuing a laid back warning that if you DO fuck with his baby, she will straight up fuck you up and he will sit back and watch, shaking his head in an I told you so sort of sympathy.  His baby is so terrifying that the goddamn apocalypse willingly averted itself when it saw she was in the vicinity.  An ode to a strong lover that he respects with every fiber of his being and by god you should too.

From Eden - Basically a love song from the devil’s point of view.  I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door.  That’s romantic, folks.

Moment’s Silence (Common Tongue) - My second favorite song in, like, the entire history of music.  Remember when I said NFWMB was unabashedly horny?  Well, this is a song about oral sex.  No qualms, no masking in flowery terms, and a whole lot of borderline blasphemous comparisons to religious verbiage to boot.  And it’s one hell of a banger, with Hoz howling like his baby just put her mouth on him (which is the chorus, more or less).  A no-apologies hard driving ballad devoted to fellatio, which I find oddly romantic in the simple fact that he speaks of it as a holy act of devotion.  He worships his lover, who is, ironically, the one on her knees in the holy posture of prayer in front of him.  And god does he love her for it.

Jackie And Wilson - This one is tricky, because it’s a rousing catchy tune flowing around a set of words that, once you listen carefully to them, become a whole lot of not what I thought.  He speaks of love, and of being saved, and of the attentive care that his lover gives him.  Only later do we hear the truth behind those words - that the love was obsessive and immature, that the savior casually abandoned him without even saying goodbye, that her care was no more than an amused tolerance to his childish adoration.  She knew all along that she wasn’t in it for the long haul, while he was making plans for forever.  But all hope isn’t lost - he’s not irreparably damaged, he isn’t ruined for life.  He simply goes and digs up the version of himself that he buried at the beginning, and starts again.  A little more experienced, a bit more jaded, but ready to do it all over again because maybe it’ll be right next time.  A hopefully romantic little cautionary tale that somehow doesn’t lose its playfulness, even as he’s putting out his cigarette and noticing that she’s gone.

Do I Wanna Know - this is a cover/retool of the song of the same name by Arctic Monkeys, and it is sublime in its sad yearning.  While the original is a driving, dark, sexy ode to obsessive love, Hozier’s version is a gentle, tender, hauntingly heart-tugging song about longing and uncertainty.  It’s a slow game of she loves me, she loves me not being played by a lover who is unsure if it’s worth the bother to try to fall in love with someone else if the current object of his laconic affections is no longer interested in him, or if he should just keep trying to win her back and keep the status quo as is.  And his voice…god, the way he caresses words is like he’s making love to your ears without the messy cleanup afterward.

There are more - but I’m going to draw the line here and say ENOUGH FOR NOW, YOU’RE NEW, YOU’RE NOT PREPARED FOR THE REST.  I mean…Angel of Small Death?  Sedated?  Arsonist’s Lullaby?  The hardcore underlying symbolism of his flagship ballad Take Me To Church?  It Will Come Back, for god’s sake??  No, not yet.  Go, dip your toe into the waters, and then come back when you’re ready for more…because everything this man has ever done is brilliant and beautiful and profound, and oh boy do I look forward to ruining another innocent with it all :)

[welllpthisishappening]

All the Subliminal Things (2/3)

Emma Swan does not believe in soulmates.

Or so she says. Because if her soulmate did, actually, exist, he should have shown up by now. So, she must be a fluke, a broken cog in a system that really doesn’t make much sense anyway. It is, she figures, why she agrees to meet David’s friend before Regina and Robin’s wedding. This guy doesn’t believe in soulmates either.

She’s intrigued.

Until she hears him talk. And everything flips after that.

------

Rating: Teen Word Count: Still around 5K’ish AN: This is really just five-thousand words of flirting and emotional backstories. And then more flirting. Kevin Jonas got married at the same castle Regina and Robin are going to have their wedding. So, I’m really sticking with the theme here. As always, I am floored and a little stunned by any response to anything I write, but this has just been delightful and you are all very nice. Thank for clicking and reading and sending very nice comments. I hope you guys enjoy this part too. And make sure to tell @resident-of-storybrooke​ how fantastic her cover art is. It’s fantastic. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam. 

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“Ok, favorite movie?” “No one is going to ask you that.” Killian shrugs. They’re in a different coffee shop, some unspoken agreement that they’ll only meet in public places, and his legs are stretched out impossibly far, arms crossed lightly over his chest with a shirt on that is making it very difficult for Emma to concentrate.

Honestly, it may be that stupid piece of hair behind his ear.

“You don’t know that,” he argues. “And, strictly speaking, my interest in being fake soulmates with you has no bearing on my interest in knowing what your favorite movie is.” Emma’s pretty proud of her distinct lack of reaction. She doesn’t gasp. She doesn’t groan. She makes no noise whatsoever at fake soulmates despite the certainty that the words actually cut their way through her.

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” He shrugs again. It makes his shirt shift slightly, a patch of skin just above another pair of ridiculously tight pants and maybe he’s actively trying to drive her insane. Maybe the world just hates her. That seems more likely.

“It’s certainly how it was intended,” Killian says, taking a drink of another fancy coffee order. He got a latte this time. “And you’re avoiding the question, love.”

Emma reacts at that. That’s disappointing.

She can feel her eyes bug, tongue darting between her lips because, at some point, she’d started breathing through her mouth and the flush that creeps up Killian’s cheeks is as nice as it is unexpected.

“Swan,” he mutters, like he’s correcting himself or reminding himself. Of something. Emma has no idea of what. “The movie. Favorites only.” “Ok, but that makes it seem like I have more than one favorite movie. That doesn’t make any sense. By definition.” “Do you think you were an English teacher in another life?”

“Was that a Bye Bye Birdie reference?” “Absolutely not. And Dick Van Dyke was supposed to be the English teacher. Are you Dick Van Dyke in this scenario?” “He did have an overbearing mother.” “Are you suggesting Mary Margaret is is your overbearing mother?” Killian asks, a smile tugging at the end of his lips. Emma needs to stop staring at his lips.

“Nah, it’s definitely David. The whole thing is gender swapped you see.” “Ah, of course, of course. Ok, so no more Bye Bye Birdie references.” “Why were you aware that was something I could have been making?” “Swan, this is still not answering the question.” She widens her eyes on purpose that time and they’ve been doing this for nearly two weeks now – coffee...meetings that very clearly aren’t dates because they very clearly aren’t soulmates, but it’s nice and good and comfortable and a few more adjectives that are several thousand times more emotional than that.

Emma’s fairly sure she’s at, like, twenty-six on the scale of how absolutely not fine this is.

“Killian,” she prompts when he doesn’t answer immediately, and his head snaps up like it’s on a timer. She can see the muscles in his throat move when he swallows. “Are you secretly a Broadway aficionado from the 60s?” “Only because it was forced upon me.” “Sounds violent.” “Nah, the opposite. A comforting force.” “You’re beating around something,” Emma accuses, and it’s only been a few weeks. Not even a full two. Technically, speaking. That’s barely any time. Her mind doesn’t care. It’s picked up on cues and ticks and little things, every tiny twitch and multiple moments and she’s got some secret stash of thoughts and feelings and how much she wants to know everything single thing about it him.

It terrifies her.

Because she’s absolutely setting herself up for disappointment.

“Only because it’s incredibly depressing,” Killian says. “And you’ve done a very good job of avoiding my question. But, uh…”

Another shrug, a little self deprecating and as depressing as advertised and Emma reaches forward on instinct and, maybe, magic she can’t control, resting her hand on the prosthetic at the end of his arm. They’re going to get kicked out of this coffee shop when their eyes both fall out of their respective heads.

It will probably make the news.

“My mom,” Killian whispers, eyes glancing down towards Emma’s hand and she doesn’t pull away. “Was very big on all that. Had ancient cast albums and a record player that only kind of worked and she used to play them when she cleaned the apartment.” Emma knows that tone. She’s felt it and experienced it, lived it more times than one person ever should, and it’s not something she’d ever wish on anyone.

Especially Killian.

“When?” she whispered.

He smiles. That feels like something important. An understanding. “I was ten. Very quick, very sudden, an even quicker ship off to the system.” “What?” Emma doesn’t quite bark out the word, but it’s very close and their eyes will not be able to cope with much more of this. “What do you mean, what?” Killian asks, clicking his tongue in frustration when he realizes he’s out of coffee. “That’s---I mean, my dad was an absolute dick and never around and Liam wasn’t--” “How long were you in the system?” She’s honestly impressed by how quickly he understands. It’s barely more than three seconds, a flash of his eyes that makes Emma wonder a whole slew of things she shouldn’t even be considering. They’re friends. She thinks.

She hopes.

She’s not great at that either.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk and, now, a pessimist.

“Until I was eighteen,” Killian answers. “Liam wanted to get me out before then, but that’s expensive and there have to be lawyers and have you ever heard of soulmates that aren’t romantic?” Emma nods. “Elsa and her sister.”

"Well, Liam tried to do that, but it didn't work and who is Elsa, exactly?" “She’s a public defender. We’re friends.” “You’re a cop and friends with a public defender? Isn’t that against the rules?” “Nah,” Emma objects, but that’s kind of true too and it’s not fair how easily he can read her. “David was a little scandalized at first, but he gets along with Elsa’s sister anyway and Ruby said it was ok, so…” “And Ruby is?” “Is this an interrogation? I thought that was supposed to be my schtick.”

Killian grins. It’s distracting. She’s going to bring scissors to the next coffee shop they go to. “Genuine curiosity, love.” He does it on purpose. She’s positive. That’s...something.

“Ruby is the reason I’m here,” Emma says. “She grew up in this tiny little town in Maine. Grandmother owns a diner there. And I ended up there--maybe ten years ago? They let me stay there for awhile, then Ruby left for the great, big city and somehow met Mary Margaret.” “David’s Mary Margaret?” “You know a lot of other ones?” Killian shakes his head, eyes darting every few seconds to the hand Emma’s never moved. “Anyway, Ruby heard about an opening at the police department, the need for a few of us interested in preserving justice and told me I didn’t have any choice. There was no reason not to.” “No?” “No,” Emma echoes, a finality to her voice that grates on the inside of her throat. But they’re treading close to suddenly emotional territory and admissions she doesn’t want to get into in a coffee shop, apparently, a few blocks away from Killian’s apartment. “No reason to stay in Boston when there’s so much opportunity here. That’s, like, the New York slogan, right?”

He nods so slowly it’s barely a movement, lips parted slightly like he’s trying to come up with the right word and--”When did you get out, then?” Emma isn’t going to answer. She’s not. It’s too much and not enough and trying to be friends with your soulmate is much harder than she anticipated.

“Seventeen,” she says softly. “I ran away.” “To Maine?”

“Yup.” “And Boston right after Maine?”

“You’re very curious,” she says, and it comes out like an accusation. Killian purses his lips.

“Yes, I am. Piqued, even.” “I didn’t get to Boston for a couple of years. And I wasn’t really there very long. It’s expensive there, you know?” “I do,” Killian says, and maybe she’ll be better prepared for the never-ending string of surprises eventually. “Best cannoli?” “Mike’s, don’t even joke about that.” Killian chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Anything else is blasphemy. I’m sorry you ran, Swan. It shouldn’t have been like that.” “Ah, a lot of things shouldn’t be the way they were.” “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He takes a deep breath, licking his lips and there are definitely strangers staring at them. They’re far too close to each other. “Rear Window.”

“Is that code?” “That’s my favorite movie.” “Oh my god, why?” “It’s good.” Emma blinks, scoffing slightly and laughing a bit and her smile has become something like second nature in the last few weeks. Not even two weeks. “Raiders of the Lost Ark. ” “Are you kidding me? Last Crusade is so much better.” “I didn’t critique your choice,” Emma argues, more curious stares cast her way. One of them comes from Killian. She’s poking her finger into his chest now. He is impossibly solid. “I mean, kind of, at least.” “At least,” he echoes. “Why that one, then?” “I like the rolling ball thing. I always wanted to see that show at Disney World.” It’s not the most emotional thing they’ve said all day, but it somehow feels like even more and then some and Emma is not even remotely prepared for the force of Killian’s answering smile. “Disney World, huh?”

“People go there.” “They do,” he agrees, and she’s not sure why it sounds like some kind of promise.

“You have a favorite Disney movie?” “Nope.” Emma shakes her head. “Nah, c’mon, everyone does. You just don’t want to admit it.” “That is not true at all,” Killian counters. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a Disney movie.” “Oh my God.” “When have I had time, love?” She supposes that’s fair. Everything else is absolutely not, but Emma’s only barely keeping her grip on her sanity at this point, so she doesn’t want to rock the metaphorical boat as it were. It’s started to feel...feelings.

Real feelings. Not just because she’s memorized every shift in his voice in the last two weeks. It’s been two full weeks now, of coffee on their lunch breaks and smiles when he texts her to make sure she gets home alright and the flutter of butterflies in the pit of her stomach whenever Emma sends him the same gif every morning. It’s LMFAO. From the Shots video.

She’s honestly such a catch.

“That’s fair, I guess,” she admits. “Just like...never in your life?” “Nope.” “You’re trying to be annoying.” “Nope,” he says again, but that one comes with a smirk and a quick twist of his eyebrows and the butterflies threaten to fly out of Emma’s mouth and take over the world. She likes him. Even without the soulmate thing.

It’s problematic.

And not. 

Mostly because of the soulmate thing. 

But he's kind of funny, in a stupidly thinks he's charming sort of way, and she's noticed that he scratches the back of his ear when he's nervous, and seems to have an assortment of button-up shirts with increasingly ridiculous patterns. There haven't been fireworks. It's more a...soft simmer, like falling back into something calm and easy and Emma supposes that's why it has to be wrong. 

God, she's so bitter she's surprised her tongue doesn't rot. 

“I’m being honest with you. That’s a good thing, right?” The butterflies turn to ash.

“Sure,” Emma mumbles. “What if...what if we watched a Disney movie?” “When?” “I’m actually off this weekend.”

His whole body changes, eyes brightening and spine possibly stretching and Emma’s gasp is ridiculous as soon as his lips press against her cheek. They both freeze, looking anywhere except each other. “All weekend?” Killian whispers, and Emma hopes whatever nod she makes in response is actually audible. “You or me?” “You speak in these codes and I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Do you want to come to my apartment or should I come to yours?” Oh. Oh. Oh.

“Yours,” Emma says before she can regret it, but letting him into her apartment seems like a line she can’t come back from and this is fake. They’re just friends. She’s the only one with a soulmate. “That’s---I’ve got no food anyway.” “Neither do I,” Killian laughs. “But I can get something. Or we can order things. Multiple things, even. Good stuff.” His voice picks up, excitement obvious in every letter and the weight of his smile. Emma’s pulse doesn’t know what to do with that. “I’m going to expect good stuff, then.” “That’s fair.” She shows up on Saturday afternoon with a bottle of whiskey and he must have ordered from every place in a ten-mile radius. The counter is covered with food and more alcohol than one person could ever possibly be expected to drink, his gaze more than slightly cautious when Emma freezes in the doorway.

“Too much?” “No,” she says, pleasantly surprised to find she means it. “You want to start at Snow White and work our way through?” “Deal.”

Emma falls asleep somewhere in the forgotten period of 1970s Disney animation, a skip-ahead in the timeline because she’s always hated One Hundred and One Dalmatians and The Sword in the Stone used to freak her out after that one time she saw it when she was six. She wakes up to hear Killian mumbling under his breath about how historically inaccurate Robin Hood is. He only stops when Emma points out that the protagonist in question is also a fox.

They only get off the couch to get more to drink and more egg rolls because Killian must have ordered a dozen egg rolls and Emma has no idea how he knew she’d want a dozen egg rolls. Good guess, or something.

And it’s way too late by the time she’s realizes it’s late, curled against Killian’s side with his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on her back in a familiar sort of way that should be absolutely impossible. Emma doesn’t want to move. She has to move.

This is the worst.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk and so goddamn depressed she’s positive she reeks with it.

“You don't have to go,” Killian mutters, fingers stilling.

“I should.” “Whatever you want, love. But--” She can feel him take a deep breath, chest shifting under her cheek. “You’re comfortable.” Words should not be...this. They should just be words and be finished and there should be far less angst in fake dating your soulmate. Only this whole thing has kind of felt a hell of a lot like a date and Emma’s starting to wonder if she’s just drowning.

At all times.

In the middle of Queens.

“Ok.” Killian’s fingers start moving again. “Ok.”

“So,” Mary Margaret says pointedly, a few weeks out of the wedding and Emma’s finally buying a dress. It’s because she’s been dreading this conversation. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Killian recently.”

Emma doesn’t groan. It’s the most mature thing she’s done since she first started hanging out with Killian. She still hates that string of words.

“Yup.” “And?” “And what?” Mary Margaret makes a noise in the back of her throat. “Nothing. I'm just observing.” “Are you just?” Emma laughs, glancing in the mirror and this dress looks pretty good. Everything's felt pretty good in the last three weeks. Like the world has settled on a new axis that’s more efficient with a better rotation angle.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Mary Margaret promises. “Just..a thought. About how happy you are. You should get that dress.” “Yeah?” Emma doesn’t mean her question to be two-fold. That’s how it comes out anyway. Mary Margaret totally knows that. She can’t keep a secret, but she might be omniscient. “Yes,” she says with a smile. “It’s just...it’s good that he has someone to talk to who isn’t David or Locksley or the bar.” “The bar is talking to him?” “Emma.” “I’m serious. Where are you going with this?” Mary Margaret sighs softly, like she’s at war with herself over what to say next. “I’m just saying it’s good. After everything that happened in Boston and--” “--When was he in Boston?” “That’s where he was before he got here,” Mary Margaret says slowly, clearly surprised Emma doesn’t know that. That’s fair. It’s probably the first thing a friend should ask. “He’d been there for a few years.” “With Milah?” “He told you about Milah?” Emma nods, the unspoken lie heavy on her tongue. “Yup.” “Well, it’s not my story. But, like I said, I’m just glad you’re happy. Both of you.”

You can’t keep sending me the same text message every morning, Swan. Eventually you’re going to have to get more creative.

I’m not creative. This is as good as it’s going to get, buddy.

It’s good.

Yeah? Yeah. Be safe later, ok?

I’m not doing anything. Just following up on that lead with David.

Safe, Swan. Please.

Ok. I’ll call you when my shift’s over.

Good.  

 “You need to go further up on the right.” Killian groans, but does as Emma instructs, moving the sign and glancing over his shoulder expectantly. Emma grins. “That’s good,” she nods.

“Good because I think I dislocated both my shoulders doing that.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re the most dramatic man in the world.”

“Not even the Tri-State area.” He flashes her a smile, shaking the hair away from his eyes and he asked her to come see the bar that afternoon. His shirt is sticking to his arms.

Emma really wants to kiss him. She texts Ruby that later.

The audio file Ruby sends back is fourteen straight seconds of her very loud laughter.

“Why don’t you believe in soulmates?” Emma startles at the question, curled into the corner of Killian’s couch with her head propped up on the arm and another Disney movie playing in the background. It’s a thing. Apparently.

“Well, that’s a question,” Emma mumbles, Killian’s expression turning almost regretful. “Why do you ask?” He shrugs. It looks like a lie. It feels like a lie. “Just wondering.” “Yuh huh. Well...Mary Margaret can’t actually keep a secret so...do you know about Neal?” “Should I?” “I’m surprised you don’t,” Emma says, nerves churning until she’s certain they’re burning the back of her throat. Emotional acid reflux. “Neal was...a guy. A guy I met in Boston. And it was good for awhile. Comfortable and normal and I thought--well, a lot of things I shouldn’t have.” “No?” “No.” “And what happened?” “I’m here, aren’t I?” Killian hums. “If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to Swan.” Emma considers that – rehashing past pains and almost theres and she’d really thought Neal had been it. She’s not sure if it’s worse now that he isn’t. Mostly because it is sitting across from her with wide eyes that are obviously interested and too blue to be fair and she takes a deep breath before she actually decides.

“I thought Neal was a good guy,” Emma explains. “He was nice and charming and not always on the up and up, but I was doing bail bonds, not actual police work and I didn’t really care as long as I got the paycheck. Anyway, I knew he was into some shady stuff, but I liked him. He liked me. We were good. Until we were very not good.” Killian’s expression darkens slightly, concern almost palpable. “How not good is not good?” “Almost jail not good.” “What?” he balks, and that’s an emotion Emma is not entirely prepared for. The muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, eyes narrowing until they’re not much more than slits and his chest heaves when she rests her hand there.

“Take, like, eight-hundred steps back. I obviously didn’t go to jail. But it was--well, it was close. He was fencing this stuff, watches or something and I showed up before I was supposed to. There was a raid and lots of stun guns and have you ever been tased?” “Someone tased you?” “It’s not something I’d suggest experiencing.” “Fucking hell, Swan,” Killian breathes, fingers wrapping around her wrist. “That’s insane.” “Yeah, turned out he was not that great of a dude. He got off from any major time. Community service and a fine, because he’s dad’s super rich and the justice system is a joke, so…” “His dad is super rich and he was still fencing shit?” Emma nods. “He said it was kind of a thrill. You know, sticking it to the man or whatever.” “What an ass.” “Yeah, in retrospect. But, uh...I was kind of mad about everything still. The whole childhood thing leaves just this gaping hole of bitterness and one family in Ohio said I was, wait for it, too testy to be adopted.” “Testy?” “That’s what they said. On the official report.” Killian clicks his tongue, anger turning to disbelief almost visibly. “That’s not true, Swan.” “No?” “No,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. Her heart grows, the feel of it pressing between each one of  her ribs and several different internal organs until she’s almost concerned for the state of her spleen.

She probably doesn’t need her spleen.

She’d probably give up her spleen if he kept looking at her like that.

“You are…” Killian adds, “the opposite of that. Determined and a little stubborn, with some very strong opinions on Chinese food--” “--Those egg rolls we got the other day were garbage and you know it!” “So you mentioned, Swan. The point I’m making is that even if you hoped this asshole might have been something more than what he was, he still would have been the world’s biggest dick for ever thinking you deserved to get lied to.”

Her spleen hurts. It’s ridiculous.

“Thanks,” she whispers, not nearly enough. She can’t come up with another word. Killian smiles. “That’s not something you have to thank me for, love. Ever.”

She can feel the heat in her cheeks, heart hammering against her chest. And she hasn't, actually, come out and answered his question. "So, um," Emma mumbles, "that's it, I guess. I just--I thought, Neal was something or could have been someone and I really did love him and--" She shrugs. It's depressing. Killian's eyes are still impossibly narrow. "Well, it wasn't the moment, I guess."

"Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Had a moment?"

"God, I hate that. It's such a dumb name."

"Yeah, it is," Killian agrees, clearly noticing the bitterness in her voice and Emma can almost see him staging his retreat. "I'm sorry. That's, I shouldn't have--"

"--I thought it was Neal," Emma cuts in. The words are sharper than she intends them to be, but they also feel like they're doing permanent damage to her lips and Killian worries enough while she's at work. She can't imagine what he'll do if she starts bleeding from metaphorical knives on his couch. 

"He wasn't."

She freezes. 

Every single one of her muscles tenses. 

It is equally the single worst and best thing she's ever experienced in her life. 

And Killian's mouth is hanging open, eyes staring straight at her with an intensity that does something else to Emma's muscles and several different biological systems and it's entirely possible her spleen has just fallen on the floor at this point. She kind of feels like she's crumbling apart anyway. 

"He wasn't," Killian repeats, softer, but just as determined, a certainty in every single letter than Emma can't wrap her mind around. Yet. She assume she'll think about it on loop for, at least, the next forty-eight hours, though. "He...he couldn't have been. The whole soulmate thing is a mess, Swan. It's--" Another shrug. She's counting now. It's absurd. "Everyone's got a different way of knowing and they all want it, but it's...it should be more than that, don't you think?"

"Sure?"

"Swan."

"I'm just not sure where you're going with this."

"It's not forced love, but it's--well, it's supposed to be easier, right? And there's nothing wrong with people who don't have soulmates."

"You're genuinely not making any sense."

Killian scowls, leaning forward and Emma isn't sure if he means to do that. "I know, I know, I just..."

“Why do you order such ridiculous coffee every time we go out?” He chuckles, a quick press of what may actually be his lips to the bridge of her nose. “That same bitterness as you, I suppose. And a distinct lack of money or anything except, sometimes, the clothes on my back. I can do it now, so I’m going to get extra foam. Why don’t you get better coffee?” “That’s just a very pointed judgment regarding my coffee order.” “And not an answer.”

Emma sighs. He’s right. And very good at understanding. “I don’t want to overstep,” she mumbles. “Get more than I deserve.” “That’s not how it works, Swan.” “Tell that to my brain.” He leans forward slowly and for one crazy second she thinks he’s actually going to kiss her. She wants him to, desperately if she’s being honest, but that’s him and not her and the lying is getting harder. “That’s not how it works, Swan,” Killian repeats, pressing the words to the crown of her head.

She feels her smile spread across her face slowly, settling there. For posterity or something. “That was ridiculous.” “You believe me?” “A work in progress.” He definitely kisses her hair. “Good.”

The bar opens. A week before the wedding, which Emma thinks is absolutely insane, but Killian just flashes her a smile and it makes a little more sense after that.

He’s standing behind the counter, a towel draped over his shoulder and there are several pieces of hair she’d like to do something about. Brush away. Slowly. Possibly romantically.

She feels a little drunk already.

“What’s your poison, love?” Emma’s laugh is far too loud. It soars out of her, makes her body shake and forces the edge of the counter into her stomach. She’s leaning over the counter. “You can’t use that when you have actual customers, you know,” she says. “They’ll walk out.” “That’s a legitimate question.” “No, it’s not. That’s a bad pun used in, like, movies from the 70s.” “Ah, we haven’t really focused on movies from the 70s, yet, have we?” Emma stops laughing. Her lips feel very dry. “No,” she mutters. “Not yet.”

“And, strictly speaking, it was really more of a rhetorical question, than anything.” Killian grins again, crouching to grab a glass and his eyebrows do something absurd when he flips it. And catches it. “Also, are you suggesting you’re not an actual customer, Swan?”

She hopes her lips don’t actually crack right there.

That would be gross.

Super gross.

Not appropriate for a bar opening with all their friends around gross.

Emma shakes her head slowly, tongue flashing between her lips and he’s still smiling at her. She’s having a difficult time breathing. Which is also impressive since her mouth is hanging open. “I’m just, you know--” “Right,” Killian says, nudging a glass of whiskey towards her hands. It’s filled to the brim. “You are my favorite customer. Bar none.” “Was that also a joke?” “Not intentionally.” “Impressive, then.” He hums, another twist of eyebrows. “Right? You want to watch me throw glassware again?” “Do not throw glasses,” Robin calls from the other side of the bar. Emma laughs again. And Killian’s smile softens, eyes falling back to Emma when his hand tugs on the hair behind his ear.

“I’m going to throw more glasses.” “Oh, I know you are,” Emma says, and it sounds like a promise.

He only breaks one, a fact he’s quick to point out, hours later, tucked into the corner with his arm around Emma and her head on his shoulder.

She doesn’t notice anyone else staring at them.

 “You kiss him yet?” Ruby asks, perched on the edge of Emma’s desk the day before they’re supposed to leave for the rehearsal dinner. “Get off there.” “Yes or no?” “No.” “You want to?” “Obviously.” Ruby chuckles, but it’s almost sympathetic. “Yeah, I figured. He’s probably going to die when he sees your dress.”

“How many shoes are you bringing?” Killian calls from the other side of the apartment and Emma’s not sure when she just started coming there consistently, but it must have been after the Disney thing and he really liked Tangled. She can’t even make fun of that.

She really likes Tangled.

“Uh…three?” “Three?” “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

He leans around the bedroom door, skepticism painted on every single inch of his face. “Three? Should I be bringing three pairs of shoes?”

Emma waves her hands through the air, and she’s going to have to leave soon. She’s got to get up to drive out to some castle on Long Island and of course Regina is getting married on a castle on Long Island. There’s going to be so much weekender traffic heading East.

And she’s not entirely sure why she’s being asked these kinds of questions, but everything has been so easy and hanging out isn’t that, so much as it’s just existing in each other’s spaces.

Like they’re supposed to.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk, so goddamn depressed she’s positive she reeks with it and an incredible over-packer.

Three pairs of shoes is entirely unnecessary.

“Your heels, sneakers and flats?” Killian lists, still twisted and the door frame must be pressing into his liver.

“Nah, two pairs of flats.” “That was my second guess.” “Sure it was. What time are you going to leave tomorrow?” Emma asks. She jumps off the couch, swinging open the refrigerator door in a familiar way and he’s started buy vanilla coke zero. He never drinks it.

Emma averages two cans a day.

“Killian?” she continues, flinching when she feels a hand curling around her shoulder. “God, don’t sneak up on me like that. I definitely could have punched you in the face.”

He laughs, the feel of it brushing against the side of her neck and that one very specific spot behind her ear and Emma knows there are goosebumps on her skin. She bites her lower lip. “I really doubt that, love. Think of all the damage you could inflict.” “Far too confident in your own good looks.” “Undoubtedly.”

She doesn't giggle. She will tell herself that for several hours later that night, she’s sure. She does, at least smile, head falling back without her explicit permission. Killian doesn’t flinch. “What time?’ she asks again. “There’s going to be so much traffic on the Expressway.” “We’ll take the Northern State.” “Oh, that’s even--wait, did you say we?” He spins her, quick enough that her socks squeak on the linoleum floor. The tips of his ears have gone red. “A thought,” Killian murmurs. “More efficient. Something about our carbon footprints. And I just--I thought maybe we could talk.” “You don’t want to talk now?” “How much whiskey have you had?” “Not a ton,” Emma sputters, but Killian is impossibly good at reading her and she’s honestly the world’s worst liar. “How much rum have you had?” “Enough.”

She narrows her eyes, suspicion fluttering at the base of her skull. "What are you thinking?"

"How do you know I'm thinking anything?"

"You're doing that thing with your face." And for how narrow her eyes were, or, maybe, still are, Killian's widen to a near-comical size, taking up half his face and Emma grits her teeth. Hard. It makes her jaw ache. "I just..." she stammers, waving her hands in the air. That is not making it less awkward. "Well, you have a face."

"I think you may be drunk."

"You wan to talk about secret things!"

Killian sighs out a sound that isn't quite a laugh, but may just be the audible version of very real nerves and Emma continues to ignore the fluttering. It's not quite suspicion anymore, so much as it's...fear. That's absurd. She's got nothing to be scared of. This is fine. It's fine. They're going to drive to a castle and fake everything and lie to several people if they ask and she assumes Cora only stocks her open bars with top shelf liquor. 

So, that's, like, a very real positive. 

And yet. 

She's scared and nervous and scared, again, just for good measure. That this very real, very good thing, that is also the most positive anything she can remember having in forever is about to blow up. Right in her face. 

Emma wishes he weren't actually her soulmate. 

It'd be easier that way.

"Not secret, love," Killian mutters, and she hasn't been breathing. "Important. That's--" His teeth find his lip, fingers tugging on the back of his hair. "--I think we should both be pretty sober for it." “Ok...so you want to drive out to the castle--” “--Oheka,” Killian interrupts. “That was on the invitation, love.” “Please, like you’ve done anything with the invitation except glare at it for costing too much.” “It’s Oheka. It’s very fancy. Very famous. I can pick you up tomorrow. I don’t mind driving.” Emma nods. “Or, um...well, my stuff is already in my car. I threw it in there today so I didn’t have to worry about it tomorrow. I figured I’d leave early so I’d beat the traffic.” “You brought all your stuff here?” Killian asks, and the hint of hope in his voice feels cruel and unusual. Emma’s a cop. She knows how that works. She’s torturing herself though, so that’s probably different. “Stay here then.” It’s not a question. It’s a hope and a want and she finds herself nodding again, the whiskey in her veins thrumming with the magic of everything and she needs to tell him. This is such a bad idea.

“Ok.” “Ok.” They spend no more than five minutes arguing sleeping arrangements, Emma rolling her eyes dramatically and Killian huffing and it’s pointless because she’s pretty positive they both want to sleep in the bed and, well...they do. It’s the best she’s slept in years, an easy rest that feels deeper than REM and like the start of something and everything and she moves her car into Killian’s spot after he grabs her bag out of the backseat.

[baepsaets]

suga baby ~ min yoongi

pairing: min yoongi x reader

rating: sfw (future smut)

word count: 6.4k

summary: you’re a bartender at a seedy downtown dive. after a close call, your favorite customer yoongi takes it upon himself to make sure you have everything you could ever need.

a/n: hello, i have major writer’s block with eight’s a crowd and it manifested into this beast, i’m so sorry lmao. once again, thank you everyone for your sweet messages! i don’t get a chance to post them on my blog, but i always read them and they make me smile. thanksgiving break for me starts at the end of the week, so i hope to use that free time to catch up on my writing. please enjoy!

part 01 02 03

Min Yoongi sat down at your bar sometime between eleven o’clock and eleven-thirty. It was a busier Thursday night than usual, so by the time you finally made it down to his regular seat, there was already a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

He eyed you from underneath his fringe. “You look tired.”

You snorted, already pouring him his regular drink—whiskey sour with a dash of grenadine. “I feel more tired than I look.”

“I know the feeling,” he replied, tipping his freshly-made drink toward you. “Happy end of the week.”

“It’s not the end of the week,” you told him, voice sourer than the drink in his hand, “if you work the weekend, Mr. Min.”

You tapped the bar next to his slim-fingered hand in annoyance, and his mouth quirked into a half-smile.

You had met Yoongi almost half a year ago, when he’d wandered into your shabby bar half-past midnight on a Wednesday night. The bar had been deserted, and he’d looked like a gemstone in a pile of gravel—Armani suit tailored to fit his slender frame, golden watch ticking ostentatiously on his wrist. He’d sat down at the end of the bar, furthest seat from the door, and had given you a short but dismissive look. “Can you make a good drink?”

With your lips pressed tight together, you’d nodded your head. You made a hell of a drink, which was the only reason you were a bartender. You were the first to admit that you lacked all other qualities that seemed required for the job—you weren’t particularly pretty, hated small-talk, and had a terrible case of resting bitch face. What you lacked in charisma, you made up for with a mean cosmopolitan.

“I don’t know,” you’d told him, flatly. “Can you leave a good tip?”

He’d raised an eyebrow, amused by the venom in your tone. “I’ll make you a deal—make me the best mojito I’ve ever had, and I’ll leave you the best tip you’ll ever get.”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were intrigued by his offer. What was it like, having enough money to waste bartering with the bartender? You’d turned your back to grab a glass. Sugar, mint—he looked like someone who preferred it sour, so you added extra lime as you topped the drink off with white rum. You’d slid him the drink and pretended to immerse yourself with cleaning the countertop as he’d taken his first sip, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He had shrugged, trailing his finger around the rim of his glass. You’d tried not to sigh in annoyance. Whatever, whatever. You didn’t care if some pretentious, upper-class asshole didn’t like your drink. Plenty of other people did.

Min Yoongi had left half an hour later, and under his empty glass was a crisp, one-hundred-dollar bill.

Since then, you’d been stuck with the man, who was surprisingly good company.

“Busy night,” he commented, holding his drink up to the light, observing the way the grenadine turned the dark alcohol auburn.

“You’re telling me,” you replied, absent-mindedly. You eyed the rest of the bar, checking to see if anyone was gesturing for your attention. Your gaze snagged on a group of men near the door. They were typical—loud, obnoxious. A bundle of unease started to unwind in your stomach. With your manager in the back, you were the only person working the floor. If something happened, if a fight broke out, or if one of them made a move, you’d be completely on your own.

“Has there been a problem?” Yoongi asked. You glanced back toward him and realized he’d followed your gaze, also staring at the rowdy group.

“No,” you assured him. “It’s just been busy.”

It made a tingle shoot through your chest, thinking that he cared.

You were probably something insignificant in his life, compared to whatever rich people usually cared about—the stock market, or fashion, or something. Yoongi woke up every morning wondering what his hired staff was making him for breakfast, while you wondered if you could afford an overpriced coffee to get you through your sixteen-hour workday.

Yoongi sat down his drink. “Can I ask you a quick question?”

“It’s not like I have a choice. I don’t get off until three.”

You grabbed an already clean glass and started cleaning it just to look occupied, any excuse to loiter in front of his seat. Your favoritism was blatant to people who frequented the bar, but to the outside eye, it just looked like you were making small-talk with a random customer while you worked.

“Ha, ha,” he deadpanned, amused. “Do you remember me talking about my client last week?”

You nodded your head, interest piquing. You loved it when Yoongi talked about his job.

He was some type of music tycoon and owned a production company on a side of the city too expensive for you to frequent. He told you a lot about his job, mainly because he liked to complain about it. Most people who came into the bar to complain got too personal and didn’t care about what you had to say. My wife left me. I’ll never be a good father. Yoongi came into the bar and said, Fuck Ji-sung from the sounding department and fuck our capitalistic regime, before asking for extra whiskey.

And then afterward, staring into his drink, slightly drained but more relaxed than before, Yoongi asked for your opinion. Which he seemed to value, for some reason. You had a suspicion he was in such a position of power at his job, most people only told him what he wanted to hear. That wasn’t your style. You may have been reserved, but you were honest. Maybe your opinion wasn’t the most educated one, but it was unbiased and more genuine than any other he had the opportunity to hear.

“The one who wasn’t rude until you started working on his second album?” you asked. “Makes your staff sort his candy by color?”

“Yes,” Yoongi hissed, thoroughly annoyed. “God, what a prick. Don’t get into the music industry. If I had a dollar for every goddamn time—,” and then he went on a nameless tangent, about respecting people who only made minimum wage and having common decency.

You liked seeing Yoongi like this. When you had first met him, he’d been so quiet. You could tell he was used to being quiet—not shy, just reserved. Like you. He had a tendency to word-dump, saying everything he needed to say in one breathless paragraph simply because he wasn’t used to talking very much in the first place.

“—but anyway, anyway, I just wanted to ask how you knew your advice would work.”

You stopped cleaning your glass and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You told me to give him more creative control over his next album and he started treating the staff better. Usually I do the opposite—treat my staff badly, and I fire you. But I didn’t want to lose this artist. Your advice worked. How did you know?”

You set the glass down and continued to stare, mouth slightly agape. You probably looked like an overworked fish wearing an apron. “You actually listened to my advice?”

He stared back, quizzically. “Of course. It was good advice. A little unorthodox, I’ll admit, but I needed a new approach.” His gaze sharped, turned a little darker, a little more intense. “I don’t usually reward bad behavior.”

You flushed a bit at his possible double-innuendo. Sometimes, it was like that with Yoongi. He’d say something teasingly, something that hinted at the idea of more. It was flattering, but you recognized it for what it really was—nothing serious, just harmless flirting. Everyone tried it at least once during your shift. They were drunk, and you were an easy target, especially once they were infected with liquid courage.

As if someone as handsome, rich, and successful as Yoongi would ever be interested in you.

“But I’m your bartender,” you gasped, surprised he couldn’t see the incredulousness of it. Yoongi was a millionaire. He paid people to give him advice. Highly trained people, who had some type of nonsense business degree that made them qualified to give him advice. You were a lowlife living paycheck to paycheck with a dead-end job and no foreseeable future, and he’d taken your advice over the advice of his hired staff.

And your advice had been better.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. “It’s the person on the outside that can see the bigger picture. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t value your opinion.”

Hearing him say that made your skin tingle and flush. Yoongi seemed so effortlessly smart, effortlessly cultured, effortlessly eloquent. And he valued your opinion. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed. “But I had a gut feeling you were right. How did you know?”

Still caught off-guard, you slowly grabbed another glass to clean, finding comfort in the repetitive motion. “Well, you told me he only started acting out during this album. People who feel like they don’t have control over certain aspects of their lives tend to overexert control in others. I thought that because he felt like he didn’t have proper creative control over his album, maybe his frustration was manifesting as micromanaging your staff.”

Yoongi groaned, “Why couldn’t he just tell me that? I would have given him all the control he wanted.”

You shrugged, suppressing a laugh. “He was probably scared. You’re pretty intimidating.”

“Am I?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“Are you joking?” you asked. “With your scowl? Cacti are more approachable than you.”

He considered you for a moment, mouth flattening slightly. “Do I intimidate you?”

“No,” you scoffed. “I’m not easy to intimidate.” His mouth quirked again, and he looked like he was about to say something else, until—

“Hey, lady!” a man yelled from the other end of the bar. You turned and saw it was a member of the rowdy group by the door. “Can we get some service down here, too?”

Every ounce of friendliness dropped from Yoongi’s expression as he glared at them, but you only set down your glass with a sigh. “I’ll get you a refill in a second, be right back.”

You made your way down to the other end of the bar, conscious of the way the other man leered at you. Sometimes, you really, really didn’t like your job. You were in it for the money, and not even a great customer like Yoongi could make the job seem worth it on a bad night.

“What can I get you tonight?” you asked.

“Another beer,” he said, sliding his empty bottle across the counter. It tipped over the edge of the bar and shattered at your feet before you could scramble and catch it.

“Ow, shit,” you cursed. You stepped back, broken glass crunching under your feet. A shard of glass had cut the delicate, exposed skin of your left ankle between your shoe and the rolled cuff of your jeans.

“Today, please,” the man snapped, annoyed by your lack of promptness. You grabbed him an identical beer from the shelf behind you and set it on the counter. He snatched it up before you could even open it for him.

“That’ll be $1.93,” you said, eyeing the cut on your ankle. It was just deep enough to bleed, blood dripping down to stain the white of your sock. You would have to clean up the glass later.

“Excuse me? It was only $1.12 when I paid an hour ago.”

You wanted to throw your head back and groan. You’d given him that beer an hour ago, and it was the same price then as it was now. He was just trying to barter.

If it were any other customer, you would have let it slide. But you knew people like the man in front of you—give them an inch, and they would take a mile. If you didn’t set him straight now, he’d only try to push you further in the future.

“It was $1.93,” you told him flatly. “I know that because you didn’t tip and requested your change. It was a nickel and two pennies.”

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

“I’m saying that maybe you’re not remembering correctly,” you amended. “And even if it was $1.12 then, it’s $1.93 now. Either pay or give me the beer back.”

“Fine, bitch,” he snapped. The man threw the bottle onto the counter at an angle, hitting the edge of the bar closest to you and shattering. Your front was instantly soaked through as the beer splashed everywhere. Vaguely, you heard the group of men behind him cheering.

Anger and embarrassment flooded your chest. You were keenly aware of Yoongi at the other end of the bar, probably watching the whole exchange.

You didn’t want him to see you this way. It was just another reminder of how painfully, painfully below his league you were.

“You still have to pay for that,” you snapped. “Pay up and get the hell out before I call the police.”

The man laughed. He leaned forward and shoved you hard into the back shelf, and you yelped as bottles fell on top of and around you, barely missing your head. They shattered at your feet. Your back banged painfully against the wooden edge.

The noise was loud enough to catch the attention of the whole bar, and hopefully your manager. Before you could gather yourself, the men roared in laughter again, until the man who’d shoved you was dragged roughly away from the bar, and Min Yoongi punched the asshole in the face.

“Yoongi,” you gasped. It was probably the first time you’d ever called him by his first name. He didn’t stop or pause to look at you, only steadied the asshole and punched him again, the ring on his finger cutting across his cheek.

Another man from the group stepped forward and looked ready to intervene, but luckily at that moment, your manager slammed open the door to the backroom, making everyone jump. Your manager was a big man, old and stern, and he asked in his booming voice, “What the hell is going on here?”

Yoongi stepped away and cleaned his hand, wiping bloodied knuckles on the expensive edge of his button-down. You reached forward and grabbed his arm, tempted to drag him over the bar with you. Your manager gasped when he saw the state you were in, recognized your protective hold on Yoongi’s shirt, and immediately turned to the group of men still gathered by the door. They held up their fallen friend, the one Yoongi still looked like he wanted to beat unconscious.

“If you four don’t get out of my bar right fucking now,” your manager said darkly, “I’m calling the police and kicking your ass the whole time until they get here.”

Without a second thought the group of men scrambled out the door, dragging their friend with them. The sudden silence in the bar seemed to echo.         

Yoongi turned and gripped the hand you had on his upper arm, and before you could protest, he was hauling you over the countertop like a child, other arm reaching out to hook underneath your leg and draw you next to him.

“Come here,” Yoongi muttered, lowly and almost to himself. Something in his voice sounded borderline frantic. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you squawked, undignified and startled by his sudden manhandling. Yoongi sat you on the nearest barstool as your manager hovered nearby.

He leaned forward until the tip of his fringe almost brushed your forehead. “Look at me. Are you bleeding?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Having Yoongi’s face so close to your own—well, it was hugely distracting. Your manager turned away and helpfully, a fellow patron at the bar filled him in with what they witnessed.

“(Y/N)?” Yoongi asked, and you realized you’d been silent for too long.

“I cut my ankle, but that’s it,” you told him. Yoongi dropped to his knees, the fabric of his expensive suit no doubt getting stained by the sticky bar floor.

You gasped at him to get up, but he ignored you in favor of grabbing your ankle, lifting it to his face. The cut was already dried and scabbed over. You tapped him on the shoulder to grab his attention, except whenever he looked up, with his dark and infuriated gaze, looking at you from such a compromising position—you lost your train of thought again. Jeez, maybe a bottle really did hit you in the head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, like he could read your mind. He stood up and leaned closer, hand hovering near your face, almost like he wanted to cup your cheek but was keeping himself restrained. “You didn’t hit your head? Should I take you to the hospital?”

“No, no, no,” you immediately said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“But they assaulted you,” Yoongi seethed, like he was stuck on it, like the thought had just been boiling in the back of his mind since his very first punch.

“It’s part of the job,” you replied, and he stared at you, dark and guileless. He seemed to scoot even closer, until his hips were between your open legs, and his hand was resting on your elbow.

“You don’t have to stand so close to me,” you whispered. “I probably smell like a college frat party right now.”

Yoongi grimaced but didn’t comment, which you were grateful for.

“I’m going to review the security footage and ban those men from the bar,” your manager declared, walking up next to you. “We can call the police right now if you want to press—,”

“That’s not necessary,” you interrupted, and Yoongi’s grip on your elbow tightened. “Really, can I just go home early? I want to shower.”

Your shift didn’t technically end until three in the morning, when the bar closed, but your manager’s gaze softened at your simple request. “I’ll take the rest of your shift and clock you out when I leave. You don’t work tomorrow, do you?”

You grimaced. “I have another seven to three.”

“I’ll ask Cindy to cover it. Take tomorrow off.”

Despite hating your job, your manager really was a life-saver. You thanked him profusely, and once you were done, Yoongi said, “Get your stuff from the back. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Your chest tightened. Yoongi was usually gone by the time you got off, and probably didn’t know you walked to work. It was only a ten minute walk, and while it wasn’t a pleasant one to make at three in the morning, you had a knife and a can of mace in your purse for emergencies.

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Min,” you told him. “Stay and finish your drink.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Go get your jacket. I’ll wait here.”

In the backroom, you tried to make yourself presentable. Your black shirt was soaked and smelled heavily of beer, which made you wince. You didn’t even like beer. You fixed your hair as best as you could and wiped your face with a paper towel. Grabbing your jacket, you put it on and made your way back to the front.

Yoongi was crouched on the floor with your manager, helping him clean up the broken glass. They were locked in a low conversation that you interrupted.

“Do you want me to help?” you asked, but Yoongi held up his hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” your manager said. “Get home safe, okay?”

You agreed and Yoongi stood, wiping off his hands. He grabbed his own jacket and his scarf, leading you outside with the palm of his hand hovering lightly over your lower back. It struck you as something so gentlemanly, your traitorous heart fluttered. It was bitter cold outside, and your thread-bare jacket did little to protect you. You hoped Yoongi didn’t notice.

Most of the vehicles in the lot looked second-hand, except the one at the end; it was compact, and oily black. It looked like it cost more than your yearly salary.

“The Maserati’s mine,” he commented, breath fanning in front of his face. You didn’t know what a Maserati looked like, but you could tell the slick car at the end of the lot must have been his. It was the most expensive-looking one.

“Black,” you noted. “Like your soul.”

He laughed, and thankfully, the tension in the air dissipated. Yoongi toed at the concrete, and you realized he was waiting for you to speak.

“So,” you started, “I don’t actually have a car.”

He stared at you blankly, which meant you had caught him off-guard. “Pardon?”

You wanted to snort. Pardon. Posh as fuck. “I don’t have a car.”

“How do you get to work?”

“I usually walk.”

Yoongi’s mouth opened before he snapped it shut, scowling. He opened it again. Closed it. Ran a tense hand through his hair. “Are you joking?”

“I wish,” you snorted, but had to suppress a flinch at the sudden harshness in his voice.

“Is your safety a joke to you?” he asked, suddenly, furiously. “First the guy in the bar, then you wouldn't let me take you to the hospital. And now this? Do you know how dangerous it is to walk home in this neighborhood during the day? Let alone at night?”

“I live here,” you snapped. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“What’s your address?” he asked. “I’ll drive you home.”

The idea filled you with dread. He seemed so suave and sophisticated. When he listened to you, he made you feel important. Everything that had happened tonight hammered nail after nail in the coffin of your fantasy, whispering to Yoongi in the dim light of the bar until the early morning. The fantasy where you were more than yourself and the life you lived. Having Yoongi drive you back to your shitty apartment in his fancy Maserati would be the final blow.

“No,” you replied.

He raised his eyebrow. “Why not?”

Because I don’t want you to see my shitty apartment. “It’s not necessary.”

“It’s midnight,” he said. “It’s dark. It’s cold. I’m not going to let you walk home by yourself.”

“I’ve been walking home by myself just fine for the past year.”

“(Y/N),” he begged. “Please get in my car.”

You bit your lip in indecision. It wasn’t like he was going to go inside, and it was freezing; you really didn’t want to walk home when it wasn’t necessary.

“Okay,” you agreed. “As long as you don’t mind.”

Yoongi started leading you to his car until he paused, glancing back at you from over his shoulder.

“One second,” he said, stopping in front of you. He unwound his scarf from his neck and took a step closer.

Yoongi wrapped his scarf around your neck, stopping to tuck your hair underneath your jacket. He was standing too close, and you were glad your face was already red because you knew you were blushing. You took a deep breath and were delighted to realize the scarf smelled like him.

“There,” he murmured, pleased. “You looked cold.”

“Well, it’s cold out,” you commented, and he flicked your forehead. You gasped in mock-outrage.

“It’s unlocked,” he said, walking forward and leaving you to trail behind him.

The interior of Yoongi’s car was black leather and just sitting in the front seat felt sinful. You were afraid to shift, painfully aware of the fact that you were wet and cold and soaked in alcohol like a maraschino cherry.

“It’ll take a second for the heat to kick in,” he said. “Where do you live?”

You described to him the short drive, teeth nervously chattering. When Yoongi started the car, it almost seemed to purr. He must have had a CD in, because the radio started playing light classical music.

You eyed him teasingly. “Fancy. Do you have any Tchaikovsky?”

His head snapped toward you. “You know classical music?”

“I know Swan Lake, and that’s about it,” you admitted, laughing ruefully. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not a disappointment,” he replied. “Do you like it?”

The car felt warm, like you were enclosed in a bubble. Everything smelled like leather and Yoongi enough to drown out the stench of beer and vodka. The gentle sound of a piano filled the car, and you smiled.

“Yeah, I like it.”

You directed him downtown, tensing when you realized what the neighborhood must look like to him. Dark, and dirty, and covered in grime. Messy and trashy. The further he drove, the more his face creased in disgust. You felt embarrassed and defensive, because although you had no love for the neighborhood, it was still the place you had to call home. Judging it felt like judging you, too.

When Yoongi pulled in front of your building, he could do nothing but stare at it. It was short, square, faded and cracking at the edges. There was an upturned trashcan out front next to a dark lump that could have been garbage, could have been a sleeping homeless person. The yellow streetlight outside flickered.

“Thank you for the ride,” you whispered. “I’ll see you—,”

“Let me walk you inside,” he interrupted, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I want to make sure you get in safe.”

“It’s really fine,” you tried to say, but he was already turning off the car and stepping out. You quickly got out of the passenger seat.

“What floor are you on?” he asked.

“The fifth one.” Yoongi bypassed you entirely, and you had to jog to catch up with him as he walked inside, eyeing the suspicious lump on the side of the street.

He went to open the door but it stuck, metal creaking ominously. You reached out and grabbed the other handle. “You have to use the left door.”

He nodded, and the two of you went inside.

You’d never been more critical of your building than in that moment. You could see every flaw: the peeling wallpaper, the dingy furniture, the dirty floor, the water-stained ceiling. And you knew Yoongi saw it, too.

“We can’t take the elevator,” you told him. “It doesn’t work.”

The two of you climbed the stairwell, shivering slightly. He commented, “It’s cold.”

“There’s no heat,” you admitted, and somehow, the carefully neutral look on his face was even worse than an openly judgmental one.

You made it to the fifth floor just in time to hear your neighbor shouting through his thin wall, “Whatever, asshole!”

It was followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. You walked past your neighbor's door like you’d heard nothing, although Yoongi seemed startled. You were walking quicker than he was, like you were trying to leave him behind. Why couldn’t he get the message that you didn’t want him here?

You grabbed your keys from your pocket and jingled them, halting in front of your apartment. Yoongi stopped next to you, still eyeing the dirty hallway. There were several unpatched holes in the drywall from where your neighbor had punched the wall after arguing with his girlfriend. 

Yoongi broke the silence by saying, “So, this is your apartment?”

“It’s a real five-star hotel, huh,” you said, sarcastically. You unlocked your door and turned your knob, but kept the door shut tight. You didn’t want him to see inside. “Watch out for cockroaches.”

Yoongi’s lip curled in disgust, and he started eyeing the floor. Your chest quivered and started breaking into pieces, because you were laid bare. You were (Y/N), in your shitty apartment, getting home from your shitty job, where you would probably be stuck for the rest of your life.

“It’s, uh,” he said. “Nice.”

Ridiculously, you suddenly felt like you wanted to cry. “Thank you for walking me inside. I’ll see you later.”

“(Y/N),” he went to say, but you were already shutting the door in his face, pressing your forehead against the cheap and cracking wood. A dull ache was starting in your shoulder where a vodka bottle had fallen, but it had nothing on the serious ache building in your chest.

~~~

Almost a full week passed before you saw Yoongi again.

Usually, he came in every Monday night. He liked the bar best when it was quiet, when it wasn’t crowded, when he could monopolize your attention for longer and longer periods of time. Monday night came and Monday night went, and it dragged on relentless as you waited for him, telling yourself you weren’t waiting for him.

You locked the door that night with crushing disappointment.

The fight had probably scared him off. Obviously, he regretted stepping in to defend you. What would have happened if he’d gotten seriously hurt? Sued? His good name, ran through the mud by the media?

Tycoon Min Yoongi Arrested After Late-night Barfight.

The mere idea made you shudder.

You carried your disappointment into Tuesday, but by Wednesday, you didn’t even bat an eye whenever the bell at the entrance to the bar rang. You were wiping down the countertop at ten o’clock at night when Yoongi sauntered in, nose red from the cold, hair wet and mouth pouting with it.

Like usual, the bar was quiet. Two old men sat in the middle of the counter and preoccupied themselves with watching the shitty television mounted behind the bar.

Your breath caught in your throat. Yoongi had a bad habit of always looking like a supermodel, no matter what condition he was in.

Nerves tied your tongue. You wanted to ask him where he’d been, but didn’t want to seem like you cared. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to act around him, but you decided to just play it casual.

“Is it cold?” you asked, dumbly. Of course it was cold. It was the middle of fucking winter.

“It’s snowing,” he said, sitting in his usual seat, setting his jacket on the counter. You started making him his drink just to avoid looking at him. “I’m driving you home.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Yoongi shot you such a sudden glare, your teeth clicked together when you shut it.

“Thank you,” you said, sliding him his drink. He tipped it back and downed it, and you stared mesmerized at the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed.

He set the glass back down and hissed, and you refilled his drink in silence. Yoongi kept his eyes trained on the countertop.

The atmosphere between the two of you felt tense and awkward, and it only got worse the longer the silence stretched.

Maybe it was finally time. Maybe Yoongi was going to say your bar was too seedy for people like him to visit. People like Min Yoongi deserved better than the half-ass booze you could supply, the half-ass décor, your half-ass service. Not even a good drink could make up for it.

You and Min Yoongi were from two different classes. It didn’t matter how special he made you feel. At the end of the day, anything between the two of you, even just friendship, wasn’t meant to be.

“I want you to quit,” he said.

You slid him his drink with a short laugh. You liked the way Yoongi spoke—short, blunt and honest. It mixed so well with his sense of humor, it was hard to tell the difference between the two. “You and me both, buddy.”

What had happened last Thursday had shaken you up much more than you were willing to admit. Controversy was part of the job—there was a constant risk that some belligerent drunk was going to push you too far. But it had never gotten that bad before, and you cringed to think about what might have happened had Yoongi not been there.

“Yeah,” he replied. “But I’m being serious. I’ll give you $10,000 to quit right now.”

He reached into his suit pocket and set something on the countertop. You were distracted by his oddly stern gaze when you realized his hand was sliding you a check, and it was filled out to you, and when did you tell him your last name? His handwriting was neat and controlled and he was sliding you a check with your full name on it for ten-thousand-fucking-dollars—

You gasped and slapped your hand over it. “Put that away before we get mobbed by every patron in this bar.”

“Put it away in your pocket,” he said. “Do you want to grab dinner with me?”

To your utter shock, Yoongi took your hand and started leading you down the bar, toward your manager’s office. A few people eyed you, making you blush. You snatched your hand away, and he stared at it forlornly.

“What are you talking about?” you asked him.

“I’m giving you $10,000 to quit your job,” he replied. “And then I’m going to pay for your living expenses while you find a new one.”

You stared at him. It seemed like, for the first time in your life, you were struck speechless. You’d have to make a mark on your calendar. “What the fuck.”

“I’m sorry for how I reacted last week, at your apartment,” he said, suddenly. He took a deep breath to steady himself and winced. “I was an idiot and I didn’t expect it. I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t expect what?” you asked. “For me to live in a dump? For me to be dirt poor? Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

He winced again. “I want to apologize anyway. Take this check and talk to your manager. I want to warm up the car before we leave.”

He seemed so confident that you would agree. You felt the embarrassment and frustration from the last week bubble up in your chest. You grabbed a rag from behind the counter and started cleaning the bar, just for an excuse not to look at him.

“I am not a charity case, Mr. Min,” you hissed. He looked up, shocked at the venom in your voice, before his face creased.

“That’s not what this is. Don’t purposefully misinterpret me,” he ran a tense hand through his hair, and you had never seen him so undone. Pride mixed with heat in your stomach, to see him like that—to know that you were the one who finally put such a fine-edged crack in his golden composure.

“(Y/N),” he said. “If I hadn’t been here last Thursday, what would have happened?”

“Nothing I couldn’t have handled on my own,” you bluffed, but it was a lie. Maybe your manager could have gotten there in time. Maybe some other kind patron would have tried to intervene on your behalf. But the result was the same—nothing about either situation guaranteed your safety.

“Please, quit this job,” he repeated, quieter, more pleading. “Right now. And I’ll pay for everything while you find a new one. Your rent, your water, your electricity. Fuck, do you have Wi-Fi? Do you want Wi-Fi? What’s your phone number? And so help me God, if you tell me you don’t have a cellphone—,”

“I have a fucking cellphone, Yoongi,” you snapped. “Even poor people can have a cellphone.”

He eyed you, unimpressed by your attitude. “And you say I’m the cactus of this relationship.”

“You are,” you defended, until, “and there’s no relationship between us. I’m your bartender, and you’re my customer.”

“Why won’t you let me help you?” he asked. “You’re miserable here.”

“A lot of people are miserable!” you burst out. A few people turned to look at you, but you ignored them. “Life isn’t fair! It’s not always happy, or fun. Sometimes, people have to do a lot of shit they don’t want to do to survive, and that’s life, okay? That’s reality.”

“Maybe that’s the reality for some people, but it doesn’t have to be for you,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting my help, you know that? You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

You were so used to doing everything on your own, you didn’t know how to accept help. You didn’t know how to ask for support.

“A lot of people would be grateful for an opportunity like this,” he continued. “How would they feel watching you turn it down?”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“Someone very smart actually just told me that life isn’t fair. So, sucks,” Yoongi shrugged. On the outside he seemed calm and collected, but you could see the white-knuckled grip he had on the countertop.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Yoongi said. “If you really don’t want my help, I’ll accept that. But I really, really want to help.”

You threw your rag to the side and took a deep breath, and then another. You knew you had a temper, and you knew you were too stubborn for you own good. How would you feel, if someone in your position had an offer from someone like Yoongi, and they’d thrown it back in his face?

“Job hunting is hard,” you muttered, and Yoongi had to lean forward to hear you. “It’ll take at least a month.”

“(Y/N),” he said. “It could take the whole damn year and I wouldn’t care.”

“I should probably turn in my two-week notice.”

“You quit right now,” Yoongi demanded. “Non-negotiable.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you said, to yourself. You weren’t Julia Roberts, and this wasn’t Pretty Woman. What the hell were you thinking?

“We can go over details at dinner,” Yoongi said. “I’ll pay.” He paused, and eyed you sheepishly. “If that’s okay, of course.”

You didn’t like the idea of Yoongi paying for your dinner, but you guessed you would have to get used to it. It was just dinner. It was basically a business meeting.

“I’ll let you pay if we go somewhere cheap,” you bartered. He didn’t look pleased, but accepted the compromise nonetheless.

“Not McDonald’s.”

You laughed. “Not McDonald’s.”

Untying your apron from around your neck, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the upcoming conversation with your manager, but you had a feeling that no amount of deep breathing would help you through what followed afterward.