#i have a degree and a (freelance) job and new friends. i have been through extreme stress and been taken advantage of because of it

[mysterywheeze]

If you've ever struggled with suicidal ideation, this has likely been a particularly difficult week. It certainly has been for me. I've lost a lot of trust in a lot of people. I hope this post doesn't make anyone lose trust in me.

You need to live. That means you, the person reading this post. I don't know your name or your situation but I know, with the same certainty that I know that the Earth is turning, that you need to live.

I know that it can be hard, crushingly hard. I know what it's like to feel so empty that getting out of bed seems impossible, or so overwhelmed that drastic action seems like the only way out.

It isn't. Death is not the answer. It sure as fuck isn't praxis. Please, please do not let anyone convince you otherwise. If you think that your death will have a net positive effect on the world, I promise you, as someone who has been there before, it won't.

And while I encourage you to do what you can to try and make the world a better place - donate to charity, pick up litter, volunteer your time, write your representatives, et cetera - I want to make it clear that those aren't requirements you need to meet to justify being alive. Your life has value, inherently.

Today things may be terrible. They may stay terrible for a while. But one day, a song will get stuck in your head that makes you feel something again. You'll meet a dog that loves you unconditionally. You'll eat a meal that tastes like it was cooked by an angel. You'll pick up a new hobby, perhaps without even realizing it, and it will bring you some sense of satisfaction. You'll watch a beautiful movie. You'll walk past a beautiful mural. Someone will compliment your outfit, someone will laugh at your joke, someone will tell you they're happy to spend time with you. One day you will wake up early enough to see the sun rise.

It's a cliche to say "it will get better". That's because it's true. It probably won't be a linear upward trend, rarely do things stay better forever, but there will come a time when you'll be glad you stayed alive. I promise.

[m-yg93]

Solace

Pairing: KNJ x Reader

WC: 13.5k

Genre: Roommates2L

Rating: M (minors dni)

Warnings: Brief blood mention from a cut, mention of minor character death (sickness), fingering, hand job, big dick joon, belly bulge, unprotected sex, mentions of choking, creampie, dirty talk, inconsistent POV

Banner by @sugarwithtea​

Beta’d by @yoongiobsessed​ and Sara (twitter link)

Summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

Author’s Note: This should have been written months ago. I don’t have an excuse. Oh well, it’s here now! 

Part of the Room For Rent collab

There needs to be a word that describes the feeling of being happy for someone while simultaneously going through betrayal.

Namjoon is happy for Yoongi, of course he is, but watching him from across their kitchen table is sending an uncomfortable wave through him. He didn’t expect his oldest and closest friend to run from him, leave him in the dust, just straight up abandon him.

“Oh my God, you’re being dramatic. I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving to Gangnam. It’s just across the river! You and your freakishly thick thighs can bike to my new place in 20 minutes.”

Okay so perhaps he’s being a little dramatic but what else was he supposed to think? He and Yoongi had shared this apartment for years. There had been countless sleepless nights fueled by too much ramen, the living room littered with energy drinks as they bumped heads and helped each other brainstorm ideas for new beats. These walls hold melodies and memories, and he’s just expected to share them with someone else now?

“Plus, I told you you’re welcome to move in with Jin and I. His dad’s some CEO and the apartment is ridiculously lavish. There’s a room with your name on the door if you want it. I’m serious, Jin has this thing with plaques and has a name for every room, it’s honestly worrying. I won’t even tell you what he decided to name the master bedroom.”

Namjoon purses his lips at the thought. That was the main reason behind turning Yoongi’s offer down. He likes Jin and genuinely loves that he brings so much light into Yoongi’s naturally dreary life. Seeing Yoongi’s lips fight against a smile only to burst into the cheesiest, gummy grin while audibly groaning about his boyfriend’s terrible jokes brings a warmth to Namjoon’s chest every time. Yoongi deserves to be happy and he knows Jin is the best person for the job. But he knows full well the couple will christen every room of that apartment and he wants no part of it.

“I know,” he agrees, “But with the proximity to Yongsan park? I don’t know if I’ll ever leave this place.” The open fields just outside the doors of their apartment are the first solace he reaches for when the instrumentals in his brain just keep fighting each other, transforming into the screeching noise of the streets under his window. The trees don’t talk back but letting out his frustrations under the canopy of leaves feels like it helps anyway. “I guess I’ll have to try to pick up some extra freelance contracts to make up for having to pay the rent alone. I hate having to produce meaningless pop but it brings in decent cash when I’m in a tight spot,” he laments.

“Dude, I’m not heartless. I didn’t just decide to move out and leave you stranded. I have a friend from high school. I don’t see her often but she’s a good time and she’s looking to move out of her parents’ place now that she’s done with her degree. It’ll be easier to find work in the city. I’ve mentioned her. Y/N? I go out to dinner with her every couple months to make sure we keep in touch. She’s pretty shy and she’s quiet, you’ll barely notice she’s here.”

There’s a wave of relief that comes with knowing he won’t have to pinch pennies but it quickly turns frigid at the realization that he’ll have to live with a stranger. What if she was a morning person? What if she was a smoker and made the whole apartment fill with the lingering acrid smell? What if she killed his plants?

“I can see your brain working overtime. Breathe, I wouldn’t offer the place to someone I know doesn’t fit your vibe,” Yoongi reassures. I guess there’s not much else to do but wait and see how compatible your living situations are.

Thankfully their own music equipment had been bought separately because they’ve been bickering all day when Yoongi tries to put something in a box from their shared spaces only to have Namjoon object.

“What are you going to do with a wok, Joon? YOU DON’T COOK!”

“Jin has a plethora of different ones in his kitchen and we both know it! Maybe your friend likes to cook, huh? Maybe she’ll want the wok to make meals.”

“Make you meals, you mean?” Okay so maybe he was hoping the new roommate situation came with food because losing both Yoongi and Jin’s cooking overnight was going to hit him hard. He’ll wither away into a string bean at this rate seeing as he’s not allowed near the knives nor the stove.

Yoongi must take pity in the pleading look in his eyes because he puts down the wok with a sigh and passes to the next cupboard. Namjoon is distracted by Jin’s entrance, always loud and boisterous.

“Hey! How is packing going? I just parked the moving van downstairs but I don’t know how long I’m allowed to be there.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi shouts from across the apartment. “I’d be done already if Joon didn’t try to steal all my shit and force me to leave them here.” He’s zooming past him, bony shoulder purposefully digging into Joon’s bicep.

“I’m monitoring the fair share of roommate assets,” he huffs. “Jin’s apartment has more shit in it than he already needs. You’re leaving me alone with only memories that you once cared for me. The least you could do is not leave with half of what’s in this measly dwelling when your sugar daddy’s got you up in a penthouse.”

They both know the jabs are jokes. Jin has more money than anyone needs, but he’s also a hard worker and spent his youth learning how to take over the business from his father when the time comes. He’d swept Yoongi off his feet with expensive dinners and outrageous gifts when they were first dating, only knowing how to flaunt his money for attention before Yoongi set him straight and taught him that he’d have to put more thought into his courting if he expected him to stick around. Clearly, he did.

Reminiscing about his, nearly ex, roommate almost distracts him enough to miss Yoongi trying to sneak a thin square package into his last remaining box.

“You’re going to take that vinyl out of here over my dead body, Yoongi!” The apartment echoes the lament in surround sound.

They do eventually make it to the van parked downstairs after Yoongi finishes taping up his boxes with only a limited amount of protest from Namjoon.. The air is humid, clothes sticking to Namjoon’s skin as he chases after the wind from Yoongi’s open window like a dog on his first car ride. Jin’s apartment building is a stark opposite from their, his, own. Whereas the outside of his building is all grey concrete walls, Jin’s is all sleek glass of floor-to-ceiling windows causing the brightness of the sun to reflect off and into Namjoon’s eyes as he looks up to the top where his friend will now be living.

The air conditioning of the lobby hits full force, the trio letting out a pleasant hum which quickly turns into a deep groan when they see the elevator boasting an out of order sign. Two pairs of sharp eyes round on Jin, malice dripping from furrowed brows.

“I swear it was working when I left this morning. They must be using all the power to keep each unit’s AC going through the heat wave. The stairs are this way.” He points to a corner of the lobby, tight corridor leading to a single door.

“The stairs? You live in the penthouse, that’s FIFTEEN flights, babe.” Yoongi is quick to point out.

“Are you trusting enough to keep all your music equipment in the van for who knows how long this heat is going to last? I know you’re going to complain about all the moisture in the air messing with your delicate settings.” Namjoon knows he’s got him there. Yoongi would suffer through a natural disaster if it meant keeping his equipment safe and at peak performance.

“You’re right,” Yoongi sighs dejectedly, head thrown backwards. “But I won’t be any help bringing the gear up. You see these legs? They’ll snap like toothpicks if I try to bring them up. Guess Biceps and Shoulders need to do all the heavy lifting.” There’s an airy lilt to his voice when he figures he’s saved himself from the worst bit.

“Doubt they’ll stay that small seeing how many times you’ll be going up and down those stairs to bring up all the light boxes while we deal with the heavy stuff. You’ll have lungs of steel with all that cardio, buddy. I’m sure Jin will appreciate how long he can hold his dick in your throat without you needing to breathe after that.” Namjoon sends him a salacious wink.

Yoongi’s face, which had been a flushed shade of pink from the heat, drains immediately when he realizes the position he’s put himself in but Namjoon doesn’t let him change his mind. He just claps a hand on his shoulder and turns around to get to the van and pick up the first console they’ll need to bring up to Yoongi’s new designated studio space.

Namjoon regrets showing Friends to Jin after today. If he has to hear ‘PIVOT’ one more forsaken time he might choke that windshield wiper laugh right out his friend’s throat. His whole body is aching when he sets his ass down on Jin’s plush couch, finally tasting a bite of heaven after all those steps but it can’t be savored long.

“Get up.” Yoongi’s voice breaks through his needed rest. “The elevator mishap made us take way longer than planned and we’re already late to pick up Y/N.” If anyone sees him fighting back tears that’s none of their business.

The drive out to the suburbs of Seoul is peaceful, the population seems to have holed up inside and away from the sun’s rays. They pull up to a nice two-story home. Namjoon can’t see much into the property since it’s surrounded by tall brick walls, but it’s unnecessary as he can see the silhouette of a young woman waiting outside the gate, piles of boxes at her feet.

They all pour out of the truck, Yoongi darts out first to meet her halfway where she throws herself in his arms. There’s a lot of squealing and Namjoon isn’t sure from who it’s coming out of in the mess of limbs. They separate and approach where he and Jin had waited by the vehicle.

“I’m Y/N, you must be Jin!” There’s a hand out ready to be shaken but it’s presented in front of the wrong man.

“Actually, Jin is this one,” Yoongi corrects, taking your wrist and moving it to the correct person.

“Oh my God, that’s embarrassing. I just figured it was the big one. I’ve heard about your muscle kink enough once you figured out you were into men that I just-- You know what? I’m going to shut up now. Hi, sorry about that. Nice to meet you.” There’s a nervous giggle in between words that’s instantly endearing.

Jin doesn’t seem offended, laughing alongside her. “No worries, he’s plenty satisfied without the beefiness of his teenage crushes.” He wiggles his eyebrows comically which has her chuckling and Yoongi whining.

“This is Namjoon, your new roommate. Joon, this is Y/N.” It’s his turn to shake hands, your fingers so thin and delicate around his much bigger grasp. He takes the time to really take you in, looking down at you; wide grin and smooth skin that spans from your neck down into your… Nope, face!

“You have a nice face.” For a lyricist he sure did have a way with words.

“Thank you?” Your eyes trail to the side where Yoongi stands, eyes deadpan and mouth shut tight.

“He grows on you, I swear. Get in the car, we’ll grab your boxes.” Yoongi says as he passes in front of you with an icy stare towards Namjoon. Okay, so he could have made a better first impression.

You don’t have many boxes which makes sense. The apartment is furnished and Yoongi had left his bedroom set for you since he wouldn’t need it at Jin’s. He remembers leaving his parent’s house with barely anything. It had taken a while for Yoongi and him to make the apartment seem like people actually lived in it. They’d spent far too long eating cup noodles while sitting on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.

Jin takes his place behind the wheel, Yoongi slipping in beside him in the passenger seat. The earlier ride in the backseat wasn’t so bad for Namjoon since he could sit crookedly to fit his long legs behind the couple’s seats in front of him but your presence beside him forces his knees to hit the back of Yoongi’s seat.

“Can you push your seat up a bit? Your little legs don’t need that much space,” Namjoon shoots ahead of him.

“And just for that comment your giant ass and long limbs can suck it up. Respect your elders, brat,” Yoongi snaps back. Maybe he deserved that one.

He sends you a sheepish look and an awkward smile as he spreads open his thighs lewdly. His knee hits yours despite you sticking your legs together demurely, hands politely sitting in your lap. The touch attracts your gaze and Namjoon can track your eyes as they drag up the bare skin of his quad, past the hem where the material of his shorts dig into his thighs, and settles just a little too long where both his legs meet. He can practically feel your stare burning a hole into his groin, a heat expanding through his body.

He doesn’t even realize when he lets out an uneasy cough and you’re quick to look away with a start when you hear it; clearly having been caught in your little perversion. The flush that builds on your cheeks is shameful enough that he doesn’t mention anything more, only locking away the memory of you blushing and embarrassed for later.

Namjoon is thankful that with four pairs of arms there won’t be a need to do multiple trips for your boxes. Jin sends you and Yoongi off with a box each but loads Namjoon’s arms with three; enough to block his view so he has to peek around them to see where he’s going. There might not be many boxes but the ones he’s been given are heavy enough to make his arms shake underneath their weight. He’s absolutely going to blame that on having had to haul all of Yoongi’s belongings during the day and definitely not on the fact he’s weak. He goes to the gym regularly!

“Thanks for helping! Just leave them by the door, I’ll take care of unloading everything,” you call from across the apartment. Yoongi must be giving you a tour of the place.

Namjoon kicks off his shoes and crashes head first into the couch, his big body halfway dropping off of it. All his muscles ache and he’s sticky with sweat. His lids close, reaching for some rest. His stomach rumbles, the memory of breakfast fading. There’s soft footsteps sneaking up on him. He’s trained himself enough to catch Yoongi coming. He’s broken enough things when his roommate suddenly appeared by his side and gave him a spook.

“Don’t think I’m an idiot, Joon. I could see the way you looked at her. I’m only going to say this once, don’t fuck my friend.” His voice is almost sinister as it whispers in his ear. Namjoon’s eyes quickly open wide. He wasn’t looking at you in any sort of way and he was about to defend himself, mouth open with a denial on his tongue. He doesn’t have the chance since you pop around the corner, seeing them both with their heads too close to each other, Yoongi’s glare facing Namjoon’s incredulous look.

“Everything good here?” you ask.

Yoongi’s expression shifts, gummy smile on full display but Namjoon still sees the daggers in his eyes. “Yep, I was just saying bye to Joon. Jin’s already back at the van and we need to get it back to the vendor. Text me if you need anything Y/N. And Joon? Remember what I said.” He and Jin take their leave, surely to start desecrating their new shared space.

“Okay? Is it just me or was he being weird?” You look back at Namjoon but there’s only a shrug of his shoulders as your reply. “Alright, well I’m going to start unpacking then.” You’re just about to turn tail when you can hear the growl coming from Namjoon again. “Ah, you must be hungry, you’ve been going around the city all day. Is there anything already in the kitchen?”

“No, we went through all of it when Yoongi and Jin decided to have a goodbye dinner this week. You get started on unpacking and I’ll run down to the store for some stuff. I think we’re both too tired to do much effort but I can grab ingredients for some decent ramen.” Namjoon slips his shoes back on and running out the door as soon as he finishes speaking.

Luckily, there’s a small family owned market just down the street from the apartment. Mrs. Park is going to be sad to hear that her ‘little dumpling’, as she called Yoongi, won’t be visiting her anymore. She’s mostly used to seeing Namjoon anyway. Yoongi may have been the one cooking but Joon was always the one sent off on errands for any ingredients that were missing midway through the meal preparation.

The bell chimes above him when he walks into the little shop. Mrs. Park doesn’t even look up from her newspaper, head staring firmly into her lap. There’s a low buzz emitting from the artificial lights mixing with the music that’s playing in the shop, something Namjoon doesn’t know, a beat that hasn’t been popular in half a century.

The aisles are familiar and he grabs the ingredients absentmindedly, throwing things in the handheld basket hooked onto the crook of his arm. Green onions from the produce section, a carton of eggs and a hunk of cheese from the dairy section, and spam from the canned goods area.

Mrs. Park finally lifts her eyes from whatever news story that had her attention and gives him a warm smile that reaches her eyes. He should give his grandma a call. A smooth wrinkled hand grabs his groceries one by one, slowly bringing them closer for inspection. Her frail finger punches into the keys of the register.

His eyes wander while his items disappear from the counter and into a bag beneath the surface. The sky has turned a slate grey from an overbearing cloud covering the sun, bringing the vibrance of outside down to a dull.

Against the window is a shelf filled with flowers. Namjoon has often seen people grabbing a bouquet as they wait for their total. He remembers a man with a tie midway undone, suit jacket flapping behind him as he rushed out frantically. A forgotten anniversary he suspected. Just last week, there was a small child tugging at his father’s sleeve, pointing at a particularly bright blossom and requesting to bring it home to his mother. The memory brings a small smile to his lips.

He doesn’t contemplate long before reaching for a lonely white rose in a near empty bucket. He remembers certain symbolism from the time he read The Language of Flowers. Purity, innocence, a new beginning, and reverence. He thinks he catches a mischievous glint in Mrs. Park’s eye as she hands him the bag of groceries in one hand while the rose remains in his other.

The universe allows him only long enough to step out of the shop before the skies open up with a loud clap and water erupts in a downpour. Shock overtakes him and he freezes on the spot as he lets the fat water droplets sink into the fabric of his clothes. The cold immediately seepsinto his skin and settles in his bones, eyes shut tight and mouth open.

The loud rumble of distant thunder urges him to start moving. The plastic of the bag is slippery in his grasp and there’s a stinging pain in his palm from where the rose’s thorns dig in. There’s an uncomfortable squeak from the leather of his sandals with every heavy step he takes. As he sprints the few blocks back to the apartment, the loud slap slap slap of his foot hitting the pavement.

The door of the apartment slams into the wall as Namjoon rushes to get inside, the doorknob undoubtedly leaving a mark from the force at which Namjoon has opened it to throw himself inside.

“Namjoon? Is everything okay?” you call from the living room. “I’m sorry for the mess, I’m trying to fit in my own books across your collection. I don’t want to mess up the system you’ve got going on.”

“Yeah, all good, just wasn’t paying attention,” he reassures.

Your head pops out from the hallway to take inventory of the situation yourself, not quite trusting the waver in his voice. “Oh god, it started raining? I was so in my bubble that I didn’t even notice. You’re soaked! Let me grab you a towel.” You’re off to the bathroom before he can even thank you, already back to exchange the flower still in his grasp for the towel you hand him.

“I hope it didn’t take a beating on my way back over here,” he says, worry tainting the edge of his voice.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you. Do you know if you have any vases?”

“I’m sure Yoongi’s left some in the kitchen. Jin had a habit of getting him a new bouquet every month. Don’t tell Yoongi I said this but he’d blush every time despite all the grumbling he did about it. Happened every month for two years, like clockwork,” he teases.

“That sounds about right. Yoongi will never admit it but I know how much praise and appreciation means to him. I’m glad Jin gives him that. I’ll go find it.” You’re turning tail and heading into the kitchen in search of the vase.

He pats himself dry enough so that he’s no longer dripping on the floor before he follows you in. You’re in front of an open cabinet, head tilted back to look at the top shelf of it. Your hand is stretched to its capacity, boosted by the tip of your toes, one knee nearly hiking onto the countertop to give yourself enough reach.

He truly only means to help when he sneaks in behind you to grab at the vase. He doesn’t expect to catch you off guard, sending you backwards and off balance with a squeak. His grasp abandons its path towards the top shelf and instead redirects to land on your hips, pinning you against his chest.

You’re taken by surprise at the strong hands grabbing onto your side, a hard wall of muscle at your back, heat radiating from his skin, his wet clothes dampening yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breath just a little too close to your ear.

There’s a hitch in your voice when you reply hastily, “Mhm! All good. I’ll let you get that actually. I’m going to change. My clothes are gross from today. You should too, you’re going to catch a chill if you stay in those wet clothes. Your shirt’s so soaked I can see right through it. Not that I was looking! I’ll just- right.”

You’re running off before he can articulate a thought, the door of your room slamming shut behind you. He’s nearly certain he can hear an embarrassed groan through the wall despite that. He does get the vase down and fills it with water, dropping the rose into it before he slips into his room as well.

The rain will be good for the heat in the long run but as it stands it just permeates the apartment with heavy humidity. He grabs a pair of comfortable shorts and a tank top to change into. He passes next to your room on his way to the bathroom. He takes the time to stop and knock at your door.

“Y/N? Do you need to use the bathroom? I’m going to jump in the shower really quick.”

“Go ahead! I’ll take one after dinner.”

His clumsy fingers struggle with the lock behind him, clothes falling onto the floor. The bluetooth speaker that has a permanent residence in the bathroom is turned on, a playlist going at random. He makes sure to adjust the temperature of the water, slightly colder than he usually would. It’s absolutely to combat the heat and definitely not the memory of your body pressed against his in the kitchen; soft under his hands and plump against where his crotch pushed in under the curve of your ass.

Oh god, focus on something else. Listen to the music. The beat is uplifting and he finds himself singing along to the lyrics. A popular song from a girl group member. He recalls Yoongi mentioning he’s worked on something similar.

He lets the tepid water run down his body, hands quick and rough where he scrubs the soap into his skin, not letting them stay in one spot too long to melt into the feeling. Yep, he definitely needs to have it colder. It’s near shivering levels of frigid when he ducks his head under the stream to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

He’s nearly forgotten about the shape of your body against him, mind preoccupied with the soprano of the singer in his ears. Pop pop, pop, you want it. His body responds as if with muscle memory from seeing this song trend with its choreo everywhere online. His hands take turns pointing at an open hand and back again, fists then popping as if miming fireworks going down a zig zag pattern.

The haunting thoughts of the kitchen eventually disperse enough for him to exit the stream of water and change into the clean, dry clothes. You’re already in the kitchen humming to yourself once he leaves the room followed by a puff of steam.

“Do you need me to help with anything?” he proposes.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Can you slice up the spam and drop the eggs into the water? There’s a pot already boiling.” Put eggs in water and cut up some meat. Sure, he can do that.

The eggs may have cracked a little when he quite literally dropped them into the pot but that’s fine. A little hard boiled never hurt anyone. He swears he’s extra careful when you hand him a knife and let him stand in front of the cutting board. Just going to very daintily hold down the spam and slowly bring the knife down-

“You’re holding it upside down. Sharp edge towards the bottom and make sure you curl your knuckles in so you don’t nick yourself.” Right, of course, he knew the knife was upside down. Just making sure you did, hah.

He manages to make some slightly uneven slices until about halfway through the block but eventually there’s just not enough space for his big sausage fingers to hold on and the knife just slips…right into his palm.

“Ah, shit!” He jumps back, letting the knife clatter to the floor. His uninjured hand keeps the pressure onto the wound as small river of red runs between his fingers. He’s taken by surprise and lets himself be manhandled to the sink before his wounded hand is pushed under the cold, running water.

“I should have figured why Yoongi was so ominously telling me where the first aid kit was in the kitchen. And why he asked how often I cooked at home.” There’s shuffling behind him and a small hand sneaking its way between his body and the sink.

“Take it out, I’ll pat it dry and put a bandage on.” He’s careful to keep his hand stable as your delicate fingers patch him up. A soft pressure with a gauze and a more instant one for the wrap that goes around his palm.

“My friend JK is going to think I took up boxing and ask me to go to the gym with him if he sees this.” He tries to laugh it off, bringing humor into his near amputation.

“I don’t think you need any incentive to go to the gym.” Your eyes are trailing up his arm, stopping at his bicep and following all the way to the middle of his chest. The flex he pushes is completely accidental and was absolutely not to show off the progress he’s been building.

“I take care of myself, I guess.”

“Right.” There’s a small laugh in your voice. “Go take care of yourself, away from the kitchen. I’ll handle the rest.”

He lets himself be shooed out of the hot space, out into the living room where he sees your earlier comment about a mess. There’s books all over the floor in little towers looking for a home on his already overly compacted bookshelf. He picks a few of his bigger tomes to rehouse to his room which allows space for yours to make themselves at home.

He doesn’t notice how long he’s been calculating which books need to be relocated until he hears the clatter of bowls hitting the coffee table behind him.

“I figured we could eat in here today, more casual and all. Thank you for helping me make sense of where to put my stuff. I didn’t want to impose.”

“This is your home too now, you deserve to have space for your things. Yoongi wasn’t much of a reader. Thank you for dinner. I’m afraid you’re going to be in charge of feeding me a lot. I can always just order in but Yoongi was always on my ass for spending money on takeout.” He has the humility to look ashamed at his incapacity to nurture himself.

“No worries, it was kind of implied when he told me to take his spot. I like cooking, so I don’t mind, really. Tell me more about yourself though, I only know what Yoongi’s told me which is pretty much only that you produce music like he does. You’ve got an eye for art from what I can see of the prints on the walls.”

“Ah, actually those are all mine,” he blushes and points to a camera that takes a place on one of the higher shelves. “I like biking around and I figured it was a shame to see all the pretty landscapes without getting to commemorate them properly so I got into photography. I’m not a professional or anything but I enjoy it. I’m actually going to Comic Con this weekend with a group of my friends. They’re cosplaying and they wanted someone around to take pictures of them in costume. JK's actually got a pretty great Spiderman thing going on and it works for him with all the, you know, muscles and spandex.” He’s gesturing a little wildly over his body, as if you’re familiar with Jungkook’s physique.

“I don’t but I can imagine.” Your eyes are following where his hands had gestured over him, gaze roaming over the muscles he’s boasting himself. “You don’t happen to have any spandex hiding in your closet yourself?”

“Nothing like him, riding shorts for when I take particularly long bike rides. I don’t tend to favor it, they really ride up.” His sentence ends in an uncomfortable chuckle and he avoids your view, completely missing how your eyes have started to glaze over.

The small talk fades after that, replaced with the sound of chopsticks hitting the edge of bowls and the occasional slurps. You hold your chopsticks loosely between bites, your phone in your spare hand just mindlessly scrolling.

There’s a familiar tune coming softly from your direction, a low hum of a melody that triggers Namjoon’s receptors. He can place it pretty quickly, pop pop pop uh uh.

His hands take on a mind of their own. He doesn’t stop chewing as his fists go through the movement. Open palm, point, switch, zigzag.

He wouldn’t have even not realized what he was doing if a little giggle hadn’t interrupted the flow of the song. He freezes, eyes widening. It’s a slow pan of his eyes to look into his peripheral, as if not moving his head would somehow render him invisible and able to melt away from the embarrassing situation he’s caught himself in.

You’re doing your best to hold it in, lips nearly completely sucked into your mouth, teeth forcing them closed. He appreciates the effort but he can admit the jig is up. He picks his chopsticks back up with a little cough, gathering his bearings.

“It’s a catchy song,” he defends.

“Oh absolutely, it gets stuck in your head so easily. Even when hearing it off key and through the rush of running water,” you tease.

He pretends to be offended by that. “I’m a producer! I’ll have you know I have great pitch.”

“Of course, someone should tell Nayeon that she’s in the wrong key then. How embarrassing for her to be performing it that way.”

You both dissolve into laughter after that. The silence that follows feels a lot lighter than it previously had been and he breathes a little easier.

“Leave your dishes in the sink, I’ll take care of it in exchange for the cooking labour. I rarely break things anymore. Even if Yoongi won’t let me forget about his favorite mug. I still insist that the shape wasn’t ergonomic and that’s why it slipped out of my hand. He was so mad he refused to drink any coffee that day and knowing Yoongi you know how that was more a punishment for me than it was for himself,” he shares the memory of how grumpy Yoongi had been that day. They must have restarted the same beat half a dozen times. Suffice to say it wasn’t a very productive day and Namjoon owed him a new mug of his choosing.

Your first night together was fruitful. You’ve managed to unpack and meld your belongings with his, have dinner - where he didn’t kill himself in the kitchen - and bond over some banter. You’ve practically ingrained yourself in his life already and Namjoon isn’t sure if that’s good or a little terrifying. He’s not the type to usually feel comfortable with a stranger so quickly. He’s glad Yoongi had you take his place, he doubts it would have been this pleasurable if he had had to place an ad online.

There’s a ghost of a smile stuck on his face when he closes the door to his bedroom. Being alone in his room brings forth the thoughts he’d pushed aside back to the forefront. His computer monitor lights up the space, calling him back. The mixing board on his desk blares a signal he can’t ignore. He has a project to finish and the deadline is knocking at his door incessantly. He sits in his chair with a sigh and slips his headphones over his ears, blocking out the loud patter of raindrops on his window.

He awakes with a start. His back is sore and his skin is damp with sweat. He’s too old to be falling asleep on his desk like this, he’s going to feel it in the morning. The room is pitch black around him. A quick jiggle of the mouse tells him the computer is dead and there’s a hint of panic at the thought of having lost his work. Rationale takes over to remind him that it automatically gets stored on the cloud at consistent intervals. They’ve learned their lesson too many times before implementing that.

There’s an odd irritation at the back of his mind and he realizes the thrum of the AC is missing. Ah, no power. The storm must have knocked it out. His muscles scream from the stretch and there’s more than a few uncomfortable cracks when he gets up and extends his arms above his head. He slips out of his clothes in hopes that more skin in contact with any air might help him cool down. Besides, he always sleeps in his boxers anyway. The air has dried up his throat and he can feel his body begging for water. He grabs the latest water bottle to litter his desk, tips it all the way upside down but not a drop comes.

He hopes he can traverse the apartment to the kitchen silently. Between his heavy footsteps and the stubborn squeaky floorboard outside his bedroom he’s worried about waking you. He sends a silent prayer into the universe that you’re a deep sleeper.

He does hit the floorboard, sending a creek into the night and he freezes for a second but no angry outbursts come from your room to scold him. He’s slowly taking a step in front of the other, carefully moving his weight from one foot to the next, the little smack of his sole hitting the wooden floor melding into the sounds of the rain still pouring outside.

The pressure from the faucet sends the water stream beating onto the metal of the sink and he hopes the curse he lets out fades into the night. He downs two whole glasses before he feels sated and prepares for the slow trek back to his room.

He’s just outside your door when the apartment flashes as lightning touches down in the distance. Namjoon stops moving as the roll of thunder comes quickly behind, nearly covering the strangled gasp from the other side of the door.

“Y/N? Are you okay in there?" The door to Yoongi’s room always had trouble latching since Namjoon drunkenly threw himself into the frame thinking he was heading into his own bed one night.

There’s a small crack where he can press his ear to. He holds his breath, straining to hear above the rattle of the heavy rain against the windows. For a second he believes he must’ve imagined it, or perhaps you’d shifted in your sleep.

He has one foot in the air, prepared to shuffle back to his own room when he hears it again. A choked sob hidden between the pitter patter of drops slamming against the glass.

He’s more insistent this time when he calls your name and pairs it with a soft knock against the wood of your door.

The noise seems to give you a spook because he swears you let out a high pitched ‘EEK’ in your surprise. There’s no additional verbal answer so he takes his chances on turning the knob and poking his head inside.

“Y/N? It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s Namjoon,” he reassures.

He can’t see a thing, the room is pure darkness. The streetlights outside have gone down with the rest of the power grid so he can’t tell if you’re hurt or might need help.

“Joonie?” There’s a soft voice coming from where he knows the bed is, muffled and timid.

“Yeah, can I come in?” he asks.

“Yeah,” comes an answer, meek and nearly whispered.

He hadn’t come into this room since you unpacked so he’s careful to take small, careful steps towards the bed, nearly bent in half with his arms out to feel for any furniture you might have moved into the path. He taps the bed tentatively when he finally reaches it, feeling long limbs under his palm.

He shyly takes his hands off you and makes his way towards the headboard, knees hitting the edge of the mattress as guidance. He reaches out again, expecting to find you but he only feels more blanket covered lumps.

“Are you hiding under the blanket?”

No words come but the hard shape under his palm moves in a nodding motion. He sinks down, kneeling onto the floor a little harder than he expected. Difficult to judge distance in the darkness.

“Can I pull the comforter down? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

The fabric moves under his touch until the feeling of goose down turns into silky hair. He moves his fingers down, grazing your ears until they reach your cheeks, damp and hot against his skin.

“Are you crying? What’s going on? Is moving away from home for the first time getting to you?” It definitely had for him at first. He’d go back to his parents’ house every night to have his mother’s cooking for dinner and only started spending the evenings at the apartment after his younger sister had mocked him about not being able to stay too far from his mother’s comfort.

You let out a shamed whine below him. “No…” He stays silent, waiting to see if you’ll share more. “The thunder woke me up and then I tried to turn on the light but it wouldn’t work. And-”

Lightning interrupts you and as the room flashes in sudden light Namjoon sees your face for an instant. Your eyes are wide, laced with red from the tears but one thing he can tell for sure is that in that second- you’re absolutely terrified.

Your breath gets shaky and there’s a twitch in your hands where he can tell you struggle not to throw the blanket back over your head to escape.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re afraid of the storm, I get it.” His grip on you tightens when he feels you tremble as the thunder rolls behind.

“You can say it. It’s stupid to be scared of storms. I’m just a big weenie.”

“I’d never call you a weenie, Y/N. You know, my friend JK is afraid of microwaves. Runs out of the kitchen and hides across his apartment every time he needs to heat something up. He’s convinced they’re going to blow up and take him with them in the blast.”

You snort, which is followed by a loud slap of skin on skin that he can only assume is you covering your mouth in response to the noise that just escaped. He’s huffing out his own chuckle in response. Adorable.

“Okay, so what are you afraid of then Mr. Tough Guy?” You’re more combative now. He’ll take that over the fearful demeanor you had a minute ago.

“Me? Hmm, I don’t think there’s anything too unusual. I’m not super fond of spiders, I suppose?”

“Spiders? But Yoongi told me you’re obsessed with crabs. They’re basically water spiders. They walk similarly and they’ve even got more legs!” Oh, you’re heated now but you’ve hit him where it hurts.

“How dare you!” The offended gasp he lets out overtakes the drone of rain coming from outside. “Crabs are cute little friends. I have half a mind to walk out and leave you alone in this storm after that.” He fakes getting up but a small hand digs into the flesh of his bicep.

“Don’t! Please. I’m sorry, crabs are adorable, you’re right. I was just kidding. Don’t leave.” He can hear the fear engulfing your voice in your plea.

“No, no, it’s okay. I was just joking. I’ll stay as long as you need.” He didn’t mean to trigger your panic again, especially since he had just gotten you to calm down a bit.

“You might be here a while then, it doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.”

“No worries. Let me just get off my knees. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I spend all night bent like this.” He makes to switch to sitting on the floor but you stop him.

“Do you… uhm, want to lay on the bed? There’s more than enough room for two. I’m not like Rose, that bitch.”

“Are you sure? I can sit here, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You’d known each other barely 12 hours. He didn’t want to appear pushy in your vulnerable state. He’s enough of a gentleman to know to make space for the women in his life to ease themselves into his presence in a manner where they feel safe.

“Don’t worry. Yoongi told me enough about you for me to know you’re the least scary man on this planet. Only way you’d hurt me is if you fell on top of me, which I’ve been warned may happen more than I expect so be careful climbing in.” He feels you scooch over to the other side of the bed, leaving a wide open space for him to settle into.

There’s still some hesitation that weighs heavily in his limbs but when he sees how your body jumps when another bolt touches down and illuminates the room his resistance melts away. His movements are slow as he eases himself onto the mattress.

“Do you have enough space?” you ask.

If he’s being honest he’s certain half his body is teetering off the edge but he’s more concerned about overcrowding you. “I’m fine, don’t worry. You should try to sleep, you had a long day.”

You’re answering with a half hearted mumble and the room is overtaken with the battering of rain on the windows. Namjoon stays alert, hoping to feel your breathing even out to indicate that sleep has claimed you but it never comes.

“Are you still awake?” Your voice is barely a whisper and if he wasn’t specifically keeping an ear out, he would’ve missed it completely.

He turns onto his side, body now settled fully onto the bed with no risk of suddenly tumbling out with a wrong move. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Can we just talk for a bit? I think that’ll help me calm down.”

“Of course, as long as you don’t insult my little crustacean friends again.”

“Were you one of those kids that would do that shark chant? ‘Fish are friends, not food.’”

“Nah, Pixar and Bruce are wrong for that. Fish are food, crabs are friends.”

“You’ll have to give me a history lesson as to why kiddie Joonie came to that conclusion if Nemo wasn’t the inspiration.” There it is again, Joonie. Namjoon huffs out a little chuckle at hearing it, letting the nickname slip under it.

“Oh,” you gasp. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked before calling you that. Do you not like it? I’ll stick to your name. Or should I be using honorifics, oppa?”

Oh, he’ll have to unpack how his stomach flips with that last part but now isn’t the time for sudden self discoveries.

“No, no! Don’t worry, it’s cute. I just wasn’t expecting it. My friends usually stick to just Joon but you can get special roomie privileges.”

“I fear you’ll one day regret that. I’m going to be so annoying from now on.” He can hear how your words are blanketed in a mischievous teasing, and he believes you but won’t admit defeat that easily.

“You’ll have to give Tae a run for his money. If he pairs up with Jimin then they’re insufferable. Hobi is a saint for having them both under the same roof with him. You don’t know the guys yet but you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

It’s easy to imagine you already melding into his little group of misfits. He thinks back to dinner when you’d teased him about listening to that ‘girly’ song, and he knows he’ll soon be babysitting four wiley dongsaengs instead of three. Sometimes five when Jungkook manages to set Seokjin off. He doesn’t realize the smile that sets itself on his lips and it’s too dark for you to comment on it.

The bed shifts and your voice is suddenly closer, indicating you’d mirrored his movements and were now facing him.

“You talk about them a lot, your friends. Yoongi does too. You must all be really close.”

“We are, like brothers honestly. I have a younger sister but meeting Yoongi was the first time I felt like I had a hyung. He’s not much for declarations of affection but I love that dude.”

“He knows. You guys are all he talks about besides his music. He loves you, too. I can tell.” Namjoon never doubted that but it’s always nice to hear.

“What about you? Do you have any siblings?” It should be an innocent question but the silence that follows feels heavy and loaded.

“I did. My little brother. He was five. He spiked a bad fever one night and had to be rushed to the hospital. My father packed him up in the middle of the night while I slept. My mother woke me up at 4 am in hysterics. We drove to the emergency room and I watched my parents fall to the floor from across the room as the doctor told them he didn’t make it. I couldn’t hear what they said from that far away but it was obvious. I’m haunted by the sounds of the storm that was raging outside as the windows shaked around me. Acute bacterial meningitis.”

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. It doesn’t bring him back, nothing will. I’m just left with distant memories of what his laugh sounded like, and this stupid fear of storms that just reminds me of the day my family broke apart.” Your words are being spit vehemently, your throat clearly closing up as it tries to choke back sobs.

Namjoon’s arms reach out to scoop you into his chest where you lose it in earnest. You hide into the crook of his neck as he can feel your resolve break. Tears hit his skin but he says nothing. There is nothing to say, he knows. You need something to hold onto as you let the emotions run their course and that’s something he can be for you.

It’s not too long before you catch your breath, great big gasps helping your body to settle back into rhythm.

“God, I’m so sorry. Having a breakdown because of some rain, trauma dumping, having a full breakdown. I must be making a great first impression as a new roommate.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re able to let it out. Bottling all that up would cause more damage.”

“Who knew I was shacking up with a therapist. It’s the same thing my counselor told me.” You’re back to teasing and Namjoon lets out the tension in his muscles that he didn’t realize he was holding. Your giggles fade off into a comfortable silence. The rain is still loud against the glass but the trembling that shook yo uhas subsided.

“‘Joonie? Can you hold me until I fall asleep?” Your voice is shy, the request bold for someone you barely know but he agrees without apprehension.

He expects you to burrow back into his chest as you’re already nestled in from your impromptu need for comfort but you surprise him by turning around and slotting yourself against him, back pushing into his front.

“Need to sleep on my left side. You don’t mind, do you?” After your revelation, he’d give you the moon if you asked, some spooning was an easy favor to fulfill.

He simply hums in agreement not entirely trusting himself not to put his foot in his mouth at that moment. He allows you to push back until you’re comfortable and slings his arm over your waist, letting his hand hang limp over your abdomen, careful not to push any unspoken boundaries.

You take it upon yourself to scoop his arm up and hold it close to you. Namjoon closes his fingers into a fist to avoid any accidental groping since his hand now rests on your chest, just above your breasts. He can feel the curve of them against his wrist, the mounds pressing into his forearm.

No! He needs to send his mind elsewhere. He tries to focus on the patter of the drops on the window. Pit pat. Would a roll of thunder fit into any of the songs he’s currently working on? What about the clap where the beat could drop? Anything to distract him from how warm you are beside him. The humidity of the storm only aggravates the heat that seeps through his skin, making it clammy and nearly wet. You, wet against him… NO! The heat is pooling at his crotch, the pressure rising when his blood is sent southward to fill a chub in his boxers. No, stop!

He’s trying desperately to inch his pelvis away from where your ass was resting against him. The universe is truly out for his demise because another round of lightning and thunder sends you jumping, forcefully seeking the hardness of his body against you. The grip on his arm turns vicious, your nails digging into his skin and your rear flies backwards in search of a seat and finds an unexpected obstacle.

Namjoon isn’t sure which sound rings louder. The gasp you let out at your discovery or his moan as his hips involuntarily thrust up against your ass. He doesn’t dare even breathe. What were you thinking? That your new roommate was a giant pervert? That he was taking advantage of the situation when all you asked for was some comfort in a time of need? Would you tell Yoongi? His hyung might be smaller than him but he has no doubt the older man could and would beat his ass into next week for this.

He seems to be the only one spiraling into a panic because instead of screaming and shoving him out of bed you only push back again. Your movements are tentative, slowly adding pressure and grinding your ass in circles against him as if trying to memorize the shape of him against your cheeks.

He slips his arm out of your grasp to bring his hand against your hip, pushing it down to pin you into the mattress and stop the maddening teasing.

“Y/N...” His voice comes out rough in between his teeth, a clear warning.

“Are you-?” You don’t need to finish your sentence with words, opting instead to push against his hold and roll your hips backwards again to feel the length behind you.

“I definitely am now since you can’t lie still. I’m trying to comfort you right now, so I am asking very politely to please have some mercy on me and go to sleep.”

For a second, Namjoon thinks he may have been too harsh.You’re quiet against him and he hopes he hasn’t triggered another round of distress with his tone.

The worries ebb when he feels your hand sneak behind to cup where his dick pushing against the fabric of his underwear. His eyes close when the pressure against the head sends little jolts of electricity flying through his body, a loud moan accompanying them.

“What if this is the comfort I need right now? Will you give it to me?” There’s a confidence in your voice now that had been missing when the sun went down. Namjoon is glad to hear it even if it beckons his doom.

He tries his best not to move, simply letting you tease along his length, your fingers wrapped around his cock through the thin fabric barrier. The drag is dry and nearly painful but he still twitches and wets a patch when your hand comes to squeeze at the head at every stroke.

You seem to take the lack of fighting back on his part as encouragement, and you push at the waistband to finally get under his boxers and meet the feverish skin hiding under them. He helps you reach your goal by shimmying the fabric down and under his balls, freeing his cock to let you handle it as you wish.

Your hand disappears for a second only to come back wet with spit and making the first tug of skin on skin both tortuous and heavenly. He can’t help but meet your fist with a thrust, precum dripping into your hand and easing the next strokes.

You’re showing your impatience when you grab his hand from your hip to aim it towards the waistband of your own underwear. You let him figure out the rest and go back to focus on jerking him off, a little harder this time as your hips roll against thin air.

He doesn’t keep you waiting too long, slipping his hand into your panties, realizing you’ve also opted out of sleeping with bottoms. His fingers plunge low and he’s surprised at how wet you are.

“All this just from rubbing against my dick a little bit?”

“No, I’ve been wet since you pulled me into your arms. Stupid thick biceps and big tits. Figured you’d notice it wasn’t just my eyes that were leaking.” Your words come staccato while your hips desperately try to chase his fingers.

He gives you what you seek and dips his middle finger into your heat. Your muscles contract around him, hot and so wet.

“Fuck, more,” you beg. You’re doing your best to clench around him but there’s not enough to bring relief.

“Impatient.” He wants this to last. He’s barely just gotten his hands on you after all the tension of the day finally snapping. He wants to savor it but you seem to have other plans.

“Namjoon, if you don’t start fingering me properly I’ll kick you out of this bed and do it myself.”

In any other situation he’d probably call that bluff, but he doesn’t want to risk you going through with it. He adds a second finger to your core and gets to work on a punishing rhythm. He uses the angle to his advantage and digs the heel of his palm against your clit to grind onto it with every thrust of his hand.

Your threats devolve into mewls. You’re trying to keep up your own pace against his dick but your grasp is loosening and losing rhythm. Hedoesn’t care. It allows him to focus on making you lose your mind, but you don’t seem to agree with the imbalance because you’re tugging him closer to you, tip bumping into the cotton of your panties. The need overtakes you and you’re ripping his fingers out of your pussy, letting it clench around nothing and mourning the loss. Your legs clamp shut to allow you to reach around and pull the fabric away from your entrance. You push back against his cock, trying to guide him through the darkness.

“In. Want you inside.” Your words aren’t quite begging but Namjoon can hear the plea clearlyin your voice.

“Fuck, Y/N. I should stretch you out more. I don’t think you should take it like this.” He knows he’s above average and he’s unsure that between the darkness and your horny haze you've realized quite what you’re up against in the short span of the mutual masturbation session that’s happened.

“I felt it. I know you’ve got a big dick. I don’t care. Fuck. Me.”

He hesitates to argue with you. He doesn’t want to hurt you but he can feel the warm wet heat enticing the head of his cock and it’s hard to ignore the call. He loses his battle and sinks himself into you. He brings his hand back to your hip and holds himself still as you shake through acclimating to his size.

“Oh god, fuck.” He can feel your pussy tightening around him, the pulses of your walls essentially jerking him off and it’s taking all his resistance not to start rocking his hips up to meet your ass.

“I-” He’s cut off as soon as he tries to start.

“You better not say ‘I told you so’ while you’re inside me or else you’ll never be again.” The possibility of this happening again shut him up pretty quickly.

He opts to try and ease you into the feeling, lets his hand trace along your skin, up to your torso. He peppers kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hand seeks out a breast under your shirt and gently takes it into his palm, massaging the flesh as his fingers tweak at the nipple.

He tries to imagine what it must look like pebbled between his thumb and index; the color of them in contrast to your skin. He’s overwhelmed with the urge to slip it between his teeth and test how hard he could nibble at it before you broke, but the current position makes it impossible and he doesn’t dare switch it now.

Your breathing becomes heavier at every pinch and twist. He can feel your chest heaving under his hand and you’re melting against him. The chokehold your pussy has on his cock also lets up a little, allowing you to rock back and forth seeking more friction.

“I’m ready.” Your voice calls him back. “You can move. Fuck me.” He starts slow and careful, long languid strokes out until only the head stays inside you, and back in with a smooth confident thrust; letting as much of his length fit as he can from this angle.

He lets his hand wander once he feels you matching his strokes, backing up to meet him at each push in. Your skin is damp under his palm and the sticky feeling would usually bother him, but he’s too enthralled by the little noises that you make with each movement.

Your hand chases after his, following where he cups at your breast, pinches at your nipple, and he notes the hitch in your breath when his large palm settles loosely at the base of your throat. He’ll have to file that one away for another day.

You eventually seem to grow frustrated with his teasing touches because you drag his hand back south and into your underwear. He spreads his fingers around where the two of you are joined. He can feel your arousal coat his cock and your pussy stretch around him, sucking him in at every stroke.

He brings his fingers up to finally give your neglected clit the attention it’s been craving. You can feel how it’s throbbing with desire. You don’t bother trying to suppress the moan that comes out in nearly a scream when Namjoon presses against your bundle of nerves with skillful pressure and maddening circles.

It’s still slow. Everything is infuriatingly slow but you can’t find your voice through the groans and gasps to ask for more, so you let him set his torturous pace and drown in the electricity coursing through your body.

You take up the mantle that he’d been forced to leave behind. You feel too good to ask to change positions but you mourn the lack of his other hand which is forced under him, unable to wreck the same havoc on your body as its twin. Your right hand travels to your torso, attempting to mimic his earlier teasing while your left holds onto his wrist between your legs to keep yourself grounded.

You melt into his touch, head lolling into the pillow. Namjoon takes advantage of your neck opening up. He finally gets to use his right arm to push his upper body enough to dip his head down where your shoulder meets your neck to attach his lips to your skin. The added feeling of his teeth biting down, paired with a hard suck and lick of his tongue sends you reeling. You push back harder, urging him to thrust in rougher, as deep as the position allows.

“So big, Joonie. Can feel you so deep.” You’re pushing his buttons and it works. You’re riling him up and he lets it happen. You sacrifice the feeling of his fingers on your clit to bring them up just above your pubic bone and push down hard making the head of his dick hit against the front of your walls. You know he can feel it push against his hand every time he hits home.

You know when he registered what’s happening because he’s pistoning into you with renewed vigor, each thrust stronger than the one before. The new pressure from his hand makes everything feel euphoric.

“Shit, Y/N. So fucking tight around me. You feel so good, sweetheart.” The praise falls from his lips without thought and the endearment slips through with ease but there’s no time to focus on it. You’re clenching around him, being brought to the edge.

Your hand replaces where his had been, fingers wild and frantic on your clit, pushing you towards your orgasm. It doesn’t take long to hit and your body goes rigid in his arms. Your muscles scream as they twitch and the wave radiates out from your core and washes over you to the tips of your limbs.

The shaking in your body subsides but the throes of pleasure still buzz under your skin from where Namjoon hasn’t slowed. He continues to push and pull his way into your body, keeping the tension alive.

“You sound so fucking hot when you cum. Feel so perfect around my cock.” No words come in reply to his, only mindless moans answer the praise. You want to tell him how good he feels inside you too, how you still need him so desperately.

“More!” You manage to gulp through the overwhelming feeling surrounding you. “Want to feel you deeper.”

His hips stutter in response, your words hit him in the pit of his stomach. He wants to give you more, whatever you want but he can’t go any further from this angle.

“Gonna have to move us around for that, okay?” His voice is muffled from where his mouth is still dug into the crook of your neck, breath heavy near your ear.

You’re nodding without giving it much thought. Whatever he wants, he can do anything he wants. You’d agree to anything if it meant getting more of the addictive feeling coursing through your veins.

His cock slips out of you and you barely have the time to whine at the loss that a yelp escapes you instead as you’re hauled up and around to land firmly on his lap, underwear being ripped away in the switch, Namjoon now spread beneath you. Your hands fly forward to balance yourself, knees planted on either side of his hips.

“Holy hell, I was kidding earlier with the tits comment but…” You let your hands finish the implication as they grab at the flesh of his chest, nails digging into his skin. “Can you flex for a second?”

His muscles tense under your touch and you can’t help the groan that slips out in response. His chest is rock hard now and you feel your body rise with the strength imbued in it. You let your hands drift downwards, nails dragging behind. You wonder if the marks will still be there tomorrow for you to see the damage you're leaving in the light of day.

You can feel each bump on his abdomen where the muscles bulge out and dip back in. You’re surprised to feel the smooth velvet tip of his cock hit your hand so quickly. You’re barely halfway down his abs and the realization of how big Namjoon actually is sinks in.

The previous position wouldn’t have had him remotely close to fully sheathed inside you. The anticipation of really feeling his entire length has you grinding down and sliding along him, trapping him between his stomach and your sopping folds.

He bucks up to meet the pressure, hands holding firm on your waist, following the pace you’ve set. He lets you roll on him, his sensitive head catching on your clit and every loop which elicits moans from both of you.

He’s sure he could cum from this alone, but he’s aching to feel you sink down on him entirely. There’s a desperate plea on the tip of his tongue, an encouragement for you to lead him back inside but he keeps quiet. He wants you to make the decision and go at the pace you need. Despite the shift in situation, Namjoon still feels the vulnerability you’re under.

His hand drifts up, letting fire spread along your skin. The electricity in the air isn’t only from the storm anymore. He’s gentle as he cups your breast, content when he can feel your chest arching forward to chase after the pressure of his touch. Your nipple pebbles despite the hot and humid air.

“Perfect,” he murmurs under his breath. He’s sure it’s low enough to stay a private confession but the low moans mixed with your thighs tightening against his hips reveal otherwise.

The praise urges you on, reigniting your movements. Namjoon almost fears you’re moving away, off from your seat on top of him. His hands are quick to reach back for yours; a silent imploration to stay but they’re unnecessary. The pressure on his chest where you anchor yourself grounds him. There’s a shake where your balance falters so you can reach beneath you and grab at his cock, holding it straight towards your core.

The darkness hadn’t bothered Namjoon until this moment. He’ll rue this day for his entire life for stealing the vision of your expression as you slowly sink down on his entire length for the first time. The whimpers that escape, as you take each inch further, are only teases compared to the satisfied groan that comes once you’re fully settled back in his lap. The entire situation is torture. The heat of the stifling summer night is nothing compared to the scorching embrace of your walls around him. There’s aftershocks of your muscles spazzing around him that pair with more moans while you acclimate to the feeling of him inside you.

Namjoon’s mouth is dry and his brain is empty. There’s a strong instinct to move, a twitch in his arms to use his strength to lift you up enough to have you slam back down but he resists.

He can hear your breathing even out, big gulps of air diminishing to a more normal rhythm. You’re fidgeting, torso lowering to come parallel to his until your breath hits his throat. He doesn’t even realize your hand had snaked away until it lands in his hair and you pull on the strands to allow your lips to stroke at the cartilage of his ear, a warm tickle accompanying your words.

“You’re so big, Joonie. Feel so full.” He knows it’s the sign he was waiting for when you end the compliment with a strong squeeze that he can feel through his entire body. All the restraint he had exhibited snaps.

It all happens at once. He reaches for a fistful of your hair to keep you still as he clumsily seeks for your lips with his own. The kiss is aggressive and too full of teeth clanking together at first. It eventually melts into something more salacious. Your lips are hot and slippery but Namjoon is aiming for more.

You’re too distracted to notice that his stance has changed. He jostles you as he plants his feet into your mattress to give him the best angle to properly pound into you. The first hard thrust is paired with a well timed bite of your lip which has you opening your mouth with a shout of pleasure. He takes advantage of the position to delve his tongue into a battle with yours, turning the dirty kiss into an even wetter mess.

Neither of you can hear the storm over the slaps of skin, low groans, and high whines from inside the room. “You hear how wet this pussy is for me? Sound so fucking pretty, bet it looks even better. We’ll have to do this again, right? So I can see you leaking over my cock properly.”

If you’re answering him it’s unintelligible in the mumbles melted into the moans that continue to spill out of you. He’s taking it as an agreement from the tightening of your core around him.

His legs eventually lower behind you, pushing you to straighten back up and work to keep up the faltering rhythm. The heat and late hour seeps into your bones but the exhaustion that lies at the edge of your consciousness is no match for the fire in your veins that feeds the lust inside you. Your hands reach behind you and grab onto meaty thighs. God, you’ll need to talk about those in the morning because you don’t have the energy to trigger another round tonight. Your head falls, back arching towards the sky. It gives Namjoon the opportunity to roam your body, soft strokes and harsh grasps.

“Come on, Joonie. What good are those big biceps for if you can’t fuck me harder?” The taunt works like magic to reinvigorate him. Large hands come back to your waist, palms digging hard into your body above your hip bones. His thumbs aim towards your core, pushing into the softness above your pelvis. It’s not as obvious as the first position on your side but he can definitely feel the shift under your skin where the pressure of his thrusting cock pushes against his fingers.

“Shit, Y/N, never felt pussy this good. My perfect girl. Are you close? Can you cum for me, baby?”

“Y-yeah, so close- fuck. You feel so good.” It wasn’t a lie, you’ve teetered on the edge for a while but you just needed a little extra push. Namjoon’s hold on you is strong enough to allow you to sneak a hand to where the two of you are joined. There’s only a flash of pleasure before your fingers are slapped away.

“Nuh uh, my job. If you want to be touched a certain way just ask for it. You’re a big girl, use your words.”

If he kept talking to you like that maybe you wouldn’t need the extra help after all but that’s an experiment for another day. “Please, Joonie, want to cum. Touch me.”

He dares to slow the pace, still upkeep the long hard strokes that hit deep inside you. “Is that the best you can do? You’re about to cum all over my cock and I’m still just Joonie? You’re not being very clear, you know. I’ve got my hands on you, I’m already touching. Be more precise. What do you want, princess?”

He’ll be the death of you, you can already tell you’ve set yourself up. Your words are coming out in choked sobs, your climax on the brink. “Please!” you exclaim, “Namjoon, please play with my clit and make me cum all over your big cock.”

He didn’t expect you to take the bait so strongly, but you asked so politely, who would he be to deny your request.

“Good girl. I’ll give you anything you ask for if you do it like that. Look all innocent but you’re just a desperate little thing, aren’t you?” His words are paired with increased speed. He pistons into you with such force that you swear you’re floating above him. The world falls away when his thumb finally comes to rub tantalizing circles around your nub, the movement a little clumsy form how wet it is between your thighs.

It doesn’t take much to reach elation. White light explodes behind your eyes making you believe the power may have returned for a second. There’s electricity living in your nerves that travel down your limbs. There’s a rawness in your throat you assume was birthed from the scream that still echoes around the room.

You catch your breath on a pile of loose limbs draped over your new roommate’s huge frame. Your muscles are spasming from the outside in. You can tell that Namjoon definitely feel it from how tense his muscles feel under your fingers. You purposefully constrict around him and the answering grunt confirms your suspicions.

It takes a second to gather enough strength to sit back up while keeping him snuggly inside you. You wish you could look into his eyes as you roll your hips over him. You know it’s not as stimulating as the hard thrusts from earlier but the sweet sounds you hear from under you seem to have him perfectly content.

“Fuck, you never stop surprising me but you really need to get off because I can’t last anymore.” There’s a tension in his tone, one that you’d hear from someone holding onto a loosening grip that could result in falling to their doom.

You let the nail from your index dig into his skin and leave a burning sensation behind as your scratch down the valley of his pecs, from his clavicle to his abdominals. “Good. Then my plan is working. Your turn to cum for me.”

“Oh, I will. The second you get off me, it’s torture to keep it in, so please-” It’s his turn to beg but you’re not as ready to give in to his demand this time around. You only double your efforts, rolling hips and tight squeezes.

“Go on, then. You wanted me to ask for what I want? Cum. I’m safe and I want you to cum inside me, Namjoon.”

There’s black magic in the way you say his name, it’s hypnotizing. Or maybe it’s the imaginary visual of what you’d look like splayed out with his cum seeping out of you that does it.

He brings his fingers back to your sensitive clit and the pressure is almost too much. You nearly beg him to give you a break but he interrupts you before you can start. “One more time, with me. If you want me to fill up that sweet pussy, you’ll have to milk it out of me.”

You can’t tell whether it’s the pressure on your clit or the dirty words from his mouth, but the wave of pleasure comes back with a mighty force and crashes through you again. You can feel your core tightening around him in spasms which triggers his own release. You can feel his cock spurting inside you, an extra layer of warmth seeping into you. You can’t hold yourself anymore and flop onto Namjoon, both of your breaths heavy and labored.

His hand strokes comfort onto your back. You don’t even mind how sweaty you both are, sticking to each other. “We should get cleaned up,” he suggests.

You dig your face into the crook of his neck in protest. “No. Tomorrow. Don’t want to move. You still feel good, don’t want you to pull out.” You purposefully twitch to make your point. His cock may be softening but it’s still firmly plugging you up. You both know you’ll regret it in the morning but you couldn’t care right now.

The exhaustion you both feel settles into contentment as sleep pulls you in. You both fall asleep without even noticing that the storm has also fallen into slumber.

Okay, so maybe Namjoon was a little dramatic about being abandoned because it’s only a week later when Yoongi is back in his old apartment from a weekend brunch date with his friends.

You and Jin are bonding in the kitchen. Yoongi can hear his boyfriend’s windshield wiper laugh mixed with your giggles that he’s always compared to a hyena. He expected the atmosphere to be a little awkward when he came in, both of the new roommates a little shy and fond of individual activities.

But when he let himself in earlier he found both his friends sharing the couch in the living room, each with a book in hand,which wasn’t surprising, but your feet perched on Namjoon’s lap, that was a little surprising.

He had let that slide easily enough. His suspicion returns simply from how much smiling Namjoon has been doing. Smiles wouldn’t be odd for most but Yoongi has heard that man’s music lately and he’s the definition of a Sad Boi™.

The pieces fall into place when you bring in the plates and there’s lingering. From your fingers on Namjoon’s when you exchange the dish to his eyes on your ass when you turn away. Yoongi stares Namjoon down, deadpan. His friend’s eyes widen in panic once he realizes he’s been caught. Yoongi’s always been able to read him like a book.

“You motherfucker,” Yoongi spats at him just as you reenter the room.

“Now now, Yoongles. Do we need to call Dr. Lee to go through your mommy issues again? We’ve already established I’m not your mother.” You take a seat on Namjoon’s lap as if to make a point. “Besides, there’s only one person that gets to call me mommy now.” The look you and Namjoon share might be the final drop that makes him go dig for his old psych’s number that night.

[nihilnovisubsole]

Because of your latest post: not sure if you’ve answered this before, but how does someone even entertain the idea of writing for the game dev industry? Did you start out on indie games or just write before and show them your work? Since it’s such a subjective field etc

if i have, it bears repeating! here's a rough timeline of what i did. never discount the value of luck and the kindness of friends

2016: i was doing a random freelance transcription job when i saw @theivorytowercrumbles post about writing for voltage. they reblogged the studio's open casting call for new writers. since it was so lenient - no experience, fanfic samples allowed - i applied. they hired me for their new project, but let me go after a trial period, citing that the tone of my writing was a bad fit for that game. i foundered for a while after that. i don't take rejection well. i started dangerous crowns to try to make money from writing some other way.

2017: one of voltage's producers reached out to me and said they'd started another project that i was a good fit for. she felt letting me go was a mistake and wanted to snap me back up. i said yes, i mean, are you kidding? so i started on reiner's route.

2018-2019: i kept at it. i took on diego's route. it occurred to me that i wasn't making very much money, but i liked my coworkers, and i was building my portfolio, so who cared? i also finished dangerous crowns, and a handful of people bought it, but certainly not enough to support myself or anything.

early 2020: between the pay and creative differences with voltage's team, it started to sink in that i needed to find other work. i applied to the few open game writer jobs i could find, but with only mobile romance in my portfolio, i got nowhere. i threw in dangerous crowns samples. i tried to network on twitter. i still never made it to the interview phase. i foundered for a while again.

late 2020: the voltage writers went on strike. i gave a statement to a journalist that one of obsidian's narrative designers noticed. we became acquaintances over it. another old friend of mine threw me a life raft in the form of a different contract, better paying, on a non-romance indie game. i took it gladly. i added a twine game to my portfolio, too. i kept applying. i got a few interviews, but something still didn't click.

2021: i finally accepted that i needed formal help. i did a portfolio workshop. i got resume coaching. the coach passed my name to a writer on the company of heroes team. they liked me! they also paid me more money than i'd ever seen in my life. at the same time, obsidian advertised a narrative job opening. i applied on a lark and let my ND pal know i was doing so. why not, right? college-new-vegas-fan me would want me to. they rejected me, but not before i passed their writing test and two interviews. i had nothing to lose at that point, so i told my ND pal that i was bummed. she gave me a golden piece of advice: "you came really close. try again."

2022: obsidian had another narrative opening. i threw myself at it. i was now going to annoy them into hiring me. since i was a known quantity from applying six months before, they had no qualms about interviewing me again. this time, it worked out, and i've been there ever since.

what's the common denominator here? i met people who thought i was all right and gave me a hand up when i needed it. the standard advice is to work with a community of your peers instead of trying to get your heroes to senpai-notice you. it's not that they don't care - they just have their own thing going on, and your peers could be the heroes of tomorrow if the right project comes along. i also found the portfolio was the end-all-be-all when it came to job hunting. i went through a grieving process with that! i'm not afraid to admit it. i wish studios had held my degree or dangerous crowns in higher regard, but i just had to make games in a wider variety of genres, and that was that.

one caveat: narrative is a really saturated field right now. a lot of people want to write, and there aren't many openings. it's not uncommon for big studios to get hundreds of applicants. larian probably got over a thousand for the job they posted recently. i feel awful saying that, because i don't want to discourage you, but i'd feel worse if i didn't let you know what you were getting into. if it's something you want, you should try! keep an open mind about the random projects you may find. you never know where they'll take you.

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Six: Forced Proximity @rowaelinscourt

link to masterlist here

She is a mess because I wrote her in one day between doing my real job and trying not to cry xoxo

Warnings: mild covid references/quarantine days, very poorly edited

level of concern (tell me we're alright)

The apartment was too small.  Aelin hadn’t noticed it until now, but two rooms and a single bathroom with a kitchen that easily melted into the living room was hardly enough space for two people.  Two people who hated each other.

Aelin threw herself down on the couch, gripping her coffee in one hand.  She’d long ago mastered the art of equilibrium where any sort of caffeine was involved so she didn’t spill anything as she sprawled across the plush cushions.  Groaning, she leaned her head back and tried, so very hard, not to lose her ever loving mind.

It was only week three of quarantine and she was going insane.

She missed going outside whenever she felt like it.  She missed going shopping.  She missed her friends.  She missed people.  Instead, she was trapped here with the one person she did not want to be.

“Do you always have to sound like a dying whale?” A very unamused voice called from the kitchen table, a grand ‘ol four steps away.

Aelin flashed a single finger over the top of the couch.  She got a grunt of disapproval in return.

“It’s eight twenty-two, well outside of your precious quiet hours,” she informed her roommate. “I can do whatever I want.”

Another grunt.

Aelin shifted to peek over the couch to glare. “You sound like a dying walrus.”

And Rowan Whitethorn promptly choked on his cereal.  Two days in a row—Aelin was on a winning streak.

When Aelin first moved to Doranelle three months ago, her plan was to have her own apartment, a dog, a perfect new job, and a social life.  What she got was a crash landing with her nemesis, no dog, the worst job known to man, and quarantine.

She and Rowan had been at each other's throats since they met one fateful night at a bar.  Rowan spilled beer on her, an accident, and promptly insulted her two minutes later after trying to hit on her.

As it turned out, he was friends with Aelin’s old roommates' boyfriends.  She should have known he was the worst considering he and Lorcan Salvaterre got on.  

The bar scene ended with a fight, more beer spillage (on purpose), and a promise of vengeance.

Unfortunately for Aelin, her prospective lease fell through and she would have been homeless if not for the extra room in Rowan’s apartment.  And then covid struck and Aelin was trapped.

Hence, her beached whale position (and sounds) from the couch.  Life was one cosmic joke after another.

“You don’t always have to make your presence known, y’know,” Rowan commented as he pretended, he hadn’t almost had multi-grain Wheaties shooting out of his nose.

“Of course I do,” Aelin argued, “how else can I annoy you before quiet hours begin?”

His green eyes flashed and he rose from his seat at the table, already dressed in a button up and slacks.  For Zoom meetings.  Like a lunatic.  If he’d been wearing a tie she would have teased him for it.  Of all things the man should still be in shorts and a t-shirt.  At least the button up stretched in interesting ways over Rowan’s broad shoulders.  He might have been the bane of her existence but he was nice to look at.

“Don’t you have a job?” he asked, putting his dishes in the sink. “Ah, I forgot, you don’t.”

“Freelance writing is a job,” Aelin said.  She sat up straighter so she could better glare at him. “It’s not my fault things have slowed down.”

Indeed, Aelin’s literature degree had taken a hit given the state of the world right now.  She’d hoped she would have a job at a major publishing company or magazine or something.  Instead, she’d been rejected from job after job and was trying to write freelance articles to keep up on rent.  It…wasn’t going well.  Which had led her to content creating for Instagram.  She read books and talked about them and it kept her somewhat sane.  Until Rowan mocked her for it.

“Rent’s due on the fifth!” he called as he disappeared down the hall to his room to shut in for his work day to begin.

Aelin had no idea what he did, only that it involved not having a sense of humor.  Something with marketing?  But his degree was in history if Elide was right…

She shrugged and took a long sip of her coffee.  She had less than twenty minutes before quiet hours started at eight-forty and ended at five thirty when the work day ended and she had every intention of making as much noise as possible.

…

Rowan knew he was an ass.  He’d always been known as the asshole throughout high school, college, the steps in-between.  Even his friends often thought he was worse than Lorcan.  Lorcan of all people.

Granted, ever since Elide came into the picture, Lorcan had mellowed out and even smiled once a week.

Rowan found scowling to be more beneficial.  Especially when it came to getting Sam Cortland to shut up in the daily staff meetings they had over Zoom.

His degree was in art history and appraising--a limited degree where all he’d wanted to do was work in a museum organizing exhibits.  Not writing legal documents for rich men to take art from their rightful owners.

The irony was not lost on him that perhaps he shouldn’t give Aelin such a hard time about her job and the fact she wasn’t using her degree very much.  

The only problem was he’d dug himself into a hole and now he had no idea how to get out.

Aelin, for all eccentricities, was smart and did work hard.  She was doing everything possible to stay afloat--sarcasm included.

Their first meeting at the bar had only gone so miserable because Rowan didn’t know when to shut up and apparently had a unique skill of insulting beautiful women.  What a time to learn that.

English?  Isn’t that the easiest thing to study?

She should have slapped him and not just dumped beer in his lap.

Rowan leaned back in his seat as the project manager started talking over the new contract that would be drawn up between a client and their acquisitions.  It continued on for too long and Rowan just wanted to get back to his own assignments.  By the time late afternoon rolled around, he was ready to log off and be done for the day.

He’d always considered himself to be a homebody, but this was getting ridiculous.  He wanted to be out doing things.  But the trails were closed, his friends were spread out over the country, and there was the risk of a disastrous illness running amuck.

So he was trapped in an apartment with Aelin Galathynius.  The place had always felt enormous until she’d moved in.  But she had a way of filling every space she occupied.  Other than the various bathroom accouterments she had there were the dozens of fleece blankets, the books, the personality.  Even he had to admit she was different from anyone he’d met before.

Unfortunately, she was very good at holding grudges.

He’d tried apologizing for getting off on the wrong foot when she first moved in, but her mind was already made up.  Then came the way she was loud, talkative, rambunctious.  Quarantine was not meant for her.  After one day he’d realized that she needed space and freedom and the ability to do whatever she wanted.  The jury was still out on how he felt about that.

He was finally able to mute his other coworkers when a loud crash echoed from the kitchen.  Rowan rolled his eyes.  It was two, so of course Aelin was getting snacky.  He’d clocked her eating habits and quickly learned she needed to eat at least eight times a day to be in a good mood.  Seven of those times had to involve chocolate.

She had been doing better at keeping quiet while he was in his zoom meetings so Rowan tried to control his ire.  Really, she hadn’t been a bad roommate.  She’d tried to keep the peace between them and even offered to include him on DoorDash orders.  All of her orders were from the local dessert shop and Rowan didn’t eat much sugar so that didn’t help matters.   

Another crash from the kitchen followed by the patter of feet to the linen closet.

“Damndamndamndamn,” Aelin chanted as she went.

Rowan froze.  She’d broken his sink again, hadn’t she?  He glanced at his computer but no one was paying attention, all engaged in their own work.  Besides, he could step away from a minute if he needed to.

Standing, Rowan slipped into the hall and down to the kitchen.  He braced himself for anything and everything.  Knowing Aelin there could be a dead body.

What he was completely unprepared for was the settling plume of flour and mess of various baking items scattered around the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Aelin turned from the counter, her blonde hair spilling out of a messy bun.  Her t-shirt and shorts (that showed off her lean legs) were covered in a mix of flour and butter, her face smudged too.  He knew he should stop staring.  Really, he’d seen her first thing in the morning looking like the walking dead and in the middle of the night crying to Taylor Swift.  And now, covered in flour, eyes wide with panic.  He would admit it only to himself and deny it if anyone asked him--but she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“It’s cookie Friday,” Aelin said, she had a towel in one hand, spatula in the other.  A bottle of vanilla was tipped over as she was trying to mop up the mess. “Sorry.”

“You hate cooking, or baking, or anything involving an oven,” Rowan reminded her.

“Which is why I’m only going to eat the dough raw,” Aelin said, voice growing quieter with each word.  Her blue eyes were comically wide as she gestured around the kitchen. “Then the thing exploded and the other thing tipped over and it turned into a mess and I was trying to be quiet because you are a grumpy buzzard, even on Fridays, and I know you’re at work but I really needed cookies.”

Aelin continued to look at him with her large eyes as she offered a sympathetic shrug of her shoulders.  

"Sorry?"

Rowan didn't know if he should laugh or be irritated or something else.  But all he really could do was stare at her.  It was such an Aelin thing for her to do that really, he couldn't be mad.

"You know raw cookie dough is bad for you right?" He asked.

"No, it literally feeds the soul," she set.

With a wet thwack, she dropped the towel in the sink and righted the vanilla bottle.  Most of it had spilled out leaving a sickly-sweet scent cloying in the air. "And I don't care what scientists or other miserable things you read say."

Rowan rolled his eyes. He should have known better than to try and reason with her. "Alright fine.  Eat your salmonella."

"I will, thank you," she said.  A patch of flour still clung to her cheek giving her bravado a little less umph than he was sure she wanted. "And I'll clean up, no need to worry your poor old heart about that."

"I'm not old," he said.  Thirty was a perfectly reasonable age.

"Yeah, yeah."  She patted herself down, sending little plumes of flour all over the place.  She tried righting her hair, but it seemed to be of no use—most of the tendrils had broken free and she was stuck with a curling mass in the nape of her neck. "Go back to work, I'm sure nothing will get done without you."

And Rowan in a bought of what had to be pure reckless abandonment shook his head. "Nah.  I'm not that important."

Aelin raised a brow. "Really? Even with your real degree and real work you put into college."

Well.  He deserved that. 

"Yeah?"

Aelin eyed him skeptically before tossing another clean towel at him. "You get the floor I'll get the cabinets."

And then because the apartment had somehow shrunk in the last three months—they were continually in each other’s way.  Rowan brushing her leg, Aelin grabbing his shoulder when she nearly fell over while reaching for the top cabinets, both going for the sink at the same time.  It was chaos.  And because Rowan didn't know how to sort out his own feelings, he found his skin heating at each touch, his heart race at each glance.  And he knew, he knew he was a fool.  But if the past three months had taught him anything—it was that he could be very wrong about a great deal of things.

When the kitchen was somewhat restored to order.  Aelin sighed. "I guess that'll have to do.  I'll dig out the real cleaning products in a minute, I have to meet with one of my editors.  Hopefully one of my articles was accepted this time."

She said the last part flippantly, but Rowan could sense the tension rolling off of her.  She wanted that job to go through, needed it.  

"I'm sure it will," he said.

Aelin rolled her eyes. "You don't have to offer a pity compliment buzzard; I know it's not your style."

“It’s not--” Rowan cursed and looked away, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “We both know what I said back then wasn’t true.  I know it must have taken work and dedication to get your degree.”

“Thanks.  It did.” She was unapologetic with her bold words, just as he would expect her to be. “I won’t keep you.  I promise I’ll have the rest of this cleaned up before bed.”

“It’s fine,” Rowan said. 

Aelin grabbed the dirty towels to take to the small laundry alcove but Rowan stopped her.

“You’ve got flour,” he tried to explain that there was still a steak of flour on her cheek, but he was already reaching out, brushing it away with a quick swipe of his thumb.

Aelin froze, watching him as if she didn’t recognize him.  Not that he could blame her, he was actually being nice.  Her lips parted as if to say something, but Rowan’s phone gave a loud ping from where he’d left it in his room.  He’d hooked his notifications onto a larger speaker setting so he wouldn’t miss anything during the day if he got up to leave his desk.

“Work calls, right?”  Aelin joked with a small, half smile.  And then she was gone down the hall.

Rowan cursed again, running a hand over his face. 

“Get it together, Whitethorn,” he muttered, before he too returned to his room.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

tags are a joke rn. please consider reblogging?

love yall

[annika-thelostlove]

Unfinished Draft #1

Drabble for late valentines - Edward nashton talks to you, who he thinks is out of his league.

This is a random note i made in my notes app that has been there since February, which i didn't continue. This turned into a weird dialog drabble. I tried polishing it up, but I still kept it a rough draft in the end.

Edward catches the eye of one of the young COO who works on the top floor of their company. But after a long time trying to flirt with him obviously and even making grand gestures, Ed still doesn't get the hint. Ed just thinks you love his department and gives you all special attention. He believes you are so far from his league. I imagine him being ignorant and cute, clapping along with everyone when she COO buys a new coffee machine close to his desk, not at all realizing it's for him. But now that its valentines Day, the COO loses their patience and gives him a piece of their mind.

-----

"You're here."

His magnified eyes looks up at you through those clear glasses. "Yes."

"You have no plans tonight? It's valentines"

He continues to work his keyboard while he responds to you, "I have no patience for holidays fueled only by consumerism"

"Ah, I didn't realize that's how you feel about this holiday." Biting your lip in thought "Well it wouldn't hurt, would it? I told everyone they could take half the day off if they had plans today. The rest of your floor is empty now."

Edward looks straight at you, suspicious. "I'm sorry to be so forward, boss, but are you trying to ask me to dinner perhaps? Because I don't think it would be appropriate."

"I-"

"Or if it is a joke, it's not very funny"

"No! Mr Nashton, I have good intentions- " he has stumped you, though youve thought he was being ignorant this whole time. "Well, your first assumption is right. I admit. But we're not of the same department, so i didn't think it was going to be some issue. Do you really hate the idea?? That maybe, i am asking you to dinner?"

He looked at you skeptically. "You have no need to talk to me. I am just an accountant, and you have position of chief operations offcer, people like you should not aim so low for someone like me as a romantic partner ma'am."

"Don't say that."

"Don't wha-"

"Don't talk about me like I'm different. I can be interested in you if I want to be."

"Wait i-"

"What's so different about me? I have an Ivy League degree? I have a rich family? I'm tired of people thinking that people like me want nothing to do with you and the people on your floor. I come down here once a day just to see you. Did you know that?"

You swear you see Edwards face flush red. "But that, that doesn't make sense, I'm..me, and you're...you."

"What does that even mean? Edward, look at me! Do you think I'm pretty?" She doesn't know when, but tears have gathered in her eyes, ready to fall. This hurt her to confront more than she realized.

"Wha- well..."

"Am I pretty to you? Do you want me?"

"Of, of COURSE I do, who wouldn't?

"Eddie I want you. Is that enough for you?"

"Uh, what."

"Edward I'm really fucking mad right now, its valentines day, and i was hoping we would be together since two months ago, we are off schedule! so don't test me."

"Um, yes. Yes! It's enough. But I just dont-"

"It's enough for me. That settles it."

"What have I done for you to...I don't understand "

"It SETTLES it. You want to know what i want? Tonight we go on a date. I can answer all your questions then. We are behind on schedule, well..." Suddenly getting shy, you blush. "if you agree to date me, that is, after six months of dating, we move in together. Then I ask you to marry me. If you say yes, I plan we buy a house, I have had one in mind near here. I want children, at least two. But we can discuss that together."

Edwards face unknown to him grows dreamy while he stares at you. "...al-alright"

"But tonight, I'm still not happy with you, and I'm tired of waiting for you to get the fucking hint. So you're going to fuck me a few times to make it up to me. Alright?"

"Fuck, okay"

The scowl on your face melts into a sweet smile

"Good"

--

Note: I was imagining the COO is also a little freak, they've been stalking him, got a full background check done on him, and fell in love even more with Edward loving puzzles and him being from modest beginnings, they also love his extremist alter ego, the riddler. But he'll find out that they know eventually, it was also a fun idea if they are funding him with money for his guns and explosives. They also hate rich people and people who are gold diggers. So Edward was the dream man for them 💕

[archaeren]

how did you get into game writing and VNs and such?? i did one freelance job a while back and loved it but since then its been so hard to get into the industry…. i keep getting rejected despite having writing experience/publication in other areas 😭

(omg I didn't realize I have a bunch of messages in my inbox oops) Unfortunately, my game industry work that pays the bills is mostly as QA director, for which we are contracted by other studios. I do writing for our own studio, but I tend to not pursue contract work for writing because I don't want the creative pressure. (Though I was spontaneously offered work on that by another studio recently, so who knows, maybe I'll cave XD) But I will tell you what I tell people who ask me how to get into the games industry. Sorry if you already know some of this, I can't tell from your profile how much experience you already have in the industry! >.< 1. Build a portfolio of game work. You can do this by participating in game jams, itch.io has tons of them running all the time. If you can find in-person game jams (such as the Global Game Jam), even better! They'll help you build connections. If you can show you have strong skills in branching narrative, that's a massive plus. (yeeeeah, this involves basically doing a lot of unpaid work in your free time. but hey, nobody else is getting paid for it either! game dev notoriously pays like shit anyway. XDDD as the joke goes, if we wanted to make money, we'd work in software dev.) 2. Go to where the game developers are. In person. I can't stress this enough. If you want work in the games industry, the best/easiest/quickest way to do it is to meet devs in person. Some people may argue this is not necessary and that you can find work online--in my opinion, those people are either very lucky or very hopeful. You can maybe find some work by hanging out in game dev spaces online, but from personal experience, every client our studio has EVER HAD was either someone we met in person or someone we were introduced to through someone we met in person. Every single one. Here's a list of ideas of places to meet developers: - IGDA meetups, see if there's a chapter in your area. (Or if there isn't and you have the time and ambition, maybe you could start one!) - Local non-IGDA dev groups, you can sometimes find these through Meetup or Facebook - If there are colleges in your area that offer game dev degrees, you could try asking their professors if they know of any local events - See if there are any local game studios in your area that would be able to point you toward the community. Game dev studios aren't just in big cities!! It's not necessarily comprehensive, but you can check out https://gamecompanies.com/map - Game conventions/expos such as PAX - Game developer conferences/events, such as GDC or language/engine-specific conferences such as PyCon (GDC is WAY more worth it than PAX, but extremely expensive. I don't advise going to either until you have a solid game plan of what you're looking for there. There are also organizations that are willing to sponsor people with less means and underrepresented perspectives to attend GDC, so make sure to investigate that!) (And if you do go to a major event like PAX or GDC, make sure to google the afterparties list) And final protip for attending any sort of in-person event: We don't use the word 'networking'. It is a cursed word. We are not networking. We're meeting new friends and like-minded creators. <3

[bunmellos]

Hi!! Huge fan of your artwork and I’ve been following you for a while now!

I was wondering if you had any advice for people wanting to become music majors/professional musicians? I’m currently a senior in high school and I want to play saxophone professionally, but the thought of entering the “music world” (which many people have said is unstable and hard to make money in) scares me a little. If there’s any advice you can give on college and life as a musician I’d love to hear it!

aah thank you!! music is definitely a difficult field to get started in. the culture around our instruments and repertoire are pretty different but here’s a couple tips that are universal:

1. whether they’re required or not, try to fit some pedagogy(teaching) classes into your curriculum. teaching is one of the best ways to ensure you have a steady income, which is really hard to come by as a freelance musician and/or someone fresh out of college. teaching privately allows you to set your own schedule, rates, and policies, and personally i think it’s very rewarding to watch your students grow and get to know all sorts of people :> middle schoolers are really fun to interact with LOL

2. try to build relationships with your peers, instructors, and community members. this one is really important in my opinion! iirc pretty much all the gigs ive booked came about because i was recommended/invited by a friend or mentor, and my good relationship with local orchestra teachers led them to recommend me to their students for private lessons. how you play is definitely important, but networking is one of the most vital skills for a musician to have

3. in a similar vein, try to jump on opportunities even if they’re daunting! usually they aren’t as bad as you think they’ll be (i get crazy anxious when i go into a new situation or even when preparing for first rehearsals of a concert cycle, so i’m still working on this one lol)

4. don’t limit yourself to /just/ performance. i’ve known lots of fantastic musicians who manage different aspects of a professional ensemble, do instrument maintenance, etc., while still playing on the side. one of the most rewarding jobs i’ve ever had was when i worked in a music store as a string specialist. i learned what makes a quality instrument, differences in materials, basic string repair, even a little bit about winds and brass (as a violinist i still can’t believe brass players bathe their instruments O_O)

as for school itself, i think the most important thing is that you get along with your private teacher, since they’ll be your closest collaborator. take lots of auditions and take advantage of the built in rehearsal+practice time! i rushed through school as fast as possible because despite its wonderful music program i Hated my university and where it was located and i’m still kicking myself for graduating asap instead of taking my time.

currently i definitely take a defensive approach to being a musician. as you’ve probably noticed, most of my advice leans on leaving yourself other options in case playing professionally full-time doesn’t work out. obviously i don’t know the full extent of your situation but most people don’t get the performance job they hope for straight out of school- music programs are notoriously bad for failing to set their graduates on a steady career path, which unfortunately is just how it goes with the arts. i’m still trying to figure out what i want to do and i constantly have to remind myself that my life isn’t over just because i’m not soloing with orchestras around the world or whatever at 23 years old; im still growing as a musician even after graduating with a degree and i have my whole life to improve !! which i think is one of the most important things to remember

i think that’s about it for now but let me know if you have any other questions :] good luck!!

[meaningofgrayx]

hey, isn’t that GRAHAM 'GRAY' NOVELLO, who looks a little like LUKE PASQUALINO? i hear HE/HIM is a 34 year old CIS MAN who works as a GALLERY MANAGER and ART INSTRUCTOR who has been in town for A LOT OF HIS LIFE. they AREN’T a member of one of aspen creek’s founding families. you can usually find them at SUNNYVALE COMMONS or WILLOW CREEK GALLERY (where he works). if you ask me, they remind me a lot of coffee cups on a art covered desk, vintage cameras, fresh herbs in the kitchen, rustic pasta dishes and old-world charm. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through!

FULL NAME: Graham Perry Novello NICKNAME: Gray DATE OF BIRTH: 19th September 1990 AGE: 34 BIRTHPLACE: Aspen Creek, North Carolina GENDER: Cis Man PRONOUNS: he/him OCCUPATION: Artist and Gallery Assistant, Art Class Instructor EDUCATION: Art Degree from New York School of Visual Arts FACE CLAIM: Luke Pasqualino

BIOGRAPHY

Graham, affectionately known as Gray, was born in Aspen Creek, North Carolina, to Italian parents from Sicily and Naples. Though he grew up in pretty Aspen Creek with his parents, he has a large extended family in Italy, whom he remains very close to and visits often. Gray’s parents, Maria and Richard, were teenagers when he was born, marrying a year later. His mother is a kindergarten teacher, and his father owns a construction company. At 18, Gray's parents had his much younger brother, James. Supported and deeply loved, Gray had a stable, joyful childhood and often spent his holidays with grandparents and cousins in Italy.

Gray is a social and talkative person, making friends easily and charming those around him. Always encouraged by his parents to pursue his passions, Gray grew up confident, sometimes coming across a bit spoilt, but he has a good heart. Though he can be emotional and is known for a somewhat short temper, he is quick to apologise and dislikes upsetting others. Gray’s deepest love has always been his art; since childhood, he’s carried a sketchbook and camera everywhere he goes. As a teenager, he poured his creativity into set design for school plays and actively participated in the photography club. Excelling in academics, he earned a place at the New York School of Visual Arts.

After completing his degree, Gray spent time travelling across Europe, Australia, and parts of the U.S., searching for artistic inspiration and exploring the world through his camera lens and drawings. He eventually settled in Italy for a few years, where he worked at his uncle’s restaurant and lived with his cousin. During this time, he took a part-time job at a gallery, which only solidified his passion for art. Gray also worked as a freelance graphic designer, creating logos, illustrations, and photography for various events. In his late twenties, he decided it was time to return to his hometown of Aspen Creek.

Now 34, Gray works as a manager in a local gallery and museum in Aspen Creek. He also runs art classes at the gallery, where he teaches students of all ages and skill levels. Gray lives in a nice apartment near the gallery and is often out enjoying food and drinks with friends. A dedicated foodie, he loves cooking, a skill he learned from his mother, and often takes charge in the kitchen. An organised person, he can’t stand mess, a quirk his friends and family have come to accept.

Gray loves being close to family again and spends a lot of time with his parents and his now 15-year-old brother, James. Energetic and full of life, Gray is constantly on the go, but as he gets older, he dreams of finding someone special, hoping to build a future and settle down, ideally, to have the lasting love his parents share.

[hotforharrison]

Life has been kind of crazy in the worst possible way this month.

It feels like so much more than 3 weeks since the day I filed for divorce on July 1, which was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

I meant every word of my vows on that Thursday afternoon in September 2010 when my marriage began. I thought we were going to be each other's person for the rest of our lives, not for that to slip through my fingers because I was careless with his heart, and I can't put into words how deeply I regret it.

I never expected his embrace to hurt the way it does now, and the worst part of it is that he's the only one here to hug. He was the biggest source of my comfort for so many years, and even if he was here to hold me right now, it wouldn't be the same. What we had is completely gone.

It still kill me that I don't remember the last time we had sex, the last time we shared the bed we slept in together every night, and I woke up to him like I did so many times over the years.

He told me that we could have sex again on a friends with benefits basis, but I don't want to. It would destroy me.

Anyway, the power has been back on for a full week now after 8 days without in the godawful Texas summer heat, with only a few brief interruptions, mostly tonight when we had a thunderstorm.

We've spent the last week and a half, starting before the power even came back on, getting quotes from contractors for repairs for the extensive damages. The hurricane damages to the house I live in are in the tens of thousands of dollars.

(The house was downgraded from what was my home before my marriage ended because it feels like I'm surrounded by the devastating loss and ghosts of him and the love and life we shared for so long. It's agonizing just being here a lot of the time.)

We're not sure what the homeowners' insurance is going to cover for the repairs, which is terrifying, and we need to figure out how to work with FEMA if the insurance isn't helpful.

I'm also worried the HOA we're in will start giving us problems if we can't get the repairs done very quickly.

This month has been such shit in so many ways.

I desperately need my weekly counseling sessions, and my counselor cancelled this week. I've had only one of my weekly appointments this month due to cancellations and the hurricane, which is taking its toll on me.

In more positive and hopeful news, I had an appointment last Thursday with my job counselor at the state run employment program I was accepted into.

They'll pay fully for my schooling, textbooks, and supplies to get a degree or certificate from a local community college and offer job placement services after graduation.

I need a job I can do remotely, and I originally intended to pursue a year long certificate program in medical billing and coding. However, all of the local programs required on campus courses and capstones, which I cannot do.

I looked into every single fully online degree or certificate program that the local community colleges offered that aren't any longer than two years (my ex-husband agreed to let me stay here rent free for a few years while I get myself sorted) and settled on an Associate degree program in mobile/web application development.

I applied for the program today.

I wanted something with a decent level of job security, and I don't think phones are going anywhere. There's the possibility of freelance work on the side as well.

Considering and pursuing a career in technology is nothing new to me.

I went to a public university for an information technology program for 2 years after I graduated from high school, followed by a technical school for computer network operations for a year.

I never ended up working in the industry because it was saturated at my time of graduation, and they wanted me to have experience for an entry level position, which I found endlessly ironic.

I was told more than once by potential employers that I should have done an internship before I graduated to gain experience, which would have been fantastic to know while I was still in school and not with the days ticking down until I had to start repaying my student loans.

I desperately hope that I can transfer some of the roughly 20 year old credits over from the university I went to to cover the general education portion of the degree and maybe trim off a semester. (While technology absolutely has changed since the 2000s, some things haven't changed, like an introductory English or history course.)

[bilbobuttkins]

New TS4 Legacy Challenge

Unlike my base game legacy (found here), this legacy challenge goes through a whole bunch of packs. It is obviously pizza themed, and I had a lot of fun putting it together.

This challenge really requires you to start off as a teen, because your first step is getting accepted into one of the prestigious degree programs. You can cheat the skills needed to obtain this if you must, but it's more fun starting as a teen anyway. It's also meant to be played in order, as the generations are heavily influenced by the generation preceding it.

If you'd like a pdf version of this for tracking rules/requirements, you can find it here. Otherwise, check out the details below!

Generation 1: Margherita - The Traveler

You’ve always wanted to explore the world and learn everything you can about, well, everything. You attend university and get all the awards, and then spend your life traveling to exotic locales and soaking up as much as you can. Some say your wandering spirit is exhausting, but you wouldn’t live your life any other way.

Tasks:

Get accepted into a prestigious degree program

Graduate with honors

Unlock all hidden locations in Selvadorada

Go to Batuu

Go hiking in Mt. Komorebi & take pictures at the shrine

Max Selvadoradian Culture skill

Learn all the recipes from the San Myshuno food stalls

World: San Myshuno – start off in a cheap apartment, but you can upgrade when you make more money. Bonus points if you decorate with collectibles from your travels!

Career: Freelancer (your choice of specialty)

Aspiration: City Native & Archaeology Scholar

Children: 1 biological (parent is from Selvadorada – up to you if you marry them or not), and 1 adopted

Traits: Adventurous, Foodie, Genius

Skills: Archaeology, Photography, Selvadoradian Culture, Research & Debate

Generation 2: Pepperoni - Total Traditionalist

You lived your life bouncing around from place to place, and you’re ready for some stability. You’re grateful for the experiences you’ve had, but hate that you never really had lifelong friends or a hometown. Once you have kids, you’re constantly bickering with your parents about the best way to raise them – they believe that you need to show them the world, and you think the value of a steady lifestyle is just as important. You’re not really a fan of spontaneity, but sometimes old habits just die hard.

Tasks:

Have 3 children (doesn’t matter if biological or adopted)

Have a routine and stick to it (example: you always meet with your bowling club on Thursdays, go to the gym every Tuesday, and have dinner as a family at 6 pm every night)

Have a family tradition (tip – use the Seasons calendar for this)

Have an affair in adulthood

Have a low relationship with your parent(s) after the birth of your first child

Reach at least level 8 in parenting

Optional: go to university

World: Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, or Newcrest

Career: Business or Salaryperson

Aspiration: Big Happy Family

Children: 3

Traits: Gloomy, Neat, Snob

Skills: Parenting, Bowling, Piano

Generation 3: Hawaiian - Funky & a little fresh

Growing up, you were always closest to your grandparent. Your parents weren’t really interested in travel and exploration, but you’ve always been fascinated by your grandparent’s stories. In fact, you think those stories really need to be told, and you want to be the one to do it. Hearing them talk about their life inspires you to have a little adventure of your own.

Tasks:

Get to know all the locals & marry a townie.

Write books to supplement your income. Once you unlock the autobiography, write one about your grandparent.

Visit your grandparent at least once a week (or have them visit you).

Clean up Sulani and see the turtles hatch at least once

Attend all the Sulani festivals you can

Snorkel & befriend a dolphin

Lead at least one yoga class on the beach

World: Sulani

Career: Conservationist (as much as you love writing, you think having it as a job would kill your passion. That being said, you wouldn’t mind if one of your books got super famous and let you retire…).

Aspiration: Bestselling Author

Children: at least one child

Traits: Child of the Islands, Creative, Outgoing

Skills: Writing, Fishing, Wellness

Generation 4: Veggie Lover's - Going Green

You loved growing up in Sulani and always felt so connected to nature. You prefer plants to people most days, and love spending time in your extensive garden. You’ve always wanted to experience actual seasons, however, so you bid a bittersweet farewell to your hometown and move to a small cottage by the sea.

Tasks:

Have a large garden

Marry a townie

Go all out for the major holidays (Harvestfest, Spooky Day, Winterfest)

Take at least 2 vacations in Granite Falls

Grow a cowplant or a death flower

Optional: build a community garden in your world and name it after yourself or your family

World: Brindleton Bay – must be by the water

Career: Floral Arrangement

Aspiration: Freelance Botanist

Children: at least 2 children

Traits: Loves the Outdoors, Bookworm, Socially Awkward

Skills: Gardening, Baking

Generation 5: Meat Lover's - All about the Protein

You’ve always been a very active sim, mostly because playing outside and running around was such a large part of your youth. You love your hometown, but when an opportunity arises to play professionally somewhere else, you can’t pass it up. You have fun and enjoy being such a big success, but as you get older you start missing home more and more. You decide to say goodbye to the high life and move back home to open a gym.

Tasks:

Have a best friend in childhood and throughout teen years. Drift apart when you move.

Reach at least fame level 3

Build a gym in your hometown when you move back

Have at least 1 dog

Have at least 1 child out of wedlock

Marry as YA, but must divorce. Get married to the love of your life when you move back home in adulthood (childhood friend) and have another child.

World: Move to Del Sol Valley as YA and live there until adulthood. Then move back to Brindleton Bay.

Career: Professional Athlete

Aspiration: Bodybuilder

Children: At least 2 children

Traits: Active, Bro, Dog Lover

Skills: Fitness, Mixology, Pet Training

Generation 6: Supreme - Jack of all Trades, Master of None

Inspired by stories of your ancestors, you decide you want to experience all life has to offer. But instead of feeling like an inspirational globe-trotter, you feel more like a lost soul. Nothing you try really ever agrees with you, and you’ve never been fully able to decide what you want to do with your life. Settling down terrifies you, because you always feel like you’ll miss out on the next best thing. You finally find your niche in adulthood, but the road was definitely not easy.

Tasks:

Try out 3 wildly different styles in high school (example: nerdy phase, preppy phase, skater phase)

Have an after-school job in high school

Travel to Selvadorada but don’t buy any preparation gear (you’re always woefully unprepared). End up cutting the vacation short and going back home.

Have 2 failed serious relationships before marriage

Don’t marry until adulthood

Have enough satisfaction points to buy the re-traiting potion in adulthood

World: You start off in 1 of the 3 worlds that you didn’t pick for Generation 2, but end up moving to StrangerVille after hearing some interesting stories.

Career: you can pick the first 2, but you end up in the military career.

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim, then StrangerVille Mystery

Children: at least 1 child

Traits: Noncommittal, Squeamish, Lazy. Take re-traiting potion in adulthood and remove noncommittal and lazy. You can replace them with whatever you want. Leave squeamish (you’ve finally accepted that a life of jungle-trekking is not for you).

Skills: Fitness, Logic

Generation 7: Buffalo Chicken - A Slightly Spicy Life

Watching your parent take so long to figure out their life made you certain that you would never make the same mistakes. You’ve always known what you wanted, and will do whatever it takes to get there. Life has a funny way of throwing surprises at you, though, and sometimes it ends up being for the best.

Tasks:

Be involved in an after-school activity or club related to your future career

Go to university in a degree related to the field that you want to work in

While in university, either you or your SO gets pregnant

Drop out of university when you realize you can’t manage parenthood on top of your full schedule

Work part-time until your baby becomes a child, then go back to school

Graduate with honors and join the career you’ve always wanted

After a few promotions, you realize that you hate it and miss being a parent and a spouse. Quit your job and spend the rest of your time making money by skill (you can choose, but it must be a money-making skill, not an actual job)

When your kid becomes a teen, surprise them with a vacation to Mt. Komorebi

Stay with the parent of your child(ren) for your whole life (they’re your soulmate, even if they did completely derail your career plans)

World: Choose from – 1 of the 3 you didn’t choose in Gen. 2 or 5, Britechester, Copperdale, Tartosa, Henford-on-Bagley, Windenburg

Career: Your choice, but must strive for this starting at childhood (i.e. actor takes drama classes, scientist takes STEM or chess)

Aspiration: Academic (DO NOT FINISH, put on hold when you drop out) > Soulmate > Academic

Children: At least 1 child

Traits: Ambitious, Overachiever, Family-Oriented

Skills: Charisma, Research & Debate

Generation 8: BBQ Chicken Bacon - A Little Experimental

You’ve always appreciated how your parents sacrificed so much to give you a good upbringing, even putting their own dreams on hold so that you could have a happy childhood. They’ve given you freedom to explore your own dreams, and once you find some success you want to pay them back somehow. A trip to Mt. Komorebi on your teen birthday made you fall in love with the town and the food scene, and you decide to move there as a young adult.

Tasks:

Gain at least 1 level of fame

Spend at least $20,000 of your own money to renovate your parents house or move them to a nicer house (you can use money cheats to decrease your funds)

Get to at least level 8 of skiing, snowboarding, or rock-climbing

Finish an expedition to the top of the mountain

Woohoo in the cave on the mountain

Optional: open a restaurant

World: Mt. Komorebi

Career: Chef

Aspiration: Mt. Komorebi Sightseer

Children: At least 2 children

Traits: Good, Art Lover (if your parent was a painter, have some of their works hanging in your house. Otherwise, have some of your own), Self-Assured

Skills: Skiing, Snowboarding or Rock-climbing; Cooking; Painting (if your parent was not a painter)

Generation 9: Cheese - No Room for Mistakes

Growing up with a semi-famous parent taught you the value of networking and people skills. In the real world, it’s not what you know, but who you know, and you mean to take every advantage of the connections you already have. Using those connections as leverage, you want to become an influential politician and devote your life to bettering your community. You’re not very humble, and you can be tad materialistic, but your real friends know that you have everyone’s best interests at heart… deep down, at least.

Tasks:

Live in a suburban house with a white picket fence

Steal from your own campaign fund at least once

Graduate from university

Have a party at least once a week

Have a dog (bonus points if it’s a golden retriever)

Your spouse has an affair and you find out. Stay with them to avoid the scandal.

Do not have a close relationship with your children.

World: Any world not used in Gen. 6

Career: Politician

Aspiration: Party Animal

Children: 2 biological children (any more must be adopted. Obviously you’ll broadcast the adoption for good PR)

Traits: Materialistic, Self-Absorbed, Insider

Generation 10: Calzone - Different, but still Great

The black sheep. You’ve always been expected to be great, and do great things, but that’s never really interested you. Your parents’ constant need to keep up with the Jones’es was exhausting, and you hate the façade. You get into some trouble as a kid, but ultimately turn it around and mend fences.

Tasks:

Have a major goth or emo phase in high school

Reach at least level 7 in handiness & mischief

In adulthood, successfully make your neighborhood green

Cheat on your high school SO and your young adult SO. Either you or your SO gets pregnant as a young adult, but you abandon the child.

Make amends with your child in adulthood (your ex isn’t so forgiving, but maybe in elder-hood you can be friends)

If you marry, marry in adulthood. It cannot be one of your exes.

Have a negative relationship with your parents as a teen and throughout your YA years. Up to you if you want to mend the relationship in adulthood.

Turn at least one of your enemies into your best friend in adulthood.

World: Evergreen Harbor

Career: Criminal as YA, then Civil Design in adulthood

Children: at least 1 child

Traits: Mean, Vegetarian, Maker

Skills: Handiness, Mischief, Charisma

[hanalulugguk]

Sugar Rush Ride II

Pairings: Han Jisung x fem oc

genre: fluff, non-idol AU

Warnings: none.

Word count:  4k

bold is korean

(yet to be proof read!)

hello my loves. this is part dose of shy jisung as a librarian, i don't plan on making it too long so they'l kiss soon dw, not this chapter there. feedback is appreciated so i know where you'd like the storyline to go, nothing is set in stone :*

jisungie library assistant part 2/?

Enjoy <3

Prev < current > Next

Lyra hadn’t been to the library in 2 days, opting to spend the weekend with friends and recharging, she was already well caught up after staying with her professor on friday the 4 hours that followed her last class, completely against his weill but she can be convincing when she needs to. Meaning, supposedly, she had nothing to worry about, however she’ll definitely find herself to be behind after today's class. The class she was currently running late to, in theory at least. It's still 8;30 but she hasn’t even taken the 35 minute subway commute so, realisticly, she will end up late. 

As she hurries down the long stairs that lead to the subway, card in hand, she tries to tie her hair to the best of her ability to get it out of her face, laptop dangerously balanced in her arm that’s extended backwards, a dangerous play, but seemingly effective as she reaches the turning gates. She scans her card quickly, getting nudged on her butt as the gate repays her for the aggressive shove she gives it, before making a run for the subway door pushing against the crowd of people making it only a few seconds before the door closes.

Luckily she finds an empty spot, the cart she got into not being too crowded with only 2 people standing at the cart dividing door. Placing her bag on the floor, lyra pulls out her small makeup pouch to do her makeup. Having slept somewhere after 3am from binging a new show, it was of no shock to her when she woke up a few minutes before 8 having slept through all 5 of her alarms to waker her up at 7. With very quick practiced precision, she does her concealer, bronzer, blush, mascara and hesitates to do her eyeliner so instead she just lines her waterline with black kohl. A quick poor job at lipliner and lipbalm, choosing to ignore how she accidently overlined her bottom lip, and she’s done. 

People on the subway have seen heinous things, have seen weird occasions on the 9am subway, so lyra aggressively patting her makeup in was not a head turner to people. Pulling out to check her tasks for the day she notes the research paper she needs to hand in today for her job, noticing how she was only halfway done with it. At that time she already knew she would be late on her master’s work. Working as a freelance researcher and analyst was not an easy thing on the side with a master’s degree, but she was aware it would be the sole reason she is able to afford her current life. 

With only a few minutes to her stop before she needs to rush off the subway again, seeing as it was almost 9, she knew she’d be, almost, not too late going into her class. Which was the case as she walks into the class 9:13 with the professor still setting up the projector, lights off and quiet murmurs flowing through the room. After a polite hello lyra finds a seat near the back, lying her things down and pulls out her materials.

By the time it hits 2, lyra is already getting off the subway, much more relaxed and in no hurry like she was that morning, and making her way down the long main street to reach the library. The plan for today was clear and simple, or simple enough, finish the rest of the research paper, revise for tomorrow’s in class analysis and outline the chapter they took today, opting to keep the studying after the analysis seeing how they don’t have materials on hand for it and she can barely keep everything on the top of her mind for too long. 

Making it into the library building lyra contemplated grabbing a coffee, but deciding to keep it for her break, knowing very well she’ll need a pick me up halfway since she hasn’t eaten anything since her early morning heated up leftover frozen waffle as she fought the clock to get out of her apartment at a reasonable time to not miss taking  the subway at a decent enough time. Making her way inside, there were still a number of tables empty, being only a little before rush time. 

Taking a quick glance around she chose the table closest to the main desk knowing that during rush hour the back couches where people hang out and the back tables would be the most crowded considering it being a monday too, meaning it’ll almost be coffee shop rush hour in here. Wanting to be able to work in, the closest to, peace as possible given the circumstances. 

Once her things are placed on the table, lyra takes a quick break, spreading her legs the furthest away she could under the table, back leaning against the back of the chair as she throws her head back, eyes closed. inaudible groan barely making it out of her throat as she appreciated the stretch after sitting through a 3 hour class and the commute from campus. “Hello darling,” the soft call urges lyra to hold her head up looking in the direction of the voice as she sees sally approaching her table from the opposite side of the library, big smile etched on her face as she pulls a chair at lyra’s table.

“Hi sally, how’s work?” lyra asks politely, gathering her limbs and leaning against the table to rest her chin on her palm as she offers a small tired smile to sally. “Same old, putting books away and helping people around.”

“Anything interesting happen?” lyra urges resting both forearms on the table as sally furrows her brows, “this is a library, define the interesting you’re looking for.”

“Something other than people studying and sleeping,” lyra explains, pulling her feet up to press the outside of her thighs against the arms of the chair, leaning her back against the stiff wood. “We had a field trip visit today.” Lyra forms an o with her mouth “how old?”

“5th graders,” at sally’s reply lyra’s face forms a grimace making her give a light laughs, “they weren’t all that loud,” sally reasons but she still shakes her head, “glad i’m never here early.” sally rolls her eyes at her response then asks, “shouldn’t you be empathetic with kids? Considering what you’re working towards?” sally asks.

“I’m able to be empathetic when it is one singular kid, not kids as a whole.” lyra responds making sally shake her head at the poor logic, “how was your day?” she asks already expecting her response when lyra presses her lips into a thin line and shuts her eyes tightly. “Only half the day left to go,” she replies dramatically making sally let out a sympathetic laugh at the younger’s dramatic response. “You’ll get through it,” lyra nods as sally gets up pointing towards the main desk.

“I need to get the rest of the books back in place before the place gets crowded, i’ll leave you to your work.” lyra gives a grateful smile as she blows sally a kiss making her smile. 

Wasting no time, she slips her headphones on, pulls out her work and switches on her laptop to get what she can done as fast as she could, hoping to make it home before midnight today since she has an earlier class tomorrow. Through the rush and hassle that adorns the library from 3-5, lyra was able to get a lot of her work done, not being bothered or too distracted by the people wandering the library and the noise that, no matter how many times people are warned, seems to occupy the library at this time. She even barely looks up when the long line starting at the main desk reaches her table as she continues to type, scour through her papers and scribble in her notebook. 

At 5:15 the library is back to being quiet, barely any sound is heard as the only people left are those who plan to spend the time there working or reading. With a hand waving in front of her face, blocking her view from her computer, if it were anyone else’s she would be pissed, but when she looks up to see sally stood next to her on the left, big smile plastered as lifts up a book in her hand, she returns the smile. Lyra slips off one side of her headphones and sits up straighter in her seat, “i’m done with my shift so i’ll be off, i was sorting through the books this morning and thought you might like to read this one so i kept it aside for you,” lyra takes the book from sallys outstretched hand to ready the title, smiling. ‘The self-driven child’. 

Sally has always been this way, ever since she’s been coming to spend all her study time at the library Sally has been picking out books for lyra that might help her. From media psychology to social psychology books, to behavioural psychology, any book she comes across that may be deemed helpful for her. Even the ones that lyra does not need, but the thought that sally keeps her in mind as she goes about her job makes lyra feel very flattered and content. 

“Thank you,” lyra says softly looking back up at sally with a big smile, “oh it’s nothing darling, just be sure to read through the blurb and let jisung check it into the system for you if you want it.” 

“Jisung?” lyra asks with furrowed brows making sally nod, “he’s new, he used to be on the early morning shift before noon with me but since we needed someone to be here during the night to help around he was moved to the night shift. He starts 6, he should be here in a bit, let’s hope he doesn’t forget about his shift again.” 

Could that be the man she saw last thursday? The one she practically ran away from? 

“I’ll be sure to read the blurb,” lyra says simply making sally smile and stroke her head gently, “be sure to take breaks, and eat.” the younger nods in response, sally bidding her goodbye as she makes her way out. 

It was almost 5:30, meaning it had been a little over 3 hours since lyra started working and her grumbling stomach proved to be an obstacle to continue that streak when she tried to get back to her task. Opting to listen the voice of reason, the loud gurgling of her stomach that could probably be heard by other people occupying the space, she quickly assorted her things on her desk, making sure to keep the book sally gave her in view so she wouldn’t accidently pack it up, and grabbed her wallet and phone before proceeding to make her way to the cafeteria. 

She took the elevator ride as an opportunity to stretch her limbs, arms high above her head as she arches her back letting out a low grunt, nose scrunching and face contorting. By the time the elevator dings, doors opening, she's stuffing her hands in her pockets heading to the cafeteria, noticing the flow of people inside, it wasn’t too busy but there was a significant amount of people eating and chattering, the soft murmur being drowned out by the jazz music playing through the floor. 

Pushing the glass door, she enters the cafeteria, the smell of freshly made food and coffee wafts through the air, growing an appetite within lyra that almost supasses her need for coffee. Going in further, Jonah spots her from a few tables down, a tray filled with empty china plates as he goes around gathering them from the tables. He gives her a small smile with a wave, which she returns with a smile of her own. She walks into his line of direction to head towards the cashier with him, “busy time?” she asks simply as soon as they’re hearing distance from each other. “As always,” he replies back giving her back a gentle touch as he walks behind her urging her forward, “come i’ll fix you up something to eat.” he situates her in front the cashier as he places the tray full of plates aside, calling back to axel in the back kitchen to come take the plates before making his way back to the other side of the cashier.

“What should i get you? We have really good bolognese today.” at the news lyra gasps with a hand over her mouth making jonah laughs as he rings it up for her, “i want something with it, i haven’t had breakfast today,” jonah gives her a disapproving look before he takes a step backwards to point at the displayed menu on the side, “you could either have shredded steak and onion or chicken tenders,” lyra hums before opting for the steak. “Alright then, that’ll be 23 dollars ma’am.”

“Here you go sir,” she extends her card over cash register, “do you want me to add a coffee for you? We don’t have any vanilla syrup today though, we ran out.” lyra gives a small pout as her disappointment shows. She doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth but no matter how many times she tries or how many ways she attempts, she can’t have plain coffee. It always tastes too bitter for her, and added sugars are too sweet for her, opting for vanilla syrup as her perfect flavour enhancer. 

“No it’s okay, hopefully a full stomach will be enough of an energy booster to finish my work.” jonah gives her an apologetic smile as he swipes her card before giving it back to her. “Find a table, me or axel will bring it to you.” she nods before choosing a table near the window, setting her things down before resting her temple on the large glass, closing her eyes as she tunes out the light music playing, focusing on the sound of ongoing cars and the light chatter from the street that makes it’s way to the second floor.

Not too long after, the sound of a china plate being placed on the table alerts lyra as she opens her eyes to see axel placing the second plate down, “ don’t believe what jonah tells you,” he whispers making her furrow her brows and tilt her head, she opens her mouth to speak but before she can ask jonah approaches her table. “He burned the steak.” At the simple statement and axel’s offended look, Lyra leans her head back as she laughs. 

“I didn’t!” axel hisses at jonah who’s already making his way back to the cashier, he turns to lyra who’s still laughing lightly, pulling the plates closer to her to begin eating. “It’s just seared a little extra.” he defends, making her shoulders shake as she shakes her head. “I’m sure it’s great.” she ensures making axel huff out a breath. She takes a bite out of the steak and holds up a thumbs up to axel who stood waiting. 

She could taste a bit of the solidified spices sticking to the pieces of meat but none of it close enough to taste charcoaled. Axel smiles gratefully before petting lyra’s shoulder, “thank you, even if you’re lying.” she furrows her brows at the comment, “remember the raspberry potato salad?” at the mention of the failed recipe testing from a good 7 months ago that he won’t seem to live down, axel shakes his head “i forgot you don’t lie, sorry.” as axel makes his way over to jonah to get back to work lyra hums as she goes back to her meal.

With a full stomach and satisfied taste buds at the quick lemon muffin she stuffed from the new recipe testing that axel snuck her, Lyra heads back to the library with a little hop in her step. 

The stark contrast of quiet atmosphere between the library and cafeteria floor help lyra switch from her break to work mood as she makes her way into the library. Upon entering she notices less people are around since it was nearing 7, the library tends to empty out near 10, the prime time of working in the peace and quiet being between 7 and 11. She makes her way back to her chair putting her phone and wallet away before taking a seat and slipping her headphones back on. 

Aware of the tight time she has, she wastes no time in turning on the noise cancelling feature and turning on a chill r&b mix before pushing her phone aside. Within a few minutes she’s back to finishing up her work, in a record time of 30 minutes she’s finalized it and handed it in. as soon as the loading screen turns into a ‘successfully submitted!’ screen she slumps in her chair n let’s out, what she thought, was an inaudible sigh of relief. Before she has the chance consider a(n unnecessary break) much needed time to recollect before she moves onto scouring the internet for any content that remotely resembles todays class so she could go over it, her eyes, unfortunately, catch the time display at the bottom of her screen.

Lyra decides to finish up quickly and go home earlier than usual so she could make it to bed before midnight. Extending her arms at her sides to stretch and crack a few joints, the knuckles on her left hand skim a soft fabric that makes her instinctively retreat her arms and curl in on herself before turning sideways to see what the uncalculated contact was. Upon turning she lays eyes on the same man from last week, dirty blonde hair pushed back by his black rimmed glasses, button up white shirt a little dishevelled and wrinkled, with the top two buttons undone and slightly tucked into his black jeans. His round eyes are wide, alarmed and worried as he takes a quick step back from lyra’s chair. His small lips are rounded in the smallest lowercase o she has ever seen as his eyes skim over her small frame, still curled in at the sudden contact, as she looks up at him with wondering eyes. 

The man looks in distress, as if he smacked lyra across the head with a table made of steel rather than accidentally walking in her line of contact whilst she was stretching. “Oh i’m sorry i didn’t see you walking by.” lyra apologizes, small polite smile as she straightens her back and pushes her hair behind her ear to see the man better. With no shift in expression he shakes his head lightly, eyes still wide, as he takes a step to the side and points around him, “no i,i didn’t know you were stretching.” he excuses, an unnecessary roll to his r in a foreign accent. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to.” she chuckles, responding back lightly to show there no hard feelings.

“here, “ she takes a small step forward, pulling her chair in to allow more space between her seat and the table behind her for him pass by. “Thank you.” jisung responds, eyes trained on the floor as he habitually gives a small bow.

He walks behind her slowly, looking back as he passes her. Once jisung is at the front desk he takes, what he thinks, are quick sneaky glances between the the books in his hand and lyra who has gone back to working on her laptop, pushing any papers and books aside as she pulls it closer to her. 

The sound of keyboard typing fills the quiet space and in no time jisung is out of his trance and goes back top his work, stealing occasional glances as he passes lyra’s table, careful to not bump into her again at any point. By the time it hits 10, there’s only 3 people in the library. Jisung, lyra, and another girl at the back of the library slumped on one of the lower seats in the reading corner, headphones on as she seemed to be watching something on her phone. 

Jisung is at the front desk, lyric notebook open as he hunches over it, brows furrowed in deep contemplation, pen poking his bottom lip as he scans over the lyrics, crossing out yet another line that does not provide the flow he wants. He lets out a sigh of frustration, as he goes back to the first line, humming the song and lightly murmuring the lyrics till he reaches the same line he hasn’t been able to go past for the past 3 days. 

As he tsks and places his pen down on the notebook in annoyance, in his line of vision stood lyra with her bag slung across her shoulder, and the book sally gave her clutched in her arms. At the shock of another person he wasn’t prepared to interact with, jisung sprung out of his chair, stumbling a little, as he ran his hand through his blonde hair, forgetting that his glasses were in his hair, making them go flying to the floor a few feet away from the desk. Both lyra and jisung turned to look at the poor glasses as she chuckles lightly. From embarrassment and quick over contemplation, jisung froze for a second, mouth flapping open like a fish out of water. When she sees that he makes no move to go pick up his glasses, lyra goes to grab it for him, he watches her as she crouches down to pick them up, fold them and walk back to hand it to him. 

“Here you go,” she says in the quietest and gentlest tone she could muster, and places them in his outstretched hand. “Oh thank you.” jisung quietly responds, clutching them tightly as if they’d try to excape him again. “Absolutely,” she responds with a small smile.

When jisung doesn’t respond furthur, a moment of silence settling between them, lyra holds up the book she was holding, “i wanted to burrow these.” she says simply holding them out to him to take them from her. “Oh of course.” Jisung clumsily takes the book from her as he gives the chair behind him a little kick so he could shuffle to the computer. “The self-driven child.” he reads under his breath as he types it into the computer. Upon finding the book in the sheets he enters the date and turns to lyra, “what’s your name?”

“Lyra campbell.” she responds simply taking a small step closer to see the screen as jisung types. Hyper aware of her lingering behind him, his fingers graze over the keyboard, looking between the keys. Upon noticing she offers him guidance. 

“L,”

“Huh?” jisung turns to her, round eyes big and glowing, “lyra, L.” she repeats and his mouth froms an o, just as it did earlier. He turns to the keyboard and presses the letter. “Y- r- a. Campbell, c-a-m-p-b-e-l-l.” when he’s done he presses enter to finalize the entry and turns to lyra with the book. 

“Hand back in uh 3 weeks, between noon and 6pm.” he receits the rules given to him as he hands her back the book, lyra nods dutifully as she takes back the book with a smile, “thank you. Good night.”

“Good night.” he parrots back as she turns to leave. Jisung wipes his palms on his jeans as he turns back to his notebook. “Aish how embarrassing.” he mutters to himself taking a quick glance the library’s entrance where lyra just was. 

At midnight, jisung unfortunately had to politely kick out the girl who was still hanging out at the library, watching whatever she was watching, so he could close up and go home. Thankfully, she was no trouble though and instantly packed up, talking too fast for jisung to be able to grasp onto more than ‘the library wifi is just spectacular’ and ‘nowhere in her dorm is as quiet as it is here’, and left. In very quick strides jisung places all the books he knows need to be placed, having a much better understanding of where everything needs to be after a week of being the one to close up the library, turns off any devices, places any forgotten object on the front desk for sally to deal with when she comes back and turns off the lights as he heads out with a polite bow and goodbye to the security.

[theothersarshi]

Hi, i saw in a reblog that you're a translator, i would like to work in this field

Do you have any tips on how to well.. get to it, find people, companies, groups who would seek translators

I have a bachelor's degree in english (im french) and i feel oh so lost, where do i start?! im moving to canada soonish and try my luck there idk

Hey!

I wish I had a great response to this. The truth, however, is that being a freelancer is a constant mystery: will I have clients? Won't I? Where will they come from? I know people who've been freelancing for decades and who are still confused about how, exactly, it's all working out for them.

So there's no clear answer. But there are a few things that make your chances better.

Have an online, professional profile stating what you can do (we're in the era of the internet, it counts!). Websites and ProZ used to be it, nowadays LinkedIn is where many people will look you up. It can't hurt to show up in multiple places, either.

Keep an eye out for ads that might interest you. It's rare that you'll find them, but I know a couple of people who ended up as gaming translators because they saw the ad on the game's forums (this was years ago, though).

if you want to join professional groups, I've seen a few international ones on Facebook. Some are just ad spam, others are great groups, but you won't find work there (Things Translators Never Say is a place where translators gather to rant and joke around), and some might be more about the business in itself. I suppose some must find work like that, but I myself never did. (I did meet a few people, though, and I learned more about how things work in the industry.)

tell people (people in general) that you are/want to be a translator. Your friends, family and acquaintances might remember you when someone needs a translator (I got a surprising number of people contacting me like that).

Basically, advertise yourself. Where it's best to advertise, I don't know. I don't often go out looking for new work because I tend to have a few steady clients, and that's that.

I mostly got those clients through word of mouth, having "translator" written next to my name online, and sometimes translating things for fun or talking about translations.

You'll eventually find someone, or someone will find you. When that happens:

do your best on translation tests. Remember that you can use allll the dictionaries, Google, and anything else you deem necessary. (It can be hard, coming out of school, to shake off the habits you learned when you were tested on your knowledge of English)

soft skills and a benevolent attitude towards coworkers are your friends. Keep in mind that colleagues (whether project managers, reviewers or fellow translators) are more likely to recommend you (or not) for other jobs than random acquaintances.*

read the paperwork you sign. Usually it will be ok, if the company is sane. Sometimes, though, they'll have the most batshit clauses. For example, one of my clients wanted an exclusivity clause that hadn't been discussed previously. "But we wouldn't enforce it!" Well, then, please remove it.

--

Note *: Obviously, stick up for yourself. But be a diplomat when you want to say things like "This is shit", "You fucked up my payment, assholes", "What the fuck are you even". Yes, even when you would be absolutely justified and well within your rights to have those reactions. Give people a chance to fix mistakes or explain what it was they were trying to do - if you need to, you can always escalate later.

[starseneyes]

i love your spapel metas and analyses so much! keep them coming please!

can i ask you if you are a film or media studies graduate? because your posts are so well thought of and formulated.

Hello, Anon! Thank you so very much, and I'll do my best to keep 'em coming.

My background is incredibly varied, but it definitely all feeds into how I write these.

It all started with Little Rachel growing up on sets. Not only was I a background/bit actor/commercial actress from a young age, but my mother was a hair and makeup artist.

Whenever I was bullied in school, my mom took me on set. And folks there were welcoming. Directors almost always invited me to sit over their shoulders so I could see the monitors. I'd help out at Crafty. I got to run lines with Michael Rooker, once, as he prepped for a scene.

When mom worked on this one 90's show in Wilmington, she was too tired to collate her scripts by the time she got home. I volunteered to stay up and do it, which gave me the opportunity to see how revisions worked.

Sometimes we got advanced copies of episodes, and I'd sit down with my mother to see how they translated from script to screen, and then how the editors changed the advanced copies to the final versions that aired. It was all fascinating to me.

By age 13, I wrote my first screenplay for fun for Star Trek: Voyager. And I was constantly on editing teams and video teams in high school.

At 16, I joined AFTRA as a Voice Over Artist, and made a decent chunk of change doing it until 2008 when things went sideways in the industry. Also, the Studio where I was a contract player changed hands, and the new owner cared more about shareholders than us peons.

In college, I chose to go after Communications, and both my degrees are in it (Bachelors in Communications - Mass Media, Masters in Strategic Communication). But my minor was Film. I directed, edited, story-boarded, wrote, acted, and lit so many projects. Nothing ground-breaking, of course, but I learned a lot in the practicality of it and used my knowledge of growing up on sets to help our work really shine.

I went into Journalism between Freshman and Sophomore year and did that for many years, working in Broadcast and online journalism as a producer and researcher. My first job at 19 in the newsroom was to watch Iraq War and 9/11 footage and mark which parts were airable and which were not.

I transitioned into theater for a decade, there, and my film side took a step back. I've worked so many different jobs and for so many different clients.

Written articles, a cook book, website content, helped with front-end app development, emails, print pieces, etc. Professionally, these days, I'm a Digital Marketer. Been working freelance for 6 years, now.

I dream of writing TV (and I was a finalist with a Pilot of mine in a contest last year), but the reality is that living in Virginia makes my options and opportunities small. Having a Special Needs child makes moving to California without a job lined up pretty impossible.

But, I'm not disheartened. Chances still exist. Someday, perhaps, I'll sell a script. Perhaps, I'll get to act, again, when the time is right.

And in the meantime... I write scripts. I participate in online table reads with friends. I write these Metas and have so much fun using that portion of my brain, again.

Because while I'm so stoked these Metas have been well-received, I'd write them even if nobody read them. I write because I must. Because I love it. And because no matter where my life takes me... these bits and pieces remain a core part of me.

Anyway, that's a long-winded response, but hopefully I didn't offend you since you've made it through the Metas! Again, thank you for reading and asking the question! I wish you well in all you do.

[boricuacherry-blog]

Susan Walsh: Missing Journalist

Ever since she was a little girl, Susan had wanted to write. After working in stripclubs and massage parlors throughout the 80s, she put herself through college and completed her degree. Struggles with addiction had derailed her life a few times but now she was getting herself together. She was a freelance journalist, raising her son with her estranged husband, and had been taken under the wing of a writer she admired. She was able to use her past experiences to write about the underbelly of the club scene.

There are whispers, hints and suggestions but few verifiable accounts of Susan's early life. Some have suggested that Susan may have been the victim of sexual assault or molestation. The majority of her adult life would be in Nutley, New Jersey, just 30 miles south of New York City. Despite an absence of details from her childhood, by all accounts, her father appeared to be a calming presence. Another outlet besides writing for Susan was dance. She was said to have a nimble grace, tight control of her movements, and an elegance to her where she was said to almost float along rather than walk. Susan would attend William Paterson University in Wayne, New Jersey, pursuing both English and journalism. In order to help pay her way through school, she took a job dancing at Show World Center in Times Square, back in the 80s before [it had opened in 1977] it was the cleaned up tourist attraction it is now. It was marked by exotic dancing, peep shows, and everything illicit. What began as a job would later become a nonstop party and a way of life. Susan was excited to be a part of the college's esteemed newspaper.

It was during her partying days when Susan would meet an assuming man named Mark Walsh, different from the typical type she would attract. Her friends found him boring. Whatever he appeared to be, though, he did have a connection that stood out - his half-brother was Joe Walsh, legendary guitarist and former singer of the Eagles. Susan had a beguiling manner that could possess the gaze of any man. Her future writing mentor, James Ridgeway, would say she was completely in control when she was dancing. In 1984, at 24 years old, she was deeply involved with Mark Walsh and would become his wife. Drug abuse would overshadow her life, until she went into rehab. While in rehab, she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. In 1985 she gave birth to a son, David. She graduated from William Paterson with a bachelor degree and began writing for trade magazines, trying to make a name for herself.

"She wanted to be a writer," James Ridgeway said, "and she had this whole romantic idea of what a writer was." Interestingly, it would be through her former profession as an exotic dancer that she would enter the world of journalism.

Susan's father didn't like her husband Mark. He felt Susan was carrying the brunt of the responsibility. "The whole time they were together, Susan was the breadwinner," he said. "Susan worked like the dickens trying to bring home the bacon." Things between the couple weren't going well. Soon they separated, but due to financial necessity, continued to live in the same building. Susan occupied the upstairs apartment, and Mark the downstairs. Their relationship wasn't exactly friendly, but it wasn't bitter or embattled either. They kept things civil for David's sake since they shared custody of him. There is some debate about how much involvement Mark had in David's life around this time - personally and financially.

James Ridgeway, a writer for The Village Voice [which explored working in the sex industry] wanted to write a book from the viewpoint of someone who had worked in the industry. "I had a hard time finding people to help me," he said. Until he found Susan. In August 1994, she wrote about the recent arrival of Russian dancers arriving to the States under the guise of being in operas and plays, but instead forced under the thumb of the Russian mafia to dance and perform sexual acts a.k.a. sex trafficking. She went undercover to talk to the girls. Ridgeway found Susan's work ethic incredible. "She was the most dependable person I ever worked with," he remarked.

Over the course of the next two years, Susan worked closely with Ridgeway. She did reconnaissance for his book, infiltrating stripclubs, sometimes working there to gather research. She was featured in Ridgeway's book Red Light, credited as a researcher. Her drive and passion for her journalism pulled her back into this world. She set out to study a vampire subculture after learning of blood being stolen from a hospital. She ultimately found no connection, but her article was sympathetic to the subculture, empathizing with the desire for an alter ego. Ultimately, the piece was rejected and she was disappointed.

Jill Morley, a friend of Susan's who danced alongside her and later made a film about the life of strippers, said, "There's a saying with dancers that you use 'it' until 'it' starts to use you." She felt Susan was getting too involved in her subject, and Susan felt some of her clients were keeping tabs on her. Some friends felt she was using again, after being sober for 11 years. At the time of her death, she had a live-in boyfriend, Christian Pepo, who would watch her son when Mark wasn't available. Susan also mentioned a restraining order against an ex named Billy Walker who she felt was stalking her.

Susan's father, Floyd Merchant, says many of the reports involving his daughter are extremely misleading or even outright inaccurate. The claim that probably bothers him the most is the implication that Susan disappeared into the underground world of a vampire subculture. He believes this singular aspect his daughter's social life is greatly exaggerated. Likewise, Katherine Ramsland's ultimate conclusion was that the subculture dwelled in harmless macabre fantasy, and that if Susan was a victim of an underground vampire conspiracy, why didn't the perpetrators make an effort to prevent herself from digging far deeper than Susan ever did? In her opinion, it's unlikely a link exists between that subculture and Susan. Police would eventually draw the same conclusion.

In all likelihood, the most probable scenario involves either a client of the club she danced at or one of her exes.

[sometimesrosy]

Hey Rosy, how have you been? I’m 27 currently and living in my small hometown. I’ve always wanted to go out but, after finishing my degree (in a major city), I started looking for jobs here because I had recently started dating my boyfriend. Fast forward 5 years, I’m still here. Can’t get a job that has to do with my degree (translation) nor professional experience (secretary/administration). I’ve mentioned several times I’d love to go abroad, to get a better chance at life, and then come back to settle if we want to, or even just stay there because quality of life here is good (near the beach) but nothing holds me here, except boyfriend doesn’t like the idea of even leaving this town, much less the country. Everyone that knows me says I’d probably get along just fine abroad, even love it if it’s in a bigger city. Other people do tell me my future is outside because there’s no work in our country. Honestly, I feel so stuck and unhappy with my life, like it isn’t moving forward in any way. I don’t know if I’d feel different abroad, but at least I would have tried. I feel like my time is running out and I’m wasting more and more of my life. I want to delay having kids until my 40s if necessary, or not even have them at all. We’ve already bought a house which makes me feel somewhat trapped, the thought of falling pregnant absolutely dreads me. Bit of a rant there, sorry. But, I dunno, what would I be able to work on abroad? It’s not like I have a career, as an engineer or scientist or something. I hate feeling this way, but it has been increasing over the years.

The way I look at it you have a few different ways to go about things.

You can no do anything and just stay in the state you are in, vaguely unhappy and unsatisfied but unwilling to make changes. Sure. A lot of people are unhappy with their lives. You run the risk of just making yourself more miserable in the future and doing something to wreck whatever you do have, thus also wrecking the happiness of your boyfriend.

Or you can take a leap into a something different and move to a new city and attempt to follow your dreams. This might cause you to lose what you already have, the boyfriend, the home which is a risk because you want to keep what you have. You also run the risk of the new life not living up to your hopes and either not making you happy or not working out. Because moving to a new place doesn't mean you leave your problems behind. A lot of problems travel with you because they're YOUR problems, not a problem with the place.

Or you can get therapy or otherwise find a way through your dissatisfaction by facing it head on and discovering where it's coming from. Why do you feel like you're wasting your life? Why does a home make you feel trapped? What about a city makes you feel more hopeful etc. I can't promise that therapy will solve your problems, but you might have a better understanding of what it is you want, why you're stuck, where your dissatisfaction is coming from and what have you.

You can also find a midway answer. Don't want to feel trapped in your dumpy town? Work on your urban connections and make friends somewhere else. Take regular trips to other cities. Consider a nearby smaller city rather than moving totally away. Can't find work where you are? Look into freelancing or internet translation. Slide into education. What other industries can your gift with languages open up for you? Boyfriend doesn't want to move out of the town? Maybe some couple's therapy so you can both be heard. Maybe trips WITH the boyfriend to explore other places with low commitment. Maybe take a temporary job in another city for a few months and then return when that's done. No one says you have to be all one thing or another.

Another possibility is to work on yourself. Maybe the problem is not the place, but your personal mix of fears and hopes and expectations and frustrations and desires. Happiness can be found anywhere, I believe. Even if a place is not 100% in line with who you want to be, you're still you. Keeping a journal in which you write down the things in your life CURRENTLY that make you happy or that you are grateful for or which you find lovely is a way to start changing your view point into a more positive one. Negativity is definitely something that grows if you give all your energy to it, but so is positivity. Not saying that problems will disappear. A lot of them won't, but they're easier to deal with if your mindset is positive.

It seems like part of your problem is that you don't want your life, but you don't want to give it up either. You want your life and your boyfriend but you want it to be YOUR way, however you're unwilling to make the changes and risk losing what you have, so you're stuck doing it HIS way and feeling resentful about it.

Life is often about compromises, it's true. Are you making all the compromises and it's making you resent your boyfriend? Or are you unhappy where you are? But afraid to take the chance on the life you really want? OR maybe it's something else. I'm not really sure and I don't think you are either. It's a hard question. Good luck with figuring it all out. I hope something comes clear soon.

[sandman-vo]

I think I’ve hit a point in my life where I’m able to put a lot of the fucked up shit that’s been going on from 2015-2022 behind me.

And since that’s a long stretch of time til now, I should mention the “fucked up” has varying degrees:

Can’t get employed after college? Fucked up

Some friends turned out to be kinda shitty? Fucked up

The fun and unique culture of the city you like is slowly dying because tech and real estate bros like to gentrify and ruin everything they touch? Fucked up

Worldwide pandemic and finding out the US has always had a fascism problem. And the best you can really do is just buck up and survive this shit? Fucked up

Your State continues to decide to do jack and shit about any of their problems concerning electricity and water and you have had 2-3 winters where you had to go 4-5 DAYS without either water or power? Fucked up (fuck February in Austin)

Existential dread paired with depression, aging to my 30s with seemingly nothing much to show for it, being broke AF while your rent was suddenly raised by 50%, realizing you probably had ADHD this whole goddamn time, and thinking every part of you is broken in some way? Fucked up

Things that are more fucked up than that that I’d still rather keep to myself than write about here? Fucked up

You finish a day at work and go straight to Home Depot to cut through 80 feet worth of 1 1/2” pvc piping into 2 and 2.5 feet segments with a hand saw to finish building your new vocal booth that you have been waiting and planning for months to make, and there’s no heckin way you’re going to cook dinner after doing all that so you go pick up some Wendy’s on the way back. And you said no mayonnaise on your double cheeseburger to the guy at the speaker TWICE and they kept you waiting at the drive through for 15 minutes just for them to finally figure out that what that really meant was to SLATHER THAT SHIT ALL OVER IT, but at the same time you understand and support the concept of acting your wage and goddamn do fast food workers get paid dogshit so you don’t think it’s all that productive to file a complaint? Fucked up

But anyways, I’m gradually making it to the other side of these things.

I’m in a place where rent isn’t trying to starve me. I’m saving LOTS of money after paychecks. I’m at least in a career-adjacent job even though I’m not mega thrilled about it (could be worse, could be fucking up someone’s goddamn double cheeseburger). I’m definitely getting together a “bucket list” for Austin while I’m still in the mindset that I’ll try to give this place at least 1 or 2 more good years before I think it will be a good time to try and move elsewhere. I’m taking shit tons of classes to refine my skills, now that I have both time and money to do so. I’m genuinely building so much better of a foundation than I had 6 years ago, which I will use as a jumping off point and give my my work from home freelance careers in Voice Acting and Video Editing new leases on life. And I recently discovered yoga nidra in a class and while it’s no cure for ADHD it’s a treatment for sure!

One of the big takeaways that I’m keeping in mind lately (thanks to the yoga) is this:

“I am whole. I’m living a full life. And while it’s not how I wanted things to be, and while there’s some fucked up shit, and while it looks nothing like how a typical life would go, none of that shit makes me a lesser/broken/incomplete person.”

This was not a part of the class. This wasn’t taught. This is just what I ended up finding after I tried to figure out the deep seeded beliefs where all of my issues stemmed from. This realization has brought such a stillness to me in the past 48 hours that I can barely describe how I feel right now. But it feels good. There are only a few other places where I could have felt this, and coincidentally, it was not during the fucked up dark timeline that was my 2015-2022.