#i have less than 100 pages left and this feeling of dread has started to form in the pit of my stomach

[bibliophilicwitch]

Time for a Life Update

Long-time followers may remember my time struggling in retail which led to retail pharmacy. I worked for a Shopko pharmacy until Shopko went out of business and then a Kroger pharmacy that had purchased our profiles but was a brand new location. Opening a brand new pharmacy with existing profiles and staff that does not know the system is a heckin nightmare fyi. Right when our pharmacy was finding its stride the pandemic started and by the time we had reached our first vaccine season that would include the COVID vaccine as well, I was Over It. Our manager left about late spring and as we were heading into that dreaded vaccine season one of our techs got a job elsewhere and it was at that point that I opened up the internet to job hunt.

Y'all may also remember that I had worked for my public library since 2008, first as a page shelving materials, then at the circulation desk, and finally, as the adult program and volunteer coordinator which morphed into marketing and volunteer coordinator. I had spent about 10 years begging the library director for full-time hours so I could have more on-the-clock time to dedicate to my duties as well as to have benefits and not have to constantly juggle two jobs both physically and mentally, but the timing was never right. Around 2021 our City realized they had really messed up the budget and we still haven't recovered, so when I opened up the internet to hunt for an alternative to working in pharmacy (or general retail) and saw a full-time job as a marketing assistant and office manager for my City's destination management organization (convention and visitors bureau), I bit the bullet and applied.

When offered the position I chose to leave not only the retail pharmacy job that I was miserable at but also the library position that I was passionate about. Upon leaving I was told my position at the library was going to be frozen because of the budget, but shortly after, they ended up giving my hours to another part-time person making them full-time and requiring giving them benefits as well. This person had been working for the library a couple years longer than me and could also use the full-time hours, but it still hurt that it had essentially been a game of who will leave first so the hours can be juggled. (I continue to be bitter that the work I put into branding was thrown out the window by this person as well and the fact that their marketing material style does not fit the voice we had been building.)

I've been at my new job for almost two years. We have a board of directors in addition to myself and my executive director. He is a very chill person and we work very well together. It's wild to be encouraged to take an hour lunch after a working lunch or to go home and enjoy the rest of my birthday instead of working the whole day. We work very well together imo and, though the office building we lease with our local chamber has plenty of drama, we are very stress-free. I am not constantly stressed trying to herd cats to reach deadlines and I am financially stable with 9-5 work weeks leaving me with personal time.

That said, my landlord of 15 years sold our building so I have a new landlord. Currently, my new landlord has been pretty chill, but he did issue tenants a letter letting us know that we would likely see a rent increase in the new year and I happen to know my rent is about $100 less than the others and very low for the area. I have to pay for a yearly parking pass for a City lot. We have a single washer and dryer for four apartments and no change machine and I have lived over 15 years without HVAC or a dishwasher. If the rent goes up enough I will be looking into alternatives including the possibility of buying a house. This likely change will likely make me feel much less financially secure which sucks, but that's definitely life.

[dummerjan]

Yes, I had known him all my life - and then we met.

Jamie O’Neill, At Swim, Two Boys

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Athena

So. I have to deal with the virgin goddesses… By mythos, there really shouldn't ever be children of Artemis, Hestia, or Athena (yes, Athena was a virgin goddess). PJ got past that by making it canon that Annabeth and her siblings were born from cracking open Athena's skull (yes, that's also more or less the canon explanation). They gloss over it real quick but I remember, Rick. I've always remembered and that mental image has haunted me for years...

I can't, in good conscience, ignore the history around Athena's worship (call it an academic restraint) but I REFUSE to do the skull thing. So, since I make the rules here, I'm going with magic adoption. They still get magic powers, they're just more human than demigod. Cool? Cool.

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena

Lucifer

The human that popped out of the portal seemed to have enough sense not to attack everyone in the room for a change, but even Lucifer could tell that was more of a strategic choice than for lack of ability...

Their very existence was highly unusual… and quite worrisome. He wasn't even aware Athena could have "children" of her own, but apparently she had been taking in some particularly bright humans to raise and train like her own...

Unbeknownst to him, a surprising amount of human scholars, diplomats, and generals have her to thank for their trade… and that alone should speak to the level of intrigue at play here. 

Was this an accident or Athena's attempt to plant an Olympian spy in the Devildom too…? Either way, he didn't trust them from the get go…

Look, Lucifer isn’t stupid. Athena is a goddess of Wisdom and War and war happens on more than just the battlefield… 

Since they've shown up records have been going missing, official documents keep getting misplaced, and he swears that there's some kind of bug in the student council room...!

It's infuriating watching the MC suck up to Diavolo when he's almost certain that they're running their own agenda behind the scenes! And he can't prove any of it!! They cover their tracks too well!

Lucifer has one of those corkboards covered in newspapers and string in a secret wing of the Castle - 100% dedicated to just tracking the MC's activities…. The longer they're there, the more obsessed he becomes...

He swears between Simeon, Solomon, and MC he feels like a shepherd wondering why the sheep are growling… The Devildom has never been in more danger than it is right now... Send help.

Mammon

To be honest, he kind of thought that they were just going to be Satan 2.0 but that's not really true.

They're more than just a book sponge! Though they do read, like a lot. Let’s just say from one schemer to another… Game recognizes Game.

They come up with plans and ideas soooo fast, it’s insane! Honestly, there are times where he has a new money-making plot and he just brings it to the MC first to run it over. 

Nine times out of ten, not only do they sniff out any problems but they have a solution for him in a matter of minutes! His scheme game has been on point since they’ve shown up!!

They’re also even better tutoring than Satan is, so he’s even managed to get a couple A’s for the first time in his life! Lucifer actually told him he was proud (which he secretly recorded and now uses as a ringtone much to his brother’s regret...)

So yeah, he likes them... buuut that doesn’t keep him from thinking they act a little weird sometimes... 

Mammon: *points to a unused tower close to the RAD building* Over there is the Tower of Sorrow. We use it for storage.

MC: Ah. Interesting… *starts writing in a notebook, muttering* It may need a few minor tweaks but the location is defensible...

Mammon: *stops* Ya say somethin’?

MC: *looks back up* Nope! Say, you’ve been to the Castle a lot haven’t you? Do you know any good ways in?

Mammon: Uhm… Why do ya want to know that…? *starts looking around for Lucifer*

MC: In case of emergencies. I like being prepared. 🙂

Mammon: Look, I don’t know what Lucifer might’a told ya…

MC: I’ll pay you a thousand Grimm for it.

Mammon: Well shit, ya want those maps with or without color?

... Yeeeah, that’s pretty weird… But it’s probably fine. I mean, as long as they keep giving him money, who’s he to complain? 🤷‍♀️

Leviathan

Also thought that they’d be a lot more like Satan but was pleasantly surprised that they were into more than books.

What else did they like exactly? Military strategy!!

It’s been a looong time since he’s been able to talk to someone who’s actually interested in all the battles he’s fought, both in the Celestial Realm and the Devildom, and their curiosity is kind of flattering...! Not a lot of people take his strategic prowess all that seriously anymore...

Plus, they are the BEST partner to have any turn-based strategy game. Hands down. He once got stuck on a level of D-COM for weeks until the MC walked in and mopped the floor with the AI!! They have a serious head for probability and tactics.

The House once made the mistake of letting these two be on the same team during a Hell Game and they absolutely demolished the competition. Mammon didn’t even get a single shot off before half his team was lost to a rigged paint grenade… It took a whole day to clean up… 

However, Levi’s also noticed some odd things about the human… He likes that they’re interested in his past but maybe they’re a little… too interested?

Levi: -and that’s how we defeated the Four Horsemen before they escaped from Purgatory. 

MC: Wow, Levi that’s seriously impressive!! *furiously scribbling on a notebook*

Levi: Well t-thanks… 😅 But, uhm... are you writing that down…?

MC: Hm? Oh no, just doodling. *they lift up the notebook to show a bunch of cute little sketches on the page… and not the magic-based invisible ink all over them…*

Levi: Oh you draw too? Can you do fanart???

MC: Eh, sometimes. But say Levi, can you tell me about your naval ranks again? I’m still really curious… *gets the pen ready again with a smile*

Satan

Oh, it's been a long game of cat-and-mouse between these two… and unfortunately, it’s been pretty addicting too.

He honestly had every intention of tricking the human into making a huge mess do he could bother Lucifer, but at every turn they proved just a hair too clever for him...

He once gave them a cursed book to “lend” to Lucifer, but they saw through it the moment they touched it and lifted the spell before handing it over.

He rigged a podium to spray glitter during one of Lucifer's speeches but the MC disconnected the trigger mic before he even got on stage. It was pretty dang frustrating...

At one point he got so desperate that, just as a test, he tried to trap them in the House's Music Room. Fortunately for them, it only took a few minutes to work out an escape. They even passed by him in the hallway with a wink!

It's confounding! It's infuriating!! 

...and it's so damn sexy... He should be furious but he’s just in awe!!

Add on that they know their art, literature, and multiple different crafts thanks to the tutelage of their adopted mother and that’s it. He’s finished. This boy is in love.

Truthfully though, a part of him is 90% sure that they’re also gathering state secrets… Like, they’re watching Barbs and Diavolo far too close for comfort - but he just can't bring himself to care. 🤷‍♀️

The MC could walk into his room one day and say, "Hey, do you want to help overthrow the monarchy with me?" and he dreads it because deep down he knows that he wouldn’t say no…

Take some notes, kids. Some bad influences get you to drink or do drugs. Others pull you into a centuries long conspiracy to destabilize and topple rival realms from within… But he has fallen for their brain hard. Devil help them all…

Asmodeus 

They’re pretty clever, he’ll give them that, but uh… Are they a little off to anybody else?

Asmo is a charmer by birthright so he has a bit of nose for when someone’s just a liiittttle too nice… Not much of a nose mind you, because he can be thrown off by compliments himself, but enough to think that the MC might be a little too… “kind” for their own good...

First off, who wants to spend that much time with Levi?? They don’t even seem that interested in anime! They just keeping asking him for old war stories…

Then all the sucking up they do to Diavolo and Barbatos? Look, he gets it. Diavolo is a delicious piece of man-hunk and his butler could give him a lesson or two in sweet-talk (and he has), but they seem to be just a little too… nosy.

Of course, Asmo’s suspicions disappear pretty quickly after they start to spoil him with spa nights and beauty secrets they picked up from “casual research” into the subject.

And you know, get a little Demonus in Asmo and start massaging his back? Oh, sweetie he’ll sing like a bird!! … with gossip. Singing with gossip.

Asmo: So I’ve heard that Lucifer has been spending more time at RAD than usual… His whole club is talking about it, they think he’s meeting with some witch!

MC: Hm, is that so? *works on a knot near his shoulder blades* What do you think?

Asmo: Ooh~! Right there, MC! *purrs and lays his head on his arms* Well come on, this is Lucifer we’re talking about! I’m sure he’s just working.

Asmo: Hmm... though come to think of it, I think I heard him asking Barbatos for the spare keys to the Tower of Sorrow…

MC: Oh really? Huh. *works out the knot and gets up* I just remembered that I left some papers with Satan... I’ll be right back.

Asmo: You’re going already??

MC: *waves him off quickly* I’ll be right back, Asmo. *hurries out the door to do totally on-the-up-and-up things… surely*

Beelzebub 

Honestly he doesn't like this one… But not for the reasons you'd expect.

He agrees with everyone else that they seem a little shady, but Solomon and Simeon are too so it's not like that's anything new... 🤷‍♀️

No, no. He dislikes them because they're the person who FINALLY figured out how to keep him from eating all the food in the kitchen!!

Turns out that the trick was to put a teleportation charm on the fridge door that would send all the food away if it’s opened after a certain time of night… 

And where does it go? The Purgatory Hall fridge. And where does the Purgatory Hall food go…? The HoL fridge…

It doesn’t sound so bad until you remember that it means half of their fridge is now Solomon’s leftovers…. 🤢

After they put the same kind of spell on the pantry, it was all over… He couldn't get midnight snacks from the House anymore… Everything was contaminated by Solomon…

The MC is a nice enough person, he doesn’t have a lot of complaints about them, but he wants them to leave. Now. This is inexcusable… He’s so hungry… and he doesn’t want to die by “goulash” or whatever Solomon calls his latest culinary catastrophe… He’s still too young for death… 😓

Belphegor 

In a way, he absolutely could not have asked for a better person to help him get out of that attic.

… In another way, he got one of the worst possible people to try and kill... Like. They saw through his scheme sooo fast…

How was he supposed to know that the human had training in body language and sniffing out lies???

Getting the door open was a piece of cake for them. They knew enough magic to undo the seals and just rummaged around Lucifer's stuff long enough to find the key to the door. He could not have found a more competent individual for a break out, really.

It’s just… well he didn’t expect to go from locked in a room like a prisoner to tied up in enchanted rope, still like a prisoner but now mobile. 😑 

They even used his own hug ruse against him! They caught his wrists when they got close and tied him up before he could shake them off...

Admittedly, it wasn't exactly the best look for them either - what with walking Belphegor downstairs to the others like a one-man-prison-caravan but they're as silver-tongued as they are sly so they talked their way out of it beautifully… 

And like hell was he going to trust them after that!! And not even Beel liked them so something had to be up...

Well, you want a detective? Look no farther than Belphie (no seriously, it’s in the canon). He can put things together pretty fast when he puts his mind to it and watching the MC for a while gave him enough proof to work off of...

He always knew that, humans were bad news and the MC just proved it to him all over again. They are bad news, bad bad news and they’re going to-!

Overthrow… Diavolo…? Is that what he is getting from them…? Huh…

Wait a second, MC. You might just have him interested… 😏

[iliveiloveiwrite]

what our god in heaven has in store

A/N: MORE ANGST FOR REMUS! Someone please request some fluff for him soon or I may dehydrate myself with all the tears I keep crying! Okay, so I was really inspired by a line from the second season of The Umbrella Academy (which I have bolded) but I won't spoil! It’s so good though so go watch... after you read this! This isn't very long, I can’t write angst for pages and pages, it hurts too much lol. I’m also less than 10 followers from my next 100 which I can’t believe! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Title: Les Miserables - One Day More

Summary: The night before the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst

Word count: 1k

The Burrow hadn’t seen this many people since Bill’s wedding to Fleur only a few months ago.

A wedding only a few months back… it felt like an entire lifetime ago.

The large oak table that takes centre stage in Molly Weasley’s kitchen is crowded; full beyond capacity.

Members of the Order sit around the table, all nursing their drinks whether it be tea, coffee or something stronger. Seldom few words are spoken; minds alone focusing on the outcome of this war.

It had come to a head.

A message received earlier today: HP on the move to Hogwarts. Final battle to begin soon.

The Order would spend their final night at the Burrow before apparating to the grounds by Hogwarts.

You sip at the dregs of your tea, looking down at the leaves in your cup. A prophecy had started this; a prophecy would end this.

A cool breezes floats in through the open door. It ruffles your hair and has your eyes closing at the feel of it brushing over your skin.

Time was dwindling; a handful of hours left – you were going to enjoy them.

A chair scrapes across the stone floor of the kitchen. Opening your eyes, you catch sight of Remus’ tweed jacket walking out of the door – the morose atmosphere in the room becoming too much.

You follow him after a minute; giving him the time to collect his thoughts and feelings.

The night air is cool, and the smell of Molly’s Freesias is intoxicating. Remus stands before the shoulder-length grass; his entire body tense with anticipation and dread. You walk towards him slowly; your mind running over all possibilities for what you’re about to face come the sunrise.

Remus startles at your hand on his shoulder but relaxes at the sound of your voice, “Darling, what is it?”

His voice is hoarse as he says, “You know, I’ve lived through two wars and I’m not yet forty. I’d like to live through tomorrow to see forty.”

Remus sits down in the grass; not caring whether his suit trousers get wet. He continues, “I’d like to live through tomorrow so I can begin my life with you.”

You fold yourself down into the grass next to him, “You worry me with talk like that.”

He takes your hand in his, tangling your fingers together, “I know. I’m sorry, love. It’s on everyone’s minds though.”

“You’re right. I’d like to live through tomorrow too. I’d like to start this life that you’re speaking about.”

His fingers tighten on yours even more, “Whatever happens, promise me you’ll come back to me.”

You meet his eyes with fierce determination, the very same reflected in your voice, “I will always come back to you. Nothing will keep me apart from you.”

His eyes close as if a long, open wound had finally closed; your words being the balm to heal.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.” He whispers.

“Neither do I. That’s the terrifying part.”

“I know one thing though.”

“What’s that?”

Remus places his forehead against yours; his hands grasp either side of your face. His breath fans across your face as he whispers: “I would take my year with you over a lifetime with anyone else.”

And the tears that you’ve held through this entire conversation finally begin to fall.

Remus kisses your cheeks, brushing away with the tears with your lips. “I’ve never spoken truer words.”

And he hadn’t. Your relationship was still new; just over a year long. It had been a year of anxiety and insecurity with the war, but it had also been a year full of love and passion from Remus. Your feelings for him had always been there; you had known the man since Hogwarts but had been in the year below him. However, that hadn’t stopped you from harbouring a crush on the bookworm Marauder. You never thought he would notice you.

Joining the revival of the Order had you socialising in the same circle, and he started to pay attention to you. He asked for your opinions on plans, on missions. He worried when you went away. He had fallen in love with you and he didn’t even realise it until you were injured. The result of his panic had him confessing to you in your room and Remus had never felt happiness like he felt when you confessed that you felt the same way.

So much depended on tomorrow.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

Tomorrow they would finally find out what’s in store. Tomorrow they would find out whether they had a future or not. Tomorrow they would know whether the plans they had created in the calm of the night would come to fruition.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. The words run through your head like a mantra; they chorused like a choir. You wouldn't let yourself think past tonight; tomorrow would be a problem for tomorrow. Right now, you’re going to remain in this moment with the love of your life. 

Your tears are mixed with Remus’ own as he presses kiss after kiss to your mouth. He pulls you into his lap; you straddle his thighs. Kiss after kiss is shared; words don’t need to be spoken through this. He’s making up for every kiss he didn’t do, and for every kiss he may never do after tomorrow.

Optimism is more than essential for this, and Remus is trying. He is trying because his future had never looked so until the first time you kissed him. His future had never taken form beyond the lunar cycle until you had whispered the words ‘I love you’ against his skin, mouthing them over the scars that mar his body.

Remus had never wished for a lot. He gave up after he wished to never experience a full moon again, but he still transformed the next month.

But he wished for this. He wished for you. He wished for a future in the form of a shared home, a wedding, children.

He wished, and wished, and wished.

And once he was done with his wishing, he’ll begin his praying.

Tomorrow decides it all.

But Remus has already decided; it’s you, and it always will be, and he’ll fight and fight for it.

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​@nebulablakemurphy​ @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna​ @bforbroadway​ @idont-knowrn @summer-writes

[st-just]

Semi-coherent thoughts on Oathbringer

So, overall probably the most even of the series so far, I’d say? Not to say I didn’t like it – I really, really loved the finale, and there were plenty of great lines, but my god were there a lot of pages spent on nothing happening (honestly it kind of reminded me of the latter volumes of ASOIF, in that sense) – then again, I suppose that is kind of just the nature of these 1000+ page fantasy epics. There were some setting reveals that really were fascinating, and legitimately a bit surprising. Going to have to take a break from the series until the friend I got Rhythm of War for is done so I can borrow it, though I suppose that’s no huge loss compared to the however many years everyone else had to wait in between them.

So in terms of pacing it’s...bad. Or, well, that’s probably a bit unfair. There’s absolutely plenty of fat to cute, but again I do think that might just come with the territory of committing to like a dozen POVs across a tree’s worth of paper (though there were absolutely like 100+ page stretches where I’m not actually sure the plot meaningfully progressed). That said, honestly the main pacing issue isn’t so much the bloat as, like – okay, Dalinar’s arc was a pretty consistent throughline, but for Kalidan and Shallan it kind of felt like there was one whole story in Urithiru, and then from the mission to Kholinar and the journey through the Cognitive Realm felt like its own separate novel? I mean, not sure if that makes any sense, but it really did kind of feel like there was a whole additional first act of table and stakes setting once they arrived in the city.

Though, to argue in favor of bloat for a moment – I was chatting with  @lifeattomsdiner​ bit back about The City We Became, and they mentioned that the size of the cast meant that you don’t actually really get to know any of the protagonists that well on their own. And I suppose that is the advantage of the 1200-page-per-volume epic cycle – even with characters you only really meet in interludes like Szeth, Vargo and Venli (incidentally three of my favorites), you spend enough pages inside of their head that you do really get to see what makes them tick and learn to love/hate them. Speaking of – props to Sanderson as an author, really – it’s vaguely astounding that he manages to keep track of that many internal monologues and actually make them seem distinct from each other.

Breaking things down by character a bit more – this book really did actually enjoy/get invested in Dalinar way more than either of the previous two, which again I’m told is more or less the expected reaction. Given the amount of tumblr brain poison I’m voluntarily exposed myself to, it’s honestly more than a bit of a nice change to see a character on a redemption arc who is actually unambiguously in need of redemption. Because holy shit, pulled, like, exactly two punches in terms of making the guy as genuinely loathsome as possible before he starts breaking. And, well, obviously he was on a redemption arc, but there was a bit near the end there where I really did think that the book was going to cut to black on an ‘end of Act 2, maximum darkness before dawn’ moment with, like, all the Skybreakers and him kneeling before Odium as the city fell. But I suppose that would be a bit much of a cliffhanger for a series with installments this weighty.

This was pretty clearly Shallan’s ‘getting over my personal bullshit’ book, like WoR was for Kaladin and WoK was for Dalinar, though spicing things up with increasingly severe DID as the book went on did make things more interesting at least. Also, I have no idea if this is actually true, but according to the friend who pestered me into reading these when someone asked Sanderson if he’d intentionally written her as bi he just kind of shrugged and said ‘sure, why not,’ which is fun. It was more than a bit, I don’t know, forced?, to have Wit just wander in from stage left and give her a desperately needed therapy session while she was in the middle of a breakdown and propel her development for most of the rest of the book, but on the other hand she’s pretty easily the main POV I’m most invested in by now, and the live triangle the text repeatedly threatened me with never actually became a thing, so I can’t really complain too much. Honestly super curious about the Ghostbloods and what they want out of her given, well, for a shadowy murderous conspiracy, everything they’ve wanted out of her so far has been pretty much entirely benign. Like, of the three major shadowy murderous conspiracies they’re easily the least problematic for the future of humanity at the moment. She should just commit and join for real imo.

As always, Kaladin’s POV is mostly good because it means we get more Syl, who is the single best character in the entire story I’ve decided. But also, I really quite liked his whole sojourn with the newly freed Parshmen and dawning realization that ‘wait these people are basically entirely right’. Also, the delicious delicious angst of spending however many dozens of pages getting to know them and then the wall guard and then the two groups killing each other in a confused melee while he has a mental breakdown. Easily best moment in the book (but then I’m a miserable person).

Adolin is honestly significantly more entertaining to follow than I really expected, though I’m still not like especially invested in him as a character. His relationship with his tailor was quite charming, though, as was the fact that he cares enough about fashion that he learned to sew. Honestly I was rather expecting/slightly dreading his main arc this book to be, like, inadequacy or insecurity over being almost literally the only member of his family that’s not a Radiant, so it’s kind of a pleasant surprise that he seems to have just accepted that (too well-adjust, I guess?). It is however extremely funny that the fact he just straight-up murdered one of the kingdom’s most important aristocrats and the major antagonist of the first two books seems to have resulted in absolutely zero consequences of any kind for him.

In terms of minor characters, the one I’m most invested in by a pretty substantial margin at this point is Venli, as she’s getting a front row seat to all the most interesting bits of the setting, ‘cultist growing increasingly disillusioned about return of ancient and terrible eldritch god’ is a really entertaining character arc just in principle, and because as of the end of the book she represents the morally objectively correct perspective and political line I’ve decided and will fight people about. Curious what sort of superpowers she’ll get. (Vargo and Szeth are still both great though, too).

The Unmade are really fun as a worldbuilding conceit/excuse for weird fucked up monsters. And it really is kind of funny that at least a third of the God of Evil’s nine generals/children/favoured beasts are, like, at conflicted or ambivalent about the whole ‘exterminate humanity and remake the world as a monument to my glory’ thing.  

Really, on an extremely shallow and entirely aesthetic level, between the evil red crystal/lightning aesthetic, the remote mountain fortress as a stronghold of the heroes in the face of the coming apocalypse, tears into the realm of spirits, the quirky evil minibosses each handling corrupting/conquering a given center of civilization, etc, the whole thing kind of reminded me of Dragon Age Inquisition. Which reminded me of how disappointing the story to that game was, which made me like the book more by comparison, but anyway. Yeah, good book.

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

And we’re back for the second chapter, which is a lot shorter than the last - only half the size, thank goodness. I have a feeling this will go by somewhat faster than the first chapter, if only because there’s so much less happening per chapter and less worldbuilding to pick at.

Being up to forty followers already is actually really neat - I was expecting this project to go under the radar a bit longer. Thank you for all the likes and comments, and especially the reblogs! 

[No. 2 - Roaring Muscles]

Have to admit that the title page is definitely something - it’s deliberately styled in the same format as Western comic book covers. And in so, you can really see the difference in art style between the Westernized All Might and Horikoshi’s normal style for Izuku. 

The next page is a full body shot of All Might posing (RIP all the pens that died inking that one image), with some background panels covering the basics about the man - that his age and quirk are unknown, and that his strength has made him popular even since his debut. He’s got a lot of merch, branding, magazine covers, newspaper headlines, movie adaptations, etc etc. and, of course, that creepy fucking mask.

If Izuku has one of those, I am both disappointed and completely not surprised. I both look forward to and dread the day someone draws him wearing that monstrosity. Also-

Is that the same keychain Ochako gets during the Secret Santa swap in some hundred and twenty or so chapters? 

Alright, not the same one, but a similar pose. Not surprising, since I doubt Hori even remembered this panel at the point Ochako was given it, but it would have been an interesting little callback if it had been.

Moving on, we learn that since he became active, there’s been a notable decrease in the appearance rate of villains - with a graph showing the decline. His existence alone is a deterrent to villainy, which in no way will cause issues decades down the line. But yeah, basically Izuku confirms that All Might’s earned his title of ‘Symbol of Peace’ - and that the same man with so many accolades just told him he could be a hero.

(That last panel, of just Toshinori and Izuku, which is so uncluttered compared to the other panels… mmm, gotta love it. Makes it feel so much more poignant and dreamlike, which it probably was to Izuku at the time.)

The next page gets right to where we left off, with Izuku on the ground crying his eyes out while his mind plays through all the doubts and negative words thrown at him over the past chapter years. However, he’s finally heard what he’s always wanted to hear from this Alolan Exeggutor lookin’ dude:

Who also happens to be the No. 1 hero and Izuku’s idol. Izuku wonders if he could wish for anything more than that, so of course, Exeg- I mean Toshinori continues on, saying Izuku is worthy of inheriting his power. Which snaps Izuku out of his happy crying to actually look up at his idol, confused as heck.

BABEY.

But yeah, Toshinori laughs at Izuku’s expression and says that it’s a proposal, and that there’s work to be done. Also, this is the first instance of ‘my boy’ shown in the manga - while I know in Japanese it’s supposed to be just a translation of ‘young man’ or something close, I choose to see it in a different manner, as per my Dad Might agenda:

Look, you have to admit things went from 0 to 100 real fucking fast here, I will not take criticism on my interpretation. While we’re on the topic of ‘0 to 100’:

Toshinori please get that checked that’s a lot of blood jesus fuck. But yeah, he offers Izuku his power (which outside a shounen manga is questionable, kids, don’t trust that.) Izuku is still confused, naturally, so Toshinori clarifies he means his quirk. He explains how the tabloids like to guess what his quirk is, while he avoids answering with jokes, because All Might has to come off as a natural born hero.

(Also that dramatic posing, he’s such a fucking loser, I love him so much.)

You can really fucking tell he’s a performer at heart. I feel like it fits with his love of movies too - he probably liked acting out the dramatic hero speeches and fights in old superhero movies. Which I mean, also makes sense since heroes in the current era are as much actors and performers as they are public servants who handle crime and disasters.

Toshinori explains his quirk was passed down to him like the Olympic torch, which Izuku mentally stumbles over, and when that is confirmed, Izuku falls into a dazed rambling over this, completely tuning out of the outside world; he thinks about all the previous theories put out there, then basically confirming that his power being passed on is nothing anyone has ever considered, in part because there’s so little known about quirks, and even the reason ‘quirk’ [which in Japanese is ‘Individuality’] is used, because they’re unique to the person who wields said power. 

(Also, I want to know what the other six mysteries of the world are, Izuku. Why won’t you share that important tidbit with us? Worry about the quirk later!)

Toshinori cuts into his rambling, asking if Izuku really doubts him and that it’s nonsense, he has secrets but he doesn’t outright lie. Izuku does snap out and try to apologize, but Toshinori continues on:

One For All. Certainly a power that comes with no downsides, hidden legacies, or enough mysteries to fill the other six damned slots of the mysteries of the world. Izuku repeats the name slowly, and Toshinori goes on to explain it: 

A small detail to note, there’s eight lights in the background, already revealing how many holders there currently are at this point. Notice how much weaker OFA must have been back at the beginning, compared to the power Toshinori has, and then expand that to what Izuku starts out with. And interestingly, it’s called a ‘crystalline network of power’, and that it ‘links those crying out to be saved and those with brave and true hearts.’ For our first description of OFA, it… sure seems poetic and almost romantic. Wonder if that will hold up in the chapters to come.

Anyways, moving on from that, Izuku asks why him, and Toshinori says he’s been looking for a successor, and that he believes Izuku worthy. Even as someone who is quirkless and a ‘mere hero admirer’, he was more heroic than anyone else there. Izuku tears up again, and Toshinori slaps himself in the forehead, saying it all depends on what Izuku says. 

Izuku gets to his feet and rubs away the tears, thinking about what he’s been told and how Toshinori’s greatest secrets (hah) have been divulged to him. He asks himself if he has reason to refuse, and immediately decides that no, he doesn’t, and tells Toshinori he accepts while reaffirming he’s got no reason to refuse. Toshinori says he expected nothing less than that quick answer. 

Seriously, look at the intensity of that reply, he is down and willing to do this. No second guessing, no hesitation. 

This seems like a good stopping point, since the second half of the chapter is all the training, including the montages, so I’ll finish things up in the next one (yes, I know, not taking five posts to get to the point, who would have thought?) and we can get into the crazy fun stuff. 

[dsoe-masteroftheheavenlyyard]

Chapter 5–BLACKBOX; Scene 3

master of the heavenly yard pages 100-107

“Ghaah!?” York screamed, his face full of agony as he took a bullet to the chest. “Son of a bitch! I shoulda stayed back in the palace after all!”

Germaine’s sword cut down the Tasan soldier who was attacking further. “It speaks well of you that you didn’t, York!”

“You can save yer praise! No matter how you slice it, we haven’t got an edge here in this fight!”

“…No, I don’t think so. At this point it looks like there’s more of the enemy’s number who’ve left the battlefield.”

“That so?”

“Strength of heart…That’s the difference. Kids these days lack the guts.”

Mariam summoned up knife after knife at Germaine’s side, throwing them precisely at enemy soldiers.

“I’d except nothing less from the leader of the revolution. You’re able to calmly analyze the situation.” Mariam grinned at Germaine with a relaxed expression.

“Oh no, I should be praising you—You’re one of the Three Heroes alright. There’s no more a dependable ally than you.”

“Thank you for the compliment. …Your father seems to be much more enthusiastic, however.”

To the right, ahead of her, Leonhart was destroying one of the self-propelled artillery machines with his fists.

“RRAAH!”

Germaine stared in amazement at her father as he gave out a war cry.

“…You’re a knight, so you should be using a sword, not your hands…”

“In any case, we’re doing much better than I had expected.”

Germaine shook her head at Mariam’s words. “We can’t rest easy yet. There’s still a difference of manpower here—and we have to keep their reinforcements in mind.”

“That’s true.”

Some new Tasan soldiers appeared before them, and took up a firing stance.

But before they could shoot, they were blasted back by the massive sword that Chartette was wielding.

“Chartette!”

“Big Sis, and Head Maid! You alright, yannow!?”

“You can see for yourself.”

“This is bad, yannow! Some new troops are coming from the left—”

Germaine and the others looked in the direction Chartette was pointing.

--And there were indeed some newcomers in armor heading their way.

“Tch, have the enemy reinforcements arrived already!?” Germaine said, clicking her tongue—But Mariam’s point of view differed.

“No, they’re…Ha hah. Late to the party I see—‘Demon of Asmodean’.”

“--! Then, those are—”

“Gast Venom, and his band of mercenaries.”

The Venom Mercenaries then proceeded to charge at the Tasan encampment.

“Time to get to work, you bastards!”

At the shout of the giant man who was running at the front, the mercenaries each started to cut at the Tasan soldiers with their weapons. The Tasan army’s formation began to crumble, in chaos over the sudden reinforcements.

--Now!

Not looking to miss a good opportunity, Germaine raced toward the enemy stronghold.

And there at her destination—was the enemy general Tony Ausdin.

“Wha!?”

Tony looked panicked, taken by surprise.

Germaine launched herself at him without a moment’s delay.

However—

Before she reached him, the surrounding Tasan soldiers all fired at her at once.

“Guh!?”

Germaine was filled with more holes than Swiss cheese.

If she hadn’t been a soul, then she would have surely been mortally wounded.

“—Ha. Say what you will, but that was reckless, red-armored swordswoman.” Tony smiled, having regained his composure. “Get blown away.”

The body of the self-propelled artillery turned to aim at Germaine.

“Fire!”

At Tony’s shout, the shell was launched at her.

.

--After the smoke had cleared, there was no one there.

Germaine realized that someone was holding onto her.

“Phew…Acting rashly as always, huh Germaine?”

“—I could say the same to you, Allen!”

It appeared that it was by his help that she had been able to avert being struck by the shell.

.

Thanks to Mariam and the others who ran up immediately afterwards, Germaine and Allen were able to make it back to their own encampment.

“You’re too impatient to win, Germaine!”

Germaine ignored Leonhart’s rebuke, her expression sulky.

“…I figured if I were to take out the general I could lower our enemy’s morale.”

“You just barely averted having the opposite happen. There are a lot of civilians that look up to you. Restrain yourself a little.”

“…Yeah yeah.”

Still astounded at his tomboy daughter, Leonhart then turned to face Allen.

“You too, Allen. Where have you been wandering about?”

“I’m sorry, I had some business to take care of—how’s Riliane?”

“…She’s not here right now.”

Leonhart explained the situation up to that point to Allen.

“—I see. So that’s what happened…”

“To find Riliane we first need to take care of the soldiers here now. Fortunately the battle situation has improved thanks to the Venom Mercenaries that you brought.”

“I just happened to meet them by chance. They seemed to be undecided on what they ought to do, so I hired them with some money.”

“Money? …I’d think that such a thing has little meaning by this point. Was that also an illusion conjured with your imagination?”

“Ha ha, that’s right. –I’ll have to thank Gast Venom.”

“…Even now I still have no idea what goes in that man’s mind.”

“Well then, what shall we do n—”

At that moment, they heard someone cry out from behind them, “H-hey! Look—what is that!?”

“A b-black box…is flying in the sky!?”

The Lucifenian soldiers were starting to get restless, looking up ahead to the left.

“—So it’s here,” Allen murmured in a low voice.

“Do you know what that is?” Germaine asked.

“…The ‘Blackbox’. Take care. I don’t know what exactly it can do, but I’m positive it has a dreadful power in it.”

They could see a new platoon of Tasan soldiers below the box, heading their way.

“Those look like the main forces. …That’s a considerable number. We’ll need to take care of them before we do anything about the black box.”

Mariam heaved a sigh.

.

--The Marlon guerilla unit had taken up position to the left flank of the Lucifenian army.

They were led by the king of Marlon, Kyle, who was currently gazing upon the enemy reinforcements with a composed expression.

“So these are the enemy reinforcements. And that box…I’ve got a bad feeling about that,” he said, getting down from the horse he’d been riding.

“What should we do, King Kyle?” asked one of his subordinates, reigning in his own horse.

Kyle replied, “It’s time to drop the peaceful attitude. You all wait here. From here on—I’ll go alone.”

“Wha!? But—”

“I don’t want to get anyone else wrapped up in this. …Well, this is my first time testing it out, so I don’t know if it’ll work, but—”

As Kyle spoke he closed his eyes, and seemed to be focusing on something.

--The unit’s soldiers began to falter at the strange atmosphere that he was giving off.

“K-king Kyle, what are you—”

“’As long as it’s something that you have experienced, you can conjure up anything’…So then!”

Kyle suddenly opened his eyes.

Said eyes were shining with a suspicious light.

And then--

“Ah—ahh…”

One of the soldiers fell on his rear.

The soul that had up to this point looked like Kyle—

The blue haired young-man, had transformed into a monster with six black wings.

“Whew…I guess it worked alright,” the creature laughed boldly. “And I didn’t lose my mind doing it…I think.”

Then he turned his gaze back to the ‘black box’.

“Well then, let’s go.”

He spread his wings and flew towards the enemy.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[skz222]

5.55 (han jisung)

contains: fluff, scenario, full length chaptered story, sfw, jisung x oc, lee know x oc, changbin x oc, jisung pov

word count: 2.8k

Previous chapter 

Chapter 1.3

July 13th, 2022

12:12 am.

I can’t sleep. 

Let me just go on Twitter or something I guess.

Scrolling, scrolling. It makes me feel better to see what Stays post about us, and it’s almost like going through a scrapbook of memories and it makes me feel better about being awake in a completely dark room right now. It almost feels like I’m ignoring something. The whole room...really is this dark huh..

I’m not going to wake up Hyunjin or Chan right now just because I’m scared of the dark.

Hah.

Maybe if I listen to some music I can sleep peacefully this time.

I don’t know why I keep having the same dream over and over, it’s almost every night at this point. I don’t even know if it’s something I don’t want to happen anymore. 

A warm and familiar hand starts rubbing my back gently.

“Why are you up so early baby?”

“I had a bad dream again...” 

Her back rubs comforted me but I felt agitated, like I wanted to go somewhere. How long have I even been up for? What time is it? I swear it’s only been 20 minutes but I can see the sky turning dark blue from black.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Not now Eunji, baby. I just want to kind of be by myself right now.”

“Is it something about me?”

“No, I just need some time alone right now.”

“Okay...I have to go to work soon so I’ll be leaving first.”

“Alright. Have a good day. I love you.”

“I love you too!”

Leaning over, she puts her hand on my face for a kiss. It’s sloppy and full of morning breath, and for once I actually feel a bit grossed out. I’ve never felt that way before, not even about any of the members or anybody before. I just don’t think I want to kiss her anymore.

I’ll just wait until she leaves to write it down in my dream journal.

I watch her carefully as she silently changes into her work clothes in the dark, grabs her bag and shoes, phone and charger, and silently heads out the door with a wave and a smile. I smile back, but I’m not sure if I even wanted to or if it was just out of habit.

One, two, three, four.... beep beep beep.

She’s fully gone now.

I grab my journal from under the mattress, between the bed and the nightstand so it never peeks out. Flipping through the pages, I guess this one is the same as the last, like what, 15 dreams I’ve had but I can’t just not record it down right?

------------

June 6th, 2022

She’s late again huh....

5:55 pm

Two slices of cheesecake on my table, one for me and one for someone else.

Eunji walks in finally, and she looks hurried, like she just came from work - a bunch of bags in her hands. 

“I’m sorry I’m late baby! The stores were being difficult with your gifts so it made me late.”

“No don’t worry, I wasn’t waiting long.”

I hand her the bag on the floor next to me, just one big bag but it’s heavy. All of her bags are designer brands and mine was just a big mauve paper bag. 

“I know you really like these colors so I made sure to get one of each style in your best colors!” 

“Thank you Eunji, that’s sweet.”

“What is this? Oh my god are these the shoes I’ve been wanting for years? Hannie baby...that’s so thoughtful.”

“I’m glad you like it. I’m sorry it’s not as much as you got me, I just am more of a one, thoughtful gift kind of person, I guess.”

“I feel....bad Jisung....I feel like I wasn’t as thoughtful with my gifts.”

“It’s okay, I understand. I know sometimes, when you’re with someone for a long time, you do things that are easier because you have an understanding or a felling that that person will stay with you forever regardless or will love you the same regardless. I think a lot of people start treating the ones around them with less care and like they’re less precious as time goes on, because a lot of people only treat things that aren’t easily obtainable or accessible as precious or valuable rather than the things right in front of them. I understand that we all have “easy versus thoughtful” moments in our day to day life. It’s hard to ask you to be thoughtful for me in moments like this when I haven’t always been. It’s not a competition, but I understand it’s just hard sometimes.”

“You only talk like this, very touching and carefully, when you’re deciding on something big. Are you deciding on something important to you?”

“I guess I was just thinking out loud I guess.”

We sat and ate in silence. Well, I ate my slice, she just played around with it for a while. Sometimes I wish she’d just admit she doesn’t actually like cheesecake as much as me or nearly at all anymore, if she ever did.

Sometimes I wish she would just eat it at least a little bit just to humor me, if she’s not going to be honest with me about it.

I guess this is how our relationship is these days. Aren’t things supposed to be better and bubbly at least a little bit longer than a few months? I feel like things haven’t been genuinely the same for a while now. It just feels like the girl I used to think about wasn’t even real, or she changed so much that she’s like a different person now. 

I feel strange saying I loved her, or that I do love her. The girl I used to love isn’t the same and not even in a normal way that people change. I was always hesitant to say I love you because it never felt natural, even though I felt that way when she wasn’t around. 

It’s like she was really good at portraying an image of herself that she knew I would love and adore and cherish, but could never keep it up long enough for me to be completely fooled.

I’m not necessarily an owner, or a possessive lover. I value loyalty in my interpersonal relationships the most, and to me that means no flirting at all or anything past that. 

Today is our 200 day anniversary. I never made it this far in any of my younger relationships, which I think were just puppy love at best. I thought this would be something to look forward to, but I feel like I was actually dreading it for the past 100 days.

On our 100 day, she was late also. I prepared a really nice picnic date at our favorite park, one close to her parents house. I waited for 2 hours, I even called a few times and she never answered. Call me a fool, a puppy, whatever you have to, but I just ignored the feeling.

I went home, decided to take a shower instead. I try my best to be understanding and was worried that there was an emergency. After I showered, I went to her place and she was busy, on a phone call, with her guy friend. 

I didn’t really ask more than that, I just entered, heard them laughing and talking, and left. She apologized later, said she was caught up with an important conversation. I think that was the moment I knew she wasn’t the one for me.

I think I’m a stubborn person. I’m stubborn about love because I don’t want to fail, with friends I love or with people I love in general.

I don’t think I give my heart away easily, but I think I’m the kind of person that loves entirely and really trusts my instinct and intuition. If I feel something is right, I go for it and don’t hold back, so I think that is why I’m stubborn because I don’t want to think I was wrong.

I know these last 100 days weren’t spent in vain though, I just spent it figuring out myself. I was too excited to be able to date. Once the dating ban was up I think I just...became too hopeful and excited, I wanted to be with someone in that way so badly.

I wanted to have a romantic love and do all of those things I had been waiting to do. It was hard because I hadn’t been able to since I was a teenager, so I just kind of disregarded most of my logic and thoughts about waiting.

It’s not that I needed to love myself, because I got to spend those years doing that instead and I’m grateful, but I didn’t understand myself well enough. I didn’t understand why I was feeling that way, like I was “behind” everyone else. In my career, I’m ahead and I’m successful and I’m grateful.

I felt behind in life, like I had been too focused on my career and myself and finally I was able to give and receive this amazing new love. I was so excited that I didn’t take the time to see if it was actually something I needed or if she was the person for me.

I think that’s one of my faults. I rush things sometimes and stick to it, but what these past 100 days have taught me is that I shouldn’t be that way anymore. I have hindsight now, and I can see that sometimes things are karmic.

Sometimes things are a result of my haste. It’s okay to make mistakes in choosing people. It’s okay to be wrong. It’s okay to change once you’ve seen the situation change or have new information about a person.

You can’t know everything off of a first meeting, and sometimes people make you see what you want to see.

________________________

July 13th, 2022

5:01 am

How is it already so late? I tried to write quickly...

I should read over it I guess, it kind of bothers me to have lots of errors-

Click.

?????????

Who is up right now?

Hyunjin beat me to it.

He got off the top bunk so fast I was almost sure he’d already been awake. Just casually getting off the bed, turning on the lights and opening the door.

I see someone leaving quickly, it’s another member? Right now? It’s barely light out...

Beep beep beep.

“Where is Minho going?”

“Huh...I don’t know, I didn’t think we had any schedules until at least 8 am?”

“We don’t....”

He looked confused but just shut off the light and climbed back to the top bunk.

I’ll quickly reread my journal before we have to start getting ready.

I had the same dream again last night. I was walking to the cafe, it was mid day but there were barely any people out for some reason. I was wearing a jacket even though it was hot, a cap and a mask. I went in and got my usual drink but wanted to grab a slice of cheesecake again.

There were only 3 other people in there, all girls. They were all minding their business, but were clearly friends. I look at the clock...

12:12 pm

I’m in no rush, but I can’t stop staring at the cheesecakes and pastries. I take off my hat and leave the mask. One of the girls came up to order another drink at the counter and another slice of cheesecake, she gets the strawberry one with extra strawberries. I look at her, but I can only see her chin and below.

She’s wearing her hair down, it falls just past her shoulders and is straight and black with a hint of purple. She has on a black tank top with an unbuttoned button up shirt over it, the shirt is white and short sleeved. She’s wearing light wash blue jeans and white tennis shoes. 

She’s laughing with the cashier, she said “Another one? You’ll never get tired of these huh?” and they laugh.

I smile at her, and I ask her for her name. She tells me but I can never remember it when I wak wake up. My drink and cheesecake are ready right afterwards, and I take them in both hands. She taps me on the shoulder and I turn around, I still can’t see above her chin, the dream will never let me. 

The light coming in from the windows is hitting her in the most beautiful way.

She asks me what kind of cheesecake I got, and I tell her mulberry.

“Oh! That makes sense. My Korean isn’t fluent yet so I couldn’t tell what that one was, thank you!” 

I smile and laugh, her voice and laugh, they make me feel something.

She turns around and sits back with her friends, at the table right in front of the register. She turns away as she sits down so I still can’t see her face, but I see the faces of her friends. They start laughing and this whole part is in slow motion.

Then I wake up. 

Why do I keep having this dream?

I used to feel bad that I kept having this dream when I started meeting Eunji, but then I remembered that I’ve been having this dream long before I knew her. Since when?

Flipping, flipping. 

No way...

Since July 13th, 2020?

Exactly two years ago?

Beep beep.

지금 ���쁘니? 카페 빨리 와 <3 (Are you busy right now? Come to the cafe rn <3)

지금 왜???? 새벽엔??? (Right now? It’s early as hell??)

지금 다른 일을 있어...??? (U got something better to do?)

없어 (Nah)

그럼 빨리 와<3 <3 (Alrighty then get that ass over here <3)

아라써  (Yeah fine)

Why right now? Did he have an emergency and that’s why he left so early? I guess I do need a coffee..

-----------

Do I subconsciously dress this way to the cafe hoping I’ll meet her now? These past 100 days have been really sad for me just because I have that dream almost every night, especially since July started it’s literally every time. 

I feel kind of silly to be honest, maybe she isn’t even real. 

I don’t know why I’d dream of an imaginary girl, was I just that lonely? I don’t understand. 

The sun is coming out already, it feels so good to be in the sunlight right now. I feel so cold for some reason. 

Beep beep.

자기! 저녁식사!!!!! 같이 먹을래? 누나 사줄게 <3 (Babe do you want to get dinner tonight? My treat <3)

아, 스케줄 한이써, 미안. 보상해줄겡 (I actually have a schedule today I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you though.)

괜차나, 누나가 응원할게! (It’s okay, I’ll be cheering you on!)

I don’t even want to reply honestly..

Well I’m here finally.

I can see Minho and Changbin inside already..? With some random girls as well? They’re lucky it’s even too early for Dispatch to be out because there’s literally no one else here???

“Hey guys! Good morning!”

“Jisung! Come here come sit!”

“Ah thank you, I’m gonna order first!”

“Alright alright!”

“Can I get a hot milk chocolate with vanilla syrup and a slice of mulberry cheesecake please? Yes, thank you!”

“Hi, can I get another iced milk tea with a slice of cheesecake?”

“Of course ma’am, you don’t even have to order at this point.”

They’re laughing.

I look over, just not even thinking properly. I like her outfit, a black tank top with a white over shirt, jeans and some white shoes. Very pretty.

“Your food is ready sir!”

“Thank you very much! Hey scoot over so I can put my drink!””

Minho scooches over for me.

“Hey! I’m Ahyeon! Binnie told us a lot about you! This is Hyesoo and this is Hyojin!”

...Hyojin...

“Park Hyojin?”

“Oh? Do you two know each other?”

“No, I was just...guessing...”

The clothes, the barista interaction, this whole situation is almost exactly the same the time is off, the people, are you serious?

Did I only remember her name because Ahyeon said it out loud...

She’s still at the counter, her back turned and she’s just waiting, talking with the barista. She didn’t hear...

I should go home right now, I’m stinky I haven’t showered since yesterday, I’m wearing old clothes, I’m painfully nervous right now I feel like I’m not ready for this I don’t think I’ve ever felt my heart beating this loudly before am I going to pass out?

I get up abruptly and walk outside, ignoring everyone.

I should get ready for our schedule anyways, I’ll text them on the way back-

5:55 am.

“Hey hey hey wait up! Where are you going?”

[cinnaminsvga]

fox rain | three

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. namjoon) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid namjoon is (oh and like... ant gambling rings??) → words: 15.7K → a/n: this is late by a month and my whole life is a joke. i hope this makes you laugh bc i made namjoon extra dumb for y’all (for no extra charge. suck it, chipotle.) also: check bio for other chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

“This can’t be my fucking life. Can it?” you say to your own reflection, curtains of despair dripping from every inch of your visage. Your reflection stares back, the same dead eyes twitching imperceptibly from the lack of caffeine in your system. At this point, you wouldn’t be sane enough to be surprised if your parallel self would reply, perhaps with some scathing remark about how you were slowly losing your grip on your life. Not that it would be unwarranted, anyway.

After Hoseok’s explosion the other day, your weekend doesn’t exactly feel as exciting as it usually is. Of course, your mood is still a vast improvement from last week when you were out of commission for most it after your mental breakdown. Although, it doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still knee deep in shit and that you have no idea how you’re going to face Hoseok and Jimin the following Monday.

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

The day seems to be in much better spirits than you, and it would be a waste not to let the universe’s good mood try to make you feel better as well. There is a coffee shop just a block away, and maybe you could take a walk in the sunshine afterwards to help relax the dread consistently knocking at the back of your mind. It’s a little bit optimistic, but it’ll have to do.

Shrugging on a thin cardigan over some other semi-decent clothes, you step out of your stuffy apartment with a spring in your step. You didn’t bother with any of your usual morning ritual, seeing as how you don’t plan on meeting with anyone you know from university anyway. So what if your landlady Mrs. Park sees the bird’s nest on top of your head? Who is she going to tell? Her gang of old auntie friends all hate you already for wearing a “TRANS RIGHTS” shirt in front of them, so it’s not like you’re vying for their acceptance.

Other than your less than friendly neighborhood aunties, there are better old people to hang around anyway. Nearby the coffee shop, there is a senior home where you used to volunteer during your spare time until your other commitments forced you to give up your spot to some other benevolent soul. Since you have been meaning to visit the grandmas and grandpas there when you got some free time, you suppose it would be nice to talk to kind ol’ Ms. Kim today and listen to her recount her many youthful adventures (which is, more often than not, a euphemism for her various sexcapades in the 70s.)

The senior home is closer to your home than the coffee shop, so you choose to stop and gaze at the plain-looking white building with its neatly trimmed bushes and white picket fence. It looks out of place in the neighborhood, with its very suburban and Americana design, but you know it is only because the owner of the establishment had gotten her inspiration from Forrest Gump. She has a crush on young Tom Hanks, and you honestly can’t blame her for it; that man… he is a Man, with a capital M.

You’re in the middle of debating whether you should buy your coffee first before visiting the seniors when you hear a distant shout coming from within the house. Alarmed, you take a step back, almost falling on your ass and onto the sidewalk. You pause, tilting your head to try and peak over the fence and through the large windows that showed the reception area within. You recognize Hana, the receptionist, sitting by her desk in her usual green scrubs, her head bowed over a book as if the sound had not fazed her in the slightest.

“Am I crazy? Am I starting to hear things?” You wonder aloud, still staring at the innocent-looking home. Has the universe had enough with your lacklustre existence that it has caused you to hear nonsense? Is this only the beginning of your slow descent into madness?

You don’t have to fret over your sanity for too long because moments later, the shout repeats itself. Like the previous one, this one sounds just as pained and anguished, though you aren’t sure if it was a male or female who had screamed. For all you knew, the person might have either stubbed their toe or gotten a knife stabbed through their chest; it’s not like you spend time distinguishing the subtle nuances of tormented screams. However, you are more certain now that it had come from within the home, even though Hana has yet to react to the chilling noise. She flips to the next page, tired eyes squinting at the small text.

You are stuck at an impasse: do you go inside the home despite the possible danger of entering a secret cannabilist society of which your acquaintance has been initiated to, or do you turn around and go home where it is 100% more likely for you to survive the next 24 hours?

The choice becomes apparent to you, however, when a tall, lanky boy bursts out of one of the doors behind the receptionist, with his arms piled to the ceiling with dinner plates on the cusp of making their way to the floor. Even through the window and behind a fence, you can tell that he is in dire need of help, which Hana does not seem likely to extend. The mess of legs makes a beautiful display of himself, his lower limbs flapping about aimlessly as his body contorts to try and keep himself and the plates balanced.

Finally, after what feels like hours of torture watching the poor volunteer make a fool of himself, he manages to steady himself, his legs crossed together like he’s trying to hold in his piss. Carefully, he squats down, placing the plates on the floor in front of the receptionist desk. For a moment, you feel as though you should be applauding, for whatever reason.

Now without dishes obscuring his face, you can make out the identity of the flailing giraffe man. He turns, fingers combing through his distinctly colored hair––

Oh god. It’s him. You gotta get out of there, fast, before he recognizes you. Maybe if you run quickly enough, then maybe he won’t notice you when he looks out the window around.

“Ha,” the universe laughs, clapping their asscheeks to the rhythm of Ludacris’ Move Bitch Get Out Da Way™️ with a smirk. “Cute of you to think your life isn’t basically a 20-year long trainwreck in motion.”

Inevitably he turns around, his eyes immediately locking on your face despite being half-concealed by the fence. He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he lights up, recognition flooding his features. Even though you cannot hear him clearly, you just know that he said something stupid, judging by the way Hana has finally looked up from her book to stare at him weirdly.

Please don’t come out and greet me. Please just let me wave at you awkwardly and for you to stay where you are. Please don’t go out and talk to me––

Your prayers go unanswered once more as he sidesteps the wall of plates, his hip just barely grazing it and almost causing it to tumble down. The pile sways precariously from left to right, miraculously staying put as he rushes out to greet you. You can only imagine the mess he’d have to clean up if it did, shards of cheap porcelain left behind in his awkward, fumbling wake.

Luckily (or unluckily for you), he makes it out of the senior home in one piece. He crosses the short path to the fence in two inhumanly long strides, slamming the fence door open with a wide swing. It smacks loudly against the railing, the hinges making a pained groan as it looks to be at the inch of its life––literally. You vaguely remember replacing the screws on it just before you left over six months ago… Surely you hadn’t done such a shoddy job? Although, you know that simply can’t be true. After all, you’re dealing with none other than destruction incarnate himself, Kim––

“Y/N!” Namjoon greets happily, his dimples deeper than you remember. You swallow heavily, trying your best not to sweat under his overly enthusiastic gaze. God, you should’ve gone straight to the coffee shop when you had the chance.

Nothing like facing disaster head-on, as they say. “Hey,” you reply half-heartedly, though the walking inflatable tube man doesn’t seem to mind your lacklustre mood. He grasps your hands for a shake, swinging your entire body up and down with the care of a man who does not know his own strength. You, his unfortunate victim, are left to suffer through his artery-bursting grip.

“Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Not that I’m not normally happy to see you at university, but––” He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the specific contents of his sentences, so you can only hope that your unenthused nods will be enough to placate the bumbling buffoon. You resign yourself to a fate similar to the bobbleheads on the dashboards of those white suburban soccer moms.

“Wait, hold on.” What on earth..? You are full on gaping at the piece of work on top of his head, not even pretending to be polite as you try to process what is in front of you. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

You know from old Facebook photos that Namjoon has natural black locks, though you can’t say that his wacky hairstyles were also inborn. Ever since you have known him, he has always dyed his hair a sandy brown color, complimenting his tan skin. Now, however…

“You mean the weird blue streaks?” Namjoon says, rubbing a few strands thoughtfully. His hair is a walking disaster, and this is coming from someone who has seen what Kim Seokjin has done to his clients. (There’s a reason his Yelp reviews are terrible… He deserves negative stars, if you’re being honest.)

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

“Uh… Kind of?” He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I had meant to change my hair color to something more exciting, so I asked the kids at the daycare and they suggested blue. Problem is, the seniors said they preferred my brown hair but I already promised the kids so… Here we fucking are,” he says in one breath, appearing as though what he said was obvious.

“So your solution was to compromise… by coloring half your hair blue, like some botched version of Death the Kid?”

“Exactly!” He beams, glad that you understand him perfectly.

Oh my god… He’s… No words are coming to you right now, but you get the picture.

The thing about Kim Namjoon is… he’s not… bad. Or dumb, for that matter.

Okay, not the best compliment out there, but it’s true. You’ve known for as long as you’ve been a university student, and your first meeting is certainly one for the books. You wouldn’t exactly consider him a “friend,” and an acquaintance is a bit of a stretch on most days, but he’s a nice guy. He’s eccentric in the most positive way, and not at all in the same chaotic and evil way that Seokjin is (for which you are thankful for.) It has always been a bit tricky to get close with him, as his head is always so far up in his work that it almost feels like he’s being reclusive on purpose.

If you ignore the fact that he has that odd propensity to volunteer himself in any job on the face of the earth (with him being unqualified 9 times out of 10), it is easy to see why people think so highly of him.

He is a scholarship student with a 4.0 GPA, is the youngest candidate to ever receive the university president’s yearly public commendation, and has already released two reputable mixtapes with high praise from critics nationwide. He’s nothing if not a prodigy, and he’s amassed a hefty following for his accomplishments. As a music major yourself, it’s hard not to be a little starstruck with him if you’re being honest.

Most of all, you remember the first song that you had ever heard from him: Moonchild. You still can’t quite believe he let you hear one of his many masterpieces when the two of you had just been total strangers. The lyrics had been so heartfelt, so intimate, that you felt as if you were intruding on his personal space or something. But he had let you listen, let you take a peek at what goes on inside that nebulous brain of his. When he does things like that, it makes it easy to understand why people might think your love poem might be about him. He’s just so… easy to admire.

The poem isn’t about him, but. It could have been, in some other life. (Or maybe it is.)

(Was.)

(Will?)

Regardless, you still have to convince him otherwise. You just simply aren’t ready for that type of development, much less with him. Despite all his good sides.

Thus, Kim Namjoon leaves you at a standstill. Why do you feel so fucking weird about harboring this idol crush on him? How can he be so dumb and so smart at the same time? He has blue fucking hair for crying out loud! He’s causing you cognitive dissonance just by existing, and it’s giving your meagre amount of brain cells a workout.

Oh shit, have you been ignoring him? You were totally zoning out this entire time, haven’t you?

Somewhere around the time you were having your mini mental breakdown, Namjoon’s mouth had stopped moving, giving you an expectant look. Oh shit. He probably asked you something. Embarrassed and unwilling to give away that you had not processed even a single word out of his mouth, you nod and give him an approximation of what you assume is a friendly smile.

For a second, you think that you might have gotten away with it when Namjoon’s face breaks out into an enormous grin. He grabs you by the shoulder and envelops you in an chokehold-like embrace. You let out a wheeze, clawing at his biceps with your remaining strength to try and prevent your untimely death due to asphyxiation. “Namjoon..?”

He lets out a shriek at a higher octave than you thought a man of his size was capable of. Somewhere out there, a dog probably perks up at the supersonic sound. “Y/N, I knew I could count on you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the elders for Zombie Tea Time!”

Now that caught your attention. You pause in your squirming to fix him with a confused expression. “I’m… I’m sorry? What did you say?”

His smile never falters. He presses his cheek against yours, rubbing it happily with a hum. In any other scenario, you might have fainted from how adorable he was being, but seeing as how all your blood is still trapped in your upper extremities from his vice hug, it is difficult enough trying to remember how to stay alive.

“Every Saturday, the senior home hosts this event called Zombie Tea Time where the old people all get to have their faces painted with fake blood and all the volunteers have to pretend to be innocent civilians trying to get away from them!”

The more Namjoon speaks, the more you feel your sanity dripping out of your ass like diarrhea. “Ex. Excuse me? Say that again?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing the volunteers are trying out this month,” Namjoon says, finally (finally) releasing you from his hug. You don’t know if your flushed cheeks are from embarrassment or a stroke. “Like I said, we’re a bit shorthanded today, so I’ve had to wash the plates from breakfast AND pretend to get eaten by senile zombies. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You grimace, patting him on the shoulder empathetically. You freeze. “Wait. So that’s why you were screaming a while ago?”

“Huh?” Namjoon pauses, before his face does something funny where it looks like he’s either going to sneeze or take a shit. Thankfully he does neither, but instead reaches his hand around his back like he has an itch he needs to scratch. He makes a pained yelp, plucking something out from his asscheeks and pulling out what appears to be––

You stare at the object in his palm. “Are those… dentures?”

“Hmm…” Namjoon stares at it, too tired to be disgusted. He just nods his head sagely. “Must’ve been when I was too slow to dodge Mister Lee’s lunge. I was beginning to wonder why my ass felt like it was being eaten out.”

“Please, never say that sentence to me ever again.”

“Yea,” he agrees, sighing faintly. He pockets the teeth much to your horror, patting it gently like he hadn’t just placed a pair of dentures in his fucking scrubs. He dusts off his hands, his lips pursed so that his dimples stand prominently on display. You barely contain yourself from sinking your finger right into their hypnotizing abysses.

He looks at you hopefully. “So… Uh. You said you’ll help me?”

Oh right. You fucking said you’d help him fend off a hoard of virulent old people in face paint.

You look to the right, where the coffee shop is just within sight. Sweet, sweet caffeine, tantalizing you with its saccharine presence, dangling its wretchedly addictive power over your head. If you breathe deeply enough, you think you can smell the coffee beans from here.

You turn back to Namjoon, and you can physically feel the weight of his hopeful gaze on your shoulders. Your defenses have never crumbled so quickly in your life. Fuck him and his stupidly handsome ass.

You sigh, resigning your fate to eternally being whipped for a pair of pretty long legs and size B man titties. “Let’s fucking do this, I guess.” Easier said than done, but you already have one foot in elephant shit, so might as well submerge your whole body as well.

You follow Namjoon closely, having to take two extra steps for every one step that he takes. He crosses the reception area quickly, sending energetic finger guns at Hana which unsurprisingly goes unrequited. You take the more inconspicuous route and wave shyly at her, intimidated by her even after you have long since stopped working here. She levels you with one of her infamous hundred yard stares, lips turned downwards as she appraises you.

“You’ve decided to come back?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with a huff.

Namjoon is in the midst of trying to once again carry all the plates in his Play-Doh arms, so you’re a bit distracted when you shake your head in response. “Uh. N-no, Namjoon just asked me to help with the dishes, that’s all.”

“That’s a shame,” Hana says, no trace of disappointment in her voice whatsoever. She returns to her book, buzzing open the double doors to let the two of you pass. She flicks her hand lazily at the commotion happening behind her. “Better hurry back in there. The seniors are getting antsy.”

The doors open automatically, and you almost topple over when you are immediately bombarded with the terrifying symphony of old people hollering obscenities at frantic volunteers trying desperately to get away from their gnarled clutches. The hoard hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, and you fear to wonder what type of horrors that you will have to face once you step through those doors. You absolutely refuse to die on this hill, not when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet.

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Namjoon says, as if he can read your mind. You look at him skeptically.

“You think?”

He clears his throat. “I can’t promise we’ll come out of this unscathed, though.”

He takes a tentative step forward, the pile of dishes wobbling dangerously on their perch. You are quick to steady the leaning tower of Disa(ster), managing to transfer half of it into your own arms. You grunt, adjusting your stance so that you do not accidentally lose your grip. “Dude. How the hell did you get all those plates out here in the first place?”

Namjoon stands up straighter, the weight significantly easier for him to manage now. He smiles cherubically back at you, eyes crinkling cutely. “Oh, I was literally on survival mode and trying to stop lil Mrs. Sun from gnawing my leg off. The elders can smell fear you see, so they were definitely going to climb on top of me like World War Z and probably kill me.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Although, I think I dropped a plate or two while I was escaping, so watch your step!”

He says all of that with the same eagerness as man who is about to do something crazy, like jump out of a plane or walk a tightrope over a 100 ft canyon. Though, you have to admit that this entire scenario feels like it is on the same calibre.

“Is it me, or are the old people here 10 times crazier than I remember when I volunteered here?”

“You used to work here?” Namjoon says, amazed. “Oh, I didn’t know that! I only started a week ago when some other person resigned due to mental health issues or something.”

“You sure that this place isn’t the cause of their mental decline?” You say it like a joke, though you mean it seriously. Maybe the universe had been looking out for you when decided to get out of this place.

“Hmm… Maybe. Although, we only received this shipment of old people fairly recently.”

Pause. Rewind. “S-shipment?” you repeat, staring at him wildly.

Like the lovable airhead that he is, Namjoon fails to notice your astonishment and instead takes the first brave step forward through the double doors. He tilts his head towards the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. The plates rattle dangerously from his movements. “C’mon, we gotta get these plates cleaned before the lunch crew comes to take over their shifts!”

Walking to the kitchen is easier than you thought, especially after you take into account the fact that all the old people completely ignored you and chose to only attack Namjoon, for whatever reason. You like to think that it is because the seniors still remember you back when you were still volunteering here and that they hold some semblance of endearment for you, but Namjoon begs to differ. In fact, he screams out his hypothesis as to why you have been left unharmed, all while two older women climb his back like demented crabs.

“Y/N! I think they can’t attack you because you’re in civilian clothes! They only attack scrubs!” Namjoon says, swatting away one of the women off his back with a surprisingly coordinated headbutt. She shrieks as she falls, landing on all four legs like a cat would do. She hisses lowly at you, before scuttling off to somewhere unseen.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” you wince, watching Namjoon unsuccessfully trying to spin quick enough to dislodge the remaining senior.

Namjoon perks up when he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s face, giggling and appearing as if he isn’t currently being assailed by a senior citizen. “Oh, Ms. Kim! I didn’t see you there. I love the zombie make-up you got going. Who helped you?” He looks at you, as if imploring you to compliment her as well.

“Uh. Yes. You’re looking very… yellow.”

Ms. Kim snarls, baring her teeth. “It’s the jaundice,” she says.

Not wanting to stand in that hallway any longer, you carefully place the plates back on the floor before you gently unclamp the old lady’s talons from Namjoon’s poor biceps. You wince, feeling the length of her nails and knowing that Namjoon is going to have some nasty scars.

You tell him so, but he only shakes his head. “Nah? I think they’d be pretty neat! Battle scars are cool right?”

You grimace at him. “If that’s… what you think, then sure.”

After grabbing your plates and hurrying after him before the elders make note of Namjoon’s survival, the two of you share a sigh of relief as you both slowly start piling them into the dishwasher. The task is menial and repetitive, and despite what Namjoon’s earlier chattiness might have suggested, he is quiet while he works. The silence is not as awkward as you feared, and honestly the peace is a welcome respite after all the chaos that you had to endure in such a short period of time. Although, silence has never been a good friend to your overworked mind, as it allowed you to stew inside your own head for much too long––and you have found in your 20 years of existence that it is probably for the best that you are not left without external stimulation for too long.

But here you are, forced to do exactly that. You would have engaged in some conversation with Namjoon to stop yourself from getting in over your head, but you are afraid of what sort of embarrassing topics might spew out of your mouth if you do. Heaven forbid that you start geeking out on him about your unhealthy obsession of collecting miniature glass horse figurines––that is a secret best kept between yourself and the tentacle monster under your bed.

You begin reflecting on the events from the past two weeks, replaying them second by agonizing second and ruminating on the state that your pitiful young adult life has become. The more you allow these memories to simmer, the more you slowly realize the weight of the accumulated stress that has long since made you hunch over like a goblin.

Hoseok and Jimin’s argument comes to the forefront of your mind, the unexpected heat coming from both of them confusing you to no end. You still don’t know the source of their ire towards one another, but what baffles you the most is how you could have missed it in the first place. Sure, you had thought they were at least more than acquaintances; one does not simply challenge a near stranger to a dance off in the middle of a library three times a week, for more than two months and counting. Friends might have been a stretch, though you can’t say you’re familiar with how their schedules look like outside your tutoring sessions together.

The question is though… should you interfere? Normally, you would have stayed far away from anyone else’s drama––you just aren’t the type of person to stick their noses in other people’s business. Yet somehow, you feel as if your poem was the catalyst to this violent chain reaction, that you have inadvertently caused the foundation of a precarious building to explode and bring the whole thing crashing down. To think that your silly love poem for a boy who hardly knows that you exist has become the center of so many people’s lives… the entire thing is giving you a headache.

Speaking of headaches… you should probably confront Namjoon about the poem as well. It is probably best that you plan your approach better this time, seeing as how your two previous attempts have been anything but stellar. Namjoon can’t be that difficult to convince, right? And even if he does see right through you, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would laugh cruelly at you in the event that he figures out that you are the author. Not like Seokjin, at least. Luckily no one is like Seokjin, the fucking rat bastard that he is.

(In the distance, Seokjin has the sudden animalistic urge to slip anthrax in your milk tea the next time he sees you.)

You glance at Namjoon from the corner of your eye, definitely not ogling the way his arms flex as he loads the final couple of plates. The breath catches in your throat when you realize that some time while you were busy swimming in your junkyard of a brain, he had rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying his god-like veins for the eyes of the deplorable (you) to feast upon.

Your mouth feels dry, even though other parts of you feel more moist than you remember. Oh god, now is not the time to remember how hot this fucking nerd is.

Despite the fact that your biological clock is screaming “HORNY HOUR” at your monkey brain, Namjoon continues to be thankfully unaware of your internal panic. He closes the dishwasher door shut, clicking it on with a relieved sigh. He gives you a megawatt smile and makes your heart leap into a somersault, probably knocking around some vital organs along the way.

“Thanks so much for the help, Y/N! Couldn’t have done it without you!” he cheers, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You wheeze under the impact, waving away his concern despite feeling like your lungs have probably slipped out of your asshole.

“It’s no problem, Namjoon…” you sigh, gazing sadly as Namjoon begins to do a final sweep of the kitchen before inevitably going to sign off for the day. You know your window of opportunity has already closed, and if you had not spent so much time staring at his beautiful man tiddies, you are sure you could have been a little more productive with him. Curse him and his damn chest.

But now, at least you’ll have more time to think of how to approach him and bring up the poem when you aren’t, like, seriously decaffeinated and on the cusp of a heart attack. You are about to bid him farewell with your tail between your legs when his hands cup your cheeks, catching you off guard.

You splutter incomprehensibly, arms flapping about like a fish out of water. “Wha––?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! After my hours here at the senior home, I have the afternoon shift at the daycare center near our university and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

If Namjoon’s cool, large hands holding your face like a delicate flower had caught you off guard, then his sudden invitation only exacerbated the furious blush blooming across your neck like a rash.

So what do you say?

“Meep,” is what you say, like the verbose poet that you are. Y/N, renowned campus poet, has the vocabulary of a five year old.

“Is that a yes?” Namjoon smiles, letting go off you in favor of looping his gangly arms around your waist. Another unflattering noise escapes your throat at his proximity and his firmness. “That’s so great! The kids love seeing new faces, and I bet they’d love to have a pretty girl around instead of plain ol’ me all the time!”

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

“Yea, sure!” Namjoon says, his stupid grin still on his stupidly handsome face. He does not appear to be embarrassed at all by his brazenness, which is starting to make you think he is either a well-seasoned flirt or just plain oblivious to the implications of his own words. Knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him that the latter might be the reason.

Compliments and unintentional flirting aside, you really did not feel up to another harrowing experience with Namjoon at one of his other volunteering stunts. You are but a woman in clown shoes, and even the most seasoned clowns must have their rest.

“Listen, Namjoon… I don’t think I can go with you. I have to go, uh,” you pause, your hamster brain working a mile a minute. “Water… my dog? No, I mean… feed my plant.” You cringe, mentally slapping yourself.

Namjoon, the sneaky bastard, hits you with his strongest and most potent puppy dog eyes in his arsenal. It was super effective! “Please, Y/N? I won’t take too much of your time! Just play with the kids for two hours and I promise to leave you alone!”

C’mon, Y/N. Focus. Are you the type of woman to break down her defenses for the wilful fancies of any man? You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Surely you can look him in the eye and tell him straight to his face that you would prefer to go home and rest on this beautiful Saturday than go frolicking with a bunch of snot-nosed children––

“Oh, sure. Why the hell not?” you say, like the dumb fucking idiot that you are.

Namjoon’s dimples deepen even further. You glare menacingly at them, knowing full well that they were entirely the cause of your weakness.

“Thank you so much, Y/N! The kids will really appreciate your presence! C’mon, we haven’t got time to lose!”

Namjoon does not even give you the time to fully comprehend your own pitiful existence before he nearly tugs your arm out of its socket as he maneuvers you to the local daycare just a few minutes away from the senior home. You don’t get to say your farewells to any of the seniors or your old work colleagues, but it might be for the best… You will need all the sanity left in your body to survive the rest of the day with Namjoon.

On the bright side, that means you’ll have the chance to talk to him about the poem, though you’re still hesitant to do so with how badly your previous stunts had ended up. But then again, when else would you get another good opportunity to talk to your crush acquaintance about this? You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see what happens next, and hope for the best.

You have been at the daycare for almost three hours now, and there are still no signs of you ever bringing up the poem. You might as well sign your last will and testament with the macaroni art supplies currently decorating your body, making you look like a morbid pasta dish monster from hell. You hope to god that the sticky stuff all over your skin is just cheese… White, rubbery scented cheese…

“Ain’t this fun?” Namjoon calls out from somewhere, presumably under the mass of ten or so toddlers all climbing him like a tree. You are caught in a state of déjà vu as the children start feasting upon any exposed areas of skin that their kid-sized incisors can find.

You just wanted to talk about the fucking poem for fuck’s sake! Instead, you have to deal with thirty 2-foot children and one 6-foot manchild during one of your only free days in a week.

A miniature demon tugs your sleeve, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s slow demise. You bend down to the little gremlin’s height, mouth twitching upwards in what you hope is a somewhat decent smile. Judging by the kid’s unimpressed face, you doubt it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Y/N? Can you tell your boyfriend that Jake peed in the ballpit again? Aera slipped on the puddle and now she’s crying and disturbing the younger kids.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Out of all the things the kid had said, you are sure that his implication that you were Namjoon’s girlfriend should not have been on the top of your list of priorities, and yet here you are, your cheeks as flushed as a baboon’s ass.

“He’s not––We’re not––” you stammer, waving your hands as you try to explain to this unenthused six year old that what she said was entirely impossible. “Namjoon is just a friend!”

You turn to look for the man in question, desperate for him to back you up when you realize he is no longer there. Confused, you leave the huffing child in search for him. You leave the main playroom and search the nearby nurseries, the kitchen, the bathroom… all of them with no Namjoon in sight. Just so you can cover all your bases, you decide to check one of the supply closets too, not really expecting to find anything except––

“Namjoon? What the fu––fudge?” You quickly correct yourself, noticing that not only is Kim Namjoon inside the cramped broom closet, but he is also surrounded by five other children huddled around what appears to be a series of tupperwares connected together by plastic straws.

Namjoon hastens a glance at you, before refocusing his attention back onto what he deems to be more important. He nudges his shoulder against the smallest of the bunch, stage whispering into her ear. “Jihyo, did you bet the three lollipops on Ant #3?”

Jihyo shakes her head, looking mildly offended. “Oppa, do you think I’m dumb? I bet all of my chocolate bars on Ant #6.”

Namjoon whistles lowly, impressed. “All-in? You’re one smart lady.”

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon has the audacity to hold a finger up to silence you. “Give me a sec… Okay, Seungcheol. You said ten hard candies for Ant #2?”

“Namjoon. Are you seriously running a gambling ring in a daycare?”

He peers up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh… Teaching them about capitalism.” He deposits the candy bets into his pocket before starting the timer on his phone. The children begin to cheer raucously, little fists pumping up as they watch their bets race towards a slice of cake.

“I can’t believe this,” you groan, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow you whole.

Eventually, Namjoon exits the closet, gently closing the door. The shouts of the children become muted immediately. When you gaze inquisitively at him, all he does is shrug his shoulders. “What? Secret clubs allow people to explore their interests.”

At this point, you don’t really want to argue anymore. And so, the hectic day goes by, full of running after the children and occasionally having to reel Namjoon in when he does something bordering on negligence. The parents slowly start filtering in by five in the afternoon, most of whom pat Namjoon affectionately on the back and thanking him for his stellar daycare service.

“Oh, Namjoon! My little Jihyo absolutely adores you! She hardly wants to leave whenever I come to pick her up.” Jihyo’s mother smiles, slipping a small tip into Namjoon’s waiting palm. The little shit pockets it, bowing graciously at her.

“All in a day’s work, madame. I just love children, you know?” he says, sighing dramatically.

From behind her mother, Jihyo gorges herself on her prize winnings, shoving a whole packet of M&M’s into her mouth. She swallows them quickly when her mother turns to bring her home.

“I hate this,” you say to yourself, smiling through the pain.

“Oh, before I forget!” Jihyo’s mother dashes back inside, startling you. She approaches you, grasping your hands in hers and shaking it wildly until you can hear your joints pop out of their sockets. “Your name is Y/N right? Thank you for taking care of Namjoon, too. It’s so nice to see that he’s finally snagged a girl as pretty as you.”

It is a testament to how dead inside you truly are by how nonplussed you are by their unfounded accusation. At this point, they could congratulate you on your recent engagement to Namjoon and you probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Thanks.” All in a day’s work of being a madman’s little bitch for the day.

After the last child is taken away, your Saturday finally ends. There had been no poem discussion and no progress made; only your respect from one of your long-time crushes being whittled away like the soaps on those ASMR channels until you are left with useless cubes of Irish Spring scented granules.

On your way home, you pass by Seokjin sitting languidly on the bench outside the coffee shop that you had originally intended to go to this morning. The closed sign greets you impetuously, and your wounds are salted further by the sheer presence of the most annoying man on the planet.

Seokjin sips on his venti iced Americano, Gucci sunglasses tipped downward on his nose. An odd, high pitched windshield wiper sound escapes his lips, and you belatedly realize that he must be his version of laughter. “Y/N. So nice to see you. I’m guessing that you just came out of a… fishy affair?”

You grind your teeth, flexing forward with the intent of hitting the rat bastard. Fish crackers fall out of your hair in clumps from your movement. “I’ll eat your toes if you say another word about this.”

You say that, but you know that there will be photos of you out on Facebook by the time your head meets your pillow for the night, as you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter go off as you limp sadly back home.

The following Monday, you resolve to talk to Namjoon during your History of Music class together.

Now normally, you would never subject yourself to sitting near Namjoon in class. No, it is not because of your debilitating crush, nor his eccentric personality, nor something unexpected like insanely toxic body odor (which he does not have, by the way. He always smells alarmingly like cotton candy.) In fact, nobody likes to sit near Namjoon, made apparent by the two row radius of empty chairs around him. As much as everyone adores and idolizes him for his talent, no one can stand his propensity to overachieve like the infuriating know-it-all that he is. His hand is perpetually up in the air, begging to be picked for recitation, always with something profound to say.

“Sir, I don’t think your notes are correct. From my research, that type of music would not have existed until the 1600s––”

“Namjoon,” your professor seethes, Powerpoint clicker clutched tightly in his fists. His left eyebrow twitches concerningly as he tries to calm his breathing. “I would prefer it greatly if you do not question the actual expert in this area, is that okay with you?”

Yeah. He is definitely not someone you’d want to sit beside.

Though, he really makes it hard not to want to be around him. Despite all the imperfect parts of his personality, Namjoon always looks like the cover model of what a perfect college boyfriend should dress like. Terrible dyejob aside, his hair is slicked back in a fashionable way, revealing his beautiful forehead for all of humanity to behold. He is wearing a fitted graphic tee under a denim jacket, with loose brown slacks that look good on his endlessly long legs. To top it off, his signature wire-frame glasses sit daintily on his nose, making him appear as smart as he is.

You are suddenly reminded of the true scale of your crush on him as sweat begins to build on your neck and down your backside. How the hell are you going to approach him now that you are perfectly aware of how good he looks? It is people like Kim Namjoon that remind you of this universal truth: attractive people only exist to cause the less fortunate to forget how to use their basic motor skills.

Focus. Remember how much of a crackhead he was last Saturday? Okay, retain that information. Remember how fucking stupid he is, and this will be much easier on your heart and your loins.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to where he is seated, right at the front of the class. It is a long way down the auditorium to where he is, and you can feel the stares of a few of your classmates as you make the treacherous journey right into the proverbial lion’s maw. You do your best to ignore them, quietly sliding up next to him and waiting for him to notice your presence.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he is jotting something frantically on a notebook, a mess of words in more languages than you can speak decorating every available space on the smooth white pages. At the top of the paper, you can see what might be a tentative title for a song, perhaps? You can’t be too entirely sure, as Namjoon is part of so many clubs and organizations that he might as well be writing next week’s lunch menu for the cafeteria.

(Highly doubtful as Namjoon has a reputation for allowing inflammable things to catch on fire, but you wouldn’t put it past him to at least try and apply for a culinary position.)

It seems that Namjoon is too immersed in his writing to greet you himself, so you have to be the one to steel yourself and strike a conversation with him instead.

“Uh. Hey… Namjoon?” Smooth like butter. Seokjin would be proud.

Namjoon doesn’t reply. He keeps scribbling along, humming something indistinct under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

No response. Again, “Hello?” You wave a hand in front of his face. His blinking slows for a second, but he continues to ignore you.

Starting to get pissed off, you huff quietly to yourself before bringing your palm backwards and slapping him upside the head. “HEY PANINI HEAD! YOU FUCKING IN THERE OR WHAT?”

That manages to bring him out of his headspace, thankfully. “Huzzat?” Namjoon jumps, cradling the back of his neck gingerly as he stares at you, confused. Recognition filters through his eyes as he realizes belatedly what had just happened. He blushes slightly. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. Were you really going to ignore me for the rest of the class if I hadn’t slapped you?”

Namjoon shrugs, grinning in that cute goofy way that he does. “Sorry. ‘M not used to people sitting beside me, is all. Glad to have a friend in this class though! Have you always been in this class?”

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

Namjoon nods, turning back to his notebook. “Sorry for ignoring you. I really didn’t mean it. When I’m in the middle of writing, it’s kind of hard to get me out of my own brain. Plus, this draft is due in two weeks and I’ve scrapped three pages worth of lyrics already… I’m kind of in a panic right now.”

You peek over his arm, trying your best to decipher some of his words. Your interest is piqued, always having wanted to see his draft notebook ever since that first time he showed you Moonchild almost a year ago. “Lungs have capsized… I am drowning in my own body… Wow, those are some dark stuff.”

“You think so?” Namjoon squints at his own messy handwriting. “I got inspired by the fish in the aquarium I volunteer in. I’m actually excited to go back there, because I want to play it for the fish and see if they like it.”

“Isn’t it better to play it at the daycare of senior home so you can actually get… human feedback?”

Namjoon gasps, hand to his heart, offended. “How dare you assume that fish can’t give quality feedback!”

“Right,” you cough, raising your hands in defeat. How dare you, indeed. “Sorry.”

Namjoon sniffs, closing his notebook just as the professor walks in to start the class. “You better be. The fishies get really offended when people say stuff like that.”

The professor begins the moment he sets down his things, so you know you won’t have time to bring up the poem, not when Namjoon is already starting to fall into his overachieving know-it-all student persona. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Hey, I have to ask you something later after class. Will you stay behind for a few moments?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies cheerily, flipping on his laptop to start taking down notes. He stops in his tracks before gazing warily at you. “Hold on. If this is about the fishies again…”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, so you sigh instead. “No, Namjoon. This isn’t about the fishies.”

Appeased, Namjoon returns to listening attentively to the professor drone on about dead musicians and their impact on musical culture. You hardly take any notes, still nervous about talking to Namjoon about the poem. What would be the best way to approach the subject, you wonder? Your previous attempts with Seokjin and Hoseok had featured a lot of yelling and arguing, and you would prefer not to leave a bad impression on Namjoon of all people. Additionally, you don’t want to know what arguing with Namjoon would entail, because you have a strong feeling that any debate with him will only leave you second guessing your entire existence with how good he is at flipping the subject. Or, you could always kick him in the knees, but that would be like overpowering a baby––you’d be a monster for taking advantage of him.

The short one hour lecture flies by quicker than you would like. To your surprise, Namjoon only interrupts the professor twice, so you suppose that’s a win for everyone else.

“Alright class. Please remember that the research paper regarding 17th century music is due on the Friday before your break,” your professor says. He points a stern look at all of you, and maybe you’re imagining it, but somehow you feel like he pauses just a second longer when he passes his gaze over you. “And please, try not to send your paper to the entire student body to air your secret little crushes like a bunch of lovestruck idiots.”

Your ears turn an unflattering shade of red as most of the students chuckle at his little joke, all of them probably not knowing that the lovestruck idiot was just a few seats away.

“C’mon, Namjoon.” You sigh, shrugging on your backpack as you wait for him to finish packing up. Namjoon watches you curiously, brows furrowed.

“You seem dejected. Are you having trouble with class? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“N-not… not really,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we talk about this outside? People for the next class are starting to come in.”

Namjoon follows you dutifully from behind, and you can hear him bid his farewells to a few giggling freshmen as the two of you exit the lecture hall. They coo openly in his presence, with one of them bold enough to compliment his fairly generous bosom, her fingers twitching as if she is only one push away from grabbing them by the fistful.

You walk towards the small cafe near the entrance of the building, grabbing one of the empty chairs and gesturing for Namjoon to sit across from you. He does as you say, confusion still gracing his handsome features.

“So, will you tell me why you’ve called me out here now?” Namjoon asks. Before you can respond, however, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a half squished sandwich. He offers you the less crushed half, like the gentleman that he is, but you find it hard to accept when you feel like your stomach is turning inside out with nerves.

“Umm… How do I say this…” You groan, leg bouncing so incessantly that the poor table begins to shake. Namjoon doesn’t even try to stop his other sandwich half from sliding over, instead giving you a concerned glance.

Fuck it. Better to rip the band-aid off in one swoop, right?

“Y/N––?”

“Namjoon, are you aware that people think someone wrote a stupid love poem about you?”

His previously open mouth clamps shut, then. He stares at you in confusion, a dollop of mayonnaise hanging off his jutting chin. “What?”

Panicking slightly, you’re quick to continue your train of thought, probably to your own detriment. “NOT that the poem is about you, by the way. Well, it could be? No? I DIDN’T WRITE IT!” Pause for heavy breathing. “A-anyway, that’s not the point… I just wanted to ask if you were… umm… aware of it. Yeah. That’s it.”

Ohhhh my god. You stupid idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck you fucking stupid piece of shit ass tit fuck what other swear words are there oh yeah FUCK!!!

In the midst of your personal mental beatdown, you fail to see Namjoon’s genuine look of confusion, his head tilted to the side as he watches your face turn red. He chews on his sandwich thoughtfully. “Uh? No? I’m not aware? I really have no idea what you are talking about, Y/N.”

You finally stop swearing at yourself. “Wait, really?”

Namjoon nods his head. “Really. What poem are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t really like being teased; I get enough of that from Seokjin.”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon raises his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t joke about something that is clearly giving you distress.”

“It’s not causing me distress!” You screech back, voice cracking from your tone going up a pitch. You clear your throat. “Um. Wait. So that means you haven’t heard about the huge rumor going around about a love poem being about you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, lips pursed. “Not a clue. Am I supposed to?”

Huh. You stare at the imbecile before you, his previously handsome looks starting to look less appealing by the minute. Is this shithead for real? Did you really spend hours worrying over how you would approach him about the poem, only to find out that he has no clue what you’re talking about? Like, how is it even possible for him not to know? You can’t even spend a minute doing anything without someone bringing up that stupid mistake of a poem. How the hell did you ever have a crush on him?

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

“Oh shit,” you curse, slapping a palm to your mouth. Did you fucking say that out loud?  

“Sorry,” Namjoon swallows thickly, a large bite of his sandwich visibly going down his gullet. “I was chewing too loudly so I didn’t hear you properly.”

You heave a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe being an idiot has its benefits.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” you say, already arranging your things to get up and leave. If Namjoon is oblivious to all the poem shenanigans that have been circling campus, then who are you to inform him? All you can hope now is that he remains ignorant of the poem at all, and chalk it up as a success in your book. It’s not like he’s going to be curious to find out more anyway––

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ve piqued my interest now. I wanna know what you were talking about,” Namjoon pipes up, leaning his lanky body sidewards so as to block you from leaving. You halt in your movements, surprised by his sudden inquiry.

Sweat starts to form in the middle of your back at his earnest curiosity. “I––it’s nothing, Namjoon. I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” You laugh nervously.

“I don’t think you were?” Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have been so adamant to call me out here just to be joking.”

“Listen, I really have to go. I have another class soon and I wanna grab lunch before I––”

“You said something about a poem.” He remains undeterred, pulling out his phone. “And it’s about me? Well, not about me, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“Hold up!” You snatch his phone out of his hands, holding it behind you to keep it from his reach. Even though you know his inquisitiveness is not his fault, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to punch him square in his cute little nose. Hell, you don’t recall wanting to fight anyone as much as you do right now.

(Seokjin sneezes somewhere in the distance, feeling offended for whatever reason. “Y/N should only be punching me,” he thinks to himself as he dumps way too much purple dye on this poor lady’s head.)

“Why are you being so weird right now? Give me back my phone!” He pouts at you, not at all knowing that your resolve is already quickly crumbling before him.

“I…” You gulp, foot tapping restlessly as you try to think of what to do. “Okay. Fine, I’ll show you the poem. Just… don’t read too deeply into it, okay? It’s just a stupid thing that got too many people excited over nothing.”

“Sure,” Namjoon nods his head, acquiescing quickly. “I don’t really like paying attention to much of the rumors and trends that happen on campus. I just want to see what this poem is all about.”

“Just… don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, returning his phone to him. You direct him to the university confessions group page, watching as his fingers fumbled with his keyboard. Eventually, he gets to the post (pinned to the top, forever mocking you for your stupidity) and reads the short piece in record time.

There is a pause where neither of you speak. You know he has finished reading it from the way he has started to scroll down to the comments, though he quickly jumps back to the top when you glare at him to stop. He leans back into his chair, closing his phone and stares at you expressionlessly.

You click your nails across the coffee shop table as you observe him suspiciously, his lack of response making you more nervous. “Well?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up––but not in a way that might suggest glee or satisfaction––and he stays frozen like that for a bit. You have the sudden urge to wave your hand in front of him to check if he’s fine, and being the type of person to submit to your urges, you do as you please.

Thankfully, he snaps out of it, blinking quickly as if he’s forgotten that you were there. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. The poem, uh… How do I put it…”

“What?” What on earth could he have a problem with? Does he genuinely think the poem might be about him? “If you’re starting to think that the poem may be about you––”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Namjoon opens his phone again, peering at the poem questioningly. “I was just going to say that this poem is a lot less impressive than you were hyping it up to be.”

Excuse me??????? He did not fucking just say that.

“You did not just fucking say that,” you verbalize, glowering at him. You can feel the fumes start to steam out of your ears, but Namjoon remains oblivious (as per usual) to your emotions. He just hums, shrugging his shoulders with his nose upturned in the air, as if he had just smelled something horrible.

“It’s just… the meter is all messed up… Like, I’m all about free verse or whatever, but I can tell the author is trying waaaay too hard to keep whatever rhythm they had going on in the first verse.” He scrolls through the poem some more, before stopping somewhere in the middle. He shows you one of your favorite verses with a look of something akin to disdain. “And what’s up with all the moon references? That theme is so overused.”

“YOUR MIXTAPE LITERALLY HAS A SONG CALLED MOONCHILD! THAT’S WHY PEOPLE THINK THE POEM IS ABOUT YOU!” You explode, spittle flying everywhere from the force of your shout. A group of freshmen sitting nearby jump up in surprise, though most of the older, more dead-eyed college students do not even bat an eye at your spectacle. This university is full of cuckoos, is what they are probably thinking.

The biggest cuckoo of them all looks at you defensively, frowning somewhat irritably. Namjoon continues, “Yeah, but I used the moon in my song in a classy way! I would be offended if someone would write this poem for me after being inspired by my song.”

Is it possible for blood to boil inside your veins? Because you’re really starting to feel heat trail up your back up to your neck, causing you to see nothing but red and the tantalizing vision of your hands around his neck. Easy, Y/N. You can’t afford anger management therapy; you have a tuition to pay.

In all seriousness though, you cannot take this any longer. You have suffered long enough while having to follow Namjoon around like a bitch for two days, and if karma still wants to use the strap on you, then she’s going to have to do it some other day because you cannot physically stand being around Namjoon for another ten seconds if you can help it. And this is coming from someone who is around Kim Seokjin at least twice a week, so it is obvious that your patience and sanity is truly at its limit.

“I’m done.” You are barely able to keep yourself from slamming your head against the table. Instead, you stand up hastily, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shoulder your bag quickly, waving at him without even turning to face him. The sooner you get away from him, the better. “You can think what you want. Just live your life, man. I’m done.”

“Okay? Well, have a nice day, Y/N!” Namjoon calls out a cheery goodbye, though his tone obviously still sounds confused even as you walk further and further away from him, a trainwreck of a human being. You resolve to yourself to call Hana the next morning to ask her to slip some opened sweets into his jean pocket so the ants at the daycare might climb out of their shelter to bite him in the balls.

How did you ever have a crush on that bastard? I guess that mystery will have to remain… unsolved.

Unluckily, your mood does not improve after lunch, nor do you calm down after your next class either. In fact, you are still steaming when you arrive to your tutoring session with Hoseok, so much so that you have completely forgotten to be worried about him after the events of last Friday.

(Record scratch, freeze frame. Pause. What the hell happened last Friday again? Your overworked brain cells can only handle one stressful event at a time, so you suppose that problem with Hoseok and Jimin will have to be solved another day.)

Hoseok, the caring boy that he is, also forgets to retain his moodiness from Friday’s argument when he spots you looking like you were about to pop a blood vessel at any moment.

Hoseok sits hesitantly in front of you, even placing his textbooks gently onto the table as if any sudden sounds might cause you to self-combust and splatter your guts all over the library floor. The only thing really keeping you from doing exactly that is because you wouldn’t want poor Jungkook the library assistant to have to clean up your mess.

“Umm… Hey, Y/N. You okay? You look kind of… red.” Hoseok says carefully, smile twitching on his face.

The suddenness at which you slam your hands on the table causes not only Hoseok, but also Jungkook who is three whole bookshelves away, to jump up in surprise. The former makes a terrified scream to accompany his leap into the air, staring at your frantically with his fists held up in defense.

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

“SHUT UP!” You point a finger menacingly at him, making him shriek once more. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding audibly. “YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT, HOSEOK? I’LL WRITE THE NICEST POEM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR YOU, OKAY? YOU DESERVE IT! FUCK WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS! I’M A GOOD WRITER AND NOTHING KIM NAMJOON SAYS WILL CHANGE THAT!”

Hoseok’s mouth opens, agape. He doesn’t know how to respond, not quite understanding what you were saying in the first place. A lot of angry words spilled from your lips in such a short amount of time, and Hoseok was more impressed with your flow than anything. Were you a rapper, by any chance?

Unaware of Hoseok’s musings, you huff loudly to yourself, slamming open your lecture notes and shoving them aggressively towards him. “ALSO, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WRITING A REVIEWER FOR YOUR MIDTERM! PLEASE READ THROUGH THEM IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!”

“Umm… Thanks?” Hoseok says, not really sure which part of your loud declarations he is specifically thanking you for. He sneaks a glance at the front desk, thankful that it is only meek little Jungkook in charge today and not the cranky older librarian who already has a personal vendetta against you and your tutoring group for being public nuisances (not that she was unjustly pointing fingers, of course).

Your mental collapse aside, the rest of his tutoring session goes smoothly, with Hoseok still walking on eggshells around you just in case you might feel like exploding again. You know, for fun or something. Although, he does end up asking if he can leave a few minutes early, saying something about a paper due at the end of the week. The excuse doesn’t make you bat an eye until Jimin arrives for his own session, his grin faltering when he sees his hyung not there to greet him with their usual dance battle in the library.

“Ah… Guess Hoseok-hyung really is still mad over what happened…” Jimin sighs, slumping into his chair. He thumbs his textbook thoughtfully, tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon,” you say hopefully, though your heart isn’t quite in it either. Coughing awkwardly, you pluck his textbook out of his hands, desperate to talk about something else other than your crumbling interpersonal relationships. You pause at the page, however, before staring incredulously back at Jimin.

“Jimin.”

“Hmm?” Jimin is still listless, head pillowed by his arms on the table. “What?”

“This is a book on differential calculus. I’m supposed to teach you about writing academic essays.”

“Oh yeah,” Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. “I stole that book from some freshman on the way here. The English textbook I usually bring is with Taehyung right now.”

You pause. Actually, now that you think about it… “Jimin, do you actually even go to this university? What the hell is your major, even?”

“Wha-?” Jimin yawns, fanning his mouth with his hand. He blinks sleepily at you with a big, doofy grin. “Sorry, I played MapleStory for hours last night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. Can I just sleep during this session? I’ll still pay you or whatever…” he trails off, stretching like a cat under a patch of sunlight. Before you know it, the soft sound of Jimin’s snoring fills the silence.

Thankfully, Monday ends without much more commotion. You may have come out of this experience a little bit more broken inside, but hey! That’s what character development is all about, babey. You are just glad that Tuesdays are usually your quietest days, as you only have two classes to worry about. It is also one of the days when you have Creative Writing with Sera, who usually manages to rope you in to get greasy fast food after class. Despite the traumatic experience that particular class has indirectly inflicted upon you, your usual zeal and excitement does not diminish in the slightest. After all, writing will always be your first love, so there isn’t any way some silly poem mishap will make you detest it.

Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, because you aren’t so sure your sanity can take much more of a pounding.

(Fwip. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of karma putting on her strap.)

“Alright class, see you guys on Thursday. Don’t forget that we have a quiz at the beginning of class on Thursday, so please don’t be late.” Professor Puth says, his eyelids blinking out of sync. You hate to be someone who assumes what other people do during their off days as it is none of your business, though the perpetual cloud of marijuana that clings around him can only do so much to mask what his recreational activities might be.

“Dude, I think Prof Puth is finding Nirvana soon,” Sera says loudly, earning the giggles of a few classmates nearby.

“I’d be surprised if he could even find the exit of this building,” you snort, just as the man in question trips over air and nearly faceplants on the ground. Like the model students that you are, you both pretend to be busy doing something else, leaving some other poor soul to help your professor.

Two girls that you vaguely remember from somewhere approach Professor Puth. They are quick to help him straighten up, if his groaning and gasping are anything to go by. He thanks them gruffly and waves them off, but the girls seem adamant to stay put.

“Professor, I have a question…” One of the girls asks, nervously tugging on her ponytail. Her friend giggles surreptitiously beside her, urging her to continue. Their odd demeanor causes signals to go off in your brain, telling you to stop and listen. You tug on Sera’s hand, halting her from leaving.

“Wait. I wanna hear what they’re gonna ask,” you mutter, ignoring Sera’s complaints about being hungry. She can wait for her McNuggets for another five minutes, no matter how much she pretends that she’s starving. You had seen her eat two whole burritos before coming into class today.

Professor Puth raises his brow. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We were just wondering if you could… tell us anything about the identity of the author from that poem?” The girl manages to get all of it out in a rush, cheeks flushed as her friend nods fervently beside her.

“Yea, Prof! We’ve been dying to know! The suspense is killing us, knowing that the mystery author is in one of your classes!” The other girl continues, glittery excitement practically exuding out of her in waves.

Professor Puth sighs, leaning heavily on his desk. He appears about as done as you feel. “Listen… You can badger me all you want, but there’s no way I can tell you. Privacy laws prevent us from sharing information like that without prior consent, even though that student in question might have accidentally sent her assignment to the entire school.” You might be imagining it, but you think Professor Puth points you with a knowing look. You gulp, hastily bowing your head and pretending to fiddle with your phone.

“Aww, Prof! It’s been days and the university hasn’t shut up about it! Surely one of the theories on who the author and muse are must be true, right? You can tell us that, at least.”

You can’t bear to keep listening any longer, though Sera has started to become more interested in the conversation as it progressed. “Wait, wait… I wanna hear the Prof’s opinion,” she says, grinning despite your nails digging crescents into her arm as you try to pull her away.

“No can do! Remember, I have your freshman Halloween pictures saved on a harddrive, and you wouldn’t want me to accidentally send that to the entire student body as well, would you?”

That manages to snap her out of it. Quickly, the two of you leave the lecture hall and away from possible discovery by your poem-frenzied classmates. You are also relieved to be able to breathe in fresh air once more, after being stuck in that class surrounded by liberal art students for two hours. You always do feel a little bit more relaxed after class with Puth, although that might just be from all the secondhand drug use.

Perhaps the fumes really did dull your reflexes, as it takes a while before you realize that Sera has been nudging your shoulder.

When you finally glanced at her, there is a sneaky grin on her face: never a good sign. “So,” she begins, a singsong quality in her voice

After having been her friend for long enough, you have become adept at telling what Sera is going to say next. Call it intuition or whatever, but you like to think of it is a self-defense mechanism. As much as she is your friend, she does love digging into your personal life like it is the cover story of some shitty tabloid. You have to prepare yourself to be interrogated.

“You’re going to ask about the poem, aren’t you?”

Sera rolls her eyes, like you shouldn’t have even asked. “Duh, of course I am. What else would I want to talk about?”

You shrug your shoulders, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have asked ‘Hey, Y/N! How’s your mom been? Have you been eating and drinking well?’ You know, like a normal person.”

“Well, firstable, your mom is literally my friend on Facebook and I saw her go out to that bougie high tea place with Jennie’s mom the other day, so I know she’s fine,” Sera says as the two of you round a corner, heading closer to the parking lot where her car is. “And secondable, you don’t fucking drink water, because you like pretending to be a dehydrated piece of jerky.”

“I just like drinking apple juice, okay? Water is weird,” you say defensively, kicking a pebble as you walk.

“Nah, you’re weird,” Sera counters, ever the creative debater. She remains undeterred, however. “So. Any updates on the poem situation or am I going to have tickle the details out of you?”

You groan, pushing her away from your sensitive sides. “Please don’t… I have no upper body strength and I won’t be able to push you off!”

“That’s the point.” Sera laughs, pinching your cheek. She snatches her hand away, only narrowly escapes getting bitten by you. “Why don’t we skip my torture methods then and go straight to the juicy bits? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“What if nothing has happened since I last saw you?” You grumble, miffed that she really isn’t letting it go. You just want to have one relaxing day, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is. Relaxation is a rare commodity these days. Sera snorts, patting you condescendingly on the back. “Nonsense. You’ve got that post-mental breakdown glow around you. You look absolutely radiant with stress!”

The conversations pauses for a bit when you make it to the parking lot. You don’t have to walk too far, as her car is parked relatively close to the exit, which is just another display of how lucky Sera often is in comparison to you. While your unfortunate plebeian ass is busy drowning in shit, Sera is off somewhere aboard a yacht, getting a massage from some Instagram thot.

She hops into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to put your seatbelt on before backing out with one hand on the wheel. “McDonalds?” she asks, though it is pretty much a given that is where you are going. The last time you both tried diverging from your usual hang out spot, you got intense food poisoning from eating at Chipotle. Sera came out completely fine though, that lucky bitch.

She continues her questions on the drive there, and you relent by telling her most of what has happened to you over the past few days. You gloss over the argument between Hoseok and Jimin, not really wanting their spat to suddenly go viral on Facebook as well. Everything else, however––

“Wait, so you talked to Kim Namjoon? The Kim Namjoon? The Namjoon that you had an embarrassing crush on during our first year?” Sera laughs maniacally, almost driving off into the wrong lane. Luckily, you are quick to latch onto the wheel, saving the two of you from becoming roadkill.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“No, but Y/N! That’s literally so fucking funny!” Sera’s laughter has simmered to a giggle, despite the fact that she is still trying (and failing) to furtively glance your way when you hit a stoplight. “Is he like how you remember? God, do you remember how you were after you first met him? All starstruck because your senpai showed you a draft of his single? ‘Oh, Sera! He has the most amaaaazing flow! I’m going to suck his di––’”

“Shut up!” You whine, slapping her in embarrassment. “Believe me, that crush has died, along with any respect I may have had for him. Men are scum, and I’m going to only date girls from now on.”

“Fine by me! More dick to suck for me, I guess.” Sera teases, whistling innocently. Bold of her to assume that there is any innocent or pure bone in her body; you’ve seen her thirst tweets and no amount of holy water can cure the disease that your vision must have sustained.

“I just want the rumors to die down… It would make my life way more bearable.” You murmur to yourself, sliding down your seat.

Sera is silent for a while. The McDonalds is just within sight, so Sera waits until she has finished parking before she turns to face you fully, uncanny sincerity in her expression. It unnerves you how serious she is, not when you know that this is the same girl who would snort sugar packets if you bet her $5. She places her hands on your shoulder, fixing you with a meaningful look.

“Listen, Y/N. I know all of this is tough right now, but I’m sure it’s going to be alright, okay? The rumor is going to die down soon enough, and everything will be back to normal. Stay strong for now.” Her voice is soothing, sympathy dripping from every word. As mortifying as it is to admit, the tears flow down your cheek effortlessly; perhaps it is the consequence of having to bear this burden on your own for so long without anyone actually telling you that it’s going to be alright.

“Thanks… I think I needed that,” you say after a while, sniffling just a bit. Sera grins fondly at you, wiping your tears.

“No need to thank me. I may be a chaotic shithead, but I’m also your friend.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, gesturing for you to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll even share my nuggets with you.”

Despite her best efforts at comfort, you still feel a little bummed. You allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, as McDonalds is a prime location to feel shitty about your life choices anyway. The heart attack inducing food, the barely hygienic facilities, the minimum wage high school employees… Nothing else screamed “I’d rather be dead but it could also be worse” quite like Mickey D’s often did.

You wait by one of the booths while Sera goes off to order for the both of you, leaving you with her phone and other belongings. She promises to let you eat four out of the twenty nugget pieces, which is asking a lot considering who you are dealing with. Sera could probably eat sixty nuggets if she so desired, but only stops herself so she can be physically well enough to continue being a thot. Chasing men all day requires physical fitness, or so she says.

When you go to place her things on the other side of the booth, you notice that Sera had accidentally left her phone unlocked. You can see that she had been previously looking at one of those popular forum sites for your university, where most of her repertoire of gossip is usually sourced from. You aren’t usually the type to frequent those types of pages, with good reason too. That exact forum is the reason of your current stress, where your most private thoughts and feelings were revealed for all to see. Any sort of positive opinion you might have had for that site was immediately dashed the moment that cursed poem was released into the wild.

It kind of pisses you off that Sera still uses that forum despite knowing how much anxiety it has caused you, but then again, there is only so much you can expect from her. Her appetite for drama and chaos is her way of life, her only other hobby aside from writing. You also vaguely recall her saying that she gathers inspiration for her short stories from some of the more outrageous posts made by your fellow schoolmates.

In the end, curiosity gets the best of you as you stare at the open webpage, tantalizing despite the murkiness that lies within. Oh, lighten up. It’s just a confessions page… Besides, you also kind of want to see what people are saying about your poem, and whether the commotion might have died even slightly over time. (Unlikely, but you remain hopeful.)

“Let’s see,” you murmur to yourself, sneaking glances at the counter to see if Sera is close to ordering. She appears to still be next in line to order, so that might give you enough time to read a few of the comments on the post. It doesn’t take you long to find the original post either, since Sera seems to have been perusing the same thing just beforehand.

“Typical Sera...  Sympathetic in the streets, a nosey bitch in the sheets.” You snort, scrolling quickly through the comment section. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for a few overenthusiastic responses from a couple of people who have bombarded the forum so much that it takes you a few moments to navigate past their thread. You catch a few words here and there, mostly the names of the seven possible muses and not so much the names of any of the possible authors. Honestly, you are more than happy with these turn of events, perfectly content as long as your identity never sees the day where it becomes associated with that disaster piece.

You sort the comments by popularity, wanting to know what everyone’s biggest guesses are. You want to remain hopeful, but as the results start to load, the wave of nausea that suddenly hits you may have been the first warning signal that you should probably stop before you read something that you will regret.

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

[+103, -4] i’m really hoping that kim seokjin is the muse of the poem!! has anyone seen the ads for the new play he’s staring in? he totally looks like the lead actor in a romantic comedy ^^

➾ [+54, -69] psh. that idiot, the muse? PLEASE anyone who has ever worked for kim seokjin KNOWS that it’s physically impossible to form a human connection with that man

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

[+88, -3] WAIT why am i not seeing kim namjoon’s name more often T_T he deserves more love!! stream moonchild or else i’ll bite your ankles

➾ [+1, -6] lol i miss when namjoon used to do actual hiphop… fucking hippie dippie go fuck a tree and some crabs while you’re at it

You sneak a look over your shoulder. Sera is at the front of the line, reciting her orders while the harried employee has to quickly punch in the inordinate amount of food items. Okay… While no one’s looking, time to downvote a couple of these and maybe report some of these assholes… No way in hell are you letting anyone think Moonlight Sonata is about either of those Kim idiots. You would honestly rather out yourself than let anyone think they are worthy of such public displays of love and humiliation.

You are just about to close Sera’s phone and vow never to set foot on social media ever again when the next post catches your eye––the first one where you actually see your name. In fact, your name is generously sprinkled a number of times in this one specific thread.

“Wait a second…” You squint at the top of the thread, reading out the username of the original poster. Is that… Is that your name?!

“User Y/NKook… Oh my god!” You shriek loudly, almost dropping the phone from your sweaty palms. It must be the same person who had organized that merchandise booth in the cafeteria the other week! The number of upvotes on the post isn’t making you feel any better.

posted by u/Y/NKook [3h ago]:

[+98, -5] idk why you noobs are even trying… intellectuals KNOW that y/nkook is real and i won’t take no for an answer… give me my childhood friends to lovers fic RIGHT NOW because this slowburn has been going on for years now and i can’t stand it!!!

➾ [+11, -0] omg op do you know them personally?? how’d you know that they were childhood friends?? i go to the same drama class as y/n and jungkook but they never sit together… are you sure it’s them??

➾ [+20, -1] of course!! they’re even neighbors… besides, haven’t you heard what his nickname is? his friends call him moon eyes for a reason! they say that y/n is the one who gave him that name ^^

You feel your eye twitch, disbelief flooding your senses. Why is this weirdo shipping you with Jungkook? You guys haven’t even spoken properly since elementary school… How does this dude know who you are? Are you being stalked? You whirl your head around, scanning the restaurant for any suspicious people who may or may not be following you. Is this what celebrities feel like when they get shipped with their friends? You feel a sudden surge of respect for them, unable to grasp the situation that you are in. God, you really hope Jungkook hasn’t read any of these.

You go to switch Sera’s phone off, feeling less accomplished than ever before. Maybe it is best to save yourself the anxiety of seeing your world fall apart and try to delude yourself into thinking that the past two weeks have never happened at all. However, there is a certain appeal to reading things that you know you should not, like watching a car crash and unable to look away. The urge to keep scrolling and gaze upon your own personal hell is hard to stop when you have already gained momentum.

“One last post, then I’m done…” You are hard set on that promise, not wanting your apprehension to destroy your peaceful afternoon completely. The next post on the forum greets you with a high upvote number, sending a lick of fear to run down your spine at what you might find. Please don’t be about Y/NKook, you pray helplessly. Little did you know, there are worse things to worry about other than being shipped with your friends.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

[+154, -5] hey guys i’m back again with another update! so i’ve managed to shorten the list a bit since last time i posted, and i’m 100% certain that kim seokjin is not the muse! sorry, gamers… our prince is in another castle it seems. worry not, though! that only helps our search better and shortens the list. on the other hand, the authors list has also been edited! turns out that neither jodi nor melody is the author, as they both submitted poems about something else. if you are interested to see the updated lists for both muse and author, please head to my profile and look for the original post titled “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse” :-)

You have never clicked on a profile as quickly as you did in that moment. Not even a notification from UberEats could make you move that fast.

Lo and behold, the post that started it all is right at the top of the user’s profile, with the significantly shorter list that they had promised. Sweat begins to build on your temples when you realize that the authors list has decreased to seven names, with your name still obstinately sitting at the end of the lines. When will your suffering end?

There is still something that doesn’t sit right with you, however. As you peruse this user’s profile some more, you feel as if there is something weird about it that you can’t quite place. You never did like using this forum, so maybe you are just not used to the layout of the website? What is it about this user’s profile that is making your stomach coil with nerves?

Wait a second… Why is there an edit button beside their profile picture?

“Y/N! I’m back! Sorry for taking so long; I think I ordered too much again. You’re fine with BBQ sauce on your nuggs, right? That’s all I asked for––” Sera had been happily chirping away, sliding into the bench across from you before finally noticing your stoney face. She pats her face, rubbing her cheeks in confusion. “What? Do I have something on me?”

“How fucking dare you!” You hiss, slamming her phone on the table. Unfortunately, you had accidentally locked the phone in your anger, showing only a black screen.

Sera flinches backwards, bewildered. Her eyes flick to the screen and then to you. “Huh? I thought you liked BBQ sauce on your nuggs? I mean, I can ask for sweet and sour sauce if you want…”

“Unlock your phone right now and explain to me why you have triceratops’ profile logged in.”

Your words begin to click in Sera’s mind. Her face grows pale, her body unconsciously sliding further into the booth to hide from your glare. “U-uh… Haha, what on earth are you talking about..?”

“Don’t even try to lie, Sera. I saw everything, and I honestly don’t know if I’m madder that you betrayed me or that I was stupid enough to believe that you were my friend.”

Sera splutters incomprehensibly at first, waving her arms in panic as she tries to save her ass. “I––! You––! It wasn’t like I––”

You lean forward, peering at her coldly. “Oh yeah? What wasn’t it like? It wasn’t like we were friends?”

“No, of course not! I mean,” she backtracks, tongue-tied. “We are friends! It’s just… I made that post before I knew you were the author and I originally sent the poem to just a couple of people because I was so impressed, and I just wanted to––”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, holding up a finger. She squeaks, staring at you fearfully as you slowly get up to your feet. You cry out, “You were also the one who released my fucking poem to the world?!”

“Anna ou––” Sera whimpers, slapping her palm to her mouth. She lowers it, whispering ruefully. “I… didn’t mean to say that…”

“Oh, so you were meaning to lie to me even more?” You seethe, ready to burst into flames.

The poor McDonalds employee who had come to deliver your order to your table seems too frightened to approach the two of you, her arms shaking both with fear and the weight of five orders of 20 piece chicken nuggets. “Uh, is this a bad time?” The girl asks, eyes darting away from your heated glare.

Instead of answering, you grab the tray from her hands and dump the contents on the table. Sera squawks pitifully when a few of the nuggets fall to the ground, though she absolutely yells when you start chucking them at her head like tiny oily cannonballs.

“What the fuck––Dude stop!” Sera has her arms up in defense, shielding her face from your fiery attack. The sound of you ripping open a BBQ sauce packet has her straightening up, however. “No, not the BBQ sauce! Anything but that!”

“Give me one reason why I should show you mercy.” Your hand is poised to pour the sticky sauce all over her white Valentino bag, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Please, Y/N! I’m really sorry!” Sera jumps out of the booth, and goes on her knees. She clasps her hands together, shaking them frantically. “I really didn’t know it was you at first!”

“Well then, why didn’t you fucking take the post down the moment you did know it was me? I thought you were my friend!” You clench your fist around the BBQ sauce packet, causing some of it to spill onto her bag. She makes a desperate noise.

“I just… I like the attention?” She knows this is the wrong answer, judging by your unimpressed expression. She sighs heavily, head bowed in shame. “Look, I’ll fix this, alright? I genuinely didn’t do this wanting to hurt you… I just got so caught up in the clout that I didn’t really think about what would happen if you found out!”

“‘If’ I found out, huh…” You echo, more disappointed than angry now. You slump back into your chair, taking care to grab the napkins and cleaning the sticky mess on your skin as best as you can. “You really were going to continue doing this for as long as it took, huh?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Her voice is soft, repentant. It doesn’t do much for your sympathy, however.

“Fuck you, honestly. If you really are sorry, you’ll fix this mess as soon as possible.”

You reach for your bag, your movements jostling a few more nuggets to tumble to the floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, not wanting to see if Sera is doing her Crying Face Emoji impression to try and soften you up. Not this time. This time… you don’t think your feelings can recover after this.

You have read enough stories about heartbreak and longing, but you don’t think any of them top the experience of losing a friend you realize you never even had.

The next morning, there is a new post on the forum from user triceratops.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

[+0, -0] Hello, friends. I think I’ve found the author.

It’s Lee Sera.

[lhs3020b]

Some notes on recent polling developments (long, fairly depressing)...

The YouGov MRP figures came out last night. This is notable because in 2017, the multilevel-regression approach was the sole one that spotted the possibility of a hung parliament. We all ridiculed it at the time - I'll confess that I side-eyed it too. And then - well, we all know what happened to Theresa May, don't we? So, the MRP thing deserves to be taken seriously. And unfortunately, this year, it's looking grim for us. Briefly, the MRP is forecasting a Tory majority. They're also predicting that all opposition parties (bar the SNP, who only stand in Scotland) will lose seats. Labour in particular look in the danger-zone for a collapse, and contrary to their bullish predictions, the Liberal Democrats are also forecast to lose seats. (Note that this is with respect to their current strength - technically, the MRP result gives them a gain of 2 seats on where they were on the 9th of June. They currently have 19, due to defections from various other parties.)

I'll admit that I don't want to believe the MRP results, but this has never been a data-denialist blog, and I don't intend to start on that road today.

One caveat is that the reporting on the MRP results has ben remarkably-bad. The actual YouGov page is here: https://yougov.co.uk/topics/politics/articles-reports/2019/11/27/yougov-mrp-conservatives-359-labour-211-snp-43-ld- Buried a long way down the page, they say this: "Taking into account the margins of error, our model puts the number of Conservative seats at between 328 and 385, meaning that while we can be confident that the Conservatives would currently get a majority, it could range from a modest one to a landslide." As far as I can tell, the "majority of 68" figure is derived by treating 317 as a working majority and assuming that the Tory vote lands right at the upper end of their confidence-interval. This is poor statistical practice for a variety of reasons. It's also a bit questionable in terms of parliamentary arithmetic - the "working majority" thing depends on how many Sinn Fein MPs Northern Ireland elects (they don't take their seats, so count toward neither Government nor Opposition tallies). And we won't necessarily know how many that is until, well, December the 13th.

(Also, a further health-warning is that apparently the model isn't able to fully-represent some local phenomena, such as independent candidates, and the effect of the Brexit Party's partial stand-down is also apparently somewhat-unclear. The last caveat is that the analysis assumes data that has already been collected - that is, if public opinion changes between now and polling day, then obviously existing projections could become obsolete. This will still be a possible source of error even if the MRP sample is statistically-unbiased and the underlying theory/analysis is all sound.)

However, even the best-case scenario for us gives the Tories 328 seats, which is both a working and a (very small) absolute majority.

Obviously, this is not a good situation for us.

While not quite a landslide, nonetheless an inflated Tory majority will be devastating for this country. The stuff they'll do will be awful. Brexit will happen. There'll be a bus crash late next year, when the transition period ends. (No, they will have no plan for this - they won't feel they need one, as they'll be secure in power until 2024.) There'll be a Windrush for resident EU citizens. They'll trash the economy. They'll probably crash the NHS - the only question there is whether they do it through accidental negligence or through deliberate malice (say, an ideologically-driven trade "deal" that gives President Trump everything he wants on a silver platter). Nothing will be done about the country’s escalating housing crisis. They'll double down on all the maddest of the madcap "law-n-order" stuff - expect an explosion in jailable offences, accompanied by lengthy minimum-sentence tariffs and further restrictions on legal aid. They'll also resuscitate their plans to manipulate the parliamentary boundaries, and change electoral laws in their favour. The media? Expect no surprises from them. The newspapers are largely already Conservative Pravdas. The BBC - nervous about its precious Royal Charter - seems to be in the process of declaring itself for the Tories too.

Bluntly, if the Tories get re-elected this year, they'll gerrymander things so you have little chance of getting rid of them in 2024.

Perhaps this is the key thing to understand about Boris Johnson: really, he's less Britain's Trump, and more Britain's Victor Orban. He'll leave just enough vestigial democracy intact to make what he's doing plausibly-deniable, but he'll busily rearrange the furniture to favour himself and his friends. If he gets re-elected this December, you can expect to be seeing his face into the 2030s. The only reason I put the cut-off as early as that is that I expect the coming climate-crisis will wreak havoc with the Tories' internal coalition. (Oh you've built all your luxury millionaire mansions by the seaside? How nice for you, especially now that the sea is literally in your parlour. Umm, whoops.)

What can be done? Well, the first thing is to reiterate some discussions I've seen on Twitter recently. The TL;DR of them is that hope doesn't have to be something you feel - it can be something you do. (And that's just as well, because I'll admit that 2019 has destroyed what traces of social optimism I was clinging to. I'm dreading the bad end that's coming to us next month, but I also fully-expect it.)

So, my advice remains as it has been: on December the 12th, turn up, and vote for whoever you judge most likely to beat the Tory.

Remember, the MRP approach is fallible. "Mortal, finite, temporary" is absolutely in play here; no model is any better than the data that went into it. Or, indeed, the date when it was calculated. And at the end of the day, the only poll that genuinely-matters is the one on December the 12th, and that hasn't actually happened yet. (Though admittedly, given the storm-surge of pre-emptive grief that's flooding Twitter today, you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise.)

As for the horrible mess that are our opposition parties, I'll repeat what I said in 2017: it's OK to vote for a least-worst option. You're not perjuring yourself or committing any moral sin, rather you're trying to be a grown-up. Part of the package of being an adult is making the best of bad situations.

It absolutely does suck - believe me, this is one of the most soul-destroying election campaigns I've ever seen. Every single party has clown-show'd itself. All of them have done things that are ridiculous, inept or otherwise ghastly. (Well, maybe not the Greens - I haven't heard of any specific scandals surrounding them - but their cardinal sin is that they have no plausible prospect of winning the election.) But even then, the barrel we're going to have to stare down is going and voting for them anyway.

(As a related case-in-point, one factor that seems to have helped the Tories win their unexpected 2015 majority was that a contingent of left-wing voters simply stayed at home on the day. While it's hard to find concrete statistics on, nonetheless anecdotally, this absolutely was a thing. A lot of people were demotivated by Labour's confused and incoherent campaign, left cold by all the bothering about fiscal rules, and alienated by things like the mug with "controls on immigration" on it. All of those are 100% valid criticisms. Except, except, except ... it helped an even worse party back into office. The theory of "if the choices are bad, sit it out" has been tested to destruction. It turns out that looking the other way is also a choice, and not necessarily the best one.)

I would add that there are also real questions to be asked about the utter vacuum of political strategy of people nominally on the anti-Tory side - it seems the Opposition spent the summer fixated on the minutiae of House procedures, while never stopping to ask why they were on this battlefield to begin with. Meanwhile the Tories largely-ignored Commons process, and instead sent a political appeal straight to Leave voters. It lost them a lot of individual legislative battles (and I'm not minimising their defeats - they were important!), but it put them in a good strategic place to win an election. And in the long run, it turns out that was what mattered.

It's hard not to feel bitter while thinking about the events of spring and summer. Perhaps if Jo Swinson had been less blinkered about Jeremy Corbyn, perhaps if Labour could have had the minimum sense to call a Vote of No Confidence when BoJo was vulnerable, perhaps if the collective Opposition had been able to recognise the huge wave of unharnessed political energy washing through the country during the petition back in March, perhaps if Change UK had managed to be something other than an unfunny joke, maybe if Corbyn had taken the anti-semitism problem seriously in 2018 and had actually done something instead of sitting on his hands and letting it metastasize to the point where it derailed his election campaign ... but, no. That's for some other, better timeline, not the one we live in. We seem to live in the world that resolutely and firmly chooses the wrong fork in every road. I don't know whether our timeline quite qualifies as the Bad Place, but it's certainly a place full of bad choices.

In a weird sort of way, though, this brings us back to the key theme. Whatever you might think of what's happening in this election - and goodness knows I'm as appalled as anyone else - nonetheless, your vote matters. Use it. As we're seeing, this is the ultimate limitation on their power, and the one chance we have of stopping them.

So once more, let me reiterate: turn up. Vote against the Tory. Do it as a hopeful action, even if you don't feel hopeful. If nothing else, do it so that when the bad things happen, at least you can say you tried to stop it. I wish I had something less bleak to offer here, but this is where we are.

[created-by-teen-fury]

Fate || A Dick Grayson Soulmate AU

So the plan was to write the first chapter for my new series, but I got writers block so instead this little number was born! I hope you enjoy

Paring: Dick Grayson x OC (Bella Nyx)

Word Count: 2261

Soulmate AU: There is a a black mark on your body where you will first come into contact with your soulmate. Once you touch it becomes the color of your soulmate’s eyes.

Want to learn more about Bella? Look up the tag Bella on my account and you’ll find other stories about her.

——————————

The topic of soulmates has always sparked something inside of Bella. She watched as people passed by, holding to someone, bodies pressed closely together. Some would describe the soulmate system as a blessing. Bella viewed it as a curse. She stared down at the black smudge plastered on her right foot. As she grew, her hatred for the mark did too. She couldn’t have a soulmate. She didn’t need one.

Letting out a huff, she pulled her sock back over her foot followed by her last boot. She tied the laces before standing up. She stood in front of a window, covered in grime much like the city itself. Out of all the places she’s ventured too, Gotham had to be the worst. It seemed to have a cloud of dread looming over it all time. Something she could relate too.

The fleeting rain storm made the city feel colder than it should. The November wind whipped against her skin, not helping the shivers that ran up her spine. Her mask was pulled over her mouth giving the lower half of her face a sense of warmth despite the damp fabric. The skyscrapers above her made her placement on the apartment building roof feel minuscule. With bated breath she jump from the building. Shadows formed around her, covering her small form. The next instant she was gone, reappearing on a different roof. A block away from the last.

She continued this, retreating deeper into the city. She landed on her next roof. It was higher than the rest of the buildings around her, but didn’t even come close to most of the buildings painting the skyline. She reached into her jacket’s inside pocket and pulled out a worn leather notebook. She flipped open to a page and began scribbling down words, but a voice stopped her.

“You know, you sure make it hard for a guy to follow you.”

She reacted quickly. She unsheathed a knife and swung around, the knife flying towards the figure behind her. He caught it mid-air.

“Nice reflexes I see. You want to see who has a faster reaction time?” He had a smirk painted across his face. His eyes were hidden behind a domino mask, but Bella could imagine they were bright with mirth.

Her eyes remained trained on the figure, fingers stretching to grab the next knife in her holster. The man shrugged, “The silent type huh? Way to suck all the fun out of it.” He lunges at her, quick and swiftly. Bella almost didn’t see it coming, but was able to phase through his attack last second, causing the man to stumble towards the edge of the roof, “I stand corrected.” Reaching for his right thigh he retrieved two sticks. The glowed blue in the moonlight as he took a defensive stance, “Care to tell me what a meta human like you is doing snooping around Gotham?”

Her eyes narrowed. Gripping her knife she spoke lowly, a light tone of annoyance laced in it, “I’m not a meta…”

“Oh she speaks!” His smirk grew wider. He was closer now enabling her to spot a black smudge underneath the left side of neck, close to his chin. A tan substance laid over top of it, making it less noticeable. Almost like he had applied makeup to cover up his soul mark. “Now sweetheart, I kinda got a city to protect so if we can end this quickly that would be preferable.”

She grimaced. Part of her wanted to to flee, stay away from trouble, but her mind yelled at her to stay. The man, who she finally recognized as Nightwing, stood in front of her journal. She couldn’t leave without it. Her attack was rushed, sloppy almost. She fired two knives at once, hoping they’d lodge into his shoulder. He dodge them with a flip, kicking the journal with him.

“Something important in there?” Nightwing’s tone dripped with a teasing tone. It only infuriated Bella more

He didn’t get answer. Instead he watched as she disappeared. He was caught off guard seeing as his opponent vanished into thin air. His stance dropped slightly, mouth agape. Bella smirked to herself. Taking advantage of this window of opportunity she lifted her right foot and landed a hooked kick to Nightwing’s jaw.

She smirked as she appeared once again in front of the man who was clutching his jaw. Her victory was short lived as she soon felt a burning sensation shoot through her foot. She fell to the ground, hissing in pain as she ripped off her boot hoping to find the culprit. She gasped when she made contact with her soulmate mark. What was once a black smudge had turned into a glowing blue stain.

Her head whipped to Nightwing who was in a similar state to her. His hands had smeared off the makeup covering his jaw, revealing a deep purple mark. He was looking into a puddle staring at this new development. His face read confusion, but slowly a grin started to spread across his features. “You… You’re..” His words caught in his throat as turned to face Bella, expecting a similar reaction, but instead he was met with terror filled eyes.

He reached out to her, but she scrambled to stand up. Running to the edge of the building she flung herself off the edge. “Wait! Come back!” He followed to the edge only to be greeted with the last of the shadows surrounding her retreating form. He was left staring into the streets of Gotham below. The only thing left of his soulmate was a shoe, a sock, and a beaten up leather journal.

————————

It had been two days since the incident on the roof. Bella had planned on leaving Gotham, but a lack of journal kept her in her place. Instead she opted for pacing around an abandoned building in East End. She hadn’t left in fear of being once again caught by Nightwing. Not only was she running low on food, but she needed to move cities, but she couldn’t without her research, and it seems the only way to regain possession of her property would be to face her soulmate again, but Bella couldn’t bring herself to find him.

While Bella avoided him, pacing around a decrepit building, Dick spent his time scouring the city looking for his missing soulmate. He scanned every surveillance footage he was able to get his hands on, but still came up with nothing.

“I don’t get it, Tim. Why would she run from me?”

“Well, from what I hear it didn’t sound like you made a great first impression.” Tim sat at the batcomputer looking through security footage at his older brother’s request. Dick sighed running his fingers through his hair, “Did you get what she looked like?”

“Purple hair and eyes. Impossible to miss. Do you think she left the city?”

“Well judging from what’s in that journal I’d say no. It seems pretty important. What about her face? Any noticeable features that could help narrow down the search?”

Dick took in a deep breath through his nose, blowing it out before replying, “No she wore a mask that covered the majority of her face.” He ran a hand over his face before a thought came to mind, “She was short. Like extremely short. I was almost a foot taller than her!”

Tim nodded as he continued examining the footage. After a few minutes he stopped the video and zoomed in on a hooded figure entering a building, “There. Now it’s not 100% certain, but you can see a bit of purple hair peeking out of the hood. She also seems short enough to match your description. She was last seen in East End, closer to The Bowery.”

Dick release a breath of relief before ruffling his hair, “Thanks Timmy!” And with that Dick was off, clad in his Nightwing gear.

——————

Bella stood in front of the window, the rain beating against the pane. She fidgeted with her mask, which hung around her neck. She debated leaving, to go look for her lost property, but she still hesitated.

“Someone looks conflicted,”

Her eyes grew wide as her head quickly snapped in the direction of the new voice. Her soulmate leaned against the door frame, a gentle smile gracing his features. His breath hitched when their eyes met. He took in the curves of her face, slowly getting lost. He regained his composure when a knife was lodged into the wall right by his ear. He stood straighter his hands out in front of him, “I don’t want to fight. I just came here to talk,” He took a step forward, which Bella countered with one back.

He froze under her glare. Taking a gulp he spoke again, “Please?” His fingers inched towards his mask, hoping to not to startle her into another attack. Slowly the edges of his mask were peeled from his face and dropped to the floor. “Just give me a few minutes then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Bella’s gaze faltered when met with his blue eyes. She nodded, dropping her defensive stance.

A smile pulled at his lips. Testing his luck he took a step forward. When she flinched back, Dick stopped in his tracks, not wanting to scare her, “So, you’re my soulmate?”

She nodded, eyes meeting the ground instead of the man in front of her.

Sensing he wasn’t making any progress he held out his hand to her, flashing her a shimmering smile, “Well Soulmate. I’m Dick Grayson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Her eyes met his which soon fell to his soul mark, then his hand, and finally reglued themselves back to the floor. “You should leave.”

His stance faltered, “I… What?”

“You need to leave. I’m not supposed to have a soulmate.”

“Now that’s just nonsense. Everyone is supposed to have a soulmate. It’s fated!” He took another step towards her. This time she didn’t shy away. Instead her shoulder squared as she stared straight into his eyes.

“Fate’s a bitch. And often wrong.”

When he made his next advancement, she joined him, soon coming chest to chest. At this point they were both glaring, gaze sharp enough to kill.

He took a breath, his eyes turning soft, “You’re running from something. Let me help you.”

She scoffed, “I understand that you think your some big hero that always saves the day! But face it pal. You can’t save everyone. Especially not me.”

His hand clenched around her small shoulder, the other arm coming around to wrap around her waist, “If I can’t save my own soulmate I shouldn’t be a hero at all!”

“Great idea! Why don’t you hang up your cape today-”

He kissed her. Arms tightening their hold on her, attempting to keep her grounded. Bella’s fists clenched to his suit, her toes pushing herself closer to him. Dick smiled, creating a small gap between them. Their foreheads were pressed together, eyes closed. His nose rub against hers making Bella fight back a small smile.

“You really are a moron.”

A chuckle bubbles from his lips, his breath fanning over her, “I should probably be offended, but I’m just relieved you didn’t call me a dick.”

“The thought did occur, but I figure it was it was too easy.”

“So you have standards.” He smiled, eyes remaining shut. His hand traveled down her side to clasped behind her back, meeting his other, “Well what do you say Soulmate? Trust me with your secret identity?”

She bit back a laugh. One eye peaked open, “Don’t guys normally learn a girls name first before kissing her?” Her hands interlocked behind his neck successfully pulling him closer to her height.

“I was caught up in the moment! Can’t blame a guy for being dramatic,” Their eyes met and he felt his grin grow wider. His blues eyes twinkled with mischief has he pulled her closer, his grin morphing into a smirk, “And I’ll do it again if it convinces you to tell me your name.”

“Tempting… Though I think I’ll pass bird boy.” She broke away from him, a hand trailed down his side, lingering at his hip. She smirked and pulled her journal out of his pocket, “In return for this, I guess I can give you my name.” She rolled her eyes at his shocked face and held out her hand like he did before, “Bella Nyx.”

He grinned taking her hand. He placed a light kiss to her knuckles before tugging her closer. He spoke softly into her ear, “Pleasure to meet you Bella. Now what’s the chance you’d tell me what that journal’s all about?”

“Wow, are you this charming with all the ladies? Or am I just special?” She voice was laced with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes

“Just you gorgeous. Now back to my question,” He bent down to where his nose was able to reach the crook of her shoulder and nuzzles in.

“Now now bird brain. You haven’t gotten that far yet. Keep prying into my night life and I may just leave after all.”

His head rose, making eye contact with his soulmate once again, “What I’m hearing is that you’re staying? So that means I can take you to dinner tonight?”

Bella’s lip turned into a small smile as her fingers brushed over the purple mark on his jaw, “It seems so Dick. It seems so.”

This time, she was the one to kiss him.

[cjdemooi]

I contracted HIV in early 1988 while I was sleeping on the streets and earning a little money as a beggar and prostitute in London.

I had been feeling unwell so went to the Chelsea and Westminster hospital. I had a blood test and was shortly after told of the diagnosis. The only emotion I felt was relief and, walking down the road, I remember smiling broadly. This was it. My brief but awful life was coming to an abrupt end and frankly I was glad.

I grew up in an atmosphere of racism, homophobia and violence, had no friends and had been bullied daily at school. I was told repeatedly that I was worthless and unloved so was now facing the right and proper outcome. I actually had something to look forward to.

Later in the year I stowed away on a ferry to Amsterdam as I simply didn’t want to die in Britain. While there, something changed. I met an English guy called Keith who worked at the Dutch version of The Salvation Army. We talked and he even let me stay with him for a few nights as I was, shall we say, somewhat different to most of the clients he encountered.

He persuaded me to see a doctor and start taking medication although I was very loathe to do so. I agreed because he was the first person I’d ever met who was genuinely kind to me without demanding anything in return. He only wanted to help. He was my inspiration and the reason that since then, I’ve volunteered for HIV and homeless charities. I began helping out at the Army immediately even though I was still officially using their services.

The medication I began taking was not at all pleasant. A daily dose of 30 capsules, each quite large and to be kept refrigerated. This meant it was a very uncomfortable sensation to swallow each one. I began dreading the next batch of 5 to such a point that I was dry heaving every time. In addition they had quite severe side effects and I became increasingly unwell and frail. 

My physical appearance wasn’t helped by the development of dark blotches on my skin, most noticeably my arms. This was Kaposi’s Sarcoma, a cancer known to be an AIDS Related Compound. The capsules weren’t working, I was becoming very ill and needed to escape. I made a half hearted suicide attempt with another young man I knew from working in a brothel as I’d just given up. I didn’t go through with it as to take my own life would, as I saw it, give too many people satisfaction. I was too angry for that.

Amsterdam had now become synonymous with my impending death so I jumped on a train to Cologne. I was begging outside a bar and, by pure luck, was presented with the opportunity that finally got me off the streets.

A few weeks later, having finally secured a long term job and accommodation, I began tentatively to think about where I should go from there. I’d never believed I was going to have, or deserve, any sort of future so this was a brand new concept. I started new medication, this time only 8 tablets a day, although their dimensions made them far more suitable for horses! The Sarcoma on my arms faded over time and my CD4 count began to cautiously rise. I continued with the same regime throughout my time in Germany, another stint in the Netherlands and eventual return to Britain in 1995.

I’m still not sure why I came back but I was inexperienced and naive so the procedure to apply for residency or full time employment in Europe may have seemed daunting.

However, I think this was a mistake. As soon as I got back I became very depressed and stopped taking the drugs. My health immediately deteriorated and, as has been well documented, a large tumour developed in my mouth. After trying to ignore it for many months, I had surgery.

By now I had met the man who I would one day marry but in the early days I was a less than pleasant partner. I knew I’d fallen in love with him the very first day we met but kept pushing him away. I had no doubt I wasn’t going to live to see the millennium so what was the point? I didn’t want to hurt him by dying or hurt myself by being forced to leave him so early.

Against the odds, he stuck by me and would not leave. He persuaded me to start with new medicine so I was put on a course of only 4 tablets a day which was far more manageable. He talked to me, supported me and most amazingly, became the first person to love me. 

My health improved (it’s true what they say about the love of a good man!) and I grew fitter and stronger. In about 2007 I changed medication once again, this time to just 2 tablets a day. I began running which is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made as the benefits have been sensational.

Then, in 2016, my world was destroyed. My career, reputation and livelihood were decimated in one fell swoop as lies upon lies were published about me. I was on a downward spiral but was still relatively okay. Unfortunately, in mid 2017 matters deteriorated severely and my physical and mental health did so too.

Towards the end of 2018, my doctor advised I was so seriously ill to be hospitalised. The stress and pain of everything I was going through was quite literally killing me. My CD4 count dropped below 100, I visibly lost weight and became lethargic and withdrawn. My doctor wrote to the other side pleading he was seriously concerned about me and there were terminal risks due to the pressure I was under. This letter was completely disregarded and described as irrelevant. I had lost everything and now my house was in imminent danger. I was about to become homeless with an AIDS diagnosis. Through no fault of my own, everything was about to come full circle.

My supporters, especially on social media, kindly contributed to a GoFundMe page that was set up and for which I am immensely grateful. It’s unlikely to raise enough save my house but the longer I can fight, the better. The problem is, how long I’ll have the strength to do so.

A few weeks ago, my doctor desperately switched my treatment, now down to a single tablet a day (a far cry from the 30 cold capsules all those years ago) and it does seem to have helped. I’m also on iron and vitamin supplements in an attempt to maintain vitality.

The fact is, I’m still seriously ill although thankfully back from the brink I was on earlier this year. My immune system was almost obliterated and I was so vulnerable, any infection might have killed me. In preparation, I wrote my will, not that I had much of anything left to give.

Even after all this time, people continue to lie about and bully me. Only this time, they’re willing to gamble with, or even destroy, my health. My doctor closely monitors me and I see him for a variety of blood tests every 8 weeks. He has suggested other invasive procedures which may help but I have refused, at least until the current situation is resolved and I feel stronger.

I still don’t want to die in this country but, more urgently, I don’t want to die because some cowardly bullies think they can get away with it.

I am not defined by my HIV status although it of course has a daily impact. Even someone as fit as me can be reduced, shockingly quickly as was all too obvious for everyone to see recently, to a very weak shadow. I am seriously ill and cancer remains a lingering threat but I can’t live my life in fear. I don’t know how much time I’ve got  but I now have, and deserve, a reason to fight.

[annabethisterrified]

Book Review: THE BURNING MAZE (The Trials of Apollo #3) by Rick Riordan

There are no spoilers unless you click ‘Read More’!

California is burning. After shutting down the oraclic sites in New York and Indiana, Apollo (aka Lester Papadapaulos) and Meg McCaffrey team up with Grover Underwood to find the source of the burning maze, a morphed portion of the Labyrinth where the third oracle is trapped. Along the way, they must work with demigods Piper McLean and Jason Grace to figure out how to navigate the twisting, smoldering maze.

But the third emperor of the evil Roman Triumvirate makes Nero and Commodus look pathetic. With the stakes high and their world burning, Apollo and his friends must put out the flames before they devour everything. 

In classic Riordan tradition, this third installment amps up the drama and danger. With dark and mature themes, the lighthearted aspect of this series begins to dwindle away as real consequences and devastating decisions wreak havoc upon Apollo, Meg, Grover, Jason, and Piper. The Burning Maze is a cinematic, heartbreaking adventure that elevates the stakes and leads us to the grittiest part of The Trials of Apollo. Once again, this book proves that this third series is not a spin-off or separate from Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus; The Burning Maze proves that The Trials of Apollo explores the loose ends and lingering fears the first two series laid out. A must-read for any fan of Riordan’s mythological mayhem. Just, uh, grab some tissues first.

SPOILERY COMMENTARY BELOW!

Heyyyy there! So seriously, massive spoilers ahead. You sure about this? Okay. Also, I gotta break this down into chapters. It’ll be the only organized part of this, trust me.

1. That Fun Five Letter Word...Starts with D! 

2. The Devolution of Jasiper

3. Apollo’s Arc

4. What Comes Next...?

5. Miscellaneous Sobbing

-----

CHAPTER ONE: THAT FUN FIVE LETTER WORD...STARTS WITH D!

I am not okay. Like, really not okay. Granted, I’m writing this review less than thirty minutes after finishing, so maybe I need more time to process what just went down but....damn. Like, my stomach ACTUALLY HURTS. I AM IN PHYSICAL PAIN BECAUSE OF THE CONTENT OF THIS BOOK.

In a good way, you ask?

Uh. It’s hard to say. This book is tricky to review. I’ve had an easy, breezy time describing my feelings for all the PJO, HoO, and ToA books prior. But in The Burning Maze...everything changes. 

For years, a lot of us on here have lamented the fact that we felt Riordan’s books have lacked a degree of consequence. On the rare occasion that he did kill a character, he brought them back-- Jason in The Lost Hero, Hazel, Leo...I could go on. 

And it’s not that we’re bad people who want to watch our favorites perish! We just...well, if you keep bringing back dead characters, we start to lose the fear that a character’s death should instill.

I guess he heard us, then.

Because if you’ve read this book, you understand too-- there isn’t anything bringing Jason back. This was real. Final. (In his own words!) And that kind of hurts. A lot. But at the same time, as heartbroken and sick as I feel, this is what we’ve been asking for for a long time-- something that reminds us of what’s at stake. 

Something, I suppose, to make us remember that. (See what I did there?)

Now, I’ll talk more about this in Chapter Two because I have a lot of confused feelings, but I for one, when it was announced that Piper and Jason would be in this book, assumed it would be a joint arrival, if that makes sense? I wasn’t expecting the two of them to be starkly and individually portrayed and explored...and yeah, I gotta wait til the next section to talk about this. Back to Jason’s demise.

And yeah, this was spoiled for me. And yeah, it was my own fault, so don’t feel bad for me. Still, I didn’t know HOW or WHY he would die, so there was plenty of heartbreak for me to uncover along the way. I was mentally steeling myself for the first 300 pages of this book, dreading what I knew was coming, crying at nearly every scene he was in (which frankly, wasn’t many scenes!) and basically losing my damn mind remembering ceaselessly all the times we’ve had over the past what? EIGHT YEARS? Since Lost Hero came out? I’ve loved Jason since The Lost Hero...since I was TWELVE. I am now TWENTY. I watched him grow. I waited impatiently every year for the next HoO book to release. I watched him fall in love with Piper and expand his loyalties and grow stronger and wiser and end up with such a fitting duty-- pontifex maximus.

And today, eight years later, I watched it all get ripped away. 

And I’m torn, because I think in a dark way, this is an absolutely tragically beautiful arc for Riordan to explore and utilize in ToA. I think it was a long overdue and necessary decision that clarifies the real danger our characters should have been exposed to much earlier. 

But I really thought he was going to be okay after Blood of Olympus. I thought our Seven were safe. I had already imagined and accepted what their lives were going to be like-- I had imagined he and Piper’s kids, his job as pontifex maximus, everything that was going to unfold for him... I thought the great tragedy of his long, happy life was going to be not growing old with his sister, Thalia. 

And it was hard to have him brought back into the action just for half of a book, just to get killed so gruesomely, so violently...without even getting to say goodbye, a fact that Piper and Leo later lament. So am I outraged at this writing decision? Or simply as a loyal reader? I think it’s the latter. I am angry for Jason and the friends he left behind, but I also deeply respect this writing decision. It’s a weird balance, and my thoughts will likely evolve as I have more time to digest.

I don’t feel good thoughts about this book, but that’s not a negative on the story. I think Riordan knocked it out of the park. That doesn’t diminish the dread and devastation I feel as a reader who has loved Jason for eight years. As a reader who had happiness for Jason’s future, and as a reader who really, truly, thought it would happen. 

Then again, isn’t that the whole point? Demigods are never, ever safe. And now Apollo will always remember what it is to be human, because Jason did such a goddamn noble job of it. 

I’m proud of that boy, and deeply sorry for him. I’m gutted. I’ll miss him terribly. I just hope this arc is further explored and resonates in the final two books in this saga. I just hope it wasn’t for nothing, but I know it won’t be. 

Don’t get me fucking started on 

Coach Hedge: “I was his protector.”

Leo: “Where’s Jason?”

Goodbye, please see Chapter Five for more screaming!

CHAPTER TWO: THE DEVOLUTION OF JASIPER

Ironically, this somehow hurts me just as much as Jason’s death? Like...okay. Let me think of how I can articulate this, because I’m feeling a lot of things. 

First off, I (unlike many of us bloggers here) genuinely loved Jason’s character and his romantic pairing with Piper right from the get-go. It clicked for me. It really resonated, and I was fully supportive. I loved the strange dynamic of having this fake foundation, and watching it develop (seemingly) into something real-- something unique and strong, a soaring romance worthy for a daughter of Aphrodite. 

We didn’t see it happen on-page, but they were an official couple by The Mark of Athena and I was behind it 100%. They had rough patches that I guess were indicative of future problems, but they were easily swept aside by the larger importance of surviving their Argo 2 mission. I loved their tender, intimate moments in The House of Hades and The Blood of Olympus.

Truly.

So I was confused when they were broken up (again, something we don’t see happen on-page) in The Burning Maze. And being from Apollo’s perspective, we of course will never fully understand why this happened. 

Now again, I have to deal between looking at this from two perspectives. Am I upset at the author’s decision, or just as a really-passionate Jasiper shipper? Of course, my immediate thought was that one of them had broken it off to protect the other, probably thinking “oh fuck if one of us is gonna die in the maze, maybe I should break this off to avoid future pain”. But then jason goes and tells apollo that it was PIPER that broke it off well before the burning maze was even a thing and i’m like WATTTTTT

I’m still like WHATTTTTTT

So, I wait for Piper to have her heart-to-heart with Apollo. (Listen, I fucking LOVE Piper in this book. What a badass motherfucker. Holy fuck.) And I’m expecting her to give a concrete, selfless reason for breaking things off with Jason.

I wasn’t expecting her to have fallen out of love with him.

But the more Piper explained herself, the more I realized that I was just the type of secondhand observer that Piper had started to resent. Apollo put it succinctly: “Your relationship was born in crisis.” 

It really was-- beyond Hera’s meddling and Aphrodite’s hyperfixation, these kids were also in WAR MODE. That’s enough to stress anyone out. I hadn’t really stopped to consider what Piper was dealing with, as a daughter of the love goddess. How everyone expected her to have everything romantic figured out. To have a love story to rival Percy and Annabeth’s. How her first love must be the love of her life.

And the whole world-- and the whole pantheon-- was watching them and expecting it. Judging them, all the time. 

Like, yeah, girl. That’s a lot. I think I get why Piper did it, even if it broke my heart. That being said, I do wish that if Jason had lived, they eventually would’ve made their way back to each other and fallen in love for real.

But Piper was right. She deserved to forge her own identity, even with the world restraining her constantly. I wish I knew exactly where her feelings for him stood, but at least we know with certainty that she always considered him her closest friend. She clearly loved him so much, more than anyone-- even if it was a different type of love than the one they first shared.

Just because she’s Aphrodite’s daughter doesn’t mean she should have to fall in love so dramatically and eternally. That isn’t fair for her. Her first remark to Grover was cutting and clear-- Jason and Piper were never like Percy and Annabeth. 

And this is still hard for me to stomach, since I love(d) them together, but I am glad Riordan is exploring the much more realistic aspect to relationships. As someone in a long-term relationship, I can empathize with Piper’s fears. The world always wants couples to be “Percabeth”-- together forever, utterly known to each other. 

But the reality is, most couples are nothing like Percabeth. And that’s okay-- that’s normal, and as sad as that is, at least it was acknowledged and addressed and explored. 

It took away some of the sting of Jason’s death that I’d been anticipating. I thought maybe there would be some last-minute confessional, some last tender moment between them. There wasn’t. He was torn away so fast. 

I’m devastated that Piper has to live on without him. But she has her father, Hedge and Millie, Leo...she’ll be okay. She’s a fighter. Always was. 

It’s hard to see one of Riordan’s hallmark couples fall apart in a way you don’t expect. But I can’t say it’s not realistic, and it’s kind of relieving to see one of his romances take on the tough stuff and not fall into a sweeping, encompassing romance that is usually unrealistic. 

CHAPTER THREE: APOLLO’S ARC

YEESSSSS RIORDAN DONE GOOD ON THIS PART

Apollo’s narration and character has finally developed into someone I can truly empathize and sympathize with. As cool as it would’ve been to see some of these scenes from other character’s points of view, I was really happy to read through Apollo’s eyes. I love love love where his character is going.

God....him referring to Jason as ‘brother’...his obvious care for Meg...it got me good. I’ve always liked Apollo as a narrator, but this is the first book where I LOVED IT. He’s set on a good path! He’s still funny, thank goodness, but there’s also a darker, wiser grace to him now that gives the story a more serious edge that will definitely help the books moving forwards.

I can’t believe he tried to kill himself to save the others. Ugh. What a guy. 

Love him!

That is all.

CHAPTER FOUR: WHAT COMES NEXT...?

So, I did a big happy dance when the next prophecy was revealed....REYNA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE REYNA OH MY GOD WE GET A WHOLE BOOK WITH HER I’M PSYCHED FOR THE TYRANT’S TOMB 

But beyond REYnA!!!!! and Camp Jupiter????? I don’t really know what to expect for this fourth installment. I imagine we’re going to Delphi for the final book, but sticking to the Bay Area for The Tyrant’s Tomb??? 

I’m like...extremely apprehensive because a lot of people are predicting that Apollo and Reyna are gonna fall in love?????????????????????? like what with her final prophecy: no demigod shall heal your heart

umm. first off, reyna could do WAY better. But like...is this actually gonna happen? UHHHHH????? Guess I have a full year to think on this one hmmm

CHAPTER FIVE: MISCELLANEOUS SOBBING

soooooo i’m like kinda numb kinda devastated kinda in love with this book kinda wanna throw it against a wall

Like, okay, I recognize that as an author Riordan did an excellent job writing this book and I am so excited to see what goes down next.

BUT ALSO I HAD BEEN IMAGINING THIS DREAMY REUNION SCENE BETWEEN LEO/PIPER/JASON AND THEN IT HAPPENED EXCEPT JASON WAS IN A COFFIN??????????????????????????????????????????? FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I ALSO CANNOT BELIEVE PIPER IS MOVING TO OKLA-FUCKING-HOMA i mean actually I’m really happy that she’s finding her roots and that she’s taking some well-deserved family time and that coach hedge is with her but also I WISH SHE WAS WITH HER CHB AND CF FRIENDDDSSS

at least it’s kinda close to Indianapolis?

jesus christ

Anyway, I really loved Piper in this book-- my queen, my crush, my...oh my god i just love her she’s a fantastic character and i really hope she’ll come back somehow for the final battle

I’m also happy that Grover gets to go back to CHB and see Percy and Annabeth again! Yay!!! And I’m happy that Camp Jupiter hasn’t burned down to the ground yet! Yay!!!!!

In conclusion, I will grieve Jason Grace forever. But damn, what a book. See you next spring, demigods. 

PLEASE MESSAGE ME TO TALK ABOUT THIS IF YOU’VE READ TBM I NEED TO CRY MORE

[christinaengela]

Hello friends and fans!

Welcome to my 46th newsletter – October 2020!

On A Personal Note

September was a fairly quiet, uneventful month… actually, no… who am I kidding? There were a few things that made September an interesting and busy month! Aside from the editing work I’ve been doing on the sideline, I also had to undertake the Herculean task of migrating my website from WordPress.com’s hosting to a new home. The newly migrated site is pretty much sorted out now, but if you find any glitches, like broken links or missing images etc. please do let me know! I also added a ecommerce functionality to the site – now that I’m able to use plugins – and visitors can buy eBooks direct from the shop page now without having to go to other online shops – isn’t that nice? 🙂

On the social side, I had a brilliant email interview with fellow South African author Simon Corn this past month, you can read that from the link further along!

Further afield, I indulged my love for woodworking this past few weeks, and finally got round to building that bookshelf I longed for to complete the feel of the ‘study’ corner of our lounge! As you can see in the photo, it’s in the corner (which makes it stronger – a must to hold all that weight haha) and it’s filled with an array of some of my favorite books – fiction and non-fiction! Our Star Wars collection of memorabilia fills the gaps quite nicely too! The shelf above the window is home to the bulk of my collection of antique telephones, and beneath the shelf – on a cupboard you can barely see in the photo – are two antique typewriters, a 1939 Remington, and a 1952 Olivetti, both in good working order!

This year’s almost over – and with the entirety of the last week of September being taken up by my website migration, I’m looking at the remainder of 2020 a little bleary-eyed! I still have some work left in the writing department for this year – aside from the editing projects I’m doing for clients – and as always, I’ll keep you posted on my progress!

Moving on, let’s take a look at the usual list of goodies!

Art

I also indulge in painting from time to time – and no, I don’t mean walls! The following paintings are in my portfolio:

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2017_Human Nature A4 acrylic canvas

20200620_Balancier A2 acrylic canvas

20200628_Rescuer A2 acrylic canvas

20200705_The Awakening A2 acrylic canvas

20200712 The Earth Wept 40x40cm acrylic canvas

You can read more about my art projects on the Art page.

What do you think of them? Feel free to let me know!

Music

Yes – I also make music from time to time!

A selection of music tracks I made using eJay and other similar apps between 1999 – 2008 are available on my YouTube channel.

You can read more on the Music page on my website!

Activism

For those of you interested in my activism-related posts and activities, you can follow them at “Sour Grapes: The Fruit Of Ignorance“.

Current Writing Projects 

For the past few weeks, I’ve been dividing my time between performing editing and formatting work for Moon Books Publishing, and writing new material for Galaxii Book 4, which I haven’t formally named just yet! Operating under the working title of “Dreams of Innocence” – from an old draft I’d worked on a long time ago and which set the background foundation of this otherwise entirely new story – this book will once again be looking at the Corsair menace.

Set a short time after the collapse of the Corsair home world Meradinis, the story focuses on the starship I.S.S. Munray – a ship crewed by ill-disciplined misfits barely one step away from court-martial and dismissal, filled with bitterness, resentment and axes to grind with anyone in authority – and the Captain’s the worst of the lot! His career has soured and he ‘works the system’ to get himself removed from command and assigned to an easy desk job at a starbase – but the powers that be have other plans…

A new Captain is assigned in place of the malingering Captain Polluk – a young, ambitious up-and-coming and capable officer – and Sonia LaBelle is the literal new broom! She manages to overcome all the obstacles in her path; a ship in a poor state of repair, an uncooperative senior staff, negative hopeless crewmembers – in time to meet the deadline set by Vice-Admiral Beens.

Meanwhile, a couple of extremely dangerous high profile Corsair convicts escape from an isolated, virtually escape-proof prison complex, which sets the cat among the pigeons! The Munray is diverted from a routine space patrol to pursue the escaped Corsairs, an exercise which will push the already strained interpersonal relations among the crew – and between the crew and its new Captain – to the limit!

At least, that’s more or less the broad overview of the fourth book in the Galaxii series! I’m quite excited about it, since I haven’t really worked on that series since I last revised all the titles back in 2018! Book 4 doesn’t feature any of the characters of the previous books (at least not as yet) but I might still be looking at drawing in one or two later, I’ll see how the story progresses and where it takes me!

Editing

I recently completed editing “Avenging Aranis” by UK writer Steve McElhenny – a sci-fi tale for Moon Books – and the first part of a trilogy! Currently I’m editing “The Darkness Within Me”, a dark fantasy novel by South African author Anya Louw, also for Moon Books.

I’ve also recently started offering my editing services on a freelance basis to interested parties. More about that here.

Marketing – The Dreaded “M” Word! 

Portfolio 2020!

I thought it would be nice if I could produce a neat, organized catalog of all my books that interested parties could download and browse – a free, distributable and shareable catalog, and so I created “Portfolio 2020!” – a listing of all my currently available titles!

Portfolio is more than that though, because it also contains a biography as well as synopses for most of my titles – and I have a plan to update it regularly, perhaps on an annual basis! Portfolio 2020 is available as a free download from my website.

Videos

I’ve nothing new to show you here this time, but feel free to browse through the videos on my YouTube video channel!

Sales

Sales for September have been holding a constant trend, with figures for 2020 indicating that I’ve already doubled the total for 2019! Things have been slow in progressing, but at least they’ve been consistent, with a gradual improvements across the board – accompanied by an increase in distribution as well as with the addition of external marketing on the part of my publisher, Moon Books Publishing, who’ve been doing their own marketing of my titles! That tells me things will get better!

Additionally, having migrated my website to a new hosting service (where I can actually install plugins!!!) I’ve installed ecommerce and set up direct purchasing options for interested visitors, so I’ll let you know how that goes next time!

Publishing

These are the books I’ve released so far this year!

Between January and September 2020 I released eight new titles! Of these, two – “Duck Blind” and “The Next Room” have been replaced by one combined title, “Mirror, Mirror” which includes both of them. Of course, this reduces my count back to 30 again – but when you already have 30 or so books to your name, what’s one here or there?

New Releases:

I’ve nothing new to show you here this time!

Audiobooks

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“Malice” (2020)

On September 11, 2020, “Malice!” was released as an audiobook, narrated by Michelle Innes!

“Malice!” is a collection of my horror tales. Read more about the book.

Details:

Published: June 25, 2019, audiobook September 11, 2020.

Words: 21770

Pages: (6×9 Paperback)

Duration: 02:10min (audiobook narrated by Michelle Innes)

Book Trailer Video:

Buy now: eBook Paperback Audiobook

Coming Soon

In the meantime, here’s a look at the covers for hot new audiobooks currently in the pipeline:

Stay tuned for updates!

Reviews

You can see all my previous reviews here.

Currently Available Titles

I now have 30 unique titles available in 4 series (not including books I’ve been the editor for, and my 16 free promotional items)! My books are available in three different formats: EBooks, Paperbacks and Audiobooks. Click the links or images below to view titles available in these formats.

Communication

Below are links to a few of my most recent posts and articles since my last newsletter:

Now You Can Buy EBooks Direct From Christina Engela Dot Com!

The Last Post! Please Subscribe To My New Website! 🙂

New Website For Christina Engela Dot Com!

New Release: “Malice!” – The Audiobook!

Indie Copy Editing Services Offered!

Another Round At The Crow Bar #45 September 2020

If you want to see more articles, just click on the category links below:

Elements of Horror

FAQ Answered

Fun Facts

LGBT Heroes

The Tech Side

Secret Weapons of the Resistance

Writing Advice

Guest Writers

Newsletters

Interactions

Fan Mail, Reader Reviews & Honorable Mentions

I have the following awesome items to show you this month!

I found this share of one of my articles “A Treatise On The Psychic Abilities Of The Common House Fly” on Odd Mag from February 02, 2020.

“Christina Engela is an excellent editor. She helped me open my mind to a different perspective, to see my work through the eyes of the reader. Most importantly she taught me more about writing than any teacher in my entire 12 years of education! I’d rate her at 100 out of 10!” – Anya Louw, author of “The Darkness Within Me” and “Normanwood” (Aug 28, 2020).

“I recently had the pleasure of an editorial experience with Ms. Engela. As an entry level author and with some trepidation, I submitted work to Ms. Engela for editing, uncertain of what to expect from the process. Ms. Engela read and corrected my work. Her approach is professional, encouraging yet precisely on point. There was not ever a need to query the work she did on my script. I was also particularly impressed with her turn around time. I would strongly recommend her editorial services and I look forward to a time when I can work with her again.” – Cedar J. Lockheart, author of “Skinwalker” (Aug 28, 2020).

“In running Moon Books Publishing I know the value of a good proofreader and editor. Christina is a proven author who has released over 30 books, so she knows the ins and outs of writing. I’ve discovered that not only is she witty, bright and verbose in her writing, but she is also meticulous and professional in her proofreading and editing skills. You won’t find a more professional proofreader and editor than Christina. That is why I will ALWAYS choose her to handle proofreading and editing at Moon Books Publishing.” – Brandon Mullins, publisher, CEO Moon Books Publishing (Aug 29, 2020).

A fantastic, swashbuckle through space. “While Fantasy is my primary love in literature, I have always enjoyed a good science fiction yarn and when this one came to me via the narrator I figured it may just satisfy an itch I’d been having of late.

Sheesh, where to start with this book? Simply put, it has everything! There’s adventure, space battles, fistfights, pirates and, of course. romance.

The story revolves around Mykl, ex-combat pilot turned down-on-his-luck cargo captain who begins the book afloat in space after most of his crew, for reasons unknown, mutiny and fly off in the ships sole shuttle. Shortly afterwards the starships drive explodes, killing his two remaining crew and leaving him marooned in deep space with no hope of survival. That is, until a ship full of marines rescues him from certain death only to then get into a battle with a ship full of space pirates, Mykl has to rely on his military training to survive and capture the dreaded Blackhart!

It’s only now that things really start to get bad when his military contract is reactivated and he’s tasked with a critical, possibly suicidal mission into enemy territory.

Every primary character in the book, from Mykl to Ripley and Blackhart himself are extremely well fleshed out, interesting and fantastically voiced by Nigel Peever, each given a real sense of identity and more than a little snark. In addition to the reading, there is the addition of sound effects and some incidental music which is just enough to add atmosphere without distracting from the reading like often can happen with this in audiobooks.

There’s so much in this story that I could talk about but I don’t want to spoil anything but do strongly suggest that, if you like Buck Rogers, Firefly or Pirate stories you give this book a go as I thoroughly enjoyed everything it had to offer.” – Ryan Pascal review “Blachart” Audible UK, August 29, 2020.

“Christina performed a fantastic editing service for my novel. I was blown away by the pace she worked at, her accuracy, and the improvements she made. It would be no understatement to say she went above and beyond what I expected and was incredible value for the more than reasonable cost for her services. I look forward to using Christina again in the future as I know I’ll be in safe hands.” – Steve McElhenny, author of “Avenging Aranis” (Sept 07, 2020).

“Blachart. A good read. Well written good story line. Well narrated. All in all a good listen.” – Richard Davis, Audible UK, “Blachart”, September 09, 2020.

Spotted on the internets… Brandon Mullins of Moon Books Publishing made and shared this awesome meme to market my audiobooks:

Quotefancy shared a quote by me, found on September 22:

I display my Fan Mail, Reviews & Compliments with pride, gratitude and humility. You’re always welcome to have a look.

Hate Mail & Horrible Mentions

I’m rather proud of my hate mail, and you can review my collection here – but be forewarned, don’t do it while eating or drinking, or you might choke while laughing!

Apparently I’m unhinged and need help? LMAO… Oh, won’t someone please help me?

Interviews

A Moment With Christina Engela – I had an interview with Simon Corn on his author blog – it went live on September 28.

All my interviews are linked to from this page. If you would like to do an interview with me about my work, please do get in touch!

In Closing

Well, that’s all for this time, folks! 🙂

Thanks again for all your support, friendship and interaction!

Feel free to email or message me via Facebook, Twitter or LinkedIn if you have any comments or questions!

Until next time, keep reading!

Cheers! 🙂

Catch me on social media!

Facebook | Twitter | LinkedIn | Academia | Minds | Instagram | GoodReads | Author’s Database | Library Thing | YouTube | Pintrest | Stage32 | The Book Marketing Network

If you would like to know more about Christina Engela and her writing, please feel free to browse her website.

If you’d like to send Christina Engela a question about her life as a writer or transactivist, please send an email to christinaengela@gmail.com or use the Contact form.

Show your appreciation for Christina’s work!

All material copyright © Christina Engela, 2020.

Another Round At The Crow Bar #46 October 2020 Hello friends and fans! Welcome to my 46th newsletter - October 2020!

[kaitymccoy123]

Upside Down (part 3)

Intro: In the last one I ended with a twist, and you are all worried about Scotty.  Here is that worry in the reader.  

A little bit of angst in this one, a love letter, a lot of worry.  

Pairing: Scotty x reader (and best friend!Jim Kirk)

Word Count: 1,938 

Warnings: totally 100% fake engineering everything, (I was too lazy to actually come up with proper terms so I just made up words), eventual injury, swears.

Summary: The starting point for this fic was Scotty x reader who loves engineering as much as he does.  So that’s where I went with this fic.  You are second-in-command engineer and Scotty one day ends up being in charge, much to your chagrin.  You butt heads.  Scotty gets hurt.  Feelings get hurt (mostly my own).  Welcome to my trashcan.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

-Enjoy!-

On your shift the day after you had stayed up far too late with Scotty, you were informed that he would be going on an away mission to assist in repairing a ship, and you were to stay behind and be the acting chief of engineering. 

"Not that I don't basically run this ship on my own anyway." You snorted to yourself as you snapped your com shut, thinking that if Scotty was here he would have shook his head and gave you one of his teasing smiles.  

Thinking of that put a smile on your face as you began your shift, excited to be in charge.  

The next two days left you less excited to be in charge, as you quickly missed Scotty's witty banter and your heated debates about the details of the ship.  

You were lounging around Scotty's workbench on the third day that he was gone, the ship running smoothly, and you had everyone kept busy making sure it stayed that way.  

Then, out of the corner of your eye, a piece of paper, tucked into the drawer of the very messy workstation.  But that wasn't what caught your attention, it was your name, written in the corner of the paper in Scotty's barely legible script.  You couldn't help your curiosity as you reached for it, quickly glancing around the room, as if Scotty was going to suddenly show up and berate you for snooping.  

The paper itself looked like it had been through the washing machine, crumpled and stained, maybe at on point a page of a note book, torn out.  The words were written in pencil, and you were right, it was your name written in the corner.  

Dear Y/N,

You are one of the most infuriating, stubborn, quick-witted people I have ever met.  I don't know how we made it through the first week of working together.  I thought one of us was going to kill the other. 

But once you got your head out of your ass.  Once we started to get along, we were actually able to work together, and were finally able to put both of our big brains together and get stuff done.  

You snorted as you read on:

And I'm sorry for yelling at you.  I know I already told you that, but I really am.  I am especially sorry for dismissing you that first week.  I know you probably don't care that much but I regret pulling rank and turning on you like that.  I just couldn't stand you looking at me with such hatred and contempt, like I was just some stiff old guy that was getting in your way. It nearly killed me.  

Because if you looked at me like that, I would never stand a chance.  

Because I am enthralled by you.  

You stopped breathing. 

Which is why I am writing all this stuff down rather than saying it to your face. But you'll never read this because I would probably die of embarrassment. Because when I look at you, my brain goes haywire.  I lose all ability to coherently form a sentence.  Maybe that's why I tease you so much, because anything else would come out as gibberish and you would think me a mad old fool.

It scares me, the way I feel about you, it makes me want to turn and run. Because I don't deserve someone as fierce and intelligent and beautiful as you.  But sometimes, the way you smile at me, it gives me hope, like you might harbour feelings for me too, but it's only fleeting, and the next moment you are yelling at me or teasing me or nearly zapping me with a live wire. 

So, if you ever do read this, just know that I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you.  And every moment since.  

Yours, Montgomery

You were an idiot.

The overhead com system sounded: Dr. McCoy to the medbay, immediately.

Your heart dropped in your chest. For some reason you knew exactly what the call was for.  And you were on your feet and dashing down the hallway before you could stop yourself, stuffing the letter into your pocket. 

Skidding into the medbay, you were met with a cacophony of chaos, people running around everywhere, yelling, and machines were beeping and you could see flashes of injuries from the people lying on the biobeds.  Your heart was racing in your chest as you looked for, and dreading finding, the familiar red shirt and whispy brown hair that belonged to Scotty.  

A biobed slammed into your elbow and careened by, being pushed by a group of nurses, the red shirt making you take a second look, but it wasn't Scotty.  

Suddenly, a flash of familiar command gold appeared in the medbay and you stalked right up to him. 

"Jim, what happened?" You demanded almost breathlessly. 

"Away mission gone wrong, the building that they were in was invaded, there were a lot of... casualties." Jim explained, his eyes barely meeting yours and he began to stalk past you but you grabbed his arm. 

"Scotty." You dug your fingers into his arm and he looked back at you, recognizing the look of desperation,  "where's Scotty?"

He looked at you with sympathy, "We'll find him, Y/N.  I promise."

And then he was gone, into the chaos, and you were left frozen in the middle of it, feeling more alone, more helpless, than you had ever felt before.  

When you realized you were more in the way than anything in the medbay, you retreated back to the engineering room, pulling the letter out of your pocket and reading it over and over, your trembling fingers nearly tearing the worn paper.  You fought an internal battle with yourself, forcing yourself not to cry because if you did, you were going to turn into a sniveling mess, no use to anyone, and you were supposed to be in charge.  

But worry made ice flow through your veins and you couldn't focus on anything, even when Keenser came by and tugged on your sleeve.  

When your com beeped, you swear you took a breath for the first time in 20 minutes.  

"Y/N here." You trembled.

"We found him." It was Jim's voice, and though you should be elated at his words, his somber tone made fresh tears prick at your eyes. 

"I'll be right there." 

Snapping the com shut, you forced your stiff limbs to move from their perched position on the stool and you made your way to the medbay for the second time that day.  

"What happened?" You squeaked when you were met with an impenetrable wall of Jim Kirk on your way into the medbay. 

"We don't know 100%.  He lost a lot of blood.  Bones is working on him now." Jim explained. 

"Is he going to be okay?" You stammered, a tear sneaking its way down your cheek and you wiped it away quickly.  

Jim met your gaze firmly, his hand squeezing your forearm once, "They don't know yet." His voice was quiet, and you knew he was worried as well. 

"He has to be okay, Jim." You whispered, pleading with the somber captain.  

And then a change in Jim's expression, barely noticable, a raise in an eyebrow, his mouth falling open a millimeter more, and it was like he knew.  The expression was a mirror and made you realize you cared for Scotty much more than you'd like to admit.  More than you even realized.  

Jim gave you a knowing nod and placed his hand on your shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before he disappeared out the medbay doors.  

And once again you were alone.  And once again you didn't know if your heart was going to be ripped out of your chest. 

Eventually they let you in to see him, after Dr. McCoy had deemed him stable enough. 

It was nearly a week after the accident, and you had been forced back to the engineering room, trying to keep the ship afloat while you felt like you were drowning.  You didn't know if you'd ever felt so worried in your entire life, to the point where you were questioning if you should even be worried, as you had only known Scotty for a few weeks before the accident.  

But it was like a disease, like he had become implanted into your brain, and you heard him and saw him wherever you went.  If you were fixing something, you knew exactly how he would tell you you were doing it wrong.  If you were lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling in an feeble attempt to sleep, you heard his laugh or the lilt of his accent, shooting back a sarcastic comment at something you said.

Dr. McCoy threatened to keep you in the medbay as a patient, commenting on how often you were in there, checking up on Scotty, but you knew he noticed your dark rimmed eyes and the few pounds you'd shed at the lack of appetite.  

Then, one day, he agreed it was time you could go in.  Your breath instantly caught in your chest and you nearly cried at the relief of being able to see Scotty after a week of torture.  

He looked awful.  

He was tucked into the biobed, the white sheets accentuating just how grey his skin looked, how dark the circles were under his eyes.  There was a bandage over a cut on his forehead, and a splint on his left wrist, a machine hovering over it that you recognized as a bone regenerator.  Another, similar machine was working on his right leg, which was wrapped in a thick white bandage.  He had many wires and tubes coming out of him that were connected to several machines, including one that was down his throat, which you recognized as a ventilator.  

"He's getting better, despite what he looks like." Dr. McCoy's gentle voice sounded from behind you, and he stepped into the room.

"He looks like crap." You let out a watery laugh, finally letting the tears that you had held in for so long find their way down your cheeks.  

"Yeah well, he's a fighter." A strong hand came down on your shoulder, making you release a little sob, "He's going to be fine, Y/N." Dr. McCoy's thumb stroked lines into your shoulder.

"Yeah, kid, you worry too much." A new voice sounded and a flash of command gold came into view.  Jim.

When he saw your tear-stained face he offered a weak smile before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you, Dr. McCoy's hand falling away as you nearly fell into Jim's embrace, finally letting yourself feel all the emotions you kept at bay the entire week.

Jim held you for what felt like hours, stroking your back and whispering soft encouragements into your ear.  

"That stupid idiot, coming into my engineering room, turning everything upside down, and then going and nearly getting himself killed." You griped, taking shaky breaths from your spot against Jim's chest.

"I don't think the engineering room is the only thing he's turned upside down." Jim noted as he pushed you away, tucking a few locks of hair behind your ear before tapping your chin with his finger. 

Looking up at Jim, he gave you a soft mischievous smile, and it made you blush, "Shut up." You sniffed and pushed him away playfully, making him laugh softly. 

Then you turned to Scotty, approaching him achingly, but you didn't cry anymore, he was alive.  

You reached out and grabbed Scotty's hand, stroking your thumb over the warm skin, watching the way his chest rose and fell in even breaths thanks to the ventilator.  

Dr. McCoy said he was getting better, it would just take some time.  And you realized, for Montgomery Scott, you had all the time in the world. 

-Thanks for reading!  I hope you liked it!-

I don’t know why I keep writing Scotty writing love letters to people, but I just feel like he wouldn’t be able to vocalize his feelings well (or just spit them out all at once) so he would want to write them down. 

-Permanent tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @feelmyroarrrr @jefferson-in-the-tardis@anyakinamidala@digitalmoonhowell @trekken81@fandomheadrush@kirkaholic123 @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @pinkamour1588 @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @starmission @curiosity-killed-the-speedster

Upside Down Tag List (let me know if you want to be tagged in the series): @whatif-animagineblog @secondsandstars @youre-on-a-starship @gracieminabox @fanscribbling @zaczytanka-fangirl @phanofmanythings @newhappiness430 @pokeharvest @texasblues @space-jims @rampant-salamander @tangle-of-ivy @webhoard @happylilprompts 

[j0sgomez-blog]

By Michael Lanza

I stare at the backpack on the ground in front of me. At 85 liters, with every milliliter of it stuffed with about 60 pounds of gear and food, it looks like something that should be lowered by a crane into a container ship rather than attached to a person’s back. If it had legs, teeth, and an appetite for meat, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

In fact, standing at the Sawtooth Pass Trailhead at 7,820 feet in Sequoia National Park, looking up at our imminent ascent to 9,511-foot Timber Gap, I’m thinking the chances that I’ll have an easy time of it are very, very slim. Probably like most parents, before I became a dad I had absolutely no idea how much heavy lifting was involved.

With no small amount of dread, I heft my pack onto one bent knee, slip an arm through a shoulder strap and turn myself until the pack rests heavily on my back. Then I straighten up, feeling like I’ve already surrendered points at the outset of a wrestling match against a formidable opponent. This backpack and I are fated to spend a lot of intimate time together over the next six days.

And of course, this is all my doing.

I wanted to take my kids on their longest backpacking trip to date. I knew they were ready for it, and I liked the idea of exposing them to the shift in mindset that occurs after you’ve been on the trail for more than a few days. But our son, Nate, 12, and our daughter, Alex, 10, still do not carry their full share of gear and food. So I figured our limit was six days. But even with the lightest tents and other gear, fitting some 50 pounds of food inside two adult backpacks required some aggressive shoehorning. My wife, Penny, is carrying the heaviest load she has shouldered in years, and Nate eagerly accepted more than he’s ever carried, including our necessary third bear canister. Still, much of that 50 pounds of food ended up in my pack.

I’ve also been eager to backpack with my family in Sequoia, in the southern High Sierra, home to many of the highest mountains and one of the biggest chunks of contiguous wilderness in the Lower 48—a pristine and incredibly photogenic land of razor peaks and alpine lakes so clear you could stand on the shore and read a book laying open on the lake bottom. Hearing about our plans for a nearly 40-mile loop from the park’s Mineral King area, Penny’s brother, Tom, and his 18-year-old son, Daniel, decided to join us.

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  While I’ve thru-hiked the John Muir Trail through this part of the Sierra and explored other corners of it—including a rugged, partly off-trail, 32-mile hike in the John Muir Wilderness—this would be my first deep foray into the backcountry of Sequoia, our second national park (designated 18 years after Yellowstone and a week before Yosemite, although the latter had been protected in 1864 as a public trust of California).

With my burly pack compressing my middle-aged spine, we start hiking at mid-morning in classic High Sierra weather: beneath a cloudless, blue sky, with the temperature in the low 60s and a breeze that’s very possibly saving me from heat exhaustion as we plod up through dozens of switchbacks on a sunbaked mountainside. Still, even in these pleasant conditions, within minutes, sweat pours from my head like a fountain.

Redwood Meadow Grove and Bearpaw Meadow

“I just startled a black bear about a quarter-mile back down the trail,” a backpacker tells us.

It’s late afternoon on our first day, and we’ve pitched tents in a spacious campsite in the forest by Cliff Creek, north of Timber Gap. The backpacker, just passing through, saw the bear on the trail we’ll hike tomorrow morning. It reminds me of what the ranger at the Mineral King ranger station told us when we picked up our permit this morning: This past winter saw the lowest snowfall in recorded history in Sequoia National Park, one fallout of which was less natural food sources for bears this summer—making them particularly aggressive in their pursuit of human food. It’s also a reminder of how climate change is affecting our parks. “Be extra careful,” the ranger had said.

In the afternoon sun, we boys take a bracing dip in pools in fast-flowing and frigid Cliff Creek. After dinner, all six of us play a long match of our new, favorite card game, Wizard. Although everyone’s tired, much yelling and laughing ensues���my family takes games very seriously. As we hit the trail the next morning, Nate and Penny passionately debate hands from last night’s Wizard game.

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  On our second day, we enter one of the highlights of backpacking in this park: a backcountry grove of giant sequoia trees at Redwood Meadow Grove. We had visited the Giant Forest in the park the day before starting out on this backpacking trip, and it’s majestic—but almost as busy as a shopping mall. Now, as the only people out here, we feel like the Lilliputians in Gulliver’s Travels. Trees stand too tall for us to see their crowns, with trunks so big around that all six of us could not link arms around some of them, and branches as thick as the base of a Douglas fir. In the heart of Redwood Meadow Grove, we stop for lunch at the unoccupied ranger station, lounging in an eclectic variety of old, outdoor chairs left outside the log building.

That evening, another mild and clear one, we pitch our tents without rainflies in the forest of the backpackers camp just below Bearpaw Meadow. Then we walk the short distance to the rocky ledges of the meadow, high above the Middle Fork Kaweah River, to watch the sunset turn the peaks of the Great Western Divide to gold.

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  Hamilton Lakes, Precipice Lake

On a trail contouring across the face of a cliff, hundreds of feet above the deep Middle Fork Kaweah River, Alex points at a smooth, waterslide-like groove in the granite across the canyon, where sheer granite walls and spires stab at a cerulean sky. She says to me, “A glacier used to be right there?” I tell her that’s right.

It’s our third morning, and we’re facing our biggest climb of the trip: more than 3,000 feet, spread over 6.4 miles, to 10,700-foot Kaweah Gap. It’s warm but there’s a nice breeze. Most significantly for me, my pack has gotten much lighter—a major relief. My family consumes an impressive volume of food every day, and since I’m carrying much of it, my pack sheds several pounds daily.

By midday, under a hot sun, we reach the largest of the Hamilton Lakes, at 8,235 feet. Everyone needs a break. I start filtering several liters of water while Penny and Tom dig out lunch food and the kids head for the water; before long, we adults join them for a swim. The lake is almost completely enclosed by towering, impassable cliffs and pinnacles, except on its north side, where the High Sierra Trail zigzags up through steep ledges en route to Kaweah Gap—still 2,500 feet above us. [Note: Hamilton Lakes made my list of nicest backcountry campsites I’ve walked past.]

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A bit after 5 p.m., I walk up to the rocky shore of small, oval-shaped Precipice Lake, still 30 minutes below Kaweah Gap. At 10,400 feet, with the nearest tree at least a couple of trail miles below us, the lake’s glassy, green and blue waters sit in a granite bowl, reflecting a white and golden cliff with black water streaks on the opposite shore. A ribbon-like waterfall, originating in a remnant glacier below the north face of 12,040-foot Eagle Scout Peak, pours at least 100 feet down the cliff. I unconsciously mutter, “Wow!” Standing beside me, Tom, who’s backpacked in some spectacular parts of the High Sierra, says, “Yea. Incredible spot.” [Note: Precipice Lake made my list of 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites.]

Nate had been saying for at least an hour coming up the trail that he would take a swim in Precipice Lake, “although it’s probably going to be pretty frigid.” As we all congregate at the shoreline, he keeps his vow, plunging into the icy waters; then Daniel and I join him. Before long, we reach a unanimous consensus to spend the night here instead of continuing over Kaweah Gap and camping in the Nine Lakes Basin on the other side.

A steady wind rakes the campsite, but it’s beautiful up here. We have a view back down this high valley to the Hamilton Lakes and the row of granite monoliths rising across the valley. High above Precipice Lake, scores of slender spires line up atop a long ridge of Eagle Scout Peak.

While Tom and Daniel and Penny and Alex find flat spots on ledges above the lake for their tents, Nate and I decide to sleep under the stars. We lay our pads and bags out on a flat slab big enough for both of us. Long after dark, the two of us lie in our bags looking up at a sky shot full of stars above the dark silhouettes of peaks.

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